#the new map looks so cool and the way you can switch between peter and miles!!!

[vamprnce]

the new spider man 2 trailer omgggg MY BOYS 😭😭🥹

#text #THE NEW SUITS AND CUSTOMIZATION HOLY SHIT??? #the new map looks so cool and the way you can switch between peter and miles!!! #im so happy they got midtown high and visions academy in the new game too!! i always wanted to see the guy's schools #we only had like esu for peter lol #omg there's so much in the game im so hyped for it #i think im going to avoid spoilers for the story/gameplay for awhile when it comes out #bc i have no ps5 yet so i wanna wait awhile

[an-aussie-button-masher]

Here's How it's Done - Five of the Best-Made Tutorial Levels

   What’s the most boring part of any video game, the part most players tend to skip? That’s right, the tutorial level. They’re always full of boring text box pop-ups, spelling out all the different buttons and controls and slowing the game’s opening down to a crawl - it’s almost like the game is teaching the player how to read more than how to play! At least, that’s the case with most games. Sometimes, developers try spicing it up a little, adding a bit of excitement and interest to the first level. It can come in the form of an engaging narrative intro, cool action, interesting locations and scenery, less linear pacing, and so on. There are plenty of tricks to keep that first level interesting; you could consider these games as a tutorial on how to do good tutorials! I’ve collected a handful of games that really hit the ground running with interesting and enjoyable openings - have a look for yourself!   Press [Keep reading] to continue.

Marvel’s Spider-Man 2    How many games teach you how to play by immediately throwing you into a gargantuan, multi-phase boss battle? Spider-Man 2 does, and it’s equal parts tutorial and showcase of how powerful the PS5 can really be. Swinging into action, the Spider-Men cross the river besides Manhattan into Brooklyn to battle the latest villain of the week: the swirling, skyscraper-sized walking desert known as Sandman. The massive boss fight puts the opening action of the previous games to shame, as well as cleverly working in the tutorial amongst the story of the fight.   Seamlessly switching between playing as Peter Parker and Miles Morales, the game runs through the basics of combat and mobility - swing into the fight, battle sandy clones summoned by Sandman, dodge the sandy giants’ attacks, and so on. A particularly impressive moment is when Sandman grabs Miles and flings him across almost the entire horizontal length of the map, only for Miles to slingshot himself right back - all within five seconds, no loading or slow environment generation to be seen! Peter and Miles make use of plenty of new, untested gadgets throughout the fight, such as the new Web Wings to glide on the wind and Peter’s mechanical spider-limbs popping out of his suit, learning how to use them alongside the player in an epic cinematic battle between the two Spider-Men and the largest enemy seen in the series yet!

Uncharted 2: Among Thieves    The Uncharted series is known for its’ engaging narratives, but Among Thieves is a particular standout for being a great early example of how cinematic games can really get by throwing the player straight into the action. After the player presses “Start”, Nathan Drake wakes up with a bullet hole in his gut, sitting sideways in a busted-up train car dangling over a sheer cliff. In a desperate climb to safety as the train falls to pieces around Nate, the player will quickly learn the basics of parkour and movement that you’ll be using for the entire game - or plummet to their death in the beautiful albeit deadly scenery.   After a quick flashback that hints at how this adventure started out, it’s back to surviving in the frozen, flaming wreckage Nate has somehow ended up in. Finally, Nate uncovers a mysterious artefact in the wreckage, presumably the source of all this fuss for the entire adventure - and it’s time for another flashback, all the way to the beginning for the story to really get started. It’s an expert combination of cinematic storytelling and intrigue (just how did Nate get into this mess?) with intense action and control tutorials that flow naturally alongside the plot - all the way back in 2009!

Jedi: Fallen Order    Leaping and climbing across a dangerous scrapyard full of old derelict Republic cruisers, while the Empire’s spy droids and TIE Fighters constantly drone overhead - just another day on the job for Cal Kestis. As the game opens with breathtaking vistas of a vast, grim, rainy planet littered with familiar giant ships, Cal hides his Jedi training as he picks his way across the treacherous worksite. All the jumping, climbing and parkour you’ll be doing is taught very early on - the Empire sure doesn’t seem to care about workplace safety, but Cal (and the player) easily clambers across the machinery like it was a giant playground.    Of course, the inevitable workplace hazard occurs as the ship Cal and his buddy Prauf are standing on falls apart, sending them sliding to their likely doom until Cal reaches out his hand and you get the coolest tutorial prompt in any video game: [RB] Use the Force. His Jedi powers revealed, the Empire quickly catches on and suddenly, Cal is fighting through a speeding train armed with a humming lightsaber and the power of the Force, effortlessly slicing through countless Stormtroopers in his path. After that taste of how strong Cal is against the cannon fodder, the player is pitted against a dreaded Inquisitor in a literally unwinnable fight before a mysterious new ship comes to your rescue - and the journey begins.

DOOM (2016)    As a soft reboot of the longstanding DOOM franchise, DOOM (2016)’s opening instantly tells you exactly who the Doom Slayer is. Waking up buck-naked and chained to a bloody tomb in a laboratory, surrounded by shambling demons, what does Doomguy do? Snap the chains on his wrists, grab the nearest unfortunate demon by the face and smash it to pieces, leap to his feet, snatch up a stray pistol and aim it right at the next demon - and now the player is in control. Once you’ve cleared the lab, it’s time to grab your armour and get to work doing what Doomguy does best.   Quickly, you’re shown just enough exposition to know who the important characters are and why things might be all demonic right now, but not so much that it slows down your path of annihilation. Doomguy even throws away a monitor trying to give lore, as if to say “I’m not here to listen to dialogue, I’m here to blast demons!” Through bloodstained halls and surrounded by hellish shrieking, the player sets off clearing out the first building of demons, given only the most absolutely necessary control tutorials. Finally, as the thumping main theme builds in your ears, Doomguy gives his trusty shotgun a pump as he steps onto the surface of Mars, ready to rip and tear.

The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild    All these openings are fairly straightforward, but how about something a little less linear? In Breath of the Wild, the tutorial “level” is a wide-open sandbox by itself, allowing the player to explore the Great Plateau they find themselves waking up on at their own pace, in more or less whatever order they like. After you’ve left the cave you awaken in with your few belongings, the first thing you see is an old man walking away in the distance; the game’s way of telling the player exactly where to go and who to speak to, all without a single “go here” arrow.   The tutorial’s open nature gives a sense of just how much freedom the player will have in the rest of the game - you can do whatever missions you like in whatever order you choose, or just wander around and enjoy the scenery at your leisure. Across the plateau, you’ll notice various shrines around you, each one granting a new power that you’ll use for the entire game, and none of them require any other shrines to be completed first. You’ll quickly learn the basics as you pick your way across the plateau - climbing trees and hills to gather resources, fighting off the handful of foes in your way, and so on with very little direct hand-holding from the game. It’s a great example of how easy it is to learn by messing around and doing things yourself, rather than reading constant button prompts and objective markers.

   There’s a thousand different ways to teach a player how to play - and of course, some ways are much more intuitive and entertaining than others. Now that you’ve learned a few different kinds of good video game tutorials, you’ll probably never look at a games’ first level the same way again. Are there any other games you’ve played that did a great job showing you the ropes? Let me know! Feedback, reblogs and likes are much appreciated!    Thanks for reading!

An Aussie Button-Masher

#gaming #article #spider-man 2 #spider-man #insomniac games #uncharted #uncharted 2 #among thieves #nathan drake #naughty dog #jedi fallen order #jfo #star wars #cal kestis #respawn entertainment #doom 2016 #doom #doomguy #doom slayer #id software #the legend of zelda #breath of the wild #tloz #botw #zelda #link #nintendo

[nerdywrites]

The Summer Soldier (part 7)

Pairing: Eventual Peter Parker x Stark!reader, Tony Stark x daughter!reader

Summary: When the Secretary of State tells them about the Sokovia Accords, (Y/n) has to decide between family and beliefs. 

Warnings: Mild language

A/N: Sorry I don't have time to answer your messages or post as fast, I am on vacation right now!

Masterlist   Series Masterlist

Tony barely talked when he got home to the tower. He had been out giving a grant to college students at MIT, but (Y/n) suspected something else happened based on his attitude. 

He couldn’t get the conversation he had just had with the woman near the elevator about her son.

“His name was Charlie Spencer. You murdered him, in Sokovia. Not that that matters in the least to you. You think you fight for us? You just fight for yourself. Who’s going to avenge my son, Stark? He’s dead, and I blame you. You have a daughter, right? Imagine she died, and no one noticed, no one cared, but you.”

Tony continued to stay silent on the way over to the facility where they were meeting the rest of the team, and the Secretary of State, for reasons (Y/n) didn’t know. But it couldn’t be good.

--

“Five years ago, I had a heart attack. Dropped right in the middle of my backswing.” he acted as though he was swinging a golf club “Turned out it was the best round of my life, because after 13 hours of surgery and a triple bypass, I found something 40 years in the army had never taught me. Perspective.”

The Avengers watched him intently, all wondering where he was going with his story.

“The world owes the Avengers an unpayable debt. You have fought for us, protected us, risked your lives. But while a great many people see you as heroes, there are some who would prefer the word ‘vigilantes’.”

“And what word what you use, Mr. Secretary?” Natasha’s voice held annoyance, but it seemed no one else could tell.

“How about ‘dangerous’? What would you call a group of US-based, enhanced individuals, who routinely ignore sovereign borders, and inflict their will wherever they choose, and who, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?”

Still, no one spoke. Their expressions gave away what they were thinking, but (Y/n) didn’t have time to figure it out before the Secretary pulled up a map with many little green dots scattered throughout.

Every time he said a city name, the dot became larger and showed footage of the avengers battles, always where the most wreckage was.

“New York, Washington D.C., Sokovia...”

Every time he switched to another city, someone on the team looked down at their lap, not wanting to see what he was showing. For (Y/n), it was Sokovia, the first time she had ever fought as an Avenger.

“Lagos”

(Y/n) put a reassuring hand on Wanda’s arm as the girl looked away, her eyes filled with guilt and sorrow. 

She desperately wanted to yell at the man to shut up and turn the stupid thing off, but she knew the consequences would most likely effect the whole team and not just herself.

“Okay, that’s enough” Steve said, also noticing Wanda’s reaction.

“For the past four years” he continued after turning off the screen “You’ve operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That’s an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate. But I think we have a solution” 

He was handed a thick booklet that was passed around the table. “The Sokovia Accords. Approved by 117 countries, it states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they’ll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel, only when and if that panel deems it necessary.”

