#then your skull is full of crumbling brick. learn to actually think for two seconds like holy christ

[shiba-boyfriend]

genuinely upset about how much people miss the fucking point when discussing the actual reasons furries are targeted as "bad weird sex freaks". don't you ever question why it's a "fringe" culture despite how VAST the fandom is? it's because it is largely, in fact almost ENTIRELY queer, neurodivergent, and comprised of people of color. calling us all zoophiles when it's an all ages fandom where, while there is a large and prominent adult aspect (may i remind you how HUGELY QUEER furries are and how important and intrinsic sex and kink are to the LGBT+ community), the main focus is not on sex by any means, and the focus IS on loving and caring about animals and self expression through a variety of art, literature and music, is literally only doing the right wingers & alt-rights jobs for them. i have never seen a group of people with a larger desire to keep abusers (especially animal abusers. yknow. zoophiles.) OUT of their spaces in my entire life. it should have been obvious from the damn start that the reason people love to rag on furries is not just because we. care about animals and like to be represented by animals in art and costume. is that really what made the most sense to you?

[miss-1ng]

btw, this was written and never finished i just thought i should post it cause why not! oh yes also crimson flower route spoilers i guess though major canon divergence too. I DIDNT KNOW HOW TO ADD THE READ MORE THING SO HERE WE ARE SORRY

She hears a scream.

So naturally, she reacts to it.

Reacting to something has taken so long before.

Flames whipping towards her faster than she can acknowledge them has never been such a prolonging experience. It feels like hours. It’s only been seconds.

She stretches her arms wide as she shoves Byleth out of the way.

The woman barely stumbles, just falls flat onto her back, and stares up at her with wide eyes. Wide eyes rapidly filling with tears.

She’s only ever seen Byleth cry once. It was that day, that one horrible day with the incident with Monica no, Kronya, where her father had taken his last breath to a dagger.

In the numb roaring from her ears, she wonders why exactly Byleth is crying.

The second heat licks her bare skin she realises what she’s done.

Edelgard’s throat feels tight. Too tight.

It was funny in a way. Funny in a bitter, cruel way. The esteemed Emperor of Adrestia, who has survived many wars, prevailed in hundreds of battles, toughened through blows from swords, spears, axes and bows, you name it, can’t survive flames so seemingly easy to avoid.

Something presses against her heart. It takes her seconds to realise it’s a hand. A soft shaking hand. She sees Byleth’s mouth move but no words seem to come out.

The roars in her ears shatter along with the surroundings.

“That was unimpressive.”

The voice startles Edelgard awake, and she’s unable to hold in the flinch when she’s greeted with darkness only pierced by a small green light.

Edelgard takes a staggering step forward. Her stomach hurdles when she glances beneath her feet, only to see pitch black darkness.

The strange voice continues. “At least I came to your rescue, even if you did interrupt my sleep.” A yawn. “Okay, come on over. How bad is everything? How far back do we need to go?”

“Who are you?” Edelgard demands. Her voice wavers but she tries to keep her voice strong.

A figure steps into the limelight, wearing an intricate dress of blues, reds and white. Long green hair swishes over a small and slim frame, though it doesn’t seem like it’s weighing the person down like it should.

“Oh, you must have hit your head.” She mock laughs. “Ha. Ha. Ha.” She claps slowly with each word. Green eyes lock with Edelgard’s. She blinks. “Oh.” She blinks again, then frowns. “You’re not Byleth.”

“Byleth?” Edelgard’s voice comes out in a growl, a shaky growl, but a growl no less. She glares at the girl in front of her. “Wh-what have you done to her?”

The girl looks affronted. Her eyebrows draw upward, and her jaw falls slightly agape. “Are you accusing me of doing something to Byleth?” she demands in a snappish tone. “Because all I have done is saved her. Many times.”

“But then-” Her voice cracks. “-then where is she?”

Her eyes sting with tears.

The girl sighs. She sits down on a throne which was non-existent until seconds ago, pulling her knees to her chest. “I don’t know.”

And here comes the tummel of questions making a ruckus in Edelgard’s head.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” she cries, feeling tears streak down her cheeks. “What-what do you mean? Where is she? Where am I? Who are you? What-”

“Woah, woah, woah, when I say I don’t know…” The girl inhales sharply. “It means I actually don’t know. I have no idea where Byleth is. But we are-” She glances around. “Somewhere. But my name is Sothis.”

Something in Edelgard snaps. “Sothis?” she growls. “You’re the-the proclaimed ‘Goddess’?”

