#no proofread

[totallynotashieldagent]

The one where reader gets hit with the fear toxin and jason learns that your biggest fear is him getting tortured and killed-

You weren't even supposed to be out tonight. But Joker's goons had gotten their hands on some fear toxin and blasted a diner that you were picking your dinner from.

Tim had been on the scene and whilst everyone else had been taken to the hospital, he knew that Jason would prefer to have you treated at the Cave. It all but broke Tim's heart to see you sobbing, clutching at his cape, eyes glassy, begging to an unseen demon in your head to not hurt Jason.

When Jason was told, he ripped through Gotham to get to the Cave.

"Where is she?!" He got off his bike, it tumbled down with a noise, not bothering to pick it up. His helmet thrown off and tossed aside. His domino falling to the floor.

Tim lead him to you. You didn't need to be restrained, you were simply sobbing and begging for whoever you saw to hurt you.

"Please- Please- Not him. Don't touch him. Hurt me. Please. Anything to me. Don't hurt him!" You kept repeating and crying, grabbing at air.

"Antidote?" Jason asked, taking off his gloves to come closer to you.

"It's working but it's a modified strain so it'll take a while. She was closest to the gas when it went off so she took the worst of it." Tim explained.

"Do you have any idea what she's-" Bruce asked and Jason nodded.

"Me. She's talking about me." Jason whispered. "When- When Joker took me. In Arkham. He had her there to watch." He swallowed hard. "She kept begging him to hurt her but he never touched her. Only made her watch."

Your eyes fell on Jason and you sobbed harder.

"Please. Please- I'll take anything. Don't touch him!" You begged again.

"Baby. It's me- We're-" He started but you shook your head violently.

"Jay! Please- Please be quiet. If he hears- If- If- He'll get mad again! Please be quiet!" You begged, clutching at his jacket.

He caressed your cheek, wiping your tears. "Honey. We're not in Arkham. Joker's not here. You're in the cave. You're safe. Okay?"

"He's got the crowbar-" You whispered fearfully. "Please stop talking." Tears kept streaming down your face. "Please- Please, Jay. He's going to kill you-"

"No one's gonna hurt me again. I promise you." Jason tried his best to assure you. "I'm right here. Completely okay." He put your hands against his face. "See? I'm okay." He gave a side along glance to Tim.

Tim turned to look at the screen that was monitoring you. Your heartrate was slowly coming down but everything else was still frazzled.

"Cortisol is still spiking. She's in a loop." Tim whispered, earning a nod from Jason who turned back to you.

"Okay, okay. I'll be quiet." Jason whispered to you. "But you keep talking to me, okay? Yeah?" You nodded, eyes darting around frantically. "Look at me. Just me. I'm with you."

"Hormones are slowly normalizing." Tim said softly.

"Do you know where we are, baby?" Jason asked.

"Arkham." You whispered.

He shook his head. "No, baby. Look around. No chains, no ropes. What do you hear? Where are we?"

You looked around again. Everything was hazy with fog. Vision distorted and turning into smoke.

"Uh- I- There's a beeping-" You shook your head.

"Good, that's good, honey. That's BatComputer." He encouraged you. "Can you see it?"

"Everything is made of smoke." You whined, hands tightening even more at his jacket. "You need to sit. Or he'll make you-"

"He won't make me do anything. I promise." He smoothed your hair. "We're okay. We got out. We survived." He smiled softly. "You were so brave, baby. You're so so brave."

Slowly- Slowly- Your breathing started to go back to normal. Tim stared at the screen until everything started to look okay.

"Jason?" You blinked as if the fog was lifting

"There she is." He smiled, thumb rubbing circles at your cheek.

"Where- I- I thought I was at-" Your voice trailed, taking in the Cave.

"Easy. Don't rush yourself." He rubbed your back, helping you sit up properly.

You looked around. Tim. Bruce. Alfred. The Cave. The BatComputer. Equipment. Uniforms.

"I thought I was at Arkham." You looked at Jason again.

"You got hit with the fear toxin." He explained. "Timmy Boy gave you the antidote. You're gonna be alright."

"You... You were bleeding." You frowned.

