#idk why but im thinking about the new chapters... I think there could be a nice way to make her come back

[angy-grrr]

I need to watch this 2000s horror movie, but by the premise it sounds like what ppl wanted Himiko Toga to be...

[mygnolia]

to weave my love ⭒ n. riki

⭒ SYNOPSIS -› Riki is good at many things- dancing, making fun of his friends, playing it cool (debatable.), Hell- he’s even good at saving people from falling buildings without getting whiplash. But the things he’s bad at? Well, it’s asking you out to prom, and trying to balance the shared assignment he has with you…while being Spider-man.

⭒ PAIR -› spiderman!nishimura riki x fem-pres!reader

⭒ GENRE -› fluff, banter, action ⭒ TROPES -› classmates to lovers, idiots to lovers ⭒ WC -› 17k (i’m sorry idk why either.)

⭒ INCLUDES -› SPOILERS FOR GREAT GATSBY, cursing, non-graphic injuries (reader discretion advised), yes i made the patching up with first aid kit trope SUE ME!! takes place in a busy city similar to new york never specified, reader is rich, jake and heeseung are seniors and riki’s a junior, is riki stupid? yes… jake reveals stuff because he is also a little silly, reader wears a red dress!

⭒ GREAT GATSBY -› basically jay gatsby has this weird amt of money but no one rlly knows how he got it (nefarious reasons) and hes been in love with this girl daisy for five years but then she got married to tom buchanan but he gets rich so he can get the house across from her and wistfully watch her and he pines after her like CRAZY but he dies at the end

⭒ REN SAYS...special huge fat kiss to thena @sensitively-taken you will be in the will when im a millionaire THANK YOU for helping me with so much of this I WUV U AND I WLL BE WAITING FOR UR HUENING FIC!!! | LIBRARY

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE FROM PRE-ADULTHOOD STRESS, IF THAT’S EVEN A THING.

What exactly does Riki have to worry about as a seventeen-year-old junior in high school? Right now, his most daunting responsibility is catching up on the chapters of The Great Gatsby because the only thing Riki’s actually read from the novel is that the main character shares a name with his best friend and senior, Park Jay. His second most daunting responsibility is handling the fact that with the new seating chart in his Literature class, it means he’s sitting next to the object of his very subtle affections, you. 

See, the problem with having a crush on you is that Nishimura Riki’s committed to thinking that you’re way out of his league, and unfortunately, the boy believes that almost too well. Not only are you minted beyond his wildest dreams (having seen your posts on social media), but you’re hardworking, helpful, and dedicated to your role as student body treasurer. He’s already understood that you’d never go for a guy like him. Maybe someone more like Park Sunghoon, whose parents’ salary matches yours. If Riki lived in a rural estate with generational wealth, handling the whole ‘Spider-Man’ thing might be a bit easier for him, considering he wouldn’t have to try so hard in school. It might even change the fact that Riki dealt with some alleyway criminals last night and is currently catching up on lost sleep, as your English Literature teacher goes on and on about a project on the book you’re reading. 

In class, and even sometimes outside of the classroom, your small tendency to not pay attention to your surroundings has landed you in some awkward situations—like now. 

“I don’t really tell anyone this, but I hate Daisy.” And instead of getting a response, you glance over to see Nishimura Riki slumped on the desk. Without trying to make preconceptions about what could land him in a situation like this, you poke his arm, stifling a smile at how his eyes widen when you’ve caught him rubbing the very obvious sleep from his eye. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, still fighting the post-nap grogginess, “Did I miss anything?” 

(Nope.)

Shaking your head, you return your attention to your teacher as he continues to answer questions. The second Mr. Yoo assigned a report, you wanted to die even more considering the work you had to do on top of the impending due dates. But for it to be partnered? And for you to get seated and paired with the one boy who's known for not caring about school? Maybe things are a little stacked against you, but there has to be a reason why Riki’s somehow still passing all his classes…right?

Considering it’s the last assignment about the book, you’re glad that you already read it so many times to know what you want to put into words. And in retrospect, answering a few open-ended questions about it can’t be that hard—the hardest part would be getting your partner to stay awake in class. 

A small tap at your side makes you turn to face Riki, who you see has frantically written a page full of notes about the project in the past three minutes and how he can succeed. “Can you go over the first part? Sorry…I was…y’know.” 

“It’s a partner project. And we’re partners.” You wince at the awkward wording. 

Great! Riki was caught sleeping and that was your first impression of him for your paired assignment? Riki feels so stupid in front of you right now—in front of your meticulous notes with annotations and proper highlighting. He wants to curl up into a ball when he sees you glance over at his haphazard attempt to look like he was paying attention when, in truth, he was trying to remember the dream he had just ten minutes prior. When you offer him a small smile and nod, leaning over with your notebook in hand, he sighs in relief, thanking whoever it was that let him get away with his naps without the consequence of irritating you afterwards. 

The bell rings when Mr. Yoo stops talking, and you pause, startled by the sound. Instead of leaving, however, you pack your bag and shuffle to his side of his desk, continuing to parrot details about your report in hopes that it all makes sense. You need to make sure he knows what he’s doing. 

“I think one of the questions he mentioned was like ‘Is Gatsby a good person?’ and do you remember how in Chapter Eight…” The rest gets zoned out and forgotten in the boy’s head, because he in fact does not know what happened in Chapter Eight. He doesn’t know what happened…in any part of the book. But he agrees anyway, pretending like he understands what scene you’re trying to explain. What he notices is how thorough and dedicated you are towards ensuring he comprehends what you’re explaining, and although it could be because you don’t want him to fail you both, he chooses to believe you’re doing it because you tolerate him. 

You’re so engrossed in covering all the little details and telling him random tidbits regarding the book that you don’t realize your feet have made it all the way to the cafeteria. “But here, let me get your number. I’ll totally explain more over text.” 

Riki is definitely not freaking out when he silently grabs his phone and hands it to you with the contact page, staring a little longer than necessary at the cute smiley face you added to your name. “Thanks,” he mumbles, forcibly tearing his eyes away from the ten digits of your number, “For helping me with this, too.”

“Of course! The Great Gatsby is a fun read for me. A little hard to read sometimes because of some of the characters, but still easy to understand.” And Nishimura RIki realizes that he has to do well. He’ll read the book five times over if it means gaining your approval. 

Jake notices something a little different about the tuft of black and blonde hair when his friend walks in. The first thing is that he’s actually here, and that you’re next to him, smiling. The boy rubs his eye to make sure he’s not dreaming somehow, but when he looks up again, you’re waving goodbye and joining your friends across the room. 

“Did you get hit with something while fighting a villain that makes you more bold? I feel like I just saw you and ____ talking,” Jake starts when Riki finally joins him with his lunch. 

Riki laughs, shoving Jake’s head out of embarrassment and opening his chips. “It’s just school. Got some project in English and she says we’re partnered.” He looks over at his friend chuckling, rolling his eyes at how Jake pokes at his side and wiggles his eyebrows. 

“I better hear you two are dating by next week.” 

“Who’s dating by next week?” Heeseung places his bag of food in front of them and takes a seat, opening the fast food he got last period and stuffing a fry in his mouth. 

“Riki and ____. Let me have one,” Jake answers, reaching inside the bag. 

Heeseung looks over at his junior curiously. “You asked her out?” And the two older students hear a groan from the boy in question. 

“Me and ____ aren’t anything, for your information.” He prods at the vegetables on his tray and takes a bite before a look of displeasure washes over his face. “You’re both way too excited for two guys who do not have girlfriends.” 

“Hey! You know the girl I’m always fighting with is the reason why I’m single. I have to focus on studying to do well in school to do better than her.” Heeseung’s whining falls on deaf ears as Riki smiles victoriously, seeing how defensive the former got. 

Jake offers him a shrug of defeat. “I got nothing.”

The three of them fall into normal conversation and Riki finally explains everything that happened during English.  “So you’re telling me your plan to ask ____ out went down from 18 months to 6?” And with a nod from the younger, they both groan once more. Heeseung exclaims, “We’re both going to graduate, dumbass. Make the plan go down to like…two months? Please?” 

Jake cuts in before Riki has a chance to respond. “Make it one and a half, so we can see you with a prom date before leaving forever.” 

“You act as if you’re going to die after graduation. It’s like you’re begging to be a super senior.” 

And they’re silenced immediately. 

“Do you think the guy I was with earlier hates me?” you ask on the other side of the room. Minjeong stares at you blankly, waiting for your explanation. “I don’t know if you saw when I walked in but I was talking to this really tall guy with blonde hair and black tips. He seemed really out of it, like he kept staring at me and nodding. I think I scared him off by talking about the book too much.” 

Sunghoon, who is also listening in, opens his neatly packed lunchbox and begins mixing his noodles. “I think you did scare him off, ____.”

“Not helping,” Minjeong interjects, “Just talk to him more and maybe he’ll warm up to you. You two sit together in class anyways, so hopefully he’ll talk more?” 

“I know him,” Sunghoon comments, “Well, sort of. I’m friends with Jake who’s friends with Riki, and it seems like all that boy does is sleep.” 

“Maybe he’s really good at subconscious in-class comprehension?” you try, taking a bite of your sandwich. “I just hope it doesn’t interfere too much with treasurer stuff.” 

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE IF HE SWINGS INTO ANOTHER WALL AT 100MPH LIKE HOW HE ALMOST DID TONIGHT.

All he’s had on his mind since school ended till now is how he should probably text you, if he really discarded the slimy acid monster from last week properly, and when the prom theme is going to be released, but there’s something amiss that confuses his spidey-senses and makes Riki much more alert. 

He snaps out of whatever train of thought he had before, focusing on the situation at hand and looking around to follow his instinct. Riki cautiously plants himself on the side of a random apartment building to get a sense of what's going on. A tingle of some sort of in the air permeates the material of his suit and leaves him shivering from the cold. 

He doesn't like it one bit. 

Moving to the side of the building to the top, the boy finally catches a glimpse of something when he gets a decent view of the city and highway systems. Riki knows something’s wrong with the bridge the closer he gets. He zips from one side of the tall, metal tower to the other, crawling down on all fours making sure he isn’t caught. He feels the electric feeling once more, only amplified. It runs up his spine and he wants to slap it, almost like a frantic, summertime bug. The air around him is charged with something he has never recognized before. With a puzzled expression under his mask, Riki continues to investigate the surrounding area. 

Riki finds a lone figure with some sort of attachment to his left arm, like a long glove made out of metal. The bulkiness of it seems to have no impact on his body as the man fiddles with the contraption, and the boy watches with bated breath as the machine fizzes and spurts with electricity. It begins to glow as power concentrates on his plated palm and the superhero sees it for the first time. It’s like a fizz, like a match striking at fire only to produce a quick burst of friction, but it almost feels liquid when he watches the person play with the flickering blue ball of electricity. It dances in the dark in a hauntingly beautiful way, with bolts jutting out from the metal as it spurts and buzzes with a life-like manner. 

A spark. 

“Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” The sound of Riki’s voice from the end of the bridge causes the stranger to look up with wide eyes. Although Riki fully expects it to simply enhance strength or block damage, the immediate strike of blue that flies straight towards him is anything but defensive. With a yelp, he jumps away, this time refusing to show himself. 

What the hell was that?

He knows he should go back down there to change things and get the person and the metal pieces away before it escalates, but when he goes back down to watch, it's ten times worse. The bright blue illuminates the scarred face of the villain as he’s picked up the metal arm–but this time, it’s no longer clunky and sparking, but fused into his arm. 

Riki’s face pales at the sudden change before his body acts on its own and he shoots out a web to stop the man. 

The villain is shocked by the intrusion, but quickly yanks free from the webbing and flicks another bolt of electricity, one that flies much faster now that the metal flows into the arm instead of simply resting on the skin. It’s unlike something Riki has ever seen, something that is so controlled in motion and yet so erratic in nature, and it instills a deathly fear when it grazes his arm he hisses in pain. The sharp feeling springs Riki into action as he jumps away. He’s lucky another bolt isn’t sent his way, seeing how the villain’s too busy marveling at the power of his new gadget.

“You know that fucking hurts, right?” He yells out, cupping his wound. “Maybe leave the gadgets to the kids!”

The man scoffs. “It better have hurt. I sacrificed half my body for this to work.”

“But why?” All Riki wants is answers. Some sort of explanation.

The man charges up yet another bolt, almost like a laser gun is built into the machine. “Less talking, more running, Spiderman.” 

That scared the shit out of him. 

The boy doesn’t have time to think as he jumps out from the dark tunnel to the bridge and up the metal towers—he hates having to fight with people right below. The villain follows in pursuit, almost crumbling the metal with his engineered arm as he hoists himself quickly. Riki continues to jump between the structure to avoid the flashes, trying to get out and apprehend the man as quickly as possible. When he reaches the top, however, he feels death is near as he glances down at the villain below who’s quickly gaining on him. He shoots out webs to slow him temporarily, letting himself fall and swing from the side of the tower to escape. 

What he doesn’t see on the way across the bridge is the flash that misses his cheek and hits his thigh instead. It burns, and mid-air, Riki gives the wound a quick assessment before he lands on the metal, immediately forcing his body to climb. While dealing with his wound, he fails to notice the villain swinging from the bridge support lines to meet him. 

He needs to end this fast before he becomes burnt toast.

Riki doesn’t often rely on instinct to carry him, but he can tell that the villain he’s facing isn’t just a criminal. 

“Land another hit, would you?” he tries to say, his voice strained from the pain in his arm and leg. It doesn’t do much to deter the man in front of him as the arm continues to destroy and bend the metal on the way up. “What are you going to do now, Sparky?”

The man says nothing, charging energy into his metal glove again before aiming and focusing on the target: him. 

Riki jumps off, not able to properly land his web in the right spot as he goes from one section of the bridge to the other. The man behind him looks enraged at the boy’s attempt to escape—so much so that he reaches out with his normal hand to try to grasp the suit when Spider-Man swings past him. Instead of the feeling of fabric, the villain feels sticky spider fluid on his fingers. Riki shoots out a web, one that curls around the villain’s wrist and drags him off the tower. Instead of being able to launch him into the surrounding waters, the man slips from the poorly shot-out webs and falls from mid air into the sea of frantic cars, including one semi truck that collides directly with his arm. In the air, the boy winces when he hears honks and shouts from the impact, hoping it’s the last time he’ll have to witness it.

With his gaze trained on the falling figure, the weakly attached web breaks, and Riki all of a sudden starts falling down as well. He curls up defensively before bracing for impact, curling into himself when he feels the metal dent and the truck driver scream from outside of the parked vehicle, the body of the villain right in front of it. 

Riki staggers, holding onto his arm and thigh the best he can before getting up. With wobbly steps and a small jump, he lands near the unconscious man, whose metal arm is cracked and fizzling—something that Riki knows is bound to leave more scars. 

“Call the police. I’ll get rid of the pieces.” Although Riki wants to figure out who the criminal is and make sure he’s properly apprehended, the gashes in the boy's limbs leave him winded and exhausted. With hot metal scraps bound together by webbing in his hands, Riki swings out and dumps it somewhere rural, trying his best to cover the pieces with the pounding headache that 

Riki revisits the secluded spot under the bridge, looking for clues to the man’s identity, and his expression falls when he notices a lanyard dangling near a trash can. 

His name, his position, and the company. FLiGHT Corp. The company name caught the boy’s eye, and he pockets the item before leaving. 

It seemed like he was a normal research scientist, but Riki’s recollection of the scars and tattered skin leaves him retracting his last thought. He heard something about the failure of a time travel machine at FLiGHT, and if the mass of the incident was anything to go by, he was in the center of it. 

No matter how many times Riki tries to get it out of his head, on the way home, all he can think about is the inexperience he displayed and the lack of response he gave Riki during the whole time. But Riki can’t bring himself to really take away someone’s life—and maybe for that, he’s a horrible superhero. 

He knows he should stop the man before it's too late, and especially with how many self-proclaimed villains there have been, it's not easy to see so many innocent people ruin their lives chasing a power that inevitably consumes them. He knows it’ll only get worse if he lets them run free.

And while the superhero has never been fully honest with himself, there are many times where Riki hates his role as Spider-Man, and wishes that he was just some teenage boy who didn't have the lives of others in his palm. He wishes he didn't have to sacrifice so much to stay behind a mask—and he wonders deep down if there’s anyone else who felt the same. 

His swings lead him across the city above hundreds of lives he has to protect, and he tries to find some semblance of peace. He thinks about how he has his homework due despite having just risked his life, he thinks about how your project is going—and about you. 

In the night under the stars, Nishimura Riki wishes for something just a bit normal. He wishes a good night for himself, but also for you, wherever you could be.

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE FROM TRYING TO READ THIS BOOK IN ONE NIGHT.

The Great Gatsby is exactly like how you described it; a little hard to get through but fun with the plot’s eccentric characters. He’s pretty sure he could’ve just used a detailed SparkNotes explanation for the book, but having a crush can make someone do weird things. And in Nishimura Riki’s case, his infatuation has got him reading a novel about morally-skewed characters and rich society to impress you. 

When you come into class barely on time, Riki gives you a confused look when you sit down, but doesn’t comment on it any further. Instead, he takes out his book and tries to act like his eyes weren’t closing shut from exhaustion by the time Daisy was finally confessing how she loved Gatsby. 

The moment Mr. Yoo stops talking, however, Riki isn’t asleep—much to your surprise. He has his book out, pages filled with sticky notes and a whole section of his notebook dedicated to characters (written in bright red to keep him awake) and their traits. 

“I got it.” It’s the first thing he says when you two are left to do in-class work. It’s ominous, and maybe a little too enthusiastic in a high school literature class for a boy who doesn’t even care that much for school, but you’ll accept it with open arms if it means you get a helping hand on your project. 

“Continue,” you tell him slowly, leaning back in your chair to listen to him. And you don’t know why, but a small part of you thinks that the boy who sleeps every period the book was discussed wouldn’t have much to say or contribute to such an open-ended prompt, but life is full of surprises. 

What you fail to notice is how Riki is nervous and his stomach does at least twenty flips before he swallows dryly and starts rambling in hopes to impress you and redeem himself from his embarrassing slumber a few days ago. 

“So you know how our prompt is based on one character and basically all their actions?” he asks, and you nod, absentmindedly thumbing a sheet in your journal. “I’m thinking we should talk about Jay Gatsby because so much is revealed to us about him that we might as well use it to our advantage. Y’know, talking about how the theme of exploitation and secrets is veiled under Gatsby’s desire for Daisy.”

“You don’t think Gatsby’s a good character?” Riki wants to tell you that Gatsby is more relatable than good or bad, but he shakes his head. 

“I mean, not really.” He feels like with those four words, he’s completely changed the trajectory of his relationship with you from a positive slope to completely downhill—and a wave of panic washes over him. “Should I? I mean, I could see him as more redeemable if you gave me examp-“

You wave your hand to quell his worries. “To be honest, I don’t like him either. But he’s an interesting main character to write about, so I think we should go with your idea.” 

To win your approval feels like he’s won at least three fights against a villain in a row without getting any bad injuries—it feels good. And for the rest of the period, you are able to finish a detailed outline of your work for the next few weeks, mapping out sections for each other, and he even gets to see a part of prom planning on a word document you had open. He considers your shared productivity a win when he packs up and bids you goodbye before leaving for lunch. 

One wave doesn’t catch Riki’s attention from across the room. Not even two, or three calls of his name could get Nishimura Riki out of his thoughts, and Jake frowns before moving up in the lunch line. 

“Something’s caught your eye again.” Jake feigns innocence and sighs dramatically as he places the food down next to Riki’s plate. “Could it possibly be our school treasurer?” Jake laughs, leaning over to catch a glimpse of what’s got his friend so entranced and non-responsive.

Riki scrunches his nose, annoyed, but never breaking his gaze from where you’re sitting. “We talked in class–like, a lot,” is all he says, paying his friend no mind. “She’s genuinely so understanding.”

“God, I don’t think you can be any more down bad for her than you are right now.” Jake picks at his food, and despite his concentration directed towards the olives on his pizza, he’s able to dodge the flying loaded nacho that goes his way, even if he wasn’t the one with superpowers.

“Can you shut up?” Riki grumbles, laying his head on his arms as he notices you smile and point to something. “I just got pummeled into a semi truck last week. Let me have this before I die tomorrow.” 

“Very grim,” his friend notes, ruffling the younger’s hair, “I think this is exactly what all of those mental health assemblies that we get are for.” And Riki basically tunes him out, too tired to fight and too used to the teasing remarks to come up with anything useful in response. 

Riki sits up a bit, letting his head rest on his propped elbow as he looks at the school food and touches another nacho gingerly. “Y’know, I read the book for English so she wouldn’t think I’m an idiot.” 

His friend snickers, successfully pulling out yet another sliced olive from the cheese, much to the disgust of Riki. “She probably already thinks you’re an idiot.” 

The superhero debates throwing another cheesy nacho in Jake's face, before deciding to eat it instead. “Don’t say that asshole! You make it seem like I have no chance with her.” 

Jake shoots him an exasperated look that makes Riki break eye contact. “That’s because you don’t.” 

“I’ll prove to her that I’m worth her time.” Riki says somewhat wistfully, still stealing glances from a few tables away. “Maybe I’ll ask her out to prom, show up in my suit. Do that cheesy upside down kiss shit people say Spiderman does.” When his friend raises an eyebrow at him, Riki shrugs. “I will! Well-maybe not the Spider-Man thing, but prom definitely.” 

