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physalian · 6 months

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Pacing your Story (Or, How to Avoid the "Suddenly...!")

Arguably *the* most important lesson all writers need to learn, even for those who don’t give a damn about themes and motifs and a moral soap box: How your story is paced, whether it’s a comic book, a children’s chapter book, a doorstopper, a mini series, a movie, or a full-length season of TV (old school style), pacing is everything.

Pacing determines how long the story *feels* regardless of how long it actually is. It can make a 2 hour movie feel like 90 mins or double the time you’re trapped in your seat.

There’s very little I can say about pacing that hasn’t been said before, but I’m here to condense all that’s out there into a less intimidating mouthful to chew.

So: What is pacing?

Pacing is how a story flows, how quickly or slowly the creator moves through and between scenes, how long they spend on setting, narration, conversation, arguments, internal monologues, fight scenes, journey scenes. It’s also how smoothly tone transitions throughout the story. A fantasy adventure jumping around sporadically between meandering boredom, high-octane combat, humor, grief, and romance is exhausting to read, no matter how much effort you put into your characters.

Anyone who says the following is wrong:

Good pacing is always fast/bad pacing is always slow

Pacing means you are 100% consistent throughout the entire story

It doesn’t matter as much so long as you have a compelling story/characters/lore/etc

Now let me explain why in conveniently numbered points:

1. Pacing is not about consistency, it’s about giving the right amount of time to the right pieces of your story

This is not intuitive and it takes a long time to learn. So let’s look at some examples:

Lord of the Rings: The movies trimmed a *lot* from the books that just weren’t adaptable to screen, namely all the tedious details and quite a bit of the worldbuilding that wasn’t critical to the journey of the Fellowship. That said, with some exceptions, the battles are as long as they need to be, along with every monologue, every battle speech. When Helm’s Deep is raging on, we cut away to Merry and Pippin with the Ents to let ourselves breathe, then dive right back in just before it gets boring.

The Hobbit Trilogy: The exact opposite from LotR, stretching one kids book into 3 massive films, stuffing it full of filler, meandering side quests, pointless exposition, drawing out battles and conflicts to silly extremes, then rushing through the actual desolation of Smaug for… some reason.

Die Hard (cause it’s the Holidays y’all!): The actiony-est of action movies with lots of fisticuffs and guns and explosions still leaves time for our hero to breathe, lick his wounds, and build a relationship with the cop on the ground. We constantly cut between the hero and the villains, all sharing the same radio frequency, constantly antsy about what they know and when they’ll find out the rest, and when they’ll discover the hero’s kryptonite.

2. Make every scene you write do at least two things at once

This is also tricky. Making every scene pull double duty should be left to after you’ve written the first draft, otherwise you’ll never write that first draft. Pulling double duty means that if you’re giving exposition, the scene should also reveal something about the character saying it. If you absolutely must write the boring trip from A to B, give some foreshadowing, some thoughtful insight from one of your characters, a little anecdote along the way.

Develop at least two of the following:

The plot

The backstory

The romance/friendships

The lore

The exposition

The setting

The goals of the cast

Doing this extremely well means your readers won’t have any idea you’re doing it until they go back and read it again. If you have two characters sitting and talking exposition at a table, and then those same two characters doing some important task with filler dialogue to break up the narrative… try combining those two scenes and see what happens.

**This is going to be incredibly difficult if you struggle with making your stories longer. I do not. I constantly need to compress my stories. **

3. Not every scene needs to be crucial to the plot, but every scene must say something

I distinguish plot from story like a square vs a rectangle. Plot is just a piece of the tale you want to tell, and some scenes exist just to be funny, or romantic, or mysterious, plot be damned.

What if you’re writing a character study with very little plot? How do you make sure your story isn’t too slow if 60% of the narrative is introspection?

Avoid repeating information the audience already has, unless a reminder is crucial to understanding the scene

This isn’t 1860 anymore. Every detail must serve a purpose. Keep character and setting descriptions down to absolute need-to-know and spread it out like icing on a cake – enough to coat, but not give you a mouthful of whipped sugar and zero cake.

Avoid describing generic daily routines, unless the existence of said routine is out of ordinary for the character, or will be rudely interrupted by chaos. No one cares about them brushing their teeth and doing their hair.

Make sure your characters move, but not too much. E.g. two characters sitting and talking – do humans just stare at each other with their arms lifeless and bodies utterly motionless during conversation? No? Then neither should your characters. Make them gesture, wave, frown, laugh, cross their legs, their arms, shift around to get comfortable, pound the table, roll their eyes, point, shrug, touch their face, their hair, wring their hands, pick at their nails, yawn, stretch, pout, sneer, smirk, click their tongue, clear their throat, sniff/sniffle, tap their fingers/drum, bounce their feet, doodle, fiddle with buttons or jewelry, scratch an itch, touch their weapons/gadgets/phones, check the time, get up and sit back down, move from chair to table top – the list goes on. Bonus points if these are tics that serve to develop your character, like a nervous fiddler, or if one moves a lot and the other doesn’t – what does that say about the both of them? This is where “show don’t tell” really comes into play.

4. Your entire work should not be paced exactly the same

Just like a paragraph should not be filled with sentences of all the same length and syntax. Some beats deserve more or less time than others. Unfortunately, this is unique to every single story and there is no one size fits all.