Jason shook his head. "That's what the toxin does. Takes you to the worst time. I'm not bleeding. Not even a little bit from patrol."

You nodded again and exhaled deeply, leaning forward, forehead again his chest.

"Thanks Tim." You mumbled, breathing Jason in.

"No problem." Tim said softly. "We're just glad you're okay."

You nodded against Jason's chest. "I thought I was gonna lose you again." You looked up.

"You won't. I promise. You'll never have to bargain yourself for me." He caressed your cheek. "I'm here. We're together. Safe."

Silence stretched. The others left you two alone for privacy.

"I.. I still see it sometimes. Without the gas." You confessed shamefully. "I'm sorry I couldn't do anything. Back then- I-"

"Stop." Jason said firmly. "Don't go there. We were kids. You couldn't have done anything and I couldn't have been able to live with myself if he'd ever touched you."

"I'm still sorry." You sighed against his chest.

"I know. I'm too." One hand rubbed your back, the other cradled the back of your neck.

"Will it ever get better?" You asked softly.

He exhaled a soft laugh. "No way to find out, baby. No way to find out."

.

.

Drabble Masterlist

[machiavelliam]

Dex loses control while he's inside you because he's not able to finish.

Female reader | Dom Dex | Overstimulation | Pussy slapping | Squirting? Pissing? | Anorgasmia | Implied piss kink | Dub-con

Dammed be the overwhelming desperation that makes his wet cock slip out of you because of a needy, clumsy movement, causing Dex to grunt softly beneath you. Before you can even catch your breath, he blindly searches for his cock, shoving it roughly back into your swollen ruined pussy, ripping a shaky moan from your lips.

His hips resume their punishing rhythm, pounding upward in vicious thrusts that have you tensing and arching off his chest in a poor attempt to escape his overheated body. But his hands are tight on your hips, holding you captive as his cock rubs relentlessly against your G-spot.

Sobs, gasps, and small whines are all that escape your parted lips while you're just trying to beg him for a tiny break.

You have no idea how many times you've come, how many times you've dripped all over his cock until you've soaked the sticky sheets, all you know is that Dex hasn't come and seems to be on the agonizing edge for a long time, just pounding and leaking and whining and cursing because he can't fill you up and he's bringing you to his torture, ruining you as he's at it.

The sounds he makes in your ear are nothing but broken, pained with frustration as he sweats profusely and his freckled skin is deeply flushed, pretty blush trailing down past his shoulders and you feel another orgasm building inside you as his hand slides from your hip to your cunt, his middle finger beginning to make tight little circles on your swollen clit.

“Dex! Wait—wait,” you huff, whining, instinctively closing your legs, but you hear him refuse behind you, and a loud smack of his four fingers against your soaked cunt sends you shuddering, your thighs opening again thanks to the delicious sting.

“Open—” he commands, muffled in that hoarse voice, “keep them open, come on, come on baby, don’t close them, I don’t want it.” His voice is weary, desperation dripping from its tone, and you're sobbing, gripping his wrist because your clit is so sensitive to the touch. His hips don’t stop, his finger continues to abuse your flesh up and down, side to side, pressing while making circles, and he notices you squeeze his weeping cock tighter when he puts you under a restraint.

He starts thrusting rapidly into your cunt, some strokes of his finger softer than others, causing you to gasp his name and try to move your hips away from him, but he's still frustrated beneath you, accelerating his thrusts and slapping your pussy harder until the sound is so obscene and wet that you reach other orgasm, pain and pleasure merging into one, and you clench around him, coaxing a curse from him as the wave of pleasure tear your feverish tight body apart.

“Shit! Oh fuck—Ah, again, again” he sobs eagerly, feeling himself almost finish again but going back to the torture of not being able to, there are tears welling on his eyes and he's keeping his hand on top of your cunt as he fucks you, and the overwhelming stimulation is making you try to escape again, still fresh and tired from your orgasm and when his cock slips out of your quivering entrance again, he lets out a muffled sound, complaining and unable to bear how your body keeps trying to get away.

Regardless of your silent protests, he places his forearm around your neck, pressing against your throat roughly, causing your body to freeze on top of his. Your hands move up to grip his arm, his bicep, pawing and gripping at the muscles as you feel strange sensations rising towards your bladder and you force your throat to work, trying to spit out pitiful excuses of words as your body burns.