Jake continues to look at him unconvinced as he takes a bite out of a slice of pizza with mangled cheese. “You barely talk to her in class and you think you can ask her out to prom as Nishimura Riki?” And the younger grins, eyes still stuck on how your eyes crinkle and how your shoulders shake with laughter. 

“Yup.” And his fate is sealed, just like that.

“What’s your project about, anyways? Didn’t you tell me last night that she gave you her number? Must be pretty serious if she wants to text you.” Riki furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head. 

“It’s just tying the theme of the book to one character and writing about how they show it. So we did the theme of money and Gatsby, because it’s easy and mentioned so many times.” 

Jake gawks. “You must really like her,”

“I was planning to read it regardless of who I was partnered with.” 

“Okay- that’s debatable.” There goes another one of Riki’s nachos.

“Gross.” 

He thinks things are going pretty well for you two. The report is being written and your quotes are basically finding themselves, so Riki should give himself a pat on the back for pitching the initial idea for how to go about your assignment. Maybe reading the whole book offered him a few useful pointers, and he goes to sleep that night satisfied with your progress. Maybe Heeseung and Jake were right—maybe he could finally ask you out by prom. 

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE TRYING TO SAVE THE CITY FROM YET ANOTHER MONSTER TERRORIZING THE STREETS.

He wakes up the next morning, not expecting his alarm to alert his senses to danger. It rings in his head and makes him feel delirious, trying to shake sleep off as he looks out the window for any visible sign of what's wrong. If he could hear the danger in his head then that meant someone could be hurt, and he could go to school without a few hours of sleep if he worked fast enough, right? 

Riki slips into his suit without much thought and goes to crack his window open, only to look back at his clock and read the horrific time of 6:23AM. 

Who the hell picks a fight with a teenager at this ungodly time? 

Then, he shoots from his wrists, once, twice, and suddenly, he's off, covering more ground through the air in just three seconds than he ever could while walking or running for minutes on end.

The source of his tingling spidey-sense is some large metal centipede creature that was setting off car alarms in a neighborhood near the market. Thankfully, no one was really awake to be caught in the crossfire, but he has to figure out how the hell he's going to catch that thing in...he checks his watch…twenty minutes? 

Hopefully, his instinct will help him win this time—again. 

The web he shoots out does nothing to stop the monster, and considering how it connected them both, the threads only drag the superhero to the edge of the building he was initially watching from. With some yelling and pulling, he finally detaches, and realizes that the odd sizzling feeling in his bonds must be from the same source as a few days ago; Spark. 

He had this gut feeling that a villain as strong as him wouldn’t have been destroyed so easily, but his wounds were so deep and the blood loss so bad from a few nights ago that he couldn’t have truly dumped him in the ocean without fainting or suffering something permanent, and although Riki hoped things in the universe would work itself out, the presence of the giant fifty foot insect alone is proof that things were not in his favor. 

He jumps off the building onto another, working quickly as he strings up a few webs between the houses as a wall for the monster, watching it slide and knock over cars in its wild pursuit. The monster spends a few seconds breaking down the wall of webbing and climbing over it, the many legs easily breaking through. As the superhero jumps across buildings and keeps track of the centipede’s movement, he has no idea why it isn’t going for him, and that makes his job much harder without the attention of the monster. One glance at the direction the centipede is headed in sets off another ding in Riki’s head—but this time, it finally clicks why the centipede is headed away from the boy. 

It’s attracted to the power plant. 

Riki immediately jumps and swings off of a lamp post, using the momentum of gravity and the force of his swing to propel him faster than the slithering creature. Squinting, he holds out his fist and points his pointer and pinky out, following the movement of the centipede as he aims. 

Bam. 

He sends clusters of silky white threads down precisely at the first pair of legs to pin it down. The webs stop the creature momentarily, and Riki doesn’t have time to watch how the body shrinks up and fizzes out with blue shocks as it tries to wiggle loose and malfunctions. This fight would be over soon, and the boy smiles when he jumps down to shoot more webs to apprehend the centipede. It wiggles and sends electricity out through parts of its body, trying to pry itself out. He expects it to simply be a robot of sorts following a mission considering its avoidant behavior, but as he approaches the tail, the monster suddenly swings at Riki, and its mass and speed is incomparable to the boy’s reaction speed. 

Riki lands into a tree and someone’s garage, feeling the crumbling wall falling all over him and the sudden pain blooming in his lower back. 

This fight will, in fact, not be over soon. 

With his superhuman abilities, Riki grabs onto the metal of the car beside him to hoist himself up, coughing from the dust, and jumping over the rubble to see how quickly the centipede creature can get out, without regard for his current state. The sound and rumble of the giant monster is all he needs to know that the traps are effective, but not at the previous capacity. 

The plan is simple: apprehend the legs and crush the head, where Riki assumes the decision-making and programming is taking place. But the monster’s angry and erratic actions throw a wrench in his plan. Its legs move faster, digging into the cement and leaving ruin in its wake as it continues down the road. While both the villain and superhero are fast, the distance between the power plant is finite—and only grows smaller and smaller.  

Although Riki can feel the bruises coming, he runs and swings, hearing the wind in his ears as he catches up to the centipede in no time. He tries the same tactics again–aim, shoot, stick, all the while keeping his distance. Although the monster’s body spans incredibly long, and should carry an immense amount of weight, the way it snaps at Riki’s flying body and sends shockwaves through his core leaves him shivering as his body slams into the ground, coughing. It hurts all over, and it feels like there’s weight on his eyes when he tries to open them and get up. His head is spinning as he staggers onto his knees, clutching his chest as he watches the centipede shrivel and crackle. 

It seems like the voltage produced is a double-ended sword, one that burns up the centipede body as much as it deals damage, and with the way the mutant creeps towards the electricity of the plant, Riki gets the feeling there’s a magnetic pull that forces the mutant to continue to crawl even against its instinct to stop. 

Despite his waning strength, however, Riki knows better than to half finish the job like last time. He creates a net from experience, weaving together the thickest and most durable threads to trap the entirety of the slowly approaching creature. It seems to crawl slowly up the makeshift barrier, knocking its head against the white and spreading the bright blue waves of its energy throughout. The boy watches as the thin white mass absorbs all of it and clings to the creature. It works, finally, after his attempts to nullify its movements, and he knows that despite the ache in his every step, the almost mummified centipede that hangs between several roofs for all the neighbors to gawk at is his sure sign of victory. 

All he remembers is hearing a familiar call of his hero name before his legs give out and his head hits Jake’s chest. 

Holy fucking shit is the first thing Riki thinks when he wakes up. 

He’s not out of his tattered suit and he feels grimy all over, but his body has done wonders in reducing the otherwise fatal injuries he got. No human body should be able to withstand two energy-filled blasts, but his suit and superhuman healing are of greater help than ever in alleviating the damage from his wounds. 

He knows why he’s in his bed with bandages thrown over his open wounds. He knows that every time something like this happens, it’s Jake who shoos away the concerned civilians, telling them he’s a medic. Jake is not a medic—rather, he’s a seventeen year-old boy who knows about his friend’s double life and with all the times he’s saved Riki, someone might as well dub him the greatest medic of all time. 

The clock on his bedside table has only served as a bearer of bad news. He looks over to see how it’s practically midday, and he’s missed yet another day of school from fighting crime. He’s in no condition to get up or get his bag, seeing how his hair is frizzy and his cheek has a cut that would warrant questioning. It seems only fair that he stays absent, and before he falls back asleep, he only prays you aren’t too mad at him for leaving the seat next to you empty.

But you aren’t mad, just worried. The soreness in his muscles doesn’t go away though, and he groans when he sits up in his bed, with bandages around his arms and an ice pack discarded next to him. 

He’s most definitely not coming to school like this. 

While you bore holes into the clock hanging off the wall, that doesn’t speed up the time. Two minutes pass, then another minute. As your classmates find their partners and begin discussing, you notice how the room gets louder with the due date looming near. It’s the first time you’re alone without the familiar boy beside you, and something hangs low in your chest when you put in a pair of earphones and open your laptop. 

Riki’s absence should have no effect on you. After all, you’re both just high school students who’ve talked once or twice, and yet you still look over at the empty chair. Staring doesn’t make Riki appear, though, and you return to your edits. It feels empty without his insight, or without him asking you to help him with a passage. Riki was your solution to all things boring. If he wasn’t doing his work, then you two were laughing at something on his phone. And if you agreed to both do something other than the report, then you could ask for an extra opinion when deciding prom details. There was something freeing about working with him that attracted you. Riki knew how to lighten the mood on days that weren’t so good for you, but he also worked hard and let loose at the same time. There was a perfect balance in Riki’s life that you aspired to have; it was a good mix of playful, dedicated, and fun all in the same vein. 

The words blend together on your screen. Jay Gatsby this, Tom Buchanan that, it all looks monotonous the more you keep trying to read and comprehend what exactly you’re talking about. 

Before class is dismissed, Mr. Yoo steps to the front of the classroom to gather everyone’s attention. He introduces your new novel for the next month, explaining yet another large assignment associated with the text. 

Truth be told, you don’t pay attention to any of it. 

The only thing you remember to do is to grab extra copies of the printed graphic organizers, as you get out of your seat and rush out when class ends in pursuit of one specific boy. 

“Sim Jaeyun!” The call of his name diverts Jake’s attention from his phone to your waving arm as you weave through the students and finally reach him. 

“You can just call me Jake,” he explains, “what’s up?” 

You begin to reach into your backpack, trying to feel for your folder, and pull out a few sheets. “These are for Riki.” 

Jake cheers internally for his friend who’s busy recovering at home. “What, you got a crush on him or something?” 

He tries to play it cool by teasing you, but the smile you bite back leaves the boy questioning if there really is anything going on. Jake knows better than to tell you anything about Riki’s feelings, and opts to instead grab the papers and to thank you for looking out for his friend. 

“Is Riki okay?” You have to know, just to make sure he’ll be here tomorrow to cure your boredom. 

What Jake says is much different than the nonchalant wave and half grin he gives you. “He’s just bedridden.” 

“That’s pretty serious! Did he come down with anything?” He seemed fine yesterday, so what’s the catch?

He blurts, “He just got badly hurt.” 

Immediately, Jake knows he’s fucked up. 

Your confusion and silence answers him far more than words ever could–he basically hears the gears turning slowly in your head.

Jake weakly defends, “His parents had a fight with him because he hit his head or something. He’ll be fine by tomorrow. Just bedridden from sadness, y’know?” 

The look you give him is unconvinced, but when Heeseung pats him on the shoulder and waves to you, the boy realizes that maybe staying quiet would’ve been the better decision. 

“I’ll see you later, ____.” And he’s off, waving half-heartedly and dragging a very confused Heeseung out of the cafeteria. 

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE TRYING TO WAKE YOU UP AS GENTLY AS HE CAN.

Ever since March started and flowers began to bloom, your energy seemed to do the opposite, dwindling until Riki catches you mirroring his frequent in-class action: sleeping. And it worries him beyond belief, because you’re not the type to fall asleep like… ever. However, Riki does not have the heart to wake you up, even if it’s with a little nudge that you probably barely feel with how light he taps. It breaks his heart to have to ask you to review what he has done, because the bell is about to ring and the teacher might just send you to detention if he catches you off-task. 

The allergies always make Mr. Yoo irritable, and Riki knows not to get on his nerves. 

Your eyes flutter open to the pokes and prodding from none other than Nishimura Riki, who gazes at you softly when you adjust to the bright classroom setting once more. 

Panic settles in. “Wait- how long was I sleeping for?” 

He shrugs and scrunches his nose, not giving you an answer as he finishes scribbling something in his notebook. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Your hand squeezes into a fist at the frustration that you’ve let your partner down. 

And yet, Riki seems to be unfazed, frowning when he sees you stressing out. “Don’t ever sweat the little things, yeah? If there’s anything you ever need to talk about–trust me, I know what it’s like to have a lot of pressure on your shoulders.”

Smiling at him, you respond with, “Thank you, really.” 

Being treasurer is daunting in the spring. It’s full of requests, forms, and small tasks that leave you spent by the end of the day. “But,” you glance at the clock to see just how much time is left, “how’d you know?” 

He motions to your open computer with a now dark screen. “I saw your document pulled up. ____’s tasks or else she will be kicked out of student government,” he taunts, snickering when your eyes grow wide with embarrassment and you lightly nudge his shin with your foot in warning. 

“It’s not polite to snoop,” and although you say that, you catch something in your peripheral vision. It’s a few drawings of a figure and gadget drawn, shaded from rigid shapes with small descriptions pointing to different places. You weren’t sure what was more surprising; how good the drawings were, or the subject of his imagination. 

Weird. Inherently, there was nothing wrong with Riki drawing a villain, and you chalked it up to him being creative. Nothing more, nothing less. 

He puts his hands up in surrender at your last comment, his grin showing anything but. Just one look at the boy makes you realize that everything you’ve just thought about is foolish. 

There’s no way he’d have time to be a villain and a student. With one final thought, you let your raging thoughts rest and focus on the present; him. You’ve seen his hair messy, especially after his naps, but when Riki tries to style it like how he did today, you pay more attention to the streaks of blonde and how he often hides behind his bangs and scrunches his nose. It’s cute. He’s cute.

The truth is, you enjoy being around him like this, joking around and never worrying too much about your responsibilities and expectations. It’s refreshing. Being around Riki gives you the feeling that things will be okay in the end. 

You snap out of your thoughts to see that his desk is empty, while your’s hasn’t changed one bit.

“You’re going to sell prom tickets now, right?” He makes small talk before leaving for lunch, closing the notebook you were suspiciously eying before slipping it into his bag. 

“Yup,” you answer, popping the ‘p,’ “I’ll see you later,” and you two part ways.

All the long lines and constant distribution of change doesn’t allow much wiggle room for you to daydream. As time goes on, the ticket-selling line grows smaller and smaller, but the only thing you truly care about is eating the lunch your parents packed you. Your sandwich is probably sad and soggy now that there are only a few minutes of lunch left. When you finally sign off one last time after triple checking the forms are all correct, you let out a sigh, leaning back and finally getting a break. 

Then, it hits you that you’re not even sure if the boy you’re fawning over is attending the biggest event of the year, and you feel stupid for forgetting to ask. 

-

Yesterday was a rookie’s mistake–today, you’d make sure you get an answer from him.

“Are you going to prom, Riki?” is the first thing you ask when he sits down, grabbing his book and laptop with a little too much enthusiasm. 

“I’m thinking about it.” Yeah, whatever confidence he had when convincing himself he’d ask you out isn’t serving him well at this moment. Quite frankly, Riki feels lame as ever trying to be nonchalant around you. “You?” 

“I’d have to set up, so I would be there, yes. But whether or not I have a date is another story.” You smile to lighten the mood, but Riki watches you and nods, focusing back on signing into his laptop and getting his notes for the new book you’re reading. 

“Well, you’re not the only single one here.” And he wants to reprimand himself for saying something without thinking. “If someone asked, would you say yes?”

You think about it carefully, really because you don’t have anyone in mind when it comes to prom if Riki’s not planning on going. “It’d have to be someone I know—someone I talk to somewhat regularly. I’d be nice to be with someone who doesn’t make it awkward.”

Nishimura Riki might die from over-thinking if he keeps on wondering whether or not he fits that description to a tee.

RIKI'S TO-DO LIST BEFORE PROM

☐  talk to ____ regularly 

☐  don't make it awkward 

☐  be..cute? 

The boy decides that his superhuman responsibilities might be easier to complete than any of those three things. 

He switches the subject to stop his head from hurting too much. “Did you finish the report?” 

You still, and Riki’s question reminds you of the report looming over your head. In your defense, you two hadn’t brought it up much in the past week, and he didn’t seem to worry over how much of your time was spent emailing teachers or making spreadsheets. Although caught off guard, you’re quick to respond with, “What did we have to finish? I thought we were done since last week, but if there’s anything else-” 

“Sorry,” he rushes out, biting his lip, “I meant, if you finished reading it.” And the answer is no, you haven’t read it since your last edit on it three days ago. 

Within a few clicks, you find the document and scroll to the bottom, seeing the small note that Riki left that said ‘let me know how it looks.’ It’s sweet to know he thought about your input as much as you did his. 

“While some can agree that Gatsby’s rise into high society was sketchy, Gatsby still retains the same reserved character from years ago, and doesn’t manipulate others into success or use his money for nefarious purposes. It’s not like he changed after his wealth, and it could be argued Gatsby loved Daisy until his last breath and was willing to die as long as she was happy, emphasizing the theme of sacrifice. 

So, is Jay Gatsby a good person? The question targets the morality of a character who many can empathize with. Those who are charmed by his overwhelming love for Daisy would say that he’s committed textbook crimes, but focus more on the intent behind it. To pine after someone from a distance isn’t easy, but to pursue her after years of separation is even harder. It’s universally agreed, however, that love as a driving force doesn’t nullify what he’s done to others and the dirty schemes he’s enacted to gain the power he has. Therefore, Gatsby makes for an interesting main character, and highlights just how twisted a system around money can be.” 

The last page is–for the most part–his writing, and your admiration for him grows when you finish reading and scroll to hit your Works Cited page.

“It’s good,” you tell him wholeheartedly, “Didn’t think you had it in you.” 

Riki cracks a smile at your light teasing, soaking up your praise. 

“Now you know.” He shrugs. And he can only hope that you like him as much as you like his literary skills. 

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE WHEN HE COMES TO THE REALIZATION THAT HE IS EXACTLY LIKE JAY GATSBY,JUST WITHOUT THE MONEY—DESPERATE FOR THE GIRL OF HIS DREAMS, DYING YOUNG, AND A FRAUD HIDING BEHIND SECRETS.

Nevermind the last one, he has to hide when he has an identity to protect as the city’s only superhero, but Riki feels his heart sink to his heels when he read a few weeks ago how much Gatsby simply adores Daisy. When Gatsby died, he scoffed, closing the book with a sudden disinterest. If he were the male lead, he wouldn’t have been laying in a pool for target practice. Maybe being a superhero teaches you how to avoid being easy bait for all your enemies, or maybe Gatsby was too carried away with love to think straight. 

Fighting crime gives you insurmountable experience with sneaking around, but it wasn’t something he could just teach to anyone. When he gets this horrible gut feeling that something’s happened to you, he just knew something was wrong. He might not be easy to catch, but for anyone else? Definitely.  

For everyone else, prom was a month away, but for you, it was three weeks of talking to your advisor and president, arguing with your other board members, and sitting behind that damn money box for another five days to sell tickets. For you, it was realizing that you were supposed to buy streamers and balloons yesterday on your way home from school. It was the thinly veiled disappointment in your board member’s texts when they told you they were at a loss for words. ‘I’m sorry, and I know you’re busy, but how could you forget? Prom is so important for all of us. What if they don’t have what you need anymore?’ It all repeated in your head as you bit your lip in frustration and slipped on the first pair of shoes you could find. Although it was dark and dangerous, you could care less if it meant avoiding the passive aggressive comments you’d get tomorrow during your meeting.

There it is again: that little tendency to not pay attention to your surroundings. 

You yelp when you feel someone grabbing your wrist and pulling you in, muffling your screams as he pulls you along. To see him on the news was worrying, but to see Spark in person with your life on the line is even worse. 

Tears spring to your eyes as you struggle against the metal to no avail, and you curse every previous moment you spent worrying about balloons rather than your safety.

Spark suddenly stops, shoving you against the wall before his hand grabs a brick with his metal arm, beginning to climb. “Don’t let go.” And you don’t think twice before holding on.

The city view would be beautiful if you weren’t hearing your heartbeat in your ears or if you weren’t dangling from the railing of some company building, trying to wiggle yourself free of the rope around your wrists. 

Spark speaks up, drumming his fingers on the railing next to you. “You wouldn’t happen to know where your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man is, would you?” And you furrow your eyebrows, genuinely questioning for a moment if he really knew how the superhero operated. 

A voice from across the street puts a temporary hold on your thoughts, and you glance up to see a flash of blue and red soaring through the air, followed by a groan and a beam of light next to you. Seeing Spark’s powers right in front of you spurs you into action, yanking at the rope and trying to take tiny steps away from where they were fighting.

“From what I’m seeing, you wanted to hold someone hostage because you’re not feeling too good, huh?” Spider-Man shouts as he shoots out webs and blocks hits. You shake your head in partial disbelief of how unserious he is, but also how unbelievable all of this seems. “You tried to take a potion or something? I’m going to tell you this now, but these usually don’t work.” 

Riki’s assumption is right, and considering how Spark now has a leg and arm from metal instead of just the arm, the procedure for the additional limb couldn’t have been easy. The superhero still proceeds with caution, making sure to pay attention to anything new as he dodges and fights back. 

The villain immediately gets back up, stumbling for a moment before he regains his stance and runs towards the boy. You hear the clanging of fist hitting metal from their fight, and considering the difference in height and build, you’d expect Spider-Man to be easily flung to the side, but he holds his weight in battle. 

Riki aims for around the left shoulder, where an abundance of stitches cover the skin and fuse the metal into muscle. He lands a hit, and almost another one, before a punch to the side knocks him from his momentum. The boy wheezes when his back makes instant contact with the ground, rolling and getting up before Spark has time to shoot. 

He notices how quickly the gadget generates electricity now. Before, the beams took longer, and were easily predictable, but now, it glows bright for a moment before it fires directly in Riki’s path. The boy dodges the first, but the second one almost hits the top of his head before he ducks and creates distance. 

From the roof-top, Riki scans his surroundings before making the split-second decision to jump. 

He swings to the other side of the building, keeping you in his peripheral vision as he works on apprehending the villain in front of him. They spring into yet another fist fight, with Riki’s agility easily letting him avoid punches and land precise hits to make the previous injuries even worse. 