The girl – Sothis – pinches the bridge of her nose. “Oh, so you’re the girl Byleth yammers on non-stop about.”

She pauses. “What?”

“Byleth has told me about you. About how your goal to eliminate the church, therefore eliminating all belief in the Goddess, AKA me.” She pauses before adding “She’s also spoken very highly of you. You’re important to her.”

Her throat clenches. She feels tears well in her eyes.

She’s important to me too.

“Is that so?” Sothis tuts, pursing her lips.

Edelgard flinches. She takes a wary step back “I said nothing,” she says, even if it’s more like she’s convincing herself than Sothis.

Sothis laughs. She actually laughs, even though it’s more of a delighted giggle. “Oh, you have so much to learn!” She’s wearing a carefree smile, nothing like her sleepy, disoriented gaze from only seconds ago.

“Where are we?” Edelgard repeats. She’s slowly gaining her bearings. “What happened?”

Sothis groans, dragging a hand down her face. “You died,” Sothis tells her. “You died against that dragon by protecting Byleth.”

The reality hits her like a slap to the face. It stings. “I… died?”

“Are you really this thick-skulled?” the Goddess snaps, slapping her hands down on the sides of the throne, to which a resounding smack echoes through the dark area. “You died. You’re dead. Dead. Dead. Dead! Yet I have no idea why you’re here now and Byleth isn’t.”

“Byleth’s… has she come here? Byleth knows you.”

The look Sothis sends her is terrifying, even without words to accompany it.

Byleth.

Her eyes sting again, though she makes no move to wipe the tears off her cheeks.

“You seem to not know much,” Sothis muses. “Would you like a reminder of the battle?”

Before Edelgard can say a word, Sothis clicks her fingers and Edelgard is staggering through a road with flaming buildings on either side.

She stares ahead, vision blurring as she tries to make sense of this situation. Her back presses against the wall without her knowledge and she feels something squeeze her hand.

Dorothea looks down at her, smiling nervously, yet she’s still smiling. Her hand holds Edelgard’s, and she squeezes it once more. “This’ll be fine,” she murmurs. It’s almost like she’s trying to convince herself more than she’s trying to convince Edelgard.

She doesn’t recall this from the battle. She doesn’t recall walking down these paths, ever the same despite the minor differences. She doesn’t recall Dorothea clutching her hand, because no, Byleth was the one clutching hers as they sliced through their enemies and approached Rhea.

A squeaky “Y-yes, it will” slips out of her mouth.

Dorothea walks a few steps forward and Edelgard follows and holds a bow out, squinting at the Demonic Beast snarling at nothing in particular.

The thing is she’s using a bow. She doesn’t even think she’s touched one before.

Empty red eyes suddenly lock with hers and she feels herself flinch and yelp. The arrow flings out of her grip, barely skimming the Demonic Beast’s scales.

The Demonic Beast stomps forward, whipping it’s tale back and forth when Dorothea lunges in front and blasts a Thoron at it.

The creature takes the blow, and Edelgard uses that as a chance to use her bow again.

Why am I using a bow?

That question remains unanswered as she launches another arrow at it. This time it hit’s the Demonic Beast’s forehead. She feels euphoric for a little moment. Almost smiles. Doesn’t. Especially as it’s tail swings around, so fast neither of them can avoid it and knocks Dorothea over some broken picket fences to some Church Soldiers and Edelgard into a crumbling building.

A brick falls and slams against her arm.

The bow snaps into pieces. The brick crushes her arm. Edelgard screams, something so shrill it can’t possibly belong to her.

“Bernie!” Dorothea cries. Edelgard freezes questioning the name of her ally, her friend before another brick clatters down, landing inches away from her face. While her head whips to Edelgard, a spear pierces through her stomach and her head lolls back, blood spitting out of her mouth. “B…ern…”

Dorothea. Edelgard cries out, though by the looks of it Bernadetta is too. Dorothea gone. Dorothea who didn’t care about anyone’s differences. Dorothea who treated every member of the Black Eagles as equals. Dorothea who comforted everyone in times of need. Dorothea who was a beautiful, beloved, and kind-hearted soul who did not deserve to fight in a war she didn’t even belong in.

“What will you do, when the war is finished?” Edelgard had asked one particularly sunny day whilst the two were having tea.

Dorothea had smiled, green eyes full of something so sweet it warmed Edelgard’s heart. It was always a pleasure to see her friend, so awfully affected by war, smiling so happily. “I’d like to return to the opera, I guess,” she had replied, her lips quirking up. “Though I’ll see where my life takes me.”