“S—Stop, Dex, please, please, I feel—” you mutter, a smack knocking the wind out of you, and you regain your voice while he's trying to merge with you. “M’gonna pee…” you sob, so embarrassed. “Dex, I’m gonna pee—please!” and you're not even sure if you're actually going to pee or it is just squirt, either way, both mean a mess on top of him, both mean shame when you're so overwhelmed and weak to think about the sweet benefits.

A burning tremor runs through every part of Dex's body at the your words full of panic and he has to swallow hard to speak.

For a split second, his thrusts cease and a quiet gasp escapes his lips. “Yeah? Are you sure?” he begins, his free hand traveling down your body until it rests on your stomach, and he's purring, talking again. “Do you promise?” he whispers eagerly, pressing his palm hard right over your lower belly, and you squirm, tensing as he starts moving his hips upward again quickly, stealing your breath and making your cheeks burn with shame.

He never thought about stopping.

Now you're letting your tears flow, trying to muffle your pitiful little cries as you're feeling your limit break faster than you can bear and Dex is babbling softly in your ear, making it so much worse for you. His forearm finally lets you breathe and suddenly he's using both hands, letting them rest on your bladder, maintaining such pressure that you arch your back, trying not to make a fucking mess on top of him as your chest rises an falls because the sick bastard is kneading at your stomach, milking you.

You can feel his cock twitching inside you, intrigued by what's coming next. So hard and eager for it, Dex is humming when he feels you just can't take it anymore and he lets out a hoarse, shaky laugh, so excited he's lost his mind and completely forgot about his own impossible climax.

“It hurts, right? The restraint... Worst part is that you're doing it to yourself,” he purrs amusedly, gently pounding upwards, nothing compared to what he's doing on your belly. “I'm not even doing it anymore... You love to restrain yourself when you're with me. It's sad.” he whispers and you sob because it hurts so much and he's right.

“My girl, you make me feel bad for this. But you won't leave until you do it.”

© machiavelliam | masterlist | 02 / 05 / 26

I LOVEEE DOING THAT DUMB SHIT WITH ENDINGS OMGGGGGG 😭😭😭WHO WANT ME😭😭😭😭

Can't say I'm into Dom Dex, but I can't stop thinking about this and him having anorgasmia.

[rebelsforangels]

"You were made for this weren't you?" Dean muttered to his brother's ear, each word punctured with a thrust that rattled the bed frame. Of course, he knew the answer of the question, his sweet boy was made for him.

Just for Dean.

The answer he got was a muffled sob, poor Sammy boy was on edge for god knows how long. Dean is not someone who believes in gods and shits but he knows no heaven would match how Sammy's warm walls feel around his cock.

Speaking of.. Dean's hand slid down to wrap around Sam's cock, leaking so much precum. He pressed his thumb to slit, collecting the precum, his other hand was already buried in Sam's sweaty locks.

He pulled Sam's hair to lift his head up from the pillow and oh.. how good his sweet brother looks right now. Cheeks flushed, damp with tears and some of his shorter hair locks sticked to his sweaty forehead. A sight for sure.

Dean didn't need to say anything as Sam already parted his swollen lips to take Dean's thumb.

And the way he moaned around Dean's thumb when he takes it? Tasting his own precum. Nodding mindlessly to Dean's rough whispers, if he wasn't edged with every inch of his life, he would've said something back to those words.

If only Dean knew how much Sam wanted to be filled over and over till it was spilling out, how much he would've liked to carry a piece of Dean with him. As twisted as it sounded, nothing got him off more than the thought of being bred by his older brother.

[handsomejess]

This face should be ash

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4: Marked

Zeno x female!Reader

The weeks pass in fragments.

Not whole days, not clean stretches of time; just pieces. Moments stolen between shifts. Conversations that begin with clinical observation and end somewhere softer, somewhere neither of them fully understands.

They do not seek each other out openly.

That would be noticed.

Instead, it becomes a pattern.