You think Spider-Man has the upper hand in this, seeing as how none of Spark’s punches seem to slow down the superhero, but you hear something loud before you can register it. 

You figure out what happened after Riki stumbles and suffers a blow to the stomach, sending him tumbling to the edge of the building. Spark knew that Spider-Man was avoiding his left arm—he knew that one wrong move paired with the tungsten material would have a lasting effect on the superhero’s fist. 

Riki coughs from the impact before his spidey-sense rings, pulling him back into battle as he runs as fast as his body can take him. 

You. He still needs to save you. 

With renewed vigor, he continues to avoid the flying sparks as he ducks between structures and uses the terrain to his advantage. He can tell, though, that the villain is slowing down. The shots are less accurate–a telltale sign that the enhancer Spark tried is working against him. 

Between all of the chaos, Riki finally lands a proper web, yanking as hard as he can to pull Spark to the ground. He stumbles, grasping at thin silk before Riki lets go on his side. The villain’s balance is off, giving the boy an advantage as he closes the distance, hopping over a thrown slab of metal and landing a solid kick into Spark’s ribcage. As he stays down, Riki continues to aim for muscle and flesh, his head spinning as he packs punch after punch to keep the villain apprehended. 

Spark’s body–curled into itself to absorb the hits the best that he can– hides the growing blue flash that he’s slowly charging up with his remaining power. The moment it escapes from under his abdomen, Riki directs his efforts towards avoiding the electric glimmer. The villain rolls over, his body tattered from the consistent injuries, and he fires what seems like an intense bullet of energy. It zips by the boy’s cheek, cutting the mask and leaving blood to run down in its wake. Time slows down as the superhero tries to process the unlocked speed of the burst, and Spark loses focus marveling at his new abilities. Never before had either of them seen power so concentrated, and it inflicts both fear and excitement. 

He lifts his arm, the other holding it up for support, and Spider-Man notices the fizzle of bright blue. Riki’s about to jump out of the way, preparing for yet another high-speed bullet, but before Spark fires, something clicks. The arm doesn’t directly point to Riki–but it skews off to the right.

Except, he’s no longer aiming for Riki in the split second that the boy blinks. He’s suddenly aiming at you, where your hands are tied to the railing and your feet are dangling from the bent metal that holds you precariously over the edge, leaving a fifty foot drop in its wake. When you see the blue energy in the villain’s palm growing slowly bigger, you pull at the rope desperately with zero regard to the tender rawness of your wrists. 

In your attempt to somehow break the rope, your cry of fear snaps Spider-Man into action. 

Riki pushes his sore body to jump as quick as he can, leaping across the rooftop to the building over. He easily avoids the metal railing, grabbing onto your arm as he yanks hard on the rope, the force of it separating a piece of metal from the railing. He immediately jumps, sending out a web to swing him back up. It all happens in a flash–first, you were bound to the edge about to fall to your death, and all of a sudden, you’re tightly pressed against Spider-Man’s chest with your bound wrists still attached to the metal. Shutting your eyes, you trust Spider-Man entirely, closing your eyes to avoid seeing just how far up you were. Wind rushes in your ears and leaves your stomach fluttering with butterflies until the superhero sets you down on a secluded rooftop. 

“Please,” he begs, “don’t leave. I’ll be right back.” 

You’d be a fool to do anything but wait. 

Riki checks on you one last time before diving down, springing himself back up with another web. The damage from the blasts is recognizable even from far away, and yet, he notices the reflective shine of a metal arm on the edge of the building before Spark lets go. 

To Riki, Spark is dead after dropping from a fall having taken that much damage, but he hears no impact. Making haste, the boy fails to find any figure no matter how hard he looks, but Spark’s laboratory has to be here somewhere. The badge from a week ago was stuck on Riki’s mind, and he could only imagine the reasons why he pursued this life. Was he recreating something? If he needs to power some sort of machine, then the heart of the city is a perfect place to harness the electricity for any large scale project. As much as he wants to dedicate the rest of the night to searching the city for some sort of clue, the fact that you’re still stranded on that rooftop after having just experienced a life-changing event blares like an alarm in his mind. 

He quickly leaves, returning to where you’re seated.

Without the fear of falling to your death from earlier, you were able to focus on undoing the knots from the rope. Red scratch marks and irritation bloom on your wrist, and the reality of it all happening still hasn’t settled in. Despite not being harmed once, the fear and incessant pounding of your heart overwhelms your senses, and it leaves you heaving with confusion. 

A pair of footsteps only become apparent as Riki walks closer, taking a seat beside you and letting out a large sigh. He stares at the stars silently as if he doesn’t have a cut on his cheek and bruises waiting to paint his skin purple–as if he isn’t hiding his true self under a facade. 

“You’re not hurt, are you?” You shake your head, grateful that Spider-Man was the reason you got away without a real injury.

“Thank you, really, for saving me. I don’t know how you manage to do it.” 

Riki chuckles under the mask. “Eh, you get used to it,” you hear Spider-Man say. “You fight a couple bad guys, get over a fear of heights and eventually you get the hang of things.” 

Scoffing, you gently rub at your wrists to ease the redness. “Easy for you to say. I haven’t been taught a crash course on how to avoid being supervillain bait just yet.” 

“Maybe you should learn it sometime,” Riki responds absentmindedly, “someone like you shouldn’t have been out so late doing whatever it could’ve been.” 

Sighing, your mind drifts off to think about the balloons and streamers that are not in your hand. “I had stuff for my upcoming events.” 

He knew about all of it when you’d explain your cryptic reminders and notes on your computer, but he still feigns curiosity. “What upcoming events?” 

“Just prom,” and he hears just how strained it makes you. 

Riki tilts his head in faux confusion. “What do you have to do for prom?” 

He notices how you immediately slump, as if the mere mention of prom deflates your happiness. “It’s only a few weeks away, and I was supposed to get decorations for our venue yesterday. I just wanted to slip out before my parents noticed.” 

Despite the fabric over his eyes, Riki’s expression shifts from surprise to pity when he understands your stakes. “You still need to be careful. Is your student council strict?” 

“Not strict necessarily, but judgemental–I ran for the position because I thought I could help my school raise funds and find more opportunities, but it just feels like no one truly wants to try anything new.” You wave it off as if it’s not that important, as if it isn’t the reason why you find yourself stressed so often. “I just don’t want to disappoint or give people something to talk about.” 

Despite not being involved with school the same way you are, the boy next to you resonates with the fear you currently face. The fear of letting people down was a large part of why Riki continued to put on that mask and step into the most dangerous situation of his life; he never wanted to sit down to hear the news that Spider-Man quit. 

So he keeps doing his job, even if some days are harder and some fights aren’t worth winning–just like what you do. 

“Yeah, I get that,” he tries to console, “You must be doing a lot for everyone around you, and I’m sure a lot of people appreciate what you’ve done. Don’t beat yourself up too much, yeah? You’ll always have me.” He smiles, but he knows you don’t see it. You’re looking at the stars, trying to calm your mind and return to your life before everything happened. 

You glance over at Spider-Man, wondering if he’ll truly be around for you when you need it. “If I need to talk to you, should I step out of my house past 8PM again?” 

Riki chuckles, watching clouds slowly dim the moon’s glow in their path. “If I’m not fighting crime, I’ll show up at a moment’s notice.” 

There’s no way he means it, but you grin, feeling a lot of the pressure and stress of earlier slowly wash away. After all, nothing happened to you–Spider-Man made sure of it. Maybe things really were going to be okay. 

“Let’s get you home, yeah? Don’t you have stuff to do anyways?” 

You shrug, nothing really coming to mind. As you get up, you remember having to run a plagiarism check on your work, and how Riki told you to text him when you got home after your student government meeting. 

Riki. Spark. Spider-Man. 

“Wait,” you tell Spider-Man, sitting back down on the cement, “I need to talk to you about something else, too.” 

“It’s not like my dinner’s getting cold,” the superhero mumbles quiet enough that you can’t hear. 

“There’s this guy,” you start, paying no mind to how dirty your clothes are getting when you cross your legs. 

Spider-Man scoffs, looking off into the distance, and it makes you believe he has to be your age or older. “You have a crush on him, or something?” And a whole tidal wave of deja vu hits you in the chest. 

‘He must be badly hurt’ isn’t just something people say. People don’t just draw insanely detailed drawings of Spark’s arm and machines without notes to follow unless they knew. People wouldn't just randomly miss school without any impending signs. You’re sure of it–the tired naps in class, the random drawings of superheroes and superhumans alike, or how awkward he could act–it all makes sense.

Your classmate, aka Nishimura Riki, aka the guy who you’ve questioned if you had a crush on for the past few days, might be a villain. 

The swirling feeling of trepidation in your stomach leaves three words running around your head. 

What. The. Fuck. 

Although you tried so hard to stop thinking about it, Jake’s comment from before rubbed you the wrong way. It was sometime last week where you couldn't get your mind off of the implications of his words, but that feeling was brushed underneath your responsibilities. 

Until now. 

“Yeah, there’s this guy,” you breathe, feeling your chest constrict, “Nishimura Riki. I think he’s Spark.” 

His blood runs cold. 

“You think this…why?” 

You take a deep breath, trying to organize all your thoughts. “Well, first, it was his friend, Jake. He said that Riki was badly hurt, and I was really confused at first, but tried to let it go.” 

Riki was going to strangle his best friend. 

“And then, I was looking at him in class, right? And keep in mind, he’s pretty cute, and we sit next to each other, so I just noticed how good his hair looked that day, but his notebook was out, and I saw all these drawings of Spark. Like, the arms, the metal things, even the projectiles! Who would know the ins and outs of that thing if it wasn’t Spark himself?”

He didn’t know what to think about first; the fact that you gushed about him for the first time, or if he should even tell you that Spider-Man would know those things, too. 

“And sometimes, I notice he’s a little awkward around me. I can’t explain it. It’s like he’s paying attention to me. That must’ve been why he captured me.” He wants to laugh at how damn close you are to figuring it out, but in reality, nothing is funny about the situation. 

Nishimura Riki is actually listening to this, right now, as Spider-Man–not Spark. The awkwardness, though? It was his crush on you, and was not superhuman related in the slightest.  

“I don’t know,” he attempts to divert, pretending to focus, “I saw a badge for FLiGHT. You know the company that’s been making time traveling machines? I saw a glimpse of his name and face. It’s not that guy you mentioned.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “And you haven’t gotten him caught?” 

“Villains aren’t easy to find, y’know. It’s not like playground hide and seek,” Riki defends, crossing his arms. 

You shrink in your spot, feeling sheepish for questioning a superhero so bluntly. 

“Plus,” he continues, “Spark has never had a hostage. Wouldn’t it be pretty mean of that friend of yours to kidnap a girl from his class?” 

“Yeah—that makes sense. Thank god,” you breathe, closing your eyes momentarily. “Then what do you suspect all that evidence leads to? Maybe he’s a secret agent?” 

“I think,” Riki continues to keep up his clueless facade, “Your friend might just be clumsy. Or creative. I mean, maybe he went through a break-up?” Nice one, Riki. 

You shake your head. “No, there’s no way he has a girlfriend. You’d think I like guys who are taken?” Scoffing lightly, you then remembered that Spider-Man really would have no idea who any of you are. 

He shrugs and stands up stretching before motioning for you to follow him. “I have no idea what you high school kids do. Come on, let’s get you home.” 

As you hug him tight, the cold air whips around your body and leaves goosebumps in their wake. You barely open your eyes from the fear of seeing yourself inches from hitting a building or up in the air. Spider-Man only yells his confirmation after asking how to get you home, finally placing you on the ground outside of your large gate. 

“Thank you for saving me tonight.”

“Anytime. Figure things out with that friend of yours, and don’t go out late, okay?” You nod and take his words to heart. 

“Goodnight, Spiderman.” 

—-

Nishimura might die. One, because he has this horrible guilty feeling in his stomach, and two, because of a villain. 

Yesterday, he ignored the salmon and rice bowl that waited for him back at home, choosing to follow the coordinates he saved on his phone after he took you home. It led him to a seemingly harmless auto-shop, with an arrow on his GPS pointing to a garage that was shut down completely with nails and blocked with boxes. The exterior pointed to it being abandoned, but Riki suddenly saw some light coming from a makeshift above.

The boy scaled the wall as quietly as possible, glancing into the source of the whirring. He caught small glimpses of something–metal, glowing, blue. 

Or at least, for a few seconds it was on until the power went out. 

The voice that complained from inside the room sounded identical to the man Riki fought. Spark grumbled, turning on a flashlight and quickly waving it around. Riki ducked from the window and held his breath, waiting for the man to suspect something. 

Nothing. 

One lightbulb slowly flickered back on, and then the other dingy light followed. The space was cramped with the metal equipment in the middle, resembling what Riki had seen in the news. 

He was right–it was the same time travel portal that was ruined from a few months ago. 

Spider-Man continued to observe the man as he worked and drilled, plugging certain wires or pausing momentarily to read from a journal. To anyone, it’d seem peaceful, like some sort of renovation project. But in reality, it was so much more than that. 

Riki searched for any sort of information about the machine, trying to see what exactly was left to do until his gaze landed on something. 

There was some sort of date on a bright pink sticky-note, and Riki’s eyes widened when he finally comprehends it. 

The machine was scheduled to be completed tomorrow. 

-

A street lamp next to Riki dies out—which was a clear sign that something was powering up. From the dark, he hears the metal from the same place as last night moving again, and he knows that Spark has left. His presence sends anyone down the street and immediately running, leaving the area for only them two. 

Riki finally sees the completed metal build. Half of his body is wrapped in or replaced with metal parts as he sets down the metal portal, beginning to push it in the direction of the power plant. 

A truck or car would make things much easier, but whatever.

Riki wants to cry from fear and run away. He wants to leave and pretend he never saw anything from last night. 

He’s going to die fighting Spark and he will quite literally a) never finish highschool and get that stupid diploma, b) finish explaining how Gatsby is not a good person and is naturally selfish, and c) he’s never going to tell you how he’s had a small crush on you ever since he saw your cute campaign video as to why you should vote y/n l/n for student body treasurer last spring. 

“You sure that thing works?” Riki asks, jumping into action as he sends webs to immobilize the machine. 

“You’re annoying, you know that?” Spark sends a projectile in the superhero’s direction, hitting the wall behind him instead as Riki jumps out of the way.

With another duck mid-air and the roof of a flying car dangerously close to his nose, Riki thanks the dance practice he does for his flexibility as he shoots another web and swings away. 

Spark is uncontrollable by now, sucking the light from street lamps and fizzing wires in his wake. He has no idea how he’s supposed to get in contact with the villain like before. The body of his suit fizzes with bright electricity that sizzles and pops. It illuminates Spark’s figure, making him easy to spot, but not so easy to defeat. It’s an overload of power, causing the voltage to escape between the joints and gaps of the metal pieces in his suit. And Riki can feel it; the air is heightened and so are the stakes of this fight—and with how the man that stands in front of him looks upgraded and menacing, he knows only one person can make it out of this fight alive. 

“You injected the city’s ‘Gas and Electric’ into your system or what?” Riki calls out, making light of the situation. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s scared out of his wits seeing the six foot figure with blue and white shooting from every crack, looking like a nightmare to touch.

Riki avoids a few more angrily thrown objects, using the momentum of his jump from the side of the building to zip from the top of a yellow fire hydrant to go from one side of the street to the other. “You’re slow!” He taunts, tucking in his legs to avoid a shot of electricity directed at him. 

The screech of metal from the nearby hydrant can be heard as the top flings off, making Riki lose his anchor/ Before he can process it, instead of smoothly landing on the building, he crashes into it faster than expected, groaning when his back makes contact with the glass and he tumbles into the living room of someone’s apartment. 

“Fuck,” he curses, fighting his aching limbs to get up once more. 

And the solution hits him. Literally. 

When he steps out and quickly attaches a web to the top of the building, he’s met on the way up with a splash of water from the hydrant to his face, and Riki splutters as he wipes his mask, regaining focus as he lands on the concrete and hides behind the ledge. 

Water. If he can get it in contact with Spark and pour enough water on the right spot, the excess of electricity blazing from his mechanical body should work against him. 

“Too scared? You should know better than to run away.” The superhero rolls his eyes, crawling away silently to avoid being seen by Spark. Riki does his best to look around for something, and finds a black flower pot in the corner, using a web to grab it before he scales the side of the building and runs away while Spark is distracted as the villain also climbs the wall to face him there. But when Spark climbs the ledge and scans the premise, Riki is nowhere to be seen. 

Instead, Riki swings across the street and fills the pot with water, heaving the extra weight as he shouts out from the sudden pain in his side. He stumbles on the pavement, crying out from the injury as the pot falls with his whole plan. 

Maybe this is where Spider-Man dies. 

He sucks in a deep breath before rolling from his back onto his knees, ignoring the wound to pick up the flower pot. The hydrant still shoots out water, and the superhero rushes towards it, causing Spark to follow. He narrowly avoids another shot from behind him, reaching the yellow hydrant before dropping the pot on the ground. Spark is th 

While Spark has always been intelligent, Riki could tell that the man didn’t fear the water, believing he’d be invincible to the elements now that his suit was perfected. There was something off, Riki could tell, and he would make sure to use it to his advantage. Spark was uncontrolled, and his powers drastically decreased the more he used them. There’s no way his body isn’t in overdrive with how recklessly he’s been letting himself get hurt. 

Riki uses a web to get himself on higher ground instead of fighting, waiting for the supervillain to follow. If he could get Spark off the edge and fall into the growing puddle of water, it should slow him down. 

Spark scoffs. “Run away, then. Like you always have.” Riki hears the wall crumbling under the villain as he climbs within seconds, immediately preparing to fight when he makes it onto the rooftop. But Spider-Man was also prepared, jumping from his crouched hiding position and attempting to catch Spark off guard. 

All he can focus on now is pushing him off. There’s no way it’d be easy, considering he had to focus on his touching any of the electricity off of his suit. Riki delivers a kick to Spark in the ribcage near his heart, where he’s fused metal into flesh. The villain coughs before taking a step back, his metal arm reaching for Riki’s outstretched leg. He grabs it, twisting with anger before the boy meets the ground in a violent throw. Not only is the slam greater because of the enhanced strength, but the power seeps into Riki’s skin, leaving it hot from the energy radiating off of his palm. 

The boy groans, flipping to his side to avoid a fatal hit to the chest. He reaches for Spark’s normal arm, swinging the villain’s body away with as force as he could to create distance between them. 

Riki has been in enough fights to simply know when to run, even if he doesn’t know what’s coming. He could feel the tingle of the charge as it powered up, and with its energy so unrestrained and its user so unstable, the large attempt to hit Riki sends the villain stumbling back from the force. The more Spark uses his powers, the more likely he’s going to end up dead. 

“Your skin can handle that anymore!” he shouts, getting ready to swing himself closer as a plan manifests itself in his head. “You’ll die like this!” 

Spark seems to know that too as he wipes his mouth and recovers from Riki’s attacks. 

“You think I care?” He shouts, desperately pressing his wounds to stop the bleeding. “You think I have anything else for myself?” The vulnerability of his character shines through as he clutches his bleeding wound without regenerative powers to help. “You think I didn’t know that when I did it to myself--what they did to me?” 

Riki doesn’t respond, grimacing as he continues hand-to-hand combat. Although he takes a solid punch to his jaw that’s forming a deep purple bruise, he manages to trip Spark onto the ground.

The man stumbles back from the head injury, the pounding from earlier not letting him to think straight. Riki doesn’t try to injure him anymore, but he instead blocks an incoming punch and tries to force Spark towards the edge. 

The villain barely notices how much space there is left, and the boy lunges with full force. They tackle each other into the ground, and Riki gets off after apprehending him once more. 

The city's a mess, and Spider-Man’s eyes want to shut down so badly, but he takes a few steps in Spark’s direction, pushing him off the side of the building as quickly as he can. Riki hears the thud before he peeks over the edge, seeing the water erode all of the engineering from the machinery. He slowly descends from the rooftop. 

“You were in the accident, huh?” Riki shouts on top of the plethora of sounds. Pain, buzzing electricity, splashes of water as he lands next to Spark; it all echoes in his ears as he pours the water from the pot on Spark’s body. “Why did you try it? Why did you want to go back so bad?”

“If I could go back,” Spark coughs, trying to get away from the large pool of water, “I could’ve prevented the accident from taking the lives of the people around me. I could’ve saved them.” 

Spider-Man understands loss, and he understands the regret that comes with failure. He understands how the man in front of him feels after having everything taken away from him, but his emotions could never justify his actions. 

“You know you can’t change things,” Riki responds, “You tried your best, Spark.” It’s the last thing Riki tells the villain before his body slumps and police sirens grow louder and louder. It’s the last thing that he continues to think about, even if the medic quickly assesses the severity of his wounds. 

“I’m fine- really,” he pushes away the hands of a concerned woman as she holds a roll of bandages. “There’s something else I need to do.” 

Riki knew he had to tell you about this–he couldn’t just let you confide in him about..well, him, without your knowledge. And Riki wasn’t morally perfect, but he knew an explanation would be the only way to fix things.

Your house looks different when jumping over the fence instead of standing in front of it. When he realizes he has no idea what room belongs to you, he racks his brain, suddenly remembering how yours was the only one with a gray balcony over the pool. And so he climbs, slipping from the exhaustion creeping into his body. 

You’ll understand after he explains everything, right? 

“____, a little help?” And what the fuck is Nishmura Riki doing outside of your door? You go to investigate the muffled sound, inching towards the curtains and pulling them back to expect him there. When you hear a half yelp and a hissing sound that follows right after, without a person anywhere in sight, your heart drops to its stomach. 