General guidelines are as follows:

Action scenes should have short paragraphs and lots of movement. Cut all setting details and descriptors, internal monologues, and the like, unless they service the scene.

Journey/travel scenes must pull double or even triple duty. There’s a reason very few movies are marketed as “single take” and those that are don’t waste time on stuff that doesn’t matter. See 1917.

Romantic scenes are entirely up to you. Make it a thousand words, make it ten thousand, but you must advance either the romantic tension, actual movement of the characters, conversation, or intimacy of the relationship.

Don’t let your conversations run wild. If they start to veer off course, stop, boil it down to its essentials, and cut the rest.

When transitioning between slow to faster pacing and back again, it’s also not one size fits all. Maybe it being jarring is the point – it’s as sudden for the characters as it is for the reader. With that said, try to keep the “suddenly”s to a minimum.

5. Pacing and tone go hand in hand

This means that, generally speaking, the tone of your scene changes with the speed of the narrative. As stated above, a jarring tonal shift usually brings with it a jarring pacing shift.

A character might get in a car crash while speeding away from an abusive relationship. A character who thinks they’re safe from a pursuer might be rudely and terrifyingly proven wrong. An exhausting chase might finally relent when sanctuary is found. A quiet dinner might quickly turn romantic with a look, or confession. Someone casually cleaning up might discover evidence of a lie, a theft, an intruder and begin to panic.

Whatever the case may be, a narrative that is all action all the time suffers from lack of meaningful character moments. A narrative that meanders through the character drama often forgets there is a plot they’re supposed to be following.

#writing advice #writing tips #pacing #writing tools

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luvymelody · 1 month

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NAME : katsuki bakugou + shoto todoroki , boku no hero academia

SONG : moment , vierre cloud

SUMMARY : y/n l/n is the new girl in class 2-a. as the year goes by, todoroki and bakugou find out that they like the same person. wc : 2.2k

[you're here] [part 2] [part 3]

(reader's quirk is angel. u have two wings in ur back)

(also i removed hagakure from the story 😭 SORRY i love her swear)

"hello, i'm y/n l/n. i hope we can all get along."

the winged girl smiled, then bowed deeply as the class admired her. she was pretty, and her wings were pretty.

"you can sit infront of him. bakugou, raise your hand."

bakugou lazily raised his hand a bit, she looked towards him, walking towards the empty seat in the front row. as she sat, she placed her bag under her table, tucking her wings into herself a bit to not bother the boy behind her.

he raised an eyebrow at her actions, rolling his eyes and slouching back into his seat.

"hi! i'm mina ashido!"

"oh hi!"

"i'm ochaco uraraka!"

"you can call me tsuyu."

the girls were crowding around the new girl as soon as the bell rang for break. the girls in the class were all making eye contact with each other during class and pointing fingers at each other of who would be the one to talk to y/n first.

"wanna sit with us for lunch? we'll tell you everything about our class!"

"yeah sure, that would be great."

y/n smiled at yaoyorozu as mina threw an arm around y/n's shoulder, pulling her up from her seat.

"man, the girls have already started talking to the new girl.."

kaminari said, looking at the group of girls with his arms crossed. he stood infront of kirishima and bakugou who were around bakugou's desk as he packed up his stuff.

"you can't deny, she's really cute."

kirishima murmured, leaning into kaminari a bit to quiet his voice but bakugou heard it anyway, ignoring it. kaminari nodded rapidly, you would think his head was going to fall off from how fast he was.

bakugou got up without saying anything, leaving the classroom while kaminari and kirishima yelled at him to wait.

the girls were waiting in the lunch line together, waiting patiently as uraraka brought her three guy friends to meet y/n.

"my name is tenya iida! i'm pleased to have you as a new classmate!"

iida put a hand out for y/n to shake, she grasped his hand, giving it a firm shake and a smile as she held onto his hand.

"pleased to meet you, iida."

iida matched her smile, letting go of their head and directing her attention to the boys next to him.

"i'm izuku midoriya, this is shoto todoroki!"

the green haired boy said, turning to the white and red haired boy as he looked up from his phone at y/n. he bowed a bit, putting his phone in his pocket.

"nice to meet you."

"nice to meet you too-"

"l/n- are you an actual angel? what else is apart of your quirk? can all of your feathers separate like the pro hero hawks? can you control all your feathers with free will? or-"

"geez midoriya, chill out!"

mina exclaimed, her hands going down on y/n's shoulders as y/n grinned, a bit of a nervous look on her face as her eyebrows furrowed. todoroki blinked at her facial features, he didn't really get to see it when she was infront of the class and he was at the back, but now, right infront of her, he can.

"you're very pretty, l/n."

the group went quiet, hearing the stoic heterochromic boy say such a bold statement.

"o-oh, thank you, todoroki.."

y/n blushed, turning red as mina nervously laughed, then pulled y/n away as they were at the front of the line to get food. todoroki cocked his head to the side in confusion.

"did i do something wrong?"

todoroki turned his head towards midoriya and iida who were partially embarrassed, red filling their faces.

"n-no, todoroki.."

the next day, y/n was walking to school as she looked down at her phone, scrolling and looking for a song to play.

"l/n."

y/n heard a voice behind her, turning to see her handsome classmate. yesterday, when he said she was pretty, she was going to say that he was handsome too, just to make him embarrassed, but his blank stare made her crumble, and blush.

