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ichorai · 6 months

Text

weave ; coriolanus snow.

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; there was a rose in his hand, you realized. white, just like the one he gave to you when he first met your parents. but it wasn’t for you, since he had yet to hand it over— you figured it was for lucy gray. you would’ve thought it was sweet of him, if only you hadn’t been aware of his motivations to gain her trust. still, you’d be a hypocrite if you criticized him for it. you’d also brought something for your tribute.

words ; 6.8k

themes ; mild fluff/angst, action

warnings / includes ; themes of classism, violence/injury, lucky flickerman is a close family friend of reader's, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

a/n ; there will be a fourth part loosely following the events of the movie (obv tweaked for the fic!)

series masterlist. main masterlist.

It was humiliating, how nervous he was. Reaping day. The Plinth prize was just a whisper away—he could nearly taste it: phantom traces of rich chocolate and edible gold on his dry tongue.

The day before the exams, you’d pulled him into the library for one last study session. You whispered that you would botch one of your papers for him—he certainly needed the Plinth prize more than you. And though he knew that you’d be far more deserving of it (your grades were near impeccable, and impossible for him to try and compete with), he also knew that his pride wouldn’t ever recover from such a blow.

Because how could he face you after that? Knowing that he was… inferior?

And so he told you not to squander your own achievements for him—that he’d figure something out. You spared him a hesitant look, before turning back to your books.

Now that the exams were over and done with, Coriolanus briefly wondered if you went ahead and botched it anyway. An irrational sort of anger flared within his chest. Did you think you were better than him? That he was your charity case?

But all those terrible thoughts—the nastiness sweltering in his chest for days after the exams—dissolved almost immediately after seeing you.

You met him in front of the academy, your dress a lovely shade of crimson, angular at your shoulders but tapering down into flowing ripples below your waist. Like fire, almost. You were glowing, he was sure of it, with the way the sun illuminated only the best of your features—the slope of your nose, the curling of your lips, the glimmer in your eyes.

“Coriolanus,” you greeted with faux formality, tilting your head to the side. He was wearing his dress shirt again—the very one you watched Tigris mend and sew and tinker many, many times. Pinned to his waistcoat was another red rose, matching the shade of your own attire.

He mirrored you, sweeping into a low bow and brandishing another rose out of seemingly nowhere. “For you, darling. Grandma’am said she could spare it—special occasion and all.”

“Oh, don’t call me that,” you said, rolling your eyes at the ridiculous pet name. It was what your parents called each other when they thought nobody was around to hear it—it made you feel old. “And tell Grandma’am thank you. It’s beautiful.”

He smiled, stepping forward to slot the rose behind your ear. “Ready for your Plinth prize?” he asked, fingers lingering by your face, thumb stroking down your jaw.

You sucked in a breath. “I don’t think it’s going to be what either of us expect.”

There was a brief pause. Coriolanus’ eyes narrowed. Had you botched your exams for him?

With a pointed glance to the academy halls, you nudged him forward. “Come on. Everyone’s already inside. Clemmie keeps asking for you.”

The two of you made your way in, weaving between red-uniformed academy students (the ones who weren’t at the very top) and professors. Behind another set of double doors were where all the top-ranking students were mingling. Sipping on bubbling glasses of colorful drinks, picking off delicate foods from ceramic plates.

While Snow was stolen away from you by a few other classmate acquaintances, Sejanus was the first to greet you, shaking your hand enthusiastically. His palms were sweating. You didn’t quite mind. “Congratulations on finishing exams, Y/N. I know how hard you’ve been studying.”

You flashed him a genuine smile. “Congrats to you, too. I’m surprised you’re here at all, actually. I know how you feel about the reaping.”

His expression faltered. “Ma made me come. Moral support for my friends, and all.”

Ma. The word sounded foreign and heavy on the tongue. Unfamiliar… but rather inviting. Homely, in a way. Despite your initial silence, you managed to recover just fine. In a lowered voice, you whispered to him, “Well, my mother thinks it’s a rather dreadful affair. A waste of potential talent, sending children to their deaths, she says. I can’t help but agree with her. Father thinks it’s necessary, though.”

Sejanus pursed his lips. No doubt questioning the necessity of watching the people he knew from his childhood in the district getting brutally murdered. It looked like he was going to say something else, but before he could, Arachne’s high-pitched voice cut through the two of you. You grimaced, catching Coriolanus’ eyes as he stood right behind her. Judging by his mildly annoyed countenance, he wasn’t having a very good time chatting to her, either.

“Spill it, Sejanus,” she demanded in a prissy tone. “Who won the prize?”

The dark curls on Sejanus’ head shook as he silently scoffed. “Oh, no, I’m not going to ruin my father’s big day. No one here actually likes him but they do love his money… you know what that’s like, don’t you, Arachne?”

Her nose wrinkled in part-contempt, part-disgust. “Funny,” she deadpanned.

Coriolanus stepped around her so he could curl an arm over your waist. “We all know who’s going to win it, anyway.” His grip squeezed over the smooth fabric of your dress.

Arachne rolled her eyes and marched away, off to find someone else to bother.

Left with just the two of you, Sejanus dipped his head and muttered, “Look, I know you guys have had high hopes for this but… there’s no prize. Not anymore.”

There was a terse pause. Your head reared back incredulously, searching Sejanus’ expression for any signs of fibbing. Then you looked to Coriolanus, eyes wide.

“What?” he asked, words sharp, looking almost offended.

“I’m so sorry—”

Before Sejanus could finish his sentence, loud trumpets echoed throughout the hall and all the students began making their way to the plush velvet seats laid out in front of the podium. Coriolanus’ hand slipped away from you, balling into a tight, pale fist. You sat down first, Sejanus going on your right, Coriolanus to your left. Clemensia was on his other side, flashing you an attractive smile. You couldn’t find it in you to smile back.

If there was no prize, what were they going to dole out instead? A free holiday, all expenses paid? A new television? A pair of fuzzy socks?

Your rather prickly thoughts were interrupted when a woman stepped up behind the podium. She was dressed in lavish plum robes, intricate beige patterns weaving through the threads. From afar, it looked like there was flesh stitched onto the fabric. Her hair was greyed and a calculated sort of haphazard. One of her eyes was beady and blue, the other dark and large, almost eclipsing any of the white bits.

She tapped the microphone once, earning herself a buzz of feedback, and tittered with unnerving laughter. Volumnia Gaul was what she introduced herself as. Her voice was low and gravelly. When she went on to say that she was the head gamemaker, your and Coriolanus' heads both snapped to Sejanus, but his gaze was fixed onto the ground, face grim.

After a bit more faddering about the future, Dr. Gaul introduced the creator of the games and dean of the academy—Casca Highbottom. He sauntered forward from somewhere within the seats, mind very clearly addled with a drug of some sorts. Morphling, you’d wager.

“I can’t believe they still allow him to speak in public,” Clemensia said to Coriolanus amusedly. He didn’t spare her a response.

He dragged on his little speech, as if he took pleasure in dangling the golden carrot in front of the donkey. Your hands twitched in an antsy fashion, and you neatly folded them over your lap.

“My own twenty-four top prospects. All waiting to hear the results of your hard studying in this prestigious institution, eager to know who’s won that Plinth prize, no doubt. And a golden future, with it.” He catered forward with a slurred laugh. “However… I’m here to tell you all that there’s been a change this year.”

Murmurs rippled throughout the crowd. Coriolanus’ chin lifted higher, back straightening.

“One last assignment to prove your worth,” Highbottom continued on. He began to pace back and forth, reminiscent to that of a caged tiger. “The esteemed citizens of the Capitol simply aren’t watching anymore. And if the games are to continue at all, there must be an audience, no?”

More murmuring. Your eyes narrowed. Twenty-four top students… twenty-four tributes…

Oh, no.

You sucked in a quiet, barely noticeable inhale with the realization. It was enough for Coriolanus’ eyes to land on you, but you were staring at Sejanus, as if trying to get him to hear your thoughts.

Tell me it isn’t true. Tell me we won’t have to play a hand in such a barbaric game.

“Head gamemaker Dr. Gaul has stepped in to… incentivize patriotic values with her own unique flair, starting with you. The Plinth prize will no longer be determined by who has the best grades.”

For a moment, Highbottom’s gaze drifted over to you. Somewhere behind you, you could hear Arachne’s affronted, “Excuse me?”

You weren’t quite sure why she was upset. It’s not like she had a chance with the prize if it were grade-based.

“Instead, it will be decided by who is the best mentor in the hunger games.”

Your jaw clenched. Clemensia appeared bewildered. Coriolanus looked shaken. Sejanus was visibly distraught.

“As the reaping begins, I will allocate each one of the top twenty-four Capitol students a district tribute. A figure behind the scenes—one who must persuade them to perform for the cameras.”

This was met by a barrage of questions and protests from the students. Highbottom waved most of them away.

“Your role is to turn these children into spectacles. Not survivors… victory in the games is only one of the considerations. Your entire future rests on this last project.”

It was a terrible thing to imagine. Two dozen district lives in exchange for a bit of cruel entertainment for the Capitol. You were never fond of it, but you kept quiet on the matter because you had the luxury of turning your head away. Turning the television off and straying away from such brutalities.

But now that you were being forced to look—no, more than that—you were being forced to pull strings, it was altogether a nauseating thought.

“Oh, and I must warn you… anyone caught cheating to give their tributes an unfair advantage…” Highbottom’s spectacled eyes swept over the lot of students. “Well, they’d just have no future at all.”

More trumpets rang throughout the hall.

The Dean clapped his hands together. “Here we go! Let the reaping ceremony begin!”

Two large screens hanging over the podium lit up for the first district—a tall boy on the left, a sallow-faced girl on the right. Dean Highbottom began to list off student names as mentors.

To none of your surprise, Sejanus got the male tribute from district two. Coriolanus shot him a thinly-veiled, wry smile over your shoulder. “You got the pick of the litter.”

Sejanus refused to meet his gaze. “You forget… I’m part of the litter.”

On the names rattled—districts three, four, five, six, and seven all passing by in a blur.

Juno Phipps was called out for district eight’s male tribute. She sat somewhere behind you, and you could hear her puff a sigh of disappointment.

Then your name came straight after.

Your head snapped from Highbottom to the screen, eyes widening.

Wovey, her name was. She was a small little thing—you could see her frail, skeletal figure even through a grainy screen from afar. The striped dress she wore was patchy and frayed, darkened with soot and dirt. How old was she? She was probably one of the youngest tributes yet—you’d guess that she was barely thirteen, maybe even twelve. Something in your stomach jolted. Momentarily, you’d forgotten that this little girl was meant to be your school project.

District eight. The textiles sector. You blinked at the screen and shifted uncomfortably in your expensive-tailored dress—a dress that very likely came from the very same district.

Highbottom called out names for the next district. Clemensia was pleased with her large, burly tribute from the eleventh district. Coriolanus was yet to be mentioned. You glanced over at him, before reaching out to take his hand. He didn’t look at you, but squeezed your palm in what you read to be silent gratitude.

And finally—with only one tribute left, Highbottom coughed out what sounded to be a laugh. “The runt girl from district twelve… she belongs to Coriolanus Snow.”

The grip he had on your hand tightened until it was bordering on painful. You said nothing about it. Highbottom had always been a grouchy man, but he seemed to have a fixation on making Coriolanus’ life as tormentable as possible.

Lucy Gray Baird.

You watched the screen in fascination when a woman sauntered out from the ranks. Her hair was dark and curly, unruly in a way that suited her perfectly. Upon further scrutiny, you noticed small wildflowers woven through the strands, limp with time. She wore makeup, which wasn’t something you often saw in tributes. A deep blue eyeshadow and slightly-smudged rouge on her cheeks and lips. But what really caught your attention, however, was the dress she was wearing. It was a startling contrast to her name—with its bright, colorful ruffles on her skirt, the front of her corset bearing lovely details of flowers and vines.

She was beautiful.

“What is that dress?” sneered Arachne, in an obvious attempt to rile Coriolanus up. “Is she some sort of clown?”

But suddenly, Lucy Gray stepped out of her path towards the stage and grabbed a girl to her right. Or, more accurately, the girl’s collar. She promptly dropped something down her dress and hurried off. Screams erupted from the screen as the girl writhed with terror, screaming for someone to, “Get it out! Get it out!”

Coriolanus stood abruptly, letting your hand go. You hadn’t noticed just how much feeling you’d lost in your arm, and gingerly shook it back to life.

The grainy screen showed a small snake skitter out of the bottom of her dress.

When Lucy Gray finally made it up on the stage, she was harshly struck across the face by district twelve’s mayor. The blow made her head crack to the side and she went tumbling down. You frowned, but couldn’t take your eyes away.

It took two peacekeepers to haul the furious mayor away. You mutely realized that the girl was the mayor’s daughter.

Lucy Gray laid there, face aching.

And then—singing. A small voice from within the crowd. Five seconds later, another joined. And another, and another. Even through the screen, when Lucy Gray tilted her bruised face up and struggled back onto her feet, you could see the pain in her eyes. Was that her family singing for her?

The woman made her way to the microphone. She began to sing with a quivering lip. Her voice was soft and smooth, silken to your ears.

“She’s singing?” Arachne commented in a pinched tone. “Is she out of her mind?”

“Shut up, Arachne,” you turned to snap at her. She made a strangled noise in the back of her throat, but didn’t say anything else, to your relief.

Coriolanus watched the screen with unsettled eyes. A million thoughts rushed through his mind at once. Most unpleasant, many rageful, some curious.

And to bring her singing to a sudden halt, Lucy Gray screamed into the microphone.

“YOU CAN KISS MY ASS!”

The students burst into laughter, incredulous gasps, and scandalized murmurs. Coriolanus glanced around. He met your eyes, and you gave him half an amused smile. His tribute knew how to put on a show, that was for sure.

He smiled back, and turned to the screen once more.

Lucy Gray lowered herself into a deep bow for the audience. District and Capitol alike.

What an intriguing girl, you thought.

“She’s mentally ill,” Arachne buzzed.

It took every bit of your willpower not to turn around and strike her across the face. But you thought back to the furious mayor, and of the little girl you were supposed to mentor, and kept your hands folded neatly over your lap.

You found yourself at the Snow penthouse that night. There was nothing to study, not anymore, so you lounged on a rickety chair and watched Tigris sew together pieces of blue fabric. She wanted to make you a dress, and though you had more than enough of your own, you couldn’t ever say no to her. Being around her took your mind off of the games, even for just a few minutes.

Coriolanus, however, was pacing back and forth in front of the two of you. Muttering angrily under his breath, nose twitching with disdain.

“He’s sabotaging us. That girl’s never going to win the games,” he hissed, plucking the rose off of his waistcoat and tugging at its petals. They fluttered down to the floor. “You saw her, didn’t you? She’s underfed. Unstable.”

Pot, meet kettle.

You pursed your lips. “Highbottom said you’re meant to make a performance out of them. It isn’t just about winning.”

“Everything is about winning!” he asserted, carding a frustrated hand through his flaxen tresses. “If not the games, then the crowd. And Lucy Gray won’t survive a minute inside that arena.”

You sighed. Little Wovey didn’t seem too likely to survive, either. She wasn’t a fighter by any means. Maybe she was a fast runner?

“So that means we have to make every second before then count.” Coriolanus reached out to cup your face, and you leaned into his touch, kissing his palm. Tigris shot the two of you a side glance and smiled to herself.

“What’re you planning?” you asked.

“I’ll make her sing again,” he said, sounding so sure of himself.

This made Tigris’ brows cinch together. “I wouldn’t sing a note for you if I was her. I wouldn’t do anything at all… not unless I knew I could trust you.”

Coriolanus regarded his cousin with a cynical stare. “She’s district, Tigris. She knows we hate her and she wants us dead. How am I supposed to get her to trust me?”

“We?” you echoed, shaking your head. “I don’t hate her. I don’t even know her. Do you?”

“I—”

You lifted up a hand, effectively cutting him off. “Do you know her, Coriolanus?”

His jaw set with a click. You had your answer.

“How can you hate someone you don’t know? Look, you don’t have to like her. Just convince her that you do.” You crossed your arms, thinking of the little girl you were meant to mentor. It was going to be hard to like her, anyway, knowing that she was going to die soon. You wouldn’t let yourself get attached.

Tigris nodded emphatically. She paused her needlework and looked up at her cousin. “Imagine it was your name they pulled, and you were ripped from your home. I’d just want to know if somebody still cared about me out here. Don’t discount her just because she’s district, Coryo. You might have more in common with her than you think.”

Coriolanus plucked the last rose petal from the stem. You watched him with soft eyes, before drawing yourself up to your feet.

“I think it’s time I head home. My family’s got dinner with the Flickermans tomorrow.” You placed a limp hand on his jaw and kissed his cheek, then drifted down to kiss his shoulder. He smelled distinctly of roses—a fresh sort of musk.

Just as you were about to pull away, he rested his hands on your forearms, rooting you to the same spot. “We should greet them at the station. Show them that they can trust us.”

You searched his face for genuinity. It wasn’t an entirely terrible idea.

“You sure?” you asked. It wasn’t a secret just how uncomfortable Coriolanus was around district folk.

“Yeah. We can… get ahead of the other students. You’re way more approachable than me, anyway. Maybe they’ll like you more,” Snow offered. A part of you wondered what he’d do if you said no.

The thought of meeting your assigned tribute made your stomach do somersaults. Finally, you nodded. “Okay. I’ll meet you at the station, then?”

Snow smiled in a charming manner. He dipped forward to slant his lips over yours, and you melted into his touch, almost forgetting that Tigris was there—until she made a noise of disgust and told the two of you, “Eugh! Do that somewhere else, please!”

Coriolanus was there before you, sticking out like a sore thumb in his academy red against the cold, rusted metals of the train cars. You wore a dark coat over your uniform, trying to look a little more discreet.

“Are they here yet?” you asked, steps quickening to him. He took your hand and squeezed.

“Anytime now.”

The two of you stood shoulder-to-shoulder as you waited, exchanging light conversation. There was a rose in his hand, you realized. White, just like the one he gave to you when he first met your parents. But it wasn’t for you, since he had yet to hand it over— you figured it was for Lucy Gray. You would’ve thought it was sweet of him, if only you hadn’t been aware of his motivations to gain her trust. Still, you’d be a hypocrite if you criticized him for it. You’d also brought something for your tribute.

A juice box. Grape. Still cold, beading with condensation.

You wondered if they had juice boxes out in district eight.

Another train rolled to a grueling halt to the track on your left. The cars were due for a good scrubbing, you thought. They were absurdly filthy—you weren’t even sure what its original color was meant to be.

Peacekeepers stepped up, disregarding the two of you, and began yanking the doors open. There were disgruntled noises coming from inside, and a few minutes later, the grey soldiers were pulling out the tributes.

You searched through the small crowd frantically. The boy from 11th—Reaper, you recalled his name was—caught your eye and just about snarled. You tried your best to ignore him.

When you found the little girl, little Wovey, you slipped away from Coriolanus and stepped forward. In your peripheral vision, you spotted him moving towards Lucy Gray.

Wovey was staring at a particularly uninteresting spot on the ground. She had her skinny arms wound around her midriff as if she was cold, despite the warm temperature that morning. When your shadow fell over her, her large, tearful eyes slid up to meet yours.

“Hello, Wovey,” you whispered in what you hoped was a welcoming, not-at-all-intimidating voice. You told her your name, making sure to enunciate the syllables slowly, so she’d have no problem repeating it back. She didn’t, but perhaps she would later. “I’m your mentor.”