Do not say it’s true. 

“Riki, where the fuck are you?” you ask, traversing out when you don’t see him anywhere across the glass. 

“Down here.” You run in the direction of the voice, and your eyes grow comically large and you gasp, staring down at the sight before you. 

“Holy shit.” 

There Nishimura Riki is, with his mask half burned off his face and his blonde and black hair messy and matted to his forehead with sweat. The suit is ripped in multiple locations with gashes and purple replacing the healthy skin underneath. His face is in more of a grimace, as he holds onto the web with both hands and one foot planted on the stone of your balcony—read; the bottom of your balcony. 

“A little help?” And you see his sheepish emotion through the tattered fabric, embarrassed after you had to find him in such a compromising situation. “I’m a little worn out and I think my webs are getting weaker.”

You’re a little frustrated with him for being out so publicly, but more scared and worried for his condition. Your gaze narrows on the mask, tattered and covered with scratches, but clearly visible. It was Spider-Man’s mask. The material gives way to a familiar face, and your mind almost blocks you from putting the pieces together. It’s impossible, almost horrifying to think of the implications of what it means to wear the blue and red suit. 

Instead of being the villain, Riki is, in fact, the savior.

The harsh truth is that your classmate, who you spent the last month working on a project with and suspected was a villain, is the same superhero that went out and risked his life every night fighting crime. It’s jarring to see him like this, breathing heavy and straining against the stone of the balcony, and his cough snaps you out of it. “What the fuck do I do?” 

Riki tries to put his hand up in surrender and shuts his eyes at your harsh tone. “Okay, okay, I get-“ and he cuts himself off with a yelp as his footing slips. 

He holds out his hand, and you immediately bend over the smooth railing to grab it, leaning back on the heels of your feet to help him up the most that you can. You’re filled with confusion when the boy hobbles over the cool surface of the balcony and lets his head rest on the stone, not saying much as he catches his breath. You watch the rise and fall of his chest and how his right arm goes to nurse the left side of his ribcage, wincing and sucking in a pained breath as he assesses the smear of red on his fingers. 

Sitting there with your mouth agape, you’re not really sure what to think about first; to check if RIki’s alright, to think about how your city’s greatest superhero is your English project partner, to yell at him for going to your house instead of his house to fix himself up, or to think about how good his side profile looks in the moonlight. Maybe you should’ve just been relieved that the boy you started to like wasn’t a fear-inducing villain.

“Okay, first of all, we need to have a huge talk. But I’m not a medic Riki- I’m going into accounting for fuck’s sake.” He hears the amount of curses flying from your lips as you ramble, and sees how stressed you look watching him sit against your railing. 

“I don’t know how to help you. And also,” you lower your voice and scoot closer, looking around at the large property to really make sure no one’s listening. “you’re Spider-Man?” 

The information all hitting you at once is worse than when your history teacher told you your essay was horrible. At least then, in her office, you could process everything. But here? You’re about to faint. 

“I’m pretty cool, huh?” And of course Nishimura Riki says such a thing, taking deep breaths as he shallowly presses on the blossoming bruises on his skin and wipes the sweat from his brow. 

“Pretty fucking stupid is what it is, Riki.” You cross your arms and try to take a look at where he’s been hurt, hoping that at least he has some sort of regeneration ability that helps him heal much quicker—because there’s no way he could deal with all of this on top of school. 

“I have my reasons,” he says, his voice quiet. 

You pause. “For being Spider-Man?” 

“No,” he shakes his head. “For coming here.”

“What could possibly make you want to come over to my house instead of the nearest hospital? What’s that important to you?”

“I really want to ask you to prom.” 

You simply stare at him, surprised. 

“You came to my house, even though you’re like, a punch away from passing out, to ask me out? And you couldn’t have, I don’t know, asked me anytime during the classes we have together?”

Riki somehow finds it in himself to frown and shrink from your angry piercing gaze. “I can’t because talking to you makes me nervous–so yeah, I’m sorry I’m half conscious on your balcony in my suit instead of at your door with a poster.” 

You’re conflicted, your mind still reeling from the recent discovery and your flood of emotions. Ever since you questioned his identity on top of your feelings for him, you had a hard time really knowing if you could like Riki if he turned out to be a villain, so to know that he proved both of your theories wrong leaves you quiet as you think. If possible, the color in the boy’s face drains even more when you go back inside, but the door stays open, and he thinks he hasn’t ruined things after all. You emerge with a bottle of isopropyl alcohol, a bowl of warm water, and a pristine white towel. 

“I’m not mad about that, you idiot,” you reprimand him, setting everything down as you examine the cuts on his face. You squeeze the towel and start to dab at his skin, avoiding the cuts as you clean it. “Who does this for you if not me?” 

“Jake.” 

“Seems like a pretty good friend.” Riki nods in response. 

 “I’m sorry,” he sighs, sitting up to properly address you, even if you weren’t able to meet his gaze. 

“For what?”

“For putting this on you–all of it. Not just the whole Spider-Man thing.” He knew he’d have to tell you at some point, or else it’d eat him up inside to know he kept all of it from you. 

“Look at you, saving me mid-air and talking to me as if you didn’t know who I was.”

You notice a flash of regret through his wince as you clean up a cut with antiseptic. “I meant it when I told you I knew what it was like to have a lot of pressure.”

“Guess I wasn’t so far off, then. If we never talked, would you have told me?” Riki shakes his head, and the simple motion leaves you somehow disappointed. 

“How do you ever tell anyone you’re…y’know, Spider-Man?” Even if it’s a hypothetical, you shrug, not being able to answer.

“How’d Jake find out?” 

Riki chuckles and hisses at the same time before trying to remember. “I think I just kicked his window in after a nasty poison got hold of me. He was a little too excited to have Spider-Man on his bedroom floor, and less excited to know it was me. I’m not really supposed to tell anyone, though.”

“Then why’d you tell me? You could’ve just gone back to your friends.” 

“I felt guilty–I know, I know, it sounds stupid. I’d definitely get my identity revealed at this rate.” You shake your head. 

“Not stupid. Keep going.” 

“I didn’t care that you suspected me, or if anyone else did, because I knew it was never true. But I felt so bad knowing you were sharing to me how you felt without even knowing it was me who was listening–like I was holding something from you.” 

You admire his honesty, and when you look at his furrowed brows and his lip that he’s been gnawing from worry, you can’t even imagine what he’s had to hide and do for this. In a way, you look up to him more, for trying his best even if he’s gotten all odds stacked against him. Riki’s commendable in your eyes–he always had been, ever since you woke him up in class. 

“I like those things about you, Riki. That you’re honest with yourself and the people around you as much as you can be, and you try to help others when you can. I’m glad we got to know each other more this past month.” Talking to him feels different than talking to Spider-Man from a few days ago; it feels raw, like you’re not just confessing something to a brick wall anymore. If none of this ever happened, you doubt you’d get the chance to tell Riki any of this properly. 

The boy stays silent, taking deep breaths while processing what you’ve told him. “I’m glad I could help you out.” 

You furrow your eyebrows. “I hope you know I don’t like you because you help me out. I like you because you’re attractive, and because you’re genuine,” you blurt. 

Riki laughs despite his ribcage hurting everytime he does so. Riki nods and mumbles a ‘thank you,’ also glad to truly get to know you. While his crush was more of an infatuation with your hard work and amiability, the past few weeks really opened his eyes to who you were. You never wanted to disappoint, and even if your recklessness left you in some dire situations, Riki could see how much effort you really put into things. 

There wasn’t anything else he needed to tell you–you were smart enough to see how much he cared about you.    

You’re so close, your lips glossy with lip balm as you watch him carefully. You hear and see it all; the heavy, labored breathing from his body healing itself rapidly, and the way his hand is full of rough cuts and calluses as his fingers intertwine with yours. But your eyes catch a glimpse of his mask tossed to the side, the blue shining in the corner of your eyes as you’re reminded of who he is right now, and what role you play. You are still ____ ____, but he’s a superhero.

It makes you momentarily forget whose suit you're peeling away, whose skin you're cleaning. It reminds you that he’s just the boy in your English class that you fell for. “What does that make us?”

“Prom-goers,” he answers with a slight nod. 

You smile, wiping a cut before placing the towel back into the bowl for the last time and getting up. “We can be prom-goers, yeah.” 

You’re not sure if you’re ready for anything, and you’re thankful that he understands that, too. As much as it warmed your heart to see him again and hear his confessions, the blaring truth still hangs over your head. You grab his mask, finally looking at him before handing it back and grabbing your things. His secret identity wasn’t something you could just ignore. 

“Go home, Spider-Man,” you turn your back on him, and time slows when you falter before sparing him one more look. “I want you as Riki, not like this.” 

MAYBE NISHIMURA RIKI DOESN'T NEED TO DIE–OR ALMOST DIE–ANYMORE. 

He went home that night with his scars somewhat cleaned and his bruises miraculous healing on their own, and even if slipping through the window left him clutching his side in pain, Riki silently jumped up to celebrate his multiple victories before slipping out of his suit and finally getting some rest. 

Riki’s scared of how he’s affected your relationship. He’s worried you’ll avoid him in the halls, and he’s worried you’d never want to see him again after putting you through all of it. As much as he'd understand how upset you'd be towards him, he hopes he did the right thing by telling you.

But you see him on your way to English, and you call his name. His eyes search for yours in the crowds, and you two see each other before you crush him in a hug. 

Riki isn’t sure how to feel at first, but eventually wraps his arms around you as relief settles in his stomach. 

“Thank you for saving me, Spider-Man,” you whisper, loud enough for only him to hear. 

He smiles at you, ruffling your hair as you go to English together. “Anytime, ____.” 

NEVERMIND, NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE WHEN HE SEES YOU IN YOUR RED PROM DRESS.

But first, he has to try something out. 

He curses to himself when silently zipping from a tree outside your family property to the top of your house, staring past the ledge two and luxurious stories to your well decorated porch light and door. He just prays that Google Maps is  right about how secluded the area is, so no one can see him pacing around your rooftop, with flowers elegantly wrapped in his hand (courtesy of your mother’s sleek envelope from a few days ago). 

“Fuck it,” he says to himself, shooting a web and dangling himself down. Riki’s upside down figure watches swirled window frames and meticulously designed accents as he descends, and he wonders what kind of shady business your parents could’ve done to afford something so grand. 

He faces your door—hanging down instead of rightside up, but he’s still here on time like he promised. 

The door opens at 6:00PM like he instructed you to, but what he didn’t tell you what to do was shriek and slam the door. On his nose. With a loud yelp, Riki clutches his nose, rubbing the spot you hit and trying to apply pressure to alleviate the pain. 

When the door slowly creaks open again, you face with the image of Nishimura Riki, aka your boyfriend, aka your English partner, aka Spider-Man, curled upside down in the fetal position as he cradles the sore spot on his face and swings slightly from the breeze. 

“You scared me, dumbass! How was I supposed to know it was you? It was so hard to see!” 

Although muffled, Riki’s able to mumble, “You have a porch light for this reason, _____,” and a jab at his stomach from you follows his sarcastic remark. Finally, his nose feels better, and he straightens out to finally look at you. 

Pretty, pretty, pretty, and the boy wonders how you look even more stunning with a glittering red dress and perfectly done make-up. “I like the red,” he says, trying not to freak out over your beauty. “Reminds me of a certain neighborhood superhero.” 

“I have some blue spider earrings to match.” With a beautiful smile, you turn to show him the little accent, and it melts his heart. “Are you okay, though?”

“I’m fine. I should’ve probably put more thought into that.” 

You snicker, sliding into your heels and closing the door behind you. 

“One of us is better at romantic gestures, it seems.” It warrants a scoff, and Riki brings a gloved hand to poke at your forehead teasingly.

“Let me have a do-over, then?” And the way your lips curl up into a bright smile leaves him quiet and in awe. 

“What, were you going to kiss me? Very original, Spider-Man.” With the way the fabric shifts over his features, you can tell he’s pouting. 

“I thought girls liked this.” 

You shrug, pretending you aren’t swept off his feet by the effort he’s put in. Taking a step in his direction, your hands reach up to gently pull the mask over his chin, ears, and then his nose. 

Whispering quietly, you ask, “You’ve kissed other girls upside down?” 

Riki’s quick to shake his head. “You’re the only girl I’d withstand a head rush for.” And god, you just can’t stop yourself from grinning at his sweet, genuine words.

You lean in, placing a small kiss on his nose as a silent apology. Then, you close your eyes and lean into him once more, feeling his hands carefully holding the side of your head and his lips on yours. Your kiss with Riki is saccharine and slow, making you pull away when the urge to beam at him is too much. Your cheeks definitely hurt by how romantic he’s being, and you can’t resist kissing him once more.

“I’m not gonna lie,” he starts, finally letting himself down, “It feels weird.” 

“You ruined the moment.” And he really didn’t, but you enjoy his subtle reactions to your light digs at him. 

“Whatever.” Riki laughs. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” 

You nod, sitting down on the porch and dragging a manicured nail over your lips with the ghost of his affections, thinking about how you literally just kissed Spider-Man. 

Riki comes back, dusting off his suit and smoothing out the wrinkles, with a large bouquet of red roses and one blue one snuck in there. Your lips stretch into a grin and you accept the bouquet, keeping a mental note to read the card in there.

“You never cease to amaze me, Riki.” It’s the last thing you mutter to the air before you loop your arms around his neck, urging him to lean down as you kiss him once more—this time rightside up, but still as sickly saccharine as the one before it. Your heart is fuzzy with fondness and your eyes glitter with adoration. 

“So, which kiss was better?” he asks when you pull away, a little breathless and dizzy.

You swat his arm and walk past the gates, seeing the sleek limo waiting by the curb. “I don’t know, Spider-Man. Maybe show up in your suit and we’ll try it again.” 

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED AND ALWAYS READ!

RIKI FIC DONE!!!! ngl y/n u were right there how did u not know riki was spiderman but whatever idc she's a hard worker not smart LMFOAOAO. my first ever action fic so i hope you enjoy! also i hate the ‘oh he pined after her for 4 years she liked him for 2 months’ bs because I WAS IN IT. and it sucks so i tried to deviate from it :)

꣑ৎ permanent fic taglist (TAGGED IN TEASERS, FICS, HEADCANNONS, DRABBLES, ETC.): @dimplewonie @minleeeknow @heeheesang @mintpjzroll @llvrhee @firstclassjaylee @in-somnias-world @rairaiblog @suneng @mavlogist @sensitively-taken @sumzysworld @simpjay @moons-v @riksaes @txtari @jungwonscatcus @tya0 @sasfransisco @woorcve @shypen @pinkriki @rikisluv @saranghaohoshi @lilifiedeans @wonmyheart @k1ttyluvr @nikisgfff @ramenoil @laurradoesloveu @lvcky-g1rl-syndr0me @ikeulims @missychiefs1404 @qwonyoung23 @yangjungwonnie @onementally-unstabel-kid @microwvdstrawb3rri3s @blooqz @anormieee hi permies hope u enjoy! kith

[i-cant-sing]

i was just minding my business like scrolling to find new fics to read since i was so so bored and while i was finding some delicious fics (ahem ahem: yandere big brother bakugou x little sister reader) ur post suddenly idk the word (lumitaw (its a filo word)) and i was screaming and immediately dropped what i was supposed to read to read yours 😭😭😭

i got the worst memory ever to exist because i keep forgetting their names but i think i'll grasp them once the next chapter is out (hopefully) but yeaaah!!! baris reminds me of abbas in a way but ig he's a bit more.. brute yk what im talking about????? ig he's ok..

OH! and i have a theory about the painting, y/n's face getting smudged maybe because baldwin or SALAUDDIN decided to smudged it to forget how they look due to heartbroken (prob not baldwin,, but i feel like salauddin would do that ??) i guess im getting married again 😔😔 i feel like im betraying my pookie salauddin 💔💔💔🙏🙏 BUT ANYWAYS THANK YOU FOR THE UPDATE SNOW!!!! AMAZING AS ALWAYS!! can't wait for the next one already!! 😭😭😭 i think i'll send more of my thoughts if something crosses over my mind (prob when im in the shower)

ooohh i like your theory(portrait pictures at the end). i like it a lot. expanding on it:

Baldwin would probably cause the painting to be smudged because he's kissing it, kissing your lips, drunk off his mind, tears streaming down his cheek as he spends hours sitting in front of it, talking to the painting as if u still exist, begging u to come back from heaven, even apologising for all he's done, just please- come back, angel...

Meanwhile Salauddin would probably be staring at your portrait angrily. He understands why you had to leave but.... you couldnt have told him where you were goinh? Do you not think he couldve protected you? He wouldve used his whole army, gathered Muslims from all around the world to protect you. Did you... did you not have the least bit faith in him? deep down, he knows u did this to prevent a war between him and baldwin but.... Salauddin wouldve gone to war for you. Happily. This wasnt your decision to make alone. Now, he stands in front of your portrait, he has it in his palace now, and he doesnt say voice it out like baldwin, but he has complaints. HE keeps them inside, mentally talking to you, telling you just how stupid you were for sacrificing yourself, for jumping off that stupid cliff. How u shouldve just- just asked him for help ONCE, and he wouldve fought until his last breath if it meant keeping u safe. In his mind, u sacrificed yourself to protect Baldwin from murdering innocent muslims or anyone else u wouldve seeked help from.

And now? All Salauddin can do is pray for you. He wakes up late into the night and sits on the prayer mat, making dua for you for hours, reading Quran for you, has animals slaughtered on eid on your behalf, even doing charity and hajj (pilgrimage) on your behalf, just so that you can have more good deeds in your name. He still has the chess board u gifted him, but he's stopped playing chess. He never played the game again, it was only a painful reminder of you. The one person who he could never beat.

As for your painting, why it was smudged? Salauddin didnt want anyone to see your beauty, thats why he kept the portrait hidden in his room, but then he feared that one day when he's not around anymore, someone will see you. So, he used a rag soaked in turpentine to smudge your face, but couldnt do more than just the bottom half of your face. He thought that was fine, after all, thats how u did often appear when you were around, wearing a niqaab, a veil that covered your face.

Now that he looks at your eyes, he realises his mistake. He heard the wise tell him-

"Eyes are the windows to the soul."

He now knows it to be true.

This is what I think the portraits look like:

Notice that this is the earrings Salauddin gifted Y/n when she was in the market with him:

How Baldwin's been:

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 8 | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: you and stanley go fishing 

warnings (TW): swearing, panic attack/panic-inducing scenarios, slight gore/violence 

tags: mutual-pining, fluff, angst, action, affection

notes: idk anything about ice fishing so pls don’t get my ass for this okay, this was v different to write than my usual long drawn out heart gutting character analyses that I love (not that that is NOT here) but all the movement was deffff hard so it took me a minute but hey this is what I wanted imma do it ya know 

Also i configured this chapter in like three separate ways in my head and it was so hard to chose? But i think the one i did end up writing is most true to their dynamic so far. To be of note for the v stubble reference im giving here but yall know The Kiss by painter Gustav Klimt? Ya… that…. Thats here (spot it if you can) as always thank you for the kind messages and notes and comments, love yall <3 also comment below if you'd like to be on a tag list I should maybe organize that hehe

word count: 6.5k

| masterlist | ix |

January, 1987

She had found them both nice fold-out chairs at the flea market just that last season, along with fishing poles the nice old man insisted went with the seats also. Talked her ear off about how he used to go ice fishing with his son, before said son went off to college. 

Now he wouldn’t be home during the ice fishing season, so he saw no use for his chairs or his poles. But she did. 

Stan would tell her flippantly about his youth from time to time, usually if not always said stories incorporated Stanford in one way or another. It seemed that the two barely, if ever, separated during their youth. Something that upset her more, that her friend had never spoken of his brother to her in the six years they had known each other. She didn’t think he would speak of it all as fondly, these memories, considering he never confided in her about Stanley, to begin with. 

Stan would speak of the shoreline in New Jersey, of the sharp sand beneath his feet and hidden caves along the coast they both would trek through. Talk of the setting sun, of racing his brother home in the dark down paved streets back to their shared room. 

He spoke most fondly of a boat though, one that had taken both twins years to configure. 

She figured the fishing poles could be some sort of link, at least in her mind. 

That and they spent some of their summers down by the dock at the local lake anyway. Splashing in windy tides off the dock and watching boats go by until sunset was a great way to cool off. That or revisiting the pool, where Stan would insist upon ice cream for the short drive home. 

She figured he would wait for the season opener to go fishing. Considering she gave him the poles and chairs in December, a quick wave to Christmas, a holiday he laughed off on the regular. He would routinely celebrate it with her, just for the holiday cookies and cheesy movies he wouldn’t admit he loved. But he was Jewish, after all. At least raised in a Jewish household, he told her flippantly, after opening his gift this last December. Laughing at her blushing face, and flabbergasted stuttering, asking him why he would bother with all this. She sat straight when he said it was for her. Because she wanted to, so he would. Not that he was a religious man, anyway. 

He found it amusing this holiday season then, to find her struggling to make some traditional dishes his mother would make each year come December for the holidays. Nothing he necessarily missed, but something he found endearing nonetheless. Her usual attention to detail, and odd need to ensure his comfort. 

The fishing poles were a welcomed gift though, and he lit up at them and the differing tackles the nice man at the flea market had also gifted her. Hugged her into his side, while he ranted and raved about being able to fish off the docks come summer. 

But he didn’t want to wait. 

