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granddaughterogg · 4 months

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You Let Me Complicate You - Part 1

This is a love story about Simon "Ghost" Riley and you, starting with a random hookup and later navigating your increasingly complex feelings and desires towards each other.

~~Reblogs are always Greatly Appreciated!~~

PART 2 HERE

SUMMARY: You're all alone in London because of Reasons. On a particularly dreadful, windy, rainy Halloween evening you venture outside for a quick pint - but find Simon "Ghost" Riley instead. He's a consummate fuckboy who uses fleeting trysts to blow off steam collected at his deadly job, and you're a cynical, world weary girl who nonetheless very much enjoys no-string-attached sex. None of you are prepared for the horror of Actually Falling In Love. Also - the mask stays on for ridiculously long. What, oh what will become of this fateful encounter?

Chapter 1: SKULLFACE

As with many other adventures in your life - this one started only because you wouldn’t quench your curiosity.

It was an insatiable force, one that has driven you into a lot of shit over the years. On the other hand, you could call your life path - that collection of irregular zigs and zags off the beaten trajectory - anything but dull. And you owed it to that ever-present itch at the back of your head.

Let’s go back to the very start, shall we?

The start was unpromising. For one, it was Halloween evening, but you were on your own and it was pissing it down outside.

You sat in a tiny squalid apartment, its walls painted a nauseating shade of green and stared at the darkness behind your windows. Cold water splashed against the glass. Technically speaking, those windows weren’t yours. Nothing here was. You’ve just Airbnb’ed this hovel for a few weeks. The thing is, you’ve been awaiting news about a job.

They haven’t contacted you yet. You’ve been paying through the nose for this musty abode, bristling at the prices of groceries – at the prices of anything, really. London’s famous charms were lost on you. You hated this city. To you, it felt as if someone had squashed a dozen smaller towns into an amorphous heap. You didn’t know a single soul in those streets and you weren’t sure if you wanted to change that.

But how long can a lonely girl sit on her ass, browse youtube and marinate herself in misery?

And it was All Hallow’s Eve after all.

You always loved Halloween.

The weather discouraged kids from trick-and-treating. Yet you could still hear multiple footsteps going every which way on the wet pavement below, snippets of conversations and muffled laughter. Londoners decided to enjoy themselves tonight, weather be damned.

You paused the video (it was about a groomer, tending to a particularly matted, hissy cat). You stood up with a sigh, slammed your laptop shut and went to the suitcase lying in the corner.

It’s been a week here and apart from your sensible job interview clothes, (which have been hanging on the door, properly steamed) you still haven’t found it in yourself to unpack.

Never mind that now. You unceremoniously threw the suitcase’s contents on the wooden floor and fished one particular object out of the pile; a little velvet dress, as black as the night.

You stood in front of the dusty mirror and pulled the garment on. It was one of those strappy numbers which start late but end pretty early. Hugged all your curves, not leaving much to the imagination. Your dear mother would’ve described this dress as „slutty”.

Just the way you liked it.

You’ve learned before that excessive preparations only dull your enthusiasm for the unknown. So you’ve slid your feet inside your trusted combat boots, smudged some black eyeliner here and there, put your hair up in a French twist with a simple metal pin, and threw on a jacket - and you were good to go.

Wherever those streets would take you.

***

It turned out that the streets wouldn’t take you far. Because it was raining fucking hard.

It's one thing to merely observe the skies opening, and another to withstand their fury. You were trudging the pavement under your flimsy foldable umbrella, almost bent in half because of the gusty wind. You walked turned to the side, trying to avoid getting ballistic rainwater in your eyes, one half of your face damp and cold already. The light jacket offered little protection; soon you were soaked to the bone, and furious.

Screw it, you thought. I’m just gonna get inside any old place, have a pint and then go home.

You turned the corner and came upon a narrow crooked staircase leading below the street level, as was usually the case with pubs in this area. Some people were just leaving the premises, laughing and talking as they went. You caught a glimpse of bluish light, pouring from the inside along with some muffled bass beats.

Good enough.

You descended down the staircase; concrete steps crumbled under your tractor soles, threatening to throw you off balance. You passed by some folks on your way, squeezing yourself past them on a narrow path cutting through an overgrown courtyard. You pulled the handle of a heavy iron door. It was covered in graffiti and layers upon layers of old stickers.

You stepped inside.

Your first thought was: This is not a pub.

You weren’t a local – hell, you weren’t even British – but after some time spent in this country, you’ve more or less become acquainted with the trappings of this cornerstone of any local community, what with its cosy nooks, mandatory fireplace and dark polished woodwork. Those kinds of places you knew. The beer wasn’t half bad, the tunes were usually tolerable and bartenders had this well-practiced cordiality to them. You liked the atmosphere of an English pub.

This, however, was different. Like, much noisier.

Your ears got filled with the metallic beats of dark industrial music. You couldn’t name the song that was playing. Deep inside there was a small dancefloor, where bodies swayed along with the slow, reverberating rhythm.

This place was so dimly lit, that you had to squint just to adjust. The walls were raw concrete, with exposed brass piping running up and down in complicated patterns. It reminded you of a bunker. All the furniture seemed to be worn down and mismatched as if someone scavenged it from various vacant buildings. The bar counter was one giant slab of concrete too, its greyness punctuated by rows of tiny lights hanging from the iron truss under the low ceiling.

The patrons all wore black. Not just your basic, nondescript black, oh no. You looked around (as much as you could while drifting in this neon blue semi-darkness, which revealed so little) and noticed some people in gothic finery. Velvet, lace, the works. Others chose leather or elaborate corsetry.

Ah, it’s one of those places.

You got your shit together, folded the damn umbrella, shook your damp hair to get at least some of the water out of it, and beelined to the concrete bar. At this point of the evening, you’d kill for a hot beverage.

The bar area was not too crowded, thank fuck. You clambered gracelessly onto one of the free barstools and smiled at the bartender. He was completely bald, with a ginormous nose ring and a thin face, eternally crumpled into an expression of faint disgust.

"Hello! One hot tea, please", you said breathlessly.

Dude looked at you as if you’d just spat on his mother’s grave.

"Tea? You sure 'bout that?"

"Well yeah", you answered. "It’s bucketing down out there, and I got chilled to the bone..."

The bartender wasn’t moved by your plight.

"This is a club, not your Granny’s living room, see? We serve adults here..."

"Give ‘er a damn tea, Geoffrey. Don’t be a cunt."

A man’s voice rang out from your left. It was low and throaty, but also perfectly even in tone. It cut through the music and the bustle like a knife wielded by a steady hand. Your ears twitched pleasantly at this sound.

Geoffrey blinked at whoever it was that scolded him. Then he made a face and turned away to fulfil your order.

"I’m just saying, we’re trying to run a business here…" he muttered, putting the kettle on.

"I see that”, you assured. "Make that a tea and a glass of Scotch then. I could use both."

"Right." The bartender was seemingly placated by your offer.

When he put the drinks in front of you and turned towards other customers, you emptied the sugar packet inside the cup, stirred your tea for a while, finally sipped it - and sighed with delight. It all took a while. When the life-restoring elixir started to course through your veins, you stole a glance at the man who spoke earlier.

"Thanks for putting in the word for me", you said with a slight smile.

"Geoff's not a bad bloke. Just overworked."

The stranger was tall and dressed in a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his head. He was looking straight ahead, away from you, cradling his whisky glass in two large, strikingly pale hands.

"I can imagine, with the place being so busy on Halloween and all...Anyway, I’m feeling better by the minute."

"Drink up then, and that whisky too. You look like a half-drowned cat."

That voice was something to behold. So deep and guttural, with a thick accent that made short work of most of the consonants. As your ears helpfully suggested, it was probably Mancunian. One doesn’t simply grow such a voice. One earns it through incessant smoking and other recurring bad life decisions, no doubt. It was kinda hot.

...Wait a moment, did this perfect stranger just smack-talk you?

Your head darted upwards.

"Did you just say that I look like shit?"

Your tone was still playful - if underlined by a suggestion that you’re always ready to drop the playfulness.

The hooded man must’ve heard that undertone because he chuckled. That rumbling sound reverberated somewhere deep within you. Probably in your bones.

"Don’t be so hard on yourself, love. You're just a little worse for wear, is all."

That impassive tone of his stabbed you in the solar plexus. You've straightened up as if pulled by a string. The teaspoon fell into your tea, making a soft clatter, while you spun around on your stool to look this insolent git straight in the face.

"How do you know?" you bit out. "You weren't even looking -"

The following words got stuck in your throat.

Not only was the man hooded, but he also wore a mask. A tight black one, covering his head and the lower part of his face. A balaclava, your brain hinted helpfully. It looked like a part of the regulation equipment of the armed forces, and that's where the similarities came to an end. For the mask has been printed over – or painted, maybe? - with the image of a skull. Mainly its lower jaw. White paint glimmered in the bluish light, forming a wide, ghastly smile which grinned at you.

But even more striking were his eyes, large and protruding. Your stunned stare met two opaque irises, as dark and dense as a black hole. You weren't able to decipher their expression. That cryptic intensity of his gaze seemed to bend space-time.

His eyelids and skin around the eyes have also been blackened, but his long lashes remained pale as frost.

You stared at this vision with your mouth ajar, like a dead fish.

"What?" He asked calmly and quietly. "Do I have something on me fuckin' face?"

You were always quite outspoken, but at that moment words eluded you.

"Cool mask,” you said finally because something needed to be said. „Cool...disguise. Is it for Halloween?"

He didn't blink. It was unnerving.

"I don't do 'alloween, love."

"So you wear this thing 'cause it makes you more interesting and mysterious and shit?"

The tall man leaned towards you, his eyes creasing in a smile.

"Look at you, sweetheart. It's clearly workin'."

"That's because of that stare of yours. It could pin a person to a wall...", you murmured.

"I could pin you to a wall. Just ask nicely.”

You felt suddenly weightless. Out of breath.

"For how long?" you quipped, trying your damnedest to sound flippant.

The nerve of this fucking guy!

"For as long as you'll need me to. I'm a dedicated man.”

There was no bravado ringing in his gritty voice. Just a calm statement of fact.

You cut a look at his arms. The black cotton of the hoodie did little to conceal their immense size.

He could probably deliver on his promise.

You took a long breath, trying to regain your lost composure. It wasn't easy when this hulking freak stared you down, but you'd been in tighter spots before.

Goths, amirite, you thought. Ever the contrarians, regardless of their age. They tended to be good in the sack though.

You studied this new specimen very thoroughly - and there was plenty to stare at. The man was built like an industrial-sized fridge. Ridiculously tall even while sitting down and broad-shouldered, with a firm chest stretching the plain black cotton of his sweatshirt. Which, by the way, he wore zipped up almost to his very chin, like a layer of protective gear. Weird.

Those dim little lights over the bar made it hard for you to discern the details, but you also noticed the width of his torso and his powerful thighs, clad in simple blue denim. He was by far the plainest dressed patron of this edgelord cellar joint. Apart from the mask you didn't notice anything even remotely Gothic about his style or bearings. Although he sat motionless, cradling a glass of whisky in his long, strong fingers – he still exuded that kind of primal strength which you've learned to associate with the outdoorsy hiker type or the avid sportsman.

"Like what you're seein', love?”

You winced, a bit perplexed that he had caught you taking stock of his impressive physique. But you weren't about to let him know that.

"Yep”, you blurted out instead, staring boldly into those eyes, as dark and impenetrable as a shark's. "Do you?"

"I do, yeah."

Aaand here we go, you thought, relaxing immediately. For now, you were on a beaten path.

"You've said that I looked like -", you chuckled accusingly, leaning back on your stool. His stare was gliding all over you without any shame, probably filing the best finds away for later.

"I know what I said," he cut you off calmly, leaning closer. The height difference between you two was striking.

"Your mascara got smudged and ran off...to there."

You stilled as this complete stranger traced a pale finger across your eye socket. You drew in a deep breath as he touched your zygomatic bone, where nothing possibly could've smudged. His fingertip travelled even further, brushing over your sensitive skin and freeing a lone strand of hair from behind your ear. It was still damp from the rain.

He did it very slowly. Very gently.

You let him. As if you were hypnotized. Attempted a smile, but the corners of your mouth felt strangely numb.

"See? Now that's perfection", he stated in the same hushed, impassive tone of voice before turning back to his drink. The whisky glass disappeared in his hand.

You were silent. Your head was buzzing as if someone had set the radio inside to a non-existent channel.

The thing is, you knew perfectly well who you were dealing with. When it comes to seasoned fuckboys like Skullface here, it's all very simple; they're nothing to be afraid of. Such men are what a high wave is for the swimmer. An opportunity for a fun ride.

Back when you were a teenage girl, you liked to spend hours on end in the sea. At the time you'd like to imagine that this cool, salty, malachite green vastness was your lover. You drifted in the water, letting the wave carry you, surrendering yourself to its tender ruthlessness, allowing the element to hold you for a moment without dealing any harm, to guide you like a dance partner, and then to pass by and disappear into the distance.

It is just like dancing. As long as you know the steps, something beautiful can come out of it.

And you haven't had the chance to let loose on the dancefloor for so long.

You calmed your body by taking a few deep breaths. You couldn't calm your heart. What you could do, though - was to let your audacious spirit take the wheel.

You grabbed at your glass and emptied it in one sweep. Vile whisky did as it always would; it burned your gullet only to flare into a ball of pleasant warmth once it reached your insides. It was not a connoisseur-worthy beverage, but its aggressive sweetness suited your current mood.

You threw your head back and exhaled slowly.

He was watching, you could tell. He tilted his head slightly. Amusement emanated from behind the black mask.

"Say..." you drawled, leaning towards him with your eyes sparkling, for you felt a surge of vigour and boldness along with a freshly bloomed, alcohol-induced blush.

"Does your mum know that you being a goth is not a phase?"

Skullface snorted softly.

"I am not a goth, love."

"Then why are you in this den for kinky weirdos?" You gestured around the dark interior, including the bare walls, the blue neon light and the throbbing, metallic, dark rhythms pulsing around you.

"I like goth chicks”, he admitted. Cheeky git.

"Why?" you prodded.

"Tattoos in fun places."

"Animal”, you chided him, setting your empty glass down with a bang.

"Excuse me, sir!" you called out to the bartender. "I shall have another."

"Like you came here for some lofty purpose. Wanna discuss the works of Kierkegaard...dressed like that?” The masked man snorted, summing up your entire scantily clad person with one tilt of his chin.

You chuckled quietly, taking no offence.

"I'm surprised that you even know how to pronounce his name."

He remained silent, so you fired away again, buoyed by the alcohol in your veins:

"Weren't you supposed to add something scathing after the 'dressed like that' part? I'm still waiting for that burn to sting."

"If I did, I'd be a fuckin' hypocrite", he muttered. "Cause I very much enjoy it."

That solemn note of appreciation in his voice made you smile and nod. What an earnest freak.

The bartender came over and took away both of your empty glasses.

"What can I get you?" he asked, his gaze moving from his face to yours.

"Two glasses of bourbon, Geoffrey", the masked man said.

He noticed that you were opening your mouth and nipped those objections in the bud by raising a finger.

"Hey. Bear with me here. If you don't like it, you might drink whatever you want next. Even more of that fuckin' coal sludge you've been having."

"Excuse you, Scotch is hardly a sludge".

"That's what the bloody Scots would tell you. In much more...colourful terms, I s'ppose. I have a Scottish coworker and every time that we go drinkin', he gives me a bloody earful about the superiority (he pronounced this word rolling his r's) of the local distilleries over that Kentucky brew."

