#why does hashtag not work again?

[constantvariations]

Finally, a 1:1 comparison between bomb and baby! Riza and Roy vs Penny and Jaune: refusing aid and choosing to die

The situation is dire in both scenes. In one, the gold tooth doctor has Riza's throat slit to force Roy to become the final sacrifice Father needs to open the Portal of Truth. The other, Cinder has whittled down the fighting force to three, taken the Staff of Creation, and has dealt a major blow to Penny. Roy and Jaune have the power to save them, but both Riza and Penny plead to die to prevent widespread tragedy

While the scenes are similar on the surface, the quality difference becomes quite stark once you dig into the details

Setup

It's been well established that Roy and Riza are each other's most important person, to the point of extreme codependency. Their bond is forged in fire and sand and blood. There is no Roy without Riza or Riza without Roy. That's what makes this scene so intense: there is no scenario in which they both make it out

Penny's only real connection is Ruby, who's already fallen into knockoff Wonderland. The emotional foundation is missing. The only one able to react to her demise is Jaune, and it's more annoying than heartbreaking due to the next comparison

The Men

Roy has only two choices: perform human transmutation or watch Riza die. Even if he or Scar managed to escape the soldiers' holds, they're not doctors. They couldn't save Riza themselves no matter how much they wanted to, not with a wound that severe. He needs the help of the enemy to save the woman he loves

Jaune is not pinned. Jaune is not engaged in combat. Jaune is the healer. He has the ability to cart Penny off to (what he believes to be) safety as well as backup fighters who can cover him. He chose not to for seemingly no reason

(The visual of Penny's wound does not communicate that this is a fatal blow nor can Penny's words be taken at face value. Like a child taking their first tumble on gravel and wailing at the sight of their scraped knee, she's experiencing her first injury in a flesh-and-blood body. Of course, she thinks she's dying! It hurts in a way she's never known! She's used to analytics and presented calculations, not screaming nerves and weeping blood)

The Women

Riza is consistently shown to be a badass under all sorts of pressure, even keeping cool while being threatened by Pride, by far the strongest and most terrifying of the Homunculi. When she gets grappled by the soldier, it's because her gun jammed at the worst moment, something guns are wont to do

Even when her throat is slit, Riza still fights. She's keeping pressure on the wound and using what could be her final words to tell Roy not to do it. She remains calm enough while actively and definitely dying to signal Roy that help is on the way

Penny, on the other hand, gets hit because she didn't move after Cinder's attack, instead getting distracted by Weiss's startled shout when the fire separates them. (Why did the fire move like that? I don't think that's how fire works.) It's ridiculous to watch this woman who was literally built for combat be taken out by freezing at the wrong moment. Had this been a consequence of her body being made anew, it would have landed better, but it wasn't. They made Penny incompetent to make the plot happen

To make matters worse, her reasoning is about choice and her apparent lack thereof. Even if we ignore the earlier seasons where she literally snuck out to traipse around Vale and had a plan to transfer to Beacon, Penny's entire thing this volume was about her identity. She's the protector of Mantle, she's the Winter Maiden, she's the daughter of a desperately protective father, she's a girl who wants her friends to get along. Penny is being pulled in so many directions, each headed by someone she loves, that she's unable to figure out who she is and what she should do. The only thing that took away her ability to choose was the hacking virus, which isn't enough to overwrite her actual arc's theme

Payoff

Roy is rewarded for listening to Riza. They're saved by the chimeras and Mei, who loses her chance to gain a Philosopher's Stone in order to do so. Several people made selfless choices and worked together to save Riza's life. In fact, Riza owes her life to a long, complex line of domino events that ensured all these characters would be in the right place at the right time

Jaune? Gets more man pain and a trip to Wonderland despite not being a titular character. Ruby doesn't even get to learn that Jaune is the reason Penny's dead! (She supposedly learned off screen but I don't listen to words of god. I watched V9 for this one moment and was left with Chekov's blue balls.) Literally nothing of value comes out of Penny's death. Ruby's sadness over her gets swept under the rug the moment Summer starts to get sprinkled in, like salt in a wound

[sassening]

Can barely believe I’m back on tumblr after… half a decade?

[insertdisc5]

are there any fan works that have made you rethink one of your own characters?

no lol. however allow me to go on a tangent for a minute.

i have been on tumblr for a very long time. i have been in fandoms. i have made my fanworks. ive seen Stuff. so i know how people react to fandoms and characters they love. which is (and i mean this with no judgment! and even love!!!): fans add their own flavor to the characters, sometimes enhancing them, but also, sometimes, making the character. completely. unrecognizable

again, no judgment!!!!! ive done it myself!!! often!!!! all the time!!!! you can search for it here on my tumblr!!!! i've done it and i love doing it!!!! hashtag my blorbo now!!!! HOWEVER. when i was making ISAT, i did not think it would blow up like this. but i am someone who prepares for every eventuality, so i did think ok. well. what if it does blow up like this. and people. make. my little guys. from my heart. my bosom. absolutely. unrecognizable

all this to say that if you're making a project that could become Tumblrized(affectionate), or even any kind of project: i highly recommend writing down what your characters mean to you. why you made them like this. what made you go down this route. why did you make this project in the first place. what does this Mean To You And You Alone. so that if your character becomes Unrecognizable. you can still remember what you put in them first. and people can Tumblrize to their hearts content and you can be happy and the people can be happy and we can all hold hands having a different version of the blorbo in our brains

[vhaos-chaotic-writing]

Yandere TFE Optimus, Bumblebee and Wheeljack X Cybertronian reader who likes to take care of children and Terrans as if they were his Sparklings

I'm adopting each one of the terrans, they are my babies.ヾ(￣▽￣)

(TFE) Yandere!Optimus, Bumblebee & Wheeljack w/ Cybertronian!Reader - "Sires, Carriers & Sparklings." (Scenarios)

WARNING: Yandere behaviour, obsessive and delusional behaviour. Mentions of wanting kids/having kids (or sparklings in this case) Reader is gender neutral. Another long ass post.

OPTIMUS PRIME

Optimus feels... empty, somehow, every single day. Talking with the G.H.O.S.T humans, working alongside Megatron, Elita and the others, catching trouble-maker decepticons, protecting civilians - nothing makes him feel fulfilled.

As far as he knows, he is fine - he is not glitching or has catched a virus, none of his allies has been hurt and things have been relatively calm. Then why does he feel empty? Like he is on autopilot nearly all the time? It's like he has too many things inside of his helm and yet nothing at the same time. Optimus Prime it is not entirely sure what is going on with him, so he decides to remain quiet and just... keep going.

He is thankful that he can make a little change of routine by visiting the Malto family to see how the whole family is doing, as well the young Terrans. And he feels his mood become brighter at knowing he is going to get to see you again. He arrives just in time when both Alex and Dot are about to leave to get some food and things they need for the week, welcoming Optimus and telling him that Bee, the kids and you are by where the cows are nearly all day.

When the mech arrives, he is met with such a precious sight that makes his engines rumble and his spark pulsate with such strenght it nearly hurts him.

You were resting against a tree, sitting on the ground, in your arms was sleeping Twitch on your lap, her helm resting against your chestplate. Meanwhile, Hashtag was resting as her helm was cuddled against your other shoulderplate, one of her arms linked with yours. The both looked so peaceful while you were humming a small lullaby for the two sleeping sisters, craddling the smaller one with one of your arms and holding the servo of the taller one.

"Oh, Optimus!" You quietly welcomed Optimus once you noticed the shadow he was casting over you and the two young terrans. Looking up at the prime, you give him a bright smile. "Sorry, I would greet you - but I have such pretty sleepy helms in my hold." You say, chuckling a little as Twitch snuzzles her head against your chestplate, and even tries to hug you in her sleepy state.

"... they look so comfortable." Optimus said, carefully sitting by your free side, with a soft smile.

"Both were rather rebellious at night and stayed up watching those animated series Robby and Mo showed them - but I can't be mad at them, not when they are so adorable." You coo, gently snuzzling your helm against Hashtag's, who seems to smile in her sleep and snuzzle back a little. "They are just like sparklings - don't tell them I called them that." You joke, giggling as you look at Optimus.

It is the sight of you (divine, perfect you), holding the new generation of their kind, both protectively yet softly, as a Carrier would do with their sparkling, that has Optimus' spark feel complete.

And the picture of you, holding a small sparkling in your arms that looks just like you and him - the solid expression of the love you and Optimus have as the Conjux Endura of the other, comes to Optimus' mind. He can already visualize it - the love in your optics when you look down at your sparkling, smiling softly to then welcome Optimus back home - to his family, to his Conjux and sparkling.

That is what his spark needs to feel complete. And he promises to make it true. To become the Sire and you the Carrier of the sparkling he wishes to have with you, the light of his life.

BUMBLEBEE

Bee was more than sure he didn't want sparklings, even after meeting you and falling in love deeply and hard for you. You two were still young, busy with your own tasks and missions, helping Optimus and the others - and still not each other's Conjuxes... or even dating each other, in general. (Bee promises to himself he is going to confess soon).

And Bee was slightly more confident on the idea of not wanting to have sparklings after being tasked to train the Terrans. Yeah, they were good kids and he cared for them, but geez, they could be a little bit much sometimes. Just like now - Thrash had no ill intentions, far from that! The young terran wanted to help his younger brother try to do some of the training Bee had already put the older terran before. But Jawbreaker still didn't felt confident, anxiously playing with his servos, not knowing how to deal with his brother's excited insistence. Bee wanted to intervine, but always got silenced at a new encouragment from Thrash's side.

"Thrash, sweetspark." Your voice catches the attention of the three mech. You walk towards them, standing in front of the two terrans. "Remember we have to listen to the others - Jawbreaker is not so sure about doing the train, sweetspark. How was that making you feel, Jawbreaker?" You ask gently.

The young terran lowers his helm a little. "Too pressured..." He answered.

"Oh - no, no! I'm sorry, Jawbreaker, I didn't mean to!" Thrash is quick to apologize, worried. Jawbreaker looks at him, giving his brother a small smile for his apology.

"There we go - it is good to try and encourage others, sweetspark, but you gotta also learn when to backoff and let the others express their thoughts and feelings, just like a good sibling, leader or friend would do. Okay?" You ask, placing your servos on both terran's shoulders. As Thrash promises to be more mindful and Jawbreaker thank him for listening - Bee is... speechless.

Your soft yet wise voice, how gently you corrected the older terran and made sure to bring support to the younger terran, the way you worked with your words to give a lesson, how you made Jawbreaker feel heard and how Thrash realized his mistake in such a healthy way...

