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lycheeroc · 15 days ago

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"In the sun-scorched city of Earth-604's Calihattan, Alex lives every day of the year as if she were on vacation. With saltwater in her hair, wax under her feet, and a surfboard always within reach, her world is ruled by swell, sound, and a seditious pack of friends bound together by music, laughter, and scraped-up dreams. For Alex, life has always been a lucid wave entirely hers to ride.

But all waves crash eventually.

In a single instant, the illusion shatters, and everything she thought was hers slips through her fingers like sand. The city she once carved into like a canvas now recoils. Her control over the water, over the chaos, over herself; it all begins to erode. As Spider-Surf, her unraveling threatens more than just her identity. It endangers the very community that raised her.

For now, she holds on.

But not even she knows for how long."

Chapter One: Before the Break

The ocean never warned her. Not once.

It just kissed her ankles, tugged at her board, and shimmered like it knew a secret.

And Alex, with salt in her hair and a grin too wide for someone who hadn't slept, danced across its surface like she belonged to the sea more than she ever did the land.

First rule about the ocean? Never trust her as your friend. At most, it was a one-sided relationship: you either adapt to her or walk to shore with sand between your teeth and your board snapped in half. There’s no time to blink, no time to pause: but it had been long since Alex had managed to break this essential rule.

In a territory where surfers depended on their quick wits to try and predict the sea, this bally, couldn’t-care-less spirit seemed as if she had seduced the sea’s curves, from the troughs of the waves to the frenzied splurges of whitewater — dropping in from the shoulder of the wave, down to the flats, and up the face once more. It almost felt like her board acted like a finger teasingly dragging across his lover’s glossy skin of water, and the ocean would timidly comply, allowing the rascal atop the surfboard to take control over her just for a minute.

Alex’s foggy blue eyes pinned down the forming tube in front of her, as the corners of her lips made no effort to hide her smirk. With a precise, blade-sharp flick of her ankles, the sticker-covered surfboard obeyed with no complaints under her feet, carving outwards just to climb onto the lip of the wave and repeat the process — with every brusque turn, her heartbeat scuttled and pranced, feeling the speed heighten considerably. Her nut brown hair flickered uncontrollably behind her, whipping her cheek mischievously every so often, as she instinctively bit her pierced lower lip in blooming concentration and thrill. The knot building in her chest signalled she was maneuvering at top speed, something that, for her, was the minimum to reach in surfing if she wanted to have fun.

She didn’t feel like going in for the barrel wave. Not today. It rolled toward her, seductive and hollow, ready to engulf her and barf her out just as quickly; but she let it pass, her eyes beaming with the casual defiance of someone who could afford the luxury of avoiding such a perfectly formed wave. In the beaches of Calihattan, tube waves were common enough to give and share to those poor and hungry for steezy swell — so, instead, Alex crouched low, fingers tracing the inner rail of her board expectantly as she leaned forwards with quiet precision. The surfboard responded instantly, snapping into a sharp pivot that sent her soaring across the wave’s shoulder. This untamed burst of electric speed restyled into airborne blossom, as Alex catapulted past the lip into the salty air, hovering midair similarly to the seagulls, before crashing back onto the water in a tumultuous ending of her aerial.

Hollers and high-pitched whistling from nearby surfers immediately preceded: the cherry on top to this effortlessly impeccable maneuver. Alex quickly pushed the board down under with her knee, letting her hair and face freshen up underwater, lungs filling up with oxygen as the gills hidden behind her ears flared up. The silence underwater served as her break.

This was her life now. And she couldn’t have it any better.

As if purposely forcing her to snap back to reality, the board floated up to the surface, dragging its owner up by the hands that grabbed the rails. Her head emerged with a big, hearty exhale, shaking her hair like a wet dog; before her eyelids slid back open, this time staring at her sides.

“Shoulda ended that by drivin’ through the tube,” a feminine voice called out next to her with her arms crossed. The girl speaking was pale like snow, platinum blonde hair tied into drenched boxer braids, her nose and cheeks painted a pale lilac with sunscreen. An ear-to-ear grin decorated her expression, as she gracefully floated on her sunflower longboard, straddling it.

“Woulda impressed me much more, you know,” the girl added. It was clear by her finicky tone and the sudden upwards jolt of her eyebrow that she was teasing, although Alex wasn’t quite sure up to what point.

“Well, Gwen,” Alex quickly replied, shaking her head before her eyes focused on the incoming waves that they carelessly floated over, “Yer not exactly easy to impress, are ya? Bet you a man could stick sum jets on his surfboard to propulse himself into the air while maneuvering with sum fuckin’ chained dolphins and you wouldn’t bat an eye.”