The booklet was passed to (Y/n), and the only thing she knew as she was holding it in her hands, was that she would never under any circumstances agree or support what they were planning. 

“The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place. I feel we’ve done that.” Steve spoke, and (Y/n) silently cheered him on.

“Tell me, Captain, do you know where Thor and Banner are right now?” Steve only looked at him “If I misplaced a group of 30 megaton nukes, you can bet there’d be consequences. Compromise. Reassurance. That’s how the world works. Believe me, this is the middle ground.”

Rhodes put his hand on the book “So, there are contingencies.”

The Secretary nodded “Three days from now the UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords.”

Steve turned to look at Tony, who had his head down, as the Secretary told them to “Talk it over.”

As he was leaving, Natasha asked him one final question “And if we come to a decision you don’t like?”

“Then you retire.”

--

Everyone was arguing over what they were going to do.

Rhodes was yelling at Sam about how Secretary Ross had a Congressional Medal of Honor, Steve was reading the Accords, and Tony was laying down with his hand over his face.

(Y/n) had a suspension he was going to sign it, she hoped she was wrong.

“So let’s say we agree to this thing.” Sam yelled “How long before they LoJack us like a bunch of common criminals?”

“117 countries want to sign this” Rhodes pointed out “117, Sam, and you’re just like ‘No, that’s cool. We got it.’”

Sam responded by asking “How long are you going to play both sides?”

Before he could say anything else, Vision spoke “I have an equation.”

“Oh this will clear it up” Sam said, sarcasm dripping in his voice.

Vision ignored him “In the eight years since Mr. Stark announced himself as Iron Man the number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially. During the same period the number of potentially world-ending events has risen at a commensurate rate.”

“Are you saying it’s our fault?” Steve was getting defensive.

“I’m saying there may be a causality. Our very strength invites challenge. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict breeds catastrophe. Oversight...oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand.”

“Boom” Rhodes looked at Sam.

“Tony” Natasha pointed the attention at him. “You’re being uncharacteristically non-hyperverbal.”

(Y/n) hoped with every ounce of her being that he was about to say something against the Accords.

”That’s cause he’s already made up his mind” Steve concluded her worst fear.

“Boy, you know me so well.” he sat up “Actually I’m nursing an electromagnetic headache. That’s what’s going on, Cap, it’s just pain. It’s discomfort.” he was getting a cup of coffee “Who’s putting coffee grounds in the disposal? Am I running a bed and breakfast for a biker gang?”

He got something out of his pocket, set it on the counter, and pressed the screen, causing a holographic picture of a teenage boy to show up. “Oh, that’s Charles Spencer, by the way. He’s a great kid. Computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA, had a floor-level gig at Intel planned for the fall. But first, he wanted to put a few miles on his soul before he parked it behind a desk. See the world. Maybe be of service. Charlie didn’t want to go to Vegas or Fort Lauderdale, which is what I would do. He didn’t go to Paris or Amsterdam, which sounds fun. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where. Sokovia.”

Everyone glanced down, knowing how the story ended, guilt covering each of their faces. 

“He wanted to make a difference, I suppose. We wouldn’t know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass.” he took a sip of his coffee. “There’s no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check! Whatever form that takes, (Y/n) and I are game.”

She looked up, guilt pooling in her eyes and an ‘I’m sorry’ look written on her face. “I’m not”

I was quiet, but everyone heard it. There was silence as they all turned to her.

“Not everyone can be saved. That’s what we all tell each other when we feel guilty over something that’s happened. Now you think you can somehow reverse that just because you take away our freedom to do what the Avengers were started to do? We’ve always done more good than harm, otherwise we wouldn’t do what we do. These Accords will ruin us. So I’m sorry, but no, I won’t be supporting it”

“If we can’t accept limitations, if we’re boundary-less, we’re no better than the bad guys.” he tried to convince her. Tony only cared what she thought. He knew Steve would go the other way, Sam and some others to, but he never imagined what it would feel like if his daughter followed them.

“Tony” Steve looked at him “If someone dies on your watch, you don’t give up.”

“Who said we’re giving up?”

“We are if we aren’t taking responsibility for our actions. This document just shifts the blame.”

“I’m sorry, Steve. That is dangerously arrogant.”

(Y/n) looked at Rhodes in surprise, Steve Rogers was anything but arrogant.

He continued “This is the United Nations we’re talking about. It’s not the World Security Council, it’s not S.H.I.E.L.D., it’s not HYDRA-”

Steve cut him off “No, but it’s run by people with agendas, and agendas change.”

“That’s good” Tony joined in “That’s why I’m here. When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands I shut it down and stopped manufacturing.” 

He was standing dangerously close to where Cap was sitting, and he turned to face him, “Tony, you chose to do that. If we sign this we surrender our right to choose. What if this panel sends us somewhere we don’t think we should go? What if there is somewhere we need to go and they don’t let us? We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own.”

Tony shook his head “If we don’t do this now, it’s gonna be done to us later. That’s the fact. That won’t be pretty.”

Wanda was silent until this point “You’re saying they’ll come for me?”

“We would protect you” Vision promised.

“Maybe Tony’s right” Natasha shocked even the Stark himself “If we have one hand on the wheel, we can still steer. If we take it off-”

“Aren’t you the same woman who told the government to kiss her ass a few years ago?” Sam asked.

“I’m just reading the terrain. We have made some very public mistakes. We need to win their trust back.”

Tony leaned on the couch “Focus up. I’m sorry. Did I just mishear you, or did you agree with me?”

“I want to take it back now” (Y/n) almost laughed.

“No, you can’t retract it. Thank you. Unprecedented. Okay, case closed. I win.”

(Y/n) saw Steve look at his phone before excusing himself from the meeting and hurrying out quickly. She was worried, seeing the expression on his face just before he left.

She soon found out it was because Peggy had died, but she wasn’t quite sure who Peggy was.

--

It was at the end of the funeral that Steve got the chance to ask Natasha who else had signed the Accords.

“Tony, Rhodey, Vision.”

“Clint?”

“Says he’s retired.”

“(Y/n)?”

“Made the point that contracts signed by minors aren’t legally binding. I think she just wanted to lighten the blow for Tony. He’s hurting a lot more than he shows.”

Steve nodded “Wanda?”

“TBD. I’m off to Vienna for the signing of the Accords, there’s plenty of room on the jet.” Steve sighed “Just because it’s the path of least resistance doesn’t mean it’s the wrong path. Staying together is more important than how we stay together.”

“What are we giving up to do it? I’m sorry, Nat. I can’t sign it.”

“I know.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I didn’t want you to be alone. Come here.”

The two hugged one last time before everything went wrong.

--

Tag List:

If I missed you or you want to be added, just let me know :)

@thellamalord @embrace-themagic @for-my-mind @dreamingofbluehair @farfromjustordinary @mgutim430 @spider-stud @green-lxght @songofgratitude @vxidnik @lubrielx @starks-girl @yuukyuu-no-uta @unicorngummybears @lilulo-12 @barmecide-love @rosevoiid @prancingdestiel @basicmarvelbitch  @lilaqueenquinn @thgleslie @inaudiblevocalizing @emiliatheunicorn @glitter-rian @determinedpines @westallengirforeverl14 

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #tony stark #tony stark x reader #tony x daughter!reader #tony stark x daughter!reader #avengers x reader #avengers #marvel #marvel x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #the summer soldier #peter parker x stark!reader

[bubble-tea-bunny]

the rule of cool (part 1)

[peter parker x reader]

author’s note: yaaaay this is finally done! spent the last week or so writing it. this idea came out of nowhere but it’s probably the most fun story i’ve written. big ups to my cousin (i know you’re reading this lol) for helping me develop the plot because holy hell it went everywhere. hahaha hope you all enjoy

also tried to post this as one giant post, and while chrome and my phone’s browsing app (safari) handled it just fine, the app kept crashing, so i’m posting this in 2 parts. so sorry if you saw this before 

word count: 10,167

PART TWO

some foreword stuff: never played d&d before, just did some research, so please don’t judge me lol. also do y’all recognize the reference in the first paragraph. i think ya do(;

FRIDAY

When Peter Parker leaves the premises of Midtown High School that bright Friday afternoon, there are only two things on his mind: the thrift store and his latest Dungeons and Dragons campaign.

As he leaves the station after his short subway ride, there is an extra spring in his step as he walks to the end of the block. When the crosswalk sign turns green, he’s quick to cross, and soon his ears are filled with the sounds of the city: the whoosh of cars zooming past, the hum of the above-ground subway as it slides along the tracks. Peter grabs his iPod from his pocket and puts his earphones in. His playlist is on shuffle and the first song to greet him is the electronic rock so characteristic of Ratatat, and the smooth synths and electric guitar elicit a smile from the boy almost automatically. It feels like he’s in a movie. The breeze is cold against his face as he continues on down the street.

As he approaches the corner of the current street, he can see the windows of the thrift shop, and if he should gaze inside from there, he’d see the front half of the store, which houses most of the clothes (and he says “most of” because the baby clothes are kept near the back with the toys—yes, he’s got the layout of this store memorized. He’s been here enough times). But he doesn’t stop to look inside, for there’s no need, and walks past those windows and turns the corner. He’s quick to arrive at the entrance, where above the glass double doors hangs a neon sign, some of whose letters flicker intermittently, as though they may go out at any moment. They’ve been like that for a long while though, so perhaps they won’t go out. Those bulbs must be awfully resilient.

Peter’s well acquainted with this shop. It’s on his route home and besides the dumpsters, is a primary source for his retro tech. While finding things that still work is a toss-up when searching via dumpster diving, at least in the thrift store, what’s there functions, albeit slowly most of the time, and practically on the brink of death from how old and outdated the software is. It’s still something to work with though, and garners much less stress. If he didn’t have a budget to adhere to, he’s sure he’d wipe the shelves clean of whatever was there, but since he does have a budget, thrift store or not, he still needs to pick and choose carefully what to buy.

Peter grabs hold of the handle of one of the doors and steps inside. It’s still early for many people to be on their way home, much less thrifting, so it’s quiet inside the store. Self conscious that his music may now be too loud, he turns it down a little and takes out one of his earphones, so that in his right ear remains the beloved neo-psychedelia and in his left is the thrift store’s music which sounds an awful lot like something you’d hear in an elevator.

He makes a beeline for the back of the store, passing all the clothing racks along the way. The screeching as customers push the hangers along the metal rod never ceases to hurt his eardrums, and he suppresses a cringe at the uncomfortable noise. The fluorescent lighting illuminates the electronics section like a sort of beacon, a quest marker telling him he’s found what he was looking for. He almost swears this aisle smells and feels old, but he can’t quite describe how. It’s a musty air, antiquated but almost charming as his eyes rove over the treasure trove of ancient technology. Or maybe he’s trying too hard to be poetic and it’s really just dust and he probably shouldn’t be inhaling it because—

“Achoo!”