Oh, Primus - Bee felt his spark twist and vibrate. You could be such a good Carrier, and Bee would make sure to be the best Conjux and Sire of them all. He would keep you and your sparklings safe and sound, just like you two already do with the Terrans. From that day, Bee keeps replaying that recorded moment in his mind - you looked so precious, taking care the terrans, like a Carrier would do... and he is going to become a good Sire, he promises.

WHEELJACK

The day started great - he was going to visit the Maltos, specially his daughter - I mean, Twitch. But when he was right in the middle of the forest that was closer to the Malto's family territory, he was met with the sound of metal clashing with metal.

He started to run towards the commotion to then found Twitch being held by her sibling Nightshade, a couple steps in front of them there was you, giving the final shot to end the last Arachnamechs that ambushed the terrans. Wheeljack was frozen in place as he saw how you held such an angry and deadly expression on your faceplate once you finished the last small bot. To then change into a worried one once you turned and ran towards the two terrans.

"Are you two okay?!" You ask, worried as you kneel in front of Nightshade, who nods, shaking as their hold on Twitch loosens a little, who looks up at you, extending her arms for a hug "My Primus." You thank as you hug the two terrans, who hug you back tightly. "I'm not letting that creep take you two or your siblings, you're safe and sound." You coo and snuggle your helm against the two terrans, making them feel safe and protected.

Wheeljack finally snapped out of his trance and came out - to be met with your main weapon pointed at him.

"Dad2!" Twitch's happy cry made you lower your weapon as the smaller terran is quick to fly and hug Wheeljack.

"You two okay?" Wheeljack asks, holding Twitch. She nods, quick to explain how everything went on and how you saved them, smiling brightly. Wheeljack looked at you, finding the sight of Nightshade quickly holding your hand for comfort, and you giving the young terran such a gentle and reassuring smile.

"Alright, alright - let's go back home, Twitch. We gotta tell Optimus about Mancreep's activity." You said, starting to walk with Nightshade, still holding their servo. "Oh - your, eh, Dad2 can come too - come on." You gave Wheeljack a smile, and Twitch was quick to hold her adoptive dad's servo and pull him to follow them.

From there on, Wheeljack can only think about you - how fierce you looked protecting the terrans, to then look at them with pure love and affection, as a Carrier does with their own sparklings...

You... protected his daughter. No, that is wrong. You protected yours and Wheeljack's sparkling. Such a good Carrier you were. Protecting your sparklings, keeping them safe from dangers and killing it before it could reach them. Wheeljack was so proud of you, his Conjux. Being the best Carrier... what is he doing? How could he leave his Conjux and sparklings all alone? He needs to be by your side and your sparklings sides, too. He has to be a good Sire, after all.

Hehehe I liked writing this one.ヾ(≧ ▽ ≦)ゝVhaos out!

[beware-of-pity]

I don't really mean for this to sound mean, at all, and this is honestly meant to be a sort of constructive criticism but I've been at my wits end these past few weeks when going through stories of some of my favourite characters because all I've been seeing are characters x reader stories being tagged as so only for them, in the end, to turn out to have been character x oc stories all along. I know some people probably do not care to tag correctly their posts, and some probably do so with the intention of posting them in hashtags that are intentionally misleading for the sake of readership and likes, and whatever not, but Tumblr is not ao3 where you can filter out certain characters or certain tags to clear the search of any unwanted characters or triggers and etc, etc because at its core Tumblr is a blogging platform where certain dedicated people and fandoms post fanfics of their favourite characters, which is why it does not possess such a feature like ao3 in the first place. I understand that new writers, probably, also cannot differentiate between a reader-insert and an actual original character created by them for their stories. But I fear it may be, common knowledge that when someone is specifically looking out for an x reader story they more than likely do not want most of the tag to be filled with people self-inserting themselves in the story through an oc. I know that no reader-insert will ever truly be a reader-insert because there is no way that the person reading the story will ever come close to the personality or appearance that is needed of the reader to make the story work but all I ask, at the very least, is for people to be honest about what kind of story they're putting out there and to not mislead people by posting stories that have nothing to do with the tag that it's been posted under only because it involves the character it's being matched with.

Again, this is only a general criticism, and it's not supposed to target anyone. Also, my main aim is not to be either rude or mean but it's something that's been going on for a while and that has been frustrating me so I felt I had to finally speak up about it.

Also, ps for certain writers, if you don't like using Y/N maybe reader-insert-centered stories are just not for you, because by then naming the reader it automatically makes the story an oc story.

[oh-no-its-bird]

Alright chat it's time to think ab the valentines prompts !!!! I am thinking. I am having thoughts.

Love at First Bite

Vampire au OR Kakashi resisting his hashtag Hatake instincts to bite people he loves (??)

Or . Kakashi keeps biting people, so specifically to get him to stop, Sakumo lies and says in Hatake culture, biting someone is like a proposal. And if they bite back ur married now. And you wouldn't want to get married, now would u Kakashi? And Kakashi is like "oh no but I already bit Obito, what does that mean D:" and Sakumo is like "Well, I guess that means u proposed. That's so embaressing for u which is why u shouldn't do it again."

Then Obito bites Kakashi in a fight and Kakashi screams in horror bc they have to get MARRIED NOW !!!!!!!!

Otome Game / Affectionate Meter

(Aka Tobirama's personal hell)

Romance sim no jutsu fic where Tobirama wakes up to find otome game mechanics (affection meter and dialogue options) have been added to his life. He despairs.

Thisd just be the romance sim no jutsu au I talked about a while ago tbh

Incubi / Succubus

Incubus Kakashi who's super low key about it. He actually isn't really into sex but bc he can feed off ambient sexual energy, he basically just snacks on the energy radiating off of icha icha all day and is... okish.

Or like. He's not even a fr incubus but the Hatake bloodline limit is actually smthn comparable to that. So he uses it as an example of what it's like.

Obito finds out and loses his fucking mind bc KAKASHI SEX DEMON REAL????? He becomes convinced that he's obsessed w Kakashi bc Kakashi worked his freaky incubus magic on him. Also this means it's suddenly ok for him to be super horny ab Kakashi but he swears it's ONLY bc hes a sex demon, ok?????? He literally can't control it u guys this isn't on him. It's not. He swears.

Meanwhile, Kakashi: *literally just standing there, the only visible skin his hands toes and like a third of his face*

My heart is in your hand (literally)

Regina Mills type beat where person A has person B's heart and can use it to command them. Thinking either mdtb or iztb, but obkk could make for an interesting one just bc of Obito's heart seals.

Festival of love

Senju fuck fest. That's it. That's the fic. The Senju have a festival and the main event is an orgy. The fic itself is just the Madara and Izuna reaction to this terrible, terrible knowledge. The Uchiha are way more conservative and legit horrified at this information. Unfortunately they also JUST signed the peace treaty and village plans so they are now burdened w the knowledge that the annual senju orgy WILL be happening within village walls.

There's no actual smut its pure reaction and implication

U guys get to choose which one you wanna see as a one shot, choose wisely pls

[valentiyne]

𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝖽𝖾 ✘ 𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗆!𝗉𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄𝖾𝗋

PART TWO OF BLINDSIDED

TASM!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Summary: Uncovering the truth about your little affair with Spiderman to your oblivious Exboyfriend!Peter. What could go wrong?

Warnings: Mild cursing & Peter being a dork. This is filled with Angst i'm so sorry.

Word Count: 6.5k

Copyright © 2025 Valentiyne. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

I barely heard the bell ring.

Professor Harding’s voice droned like an electric fan in the distance, muffled beneath the weight of my own thoughts. Molecules. Compounds. Covalent bonds. None of it landed. The sharp smell of dry erase markers, the scratch of pencils on paper, normally grounding. Today? Just static.

All I could focus on was him.

For two straight weeks, Spiderman had walked me home every night from the diner. Rain or shine, like clockwork, he’d drop down from some alleyway shadow or slide in from a nearby rooftop right around 9:02 p.m. Never 9. Never 9:05. Just after I dumped the day’s coffee filters and locked the side door. Always on time. Always with stories.

But not the kind of stories you’d expect from someone who, according to The Daily Bugle and every trending hashtag, had helped take down numerous space aliens. No, these were tales of small time crooks. Purse snatchers. A guy shoplifting allergy meds. A skateboarder who tagged the wrong warehouse.

It didn’t add up.

Why was Spiderman spending so much time walking someone like me home? And why was he telling me about things that didn’t match the magnitude of who he was supposed to be?

“Hey,” a voice whispered beside me. “Are you okay?”

I blinked.

Felicia Hardy was leaning sideways in her seat, one arm draped over the back of her chair, eyebrows knitted in concern. Her shining I hadn’t even noticed her move. Hadn’t noticed anything.

“You’ve been drawing the same hexagon for five minutes,” she added, glancing down at my notebook.

I looked.

She was right. My page was filled with the same six sided shape, traced over again and again until it was nearly worn through the paper. A crude attempt at a benzene ring. Or maybe just a nervous loop I’d been stuck in.

“Yeah,” I said quickly, flipping the page. “Just tired.”

“Spiderman tired?” She asked, voice low, teasing, but something in her expression hinted she was fishing.

I froze. A little too long.

Felicia raised both brows now. “Why the weird expression?”

“I- what? No,” I said, way too fast, laughing awkwardly. “Why would I...?"

“You just twitched like Peter does when he lies.” She narrows her eyes, piercing through me like a cat.

“Felia!”

She held up her hands innocently. “Okay, okay! Just sayin’. You’ve got that whole ‘I’m hiding something cool and it’s definitely Spiderman related vibe going on. Plus I saw you liked the Daily Bugle's instagram post of him..."

I pressed my fingers to my temple, trying to shake off the heat rushing to my cheeks. The last thing I needed was her putting pieces together. Because if anyone could? It was her.

One of Peter Parker’s best friend. Peter, who hadn’t shown up in days.

“Where is he anyway?” I asked, maybe too casually. “Peter, I mean. Haven’t seen him since last Friday.”

Her grin dimmed slightly. “Sick day? I think. He said something about not feeling great. Haven’t heard much since. But, still it’s Peter. He disappears and then comes back with a thousand apologies.”

The bell rings right as she finishes talking, so i stand and swing my backpack over my shoulder. I was ready to leave this lecture hall.

The cafeteria was loud, metal trays slamming down on tables, someone blasting music from a phone they’d hidden under their hoodie, and the unmistakable snap of a soda can opening too close to someone’s math notes. Same chaos as always.

I sat under one of the shaded trees just outside, the one near the edge of the courtyard where the noise dulled to something bearable. I wasn’t even hungry, just picking at the fries on my tray, watching the sky shift from morning gray to that flat blue that meant the afternoon heat was coming in fast.