“Mender?” Her voice quaked.

“Mentor. I’ll be helping you in the arena, during the game. Here, I have something for you.” You reached inside your coat, eyeing the peacekeepers warily. Either they didn’t notice, or they were just pretending not to. You wondered how many of them knew your father. “Do you guys have juice boxes back where you live?”

You held out the cold little box for her to take. She blinked at it warily.

“It’s grape,” you said.

She reached out and took it from you. You offered her a gentle smile, and she mirrored you with a shy grin.

“Can I share it?” she croaked. Wovey looked back at the male tribute from the same district—Bobbin. Were they friends?

“Of course, sweetheart,” you said warmly.

Sweetheart? Where’d that come from?

The peacekeepers began rounding up the tributes, shoving them in the direction of a truck. You dipped your head at one of the grey soldiers as he took Wovey’s arm.

“Be gentle with her,” you told the peacekeeper. He met you with a stoic expression, but nodded once, before urging Wovey onward.

It was hard to tear your eyes away from her, but you forced yourself to do so, bounding towards Coriolanus and—

“Lucy Gray,” you greeted, just before saying your own name as you moved to stand beside Snow. Her dress looked even brighter in person, even if it was caked in filth. “I hope Coriolanus hasn’t scared you off yet.”

“Who’s this?” she asked, her dark eyes flitting from Snow to you. “Another mentor?”

“Mmh. Not yours though. I’m dedicated to the little girl from district eight,” you replied.

There was something in her eyes that softened.

“You’ll take care of her?” she asked.

You exchanged an uncertain glance with Coriolanus. “I’ll try my best to. Just like my boyfriend here for you.”

“Boyfriend, huh? Y’all make an attractive couple, that’s for sure.” Lucy Gray smiled, wide and genuine. It faded instantaneously once she spotted a peacekeeper approaching. She plucked the rose from Coriolanus’ unsuspecting hands. “Well… good luck with that.”

The soldier grabbed her by the arm and shoved her into the direction of the car.

Coriolanus stepped forward. “Wait, no—I, hey, I’d like to escort my tribute—”

They all ignored him. You pursed your lips, before following behind two of the soldiers, peeking around the bend. The truck’s doors were wide open for you to slip into. Snow met your eyes when you beckoned him over.

“We can sneak in,” you whispered. “When they’re not looking.”

“Are you insane? We don’t know where they’re going!” he responded in a lowered voice, taking your arm, not unsimilar to how the peacekeepers grabbed the tributes. “I don’t want you getting hurt because of me.”

“They won’t hurt me,” you told him. It didn’t dawn on you that Coriolanus was referring to the district tributes, not the peacekeepers. Quick and chaste, you pressed a kiss to his lips. “You coming?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. He blew out a frustrated breath, before letting you go and giving you the green light by motioning for you to get a move on. Nerves peaking with adrenaline, you glanced around again, satisfied that no peacekeepers were looking, and rushed into the truck. You felt Coriolanus’ chest brush against your back as he hurried in after you.

You hid in the shadows of the trucks’ slants just as the peacekeepers slammed it shut. A victorious smile stretched your lips thin. You made it.

Oh, your father was going to murder you. Snow first, maybe, and then you. Your mother would probably find the situation all too funny. Though, as you found all the tributes’ eyes locked on you and Coriolanus, you realized that it probably wasn’t funny at all, not in the slightest.

“Hello,” you said in an awfully wavering voice. Coriolanus echoed your sentiment, looking as if he’d seen a ghost.

“What’s the matter, pretty boy?” Reaper asked him with a scowl. “You in the wrong cage?”

“No,” he responded with a minute shrug. “This cage is delightful.”

The truck practically swayed as Reaper stormed closer to him. You instinctively grabbed his forearm, pulling him back. But clearly not quick enough, seeing as Reaper grabbed the lapels of Snow’s academy uniform, shoving him up against the wall with a loud thud. Coriolanus let out an oomf with the impact, blinking sudden white stars out of his vision.

“I’ll kill you right now!” Reaper hissed.

“He’ll do it, too,” warned Dill. The girl from his same district. “Reaper killed a peacekeeper back in eleven.”

“I say we kill them both!” another tribute from somewhere behind sneered.

“I’m in. Nothing left to lose now.”

You stood frozen, afraid that one wrong move would send Reaper into a frenzy. Instead, you spoke calm and clear, “We’re here to help.” Your eyes found Lucy Gray’s, then traveled over to Wovey, squeezed in the corner. “We want to help you.”

Crossing her arms, Lucy Gray said, “Y’all got family back home? They’ll kill them if you hurt a hair on their pretty Capitol heads. Then you. ‘Sides… the blonde one’s my mentor. I might need him.”

One of the tributes from district four curled her lip in contempt. “How come you get one?”

“You all get one!” Snow told her, which earned him another enraged shove by Reaper.

She guffawed—Coral, yes, that was her name—with incredulity. “What, and we’re just supposed to believe you?”

“Why else would we get in here with you?” you said, exasperated. “We don’t even know where they’re taking you guys.”

Coral cocked a brow so high it nearly disappeared behind her choppy bangs. “Whose mentor are you?”

You limply waved your fingers at Wovey. “District eight’s girl.”

“So how come Skinny and Rainbow get special treatment? Why aren’t my mentors here?” Coral leaned down towards Lucy Gray in a taunting fashion, barely glancing over at Wovey.

Lucy Gray smiled, all toothy. “They just got inspired, I guess.”

A moment later, a loud rumbling came from outside the truck. Had they already arrived? There was a whir, and the whole truck began to tilt downward. The doors swung open and shocked gasps echoed throughout the metal cavern.

Reaper relinquished his grip on Snow to grab hold of Dill, and you launched yourself at Coriolanus, trying your best to grapple onto the grooves in the walls so you wouldn’t slip. Lucy Gray yelled as her foot slipped and she went toppling down—

You grabbed her hand, grunting with the combined weight of two people. Coriolanus’ grip on the wall slipped, and he bumped into you, causing your fingers to fumble.

The three of you went rolling down, out of the truck, back into the blinding sunlight. Your shoulder hit the ground hard, another sharp rock digging painfully into your back. That’d definitely bruise later. Disoriented, you dragged yourself up from the ground, frowning at the stinging sensation in your legs. Coriolanus was next to you the next second, grabbing at your face and arms, asking if you were alright. You nodded a few times, before pushing him away to see if the tributes were okay.

All of them were dizzy and aching, but other than that—seemed just fine. Or, as fine as they could be, given the circumstances.

Only then did you look around your surroundings. Metal fencing, dirt pen, discarded tires—Capitol citizens watching with wide, curious eyes. You caught sight of the Capitol Zoo’s insignia on an ice cream stand just past the fencing.

“Ugh,” Coriolanus muttered, pale blonde hair properly tousled over his forehead. “What are all these people doing, staring at us? Don’t they have anything better to do? Don’t they have jobs? The children should be in school. It’s no wonder this country is in shambles.”

“The kids are on summer break, Coryo,” you deadpanned, shirking off your dark coat to give it a good dusting.

Then, a familiar voice made your head snap towards the crowd.

Cameras. Mustache. Coin flip.

“We’ll just give them a chance to stand up and catch their breath—I do have to admit I’m jealous of that big entrance! I’m Lucretius “Lucky” Flickerman, a man who needs no introduction.”

Oh, he certainly didn’t. He and your mother were tight-knit buddies when they went to school together, making the Flickermans good family friends. This was beyond embarrassing.

“Guess where I am today, folks! That’s right, the Capitol Zoo, where this year’s tributes will be held here, on display behind these bars for your viewing pleasure! That’s right, all twenty-four of them—” That was when he turned to point, and his eyes landed on you and Coriolanus. His words faltered. “What in Panem—is that academy rouge I see?”

You stiffly waved at the camera. Absent-mindedly, you passed a hand over your head to fix your hair.

“Hey, Mr. Flickerman,” you called out with a grimace.

Lucky’s eyes bugged out of his head. He exclaimed your name in part-confusion, part-shock. “Hey, what’re you doing in there, kiddo? Who’s that dashing young man with you? We’re live!” He jutted a thumb back at the camera, its lens facing straight at you.

You spared him a stiff smile, eye twitching. Oh, your father was going to pop a blood vessel, you were sure.

“Uhm… well, uh—” The words caught in your throat and you lowered your voice so only Coriolanus could hear you. You had to ignore Lucky’s constant calls for your attention. “What do we do?”

His blue eyes, even paler in the bright sunlight, roamed over the onlookers. “We do what Highbottom told us to do,” he said, rolling his shoulders. He nudged you in the direction of Wovey, and began setting off for Lucy Gray. “We put on a show.”

You watched as the two, mentor and tribute, made their way to the fencing. As if there was a flip of a switch inside him, Coriolanus began to charm the onlookers and children, showing off his pearly whites, introducing himself and his rambunctious tribute. The children were enamoured with Lucy Gray, it seemed, judging by the way they bubbled over with questions about the snake, her colorful dress, her singing.

Lucky was having the time of his life interviewing them. If not for the current situation at hand—that being you trapped in a zoo enclosure—you would’ve laughed at his earnest excitement. Being a weatherman, a reporter, and an amateur-magician was apparently growing far too monotonous for someone with as large a personality as Lucretius Flickerman.

After much deliberation and cheek-biting, you turned and made your way toward Wovey, who was sitting down next to Bobbin on a tree stump. You noted the purple juice box, now crumpled and empty, discarded on the ground between them.

“Hey, guys,” you said, lowering down to one knee to speak to Wovey. “Do you want to go introduce yourself, sweetheart? Win over the Capitol citizens’ hearts?”

The young girl screwed up her face. Whether it was from shyness or distaste, you weren’t quite sure. Perhaps both.

“I’ll be there with you. I promise,” you told her, holding your palm out for her to take.

Tentative, Wovey slipped off of the stump and clutched onto your hand. The two of you approached the barriers, with her nearly hiding behind you, clutching onto your coat.

Lucy Gray told the growing audience about her Covey family, a group of traveling musicians, and how she wasn’t actually from district twelve. Snow watched her with a somewhat proud, victorious expression.

Lucky noticed you approaching, beckoning for the cameras to follow him as he made his way over to you.

Quickly, he covered the top of the mic to lean forward and whisper, “Is the academy aware of what you’re doing?”

“No. Nobody told us not to, though.”

Lucky regarded you knowingly. “And does your father know about this little escapade of yours?”

“No,” you replied, frown-smiling.

“Ooh. Good luck with that.” He spared you an amused wince. Then, he uncovered the microphone and gave the cameras another brilliant smile, introducing you with a flourish of his hands. “I’m here with a close personal friend of mine, Y/N L/N. And here we have their tribute, yes? Who might you be, young lady?”

You tried your best to encourage Wovey out of her shyness, going so far as to pat her shoulder and to gently push back the thin strands of hair falling in front of her face. She croaked out her name and her district, and Lucky asked her another myriad of overwhelming questions.

Whilst the crowd around the ever-charming Lucy Gray was watching her with curiosity and awe, the audience you were gathering looked upon Wovey with pity and something mildly akin to empathy.

There were perks to getting the youngest tribute, maybe.

She was telling them about how she liked to climb trees back in district eight. Yes, that’d be useful in the games.

You looked over to see Coriolanus observing you with your tribute. He gave you a nod, perhaps a second too late. The man found himself wondering if he could somehow garner the crowd’s sympathy using Lucy Gray, too. How’d you manage to do that?

Before he could spare another thought on the matter, there was a dim buzzing coming from across the enclosure. A door opened, and four peacekeepers marched in.

“Looks like you’re going to get whisked away, kiddo,” Lucky told you, nodding behind. “Tell your mother I said hello. And make sure to take a nice, long shower before dinner tonight. Don’t want the smell of zoo hovering over my steak.”

You rolled your eyes as Lucky chuckled at his own quips, then looked down at Wovey with a far softer expression.

“I’ll be back. I’ll come back with more for you. Just hold on for me, okay?”

The frail girl nodded. She didn’t seem to want to let go of you, even when the peacekeepers began to semi-forcefully lead you away, out of the enclosure. Coriolanus wasn’t far behind, being manhandled far more aggressively than you were.

The soldiers shoved you out the door and shut it with a heavy click of a lock, before marching off to the sides.

Coriolanus reached out for you, hands resting on your elbows. “How was it?”

“Could’ve gone worse.” You studied his features. There was a faint trace of dirt smudged across his jaw—no doubt acquired somewhere in the truck or when everyone came tumbling out.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment longer, until you shook your head and broke into a smile, accompanied by a breathy laugh.

“Lucky called you a dashing young man.”

“He’s ridiculous,” he scoffed, and tugged you along to start walking. “Do you think either of us have a chance? At winning?”

The smile melted off your expression, and you grew somber once more. “Well… anything can happen in the arena. We just need to be smart about it. Neither of our tributes are fighters.”

Coriolanus stared off into the distance, brows cinched, heavy with thought.

“They’ll need to be,” he said. “Surviving isn’t enough. Not in these games.”

Your lips parted, wondering what in Panem he could mean by that. Did he really expect Lucy Gray to become a killer overnight? Or was he planning for her to do something else? He didn’t seem to notice your perturbed disposition, and kissed the side of your head.

Just as Coriolanus walked you to your doorstep, you gripped his hands, and your tone suddenly became very serious.

“I just wanted to tell you—before Highbottom announced the mentoring change, I was sure one of us would win the Plinth prize. And, well, I was going to give you the money if it came to me because I definitely wouldn’t need it. But now, since there’s a good chance neither of us are getting it…”

Snow’s features twisted with evident dismay.

You squeezed his hands with yours. “I can get my parents to pay your university tuition, if neither of us get that Plinth prize. Please, Coryo, don’t take this as charity. Take it because I care about you. I don’t want you to get caught up in… winning these games. Whatever you’re planning for Lucy Gray… I can’t see it being anything she’d be willing to do.”

It might’ve been a trick of light, but you could’ve sworn you saw an irksome glint flash across his eyes. He bitterly came to the conclusion that you probably did botch one of your exams for him—not that that mattered now. Besides, it was you offering money, not him begging for it. The placating thought made it easier for his features to slip into a reassuring, easy softness.

“I appreciate the offer, I really do,” Snow said, cradling your face as if you were a fragile piece of china. Yet his touch felt bruising all the same. “But you shouldn’t worry. I don’t think Lucy Gray is going to win. Not on her own, at least. So I’m going to help her—and Highbottom is going to regret ever trying to make an enemy of me.”

He dipped forward, brushed a whisper of a kiss along your cheek, and swiped his thumb over your bottom lip.

And then he was gone.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow x you #hunger games fanfiction #coriolanus snow drabbles #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #young!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow angst

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cdragons · 4 months

Text

Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You

Next Part

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton.

Warnings- MDNI 18+, Felix is delulu, Reader is stressed and homesick and kinda crazy but she a baddie, Michael is Michael, Farleigh is Farleigh, Oliver will be Oliver (a creep), and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic

Author's Note: This fic is a follow-up to this post and I would like to thank grammarly for catching all my grammatical errors 🥲, @ethereal-athalia for enabling my crazy ideas 🥰, and @valeskafics for providing me Saltburn smut when I catch myself thirsting 😇

“FUCK!” you yelled at the top of your lungs just before your nose slammed down on the dewy grass.

Groaning in pain before the mortification of realizing what had just happened kicked in.

You didn’t know what was worse: the fact you had a full front view of the giant’s junk or that he body-slammed you onto the ground and caused you to land on top of the painting worth 30% of your final grade.

You wanted to scream your head off. The paint had finally dried, and you could finally leave the studio at two in the morning. It was close to finals, and pretty much anyone on campus who didn’t get accepted because of their daddy’s bank account was in their dorms. You had hoped that this fact would mean that the paths were empty and, therefore, safe to transport your 30” x 40” canvas.

“SORRY!”

You shot your head up to locate the person who just apologized. Lo’ and behold, it was the same plastered, pasty cunt with a bird’s nest disaster of a haircut drunken idiot who decided it was a good idea to go streaking across campus. His only other distinguishable features were that he was at least 6’3” and that he had a small steel piece pierced on his face.

After the “apology,” he and his friend continued running off to God’s knows where in the dead of night—leaving you behind on the lawn with a bleeding nose, bruised knees and palms, and an oil painting that was torn and caked in mud three days before its deadline.

There was no way to redo it. The project was assigned at the beginning of October. It took 5 hours to set up the models with the motifs and lights, 3 hours to take pictures, and 10 hours to underdraw the preliminary sketch. You didn’t even want to think about the sheer number of sleepless nights you spent in the studio mixing colors and layering. On top of that, you also had your other finals in other courses to study for.

You had practically been living in that studio for the past month. All of the custodians and security guards knew you by name. You got first dibs every day when they refilled the vending machines. It was a true godsend when you didn’t have time to visit the dining halls. Everyone had been so kind and sweet to you. It was a warm welcome compared to the snark and snobbery you experienced from most of your classmates.

Crying from the devastation of the loss of your situation, your shaking legs carried your body and what remained of your work into the building. You knew that your professor stayed in her office late for grading. You could only hope that she would sympathize with your pitiful appearance.

“Wait, so did you get the extension?”

Lifting your head from the sticky library table at Bodleian’s, you stared at your best only friend, Michael Gavey, with a blank stare. You didn’t react to his wince after he took in your haggard appearance. You didn’t need a mirror to know that you looked terrible.

Your eyes were puffy and bloodshot red with dark mulberry bags underneath them. You had paled since coming to dreary England, but now you looked straight-up sickly. And if that wasn’t enough, your eyes had less life than a dead fish rotting at a Sunday Market.

Your voice was so meek that you were sure he had to strain to hear you.

“Yeah…I got it.”

You knew you had no choice but to beg your Studio Arts professor for an extension. But it killed you doing it. Professor Daria Martin was your favorite teacher and the only faculty member who actually liked you. Her support toward you meant everything to you; the last thing you wanted to do was disappoint her, let alone be the reason why she lost her job.

Your usually so snarky four-eyed friend perked up at the news.

“So, is everything okay?” he asked with hope.

Your head fell on neon-yellow ink-stained pages that filled the paperweight your ethics professor called a textbook. A bitter laugh fell from as your lips lifted to a wry, dry grin.

“Oof, not that simple, is it?” he asked.

“Is it ever?”

“So what do you have to do now?”

“Well-,” you lifted your head to take a deep breath as you started to explain, “- I still have the photos and copies of the sketch. But because the canvas was so large, it was special-ordered. That means I need to wait until another one can be delivered, and since all the works need to be completed in the studio, I can’t leave the campus.”

As you finished your explanation, Michael nodded his head in understanding before he paused, and a look of devastation painted his features.

“Wait, so does that mean-”

“I won’t be able to fly back home for the holidays.”

Fuck, you were about to cry again. You had been so excited to see your old friends and family. You remembered how absolutely homesick you were at the beginning of the term. Because you were a scholarship student from America, your parents encouraged you to settle on campus by moving to your dorm earlier than everyone else. It was bad enough that you missed Thanksgiving, but you had really set your heart on coming home for Christmas and New Year’s. What made it worse was that your parents had told you all about the dinner they had planned for your homecoming. It was going to be a feast of all your favorites.

English food sucked balls.

Your only saving grace was the Crunchie bars Michael got for you when you studied together or when you had to rewrite edit his essays.

You really DID cry after first reading his essay for Introductory English class at the beginning of the year.

“Did you try to report it?”