"You're friends with a highlander?" you asked. "Does he curse at you in Scots whenever he gets agitated?"

"All the fuckin' time. He's a twonk." A smile laced his words.

"You sure are passionate about your liquor choices."

You propped your chin up with your hand, smiling at him.

"If I wanted to taste a fuckin' fireplace, I'd chew on a burnt log. Bourbon is the way to go. Much sweeter."

You couldn't help but laugh at his sudden fervour.

"You don't seem like the kind of lad who pursues sweetness," you quipped, trying to look into those impossible eyes of his and not blink. So far, it was a downhill battle.

The bartender came back. Two glasses full of amber liquid landed on the counter with a dull clink. You didn't have the time to focus on them, because Skullface leaned towards you, shading you with his powerful torso and obscuring the source of the blue light. Your nostrils were suddenly filled with his pleasant manly scent, mixed with the fragrance of fresh laundry, some kind of a woody-citrusy aftershave, and a hint of something you couldn't decipher even though you knew that smell. Its memory, devoid of a name, tickled at the tip of your tongue. Fireworks?

"Sweet and rough things should go hand in hand in life. That's how you make it all bearable somehow."

"Somehow?..” you asked absentmindedly, mesmerised by his deep voice. By the promise tilting at the edge of those slowly, intently enunciated words.

"Hey, true balance is hard to find, 'cause life's a fuckin' mess. It's chaos, it's cruel. No point to it at all."

Holy mackerel, you thought. A goth girl admirer, an apparent powerhouse of a man and a homegrown nihilist in one. With eyes like two abysses and a voice like grit. This was going to be an enchanting evening.

Don't go crazy just yet, you admonished yourself. Don't let this stranger in a mask get the upper hand on you. Keep your calm so that he doesn't sweep you off your feet prematurely.

"So," you murmured, your tone casual, "What did Kierkegaard have to say, exactly?"

Dark eyes twinkled.

"Many things. Like that our whole existence is absurd. It doesn't really matter what we do, so we might as well do whatever the fuck we want. And right now, I want to do...this."

He dipped a finger into his glass of bourbon and glided it across your lower lip.

You parted your mouth without protest, giving in to the shamelessness of this gesture.

"Just taste it."

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helloheyhihowdyheya · 3 months

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Rose Thorn Blues | pt. 5 (final)

Peter Parker x fem!reader

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Masterlist

Summary: Spider-Man saved everyone he could. But this time, you have to save him — and yourself.

Word count: ~10.4k

Warnings: Enemies to lovers!! (We're finally to the lovers part <3) Canon-level violence. Swearing, blood, injuries. Angst. Fluff and more fluff!! Love confessions!!! And smooching ;)

A/n: Today's my birthday, so here's a little birthday present to all of you :) Thank you all for your patience with this story. It's the longest one I've written, and I'm grateful for everyone that's read it. Your comments mean the world.

I'd be happy to write an epilogue or little snippets of their lives during or after this story if anyone would be interested. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy <3

Pain. Unrelenting pain settling deep into your body was the first thing you noticed. Your closed eyes squeezed shut harder as the back of your head pounded, a shaky exhale leaving your cracked lips. You could feel dried tears stuck along the planes of your cheeks.

When you tried moving your arms, you found you couldn’t — not with them bound behind you to the chair you sat in, and not with the deep ache stretching from your shoulders down to your wrists. The skin there felt rubbed nearly raw by rope holding them together. Even your chest and ankles were tied to the chair.

Despite the ache in your ribs, you forced yourself to take long, deep breaths. Each one shook through you. Blinking slowly, you let your blurry vision adjust. The bright fluorescents were now dimmer than before, only half of them on. You shivered slightly, goosebumps raising across your skin in the cool temperature of the warehouse.

Forms of people here and there began to come into focus in front of you. They seemed to be packing things into large boxes, the same wooden ones you’d seen before. And as you took in the tall windows and many shelves, you saw that you were in a shadowy corner of this godforsaken warehouse.

You could’ve screamed if your throat wasn’t so dry and your head wasn’t swimming. Your jaw ached as you clenched your teeth together over and over again. Panicked, uncontrolled thoughts flew through your hazy awareness. No matter how hard you tried to swallow them back, you couldn’t ignore the worry festering in your stomach — one uneasy idea decomposing into another.

Where was Peter?

A thin breath punched from your lungs as you remembered the hurt in his voice over the phone. He’d never allowed you to see him like that before, but still, you could picture his face twisting and the blood staining his suit dark. The image floated on the edges of your vision as you scanned the people moving throughout the warehouse.

Somehow, no guard stood watch over you. If what Will had said before about his horrible suit being missing, his workers must have been scouring the city — stretching his people thin and unable to be everywhere all at once.

With a possible window of opportunity open and beckoning you to take, you shifted your wrists, testing out the rope around them. Wiggling your arms made the binding a tiny bit looser. Each movement stretched them out but brought burning pain with it. It wouldn’t get you anywhere but tired and too hurt to function.

Like Peter, desperate and hurt. Who tried to keep you from walking into your demise… using secrets and lies. You clenched your teeth, hoping the pressure of it could shove away these half-feelings twisting and knotting around themselves.

So, you looked around, careful not to turn your head too abruptly in case any workers looked over. Though, even from afar, all of them looked terrified to do anything but hastily pack. Orders from Will himself, you were sure of it.

From the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of a jagged metal beam broken and sticking out from a beat-up shelf. It looked dull, but it came to a point. It’d have to do.

As silently as you could, you used your feet to inch the chair backward — timing each push with the sound of people shouting at one another or loudly loading up a crate. Your ears rang and your rapid heartbeat dulled your focus, distracting you with each intense spike of your nerves firing off.

Over several minutes, you positioned your bound hands to the piece of metal shelving and began to rub the rope across it. You paused at each lull, each possible moment that you might be caught. It gave you temporary relief from the strain pulling in your shoulders as you continued sawing away at the rope.

Sweat beaded across your skin as time passed — how long exactly, you weren’t sure. But eventually, the strands turned thinner. They felt as tight and ready to snap as your resolve. But when the rope loosened, becoming big enough for your hands to wiggle out, it instead filled your body with quenching relief.

The rope had barely pooled along the concrete floor before you began working on the binding stretching across your chest to hold your torso to the chair. It was tedious and forced your aching arms in horrible positions, but you pulled and pulled at the binding, squirming around to even gain an inch of room.

It kept catching on the bunched-up fabric of your clothes, but it moved. So, so slowly, it moved. It was an effort to keep your breaths silent when you wanted nothing more than to just shout for anyone to come help you. But Peter wasn’t here to help, so you sunk your teeth into your lip and kept quiet as the rope loosened.

Pushing your elbows out, you slipped the rope over your head. You allowed yourself only one unrestrained inhale before bending at the waist and working on the knot tying your ankles to the chair. Your fingers worked quickly, your eyes constantly trained on the workers as you moved. But the sight of that rope falling from your body made you blink away stinging tears.

Your best bet would likely be looking for a back exit and hoping you could sneak by anyone there — or fight your way out if it came to that. On unsteady legs, you raised yourself up, ignoring the wave of sharp pain pulsing at the back of your head and down your spine.

But before you could even take a step, get a real breath of freedom in your lungs, a sharp blade appeared at your neck.

“Going somewhere, sunshine?”

Within an instant, William Beaumont appeared next to you, and had he not held a tight grip to your upper arm, you might have collapsed. Though the blade pressed against you, your body instinctually writhed to get away from him. But even in the dim lighting, you saw the darkness that clung to him, the stillness in his eyes, the heavy weight he held. This wasn’t the Will you met before.

“Or Rose, is it?” he asked, his voice cold and calculated.

He pulled you forward and yanked your arms behind you. Your throat felt tight, your chest ready to rip open as you felt a zip tie tighten around your wrists — the plastic rubbing right where the rope had been just minutes ago. It had been too easy. Did he give you that hope on purpose? Just a lion toying with its food? A wretched feeling of fear shot through you at the thought.

Will shoved you back in the chair, a labored grunt shooting out of your lungs and a dizziness hitting you. Once he was sure you weren’t going to get up again, he took a step back, careful to keep the long blade pointed at your throat.

You dully registered a piece of wood rolling to your feet as Will aimlessly paced before you, kicking scattered debris. Sweat coated his skin, his hair damp against his forehead. For a minute, he just wordlessly walked back and forth, his eyes staring unfocused toward the ground. But you couldn’t look at his face for long, not with the sunken shadows settling into each curve of his expression. He almost looked sickly. Your gaze instead dropped to the handgun tucked into the back of his waistband; then you looked to the sharp piece of metal in his hand, recognizing it as one of the wrecked pieces from the Green Goblin’s glider.

When he paused, your breaths stopping too, he turned to stare at you. “Where’s my suit?” he asked, simply and without room for negotiation.

Despite the nearly deafening roaring of your heartbeat, you held his stare and willed your voice to come out steady. “Where’s your father?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, and you wondered how you hadn’t ever seen the similarities between those two before — the eerie air around them.

“Ellis is a bit busy at the moment. Why? Want to snoop around his mansion some more?” He tilted his head, pursing his lips just slightly. The look brought an anger next to your fear — anger and frustration that they could do good with what they had and keep their promises, but they were just adding more filth to the city.

He came closer then, squatting down so he was nearly eye level with you. You could barely stand to look at him this close, but you did your best not to flinch away. It was just another character you had to play.

Almost unnoticeable, you saw him wince in pain as he lowered. Watching him, you swallowed the fear trickling down your spine and asked, “Feeling sore?” At his unimpressed look, you merely squared your shoulders, raising your chin.

A breathy half-laugh escaped his lips. He stared down at his hand as he flexed it. “Jus’ some growing pains…” He shrugged. “ No change comes without a cost.”

“And is the cost worth all this?” you asked, your eyes motioning to the wreckage of the warehouse behind him.

“I’m just living up to the Beaumont family name. We’re cutting through endless miles of red tape with a snap of my fingers. I think you know the answer.”

“Your fingers?” you questioned. “Ellis is making you do all the dirty work?”

Will just rolled his eyes, his grip growing tighter on the blade. Letting out a sharp breath, he stood up, his body wavering just barely as he did so. Still, you went rigid as he towered over you. “Where’s the suit?”

You shook your head, trying to stay calm. But your resolve, this mask, pulled in all directions. “You said you wanted to educate people. What kind of change can be worth whatever you have planned? Worth a super suit and bodily experiments?” You remembered the way he’d bent the shelving’s metal like it was nothing.

“I prefer the term enhancements actually. Because they have made me better. Made it easier to ‘negotiate’ with clients. To educate the city on who really controls things around here.” He stared down at you, letting his words sink in.

Your tone rose, a tightness taking hold of your throat. “And who controls it? It’s certainly not you if your daddy’s bossing you around.” Despite the cold anger flaring behind his features, you continued. “Who says he won’t just keep you as his little lackey to do his bidding forever?”

His jaw twitched, his hand gripping the blade harder. You fought the terrified waves of nausea sitting in your stomach as he said, “Shut your mouth. You know nothing about the empire he’s planned for me.”

Your voice lowered with venom pooling around your tongue, one eyebrow raising. “Oh, and he’d never lie for his own personal gain, right? Even at the harm of others?”

“Where’s the suit?” he gritted out.

“I don’t know.”

You jolted backward as he slammed the metal blade against one of the shelves. The echoing clang of the hit made you curl into yourself, the blood draining from your heart.

His hand raised high, clenched above his head, before it slowly unfurled. He pressed his fingers into his temples. “I’m not in the fucking mood for this.” Punctuating each word with a step closer, he said, “Where. Is. The. Suit?”

A pulsing vein appeared along his neck, his breathing coming harder. Your hope of getting out of here dwindled with each second he got closer to losing it.

Trying to keep your voice calm, you said, “Will, I swear I don’t know.”

He charged toward you then, gripping your chin in his hand despite the yelp you let out. “You’ve come to this warehouse before. You’ve been in our house. You stole blueprints. And you think I’m going to believe you?”

You let out a shaky exhale, muscles twitching and screaming at you to get away from him. “I never broke in here. I wouldn’t be able to take all those boxes of the suit by myself, not without being seen. I don’t know where it is.”

His gaze considered you, roaming across your face like he was listing all the ways to torture the information from you. “Then you had help. Maybe that little ‘husband’ of yours knows — he might talk more than you when we find him.” He paused, his hold on you growing a little tighter, making you wince. “And that spider will talk when we string him up and force it out of him.”

Your expression dropped, your eyebrows tightening together. So they didn’t know Peter was Spider-Man, at least not yet. And if you could get out of here alone, it could stay that wa-

A flash of red flew past the windows near the warehouse’s ceiling. Any sense of calm, no matter how forced, dissipated into uncatchable smoke. No, he couldn’t be here. He couldn’t bring himself right into the waiting mouth of the beast that was hunting him. Silently, you pulled at the zip tie holding your wrists.

“Speaking of cutting through red tape…” Will muttered as a thud on top of the roof had his gaze shooting upward. Silence covered the entire building — all of the workers immediately stopped their movements.

You could barely slump forward when Will let go of your chin before he brought the blade back to your neck, his body standing behind you. His words echoed as he called out, “Come on out, Spider-Man! I promise we’ll let her go…”

Your eyes squeezed shut as the pain in the back of your head pounded harder, tears threatening to pool on your eyelashes. You whispered, “And then what? Where does this end, Will?”

A jagged smile was evident in his words. “Who says the fun ever has to end?” His hands forced your head to turn, your gaze pointed toward the warehouse entrance. “Isn’t that right, father?” Will asked loudly, calling to the man walking toward you both with a gun at the ready.

The sight dropped a deadening weight into your stomach. Ellis looked wild, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His usual well-kempt look was forgotten, his suit ragged and hair free from its slicked-back style. More guards continued to enter the warehouse after him, and you couldn’t stop your entire body from shaking.

“Or maybe the fun’s just beginning,” Will said into the curve of your ear. It made you stretch to get away from him, but that only pushed your neck further into the blade — pain prickling along your skin.

You revolted against the dread, the horrific realization, that you may watch Peter die here — while he was trying to save you. It took everything in you to not let it incapacitate your ability to think or even function.

Ellis directed the guards this way and that. You watched with unfocused attention as he followed the large group up toward the roof. Normally, you would say he was sending them to their demise with Spider-Man up there. But an injured, desperate Spider-Man? That struck icy fear into your veins.

And you’d never known Spider-Man to have a noisy approach — careless enough to make noise and draw the enemy’s attention to himself. He’d have to play it smart, which became evident a few minutes later when Will yelled to one of his guards… and got no response. Peter was picking them off one by one in here while they searched for him outside.

Will’s free hand gripped tightly to your shoulder, his body continuously moving in small twitches. You could feel how on edge he was, and you wondered just how dangerous this family could be. Full power over the city, and all they needed now was to remove the one man stopping them.

You fought to keep your breathing even, your mind clear, so you could stay calm. And it worked to ground you just as a web shot from the sky. At blinding speed, it hit Will’s arm, sending the blade flying away from you. It clattered across the floor, the sound the sweetest thing you’d ever heard. Before he could fully realize what had happened, you lifted your foot and brought it down against his knee using every bit of strength you had.

By the time he’d crumpled to the floor, you’d run the other way. His scream froze your heart, but you knew he wouldn’t be down long with whatever experiments were coursing through him. Weaving between shelves with your hands still bound behind you, you tried to find somewhere safe — maybe the back entrance you’d planned to go to before.