Felicia dropped down onto the bench beside me with all the grace of a cat who owned the place.

“Morning, sunshine.”

I gave her a look. “It’s lunchtime.”

“Semantics.” She stole a fry. “So… you seeing someone?”

I blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

I frowned. “Why are you asking?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Because I happen to know a certain web slinging someone has been walking you home lately. Every night. Same time. Like clockwork.”

My stomach twisted. “That’s not, he’s just making sure I get home safe.”

“Oh please.” Felicia popped another fry into her mouth, looking far too smug. “The Spider doesn’t just play bodyguard unless he’s got a thing for you.”

I tried to hide my face behind my cup, but it was no use. She grinned wider.

“I mean, honestly,” she drawled. “You do have a type. Brooding. Secretive. Drenched in guilt. How’s the conversation? All rooftop confessions and vague emotional tension?”

“Felicia,” I warned, voice tight.

“Bet he says your name all hushed like he’s afraid it might break him,” she teased, putting her hand to her chest dramatically. “Do you two make meaningful eye contact through the mask?”

I was this close to throwing my soda at her when, “What are you talking about?”

Peter’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

Felicia turned first, then me.

He stood a few feet away, shoulders a little hunched like they always were. His tray was balanced awkwardly in one hand. The other shoved into the pocket of his hoodie.

He wasn’t looking at me.

At all.

Just staring straight at Felicia, as if she was the only one speaking. As if I didn’t exist.

Felicia leaned back, relaxed and amused. “Oh, nothing. Just teasing our girl here about her very punctual walking buddy. You know, the one in bright red spandex?”

Peter blinked once.

His expression didn’t change much, barely a twitch of his jaw. But something shifted in his eyes.

He looked like someone had just pulled the floor out from under him and he didn’t want anyone to see it.

“Spiderman?” he asked. Still not looking at me.

Felicia nodded, watching him like she knew something.

Peter’s mouth pressed into a line.

“Oh,” he said, so flat it might as well have been a whisper.

Then he looked down at his tray, lips parting like he had something else to say. But whatever it was got lost somewhere between his throat and his pride.

And then, he turned.

Didn’t even sit down. Just walked away, moving fast through the crowd, like if he kept going, maybe no one would notice how much it rattled him.

But I did.

I watched the way his shoulders stiffened, the way his head dropped just enough to hide his face. He was halfway across the courtyard before I could even open my mouth.

Felicia let out a low whistle. "Well, that hit a nerve.”

I didn’t say anything.

Not because I didn’t want to, but because my heart was still racing. Because my stomach had dropped the second he walked away like I wasn’t even there.

Later that night, the diner buzzed with the usual hum of coffee cups clinking and the jukebox skipping over scratched tracks. The smell of hash browns lingered in the air, mixed with the sharper scent of burnt grease from the fryer we still hadn’t cleaned out properly.

I tied my apron tighter around my waist and leaned over the counter, watching the front door like I was expecting someone.

Because I was. It was 9:01 p.m.

Not yet.

He’d always shown up just after nine. Maybe this was the night I’d finally ask him why. Or what he wanted. Or, God...maybe even who he was. Because I had suspicions. Small things. A tilt of the head. A hesitant laugh. The way he always fidgeted with the edge of his glove like it didn’t quite fit.

9:02. Still nothing.

I cleaned the espresso machine twice. Dumped the coffee filters. Locked the side door. Nothing.

When I finally stepped outside, the night was heavy. The kind of humid that made my shirt cling to my back and my keys stick in my pocket. I waited.

Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. I for sure missed the bus ride home.

No Spiderman.

No jokes about the guy who tried to rob a bodega with a water gun. No half laughed excuses for showing up late because of a “weird pigeon chase.”

Just silence.

I shoved my hands deep in my jacket pockets and started walking.

The city at night could feel like a thousand different things. A carnival. A war zone. A ghost town.

Tonight it felt like a question I didn’t have an answer to.

I turned the corner onto 53rd and paused beneath a flickering streetlight. Half of me hoped he’d drop down from the fire escape with some sarcastic remark about how dramatic I looked. The other half wasn’t sure what I’d say if he did.

Because I didn’t just miss him. I was starting to worry.

The kind of worry that gnawed at your ribs like guilt.

What if he was hurt? What if those dumb stories about small crimes weren’t dumb at all, what if they were all he could manage between something bigger going on?

What if walking me home was the only time he got to be a kid?

I leaned against the cold brick wall and looked up at the stars. The clouds shifted, swallowing them whole. I waited a few more minutes, then turned and kept walking.

The hum of the city was faint outside my bedroom walls like a lullaby for the restless. A far off siren. The dull roar of traffic several blocks away. Somewhere beneath it all, the low mechanical rattle of a busted air conditioning unit that had lived just outside my window since before I moved in.

My eyes fluttered closed. It had been nearly a week since I’d seen him.

No Spiderman waiting outside the diner. No footsteps alongside mine as I walked home. Just quiet. Empty sidewalk. The usual ache.

I tried not to let it bother me. He didn’t owe me anything. He was a superhero. He had… well, superhero things to do.

But something in my chest ached. And it wasn’t just disappointment.

It was the strange feeling that something had gone wrong. And I keep going back to blaming Peter. It was hard to tell if I missed him, or just missed having someone to be mad at.

My breath evened out. The sheets were tangled around my legs, the night air warm enough that my skin stuck to them. I was just on the edge of sleep when...

Tap. Tap. TapTapTapTap.

I jolted upright.

The sound was fast. Urgent. Desperate. I turned toward the window. At first, I thought I was still dreaming. The sound of my heartbeat in my ears, the sluggish haze of sleep still crawling over my thoughts. But then it came again-

Tap. TapTap.

I scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping on the comforter, and rushed to the window. And there he was.

Spiderman.

Slumped against the frame, one arm barely keeping him upright as his body bobbed and swayed like he couldn’t fully support it. His suit, usually pristine or at worst dust covered, was torn to shreds. His mask clung to his face by threads. One lens was completely cracked.

Blood stained the fabric across his side. Dark. Soaked through.

“Oh my God!"

I fumbled with the latch and shoved the window open, catching him just as his arm slipped. His weight collapsed forward, and I managed to hook my arms beneath his shoulders and pull him inside, barely keeping us both upright as we hit the floor hard.

He didn’t yelp. But he groaned, the sound deep and wet and raw. His head lolled forward, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven bursts.

“What happened?” I whispered, heart pounding as I tried to steady him, get a look at the damage. “Jesus, what the hell happened to you?”

He didn’t answer.

His hand clutched his side. Blood oozed through his fingers. Not fresh, already thickened and sticky, but still coming.

“You need a hospital-"

“No,” he croaked, shaking his head once. “No hospital.”

His voice was so hoarse I almost didn’t recognize it.

“You’re hurt!"

“Please,” he rasped, leaning his head back against the side of my bed. “Just...don’t call anyone. I...I didn’t know where else to go.”

I stared at him.

This wasn’t the same person who made dumb jokes and told me stories about stopping candy bar thieves. This was someone barely hanging on.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I said quietly, eyes scanning his face, trying not to let the panic crawl into my voice. “Why are you here?”

He looked up at me slowly, one good eye catching the light through the broken lens. His breath hitched. “You were the only one I could think of.”

My chest twisted. He sounded terrified. And not just of dying.

But of me seeing him like this.

I knelt beside him, hands trembling as I reached out. “Okay. Okay, just...let me help.”

The suit was sticking to his skin in places, ripped through across his ribs, his shoulder, his thigh. I didn’t even know where to start. But I grabbed the scissors from my drawer, and with every snip, every glimpse of bruised skin or gash, my stomach turned colder.

This wasn’t just a fight. This was something brutal.

“Who did this to you?” I whispered.

He didn’t answer.

His jaw clenched as I peeled back the shredded fabric, revealing a deep gash across his ribs. Clean. Precise. Like something sharp had sliced through.

“You’re lucky it didn’t hit your lungs,” I said without thinking. My hands were moving on instinct, grabbing peroxide, gauze, the kit under my sink I hadn’t touched in months. “Hold this here.”

He nodded weakly and pressed the cloth against the wound.

I worked quietly, trying not to let the tension drown me. But my eyes kept flicking to his face. His mouth. The line of his jaw under the mask.

He wasn’t talking anymore. Just breathing. Barely.

But something about the curve of his brow, the faintest scar above his lip, the line of his throat...it felt familiar.

And that scared the hell out of me.

He shouldn’t feel familiar.

By the time I was done, he was still breathing heavy but stable. I wrapped the worst of the injuries, though he flinched at every touch. His body was lined in bruises, across his ribs, his shoulder, his thigh. His hands were scraped raw, like he’d been dragging himself across pavement.

“You need to sleep,” I said gently, pressing a clean towel to his forehead. “At least for a couple hours.”

He didn’t argue.

I slid a blanket over him and leaned back, sitting on the floor beside the bed. Just staring. Just breathing.

This man, this superhero, had somehow ended up at my window. Beaten. Bleeding. Like I was the only place he could think to go. Like I was his last option.

I watched him sleep. Or maybe just pass out. His chest rose and fell slowly now, his features finally still. And with every second, I found myself leaning closer. Studying him. Trying to see the man under the mask.

And suddenly…

A sick, twisting thought slid into my head.

My back was pressed against the wall, knees pulled into my chest, as I sat on the floor across from him. Spiderman. Passed out. Or unconscious. Or… healing, maybe. I didn’t know how his body worked. Didn’t know if he’d still be breathing in a few hours. All I knew was that he hadn’t moved since he collapsed.

And I hadn’t stopped watching.

The blanket I’d thrown over him had slipped off one shoulder, revealing the edge of the fresh bandage I’d wrapped across his chest. His mask, shredded at the sides, was soaked with dried blood along the seam where his jaw met the fabric. One of his gloves had come halfway off during the fall, exposing bruised knuckles and skin rubbed raw.

He looked human.

Too human.

That was what scared me the most.

I didn’t know his name.

But I swore I knew the shape of his face.

I gnawed at the inside of my cheek, legs cramping beneath me from hours of being still. My eyes burned, but I couldn’t sleep. Not while he was like this. Not while my mind kept playing this twisted, aching guessing game.

I glanced at the clock.

4:42 a.m.

And I was still wide awake.

My eyes dropped to the tear in his mask, to the curve of his jaw barely visible in the streetlight bleeding through the blinds. He had a small scar just beneath the edge of the fabric. One I thought I recognized, but I wasn’t sure.

I shifted slightly, reaching for the glass of water by my bed. My hand paused halfway. I stared at him. My fingers clenched.