“Report what? ‘Hey, there’s a wasted asshole running naked across campus, and he body-slammed me to the ground and tore my fucking massive campus that blocked my view of the jackass. He’s probably richer than the goddamn Queen, given how he’s wasted right before finals.’”

“Do you have any description of him?”

“He’s a giant with a small eyebrow piercing, and his fat ass looked like it had never seen the sun.”

Without lifting your head, you heard the scrape of Michael’s chair before he walked across the table to sit in the chair next to you.

“Hey,” he began, bringing you into a warm arm hug, “it’ll be okay. You called your parents about it, right?”

“Yeah -” you sighed before continuing, “- they told me they understood and would Skype me daily.”

“See! Everything’s going to be – wait, did you say that this guy was tall?”

Furrowing your brow in confusion, you looked at your friend at the change in his tone from light and supportive to sharp and interrogative.

“Yeah?”

“How tall?”

“Umm,” you had to think about that, “I’d say he was about 6’3” or above? He was really fucking tall.”

“And he had an eyebrow piercing?”

Ok, now you were really confused. “Yes? Michael, where are you going with this?”

“I think the guy who ran you over was Felix Catton.”

You shot your favorite idiot with a deadpan glare.

“Felix Catton? The same Felix Catton who just so happens to be the same Felix Catton you hate?”

Michael solemnly nodded. “It’s him. It has to be. The only person on campus as tall as him is his cousin, and he doesn’t have piercings.”

“And he’s black.”

“Yeah, that too.”

You were skeptical, and it showed. You didn’t want to callously dismiss your friend, but you knew more than anyone how much his hatred for Oxford’s Golden Boy could impair his judgment. You were by no means a fan of the guy, but accusing someone of anything they didn’t do just because your friend thought so went against your principles.

He grabbed your arm and dragged you to the bookshelf in front of the table where Felix and his groupies sat. Both of your books and bags were in your chairs, but you managed to keep your spiral notebook with you. It wasn’t hard to find them – they were the loudest table in the entire library. They also reeked of cigarettes and booze.

“See?” Michael hissed. “Giant, pale, and eyebrow piercing. It’s him!”

“Michael,” you softly groaned, “just because you hate Felix Catton doesn’t mean you can –”

An extremely shrill voice interrupted you.

“I can’t believe you and Farleigh actually ran around campus naked!”

A petite girl with full pink lips and dull red hair latched on the arm of the man of the hour. “It was so hot to watch!”

This girl has weird-ass tastes in guys.

“And then how you crashed into that dunce at Ruskin! Brilliant!”

Your blood ran cold while another one of Catton’s faceless droning puppets chimed in.

“God, what an idiot! It’s their own fault, anyway. Who the fuck walks in the middle of the walk path with a fucking big canvas in front of them?”

One of the lessons hammered into your skull young was never to move before you think. That lesson had saved you ten ways from Sunday. But this was not one of those times.

You’re pretty sure that you hear Michael calling out your name as you walk away from the shelf and towards the overcrowded table. Tunnel vision took over you as you made your way to the overgrown idiot who almost cost you your entire future.

Grabbing the back of his shirt collar, you dragged the 6’5” towering fool on his ass all the way outside. You finally let go when the two of you reached the back of the building that had no windows.

“Hey, what the fu –”

You didn’t let him finish as you brought your fist to hit him square in the face – and, fuck, did you relish the crunch that immediately followed your swing.

Fuck, was his head killing him.

Felix should have known better than to have gotten cross-faded last night, but Farleigh had practically goaded him to do it. It’s not like his cousin ever had to worry about his grades for any of his courses during finals – the little shit-starter had always been so fucking academically gifted.

He skipped pretty much all of his morning classes and barely made it to his afternoon schedule on time while completely zoning out the entire time.

If he bombs on all his finals, his dad was going to absolutely murder him. But chances were he and his mum were going to be too busy entertaining whichever new friend his mum brought in for shelter.

“You alright there, champ?”

Felix swiveled his head too quickly and immediately groaned in pain. The motion made his hangover even worse. Rubbing his eyes to try to soothe the pounding in his head, he slowly opened them to look at his cousin.

The slag didn’t have the decency to look even a little bit affected from last night’s event – the fucker. No, he was sitting there with all Cheshire grins and gleaming eyes while Felix was two seconds from heaving his guts out.

“Yeah, I’m alright, mate.” He replied in a tired groan.

“Must have been quite the night. Wonder if it had anything to do with that little cocktail you took from our sweet Annabel’s belly button?”

Disgust was clear on Felix’s face as he recalled the body shot he had taken from his ex-FWB’s navel. He truly must have been off his rocker last night – he thought he was over with body shots since graduating secondary, but apparently not.

If he somehow got an STD from doing it, V was going to kill him.

But even with all of his horrible actions that caused the raging war inside his skull, that wasn’t the main cause of his misery.

Farleigh’s grin dropped as judgment painted his features.

“Oh,” he moaned, “please tell me this isn’t about ‘your angel’ from last night.”

He didn’t just take the dare of streaking across the grounds just for the hell of it. He needed an excuse to pass through the art building – all for the chance of seeing you.

You. His angel of paints and books who lived in the empty studio rooms of Oxford University’s Ruskin School of Art and whose presence harangued him every hour of every day. Everywhere Felix went, he would unconsciously look for you.

It was his soul calling out for yours – he knew it.

Felix had never felt so drawn to another human being in his entire existence. He’d never seen you outside of the libraries, art building, and maybe the dining hall if he was lucky. You never went to any parties or even had a drink at the pub at King’s Arms. He didn’t even have classes with you, but he knew Farleigh did. Word was that you and his cousin had shared a few classes – what’s more was that you were likely the only person who could go head-to-head with him in academics.

And to make it worse, the prat refused to tell him anything about you – not even your fucking name.

“Believe me,” he told him after Felix had been begging his cousin for hours to share anything about you, “she is way above your league.”

Which really hurt his feelings, by the way – sure, you were probably way above in book smarts, but there wasn’t a girl that remained indifferent to his charms after a good talking fucking.

“I still can’t believe you won’t at least tell me her name,” Felix complained once more, “or even just give me her number!”

“She’s an American here on scholarship and a bore,” he quipped back, “what’s there to tell? And can you please shut up? I want to get some reading done before tonight. You do remember the in-class essay we have tomorrow, right?”

Bloody hell, he did not. Pushing down the bitter feeling in his chest, he and his cousin made their way to meet everyone at the back. As soon as he sat down, Annabel clung on to his arm. Thank fuck he had been wearing one of his thicker jumpers – otherwise, her claws that she called nails would have ripped open the fabric.

“Hey, Felix!” she made sure to offer a very generous sight of her cleavage, “are you ready for tonight?”

Felix chuckled lowly before responding. “Aren’t I always?”

And just like that – he completely zoned out the rest of the conversation.

Annabel was probably saying something to get him to notice her, and Farleigh was likely responding so he wouldn’t have to – but Felix couldn’t be bothered to pretend to care.

He was lost in the living daydream that was his angel that haunted the art studios of Ruskin School of Art.

He was desperate to learn everything about you.

If he asked you to talk about your favorite books, would your eyes sparkle in delight, or would your smile widen in glee?

If he grabbed your hand, would your palms feel marred by his rough skin, or would you press your callouses to his?

If he pressed his mouth on yours, would your lips feel as soft and plump as they look? Or was their luster forever damaged by your teeth biting them whenever you were in deep concentration?

If he breathed in your scent at the crook of your neck, would your skin smell like the paints forever on your brushes or the musky pages of heavy ancient books you always carried in your arms?

If he planted kisses from your throat to your breasts, would you mewl in pleasure or whimper in anticipation?

If he touched your cunt, would you arch your back in ecstasy? Or would your legs crumble, and you would have no choice but to sink into his arms?

Felix’s thoughts were rudely interrupted when Farleigh jammed his bony elbow into his ribcage and hurriedly whispered.

“Look alive, Golden Boy.”

Looking forward, it was better than any of his wet dreams combined. It was you.

Your hair was loose, and your fists were clenched. You reminded him of a ferocious lion goddess with how focused your gaze was on him.

But before Felix would prepare himself to make a good impression, you walked behind him and grabbed the back of his shirt collar before fucking dragging his ass out of his seat and outside.

Bloody hell, for someone so much shorter than him, you were fucking strong.

When you finally released your grip, he fell on the ground like an idiot before he tried to stand and steady himself as quickly as he could.

“Hey, what the fu –”

You didn’t let him finish as you brought your fist to hit him square in the face – and, fuck, you might have actually broken his nose.

After staggering back, you started using the spiral notebook in your other hand to land blow after painful blow on his body.

“YOU. STUPID. FUCKING. INGRATE –” Each word that left your mouth was emphasized with another hit from your notebook “– I. HATE. YOU. YOU. RUINED. MY. PAINTING. I. SPENT. SO. MUCH. TIME. ON. IT. AND. NOW. I. CAN’T. GO. HOME. FOR. BREAK. BECAUSE. OF. YOUR. STUPID. SELF!”

Felix was confident you had more to say, but you were pulled off him by your friend – he’s pretty sure it’s Mitchell – by the waist with you kicking and screaming out profanities to him as your friend called out your name to try to calm you down.

He wondered what it said about him if he told anyone how much you looked like an angry cat. His parents would send him to a shrink if he told them how adorable he found you right now.

If you were this wild while fighting, he could only imagine how riled up you would get in bed.

Fuck, you might have just unlocked a new kink in him.

Catching his breath as he watched your friend drag you away into the distance, he heard a slow clap to his left.

Farleigh was leaning on the corner – his smug expression making it clear that he had seen the whole thing – as he looked at his cousin with a bemused expression before walking toward him and giving a sympathetic pat on his back.

“Well,” he started to break the tension, “at least you know her name.”

“Yeah,” Felix agreed, “I know her name.”

And he knew that you smelled more like the paints on your brushes than the books you carried with subtle notes of gardenias.

Tagging: @aemondsbabe, @ethereal-athalia, @aphroditesmoon, @barbiedragon, @valeskafics, @lexyysworld, @punkiwiki, @saltburnedme, @arcielee

Let me know if you want to be tagged for future Saltburn fics!

#saltburn x reader #saltburn #saltburn crack #saltburn au #felix catton x reader #farleigh catton #farleigh start #venetia catton #oliver quick #michael gavey #saltburn 2023 #saltburn movie #michael gavey x reader

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florencemtrash · 10 months

Text

Hummingbird: Chapter Three

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

What if the Earth-1610 (Miles’s universe) version of Miguel’s wife was actually Miles’s AP Art teacher?

Masterlist

Warnings: Terrible science jargon

It was almost silly how quickly the world returned to normal.

Alchemax was splashed on every local newspaper, website, social media account, and TV channel for a solid week before complaints shifted to the neverending construction on the streets of New York. The subway somehow got tighter, packed bodies grumbling about the thirty minutes added to their commute after ten subway cars had fallen through a spot and landed in the Hudson river.

But the events never faded away from your consciousness. The only way you could fall asleep was by leaving all the lights on. It racked up your electric bill like hell, but you couldn’t stand seeing the shadows creep along the wall as nighttime descended on the city - it reminded you too much of the Spot’s blank face and how he managed to stare into your soul without eyes.

Then there was the growing problem of your forgetfulness. You’d never been the best at keeping track of belongings - Mamá always blamed it on your creative brain - but now everything was being misplaced. The alarm clock would disappear from the nightstand and appear in the kitchen, your sock collection was dwindling every day and never making it into the dirty hamper, for Christ’s sake you still hadn’t found your favorite yellow sneakers and it was irritating you to hell and back.

I’m losing my goddamn mind. You often found yourself thinking.

You threw yourself into work, staying in the classroom late to grade and lesson plan until the night crew got used to vacuuming around your feet. You took on extra projects at the Academy, signing up to run after-school detention and volunteering for props and set design for this year’s spring musical “The Addams Family.”

Anything to stay out of your apartment. Anything to keep you from being alone.

Three empty coffee cups mocked your bleary eyes as you sat hunched over the sewing machine after hours. Cheap black lace trailed off the table, slowly shortening as you incorporated the material into Morticia’s dress.

“Fuck!” You hissed in pain and stuck your thumb in your mouth, sucking away the blood from your fourth needle prick of the night. At this rate you’d have more holes punched into you than swiss cheese.

It was time to give up for tonight.

Before you could forget you slipped the stolen Brooklyn Visions Academy uniform from your bag and hid it in the bottom-most cubby in the storage room. The sleeping bag and pillow from your apartment were also stuffed there, ready for Miles to use whenever he needed an extra break from being a superhero. You suspected Gwen had also been sneaking by to visit Miles now that she had more freedom to explore the multiverse - hence the spare uniform.

“How’s he doing?” You’d asked Miles earlier that day. Miguel’s unspoken name had lingered on the tip of your tongue, forcing the color to rise into your cheeks. Luckily Miles knew exactly who you were talking about.

A knowing grin grew on his face, “Not too bad. He seems more on edge than usual, but I hear he’s working on his temper.”

“He’s not body slamming any more teenagers?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Good.” You paused, “If he gives you any more trouble, send him my way. I’ll give him a piece of my mind.”

Miles saluted you, “You got it.”

You meant it as a joke… but you also wanted a reason to see him again.

You were just about to switch the light off in your classroom when a flash of yellow caught your eye. Tucked behind a stack of newsprint, the vine charcoal rubbing away on your fingers as you carefully lifted the papers, was your prized pair of yellow converse.

It was too late to think about how they’d ended up so far from home, so you tossed them in your bag, threw out the coffee cups, and saved your muddled mind the trouble of figuring it out tonight.

The midnight subway car was filled with the usual Friday-night suspects - overworked nurses, loners just killing time, drunk party goers covered in more glitter than a kindergartener’s Valentine’s day card, and you.

You didn’t miss Richard, not really. What you really missed was coming home to someone and the feeling of another body weighing down the right side of the bed. More recently you’d been imagining what it would be like to come home to Miguel.

You kicked off your shoes at the bottom of the landing, shuffling up the steps and pulling off your clothes as you went, modesty be damned. By the time you face planted on your bed, hair still damp from the shower, it was nearing 2am and Miguel still hadn’t left your mind. He’d planted himself in your thoughts like a spider too high up on a wall for you to squash and too large for you to ignore.

Mercifully you didn’t have to endure the pains of a schoolgirl crush for very long. Sleep dragged you under and you welcomed it as your mind finally went quiet.

You awoke with a start, suffocating under the heavy blankets that you’d buried yourself in last night. You’d been dreaming again about the collider. You’d been dreaming about Miguel - this time in a feverish haze that left your mind in a puddle on the floor.

How was it possible that a stranger could occupy so much space in your mind? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he’d held you like you were everything and then left without saying goodbye.

But you weren’t complete strangers…

“Aren’t you his wife?”

Miles had asked the question so innocently and Miguel hadn’t said anything against it, so it must be true. Somewhere, in some other universe, you’d been married to one another.

Are you thinking about me too? You wondered, opening your eyes in hopes of chasing the memory of him away.

…Maybe you were still dreaming, because the last time you checked you hadn’t fallen asleep under a tree in Central Park. And even if you had, you highly doubted you could have lugged your mattress and bed frame with you all the way from Brooklyn.

Oh por el amor de Dios.

The glorious thing about New York City is that everyone knew how to mind their own business. So when people saw a high school art teacher in Star Wars pjs leap for joy upon finding a $5 bill on the ground, they didn’t question it.

You were so ecstatic about saving yourself the two-and-a-half hour walk back to Brooklyn that you didn’t remember a highly important piece of information until after you hopped off the subway - you didn’t have your keys or your phone.

Joder.

Your forehead knocked against the front door of your apartment building with an audible clunk.

“Por el amor de la mierda, ¿por qué mi vida es así?” You muttered under your breath.

“Y/n?” Your landlord, Mrs. Fleming, pushed her tortoise-shell glasses higher up on her face, the thick lenses magnifying her eyes to bug-like proportions. “Oh it is you, my dear.”

You groaned, color rushing into your cheeks as you turned around sheepishly. “Good morning, Mrs. Fleming.”

The elderly woman gave you a once-over look, crocheting needles clicking together as she rummaged around in her bag for her keys, “The old walk of shame, I see.”

“What?! Wait, no-this isn’t-I’m not-”

She patted you on the back before unlocking the door and holding it open for you, “I only use the turn of phrase because that’s what you young folks call it. Ain’t nothing shameful in it. It’s good of you to get out there. I never did like Richard much.”

You were at a loss for words.

Mrs. Fleming, sprightly as she was for her age, followed you up to your apartment with her extra set of keys jingling merrily in her hands.

“Now, you have a good rest of your weekend, dear.” She said once you’d been graciously let into your apartment, “And don’t forget your keys next time!”

“Thanks Mrs. Fleming.” You said. Her amused chuckle echoed through the air as she shuffled off to her own apartment.

You sprawled out on the ground where your bed should have been, trying to even out your breathing as the reality of the morning’s events crashed down around you like a house of cards.

This can’t be happening. ¿Qué diablos me pasa?

You rolled onto your stomach, repeatedly banging your face into a spare pillow to muffle the sound of your aggravated screams.

The pillow accepted your frustration with little complaint until something in you just snapped.

All at once the pillow disappeared from beneath you and then blinked into existence by the closet allowing your face to crash into the floor unprotected.

You grabbed at your burning nose, eyes swimming with tears of pain as you registered what had happened.

“No… oh no.”

>>>

The rain beat down irregularly, fluctuating back and forth from being barely a drizzle to a torrential downpour.

You gripped an empty to-go cup in your hand, the tea you’d hoped would calm your nerves long gone.

It took you three hours to make it here. First you kept teleporting your keys away every time you touched them, futilely chasing them around the apartment. Then you’d nearly gotten hit by a taxi and teleported yourself to the bathroom of a tea shop on the Upper West Side. Miraculously your powers had quieted after that, allowing you to get on the subway and here without incident.

A familiar figure made its way down the block, hood up to protect from the rain.

“Miles!” You leapt up from your seat, racing across the street to the annoyed honking of two taxis.

“Miss Y/l/n? How’re you doing?” Miles narrowed his eyes in worry, seeing the way your fingers nervously pulled at a loose string from your sweater, “What happened to your face?” The flesh around your nose was red and tender, slowly transforming into a purple bruise.

“I’m sorry for bothering you like this, but I didn’t know where else to go.” You looked around carefully before lifting the cup in the palm of your hand.

You furrowed your brow in concentration, willing that same power within you to snap into place again.

“What’s supposed to-”

“Just-just give me a minute.”

A minute passed, and nothing. Your heartbeat quickened as you grew more and more flustered.

“Miss Y/l/n are you sure you’re ok?” Skepticism and genuine concern laced his voice.

“I’m fine!”

Snap!

The cup blinked out of existence like an old-school television that had been turned off. Miles saw it reappear over the park across the street and land on a dog walker’s head. The man in question looked up at the sky bewildered, like he expected to find God there.

Miles’s wide eyes met yours.

“Oh shit.”

He pulled you into the empty alleyway behind his building, using his spider webs to straighten the trash cans that rolled around on the ground and clear out a space large enough for the two of you to comfortably stand side by side.

He hung close to the street, Gwen’s face shimmering to life above his wrist as he spoke with his back turned to you.

“Hey, Gwen. I’ve got a situation.” He whispered into the watch.

You caught snippets of their conversation, shrinking in your coat as you tried to suppress the anxiety growing in your chest. If there was anything you’d learned about your powers it was that they tended to flare up with your emotions.

“Do you think we can trust him with this? I don’t want anything to happen to her… Yeah, yeah. No, I understand. I’ll bring her in. See you later.”