But there were sure to be more guards outside now, and you couldn’t get far with your hands tied together. Your steps slowed, trying to become silent as you looked around for something sharp. Among the debris were ammo, rope, chemicals… but nothing to cut the zip tie.

Will’s words sounded far enough away, but that didn’t stop your head from whipping in his direction as he yelled, “You’ll fucking regret that!” Without so much as a breath, you took small steps backward away from the threat.

You only got a few feet when a gloved hand wrapped around your mouth. Before you could even scream, you were lifted into the air. The warehouse passed in a blur, but relief broke through as you felt summer night air hit your skin — as you recognized the sounds of the man swinging you both a few blocks away.

The two of you landed in a different alley, this one empty and finally safe. A second later, you felt the snap of the zip tie, and your wrists came free.

“Thought you might need a han-”

He only spoke those few words before you turned around to lunge into his arms. A quiet grunt shot out of him as you hugged him until your arms shook. You sniffled back tears budding up, your fingers clenching tight onto his suit. You breathed in him.

“Peter,” you whispered against him.

“Uh… I’m not sure who that is. The name’s Spide-”

“Shut up,” you interrupted, shaking your head as you pressed in closer to him. You could have sobbed when his arms wrapped around you too. To have him here, real, and breathing felt like the aching quiet after waking up from an unending nightmare, like the first rays of morning sunlight peeking above the horizon.

But the memory of when the two of you last spoke washed over your senses in an unrelenting tidal wave. You pulled back, your hold on him tightening as you looked at him. Your breath fizzed away like bubbling remnants of the crashed wave.

Blood splattered across his suit, broken up by dirt and rips along his body. His chest rapidly rose and fell, tired in a way you’d never seen the superhero. He’d pulled his arms from you— one of his hands rested against the building, using it to hold his weight. His other hand wrapped around his left side where blood-coated webs held together what looked to be a bullet wound. But what stole the breath from your lungs, what grabbed you and forced you to come to terms with all that’d happened, was his face.

A jagged tear in his mask stretched from his cheek to his forehead, leaving one of his bloodshot eyes exposed. The skin around it looked marred with cuts and aching bruises. At the top of the rip, pieces of his shaggy hair stuck to his forehead. He was barely recognizable. Your bottom lip trembled, no matter how hard you tried to stop it. But before you could open your mouth, Peter brought you back in against him, hugging you tight. He whispered, “Thank God you’re okay.”

Pressing your hands against his chest, you created a little bit of space despite how your body protested. “Peter… are you okay?”

His exposed eye traced across your face, the soft brown looking paler than usual. “I’m fine. I got the suit out — and hidden. That’s what matters.”

You gave him an exhausted look because that was not all that mattered, not as he stood there looking like that, but you didn’t argue further. He was here. And stubborn.

So you just allowed yourself to do what you hadn’t done before the fundraiser. Raising your hand, you paused for a brief moment before gingerly fixing his hair. You tucked the strands back under the mask before swiping a thumb across his forehead.

His hand came up to grab your wrist, lowering it from his hair but not letting go of you.

“How are you doing?” he asked. His fingers were gentle against the marks on your wrist.

You blinked against the throbbing in your head but nodded, breathing out, “Uh… yeah. I’ll be okay.”

And too many other things to say passed your mind, some you wanted to tell him and others you couldn’t. With a hoarse voice and downcast eyes, you settled on, “You came.”

You hoped he heard all you meant underneath those two words.

And you didn’t have time to register his answer — “of course” — as he moved his grip from your wrist down to your hand. He squeezed once then let it return to your side.

“Okay, I need to head back,” he said, raising his arm to shoot a web back in the direction of the warehouse, “please head to the hospital, and stay safe. I’d bring you there myself, but–” He gestured to his injured side, his face wincing in pain.

Instantly, your face twisted, a dizziness coming over you as any relief you had shattered to the ground. “You’re not going back in there. Not like this,” you nearly pleaded, your words coming out faster. “You’ve done enough. Call- call the police, and let them handle it.”

He shook his head. “I already called them. But with Will’s powers, it’ll be a massacre. I’ve got to go.” He said it with such certainty, with no room for argument. He tried to step past you, his gaze stoically not meeting yours.

“Then I’m coming too.” You stepped to the side with him. You hurriedly explained, “Something’s not right with Will, like his body is struggling with whatever’s coursing through him. So I think if we-”

“What? No. I mean, yes,” he told you. “Will is using DNA from supervillians, and I think his body’s rejecting it. But no, you’re not coming with me.”

“Could we somehow increase his symptoms then, or speed them up?” Your palms came up to rest against his chest. His heartbeat pounded rapidly beneath your touch.

“I mean, probably. If we incubated it with heat or lights maybe, but…” He cocked his head. “Stop talking like we’re doing this together. We’re not.”

Turning your chin up at him, you argued, “Well the plan where you get yourself killed sucks.”

“Well I happen to like the plan where you get killed a lot less, so you’re staying,” he said, raising an arm to shoot out a web again. He held stern, but you heard the exhaustion coating his words, how tired he really was.

Spider-Man always had a plan, Peter always knew what to do. And now it seemed his only plan was to stop Will at all costs — even at the cost of his own life. You shoved away the emotion that thought brought bubbling up your throat.

You clenched your hands into fists, refusing to let him go so easily. “Peter, you’re not leaving me in the dark anymore. The secrets and hiding have to stop here.”

You watched his eyebrow sink into a frown, his voice becoming more serious than you’d ever heard. “Secrets and hiding? Yeah, I have to keep my identity hidden, but don’t you get why I did all of this?” He asked as if it was the most obvious question. His hands gestured out to the side as he took a step back — your own hands falling away from him.

He turned his head away from you, and you could only watch his jaw clench and unclench with each passing second. The silence rang in your ears, until he breathed out, “It was to keep you safe. ‘Cause all this? It does no good if… if you’re gone.”

You held your breath, feeling your heart beating wildly throughout you. Heat crawled up your body at his words. Quietly, you asked, “What does me being gone have to do with stopping Beaumont?”

Shaking his head, Peter breathed out the ghost of a laugh. In an instant, he stepped so closely that it nearly gave you whiplash. Slowly, the tips of his fingers slipped under his mask to pull it above his mouth. He shifted even closer, his lips merely an inch from yours as his hands cupped your jaw. His body overtook all of your senses. He whispered, “Christ, are you this dense on purpose?”

With that, his lips pressed against yours, your eyes fluttering shut on instinct. At first, you didn’t move at all — afraid that it would break whatever moment you somehow found yourself in. Thoughts and emotions yelled for your attention, for you to analyze what was happening, but none were quite as loud as the feeling of his body melding against yours. That familiar warmth of him enveloped you, and all you could do was melt with him.

It wasn’t like the hurried kissing at the fundraiser, all teeth and tongue and newness. This almost felt familiar, as if you could come home to this every day. Your hands snaked up, holding onto his shoulders as he dulled your senses into a fuzziness. You felt your mind nearly go blank — but not completely.

With waning will power, you pulled away, trying not to relish in the soft noise that escaped his throat as you did so. You both caught your breath — the yearning exhales mingling in the small space between you. And with the way his hands still held onto you, now dropped down along your body to find a home on your hips, you knew there was no way he’d let you go with him.

“I… you, uh, need to get back” you began with a long, heavy breath. Swiping your tongue across your bottom lip, you took a resistant step backward. He kept one hand on yours as you moved. “Just, Peter, please be safe.”

He slowly nodded, and you watched every movement as he grabbed his mask and brought it back down. His thumb rubbed along your skin. “Yeah, yeah. Of course. And after…”

“After?” you asked, smiling at him.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “After. Let me take you out.”

“After,” you promised. You swallowed, wrapping a hand around his forearm and squeezing once. But before he could move away, you said, “Wait! Do you have anything I could use? To defend myself, I mean. I’d just feel safer — in case I happen to run into their guards on my way to the hospital.” You offered a closed mouth smile, one that told him not to worry too much about you.

“Uh, yeah…” he said, patting along his suit and up to his wrists. Removing part of his left webshooter, he set a small metal piece into your palm. You thought it looked almost like a flash drive as he curved your fingers over it.

“It’s not ideal, but it’s the best I have right now. It helps control my electric webs, so you can use this part as a sort of taser if someone comes at you,” he explained, waiting until you nodded before pulling you into a hug. It crushed your body, feeling like a hug you’d give someone you might not see for a long time. Or ever again.

So, you whispered, “Good luck,” and watched as he stepped away and swung away slowly. One of his hands still held tight to his side.

You waited there for a minute, bringing a thumb up to your lips. You felt how they still tingled and how they curved into a smile. But as soon as you were sure Peter had made it back to the warehouse already, you began making your way there with quick steps.

Maybe you were in over your head. Peter would probably call you stupid or reckless. But if he couldn’t handle if something happened to you, then he’d have to understand why you weren’t leaving him to go in there alone.

So you found yourself marching back to the place you never hoped to return to. Intense pounding went through your head with each step. Your palm felt slick with sweat, but you held tight onto the makeshift taser until your knuckles began to ache.

You were glad the warehouse was so secluded — hopefully no passerbyers would get caught in the fray. Or hear the commotion coming from inside. The muffled noise came from the far side of the building, near the front, so you hugged the opposite side of the alley as you made your way to the back. You guessed that they all concentrated on where Peter must have made an appearance, which only left one guard standing at the door.

Eyes flicking to the ground, you caught a glimpse of rock sitting in the cracks of the alleyway. Silently picking it up and pressing yourself into the shadows, you took a steadying breath that did little to calm your nerves in the midst of this insane idea. Still, your shaky arm reeled back to throw the rock up and over the guard, making it land on the other side of him.

As soon as he turned away from you, gun trained on the strange noise, you stepped from the dark and crept toward him. You gave yourself no time to second guess yourself before coming up behind him. Your internal monologue repeated, Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god as you raised the taser.

But as you went to press the taser into the guard, he turned back around in shock — throwing his elbow into your cheek in the process. A silent groan sat in your throat as your mouth hung open, a loud ringing going through your head. Pain bloomed outward from your face, and it took a moment to push past your swimming vision. Using all your strength, you lunged at him again and shoved the taser into the flesh of his neck.

In an instant, his body began convulsing. You did your best to try and let his weight down gently, but he just slid to the ground alongside you, unconscious and still twitching. Pushing him off, you sat on your knees and tried to catch your breath. You let the pain slowly dull with each passing second.

As you sat there, a glimpse of white against his dark uniform caught your eye — an ID badge hanging off his hip. It worked perfectly against the card reader at the back door, unlocking with a soft click for you to slip through. And there you were again, stood in the mouth of the beast once again.

In the back hallway away from the open floor, you could hear crashing and yelling coming from across the building. You only made it a few feet before footsteps sounded from the end of the hallway. Deep voices echoed off the concrete walls, each word louder than the next. You didn’t move or breathe until eventually, finally, they began to grow quieter.

From where you stood, heart still in your throat, you could tell the warehouse lights were still dimmed. So you searched along the walls, ears always listening for anyone coming back. You opened up the door after finding a circuit breaker, tracing a finger down the length of it. None of the switches were labeled, so after a moment of consideration, you flipped them all on — washing the building in bright fluorescents.

And just a few feet down the hall sat the thermostat. It was set to 65 degrees, but your hand quickly turned the dial up to the 89 degree mark. Within a few seconds, you heard the heater turn on and rumble through the vents.

You nodded, hopeful that this could begin weakening Will enough for Peter to take him out. While bleeding and injured. While dozens of guards also tried to kill him. How could you let him come back here? How could he come back here and make you come back here to help his ass?

You began to turn around to go find him when a heavy hand landed on your shoulder.

“Freeze-”

A gasp caught in your throat as you whipped around out of instinct and fear, immediately shoving the makeshift taser at the woman. It connected with the bottom of her jaw. With wide eyes, you watched as her body shook and fell to the ground just like the other guard. Your hand came up to cover your mouth while you stared. You didn’t think you would ever get used to that.

Slowly, you backed away down the hall. You did manage to grab her gun and hide it on a shelf when you made your way out there — rather than take it and risk shooting yourself or Peter, even if he did have superpowers.

Superpowers that you almost began to resent as you stepped into the open area of the warehouse — and the man himself immediately dropped down in front of you. You placed your hand over your mouth and swallowed the yelp that threatened to escape. Instead, you watched Peter as he guided the both of you behind a shelf.

His chest rose and fell much too quickly, his stance wavering and unsteady. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to affect his attitude though, as he came closer and angrily whispered, “What the hell are you doing here? I can’t believe you did this.”

You gave him a soft, disbelieving look, a closed-lipped smile on your face. “Yes, you can.”

He brought his fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose. A long sigh left his mouth. “Alright,” he said, “I can believe it. But you need to leave now.” He tried weakly pushing you toward the back door again.

You didn’t budge. “Oh, okay. Yeah, now that I’ve snuck in to help — by electrocuting two guards into unconsciousness, by the way — I’ll just go on my merry way,” you whispered back, twisting your face into a mocking expression. “How about you shut up and just let me help?”

“That’s why you asked for the weapon?” He quietly groaned before looking at you again, his head cocking. “Two guards? That’s not bad.”

“Thank you. Now, I’ve turned up the heat and lights. So let’s go.”

For a moment, he considered you. His eye covered by the mask looked expressionless, distant. But his exposed eye made you pause — his gaze feeling resigned, desperate in a way that made your heart twist. You didn’t want to imagine the other compromises or sacrifices Spider-Man has had to make over the years. And you didn’t have time to. So you swallowed those thoughts and simply grabbed his hand, entwining your fingers with his to pull him farther into the warehouse.

As you slowly moved down the aisles, you whispered, “Give me one of your web shooters.”

You already knew his answer from the blank stare he shot sideways at you. “I’m not giving you one of my web shooters. I need them.” Part of his words told you he really did need them to get you both through this. The other part said he didn’t trust you to not accidentally shoot him with his own webs.

“Well don’t you have an extra one or something?” you shot back.

“Do you see this suit? Where could I even keep an extra web shooter on me?” he quietly asked, his free hand raising outstretched and exasperated.

You let your eyes trail across the suit per his suggestion — until Peter said, “Okay, that’s enough ogling.” And even for the briefest of moments, it felt good to smile with him.

But at another crash several aisles down, he stiffened. You felt his rapid heartbeat pulse against your skin as he held up a hand. “I’ll be right back,” he promised.

You tried to squeeze his hand, to give him some sort of mention to be careful or to not get himself killed out there, but his fingers slipped through yours as he instantly swung away. Your palm radiated leftover warmth as you hid, thinking through the plan. Hopefully, the two of you wouldn’t have to wait long for Will to show symptoms, which would just leave many guards and Ellis. Peter seemed confident that they couldn’t fight their way out of this.

But under the commotion of guards around the warehouse, yelling and fighting coming from seemingly everywhere, you didn’t hear the heavy footsteps until they were too close. Whipping around, you saw Ellis appear at the end of the aisle, his chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. He raised his gun, aiming it right at you as he said, “Found you now.” His voice sounded colder, void of any of the charm he had when speaking to the public.

Instinctively, you backed away from him — from the man that made cold dread creep through your body and steal the breath from your lungs — but your steps stuttered when a web came from the ceiling and yanked the gun from Ellis’ grip. It flew upward, but you didn’t wait to see Ellis’ reaction before silently thanking Peter and sprinting the other way.

