Spiderman: No Way Home Spoilers

spiderman: no way home spoilers

the way nwh has monsters and web-slinging and a bloody multiverse (and is extremely entertaining) while still being able to talk about themes that relate to our own lives is just so, so special to me.

the entire conflict of the movie, the reason all the villains + tobey + andrew came back, was because of tom's peter. for the first time, he's saving the world from his own actions.

to me, I interpret the storyline as going against the idea of 'you do good, you get good'. because tom's peter didn't get anything good out of helping everyone (besides his own validation that he did the right thing).

he actually ended up getting the opposite: losing his identity - not even his 'spider-man' identity, but his peter identity, the one that still has some shred of normalcy and grounds him in his life. and he knows what he's getting into. and he still does it anyway when he makes that decision and asks dr strange to erase everyone's memories. i think thats what it means to do good - to put value on that action over one's own personal benefit. to know that putting goodness into the world is more important than your personal comfort.

it also really shows how we take memories for granted. the fact that you can walk into a room and someone will see your face and remember the time you called your teacher 'mom' and what your favourite colour is and the hurtful things you've said. when everyone loses their memory of peter, no one can love him OR hate him. everyone just feels indifference for him.

also, the movie showed how having good intentions and trying to help people doesn't mean they're gonna be great people. it doesn't guarantee they're loyalty or kindness.

peter just helps people. it doesn't matter who the person is, or "who's responsibility it is to help" - if he is in the position to help, he will help. AND the epitaph on aunt may's gravestone that said 'help someone and you help everyone' - I think about that a lot.

AND of course andrew and tobey coming back - besides bringing back many hidden childhood memories and validating me for life, both their arcs in this movie remind me of that quote, 'be the person your younger self needed'. it encompasses everything they do in this movie. how they help peter to make the decisions they wish they'd made (and that in turn helps them heal their own wounds).

in real life, we can't give our younger selves the love they needed, but by helping other people who are in the similar situations that we were once in, I believe we heal some of our own wounds as well.

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮. | 𝐠.𝐬.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: ex!gojo satoru x reader

𝐰𝐜: 2.5k

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: thousands of words he wished he could've said, and a missed chance he didn't take; gojo satoru was truly a disappointment. inspired by the song save your tears - the weeknd

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐰: angst, hurt/no comfort, probably ooc (?), mentions of alcohol, mentions of family problems, gojo has abandonment issues, college au (no actual college references are made, but the characters are around college age), modern au, no-curse au; please let me know if I missed anything!

𝐚/𝐧: my first gojo fanfic ever! this fic was not only inspired by save your tears by the weeknd, but by a childe x zhongli tiktok that appeared on my fyp; I don't even play genshin lol but it was cute; very cute. ngl I am proud of myself for this one but the process of writing and revising was very...tedious to say the least lol. gojo and angst go hand in hand to say the least, its very fun to write. feel free to send feedback or share your thoughts, asks are always welcomed! please look forward to my future works! I hope you enjoy <3

You’re tipsy. He can tell by the way you seem to stumble a bit when moving side to side while dancing with your friends, the alcohol altering how well your brain controls your motor functions. The noise plaguing the party quiets down whenever you enter his field of vision. It wasn’t uncommon for him to give you his undivided attention; you were special like that.

Under the bright purple and pink lights, you looked like a masterpiece. Eyes shining with utter glee as you grabbed one of your friend’s arms and spun in circles, using their body weight as an anchor, orbiting them like the moon does the earth. It makes you even dizzier, but you didn’t care; it’s been a while since Gojo saw you laugh so freely, the sound of your giggling rings in his ears and he has the impulse to shut the world out.

He was leaning against a wall opposite to the dance floor, as far away as possible to avoid being spotted by you, with a red solo cup in his hand. The ice had melted already, watering down the rum flavoured coke he generously poured himself as soon as he arrived at the party—he got here at 9pm; it was almost midnight now. He doesn’t even like rum, but it was the first thing he found that could help him stifle the cogs constantly turning inside his head.

At some point, his imagination had taken over, picturing what it would be like to make direct eye contact with you right as you throw your head back in laughter, have you all to himself again; yours truly is selfish like that, he affirms in his head, rolling his eyes at his own expense. It would feel like the world stopped, just for the both of you. Only you and him in the middle of the room, enveloped by nothing and drowned by everything at the same time.

