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bombiikki · 21 days ago

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𝖎n 𝖞our 𝖆rms 𝖙onight ⸝⸝ 𓂃₊ ⊹

⋆˙⟡ — non idol!hanni x spidergirl!reader

♯ 𝖘ynopsis : being spidergirl comes with its perks. an example would be managing to bag a girlfriend and her warm arms. so, it makes it worth saving the world when you can be cradled in your girlfriend’s arms at night, even if it was your last night.

𝖈ontains : hella angst like pure angst even, some fluff if u squint rlly hard, character death! mentions of blood, and dying, and crying, but theyre still cute-ish! theyre actually in their exes arc the entire fic, very reader centric fic and just internal dialogue

𝖜ord 𝖈ount : 15.8k

𝖆uthor's 𝖓ote : is it wrong to die in your loved one’s arms despite not seeing them in MONTHS. anyways so i lwk forgot that reader is into photography so erm i tried implenting that more in this…! i was lwk plotting on this angst idea since the start of this whole spidergirl saga so ya they were destined to have a sad ending from the start…….

. ♬ ݁˖ 𝖓ow 𝖕laying — arms tonite by mother mother

a part 2 ver 2 to "a blessing in disguise" < to the spidergirl series masterlist

rain hadn't touched the city in a week, but the heat clung to the pavement like guilt. streetlights glared down at empty intersections, windows blinked like eyes trying not to see, and somewhere downtown, tires screamed as a getaway truck tore through traffic like it had something to prove.

you swung in on a breeze that smelled like exhaust and gunpowder, your suit hugging the air like an old friend. sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder.

the sirens were wailing like the city was crying, long and loud, chasing the blur of a black armoured truck that tore through the downtown streets like it owned them. headlights blinked out of the way. horns blared. chaos spilled like water from a cracked glass.

you swung low from a streetlight, boots skimming traffic lights and neon signs, heart thudding to the rhythm of wind in your ears. you weren’t the girl behind the mask right now. you weren’t memories or grief or promises made under the sting of rain. you were spidergirl—just spidergirl—and she knew what to do.

the chase had been going on for three blocks. the truck was heavy, armoured, fast, and ugly as hell. but it had one flaw. it couldn’t fly.

you shot a web, flipped forward, and landed with a solid thud right on the roof of the truck. the rooftop of the truck shuddered beneath your boots as you landed. smooth. clean. your heart already pounding from the thrill. you knelt, peeking over the edge, the streetlights streaking across the curve of your lenses.

you knelt down and peered through the windshield like someone browsing at a pet store. “hey!” you shouted, knocking twice on the glass with the heel of your palm. “you forgot to use your turn signal back there.”

the guy inside shouted something. probably not a thank you.

you scurried to the side window, hung upside down like a bat, and tapped the glass with one knuckle. “c’mon, roll it down. i just wanna talk.”

no response. just cursing and panicking and the kind of wide-eyed fear you’d come to recognise. you sighed.

“okay, plan b.”

you webbed the side mirror, swung down, and landed on the passenger side, upside down now. your head dipped into view like a spider in spandex (because you were a spider in spandex).

“so, i’m guessing customer service isn’t your thing,” you quipped, watching the guy in the passenger seat fumble his gun. “but let’s talk discounts. fifty percent off your prison sentence if you stop now.”

he aimed. big mistake.

you launched yourself through the shattered glass, boots first, crashing into him. the truck veered, honking erupted from terrified civilians, and somewhere behind, the police sirens sang louder.

you wrestled the gun away with ease, webbed it to the ceiling, then gave the guy a quick elbow nap. he slumped over, drooling.

“and that’s what we call express shipping,” you muttered.

the driver screamed something you didn’t quite catch, probably a prayer or a curse. you reached forward, gripped the wheel.

“mind if i drive?”

he didn’t answer. probably because you webbed him to his seat.

the truck careened toward an intersection. you had seconds. too many people. too little road.

you planted both feet on the floor, yanked the steering wheel hard, and launched out through the windshield just before the truck jackknifed sideways, slamming into an empty delivery van. metal shrieked, glass exploded, a symphony of wrong.

but no casualties. thank god.

you landed on a lamppost, crouched like some mythic gargoyle, and exhaled.

the flashing reds and blues closed in fast. officers spilled out like ink, weapons raised, eyes wide. you didn’t wait for applause. just offered a small salute and vanished upwards into the city buildings.

you didn’t stay for pats on the back. never did.

not when you couldn’t let them see you. not when you weren’t ready to be the girl beneath the mask.

not yet.

so you swung higher, heart still racing. adrenaline in your blood like lightning. buildings blurred past as you soared, wind catching your laughter. you cracked a few more jokes to the sky. some for them. most for yourself.

because the truth? being spidergirl was easy.

you knew what to do in the field. knew when to flip, when to strike, when to run. it was the in-between moments—quiet rooftops, the lull after a fight—that got hard.

but for now, it was just you and the sky.

just spidergirl. just the city. just the wind in your hair and the heartbeat of someone who, even when everything else broke, still knew how to fly.

you sat at your desk, the hum of the ceiling fan barely keeping up with the weight in your chest.

the suit hung off the edge of your bed, like some kind of ghost you couldn’t shake. crumpled and silent, it stared back at you in the same way the night always did—patient, unblinking, unforgiving.

you couldn’t look at it for too long. not without thinking about her.

so instead, your eyes drifted—slow, heavy—to the wall.

that stupid wall.

it was filled top to bottom with polaroids, all thumbtacked with care. each one snapped without thinking, but now they pulsed with meaning. they were alive in a way you didn’t feel anymore.

hanni smiling with bubble tea in hand. hanni laughing mid-spin in the park. a blurred photo of your intertwined hands, sunlight flaring behind. hanni in a lab coat, squinting through goggles, mid-experiment. a photo of just your shadows on the sidewalk, hers slightly ahead. one where she was pretending to fly off a rooftop, arms stretched wide, wind in her hair. you were just outside the frame—but you remembered laughing.

you could remember all of them. every second. every heartbeat.

you should’ve taken them down. should’ve boxed them up, burned them, buried them. but you couldn’t. because they were all that was left of something that still throbbed inside you.

you tilted your head and stared at one in particular—taken during golden hour, light bleeding around her face. her smile soft. tired. real. it was the day after finals. she had fallen asleep on your shoulder that evening.

you blinked too slowly, and suddenly the memory played out behind your eyes. her weight against you. the quiet. her breathing.

you missed that more than anything. the quiet between you two. the kind that wasn’t empty.

your jaw clenched, and you sat back in your chair. the wood creaked beneath you like even it knew something was broken.

how could you still love her this much?

you told yourself it was for her own good. that walking away—staying away—was the only way to keep her safe. that you were doing the right thing.

but if it was the right thing, why did it hurt so much?

your fingers drifted to your desk drawer. you opened it and pulled out one last photo—the only one not on the wall. just the two of you in hoodies, hers a handmade spidergirl one. your arms were around each other. you looked happy.

you looked safe.

you pressed the photo flat against the wood grain and whispered, “i still love you.”

it slipped out before you could stop it. soft. unguarded. real.

you hadn’t said it out loud since the rooftop. since the rain. since the funeral.

you’d tried to be spidergirl as much as you could since then. the hero. the saviour. the mask. it kept your mind occupied, away from hanni. but every night, when the city went quiet, and your limbs ached from swinging across rooftops, it was her face you saw behind your eyes.

you weren’t the hero in those moments. you weren’t brave. you were just a girl who lost the only person who made her feel real.

you placed the photo face-down. you couldn’t look at it anymore.

but still, your eyes flicked up—back to the wall. every polaroid like a ghost. a reminder. a reflection of who you used to be when love didn’t feel like a liability.

you reached up and touched one lightly. her blurry silhouette, reaching for yours.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered. not sure if it was for leaving or for still wanting her. maybe both.

outside, a siren howled somewhere distant. the city still needed spidergirl.

but right now, you didn’t feel like her.

you didn’t feel like anything at all.

the school hadn’t changed, but everything in it felt different. fluorescent lights buzzed the same way, backpacks thudded into lockers like always, and the scent of cafeteria pizza still clung to the air. but for you, nothing felt solid anymore. the world had edges now—sharp ones. and somehow, you kept walking right into them.

you moved through the halls like a shadow stitched to someone else’s feet. there, but never quite present. surrounded, yet always alone. not because people didn’t see you—but because the one person who used to really see you didn’t anymore.

your eyes always found her. they didn’t mean to, but they did. no matter how crowded the hallway, no matter how loud the noise, you could pick her out like muscle memory. you recognised the set of her shoulders, the familiar bounce in her step. you caught glimpses of her laughter, even when it wasn’t directed at you anymore. and every time you did, something inside you folded in on itself.

hanni had become someone you passed, not someone you held. she was a breath you never got to finish. and you—well, you were just a girl with a secret too heavy to carry and too dangerous to give away. a girl who had to let go, even when her heart begged her not to.

you passed her in the science wing once—just a few feet apart. she didn’t see you, not really. but for one second, you thought she might have. her body stiffened, her smile faltered. your shoulders nearly brushed, and you wanted to stop, to say something, anything. but your mouth stayed closed. your feet kept moving. and when you turned the corner, you didn’t dare look back.

you couldn’t afford to.

she sat across the classroom now, near the windows. the seat beside you—the one where her knee used to bump yours, where she used to scribble tiny stars in your notebook—remained empty. you told yourself it didn’t matter. you told yourself this was safer. but you kept glancing over anyway. just in case she looked back. she never did.

sometimes she wore that hoodie—the one she made with the spider emblem sewn across the chest. you used to trace that emblem with your finger when you were close, when her warmth was yours to borrow. now it was a punch to the ribs. because you didn’t know if she wore it to remember you or to forget you completely.

in the cafeteria, you kept your head low. sat in the back. swallowed your food in silence. she laughed somewhere two tables ahead, the sound sharp and alive, and you hated how much it still made your chest ache.

you counted the days since you’d heard her say your name. since you’d seen her smile just for you. you were well past thirty. but you stopped keeping track, because it only made things worse.

the thing about heartbreak is that it’s quiet. it doesn’t scream. it lingers like fog. it settles in your bones and makes everything cold. and in that cold, you still loved her. god, you loved her in every hallway, in every class, in every second that she walked by without touching you.

you loved her in the silence. in the ache. in the after.

you weren’t sure if that would ever go away.

the wind bit at your cheeks as you soared between buildings, the city yawning open beneath you in greys and golds. up here, things felt lighter. clearer. the ground was messy, full of memories you couldn’t outrun, but the sky—this high up—it didn’t know your name. it only knew the shape of you in motion.

you swung past the midtown bridge, flipped off a streetlight, landed gently on the side of a ten-story apartment like you’d been born to defy gravity. it felt like flying and falling at once. it always did.

you glanced down at the streets below you. an elderly woman was halfway across the street, paused in the middle of a busy intersection, cars already inching too close. she looked frail, nervous, like a strong breeze might carry her away.

you landed next to her with a soft thud. “need a hand, ma’am?”

her eyes lit up, wide and grateful. “oh, yes, dear. thank you. my legs aren’t what they used to be.”

you offered your arm and walked her the rest of the way. the cars waited—some honked, but you shot them a look and they quieted quickly. when you reached the other side, the woman patted your arm gently.

“thank you, spidergirl.”

you smiled behind the mask, heart pinched but warm. “anytime.”

you leapt again, away from the noise, the city stretching long and endless. the clouds above were still a little bruised, the sun fighting through in fractured beams. you found yourself near the financial district, scanning from rooftop to rooftop, when a sharp sound caught your attention.

a scream.

your body moved before your mind could. the alley echoed with footsteps, a man clutching a stolen purse, pushing past people like they were air. you dropped down from above and landed right in his path.

“hi,” you said, tilting your head. “mind giving that back?”

he froze. blinked. ran.

you sighed. “of course.”

a few flips, one solid kick, and he was down—groaning and tangled in webbing. the purse was in your hands, then back in the arms of the woman who had lost it. she clutched it to her chest, still shaking.

“thank you,” she breathed. “thank you so much.”

you nodded and zipped off again.

you helped a kid find his parents near a subway exit, kneeling down beside him, letting him cry into your shoulder until he calmed enough to tell you his mom’s name. you climbed a fire escape to return a man’s wallet after he’d dropped it five blocks away. you caught a pickpocket in the middle of times square—he tried to run, but your web had other plans. he was halfway up a light pole before he realised what hit him.

“thank you, spidergirl.”

you heard it again and again. from strangers, from people you’d never meet twice. a hundred voices, each one soft, each one full of a warmth that soaked through your suit and made you feel, for a moment, like maybe you were still good.

because somewhere deep inside you, a guilt still lived that couldn’t be silenced by sirens or swings.

you’d broken someone who mattered. someone who’d once held your hand like you were the whole world. and no amount of heroism could fix the sound her voice made when it cracked beneath your name.

but out here, at least you could be something else. someone who helped. someone who saved.

someone worth thanking.

you landed on the edge of a building as the sky turned pale lavender. the city beneath you glittered, alive in its chaos, and you sat there for a while—just breathing.

it didn’t erase anything. not the ache, not the silence, not the girl you still loved who now walked the same streets without you. but it eased something. made the weight a little easier to carry.

you tugged your mask back down, rolled your shoulders, and stood up.

there was still so much to do.

you pulled your hoodie tighter around the bruises that bloomed like dark bruises beneath the fabric—silent, secret maps of pain you carried with you like unwanted souvenirs. no one had to see them. that was the point, wasn’t it?

your backpack sagged heavy and awkward over one shoulder, stuffed full of books that felt heavier than usual, weighted down by the weight inside your head. your camera hung loosely around your neck, a familiar weight that somehow grounded you.

you felt exhausted — every muscle aching, every thought swirling like fog in your head — but you had to get through the day. just get through it.

the school courtyard was buzzing with noise, but your eyes caught the scene before your brain even had a chance to register. flash thompson was tormenting one of the smaller kids again, a slow ritual of intimidation that seemed endless and merciless. the kid was backed into a corner, his eyes flickering for an escape that didn’t exist.

you couldn’t look away. you never could.

without thinking, you stepped in, the familiar tug of responsibility pulling you forward despite the exhaustion squeezing your chest. “leave him alone,” you said, voice low but steady, sharper than you felt.

flash turned to you, that cruel grin spreading wider, eyes cold and sharp. “oh, look who it is! she thinks she’s some kind of hero now,” he sneered, stepping closer until you could smell the stale sweat and cheap cologne. “what, feel sorry for the little guy?”

you swallowed down the exhaustion twisting your limbs and stood your ground, but your body was already heavy, weighed down by more than just bruises. your ribs throbbed where old fights had left their mark, and your muscles ached like they wanted to give up.

then the first punch came—sudden and brutal— smashing into your side with a pain that radiated sharp and wild, knocking the breath from your lungs. you gasped, a wet, painful sound, but didn’t fight back. you knew you didn’t have the strength today.

another hit came—this time a kick to your shin—sharp and bone-jarring, making you stagger. as he watched you sway, flash delivered a right hook straight to your cheek. your vision blurred at the edges, and when you wiped at your mouth, blood smeared your fingers, warm and sticky. your lip had split open, a salty sting spreading fast. the taste of copper filled your mouth, making you want to gag.

flash’s laughter started to ring in your ears—loud, mocking, and out of tune like an unkind violin that wouldn’t stop playing no matter how much you wished. the world tilted and spun, and all you could focus on was the relentless pounding of his fists, his smirking face, the cruelty in his voice.

“what happened to your confidence, l/n?” he taunted, circling you like a predator with a broken game plan.

“are you losing your touch? i thought you were the one who could’ve had my ass handed to me by a girl.” his words were sharp and heavy, mocking everything you used to believe about yourself.

he shoved you hard, and you hit the ground with a thud, breath whooshing out of you. the dirt bit into your palms when you tried to push yourself up, trembling from the exhaustion and the pain blooming everywhere. but you didn’t fight back. not yet. you couldn’t. you shouldn’t. not today.

flash sneered down at you. “maybe you’re just a weakling now, huh,” his words mocked you, but there was venom beneath the tease, a sharp jab aimed deeper than his fists.

“guess breaking up with hanni really took the fight out of you. do you think i could take a chance at her now?” those words burned hotter than any punch, lighting a fire in your chest you thought had died long ago.

you didn’t want to fight, you didn’t want more pain, but you also couldn’t just stand there and take it. and so the tiredness in your body fled for a moment, now replaced by something fierce and raw.

your hands shook as you pulled yourself up slowly, heart hammering louder than the pain. your breath came ragged, and your whole body screamed in protest, but something inside you refused to stay down.

you looked up and wiped the blood from your lip with the back of your hand, eyes blazing despite the bruises and blood that tainted every corner of your body.

and without thinking, you swung your fist hard and fast—straight into flash’s jaw. the sickening crack echoed around you, and his body dropped like a stone, stunned and silent beneath your weight.

the courtyard fell into a hush that felt thick and heavy, like the air itself was holding its breath. all around you, faces turned in shock, whispers spreading like wildfire. your chest heaved, the adrenaline roaring through your veins like wildfire, shaking away the fatigue for a moment. but you could only see one thing.

she was there in the crowd, just a few feet away, standing frozen in the crowd. hanni’s eyes were wide, confused, maybe even hurt. they locked with yours for a heartbeat that stretched into forever—a silent conversation, full of questions and pain. for a split second, it felt like the world stopped, like the distance between you both shortened to nothing.

but shame crawled up your spine like cold ice, and you couldn’t hold her gaze. your cheeks burned fiercely, and the weight of everything crushed you anew.

your fingers trembled as you bent down to pick up your glasses, which had slipped off during the fight and lay cracked on the ground. your heart pounded with a mix of adrenaline and sorrow.

without a word, you pushed through the crowd, ignoring the whispers and stares, moving away from the only person you wanted to face. your legs carried you fast, desperate to escape the heavy silence and the memories that clung like shadows.

you didn’t look back.

you just needed to get somewhere quiet—the nurse’s office, maybe—somewhere to catch your breath and hide from the world, even if just for a little while.

the city breathed beneath you.

you sat high above it all, legs hanging loosely over the edge of the rooftop, the cool concrete rough beneath you. the wind rolled over your skin in waves, brushing your cheeks and weaving through your hair like invisible fingers. it wasn’t harsh, just enough to remind you that you were still here—still alive, still breathing.

your mask lay beside you, curled and crumpled like the skin of something shed. the rest of the suit clung to your frame, dark and weather-worn, but your face was bare. the late afternoon sun stretched out across the skyline in golden hues, dipping the buildings in warm light like honey drizzled from heaven. for once, you weren’t running or fighting or bleeding. for once, you were still.

you closed your eyes and tilted your head up to the sky. the breeze kissed your cheeks. you sighed into it, a long, tired breath that fell from your lungs like a quiet surrender. and it felt… good. like exhaling a part of yourself you’d been holding too tightly for too long.

you didn’t know how long it had been since you’d last felt this kind of silence—not just around you, but inside you. the city was always moving, always needing something, and you were always swinging between chaos and catastrophe. but up here, so far above the noise and the hurt, there was space to just be.

your backpack rested beside you. you reached over, the zippers clinking gently, and pulled out your camera with slow, careful fingers. it was one of the only things in your life that had stayed soft, even when everything else had hardened around you. you lifted it to your eye and let the lens frame the world.

the sky was bleeding into orange and pink, light melting down the windows of towering buildings. you focused and clicked—the shutter snapped and the moment was captured. not for anyone else. just for you.

you set the camera down, the strap resting on your thigh, and leaned back until your body met the rooftop. the surface was warm from the sun and slightly gritty, but it felt more comfortable than anything had in weeks. you let your arms fall out beside you, fingers spread wide. you stared up at the sky like it was trying to tell you a secret you’d finally gotten quiet enough to hear.

you breathed in.

you breathed out.

for a moment, you let go of the guilt. you let go of the weight in your chest and of the look on hanni’s face when she saw you in the courtyard. of your own voice telling her goodbye, masked and distant and terrified.

you didn’t think about the bruises, or the blood, or the nights that ended in silence and the mornings that started with aching bones. you didn’t think about the people who called you a menace or the ones who called you a hero. you didn’t think about the mask beside you or the name stitched into the suit you wore.

you just existed. soft, small, and human.

the world kept turning below.

then—faint at first— you heard them. sirens. they rose in the distance like the beginning of a storm. they weren’t close yet, but you knew how fast things moved. how fast peace disappeared when you wore that suit. how fast you had to move before someone else got hurt.

you sat up slowly, arms bracing behind you. the skyline glowed brighter now—the sun falling just past the edge, dipping into dusk. you reached for your mask and stared at it for a second longer than usual.

you pulled it over your face. the fabric was snug and familiar, moulding back into place like armour.

and then you stood.

you took one last glance at the horizon, your breath still calm, your chest still light. you tucked your camera into your bag, zipped it shut, and stepped to the edge of the rooftop. your fingers twitched. your knees bent.

and you dove.

science class always felt like the most peaceful hour of your day, but today, it felt like a cruel joke.

you didn’t even look up when the teacher called out the pairings. you were already scribbling formulas into the corner of your page, zoning out to the low murmur of your classmates. but then you heard it—your name followed by hers.

your hand froze around your pen. you looked up just as hanni turned to glance at you. her eyes met yours for half a second—blank, unreadable—before she looked away. she stood slowly from her seat and walked over to where you were sitting, pulling the stool beside you back with a soft screech. the chair felt too close. the table felt too small.

“of course,” she muttered under her breath as she set her things down. “out of everyone.”

you didn’t respond. what could you say? the teacher had already moved on, clearly satisfied with the chaos she’d created. maybe she genuinely thought pairing the two smartest kids in class would get the best results. or maybe she was just being messy.

either way, you were stuck.

the assignment was simple. create a working model of a chemical reaction chain using provided materials. easy. you could’ve done it in your sleep. and yet, you were too aware of everything — the way hanni’s sleeves were rolled up just past her elbows, the light bounce of her ponytail, the faint smell of citrus shampoo.

“we should start with the exothermic chain,” you said finally, voice low.

“no, we should build the base first. the chain comes after.”

you blinked. “if we don’t test the chain now, we won’t know if it even reacts the way we want it to.”

“you always do this,” she snapped, dropping her pencil a little too hard against the desk. “you think you’re always right, but you’re not. you can’t just decide this for yourself.”

the words hit sharper than they should’ve. not because of what she said—but because of what she meant.

this wasn’t about a science experiment. it never was.

you stared at her for a beat, jaw clenched. “right. because we should definitely listen to the girl who thought kissing on fire escapes was a great idea.”

her lips parted slightly, eyes narrowing. silence fell between you like fog—thick, heavy, suffocating. for a second, you thought she might actually say something back. instead, she exhaled slowly and looked away, picking up her pencil again.

you both worked in silence after that.

your hands moved automatically, sorting through beakers and wires and coils, but your mind stayed tangled in everything unsaid. every time her hand brushed the table too close to yours, your pulse stuttered. every time she tilted her head to read a label, your eyes caught on the soft curve of her jaw.

you hated that you still noticed things.

like how she wrote her lowercase ‘r’s with a tiny hook, or how she tapped her fingers against her leg when she was thinking. or how, even now, she still smelled like vanilla and orange peels.

you hated that you remembered it all.