Only to be met with Will standing on the other side of the long aisle.

His twisted smile and disheveled hair falling into his face fueled the icy weight dropping into your gut. His bloody fingers tightened around the end of the blade he held in one hand. The other gripped a pistol.

You turned to look back at Ellis to see him fighting against more webs. As Will approached with heavy steps, his arm shaking as he aimed his gun at you, you forced your body to move.

Without thinking, you ducked and crawled past boxes sitting on the large shelf and emerged into the next aisle. You couldn’t think about the thudding sounds of bullets hitting metal around you.

You knew he’d be on you soon, his mutated powers making him too powerful. So you crawled across to the next aisle, pushing aside scattered equipment before throwing yourself through that shelf too. You went through a few more aisles and shelves to create at least a little distance. In the last shelf you passed, you hid yourself between the boxes. You stilled just a second before you heard him enter the aisle.

Clamping a hand over your mouth, you squeezed your eyes shut as his footsteps grew louder with each passing second. Your other hand began to ache from gripping the taser between your fingers.

“Run all you like. It won’t change how this all ends,” Will seethed, his voice becoming closer to you. A raggedness filled his words, and you hoped that meant the plan was working.

Still, Peter’s name repeated over and over in your mind, a silent prayer for him to come help. But you could hear more guards approaching, each one feeling like an extra shovel digging your graves.

The guards seemed to be coming to find the commotion, but from the sounds, it seemed like Peter was holding them off. You could only imagine the exhaustion and pain riddling his body as he never stopped fighting.

And you hoped he wouldn’t stop as a shaking, powerful hand wrapped itself around your arm and yanked you from the shelf. No sound could escape your mouth — every inch of it went dry in the face of Will’s bloodshot eyes.

One hand reached to claw at his grip while the other brought the taser up to his neck. But he knocked it away before sending you flying from the aisles into the open space. You heard a growl rip from his throat before it disappeared under the ringing in your ears, a breathless groan dribbling from your agape lips, as you fell against the concrete.

In between slow blinking and painful winces, you caught sight of Peter coming down and fighting against Will. Even with the sweat starting to bead along your skin, the extra heat and lights weren’t enough yet to weaken him. You saw how fast his punches were, how slow Peter was to dodge them.

Your arms trembled as you pushed yourself onto one elbow. Gritting your teeth, you ignored the ache throbbing behind your eyes. You began to stand up again only for a blow to knock you back down and sliding across the floor.

“God, I’ve just had fucking enough of you. Stay down for once, sweetheart. Okay?”

Past watery vision, you raised your head to see a bloody Ellis pointing a gun down at you. You held your breath, not daring to move as nausea and fear turned to sludge in your stomach. His knuckles look torn and raw, his suit ripped along his shoulders and arms. One hand of his ran through his hair, leaving a smear of blood along his hairline.

Just as you were to silently call for Peter again or to close your eyes and wait for this all to be over, a strangled groan echoed throughout the warehouse. A second later, Peter’s ragged body flew from the shelves and hit the ground, sliding until he slammed into the building’s wall. A cry escaped your mouth at seeing his limp form, and you only breathed again once you saw him beneath the debris and dust. Blood dribbled from his shoulder. More rips spread along his suit. But weakly, slowly, you could see his chest continue to rise and fall.

Before you could try to crawl over to him, Will emerged from the aisles — his smile victorious even as his muscles shook. From where you lay, you couldn’t see any more guards. Peter must have gotten them all. Now you just needed a little more time.

“His current state is going to make it harder to get answers out of him, William,” Ellis said. He stretched his neck side to side as he continued to train his gun directly at your heart.

Will let out a breathy laugh as he made his way closer. “I was just having some fun testing out my powers.” He flexed his hands in front of him, his heartbeat visible in the raised veins just beneath his skin. “Besides, I’m sure there are ways to get him to talk…”

His gaze rose to connect with yours.

He dropped the end of his blade to the ground, letting it drag against the concrete with each step. The slicing sound may as well have been the blade itself running along your throat.

You began to shuffle backward, needing to get as far away from him and his torture plan as possible. Your teeth dug so far into your cheek that you began to taste blood. Fresh tears pooled along your eyes as you called out, “When were you going to tell him, Ellis?”

Still several feet away, Will paused for a moment, the blade hanging looser from his grasp. His eyes flicked to his father’s.

Ellis' shout echoed across the building, making you flinch. “What are you doing? Grab her. We need to leave.”

You didn’t let either of them think before blurting out, “When were you going to tell your son that his body’s rejecting the DNA? That they’re going to kill him?”

Ellis nearly growled out his next words as he stalked closer. “Shut. Up. You don’t know anything, you worthless girl.”

You scrambled back farther, your hands searching for anything along the ground. Your fingers grasped a broken shard of glass, bringing it in front of your body. It looked so miniscule, so useless, trembling before him.

“Is that true?”

Will’s words broke through, and for a brief moment, you recognized him again — he was the man you danced with. Only this time, he looked empty.

The question made Ellis stop this time, his eyes squeezing shut for a second.

“Father?”

You saw how Will’s skin looked red and blotchy, how his breathing became harder with each passing second. He knew something was wrong.

“Tell him, Ellis. Tell him why he’s becoming weaker by the minute.” You tried to keep your voice steady, and though it wavered and scratched, it still struck the tense thread holding them together.

For too long, no one spoke. You fought to not look away from Ellis’ stare that pierced through you. Every breath, every tiny move he made, you watched him from behind the broken glass.

Will pleaded, shouting,“Dad!”

Finally, Ellis broke from the trance and dropped the gun just slightly, turning toward Will. You took the brief moment to glance to Peter. In… out. In… out. He was here. He was okay. He would be okay.

You turned back when Ellis let out a resigned sigh, refusing to fully meet his son’s gaze. “We are working on a cure… a treatment to stabilize your body’s reactions. There was no use in worrying you before we found it.”

“Except that tiring his body worsens it — it kills him faster,” you gritted past split lips, despite flinching when Ellis aimed the gun at you again.

“Shut the hell up!” he yelled, gripping the gun’s handle until his knuckles turned white. You raised your chin higher.

“Is she right?” Will asked.

“I…” Ellis began, groaning and dropping the gun to his side. He reached his other hand toward Will, turning toward him completely. “It’s…” And for once, you heard Ellis Beaumont have nothing to say — no lies to spew. Still, he approached Will, trying to embrace him.

But Will backed away, his tripping over one another. “You did this to me,” he whispered, almost in awe. Then, his voice rose with each word until he was shouting. “You used me as some lap dog and knew that it was destroying me from the inside out?”

Ellis approached again. “Son–”

“No! Get the hell off me,” Will screamed, pressing his hands into his father’s chest and shoving with all his strength.

Ellis stumbled, and you relished in the way his mouth opened and shut without saying anything.

“No. Don’t say another goddamn thing. No more telling me what to do like I’m a child,” he paused, his jaw clenching. His irises seemed to glow a sickly green, his voice becoming deep and alien. “Like I’m just some tool to get you your money.”

What lit the awaiting wick, though, was Ellis — in all his confidence and cowardice for his own safety — raised his gun at his son. You swore you saw the instant Will lost all semblance of control.

His body surged forward, tackling his father to the ground. Ellis yelled out, but it cut short when he hit the concrete. Any noise he made disappeared under the sound of Will’s fist hitting his dad. An animalistic growl rang out, and for a moment, you sat entranced, watching the pain pass across both of their faces as they battled.

You stared at the tears flying from Will’s eyes until your arm could no longer hold up the shard of glass. Its sharp edges pressed into your skin, but as they continued fighting, you dropped it to crawl toward Peter’s body.

Your eyes stayed on the two men while you passed over debris and the occasional webbed-up guard. You pushed away the wreckage despite the aching fire licking across every part of your body. Glimpses of red peaked through as you uncovered Peter. Immediately, you felt his chest for a pulse, for his ragged-but-stable breaths. A gasp escaped your mouth as you felt it dimly beating. You then moved to put pressure on the bullet wound on his side.

The pained groan he let out choked your heart. On the tip of your tongue, his name stood begging to leap off the edge and surround his body until he was okay again.

Instead, with darting eyes and trembling lips, you whispered, “Spidey.”

When he didn’t respond, you took hold of his arms and shook him slightly. Tears dripped down your cheeks, your voice becoming more desperate. “C’mon. We have to go. You have to get out of here.” You pushed his exposed hair back under his mask again. He barely stirred.

“Please,” you cried out, pulling on him, prepared to try and drag him out of there. “You can’t ditch me, asshole. I’m not doing this alone.”

Beneath the yelling of Ellis’ pleading and Will’s incessant punches, you heard Peter murmur something. You didn’t dare breathe, only whispering for him to repeat.

“You’re… an… asshole,” Peter grumbled, his face twisting as he opened his eyes. His head lolled to the side, a dry swallow passing down his throat. If he wasn’t in so much pain, you might’ve thought about hitting him for that. Instead, a splitting smile overtook your face.

But you didn’t have time to stop when Peter’s hands tensed around you. He moved just slightly to look toward the Beaumonts, prompting you to whip your head in their direction again.

You looked just in time to see Will wavering above Ellis, his eyes blinking slower and slower. A second later, he slumped forward and off of Ellis’ body onto the ground. Will appeared to be breathing still, but he was weak.

Any momentary relief you felt vanished as Ellis sat up, that wild look back on his face. Your hold on Peter tightened, your body thrown back into desperate fear. Ellis reached a few feet out to grab the blade Will had before training his eyes on you — like a predator locked onto its prey.

“You little-”

Grabbing Peter’s nearly limp arm, you repeatedly pressed down on his web shooter’s trigger before Ellis could finish his sentence. Webs flew out and encompassed the man, wrapping him and sticking him to the floor.

“Thank you,” Peter muttered. “He was giving me a headache.”

You were sure it was the multiple head injuries doing that, but you appreciated the humor while your heart rate returned to normal.

“C’mon. We’re leaving,” you urged him. With all of your strength, you did your best to support Peter’s weight as he slowly stood and staggered onto you. You could hear the groans he continued to bite back.

You held onto him tight, keeping him balanced. “Okay, do you have your phone on you?”

“Yeah…”

You waited for him to fish it out from a slim pocket. Using your free hand, you took several pictures of the Beaamonts lying there and the ruined warehouse. Your investigative heart wanted to take a hundred images from every angle, but your rational mind told you to leave. It took all your effort to move on. Trying to ignore the dizziness in the corners of your vision, you wrapped an arm around Peter’s side and walked to the back of the warehouse.

You both passed through the back door, out over the threshold of that place — finally out into the night for good. He’d be okay.

Along the warehouse’s high windows, flashes of police lights reflected down onto Peter’s face. He gritted his teeth and raised his arm to the skyline, staring into your eyes. “Ready, sunshine?”

You let yourself be pulled in closer to his side, blinking away the stinging tears.

And from this angle, with cascading cherry and violet lights raining down onto Peter’s profile, you found that you didn’t mind red and blue so much anymore.

Nodding, you slowly drew your eyes to his. “Ready.”

—

Your words spilled through gritted teeth, your jaw clenched tight. “I hate you so much, Peter.”

Your palms were sweaty as you forced yourself to stay focused despite that rage building in your chest. It continued up your body, crawling along your throat.

“Really? After all I’ve done for you?” Peter asked, his tone incredulous. You could feel the waves of heat rolling off of him.

Your expression sinking into a frown, you muttered, “It’s only fitting, considering that you lie and hide secrets.”

“Oh come on…” He scoffed, holding up a hand. “That’s low. And if you think about it, it was really only one secret!”

“That you lied about multiple times!”

He sat back next to you against the couch cushions, the weight of him drawing you closer. “You’re just a sore loser, and you’re angry that I whooped your ass in Mario Kart. Again,” he said, and you finally turned your gaze from the screen to look at him.

Light streamed in through his apartment’s window, the afternoon sun dancing across his face. His eyes turned to a soft caramel under its attention. His hair was undone, feathering along his forehead. Slowly, he grew closer, raising one eyebrow as if daring you to tell him he’s wrong.

Crossing your arms, determined not to be affected by his stare, you told him, “I literally beat you in the last game.”

He rolled his eyes. “Cause you cheated!”

“Look who’s the sore loser now,” you laughed out, your mouth turning into a gentle smile.

The two of you were face to face on the couch, breaths mixing together. A moment of silence passed, Peter’s softening eyes roaming across you. His thumb reached over to brush along the outside of your thigh. “You’re lucky you’re adorable.”

You didn’t try to fight your wide grin or the heat rising to your cheeks. In a whisper, you asked, “You think I’m adorable?”

His only answer was a slight huff as he leaned forward, kissing you. It only lasted a moment, your lips chasing his when he pulled away. “I’m gonna grab a drink, don’t sabotage my controller while I’m gone,” he teased, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Want anything?”

“I’ll take whatever’s on tap,” you said, laughing when he rolled his eyes.

Slowly, he rose from the couch, taking heavy breaths as he winced. His healing injuries — mental and physical — were better, but they weren’t gone altogether. Neither were yours.

They probably wouldn’t be for a while. Though, after waking up panicked and breathless from repeated nightmares, it helped having someone there to bring you back down. It helped having someone take care of yourself when that seemed impossible. And it helped knowing you weren’t alone in this.

You watched him make his way to the kitchen, rummaging around in the fridge. In these past days since the warehouse incident, it sometimes scared you how easy this was. Staying at his apartment together, helping one another recover. Your things sat scattered around his place, like they belonged. You wondered when he was going to say something, to ask you to go back home and tend to your wounds alone. When you both healed, would it all go back to how it was?

When a notification sound came from Peter’s phone, your eyes drew down to it for a second. Not knowing whether it was urgent Spider-Man business — not that he should’ve been doing it given his state — you called out, “Your phone dinged!”

Head still in the fridge, his words muffled, Peter called back, “Can you check it for me?”

You paused for a moment, letting a feeling of warmth settle in your chest before grabbing his phone. Just from the notification preview, you could tell what it was.

“Add another tally to your offers to interview for a job,” you told him, shaking your head — a smile evident in your voice. “This one’s for a junior photographer position.”

“What does that bring us up to now?” he asked, closing the refrigerator. He brought a glass of water and what you assumed was Dr. Pepper that’d gone flat.

“I think we’re tied at three each — though they’re just asking us to apply and interview.” You let out a sigh, trying not to get your hopes up. “It’s no guarantee of a job. They’re just interested in our story.”

Peter pointed a finger at you from around the glass. “Our story that kicks ass and put the corrupt city manager and his son away. That’s a piece that belongs on something bigger than The Daily Bugle.”

“You really think so?”

You looked up at him, chewing on your bottom lip.

“Sunshine, the greatest compliment Jameson could spit out was that it’s a ‘mighty fine’ story — before obviously yelling at us for not getting more pictures of Spider-Man during it… and that our injuries were no excuse, of course,” he told you with a wry sarcasm as he set the glasses down on the coffee table. Sitting next to you, his expression softened. His hand wrapped around yours. “But now you have the chance at something bigger.”

You grinned back at him. “But how could I ever pass up a job with… how’d he say it? ‘Minimal benefits and guaranteed maximum overtime’?”

Peter’s laugh rumbled through his chest, vibrating a comforting rhythm against you. Next to you, your phone buzzed this time. Picking it up, you told him, “Oh, another one! It’s 4 to 3 now — I’m in the lead.”

His grin made yours even wider, and you were unable to fight it as his hands cupped your jaw, his fingers careful to avoid the bruises along your cheekbone. “You see? You’ve got the whole world in the palm of your hand.” His eyes pulled you in, begging you to fall into him completely as he pressed his lips to yours once again.

