#man. my digital time days were a blast

[jumjum-crafts]

Good listener

Akka he's been speaking for over half an hour was I suppused to do something

[caramelarrowswife]

DARK CACAO COOKIE AS YOUR FATHER!

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Because this old man needs a child to cheer him up <3

Father!Dark Cacao Cookie x GN!Child!Reader

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Needless to say, Dark Cacao gets EXTREMELY protective of you. He lost his son, he will not lose his remaining child.

You got a partner? Oh, that’s cute. Are they prepared for his 275-question interrogation? What do they do for a living? What’s their mayor? Are they trained in any type of martial art? What do they love most about you? Are they prepared for the consequences of breaking your heart? Would they throw themselves in front of a bullet for you?

He’s not very up-to-date with the norms of the current age. He’ll accept and love you if you’re gay or trans, but he might need Caramel Arrow or Crunchy Chip’s help with new terms.

Extremely old-fashioned. You do not get to sleep in the same room as your partner before you get married.

Dark Cacao will call you by your name in public, but has nicknames for you at home. ‘My little knight’, ‘Aegiya’ (Korean for ‘baby’), ‘my dear’.

He finds cooking a very important skill, so you grew up watching him cook something every night. He almost cried when you were in your cooking-ramen-every-night-phase.

You best believe he is not leaving your side after a failed assassination. He would rather host a meeting digitally (or, God forbid, host the meeting in your room) than leave you alone.

You have to play at least one sport, one instrument and one martial art. He loves playing the piano along with your instrument of choice or training with you in his free time.

He has to meet your friends at least seven times before you’re allowed to meet up with them without constantly being under a bodyguard’s careful watch.

You’ve decided to marry someone of an extremely low rank? Good for you! If you look closely, you can see Dark Cacao banging his head against the wall in the background. Don’t worry, he’ll come around… eventually.

Dark Cacao’s not a big fan of E-cigarettes. If he catches you vaping, he’ll sigh and tell you to smoke a cigarette like a normal person. Maybe he’ll realise he told you to smoke later in the night, which will result in a complete clearance of any type of cigarette in your room.

He was so proud of you when you killed your first rabid animal, most likely a Dire Creamwolf. His advisors were more than a little concerned.

The other Ancient Heroes absolutely adore you. Hollyberry Cookie fed you alcohol when you were nine (she was banished from the Kingdom for three months), Golden Cheese Cookie liked to fly really high up with you when you were a baby (Dark Cacao had a panic attack on the ground), White Lily Cookie will work in the royal garden with you and Pure Vanilla Cookie will do fun things with you and teach you a little bit of healing magic.

Dark Cacao is a big fan of classical music, especially Bach’s Goldberg Variations. He lies awake at night when you’re in a phase and blast B.A.D 4 music all day and night.

While Dark Cacao doesn’t always know how to show it, your opinion is extremely important to him. He already lost Dark Choco because he didn’t listen well enough (at least, so he thinks) he tries to be a better father for you.

Hollyberry got him drunk (on ‘accident’) the day you left for college. He called you, moping because his only child had ‘left him’.

He would literally pass through fire for you, but to eat the sweet things you consume religiously..? Most certainly not.

You convinced him to come with you to one of your favourite bands once. It ended up being something his therapist would hear about.

Dark Cacao likes musicals a lot better than movies, so you’ll be growing up with a lot of Lin Manual Miranda.

[midnightmoonkiss]

Sweetly Obsessed

Soft Dom! Hinata Shoyo x Fem! Reader

Summary: Tanned skin and a boyish charm draws you in at a party, his touch is sweet and his scent intoxicating. Taking things slow is hard, but Shoyo would do anything to feel you again.

Category: Smut! 18+ Only - Minors DNI

WARNINGS!: bathroom fingering, squirting, male masturbation

Word Count: 3.5k+

A/N: havent written in a hot minute so its a bit messy LMAO

Just To Clarify:

This is mixed in with Yuri!! On Ice LOL

reader doesn’t have much experience

I have no idea if parties like this even happen but for the sake of this fic they do tyty

Parties were never your scene.

The obnoxiously loud music blasting throughout the rooms and halls, vibrating the walls and floors of whatever venue or home it was held in always gave you a headache the moment you stepped through the entrance.

No matter how many parties or gatherings you attend, you never get used to it - tylenol being your best friend at these functions your pro athlete pal drags you to.

Seeing pros from all across Japan at these large functions drinking heavily was always an experience. You never really watched much sports, so you never recognized any of them.

Most of them were cocky and annoying from just winning in whatever sport they were from, or overly pushy and flirty, to which the socially anxious Yuri would have to whisk you away from them.

It was uncomfortable.

Supporting your friend meant everything, and most of the time it wasn't so bad. So, you'd usually stay by his side until the figure skater decided that he had had enough socializing with fellow Japan sport representatives and wanted to retire for the night.

The free expensive food was always a plus, of course.

However, this party was different.

A new athlete was on the scene, and his boyish charisma had you like putty in his hands the second he flashed smile at you.

You could feel his smile even now against the skin of your sweaty, hickey covered neck. The once deafening music now just a distant thrum bouncing around the metal stalls of the bathroom you hid away in, the boom of the stereo matching with the rapid beat of your heart as your mind clouded with the unfamiliar sweet, sticky haze of desire.

He was magnetic, electric almost, and instantly pulled you in the second he introduced himself bashfully to you,

“Hey there, my name is…”

“S-Shoyo..!” You gasped his name, two tanned and calloused fingers knuckle deep in your soaking pussy, messy arousal dribbling down his wrist and your spread thighs to the clean tile floor as his fingers thrusted in and out. You swear he was matching his pace to the song that played, Scream by Usher you think it is..?

It's hard to think right now as he pressed yet another searing kiss behind your ear, whispering in a teasing tone, “You're so tight and wet, sweetheart. Havent been touched like this in a while, hmm?”

His deep hum tickled your prickly skin, and you could only whimper pathetically, hips desperately grinding down on his digits as you lost yourself in his addicting scent. Sunscreen, icy hot, sweat, and something smelling of mahogany and cinnamon, strangely comforting.

Your mind soon succumbed to the fog he created as the rough pad of his thumb took to rubbing circles at your throbbing, attention starved clit as he added a third finger, deliciously stretching you even more.

You felt so full, your own fingers never being able to be compared to that of a man like him, that of an athlete who used his hands every day. Someone who practiced finger strength religiously and now used them in a silent yet lewd prayer of twisted desire as if you were some god he needed to worship.

It was as if your heart was in your throat, and you could feel his own pounding against his thick and steady chest as he pressed you closer to him while he leaned against the stall door. That tan, thick and muscular thigh of his coming between your own as his foot rested up on the toilet seat to spread yours more and graciously give you a chance to get off your unsteady feet.

Now you hung helplessly in the air as he expertly played with your pussy as if you were a doll, pressing all your right buttons and rubbing against you in places that made you mewl - you had no time to feel embarrassed when he was making you feel so good.

The salacious noises spewing from your spit slicked lips, as well as the consistent shlick shlick shlick of your tight, creamy walls sucking and gushing around his fingers was like music to the volleyball players burning ears.

He felt as though he had died and ascended to heaven, adrenaline keeping him unbelievably warm.

Hinata Shoyo had never felt this way with any of the few girls he had met and seduced before, he had never felt so hyper aware yet fuzzy around the edges. The confidence he had gained over the years wavered when he first saw you.. and now.. carnal desire nipped at the primal side of his brain, a growl rumbling deep in his chest.

He wanted to devour you, consume everything you had to offer him. Shoyo was already so helplessly addicted. Obsessed.

“M-my stomach…! I feel… I feel weird!..! Hnngh! aa..aa.!”

You couldn’t help but cry out, the unfamiliar tingling making you nervous, but you were too lost in the onslaught of pleasure to truly pay it any mind. Your body itched to run away from his touch, and subconsciously it did, but he would just hold you tighter and fuck you with his fingers faster, only making your toes curl in your heels.

“Yeah?” He chuckled breathlessly as your nails dug into his tan forearms, core tightening deliciously around him. Oh, how he wished he had you bent over right now, such a sweet little thing for him. He was blessed by all the gods, surely, for getting the chance to see an angel like you writhe in pleasure against his sturdy body.

“Just hold on to me, I've got you.. shh..shh..”

Shoyo was always a talkative person, and he couldn't help but talk to you even now. A true chatterbox full of nerves and energy no matter what.

He wanted to hear your fragile voice as he drove you insane, he needed to hear you break. The subtle changes in your gasps and whines and he moved his fingers a certain way, scissoring inside you, mapping out the inside of your addictive cunt. He needed you to get addicted to him. To want more, to come back to him so he can claim you as his.

Gods, does he need that.

The man couldn’t help but grind his clothed erection against your ass, already so close, pre cum no doubt staining his boxers, his heavy breath in your ear as he whimpers.

Glossed over honey brown eyes meet your own, pupils blown wide as he grinned cheekily at you.

His strong fingers abuse that spongey spot inside of you, and the consistent swirling of his thumb just how you liked to be touched paired with how he humped you desperately.. it was all too much.

Tears poured from your eyes as you choked on a gasp. The burning hot coil inside your stomach suddenly snapped aggressively, back arching as you moaned his name loudly over the music - suddenly thrown sky high as stars burst in your vision. A strange tingling feeling gushing between your thighs as you sobbed for him, twitching uncontrollably. It was the most intensive feeling you’ve ever felt, all caused by a stranger.

And here Shoyo is, experiencing the same orgasmic euphoria from watching your body twist and convulse aggressively just from his digits being deep inside you, making you squirt all over his thigh and the floor.

Oh fuck.

The rest of the night was a blur after that, the alcohol you consumed and the pleasure you were fed making your mind numb.

He cleaned you up like a gentleman, and led you out of the bathroom, wanting nothing more than to stay by your side and keep you in his arms, only for Yuri to find you and take you home.

Despite knowing his name, neither of you thought about exchanging numbers. It felt like he was yours in that moment, as if you were connected on a psychic level, simply from his touch and intoxicating aura. That look in his eyes that drew you in in the first place. It felt like you were meant to be finger fucked by him.

Such a stupid fucking horny, alcohol induced thought that was!

Now here you are, the next day with a pounding headache and slight soreness between your thighs. Yet, you miss him and his touch. The dream you had of waking up next to him a sour reminder that he was just some guy you met at a party.

You werent like this, you never do this sort of thing.

All the embarassment that was pushed aside by lust came rushing forward as you squirmed in bed.

How were you supposed to know staring at his hands was going to lead you to getting touched by them? His hands were just… attractive…. and they were inside you…. God.

You bit your thumb, willing the thoughts away.

You’d never see him again, that was the grim reality.

A quick thing in the bathroom at a party.

And yet….. you cant help but think back to him licking his fingers into his mouth, maintaining searing hot eye contact with you that made you melt as he sucked your juices off of them with a smirk.

Stupid!

You could cry from all these overwhelming emotions.

What else were you to do except call your friend that dragged you home after?

“Yuuuriiii…” You sobbed dramatically on the phone, flinging an arm over your eyes.

“Is this about last night?” Ever the smart one.

“Yeaaa..”

“Oohhhh!” A russian accent came from the background, “What happened?!?! What happened?!?!”

“Viktor…” You sniffled, “A lot..”

“She ended up in a bathroom with that upcoming volleyball athlete for MSBY, Hinata.”

“Yuri!!”

“(Y/N)!!! Woah!!” Viktor exclaimed, you could practically hear the stars in his eyes, “Nice!”

“I am distraught!”

How did HE know who Shoyo was, anyways?

“She didn't get his number I bet,” Yuri presumes,

“No way!!” Viktor exclaims.

“YOU GUYS. If you’re gonna gossip about this the least you could do was gossip with me in the room.. eating your food.”

“Right, right, come over! We must talk about this!”

Viktors eagerness somehow calms you down, his enthusiasm and dramatics always made any situation a bit easier to handle.

It was funny when Yuri freaked out about Viktor to you, but oh how the tables finally turned you suppose.

Talking about it over breakfast with the two brought you back down to Earth. Reality was harsh sometimes. No matter how connected you thought you were to that warm man you felt at home with in some extravagant party’s bathroom, you'd likely never see him again.

That, of course, flew out the window when you checked your social media only to see his private account request to follow yours. You’d recognize that orange slightly curly hair anywhere. Bile built up in your throat and your nerves bit at you as if you were covered in angry fire ants.

Should you accept?? Did he…. search for you? To be honest, you werent that hard to find. Anyone who looked at Yuri’s professional account could easily find you by searching your name in his list of follows.

It was endearing.. how he no doubt did that to find you.

So he didn't view it as a mistake?? Heat of the moment? He wanted to talk to you again?

You nervously drank your coffee, thoughts going a million miles as second as your shakily stared at your phone screen.

“Woah!” Viktor exclaimed from behind, startling you.

“Is that him?!” Your phone was snatched from your hand as you helplessly sputtered.

“There! Now you follow eachother!! So cute!”

“What?? What did you do!!”

“I requested to follow him for you~ He accepted almost immediately!!! How cool! He must have been waiting, no?”

That russian little shit was grinning ear to ear as you furiously swiped for the phone he held out of reach.

“Viktor…” His husband's voice of reason chimed in, “Don’t meddle in (Y/N)’s love life..”

“She meddled in ours?”

“You ass, you did most of the meddling and you know it!” Having enough, you hit him with a couch pillow and snatched your phone back, possessively clutching it to your chest.

The familiar ding caught all three of your attentions.

“What’d he say!” The two boys exclaimed together.

“Uh, hi?”