Miles turned back to you, a strained smile on his face, “Sorry about that.”

“Miles, what’s going on?” “I got to bring you into Spidey HQ. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but Miguel might.”

He unzipped his raincoat and hoodie, exposing the black and red spider-suit beneath and tugging on his mask.

Your heart gave a flip at the mention of your husband’s name (could you even call him that?). Would he be happy to see you again? Would things be awkward between the two of you?

A familiar watch flashed on his wrist as he began pressing buttons on the orange holographic screen. You’d seen it happen before, a portal of wild glitching colors pulsing to life in front of you, but that didn’t make it any less impressive. Miles stepped into it, dragging you along with him like he was just passing through any regular doorway.

He swept his arm outward, smiling at the expression on your face.

“Welcome to Spidey HQ, Miss Y/l/n.”

Your jaw dropped as you passed through the portal - an actual portal - to Miguel’s dimension.

Hundreds, no thousands, of Spider-People roamed the open air halls, some on two legs, some on four, some on wheels, and some just preferred to swing through the air on webs, catching and releasing the nimble strings with practiced grace from the walkways that crossed overhead like… well like a spider’s web.

Miguel certainly hadn’t wasted the spider concept when it came to their headquarters.

“I didn’t know there was a universe composed entirely of Spider-Men…Spider-People?… Spider…” A cat hissed at your feet when you nearly stepped on its tail as you blindly followed Miles through the crowd, “Spider-Things?”

“Sorry Spider-Cat!” Miles said as the feline grumbled, tail high in the air as it calmly leapt onto the wall and continued on its way as though gravity were only an inconvenience.

“Actually, every world has only one Spider-Person, but the Alchemax explosion last year ended up opening holes into other universes. Miguel created this place as a hub for Spider-People while everyone tries to fix the anomalies.”

“Anomalies?”

“Yeah, beings that have accidentally gotten stuck in another world.”

“Oh… yeah that makes total sense..” Your words trailed off as a roaring laugh caught your attention, “Is that… is that a dinosaur?”

You pointed at the group crowded around a cafeteria table howling with laughter. Burgers bounced on trays as the T-Rex doubled over to slap the table for dramatic effect.

“AY YO, REXA!” Miles shouted over your head, throwing his arms up wildly.

Rexa exposed razor sharp teeth in a grin and waved one short arm towards you. You returned a meek wave in return.

“That’s Rexa. She’s super funny. Just uh…” he covered his mouth before whispering in your ear, “Maybe don’t mention anything about her arms. She gets a little sensitive.”

“Oh…yeah, of course. No problem.”

Miles continued to lead you through the building, periodically taking breaks for you to catch up as you kept your eyes trained on everything except the path he’d carved in front of you. At one point you simply disappeared from view, reappearing four stories up in a psychiatrist’s office.

A tweed-suited Spider-Man jumped in his seat, dropping the box of tissues he’d been preparing to throw to his client.

“Oh! I… I’m so sorry.” You said, flustered at the sight of a sandy haired Peter Parker variant sobbing his eyes out into a spider plushie. You inched along the wall towards the door, “I’m just-I’m just going to make my way out.”

You closed the door as quietly as possible, turning around and coming face to face with Miles again. You jumped and snapped, this time landing on Rexa’s table, foot squishing her burger into roadkill.

You groaned and tilted your head up, watching Miles sail out the office window and swing his way down.

This was going to take a while.

There was no shortage of Spiderpeople to steal your attention, but finally after a few (uninterrupted) turns down pristine white hallways and an elevator ride into the belly of Spidey HQ, it was just you and Miles again.

From his lair, Miguel traced your figure with his eyes. When you caught sight of the camera in the elevator, its red pupil narrowing in on you, you smiled sheepishly and waved. The small action made his stomach flip like a schoolboy who’d been given his first kiss.

He needed to pull himself together before he saw you face to face again.

“I’m just saying, I think this is a good thing, Miguel.” Peter B. said, swinging up to the platform and wrapping an arm around Miguel’s broad shoulders. Mayday crawled out and onto the control board, pressing buttons haphazardly and closing half the screens. She clapped her hands in wonder and Miguel grumbled half-heartedly.

Once she started walking, all bets were off. She’d be an absolute menace to Spider Society. Already she liked to treat Miguel like her personal playscape, crawling onto his shoulders and tugging at his brown curls.

Her antics almost made him smile… almost.

“If she’s here then that can only mean something’s wrong.” Miguel said, keeping his eyes fixed on the screen and ignoring Mayday as she slumped over his back, slowly sliding down his chest and into his waiting arms with a dramatic sigh.

You looked tired and nervous, fingers tugging at the strings of your raincoat. A purple bruise spread out from your nose, moving with the curve of your cheekbones. Had someone hurt you?

Miguel’s blood began to boil.

“Or,” Peter bumped his hips against Miguel’s, “it could mean she wants to see you again.”

“Stop that.” Miguel growled.

“Stop what?”

Stop giving me hope.

Miguel was about to bite back at Peter and wipe the mischievous grin on his face when the doors slid open. Miles’s voice rang through the empty space.

“These are all those anomalies I was telling you about. Doc Oc, Rhino, Sandman, Mysterio. I don’t even want to know who that is.”

“Why is it so dark in here?”

“Miguel likes to brood. I think he’s part vampire.”

Miguel tossed Mayday into her father’s arms, swiftly turning around and busying himself at the control panel to distract from the pounding of his heart. A dozen screens flashed to life above the control board and Miguel concentrated on none of them.

Peter grinned like a madman. This was going great.

“Miss Y/n!” He shouted out, throwing his hands in the air before hopping off the platform. Mayday squealed in delight and copied his actions. Miguel only cursed under his breath and rubbed his temples. Leave it to Peter to be the cause of 90% of his headaches.

“Looking good, teach!”

“Ummm… thanks?” You responded as Mayday grabbed at you with chubby fingers. You didn’t have much choice but to hold her as Peter thrust her into your arms. Fear jolted through you like a lightning strike and you quickly handed her off to Miles, the poor girl frowning and continuing to make grabbing motions at you. The last thing you wanted was to make Mayday disappear from your arms.

Peter tipped his head to the side but for once made no comment. He continued to chat you up, pulling small smiles from your lips and ignoring the way you kept glancing at Miguel as his platform slowly lowered to the ground.

He had his hands on his hips, bright red and blue Spider-suit cutting a striking silhouette against the dark background.

If he’d noticed you walking into the room, he didn’t show it and you tried your best not to deflate at that realization.

“Don’t worry. He just likes to make an entrance,” Miles whispered in your ear. And some entrance that was. He stepped off the platform, back tight and straight as he moved forward with measured, even footsteps.

Miles took one step forward, angling his body in front of you with a weariness in his eyes.

Miguel stopped, face betraying nothing as he looked you up and down once.

“I never thought I’d see you again.” The words would have sounded romantic coming from someone else’s lips, but from him they just sounded dry and clinical.

“Same here.” You said. The words came out breathlessly.

“What’s happened?”

His hand hovered in the air between you two before he swiftly dropped it to his side. He wanted to reach out and touch your face. He wanted to tilt your chin upwards so he could take a good look at the damage done to your nose and make sure you were ok. Perhaps if you’d been alone he would have allowed himself to do it, but as it was, they had company.

“We need your help, Miguel.” Miles cut through the tension, “Something’s up with Miss Y/l/n. She’s got powers now - teleportation similar to the Spot’s.”

His heart stuttered in his chest.

“Is that true?” he said, desperately looking to you for answers. The Spot’s powers had made him unstable in more ways than one and Miguel shivered to think about anything happening to you.

You nodded, “Things keep disappearing when I touch them. Sometimes I accidentally teleport to places when I’m frustrated. I didn’t realize what was going on until I woke up in Central Park last night.”

Miguel turned around, muttering under his breath as his mind raced a thousand steps ahead of him.

Of all the people this could have happened to, it had to be you. He thought he’d done the right thing by leaving you alone, forcing himself not to portal to your dimension every night. His multiversal travels had taught him a thing or two about the ways things operated. Some figures, like Peter Parker’s Spider-Man were well represented across worlds. Some figures, like himself, were harder to come by.

As for you? He only knew of three worlds where you existed - in one world, his actions had led to your death and the death of your daughter. In the second, Spot had murdered you in his quest to figure out Spider-Man’s identity.

And in this one…

Well he thought he’d been keeping you safe.

Teleportation was a dangerous ability - unpredictable and difficult to control. Left unchecked you could find yourself in front of a car speeding down the highway or at the top of Mount Everest or in a different dimension altogether, constantly glitching as your molecules broke apa-

“Wait,” Miguel stiffened, back tightening as he swiveled around on his heels, “Where’s your watch?”

“My watch?” you glanced at your naked wrist, “I mean I usually just check my phone for the t-”

“No, your day pass watch. The thing that stabilizes you in this universe.”

Miles’s eyes blew open. “Mierda. Sabía que había olvidado algo.”

“How long have you two been here?”

“Maybe two hours.” You guessed.

“And nothing’s happened?”

“Is something supposed to happen?”

Even Peter B. looked concerned. Panic rose in your chest and you threatened to snap. Miguel reached out and grasped your wrist, palm sliding down until you felt the weight and warmth of his hand wrapped in yours. He led you to the med bay, Peter and Miles following closely behind.

The paper atop the padded examination table crinkled as you took a seat, watching Miguel’s broad shoulders flex and stretch as he dug an extra watch out from the back of a cabinet.

“Lyla, run a scan of Y/n.”

The woman flickered to life in front of him. “What’s the magic word?” She fluttered her eyelashes.

“Lyla.” He was in no mood for games today

“Ok, ok. Don’t be testy.” Lyla appeared in front of you, an orange scanner materializing in her hands that swept across your body with a cool touch. “Scan complete.”

“Here you go,” Miguel felt some relief pour back into his body as he fastened the watch around your wrist, hand lingering against your pulse like he wanted further confirmation that you were alive and well.

“Hey, why does she get one of the fancy ones?” Miles protested. The watch, identical to the ones worn by Miguel, Peter, and Miles flashed its face at you. It was far too elaborate and expensive to be just a day pass.

Miguel ignored him, walking over to one of the monitors and skimming through the output data.

“It took six months for Miguel to give me one of those bad boys,” The paper crinkled again as Peter hopped onto the table beside you, whispering, “Looks like someone’s got a favorite,” and earning a glare from Miguel.

Peter winked suggestively.

Miguel scowled.

Your cheeks turned a rosy red, your coat disappearing from around your shoulders and landing in a rumple at Miguel’s feet like the world’s worst suggestive gesture. Peter howled with laughter.

“No puedo creerlo.” Miguel whispered, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Lyla, am I looking at this right?”

“You sure are. Y/n’s DNA is perfectly stable. Not a trace of multiversal quantum poisoning to be found. And! Her radiation signature matches that of more than a thousand different universes. Bet you’ve never seen that before.”

“How is that even possible?”

“Hmmmm, let me think.” Lyla spun around in a digital office chair, waiting for her moment to break the dramatic pause. Miguel groaned - he would need to improve her code and tone down the dramatism. “Looks like packets of quantum energy from across the multiverse were released during the Alchemax hypercompact fusion explosion and merged with the only unaltered sentient lifeform in the vicinity.”

“Dios mio.”

At the end of her explanation she bowed gracefully, arm and fur-lined coat sweeping off to the side.

“Did you get any of that?” Peter asked out of the corner of his mouth.

“Peter, I took forestry as my science gen ed in art school and barely passed so… no.”

“Uhhh, can you repeat it for the rest of the class?” Miles piped up.

Lyla leaned forward, one hand on her hip and the other tipped her heart-shaped sunglasses onto her head.

“Y/n absorbed energy from a ton of different universes so as far as the multiverse is concerned, she doesn’t register as an anomaly. No glitching. No dying outside of her universe without a watch. No predicted multiversal collapse.” Lyla smiled. “Predicted.”

You looked less than pleased. The last month had been filled to the brim with life-altering events from finding out Miles was a superhero, to getting kidnapped and nearly dying, to finding out your variant’s husband was an all-too-attractive, brooding Spider-Man. It was getting to be too much - you were a teacher for crying out loud! Maybe you’d have handled it better if you were a crime-fighting detective, or a fancy scientist, or a millionaire with access to the latest tech and weapons. Instead you were just… you.

“Can you fix it?”

Miguel flinched at the look on your face. You were looking to him for help and for answers, but he couldn’t provide them in any satisfactory way. He’d never encountered anyone with your abilities.

The confusion and fear that came with discovering your powers - that was a journey all Spider-People went through, and they usually went through it alone.

Miguel sighed, “There’s nothing to fix, Y/n.” He said the words with a softness no one had heard from him in years, perhaps ever, “This is who you are now.”

“So I’m just going to be stuck like this forever?”

“Having powers isn’t so bad.” Peter chimed in with a small smile. “From time to time, it can actually be pretty awesome.”

You allowed a small, empty smile to grow on your lips. It was a smile Miguel was well acquainted with - the kind of smile that said I’m not fine, but I want you to believe that I am.

“I have some tests we could run.” Miguel offered up, “I can’t reverse what’s happened but maybe I can come up with something to help you control your powers, at least while you’re learning how to use them.”

You nodded, the smile turning into something real, “I would like that. Thank you.”

Peter was practically vibrating with excitement when he caught the look that passed between the two of you and the hint of hope on Miguel’s usually stony face.

He clapped his hands down on Miles’s shoulders, “Well would you look at the time? I need to put Mayday down for her nap and grab some food. You’ll learn this soon enough, but being a superhero does burn the calories.”

He hopped off the table, waltzing all the way to the door before he noticed that Miles was missing from his side. “Miles! Come join me.”

“Actually, I was going to wait with-”

“Miles.” Peter coughed into his fist, bug eyes burning into Miles until he got the hint.

“Oh? Oh! Yeah, sorry Miss Y/l/n, I forgot I told Gwen I’d meet up with her.”

You waved him off, “I’ll be fine, Miles. Thanks for everything.”

“I’ll show her how to use the watch and send her home when we’re finished.” Miguel said, pulling on a lab coat that had been draped over his office chair. He rarely had time to work in the lab, more focused on his primary duty of maintaining the stability of the multiverse, but the familiar glide of the fabric over his skin did help to relax him. It reminded him of the old days when Spider-Man didn’t exist and the multiverse was just a fun theory tossed around at company lunches.

A thin silence stretched between you two after Miles and Peter left, and you contented yourself with watching Miguel as he busily typed away at his monitor, labeled vials, and prepared the syringes. Every movement was practiced and controlled like he’d done this a million times before.

Miguel was screaming on the inside. You were close enough for his heightened senses to pick up on the honey lemon shampoo you used tinged with the woodsy scent of linseed oil. He was powerless under your gaze like an insect trapped under a microscope.

“I just need to collect some blood samples.” Miguel said, gently holding out his hand. You offered your arm up without complaint, distracting yourself from the pinch of the needle by reading the faded name tag printed on his lab coat.

You whistled low to break the tension, “Dr. O’Hara. That’s impressive. What kind of doctor are you?”

“I was a geneticist. Not the medical kind though. I worked in research at Alchemax.”

“Is that how you got your spidey powers?”

He rolled his eyes, “They’re not spidey powers, they’re acrachno-humanoid genetic augmentations.”

“Qué estúpido. Just call them spidey powers. You scientists just like to give things complicated names to feel superior.” The corner of Miguel’s lips quirked up every so slightly. The thrill of seeing any emotion on Miguel’s face lightened the feeling in your chest.

“Was it hard becoming Spider-Man?” You asked.

Miguel shrugged, wiping away the small bead of blood on your arm. “I had it easier than most. I was already looking into the possibility of combining human and arachnid DNA and I had the resources to study my powers.” Miguel paused. It had been a long time - too long - since he’d had a conversation like this with anyone. He could cast his mind back to talks with you his wife, but those had always been domestic in nature.

“The hardest part was not having anyone to talk to.” He said, finishing his thought.

“Sounds lonely.” You remarked, accepting the q-tip from him and swabbing the inside of your cheek. He collected the sample in a vial of greenish liquid and gave it a thorough shake, “Do you have people now that you talk to?”

“No.” His answer was short and to the point.

You’d touched a sore spot and you decided to prod it. “Would you like someone to talk to?”

Again, the corner of his lips twitched, “Are you offering?”

You copied his shrug from earlier, “Maybe.”

He took a few more cheek swabs and then a strand of hair. His hand lingered by your cheek, frowning as he took in the bruise on your face.

Now that you two were alone he dared to gently tilt your head to the side.

“You never told me what happened.”

Your hands flew up to your face in embarrassment and Miguel saw the tips of your ears grow red. He liked it.

“I may or may not have teleported my pillow away right before smashing my face into the floor.”

The breath left his lungs in a quiet chuckle. That sounded like something you’d do.

“But no one’s bothering you?”

“What? Oh no. No, it’s nothing like that.”

He nodded, the tightness in his chest unraveling with that knowledge. He knew you weren’t his wife and he knew that you didn’t know him well enough yet, but that didn’t stop him from caring. The truth was he liked you from the moment you slapped his shoulder and cursed at him, and it wasn’t just because you looked like someone from his past.

“This will take some time to work through.�� He tilted his head towards where the tabletop machines whirred and spun, “But if I’m right, I may be able to adjust your watch to stabilize you in a specific place, not just a specific universe. It’s not a permanent fix but you won’t be waking up in Central Park again anytime soon.”

“That would be preferable.”

You moved to take off the watch and hand it over to Miguel but he stopped you.

“Keep this one. In case anything happens you can contact me or the other Spider-People,” He said, walking her through the steps of using the watch, “Headquarters is always open so if anything happens, come here.”

You nodded. With an encouraging look from Miguel you punched “Earth-1610” into the locator and then your home address.

Just like last time the portal bloomed open beside you, scattering a few loose papers on the ground. Through the portal you caught a glimpse of your living room, citylights flashing outside your window.

“Come back next week. Until we have a better understanding of your powers it would be good for us to monitor you and check that you’re stable.”

And it would be good for you to see her again.

Miguel squashed the thought as soon as it popped into his brain in Peter’s voice. He really needed to stop spending so much time with him.

You stepped through the portal and were embraced by the familiar smell of your apartment. It made you feel better about what was to come. You turned to smile at Miguel, his tired eyes lighting up ever so slightly.

“I’ll see you next week then.”

<- Previous chapter Next chapter ->

_________ Author's note: Here's the next chapter! Let me know what you guys think of the writing and where the story is going. I'm hoping to dive more deeply into Y/n x Miguel's relationship in the coming chapters so get ready for angst and fluff!

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#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x wife reader #atsv x y/n #atsv x reader #atsv miguel #into the spider verse #across the spiderverse #spider man 2099 #miles morales #gwen stacy #hobie brown #pavit #peter parker #peter b parker #miguel x reader #miguel x y/n

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shayyprasad · 4 months

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maybe with a missed chance | peter parker

summary: there is no one you love more than peter parker. it's too bad that there are people he loves more then you.

warnings: angst, pining, breakdowns (?), bad self-thinking/image, unhealthy eating habits

pairing: peter parker x fem! reader

word count: 2.9+ words (not proof-read)

how long had it been since you found out peter was with liz? not long, most likely. well, long was subjective, like most things.

how long is too long?

what if it’s not long enough?

it doesn’t feel long enough, the time you had with peter.

or, you know, maybe that was subjective as well. you’d known him for ages. specifically, since the 3rd grade. so, what? ten years? almost eleven? not enough time. never enough time.

if you had more, then maybe you could have mustered up some courage to talk to him. to tell him. to convince him that you were the one for him, not her.

because you were sure, more than anything in the world, that she didn’t love him half as much as you did. not even a fraction. maybe part of the reason was because your love for peter wasn’t conditional, unlike hers. it was unlimited, and you were the only person who truly understood the depth of it.

