#I don't have a proper crease pattern for now

[paperzest]

Origami Miles Edgeworth, designed and folded by me from an uncut square of red and white double tissue paper, around 45 cm before folding. This time, he has color changes! Yay!!!

Might get more/better photos later

And might also fold another with different paper colors too

Starting square below

edit: photos below look closer to the actual color

[astroboots]

EVERY YOU EVERY ME #15 - FINALE

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: All things end.

Word count: 3,400

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous]

Traveling through Strange’s inter-dimensional portal is a different experience from going through one of Miguel’s. It’s less of a laser light show and more of a psychedelic drug trip.

Shapes and patterns warps in front of you, and the strength of gravity seems to press in against you from all sides as you fall upwards through an endless space.

You lose track of time. You don’t know how long you’ve been in here. It could be hours or seconds, but you can't tell the difference. Then it stops.

There is a gentle light ahead of you, and as you pass through it, the soft warmth of it trickles away. Then you find yourself standing in a familiar vast and empty space once again.

Staring into the far distance, the only thing you see is the blank whiteness ahead of you, just as jarring and endless as last time.

You clutch onto the pink-gemmed amulet hanging from your neck, gifted to you by Strange. A magical artifact that’s meant to help you keep your physical form in this space so you don’t fade away like you did last time.

Everything is static here, stale. There’s no air flow, no sense of temperature. The environment is neither hot nor cold against your skin, but somehow you feel an ever-present chill seeping into your bones.

Taking a deep breath, you start to walk forward.

You're shivering with each step you take. There's no sound under your step. No shadows cast under the soles of your feet.

"Boss lady,” Lyla pipes up, her hologram avatar hovering over your shoulders. “I really don't like this. Let's go back home, Beyoncé is holding a concert in Amsterdam! I got us front row seat tickets."

It's a valiant attempt, Miguel really did a great job coding her, but you’re not going back without him. Ignoring Lyla, you continue on your path.

There’s no sign of Miguel anywhere. It's all infinite whiteness as far as the eye can see, with no signs of an end.

The last two times you were here, you didn’t have a chance to gain an understanding of how big this space is. For all you know it could be as vast and endless as the universe itself. What if you’re stuck wandering in this place for an eternity and still never find Miguel?

You walk on, eyes roaming the space, and a dull ache starts to form behind them from staring at the glaring brightness.

There! Off to your left, you finally spot… something.

Your heart leaps in your chest as you clock a disruption in the blank whiteness. A tiny disruption. Or maybe it’s just far away? The emptiness of this place is hell on your depth perception. You veer in that direction, squinting as you approach, until you’re finally close enough to make out what it is.

In the middle of the vast nothingness, there is a tiny ball of crumpled up yellowish paper floating at knee height.

Huh?

Isn't this a complete void where nothing exists or can exist? Why is there trash here?

You squat down hunching over your knees until the little paper ball is eye level and inspect it closer.

The color and thickness of the paper is familiar. It looks like a post-it note that’s been folded in half, tiny, uneven triangles sticking out at each of the four corners.

How weird.

Crumpled as it is, you can see now that the crooked folds and creases aren't all random. Looking closely, there seems to have been a failed attempt of trying to fold them in a sequence but lacking the proper hand to eye dexterity to do it properly.

Wait, is this…? It must be.

You recognize it now. It’s one of your unfortunate attempts at an origami frog from when you were killing time with Miguel at your work. But what is it doing here of all places?

Tentatively reaching out, you poke at the piece of paper. To your surprise there’s resistance.

That's... odd.

There's nothing else here. Nothing holding it.

Just the failed paper frog suspended in thin air.

You try again, grabbing a corner of the paper this time, but the results are the same. It stubbornly refuses to move. When you tug, it jerks back, away from you.

Squinting your eyes, you lean closer and carefully observe the space in front of you.

Now when you’re paying close attention, you can just about make out a vague, almost invisible outline.

It’s barely there, and you can only tell because the blank whiteness in front of you seems to warp slightly with the smallest tremor of a movement.

Whatever this is, it really doesn’t want you to take your piece of trash back from it.

You frown in annoyance. This doesn't make sense. Why would your poor deformed paper frog even be here? The only people who even had anything to do with the stupid thing are you and–

"Miguel?"

The movement stills at your voice.

When you don't look away, it seems spooked by your gaze, shirking at the attention. The thing shifts in its shape, shrinking down like it's trying to make itself smaller.

You try to move closer, and the obscure translucent form moves away from you, gliding seamlessly into the empty space.

Without a shape it takes you a few moments before you register its movement and what it's trying to do. It's moving fast, as if it's trying to flee from you.

Because it is. Shit!

You run after it, guided by the vague hazy contour against the nothingness that surrounds you. Even without legs, this shapeless thing is moving fast.

"Stop!" you shout, "Stop, stop, please stop! It's me!"

You leap forward, grabbing at the empty outline in front of you, and to your surprise find purchase on the nothingness under your grip.

"Miguel, stop running!" you shout.

It does. He does.

There is something there now, a semi-invisible mass, slightly more opaque than it was a second ago.

You open your mouth to speak, but you don't know what to say. Don't even know for certain that this is Miguel or not.

But you hope it is. Have to believe it is. You’re too desperate to overthink it, and you spout the first thing that comes into your head.

"Come back, Miguel. Come back, and I'll take you back to that cheap Chinese diner you liked so much. We can get all the food you want, all of it deep fried! I'll even share the egg tarts this time."