“Come on,” Gwen giggled, splashing some water onto the other girl playfully as she raised her eyebrows. “That’s not even impressive. That’s just a lame attempt at being cool.”

“ Exactly ,” Alex grinned back, leaning towards her smugly, “Which is why the shit I do is much cooler. I don’t need jets or dolphins to be steezy. All of these kooks out ‘ere can’t pull my tricks.”

“Okay, now you’re just meatriding yourself,” Gwen shook her head in an unimpressed manner, but the grin on her face was still plastered on. Before Alex could come up with another catty reply, a distant voice erupted like thunder, making the two ladies jolt their heads around.

“Avoidin’ barrels ain’t gonna mek yuh name sound any less like a man’s, star!”

A boy with tawny skin and puffed up, uncared for dirty blonde hair screamed out from the distance. His hands cupped the corners of his mouth, presumably to make his insult reach out further.

Alex simply jerked her middle fingers up to the sky. “ Fuck youuuuuuu! ” She squawked back, “Alex ain’t a boy’s name! Ya mama's got a boy’s name!”

“Eh?!” He gasped. “Wah yuh just seh 'bout mi madda?! Yuh mad?!” He larked, immediately slapping his torso onto the board to row towards the girls.

Alex cackled at the way his patois slipped through. In mere seconds, the boy had made his way next to Alex, raising his fist up defensively; though it was clear by the way he grinned with his brows furrowed together that he was used to this banter and had no intention to punch her. For now.

“Alright, alright,” Alex grinned, raising her hands up defeatedly.

“Don’t get yer panties in a twist now. You know I love your mother,” she cooed suggestively, “very, very dearly–”

“Aye!” The boy cut off, reaching out his arms to try and grab Alex’s shoulders and throw her off her board. Between all this, Gwen coughed to hide her laugh. As the boy swung forwards to try and pounce on his newfound enemy, the culprit's lips curled into a snaggle-toothed grin.

She was never up to no good. And Gwen could tell this time was no different.

Slamming her torso onto her raggedy surfboard’s body, Alex rowed pell-mell towards the shore, completely avoiding her angered friend by mere inches — who, instead, goofily crashed against the sea’s blue mantle. Gwen’s shoulders tensed from both the effort to not laugh and the imagined pain of the bodyslam against water. Seeing how her plan had been executed flawlessly, an incoming wave drove Alex away, before she raised to her feet, ready to take on another impeccable carving session.

“Last one to make it to shore gotta suck on my sandy toes!” Was her exit celebration.

Gwen shook her head as if she were watching a little kid's banter. She scrambled onto her longboard and began rowing to shore, while the other boy shook his head to get rid of all the dripping saltwater in his hair, unaware of this new competition.

The blonde girl’s board picked up speed. Smiling back at the confused boy, she calmly teased; “How does it feel being today’s loser, Peter?”

The blonde boy — who apparently went by Peter — quickly picked up on what was happening. Grumbling something under his breath, he scuttered onto his surfboard and rowed to shore behind his two friends.

__________________

“If it ain’t Calihattan’s two prettiest women,” A man called out, sitting on the sand beside a group of other boys and girls who seemed fresh out of the ocean. A few feet behind them, a line of surfboards glistening under the sun acted as an unspoken barrier to mark the group’s territory on the beach.

Meanwhile, Alex and Gwen both walked up to them, surfboards under their arms as their hair dripped water down their bodies. While Alex donned a simple white bodysuit, Gwen had a pretty baby blue bikini with little white flowers on them.

“Save yourself the compliments, bud,” Alex suggested, her chest rising and falling rhythmically, a trace of her efforts back in the sea. “Ain’t gonna get yourself a free cigarette this time.”

“Only thing he’s gonna get is a beating,” Gwen added with a tired smile, looking over her shoulder to stare at Peter, who had only just made his way out of shore. Alex imitated her, nodding in agreement once he spotted the boy.

“That guy will curse you and your bloodline out in ancient runes,” the brunette scoffed. Her hazy blue eyes stared back down at the man sitting on the sand. “Caribbeans are a different breed. They don’t like when people stare at their property for too long.”

Gwen squinted her eyes. “I’m not his property,” she frowned.

Alex shrugged, raising her spare hand up to her chest defensively. “I ain’t gonna argue with that. Maybe you should remind your boyfriend of that instead.”

“Remind me of what?”

Everyone turned their attention to Peter, whose voice was airy from the exercise. His green eyes slightly squinted as he warily scanned Alex and Gwen’s figures.

Fear not, for Alex hadn’t been caught red handed. She grinned slyly at him — that trademark toothy, nonchalant grin of hers — as Gwen stared at him guiltily instead.