Her body goes limp.

Another two bricks fall down, and Edelgard’s vision turns dark before she wakes up again nearby Caspar and Lysithea, the two shielding her and fending off the opposing soldiers.

In the distance she can see Catherine, holding Thunderbrand out and staring down at the three with an amused grin tugging at her lips. The sight is sickening. Edelgard holds her hands out, fixing up a gash on Caspar’s upper arm while he takes a breather against the enemies. The wound slowly fixes itself up.

Lysithea uses a Dark Spikes.

Then Caspar goes back to swinging his axe.

Stunned, Edelgard feels herself stare at her hands. She’d never learnt healing spells before. …Why did she know them now?

Catherine runs forward to the three of them suddenly, when Lysithea finishes off the last Church soldier in the area they’re in.

Caspar barely avoids the hit. Lysithea makes a noise slightly resembling the squeak of a mouse (Mice, running around her while she’s caged in her cell) and Edelgard finds herself slowly backing onto a healing tile.

Catherine and Caspar are fighting, newly donned gauntlets against a heroes relic. Lysithea from behind blasts spell after spell at Catherine, obviously exhausted but the girl is not letting up. Edelgard admires her for that. She’s always admired Lysithea, and her relentlessness to not let her younger age get the best of her.

She’s damn powerful as well.

Everything seems to be good. Everything seems to be fine.

Edelgard takes a deep breath in. Then everything goes to hell.

Caspar gets stabbed in the arm with Thunderbrand. He cries out, staggering back and losing his focus on Catherine. Edelgard cries out too, reaching out to try and use Psychic but it’s no use since Caspar gets stabbed again and again.

A scream of rage comes from Lysithea, and just before she finishes the final blow, the young woman uses a critical Dark Spikes which hits Catherine with perfect accuracy. The knight falls down. Thunderbrand falls out of her hand.

“Caspar,” Edelgard finds herself sobbing, though her voice isn’t actually hers. She sounds like Linhardt. “Caspar, please, Cas-”

A hand touches Edelgard’s (Linhardt, she reminds herself, not that it will do much) and Caspar looks up, smiling dumbly. “I got to fight her,” he croaks. “I…I won too.”

Blood pours from his wounds, the stabs scattered around his body. Edelgard feels the sudden urge to throw up. She holds the bile in. Tears are streaming down her face as she clutches Caspar’s body, pulling him to her chest.

“Caspar…” she repeats, not that her words will do much. “Cas-aspar, I-”

“Shh, Lin.” He reaches up to press a finger against her lips, silencing her. He opens his mouth to speak but his eyes suddenly stare at her unblinkingly. He’s limp in her hold.

“Linhardt…” Lysithea starts to say, reaching forward but Edelgard stands up, still gripping onto Caspar despite how much her arms are trembling under his weight.

She sobs and hates how raw she (Linhardt) sounds right now. Linhardt shouldn’t deserve this. Linhardt who already had so many struggles piled upon the other. Linhardt who needs Caspar, and Caspar who needed Linhardt.

It hurts even more now that she realises the real reason Caspar wasn’t there when Linhardt and Lysithea met up with them, only to meet their immediate downfall after stumbling dazedly too close to Rhea.

Her vision twists and she’s now stumbling along with Hubert, stabbing at each enemy who crosses them with her lance. Behind her she sees Petra, struggling with another Demonic Beast, despite each blast Hubert hits it with.

A claw slices her chest open, and she screams, the sound resonating through Fhirdiad.

She turns back, launching her horse towards the Demonic Beast and digging his lance into a small spot of bare skin where the scales of it didn’t cover.

The Demonic Beast makes a ghastly sound before falling to it’s end.

“Ferdinand!” Hubert yells. “What are you-”

His words are silenced so quickly it’s deafening. His mouth falls agape as a lance finds it’s way through his middle.

Edelgard cries out his name. She sounds so heartbroken it makes her want to burst into tears all over again. Hubert deserved more.

No, she thinks with clenched teeth as she directs her horse towards Hubert’s attacker. They all deserved more. So much more than being swept up by me into this godawful war.

She hates herself for this. She’s never hated herself so much before.

She ends up stabbing at Hubert’s attacker, stabbing again and again until her vision is blurred with blood, sweat and tears. Blood, sweat and tears. Fitting, if not for the situation. Fitting if not for the-

Everything goes black. Once more.

Edelgard opens her eyes to darkness. She’s kneeling on the floor, sobbing, and wailing as the images of her allies, her friends getting murdered in front of her.

