#she figured out his identity on her own and confronted him

[sttoru]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ‘𝐍 𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐒: a fictional series featuring cold-hearted assassin toji fushiguro.

𝓲. in the bustling streets of a city shrouded in shadows, fate intertwines the lives of two unlikely souls. when a young woman discovers an injured man lying in an alley, she doesn’t think twice before rescuing him. ignorant of his dangerous identity, she nurses him back to health, kindling a fragile bond between them.

𝓲𝓲. the reader is depicted as a college student, aging around her early twenties. toji is a ruthless assassin, aging around his early thirties. this au is connected to the canon one (lore wise). general warning; age gap.

𝐂𝐇��𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈: A TWIST OF FATE

you finish your last lecture of the day and head to get dinner before returning to your dormitories. you stumble upon an injured figure on your way home, laying in a dimly lit alley. despite the fear in your heart, you decide to reach out towards the unknown man in need of help.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐈: A RISKY GAMBIT

you smuggle the wounded man into your dorm room and nurse him back to health in secret. a fragile bond forms between you and the stranger - whose name you learn is toji - as you spend your first night together.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐈𝐈: IN THE SHADOWS OF TRUST

toji and you share more about your lives over breakfast, layers of secrecy begin to peel away, revealing hidden truths and vulnerabilities. your deep conversation strengthens your bond, though when toji reveals his true identity, you begin to doubt your involvement.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐈𝐈𝐈: A NARROW ESCAPE

your own little bubble bursts when your friends unexpectedly visit your dorm, threatening to expose toji's hidden presence. you hide with the man in your small closet, making it seem like no one is home. your plan backfires as the tension between the two of you grows, possibly leading to more.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕: EMBRACING VULNERABILITY

the days pass and toji heals faster than you expect. when you realise that your time with him would come to an end sooner or later, you surprisingly feel upset. your complicated feelings - the emotions simmering beneath the surface - ignites a tender connection between the two of you. stupidly enough, you choose to act on those feelings.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕𝐈: IN SILENCE

in the morning, after an eventful and emotional night, you discover the sudden abscence in your room. confusion and hurt swirls within you as you grapple with the realisation of toji's sudden departure, leaving behind unanswered questions and a great sense of loss.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕𝐈𝐈: TRACING FOOTSTEPS

you refuse to give up on that stranger. even if it brings your life into danger, you go up and beyond to search for him around the area. armed with nothing but fragments of clues and an unwavering resolve, you navigate the shadows of the city and find yourself slowly unraveling the enigma of toji's disappearance.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈: CLASH OF FATES

your pursuit leads you to where you had wanted it to lead: toji. though, your discovery also ends up during the worst possible timing. when toji's chasing after his next target, you're caught in-between the crossfire. your two worlds collide and you're left to make a crucial decision.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐗: ECHOES OF BULLETS, PULSATING HEARTSTRINGS

in the aftermath of the confrontation, you find yourself shaken and vulnerable, grappling with the aftermath of the ordeal you've witnessed. toji's ruthless world that has shattered and changed yours forever.

© STTORU, 2024

#sttoru writes. #heartstrings ‘n bullets: masterlist #jjk x reader #toji x reader #pls give it lots of love :3!!!!

[sugar-grigri]

Fujimoto answers you directly in this chapter (yes)

How about reading CSM differently? Or at least cut it up differently? Because the more the chapters progress, the more a certain pattern seems to repeat itself: Part 1 sounds as if Fujimoto is unveiling CSM in its purest form, then Part 2 sounds as if CSM is responding to its own reception by its fans. 

I've already said many times that Fujimoto likes contrast in form and in writing, and this chapter, though brain-numbing, simply follows Fujimoto's own rules, only in an even more accentuated way. 

To prove my point, I recommend you reread chapter 133 "Protest", which for me speaks directly to the divisive image represented by Fujimoto and his work Chainsaw Man. 

I've already done an exhaustive analysis of it, but let's get one thing out of the way: Fujimoto answers his fans in part 2. 

Whether it's by posing a heroine who seems incompatible with Denji, hating the figure of CSM which is nonetheless the work in which she's included, whether it's through the themes addressed by part 2, the question of dual identity, creating antagonists like Fake!CSM, setting up a church (us) around CSM 

We're in a work that speaks for itself, as chapter 137 confirms, and for this very rule, we refer to the previous chapters (an eternal restart).

Chapter 136, entitled "Normal Life", refers to a more-than-CENTRAL theme in Chainsaw Man, the nerve that irrigated the whole of Part 1 Denji's disillusionment, a bargaining chip for the former antagonist, Fujimoto takes his fans by the hand and puts them back into the game they know. 

We see what we'd all expected to see, a Denji who doesn't know how to fit into normal life, who's not cut out for 

In my previous analysis, I explained how not only is Denji incapable of having a normal life, not only because of himself but also because of Yoshida, who offers him this life, and above all because of Fujimoto, who abruptly breaks the rhythm of his own chapter with this aggression, frustrating (I'm sure on purpose) his own fans. 

What Fujimoto does is make you think you were reading in the right direction, showing you a Denji depressed by his normal life, and like a child amused by not wanting to be predictable, he breaks what would otherwise have been a logical thing to see. I mean… Who could have foreseen such a title?

Chapter 137 simply follows the same logic: Fujimoto has foreseen your frustrated reactions and knows full well that you've become attached to Denji, hoping that he'll break out of the cycle of manipulation. 

He plays you in this chapter by setting up a confident, emotionally well-adjusted Denji who pushes this stranger away, reminding her of the rules of respect and consent. 

It's not just Denji's thoughts, the way he would have liked to act, it's also the way YOU would have liked him to act. 

Now I can explain why these chapters, which break with the previous ones in their absurdity, are surely the most important in CSM. 

Many had pointed to the famous cinema reference in chapter 136, others had even noted that chapter 136 constituted chapter 39 of part 2, responding to Makima's date with Denji in part 1 in the same chapter. 

But chapter 39 of part 1 wasn't just interesting for the cinema scene, it was the one that set the rules for understanding CSM. 

In fact, it was this chapter to which chapter 93 responded, with Denji's ideology (in favor of bad movies) confronting Makima (against bad movies).

In the same way, the second chapter 39 (the 136th) also seeks to lay down rules

Chapters 136 and 137 have never been more responsive to CSM fans, stubbornly denying them what they want. 

What Fujimoto does is to return to cinema in its purest form in the second half, using the codes of the middle-aged male slasher. 

That's why the two high-school students go to Fujimoto's karaoke bar, because you're going to find yourself in its purest essence: having fun with the utmost absurdity. 

It's no longer a question of representing cinema, as in the two chapters 39, but of making cinema.

But why a slasher? Think of the mythical slashers that traumatized a generation… Yes… The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is a work that has achieved cult status for having opened the door to a new trend in American horror cinema: the slasher movie. Nothing represents a slasher movie more than a chainsaw-headed hero?

Inspired by the Italian "giallos", slasher movies feature a masked killer, a gang of youngsters and the killings of the serial killer in question. Fujimoto takes up this theme in his own way: Denji doesn't kill with his iconic chainsaw, he's not masked, and it's the young couple who hold the beats and the shady men who get killed.

If we go back to the depression we all expected to see, it's actually more complicated to understand: Denji's depression at being trapped in a type of writing that's too serious for him. 

Here Denji follows the rules of the game, enjoying himself by killing all those old people, saying ironically: "not bad this normal life". 

Because this scene is perfectly normal in Fujimoto's karaoke.  

In itself, Yoshida was right. Indeed, no, Denji is not the hero of the normal film that was unfolding before them. Because they're not in normal life, it's projected onto the screen. CSM's reality is an absurd slasher. It is in this slasher, in this false normal life, that the protagonist, Denji, is.

Denji is the protagonist of another film. And maybe in this one, the world needs Chaisaw Man.

#csm spoilers #chainsaw man #csm part 2 #csm #denji #csm 137 #csm 136 #csm 133 #csm 39 #my thoughts

[theoraclephobetor]

Franklyn makes Hannibal so uncomfortable and he hates this little cheese man so much.

Dan Fogler is a master for acting this character in such a smarmy and unsympathetic way - and he does it without making Franklyn actively evil or mean. There's just this undercurrent of piteous desperation in everything he does, and he's so obviously dysfunctional in a way that is deeply repellent to viewers.

For Hannibal, it's worse. Hannibal is canny enough to recognize another human who constantly wears a 'person suit'. He watches Franklyn craft himself a persona from their conversations, from his own preferences, moulding himself into a perfect friend for Hannibal. Franklyn has such an ego, and thinks that where the world failed a famous man, he - in his infinite capacity for support and friendship - could succeed. But in crafting his person suit to perfectly fit his therapist's tastes, he makes himself repugnant to Hannibal.

Franklyn is doing to Hannibal what Hannibal is trying to do for Will - he wants to make himself into Will's anchor, to get behind his walls and touch greatness, to be his saviour (in a way) and show Will his true potential.

And yet Franklyn is objectively pitiable.

Which means Hannibal, seeing his actions played out by this small man, has to grapple with the fact that he is also a small and desperate creature. He is also pitiable.

This is the same episode where Will talks about the Chesapeake Ripper as an insignificant thing that should not have been born and can never really be a person - no matter how hard it tries. He talks about the Ripper's person suit as an extrapolation - something that must exist because how else would he have evaded capture - but what Will sees in that moment is the Ripper.

Will takes so much longer to figure out Hannibal because he gives Hannibal his trust so early on in the series. He isn't looking too deeply below Hannibal's facade (which I firmly think he sees) because he trusts that there is something behind it that vaguely resembles a person. Hannibal gets all the credit for seeing that Will has a cruel streak, but Will also sees parts of Hannibal that (almost) no one else has spotted - mainly, that he holds himself firmly apart from people, even as he charms them.

And Will is completely right. Hannibal is so lonely that he goes to find Will when he doesn't show up to an appointment. He has been confronted with his own loneliness through Franklyn, while at the same time needing to shore up his identity as the Chesapeake Ripper after two copycat kills. Sorbet is all about Hannibal's identity crisis working in opposition to his desire to make Will Graham his friend.

That's also what Bedelia sees when she calls out Hannibal's person suit/human veil. Like yeah, she'll have a glass of rose and a nice conversation with him, because she honestly does like the character Hannibal's been puppeting for years. But she knows it's a shadow play. She knows that they may be friendly, but friendship requires knowing Hannibal. Bedelia peeked beneath that veil - once, at her most vulnerable moment - and she never forgets that the person suit is tailored for a lonely predator. She never forgets that the only way he was able to truly connect with her was to manipulate her into killing.

Bedelia's place in all this is so interesting to me, because for a little while she is the audience surrogate. She has the same knowledge of Hannibal's character as any viewer who grew up with The Silence of the Lambs. Later she becomes a participatory character (until Hannibal makes her a surrogate for Will), but in the beginning she exists to help show the watcher what they already know. She reaffirms - in a time when Will and Jack are becoming untethered from their realities - that what the viewer knows about Hannibal is true. Bedelia is the viewer's anchor in this narrative, up until the point she chooses to disappear from it.

Though she knows better than to clearly say as much, I think she hears about Franklyn and knows exactly why Hannibal wants nothing to do with him.

#hannibal rewatch #sorbet #hannibal lecter #will graham #bedelia du maurier #franklyn froideveaux

[aifanfictions]

story about Alastor from Hazbin Hotel falling slowly in love with (y/n) who is an emplyeee at the Hazbin Hotel and is trying to help Charlie save the sinners

Love in Hell's Heart

Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon, had always been a creature of chaos and darkness. His eerie charisma and insatiable appetite for mayhem made him a feared figure in the underworld. He relished in the chaos that Hell had to offer, finding pleasure in the torment and suffering of lost souls.

But amidst the chaos and cacophony of Hell, there was one person who managed to capture Alastor's attention—a human named (Y/N). She was an employee at the Hazbin Hotel, a place that aimed to rehabilitate sinners and give them a chance at redemption. (Y/N) was different from the other demons; she possessed an innate kindness and an unwavering belief in the potential for goodness in even the most wicked of souls.

Every day, Alastor would tune into his radio show from the confines of his lavish penthouse in Hell. He'd broadcast his sinister melodies, taunting and tormenting the damned. Yet, he couldn't help but listen to (Y/N) when she appeared on the hotel's broadcast, urging sinners to seek redemption and turn away from their evil ways.

(Y/N)'s voice, filled with genuine compassion and understanding, intrigued Alastor. He'd sit in the darkness, entranced by her words, and wonder how someone could be so pure in a place so filled with darkness. It was a puzzle that he couldn't resist trying to solve.

One evening, Alastor decided to pay the Hazbin Hotel a visit. Disguised as a well-dressed gentleman, he entered the bustling lobby, hiding his true identity from the unsuspecting staff. He watched (Y/N) as she moved about, helping sinners with their troubles, offering them a glimmer of hope in the abyss of Hell.

As the days turned into weeks, Alastor continued his visits to the hotel. He'd find excuses to be near (Y/N), striking up conversations with her and trying to understand what made her so different. Her unwavering belief in the possibility of redemption both baffled and intrigued him.

One day, (Y/N) confided in him about her dream—to save as many souls as possible and bring them out of Hell's eternal torment. Alastor, for the first time in his existence, felt a strange sensation stirring within him. It was a feeling he couldn't quite place, but it seemed to radiate from the presence of (Y/N).

As the two spent more time together, Alastor found himself slowly changing. He was no longer content with sowing chaos and reveling in suffering. Instead, he began to see the potential for something more, something better. (Y/N)'s presence was like a beacon of light in his dark world, and he found himself drawn to her in ways he couldn't comprehend.

One night, under the blood-red skies of Hell, Alastor confronted his own inner demons. He realized that he had fallen in love with (Y/N), a human who had shown him a side of himself he never knew existed. It was a love that defied the very nature of Hell itself.

With newfound determination, Alastor decided to use his influence and power to assist (Y/N) and the Hazbin Hotel in their mission to save souls. He'd become an unexpected ally in the fight for redemption, all because of the love that had taken root in the darkest corners of his heart.

Together, (Y/N) and Alastor faced unimaginable challenges, battling against the malevolent forces of Hell to give sinners a chance at salvation. Their love, an anomaly in the fiery depths of Hell, became a beacon of hope and a testament to the power of redemption and change.

In the heart of Hell, amidst the chaos and suffering, a love story unlike any other unfolded—a love that transcended the boundaries of darkness and lit up the path to redemption for those who had once been lost.

NOTE! This story was generated by OpenAI

#alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #HazbinHotel #Alastor #RadioDemon #Hell #Redemption #LoveStory #DarknessAndLight #HopeInHell #UnlikelyLove #ChaosAndCompassion #RedeemingLove #HeartOfHell #FantasyRomance #Supernatural #ShortStory #TumblrWriting #CreativeWriting #reader insert #x reader

[spider-stark]

A DARK AGE pt.2

previous part -

series summary - it's been nine months since you watched your best friend, Gwen Stacy, plummet to her death; an event that ultimately caused new york's hero to abandon the city entirely. now that he's finally returned you find yourself being forced to confront the ugly truth you've been running from.

chapter summary - desperate to get Harry Osborn out of your head, you find yourself following a lead that sends you straight to Peter Parker.

series warnings - 18+, minors DNI, series will contain depictions of violence, sexual content, dark themes, and more. please read at your own risk.

word count - 12.8k

// a dark tasm!fan fiction // masterlist // send me your thoughts // newspaper headline //

YOU HAD been worried that the ice-cold stare of Harry Osborn would remain stuck in your brain for the entire cab ride back to New York City.  

Fortunately, by the time you’d made it to Yonkers, about thirty minutes out from Ravencroft’s facility, the distressing imagery in your head faded as your ears were suddenly blasted with a series of rushed ding-s from your cell phone.  