7 months, a voice rang in the back of your head. that’s how many months it’d been since they were together. at first, you were sure it was a fling.

after all, it was liz. she was notorious for those, right?

but as the days had passed, you’d realized that it was not in fact a fling. it tugged your heartstrings to watch them holding hands in halls, watching the stolen kisses.

you hated it. you hated every moment of it, knowing you could do better than her. but maybe it didn’t matter. maybe it had nothing to do with that.

she might not have known his favorite color, his biggest secret, or even his favorite delmar’s order (he got the same one every time).

maybe it had to do with her looks.

how she could look flawless, without even trying. or how she managed to keep her hair in soft, perfect waves all the time. the way her skin was milky and soft, clear of any imperfections.

maybe it was just… her.

there was never a bland moment with her. liz always knew what to say, to keep a conversation going and keep the people laughing. her flirty personality was never distasteful, not to anyone. in fact, it was appealing. even to you, you admitted.

you hated her.

no, you wished you could hate her.

but she was too perfect. too pure and beautiful, and all the nice things in the world. that was why peter fell in love with her. and could you really blame him? in what right mind would he ever pick you over her?

it was funny. you had a terrible fight with him, not too long ago. really, it was only a couple of hours before.

you looked over at peter who was tapping away at his phone, smiling softly at it. you didn’t have to look at the contact’s name to see who it was.

but you looked anyways. you noticed that she made him happy in a way you never could, in a way you wished you could.

it was supposed to be a movie night. you hadn’t had one with him in some time. from saving the city to dating liz, it seemed like you weren’t a priority.

“pete?” you asked quietly, unsure of whether you should interrupt him.

he tilted his face away from the screen, but his eyes were still fixed there. “hmm?”

“are- are you not… do you not like the movie?”

“nah. it’s fine.”

“…right, yeah. but you aren’t watching it,” you added after a moment.

“oh, yeah, sorry. uno momento,” he chuckled, but you assumed it wasn’t at his own joke, but probably something his new girlfriend said. well, not so new anymore, you supposed.

yeah, no, you weren’t a priority. but best friends were supposed to communicate, right? maybe if you voiced your thoughts to him…

“peter?” well, that caught his attention. you rarely ever called him that. it was always a nickname of some sort. he clicked his phone off and set it to the side, sensing your… sadness? was it even that? it could be, to an extent. disappointment? pain?

“sorry, sorry. i’m here," he turned to the screen, "wait, what’s going on? why is he on the truck? why is the truck on fire? why is there fire?”

finally, you blurted out, “we’re best friends, right?”

“of course. why?” he was quick to respond, but it wasn’t enough.

“i- i just feel like… we don’t talk as much as we used to. or hang out, you know?”

“oh… well, we’ve kinda changed.”

“changed? i haven’t changed. have i?”

peter shrugged, “doesn’t everyone?”

“okay, i guess. but that’s not what i meant.”

he nodded at you, urging you to go on.

“you don’t hang out with me as much,” you repeated, unsure how to express yourself. “you’re always with liz now.”

“she’s my girlfriend,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

“i’m your best friend,” you frowned.

“but… but that’s different!”

“how so?”

“because she’s my girlfriend!”

“i don’t get it. i’m your best friend. isn’t that more important? you’ve known me for, like, ten years. and suddenly, you get a girlfriend and you’re too cool to hang out with me?”

“i didn’t say that,” peter said lamely.

“okay, but isn’t that what you’re insinuating?”

“i’m not insinuating anything. and is it really a big deal? we don’t need to hang out 24/7!”

“we don’t even hang out 3/7!” you argued back, not addressing the fact that it made no sense.

“i don’t know what you want me to say. why can’t you be happy for me? you know i’ve liked liz… since, like, forever,” he picked up his phone once more, unlocking it.

“you’ve known her for less than a year!”

“so?” he defended, “that doesn’t mean it’s not meant to be!”

“what? don’t tell me you think she’s the one,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

“what’s it to you?”

“a lot! you’re my best friend!”

“then act like it! why are you so pissed we’re dating?”

you stared at him. what did he want you to say? didn’t he know she wasn’t good for him? that he deserved the world, that she wasn’t it for him?

“because she doesn’t even like you like that much! she’s popular and pretty, why on earth would she go for you? don’t you think there’s a reason to that?”

the look on his face told you that you’d gone too far. and you had. you were wrong, anyways. he was everything. compared to him, liz was nothing.

“what’s wrong with you? are you jealous that you don’t have a boyfriend or something? projecting your insecurities into me? gee, real good friend you are.”

you weren’t going to act like that hadn’t stung. peter knew you had problems with your insecurities, your body-image, self-love. but you deserved it, you hurt him first. you wiped away tears you didn’t even know you were crying.

sniffling, “i’m just trying to look out for you. you can do better than her. she doesn’t love you half… half as much as…”

“as who, y/n? as who?” he looked up to meet your eyes, a scoff leaving his face. the second he saw your face, he understood.

he didn’t say another word as he left, and you didn’t stop him.

you shouldn’t have told him. you ruined everything. again.

i don't wanna talk right now i just wanna watch tv

when he left, you flicked on the tv, pretending that nothing ever happened. peter parker who? you didn’t know him. and you definitely didn’t know anything about accidentally confessing your love to him.

you kind of wanted to die. this was the worst way it could have played out, and you hated yourself for it. you should have kept your mouth shut.

i'll stay in the pool and drownso i don't have to watch you leave

you had refused to make eye contact with him as he left, simply resuming the tv. when you heard him lock the door behind him, that’s when you let yourself cry. sob after sob, wracking your body. the sound of crying as survivors played in the background. an odd mix, you’d say.

i put on survivor just to watch somebody suffer maybe i should get some sleep sinking in the sofa while they all betray each other what's the point of anything?

it was nice to see people in pain, as terrible as that sounded. people that, for once, weren’t you. someone else would feel what you were feeling, but it was a different type of pain. this one was… it was more emotional.

like thousand upon thousands of tiny daggers stabbing your heart, where every breath you took felt like glass shards dragging down your throat.

what was the point of anything? you found yourself asking that question a lot since he’d left. nothing seemed right without him. but if you were being honest, it hadn’t felt right in a long time. not since liz.

without any effort at all, she’d managed to whisk him away.

away from you. the person who loved him the most.

did he know how much easier this would be, for you and him both, if peter just realized that you were the one? not her? you scoffed a hiccup at the thought.

maybe it wasn’t meant to be. maybe you weren’t enough for him.

maybe, maybe, maybe.

all these hypotheticals, and yet you didn’t know anything for sure.

all of my friends are missing again that's what happens when you fall in love you don't have the time, you leave them all behind you tell yourself it's fine, you're just in love

you went to school the next day. you did everything like you normally would. went to all your classes, stopped by your locker.

you did everything, just as usual.

except for seeing peter. wait, no, that wasn’t accurate. you did see peter. frequently, in fact. always with liz, but that was beside the point.

you didn’t talk to him.

at least before you spoke somewhat. you got to hear his voice more… but now? not a single word. you didn’t know what to do with yourself. you hated the fact that a boy was doing this to you.

a stupid boy you’ve known for ten years and loved for six.

you used to sit in front of peter and liz, along with her friends. sure, you didn’t talk to anyone, and you had to watch them stare at each other like lovesick fools, but at least you got to be near him.

at least you had the title of best friend, which was one thing she didn’t.

or she didn’t before. who knows now?

you stood in front of the lunchroom, unsure of where to sit. your only friend was peter, really. it hadn’t always been that way.

it used to be chloe, betty, and cassie. along with peter and ned, of course.

but when peter ditched you guys for liz, you found yourself trailing after him like a lost puppy. you needed to be faithful to him. he was your best friend… or he was at some point. before.

before stupid liz, and her stupid smile, and stupid hair, and stupid… stupid everything.

love was work; you’d told yourself. maybe if he saw how you’d always be there, he’d pick you instead. maybe.

but he didn’t.

he saw liz.

he only ever saw liz.

why couldn’t he see you?

why couldn’t anyone see you?

didn’t you deserve to be seen?

didn’t you deserve something?

were you really that unlovable?

maybe, you thought, maybe.

you decided you would eat in the library. so, you went all the way into the back, and sat there quietly. closing your eyes, you let your head fall back onto the wall.

you sat on the swing, hiccupping tears to yourself softly. peter was supposed to be at math bowl practice right now, leaving you all alone. not quite knowing what to do, you went to the park. it wasn’t too late, around 5 or 6, you assumed. the sun wasn’t due to set for another hour or so.

wrapping your arms around yourself, you sniffed. the park was one of new york’s treasures, because while it was a big city, not many people knew about it. considering that, you weren’t worried about anyone else hearing you.

“y/n? what are you doing here?”

you recoiled in surprise, jumping off the swing, only to see peter. hastily, you wiped your tears.

“p-peter? what are you doing here?”

“i just asked you that. aw, are you crying?” he opened his arms for you, but you just shook your head aggressively.

“no. i’m not.”

“i can see your red eyes.”

in that moment, your eleven-year-old self hated him. how dare he do you like that? but considering that he could see right through you, there was no point. reluctantly, you gave in, falling into his open arms. slowly, he brought you to the ground, not letting go of you.

“do you want to talk about it?”

“no.”

“did flash bully you again? i swear-“

“no.”

“okay, are you super duper extra sure you don’t wanna talk about it?”

“…no.”

“alright. i’m here whenever you want me to listen.”

“they fought again,” you murmured softly.

“who? your parents?” he asked, ever though he knew the answer.

“uh-huh.”

“i’m sorry.”

“’s okay. not your fault.”

peter pressed his lips together, thinking, “well, what if you moved in with us? you could sleep in the top bunk! or in mine with me…” he said, wiggling his brows.

“seriously,” you deadpanned.

“yep. may wouldn’t mind. she loves you more than me, anyways.”

“makes sense. hey-“ you cut him off with a laugh.

you wiped your tears, “thanks. for, you know, making me feel better.”

“that’s what i’m here for.”

“gah, but now i have a headache!” you whined.

he frowned, pulling away to inspect you, “where?”

“my- what? a-are you serious right now?”

“what? ohhh. oops.” he smiled at you, blushing lightly.

but it was different this time.

not his smile, but how it made you feel.

i'll try not to starve myself just because you're mad at me and i'll be in denial for at least a little while what about the plans we made?

it was hard taking care of yourself now. peter had always been the thing that kept you going, but now that you didn’t have him…

the kitchen seemed so far away. really, it was only a room down, but you didn’t have the energy to do anything. you could only imagine how you looked, red eyes, sunken cheeks. everything hollow from the loss of love.

it hurt. everything hurt. why couldn’t he just love you back?

you’d do anything to be in liz’s place. she had the whole world in the palm of her hand.

she had peter in the palm of her hand.

liz probably didn’t even realize how lucky she was. and yet, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t hate her.

at age fifteen, you made your favorite memory of peter.

“peter?” you asked, lying in the grass beside him.

“yeah?”

“spencer broke up with me,” you sighed, but you weren’t too upset about it. you were just sad that no there was no one who loved you loved you like that, or even liked you.

that you were unlovable to the point where no one could love you.

“really? doesn’t he know what he’s missing out on?”

you chuckled, “not much.”

“are you kidding? you’re the prettiest, most amazing girl ever!”

“you’re saying that because you’re my best friend. it’s literally biased.”

“no! okay, well a bit. but it’s still true.”

“how’s it going with liz?” you asked, even though it pained you.

“meh. she still doesn’t know my name. but, hey, she waved at me in the hall yesterday.”

you scrunched up your nose, “i think she was waving at betty,” and after a moment added, “who was right behind you.”

“seriously,” peter groaned. “i waved back! that’s so embarrassing.”

it was quiet again for a bit.

“angel?” your heart jumped, even though he didn’t mean it romantically.

“hmm?”

“let’s make a deal.”

“what?”

“if we aren’t in love by… 30… then- then we can marry each other,” you didn’t tell if he was joking, so you turned to look at him.

“are you being for real?”

“’m bein’ so for real.”

“you know what,” your heart fluttered again, “sure.”

he put out his hand, and grinning, you shook it.

you were stupid to think it was ever a possibility.

now all of my friends are missing again 'cause that's what happens when you fall in love you don't have the time, you leave them all behind and you tell yourself it's fine, you're just in love

what hurt the most was that no one ever checked up on you or thought to spare a second to say hi. not any of your past friends, not even peter. it’d been almost a month since you’d told him, but he’d cut all contact. well, except betty. she’d text you occasionally, just to say hi. you didn’t respond that often anymore.

it was fine, you told yourself.

maybe this is what you deserved.

you watched them kiss in the halls, so full of joy. the opposite of yourself.

you doubted you’d ever move on from him. maybe it was a first love, last love type of thing. maybe.

hearing a buzz, you just barely turned around to pick up your phone off the bed-side table.

betty

you’ll never believe what i just heard

betty

peter said he used to be in love with you

betty

since like 6th grade to idk

betty

isn’t that crazy?

#tom holland x reader #tom holland #peter parker #spiderman #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #angst #tom holland x you #peter parker angst #peter parker imagine

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absolutebl · 2 months

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This Week in BL - People of Earth we have VERSE rep in 2 Thai BLs! Amazeballs!

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

March 2024 Wk 3

Ongoing Series - Thai

Deep Night (Thurs iQiyi) ep 2 of 8 (10?) - Everyone seems to be a bit of a player and I’m not mad about it. It’s nice to see high-grade flirting, and I really love how very gay the leads feel. Not BL gay. Actual gay. We shall see how it goes, I suspect we are in "messy gay" territory in which case, I predict utter carnage and that this show will drop ranks precipitously for me. But right now? Of all the Thai BLs airing, I'm enjoying this the most. How bizarre.

I like the side couple (thrupple?) too, despite the prat fall kiss and possible cheating. They very pretty:

To Be Continued (Thai C3 Thailand grey) ep 4 of 8 - oh dear NO honeychild, face masks are gross tasting!

Rule no 966 of the BL world. He’s never asleep.

Argh Achi wants Ji so bad. Nice mutual kiss tho, despite Ji's baggage. I guess Ji knew what would happen if Achi stayed? But why is he so scared? Just deeply closeted? The backstory is very high school achy and I feel like it explained Achi but not Ji. And the crying in the movie was lovely, so we totally understand Achi's but Ji is just messed up and confused? I admit to being a bit confused too. Why is Ji the one so angry?

On a totally different aside, I really like how the set dressing is done in Ji’s apartment. It looks lived in and not staged. Super rare in Thai BL. I'm reminded of Ai & Pond's dorm room in Love By Chance, which actually looked like a real college dorm.

City of Stars (Fri iQIYI) ep 7 of 12 - Why is it always the pulps that actually trot out the best communication, conversation, consent, and healthy relationships? Yes I'm still wincing over the truly bad acting but I’m enjoying their good relationship. The sex scene was sweet and tender, although the likelihood of rose petals getting stuck places wigs me out. (Flower petals + lube = terrible combination. Just FYI.)

ALL PRAISE VERSE REP! And a bottom who owns it! Yay!

1000 Years Old ep 5 of 12 - How ridiculously colorful and flirty they all are. There is nothing at all vampire about this show. I’m a bit bored by the restaurant plot but I'm tuning in for the bonkers approach to goth. How dare they be so cheerful with my precious emo youth, but also, how very Thai pulp of them.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Unknown (Taiwan Tues Youku YouTube) ep 4 of 11 - oh it’s SO GOOD. Reading the yaoi and crying. COME ON TAIWAN HAVE MERCY. The red wrapping of the hands (red thread, yes yes we get it). The boy who doesn’t want to box for so many reasons. Not the least of which is how unpleasant it is to spar with a lover.

This is easily the best BL currently airing and it is going to hurt us. But I don't care. I love it.

AntiReset (Taiwan Fri Viki/Gaga) eps 8 of 10 - This show is dangerously cute and I’m scared for everyone involved, including me.

Love is Better the Second Time Around AKA Koi wo Suru nara Nidome ga Joto (Japan Gaga) ep 2 of 6 - Poor baby thrown in all willynilly amongst a pack of queeny bitchy gay intellectuals. I'd be lost too. It's the worse kind of fight, one you have to philosophize your way out of.

Although I Love You and You AKA Sukiyanen Kedo Do Yaro ka (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 10fin - They are extremely adorable and it was a very good ending - mature, adult, and bittersweet. I liked it a lot. But I didn’t love it the way I wanted to.

The promise of this show, younger cook courts older divorced office worker, should have been my catnip. I mean if someone pitched this to me in an elevator I would have downloaded it by the second storey. Unfortunately, it did not exactly fulfill that promise, not in the way I'd hoped. Did I still enjoy the ride, yes, but I feel just a little let down. 8/10

My Strawberry Film (Japan Thurs Gaga) eps 5 of 8 - Honestly now I’m just shipping the two girls getting together. Frankly, I really don't like this show, and normally I'd DNF but there's only a few eps left and nothing else is airing rn.

It's done, ready to binge, maybe I'll finally get to it this weekend

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps

The Servant and the Young Master (Vietnam YouTube)

Began Beginning (Myanmar YouTube) - A Burmese BL? @heretherebedork vouched for it, so I will watch eventually.

It's airing but...

Time the series (Tue Gaga/YT) 10 eps - it's finished now, I dropped it at ep 4. Should I bother?

Close Friend Season 3: Soju Bomb! (Thai ViuTV grey) 10 eps - I'm exhausted by this franchise and the variety pack style of BL. If there is a particularly good couple (or installment) I might watch it, but I'm letting others decide for me.

A Secretly Love (Thai WeTV grey) 10 eps - I watched the first ep but grey is too much work for this inferior of a show. I may pick up and binge if it gets distribution but for now, it gets a DNF from me. KimCop might have held this crap together but Kim without Cop? No thank you.

Lady Boy Friends (Thai WeTV grey) 16 eps - reminds me a bit too much of Diary of Tootsies only high school, not my thing. DNF unless it turns a corner and is truly amazing for some reason.

Gossip

The choreo controversy - Deep Night vs OnlyOneOf. Look, like a musical rift, or a styling photoshoot, there are no new ideas in choreo, I feel like Madonna did this pose too, a long time ago. Certainly someone in the 80s. Or whatever. Anygay, it's an ironic thing to see a Thai BL being called out by a gay-branded Kpop group when both are exploiting eroticized homosexuality for commercial profit... just saying. (HOW DID WE GET HERE?) Not to mention that BOTH are ALSO exploiting the kink community. We live in interesting times, BLabies. In the end, it's a good publicity stunt all round. And I think Nine knows exactly what he's doing (and why he is doing it). Finally: Drama drama drama around coreo? That is V gay boys. Fun fun fun, carry on everyone.

Strike a pose.

You're being recorded for posterity.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Starting

3/21 Two Worlds (Thai IQIYI) 10 eps - One of those "he's dead Jim so time travel" thingames staring MaxNat. I'm over this concept but Asia flipping loves it and I do enjoy MaxNat. Phupha (Gun) and Khram (Nat) love each other but Phupha is murdered. Then Khram is pulled to a parallel world where, 12 years ago, Khram and Tai (Max) were in love. However, Khram was killed by Tai’s dad. Now Tai finds alter-Khram apparently alive. But then there is ALSO an alter-Phupha to deal with. (Phupha is played by Gun Thanawat who was Khom, the repressed butler bodyguard from Unforgotten Night. We like this, we scared of the love triangle aspect.)