“Oh don’t cry,” Sothis soothes, but her sympathy doesn’t seem like real sympathy. “There’s nothing you can do about it now.”

Edelgard staggers up, swaying on her feet, and wipes the tears from her face. She glares angrily at Sothis. But her next words come out in a quiet whisper.

“What happened to Byleth?”

Byleth, who I need, and who I love.

Sothis pauses. Silence hangs in the room like the tension, and it’s only broken when she replies in a broken little whisper “I don’t know.”

Mint green eyes matching mint green hair.

A small smile barely noticeable but still there.

Deadpanning whenever Edelgard makes a joke.

Hugging her, hugging them. Comforting them all.

Her obsession with fishing she never seemed to get over.

Her love for fish that could rival Flayn’s.

Her scream, haunting Edelgard for five years.

“This is going to be a problem,” Sothis mutters. “Your thoughts are solely Byleth-centric. Is there anything else that goes in that strange little mind of yours?” She waves her hand in Edelgard’s general direction in emphasis.

“How long must I stay here for?” Edelgard sighs.

There’s a brighter glint in Sothis’ eyes. Her lips quirk up. “Not too much longer as it seems!” she exclaims, clapping her hands together and standing up. The action reminds Edelgard of when she was a child. Young. Carefree. Innocent.

Oblivious to the blatant cruelness the world harboured.

“El…” A whisper. “El, I know I’m bad with words, but I need you to know you can talk to me.”

Hands clutching hers. A squeeze. Locking eyes.

“My teacher, I…” Averting gaze. Letting go of warm hands. “Now is not the time.”

“It’s always the time if you need help.”

A smile, an obvious façade that doesn’t sell as well as Claude’s ones did. Trembling fingers. Warmth dispersing from memory.

“I am fine. Though I thank you, for taking the time to see if I am okay. I appreciate it.”

Why didn’t she just hold on a little longer?

how was that y’all? hope it wasn’t too long and angsty hahaha

[29-pieces]

Whumptober Day 11 - Good Omens

Day 11: Defiance Fandom/setting: Good Omens, immediately after #9 (Take Me Instead) Read on AO3 Read on FF.net @witchingwhovian ;)  Also, vague hints to my usual head canon that the Bentley is totally sentient (but Crowley doesn't know it). For more fun adventures with sentient Bentley and Bookshop, check out my fic Soul of Vellum, Heart of Chrome!! ^_^

~*~

Part 2/3 [part 1] [part 3]

It took five minutes for Crowley to realize when Aziraphale had been dragged out of the circle, he'd deliberately scuffed his feet through the marks that bound Crowley's demonic power, freeing him to turn into his snake form.

It took another five for him to carefully wind through seemingly endless puddles of holy water and collapse in agony on the ground outside.

It took an hour for Crowley to summon the energy to miracle himself a cab and spell the driver so he wouldn't notice what a mess Crowley was. He headed straight for the bookshop, determined to be there when Aziraphale escaped from the puny humans and got back home, fully intending to spew every bit of fury he had at the angel for putting himself in danger like that.

It took a day for him to realize Aziraphale wasn't coming home.

It took a week longer for Crowley to fully heal from his injuries from the holy water, and in the same amount of time, to learn everything he could about who and where this cult was.

It took less than a moment for him to travel back to his flat to collect the Bentley and turn it directly for the compound out in the country where the cult resided.

Crowley pushed the Bentley as fast as he dared, and he dared quite a lot. The Bentley wouldn't mind. Aziraphale's life was on the line. If in fact he was still alive at all, and that thought was enough to leave Crowley a haunted, trembling mess. They'd survived the apocalypse for crying out loud... the angel couldn't be killed now, not by a group of bloody humans.

"Alright," the demon muttered as he pulled to a stop outside the borders of the compound and turned off the car. "Now listen, Bentley, because this is important."

Speaking the plan out loud helped solidify it in his mind, even if it was just him and the empty car. Crowley kept his palm flat on the dashboard while he spoke, willing some of his own demonic power into the chrome-hearted engine. He had no idea if this was going to work, had never tried cursing inanimate objects into doing his bidding before, but it was a sure bet the people inside would be grossly over-prepared for a demonic presence. This was the only plan he had and Aziraphale might not have time for him to come up with a better one.