You really never saw yourself seeing him again, but seeing him in the innocent light of day instead of the intoxicating allure of night…. you felt funny. Shameful, almost.

Having adult conversations sucked the life out of you.! And yet here you were babbling.

“I'm not the type of person to sleep around with someone, I.. I dont have fuck buddy friends.. and I don’t want one..”

You didn’t want him thinking you were someone he could booty call or whatever…

The conversation was awkward, and yet he had such a desperate look in his eyes, those honey brown doe eyes that look so intense clinging to every word you say.

The truth was, Shoyo didn't know where to go from how you started, he just knew he wanted you in his life. Whatever way it was, he needed you.

He'd so graciously take anything you offered him, friendship, or more.. Gods, did he want more.

It was as if you were a drug to him. He found himself being a nervous, fidgety school boy around you, sweat already sliding down his neck from talking to a girl he was crushing on.

Please, he thought to himself, please give him a chance!!! He’d do whatever it’d take!! He would!!

“I've never done anything like that night before…” He found you so cute, the way you blushed and fiddled with the drink he bought you.

He’d buy you anything, truthfully. Whats the point of having money if you dont use it trying to win over the girl of your dreams??

“I guess what I'm saying is, I want to be friends first.. is that okay-”

“Yes!!” He has an in!! “Yes! I wanna be your friend!”

He blatantly showed his eagerness and excitedness, basically jumping in his seat, and you swore you could see a tail wagging happily behind him.

Shaking it off, you took a deep breath, continuing.

“I'm not some awe-struck fan.. and I'm used to being friends with pro athletes so.. so dont uh, think you being a pro changes anything and I'm gonna fangirl over you.. Friendship is uhm!! Slowly built, you know?”

“Yes, I agree.” He anxiously chewed at his plump lower lip, “That makes me happy, I like being treated normally. I’m just a guy who really likes volleyball!!”

Though, he wouldnt mind if you watched his games and fangirled just a little bit… maybe theres time for that later.

You giggle at this, and his tanned cheeks heat up, a wobbly smile on his mouth.

“Well, you're just my normal friend, yeah?”

Licking his lips and swallowing thickly, he agrees, “Yeah!”

Truly, you were a mess. A mess who didn’t know how to handle friendships that start off the way yours did. It was… embarassing. You were an adult, sure, but you still knew what you wanted. You knew and yet, how did that night happen?

Whenever you're around him, you're reminded how.

Conversations always flow so smoothly, and his excitement about everything brings a bright light to your dull view on everyday life.

He face times you a lot, enjoying seeing your face in the morning whilst he eats breakfast after a run. Your adorable sleepy face makes his heart melt and yearn at the same time.

Oh, how patience can kill a man.

Shoyo wishes he could take you on a date, spend thousands of yen on you, take care of you like an adoring boyfriend would.

And oh, how his thoughts tend to drift when you smile at him.

It was the sweetest type of torture, he felt like a caged crow again with a juicy piece of fruit just outside the metal bars - barely out of reach.

Yet, he'd do anything you say.

It's only been a few months of knowing you, a blissful time where he chats with you every day as much as he can without trying to annoy you.

Shoyo is thoroughly obsessed.

A simple small town boy, a country bumpkin with a big heart.

He wants to devour you, claim you as his.

No, No, No. Patience sucks.

And yet, the orange haired man feels as though he could wait forever if it meant he had a chance to kiss you one more time.

One night with you and he was completely yours.. no, even before that. When you giggled at him as he shakily poured you a drink, oh it was highschool all over again for sure. What a dream you are.

Did you know?

He hopes you know.

He hopes you feel it too whenever he comes over and accompanies you out on errands, carrying your groceries or shopping bags. When he buys you dinner, and you fight him for the check. When he looks into your (e/c) eyes and you look back, do you see his soul that so desperately yearns to intertwine with yours?

What a silly, hopeless romantic he is.

He'll admit. He flexes his hands constantly around you because he knows it catches your attention and makes your thighs rub together. He knows, it's his greatest weapon. Oh, thank you years of playing volleyball for giving him this very unique gift to attract the person of his dreams!!!

He even started doing it subconsciously, to which Kageyama called him a hand freak and threw objects at him.

Hinata truly did adore being your friend, it filled his heart with joy. You were always so fun to be around, and having fun with you came as easy as breathing. Even if you just sat in silence together for hours.

However, that never stopped him from spreading his tan, muscular thighs while laying in bed after calling you. His calloused hand that you so adore, the one that was once deep inside of your gummy walls, pumping up and down his stiff, drooling cock.

Try as he might, it's impossible to imagine his hand as yours. Yours was so much smaller and softer..

He'd whine as his cock helplessly weeped, sniffling in his dark room as his imagination ran wild with flashing images of you, cumming pathetically as his hips humped into his hand.

Post nut clarity was brutal. He’d end up crying into the pillow he held close to him, pretending it was you. He wanted to hold you, cuddle with you, give you all of his love. It hurt.

Then, seeing you in person, like always, is a breath of fresh air. His wild, untamable thoughts simmer down and hes a calm and patient man once more. Your sweet Shoyo, your friend.

He prays you go crazy at night too.

And perhaps you just might, from the way you squirm while sitting beside him on the couch, his hand bravely resting on your warm thigh as he laughs at the movie playing on his wide screen TV.

His hand rubs up and down your thigh, and the way you subconsciously spread them draws him closer.

You're just so sweet for him, looking up at him through your lashes as the end credits roll, a pout on your lips that draws him in like a bee to a flower.

All too quickly his plush, slightly chapped lips that taste of vanilla are upon yours and you once again become putty in his sturdy hands.

The volleyball player is desperate as he kisses you, is this his chance?

Shoyo wants to give you all he has, his entire being, body and soul. The now bashful orange haired boy tries his best to convey it as his hands move to your hips, thumbs swirling in calming circles at the exposed soft skin, pulling you closer to him.

He wanted to worship you like a deity.

His kisses are dizzying, that familiar haze sparking in the back of your mind as he seamlessly maneuvers you into laying down on his couch. Him hovering over you, the muscles in his arms flexing.

“Shoyo..” You whisper, voice quiet and small, unsure.

“(Y/N)...” He whines, eyes pleading as he kisses you more, licking his way into your mouth, tongue caressing your own.

Whimpering into his mouth as he groans, his all too familiar cologne and scent intoxicating you the same way it did months ago when you first met.

You're surrounded by him, caged in by his larger body clad in a dorky t-shirt and black gym shorts and so, so warm. He was like a furnace.

You feel delirious as his thick thigh smoothly fits in between your legs, spreading them so he could fit inbetween them comfortably.

His lips lift from yours, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth as he goes. Kissing down your jawline to lick at your throat, teeth sinking into your skin at the sweet spot he remembers between your neck and shoulder.

You cant help but moan, a sound so sweet it makes his body twitch.

He needs you, oh does he need you.

And his lips are back onto yours, sucking on your tongue like a lollipop.

Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers tugging at his orange curly locks, making him moan into your mouth, dragging his body down. The need to feel him as close as possible to you overwhelming your senses.

“Shoyo..” You mummble against his buttery lips, and your eyelids flutter open just to see him staring at you with half lidded eyes, carnal lust swirling deep in his gaze.

His warm palms slide up from your hips, smoothly rubbing your sides, getting dangerously close to your chest.

His breathing is wild, panting like a dog as if he had been on the court for five whole sets, he so wishes to taste your sweet taste of victory on his tongue.

“Friends don’t..” He kisses you again, deepening it with every word you utter, “Friends.. don't act like this..”

“Don't they?” He'd say anything he could to get you to stay here with him, to feel you like he did that night. “I’m sure they do, I’m positive..”

“Do they?” You laugh breathlessly, butterflies in your stomach and he chuckles, “Yeah, they do.”

His lips swallow you whole, stealing your breath.

“Sweet girl,” He mumbles, pulling away.

Moving one arm up he grips your chin, thumb smoothing over your kiss swollen lips,

The ginger smiles sweetly at you, the sweetness barely reaching his eyes as he places two fingers on your lips, sliding them into your mouth and you shyly lick at them, unsure of what to do.

“Let me take care of you, please.”

You suck on his fingers as he pressed down on your tongue, nodding your head and he moans.

Soon, his fingers are back to where he fully believes they truly belong, shoved deep inside your velvety pussy as you call his name, creaming all over his hand and couch, head tucked into his sweaty neck.

Oh, his sweet angel.

He'll help you, and he won't stop after just one orgasm this time. He wants to see you break, just for him.

He's so completely yours, obsessed.

[superwholock36]

~ A Little Taste of Heaven ~ (Peter Parker x Fem!Reader) (1/10)

Sorry for any mistakes! I don't have a beta and this is my first story I've ever put out there! ~ ❤️ Any feed back is much appreciated! I hope you all Enjoy!

Also it has been posted to ao3 as I have an account there under Kprincess3697 so it hasn’t been stolen, Love y’all 🥰

warnings : Mature themes/Explicit content/Action-packed violence/Emotional turmoil/Hostage situations/Romance/Angst summery "Spider-Man swings in to save the day, but ends up stealing more than just a moment—he gets caught in something a little more… complicated. 😉"

________________________________________________

🎵🎶Sweetest Pie • Megan Thee Stallion, Dua Lipa 🎶🎵(link to song)

________________________________________________

Moving to Manhattan had felt like stepping into an entirely new existence. Her old life—familiar routines, the safety net of her small circle—was now miles away, stored in memory boxes and cautious goodbyes. This was supposed to be her fresh start, her big break. She had landed a job at the New York Bulletin, after all.

The title alone had made her giddy with anticipation. A major magazine! She had imagined herself diving into editorial meetings, pitching bold ideas, and seeing her byline in glossy print. But reality had been far less glamorous. Instead of crafting stories, she spent her days running coffee orders, delivering memos, and juggling dry cleaning runs for senior staff.

An errand girl. That’s what she had become.

She fought to swallow the growing pit of disappointment every time her phone buzzed with yet another task. This wasn’t what she had dreamed of, but Manhattan wasn’t one for indulging dreams—it was a place where you either climbed or got swept away. And she wasn’t about to let the city win.

Navigating the bustling streets of Manhattan was like stepping into a current of unrelenting energy. Crowds surged past [Name] in every direction, the air thick with the aroma of street food mingled with exhaust fumes. She kept her head low, her messenger bag slung over one shoulder and her phone clutched tightly in her hand. She had just picked up lunch for her editor, the kind of errand that seemed to define her job lately.

She paused at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. The towering digital screens above her flickered, capturing her attention as they cut into their regular loop of advertisements. The unmistakable face of J. Jonah Jameson appeared, scowling and leaning forward in his signature style that made it seem like he was berating the entire city.

“This just in!” his gravelly voice boomed over the speakers, loud enough to drown out even the relentless honking of taxis. “Another so-called heroic escapade by your friendly neighborhood Spider-Menace. Earlier today, the webbed wonder was spotted in a disastrous attempt to thwart a robbery in Queens, leaving chaos in his wake!”

[Name] watched as shaky footage played on the screens, showing Spider-Man swinging between buildings, dodging blasts of some kind of energy weapon. The scene cut back to Jameson, his face practically crimson with indignation. “Let me be clear, folks,” he continued, wagging a finger for emphasis. “Spider-Man isn’t saving this city. He’s putting you in danger—plain and simple!"

The light changed, but [Name] found herself rooted to the spot for a moment longer, watching the broadcast. Around her, New Yorkers barely glanced up, accustomed to Jameson's rants and the endless stream of breaking news. To [Name], though, it was a strange reminder of the world she now lived in—a world where superheroes and supervillains were part of the daily grind.

She shook her head and stepped into the crosswalk, weaving through the sea of pedestrians. Whatever her own challenges were, she figured, at least she wasn’t tangled up in all that. For now, her focus had to stay on making her own way in this city, one step at a time.

===================================

[Name] pushed open the glass doors of the New York Bulletin, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and a warm bag of takeout wafting up from her hands. The front desk clerk barely glanced up as she hurried past, juggling the precarious tray and paper bag while trying to avoid bumping into her colleagues. Her heels clicked against the polished floor, echoing in a way that made her feel small—just another cog in the relentless machine of the magazine world.

She arrived at her boss’s office, setting the coffee and lunch order down on the edge of his sprawling mahogany desk. He didn’t even look up from his computer, offering only a curt “Thanks,” before diving back into whatever important task demanded his attention.

At her desk—a tiny corner carved out in the bullpen—[Name] pulled out her notebook. Her coffee-stained to-do list stared back at her, mocking her ambitions. Gripping her pen, she doodled absentmindedly in the margins, her thoughts drifting to the stories she wanted to tell, the words she was desperate to write. She couldn’t let this be her only reality. There had to be a way to prove herself, to claw her way out of the errands and into the writing she was born to do.

Before [Name] could take another sip of her now-lukewarm coffee, her work phone buzzed. The caller ID flashed her boss’s name—“Mr. Caldwell”—and she reluctantly answered.

“[Name], I need you to handle a few things for me,” Mr. Caldwell’s voice came through, brisk and to the point. “I’ve got an important meeting this afternoon with Diane Hartridge from Hamilton Publishing. Big deal for us. So, here’s what I need: send out those follow-up emails I dictated yesterday, book me a lunch appointment with Hartridge for next Tuesday, and drop off a package at this address.”

She heard the shuffle of papers on his end before he rattled off an address. [Name] scribbled it down on a notepad, recognizing the street as one not far from her own apartment.

“Yes, sir,” she said, forcing a professional tone into her voice. She could already feel the familiar twinge of frustration creeping in. Meetings with publishing executives, conversations about big deals—those were the kinds of things she had dreamed of being involved in. Instead, here she was, taking notes like an intern.