“you’re putting too much powder,” she said without looking up.

“i know what i’m doing.”

she didn’t reply, but she paused, waiting for you to continue—and when you did, she adjusted her side to match yours. it was subtle. small. like she still trusted you in the places where science lived, even if she didn’t trust you anywhere else.

the reaction sparked just the way it should have. fizzing softly, bubbling gold. she gave the smallest nod, then scribbled something into the report sheet.

you both stayed like that until the bell rang.

when it did, you packed your things quickly. hanni didn’t look at you, and you didn’t look at her. your fingers brushed the edge of her notebook by accident, and for a moment, you swore the air shifted—like something wanted to be said but couldn’t form.

you left before you gave it the chance.

you couldn’t move on. you tried — god, you tried — but grief had a long memory and your heart didn’t know how to forget.

so you threw yourself into the only thing you could still hold steady: the mask.

the city called, and you answered like it owed you pain. every night, you zipped yourself into that suit and left the girl behind. the one who still woke up with puffy eyes. the one who stared too long at old polaroids. the one who kept hanni’s laugh locked in a part of her brain like a song she wasn’t allowed to hum anymore.

and in her place, spidergirl flew.

except now, spidergirl didn’t joke as much. she didn’t tease the guys with crowbars or swing in with flair. the more time that had passed, the quieter she was. she was faster—crueler, maybe. like she was punishing herself with every thrown punch.

you stopped pulling your hits. you started reacting before thinking. it was different now — like you were daring the world to hit back harder.

you caught a carjacker near soho and dislocated his wrist when he swung at you. you didn’t mean to. but you didn’t really say sorry, either. you slammed a purse snatcher into a lamppost with enough force to dent the pole. when he groaned in pain, you looked away. you didn’t care what people called you anymore. they still said thank you. that was enough.

at least someone thought you were good.

you didn’t feel good.

and under your suit, just above your ribs, tucked in the fabric like a secret, was a photo of her. a small polaroid—one you took of hanni when she wasn’t looking. the light in her hair, that shy little grin on her lips. you ran your thumb across the corner sometimes. never the whole picture—just the edge.

that’s all you’d let yourself have now. an edge of a memory.

you were on patrol when the sirens came—fast, layered, and far too many to ignore.

smoke bled into the sky in the distance, curling like fingers reaching for the clouds. you swung toward it, wind against your face, slicing through the evening like a knife. the fire burned red and wild at the edge of chinatown — a residential building already eaten by flame.

you landed hard on the roof of a parked cab. people were screaming, stumbling through the haze. a woman clutched her baby and a man shouted about his wife still inside. firefighters were racing toward the entrance, shouting to each other, masks snapping into place.

someone said there was a kid trapped on the fourth floor.

your legs moved before your mind did. it always did.

you climbed the brick wall like it was nothing, shattered a window with your elbow, and dove into the smoke.

it was thick. blistering. the kind of heat that wrapped around you like a second skin. your lungs ached with every breath. you ducked beneath burning beams and kicked open door after door, calling out between coughs.

and then, in the corner of a bedroom swallowed by smoke, you saw her—a little girl with wide eyes and soot on her cheeks, clutching a pink backpack.

you knelt, coughed, whispered, “hey.”

she didn’t move. so you held out your hand and she took it.

the stairs were gone — just ash and debris and fire licking the railing. so you wrapped your arms around her, held her tight to your chest, and leapt.

you crashed through a window, shot a web mid-air, and swung out with seconds to spare. glass scattered around you like snow.

you hit the ground hard, knees buckling.

but the girl in your arms was safe.

the crowd clapped. someone cried. the girl’s mother screamed your name like it was a prayer.

you stood up slowly, handing the kid off to a paramedic. your hands were shaking. you didn’t know if it was from the adrenaline or the ache that lived in your chest.

and then you ran.

you didn’t stay to be thanked. didn’t wave. didn’t pose for a photo. you just left.

by the time you made it to a quiet rooftop ten blocks away, the sky was orange with the last blush of daylight. you sat down, legs dangling over the edge, and pulled your mask off.

the wind touched your face like it hadn’t seen you in years.

you reached into your suit and pulled out a photo. the photo. you held it up to the sky. the corner was crinkled now, edges worn soft from fingers that couldn’t stop reaching. hanni’s smile looked unreal against the chaos of the world behind her.

you didn’t say anything. didn’t cry.

you just stared.

and for a moment—the softest sliver of a second—you let yourself feel still. you let the wind breathe for you. you let the city be beautiful.

then the sirens started again. somewhere downtown. sharp. echoing.

you didn’t hesitate.

the photo went back into your suit. your mask slid over your face. you dove off the rooftop like a spark into gasoline.

and spidergirl flew again.

you weren’t planning on going. truth be told, you didn’t even know your work had been submitted to a student art gallery or whatever it was.

but apparently your photography teacher had done it without telling you, claiming something about “potential” and “expressive vision” and how you “capture silence like no one else.”

you found out the morning of the showing, a casual mention at the end of class, like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on you.

“you really captured something with that fire escape shot,” she’d said with a smile. “hope you’re going.”

you didn’t argue. you didn’t have the energy to. you just showed up, hours later, to the gallery she’d told you about, clutching your backpack like a shield.

you didn’t dress up for it. you didn’t tell anyone you’d be there. you just showed up in a hoodie and jeans and kept your head low as you walked into the art space. the gallery was small, tucked into a corner downtown with flickering lights and too many polished floors. it smelled like paint and coffee and quiet conversations.

you wandered past a photo of an alley painted in neon. another of subway graffiti in motion blur. they were all good—better than good. raw and sharp and full of life. but your feet kept pulling you forward, toward the back wall, where your name was printed on a placard under a photo you’d almost forgotten taking.

you stopped.

it was exactly how you remembered it—dusk settling like a hush over the city, warm orange light catching on rooftops and windows. the shot was taken from across the street, your lens tilted just enough to frame a fire escape in the centre. buildings flanked the sides like giants, but your eye always went straight to the middle.

to the silhouette standing there.

just a person. small, still, arms resting on the railing, watching the sky like they didn’t have anywhere else to be. you couldn’t see the face. you couldn’t even tell if they were looking up or down. but you knew.

you always knew.

it was hanni.

it was her fire escape. her shape and posture right before she would’ve turned and asked what settings you were using on your camera. you’d taken that shot during golden hour, after kissing her shoulder and calling her your muse, half-joking, even though it was true.

you stared at the photo like it might blink back at you.

your chest ached.

you didn’t notice anyone step beside you until you heard her voice.

“you took this?”

you froze.

her tone was calm. even. like she was speaking to a stranger. there was no trace of warmth in it, no softness in the edges, not like there used to be. and she didn’t look at you. she kept her eyes on the photo.

“hanni,” you breathed before you could stop yourself. it came out like a confession, like something you hadn’t meant to say out loud.

there was a pause, a silence so heavy it had shape and colour. it felt like dusk had found its way inside, painting both of you in that same quiet ache.

“yeah,” you said, just above a whisper. “i did.”

she nodded and she glanced at you—just briefly—then turned back toward the picture. her jaw was set. she looked tired.

“i didn’t know it was yours,” she said. not cold, but not kind either. “i should’ve guessed.”

you nodded, even though she wasn’t looking. “my teacher submitted it. i didn’t even know about this until a few hours ago.”

“well,” she murmured, “you’ve always had a way of capturing things.”

she said it like it meant nothing. like it was just a comment on technique. but you heard it—the double meaning, the weight. how she didn’t say me. how she didn’t need to.

you swallowed as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other—your hands fidgeting in your sleeves.

“do you ever wonder,” she murmured, “if there’s beauty left in this city?”

you didn’t answer right away. your heart thudded against your ribs like it wanted to speak for you. like it had waited months for her voice, for her nearness, for anything that might feel like the past wasn’t completely gone.

but then you swallowed, kept your gaze on the photo, and said quietly, “i don’t know. i think i only see what’s worth seeing.”

you turned your head to look at hanni then, slowly, cautiously, like she might disappear if you moved too fast.

she didn’t turn back.

she stayed facing forward, arms crossed, shoulders tense. like your presence was tolerated but not welcome. like standing beside you didn’t hurt—but looking at you might.

so you nodded once, lips pressed tight. and you stepped away.

you didn’t wait for a goodbye. didn’t expect one.

you just slipped through the gallery crowd, your footsteps swallowed by the soft murmur of conversation and the hum of the city just beyond the windows.

behind you, hanni stayed in front of the photo. and maybe she didn’t look back. but she didn’t walk away either.

you came home and closed the door softly behind you, but the silence inside was louder than the city outside. the apartment stretched out empty and cold, like it had been holding its breath, waiting for you to return.

you kicked off your shoes and hung your hoodie over the chair, trying to shake off the weight that settled on your shoulders — the kind of weight that had nothing to do with the day’s exhaustion, but everything to do with the spaces left behind by memories and broken promises.

your eyes drifted to the walls—walls crowded with photos. they were everywhere. some pinned in neat rows, others taped haphazardly, and a few stuck with faded adhesive that refused to let go. polaroids, snapshots, prints from your camera — each one a frozen fragment of a time you couldn’t quite let go of. it wasn’t the pictures themselves that hurt, but the stories tangled behind them, the whispers of laughter and quiet moments now drowned beneath a layer of guilt. you still hadn’t taken any down. you couldn’t. not yet.

your hands trembled a little as you walked closer, your fingers hovering over the images like you might touch the past and bring it back to life.

the apartment smelled faintly of old paper and dust, but also something you couldn’t place—the lingering scent of everything lost. you crossed to your desk where your camera sat, heavy and silent, as if waiting for you to open it again. you pulled it closer, heart tightening. inside, the memory card was packed with hundreds of photos—most of them were her. pictures you never deleted, images you couldn’t bring yourself to erase. it was like each one held a sliver of hope that maybe if you kept them, you could hold onto something real, something whole.

you stared at the camera for a long moment, fingertips brushing the smooth surface. deleting those photos would feel like erasing her from your life, like pretending she never existed. but keeping them was a kind of torment—a reminder of what you had broken, what you had lost. you felt torn, like you were trapped in a loop of remembering and forgetting, wanting to move on but unable to let go.

your eyes flickered back to the city through the window—the skyline softened by the fading light of dusk. the buildings stood tall and silent, their shadows stretching long across the streets below. the city had moved on without you. people still walked, cars still rumbled, life still pulsed in every corner—but you felt like you were stuck in a still frame, frozen between past and present. the weight of everything unspoken pressed down on your chest, heavy and relentless.

you sank onto your couch, clutching a photo that had fallen from the wall. it was one you took of her on a quiet afternoon, the soft curl of her smile caught just right. you traced the edges gently, like you might catch the warmth of her fingertips. the ache in your chest deepened, raw and unyielding. you wondered if she thought of you the same way. if the memories haunted her nights too, or if she had begun to let them slip away.

the room felt smaller with every breath you took. the walls seemed to close in, crowded with the ghosts of what used to be. you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to hold together the pieces that felt like they were falling apart. the quiet was unbearable, filled with all the words you never said and the love you couldn’t give.

your mind spun with what-ifs and might-have-beens. you remembered the last time you saw her—the way her eyes looked at you, full of questions and hurt you couldn’t answer. you thought about the promise you broke when you walked away, about the fear that pushed you to protect her by leaving. but instead of safety, all you left behind was a chasm neither of you knew how to cross.

you swallowed hard, your throat tight. the guilt was a heavy cloak, one you couldn’t shrug off no matter how much you wanted to. it wrapped around your heart, squeezing tighter with every memory, every regret. you wished you could turn back time, undo the moments that fractured everything. but time didn’t bend for anyone—it marched on, leaving scars in its wake.

you lay back on the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling where the light cast faint shadows. your breath slowed, and for a moment, the ache dulled just enough to let a small flicker of peace seep in. but it was fragile, a delicate thread in the middle of a storm.

the city hummed outside, alive and indifferent, its endless noise a reminder that life carried on even when your world felt like it was breaking.

you closed your eyes and let the memories wash over you—the laughter, the quiet talks, the stolen moments beneath the stars. the love you had, the love you lost. the hope you still held onto, even when it hurt to breathe.

and in that heavy silence, you understood something bitter and true: sometimes the hardest battles aren’t fought with fists or webs, but with the ghosts we carry inside.

the photos weren’t just images on your walls or pixels in your camera. they were pieces of a heart that still beat—aching, yearning, and waiting for a way back to light.

you sat in the middle row of your physics class, half-listening as the teacher droned on about kinetic energy and rotational motion. your notebook sat open in front of you, pen in hand, but you hadn’t written anything in the last ten minutes. the ink had dried at the tip and you couldn’t bring yourself to scribble it alive again.

outside the window, spring tried its best to crawl across the sky. the trees were just starting to blush green, and sunlight touched the brick walls like it still believed in warmth. you didn’t. not lately. not really.

"don’t forget," mr. barker called from the front of the room, flicking through a slideshow, "college app deadlines are coming up. some of you are cutting it close, and trust me, you don’t want to do that."

groans rippled through the class. someone in the back muttered something about deferring a year. another laughed. but your stomach twisted.

your hand curled tighter around the pen. your mind wasn't in the classroom—it was out there, somewhere above the clouds or below the rooftops, wherever you could still be spidergirl without being y/n. because being y/n meant having to answer questions like, “what are you doing with your future?” and you didn’t know how to lie convincingly anymore.

when the bell rang, chairs scraped back and students spilled into the hall like water bursting from a cracked pipe. you walked slower, letting the tide move around you. your camera, as always, bounced gently against your chest. the strap had started to fray near the edges—maybe from all the weight you’d put on it.

in the next class, it happened again.

"y/n," your english teacher said, pausing by your desk as she handed back an essay. her voice was kind but curious. "have you given any thought to where you’re applying?"

you blinked. the words sat in your mouth like teeth.

"i haven’t really decided yet," you said, your voice low. your shoulders rose into a shrug that you hoped looked casual.

she smiled gently. "well, you should start thinking soon. your writing's strong—you could really go places."

you nodded once, just enough to end the conversation. but something about her words stuck with you. go places. as if you weren’t already running from somewhere—something.

the rest of the day blurred. more mentions of applications. flyers on bulletin boards for future fairs. friends talking about their majors, their dreams, their dorm decorations. the world spun on like it had a direction like it knew where it was going.

you didn’t.

in truth, you hadn’t thought about college—not in the way people around you did. your mind couldn’t stretch that far ahead. not when your body was always bruised and your sleep always restless. not when every night could end with sirens and every morning could begin with bandaging a wound no one knew existed. you didn’t even know what tomorrow would ask of you. how could you possibly plan for next year?

you stood in front of your locker during lunch, arms crossed tightly over your chest, the camera pressing cold against your ribs. the hallway buzzed with noise—chatter, laughter, lockers slamming shut. you felt like a ghost moving through the blur of it all.

someone walked past and said, “hey, you applying to NYU?” but you didn’t respond. maybe they weren’t talking to you. maybe you didn’t want to answer.

in your last period, your math teacher handed out a form—a “future planning” sheet. career goals, dream schools, backup options. you stared at the paper and the blank lines stared back.

you filled in your name then paused at the next section.

career aspirations:

you stared. then slowly, you wrote: “undecided.”

and that was the truth, wasn’t it?

because maybe you were good at science and had a passion for photography. maybe you could write a killer personal statement. but none of it felt real when the future felt so unreachable. not when your body was still recovering from fights no one knew about. not when hanni wouldn’t look at you in the halls. not when you hadn’t slept through the night in weeks.

you folded the paper in half before turning it in neatly, quietly—like hiding a part of yourself away.

the final bell rang, and school let out in a messy, tired wave.

you walked home with your hood up, camera tucked under your jacket. the city looked brighter than it felt. cars passed, dogs barked, someone played music out a window. but all you could hear was your teacher’s voice echoing softly.

"what are you doing with your future?"

you didn’t know. you couldn’t see that far ahead. you could barely see past the next week.

the night cracked open like glass.

you were already chasing shadows when the explosion split through the skyline. one second, the city slept under a blanket of neon haze and the next, flames bloomed from the rooftop of an apartment complex near sixth and main. debris rained from the sky like confetti made of brick and metal. screams echoed off the concrete.

you didn’t hesitate. you never did.

swinging through smoke, you dove toward the chaos, heart thundering in your chest like it was trying to outrun you. the air was thick with ash and sirens and something colder—something green.

he was there. again.

hovering above the wreckage like some twisted phantom on his glider, cloaked in armour that shimmered with menace and madness. green goblin. second fight. second disaster.

“spidergirl,” he drawled, voice distorted behind that cruel, grinning mask. “miss me?”

you didn’t answer. your body already moved on instinct. a web shot forward—clean, sharp, fast—but he caught it mid-air and yanked, sending you crashing into a billboard. your ribs screamed. your head spun.

but you got back up.

spidergirl always got back up.

the rooftop tilted under your boots as you launched toward him, fist outstretched, teeth gritted. he cackled as he dodged, retaliating with a pumpkin bomb that detonated inches away. it sent you flying, the world spinning in red and orange and pain. your shoulder caught the edge of a chimney as you tumbled, but you used the momentum to flip upright, barely managing to web-swing to the next ledge.

buildings below burned. people ran. your name—spidergirl—was being shouted. not as praise. not as hope. as fear.

"she's not fast enough—"

"where is she taking him—"

"why can't she stop this—"

you tried to drown it out, tried to focus.

you landed hard across from him on a rooftop, chest heaving, suit torn, blood on your lip. he looked untouched. worse than that—he looked entertained.

“you’re not smiling,” he said, head cocked. “where’s the quips? the jokes? the dazzling charm?”

you didn’t have it in you tonight. you were bone-tired, half-broken, lungs full of smoke and mind full of doubt. every punch you threw felt slower. every dodge came a second too late.

he noticed.

“you’re cracking,” he taunted, gliding circles around you. “your city’s cracking. maybe you were never enough to hold it together.”

your next swing missed. barely.

he dropped another bomb—this one closer. it exploded between your feet, sending you off balance. as you stumbled back, he rushed you, a blur of green and silver, grabbing your arm and slamming you into the wall behind you. the impact knocked the breath out of you. you barely had time to web his face and push off before he could throw another blow.

adrenaline pulled you forward. pain dragged behind.

you chased him as he rocketed toward the next district, weaving between buildings, dodging more bombs. your arms ached. your legs screamed. you didn’t stop. not because you believed you could win—but because if you didn’t try, who else would?

he threw another bomb into traffic. you webbed it mid-air, flung it upward. it still blew, a fiery flower of chaos above the street. a bus swerved, crashed. your heart dropped. people screamed.

you swung low, kicked goblin off his glider with a perfectly-timed hit. it bought you seconds—just seconds—to start pulling civilians from the wreckage. two. three. four.

then he was up again, laughing like a possessed man.

“i’ll be seeing you another day, spidergirl,” he howled, taking off through the clouds like a monster returned to myth.

you stood among fire and sirens, face lit by blue and red strobes, hands shaking.

the reporters would say you failed again.

the headlines would ask if spidergirl was losing control.

the city would wonder if you could really save them.

you couldn’t answer any of it. not when your knees were buckling, not when every inch of your body felt like it was stitched together by will alone.

not when you didn’t even know if you could save yourself.

you didn’t know what was worse—being partnered with hanni again, or realising that a part of you had been hoping for it.

your science teacher read the pairings aloud with her usual dull tone, like she didn’t just ruin your entire week. “pham and l/n,” she said, and your eyes lifted instinctively. you found hanni across the room, already looking at you. her expression was unreadable, a mask as fixed as your own. she looked away first—of course she did.

you sat beside her in the lab, the too-bright lights humming overhead like they knew something you didn’t. neither of you said anything. your bodies moved from muscle memory, gloved hands reaching for beakers and test tubes, measuring chemicals with practiced ease.

the silence between you wasn’t empty—it was tight, stretched thin with everything unsaid. it clung to your skin like humidity. still, you worked seamlessly, as if you’d never broken each other’s hearts.

hanni wrote the measurements down in her slanted handwriting, and you tried not to stare at the way her fingers curled around the pen. you focused instead on the equations, the mixture, the burn of unspoken words between you. she passed you the solution without looking up. her hand brushed yours and it felt like a bruise blooming beneath your glove.

you wondered if she could feel it too—the ghost of what you used to be.

then it happened.

a loud pop cracked through the air, sharp and sudden. a beaker shattered two tables down. someone screamed. chemicals sizzled, and smoke curled toward the ceiling. glass skidded across the tile floor like shrapnel.

you didn’t think. you didn’t hesitate.

your body moved before your mind could catch up. you reached across the small space between you and grabbed hanni’s arm, pulling her down behind the lab table. your heart raced with the panic you’d grown too used to in alleys and rooftops and burning buildings, but this was different. this was hanni. she gasped as you shielded her with your body, crouching low, trying to block her from the flying glass and chaos.

only when the room fell quiet again—just a few whimpers, the distant hiss of gas being turned off, your teacher shouting orders—did you realise what you’d done.

you were holding her.

your hand was still on her arm. your knee was brushing against hers. your faces were close—closer than they’d been in months. and hanni… she was looking at you. really looking at you. her eyes were wide, but not scared. more stunned, soft.

you cleared your throat, pulled back, awkward and flustered.

“sorry,” you muttered, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off your sleeves. you offered her your hand before you could second-guess it.

she stared at it for a heartbeat.

then she took it.

the contact was brief, but it lingered. her hand was warm, and small, and still familiar in a way that ached.

once she was standing, she let go without a word. she didn’t meet your eyes again. just dusted off her lab coat and straightened the papers on your shared desk like nothing had happened.

you stood beside her in silence, heart pounding in your ears. the rest of the class was still recovering from the mess, voices buzzing and cleanup beginning, but your head was full of the way she looked at you—like you weren’t just a stranger. like, maybe, part of her still remembered too.

you wanted to say something. anything.

but you didn’t. you couldn’t.

so you returned to the experiment, your hands slightly shaking now, and the silence between you grew thick again.

but it wasn’t empty anymore.

it held something new—or maybe something old, quietly stirring beneath the surface.

you couldn't sleep.

not because you weren’t tired. no, you were exhausted—every limb sinking into the mattress like it belonged to someone else, every blink heavier than the last. your body begged for rest, but your mind kept chasing ghosts. the ceiling above you blurred in the dark, a pale smear in the shape of silence. shadows spilled across your room like ink, and the city buzzed faintly outside your window, soft and sleepless.

you turned over. again. again. the bedsheets clung to your legs like cobwebs, too warm in places, too cold in others. the fan whirred with tired breath. you closed your eyes. opened them. closed them again. nothing.

and then, of course—hanni.

your thoughts crawled toward her like they always did, tender and uninvited. her face bloomed in the dark like a bruise. the memory of her, so close in the chemistry lab just days ago, rushed back in full colour. the way her breath touched your cheek when the glass exploded. the way your hand found her without hesitation. the way she didn’t pull away.

you hadn’t been that close in months. not since the funeral. not since her eyes had looked at you like a stranger.

and still, even now, even with everything, you missed her. you missed her like breath in the middle of a deep dive—like home.

your chest tightened. your hand curled into the sheets like it could hold her, like if you just clenched hard enough, maybe you could pull her back.

you smiled a little. not the happy kind. the kind that stings. the kind that falls apart halfway through.

but it didn’t last. it never did. because after the warmth came the cold. after the closeness came the memory. and the rooftop came back like thunder.

that night. that storm.

that promise.

you sat up slowly, the room tilting just slightly as if it, too, remembered the weight.

rain had screamed against the rooftop. it had crawled through your suit, your skin, down to your bones. oscorp had shimmered with smoke and the stillness that only came after something terrible.

you had won. you had saved the city.

but you had lost him.

you remembered the blood blooming beneath him like a black rose, the edge of the roof biting into his back. remembered the way his breath came in sharp little sips, barely enough to keep him tethered. you remembered kneeling beside him, your hands red and useless, your mouth whispering prayers too late.