—because that.

Peter sniffles and lets out a cough as he starts taking a closer look at what’s on the shelves, sifting through all the electronics. There are cassette players, some floppy disks, some film cameras. He never really has anything specific in mind when he’s searching around, which now that he thinks about it, can get dangerous, since everything looks so exciting and he just wants it all, but he can’t spend all his money at once, never mind the fact there’s no way he could carry all of it home.

There’s an old Macintosh monitor that catches his eye farther down the aisle, and he makes a beeline for it. It’s just the monitor by itself, no keyboard or mouse. it’s bulky as hell and the screen is tiny and he’s falling in love with the thing the longer he studies it. He turns it around until he can find the sticker with the price, and he deflates a little when he finds it’s practically all the spending money he’d allotted himself for this week’s thrift store trip. He’d have liked to leave the store with more, but this is much too good to pass up, and out of everything else in this section, it’s the only item he’s not sure will be here the next time he comes by.

With a determined breath that signals he will buy only this and not get sidetracked by the other hidden gems here, at least not today, Peter picks up the monitor, caught a little off guard by the weight of it. He cradles it in his arms as he walks over to the front registers. There’s only one open because there aren’t many people, but luckily there’s only one person in front of him.

His eyes roam around the store as he waits, since he doesn’t exactly have a hand free to get out his phone to keep himself occupied. He can hear the cashier reminding the lady paying that all sales are final, and he immediately recognizes the next song his iPod plays purely based on the familiar low-tuned riff, one that’s almost menacing. When the drums come in, beat consistent and deep, he nods his head slightly in time with it.

It’s not long until the woman finishes her transaction and leaves. Peter doesn’t notice because his eyes have dropped to a sleek black pen sitting in a bin nearby, perched almost perfectly atop some random items—CD’s, pouches, so on and so forth. Given the fact it looks so out of place there, it seems someone had decided last minute not to get it and set it down while waiting in line. Peter glances at the monitor he holds and readjusts it so he can carry it with one arm and reach out to grab the pen with his free hand to take a look at it. It’s cool to the touch, and he carefully maneuvers it, turning it upside down so he can twist the mechanism between his index finger and thumb to bring up the tip of the pen. It reminds him of the Mont Blanc Tony sometimes writes with, except this one is much, much cheaper. Peter rotates the pen until he sees the sticker with the price—it’s about $463 cheaper than the Meisterstück Classique model, in fact.

Well, Peter had just lost one of his favorite pens the other day. He’s pretty sure it’s just somewhere hidden in the mess in his room, but he hadn’t had the chance to go looking for it. And this one isn’t terribly expensive; if he bought it, he’d still leave here today under budget. He purses his lips as he thinks, twisting the mechanism again to retract the nib.

“Sir, I can take you right over here whenever you’re ready,” the cashier remarks, and Peter turns to look at her, then glances at the pen. Why not. It couldn’t hurt.

He leaves the thrift store with his new monitor in one arm and the pen tucked away in his pocket. He’s determined not to lose this one this time. Despite being cheap enough to replace should he do so, it still looks pretty sleek. He’s extra careful as he walks the rest of the way home, lest he stumble and drop the monitor. There isn’t any room in his backpack to put it. Today he’d had to bring home quite a few books for the weekend’s homework, and his bag would need to be mostly empty if he wanted to fit this bulky unit in it.

It doesn’t take long for him to arrive at his apartment building, and he rides the elevator alone. There’s a ding to signal his arrival on his floor, and when he’s at his front door, he fishes his key out from his pocket. The apartment is empty since Aunt May doesn’t get out of work until 5. Peter tosses his key into the bowl by the door before kicking the door closed with his foot. He goes straight to his bedroom, setting the monitor on his desk. He heaves a sigh of relief when he's alleviated of the weight. It hadn’t been a problem holding it at first, but it seemed to get heavier the longer he’d been holding it. He’d really like to start taking a more in-depth look at it, but a glance at his watch tells him he doesn’t have time to do that.

He pauses the music on his iPod and takes out his earphones, tossing the device onto his bed before shrugging off his jacket. The others will be here soon, which means he should probably be putting snacks together. He walks to the kitchenette and wonders if there’s still anything left or if he should try to run down to the corner store really quickly. He rifles through cabinets and the fridge and comes up with a couple of bags of family size chips and the liter of soda from last session. These will do for now. They might end up wanting to order pizza, since they hadn’t in a while.

Peter sets the food out on the dining table and switches on the lights in the living room. A large piece of graph paper sits in the center of the coffee table, and on it are drawn seemingly random shapes connected together. Four pieces of paper rest on each corner of this map, one for every party member. The die are arranged in a line in front of the dungeon master’s screen, ready for use. It was Peter’s turn to host the current campaign, and the setup has been sitting in the lounge since they started just a few weeks ago. Fridays are the normal meeting time, the day where it’s a guarantee that everyone is available, but if they can squeeze in an extra day, they make it happen.

In half an hour everyone has arrived and they’ve situated themselves in their spots around the coffee table. They pick up right where they left off. They’re still in early game, so they’re all relatively low level, but they’ve done a good bit of exploring, as evidenced by the map.

Aunt May comes home around 5:30 and greets them with a warm hello. Peter lets her know they’ve just decided to order pizza. It doesn’t feel like it takes too long for it to arrive, but that’s probably because they’re so engaged in the current adventure, as the party has found itself in a dungeon slightly too high level for them currently. Ned, as current dungeon master, had decided to make the new campaign a bit more challenging, so this probably shouldn’t have come as surprise. They take their time moving from room to room, and aren’t even halfway through the dungeon map when they call it quits for the night, since it’s getting late.

When it’s just Peter on his own again, he puts away the snacks and leftover pizza, then tosses the now empty liter bottle into the recycling bin. A glance at the clock on the wall tells him it’s almost midnight. He contemplates finally sitting down to look at his new find from the thrift store, but at that very moment, he yawns, signaling to him that perhaps he should just go to sleep for now. He wouldn’t want to fall asleep in the middle of working.

———

MONDAY

Unsurprisingly, the weekend is gone in a flash, with all the homework and saving civilians. Monday morning rolls around and it is dark outside when Peter’s alarm goes off. He groans and hits snooze, rolling onto his back and staring at the metal supports of the top bunk as he tries to wake up. His eyes are only half open when he finally gets himself to stand and head to the bathroom, and his yawn is so big he almost feels like a snake unhinging its jaw in preparation for a meal. Mondays suck.

Everyone in first period is practically still asleep. That’s no surprise. Peter drops down in his seat and rests his head on his propped up hand, which probably isn’t the best idea because he finds his eyelids sliding closed and he’s on the brink of dozing off. It’s only when the bell rings to signify the start of class does he jolt awake, just in time for his teacher to step inside the room and set his laptop case on his desk.

The next fifty minutes Peter spends in and out of consciousness, doing his best to stay up but finding it hard to fight against the heaviness of his eyelids. It just feels so nice when he closes his eyes and maybe he can get away with doing it for just a few seconds—no, he knows he can’t. If he lets his eyes close now, he’ll be out like a light. With a yawn, he sits up straighter, digging out his new pen from the pocket of his jeans. He might’ve been more awake if there were notes to be taken, but so far it was all just things he needed to listen to, and without any way to keep his hands busy, it was easy to get bored and then sleepy.

There are a few blank pieces of copy paper tucked into his notebook he’d stuffed in there specifically for times like these. He grabs a piece and pulls it out, setting it atop the still blank page his notebook is open to. He sits there for a moment, actually alert and staring at the board, but he’s not quite paying attention. He’s wondering what to draw. Well, he supposes he could draw the teacher… But he’d already done that. Multiple times in fact. This class in particular is rough because not only is it first thing in the morning, it’s incredibly boring. And there were only so many times and ways he could draw caricatures of his teacher. Where had he put those pictures anyway? Make that another thing to find in the mess of his bedroom, the aftermath of what Aunt May jokingly claimed was a hurricane.

Well, there’s Neoma.

At this point Peter’s surprised he hadn’t actually drawn her yet. He’d created her as his character for the new campaign, and it’s been long enough that it probably should’ve crossed his mind to draw her. But you know what they say: there’s no better time than the present. Even if he is sitting in class and should probably be paying more attention to what’s so interesting about the author’s metaphor in line 27 of the poem.

Drawing is successful at keeping him awake until the bell rings. He doesn’t get the chance to return to the piece until lunch time, when he’s finished eating early and there’s ten minutes left until next period. He’s so focused on the task that he doesn’t notice Ned leaning over to look at the paper.

“Why’d you give her white hair?”

At this question, Peter pauses and looks up at his friend. He shrugs. “I think it looks cool. And in a fantasy setting, naturally white hair doesn’t seem like such a big deal.”

Ned laughs. “True.” He goes back to studying what Peter’s completed so far, which is almost everything. All that’s really left is the smaller details on her mage robes. “She’s pretty. Is she based off someone?”

Even though the answer to that is no, Peter can’t help the way his cheeks warm at the teasing. He hadn’t even seen her in a dream, the way all those corny romance novels always seem to have the male and female leads brought together by fate because one had seen the other in a dream. He’d come up with Neoma all on his own. She’s the first one of his characters he’d drawn, strangely enough. And he doesn’t think too hard about how she looks when he does, but with every line he lays down on the page he finds her to be perfect.

“She’s not,” Peter responds finally. Ned’s still wearing a small smirk which betrays the fact he doesn’t totally buy it, if only so he can continue teasing him. But luckily he doesn’t push it.

“Will you draw the other characters too?” Ned inquires.

Peter looks back down at his drawing of Neoma. “I could. Maybe Caligari.” Caligari is the primary antagonist of the current campaign, one that Ned had introduced to the party early on. He had destroyed a whole city for not bowing to him, right at the start, when the group was too weak to do anything but watch. It had angered them all, that was for sure, and it drove them to get better and take their time leveling up for when they finally encounter him. Of all the campaigns Peter has played, this villain has made him the angriest. Nothing maddens him more than being powerless to stop those who are wrong, those who kill people that can’t defend themselves. Perhaps that’s why all his characters had had some sort of alignment with good, whether lawful, chaotic, or now neutral, as Neoma is.

“You could probably illustrate the entire adventure.”

Peter chuckles as he tucks his drawing away. The bell rings. “Maybe I can get a job as a children’s book illustrator,” he jokes.