You could’ve stayed there forever, sitting on that ripped couch in Peter’s apartment that you swore to never return to. Your fingers twisted in the ends of his hair pulling him even closer. The rest of the world melted away for at least a little while, leaving just the two of you in this bubble. When you eventually pulled away, your foreheads rested against one another, your nose nudging against his.

“Oh!” you said, leaning back, “I almost forgot. I picked up a frame while out grocery shopping — I couldn’t help myself.” You stood up, grabbing a bag from the dining table and pulling out a cheap picture frame. The story you’d already cut out from the newspaper felt smooth between your fingers as you carefully placed it in the frame.

You kept it close to your body while looking around for a good spot to hang it up, not that the walls had much — or anything — really on them. Deciding on a nice place between the door and living room, you asked, “Want to do the honors?”

Fishing out a nail from his tool drawer, which was really just a kitchen drawer full of scattered household items, you held it out to Peter along with the frame. It took some willpower to not gasp as he merely pushed the nail into the wall without a hammer and hung up the frame.

Straightening it just right, he stepped back and wrapped his arm around your back. You took it in, the first real decoration in his apartment — the story that brought the two of you together framed against the pale walls. Your names shone clearly at the top, next to the large letters spelling out, “Fundraiser or Fraud? The Beaumont Empire Falls.”

Leaning into him, your palm rubbing circles on his lower back, you asked, “Do you like it?”

His voice came out soft, the words curling around the ends of your body. “It’s perfect.”

It wasn’t, not with the ill-fitting frame or the story that likely needed further digging and refining. But right now, with Peter, it was perfect. You let your mind run through everything you two had gone through together, how you’d ended up here.

After a minute of thinking, though, something kept drawing your attention. Pursing your lips, you turned back to him. “Hey Peter?”

“Hmm?”

“I just have a quick question. When we were trying to get into the fundraiser, you said you ‘knew a guy.’ Did you just mean yourse-”

“Myself? Yeah. I’m the guy,” he told you, nodding repeatedly. Nonchalantly.

You scoffed, slightly laughing. You really were insane to have gone in on this project with him. “And then you made fake IDs and gave me some fake wedding ring so we could sneak in…” you said in disbelief.

Turning to grab his drink from the table, he furrowed his eyebrows. “The ring you borrowed? ‘S not fake — do you still have that, by the way?” he asked, taking a sip. “Need to return that.”

You took a beat staring at him wordlessly. Your mind crossed several things to say that you decided to hold back. “Peter, what do you mean it’s not fake? That giant rock on my finger was real?”

“Yeah, I borrowed it as a favor from a jewelry store. I saved the place from robbers breaking in.” He shrugged, the flannel his wore swaying around his body.

This relationship was going to take years off of you…

Your fingers pinched the bridge of your nose. “I’m going to kill you,” you half-heartedly murmured. Your eyes raised to meet his, your finger pointing at him. “You know, you’re so careless about all this. I fucking knew you were Spider-Man for so long.”

“Oh, bullshit,” he laughed out, walking closer to you. “Now you didn’t. And as long as we’re being honest, I was going to give you the Daily Bugle job offer at the end of the internship the whole time. So really… you didn’t have to do any of this.” His face morphed into a teasing cockiness that sparked a fire in your chest.

The two of you stared at one another, eyes alight but mouths fighting back smiles. All at once, a calm washed over you. “Are we done bickering?”

Peter rested his hands on your hips. He nodded softly, sweetly, as if nothing but you filled his mind. “Yeah, we’re done.”

You leaned forward, kissing him once before whispering against his lips, “Great, now grab the controller — ‘m gonna kick your ass in Mario Kart again.”

@dil3mma @hollandweather @reidslovely @a-lumos-in-the-nox @keepingitlokiii @thedevax @sincericida @agent-tempest @olivezgalore @qwintlimon7 @eddieslooneymoonie @aheadfullofsteverogers @bitchy-bi-trash

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #the amazing spider man #spider man #spider-man #tasm andrew garfield #andrew garfield #peter parker x fem!reader #spider man x reader #spider-man x reader

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diazsdimples · 3 months

Text

WIP Wednesday

Thank you to everyone who tagged me for Sunday and Tuesday, I've been really struggling with writing lately and it's been extremely disheartening but this morning I had A Singular Bean for Frostpunk AU and milked it for all it's worth! This snippet comes immediately after the Buck and Eddie POVs of being found in the cold. Please enjoy!

He suddenly feels responsible for their wellbeing, and maybe that’s why he refuses to leave the kid’s – Christopher’s – side until the rest of the team arrives, Eli carrying the heavy med kit on his back. “I’ll get the man, Eli check the kid,” Bobby instructs, sinking to his knees beside Buck. “What’s the story with them, Buck?” “I got here just a couple minutes before the guy passed out. Didn’t say his name but his kid is called Christopher. He looked super weak, a-and they’re both freezing.” Bobby and Eli share a look over Buck’s shoulder and Eli gets to work on Christopher, checking his vital signs and most importantly, his temperature. Bobby repeats the same process on the father, while Tommy and Sal rifle through the backpack on the sled, checking for any useful information on where they’d come from. “Found the guy’s papers, Cap,” says Sal, walking towards Bobby with a flimsy leaflet in his hand. “Say’s the guy’s called Edmundo Diaz, from Sector 126. He’s ex-military but his most recent job was in a sawmill, he might be useful.” “We don’t save people based on use, Sal,” Bobby responds, his eyes not leaving Edmundo as he speaks. “He’s damn cold, temp sitting around 90 and his heart rate and respiratory rate are a little more elevated than I’d like. Eli, how’s the kid?” “Looking fairly rough, Bobby, we’re going to have to hustle to get them back in time. His temp is at 91 so he’ll be looking at pretty severe hypothermia if we don’t warm him up soon.” Bobby sucks air through his teeth, clearly thinking hard. “We’re a good 16 hours out from the city, 17 or 18 with these two and their gear. Think they’ve got it in them to make it that long?” Eli makes a face. “I really don’t know, Cap. The kid, maybe, but the guy’s temp is a little too low for my liking. Maybe if we warmed them up a little, they’d have a better chance. Did Maddie say anything about being able get the snowmobile team out here?” Buck perks up at the mention of the snowmobiles. The team was sent out a day before Buck’s team was, off on a search for supplies a few hundred miles away but were always on call in case a rescue was needed. Getting them to help would cut their travel time almost in half, giving Christopher and Edmundo the precious hours needed to save their lives. “I- I could ride one back with the kid, if they didn’t want to spare a man, Bobby?” he asks hopefully. Sal snorts from his position by the sled. Buck’s love for the snowmobiles is no secret and Bobby’s spent many a mission patiently explaining why it wouldn’t be safe or necessary and otherwise spoiling Buck’s fun. However, this situation calls for haste and Buck is nothing if not an – ah – efficient driver. Bobby looks thoughtful, before standing up and brushing the snow off his pants. “I’ll give dispatch a call and see if she can reroute them to us,” he says, continuing quickly as he watches Buck light up, “but I will be driving. You need to look after the kid, okay?” Buck deflates a little, but something in him stirs as he turns to look at the little figure in the snow next to him. He’s so young, probably no older than 7, and Buck’s heart breaks for him. He’s too young to be experiencing the hardships of the Winter, too innocent to have to watch his father weaken as they journey to a safer home. It’s like a small fire has been kindled in the pit of Buck’s belly as he shuffles closer to the boy and snakes an arm under his neck and the other under his legs, pulling his tiny frame up so he’s in Buck’s lap. Buck is going to protect this boy with his life.

No pressure tagging @theotherbuckley @hippolotamus @tizniz @watchyourbuck @wikiangela @daffi-990 @thewolvesof1998 @pirrusstuff @cal-daisies-and-briars @kitteneddiediaz @spotsandsocks @jesuisici33 @rainbow-nerdss @wildlife4life @puppyboybuckley @smilingbuckley @disasterbuckdiaz @bucksbackwardcap @fortheloveofbuddie @evanbegins @steadfastsaturnsrings @buckbuckgoose @exhuastedpigeon @housewifebuck @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @elvensorceress @babytrapperdiaz @ci5mates @hermscat (let me know if you want to be added or removed from this)

#brain not braining #write not writing #hell the what happening #ANYWAYS it's all uphill from here chaps #frostpunk au #911 buddie #buddie #eddie diaz #911 abc #evan buckley #911 fanfic #911verse #911 #eddie x buck

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ellaphnt · 24 days

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Saw ur Toshiro post, and I absolutely agree that Toshiro's outburst will be a stepping stone for both um an Laios to grow and that the buildup was because Shuro didn't want to ruin situation he was still trying to figure out. But the funniest thing is, afaik, Laios and Falin are *also Foreigners* for quite far away. Their country is simply Scandinavian/northern Europe themed. I don't think we see any long-lived races in their flash backs (baring the dead man buying a ring of elves?). And both Falin and Laois definitly are the equivalent of nobility/Local chiefs kids. But instead of being send out with all their assistants and guards, Laios ran away and suffered in the army and then on his own in a caravan , and Falin was send to a Magial School full of other races and people. They both had time to 'adjust' to the wider world (and still carry a bit of home-grown uh...prejudice (mountain people)). So when they met Shuro both of them were well used to meeting people not from their Country. Toshiro not being either from the tiny Island or the nearby lands simply didn't mesh with how they had adapted to behave. Plus, obviously, Laios textual Autism. But I feel like Laios could totally have figured it out if he had met people from Shuros island before who would have told him, he does after all know how to behave around Dwarves and such, who also have quite diffrent culturual norms. Sorry for the ramble xD Good Toshiro post!

Hi hi! I’m really glad you’re adding onto my silly brain thoughts hehe - I’m super happy to hear yours, especially since they make me think more! Warning this is going to be long, talking about dungeon meshi is just a lot of fun.

When I said foreigner, I should have clarified that that I meant he’s a stranger to the CULTURE. A good chunk of the people in the island are not native to it! But culturally, they have the social background to fit in. They didn’t all come from the same place, yes, but they grew up in European-esque cultures and interacted to some extent with other races. Even Kabru and Rin are not foreign to this type of culture because they grew up with Western/European socialization.

Gonna elaborate bc I think it’s fascinating: From what we know about the Eastern islands, the worldview is very very different. In the Adventurer’s Bible where Kabru talks to Hien, they talk about how the East defines “humans” as “tallmen”, and oni/ogres were the only “other”. In the post-canon snippet where Toshiro talks to Falin, he even refers to Eastern thinking as “backward” due to the lack of long-lived races. Because of his delayed exposure to other races, and because the worldview is far more different than the one the Toudens experienced, that’s where I make the statement that he had more to adjust to.

I’ll also note, the fact that the Toudens are subjectively more adjusted to seeing and accommodating other races makes Laios’ statement that Toshiro “had an odd appearance” an even more bizarre thing to say. And although we can assume Toshiro also has his biases, we don’t see them highlighted like other characters have had (to my knowledge). So it makes it seem like he was more thoughtful/careful towards other races from the get-go, despite his lack of knowledge. His main issues were always with other tallmen, just like Laios.

It’s good to point out that the Toudens are outcasts in their own right. Both of them went through a really hard time, and it changed them. Laios’ cycle of failures and giving up and being bullied are especially important to characterizing his relationship with his sister and his disinterest in humanity and lack of close friends. Falin at least had Marcille. Both Laios and Toshiro have reasons they’re inexperienced in friendship, but one of them stated it in the story and the other didn’t. There’s more misconception about Toshiro’s character than Laios’. So my post was to talk about that one a bit.

ALSO OOO I COMPLETELY FORGOT but I WAS going to mention how both the Toudens and Toshiro came from families of influence! Thank you for bringing it up! Laios and Toshiro diverge from that upbringing, while making Toshiro and Falin a little more similar. This goes into another whole thing where Laios and Toshiro parallel (and foils?) each other but that’s too long of a discussion. Just as long is how this divergence distinguishes the Touden siblings (too many people have said their only difference is gender..)

Lastly, yes, Laios does need more exposure to Eastern people and Eastern culture to get a grasp on it. He really wants to learn! It’s just that Shuro isn’t his encyclopedia and until he gets that chance, he will make ignorant takes. I can think of two more that will occur in the main narrative alone. (but like Toshiro said, Laios has no malicious intent, that’s what makes it all the more complicated)

While there’s good conversation to be had about the fight from a ND vs NT POV, I’ve seen SO much discussion about Toshiro possibly being read as autistic too, and neurodivergent individuals who can relate to his experience. Often it comes as an intersection between both being autistic and being a poc. I think it brings even more nuance to the narrative. Plus I’m just glad there’s people who can relate to him. He’s meant to be relatable! His problem with Laios is just as much a character flaw as it is human.

Hope this post was a thoughtful response to yours, I tried to tackle everything you mentioned! Thank you sm for the ask :D

Edit: for the sake of context, here’s the og post that’s being referred to!

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #askella #shuro #toshiro nakamoto #laios touden #touden siblings #character study

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bedoballoons · 8 months

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Omggggggg

ok but I have another one! And yes I am obsessed with demon slayer. so Tokito muichiro inspired x (angry bois also albedo and the dadd- like zhongli and Al-haithim.

so muichiro has Memory loss due to young tramaaaa, anemo vision fits best, has very baggy cloths to help with is battle technique, in his 7 form can literally turn into air, to quite but he is super fast. And ya. Ohh Also when we remember our past(tokitos brother was murdered plus his parents) I just want confurttt.

I only have one he because when I was around 1-3 l don’t remember I was diagnosed with eye cancer I things. We caught it early and we could either do chemo(which could’ve killed me) or remove the eye intirely so we did that. There’s more to the story but I’m so tired right now .

Oh my gosh! I'm so glad you're okay! It sounds like it was a scary situation but you pulled through and now you have a pretty unique quirk about you! I hope you know that's really awesome <3

YAY okay I'm so excited for this request! Sorry it's been awhile since I've answered! I do have a question though! Do you think because he turns into air and Venti is the anemo archon, he could control him in that form?!?!?

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ✿𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ✿─

{༻~Tokito Muichiro like reader~༺}

CW: Reader has past trauma and memory loss, slight angst but mostly comfort and fluff! Some of these are extremely long and I apologize, I just got really into writing them...

(Includes: Zhongli, Albedo, Alhaitham, and Wanderer!)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

𑁍༄Zhongli:

You sighed quietly, your head aching as memories swirled around your mind like a messy swamp...nothing making sense and yet...you were still trying to put the puzzle together. You just wanted to know...even if it would hurt, you had to know what happened in your past...

"You know, there are better ways to go about recovering your memories, as someone with a long history who remembers many things from very different time periods, I might be able to shed some light on the subject." You looked up to see Zhongli walking towards you, his voice as calm and collected as always...comforting in some ways.

You bit your lip, it seemed embarrassing to ask for help from someone else, but you'd run out of options...so it only seemed reasonable, "Please... help me." The tall man smiled at you, his eyes filled with kindness as he sat down beside you, looking up at the sky. "First of all you should take time to clear your thoughts, take a deep breath and then exhale...relieve yourself of all the unimportant thoughts clouding the memories you want to recover."

You did as he said, taking in a deep breath...and then slowly letting it out, even if it seemed a bit strange to you...it actually did help you feel slightly better. "Very good, now I want you to think about the snippets you do remember, concentrate on the little things, tiny details one wouldn't usually focus on..but don't frustrate yourself, getting overwhelmed won't do you any favours."