You welcomed the noisy distraction, even if it only further agitated the throbbing headache you felt coming on.  

All the messages were from Betty Brant and likely could’ve been summed up in one long message rather than a dozen short ones. And, for the most part, all the texts did were confirm your fears: her search for Peter’s whereabouts had been a fruitless effort.  

Well, almost fruitless.   

You couldn’t quite give Brant credit for the one lead she’d received given the fact that it had essentially just fallen in her lap, but you still typed back a simple—good job, nonetheless.  

While you were off pointlessly torturing yourself behind Ravencroft’s iron gates, a woman had called the Bugle and had the misfortune of being answered by Jameson himself.  

According to Brant, the lady asked for you by name, and when Jameson told her you were busy and she’d need to call back later, she turned frantic. He said she sounded as if she were on the verge of tears, begging him to get a message to you ASAP.  

Please tell her to stop by my house! Tomorrow afternoon! She knows the address already, I promise! Tell her it’s May Parker, okay? M-A-Y P-A-R-K-E-R!  

Of course Jameson knew who the crackpot (his words) was once she said her last name, having spoken to her once or twice during Peter’s limited time at the Bugle.  

What he hadn’t told Brant was that it took everything in him to bite his tongue, to not tell the woman every horrible opinion he held in regard to her nephew. Jameson knew that it would do no good. He also knew that it wasn’t her fault that Peter hadn’t shown up to the hospital that night.   

Still, he couldn’t help but find himself seething with rage, speaking through gritted teeth until he could finally hang up the phone. He had absolutely no interest in finding Peter Parker, even if he was the only one to ever get a clear shot of Spider-Man.  

Good riddance had become his motto when it came to both Peter and Harry. You were one of the few things in this world that mattered more to Jameson than a good lead, which was exactly the reason why he had no interest in Peter’s whereabouts when he first went awol and left the Bugle without notice—he didn’t care. Even if Peter had come back to work, he would’ve just been fired anyway. Jameson had no interest in keeping him around, regardless of the quality of his work. 

But despite his hatred for the boy, he knew you were looking for him. While Jameson was unaware of Peter’s secret identity, he knew for certain that Peter had connections to Spider-Man, given that it was the whole reason he had employed him in the first place. You figured there was likely no one in this world that Jameson wanted to keep you from more than Spider-Man. But in what was surely not an easy choice to make, he begrudgingly passed the message from May along to Brant, messily scrawled onto a Doughnuttery napkin that had been stained with chocolate frosting.   

He refused to withhold a lead from you.  

Of course, when first deciding to track Peter down, you had considered going to his aunt, but she was always meant to be a last-ditch choice. After all, rumor had it that Peter had abandoned her too, moving out shortly after Gwen’s death. You didn’t see a need to add to her grief unless it felt necessary, yet it seemed she wanted you to.  

A part of you hoped that the mystery surrounding why May was so adamant about speaking to you would serve as a distraction for the night. You didn’t want to think any more about Ravencroft, and certainly not about the boy they kept locked behind those iron gates.  

Deep down, though, you knew that wasn’t possible. Try as you might, there was nothing in this world capable of distracting you from the thoughts of Harry Osborn.  

He was a plague, one that you had been fighting off ever since that night; and seeing him in person seemed to have only granted him the opportunity to further sink his claws into you.  

You often found yourself reliving the moment you first saw him—the Green Goblin. A monster composed of distended veins and spindly bones, appearing so completely and utterly inhuman—so unlike the boy you knew that you didn’t even recognize him at first. At first, there had just been fear, a sense of pure unbridled terror.  

But then, once he spoke, you knew. You knew what he had done, recognized him in spite of the monster the serum had transformed him into. Bile instantly stung at your throat, threatening to spill past your lips and onto the asphalt beneath your feet. You couldn’t stop thinking of how much it had burned, swallowing it down over and over again, as many times as it took before your body finally stopped trying.  

You fought so hard against that visceral reaction, the sensible part of you that had seen this new form he’d taken on and screamed at you to run. You wouldn’t let yourself do that. You couldn’t bear the thought of turning your back on your friend, even after seeing what he’d turned himself into.  

But then he grabbed Gwen and once she was in his arms you realized that he wasn’t the same anymore. Then once he’d finally let her go, once you’d watched her take her very last breath, you swore you’d always hate him. Harry Osborn was not your friend; it was a simple fact that you still stood behind.  

But trauma was a peculiar thing.  

Usually when Harry haunted your thoughts, the Green Goblin was always the focal point. Flashes of Gwen’s lifeless body dangling from Spider-Man's web, the sounds of squelching flesh and cracking bones. You would remember the metallic taste that filled your mouth as you looked over at him that last time, just before everything went black.  

Tonight, though, you’d found yourself thinking not of the Goblin, but of your friend. The friend that had once been good as dead to you. Memories that had once been shoved aside in favor of sinking into the tragedy you’d experienced, only to be brought back to light after seeing his face today.  

You tossed and turned in your bed, your head pounding as thoughts of posh charity events, late-night talks, and inside jokes fought to keep you awake. It wasn’t until the next day when you’d finally arrived at Aunt May’s house that you received a much-needed break from him. 

The thick plastic covering on the couch crinkled loudly beneath your weight as you sat down. You used every ounce of effort in your body to try and appear calm as she moved past the coffee table, sitting across from you in a sage green armchair.  

It was new.  

“I’m so glad you came, y/n.” May offered you her sweetest smile, the gesture accentuating the thin lines around her eyes. She looked older somehow, even though it hadn’t even been a year since you last saw her. “I was worried that bitter man at the newspaper wouldn’t tell you I called.”  

You barely stifled your laughter, then immediately wondered if she could tell that even that sliver of emotion was fake. It was second nature to put on an act, especially when it came to work matters. To appear excessively friendly, using it as a tool to quickly build some sort of rapport with someone, hoping it would get them to spill whatever information they might have.  

It didn't seem necessary to put up an act around May, but you found it difficult to turn it off.  

“Jameson can be a little… testy, at times.”  

She immediately snorted at your words, believing them to be a drastic understatement.  

“But I’ve gotta say,” you continued, trying to steer the conversation, “I was a bit surprised when he said you called.”  

Guilt settled over her soft features, dusty pink lips settling into a thin line as she stared down at her lap, watching the steam rise from her cup. “I know. I meant to call sooner, more often, but I just...” she sucked in a breath, lifting the cup to the edge of her lips, “I didn’t want to make a big fuss of things.”  

She was drinking chamomile tea. You knew this because you were offered some as soon as she opened the front door, cheerfully telling you that she’d just boiled a fresh pot of water. While you didn’t consider yourself an expert on May Parker, you couldn’t help but make note of the fact that you’d never seen her enjoy herbal drinks before.  

You leaned forward a touch, your elbows resting just above your knees as you did so. “What would you make a fuss over?”  

This meeting was different than Ravencroft.  

At Ravencroft you were a sheep grazing among lions. Showing weakness would gain you nothing, save for failure and potential death. But in a place like Aunt May’s home, the roles immediately reversed.  

Here, you were the lion. And, to gain the trust of sheep, you needed to come off as if you were entirely transparent. Wear your heart on your sleeve, bare every emotion you had, and express as much concern as possible, fooling them into believing that you were truly on their side.  

But this time was different, you tried to remind yourself, working diligently to ensure your emotions didn’t come off as fake or exaggerated. You could be genuine. You really were on her side, right?  

“Peter’s been...” She hesitated as her wedding ring clinked against the porcelain cup in her hands as she nervously tapped her fingers. She never took it off, even after Ben died. “different.”  

Your chest tightened, elbows digging further into your thighs. “What do you mean?”  

“He changed after what happened to Gwendolyne.” she began to explain, though she remained hesitant. “It started off small. Quitting the newspaper, refusing to finish his college applications. And maybe that’s when I should’ve stepped in, tried to snap him out of it or something. But after what he’d gone through... what he had lost...”  

There was a knowing look in her eyes, a sense of understanding. It was then that it fully clicked for you, realizing that May had been through something similar to what Peter went through. She knew what it was like to have your entire world change in the blink of an eye. “I just hoped that with time it would pass.”  

“And it didn’t, did it?” You guessed, painfully aware of the answer.  

If it had changed, if he had gotten better, then you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.  

May shook her head. “No.” She uttered, her hooded gaze still avoiding yours, remaining fixed on her cup. “It got worse.”  

There was something in the way she spoke, the solemn tone you’d never heard her take before, that sent chills running down your spine.  

“How so?”  

"Little ways, at first.” Her voice broke, clearing her throat before taking another sip of tea. “He started acting out. Getting mean. Rageful.”  

Your heart ached for the woman, fighting the urge to reach out and hug her as you watched her hazel eyes turn glossy.  

“He was almost never home anymore, and then one day he just... didn’t come back.”  

She wiped away the unshed tears, lightly shaking her head and muttering an apology.  

“Where is he?” You asked her, instinctively looking towards the old staircase that led to his bedroom.  

Years had been wasted in there, sitting cross-legged on his worn-out rug and exchanging complaints about Flash Thompson or Miss. Ritter. On good days, the two of you would build Lego sets and eat your fill of junk food. On bad days you’d both tuck yourselves away in his bed, hidden underneath a stack of blankets as old movies played from his laptop.  

It had been a while since you’d let yourself think of those memories, and you hadn’t quite expected it to hurt as much as it did to acknowledge that those days were gone. 

“Columbia.” She spoke.  

Your eyes widened as your head cocked to the side. “University?”  

Warmth spread across your cheeks as embarrassment settled in, feeling a bit silly for speaking the thought aloud. Of course she had meant Columbia University. Still, it shocked you a little when she nodded, confirming your thoughts. Given the way she spoke of Peter’s decline, you hadn’t expected him to be attending college.  

“So, you still talk to him?” You quickly followed up with another question, this one less painstakingly dumb than the last.  

May scoffed, the loose hair framing her face swaying about as she shook her head. “I don’t know if I’d call it talking. But he checks in on occasion, just often enough to keep me from having a heart attack.”  

You glanced down at her cup of tea, willing to reason that maybe Peter had been the reason for her sudden interest in herbal drinks. After all, they were known to reduce stress, and Peter seemed to be causing a great deal of it.  

There was another sound of disapproval, a click of her tongue as her voice went low again. “You raise a boy for over ten years,” she started, the smallest spark of anger burning within her, “only to end up getting a postcard in the mail every month.”  

“A postcard?” You wondered aloud, likely looking as puzzled as you felt. “You don’t have his phone number?”  

She snorted. “I don’t know if he even has a phone anymore.”  

For a moment neither of you spoke, and you found yourself studying her features, looking for any sign that she might be lying. You knew that there was no point in it, that May had no reason to lie to you. There would be nothing for her to gain, plus she had reached out to you for help. Still, it was second nature for you to remain apprehensive.  

It was hard to believe that Peter had all but completely cut ties with his aunt. May had raised him, practically given her entire life just to ensure that he had everything he could ever need, only to up and abandon her out of the blue—just as he had done to you.  

Nothing about it made any sense to you, and the thought alone was enough to fill you with not only rage, but also fear. Was Peter that far gone?  

You didn’t want to think about that right now, instead focusing on the sharp pain sneaking up your left side from sitting hunched over for so long. Forcibly relaxing your muscles, you leaned back against the couch cushions, listening to the way the plastic squelched as you shifted.  

“Is that why you called?” You finally asked, pressing a hand to your ribs and rubbing over the sore area. “To see if I could help Peter?”  

May took another long and thoughtful sip of her tea. Then, once she was finished, she leaned forwards and placed it on the coffee table that stood between you both. “No.” She stated firmly, only for her eyes to narrow and then go back on the declaration, “Not entirely, at least.” 

You frowned at her, confused.  

“I wanted to call because I realized that you needed someone, too.” You froze instantly, suddenly feeling as if the air had been knocked from your lungs. “I’ve been so caught up with Peter and trying to find a way to help him that I nearly forgot he wasn’t the only one who lost someone.”  

May glanced up for perhaps the first time in this whole conversation. You couldn’t help but feel as if the roles had changed, sinking further into the cushion behind you. She took note of everything, your stiff posture, the subtle bouncing of your leg, the timid look in your eye. You had become the sheep, being carefully discerned by the lion.  

“I never got a chance to tell you how sorry I was—still am, for your loss, y/n. You didn’t just lose Gwen that night, you lost all three of them.”  

Her heedful words landed the final blow, feeling like a piercing knife against your throat.  

Suck it up, you kept repeating to yourself, change the subject.  

Scrambling to compose yourself, nearly choking on your own tongue, you tried to ignore the look of concern she gave you. You didn’t need sympathy. “I’m managing.” You told her roughly, only able to conjure a barely believable smile. “It could be worse.”  

“Sure,” May tentatively agreed, “but it could also be better.”  

You decided it was best to not acknowledge her words.  

“You said not entirely.” You reminded her, working hard to ensure that your voice didn’t shake. You weren’t sure why it was shaking in the first place, torn between naming anxiety or anger as the culprit. “When I asked if you wanted me to help Peter, that’s what you said. What makes you think I can help him?” 

May’s face screwed up, staring at you as if it were obvious. “Because no one else can. The three of you—you, Harry, and Gwen—were the only ones that could ever get through to him.” She paused, considering her next words. “And you’re the only one left.”  

There was a weight that settled on your shoulders, shoving you further into the couch. You didn’t like the way that it sounded, for more reasons than one. There was too much responsibility that came with it.   

“Columbia’s campus is big.” You told her, void of any emotion. “Do you know where he’s staying? Anything that might help me find him?”  

This time it was May’s turn to sink back into her seat, shoulders slouching forward as she turned apologetic. “I know he’s living on campus, but I don’t know which building. Whenever he writes he always keeps the details to a minimum.”  

As much as you appreciated any information she offered, it wouldn’t help you much. You had been right in your earlier statement; Columbia was a big school with at least two dozen residence halls. Finding Peter amongst those students was comparable to finding a needle in a haystack.  

You knew that you could enlist Betty Brant’s help, but even then, it could take days before one of you happened to find him.  

Finally, a bit exasperated, you dared to ask. “Anything else?”  

May smiled, weary and filled with regret. “Just be careful, y/n. I’m not sure what Peter had gotten himself into, but I’ve seen the news.” Her hands trembled as she spoke. “I know what they think he did. What Spider-Man might have done.”  

She spoke the vigilante’s name like a forbidden word, as if it were one she had sworn she’d never speak aloud, and your eyes grew wide as you just barely breathed out, “You know?”  

May’s smile remained despite the somber gleam in her eyes as she told you simply, “No one washes the flag.”  

You found the students at Columbia University nauseating.  

Most of them were pretentious assholes that stunk of cigarette smoke, not because they actually smoked them, but instead because letting them lazily hang from their fingers matched their desired aesthetic.  

They were all desperate to give off the same vibe as a fifteen-year-olds dark academia Pinterest board, leaning against a wall with a copy of Allan Ginsberg’s Howl tucked beneath their arm. You wondered if any of them had ever read it, snorting to yourself when you thought of how they’d likely dogeared a few pages to make the book look worn.  

“This place is huge.” Betty Brant marveled from beside you, spinning in a circle as she took in its vastness. When she was done making herself dizzy, she looked at you. “This is gonna be impossible.”  

You smiled at her inept observation, challenging her. “Why?”  

Her brows snapped together, a single hand incredulously waving around the two of you. “Have you looked around?” She quipped. “There are literally thousands of people here! If we find him today, then it’ll just be dumb luck.”  

You didn’t judge her for her innate pessimism. After all, you felt just as overwhelmed as Betty Brant did currently when sitting on Aunt May’s couch, listening as she told you that she had essentially nothing to offer in terms of helping to find Peter. It was easy to assume the worst in a field where you’re so often dealt the shittiest of hands—but Jameson and the other seasoned reporters at the Bugle had taught you well. There was always a way to turn things around.  