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

Forgive me a moment of industry noodling?

Have ya noticed that it's slender pickings right now but it shouldn't be? This is not the mid summer slump nor end of year lull. We should be getting some heavy hitters on first quarter release. (Side eyes GMMTV. Perhaps those painful Japanese acquisitions were a bigger issue than any of us realized?)

Anygay, IMHO, Thailand's BL bubble has popped and sponsor money is drying up. This is my shocked face:

Look, the 2021-2023 level of release and growth (exponential) was never gonna be sustainable, so I'm not surprised. I suspect that in 2024 Thailand will actually produce fewer BLs than 2023 (73, 64 in 2022, and 40 in 2021).

I know I'm sticking my neck out predicting any film industry but... I have seen this kinda thing before and it just *feels* like shrinkage. Thai BL's load has been shot, my peeps. (Not to be crass or anything.)

Oh, don't worry you pretty head about it, it's not going away, just getting less prolific.

Don't we all in our old age?

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

My favorite trope, sniff him!

Queen. (both Deep Night)

King. (City of Stars)

Verse rep verse rep verse rep!!! Can you see me doing a little dance this side of the screen?

(Last weeks summation)

Streaming services are listed by how I'm (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are too much work.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog

If ya wanna be tagged each week leave a comment and I will add you to the template. Easy peesy.

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teatreeoill · 6 months

Text

|| Selfish (Gojo Satoru X Reader) ||

In which Gojo is so protective over reader she's sure he hates her. Couldn't be further from the truth, but how would you know it without some good old-fashioned over dramatic angst?

TW: mentions of smoking and blood.

"He hates me. I swear, I know it sounds like I'm exaggerating..." You catch yourself muttering on the steps leading to the training field. The breeze tickles your skin, you cast your shoes aside to change them to trainers. "I didn't even have time to go back to my room and change. All day it's do this, go get that… I swear, Kyoto sounds like a great idea these days." Nobara's look shifts to your shoes, "Where'd you get those? I never saw them in this color before." "Kugisaki!" You plea to her, "I'm serious, please. Gojo hates me. How does it make sense that I'm stuck in damn Grade 2 for the past year and half?" "Maybe," She takes her phone out to take a picture of your shoes, "You're just not as good as you think?" "Oi, Kugisaki, don't talk to your elders like that!" Yuji's voice butts in, he sits with a thump on the stairs next to you. "But I can't imagine Gojo-Sensei hating anyone. Especially a teaching assistant. It makes no sense."

It really does make no sense, you drowned your face in your palms. How are all these kids supposed to take you seriously when they see you humiliated daily? Rejected from missions. Stuck on the same Jujutsu-Grade as the second year students for so long you've lost all hopes of ever advancing anywhere. Forever a teaching assistant, a mere substitute teacher for the times when the truly powerful had more important things to do. Disheartened, you've reduced to sharing your feelings with first-years before training. "Alright, pair up. We haven't got all day!" You get up from the steps, trying to pick up the remains of your self-esteem.

Dusk crept over the surrounding trees. You've been watching the students for hours now, noticing how through each change in their pairings they've gotten better and faster. Familiar feelings loomed over you. That's it. That has to be it. Another day of watching these kids surpass their own limits so simply will surely be the end of the line.

You've marched straight into Gojo's office, not even making an effort to change to something not drenched with sweat. "We will not have that conversation again," the white haired man didn't even bother to look up from his phone. It's true, you've had this conversation every couple of months - and you've always received the same unsatisfying answers. "You're right," you found yourself standing straight across from him, the palms of your hands hitting the desk in between you a little too hard. "Careful with that, it's expensive." He says. You stare at him in silence. How is it, that with all the anger you hoped he'd notice you've directed at him, he wouldn't even avert his gaze from his phone for one minute? "Saturo, I've -" "First name basis, are we now?" Another smug smirk sent your way, your cheeks began to burn. "I think first name basis may be appropriate, since I've decided to transfer to Kyoto." Oh god, when was that decision made? You've always liked Tokyo, the proximity from the city made all your futile efforts here worthwhile. But it was too late to back down. Gojo's hand reached to his blindfold, one blue eye peeks at you. "Alright, good luck then." The blindfold snapped back on, his attention returned quickly to his phone.

"Good luck then," you mutter to yourself, walking back through the darkening corridors to your room, "Good luck then, huh?" It's been over five years now since you've first arrived in Jujutsu High, was good luck then all that he could say? What a fucking -

"Emergency!" A voice rang through the building. Oh god, what now? With your eyes set on your room to wallow the evening in your newly made terrible decision. "Someone! Please!" Your legs carried you before your reasoning did. Through the curves of the hallways, straight to the first-year's rooms. "It's Yuji," Kugisaki looked at you, panting, "He tried to pet Megumi's divine dog. I don't think the dog liked it." Yuji held out his arm. After a thorough inspection, it was just a scary looking graze on his forearm. He muttered to Nobara it wasn't much to fuss about, the blood smearing on the sleeve of his uniform. "It's nothing bad, we'll tend to it any way to avoid an infection," you prompted him to get up from his seat, "I think Shoko's still in the infirmary."

You sat on the infermary bed, with Yuji already on his way back to his room you'd found the time to share your troubles. Shoko sighed, fumbling for a lighter through the things on the tray next to her. "Shoko, I'm going to Kyoto." She lit her cigarette, the smell of smoke suffocating the small room. "That's nice, when will you be back?" She asked, huffing smoke in the direction of the open window. "I don't think I'll be back for a while. Or at all, actually." She dragged a chair to the side of the bed, watching your fingers tap on the fabric.

"I wondered when you'll finally do that. You spoke to Satoru again, didn't you?" A sigh escaped her lips. She'd rarely admit to liking spending time with anyone, but the occasion seemed to call for it. "I'll miss you. That prick always thinks he's doing the right thing."

"I hardly think it's right to deny promotions from anyone for so long. He made sure I was so busy that I could hardly find the time to go on missions." Shoko weighed her words carefully, tapping carefully on the ashtray, removing the ash residue from her cigarette. "It's because he'd never tell you how scared he is for something to happen to you. It's still selfish, don't get me wrong there - but I think he's far too afraid of something happening that it has become easier for him to sabotage you. I told him repeatedly to stop but he just -" Her words cut off by a knock on the door.

"Ieri! You there?" Gojo's impatient knocking had turned frantic. "The lights are on, Shoko. Open up!" Your eyes shot up at Shoko, speak of the devil. The handle turned lightly. Gojo entered the room, turning straight to Shoko, not even looking at your direction. You'd managed to quickly find an excuse to leave, struggling to believe that's the same man who'd do anything out of concern for you. You closed the door, fingers lingering on the round handle, thinking how wrong it would be to eavesdrop while pressing your ear to the door.

"You know she's really leaving, right?" Shoko's distant voice lectured. "That's on you for acting selfish, Gojo." As you thought, he said nothing. Quickly diverting the conversation to something relating to a mission, another one you weren't supposed to be a part of. Perhaps it was wrong to eavesdrop. You stepped away from the door to turn to the direction of your room. Finally, some good wallowing time.

By the next morning, you've already made all the necessary calls. Wishing somehow it would be harder to convince the higher-ups of your sudden move, but it seemed that help was welcome anywhere, and work always needed to be done. Your bags half packed, you were almost ready to say the sudden goodbyes to the students. The nostalgic look on every part of your room had already taken over, the final time of staring at that crack on the ceiling, the final time of covering that old coffee stain on the nightstand with a small glass whale statuette Gojo brought from one of his trips. Perhaps it's better to leave it there.

You gathered your nerves, opening the door, just to watch the tall white haired man pace from side to side in the hallway. "Did I forget something?" Your hand held the door open. He jumped up a bit from the sudden voice. His pacing slowed, he took a step towards you, you gulped at the narrowing distance between your bodies. "I - spoke to Shoko. I think I got carried away, you don't have to leave on my account." The words felt empty as he said them, Shoko must have chewed him out well yesterday. "You know Go-," You inhaled, "Satoru, not everything happens because of you." His dropped his sunglasses further down on the bridge of his nose, his blue eyes piercing through you. You hardly ever saw him without his blindfold, his stare sending shivers down your spine. "Shoko was quite adamant it's all my fault, So I thought I better -"

You laughed, "Shoko was also quite adamant that all this time you just cared about me, so I guess even smart people can be wrong sometimes." He puzzled over your answer. "But I do." His hand brushes through his hair, just for it to fall over his eyes again. "Funny," you snarl, he studies your expression silently. You've taken advantage of that silence to continue, "So all these years you were just protecting me from dying? I thought sorcerers had accepted that fate when walking in here." "Some things are worse than death," A solemn look takes hold of his face, you could have sworn the color of his eyes darkened. "Do you take me for such a weakling?" Your tone of voice already deeming the conversation as pointless. "I never said that. I think you care, perhaps too much. I would never want to see you sacrifice yourself over anything." The joyless tone of voice was far from his usual demeanor.

"Well, now you wouldn't have to see me at all." Your nerves had gotten the best of you. You hardly meant to say it, but as the words were spat out of our mouth, it seemed inappropriate to back off this course of action. "You're not listening to me, (Y/N)" He could hardly cover how irritated he was, his hand gripped your forearm, pushing you towards him. His breath stroked your face, "I would never want something to happen to you, but you seem to be pushing towards it all the time. Aren't you happy with the students? Why do all of you have to go running around searching for burdens to carry when you don't have to?" His fist contracts tighter around your arm. His teeth clench to stop another flow of words he'd regret later on.

"Satoru, who's all of us?" In your voice a sense of shame, an empty pit has formed down at the bottom of your stomach, his eyes still fixed upon you. The same feeling of being scorned as a child, a tough love you'd thought would pass you by at this age. "Are you not happy?" he questions you again, you wiggle your arm as a sign of pain, even as he lets it go you still feel the marks that his fingers left there. "I am, It's just that -" He couldn't let you go on for a second longer, his lips pressing firmly against yours, your breath sucked away by his tongue. A long minute passed, your hand had found a happy place inside his hair, his arms had restricted your movement and emitted safety all together.

Just as he'd stopped for a breath, you'd decided it'd be far too hard to continue the conversation if this went on. "I'd like to not be hindered, Satoru," you wiped the wetness of your lips with your sleeve, "Nobody comes to Jujutsu-High to be protected, they come to protect. If I can't do it when you're there, I'll go." You watched his face change, his mind racing behind the sunglasses. "You can do it here," A piece of sadness was left in an otherwise tranquil voice. "Good." Your smile had reminded him to breathe. "Now," you mused, "Would you mind kissing me like you're angry again?" His laughter lifted the tension from your body,

"Oh - Dirty," The familiar smirk had settled down the final waves of emotion.

"Not a word, Shoko." you pleaded to her again. "If you don't want the school talking about it, then don't have your arguments in the hall." She took a long drag from her smoke, "Would you mind kissing me like you're angry again?" She imitates you silently, chuckling under her breath. "Shoko, I'm begging you!"

#jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru

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bogleech · 1 year

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REVIEWING THIS WHOLE BAG OF RUBBER BUGS:

I mentioned recently that bags of cheap rubber bugs are harder to come by in real stores, but that there are a few options for them online. I just received this set from Aliexpress that’s currently only $4 with free shipping, you might even find the same set cheaper since there’s multiple listings for it, but I can verify this source is using an accurate photo and I am now going to REVIEW THEM:

SPIDER: obligatory, all-purpose spider, ambiguous species, noodly legs, minimal paint application, 3/5

COCKROACH: nice silky black coloration on the back, tan on the underside, rather haphazard leg pose, I like it but in terms of objective quality it’s unfortunately a 2/5 compared to other fake roaches and even to other bugs in this set.

DRAGONFLIES: so this set is definitely pieced together from what were once multiple different rubber bug sets, but I can also confirm that you always get the same selection I’m reviewing, which includes several redundancies. You get both a large and small dragonfly with entirely different sculpts, the smaller one more accurately sculpted but not as dynamically painted! Both I’d give a 3/5, adequate dragonflies

ORTHOPTERA: you get a cricket AND two different styles of grasshopper! The big, detailed black and red cricket is crudely painted but very unique, 3.5/5. The small grasshopper is cute and inoffensive, barely painted, 3/5. The large grasshopper is a 4/5 for me because while I’ve seen plenty like it, it has a really nice gradient from lime green to a darker grassier green that I just find very pleasant.

BEES: two very differently sculpted bees, and they both use a sparkly metallic gold with black stripes. Both deserve a 4/5.

ANTS: collectively I’m gonna say these are a 3.5/5, on their own very plain but I like that together you have a dull yellow-tan ant with comical googly eyes and a bigger, more ominous shiny black ant with spooky red eyes. I like that the black ant is also tied with a couple others as the largest bug in the set. It’s actually only slightly larger than the real life Giant Amazonian ant, Dinoponera, which is also entirely black.

MANTIDS: excellent choice for another double bug, I like the simple cheapness of the little one with its awkwardly sculpted forelegs but to fair it’s a 2/5 compared to the 4/5 of the larger, red-eyed mantis which has more of that “sparkly” paint style!

SCORPIONS: the only other arachnids in the set, and it’s amazing they included two different scorpions but only one spider. Trust me when I say that’s the most radical maverick decision a rubber bug set has ever made in the history of mankind. The small red scorpion is alright, a 3 I guess. The larger one has only six legs which is not accurate (the claws of a scorpion are modified mouthparts, not legs!) but I can’t look at its little black eyes and not want to cry so 5/5 actually.

CICADA: not terribly common in these! Charming, chunky brown cicada, though the thorax piece is so transparent you can always see the hole it plugs into. At one time, this sculpt may have been part of a higher quality set that actually painted over this design flaw. 4/5 regardless.

FLY: there’s a pattern here in which almost every flying insect in the set has a gold-brown base, which I’m not a big fan of. Sadly I’m overall neutral on this fly, normally my favorite of all the basic insects, perhaps because it looks just as much like some sort of wasp. It’s definitely a fly due to having only one pair of wings, and plenty of flies look exactly like this, but I’d just be a bigger fan if it was a chunkier, larger-eyed blowfly or horsefly. 2.5/5

UNKNOWN: there are actually several insects this could possibly represent including a few Lepidoptera and Hymenoptera, but the one insect it most closely resembles is an adult caddisfly. I like it, but it’s difficult to fairly judge it with no certain identification so 3/5 has to do.

HAWKMOTH: stellar choice! I’ve seen only one cheap-grade plastic hawkmoth in my whole life, actually! Several hawkmoths are even clear-winged, though those usually still have dark markings around the wing edges. Would’ve been more accurate to some real species if they just cast the wings in a solid color, but that’s a trivial criticism. 5/5

WASP: the wasp is SO good. The paint on this one is skewed funny but that’s fine, the green of the abdomen pops really well and I love the grouchy red eyes. 5/5

CATERPILLAR: larvae are so rarely included in these, and when they are, they’re often an incredibly plain segmented tube that doesn’t look like anything in particular, or a recolor of a generic caterpillar I’ve seen several times before. This caterpillar sculpt is actually new to me and nicely shaped, with a tapering body and accurate limbs. It is however a rather stiff hunk of plastic, not as rubbery as the others, and honestly this is the one you would want rubberiest! Still a 5/5 for its inclusion at all.

BEETLE: beetles are the most abundant, diverse insect group and the most common rubber bug toy after spiders, so it’s another bold move that they include only one in this whole set and it isn’t even one of the more recognizable, more famous beetles. On its own merits as just a rubber beetle it’s a 3/5, but its metallic blue stands out so nicely in this set, and the sculpt appears to be some sort of blister beetle, a rare choice and a very cool (but dangerous! Don’t touch them!!!) insect group so 5/5

MOSQUITO: mosquitoes are another of my favorite animal groups, and as one of the world’s most abundant, most recognized, most controversial insects you’d think they’d be a standard bug toy already, but this is only the third plastic mosquito design I’ve ever seen in my entire long life! It’s brown, unpainted, dinky and bent funny. 10/5

#toys #biology #animals #stuff

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kabuki-draws · 6 months

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I watched Ridley Scott's NAPOLEON yesterday and it was a complete Waterloo.

Yes, I am a big history nerd with a giant heart for movie adaptation of historical topics. But when I watched NAPOLEON I sat there... and tried not to laugh. It was not only so historical inaccurate, that I wanted to cry, at the same time it was filled with cringe dialogues, red flags and terrible color grading. This whole movie made me so sad yet so angry, that I HAVE to write this review:

(Disclaimer: This review is based on my own opinion. If you enjoyed the movie, it's completely fine. Btw. in that case or if you agree with me, feel free to tell me your opinion. I would love to know!)

First of all: Don't get me wrong, the medium film has its own rules and you can't put as much historical accuracy into a big scale movie as you would into a documentary - sometimes the story needs to be altered to be a good movie. And that is fine. Even if Gladiator is a complete fictional story set in the Roman Empire, I can still enjoy this movie for what it is: A good-written story with great characters, a beautiful score and iconic scenes. With Kingdom of Heaven it's kind of the same - and while the movie cut was very inconsistent, I still kind of liked it. But then the Directors Cut made it a a masterpiece for me.

Funny enough, both of these movies are made by the same person: Ridley Scott. So naturally I thought: Well, Napoleon won't be a historical accurate film, but I surely will enjoy it anyways. Well, ...no. It is not only historical incorrect, it's also a bad movie overall.

To start it short: NAPOLEON clearly lost itself in all the various topics it wanted to tell within a runtime of two and a half hours. It made the whole storytelling very weird and inconsistent, causing the problem, that the audience even loses itself in the questions of when and where. Where is that scene located? When did that happen? And then comes the question: Why is this even happening?

Ridley Scott wants to depict Napoleon as a lover, a military genius, a big political figure, a revolutionary and more. But in the end he tells all of this in the most shallow way possible, which waters down Napoleons personality traits and achievements to a series of small scenes. You never get a glimpse of the "true" Napoleon, who was described as a highly intelligent and charismatic man. In fact, you never really feel ANYTHING about him except that he was a cringe red flag in front of his wife. He just stands there, stares and has very limited dialogue scenes to get a picture of that man. What are his overall motivations? Only Josephine? If so, why is this motivation only vaguely explored?

The whole love story between him and Josephine feels so unnatural and got to the brink of being disgusting. This is particularly sad because I deeply respect Vanessa Kirby and Joaquin Phoenix, they're both stunning actors. I don't know if they just couldn't fit the role or if it was rather a problem of the script (the last one is my guess). Yet whenever I saw Josephine and Napoleon on screen, I felt like acted very stiff and forced. Napoleon seemed more obsessed with her than actual love and that can be a character trait, but there wasn't a chance to explore that deeper. Before the movie entered the cinema, the lovestory between these two was marketed as intense, obsessive, deeper than you could imagine. What the audience got was a few scenes without real conversation, much staring and a bunch of cringeworthy s-scenes. And seriously, these "sexy" scene were the worst. I was so disgusted by them because they were SO DAMN WEIRD. There are no scenes that undermine ANY deep love between Josephine and Napoleon. It felt therefore so off, when they still longed for each other after their divorce.

And let's not start to ramble about the fact that they depicted Josephine ONLY in a somehow sexual way. Yeah, there is that scene where she says to Napoleon, that he is nothing without her. BUT SHOW, DON´T TELL! You never see her doing something instead of sitting there, talking with others or when the plot needs her to have sexy time with someone (not only Napoleon). As a woman myself this makes me so freaking furious, you have no idea. I don't need a marvel-coded super-strong woman with unlimited talents - I just need a female character that is written GOOD and plausible! Make me CARE for her plot and for the plot of Napoleon! Both of them don't even feel like normal human beings because they're like blank pieces of paper with their names written on it!

