#why the hell is he like this it’s criminal

[aust-een]

@umika @butdaddyilovehim99 @eternal-love im-

Austin.Butlers.Walk

[creatingblackcharacters]

do you have any advice on creating a poc gangster from the 1920s? I don’t want to make anything about him to be stereotypical and I want to avoid any missteps. He smokes cigarettes because he grew up in the 1920s and he earned immortality around that time so yeah, he gambles a small amount, particularly card games (most common type of gambling at the time) and he has magic (kind of oracle-like magic where he can recreate scenes from the past as allusions and predict possible futures)

I do not know how to write a gangster of color in the 1920s, but I do have advice for writing a Black gangster in the 1920s!

(the terms are not synonymous, y'all! Say Black when you mean Black.)

I would suggest researching the era itself, including 1920s fashion, writing, Black culture. Even within mafia communities, we were still treated differently in comparison to Italian, Jewish, and Irish gangs, for example (even in The Godfather, they mention "leaving the drugs to the n****rs"). Watch Black American movies, and study plays and stories of the time!

Gambling- "the numbers"- was also a thing- why not let him be involved? Shit, he could make beaucoup with them powers lmao. Especially in the roaring 20s?? The early Great Migration and the Harlem Renaissance?? Then he gets to the 1930s where they say no alcohol but he could predict- this man could do so much. I would be criminal with those powers 🤣

Hell, you could watch Interview With The Vampire lmao, Louis lives within that time as a Black gangster, now damned with immortality.

But yeah, I would also refer to my pinned for my lessons on stereotypes and violence. You can write a Black gangster doing bad shit without being racist about Black people as a writer and within your narrative. It depends on what type of story you want to tell.

[im-just-daria]

In The Dark Part 2

The Jackal x Reader

Fandom: The Day of The Jackal

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: You finally make it to Munich.

Warnings: Mentions of murder and dead bodies, threats, stalking, just the usual assassin stuff.

A/N: I know it took me some time. Enjoy the second part :) Feedback is most appreciated, as well as any mistakes you see <3

Tag: @spiderstyles04 tagged as requested <3

Your eyes shot open as the alarm on your nightstand rang loudly. With a heavy sigh, you tapped your phone to stop the ringing and rubbed your eyes as you stretched under the covers of your warm bedsheets. It took you five seconds to remember why on earth you set that alarm in the first place. Today is the first day of juggling full-time pub work and helping a criminal impersonate some German janitor to do whatever he needed. You certainly didn't want to know more than is necessary for two simple reasons- in case you ever get taken by police, the less you know, the better, and because you weren't sure how well you would cope with the fact that you possibly helped someone in murder.

Your feet touched the cold floor, and you walked to a chair by your desk with more clothes on it than in your wardrobe. You put on a sweater from the pile of clothes and walked to the bathroom. As you were sitting on the toilet, your mind started to replay last night's events. You were surprised at how calm you were; it was actually concerning. 'Wow, my moral compass is so off', you thought as you wiped yourself and stood up. While washing your hands, you suddenly remembered something from yesterday that had escaped your memory. You opened the drawer under the sink and saw the nail scissors still missing; the corners of your mouth moved slightly upwards. You made your way to the kitchen and found the piece of paper with the phone number the man gave you yesterday. You debated whether to text him or not ' I mean, the guy has a gun and knows all your personal details, but at the same time, I do have some questions.'

You bit your bottom lid as you finally decided to pick up your phone. You typed in the number and texted;

"Do I keep the receipts?" you asked, putting down your phone as you wanted to start your breakfast. You hadn't expected him to reply within five seconds. 'Does he not have a life?' you thought with a frown.

''Yes''

''Do I use only cash, or can I use my card?''

''Cash''

''Do you have any allergies? The prosthetic glue sometimes causes a rash:/''

'Fuck', You scolded yourself. You were one of these people who use emojis religiously, so your muscle memory just put it in the message. 'Fucking hell (Y/N), it is a random man who hired you to help him commit international crimes, and you threw in a frowning emoji'.

''No allergies, cash only, go to only bigger stores where it's relatively anonymous, try to blend in, lie if someone asks what it's for. Anything else?'

You felt the passive aggressiveness radiating from the message, but you just couldn't help yourself. There was something so satisfying about annoying this man.

''You didn't give me back my nail scissors.''

He didn't reply immediately, like with the rest of the messages, and honestly, you thought he would just ignore you. You put down your phone and turned on the kettle on your kitchen counter. You heard the notification sound of your phone. You almost sprinted to the phone.

''I will add 5 £ to the overall payment'' You smiled. 'Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it' You lost the battle with your self-restraint.

''But the good ones cost 10 £.''

''You remember I have a gun, right? Do not text or call this number unless it is important, or you will make it from Germany in a body bag. Now delete all the texts.''

'Fine', you thought to yourself as you put down your phone and got ready for your day.

Your shoulder started to hurt from all the supplies in your bag. 'Now I understand the need for backpacks'. Since you haven't seen his face, you weren't really sure what colours of foundations and powders to buy, so you got a few just in case. After all, your life pretty much depends on how well you execute this. As you passed through Vauxhall to get to Waterloo, you glanced at MI6 headquarters and wondered how much they didn't know. I mean, here you are on the pavement across the river carrying supplies necessary for international crime. 'Is it really that easy?' you thought to yourself.

The rest of the week passed by really quickly. If you weren't working, you were working on the prosthetic; if you weren't working on the prosthetic, you were trying to sleep, eat, get groceries or clean the house. Your back was killing you from being constantly hunched over your desk. 'I have absolutely no idea how single mothers exist.' you thought as you tried to stretch in your chair. The whole face prosthetic was done, as well as the wig; you were just finishing up the facial hair when you heard the knock on the door. You weren't expecting anyone, and you didn't order anything. A wave of uneasiness washed over you. You grabbed a scalpel from the desk you used to cut through fake skin and hid it behind your back. You approached the door and looked through the peephole. A delivery man was standing on the other side holding a bouquet of flowers. Now you were nervous; your love life was non-existent, so there wasn't a single person who could send you those. You opened a door hesitantly; you half expected the man to pull out a knife or barge in through the apartment. Instead, he just smiled and asked,'' Miss (Y/L/N)?''

You stuttered ''Y-yes''.

"These are for you." He handed you a bouquet of flowers and an envelope. At first, you simply stared at him, still expecting him to pull out a weapon, but he didn't. You extended your arm and slowly grabbed the flowers and the envelope. You felt sorry for the delivery man. He looked so confused. You looked like grabbing those flowers was a life sentence, and your heavy breathing certainly didn't help.

''Um, have a nice day,'' he said hesitantly and left.

''You too!'' You said a bit too loudly as he was almost out of your sight.

You closed the door and locked it. Making your way to the kitchen, you set the flowers on the counter and opened the envelope.

IN Saturday 19th of April 19.25 RyanAir Stansted-Munich.

OUT Sunday 20th of April 22.45 RyanAir Munich-Stansted.

Premier Inn Munchen Messe Hotel Munchener Str.

Use your card; put everything necessary in the check-in bag. When you get to the hotel, send a text message. You will receive further instructions once you arrive. Don't do anything stupid, or these will be your funeral flowers.

You pulled out your phone and booked all flights and the hotel as the note instructed. The hotel itself was on the outskirts of Munich. You knew you would have to call in sick tomorrow to make this flight. Once all the bookings were confirmed, you ripped the note and flushed it down the toilet. While making your way to the desk, your eyes fell on the flowers you left on the counter. Your lips twitched upwards as you approached them. They were really beautiful. You filled a vase with water and smelled the bouquet before putting it in the glass. You moved them to the living room so they could get some sunlight. You were determined to keep them alive as long as possible. You let out a laugh as you realised that the first flowers you have ever received from a man were from a criminal who attached a note with a death threat. You made your way to the bedroom and finished the prosthetic for tomorrow. As you were packing and preparing, a shadow of a smile still danced on your lips.

The flight was as stressful as you thought it would be. You were sure you looked suspicious because every few seconds, you looked around, scouting the airport for security and police. You tried telling yourself that you had absolutely nothing illegal in the suitcase, which was true after all. Make-up artists travel daily with tons of stuff like yours and don't get stopped by border control. You finally reached the hotel, paid the taxi driver, and entered the Premier Inn. You approached the lady at reception, who smiled at you.