What if I just looked? Just a peek?

Just a little. Just enough to confirm it, or put it to rest. One tug, and I’d know. I’d finally know why his voice tugged at something old and bruised inside me. Why he showed up at my diner. Why he looked at me like I was someone worth saving.

I hesitated.

The tip of my finger grazed the fabric just beneath his jaw.

But before I could move further-

“Why are you staring so hard?”

I flinched.

His voice was quiet. Rough from sleep. Barely a whisper. But awake. I yanked my hand back like I’d been burned.

He was still lying down, still weak, but his head had turned slightly, just enough for his half-shattered mask to tilt my way. One eye visible through the fractured lens, tracking me in the dark.

“I..I wasn’t,” I lied instantly, heart pounding.

“Uh huh,” he rasped, sounding more amused than angry. “You’ve been burning a hole in my face for… what? An hour? Two?”

“Three,” I muttered before I could stop myself.

He chuckled, but it turned into a cough...dry and shallow.

“Okay, well… that’s not unsettling at all,” he said between wheezes.

I grabbed the glass and handed it to him. “Drink. Slowly.”

He obeyed, hand trembling slightly as he took it. Water sloshed down the side of his glove. He looked like he’d barely lifted his arm before it gave out, and I had to help him tilt the glass to his mouth. Our fingers brushed.

God, his skin was warm.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I said softly.

His head rested back against the side of the bed. He let out a long breath through the mask, tension easing just a little as the water hit his system.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I think I’d rather be awake with you than bleeding out alone.”

My chest twisted.

“Is that what you were trying to do?”

He didn’t answer.

For a moment, I thought he’d fallen back asleep, but then his fingers twitched against the rim of the glass.

“No,” he said finally. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

I nodded slowly. “You said that.”

“I meant it.”

“Why me?”

The words came out before I could bite them back.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he shifted, painfully, and pulled the blanket back over himself. His arm rested over his ribs, protecting the wound I hadn’t dared look at since wrapping it.

“You were the first person I thought of,” he said finally.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does to me.”

“Why?”

Silence.

Then, so quietly I almost missed it:

“Because I miss you.”

I felt like the floor had dropped out from under me.

“What?”

He tensed, like he hadn’t meant to say it. Like he was suddenly regretting everything.

“You don’t know me,” I said, voice sharp. Too defensive.

His fingers curled slightly against the blanket. “Don’t I?”

I stood up.

He didn’t move, but his head tilted up toward me. That broken mask. That familiar shape beneath it. The bruised lips and scraped jaw. The hesitations in his voice. The way he always laughed like he didn’t think he deserved to.

“Take it off,” I said, the words slipping past my lips like a dare.

He stiffened.

“What?”

“Your mask.”

He didn’t speak.

I crossed my arms. “You came here. You bled out on my floor. You said you miss me. And now you’re hiding again.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“You’re literally wearing a mask.”

His breath hitched. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes,” I said, stepping forward. “It is.”

We stared at each other, the tension coiling between us so thick I could barely breathe.

I waited.

Waited for him to do it.

For him to finally stop lying to me, if not with words, then with that mask. I wasn’t sure what I wanted more: confirmation that it wasn’t him… or proof that it was.

He sat there. Frozen.

Then he looked away.

“I didn’t come here to lie,” he said quietly. “I came because I didn’t know where else to go. And I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

“Well, you nailed it,” I said, breath catching. “Perfect execution.”

He shifted like he wanted to get up, but his body wouldn’t let him. He flinched hard and sank back to the floor.

“I’m sorry.”

His head dropped, mask torn and clinging to his sweat damp skin.

“I didn’t stop thinking about you,” he whispered.

And something in me snapped.

Enough dancing around it. Enough waiting for answers that never came.

My body moved before my thoughts caught up.

I lunged forward, grabbing the torn fabric at his jawline, and yanked.

“Wait!" he gasped, reaching up too late.

The mask peeled away with a desperate rip, half sticking to the dried blood around his cheek, until I was staring, face to face at Peter Parker.

His eyes were wide. Bloodshot. Mouth parted in a shaky breath. Hair matted to his forehead with sweat and ash. And that same scar. That same stupid scar beneath his lip from when he’d fallen off his own skateboard in eighth grade.

Time stopped.

My stomach dropped like an elevator with the cables cut.

“No,” I breathed. “No, no, no..."

“I was going to tell you!" His hands come up defensively.

“You’re Spiderman?” My voice cracked.

“I didn’t know how..."

“Oh my God,” I choked out, stumbling back. “I told you things. I told Spiderman things..personal things. Things I never would’ve said to you.”

Peter winced like I’d hit him.

“I didn’t come here to hurt you!"

“But you did!” My heart was racing. Too fast. My chest felt tight. “You stood there. Night after night. Listening to me. Pretending to be someone else. Do you have any idea how messed up that is?”

“I just wanted to be close to you again,” he said helplessly.

“So you put on a mask?” I snapped. “You let me think you were someone safe, someone who didn’t betray me. I trusted him. Spiderman.”

“I am him,” he whispered.

“No,” I said, tears stinging my eyes. “You’re Peter Parker. You’re the guy who broke me.”

He looked like he wanted to say something, anything, but his mouth just opened and closed, useless.

And all I could do was stand there, shaking, staring down at the boy who had left me once… and had the nerve to sneak back into my life wearing someone else’s face.

“You don’t get to do this,” I whispered. “You don’t get to be both.”

I stood facing the wall, arms wrapped around myself like I could physically hold everything in. Like I could somehow stop the tears burning in my eyes from spilling over. Peter hadn’t moved. I could still hear his breathing, uneven, shallow. But not from pain.

From guilt.

And good. Let it crush him.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” I said, my voice low and shaking.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he said again, weaker this time.

“You could’ve gone to Gwen,” I spat, turning sharply. “Or was she busy playing nurse for Harry Osborn?”

The words slipped out sharper than I meant them. But I didn’t care. Felicia had told me that Gwen Stacy wasn't being faithful to Peter, but a part of me was happy that she wasn't. Serves him right

Peter’s head dropped slightly. The cut across his brow had started bleeding again, the trail running down toward his temple. His lips parted like he was going to lie, then didn’t bother.

“She’s not with me,” he said. “Not anymore.”

My eyes narrowed. “What, she break up with you before or after you decided to play dress up and follow me home for two weeks?”

“She’s with Harry,” he said, quietly now. “Or… seeing him. I don’t know. They’ve been close for a while. We broke up a few weeks ago.”

I blinked. “So you came running to me? After that fell apart?”

“No,” he said quickly. “That’s not, God, that’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?”

He opened his mouth, but I was already moving.

I crossed the room, grabbing the mask from the floor where it had fallen, holding it in my fist like evidence. Like a confession I hadn’t agreed to.

“You showed up outside the diner. Every single night. You let me talk to you. Confide in you. You let me believe you were someone else. You knew what you were doing.”

“I didn’t mean to manipulate you,” he said, hoarse.

“Bullshit,” I snapped. “You knew exactly what you were doing. You knew I’d never open up to you. Not after what happened. So you hid. You made yourself into someone else. And I...I let myself feel safe with you. Because I didn’t know.”

Peter pushed himself up slightly, wincing as his ribs pulled under the bandages. He sat back against the bed frame, eyes never leaving me.

“I wasn’t pretending,” he said. “Everything I said to you, as Spiderman it was all real. That was still me.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” I demanded. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because I knew you’d hate me for it.”

“You were right.”

We stared at each other.

The silence was raw. It filled every crack between us. Every piece of unfinished history.

“I never stopped caring about you,” he said quietly.

I laughed. It was bitter and broken. “You had a real funny way of showing it.”

“I made a mistake,” he said. “With Gwen. With everything. But I couldn’t undo it. And I didn’t know how to fix it. So I just… became someone else.”

“So this was what? A redemption tour?”

“No,” he said. “It was me trying to protect you."

“From what? You? Because newsflash, Parker, you’re the one who hurt me. Not Spiderman. Not Gwen. You.”

His jaw tightened. “I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“You knew enough to lie to my face.”

“I wanted to be near you again,” he admitted. “And I thought if you didn’t know it was me, maybe I could just be there for you in the only way you’d let me.”

“That’s not love,” I said coldly. “That’s manipulation.”

He flinched at that.

“I know,” he whispered. “I just… missed you.”

The words should’ve hit softer. But they didn’t.

They just burned.

I crossed my arms tighter over my chest, every muscle pulled so tight I thought I might snap in half.

“You took something from me, Peter,” I said. “You took safety. You took honesty. You took the one place I could finally breathe again after what you did.”

“I didn’t mean to..."

“But you did.” My voice cracked. “You took all of that and gave me lies. You stood under that mask and let me think I wasn’t talking to you. You made me trust you again without even giving me the chance to decide if I wanted to.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, again, helpless.

I dropped the mask at his feet like it weighed too much to hold anymore. He leaned forward, one hand pressed to his side, breathing hard.

“I didn’t want you to hate me forever,” he said.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have left.”

The air between us grew sharp with all the things we couldn’t say.

I hated that he looked like this, broken, bruised, real. I hated that he had come to me at his most vulnerable, that he still sounded like the boy I used to love. That for two weeks, I let myself pretend there was someone else out there who saw me, really saw me, and it had been him the whole time.

And worst of all?

Some part of me still cared.

That part made me furious.

I turned away, jaw locked, chest burning.

“You can stay until the bleeding stops,” I said. “Then you need to go.”

Peter didn’t argue. But I saw the way his shoulders dropped. Like he’d already known there was no fixing this.

I couldn’t stop shaking.

I lay curled on my side in bed, arms wrapped tight around my torso like it could somehow hold in the storm still crashing through my chest. The blanket was thin, the kind you don’t notice until you’re cold and alone beneath it. It had never felt so heavy. Or so useless.

Behind me, the silence stretched.

Peter hadn’t said another word since I told him he could stay until the bleeding stopped. He didn’t plead. Didn’t push back. And that silence? It felt worse than if he had screamed.

Because it meant he knew.

He knew what he’d done to me.

The ache behind my eyes burned deeper. I blinked up at the ceiling for a long while, willing the tears not to fall.

Eventually, I heard him move. The faint rustle of cloth. A low, strained grunt as he shifted his weight and tried to sit up straighter. It sounded like it hurt.

Good.

“…I’ll take the floor,” he muttered after a moment. His voice was hoarse, less like a superhero now and more like a boy with broken ribs and nowhere to go.

I didn’t answer.

Not because I didn’t have anything to say, but because if I opened my mouth, I was afraid I wouldn’t stop. I’d pour out every fractured piece of me he didn’t deserve to hear anymore.