Something she thought rather glumly in the very early morning that January weekday. The sun not even having made its appearance, she had stumbled out of her bed around 4 a.m., having promised to reluctantly go ice fishing with said enthusiastic man. They stood before the porch door now, while he knelt in front of her, lacing up tall winter boots and pulling over her snow pants. Tucking her in, layer upon layer. Putting to use some winter clothes they both had rangled out of donation bins that very first cold season. The snow pants and boots had only ever really been used when they would trek through the outskirts of the woods, searching for clues to Stanford’s other journals. 

She was still half asleep on her feet, falling forward into Stan’s bent shoulder in front of her to groan. For some reason, he was wide awake, and grinning like a fool despite it being 4 a.m. That dumb look on his face reminded her why she even crawled out of her cacoon of blankets. He was beyond happy to be able to go fishing. Something he couldn’t even wait for a warmer season to do. 

He seemed a smidge like his younger self when he was closest to water. Some of his favorite memories are those ones with Stanford by his side and sand intertwined in his hair. His skin dark in the sun and his toes were deep in the tide of the sand. 

It seemed more distant now, as distant as Ford was to him now. He wanted to ground himself here too, and some of his new favorite memories are of them hanging at the end of the dock. His feet in the cold water of the lake, and her nudging his shoulder. Teasing him, edging him off the docks’ wood and into the cold water with her. He preferred the summer to the snowy winters, but he figured they could make some new memories by the water now also. Even if they were colder ones. 

So he more or less begged her to join him. Promising that he would handle the fish after she made a disgusted face at the thought of stripping the fish of their skin and bones for the meal they would make of the catch. She agreed though, happy to tag along if it pleased him. 

He stood from his knelt position in front of her, standing to reach behind him to grab his red coat from the coat rack. Turning back to her to fold her arms into the coat also, her eyes still blurry as she smiled at him slightly giddy. 

He had a gift for her that last December also. A coat folded into shitty wrapping newspaper he had thought to repurpose. She smiled at the blue coat but quickly became confused when she pulled it out of the wrapping to find it was far too big for her own physique to be for her. He had quickly pulled out another present for her, presenting her with another newspaper-wrapped gift. Which she tore open with haste, and rocked up quickly to her feet to dance around their small living room, his old red coat in her arms. 

It was hers now, and she reveled in the shitty coat. His smell still lingered in the seam line, and when she leaned her head far back into the hood she could pick up on his shampoo. It kept her warm, despite also not fitting her physique. 

He had woken up earlier than her that morning, putting the appropriate supplies for ice picking into the trunk next to their foldable chairs, the tackles, and the fishing hooks. So they made their way out into the dark, ducking into the car next to each other to make for the lake in the early morning. 

She hummed along to the radio as per usual, random songs interspersed in between the local morning forecast. She stopped though now, picking her head up from the back of the seat to look over at Stan. 

“We missed the entrance to the dock.” 

“Nah there's another one we can go to. Farther down, less people.” 

She hummed, smiling over at him. What he actually meant was there would be no lake office to report to. So no need to register them for the lake that day, and no stupid state fee to pay for fishing on the lake. Amused at his shortcuts, she turns back to watch the pine trees pass out the car window. 

It was a sharp, nose-burning 10 degrees Fahrenheit that day, according to the radio forecast. Only made worse somehow with the creeping darkness from the horizon line. The sun slinked slowly in the coldness of January. 

He made his way out first, the car’s cabin light flashing on as he grinned over at her. Securing his blue coat closed quickly before getting out to stomp a path in the fresh snow around the car. Pulling around the sides to pull open her door, before chugging around to the trunk to unload the supplies he claimed they needed. 

She knew how to fish, but had never ventured into ice fishing. Mainly because the cold was beyond unappealing to her. But the thermos Stan had presented to her before making out the door that morning heated her hands enough to dismiss the onslaught of negativity thrumming through her. And partially woke her up on the drive over. Stepping out into the crunchy cold snow to help Stan gather supplies. 

He shuffled her chair into her hands, slugging everything else into his own broad arms. He could reasonably carry everything, stomping forward in the snow to make a path for her to follow in. 

They had made a spot on the ice, the snowy shoreline a good bit away. Stan claiming the best spots must be farther out. Because the farther out, the bigger the fish. She sat, glancing around the empty ice. When Stan meant fewer people he meant no people. A frozen dock far off near the shoreline also, its wooden structure covered in ice. She watched him now, the fishing poles cradled in her lap, and the thermos warm in her hands. He’s bent in front of her, his mittened hands working an ice auger to break a solid hole through the thick layer of ice. 

Grunting, he stands back up, hands on his hips admiring his work. 

“Is the ice too thin here?” She observes. 

He tilts his head left, turning to her now. “No, doll. Perfectly fine right here. We’ll only be here until a little after sunrise anyway.” 

He sits in his own foldable chair that she had set up for him while he was finagling with the ice. Their chairs positioned side by side, a little distance between them and the whole he had just made. He reaches between them, opening up the tackle box to shuffle around drawers, looking for something in its depth. 

“Close your eyes, hun.” 

She rolls her eyes, closing them, while shuffling the thermos between her thighs to hold out her hands in wait. He places something in her mittened hands, it’s slightly heavy in them now. 

“Open ‘em.” 

She opens them to see an odd black contraption in her hands. Two knobs, a dark screen, and a long antenna on what she presumes is a battery-powered electronic. Almost too dark to make out what it was, but it hit her and she gasped. 

“Ta-Da!” 

“A radio!” She sings, clutching it closer to her chest and swinging in her seat to knock her knees with his. Clawing at his shoulder to fold herself into his neck and coat’s furry trim. She wouldn’t question where he got it, just revel that he had thought to, for her. 

“I know you weren’t too eager to go fishing with me, doll. But I figured this could make up for some of it.” He chuckled, readjusting his hat on his head after they pulled away. Knee’s still knocking between them. 

“I’d do anything with you Stan.” She hums, unthinking, as she looks down at the device in her hands. Tweaking around the knobs and the antenna to turn it on. She misses his flush next to her. 

She gets it working quickly, the music faintly staticy in the background of Stan attempting to put lures at the end of their poles. 

He gets her’s ready first, leaning forward in his seat to situate the pole in her hands. Pointing out the slack line and the type of lure he put on the end of her pole. She’s too distracted, like she always is when he’s probably explaining something vaguely important. 

The music hums between them, perched on the tackle box he had closed. His cheeks flushed from the cold, his hat slumping down the back of his head, hair peeking out around the rim and sticking to his forehead. He leans in closer, his knee and thigh along her own. His own covered hand reaching for hers, folding it around the pole for her to hold. 

They enjoy each other's company until the sun peaks up along the horizon, a good hour in. As they pass the coffee-filled thermos back and forth, she hums to the radio. Enjoying stories Stan told about tourists from the end of the last season. Telling her about their ridiculous questions he had to work around last minute. 

“Then he asked me if they were extinct!” 

“What you tell him?” 

“Well he couldn’t have been more than eight years old, and he got all teary-eyed when he asked me.” Stan waves his hand around, drumming up the memory of when a child had asked him if the fake displayed plady-beaver was the last of its kind. 

“Annnnddd?” She hums, sipping on the last of their shared beverage. 

“And I may or may not have said they were not.” He shrugs. “Was easy to convince the kid’s dad to buy him a plushy.” 

She laughs, thinking about the stupid merchandise she’s still not used to, that she sometimes restocked in the front of the house. But of course, Stan didn’t have the heart to really crush the kid’s spirit. Sad kids equaled less money probably, in his mind. That and he had a weird affinity of being about to communicate with them like no other. 

There’s a tug on her line suddenly, not the first in the hour they’d been at their spot, but the first real strong one she’s ever felt. Jerking her pole, bending it forward. Both her hands met the pole, yanked straight in her seat suddenly. 

“Woah!” He says, sitting forward and reaching for her pole also. His hands encased hers around the pole. “Hold it tight, hun.” Grunting in her ear. 

But the pulling got worse, had them both standing from their chairs. His arms around hers, helping her reel back the pole, pulling it back towards his left shoulder. His arms encasing her, pulling her flush with his front. 

“I gotcha.” He grunts again, close to her ear. 

“Do you?” Gasping at the strength of the pull along the pole. 

It seems to drag them closer and closer to the ice hole he had put in the ground not even an hour ago. His feet planted firm, yet scrapping against the ice. Hers fumbling, dipping under the strength of being pulled forward. Her hands tight, beginning to sweat and ache in the casing of her mittens. A heat around the ring of her hat. He’s hot behind her, warmth seeping out from his coat and onto her back. He feels firm, and yet they both continue a slow crawl forward. 

Until it tugs. It tugs so hard that she instinctually releases her grip. Her hands were still steady against the pole though, still beneath Stan’s own hands. 

The jerk has them both flung forward, his feet no longer steady, flipping against the ice. She’s still between his arms when they fall forward, inching towards the hole. He turns them somehow, taking the brunt of it on his right shoulder. 

Her head swims, having met the ground rather suddenly. But she’s between his arms, her hands having let go of the fishing pole. He’d let them slip from the pole, his arms tight around her, trying to take the force of the impact. 

“Stan.” She mutters, mushy between them. Her head pounded for a minute, as they continued to slide against the ice. His chin propped on her head, warm around her still. 

He doesn’t respond, because he’s given no time to. Another harsh tug on the pole sent him forward quickly towards the hole. He thinks fast though, bending his arms, hooking his feet along her legs, and pulling her out of his grasp. 

She slides along the ice and snow, his push along her legs and waist burned. She turned, pushing herself up on her hands. Grasping at the snow to get some balance. She had run into the chairs and tackle box. All their supplies scattered along the ice. The radio was static behind her. 

It had all happened so fast, her voice cracking in the cold air. Calling his name but not finding him. One moment he was there, the next gone. The water still. 

They had been pulled forward so suddenly, a quick five-second span between the tug and her head meeting the ice. And he was gone as soon as she had lifted herself again, the ice cracking along the sides of the former small hole. 

“Stanley!” Scrapping, crawling towards the hole. The surface wet and slick from the cold lake water that had seeped through the cracks along the hole now. Stan’s visage far from view, the top of the water dark. 

She stares in what feels like forever but is only quantifiable in the movements of the sun. It’s rising now, around her. Sparkling on the ice and water around her. Something she’d marvel at, have her grasping at Stan’s shoulder. Nudging him to see as she does. 

She thinks only briefly before shucking off her hat and gloves, beginning to unlace her boots. She’d follow him, into the dark depths. 

A deep continuous thump. Running along the ice. First near her feet, then farther and farther from her. It has her racing towards it, the vibrations along the ice guiding her along. It must be him, must be that something that pulled him into the dark murky water. The rhythmic thudding has her racing back to the supplies. Fumbling for the axe Stan had packed to help pick out the ice in the hole. 

Running full force back, the ice cracking beneath her legs. Shoelaces dancing around her feet, her fingers nippy and uncovered around the wooden handle of the axe.

It cracks, sickenly loud and sudden. Water bursts beneath her shoes, seeping up and around her. The ground opens up in front of her, splitting along the horizon line. A flash of blue precariously balanced in the large maw of a blurred creature. 

It shakes the ice, splintering and fracturing it below her feet. The weight of the creature resting the front of its body along the ice. Shaking the striking blue figure in its jaw, trying to subdue it. 

She stands still in the ankle-deep water, trying to make out the blurry figure in the maw of the anomaly. It strikes her then that it could be nothing else but Stanley, confirmed by the sputtering grunts the figure heaves, coughing up cold water from his lungs. 

She stands frozen only until then, stepping forward into the slowly sinking ice bath. Ax swung behind her shoulder, ready to slice along the neck of the beast in hopes it would release her husband. 

He clamors in the cage of teeth above. Raised his large hand into a well-practiced fist, blindly throwing said fist to meet the eye of the beast. 

The hit startles the beast, cracking open its jaw to release Stan, a sudden sharp screech creeping up its large neck through its throat. Rattling her bones as she leaps forward in the ice and water, bringing the ax into the meat of the beast's neck. 

It crawls back further, slinking back into the dark cold waters. She stumbles back through the ice and the water until she feels snow beneath her unlaced boots again, the ax gone from her grasp and embedded in the skin of the anomaly. The beast is there and gone in a flash, scrambling back beneath the water. 

Stan has the air knocked out of him, having landed on his back. His head cracked against the ice and water below, the cold creeping in through his clothes. He opens his mouth to groan but finds only his shallow breath and the puff of heated air leaves his mouth. The sun creeping above the horizon now, something he can only gauge by the heat on his face. The rest of him rock solid and shivering under the weight of his wet clothes. 

A sudden eclipse above his head, the sun, and shadows shaded by a beautiful face. Her face shadowed by the sun, her hat gone and her hair spilling all around her head like a halo. Her cheeks flush from the cold, from the adrenaline. It could be the cold or the way the light looks around her head, but he swore she must have been an angel. 

He’s muttering when she finally reaches him, stumbling through the cracked ice and wet water. Her only thought was getting to him. He was beyond sense when she did make it to him, clutching at his tattered and soaked blue coat. He was soaked, drenched to the bone. His hat gone and his hair icy along his head, his gloves gone also, a boot missing from his left foot. And he’s drenched. It all stuck to his body, freezing quickly in the icy temperature. She had to get him home, get him out of these clothes, and heat him up. 

She runs her hands along his coat first, checking for punctures, for blood. He had been dragged several yards under the water in the toothy jaw of said beast. But no punctures and no blood made themselves apparent through his coat. Something she’ll have to access later. 

A thump along the ice has her whipping her head around. The vibration rippling along the ice and the shards of the broken lake surface. The beast lingered in the area, waiting for them to be off guard again. 

She wastes no time, lifting Stan’s large arm up and above her shoulder. Leveraging his body up to be leaned against her side and her back. All those stories about mothers and daughters and adrenaline ring in her head, a truth to the stories of women and abnormal strength in times of strife. She would ache tomorrow, and be glad of it anyways. 

He unconsciously shuffles his feet, and she makes note that he’s somewhat conscious. The ice helps her slip them both along the good hundred yards she has until they reach the shoreline. Their supplies the least of her worries, and the anxious thought of the beast meeting her back out there in the wreckage of it all. She does not turn back to look when abandoning it all. 

It’s harder folding his stiff body into the passenger seat. His legs flopped into the car last. She curses, reaching over him to buckle him in and then making for the driver's side. She rarely drove them, it was more of a special occasion between the two of them. She had only ever driven once in the winter and had been deeply scared of the slipping ice and heavy snowfall. But the sky was clear and she’d put the thought of ice away for a long while. 

She curses again, reaching over to Stan to feel up the inside of his coat pockets for the keys. He stirs at the movement, shrugging off her touch, shivering in his seat. 

“Not Doc’.” He mutters, his head spinning. 

“What?” 

“You’re not Doc’.” He grunts again, his lips loose. His head hurts like a motherfucker. 

“I am!” She hisses, hands pushing his away, reaching for his pockets again, looking for the keys. 

“Oh.” He looks back, eyes blurry under the odd pressure along the back of his head. This person sounded like his wife, he’d admit. Shifting his head to lean against the back of the long bench, making out the flush on her face and the halo of hair around her head. He thought this was his angel? He guessed it was the same thing in his mind, anyway. 

She’s still ruffling through his soaked half-frozen jacket. “Hi, angel.” He says, smiling down at her frusstrated face. Why was she so frazzled? 

He’s grinning like an idiot, and he just acted like he didn’t know who she was. Like she wasn’t her. Calling her angel? He’d only ever done that in her dream. That achingly sick dream she had of them, of them in this very car. Of his weight above her, of his breath along the crook of her neck. Of his kiss. 

She shakes it off. Finally finding the keys folded into a very frozen and flat pocket along his chest. Turning back to the wheel, starting the car up, and peeling out of the parkway backward. Leaving the same way they had come in. 

She races home, glancing over at Stan stiff in the passenger seat. His eyes hadn’t left her figure but seemed distant. His thoughts far beyond him, and his coat and pants were frozen against him. His hair melts off his head in the car, still wet but no longer frozen to his scalp. Messy wet hair tucked around his big ears. 

She parks and throws open doors as quickly as she physically can. Slipping in the snow, tripping over her loose boots. Fingers frigid when she reaches for him to move him out of the passenger side. 

She knows the signs of hypothermia. Knows the dangers of prolonged exposure to cold, and dropping body temperature. Doing math in her head, hoping he had been exposed short enough for her to physically raise his temperature before his heart began to slow. Before blood began to sludge its way through his veins. 

He looks as blue as his coat, his arm slugged back over her shoulder as she attempts to get him up the stairs. The slurred speech, the confusion, the dulled skin. It made her heart race, taking steps two at a time to drag him to the upstairs restroom. To the bath. 

She sets him against the open door, running and slipping along the tile, turning on the bath to its warmest temperature. The water would be scalding against his cold skin, would sting and tingle in contrast to his wet clothes, but it was the only way she thought to raise his temperature. 

She rushes back to him, kneeling in front of him, grabbing at his coat and pants to pull the wet clothes from him. He’s smiling again, giggling at her attempt to uncloth him. 

“Could have asked hun.” He jokes, but she cries. He’s so out of it, so gone from this reality and it shakes her bones. He’s here and not all at once. 

He thinks he sees her clearer here in the yellow bathroom light, hot fog swelling around them from the facet. She has her hands all over him, eager to get him out of wet clothes that stick hard against his body. Didn’t she know? That all she had to do was ask and he would shed any layer to get closer to her? He giggles again, leaning into her hot hands against his cold blue body. 

She manages to get everything but his boxers and socks off him, a flush to her face. Not for lacking of trying though, but Stan would laugh and shake her hand away. Muttering under his breath between them when she would reach for the waistband of his usual blue loose boxers. So she luggs his wingspan along her back again, leveraging him up to move him to the scalding water. Heat bubbling up in clouds around the water. Bruises along his chest have begun to form from the pressure and weight of the beast's teeth and jaw. They’d turn purple and swell soon, a good sign she sighed. A swell meant blood was flowing fast still.

He hisses, his head rocking back along the edge of the clawed tub when he finally is able to sit in the water. It’s hot, too hot. It hurts to breathe in the heat, and he attempts to lift his lungs above the water to gain air again. The muggy water hurts his skin and burns him. But her hand meets his chest, pushing him back into the scalding water. 

“Stay.” She commands, eyes wavering when she looks at him now. Melted into the porcelain of the tub. He’s still shivering. He doesn’t even register it but his body has been shaking, vibrating, this entire time. Moving his muscles in an attempt to warm him up. 

She reaches to turn the hot water back on, cursing, beating her hand along the rim of the tub when the water comes out cold. It’s all gone. She looks down at him again, her hand moving along his chest, trying to generate heat where her hand was. “Stay, Stan. Stay in the fucking water.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He mutters, still smiling at her like an idiot. God, she was pretty, god her hand felt nice along his cold bitter skin. She was out the door so quickly. Was it possible to miss someone who was just in the other room? 

She’s barreling down the stairs, flipping on every gas burner in her wake on the kitchen stove. Stumbling to the cupboard, pulling out saucepans and the like to put water in. She’d boil it, damnit. Like her grandmother used to do for her when she was preparing her bath. 

She doesn’t breathe until every corner of the stove is full. Leaned over the countertop next to the burners. Her hand rubbed along her chest, along her heart. Self-soothing, the purpose of the continuous motion above the erratic beating. She had tunnel vision up until now, suddenly noticing that she hadn’t even flicked on the kitchen light. Hadn’t even closed the front door. 

She had been scared. Still was. Shaken beyond something she knew. It pained her to be in the next room, afraid of looking over her shoulder and not finding him there. She’d never lead them through crowds again, never let him stray far from her peripheral. Because then he would be gone, could be gone. 

Ice seeps in through her snow pants, and she tugs off her boots too. Socks wet against the kitchen tile. Her hands shake as she pulls her boots loose. 

She had almost lost him. Lost him for good. It was a shell shock beyond her, beyond her imagination. For the last five years, it was hard to conjure up adventures and trips without him. The thought of flippantly leaving him behind never crossed her mind. Hadn’t ever left her mind. Not after storming in through the shack's door, not after his confession to her across the dim kitchen table, across their kitchen table. 

She sits there now, feeling like it was a lifetime ago, but knowing she could blink and mistake the past for the present. He had reached across to her that night, across the table. Held his palms face up when he asked for help. When he confided in a four-second mistake he had made. She had hesitated then, to reach for him. To reach across and find assurance between them, to fold her hands into his own. She had judged initially. But they had both made mistakes. Both made mirror image mistakes, it felt. She didn't want to hesitate to reach for him ever again. She just feared he would be gone before she could. Feared he would disappear along her shoulder line. 

She had thought it was obvious, the unspoken agreement between them. That they both meant something to the other. That her dreams threaded into a deeper reality, and that the jokes they shared weren’t some passing balm to deal with it all. That the late nights in front of the T.V. analyzing movies were for the thrill of each other's company, and that their yearly poker game was a silent promise of convergence. That the shitty driving lessons weren’t so she could drive away from him someday, that chalkboard lessons were so he wouldn’t scoff when she said he was smart with her whole chest. That the yearly diner dates were just that, just dates. Not something flippant, not something as unkind as the upkeep of an image. That he opened doors for her for a reason and tucked her below his chin because he cared enough to. That he reached across tables, palms up, because he never feared her hesitation. 

Something unwritten between them she believed, everything shared in everything but words and letters. She was a calculating woman throughout her years and didn’t know how to trace the beginning of the feelings she had amassed all the way to the end of it. She didn’t know how to explain that her heart clenched when he leaned over the seat to buckle her in or explain how her hands shake when he reaches for the chalk from her now in the middle of a lesson. It was inconsequential, improbable, and entirely unexplainable to well… explain the sum of him to her. It felt little in comparison to his constant devotion. 