''Hi, I have a booking for (Y/N) (Y/L/N), 1 night'' You tried to calm your nerves and keep a relatively neutral face as you handed her your passport.

"Of course," she replied and started clicking on her computer. "Right, here is your key and a letter from your fiance."

You grabbed both items as well as your passport, to be honest; after the flowers, you expected him to pull some shit like this. 'What a psychopath, he really is enjoying this, isn't he? At least now I know he won't break into my room at night.'

''Thank you,'' you replied to the receptionist and made your way to the room. You only wanted to shower and eat, but you knew the envelope was a priority.

You left your bag on the floor, took off your jacket and left it on a chair. Leaning against the desk, you opened the letter.

16.00 Ludwig-Thomas-StraSe 27: The doors downstairs and upstairs will be open. Do not knock; just come in. Wear something with a hood, and make sure your hair isn't visible. Take everything with you; you will go straight to the airport.

Walk, do not use public transport. And try not to look suspicious; you already did a shit job at that at the airport.

''What the actual fuck?'' you actually said it out loud. Was he actually following you at the airport? You shook your head and exhaled deeply. ''This is a fucking joke''. You let out a dry laugh and decided to have a shower and sleep. A realisation hit you as you stood in a bathroom, about to undress. What if he had cameras in your room? A part of you- the logical part- wouldn't be surprised if he had cameras here and in your apartment. But the other part -the weird, unhinged, delusional part- tells you he isn't that type of guy. ''Jesus Christ (Y/N), you don't know that man,'' you scolded yourself and got undressed. It was a very brief and quick shower. Once you got into bed, you closed your eyes and tried to go to sleep. Fifteen minutes into your failed attempts at falling asleep, a phone rang; you immediately recognised the number, and your heart stopped. You accepted the call and said shakingly. ''Y-Yes?''

"Didn't you forget something?" You almost forgot how he sounded. It's been over a week, after all. His voice was calm and smooth, with a British accent dominating his pronunciation. You mentally checked everything you brought with you, nothing coming to your mi- ''Fuck I am so sorry, I forgot to text you when I got here,'' You said quickly.

''I need to know you are making your locations on time; I won't always have a way to track your phone.''

'Oh my God, ' you thought. So, this isn't a one-time thing.

"Um, yeah, that's fair. I have a question, though, and it is rather important," you said, trying to sound confident but failing miserably.

''Make it quick; I don't have time.''

''That's what she said,'' you whispered timidly, immediately regretting the words as they left your mouth. 'That's it. He is gonna hang up now; great fucking job (Y/N).'

Instead, you heard a chuckle on the other end of the phone. You suddenly felt proud of yourself, and involuntarily, your mouth formed into a smile.

''What's the question (Y/N)'' He said in much lighter tone. You felt a bit more confident now, knowing that he actually found you funny.

''Do you have any cameras in my apartment or the hotel room?''

You could almost hear the confusion in his voice ''No.''

''Okay, that's good, yeah, okay,'' you exhaled, and a silence followed.

''Anything else?''

Once again, you lost the inner battle with your self-restraint and grinned as you tried to put in your most seductive voice.

"So," you said, taking a pause. "What are you wearing?" You honestly thought he had just hung up. After about ten seconds, as you were about to check the phone screen, he simply replied, "Good night (Y/N)."

Little did you know, a smile adorned his face as he hung up the phone. A smile that hasn't visited his face in years.

The next day, you checked out of the hotel at 11 in the morning and made your way to a cafe. You had 5 hours before you had to be at the location given to you. You tried to focus on a book you took with you, but after rereading the same page four times, you gave up. You ate your food and drank your coffee before going for a little walk. You really needed to calm down. Munich was much warmer than you thought, you decided to see the city centre rather than sit in one cafe for 5 hours. As it was getting closer to 4 pm, you started to make your way to the address. You followed Google Maps as you saw the right flat complex. The man didn't lie; the doors were open downstairs. You made your way up the stairs, looking for number 27. Your heart started racing as you stood in front of it. 'Just go in. You are wasting time.' You stood outside for the next two minutes before reaching the door handle. You opened the door and stepped into the hallway; you were immediately met with a familiar face you saw 10 days ago; however, this time... it wasn't in the dark.

You knew already he was tall; his face perfectly reflected his usual voice, emotionless, graceful, calculated and confident. Freckles were scattered across his clear skin, and his ginger hair was messy, but somehow, it fit him perfectly. His green eyes were focused on yours. He was leaning against a wall with his arms folded. You closed the door behind me, not sure what to say. He beat you to the greetings.

''Lingering outside someone's door for 3 minutes is rather suspicious, don't you think?'' His eyebrows raised as the sentence left his mouth.

You just stared at him, ''Yeah, um, yeah, it is, and you told me not to be suspicious.''

'Yes, I did'' He said seriously.

You tried your best to lighten the mood ''Soooo, do I get the house tour?''

''No, the bathroom is on the left. Go there and don't leave; set up everything you need.''

''What, is there like a body in here?'' You said jokingly and chuckled. You looked up at him to see his reaction. He just looked at you with a specific look that answered your question.

''Ohhh, okay''. You swallowed and made your way to the bathroom.

'Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic'.

The bathroom was small and didn't have much counter space. There was a chair and a stool. You opened your bag and set all prosthetics and the wig onto the sink counter; all make-up brushes, palettes, foundations, and powders were left on the chair. You turned around to grab a towel behind you when you were met with a familiar build. You gasped loudly, startled. How could he move so quietly?

"You can sit down if you want." He didn't reply; he simply took his place in a chair and looked at you expectingly.

It felt weird. Being cramped with a killer in a tiny bathroom, you wondered if the body lying somewhere in the house belonged to the man you would help him look like.

You began examining his face, your eyes tracing every curve of his face. His eyes never left yours; you guess he still doesn't trust you enough to be this close to you with his eyes closed.

"Your face has a rather unusual structure," your voice hitched as you realised how it sounded. "It's not an insult, just," you exhaled. ''Your eyes, sockets, and cheekbones are very hollow, but your lips are full. I will need to add some extra padding to make it look believable."Your hands were slightly shaking as you waited for his answer.

''Just do what you must. Be done by 8.30.''

You nodded.

His skin was unbelievably smooth, and his eyes still hadn't left yours, examining your every move. As you were working, you tried to explain everything you were doing. However, with the lack of his replies, you felt like you were just conversing with yourself instead.

After two hours of silence from his side, you opened your mouth but hesitated to say the sentence you wanted.

''Did you know that red hair and green eyes occur in only 0.14% of people on the planet?'' Once again, you expected silence, but he replied simply ''Yes''. Well, it's better than silence.

''How did you know?'' You asked, trying to hold the conversation.

''How did you?'' You sighed.

''I asked first.'' It was a childish answer, but a small smile played on your lips.

''My friend told me years ago,'' He said hesitantly.

''That's nice; I learned that in school during make-up classes in my first year,'' you replied calmly, suddenly feeling at ease.

''Did you like them?''

You were taken aback by his question. ''The classes?'' Still in disbelief, he showed interest.

He simply nodded.

''I did; I always found it relaxing; it's like painting or drawing for other people.''

You decided to take advantage of his sudden talkativeness.

''I probably need a name for you, a fake one. I really don't mind; I just can't refer to you in my mind as 'him'.

His lips twitched, and he said, '' And just how often do you refer to me in your mind?'' You stopped all your movement and averted your eyes from his wig hairline you were just fixing to look at into eyes.

You opened your mouth in shock and said lightly, chuckling, ''Did you just make a flirtatious joke?''

''Don't get used to it,'' He said as you added finishing touches to his appearance. His whole demeanour is changed. He seems more relaxed, and his eyes don't seem so controlling. He also didn't flinch every time you touched his face without warning.

''Let's go with Charles.''

You hummed ''Fine by me,''

''Right, all done.'' You said proudly as you stepped back, allowing him to stand up and examine your work in the mirror. You personally thought you had outdone yourself. Maybe the overhanging thought of death if you fuck up had something to do with it, or perhaps you are just that good.

''This is incredible,'' he said, not taking his eyes off his reflection.

Somehow, his praise meant more to you than any compliment you've ever heard from your teachers. 'Yeah, because whether you live or die depends on this,' you explained to yourself, not even allowing yourself to think of any other reason.