"hi todoroki!"

y/n waved, stopping and waiting for todoroki to catch up as he slowly jogged up next to side, then she continued walking.

"do you live around this area?"

y/n questioned, playing a random playlist and turning off her phone, holding it in her hand.

"mhm. just down the road."

todoroki nodded, looking straight down the sidewalk as y/n looked up at the boy. but then something clicked in her head, she quickly looked at her phone, her eyes widening at the time.

"shit! we're gonna miss the train, todoroki!"

y/n blurted, gripping onto todoroki's wrist and starting to run towards the train station. todoroki watched her hair bounce with each step she was taking, holding onto his bag with his free hand to avoid his bag falling off his shoulder.

todoroki watched as the sunlight hit her hair just right, making her hair practically shine underneath the sun as y/n’s hold on his wrist slipped, going down to his hand as she grabbed onto his hand, holding it tight with a squeeze as she checked her phone again.

“todoroki! are you there-“

y/n turned her head while running, making eye contact with todoroki as he blinked, snapping out of his lovesick daze.

“yeah-“

todoroki lips parted, shutting tight as he squeezed her hand, starting to run alongside y/n as y/n smiled laughing next to todoroki as she closed her eyes, her head going down as laughter bubbled out her lips.

todoroki let a small smile slip from his lips, the corners of his mouth going up as he continued running down the street alongside y/n.

he would just have to tell his driver he could get to school on his own.

y/n and todoroki came into the classroom together, todoroki opening the door for the girl as she smiled and thanked him.

bakugou looked up from his seat, he was leaning back into his seat while kirishima, sero and kaminari were infront of him, standing and talking to each other while letting bakugou pipe into the conversation from time to time.

“yo, should i ask for l/n’s number?”

“no bro- didn’t you see todoroki and l/n walk in together? pretty girls and pretty boys always get together.”

“are you saying i’m ugly-!?”

“hey, sir’s waiting.”

bakugou said, making the three look at him and look back at aizawa who was glaring at them, his eyes turning red and his hair floating up as they bowed in embarrassment, hurrying to their seats.

when they finally left from bakugou’s view, he could see y/n clearly infront of him, well, the back of her, and her wings.

bakugou thought they were big for no reason. could she even fly?

“team bakugou and l/n, you’re up!”

the class had a training exercise with a random partner, bakugou made no comment out loud of the new kid being his partner but, his thoughts were screaming.

‘are you kidding me? pretty girl is my partner?’

bakugou yelled in his head as y/n ran up to him, slowing down to walk next to him.

“hey! you’re bakugou, right?”

“yea.”

“oh okay! how do you wanna do this-?”

“just don’t get in my way, i’ll probably do all the work anyway.”

bakugou said bluntly, walking faster to avoid y/n as y/n’s face became blank, blinking at the boy who was walking away faster. she squinted her eyes at him, smiling.

there were multiple clones of ectoplasm and y/n and bakugou were surrounded.

“i told you not to get in my way!”

bakugou yelled, explosions sparking from his palms. y/n looked down as she clenched her forearm, a white energy surging through her arm.

“i didn’t even do anything! with you running away from me!”

“because you would get in my way!”

“just stop yelling for a sec, your throat-!”

y/n cut herself off as she flapped her wings and the clones on her side turned to liquid clones. bakugou whipping his head at her side to look and see no one, y/n gone and the clones gone.

“angel!”

bakugou called out, looking up to see y/n in the air, jumping down in the centre of the clones on bakugou’s side, slamming her fist down on the ground as the ground crumbled, making the clones fling into the air as bakugou put his hands down towards the ground, shooting himself up as he exploded all of the clones.

y/n stood up on the ground, bakugou dropped down infront of her. y/n quirked her eyebrow up,

“are you gonna yell at me? sorry if i was in your way-“

“sorry for the way i was acting.”

bakugou grumbled, it was so, out of character of himself. he didn’t even know what he was doing. y/n’s eyes widened, feeling a tad bit bad for the way she was yelling, but to be fair, he was yelling louder before.

“oh! it’s cool- sorry i yelled back at you.”

y/n admitted, her eyebrows furrowed but a smile on her face as bakugou’s eye trailed down towards her parted lips.

“let’s go back.”

“oh right!”

y/n exclaimed, turning and starting to walk as bakugou admired her back, her wings.

“bakugou?”

bakugou heard, fast walking to catch up with her, much unlike before when he was literally running away from her.

y/n walked beside todoroki, counting her money in focus to be sure she had enough for one of the dishes she wanted from the cafeteria. (pretend they pay for somethings idk)

the winged girl groaned out loud, his hands rubbing her eyes as her lips turned to a frown. todoroki looked at her in wonder, cocking his head to the side.

“what’s wrong?”

“i don’t have enough money for the cold soba..”

“do you like cold soba?”

todoroki’s eyes widened, wondering if the pretty girl liked one of his favourite foods, she lifted her hands away from her eyes, blinking at the boy.

“yeah.. i was really craving it today...”

“i’ll pay for you.”

todoroki said, starting to fast walk to the cafeteria to see y/n’s reaction to eating it as y/n stopped in shock, jogging to catch up with todoroki as her eyebrows furrowed and her lips opened,

"are you sure? thank you so much though.."