The two front pots begin to boil over, she lifts her head, turning off burners and carrying a stem to a pot in both hands. Taking the stairs two at a time again, uncaring about the burning water running down her arms in her haste to make it back to him. 

He’s still the same shade, but he lifts his head to look at her when she enters now. His smile less doppy, more genuine. His hair beginning to dry along his head, no ice to be found in its dark strands. He’s still leaning heavily along the back of the tub, not yet able to hold himself up. Color coming back to his cheeks, to his face. She kneels beside the tub, the floor wet as it seeps in through her pants. She pours in one pot at a time, swiping the water around to acclimate it to the bathwater. His hands move unconsciously, grabbing a strand of her hair to fold behind her ear. To be able to look at her more clearly through the fog of hot water. 

She begins to pour the next pot into the tub, but he tugs her forward, folds her body against the rim of the tub. Something in her makes her stand, lifting her feet into the tub. The way he looks at her, so disorientated and shivering still. It moves her forward, has her crawling into the tub completely clothed just to lay her cheek against his chest. To make sure it continues to rise under her. Like when she sleeps, and he lulls her back to sleep by simply being there. She wants that, for him to lull her racing heart now. Make her forget about his disappearing visage and still water. He does that, hums like he always does, folding her head under his scruffy chin. Comforting her despite his weakened figure. Hoping she wouldn’t notice how cold he still was against her. 

Something unwritten she believed, something she had never had to say out loud because she had never felt this weird depth before. But he was slipping from her grasp now, heavy against the rim of the tub. And so very quiet it made her sick, made her heart chase up her throat. Made her anxious beyond words, because the thing she meant to say to him would stay unwritten. If he was gone she’d only voice such fantasies in her dreams. The dreams she had of him as hers, those other realities her mind conjured where he wore a golden band and called her his. Where she was his. 

“You're mine.” Her voice was unwavering, something unwritten between the syllables of her words. It blooms and bursts from her throat, a growth that had sprouted long ago, stumbles out of her mouth searching for light. Still folded under his chin, along his chest. Her shirt wet from the water, bunched up along her waist where he had put his hands. 

He gets that look in his eyes despite her intensity, a joke on the tip of his tongue. Something to soothe her racing heart, to stamp down the distant look in her eyes. How she had looked in the car scared him, the rush of her chest but the focus of her eyes. Like they had been driving in the dark, through a neverending tunnel. But she chases it away before he can open his mouth, her hand meeting and cupping his scruffy jaw, pulling back from her comfort to look at him. Turning his eyes to her intense ones, ones that held something unspoken. 

“No.” A shake to her voice, eyes blurry. “You’re mine.” 

He nods, his voice stuck in his throat. Running his hands up her back, his warmer hands. 

“Y-you aren’t allowed to leave me like that, Stanley. You can’t l-leave me all alone like that.” Flashes of a towering beast are nothing compared to turning over her shoulder. Of searching the horizonline. Like she does for Stanford, eyes drifting to tree lines. She wouldn’t, couldn’t compartmentalize doing such a thing for Stanley. She’d take back hesitancies and reach across tables palm up if it meant he wouldn’t leave her again. 

“I promise, angel.” He takes her again, tucking her back to his chest. Her racing heart fluttered against his warming chest. “I won’t leave.” 

Her hand fall into that crook in his chest, the other clutching along his back, trying to bring him closer, trying to make the space between them disappear. She sniffling, from the cold and stress, against his chest and he doesn’t think twice about his words. Thinking of reaching for her, of meeting her across bridges and tables and in tunnels to meet her open palms, her warm hands. Unfurling her from his chest to lean down and place his lips near her ear, something unspoken between syllables. 

“You’re mine, too.” 

His lips traveling to her cheek, hovering against the flush skin before tracing her warmth. Kissing the apple of her cheek as she leans into the front of him. His lips warm against her cheek, like she had dreamed of. He had never been this close in the waking world, something she craved more with each passing day. She never pulled away, sniffling as he brings her forward again. No hesitation to be found in the nod of her head along his scruff, a nudge, and nestle of agreement. Something unspoken, unwritten. 

She forgot about the pots and burners. 

[uriekukistan]

thoughts on jjk 270, unfiltered for your reading pleasure

honestly the whole chapter feels like a disservice to megumi. i know i say that all the time, and maybe i'm just too jaded, maybe i'm wearing favorite character goggles idk, but as a whole i think this chapter was just. not good so if i wanna talk about it with regards to the Favorite Character, i will

my first thought seeing megumi at tsumiki's grave was that gege was gonna finally give a proper moment where he could grieve and reach some kind of closure, maybe get some of the overdue development he's earned. like to me there's nothing better than when the emotionally reserved character breaks down, and this would have been the perfect moment. i feel like so much of megumi's character has been built around his relationship to tsumiki, and the past 60 chapters-ish have been building up to this moment where megumi can properly grieve and maybe express some kind of remorse to tsumiki for being a bit of a brat when he was younger, but he never gets that. instead, we get this really stale and emotionless ending for their relationship, and for megumi's character as a whole. like idk, this whole time he's wanted to be able to apologize to tsumiki and make it up to her after everything she did for him, and he never even gets a moment to mourn. i hate that for him.

next. why am i getting more emotionally satisfying endings for side characters that i literally dgaf abt than for main characters like megumi, yuuta, gojo (i'll stand by the fact that i think he should have died, but like show people mourning him damn), nobara, YUUJI?????? idk like wtf is going on here. to me there is no reason to get a more satisfying ending for that middle school friend of yuuji's who was relevant for like two pages before i get a satisfying end for the literal deuteragonist of the story

then there's the whole thing w hana. i'm not even saything this from a shipping standpoint, but it's frustrating to me that megumi gets to reach some kind of peace w hana and have a good conversation with her before he talks to itadori, the person who's been by his side this whole time, the person who appreciates him for who he is and not their idealized version of him, the person who he decided to live for, the person who arguably means the most in his life right now. he doesn't get to exchange a serious heart to heart with him, but he gets to have a shallow surface level interaction with hana? idk i just feel like it reduces his character to something very superficial and i hate to see it.

and maybe i'm just dumb but i don't get like. any of these new plot points that have been introduced, but honestly, i don't care to understand. it seems like gege is in fact trying to set up a second part to jjk and im just so annoyed by that, because we get this rushed ending where nothing reaches proper fruition so he can introduce these new plots? like idk, somehow that pisses me off more than if he just fumbled the ending, but i hold that thought until we know for sure that he's making a second part.

this was supposed to be more general, but i got carried away w my thoughts abt how bad megumi's ending was fumbled. anyway. yeah canon doesn't exist to me past 268 :D

[3-aem]

Honestly I don’t follow jjk anymore. But last I heard was that gojo apparently described death as a relief and release. Why would it be a happy ending for a person who clearly saw his own existence as a prison back to life? Unless curses were eradicated and Gojo no longer had to use his abilities to protect people or raise the next generation of sorcerers I’d just be like “this guy doesn’t wanna be here :/“ Idk, maybe I’m being too pessimistic about this whole thing. Or maybe there’s new information about Gojo’s perspective in chapters after where I dropped off.

Also, beautiful work as always. Your stuff is stunning!

well i honestly dont care if that were true bc gojo isn’t real but my feelings about him are.

also im pretty sure he didnt say anything like that just: well at least i didn’t die an old fart.

which is a very gojo thing to say about the situation.

tbh i genuinely dont think gojo saw his life as a prison, he was just pissed at the way jujutsu society operated and this makes sense considering how it drove suguru off a cliff and then essentially forced him to end the mans life a decade later.

also perhaps the way he Couldn’t (i mean physically he very much always could) just eliminate the brass. This is ofc exactly what he does later but the idea is he felt he shouldn’t because it would really screw things up™️

did everyone use him as kinda a tool, um ya likely they did. he is the strongest they’re gonna rely on him for a lot. but i kinda don’t like this idea that No one cared for him because they very evidently did. he’s just really annoying and no one should tell him that on principle or something idk.

thats my ted yap 💕

[roxxie-wolf]

𝒩𝑒𝓌 𝒪𝓇𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓃𝓈 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒

Pairing: Human!Alastor x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your parents want you to marry someone of their choice, but you already have eyes on someone else. Will you follow what your parents think is best for you or will you go with what your heart desires.

Word count: 2.0k

Warnings: human!alastor x fem!reader, slow burn, this story may contain mature sexual content. Your in your late 20's, Alastor is in his early 30's, you still live with your parents idk. If I forgot anything else please let me know.

Note: Hey guys I’m back, sorry for being MIA lately. I have been going through a lot and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to stop. I’ll try my best to keep posting and I’ll try my best to keep up with my writing.

By the way I’m not so sure about this chapter. Im a little burned out as well, but please let me know what y’all think.

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝟣𝟢

The morning sun filtered through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow on the worn wooden table. You sat there, lost in your thoughts, as if the weight of the world rested upon your shoulders. Your mother’s gentle voice broke the silence, pulling you back to reality.

“What are you thinking about, sweetheart?” Her words cut through the fog in your mind. You turned to face her, your gaze still distant.

“Oh, nothing, just here,” your voice barely audible.

“Alright,” her tone calm and understanding. “Richard is coming over today to speak about some matters.” Her eyes held concern, and you wondered how much she truly knew.

“That’s fine, Mom,” you assured her. “I’m going to town anyway.” You stood up, your chair scraping against the floor. “Take care, okay? And be careful.” Your mother’s voice spoke again as you walked toward the door. “I’ll be ok mom, thank you” you turn to face her before turning around and walking out the door.

As you stepped outside, your father sat on the porch, gazing into the distance. The concern etched in his eyes caught your attention. “Hey, Dad,” your voice carrying the weight of uncertainty. “I’m going to town. I’ll be back.”

His response was simple, yet it lingered in the air like a silent plea: “Be careful.” And with that, he turned away, leaving you to wonder. *Why did they both look at you with concern? Was it because Richard was coming over?*The unspoken questions swirled around you, like leaves caught in an autumn breeze.

Outside, the wind whispered secrets, and the world seemed both vast and suffocating. Richard’s impending visit weighed heavily on your mind. *What matters could he possibly discuss? And why did it feel like the walls were closing in?*

The sun climbed higher, its rays breaking through the canopy of leaves overhead, casting dappled patterns on the road. The town was not far, but with each step, the questions in your mind multiplied. The concern in your parents’ eyes was not just for your safety—it was as if they anticipated the turning of a page, the beginning of a new chapter that they were not yet ready to read.

The bustling streets of town enveloped you as you settled into your favorite café. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the lively chatter of passersby. You gazed out the window, watching the world go by, lost in your thoughts.

And then, there he was—Alastor—walking by as if he belonged to the very fabric of the city. Your coffee threatened to spill as you stood up abruptly, abandoning it on the table. You dashed out, your dress fluttering in protest against your haste. Alastor's long legs carried him swiftly, but when he walked with you, he deliberately slowed his pace.

*Was it because he was late? Or perhaps he was following someone?* You couldn't be sure, but you tried your best to keep up. As he turned a corner, you called out to him, breathless and determined.

"Alastor!" The man ahead of him slipped into a side door of one of the theaters. Alastor halted, turning toward you with a bemused smile. "You found me, dear," his voice a curious blend of frustration and surprise.

"Yes, I found you," you managed to say between breaths, your hand pressed against your chest. The sight of him had sparked an impulse within you, a desire to be near him that you couldn't ignore.

Alastor's presence filled the semi-darkness of the alleyway, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the shadows. "Well, here I am," he declared, his arms sweeping open in a welcoming gesture before falling back to his sides, his smile unwavering.

Without hesitation, you closed the distance between you, your arms encircling his slender waist. The familiar scent of his cologne enveloped you, a comforting embrace all its own. He responded in kind, his arms wrapping around you, his back arching slightly as he rested his chin atop your head. You could feel him breathing in deeply, taking in the scent of your hair.

As you leaned back still hugging him, your gaze met Alastor's beautiful honey-brown eyes. The unspoken tension hung in the air, a delicate balance between desire and uncertainty. You wondered if he felt the same pull, the magnetic force that drew you toward him.

His smile remained, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken connection. And then, his voice—a gentle caress to your ears—pierced through the moment. "Should we go somewhere, darling?" his words both invitation and promise.

You hesitated, curiosity bubbling within you. "Sure," your heart fluttering. "Where should we go?"

Alastor's eyes held yours, and he leaned in slightly. "Let's take a little walk around town," he suggested, his smile unwavering.

You both let go of each other, Alastor offering his arm, you accepted, leaving the alleyway. Your fingers rested lightly on his sleeve as you strolled through the town. The storefronts were a colorful blur, but your focus was on the man beside you, the shared laughter and light-hearted banter making the time slip away effortlessly.

Finding yourselves back at the familiar café, Alastor chose a table with a view of the evening’s gentle descent. The world outside the window was awash with the hues of twilight, painting a serene backdrop.

“Would you like something to drink, dear?” Alastor’s voice broke the comfortable silence.

“No thank you” your voice was gentle.

Then realization dawned on you as swiftly as the setting sun outside the café window. Time had slipped away in Alastor's company, and now the day's end beckoned you home.

"Alastor, I gotta go," urgency lacing your words. "I know we haven’t been here that long, but I need to head home." Thoughts of your parents, their potential worry, added weight to your decision.

Alastor's response was as gentle as the evening breeze. "Of course, darling. Would you like me to walk you home?" His offer was a beacon of comfort in the growing dusk.

"Yes, thank you," you replied without hesitation. The thought of navigating the streets alone, especially with whispers of people going missing, sent a shiver down your spine. But with Alastor by your side, the journey seemed less daunting, the night less foreboding. Together, you stepped out of the café.

—————————

As the silhouette of your home loomed ahead, you made the decision to part ways with Alastor. You turned around to face him, the evening's memories etched in your mind. "Thank you, Alastor," your voice carrying the weight of gratitude.

His smile remained, enigmatic and captivating. He arched his back slightly, bringing himself to your level, hands elegantly clasped behind his back. "You're welcome, dear," his words a soft echo of the moments you'd shared.

With a quick peck on his lips—a fleeting connection—you stepped away, walking toward your house. The familiar door welcomed you, and you entered, the warmth of home enveloping you. You headed toward the window, glancing back one last time. Alastor stood outside, a shadow against the night, and as you waved, he returned the gesture. Then, like a wisp of smoke, he vanished into the darkness.

“Who are you waving to sweetie”

Your mother's voice, like a sudden gust of wind, pulled you from your thoughts. You turned to face her, her concern etched in the lines of her face. "No one, Mom," you offer a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

But her next words sent a chill down your spine. "Alright, well, we need to talk." The sadness in her voice mirrored the heaviness in your chest. *What could be so important?*

Together, you followed her into the living room. Your father sat there, his gaze distant, as if lost in a world beyond the walls of your home. You took a seat, your heart racing. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the truth to unravel.

"I don't know how to say this," your father began, his eyes avoiding yours, fixed on an unremarkable spot on the wall. "Say what, Dad?" Your curiosity was now tinged with anxiety. The air thickened with unspoken words, and you braced yourself for what would come next.

"We have arranged a marriage," your mother's voice was steady, but her eyes, those windows to the soul, revealed the turmoil within. "And you will be leaving this house in a week."The words hung heavy in the air, a suffocating blanket of disbelief and betrayal.

“You will be marrying Brian,” the name fell from her lips, a man that you didn’t love and now claimed a piece of your future. You sat, frozen, as the reality settled in your bones. Arranged to marry without your consent, without your heart's agreement. The question screamed in your mind, *How could they? Why?*

It was a betrayal of your trust, a disregard for your feelings. Your voice shattered the silence, a mix of shock and defiance. "What!" It was the cry of a cornered animal, of a child whose trust had been broken. You had believed in them.

Your mother's confession, her apology, it did little to soothe the sting. “We're sorry, sweetheart. We didn't want this, but we believe Brian is the right one for you." Her words were a lifeline thrown into turbulent waters, but your father remained silent, a statue of regret.

The revelation was a cruel twist, a transaction made in the name of love, yet devoid of its essence. The world you knew was crumbling, and in its place, a stark reality was taking shape—one where choices were made for you, and your heart's desires were secondary.

The confrontation with your mother was a clash of wills, a battle between tradition and the yearning of the heart. "No! I will not marry him," you declared, your voice a firm testament to your resolve. Your mother's stance was equally unyielding, her belief in the arranged marriage unwavering. "You’re all grown up, and it’s time for you to be married," your mother insisted, her eyes searching yours for signs of acquiescence.

"I’m in love with someone else," you countered, rising to your feet, a physical manifestation of your emotional stand. But your mother was immovable, her words a dismissal of your feelings. "What’s done is done, you need to stop seeing him and move on; you’re going to be a married woman soon."

The words stung, a betrayal that cut deeper than any knife. "I trusted you," you whispered, the hurt evident in your eyes. The tears threatened to spill, but you held them back, a show of strength amidst the turmoil. "I didn’t ask for this, you should’ve spoken with me first." Your plea was a last-ditch effort to reach your mother, to make her understand the gravity of the situation.

For a fleeting moment, your mother's facade softened, a crack in the armor that suggested a mother's love still lay beneath. But the moment passed, and the walls came back up, leaving you standing in the wreckage of her trust, your heart racing with anger.

“Did you accepted money?” The silence was deafening, a tacit confirmation of your worst fears. The question hung in the air, unanswered, yet the truth was clear in their avoidance. They had accepted money from Richard, a price tag placed on your future, your happiness bartered away without your consent.

The realization hit you like a wave, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place with a cruel clarity. Richard's visit to your home was not one of mere acquaintance but a transactional prelude to the life they had chosen for you.

With a heavy heart, you ascended the stairs, each step a reminder of the life you were being forced to leave behind. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you lay in your bed, the soft fabric of the sheets a stark contrast to the turmoil within your heart. You wanted to run, to escape the reality that felt like a vice around your future. Alastor’s image danced behind your tear-filled eyes, his kind eyes and gentle smile that had always been your solace.

You were leaving this house in a week, a house that was no longer a home but a prison of expectations. The walls seemed to close in on you, suffocating you with the weight of tradition and transaction. *Why did they do this?* The question circled in your head, each one a sharp jab to your sense of worth.

🌸𝒫𝓇𝑒𝓋𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈🌸 🌸𝒩𝑒𝓍𝓉🌸

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list so you be updated every time. I do try to proofread but if I missed something please let me know.

Also I sometimes tend to make minor changes to the chapters.

Thank you! For reading I hope you enjoyed it.💖

TAGLIST: @magictoebean @little-slyvixen @bitchywitchygardener @diffidentphantom @catticora @cloverresin20 @phoenix666stuff @minamilinaqueen

[goldfades]

✮ 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, jump then fall au!

au masterlist! masterlist!

♡ ─ word count | 2.6k

♡ ─ summary | the story of how our little paloma came to be, and why adam has full custody of her.

♡ ─ warnings | mention of pregnancy (obvs), mention of abusive/manipulative relationship, some birth stuff but nothing graphic like at all, think that is all??

♡ ─ taglist | @literatureluster @valluvsu @lvrzegras @iminlovewithtz11 (fill in form in my navigation in you are interested!)

♡ ─ ev's notes | im finally back lol, the last nonnie inspired me to continue my series but i also saw the adam/luca content on instagram and i was like... yes i love these men with my entire soul. anyway, this is more background/filler chapter on the whole story behind adam/his ex. also idk if i did a good job making emma kind of unlikable but i couldn't make her too much bc at the end of day she is dovey's mom yk LMAOOO. but yeah, i was gonna include a little court segment but i didn't think it was necessary. this is kinda a summary of the timeline so yeah BUT YETH WE ARE BACK AT ITT!!!!! will be writing a more christmas-y one soon though i pinky promise :) LASTLY, my inbox is always open for au thoughts. please send them in, they literally make my entire day!

September ushered in a peculiar kind of unease, a restlessness that only settled within the corridors of high school, unbeknownst to Adam. The weight of impending change hung in the air, a feeling that clung to him as he navigated the familiar chaos that came with being a teenager.

It began with a murmur, a whisper weaving its way through the complicated tapestry of gossip. The news was illicit, news that would shatter the simplicity of his teenage years. Adam's ex, Emma, a figure exiled to his past, was harboring a secret that would bridge their worlds in a way he never anticipated.

The autumn breeze carried an unusual tension as Adam found himself standing before the door of Emma's house, a place he thought he had left behind in the remains of the failed relationship. She had called him about two hours ago, telling him that she had needed to talk to him immediately about something very important. He hesitated for a moment, hand poised to knock, before the door swung open, revealing Emma's worn expression.

"Adam," she greeted, her eyes avoiding direct contact, as if unable to meet the weight of his gaze. They hadn't talked in a couple weeks, since they had broken up.

"What's going on, Emma?" Adam asked, sensing the gravity of the situation even before she spoke.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips, laden with the weight of the secret she carried. "We need to talk," Emma murmured, gesturing for him to enter.

"Yeah, figured." He sighed. He didn't know if he was able to trust her after all the lies she had told him over the span of their relationship. This may be one of her ploys to somehow get him back.

He went into the familiar home as she guided him up to her room anxiously and his mind was racing. What could possibly be so important that she couldn't text him, or tell him over the phone?

They reached her room and he sat on her bed as Emma paced anxiously, the rhythm of her steps echoing the gravity of her secret. Finally, she turned to face him, her eyes brimming with vulnerability that he hadn't seen in a while.

"I'm pregnant," she confessed, the words hanging in the air like a storm about to break.