“That the loser’s gotta suck on my sandy toes,” the girl proudly announced, as her entire friend group looked twice to see if they had heard that correctly.

“You better hurry up, they’re still nice and salty from the water. Unless you prefer them crunchy and toasty from the sand?”

Gwen looked away to hide her traitor’s grin, while a few boys behind made no effort to hide their sniggers. On the other hand, Alex had no trace of regret or embarrassment in her expression.

Peter closed his eyes like he was trying not to scream.

But before anyone else could say anything at all, Alex’s scruffy voice took no time to bellow out again.

“Ah, damnit, I forgot I got things to do. I’ll keep the tab on you so we can get back to that on another occasion, aye?” She winked at him, to which he rolled his eyes, unimpressed. Gwen squeezed his shoulder like a small token of moral support.

Picking up her step, Alex walked around the large group of surfing teenagers, bumping fists with some of them before making her way toward the distant end of the beach.

“Hey! There’s a gig tonight at Paul’s! You’re coming, right?” A distant female voice called out from the group. Alex simply gazed over her shoulder, waving her hand in the air dismissively.

“Maybe not! I gotta help my dad fix a broken tile on the roof!” She replied coolly, waving goodbye.

With that, her figure dissipated into the distance. Quietly.

The beach faded behind her like a memory she didn’t need to cling to. With every step, her soles sank into the hot, grainy sand, and she let them. No rush or resistance. The noise of her friends mixed with occasional squeals from little kids and the constant hustle and bustle of tourists on the beach dissolved into the hum of the tide and the occasional squawk of seagulls overhead as Alex reached the very far end of the coast. This was her favorite part of the day: the in-between, the soft silence after the thrill. She didn’t make much effort to think at all. Thoughts came and went like the clouds above, and she watched them float by with a calm that felt ancient.

The Earth had a rhythm, patient and slow, and she’d spent her whole life learning to move in tune with it. The wind, the waves, even the rustling of trees far from the shore; all of it felt like part of a conversation she’d been having since she first crawled onto the beach. And though she joked and rambled and cussed like any teenager, there were moments like this when her old soul felt stiller than the morning sea. She didn’t worry about where she was going or what came next. The path back home was a familiar one, hidden by plants and old driftwood, built with wooden planks that hollowly creaked behind her feet. Her nostrils filled with the musk of wet wood. If it rained, it rained. If it didn’t, that was fine too.

Alex groaned as she accommodated her surfboard under her arm and breathed in the salt-heavy air like it was a quiet prayer. Her hair stuck to her cheeks and her skin itched from the dried ocean, but she didn’t mind. The day had left its mark on her, and she welcomed it. What was the point in scrubbing it all away, anyway? Some people walked through life like they were trying to avoid getting dirty. To Alex, they were grey, lifeless souls. She liked the dirt, just like she liked the scratches on her knees, the callouses on her hands, the tattoos on her skin and the piercings on her face. It was all proof that she was alive.

It was all proof that she was free.

Reaching the end of that old wooden path, she kicked open the squealing garden gate and pushed through. Her garden wasn’t anything breathtaking, mostly filled with cacti and dried grass, but it was shabby to the point it felt endearing. Her head tilted back as her eyes scanned the russet roof tiles up top: all of them neatly in place. Old, but useful.

Because she never had to help her dad fix up the roof in the first place. Instead, she had more important matters to attend.

Alex placed her surfboard carefully on the ground to let it dry, like a mother placing her baby to sleep. Content with the positioning of the sleeping child, she hopped to the nearby hose and turned it on, carelessly spraying the board to get rid of any remnants of sand before she aimed it at herself. The icy cold water knocked the air out of her lungs at first, but she pushed through it, attacking her face first, then her hair, then her sandy and sticky body.

With her eyes firmly shut, Alex bent over to feel for the edge of the nearby rock planter built into the edge of the porch, searching for the bowl of her hair mask she left there to shower, which… was missing. Confused and slightly impatient, she rubbed her eyes to open them, just to confirm her suspicions: her hair product was missing.

“Are you searching for this?”

A feminine voice rang out from the porch door, with the kind of edge a mother who was about to lecture her child had. The surfer’s gaze shot towards the door.

A pale woman, with eyes the color of Alex’s, mousy hair loosely hanging down her shoulders as she donned a sundress. Her crow’s feet sharpened as she squinted, raising a questioning eyebrow at her daughter. In her hand, a plastic bowl with a scruffy, torn apart label plastered on its side: ‘HAIR MASK’.

The girl let out a sigh she didn’t know she was holding. “ Ay, mamá,” she groaned in a perfectly clean Spanish accent, as her hands rang out the excess water from her hair like a wet towel. “You scared me.”