“And once you’ve dropped that off, you can take the rest of the day off,” Caldwell added, as though offering her a generous gift. “Consider it a breather. You’ve earned it.”

[Name] bit back a sigh. “Got it,” she replied, keeping her voice steady. Hanging up, she glanced at the tasks now piling up on her mental to-do list.

---------------------------------------------------------

Back at her desk, she typed furiously, knocking out the follow-up emails with clockwork efficiency. Each one had to be just so—polished, professional, and perfectly aligned with her boss’s expectations. Once she hit send on the last email, she tackled the lunch appointment, navigating the online booking system while fielding interruptions from passing colleagues.

Half an hour later, with her inbox cleared and the reservation confirmed, [Name] leaned back in her chair and allowed herself a fleeting moment of satisfaction. One set of tasks done.

Grabbing her bag and the package from the reception desk, she stepped out into the midday chaos of Manhattan. The familiar surge of people, cars, and noise hit her immediately, but at least the errand would take her near her neighbourhood. She adjusted the strap of her bag, holding the package securely under one arm as she navigated the sidewalks.

Moving in step with the endless tide of Manhattan pedestrians, [Name] felt almost invisible amid the city’s chaotic rhythm. As she turned the corner, a boutique caught her eye, its window display glowing softly under the midday sun. There, on a mannequin, was a dress that immediately drew her in—a soft lavender piece that was sweet and understated. The hem hit mid-thigh, just a few widths away from the knees, with delicate white lace ribbons crisscrossing over the bodice and tied into a playful little bow at the sweetheart neckline. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was undeniably feminine, with just the right touch of charm.

[Name] hesitated for only a moment before stepping into the boutique, the bell above the door chiming softly as she entered. The quiet hum of conversation and the fresh, clean scent that lingered in the air made the shop feel like a little oasis from the noise outside.

“Can I help you find anything?” a cheerful sales assistant asked, her warm smile matching the inviting atmosphere.

“I was actually hoping to try on the lavender dress in the window,” [Name] said, her voice laced with a shy excitement.

“Of course! Let me grab your size,” the assistant replied, quickly disappearing into the back.

A few minutes later, [Name] stood in front of a full-length mirror in the dressing room, smoothing out the soft fabric over her hips. The dress fit perfectly, the lavender colour complimenting her complexion and the crisscrossing lace ribbons adding a playful, feminine flair. She smiled, turning slightly to admire the way it flattered her figure. It was exactly what she needed for the get-together that evening—a simple yet pretty reminder that, even amidst the chaos of her first week, there was still room for moments like this.

“This is the one,” she told herself quietly, nodding with conviction as she stepped back into her own shoes.

Within minutes, she was back out on the street, the boutique’s shopping bag swinging lightly in her hand. The day didn’t seem quite as daunting now. Tonight, she’d celebrate in her new dress, and maybe—just maybe—she’d let herself believe that she belonged here, even if things hadn’t gone exactly as she had planned.

=========================================

The bass thumped through the crowded bar, reverberating under [Name]’s feet as she leaned on the high-top table. The evening had been a lively blur of laughter, drinks, and getting to know her colleagues—Hannah, who worked in layout design, and Megan, one of the junior writers. [Name] was starting to feel like she was finding her footing, a stark contrast to the awkward chaos of her first day.

“Wait, so you actually spilled coffee on him? On Caldwell?” Megan asked, her eyes wide with mock horror as she took a sip of her wine.

“Straight on him,” [Name] said, laughing despite herself. “It was everywhere—his desk, his papers, him. I thought I was going to be fired on the spot, but he just looked at me and said, ‘You’ve got five minutes to get me another latte.’”

“That’s iconic,” Hannah said, grinning. “Honestly, not bad for a first day. Could’ve been worse.”

They all burst into laughter, and Megan raised her glass. “To surviving your first week!” she declared, her enthusiasm infectious.

“To surviving,” Hannah echoed, clinking her glass against theirs.

[Name] couldn’t help but smile as their glasses met with a cheerful ring. She felt a spark of warmth in her chest, the camaraderie lifting her spirits. For the first time in a while, she felt like she belonged—at least, a little.

The moment shifted as a couple of guys approached their table, clearly familiar with Hannah and Megan. The women greeted them with easy smiles, the conversation quickly veering into shared anecdotes and inside jokes that [Name] didn’t quite follow. Not wanting to intrude, she offered to grab another round of drinks for the three of them.

Squeezing through the throng of people, she made her way to the bar. It was packed, but she managed to find a small gap to slide into, catching the bartender’s attention after a few minutes of patient waiting. As she rattled off their order, the music thumped louder, almost drowning out her voice. She shifted her weight, waiting for the drinks, when she felt a presence sidle up beside her.

“Hey there,” a man said, his voice just audible over the blaring music. [Name] turned her head to see him leaning against the bar, his shirt slightly untucked and a confident smirk on his face.

“You here alone?” he asked, his tone casually suggestive.

“No, I’m here with friends,” she replied, keeping her voice polite but firm. She’d dealt with this type before—overconfident, pushy, and oblivious to boundaries. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last, but it didn’t make it any less frustrating.

“Ah, come on,” he pressed, leaning closer. “I could keep you company.”

“I’m good, thanks,” [Name] said sharply, her grip tightening on the bar as the bartender set the drinks down in front of her. She grabbed them quickly, balancing the glasses carefully in her hands. “Excuse me.”

The man stepped back, raising his hands as though he’d done nothing wrong. “Alright, alright. No need to be like that,” he said with a crooked grin before disappearing into the crowd.

By the time she got back to the table, her heart was steady again, her annoyance at the man already dissipating into the noise and energy of the bar. Hannah and Megan noticed her expression, though, their conversation pausing briefly.

“Everything okay?” Megan asked, setting her drink down.

“Yeah,” [Name] said, sliding the glasses onto the table. “Just some guy at the bar who couldn’t take no for an answer.”

“What a creep,” Hannah muttered, her gaze darting toward the bar. “Stick with us. We’ve got your back.”

Nodding grateful for the solidarity. She sat back down, forcing herself to focus on the laughter and warmth at the table. Encounters like that weren’t new to her, but they were never pleasant. Still, she wasn’t about to let one guy ruin her night.

As the night wore on, the music seemed to pulse through every corner of the bar, and she found herself swept up in the rhythm with Hannah and Megan. The three of them laughed as they danced in a small circle, occasionally bumping into each other as the crowd pressed around them. Hannah threw her arms up with exaggerated flair, spinning in time to the beat, while Megan leaned in to shout over the music, “You’ve got moves, girl! Where’ve you been hiding these?”

She laughed, shaking her head as she tried to keep up. For a few minutes, there was nothing but the pounding of the bass, the heat of the room, and the infectious energy of shared joy. They pulled her into a silly line dance, half stumbling and laughing through it, before dissolving into giggles at their own lack of coordination.

“I needed this,” Megan said, fanning herself dramatically as they paused to catch their breath. “Best idea ever.”

Hannah nodded, her cheeks flushed from both the dancing and her gin and tonic. “Agreed. But I think our admirers might have other ideas.”

The guys from earlier had appeared at the edge of the dance floor, waving them over with playful grins. Hannah shot Megan a look, and the two of them exchanged mischievous smiles before turning back to her.

“We’re gonna head out with them,” Hannah said, placing a light hand on her arm. “You okay getting home?”

She nodded, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Yeah, I’m good. Don’t worry about me.”

“Text us when you’re home, okay?” Megan said, pulling her in for a quick hug.

Hannah gave a quick wave as they linked arms with the two guys, disappearing into the crowd. Left alone under the flashing lights of the bar, she lingered for a moment, letting the music wash over her. The night had been fun—chaotic, vibrant, exactly what she needed—but as she glanced at the time on her phone, she decided it was probably time to call it herself.

Grabbing her bag, she slipped out of the bar into the cool embrace of the city night. The vibrant pulse of music and chatter faded as the door swung shut behind her, replaced by the layered hum of Manhattan—the sporadic honk of a cab, muffled voices from passing groups, and the occasional rumble of a subway train beneath her feet.

The air was crisp and carried the faint scent of rain on concrete, grounding her as she started walking. She pulled out her phone, glancing at the map briefly to reorient herself. The bar was in a part of the city she didn’t know too well, and the unfamiliar street names were a little disorienting. Still, she figured she’d find her way soon enough. After all, getting lost was part of the charm of living in Manhattan—wasn’t it?

She took a right, then a left, but the streets didn’t seem to align with where she thought she should be. A few blocks later, she realized she might have gone too far in the wrong direction. The tall buildings seemed to close in slightly, their windows glinting faintly under dim streetlights. Her grip on the strap of her bag tightened as she slowed her steps, scanning for a recognizable landmark.

Then she heard it. Footsteps. Heavy and deliberate. They weren’t her own.

Her heart tightened as she slowed her pace, ears straining against the quiet. She risked a glance over her shoulder but saw nothing—just the stretch of empty sidewalk behind her. A chill pricked at the back of her neck, and she shook her head, trying to dispel the creeping paranoia. It’s nothing, she told herself. Just someone else heading home.

But the sound didn’t fade. It grew louder. Closer.

Her heart raced as she quickened her pace, scanning the empty streets for something familiar. Turning into an alley in a desperate attempt to shortcut her way back, she froze. Ahead, blocking the far end, stood two burly men, their shadows stretched long under the dim, flickering streetlight. They didn’t move, but their stance left no question—they were waiting.

Her breath caught, and she spun around, instinctively stepping back toward the entrance she had come through. But her stomach dropped as she saw him. The man from the bar emerged from the shadows behind her, his hands stuffed casually into his pockets as if he’d been out for a leisurely stroll. His smirk was gone, replaced by something far darker. The gleam in his eyes sent a cold shiver down her spine.

He took a slow step forward, his movements deliberate, the click of his shoes echoing against the walls of the alley. “Looks like you got a little turned around,” he said, his voice low and sinister, the friendliness he had feigned earlier now stripped away. “Don’t worry. We’ll help you find your way.”

[Name]’s chest tightened, and her hand gripped the strap of her bag as her mind raced for an exit. Trapped between the men blocking her path and him closing in behind, she felt the weight of the alley pressing down on her like a vice. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but there was nowhere to go.

The man’s smirk twisted into something even darker as he stepped closer, the dim light catching the cold gleam in his eyes. She instinctively took another step back, her breath quickening, but before she could fully process her next move, he lunged.

The suddenness of it made her heart slam in her chest. She jerked back, her movement instinctual and desperate, only to collide hard with something solid. A startled gasp escaped her as she spun around, realizing too late that she had backed straight into the other two men. Their hands shot out like vices, one grabbing her by the arm, the other seizing her bag and yanking her balance off-center.

“Got her,” one of them muttered, his voice gravelly, the sound of it reverberating in her ears as panic clawed its way up her throat.

She twisted and pulled, trying to wrench herself free, but their grips only tightened. The man from the bar loomed closer now, his steps deliberate and almost lazy, as if he already knew the struggle was futile. He adjusted his sleeves, his calm movements a sinister contrast to the chaos surging through her body.

“You made this way too easy,” he said, his voice dripping with malice....

Before he could make contact, a cheery, almost sing-song voice interrupted. “Yoohoo!”

The man froze, his head snapping to the side as Spider-Man crouched casually on the edge of the building above them, giving an awkward wave. “I think it’s you who made this easy,” he quipped, the web-shooters on his wrists already aimed and primed. With a swift flick, a sticky line of web shot out, pinning the man to the brick wall behind him. His smirk disappeared in an instant, replaced by a look of shocked indignation.

“Hang tight,” Spider-Man said, hopping down into the alley with a graceful flip. He landed between [Name] and the two burly men, who were momentarily too stunned to move. “Alright, fellas. Who’s next?”

The bigger of the two lunged, throwing a wide, meaty punch in Spider-Man’s direction. Without breaking a sweat, Spidey caught the punch mid-swing, his free hand scratching at the back of his head as though this was all mildly inconvenient. “Man, you guys really need to work on your timing. Swing and a miss,” he said, twisting the man’s arm just enough to send him stumbling backward.

Before the other man could make a move, Spider-Man shot out another web, sticking his feet firmly to the ground. The guy flailed awkwardly, looking down at his now-immobile boots as Spider-Man turned to him. “And you,” he said, wagging a finger like a disappointed teacher. “I think you should apologize to the lady. Right now. Loudly. And use your nicest manners.”

He tilted his head toward [Name], who stood frozen in shock, her heart still racing from the encounter. Spider-Man turned back to the first man, webbed securely to the wall, and offered a mockingly thoughtful hum. “What about you, Smirky McCreepy? Anything to say for yourself? Or are you good hanging out there?”

The bigger man sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. “Apologize? To her? Screw you, Spider-Man.”

“Yeah,” the other chimed in, struggling against the webbing that pinned his feet to the ground. “Why don’t you mind your own business?”

Spider-Man sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “You know, I try to give people a chance. I really do. But you guys just had to go and ruin it.” With a flick of his wrist, another web shot out, sticking the last man to the ground before he could even think about making a move. “There. Now you’re all grounded. Literally.”

He tapped the side of his mask. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you let the NYPD know we’ve got a few bad apples here? Alley off 12th and Main. Oh, and tell them to bring extra cuffs—these guys are a bit... sticky.”

“Message sent,” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s calm voice replied in his earpiece.

Spider-Man turned his attention back to [Name], his posture relaxing as he approached her. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, his tone softer now. “I mean, I know this probably wasn’t how you planned your night, but... you’re safe now.”