“Know your target, Brant.” You lightly chastised, a teasing smile that Brant felt looked out of place on you. While she still didn’t know you well, she’d seen you around the office a lot, and she struggled to remember a time when you didn’t have a permanent grimace etched on your face.  

Your fingers delved into your bag and reached for a few papers that you’d printed off at the Bugle, just moments before you’d snagged Brant up by her arm without warning and forced her to come with you to Columbia University. You held one of the papers out to her, which she swiftly took and began reading.  

"There are only two programs offered at Columbia that Peter would care about: photography or biochemistry.” You explained to her. “I went on their website and got an idea of a mock schedule for both and copied down the names of the buildings they’re in. It’s still not a sure shot-”  

“But it gives us somewhere to start.” Brant finished your sentence, her big eyes flickering back up to yours as she lowered the page you’d given her.  

You grinned. “Exactly.”  

“So, we’re splitting up?”  

She was nervous about that idea, clear by the way she started to tug at the edge of her royal blue cardigan. If it were someone other than Brant you might be concerned, but Brant always came off a little antsy, making it easy to brush it off; although it did leave you wondering why the girl stayed so high strung. One day you’d ask her about it, you thought, but not right now.  

"It’s better that way. We'll cover more ground.” You told her, your pitiless statement doing little to quell her nerves as she gave another sharp tug to her garment, anxiously looking around at the swarm of students passing around you both.  

You did your best to look sympathetic, “Just call me if you need me, alright?” Brant stared back at you, resembling a small child whose mother was dropping them off on their first day of school. It was pitiful, and you nearly groaned as you forced yourself to say, “If you call, I’ll answer. Promise.”  

Brant hesitated for a second before nodding, still uneasy but far more willing now to leave your side. As you turned away from her you reminded yourself to never have children, desperately hoping and praying to any God who might listen that Brant would not call you.  

As you started to meld into the crowd, falling into step with a group of girls around your age, the thoughts of Brant and her child-like anxiety were replaced with something far more juvenile. You had just barely glanced at the girls walking next to you, at first only giving them a quick glance. Soon, though, as you continued towards your destination, you found yourself fixating on them.  

They smelled like cloves and bergamot, probably the scent of some over-priced perfume you’d never even dream of taking off the shelf and their clothes were nicer than anything hanging up in your closet. One had a Tiffany’s necklace dangling around her throat like a collar and another had pin straight platinum hair. In short, they looked expensive. But, at the same time, they looked incredibly beautiful.  

It made you hyper aware of yourself, of how different you looked in comparison. You weren’t wearing any nice jewelry, and your hair was messily tied back, making you feel as if you were the opposite of both the girls that had caught your attention. Realizing this, you looked around at the other girls surrounding you, noticing that all of them looked that way. Posh, put-together, and completely and utterly gorgeous.  

A strange feeling crept up your spine, one you hadn’t felt since you were in high school. Self-loathing.    

There was a time when you prioritized your appearance, or at least more than you do now. You could still remember what it was like to stroll into an Oscorp charity event, dozens of eyes glued to you. Men would watch with bated breath as you passed them, silently dreaming of a day where you’d actually notice them.  

That would never happen, of course.  

You always went to those events with either Harry or Peter, and they often left you with little reason to acknowledge anyone else in attendance. Even so, you remembered the power you held. Remembered what it was like to feel desired by someone, even if it wasn’t by who you wanted.  

After the accident, though, you’d stopped caring about how you looked. It felt so trivial to put any more effort than necessary into your looks, often throwing on the same outfit several days in a row to save time in the mornings. But in this moment, you found yourself feeling differently, insecurity slipping into your mind. Had you let yourself go? Surely not...  

It didn’t matter! You suddenly shouted at yourself, fists balling up at your sides as you tried to silence the thoughts that were fueled by foolish insecurity. Despite believing every word of the statement, it didn’t help to make you feel any less self-conscious.  

Passing by the mirrored windows of the mess hall, you found yourself slowing down, falling behind the group of girls as you hesitantly turned to catch a glimpse of yourself. You cursed yourself for looking, hating that you even cared about this sort of thing right now. But once you looked into the reflection you froze, realizing that it wasn’t yourself that you saw in the reflection. It was Gwen.  

“It’s not that bad!” She would lie to you, her voice jumping several octaves as she did. A hand would reach out, sage green fingernails combing through the frizzy mess that framed your face, trying to flatten it. “It just needs a little...” her head cocked to the side, teeth exposed as she sucked in a breath, “work.”  

Gwen was always a terrible liar. She wasn’t like you; she never had been. She was completely incapable of hiding her hand, always living with her cards exposed for the world to see—for them to take advantage of. It was what you’d always admired most about her, her willingness to trust in everyone, to see the good in anyone. It was also what you despised the most about her, and you tried not to dwell on the complexity of that.  

“You know what? It doesn’t even matter!” Gwen’s shoulders lifted exponentially, a mess of blonde curls violently swaying as she shook her head about. “You still look hotter than half the girls here, alright?” She grinned at you, the same sweet smile that you missed more than anything. “I promise!”  

And she meant it every word of it, but rather than offering you any comfort, the words just filled you with envy. You envied Gwen far more than you liked to admit. You wanted to be like her, even now, to be able to see the good in every situation, to be even half as lovely as she was.  

You tried to swallow your guilt, though it only made your stomach hurt. You had promised yourself that you were done envying Gwen.  

But you weren’t done missing her.  

Still entranced by her doe eyed stare, you felt your phone begin to buzz in your pocket, distracting you enough that you turned your gaze to your bag, instinctively going to dig for the device. By the time you thought to look back up, the vision of her was gone and you were looking at only a reflection of yourself.  

You wasted no time in looking away.  

When you sobered up enough to read the caller ID, you groaned loud enough to turn a few heads of students passing by. Now, in an interesting turn of events, you wished that Brant was the one calling you, staring down at Director Samson’s name flashing across the screen. You silenced it.  

Not today. You started walking again, effectively trading your thoughts of Gwen for ones of Ravencroft and Harry Osborn. Or ever again.  

Dodge Hall was the first stop on your list.  

You were willing to bet that of the two programs you listed to Brant that Peter likely picked photography, which was precisely why you had delegated the biochemistry labs to Brant.  

There was a chance that you were wrong and that he’d decided to major in biochemistry, maybe in some desperate attempt to be like the father he swore he hated, but you held out hope anyway. You wanted to believe that even in whatever odd stage of life Peter was in he was working to forge his own path, rather than following the one he’d once considered his birthright.  

Stopping in front of the building that housed most of the University’s photography classes, you grimaced. It significantly lacked character, offering nothing more than a bunch of lifeless bricks with boring cement pillars on either side. You had yet to see anything about this school that made it seem worth the astronomical tuition students paid to attend.  

“I know that look-” a high-pitched voice filled the air, the grating sound intensifying your already sour expression, “Dodge might not have the most intricate architecture on campus, but for what it lacks in appearance it makes up for in its rich and extraordinary history!” 

You didn't want to turn around, fully recognizing the chirpy she-devil by diction alone. Still, you forced yourself to do it anyway, realizing that there was no possible escape route. “Mary Jane!” The vile taste of her name in your mouth left you feeling queasy, “what’re you doing here?”  

No, seriously, what the fuck was she doing here?  

A perfectly manicured hand flew to her overly plump lips, packed full of filler and overlined with a red lip pencil. An exaggerated gasp somehow managed to slip past them. “Oh my gosh!” The copper-haired beauty squealed, sounding as if she had inhaled at least a few liters of helium. You forgot how much you hated her voice. “y/n! I didn’t even recognize you!”  

“Yeah, it’s been a while.” You droned, likely appearing just as displeased as you sounded. It was difficult for you to sound pleasant around Mary Jane.  

Mary Jane had always been a thorn in your side. For the most part she was entirely harmless, but her ever-so-perky attitude always left a bad taste in both your mouth and Gwen’s. On top of that, she lacked morals, made clear by the last time you’d seen her.  

It was immediately after Gwen’s funeral, and you’d just happened to find Mary Jane and a few other reporters from the Daily Globe swarming the Stacy family, pining for an interview. It was disgusting, and if you’d been in better shape, you swore that you would’ve knocked her square in the face that day.  

Mary Jane reached out and touched your forearm, giving it a firm squeeze. “You look so good!”  

You didn’t even bother thanking her, instead deciding to brace yourself for what might be coming next. You had known her long enough to know that all her compliments were a double-edged sword, an insult waiting just around the corner.  

“After Genna’s funeral you looked so thin and sickly,” her button nose scrunched up as she looked you up and down, “it’s so nice to see you look far more...” a slight tilt of her head, accompanied by a sickeningly sweet smile as she squeezed your arm again, “plump!”  

The smile you gave in return was far less pleasurable than hers, bearing a closer resemblance to a snarl. “Gwen.” You pointedly corrected, choosing to ignore her weak attempt at insulting you. “Her name is Gwen.”  

She only waved her hand, dismissing your correction. The simple act made your blood boil, teeth grinding together as you fought to stay silent. You didn’t have time to start a fight with her.  

“Ugh, silly me! I’m so bad with names!” She pretended to laugh it off, playing it as an innocent slip of the tongue. You could see the malice behind it, though, her emerald eyes glistening with spite. Mary Jane was a journalist, which meant that remembering facts was quite literally her job. Pretending to forget Gwen’s name was just another idle attempt at getting under your skin.  

It worked.  

“Did you check out the Globe yesterday?” She started right back up, trapping you in another conversation and preventing you from finding an excuse to slip into Dodge Hall and start your search for Peter. “Who am I kidding! Of course you did!” Mary Jane twirled a strand of red hair around her finger, her egotism on full display as she beamed. “Dozens of newsstands sold out within the hour! Amazing, right? To sell out physical copies in this digital age!”  

You only hummed in response, aware that she only wanted to hear herself talk. But God, you hated the way she spoke. Her constant need to enunciate every other word, her squeaky voice filled with false sincerity, always searching for validation in every conversation.  

”Bushkin agreed that we only sold out because of my story on the front page! He said my talent for writing could be enough to revive print entirely!” Her chest swelled with pride; hands clasped over her heart as nonsense continued to spew from her.  

Barney Bushkin was the publisher for the Globe, which made him Mary Jane’s boss. He also had a reputation for being a sick old pervert with an affinity for girls that were far too young for him. His opinion meant nothing to you since you knew that he would say absolutely anything if he thought it would increase his odds of getting a quick look up one of Mary Jane’s too-short skirts.  

”I’m not surprised you sold so many copies,” you egged her on, taking immense pleasure in the way her smug smile grew at what she mistook for praise, “fear mongering has always been a useful tactic for sales.”  

For a moment you could’ve sworn you saw her eyes turn as red as her hair, fiery rage coursing through her veins at your comment. But it was gone nearly as soon as it had appeared.  

”Well,” she cleared her throat, smoothing the wrinkles out of her white blouse, “I’d hardly call my article fear mongering. I just presented the facts.”  

You couldn’t deny that Mary Jane was a pro at composing herself, remaining collected even when you knew she wanted to explode. Image was important to her, meaning she couldn’t ever afford to let her nice girl act falter.  

”You called Spider-Man a murderer.”  

You didn’t always share her skillset, willing to let yourself come off as brash and plain-spoken.  

”And last I checked there’s an active warrant for his arrest.” Mary Jane retorted sharply, the only sign she was willing to give that you were annoying her. “So, like I said, I presented the facts.”  

You sucked in a breath, holding back your argument. You wanted to tell her that her facts were skewed, that she was reporting with only one source and effectively trying to demonize a man who had saved the city countless times. But you didn’t. Fighting with her would be a waste of time, and you had better things to do.  

"Yeah, well, I should really get going.” You gave a curt smile, nodding in the direction of Dodge Hall. “Always good to see you, MJ.” You took care to place extra emphasis on the nickname, fully aware of just how much she hated it.  

Still, she barely let it get to her, hiding her own scowl as you started to edge towards the building. You noticed the way her left eye twitched, though, showing that she was nearing a breaking point. If you had more time, you’d likely try and push her over the edge.  

“Why are you here?” Mary Jane suddenly mimicked the question you had first asked her, the one she had never actually gave an answer to.  

You paused, only having made it less than a few feet away from her. “Visiting a friend.”  

If all went to plan, that wouldn’t technically be a lie.  

“Peter?” She blurted his name out in a way that left you feeling strange. There was a hesitant look on her face, almost as if she were afraid that you’d say yes. You didn’t like it.  

“Yeah, actually.” You frowned, watching her face drop at the confirmation. “Why?”  

She refused to meet your stare, staring past your shoulder at the entrance of the Hall. “He’s not in there.”  

In all the years you’d known Mary Jane, you’d never heard her sound so uncharacteristically dispirited. Her perky persona seemed to vanish in thin air, leaving behind someone that was entirely unfamiliar to you.  

It was incredibly uncomfortable.  

“Wait, do you know where he is?” You asked.  

“Of course I do.” She quickly answered, cutting her eyes at you. “But if you’re the one meeting him then shouldn’t you know where he is?”  

Jealousy settled in. Why did she know where Peter was? Mary Jane and Peter had never been particularly close, likely due to the lifelong rivalry that you and Gwen had held with her. The idea of him even interacting with Mary Jane left you feeling unsettled.  

“Well, we were supposed to meet here.” You lied, turning a tad defensive as you shrugged a shoulder in the direction of the building. “But it’s been a busy morning. He might’ve forgot.”  

You paused, debating whether you wanted to continue. There was a good chance that you didn’t want to hear the answer to the question resting on the tip of your tongue, and yet you made yourself ask it anyway. “Were you just with him?”  

Please say no-  

“Yes.” Her answer came quickly. “We had plans to get dinner but-um,” she suddenly became extremely focused on her own feet, awkwardly kicking at the sidewalk, “he had to... cancel. Said he was gonna be too busy developing photos all night.”  

Her too-perfect face screwed up in an unsightly sort of way. You almost thought that you should feel guilty for accidentally making it seem as if Peter had ditched her for you. But you didn’t. Instead, you felt sickly satisfied, taking pleasure in her sorrow. You reveled in it, finding it easier to focus on that than the idea of why she and Peter were going to get dinner together in the first place.  

”Mm, that sucks.” You let out a disinterested hum, taking a page from her book as you continued without waiting for a reply, “Is that what he’s doing now? Developing photos?”  

Mary Jane gave a stiff nod.  

”Great.”  

Despite how painful it had been to sit through what felt like a never-ending conversation with her, Mary Jane had ended up being of vital importance. If Peter was developing images today, then that meant he had to be in the darkrooms. And, thanks to your Google research, you knew exactly where they were—Watson Hall, just a brief walk from where you were now.  

You wasted no time with stepping around Mary Jane, having no intention of even wasting a goodbye on her as you started towards your destination. But, as you moved around her body, she reached for you, her thin fingers once again wrapping around your forearm. She squeezed harder than last time, your head snapping in her direction, eyes narrowing in a threatening stare as she held you there.  

Surprisingly, she gave you a threatening look of her own.  

“Before you go,” you found it eerie the way her voice remained syrupy sweet, a sharp contrast to the menacing expression she wore, “I just wanted to tell you how much I adored that little sympathy piece you wrote for your friend in the looney bin.” 

You pulled your arm from her grip, your body going tense at the mention of the article you’d written to try and sway the public during Harry’s trial. Jameson hadn’t allowed it to go to print, reminding you that your judgment was still clouded by grief. He didn’t understand why you were so desperate to keep Harry out of Ryker’s Island, but he had hoped that by letting you at least post the article on the Bugle’s website that it would offer you some sort of closure.  

It hadn’t. It was shortly after publishing the piece that you had went straight to Harry’s lawyers, giving them all the information they would need to plead insanity.  