There isn’t much of Neoma to finish drawing when he arrives home. When she’s done, he contemplates starting on Caligari right away, but decides he should probably get his homework done first. But after homework, there’s dinner, then getting ready for bed, and it’s quite late when he finally gets the chance to grab another piece of copy paper and sit at his desk. He pushes aside the tools he’d used to tinker with his web shooters yesterday, clearing a comfortable amount of space. He’s really come to like his thrift store pen. The ink glides on smoothly for a secondhand writing instrument. It makes him wonder why anyone would give it up in the first place. Surely it was worth more than the $2 he’d bought it for.

The light of the lamp is what illuminates the page in front of him, and Caligari is just about complete when 1 AM is twenty minutes away. Peter yawns and glances out his window, where he can see skyscrapers and the blinking lights of planes flying among the clouds. It’s quiet on the streets. He thinks he can fall asleep right at his desk, but he knows his neck and back will hurt like a bitch come morning if he does, and his bed is only three steps away.

With a tired sigh, Peter stands and tucks the drawing in his notebook. He then stores the pen in his backpack before he switches off the lamp and ambles over to his bed, falling onto it none too gracefully. As he pulls the sheets over himself and rolls over, getting tangled in the blankets, he wonders which character he should draw next. He doesn’t bother neatening the blankets out. He’s asleep before he can even consider doing it.

———

TUESDAY

Tuesday morning is a repeat of Monday. The alarm hurts Peter’s ears and he can’t suppress a groan as he hits snooze. Based on the way there’s no light bouncing off the walls, it’s darker outside today than it was yesterday morning. He looks at the time on his phone, squinting against the bright light, to confirm that it is indeed the time for him to wake up. His eyes slide closed and he sighs heavily at seeing that yes, it is time to get ready for the day. Why couldn’t it be Friday already?

He sits up so he can look out the window, but his heart all but jumps from his chest when he sees a figure standing there, back to him. He shuffles off his bed in a panic, but given that he’d spent the night tangled in the blankets, his feet get caught and he falls off with a thud. His web shooter is sitting on the nightstand and he throws it on quickly. He stands, feet apart and bracing himself should he need to fight. His heart is beating rapidly and his veins pulse with adrenaline, because he becomes aware of multiple things at once: there’s an invader, Aunt May is also in the house, and he needs to get rid of this person quickly and quietly.

He doesn’t say anything, just stands with web shooter at the ready. The commotion prompts the figure to turn to him, and he almost doesn’t believe what he sees. Scratch that, he doesn’t believe what he sees.

“… Neoma?”

Your hair is the color of a cold and cloudy morning. It’s perhaps the most immediate giveaway as to your identity, and the boldest feature, which is why Peter notices it first. But then he takes in the rest of what you wear, and he questions whether or not he’s dreaming. You’re donning mage robes, along with the bulky scarf which sits around your neck and conceals your face from the nose down. Your eyes are a piercing blue, brows drawn together as you study him, which make your scrutinizing gaze all the more nerve-wracking. Your arms are crossed, and you slowly bring a hand up. Peter tenses the moment you move, since he’s still not sure if you’re going to attack.

But you don’t. You pull the scarf down and fully expose your face. “You know who I am?”

Peter hadn’t necessarily imagined a voice for you when he’d first made you. That’s a little challenging to begin with, making up a voice. He could’ve assigned you a voice of someone he knew, but he didn’t feel it was right to even do that, not when the rest of you was his own creation. So when he hears you speak, he’s not left disappointed nor does he find his expectations fulfilled. It’s just… you. It’s soft, a contrast to the firm expression you wear as you wait for his response.

“U-Um…” Peter stutters. His arm is still raised, palm up and ready to shoot webbing should the need arise. “I do.”

Your eyes drop down to the web shooter. “I mean you no harm. You can sheathe your weapon.”

Peter glances at the contraption around his wrist, contemplating for a moment if it was a smart idea to lower his arm. Well, it is clear you’re telling the truth considering you haven’t attacked yet, and as the one who’d created you in the first place, he knows you need no staff to carry out spells, just your hands, which are crossed currently, and your stance is relaxed. He slowly does as you say, then takes a moment to assess the situation.

You’re not a home invader. That’s good.

You’d been somehow brought into his universe from your own. That’s not good.

Peter is having a very hard time processing the situation. You’re standing in the middle of his bedroom in mage robes, looking like you’re about to go to a LARP session in Central Park, for goodness’ sake! Is he completely certain he isn’t dreaming? Should he pinch himself for good measure? Why are you here? How are you here? He’s wondering now if he should skip school today to get this sorted out, but he knows he can’t, because there’s a test they're reviewing for in history and he really needs to show up. He runs a hand through his hair, his textbook tell that he’s stressed, as he surveys you. You remain in your place, watching him like a hawk.

“Where am I?” you inquire.

“You’re in, uh… you’re in New York. Queens, specifically.” He doesn’t know why there’s a need to specify. You don’t know what New York is anyway.

“That name isn’t familiar to me.”

“Which is expected, because you see…” Peter trails off as he walks to his closet, finding whatever smells clean and pulling it out, because he does need to get ready. “You’re not in Galerion.”

Your brows furrow. “Inter-universal travel? I thought such magic was only speculation.”

Peter's less inclined to call it inter-universal travel considering your universe isn’t actually real. But he doesn’t know what it could actually be, and right now inter-universal travel is an adequate answer until he finds out more. He knows that sooner or later he’ll need to tell you the truth. He’s surprised that you haven’t freaked out at the notion of being dropped in the middle of a new world, but you are a mage. Magic users deal with the seemingly impossible all the time, their powers giving them the ability to manipulate reality itself if that’s their goal. Even so, it will be difficult for you to come to terms with the idea that your world isn’t real, that there is no Galerion. So for now he plays along, if only to keep you calm. There’s no way you’d believe him if he told you the truth right now, and you might actually lash out then, and he is in no way equipped to deal with magic.

“Apparently it’s not,” Peter states, smiling nervously.

“So you were the one to cast the spell? Because it wasn’t me.”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t cast it either. I’m just as in the dark as you are.” Wow. He’d said “cast” in the context of casting a spell. It feels like he’s role-playing. If he weren’t so shocked at your presence he might be excited.

“Who are you then? You’re not a wizard or a sorcerer?”

“My name is Peter, and… no, I’m neither of those things. I can’t use magic.”

“Well if it wasn’t you, then we must find who did this.” You start to walk to the door, but Peter moves to stand in front of it.

“You can’t leave.”

You frown. “Why not?”

Plenty of reasons. Where do I begin? “Well… my aunt’s out there. And she’d freak if she saw you.”

“She has no knowledge of arcane magic yet you do?”

“Basically.” Peter shrugs. To say that he has knowledge of any sort of arcane magic is definitely a stretch. What he does know he’d acquired from playing a role-play game! He deals with the physical, not the mystical. Though he supposes what meager information Dungeons and Dragons has given him is certainly better than nothing, if anything. “Just… wait here for a second, okay?” Thankfully, you listen to him without complaint, sitting on his bed as he leaves and closes the door behind him. He skips the shower this morning, settling for washing his face so that he can get back to you quicker. When he pads down the hallway back to his room, he hears Aunt May call out.

“Peter, I’m leaving now!”

“Okay!” he replies. “Have a good day!” He stays where he is until he hears the front door close, and once it does, he rushes the rest of the way to his room. You’re still sitting in the same spot, hands folded on your lap. Your gaze slides to him.

Since you’re the only two occupants of the apartment now, when he opens the door, he leaves it open. He stands in the frame, and the two of you watch each other for a moment in silence. And then he claps his hands together loudly. “We’re gonna get this sorted out. Later.”

Your brows furrow at this statement, and you watch as he walks around the room, grabbing his jacket and his backpack. “What do you mean later?”

“I need to go to school. Like, really need to go.” Peter slips his jacket on, zipping it hastily and squashing down a curse when he pinches his finger. “Just stay here. I’ve got books and video games. Knock yourself out. But you can’t leave the apartment. Magic is… It’s not common here. You can’t just go asking people about it.”

You tilt your head. “Magic governs reality itself. I don’t understand how it isn’t common.”

“This is a conversation we can have when I get back, all right? There’s food in the kitchen. Try not to make a mess.” Peter looks at you with a raised brow, as if to ask if you’ve got all that. He’s relieved when you nod slowly, still not complaining. Out of all his D&D characters that could’ve been brought to life, he’s glad it was the mage. The paladin and the ranger might be demanding he help them this instant, caught in a panic as they might be.  

Peter passes by the living room on his way to the front door, and pauses to glance at the coffee table. The game is still set up. He quickly crosses the small distance to it and picks up all four character sheets, tucking them into his backpack for safe-keeping. Then he folds the DM screen carefully, to make sure he doesn’t see what information is written on the inside, then sticks it between some books on the shelf. He can’t have you finding any of these items.

———

He’s jittery the whole day at school. His mind is buzzing too much for him to concentrate, and he thinks maybe he should’ve just missed today, since all he can think about is the fact a mage is in his apartment right now and while you’d been compliant earlier, who’s to say you’d actually end up listening?

Actually, he supposes that would be him.

He had been the one to design you. He’d given you traits, flaws, ideals. And assuming you really are Neoma from his D&D campaign, then all those aspects should be the exact same. It’s now that he realizes he really does know you. He knows the way you think, the way you act if things don’t go your way. He knows everything. He’d gone through the current campaign as you, your own personality, not his own, dictating his decisions. Reasonably he should be able to predict your next moves, but he’s less sure of it now that you’ve become an actual person, your own person, and maybe what’s written on his character sheet is correct, or maybe you’re completely different, and the only thing he’d gotten right was your name and your class. That’s why he was more inclined to play along with you earlier.

The implications of being totally wrong about you give Peter a headache to consider, for it’s just more stress on top of the fact you’re here in the first place. For all he knows, you could’ve left the apartment and sought out whoever had done this. But where could you possibly start? How far would you even get looking like that, clad in mage robes? He’d told you magic wasn’t common here, but would that stop you? Would you cast spells regardless?

As he thinks more about this, he exhales slowly, resisting the urge to groan. This is not a good week, and it’s only Tuesday.

Ned notices how fidgety Peter is during history. Come lunch time, he decides to bring it up.

“Hey, you doing okay, man?” he begins.

Peter freezes and glances at his friend, wondering if maybe Ned knew, somehow, what was going on. “Yeah.” Peter nods and shrugs. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Really? You looked like you were barely focusing in history earlier…”

“Just been a little stressed lately, that’s all.”

“Is it”—Ned leans closer and lowers his voice—“Spiderman?”