Spider-Man shifted his weight from foot to foot, scratching the back of his head as if he’d suddenly forgotten how to stand properly. “So, uh,” he started, his voice cracking just slightly. “That was, uh, intense, right? I mean, not that I can’t handle it—I totally can—but, you know, I guess you didn’t sign up for alleyway creeps tonight.”

Her heartbeat was still racing, but his awkwardness was oddly comforting. She nodded, managing a small smile. “No, not exactly.”

“Yeah, figured,” he said, nodding along with her, as if trying to convince himself he wasn’t making things worse. “Uh, you’re not hurt or anything, right? No bumps, bruises, or weird Spidey-induced whiplash?”

“No, I’m fine,” she said, adjusting her bag. “Thanks for, you know… all of that.” She gestured vaguely toward the webbed-up men behind him, their muffled protests starting to quiet.

“Oh, don’t mention it,” he said quickly, his words tumbling over each other. “I mean, seriously, don’t mention it—I kind of like to keep the whole ‘friendly neighbourhood’ thing on the down-low. You know, keep the mystery alive.”

Her smile widened a fraction, and he seemed to relax slightly. “So, uh,” he continued, gesturing toward the street. “Do you, like, know how to get home? Or...?”

She hesitated, glancing around at the unfamiliar streets. “Not really,” she admitted. “This isn’t my usual neighbourhood. I was trying to find my way back to East Harlem.”

“Oh!” he exclaimed, his tone brightening. “East Harlem—cool area! Amazing food, great vibes, and, uh, let’s be honest, fewer creeps like these guys.” He gestured toward the webbed-up men behind him. “I can totally get you there! You know, as a bonus for saving the day—or, uh, the night.”

He stepped a little closer, his movements tentative as he caught her uneasy expression. “Hey, uh, you okay? That was… intense,” he said, his voice softening, as if the words were trying to land as gently as possible. “Not that I’m an expert on post-creep alleyway vibes or anything, but you look like you could use an express pass out of here.”

She hesitated, glancing back at the men stuck to the wall. The adrenaline still buzzed through her veins, but the idea of staying here a second longer made her stomach churn. “Yeah,” she said quietly, the word slipping out before she fully realized. “That’d be great.”

His masked head tilted slightly, like he was offering an unseen reassuring smile. “Alright, awesome. So, uh, what’s the plan? Should we do the ‘swinging-through-the-city’ thing? I mean, it’s faster than walking… and less awkward than small talk while we dodge fire hydrants.”

She blinked at him, caught off guard by his casual delivery. “You mean, like... swing? Swing-swing?”

“Yeah!” His voice brightened again as he straightened up, excited by her cautious curiosity. “Trust me, it’s like Uber, but with webs instead of wheels. And also no ratings, please, because I’m still workshopping my moves.”

Her laughter came unexpectedly, cutting through the edge of her fear. “Okay,” she said, brushing her hair out of her face. “Let’s do it.”

“Yes!” His arms shot into the air briefly in triumph before he caught himself. “I mean, cool. Great. Just hold on tight, and, uh, I promise I’ll try not to do any unnecessary flips. You know, unless it looks super cool.”

Carefully, he wrapped an arm around her waist, checking her expression to make sure she was okay with the proximity. When she nodded, he shot a web upward and leapt into the air. The world blurred as they arced high above the city, the rhythmic thwip of his webbing almost hypnotic. Her initial fear dissolved into awe as the view opened up—streetlights stretched below like strings of gold, and the warm summer breeze brushed her face.

“So,” he called over the wind, his tone as conversational as if they were sitting in a café, “East Harlem, huh? You got a favourite taco spot over there, or is it all just about the vibes?”

She laughed, adjusting to the thrill of being weightless. “I just moved here, actually,” she replied. “Still figuring it all out.”

“Perfect timing, then!” he replied, swinging them over a row of townhouses. “If you’re new, you have to try this one little taco truck on 116th. Oh, and there’s this churro cart on the corner of Lex—it’ll change your life. Like, I once ate five in one sitting, and I don’t even have a normal human metabolism.”

Landing briefly on a rooftop, he recalibrated, looking back at her. “Doing okay? I mean, like, no motion sickness or second thoughts?”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling despite herself. “This is… kind of amazing.”

“Kind of?” He playfully gasped, launching them back into the air. “Alright, I’m gonna do, like, 12% more flips now. Just wait—it’ll be amazing amazing.”

She laughed again, the sound surprising even her, as the city continued to blur and twinkle below. The weight of the night’s events eased with every swing, her unease replaced by a growing sense of wonder—and a strange feeling of safety with the masked hero who seemed more human than super.

=======================================

With one final swing, Spider-Man landed lightly in an alley behind a quiet row of buildings. He set her down gently, stepping back and pulling at his mask slightly to adjust it. “And here we are—East Harlem. Or, well, technically, this very scenic, definitely-not-sketchy alleyway. But hey, you’re close enough, right?” He let out a nervous laugh, motioning around them with exaggerated enthusiasm.

She laughed softly, brushing a loose strand of hair away from her face. The rush of swinging through the city still buzzed through her veins, but now that her feet were on solid ground, she could feel a different kind of energy—one she couldn’t quite explain. “That was incredible,” she said, her voice quieter now, steady.

“Yeah?” he replied, his hands fidgeting at his sides. “Cool, cool. Glad you think so. I mean, it’s not every day you get an airborne tour of the city. Well, unless you’re me. I get a lot of those.”

She stepped closer to him, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. The space between them shrank, and his posture stiffened slightly, as though he hadn’t been prepared for the sudden proximity. “Uh,” he said, his voice cracking just a touch, “you, uh, sure you’re okay? No whiplash? Sore neck? Legs still attached?”

Her lips curved into a small, mischievous smile. She didn’t answer, but her gaze held his, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them.

He froze, his mask hiding what was undoubtedly a deer-in-headlights expression. “I mean,” he stammered, gesturing vaguely to the alley, “you’re safe now! Which is—uh—good. Totally good. Safe is good.”

She tilted her head, still not saying anything.

Peter let out a shaky laugh, tugging at the edge of his mask out of nervous habit. He started to take a half-step back, but his body refused to follow through, stuck somewhere between retreat and a kind of hopeful panic.

Then [Name]'s hand touched his cheek, her fingers light even against the textured fabric of his suit. His breath hitched. “Can I kiss you?” she whispered, her voice so soft he wondered if maybe his mind had made it up. His eyes widened behind the mask, and he blinked a few too many times. “Uh—y-yeah, yeah, totally. I mean... yes,” he stammered, tripping over the words.

She leaned in, her lips brushing against the fabric of his mask, teasingly soft against his covered cheek. Peter froze, his breath catching as the expressive eyes of his mask widened in surprise. For a moment, he was all nerves and stammering thoughts, the usual Peter Parker chaos.

But then, in a move that felt bold even for him, he reached up and tugged the mask just high enough to reveal his jaw, his cheek, and the curve of his lips. His heart pounded as he looked at her, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe… try that again?”

[Name] leaned in, her lips brushing softly against the bare skin of his cheek. It was quick, almost fleeting, but enough to send a jolt through Peter. His breath hitched audibly, and the eyes of his mask contracted again, wide and expressive.

She hesitated for a moment, watching him, testing the waters. Then, with a small, playful smile, she leaned in again, placing a gentle peck on his other cheek.

Peter’s lips parted slightly, his jaw tensing as if he were trying to process what was happening. His gloved hands hovered awkwardly at his sides, unsure of what to do.

“Uh…” he started, his voice cracking just a little. “I—uh—this is… nice.”

Name] leaned in again, her lips brushing the corner of his, feather-light. A soft sigh escaped her, warm against his skin. Peter’s breath hitched, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure she could hear it.

The eyes of his mask contracted slightly, a flicker of surprise and something else—something braver. Slowly, he turned to face her fully, his gaze locking with hers for a heartbeat that felt like forever.

When she leaned in again, her lips found the corner of his once more, lingering just a moment longer. And then, as if drawn by an invisible thread, they both closed the gap. Her lips met his in a proper kiss, soft and unhurried, and Peter melted into it, his gloved hand hovering awkwardly near her shoulder before finally resting there, grounding him in the moment.

What started off as a light peck suddenly turned into a clash of tongues and teeth. He took a step forward, closing the last of the distance between them. Red-gloved hands wrapped around her—one at the waist, just above her lower back, and the other finding purchase at the base of her neck, pulling her deeper into the kiss. She lightly brushed her index and middle finger against his partially exposed cheek before placing the rest of her hand against his covered neck.

With a firm yet gentle touch, he guides her until she is pressed fully against the wall of her apartment complex. His lower hand shifts from her back to the wall, providing stability. She lets out a breathy moan, her head thrown back, and he takes the chance to lavish wet kisses and licks on her exposed neck.

Peter started prepping kisses along her shoulder and up her neck close to her ear. "Fuck~" he panted out, under the mask his pupils were blown out with the lust coursing through his veins. Looking at her, with her head thrown back, lips parted, and hair all dishevelled, did things to him. His heightened senses caught the quickening of her pulse, the heat rising to her cheeks, every subtle reaction she couldn't hide. He shouldn't—but hearing that single word shattered his restraint. "More~" She whispered, her breath hitching as she brought her face back to his, their lips colliding in a relentless cascade of kisses. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her fingers interlocking at the nape of his neck.

She gasped aloud as she felt him lift her effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing. Peter took the opportunity to push his tongue into her mouth when he pressed her further into the wall, his weight pinned her in place as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Matching his intensity, her tongue danced with his in a heated battle for dominance. Her nails skimmed down the back of his mask, a deliberate and teasing motion.

It was as if she had become an entirely different person, a vixen. She was filled with wanton lust for man whose face she had never seen, he had an uncanny ability to captivate her completely. All she could feel was the undeniable heat and pulsing from between her thighs and she needed a release, and soon!

"I… I need more~" She whispered breathlessly, her eyes locking onto what little she could see of his face. His shoulders and chest rose and fell with each panting breath, mirroring her own unsteady rhythm. Her hips began to move involuntary against his own grinding down against a very noticeable bulge, what surprised her was his very own hips pushing up to meet her own thrust down. With each meeting of their hips, her summer dress inched up ever so slightly. "Oh... fuck....Just like that" They both panted aloud, in unison.

Peter couldn't take his eyes off (name) the way she gasped at the delicious friction, the way her hips would push harder into his. Enough was enough he decided to take control of her hips, and set a harsher rhythm. Letting one hand slip from her hips, he brought his index finger to his mouth, teeth grazing the glove's edge as he tugged it loose, letting it fall to the ground between them. As his hand came free, he seized her chin, drawing her into a fiercer, more demanding kiss.

Releasing her grip from the back of Peter's neck, she cupped his face, her fingers grazing beneath the mask that still concealed his nose, eyes, and the rest of his features. For a fleeting, heart-stopping moment, fear gripped him like a vice. His fingers trembled as he released her chin, lurching forward to snatch her wrists. He pressed them between their chests with a desperate urgency, his breath caught in his throat. "No," he growled, his voice dipping low and steady. "The mask stays on." Each word carried quiet authority, leaving no room for argument. "Don't make me web your hands to the wall, because trust me, once that stuff's on, it's not coming off anytime soon." he quipped, his tone low but teasing, the corners of his mouth threatening a sly smile. "Kinky," she breathed with a soft laugh, her eyes glinting with mischief.

Before she could dwell any further on the idea of Spiderman's unexpected kinkiness, he shifted the hand gripping her wrists. The ungloved hand descended toward her panties, its movement deliberate and steady. A breath away from where she truly and utterly needed it most. "Please," she pleaded, her voice trembling with desperation. Peter chuckled, his cheeky smile widening as he leaned closer. 'Say it again,' he murmured, his tone dropped an octave, rich and teasing, as he leaned in, stopping just a breath away from her ear. Panting heavily, her flushed face turned toward him, she managed to gasp, her voice cracking under the weight of her plea, "Please, touch me."

And just like that, the pad of his index finger brushed against her clothed clit, a touch so light it was barely there. And yet, she felt it all the same—electric, unmistakable, A need so overwhelming, it forced another gasp from her lips. "Fuck! You’re not going to break me," she gasped, her breath hitching, the words desperate.

For a fraction of a second Peter grinned mischievously and pressed the pad of his finger further into her covered clit. His head dropped onto her shoulder, a deep, guttural groan escaping him as though he could no longer hold it back - at how damp her lace panties were. He'd made his mind up and surrendered to his baser desires, he deliberately began to coax her clothed core into submission with slow, deliberate strokes. His fingers danced across her sensitive skin in lazy circles, gradually increasing the pressure until she was writhing beneath his touch.

As he continued to tease her with his fingers, the slow, deliberate strokes ignited a fire within her, a flame that grew in intensity with each passing moment. The lazy circles he drew on her skin seemed to awaken a deep-seated hunger, a craving that threatened to consume her. Her body began to writhe and twist, her hips arching into his touch as she sought to increase the pressure, to deepen the sensation.

The fabric of her clothing, once a barrier, now seemed to enhance the experience, the gentle friction of the material against her skin adding an extra layer of sensitivity to the mix. His fingers, deft and skilled, coaxed and cajoled, drawing out a response from her that was both involuntary and irresistible. The pressure he applied, gradual and insistent, pushed her closer to the edge, until she was gasping, her breath coming in short, sharp pants.

Strokes grew more insistent, the pressure increasing, she felt herself being drawn into a vortex of sensation, a whirlpool of pleasure that threatened to pull her under. Her legs, once still, now began to tremble, the muscles tensing and relaxing in time with the strokes, as if urging Peter on, begging him to continue. The air around them seemed to vibrate with tension, the only sound the soft rustle of fabric, the gentle gasps of breath, and the pounding of their hearts, all combining to create a sense of anticipation, a sense of expectation, that seemed to build and build, until it was almost unbearable.