Without a backwards glance, Crowley prowled up to the front gate, raised a hand, and clenched his fist. Metal shrieked and squealed as it curled like party streamers. He dropped his hands to his sides, storming in with face growing darker and darker as fire dripped from his fingertips to burn in an aisle of malice that followed him straight to the door. Alarms blared, humans shouted, a cacophony of chaos and panic, music to the demon's ears. A human raced across the yard, shooting a net his way. A flick of Crowley's fingers brushed it aside; another flick snapped the human's spine in two. One less soul to be party to whatever had been done to Aziraphale.

The front door opened and more people poured out into the yard as Crowley started to grin, wider and madder and full of demonic rage. His teeth had already shifted to fangs and now he pulled his sunglasses away and let them fall behind him in the burning grass. Wild snake eyes watched the humans cringe back but he never broke stride.

Two of them tried to rush him; Crowley cracked their skulls like eggs and continued on, but now the people were scrambling to get back inside, away from him. He grabbed one by the nape and dragged her back towards him.

"Who- who are you?" she bleated.

Crowley lifted her off her feet so they were eye level. "You sssummoned a demon," he hissed. "Sssso here I am. Where. Issss. The. Angel."

The cultist blabbered out some explanation of an outbuilding behind the main compound, which was all he needed. Crowley regarded the compound shrewdly, lips pursed, then snapped his fingers again. The human flinched in expectation of violence, but nothing immediately seemed to have happened, so she relaxed slightly in his hold—until he turned his attention back towards her. Crowley snarled and squeezed his hand on her neck tighter until it buckled. Dropping her lifeless body, the demon headed straight around the perimeter of the main building towards the back.

Scarlet lights flashed from the alarms, mixing with the fire he still trailed until the sky and his vision were filled with red. If they had killed Aziraphale... if they had taken his friend away forever... if they had a way to do worse than discorporation... Crowley stormed faster as behind him and inside him everything burned.

The few humans guarding the outbuilding scattered at the sight of him so Crowley quickened his pace and ran inside. The second he crossed the threshold he felt his power snuff out, but this was nothing compared to the sight of Aziraphale.

He was alive, praise someone, but an awful sight. Chains wrapped the angel's arms, legs, torso, and throat, lashing him to an enormous upright pentacle in the center of the room. Worse than that was the thing over his face, more of a muzzle than a gag that covered everything from his nose to his chin, preventing his jaw from opening. Worse than that was the glazed, half dead look in his eyes and the way his head simply drooped. Crowley couldn't tell what exactly had been done to the angel; he was half naked by Aziraphale's standards, shirt hanging open but no obvious marks to explain his condition.

Crowley couldn't move, could barely breathe. He'd come to rescue his friend but now he was in so much shock and rage that it paralyzed him, just long enough for the remaining swarm of cultists to rush in the door. Crowley turned, but with his powers bound by the room, his human shaped corporation was no match for the dozens of hands grabbing him and forcing him to his knees.

He struggled, baring his teeth and growling as the leader who'd taken Aziraphale strolled into the room.

"You," Cult Man said with clear surprise. "How did you get away?"

"Oh I'm just full of sssurprissesss," Crowley hissed.

"Hmm. Well, I must say, had I any idea that angels were real and could hold so much power, I would have been going after them from the start. You found this one... how would I find more? I've tried everything I can think of, but there's nothing in any book I've ever read on how to summon an angel."

Crowley scoffed at the man. "You think I'm going to help you get more angels?" Not that he particularly cared about the others, but if any of this became common knowledge, Aziraphale would always be in danger.

A fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head to the side.

Crowley laughed.

"Tell me how you summoned the angel at the warehouse!" Cult Man demanded.

It was on the tip of Crowley's forked tongue to tell the truth—he'd used a frigging cell phone, that was how—but even that much cooperation rankled, so he defiantly spat blood in the man's face instead.

The cultist's expression darkened as he wiped spit and blood from his cheek, then he gestured to the imprisoned angel. "Did you come here to rescue him?" he asked with clear incredulity. "I'd hate to see your trip wasted. Tell me how to summon an angel, or he dies."

"And then you have no angel at all, idiot," Crowley snickered, fangs extending down past his lip now with every bit of growing fury. "No. I'll not be helping you. Not by a long ssshot. Every ssssingle one of you isss going to die, and that'sss a promissssse."

Cult Man regarded him, hesitant for only a second, before shrugging. "Thomas, Adelaide, fetch the holy water."

"You mean the fancy water gunsss?" Crowley asked, unperturbed. "Good luck with finding thosssse. Odd how no one brought one in with them, issssn't it?"

The cultist bristled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Funny thing, holy water." Crowley's fanged grin stretched wider. "I can't do much about the water itssself, no power over it. The actual gunsss, though, that's nothing." A snap of the fingers was all it had taken. His eyes darkened further. "I turned them invisssible. Sure they'll work on me... if you can find them. Ssssad there won't be time. My backup'sss going to be here any sssecond."