“No, it’s not.” Peter shakes his head and hopes Ned doesn’t try to question him further. Right now this is an issue only between him and you and it will remain that way. “I’m fine, Ned. Really.”

Ned doesn’t look very convinced, but thankfully, he doesn’t say anything more. “If you say so.”

The end of the school day doesn’t arrive fast enough, it seems. Peter is gone as soon as the bell rings, rushing like mad back to the apartment. It feels like the subway takes even longer to arrive today than usual. The first matter of business was to get you out of those robes. If you were to go searching for the perpetrator of this whole ordeal together, you certainly couldn’t stay in those clothes. You’d stick out like a sore thumb. He decides he’ll stop by the thrift store. He’s definitely going to go over budget for this week, after buying that Macintosh monitor and now clothes for you. He’ll just need to go dumpster diving more often the next couple of weeks to make up for it. That’s no big deal.

When he gets to the thrift store, he slows down as he approaches the door. His hand is poised on the handle, and through the glass he can see those clothing racks which rest in the front half of the store. He purses his lips. The clothes in there will be cheap, no doubt, and he’d considered just buying a bunch of different things that look like they could fit you. He looks down the block, where not much farther is his apartment building. It would be much better if you were here, to try things on. He really doesn’t want to have to guess and potentially end up with too many extra clothes that don’t fit.

His hand drops from the handle. He resumes his walk back to the apartment. When he gets there, he stills at the front door as he tries to listen for anything going on inside. It’s quiet. He’s not sure whether or not to panic because it could mean you’d listened to him and you remained in the flat, waiting for his return and keeping yourself occupied with the books or the video games he had (well, maybe not the video games, it’s not as if you know what those are). It could also mean you’d left, maybe through the window. He’s several floors up but with your magic, getting down wouldn’t have been a problem. When he unlocks the door he hopes desperately it’s the former.

He ends up being right. You’ve stayed. But what he wasn’t expecting was to come home to  you casting a spell in the middle of his living room.

He freezes momentarily when he sees you sitting there on the couch, legs crossed and eyes glowing a shade of white to match your hair, before he remembers to shut the door behind him.  He does it quickly, and the loud thud as it clicks back into place grabs your attention. You close your eyes and when they open, they’re normal again. Your blue eyes are wide in surprise at his return, which had interrupted your task.

“What were you doing?” Peter asks worriedly. He starts glancing around at what he can see of the apartment to see if there’s any indication that the spell, or any you could’ve casted earlier while he was out, had messed it up in any way. Because he’ll need to put it all in order before Aunt May came back. This prompts him to look at his watch: he’s got 2 hours before she’s home.

“A clairvoyance spell,” you explain. “Nothing dangerous. I’ve been trying to detect any other mystical presence. It could be the source of what’s happened.”

Peter nods as he digests this information. It makes sense for you to know clairvoyance. It’s one of the spells he had—you had?—begun the campaign with. It’s low level, simple. “And? Anything?”

You shake your head with a frown. “Nothing.”

Peter sighs. It isn’t entirely unexpected. It was too much to hope that it would be as easy as that. “We’ll get it figured out, I promise. But for now, we need to get you into some new clothes. You can’t stay in your mage robes.”

You look down at what you’re wearing. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“No one wears anything like that.” Unless they’re role-playing, he wants to say, but he stops himself because how would you know what that is?

“All right…” you trail off. “So what do I wear instead?”

“We’re going to buy some right now. But let’s get you into a more… normal-looking outfit before we leave.” He motions for you to follow him to his bedroom, and you wait on his bed as he searches around his closet for anything you could wear. He pulls out his Midtown High School sweatshirt, which has been freshly washed and hung up, but takes slightly longer finding bottoms for you. Eventually he pulls out a pair track pants.

“Here.” He hands the two articles of clothing to you. You take them but look at them as though they’re something alien. “They’re gonna be a little large, but it’s better than nothing.”

You set the clothes down on the bed and stand up. You shed your scarf, tossing it to the side. The soft bundle lands with a quiet plop. When you begin to undo the ties of your tunic, Peter sputters. “I’ll, uh… I’ll wait outside,” he tells you, and before you can say anything, he rushes out, closing the door a little too hard on accident. He takes a deep breath as he tries to ignore the blush on his face.

While waiting for you to change he searches the shoe closet for sneakers that might fit you. He takes a look at what Aunt May has and finds an old pair of red Chucks she clearly doesn't wear anymore, seeing as they were all the way in the back. The red is dull and the laces are gray—the signs of a well-worn pair of shoes. He turns the shoes over in his hands to look for the size as he walks back to his room. He hears the doorknob twist and he stops short in the hallway when you open the door and come to stand in the frame.

As expected, the clothes are large for you. The shoulder seams of the sweatshirt are way past your own shoulders, and the sleeves are much too long. You’ve tried to pull up the material to prevent it from covering your hands, the excess fabric bunching up at the bends of your elbows. You have the same issue with the track pants, which you’ve folded at the bottom a few times so you wouldn’t trip. Peter can’t help but think how cute you look like that. He’s never had a girl wear his clothes before but now that he’s experiencing it, he discovers he enjoys it a lot.

“Are you all right?” you ask, brows furrowed in concern, and that’s when he snaps out of his train of thought.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Peter laughs nervously. “I found these. Tell me how they fit. They’re my aunt’s.” He hands you the shoes, which you’re able to slip on without having to untie them.

You wiggle your toes. “They fit fine. Your aunt won’t mind if I borrow them?”

“No, she doesn’t wear them anymore. She won’t even notice they’ve gone missing.”

You take a few test steps, getting used to the feeling of them on your feet. They’re definitely a change from your normal boots. “Okay.”

The moment the two of you step out of the apartment building, you pause to take in your surroundings. It’s not as bright outside now but it isn’t any less magnificent. The buildings here are so unlike what you have in Galerion. You lower your gaze to the streets when you hear the whoosh of cars, your brows furrowed as you watch the unfamiliar machines travel down the roads. The stoplights flash red and yellow and green and they bounce off the cars waiting at the intersections. At the end of the block, the crosswalk sign turns green and while you can’t hear it, Peter can pick up the sound of clicking, a signal for blind pedestrians that it’s safe to cross. He studies the wonder on your face as you look in awe at everything, even though to him this block is nothing exciting. He sees it every day.

“This is incredible,” you breathe out.

The statement makes Peter smile. “It’s just a small bit of what New York has to offer, believe me. Come on.” He gently sets a hand at the small of your back to guide you down the sidewalk.

When you arrive at the thrift store, Peter pulls the door open for you, and you blink a few times as you adjust to the fluorescent lighting. You follow him to the clothing rack, but when you get there, you stand still, not entirely sure what to do. He picks up on this quickly.

“Just find anything you like,” he explains.

You nod slowly, eyes roving over the numerous racks of clothing. He smiles encouragingly, and you start to walk down the first aisle, running your fingers along the clothes that hang there. Peter watches you for a moment to make sure you’re okay before he pulls up his jacket sleeve to look at his watch: 4:30. There’s an hour until Aunt May should be coming home. That should be enough time.

He wants to look at the electronics aisle just for fun, but knows he can’t let you out of his sight since you don't have a phone and he can’t risk having a lost mage running around New York. He tucks his hands into his pockets and he waits. He doesn’t even notice the smile that creeps onto his face as he watches you, and it widens when you make your way back to him, armed with several articles of clothing.

“All right, now you have to try these on.”

“You can do that without buying them?” you question, trailing behind Peter as he walks toward the changing rooms. He finds an empty one and holds an arm out to let you know you can head inside.

“I’ll be waiting right here,” he informs you.

He’d forgotten his earphones this time around, so he’s stuck listening to more of the screeching as hangers slide along the metal racks. He sighs as he stands there, analyzing the current situation, if only to help block out the grating noise. You’re under the impression you’ve been transported from your universe to his, and that isn’t the case. You’d simply been brought to life—and by what? By who? Peter has never felt so confused. He might be Spiderman and he might deal with far beyond what the normal teenager does, but this kind of stuff, it’s not something he’s even remotely familiar with. Whenever he does find what or who did this, what is he supposed to do then? There is no “home” to send you back to, as you believe. Did that mean you were stuck here? How could he possibly break that kind of news to you?

“Everything fits fine,” you comment as you open the door, clothing bundled up in your arms.

Peter forces a smile onto his face. “Great. Let’s get these paid for.”

The same lady is working the register as the last time he was here. You wait patiently behind him as he pays, eyes glued to the type of currency they use. There’s no gold exchanged. Peter pulls out a plastic rectangle and inserts it into a small machine. That’s all you’re really able to follow. He tells the lady thank you after the clothes are bagged and he picks it up before you leave the store.

“So… what did you do today, while I was gone?” Peter asks as the two of you walk back to the apartment.

You shrug. “I took a look at some of the books you had.”

“And?”

“They’re interesting. Certainly different from all the spell books and tomes I studied in Galerion.”

It sounds strange for Peter to hear you say this, to talk about this realm of yours like you truly do live there. “You were a student?”

You nod. “I was a wizard’s apprentice before my companions and I left to hunt for Caligari. Caligari is a ruthless monster who’s decimated city-states without batting an eye, and we aim to defeat him, no matter what it takes.”

The more you say, the more Peter comes to understand. This matches his character sheet perfectly. You learned magic as an apprentice before Caligari destroyed Rimmen, as recounted by Ned, the current campaign DM. It seems you’d come to life with the background Peter had given you and what they’d covered in the adventure so far. It makes sense that you truly believe you’d been transported from there to here.

“What’s that?” You stop walking to point at the pizza joint, with its neon sign and a poster of a pepperoni pizza which advertises some special deal for “a limited time only.”

“Pizza,” Peter says matter-of-factly. He glances at you and the curiosity in your eyes is hard to miss. He looks at his watch again: 5:20. At this point, they’ll be late anyway. So he smiles, corner of his lips tilting up. “Come on, I’ll buy you a slice.”

You wait for him at the table in the corner, the plastic bag filled with your clothes sitting on the floor next to you. The lighting in here is brighter than what had been in the thrift store, and it glares off the table tops. There’s a little girl a few tables away staring at you, and you smile softly in hello. The woman across from her whom you assume is the mother sees this and smiles back.

“I think she was looking at your hair, that little girl,” Peter remarks as he sits down across from you. He has a slice of pizza on a paper plate which he sets in front of you, along with a cup of water.

“Is there something wrong with my hair?” you ask, reaching up to feel if there are any unruly strands.

Peter chuckles. “No, but it’s white.”

“Is that strange here?” You try to pick up the slice of pizza but feel awfully clumsy doing so, using your fingers to support it as you bring it to your mouth.

“Usually the only people that have white hair are old.”