You nodded, closing your eyes and recalling your few memories as best as you could...the scent of the air...the sounds...even down to the smallest shred of movement...and just like that, it came back to you. The images of your brother...your parents, all of it playing over and over while you tried to stop it, but it was like you were trapped in your own memories, screaming for help.

And then, nothing...you were back in Liyue...Zhongli holding you in his arms while you stared blankly at him..."Are you alright?" He asked, but you didn't even have it in you to answer...the suddenness of what just happened leaving you silent with shock. He seemed to notice this, kissing your head softly and rubbing your back, perhaps it would be better to not remember all at once...

𑁍༄Albedo:

Albedo gently touched your vision, the soft teal glow of it very familiar to him...beautiful and inviting, but earned from such sorrow and loss. A loss he wished could have been reversed...while you on the other hand, weren't focused on the vision or its meaning, you were far more concerned with perfecting your fighting style. "Albedo?" You looked at him curiously...he seemed so interested in your vision, but he'd seen many of the course of his lifetime...why was yours so captivating?

"Oh apologies love, I was just thinking about something. Back to the topic at hand, I've given your clothes a bit more of a baggy design, making sure to leave lots of room for movement and airflow. Please let me know if anything is uncomfortable, I'll make adjustments to improve their quality." He handed you a stack of clothing, the material soft and comfy looking, but also durable...perfect.

You rushed into the empty room nearby and changed clothes, leaving your old ones behind before hurrying to the dummy you'd set up by the entrance. You practiced your fighting techniques, already impressed by Albedos work and also very aware that he was watching you closely...maybe...he was worried about you?

𑁍༄Alhaitham:

Alhaitham closed his book, looking up from his desk to check on you...and noticing the bags under your eyes, you'd been tossing and turning in your sleep all night...mumbling things about death. You had him very worried, and that was saying something because he truthfully didn't concern himself with other people's issues unless they were incredibly serious, but your sleepless nights and difficult past...were starting to really impede your life, he just wanted to help.

He stood up from his chair, breaking your attention away from the plate of food you'd been poking at for a hour now and leaving you slightly confused, by now you'd gotten used to Alhaithams schedule and the one thing he never left out or cut short was his reading time...so why was he doing so? "Alhaitham, are you alright?" You asked, looking up at him slightly worried and running through different scenarios in your head, each one not really making enough sense to be considered a explanation.

"I'm perfectly fine, I'm more concerned with you. Would you like to take a nap together? You look exhausted and I can only assume you won't want to sleep alone because of your recent nightmare increase." Alhaitham held out his hand to you, gesturing towards the door as you tried to comprehend what he'd just said...he wanted to take a nap with you? "Oh...alright." You didn't really know a better way to answer as you accepted his hand and the two of you made your way to the large couch in the livingroom.

You crawled onto it first, watching as he left for a moment, only to return with your favourite blanket. Then he joined you on the sofa, sighing in content as you cuddled up to him and he covered you both up, in truth he was hoping this would help with not only your lack of sleep...but the nightmares themselves. He just wanted you to be okay.

𑁍༄Wanderer:

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Turning into air...was unlike anything else, exhilarating...calming...terrifying and apparently one of your most alluring qualities, well in Wanderers opinion anyway. Other than him most of the people in Sumeru considered this some type of witch craft, even though you carried a vision...they saw you as an outsider and whenever you attempted to take a trip to the city you get many stares.

Wanderer was the only one who found it beautiful, although to be honest he found everything about you beautiful and for some reason you were incredibly easy to talk to...to relate to. You'd share moments together where one of you would be caught up thinking about the things you couldn't change...forced to remember times you'd wish you could forget and then you'd comfort eachother, make the other feel better just by knowing what it was like.

"Heyyy get your head outta the clouds. The sooner we help her royal majesty the cabbage head, the sooner we can go home." Wanderer gently bonked your head, pulling you back into reality and making you smile, a very light blush colouring your cheeks.

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚Have a nice day*⁠.⁠✧

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yourantag · 11 months

Text

Paper Stars (Ithaqua×Reader)

AN: Posting this along with my intro since I feel bad for anyone that gets jebaited thinking I was uploading lol This was originally going to be more painful, but then I listened to Laufey's "I Wish You Love" and it got kinda better, kinda worse. Enjoy! Word count: 2.0k words Summary: You filled bottles and jars with stars of all shapes and sizes. Some were perfect, others a little wonky. Regardless of how they came out, you placed them in containers that decorate your room. No matter how long you stay in this dreadful place, these stars will remain proof of your hopes, dreams, and love. They'll remain even after you are long gone.

Even before you entered the manor, you had a habit of making paper stars. Your friends, ones you've long forgotten the names of yet remember warmly, had claimed that if you filled a jar with a thousand paper stars, you'd be granted a wish. You've long grown out of such beliefs, or so you claim, but you still make these delicate stars anyway. They give you comfort, if nothing else. However, the biggest contributor to your growing collection of stars was Ithaqua.

It wasn't that he was making too many. In fact, his claws tore the thin paper far too often for most of them to survive. The true reason was that, as foolish as it was, you had started hoping beyond all hope that, perhaps, if you made a thousand jars of a thousand paper stars, you would have a chance to be loved back by him.

Since a long time ago, since he first came to the manor, you had loved him. Your first few jars of stars could tell all about it. You'd write confessions and compliments, snippets of stories, anything and everything, onto tiny slips of paper. These would later be turned into paper stars, filling jar after jar in a mesmerizing mix of colors. In shades of pink, white, and purple, the stars grew and grew as years passed and your love stayed true.

Of course, as time tends to do, it changes you. The luster of love dulled to let you see Ithaqua as himself, and even then, you loved him. The way he'd lean on you when he was tired, the way his face scrunched up when he yawned, even the way he'd purposely annoy you by putting your favorite snacks on the tallest shelves. You loved him for his faults, and you loved him for his virtues. No matter what you learned about him, he was still perfect in your eyes.

Well, perhaps perfect isn't the right word. You know Ithaqua isn't innocent, you know he isn't completely good. He's vengeful, he's cunning, he's someone with more spite in his body than good in his soul. He is a hunter, deadly as a blade and cold as night. He laughs when he chases and he kills without mercy.

Even so, when Ithaqua holds you gently, brushing his thumb over your cheek as he wraps your wounds, murmuring apologies like prayers, you can't see him as a monster.

He isn't perfect, but he is Ithaqua. That is enough for you.

More time slips by like sand through your fingers, decades going by with seemingly no end. Your stars are not pink, white, and purple anymore, but red, orange, and green. Your love has grown a startling amount, resulting in a growing pile of star filled bottles and jars. They clutter your closet floor, taking up almost all the space inside. You think you may have made around six hundred or so, most likely more. Even so, you know there will be more, this time filled with daydreams and flustered hopes.

Your relationship with Ithaqua is closer than ever. He is your other half, your shadow, always there and ready to talk. You know him better than anyone else, just as he knows you. At this point, the whole manor is convinced you're dating each other in every way but in name. You flush whenever they say so, quickly saying you two are only friends.

"For now." They say.

'For now.' You think.

With how many years have passed, you'd think you would've gained the courage to confess to Ithaqua. Sadly, the heart is as cowardly as it is powerful. Your chest feels like it'll burst whenever you try to confess, lungs begging for air even without restrictions. Every time you try, anxiety rips the words away from you, causing you to fumble like an idiot in front of him.

It might have been a blessing that the words never had a chance to form.

Later, when you were coming to visit him on the hunter side, you heard him talking to someone. You weren't one to eavesdrop, respectful of others' privacy, but you couldn't help but listen when you heard your name come up.

"It's painfully obvious they love you. Why don't you just confess already?"

"I can't do that. Confessing to someone I can't love is not right."

At that moment, you felt your heart shatter.

That day, you stayed in your room. You wanted to cry, scream, break something, do anything, but as always, you could only do nothing. You were curled up on your bed, incapable of doing much other than wonder why. Why can't he love you? Why won't he love you? Why, why, why, why, why?

You had gotten overconfident, you guessed. With how Ithaqua treated you so differently from the rest, so lovingly, you had assumed he'd felt the same as you did. At the very least, you had hoped he'd have some romantic interest in you. Was it presumptuous? Was it arrogant? Was it wrong for you to have hoped that he would love you back after all these years? Perhaps it was, perhaps it wasn't. Regardless, the truth lay bare before your eyes now, and there was nothing you could do but accept it.

It took you a week to get out of your slump, leaving many worried. You couldn't bother to care, trying to reassure everyone quickly that you were fine despite having been broken not long ago. You had picked up the fragments of who you were and built yourself anew. Fragile, yet stronger than ever. You could only be glad the manor had been kind enough not to give you any matches during this time.

Time marches on, unrelenting as the push and pull of the waves. Your stars turned blue, black, and yellow, filled with wishful thinking and occasional pleads. Nine hundred and ninety-nine bottles and jars gathered within your room, filling your closet, shelves, and even the bottom of your bed. Even though you knew it was useless, that your love was unrequited and that Ithaqua would never love you, the heart is a cruel, stubborn little thing.

Your heart never gave up on Ithaqua, even though your mind had long acknowledged he'd never be yours.

You were fine with that. Ithaqua had no obligation to you, and it was wrong of you to believe he would love you. It was completely fine for you to love him, but it wasn't okay for you to expect him to love you in the same way. Such thoughts would only hurt you when hit with reality. You'd suffered through it once, you didn't need to do so again.

You continued being friends with him, acting completely normal. Nothing changed, but that was fine with you. Keeping what you had now was more than enough. You kept trying to convince yourself that was true, but it felt like thorns were wrapping around your heart, flowers blooming painfully between your ribs.

"You love him!" Your heart cries.

"But he doesn't love me." You whisper back.

Distance would be the only way to heal you, and the best opportunity for it drops right onto your desk. A letter, stamped and sealed just like the one that invited you to the manor. It tells you that you may leave, that your reward for participating in the game would be given and that you were free.

You rush out of your room to find your fellow survivors cheering, crying, hugging, and laughing. After so many years stuck in the manor, you were finally able to leave. You were finally getting your rewards.

It felt like a dream.

Happy beyond all reason, you run to the hunter's manor, finding that no celebrations were occurring. It quickly dawns on you that most of these people will not leave- couldn't. Most were dead, others were immortal, while some were people who simply couldn't be returned to society. Regardless, it seemed most of the hunters would never leave the manor, or would quietly fade away into the afterlife.

Ithaqua notices you from his corner of the room. He beckons you closer, so you walk towards him. Sitting yourself comfortably next to him, you explain the situation. He listens, humming occasionally as you show him the letter. Finally, he smiles.

"I'm happy for you."

It's simple, but sweet. You know he means it, but you kind of wish he didn't. After all, this had been your last hope, the last chance for him to show that he felt anything for you.

You set yourself up for disappointment once more, hoping for love that he would never give.

So, you smile, nod, and say you'll be packing your things. You ignore the tears that blur your vision, the looks of pity Mary and Joseph give you, running away with a smile on your face as if truly excited to leave.

You had hoped he'd ask you to stay.

You had hoped he'd at least say that you were important to him, even as just a friend.

Perhaps even that was too much to expect.

Your love is like the moon, brilliant, beautiful, and powerful. However, in the face of almost complete apathy, of the unending night that shrouds you, what could you do?

Luggage isn't too much of an issue for you, especially considering you never brought much to the manor and never bought much either. The only things left were your paper stars.

You held the last jar, the thousandth one. You had finally completed your goal. However, there was no wish you could think of for yourself. You gained your freedom, your reward from the manor, and now, gave up completely on Ithaqua. There was nothing you desired.

Turning to face your closet, your grip on the jar tightens. You see the thousands, millions of stars staring back at you, a galaxy of color, filled with so much love and joy. It's almost painful to see it all, the proof of your existence within this manor, the proof of your love, shoved in a closet and never to be seen again.

You turn to your desk, glancing at the other jars that decorate it. You can see the imperfections on some of the stars, one crinkled far too much, another far too big. You remember all the time and effort that went into them, the words you had written, the feelings that went through you as you made them. It washes over you like a wave, and you let it.

Then, finally, you smile.

"I wish him love."

He deserves it. He deserves to be loved selflessly, in a way you probably couldn't offer him. He deserves to be held when it's cold, tenderly cared for when sick, shared jokes with sincerity, and above all else, happy.

So, carrying your luggage bag and a smile, you meet Ithaqua at the hunters manor. You place the jar of paper stars in his hands, eyes full of adoration as you let him go in your heart.

"Farewell, Ithaqua. I'm glad to have met you. Thank you for letting me get to know you and love you. I will never forget you."

You squeeze his hands around the jar, the pain in your chest bittersweet. You let go, pulling back and waving as you leave. He watches for a long time, even after you've long left.

Eventually, he lets his legs give out from under him. He lets his heart ache as he opens the jar to let the stars fall into his hands. Ithaqua cradles them like they're the most precious things in the world, an irreplaceable treasure that was worth more than his life.

He lets his shoulders shake, curling in on himself as he sobs. Tears fall from his eyes as his heart rips itself apart, only getting worse as he sees writing on a star. He unravels it slowly, carefully, as if it'll tear with even the slightest bit of pressure. His efforts are for naught, as in the end, his tears wet the paper and destroy the writing, ink smudging as his efforts to return it to normal shred the thin paper. Still, he remembers vividly the words written on it. He'll feel it forever seared into his heart and soul.

#idv #identity v #identity 5 #idv ithaqua #ithaqua x reader #identity v fanfic #idv fanfic

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mysterious-moonstruck-musings · 5 months

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Destiny & Deliverance: Chapter 28 Teaser

Destiny & Deliverance Masterlist ||| Main Masterlist Dieter Bravo X OFC

A/N: Good morning/afternoon friends! Your official chapter 28 teaser is here! I don't have an exact ETA on it yet, but it is nearly done. It's probably going to be another fairly long one. I'm sure you won't mind that though. 😉

This chapter is going to be a lot lighter with some fluff and sexy times. Our sweet Dieter is finally back home with his woman. They have some hiccups to work through, but overall, things are on the upswing. Talia has to put in a little work to get Dieter out of his head... for things. They will have an unexpected visitor that causes a tiny amount of drama.

After this chapter, based on my current outline, we will have one chapter and the epilogue left. I am not emotionally prepared for this, but I am excited for you all to see how the story ends for these two.

👉 In case you missed it, The Knight & His Queen was posted over the holidays. This is a four-part series I completed for the PedroStories Secret Santa event, and it has been posted in its entirety. It's another Dieter Bravo fic where our beloved trash panda takes a dive into the world of mystics, tarot readings, and love. Give it a read. It's fun, fluffy, and fairly angst free.

Now go forth and share your thoughts and predictions based on the mood board for this chapter and the snippet below.

Series Rating: Explicit (18+)

Series Summary: Natalia Cohen is experiencing major life changes, beginning with leaving an emotionally abusive husband. She is learning how to navigate life on her own while dealing with high functioning anxiety, depression, and mild PTSD. Everything is looking up for her. She is a highly respected consultant for a major LA firm, has her best friend, Lauren, by her side, and is on her path to healing. Everything changes when she meets a handsome and broken stranger on a work trip. He turns out to be a well-known actor, with a heart-breaking past. They quickly develop a connection that will forever alter their lives.

Warnings: Themes dealing with mental health, emotional trauma, alcohol use, and discussions about suicide. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn type of story. Read at your own risk.

