#the spider was hanging from its string

[undercoverpena]

i. to fix a porch

joel miller x f!reader | chapter one of honey stained hands

chapter summary: it’s why he allows himself the chance to look, to admire. His hand slides in yours all over again, as you offer your name—dutifully exchanged. and all he can think is, you’re a pretty thing. He’s seen pretty, laid with it lifetimes ago, but there’s something different in you.

wordcount: 3.5k warnings: typical canon-angst. my spelling. joel trying to fit in and be good for ellie. an: i am so nervous about this. i hope you like. huge thanks to @guyfieriii + @thetriumphantpanda for holding both my hands.

The world had gone to shit, but the world hadn’t gone to shit.

It still grew, expanded—and changed.

Just as it once had. The grass didn’t stop turning green. The trees didn’t stop rustling, the flowers didn’t stop pollinating between bones and disintegrating fabric.

Nature, in all its immensity, didn’t bow to the cordyceps that stole minds and whispered destruction along roads and grass. Nature didn’t allow the rot to take the seasons, as it had done with so many other things.

The end of times wasn’t allowed to touch the moon’s schedule. It didn’t have an impact on how the daylight grew shorter and the night span longer. It had no bearing on the way leaves turned golden, the dew appeared on tall grass, or how both danced under amber-rising and lemon-setting suns.

The outbreak took souls, but it didn’t rid the craved scents of stews and freshly baked apples—two aromas that flooded Jackson's roads.

Mostly, even if something else thrummed along the ground, and spoke in claimed lives, it couldn’t try and claim to have any effect on the way frost made the morning path glitter—or how it made the world still feel magical.

Fungus had stolen a lot. Had spread its poison across state lines and once happy towns. But it couldn’t thieve the natural beauty that shifted in three monthly turns.

He wakes in a sea of sweat, panic and desperation. Forehead clammy. Salt and pepper hair clinging in thin spider-leg lines against the creases of his frown.

Each morning, since Joel has been here, has followed the same pattern. The shadowy nightmares were still there, ever-present—swirling and twirling, not ready to stop their dance. Even if the sun is blasting through, informing them it’s morning—it’s the time their claws should retract and allow him to experience a new day.

They never really do. They remain, hanging in the edges of his thoughts, his eyes—even as sleeping thoughts diluted into the present day.

Just the same as he did yesterday and the day before, his closed fist rubs in gentle circles against his chest—right over his heart. Where it thumps and beats, hammering quickly. Fingers and palm attempting to soothe it, half-wishing he could weave under milk-white bone and release the guilt-wrapped tendrils around it.

It doesn’t matter what his routine involves, it’s all in vain.

Little to nothing alleviates it. Not the circles of his hand over the bobbled t-shirt he sleeps in or the way he wills himself to breathe, to fill his lungs—advice given against his will.

Joel has attempted a lot of things, but the tightness always remains. The imaginary vines forever constricting, all stemmed with thorns, digging in, tightening their hold as he struggled to gasp, never mind breathe. It’s like a fungus of its own, a thing poisoning him, ruining him, blackening what’s left of his soul.

All because he made a choice—one he’d make a thousand times (if given the chance).

Blinking, he slowly sits. Back aching, body groaning as the honeyed sun coats the place he calls his. It flutters over the set of drawers, the flannel draped over the handle of his closet, and the strings of the guitar, gifted by Tommy to keep him busy and out of trouble.

It’s a good place he’s found himself in. A normal place—one found in the centre of moving on and trying to live life. Something he gives enough of a shit not to let it be torn from him and a thing he worries is being tugged from his grip all the same.

One wrong move.

That’s what he hears, even if no one says it. It never leaves their lips, but instead is etched into the faces of everyone he has been introduced to. It was discernible on his sister-in-law's face when he and Ellie appeared; it was poorly concealed by his brother when he’d handed him the instrument.

So much so, that he’s become worried all of this—the safety, the future for Ellie—will be taken from him if he breathes wrong. If he makes eye contact a little too quickly, a little too sternly, too forcibly and not followed quickly enough by a half-smile.

He tries. Not for him, but for her. The same person he keeps his jeans close by and his t-shirt on for—the one that makes him sleep on the side so his good ear can hear a scream of his name—just in case. The same person who manages to shift off the worry, dusting him down without knowing the impact she has on him—the young person who forms him, shapes him into someone half-decent, who is willing to try, who is willing to do things with his hands that isn’t fighting or shooting.

The only time Ellie has shouted for him since being here, though, is for breakfast.

Now, the house is silent—too silent. A smile almost appearing all on its own. An image bubbling, appearing, blanketing over the nightmares that tried to linger. One of her, in her new bedroom—the one she keeps talking about painting—all asleep, mouth open, catching flies.

Joel snorts, swallowing it back. All of the darkness that is weaved inside of him. Focuses on the little flecks of dust that glitter in the glow of a new day, how they fall absently in the space between light and dark—making a choice, one he makes each day, to be here. To try.

His hand slides from his chest, landing on his wrist. Sighing, he closes his eyes and lets his thumb slide over the broken glass of his watch—the one he never removes—another thing he does daily. Another thing that has become a routine.

He knew what Jackson was when he arrived the second time. A communal, a place where everyone chips in.

Joel had expected something more to be requested from him. Almost braced to be told he would be stationed on the other side of the gate—in a more permanent role than others. But, he wasn’t.

If anything, he was given tasks.

Menial things, but tasks all the same.

Little jobs, all reminiscent of a handyman back before things to fungus and rot. Oddities, bits and bobs. Projects half-finished or never begun at all—assigned, handed to him, chosen for him because he’s there and capable. And not, as Tommy explains, is because no one trusts him.

The first had been his own porch. The wood split, cracked, creaking—an accident waiting to happen (a thing he’d muttered to Tommy when he’d first walked up the steps of it), more so as the days became shorter and the nights loomed closer.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to find a toolbox placed at his feet the next day. A smug look on his younger brother’s face: think it’s time y’fix y’damn porch, brother. A clap on the back to cement it, a promise silently exchanged—that he could ask more of him when he was done.

And Tommy did, just not how he expected.

His breath mists the same as Tommy’s when he sighs, the weather biting as the two hovered on his newly repaired porch: got something else for you to do.

Maybe he should have said something when the silence filled the air when Joel suggested after. That he’d be good on patrol, that he could help in ways that weren’t repairing porches, front of shops and whatever else he brought to his door. If not for the fact he was grateful for the chance, for her—for the girl who is slowly making friends, who is beginning to smile—he may have done. The old Joel would have. He’d have pointed out that his skin isn’t stained with scarlet, that his hands are worn, but not smeared with the guts of those who’d crossed him. That he’d hung up as much of the former demons as he could.

He suspected, deep down, that Tommy could still see them haunting him. Knew that they kept him awake when the world went silent—that Joel didn’t sleep until the moon was at its highest, and woke with them jeering at him, perched on his shoulders, poking holes into his soul.

Joel also presumed that Tommy could see the way guilt had looped itself inside of him, strangling, making truthfulness harder to spill. Even if Tommy had no idea. Even if Joel hadn’t whispered to even the animals, never mind a person, what happened before he and Ellie had arrived.

So, he doesn’t argue, not as he’s handed another task, and another, then another. Days seep into weeks, weeks ticking into another month. Each time, his jaw grits, and his head nods, all well-versed, practised, as he picks up his toolbox and heads where he’s needed.

Except, today, when he’d finished up the fence that contained the sheep, a request came from someone else—a person he had spotted, but never spoken to. They were weary, guarded—approaching with caution as though bracing for him to snap, to become the callous individual they’ve likely heard through the whispers of gossiped stories.

In time, they approach, asking, burying their hands into their pockets as they do, before they continue with their reasoning for the request—one not for themself, but another person in Jackson.

A person Joel realised was his neighbour.

He’d been a good neighbour once, almost a lifetime ago.

Had hoped that it would come to him when Tommy had introduced him to you the following morning after he and Ellie returned. Your hand in his, smaller, but warm, a smile that was inviting, but slid over to Ellie upon Tommy’s introduction.

You usually rose early, that he had learnt when he’d begun to watch the sunrise before the leaves not just changed, but began to litter the floor in an array of shades. A pattern of habits he had picked up when he’d descended his own staircase, finding you already passing his home or your lights were on, already busy ticking off the hours of your day.

Today, he’d spotted (thankfully) the latter. His coat was thrown on, boots stepped into, toolbox in hand before he closed his door behind him and headed over. Your name on the tip of his tongue, all heavy, thick—an array of unsorted letters he’s hoping will shift into something as he climbs the steps to your front door. The syllables there, desperate to form, but in no order when his hand lifts to knock.

Air is what greets him, as the door rips open before his knuckles can even make contact.

Now, he’s standing in front of you—again. Your eyes land on him, brushing over in thick strokes of warmth, and all he can focus on is how you don’t step back in fright or stand a little taller. If anything, you don’t react, don’t move, as though it’s normal he’s there standing, talking to you.

“Oh, hi? It’s Joel, isn’t it?”

It’s kind, sweet, your tone. Eyes wide in a way that reminds him of a surprised, small animal—except, you’re grinning, not spooked. No sign of fear or question sketched across your features, or into the rest of your face, not as he stands, hovering.

It’s why he allows himself the chance to look, to admire. His hand slides in yours all over again, as you offer your name—dutifully exchanged.

And all he can think is, you’re a pretty thing. He’s seen pretty, laid with it lifetimes ago, but there’s something different in you. Something that has remained, that has weathered the storm of whatever it is, and however you came to be. Your smile rises, sliding into your cheeks, as his brain snaps a Polaroid of it and stores it somewhere less dusty in his mind.

“I just have to nip out, do you need something?”

Your hand sliding a jacket—one he’d just noticed in your hand—around your frame. It buries you, smothering, hiding yourself into it as you pull it around, watching, studying him as he does the same to you.

Shaking his head, he glances at your porch. “No, ma’am. Jus’ here to fix your porch.”

Sighing, you roll your eyes. “I make one comment and… anyway, I don’t want to trouble you. You don’t have to.”

“Maybe I want to.”

Looking down, you stare around at the porch. Him waiting, watching. “Guess it’s lucky for you, I wasn’t planning on taking it with me.”

It tugs from him, not forcibly pulled, but rather rolling from his mouth willingly: a laugh. It’s gruff, covered in cobwebs and sheets. It’s different, laughing with an adult compared to a pun book in the hands of a child.

“Well, definitely makes my life a bit easier that you’re not.”

Smirking, you lick your lips—a thing he spots, and finds makes his cheeks burn. “Yeah, guessing that following me around the animal pen wouldn’t be your favourite thing… after the other day.”

His eyes narrow, attempting to follow—until it dawns. Until it slams into him.

“You saw.”

“I did. Roscoe is a very boisterous sheep, though. So, it’s more on him than you.”

Cursing under his breath, he dips his head. Trying to stifle the embarrassment, the one rising in him like a phoenix, swarming up.

“Anyway, do you need any tools…”

That’s when he notices how your voice dies, your smile fading. Your words all fall from existence as the warmth around the two of you suddenly chills, as though he’s been plunged into a snowstorm. Your eyes had dropped, landing on the box in his hand.

It’s long, too long.

Almost prolonged, the quietness shifting into awkwardness until you’re blinking, head lifting, chin rising, determined and full of insolence.

“I’ll be back soon, yeah?”

Nodding, he swallows. Ignoring, for your sake, that your voice cracks before you’re hurrying past him. Watching, and staring until you’re a blip, a little figure in the distance of the cold morning—unable to forget about it, the look, the one that unhooked something in him.

Because it made him question—made him want to ask.

His hand shifts around the handle of the toolbox, staring down at it—the one he suspects belongs to someone you knew, someone you were close to. One that is in the hands of someone you don’t know, someone you live next to, that you know nothing about.

Except stories.

And fuck, Joel knows the stories can’t be good.

Joel had maybe made an assumption that you’d never speak to him again.

Sarah’s voice, barely discernable, wafting around his mind, assumptions make an ass of you and me, dad. He blamed it on being bitter, tired—or grumpy, as Ellie liked to call him. The kind of qualities he’d rather be known for, than the ones he sees reflected in the eyes of the people living here, wondering the kind of man he was to go back out there and then return.

He’d made the assumption based on the way your eyes flicked to the toolbox when you’d eventually returned home—him halfway done, waving away your offer to help. You barely spoke, and skirted around him, only placing a glass of lemonade on the welcome mat as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

He drained the glass, and hated how good it tasted. Keeping in mind to leave the toolbox outside when he rapped his knuckles on your open door to bring the glass back in, inform you that he’s done. You call out to him, eventually coming into view—apron on, doused in flour, cheeks and smile smothered in it.

For a moment, he could almost forget an outbreak had even happened with the way you looked at him—the way you looked in general. Something out of one of those cooking shows that play at ridiculous hours of the night; a thing that’d had a street talking about with sweet you sounded.

“I bake—sometimes,” you announce, hands down your apron, leaving flour-finger strokes against the navy blue.

He could see that. Placing the glass on the side, thanking you—watching you glance around him, likely for that. He almost tells you, informs you it’s outside, left on your porch. But, he waves himself off as a beeping begins, that he’ll get out of your hair, because you’re busy—knowing deep down it’s the right thing to do.

That’s how he left it.

Nothing more, nothing less.

His thoughts sliding to you when he saw you talking to others; his mind unable to rid himself of the way you’d looked at the box he’d been given to be a helping hand.

So, it surprised him when he watched you climb the steps of his porch from outside Tommy’s. Something in his chest narrowing—different from the way it does when he wakes up in the morning. Observing how you’re nervously shaking your free hand, moving from one foot to the other—a thin t-shirt covering your frame (no coat or jacket on your arms) as you try to stand still in the chill at his dark doorstep.

It’s only as he nears that he sees what your other hand is holding. A bottle, the contents from appearing amber in shade. The hesitancy woven into your figure is more prominent as he reaches his own boundary, unsure whether to clear his throat—and only doing so when you knock.

“Heard he’s out fixing more porches.”

Turning, he finds you smirking. Spinning around on your heels, slowly taking a step down—still above him—before your hand gestures for him to take the bottle. “A thank you.”

Thank you, he thinks, staring at it. His thumb catches your fingers as he tries to ignore the twist and knot of his stomach when he eyes the label. It used to help, for all the wrong reasons. It’s why he’d tried not to drink since arriving here, still able to remember how it used to scratch an itch, how it smothered over scabs—ones that never healed.

It unlocks that part of him that worries that they’ll become inflamed again. All raw, hot to the touch.

“Y’didnt need to.”

“Well, it was alcohol or baked goods—and you strike me as a drinker over shortbread.”

Snorting, he lifted his head, swallowing. “I do like shortbread.”

Your face lights up—shimmers—under the slowly setting sun. A part of him wishing you’d brought him a tin of those instead.

Because the main reason he hadn’t been to the Tipsy Bison is that he preferred the version of him that didn’t drink. The one from before all of this happened—the one with a clearer mind. One that isn’t trying to run but rather settle and live—the one that comes out when he tastes something akin to what he shared with Tess.

The bottle in his hand demands his attention—a note attached to it that reads the same as your words. Gratitude humming, rolling from you, all in plenty. The entry at being neighbours suddenly ajar, the door taken from the hinges so it can never be closed again.

“Next time, then?”

You say it purposeful, full of genuine nature. And, it makes him roll his jaw, biting the inside of his cheek. Palm and fingers still clutching the bottle—unsure if he likes this. The neighbour thing—the pretty neighbour thing. Especially one who looks at him with a sweet smile and who makes lemonade just because.

“I should go, don’t want to interrupt your evening—”

“Well, the only thing you’re interrupting is whether or not I should open this now or wait.”

You stop moving at that, coming to a stop in front of him, smile broadening, almost turning into a smirk. “

Rubbing the back of his neck, he sighs. “Got another job in the morning. Be a lot on my own.”

“What problems to have, ay?”