Mary Jane stepped closer, ignoring your effort to create distance from her. She was close enough that you could nearly feel the heat radiating off her body. You didn’t like it, but you refused to let yourself back away from her.  

“I can’t say that Peter agreed.” Her lips curled into a cynical smirk. “I mean, honestly, after the reaction he had to it I’m shocked that he can even stand to be in the same room as you!” The sound of her laughter infuriated you. “I suppose it’s true what they say about time, yeah? That it heals all wounds—even a knife in the back.”  

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, couldn’t think.  

All you could do was stare at the devilish woman in front of you, seething with a type of hatred that you were certain could eat you alive. Your nails sunk into the heel of your palm, an effort to refrain yourself from using them to claw that nasty complacent look right off her face.  

Mary Jane noticed this and decided to take your silence as a sign of her victory.  

“It really was great seeing you, y/n.” She gushed, the false tender statement only fueling your anger. As she turned to walk away, she glanced over her shoulder, winking at you. “Don’t be a stranger.”  

One day, you swore to yourself with a particularly loud huff, spinning on your heel and stomping in the direction of the darkrooms, you would kick Mary Jane’s ass.  

When you posted the article—the one you hoped would sway the public’s opinion of Harry—you knew Peter would see it. More than that, you knew that he would be adamantly against it. 

Unlike you, Harry hadn’t given Peter a reason to care whether he lived or died.  

If anything, he had done nothing but give Peter motive to kill Harry himself. You hated that thought. While you didn’t believe that Peter had murdered Sytsevich, you worried that if given the chance he would have killed Harry that night. You wanted to believe that he wouldn’t have been capable of following through with it, though. Just as you weren’t capable of sitting idly by as Harry was sentenced to Ryker’s Island, knowing that he would be as good as dead in there.  

Maybe you’d been stupid not to consider that the article was one of the reasons why Peter had never bothered to reach out to you, even once things had settled down. Maybe it was your own fault that he’d abandoned you, that the article had been the final nail in the coffin of your friendship.  

Your stomach ached, your mind still reeling as you shoved open the large doors of Watson Hall. A rush of frigid air washed over you, goosebumps erupting against your skin.  

Was it possible that Peter hated you as much as he hated Harry?  

No. It couldn’t be. What Harry had done was beyond abominable, something that could never be forgiven. You hadn’t done anything nearly as bad as him.  

Yet, on the other hand… is the one who comes to a monster's defense just as bad as the monster? You weren’t sure of the answer to that question, though you started to rationalize it to yourself anyway—you weren’t defending him, you just didn’t want to watch him die if there was something you could do to stop it! 

But why not? Gwen wasn’t a monster, yet you still watched her die, standing on the sidelines and doing nothing to try and stop it.  

There was nothing I could’ve done! Your mind screamed in defense of itself as you approached the staircase leading to the second floor, roughly gripping the rail as you started climbing up.  

Why had Peter talked to Mary Jane about the article in the first place? That question was easier to think about than the others, infuriating but still less emotionally taxing, so you let yourself fixate on it. As far as you knew, Peter hadn’t liked Mary Jane any more than you and Gwen did, always keeping his distance from the she-devil.  

When did that change?  

At the top of the stairs, nestled in a corner of the left, there was a single door with a large black sign hanging off of it. The words DARKROOM IN USE were written in bold letters. You stared at it for a moment, your mind finally going blank as you did.  

Peter was behind that door—your best friend, Peter.  

Your palms started to sweat as memories started flooding back. Instantly, you bit your cheek, trying to ignore them. Now wasn’t the time for a trip down memory lane, especially not when you could still recall the bloody way that road ends.  

A knock echoed through the somewhat barren Hall as your first collided with the door, your nerves growing with every passing millisecond. All you could do was focus on the different feelings fighting to consume you, the thudding of your heart, the slickness of your hands, the churning of your stomach.  

“Peter?”  

Saying his name felt wrong, but you said it anyway as you knocked again, a bit harder this time. “It’s y/n,” you told him, as if it were even possible for him to forget the sound of your voice, “can I come in?”  

Once again you were met with silence.  

You considered turning around. Maybe Jameson had been right in thinking that you shouldn’t chase this story. After all, it wasn’t your job to prove Spider-Man's innocence, and if Peter wanted your help, then he knew how to find you. You could call Brant right now and tell her that today was a bust, or even lie and say that Peter didn’t want to help with the story. You could walk away.  

But you didn’t let yourself do that, once again feeling that weight of responsibility that May had unintentionally placed on your shoulders. There was no one left in Peter’s corner, no one that would be willing to dig him out of whatever dark hole he’d landed himself in.  

You had fought to save Harry’s life, and so it only felt right that you tried to do the same for Peter.  

Without bothering to knock again, you reached for the knob and twisted, hastily slipping inside the room, trying to limit the amount of light the leaked in behind you. You didn’t know a lot about developing photos, but you’d never forgotten the way Peter would groan whenever you’d come in unannounced, accidentally letting the light ruin his work.  

The door clicked shut behind you as you looked around. It wasn’t a big room, just large enough for two or three people to comfortably fit inside. Any more than that, though, and they’d likely be bumping elbows the entire time. There was a table in the center of it, lined with tubs holding various chemicals that you’d never learned the names of. A clothesline hung around the perimeter of the room, a few newly developed photos lazily dangling from it. On the far wall there were two desks, various images and tools scattered across them.  

Everything in the room looked sinister, courtesy of the red tinted light that hung overhead.  

”Fucking creepy.” You muttered to yourself, crossing your arms over your chest as a chill inched down your back. This room felt significantly colder than the rest of Watson Hall, only adding to its unsettling vibe.  

The darkroom was empty, despite the sign on the door saying it was in use. The realization nearly made you breathe a sigh of relief, a part of you finding comfort in the thought that you wouldn’t actually have to confront Peter right now. But as you stepped further into the room and towards the twin desks, all your newfound relief dissipated.  

Resting against the leg of the desk was a fluorescent yellow bookbag, decorated with a variety of cheap pins ranging from local bands to images of outdated memes. You remembered the first time you ever saw that bag, lying on the floor of Peter’s bedroom just a week or so before the start of Junior year. He threw a fit when Aunt May had come in, tossing the ugly bag on his bed and raving about how she had gotten it on sale just in time for back-to-school.  

You made fun of him for months, always making note of the way its vibrancy clashed with his darker style. Secretly you had loved that bag, silently appreciative for how easy it made it to find Peter in the crowded halls of Midtown High. He would always beg Aunt May to get a different bag, but she refused, saying that they shouldn’t buy another until he had worn the yellow one out.  

Looking at it now, it seemed that he had finally achieved that goal. The yellow fabric was a touch duller now, though not by much, and there was a noticeable tear in the seam of the front pocket. Kneeling beside it, you traced your finger over a trail of blue thread, having been carefully used to stitch the fabric back together.  

You wondered why he had decided to fix it instead of just replacing it like he had always wanted.  

Straightening back up, you scanned over the rest of the desk. There was a black reusable water bottle perched on the edge, a set of keys attached to a Deftones lanyard lying beside it. A bit of sweat trickled down the edge of the bottle, collecting on the surface of the desk. You reached for it, shifting it just enough to hear ice knocking against the metal walls. It had barely melted, meaning that it hadn’t been long since Peter had gotten here. Still, you had no clue where he was now.  

Closer to the center of the desk was a neat stack of already developed photos. A girl graced the top of the stack—pale skin with bleach blonde hair, neatly pushed back by a black headband. You reached for it without hesitation, a single digit tracing along her grinning face.  

Peter took pictures of a lot of people, you included, but it was undeniable that Gwen had always been his favorite subject. Looking at this photo, you couldn’t help but understand why. She was effortlessly beautiful, capable of taking your breath away without even trying.  

You could never blame Peter for always trying to capture that beauty, fully aware that if you were him, she would’ve been your favorite too.  

Without much thought you decided to slip the image into your bag. Peter had dozens of pictures of Gwen, while you only had a measly few. He could spare one.  

The other images were far more recent than the first, with only one or two others featuring Gwen. There were snapshots of random Columbia students, a few cityscapes, and even one of the devil herself—Mary Jane, posed in front of the same mess hall that had ensnared you earlier. In the reflection you could see Peter, smiling from behind his camera.  

You gritted your teeth and rolled your eyes at the image. Were they really friends? The picture seemed to serve as enough of an answer, but you still couldn’t help but hope that you were wrong. Had Peter truly traded you in for Mary-fucking-Jane?  

You roughly shoved that photo to the back of the stack, doing your best not to think about it as you continued to snoop through the rest of them. None were particularly interesting, save for the last two. Their dark composition offered a stark difference from the rest, while simultaneously making it difficult to tell what Peter was even photographing.  

Taking one in each hand, your eyes darted back and forth between them, squinting as you tried to make out the subject, a task that was made all the more difficult by the rooms dim red lighting. You brought one closer to your face, making out a few trivial details. At the far edge, there seemed to be a street sign's corner, and in the middle a few streaks of dim light reflecting off a rain puddle.  

Moving it away from yourself, you shifted your focus to the other one, thinking it appeared to be just a close-up of the first image. Then, slowly, you realized your mistake. It hadn’t been just a zoomed-in shot, as the reflection in the puddle made it something else entirely—a self-portrait.  

But it wasn’t the warmth of Peter’s familiar brown eyes being reflected in the hazy liquid. Rather there was an outline of the two lifeless white lenses that belonged to his other self, the version of him you sometimes wished to forget.  

The sight made you feel sick, sweat starting to form along your neck as you hastily flipped the photo over, desperate to avoid his sickening stare. However, what you saw on the back of the image was almost as bad as being forced to stare at Spider-Man's reflection. Scrawled in Peter’s barely legible handwriting was the date APRIL 2ND.  

A new panic quickly trickled into your veins, fully replacing the one that had been born from the lifeless gaze of his mask. You read yesterday’s date over and over again, as if it would suddenly change. It never did, and a sizable knot formed in your throat as you slowly began to look up, shifting your focus to the forgotten photos pinned to the clothesline.  

Your jaw fell slack, the photos in your hands following suit and landing on the desk below them. When you first entered the darkroom, you hadn’t paid much mind to the photographs hanging up, assuming they weren’t of much importance. Now, though, you recognized them for what they truly were—the sister images of the ones you’d been holding. Flashes of 102nd Avenue, Aleksei Sytsevich lying lifeless on the ground, milky white shards of bone peeking through his flesh. And there were photos of his mask, and those goddamn white lenses, spattered with Aleksei’s blood.  

Peter hadn’t just been at the crime scene; he had documented it.  

Your palm pressed roughly to your mouth, fingers digging into your cheek as you made yourself swallow the vomit fighting its way up your throat. Your own trauma fought desperately to rear its head as you analyzed the gory images, but you refused to let it take hold, scrambling to keep control as you forced yourself to snap into action.  

After grabbing your phone, you wasted no time snapping pictures of the photographs hanging from the line, of the ones sprawled on the desk, of everything you could find. You didn’t know yet what you would do with them, but you refused to leave this room without collecting every bit of evidence you could find.  

Once you were certain you had gotten it all, you worked to straighten the stack of pictures you’d gone through, adjusting them so they appeared as if they’d never been touched in the first place. Then, with your heart hammering inside your chest, you darted for the door without a second thought, paying absolutely no mind to the strange looks given to you by passing students as you rushed for the stairs.  

You couldn’t stop moving, only slowing your frantic pace once you’d nearly made it to the exit doors. You rounded the corner as you tried to pull up Brant’s contact with shaky hands, wanting nothing more than to call her and get the fuck away from this campus. But, as soon as you went to press her name, your phone went flying from your hand and slid across the linoleum, your body pressing smack against another.  

Sugary notes of vanilla flooded your senses, making your thoughts turn hazy. Your palms were flush against the soft cotton of someone’s shirt, and you could feel their fingers wrapping firmly around your shoulders, trying to steady you enough that you wouldn’t stumble back from the impact.  

”Oh-shit!, sorry! I didn’t even see you-”  

Their voice wasn’t the first thing you recognized, instead you found yourself caught up in the material beneath your hands. They were wearing a black Ramones t-shirt, a barely noticeable tear on the edge of the collar. But you noticed the tear instantly because you were the one who had bought the shirt. You got it at the record store on 6th Avenue—Rough Trade, was the name of it—and the man behind the counter gave it to you for half off all because of that tear.  

You only ever got to wear it once before Peter nabbed it off your bedroom floor, never to return it. 

”y/n?”  

Your body betrayed you, immediately melting as the familiar sound of your name falling from his lips rang through your ears. Your heart had still been pounding in your chest this entire time, yet as your eyes met his for the first time in months, it fell still.  

Peter didn’t fully share in your reaction. Instead of appearing as if he were lost in the same nostalgic haze you were caught in, he looked as if he had seen a ghost. His skin blanched, eyes growing unnaturally wide. For a moment you thought he was going to say something else, his lips parting, yet nothing came out.  

In your lifetime, you had only known of a few things that could render Peter Parker speechless. You had now become one of them.  

”Hi.” You squeaked out, a single hand lifting from his chest and offering an awkward wave that filled you with humility.  

This wasn’t easy.  

You weren’t sure how to act around him, how to behave. For nine months you had envisioned this moment, conjuring up countless things to say to him, all the insults you wanted to hurl his way. But now that it was happening, you found yourself torn between wanting to hug and choke him.  

It seemed best to do neither.  

”Um, hi?” Peter’s grip on your shoulders tightened, just for a second, as if he were trying to prove to himself that you were really standing in front of him. Once he seemed satisfied with your physicality, he stepped back and released his grip on you entirely, subsequently making your other hand fall from his chest.  

”You’re not-I mean-you don’t go here.” He rasped, laughing awkwardly as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to ground himself.  

”You’re right, I don’t go here!” You pointlessly confirmed, voice raising several octaves as anxiety took over. “Very observant.”  

You cringed at the statement. Very observant?-you thought to yourself, biting down on the edge of your tongue as you watched Peter’s brows knit together-could've said anything, and that’s what you picked?  

He didn’t even acknowledge the useless comment, only letting it hang in the air between you as he continued to wait for a true answer.  

“I came to see you.” You choked out an honest answer, starting to shrink beneath his heavy gaze. You tried to step back, instinctively wanting to create distance between the two of you, but all you achieved was pressing yourself against the wall.  

There was no escaping him.  

He was quick to respond, making it clear just how high-strung he was. ”How did you find me?”  

”I’m a reporter.” You reminded him, offering it up as a vague answer to his question. He’d likely expected the response, given the way his eyes narrowed in frustration. “Finding people is part of my job description.”  

Peter always said that getting an answer out of you was like playing a game of charades, one that others very rarely won. You were a pro at dancing around the facts, only ever revealing them when they served to benefit you.

It was one of the many reasons you were so good at your job. 

“Is that why you’re here?” His question carried a sharp edge, his irritation growing stronger now as his jaw tightened. “For the Bugle?”  

Your body became tense, your shoulders squaring off as anxiety once again tried to shove to the surface. As you thought of the images you’d seen, the ones that were hanging just upstairs, your blood ran cold. You did your best not to let it show, instead trying to hide your fear behind a look of confusion. “Why would I be here for the Bugle?”  

At first, he only stared at you, his brows raising in an incredulous manner. You forced yourself to stare back despite the discomfort it brought you. Then, finally, he answered. “You wanna talk about Spider-Man, right?”  

Your heart sank into your stomach, lips turning dry as they parted. There was nothing good about the way the vigilante’s name rolled off his tongue, and you didn’t like it one bit. The semi-hushed tone he’d spoken in, laced with an essence of bitterness that one wouldn’t expect from the person that donned the mask.  