“it’s alright.”

todoroki said, in the line and already at the front, ordering two cold soba trays.

y/n stood behind him, a small smile of her face as she appreciated the kind offer that todoroki gave her- well, more like just buying her food.

the girl felt a nudge in her shoulder, turning her head to see bakugou with one hand holding his tray of food, the other in his pocket.

“come sit with me.”

bakugou said, looking away from y/n and straight at his table of friends who were laughing loudly far away. y/n turned to look at the group and where they were, while she was looking away, bakugou took the chance to glance down at y/n, seeing her long eyelashes as they fluttered open and shut, then turning to bakugou again as he quickly looked away.

“sorry,, i’m sitting with todoroki today!”

bakugou looked at the girl after scoffing loudly.

"you can stand one lunch away from that half-and-half bastard-"

"bakugou?"

bakugou and y/n turned towards todoroki, who was holding two trays of cold soba. bakugou raised an eyebrow at the dual coloured haired boy as todoroki narrowed his eyes towards him.

"l/n is going to be sitting with me. not you."

"i don't remember asking you, icy-hot."

"you didn't have to, i'm telling you."

"what do you say?!"

todoroki let out quick but calm remarks at the blonde boy but bakugou was glaring openly at todoroki, getting right up in todoroki's face as y/n's eyes whipped back and forth between the boys.

"guys!"

the two looked at her, stopping their argument.

"how about, we all sit together? i wanted to talk with mina today anyway!"

y/n grinned, turning and quickly walking towards the table that had mina, kirishima, sero, jirou and kaminari. jirou and mina seeing the girl and the two boys walking behind her, waving at her.

"hey y/n!"

"hi!"

"oh shit, hey l/n!"

"hi there!"

y/n sat in the free space next to mina, with a space for one more person to sit next to y/n.

"is it okay if i- i mean, todoroki and i sit with you guys?"

"no problem!"

sero said, showing a thumbs up towards the girl and a wink while kaminari was fist bumping the air in excitement.

todoroki was quicker than bakugou, sitting in the seat next to y/n as bakugou gritted his teeth slightly at the boy who was staring up at him- was that a tiny smirk on his face!?

bakugou dropped his tray on the table, already eating as y/n talked to todoroki about english homework. then she turned away, leaning over mina to talk to jirou who was next to her.

todoroki and bakugou made eye contact with each other as todoroki looked at the boy across from him on the table. bakugou narrowed his eyes, using his hand and sticking out his thumb as he dragged his thumb over his neck, pointing at todoroki.

todoroki just silently slurped his soba, glaring at bakugou.

this meant war.

#there will maybe be a part 2.#todobaku x reader #fem!reader #todoroki x reader #bakugou x reader #shoto x reader #female reader #bnha #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #mha todoroki #mha #todobaku

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asm5129 · 3 months

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I know this is NOT a popular take in the RWBY FNDM but y’all…I love Jaune Arc. He’s such a refreshing, interesting male character.

He’s Ruby’s best friend, and the two of them parallel each other in such FASCINATING ways. I’m planning a full video essay on this but as some examples:

1) They both have hero complexes, obviously.

2) Ruby is a prodigy who earns her place at beacon two years early, while Jaune cheated his way in and needs to work constantly outside of his school training to be anywhere near capable of huntsmen level combat

3) Jaune’s pain is loud and disruptive, Ruby’s pain is quiet and suppressed (examining their respective expressions of pain through the lens of gender expectations is REALLY interesting)

4) Ruby inherits silver eyes, an invaluable tool in fighting Grimm. Jaune inherited a regular sword, heavily outclassed by most of his peers.

5) Ruby made her weapon but modeled it after her mentor, Jaune had a hand-me-down

6) Ruby leads by developing plans and taking action, Jaune leads by supporting his team and bolstering their strengths with his own.

I’m sure there’s more too but those parallels are why their conflicts in vol 9 work so well for me, they are partners in narrative from literally the second episode.

I also just adore the commentary on masculinity with Jaune. From day one he was deconstructing traditional ideas of masculinity and patriarchal concepts of heroism.

The way he has to learn to reject so many of the things that blockbusters with men at the center have been pushing for decades is fantastic. He tried to pursue revenge like John Wick or Iron Man and it went HORRIBLY.

He can fight when necessary but it’s not where his true strength lies and that’s SO COOL for a male character.

I dunno y’all I just think he doesn’t deserve the hate. He doesn’t butt in on other stories nearly as much as people claim—in terms of Ruby, he actually serves her story quite a bit—and he is a character worth following in and of himself.

#rwby volume 9 #rwbypositivity #RWBY #rwby hiatus #rwby positivity #rwby meta #rwby analysis #jaune arc #masculinity #healthy masculinity #heroism #rwby volume 10 #greenlightrwbyvolume10 #ruby rose

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buryustogether · 1 year

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lilac - chapter 2

miguel o’hara x f!reader

summary: a pre-work visit to the bank goes horribly wrong.

wc: 4.7k

tags/warnings: unhappy relationship, gun violence, bank robbery, blood, scars, stripping, pole dancing, sexual fantasy, semi-public sex, praise

author’s note: yeah he got me fucked up

They called him Spiderman.