He snorts.

But then, he finds you nodding, licking your lips. “How about this, for the safety of the porches of Jackson, I’ll help you with your problem.”

“And what’s my problem?”

“You don’t wanna drink alone—likely worried about what it means if you do.”

You say it nonchalantly, as though seeing through him was a relatively easy task. Your body is still not moving; the cold either not bothering you, or you are faking it all so well.

“Alright.”

“Alright,” you say, slightly more chipper than him.

CHAPTER TWO ->

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #pedrostories #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[mooshywrites]

If requests are still open: may we have hcs about how the bg3 boys react to bard!Tav serenading them? I just think it would be so cute

A/N ~ I love this idea so much, I just know it deserves frantic bard writing ;-;

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Serenade

Gn!Reader x BG3 men

Masterlist

Art commissions

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

~ Astarion ~

Astarion thought bards were utterly useless until he met you. He had never put that much stock into music either. But the day you sat in front of the campfire with him, plucking your lute to all of the songs you knew, his heart melted.

As the soft melody of your voice filled the air, Astarion found himself captivated by the enchanting sound. His skeptical gaze softened, replaced by a glimmer of curiosity and wonder. The flickering flames of the campfire danced to the rhythm of your fingertips, casting mystical shadows upon the surrounding trees.

Lost in the embrace of your music, Astarion closed his eyes and let himself drive sea. Your voice, like silk, wove together tales of love and heroism. With each note that danced upon the night breeze, he felt a newfound appreciation for the artistry that had eluded him for so long.

Unbeknownst to you, Astarion’s icy exterior began to slowly thaw beneath the warmth of your melodic gift. The walls he had built around himself slowly crumbled, revealing vulnerabilities long buried within.

As the lullaby reached a gentle conclusion, a momentary silence settled over the campsite. Astarion opened his he’s, finding himself gazing into the depths of your own. In that instant, he saw a reflection of his own longings and desires. The connection between you, forged through the simplicity of this moment, was as delicate as a spiders web.

Without breaking eye contact, the pale elf reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. In that simple touch, a current passed between you, a sliver of magic that pulsed through your veins.

Wordlessly, Astarion leaned closer, his breath mingling with yours. Time slowed to a standstill as the world around you faded into insignificance. The flickering flames cast their golden glow hook. Your faces, illuminating the unspoken words hanging in the air.

And then, with a emotion in his voice that you had never heard before, Astarion whispered,

“Play for me again?”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

~ Gale ~

Gale always knew there was a magical quality to music. He saw you as a mirror image of himself, being hopelessly in love with a type of magic that would never love you back with the same intensity.

Though he’d never admit it to you, he silently hoped every evening that you would unwind by playing a song. As dusk began to fall, the sunset painting strokes of red and gold, today’s hope was no different.

You sat by the edge of your tent, your fingers absentmindedly plucking at your lyre as you tried to think of a song to sing. You caught Gale’s eye and smiled, his gaze finally giving you inspiration to play.

Your fingers began to dance effortlessly across the strings of the lyre, coaxing out a gentle melody that floated on the evening breeze. The magic of your music filled the air, intertwining with the vibrant colors of the sunset as they painted the sky. Gale watched enraptured, his eyes never leaving you.

As Gale watched on, the wizard felt a deep longing stir within him, a longing for something he couldn't quite put into words. In that moment, he realized that his admiration for you went far beyond your musical prowess.

Unable to resist any longer, Gale rose from his seat and made his way toward you. As he approached, the song you played seemed to weave its way into his very being, tugging at the strings of his heart.

You looked up as Gale drew nearer, a soft smile gracing your lips. The notes from your lyre seemed to synchronize perfectly with the rhythm of his footsteps, as if they were guiding him towards you. The music wrapped around him like a warm embrace, filling him with a sense of belonging he had never experienced before.

Finally, Gale stood before you, his eyes shimmering with a mixture of vulnerability and admiration. You hesitated your playing for just a moment before Gale’s broke out in a grin.

“Surely you weren’t singing about a special someone, were you?”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

~ Halsin ~

Halsin was probably your favorite person to play music for as of late. When he had first joined your camp, he only sat and watched when you brought out your guitar. It seemed to you that he was lost in his own mind most of the time, not allowing himself even the smallest of happy moments.

When you finally where able to heal the deep scars of the shadow curse, Halsin’s tune changed dramatically. Suddenly he was sat by you in the camp at all times, asking about what instruments you could play, requesting certain songs, trying to sing along to your gentle melodies.

What he loved most of all, however, was challenging you. He loved to see how quickly you could create a song. How easily you could string a line of lyrics about any topic under the sun. Tonight, he had a very simple ask.

Sing something that reminds you of the beauty of nature.

You could tell by the look in his eyes, the shyness in his tone, that his question had much deeper meaning to him than just that of a pretty song. No, he wanted to connect with you on a deeper level but couldn’t think of a way to make it meaningful for you both.

Despite all of that, you decided to indulge him.

As the moon cast its gentle glow over the camp, you took a deep breath and let your fingers dance across the strings of your lute. The melody flowed effortlessly from your fingertips, each note carrying the essence of nature's beauty.

You sang of sweeping meadows bathed in sunlight, where wildflowers bloomed in a riot of colors. You spoke of ancient forests, their branches intertwined like lovers, whispering secrets to the wind. Your voice soared, echoing through the night, as you conjured images of cascading waterfalls and shimmering lakes that reflected the starry sky above.

Halsin closed his eyes, completely absorbed in the enchantment of your song. It was more than just music to him; it was a bridge connecting his wounded soul to the world around him. As you sang, his spirits lifted, his heart opening up like a flower basking in the warmth of the sun.

When your song reached its final notes, there was a moment of comfortable emptiness. Halsin opened his eyes and looked at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. The silence that followed your song was filled with the lingering echoes of your melody, as if the very air was reluctant to let go of the magic you had created.

And then, Halsin spoke. His voice was barely above a whisper, as if he feared that any sound would shatter the fragile connection between you both. “Thank you,” he said, his words carrying a weight of gratitude that touched your heart.

“For so long, I had forgotten the beauty that resides in nature. The curse had consumed me, turning everything around me into shadows and sorrow. But through you, I have found solace and hope once again.”

Tears glistened in his eyes as he continued, his voice trembling with emotion.

“Sing it again?”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

~ Wyll ~

Wyll adored your music. It took him a few days to work up the courage, but it wasn’t long before he was asking you to sing while the two of you were dancing. His dancing lessons had started out with just him humming a simple melody, but soon, it was your voice carrying the timing of the song.

Those nights meant a lot to you, the ones where he’d sweep you into his arms, begging you to sing for him. Tonight, however, wouldn’t be one of those night. Wyll had taken a bad hit in a battle today, his injury burning every time he took a step.

He was in no shape to dance, and yet, he still found you by the stream that evening, ready to try anyways. It took a scolding and a few pleas, but he finally agreed to postponed that night’s dancing lesson, settling for hearing you play him a few songs instead.

His eyes drifted shut as you started to weave your magic tune, transporting him to a world of serenity and solace. The melody danced delicately in the air, casting a soothing spell over his weary soul. He leaned back against the moss-covered boulder, surrendering himself to the enchantment of your music.

As your fingers caressed the strings of your instrument, Wyll's mind drifted away from the pain and turmoil of battle. Images of lush meadows and cascading waterfalls began to form in his imagination, replacing the harsh reality of the war-torn realm they inhabited. He could almost feel the gentle breeze brushing against his face and hear the distant chirping of birds as they celebrated the arrival of a new day.

Lost in the ethereal sounds that resonated through the forest, Wyll's features softened, and a serene smile graced his lips. The worries and burdens that burdened him melted away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of peace. In this moment, he found solace within your music a refuge amidst chaos.

You brought him so much peace.

As the song came to an end, Wyll sighed happily, looking over to you with affection across all of his features.

“If I could only put into words as beautifully as you spin a song, I’d tell you what you meant to me.”

#astarion #gale #halsin #wyll #bg3 astarion #bg3 gale #bg3 wyll #bg3 halsin #baldurs gate 3 astarion #baldurs gate 3 gale #baldurs gate 3 halsin #baldurs gate 3 wyll #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x bard #gale x reader #gale x tav #gale x bard #halsin x reader #halsin x tav #halsin x bard #wyll x reader #wyll x tav #wyll x bard #astarion fluff #halsin fluff #gale fluff #wyll fluff

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐂𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍.

DAY FOUR OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: artificial intelligence au + "here, you are. you tiny thing."

pairing: ai-enhanced!miguel o’hara x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, sci-fi, enemies to lovers

summary: there are codeborns and codebreakers. In this world ruled by ai and the people who want to keep it that way, codebreakers fight for freedom while the feared codeborns (ai-enchanced humans) do everything to keep the so-called 'peace'. You are one of the codebreakers, hunted by one of the most menacing codeborn yet, miguel o'hara.

word count: 3k

warnings: hunter/prey, chase kink, size kink, power imbalance, fear kink, dancing on the line of dubcon due to the power imbalance, but reader very much wants miguel, hate sex, piv, possessive!miguel, biting (it has a slight aphrodisiac effect because why not), some blood, dystopian, bondage with mechanical arms, double penetration thanks to said mechanical arms, dirty talk, degradation kink if you squint,

a/n: i don't know with this is, it kinda sorta happened and, honestly, i don't hate it.

In a city perpetually cloaked in gray, oppression is an unrelenting weight. Surveillance cameras leer from every corner, tracking your steps and every muttered word.

This city used to thrive, alive with energy. Now, it's stifled by a regime that rules with an iron fist. Holographic banners hang in the air, projecting sanitized slogans that mask the truth. Rain splashes onto pixelated cobblestones, the wet ground echoing the neon lights into your eyes. 

Heart pounding, you dart through the alleyways, every step echoing. You hear them chasing you, the CodeBorns, they were the AI-enhanced sentinels of this world. Their purpose; bring order to the intricate dark web of the city. You scoff as you run, what a load of bullshit. The sentinels are nothing more than mindless robots that have a barely working human heart—and brain—for that matter. 

Very fittingly, you’re part of a group called CodeBreakers, a group of dedicated people trying to dismantle the regime and censorship. You just recently hacked into the cinema, which might seem not like a big deal, but you just had to save those poor people from watching the same damn thing over and over again. 

Making people watch something else that wasn’t handpicked by the goverment might’ve not been a big deal, but breaking into the system certainly was, and something not everyone could do. 

“Shit,” you hiss, accidentally tripping over a loose cobblestone. “Shit shit shit—” 

The worst thing about the CodeBorns is the fact that they can do a lot that regular folk like you can’t. For example, they’re all ridiculously fast, they can see in the dark, they can hear exceptionally well, they have superhuman strength—

You hear a wall shattering behind you and heavy steps grow closer, you’re relieved when you realize it’s only one set of steps, but as you realize who those steps probably belong to, your chest caves. 

Fucking, Miguel O’Hara. 

You hear the familiar creak of mechanical limbs and the familiar sound of your name falling from his lips. Another thing about the AI-enhanced sentinels, they have body upgrades they can take off whenever they want to. 

“You can’t unrun me!” he roars. “You know you can’t!”

He’s right, you can’t run a beast of a man like him. 

You need to be smarter. 

Ducking into another alleyway, you thank whatever god is left in this world overrun by technology for the web of light the neon signs provide. You quickly spot a string of utility boxes, It’s dangerous, but you manage to squeeze yourself between them and the hard stone wall. Heat radiates from the boxes. If Miguel doesn’t lose track of you soon, the damn thing might heat up enough to burn you. 

The clatter of mechanical limbs echoes closer.

And then you see him. 

The neon light reflects off his holographic suit, its dynamic red details reminiscent of flickering pixels. He's a towering figure. Spider-like limbs protrude from his back, their gleaming metal glistening with the moisture of the rain-soaked air. They move slightly as if looking around, trying to sense her. With panic, you hold your breath, the small hairs on the back of your neck standing with attention. 

His brow is slightly furrowed, something you recognize he does when he’s either angry or annoyed—or both.  His lips, however, curve into a faint, almost menacing smile, revealing a glimmer of satisfaction in this pursuit.

The alleyway seems to shrink around you as his steps grow nearer. Your pulse quickens, synchronized with the flickering lights around you. This isn’t your first run-in with Miguel, and you doubt it will be the last. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. The fear you feel poisons you, making your stomach churn and your mouth taste of death. He’s captured you before but never actually handed you in. 

Arousal rears its head among the fear, coating you in a sheer sweat. You can’t help it. It’s a Pavlovian response at this point, you see him and your body starts leaking like a damn faucet. Miguel had captured you twice, and in both of them, you ended up with his cock deep between your legs. 

You just never know with him. He never contacted you outside of this, never acted in a way that would indicate that something had happened between you two. 

All he gave you is this, the chase, the fear, the wondering if this might be the time he throws you in a needlessly futuristic cell—

"Here, you are. You tiny thing."

Shit. 

It’s comical really; the way you look up with wide eyes as his red ones peer down at you. His smirk is non-existent, yet you can still feel his satisfaction in finding you. Your chest heaves painfully, you can move, struck with uncharacteristic fear. He might not be an animal you get the sense that he smells the horror sticking to your skin. 

You’re about to make a run for it when the mechanical arm’s sinewy grace coils around your ankles. Miguel pulls you out of your hiding place. All the blood rushes to your face as you hang upside down. 

“Dammit, Miguel!” you hiss. “Put me down!” 

He raises a sole brow elegantly, his eyes moving up and down your body, his gaze almost predatory. “Rather bold for a criminal,” he answers, voice nonchalant. The limbs tighten around your ankles, just a shy away from being painful. The arm draws you nearer, your breath mingling with his in the dewy air. “I’m starting to think you enjoy getting caught.” 

“Does it look like I have a death wish?” you ask. His lips twitch and you quickly add. “You know what, never mind, don’t answer that.” 

“What if it was one of the others who found you first? Were you going to spread your legs for them too? ” he snarls. “Is that how you’ve been getting away from hacking our systems for this long?” 

This time when the limb squeezes harder around your flesh and bone, you scream. The sound is drowned by the constant buzz of the world. “I should just take you in,” he murmurs. “Be less trouble.” 

Due to the blood gathering in your skull, you might be imagining things but you swear you saw a hint of actual worry instead of anger in those crimson eyes. But that shouldn’t be possible. Codeborns didn’t feel; sure they felt anger, but they were programmed sentinels made not to care about anyone who went into their criminal system. 

“Careful, your emotion is showing.” 

Maybe you do have a death wish, after all. 

“Bitch.” 

His sudden anger chokes the air from out of your lungs. You’re suffocated. The limb around you suddenly scorching hot, his eyes redder than normal, bright enough to match the neon raining from above. He bares his teeth at you, sharp and venomous, when he wants them to be. Miguel leans further into your personal space, his scowl deep—you begin to shake all over, your heart begging for your body to move away but you can’t. All you fear and think is fear. 

Arousal sneaks between the sinews of emotions. You taste it on your tongue, the scent of it searing as you take quick, sharp breaths. 

Miguel’s nose brushes the tender skin right under your ear, the sound of his inhale deafening “Afraid?” he rolls his tongue, his voice nothing but gravel. Before you can answer, a chuckle halts your tongue. His breath dans over your damp skin, goosebumps rising across your skin. “Or aroused? Or perhaps both?” 

You say nothing and it’s not for a lack of trying. You’re stunned into it, your tongue feeling limp and big in your mouth. The sharp edges of his teeth nip at your upside-down cheek, and despite yourself, a whimper escapes. 

“No seas tímida ahora. Where’s all that bite from before? Cat got your tongue?” you joly at the sudden feel of his warm tongue, your nipples hardening under the fabric of your shirt. “Beg for it.” again, a darkness curls around each and every word. 

This situation shouldn’t be getting you this hot and bothered. The want between your legs pulses so bad that it hurts. 

“P—Please, Miguel,” you say barely above a whisper. “I. . . I want it.” 