Hesitantly running your tongue along your now chapped lips, you responded in a shaky voice. “Why would I wanna talk about Spider-Man?”  

Harry’s advice rang through your mind—the same advice that had been mirrored by Aunt May, to remain wary of Peter—and you suddenly felt lightheaded. There was no way he could know that you found out about his identity that night, right?  

No, of course not. It was impossible. 

Peter appeared far more relaxed than you, his shoulders lazily lifting into a shrug. He didn’t seem to notice the sweat forming along your brow, making you think that you were doing an alright job at hiding your emotions. “Jameson wants new pictures of him, doesn’t he?” He threw out a guess.  

Your shoulders instantly sagged with relief, your lungs aching as you lightly blew out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Given what you’d seen upstairs, you decided it would be best to stick to Harry and May’s advice. Peter didn’t need to know that you were aware of who wore Spider-Man's mask. Not right now, at least.  

“I'm right, aren’t I?” Peter insisted impatiently, interrupting your racing thoughts and snapping you back into reality.  

“Do you have new pictures of him?” You hastily snapped back.  

“No. I don’t.” He lied straight through his teeth, once again running a hand through his already messy hair as he squeezed his eyes shut. It was obvious that he wasn’t planning to share any details of Spidey’s newly developed photoshoot hanging in the darkroom, and it would be against your best interest to press further, so you stayed quiet. When he opened his eyes again, he stared directly into yours. “And I don’t plan on taking any, so if that’s why you’re here then you’re wasting your time.”  

You couldn’t recall ever hearing Peter sound so exhausted before. His recent lack of sleep was made painfully evident by the varying shades of purple painting the skin around his eyes. How long had he looked this way? Has it been since Gwen? In some sick way you hoped that you were right, knowing that grief being the cause was better than the alternative—the idea that his lack of sleep related to his involvement with Aleksei.  

A part of you still refused to consider the images you’d seen as damning evidence that Peter had been the one to kill Aleksei Sytsevich. You couldn’t let yourself think that, refusing to believe that Peter Parker was anything even close to a murderer. It wasn’t possible.  

But, as much as you hated to admit it, they proved that he was in some way involved. An accessory, at least. For some reason, hopefully a good one, he hadn’t stopped Aleksei’s murder from happening.  

That came with its own dangerous implications.  

You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to decide what direction you wanted to steer the conversation in, which angle would serve you best. With a deep breath, you made your choice. “Well, it’s good that that’s not why I’m here then.”  

He looked surprised. “Wait,” he laughed awkwardly, “you’re not writing a piece on him?”  

There was a thin line creasing the space between his brows, a strange expression on his face. His reaction wasn’t entirely unexpected, especially because you were known for your articles on Spider-Man. But this wasn’t a look that showed he was shocked to hear you were passing up on a story, it was a look of pure offense.  

You fought the urge to ask him why he cared so much, curious to find out if he had been expecting you to rush to Spider-Man's defense in the media. The only reason you held yourself back was the fear that maybe you were wrong, that maybe he hadn’t wanted you to defend him at all; perhaps he just wanted more press for his potential crimes.  

”Seems like the Globe has it covered.” You told him, trying to sound disinterested. You hoped that he would buy your act. “No need to waste anymore ink on a story that’s already been told, right?”  

Peter knew you well enough to know that there was more to it than that. Fortunately, he was willing to reason that your potential avoidance of Spider-Man related to that night, the last night all of you were together, and the events that neither of you wanted to talk about. Besides, even if he did want to mention it, he couldn’t do so without exposing his identity to you, an identity he wasn’t aware you already knew about.  

So, as much as he didn’t want to let it go, he had no other choice.  

”O-kay.” He stretched the word out, shaking his head lightly as he worked to regain his bearings in the conversation. As he did so, a few strands of hair fell against his forehead. He was quick to push them back. “Well, if that’s not it, then why are you here?”  

There was only a second of hesitation, air hissing between your teeth as you sucked in a breath, crossing your fingers behind your back. You hoped Gwen would forgive you for the lie you were about to tell.  

”Helen Stacy.”  

The first emotion to wash over Peter was pain. It was obvious, showing in the way his shoulders slumped forwards and his bottom lip trembled, wincing as the surname of his dead lover echoed through his ears. It was the second emotion that was harder to detect, having been more cleverly concealed than the first. Anger.  

You could see it in his eyes, his pupils dilating as he started to see red. Your own gaze flickered to his sides, stopping on his clenched fists, knuckles turning a pale shade of white. It made you feel uncomfortable, especially since you were the one on the receiving end of that look. You nervously cleared your throat, starting to fiddle with the strap of your bag.  

“She called the other day and asked about running a memorial piece for Gwen’s anniversary. Obviously, she thought it would be best if Gwen’s friends put it together—you know, do it how we used to for the school paper. I’ll do the writing; you take care of the pictures.”  

It was hard to sound confident as you elaborated upon the fabricated situation, too busy trying to focus on anything other than his heavy gaze. You focused on the floor, mostly, staring over at where your phone still laid on the ground. Still, even without looking at him, you could feel the weight of his attention. The air around you began to grow thin, every breath turning into a battle. You felt like you were being slowly suffocated by his fury, your lungs burning within your chest.  

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea-”  

“You can’t say no, Pete.” You cut him off, forcibly lowering the walls surrounding your own trauma, using it to manipulate him. You didn’t feel bad about it, either. “We both lost our best friend that night, and that sucked. But Helen lost her kid. This is the least we can do for her.”  

As the last word fell from your mouth, you forcefully pried your gaze off the ground and begrudgingly met his once again. Terror slid into your veins as you did, your body already preparing itself for that seething look of his—but it vanished. There was no trace of anger on his face. All that remained was the slightest glimmer of remorse.  

His fists unclenched, mindlessly cracking his knuckles. Then he sighed, followed by a reluctant nod. “You’re right. She’s been through a lot, and if this will help bring her some sort of... I don’t know-” he waved his hands slightly, looking troubled by his own choice of words, “closure, then I’ll do what I can to help.”  

Your mouth curved into a smile.  

It seemed like a good sign, you figured, that he was willing to help. It reignited whatever hope you had left that despite whatever mess he had gotten into as Spider-Man, that he was still the same selfless Peter Parker you’d always known. He could still be saved. And, fortunately, you had now crafted the excuse you needed to get closer to him and figure out how to save him.  

”Great!” You spoke a little too loud, your excitement coming off a touch too strong. You tried to lessen it, though the uncharacteristic reaction certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed by Peter. “Meet me at Sylvia’s tomorrow at six, okay? We can start going over everything and make a rough outline for the memorial!”  

Peter immediately went still when he heard the name of the restaurant the four of you used to frequent. He hadn’t set foot in Sylvia’s since Gwen’s death, too afraid to face the memories hiding within its walls. He tried to speak, tried to tell you no, but he didn’t have the chance as you interrupted him again.  

“Here,” You pulled a business card from your bag, thrusting it towards him with a pointed look, “in case you forgot my number.”  

You didn’t hide the animosity behind the statement, using it as another tool to play on whatever guilt he might harbor for what he’d done to you. It seemed to work, given the fact that he promptly shut his mouth and chose not to argue. Instead, he cautiously reached out, plucking the cards from your fingers.  

“Try not to ghost me for another nine months.” You playfully added on, the words joined by a smile that resembled something of a threat as you reminded him, “After all, I know where to find you now.”  

Peter just returned the smile, tight lipped and far less ferocious than the one you’d given him. He knew that eventually you’d want an answer as to why he’d been avoiding you, but not right now. Now wasn’t the time for it.  

So, he stuffed the card in his pocket as you skillfully skirted around him, going to grab your phone off the floor. Once you had it in your hand, you started towards the exit, already starting to dial Brant’s number. “I’ll see you tomorrow, y/n.” Peter called after you, watching as you pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold.  

There was an eerie sense of familiarity accompanying his goodbye, one that left your heart swelling as the words sought to soothe any of the still-bleeding wounds that remained from that night. The comforting feeling was almost enough to make you forget about the images you’d seen in the darkroom, the ones that now also lived within the camera roll on your phone.  

Almost—but not quite.  

Brant answered on the first ring, seemingly overjoyed as another lie easily fell from your lips, confirming with her that Peter agreed to help take photos of Spider-Man so you could try and plead his case to the public—the reason she thought the two of you were searching for Peter. She was just as eager as you were to leave Columbia’s posh campus, swiftly agreeing when you asked her to meet you outside of the mess hall so the two of you could head back to the Bugle.  

Now, waiting alone in front of the mirrored windows, you stared silently at the reflection in front of you. A girl with platinum hair, neatly tucked back by a black headband, stared back at you with her familiar bright green eyes. They were filled with enough dismay to make your chest ache, ridding you of any comfort that Peter’s familiarity had given you.  

”You’re gonna have to see him again.” The somber tone she used was unbefitting of someone that you could only think to describe as sunshine personified; everything you ever wished you could be. “You’ll need his help.” Gwen told you. “You know that don’t you?”  

You knew she wasn’t talking about Peter.  

When you didn’t reply, she decided she needed to convince you further, tailoring her approach so it had the best chance of swaying you. She reached a handout, and you knew that if you had closed your eyes, you would be able to feel her fingertips brush against your palm as she squeezed your hand.  

God, you missed that feeling. You missed her.  

And it was because you missed her that you refused to close your eyes. Refused to let your brain mimic something that was no longer real.  

Gwen’s doe eyes turned glossy, her rosy lips puckering into a pout that could make even the most unyielding man fold. ”He’s gonna need your help, too, y/n.” 

You bit your cheek, thinking of the bottle of pills laying in the bottom of your bag, the ones you hadn’t had to take in so long now. You were getting better.  

"You can’t save one without saving the other.” Gwen tried to tell you, although it only served to make you angry at her, unable to figure out why she would feel that way. She shouldn’t want you to save Harry, not when he was the reason she wasn’t here right now!  

If she were here, really here, then maybe you would tell her that. Remind her of how well her altruistic lifestyle had ended.  

But she wasn’t. So, you didn’t.  

Instead, you turned on your heel, forcing yourself to turn away from the reflection. You immediately saw a flash of royal blue in the sea of students as Brant forced her way through the crowd. Fine—you thought to yourself, offering Gwen a silent answer as you started to make your way towards Brant.  

”This place is a goddamn maze!” You heard Brant huff noisily once you were in earshot of each other, her bobbed hair swaying manically. She clearly hadn’t had a good time, but you weren’t really interested in hearing about it, either. Instead, you found yourself distracted by her appearance. Her neatly styled hairstyle, sharp winged liner, and stylish outfit. It made you think of the girls from earlier, the ones who had made you so self-conscious, and it gave you an idea.  

If you were going to do this—follow Gwen’s advice and save both of your boys—then you needed to try and save yourself, too. And, luckily, you and Brant seemed to be about the same size.  

“Do you wanna go shopping?” You asked bluntly, watching as Brant doubled-back, clearly not expecting your question.  

She blinked, thinking it over before hesitantly replying, “Um, sure?”  

Ravencroft could wait until tomorrow morning. 

tag list - @pompeygirl89 @pockyandme

a/n - hi anyone who's bothering to read this! i'm super excited about this chapter for a variety of reasons and i hope that you enjoyed it! feel free to leave any comments or tips, i always appreciate them and can't wait to write more harry & dark!peter content in the next part <3

#peter parker imagine #harry osborn imagine #tasm imagine #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman imagine #dark spiderman #dark peter parker #yandere spiderman #yandere peter parker #gwen stacy imagine #gwen stacy #tasm fanfiction #tasm fic #tasm spiderman #peter parker fic #peter parker #peter parker x reader #harry osborn x reader #spiderman fanfiction #mcu imagine #harry osborn #mary jane watson #mj watson #webbverse #dark mcu #peter parker x y/n #a dark age

[mageknight14]

I made a whole Twitter thread about this a few months back but I figured that I might as well bring it here as well.

Today I want to take some time to make another NEO TWEWY analysis post on the Identity Crisis sidequest revolving around Eiru and how it actually provides extra insight into Nagi and Fret’s characters.

Basically, the main gist of the sidequest is that Nagi and Fret are debating on how to imprint confidence onto Eiru, who’s suffering with his physical insecurities, and this is where we see the differences with Nagi and Fret's philosophies on life.

Fret's response is to tell Eiru to ignore the haters and even more so, ignore confronting the insecurities; life is better when you don't have to concern yourself with anything or try; don't take anything seriously. Nagi, however, believes that insecurities should be understood and harnessed so that they can ultimately be turned into a strength that can be used as a tool for success; accept your weaknesses and come to terms with them so that you can weaponize your strengths better.

On a surface level, these might read to be the same thing. Fret’s advice can be read positively as "don't let others judge you for something you can't control" and Fret certainly thinks so, hence why he thinks that he and Nagi are on the same page even though she disagrees.

However, when you read between the lines and think about it some more, there are notable implications that Fret's advice is more of a dismissive approach to dealing with emotional struggles as opposed to Nagi's own methodology. It’s no coincidence that Fret used to be a fan of the Eiji "the Prince" Oji in his ennui/apathy phase. The Prince in the original TWEWY was beloved for his “don’t give a damn attitude” and how he expressed that both in person and in his blog “F Everything.” Fret claims to have grown out of it but with certain reveals about his character later on, there are some implications that Fret latched onto the Prince and aspired to his attitude due to his own struggles with feeling genuine and wanting to embracing apathy instead.

However, if you recall in the original game, Neku and Joshua came around and helped the Prince sort out his own issues and in the process, helped him to become more genuine and true to himself in the process. With all of this in mind, you can interpret Fret’s response as him seeing the process of the Prince’s reconciliation with his genuine emotions happening in front of him and didn’t want to confront the possibility of that happening to him as well so he "grows out of it." It also acts as a neat parallel to Neku and his own thing with CAT. Whereas Neku latched onto his misinterpretation of CAT’s words in order to cope with his trauma, Fret turned away from the Prince changing so that he wouldn’t have to deal with his own trauma just yet.

To get back to the quest, if player had decided to choose Fret's philosophy, Eiru ends up doing just that, spinning Fret's stance on the situation into self-motivating positivity. However, there's a element of emotional responsibility lacking in Fret's way of processing struggles in that he doesn't seem to have the awareness to recognize the difference between overcoming adversity and just ignoring it (or maybe he does but refuses to confront that truth). In order for someone to truly not care what other people think, they need to do what Nagi suggested first, which is to find acceptance with their insecurities and build a stronger foundation for their character through that acceptance.

If the player chose Fret's approach to solving Eiru's issue, his dialogue afterwards shows how he feels about not having to face issues head on, with Nagi lamenting that her approach was not used despite being glad that Eiru's mood was visibily improved.

I also really like this moment here for how it subtly foreshadows what caused Fret’s attitude and way of thinking to happen in the first place.

Stuff like this is why I always tend to roll my eyes whenever I hear the claim that "Nagi is mean to Fret for no reason" when moments like these show why she acts the way she does towards him: their philosophies on life are complete polar opposites.

In Nagi’s eyes, Fret acting the way he did screamed to her that he seemingly had no regard for how his attitude and actions towards others made other people feel in service of his own self-interest and she fundamentally cannot get along with other people of that nature, as shown with how she dismisses Motoi entirely off the bat when the crew first meets him because she could tell that there was something off about his attitude. However, once it was revealed that Fret’s attitude was due to him trying to unhealthily cope with his trauma and not because he was seemingly unconcerned for the feelings of others, she’s far more understandable towards him and empathizes with his grief.

That’s when Nagi learns to understand that she does not need to dismiss people right away and that they, like Fret, might be going through struggles of their own and trying to cope with it via other means, even if she doesn’t agree with it at first. Hence the friendship they start up at the end of the convo.