How much rum did he pour in his cup, again? His alcohol tolerance is not the best—h found out the bad way, after he had three shots and then proceeded to break a wooden table as he lost control of his humongously lanky limbs—so it wouldn’t surprise him that the reason why his fantasies felt so real was due to the cheap alcohol laying around. After all, there was no way you actually spotted him after he strategically hid from you as meticulously as possible, right?

There was always something about your eyes that he loved. Always so expressive and caring; for some reason, always reassuring. At this moment, he couldn't help but lose himself in your eyes. He loved the way they seemed to shine even brighter with the multicoloured, ever-changing lights; it made you look ethereal, more than usual at least. But the more he kept looking at you, the more it felt unexplainably odd.

He couldn’t help but feel a deep bottomless void sitting in the pit of his stomach as he realised your eyes weren’t shining because of the extravagant lighting.

No, your eyes were gleaming with freshly formed tears.

Lips pursed into a wobbling line, and a single tear trickling down your cheek; you were a sight for sore eyes. A sight that couldn’t help but break Gojo’s heart into sharper, smaller fragments that pierced his chest, leaving behind a throbbing ache. Once again, he was the cause of your tears; even after he promised, cross my heart and hope to die, he wouldn’t hurt you anymore, he had failed you. What a disappointment Gojo Satoru was.

Everyone else was too lost within themselves to notice your sudden change in mood. In their defence, everything happened so fast: your piercing gazes connecting, stopping time, and then moving on like nothing happened. Tears dried by your own soft fingertips; the same that used to draw soothing patterns down his back when he couldn’t sleep.

He never explicitly told you he had some sort of self-diagnosed insomnia, but after spending many nights together basking in each other's warmth, you had picked up on his irregular sleeping patterns. The constant tossing and turning, as well as the pacing outside your room when he thought you had fallen asleep, hadn't gone unnoticed by you. At the time, you didn't think that your presence would change much, but unbeknownst to you, it meant the world to him. For once, he was able to succumb to the gnawing slumber knowing someone cared enough to stay.

It took him a while to snap out of it. He should’ve prepared himself for a little bit more heartbreak; he should’ve known. Who would’ve guessed that watching you walk past him, acting like he wasn’t there, pretending you didn’t care about his existence, would hurt so much.

The balcony offered enough privacy for you to let out a long sigh. Kneeling against the metal railings grounded you a little, the material sending chills up your palms. Everything felt like it was slightly vibrating, probably because of the loud music inside. It was comforting in a way, a nice reminder that as soon as you wished to leave the torturous sentiments behind, you could just walk back inside and pretend like you never met the pair of cerulean orbs that made your chest constrict.

For a millisecond, the music grew louder, until the thud of the sliding door prefaced an uncomfortable silence, only accompanied by the ringing of adrenaline puncturing your ear drums. You knew who was standing behind you, but you didn’t dare turn around. Would it hurt to see him again? The thought of facing him made you quiver; the sole idea of feeling the emptiness he had made you feel for so long—it scared you.

“Mind if I join you?”

That’s what you expected from him. His pitchy voice, dripping with cockiness, announcing his intrusion into your makeshift haven, because there was no escape from the oh-so-great Gojo Satoru. Yet, the chilly wind kept on blowing, the muffled music kept playing and the uncomfortable taunt of his words never came. This time it was different. He sounded almost unsure; a bit scared. His voice so fragile, you were sure it was bound to break.

A simmering burn settled behind your eyes. The pain from biting your lip as hard as possible prevented any stray tears from escaping. A bitter giggle bubbling in your throat; you manged to swallow it back down just in time. The idea of Gojo asking for permission was kind of funny—he never really cared about what other people had to say.

He took your silence as an answer. A silent yet teasing, of course I mind you polluting my space with your presence; that’s how he imagined you’d respond. The thought made him want to laugh and cry at the same time. You’d always find a way to tease him, even if stupid, and naturally, he’d indulge you by succumbing to your light-hearted mockery. You weren’t that good at making fun of him; he knew you meant well. The love you laced your jabs with was always so tangible, they wouldn’t hurt him even if they tried. He would eat them up like candy, like a starved man feasting on the affection and attention and the everything he so desperately needed.