He appears in the observation labs when she is already there. Or she finds herself assigned to sectors she never used to work in, only to realize, minutes later, that he is somewhere nearby. Neither of them acknowledges the pattern out loud.

But it exists.

And it grows.

At first, their conversations remain structured.

He asks questions.

Precise. Focused. Sometimes strangely specific.

“How do you determine trust in a non-quantifiable environment?”

“What differentiates familiarity from attachment?”

“Is emotional stability dependent on external presence or internal regulation?”

She answers as best as she can.

Sometimes clinically.

Sometimes honestly.

Sometimes she just says, “I don’t know,” and he accepts that in a way that surprises her every time.

Over time, the space between their words changes.

It becomes less about data.

More about presence.

He begins to stand closer.

Not close enough to touch.

Never that.

But the careful distance he maintained at first begins to shrink in small, almost imperceptible increments.

And she notices.

Of course she does.

She notices the way he watches her hands when she works, as if memorizing the motion.

The way his gaze lingers not on her face, but slightly to the side of it, like he is trying not to look too directly.

The way he pauses sometimes before speaking. Not because he doesn’t know what to say, but because he is deciding whether to say it at all.

He is learning restraint.

Not from programming.

From experience.

From her.

And that realization unsettles her more than anything else.

Because it means this, whatever this is, is no longer just residual memory.

It is becoming something new.

----

The day everything changes does not feel different at first.

The facility hums the same way it always does. Sterile. Controlled. Predictable.

She is halfway through a routine systems check when the alert comes through.

Level three clearance required.

Restricted lab access.

Subject: Zeno.

Her stomach drops before she even finishes reading.

She moves immediately.

The corridors feel longer than usual, the distance stretching in ways that don’t make sense. Her steps are quick, controlled, but her pulse is already too fast, her mind already racing ahead to possibilities she does not want to consider.

Testing.

They said he would be tested.

She knew that.

Clinical. Controlled. Necessary.

But theory has always been easier than reality.

When she reaches the lab, the doors are already sealed.

Two guards stand outside.

They move to block her.

“Restricted-”

“I have clearance,” she cuts in sharply, already pulling up her credentials.

There is a brief pause.

A check.

Then the doors slide open.

The moment she steps inside, something feels wrong.

Not visibly.

The lab looks the same. White, sterile, filled with equipment that hums softly in the background.

But the air..

The air feels tighter.

Charged.

Like something irreversible has already happened.

He is in the center of the room.

Seated.

Restrained.

Her breath catches.

Not violently restrained. Not struggling. The bindings are clinical; precautionary rather than punitive.

But they are still restraints.

And she hates them instantly.

His head is slightly lowered, shoulders tense in a way she has never seen before.

Around him, technicians move with quiet efficiency, recording data, monitoring vitals, speaking in low voices that try to sound calm and fail.

One of them turns as she approaches.

“The procedure is complete,” they say.

Procedure.

The word makes her stomach twist.

“What did you do?” she asks, her voice already colder than she intends.

“Mutated T-strain integration,” the technician replies. “Phase one.”

Her eyes snap back to him.

“Why wasn’t I informed?”

There is a pause.

Then, carefully, “The decision came from above.”

Of course it did.

The Connections.

Always watching. Always deciding. Always pushing further than anyone should.

Her jaw tightens.

“What strain?” she demands.

“Modified. Enhanced adaptability. Accelerated cellular response.”

That tells her nothing.

Or rather, it tells her too much.

Her gaze shifts back to him.

“Release him,” she says.

“That’s not advisa-”

“Release him.”

Something in her tone makes them hesitate.

Then comply.

The restraints disengage with a soft mechanical click.

For a moment, he doesn’t move.

Then slowly, deliberately, he lifts his head.

And her breath stops.

It’s subtle at first.

A shift in the skin along the left side of his face.

Dark.

Vein-like.

But not veins.

Something else.

Something growing.

It spreads from just beneath his eye, branching outward in thin, jagged lines that look almost like cracks in porcelain but alive. The same pattern trails down along his jaw, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt, curling along the side of his neck like something invasive, something that does not belong.

Her chest tightens painfully.

“No…”

The word barely escapes her.

His eyes find hers.

Still gold.

Still clear.

But there is something else there now.