“Want what?” 

Fucking asshole. “Your cock. I want. . . you to fuck me.” 

His smile does nothing to quell the fear, “Good girl,” he rasps, the words echoing in your ear. 

The rest happens in a blur. 

Suddenly you’re not hovering upside down anymore, instead, you’re shoved up against the hard, cold surface of a wall, your pants being lowered for you. Now it’s your wrists that are bound and pinned above your head, your legs spread from the ankles thanks to the mechanical arms. Miguel’s large presence looms right behind you, his clothed cock flush between the crevice of your ass. 

“Let’s see how wet you are,” he coos, ripping your panties into two. You make a strangled sound of disapproval, but all he does is click his tongue. “Be grateful I didn’t shred your pants.” 

Grateful is the last thing you’re feeling as two fingers spread your folds, the middle one dipping between. Your body speaks for itself. Swiping his fingers up and down, he gatherers your slick around the digit and traces your entrance, pushing in. Your body jumps at the beach, pleasure licking the base of your spine. “So responsive,” he murmurs and you hear the familiar glitching sound of his suit. 

Then you feel the heft of his cock laying right above the curve of your ass, both his hands cradling your asscheeks. The limb around your wrists coils tighter. 

Miguel parts your cheeks, getting a better look. Your cheeks burn in response. The cool air hits your other hole and you hate the way your body clenches at the cold. His thumb traces the rim and a loud exhale of air rips from your lungs. Your legs start to shake, slick dripping down the insides of the tender flesh. 

“Gonna fuck this pretty asshole one day soon,” Miguel gloats. Experimentally,  he pushes his thumb forward, nearly knuckle deep until you start squirming. You’re dripping for him, your asshole fluttering around the digit. The mild pain only makes your pulse race. “Unfortunately for you, I can’t today.” 

You hear his smile in his voice. The smugness that is laced into his every sentence. Your breath hitches when he pulls out, a moment later the warmth of his finger is replaced with something cold and metal. 

You tense as you hear the machine whirring, the hardness of it is replaced with something rounder and softer. “M—Miguel. . . ?” 

His lips touch your ear, “Shhh, don’t worry about it, princesa, just a little something to keep you satisfied while I fuck your pretty little cunt.” 

The arm merely moves over your hole, a feather-like touch that warms your skin. When it gently prods at you, you arch your back instinctively, your ass moving up into the air. 

Miguel only chuckles, the sound dark and low, a faint slap is delivered to your ass. You yelp but he doesn’t say another word. 

He’s big. 

You have no idea if it’s just lucky genetics or due to the ai-enhancement but whatever it is; he’s well-endowed. 

He makes you feel every tantalizing inch as he pushes himself further into your cunt, your walls throbbing while adjusting to his width. Your jaw drops, mouth gaping. He presses deeper and deeper, every centimeter of your cunt claimed by him. Your knees buckle and for the first time, you’re grateful for the robotic tendrils holding you up. He growls into your neck, those same venomous fangs skimming the tenderness of your neck. You feel the sharp bite of his nails digging further into your hip. 

Towards the base, his cock thickens and your eyes roll back as he shoves the last of it deep inside you. Your breasts feel heavy, tingling with pleasure despite being untouched.

Miguel doesn’t wait, he pulls back his hips and snaps them forward. Your stomach clenches with a delightful shiver. While slamming into you, the arm that holds your wrists together starts to pull you back until your back forms the perfect art, a mild discomfort steaming at the base of your spine. The way he’s angling you above his cock coaxes sweet, load moans from you. If possible, he’s even deeper now, hitting that devastating spot you can’t seem to reach when you’re on your own. 

“You like being my little plaything?” he groans, kissing the sweaty skin between your neck and shoulder. You moan again when the rounded tip of the mechanical limb starts pushing into the tight ring. A fresh pulse of wetness soaks you and trickles down his length, leaving your body trembling. “Fuck,” thrust. “So,” thrust. “goddamn,”  thrust. “wet—” 

You attempt to say his name but all you manage is the pathetic repeat of the letter “m”. His lips curl cruelly and the tip of the arm forces itself deeper, fucking you with shallow thrusts. “Pathetic,” he spits. “You’re so fucked out that you can’t even say my name? You can’t help drooling around my cock, can’t you? This is why I think you enjoy getting caught, you tiny thing,” the hard edge of his voice softens as he drags his nose down your neck. “So pathetic.” 

When he nips at your neck for the nth time tonight, you bare yourself to him by tilting your head. You want it. Want him. You need to feel him tear into your flesh, you want to feel the sting of his bite for weeks. 

His movements slow on both ends. “It’ll hurt,” he warns. 

“I don’t care,” you choke out. “P-Please— I–I can’t—” 

You really can’t talk. Your cunt squeezes around him, begging for the hard pound of his hips. Miguel doesn’t make you say it twice. He sinks his teeth into the same pace he kissed not a moment ago, the pain is instant, the trickle of warm blood making you squeamish. He doesn’t suck, only bites, not that you ever thought he would be sucking your blood. You imagine it’s just something he enjoys doing, like a primal need. You feel the soft webs of psychedelic venom seep into your veins. Your body grows limp, your lids growing heavy, he resumes his thrust and the pleasure you feel is tenfold. 

“Oh god,” you gasp, slack-jawed. “Oh my fucking god—Miguel—” 

He pulls out his teeth, kissing the marks he made that were shiny with blood, “I know, I know,” he grinds his hips, the pleasure shooting up your spine like electricity. “The effects won’t last long.” 

His words go through one ear and out the other. However. Your body singing with pleasure and nothing else, the word around you fading into reds and pinks. 

Miguel snapped his hips hard into you, meanwhile, the limb resumed its thrusts, stretching you further with every stroke. Some part of you is reminding you that Miguel, as of right now, can see every part of you, your most intimate parts completely bare. But the soothing venom lurking in your veins whispers words of encouragement. You focus on being stretched further, your hips move in need to meet his thrusts, but having nothing to brace yourself against, you surrender and allow him to take you apart wholly. 

His grunts became louder, Miguel pushed deeper and deeper, both cocks thrusting into you at the same time. Spit dribbles from the corners of your lips. Your mind empties with slack-jawed bliss as both lengths repeatedly strike your sensitive spots, pounding you with pleasure. 

You let out a loud gasp when the limb pulls out of you suddenly and you’re left empty, Miguel’s arms wrap around you, hands sliding under your shirt to cup the heavy weight of your breasts. He presses flush against you, striking your ass, he fucks into you with short, deep thrusts. 

His fingers pinch at your hard nipples, slightly turning them, “Gonna fill you up,” he groans. “Gonna fuck myself deep inside of you so no one will dare touch you.” 

The possessive tone, the brutal pace of his thrusts, the large hands on your tits—all of it pushes you down the edge, your body going rigid before relaxing entirely. You gush around him, wet sounds echoing in the narrow alleyway as he fucks you through it, not slowing down in the slightest. 

However, you do feel the hold around your wrists recoiling along with the ones holding your ankles apart. Miguel holds you close as you fall loosely like a ragdoll, animalistic sounds are grunted into your ear, another burst of arousal awakening on your tongue. 

The tip of his tongue dances along the bite marks when he spills into you, his cock deep, just like he promised. 

There’s so much, you feel the heat of it spreading inside of you, some of it spilling around from where his cock stretches you wide. His hips twitch, his arms forcing down the grind of your hips. You let out a whimper, your head falling over his shoulder. 

The two of you remain like that until his cock begins to soften inside of you, Miguel slowly pulls out and lowers you to the ground so you can sit. He finds your pants and throws it towards your lap. 

Sadly for you, your brain registers none of that. The dumb muscle only starts working again when he stands tall in front of you, that same menacing stance returning. 

“Don’t let me catch you again,” he says, voice stern. He looks down at you as he stuffs his cock back in his pants. “If I do, I’ll have to lock you up. This was your last warning.” 

And with that, he leaves. 

A bitter laughter bubbles in your throat as the back of your head hits the hard surface of the wall. Rain begins to drizzle, the first tiny drops landing on your cheeks and sliding down to your neck. 

Among all the people you could’ve fallen for, why did it have to be him?

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x f!reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara au #miguel o'hara smut #atsv fanfiction #oscar isaac characters #across the spiderverse fanfiction #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you

[slashmagpie]

Look, he’s no idiot. He’s no cheater, either. He knows that it’s extraordinarily unwise to be sneaking around the dungeon of Decked Out when you’re not playing the game itself. But the thing is—the thing is, is that Bdubs dreams. And when Bdubs dreams, he can’t always control where he goes, and sometimes—sometimes that’s right into the heart of the dungeon.

Here’s the other thing: Bdubs sleeps a lot. More than most. Sunset to sunrise, he’s curled up under the covers of his bed, fast asleep and dreaming. Others—other people, they stay up all night, attract all the phantoms. Not Bdubs! He’s the only sane, rational person on this server. He sleeps. But the others—they stay up all night.

Recently, they’ve been staying up all night playing Decked Out. 

Bdubs doesn’t know if Tango sleeps anymore. He certainly hopes Tango sleeps, but the man is too engrossed in his redstone for his own good sometimes. Maybe now that the game is done, is launched, is actively being played, he’ll take a nap or two. But right now, Bdubs is dreaming, and Tango is in the dungeon, and Bdubs, against his will, is here too.

Tango is not-quite-solid, ephemeral, and Bdubs gets the sense that if he were awake and standing where he is, he wouldn’t be able to see Tango at all. Tango doesn’t seem to see him, either, back turned as he approaches a ravager on the bank of the River of Souls. 

Ghostlike, Tango presses his forehead against the (unknowing, unseeing) ravager’s, a smile on his face. The ravager slips through Tango’s form, leaving Tango pressed against its side, but he seems unfazed, patting affectionately at its flank with a hand. “Good job, Pumpkin,” he says, and Bdubs can hear the pride in his voice, the hint of a laugh. “Good job. You listened. I appreciate the effort.”

In his dreams, Bdubs can’t feel the chill of the dungeon; he’s toasty and warm under the blankets of the waiting room bed. (Okay, look, he may also be spending the night at Decked Out, but at least he’s sleeping—if he pays attention, he can hear the faint, unintelligible babble of voices in the waiting room, see the soft golden light through his eyelids. He flinches away from it, back into the dungeon, back into his sleep. The others may be content to spend the entire night waiting and dying to ravagers, but Bdubs needs his beauty sleep.) And—hey, what was he thinking about again?

Oh, right.

Bdubs can’t feel the chill of the dungeon, but a chill runs down his spine nonetheless as Tango looks at the ravager with cub’s blood on its teeth with affection and pride. And—okay, the whole point of the game is getting killed (or, preferably, not killed) by ravagers, they’d all signed up for this, they knew what they were in for—but did Tango have to look so… happy about it? So fond of the murderous beasts he’d wrangled for their entertainment? Did he have to look so—

Hm. Now that Bdubs is looking—

Tango’s ghostlike form doesn’t have a shadow, but it trails off towards the end, less him and more ghost, an echo of some sort, and the ghost tendrils stretch into the snow and the water and the stone of the walls. It’s almost like a spider’s web, Tango’s consciousness at the centre of it, flickering and ephemeral. Tango lets out a contented sigh, and Bdubs swears he hears the dungeon sigh too, and out of the water where Cub died the blood starts to drain, though Bdubs can’t tell where it’s draining to. It’s just—there, and then smaller, and then gone, and Tango swipes his tongue across his pointed canines, and Bdubs feels cold. Colder. The tendrils stretch long, and the more Bdubs looks, the more he sees, and he can’t quite tell anymore where the dungeon ends, and Tango begins, and hang on, is Tango a spider on his web or are those tightening more like puppet strings as Tango turns—

His eyes land on Bdubs, and he frowns, the smile slipping from his face. The dungeon feels darker than it did a second ago. Bdubs flinches back, because Tango shouldn’t be able to see him, even if he’s also not in his body right now—

“You shouldn’t be here,” Tango says. “Cheater.”

Bdubs opens his mouth to defend himself, but he doesn’t even get the chance before he’s gasping awake in bed, covered in a cold sweat, shooting straight upwards. The movement draws Scar’s attention, and he looks over, one eyebrow raised.

“You’re up late, Bdubs,” he comments, teasing.

It takes Bdubs a moment to find his words. “Hard to sleep with all this racket!” he grumbles, scowling as he pulls the covers back.

“Oh.” Scar blinks. “Do you want us to be quiet?”

“Yeah, we can quiet down for you man, if you need us to,” Jevin offers.

Bdubs shakes his head. “No, no, I’m up now.” In truth, he doesn’t think he could sleep again after that even if he wanted to.

And now that he’s thinking about that, he’s thinking about—

“Hello there,” Tango greets, dipping past Scar and into the room. He glances at Bdubs, and then just past him, not a hint of what just transpired on his face. He’s back in his body, solid and whole again, and he looks—fine. Frosty and blue, like he’s been all season, basically, at this point, but—fine. Tired, maybe, but they’re all tired. It’s the lack of sleep.

(Does Tango even need to sleep, anymore? Dungeons don’t need to sleep, after all. Ravagers don’t sleep. Do spiders sleep? Do—?)

Tango turns away from greeting Jevin to look at Bdubs, a grin on his face. “Bubbles, how you doing?”

Bdubs jumps, startled from his thoughts, and doesn’t get an answer in before Tango is distracted by Jevin once again. The two of them talk game mechanics, and Bdubs stares at Tango, trying to find any hint on his face, in his body language, of what exactly he is, but—

He’s too awake, darn it. If he’d still been sleeping, maybe he could have seen something, but it’s late, and he’s awake, and Tango looks as ordinary as ever. 

“I saw you petting a ravager down there,” he says at last, and Scar gives Bdubs a weird look, but Tango doesn’t seem surprised. He just laughs, shaking his head.

“No, no, no, no. I was reprimanding them.”

“Yes, you were!”

“—for their vicious attacks—”

“You’re rooting against us!”

“—on my… friends, here.” 

There’s a weird pause, a solid second or two where Tango seems to struggle to get the word friends out of his mouth, and when he does the tone is flat, insincere. Scar is still frowning at Bdubs. He doesn’t notice the way Tango’s expression flickers. Bdubs notices. Bdubs can’t tear his eyes away.

Hey, is it cold in here?

“I’m starting to learn something dark about you, with all the laughing and smiling you’ve been doing while we’re strugglin’!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tango says, then smiles, turning away to Scar, changing the topic of the conversation. They move on, teasing Grian for being AFK, and Bdubs—

God, Bdubs needs more sleep. 

#hermitcraft #fanfiction #bdoubleo100 #tangotek #woo! tumblr ficlet time! it's been a while since i did one of these #anyway i came up with this concept like a week ago i just haven't had time to write it #based on a conversation that happened in tango's day 2 stream #i have a couple of decked out ficlets in my head. we'll see if i get to writing them all. #in the meantime have this one #magpie feather quill #< just realised I didn’t add my writing tag to this that’s how you KNOW it’s been a while

[wolfytoothy]

A save

this was recommended by AriOct.

Enjoy

...

Your spider-woman and miles is the prowler, but none of yall never knew of each other's identity, till today.

It all started when you were fighting the prowler. “Stay out the spider” the prowler spat, with full venom in his tone and he punched the living shit out of you making you stumble back.

The metal spider legs extracted form your back as you got in a fighting stance about to lock in. “I wouldn't have to if you would just stop being a dick head” you yelled as you attacked his using your webs to trap him.

After a minute of fighting he managed to pin you down to the floor, threatening to drop you over the edge of the building as he was on top of you with his hand raised.

“terminemos con esto de una vez por todas. Araña” (let's end this once and for all. spider)

He raised his hand with a bag ass claw at the end about to kill you, till you heard a huge explosion. Witch stopped him, as he looked up.

The voice in your mask started alerting you.

“Spider-woman, there has been an explosion on the bridge, apparently the Tinkler and her crew is stealing something” You squint your heres and kick the prowler off you in one quick move.