“spidergirl…” he had said. but it wasn’t a question. it was recognition.

he had known. and worse—he had forgiven you before you could even ask.

your throat closed as the memory replayed, thick and cruel.

his hand, reaching for yours. his voice, paper-thin. “promise me you’ll stop seeing hanni.”

you could still feel his blood beneath your palms. the warmth of it, the way it cooled in the rain. the way his eyes never left yours as you whispered back the words that still haunted you:

“i promise.”

your heart cracked in your chest like glass. you pressed your palms to your face, like you could block out the memory, squeeze it from your skull. but it lived in your spine now. in your ribs. it had made a home inside you.

you had made a promise to a dying man. to her father. and now, every time you looked at hanni—even from across a classroom—you felt like a ghost.

a liar. a coward. a broken thing.

the thought of her smile used to make your heart skip. now it made your stomach sink.

you didn’t know how to carry all this. didn’t know how to hold both love and guilt in the same hand without it tearing your skin open.

so you stood. because lying here wasn’t helping. because the weight wouldn’t lift.

you stripped the comfort of your pyjamas and pulled on the suit that never really fit right. you had outgrown it months ago, but never dared to replace it. it felt like a second skin now. or maybe a cage.

your fingers trembled slightly as you pulled the mask over your face. the world narrowed to two eyeholes. the illusion clicked into place.

you opened the window and the wind kissed your cheeks, cold and sharp. the city stretched out before you like an open wound.

you didn’t care where you went. didn’t care what waited. you just needed to move. needed to outrun the sound of his voice in your head. needed to bleed a little for a city that never stopped asking for more.

so you stepped into the sky, letting gravity pull you down before the web caught you. you swung low, past the flicker of streetlights, past the blinking red eyes of traffic signals. your heart thudded in your chest like it wanted to break free.

and maybe, you’d let it.

maybe tonight, you’d find someone to save. maybe tonight, you'd get to forget. just for a little while.

but the storm inside you never really left. it lived in your lungs, in the mask, in the spaces between your ribs where her name used to sit, sweet and golden.

and as you disappeared into the dark, you realised: you weren’t running toward anything.

you were running from a promise.

one that felt heavier than any building you'd ever held up.

the wind kissed your face like a promise as you soared above the skyline, the city below slipping past in streaks of silver and rust. summer had crawled in slowly, humming through the concrete and glass, wrapping the rooftops in heat. and you—well, you were late. not just by minutes. but by years, maybe.

late to everything that mattered.

you flipped through the sky with the crook just ahead of you, his footsteps frantic on the fire escapes. a stolen purse. a shove. a sprint. you didn’t even think before chasing. it was muscle memory now. instinct. your lungs burned, your forehead slick with sweat under your mask, but you didn’t stop. couldn’t. not yet.

behind you, somewhere across the boroughs, your name was probably echoing through a gymnasium, bouncing off bleachers and balloons.

it was graduation day.

your ceremony had started an hour ago. your cap sat forgotten in your room, your tassel still tangled in its plastic wrapping. but here you were, bruised beneath your gown and bleeding just a little from a scrape at your ribs, chasing a guy who thought he could outrun someone who had nothing left to lose.

you caught him on the corner of sixth and kingsley—webbed him against a lamp post with a muttered, “you really picked the wrong day to steal, man.”

sirens howled faintly in the distance. you didn’t wait.

you took off again, not toward home, but toward the school. your heart pounded harder than it had in weeks. something in your chest ached—not from the chase, not from the bruises. something else. something older.

the gym was packed when you arrived, climbing through the back doors like a ghost.

you didn’t go in right away. you hovered in the hallway, listening.

the muffled voice of the principal echoed first, then came the microphone feedback. a pause. and then a voice that hit you like a bullet to the ribs.

��good afternoon everyone. i’m hanni pham…”

you froze.

her voice echoed in your ears. it was soft and steady, lined with something golden you could never describe—not quite sweetness, not quite sorrow. it was something that had always made your name sound like more than a word when she said it.

“i’d like to say a few words,” she continued. “not just about our class, but about what it means to grow up in a world that keeps trying to break you down.”

you leaned against the cool wall and let her voice carry you.

“this city is loud. and heavy. and full of things that don’t make sense. sometimes it feels like all you can do is keep your head down and hope it doesn’t see you. but every once in a while, someone comes along who reminds you to look up. to laugh. to try again, even when it hurts.”

you closed your eyes. her voice was shaking now. only a little. only if you knew how to listen.

“i lost someone once. not to death. but to fear. to silence. and maybe that’s worse, in a way. because when someone’s gone, really gone, you get to say goodbye. but when someone walks away… you just keep hoping they’ll come back.”

a pause. the audience was quiet.

you opened your eyes, and in the sliver of light spilling through the doorframe, you could see her—onstage, in that pale blue gown, her hair tucked neatly behind her ears, her eyes scanning the crowd with that same expression you used to know so well.

hope.

she was looking for you. and she didn’t know you were there.

you wanted to step forward. wanted to let her see you. but your feet wouldn’t move.

you didn’t deserve to be seen. not after everything. not after the promise.

and yet—

“so… if there’s someone you miss,” she said softly, her voice breaking just a little, “tell them. before it’s too late.”

the applause was loud and polite. no one clapped louder than they needed to. but it didn’t matter. because her words hadn’t been meant for them.

they were meant for you.

and somehow, they hurt more than any bullet ever had.

you slipped into the side wing of the gymnasium just as the names were being called. students shuffled up, one by one, bright-eyed and ready for whatever came next.

then—

“y/n l/n.”

your name cut through the static of the crowd like a bell.

you stepped onto the stage, breathless, your graduation gown flapping slightly with each hurried stride. the bruise on your collarbone throbbed. sweat glistened at your temple. someone in the crowd gasped. a teacher gave you a tired smile.

you kept walking.

and then you saw her.

hanni.

she stood off to the side, still onstage, her certificate clutched against her chest. her eyes found yours like they always did, like magnets. like fate. and for one unbearable moment, you just stared at each other.

her eyes didn’t soften. but they didn’t harden either. they just held you.

and in them you saw every second you’d missed. every word unsaid. every night you’d spent lying awake, tracing the sound of her laugh from memory.

you reached for your certificate with a nod, fingers trembling.

the applause was quieter now. distracted.

your footsteps echoed as you left the stage, but not before looking back.

she was already turning away. and so were you.

two paths. two hearts. both still beating. but walking in opposite directions.

and maybe you’d cross again. or maybe this was it. the last look. the last word never spoken.

but even then, in the silence of that final glance, you hoped she knew: you had loved her. you still did and you always would.

even if you had to love her from far away.

a few months had passed, though time didn’t feel like time anymore. it no longer flowed like a river or marched like a clock. it bent and twisted, folding in strange and unpredictable shapes—sometimes rushing forward like the roar of a subway train, sometimes dragging slow and heavy like the humid breath of the city just before dawn. days blurred into each other, edges melting away like ink spilled into water, colours bleeding and fading until nothing seemed clear or certain.

you worked mornings and sometimes nights, caught in the liminal space between daylight and darkness. your part-time job at the daily bugle was a quiet kind of survival, crouched behind your camera instead of swinging between buildings.

you chased moments through the lens—the perfect freeze-frame of spidergirl mid-flight, spidergirl silhouetted against the orange blaze of a setting fire, spidergirl caught mid-kick, the curve of her body sharp against the city’s chaos. they paid well for those shots. they didn’t know it was you. and maybe that was the cruelest part of all—how easy it was to be two people at once, how the mask slipped on and off so quietly it almost felt like losing yourself.

the bugle’s office was a cramped, fluorescent-lit room filled with the smell of cold coffee and old paper. you never smiled there. your head was always low, your camera slung over your shoulder like a silent shield.

sometimes jameson’s voice cracked through the air, spitting venomous words about vigilantes and criminals in costumes. you nodded silently, biting down the part of yourself that wanted to scream back.

the paycheck came in an envelope once a week, folded tight and smelling like ink and dust, always tucked into your back pocket until you got home.

the job wasn’t glamorous. it certainly wasn’t heroic. but it was real. and it was enough to keep you going.

on nights when the air didn’t taste of sirens or smoke, when the city held its breath and whispered in soft tones, you still put on the suit. not to fight, not to save anyone. just to feel the wind pressing fierce and cool against your ribs. to hear the low hum of the city from above without having to answer to it.

sometimes, you sat on rooftops—not for the thrill, but for the silence. for a few stolen moments where the world softened, where nothing was expected of you except to breathe.

one evening, as the sun melted into a horizon painted with bruises of purple and orange, you found yourself perched on the edge of a weathered brick building. the city stretched beneath you like a map of secrets and shadows, a labyrinth of light and dark breathing softly beneath a sky heavy with dusk. streetlamps flickered to life, their amber glow spilling onto wet sidewalks and casting long, trembling shadows. the air was cool and smelled faintly of rain and exhaust, a mixture that was somehow comforting and sharp.

below, hanni walked through the crowd like a current in the river—steady, certain. she moved with a rhythm that caught your breath. her hair was pulled back, softer around her face than you remembered, catching the warm light in gentle waves. her smile was lighter now, more relaxed, or maybe it just caught the fading warmth of the day and held it close.

she met a small group of faces you didn’t know—laughing softly, sharing cups of coffee from a nearby café, the steam rising in gentle spirals that vanished into the cooling air. their voices were soft, familiar—an easy harmony you had once been part of but now only listened to from afar.

you watched as hanni reached out, fingers brushing the arm of one of them with the kind of casual comfort that belonged to people who had known each other long enough to share secrets without words.

a sharp pang knotted deep inside your chest, cold and bitter as the winter wind that howled through empty streets.

this was a life that didn’t have you in it. a rhythm that no longer waited for your name, no longer paused at the memory of your laugh or the shape of your smile.

you stayed a little longer, holding your breath with every smile she gave, every laugh that rippled through the air like a bell tolling softly in the distance. her world was turning, slow and steady, a quiet tide pulling her further and further away.

the distance between you wasn’t just the stretch of brick and glass beneath your feet. it was a canyon, dark and vast, swallowing the place where your hands once fit perfectly in hers, where your fingers used to intertwine with hers without hesitation or fear.

you swallowed the lump in your throat, thick and heavy like a stone pressed against your chest. the sting behind your eyes burned sharper than you expected—tears that wanted to come but didn’t, held back by a fragile thread of pride and stubbornness.

this wasn’t the story you had wanted to live, but it was the one you were given.

the cool night air bit at your skin, and you pulled your hoodie tighter around your shoulders, fingers brushing absently over the worn edge of your camera strap. beneath layers of cloth, your spider suit lay folded close to your skin, a secret pressed against your heart.

you had promised to stay away. to keep her safe by keeping your distance. but the silence around you was louder than any scream you’d ever heard.

you stayed a moment longer, until hanni’s laughter disappeared down the street, swallowed by shadows and new friends and new memories you were no longer part of.

you felt yourself breaking, fracturing in slow, quiet pieces—losing her again with every step she took away from you.

with a breath as heavy as the city’s fog, you turned from the light and warmth below. shadows wrapped around you like a second skin, familiar and cold. and then, without a word, you leapt into the night, the wind rushing past your ears like a whispered goodbye.

alone.

the city was unravelling. not all at once—no, it came in threads. a siren here. a scream there. then, smoke curling from glass towers and a roar that didn’t belong to anything human.

you stood behind your camera as it happened, fingers curled around cold metal, breath caught behind your teeth. buildings that once stood proud now bent at the waist, coughing dust into the sky. something green streaked across the skyline, sharp and fast, like a blade slicing open the afternoon light.

green goblin.

you didn’t need someone to say it to know. you could feel it—the chaos in his wake, the grin in the fire.

you had been trailing smoke for hours, hopping rooftops, chasing sounds that came from the wrong corners of the city. and when the first scream broke like glass, you lifted your camera—not to help, not yet, but to see. to record. to remember.

the shutter clicked. a mother dragging her child behind a flipped cab.

click.

a man yelling into his phone, face lit by orange flame.

click.

glass raining from a skyscraper’s eye.

click.

the goblin above it all—hovering, cruel, laughing like the end of the world was a joke only he understood. his glider screamed as it curved through the smoke.

he dropped something.

an explosion bloomed three stories above the street.

your fingers shook. just a little.

you could’ve ran. you could’ve kept taking pictures.

but you didn’t. not when the city depended on you.

you let the camera fall against your chest, let your breath fill the hollow between your ribs, and reached beneath your jacket.

the suit still fit like a second skin, even after all this time. the city hadn’t asked for spidergirl—but it needed her.

the goblin circled again, his voice echoing through cracked alleys. he was hunting something. maybe everything.

you backed into the shadows and pulled your mask on, the fabric pressing against your jaw like the memory of a promise.

then you moved.

a blur against the sky, a streak of red and blue threading through grey smoke and broken glass. the wind stung your face. it howled around your ears. your heart beat loud, wild, thunder in your throat. the world below twisted in flashes—civilians running, cars overturned, traffic lights blinking nonsense into the chaos.

you leapt from one rooftop to another, webs snapping out like silver threads, catching the bones of the city before you could fall. you didn’t have a plan. just instinct. just motion. just that deep pull in your chest that said go.

he saw you when you reached the plaza.

"well, well,” the goblin hissed through jagged teeth. “the spider returns.”

you didn’t answer.

there were children in the corner, huddled behind a concrete planter, eyes wide and wet. their hands were clutched together like prayer.

you landed in front of them, knees bent, arms out.

“get out of here,” you said, voice low but firm through the mask. “now.”

they ran.

he laughed.

a flash of green shot toward you—spinning metal blades. you ducked, rolled, flung a web that caught a chunk of rubble mid-air. you used it to swing up and over, flipping through smoke.

he came for you again.

you met him mid-air, the two of you crashing like comets above the city. your body ached with every impact. your breath came ragged but you didn’t stop. you couldn’t.

for the people below. for the city that had lost its rhythm. for the part of yourself that still believed in saving something.

somewhere in the distance, you thought you heard sirens. a news chopper thumped through the sky. your camera—left on the rooftop—was probably still recording.

but you didn’t care about that anymore.

the goblin slashed his glider past you. you caught the wing with both hands, webbed one side to a crumbling traffic light and yanked hard. the glider spiralled, hit a wall, exploded in sparks.

he went flying—tumbling like a ragdoll down the avenue.

you landed hard. knees screamed. your ribs flared with pain.

but you stood.

through the haze, you saw him rise too—laughing still, even bleeding. this wasn’t over.

but for now, the people had room to breathe. for now, the smoke was thinning.

and you were still here. still standing.

just a girl in a suit, beneath the weight of a burning sky, holding the city together with threads of web and will.

the fight had ended, but the world hadn’t noticed yet.

flames crackled somewhere in the distance. smoke curled into the sky like a prayer gone unanswered. the street was quiet in the way disaster is always quiet once it’s done—heavy, hollow, like something sacred had been broken and nobody dared speak of it. shattered glass glinted like starlight across the pavement, and the streetlights flickered over the chaos. bits of glider shrapnel burned where they’d landed. the wind stank of blood and fuel.

you lay in the middle of it all.

your limbs didn’t feel like they belonged to you anymore. your chest barely lifted with each breath. everything inside you felt misplaced—blood where there shouldn’t be blood, heat where there should’ve been air. your suit was torn in places, scorched in others. the taste of iron filled your mouth, and something inside your ribs ached with every shallow inhale. the mask clung to your face, torn on one side, the left lens cracked through. you blinked against the smoke. the stars above looked wrong, too still, like they didn’t know the world was ending down here.

the green goblin lay crumpled across from you, his body twisted at a sick angle, a piece of his own glider lodged deep in his side. his breaths were ragged, gurgling, foamy.

there was no smirk now, no voice dripping poison into the air. just a man bleeding out beneath the flickering streetlights, eyes wide with something like fear—or maybe disbelief. he’d lost.

you didn’t care. you didn’t even feel anything toward him anymore. not hate, not rage, not even satisfaction. just the aching throb of your own heartbeat, sluggish and soft, like it wasn’t sure if it should keep going.

you let your head fall to the side. your hand, trembling, scraped weakly at your suit. it took effort—so much effort—to push your fingers past the blood-soaked fabric, down to the inside pocket you always kept close to your chest. the paper was warm from your body, crumpled and soft at the edges. your heart lurched when you touched it.

you pulled the photograph out with shaking fingers.

it was worn and smudged now, but her smile was still there, still bright, still impossibly kind. hanni. head tilted, a strand of dark hair tucked behind her ear, eyes that had always looked at you like you were more than what the world tried to make you.

your vision blurred again. not from the smoke this time. not from pain.

“i wanna see you again,” you whispered, voice rasping out of your throat like it had never known softness before. “just… once more.”

you didn’t remember much—only the shape of her name in your mouth, only the way it lit something up inside you. in truth, you couldn’t recall why you’d stopped seeing her. your brain felt scrambled, half-lost in blood loss and agony. everything was a fog. but that photo burned like a lighthouse through it.

you had to find her.

you couldn’t die here. not in a gutter. not with your ribs caved in and your lungs sputtering. not before seeing those eyes in person. not before hearing her say your name again.

with a grunt, you forced yourself to your knees. the whole world tilted. your hands slipped in your own blood as you tried to stand. you choked back a sound—somewhere between a sob and a scream—and leaned against a crumbling wall to stay upright.

one foot forward.

then another.

your legs shook beneath you, barely holding your weight. pain bloomed in every step, sharp and biting. your shoulder brushed a dumpster. your hip caught the edge of a railing. you stumbled again and again, one hand clutched around the photo like it was the only thing tethering you to this earth.

you didn’t know where you were going. not really.

but your feet knew what your heart remembered. that she was out there. that if you just made it to her, somehow, everything might be okay. you just had to see her again. just one more time.

the city blurred past you. traffic lights glowed like distant stars, unfocused. sirens wailed somewhere far away. you kept your head down. you didn’t want anyone to see you like this—broken, barely standing, bloodied beneath your hoodie, your suit clinging to your skin beneath layers meant to hide what you were.

“hanni,” you whispered again, lips cracking. “hanni.”

you didn’t remember the last thing she said to you. didn’t remember the way you left things. just her. just her face. her laugh. her hand on yours.

everything else was noise.

you collapsed against a low wall outside an apartment complex that looked like hers. your legs gave out completely this time, knees crashing to the sidewalk. you barely felt it. your breath was a rattle now, thin and useless.

your body folded in on itself. the photo slipped from your hand. your forehead touched the cool concrete.

darkness crept in, soft and certain, but even as it swallowed the edges of your vision, your heart clung to one final hope—one final wish.

see her again. please, just let me see her again.

the hum of the city outside drifted like a lullaby through cotton—muffled, distant, half-forgotten. you couldn’t hear it properly anymore, not over the pounding in your ears. but inside, in that quiet little apartment, hanni sat at her desk beneath the gentle flicker of a warm desk lamp. pages fluttered beneath her fingers like restless wings. words blurred and swam across the paper, refusing to stay still. she had read the same sentence three times and couldn’t tell you what it said. not that it mattered. tonight was just like any other.

dull. simple. forgettable.

her phone lay facedown beside her elbow, silent and untouched. the kind of silence that didn’t demand anything from her, but still weighed too heavy.

a soft knock at the door made her lift her eyes.

her mother leaned in with a familiar, tired smile. “hot chocolate?” she asked gently, her voice quiet so she wouldn’t wake the little sister in the next room.

hanni offered a polite smile. “i’m okay. thank you.”

her mother nodded and lingered for a moment—long enough to be sure hanni really meant it—then slipped back into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind her like the last page of a book.

hanni exhaled. picked her pencil back up. outside, the wind stirred lazily against the window, the kind of wind that made curtains breathe even when the glass stayed shut.

and then—

a knock.

not at the door.

at the window.

her body froze. everything inside her paused like a held breath.

no one knocked on her twenty-second floor window.

no one but you.

her pulse spiked. her pencil rolled off the desk and clattered to the floor, but she didn’t look down. she stared across the room, breath trapped somewhere in her throat.

it had been months.

but the sound—that soft, brittle sound, like knuckles tapping against the edge of memory—was unmistakable.

another knock followed. weaker. desperate. a whisper of a plea wrapped in shaking bone.

she stood. slowly. the air felt thick, like moving through water. each step toward the window felt heavier than the last. her hand reached for the curtain, fingertips hesitant.

and when she pulled it back, the whole world shattered.

you stood there—or tried to. slumped, barely upright, your shoulder pressed against the glass to keep yourself from sliding to the ground. your suit was in ruins. blood turned the red fabric brown. the tear across your ribs soaked through like ink in snow. one lens of your mask was gone completely, the other cracked wide, dangling off your face. your lip was split. your arms hung limp. you looked like you had crawled your way back from something far beyond hell.

hanni’s fingers fumbled with the window latch.

you didn’t speak when it opened. didn’t have the strength. you fell into her the moment the glass gave way, your knees collapsing, body crumpling into her arms like paper ruined by rain.

“oh my god—” she breathed, catching you. “y/n— y/n, what—what happened—how did you get up here—?”

her hands were already stained red. she didn’t even realise it yet.

your head dropped into the hollow of her neck. vanilla. detergent. warmth. her arms trembled as they wrapped around you.

you stared past her, out the window, where the bruised sky bled into shadows. you didn’t remember much. only that you had to get here. to her. everything else—the fight, the pain, the blood—was noise.

you’d always find your way back to her.

somehow.

you didn’t know how your legs had carried you up twenty-two floors. your body had long since surrendered, hollowed by agony. your ribs were shattered. your side screamed. every breath felt like drowning. you couldn’t tell if you were still bleeding or if there was simply nothing left to lose.

you turned back to her and reached up, fumbling with the broken remains of your mask. it clung to your face stubbornly, like it didn’t want to let you go. but eventually it gave in. the mask dropped to the floor with a soft thud.

and there you were. no mask. no quips. no spidergirl.

just you.

just the girl hanni used to look at across classrooms, across crowds, across everything that ever stood between you. just the face of a girl hanni used to smother in kisses.

you were just you in all your broken glory.

your lips quirked in a broken smile. “you’re so warm.”

her voice cracked. “and you’re so cold. god, you’re so cold—please, i’ll call someone, i’ll take you to a hospital, just—just don’t fall asleep—”

you shook your head, barely. just enough. “no… it’s too late. it’s okay.”

she didn’t believe you. not for a second. her hands pressed to your wounds, trying to hold you here, but there was too much blood. it was on her sleeves, dripping to the floor, already soaking into the carpet like it had always belonged there.