He appeared seemingly from thin air overnight - specifically, the night you’d stayed late at the school to watch Gabriella O’Hara until her father could pick her up. They were hailing him a vigilante, a hero, an aggressor. No one could quite seem to agree on just what he was other than supernatural. Like the multiple self-titled supervillains who had taken over your city without someone to stop them, he possessed abilities no regular human was capable of. Shooting webs from his wrists, climbing walls, moving and propelling himself at unimaginable speeds. He was something unimaginable.

People theorized, over the week since his city-wide premier on shaky cellphone footage and breaking news coverings that interrupted regular shows, that he had escaped from a cage in Alchemax. How else could they explain his powers? They couldn’t. Others said he was an alien. Some said he was a fake, said that the clips that captured him beating the absolute shit out of car thieves and back alley thugs and would-be kidnappers, were all photoshopped with a fancy computer and an advanced program.

Either way, no matter where he’d come from or what he was, whether he was a do-gooder or another villain searching for glory, no one could deny that what he did was incredible.

It was too bad some people were out to get him despite what he was doing for your city.

“He’s a menace!” shouted the anchor of the news show playing in the bank’s lobby. J. Jonah Jameson’s voice brought a migraine to the front of your head, one that wouldn’t go away with just simple ibuprofen. You tried to block him out as you waited in line for a teller, attempting to focus instead on the story your boyfriend was barking in your ear on your phone. Your attempt was unsuccessful. “He’s just another villain trying to have his five minutes of glory in the sun. He’ll burn out just like all the others; Doc Ock, Kraven, the Vulture… Please, people! Wake up and take a deep breath of reality! He’s not helping the citizens of New York - he’s getting in the way of our police!” He fixed the camera with a hard, stony stare that made you look away when you saw one of his eyes twitch. What in fuck did that dude put in his cereal every morning? “Spiderman is just another villain. Give him another week, and see where he ends up.”

You felt your lips tug down as you turned away from the television and moved up in line. What a sad, pathetic city you lived in, where someone attempted to use whatever powers they had to do good and got blasted for it instead of praise. God knew New York needed all the help it could get. With the highest crime rate in the country, who would turn their nose up at what little help was offered to them?

Dickwipes, that was who.

“Hello?” shouted the voice on the other end of the phone you held up to your face. You jumped slightly and pulled it from your ear, earning yourself a few strange looks from the other people in line. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Sorry, babe,” you exhaled into the speaker. Blocking out the television and the rest of the distractions in the bank, you upped the volume on your phone. “Just kind of busy at the moment. I’m in line at the bank, and then I’ve got to catch a taxi in this fucking traffic and haul ass to work before class starts, and -”

From his end, Ferris released one of those breathy sighs that he did when he wanted you to stop speaking so that he could talk what was on his mind. You knew the sound well - well enough to shut your mouth and swallow thick. “Could’ve just said it was a bad time,” he grunted, then made the noises of switching his phone to his other ear. You recognized the sounds of his deft fingers fiddling with his guitar strings. God, it seemed like he never put that fucking thing down. A part of you suspected that if your apartment was on fire, he would run to save his instrument before you. “Listen, I’ve got practice here in a while. I’ll let you get back to whatever’s so important.”

Ignoring the pang that resounded like a thunderclap through your ribcage, you nodded your head despite knowing he couldn’t see you. “Uhm, okay.” You hesitated, then added, “Oh, before you go to practice -” you heard him sniff - “could you put away the dishes in the sink? I started the cycle this morning before I left, so it should be -”

“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Bye.”

“Oh, okay, bye. Lo-” Before you could finish, you heard the familiar click of the other line being hung up. You stood still for a moment, feeling a little numb at your fingers, before slowly pulling your phone from your face and pressing that bright red button to hang up your end. Trying to keep your expression neutral, you stepped forward in line as it moved.

Maybe once upon a time, you and Ferris had been happy together. Maybe… satisfied was the right word. Settled. There to fill the void when you needed someone. Saying ‘I love you’ was never a column to lean upon in your relationship; it was only mumbled under breaths during sex and rare moments when both of you were in the mood to not be so completely alone. But that wasn’t often. He was too busy with his band, spending whatever money from his gigs that he received at whatever bars he trolled when he claimed he was cleaning up after shows. You were too busy teaching your kids during the day and teasing and smiling desperate souls at night, putting lousy paychecks and crumpled tips toward keeping your rent paid and food in the pantry.

The girls at The Menagerie asked you why you didn’t leave him, kick him out of your apartment and change the locks. You couldn’t ever come up with a good reason. Maybe it was because if you did, six months of your life would be down the drain. Maybe it was because if you did, you’d be more alone than you ever had in your life.

You didn’t have anyone besides Ferris. Your parents, shit - they were a lost cause. The girls at the club all had separate lives. And your kids at the school - you had to let them go every afternoon, walk out that door without a glance back.

If you let Ferris go, you would have no one.

Stuffing your phone back into your purse, you held your head high, refusing to let anyone else here see just how deep the cracks in your foundations were. At last, you were called up to the next available teller.

Your heels clicked and clacked along the polished tile floor, the bright yellow dress that you’d bought for yourself for a school spirit day swishing about your ankles. You felt like a sore thumb in this dull, brown-and-white building that was just aching to be updated. Old, vintage chandeliers hung from the high-arched ceilings, illuminating the golden bars the tellers sat behind. Benches with creaky leather occupied the center of the lobby, accented by matching chairs and little desks that bankers in starched collars met with clients at. It was all black and white, neutrals and dark tones.