“Listen, since you are a vigilante, how bout you go ahead and help me. There’s innocent people dying, if you care so much then you’ll be helping” you said running and swinging your way to the fight.

You perched yourself on the string and saw a truck laying on its side. Fire was everywhere, people were running, stuff was falling in the ocean. You were about to attack the tinkler till the prowler came in clutch and attacked her first. He looked up at you for a mere second and continued to fight. Giving you time to save people.You took the opportunity and saved some people.

Your suit was jacked up, you had cuts and bruises everywhere. You thought you were done till you heard someone call your name, and some screams followed behind.

“Spider-women!” you look to the sure and see a bus as the edge of falling. The bus driver and some other people were still on the bus, moments away from falling in the ocean. You shot a web at the front of the bus and pulled it forward. Almost all the people were able to get off till the bridge started to collapse again, making you lose your hold. The big pillar fell barely missing the bus as it made a bigger hole.

You quickly sprinted over and webbed it to the ground, and held it steady. Allowing the rest of the people to escape the death trap.

Once everyone was safe and sound, a big chunk of the road just fell. You quickly went to a safe place, and all there was left was a small poison just hanging by some cords. And of COURSE, A Person just had to be stuck and screaming for her life.

You did that cool webbing thing trying to keep it stable enough, but it clearly wasn’t enough. Because some of the webs broke.

You looked around and saw the prowler not too far from you. You tried to ignore him and webbed the roads as you hung in the middle. You pulled as hard as you could to give some of the people some time to go over to the other side. You were so focused that you didn’t even realize that your mask retracted, revealing your identity. Also unaware that the prowler saw you.

Lord was it hard, and lord did it hurt, you're pretty sure your shoulder popped out of place as you heard a pop and a sharp pain ran through your body. Finally all the people escaped. leaving you to finally rest.

Once everyone was safe. You let yourself fall on the payment with shallow breathe.Your mask retracted back over your face and you relaxed. As you did the adrenaline was gone. Your body hurted from the injuries you had previously gotten was catching up to you.

You let out a soft groan as you stood up. You clutch your dislocated shoulder and limp closer to an abandoned car to support yourself. “Lord have mercy” you heaved as you relaxed. But it wasn’t for long till your spider senses went off. Alerting you of a threat. “Oh sweet jesus” You perked up and saw ozcorp men holding guns at you.

“Spider women hand up” one of them yelled. Making you back up confused. “W-what, but I just saved everyone-” you tried to argue but one of them yelled again.

The prowler found time to escape. The people continued to corner you until you were at the edge. You thought it was all over till one of your powers activated.Invisibility.

When you did you took the opportunity to escape, despite you body screaming in pain.You landed in an ally way too tired and in too much pain to keep on going. You stumbled into the alleyway, your arm against the brick was trying to hold yourself up. Letting your mask retract to let yourself breath you collapsed to the ground clutching your shoulder. Propping yourself on the brick was you prepared yourself for the pain. In one quick motion you bang your shoulder against the wall, hearing a loud crack and a pop. putting it back in place. “That must have hurt like a bitch” a familiar voice said, making you jump. It was the prowler. You were about to bust a move, till he stopped you. “Don’t move, you have a broken rib” he said, making you stop. You relaxed slightly, eyeing him as he approached you.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, I'm here to help n/n” he reassured, bending down. Your eyes winded as you hered your nickname. He took off his mask to reveal a familiar face. Your breath hitched as you saw Miles. “M-miles” you said softly. “Sup mami” he smiled softly. A load of questions flooded into your mind. “Wa- how, you're the PROWLER?!” you yelled flabbergasted. He covers your mouth, shushing you.

“Yes I am, but not important right now” he said, making you go silent. He inspected you then finally spoke again. “Can you stand?” he asked, making you glare at him. ”nah I’m doing just fine- of course I can’t walk” you scolded. Miles rolled his eyes, chuckling. You carefully picked you up not to irritate any of your injuries. You hissed in pain as he picked you up bridal style.

After a hot minute of walking he brought you an apartment, it was obviously Aarons apartment. He layed you carefully on the couch and went to the bathroom and came back with a medical kit. “Okay this might hurt”After an hour of screaming and cussing, and crying, you were finally done. Well almost.

“SON OF A FUCKING GUN” you screamed in agony as he poured disinfectant on one of your cuts, and quickly wrapped it. “Are we done?” you asked tiredly, hoping it was a yes. “Far from it ma.” he said, shaking his head, making you groan. You looked around the room and saw a bunch of prowler gadgets. You found it fascinating. But you were interrupted from your inspection when miles spoke up.

“You got a bra or something under that” he said, making you blah and look at him kinda surprised. You smirked, “if you wanna fuck then just say that bookie” you playfully flirted, making him recoil. He rolled his eyes and chuckled, a blush appearing on his face, “ha,ha,ha” he faked laughed, “but seriously,” he asked, looking dead in your eye.

“Of Course, I can’t be free balling out here with my tittes flying everywhere-”,

“okay I get it,” he said, cutting you off not wanting to hear more. You laughed at his discomfort and sighed. “I got a built in bra in the suit but I always were an extra” you admitted

“K, take off your suit” he ordered as he grabbed ointment and some bandages. “Opp-, boy you wanna see some t-”,

“you have a huge gash over your chest,” he announced, making you look down, and you chirped. “oh…. I did not see that” you admit. “Yea I noticed, now hurry”

“Um according to my calculations, you said and i quote” don’t move you have a broken rib”, or something like that,” you shrugged smirking. Miles looked at you and sighed. “Señor tu vas a ser la muerte de mí” ( lord your gonna be the death of me) he complained muttering under his breath.

“Can’t that voice in your mask like, take it off for you or something, I know there has to be some kind of.. Contraction to take it off cuz there's no way” he complained. You smirked at his complaints and shrugged, “what, too nervous to take off your best friends clothes” you laughed. “Need to put on a blind fold” you teased, making his scowl.

“You think your funny”

“I think I’m hilarious”

“If you wanna fight then just say that, I'll gladly run up”

“We did, and I clearly won, I gobbled it all up”

“You thought you ate,”

“I always eat, you always gag, you throw up. You throw up so hard every time that your organs fell out your body, don’t do it ever again” His scowl deepened as he looked at your smug face. He rolled his eyes and kept on treating you.

A week later:

“ Miles I don’t need to be treated like a damn baby, it’s been a week, I’m fine” you complained laying in your bed. “Its takes six weeks for a broken rib to heal, your gonna lay down and stay down” you scolded You put his bag down and pulled out a notebook. “I’ll be writing down the notes in your notebook,” he said sitting on the edge of your bed. Your body hurts like hell. It was hard to move. “You hungry?” he asked. “I have been laying in this bad unable to move, of corse I’m fucking hungry”,

“carfull now or no food for you”,

“I hate you morales”,

“aww I love you too n /n”.

#miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles #e.42 miles #earth 42 miles x you #earth 42 miles fluff #miles morales x reader #atsv prowler #earth 42 prowler #miles morales prowler #spidersona #spider woman

[shakirawastaken]

dsmp if... they were spiderman

i love spiderman just like every other bitch out there

dream: - do not be surprised if he comes out one day and claims hes a demigod and superhero and a wizard - cause if its anybody its this guy fr - if he was spiderman he wouldnt have the main and basic color scheme - hed go green like everything - green is the main color like the evermore green and black/white as the accent colors - his string also wouldnt be normal spider string i feel like itd be neon ish like miguels from the movie - he would also avoid telling you that he was spiderman till the very last moment - he would wanna keep you safe the best he can - would nEVER swing by your house - but he keeps an eye out on you when he knows ur out and about walking - but when you eventually figure it out? boy oh boy - cornering you in the street and pushing you into an alleyway - spiderman poses in front of you, hanging from his web - gives you upside down kisses???? sign me tf up - hed also get himself just the right amount involved in the crime he fought - he knows how to balance his life out, and he knows how important it is to be able to balance his life out like that - hot as spiderman  sapnap: - a reckless spiderman - leans vigilante  - out of all of them he would be the one with the suit closest to the spiderman - but im not feeling the blue - marroon and black or some other brighter color - a rash spiderman - fights crime like no business, but kinda makes a mess along the way - its okay bc the people love him - loves loves LOVES arguing with cops - tells you almost immediately after becoming spiderman bc he has to tell someone - breaks every canon event - trash talks every criminal out there - but is nice to every citizen he sees - likes webshooting your wrist to the counter or something so you cant leave or go out or smth - forces you to spend time with him :) - likes to keep out of interacting with people as spiderman  - but will use it as argument bait in day to day life - makes a hammock out of webs and lays there between two buildings - overall 7/10 spiderman

george: - is barely spiderman but when he is hes darn good at it - he leaves a lot of the petty crime to the cops - only goes out for the big stuff - dark navy blue suit with black accents - stays in the shadows/on top of buildings - doesnt interact with anyone if he can help it - the more secretive he can keep the better - he told you a fair amount of time after he went out as everyones crime fighting superhero - but he doesnt like to talk about being spiderman  - and youre fine with that, as long as he stays safe - he swings to your window every night after hes done being spiderman - hed rather be with you than someone else after the hard night hes probably had - has a habit opening your window without knowing and jumpscaring you accidentally LMFAO

karl: - oh he LOVES BEING SPIDERMAN - hes the spiderman to be on every cereal box and phone cover and talk show - loves taking pictures especially with little children in their own spiderman costumes - after he captures and ties up every criminal he leaves a little goofy aah note for the cops to laugh at - unlike sapnap he has a great rep w the cops  - he told you after he “test” ran it - actually he just showed up with the mask on and you were like “SPIDERMAN OMG LET ME CAL MY BF” - and then spidermans phone was ringing and you were like - “what” - “im spiderman!” - “WHAT” - his suits like - i feel like it changes color in the sun - its one of those suits - and hes the only one out of all to have an assistant ai thing in his suit to lead him through crime - he might be a more light hearted spiderman but he still deals with the same dangerous crime

quackity: - this guy loves to swing - he will put his headphones on and jump off the nearest building - mona lisa by dominic fike - soars to the ground and then swings up at the last moment - swings to the beat of the music to relax - he has the normal suit i think - but he has his hair comin out of the suit like pavitr  - loves to take you swinging - even if you may find it terrifying - he likes the feeling of sharing with you his favorite activity - fights crime like no ones business - he told you like a few months after being spiderman - he just jumped down from the ceiling  - “? what” - “spiderman!” - “...what” - yeah  - idk all i can think of is that quackity likes to swing around the city just for the heck of it - “WOAH ITS SPIDERMAN” “YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA” 

wilbur: - has a black suit like miles - tommy is his guy in the chair LMFAO - in his ear like “SWING LEFT I MEAN RIGHT I MEAN LEFT” - mutes tommy half the time - leaves you little messages in web on the walls of the house - “love you!” but its in spider web - actively holds a conversation with the people hes fighting - “so hows your day?” *PUNCH* “hows ur kid doing?” *OBLITERATES* - uses physics and shit to his advantage cause hes not that built - another one whos hot as spiderman - never EVER brings you out as spiderman - EVER - will bring tommy tho - cause tommy annoys him into doing - “BIG UPS WILBUR!!” “SHH TOMMY” - is spidermans biggest fan even though hes spiderman - “they will never suspect spidermans biggest fan as spiderman!” - smart ngl 

guys all i can think about is spiderman its a dilemma an issue a problem  sorry for the short headcanons i had to get my thoughts out of the way!

#dream x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #wilbur soot x reader #georgenotfound x reader #sapnap x reader #karl jacobs x reader #quackity x reader #dsmp x reader #wilbur x reader #mcyt x reader #shakira shakira writes #dsmp if... series

[sunstone-smiles]

Measuring Mishap

(I’m sorry that the picture is so blurry-)

Author’s note: Another fic with Miguel after I said I would only make one? I couldn’t help myself. Can you blame me? Lol! I hope you enjoy!

Series: Across the Spider-Verse

Characters: Miguel O’Hara and Lyla

Word count: 2,242

Summary: Lyla is assisting Miguel by measuring him for a new spider suit, but a small mishap occurs in the process that leads the AI to instead discover a playful piece of information about him that can make him laugh.

—

It’s hard enough tearing Miguel away from his work, let alone asking the man to stand still. He always has to be active with something, whether it’s skimming through files, capturing anomalies, or making sure that everything in the Spider-Society is in working order, so taking a break is not one of his strong points.

Miguel huffs as he stands in his spider suit on a short, cylindrical platform, his arms crossed. Above him, two robotic limbs hang from a steel frame like the strings of a marionette. A yellow strip of measuring tape is held in the metal fingers of the robotic hands as the contraption measures Miguel from shoulder to shoulder.

Miguel taps his foot on the ground and exhales an impatient sigh. “Lyla, how much longer is this going to take?” he turns to the AI in question, who’s floating beside his head.

“Just a few more measurements and you’ll be good to go,” Lyla taps away on a digital screen in front of her. Matching her own hand movements in sync, a robotic hand taps at the air alongside her while Lyla makes her note. “What’s the rush anyway? You don’t have any meetings scheduled for later.”

“I just want to get back to business, that’s all.”

“Business?” Lyla hovers backwards, almost offended. “I’m measuring you for a new suit to enhance your abilities so you can catch anomalies with more ease,” she demonstrates by controlling the robotic limbs to take Miguel’s arm away from its crossed state, then measuring it from shoulder to wrist, “It doesn’t get more business-y than that.”

“You know what I mean, Lyla,” Miguel shakes his head. “Work, reports, surveillance, making sure the anomalies are properly contained—instead of standing still like this. That kind of business.”

Lyla pulls the measuring tape and the mechanical arms away to type another note. “Yeah, I get it. But doesn’t it feel nice to take a break every once and a while? It definitely gets you away from those screens you always slouch over.” She throws a teasing grin at him and tries to straighten out his back with the robotic hands, like she’s posing an action figure. “I mean, just look at what it’s doing to your posture!”

“My posture is fine,” Miguel grumbles. He shifts his shoulders. “I only feel like every single second that I’m away from my hands-on work, another multiverse is potentially being swallowed whole.”

“Ugg, you’re being dramatic again. And also mathematically incorrect. On average we have three anomalies each day, meaning that every twenty-eight thousand eight hundred seconds another multiverse is in danger, not every single second.” She smirks down at him, pleased with her correction.

Miguel rolls his eyes. “Can we just get back to the task at hand, please?” He starts to fidget in his spot, like stretching out his arms to keep himself occupied, yet he’s moving around too much for Lyla to continue measuring him. The AI temporarily hangs the strip of measuring tape on the metal frame above them.

“I’m just saying that you can benefit from loosening up for a bit,” Lyla’s ramblings begin to wander as she tries to position Miguel with the mechanical arms to stand still on the platform, but she’s not paying complete attention to where the robot hands are drifting, “You know, like taking a moment to de-stress. It wouldn’t hurt to try—”

Lyla is suddenly cut off by an uncharacteristic yelp emanating from Miguel. Miguel snatches the robotic wrists away from his sides and fires a glare at Lyla, “Watch where you’re putting these things!” 

Processing the aftermath of the yelp, the AI quickly deduces that while she wasn’t paying attention, she must have accidentally squeezed his sides. 

“Oh! Sorry, sorry!” Lyla regains control of the robotic limbs. She properly guides them back towards his torso, but Miguel flinches away, as if on reflex. Lyla tilts her head in curiosity. She shrugs it off and maneuvers the arms close to his sides to hold him straight, but again, Miguel jumps away without her touching him, as if he was suddenly anxious of the mechanical hands.

She tries once more, but every time the robotic hands get close, he recoils and restarts her progress. Lyla narrows her eyes at him and pouts. “Miguel, hold still,” she tries to catch him without him flinching away, almost like corralling a startled horse into a stable. She attempts to grab at his arm, “I can’t get accurate measurements if you keep—”

“Hey!” Miguel tenses up with a squeak when she mistakenly pinches at his ribs. 