“Yes, you scared me too when you kicked open the gate like an animal,” the woman quickly countered, stepping down from the shadows toward her daughter. Her Spanish accent bled through her English. “One day, that gate… it’s going to shatter down, and neither me nor your father will fix it for you, understood?”

Alex let out another heavy sigh. When she reached out to grab the hair mask from her mother’s hand, the latter tutted her away, yanking it away from her reach.

“ No, no … Come on, I’ll do it for you. Turn around.”

Knowing she wouldn’t listen even if she insisted, Alex turned around begrudgingly, as her mother immediately started combing her hair between her fingers mercilessly. Alex hissed, instinctively pushing her head back to avoid getting hurt further.

“Ow!-- Mom, you’re too rough!--”

“ Shhh, calla . My god, you have so many knots in your hair! Did you put it up in a braid like I told you to?”

“...No...”

Her mother clicked her tongue. “Of course you didn’t! You don’t ever listen to me! One day you’re gonna find a poor fish tangled in here!”

Alex pursed her lips. Fighting back was just a waste of energy.

“ Ale, there you go. Let it sit in.”

Alex exhaled softly, her shoulders relaxing once her mother’s tugs came to a halt. The sweet summery scent of coconut and mangoes drifted in the air as the hair mask settled into her long chestnut hair. She stood still, eyes closed once again, letting the moment stretch, as she lazily reached her hands up behind her head to grab her buttered hair into a fistful to then wrap it into a bun. It was strange, how something so mundane like standing in the middle of a dead garden with a woman behind you grumbling about knots and fish, could feel like a ceremony. A ritual of some sorts, without all the extra incense or music or dancing. Just a cracked, worn down bowl of conditioner and the woman who gave her life telling her off.

She’d never say it out loud, of course, but there was something sacred about these moments. She knew the Earth didn’t just speak to her through warm beach stones baking the soles of her feet or by offering tides that just knew when to bring her into the sea. It also spoke through the soft palms of a mother too proud to say out loud she loved her. With the same half-smile she gave the sea, Alex turned around, watching how her mother used the hose to rinse out the hair mask covering her hands.

“Hey, mom?”

The woman perked up, water still crashing against one of her cupped hands.

“What?”

“ Te quiero. ”

It was obvious her mother didn’t expect these sudden words of affection by the way her brows twitched slightly. Nevertheless, they seemed to be welcomed, because she slowly put a hand on her hip as the other pointed the hose down to the ground, not caring about the water running straight to the floor or the hand drenching her sundress.

A corner of her lip twitched upwards into a knowing smile.

“ Yo a ti. ” (“I love you too.”)

Satisfied with her mother’s reaction, she leaned down toward her and placed a chasté kiss on her temple — the height difference between mother and daughter was considerable — before walking off. She walked up the porch stairs with a bounce on her step, the wood creaking under her bare feet.

The kitchen greeted her with its familiar warmth: faded terracotta tiles beneath her feet, mismatched cabinetry painted in peeling teal, and a refrigerator cluttered with polaroids, fridge poetry, and clumsily drawn magnets made by kids who weren’t hers. The countertops were a colorful mess: a spice rack overflowing with little glass jars labeled in Sharpie, a cracked ceramic fruit bowl sunken in the middle, and a half-sliced avocado browning on a wooden cutting board. The sink was full of washed mugs, and a beaded curtain swayed gently in the doorway, clinking rhythmically like wind chimes.

“Are you staying for dinner?” Her mother called out while Alex crossed the kitchen. The latter, who was now humming a song half-reggae half-lullaby beneath her breath, suddenly shot out a web from her wrist, aimed towards the distant fruit bowl on the kitchen counter. It zipped across the room and latched onto a banana, tugged towards the girl with a flick of her wrist, before clutching it beneath her fingers without missing a step.

“Maybe not,” she finally responded, running up the stairs. “I gotta cover my shift soon.”

The staircase was narrow, steep, and slightly warped. Paint peeled where handprints had worn it down, and old festival wristbands were stapled to the railing like trophies.

“In the surf shop?” Her mother called out, making her way to the bottom of the stairs. The tone in her voice failed to hide her slight disapproval.

“No,” Alex rang back, hopping through the corridor, “I got lifeguard duty ‘til the sun goes down.”

Gazing at the poster-covered wooden door, she swung it open carelessly.