Something sharper.

Something… strained.

“It is within acceptable parameters,” he says.

His voice is steady.

Too steady.

She steps closer, ignoring the technicians, ignoring everything except the sight of that unnatural marking spreading across skin that should have remained untouched.

“They did this to you,” she whispers.

“It was anticipated.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

Her hand lifts before she can stop herself.

For a split second she hesitates.

Then her fingers hover just beside the mark on his face.

Not touching.

Close enough to feel the faint heat radiating from his skin.

“It’s spreading,” she says quietly.

“Yes.”

“Does it hurt?”

A pause.

“Yes.”

The answer is simple.

Unadorned.

And it hits harder than anything else.

Her throat tightens.

“They didn’t even tell you, did they?” she asks softly.

He doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t need to.

Something sharp and angry rises in her chest.

Not at him.

At them.

At the people who see him as nothing more than a project. A result. A thing to be tested and pushed and altered without consent.

“You’re not a weapon,” she says, more to herself than to him.

He studies her face carefully.

“That is debatable.”

“No,” she says, firmer now. “It’s not.”

Silence falls between them again.

The technicians have stepped back slightly, giving them space, though she can feel their eyes watching, analyzing, recording.

She doesn’t care.

Her gaze softens as she looks at him again.

“You should have been told." she says quietly.

“It would not have changed the outcome.”

“That’s not the point.”

Another pause.

Then, unexpectedly, he says,

“I have not experienced this level of… unpredictability before.”

Her eyes flick back to his.

“From the virus?”

“No.”

A beat.

“From you.”

Her breath catches.

He looks at her like he’s trying to understand something that doesn’t fit into any framework he has.

“You are… upset,” he says.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The question isn’t cold.

It isn’t detached.

It’s genuine.

And that makes it worse.

She exhales shakily.

“Because they hurt you.”

“It is a necessary part of development.”

“I don’t care.”

The words come out sharper than she expects.

“I don’t care if it’s ‘necessary.’ You’re not just something they get to break apart and rebuild whenever they feel like it.”

He watches her, something shifting behind his eyes.

“You are assigning value to my well-being beyond functional parameters,” he says slowly.

She lets out a small, disbelieving breath.

“Yes.”

Silence.

Then-

“I have not left this facility before.”

The statement comes out of nowhere.

It takes her a second to process it.

“What?”

“I have not been outside.”

Her chest tightens.

“Not once?”

“No.”

She stares at him.

“You’ve never seen the sky?”

“No.”

The word is quiet.

Certain.

And something inside her breaks.

All at once, the image of the cemetery rises in her mind.

The open sky.

The wind.

The quiet.

Albert’s grave beneath the tree.

Free.

And him..

This man standing in front of her, marked by something he never chose, confined to walls he never left.

He has never seen any of it.

Her voice softens to something fragile.

“There’s a whole world out there,” she says.

“I am aware of its existence.”

“That’s not the same as seeing it.”

He studies her expression carefully.

“You place significance on it.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She hesitates.

Because how do you explain something like that to someone who has only ever known artificial light and controlled air?

“Because it reminds you that you’re… not just this,” she says quietly, gesturing faintly around them.

“That there’s something bigger. Something that isn’t controlled. Something that just… exists.”

He processes that.

Slowly.

Carefully.

“And you believe that has value?”

“Yes.”

Another pause.

“I would like to see it.”

The words are simple.

But they land with unexpected weight.

Her breath catches.

She looks at him.

At the marks on his skin.

At the quiet restraint in his posture.

At the way he is standing there, trying to understand a world he has never been allowed to experience.

And something inside her shifts.

Softens.

“I’ll take you,” she says.

The promise leaves her mouth before she can stop it.

Before she can think about consequences.

Before she can consider what it would mean.

His gaze sharpens slightly.

“You would do that?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She meets his eyes.

Because no one ever gave him a choice.

Because he deserves more than this.

Because she knows what it feels like to be trapped in a place that takes and takes and never gives anything back.

But what she says is quieter.

“Because you should see it at least once.”

He watches her for a long moment.

And for the first time since she met him, there is something in his expression that isn’t analysis.

Isn’t calculation.

Something softer.