''You have a plane to catch; you should go,'' He said, finally averting his eyes from the mirror towards you.

''Yeah, you are right, I'm just gonna pack up. Um, here is a glue dissolver and a brush. Don't rip it, or your face will flare up; ginger people have a lower impact tolerance, so um yeah,'' You said, trying to hold eye contact, but halfway through the sentence, you lost confidence. You simply handed him the bottle and started packing your things. As you were about to grab the door handle, you turned towards him. He was leaning on the same spot on the wall as when you walked in, and you stood in the same place as before. Except this time, the man looked nothing like himself.

''I will transfer the money tomorrow,'' he said once again emotionless.

''Okay'' As you grabbed the handle, you smiled and turned back to him. ''I just want to let you know that I had so many urges to say ginger jokes today, but I didn't, and I think you should know that and appreciate it.''

He stood there like a statue, motionless. After a few seconds, he smiled and walked away.

''Just go home (Y/N).''

You high-fived yourself mentally. Annoying this man was fun, but seeing him smile is even better.

You left the apartment smiling, not worrying about looking suspicious.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Remembrance of Things Past: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, fearing for your life

Summary: Someone leaves an unmarked package by your door that sends you into a spiral of fear. Meanwhile, the team joins forces with Virginia police on a case Rossi was on decades earlier, one that he will have to go back into in order to figure out the one that's staring at him in the face.

Season Six Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

The detective pulls up the email he got on the big computer and plays the message his daughter left for him before she died.

"Mom, Dad, this is Heather. When you get this message, I'll probably be dead. Tomorrow you're going to find me," she starts crying, "and when you do, please know that I... I enjoyed it."

"I enjoyed it. That's his signature. It's him," Rossi says.

"Agent Rossi, I need to give the press a statement."

"Not yet."

"It's already leaked out that this is the Butcher and his son."

"Fix your faucet and tell your men to be quiet," Rossi glares.

"Look, people are scared. This guy has spent a decade terrorizing this area—"

"You think I don't know that?" Rossi cuts him off.

The Detective sighs and leaves the room to do what Rossi told him to do.

"We need to figure out why he's back, like BTK or the Grim Sleeper. Let's go over victimology one more time," Hotch says.

"He kills blondes who are living on their own. He takes them from public places with some form of ruse. He's reenacting his last kill for what reason?"

"Maybe there's something symbolic about the last kill. Let's hear her call again."

"Maybe we should take a look at the victims that didn't call anybody. There were thirteen recording messages and five documented conversations with loved ones," Spencer suggests. "There were twenty kills. Two victims didn't call anyone."

"I just assumed those victims couldn't reach anyone," Rossi frowns.

"Let's pull the files of the victims that didn't leave a message. Reid might be onto something."

It doesn't take long for Penelope to pull all the files from the archives before sending them over. Detective Green has hard copies that the previous officers left behind, and he brings those boxes in for everyone to look through as well.

"So, Sylvia was the Butcher's first kill. Karen was his eighth. Why weren't they forced to make phone calls?"

"Sylvia was his first kill. He was building up his confidence. Then, he thinks to himself, how can I hurt the most people? I'll have them make calls."

"Six women after that made the phone calls. Why did he stop at Karen?" Hotch looks at the desk phone that is still connected to Penelope. "Garcia, what are Karen's parents' names?"

"George and Claire Bachner died in a car accident when Karen was nineteen."

"My notes say Karen had a husband named Lee Mullens," Rossi says. "He didn't receive a call. When I interviewed him at the station, he said he didn't have an answering machine."

"Do they have a child?"

"Negative," Penelope answers.

"Wait a minute. They had a son. I wrote it down." Rossi flips through his own notes. "Colby."

"Garcia, run Karen's maiden name. Bachner."

It doesn't take her even a minute to pull up the information.

"Oh! There it is! Karen had a son, Colby Bachner, born at Johnson Memorial in Bristol, Virginia."

"Was the father there to sign the birth certificate?" Hotch asks.

"Yes. His name was... Lee Mullens. Oh. Karen had Colby two years before she and Lee were married."

"Are the father or son still in the area?"

"Yeah. Lee and Colby live at 1844 Shadow Wood Lane which is six miles from where the victims were dumped."

"So, maybe Karen never made a phone call because the most important person in her life was already in the room with her--her son," you theorize.

"Oh, hell no. They're licensed electricians," Penelope gasps.

"Let's go."

You leave the police station and head to the Butcher's house where it's unusually quiet. Derek and Emily head around back with some officers where an RV sits, and you approach the front of the house with Rossi. You look at the attic window and narrow your eyes in suspicion. You tap Rossi's shoulders and point to the window with a nod. He understands that you're saying that someone is up there whether that be the Butcher himself or his son.

You follow Hotch and Rossi inside the house with officers right behind you. You come around the corner and see someone standing on the stairs holding a picture in his hands. He's an older gentleman and looks harmless but you can feel twenty victims' energies all over the man. This is the Butcher.

"FBI. Don't move," Hotch says.

"Put your hands in the air!"

"What are you doing here?" Lee asks. "Why are you here? My son isn't here."

"You're under arrest for the murders of Chloe Moore, Reilly Gold, and Sylvia Marks," Rossi glares and moves closer to Lee.

"I don't know them. Please, I need to call someone."

"You can call from the station."

"Rossi, wait," you say.

Right as Rossi touches the bottom stair, the older man looks down nervously at his pelvis. Wetness spreads from the middle of his pants toward the ground. He's peeing himself. This man... something isn't right. You can't bring him in when he's like this so Rossi opts to keep him in the living room after getting him a fresh change of pants to wear. The rest of the team searches the house but his son isn't there.

The only thing that will incriminate them is a shallow grave in the front of the house with a woman's body in it. Whoever dug it didn't care about keeping her well hidden. He just wanted her out of sight. The thing that Rossi was hoping for was Lee's twenty victims being here but besides the woman in the front lawn, no other person has been here in a long time.

When they've killed, they did it somewhere else.

"We checked the house. There's no torture chamber and no son. There's a fresh grave in the backyard, and Colby left a note saying he was going to find a prize," Emily says.

"Garcia, check Mullens' records and see if he owns any other property. Check under the son's name, employment records, and anything else you can find," Hotch says to her over the phone.

"Got it."

"Guys. I think I found something," Spencer says from the kitchen.

"Morgan, let's get all the police cars out of the neighborhood in case the son comes back."

Derek leaves and you walk to the kitchen with Hotch and Rossi.

"Everything in the house is labeled. I found Donepezil and flashcards in the medicine cabinet."

"Donepezil? Doesn't that treat Alzheimer's?"

"It's a cholinesterase inhibitor. It improves acetylcholine either by increasing levels in the brain or enhancing nerve cells' response to it."

"So, this guy gets to forget while the family has to live with this forever?" Rossi asks and scoffs.

"Alzheimer's affects short-term memory before it affects long-term. That explains the scripted phone calls and the dump sites."

"It also explains why he started up again," you say. "He's repeating his last kill because he can't remember it. He's killed for over ten years. He probably remembers the earliest victims."

Derek walks back into the kitchen.

"What did you find?"

"He's got slides of all the prior abduction sites."

"Do you want me to go in with you?" Hotch asks Rossi.

"I've got this."

Rossi walks into the living room while you stand in the archway and watch them.

"We met twenty years ago. Do you remember that, Mullens? You played the grieving husband. I was a young FBI Agent." Rossi shows him pictures of his earlier victims. "Do you remember these women?"

"I don't know them."

"Of course, you do. You wouldn't have forgotten them yet. Tell me, where is your son? Where is he taking your next victim? To a friend's place? To an abandoned house?"

"I rewired this house."

"Did he help you with that? Or did you do that on your own? Like you did... all of these?"

Rossi takes out some more pictures and places them on the table.

"Are those your trophies?" Lee asks.

"What do you know about trophies?"

"I like trophies. It proves you won something."

"You're not gonna win today," Rossi glares.

"I'm scared."

"You don't have a right to be scared. Those women were scared. Now, where's your son?" Lee doesn't answer. "It must be hard to lose your mind. You start forgetting how to feed yourself. Soon you're stinking up your pants and wearing diapers."

"I ain't wearing no diaper," Lee growls.

"You peed into your boxers ten minutes ago. You need them now. So, how did you get your son to do all this? Did you get him to help you to kill your wife?"