Lyla pulls the robot hands away, smiling with intrigue at the sound Miguel just made. “What was that?” she giggles.

Miguel tightens his arms closer to his chest, almost like he wanted to sink into himself. Miguel clears his throat. He adverts his eyes from Lyla's gaze. “It was—”

“Nothing?” she cuts him off with a sly smile, “I thought you would say that. Analyzing what just occurred now.”

“Lyla wait, don’t-

The pixels of Lyla’s heart-shaped glasses flash twice. “Analyzing complete. I detected a hint of laughter in your voice. And came to the conclusion that…” Lyla pauses as her data is pieced together. “No…” her mouth widens along with her eyes. “No way!”  her voice heightens with excitement. “You’re—!”

Miguel barks, “Don’t say it!”

“You’re ticklish!”

Miguel face palms with a growling sigh, flinching just hearing that word. “You said it…”

Lyla giggles excitedly, almost squealing like a fangirl. “How am I just learning about this now?! I need to know all the juicy details! Like, where are you the most ticklish?” She teasingly moves the robot arm with wiggling fingers towards his stomach. Miguel quickly grabs the wrist of the contraption before it can make contact.

“L-Lyla! This is not the time for these unnecessary activities!” he shoves the metal limb away from him.

“Nah, I think this is a perfect time! What you need is a good laugh!” She commands a robot limb to grab Miguel’s left wrist above his head, like she was innocently going to measure his arm for his new suit. “So, are you ticklish here?” Lyla quickly says and flutters her fingers to control the robot’s fingers to do the same into his underarm. Miguel sucks in a gasp and swiftly yanks his arm down, bringing it close to his body and clinging tightly to his own wrist.

“Hey!” Miguel snarls towards the AI, but Lyla had already zoomed behind him and switched to his other shoulder.

“Or here?” Lyla wiggles the chilled robotic fingers into the side of his neck. Miguel instantly scrunches up his shoulders and growls to hold back any further reaction to the tingly scratches. Trying to fight back, he attempts to nab the robot hand out of the air, but Lyla promptly dodges herself and the hands out of the way and behind him.

“Or how about here!” Lyla slips both robot hands into Miguel’s underarms from behind, striking like a snake. Miguel yelps and arches his back from the surprise, immediately clamping both of his arms to his sides and snarling to cover up any giggles that need to be stifled. 

“L-Lyla!” Miguel barely chokes back an audible giggle from slipping through while trying to squirm from her grasp. His mouth twitches on and off with a smile that shows off his fangs and his frame begins to lurch forward, like he wants to curl up into a ball, the longer he holds his laughter. 

“Come on!” Lyla exclaims from behind, “Stop hiding your laughter! Let me hear it!”

Miguel has to hold strong. Who knows what data-collecting Lyla can do with one of his giggly reactions if she gets her hands on it. She of course wouldn’t do anything that could hurt him, but the flustering earful of teases that he’ll hear afterwards is enough to keep himself from giving in to the easy route. Miguel faces this like a challenge.

He growls through his fangs like a big cat fending off a stronger force. “Absolutely n-not! Aye!” he squeaks when Lyla moves the mechanical hands down to both of his sides, clawing into the vulnerable area. Miguel throws his arms around himself in defense, his smile turning more wobbly by the second as he tries to hold back the giddy bouncing of giggles jumping on pogo sticks in his belly.

“Ah ha! Getting closer! I just have to get past your stubbornness!” Lyla smiles and moves one of the robot hands towards his ribs, teasingly scratching at a spot between the curved bones through the material of his suit. Miguel jolts and snickers start to spill out through hisses bypassing his fangs. He squeezes one arm to his side while the other tries to pry the robotic wrist away from wiggling into his ribs. She’s getting closer to breaking through the dam of his laughter and she knows it.

“Knock it ohohoff!” a giggle slips through Miguel’s defenses. He’s doomed. Lyla grins. Now is the moment she’s been waiting for.

Lyla’s glasses flash when she sees the opening she was planning in her sight. The other robotic hand by Miguel’s side whirs with Lyla’s control, then strikes directly at his tummy, swiping its clawed fingers back and forth like a sponge. “Gotcha now, Miguel!”

“GAH! Lylahahahaha!” Miguel finally bursts into robust laughter. He stumbles backwards, nearly falling, but Lyla places the palm of the second robot hand on the center of his back to stabilize him. However, although he’s still standing, his wriggling torso is caught in between the clawed hand vibrating at his tummy and the one stabilizing him. He throws his giggling head forward with a huge, fanged smile on his face, then grabs at the robotic wrist in an attempt to tug away the mischievous machine hand at his stomach. “Dahahamn it!” Miguel shouts through his laughter, knowing that Lyla has come out victorious. One of the strongest spider-men has been defeated by his own AI with a little bit of tickling.

“There’s that laugh I was looking for!” Lyla smiles along with Miguel. “Why did you have to go and hide it? Now I have to make up for all the laughter I missed!” Seeing another advantage to tease him, Lyla scoops up both of Miguel’s wrists in one robotic hand and pulls his arms out in front of him. 

“I’ll take those, thank you,” she beams above him. She then uses the unoccupied robotic hand to reach the ticklish places she tried before, now that the gates that were holding back his laughter have erupted.

Miguel squeals and jolts with laughter as the free mechanical hand scritches and scribbles at the rest of his torso. Lyla swiftly switches from spot to spot, like a scratch to his ribs, a squeeze to his sides, a scribble or two to his belly and underarms. She pokes around his whole torso, sending Miguel into a squirming, giggling frenzy. 

“Lylahahahaha!!! Quihihihit it!” Miguel attempts to tug back his arms as his joyful laughter fills the room. He releases a snort, then buries his face in his shoulder, trying to hold on to any dignity he has left. 

“No wonder you couldn’t hold still! You’re just that ticklish!” Lyla giggles at Miguel’s reaction. “Ironically though, I’m still able to get some measurements from you. Of where you’re the most ticklish, that is, which I determine to be your belly! Your laughter is zero point five decibels higher in that spot than the rest of your tickle spots! Watch!” Lyla then takes the opportunity to return to scribbling at his stomach, causing Miguel to squeak and increase the volume of his laughter, just as expected.

“LYLA!” Miguel calls out her name again in an attempt to scold her, even though his voice is currently laced with silly sounding laughter, “Thahahahat’s enohohohough!!!”

“Aww, so soon? But alright, I gotcha,” Lyla smiles and releases his wrists. Miguel instantly wraps his arms around himself, panting as he catches his breath from the tickle attack.

Lyla floats over to his shoulder. “See? Now wasn’t that fun?”

Miguel huffs out a growl. He glares at Lyla out of the corner of his eye. “That was NOT fun!”

“Say what you want Miguel,” Lyla shrugs with a lingering, all-knowing smile on her face, “but I can read that your body language is much more relaxed than it was before.”

Miguel opens his mouth to counter her, but he stops himself. He looks away from her with a defeated scowl. A small blush heats in his cheeks. He, unfortunately, can’t argue with her data about him feeling more relaxed.

Lyla hovers back to his other side to grab the measuring tape that she had previously hung on the contraption's metal frame. “Now, let’s get back to business. I still need to finish measuring you for real.”

Miguel flinches away from her, reflexively bringing his arms close to his body for split second defense. “There’s more?!” he frantically questions.

The AI chuckles at his flustered reaction. “Hehe, relax Miguel. I promise I won't tickle you on purpose,” she holds out a reassuring, open palm. “But you better hold still this time,” she ends her sentence with a lighthearted smirk. 

Needless to say, Miguel fully understands that he should listen to her advice, but at least the short break in the middle of their work wasn’t a total waste of time.

#spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #atsv lyla #lyla spiderverse #sfw fanfiction #sfw fanfic #sfw tickle fic #tickle fic

[cacti-are-like-flamingos]

Monoxide Poisoning

Gojo Satoru x Reader x Geto Suguru

The Cursed Trio | Alien Blues

...

As expected, October is one of the more busier months in the Jujutsu world. Fear is far more rampant when the month of horror peeks its head into the scene

So far, you've been sent on, at least, five missions. Two, of which, were solo. The remaining, you were assigned alongside Ijichi (finally! He appears!) or Haibara.

The partnered missions were a piece of cake, it could almost be considered a hangout had it not been for you staring wide-eyed at the curses and the place being some abandoned dirty building.

On the other hand, your solo missions were a fucking nightmare. You liked a challenge, you really did but damn, those fossils really fucking did it this time!

One mission alone had two grade-1 near-special grade --- you still don't know how you survived that one since one of the curses abilities related to fog.

Your vision had been almost completely compromised during that mission, so you had to depend on your senses as you fought.

The other curse's ability involved string so sharp even the slightest touch would bleed from it. You felt like you were in a spider web the moment you came to the horrifying realization that it had rigged the entire place up with these so-called strings.

Ultimately, you emerged victorious from the mission, a survivor with a tale to tell, though it left them somewhat disappointed. Regrettably, you didn't emerge unscathed. Your skin bore thousands of cuts, your attire was reduced to tatters, and a fresh scar across your neck told the tale of a curse's unsuccessful attempt to decapitate you.

(Side Note: Kento and Suguru were on the verge of confronting the Clan Heads for sending you on such a perilous mission alone. Ijichi managed to pacify them, highlighting that additional stress on you would be counterproductive. Ieiri undertook the task of tending to your wounds, her silence was loud enough. Even more so, when her outline became jagged. Hell, she even lit her own cigarette!)

(Add-On: Upon Gojo's eventual return, Haibara bore the responsibility of informing him, as you were already engaged in another mission. Suguru, this time, stood as the anchor holding him back from unleashing his fury on those infuriating pieces of shit relics.)

(Add-On: Kento was the one to find you half-passed out on the couch, your blood dripping onto the fabric. He just about had a heart attack as he screamed for Suguru, who had also just arrived from his own mission.)

Either way

Back then, October was one of your favorite months. You absolutely loved the spookiness of it all.

You loved the way you would go to sleep with boring streets, and wake up with the sight of the homes of the people decorated with pumpkins or inflatable Halloween characters at the front of the home.

You admired the subtle shifts of colors as the trees went from a lovely green to a heart-warming orange, or even a joyful gold --- the chill in the air was an added bonus.

Although, you had been somewhat surprised when Utahime, who you've only recently come back in contact with, informed you that most of Japan goes through the color change by November --- she told you about Nikko, a city where the leaves changed early.

(Side Note: The two of you haven't spoken for quite some time. And, it was actually Utahime who contacted you rather than the other way around. You were pleasantly surprised when you looked at your notifications and saw a message from her.)

(Add-on: The text messages above Utahime's were from Haibara and Suguru. The two of them have taken to hanging out whenever they could, finding that their personalities mashed really well. For this specific moment, they had texted you an invite to join them.)

(Add-On: Below Utahime's text message was one from Yaga, asking you to buy some knitting materials for your next session. This time, you were going to learn how to make an octopus plushie. And, considering that you love making big ones, you'd need plenty of material for that.)

Gojo and Suguru were on missions, Ieiri was who-knows-where, Haibara and Kento were on missions on the other side of the country, and Utahime herself couldn't go for reasons unknown.

So who could you possibly go with?

Yep, you guessed it!

Yuki Tsukumo!

(you didn't expect that did you now? Cuz me the fuck neither. De la manga production. Iykyk.)

(Side Note: You actually didn't even know she was in back --- one minute, you're just chilling in Haibara's room after having cared for his plants like he asked, and the next, you get a text from the blonde asking you to meet up by the school's entrance.)

It was strange, to say the least. While, yes, you did hang out together not so long ago --- this encounter felt odd. Well, when it came to her, everything always felt off.

Especially after everything.

"The anniversary is coming up, isn't it?" The blonde asked as she leaned forward to grab a forgotten magazine laying on the seats in front of the two.

(Side Note: The magazine cover showcased the brooding poses of the Rolling Stones, with bold hot pink lettering scattered all around.Tsukumo couldn't take the silence between the both of you. Originally, she figured you'd be chatty; however, the opposite seems to be true.)

You sighed, "Ah, yeah..." Gazing outside the window of the train, you observe the outside world in momentary silence.

A brilliant blue sky stretches overhead, adorned with a scattering of fluffy white clouds, casting a warm and inviting glow upon the world below.

Every now and then, you're able to see the silhouette of an animal's souls. The poor things run around the woods, blissfully unburdened by the cares that weigh down their tiny minds.

"So~?" You glimpsed her way, a curious look in your eyes. "Are you still their bitch, hm?" Tsukumo asked, eyes wandering over to you with slight interest. A smile tugging at the ends of her lips.

Anyone else would think she's mocking you, but you know better.

You simply shrugged in response, "I guess so. Not much of a choice on the matter."

She clicked her tongue in slight annoyance, "While I understand why, it still pisses me off. I didn't save you so you could end up their slave."

At her words, a humorless laugh escaped you, "Well, they did give me an option --- either, I worked for them, obeying their every whims, or, they'd kill me on the spot. Not gonna lie, the latter might've been better."

"Say, that reminds me. You were supposed to go to Kyoto's Metropolitan school, so why did they send you to Jujutsu High?"

And for a moment, you lost your breath. Your fingers suddenly drawn to your moon earring. Fiddling with the material, you blew a small raspberry. Her seemingly endless questions fueled the irritation slowly rising with you.

"Reason's unknown."

Tsukumo's gaze fixed on you, her peripheral vision capturing your presence. She knows. How could she not? She practically knows all about you.

The official story goes as follows: You were found by a professional Jujutsu Sorcerer overseas, in your home country. Upon your discovery, said individual took you to Japan to become a professional like themselves. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less. It leaves nothing to doubt --- it was just a mere coincidence that you were found, and that's that.

However, as you've already figured out, this little story is nothing but a cover-up. The truth is, well....vastly different.

Unofficially, Yuki Tsukumo found you while on a mission in your home country, a year and half ago. Throughout that entire year, she decided to take you in. Make you, her little apprentice. Moreover, you weren't brought to Japan to become a professional but to face judgement. A judgement you easily lost.

Moving on

Maybe, it's because she felt lonely at the time --- doubtful. Or, maybe, it's because she saw something in you. A goodness often neglected in the clan politics and horrors of the Jujutsu World. It's likely she wanted to preserve it for as long as she could, long enough before someone else found you and forced you into that godforsaken place of a school.

And even I admit, Yuki Tsukumo is a great teacher. Especially, when she's not pestering with finding your type of lover. (Her methods are questionable tho)

Though strength and a skilled cursed technique hold importance, what truly catches her attention is your cleverness. In the past, when your technique wasn't as honed as it is today, she'd challenge you to think critically. Plunging you into dimly lit rooms brimming with minor curses, she compelled you to innovate in your approach, pushing the boundaries of your abilities.

At other instances, she whisked you across your homeland, immersing you in battles against curses without adequate training. Her goal was to unearth your baseline ability, whatever that may have entailed.

tbh you were the guinea pig. you walked so that Aoi Todo could run

Surprisingly, Tsukumo was versed in various languages, a result of her frequent global travels. When the two of you weren't chasing a lead, the blonde would teach you random phrases. Sometimes, it'd be actual phrases you'd need to know in case you ever came across a situation. Others...not so much. (Curse words)

This accounts for your initial understanding of Japanese upon your arrival, though it doesn't explain your inability to speak the language.

(Side Note: You initially refrained from learning to speak Japanese because every time you attempted to utter a word, Tsukumo would burst into laughter. Though her teasing was good-natured, it became a recurring theme that discouraged you, eventually leading to your decision to abandon the effort.)

"How is she?"

Oh, she's just full of questions today.

"Alive." You can literally feel her eyes boring holes into the side of your skull --- gods, can she read the room for once?!

"I don't mean to be insensitive, but how the hell is she still alive after-..." You glared at her golden hue. Much like Kento's her outline was just as sharp as his.