And don´t make me start to talk about the historical inaccuracies. At first I didn't want to draw that card. Actually, I don't need a historical movie to present 100% facts. If the movie is still enjoyable, it's okey. But even if many people say that the war scenes were awesome, I can only partly agree. Yeah, we have that cool ice-lake Austerlitz battle, but it took me a couple of minutes and a better look on the uniforms to know that Napoleon is now at war with Austria! You get nearly ZERO context to Napoleons battles. Yeah, nice, the scenes look cool - but there is nothing more to it? Is that all you need to show for the audience to care? For me at least, I just didn't care at all and I was very happy when I got out of the cinema. Overall this movie is full of messy non-sense choices that don't contribute to the story. Many moments just confused me and it left me with the question why Scott couldn't simply hire some historians to put together a consistent story. Everyone who read about Napoleons life knows that there are so much cinema worthy moments in his career that would've been so much better than what we now got.

I could ramble about that movie for hours if I´m honest, but I hope this little TED talk was enough to make my statement clear.

In the end, it just makes me sad. I wanted to like this movie, I wanted it to be good. For months I hyped myself up to this, read books about Napoleon, watched the trailer all over and over and talked with friends about how great this movie will be. Now I am just disappointed and frustrated. Oppenheimer was such a great biopic of a historical person that became a great success at the box office - even without great battle scenes. I hoped that Napoleon would push a cinema revolution, that shows people want big scaled films about historical personalities and history topics. But now I just want to forget this Napoleon movie to be honest.

#napoleon #napoleon bonaparte #napoleon movie #ridley scott #joaquin phoenix #vanessa kirby

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yuesya · 9 months

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Suguru has a conundrum.

“Say ‘aaah,’” says the white-haired gremlin sitting across from him, full of mischief. A fork laden with warm cheese tart is held out in front of his face, right before his lips. “C’mon, Suguru! It tastes really good, I promise!”

The sorcerer purses his lips, doing his best to level an unimpressed look at his companion. “… Really, Shiki?”

A sly little smile is his only response. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Suguru snorts. As a Special Grade sorcerer on par with Satoru, he highly doubts that Shiki failed to notice the first year students conspicuously crouched behind a set of outdoor dining tables on the other side of the street. He makes a mental note to help them train up their stealth –learning to properly hide their cursed energy is one thing, but learning to actually blend in is another. The three of them are getting many strange looks from the passerby… and they all seem completely oblivious to it.

… Probably because they’re too engrossed with spying on their teachers, the little rascals.

“Su– gu– ru–” He does his best to ignore the strange flip-flopping sensation that rises in his stomach upon hearing his name drawn out like that, genuinely pliant and pleading beneath the blatant teasing. From the way Shiki’s smile widens, his reaction does not go unnoticed. Damn. “Won’t you humor me? Just one ‘aaah.’”

Suguru sighs, resigned.

“You’re having entirely too much fun with this,” he accuses her, although without any real heat. Like her brother, Shiki is entirely too playful… and stressful for Suguru’s blood pressure.

“Please?”

Unable to deny her, Suguru opens his mouth and eats the cheese tart.

He’s aware of how it looks from the outside, a man and a woman sitting down at a cafe table together, with the woman feeding the man a bite of her food. But, it’s the only way to soothe Shiki over unless he wants her to be huffy the rest of the evening. It’ll take forever to smooth over her ruffled feathers, and then he’ll also have to deal with Satoru dramatically flopping over him the next morning to complain about how he was ‘bullying’ his little sister.

… If anything, Suguru was the one getting bullied between the two of them!

The man determinedly stares her in the eyes as he eats the cheese tart proffered out to him, biting down and closing his lips over the fork, before slowly drawing back. If Shiki is going to embarrass him in front of their students, he’s not going to be the only one going down here.

The girl’s smile doesn’t waver as she retracts her arm and returns to eating her cheese tart, seemingly unaffected. But Suguru is long familiar with both Shiki’s and Satoru’s habits, and it’s minutely gratifying when her gaze flickers towards the side in a nervous tell, and her cheeks color faintly. She shares that with her brother –Satoru also blushes easily.

Shiki’s gaze returns to him, and she pouts. “You’re terrible.”

“You’re the one who started it,” Suguru responds childishly, instinctively.

“I did,” the girl admits easily enough, to her credit. “But you’re still terrible!”

“And you’re incorrigible,” he shoots back.

Shiki lets out a small ‘hmph,’ leaning back in her seat as she carelessly flips back a lock of long white hair over her shoulder. Hair extensions, apparently, but the way it looks and the way she acts makes it appear as if it’s the real thing. Admittedly, it’s a little startling to see Satoru’s body with long hair like this, and Suguru still isn’t entirely sure about the feelings he has about seeing Shiki –Satoru– in a dress from an obviously feminine angle, no matter the number of times he’s seen them like this already.

… But that’s nothing new on his end. He’s felt this way for years, and at this point Suguru is resigned to the fact that this is going to be his default state around Satoru and Shiki for the rest of their lives in perpetuity.

Somehow, the thought is both full of aching fondness and headache-inducing despair.

“You look like you have something on your mind.”

Suguru shakes himself out of his thoughts. “It’s nothing. Are you done with your food?”

“Mhm,” Shiki nods absently, dangling the fork in her mouth –the same fork that she’d used to feed him, he realizes. Suddenly, Suguru can’t taste the lingering creamy flavor of the cheese tart in his mouth at all anymore.

Shiki eventually releases the fork from her mouth with a small pop and a soft ‘ah.’ She twirls the utensil over her fingers, then levels it directly at him with a sharp little smile that’s all Satoru.

“You know us, Suguru. We don’t play around with our food.”

… Yeah, there’s no doubt about it. These two are going to be the death of him someday.

#Writing #twins au #flipside of students spying on geto-sensei's date!#is geto/shiki/satoru a go now?#i guess???

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saintmuses · 4 months

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❝𝙝𝙪𝙨𝙝, 𝙄 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙚𝙖𝙧❞

Pairing:

Lenny Miller x Reader

Summary:

She never got to marry, or bear children, or have a house with a white picket fence. She never got to grow old either. Even in death, she would never be able to escape from the man who loved her a little too much.

Warning(s): Death. Implied murder. Angst. Implied toxic relationship. Age gap (10 years apart between Reader and Lenny). Major power imbalance. Dark!Lenny. Minors, dni! Note: I was trying to make this something that you would read from a non-fiction crime book which includes many characters from Anna so it does not feel personal. Reader is a Russian American in this one. Also the switch between ‘Leonard’ and ‘Lenny’ is intentional. The title is from Mirrorball because I thought it was fitting of how it refers to the end of something, therefore the end of one’s life as they know it.

Word Count: 3.3k

1995

"It was something I would do, but I would've never expected her to do it. She and I were very different in that sense." Anna Poliatova, her best friend from childhood days murmured softly, her accent curled around the letters as she sat down in a chair for the interview regarding the crime documentary. She had eyes that were colored like the sky, and platinum hair, straight as spineless grass in the plains.

"1990 was something for her," she then laughed. "She met someone I never even knew about, but I found out in her diary of an early 1990 entry of a man named Leonard Miller."

April 16, 1990

Dear Diary,

When you meet someone, how would you picture meeting someone? One day, they would be a stranger to you, but they could be everything but a stranger tomorrow.

I didn't expect to meet Leonard Miller yesterday, but everyone knew of him.

I mean he is an agent handler for Central Intelligence Agency, his reputation precedes him everywhere he goes in that workplace. What attracted me to him right away was how he eluded power and raw presence. He commanded attention as soon as he walked into the room. I had to talk to him because of my job; I’ve been assigned as a secretary for the director of CIA.

The day before, you would be doing something so mundane, right up to the moment, and that was when everything changed. I haven't felt this way in a long time, like a schoolgirl's crush on a man who is very handsome, but very off-limits. There’s a workplace code set in place for something like this. My brain had to remind myself that we cannot be more than just co-workers, no fraternizing around, but my heart didn't care.

I was never supposed to be that person.

Never.

Y/N.V.

Y/N Vasilisa—Love to those close to her due to the meaning of her last name—was born in New York in 1966 to her parents Arseni Vasiliy and Janet O’Conner.

Aurora, New York was a town where families would bloom while the others faded.

Arseni Vasiliy was born in Moscow, USSR, and migrated to America when he was nineteen and met a girl from a town over, then fell in love with her. They were married in 1964, two years before Y/N was born. "She kept him on his toes, and they made the marriage work. They had good years," his friend recalled, a brief appearance. "Really good years."

Janet, her mother was very protective of Y/N, perhaps because she was the baby, the only child of the family. They were close, close as best friends could've been.

The Vasiliys were the poster child of what family should really look like. It was a small family, but it was home.

Y/N met Anna Poliatovia in English class when she was a teenager. She came to America as a foreign exchange student from Soviet Union program. They were the duo that every girl was jealous of, and every guy wished they would've gotten together with.

Y/N Vasilisa was an honor student, had perfect grades all four years of high school, and became a valedictorian for her class.

Everything had changed a month before her graduation in 1984. Her parents died in a tragic car accident. Their slow but terrible deaths were caused by fire when a drunken driver of semi-truck crashed into them.

She moved to New York City after she graduated from high school, wanting to get away from the town that used to be so kind to her.

In a utopia world, no one would die. In the real world, parents weren’t supposed to bury their children. In a twisted sense, they made the natural order of death happen. Y/N had to bury them at eighteen.

She went to a community college while working for a company as a secretary during the week, and she would complete double shifts as a waitress at a restaurant on the weekends to be able to afford an apartment she lived in.

As Y/N struggled to make the ends meet, Leonard Miller was on his way to becoming an operative for CIA.

Leonard’s father was born in Europe in 1928, but his family moved to America specifically Hawaii in 1935, although it was not a part of fifty stars for another few decades. When his father was twenty-one, he met his wife at a shore, and they were married before finding a job as a constructor while his wife was a housewife and a mother of four children.

Elizabeth was the first and only daughter that was welcomed to the world in 1951, John was born two years later, then it was Leonard and Maxwell after that.

The family experienced a devastating loss when the patriarch of the family died of a heart attack at the age of fifty-three in February 1981, leaving his wife, children, and grand-children behind.

While the women of the family were soft-spoken, soft hearted; the men were stolid, hardworking, and they set their minds to succeed in America.

All men but one worked for a construction company that their father built with his partner. The company became Miller and Co. when it thrived in Pearl City, and the boys except one joined.

The third child of the family did not want to work for the construction company, opting to make a path for himself.

Leonard -Lenny for short- was born in 1956, the third child, but second boy in the family. He had dark brown hair, icy blue eyes so piercing that someone would feel like he was looking into their soul. He did almost everything first, he was not only an honor student, but he was also undeniably his parents' favorite son out of four children. He was hardworking and disciplined like his father, quiet and conservative like his mother.

John and Maxwell, his brothers were the opposite of it. They were the life of the party, the charmers who could work a room full of strangers and leave with a bunch of friends.

They were very much loved by their parents despite the differences in all of them.

To them, Leonard was the good brother. The one who could give dependable advice. To school, he was quite unattainable. Polite, friendly, only mingling when he had to, but he knew how to have fun as well.

When he was eighteen, he graduated from high school in 1974, and enlisted in military. It was there he was recruited to become an CIA operative thus moving to Washington DC to be close to Langley.

Despite being the second oldest brother, he did take over the proceedings of the patriarch after his father's death, but he refused to do anything with the construction company. His other brothers were there to run the business while he and his sister were there for their mother.

Before his father's death, he accepted a promotion to become CIA Agent Handler.

And he was thirty-four years old when he met Y/N Vasilisa.

"She was filled with life," Lenny said softly, fingers tracing the surface of the table in front of him as he stared down at the patterns, remembering the night he met her. "She was something else," he swallowed thickly before turning his head away, not without a hint of regret in his icy depths.

Y/N met the director of CIA when she moved to Washington DC after college, who recruited her to be his secretary in late 1989 and having the career that aligned the path of the position as CIA Operative Handler, it was inevitable.

"I remembered being there when they first met," Maud Lebereva, her friend and co-worker recalled. She had buzz cut brown hair and wide doe eyes, she also migrated to the states from Russia when she was a teenager. "He came in to have a meeting with the director about an upcoming mission in then-USSR, he had his eyes on her way before she noticed him. It would've been sweet if it was something else, but I saw something I knew wasn’t sweet." She murmured, shaking her head.

No one knew anything about them. They had started meeting at lunchtime, getting to know each other, it was harmless. Anyone who walked down the streets in the DC area would see them sitting outside in cafes, laughter could be heard from them, and they looked like they were friends, best of friends even.

They were friends for a few months until early summer of 1990 when the director of CIA had a gathering where every person must attend the function.

He had to walk her to her home that night, and that was when the dynamic changed for them. A soft kiss on her cheek, a pair of lips pressed against her skin slowly before withdrawing, and she had blushed viciously.

After that night, they weren't just friends. They were on their way to becoming lovers.

No one knew about them. They talked through phone calls that would be on the side tables, they emailed each other, and they would do anything discreetly.

He was still unobtainable, and she was still feeling guilty. Although, he had said he loved her in the summer of August at the Bahamas when he took her out for a vacation under the disguise of attending a seminar. Somehow, in her mind his declaration of love made everything seem alright.

It wasn't until late November when everything started to unravel around her. She met a very sweet man Alex Tchenkov through a friend and knowing there couldn't be any more than just an affair between Lenny and her, she went for it.

That was when she realized she had the idea of love wrong. Love wasn't about swearing an oath not to be seen, keeping the lines blurry between what was right and wrong, and it wasn't supposed to feel poisonous. It felt deadly, like a bitter taste of acid whenever she looked back to the months of her affair with Lenny.

Her friend, Anna was in Langley for Christmas, and Y/N took her out to a bar in Washington DC. Afterwards they sat on the concrete edge of Tidal Basin for a long time until the sun began to set over the capital, talking. The blonde woman gave Y/N an early Christmas gift, and she started to cry.

"She cried for a really long time," Anna said thoughtfully, nibbling on the side of her bottom lip. "I didn't know she was trapped in a wrecking affair at that time, but she was crying because she said she didn't deserve Alex," she remembered idly. "I was confused, but at that moment I knew there were so many things about her, many secrets that she hadn't told him, and she was really scared she would lose him if she was honest with him."

Eventually one person found out in February, it was Maud who had introduced her to Alex. She had sworn to keep it as a secret, and there were times when they would all meet for lunch.

"Despite my ill-feelings towards Leonard, he was a good person to people around him that I knew of. Figuring him out, and not being able to put a finger on why he gives me a bad vibe, that is where I can't stand him." Maud murmured; her eyes flickered briefly to the window. "I do remember one time I sympathized with him when it came to Y/N, it was a dinner at a really expensive restaurant, and he offered to pay." She laughed slightly, although it sounded uneasy.

The whole dinner affair was tense, it was to say with the understatement of the century. Y/N barely gave Leonard any time of the day, only cordially polite even it would make the worst of the worst dictators silently kneel to the ground.

At some point during the evening, Y/N excused herself to the ladies' room. When she was gone, Lenny had turned to Maud and asked why Y/N hated him.

"I was surprised when he asked me that," she paused, thinking back to that night. "He sounded desperate and sad, and it was that moment I felt bad for him.".

Maud tried to give him an excuse not knowing how to placate his emotional being, and she knew the sad pitiful look on Leonard’s face was caused by Y/N’s attempts to leave so she could be completely in a relationship with Alex. She did wonder if Leonard had any feelings for Y/N after all. If he did, it would be too bad.

"I mean I knew Y/N was irrecoverably in love with Alex, and I just felt bad for Leonard because he didn't stand a chance." Maud sighed, chuckling. The sound was not without a small amount of pity. "I just never knew how bad of a person he was to her. It's always the guys that can fool you easily, but not girls. However, she did fool me a bit." A grimace adorned on her face as she thought about it.

In the leading months, she and Alex got involved exclusively with fear gripping in the back of her mind that Lenny could ruin it all. Leaving her life into ashes if he ever exposed their affair to Alex.

"It was the one thing in her life she was most ashamed of," the brunette murmured, "but it wasn't her fault. I just wished she would understand that. However, he was a powerful man in Washington DC. He could easily ruin her life if he wanted to, and he did."

It was after midnight on July 5th, 1991, but there was a soft orange glow behind the curtains framing windows in the apartment. Silhouettes could be seen moving as six people roamed around the place restless. The fear had gripped them all after false-hope rationalizations failed to erase the tension Y/N had left them with.

Her other best friend had noticed something was wrong when Y/N didn't show up for dinner along with Maud.

"She didn't call to tell us she was running late, or anything really." Anna stated, her blue eyes glistening as she sniffed slightly. "I tried calling her several times, but it went straight to the voicemail." Her eyes flickered to the window as her lips turned down slightly. "I waited because she always called me back no matter what."

While they had waited for her, for the police, for some word, anything; they forced themselves to believe that she was okay, she had to be, the other option was something they didn't want to think about.

Ever.

"I remembered going through her room, finding her journal, and I thought as I stared at the slim book 'God help me that I will break her private cocoon she'd set up for her mind, but if it was to help us find her then so be it'." Anna murmured; her eyes closed briefly before opening. "I remembered there was some sort of a letter stuffed in the last page she'd written."

You asked me a long time ago after we met, 'what do you want?' in a teasing manner with a soft twinkle in your pretty eyes. What I want...is for you to be happy. I love you.

"It wasn't signed, but it didn't really have to be it was obvious, and that was when I knew Y/N had been harboring a secret for a long time." She shrugged before sighing, looking away. Her blonde hair swayed slightly. "She was definitely not perfect, but she was the best of us. Despite the flaws we harbored in ourselves, she saw the best in them, and I can see why she would look past his overbearing flaws in the beginning to see the best in him even when she shouldn't. I can't really fault her for that, she tried, and she did until it wasn't enough for her." She then hesitated, "and whatever she wrote in her last entry...I knew he’d read it because I know Y/N, she would've just thrown away the letter after reading it, not put it in her private cocoon where it would ruin her peace. The letter he put in was more of some correspondence to her journal right before everything..." she then paused; her bottom lip trembled as a gasp escaped from her mouth resonating in her lungs as a light sheen glazed over her eyes.

June 29th, 1991

Dear Diary,

There were times I questioned myself, in the beginning I could see why I wanted to be with Lenny despite all the wrong things that I have seen.

Now more than a year has passed, and I'm suffocating. The leash I didn't notice wrapped around my neck on the day we met had been becoming shorter and shorter, chipping away its inches as his control became iron-clad over time.

I had once asked him when I met him, he was the guy who had it all, and he did, but to assuage my curiosity, I had asked him "what do you want?"

And it was that particular conversation that changed everything for me.

We were doomed, entirely and truly.

I can't say it wasn't love at first, for me it was, but it wasn't for him. I had only noticed after I fell out of it was when I realized we were doomed. He was an agent with a dangerous future, and I was at a different place in life.

Being with Alex had made me see things differently, it made me realize that Lenny Miller is not the man I or everyone else thought he was. He is a narcissist, a liar who manipulated everything around him including me. He was like a rose, sweet at first until I touched the thorns and that was when he became cruel. I fell in love with the idea of him and accepted the false flaws until it got to the point where it all became too much for me to bear.