Something uncertain.

Something almost… human.

The mark along his face pulses faintly beneath the surface of his skin.

But for that moment, she doesn’t see it.

She just sees him.

And the quiet, fragile possibility of something that might exist beyond all of this.

[libraryraccoon]

TWST with a Manipulator!Reader Headcanon

Gender : GN

Pronouns : None

Type : Headcanon/Ideas

Characters : Riddle, Idia, Vil

Others infos : Not manipulator like that, but yk those who have masks that hide their emotions, those who analyze people and their behavior/attitude changes depending on who they talk to, in a way the person they talk to will like them, letting no one see their true colors. And they are traumatized too bc what is someone without trauma ??? And the Reader is really good at that. Bad english (it's not my first language), probably ooc.

I don't think Riddle would realize/understand it. To him, you were just a good student who followed the rules. And I don't think he'll realize you're playing a role, not if anyone else tells him, and if he does it probably would have been Trey or Carter, if they realize it. After that, he will observed you more and will try to talk with you about that. He will probably be a little hurt that you somehow manipulated him, not showing the real you. After that, you have two choices, lie to him and say you were being real with him, or tell the truth and try to act like the real you. If you lie, I don't think he will see it, trusting you and not thinking that you lied to him. If you tell the truth, he will be a little hurt by this new, but he will try to know you, the real you. Even if the real you isn't perfect, he will love it and be happy that you trust him enough to show him the real you.

Idia will know it. You can't tell me that man doesn't stalk you. Even if you're a friend, when he will get bored or having nothing to do or just for knowing what his friend/partner do, he will look in the school cameras. He will see that you act differently with almost everyone, adapting to the person you are speaking with. He would surely be intrigued and/or confused about this. Idia will probably wonder who the real you is, and if you were lying to him all along. He'll question you about it at some point, if you lie about being the real you with him, there's a 50/50 chance he'll believe you, his sixth sense screaming that you're lying. If you tell the truth, he won't talk to you for days, can't believe he fell into this trap- the trust will be broken, and it would be worse if you were together romantically because he will think you also lie about loving him, but it could be fixed with time.

Vil will know something is wrong. Being an actor, I feel like he would know when someone is playing a role or at least have suspicions. His sixth sense would scream that something was wrong, so he would observe and send Rook to gather information. Above all, he would be curious, curious to know the real you, and to know why you play a role, constantly changing depending on the person you are with. If you are together, he will be hurt that you played him, realizing that he really knows nothing about you. He might question your feelings towards him. If you lie, like Idia, something inside him will tell him that you lie, and Vil will maybe talk about it again. If you say the truth, Vil will try to know you really, especially in a relationship, it would be like starting from scratch.

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Hey Writers of ATSV, STOP letting White Men off the hook and expecting me to clap.

The fact that Miguel is repeated dehumanized and called an animal even prior to him snapping but George Stacy's scenes are written completely sympathetic towards him -

It doesn't sit right with me. Look at this:

They call Miguel an animal in the opening scenes.

At this point, he's not a threat to anyone but Vulture. In this scene, Miguel is doing exactly what he's supposed to do as Spider-man.

He gets called an animal.

Two pages later it's literal George Stacy holding a gun to his daughters face, and yet it's written completely, 100% sympathetic towards him AND ONLY HIM.

Which like..... Girl... Let me adjust my spectacles because I cannot be reading this right.

He's pointing a loaded gun at his daughter. Gwen is undoubtedly more scared than she's even been in her entire life.

She's confused and desperate, one of our main characters is going through a traumatic event.

The script though? It only cares about George and how he was 'betrayed by his little girl'

As if Gwen isn't her own person.

As if Gwen didn't just save dozens of lives. In a situation where the police could do nothing.

Had Gwen not been there, the police would not have been able to handle Vulture. The threat is subdued - yet he still persists.

It doesn't matter that she just saved multiple lives. It doesn't matter that she's not a threat - or that she's his literal daughter.

What matters is how hard this is for the adult white man with the lethal weapon in his hands.

The scene SHOULD be written from Gwen's point of view. SHE'S the victim.

But no, the white male cop is going through it due to his own emotional incompetency so let's focus on that while calling Miguel an evil animal.