Tsukumo flinched, "Sorry..."

Ring!

Looking down at your phone, you groan at the sight of the caller ID. You took a moment to contemplate before finally answering the call, a hint of discontent evident on your face. While conversing with the individual on the other end, Tsukumo observed with a perceptive gaze.

The exchange was brief, lasting only two minutes before you concluded the call with a simple "Yes, sir. Right away."

As the call concluded, you slouched in your seat, your hand covering your face as you rubbed your temple, preemptively anticipating a looming headache.

Tsukumo's expression soured, her voice tinged with concern, "Our plans for Nikko are no longer in play, I assume?"

With a resigned sigh, you confirmed, "No."

Gazing into the distance, the once radiant glow in your former mentor's eyes dimmed. Her voice softened, a whisper, "It was never merely about the mission, was it?"

Left with no other distractions, you mirrored her contemplative gaze, observing as passengers ahead started preparing to disembark from the train.

Your response came, unwavering, "No."

In that fleeting instant, Tsukumo seemed to grasp the essence of your sentiment. Your paths had always diverged, but in this moment, she glimpsed the unvarnished truth.

A sardonic chuckle escaped her lips, laden with understanding, "You never even stood a shot, did you?"

Glancing at your phone, you focused on your home screen. It was a captured moment, a screenshot of you and Suguru enjoying a visit to the train-themed restaurant (the one you got your hats from.) Suguru had playfully face timed Gojo, who was on a mission, using your phone. The image portrayed both you and Suguru, cheeks squished together to fit the frame, while a grinning Gojo, located at the top left corner, flipping you off.

Your heart felt lighter

October once held the title of your favorite month, a time when an unusual sense of liberation enveloped you. The brisk chill serving as a reminder of your existence, the vibrant hues mirroring a poignant yet beautiful conclusion, hinting at a contented forever. The month overflowed with ceaseless celebrations, you often couldn't wait to see the color show that were the excited masses.

But now?

It marks the solemn commemoration of your tethered burden

You smiled a weak smile, "Nah, never."

...

(A/N): it is what it is bro.

August 11: I'm gonna blame the late update on the power outages and not on the fact that I had a mini authors block. Like, I already knew what this episode was going to be about --- I have a list of everything I plan on sitting in each episode --- pero like, I just didn't know how to go about it.

August 13: It took a frozen strawberry margarita for me to actually think for this episode 💀 and let me tell you, I have some things planned.

August 16: I have no excuse bro. im just feeling meh rn

Shout-out to the bestie for being my uh sounding board? Yeah! Mf just listened to me ramble until I solved my own writing issues 💀

In Better Than Gold, you visit a place called Omoide Yokocho. This is actually the same place where Gojo and Suguru break up.

The magazine is an actual magazine issued in October of 2005. It's called Rockin'on Japan. I think it's about music. Other than that, I don't know shit about it.

While writing this episode, I had to stop multiple times because I was trying to figure certain things out, which then led to me developing a whole new path for the ending of this series.

Another significant factor influencing your choice to learn Japanese, in addition to your new life in Japan, was the sense of security you found while practicing with Haibara and Suguru. Surprisingly, Gojo also joined the ranks of practice partners, albeit a bit later on.

There was an episode, where I actually forgot to put a very important line. I don't remember which episode, but originally Gojo had expressed that he and Suguru were two sides of the same coin but that you were the metal.

Originally:

"...you were assigned alongside Ijichi." Instead of Ijichi, it was supposed to be Haibara or Kento. But I decided to alter it just because I've been neglecting Ijichi.

Suguru was going to be the one who found you half-dead on the couch before shouting out for Gojo; however, I decided Kento and Suguru would be better because I wanted Gojo to experience a small moment of helplessness. May or may not have wanted him to understand how you felt w/o him realizing it.

This episode was suppose to be a group hang out one, but I felt that it was time to provide a few more breadcrumbs as to your past.

"Especially after everything," originally was --- "Especially after the trial."

"...The poor things run around the woods, blissfully unburdened by the cares that weigh down their tiny minds." You refers to them as "the poor things," not out of pity, but out of an unattainable longing for the same unfettered existence.

Something changed from here and there, in regards to the dynamics between you and the Higher-Up, didn't it?

The anniversary of what?

Who is this mystery person Tsukumo mentioned?

If you were supposed to go to Kyoto, why did they send you to Jujutsu High? What changed?

What was this trial about?

And what do you mean you never even stood a chance?

Drop a comment!

Feel free to donate me a 🦩

Hope you enjoyed!

#gojo satoru x reader x geto suguru #gojo x reader x geto #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru #gojo x geto #gojo satoru x geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen fanfics #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk headcanon #jjk masterlist #jjk spoilers #jjk x reader #jjk #reader #reader insert #fanfic #fanfiction #romance #imagine #anime #the cursed trio

[the-kr8tor]

hi luv! yesterday I was listening to the neighbourhood and there’s a song called “single” and was the fluffy song ever, I was literally melting when I pictured Hobie singing that song, so I came here to request if you can write a drabble about Hobie playing a new song (ofc Single by The Nieghbpurhood) in one of his concerts, he said that it was something different of his style but special bc is for someone special (Reader) and during the song Hobie x Reader remember moments of two of them together <3

Hi hun! Thank you for requesting! I've never heard of this song till now, and omg it's so good. I didn't add the lyrics here hope you don't mind. I hope you like this ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Hobie stands tall on the stage, breathless from performing, sweat clings to his forehead. In your eyes he looks magnificent, with how the bright spotlights glow on his face, emphasizing his defined face. He takes your breath away when he winks at you, standing shakily on the side of the stage, as if you were playing on stage yourself.

You hear the crowd cheer when Hobie takes center stage, taking the mic from its stand.

"We're gonna play something a bit different this time" he says, grabbing an acoustic guitar in exchange for his electric one. You knit your eyebrows together, looking at him for an answer. Hobie just grins at you, holding the guitar properly, he looks back at the crowd– "is that alright with you lot? Use this moment for a bit of a breather, yeah?" He points at someone in the crowd "you look like you need one"

You can't see the crowd with how bright the lights are, but you hear some of them laughing, and a faint "fuck you, Hobie!" Followed by another roaring laughter. You chuckle, looking at Hobie's band mates for answers instead.

They shrug, lips curling into a smirk. His drummer mouths a word that you barely made out– wait, you look more confused, eyes flying back to Hobie's figure, ringed fingers curving over the guitar's strings.

"This is for someone very special" he turns a bit to look at you, the lights glowing behind him, making him more handsome on stage. Hobie gives you a ten megawatt smile, your heart stuttering in your chest. All you could manage was a wobbly smile, pupils practically shaped like hearts.

He turns back to the crowd, strumming the guitar softly. You listen closely, hanging on to every lyric.

As he sings, you can't help the tears collecting over your eyes. Hobie harmonizes beautifully, you make a choked sound, covering your mouth with your palm, so as to not disturb him.

When he sings the lyrics, your mind flits back to when you started dating. All the tentative touches, hands grazing against each other, the longing looks from across the room, the shy smiles you give him when he flirts.

Your breathing shakes, a tear slides over your cheeks. You remember the first time you've kissed, how patient he was with you, and oh so careful with your heart that you've lovingly given him. With all the love he's given you, you try every single day to reciprocate that love a hundred times more. Of course your relationship isn't always picture perfect, with a few fights here and there, but he has never made you feel less loved, and you've promised each other to never sleep angry, always ending the fight with apologies on both ends, leaving sticky kisses on each other's lips.

Your memories flash before you, all the dates, embraces, and tears you've shed when he comes home from being Spider-Man. And most of all, the deep affections and tenderness of it all.

He ends the song, strumming out the last chords, the claps and whistles from the crowd brings you back to reality, noticing how wet your cheeks have gotten. Wiping at your face with your sleeves, you don't notice Hobie bounding up to you, hands already raised towards you.

"Oh fuck, made you cry, huh" he cups the sides of your head, thumb rubbing at your tear-stained cheeks. His touch makes you come alive again.

You sniff, looking at him through tacky lashes "give me a heads up next time" your voice trembling despite the quip.

He briefly places his forehead over yours, kissing it softly. You hold on to his neck for dear life, legs still trembling, you let him litter kisses all over your face until your sniffles turn into giggling.

"I take it that you liked the song?" He holds your face in his hands, cold rings over your warm skin.

"So much" you wrap your fingers over his wrists, "I love you" Hobie looks at you like you've hung the stars just for him.

He leans towards your lips, "I know, love you too" finally pressing his lips to yours.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed it ❤️

#request done #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #the kr8tor's creations #hobie brown #spider punk #spider man across the spider verse #x reader #atsv fanfiction #atsv fanfic #atsv hobie #atsv x reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x you #hobie brown x gn!reader #spider punk x gn! reader #fanfic #hobie brown fluff

[turtleinsoup]

all the fuckedupness of the lemonade leak aside, the others are going to have to realize that leo's actually a genius. your characterization of the boys is a bit different from the show (not bad or incorrect!) but in the show and movie they underestimate leo like all. the time. its kind of the whole point of his character. but in the lemonade leak leo is actually so scary. and hes s o smart to the point where hes practically an unstoppable force. in some epilogue of the story (hypothetical or otherwise) it would be neat to see the others sit back and just take in how intelligent their brother is and how little they might have understood about him before (because im on the edge of my seat hoping for a happy ending cause shits lookin pretty scary the way its going now ksgdhsdjdhfjfj) sorry if this interpretation is completely incorrect i just reread the lemonade leak and its eating my brain (/positive) no pressure to respond or anything!!

Oh!! :D Thank you sm for your kind ask!!

Leo's probably smart enough to know he's better off letting people think he's dumb. Because he doesn't just outwit his enemies, nope, he strangles a spider with her own strings.

I think Donnie doesn't really give a fuck about how genius and terrifying Leo is, because - just like Leo - he thrives off outsmarting an opponent. If the stakes weren't his twin murdering him to death until he's dying, Donnie would probably be having a normal saturday evening.

Like: You could be a coldblooded mob-boss! You could kidnapp & tie Donnie up! You could bring him to some uncharted island in the middle of the night with a bag over his head, and Donnie would probably go: "At least try to put effort into your pranks. My hands are free since Brooklyn, Nardo." I also bet Donnie sometimes just tapes Leo to a chair & treatens to perform the most horrific inhumane experiments on him, to which Leo goes "Dude, just tell me you want to hang out. Look I swear I'm not gonna speedwalk away again... If you put pictures in your powerpoint this time." I hc the twins just vibe with each other's bullshit. Like, Leon doesn't mind being taped to a chair in the name of science, and Donnie doesn't mind being kidnapped to remote islands in the middle of the goddamn night. Because they know exactly that if they get fed up or just want to leave, there'll be zero power struggle about it. (They just let the other go, bc they secretly respect each other, but shush) It's legit just how they communicate "Gimme your attention rn", because they are SHIT at talking xD

Raph probably doesn't care how terrifying of a genius Leo is either, because that's his brother who licks chocolate off his own foot.

Mikey would probably care, from the angle of "Leon, beloved brother, I need you to sit through so many lessons of Doctor Morality, your butt will be fucking square. :D <3"

(Betcha Intelligence is all situational friction anyway. It's a bag of marbles: Not about who has the brightest, but who rolls them across the existential playground best. It's about how many you can fit up yo nose at once.)

So like, yah. There definitly will be a scene were they realize how terrifyingly smart Leo is!

(But also, they won't be scared of him. That much. :D <3)

#thank you for your kind #ask #!!! #<33 #rottmnt #rottmnt lemonade leak #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt leo #rise of the tmnt #tmnt 2018 #rottmnt fic #tmnt #rottmnt au #rise tmnt

[angel-of-the-moons]

omg. more pavitr content. please. i love your writing style sm, your first pav one solved everything wrong with the world.

i dont mind if its fluff/angst/smut or whatever, anythings good.

if you need something to work off of, i was thinking of a thing where pavs a lil possessive and clingy, so he starts to get jealous when hobie starts hanging out w and making (platonic) contact with the reader

Okay so I'm gonna combine this with an ask my friend sent me privately, so here we goooo!

Looking Crazy In Love

Jealous!Pavitr x Oblivious Fem!Spider-Woman

TW/CW: Some Angsty Pavitr, Jealous boi, you're both oblivious goobers, Hobie and Peter over here in the background pretending they have barbie dolls of you and smushing your faves together like "Now kiss dammit"

🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷

He didn't like it. He didn't like the hot burning feeling that settled in his gut; he didn't like how annoyed he got when he saw you two hanging on each other.

He could be wrong.

It could be nothing.

But it could also be something.

He wasn't ready for something to happen between you and Hobie. Not before he had a chance to... to...

Pavitr's shoulders dropped and he groaned, sighing for the umpteenth time today as he watched you and Hobie hang out.

Right now, Hobie was letting you hold his guitar, giving you a rundown on how to pluck the strings to make the worst noises possible (probably just to annoy Miguel with his super hearing).

You were laughing, he was laughing.

And... his arm dropped around your shoulders.

He felt that nasty feeling boil deep inside him.

He wasn't normally like this. Pavitr Prabhakar was not the jealous type. Right? Right, he's not.

Not not not not not, so not jealous.

Okay, maybe a little.

But who can blame him? Your smile, your hair, the way your eyes lit up when you talked about something you liked... you were perfect. His dream girl, right here, in the flesh.

And you were busy schmoozing up with Hobie, who seemed to be lapping up your attention, and... he winked! He winked at him! Why that tall arrogant...

Pavitr crossed his arms and silently seethed, glaring at the ground.

"You okay?" Peter B asked, dropping down next to him.

"'M fine." Pavitr muttered.

"Ohhh ho no you're not!" Peter grinned, sipping out of the plastic cup he had. He wasn't wearing the chest harness, so MJ must have Mayday today.

"The Pavitr Prabhakar I know is all sunshine and stray puppies. Come on, what's got you so down in the dumps?" The older man asked, tilting his head.

"It's nothing." Pavitr insisted, still not looking at him.

Peter looked up, noticing how you and Hobie were so close together and slyly looked at the younger Spider-Man.

He snapped his fingers as if he just realized something. "Oh, right!"

Pavitr watched as Peter cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled at you and Hobie. "Hey, Hobie! Miguel wants you 'n me on a mission!"

Hobie tossed his head back with a loud groan, taking his guitar from you.

"We'll continue your lessons some other time, yeh?" Hobie snorted, giving you a fist bump.

"You know it, Hobes." You beam happily up at him.

Peter was quick to whisk Hobie away, his arm around his shoulder as they spoke about something, looking back at the two of you as you bounced up to Pavitr.

Hobie was grinning.

Pavitr was not, he seemed to grow stiff when you got closer.

"Hey, Pav!" You smiled at him.

"Hey..." He mumbled, scrunching his shoulders.

"Heyyy... what's wrong?" You ask, your brow pinching up in concern.

"It's nothing." Pavitr lied.

"What's got you all grumpy? You're never grumpy! It's like you got bit by a big ole grumpy bug!" You giggle.

Pavitr shifted uncomfortably. "Just out of sorts, I guess."

He was quiet for a second before mumbling.

"You looked like you were having fun."

"Oh, me n Hobie? Yeah! He's been teaching me how to play, and maybe said that..." You notice the frown on his face deepen, and you reach out to touch his shoulder. "Pav? Are you--"

"I'm fine!" He snaps, shrugging your hand off his shoulder, before stomping away, leaving you confused, and a little hurt if you were being honest.

You follow him as he paces down into an empty hallway. After about five minutes of calling him and getting no answer, you scrunch your face and shoot some webs out, grabbing him by the back and effectively halting him, digging your heels into the floor as he tries to pull away, unable to reach the webs and pry them off of him.

"Agh! Let me go!" He grumbled, trying to pull free.

"Not... until... you talk to me!" You grunt, tugging harder.

"I said it's nothing! Leave me alone!"