"Karen left us."

"No, that's what you convinced him. You killed her when she figured you out. You took her to a chamber, the same place you took Heather Langley, Kara Kirkland, and Sylvia Marks."

"Sylvia's a pretty name," Lee chuckles.

"She graduated from Georgetown. She wanted to be a chemist, but you burned her so bad that her family couldn't recognize her. How did you do that? Did you use a fire poker or a curling iron? Something you made? Something you bought?"

"When she saw the Lexwell, her eyes went so wide, she scared me half to death," Lee smiles at the memory.

"Find out what that is," Hotch says to the team having heard the same thing you did.

You step off to the side and call Penelope.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"I heard what happened this morning."

"Oh, yeah, that. We'll talk about it later, okay? Listen, I need something. What can you tell me about the name Lexwell?"

"Lexwell is a camera manufacturer based out of New York. They've been around since the forties."

You walk to the team who are huddled together and put Penelope on speakerphone.

"Have they always produced photography equipment?"

"Back in the day, they made electroshock therapy equipment."

"That's the unknown object penetrating our victims," you say.

"Garcia, what mental hospitals in Virginia use ECT machines?"

"Five hospitals use Lexwell equipment. Of those five, three have been torn down and two are still in operation."

"Cross-check that list of hospitals against Mullens' electrical business client list."

"Yeah, I'm already doing that. Mullens wired some buildings at the Oakton Center back in the eighties."

"Do you know that place?" Derek asks the detective.

"It's a former mental institution on eighty-six acres."

"He's right. Two of the buildings are still in operation. The rest of the place is abandoned."

"Thanks, baby girl."

Hotch knocks on the wall which catches Rossi's attention, and the older agent leaves the living room.

"Where are you going?" Lee asks.

You don't waste time getting to the abandoned hospital. The closer you get to it, the more you see wisps of energy dancing in front of the hospital.

"He already has another victim. I can see her energy."

"Find her," Rossi urges.

He doesn't hesitate to follow you as you run through the hospital grounds with urgency. You pass by building after building until you get to the back of the property where five buildings stand. You pause and look around the place and that's when you spot it. Blue energy seeps up from one of the sewer gates by the first building.

"She's in the basement of that one," you point.

Hotch and Rossi are first to get down there while the rest follow suit. You peer around their shoulders to see a blonde woman on some medical table with black tape over her naked chest. Colby is pacing next to the table with a knife in his hand. He is beyond stressed, unable to live up to his father's expectations.

"Colby." The young man snaps his head up and places the knife to the woman's throat when he sees the FBI. "Put the knife down."

"I'll kill her."

"The killing is done."

"Please help me," the woman cries.

"This is not your fault, Colby. Your father got you into this."

"No, you don't know my dad!"

"We know you're losing him, Colby. This isn't going to help you or him."

"He's getting better."

"No, he isn't." You push past them and take the center position. Colby's wide eyes land on yours but you don't move any closer to him. "I know that scares you because you already lost your mother."

"She left us!" he screams at you.

"Your father killed her."

Colby shakes his head as tears roll down his cheeks.

"No, no, no. You're wrong!"

"You were ten. He strapped her to this table. Your father brought her here. You might have been in the car or upstairs. You blocked it out because I know you love him. You love him and you didn't want to see what he is truly capable of. He's supposed to be your dad. He's supposed to love you and care for you." Colby is full-on crying now but he still has the knife to her throat. "He most likely knocked your mother out at home and brought her here."

"No, I helped him bring the only woman here from that house."

"That was your mother, Colby."

"No, she left us," his voice breaks.

"Every one of your father's victims made a call except for your mother because she laid on this table and said goodbye to you right here."

"No, she's not dead," he cries. "She left us. She... She left us!"

"You don't want to hurt her, Colby. You never wanted to hurt any of them."

Colby sobs as he tosses the knife away from the woman. Rossi and Hotch immediately handcuff him while Derek and Emily help the woman who is also crying. The woman is brought to the paramedics once they come and the detective brings Colby back to the station to start the process of his arrest. You stand off to the side with your arms crossed over each other. Spencer, Derek, and Emily join your side and watch the paramedics do their job.

"You know, parents are supposed to protect their children. They're supposed to love them and keep them safe," you say.

"Well, sometimes they don't get the memo," Emily responds.

******

Frank leans back in his chair with his feet up on the dollar store fold-up table he got yesterday. The phone is pressed to his ear since he's talking to his wife while keeping a close eye on the cameras he installed in your apartment. You and Spencer are going about your nightly routine, nothing major happening here.

What he did to you sent you into a paralyzing fear so much so that you started looking for a camera to put on the outside of your apartment. It's a good thing he already planted the ones inside your place. You say you have this magical gift that can tell you anything you want to know so why can't you figure out who he is? When will you? Will you ever? As much as he cherishes you, you're becoming too much of a liability to keep in his life. He should have gotten rid of you when he was supposed to but you were and always will be his favorite toy. He must play with you one last time before taking you out.

"You should have been there, Clarissa. She went crying to Daddy about the fake bomb I put in front of her door. You should have seen the look on her face. She was so scared," he laughs. "Even racked with fear, she still looked... so cute."

"Please be careful, Frank. You're playing with fire."

"I'm only getting started," he smirks.

"When I was younger I could remember anything, whether it happened or not; but my faculties are decaying now, and soon I shall be so I cannot remember any but the latter. It is sad to go to pieces like this, but we all have to do it." – Mark Twain

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[hallowsden]

Quick idea prompt 1:

... Ok, but like, what if when Danny arrives to DC (for whatever reason), it's during the Arkham games timeline/universe (or hell, it doesn't have to be seperate universes anymore, if that makes sense). Or something similar to it in a way? (... Looks at Arkham City)

Or just- Danny in a version of Arkham City....

Yeah, Danny in Arkham City. Nothing can go wrong with that :D

[the-pea-and-the-sun]

kind of funny how bcz of the hunting trilogy one of the key characteristics of jones' daffy is that as he's no longer the one the audience is relating to and rooting for he also gets kind of homophobic

[greasydumbfuck]

im a hater. sorry

[sskk-manifesto]

Ep 9 ! :)

[drrandombear]

THERE HE IS! THE REASON I DECIDED TO WATCH THIS SHOW His design is just mwah so beautiful also hes a little gremlin man Red head Oz is a wonderful design please i love it so much (also his can is snazzy as hell) Fight scene pics cause I love him

[only-one-brain-cell]

I really want Spencer to but in when they introduce him as agent and be like “actually it’s doctor” and just glare at whoever was introducing him.

[todayisafridaynight]

Firstly, thanks so much for your patience with my ramblings haha, it's always an absolute pleasure to read your responses even if I get more unhinged with each one of mine! Of course, I'll continue to do my best with the wiki! (Actually, I think it's because of you that I noticed Daigo's age(s) were a year off haha, so thank you for that as well.)

I think you hit the nail on the head, and I adore how his relationships were executed in Y7 as well! I was initially a little bit apprehensive when trailers for 7 were coming out since RGGJo (and Mine, of course) were my favorite antagonists, and Jo is by far the character who's changed the most between games, but I can safely say both… Joes… are right up there for me.

I think a strong early subversion/conversion/something is that RGGJo really does just go and shoot up a rival office for attacking Arakawa (even though Arakawa was fine?). With Y7Jo, even though he's covering for Masato, the fact that's still the story Ichi gets told and he doesn't question it sort of speaks to Y7Jo having a similarly "protective" streak even if it's not actually what happened in that instance. That's also demonstrated in The Eye Scene as you mention later.

Like, I think that story is fairly clearly something he and Arakawa discussed. Masato got in contact with Jo first, and the mess Ichi tries to clear up when he comes in the morning after is indicative of a very long, stressful conversation between two people. Given Masato absolutely should not be smoking, process of elimination would suggest it's Jo. And it's a story they would've aimed to make as believable as possible, so the fact it is believable (Ichi being a bit gullible notwithstanding) says something to me.

For two characters who hardly even speak to each other onscreen (criminal btw), there's a lot to dig into when it comes to Arakawa and Sawashiro's relationship. That aside, I'm super excited to see you analyse Jo's psyche, and I can't wait to read it! I've been reading Japanese psychology texts myself and noticing a number of concepts that apply to Mine, but may apply to the Arakawas as well. There's a great deal I want to share once I get my thoughts in order.