In ATSV both George AND Peter - the two white men in the movie - let Gwen down. They either put her in danger or do nothing as they watch.

George points a gun at her. Peter watches Miguel as he physically assaults Gwen and puts her in the machine, exiling her into homelessness.

Then, he gets to go home to his wife and kids, not even mention to MJ that Gwen and Miles were both assaulted and are now missing. And instead he whines about how he's 'not good at this mentor stuff'.

In ATSV the White Male characters repeatedly fail the people around them with no consequences at all - even from a lot of the audience.

And yeah - Peter Parker is completely neglectful.

To the point it's not okay whatsoever.

I've seen MULTIPLE people say that 'Peter is justified in not helping Gwen during the Go-Home scene. Because Miguel was obviously violent and he's probably scared of him plus he was holding MayDay.'

Which is an excuse that ignores the fact that it's pitiful that GWEN a teenage girl facing homelessness - who is likely weaker than both Peter and Miguel - is more willing to stand up to Miguel than PETER PARKER.

It ignores the fact Miguel would NOT attack a fucking baby. He's a FATHER.

But it's easier to assume the Latino man is a raging, angry, baby killer than to admit the white man is committing neglect.

It baffles me that people will really defend Peter saying 'he was scared - he didn't know what Miguel would do-'

Neither did Gwen. But she still did it.

Because she's a GOOD GUY. Because it mattered to her. Because the people she cared about were getting hurt.

She stood up to Miguel in the face of literal danger and homelessness.

Peter had nothing to lose. He make a joke and shut up when he was told.

Once again: If Gwen and Hobie hadn't come for Peter, we have NO IDEA how long he would've stayed with Miguel. We are given NO INDICATION prior to Gwen's arrival that Peter is actively going to change sides. Or is even really considering it in that moment.

Even in the script Peter shows no remorse or worry for Gwen or Miles at all.

It's as if they don't cross his mind. As if he doesn't care he led Miguel directly to Miles because he forgot he had on a tracking watch. As if what he just witnessed didn't disturb him, as if he isn't worried that Gwen is literally homeless.

All he cares about is him, and his image as mentor.

Like sir, I do not give a DAMN. I might not even give a fuck, if you will.

Shut the fuck up about that mentorship shit 😭😭😭😭 You tryna mentor niggas that's MISSING.

He's like that deadbeat dad that brought you a bike a decade ago at 6 and he still bringing it up asking you why you don't call him 'dad'. Like just because you taught Miles to swing over a year ago doesn't mean you're his mentor mfer. Miles would've learned to swing anyway cause it's literally instinctual and every person bitten eventually learns it by themselves so really Peter wtf 😐

People will scream 'But there's nothing he could do!! Miguel is too scary!!'

One: Peter is one of if not the Spider-person with the most experience. If we assume he was bitten at 18 and he's say 45 now, that's still over 25 years of experience. If he was bitten in high school, that's even more experience.

He has biological powers Miguel doesn't, plus he has years of experience over Miguel - who canonically got his powers as an adult. If anyone in that room can beat Miguel - it's him.

If you're telling me that Peter B. Parker is not only scared of Miguel but he's scared to the point he will not even attempt to question him, even though three people younger than him will - Gwen, Hobie, and Miles - that's pitiful. That's a sad excuse for a Spider-man.

Also He's Spider-Man. The whole point of Spider-man is he fights even if he isn't sure he can win.

Two: At the very least, he can show that he's genuinely concerned for the kids he wants to mentor so bad. But he doesn't even do that. Even bringing them up or saying their names doesn't cross his mind.

But once again, the white male character emotionally neglecting those around him - especially the children who depend on him - and both he are George are either shown as innocent, unwilling to act, or the script is outright sympathetic towards them.

It's easy to call the Latino man an animal but writing a scene in which a white cop is rightfully portrayed as selfish is too hard.

It's easy to call the Latino man a monster but writing Peter Parker as a heroic figure is too hard.

The racism is not just towards Miguel. It's also in the blatant favoritism the white male characters are given.

Both George and Peter actively endanger those around them and at no point do they do something on their own accord that helps anybody but themselves.