"Oh God," [Name] whispered, her voice trembling with need. "I don't know how much more of this I can take."

"Just a little longer," Peter replied, his voice low and husky. "I just… I don’t want this moment to end. You’re—you’re so beautiful."

And then, just as she thought she couldn't take it anymore, Peter's fingers changed rhythm, his touch becoming more urgent, more demanding. But instead of pushing her over the edge, he suddenly pulled his fingers away, leaving her feeling empty and bereft.

She let out a cry of disappointment, but Peter just smiled, his masked eyes narrowing intensity. He brought his fingers to his lips, tasting the sweet nectar that coated them. His eyes closed in rapture as he savoured the flavour, and she could see the realization dawn on him.

Untangled her legs from around his waist, he dropped to his knees, but in a swift and agile motion, he got her right leg over his shoulder on the way down. The movement was so smooth, so fluid, that [Name] barely had time to process what was happening before she found herself in a new and intimate position.

Peter's face was now buried in her pussy, his tongue licking out to taste her as he supported her weight on his shoulder. She felt his hot breath on her, his lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to drive her wild. Her leg was draped over his shoulder, her foot dangling in the air as he knelt before her, worshiping her with his mouth.

But as he delved deeper, his desire for her became more frenzied. With a swift and savage motion, he ripped her panties down the middle, the fabric tearing apart with a soft rip. [Name] felt a jolt of shock and excitement as the cool air hit her exposed skin, but before she could even process what was happening,

Peter's tongue was back, licking and sucking and probing with even greater intensity. As he continued to devour her, his fingers began to explore, gently probing her entrance before slipping inside. He started with one finger, his index finger, which he slowly inserted into her, feeling her inner walls clench around him. She was tight, but he was patient, taking his time to stretch her out, to prepare her for what was to come.

He began to add more fingers, his middle finger joining his index finger, and then his ring finger, slowly stretching her out until all three fingers were inside her. His fingers curled inside, hitting the spongy tissue that caused her to see stars. She could feel it—an overpowering surge building within, each wave cresting higher, stronger, relentless in its climb toward an inevitable breaking point. And he was her release—this masked hero who currently had her right leg thrown over his shoulder going for gold between her legs.

As he continued to finger her, moving his fingers in and out, in a slow, tantalizing rhythm. His fingers danced inside her, stroking her inner walls, building her pleasure, and driving her wild. With each stroke, he felt her getting closer, her muscles tensing, her breath catching, and he knew that she was on the edge, ready to tumble over into ecstasy.

(Name) couldn’t remember if he’d surfaced for air—he was a starving man, lost in an unrelenting desert, and she, the first drink of water, burned across his senses, igniting something raw and untamed within him. "I could die here, and I wouldn’t even care. This—this is everything" he groaned, his voice thick with passion, His masked eyes narrowed, the expressive lenses contracting as they locked onto hers. His focus was solely on her, and he could see the pleasure and desire reflected back at him, fuelling his own passion and driving him to take her higher.

She broke eye contact, her gaze faltering as she caught sight of her glistening juices clinging to his chin and lips, a sight both distracting and impossible to ignore... Because, damn, was that hot. All she wanted was to run her hands over his head, but that infuriating mask was in the way. "Don't stop," she begged, her head falling back against the rough brick wall, the cold surface grounding her as the moment consumed her entirely. Huffing a quick chuckle, he was back in an instant, his movements swift and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey.

And just like that, the brutal onslaught slammed into her, unyielding and merciless, tearing through her with a force that left no escape, no reprieve, only raw, consuming need. God, could this man eat! His tongue swept over her clit in endless, tantalizing licks—a raw display of pure indulgence. His fingers were unyielding as they bullied her G-spot, retreating only to plunge the trio of digits back in with relentless precision, leaving her wondering if she could endure the exquisite torture for much longer.

(Name) could feel the intense, building pressure, a crescendo of sensation that threatened to overwhelm her, and she knew that if he continued, she wouldn't be able to hold on for much longer, the anticipation and frustration coalescing into a desperate, aching need that begged for just one more touch, one more twirl of his tongue, to send her tumbling over the edge. And just like that, the taut thread of her control snapped, releasing a torrent of pent-up pleasure as her body surrendered to the overwhelming sensation, the dam breaking in a rush of ecstasy that left her shattered,

Peter felt her hand clasp the back of his mask as her back arched, a breathy "Oh~ Oh~, I'm," Her head was flung back, the tendons in her neck straining as her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth agape in a soundless scream, the only sign of her ecstasy a faint, keening gasp that escaped her parted lips. She had no need to announce her climax, for he could sense it in the way her core clamped down around his hand, the right one trembling violently over his shoulder as her body convulsed, and the sudden, silky rush of her cum on his tongue, a primal, instinctual knowledge that sparked a corresponding surge of pride within him.

Coming down from her high, gasps and shallow breaths spilling from her parted lips, she felt an overwhelming urge to tug away the mask of the man kneeling before her. She wanted to see him—not as the faceless figure in the suit, but as the person beneath.

Peter’s Spider-Sense tingled, and his reflexes kicked in. He felt it—the subtle tightening of her hand at the back of his head, the faint tug that followed. Adrenaline surged through him, and his left hand instinctively moved, smacking softly against the wrist of her right hand.

A splat echoed, and her right hand froze in place—she couldn’t move it. Did he? No… he had! He’d done exactly what he’d warned about, webbing her hand firmly to the wall. Lowering her leg from his shoulder, he wiped his chin and lips with his uncovered hand - succumbing to the irresistible urge to lick his fingers.

Despite having just been nestled between her thighs, his fingers still slick with the remnants of her climax, Peter couldn't resist the urge to bring them to his lips, and as he sucked the fingers that had just been inside her, he let out a low, throaty groan, the sound vibrating through the air as he savoured the taste of her, his eyes closing in rapture as he indulged in her flavour. "I told you—the mask stays on."

She wanted to be angry, but she couldn’t—not after the performance. The low, husky tone of his voice, the gentle rumble of his words, and the unmistakable bulge in his pants, all combined to send a pulse of heat straight back to her core, reigniting the embers of her desire and making her feel like she was being pulled under again.

She struggled to pull her wrist free from the webbing that bound her to the wall. "The more you struggle, the tighter it’ll hold you to the wall," he said, his tongue flicking out to brush against his bottom lip. "What?" she gasped, her chest heaving, her breasts straining against the sweetheart neckline as she looked at him bewildered. Noticing the way the eyes of his mask narrowed, his head dipping slightly downward, and the faint, almost hesitant curve of an awkward smile on his lips. "Up here," she called out to him, all traces of nervousness and embarrassment tossed to the wind as she pointed to her eyes.

His head snapped toward her, only to dart away just as quickly. In an instant, he stood at his full height as F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice slipped into his ear, calm but urgent: 'There’s a robbery happening right now at Artisan and Carat in Midtown Manhattan—seven heavily armed suspects, three hostages.' He bent down, retrieving his discarded glove with practiced ease, as F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice chimed in once more, her tone still measured but tinged with urgency. 'If you leave now, estimated arrival is approximately ten minutes. Casualty risk remains low, but it’s increasing,' she informed him crisply. As she spoke, a video feed patched through to his mask’s holographic interface, displaying live footage of the robbers inside the store. His jaw tightened as he took in the scene—the heavily armed suspects pacing, their movements erratic, and the hostages cowering in fear.

She wondered what had caused the sudden shift in his demeanor. One moment, he had been looking at her with that awkward, almost endearing smile, and the next, he was tense and poised, as if ready to spring into action. Her thoughts were interrupted as he reached for the glove on the ground, sliding it back onto his hand with a practiced efficiency. The motion only added to the growing sense that something unseen was pulling him away, his focus no longer on her but on some urgent, invisible call.

He glanced at her, a flicker of hesitation crossing his features as he struggled with the decision. The need to tell her what was happening warred with the urgency to act, to save the hostages before it was too late.

She watched as he adjusted the mask, the transformation so swift it left her breathless. In an instant, he was Spider-Man again—an untouchable figure, every trace of vulnerability buried beneath the red-and-blue façade. Yet, she knew something had shifted. She didn’t need to hear the words to feel the weight of them; the urgency radiating from him was undeniable. Whatever had happened, it was pulling him away.

Peter hesitated, torn by the fear that the woman he'd shared such an intimate moment with might think he had used her. Yet, as F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice punctuated the seconds with time estimates and escalating risks, he knew he had no choice but to act.

Backing into the alley, Peter’s voice came in a rush, tumbling over itself. "The web’s gonna dissolve! Like, really soon! Stop struggling, you’re only gonna make it worse!" The words left his mouth so quickly, they almost blurred together.

Without waiting for a response—or even checking if she listened—he shot a webline and launched himself forward. The pull of the swing was immediate, his grip tightening as he zipped up and away. The city blurred beneath him, a streak of light and sound.

“Peter,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. snapped in his earpiece, her tone clipped. “You’re three blocks off course. Redirect immediately.”

“I’m trying, I’m trying!” he shouted back, adjusting his trajectory mid-swing. His breath was quick, his heart racing as the sharp whistle of wind roared in his ears.

Behind him, her faint voice reached him for just a moment—a fleeting sound he couldn’t make out before the city swallowed it whole. It lingered in his mind, though, even as F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s next instruction pierced the chaos.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

She watched as he backed into the alley, the weight of his words hitting her like a blow. "The web’s gonna dissolve! Like, really soon! Stop struggling, you’re only gonna make it worse!" he called out, his voice sharp and hurried. Panic welled up inside her as she saw the decision he'd already made.

Before she could stop him, he sprang into action, launching himself forward. His web shot out, anchoring to a building, and in a heartbeat, he was gone—soaring through the night sky, the city swallowing him up. Desperation clawed at her throat, and she shouted after him, her voice breaking, "Wait! Don’t leave me like this!"

The cold reality hit her like a wave—she was trapped. Lace panties ripped and discarded pinned to the wall of the alley behind her apartment complex, she struggled against the sticky web, but it held firm. Her eyes darted to her purse, lying just out of reach on the ground. Panic crept in as she thought of everything inside—her phone, her keys—everything she needed to free herself or call for help.

She forced herself to take a deep breath, steadying the panic that threatened to consume her. The sticky web anchored her firmly to the wall, leaving her helpless but determined to keep calm. Her gaze landed on her purse, lying just out of reach, and a flicker of frustration crept in.

"Spider-Man," she murmured softly, almost to herself, her voice tinged more with disbelief than anger. A faint ache settled in her chest—not from the web, but from the realization that he had left her here, pinned and powerless, without so much as a second glance. She shifted her weight, trying to slide down the wall, but the web’s grip made even that a struggle, her pinned hand rendering the effort awkward and futile.

The sting of his absence was sharper than the situation itself. Only moments ago, they'd shared something so raw, so vulnerable, and yet he'd left her here, tangled in this mess without a word of explanation. Did it mean nothing to him? The thought gnawed at her, a hollow ache twisting in her chest. She had trusted him, let him in—and now, she was abandoned and alone.

The weight of it settled over her, sharp and unrelenting. She blinked back the tears threatening to spill, her chest stinging as the reality sank in. She’d been the one to kiss him first, to close the distance between them—but she had thought it meant something more. The way he had taken off, leaving her pinned and alone, stung in a way she hadn’t expected.

Her shoulders trembled slightly as she steadied her breathing, forcing herself to push the hurt aside. Once she was free, that would be it. Spider-Man could swing off into the night for all she cared. She wouldn’t think about him again—not his voice, not his touch, not the way he’d made her feel, if only for a moment.

He didn’t deserve it.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Well... If you got this far then I guess you've finished the first part, and all I want to say is "What did you think?" 😊😳

sorry for any mistakes!

XOXO

[davidisheresblog]

May 10th, 2025: The Day My Dragon Punch Dreams Almost Came True (Almost)

Alright, internet folks, gather 'round and let me regale you with the thrilling, the hilarious, the slightly sticky saga of David Lane's pilgrimage to the hallowed halls of pixelated combat – otherwise known as the local arcade. Yes, your favorite 28-year-old African American nerd (that's me, waving awkwardly) decided to embrace his inner child today and dive headfirst into the glorious chaos of flashing lights and 8-bit sound.

The day started innocently enough. Woke up, did the whole adulting thing – you know, brushed my teeth with a Star Wars toothbrush, contemplated the existential dread of needing to fold laundry, the usual. But then, a text chimed in. It was my cousin, Keisha, a woman whose competitive spirit could rival a honey badger fighting over the last drop of nectar. "Arcade. 2 PM. Be there or be square (and bad at Street Fighter)." The gauntlet had been thrown.

Now, for those unfamiliar with my Street Fighter prowess, let's just say I peaked somewhere around the time dial-up internet was considered high-speed. My muscle memory for a perfectly timed Hadoken is… well, let's just say it's more of a "Hadon't." But the lure of nostalgia, coupled with the promise of witnessing Keisha's inevitable rage-quits, was too strong to resist.

So, I rallied the troops. My best friend, Marcus, a man whose Guile skills are legendary (mostly in his own mind), and even my surprisingly agile (for a 60-year-old) Uncle Ray, a dark horse Ken player from way back, joined the pixelated party.

Stepping into the arcade was like stepping into a time machine powered by pure, unadulterated joy (and maybe a faint smell of stale popcorn). The cacophony of beeps, boops, and digitized shouts of "Shoryuken!" filled the air. It was beautiful.