I totally agree Mine's influence on RGGJo was the strongest of the three! I mean, y'know, that's why I acquired brainworms for RGGJo/Mine specifically. (Still 1000% going to commission you by the way when I've got my refs together + am not in danger of being unable to afford Gaiden and 8 lol). Sort of like with Masato and Daigo, I think characters who are clearly based on each other work quite well together even if it's seen as crack. You can come up with pretty compelling ideas trying to rationalize those similarities from a Watsonian perspective.

The devotion is absolutely the strongest point (having the exact same relationship tag for Arakawa and Daigo respectively + similar wording for it in the 15th anniversary book is a nice touch), but for me it's also what's done with it in terms of presentation. For both Mine and RGGJo you're supposed to believe they're actively working against Daigo and Arakawa's interests for most of the story.

And they probably kind of are, but they're convinced the pros outweigh the cons (as with the resort gambit, which you're remembering correctly!) Though it may not have the same effect nowadays for various reasons (spoilers, plot points becoming predictable on account of other games, etc), the devotion was originally supposed to be a twist.

There are other things, of course; they're both the "treasurers" of their respective organizations, they're both third-in-command of the Tojo and Omi, they're both talented people who possess overwhelming strength and influence and are regarded as geniuses (despite scenes to the contrary). If I wanted to reach design-wise, they've got mirrored ahoges, and Mine's "Legend" costume is probably based on characters like RGGJo and Nishiki. Their first cards were even officially stated to have synergy on account of their very similar skillset.

You end up noticing a lot of things like that if you're clinically insane like I am, but the one thing that's really stuck with me is that the render used for RGGJo's office is specifically a new render the Hakuho Clan office. It's missing the stuff that's supposed to be missing, the stuff Kanda broke, but only that. Mine's art collection, which is very personal to him as is also revealed in RGGO, is preserved in full.

There are a number of newly-rendered locations in RGGO and they could've just done that, or they could've picked any location that's not (imo) one of the most iconic, but I don't know why they didn't. And I don't know whether it was just convenience, whether it's simply meant to be reflective of them having similar tastes without being the same office, or whether it's just honest to God the same office. I mean, it's not like there's any reason to acknowledge it in-game.

But I think, in a weird way, that this is one of the things that carried over to Y7Jo alongside the devotion and The Eye Scene. A lot of people don't notice because there's so much going on in Y7's finale, but the Arakawa Family office the finale takes place in is specifically Y7Jo's office. And if you examine the Hakuho Clan office and the Arakawa Family office as spaces Mine and Y7Jo have created for themselves, there are very few aesthetic similarities other than being pretty tasteful two-storey offices, but both are, in their own ways, designed for companionship.

There is the obvious fully-stocked bar and main seating area in both, but that's sort of whatever, that's entertainment and hospitality. What really catches my eye, at least on the first floor, is that every piece of gym equipment in Mine's office comes in pairs; similarly, there's the pair of armchairs that are just by themselves behind Y7Jo's desk.

The second floor of Mine's office basically consists of only a TV, a table, and a set of couches, but I think the second floor of of 7Jo's is the more telling of the two. You walk upstairs from this very snazzy, richly decorated first floor (btw, like Mine's gym equipment and art, I would like to think the fact it's decked from top to bottom with books isn't just for show) to a second floor that consists of… absolutely nothing.

Nothing except another pair of armchairs, echoing those on the first floor, facing out into this gorgeous (RGGJou would--and has--said "romantic") view of Kamurocho. Maybe it's just to have this dramatic, spacious arena for the very last fight, but I just think that visual is potentially such a strong bit of storytelling via set dressing.

I also think with RGGJo being split into Y7Jo and Masato, some of the Mine influence kind of ended up with Masato too, specifically as Aoki. At least insofar as all the catastrophizing about not truly being cared-for despite evidence to the contrary, and I kind of felt like the moment where he shoots at and narrowly misses Ichi's head, then throws his gun away for a good ol' fistfight was Something.

Completely agree on your assessment of the link to Nishiki as well! There's the surface level design similarities with young RGGJo back when he had long hair and accessorized less, but yeah, no notes. I definitely think Y7Arakawa's line applies perfectly to the dynamic they were going for, too.

I thought the implication was that Masato wouldn't have survived at all in RGGO on account of Arakawa being unable to open the locker, but it's super interesting to think about how things might've turned out otherwise! A Masato who's Just A Guy and treated sort of like RGGO Mitsu's offscreen wife and kid is such a concept.

I really do hope there's a continuation to the story; as it stands, it literally ends with Jo in a coma lol. But I'm grateful RGGO is still accessible and actively updated, in comparison to the previous mobile titles, which also had original stories that are all gone now.

Jo was actually in a very recent event, even. The event spent its whole runtime talking about how cats are sensitive to smell, and evidently, according to the ending, Jo is incredibly sensitive to smell himself. I'm not sure which Jo it was even supposed to be since he was offscreen, but uh, catboy confirmed? Nyawashiro…? It's fun trivia.

Mentioning Arakawa's "sons" line in such close proximity to talking about Tsutsumi reminds me! There was this Y7 interview with all three actors (that has since been privated and that I kick myself every day for archiving) where Nakai and Tsutsumi were talking about how they usually play father and son.

So there's this very, very long history of them co-starring (as I'm sure you're aware lol), like from way back when Tsutsumi's voice was actually higher. And I think the casting choices absolutely are informed by the history and context there, both as individuals and as co-stars, both in terms of filmography as you say and not.

One particular anecdote that just Gets Me is that this was Tsutsumi's first time voice-acting, and he honestly wasn't even sure he'd take the role, but he accepted once he heard Nakai was on board. And he went on to actually enjoy it so much he read the rest of the (gargantuan) script, far beyond his own dialogue, and ended up forgetting the lines to the play he was doing at the time.

He also went on to voice-act a second time in The Deer King, where he plays… another iintimidating man with a violent reputation and a "soft"/deeper side (who is of course a reluctant father), actually. I actually have seen most of his other roles, and Jo really is almost one-of-a-kind. Though it's hard to find any one character he's "like," I can absolutely see what you mean with regard to Oda Nobunaga and Kanda.

I think that actually really works with regard to audiences having an idea of what to expect from his character and to an extent from Y7 if you look Jo as more of a culmination of Tsutsumi's career up to that point. In addition to what you've mentioned already, I also detect a lot of Koda (Good Luck!!) and Ogata (SP)'s themes with regret and making amends and vengeance in particular.

There's a little bit of Appare (Kagerou Touge) and Shibata (Keiho) too, I think, in terms of presenting yourself as worse than you actually are. And I think Tsutsumi's own struggles with mental health lend a lot of gravitas to characters like Ishigami (Suspect X) and Jo, who you can't really argue Isn't Depressed, especially at present.

And of course, y'know, he's played yakuza (to great effect), he's played dads (to great effect; btw, I would say the worst fathers/father figures he's played are probably in Fable II and My Blood & Bones in a Flowing Galaxy, Jo somehow doesn't even compare lol). Also, pretty much every Tsutsumi character either ends up dead or in jail, being a villain in an RGG game notwithstanding. There are often very strong critiques of police and politics present in his work as well, Y7 being no exception.

It's similar with Nakai, maybe to an even greater extent than with Tsutsumi, since Y7 borrows more heavily from his works and his personal life aligns surprisingly well with Arakawa's. They're both actors who are sons of actors, lost their fathers at a young age, were raised by abusive mothers, and ended up with a sort of unlikely father figure in adulthood. So I think it's sweet that Nakai ended up enjoying Arakawa as much as Tsutsumi did Jo. It's kind of funny being more or less typecast as a dad without actually having any children (unlike Tsutsumi), though.

I touched on it a tiny bit before but that's a really insightful take on RGGJo's splintering, as well! And you're most welcome. I've always found it fascinating just how closely their backgrounds tie in to who they end up being. I completely agree having his dad around did a lot for Arakawa in terms of having the confidence to stick to his guns.

But yeah, you know, it's just tragic. I think it's also one of the less talked-about ways abuse can perpetuate itself. Because Jo treating Ichi the way his father may have treated him is sort of the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the topic, but Jo's learned avoidance also goes on to make Arakawa a scapegoat for Aoki's abuse.