The teal color of the walls was barely distinguishable from the riot of musicians, skaters, protest art, zines, and underground surf competitions from cities she’d never even been to plastered onto posters that hung all across her four walls, overlapping each other carelessly and placed at angles that made it obvious Alex had barely even put in effort to make sure they sat correctly. Her floor was surprisingly tidy, although her desktop chair suffered the weight of a days old pile of clothes that threatened with tumbling over any second now. The faces of artists and athletes were present in every nook and cranny, and any decoration you can think of was present: shell necklaces, skate tools, DIY incense burners, empty cigarette boxes, photos tucked into the edge of her mirror, thrift-store figurines, and tiny flags from countries she dreamed of visiting one day. A fisherman’s net hung loosely over her bed, which held a surfboard between it and the ceiling like a prize catcher. A bass guitar covered in stickers and sharpie spread below over the clean white sheets, and a salty marine breeze swept across the entire room without warning; the window above her bed’s side had been left wide open.

She could hear her mother grumbling something from the bottom of the stairs.

“That job is going to kill you someday!” Her complaints echoed up the stairs, down the corridor and into Alex’s room. The teenager hopped onto her bed and balanced on it, careful not to step on her bass guitar, as she sloppily fished atop her fisherman’s net to reel out what seemed like an empty surfboard case.

“I know what I’m doing, ma,” she cooly shouted back, flopping the surfboard case on her bed. The bass guitar complained as its metal strings vibrated slightly from the impact. “I won’t be home late, pinky promise,” she added as she quickly unzipped the oval-shaped nylon case, just to find a neatly folded bright turquoise piece of clothing.

Her secret.

Alex took no time to scramble into the suit, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

Her reflection stared back at her. A new person, completely alien and beautifully untamed. The seamless suit clung to her like seafoam to skin, glimmering in tones of deep turquoise, navy blue and white. Along her sides and down her legs, iridescent patterns simulating refracted light in water rippled with every breath she took, like a glass tank full of water webbed through her thighs up to her lats. Clearly, a very advanced design which had taken advantage of unknown nanotechnology.

Across her chest and midriff, the spider emblem sprawled in a liquid, almost abstract form. Its limbs curled up like tentacles, expanding through her entire torso like a splash of water. Her neckline was etched with a webbed pattern over a darker blue, cutting off right under her shoulders, where a muted teal took over her upper limbs instead.

Alex took in a deep breath, eyes scanning how the prismatic refracting light illusion warped and flowed in response. Her left hand firmly gripped onto the mask of her suit, flexing her arm to gaze at it expectantly before placing it over her damp hair and pierced face.

Fluttering her eyes open, she observed how the mask melted into the same dark turquoise color that covered the majority of her figure. On the crown of her mask, an illusion similar to the one of her legs, thinning down until it reached the bridge of her covered brows; on its edges, a material made to illustrate whitewater, as if there was some sort of shore on her forehead.

Her eyes, wide and pale grey, like polarized goggles. On the very outer edge of her lenses, water floated until it became nothing, like a nanotechnological eyeliner that dissipated into air.

She wasn’t Alex anymore. She was Spider-Surf now.

Putting on her worn-out combers, she jumped to the edge of her window, balancing herself on it. In front of her, the sky started melting into hues of mango and lilac.

Without looking back, she swung away, leaving behind the quiet outskirts of Calihattan and flying toward the heart of the city.

__________

Calihattan was buzzing. Like always.

It’s not that she didn’t like it, it’s just that there was such a big difference between her quiet neighborhood and the hustle and bustle of the city. Skyscrapers reached to the stars as she swung from building to building, eyes scanning the ground below.

She spotted an abandoned skimboard on a bench, right where the city blended into the promenade. A quick, mischievous flick of her wrist quickly zipped the object into her hands, before she wrapped it around her back with some messy spider webs.

Rooftops were splattered with graffiti and solar panels. Seagulls circled overhead like lazy drones, as the aroma of fish tacos, weed and gasoline carried through the breeze like a silent ghost. As Spider-Surf made her way parallel to the sea, she watched how the Pacific glimmered like a wide silver foil sheet, making for an enjoyable sight for the many runners, skaters and passersby in the promenade below her.

She swung by like a silent presence, but of course, the sharpest pairs of eyes always managed to get a glimpse of her every now and then. They pointed upwards and waved, to which she always tried to respond with a friendly wave back, as long as she was sure she wouldn’t crash against a window.

She swung high and low. At some point, she swung low enough to catch some kids flying some kites dangerously close to a powerline.

“You guys better reel that damn kite in before it turns into barbecue!” She shouted from above, the edges of her lips curved into an amused grin under her mask. The kids gasped and pointed at her, running towards their mother to probably blabber about the interaction.

Further down, she slid along a slick glass building, using a thin stream of webbing to zig-zag herself across the buildings on each side of the street. Using the stolen skimboard, she skimmed over the thin lines with ease, waving to her own distorted reflection on the glass building with a cocky pose.

As she coasted over a busy intersection. horns blared below. Someone leaned out of a window and screamed: “Yo! Spider-Girl! Love the colors!”