“no,” she whispered, and then louder, breaking, “no—it’s not okay—why are you here—why didn’t you just call—why didn’t you—”

you reached up. your fingers grazed her cheek, trembling like leaves in wind. “i had to see you,” you breathed. “you were the only place i had left.”

your grip on her shirt was weak, barely a pull, but it felt like the last anchor to this world. “i just had to see you. had to see the eyes of the person i love most.”

hanni was sobbing now. every sound from her chest was cracked wide open. “you’re gonna be okay—you are—just keep looking at me—just stay, please—”

your head fell against her shoulder. your breath was barely there. your heart stuttered like a failing lightbulb. she held you tighter like she could will the blood back inside you. like she could rewrite the ending.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered. “i have to leave you alone in this life.”

“no,” she cried. “don’t say that—don’t you dare say goodbye—don’t you dare—”

you smiled again, soft and sad, like it was all okay somehow. like you’d already made peace.

“isn’t it kinda cute?” you whispered. “dying in the arms of someone you love…”

“don’t—don’t joke—” she choked out, holding you tighter, her whole body shaking. “please. stay. stay.”

but you were already slipping. your limbs had gone heavy. your hands fell away from her like petals. the frost in your bones climbed higher, slower. final.

your eyes fluttered open one last time.

you looked at her.

“i’m sorry.”

and then—nothing.

you exhaled for the last time, soft and soundless.

your body slumped into her, quiet as sleep. your name left her mouth in a scream so raw it barely sounded human. she held you like she could still reach you. like if she just begged loud enough, the world would rewind. but you didn’t move.

you never would again.

hanni wept into your hair, arms wrapped around the girl she missed too late, held too briefly, lost too cruelly.

and the city outside kept humming.

unaware. uncaring.

while inside that quiet room, something beautiful broke forever.

the sky was a pale wash of early morning light, soft and quiet like a secret whispered too softly to carry far. the city around her buzzed with its usual restless pulse—cars, distant sirens, footsteps—but here, in the stillness of the cemetery, time folded in on itself.

hanni stood at the edge of a narrow path, two bouquets clutched in her hands, a camera heavy around her neck like a weight both familiar and strange. she took a breath, the cool air filling her lungs with a mixture of something sharp and something tender.

her first steps were slow, careful. she stopped before a simple, sturdy gravestone—the name carved deep into cold stone: her father. the man whose voice she still heard sometimes, sharp and commanding, but now softened by absence.

she knelt, the gravel crunching beneath her knees, and her voice came out in a cracked whisper, uneven and raw. “dad, i miss you. i miss how things used to be, even the hard parts. i wish you could see college—i’m trying, really trying to make you proud. it’s hard without you.” her fingers brushed the granite like it might somehow hold her words.

“thank you for everything. i hope… wherever you are, you’re watching.”

she placed the first bouquet at the base of the stone—delicate white lilies mixed with wildflowers, their colours pale like the morning itself. a small offering of peace, or maybe just memory.

then she rose, the weight in her chest shifting but not easing, and took a few slow steps to another marker, smaller, less ornate. the name was hers—yours—carved plainly but tenderly.

hanni sat down beside it, knees folding up, and the world around her dimmed into quiet space where only you existed.

“hey, y/n,” she began, voice soft, like calling out to a ghost she both ached to see and feared to disturb.

“it’s been a month. the city knows now. they say spidergirl’s gone… a hero lost but a victory won.” she laughed bitterly, “funny, isn’t it? the whole place is celebrating, but you and i—we’re just here, missing the parts no one else sees.”

she pulled the camera from around her neck, fingers trembling as she held it like it carried your breath. “i’ve been using this,” she said, as if you could answer.

“taking pictures of the little things. the sky before dawn, the way the light hits the leaves on campus. i hope that’s okay with you.” her smile was small, fragile.

her eyes traced the smooth stone again, like searching for something she couldn’t quite name. “college is… different. and life is harder without you. but i’m keeping your memory alive, every day. i’m trying to be strong, for both of us. i still talk to you—every day, like you’re just right here.”

her hands trembled as she placed the second bouquet of flowers down—bright, wild blooms tangled with soft petals of purple and blue. colours you would have loved. colours that still spoke your name.

she stood slowly, brushing the gravel from her jeans. the weight of absence wrapped around her like a second skin.

and before she walked away, she leaned close to the stone, voice breaking like a wave crashing against cold shore.

“i love you,” she whispered. “always.”

and the wind carried her words softly into the stillness, where maybe, just maybe, you were listening.

#bombikki 彡☆#newjeans #newjeans x reader #newjeans hanni #hanni pham x reader #hanni x reader

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the-midnight-blooms · 8 months ago

Text

SHAMELESS WOMAN | smg

PROLOGUE

pairing: ghostface!song mingi x reader (ft. ghostface!jeong yunho) AU: modern au word count: 3.2k warnings: yandere themes, stalking

masterlist

A/N: I've never actually watched Scream but I love the concept, so general ideas revolving around the character will be used here (i also saw yungi!ghostface fanart, which i am OBSSESSED with).

A chat room is an online platform that enables users to communicate with each other in real time. Chat rooms are typically hosted on a server with an internet connection, enabling members from around the world to hold conversations about various topics.

Upbeat 80s rock music reverberates of the four walls of her room, the pen nib scratches, furiously, across the thin lined paper as her mind spills the plethora of knowledge that's locked up within it. Dropping the pen to the side, a long groan escapes her lips in tiredness the bright light of the computer screen gnawing at her attention. As she flicks between the several open tabs on her web browser, loitering in the far corner is an underground chat room for ‘conventional losers’, i.e. nerds, geeks, freaks, goths and emos and every other ostracised sub-cultural group you could think of. The thought itself was quite fascinating to her, which one was she? Or rather, was she the pretentious introvert who thought herself higher than those who defied society's conventional train of thought and aligned herself with the populars?

Snapping her book shut, she closed several of the academic pages she had open; leaving her with the final one: the infamous chat room. She’d already logged in, curiosity masticating her rationality and browsed a few pages, sent a few quick messages to people the website had recommended based on her “favourite topics”.

Her eyes glance carefully across the blaring screen, the blue light penetrating into her steady gaze as she reads the username that steals her undivided attention.

@ pyscho.killer

A snicker escapes her lips, she surfs their profile finding very little information about them, other than ‘Fix on’. Goodness, is she really going to talk to this person just because he too enjoys listening to Modern Talking? Her lips purse in contemplation as she clicks on ‘Message’, there’s no harm in conversing with someone you don’t know. Right?

modern-division: Fan of the Talking Heads much?

She prides herself on her nonchalance, if he wasn't to respond she really wouldn't care. After all, Yeji had invited her to join a number of societies at university and despite the fact that none of the them seemed particularly interesting to her; there was no harm in joining at least one or two if the outcome was a few friends to make her strenuous four years more bearable.

Ping. Her head snaps back to computer screen as she shoves all of her pens back into the pencil case; a dirty habit from childhood to spread all of her things across the table and then spend five minutes, impartially, cleaning everything up.

psycho.killer: Psycho Killer, Qu'est-ce que c'est?

modern-division: Fa-fa-fa-fa, fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa, better

psycho.killer: Run, run, run, run, run, run, run away,

psycho.killer: I think I have met my match. To whom do I now call mine?

A childish giggle escapes her, she leans back in her seat in a knowingness that she may now actually enjoy being on this sketchy platform. Careful, yet. She doesn't actually know this stranger.

modern-division: AHAHA you’re funny, Mr Fix On (what does that even mean?)

psycho.killer: that’s not for you to know, darling.

psycho.killer: let me guess…you like joy division and modern talking?

modern-division: what gave it away?

psycho.killer: I guess you’re pretty funny too

It's quite absurd to believe that a famous hit song by the 'Talking Heads' is what got her, her new best internet friend yet the notion is very much a fact. So much so, her life is now consumed by the chat rooms she used to look down on. Social media is very much a vortex, or vacuum of some kind, sucking one in; leaving them void of humanity, stripping them down of some yearning for human interaction. Or at least that's what it did to most. After a long day of lectures, she found herself wanting to be able to see 'Mr Fix On' in person, talk to him in person, be able to stare into his eyes.

Speaking of. As a matter of fact, she didn't even know what he looked like. Just that he was South Korean, had short black hair and brown eyes. She too allowed herself to share the same amount of information that he provided. Mum did say not to go around talking to strangers, and even if she was doing just that; she was not dim enough to start revealing absolutely everything about her identity.

The autumn leaves sway softly with the gentle breeze, a waft of biting air floods over her sending a ripple of goosebumps over her supple skin. Her shoes crunch the delicate leaves, that pave the way to her home, yet she feels a daunting figure stalk after her. For a split second, she believes herself to be hallucinating as she takes a daring look behind her shoulder to find the street behind her, empty.

A tall figure strolls after her, picturing landmarks that carves the path to her home. His soft dark brown hair tousles with the wind, the cold forging a pink blush over his cheeks; sinking his long nose into the woollen scarf his movements come to an abrupt halt as his heroine plunges her eyes into his.

God, she's fucking pretty.

They move over his, hastily, as to her he's simply rifling through his bag for a wallet in line for an expensive coffee alongside a couple of old-age pensioners.

Conclusion: She is paranoid, there is no one after her. Yet as it is autumn in her unsafe town, its better to be cautious than to walk across the surface of the earth with no walls at all.

psycho.killer: wanna join a gc with my friend? he likes some of the same music as us.

psycho.killer: plus, he's a compsci loser who needs a friend

It's been at least a month since she had began talking to 'psycho.killer', who she had learnt his name is: Mings. Or rather its a shorthand version of his forename that he is weirdly reluctant to disclose, as he insists on her calling him 'Min' or "darling, my lover, husband- whatever floats your boat." He is truly charismatic, his charms are perceived from the other end of the screen. She wonders what it would be like to see him in real life. Is he truly as amiable as he reads?

modern-division: haha, i don't mind. what's his @ ?

psycho.killer: its @ killed.theradio.st4r

modern-division: you guys are my people

She hums the tune to 'Video Killed the Radio Star." Her mother's soft laughter pervades her way into her room; the older woman places her washed clothes on the Chester drawer wondering how the younger generation manage to get invested in the songs of the past.

[psycho.killer added you to 'two losers and a hot nerd']

killed.theradio.st4r: helloo, i'm yuyu :)

modern-division: hi!

modern-division: also, who's the hot nerd?

psycho.killer: me.

killed.theradio.st4r: lmao. its you, doll.

Does Mings just refer to me as, Doll to everyone he speaks to?

modern-division: you don't even know what i look like

killed.theradio.st4r: guess we just know you're a hot girl by intuition

modern-division: what if i'm a man? ever thought about that?

psycho.killer: your bio literally states that you're a girl

psycho.killer: not-so-mysterious babe

It wasn’t so bad for someone online to know your gender, it was just ensuring that your femininity wasn’t exploited. She knew they would never ask her to share explicit content nor would they force her to engage in it, though talking to the pair of ‘Killers’ preserved an ominous feeling in the airs. She couldn’t tell if at any point, she really felt comfortable talking to either of the two.

To begin with, Min was always trying to call her. Ask her where she was, what she was doing, if she had she eaten, what time she was going to bed. He asked about her day, and if anyone bothered her in particular. To any other he may have seemed like a kind-hearted boyfriend yet to her it felt like an intruder had permeated into the walls of her bedroom and dominated her life. Then you had his esteemed friend, Yun. He was always deeming her the most beautiful being he had ever seen. She could see within his words the robust desire he had manifested from her words, the way he had subtly requested for her photos in order to fuel the raging fires burning in her absence.

He wanted her. Physically, to put it lightly. Indeed, she was a doll to him and to have her in his arms would purify him of all his sinful thoughts. Yun always brought it up with his friend, who had simply told him to put out those fires. (For the time being).

“Have you heard of ‘Ghostface’?” Her head snaps up from her workbook, in the library where one of her closer acquaintances sits opposite playing with her water bottle. A newspaper article sits in front with the notorious blurry image of a man with a ghost mask roaming around town.

“This is the first I’m hearing. I mean it’s Halloween soon, so it’s probably some idiot roaming around town.”

“An idiot? I don’t think so, ma’am. Read on, he’s been going around stalking people in his costume.” She raises her eyebrows, nimbly scanning her eyes over the text before returning back to her work. Though she cannot help but stare back at the blurred image of the figure. “I bet there’s a sexy man under all that.” Scowling at her friend, she sends a dirty look.

“You have got to be kidding me. A ‘sexy’ man. You said it yourself, he’s stalking people.”

“Yeah but, one of the girls from Art said he was mad tall and had this deep, attractive voice.”

“Yes, I bet he goes: ‘come here babe, let me kill you’ in his husky voice and you all go running to him because you have no morals.” Once again, she rolls her eyes whilst her friend merely giggles as if she is just pleasantly awaiting to be a victim. She rarely meets women who have an ambition for a victim complex, yet those she does: she steers away from.

“I’m only joking, but be real. Have you never heard a guy with a deep, attractive voice?” Her friend questions, making her pause her writing. In fact, she has. Mins’ voice has a sent over her railings during their late night calls, there’s something so potent residing within it. Intoxicating. It almost has her want to do everything he asks.

He is too, tall with a deep voice but there must be so many like him in this world.

The thought is dismissed and she shoos away her friend to allow herself to prioritise the exam that’s pending in two weeks time.

modern-division: have you guys heard of ghostface?

killed.theradio.st4r: why?

modern-division: just asking, apparently some loser is dressing up in a ghost mask and stalking people. idk if it’s just halloween round the corner though

killed.theradio.st4r: oh no :(

killed.theradio.st4r: could just be a halloween thing

modern-division: yeah, I think so too.

“So you like the librarian?”

“Mhm.” She steals her longing gaze away from him towards Yeji, who sends a vicious smirk her way. A blush taints her cheeks, knowing that Yeji will never live it down now. “I’m not gonna deny he’s pretty good looking.”

“Pretty good looking? He’s gorgeous as fuck. He’s not a want, he’s a need.” Playfully, she bites her lip suppressing a fit of giggles by burying her face into the textbook. A few others send irritated looks from across the room, which has the pair sinking in their seats. “You think a guy like him is single?”

“Absolutely not. If I had the chance, I’d snatch him up right away.” Her eyes flicker back to the tall man who catches her stare in an instant, he holds it before moving back to surf through the books on the trolley.

A low beat surfaces along the posters, her phone is sandwiched between her shoulder and cheek as she trudges furiously around the room looking for her scarf. Min's voice permeates her ears delicately, despite the alarming sentences he speaks; he converses in length about human anatomy saying that raw flesh must be easier to study than cadaveric tissue. As much as she agrees, just to play devil's advocate she will never admit that.

“I love your voice, Mings. It’s so deep, but like in a comforting way. As if you can protect me.” The declaration escapes her mouth before she can even stop it.

“Do you want to be protected by me, or from me, doll?” A pause lingers in the air, before he lowly chuckles—one that forces her to laugh with him though an uneasy feeling resides within her bones.

“By you, preferably.” She jokes, playing with the pendant of her necklace. A shadow looms by the open doorway, obscuring the stream of light that spills in from the hallway; the deafening silence panics her. “Mum!” She shouts, discarding the phone to the side in a frenzy.

“Yes! I just had a cup of tea for you, were you not studying?” The door is pushed open by nonetheless, her mother who waddles across the carpeted floor to settle the hot beverage down on the table.

“I was, I’m just tired now. Maybe I’ll come back to it later.”

“No, no. Go to bed, dear. I’m off to work, make sure you’re outside by 8, I’ll drop you.” A soft kiss is placed on her forehead, she is calmed by the maternal affection seeing her mother to the door before she dashes back into her room to find her phone.

The call must have been disconnected in the process of her flinging it elsewhere, her hands shake violently as she’s, pathetically, unable to hold the phone steady in her grasp. Mings has spammed her several times with messages, she doesn’t bother to read any of them.

modern-division: i’m tired, going to bed.

psycho.killer: goodnight, babygirl

In the midst of wandering through the aisles of the library, seeking books two shelves above her head, it instantaneously occurs to her that she’s never actually paid much attention to Yuyu and Mings’ pet names that they have for her. Doll, babygirl, darling, love, honey, etc. The list seems to never end yet she ponders the primary reason they get so comfortable around her is because she has never actually given them a reason to stop being so affectionate.

A cascade of books tumble down from the shelf, hitting the floor with a powerful slam—jumping backwards on instinct, she grimaces reaching down from them as a few pairs of eyes stare at her from their tables. Her face heats red in embarrassment, until another pair of hands comes to assist her.

"Goodness, how did you manage this?" Her eyes gleam up into another's; words lodge in her throat upon realisation of the being in front. It's the 'hot librarian', as her and Yeji have trademarked.

"Oh, I—they just fell." He raises his eyes at her.

"They just. Fell." A mischievous smile is sent her way as he stacks the books back onto the shelf, that's too high for her to reach anyway. "We'll call it the force of gravity then, shall we?" Shyly, she nods, handing him the last of the books. Her eyes reel in the name scrawled across the name tag. A thought Yeji will be pleased to hear drifts into her mind.

“I’m Yujin, by the way. I’m always at the help desk if you need to me to stack books that randomly fall off the shelf again.” Her eyebrows furrow in confusion. It clearly says ‘Yunho’, on his name tag. He stalks off in the opposite direction before she can question him, leaving her abandoned in the desolate aisle.

modern-division: the hot librarian lied about his name.

modern-division: I wonder why

Paranoia is no longer a delusion. It must be very true that someone is following after her.

Under the banner of the night, herself and Yeji walk back home after a long day of studying. They amble down the cobbled roads, yet her eyes cannot help but glance over her shoulder. There must be a man of some sort following them, his long calculated strides send a wave of fear pummelling through her. Instantly, she grabs Yeji’s hand dashing down the road towards the convenience store.

The dim lights flicker upon their arrival, she cowers behind the large aisles; ignoring her friend’s imperatives watching as a tall figure saunters into the store.

It’s him.

Jeong Yunho, the Librarian.

Or ‘Yujin’ as he addresses himself for reasons she assumes she will never know why.

Is he her stalker?

“I thought there was someone stalking us. There was a guy who walked all the way from the library to the road we just crossed behind us. I took a detour as well and he kept following.” She breathes out, leaning her head against the shelf.

“Are you kidding? Why didn’t you tell me?” Yeji squawks.

“I didn’t want him to suspect that I knew he was following.”

Her eyes sought ‘Yujin’ who gives her a sincere smile before he makes his way to the exit.

modern-division: I think there was someone following me

psycho.killer: ??? are you home? are you safe now?

modern-division: yes, but shit that was scary.

psycho.killer: let me call you bbg, I’ll help get your mind of it

Her phone vibrates in her hand, her finger traces over the red button before she lifts the device to her ear. His smooth tone infiltrates her ears again, easing the anxiety prevalent in the fibre of her muscles. She doesn’t know how Min does it. He helps her forget all about her problems, it’s as if he himself is the cure.

“Oh hey, baby. There was something I wanted to ask.” He pants slightly, the distant sound of leaves crunching drifts from the other end of the line.

“Are you outside?” He laughs.

“Yeah I’m walking home.” His hasty breaths pervade the line. One after another, a series of profane thoughts enter her mind. She is so disappointed in herself. “So, you got a boyfriend?”

“Why? Do you wanna ask me out on a date?” She teases, a lock of hair curls around her forefinger, the vibrato of his voice truanting into her ears, exhilarating her core as rush of certainty floods into her.

“Maybe, do you have a boyfriend?” He piques, she cannot help but grin at his words as if they are both playing a dangerous game of seduction, one she has never played before and one he has won a countless number of times.

“No.” Her truthful answer is not one that hurts her, though she says it as if she’s lying and has had countless lovers before in the past. Perhaps this is the persona that will have her enigmatic paramour crawling towards her.

“You never told me your name.” He acknowledges, 'Mings' has only ever called her 'doll'. Her moves are careful as she continues her cyber relationship with this unknown man, there's a reason she's at the top of her class—he thinks. A thread of messages enter from another chat room, his sharp eyes reeling in the words of his partner.

“Why do you wanna know my name?” Sheer curiosity. Yes, he told her he’s called ‘Mings’ but it’s just a silly nickname used to gain her trust. What is it really short for: Mingi? Mingyu? And Yuyu? Is it possible that he is Yunho? A foreign uneasiness rushes into her skin, she’s cautious as she sits up in her desk chair.

A bad feeling, an intuition of some sort.

He’s going to tell her something she doesn’t want to hear.

“I wanna know who I’m looking at.” Her finger immediately presses, harshly, onto the red button throwing her phone onto her desk. Her body jumps up from her seat, heart pounding furiously against her chest. With her body leaning closer to the window, her eyes outcast the front lawn in which a slender figure stands outside. A ghosts mask rests upon his face, his lanky frame is shrouded in a loose black cloth concealing the shape of his body. A large brick phone is held up against his ear, when he catches her staring down at him, his head cocks eerily to the side.

psycho.killer: Pick

psycho.killer: Up

psycho.killer: The

psycho.killer: Phone

psycho.killer: Doll.

•••

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

A/N: happy 'late' Halloween! my timing is atrocious, but here's a 'small snippet' of a fic i may continue if my writing schedule allows. atm its a one-shot. What's your favourite scary movie? 👻

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

tag list: @n0v4t33z @potatos-on-clouds @jjongwho

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itsthatmff · 2 years ago

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Watching a Horror Movie with their S/O

Included: Genos, Saitama, King, Garou, Metal bat, Zombieman

Some longer headcanons for you guys~

This turned out more chaotic than I had envisioned it, enjoy !

gn!reader

Genos(with a s/o who isn’t scared at all)

Genos was the one to suggest on watching a horror movie together because he wanted to do “Social activities” with you. He once read during his daily web browsing, that watching horror movies with people that are important to you is a nice thing to do in your free time.

You both got Popcorn, snacks and blankets that day and watched “The ring” together at your apartment.

You honestly didn’t really feel like watching a movie, especially since you already watched that movie twice.

But Genos seemed so excited to spend time with you that you just couldn’t say no.

It began pretty chill, you both were looking at the screen while eating your snacks. Genos talked about how he never watched a Horror movie because he didn’t see the point in them.

Later, when the first jumpscare popped up, you weren’t really surprised. Genos on the other hand looked very much confused.