You take a bite of the pizza, and when you pull it away, some of the cheese stretches. Peter watches in amusement as you try to break the string, and when you finally do, you’re able to set the slice back down on the plate.

“How is it?” he asks.

You swallow and grab the water. “Greasy.”

“Sounds about right.”

It’s almost 6 PM when the two of you return to the apartment. When you’re at the front door and Peter’s unlocking it, he glances at you. “I need to see if my aunt is there so just wait for a second, okay?” You nod and remain where you are, holding your bag of clothes, as he steps inside He doesn’t see Aunt May in the lounge, nor the kitchenette, but he can see light peeking out from the crack at the bottom of her bedroom door. Silently he walks back out to you and motions you inside.

Stay quiet, he mouthes, and you’re swift and light on your feet as you walk to his bedroom. You set the plastic bag down by his desk and turn around to face him as he enters behind you and closes the door.  

“So where will our search begin?” you inquire, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Is there a library we can go to?”

“We have libraries,” Peter begins as he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it on the back of his desk chair, “but they don’t have tomes or anything like that.”

“Right,” you say, remembering what he’d say this morning. “No magic here.”

Peter smiles slightly. “Exactly.”

“So what do you use to research?”

“The Internet. There’s all kinds of stuff there.”

“Brilliant.” You clap your hands together. “And where is this ‘Internet’?”

Peter walks over to his desk to pick up his laptop and hold it up. “It’s here.”

Your brows furrow. “But that’s so… small.”

“The Internet isn’t physical. It doesn’t need a lot of space.” He sits next to you and opens his laptop, and your eyes are glued to the screen attentively. He opens the browser and goes to an online newspaper, showing you the array of articles that appear in seconds. He sneaks a glance over to you and you’re clearly very enamored with the piece of technology. It’s almost endearing. No one ever gets this excited about the power of the Internet anymore.

“May I?”

It takes a moment for Peter to understand what you mean, but when he does, he immediately says of course. He balances the laptop on his lap as you set your fingers on the trackpad, and your smile widens when the cursor on screen moves along with the movement of your finger. You follow what he did and tap the trackpad once to open up articles, and you might be skimming them, you might not. He speculates you’re too caught up in the wonder of it to really try to read.

“Since this is already here, we can begin our search tonight?” Your hand leaves the trackpad and you return your attention to him.

The smile on Peter’s face drops. “Not quite. We still need to know what to search, and right now we don’t know anything. I think I might know someone who will that I can talk to tomorrow. But in the mean time…”

“No research.”

“No research.” Peter shakes his head.

You sigh, and it’s rife with dejection. “If we must.”

“Sorry.”

At this, you smile a little as you glance at him. “Don’t be. We can’t make morning come faster. Only the greatest of magic users can manipulate time.”

He stands to set his laptop back down on his desk. “I have some work I need to do for school. Will you be okay while I do that?”

“I’ll be fine.” You stand and walk over to the shelf where his books rest. You run the pad of your index finger along the spines. “You have many books and I have the time to read them.”

“Great.” Peter smiles. He settles down at his desk and pulls his backpack next to him while you settle down on the bed with his copy of Down and Out in Paris and London. He'd bought that book for an essay earlier this year, but he’d never finished it, stretched thin as he was with his other homework and patrolling Queens. He distinctly remembers getting to page 84 three days before the essay was due, giving up on it, and writing the paper with what meager knowledge he had the night before the due date. He got a 95%.

The homework for tonight moves slowly. Peter’s history review notes are all over the place, due to his inability to focus in class. He’ll need to ask Ned if he can look at his notes tomorrow. He ends up saving English for last because it’s just more poems and if he tries to read them now he’ll fall asleep immediately. At least with chemistry it requires him to be actually write, and that can keep him awake. He’s halfway through the problems assigned for the night when he hears you shuffle around.

He looks back over his shoulder to see you’ve set the book down next to you so you can lean over to grab the camera he has sitting on the nightstand. He’d bought it a couple of months ago, and he has an extra pack of film stored in the drawer, but he hadn’t even gotten through the first pack. He sets his pencil down and settles for watching you, to give his mind a break. You turn the thing over in your hands, locating the viewfinder and putting it against your eye.

“That’s a Polaroid camera,” he pipes up, and you set the camera down to look at him. He moves to sit on the edge of the bed and gently takes the camera from you. You scoot up to be closer, as you’d been leaning against the pillows. “You use this to frame the picture”—he points at the viewfinder—“and when you take it, it comes out here.” He turns the camera around to point at the slit in the front.

Your eyes are concentrated on the camera, and you can’t help but smile. “I know you’ve said there’s no magic in this universe but I’m inclined to disagree.”

Peter smiles softly. “Here, I’ll take a photo of you.” He’s adjusting the light meter when you speak again.

“Why not a take one of both of us?”

Peter doesn’t look up immediately but when he does his smile is wider due to the idea you present. “I can try, but no promises that it’ll come out well.” He turns the polaroid around so it faces the two of you, and he leans his head to the left to motion you closer. You slide over, shoulder to shoulder with him, and he hopes he’s angling the lens correctly to get the two of you in frame properly. You glance at Peter to find him smiling, so you grin at the camera as well, and then suddenly there’s a bright flash which momentarily obscures your vision.

“Sorry,” Peter apologizes as he lowers the camera, which now begins buzzing as the photo slides out.

“Do they all flash so brightly?” you ask.

“The older ones do. You can turn that off in newer cameras.” He grabs the photo carefully. Since it’s fresh, it’s still blank, and you point this out.

“There’s nothing there.”

“It needs time to develop, so you store it somewhere dark.” He puts the camera back on the nightstand and stores the photo in the drawer.  

“How is the school work?” You motion toward the desk, which has since become a mess of papers and textbooks. Peter follows your gaze and sighs as he too studies the materials on his desk.

“Boring. Slow. Tiring.” He shrugs.

You laugh. “I felt the same with all the work my mentor would assign me. Studying late into the night and waking up early to train in the field. It was frustrating, but it was worth it.”

Peter smiles. The way you stare at the far wall, as if remembering memories not called upon for a long time, he could swear that maybe everything—the realm of Galerion, your training, the destruction of Rimmen—was real. The way you act, the memories you have, the expressiveness in your eyes and the softness of the smiles you grace him with… It is all so real. As he considers this, it’s now him who’s having difficulty coming to terms with the idea that your very being is made up. You’d been a figment of his imagination. And now you sit here before him, in his Midtown High School sweatshirt and his track pants which are much too large for you. This morning he wondered if he was dreaming. He knows now that he isn’t.

It's another couple of hours until he’s just about finished with his homework. He pauses momentarily to roll his neck, stretching the muscles after having looked down at his work for so long. You’d fallen asleep a while ago. Peter puts his homework away in his backpack and makes his way to the bathroom to get ready for bed. It’s been a long, very confusing day, and he can’t help the sigh that escapes him when he showers.

Before he leaves the bathroom, he grabs his jeans which he’d left on the counter and empties the pockets before he tosses them in the hamper. He grabs his wallet, some change, and his pen. He carries all of this with him to the room. The first two things he sets on his desk, but the last he starts to put away in his backpack. He’s tucked it into the front pocket, but then he pauses. He pulls it out and studies it, rotating it in his hand. The expression on his face shifts to one of realization. He stands slowly, and his eyes slide from the pen to you.

What else could it be?

You popping into existence the day after he’d drawn you is too much of a coincidence. You looked just like the drawing, right down to your clothes. Peter huffs and rubs at his temples. A pen is basically the cause of the entire ordeal. It’s no ordinary pen, that’s for sure, but what had it been doing sitting in a secondhand store? It’s very clearly a magical artifact that shouldn’t be there, yet it had been. He supposes this could’ve gone worse. Someone else could’ve taken it, set such things into motion, and not known how to deal with them. Peter won’t deny that despite his inexperience with magic, he’s still better equipped than most. He’s glad he hadn’t decided to draw a dragon or something. The notion of a pen he found in a thrift store being this powerful is kind of ironic, he can’t help but think.

If this pen is what’s started it all, you aren’t the only one it’s brought to life. Peter had drawn Caligari as well. When he remembers this, he almost wants to punch himself in the face, never mind that he had no way of knowing the powers this pen held. Although he wasn’t too far into the D&D campaign, he knew a fair amount about its main villain, and he knew that at this point your companions were still too weak to face him—you on your own, even more so.

He walks up to his window and gazes outside as if he’ll see Caligari standing there somewhere.  But he knows he won’t. New York is large and, well, who’s to say he is in New York anymore? Had he gone somewhere else, to a new state even? There’s no way to track him, and with his shapeshifting abilities, he could be practically anyone. Was he laying low for now? Peter would’ve expected Caligari to wreak havoc the moment he’d spawned, yet there hadn’t been anything disastrous reported. Aside from you showing up, it was a normal day—as normal as a day like this can get, anyway.

Peter glances over at you. You’re hugging a pillow to your chest. Had Caligari sensed you at all? You hadn’t sensed him after doing your clairvoyance spell, but then again, you may not have the precision to detect more powerful mystical beings, early on in the game as you technically still are.

With a sigh, he turns off the lamp and goes to his closet, digging around for some extra blankets. There’s no room on the top bunk from all that he’s stored there, and he’s too tired to move any of it. He grabs one of the extra pillows from it instead before laying down on the ground, doing his best to get comfortable on the wooden floor. To clear more space he has to push aside clothes he’d haplessly thrown around. He really should clean up his room.

Once he’s finally settled, he stares up at the ceiling, the blood rushing to his head so forcefully he has to close his eyes for a moment. There is now an actual threat out there somewhere in New York (hopefully, which is strange to say, but it’s the best case scenario because at least Peter can reach him), and he's the cause. It won’t be fun seeking out that help he’d mentioned to you earlier, but he has no choice.

A heavy feeling bubbles in the pit of his stomach. He rolls onto his side, staring at the pile of clothes to his right and listening to the sound of your breathing. This is not a good week.

PART TWO

#peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #tom holland x reader #peter parker imagine #spiderman imagine #tom holland imagine #peter parker #spiderman #tom holland #bubble-tea-bunny

[sy-maya]

Passage to New Zealand and next steps

Stats until now: sailing for 3.5 years, 18′130 nautical miles (33′580 km)

Family and friends ask us about our next steps. What next? Where do we go? What will we do? How long still? The short and the long answer is: We don’t know yet. But we’ll let you know as soon as we figure it out. In the next days, we have to do some repairs on Maya, haul her out, organize all that. Herbert has to catch up with work (Shortcut). Then, we’d like to do some sight seeing with the kiddos (Christmas?), etc. After that, we will see… Stay tuned! ;-)

In the meantime, here is our passage to NZ day by day. Thanks to our dear friend Grégoire Meylan for posting these in out FB page and thank you all for your motivating comments!