The characters in NEO have a lot of internal flaws they need to work through, some that might not be immediate obvious at first compared to the original, but when you look back at it all, the game goes through a lot of painstaking detail to flesh out their struggles and mindset and aspects like these is what makes the game a joy for me to replay whenever I go back to it.

#twewy #the world ends with you #neo twewy #neo the world ends with you #ntwewy #tosai furesawa #fret furesawa #nagi usui #eiru #analysis post

[sizzleissues]

Look, do I think the writer’s should have sacrificed Adrien’s character arc in order to do the Bug Noir fusion? No of course not. There were probably better ways to do that. Or better ways to execute it. For example, not make him so gosh darn pivotal to the emotional centre of the conflict.

They tried, i think, to pull it off. That’s probably why we got so many ‘Identity reveal = Hawkmoth confrontation = Adrien loses control’, maybe even why he’s a senti in the first place. Adrien’s lack of self control makes it so he can’t battle Hawkmoth without meeting some particular circumstance. He;

A. Somehow not figure out Hawkmoth’s identity until after his defeat

B. Gabriel can’t learn his identity at any point

C. Can’t be made aware of anything anyway until after its all over and even then - might never actually be told anything

Not good odds.

It’s so obvious that they wanted their cake and to eat it too. They wanted to make Adrien interesting and important but only as it reflected on Marinette. If it were a different show, for a different age, made it would get to be a blatant satire of how female character’s are often ‘fridged’ but gender swapped. Adrien has the sad story, has all the emotional weight to motivate Marinette to over come her anxiety and kick the bad guy in the face. Because she can’t have the true baggage.

Like what if Hawkmoth were Marinette’s dad. What if she had Adrien’s story. She remained the protagonist, Adrien had his own simpler bullying storyline going on. Bullied to passiveness as a civilian so as Chat Noir he’s bombastic. Marinette got to still be badass and cool and girlboss like they want. She overcomes not only her abuse but also the villain in that finale. She combines the miraculous, double beats her dad, her enemy and gets the boy.

If you want to tell the girl power story, give the power to the girl. Because when Adrien has his story, you want him to defeat Hawkmoth. You want him to triumph over Gabriel. It’s the Marinette show but they made Adrien have the emotional stake in the finale.

I love these character’s so I wanted to see it. BUT I can see so clearly what they wanted. It probably wasn’t as simple as seeing Bug noir but without the full emotional stake, that’s what it seems like.

I still think that Adrien will have a role in the next season in dismantle Gabriel’s image. I hope he gets to do that in whatever cute outfit the team wants him to wear.

I have more thoughts but I’ll leave it at that (and I liked the finale as a independent thing where I watch my favourite person (Marinette) be badass and just forget about Adrien being boxed and then remembered and didn’t like it so much)

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #sizzle rambles #IS THIS SALT? #HAVE I WRITTEN SALT #Imma tag it but I do this out of love for the show #Ml salt #dies a little from having to tag that

[let-us-cultivate-our-garden]

Do you also find the "symbolism" of Luz glaring down at Belos like his hallucination of Caleb cringy and confusing? I don't get what the point of that was other than "Luz representing Caleb finding a new life in the demon realm,” which makes ZERO sense considering she had no affiliation with Caleb (that goes to Hunter), and Caleb was the parent figure in him and Philip’s relationship. Not the child like Luz was with her mom. Honestly, WAD is so confusing...I don’t get what the message was...

I don't know where the "Luz represents Caleb finding a new life" idea comes from when we already have that with Hunter. He was made as a replacement and he ended up becoming more like Caleb than Philip originally intended (which has a lot of unfortunate implications for someone with identity issues).

Titan Luz glaring down at Belos as he grovels to her is supposed to represent how he no longer has any sway over her. That she won't let his manipulations gnaw away at her mind. That the only way to combat lies and emotional manipulation is to not engage with it.

This would all be fantastic if Belos ever had any amount of influence over Luz. Pretty much from day one, she has dismissed any attempts at connection from Belos; she calls out his lies and hypocrisy and it's only because she didn't know Philip and Belos were the same person that she was tricked by him.

Her angst arc isn't even really about seeing Belos as a person and how his goals are similar to her own (except for one line in WaD, which imo doesn't count). She spends more time fretting over how her friends will perceive her and how she's the cause of Belos' rise to power, which is just stupid. The fact that her angst arc has 3 different resolutions with no sign of growth from Luz in her journey just makes the writing even worse. She ping-pongs from accepting her friends' validation to pitying herself again, which can be realistic but in a story, there has to be a reason why the character is not progressing that connects with the character's development and themes of the show. Luz's angst really has nothing to do with her as a character, it's just for the audience to feel sorry for her and perhaps project their own feelings onto. So when Titan Luz does have that stare down with Belos, what was exactly accomplished? What did the character learn? Why is this a victory for them?

A better character to glare at Belos as he grovels for mercy would have been Hunter. His whole life he's been lied to, abused, and tried to win his uncle's respect. He had a confrontation with Belos in TtT but the victory was undercut by Flapjack's death and Hunter is hell-bent on finding Belos so he can't hurt anyone ever again. This plot thread is soon abandoned for Hunter supporting Willow's mini-arc and then the Hexsquad are effectively benched for the finale.

It would have been much stronger if Hunter was the one to face Belos silently, signaling that his uncle no longer controls him, that he will not even give him the benefit of a response. All while Belos rots away as he fails to bring back his brother again.

#asks #the owl house #toh critical #toh criticism #luz noceda #toh hunter #emperor belos #philip wittebane

[sky-scribbles]

Playlist for my Aeor longfic

I failed to figure out how to do a fancy spotify embed like the kids do but uh. Here's the playlist for Gravity!

I listened to this while planning and writing, and there are even a few shout-outs to the songs in the fic... Songs are arranged chronologically, so you should be able to hear the story happening, hopefully :'D

Further yelling about song choices under the cut!

A Matter of Time - This one is... sort of the fic's opening titles in my head? I wanted to start out with an instrumental, to capture the vibes of the months before the fic opens - Essek and Caleb apart, thinking about the T-Dock, and each other. Wondering. Waiting.

Horse to Water - Essek in Chapter 1, knowing his life as the Shadowhand is ending, waiting for Caleb to come and take him away to whatever comes next. (I'm normally very picky about not putting songs that reference modern day stuff on fantasy playlists but this one's vibes were too perfect)

Dear Fellow Traveller - Two wizards heading into Aeor together.

Conquest of Spaces - A song for Aeor. A dark, beautiful city, the remains of a people who lived by greed and power. (And two wizards in the ruins, trying to draw closer to each other.)

Neptune - This is mostly for Essek's breakdown in chapter 5, as he worries he'll never break out of his Shadowhand manipulation, wanting to be closer to Caleb and not knowing what that would even look like. And it's a little for Caleb in chapter 6, too, grappling with his feelings for Essek and his fears that they'll ultimately be bad for each other.

Please Don't Say You Love Me - ... and as they move past those fears, this song is for them tentatively acknowledging what they might be to each other. Not yet. But maybe soon.

Woodwork - This is for the chapters 6-9 span, as they learn more about Brashaar's plan. The pressure of a crisis has an odd way of making them realise just how deep their trust and care for each other runs.

Two Evils - Since we're at the point where Brashaar shows up, she gets a song now! This is pretty much her internal monologue during her confrontation with the wizards (though she really should have paid attention to 'if you're not careful, you will lose her' in reference to Quaera...)

Winter - Travelling northward, and yearning. Wishing they had more time.

Mind - A song for a young Quaera, slowly forming a personality, wondering about who she is and how her identity forms...

The Tower - ... and having their own breakdown.

What Could Have Been - I love me a good villainous breakdown, and this is a song for Brashaar's. This is how I imagine she feels during the final confrontation, raging against the gods, against Caleb and Essek, against Quaera after they turn from her. Not quite able to let go of what she thinks Aeor could have been. What, in her eyes, the world is meant to be. (As a bonus, I think the second verse sounds a bit like a retort to her from Quaera...)

Everybody Wants to Rule the World - This is such a fun cinematic cover, and I can't tell you how many times I've imagined a mental AMV of the final battle with Brashaar set to it :'D

Ori, Embracing the Light - I wanted an instrumental here too, because... Essek is dead, Caleb is in shutdown, and Essek and Quaera are communing with the Luxon, a being that doesn't really speak with words. Also, 'embracing the light' is exactly what Quaera does at this point.

Would That I - I know we all use this as Caleb's 'learning to live and love again' song... and I am no exception. This is for him after the T-Dock, finally fully acknowledging his grief, and his love for Essek.

First Day of my Life - Just two wizards realising that they have a future, and agreeing to slowly work at what's between them.

Ready to Call This Love - This one speaks for itself, honestly.

Five - Both of the wizards in the final chapter, but especially Essek realising how isolated he's been from the world, and letting it all in so he can feel it. (Also, studying the universe is a love language - )

Gravity - Gravity is a metaphor for love!!!!

#please know that restricting myself to just four sleeping at last songs #is Enormous restraint for me #anyway uh have some songs and rambling #shadowgast #gravity and all that's born within #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #critical role

[flightfoot]

ML Fanfic Recs for 2023: 40K - 60K Words

So I’ve been going through and adding particularly good fics I’ve read throughout the year. Only Complete fics, of course. Enjoy!

---

The Two Worlds of Marinette by Liquifiedstars:

Marinette discovers a watch in her attic that allows her to travel back in time. Soon she is torn between her life with her rising star fiancé, Luka, and a romance with the enigmatic Adrien Agreste, who knows nothing of the fate that awaits him.

This fic is an AU based on the film The Two Worlds of Jennie Logan, which I’m afraid I’ve never seen. Still, I quite enjoyed this fic, with Marinette spending more and more time in the past, and trying to figure out the truth behind Adrien’s eventual death, and how to prevent it.

Fair warning to Lukanette fans though, Marinette does cheat on Luka during the fic, it comes with the AU. He takes it pretty well though.

---

Stone Streak by kingxuppu

Ladybug and Violet Tigress had been fighting the mysterious Duskwing for eight years now. Through the years, the two have grown stronger together and even gotten married, they are waiting until they finally beat Duskwing to start a family. At least, that was the plan. When Juleka gets confronted with the realization that her friends are starting families of their own, she realizes just how badly she wants to be a mother.

Due to unfortunate circumstances, Juleka and Marinette get the chance to adopt Juleka's young modeling friend Adrien.

Maybe they aren't quite a traditional family, but with magic, rockstars, and fame, normal was never an option.

Via Discovery: There are actually two terms of venery for tigers, depending on the makeup of the group. The first is a streak of tigers and this refers to a female tiger and her cubs.

Now this is a rare pairing, there’s not a lot of Julenette fics! Adrien and Rose actually have some ship tease going on, the whole kid group in canon got broken up into two groups here, one that remained around canon age (so like 13) which notably consists of Chloe, Rose, and Adrien, and then I think everyone else are adults in their mid-twenties. It’s weird seeing Adrien as Marinette’s and Juleka’s son, but hey it works! I love how Juleka really showed Adrien the ropes on modeling and became a Mama tiger for him, the fic’s mostly just very sweet, though with a surprisingly dark final act. 

---

The Parable of the Caller by @nemaliwrites

A week after Hawk Moth’s identity has been revealed, Adrien finds himself with nowhere to go, nothing he can do, and worst of all, strange gaps in his memory he can’t explain. In a stroke of luck, he stumbles upon a burner phone filled with voicemails from one of the Saviors of Paris: Chat Noir himself, who disappeared following Hawk Moth’s arrest.

But with each new voicemail Adrien listens to, he’s forced to confront the fact that there might be some kind of connection between himself and Chat Noir — and discovering it might leave him more broken than before.

I absolutely adore this fic, it’s a fantastic character study for Adrien! Basically in this universe, Ladybug and Chat Noir talked about who should be Guardian, with Chat eventually convincing her that he should be the one to take it on, primarily due to the whole “the Guardian gets amnesia about Miraculous-related matters” situation, and wanting to protect Ladybug from that. Then he finds out Gabriel is Hawk Moth, they take him down, and he relinquishes the Miracle Box and his guardianship to Su Han - all without having a Reveal with Ladybug, since well, he’s not in the greatest shape mentally at the time.

It’s a real treat to see Adrien’s thoughts and feelings about one of the Heroes of Paris leaving him all these voicemails, treating him like this close friend for reasons he doesn’t understand, and just seeing Chat Noir as this outside person. He’s got a very different viewpoint on Chat when looking from the outside than he would from the inside, with being able to see his heroic and good qualities far more easily when he doesn’t know that he is Chat.

Also Marinette’s struggling in the background of the fic with the loss of her partner and guilt over sending Adrien’s father to prison. It gets touched on at various points, and you can tell that she’s having her own story off to the side that we’re just not entirely privy to, what with this tale being told entirely from Adrien’s perspective.

---

Miss Dial by @mysticraven20

Adrien Agreste has always considered Marinette Dupain-Cheng entertaining. Whether it was the endless back and forth of their banter, the clumsiness he found so cute or the fact her anger levels could go from 1-100 in a mere millisecond; he always found there was something about her... if only he could get to know her better.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng has always considered Adrien Agreste a pompous, arrogant asshole. From his constant teasing of her, to the obnoxious laugh at her discomfort and the way he could anger her quicker than any other human being; she knew she hated Adrien Agreste with all she was worth.

But what happens when Adrien accidentally sends the wrong text to the wrong person and a new friendship blossoms - a friendship deeper than either have ever known?

Will Marinette choose to stay faithful to the budding relationship with the boy on the other side of the phone?

Or will a new job with an old foe fill the loneliness in her heart?

Great Adrienette enemies au here! I thought Mystic did a great job explaining how Adrien could be under the impression that he and Marinette were at least sort-of friends, while Marinette hates his guts. Adrien’s not great at understanding social nuances. 

Most of the relationship-building here is actually between Adrien and Marinette in the real world, with Marinette gradually learning that she had the wrong idea about Adrien. Turns out, all their friends really want them to get alng (and maybe smooch XD).

Oh yeah, while the summary doesn’t mention this, this fic IS still set in the canon universe, so they’re juggling identities as Ladybug and Chat Noir on top of everything else. Monarch’s been pretty quiet though.

---

Every Heartbeat by @epcot97

Reeling from a brutally difficult day, Marinette finds her life becomes amazingly complicated after impulsively inviting Chat Noir to spend the evening with her. But when the suave feline begins to weave his way into her heart, she realizes rather quickly just how conflicted her feelings for her partner truly are. (part of MariChat May 2021)

Okay so I’m cheating on this one just a little. This story was originally uploaded in 2021, but was taken down and then reuploaded in 2023. I didn’t read it the first time around, and I really enjoyed it and this is my list, so screw it, I’m including it.

Really lovely Marichat fic here! Gabriel fires Marinette from her designer job for unfair reasons, so Chat goes to comfort her and help her set up her own fashion business, becoming closer and closer as they do so. 

---

Midwinter Serendipity by Cakedecorator

Marinette is a normal woman living in her parents' bakery with her parents, and they have a monthly tradition: they take their bakery leftovers and any handmade clothes that Marinette has made and bring them to the local homeless shelter.

To paraphrase a common idiom, the best laid plans of people often go awry. In this case, they have to stop in the middle of everything when they find a young man lying out cold while IN the cold.

After they bring him to the hospital and he wakes up, they realize that he has a huge problem: he can't remember anything other than his first name! What will the family do?!

This is just a really comfy fic for most of it, though with some angst thrown in too. Adrien adores getting to spend time with the Dupain-Chengs, and honestly doesn’t WANT to remember his past, since the glimpses and memories and emotions he has recovered have indicated to him that they aren’t great, and he’s happy with his current situation. 

Unfortunately, just because he doesn’t want to forget his past, doesn’t mean his past will just forget about him.