“I do not understand, Why did she jump up to the screen?”

“So that you get scared, silly”

Later, he started asking more questions and you answered them instead of paying attention to the movie. And after a while the “movie night” turned into more of a chit chat since you both lost interest to watch the movie.

“Y/N, I must admit that listening to your soothing voice is better than watching a horror movie. My suggestion wasn’t that good after all”

Saitama (with an S/O who’s scared shitless)

Ever since Saitama got promoted onto rank B, you finally had some time to spend together as he didn’t have to patrol every day.

You decided that watching a movie at theaters would be great and left the ticket purchasing to Saitama as you bought the popcorn and nachos for both of you.

Little did you know that Saitama had gotten tickets for a horror movie. And little did he know that you were frightened by them.

You didn’t realize that the movie you had entered in was a horror movie way until 10 minutes into screening.

Sitting down on the comfortable armchair and munching on your popcorn, the sudden eerie music and the creepy hall made you halt.

“Saitama..what kind of movie is this..?”

“A horror movie.”

“Oh.”

Saitama casually continued eating his nachos when he suddenly felt you grab onto his arm. He looked at you confused.

“No way, are you scared?”

All you could do was nodd as you were closing your eyes.

Saitama felt kind of proud on one hand to have you cling onto him like that, but he set his ego aside.

“We can leave if you want to, I heard this movie is shit anyways.”

You didn’t wanna ruin your movie date like this, but you really couldn’t stand being here for another second.

Once you guys had left the theaters you apologized to him, but all he did was take your hand and give you a small smile.

“It’s fine, cmon. The fact that we left earlier means we can still catch the sale going on at the supermarket.”

King (with a s/o who loves horror movies)

King already shits his pants when seeing a monster, So I guess he Ain’t a big fan of horror movies either.

You asked him once after playing videogames if he wanted to watch a Movie with you and he agreed, not expecting anything.

At that night you both sat down and you decided to watch IT. It hadn’t even gone through your mind that the movie wasn’t watchable because it really wasn’t that scary in your opinion.

And King on the other hand couldn’t say no to watching a horror movie because he would’t want to upset you by showing his weaknesses.

When the movie began he already was shaking inside, and you didn’t notice until the first jumpscare popped up and he began sweating like hell.

“I’ll go to the toilet real quick Y/N”

A good 10 minutes had passed and he still hadn’t returned, which made you realize that he probably had gotten scared.

It was not too long after that he returned, ready to face the next gruesome 2 hours of his life, but there was no horror movie to be found.

Instead, he saw his favorite game playing on the screen, with you laying on your stomach and holding the controller.

“Y/N..what’s this?”

“I didn’t feel like watching the movie anymore. Playing video games is much more fun.”

A little smile crept upon him, he was very grateful to have such an understanding S/O.

“Sure, but don’t complain if you loose for the 2000th Time.”

Garou (with an overdramatic S/O)

You loved to tease Garou any chance you could take.

It was always fun to see him react to situations he’s never experienced before.

That day you begged Bang at the dojo if Garou could take off one day of his training to have a sleep over at yours.

At first he was skeptical, he knew how reckless the youth of today could be.

But you reassured him that it would be a movie night and no more.

With his approval you had your plan rolling.

Garou was never the overprotective type when it came to trivial things, he thought it was too cheesy and knew you were independent enough.

Once at your apartment, you put on the first horror movie you could see on netflix.

Garou made himself comfortable on the couch, spreading his legs and tilting his head back.

You sat next to him, just waiting for the first creepy thing to happen.

You know sometimes in the movie when theres this tension just to turn out that nothing happened? Like when they turn on a light and theres nothing in the room.

At such a moment you decided to go all out, cling your arms onto his waist and close your eyes.

Garou was cleaning his ear when he looked from the tv screen down to you in confusion.

“What the fuck are you doing Y/N. Nothing even happened.”

“It looked like a jump scare..”

He knew damn well you were being overdramatic on purpose again.

“I swear to god if this is one of your stupid games.”

Despite saying that, he still wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

In some scenes where even he got startled a little, he tightened his grip around you.

The plan had worked. And you had to hold back your grin to save your life.

“It wasn’t even that scary- hey, what the hell are you grinning for? You did this on purpose didn’t you?”

Badd (with an S/O who tries to act tough)

It was after school when Metal bat decided to take you out to the movies.

Everyone at school was talking about this new Horror movie that aired and of course as a good boyfriend he would want to spoil you and let you watch the movie so you could feel included at school.

You were indifferent with horror movies, they aren’t your favorites and you didn’t watch them often, but they certainly weren’t ‘too scary’ for you to watch.

As you both took your seats and the movie started, metal bat was already uninterested in what was going on in the movie. He was way more excited to be spending time with you. His gaze stuck on to you, he could see in what moments your eyes widened, when you flinched, when you laughed and when you felt scared.

It seemed like this movie was more scary than usual and it seemed that badd noticed your uneasiness.

His head rested on your shoulder,

“It’s just a movie.”

“I know.”

You knew, and still you felt uneasy. Though Badd’s assurance helped a lot. You combed through his hair as the movie progressed.

In the end, it did feel like the tension was worth it, as the ending of the movie turned out to be really good.

But that wasn’t the end of your date at all. Your boyfriend still had to spoil you rotten.

“Y/N, let’s grab food and go to karaoke afterwards, ya hear me?”

Zombieman (with a S/O who loves Horror Movie marathons)

Watching horror movies with Zombieman was a usual thing for you two to do.

Especially since you two loved the old Halloween franchise. You’d both be on the couch at his crib, him smoking his usual cigarettes, a good whiskey on the table as you two watched and discussed the movie.

It was a nice activity you two shared. And it was obvious Michael myers was Zombieman’s favorite.

The smell of cologne, cigarettes and whiskey, the dim lit living room and the screams coming from the tv. Thats what you liked to call a romantic evening.

Its only when the room is filled with smoke and he sees your drowsy eyes that he decided to finally end tonights marathon.

He put his last cigarette on the ashtray and turned off the tv.

“We’ve watched enough, haven’t we?”

That deep raspy voice could immediately send you to sleep.

“You’re surely different to please, Y/N. But that’s what I like about you.”

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judassmyvirtue · 1 year ago

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Hey folks, just dropping some resources here for those of you who, like me, are always on the hunt for free reading material, whether it's for research or just to satisfy your curiosity. Check these out:

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counterblows · 3 months ago

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⋆·˚ ༘ * SPIDERVERSE

Take a seat, browse the menu, and enjoy the flavors of my imagination. Whether you’re here for a quick snack or a full-course meal, I hope you find something to satisfy your cravings

Menu Guide | What’s on the Table?

Before placing your order, here’s how to read the menu:

♥︎ Special of the House (Romantic Relationship) – Sweet, steamy, or complicated love stories

♡ House Blend (Platonic Relationship) – Strong friendships, found family, and sibling-like bonds

♦︎ Sugar Rush (Fluff) – Light, sweet, and heartwarming treats

♣︎ Bitter Brew (Angst) – Emotional, dramatic, and sometimes painful servings

♠︎ Extra Spicy (Smut) – For customers with a taste for heat

Mixed orders available!

FYI: Most of the fic are linked from my old account @/improbable-outset. I will be posting new fics from this account from now onwards

｡･:*:･ﾟMiguel O’Hara Menu

જ⁀➴ APPETISER - HEADCANONS

Quick bites of ideas and thoughts about characters

SFW Alphabet

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Wholesome headcanons in alphabetical order

NSFW Alphabet

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Explicit headcanons in alphabetical order

જ⁀➴ SIDE DISHES - DRABBLES

Small servings of stories—short, flavorful, and satisfying

Fleeting Reflections

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: He opens up to you in ways he never expected, only to face a heartbreaking truth

Big Brain ♥︎♠︎

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You take care of him after a stressful day at work

For his eyes only ♠︎

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Where you send him scandalous videos of yourself while he’s taking care of the multiverse.

જ⁀➴ MAIN COURSE - ONE-SHOTS

Full, self-contained stories packed with all the goodness in one go

Eres mía ♥︎♠︎

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You’re not the only one experiencing cravings during your pregnancy

Meet Cute ♦︎

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You didn’t expect the mysterious man that you met at a wedding to change your whole trajectory of the night

Static in the Air ♠︎♣︎

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Divorce was supposed to bring closure, but for Miguel, it only fuelled a lingering ache for the woman he still loved. Convincing himself that ending the marriage was for your benefit, he didn't realise the depth of his mistake until he saw you moving on.

Moved by Devotion and Prestige ♦︎♣︎

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: During a company dinner party, you find yourself humiliated by your current boyfriend. Seeking some escape, you confide with your boss, Miguel, whose support reveals some hidden emotions you’ve buried.

You Say You Can Fix Him, But He’s Stuck in Fifth Gear ♡♠︎

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Miguel’s idea of a good time: a high-speed joyride. Yours? Riding him until the sun rises

Last Boarding Call ♣︎♠︎

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Saying goodbye to you wasn’t part of Miguel’s plan. As you prepare to leave Alchemax for a prestigious new role, Miguel struggles with the realisation that he’s about to lose more than just a colleague.

I’ve still got your DNA stuck under my fingernails ♣︎

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Grief-stricken, Miguel struggles to escape the past as the lines blur between reality and haunting memories.

No Stones Unturned, But I’m Still Searching ♣︎

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Miguel goes through some old photo albums with his daughter, sharing stories of the love of his life while quietly grappling with the ache of your absence.

જ⁀➴ CHEF SPECIAL (PLATTERS) - SERIES/MULTIPLE CHAPTER STORIES

Bigger servings of stories, perfect for a full-course experience

Scientist Husband Masterlist ♥︎

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Marrying a scientist superhero has its unique perks

In his Crimson-Filled eyes ♣︎♥︎

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After waking up from a year-long coma, you find yourself in the hospital with the tender embrace of your husband sitting beside you. You have no memory of your marriage nor the life you shared together. As you try to navigate the scattered memories, Miguel becomes your guiding light through your journey of transcending memories.

Rekindling an Old Love ♣︎♠︎♥︎

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: In your complex web of your shared history, you and Miguel, your ex-husband and co-worker, struggle to communicate without clashing your professional and personal lives. However, an unexpected moment sparks a longing between the two of you. Despite the tension, a shared moment reveals unspoken desires and deep secrets.

Not the menu you’re looking for? Here’s the main menu

#★— ayrus writes #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara fic #atsv miguel #miguel x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #miguel x you #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you

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poppy-in-the-woods · 1 year ago

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Sneak Peek

Plot: Inspired by this post. Set during the lockdown, Noah's been ignoring you, and you're gonna make him pay.

Pairing: Noah x Female Reader

Word Count: 1534

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Tags: smut, teasing, sexting, oral (male receiving), double penetration, anal sex, somewhat public sex/exhibitionism.

Author's note: Some of you said you wanted a story about that idea, and before I knew what was happening, my fingers were furiously typing, and this is the result. Hope you enjoy it!

2020, the year the world came to a halt. You and your boyfriend, Noah, were trapped inside your shared apartment, and it was beginning to get kind of boring. There’s only so much stuff you can do inside before it gets repetitive. Even sex had started to get kind of predictable and uninteresting.

Lately, he had taken to streaming on Twitch, so that night, while he was streaming, you were on the living room, browsing the web on your laptop, desperately searching for a way to spice up your bedroom life. Then you found an article that seemed helpful and elaborated a plan.

Step one: buying some new risqué lingerie.

Step two: acquiring a new toy.

Step three: wait until they arrive and put on a show for him while he’s streaming.

Step four: success?

You managed to keep the packages a secret from him after they arrived, even when you had to thoroughly clean and disinfect the items, and wait a week after that so you could use them.

That evening he wasn’t looking at you. He hadn’t been looking at you for a while now, but you were going to make sure he’d look.

Noah had been streaming for half and hour now when he got the first text from you. Glancing at the screen he saw what you had written:

Babe [19:40]: I’m horny, come here.

He trailed off what he was saying while typing a response.

You [19:41]: I can’t, I’m streaming.

You didn’t stop at that, though, and he had to pause while going back and forth with you for a couple more messages.

Babe [19:43]: ☹ Pretty please? ☹

You [19:43]: I can’t right now.

Babe [19:45]: Your loss then.

He didn’t receive another message for ten minutes. The next one was a picture of your cleavage in a sexy red bra he was sure he hadn’t seen before. He smiled and pressed his lips together, but didn’t respond. He continued the stream as if nothing happened, though the picture was still on the back of his mind, like a splinter.

“No reply, bitch? Then it’s game on”, you said to yourself.

You snapped a few pictures in quick succession: a full body shot that showed your new lingerie set, one without the bra and completely nude.

You sent them, but he didn’t respond, and he didn’t even open the last message. Time to bring out the big guns.

Noah shifted uncomfortably on his chair. The increasingly sexy pictures you were sending were starting to make concentrating on the conversation pretty difficult. He didn’t open the last message, imagining what you would send next. He understood himself well enough to know that if he opened it, he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself, and he couldn’t leave his friends hanging now that the Mario Kart game was on, could he? No, sir, he was a man of his word and he was committed to finish.

But when his phone started buzzing insistently, he lost on purpose to look at it.

The nude picture wasn’t the worst (or was it the best?) you had for him in store.

Babe [20:23]: Wanna see my new boyfriend? Since you don’t pay any attention to me anymore, I had to get him.

The next message was a picture of a pretty realistic dildo, with a water bottle next to it, just for scale. Noah was a big guy, but that thing seemed bigger.

Babe [20:25]: How shall I name him? Noah II?

Next picture was the dildo, nested between your breasts, your tongue darting out to lick the tip.

He covered his mouth, stifling the unholy sound that was threatening to come out of his lips, shifting again on his chair. You surely had caught his attention, and he was starting to get hard. A new subscription popped in, distracting him. He lifted his eyes from the phone to look at it. The robotic voice read it before he could stop it:

UnsatisfiedGirlfriend06: Look at your phone, you coward.

And then, right after, a donation of ten dollars:

UnsatisfiedGirlfriend06: I dare you to ignore that. I double dare you. Bitch.

He looked at his phone. A new message had arrived. It was a video this time. No sound, just a close-up of your glistening pussy being penetrated by the dildo, going in and out, in and out, your fingers caressing your clit. Noah’s cock twitched in his pants, fully hard now. A new message popped in:

Babe [20:33]: Think you would be able to fill another hole? Or should I get another replacement for you?

He furiously typed a reply. If you wanted to play, he was going to play.

Your phone dinged.

Prettyface [20:35]: Replacement? Ha! You wish. Come here right now, and don’t forget to bring your new friend with you.

You looked at your laptop, with Twitch open on his streaming. It was still going on.

You [20:36]: But you’re still on streaming.

Prettyface [20:37]: Who’s the coward now?

You bit your lip hesitantly, looking at your laptop again. The camera showed that the door was not inside the frame, you just had to be sneaky and nobody would know you were there.

Noah didn’t turn around when he felt the door opening, but he backed his chair up a bit, opening some space under the desk. You crawled up to him, getting in that space. He pretended to drop his phone.

“Just a second, guys”, he said. Bending over, he put his face mere inches to yours. “You’ve been a very naughty girl”, he whispered. “To make up for it, you’re gonna suck me off while riding your new toy. And don’t you dare touch yourself or make a sound. Understood?” You eagerly nodded. “Good.”

He straightened himself, phone in hand, and left in on the desk. He lowered the seat and shifted once more, facilitating you pulling his pants and underwear down. His cock was already leaking some pre-cum, angry that it had been teased for so long.

You positioned yourself, guiding the toy back in your cunt, and once it was fully inside you, you took your boyfriend’s cock in your mouth, watching intently at how he reacted. Noah pressed his lips together, muffling a moan.

You kept sucking him, bouncing on the toy, using a hand to stimulate the rest of his shaft, and the other on his thigh to steady yourself. Thank god for microphones that filtered the unwanted noise, because even you were being quiet, there were still some sounds you couldn’t avoid producing, like the wet sound of your mouth over him, or the faint slaps every time you snapped your hips.

He abruptly closed the stream when he was about to cum. One of his hands flew to your head, keeping you in place while he came down your throat with a loud moan he was unable to suppress.

“Happy now?” he asked, still panting.

“Not yet. This was only a sneak peek”, you said, smiling. “I also bought a harness”, you informed him.

“What?” he said, confused.

“For Noah II. You always say you wished you had another cock to fuck my ass at the same time. Now you have it”, you explained.

He reopened the stream, acting like his Internet connection failed. He apologized to his friends, but said he was tired and was going to leave it there for the day.

He took your hand, helping you up and led you to the bedroom, where he proceeded to fuck you nice and hard doggy style, just like you wanted. Having him filling you up like that, in two holes at the same time, was a weird, albeit exciting, new feeling. Not so long after, your orgasm hit you harder than a demolition ball, leaving you exhausted. Noah still thrust a bit more, until he reached the climax too. You collapsed on the bed as soon as he was out of you.

“Okay, Noah II can stay”, he said, his breathing still shallow, his chest still rising rapidly, while lying next to you. “But don’t you ever dare to pull a stunt like that on me again.”

“Don’t ignore me for days at a time, and I won’t feel the need to”, you pointed out.

“Yeah, you’re right. This is pretty much my fault. I am sorry, babe, but I see you now”, he promised you.

“You better see me after what we just did”, you joked. You could almost still feel him inside you, like the ghost of a sensation.

“What about we shower, we clean everything, put on new sheets and go to bed early?” he suggested. “I want us to cuddle for a bit before sleeping.”

“Deal.”

“By the way, you looked so beautiful while I was fucking you, but next time I want to see your face, ok? The dildo goes in your ass, that way I can be on top” he whispered into your ear, once you were under the sheets again and his arm was around your rib cage, hand possessively grabbing one of your boobs.

“Missionary+!” you joked. “Fine by me, you know I love to see your pretty face while you come.”

“Same, babe, same.”

#poppy writes #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens fic #noah sebastian

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17020 · 7 months ago

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AMOR'S WORDPRESS EVENT!

hello, and welcome! if you don’t know me! i’m amor, an 18 year old latino currently studying marketing. i have been assigned a homework where i need to create a wordpress blog about anything, and the group that gets the most web traffic wins and gets an 100, and the rest get 80, 70, and under.

me and my group partner both have scholarships, and if we don’t get a reasonable grade we might lose our scholarships because averages are strict. we need your help! we need web traffic, and me and my partner have written quick articles for you to read. please help a gal out! we’ll update the posts and stuff this week, so stay tuned!

IF YOU SEND ME PROOF THAT YOU BROWSED THROUGH MY WORDPRESS/LEFT A COMMENT/SIGNED UP, I WILL WRITE SETS OF 4 HEADCANNONS FOR A CHARACTER IN MY WRITING LIST.

UPDATE!!! we have met the deadline!! thank you so much for participating, i’ll let you know if im first or second place <3

SFW AND NSFW WELCOME! READ MY RULES, SEND THE PROOF, AND YOU'RE GOOD TO GO! proof can be on anon too, just say “i browsed through this article and blah blah!” simple as that

my partner and i really need this grade to pop off. we need all the help we can get. i already outed myself as a fic writer to my professor, so please help me out. i will post the headcannons throughout the week. thank you and sorry to bother! stay safe, i love you.

tagging my dearest moots who said they'd help me with the wordpress, @vinomino @ryescapades @itoshiexx @sanemistar i love you have a kiss from me

#wind breaker x reader #bnha x reader #jjk x reader #blue lock x reader #dandadan x reader #dan da dan x reader #my hero academia x reader #wind breaker (satoru nii) x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #bllk x reader

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jennyfromthebes · 1 year ago

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Hey! I wanna talk for a sec about the Live Music Archive. If you're a tMG fan who's on here you probably already at least know about it, but for anyone unfamiliar I want to do a quick post talking about what it is and how you can listen!

The Live Music Archive is a collection hosted by the Internet Archive for audio recordings of concerts. Specifically, the LMA hosts, with permission from the band, user-contributed recordings of concerts. Some fans will go to concerts with recording gear to take a full audio recording of the show and then upload it to the archive under the band's collection. As of writing this post there are almost 450 live tapes uploaded to the tMG LMA collection!

There's a few ways that you can listen to recordings on the Live Music Archive. The webpage works pretty well both on desktop and mobile browsers, and that's what I typically use. You can also listen on web without having to make an account on the Internet Archive, which is convenient for browsing. I also use the webpage to download mp3s of favorite tapes to my phone, so that I can listen to them in my local music player.

However, if you don't mind making a free account and prefer the convenience of something more like Spotify, you can also listen to anything on the LMA via the Taper's Section app for Android or the Live Music Archive app for iOS! (Obligatory disclaimer that I use an Android and can't personally vouch for the iOS app, but afaik they have similar features.) The apps have the same functionality as the webpage in a more streamlined mobile-friendly interface, plus things like notifications when there's a new tape added to a collection you follow and downloading in-app for offline listening. The Android app also has a tab for tapes from today's date, there's often at least one (there are FOUR for today!) and that's a really fun way to find tapes to listen to.

If you're looking at this going, wow, that sounds really cool but there's so many tapes that it's a little overwhelming to get into this, don't worry! I'll leave you with a couple recommendations. As mentioned above, I like to listen to shows from the current date. Another fun way to find shows is looking for a specific song - you can go on the wiki and it'll list every show at which the song has been played live, and then just search until you find one of them that has a tape on the archive. Lastly, a few specific favorite tapes of mine:

- 2014-06-15 has the entirety of Taboo VI: The Homecoming played live + one of my absolute favorite performances of both Woke Up New and The Best Ever Death Metal Band In Denton.

- 2015-06-01 is the only time Straight Six has ever been played live and it's interestingly pretty different from the EP version, plus a phenomenal back to back Spent Gladiator 1 & 2.

- 2021-08-06 was the first show after the band started playing concerts again post 2020, and it has a really incredible energy and a phenomenal setlist.

- 2024-03-01 is from the recent run of solo shows, this one was at Grace Cathedral and the ambience is truly truly incredible, it feels so ethereal.

Please feel free to add any additional notes or some of your own favorite tapes to the post as well! Happy listening!!

#txt #transmissions from lyric #the mountain goats #tmg #tapes #theres a post of live tape recs that im gonna go back and rb after this #and im also gonna start posting some favorite live recordings regularly! which is why i wanted to make this post!#the LMA is such an incredible resource #and at some point ill make a followup post about how to contribute to the LMA but thats a later post #resources

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ghastimart · 9 months ago

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oh god, see me

so all the scrapped ending content keeps making me sad. good thing i have an au where happy endings are the inevitable! didn't feel like posting this to ao3 yet so if you don't have context to the ocs mentioned / used don't think too hard about it.

Sebastian reunites with Mama Solace after years of separation and coverups.

words; 2,662

Things had settled into a state of calm.

P.AI.nter, decidedly, liked the Aquarium. After hours, he was allowed to roam - a makeshift body on wheels allowing him to take the elevator down and cart around as he desired, painting scenes from the tanks and the waterpark, going up to the roof to catch sunrises and sunsets and clear nights.