Gwen has to go to her father - by force. Gwen has to go to Peter - using Hobie's hard work.

What we NOT GONNA DO is give the white man praise when it's literally the black guy who did all the work.

Fuck - Hobie mentored Gwen TEN TIMES MORE than Peter ever did Miles. Hobie put a roof over Gwen's head and came to get her when no other person would.

Writers, stop trying to make me sympathetic towards the white men who actively hurt the people around them when there's good mentors like Hobie and good parents like Rio and Jeff.

I ain't with the shits'. If anyone is an animal in this script, it's the man who pointed a gun at his daughter.

I guess assaulting and mentally scaring children is only okay if you do it with a firearm? Or if you make this face while doing it 🥺*

(*coupon not available for the melinated)

I changed my mind i don't forgive Peter or George. Miguel who has a whole ass arc of life and death and loss gets called an animal while the white cop with six minutes of screentime gets shown as father of the year while holding a loaded gun to a child girl you must be kidding me

Maybe Gwen would be in a better mood if we let her kick their asses idk 🤷🏾

[atlaserine]

"AHA!"

"WAIT-"

Unfortunately, Hero was too late as Villain successfully grabbed the file, full of the Agency's information, that was on the small table in Hero's room. Although, before Villain could gloat or even escape with his treasure, he glanced over at Hero who turned out to be holding...a book...too tightly hugging it against herself. The book that sat beside the file on the table before.

Hero's eyes was still wide with surprise that the Villain came barging inside her room at night, she studied his eyes that was now narrowed towards the book in her hand.

Ah crap...shouldve grabbed the file-

"Wh- what is that?" Villain took a step towards the Hero, squinting his eyes, trying to read the title of the book in the dark room.

"N-nothing" She spoke, too quickly as she hides the book behind her back.

Finally, the Villains eyes got off the book at gazed up towards her own. His face having drawn curiosity all over it.

He took another step.

And Hero took step back.

"Let me see"

"No"

Villains eyes narrowed again, "Why not"

"N-no...no, Look, you already have what you wanted so leave" The Hero tried, and hoped that he would. Because she could steal the file back later, though the embarrassment of him, her enemy, to even have an idea of the stuff that Hero reads would burn her dignity.

"No...I want to see that, Hero" The Villain argued, eyes focused on hers. And then Silent.

Oh no

The Hero knew, then and there, there was no talking out of this with him. And without thinking, Hero made a run for it to the door.

Yet, Villain was quicker, tackling Hero to the floor, leaving the file thrown to God knows where part of the room. He pinned the Hero down with his legs beside her as he took the book from her hand and opened it.

"Agh! Get...Off Me! You Heathen!" Hero struggled, squirmed underneath him.

"Oh...oh my god" Villain spoke as he quickly read trough the pages, his tone a mix of horrid and amusement. A small blush coloring his pale face.

"Oh my god" Hero stops moving, her eyes widening, it was her time now to blush as she looks up at him. Even though the room was dark, she couldn't help but hide her face behind both of her hands. Truly, she has never wanted to bury herself more than now.

Villains eyes was still trained on the pages, yet a small smile was creeping on his face. That small smile becoming a wide grin.

"Oh my god-" The Villain laughs a bit and raised his eyebrows.

"Dont" The Hero spoke, trying to sound stern and threatening yet her face couldn't stop heating the longer Villain stayed.

"Hero!"

"Please-"

"Hero, you- what is this book? You- you read stuff like this?" The Villain snorts.

"A friend recommended it to me!" Hero tried to reason with a lie as she finally grabbed the book from Villains hand and laid back on the floor, furrowing her eyebrows and pouting with her face all red.

"Yeah right" The villain argued and chuckled after looking down at the Hero.

"I didn't know you were into..that" He crossed his arms and shook his head with a smirk on his face as if he was a parent that had caught their kid, Hero has never wanted to wipe, punch, or just- erase that look from his face!

"Oh shut up" Hero mumbled and shrugged her shoulded, still hugging the book, as she looks away from him.

Villain leaned down, still with that million dollar smirk, inching closer to her ear,

"Youre a bad girl, Hero"

Hero is never going to hear the end of this is she?