So I stayed still. Silent. Facing the wall.

The blanket shifted slightly as I adjusted my legs. I pretended to settle, like I was slipping into sleep. I wasn’t. I was wide awake. Every nerve lit up. Every part of me aware of his body on the floor just feet away. The low creak of him pulling one of the old throw pillows from the chair. The soft drag of fabric across carpet as he eased himself down, his breath catching when his side touched the ground.

My fists were still clenched beneath the covers.

How many nights had I thought about what I’d say if I ever saw him again?

How many times had I imagined him showing up at my door, not like this, not bleeding, but something real. A conversation. An apology. Honesty.

Instead, he wore a mask and stole my secrets like they were owed to him.

I told Spiderman things I would’ve died before telling Peter Parker. And now I had to live with that.

The minutes blurred. A numb, fragile kind of quiet settled between us. Not peaceful. Never peaceful. But quiet enough that I could hear his breathing even out. Slow. Shallow. Exhausted.

I tried to let myself drift too.

But sleep didn’t come. My mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

Did he come here just to guilt me? Was this whole thing just another one of his cowardly ways of being near me without taking responsibility? Without having to stand in front of me as himself?

Was I really that easy to fool?

And still… part of me had noticed the way he looked at me. Even with the mask. Like I was something safe. Like he wasn’t Spiderman. Just Peter. Just a boy who still carried everything he’d broken and didn’t know how to ask for forgiveness.

Zzzzt.

The sound of a zipper sliding open tore through the stillness like a blade.

My breath hitched.

I didn’t move. My eyes stayed shut, but behind my eyelids, everything sharpened. I could hear it all, clearer than before.

Another soft shift.

The metallic click of something being fastened closed again.

Then silence.

Then

Creakkkkk.

The groan of my bedroom window being slid open. The faint rattle of the glass as it moved against old, crooked tracks. I knew that sound. I’d heard it before, every night, for two weeks, when he arrived. Now I was hearing it in reverse.

Cool air slipped into the room like a whisper, brushing against my cheek.

I kept still.

I couldn’t look.

I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me watch him leave.

There was a pause.

Long enough that I could feel it. Like he was hesitating. Like he was looking at me. Maybe wondering if he should say something. Or waiting for me to stop him.

I didn’t.

I refused.

Because if I said anything now, it would undo me.

And he didn’t deserve that.

Click.

The window slid closed again, softer than it opened. Gently. Carefully. He didn’t slam it. He didn’t try to be dramatic.

And this time, he didn’t take anything with him. Not the blood-stained gauze. Not the shredded gloves or the cracked mask still lying on my floor like a discarded lie. He didn’t even grab his hoodie or the spare web cartridges I’d noticed fall out of his pocket when I dragged him in.

My chest rose and fell in sharp, shallow waves. I pressed my hand to my mouth as a shaky breath slipped out.

He was gone.

He was really gone.

And somehow… it didn’t feel like relief. It felt like something else. Like an exit wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

The room was quiet again.

I rolled onto my back, blinking at the ceiling. The city sounds returned through the window he’d left from distant tires, a train groaning far away, someone yelling on a rooftop two buildings over. Normal things.

Everyday life.

But nothing about tonight had been everyday.

I turned my head and stared at the space where he’d laid just minutes before.

Along with his mask.

It sat on the floor a few feet away, crumpled and stained with sweat and blood. Torn along the jaw where I’d ripped it off. I couldn’t stop looking at it. As if the longer I stared, the more it would start to mean something different.

But it didn’t.

It just looked like betrayal.

Everything he’d been hiding behind. Everything I’d been honest with. Every part of myself I’d handed over without knowing who was beneath it.

I hated that I had loved Spiderman. And I hated that it had always been Peter.

I dozed in and out, mind drifting like the flicker of a broken streetlamp...never fully off, never fully on. I saw pieces of him in every shadow. Heard the rasp of his voice every time the floor creaked. And when I dreamed, I dreamed of red and blue fabric, unraveling in my hands like threadbare promises.

When I finally sat up, the sun hadn’t even breached the horizon. The sky outside was a dusky gray, the color of bruised clouds right before a storm. My mouth was dry. My legs heavy. But I couldn’t stay in bed.

Not with all of it still clinging to the walls.

I threw off the blanket and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, only to stumble forward as my foot caught on something near the floor.

My shin knocked against it hard. “Ow! what the hell?”

I rubbed the spot and looked down.

A box.

Wrapped in Christmas paper.

I blinked.

It was a clean, glossy red and white print sleighs and reindeer, pine trees and gold stars. A little crumpled from where I’d tripped, but otherwise still folded. The edges were too precise to be accidental. Tucked corners. Sharp tape lines. Someone had taken their time with it.

There was no tag. No name.

Just… the box.

I stared at it for a second. Confused. Christmas was months ago. And no one had given me anything wrapped like this. Definitely not Peter.

I sat down slowly, legs crossed under me, the lamp still off. The morning light was enough just enough to trace my fingers along the edges, like I expected it to vanish if I touched it too hard.

My heart picked up. I turned on the lamp.

Then, slowly, carefully, I peeled back the tape.

It wasn’t loud, but it felt loud in the quiet. Every rip echoed in my chest.

When I lifted the lid off the box, my breath caught.

Inside, resting on a nest of old newspaper, was a skateboard.

But not just any skateboard.

It was my skateboard.

Or, at least, the exact one I’d lost the night I first met Spiderman.

Oscorp Limited Edition. Matte black finish. Neon green logo across the bottom. The wheels were still scuffed in the same spots I remembered from the sidewalk crack outside the bodega where I bailed that one time. Even the little sticker I’d put on the underside, a stupid holographic frog wearing sunglasses, was still there.

I stared.

My mouth opened slowly, but no words came out.

My chest ached. It had been found.

Kept. Cared for.

I traced my fingers over the deck. The feel of it was familiar. It still held a faint scratch down the side from the time I tried to bomb that hill on 8th and barely escaped with my kneecaps intact.

I didn’t know what to feel.

A laugh slipped out. Barely a breath. Tired. Crooked.

“Christmas in May,” I muttered.

And it hit me then, this was why he came here.

Not just for a place to heal. Not just because he didn’t know where else to go.

He had planned this.

He had brought it with him. Maybe not sure if I’d ever see it. Maybe hoping I would. Maybe it was some last ditch gesture he couldn’t bear to say out loud. Maybe he thought this would make it better.

It didn’t.

But God, it hurt in a different way.

Because despite everything, he’d remembered.

He had kept it.

Some part of him had held on to a piece of me even when I couldn’t do the same for him.

I set the skateboard down slowly, gently, like it was something fragile. Then I sat back on my heels, staring at it. Wondering how someone who had lied to me so completely could still be capable of something so impossibly kind.

I sat in silence, the weight of the skateboard warm against my thighs, like it belonged there. Like it had never been gone at all.

The wrapping paper lay scattered around me, torn at the edges, wrinkled like it had been carried in a backpack for weeks. Maybe it had. The box was dented on one side, like he’d dropped it once and debated whether or not to keep going.

Of course he had.

That was Peter. Always second-guessing. Always stumbling toward what he thought was the right thing, even if it came too late.

I brushed my fingers over the tail of the board, sighing softly, when something caught my eye.

A small piece of tape.

I leaned forward and peeled it back from the inside lid of the box. Folded neatly beneath it, almost invisible unless you were looking for it, was a small square of notebook paper. Lined. Torn from the middle of a page.

My name wasn’t on it.

My fingers trembled slightly as I unfolded it.

The handwriting was unmistakable, sharp and cramped and a little uneven, like he was always writing in a rush. Probably because he was.

I read slowly.

Hey,

Sorry for missing a few days of walking you home. Was busy saving the world.

You know how it is.

Anyway…

I remembered how upset you were when you lost this. Figured maybe you’d want it back. Or maybe you’d throw it at me. Either way, worth the risk.

Also, I was wondering if you’d want to go to lunch sometime. I know a cool place a few miles from your diner. Best sandwiches in Queens. Outdoor seating.

Just… think about it, okay?

From,

Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man.

I sat there, the note trembling slightly in my hands.

A laugh caught in my throat, wet and sharp and stupid.

He was such an idiot.

An idiot who remembered my favorite skateboard. Who taped a note to the inside of a box like it was a middle school locker. Who had the nerve to make me feel something again after everything.

And despite everything in me screaming that it wasn’t fair, that it wasn’t enough.

Part of me smiled.

Just a little.

DIVIDER BY: @bernardsbendystraws

Tag List: @bartxnhood @k-pevensie28 @derangedangel @personalfavsthatarerandom @thegirlinthemaroonsweater

[tgmsunmontue]

A picture is worth 1000 words - 6/?

Hangster post-TGM events, Jake and Bradley becoming friends on Instagram through increasingly competitive thirst traps.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE

PART SIX

              “Fuck me…” Jake says under his breath.

              “Jake! Language!”

              “Sorry. Sorry. You know, that was a bad word…” Jake says to his niece and nephew, who both nod solemnly.

              “We know. Mom says it all the time.”

              Jake snorts, looks to Kara and she’s looking a combination of resigned and betrayed, and he holds back a laugh but she can obviously tell and she pokes her tongue out at him and he raises an eyebrow, looks at her kids tellingly.

              “What’s got you all worked up anyway?”

              “Uh. Nothing,” Jake says, quickly locking his phone and sliding it into his pocket. He’s changed the pin and added the fingerprint option, because he doesn’t trust her at all. But instead of grabbing for his phone she’s pulling her own out and when he cranes his neck he can see her looking at exactly the thing that had him swearing.

              “Gosh. He scrubs up well doesn’t he?”

              “Since when are you friends with Rooster on Instagram?” Jake asks, because he only became friends with him on Instagram and he saved his fucking life.

              “Since I sent him a friend request. I sent a few friend requests actually…”

              “Oh no…” Jake starts, remembering just in time to hold back all the curse words on the tip of his tongue. “Why?”

              “Entertainment mostly. And I have some questions which I know you won’t answer…” Kara says, and she’s tapping away at her phone and Jake wants to know what she’s doing and who she’s doing it with. His money is on Phoenix

              “Uh… okay. What… hmm,” Jake lets his thoughts trail off and picks his phone back up and opens up the photo again, takes in the cut of the suit and line of Bradshaw’s legs. He’s got nice legs. Then he forces himself to read the text, drag his eyes away from the picture. For a brief moment he thinks Rooster went and got married before he reads the best man duties hashtag, and then there’s a proof of life hashtag, a shoutout to Jake’s comment on the last post that Jake commented on.