We immediately gravitated towards the Street Fighter II cabinet, a beacon of retro gaming glory. The quarters clinked in, the character select screen flashed, and the digital smack-talk began.

My first match? Against Keisha, naturally. I picked Ryu, hoping for a nostalgic surge of skill. What I got was a swift and brutal beatdown courtesy of her lightning-fast Chun-Li kicks. I swear, her digital legs moved faster than my brain could process the concept of blocking. The round ended with a resounding "PERFECT!" and Keisha's triumphant (and slightly scary) laughter.

Marcus, ever the confident one, stepped up next. His Guile vs. Uncle Ray's Ken was a sight to behold. Uncle Ray, with his surprisingly nimble fingers, pulled off a few impressive Shoryukens, much to Marcus's bewildered frustration. Let's just say the phrase "sonic boom" was uttered with a lot less enthusiasm after that match.

My personal highlight (or lowlight, depending on how you look at it) came during my rematch with Keisha. I was this close to landing a Dragon Punch. I could feel it in my thumbs! The joystick was primed, the buttons were ready… and then, my Uncle Ray, in the heat of his own intense battle with a nearby Mortal Kombat machine, accidentally bumped my elbow. My Ryu executed a pathetic little hop instead of a devastating uppercut, leaving me wide open for another Chun-Li beatdown. Thanks, Uncle Ray. Thanks a lot. My dragon will remain un-punched for another day.

Despite my lack of digital fighting prowess, the day was a blast. The laughter, the friendly (and sometimes not-so-friendly) competition, the sheer joy of mashing buttons with people I love – it was exactly what I needed. Plus, I managed to snag the high score on the Ms. Pac-Man machine, so I'm considering that a moral victory for the day.

So, what did I learn? Firstly, my Street Fighter skills are still firmly stuck in the early 90s. Secondly, never underestimate the competitive spirit of your family. And thirdly, arcades are still magical places where grown-up nerds can momentarily forget about laundry and just try to land that elusive Dragon Punch.

Until next time, may your combos be smooth and your continue screens be few!

#ArcadeAdventures #StreetFighterII #NerdLife #FamilyFun #RetroGaming #DragonPunchDreams #AlmostHadIt #ButtonMashingMaster #MyDayInComedy

[enigma020]

I bought the wrong folder size but BAH ain’t stopping me from reminiscing my old days-

Like I planned last time, I do intend to remake some of the past comics I’ve made like “Starlight,” and the “Golden Lockets” comics but longer and digital. There were some stuff that never really made the final cut like Chara’s very origin and how they fell so there’s that.

Regarding Ryan Ruckus’ previous role in the AU;

Initially, he could wield determination through ill-motives. He was a powerhouse in the AU, in other words.

Which is why I had to get rid of his role in the AU a few years back which honestly, might’ve been for the best.

He fits in well with his current universe with my OCs anyway. Also, initially my blog name was gonna be named Hatsu but I didn’t likee-

Then there’s this one comic:

(Ignore the bone man and my VERY OLD Persona) Idk, I just wanted to show y’all how I intended to add Stela in the AU as well in the comic here and how I did this cool beam blast- (IGNORE THE BONE MAN PLS)

[m0r1bund]

hello! I was catching up on reading NAKAQUOI! and the essay from the most recent entry was such an inspiring method of storytelling. enough so to make me reach out and ask about your website in general (if you're comfortable answering!). what is it like running a lore/gallery site for your work? how and why did you get started? and lastly, what about it keeps you going?

thank you, cheers! -Winn

😭 Thank you so much for the kind words, this means a lot to me. I really enjoyed writing that little essay.

This is going to be a weird and vulnerable sidebar, but I promise I’m going somewhere with it. Honestly, it blows my mind that anyone reads them. I think it’s because I’m still operating on the assumption that this form of storytelling is for n=1 (yours truly) and other people are merely tolerating it, LOL. I used to be way more sensitive about sharing my characters / stories / worlds, because the forms of storytelling that came naturally to me were often received as incomprehensible, dense, and unintuitive by other people. At a certain point I decided that I just had to accept this and become my own hype man. People could enjoy the pretty pictures out of context, and they could be a vehicle for me to journal about the pretend people who live in my head. Good compromise 👍

for someone who talks big about making weird art and finding the 6 people in the audience who truly get it, I don’t think I realized that this could include my deranged essays about things that aren’t real. And yet. AND YET!!!! I think this desire to present my work in a way that’s “more” than just pretty pictures with text attached to them has been simmering for a long time, even though I dismissed it and was kind of embarrassed about it. Which is wild. Because I grew up on bestiaries and warrior cats lore compendiums and video game wikis and morrowind. There was clearly a precedent. And Yet.

Anyway, this desire started rubbing shoulders with the technical limitations of blogs and gallery websites, and also a general disillusionment with social media during the enshittification of the internet. Like, yeah it sucked that my whole body of work could vanish overnight. But mostly I had worldbuilding neuroses that made me want to scratch at the walls, and I knew just enough html + css to be dangerous. In 2018, I had also finished some longer works that made me more confident in my ability to deliver a cohesive Moribund, and these works weren’t intuitive to share on social media… So… I guess that gave me the impetus to stop flirting with the idea of getting my own website and start actually working on it.

M0R1BUND.com used to be a pure html + css + js website hosted on Neocities. It was ideal and I miss it in a lot of ways, because yeah, that IS the most unadulterated control you can have over your webspace. Had a blast with it, experimented a lot, learned a lot, hosted galleries and twines and webfiction and digital collages and ARPG stuff and interactive maps and a webcomic. And it was mine as much as it was the work of kind people sharing sample code on stackexchange, LOL.

Eventually, I felt the growing pains of managing this by hand. Updating ate hours out of my day. There are definitely more intuitive ways to build and maintain a pure html + css + js website, but I was working with what I knew. I started learning wordpress for basedt.net with the hopes of automating certain operations, like posting art to a gallery or pages to a webcomic. It felt intuitive enough that I later rebuilt M0R1BUND.com in wordpress.

It took a long time and a lot of work, like almost a year? And I still haven’t mirrored everything. Wordpress has made things easier to maintain, but I learned the hard way that it doesn't avoid the pitfalls of simpler website-builders… which is to say… whatever it does to make life easier will also make life incredibly difficult if you decide you want to do something manually. And it’s never the stuff you expect.

These days there’s also the baggage of Automattic’s nonsense. Wordpress is open source, so I don’t think it will go anywhere, but it’s still the corporate clownery that I wanted to escape by making my own website. Blech.

Really though, I love running M0R1BUND and it’s the closest thing I have to an ideal “home” for my work. Going to a dedicated website is unintuitive and out of the way for a lot of people, but (indicates generally) what have we just learned about me. This one’s for n=1 and the, like, 6 people who pop in and say hello. You are my people...

Looking forward, things cook at the rate of 2937728839 irons in the fire, and they are all getting done, but they are all getting done sooooo slowly… I’m having fun. Besides having a general compulsion to make art and tell stories and be Understood, I think that’s what carries me thru this. I want to have fun. and I want to trick people into caring about my characters and also the Sonoran Desert. And as Bjork says, I have to get the wiggles out or else the dark times will come.

It’s getting late and I don’t have a denouement for this. Thank you for your kind words! Thank you for asking! hope this answers? hope this helps (???) take the best and leave the rest.

[kirbyystar]

I Wanna Be Yours // TEASER

NOTE. ehehe i had an idea 😏 might make a full story of this but here's a teaser idk if I really wanna continue it... i didn't text proof it ignore my mistakes ok😭😭🙏

MASTERLIST.

It was another day heading home after work. You took the subway every night to get home, it wasn’t a long ride but enough to play a couple of songs. Tonight was more crowded than usual, making you sit next to someone. You didn’t like sitting next to others- you rather keep to yourself. But the only seat available was next to a man, seen to have two buns in his messy hair. He had headphones in, maybe he wouldn't mind and understand? 

You took the chance to sit beside him before anyone stole the spot. He still hasn’t noticed you, it's not like you wanted him to... So you took your headphones out. You figured you’d blast The Smiths, it was a long tiring day at work after all. But a familiar beat caught your left ear before you could put the headphones over you. It was Arctic Monkeys. You couldn’t put a finger on it until you heard the beat drop. The man was still lost in the music, perhaps he didn’t realize you were next to him yet. Maybe your staring was too hard because it interrupted him- He shifted his position to look at you as he was startled, leaning back into the chair.  “I love that song.” You spoke at him.

His eyebrows raised, still trying to process how’d you even sit next to him without him noticing. “It’s a pretty good song, huh?” His words replied at you. You nod, a smile forming in the process. “I know how to play it on the guitar,” he chuckles, “Along with a few others.” “Really?” you question, “I’m sure you’re good. Maybe not as good as me, but good.” You laugh at your own words, it wasn’t that you were trying to sound cocky but to throw in a joke to add in a little humor to your conversation.

His lips curved, “Well, I don’t know about that…”

“Are you doubting me?”

“No, no of course not. I’d just need to hear it.”  

“You have any videos?” 

He shakes his head, “Nah, but I do have a phone number. I could send you the videos through there?”

You hide your smile, was he asking for your number? No, no of course not. He just wanted to send you the videos. Obviously.

“Yeah, I can do the same.” He takes his phone to his contacts and you add your number, “By the way, what's your name?” He asks mid-process you putting in your digits.

“Y/n. What's yours?” 

“Choso.”

“Well Choso, it was nice meeting you.” Suddenly the subway stops, it’s your exit. “I’ll see you around.” You smiled at him as you stood up, your bag in your hands. You didn't get to look back but who knew this man had a grin the whole time after you left?

-

[horsesteak]

“Now thank the good lordy above this absolute belter of a nook is still open in the wee hours of the day!”

The sudden blast of energy the newcomer radiated as his voice joyfully boomed through the tiny, cramped eatery was an immediate overdose for the overworked waitress. It was far too late (or rather, early, according to the man) for this sort of social interaction.

Check out Everything and Nothing by beans (with 6 e's and 6 a's) on AO3! Also check out my co-artist @gearbroth 's (!!!) art on their blog!