Pregnant? Her words hung in the air for a few moments as he looked for any sign of deception in her expression. But no, she looked like she was about to break down in front of him. The room seemed to close in on him, and he could feel the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future colliding.

He couldn't even process it. "What?" Was all he could mutter.

Emma's gaze wavered as Adam's single-word response lingered in the room. The weight of the secret settled between them, an unspoken acknowledgment of the life-altering reality they were now forced to confront.

"I didn't plan for any of this," Emma continued, her voice shaky. "I never wanted it to happen."

Adam's brow furrowed as he tried to process the mix of emotions swirling within him. Anger, confusion, and a distant sense of responsibility danced on the edges of his thoughts. His head was spinning with questions.

"Why now?" he questioned, the frustration evident in his tone. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

Emma's eyes welled with tears, and she seemed on the verge of unraveling. "I didn't know how. I was scared, Adam. Scared of your reaction, scared of what it would mean for both of us. I mean I have school and-and I can't have a kid right now."

The room felt suffocating, the air heavy with unspoken accusations and the weight of their shared history. Adam's mind raced, torn between the desire to understand and the lingering mistrust that had defined their past.

Adam's jaw tightened as he absorbed her words, a tumult of conflicting emotions churning within him. "Scared?" he repeated, a sharp edge to his voice. "You think dropping this bombshell now will magically make things less complicated?"

He didn't want to sound like an asshole but he couldn't help it. All she was thinking about was her future, her life and nothing to do with what his dreams, the ones he's had since he was younger. How could he go into the NHL with a kid and unstable ex?

Emma's tears flowed freely now. "I never meant for it to be like this. I just... I needed to tell you. I can't do this alone, Adam."

He rubbed his temples, trying to alleviate the growing tension. "You should've thought about that before. Now, what? What do you expect me to do?"

She reached out tentatively, as if seeking reassurance in the midst of the storm. "I want you to be a part of this, Adam. Our child deserves that, at least."

He takes her hand and his gaze softens as he heard her voice. Our child sounded so sweet, but he didn't want to go through what she put him through again.

He sighed heavily, a mixture of frustration and concern etched on his face. "Emma, you can't drop something like this on me and expect everything to be okay. We're not together anymore, and I can't just rearrange my life because of this."

Her eyes pleaded with him, desperation evident. "I know, but I can't do it alone. I need your support, Adam. We created this life together."

He pulled his hand away gently, creating a bit of distance. "Support? Emma, you've never supported my dreams. You made me doubt everything I did. I can't risk my future for this, not when I don't even know if you're going to stick around."

As the room descended into silence, the air seemed to crackle with the tension of unspoken truths. Adam's mind, however, echoed with the memories of a relationship colored by manipulation and emotional turmoil.

He couldn't shake the vivid memories of countless arguments, where Emma would twist his words, making him question his own sanity. Her subtle undermining of his dreams and aspirations left a trail of self-doubt that lingered long after their fights and maybe relationship had ended.

Emma's manipulation often took the form of subtle remarks disguised as concern. Every success he achieved was met with a backhanded compliment or a comment that subtly belittled his accomplishments. Her words had a way of eroding his confidence, making him second-guess his abilities. Was he even that good of a hockey player? Was he as smart as everyone would tell him?

She played on his insecurities, subtly exploiting vulnerabilities he hadn't even acknowledged. Emma's behavior manifested in controlling behaviors, whether it was telling him who he could spend time with or subtly isolating him from his support system. The gradual corrosion of his social connections left Adam feeling increasingly dependent on her for validation.

Emma's manipulation extended beyond words or fights; it was their daily interactions. The constant emotional rollercoaster left him drained and disoriented. Adam had become used to walking on eggshells, terrified of setting off another emotional outburst.

Adam found himself grappling with a mix of anger and resentment. The secret of her pregnancy now added a new layer to their complicated history, one that threatened to entangle their lives again.

The heaviness of the past hung in the air, a palpable reminder of the emotional scars that had yet to fully heal. The silence in Emma's room mirrored the unresolved scars of their relationship, leaving Adam to confront the challenging path that lay ahead.

He thought he had ended this relationship for good but now, he truly couldn't leave. Knowing that if he wouldn't stay, she would raise the baby alone and he would live forever with the knowledge of his kid somewhere with her. If they were to be together again, even just to raise the baby, he would promise that he would try to shield the baby from his mother as much as he could.

Emma's eyes brimmed with tears as she pleaded, "Adam, I'll change. I promise. I never realized how much I hurt you until now. I want to be a better person, for you and for our child."

Adam hesitated, his gaze flickering between her tearful eyes and the haunting memories of their past. The room seemed to close in around him as he grappled with conflicting emotions.

"Okay, Emma." He sighed. She let out a sob of joy, bringing him in for a tight hug.

──

JUNE 11, 2021

──

Summer arrived quicker than either had expected and soon enough Emma was in third trimester. In the sterile confines of the white hospital room, Adam stood witness to the arrival of their daughter. It was a moment of transformation, where the happiness of newfound fatherhood collided with the stark reality of uncertainty. Emotions played on his face, he had no idea how he was going to deal with any of it.

But as soon as tiny newborn baby laid in his arms, all the worries and uncertainty had faded into background noise as he held her with all the care in the world.

In that moment, everything else seemed to fade away. The worries, the uncertainties, the complexities—they all became distant as Adam cradled his daughter. Her tiny features, scrunched face, and the weight of her presence overwhelmed him, he couldn't help but tear up. She was perfect in every way. In that moment, he promised he would never let anyone hurt her in anyway possible.

He felt a surge of love, a protective instinct that whispered promises of care and unconditional devotion. The uncertainty that had clouded his thoughts seemed inconsequential in the face of the profound connection forged with this tiny being.

"She's perfect," he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet room. The fragility of the newborn, the embodiment of a shared history and a future full of unknowns, stirred something deep within him. All he knew was that he loved her more than anything even if he'd only held her for a few moments.

Emma, watching Adam with a mix of exhaustion and affection, couldn't help but smile. "She's got your eyes," she remarked, a tender note in her voice. His pretty, big blue eyes. The first thing anyone ever notices about him.

Adam nodded, his gaze fixed on the tiny features of his daughter. "Yeah? Well, she's got your everything else," he added, a gentle chuckle escaping him. The weight of fatherhood settled on his shoulders, but in that moment, it felt like a privilege.

The room seemed to shrink, focusing solely on this new family unit. The soft whimpers of the newborn, the beeping of the monitoring equipment, and the distant sounds of the hospital—all merged into the backdrop of a moment that felt suspended in time.

Emma looked at Adam with tired yet contented eyes, a silent understanding passing between them. The room, once filled with the tension of labor, was now a cocoon of familial warmth.

Emma whispered, her voice hoarse from the exertion of childbirth, "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

As Adam and Emma marveled at the beauty of their newborn daughter, the hospital room's door creaked open, and Adam's parents entered with a blend of excitement and nervousness. His mother, a mix of emotions painted on her face, rushed forward to embrace Adam.

"Oh, Adam, sweetheart, you're a father!" she exclaimed, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears of joy.

Adam smiled warmly, hugging his mother. "Yeah, Mom. Meet..." His words died on tongue when he realized they hadn't picked out a name for her yet.

"We haven't decided on a name yet," Emma adds quietly as she yawns.

"What about Paloma? Like your grandmother. It's perfect, just look at her."

Adam's eyes met Emma's, and for a moment, a silent agreement passed between them. Paloma—the perfect name, a homage to his grandmother, a symbol of heritage and a new beginning. They exchanged a nod, and Adam turned back to his parents.

"Paloma," he said, a smile breaking across his face. "Her name is Paloma."

The decision settled like a warm blanket, wrapping around the newborn with a sense of identity. Paloma, their little dove, had found her name in the embrace of a moment filled with love and the promise of a shared journey ahead.

──

Adam's frustration simmered beneath the surface as he and Emma found themselves ensnared in yet another argument. The air in the room crackled with tension, a silent precursor to the storm that was about to erupt. Paloma, blissfully unaware in her crib, slept soundly, while her parents grappled with the unresolved issues.

"I can't keep doing this, Emma," Adam muttered, his jaw clenched. The weight of unresolved issues hung heavily between them, each word an echo of past disagreements. "We need to talk."

Emma, her expression defensive, crossed her arms, a subtle defiance in her stance. "What's there to talk about, Adam? Everything's fine."

A bitter laugh escaped him with the weight of their shared history. "Everything's far from fine, and you know it. Paloma needs stability, and you can't keep pretending that everything's okay when it's not."

Emma's eyes flashed with irritation. "I'm her mother, Adam. I know what's best for her."

Adam's jaw clenched, frustration palpable. "You barely spend time with her but refuse my help. Every time I ask you to be a part of her life, you find an excuse. This isn't fair to Paloma, and it's not fair to me especially when you dragged me into this in the first place."

Paloma stirred in her crib, a subtle reminder of the fragile peace that hung in the balance. The argument, a reflection of their complicated past, loomed over them, threatening to unravel the delicate threads that held their connection together.

Emma's gaze hardened, and she retorted, "I didn't force you into anything, Adam. You were a part of this too, remember?"

Adam's frustration escalated, his voice sharper. "I was a part of it because I wanted to be a father to Paloma, not because I wanted to be stuck in this cycle with you. I can't keep watching you push me away, I wanna be apart of her life-"

She scoffed, a bitter edge to her tone. "You act like I'm the bad guy here. I'm doing my best, Adam."

"You dragged me into this," he continued, a sharp edge to his tone. "I fought to be a part of Paloma's life because I wanted to, but you make it impossible. This isn't about us anymore; it's about her. You need to step up and be a mother, like you'd wanted to almost a year ago when you decided to have her."

Emma's eyes narrowed, defensive walls fortified. "I am her mother. But you don't get to dictate how I should do things. I have my own life, Adam-"

"And Paloma is a part of that life, whether you like it or not!" Adam yelled, the frustration in his voice reaching a boiling point. "I can't keep covering for you, Emma. My mom asks where you're at and half the time, I don't even fucking know. You can't just show up when it's convenient for you and disappear when it's not."

Paloma's soft cries began, the room filled with the sound of her distress, a reflection of the anger surrounding her. Adam's frustration transformed into determination. "I won't let you keep hurting her with your inconsistency, especially when she's old enough to remember. If you can't be a constant presence in her life, then maybe it's better if you're not a part of it at all."

The words hung in the air, a heavy proclamation that seemed to mark the unraveling of their already strained connection. Emma, caught between defiance and vulnerability, met Adam's gaze with a steely resolve, setting the stage for a tumultuous chapter in the story of Paloma's fractured family.

-> make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated! <-

thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[sillyyuserr]

(Ch 114 spoilers) After reading chapter 114 I ran to your blog to see if you made any analysis on it yet. Obviously no pressure at all, take as much time as you need. But we NEED to talk about the fact that Teru 100% does not have a crush on girl Aoi, I know that in the new timeline, the Teru from that world hates girl Aoi but Teru also seems to be very uncomfortable about the fact that he's engaged to his so called crush, Idk about you but I'd be hyped if my crush was miraculously engaged to ME. And he's not even at all sad that his "crush" likes another guy (Akane)

Pretttyyy suspicious...

YES i was thinking ab that

He was BEAMING when he was able to confirm aoi doesnt like him

and his awkward smiling throughout the whole thing too

him questioning why he didn’t want it really gets me though. I mean the ‘i don’t like girls who mope around and act like victims’ doesn’t really sound like teru and he acknowledges that, kind of showing that he doesn't think that’s actually why he didn’t want it, and he was just lying as to not make her think he’s weird.

but why would he lie unless its something bad? Frowned upon even? Hmm wonder what that could be

also the ‘pretend to date around others’ troupe i feel is so hinted it hurts. I mean they literally agreed to act happy in public like bro

also akane next to the ‘im akane-san’s fiance’ almost makes u think he’s talking ab akane

Also this comes to show he knows and acknowledges they like eachother. Like aoi likes him back and he knows this, mentioning akane’s name like a billion times

also the ‘teru-akane-aoi’ love triangle seems to finally take shape, aoi likes akane, akane likes aoi, and teru, who does he like? Since now we KNOW for a FACT he does not like aoi, this matches up almost perfectly with what i had thought was happening, teru seems, in a way, to like akane. I mean theres so much? I would run out of room if i were to recount everything but i have 20+ analysies posted explaining it😭

i feel like the more we progress in the series, the less canon terukane becomes, and the more gay teru is revealed to be.

sneaking this in here but im like PRETTY sure mitsukou is like actually real. I mean its been real but i just ugh

Also

You think maybe mitsuba is the ‘senpai’?

[coyoteprince]

same anon- think it could be the 1st try at widderwood?? there was a fall & winter scene i think that were separate thumb nails?? both 1st pages had a flower. sorry if im bothering u idk why these came to me, just thinking about them i guess & went to the sourcd

Oh haha yeah that was the first try from 4 or so years ago! Since the story has shifted I don't think it'll be too spoilery, I'll post the thumbs and talk about them (caution: thin Waite):

These were the first two chapters of WW but I quickly ran into a roadblock as I realized the story wasn't done baking yet. With it being so closely tied to my own healing, it's been paramount that I better myself first so I can use what I learn for these two (also to just... take care of myself. But yknow. Whatever works at first to get you to want to stay alive.)

Shortly before and after I made these my personal life actually went through a few final straws which led to me getting real help, landing me in a 180 positive turn in my mental health where I happily stand now. The story has gotten much more cohesive thanks to my introspection as well as comic practice. Boys are healin' right alongside me and were absolutely fundamental in keeping me alive until I could get help.

It was disappointing to quit when I did these, but sometimes it's better to stop. I'm still grateful for what they taught me about comics and trusting my intuition.

Here's my favorite pages from the 2nd chapter, which I still sometime use to do lineart tests for new pens and inks

And this was the first comic-dedicated concept art... which I've realized lately I've been coming back to ;)

[angy-grrr]

SJ's internal changes (I recall it was the editor in chief, someone really influential) happening JUST at the same time it was announced the epilogue would be 5 chapters (same week) + the ending not bringing up huge plot points (where the other villains are, why theres no actual Himiko corpse and instead we got Ochako's grief over that assumption, what happened to Dabi, what was the All Might vestige, why the bkdk handhold was off screen when its a big deal for them, who is Deku's dad, etc), letting them linger in the air while trying to make an okay ending + that strange two week break because of "schedule conflicts" + choosing to end BNHA under even more pressure even tho its one of the most important manga in SJ + Horikoshi talking about the ending days after the official release and bringing up how grateful he is for being able to work in SJ, as in past tense (like he is grateful he worked here, but isnt happening again; I say this bc I expected him to say something around the lines of "I hope im able to create something good here again soon!", considering we already know he has another manga project, if I remember correctly)

Thinking about it.

Thinking about how he could let it as it is, or try to pick it up and confirm the things that do matter to his story.

Btw, im not talking about the handhold as a shipper -it was genuinely important for them, as it symbolizes both their new mutual understanding and an acceptance as the new All Might duo thanks to their respective heroisms. It wouldn't be weird to add it in the epilogue, especially considering so many characters hold hands in non romanitc ways, so to choose not to when its arguably the most important one... Idk, it felt really weird as it was the only thing I was sure would get sooner or later.

[stelladess]

EDIT: I only now found there are more complete translations of the new lorebook, that may alter things here quite a bit depending on if it touches on relevant stuff. Ill probably write a more easy to follow and updated version of this post when I got less schoolwork anyway so yeah. Arknights Theory: The nature of the Lord of Fiends powers and the purpose of the black crown. IDK how to spoiler and non of what I find onlines helps with that so just know... spoilers ahead. I also wanna say that I havnt double checked a lot of this stuff, I did for some of it but id like to re-read a bunch of this when some of the CN only stuff has come to global anyway. So take with a grain of salt is all im saying that I remember right since I dont remember exactly where to find all of this info, altough I will mentioned where I thought I got it from for various evidence. So tl;dr here is that I think Amiya´s powers is actually about manipulating originium, the memory, emotion and energy blasts (also making a sword) is all extensions of that and NOT fully distinct powers like some believe, also the Lord of Fiends has to have oripathy. Also the black crown was made by Priestess to eventually facilitate her resurrection and the reason doctor convinced Theresa to transfer her powers to Amiya was part of that plan. Now, why do I think all this? Starting on Amiya´s powers. While dialogue indicates some skilled casters *can* learn multiple types of arts, Amiya is not a skilled caster. She is very powerful but not particularily skilled at it. Her powers are ALL derived from the originium arts her oripathy and Lord of Fiends nature grants her. She also had all these powers pretty much from moment 1 it seems so it seems unlikely she learned it trough practice to do many different things. So its likely one ability that is just very broad in its usage, similarily to how Rosmontis´s powers work (if I remember right Kal´tsit even says their powers are very similar in nature). Amiya can do energy blasts, view memories and sense emotions... according to Kal´tsit in chapter 7 the way sarkaz prophecies work is basically that thoughts are stored in originium allowing other sarkaz to tap into the memories in that originium to calculate a likely outcome with multiple people´s brains. So originium can store thoughts/minds. And by extension memory would be a part of that. There is also clearly stuff relating to the dead but ive heard several CN server events have gone into that more so I dont wanna speak about anything regarding dead souls until that comes to global because I do not wanna go reading very complicated lore stuff in a language I dont understand really, so ill adjust or drop this theory as nescesary based on future information of course. So, then the emotions and memory stuff is covered, making the sword is also simple, its just made of originium. So the energy blasts? Well the main way originium is used is as a power source and its required to cast arts for those without oripathy (who have originium inside them to channel arts anyway). Another piece of evidence here is that Manfred could disrupt Amiya´s arts with his own, which seem to revolve around detonating or manipulating the energy in originium, allowing him to harm Amiya when she tried to gather up energy from nearby originium. When she pushes herself extra hard she probably draws extra power from the originium in her own body, which is why it has such a negative effect on her physically even compared to other casters. This, and a bit from the new lorebook revealing the first Lord of Fiends was the first person with Oripathy, is why I think the Lord of Fiends HAS to have Oripathy.

So, with that established, why do I think the Black Crown is meant to resurrect Priestess? First of all, the Black Crown or Civilight Etherna, is tech from the advanced precursor civilization (it was not found by them but invented by them, its directly referenced as a different project to the AMa projects, which is part of what Kal´tsit is refered to by certain beings in the know about the previous civilization, the crown also resembles Mon3tr in appearance). Its stated in Amiya´s module that its purpose is to store information, memories and emotion. And we know for a fact that they were capable of brain uploading, as seen with Friston in Lonetrail. Its original purpose was as a historical record, but that doesnt mean it cant have been altered later. Priestess is stated by Friston to have created Originium, something we will likely learn more about in the Victoria arc on account of certain reveals in chapter 13. Since Originium is so closely linked to the crown, by virtue of the first infected being the first Lord of Fiends, originium was clearly created in relation to something to do with the Crown. And well.. when Priestess put the doctor into the sarcophagus she said they would be reunited and their love would outlast the stars. Despite her seeming convinced she would die.... Kal´tsit seems to have been either created or turned into what she is now by Priestess too, or well by their people at least. But for dramatic convenience I think Priestess makes the most sense. I think the crown getting linked to the sarkaz collective unconcious/dead souls (this is the part im most uncertain about because there is so little info on this on global especially) was NEVER part of the plan. Since it seems likely the previous civilization created the ancients (animal people) to drive the sarkaz away (and also be slave labour, this isnt like 100% confirmed but there is some hints for this) I suspect they saw the sarkaz as lower beings and had never considered the crown would link up with them. So I think the original purpose was that some sort of great calamity fell upon their people, Priestess tried to store her mind in the Black Crown in some process that led to the creation of Originium and because the first person to down the crown was a sarkaz made her unable to do what she originally intended, possessing a later wearer of the crown and reunite with the doctor. This part is of course pure speculation as well with very little evidence, but it does line up somewhat. And I think some of the concept trailers supports the idea the crown can let someone store their mind to take over a later host (altough not with Priestess specifically).

So, fast forward to Amiya... she was born in Rim Billiton a normal cautus girl, her family were miners and lived on a normal landship in Rim Billiton... but one day disaster struck and the ship got destroyed in a horrible disaster. This is all gone into more in To the Grinning Valley but was already implied beforehand. To the Grinning Valley is also interesting for several reasons to this theory, they explicitly call attention to how strange it is that the doctor would bring Amiya with them after finding her in the wreckage. Saving her is in line with their behavior, but why bring her along? Its common in Rim Billiton for miners to adopt other children. Why not leave here somewhere? Why bring her with them to Babel? And this isnt just Amiya wondering or an outside observer, we find out from Savage that Kal´tsit doesnt know why the doctor did what they did. And whats more, Kal´tsit believes the doctor convinced Theresa to transfer her powers to Amiya, and since no previous Lord of Fiends had done so directly, the crown picked a successor, I think the doctor also taught Theresa how she could directly move it, circumventing the dead souls of the sarkaz will being imposed on the crown´s choices. So, why Amiya? Kal´tsit either doesnt have any idea why or just didnt want to tell Savage, but it is clear that she NEVER agreed with the decision. We have some ideas why Theresa did it, Amiya not being a sarkaz would mean she would be less strongly influenced by the dead souls and the lords of kazdel would refuse to follow her. Or at least chapter 12 and 13 heavily implies this was her motive. But why did the doctor want that? In To the Grinning Valley the question of if the doctor always intended to use Amiya for that from the start and grew to care about her over time, or if they took her in with no ill intentions and then got the idea later out of desperation, is raised but left unanswered because the doctor cant remember, and no one else knows why.