Anything, anything was better than the cold and unfeeling gray of the Blacksite’s halls. They felt so much happier – despite Sebastian’s warnings and misgivings about the Ministry, their trust had proven well-placed so far.

Everyone seemed happier, really. Viorel had managed to call his dad when they made landfall and wept on the phone. Cephei had seemed intrigued by all the things land had to offer, running around with Echo whenever the park was closed to poke around. Millie had been relearning to dance on her new legs, Tobias and Elliot – already inseparable – had made a habit of camping out around every corner of the place, treating every night like date night as if making up for lost time. And Audie, of course, had been over the moon to be back in their element, socializing with all the staff at the Aquarium to catch up on what they’d missed.

So that left Sebastian. Sebastian, who still hadn’t fully taken his ease ever since they arrived onsite. Sebastian, who always eyed the staff that had been taking care of them with a critical eye, who growled whenever one of the doctors approached a member of their hodgepodge “family” unexpectedly. Sebastian, who refused to let himself relax, anticipating another betrayal.

“One of us has to be vigilant,” He’d grunted in reply one day when P.AI.nter asked why he was so on-edge; “The Ministry is no different from Urbanshade. I don’t trust it, and I won’t let us get hurt again.”

Still, it felt unfair. They’d been there for half a month by this point, readjusting to living on the surface, waiting for the proper procedures to play out between the Ministry and Urbanshade to guarantee they wouldn’t be hunted down or “reclaimed”. At the Aquarium, at the very least, they were protected - Director Hart assured them of that much, so Sebastian deserved to relax.

But how?

His own abilities were still woefully limited, in the body he had currently. He thought about what they could do, rather than what they couldn’t; what Sebastian had longed for most in their time underwater. And a memory came to mind.

They’d never told Sebastian, but on more than one occasion, they’d caught a breakdown on the cameras – watching silently as he curled up in the far corner of a room he’d been scavenging in, or simply fled to, and wept, calling out for his mother in a state of weakness he wanted no-one to see.

His mother, then. Surely it couldn’t be hard, now that they were connected to the internet again. Humming with certainty, P.AI.nter began to browse the web, windows popping open and closed on their screen as they sat in the corner of the group’s shared room, alone for now. It was dinner, after all – and he, being the only one without a stomach to fill, decided to skip it in favour of his brainstorming. Circuitstorming. Whatsoever it was called – a good move, because he could move in secret like this.

Articles about the arrest. Interviews. Names – his sister’s. Her Facebook. Contacts, and –

There she was.

… Now what?

He grunted to themself, puzzling over the question. It had been so long, would she really bite a stranger messaging her saying, “Hey, your son’s alive! Come get him!”?

It seemed foolish to try, but he had no other starting point. So, making up a quick burner account, he opened a private message to her and shot it off.

> Mrs.Solace? You don’t know me, but I know your son. He’s alive. Would you like to meet him?

—

“Sebastian?”

His earfin flicked as he emerged from the water, shaking out his hair. Audie hopped out beside him, sitting on the edge of the pool. The dolphins continued to swirl around his tail, occasionally nosing at him to try and instigate play again until he hauled himself fully out and slapped the surface with his tailfin to make them disperse.

Director Hart stood in the entryway to the room, seeming troubled as she approached them, and he grimaced.

“Did Echo get stuck somewhere again? Cephei said they were watching them,” He huffed impatiently; “Go bother it for –”

“No, Sebastian, it’s… We have a visitor asking for you.”

“What?”

Him and Audie’s voices answered in unison, both of them stiffening as their minds jumped to the worst. He glanced down to them, jerking his head.

Urbanshade – it has to be Urbanshade.

“Get everyone in the room.”

“Right.”

As they collected a towel and hurried off, he faced Director Hart, growling lowly.

“What do they want?”

“It’s… A woman, Sebastian, I don’t think she’s the threat you think she is,” The Director spoke slowly, searching his gaze; “Wayland’s taken her to one of the conference rooms to wait for now. She was very insistent that you were here.”

“You told her I wasn’t, right?”

“Of course. That's the procedure. But she started making more of a scene.”

“Fuck.”

As he dried himself off as well, throwing his clothes back on, she received a message on her phone, and read it quickly, her brow furrowing.

“... Oh.”

“What now?”

“Audie wants you in the room. You - oh.”

At her softer, more knowing sound, he furrowed his brow, his tail lashing with agitation. She paused, then looked back up at him with a nod, clearing her throat.

“Come find me in the employee lobby when you’re ready.”

With nothing more, she turned and left. He paused for a moment, puzzling it out for a moment before he grunted and made his way upstairs, checking himself to make sure his tail didn’t dent the walls as he went.

—

“You what.”

P.AI.nter flinched as Sebastian snarled, standing at his full height, his shoulders brushing the ceiling as the rest of the polycule shuffled around nervously.

“I just – you’ve always wanted to see her again! Haven’t you?!”

“You don’t get to be the one to decide that! Fuck, P.AI.nter!”

His anger gave way to panic as he drew a claw through his hair, his tail lashing and knocking over a chair. Cephei and Echo flinched from the noise, and Elliot growled in turn, leaning forward to press a hand against Sebastian’s tail.

“Hey. They were only trying to do something nice.”

“I just –”

He broke off with a sound that sounded somewhere between a snarl and a whine, shaking his head and coiling around the room restlessly, his hands shaking. The rest of the team watched with worry and sympathy, waiting until he finally stilled before they moved again.

He lowered himself down at a gentle tug against his shirt, enjoying the warmth of Audie’s hands against his face first, then Tobias and Elliot on either side after, running their own fingers through his hair to ease him down.

“... I can’t see her like this,” He croaked; “I’m not…”

A million words went unsaid, and he shook his head.

“... What if she’s scared of me?”

“She won’t be,” Millie said from her perch on the bed, so sure.

“What if she doesn’t recognize me?”

“She will,” Viorel insisted from beside P.AI.nter’s desk, also confident in his words.

“How do you know?”

He opened his eyes to meet Audie’s gaze, and they were the one who smiled at him, squishing his cheeks gently.

“Because she loved you enough to come now. Don’t keep her waiting anymore, Sebaba.”

Conflicting emotions haunted his chest and mind as he took the elevator minutes later, coiled into a ball. Though they’d all asked if he wanted company, he’d denied it – this task was herculean enough without his partners looming over his shoulder to watch the inevitable breakdown.

As the doors opened and doctors breezed by, Director Hart was standing in the lobby, perking up at his approach. He swallowed, trying to keep his tail from doing anxious knots as he nodded.

Wordless, she led the way.

This hallway, he knew, led to a veterinary entrance to the Aquarium, but a left turn before that brought them to the conference rooms. He counted three doors before she stopped and knocked on the door. Some hushed words were exchanged, and Wayland came out, nodding respectfully at Sebastian as he passed by. Director Hart turned to Sebastian proper after that, holding the door handle for a moment.

“I’ll be waiting just outside whenever you’re ready.”

“Sure… Thanks, I guess.”

With a nod from her, she opened the door, and he hesitated before slithering inside slowly, keeping the light on his esca out for now.

His mother stood up the moment she watched him enter. She had not aged gracefully – the stress and grief of the past decade had taken its toll. She looked exhausted, haunted and haggard.

Her eyes were wide as she took him in. He watched as she looked him up and down, absorbing how much he’d changed. How inhuman he was.

Surely, He thought, She doesn’t recognize this. How could she?

He hated this.

Every moment he dreamed of just being home again, eating one of her meals, hugging her one last time, it had been undercut by what he’d become. Not just in the sense of his mutations, though that played a massive part.

No, he’d been an innocent man when he last saw his mother. Now, there was blood on his hands, and not every kill had been necessary.

So here he was; a monster by every definition, hunching his shoulders as he met eyes with the woman who’d given him life in the first, who he’d wanted to see - who now, he would give anything to avoid.

She stepped forward, and reached out. Against his better judgment, he lowered himself to meet her touch, the tears gathering in his eyes from the first moment her hands graced his face.

“Mijo,” She said, the word dripping with grief and love, and suddenly Sebastian was a child again.

“Mamá.”

He was much larger than her now, but that didn’t stop his mother from pulling him to her chest and holding him as close as he could while he utterly shattered in her arms, sobs wracking his body. All three of his own arms wrapped around her, loose – too frightened of his own strength, but just as frightened to let go of her, in case this was just an illusion after all.

He’d hallucinated before. But not now, not as her hands curled into his hair and brushed it into place just like she used to.

“Oh, my baby,” She whispered; “What did they do to you, Sebastian? My poor baby boy…”

“How –” He choked up, shuddering, his eyes screwed up; “ – How did you know it was – it was me? I’m nothing like… I’m not who I was.”

“How could I not?”

She pulled back – the gesture felt like pulling broken glass from his skin, but he allowed it so he could meet her gaze – and she held his face tightly between her hands, her expression intense and serious.

“I would know you the second I saw you no matter what happened, mijo, you’re my son. That hasn’t changed.”

“... God.”

More tears spilled down his cheeks, and he pulled his mother a little closer, shutting his eyes. His ears flicked as she brushed his hair out of his face. A touch he’d longed for for so long, a touch he couldn’t get enough of, he never would.

—

“How do you think they’re doing in there?”

“Just fine,” Viorel assured P.AI.nter, patting the top of his monitor as the group sat down at their usual table; “We’d definitely know by now if it went badly. It’s been years – give them some time.”

“Mmh…”

The AI’s fans had been humming at maximum since the confrontation before Sebastian left, all too anxious that they’d done the wrong thing. Despite everyone’s attempts to assure him otherwise, P.AI.nter couldn’t help stressing.

It wouldn’t be the first time it had miscalculated a gesture. But to do it over something so heavy felt – it felt –

“Stop overthinking.”

He yelped as Echo flicked his screen, switching gears to glare down at them grumpily.

“Hey! I am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!!”

“Jesus, here they go again,” Millie sighed as Tobias snickered, reaching over to tug Echo away.

“Guys?”

Everyone halted and perked to attention at Sebastian’s voice, eyes widening and shoulders squaring as they noticed the woman standing beside him. He fidgeted, uncharacteristically bashful as he wrung his hands together, his ears twitching and flapping while the woman looked from person to person.

“This is, uh… Hm. I’d, uh, like you to meet my mom.”

“Oh!”

Audie and Cephei’s tails both started to wag, and the former stood up abruptly to offer a little bow of respect that Echo mimicked uncertainly.

“Mrs. Solace! It’s a pleasure!”

Similar words were offered around the table, and Sebastian coughed softly, leaning down to speak to her directly – pointing out each person as he introduced them.

“That’s Tobias and Elliot, Viorel, Millie, Audie, Cephei, Echo, and P.AI.nter. They’re er… Family, I guess, that I met underwater.”

“Mrs.Solace!”

P.AI.nter hurried over, their wheels squeaking on the cafeteria floor as they met her gaze for the first time – and while taken aback by his rushed approach, she didn’t seem offput, merely blinking as he smiled awkwardly.

“It’s me – I was – I’m the one who messaged you! That was me!”

“Oh – oh! That was you! I – I owe you a lot, then, don’t I?”

“No, no! It was my pleasure,” He practically squeaked out, beaming at her properly now; “I – I wanted to help you two reunite. It means everything to me that you came.”

“Why… Did you come?”

Sebastian tilted his head as he finally posed that question, quirking a brow at his mother.

“I mean – some shady nameless guy messages you saying he knows about your missing adult kid, and you fly halfway across the world? Should I be worried?”

“Ay – have some respect,” She tsked, swatting his arm lightly and earning a laugh from a few of his partners at the table; “I didn’t believe him blindly.”

“She really didn’t. There was a lot of skepticism and questioning,” P.AI.nter agreed. Sebastian simply grunted, his tail thumping softly against the ground as he accepted that answer.

“Good evening friends! I see we have another face joining us for dinner – any allergies or sensitivities we should be aware of, ma’am?”

Elaine – Chef Nichols – smiled as she stepped over to the table, clipboard in hand, and Mrs. Solace shook her head, smiling.

“Oh, no, nothing that I know of!”

“That’s my favourite thing to hear! Alright, squishies, what’ll it be?”

“Actually –”

Sebastian started, then hesitated, fidgeting with his jabbot for a moment as he looked down at his mom.

“... I don’t want to ask too much of you, mamá, but… Can you… Can you make some of your empanadas? It’s… I really missed them, and –”

“Ay, mijo... Of course. Why don’t we make them together?”

His ears wiggled as she snagged one of his hands, and he nodded with a creeping smile. Elaine squeaked with joy, eagerly inviting them into the kitchen.

P.AI.nter returned to their spot as chatter broke out amongst those who remained at the table, watching Sebastian and his mother dance around Elaine and Giselle behind the counter. For the first time, Sebastian seemed genuinely at ease and happy, and it made P.AI.nter feel warmer.

Viorel nudged him, earning a grunt.

“Told ya.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m just glad he’s happy.”

“You and me both.”

#my art #ghastimart #coping au #roblox pressure #pressure oc #sebastian solace #p.ai.nter pressure #audie #viorel #wifey's ocs #i dont have tags for any of the others yet so im not gonna add them

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tfwyouloveher2 · 11 months ago

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/r9k/Elsa Ten Years Later: A Retrospective

Ten years ago today, on July 22, 2014, r9kElsa is Suffering was completed.

If you're reading this, you probably already know the gravity of that event. Let's talk about it anyway :)

r9kElsa is Suffering was one of the earliest fan fiction works written for Frozen, its first chapter published only a few weeks after the movie's release, and was decidedly the most influential.

It was the first widely-read modern-alternate-universe take on Elsa's and Anna's characters, and the way it painted their relationship into a reluctant and tragic romance almost singlehandedly inspired the wider Elsanna ship.

Despite its legacy, it's not the most practiced prose, nor is the plot meticulously planned.

So why did it leave such a mark on its audience? And how was it conceived?

Come with me back to 2013 and we'll find out.

A History

Frozen was released on November 27, 2013, to unexpected critical acclaim and unprecedented box office success.

The internet was quickly buzzing with thoughts about it. A hundred communities in the far-flung reaches of a simpler Web gathered in their respective forums to articulate what the movie meant to them.

Within a few days, a few thoughts began to coalesce in many different places at once: these characters are important to us. They're relatable. They're inspiring.

And, in some strange new way, the scattered diaspora found that the message had spoken to their hearts: love is stronger than fear. There is hope.

The first Frozen fan fiction to gain any traction was "Songs of Ice and Snow", published on November 23 by a lucky author with the privilege of seeing a pre-screening of the movie. It would go on to reach almost 140,000 words over the next several months, and explored the characters in their canon environment, written to take place immediately after the events of the movie.

Soon though, another fic was written with a bold twist: For the First Time was published on December 3, and suggested something previously unexplored: a romantic angle to the sisters' relationship. Niche artists and shitposters had already asserted the notion, but this very early work fleshed out the idea into something surprisingly charming. If love is an open door, then For the First Time opened it just a crack, and readers everywhere were tempted by the glow from beyond.

One specific forum that was quick to latch on to the hard-to-swallow concept was /frz/, a thread on 4chan's /co/ dedicated to Frozen. The trolling effortlessly began to morph into ironic, then tongue-in-cheek, and finally occasionally genuine consideration of what this romance would mean. The trolling never stopped, of course; but in the margins, there was a growing understanding and even affection for this relationship. Why?

Like so much well-loved fiction, it was because people saw themselves in it.

In Elsa, some saw a shut-in who just didn't want to be ostracized anymore. Some saw a dutiful figure who couldn't allow herself to be happy.

In Anna, some saw a socially awkward romantic, starving for affection and acceptance. Others saw an endlessly forgiving empath.

And in both, they saw someone who might understand them.

And in that moment, they fell victim to the fantasy: that two people could be so different and yet could love each other so unreservedly. That two people could understand each other's failings and doubts and grief, that they could be so wounded by each other, and at the end of it all, still sacrifice everything for the other.

In a world of cynicism and transactional relationships, it turns out that these sisters bound by blood scratch an itch: a need to be accepted despite all our flaws. And in some corners of the internet, there grew an quiet desire to be loved like that.

It was in this context that an anonymous /co/ reader, usually only browsing the board for DC comics, began to engage with /frz/. She hadn't ever written fiction before, but at the moment unemployed, was sucked in by the concepts being set forth. She wrote a first chapter that was an exceptional attention grabber, starting with the line "She heard the crossbow bolt thud into her shoulder before she felt it." Many readers will recognize that opening line immediately from Frozen Fractals. The first chapter was initially published in a pastebin for /frz/ to read, on December 6, with promises of violence, cuteness, and sex. Despite very little initial response, the anon is fully engrossed in her work, and posts the next few chapters in the following two days.

Over the next couple weeks, Frozen Fractals becomes the foremost image of the romantic portrayal of the sisters. The writing style is unpracticed, the character choices sometimes stretch disbelief, and the story is occasionally brutal; and yet, the work is outstanding.

The critical response is enormously positive, even reaching the point of other fiction authors in /frz/ asking the author -- having at this point earned the nickname "Fractals" or "Frac" -- for writing tips and constructive criticism. Additionally though, there are some constructive criticisms offered back, which undoubtedly aided Frac's later work.

During this same period, the image of Elsa being a broken, self-doubting recluse, while Anna waits determinedly for her to open her door to the world, begins to take a more distinct shape in the /frz/ threads.

Anons start to see Elsa as one of them.

And so it began, slowly at first. But over the next couple weeks, this idea started taking center stage in threads.

And then, the first greentext from the character of /r9k/Elsa:

There grew a consensus, a common understanding of who this persona was.

It was initially tongue-in-cheek. But later, like Elsa's monster, it was often the person that we most fear to be.

And the storm raged on.

Then, the next day, a turning point is reached: a greentext that realizes the core of the character. These 12 lines precipitated years of community fixation and the story that would come of her.

And the rest is history.

Over the next few days, an onslaught of r9kElsa greentexts are posted. For a short while, threads are overwhelmed with discussion of the character. People can't stop talking about it.

Some suggest temporarily banning it from threads so as to stop derailing every discussion.

Despite the proposed ban, some discussion continues behind spoiler tags. Frac is wrapping up Frozen Fractals and becoming increasingly engrossed in the character.

Then, finally, on the Winter Solstice 2013, Elsa's first birthday, tfw She Loves You is posted on Fictionpress.

Frac posts it under an alias in an ultimately-doomed effort to fly under the radar.

Over the next few days, up to and through Christmas 2013, Frac cannot stop writing. She writes ELEVEN CHAPTERS in four days. The rest of /frz/ is caught up in the r9k storm right along with her.

And then, there's a pause. A couple days go by without update. Finally, a few days later, chapter 12 Drawfriend is posted, and Frac seems a little burned out. Anons ask her what's up.

She realizes that her story is beginning to diverge from the greentexts that /frz/ has written. What started as a collection of one-shots based on scattershot 4chan replies is beginning to feel more important than that. None of the offered greentexts are hitting the spot like they used to. Somehow, the characters need more.

From this moment onward, Frac takes a new direction. Only a couple chapters after this point (16 and 21) are based on greentexts, and even those are loosely adapted. Instead, the fic ceases to be a collection of one-shots and starts forming into a true story, the story that everyone now knows and loves.

She posts the next chapter the same night. Chapter 13 Past is in the Past is a unique installment in the series, going back in time to detail the moment Elsa believes that she fell for Anna. It briefly scales back the angst and drama, and gives a cute slice-of-life of a simpler time for the characters. Some consider it the most human chapter in the story.

From this point on, the story progresses in a remarkable way. In case you haven't read it, I'll avoid too many major spoilers here. But as you can imagine, certain chapters (like 20: Implode-Explode) prompted clamorous reactions from the /frz/ threads.

After a few more weeks, other sites start taking notice of what's happening here. Tumblr picks up on the fic and begins rallying behind it. Artists begin painting r9kElsa portraits. It's when r9k starts wrapping up that r/Elsanna is founded and starts gaining traffic.

Other well-known stories also start being published once r9k hits its stride. During a very short period between mid-January and early February 2014, you see Extra! Extra!, A Formal Arrangement, Feel, Don't Conceal, Drum Major, You Are, A Snowflake in Spring, Winter Girl, the Cake Fic, and others published for the first time. Almost every modern-AU fic can trace its characterizations at least partially back to r9k. In some cases, e.g. Tessellate, much more than partially!

A Reason

If you read any post or thread from any Elsanna community in 2014, you'll find one thing repeated over and over: r9kElsa is Suffering brought me here. The story is the most common elevator pitch for the ship, because especially at that time, it meant something more to people than just sexy cartoon girls (though it undoubtedly meant that too).

In a world of isolation, where many traditional sources of community have been whittled away, people are desperate for hope.

This is the core of why Frozen succeeded so tremendously.

It came at exactly the right cultural moment, when both adults and teenagers the world over were feeling more alone than any prior point in history; and it showed that there's a reason to open your door. Even when you're feeling like there's no way out, like no one could ever see past your faults and doubts, you can remember that there IS hope. It's not in Prince Charming or a genie in a bottle. You can have hope in knowing that there are other people, broken in their own ways, who WILL love you for you. Unreservedly.

Frozen has been criticized for its resolution being too easy. "Love," they say, "what a shallow fix for everything!"

They are wrong. Love is an anomaly of nature. It breaks every rule. It is supernatural and spiritual and it is real life magic. And realizing that you can always choose to love the fixer-upper beside you is the surest way to thaw your own frozen heart.

r9kElsa is Suffering has likewise been criticized for its ending. Readers wanted to see something sexy, thrilling, or at least certain. Instead, they got something ambiguous and thoughtful.

Personally, the last two chapters are my favorites of the whole story.

We see a broken family trying to piece itself together. We see a father reckoning with his abject failure, and seeking a new way of living with his family. Any parent would feel overwhelmed, angry, afraid in that situation. He doesn't want to be consumed by fear and frustration. He just wants to love his daughters. And he does. Even after everything, he does.

And critically, he trusts Elsa to make the right decisions, even when he himself doesn't know what they are anymore.

And then, ultimately, in the final chapter, we read a beautiful mirror of the first. Elsa is in her room, but the curtains aren't shut anymore. Sunlight streams in through the window. Anna enters freely, their tension long released by their figurative walls having been dismantled.

In an often-overlooked moment of clarity, Elsa ceases to be consumed by her preferred method of isolation, her computer. Whereas in the first chapter, she can't look Anna in the eye, and only stares at her ever-illuminated computer screen; now, she does something new. She turns off her monitor and momentarily contemplates her reflection in the black mirror. Who is the woman she sees staring back at her?

She would be unrecognizable from the girl who sat in that chair six months before.

Finally, in the last moment, Elsa is faced with making the "right decision".

Unburdened by fear or requirement, she is prompted for the first time to determine honestly what the right thing is, for herself, for Anna, for their family.

She hesitates. What is right? Is it right to push Anna away?

She decides. She loves Anna, and she's never going to erect a wall between them again.

Her father asked her to remember what's important. Anna is what's important to her. All of the rules, all of the shame, all of the worries -- they don't matter.