Greeting the teller behind the gate with as bright a smile as you could muster, you opened your mouth to say hello. Yet just when you began to push the syllables past your lips, your world shattered like porcelain meeting concrete.

Sunlight like a torch in a dark tunnel flooded the bank as a small line of figures crowded into the bank. At first, no one paid them any mind. Then shots like the deafening cracks of fireworks right beside your ear sounded from sleek black rifles into the ceiling, and screams filled the echoey chambers of the building. You immediately dropped and covered your head, breath leaving your lungs like the air had been slammed from your chest by a sledgehammer. People cowered behind the cushions and desks, scrambling for cover as another round went through the roof.

“Everyone put your hands on your heads and take a seat on the ground,” came a booming voice from the figure at the head of the group. There were four of them, a small team who wore identical kabuki masks and black tactical gear fit to be seen on military personnel. “This is a robbery. Not a killing spree, not a kidnapping - a robbery. We ain’t looking to hurt anyone today, unless someone tries to be a hero. No sudden moves. You all follow directions, and you’ll be home in time for lunch.”

Unable to pull in a new breath, you slid to the ground and placed your hands on top of your head. You watched, eyes wide and fingers trembling slightly as the men began to make their rounds to the tellers, plopping wide, fat bags on the counters and demanding money from beneath the desks be placed inside. One took up a stance just beside you, forcefully shoving his bag to the man behind the bars and commanding him to pull out the stacked bills. The teller at once complied, dropping thousands of dollars as sweat began to bead at his temples.

Holy goddamn fucking shit. Holy fuck. You knew this city was dangerous - hell, you’d sit back night after night at home and watch on the news as cars were jacked and people were taken hostage. You’d just never thought it would happen to you; of all the millions of people in this city, you’d never thought it would be you. And yet here you were, hunkered down against a countertop as your bank was robbed with you at the throbbing heart of it all.

And you were all alone.

The man in the mask beside you took a glance down when your trembling brushed up against his leg, his head tilting slightly in a demented way that made his mask look haunted. You were suddenly reminded of your own mask that you wore for work, of the ones the other girls wore, and you were struck with the realization that, perhaps, you and he were not so different. You both wore masks to hide your faces, holding out your hands and moving to a particular kind of dance in order to snatch money right out of pockets without batting a damn eye.

Then again, when you danced, you didn’t hold an automatic rifle strapped to your shoulder.

“Give it to me,” said the man above you. You were barely able to understand his words through his mask.

Your heart skipped yet another few beats as you tried to register what he was saying. Give it to him? Give him what? “What?” you managed to say over the lead in your throat.

He nodded his head to the space beside you, and you whipped around. Your purse lay on its side next to your thigh. He wanted your purse; your wallet. Your money. Everything you had - which still wasn’t much. But you couldn’t give it up.

You looked back up at him while he switched his gaze between you and the teller, who was still busy filling the bag with cash. “No,” you said, and when he snapped his gaze to yours, you added, “please. I don’t have much, I don’t have anything compared to this place.”

The man in the mask turned away from the teller to grip his rifle tighter, tilting it slightly so that it was level with your leg curled up against your chest. “I’m not going to ask again, lady.”

Just as your hand began to scrabble for the purse laying beside you, knocking around a few papers and loose change that had fallen out, the man was struck in the face with a mass of white substance that clung to his mask. He cried out and dropped his rifle, hands flying up in an attempt to pull the stuff from his eye holes. You watched, frozen in place, as another masked man across the lobby was stuck to a countertop by his hand with another mass that appeared from seemingly nowhere.

Before anyone else could react, a dark, sinewy figure dropped from the arched ceilings overhead and kneeled on the tile just a few feet from where you huddled. When they stood up straight, your breath hitched in your throat. It was a man, donned head to toe in a blue and red suit that popped with color here in this bleak interior - like your yellow dress. His face was covered with a mask, the only indication of an expression beneath that surface retractable eye lenses that narrowed as he took a glance around the ceiling.

Spiderman exhaled a nearly inaudible huff. “Some things never change.”

From that moment, the bank was painted into a picture of chaos. The masked vigilante expelled a pair of webs from his wrist to slingshot himself across the lobby, landing a jaw-cracking blow to one of the robbers who tried to raise his rifle. The fourth, the last one still able to move, cracked off a number of shots that sent people scrambling and wailing out. The blue and red suit shot off tiny sparks as lead collided with its bulletproof material, nothing but pebbles against a mountain.

Spiderman huffed again, a breathy little chuckle this time. “Cute.”

In the next second, that fourth gunman was sent flying into a marble wall, sliding down onto his face to reveal the large crack his spine had put in its surface. The last two men were taken down quicker than you could have blinked. The second, his hand still stuck to the countertop, didn’t stand much of a chance when webs ripped his own rifle from his grasp and struck him across the forehead with a sickening crack. And the man who had demanded your purse - he’d only just gotten the white mass of sticky stuff off his mask before the vigilante slung across the room, grabbed him by his vest, and raised a gloved hand capped with three-inch long claws. “It’s impolite to threaten pretty ladies,” he growled in a voice that, for some reason, despite the situation, made your stomach churn a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. He swung the robber toward you where you sat on the ground, that clawed hand gripping his jaw to force him to keep your eyes. “Apologize - like a gentleman. And maybe I’ll think about letting you keep your trigger finger in one piece.”