She gave a mock salute mid-air, her face scrunched into an annoyed frown mid-air. “It’s Spider- Surf , jackass! Get it right! Damn kooks…”

Then, without a warning, she tucked her body, spun into a flip, and launched herself forwards upside down hollering like a hooligan. The wind shrieked past her ears, as the city skyline spread across her eyes, reaching out its arms and calling her in.

She soared past the Embarco Watchtower, narrowly missing the rusted wind vane that probably hadn’t been oiled since her year of birth. A rooftop cat yowled at her from its perch on a staircase, and Alex couldn’t help but let out a little ‘aww’ in adoration as she stared, not spotting the billboard in front of her that she was about to slam into.

Gazing forwards, her eyes widened.

“Ruh-roh.”

RRRRIP!

She burst through the panels, now flailing her arms and legs as she fell down towards the highway with no balance, shrieking for her life as she had nowhere to sling to. Fortunately, the corners of her eyes spotted a nearby bridge. Sucking in the little air she could gasp in, Spider-Surf decisively shot a web aimed towards the bridge, now swinging at a dangerously low height — enough to graze the roofs of the cars — with her eyes squinting and her teeth clenching in expectancy.

She pulled her legs close to her chest as she swung by. The moment seemed to pass in slow-mo, even making eye-contact with a kid that had been boringly staring out the car window.

And, finally, she made it through once more. She released the breath she hadn’t noticed was holding.

The city moved like it always did at golden hour; loud, layered, and half-awake. Street vendors smoked skewered meat below tilted umbrellas. Couples bickered while crossing bike lanes. A group of skaters raced down an illegally cut-off road that was angled at a breakneck ramp, one of them spotting her just in time to shout, “Hey! Spider-Surf! Hit us with a flip!”

In response, the hero rolled mid-air and snapped into a front twist, pulling out the skimboard to lean on the corner of a neon-lit billboard before skimming down one of the legs holding up the advertising straight into the floor. Before she could fatally crash, she saved the pirouette by slinging herself away.

“Wear your damn helmets!” She shouted.

“Only if you teach us how to land that trick!” A boy in the group hollered back.

Spider-Surf coasted above Calihattan’s patchwork skyline. Windows glowed orange, rooftop gardens overflowed with cacti and succulents, and laundry lines flapped gently like the wings of the seagulls up above. From this height, the sea still glittered, and somewhere in the distance a ferry horn called out into the dusk.

That’s when she heard it. Sirens.

Not just one or two, but a whole chorus of that ascending and descending arpeggio wail that made her eardrums reverberate. They rushed down the main avenue in synchronized chaos, like sharks smelling blood: lights flashing, tires screeching, cutting through the traffic with ease.

Alex’s brows knitted together in curiosity.

What dumbass out here is making headlines without me?

Without waiting for an answer, she shot a web towards the nearest crane, letting herself swing throughout the city.

_______

The police sirens curved sharply, their path veering towards Calihattan’s Market Stretch: a long boulevard infamous for overpriced food and millionaire companies pretending to be indie startups. Spider-Surf weaved between buildings over them, jolting her head down and forwards to keep her eyes peeled on the cop cars, until the source of the chaos finally came to view.

A delivery van, hurtling down the street at full throttle, completely out of control. Its backdoors were swinging and banging against the van violently, boxes soaring out like unwelcome, surprise confetti: snorkels, swim fins, bikinis and speedos tumbled onto the sidewalk or slammed against cars. Alex groaned, unimpressed. She swung lower, trying to gauge whether this was worth her time, or if she could just let the cops handle it and get back to dinner.

Then the van clipped an electric scooter, smacked a trash bin, and sent a fully-loaded hot dog cart airborne.

Wieners. Everywhere. A cop car disappeared behind a flying curtain of buns.

She frowned.

Alright, that’s enough. You made a hot dog stand dangerous. That’s a felony in my book.

Alex shot two webs forward, swung low over the street, and kicked into a burst of speed just as the hijacked delivery van barreled through a fire hydrant. A jet of water spray into the air. With a flick of her wrists, she pulled water toward her like a tether, surfing the arc midair as if the liquid were solid. Her skimboard snapped into place beneath her feet, and she carved a sloping path down the stream as it spilled onto the asphalt until she reached the solid ground, pushing one palm forwards to continue skimming on the pavement below with the help of a thin layer of water.

One hand extended, she kept the water flowing beneath her, a slick ribbon guiding her movement. The board skated effortlessly along it. With a burst of energy, she webbed the van from both sides, latching onto its flanks like reins on a raging bull. The van dragged her forward, tires screeching, as she fought to stay upright.