"You're bluffing."

Somewhere outside the building, the sound of an engine was getting closer. Crowley smiled.

"Not this time."

The building shuddered along with the crash, dust raining down on their heads as a car grille appeared through the avalanche of brick. The Bentley plowed straight through, heedless of the humans scrambling to get out of the way. With the crumbling of the wall, the symbols locking down supernatural power were obliterated and Crowley ripped himself away from the restraining hands with feral rage. Humans scattered, some to evade him and some simply in pieces. He saw the leader shoving others out of the way to get out the door himself, but for the moment, Crowley let him go. He had something more important to worry about.

As soon as the room was clear, Crowley raced for Aziraphale and tore the chains away from his slack body, catching the angel in his waiting arms. Aziraphale didn't even wake, moaning softly in unconsciousness as Crowley prised the muzzle off his face.

"Angel," he whispered, the red haze evaporating from his vision to be replaced by worry. "Satan- God- someone, what did they do to you?"

No reply. He had to get his friend back to safety. Crowley lifted his head, smiling a watery smile at the Bentley's idling engine and gave the car a fond pat. "Well done, you," he murmured. "Can't believe that worked. Alright, Bentley... get us home."

With tenderness as powerful as his rage, Crowley lifted the angel and tucked him into the passenger seat. Then he climbed in himself and backed the car out of the building with another small avalanche of brick. Crowley gazed around the compound and pretended he was Hastur. One wave of his hand, just one; fire rose, crackling havoc, and he let it all burn.

Indifferent to the screams behind him, Crowley pointed the Bentley back out to the road.

...TO BE CONTINUED...

~*~ 

part 3 will be posted on the 13th, they’re not home yet.

[set--suna]

Friendly, Neighborhood Hero

Excuse me as I resurrect this blog with a P5 Spiderman AU LMAO but uh. Really. I haven’t written anything fandom-wise in a pretty long while. I watched Spiderman: Homecoming again two days ago and got inspired. So uh, here

-

Akira was zoning out. He was always zoning out. Especially towards the end of the school day. There were other things he could be doing instead of going over how to find the fourth root of sixty four to the third power. The rest of the city awaited him. He had a duty he felt he had to fulfill. “Mr. Kurusu, are you paying attention?” the teacher called his name, pulling him from his trance of staring out the window. “Of course,” Akira responded, though he obviously wasn’t paying attention. “Then answer this for me,” Ms. Usami turned away to write a problem on the board. Three times the third root of two plus eight times the third root of sixteen. “Nineteen times the third root of two,” Akira answered after a moment of thought. Ms. Usami gave him a surprised smile, “Good work, Mr. Kurusu.” As if on par with the conversation, the dismissal bell rang. Akira was already shoveling things into his bag before Ms. Usami could assign the homework. Just as he was about to bolt from the classroom, a certain Ann Takamaki snatched his wrist and held on tight. “Not so fast, Akira. Where do you think you’re going?” she asked, not letting go of his arm. 