By now, with the gunmen either unconscious or being held against their will, almost everyone else in the bank had gotten to their feet and bolted out the front doors. In the distance, sirens wailed and tires screeched. And yet you remained where you were, staring up at Spiderman as he tightened his grip on the man’s jaw. His claws drew tiny dots of blood along his skin. “We’re waiting,” he said in a breathy murmur.

The gunman inhaled a high-pitched, shaky breath and turned his eyes to you from behind his mask. “M’sorry,” he stuttered over his own terror.

The vigilante leaned closer, his eye lenses narrowing. “Sorry for what?”

“M’sorry for threatening you,” came the pathetic cry in response that almost made you pity him. Almost. “It - it won’t happen again, I swear.”

For a short moment, the two men stared at you. One was praying that you accepted the apology, prayed you were going to call off your savior in spandex. The other was waiting for your decision, waiting to see if you accepted such a sorry excuse for a ‘sorry.’ Swallowing the large lump in your throat, you wordlessly bobbed your head in a nod.

Spiderman hummed and turned his head so that his mouth would be close to the robber’s ear. “Seems the lady’s feeling generous today. Consider yourself lucky.”

He spun the man around with those claws of his, and the robber’s gloved hand reached out in a blind panic and grabbed onto the vigilante’s suit just where his neck met his broad shoulders. He dragged the spandex down accidentally as his head was slammed against the marble countertops, giving you perhaps a one second-long glimpse of dark, tan skin and a small scar across his collarbone. Then the man’s grip relaxed as he dropped to the floor and he released the material of the suit, allowing it to snap back into place.

You jumped slightly as the would-be robber collapsed in a heap of limbs and tactical gear beside you, your dress riding up on your thighs slightly from how you sat with your knees huddled to your chest. Before you could think to do much else in this mind-boggling moment, Spiderman was standing before you and offering a hand to help you to your feet. His claws had shrunk back into his glove - or, perhaps his own nails - and his upturned palm suddenly looked oh so inviting. It floored you in the most alluring, gut-clenching way how those very hands had just brought four men within an inch of their life, and yet now they were softer than empty promises just for you.

“You alright?” he asked as you took his hand and stood. “Sorry you had to get caught up in all this.”

He talked to you in such a casual way, like the pair of you had met before, that you could do nothing but stare and clutch your hands to your stomach as he scooped up the fallen items from your purse, dropped them back in, and handed your bag to you. Numbly, you accepted it.

“You’re safe to walk outside now,” he assured, towering over you like a damn stone column. Fuck, his voice was sexy. Low and tipped with a rolling accent. You wondered, in that moment, why it sounded so familiar. “The police should be arriving any time. They’ll just ask you a few questions and send you on your way.” As if he understood that you were frozen in place, he touched your back, turned you around, and urged you toward the front doors that were now flooded with red and blue lights from the squad cars outside. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

You had just barely mumbled a barely-audible ‘okay’ before he was gently guiding you out the doors, and then suddenly you were alone, facing down three dozen cops and a truckload of SWAT soldiers.

They asked you exactly what happened in that bank. They asked what you were doing there, what time the incident occurred, who in the hell could single handedly take down four aggressors with automatic rifles and bulletproof vests? They knew the answer, and so did you. But you told them anyway.

“It was Spiderman.”

And no matter how fucking hard you tried, how much you urged yourself to forget about them and focus on the here and now, you were unable to get that masked vigilante out of your head. You thought about him on the rest of the way to the school, because god knew there were far too few teachers in this city and you couldn’t have gotten a substitute even if you tried. You thought about him while your coworkers, the other teachers, all gathered around you in the breakroom and demanded answers and stories from your little incident that morning. You thought about him while you planned out your day with numb fingers and toes, and while you stood out front and welcomed kids in, and even when Miguel O’Hara appeared to drop off Gabriella safely at your side.

It took a few words out of his mouth, past those gorgeous full lips of his, a quirk of one of those thick brows, to finally bring you out of your stupor. “I’m sorry?” you said when you realized he had asked you a question. You felt your cheeks warm and your palms become sweaty as you begged his pardon.

To your relief, Miguel only smiled slightly and placed a hand on his jutted hip like he did. God, why did he have to do that? Draw attention to the perfect ratio of his body, a beautiful slope from his wide shoulders to his trimmed waist? “Just asking if you were alright,” he repeated himself, and you could have sworn his eyes flitted over you while he spoke. “Heard you were caught up in that robbery down on Fifth.”

“Oh… right.” You cleared your throat and watched as Gabriella spotted a few friends and dashed into the school to meet them, her backpack wagging behind her. “Yeah, I’m alright. Now that it’s over, I realize it didn’t even last that long. Maybe five minutes or so before… before Spiderman showed up.”

“Yeah?” He reached up his other hand to scratch at the underside of his chin, where the delicate skin of his throat was. Your eyes followed his movements like they were a magnet and you had no choice but to watch. Even if you did have a choice, you would have watched, anyway.