Tag List: @rhoorl @bitchwitch1981 @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @for-a-longlongtime @hisandsnakes @chaoticfestninja @survivingandenduring @partyofone3413 @wannab-urs @cakipy-blog @titlee78 @poodlebae @guelyury @missladym1981 @maried01 @alokaerza @samiamproductions @misstokyo7love @themonadiaries-blog @madnessofadaydreamer @darkheartgatita @avastrasposts @weho2kcmo @harriedandharassed @tkchaos @girlofchaos @yghuibt @musings-of-a-rose @annieispunk @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @copperhalfcent

Let me know in the comments below if you would like to be added to the tag list.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x ofc #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #destiny & deliverance teaser #destiny & deliverance series #destiny & deliverance extras

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marlinspirkhall · 9 months

Text

I've just finished Neverafter, so here are my thoughts on The Big Bad Wolf and Ylfa and what their relationship reveals about The Neverafter itself. I think the most important reveal we get is in S1E9: Origins, when the group witness the moment when Ylfa consumes the wolf.

Brennan said "you think this is a version of Red's story which went very wrong", and the fairy with the turquoise hair (who is herself only an echo of the blue fairy she is supposed to be) tells them that Ylfa met "a version of The Wolf that was much older and ancient". This was caused by (and also foreshadowing) the reveal that the Baron of Bricks was boiling down the essence of The Big Bad Wolf: As the more recent, tamer versions of the wolf got stripped away, all that was left was this primal creature: the one that was most like a wolf.

When the characters question if some versions of their stories come from the Auroratory rather than The Ink, I believe this is true- the ink merely preserves the stories for longer so that other storytellers can read them, which, in turn, reinforces the narratives.

Anyone in the "real world' can be a storyteller: in The Auroratory, when Ylfa hears all the voices telling the different versions of her story, the first one she hears as she begins to panic and worry that she's corrupting the stories is a man's voice talking impatiently and hurriedly, saying “the little girl strayed from the path and got eaten”- which, of course, isn't what happened in the true tale of Red Riding Hood- at least, not in the one I heard as a kid. The little girl strayed from the path, and then she got eaten. The difference is important. She strayed from the path, yes, but she didn't get eaten until later.

But the version of the story Ylfa experiences isn't similar to that, either.

The original story of Red Riding Hood existed as oral tradition long before it was written down, but it's thought that the first written version was penned by Charles Perrault, in 1697. In his version, the wolf tells Red that he'll race her to her grandma's house, and makes sure to take the shorter path so he gets there before her.

Ylfa's version of the story is never told in its entirety, but, from the snippets we get, it doesn't seem to match this story (aside from Ylfa's comment about watching “a caterpillar chase a butterfly”, because in the Perrault version she slowed down to watch burterflies). It seems that Ylfa never met The Wolf until she got to her grandmother's house, and we all know the woodsman wasn't nearby to deter him. So, what would have happened if Ylfa hadn't strayed from the path and gotten to the house late?

Ylfa often talks about how most versions of her story discuss the importance of not straying from the path, but, the truth is, if she hadn't strayed from the path, she wouldn't have survived.

Death is a Big Bad Wolf, but- in this instance- Death waits for her, and Ylfa becomes The Wolf.

In the finale, the characters (protagonist and antagonist alike) all worry about the nature of free will and predestination, but- through their ending- they choose to commit a different version of themselves to paper: a version which will then be retold and reinforced by someone reading it. Their stories will change again, with time and retelling, but, for now, they are in control of a tiny piece of their narrative.

Ylfa strays from the path, but she doesn't get eaten.

And that's where we'll end our story.

#Neverafter #Neverafter spoilers #Dimension 20 #dimension 20 neverafter #ylfa snorgelsson #neverafter ylfa #emily axford #brennan lee mulligan #Neverafter thoughts #Neverafter meta #Neverafter finale #Little Red Riding Hood #Charles Perrault #Tales Of Mother Goose #Neverafter Origins

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kingmagnificoofrosas · 4 months

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Prince of nothing

I thought I'd give you guys a little taste of the story I'm writing 📖 The following part is a snippet from my first draft, concering Magnifico's past. It's the moment he first meets Amaya. Don't worry, this little part of the chapter won't have any heavy spoilers. That's why I decided to share it in the first place.

To avoid confusion :

Sir Magnus and Lady Claudia [The couple that took Magnifico under their wings. Magnus is a low rank magician who owns a pharmacy. His wife is a seamstress and they share the shop.]

Standing in the middle of a forest clearing, Magnifico raised his hands and proudly watched the six tiny stones he'd picked up earlier swirl in a perfect circle.

Fascination rattled his soul at the thought that this was his doing. If things would go after his mind however, he would already do much greater things, command more magic. But he was just beginning, and he knew he had to take one step at a time and practise. And practise had become his mantra.

For some reason, air magic had come the easiest to him. He still remembered the first time he'd made a feather-pen float. Thrilled, he'd tried to lift the ink glass next but accidentally spilled it right on an unlucky client who just happened to enter the store. Sir Magnus had bursted into roaring laughter, the lady had made a huge fuss and Magnifico had felt so utterly ashamed he'd hidden below the counter with a face as hot as if he'd caught a fever.

Water-magic came right after air. Water was easier than the stubborn earth but still heavier than air. The only thing he still shied away from was fire. Everything in him fought against it. He couldn't go near it, couldn't even look at it. Whenever there was even as much as a tiny open flame, panic would flood his mind and throw him right back into the hell of that one night his world had been shattered.

He'd rather sleep with ten blankets than have the fire lit in his tiny room. And in situations he couldn't avoid a room with lit fire-places, he made sure to do his best not to look at it or get too close. He was more than grateful that sir Magnus and his wife tried their best to be considerate about it, but sometimes it also made him feel bad.

One day, Magnifico knew, he had to learn how to command fire as well. He had to in order to reach his goal.

Suddenly there was a gasp behind him, he flinched and the stones immediately dropped into the grass.

"Ay, dios mio!" A girl, not older than him, exclaimed, "that was magic! Wasn't it?"

"Yes." Magnifico picked up the stones, "and you startled me!"

"I'm sorry." The girl still mustered him. "My father and I came to the store and I decided to take a little walk. Then I saw this blue swirling light and ... so you're a magician?"

"Hm." Magnifico smirked, "I wish I was. I'm still learning." He opened his right hand with the stones again and with his left index finger made a swift gesture. The stones hovered back into the air and started swirling.

The girls mouth dropped. "increíble!" She'd heard stories of great magicians but never had she seen one in action before. At least not someone her age. "How long have you been doing this?"

"Four months."

"Four months? And you can already do such a thing?"

Magnifico turned, letting the stones drop back into his hand. "This is just for warming up, I can do more."

"Can you do that again, please? Just one more time!"

"Making the stones swirl?"

The girl nodded. Chuckling lightly, Magnifico let the stones go round once more.

If you want more of that chapter or more spoiler free snippets out of my fan-novel, let me know ✨️💙

#king magnifico #disney wish #wish 2023 #of stars and roses #queen amaya #disney fan novel

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merakiui · 6 months

Note

For the fanfic writers directors cut:

Could you give some commentary on sea glass? Particularly, why azul and the tweels had such an obsession with the main character and not her brother as well?

Thank you for asking!!! I will gladly give Sea Glass commentary.

(ask game)

To begin, the man who was keeping Reader captive is not their brother. The two figures from the man's diary are himself and his (presently deceased) sister; they aren't blood-related to Reader. Reader is just the unfortunate soul who happened to become entangled in this years-long scheme.

In the story, this is noted:

And that was how it began. Grand wishes were to be granted with grand payment. It was decided that every two years the house would provide the trio with a human and in return they would grant the boy’s wish regardless of how outlandish it might have been. He could have anything he wanted—riches, health, or power—and all it took was one person’s sacrifice.

The deal Azul arranged with the man is, essentially, one in which the man benefits at the cost of a human life. Azul needs humans because he's experimenting [redacted for Moonbroch spoilers] (which he cryptically touches upon in the fic when he says his research has concluded), and the most feasible way to attain humans is to get them from another human (i.e. the man). The man keeps one human within his home for two years, caring for and conditioning them according to what Azul instructs, and by the end of the two year period he must relinquish them to Azul and the twins no matter what, as per the terms of the contract. In exchange, Azul grants the man's wish.

Normally, the exchange is emotionless, but this time the trio took special interest in Reader. Most of the reasoning for this will be explained in Moonbroch (the sequel), but I will note that they have all grown obsessively fond of Reader after a few very important events in the story's plot prior to the murder and what follows in Sea Glass. The trio have something of a business partnership with the man; they never cared much for him (or his sister) to begin with, but they do care a lot for Reader. >:)

Additionally, for further context, the story (and hints of the deal) are told from Jade's pov in these tiny snippets, which may just provide more background into the situation from an objective perspective:

i. the house on the hilltop is curious. two bipedal creatures enter, but only one ever leaves. as for us, we are confined to the shadowy depths of the sea, bearing silent witness to the tale of unwilling coexistence. ii. every other year we receive a gift from that peculiar house on the hilltop. when the debt collector makes his biennial trip to the surface and collects what’s owed, we are permitted to relish in the scraps of what’s left behind. as per the agreement, we grant a single wish to those who can pay the steep price. iii. humans often throw coins into wells and fountains, but such beliefs are rooted in false hope. the house on the hilltop is devoid of such hope, yet its human comes to us with materialistic wishes every two years. perhaps his own fruitless ‘hope’ began when the price for a single wish became the life of his kin. iv. the house on the hilltop is blood-stained. a caged angel exists within, hiding claws and fangs. we are not strangers to the food chain, but the carnivorous nature of a once domesticated angel is certainly a curiosity to behold. v. the house on the hilltop sits serene and abandoned. there is no business to be found inside and we no longer watch from a distance. having freed the angelfish from devious clutches, there is no reason to regard an empty, hopeless place.

#twisted chit chat

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bcacstuff · 8 months

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The Zanzibar Saga

Disclaimer: Everything is open to interpretation. Opinions, theories or speculations I write are my own, they are not facts I merely try to make sense using logic. Opinions, theories or speculations in the comments belong to the commenters and do not necessarily reflect mine. This also goes for all the Anons quotes, which I posted in italics. I had to take parts of Anons, and could not post all I've received. (Sorry for the ones I left out)

Some advice in advance, put the kettle on and make a good pot of tea or coffee, whatever you prefer. This is going to be a very long post. I tried to be thorough expressing my thoughts during and about this saga and as unbiased as possible. I also want to do as much as possible justice to the many people who sent me their messages.

For people not having the time to read the whole post, I wrote a TLDR/some end conclusions at the end of the post.

Where to start... perhaps at the beginning. Two weeks ago, on a Friday (night my local time) 1st of September stories appear on accounts that were involved in the SS-tour having a boat party. At first on private accounts, which I did not use, but soon they were reposted on public accounts as well. So I reported about what I saw. Some accounts we know were tagged on it so it wasn't that hard to find more footage. A tiktok was posted and later on posted on the SS account as well. Another tiktok occurred later on. Little was I to know about the aftermath of this party.

What enrolled in the following days or week could be best described as a soap worthy masterpiece saga script writers would be envious of. Depending on the agendas of the several fractions in this fandom the most fantastic fiction was written in no time, all mostly based on some tiny snippets of the videos. I was honestly wondering if I was watching another season of Bravo's Below Deck.

But first let me introduce you to the producers, the main cast and the guest stars in this saga. (for the full experience, sound on!)

Besides some nasty messages:

[I shall spare you the ones with more colourfull language and the one that took more that 5 paragraphs to share her angry thoughts with me... 🙄]

...my inbox got flooded with generally one question:

Did you recognize the girl with the white sunglasses sitting next to Marina?

At 0.11 second of the video, you can see a girl with blue bikinis and white sunglasses and Sam is sitting next to and behind her could be his date?

I suddenly noticed a new person on the boat!!!!! She sit next to Sam and Marina. She has a bandana, white sunglasses, blue bikini and some kind of white skirt. Sam is very close to her even when he sit with his back. She lool like a model and I doubt she is from the team.

... and numerous similar ones...

Oh blimey, I thought, he appears to be sitting NEXT TO A WOMAN!!!! 🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄 Seriously....????

All about a few tiny snippets in the tiktok videos, blink and you will miss her. But yes, we all know how this fandom is superior in examining videos frame by frame and analyzing it into dept.

The snippets, I'm sure you've seen them, but for the sake of completeness:

Both where he sits with his back towards her, more interested in the sea and as it looks having a conversation with Marina. It does look close, but those seats on the boat are rather large and deep. She appears to have a conversation with Melissa.

And there is one he's seen from the front, watching Joshua dancing as all others did. Joshua is blocking the view on the woman next to Sam.

In another snippet you can see the size of these seats on the boat as well

There's one more snippet she appears in, and seems to be standing alone while the food has apparently arrived, and again look at the size of those seats.

In other parts he's just having conversation with others, here with Marina and her friend Michelle

So far the snippets. I called it a day for that night, it was already quite late and I felt slightly disappointed and appalled by the reactions. Only to come back the next day to feel even more appalled finding a name in my inbox and learning that on another blog, well known for creating fanfic only from a name drop in an inbox as we have seen since the hiatus began, the woman was already declared as the new one, as well as 'she's the one'. Not only on that blog btw. but also in my inbox.

Sam is not going to join Matt because he is with his new date, Sam is so excited about this one. They are already in a romantic place together.

I think Sam has made his best choice. I like her. Sam seemed very happy and excited both on the boat and with his meeting with the fans. Maybe he has finally found the love of his life,

Sam wants everybody to know about her maybe he never thought her name will be out too soon.

And a fair number similar ones. Now I admire all your romantic feelings Anons, but I'm afraid you read too many dime novels or have seen LA a couple of times too much. I often get these Anons telling me I know nothing because social media isn't showing the real life. So it looks to me turning these one frame snippets into a romantic novel DG could use for her last book, is a bit too much for my taste to make all kind of these assumptions on.

🤦‍♀️

What if that is not her at all, those were my thoughts. This woman will just get bombarded with all kind of idiocy, as we could already see how the number of followers on that private account increased. While at the same time other sides quickly created versions of the saga including some horrific names the woman was called fitting a certain agenda.

Haven't we seen this all before a fair number of times? Haven't we been appalled by this before a number of times? Does this fandom never learn anything from the past?

My inbox had questions

For months, no one reveal CM's name, then this girl's name is outed immediately, why?

and

How did we learn bikini woman's name? How did someone first figure out who the woman was?

and

The whole thing is suspicious to me. Who is this or these people who give info to Purv? No way she could be recognized so fast. someone is playing here

To be honest, I was looking for the same answers and had the same suspicious feeling as well. Profiles were searched out on other platforms, her job and a picture from Linkedin was found. Now I do the same when a name gets dropped as well, but to post it already in a fashion that it is all a fact before anything can be confirmed...not so much. And quite honestly, identifying someone from a few snippets where the person is wearing huge white sunglasses and a bandana hiding most of her hair and face.... doesn't gave me a positive confirmation at all.

Now I do not believe in some kind of PR plants or TPTB narratives dropping names in inboxes. Even me and my blog have been accused of being part of his PR team when I merely posted just a pic or video of some events happening, when it didn't fit the agendas of said fractions of the fandom. Now if only they would tell me where to send my bill!