"It's not... nothing!" You groan with effort, yanking as hard as you can and finally pulling Pavitr so hard he lands flat on his butt.

You take the opportunity to run up to him, panting, your hands on your knees as you watch him stand.

"You can tell me, Pav! You know you can! Just tell me what's--"

"Arrrrgh!" Pavitr reached up to his head and scruffs his hair in frustration.

"Pavitr--"

"It's--it's you, okay?! You are the thing that's bugging me!" Pavitr said, turning to look at you, stomping his foot.

When he saw you wince slightly he ran his hand through his hair again and started pacing back and forth in the hallway, hand gripping his hair, feeling a little guilty for snapping at you, now.

"I like you! Like... like more than just like! When--when you're around me, I... I get this funny feeling in my chest, butterflies in my stomach... when you laugh you make me feel like--like--!" He waved his arms, as if that explained his feelings.

"And seeing you with Hobie just--just makes me so... so...!"

He makes a frustrated noise as he paces harder.

"Are you... jealous that I'm spending time with Hobie?" You finally asked eyes wide.

"No! Yes! Well, I--he just--you two--!" He blurted, looking at you with an almost hurt expression, before slumping his posture and looking at the ground.

"I just... it makes me feel like I'm... just... not enough." He says softly.

You stand in silence, and it feels like it stretches as long as the empty hallway.

You decide to break it.

"Pavitr..."

He doesn't look at you, just squeezes his eyes shut, as if he was waiting for the rejection he anticipated.

You shake your head, smiling softly as you walk up to him.

He still doesn't make eye contact with you, but you feel all the air rush from his body and you could swear you heard the crashing noises as his brain stopped working when you kissed his cheek.

"I... I like you too, you dummy. I was just... I didn't think you felt the same way."

Pavitr looked at you, his jaw on the floor.

"And Hobie and I are just friends, Pav. He's teaching me some cool tricks. He's more like a big brother than anything." You chuckle at him, reaching up to shut his jaw with a soft click as your knuckles push it back up again.

"So you--"

"Yeah, I love you too, Pav."

Pavitr reaches out and wraps his arm around your waist, swinging you around, making you squeak and laugh.

"Oh my god I love you too!" He declared, full of jubilance.

🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷

Peter gave Hobie a fist bump as they watched the security feeds that Lyla was feeding them on their watches.

"Told you he'd crack." Hobie grinned. "You owe me lunch."

"Yeah yeah, just don't burn my wallet!" Peter laughed.

#pavitr x you #pavitr prabhakar x you #pavitr prabhakar x reader #atsv pavitr #pavitr prabhakar #my writing #answered

[mae-i-scribble]

Since I am entirely too unwell about Ancient Magus Bride at all times of the day I have decided to break down the latest opening because I cannot do so for the friend I am watching season 2 with since she hasn't read the manga. Hands down this latest opening, Nemurasareta Lineage by Junna, is the best in the series to me. And I don't make that claim lightly, the first opening is iconic on so many levels from the visual to the lyrics, we ignore the 2nd opening bc it sucked (sorry to the fans out there I just do my best to pretend this one doesn't exist, no i have not moved on from my bitterness at its reused animation since 2016 next question), and season 2's first opening is also incredible.

However, what this latest opening brings to the table is some of the most spectacular visuals I've seen in a hot minute- and I don't mean from purely visual, I mean thematically, this opening is fucking spectacular. Every single moment has purpose and meaning behind it.

I will be putting the rest under a read more as to not clog anyone's dash bc this is gonna be l o n g

Starting off from the very first shot we already have so much thematic meaning crammed into this.

Firstly, the shot of Elias opening the book has many connotations, alluding to how he has read the Testament of Carnamagos while also alluding to the fact that him reading that book is ultimately what lead to this story happening at all. If Elias had never read it to try and transfer Chise's curse, Chise would not have done what she did and Elias wouldn't have learned how to let Chise be independent, and then Chise never would have gone to the college. In that respect it's a perfect opener for this "play," as it was the prelude to this act.

Then we have the next shot of Elias hanging like a puppet, showing us an empty vessel-like appearance before being pulled upwards. There are a lot of different ways to interpret this, personally it drew me back to how the Wil O' Wisp described a magus as "someone bound to their fate." Elias, a tried and true magus, is bound to his fate like a puppet on a string while Chise, someone who is not yet fully a magus is free to walk around the stage as herself. Elias' removal from the set, and subsequently the way he claps to bring forth the next "acts" in the show, I think speaks to the way he is largely removed from this arc. Of course he is there, watching over Chise and pushing her along as best he can, but he has very much taken more of a spectator role in this arc. He guides his pupil the best he can but lets her make her own choices.

Now, onto Chise's entrance.

With the college/the sorcerer's society as our stage, the protagonist enters. Chise walks in and looks around confused, just as she did when first entering the college and when she first learned of the dark politics lying underneath it. She is the only one not a part of the performance, the one factor that ultimately destroys the narrative the Sargent and the Rickenbacker families were trying to create.

At first, I thought these cardboard figures were a representation of the 7 powerful sorcerer families we are introduced to, but then I realized there were actually 8 figures so that theory is thrown out the window. This is something I'm not actually that confident in so if anyone else has interpretations I am so down to hear it. Obviously the woman in red holding the spider alludes to Lucy. The wolf next to her is most likely then the werewolf mother. The hooded man with the hammer I think can reasonably represent Isaac. While the knight beside him I honestly see as Rian (his sort of knight in shining armor attitude when it comes to Philomela, his very straight-laced straightforward view of things). The nun-like figure with the owl is mostly likely representing Philomela/Lizabeth Sargent. I can see the jester with the snake wrapped around him to be Zoey. For the last two figures though, I am absolutely stumped. The two women with the songbird remind me of Veronica, from the way she was raised up by her family to be a bird in a cage while simultaneously holding Philomela in an even smaller cage. For the family on the far right though I have absolutely nothing. However, I know there is some meaning behidn it, this opening is too packed with symbolism for it not to.

Speaking of symbolism, the sequence that follows is chalked full of it.

Elias ushers in the entrance of Philomela, trapped in her cage. The design of the cage and the flowers around it make it seem extravagant, exactly what Philomela's life might look like to someone not aware of what's really going on. But a cage is still a cage, and this one comes with a guardian owl, keeping watch over Philomela in place of actually showing Lizabeth. The toys lining the bottom are representative of one of the key moments that made Philomela realize just how tight the bars around her were- that she would never have her grandmother's love, no matter what she did.

Then we cut to moments of Philomela's childhood, again deceptively happy with what we know of Veronica and how she treated Philomela. The baby bird hatching from the egg, Philomela when she was still young and innocent and far too fragile. This association of the baby bird with Philomela also comes back later in a heartbreaking way so :')

Then Chise reaches out with the potpourri, and Philomela becomes alive. It's so fitting, in that Chise's kindness to Philomela, the understanding she has to exactly the pain Philomela is going through, is what touches Philomela so deeply, reminds her of the time where her life was not structured in this way. Chise gives her hope that it doesn't have to be, Chise pulls her out of it and gives her a perch to stand on, and it all began with one fateful meeting.

The shot we get of Chise smiling and swaying in the breeze is all too perfect, in showing that this desire for connection is mutual.

Fittingly, we then see Chise reach out to her friends one by one. Lucy and Zoe's each have a bit more meaning behind them, as we're still somewhat in the dark when it comes to Rian and Isaac's histories, but it still examplifies the ways in which Chise tries to help those around her as best she can. It also makes it abundantly clear why Philomela, and subsequently everyone else, are presented as children in this sequence: a direct reference to chapters 86-87 in which they all are mixed up due to Chise's influence and Chise goes around helping them regain themselves. It marks the turning point in which Philomela tries to take a stand against her grandmother and start believing in the people who have come to try and save her.

There is one gaping hole in this in that Zoey is in fact, not present at all in the whole mind melding thing, but I'm taking that as the animators/directors wanting to include him in this sequence as another main player. Plus the shot we get of him is very cheeking in showing a broken shell- in the way Chise figurative helped him break out of his shell and very literally revealed him to be a gorgon/human mix by accident.

In that interpretation it is also crucial to think about why Chise was kept as her teenage self and not also scaled down to baby form as in the original chapter. But overall keeping her as a teenager flows with the story of the opening itself better while still keeping those same allusions and thematics.

The next big shot to talk about is this one right here.

Many have already pointed out how it is an homage to the classical painting "The School in Athens." Which is very fitting for the college setting of this arc. More so than the reference itself, the way in which the characters are placed is so meaningful.

We have Chise in the center of it all as the catalyst of course. But we once more get that repetition of Elias as a bystander, observing the situation while remaining more in the background when it comes to Chise. Parallel to him is Lizabeth, who is similarly an outsider but with none of Elias' good nature, she is an outsider in that she wants to watch this scene burn to the ground (and probably why the choice was to then introduce a werewolf who leaps forwards on the attack, still under Lizabeth's control.)

Ruth and Alcyone are also parallel to one another, highlighted in a shot mirroring the two of them. This is interesting in that Alcyone is far more often paired with Elias when being given a point of comparison. While she is quite literally an artificial familiar, her presence is what sparks the idea that Elias might be something similar to her, and yet here she is paired with Ruth. They do have their similarities in the way they would do anything for the person they live for. A thought that struck me was in this mirroring there is also a contrast, Ruth shares his life with Chise, if he dies she is to die as well. However Alcyone's death was meant to be a way for Philomela to live- it was crucial in ensuring Philomela's freedom from her grandmother.

Also notably, Veronica is given a long, lingering shot. As a child, she is far more innocent looking, but the shot stays just a moment too long, as if trying to confirm the suspicions surrounding her (which manga readers will know are true). We also have Jasmine and Violet prominently featured, a very interesting choice considering how little a role they play in this arc, but I feel that current suspicions about how they will have a large role in the upcoming arc might be supported by their presence here. There actually isn't much to say about the shots with the werewolf and our first glimpse of how the show portrays the Testament as it gains a physical form.

While gorgeous there's just not much to say about them from an analytical standpoint. Besides for the way in which everyone is turned back into their play forms upon being killed, as if that was their original fate before Chise's interference with the story.

We then see Chise look devastated, the carnage of her dead friends behind her on the stage. It truly captures just how terrified she is of losing people she cares for. But then she looks at the thorn rune- plot relevant in the way her rune charms protected her friends from being killed. But it's also Elias' symbol, and yet another reminder of how he is still watching over and protecting her throughout all of this. It's only after she activates the magic that she looks up, determined to carry on and change this fate.

The start of our final action sequence for this opening is a bang, giving us this chaotic shot.

We see both bits of the classical painting and of our original stage figures being tossed around in the background referencing how the Testament literally rips its way through both the college itself and the students/teachers there. It also, notably, is not contained within the story, instead existing on the same plane as Chise. It's a being far too powerful to be contained in such a way, so it makes perfect sense for it not to be confined to the theatrical setting of this opening.

The next flash of shots is perhaps one of the most hearbreaking ones in this entire opening. First we're shown Philomela and her grandmother, then we cut to this:

Y'all the layers to this, the l a y e r s. We've already seen this bird represent Philomela in the opening itself as a hatchling. However the adult form of this bird is exactly the same as what Alcyone's base is, it is the only thing remaining once Alcyone dies. However we see all 3 stages of life here, lying dead on the ground. The Sargent family is a family of abusive cycles. Lizabeth passes down her abuse to her son, having been doomed to this path from the moment she was born. It's Adam who tries to break the cycle but ultimately fails, choosing to end his own life rather than return. This dooms his baby daughter to the same fate, nearly killing her as well. It's Alcyone, the last remaining gift Philomela has from her father and the one way he thought of to keep her safe even if he was gone. It's both about the cycles and about how they are broken and how Philomela will never truly escape the violence of the family she was born into, even after her grandmother is gone. This is then followed by the 1 picture of her parents that Philomela tries so hard to remember but cannot. Anyways I am going to be physically ill, next.

While the last sequence is just a build up to the final fight (cool as fuck but again, not much to say analytically), I do want to point out that when the Testament pulls in all the surrounding settings, it pulls in both the theatrical characters and the actual representations of Chise's friends with them. Which is such a cool little detail my jaw in on the fucking floor.

And after a brilliantly animated scene of Chise running to try and save Philomela from the jaws of this monster, everything abruptly comes to a close. Leaving us unsure of whether or not Philomela was truly saved, as the last set piece to fall away is that gilded cage, the angle making it unclear if Philomela is still inside before our title card appears. The quiet, peaceful shot of the classroom the title lingers over in favor of the chilling set pieces of the opening before it is an excellent place to end, leaving that sense of urgency and notions of the sinister lying in wait at the college.

All of this, and I haven't even touched on the lyrics- which I won't do so here. I am not a qualified translator and frankly this post is long enough as it is. It isn't as if this opening needs anything else to explain how fucking fantastic it is- the visuals themselves are stunning on a level few openings are these days. Not only does it tie into already existing thematics of the show, not only does it go through plot points we have seen and those yet to come in unique and engaging ways, the opening *itself* brings forth its own thematic reading of the college arc and Chise's place in it while telling its own story of events. Truly a masterclass piece of animation all around.

#ancient magus bride #mahoutsukai no yome #chise hatori #elias ainsworth #philomela sargant #lucy webster #anyways this has been your episode of mae is going feral(tm) #thank you for coming to my ted talk #this is the opening of the season everyone else sit down and come back when you are on its level #<- has only watched like 3 animes this season

[cemeterything]

Okay hang on. I had a Thought for the TMA/Terror AU. Crozier as an Avatar of the Web. But also. Hickey thinking he's being called to the Web, right? But. Hickey realizes his metaphorical death has to do something with Crozier. Hickey probably thinks of it on terms of like... a spider eating another spider. But when it happens, Hickey is not actually an Avatar of the Web, he's instead the Stranger, which is part of why he gets so focused on Crozier. Because he thinks he should have been part of the Web and thinks Crozier purposefully pulled the strings so he's not

Idk I can just so vividly picture Hickey wanting to be part of the Web so badly, and he'd get so salty if he wasn't

oh for sure i can see there being tension there. although i'm not sure how much any of them would recognize the fears as we understand them, categorized and labelled as the fifteen we see in TMA. Hickey is smart enough that he'd probably be able to figure out the vague shape of what he and others are aligned with, and deduce that he and Crozier are aligned with different entities, but idk if he'd recognize them as "The Web" and "The Stranger".

there'd be conflict regardless, though, because Hickey's manipulations and lies are focused mainly on benefitting him and his personal goals, which is more Stranger (an entity focused on individuality, selfhood and perception of oneself in relation to others, "I Do Not Know You"), whilst Crozier tends to justify his as being for "the greater good"/"the good of the crew", which is more Web (since the Web is canonically a very possessive entity, and perversely protective as a result, hence the nickname "Mother of Puppets"). and because entities aren't rigidly fixed, but tend to bleed into each other, i can see Hickey benefitting from more Web-like machinations, but he's not its favorite and that would bother him. so yeah, he'd definitely be focused on Crozier and bitter that he's not the only one who can successfully assert control over people, or the best at inspiring loyalty and confidence in himself while doing so.

#terror tma au

[matchibee]

A Web of Their Own Design

hiya! This is more so an introduction chapter, no Miguel yet but more so a way for me to get the hang of writing spider people, gotta get a feel for it. The next chapter will dive a bit more into reader’s personal life and if i can string my words correctly we’ll get to see the boy 😈

thanks for reading!

Moments felt as though they might last forever. Days blurred into nights, black and white more akin to an ashen grey. No beginning, hardly a middle, never ending.

You figured as much, expected it when you took the job — a crime fighting spider-person? There was no precedent, not a single soul that could teach you how to exist as yourself.

Who’d believe a life of such valor would be met with undying solitude?

Friends, family. Experiences you cherished were pushed aside to make room for fighting bad guys — Octopus Doctors, Flying Gremlins, Mineral Men — they seemed to come forward in never ending heaps of malice, set on making your existence a life of living hell.