              Then he gets to Kara’s comment, inviting Rooster to come and use their pool to cool down and he rolls his eyes. It's wasted because she doesn’t see him do it, still engrossed with whatever she’s doing, of which he’s now incredibly suspicious about. He wants to comment, but he’s not sure what to say. Bradshaw somehow looks better in a suit than shirtless. He wears the suit confidently and Jake wants to peel it off him. Won’t say that of course, even if he’s thinking it. But it does give him an idea, and he taps out his comment with a grin.

SEVEN

[queerly-autistic]

I've been thinking about potential pick-up of Our Flag Means Death by another streamer, and how it all might be tying in with the current BBC release, and I have some thoughts about what might be happening and what we can do to give the show the best chance of being picked up.

I think it's important to start by saying that all the whisperings that I heard over the past few months (including from some people who work at/with the BBC) pointed firmly towards a scheduled March release for Our Flag Means Death on the BBC. Needless to say, this means I was extremely surprised when they suddenly announced it was dropping at the beginning of February. I think it's also clear from everything I've seen that the BBC's marketing/social media plan for the release was not ready for February (there was no trailer, which was odd), which, again, really supports the idea that the show was initially schedule for a March release, not a February release.

I firmly believe the release was brought forward. The question is: why? Is it because they saw how much noise and press the show (and our campaign) was getting, and decided to try and capitalise on it? Or is there something else going on?

On top of that, we now have specific questions about Our Flag Means Death appearing on YouGov UK, including asking whether respondents would watch another series. This doesn't just happen. The charity I work for has commissioned YouGov polling (including some very recently) which I have been tangentially involved with, and so I know that this sort of polling is not easy work, and it's not cheap. Someone has put time AND money into commissioning this polling. This is significant. Someone is not only watching, but they are specifically watching the UK response to the show, and putting questions to the UK audience about it.

I have strong suspicions that a streamer (or several streamers) are interested in picking up the show, and are using the UK release as a live case study (Apple, Amazon and Netflix also have a presence in the UK, so we are a big target audience for them in a way we never were for Max). This could account for both the potential bringing forward of the BBC release (they didn't want to wait until March), and the YouGov polling that's going on (bear in mind, the YouGov questions were specifically as part of a wider survey about streaming services).

And this isn't just a passing interest: working with the BBC to bring forward the release, and investing time and money into YouGov polling? That's a strong interest. That's so interested they've already invested something into it.

Of course, I don't know anything for certain, so take everything with a pinch of salt (it's just a theory...a gay pirates theory...), but I think it's something to consider as a strong possibility.

So what does this mean for us?

It means we need to keep streaming on iPlayer. Watch it as many times as you can. Share it with your friends and family. If you're outside the UK, get yourself a VPN and join the party. Watch the live broadcasts on Monday nights (if you have iPlayer, you can stream the live broadcast - this is what I do because I don't have a TV). Keep tweeting about it (add the #OurFlagBBC hashtag to the existing hashtags we're using). Tag and email the UK media (including TV guides and radio shows) and ask them to talk about the show/our campaign. If you're tagging/emailing Apple, Amazon or Netflix, make sure you mention you're from the UK (and tag their UK specific social media accounts).

According to Parrot Analytics, the demand in the UK for the show is rising - let's keep adding to that!

You can also sign up to YouGov and rate the show (more instructions in the quote retweets of the tweet I linked to earlier), and keep answering questions about TV shows and streaming (and marking Our Flag Means Death as one of your interests) as a way to try and get them to give you the specific questions about the show (these start as a question about streaming and streaming services, which then turn into questions about OFMD, so if you get a survey like that, take it!).

It's also worth considering that if there's any validity to this, then there's a possibility that they might be waiting until after the show has finished airing in the UK (the finale is airing on 25th March) to crunch all the numbers together. This means that if we don't hear anything in the next few weeks, do not despair! We need to buckle in for a long fight, and to keep pushing the show and making noise over the next few weeks and months, especially around the BBC release.

This show is worth the fight. Let's get our damned men back!

[plor-bindery]

Bound: Truth to Materials

It’s done!

I have a colour printer now. Can you tell? Lol.

This is, of course, a bind of my own co-authored fic with lately, who is not on Tumblr much/at all, and not under that name. (Apparently I continue to have the idea that I must try out new techniques on my own work first?)

The fic features artist Draco, so I went with that theme for the book design. I also used Canva for the first time, which was a mix of frustration (“whyyyy doesn’t it do this thing Illustrator does???”) and joy (so! much! stock! art!!!) I actually wound up banging the cover doc back into Illustrator because I didn’t trust the lack of guides and dimensions for measuring the cover, but the export was fairly seamless, so that was fine.

Back cover blurbs feat. @moonflower-rose because their comment made me lol so much when I went digging for gold in the comments. Also @thehoneybeet! (I feel weird putting my own reviews on the cover but I’m pretending they’re all directed at lately.)

More blathering under the cut.

For the wrap cover: glossy legal photo paper laminated in a matte legal 3mil pouch — two covers back to back so only the front gets laminated. I actually tried this first on plain paper but the ink bled in spots from the glue moisture and the whole thing delaminated as the glue struck through. I think the glossy coating provides a better barrier between ink and glue. I also used straight PVA on the second go, reasoning that it carries less water. Seemed to work?

Ran into some troubles with hinges delaminating, though, I think more from flexing and the bone folder than moisture? I can see why the IG Dramione binding girlies use the soft touch laminate — less than half the thickness. I haven’t bought any yet though, not sure I am that keen?

The endpapers are foiled but I was annoyed with the folding obscuring the words — might have to be more cautious with that in future.

All the chapter headers are artworks pulled from the bestmuseumbum hashtag on the bird site. It was very fun finding them. (This fic started with a Louvre visit in which lately and I very maturely admired many sculpted arses so there’s a theme.)

Endbands are sewn with embroidery floss and they came out sooo shiny and neat. One strand of floss per wrap is the way to go, even though it’s slow and fine work.

The rest of the bind is unremarkable — legal quarto, sewn French links, bradel-style case.

The cover came out quite 90s which I kind of love. As I’ve said before, and at risk of dating both of us, co-author lately and I met in our young teens, and that was…in the 90s. The earlier part. So a 90s vibe cover for the first fic we managed to co-write since that time? Perfect. Saved by the Bell goodness.

So… cover wraps… I am not sure! I think it’s probably cheaper than even homemade book cloth, but I imagine the archival quality is not great with all the plastic involved. But then same with HTV. I will almost certainly do it again, especially if I want to do something like a book that’s disguised as a textbook or magazine. While I love the artwork available in Canva, I definitely felt like my own creativity was less present? Hard to describe.

One little technical problem that I’m solving: endpapers didn’t stick to the hinge insides fully, not sure if the wrapped spine is too wide or it’s a lamination not liking glue thing or… but the problem is minor. Something to troubleshoot next time.

[lovelykil]

kinda scared my first time requesting something but could you do a killua x reader where the reader is a idol and killua and reader have like a secret relationship tysm i love your fanfics btw

pizza—

ᯓ killua

oneshot

note; well my brain was working but then it crashed so this is sooo buns 😭😭🙏🏾 but you did an awesome job so don't worry 🫶🏾 I did not proof read this

"y/n, you're on in 10 minutes... where's your outfit?"

"how am I supposed to know— I thought JJ was getting it from the place."

"that was like 20 minutes ago?!" Your manager, Julissa begins to pace around your dressing room, gnawing at her fingertips in a state of worry. You are sat in front of your vanity with the various hair stylists and makeup artists surrounding you like a sworn of bees. This was nothing new but you have to admit, it does get pretty overwhelming when there's constantly a makeup brush in your face or someone's fingers picking at your hair.

you swipe on your phone, scrolling through various posts made about you by your loyal fans. They were posting about your upcoming show with various creative hashtags and cute handmade posters. You absolutely adored your fans they meant everything to you if it wasn't for them— you wouldn't even be here today.

'YORKNEW'S TOP IDOL, (your idol name)'

but with every famous idol, there comes some—or many complications like who were you dating?

what's your sexual orientation? You know, the usual. You've seen some posts made on TikTok that apparently you were with some chick? Which that CHICK happen to be your manager.

people always mistake you two for a secret gay couple which was funny when you told her about these absurd rumors.

you love the girl, but you had someone else on your mind.

"Isa," you say, placing your phone down for a moment. You swat away the professionals working on your appearance to sit up and walk over to your loyal best friend. Julissa looks up from her phone with an anxious expression painted over her tinted face.

you sigh and rub her shoulders carefully, "It's okay, things are going to be okay. Do you know how many times JJ is late with these things?" You snicker. She pinches the bridge of her nose with a faint sigh, "Gosh, why do we still have him?"

"because he sells me that good stuff." You wink. Julissa gives you a look that makes you chuckle nervously. "I'm kidding!"

"you better but, later save me some green." She winks back at you, a mischievous glint in her eyes. You smile at your bestfriend and nod.

"of course."

you slide your hand off her shoulder when you hear a knock at the door, Julissa is the first to look with an eager expression. "Is that JJ?" She runs after the door, you following along.

when the two of you reach the door she swings it open about to make a scene when she suddenly comes to an abrupt halt. It wasn't JJ.

"who is it?" In a curious tone, you ask as you move to the side of the door to get a clear view.

your eyes widen when you see the mysterious person.

"It's you again," your bestfriend sets a hand on her hip. You look at the silverette as he holds a fresh and hot pizza box.

"yeah, someone ordered pizza again." He responds almost sarcastically. The two glare at each other as if there is some weird rivalry going on between them while you stand awkwardly in silence. You clear your throat suddenly and smack your lips.

"uhmm okay! Can you guys get out for some privacy reasons?" You turn toward your staff, they look at each other oblivious then shrug and leave the room, walking past the silverette with no other thoughts. You motion the boy to come inside with a finger, Julissa watches him carefully.

as you walk to your wallet you turn towards your bestfriend with a sheepish smile, "Hey do you mind giving us some privacy real quick as well? I uhm, just need to tell him something." Julissa looks at you then the 'pizza deliver' then back at you. Her sharp suspicious glare spoke volumes when she sighs and leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

you wait till you hear the door click to let out a sigh.

"I think that went well." You smile, looking at him. Killua looks at you with a eyebrow.

"you think?" you set your wallet down and walk towards him, he sets the pizza down on a table nearby and watches you as you grow near.

"I've missed you." You mutter. You cup his pretty face to squish his cheeks together. He makes some disturbed noises as you play with his face with a laugh.