You love her, and she loves you. That's all that matters.

Dear reader: today, now ten years older, remember what matters to you. Love the people in your life. Love boldly and selflessly and unreservedly, and frozen hearts will begin to thaw.

- tfwyouloveher

---

A/N: many thanks to the people and resources that made this retrospective achievable

frac, also known as @kate---kane and anonelsa, who so many of us have to thank (or curse?) for our years spent in this community

desuarchive.org and archived.moe make this digital archaeology possible

/frz/ will hate me for posting their activity across the web but I don't mind :)

there is a wealth of fascinating and entertaining material in the /frz/ threads of these archives. I spent weeks reading through old threads long considered lost for this post

neiromaru and @spooths are among the top connoiseurs of frozen fanfiction, and their ancient lists made this research much easier

the various archivists on r/elsanna and elsewhere who saved so many important pieces of fic history before they were deleted

the dropbox and mega archives were instrumental

enormous thanks to my editor, who ended up rewriting most of this post, but who wished to remain anonymous. seems unexpectedly appropriate :)

#elsanna #frozen #r9kelsa is suffering #fanfic #elsa #frz

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sketchfanda · 10 months ago

Text

A Little Moxxie Love Party 4

Naughty Northwest

Pacifica Northwest was a girl who seemed like she had it all and who wouldn’t think that when seeing her fsr as first impressions go? Stunning good looks, obscene wealth, sensual charisma to name a few of her traits and qualities that could come to mind but more so because she earned it all. Oh sure she’d been born rich but circumstances saw fortunes change thanks to karma catching up to her family’s infamous, notorious reputation for being liars, cheats, thieves and con artists and she damn well made sure to earn her way back up. By being tougher, sharper and smarter as a certain wise,old duck had once done and now here she was back to living it up large and in charge.

And Christ was she so damn bored but when you accomplished what she had at a young enough age and had so much money and free time, that was the last thing you needed. As she lounged about in her cozy little private home, which was she had to say far more modest than the old Northwest estate (No ghosts for one, Gravity Falls was still that sort of town), she pouted as she struggled to think of how to kill her boredom. She wasn’t feeling in a gaming mood at the moment and she didn’t feel much like socialising especially when it came to dealing with the simps. And tempting as it was, her little secret collection of Skullfuck productions skinflicks didn’t have anything to suit her fancy.

As she idly browsed her phone out of boredom, she found a peculiar little exclusive fans only post from one of her favourite cam girls, Jacqui Herron. Tapping it open as she gave it a read over, the bleach blonde valley girl looking debutant found herself humming in inquisitive curiosity at the information before her as she decided then snd there she might have just what she needed to kill her boredom and scratch her itch. One quick secret set up of her web cam to record this for personal viewing enjoyment along with following he instructions and Pacifica found herself looking over the set up for a very familiar ritual, clad in a fluffy pink bathrobe as she closed the curtains and began lighting candles. Ominous crimson smoke filling the room like a mist as she chanted in Latin before reaching the central master candle and in a flash of demonic light, there stood her newfound company within the centre of the inverted pentagram circle.

Moxxie had a distinct sense of deja vu as he found himself, suit and adorable little bow tie and all and a magazine in hand as he been in the IMP office not too long ago. Sighing as he realised he’d been summoned, again (and wondering just how people in the living world were getting this and why always him?), he looked to whoever called him up this time only to pause as he laid eyes on Pacifica. Who quite frankly wasn’t looking impressed, no doubt she had some high expectation and based on first impressions alone, they weren’t being met. But the bombshell blonde simply pouted, shrugging her shoulders as she decided, screw it, might as well make the most of the time she just got herself.

Pacifica:"Alright shorty, you know the drill I figure so here's how it is...I'm bored, I'm horny and I need a good itch scratching. So until otherwise, your hornhead little tailed ass is mine, got it?" *Moxxie seemed used to taking verbal lashings, given he just simply nodded though Paz had to say, it was quite flattering how he never took his eyes off of her. And she hadn't even shown him the goods yet so maybe the night wouldn't be a total loss.*"Alright then.....well, what're you waiting for, an invitation? You're polite enough anyway..."*The valley girl debutante quipped in a teasing snarky manner as she undid and peeled open her robe, flashing her immaculately tanned body, the only noticeable tanlines hinting her choice in racey swimwear. A sly grin on her face at the absolutely stunned expression on the imp's face, sensually purring as she teased him, unaware how soon she'd find the tables turned on her.*"What's the matter little guy? Never seen perfection up this close? And yes, this is 100% all natural.....care to taste it?"

Before the immodest bombshell knew it however, she soon found herself screaming and moaning her head off as she filled her bedroom with the sounds of her cries of ecstasy. Barely forming sentences as her tanlined, toned curvy body was glistening with sweat, thrashing and squirming as she held onto Moxxie's horns for dear life. Tempted to but not wanting to push him away as his demonically gifted mouth worked its magic on her slit, his imp tongue slithering about to drink away at her glowing juices. The moment he began making out with her snatch to start things off, Pacifica had started to realise she was getting much better than promised or expected, she was having an experience temtping enough to make her want to sell her soul!!

An insane thought certainly but if it meant being this little Casanova's love slave for eternity, why the fuck not, right?!! Her long blonde mane flowing as she felt orgasms rock her every nerve from head to toe, the sheer bliss and euphoria making her soul want to be raptured. Only to pout as the talented little imp stopped, wanting him to keep going only to find herself gluing her gaze to him stripping out of his suit....her jaw dropping at the full exposure of a set of cock and balls, that length and girth making her pussy quiver and gush as it made a siren call to have that thing utterly destroy her and knock Paz up with his demon babies. And she found herself being just fine with that, spreading her legs in eager anticipation .

But ooh soon as that fuckhammer was penetrating her, Pacifica found her mind being blown with inch after inch of Moxxie’s demon dick sinking into her snatch’s lusty embrace. Her tight toned stomach growing a bulge from how deep that length and girth was reaching but as soon as those heavy red balls were pressed againsther bubble butt, that was when he really got going. If this is what Verosika Mayday meant about being taken to Bonetown, then she was damn well buying herself a place on Satisfaction Avenue as she screamed her head off from Moxxie pounding her like a jackhammer as he had her in a mating press. Wrapping her arms and legs around his small but quite well toned, built little frame as she didn’t want to lose one bit of their intimate lewd connection as she felt his pelvic thrusts deepen in their intensity.

Her secret webcam of course was catching every lewd detail of this primal tryst, from the glistening sheen of Pacifica’s sun tanned to her expressions of mind numbing bliss. Tits bouncing snd asscheeks clapping as she moaned deeply while being taken in a variety of positions. From the animalistic sensations o being taken doggy style as Moxxie mounted and pounded her to clasping hands intimately as she bounce and rode him cowgirl style, pink glowing hearts in her eyes. The bleach blonde valley girl debutante falling in equal parts lust and love with the sweet possum rocking her world as their marathon fucking showed no signs of stopping.

Her bedsheets soaked with sweat and juices, the creaking of bedsprings as Pacifica didn’t want to stop, even as her body began to feel numb and deliciously sore all over. Moaning deeply as she urged Moxxie to be as rough and dominant as he liked from pulling on her long blonde mane to squeezing her tits or smacking her ass, every assertion of such alpha male authority making the living Barbie doll feel like a total Moxxie-Holic bimbo. Every inch of that big red imp cock putting any and every toy she had to shame as she felt her brain drown in blissful ecstasy, visions of having babies from this demonic little sex god taunting her. And she was damn sure going to see to it he gave the same treatment to her mouth and her asshole because a cock like that wasn’t going to tap her hot body without the grand trifecta of her slutty holes.

Paz of course was thankful she’d gotten the larger sized master candle, ensuring she would have herself a whole night of fun with Moxxie as they continued to fuck all the way to sunrise. The blondie babe holding the sweet possum like a plush toy as she snuggled with him, basking in the afterglow as her bedroom looked like a wrecking crew tore it up. Idly making out with him as they parted on good terms with Pacifica giving him her contact details for future reference before the ritual inevitably ended as the master candle finally snuffed out. The blonde valley girl already missing her demonic lover boy as she went on over and turned off her webcam to cut off her secret marathon stream, mentally planning out when she should do it again sometime.

Deep within the circle of Lust at the studio of lot of SkullFuck Productions meanwhile, a certain floating flaming skullheaded boss man was checking out said video from Pacifica in his submissions inbox, always in the lookout for potential stars. Suffice to say Mr.Sketch only felt his ongoing desire to recruit Moxxie increase when he recognised him in the Northwest’s girl’s amateur movie, how was it this little possum could be so close yet so far in all of Hell? But he was damn well sure going to see to it he’d have this imp as his next big star….and that blonde would make a good regular scene par for him for sure, demon on human woman porn was always among his best sellers. For now his search would continue but he didn’t care if it would take Hell freezing over until he finally had Moxxie in the fold, an imp like this only came along once in a lifetime.

Moxxie in the meantime of course, unaware of the wheels of fate that were turning for him, was busy settling back into his personal routines after his little summoning sessions with Pacifica. The valley girl bombshell girl having waste no time in sending him saucy texts and sexy nudes to express how much she missed him and wanted his sweet hot demon love again. Much to Millie’s approval of course as she took to grilling her man for details on his latest new sex friend of course. Nothing got her going more than hearing about her Moxxie tap some hot pretty thing’s sexy ass, what can he say, Millie was a goddamn pistol…..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Red Hot Night!

It had all seemed to be going simple enough for the resident happy couple in Hell with them making a visit to Betty Boop, seeing how the flapper babe had been doing since her little round of erotic magic with the sweet possum a while back. Especially to check up on her and the product of that little union that was Bendy, with the adorable little scamp definitely seeming like he’d have a talent and bright future in comedy but while Moxxie was enjoying some bonding and quality time, Millie couldn’t help but notice that Betty seemed distracted and it wasn’t because of the cute little tyke. Of course the stunner eventually confided in as she revealed her concerns for her friend, a feisty gal by the name of Red Hot Riding Hood who’d been acting as Betty’s replacement for performing at the club while she was taking her maternity leave. It seemed Red had been going through a bit of a rough patch with her new ex-boyfriend, a fellow by the name of Wolfie and Betty was worried that it was all too clear she wasn’t completely over the guy which was something he was sure to take advantage of to get her back in his arms.

Now he was a grade a creep, who flirted with anything with a pair of breasts so small wonder why the concern but Millie knew that the best way to get over one man, is to get under another especially when the former was a total sleazy chump. So that was how Moxxie found himself going alone to the club that evening just in time for the start of her performance and Red dances, Moxxie can’t deny she's a babe. Having that crowd in the palm of her hand, jaws dropping, heads turning and talk about a set of kings with that singing voice. It was a real work of art for an aficionado of performance and theatrical arts like himself.

After her show completed its performance run, the intermission for next act was underway, a perfect chance for Moxxie as he made his way backstage to meet Red at her dressing room, a bouquet in hand as he introduced himself to her as a fan and a personal friend of Betty. As the two get personally acquainted, Millie kept Wolfy occupied by intercepting him on his way to the club, binding and gaggin him up to keep him out of the way with Little Bendy using the canine lech as a personal punching bag. The kid had some future in slapstick if the barrage of cartoon violence on Wolfy was anything to go by, that’s for sure. And meantime welt us check back in on how Millie’s charming possum of a husband is doing in winning Red over with his natural charms.

Pretty damn well as a matter of fact Red decided it would be best to have some fun with the imp boi but to say he was quickly blowing her ex and any man she had in the past out of the water was an understatement. The performing beaut filling her dressing room with the melodic deep moans pouring forth from her luscious lips as she laid back in her luxury reclining couch, her silky legs draped over the imp’s small but quite firm shoulders. As Moxxie was kneeling on the floor, his horns clutched in her hands as he was eating her out, his hot breath and skilled tongue probing away at her slit. Drinking up her juices as they seeped into his waiting mouth, every orgasmic tingle fuel for the fires of arousal stirring inside her before she soon decided she needed that big red imp dick inside her.

But of course as Moxxie soon found his clothes gone flying off of him, the sight of his quite gifted and well endowed naked body proceeded to flip some major switches in Red’s brain. Proceeding to pounce on and pin the little Casanova demon down as as She also revealed a bit of a kink she had for going through her different personas, costumes and accents. To which she can change on the dime thanks to being a toon, suffice to say Moxxie had a feeling he was going to be in quite a wild ride with Betty’s horny lady friend. But hey, the things a guy does for a lady friend right?

Red”Heeey daddy, you better get the very best of meeeee!!” *The feisty redhead bombshell sang sensually, mind numb with pleasure as hugged Moxxie’s sweet crackled face to her bosom. Legs wrapped around his waist as he pumped and thrust into her missionary style, crimson high heels digging into the skin as her dress laid discarded. Her moans mixing with the heavy wet smack of his balls against her jiggling booty and making her juices splash with every impact.*”Oooooh daddyyyyyyyy…..”*She sang melodically and erotically as that big red imp cock really began to hit some sweet spots, making her arousal skyrocket with each orgasmic tingle.* “Put your arms around me daddy, hold me tight!,”

Before Moxxie knew it of course, he soon had Red riding him cowgirl as she was rocking Native American look, her moans sensual and melodic as her bubbly booty clapped with every impact of their loins. Then taking her from behind as she wore quite a saucy nurse’s outfit, hearts glowing in her eyes as she felt the seemingly endless onslaught of orgasms rocking her body one after the other. Her dressing room starting to look like a tornado was running through it with every passing second and minute of her rut with Moxxie. Showing no signs of stopping as the imp was as skilled as he was addictive for the redhead.

Betty of course stood outside the dressing room door to ensure that nobody would disturb the pair and interrupt their marathon of intimacy, the flapper girl peeping through a narrow gap. Looking on with voyeuristic sensual delight as she was reminded of her own fateful erotic encounter with Moxxie. Nerves tingling with phantom sensations from the raw thrill, biting her lower lip to suppress her moans as she watched Red in her cowgirl get uo being folded in a mating press. Fantasising herself in her friend’s place as her body expressed a desire in possibly giving Bendy a little brother or sister in the future.

All the while Red was now going through her ensembles from Swing Shift Cinderella, her orgasmic howls and moans of passion mixing quite splendidly with her melodious a singing voice as Moxxie continued putting her ex to shame. Her usual musical number now going “Ooooh Moxxie” instead of “Ooh Wolfie” as she kissed and made out with the sexually talented imp, lips and tongues dancing together as she took it in a sideways spooning position. Her ex becoming a very distant memory being put to shame in terms of sexual prowess as that big red length and girth continued to pump away. Her snatch holding onto that red imp cock, not wanting to lose the erotic connection and the sensation of being so well penetrated as it overflowed with an excess of mixed juices.

In the end, the dressing room looked demolished from how wild and passionate the pair had been going at it, as they laid there together on the floor. Intimately embracing as they basked in the afterglow, Betty smiling softly at seeing her bestie having more than enjoyed herself as she left to go tell Millie the good news, that it’s after a quick bathroom trip to scratch her itch because damn her thighs were soaked right now. Meanwhile of course Millie was busy cheering Bendy on as the little spawn of Moxxie and Betty’s one night wailed on Wolfie like he was a piñata. The kid definitely had a future in slapstick comedy, that was for sure.

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After that little dressing room romp of course, once she recovered, Red had insisted on having another round with Moxxie back at her place. Betty of course invited herself along, leading to a wild threesome all nighter, Red’s apartment echoing with their passionate cries. Suffice to say, the showgirl was more than happy to want in on the kinky little inner circle her bestie was part of, with Millie’s personal approval of course. As for Wolfie, we’ll he as going to be counting the ceiling tiles in his hospital room for quite some time, Bendy had really done a number on him.

After their passionate encounter of course, Betty wasn’t too surprised when Red had to take some time off from the club for maternity leave. With how raw and thorough the bombshell had been with Moxxie, it was no wonder she’d wound up becoming knocked up. Red was looking quite forward to seeing how adorable the baby would look when they were born or better yet if she might be having twins. But there was no doubt for certain the little tyke to be would be best pals with their half brother Bendy for sure.

In the meantime, Moxxie and Millie returned back to their little slice of Hell as the thespian possum hummed to himself, eyeing a certain business card. Debating if he should call the number on it as as he had some reservations, wondering if he could really even go through with it. On the one hand, it would make some extra cash to cover IMP’s expenses and keep them in the black but on the other, Could he really be so bold as to do such a job like work in porn? Well at the rate of the way things were going, he had feeling it was a worthwhile choice he’d soon have to make

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Mamaca Carmilla

There were times a guy had to wonder if his life just consisted of being the punchline to a constant barrage of jokes and for the resident sweet possum we know as Moxxie, that had to be a natural fact. Especially when finding himself in the personal headquarters of Carmilla Carmine, the weapons making overlord herself and why might you ask was our dear little thespian here of all places? Well you can thank his boss for that, who had the dumb idea of thinking their business could improve if they got their hands on some premium hardware. And who had the best weaponry around than the overlord who managed to get her hands on angelic steel every post extermination day?

Now Moxxie was lucky at least he managed to talk Blitzo down from actually even thinking of trying to steal from the arms dealer herself but this somehow lead to him being chosen to go make an appointment with the woman herself and use his “natural charm” to persuade her to give them a discount. Though Moxxie knew that would be a bit of a stretch given he knew Blitzo’s thoughtless spending had put them in some major debts…at this rate he wondered if he might have to call the number in that card Nika had provided him a while back. But that was neither here or there for the time being especially given what said card was for, as he soon found himself sitting face to face with the Overdlord weaponsmith herself. As intimidating as she was beautiful to behold but being who and what she was, one wrong move and she would likely lay claim to his soul as collateral.

Carmilla:*Her hair flowing free from it’s usually immaculate twin horns style bun, silently humming as she kept her gaze on the little imp. As if trying to determine something he himself wasn’t aware about him like an enigma wrapped in a riddle, walking out of her sea and hovering around him with her silky grace and poise.* “I can’t say for certain who is more bolder little one, your employer for eben considering if his…operations can warrant a discount, let alone any of my wares. Or you being the one to handle this meeting on his behalf….not thst you haven’t been unpleasant company so far, I have to say….”*She watched the little possum try not to flinch under her gaze or presence, honestly he was just so adorable….and quite handsome in a way, it rather reminded her of the man who gave her her beloved daughters. And it certainly had been quite a while since she truly felt the touch and pleasure of another man, surely this little fellow could be…persuaded to oblige her.*”But that doesn’t mean I’m not above a little negotiating….”

Now Moxxie should’ve known that was a red flag but that soft, alluring sensual smile Carmilla was wearing was just so disarming and truth be told? Among the sort of women that tended to be kryptonite for the little imp were women who radiated what some would call “Big Dommy Mommy” energy. Maybe call it some kink born of his mourning loss of his mother or just how bad an influence Millie had been but the sweet possum just found he couldn’t say no to whatever Carmilla wanted and had in mind. Which might be why things soon began to escalate the way they had and that was saying Something given many of his prior sexual encounters and liaisons.

But of course how many demons let alone imps would find themselves eating out The Carmilla Carmine, as the weapons maker and arms dealing Oerlord say in the edge of the mahogany table. One of her distinct clawed hands holding Moxxie’s oh so adorable little face to her lower regions as she moaned deeply and passionately, the walls and ceiling echoing with the sensual melody. She’d expected quite some effort from the little possum but he was certainly defying or exceeding expectations at the very least. If he kept this up, she’d likely be willing to give him more than just a discount on some of her most choice wares…

But that consideration was growing higher and higher to a degree she’d give the imp discount perks for the rest of his afterlife because she was feeling so damn good right now!! Claws grasping the table as she was bent over it, inch after inch of red hot little demon lover boy dick, no, cock pounding in deep and hard as Moxxie pounded her like a jackhammer. Now Carmilla knew he wasn’t some submissive sort of slut by nature who spread her legs open for any man, if that was the case, she’d certainly have more than 2 daughters. But the moment she got Moxxie naked and laid eyes on that secret erotic weapon of his, it was no small wonder it had turned out like this.

Moxxie of course still couldn’t believe this was happening here and now, being balls deep in Carmilla Carmine herself!! Her immaculate accented voice letting loose with deep, sexual moans, the jiggle of her ash skinned booty with every impact of their loins, the warm, tight embrace of her pussy around his big red imp cock all signs that this was indeed all real and not some kinky lucid dream he was sharing with Millie like that one time, god his wife had quite the kinky imagination. He’d be lying of course if he said that he had never had such fantasies before but really who could blame him? After all on the one hand Carmilla was a stunning woman but in the other she was an Overlord and many of them had their own reputations for a damn good reason!!

Outside the doors of this private office, Odette and Clara had their ears pressed as they eavesdropped on this illicit, steamy meeting curious about the noises coming from it’s usually well soundproofed walls. Blushing in awe and arousal at hearing their mother in the throes of passion, having never thought their usually aloof professional matron could be so wild. It made them wonder just what sort of guy this Moxxie was to get to her like this and it damn sure made them feel tempted have a peek inside and see the spicy action. But they knew they were pushing their luck just listening in on this but good thing they could watch the security camera recordings later on.

Back in the meeting room of course, Carmilla and Moxxie continued to go at it with the intensity and passion of minks in heat, the walls and ceiling echoing with the arms dealing overlord’s cries of pleasure. Deeply moaning as her claws cling to the wall The imp had her pinned up against, her lovely legs wrapped around his waist as he pounded and hammered away into the embrace of her snatch. Pink hearts of lust flowing in her red eyes as her body became reacquainted with levels of pleasure she’d not felt since the fateful encounters which had conceived her two of her precious children. The few words she could spit out consisting of a mix of English and Spanish alike as she urged Moxxie to keep going for as long as he possibly could.

Carmilla”Aaahn, Mi amor…so feisty Nino..you keep being this good and I might wind up falling in love with you, mi carazon…make your mamacita proud papi….”*Ths ash skinned overlord sensually moaned as she now rode Moxxie cowgirl style atop the immaculate Mahogany wood table. Seconds into minutes becoming hours of ceaseless erotic bliss and pleasure as she praised the little imp for his quite gifted talents in making love, deciding he had more than earned a very fine discount one of her her most high quality stock. That is providing he’d be more than open to the idea of renewing this deal in this exact same manner, after all why pass up a chance to have the best sex she’d ever had since the concept of Odette and Clara? Besides which, this little possum was such a damn adorable little sweetheart.*

After what had been quite a marathon of orgasmic love making and a little bit of afterglow snuggling, Carmilla had sent Moxxie on his way with the promise of a discount on any purchase of her weaponry stock and custom orders. Sealing the deal with a kiss of course and promise on regularly “renewing” the aforementioned deal, suffice to say Moxxie knew Blitzo would be a happy camper. Granted the former circus kid would likely assume it’s because he had to do a lot of asskissing, after all would he ever believe Moxxie of all people actually got laid with THE Carmilla Carmine? Now Millie and Loona of course were a different matter entirely and the thespian knew they were going to want any and every single little juicy detail. But as far as Moxxie was aware, he wasn’t sure his generous a discount Carmilla would provide so he knew for sure IMP was going to need a little extra in their petty cash.