Torment dominated the mass of your life, and despite everything, you yearned for nothing more than a moment of peace.

A moment with those you cherished.

Today was hardly any different, though not a single day passed where you would expect otherwise. Sunrise, sunset. You had no choice but to be set, prepared for whatever the day threw at you.

“You won’t make a fool out of me today, Spider!”

Hardly the villain of the week, a poor soul entranced by the bewitching prospect of a life behind bars — why did these people think they could escape you? Hadn’t they watched the news, seen the villains that’d leveled skyscrapers in an attempt to make an enemy out of you?

Why did a man cloaked in secondhand shadows believe himself exempt from your influence?

“Buddy, can I level with you?” It wasn’t like he had much of a choice, webs already dominating the mass of his frame. The fact that he was still standing, still doing his darnedest to break out into a sprint, was truly admirable. “You won’t be getting very far, and even if you did, I’ll just be right behind you.”

“Is that a threat?!”

“A promise, more like. But yeah, we’ll go with that.”

With a thwip of your wrist you silenced him, pushing the brim of his hat over his charcoal eyes for good measure, arms crossed over your chest as you awaited the imminent officers that would come take him away — attempt to take you away.

“Thank you, Spider.” An officer — a rookie, no doubt — regarded you with cheeks aflame, blonde locks falling from his hat in ribbons of gold. “I don’t know what what the force would do without you.” You simply waved him off, fist brushing his shoulder in a moment of camaraderie, dissipating the tension that hardly existed.

“Its no issue.” Your response seemed to brighten his expression further, a man no younger than yourself entranced by the idea of someone being there to protect them, the protectors of the people.

Moments like that almost made sleepless nights worthwhile.

Almost.

“I’ll be the judge of what’s an issue and what’s not.” Captain Perez, a men whose mustache dominated the mass of his square face, a stomach that bulged like the hump of a camel. Visually, he wasn’t much to look at. Audibly, you couldn’t escape the clutches of his ear-piercing voice.

I mean, c’mon, how can you complain so much?

“Captain Perez, always a pleasure.” You forced the formality to your lips, grateful the mask decorated in ornate webs obscured their vision of your face.

If they could see it, they’d notice the twitch of your eye, lips fighting a battle to maintain a smile they couldn’t register - at least you knew it was there, aware you grasped upon some form of composure.

“I’d hardly regard our talks a pleasure, Spider.” There he went again, fumbling at his belt, a pair of handcuffs held sternly between hairy knuckles, nails that were in desperate need of attention. “Do yourself a favor, make this easy, get the arrest over with and—“

Webs knocked the cuffs from between Perez’s fingers, the portable metallic prison skidding across asphalt, producing themselves at the feet of the blonde you’d spoken to just moments prior. If it were possible, his skin freckled in constellations burned brighter, a second sun.

It was common issue of yours, really. Nothing against the police, the people, anyone.

You didn’t like to make things easy.

“Sanderson, what are you doing?!” Perez was frozen in place, shaking in his blue uniform, looking helplessly to the cuffs still flat at the blonde’s boots. “They’re gonna get away, make the arrest!”

Without missing a beat the blonde dropped to pick up the cuffs, holding them as though foreign, unable to use them.

“What’s your name?” You moved your hands to rest at your hips, looking to the man with confidence, a mask dominating your daily life meaning you were acutely aware of body language, a window into the soul.

He wouldn’t arrest you, he was too intelligent to try.

“S-Sanderson. Hunter Sanderson.”

You smiled at the slight stutter dominating his voice, the gasp between his teeth producing a wonderful whistle.

“Nice meeting you, Hunter.” You turned to the Captain, a wicked smirk dominating, burning your cheeks at its ferocity. “Always a pleasure.”

A thwip of your wrist and you were gone, morning sun enveloping you in its warmth, a wonderful way to start a day that promised to be filled with excitement, exhaustion.

The life of a Spider was secluded, demanding. There were days you woke up yearning for companionship, wished you weren’t the only one out there, praying for a day to come where the universe and its infinite facets answered your prayers.

Perhaps it was time to reward your patience.

#miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman #spiderverse #into the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #beyond the spiderverse #spiderverse x reader

[osleeplessflowero]

Day 1: Decorating + Pumpkin Carving🎃

You wake up in your bed a liiiittle bit too early, but once you remember that it's now officially October, you couldn't bring yourself to go back to sleep.

Since the universe decided to wake you up on its own, you're gonna make it everyone's problem.

You get up from the bed, changing into your clothes for the day and immediately walking to Killer's room, knocking on the door for a bit before it opens to reveal a just-woken-up Killer, rubbing his eyesockets.

"huh- what- what's going on- did nightmare need us to go out or something-"

"Good morning, Killer-"

"oh, hey. so what's the reason for waking me up?"

"It's October- We must decorate for Halloween!"

"..this early?"

"Yes, this early. We should decorate the castle before everyone wakes up to surprise them. And you were the first person I could think of to join me." 

"...can we set up pranks for everyone-"

"Yes, Killer- But they have to be on theme, remember that."

"i can work with that. okay, let me change-"

You wait outside his door as he changes into his usual attire, before walking out of his room and spinning his knife around.

"where to first?"

You eagerly grab his hand and run to your room, grabbing a few boxes of decorations you've been saving since you started living at the castle. 

"we're probably gonna need more than that-"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Now hold this." You hand him a fake spider web, moving the boxes out into the hall.

He simply chuckles and walks out after you, leaning back a bit before jumping up and hanging the spider web along the wall.

You take some smaller props and place them around, like small obviously-fake spiders in the most random places you could think of.

"what are the pumpkins for? like these are real."

"We're gonna carve them, obviously-"

"you still carve pumpkins?"

"Uh, obviously- come on, it could be fun. And I'm sure you'd be able to carve one with ease considering your skills."

Killer looks at his knife before looking back to you.

"yeah, alright. just let me move 'em before they get smashed or something."

You look through the box, putting up some mini (properly clothed) skeletons. (If they weren't, that'd certainly be scandalous..)

Killer takes some more of the spider web material, hanging it around Dust's doorway and taking some mini spiders from you, placing them in it. 

"How's this one gonna work?"

"simple. opens the door, face-to-face with spiders in a tired state. let the chaos commence."

"I like it-"

You take some toilet paper and throw it around, jumping up and trying to make sure it stays in place, dangling above the two of you. You tend to fall a few times until Killer just uses his magic to lift you up via your soul, which makes things easier. Once you've hung it up properly, you give him a thumbs up, and he puts you down to grab something else. 

You dim the lights in the halls, hanging up some pumpkin lights once Killer lifts you again, illuminating the hallways with a calm orange glow. A nice contrast to the usual color. 

You place some bats above the skeletons' doors as Killer sets up a can of silly string to go off in front of Horror's.

You pour out some fake blood under your door, putting some caution tape around it for both the effect and so no one steps in it while it dries. 

"Oh, I missed a bat- Killer, help me-"

"again?" 

"Yes."

He lifts you up. 

"where?"

"Nightmare's door."

"you got a death wish?"

"Might. It'd be fun-"

"if you say so." He lifts you over to Nightmare's door, and you carefully hang the bat above it. The door to his room is fairly big, so it's difficult to reach the top without assistance. 

As you carefully adjust the bat, Nightmare's door opens and you pull your knees up. 

"The hell's going on out here?" He observes the decorations you've placed. 

Killer, having not been paying attention, is startled and loses focus, letting go of his hold on your soul. 

You fall down with a surprised scream, before Nightmare catches you in his arms. 

"Morning, Night. Nice save." You smile at him before he puts you down. 

"Morning. Now answer my question."

"We're decorating for Halloween since it's October. So far we've only decorated this hallway, but we're gonna move to the other spaces." 

"Isn't it awfully early for something like that?"

"It's never too early."

"If you say so. Just don't decorate my office, I like keeping it clean."

"you've got it, boss-" 

"ah fuck- KILLER-"

"oh hey, dust woke up-"

"I didn't think you enjoyed Halloween this much." Nightmare turns to you.

"Halloween's super fun! Eating candy, dressing up in costumes, decorating, watching horror movies, carving pumpkins- there's lots you can do."

"Hmm..fair enough. Well, just keep doing what you're doing, I'll allow it as long as it doesn't mess up my work."

"You got it." You give him a mock salute as he makes his way to the kitchen to get some coffee.

"i thought he wouldn't like it."

"Same-"

Dust walks out of his room after cutting down the webs around his doorway, stepping out.

"like that one, dust? i put a lot of work into it."

"not your best work."

"oh COME ON-" 

Horror exits shortly after, unfazed by the amount of silly string that just shot all over him. 

"oh..is it halloween? did i miss a couple of days?" He puts his head up to the side of his skull that doesn't have a crack in it. 

"No no, it's only the first of October, Horror. You're good." 

"oh, good. can i help you?" He looks at you specifically, ignoring the other skeletons in the room.

"Of course- before we continue decorating the rest of the castle..why don't we take a break to do some pumpkin carving? We could show off our work to each other."

"i haven't done that in..years-"

"come on guys, we can see which one of us has the best design."

You motion for everyone to follow you, picking up one of the pumpkins you bought. Killer grabs two of them, and Horror holds one with ease. Dust didn't care to carry anything, so he just followed along. 

You make your way into the kitchen, sitting the pumpkins down on the table in there, before grabbing some knives and carving kits. You lay out some old newspapers and place the pumpkins on them.

"So do you guys wanna just wing it or follow a pattern on one of these sheets?"

"wing it, it's more creative." Killer points finger guns at you.

"Improvising it is." You close the small book of patterns, cutting the top off of your pumpkin of choice. 

Horror stands beside you to watch, the other skeletons across from you doing the same thing to their pumpkins. 

"Alright, time for the gross part." You reach your hand into the pumpkin, beginning to remove the seeds. 

"don't they make like..scoops for this-" Dust observes you.

"Yeah but it's kinda fun to do it with your hands, even if it's a bit gross. There should be scoops over there with the kit if you guys wanna use them, though."

Horror completely ignores them and just shoves his hand into his pumpkin, doing the same thing you are, pulling out the seeds and guts.

This process continues for a while until everyone's cleaned out their pumpkins, beginning the process. 

Killer decides to go for a cat design, Dust keeping it simple and carving out a classic face with triangle eyes. Horror decided to make the pumpkin into a house, adjusting it to build a small door on the side. He then places a mini pumpkin you got as a decoration in there, drawing a face on it with a sharpie. 

"is that a reference to the one meme-"

"yes."

"nice-"

"mhm."

You stand there a moment, trying to think of what you want to carve onto your pumpkin. What to choose, what to choose..

Then an idea hits you, and you get to work, using the carving kit for more precise carving. When everyone finishes theirs, they try to peek and see what you're working on, but you turn the pumpkin away. 

"Eyelights off until I'm done."

"the curiosity is killing me- let me seee-"

"Nope, not until it's done, Killer." 

Nightmare enters the room, leaning on the counter to observe the group. 

"Alright, there." 

You turn your pumpkin around so everyone can see, showcasing some mini skeletons, each carved to look like members of the group. 

"Like it?"

Killer gives you some thumbs up, Dust gives you a small smile, and Horror admires your craftsmanship. 

Nightmare puts his hand over his mouth, not showing the smile beneath it at your goofy little carvings. 

"I've succeeded then- we've got our pumpkins for the month. Let's go put them outside- last one out's a rotten egg!" You run out holding your pumpkin, the others chasing you down, and Nightmare walking behind each of you with an amused look. 

Everyone having fun is a nice change of pace. He'll let them have this.

[ao3 link :)] <

// WOW y'all like this one. Maybe I should make more "Bad" Sanses oneshots while I work on LOVE AND JUSTICE since it's focused on them-

Part 2 here!

#sleeplessflower's oneshots #sleepless flower's halloween oneshots #spooky scary skele-oneshots #undertale x reader #day 1 #killer sans x reader #dust sans x reader #horror sans x reader #nightmare x reader

[autoerotic-apoptosis]

Vitrification

"Why are dolls made of porcelain?"

The question hangs in the air like dust drifting through a sunbeam. The doll and it's witch alike are surprised that it would dare to question it's creation. The witch's eyes twinkle at the good question. Conversation is, after all, the reason the doll was given a mind with thoughts and a mouth to voice them.

"That's a difficult question to answer." She places her teacup down on a shadow. "Would you rather me attempt to spell it out in words or through a demonstration?"

Answering a question with a question comes as naturally to a witch as spinning silk to a spider. Andromeda is curious if her doll will do as it was made to do and continue conversation or whether it will actually seek out its own understanding. She is often fascinated by her doll's little quirks.

The doll places its teacup, bone dry, on a coaster in response. Its head tilts in mock contemplation.

"A demonstration would be best, no? You have said that 'words are only the map to true knowledge', would not a demonstration be more effective than any description? Perhaps you could do both?"

Andromeda must have been rubbing off on the thing. Every time she has her "teatime talk" with the doll, its cadence sounds more like her own. She's almost impressed with the logic that it has demonstrated.

"Okay then... Hand me your teacup."

She opens the sugar pot and leaves it in a sunbeam to let the sugar melt.

"I created this cup from the same clay I used to make you. I dug it from the river back behind the house. I dug it with my own hands."

She spins the molten sugar into candy floss and pulls the dust from the air into pot until the floss is evenly coated.

"I was to make you to have a companion as I drank tea, thus I had to make you a teacup. I had washed the clay until it was an off-white and very pure. Wood would not do, the corpse of a dead old thing is not something a witch should breathe life back into."

She pours some tea into the pot to dissolve the candy floss, leaving only the dusty cobwebs behind.

"Along with yarn or cotton, anything once alive or once part of the living often takes poorly to being given life once again unless the witch is very skilled."

The teacup is placed within the pot and is held firmly in place by the syrupy threads

"They will tear at their puppet strings as though they are being bound, all things that have known a life without such bindings will do so."

At this, the doll speaks up.

"Why would these dolls do such a thing? Don't they know it will destroy them?"

"Have you experienced pain yet, doll?"

"No, Mistress."

"Then it is another difficult thing too explain. The fear of bondage is much like pain, it is used to keep living things alive for as long as possible. It tells them when something might be causing harm to their body. You are lucky in that you have been made of something much tougher than flesh or bark. Pain is significantly rarer for something like yourself."

"Is that it then? Porcelain is used so the dolls do not feel pain?"

Andromeda sharply taps the inside of the teacup with her spoon and causes a small crack to form. A sister crack appears on the face of the doll and it winces from the new experience. "No. It is not to prevent pain. That is nearly a useful happenstance. It is, partially, that clay is the easiest dead thing to shape at will."

*Tap tap tap* The cup shatters into pieces and the doll follows suit. The cobwebs keep the many fragments exactly in place and prevent the doll from clattering to the floor. It tries to scream but no part of its throat is whole enough to make a sound.

"Primarily, it is because clay is the easiest thing to recycle."

Andromeda pours what is left of the tea into what used to be a teacup. As she swirls the tea she grinds her spoon into the sides of the thing. The tea and porcelain dust begin to combine into a brownish slurry. What's left of the doll is held in stasis, its now liquid mind bubbling in infinite agony.

"I do apologize for this. I know it must be quite uncomfortable. I have really come to appreciate our talks and the ways you surprise me. Your imperfections are far more interesting than anything I could have made intentionally. This way I can add imperfections without destroying you completely."

She looks into the pot with satisfaction. A perfect replica of the unfinished cup she made so long ago but now a speckled brownish green.

"I promise, you will remember each of our conversations. Since you technically haven't been taken apart, nearly remade without loss, you will maintain all your memories and personality. I'm just remaking you but better!"

She places the lid back on the sugar pot and leaves it in the sun to vitrify. By sundown her doll should be done and ready to take out of its mold.

Andromeda wonders what conversations they will have next time.

#journal #gender rambles #empty spaces #my writing #doll #doll posting