---

The second Multimouse gets the Chat by charliepoet13

After a harshly fought battle Ladybug and Chat Noir have claimed the Mouse Miraculous. Obviously Marinette needs to test the strange new ring, and obviously the best way to do that is patrols with Chat. No, she will not be taking comments.

This is as adorable a fic as it sounds like! Marinette refuses to look into WHY, exactly, she really likes running around with Chat as Multimouse, even when she really needs a break. 

---

Ladybugged Series by RillRull

Summary of the first fic in the series, Ladybugged:

In which Ladybug accidentally gets turned into a ladybug, and it’s up to Chat Noir to fix it.

It turns out potion making is really hard when your best friend is a bug and you’re just some guy in a cat suit.

If you like “the heroes turn into animals” stories, this series should be right up your alley! The first one features Ladybug accidentally turning herself into a ladybug and Chat trying to figure out how to turn her back, the second fic follows up on some plot threads from the first fic, and then the final fic in the series, Catified, has Chat intentionally turn himself into a cat for the weekend (after making sure that everyone thinks that he’s at Nino’s place and that Nino will cover for him) because he thinks it’ll be fun, and him staying over with Marinette! I’m a sucker for these kinds of stories so they were a real treat to read XD.

---

I (Wish I) Knew You by @buggachat

University has been hard on Marinette. Making new friends and maintaining her grades is a lot easier said than done when she has to disappear at odd times to fight akumas. She's struggling, and with Alya away with family and Adrien painfully out of reach, she's never felt lonelier.

If only she could talk to someone who really understood her struggles... but it's not like Chat Noir would know anything about loneliness. Right?

Nice aged-up Ladynoir fic here! Marinette’s struggling with losing friends and lovers because of her flakiness due to her superhero activities, until at last she breaks down. Thankfully, Chat Noir’s there at least - and it soon turns out he’s got problems of his own that he’s been hiding.

There’s some fluff and angst, it’s mostly just the two of them navigating life, dealing with their feelings and talking things out.

---

Found by @trishacollins

Chat Noir and Ladybug need to tie up some loose ends. Unfortunately, one of those ends is Felix.

This is a fantastic fic! It’s part of a wider series wherein Adrien and Felix were friends with Nooroo and Duusu from a younger age, but Adrien’s memory was wiped of it by his parents, but this is the first fic you really need to read. Basically, after the events of Emotion, Chat confronts Felix about what he did, and Felix confesses to being a Sentibeing, and Duusu reveals to Chat that he is one as well, leading to Felix cooperating with the heroes. 

Of all the fics I’ve read that tackle the subject, this one does the best job of giving Felix a redemption arc for his actions in the season 4 finale, focusing not only on how he hurt the heroes, but the kwamis. I loved that he truly understood how much he fucked up with the situation he put the kwamis in, how much suffering he put them through, and that the kwamis were allowed to be angry at him for awhile afterwards, to be suspicious and untrusting towards him at first (and that Marinette was allowed to do the same). Felix screwed up and hurt people, and he had to really show that he understood what he did was wrong, why it was wrong, and try to help the people he hurt.

---

In Direct Opposition by @generalluxun

Alya Cesaire is a brand new student to Francis Dupont, to Paris even. The first student she meets is one Chloé Bourgeois, and Alya is determined to make a friend. Things advance Chaotically. Her new 'friend' is definitely a handful, and suddenly Paris has a supervillain and two brand new superheroes! Alya finds herself balancing a lot of things, trying to live up to her ideals and those of her icons.

And then reality seems to contradict itself.

As time progresses it seems to happen more often. Becoming a hero, battling villains, staying alive, working through friendships. Something is lurking, tweaking events at times, changing them, and no one seems aware. Alya will need all her wits to get to the bottom of this. Her investigative mind can only get her so far though, and then she needs to rely on her friends. This is not a foe you can beat head on.

I betaed this entire fic, it’s really good! I adore the focus on Alya’s philosophy here, her determination to be a hero, to help people and defeat evil - and that defeating evil means trying to reform the people doing bad things when possible, to try to save EVERYONE, even the “villain”. I thought it was really clever the ways Alya would redirect Chloe and subtly encourage her to be a better person, while also trying to get the people around her to give her a second chance and keep an open mind. 

Also Alya and Chloe are an adorable sapphic couple XD.

---

Chemistry With Him by @bbutterflies

It kind of sucked Nino was taking chemistry, but classes had filled up fast and he needed to take something and his advisor had said the credits would, somehow, count towards his major. It really sucked he was taking it first thing on a Monday morning (and Wednesdays, and Fridays, unfortunately). But he could get through it. He knew he could.

So no more boys. No distractions. He could do this all on his own.

“Is anyone sitting here?”

Nino looked up to find the source of the voice. A blond, green-eyed, absolutely beautiful someone.

Okay. Maybe one distraction.

Ah, adorable Adrino. This is a universe where Adrien never went to public school, so while Chat Noir, Ladybug, Carapace, and Rena Rouge all know each other (and Marinette, Alya, and Nino all know each other’s identities) they’re unaware that they are all already friends with Adrien. I loved seeing Chat and Carapace excitedly tell each other about their awesome crush/boyfriend, not knowing they were talking about each other XD.

#ml fanfic rec #miraculous ladybug

[dangermousie]

Aaaaaaaa, he gives himself away for good. Because it was so ingrained in him to stoke her hair - his words lie but his actions do not. Indifferent words get overcome by instinctive tenderness and I am so here for it.

Only this drama would have a flashback of a man and his chicken and make it somehow work as a romantic moment!

They kill me.

And he catches himself but it's too late.

AAAAAAA!!! She finally confronts it point blank. And I love that it's the hair stroking gesture that leads to it - it's not that she didn't think he was the god version of XY before, but there was not much indication he cared for her so what was the point. What this gives away is not his identity (which she figured out anyway, not being a moron) but his heart.

And the ultimate liar refuses to lie! He won't affirmatively confirm but the very fact that he won't lie tells its own story.

AAAAAA! The way they are still not direct but both get each other perfectly. And the way he looks at her aaaaaa!

And then he tells her it's not good to dwell too much on anything, be it a person or an item and she thanks him for that advice, but she's not truly the one who needs the advice, methinks, and he's reminding himself more than her.

#cdrama #the legend of shen li #zhao liying #lin gengxin

[scythesms]

Edmund regretted his impulsive shout before voicing the last syllable. He held onto a fervent hope that the woman would refrain from turning around, preferring the embarrassment of having mistaken an identity from his past than what confirmation would entail.

When her hurried steps came to a pause and her frame hesitated, he caught up with his impulses in time to understand the magnitude of his actions and the person he had called out to. Amidst his growing regret, her slow turn amplified his discomfort, and he wondered if time had slowed down solely for him.

He was unsure what to expect. It’d been years since he’d last seen her - Imogene. Now, she stood before him, mirroring his astonishment with parted lips and widened eyes. He froze beneath her gaze, once so familiar to him, and wondered if the hairs on her arms rose as his did.

Beneath racing thoughts, unspoken words, and inner turmoil, he managed to steal a moment to study her features for the first time in years, revising what had been left of her fleeting image in his aging mind and distant memories. From what he could recall of her appearance, time had been kind to her - a kindness that had evaded him for various reasons. The passage of time had etched lines on both of their faces from the separate paths they had embarked upon. The last time they’d seen one another was at the mere edge of childhood, touches away from adulthood. Now, those years seemed to dissolve as he struggled beneath the gaze of a woman he had once known so deeply, yet had become a stranger to.

In the distant past, he dreamt of their reunion. The first of these dreams occurred on his wedding night, as he lay beside his bride. He’d close his eyes and wince at Imogene’s dismissive gestures. The last had come the night his first son was born. 

It’d been a little over a decade, yet an awareness lingered in the recesses of his mind that if they ever were to cross paths again, she’d ignore him and he’d do the same - two souls pretending they had never met, never held hands, and never made promises of eternal waiting.

He wished he’d simply allowed her to pass by. If only he convinced himself that countless necklaces identical to the one he had once bought her had been scattered across Windenburg and beyond. Surely, any woman could adorn that very piece of jewelry. If he’d believed it, he wouldn’t have found himself confronting a face he had once hoped to relegate to his past. 

The seconds stretched on as he waited for her words of resentment and anger. They never came. Instead, she stood before him with an expression akin to that of someone reuniting with a long-lost friend. It was as if he were a companion she hadn't been in touch with for years, rather than a figure from her romantic past who had engaged himself to another without even a whisper in her direction.

Despite the passing years, her voice was still soft, a soothing presence in his ears as she welcomed him with a smile. “Edmund? It’s- Oh my, it’s been so long. How have you been?”

He was startled by the kindness in her voice. His tongue weighed his jaw down, a torrent of emotions threatening to spill over during his struggle to find words. Only her name seemed to rise to the surface of his thoughts.

Imogene offered her own unspoken insights into his demeanor. At that moment, he became acutely aware of his own appearance, considering how much he had changed since their last encounter.

“I'm sorry," he finally spoke. His mouth acted in haste, leaving the rest of him scrambling to catch up. “I shouldn't have..."

“Shouldn’t have…?” she echoed, seeking clarity.

He hadn’t anticipated the depth of emotion the unexpected reunion would stir within him. He cast his eyes downward briefly before shifting his gaze to the side, where Paul once stood alone, now encircled by his curious children. The sudden shift in their father's demeanor didn't go unnoticed. It was as if he’d seen a ghost, though the ghost in question was the woman standing before him. The children’s attention moved from their father to the unfamiliar woman who had already turned to greet them.

“Hello there,” she extended a warm greeting, casting a fleeting smile in Paul's direction before returning her sincere focus to the children. 

Cecily, who Imogene believed to be the oldest child due to her height and striking resemblance to Edmund, greeted her with a grin. Her younger brother and sister exchanged wary glances before responding with their own shy smiles and soft-spoken greetings.

Imogene turned back to Edmund, who remained still. “The theater is putting on a show for children in the upcoming days. It would be great to see you all there. I'm pressed for time at the moment, but we could talk afterward, maybe over a cup of tea?”

Edmund could only capture a few of her words, holding onto them in an effort to engage in conversation. “You still work at the theater?” 

Still, he said. The word hung in the air, accompanied by a pang of realization. The first and only time he’d learned of her work at the theater was the last time they’d spoken. 

“The Celia-Mae Theatre, yes.” Her words lingered, a pause laden with anticipation during her wait for his response to her initial offer.

The theater, a place he hadn't visited since he was young, held memories too sensitive to confront. It was too soon. This was all too soon.

“We appreciate the invitation, but we won’t be able to attend," he responded, his tone gentle yet firm. Whether he intentionally disregarded the way his children's eyes lit up with interest at the mention of the theater or he simply didn’t notice remained unclear. They knew it’d take a lot for him to allow ventures beyond their walks into town. The journey to reach their recent standing had been a slow and deliberate one. 

"Oh."

Edmund knew she expected him to suggest another time or setting that’d allow them to talk, but he wasn’t too sure that was what he wanted. Their current encounter had already left his mind reeling, a sensation that promised to linger for the next several days, if not longer.

His reluctance to reschedule gradually occurred to Imogene. A small nod accompanied by a gentle smile conveyed her understanding. “Was nice seeing you, regardless.” She turned to Paul and the children. “Wonderful to meet you all.”

Edmund stood still, as he’d done throughout the entirety of their interaction. His gaze fixed itself on Imogene’s retreating form, leaving him with a whirlwind of thoughts and a cascade of contemplations to sift through. 

previous ➺ next

#1916 #Ambroise Legacy #1910s #decades challenge #sims 4 historical #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 challenge #black simblr #sims stories #AL #Edmund Ambroise #Cecily Ambroise #Josiah Ambroise #Elaine Ambroise

[shyjusticewarrior]

Reverse Robin/Mismatched Mantles AU

Damian is the first batkid born, but not the first to join the fam due to still being kept secret and trained in the League of Assassins.

The first to join is...

Tim Drake - Red Hood:

After a young Tim's parents are killed by a gang of career criminals called the Red Hoods, he swears to bring them to justice. He concludes his best chance to do that would be by personally enlisting the help of the Batman.

In his investigation of Batman, Tim figures out his secret identity. He confronts him in the hopes of impressing, or blackmailing, him into working with him. Bruce sees his own pain at losing his parents in Tim and agrees to work together. They take down the gang, Tim adopts the mantle Red Hood and Bruce adopts Tim.

Damian Wayne - Nightwing:

A couple years later, Damian is revealed and left in Bruce's care. At first, he isn't allowed on patrol yet as Bruce doesn't think he's ready to be the hero Gotham needs.

Damian eventually sneaks away to do a mission with budding friend Jon Kent and proves himself. During the mission Jon tells him a Kryptonian legend that would inspire his mantle: Nightwing.

Jason Todd - Red Robin:

After Catherine, the women who raised him, overdoses the gov tracks down his birth mother Sheila and she accepts custody of him. Immediately the Joker, a Red Hoods member who fell into a vat of ace chemicals, wrecks havoc on their lives.

Joker blackmails Sheila into making Jason sabotage the batfam. Jason is told Sheila will be killed if he doesn't go along with it, so he does to protect her. He steals the tires off the batmoile to get their attention, and uses the story of his hardships to gain their sympathy.

He feels bad taking advantage of people who show him such kindness. He confesses the plot to Red Hood and agrees to be a double agent if they help get Sheila out of Jokers' clutches.

Joker finds out and tricks Jason into putting himself in danger to save his mother, who is in on it. The batfam doesn't make it in time and Joker throws Jason off the roof of a warehouse. The last thing he hears is Joker remarking how he looks like a robin in the air. Joker betrays and kills Sheila as well.

Tim feels especially guilty about Jason's death at the hands of Joker. So much so that he gets Damian to tell him how to access the Lazarus pit and uses it to bring Jason back to life. Jason decides to become a vigilante called Red Robin. The name is a reference to Jokers' comment, an homage to Tim, and because red robins symbolize rebirth.

Dick Grayson - Robin:

Dick is a part of a family of acrobats, the Flying Graysons, that almost meet their end by Tony Zuko but are saved by Red Robin. While they're okay, they worry it's too dangerous to let Dick keep performing with them.

They don't have any other family, so they allow Dick to be a ward of Bruce Wayne while they're on the road. Dick's parents are killed at a Haley's Circus show in Bludhaven by a jealous performer, Gaggsworth A. Gaggsworthy (aka Gaggy.)

Dick decides to become a vigilante called Robin to help protect others. He's too young to be out there on his own, so he's a sidekick to Damian, who is protecting Gotham as Batman while Bruce is missing and Tim and Jason are on a mission to find him.

If this gains enough traction I might make a part two.

#dc comics #dc au #batfam au #batfam #batfamily #bruce wayne #batman #damian wayne #robin #tim drake #red robin #jason todd #red hood #dick grayson #nightwing #dc #comics #batbros #batboys #batkids #fanfic prompt #fanart prompt #au #fandom #alternate universe #found family #au concept #comic books #superhero comics

[boygirltreehouse]

batgirl 2000 reread pt 2!!!