Some impressions can be found here: FB Album NZ Passage 

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Day 1: Between Storm and Hurricane November 16-17, 2017

We left Tongatapu yesterday at noon and had a smooth start. Our friends Peter and Renate from the German boat SY Mardos left 2 hours ahead. Cool to have a sailing buddy. Even if we don’t see them, it’s good to know that there is somebody close by. We were analyzing the weather together for weeks, making Excel sheets and weighting different options (the good old German/Swiss way). A bit of background information. This passage is probably the most tricky/dangerous one we ever made. Until now we were stable trade-wind sailors, but down here, the weather changes from one hour to the other. Predictions are very unreliable e.g. now we should have 10 knots wind. In fact we have 20 knots. This is a 100% error :-/. At least the direction is correct. Also, there are weekly spring storms raging on the north coast of New Zealand (up to 30S). There is one right now with wind speeds of a predicted 50 knots. This means gusts up to 60-70 knots in reality. Not good. In comparison, you can imagine holding your head out of the car window at 140km/h. Now imagine it is your entire home that is looking out of that car window and on top of the street rushes 8-9m waves. We don’t want that and that’s the reason why we did not leave last time we planned to. We might have just passed before that storm, but any problem with the engine at the wrong moment could happen and boooom. We are so happy though, that our friends from SY Carapitanga and SY MeliMela just made it on time this morning! The weather window we are taking right now looks much better, at least for now. Weather might still change and will change. Second reason why this is a tricky passage are the hurricanes in the South Pacific. The season started November 1st. Even if there are no reported hurricanes before December 1st in Tonga, we do not want to risk to stay too long. Hurricanes are also very unpredictable constructs. There are outliers in every season. We checked before leaving and there is no hurricane in sight down here. We are right between storm and hurricane. Good that we get weather on board and have daily radio rounds with our friends here. Thanks HAM radio.

Due to the tricky weather here, some of our friend sailors (actually most of them) rely on the help of some weather guru. We don’t. He sent about 16 boats to New Zealand at the wrong time. They were all stuck at Minerva, a reef in the middle of the ocean, for almost 2 weeks in order to take a very risky weather window (the one we decided to avoid). We hope they all arrived safe and sound in New Zealand. But of course, at the end, everyone is free to do what they want, but we prefer to listen to our guts and blame only ourselves if something goes wrong.

Initially, we wanted to see Minerva, a reef about 2 days SW from Tonga in the middle of the ocean. However, the current wind direction below 30S does not allow for a visit (reminds us when we wanted to see Coco Island from Costa Rica to Galapagos and the wind was blowing from the wrong direction. History is repeating). We never made it there. Most ‘experts’ say to go west and then south to catch the west winds after 30S. Currently, the wind blows from E down there and this already since weeks. A change in the wind pattern cannot be seen. Therefore, we go South, until the SE wind comes in. Completely against all sailing literature. (BTW, there are tens of boats waiting in Fiji and New Caledonia already for weeks to cross, but they have the wind right against, and Hurricanes in the back).

Hope our guts will be right and we will make it safe and sound. So far so good.

Fun fact: By going south, we crossed the political time zone again to yesterday and will cross it once more in a couple of days to tomorrow. Don’t ask what day it is here :-)

We had Chili con Carne for lunch&dinner.

position at 9pm UTC+/-??? https://waypoint.li/map?q=-24.872,-175.0814

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Day 2: Active volcanos and pitted dates. November 17-18, 2017

We’re still heading straight south to catch the wind. The night was calm and nice. This morning, we started the engine to keep up the speed. At least, we listen to one of the sailor golden rules for the NZ crossing: DO NOT SPARE THE FUEL, KEEP UP THE SPEED WITH OR WITHOUT WIND! ;-) But still, we fly reef III on the main sail, safety first! We’ve sailed 360 NM, and there are 7xx NM more to go. Our average speed is 6.3kn. It was a lovely day, with smooth (motor)sailing. Even the sun decided to show up at the late afternoon, just in time to give us a wonderful sunset. So far so good.

The boys are fine, very energetic and challenging :-) They are quite excited by the surrounding sea trenches (more than 10km deep) and volcanic activities. We showed them on the map how we are crossing a geologically interesting (and scaring) active underwater area. So, instead of watching for dolphins or whales, they are fantasizing about eventual volcanos “Did you see that? I spotted some smoke, it is definitely a volcano!”.

We had yummy butternut Tortelloni for lunch and a chocolate-banana-dates-sesame cake for dessert. We’re trying to use all the “forbidden” items before coming to NZ. No fresh food, no dairy, no seeds, no lentils, etc. They have a very strict list in order to preserve their beautiful islands. The main question among sailors before leaving Tonga was “Do you need by any chance some lentils?”. It became a running gag ;-) For the story, our friends Meri&Manu from SY Carapitanga/Paprika, gave us a big bag of dates before heading to NZ. Asma was very happy and proud to find out that they were actually from Tunisia! Yeaaaah! The bag is almost empty now ;-) Position at 9pm UTC+/-??? https://waypoint.li/map?q=-26.732,-175.21

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Day 3: South, More South, Most South November 18-19, 2017

Again nice sailing, smooth conditions. The weather forecast seems to be reliable and stable. We are very grateful, so far so good. After sailing straight south since we left Tonga, today we switched to bearing Whangarei, NZ. 480NM behind us, and still 655 NM to go. We crossed this afternoon the 28S longitude, we have never been so far South. The most South we got was Pitcairn Islands (25S) in September 2016, when we first crossed the Pacific from Galapagos. We are all excited about it :-) Small things in sailing life. The air temperature is still nice here, and we are enjoying every bit of it, because our friends on the radio are complaining about the ice cold NZ! Brrrrr. We had a butternut soup for lunch. Soup leftovers and pop corn for dinner ;-). Yummy.

Position at 9pm UTC-11 (we figured it out, officially, it’s Sat 18th here until we cross the date line again.) https://waypoint.li/map?q=-28.603,-176.418

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Day 4: Half distance November 19-20, 2017

While writing these lines, we are only a few miles away from half the distance to Whangarei - New Zealand. Today, nothing spectacular but the sunrise, the sunset, the starry sky, and a splendid day of sailing. We read a lot to the kids. Adam is in Harry Potter fever and Herbert got addicted too (again). So he finished the remaining three chapters of the second book. Adam was so impressed that Asma had to tell him a lot of bedtime stories to get his mind off the scary passages. Samy didn’t understand all the details - better for his sleep quality. ;-)

Position: https://waypoint.li/map?q=-30.00,-177.04

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Day 5: Wind of Change ;-) November 20-21, 2017

After a quiet night, the wind is turning to the right side (From S to SE). Exactly as forecasted. The bearing is 230, straight to Whangarei NZ. Still 440NM to go. We’re passing the Kermadec Ridge right at this moment. Quite rough seas with gusts up to 30 knots (“Dream conditions” for Herbert, “Not So” for Asma but OK, the boys are sleeping). Quite impressive to be in these surroundings. Volcanos -new and old-, marine reserves, birds everywhere. We even spotted our first Albatross, which was following us for more than an hour. Amazing beast! Herbert somehow managed to injure his left hand. It got infected and quite swollen, which led to fever and weakness. Trying to fix him with antibiotic ointment. Last green lentils, carrots and potatoes stew for lunch&dinner.

Position: https://waypoint.li/map?q=-31.072,-178.917

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Day 6: 180 West or 180 East? November 21-22, 2017

The day started with a celebration: we crossed the 180W/E longitude line (and therefore the date line once again)! We have officially circumnavigated half the globe. Our last watermelon has been opened for the occasion ;-). The sailing has been quite bumpy, according to Asma, who is more than looking forward to its direction changing easterly so that we have the wind more from the stern! Herbert and the boys, of course, find it very cool. Maya is rocking, and after all it’s much more fun to play with toy cars when the floor of the living room is inclined by 30 degrees. There are not many houses like this out there. Adam had the ingenious idea to build a sleigh with our IKEA plates. It worked fine and it didn’t take long until the first plate broke… Because of these conditions, only leftovers for lunch (lentils yet again) and some crackers and pop corn for dinner. No way to cook! Even washing the dishes or moving from A to B reveals to be very sporty and to be carefully planned for. The good thing is that we could spot our buddy SV MARDOS since yesterday night and still now, we are about 3NM apart and could talk on the VHF radio! Funny! Herbert’s injury is not getting better, therefore we switched to antibiotics. The wound looks like a volcano by now! He feels a little better, though. Some readers might wonder what we are doing during our night watches when outside it’s freezing and the waves transform Maya into a roller coaster. Asma is watching Big Bang Theory and Herbert - officially on holiday - is (as a hobby) helping a Swiss startup implementing some features for their iPhone app. What a nerdy family ;o) Still 294NM to go. Good night! Position: https://waypoint.li/map?q=-32.60,178.73

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Day 7: Last night? November 22-23, 2017

After a rocky night, we had a very nice and smooth sailing day. Sun, no waves, perfect wind (Herbert: boring ;-) ). Well, the temperature is getting lower and lower (air at 20 and water at 18 degrees), and we adapt our layers of clothing, so it goes from 0 (only underwear) to 1 (t-shirt for Herbert) or 2 layers (fleece jacket and thick socks for Asma). The boys start with more layers after waking up, but end up with underwear after a few hours. Maya is well isolated, so we only notice the cold when we go outside, which happens less and less by the way… Bye bye tropics :-(

Still, we are all excited for the next chapter of our family journey. We have been sailing one week from Tonga, and it is - most probably - our last night at sea for a long time. Asma was very busy emptying the provisions, so there was much more cooking than yesterday: a bread with (last) whole grain flour and (last) seeds for breakfast, Gnocchis with (last) fresh tomatoes for lunch, a cake with (last) eggs, and (last) hazelnuts and (last) dates for the snack; and finally (last) sausages for dinner. For the New Zealand immigration, we have to get rid of all food items before arriving, and give a list of all “risk goods”. Herbert has been filling these forms. He could even call the officials on the maritime radio via SSB, to inform them of our soon arrival. His hand is getting better, but still a bit weak. The antibiotics are doing their job.