“Yeah, that’s fair.” He couldn’t help but mimic your body posture, bending at unusual angles as he made himself comfortable on the railings by your side. It would’ve been funny; like watching an adult trying to sit on a tricycle, making themselves as small as possible, with their knees bent, sticking out in weird directions and spine completely curved to grab the too-small handlebars with streamers hanging down at the ends. It would’ve been funny, maybe even adorable, if it wasn’t for the erratic pumping of your heart and the ringing in your ears, both telling you to hurry up and run away.

And you could, if you really wanted to, that is. The door was right there, silently judging you for letting yourself be in this situation longer than needed. Yet, you wouldn’t dare move, your legs frozen in place, as if the thoughts you tried so hard to conceal were silently begging you to say something, anything, to make the moment last just a little longer; to let yourself bask in the intimacy of being alone together one last time.

The desire to feel his warmth clouded your thoughts, pulling you towards him until you were fully exposed, vulnerable. An urge to scream, and cry and laugh maniacally making its way up from your stomach, tickling your palate, itching your mouth, where thousands of questions laid on the tip of your tongue, waiting for you to finally break.

With a huff, you straightened up, rolling your neck, and letting the cracks from your vertebrae fill the silence. The sound always made Gojo shudder. His eyes would squeeze shut, creating odd creases on his face that otherwise weren’t there, and his body would recoil, shivering exaggeratedly; he knew it made you laugh.

“I always cringe when you do that.” Grasping onto the faint familiarity, he shook his body in a slight violent manner to, hopefully, entertain you with one of his over-the-top performances.

There was a hesitant pause, filled to the brim with anticipation like the couple of seconds after a singer concludes their act, expecting a big round of applause. The slight smile on his lips was a bit shaky to say the least, eyes pleading for some form of reassurance.

Ignoring him was the best thing you could do in this moment, even if you secretly indulged in his reaction. Reminiscing old times would only waver the little courage you had gathered to turn around in his direction and make direct eye contact with the infinite pools that were his eyes.

Never in his whole life, would’ve he imagined you could make him feel so insignificant. Whenever he needed it, your warmth would lull him into bliss. You were a place of comfort for him to rest; something akin to the loving home that's always shown in cheesy feel-good movies. Homes with kids running in the front yard, playing with a golden retriever puppy, and parents standing on the porch with freshly squeezed but overtly sweet lemonade. Something akin to the loving home he never had.

Getting lost within each other felt like an eternity, the palpable tension only confirming your hypothesis. Both of you knew what was coming, one of you was bound to break, and there was no going back after that.

“Why did you leave?” You cracked first. With the barely-there tremble of your voice, you started chipping at the barrier of indifference you had clumsily assembled. You were always meant to crack first.

A lump started to form in his throat, constricting his airways, making him forcefully fight against the urge to paw at his neck until he could feel oxygen fill up his lungs again. The innate curiosity that constantly brewed inside your gut wouldn't allow you to leave without at least trying to find an answer to the questions plaguing your head. It would eat you up for days on end, and he was aware of that, so then, it was the least he could do, right? The least you deserved was an answer, something to calm down the storm looming over you.

“The truth is…” he felt like his whole skin was on fire. The dam restricting the flow of his thoughts was so close to breaking. The truth hanging from the tip of his tongue threatened to break his teeth and prey his lips open, desperate to come out.

Thinking about it made him gag. It made him feel inferior, like he was going against everything he learned and knew and used as a resource to survive. It felt like scorching bile blistering his oesophagus, begging to come out but despite the bitterness, he refused to let go.

How was he supposed to unwrap his fragile little mind, leave it out there in the open for you to judge? Could he even do that? How was he supposed to tell you that love was such a foreign concept to him, so unknown and painfully scary, that it made him want to rip his hair out and scratch his skin until he’s bleeding?

No one ever really cared about him enough to teach him about love. Looking back, he feels stupid for thinking of love as a transaction. So utterly foolish for thinking that people taught each other about love instead of sharing it unconditionally, growing along with it.

Constantly on the lookout, his little body always sought after some sort of unattainable warmth. For someone to see him as a child yearning to be loved instead of what he stood for. An object that represented his family lineage, the empire they built, with the sole purpose of carrying on a bloodline that didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things.