He knew I wanted the chains off my heart especially after meeting Alex. Especially when I want to be free, I need to be free, but he won't let me go. I know he will never let me go, and I'm afraid of whatever that means.

It wasn't pretty, and it wasn't love despite him saying it was.

I have to get away from him before the suffocation drives me to the grave.

Y/N.V.

"I did love her. I loved her more than anything in this world, even when she didn’t love me anymore, but I suppose no one would understand." Lenny had emphasized slightly, almost bitterly. His blue eyes were steely glinted when the light from the sun hit their depths, before the mask of indifference fell into place. "The last time I saw her was when she didn't want me to be in her life anymore." He had murmured before looking out to somewhere in the room. He had said when the sun began to set, everything fell apart around them, "and that was that." He then shrugged as if it explained it all.

THE NEW YORK TIMES

Tuesday, July 21, 1992

A MISSING AMERICAN WOMAN'S BODY FOUND IN LOIRE RIVER IN FRANCE

(Photo taken at the graduation in 1984)

The body of a 26-year-old woman Y/N Vasilisa who was reported missing a year ago on the 5th of July had been found in the Loire River under the boat dock in Nantes with a bullet wound in her head.

Vasilisa’s death, according to Detective Chief Marcel Clairmont of the Nantes Prosecutor's Office, was caused by bruising around the neck which resembled strangulation before the victim was killed with a bullet wound in the forehead. The cause of death was accurate after the autopsy was completed by the Washington DC Coroner Vincent Delacour. The prime suspect for her disappearance prior to her death, former CIA agent Leonard Miller’s DNA was not found anywhere on her body, and the bullet did not match his gun serial numbers thus eliminating him from the list of suspects...[read page five for more information].

#lenny miller x you #lenny miller x reader #lenny miller #anna (2019)#cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #Lenny miller x y/n

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quillsareswords · 2 years

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!!!! Okokok !!!! But imagine going through a haunted house with Damian. Holding onto him as he guides you through and him just smirking whenever you get scared

I'll be honest this was kind of hard to write bc I don't scare very easy w jumpscares so if it seems off I'm sorry!! Blame my mother, she did to me so much as a kid it doesn't phase me anymore 🥲

DAMIAN WAYNE X READER

WARNINGS: language

MASTER LIST in BIO

"This was a terrible idea. Horrible. Absolutely intolerable. What is wrong with you."

He's glad for the dim lighting, because you'd definitely chew his head off if you could see the way he's smiling. Smug bastard, you'd crow. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm having a fantastic time."

If looks could kill, Damian Wayne would be buried in your backyard right now. "I hate you so much right now."

He really hopes you can't feel him trying to suppress a laugh. Your nails are digging into his arm through his shirt, but he barely feels it for the giddiness blooming through his chest.

You open your mouth right as you turn a corner, but a cackling corpse with bleeding eyes lunges to the end of a set of chains bracketed to the wall, and all that crosses your lips is a shriek.

Now he's laughing. Loud and boisterous, uncontainable.

A noise that, under normal circumstances, you'd be reveling in. Right now? You want to wad up a strip of dilapidated fabric from the wall and shove it down his throat until he chokes.

"Let's go to a haunted house," you mock, pitching your voice, and it sounds freakishly alike to his voice in sixth grade. "I'm never listening to you again. You're officially the last person I trust, now. Congratulations."

Of course it was his idea. You get good-naturedly frightened—with no real danger—while he still gets to play your knight in shining armor, big brave protector? Sign him the fuck up.

He's grinning ear to ear, beaming brighter than the colored spotlights that shine down on a mad scientist's lab in front of you. "It isn't my fault you're so jumpy."

"Seven hours of horror movies will do that to a person, asshole."

He laughs again, pulling you through a curtained doorway. It doesn't take much. He's pretty sure that even if you weren't clinging to his arm for dear life, you still wouldn't let him get more than five inches away from you.

A werewolf yowls right next to you, and the scream you unleash rings all the way out to the entrance.

Damian's pretty sure his arm is bleeding, but he can't be sure because it's gone numb. Totally worth it.

#damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne blurb #quillshalloweencollection

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arctic-hands · 5 months

Text

I didn't want to clown on the gift donation for kids post and this might be a little late anyway, but if you're going to donate art supplies, or even give some to kids in your family, please think twice before getting those art kits that come with everything, even the ones that do come in fancy wooden boxes. They're almost always terrible in quality and even as a little kid you end up feeling frustrated by them and feel like you're the one doing something wrong or you don't have talent or something.

I get it, they're usually cheaper than buying even student grade supplies individually, but I remember getting one of the fancy wooden box ones at like thirteen then after a while getting (secretly, as to not upset the person who got me it that Christmas) because I felt I wasn't good enough at art to warrant such a gift because I couldn't get the pencils or watercolors or oil pastels to behave like how the books and videos told me they would behave. And even getting the plastic box ones as an even younger kid left me feeling frustrated. Because the kit ones are all full of cheap filler and less pigment as a cost cutting measure. And the paper that came with it was no better than printer paper so the watercolors disintegrated it.

Anyway I'm not saying you have to buy a one hundred dollar professional set of paint or something. And even student grade does add up. But a decent sketchbook (I recommend Canson XL Mixed Media, because not only is it cheap but the paper is great and there's like sixty sheets it), and maybe just one type of art supply instead of buying a whole studio's worth. Decent sets of artist pencils of different lead types are easy to come by. Or even just a few tubes of primary colors acrylic paints (I've been using Arteza acrylics and I like them a lot), or a box of decent oil pastels or a small watercolor pallet. And you can find decent brushes, even in packet sets, just make sure they're the right kind for the paints you're getting (and there are mixed media brushes too) Avoid at all costs the Crayola brushes with the thick plasticity bristles that are the bane of children everywhere tho.

TL;DR honestly, if you have the chance to know what the child likes in art supplies, just get them a decent set of that instead of one of the frustrating art kits that give you everything but for a lesser quality

(ALSO: make sure art supplies geared to younger kids are nontoxic, and if giving to an older kid who knows not to drink the paint water, make sure they know if there's anything toxic even still. This isn't too much of a worry these days unless you're getting really expensive pro stuff, but look out for warnings anyway)

#art supplies #gifts #toy drive #christmas #holidays

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blnk338 · 1 year

Text

COD Headcanons!!

Pt 2 b/c you guys loved these sm

Relationship hcs!!

Price:

Good chef, GREAT at bbq

Taps his phone screen too hard and squints at it

Googled “Pegging” because Soap told him to

Regrets it dearly

“I’m just going to rest my eyes” and falls into comatose for 8-10 years

Was the best man at Laswell’s wedding and still cries today thinking about it

Does the dad-sneeze thing

Supporter of small businesses

Vanilla > chocolate ice cream will get into a heated argument over this

Will put on a 19th-century oil tycoon accent when asking questions about technology to make light of the situation

This started when he didn’t know how to change the wallpaper on his iPhone

Laswell does an incredible impression of his impression

Crazy emetophobia

HOLIDAY DAD! Absolutely shite with gifts but will wake up at 3 am to set up everything and give you a good holiday

Very comfortable in his masculinity from raising two daughters, made sure to teach himself how to raise them to be smart and safe, and actively does his best to keep himself in check and support the women in his life

Ultimate straight ally

His oldest, 15, made him and her little sister go to pride and he voluntarily wore a shirt that said “free dad hugs”

Gaz:

Got Price to say “Girl trust you will be dealt with” and had to get Soap to punch him so he could breathe again

Fluent in French!

Bisexual w/ a preference for women

Needs two triple-shot espressos every morning

Hates oat milk; thinks it's grainy

Is lactose intolerant though

But he’s not the shit-your-brains-out lactose intolerant, he’s the wallow-in-pain-on-the-bathroom-floor-for-eighty-minutes lactose intolerant

Turkey hater. Not the animal, the food. Thinks it’s dry and flavorless

Okayish cook, phenomenal baker.

Will leave baked goods in the sergeant's/lieutenant's and captain's offices/breakrooms and act surprised when he sees the plate of freshly baked brownies

Tried smoking weed, hated it.

Middle child of an older sister and a younger brother

Didn’t like The Office

Soap:

Can make balloon animals out of anything balloon-like (condoms included)

Has a TikTok, makes TikTok references

Loves cats and dogs equally, but had only dogs growing up so he’s not really sure how to deal with cats

In a constant state of "trying his best"

Dick stick-n-poke tattoo on his calf

30-minute night routine

Double exfoliates

Disgusted at Ghost’s hygiene

Loves the holidays; this man goes fucking insane for Christmas lights and his house is the biggest source of light pollution in the entirety of the UK

RELIGIOUSLY a supporter of small businesses. Loves little family-run stores and buys local produce/groceries all the time

Highlighter kid in grade school

Blamed a fart on Gaz and asked him if he was feeling “Gazzy” (Garrick smacked the shit out of him)

Makes gagging noises over comms to fuck with Price

Knows what kinning is, kins Rainbow Dash

ADHD

Coffee does the opposite for him; he’ll be bouncing off the walls and you’ll hand him a double shot espresso and he’s calm as all fuck

GREAT AT READING SOCIAL CUES THOUGH

Really knows how to read body language and will step back if anyone gets uncomfortable

Youngest of 3 brothers and one older sister (she’s second to oldest amongst his siblings)

König:

Will literally sit at home in full tactical gear

Chess master

Loves horror movies but gets super scared

Likes Scrabble

Bug kid!!!!!

Hates birds. No one knows why.

Doesn’t drink, prefers virgin versions of alcohol

Drunk König is a sad König

Wore headgear because of his teeth when he was in middle school

Favorite color is yellow but does love green!

Will accidentally man-handle people because he forgets his strength

Always so terribly sorry about it

Ghost:

Has had his license revoked an uncountable number of times (currently does not have a license)

Drives

No rizz

Horrifyingly good aim with anything and everything. Will chuck trash across the house and somehow land it in the bin

Will lean his head down slightly if someone he respects (and is shorter than him) is talking

One of those dog people that’s like “I fucking hate cats.” And then you find them napping together, and he’s carrying the cat in the hood of his jacket, and he sneaking them treats, and he’s talking to them in a baby voice…

Wins staring contests, always

Knows his staring is bad, but doesn’t really do anything to change it

Speaking of which, he’s got a horrible German stare (google it)

Spaces out and sways side to side slightly, unaware that he’s been glaring lasers into an unsuspecting private for like a solid forty seconds.

Doesn’t know what kinning is but would kin Winter Soldier / Bucky Barnes

Likes sensory toys but will never buy one because he thinks they’re too obvious.

Really wants a sensory slug

Definitely the jealous type but will not say a single fucking word

Soft spot for animals and young children

Likes drinking for a buzz, but will easily stop himself. He doesn’t like being unaware of his surroundings

Edibles > mass amounts of alcohol

Little fidgeting -> rubbing his thumb across the side of his index finger, squeezing his hands, twitching his feet but not enough to tap them, playing with the hems of stuff

Mirrors in his house are covered/removed

Wants a pet but won’t get one because he doesn’t like the idea of something relying on him, only to abandon them or discard them. He’s away for work often so it’s not like they would be taken care of

Doesn’t actively seek partners because he doesn’t think he’s worth it

Behind the confident, stoic attitude, he’s a man who doesn’t value himself and therefore, if he does have feelings for anyone, doesn’t put in the effort to pursue them or he tries to kill the warm feelings in him.

Better to be alone than to hurt someone he cares about

Graves:

Screams at Football (US) games

Thinks he can out-grill Price; cannot.

Lost his kids in the divorce

Thinks no-sock loafers are the way to go

Doesn’t wear socks that much, actually

Can’t handle spice

Mint n’ chip ice cream kinda guy

Fav beer is Natty Lit

Likes egg salad

Dog guy

Divorced twice, btw

“But if the roles were reversed…”

Doesn’t have a problem with climate change, and thinks that the weather is getting nicer so, if anything, the climate is just getting better

Uses Crest toothpaste

Left-handed and makes a big deal out of it

Gets really up in the ass about calling soccer “football” (not ironically)

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sirfrogsworth · 9 months

Note

Computer q. For otherwise identical monitors, is a 4000:1 contrast ratio noticeably better from 1000:1? I don't mean for fancy art but like if I'm watching a movie, could I see the difference in a dark scene? I looked into oled's, but those are expensive and I think the way I use my stuff would cause burn in.

I hope you don't mind, but I got carried away and answered pretty much every computer monitor question anyone has ever had. And since this turned into a whole thing, I thought I'd share it for everyone to benefit.

For a computer monitor I would say the most important aspect is actually the viewing angle. This is how far off-axis you can look at the monitor before the image degrades.

We sit very close to our displays and at that distance, even a change in height in your chair can affect the image. Move a little bit left or right and a cheap display could completely wash out and look terrible. And if you get a display that is 27" or above, even if you sit dead center, the edges of the screen will appear dark and washed out with a bad viewing angle.

The two best display technologies to get a good viewing angle are IPS (in-plane switching) and OLED. If you are interested in a display without these technologies, be sure it has a decent viewing angle. You can read more about viewing angles here and here.

IPS has very little concern for burn-in, but it is still a concern with OLED. In recent years OLED has greatly improved and image retention and burn-in can be avoided with regular maintenance. Displays will have pixel shift features and noise modes that work out all the pixels evenly. You can run these features every once in a while to prevent burn-in. You can also play special anti-burn-in videos on YouTube (full screen) to exercise the pixels to uniformity.

So if you don't mind the hassle, you can manage an OLED with low risk.

That said, OLED was almost exclusively for TVs and has only recently been introduced for computer displays. The current options are quite large and fairly expensive, as you alluded to. So if you are trying to stay within a budget, it might be best to seek out an IPS display.

Another consideration is resolution. Everyone is obsessed with everything being 4K now. But I think increasing the resolution brings diminishing returns with regard to increased detail you can actually notice. So if you don't mind going with a 1440p monitor (about 2.5K), you can save some money on resolution and get higher quality in more noticeable areas. Personally, I feel 1440p gives you a nice, noticeable bump in detail over 1080p. Whereas going from 1440p to 4K (2160p) is less noticeable unless you have very good vision.

Another benefit to 1440p is that video games are much easier to run on high quality settings with a reasonable GPU. And you can use technologies like super sampling (Nvidia calls this DLSS) to increase the detail you may lose from not going 4K.

The only concern I'd have with not going 4K is if you edit 4K video. It will be difficult to do a pixel level analysis of your footage otherwise. But other than that, you can still watch 4K content on a 1440p monitor and because it is being downsampled, you will still notice a nice bump in detail.

So if you don't have a reason to get a 4K display, I think 1440p is worth considering.

The next concern would be color. Or color gamut. This is how many colors the display can accurately reproduce. If you don't do any art or video color grading, you'll at least want something that does 95 to 100% of sRGB. That is the color space the entire internet uses. And if you are going to be watching HDR movies, you might want a display with a decent percentage of the P3 color space as well. Doesn't need to be 100%, but the higher the better. And for those who do art, a good percentage of Adobe RGB is recommended.

Also, many manufacturers offer displays that come pre-calibrated from the factory. If color accuracy is important, I would seek out one of these displays with a Delta E rating of 3 or less (lower is better).

A newer factor in displays is peak brightness. This is measured in "nits." In standard dynamic range (SDR), video only needed to reach 100 nits. Most HDR content is mastered to reach 1000 nits. In the future, that number will be 4000. And if micro LED technology ever becomes affordable, we may go up to 10,000 nits. But almost everything is around 1000 at the moment, so that is a good number to shoot for.

HOWEVER, because HDR is tone mapped (the brightness of your display is factored in and the content is adjusted accordingly), you can still get some benefits of HDR, even if you cannot do the full 1000 nits.

All monitors can do 100 nits for SDR content. But with more things being displayed in HDR, having more nits will give you a better experience. This does not mean your display will blind you. Usually bright stuff only takes up a small portion of the screen. But having more nits allows highlights to really pop and feel immersive. A lightsaber might actually feel hot and dangerous on a bright enough screen.

Computer displays are often rated as HDR400 or HDR600 or HDR1000 based on their nits. The HDR400 isn't great for HDR content. If you can do 600 or above within your budget, you'll get a better experience. If you are going to watch movies, this may be a feature you prioritize.

I know you mentioned contrast ratio, but I'm afraid that is a little complicated to answer. It can depend on other aspects of the monitor and the viewing environment. So I'll try to give you the info you need to figure out if the display you select will suit your needs.

Manufacturers can use tricks to fudge their contrast ratio in product descriptions, so it is best to go to an independent review website like RTINGS to see what they measured. (They do good TV and monitor reviews too.) You'll see that OLED displays are said to have "infinite" contrast ratio, due to being able to turn off pixels completely. Which means it is probably time to move to a new metric because that gives very little info on the dynamic range of the display (the difference between the darkest and brightest thing it can show).

You definitely want a decent contrast ratio for your display, but this can be subjective. If you have a nice bright screen, your brain may feel the contrast is fantastic, even if the actual darkest black point of the monitor isn't great. If something is really bright, then dark things will *seem* darker by comparison. And if you are viewing in a dark environment, the contrast will look even better. So this is where seeking out a professional reviewer's experience of the monitor can be helpful. One monitor's 4000:1 ratio might be a different experience than another with the same measurement.

Because TVs are generally larger and can have more backlighting zones, they can get decent black levels without OLED. But smaller computer displays have more difficulty in reasonable price ranges. So manage your black level expectations if you go with an affordable IPS display. They can get bright, but they aren't great at blacks like OLED. I'm afraid that is just a limitation of the tech. In fact, getting a brighter display might be preferable to a better contrast ratio. And it will be easier to see if you are in a bright environment.

Most IPS displays are going to be between 1000:1 and 5000:1 and while it does make a difference, if you sit it next to an old plasma or an OLED, you're going to be disappointed. So I would not make contrast ratio a super high priority with IPS, because non-OLED computer displays just aren't going to give you inky blacks. I would say 2000:1 or better is going to give you a decent experience. But, again, I would seek out reviews rather than trust the official product specs when it comes to the quality of the blacks.

And one final consideration you may want to factor in is the refresh rate. This is mostly for gaming. Most displays will give you at least 60 Hz or 60 "refreshes" per second. Gamers tend to like 120 Hz or higher. This won't affect movie watching very much as nearly everything except Gemini Man is 24 fps.

TLDR overview...

Get an IPS or OLED display for a good viewing angle. I personally feel this is the most important feature.

Choose a resolution. 1440p can allow you to increase quality in other areas to maximize your budget. Only get 4K if you have a legit reason or you have fighter pilot vision.

Color gamut or number of colors. Try to get 100% of sRGB for web content, 90% or above of Adobe RGB for art/photography, and 90% or above of P3 for HDR movies and video editing.

If color accuracy is important, look for pre-calibrated displays that have a Delta E of 3 or less. (Lower is better)

HDR brightness. If you want to experience good HDR, you'll want the brightest screen possible (measured in nits). HDR600 or HDR1000 are great. If you don't care about HDR, then don't worry about the rating.

Contrast ratio and black levels. It's going to be meh on pretty much anything but OLED. 2000:1 or better is a good goal to shoot for, but be sure to check independent reviews for the subjective experience of the black levels. Dark viewing environments help too.

Refresh rate. 60 Hz is fine for most things. Gamers prefer 120 Hz or faster. And if you are a competitive gamer, you may want to seek out more info on "variable refresh rate" and "pixel response time."

Pick the variables above that seem most important to you and then seek out a display that does those things decently within your budget.

#long post #computer monitor #displays

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