“Holy shit! Easy, now!” The woman yelped, trying to extend the water as far as possible through the road to keep her sliding smoothly. The van, as if mocking her, opted to drift through a tight curve, yanking her sideways as she screamed bloody murder next to a line of confused tourists.

But Spider-Surf took quick notice of this attempt of murder. Before she could crash with anything else and mark the end of her days, she skilfully twisted her body to the side, running on the wall of the building to then use the extra propulsion of the van to jump on its roof.

Crawling on all fours, she peeked down below in front of the windshield.

“Peekaboo!” She grinned under her mask, and the driver let out a shriek as he lost total control of the steering wheel.

“What the hell–?!” He exclaimed, before his high-pitched girly scream made Alex flinch.

The van swerved.

“Oh, right. Still moving.” she mumbled.

She leapt off just before the vehicle crashed into a public fountain with a splash so dramatic, it launched a flying floatie ring into the air. The van groaned, half-submerged in water, boxes drifting around like rich-people flotsam.

Contrary to this clown show, Alex landed gracefully on her feet, grabbing the skimboard from mid-air to then tighten it with webs around her back once more. Applause broke out around her, to which she casually dusted off her shoulders.

But the chase still wasn't over.

Emerging from the wrecked van, the driver; a young man with a sleeveless hoodie and a pair of orange skiing goggles, tried to run away while the hero didn’t look.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Alex tutted, not even giving him the luxury of looking at him, as a rope of web wrapped around his torso, trapping him in place. The man froze like a confused marionette.

Quickly knitting a web between two newspaper stands, Alex then pulled at the rope made out of web, catapulting the criminal like a slingshot

“Trampolining!” She whooped, watching how the man then soared back into the fountain with a large splash.

Sirens arrived seconds later. Alex stood over him, water dripping from her suit, arms crossed.

“This one’s the kookiest kook I’ve seen today. Hats off to you.”

A nearby officer stared at her. “Did you just… ride a skimboard down 9th?”

Alex proudly crossed her arms. “You’re welcome.”

Before anyone could question her further, she fired off a web line to the nearest streetlamp, vaulted upward, and vanished into the evening haze. Just a flicker of turquoise above the heads of the cheering crowd.

It didn’t seem like it’d be a busy night, apart from the usual idiot causing chaos. Peeling off just the bottom part of her mask, Alex let herself breathe in the salty air as she swung back towards her neighborhood, the sky almost completely melting into darkness. Streetlights flickered on like tired eyes.

And, finally, her place.

Reggae spilled into the night from a distant speaker. Elders lounged in plastic chairs outside their front steps, fanning themselves lazily, playing cards, gossiping, or a mix of all, their voices a warm mix of Creole, Portuguese, and Spanish. Kids screamed and chased each other barefoot, crashing into fences and darting through open gates. Somewhere, a massive pot of Congrí rice simmered, letting out steam laced with the smell of garlic, cumin, and smoked pork curling through the humid air.

She perched atop of a house’s roof, blending in with the atmosphere. Nobody noticed her, and yet, she noticed everyone present. Her neighbors.

These were the people who raised her: women who taught her to plait her hair tight, men who patched up her board when it cracked, aunties who swore the ocean had moods, uncles who gave her a bite to eat before she could even ask.

A tender smile grew on her expression. Before anyone would notice her presence, she quietly jumped a few houses away, back into her window like a silent guardian.

Crickets croaked nearby, and the porch light had been turned on. A handful of flying bugs desperately soared and crashed into the lightbulb. She quietly crawled into her window, pulling off her mask to reveal her hair still covered in stiffened hair mask cream, before her ears picked up on music seeping from next door.

“I Would Die 4 U” by Prince.

She scuttered out of her suit, folded it half-assedly, shoved it into her surfboard case, placed it on top of her fishing net canopy, and stumbled outside her room with an oversized tee on. Observantly, she tiptoed barefoot down the stairs, each step syncing with the slow beat of the vinyl playing next door.

A figure. Blonde hair reaching down his shoulders. Tan skin, slim yet surprisingly muscular. The way he held himself so calmly, with a finger tapping rhythmically next to the record player as the other held the table, was alluring like a chimney on a cold winter night.

Dad.

A small smile bloomed on her lips. The moment he felt her presence, he turned; and when he saw her, his face cracked into the same soft, familiar smile that had greeted her since she was small.

“Hello, sunshine.”

His voice had that familiar, soft Aussie drawl; the kind that always sounded like it had just woken up from a nap. He didn’t move right away, green eyes crinkling with something between amusement and quiet relief.

Alex padded over to him barefoot. She stopped beside him, leaned her shoulder against his, and watched tiredly how the record spun at a constant rhythm. Without warning, the following track began playing. Purple Rain.