For the 2023 TF2 Big Bang! @tf2bigbang

~~~

See below for bonus sketches and infodump!

It's been a while since I did a big art piece like this. It was fun, and it got me experimenting with watercolour pencils for the first time. I'm still learning the craft, and as much as I want my first ever watercolour painting to be perfect, it'll have to do. I'm satisfied with my attempt this time.

Although I do wish I could capture the painting in a higher resolution; phone camera and scanner couldn't cut it, everything is still a bit blurry. Here's the best I can take on my phone:

It's also the original colours, before digital shenanigans were done to it. The work of a sleep deprived art wizard waving his silly little magic wand tool to get everything to look nicer.

The original concept for this mini-comic came to me while I was sitting under a tree, halfheartedly trying to study for my two exams the next day. I quickly sketched this:

I honestly like the lineart of this sketch better than the final. What could be better than demo's sparkley anime eyes?

I was excited I finally came up with an idea after being high and dry for weeks. Basically my mental state:

I was going to have Demo stride in, burst through that door with exuberant energy that filled the Spy's shitty dead-end cafe. And also showcase his traditional Scottish garb, which let me tell you is a whole rabbithole that I eagerly leapt into while researching for cultural accuracy. (I tend rely on real life references alot. Trying to branch out to stylised drawing would be cool.)

What happened next were these little sketches on post-it notes. I draw on them first before committing paper because...it's fun :)

Also in this case, this is a comic, so I could rearrange the drawings how I liked, so this was actually goated.

In the second image, see another case of liking the lineart more than the final. I had half a mind to keep that sketch of Spy and paint over it, but that wasn't watercolour paper, so no... :(

I was surprised how well the sketches turned out. Bloody hell, I'm an artistic genius! Now lets see how that translates to paint, eh? Well, you already know.

Some things to improve on, personally, is to make the lineart cleaner next time, so the paint doesn't mix with the pencil to make this weird greyish colour. Anatomy, always. Clothing folds is another big one. And finally, time management. Man, art is a passion, but damn does having too little time screw my art quality over. Well as they say, scarcity breeds innovation.

If you've made it this far, I am putting a virtual turtle (vurtle) in your hand, because turtles are cool, and you are too.

As a bonus bonus to this info-dump, have the original concept sketch while I was feeling out how to draw Demo in formal Scottish suit and kilt.

THAT IS ALL.

[daydreamerwonderkid]

What fandoms you currently hyperfixated on?

Your oldest fandom?

Your favorite animes?

Favorite games?

How long you've been drawing?

Your favorite character from any franchise you can think of rn?

Sorry for the introgation LMAO, i just want to know more 👀

Lol you're all good, I don't mind asks like this :3

What fandoms you're currently hyperfixated on?

-Currently I'm pretty stuck on Batman/DC (can you tell?), but I'm also really into Dungeon Meshi and Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint. My sister recently introduced me to The Greatest Real Estate Developer and we've both been having an absolute blast with it. Idk if it has that big of a fandom, but it definitely should pffftt

Your oldest fandom?

-I wanna say Marvel and Star Wars since the first movie I ever saw was A New Hope and my first comic books were Spider-man and X-men comics. I was really hardcore into the MCU at its height and I'm a diehard fan of the Clone Wars series.

-Funnily enough, I was getting a bit burnt out by both the Marvel and SW fandoms a while back and that's actually why I got back into Batman and DC XD

Your favorite animes?

-My #1 favorite anime/manga/story of all time has got to be Full Metal Alchemist: Brotherhood. I don't know what to say about it that hasn't already been said, but it really is that fucking good and Hiromu Arakawa is definitely a huge inspiration to me.

-Other than that, I gotta say Paranoia Agent, Mob Psycho 100, Love is War, Spy x Family, Trigun (haven't seen Stampede yet), Mononoke, Castlevania, and Mushishi. I'm sure there's more, but those were the ones I could think of off the top of my head.

Favorite games?

-There's so many games I play, so I'll try to narrow it down a bit. Tbh my longest favorite running series/franchise has got to be Legend of Zelda. The only game from the series I didn't enjoy was Spirit Tracks, but otherwise I've pretty much enjoyed every single entry.

-I also love the Ace Attorney series, Stardew Valley, Jedi: Fallen Order (I have Survivor, but haven't played it yet), Disco Elysium, the Yakuza series, Ib, etc.

How long you've been drawing?

-Genuinely don't remember when I started. I think I've always been drawing. Of course, I was taught traditional art mediums first. I did a lot of oil painting, watercolor and charcoal drawing. It wasn't until, I wanna say, my third year of college that I started learning about digital art. It's not a medium I'm a 100% comfortable with and I've only recently started feeling more confident with it when I realized I could download brushes that were similar to pencils/ink/charcoal/watercolor/copic markers/etc.

Your favorite character from any franchise you can think of rn?

-That's a little difficult since I have so fucking many XD

-Atm, I can say my brain has been super fixated on Marcille Donato (Dungeon Meshi) and Dick Grayson (Nightwing/Batman). Tbh my brain is constantly rotating my favorites, so it really depends on the day or the week who my new top blorbo(s) is gonna be

[arcthebreeder]

DMO: Digimon Military Operatives_41.TXT

I can't get a rest, not even during Christmas Eve can't I?

First of all, happy holidays! I hope everyone who reads this blog has a merry Christmas!

I'm sorry to be talking about this during the holidays but it is what it is, although I ran out of those a long time ago. But I came to inform you about a situation I got in approximately two days ago, while I was walking around my neighborhood.

I was preparing for a bday party and, in the middle of the street, I found a military stand, I wasn't specifically in a rush so I decided to sneak in and see what could be wandering around that place and oh boy we did find something.

Almost as soon as we got into the system, Herissmon jumped to see what could be there, she has a very hyperactive personality so she started bouncing around the place, I let her do that because Canoweissmon was taking care of her, so she was pretty safe after some time of not finding anything, I decided to get out, however, we got attacked by an old friend, the Tobiumon guy, who at this point doesn't have a Tobiumon anymore, but a Regalecusmon, an Ultimate level, aquatic type, Virus attribute Digimon. He attacked from the back using Regalecusmon's Reactor Discharge, an attack that blows everything away within a mile radius, the blast sent my Digimon flying, so i sent out Regulusmon to help and backed up Herissmon so she wouldn't get hurt, both Regulus and Canoweissmon began attacking, however, Regalecusmon somehow got to avoid the attacks, and then, they started showing their strategy, the Tobiumon guy, who at this point will get the nickname "Ocean Man" (I'm hilarious) deployed his other digimon, Cthyllamon, an ultimate level, fairy type and Virus attribute digimon similar to a MarinAngemon that has fallen into the darkness. Once it came out, it used its special move "Ocean Hell" a move that creates a domain akin to the depths of the sea and stills the fighting spirit of those affected by it, and thus, Canoweissmon and Regulusmon had trouble keeping up with the fight, not only due to the effects of the Ocean Hell, but thanks to the pressure that was being applied to their bodies. When a space like this is created, it simulates the conditions that said would have in the Digital World, considering this, they were basically divers with basic to no protection in the middle of the oceanic depths, Regalecusmon took this chance to use its Briona Strike to attack, Regalecusmon is considered the current apex of the marine food chain of the Digital World, and it was showing us why.

Canoweissmon and Regulusmon are used to fight in the air, not in the middle of the sea, and their bodies were suffering from extreme damage, I didn't have (and still I don't have) any aquatic digimon to cope with the situation, but then I thought about something, maybe overheating the area would help us either get rid of the Ocean Hell or escape, but when I ordered Canoweissmon to start recharging for the Gran Nova, Cthyllamon's mouth tendrils trapped him with the Buccal Rush, so I had only one option, I retrieved Regulusmon, and sent out Herissmon, why you ask? Because she could use her Lighting Fur to shoot her quills to Cthyllamon's tendrils and make it flinch, so Canoweissmon could attack, however, this didn't go as intended.

Even tho Herissmon did some damage to Cthyllamon's tendrils, she's still a Child, so Cthyllamon easily got rid of her by just using another tendril to throw her at Canoweissmon, I gotta be thanked because it wasn't Regalecusmon who at this point was too sure of its win to take care of anything, so I thought of something... Helloogarmon's flames.

It's only presence would boil the whole place down, so I took the risk and sent him out. He was confused at first, but easily got what was going on and ATTENDED MY ORDER to use the Howling Burst, that burnt the Ocean Hell and damaged almost everyone, including himself, once the space was free of any water that could be used against us, Herissmon got on top of Helloogarmon's head, and they both charged against the two marine digimon while I was treating Canoweissmon and with a combination of Helloogarmon's magical flames and Herissmon being used as a basketball to take advantage of its electricity imbued quills, Regalecusmon and Cthyllamon fell unconscious.

The Ocean Man disconnected out of shame and I searched among the files that were inside the military stand, it appears to be a database of Digital weapons, such as the Dramon Killers and the Brave Shield used by Wargreymon or the Móralltach and Beagalltach, the swords wielded by Diarbbitmon.

They were probably stealing these things to equip their Sealsdramon and others with them, they're also probably stolen. Oh, and here's something interesting, Helloogarmon was sniffing through the equipment and found something pretty interesting, a wrench looking mace called the "Vánagandr" he apparently liked it a lot so I let him keep it, from what I got to see, the Vánagandr is a mace used by Soloogarmon, another one of Loogamon's evolutions, during my free time in the holidays, I'll investigate on how to use this to help Helloogarmon Slide Evolve into Soloogarmon, I'll get to what exactly Slide Evolution is once I finish my research, but know that probably the results will be amazing.

[ajwrites52]

Batober Day 4-Forgotten

“IT’S TOO LATE CAPED CRUSADERS!” yelled the Time Commander as he held in his hand an azure orb that shined bright like a star. 

“With this Orb of Chronos! I, The Time Commander, shall carve my name into Gotham City and eventually all of TIME!” Everything the orbs light touched began to vibrate and morph before turning to dust or becoming brand new, Time Commander chuckled as he grasped the orb and summoned two rifts in space Time which summoned a Tyrannosaurus Rex and a Smilodon to face down the caped crusaders. 

“Holy Prehistoric Predators, Batman! He’s using the orb to summon beasts from the past!” exclaimed Robin who readied himself alongside Batman for a true challenge of a fight. 

“Hurry Robin! We must disarm him and deactivate the orb before he rips apart the fabric of reality!” Batman and Robin raced forward, the Dynamic Duo grappling upwards as they split up to battle the two beasts.

WHAM!

Batman grunts as he slams his gloved fist against the jaws of the Pleistocene big cat before tossing a roundhouse kick that sends it flying back through the rift that summoned it. 

“YABBA-DABBA DOO!!!” Robin bellowed as he slid down the back of the T-Rex, somersaulting off as he reached the tip of the beast's tail. The tyrannosaurus roared and lunged at the Boy Wonder who landed on his hands at the feet of the Time Commander allowing him to kick his weapon out of his hands and into the air.

“No!! You fool! You don’t know what you’ve done!” yelled the Violet Villain who jumped after the orb. But before he could land a single digit on the object of his desire, Robin seized the opportunity and threw one of his Birdarangs which shattered the orb. “NO!!!!”

There was only a flash of light, Time Commander screamed as he felt himself being dragged towards the core of the explosion like a blackhole which threatened to take even Robin. Robin fought back against the explosions force, stabbing a Birdarang into the ground to hold him in place with Batman doing the same with his grappling line. “Hang on Robin!”

“But Batman! The Time Commander!” The two looked on in horror as The Time Commander screamed in agony as the villain felt every atom in their body be dragged into the vortex before vanishing in an explosion of light that destroyed the exhibit. Robin coughed as the smoke cleared, Gotham’s duo looked in shock as they found no trace of The Time Commander or the Orb of Chronos. 

“Where did he go?” asked Robin. 

“Not where, Old Chum, but when.”

YEARS LATER

Neo-Gotham. 20XX. What was once a modern gothic nightmare had now fully embraced the world of the future and technology, flying cars that flew amongst the sky scrapers and neon signs that displayed an advertisement every passing second. In the bowels of this city, a hooded vagabond stumbles through the empty halls of the Gotham History Museum groaning with every step as he arrives at his destination. 

THE HALL OF VILLAINS

Inside of the exhibit, countless statues and holograms depict Batman’s many battles with various rogues and criminals in the city's history. The Joker. Two-Face. Killer Croc. Mr. Freeze. Bane? Half of these freaks he’d hadn’t heard of, and the rest were just starting out alongside him. The vagabond growls as he reaches the end of the exhibit, not a single hint or sign of him, anywhere. The vagrant’s eyes begin to crackle with energy and he explodes with energy, decimating the building as he begins to float off of the ground and destroy the surrounding area as he reveals his true form. 

“CALENDAR MAN! CALENDAR MAN GOT A STATUE! BUT I, THE TIME COMMANDER WAS FORGOTTEN TO TIME! FOOLS!! I AM THE MASTER OF TIME! I RULE THE SANDS OF TIME AND CONTROL EVERY INCH OF YOUR PATHETIC LIVES! I AM-” 

“Someone who talks way too much.” The Time Commander turns around and grunts as a flying black torpedo slams his body into the concrete. He groans in pain and blasts the vehicle off of his body, his eyes flaring up with the energy that surrounded his hands and levitated him off of the ground. 

“Who the hell are you?” The Time Commander glared at the black and red figure who stood atop of a streetlight glaring at him unflinching. He noted the large red Bat that decorated his chest, and instantly put it together. “No. It can’t be. You’re…”

“Yep. I’m Batman!” The futuristic Batman Beyond leaps into the air before falling towards Time Commander wielding an oddly designed Batarang in hand. With a single toss, the flying weapon slammed into the villain's body causing him to scream in agony as he felt his body being torn apart once again. “And you’re history.” 

“N-No! NO!!! I-I am… I… Who? What? WHO AM I? NO!!! NO!! NOooooooo!!”

KRA-KA-KOOOM!!!!

A beam of light shot upwards into the sky, leaving a smoking crater in the street as Batman flew away to the nearest rooftop. “Well that was some lightshow, gotta say. Kinda weird that you just have a batarang to deal with time travelers.”

“Trust me. Once you’ve been in the game as long as I was, you make plans for countless potential problems.” answered an ornery old voice on the other end of the younger Batman’s comms. Batman chuckled as he removed his mask to reveal a young Terry McGuinnes who looked up at the sky where the beam went. 

“By the way, who even was that freakazoid?” 

“Frankly Terry, even I don’t remember him.” 

TO BE CONTINUED(possibly)

[mrl3afbug]

The clatter of woks and the sizzle of garlic filled the air of Pigsy’s Noodles, a small shop tucked away in a bustling city corner. Pigsy, a burly demon pig with a perpetual scowl, hunched over his tablet, tapping furiously. “Another online order,” he grumbled, his tusks practically grinding against each other. “It’s always online! Nobody ever walks in here anymore. Just these blasted virtual bellies!”

His grumbling was a familiar soundtrack at Pigsy's. The only exception to the digital deluge was his old friend, Tang Sanzang, a bookish man with a perpetually rumpled appearance, who was currently perched at the counter, a half-eaten bowl of noodles before him.

Pigsy pointed a greasy spatula at Tang. “And you! You’re still here. Pay up, oh great professor! This ain’t a charity!”

Tang, a history professor by day and a noodle-moocher by night, chuckled, a twinkle in his eye. “My dear Pigsy, you wound me. Is not friendship payment enough?” With a dramatic sigh, Tang began to casually gather his things, inching towards the door.

“Don’t you sneak off, you noodle-stealing scholar!” Pigsy roared, but Tang was already out the door, whistling innocently. Pigsy sighed, running a hand over his bristly head. Tang was a good friend, sure, but he was also a master of the free meal.

“MK!” Pigsy bellowed, his voice booming across the shop. “Get down here! You got deliveries to do, you daydreaming driver!”

A thump from the stairs above announced the arrival of MK, a lanky 16-year-old boy with hair that constantly fell in his eyes. He wore a t-shirt featuring the Monkey King, his idol and obsession. “Coming, Pigsy!” MK yelled, his eyes already scanning the order screen. “Ooh! I wonder if the person who ordered this one has seen the new Monkey King action figure! I bet they’re a big fan too!”