"I can tell.." killua grips your wrist causing you to stop messing with his face. You look at him and smile nervously, he looks unfazed but smiles nonetheless.

his sapphire eyes softening in your gaze as he leans in, still holding onto your wrists. As soon as you know it his lips are against yours, such a electrifying sensation you missed so terribly.

you couldn't exactly kiss him in public, it would be too much of a risk, so moments like these were crucial and special to the both of you. You tilt your head and kiss the boy back with some force, you feel him smile against your lips just causing you to do the same.

after a few minutes or so you let him go to pant heavily, you hadn't left his eyes which were now burning with unspoken desire... It made your tummy flutter when he stared at you like that, made you nervous...

you playful push him away with a bashful smile, "you know we can't do anything now.."

"not even a—"

"no, killua." You interrupt with your sharp glare. He backs off and pouts. "You're no fun."

"and you're a pervert." You smile, walking over to peck his cheek and continue to the door. He follows behind, restraining himself from grabbing you by the waist and tonguing you down.

"thanks for the pizza, I'll make sure to pay you back." You wink, a coy smile evident in your lips. Killua reaches for the handle, "Yeah I want my money back, you big back." He teases.

you roll your eyes, playfully flipping him off. He returns the gesture with his tongue out, you smile at this and groan.

"bye asshole!"

"bye idiot." With that you two stare at each other with a loving glint before he leaves you with his hands tucked into his pockets. You open the door and watch him leave with a longing look. Little did you know Julissa was lingering around the door and spooked you.

"you're fucking the pizza guy??"

"HOLY SHI—"

[deskraven]

Thoughts on how the Terrans will cope with Human Family Member Death

(Inspired by @wiltyard's post)

I would assume the Terrans are aware of the life expectancy difference between them and their human family right now. They have witness human death twice, and transformer "death" twice. It would be weird if the parents haven't yet talked to them on the topic of death. In addition, Jawbreaker was well aware that transformer life expectancy is longer than "10 thousand years".

Thoughts on their reactions:

Nightshade takes it really well. They are probably aware of the fact even before they started regarding Alex and Dot as their parents. (I'm going down the path of S1E13's early storyboard, where Nightshade took some time to actually accept the human Maltos as family.) They would continue to take it really well throughout the next 100 years. They would be prepared for their human family's aging and take good care of them. They would do their best on researching human medical problems but at the same time respect their medical decisions. They would be present at all the funerals, probably even giving an eulogy if Twitch and Thrash are not present. They would be sad to lose them but they won't break - at least at first. They feel more like the type to break years/decades after the funerals.

Hashtag also realized this fact really early. She kinda just brushed the unpleasant thought away, unwilling to think too deep into it. When her family is talking about the topic, she would pretend she's taking it well but is actually quite terrified. She might feel more comfortable talking to non-family members about this. Eventually someone (Twitch?) will notice and approach her. But when the time actually comes she might still need a while to process the loss. I can imagine the grandkids / great grandkids of Robby and Mo asking their parents "Why does great aunt Hashtag stop visiting?" because she kinda just disappeared for years/decades after Robby and Mo passed away.

Twitch would be aware of this early too. She would feel obliged to be mature, thinking that she needs to stay emotionally strong for her family. Her stress is obvious thought - she's hyperactive, overworking herself during trainings, helping too much with the family chores, etc. Robby would talk to her about this, express his own insecurities on the faraway future, and they will figure things out. When death is actually approaching, Twitch would be quite stressed again. She would push all her important work aside to take care of her parents (even though they already have more care than they need). She would try to stay with them all the time, saying she's more suited for the job because she's about human height and doesn't get tired. And she would really, really want her human family to stay, to the point that it might be a little bit unhealthy.

Thrash is aware of the life expectancy difference, but it would take him a while to realize what this actually implies. The moment of realization would be a shock for him, then he would be in denial. Mo might actually fuel in with the denial, saying they might have a longer life expectancy due to Quintus power. He would be quite angered by the time they realize Quintus power doesn't work this way / or when one of his human family express the desire to live a normal life and die naturally. It's a quite standard 5 stages of grief except that he would be stuck in an endless loop of denial and anger and bargaining. I think he would be the one who harbors the strongest negative feelings over this, and it will be a recurring thing throughout his life. He would snap if someone outside the family brings up the topic. And he might not be present at the funerals. Losing Mo would definitely be a devasting thing for him - the bond between them is just too important and too special. He's her Rocinante and he feels incomplete without her.

Jawbreaker would be very obvious about not taking it well. He probably wouldn't realize the life expectancy problem on his own and needs to be informed, then he just starts bawling his eyes out, which is honestly a relief for Dot and Alex because this is the same reaction Robby and Mo had when they were first introduced to the concept of death (at the age of 5 or something). This is a recurring thing for him too - for a few years, whenever someone brings up this problem he just starts crying. I think he would say some innocent disturbing things like "I would die with you! 🥹" He would probably accept a religious/spiritual explanation like "We will still be with you even though you won't be able to see us or interact with us. / We will meet again in afterlife." He might become religious solely for this reason. But which religion? Can he still "join the Matrix" or "join the AllSpark" if he was born from the Emberstone? But then can humans join the AllSpark/Emberstone? Should he pick a human religion instead? Can a terran join human heaven in afterlife? How does reincarnation work? Can he reincarnate into a human? Could he be the reincarnation of a human? His family would need to deal with questions like these for a good while (which is actually really helpful for all of them).

[adhdo5]

I was prompted to post these a bit ago bc of my madness posting abt the Xiyao laundry audioextra upload someone posted like last week and I think there is really a lot there in the Xiyao laundry thing in general (hashtag release the Yunping tapes) and not all of it is smth I see ~talked abt as much as I think it deserves SO . Collected thoughts on Xiyao laundry

OK so like Yeah they're cute. I absolutely get why people's primary reaction to this is that it's cute and I think this is not even wrong. The politics of uselessness r complicated and I Will be returning to this but a legitimate angle of this is that LXC, who has spent his life largely defined by the fact that he pretty much excels at everything expected of him, has nothing expected of him and gets to be incompetent at something he ~feels obligated to do and have that not actually be a fail state, still get offered the same kindness regardless of his ability to be exceedingly capable/responsible etc.; meanwhile MY, who historically has had pretty much no one ever gaf about whether he's struggling or overworked or generally about him as a person (and the audiodrama extra version even has a bit where MY's coworkers are shit talking him including talking abt how he's probably not even actually doing any work), has someone earnestly caring about that, if ineffectually, and materially recognizing his workload as important and effortful and trying to help him with it. That is I think legitimately kind of sweet! Especially if one interprets the "he didn't even know who I was" line as true and as in the audiodrama extra this is set b4 MY figures it out! They appreciate each other in ways they don't usually get to be appreciated and it's nontransactional in this way and ;x;

HOWEVER. #Nuance. There's Other Angles.

I've talked abt this before inc on my blog but I do kind of never get tired of thinking abt it: there's a reason LXC is incapable of doing laundry and it's not just inexperience it's that he is physically incapable of the task bc of his cultivator strength!!!!! And the disparity of cultivation level is explicitly a class thing w/ JGY wrt 3zun especially!!! No matter his intention Zewu-jun CANNOT SULLY HIS HANDS WITH THE TASK bangs my head against a wall. It's such an innocuous detail yet it captures how from even this early on in their relationship and in this context it's not ignorable how much LXC is in fact a nobleman where JGY is not and this is a literal physical difference and it's in his very flesh and it has explicitly destructive results. See again vampire AU posting

And going off that it's notable how this does in fact also end up creating more work and while MY doesn't begrudge that in the moment and it's pettier here and arguably inextricable with the first point (LXC is not only incapable here he's actively bad at something, he actively makes smth worse and he's forgiven for it and that's genuinely kind of nice) it's it's also worth noting more grimly given how their relationship ends. It's not just destructive it's destructive to MY specifically

And on the notes of "inextricable from first point but also tragic" – it's sweet tht LXC gets no external consequences for this (yet lol) but is that really something he can Accept. It is an arguably underexamined element of Sunshot Xiyao how fucking miserable LXC is; he might be in an environment where this isn't fucking him up but he did bring his complexes here and you don't suddenly know how to accept that kind of grace yknow – and, and this is tangentially related to the stuff I was posting earlier today, this is one of the first of several kinds of vulnerability that LXC's almost only able to experience with MY/JGY. Considering how much that's arguably a running theme for them and considering where that leads that's also quite Foreshadowing Dismal!!

This is an audio drama exclusive but the way in the audiodrama extra ver that MY realizes who LXC is here and then ~lies about it is also crunchy as helllllll

AND between the coworkers thing in the audiodrama extra and the added scenes in the donghua and this and the notion in general (which comes from MXTX's post) that it's important they do the laundry themselves bc the robes would give LXC away it's a highlight of how genuinely precarious this is for MY which is another thing that both makes it more sweet and more. Despair.

It's just so lovely how it is both indicative of how genuinely good they are to and for each other, the ways in which they're meaningfully and significantly compassionate and helpful to one another, and also of the ways in which their situation here is precarious and high-stress and dangerous as fuck, AND also the ways in which they hurt each other so so bad, and how all of those things are largely different facets of the same qualities and the same significances. And That's My Post. Stream Apple Pie by the Scary Jokes

[oppipopi]

fusions... again

It's time to add a hashtag

Plum

very homebody and not an adventurer at all

the social battery is quickly running out

does not get enough sleep (

very controlling, does not tolerate when something goes wrong according to his plan

caring, but shows it badly

loves loose gracefully flowing things

Ring

Pedant

looks and talks as if he is constantly flirting with you, but in reality nothing of the sort

very polite and well-mannered

(obviously it's from King)

Insinuating low voice

Coffee (yoink au)

6 fingers!!!!

prone to Self-admiration

married at work

will keep silent, but with What a face

he likes sweet pastries

the king of mini golf and billiards

SecRed

silly

good guy, but that won't stop him from kicking someone's ass

has poor control over his strength and isn't used to his size

it's useless to try to comb his hair

Peach

AAAAA WOMAN

business aunt

the best mom, loves to spoil her children and perhaps allows them too much

drinks a glass of wine every evening for peace of mind

super non-conflict, master of compromise (in fact, she makes you think that her ideas are your ideas)

if she had a workplace it would be filled with flowers

expensive perfume, as the meaning of life

only linen and cotton clothes

ChoReg

I'm not really a big fan of crackships, but these two… I'm obsessed with them

4 arms to kick someone's ass twice as effectively

the perfect fighter

an extremely strong sense of justice

can't stand weaklings who don't try to get stronger

Violet (tdl+purple)

thinks he's better than others

looks and talks like he's doing a huge favor

pubertal ulcer

wants to be the center of attention, but at a distance from others

secretly wants to be hugged and stroked and told how good and valuable he is

Dark Lily♀️ (tdl+orchid)

quiet, but very intrusive (always looming somewhere nearby and staring, trying to touch, but not daring)

can make a dark joke and get very upset because of it

loves children (maybe eats too…)

may seem shy, but don't be fooled

uncanny valley vibe

Orange (tsc+vic)

drawing - main fighting style

thinks that he has not inherited the powers of Second

hot-tempered, but knows how to express irritation in an environmentally friendly way

Lime (yellow+green)

the personification of the phrase "you're a capable boy, but lazy"

insanely talented and infinitely uninterested

lots of ideas, but too strict with himself to even try to implement them (why if it won't be perfect anyway?)

either indifferent and emotionless, or suffers from sharp changes in bright emotions

[enigmatist17]

Absolutely feral over Hashtag and Starscream, like wtf why is this the cutest thing I've ever seen

It's probably something to do with the fact I was up at 3am watching this show for some of the best Starscream content since Prime/Armada

---

"Starscream is observing us. Again." Nightshade hummed as they headed up and out of the barn, face buried in the latest novel Dad had given them.