But in all fairness I must say, this summer, or already since OL S7 wrapped, the number of names dropped of totally unknown women who could not be connected to him in any sense, got quite astonishing to me. Yes, in my inbox as well, but I just don't like to put names of women out there just throwing them under the bus, or against a well known wall just to see what sticks. We've seen quite some curious ones, just reminding fake Emily and Cinderella's Hyrox patches and all the innuendos of women being in Miami, NYC, LA, places where many go. I'm not accusing P of mischief or making things up herself, let that be clear. If anything, than I rather think she's the one that has been played on, she turned out to be an easy target. She posts most of the time blindly without any or sloppy research and doesn't question where the information actually comes from if it fits her agenda.

I chose to step away a bit, besides the weather here in the Netherlands was extraordinary for the time of year. All week temperatures in the high twenties, and last weekend even 30+.

My inbox didn't calm down, more messages but now asking me to shed my lights on things, valuing my take on it. My silence didn't go unnoticed it seems. One Anon wrote:

Hi BC I am a little surprised that this time you prefer to be quite and not to tell us about your thoughts on the new date.

While another wrote

I really enjoy your blog, mainly because of you. Whenever something happens in Sam's life, and others present a different perspective, I tend to trust your viewpoint, and more often you are correct. However, this is the first time you haven't posted anything about Sam and the girl in the blue bikini. There are some aspects that don't quite make sense to me, and I was looking forward to you confirming or addressing that. It appears that this time you do agree with Purve and have decided not to post anything.

And

Are you not writing anything about the new SE girl or are you investigating to find out the truth? ☺️

Yes, I was quietly doing my own research, looking for information and here and there discussed some ideas and opinions in private chats. And no I do not agree with everything P wrote.

I also was (and still am not) in the clear whether Susie is the same woman on the boat. Therefore I call Susie, Susie and the woman on the boat SusieOrNotSusie. At the end of the story, it doesn't really matter as it doesn't really change my view on things.

Some Anons were a bit more humorous

If you are on vacation again....come back right now....I repeat it is an emergency. Composition of the alphabet soup: ship, SH, dolphins, music, gin, employees with appropriate clothing, shirtless boss, new secret employee with seductive clothing, CP costume. Solution?

As well as some Anons using their logic writing to me, I had the same questions and misgivings [note some of these are parts of longer messages]

We REALLY need your take on this whole blonde in the blue bikini on the yacht with Sam story. P has already created a relationship with a couple name... again. The shippers are rabid to prove it was staged for PR and nothing else. Tell us your thinking..please! Do you think, based on Sam's patterns and history, that he would bring a date on this trip knowing she would be filmed more than once? So out in the open knowing this fandom would figure out who she is?

Can't really see SH having a date on a boat with his employees and cameras everywhere. Seems too public for him. Too hard to keep her hidden from every camera. P now thinks she's on holiday with SH. Marina tagged a woman in a story over the weekend about the yacht day and that woman follows this Susie on IG. Doesn't look to be a new follow either. Perhaps she's a friend of a friend who was visiting LA and joined Marina and her other two friends?? Just seems so different from Sam's normal MO. Especially since there were multiple TikToks.

Logically, I just cannot believe that SH would have an event for his team on a yacht, let them film what looks like some promo (AN with a gin bottle, for example), and allow his team to post two TikToks that would show a woman with him that he is dating. It also looks like his new manager, Duncan Millership was on the yacht with them. I can't imagine that private Sam (when it comes to dates) would have his new mgr, his work teams, Alex and Marina there with a new date. He knows, surely by now, how different elements of this fandom search through every photo and meeting of him with possible new gfs. I just can't get my logical brain to be okay with him allowing it to be out in the open.

Am I crazy? I just cannot believe that Sam would allow those boat videos and TikToks to be shared everywhere- including on the SS page- if he had a date on the boat. He has had some terrible experiences in the past with how potential dates/gfs were treated. He didn't even follow AM or MC when he was supposed to be dating them, probably to try to protect them or keep it quiet. Would he really do this? It doesn't seem to fit his patterns- especially since Gia. Loads of speculation about how he met the woman, but we don't even know if he knew her or if she was a friend of someone he knew was coming on the boat. It also just feels off to me. Do you think he would share or let others share so many videos with a potential date on the boat? Of course, on the one blog they've apparently known each other and/or hooked up since his visit to Austin. On the other end of the spectrum it's just fake- smoke and mirrors. Just can't see Sam going this public until he's really ready to make a relationship public.

Yes, that was, and still is, my first huge red flag 🚩 as well. I agree, he will not take a date he barely knows (even if people try to make it credible that he knew her for a longer time because of 'likes' 🙄). I don't think he had much time to date and get to know anyone that well that he'd be comfortable to take her on that boat trip with all of his team. We've all seen he worked all the while in Belgium with some visits to NYC for promo and his b-day in Miami with friends, no women involved. On top of that, if you look at the people on that boat, they're part of the SS team or the MPC team (or both), all associated to SS or MPC or GGC some with partners and friends who were invited along.

Marina posted a story of the dolphins, tagging 2 women. Michelle who is a friend of hers she took with her followed already by her and her boss as well. And she tagged Melissa P, who she started to follow after the boat trip, clearly met her first time during the trip. Melissa also followed Marina back a few days later on. However Marina didn't tag SusieOrNotSusie nor followed her! In fact nobody did.

After Marina posted her story tagging Melissa, it wasn't hard to find out that Melissa seems to be the only connection to Susie, following her on IG. She already followed Susie before the boat trip though. This is the only connection that can be made between Susie and anyone on that boat trip as far as I can see.

Now I do not know what the connection between Melissa (and her partner) to Sam, or his business is. I could find out that Melissa seems to be a sales manager at Hyundai. I don't know what the name of her partner is, he could as well be associated somehow to the business team on that boat and how these people were invited on the trip.

Anyway, for me, this boat trip was for team and the business associations. SusieOrNotSusie could easily be a connection to anyone else on that boat. What I did notice from what we can tell from the footage is how the SS (tour) team mostly interacted amongst the ones they know from the team on one side of the boat, while on the other side the rest was mostly placed and interacting. Looks a bit like 2 parties not really knowing each other.

So anyone claiming he must have met Susie in Austin, it doesn't occur they knew her to me. As for nobody following her from that boat trip nor Susie following anybody else from that trip than Melissa she already followed upfront, people claiming Sam told them not to sounds quite contradictory to him having her on that boat with everyone and allowing all the footage, not to mention the ones that are convinced they're a romantic couple for real and want to go public.

And a final thought on connections, I didn't hear or see from anyone, but what to me was quite curious. How is it that from all the people he met in Austin, or on his tour for that matter, or could have picked someone from Raya, how is it that Susie curiously is connected to one more guest on that boat! Now there's a coincidence, no? Or is it not a coincidence??? Did SusieOrNotSusie bring them along like her chaperone? I don't think so...

btw. The Anon mentioning Duncan Millership, I reckon this came from a shippers blog where this was mentioned, together with something Sam said during the private fan con in KC. Which I'm not sure was serious or just a joke. It's about this man with whom Alex seems to be in conversation:

Now firstly I doubt this is Duncan Millership, just search his picture via Google and you find he doesn't look like this man.

Secondly fwiw, Duncan Millership is an old friend of Sam, from even before his OL breakout. he's one of the first followers of Sam.

For the ones that do not know, Katie Rebekah, friend his London time and has been named as one of his first gfs. VickiLawson is his ex SIL, Faye Thomas took his first photographed for his Portfolio.

Meanwhile I was told by a number of people that

Susie Evans ALSO posted from Shutters a few days ago.

and it took a bit of time before this screenshot was shared...

Now, I'm not sure when exactly she posted this story, which as I learned from bts chats, was originally a video (so people saying it's photoshopped or anything, I rule that out).

It is the Beach House Suite at Shutters, as pointed out, the same suite the interview with the tastingalliance was conducted. I have no doubts about that.

The Tasting Alliance interview due out tomorrow was also done at Shutters , wearing the kilt he had on on Sunday .

Yes for the kilt, other shirt though. (where is the interview btw.?)

Sam's interview with the lady from The Tasting Alliance was filmed inside a suite at Shutters on the Beach that costs over $5,000 a night. Looks like that hotel is about 10 mins from Marina del Rey. P is sharing a photo supposedly from Susie Evans' IG inside a suite like that. She claims it's Sam's suite and that SE wouldn't have an expensive suite like that. She also posted late yesterday that SE is back in Austin now. .... Could this Susie E have been there as a friend of a friend, gotten to go into the suite where they were meeting/ working and took a photo of herself there? The photo looks really filtered. It's interesting to me that if you are staying in a suite that nice with a great view that you would take your photo in front of a messy table that doesn't really show the cool place where you are. Why not a video of the whole suite to show what an awesome and gorgeous place to be?

[note the above Anon is part of a longer message of which I took the relevant parts]

Of course the easiest thing is to conclude she was staying there with him in that suite, if that is what your agenda fits. And if you don't question yourself the obvious questions. Like would he conduct an interview in the same suite he was staying with a date? Quite a huge red flag 🚩 for me again. Turning it into some kind of romantic weekend or week sounds a bit reductive for my taste.

The screenshot of Susie seems to have been a video, as I was told, but not from the entire suite. As above Anon points out, why is there such a mess on the table? And for sure the helmet on the table indicated Sam was there, well we already knew because of the interview of course. But tell me if you are staying there, would you put your helmet on the table and bags on the chair, or put it in the hallway f.i. where there is room to leave stuff like that? And it is right when you enter the suite.

The suite was for biz. He has money but not thst kind of money. Shutters has no reason to comp him a suite. It was a set for interview which is often done, not as costly, and biz expense.

I tend to lean towards him driving on the bike to the suite on Sunday, that was hired for an afternoon or day perhaps to conduct the interview and for him to change and get to the event and back. The recent fan pic at Shutters shows him in the shirt (and SS pin) he wore at the event. It also gives merit to what Anon above wrote, being possibly a friend of a friend gotten to go into the Suite to record her video. And as the other Anon above points out, he has money and he does live the luxury live at hotels for what we can see, but he doesn't spill that kind of money on a date. And if he would do so, he better put her into the the Four Seasons Hotel, where he only stays when he's in LA on Starz's account.

I heard there were people saying other team members posted from that location or suite as well. I think that's a myth, I didn't see anybody from the team post from it. I do not think it was some kind of base for the team to stay and from there went for the boat trip. Only Chrissy stayed at a hotel, as she is not living in LA, and I haven't seen her posting from a hotel. So saying so in order to make it look like the hotel Suite was hired for the whole team is false information imo. However it's still credible to me it was hired for the Sunday interview and base from where he went to the event.

Other thoughts I had were, why is this the only screenshot of her in LA? Nothing from the boat, nothing from anything in LA we've seen. Didn't he take her out to diner somewhere? Not a fancy motorbike ride along Abbot Kinney and Venice? Btw. Where is her helmet? Only one helmet on that table! And to this day I haven't seen the white sunnies nor the same bandana in any of her pictures. Older or new ones.

Typically, my attitude is, if you weren't there you don't know what happened and don't get into the hoopla, be open. This time I felt the same, until the fan picture with him at the coffee shop displaying the helmet. He's really been caught the past years in LA by a fan or at least they haven't posted such encounters. This time within 48 hours, a coincidental fan picture with him in sane Shutters clothing with same helmet in the suite picture with the woman, who was the woman on the boat. Sorry too many coincidences to not be a story someone is selling. And as you know there are many stories around. This time, seeing the watchers, the drama creators, the examiners and researchers, all with an agenda, it's becoming more strange than ever. Thoughts?

Coming back to the part I wrote above about how Susie's name came to be known at all in this realm. My inquiries did put me on a trail of an infamous group in this fandom. I do not have the answers on the how, what for or why, and I think I don't want to touch that lid of a pot so full of 'Stranger Things'! 🤐 [for the ones longer in this fandom, this should tell you enough.] Don't sent me any (anon) questions about it, I wont answer, I do not have the answers. I just have my suspicions that I keep in mind and that's enough to me.

About the picture outside Shutters and the fan pic at the coffee shop on Abbey Kinney Blv. I do not think they were 'planted' though. This are not the things I wrote about above. There are bloggers pointing out how the picture outside Shutters is removed and the fan that saw him at the coffee shop is now private. The simple reason for that we can all guess. These people are bothered and even perhaps harassed about their post. We've seen it before, some told us about it, remember how the journalist in Ratingen showed us why she removed his pic? I even noticed how that Friday when the videos of the boat party were posted, some where on Joshua's account. I didn't mention him but his account name was on one of the pics. I caught the dolphin story, and was just in time to get the video of Sam dancing between his team members. A moment later he was private! And now even Melanie has changed her tiktok account name and removed one of the videos. Going by the things I find in my inbox, you can draw your own conclusions from that.

Some other thought that was sent to me

Why hasn't anyone assumed the woman or women were Alex's date? Does one dare ask that question and get hit with body shaming comments? Certainly he was in the suite too.

No Anon, others made that assumption as well. I feel hesitant to post this, yet took this one only to show people who wrote to me thought of this as an option. But let's not forget, the man has 2 young daughters so I feel very reluctant making assumptions like this. And in fact, I don't think so.

TLDR or some end conclusions:

Is Susie the woman on the boat or not? I do not have an answer on that. Many of you wrote to me and I posted these images to compare. Her nose and chin seem different. Opinions are mixed. But it's quite hard (and to me unlikely) to confirm a positive ID on the woman on the boat as her face is hidden for a great deal. And as an Anon pointed out to me, do these women he dates not all look the same...? 🤔

Anyway, it doesn't matter that much as eyes are now peeled on Susie who seems to be Susie and took a video in the suite at Shutters. No other footage, nothing else from this supposed weekend. Only this one screenshot from a video that miraculously reached this fandom #justsaying

Red flags all over, no I don't think he'd take a date he can't have known long, on a boat with his team members and business associates where video's and pictures about the event were happily shared on known accounts. Despite P naming how he took Abby and MM to work events, he learned what the consequences are. He's not always smart, but he isn't that dumb as well.

Conducting an interview and clearly using an hotel suite as base to get to the last announced event in the same suite he's staying with a date is a huge red flag and a big no to me. There are other options how Susie got this video recorded there with his stuff so obviously showing. In no way would he be okay her showing and posting this.

He stayed at AN's house all the time he was in LA, he does so since AN owns this house. Before Sam always stayed at Airbnbs when he was for a longer time in LA, when for shorter times, say a few days, like last year when he came back from LV and went to Mexico a few days later on he stays at Shutters. When he's there on Starz's account, he stays at the Four Seasons. We've seen him doing zoom interviews from Shutters and the Four Season, as well as from airbnb's in the past. When Nic R was there, he posted a picture of the motorbike at a fuel station, which I located and was near to AN's house in the HH. As to why not use that as a base, if you know this house you know it is not the most accessible place in the HH with a huge stairway to the entrance.

Social Media times showed, how he was online most of the usual hours. Though not posting that much, as he's restricted of course because of the strike. Liking and even commenting on posts was no less. Nothing that implicated dating or having someone over for a date.

I doubt we'll see anything more from Susie. Expect the usual innuendo, but I know where to put my money. Just another is/was she or is/was she not soap bubble for this fandom, gotta say a weird one because of the suite screenshot. I do agree with the many people that notice how things do not add up to what we know about SH and his MO. And frankly he's a creature of habits he shows that all the time. But hey, stranger things happen.

For all we've seen now, she was back in Austin quite soon after the weekend and currently in Denver. While we've seen him for a week in LA at least biking around with AN, and last we've seen and heard he's been all week in NYC. So much for the 'happy couple'....

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