“You know where I’m going, Ann,” Akira replied sarcastically. “To meet with Ryuji and I? Cause that’s where you said you’d be after school,” Ann countered and let his arm fall loose. Akira groaned and slapped a hand over his eyes, glasses and all. He had forgotten his plans. He had completely forgotten he had made plans after school. It was very embarrassing, and he could tell Ann knew how he felt from her smirk. “It’s not good for you to play hero everyday, anyways. Now let’s go, web slinger, Ryuji’s probably halfway to the cafe by now,” Ann slid around him to walk ahead. Akira blew out a breath. She had him all figured out. He had to speed walk to catch up with her. With how crowded the halls were, he wasn’t sure the hurry was worth it. Of course, she commented on how he basically ran to walk with her. Once they got outside of the school building, it was still crowded, unusually. That’s when Akira noticed the sirens. Police cars raced past Shujin, hurrying off somewhere deeper in the city. Ann and Akira shared a look before scrambling to get to the road. Makoto and Haru were standing there, stopping students from going towards a busier street. “I’m sorry, but you can’t go this way! The police have advised that we keep this way clear in case more emergency vehicles need to pass!” Makoto was informing students who were desperate to get home. “You can use the subway. Go to the station across this street and you can get home that way. I’m sure someone will be willing to help you, if you need it,” Haru instructed kids on other ways to get home. “Makoto, what’s happening?” Ann was quicker to ask. “There’s been an attack down this street, closer to Shibuya. It’s Kaneshiro and his thugs again,” Makoto answered her with dread. Akira tensed. The cafe he, Ryuji, and Ann were supposed to meet at was directly off of Shibuya Crossing. Ann spun to face Akira with a knowing look. “Akira Kurusu, don’t you dare-“ she started. “I’m sorry, Ann. I really am. But I have to,” Akira stopped her, talking as he backed away. Then he turned and ran through Makoto and Haru. “Akira!” Ann shouted after him, but didn’t follow. She knew better. Akira was always one to get himself into sticky situations. - “Yes, take everything from them!” Kaneshiro yelled orders to his minions. “They don’t deserve what they have, so take it!” Screams echoed across the Crossing. People ran from the scene, trying to save themselves and their possessions. Kaneshiro was notorious for stripping people of everything they had, either one at a time or a whole lot at once. Akira swung onto the scene, flying straight into a thug, his foot into the thug’s skull. Being suited up felt great. He had permission to kick people in the head. Only as Spiderman. He spun on Kaneshiro, who stood in the middle of the chaos. “Hey, money grubber, I thought you would’ve learned your lesson by now,” Akira called out, placing his hands on his hips as he walked forward. “Spiders eat flies like you.” “Well, I’m still here, ain’t I? Lets see if a horde of flies can overcome a spider. Get ‘em, boys!” Kaneshiro ordered, moving his fly-eye goggles from his forehead to his eyes. Those ugly, mechanical wings sprouted from his back and he took flight. Others with fly goggles charged at him. This was the easy part. Akira was quick to shoot a web at the fastest approaching fly-man. He easily swung him into several other thugs, causing all of them to fly into the side of a building. He jumped up, sending the guy charging at him from behind to the concrete. Akira landed on a streetlight and threw a web grenade on top of the man on the ground, holding him firmly in place. Akira almost fell off his perch when a bullet soared past his head. Like, an actual lead bullet. Not the alien stuff he’d been used to coming from villains. A man had a gun pointed right him, smirk on his face. Akira shot out of the way just in time, hearing glass crack behind him. Another bullet flew by, but he plugged the gun before he could shoot again. The man threw away the gun and charged at him straight on. Akira slid out of the way, shoved the man to the ground, and stuck him there. “Damn, I was hoping those guys would be more competent. Not a single blow to you, huh?” Kaneshiro shook his head from above, lowering only a bit. “Still blood and bruise free. A little disappointing, if I’m being honest,” Akira responded. “Ah, I thought going back to the old ways might be more effective. But what am I talking about? The modern shit is where all the rage is at!” Kaneshiro exclaimed. He tossed a small cube into the air. It turned into a small purple square, out of which Kaneshiro pulled some sort of alien rifle. “I happen to have better aim than those punks.” Akira was ready to move, “So the boss battle has begun.” Kaneshiro was the first to fire. Akira launched a web at the closest building and swung out of the way. Kaneshiro wasn’t letting up. Akira leaped from building to building to streetlamp to car. He had to go on the offensive, lower damage to the city. He swung all the way around a stoplight pole and flew above Kaneshiro. A bullet grazed past his shoulder, but he kept going. He used the rapid fire webs to stop those horrendous fly wings. Kaneshiro was sent spiraling towards the pavement screaming. Akira sent a web shot the yelling man’s way, stuck the end to a building, and kept moving. He did this on repeat until Kaneshiro was firmly suspended in the air above the middle of Shibuya Crossing. Though obviously caught, Kaneshiro was smirking. Akira landed in the street, still on full alert. “What’s up, Kaneshiro? You’re literally stuck in my web,” Akira spoke cautiously, side eyeing the entire crossing. “You’re forgetting how many people work under me, Spiderman,” the fly responded menacingly. Akira wheeled around when he heard a