“Just focus on the delivery, you brain-addled boy!” Pigsy growled, shoving the stack of take-out bags towards MK. “And get moving! Don't go getting distracted again. Remember what happened last time with the dog show?”

MK grinned sheepishly. “Right, right, no distractions.” He grabbed the bags and hopped onto the small tuck-tuck, an old, sputtering vehicle that was their designated delivery machine.

Upstairs, Vivi, MK’s twin brother, shook their head, a small smile playing on their lips. Vivi, with their striking vitiligo skin and androgenous look, was a master of all trades. In the small room they shared with MK, Vivi was carefully crafting a small clay figure, their hands working with a meticulous grace that belied their age.

Vivi was used to MK’s distractions. They had seen it all: the time he tried to join a street dance competition, the parade he accidentally joined, and of course the infamous dog show incident where MK had gotten so carried away petting a pug that he forgot about the delivery completely.

They sighed, knowing it was probably time to check on the tuck-tuck once more. Vivi’s own motorcycle, a sleek machine, usually sat idle, only brought out when the tuck-tuck was suffering its usual breakdown. They finished the clay figure, a small, intricately detailed Monkey King for MK, a tiny hope that it might keep his attention focused, for a little while anyway.

Downstairs, Pigsy was back to his tablet, muttering complaints about the influx of orders and his lack of in-person patronage. He may have been a gruff, often grumpy demon pig, but he cared deeply for MK and Vivi, having taken them in as orphans years ago. They were family, a chaotic, loveable family, bound by noodles, shared meals, and the never-ending struggle of running Pigsy’s Noodles.

As the day went on, Pigsy continued to cook, Tang continued to steal noodles, MK continued to get distracted and Vivi continued to keep the peace. Life at Pigsy’s Noodles was never straightforward, but it was home. And as long as they had each other, even with all the online orders and free-loading professors, they wouldn't have it any other way.

Late into the evening, Vivi was fixing the tuck-tuck again. MK came out, holding the clay Monkey King figure. "Woah, Vivi! You made this?" MK beamed, his eyes sparkling. "It's so cool! Thanks!"

Vivi chuckled, a low, melodic sound. "Don't mention it, just try not to let it distract you like everything else, okay?"

MK smiled sheepishly, and Vivi knew that it was a lost cause, but they couldn't help but be amused with that. They just hoped that someday, MK would find something other than the Monkey King to occupy his attention, even for a moment. But for now, they had noodles to make, the tuck-tuck to fix, and a whole lot of family chaos to navigate.

[rjalker]

sure, I guess. I can't find what year this was published but I don't think it was legal, lol..........

Know him?

Well you might say I practically grew up with him. He was my hero in those days. I thought few wiser or greater men ever lived. In my eyes he was greater than Babe Ruth, Lindy, or the President.

Of course, time, and my growing up caused me to bring him into a perspective that I felt to be more consonant with his true position in his field of endeavor. When he died his friends mourned for fond remembrance of things past, but privately many of them felt that he had outlived his best days. Now with this glorious vindication, I wonder how many of them are still alive to feel the twinge of conscience....

Oh, we're delighted of course, but it seems incredible even today to us elated oldsters. Although we were always his staunchest admirers, in retrospect we can see now that no one believed more than we that he did it strictly for the dollar. It is likely there was always a small corps of starry-eyed adolescents who found the whole improbable saga entirely believable, or at least half believed it might be partly true. The attitude of the rest of us ranged from a patronizing disparagement that we thought was expected of us, through grudging admiration, to out-and-out enthusiasm.

Certainly if anybody had taken the trouble to consider it—and why should they have?—the landing of the first manned ship on our satellite seemed to render him as obsolete as a horde of other lesser and even greater lights. At any rate, it was inevitable that the conquest of the moon would be merely a stepping-stone to more distant points.

Oh, no, I had nothing to do with the selection of the Red Planet. Coming in as head of Project P-4 in its latter stages, as I did when Dr. Fredericks died, the selection had already been made. Yes, it's quite likely I may have been plugging for Mars below the conscious level. A combination of chance, expediency and popular demand made Mars the next target, rather than Venus, which was, in some ways, the more logical goal. I would have given anything to have gone, but the metaphorical stout heart that one reporter once credited me with is not the same as an old man's actual fatty heart.

And there were heartbreak years ahead before the Goddard was finally ready. During this time he slipped further into obscurity while big, important things were happening all around us. You're right, that one really big creation of his is bigger than ever. It has passed into the language, and meant employment for thousands of people. Too few of them have even heard of him. Of course, he was still known and welcomed by a small circle of acquaintances, but to the world at large he was truly a "forgotten man."

It is worthy of note that one of the oldest of these acquaintances was present at blast-off time. He happened to be the grandfather of a certain competent young crewman. The old man was a proud figure during the brief ceremonies and his eyes filled with tears as the mighty rocket climbed straight up on its fiery tail. He remained there gazing up at the sky long after it had vanished.

He was heard to murmur, "I am glad the kid could go, but it is just a lark to him. He never had a 'sense of wonder.' How could he—nobody reads anymore."

Afterward, his senile emotions betraying him, he broke down completely and had to be led from the field. It is rumored he did not live long after that.

The Goddard drove on until Mars filled the viz-screen. It was planned to make at least a half-dozen braking passes around the planet for observational purposes before the actual business of bringing the ship in for landfall began. As expected the atmosphere proved to be thin. The speculated dead-sea areas, oddly enough, turned out to be just that. To the surprise of some, it was soon evident that Mars possessed, or had possessed, a high civilization. The canali of Schiaparelli were indeed broad waterways stretching from pole to pole, too regular to be anything but the work of intelligence. But most wonderful of all were the scattered, but fairly numerous large, walled cities that dotted the world. Everybody was excited, eager to land and start exercising their specialties.

One of the largest of these cities was selected more or less at random. It was decided to set down just outside, yet far enough from the walls to avoid any possibility of damage from the landing jets in the event the city was inhabited. Even if deserted, the entire scientific personnel would have raised a howl that would have been heard back on Earth if just a section of wall was scorched. When planet-fall was completed and observers had time to scan the surroundings it was seen that the city was very much alive.

"What keeps them up!" marvelled Kopchainski, the aeronautics and rocketry authority.

The sky swarmed with ships of strange design. The walls were crowded with inhabitants, too far away for detailed observation. Even as they looked an enormous gate opened and a procession of mounted figures emerged. In the event the place was deserted, the Captain would have had the honor of being the first to touch Martian soil. While atmospheric and other checks were being run, he gave orders for the previously decided alternative. Captain, semanticist and anthropologist would make the First Contact.

With all checks agreeing that it was safe to open locks, soon the three representatives of Earth were walking shoulder to shoulder down the ramp. It was apparent that the two scientists purposely missed stride inches from the end, so that it was the Captain's foot that actually touched ground first.

The cavalcade—though these beasties were certainly not horses—was now near enough to the ship for details to be seen. Surprise and wonderment filled the crew, for while the multi-legged steeds were as alien as anyone might expect to find on an alien world, the riders were very definitely humanoid. Briefly, brightly and barbarically trapped as they were by earthly standards, they seemed to be little distinguishable from homegrown homo saps.

The approaching company appeared to be armed mainly with swords and lances, but also in evidence were some tubular affairs that could very well be some sort of projectile-discharging device. The Captain suddenly felt unaccountably warm. It was a heavy responsibility—he hoped these Martians wouldn't be the type of madmen who believed in the "shoot first, inquire later" theory.

Even as he stood there, outwardly calm but jittering internally, the Martian riders pulled up ten feet from the Earthmen. Their leader, tall, dark-haired, and subtly lighter in hue than his companions, dismounted and approached the Captain. With outstretched hand he took the Captain's in a firm grip.

Let it be recorded here, to the shame of an Earth where reading for pleasure is virtually a lost pastime, that not one man on the Goddard realized the significance of what followed.

"How do you do?" he said in perfect English, with an unmistakable trace of Southern accent.

"Welcome to Barsoom! My name is John Carter."

[bllsbailey]

Paging David Muir and ABC News: Humiliation Is Calling, Courtesy of New FBI Crime Stats

Moderators David Muir and Linsey Davis of ABC News delivered a frankly disgusting performance during the September presidential debate between Kamala Harris and Donald Trump. The network had agreed that there would be no fact checks and no interruptions, yet the partisan duo proceeded to do exactly that.

In fact, Trump was fact-checked at least five times, while Harris was left to say whatever the heck she wanted (much of it lies).

RedState didn’t hold back on what we thought of the tag-team event:

Quiet Part Out Loud? ABC Debate Co-Moderator Makes Eye-Opening Admission on Why They Fact-Checked Trump

Candy Crowley Is No Longer the Worst Presidential Debate Moderator of All Time

RFK Jr. Blasts Kamala, Biased Debate Moderators; Says 'the Party That I Grew Up in Doesn't Exist Anymore'

Perhaps the most infamous moment came when Muir, using his most arrogant, self-important tone, interrupted Trump on crime statistics. Yes, the former president fought back and tried to explain why Muir was wrong, but the mission had already been accomplished: they wanted to interrupt Trump’s flow, have him go off on some sideline that wasn’t germane to the argument he was making—and they succeeded. If this were Kamala Harris using these tactics, that would have been fine—she’s supposed to be trying to trip him up—but to have the supposedly unbiased neutral “moderators” join forces with Kamala was quite simply unethical.

Of course, Trump was right, and Muir was wrong. The FBI, whose reputation was already in tatters, just demeaned themselves even more by quietly releasing new statistics showing that rather than the 2.1 percent decrease they’d reported, it was actually a 4.5 percent increase. Oops. 

RedState's Bonchie: SURPRISE: The FBI Just Stealth-Edited Its Violent Crime Rate, Blows Up Democrat and Press Narrative

Yeah. The crime rate went up, not down.  

But while Mr. Muir may be at his  $7 million dollar home on Skaneateles Lake, New York, busily eating crow for dinner, has he apologized to Trump, to the American people, to anybody? According to reports, the cat has got his tongue:

Muir has yet to acknowledge the FBI's stat change on "World News Tonight," according to Grabien transcripts. ABC News did not immediately respond to Fox News Digital's request for comment.

"Did not immediately respond." Meaning, they're cowering like cats in a rainstorm.

I wondered in a piece Friday why this election is apparently so close—despite a majority of voters reporting that they are worse off than they were four years ago. One of my conclusions: the lying mainstream media has played a huge role in dumbing down the American voter.

…the mainstream media lies to the American people regularly, and basically is an arm of the Democrat party. As much progress as we’ve made with conservative media, a huge portion of people still rely on legacy outlets and blindly vacuum up whatever they’re told. I know members of my own family who wouldn’t argue over the articles and facts we print here at RedState—they would just deny those facts even existed. "I didn't see that," they'd say, as if that made it not true.

Muir’s needless interjection into a historic and potentially history-defining debate was appalling at the time, but this new information makes him and his network look even worse. It would be nice to see him man up to it, but manning up is not something we see too often these days coming from the Democrat party/corporate media cabal. 

Meanwhile, I don't often praise Saturday Night Live, but their version of the conceited moderator had some funny moments (especially at the beginning where Mr. "I'm So Handsome" preens and laughs about his obvious bias):

[frostehburr]

My 30 Platinum Challenge Failed but Still Got 7

I had decided to make September a 30 day challenge month. This year I decided to try for the 30 Platinum Trophy challenge. Which is an attempt to unlock 30 platinum trophies within 30 days. And I failed it without even getting one third of the way through.

My guess is it's mostly the games I chose to play for this challenge combined with my ever busy schedule and lack of free time or energy.

At the start of the challenge I popped in Jak and Daxter the Precursor Legacy. A simple platform game developed by Naughty Dog (who you may know as those guys that made the mushroom zombie game). It took me about a week to 100% it and it was then and there I realized I should pick smaller games that take less hours to 100%.

So my next game was Daxter which I breezed through within three days. I think it was a nice preview into Jak 2, which I started but decided to shelf because Naughty Dog is well known to make challenging games. I guess as part of the "no fun allowed" that one guy said was policy in the company or something. Idk, it's been a long while since I heard the actual quote and I got tired of Jak games so I moved on.

Around the time those two games were done, Sly Cooper dropped a PS4 version so of course I had to complete that game. It wasn't as fast as the original PS3 Collection version but that's because the Collection version gave trophies for completing levels instead of offering unique methods like how the PS4 version went.

After that it was Miles Morales to compliment the Spider-man trophy. I thought Miles was going to be a relatively short game based on what I heard about it but I spent far too much time on this game. Particularly because of the New Game Plus trophy. That proved to be a pain in the ass with how little free time I had for the game to begin with.

Although, it was comical how often Miles Morales would glitch and bug out every now and then. One minute several icons stayed on screen even during cutscenes and later the audio for a character would shut off completely. I was legit concerned I wouldn't get the platinum because of the frequent bugs but the trophy popped so all was good.

I then set out on Ty the Tasmanian Tiger. A childhood classic I played on the Gamecube now purchased as a digital copy via giftcard. Lots of hoops for this one.

Another platformer that wasn't too much of a pain and went by alright. Hell of a long credits though.

There was a sudden urge to play Infamous after that so I nabbed First Light and took that platinum within a few days. Fetch was a somewhat interesting character to play but the bright flashes from the powers disagreed with my eyes.

Which made playing the original with Cole an odd choice. You'd think I'd want something less sparky, easy on the eyes, and didn't take all my time to complete.

Well, I was at the end of the month at this point and already decided I failed the challenge. So may as well play a game I really enjoyed. I remember getting the platinum before but since I had to get a new PS3 I had to redo the platinum all over again. Fun.

For the most part it wasn't that bad. Majority of the trophies were morality based so doing two playthroughs unlocked basically half the trophies. The hardcore trophy had me set the game to hard difficulty which was as easy as well easy with the evil Cole playthrough. Evil Cole did massive damage which made breezing through hard mode so much better especially since I didn't have to be concerned about bystanders.

The biggest pain in Infamous was the blast shards. OMG, the blast shards were impossible to find! I ran across all three islands multiple times, zig-zag, horizontal, vertical, and in literal circles in and outward spirals just to find the 30 I had left. It's always most difficult to find the small numbers since they're always in the last place you look. Mainly because there's nowhere else to look after that. Why is that a saying in the first place? Seems like a logical conclusion stating the obvious like an asshole.

Annoying collectables aside...

That was seven platinum trophies I earned in this 30 day challenge that I failed. I had a lot of fun with it and would like to do another 30 day challenge like this next year. However, I think I would pick easier games to play so I'm not stressing on time for this.