I it was then and there as fished out a certain business card from his wallet and eyed the phone number, taking a deep breath as he fished out his cellphone and dialled it. He knew he was taking quite a big step out of his comfort zone but he knew Millie would be more than understanding and the money was sure to be good. Waiting as the dial tone rang through, while in a certain porn studio in Lust City, a phone rang in the office of the head honcho himself as Mr.Sketch was enjoying some quality time in a hot tub with a pair of succubi. The flaming skullheaded enigma reaching out and picking up the receiver as he began speaking to the imp.

Mr.Sketch:”Well now, just the imp I been looking for. You made my day making his call little man because have I got an offer for you….” *The shapeshifting enigma quipped, mentally reminding himself he also had some plans in store for Moxxie as he and the imp had their conversation. Arranging a time and appointment to have the imp come over to the SkullFuck productions studio so they could conduct an interview, formalities had to be met and followed after all. This simple call would be a fateful milestone moment in Moxxie’s infernal life for it would be in this day he’d take his first steps in becoming a porn star. One that Mr.Sketch would find to be quite the rookie success story, to say the very least…..*

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batsplat · 4 months ago

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hiiiiiiii i got into f1 last year and have been getting into motogp over the winter and came across your blog and you have so many amazing posts, it's helped make me fall in love with the sport! i am currently working my way through your back catalogue 🫡 and i'm learning a lot! i wanted to ask, what are YOUR favorite ten posts you've made? not the most popular or best for newbies or anything, just your personal top 10, and also why you like them. thank you for all the great work and hope you have an amazing day!

oh that's really nice, hope you're enjoying following the sport and looking forward to the new season! icl this feels like. idk. i am Not really built for saying anything nice about anything i've written. especially since it's not really anything 'creative' like fics or art or whatever, it's just.... meta ig you'd call it in traditional fandoms. i mean it's really just dumb tumblr posts. but well it's such a nice ask so. nyhhh fine

1. the sete post: yeah this one i do still quite like. i haven't properly read it in a while because i'm sure a lot of it would annoy me - less new information i didn't include and more information i theoretically had access to but forgot about... but well. ig it's extensive without being exhaustive. and it's neat that something i really did think would get read by like... two people ended up having such... idk, wide reach is maybe going a bit far. i think it's had an impact beyond the note count though and it did get some people into the rivalry and then others have gone on to post stuff that IS in the mainstream consciousness so it's like. indirect influencer or something. kinda cool! also the last section i do think is actually pretty all right

2. the valentino witchcraft post: idk i do like... working on my writing skills... i think at some point in the relatively near future once key life developments have happened, it's probably going to be a good idea for me to have a blog for professional purposes, and i am a big believer in trying to be interesting in the stuff you write. which, yeah, no shit, but when i read stuff in my field, i often get frustrated at how people can write about fascinating stuff in ways that just feel... rehearsed. idk i just think it's good mental hygiene to sometimes take a bit of a left field approach to things, and this is pretty left field. i did kinda think a grand total of zero people were going to read it so i probably would've cleaned it up a bit more if i'd known slightly more than that would read it. still fun to write

3. the casey/vale similarities post: quick browsing and idt ALL of this is how i'd write it at the present point in time, but it's still the closest i ever got to writing a bit of a thesis statement on that rivalry. which is obviously very dear to me. it clears the 'saying something interesting' bar, which is all i'm really looking for. the best sections are the conspiracy section - the suspicious of structures vs individuals still pretty astute 2 me - as well as the valentino as casey's shadow section. that bit i really like, pseudoscience and all

4. the casey/vale web weave with agassi/sampras words: i had so much fun making it. i love casey/vale as a tennis-coded rivalry, i love agassi/sampras, figuring out how to have the words guide the narrative was a really fun exercise. like everything i do, it probably has too many words, given it's like. supposed to be a web weave. but tbh i don't care. lot of fun Stuff there, like you can kinda hint at conclusions you want the reader to draw through framing without using actual words. but obviously my favourite bit is 'he says i've brought out the best in him but i think he's brought out the worst in me'. obviously agassi meant it in a different way but i'm OBSESSED with that line in a casey/vale context, like idk man it's so true to them and it's soooooo... yeah

5. the jorge/vale 2008-10 post: i don't really like this one, but i respect the effort i made for it. it's the post on this list i spent by far the much work on, kinda a grind compiling the sources and wrestling them into a workable narrative... i kinda got suckered into that one because i made a vague post about how there was obviously a lot of contextual info missing about how those years actually went (including on podcasts from professionals) and i got like half a dozen asks requesting a deep dive essentially. tbh with that one specifically, idt i'd put that much effort into it now because i feel like i didn't have as much a coherent thesis statement as a desire to provide accurate information, but the thing is if you write anything longer it's very unlikely a lot of people will read it, so it's a bit.... eh. fact checking is a fool's errand anyway, it's not really worth it to think that much about how to present facts in a digestible way if you know that's... not what anyone is really here for on this website. still, i do like these posts as writing exercises, and all in all it was good as that

6. the valentino authorial hand post: this is on the opposite end of the spectrum where it's just fun. it's so up my street, like in a way it's a companion to the witchcraft post that takes the mysticism out of it and thinks practically about how valentino went about managing these rivalries. i love sports psychology, i love thinking about tactics and underlying mechanisms for sporting outcomes and all that kind of stuff, i think it's fun picking at stuff that feels like it's almost scripted, too good to be true and just... figuring out where and when valentino created his own luck. very informed by my feelings about tennis, obviously. and crucially clears the 'interesting' bar

7. toxic yuri post: yeahhhhhh again same category, this one's just like. fun. quirky analytical framework. it does work!! and it made me think a bunch about toxic yuri and like... idk i wouldn't go about theorising the genre using motorcycling men but i DO think there's a bit of a gap in the market there, where it's like... what are the actual mechanisms and tropes you usually see in those stories, what do you usually associate with it... i'm obviously a big toxic yuri enjoyer and to me it's a specific genre that's like. not equivalent to just any antagonistic lesbians, like you really want that codependent vicious mean girl-y sauce. you want some gender in there. works for mid noughties motogp what can u say

8. alien pokemon starter post: i LOVE this i think it's so good i think i made five perfect picks. obviously another exercise where you know there's not really a target audience apart from the spirits in your own head, but crucially those are the only beings you've got to please and appease. again, this was fun, i love doing stuff like that and i'm extremely invested in my aliens x pokemon notes in my docs i just like staring into space thinking about it

9. agassi/sampras post: another one where i'm like. okay that did actually migrate over to tennis tumblr so in retrospect i wish that were more tightly edited. but whatever! it's fine! honestly despite people being really lovely in the notes of that one, idt it's particularly good. it's completely carried by the strength of agassi and sampras' own writing about the rivalry, where tbh i'm only doing some very basic guiding of the reader through those flashpoints. i think there's like. one good paragraph in there i wrote, and it's the one on conservatism in tennis. but anyway i have such a long-standing affection for that rivalry i'm really glad i introduced some people to it, very much a passion thing y'know

10. tennis x motogp: a family of posts so i'm not gonna pick one out. the aliens one the sete/vale rivalry one the vale one the current riders one. the middle two are obviously the most extensive... again, super niche, nobody cares about this as much as i do, the valentino one was ofc completely self-indulgent. but i had a lot of fun with it, i have so many thoughts on this and i think it's a great mental exercise to like... translate things between sports like that because it forces you to engage with the sports on a more fundamental level. ughhh i love these they are For Me

anyway. feels kinda weird making this post lol,, i think this year i am starting to do some of this stuff more in my own notes again because... tbh sometimes i think i put a bit too much effort into figuring out how to make something accessible for a mostly imaginary target audience. which is obviously a good writing exercise in communicating clearly!! but sometimes it's also a bit silly. THAT BEING SAID, it's lovely when somebody engages with something more niche - for all my time following this sport pre last year, it's very much been a solitary exercise. which i mostly quite like but sometimes it is nice to chat about this stuff. and obviously reddit isn't exactly the platform for these kinds of essays... this tumblr community also not quite right for it but there probably isn't really a platform where this wouldn't be hopelessly niche and too wordy. probably as close as u can get. have a lovely day anon xx

#painful exercise #dude has anyone ever sounded so neurotic over tumblr posts. i sound like casey oof #on several different levels actually. unfortunately i have been cursed with a self awareness that's more touch and go for him #//#batsplat responds #i do also have a least favourite top five where i wish i hadn't posted them but they escaped containment and now it's too late #but obviously those will NOT be posted because it'd be kinda counterproductive

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esta-elavaris · 6 months ago

Text

Post one of two where I dig into all of the tools I use to write and keep track of different projects, as well as my overall word count, and the pros and cons of those tools. This one is just tech-y. That wording alone should summarise how much of the technical aspects I really know a whole lot about ✨

Masterlist for this challenge.

Laptop

This one is laughably self explanatory. Mine’s a fairly cheap Lenovo one that I got purely to write on and browse the web – my old previous one, an absolute dinosaur, just about holds it together enough to run The Sims 4 but I keep it purely for that, and the lag is insane. The newer Lenovo one is the one I do my writing on, though.

Pros --

It’s easy to use, because being able to write in documents is pretty much a priority for a laptop to be usable. I have Microsoft Office on there, it doesn’t lag, and it can do anything I need it to – including posting and uploading in a manner that is seamless and non-clunky. My laptop is just about the only thing I’ll post from, because trying to format a post on a tablet or a phone can be an absolute pain in the backside, so everything I write for others to read has to go through my laptop before it’s seen. Same goes for things like quickly researching something, or finding background music without the process being a bit annoying and filled with having to close apps and find other ones.

Cons --

It’s not much good for writing in the wild, the one I have is juuuust too wide to fit conventional bag or laptop cases, and I’m not particularly fond of the idea of hauling it into the city centre or whatever – on public transport no less – just to write in a cafe or a library.

Also, because of the ‘pro’ listed above in terms of being able to quickly and easily switch between doing different things, it is way easier to get distracted on there than it is elsewhere. One quick question for Google turns into scrolling tumblr way too easily when I’m on a laptop – and because mine is few years old now, the battery life isn’t particularly stellar. Also hate the amount of times I turn it on to quickly get some words down only to find it’s updating itself.

AlphaSmart 3000

This has been one of my newer pieces of tech – but only in the sense of how long I’ve owned it, rather than how long it’s been available. There’s a bit of a backstory to this so you’ll need to fact check me, but basically these were available for a long time at a very fair price, up until a company realised how much of a cult classic they were among writers in all senses of the word, bought the rights to the tech, and ramped up the price to something that was quite frankly ridiculous. So now if you want one new, you’re talking a few hundred quid.

It’s essentially solely a word processor, as distraction free as you can possibly get. It has a non backlit screen where you can only see around three or four lines of what you’re working on, and a keyboard. Mine takes three AA batteries, and other than that there’s a cable slot plugging a printer wire into it, to then either attach to a printer or to a laptop. I’ve never tried it with a printer, but with a laptop you open a word document when it’s connected, press ‘send’, and it begins transferring everything you’ve written to that document. Incredibly simple.

I got mine for £80 used on eBay, and it turned into an almost disaster. It arrived in an absolute state, with an instruction manual that was riddled with mould, and a cable that was incorrect. And the batteries it’s supposed to take did not fit. Actually almost cried because I thought I’d been scammed out of a significant chunk of cash. Luckily for me, my brother is a legend and flew into fix-it mode and began researching the shit out of them – despite the fact that it’s far beyond his realm of interest – to try and see what he could do. All he could find, for the most part, were YouTube videos showing how to rig a rechargeable battery into it, which would fix the fact that the batteries mine were supposed to take just did not fit at all, but it was a bit beyond the realms of trying. And if you want to buy a rechargeable one for it that’s specifically designed for it, you’re talking a grand – and it has to come from the USA, so shipping and customs would be delightful.

In the end, he broke one battery trying to wedge all three in there, then successfully managed it on a second try – with the third one being at a very precarious angle that has me dreading the day those batteries need changed, because I can’t see it being easy. But that’s where we get to the pros and cons.

This is the state of the kinda-sorta held together battery compartment on mine:

Pros –

The battery life, because it’s so fantastically limited in what it can do – is great. We’re talking years, depending on use. There’s a lithium battery inside that can be changed by pulling it apart, but I haven’t had to do that, and it should last way longer than the AA ones, which already should last at least a year. Maybe less for me given my situation, but we’ll see.

I also really, really like the fact that it only shows three lines of what I’ve written on the screen. It stops me from self-editing as I go and keeps me in a constant flow, and the fact that literally all I can do is write means it’s so easy to get in the zone and not end up fancying about on Spotify or YouTube instead. I’ve been really pleasantly surprised by how much I can get done on it thanks to that simplicity.

What’s great for me personally, but might not be as good for others, is that it also doesn’t have word count capabilities. It’s not on the screen as I type, and there’s no button I can push to tell me what it is, either. So not knowing what the numbers are looking like up until I’m finished and sending it to my laptop really helps me focus on the story itself, rather than an arbitrary number. I’ve also found that because of how much I get in the zone with it, and how little I can see of what I’ve written, I consistently find that I’ve written more than I expected when I finally send the document to my laptop and get it ready for posting – usually by over a thousand words, sometimes even underestimating the count by half.

Another thing I like is that it can store up to eight files – the buttons lining the top reading files one through eight – so I can switch to working on different things seamlessly, without being stuck only working on one thing ‘til it’s finished as I use it. It also saves and stores things automatically, there’s no save button, and I even found that once my brother got the batteries wedged into it, there were files on there from the previous owner (nothing salacious, sadly), so I can be fairly confident that if my tenuous battery set-up does fail me, the stuff written on there will be safe until I can get ‘em back in there.

Cons –

Thanks to the situation I mentioned with the price, unless you’re willing to splash the cash on a brand new one (and, despite how happy I am with mine, I really can’t say that would be worth it) you are taking a risk if you choose to buy one used, and you’ll be very limited in what you can do to fix it because so much of the tech is either discontinued, extortionate, both, or requires a willingness and the knowledge required to improvise. I really am dreading the day when I have to try and get the wedged-in batteries out of mine without breaking the damn thing, and then replacing them. Because of the fucking mould that was in the instruction manual I got with mine, too, I had to scrub it before use, and I also had to go on Amazon and buy a new wire because the one I was sent was incorrect. That only cost a fiver, but still, for £80 you should be able to reasonably expect more.

The battery issue, for me, doesn’t end there, either. I got it for distraction free writing in the wild, and because the batteries are in mine so precariously, the battery compartment cover doesn’t even close – I had to tape it shut – so I’m just not confident enough that nothing will go wrong to shove it in my bag and haul it across the city to write with.

It is older tech, so the documents also don’t transfer instantly. When I send mind to a document, it writes it out line by line on the open document on my laptop – so when I have a long chapter, that can take a while, and I’ve found I can’t do other things on my laptop while that transfer is happening. Not the end of the world, I usually spend that time crocheting or reading, and the AlphaSmart screen does tell you what percentage of the document has yet to be transferred, so you can keep an eye on that and guess how much time you’ve got left to wait. Because the screen isn’t backlit, it also means no writing in the dark, which I don’t mind when I have other options for that, but if I had to choose something to be the only thing I could ever write on, that fact would put it out of the running.

Like I said, too, the lack of word count capabilities might be a turn off for some. It has spell check capabilities that I’ve never used, so I’m not sure how good that is (or if you can switch between languages/forms of English). And this does lead me into a somewhat related point next, that’s a mixed blessing in my case.

Because of the three-line format of the screen, formatting can be an issue – nor can you italicise or bold out certain lines or words. Now, I’m very open about the fact that I don’t edit my fanfics (or anything that isn’t the novel) as much as I necessarily should. I scan for typos, I make sure it’s good, I make sure it’s coherent (things still slip through the net every now and then) but I just cannot write the amount I do, and really prioritise my original novel, if I’m going to spend hours and hours on editing when it comes to fanfic. It’s not ideal and I suspect people won’t like to hear it, but I just cannot afford to make it a top priority, it is what it is.

That being said, anything I write on the AlphaSmart does have to end up going through more of a meticulous editing process. The way the screen works means there have been plenty of times where I send a document to my laptop, and see that what I thought was one paragraph ended up being a wall of text that took up a whole page. Typos also slip through more easily because the keyboard is older and sometimes a little clunky, and I have to go back and edit in italicised words bit by bit, because I just write them *like this* on it, and then change it to being like this once I can format. So that’s a mixed blessing, for sure.

All in all, I’m not sorry I bought it. I do wish I’d had less issues with it, but considering when it first arrived I thought I’d paid £80 for a paperweight, it worked out all right in the end, and I am getting a lot of good use out of it. I’m a little disappointed because I did buy it for the purpose of writing out in public to tide me over while I saved for a new iPad (my current one’s battery life is so shot it seldom works unless actively plugged in), and it’s no good for that thanks to my own specific issues, so I think if I’d known how it was going to go before I got it, I wouldn’t have bought it at all...but given how it’s helping my output, I’m still glad that I did.

Tablet, tablet pen & keyboard –

When my AlphaSmart disaster happened, I ended up having to do what it was supposed to replace and bought a new tablet. But after hearing recommendations for others, I decided not to swing for a new iPad (couldn’t afford that anyway – Ghost had just announced a new tour with UK dates, and I subsequently had to penny pinch because there was no way I was missing that), but go for a new tablet. Like I said, the AlphaSmart was meant to help me get back to writing sessions in public, it ended up being no good for that, so even when I got it working, it didn’t fix that problem.

In the end, I got the Lenovo Tab M11, which had the Lenovo Tab Pen included. It was like a quarter of the price of a new iPad, and I’m so incredibly happy with it! It was a bit of a learning process because I’ve only ever used iOS, but that’s pretty much my only complaint. I do intend to only use it for writing, music, and maybe a YouTube video here and there in a pinch, because I really want to save the battery capabilities on it as much as possible and streaming over years and years is what I think fucked up my iPad, so I can still use that for Netflix, and the tablet (which I’m using to write this) for more creative pursuits.

Pros –

The battery life is amazing – I use a Bluetooth keyboard to write on it so that was a concern, but I’ve had it for a couple of months now, and I can count the amount of times I’ve charged it on one hand. I had to get OpenOffice to use on it so that I wouldn’t be constantly emailing drafts between devices, which I don’t completely trust because of all of the AI bullshit going on these days (I did disable AI mining on Word on my laptop), but that’s a risk with most word processors these days, which is a rant for another day. And at least now I’m not losing drafts due to forgetting to save.

Because, like with any tablet, it’s more of a switch up to stop typing and scroll through different apps and then go back to typing – compared to a laptop – it’s way more difficult to get distracted on a tablet. In comparison to the AlphaSmart, too, formatting is a breeze. I can see the paragraphs I’m writing, I can italicise or bold words with keyboard shortcuts just like on a laptop, it’s all very easy and hassle free. I also have spell check more easily available – although the autocorrect feature (which I haven’t yet figured how to disable) can be an absolute pain in the arse when I have to retype the same thing three times before it accepts that I know what I’m talking about. Usually. But the flip side of that is that it corrects the things I do genuinely fuck up with 0 effort from me, eight times out of ten.

It’s also very easy to have music playing on the tablet as I write, especially with the keyboard I favour which has a volume/mute dial, so unlike the AlphaSmart I don’t have much need to pick up other devices if I want background noise. I can even post from my tablet if I really want to, in a pinch, so I could keep posting updates if I’m off in another city without having to haul my laptop with me. It’s just a little clunkier, but given the convenience it adds, I’m not mad at that. Plus, OpenOffice can do everything Word can do, so I have way more control over font and all that, compared to the AlphaSmart.

What I was really surprised to be so pleased with was the pen! I mostly got it because it came with it, and buying the option without it wasn’t that much cheaper, and I was curious. I ended up being so glad I did!

It does take a bit of getting used how to use it without the screen detecting your hand rather than the pen, and therefore closing the page you’re trying to write on, but 90% of the time that’s more on me than it. I love making lists when it comes to organising my writing, it also helps me draft my vague ideas/flowcharts for how I want a chapter to go without wasting paper, it’s how I’m currently keeping track of everything I want to get written before the end of the year, and it’s nice having all of those notes on one app so I’m not struggling to find misplaced notebooks, which is a constant habit of mine.

I also really like the word count aspect of this one, too, because like the AlphaSmart, the word count isn’t readily available on the screen until I scroll through a document – so it’s kind of the best of both worlds, I can check if I really want to, but I can also ignore it and it’s not always drawing my eye as I type. I know I could probably make it so that the count isn’t permanently visible on documents on my laptop, too, but I’m not ready to make that leap just yet – especially nowadays where my laptop has been more and more relegated to editing rather than drafting. I’m developing a good little system here!

For the price, I really can’t argue with how good I’ve found it to be. Honestly, it could’ve been £100 more expensive and I wouldn’t have been mad about it. I now no longer need to drop a few hundred quid on a new iPad in 2025, and I think I actually prefer this for writing compared to my old iPad, even when that iPad was new. But I never had one of the pens for the iPad, and mine is a few years old now so I don’t know how a newer one would hold up. Still, I’m thrilled with it. I’ll be really scraping to find cons for this one.

Cons –

As I’ve said, if I don’t want to be emailing drafts between devices, I do have to have online storage capabilities turned on for drafts, which I don’t entirely trust for AI mining...but honestly, I don’t trust anything with that these days – not emails, not anything that isn’t a USB stick, and even then, word processors are proving to be assholes about it now, too. But that’s less a drawback of the tech than it is just the way AI is at the moment.

The pen does take a bit of getting used to, and I do have to stop myself from getting annoyed when I go to write something on the note app only to find it’s zoomed the page out dramatically or closed the app entirely because it’s detected my hand rather than the pen, but I’m finding the more I use it, the less that happens, so that’s more on me than the tech.

Switching between typing to scrolling through apps is clunkier than on a laptop, but like I’ve said, that’s a good thing for me.

With all of this explained, I am getting to a system that I’m really enjoying, and is making writing so much easier and more fun for me. As things stand, I usually map out chapter notes etc. on my tablet in the drawing/notes app with then pen, then I do my drafting on either the AlphaSmart or tablet, depending, then I go to the laptop for the edits and the posting. I have found that this makes writing and general way easier, too, because the process of picking up the AlphaSmart or tablet and writing is way quicker and more streamlined in terms of time compared to a laptop. Always with the AlphaSmart, and usually with the tablet, the draft I’ve been working on is literally a button away and then I’m going. The laptop takes a bit more fiddling around, since I use it for so many other things.

I did intend to get into more here – Bluetooth keyboard, notebooks, and the system I use to track my word counts across my ridiculous number of projects, but this is already getting ridiculously long, so I guess you’re all getting a part two. I do hope some of this was helpful in some way or another, though!

Dividers by cafekitsune.

#esta's 2025 600k #writeblr #writing challenge #writers of tumblr

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