blast. An explosion had taken out the whole corner of a building. Then another on the other side of crossing. Kaneshiro was laughing, “How many people can you save, Spider? Or will you sacrifice them for one measly fly?” Akira grimaced. Kaneshiro was stuck for now, what he said didn’t matter. What did matter was the lives of others. Akira swung towards the closest pile of rubble. He moved rocks and held open exits so people could evacuate. The exploded buildings were dealt with when a cry caught his attention. Part of a building was crumbling. A woman and two small children were still climbing over the rocks. Being aided by a familiar shock of blonde hair. “Ryuji,” Akira breathed and immediately shot into action. The building was falling apart fast. It was a small, warm looking cafe. The lady was off of the rubble, helping the two kids down. It was gonna be close. Way too close. The second kid was off of the large boulder, only Ryuji was left. But he wouldn’t get off in time. The bricks and cement were tumbling fast. Akira swung in, attempting to grab Ryuji and fly out of the way, but it was too close. He ended up shoving the blonde out of the way. And getting stuck under the rocks himself. Everything went black for only a moment. All sound was muffled in his ears. There were screams and sirens and all Akira knew was that he had to get out. He had to leave. They couldn’t find out who he was. He couldn’t let them worry. So Akira took a shaky breath, and pushed. He managed to get up on his hands and knees. This was good. He hoped the people were out of the way. His torso pushed out of rocks. There were sighs of relief. They didn’t matter. Akira shoved the rest of the rubble off of his legs and quickly got to his feet. Everyone was okay. Ryuji was staring up at him with something that looked like a mix of awe and relief. He had a gash on his forehead. He was putting almost all of his weight on his good leg. “Sorry for giving you a scare. I’m fine. Your friendly, neighborhood Spiderman is ok,” Akira tried to keep his voice from shaking. Honestly, he was really not ok. A lot of things hurt at the moment. He waved to the group of citizens, and swung back towards the main crossing. Kaneshiro was still in his web cocoon, struggling to get out. More police cars were pulling up, hurrying out to deal with the crisis. Akira sighed and quickly left the square before they could notice him. He felt like he was going to collapse, but LeBlanc was so far away. There was some place safe to stop, though. - “Geez, Akira! You need to be more careful!” Ann whined, placing another bandage on his face. She was frowning at him, but her eyes shone like she was about to cry. She got worked up whenever he threw himself into danger. “You always say that,” Akira smiled, wincing as she started addressing the gash on his shoulder. “Yeah, and you always ignore it!” she countered and started to wrap bandages around his shoulder. “You’re lucky my parents haven’t caught you like this yet. Or that they haven’t noticed I started collecting first aid kits.” Akira laughed, despite Ann’s anxiety. Then Ann’s phone started buzzing on the bathroom counter. She leaned over his shoulder to grab it. “It’s Ryuji,” she stated, surprise in her voice. She answered his call and wedged her phone between her ear and her shoulder. “What’s up, Skull?” “You will not believe what just happened,” Akira could hear the boy’s voice in the silence. He knew where this was going. “Try me,” Ann challenged. “Spiderman just saved my life,” Ryuji answered. Akira could tell he was grinning. Ann gave him a look, to which Akira responded with a sheepish smile. She didn’t hesitate in feigned shock, “Really? What happened?” “That Kaneshiro guy was at Shibuya Crossing. He was stealing shit from people when Spiderman swooped in and single handedly beat all their asses. I think Kaneshiro had explosives set up around the crossing, because buildings started collapsing one after the other. I was helping some lady and her kids get out of the rubble when part of the building above the cafe started crumbling. I was definitely going to get crushed, then Spiderman saved me,” Ryuji finished his story. “That’s... incredible,” Ann replied, giving Akira a grumpy face to show it wasn’t really praise to him. “It was insane,” Ryuji laughed lightly. “Hey, you sound kinda distracted, what’s up?” “Oh nothing I’m just...” Ann wasn’t ready for that question, so she looked to Akira for backup. He only shrugged at her. “...I’m just folding laundry. Nothing too bad.” “Oh, ok. Well, I’ll talk to ya tomorrow. I gotta tell Akira about this,” Ryuji sounded excited, and less like he almost died. He hung up first, and Akira and Ann both let out a sigh. They looked at each other and laughed. Ann breathed out and finished bandaging Akira’s shoulder. It was quiet for a moment. Kind of comforting. Ann wrapped her arms around Akira’s neck and rested her chin on his head. “You’re gonna have to tell him eventually, mister hero,” she said softly, a partly sad smile on her face. “I know,” Akira replied just as quietly. “I just don’t want him to get hurt.” “Neither do I, but he’s your boyfriend, Akira. I think it might be better if you told him so he’s ready, just in case something does happen,” Ann reasoned, moving to hide away her now extensive medical kit. “Plus, being the only person to know your secret identity is kinda stressful.” “I’ll tell him,” Akira promised. “Just not yet.” He looked out the door of the bathroom and was met with the bright light from a window. The sun was setting over Tokyo. The TV sounded from down the hall. Though Kaneshiro himself did manage to escape, many of his goons were captured. No citizens were seriously harmed in this act of terrorism, and it’s all thanks to your friendly, neighborhood Spiderman.