I'm always a fan of your takes and insights, so I don't mind the wait: thank you so much for writing as much as you have, it's really wonderful being able to discuss Jo and RGGO v. Y7 as a whole! (I have to be embarrassed about the Daigo's-Age bit though: I'm glad I was able to help point it out, but I remember being so sassy and rude in the post where I mentioned it 😭)

It's great that despite their differences, both Jo's are still incredibly enjoyable; the roles each Jo fulfills, although different, are still executed in ways that keep the character in a close beat with each other, but of course effectively fill out their new purposes in new interesting ways!

As a bit of an aside, I've always been curious and nosy about the full details about New Years Day, 2001 and what happened after that. Anything I can say about the night tiptoes more into theory territory than anything solid, but if we're to go off the notion Masato really did head straight home afterwards, then it is fair to assume Jo had to have met with Arakawa that same night not long after the call in order for Arakawa to be ready to talk to Ichi the same morning (it must have been the biggest shock afterwards for Masato to hear he's gotta run to America if the three of them didn't talk about it together- which I'm assuming is what happened since, as you said, Masato shouldn't be anywhere near cigarettes, and the ash tray is definitely indicative of a stressful discussion). BUT Jo's preexisting devotion to Arakawa (plus the nod to/rework of RGGJo actually attacking a rival gang) nonetheless definitely helped in making their story digestible to the people they had to tell.

The fact Jo and Arakawa interact so little on screen really is unfortunate, even if it's understandable as to why. At the very least, I'm grateful there's so many bits of context clues through the game/s that can at least offer a peak into their dynamic! Segwaying away from that though, I can't lie I was already thinking of some bullet points regarding Jo's brain as I was falling asleep, so it's definitely something I want to put to paper when I get to: I'm glad to hear I have your interest on it when I write it! In that same vein, I'd be more than happy as well to hear about these notes you've seen that can apply not only to Mine, but to the Arakawa family. As you note later on, Mine and Aoki share similar philosophies, so I'd love to see your full take on that if you get to it!

About Mine though, it was really hard for me not to joke about the two being similar whenever the chance arose: I mean, two men who lose their fathers (admittedly, Jo chose to leave his dad but Dad Lost is still a bullet point on the venn diagram... that now I actually feel like taking the time to make later...) turn out to become their respective clan's most trusted asset (and handler of assets) who are volatile when it comes to the ones they care about (I don't have to clarify Mine, but as for Jo, aside from The Eye Scene and even the book wording, he definitely overreacts to Ichi having Masato's money. Of course, part of his anger could be due to his belief in the honor of being a yakuza, but I wouldn't say it's a reach to also assume that the idea of Ichi pestering Masato- if not assuming the worst for whatever reason from Ichiban of all people- might have irked him) and ironically act out in ways that would go against what the ones they care about want (more so strictly about RGGJo, of course)- it's hard not to see the notes borrowed from Mine to make Jo. In that, I do really enjoy their devotions being twists; even if that twist might not work nowadays as efficiently, I'll still enjoy it for what it's able to provide and how it can deepen a character.

To continue on to visual similarities, I actually did notice RGGJo's office being the same as Mine's (I stopped reading for a bit just to make a mini thread about it on my private Twitter)! Whether it was intentional or a simple reuse of assets, it's a great nod to Mine's influence on his character.

As for Y7Jo's office in comparison to Mine's- if I may accidentally go on a bit of an analytical rant- it's a little funny how different they are despite being tangential in wanting a space for companionship (like you mentioned for Jo's case, it might have been for dramatic purposes, but it wouldn't hurt to try and examine the room at face value for a second).

Mine's office is comparatively brighter and more apparently inviting, and it's not just due to the nighttime setting of Jo's office as his office's walls are painted black- but at the same time, the contrast almost feels intentional. Mine's apartment, even if spacious, has the social pieces close to each other, especially in relation to his personal desk. On the flip side, Jo's desk is considerably isolated away from the grand table in the side of the room. In these differences, I think it does lead to a great representation of their relationships with people and what they wanted out of life: with Mine, despite wanting people to be close to him and in his proximity, he's ultimately alone and by himself. On the contrary, Jo appears satisfied with- at least- only having Masato in his life, the second chair undoubtedly being honorary to Arakawa in a similar vein. He isn't too concerned with getting close to anyone else, thus no need for his table set to be so nearby. I could just be talking about nothing though- yet I think these differences is a great way to show how despite inspiration from Mine, they divide off into different characters still (honestly I might steal from this ask and make a separate post about this because now I've gotten myself invested in set design- it can go in the same post as my venn diagram I guess lmao).

Nevertheless, RGGJo and Mine borrowing from each other design wise is also another fun bit- it's as if Yokoyama's grabbing people by the shoulders and practically begging us to realize Jo's influenced by him (don't worry Mr. Yokoyama, I see you). Ergo, Y7Jo and Masato being split from RGGJo is such an interesting take of the two characters: it not only helps highlight Jo's traits it really also heightens Mine's extended influence on Masato (their inability to shoot people standing still is probably going to be a new favorite comparison I hadn't noticed before LMAO).

Moving on though, that lost interview with Nakai and Tsutsumi's going to haunt me now: I'd love to be able to see it, I love actor interviews, especially when the actors featured are already so familiar with each other! It's so sweet how connected the two are- it's what makes it a little more unfortunate that we didn't get to see Jo and Arakawa on screen together more. On that note though, I actually had a similar conclusion that Jo was a solid representation of Tsutsumi's career thus far: his ability to play deep and sentimental characters that have a rough exterior while also possessing some action to the role that he initially sought after in his career really encapsulates his ability as an actor! All in all, I'm glad that Nakai and Tsutsumi were able to have strong connections to their characters in Y7- and I can't really argue against Nakai's dad-typecast: there's just something about him that screams 'father' to me even if, ironically as you said, he isn't a father to any kids.

[skayafair]

Watched a few Heartstopper moments (and am going to start watching it apparently): Why do I do this to myself 🥲

[saltymarshmall0w]

Danny is "in denial" about the Waynes being vigilantes

Danny is really grateful for the Waynes taking him in and all but it’s just… it’s really obvious they’re vigilantes. Do they WANT him to find out? Why?? To join their battalion?

Hell nah. He’s already got enough going on trying to keep in check the many shades in the city.

Danny simply pretends to be oblivious about the Waynes being vigilantes. That's a future Danny problem.

It turns into Kyle levels of denial, where he ends up pretending he thinks the vigilantes are actors hired by the city to cover up all the ghosts haunting Gotham.

And obviously, the city bases them on the infamously growing Wayne family. It's so sweet of the Waynes to volunteer to dress up as their character for public appearances.

Meanwhile, Bruce has banned outright telling Danny even though it's been nearly a year of him living with them. So what if Danny glows sometimes and has full conversations with invisible people in dark alleyways, everyone has their quirks! so, the Batkids have resolved to just "accidentally" leave their mask on after patrol or make tactical plans loudly about taking down Penguin's latest scheme with Danny a room over.

-

“Is Dick coming to the Gala?” Danny asked as his head swiveled between his phone and the mirror as he attempted to tie his own tie. How did his mom always make it look so easy?

“No, he is going out as Batman tonight, since Father is unable to.” Damian responded. He may as well be blasé about their identities, seeing as Fenton was obviously both completely aware of their identities and completely in denial.

“Oh, man. Does that mean one of the “rouges” are going to attack the gala?” Danny asked, “It’s probably going to be that Two-face guy, huh? He hasn’t made an appearance in a while and his character arc with “Brucie” hasn’t made any progress in a while.”

“Nonsense, there is no predicting the mindset of a criminal like Two-face.” Damian ignored Danny’s disbelieving scoff as he maneuvered his newest brother to face him so he could take over the task for him, else they would be standing there all night. “Besides, Drake is in charge of security for the gala and will do an adequate job securing the venue. If you are afraid remain by my side where I can protect you.”

Damian tightened the tie around Danny's neck and stepped back to let Fenton pull his own collar down.

"That's very sweet of you, Dami." Danny reached up a hand and mussed up Damian's newly-gelled hair, garnering a growl and a shove from the boy. "But you should do normal kid things during the gala, like accidentally saying rude things to old ladies, or complaining about how bored you are, and don't forget to prank all the evil billionaires."

...

The “I told you so.” Danny brazenly mouthed to Damian later in the evening from where Two-face held a gun to his head was as infuriating as it was distressing.