I believe the doctor also wished to undermine the crown´s link to the sarkaz, and that the plan was to use Amiya as a vessel for resurrecting Priestess. And it is an interesting topic, its often brought up how much even pre amnesia doctor cared about Amiya... but in To the Grinning Valley we focus a bit on the insecurity and uncertainty Amiya and Savage have about *why*. Savage telling an anecdote about a friend who went bad after fame got to their head and admitting she doesnt know which is worse, if the doctor did love Amiya and their circumstances made them so willing to trample over what they loved that they would force the black crown on her, or if the doctor had always been intending to just use Amiya for that purpose. And Amiya admitting she never knew why doc would care for her so much. And here is an interesting thing... in anything post victoria arc, we have NEVER seen Amiya and the doctor interact so far. Amiya is in Arturia´s oprec but otherwise she hasnt been on screen post victoria arc. To the Grinning Valley is set before it. The doctor has been doing all manner of things all over Terra in that time period, but Amiya isnt there with them, she is still with Rhodes Island is clear though. So... does Amiya and the doctor still have a good relationship post Victoria arc? Doc clearly cares for Amiya still, when Rosmontis talks about missing Amiya in Lonetrail (she had been away for some weeks or months, unclear) doc agrees that they miss her too, but they dont really go into any detail and are talking about both Amiya and Logos. Depending on what we learn in the later chapters of the Victoria arc, I could see Amiya feeling rather betrayed by the doctor. Not to the point of completely cutting them out but that it might still make her a bit more distant to them. I think it would be interesting to see how Amiya would take it if she learned that the doctor had originally intended to use her for very selfish end goals. Surely the thought has crossed her mind and she just isnt willing to entertain it, but if she learns something in the climax of the Victoria arc that shakes her absolute confidence in the doctor? That could be a pretty big deal. We already know Amiya has a habit of rather then accepting people wronged her first try to look for excuses. What Theresa did to her Amiya refuses to admit is wrong even when directly pointed out to her how messed up it was (chapter 8 Rosmontis compares what Theresa did to Amiya with what Loken did to her). She isntead focuses on how she must be failing to live up to Theresa´s expectations, an idea NO ONE tried to put into her head as far as we can tell. Altough it is a little unclear because she gets VERY defensive about it when the Damazti Cluster suggests she was forced into her role at Rhodes and given too heavy responsibilities to carry. Will she do this this time as well? Look for excuses why what doctor did was "justified"? But in chapter 13 she also finds meaning in rejecting the legacy of the black crown and that she will use its powers purely for her own ideals and not worry about what its purpose is. With that in mind how would that color her perception of finding out an even older purpose for it that implicates the pre amnesia doctor?

[pedrosgrogu]

Born Too Late - Chapter 2

pairing/au: neighbor!joel x reader // no outbreak

Warnings: MDNI, age gap, angry!joel for a second, blood, fighting, drinking, no use of y/n, i think thats all idk let me know if i missed anything xoxo. 

Summary: Between your awkward encounter with Joel, and being thrown a new student right at conference time, you just need a break. Your best friend from high school comes to visit, and you both hit the bar. What could go wrong? (1.5k+)

a/n: i was so excited to write this chapter. i think this is going to be a slow burn pwp moment because im a slut for that. im not sure how many chapters, ill just see how the first few go :p. as always, special thanks to my gurl raven for helping with the mood board and ideas. let me know whatcha think :)

Chapter 1 - Chapter 3 - Main Masterlist

It’s been a month and a half since your distant but awkward interaction with Joel. You’ve been avoiding him like the plague. You’ve listened for the rumble of his truck to take off before you head out, and are always home before him. You hope he’s forgotten. Your school year so far is okay. You have 18 fifth graders, and share a teacher's assistant with the grade level so your life consists of work and home. Your friend Penny is coming to town for the long weekend and you’re picking her up at the airport right after work today. 

Penny: I can't wait to see you! We have to hit some bars after I get in and clean up.

You: Please. I'm dying to get out of this god forsaken house, and I need a break before parent teacher conferences. 

Penny: Yessss!! My flight is supposed to land at 4:03 so I’ll text you when I'm headed up the concourse to you! 

You: See you then. Love youuuu! 

Work was alright, it's getting close to the end of the quarter and you’re dreading it. You have 18 parent teacher conferences to schedule and 15 of them are for kids that could give a shit. It truly surprises you how little parents and students care about their education but there's only so much you can do. You write out an email for parents, detailing how to sign up for conferences. When going through your roster, you notice a new name “Sarah Miller”. Weird, she makes 19 on your roster and you let your head fall into your hands. You email your admin asking about the new student. The reply reads: 

Good Evening, 

Sarah was in Mrs. Williams' class across the hall, but after an incident involving her and 3 other girls, her father requested she be moved. If you have any questions, please reach out to Mrs. Williams. Her information sheet, including test scores and parent information is attached. 

MillerSarah5thGrade.JPEG 

Best, 

Dr.Tate

You open the attachment to look over her test scores and familiarize yourself with Sarah and her strong suites. She seems like a smart girl, straight A’s and perfect attendance. You click through and see it. The parent information sheet. In big bold letters under Father/Guardian it says “Joel Miller.” You get nauseous. “There's no way” You mumble, now throwing your head into your hands. 

You never knew Joel had a daughter, but you have been avoiding him like he's the second coming of the Black Plague so why would you know? Before you know it, it’s 3:30, and it's time to go get Penny. 

You wait at the end of the concourse, as far as you can go before security stops you. You have a bouquet of her favorite flowers, calla lilies. You see her at the same time she sees you. She runs and borderline knocks you over with the giant hug she throws at you. “I missed you SO much yellow!!” -a childhood name that always stuck. “I missed you too, Pen.” You both follow the signs for baggage claim and grab her small black suitcase, decked out in stickers from all over the world. Penny is an anthropology TA at a college in Ireland. She's a few years older than you, and working on her doctorate. You guys have been friends for years, ever since high school when you were a freshman and her a senior. You met in biology class and have been inseparable ever since. 

You make your way to the car and load her bag in. You shut the door and before you can ask about anything, she says “Soooo how's sexy old neighbor? I forgot his name.” she laughs.  You made the mistake of telling her about what happened, and honestly hoped she had forgotten. “I haven't seen him in weeks. Truthfully, it's full avoidance mode from my end.” She frowns. “I bet he thought it was hot. You HAVE to talk to him!” You blankly stare, trying to forget what happened, and wishing you’d kept your mouth shut. “Funny you say that Pen.” She double takes. “What do you mean?” she says, raising an eyebrow. “His daughter just got moved to my class, and I have to schedule a parent teacher conference with him.” Her eyes grow wide, wider than you thought humanly possible. “HE HAS A DAUGHTER?! WHEN WERE YOU GOING TO TELL ME?” You sigh. “I didn’t know until today when I was going through my roster after work. I told you, I've been avoiding him.” Silence ensues for a few minutes before Penny begins to talk again. “I just think-” “Penny can we please just drop it? I don't want to talk about it or think about it, not this weekend. I want us to have fun, I want to find a cute age-appropriate man in a bar and never talk to him again after tonight.” “Alright” she sighs. “But I'm picking the first bar.” 

It’s 8 o'clock and you’re putting the finishing touches on your makeup. Penny is in a long golden silk cami with white jeans and sandals. You chose to wear something similar, except a blue denim miniskirt with a hot pink cami. You fix your strapless pushup bra and add a little more lipstick. “The cab will be here in 5, you ready?” You hear Penny exclaim from across the house. “Yeah!” 

The cab ride takes about 10 minutes, not too long. You pull up to a bar with a gravel lot and big neon sign that reads “The Tipsy Bison”. “Penny, what the hell is this?” You ask, handing the driver a $5 bill as a tip. “It’ll be fun!! I heard about it years ago back in Dallas years ago.” You groan. This place truly looks like a shit hole. You hear the music bumping through the front doors, and try to make the best of it. Penny is always so busy so you appreciate that she took time to visit you, and plan the evening. You both head to the crowded bar and order 2 vodka tonics and 2 shots of tequila. While waiting you scan the bar, noticing the varied ages at the tables and on the dancefloor. Your bartender brings your drinks back and before you can pull your wallet out, Penny is signing the check. “My treat, you get the next round” she says with a smile. “To hot neighbors, and men we’ll never talk to again after tonight!” she yells, laughing and raising her shot glass. You roll your eyes, raising yours and throwing it back. Both of you slamming the shot glasses on the bar at the same time. “Let's Dance!” Penny yells over the loud music. 

You have no clue what time it is, and no clue how many drinks you've had. Penny is dancing with some guy she met on the dancefloor and you’re off to the side at a table. You’re struggling to hold yourself up and realize it’s probably time for some water. You wobble over to the bar, and ask for water. On your way back to the table, a man approaches you. “Hey sugar, need some help?” he says, attempting to grab your waist. “No thanks, I'm good.” You say, stepping out of his reach. He follows behind, this time grabbing your wrist. “You sure baby? You look like you could use a hand. I know a real nice-” you interrupt, “I said I'm good.” you say, jerking away once again. You make it back to your table, water in hand, making sure to lock eyes with Penny so she knows you're safe. Before you can get a sip of water in, the man is back. “Lets go darlin’” The man says, grabbing your wrist yet again. You try to stop him but no words will come out. The music is loud, Penny is dancing, and your legs are barely moving as he drags you toward the door. All of the sudden, you stop moving and fall. And when you fall, you see a punch hit the man right in the head, all you can see from the floor is a large man standing over the man trying to drag you out. “I believe she asked you to stop.” Another punch. “Why cant you fuckin’ accept no for an answer, John?” Another punch. You recognize that gruff voice, but can pinpoint where from. There's now a crowd, and the floor has opened up where this was happening. The man who was dragging you, John, tries to stand. His eye is swelling up, and blood pours from his nose. You feel like you’re going to get sick. You need to find Penny. 

A few minutes pass. People pass by, laughing at the mess you created. You feel helpless. You try to stand but your footing is nowhere to be found. Your anxiety has taken over and you're stuck. “Darlin', can I help you up?” You hear. You try to grab the hand you see reaching down, but the room is spinning. Once you get to your feet, you turn and see Penny. An instant wave of relief. washes over you. You look up and begin to thank the man. “Thank you. I have no idea what-” as you pick your head up, you now realize why you knew the gruff voice.

It’s Joel. 

[hatterladz]

New IM chapter I'm gonna try to get my reaction down

The first being Bendy! So glad you aren't trusting the suspicious triangle demon! However also Bendy! I want answers and Bill is right there offering all of them! But what I found interesting is Bill's coughing. Ya sure could be throwing up an act about spitting out the pieces of code, but they were covered in ink. It's hard to tell if it's Bill being Bill and the code itself was covered in ink or if by eating the code he gave himself ink illness. Could he get ink illness? No idea. But it's an interesting thought and is quick to explain why he keeps pestering Bendy for a favor.

It also makes me wonder what "chaos" does Bendy get into in the future that the cosmics/gods are watching him? Chaos mentions he's a fan because of what Bendy does in the future, and now Bill is here. So what the hell does Bendy end up doing?

Next is Hat and the soulbind, something tells me Bendy isn't getting rid of it that easily. But my question is is how fast is the spread of ink illness and if Cuphead already has ink illness again? Or even more importantly would it be actually able to pass over a soultie? How does Cup's contract tie in this? And honestly why is Cup so okay with this? Considering his trauma I would've thought he'd be pro-get-rid-of-this-soul-tie-through-any-means. Hell considering the risks it might bring with the Devil. I guess that speaks to how much he trusts Bendy Ig. But I wonder if Cup and Bendy's soul tie is the actual reason the Devil wants Bendy under his heel, I can't imagine it'd be easy to keep someone under contract when they make a soul-bond with someone else.

Anyway I got carried away with that. I'm starting to believe that Bendy has a specialty in souls, I'm even wondering if he's a Demon of Death like I believe the Old Devil was? Pretty sure he's a demon of death. It'd explain a lot regarding Bendy's powers. Also it looks like we're finally getting to where Hat's mentorship is coming around to bite Bendy in the butt. I was wondering when that was going to happen. I think that Bendy's "shadows" might be old souls, something he's pulling from the Otherside. Which is why they have emotions or certain personalities. But Idk we'll see.

[fifthrideroftheapocalypse]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

thanks for the tag @lemonlyman-dotcom !!

1. How many works do you have an AO3? 19

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 29,507

3. What fandoms do you write for? 911 Lone Star, 911, The Old Guard, Shadowhunters, RWRB

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

victories, defined | a 911 Season 7 coda to the medal ceremony. Tommy confronts Gerrard (i dont really like this one tbh)

hitchcokian | a 911 season 7 coda. buck calls Tommy right after he runs into Kim. (this one is okay, but i fear i wasted the title "hitchcockian" on this when it would be cool do a genre-bending thing. idk)

echoes | 911 Lone Star Season 1. Carlos waits in the hospital after TK is shot and really talks to the 126 for the first time.

why | 911 Lone Star. the silliest thing i've ever written, and it's all @lemonlyman-dotcom's fault. Carlos buys Lou II pajamas and then realizes he has to put the pajamas ... on Lou II and regrets every decision that led him there.

halted beginnings | 911 Lone Star. post-engagement. Carlos is in love. But he's forgotten about something.

5. Do you respond to comments? I do, although I think im kinda behind on doing so? I do forget to sometimes.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? i think it's a tie between halted beginnings (linked above) and fundamental. they are essentially sister stories, with fundamental being the meta-verison of halted beginnings. they both tackle Carlos forgetting about Iris when he says yes to TK's proposal. halted beginnings is more of a character introspection into how, in the moment, Carlos might have forgotten about Iris. fundamental takes the meta-approach that Carlos/Iris were never planned from the beginning and is written as if Carlos, the character from season 1-3, knows someone else is rewriting his history (the writer, or "Tim," as I called him in the annotations lol). Both fics end on a heavy note, with Carlos either putting off telling TK (halted beginnings) or a rewritten version of Carlos taking over Seasons 1-3 Carlos (fundamental).

7. What is the fic your wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably "why" (linked above). TK and Lou II in matching pajamas ... couldn't be better!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I haven't, and I hope it stays that way.

9. Do you write smut? not really

10. Do you write crossovers? No, but I would like to

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? no. but open to that if anyone wanted to translate

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nooooooo, but I would love to collaborate on something!!!! Idk how to find a person to collaborate with though lol

16. What are your writing strengths? i really don't know ... someone else tell me. i feel like i always want to make people feel like they are in the room with the character, and i thiiiiiink i do that. or at least im getting better at it.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? plotting, finishing wips lol

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I don't do it, but I definitely could be better at adding in there.

19. First fandom you wrote for? for this question I'll take into account my past fan fic writing life, which was a long time ago. Angel

20. Favorite fics you've written?

In no particular order:

large popcorn with a bag of m&ms | an Old Guard fic I wrote in 2021 that I really want to turn into a longer series. It's Nile-centric and about how she misses her real family while adjusting to her new immortal life.

peace | a 911 Lone Star fic that is actually pretty angsty too, haha. it's very short, but I was stretching some more poetic writing muscles I hadnt used in a long time. This is Carlos, after the breakup

Staring at ghosts | my newest one, 911, bucktommy. It's a wip, but I really love the first chapter, and I'm really excited about the rest of it I have outlined and partly written. Buck and Tommy are still in the fairly early stages of their relationship, and Buck doesn't really know how to open up when he starts having dreams about the lightning strike.

--

no pressure tagging: @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @reyesstrand @bonheur-cafe @paperstorm

@alrightbuckaroo @carlos-tk @carlos-in-glasses

[lookismaddict]

Lookism Chapter 434 Memes/Thoughts I Have:

(SPOILERS !!! I don’t own any of the Lookism panels and the translations. Only the memes that I made and the collages.)

OK, GONNA GO THROUGH THIS QUICK THIS TIME AND ONLY GONNA SHED LIGHT ON THE PARTS IN THIS CHAPTER THAT CAUGHT MY EYES. 👁👁

Last chapter was CRAZY MAN. WTHHHH

DAMN SHE EVEN HIT HIM WITH THE SMACK 😭😭😭

“GRANDMA CHILL! I SWEAR IMMA BRING YOU CLOTHES NEXT TIME-” 💀💀💀

Um… wtf? 😀

LOOK AT BABY BOY, USING HIS OWN ACTING SKILLS LIKE THAT. 😩😩💓💓💓 Or is he actually crying? Idk, can't tell. Oh, and “Grandma bullied me, mom.” 😐

HOW DOES SHE KNOW CHARLES CHOI??? MF A CELEBRITY AROUND THESE STREETS. Him and Jinyeong both bruv. 😭😭😭 (Also, “Too late mom. Already met him and he attempted to kill me too.” /j Charles Choi and Grandma would make a perfect couple. 😌✨)

Awww, is that baby Daniel? 😭 Also, wait a damn minute. Why does he look like...

I'M SORRY, BUT HE REMINDED ME OF THIS CHEEP CHEEP FROM MARIO KART. B R U H. THEY LOOK ALIKE. 😭😭😭😭

The typos on here. 😅 "Choio" DFJKDSAHFKLSHDSJLKF SORRY. The first time I was reading this, I had to reread because I thought I was crazy for a sec.

DANG, WE'VE BEEN GETTING A LOT OF NEW CHARACTERS WITH GLASSES RECENTLY. First that ONE HOT LADY from Tiger Job Center, then that ATTRACTIVE DOCTOR who was with Goo, and then NOW A POLICE OFFICER??? PTJ TRYING TO BRING OUT MORE GLASSES REPRESENTATION. 😩💘

UMMMM SIR??? YOU'RE GETTING SHITTED ON. LITERALLY!!!! 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

You guys wish you were that cow, huh...? 👀 Yeah, I see you. You can't fool me...

Woah, woah, woah, woah... RUN THAT BY ME REALY QUICK?!?! AYO, WHEN DID THIS TURN INTO A HORROR MOVIE? WHAT IS THIS, CHILDREN OF THE CORN? 1922???? 👁👁

Aw shit. Danny boy is gonna get gang.... (banged). SORRY. I CAN'T HELP IT-

OMG DANIEL. BEAT THEM UPPP!!!! 😤😤👊🏽👊🏽👊🏽👊🏽👊🏽

Dude. Why did I think this was Zack Lee for a second? 😳😳 (Zack and Gun if they had a child together LMFAO) ALSO THIS NEW GUY IS HOT AF. WHO IS HEEEEEE??? 😩🔥🔥🔥 (And we haven't gotten any naked scenes ever since Samuel, so is PTJ giving us some fan service since Samuel can't do the job right now...? 👀)

WTH IS HE IN A TUB FULL OF SNAKES? N A K E D ? 😳 I mean... if he's into getting his thing bitten- 👀 NAH, NAH, NAH, IM KIDDING, I SWEAR. 😭😭😭😭

I don't blame you if you stared at him for more than a minute.

Omg Daniel embodying his 😵 phase. BUT FUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCKKKKKK. THIS MAN IS BACK!!!!! HE'S FUCKING BACCCKKKKK. AEEEUUUUGGHHHHH. HE STILL LOOKS SEXY AF EVEN IF THIS IS JUST A FLASHBACK. 🥴🥴🥴🥴

YOU BET YOUR ASSES, I WILL SIMP OVER THIS MAN. H A R D.

*N S F W M E M E S W A R N I N G*

I DON'T WANNA SPIT, I WANNA GULP. I WANNA GAG, I WANNA CHOKE. I WANT YOU TO TOUCH THAT LIL' DANGLY THING THAT SWING IN THE BACK OF MY THROAT!!! 🥵🥵🥵🥵

BAHAHAHAHAHAHA I'M GETTING FLASHBACKS WHEN GUN HAD TO BEAT UP SAMUEL AND TELL HIM OFF. 😭😭😭😭

I can just imagine that horrifying face of his. Smiling so menacingly with those terrifying eyes. Like yessss king, go crazy!!! 😍😍😍

LOOK AT THESE DAREDEVILS. DAAAAAAAMN. TERRIFYING AS HELL. 🤭 DANNY BOY REALLY GOT IT FROM GUN FRFR. (Ugh, like father like son. Daniel could be my son- I mean, what? 😀)

I FUCKING KNEW IT. THIS FOUR EYED MF WAS SHADY FROM THE VERY BEGINNING!!! LIKE WHY TF WAS THAT CREEP STANDING THERE BEHIND HIM AND DANIEL, LOOKING LIKE ONE OF THEM PSYCHO NPC'S FROM OUTLAST 2 ????? BRUH GOT ME FUCKED UP. 😤😤😤

Ok, but why does this mf look like a DILF??? HE LOOKS LIKE A MIXTURE OF MANAGER KIM FROM HIS OWN WEBTOON AND ELITE WHEN HE WAS STILL YOUNG. LMFAAOOOOOO (I'm deadass ab this. They're attractive ngl.) AND WHY DO THE VILLAINS LOOK HOT AF? I'M NOT AGAINST IT, BUT I FEEL LIKE PTJ IS INTO SEXY VILLAINS. HE HAS A KINK FOR THEM. AND HE B R E A T H E S THEM. IN AND OUT. 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨 (Update: I guess Kwak Jichang LITERALLY IS a piece of shit. Think about it… 💩)

ANYWAYS, we finna see who these Chungcheon mf's are next chapter. Hopefully, we get to know what the deal is with these people hating on Jinyeong. Bc I STG, IF THIS DRAGS OUT FOR THE NEXT FEW CHAPTERS, I’M GONNA LOSE IT. 😠😤👊🏽👊🏽👊🏽👊🏽