Back 2 batgirl..Cass has to have some of the worst daddy issues in the whole family and that's saying so much like between Bruce and Cain she deserves billions of dollars in compensation for all the all the way fucked up and over shit they put her through that she doesn't even have the capacity to work through yet

also this little interaction made me smile, average bat conversation

obsessed w how they integrate cass into the Bruce wayne: murderer storyline. We're operating fully from cass's perspective here and the whole thing is formatted like any other case she's taken on. we get exposition as cass investigates but there's a feeling of uneasiness as she paces the manor. she fully doesn't know who this guy is but we do. we do.

truly one of the most iconic ways anyones ever figured out his identity. she knows him so deeply that she's able to recognize the pure unbridled determination and fury in his eyes just from a picture

Cassandra cain truly stays unmatched, the "I'll kill you" "not tonight" panel hits just as hard as when I first read it. I need a physical copy of this shit NEOWWW. also cass's ability to recognize that Shiva is just as suicidal as she is, that in fighting each other their both fulfilling the others death wish..like we know she isn't going to kill her from the start but it makes the decision all the more powerful

EEEK she's so cutest patootest..she's a detective

cass if projecting onto every case she dealt with was a job..

srsly tho the whole alpha arc thing was sooo good especially when it came to cass's immovable belief that even people with the most diabolical histories are capable of change, are worth saving

ermmm..the lawyers are advising me not to discuss the stephcass drama issue at this current time..thank you

idk how I missed the political commentary the first time but issue 43 got it. FAWK AMERICA

I love this comic I LOVE THIS COMIC!!! I love love love when Cass has a conversation that leads her to experiment which leads her to self discovery. oh my god. truly baffled and disgusted as she discovers gender roles, she just like me fr

THIS^^^^^^ is so, it's such a good way of broadcasting cass's insecurities and emotions to the audience. unlike a lot of characters cass rarely ever says what she's feeling, even when asked she'll often lie. it's either that or a lack of self awareness/means of communication when it comes to her own emotions. BUT this also shows that cass is aware of the complex interpersonal dynamics and drama around her. Usually these things are just implied like when Cass wordlessly punches the shit out of dick for making babs cry, but this is one of the first times in the comic where these things that cass had been feeling and hearing are told instead of shown [which is pretty 50/50 considering the kinda jarring writer switch but I think this specifically was a cool choice]

Cass has a tendency to avoid emotional topics centered around her all together but at the climax of this arc she's forced to confront very conflicting views of her identity, social pressures, and her own insecurities.

this part got to me BAD

Cass's pure and utter devastation in response to Bruce attempting to fire her (I say attempt bcs that shit barely lasted a day) is so gutwrenching. batgirl was the first name she ever had, the first identity as a human being she'd ever had. Not to mention her suicidal-perfectionism. For Batman of all people to say those things to her, not only does she not have anything outside of batgirl (partially BECAUSE of him) but she's literally as close to perfect as it gets, matter a fact bruce literally calls her perfect. To be accused of jeopardizing the mission, despite that she might be the only person who values it just as much as bruce does..No wonder she shatters into a billion pieces when he does that to her. she has nothing else to be if she's not batgirl.

#2000 posting #cassandra cain #batgirl

[show-your-fangs]

HIIII! I love your work, and I’ve recently came out as genderfluid and I was wondering if you’d be open to writing a fic about reader coming out as gender-fluid to Aaron? Lots of fluff and comfort lol 😂 if not totally fine. thanks! 💖

oh i love this. thank you for requesting it baby. hope you enjoy this cuteness! (it ended up turning into coming out to the entire team idk how or why but i love them and they love you)

i do apologize for using a such a cliché situation to get the ball rolling, but i think reader needed a little push to tell him and ids are always so fucking daunting to me.

Pairing: BAU x genderfluid!Reader x Aaron Hotchner

Words: 1.7k

CW: nothing, just fluff and discussions of gender.

Tags/warnings: coming out, the team being absolutely lovely, aaron being very kind, gentle, accommodating, reader wears a binder one time.

a/n: gender is such a wild thing. if you're reading this i want you to know that i'm so proud of you. much like sexuality, it isn't linear, it's a journey and it's okay if you feel like everything, like nothing, like one or the other -- your identity is valid and so are you.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

“Make sure you go up to the eighth floor to get your new IDs before the end of the day,” Hotch told everyone before he exited the room. 

It was ten in the morning and there was no new case, so after a short briefing to catch him up on what consultations everyone was working on at the moment, the BAU Unit Chief swiftly returned to his office. 

Everyone else started to shuffle out after him, back to the bullpen and their own exhausting tasks. But that was the job, and you all loved it too much to let the boring paperwork days like this one dampen the exciting, fulfilling, and thrilling ones out on the field. 

But you didn’t move, you couldn’t move as his words echoed in your mind. 

The task was simple. And yet for you it was daunting. 

Penelope’s words still circled in your mind. She had told you a week ago when the request came through that she could easily hack into the Bureau’s database and edit the information on your badge for you. That no one would ever know, that it would just already be there when you got it. 

But you’d told her you didn’t want to get her in trouble, that you would go talk to Hotch about it, finally. But then you’d been whisked away on a case and you honestly used it as an excuse to cower and not say anything.

Everyone except Hotch knew at that point.

Penelope had been the first to figure it out since you’d changed your displayed pronouns on your private social media and being the chronically online lady she was, she clocked the change immediately. 

She’d confronted you about it the next day and you let out an incredibly long sigh of relief when she told you how proud of you she was. There was no need to confirm it, displaying something on social media was as good as telling it to her personally. 

JJ and Emily were stunned to walk into the bullpen so early to an overly excited Penelope practically squeezing the life out of you. Before you could even tell her to stop, she turned around to tell them the news when they asked what was going on. 

It was only after they had both been shocked so strongly they didn’t need a cup of coffee to wake them up, smiled brightly and given you just as much attention as Penelope just had, that you told the chipper blonde that you weren’t sure you were ready to tell everyone quite yet. She’d been apologizing profusely ever since, hence the proposal to hack into the FBI to make it up to you. 

The four of you kept that secret tightly to your chests for a few weeks. You’d been using more gender neutral language at the office regardless, so it was easy to stay true to yourself, as much as gender neutrality allowed, while also not making how you actually wanted to be addressed a big thing.  

It wasn’t until the handsome incident that you finally told Reid. You’d decided to wear a binder that day to finally wear a sweater vest you’d been obsessing over for the past few days. You felt beautiful, confident—

“Well, good morning handsome,” Emily’s voice made your cheeks flush. You couldn’t reply, couldn’t do anything other than hide away as she giggled at your reaction. No one had called you handsome before, and you feared it might’ve been too much.

You finally noticed him when you sat at your desk, your cheeks still flushed. Spencer was staring at you, brows furrowed and confusion plastered all over his face. It was as though he was noticing too many things all at once and he didn’t know how they all came together to provide the answer he was looking for. 

And so, just to spare the poor Doctor’s genius brain, you told him. It took him approximately three minutes coming up with a system. There was no reaction, no follow up questions, nothing but acceptance and call to action. 

It had taken him that long because he didn’t want to just do the gender coded pink and blue. He’d settled on black for when you were feeling more like a girl, black for when you were feeling more like a boy, and silver for when you were feeling like neither. 

The next day he presented you with dainty bow pins that you could easily clip to your clothes or even your hair if you really wanted to. You wrapped him up in a tight hug, one that he didn’t shy away from, reciprocating it for as long as you needed.

You never had to tell Morgan. You’d gotten used to the girls using gender neutral language when they spoke about you and so when Morgan started to do it, you didn’t catch onto it right away. But when you finally did, your eyes widening and the realization sinking into your bones, he simply winked at you and continued speaking.

The most daunting had been Rossi. It had been the day before and was still fresh in your mind. It was the first day you started to wear the little ribbons Spencer had made for you. Silver for your first day, you were easing into it after all. 

Everyone who was in on it knew what it meant immediately, but to Rossi unfortunately, your ribbon meant someone had died. He pointed it out in the kitchen, offering his condolences and whatever support you may need. 

It was sweet, so sweet in fact that he was suggesting taking some time off. There was no other way to explain it other than to come clean, and so you did.

You explained it all, every question that he could’ve easily googled, every perception that he had from his generation and how he grew up. You ended up talking for a while and it was nice to actually have someone so determined to understand, to make sure they weren’t being ignorant or accidentally using language absentmindedly. 

Which is why you needed to rip the bandaid now, needed to tell Hotch how you were feeling before you found another excuse to bide your time. 

You knocked on Hotch’s office door softly, almost too softly as it took him a second to look up at you. 

“Yes?” He asked then, closing the case file in front of him to show you, you had his whole attention. 

You stepped into the room then, gently closing the door behind you and he frowned in confusion for a split second. You didn’t lock the door, it wasn’t like that, and it seemed to alleviate some of the confusion he was feeling. 

“I…um…” you sat down in front of him, fiddling with your fingers. Somehow it had been easy to tell everyone else, even if it had been scary. 

But with him? You didn’t even know where to start. 

“I wanted to know if…if it was possible to have them remake my ID?” You started, hoping that you could find your voice if you talked about something physical, tangible, something that transcended you. 

“Is there a problem with the information you provided?” He asked plainly. 

“It’s not so much a problem as it is a…contradiction?” He sat back in his chair, clearly not having enough information to reply to you, so he allowed you to continue.

You straightened, looked him in the eye and pretended like you were the most confident person in the world, just enough to get you through this conversation.

“I’m not a woman, I’m not a man— I mean at least not all the time,” slowly but surely the gears started to click into place in his head. “And so I was wondering if there was a way to…reflect that on my new ID.”

He was silent for a long minute, the most anxiety inducing minute of your life. But then he leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk between the two of you. 

“I am…unbelievably sorry if I’ve been accidentally misgendering you,” he started, genuine emotion in his oftentimes stoic eyes. You immediately shook your head, your own hand reaching out to hold his without so much as a second thought.

“Hotch, you’re okay,” you squeezed, neither of you ever even flinching or finding the physical contact weird. He’d always been affectionate with you, and you…well you were affectionate with everyone so he didn’t think you had noticed. But you had, and you made sure to let him know through the smallest of gestures. 

“Is there anything we can do?” He asked and it was your turn to look confused. “Around the office, to accommodate you.”

You smiled brightly. He was so sweet, so kind and caring and gentle, always looking out for his team, for his friends, for you. 

You told him about how everyone else had been super accommodating, how your color coded system with Spencer worked, how Rossi had sent you a million screenshots of articles and stories and even asked if he could come to Pride with you.

He smiled a few times, snickered a couple and it made you heart swell each time. You didn’t know why you’d been so apprehensive about telling him, about letting him know how you were feeling.

Maybe it was because his opinion mattered so much to you, maybe it was because you were scared of the minuscule percentage of possibility that he could react badly, maybe it was because it would’ve broken your heart if he had.

But none of it mattered now. He had reacted perfectly, like you knew he would, and with his hand still in yours, he called HR to request your new badge be edited, with your permission to talk about your situation. 

You could not remember a time when you had felt so understood, so accepted, so loved. He had reminded you that there were no such things as silly requests. He’d do anything to make you feel comfortable, anything to make you feel like you could exist happy and healthy, anything to let you know that you were safe and that he’d move heaven and earth to make it so. 

my sweet babies are so freaking cute i love them sm

tags: @canuck-eh, @ssamorganhotchner, @ssaspencerreidswife

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #bau x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #genderfluid!reader #gender is hard #show your fangs writes #show your fangs hotch blurbs #hotch x you #ssa hotchner #hotch x reader

[msfcatlover]

Okay, but in the Reverse!Robins AU, when Bruce is dead & everything is a mess, here’s how Jason gets the Red Robin arc:

Jason just wants to help, but it gets spoiled at every turn.

Damian is having an existential crisis because he’s been working so hard for nearly a decade to define his own path/identity, but there’s a big part of him that still feels like it’s his duty to follow in his father’s footsteps. It’s tearing him apart inside over whether he’s a bad brother for trying to take what he’s already abdicated, or a bad brother for forcing the others to carry the mantle, or a bad son for not stepping up, even though that’s what Talia wanted more than Bruce, but Bruce & Damian aren’t that close since Steph died, and maybe Damian’s been wrong this whole time—

Cass doesn’t know how to process grief really, because the only huge losses in her life are Steph’s death & Tim’s mobility, and with the latter she was mostly relieved he wasn’t dead too. She’s getting everyone’s grief 24/7, but she doesn’t know how to talk to them about it or her own. She declared long ago she wanted to be Batman, and everyone seemed very happy then, but suddenly she doesn’t feel ready for it. And on top of all that, she’s the only one Dick even tries to spend time with, because she’s the only one who doesn’t either lash out at him or try to get him to talk when he doesn’t want to.

Duke is trying to hold everyone together, and as the oldest he’s trying to get Bruce’s affairs in order, and it’s such a mess he actually has to stop being the Signal for a little while. Even though he’s normally the family’s emotional rock, he’s frazzled & exhausted, he doesn’t know what to do, and his temper is burning pretty short even as he tries to hold it together for his siblings.

Dick honestly seems to hate Jason, for reasons Jason cannot comprehend. Every time Jason tries to reach out to Dick, he ends up getting screamed at or having something thrown at him, and eventually Jason just gives up. (Dick is a complete fucking mess, because just as he was starting to settle in at the Manor and find something resembling stability again, his foster father went & died on him.)

Steph is AWOL since the funeral, and generally ignores “family troubles” like the plague.

Tim still figures out Bruce is still alive. He doesn’t want to get the younger kids’ hopes up, so he approaches Duke, Damian, & Cass with his evidence instead of calling a family meeting. It… does not go well.

Jason beats a retreat from the tension at the manor, telling Alfred he’s going to crash with Tim for a while. Alfred, Cass, & Duke all try to hide their relief over not having to worry about Jason for a little while. Wrongly believing Jason & Tim will keep eachother grounded.

While at Tim’s, Jason find his folder of evidence. Jason immediately confronts Tim with it, and Tim starts to get defensive before realizing Jason believes him. They go over all of it, as well as Tim’s plans & theories for where/how to find further information.

But Jason sees several problems Tim refuses to acknowledge. Gotham needs Oracle, now more than ever. And a not insignificant part of Tim’s plan relies on exploiting the resources of a certain obvious but unnamed group. Everyone knows Ra’s put the hit out on Tim all those years ago as a sort of “if I can’t have you, no one can” thing, and either intended to end Tim’s vigilante career or figured being unable to stand without crutches was significant enough punishment. But only Jason was there when Tim found the card inviting Tim back for a dip in the Pit whenever Tim was ready to admit he ‘needed’ it; Jason leant Tim his lighter to burn the note. So Jason might be the only one who knows Ra’s has been waiting for Tim to come groveling back ever since that bullet clipped Tim’s spine. And Ra’s definitely won’t deign to help Tim without ‘fixing’ him first. 

Jason’s not about to let his big brother get sucked back into that mess. Not Ra’s spiral of abuse & manipulation, not the potentially devastating side effects of the Pit, and not the struggles with worth Tim’s had since he had to hang up his cape. No way.

And Talia has made it very clear she’d be interested in training Jason.

So Jason steals Tim’s plans. Jason modifies them. Jason tells Tim that Jason’s going to go stay with the Titans, because Jason needs to get out of Gotham for a little while, and asks Tim to cover for him.

Jason steals a credit card for one of Damian’s alternate identities, knowing full well Damian’s too much of a mess to notice the charges until it’s too late.

Jason zetas to San Francisco, and asks the Titans to cover for him if anyone comes asking.

Jason uses Damian’s card to buy a plane ticket.

By the time anyone realizes what’s happened, Jason’s in too deep to risk extraction. After all, you can’t just flatter your way into an al Ghul’s favor only to back out at the last second, and no one in the family is emotionally equipped for delicacy right now.

Tim just has to do his best to make things easier for Jason, play dumb when anybody asks, and pray he isn’t setting his baby brother up to get murdered.

#reverse robins au #reverse batfam #reverse robins #reverse!robins #Reverse Robins AU Jason #reverse robins AU Tim #jason todd #robin jason todd #tim drake #timothy drake #oracle!tim #oracle tim #oracle Tim drake #robin!jason #red robin #red Robin!jason #red robin Jason todd #batfam #batman #my writing #mine #// #Step 20 is Tim waking up to a knife at his throat & Steph demanding to know why Jason just called her #apologizing for every snide remark he ever made & begging to know how she ‘’handled the green.’’ #You don’t want to know what step 19 is.