—

(Kyle Weston is the fanon brother of Wes Weston (also a fanon character) who’s whole thing is that he believes in conspiracy theories like Wes, but doesn’t believe in ghosts at all to Wes’s frustration.)

[lucygraysboy]

“of  course,”  he  breathes  into  the  night,  battling  his  conscious  on  whether  he  should  just  believe  her  on  this  one.  it  seems  they’re  both  saying  what  the  other  person  wants  to  hear  without  much  sincerity.  they  no  longer  truly  trust  one  another,  but  in  this  ungodly  hour,  he  refuses  to  pick  every  single  sentence  apart  and  analyze  it.  he  lets  it  go.  “now,  don’t  you  make  me  get  all  sentimental.  it’s  been  a  while  since  i  heard  that  one.”  sugar.  it’s  like  a  balm  for  his  broken  heart.  “mhm,  so  you’re  bein’  vague?  should  i  expect  something  along  the  lines  of  he’s  6  feet  tall,  got  blue  eyes  and  dark  hair  and  is  the  meanest  man  i’ve  ever  met  but  i  won’t  tell  you  his  name  rhymes  with  chilly?”  he  teases,  but  there’s  no  playfulness  in  his  voice.  he  deserves  worse  than  this  and  it  still  hurts… “yeah,  that  —  i  don’t  blame  you  for  fallin’  silent  now.  i’d  probably  pass  out  if  you  shaved  your  head  so  i  get  it.”  laughing  softly,  he  sits  up  in  his  bed  and  runs  his  left  hand  over  the  spiky  stubble  of  his  buzz-cut  hair.  no  matter  what  he  does,  he  can’t  get  comfortable.  “i’ll  wear  a  hat  so  it’s  not  too  shockin’.  hey,  at  least,  i  didn’t  dye  it  pink  or  blonde,  and  i  was  considerin’  that  as  well.”  he  waits  for  lucy  gray  to  resume  their  conversation  and  briefly  wonders  if  he  should  text  emily  /  emma  in  the  meantime,  make  sure  she  doesn’t  hate  his  guts  after  tonight.  he  puts  lucy  gray  on  speaker  and  opens  the  imessage  app,  quickly  typing:  hi  👋🏻  sorry  bout  2nite.  fam  emergency.  you  home?  safe?  need  anything?  he  doesn’t  intend  on  ever  seeing  her  again,  very  much  repulsed  with  himself  for  using  her  like  this,  but  it  doesn’t  hurt  to  try  and  smooth  things  over.

when  lucy  gray’s  voice  fills  his  room  again,  he  quickly  clicks  off  the  speaker  and  presses  the  phone  to  his  ear.  “yeah?  you  sound  like  a  mom  now.  suits  you.”  a  strange  thought  crosses  his  mind,  making  him  feel  nauseous  once  more  —  what  if  she  one  day  decides  to  have  babies?  actual  babies?  and  a  husband?  god.  “are  they  sleepin’  well?  after…  that  unexpected  visit  billy  taupe  paid  you?”  he  asks,  part  of  him  is  suddenly  so  incredibly  homesick.  “and  yeah,  i  know!  wait  until  you  see  it.  i  sent  jesse  a  pic  the  other  day  and  he  just  sent  me  this  song  by  status  quo.  in  the  army  now.  you  know  the  one  i’m  talkin’  bout?”  another  laugh  sounds  from  him,  this  time  a  genuine  one  —  if  she’s  excited  to  see  his  hair,  maybe  she’s  also  excited  to  see  him.  “and  i’ll  be  excited  to  see  you.  any  new  piercings  or  tattoos  i  should  know  ‘bout?  other  than  my  name  on  your  chest,  of  course,”  he  jokes,  thinking  about  the  songs  that  he’s  been  playing  on  a  loop  for  the  past  few  months  and  feeling  his  insides  rearranging  themselves.  not  in  a  good  way. 

"i understand you better than anyone... so course i do, sugar." she said it so sweetly, despite irritation in her gaze he couldn't see. last year at this time, she wouldn't be fibbing but right now she decides she will fib because she just wants to remind him of that even if it was wrong to manipulate. maybe he deserved this fib, since he changed on her... why shouldn't she change too and start lying more often. "i'm not sayin' who or what did. it could be anything or made up stories. i'm just sayin' if i did...i would never name drop." lucy gray claims, so she didn't answer what emotion he should feel. but she thinks, definitely the last one. "mhm, it is." she sasses, since she's starting to pick up on his issue with joe and she doesn't like it one bit. "i forgot what i was goin' to say..." now her mind got hooked on him calling her birdie. why was he being so nice to her? maybe it was like whiplash all over again. "after you said you SHAVED your head." she was still blinking in disbelief, before finally moving again to put the lid on the pan after putting the water up. "one second..." she pauses him, holding her phone by her leg and carrying the ice with her upstairs. on her way to her room, she checks on joe in one bunk bed and maude ivory in the other before a happy smile graced her features seeing them both still snug as a bug in a rug. she slowly slipped back away and returned to her room, gently closing the door. "alright, i'm back. i was checkin' up on the kids.... so far i do have a few pieces of ice on my cheek and wow, that's– that's crazy," she laughed in disbelief, jumping back to the topic on his hair. "i'll be excited to see this." she's never known him with anything but pretty dark hair, thick and with the prettiest waves and little curls sticking to his neck. reaching over and grabbing the horse out of the floor that had resided there for a few months, she sits her ice down in exchange to hug it while eyes stared up at the ceiling at the glow in the dark stars still sticking there after all these years since childhood and smiling genuinely sweet for once... reminiscing when she first saw the back of billy's head and her in her little five year old mind immediately thought those dark curls were like hair only prince's had. really, that's when her crush on him started. she thought he was the most handsome little prince so that's why she had to climb his fence after spying on him and pretend to get stuck at the top of it so he'd help her down. she wanted to be his princess and secretly, she played it all out in her rainbow colored imagination that's exactly what had happened. 'you saved me! thank you, cowboy prince.' tiny voice had chirped, when all he had done was grab her. she'd been saved by the cowboy prince. it almost made her laugh and cry at the same time remembering the best day of her life.

[somnoir]

Gotham's newest Crime Lord - Part 1

Prompt: Dan kills the joker and unintentionally becomes a crime lord

Dan didn't mean to become a Crime Lord. It wasn't his fault that the Joker was fragile and easily killable with one punch to the head. He didn't know that the seemingly immortal clown was easily killed once the impact practically snapped his neck. So yes, Dan didn't mean for this shit to happen. Not when all he wanted to do was go to college, make sure Danny and Elle weren't attracting trouble back in Gotham academy.

It wasn't his fault that the crazy bastard thought it was a good idea to nab his siblings and try to use them for ransom. It's not his fault that his first instinct was to introduce his first to that pennywise knock-off. It'd not his fault that this city was haunted by vengeful ghosts that wanted to tear that motherfucker to shreds.

They were supposed to lay low after the mess with their parents and their name changes.

But nooooo!

They had to have an absolute hatred for clowns and now he's somehow made himself a crime lord. Why the fuck were the Joker's goons so fucking stupid?! They either tried to kill Dan for killing their boss or they tried to fall under him and make him their new leader. It was like a fucking cult in his eyes. Seriously, what the absolute fuck was going on with this shitty city?

It's not like he could call Jazz and say "Hi sis! I killed a crazy clown and I'm now the boss of his weird goons. I also might end up on the local vigilante's hitlist."

Yeah, no. He's not doing that.

But this might not be so bad... Not really. Being their boss could be treated as a source of income if he utilized the Joker's shit properly. I mean, he couldn't always rely on the fruitloops money, not when Vlad could turn traitor and use the money against them. He needed to find a way to support his siblings, one way or another.

And Clockwork did say to get a hobby. If not mass genocide then he could resort to carefully planned crime. Yes. This could work. He'll make it fucking work for the sake of his siblings.

Besides, if he was a crime lord—in motherfucking Gotham—he doubts that the GIW will even try to fuck around in a city where a ghost controlled some part of the criminal underworld.

Oh... Oh, he was gonna fucking do this.

(Clockwork watched as his most troublesome child shifts from world ender to crime lord. At least it was an upgrade from mass genocide.)

Nightwing didn't particularly know what to make of this mess. There were rumors of a new crime lord, of a new rogue.