1042 NM behind us and less than 140NM to go until the customs berth in Marsden Cove marina, Whangarei NZ.

Position: https://waypoint.li/map?q=-34.268,176.459

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Day 8: Arrival November 23-24, 2017

At midnight, Herbert woke Asma up for her shift with a “We have a problem, the wind is gone, and the temporary autopilot doesn’t want to work, argh!”. Asma put on 5 layers of clothes and went outside to steer by hand. Herbert tried and tried to fix the problem without success, so he eventually went to sleep until his next shift. Asma was actually very happy to be steering outside despite the cold. It was our last night sailing (well at least for a while ;-)), so we fully enjoyed the starry sky and the peacefulness of the night. It gave us the opportunity to think about all this amazing journey.

At 6:30am, the kids woke up, put warm clothes on and went outside with Asma. Adam could steer, while she prepared their breakfast. He was so proud to help :-) At 10am, Herbert woke up and started to fix the autopilot again. Debugging. At 11am, it was working! Yesss, now, no time to sleep or rest, we have to clean the boat for clearance because we want to arrive today!! And we will. We could have slowed the pace and spent another night on sea but no, we want to arrive on Friday, as planned ;-)

Maya was grateful to be cared of and to be clean and neat. Even the boys were like “Ah wow, Maya looks nice like this!”. And both of us thought ”THAT’S THE WAY SHE WOULD BE IF YOU KIDS WOULDN’T MAKE A MESS ALL THE TIME”, but we didn’t say it. We’ve just asked them to keep her like this at least until the customs come in next day, otherwise they wouldn’t let us stay in New Zealand. Hihihi develish parents, but it worked :-) For lunch, we had some precooked French delicatessen: Boeuf Bourguignon and Ratatouille :-)

At 5pm, the boys were screaming “Land in Sight! We see New Zealand!”. So cool. We will make it. They went to bed to sleep a little bit in order to be fit when we arrive late. That’s what Samy did, except that he never woke up until next morning ;-) Adam was so excited, he couldn’t stay still for 1s, so we let him stay awake with us, and enjoy the breathtaking scenery outside. For dinner, Herbert, who was still in the mood of French cuisine, and who didn’t want to throw away all onions and garlic, cooked a wonderful onion soup. Yummy!

By 8:30pm, Adam was getting tired and overexcited. He could only calm down and sleep when Herbert laid with him in bed and promised to wake him up when we arrive. Which we actually did, but he was so tired, he just fell back asleep ;-) Herbert took radio contact with the NZ harbor to announce our arrival. It was getting dark, we were tired but also excited, that instead of taking shifts to rest, we just sat together outside to steer and enjoy our last miles under a new moon, clear sky, shooting stars, flat sea, and welcoming land lights. It was very emotional. We are really here. We did it. Amazing.

The harbor entry was quite tricky at night, we were so happy to have the navigation charts. It all went well with a huge amount of Adrenalin. At 11:15pm, we were safely docked at the customs’ berth at Marsden Cove Marina. Exhausted but overwhelmed by gratefulness.

Good night from New Zealand!

Position: https://waypoint.li/map?q=-35.8367,174.4686

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Day 9: Ship capsized and sank November 24-25, 2017

At 6:30am, the boys woke up and cheered “WE ARE IN NEW ZEALAND!!!”. No way to sleep any longer :-). We woke up, took our breakfast, and cleared up. At 8:20am, the immigration officer arrived, followed later by the quarantine one. This latter was Mike Barker, the guy we met in Vava’u during the “Blue Water Festival” (Corresponding blogpost still to come), and who we asked all about food clearance in NZ. Nice to see a familiar face at arrival. It went all well, and at 9:20am, we were officially cleared in! We learned from the custom officials that two ships didn’t make the trip. One ship has to be abandoned, the other sank. The crew, however, could be saved in both cases. We were shocked. This happened exactly in the weather window we wanted to take first, but finally didn’t take (see one of the FB posts). Lesson learned: wait, wait, wait, until weather is stable.

It’s amazing how the clearance procedure in New Zealand is dramatized. Adjectives such as difficult, expensive, impossible, tedious, long, etc. are often used to describe it. People start preparing already months before arrival. The truth is: It is very easy to clear in to New Zealand. The assistance of the officials is unbelievable and it takes no longer than 15 minutes to get cleared. This is about 4 times faster than Tonga for example. Not to mention the countries in Latin America. There is not much paper work to be done and it doesn’t cost a cent. Well, that is OUR experience, may be, we were indeed very well prepared ;-)

After clearance, we moved straight to our berth B52 (what a great berth name ;-) ). At 10am, we left the boat and went exploring the marina.

The Marsden Cove Marina is outside of Whangarei, the main city here. There is not much. Therefore, it took us quite some time to get decent Internet to write these posts.

By the way, Herbert’s hand is getting better. He hasn’t been to a doctor yet (everything is closed), but first thing on Monday.

The little we saw so far - the meadows, the woods, the cows, etc. - reminds us of Switzerland. Well, there are some palm trees, but otherwise, really similar. On top of that, everything is so clean. What also hit us was that everybody is so white. Really white skin. Or pale? ;-) The ‘small’ supermarket has everything one can imagine (well, at least for us) we bought fresh vegetables (Broccoli, which we missed most during our trip), fruits (KIWIS ;-), strawberries and blueberries), some meat, CHEESE :-))) to prepare a nice dinner. On Maya, the meat already marinated, and the veggies chopped, we fired up the stove. At least, we wanted to fire it up. However, it didn’t work. Gas was empty. Wow, how lucky are we. If this would have happened some days or hours earlier… Anyway, what now? It’s late Saturday afternoon. When do the stores close here? Let’s ask our neighbors form SY Tregoning if they can help somehow. Luckily, they had a spare gas bottle. We hooked it up and were able to start cooking. While Herbert prepared dinner, Asma went to check whether the shop was still open and had some gas. Yeah, it did. We were saved.

After dinner, we watched a movie with the kids and went all early to bed. Good night!

Position: https://waypoint.li/map?q=-35.8373,174.4685

#sailingonmaya #sailingwithkids

[theliterateape]

Well, He Jizzed On Me: A 15 Year Case Study in Owning a Cat

by Peter Kremidas

On the third day after I had adopted Gus Gus, he jizzed on me.

He hadn’t yet been neutered. I was in my fifth year (victory lap) at Purdue. My Women’s Study professor had sent an email the week prior asking if any student would be willing to adopt him. Gus Gus’ first caretakers were her and her partner, who had named him the Egyptian word for cat, whatever that is.

He was a stray. When they found him, somebody had tried to shave him and he had knicks and cuts all over his body. He was probably abused.

My professor’s partner was, unfortunately, allergic to cats. So he needed a new home. I said yes because I thought it would get me an A. I did get an A, but not because of Gus Gus. I think.

I named him Gus Gus on the second day because for some reason he kept smelling things and walking around with his mouth open. It reminded me of the mouse from Cinderella. Naming a cat after a mouse is hilarious. He was thusly and everafter known as Gus Gus. And anybody who knew Gus Gus will tell you, he knew his name. He would even come when called (most times).

I was always a dog person. But Gus Gus was great. He’d play fetch, he could literally play for hours. He made a lot of people laugh. He’d greet me and my roommates at the door, every place I lived. He was a nice guy.

When Gus Gus was a kitten, the only place for his litter box was next to my toilet. One of my earliest memories of this cat was him lovingly looking at me over his shoulder while we both shit. I laughed so hard that I started shitting harder, which made me laugh harder. It was a self perpetuating cycle of laughing and shitting that I never wish to share again with any living thing.

“Rrrrp?” said Gus Gus, as he dutifully buried his treasure.

One time, after being gone all day, I came home and found that he had dragged the rug from the back bathroom up to the front bathroom, and dragged the one from the front to the back one. There was no other explanation for why the rugs got switched. They were haphazardly placed. One was only halfway in its new restroom. Neither of them properly flat. Gus Gus was a horrendous interior decorator.

Everybody liked him. And Gus Gus knew this, because that’s what I’d tell him. For 15 years he’d just kind of lay next to me or on me while I played video games. Every loading screen he’d hear it, plain spoken, “Hey, you know everybody likes you right?”

“Meow.”

“I know. You weren’t even trying. But that’s what they say.”

“Rrrrp?”

“Don’t take my word for it, ask them.”

He had a little diamond shaped white patch on his forehead. That’s where he liked to be pet. He could fall asleep that way.

If you sneezed, Gus would click his tongue at you. It was like he was saying “bless you”.

At night he’d sleep on top of me, or right next to my head. There were attempts to sleep on my head.

The years went. He came to me from home to home, always happy to meet new people. But, probably due to the abuse he likely endured, he didn’t like to be held by anyone but me, and he only tolerated me. He wanted to hang out, and he was friendly. But Gus Gus was your buddy, not your baby. But everybody liked him.

Eventually I started working almost exclusively from home. Gus Gus was with me all the time.

He started getting skinny. I took him to the vet. Bad teeth. Tried soft food. He wasn’t eating much. His energy went away so slowly you barely noticed it.

One day I came home and poor Gus Gus was just laying there. He’d made a mess.

I tried to clean him off with warm water. I put him on his favorite blanket near the radiator. He wouldn’t eat or drink anything. He couldn’t walk. He was shutting down.

I called the vet.

Two nights previous, fearing this very thing, I stayed in on a Friday and just hung out with him. He laid on my lap, I bet him and cried a little. And that turned out to be the last bit of quality I got to spend with this creature that had been such a staple in my life for 15 years. He never judged me, and he chose me. That’s the thing I learned is cool about cats, when they love you and are loyal to you, it’s because they actually want to be, not because they are genetically predisposed to. Say what you want about your pros and cons in the age old cat and dog debate, but that’s a clear point in the cats’ column.

I carried him, wrapped in his favorite blanket.

I took him outside and let him smell the grass. He always loved rolling around in it when he managed to sneak outside.

By the time we got to the vet, he was done. He wasn’t trying to stand at all. He looked so tired.

I pet the little white diamond on his forehead, and told him again about how everyone liked him.

I stayed with him through the process.

And that was the story of Gus Gus.

It included the story of his third day, when I was in bed reading and he started getting cuddly, I was excited about it. He was hugging my arm! What progress!

“rrrrP!” he said with a shudder, then he dashed off to the other side of the room. And, to my surprise, upon my arm lay a map of Hawaii that smelled like a palm that had been holding pennies all day.

I’m not kidding. 

After that the deal was that we can only have two balls between us, and he doesn’t get any. 

It’s quiet now.

I’m still home most of the time, and now there’s just this big empty nothing where this dumb, hilarious, friendly creature used to be. Just a space unoccupied. It just sits there. An emptiness with a presence. Like a wall painted everywhere but where a poster used to hang. 

It hurts, but I want to notice it. I don’t want to forget about it. I want to know that empty space is there, because I don’t want to forget about what used to fill it. Because grief is love with nowhere to put it.

And we move on.

#Cat