You nodded your head once, clasping your clipboard with your kids’ names on it to your thighs over your dress. A breeze blew over Washington Elementary, letting the yellow fabric dance and blow up to your knees. They were scuffed from kneeling on the hard tile floor this morning. “Mmm-hmm. He’s… not like I imagined him,” you admitted, then realized just what you were doing; talking to Miguel O’Hara, the main star in every single one of your late-night fantasies, about the man who had quite literally swooped in and saved your ass. “But, anyhow… No one got hurt. That’s what matters.”

The corners of Miguel’s lips quirked upward ever so slightly, showing off a tiny flash of his white teeth. It then occurred to you that you’d never seen him smile fully - only with a closed mouth. “Well,” he said, and lifted his hand an inch or two, almost like he was going to touch your arm, then stopped himself and lowered it back down. “I’m glad you’re safe.” There came a fraction of a second of tense, charged silence between the pair of you before he added, “Don’t know what we would do if something happened to Bri’s favorite teacher.”

Bri - you’d never heard him call her that before. It was always a full ‘Gabriella.’

Behind you, in the school, the bell rang, signaling the final five minutes before class started. You glanced over your shoulder, feeling your heart sink slightly at the realization that you would have to leave the conversation. “I’d better -” You allowed your sentence to fall away as a number of squad cars came rounding the corner across from the school, sirens wailing and tires squealing on the tarmac. Other vehicles on the road pulled over to let them pass as they blew through a red light; whatever was happening, it must have been serious. But wasn’t it always.

“Heh,” you chuckled gently as you began to turn back to Miguel. “Always something happening, ri-”

He was gone. Vanished, seemingly, into nothingness. No car to watch pull out of the lot, because he walked his daughter to school, and no trace of his hulking, towering form down the sidewalk outside the wrought iron gates that surrounded the building. He’d completely and totally disappeared.

Damn, you thought as you blinked a few times, gripping your clipboard, and entered the school. What an enigma he was.

That night at work, as you spun yourself around and around on the pole center stage in various twisted shapes and contortments, you found yourself divulging in yet another one of your little fantasies. You shut your eyes as you tensed your leg and gripped the pole to send yourself around in a tight, flashing circle that made the train - that your boss had specifically instructed you to wear while you were in the spotlight - flutter and whip like golden water pulled across a current.

You pictured Miguel seated in the leather chair closest to the stage, his chin propped on his forearms where they rested across the edge of your runway. You imagined the neon lights playing tricks and dirty, filthy, irresistable illusions in the gleam of his eyes, following your movements around and around because no matter how many times you did the same cheap trick, he would still watch it as if it were his first time seeing it. You thought of kneeling down in front of him even though it was against the rules to get too friendly with customers if they weren’t going to pay to see you up close, and of gently taking the point of his chin in between your fingers so that he was tilting his head up to look at you.

Fuck, you thought of him taking you on that fucking stage after the place was closed, hovering over you with your legs locked around his hips and your hands gripping the wrists pinned beside your head so tight your knuckles paled. You swore that, even in your little scenario, you could feel his breath fanning across your face as he leaned down to murmur in your ear through his huffs and lustful, breathy sighs.

“Such a good girl, takin’ it all f’me. Pretty girl, pretty baby. All mine. All mine.”

You opened your eyes and forced yourself to return to reality when you felt yourself being watched. Of course you were being watched - there were dozens upon dozens of eyes surrounding your stage, watching from behind the porcelain gaps in their animalistic masks. But there was another sensation of being stared at that didn’t quite fit in with the rest of them, one that sent a certain kind of shiver down your spine. Keeping in time with your routine and the music thrumming through the floorboards of the club, you peered deep into the wide atrium in search of whoever was fixing you with such a gaze.

You found it.

He was standing nearly in the shadows where the lights couldn’t reach him, arms crossed tight over his chest and stance firm so that everyone who looked at him knew to never even think of invading the space he’d claimed for himself. The man was tall and sinewy with muscle, but you had to squint to see his frame clearly through the dark and the dress jacket he wore. Over his face, the edges obscured by the slicked-back mess of dark hair atop his head, he wore the club’s one and only spider mask.

It was a specialty disguise, one that only the top rollers and highest bidders of the evening bribed their way to at the front room. It usually signified that whoever was behind the porcelain wanted attention, wanted drinks to come nonstop to their side tables, wanted every girl in the damn house on their lap and at their feet. And yet, this evening’s spider was nothing like that. He clung to the shadows, to the perimeter of the room, like he didn’t want anyone to know he was there. He took up no more space than necessary. He was practically a no one, despite the delicate, fractured-looking design he wore over his features.

And he was watching you dance like he was mesmerized, like if the doors were chained shut and the place was burning down around him, he’d be content to stay where he was and keep his eyes focused on your body.

When the man realized you had spotted him, that you were staring right back at him through the gaps of your monarch mask, he moved. You nearly wanted to cry out, to tell him to wait, that you weren’t done. But you couldn’t.

So instead you continued to dance, continued to watch him as he flowed through the other patrons toward the exit. Yet when he turned in just a particular way to avoid bumping into a server, you saw it; through the unbuttoned top pair of buttons of his dress shirt, you spotted it, you were able to catch a glimpse of a pale, raised scar running along his collarbone.

The very same you’d seen on Spiderman.

tags: @mooomeadows @twentysomethingwereyote @screamforyani @fangirlreice7 @axdjelx @ornamentalnecromancy @faust-pda @ilikethemoon28 @mrm-pachypoda @wadafrick

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