He was nothing, but he had to be everything simultaneously. He learned to mould himself into different versions of the person people expected him to be. To get some words of affirmation, something to validate his existence, he had to shapeshift, please everyone around him, act as the opposite of the broken man he saw in the mirror.

By now, it had to become an instinct of his to hide behind a façade. To protect himself from the outside world and their reaction to learning that under all the layers of stone and dried concrete, he was filled to the brim with insecurities and fears and an insatiable craving of being seen.

Thus, when you walked into his life, taking the time to look past his armour-like persona, treated him with kindness and compassion. When he realised you were trying to love him for who he was behind the walls he spent all his life perfecting, he froze.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let his guard down. If he did, then you and everyone else will know how much of a fraud he truly was. A weak, unlovable child that manipulated everyone into believing he wasn’t on the brink of despair; just an empty vessel of the character he tried so hard to play.

Gojo Satoru is not worthy of anything good, or at least that’s what his subconscious berates at him every single time he doesn’t feel miserable about himself.

So instead of letting himself break down, scream, and cry and curse—because he wouldn’t be able to hold onto the lies for much longer; because he was tired of how malleable he became to the point he couldn’t recognize who he was anymore; because he could not lose you the same way he lost himself—he let out a wet chuckle.

“Well, the truth is,” giggling to himself, the sound puncturing his heart and slitting his throat open; he said with a smirk. “I think I just stopped liking you.”

things shannon told me at the legacy tour stop

“i’ve planned to kill sandor in every single book since he’s been introduced”

“keefe will wake up”

“silveny was almost biana’s pet”

“i always wonder if this is the year they’ll start bringing rotten fruits and vegetables to throw at me” "i promise the last book will not end on a cliffhanger. if i did that, i’d have to change my name and flee to mexico” “i haven’t started writing book 9 yet” “legacy was such a labour of love…” “while writing my books i’m always like, ‘'i’m gonna do all the things!’ and by the end it’s ‘i did a fourth of the things…’” “i feel like i’m cultivating an army of little Shannons.” (for writers) “don’t rush and overlook how amazing the writing stage is. this is the space where it’s just you and your story. publishing will always be there.” "get to know your side characters if you get stuck.” “sophie was originally 8 years old.” (sarcastically, after getting asked if she made her characters based from real people) “oh yes, i totally based keefe and fitz off of real people. they’re here, they’re backstage, and they’re single!” (more writing advice) “the way to flesh out a character is to ask ‘what is this character hiding from me?’ and once i know that, i own them. i know how to hurt them. they come alive once i know their secrets.” “there are characters who have secrets that have not come into the series yet.” “as the books are getting thicker we’re getting into murder weapon territory. be careful where you throw them. if your friends are nearby while you are reading, make sure they have helmets.” “my favourite scene is the e. l. fudges and the countdown scene. i was cracking myself up as i wrote the elf cookies scene. i was like, ‘if i’m having this reaction, imagine keefe!” “i did not plan for the series to have a love triangle. i hate love triangles.” “i live in fear of the day i have to solve the triangle” “i feel like the keefe fans are naturally louder…” "maybe sophie won’t choose someone by the end of the series and will just be like, 'i’m sick of you all’.” “book 9 will focus on the cliffhanger and other unanswered questions from legacy.” “my favourite iggy colour is the purple poof” “we can lie with our thoughts, but we can’t lie with our feelings” “iggy was originally described in the first drafts as a tiny kangaroo” “for a brief amount of time, sophie’s name was alexandra foster.” “silveny was originally introduced in keeper, and not exile. she was biana’s pet, and would have been used as more amo for the sophie/biana feud i had going in keeper. y’know, because silveny would have liked sophie more because of the special way they could communicate, and biana would get jealous…” "the first draft of keeper was rejected at least 17 times. i say at least 17 because once i reached that number, i stopped counting.” “keeper was mostly rejected because people said they were 'not sure a girl hero could compete against the boy heroes.’ thank you for proving them wrong!” "my job as an author is to put sophie’s life in danger.” “i did not want to give sophie five bodyguards. that’s just 5 more headaches i have to deal with. i won’t promise that there won’t be a bodyguard bloodbath anytime soon. i might need to get rid of a few.”

“oh, it’s you! i remember you from last year! you made me that beautiful art.”

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