"Wasn't he here, like, yesterday?" Jawbreaker asked, Thrash and Twitch practicing their sparing while he watched from the sidelines, more than content to focus on the miniature painting he was working on. Whatever answer Nightshade could have given was drowned out by the noise of someone transforming, Hashtag speeding up and into the woods behind the Malto homestead, everyone stopping in place to watch her leave.

"She does know I did not tell her where he's currently residing, yes?" The scientist looked at the tracks left behind, more amused than anything else.

"She'll figure it out." Thrash shrugged before tackling Twitch, earning a squeak of indignation from his sister.

They didn't need to worry, Hashtag had figured out where Starscream liked to observe her homestead after his first visit, but just hadn't had the nerve to approach him. Sure, it was a bit of a silly thing to feel, but Hashtag didn't want to push her...friend? Ally?, too hard, but it had been two months, and enough was enough! The jet seemed to be focused on the horizon when she made the trek uphill, the large rocks serving as an adequate chair for the massive Transformer. They sat silently for a while, Hashtag remaining in her alt form as the various wildlife and rush of a distant stream filled the conversation neither seemed to want to start.

"Soooooo, where have you been?" Patience was not Hashtag's strong suit, and the short venting of air from the seeker beside her almost sounded amused.

"I have been...around." Starscream finally moved for the first time since she'd arrived, glancing down at her alt mode. The radar dish on the top of her vehicle faced up toward Starscream, and she transformed a moment later when he tipped his head, sitting cross-legged on the ground with a grin. "You've improved your blaster accuracy."

"I have!" Hashtag looked quite pleased, tapping her servos against her plating with a grin. "Bumblebee said I just need to keep at it, but I really like it when Arcee drops by, she gives me all sorts of tips. Wait, how did you know? Nightshade only mentioned you a few times, and we train mostly during the day?" Starscream seemed a bit stunned at the torrent of words sent his way, memory packets he'd forgotten about flashing fuzzy images of sparklings that were long dead for a moment before he shoved them back and into deep stasis. He'd never truly been comfortable around children, and even less so after the War began, yet here he was, listening to the young mech beside him ramble on about something called barbeque like it was just another solar-cycle.

" -scream? You listening?" Shuttering his optics, Starscream noted she had moved to stand before him, one hand hovering just above making contact with his knee with her optics staring at his wings. "Hellooo?"

"I...apologize, my mind wandered. What are you staring at?"

"Sorry, it's probably super rude to stare, but I've not really had a chance to look at wings like yours like, ever? Fights happen so fast you know, and the rare videos I find before G.H.O.S.T wipes 'em don't really give me a look either." Once again, it's another torrent of words, and the Decepticon can feel his wings rising slightly in discomfort. "Sorry, did I upset you?"

"N-No, you've done nothing wrong." When was the last time someone asked how he was feeling?

"Oh, okay!" Primus bless her, the little one's eyes lit up as she clasped her servos together. "Sooo, were you always able to fly, or did you have a ground alt once upon a time?"

"No, I have always been a Seeker." Starscream motioned for the smaller bot to sit beside him, shifting to the side so she had plenty of space. "My frame was initially suited for deep-space exploration rather than combat, but that changed quickly enough when the War began. I don't think I could ever enjoy being away from the sky, it is as much a part of me as every inch of my frame."

"Nightshade has said that too. Ever since they took their alt form, they have talked about flying like I do when I hack or manipulate things. There's just no other feeling like it." The Seeker nodded, and Hashtag was relieved to see his wings lower slightly, adding one mental tally mark to her "Operation Get Starscream To Relax" board.

"It is a feeling unlike any other, for every type of Cybertronian. I have seen those who command oceans as if they were assembled by it, others who use the strength of beasts long dead as if they'd been one their entire creation. Had it not been for so many things, you too might have seen the wonders that were our people."

"Well, I wouldn't mind listening to you talk about them." Hashtag hugged her legs to her chassis with a smile, ever the eager youngling waiting for a tale.

"If you're going to talk, you might as well bring this party to the house." The sudden voice behind them made both mechs jump, Starscream pointing his null ray at whatever the threat was as he tucked Hashtag behind him, only to find...Lieutenant Malto.

Ah...frag

"Hi Mom!" Hashtag stood up so she could see from behind Starscream's wings, waving as the null ray was powered back down. "How'd you know where to find us?"

"A mother knows, sweetie." The smile on the human's face was a little forced, which the Decepticon had to give was justified. "You doing alright?"

"Yep! Starscream has been answering some of the questions I've wanted to ask, and we've just been sitting up here and enjoying the view." She fully moved from behind the older mech as she spoke, standing beside the comically shorter woman who refused to break eye contact with Starscream, who just stared right back. "Are you serious about letting him come to the house?"

"Maybe, maybe not. If we're going to have guests, we should be prepared, right? Why don't you go and get some of the nice energon ready, and let your Dad know I'll be down soon."

"Okay! Oh I can't wait to show you around!" With a wave, Hashtag transformed and booked it down the mountain road her mother had used, leaving the two to stare silently at each other.

"What do you want with my daughter?" Ah, there it is.

"Nothing, I was merely...observing." As much as it loathed his inner demons, Starscream knelt down so they were more or less at an even height, both soldiers coiled for a fight that may or may not happen. "I was unaware she knew I've been here."

"I knew they'd catch on sooner or later, you didn't exactly pick the most hidden spot." Starscream rolled his optics, noting the other had relaxed slightly. "What have you been doing, since the big escape?"

"Hiding, mostly. I've no desire to be tortured again." It took her past as a fighter for Dot not to flinch at the angry hissing coming from the mech, face impassive when Starscream had to shake his helm for a moment. "Nor do I wish to see...him."

"...we're getting close to exposing G.H.O.S.T, for what it's worth. All of us are, and I'm sorry you had to suffer at their hands."

"Are you? I'm a Decepticon, surely this must be thrilling to hear, after all we've done?" There's no venom in those words; all Dot can hear is what isn't there as his wings hike up his back, and servos curl into fists. "Getting what we truly deserve, no?"

"All I see before me, is a mech who is tired. A mech who is exhausted, yet took the time to sit with my daughter, protect her from a perceived threat, and stare down her mother despite knowing I could take you down." The hissing is back, a slight red filter sweeping across blue optics before fading just as quick, but Dot holds her ground without batting an eye. "All I see is a Seeker without a trine, and while we may not be one, a little company can't hurt you, can it?" Starscream just....stares, and Dot wishes the bots breathed like humans did, just to offset how unsettling it was when mechs could watch without a single movement. That was one of the things that really got under her skin, and she was grateful that her kids hadn't learned that particular skill yet, full of too much energy and life to sit still like a waiting snare.

"You dare speak of my trine." The sentence nearly made her jump, the tall mech leaning closer with a blank look. "You understand nothing."

"No, I don't." It's a simple response, but it's all she can give. "Now, let's not keep the kids waiting." For the first time, Dot turns her back to Starscream to get into her truck. The Seeker is fully onto his pedes by the time she has the car on, his gaze focused on the home he can see just down the hill. "Don't break the fence, or you'll be the one fixing it."

"As you wish."

So this is how a Decepticon finds himself drinking the first pure energon in too many cycles to count, surrounded by mech younglings and cautious humans as the first mech to believe him waved her servos around, grinning as she told the tale of their first meeting. It is not...entirely how he thought the evening would go, but every time Hashtag smiled at the Seeker, something seemed to unfurl in his Spark, something that should have died off long ago.

So when she asks him to stay, even if it's for one night, Starscream does without hesitation.

[sapphiresaphics]

^^^ I’m not even going to post their nonsense about Caitlyn because honestly fuck this user. But I do wanna use them as a PERFECT EXAMPLE of why I hate the Arcane Critical hashtag.

Because you are ABSOLUTELY ALLOWED to criticize Arcane! Believe it or not, I have my own issues with the show too!

BUT…

YOU DON’T NEED TO LIE AND MISREPRESENT WHAT HAPPENED IN THE SHOW TO BE CRITICAL OF IT.

Vi did not get “guilt tripped” into joining the Enforcers.

Vi did not get “signed up” behind her back.

Caitlyn begged the Enforcers recruitment to give Vi a badge and presented it to her as a choice, which Vi DECLINED. She did not get signed up, she did not join.

While “intoxicated” she was presented with the idea again, yes…. But by MADDIE. The Noxian SPY who works for Ambessa. Which is not Caitlyn’s doing. This was Ambessa setting the stage for things to come.

Vi does feel guilty about what happens at the memorial because she IS partially responsible for what happened. She created Jinx. She had a chance to stop Jinx and she didn’t. And now the undercity is emboldened to fight and people lost their lives. Vi doesn’t join “on a whim,” she only joins because she is able to convince Caitlyn not to go ahead with the full scale invasion.

Remember… prior to the Memorial Attack the Council already decided to attack Zaun and flood the lanes with Enforcers. That was already on its way to happening. The Memorial Attack showed that Piltover wouldn’t be able to put up a huge front against a United Zaun. That’s WHY they switch to a tactical strike force instead. And that’s partially VI’s plan, because it was doing what she was ALREADY doing with Jayce in Season 1!

Also, in-game lines are not canon to the show. You cannot use those as “evidence.”

You can dislike a lot about Arcane, absolutely. But you don’t need to misrepresent what happened and LIE and FABRICATE OUTRAGE over stuff that didn’t happen.

We are critical of you not because we want to side with Piltover and Vi and Caitlyn and believe they can do no wrong. We are critical of you because you’re BAD AT MEDIA ANALYSIS and you need to be called out for your shit.