One day, Joker's body was dropped into the harbor and found by the workers, all confused and scared as to why the Clown Prince of crime was dead in the water. It was humiliating in the Joker's standards, to be discarded like trash into the sea rather than have his body displayed for everyone to gawk at. The clown would have adored being glorified but whoever the hell killed him knew this and fucked the guy up bad.

His head snapped and his corpse tossed out like leftovers.

Jason had laughed, outright celebrated and Crime Alley was as festive as it ever was with the Red Hood blasting music through the streets and partying like there was no tomorrow. All of Gotham was celebrating, parading through the streets with pinatas that looked like the Joker. Harley would drop down from whatever roof she was on and swing her bat at the pinata, spilling red candy as everyone cheered and laughed. It was morbidly glorious.

But the festivities didn't erase the fact that someone had killed the Joker and knew what to do to disrespect him in the worst ways possible. It wasn't long until Joker's old lackeys were rallying to someone—a new boss. It wasn't odd for goons without bosses to move on to find different jobs, but for all of Joker's old minions to work for the same person? This was definitely the guy who killed the Joker.

No name, no appearance, nothing. Just quiet activity with organising his new goons to do strange errands. Stuff that didn't point them in the direction of criminal activity.

"You got anything?" Dick murmurs as Tim slouches over the batcomputer, watching as his younger brother sneered at the screen.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing." He snaps, "All footage of this new rogue is immediately corrupted."

Babs hums, "And it's not like it's altered after it's been taken. The distortion happens live. They either have some tech on them or they're a meta who can avoid cameras." She adds, taking a leisure sip of the tea Alfred kindly offered them. "Whoever this is doesn't leave a trace aside from this shitty footage."

Tim groans, "I officially hate this guy!" He almost tosses his mug out of anger, shaking his head.

"Does Jason have any info on this one?"

And like the fucking menace he was, Jason pops up without another word. "He goes by Wraith." No one was startled, just sparing him a glance before nodding.

"That's it?"

"The goonions adore him." Jason shrugs, "Guy's been quick. Dealing with shit like Black Mask and other trafficking operations. Some of the kids he's saved wear clothes that have this specific symbol on them. It's a good tactic mind you. Tells people to fuck off and don't come anywhere near the kid or else he'll sic whatever bullshit he has in someone."

Dick narrowed his eyes, "Is it effective?"

"Hell yeah! One of the kids got kidnapped just last week. I went to save the poor thing but he walked out of that warehouse while the kidnappers were bleeding and sobbing." Jason once again grins, "Little Tommy threatened me if I try to arrest Wraith."

"So more anti-heri than villain. Good enough, at least." Dick sighed, shaking his head as he narrowed his eyes on the screen. More distorted footage.

"Thanks for the info, little wing."

"Just updatin' you guys. Heard some rumors that Harley's on the hunt for Wraith to thank him."

Great...

It's been a solid two months since the death of the Joker. Batman and the rest of his birds were increasingly wary of the Wraith and his two new associates that went by Phantom and Specter. No footage on the three could ever be recovered, making them all assume this was the work of a meta.

Most of them weren't sure if this guy was a threat or not. Red Hood, on the other hand, had a fairly positive opinion on the guy who's been hanging traffickers by their legs and immediately staking their claim on the kid to keep them safe.

The new crime lord was slowly dismantling the criminal underworld and building it back up to their design.

"FUCKING HELL!" Dick glared at the screen again, "That's Wraith's doing, isn't it? No way did the Riddler blow up that building."

"Wraith's only been dealing with traffickers so far. Why would he do this?" Steph murmurs, staring at the recording of a building that had suddenly went off. Numerous were dead, some barely survived.

"That's the motherfucker's symbol." Dick pointed to the glowing green symbol that looked liked a fire with some obscure letter they couldn't really make out. (Was it a D or a P?)

"Okay... Why would Wraith blow up a building and kill everyone?" Jason immediately asked, seeming to be defensive of the man. "He doesn't just kill people, Dick."

"Even so..." Bruce grunts, clearly displeased with the bloodshed. All that death...

"We're going after him." Bruce announced, "I'm not putting of the Wraith investigation anymore."

Dan stared at the pictures of the bodies, pudding out smoke without a cigarette in sight. His new minions—they preferred the term goons—were clearly apprehensive and continued to observe their new boss's expressions. This explosion had been his first act of pure and utter violence, a massacre of sorts.

He glances at Danny who melted out of the shadows, startling his goons.

"Can't say I'm not upset but I get why you did that shit." He begrudgingly admits, sitting across Dan. Phantom was a reluctant associate to his new organization of crime—ish.

"They weren't just trafficking kids, squirt. Pimping them, killing them and selling their organs, hosting matches and making meta kids fight to the fucking death." Dan clicked his tongue, "No redemption in that, Phantom."

"I get it, alright!" Danny snapped, "But the you've gotten the direct attention of the Bats now. They're gonna come for us, Wraith."

"Boss?" One of the goons—Dan remembers him as Jeremy Nelson. One guy just trying to support himself and his kid, trying to keep his sweet little daughter in school with as much money as he could get. Dan remembers giving the man a raise and a jacket with their family's symbol stitched into it—one for little Marigold.

"I'll deal with it. For now, you guys spread the word on that shit. I don't want anyone thinking I killed a bunch of kids." Dan growled, "My reputation can burn for all care, but like hell am I letting people think I hurt kids."

With Jeremy leading the other goons, he nodded and hurried out of the office to spread a word. The former Joker goons had taken a liking to their new boss, preferring his ways rather than their dead one.

"Jazz won't like this, y'know." Danny sighs, "I'm not gonna tell her. Never. But she'll find out, one way or another."

Dan frowns, "You think I don't know? It's Jazz, Danny."

"Yeah, yeah. I just didn't expect you to be like this. Crime Lord and everything."

Dan snorts, "I was the world ender, brat. This is mild compared to what I've done."

"Yeah, sure."

He shook his head, "You've got your own problems, brat. The Observants are still fussin' about you being king, your majesty."

An identical scowl looks back at Dan, and he's reminded that this kid is him. An alternate version of himself and yet they were brothers now. "I know. You killing the Joker fucked some stuff up. Apparently, the motherfucker was cursed to hell."

"Meaning?"

"He's got a lifetime of people in his shadow. Vengefu souls that want him dead." Danny huffs, "Had to deal with the paperwork cause everyone's wantin' a taste of him. I'm workin' on letting Walker release him so his victims can execute his soul."

"Cruel, little king."

"I'll give you his file. Bastard deserves to have his soul destroyed." Danny viciously grins. And once again, best reminded that this twerp is him. They were one and the same, different as well.

"Alright, alright. Fuck off now. We've still got some bats and birds to deal with." Dan immediately showed him away, noting Danny's eye roll.

"Better prepare a birdcage then."

Part 2 | Masterlist

[mygnolia]

to weave my love ⭒ n. riki

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Nope.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And they’re silenced immediately. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn't like it one bit. 

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

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

A spark. 

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

What the hell was that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That scared the shit out of him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake gawks. “You must really like her,”

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

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

“Gross.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s attracted to the power plant. 

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

Bam. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blurts, “He just got badly hurt.” 

Immediately, Jake knows he’s fucked up. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RIKI'S TO-DO LIST BEFORE PROM

☐  talk to ____ regularly 

☐  don't make it awkward 

☐  be..cute? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You. He still needs to save you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Riki. Spark. Spider-Man. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What. The. Fuck. 

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

Until now. 

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

His blood runs cold. 

“You think this…why?” 

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

Riki was going to strangle his best friend. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you for saving me tonight.”

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

“Goodnight, Spiderman.” 

—-

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing. 

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

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

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

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

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

The machine was scheduled to be completed tomorrow. 

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the solution hits him. Literally. 

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

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

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

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

Maybe this is where Spider-Man dies. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ll understand after he explains everything, right? 

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

Do not say it’s true. 

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

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

“Holy shit.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pause. “For being Spider-Man?” 

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

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

“I really want to ask you to prom.” 

You simply stare at him, surprised. 

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

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

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

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

“Jake.” 

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

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

“For what?”

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

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

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

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

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

“How’d Jake find out?” 

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

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

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

“Not stupid. Keep going.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But first, he has to try something out. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought girls liked this.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED AND ALWAYS READ!

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

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