The record crackled.

“You used to play this when I was, like, four,” she murmured.

“Yeah,” he replied, not looking at her. “You danced like you were fighting a ghost. Arms everywhere.”

Alex laughed through her nose. “I was four. My bones weren’t even done cookin’ yet.”

He finally turned to look at her, brushing some of her wet hair away from her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Still aren’t. Look at you. You’re all elbows and trouble.”

“At least I got your shoulders,” she said, flexing one dramatically as she rolled up her sleeve.

“Yeah, and your mom’s stubbornness. Double trouble.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, letting the music do the talking. He swayed slightly to the rhythm, hands tucked into his pockets. She copied him, shoulder to shoulder, just a gentle shift of weight.

“Did you eat?” He asked.

“Banana. It counts.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Hey, you’re the one who raised me.”

He let out a hearty chuckle, as if her jab back was the funniest thing he heard today. Then, he slung an arm over her shoulder, pulling her in close.

“I did. And I don’t regret a bloody second of it.”

Alex let her head rest on his arm for a second, eyes fluttering shut.

Neither of them said anything more. The record spun. Prince sang his strange, sad poetry. Outside, the neighborhood hummed with life. No Spider-Surf for now.

Just Alex.

And her dad.

And the song that raised them both.

Alex’s eyes remained half-lidded, with the closeness of a cat that had found the warmest spot in the house. The closeness of being with the person who’s been with you since your first breath.

The vinyl crackled until the needle lifted. The man gently picked the vinyl and slipped it back into the sleeve, before grabbing a random vinyl from the hearty stack in the milkcrate above the record player.

He didn’t even gaze at the cover. Just pulled out the vinyl, placed it on the spinning table, and gently dropped the needle. The track bled in with the same vintage hiss from before, something with more guitar than synth.

“We Die Young” by Alice in Chains.

“I used to play this one on the radio when we drove up the coast,” he said quietly.

His daughter smiled longingly. “You used to tap on the steering wheel like you were in the band.”

He grinned. “I was in the band. You just never saw the tour.”

Alex laughed, and this time it felt like home.

He reached out to the nearby table, grabbing a small metal tin. Flipped it open. Inside were two ginger candies. The old kind, the ones wrapped in noisy, crinkly plastic.

“Still your favorite?” he asked.

Alex smirked, taking one. “You’re asking like I ever stopped loving these.”

They both unwrapped the candies and popped them in at the same time, then mimicked each other’s over-the-top “spicy face” like they always had. It was a dumb little tradition, but it had somehow survived her growing up.

Her dad stepped aside and flopped down into the creaky old armchair, arms spread like he was welcoming the whole damn world. Alex hopped to the kitchen, grabbing a jar of mayo and some ham and cheese with one arm while the other grabbed the carton of milk from the fridge.

“Did you surf today?” Her father called out from the distance.

“Mhm.”

“Barrel wave?”

“Skipped it.”

He snorted. “Lazy.”

“Calculated,” she rebutted.

“Kook.”

Alex turned and squinted her eyes at him, acting offended.

He grinned smugly. “Just sayin’.”

“I’ll fight you.”

“You’d lose.”

“You’re on your seventh broken bone.”

“Still better than your little surf cult.”

Alex grumbled, but couldn’t stop smiling. She lazily built a sad ham-and-cheese sandwich before gnawing down on it. The room glowed in the golden hallway light, and the loud chuckles of a distant group of elders reverberated through the open porch door.

“Goin’ to sleep,” she announced, making her way down the living room to the armchair her dad was sitting on. “I gotta cover my shift early in the morning.”

Her dad smiled from down below, grabbing the TV remote. “You got it. Don’t sleep through your alarm.”

She leaned down to hug him tightly.

“I won't.”

For a moment, her heart ached. The kind of tug it gave when you missed someone dearly.

She stepped away, munching on her sandwich, hearing how the distant news report buzzing from the TV announced the arrest of a young man who had hijacked a delivery van.

Her dad raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Alex flashed a sleepy grin without turning back. “Nope.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as she disappeared down the hall.

Her footsteps padded up the stairs, slow and uneven. The porch light hummed. Laughter still spilled in from outside: that low, vibrant rhythm of a neighborhood that never truly went to sleep. Above it all, the faint sound of her bedroom door creaked shut.

Then came silence.

That soft, full kind of silence. The kind that wraps a house like a blanket.

The kind you don’t realize is the last of its kind until everything changes. _____________

Originally posted in Archive Of Our Own.

#oc #across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #spiderman #fanfic #beyond the spiderverse #spiderverse oc #spiderman into the spiderverse #spidersona #literature #spinoff #fanfiction

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