You think you see something shift before you. It could just be your imagination, but the tiniest speck of color seems to emerge from within the translucent mass.

Somehow, whatever you’re doing must be working, and you quickly try to think of what else you can say that will tempt him to come back.

Food. Maybe more about food will work? It worked for you, after all.

"The Reese buttercups in our other apartment are all expired, but I think they'd still be okay to eat, and– and– And I'll make you cookies if you come back! Blue spiderman ones that match your suit."

The speck of color pops, fading into thin air, your fingers sinking further into the nothingness of his form, and a spike of panic stabs through your chest.

Why isn’t it working!? Was it not the food that made him react after all? You don’t know what else to try.

That first time you were here, Miguel was able to bring you back to yourself with the intimate details he knew from the other lifetime you two had shared. Maybe you can do the same.

"Your name is Miguel O'hara," you start, "and- and-" And then you have to stop, not sure of what else to say. "And your eyes are red... for some reason. And you have fangs! Fangs that can deliver some kind of fucking paralysis venom, which is completely ridiculous by the way!"

Nothing happens. There’s no change save for that the form underneath you squirms and tries to get away from your grip.

"And... and..."

Shit. This is getting you nowhere.

Unlike Miguel, you haven't had the front seat experience of living a lifetime together with him. There's only so much you know about him. Because that man is more secretive than a CIA agent.

You bite down on your lip in frustration.

"Goddamnit, Miguel! I barely know anything about you because you never tell me shit!"

The shape underneath you stops wiggling underneath you.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes as you gather yourself, then you reopen them again, staring up at the upper part of the half-invisible shape like he's standing in front of you.

There's no point in trying to beat Miguel at a game of knowledge. You will never win. You never got to learn or memorize every personal and intimate detail about the man and his life. But there's one thing that you know beyond any doubt.

"I miss you," you tell him.

Strokes of soft colors streaks through the translucent mass at your words. A gentle blossoming spreads and you can see the opaque material reform inch by inch, until it vaguely resembles the silhouette of a body.

"I can’t even eat without you around, which has never happened to me before. I’ve been able to eat through food poisoning. But now the cupcakes from Gladis remind me of you and how you're not here, and they taste like cardboard."

He feels firmer somehow, more solid, and there’s even the faintest trace of warmth under your fingertips. Hope flutters in your chest at the change, and you tighten your grip on him.

“I miss you. More than I ever thought it could be possible to miss someone."

You can faintly make out limbs and shoulders, and the outline of a head.

"I miss falling asleep next to you. It's too quiet without your snoring, and the bed is too big without you there."

The body grows taller, and you can see the familiar tan of his skin now, the line of his jaw and the sharp angle of his nose re-materializing before your eyes.

"I miss watching you eat three dozen tacos in one sitting, scaring the tables around us. I miss having you with me and getting to talk to you, or even just sitting next to you doing nothing.”

You lean up towards him, raised on the tip of your toes, until you're up against him. “I just want you to be here with me. Please come back," you whisper into him.

Then he's there. Right in front of you, large and firm and warm as he towers above you, forehead pressed against yours, in your arms.

He’s here. Miguel is here.

His hair is a soft tousled mess. Eyes warm and hazy as he slowly blinks them open like he's just woken up from a hibernation while he gazes down on your face in an intimate silence.

It doesn’t last for very long. His gaze sharpens, blinking in rapid succession as confusion bleeds into his face. You can see the exact moment that consciousness and awareness fully return to him. Because he steps back from you, red eyes burning with an angry determination.

"What are you doing here?" he snarls at you.

Because of course he does. Of course anger is his first reaction at seeing you here.

"You can't be here," he says.

You don't even get a word in before Miguel reaches for your wrist.

"Lyla!" he barks out, and there’s a ping on your arm in response.

"Lyla, stand down," you command, smacking your palm over the face of the dial before the hologram can pop up. You already know that the next words out of his mouth will be a command to whisk you away again if you let him speak.

His lips twist into a frustrated snarl. Eyes glowing with that red fury that you recognize by now as the beginnings of an anger tantrum.

“Why don't you get it? I need to do this," he seethes, gesturing at the void, "I have to disappear. For your sake! It's my fault. I'm the reason you keep dying. I’m killing you!”

“That’s not true! You saved me! You caught me when I fell off the Chrysler building—twice!—and–”

“That doesn’t matter!” he snarls, rounding on you, “Don’t you understand!? You’re still going to die! If I'm with you, you die.”

There’s a moment of resounding silence, and you watch as the anger bleeds away from Miguel’s face, leaving something else in its place.

Something like grief.

“I can’t– I can’t do that again,” he says quietly, and he looks so sad that it damn near breaks your heart.

“Miguel…”

You don’t know what to say in the face of such raw and obvious grief. Until… suddenly, you do.

“Whether you're here or not, I could still die, Miguel."

Your words seem to hit him like a blow, and he flinches back, his eyes going round and liquid, open mouth quivering for a moment before it pulls right into a hard downturned line.

"Even if you were gone, there still wouldn’t be any guarantees," you say.

You brush your hand alongside his, trying to hold his hand in yours but he draws it away.

"You could save me by erasing yourself from existence and tomorrow a bus driver that isn't paying attention might hit me and I'd die anyhow," you continue, and he flinches visibly. "You can't control these things, and I would rather be with you and take the chance and be happy until it happens."

His hand balls up in agitation at his side. "I– I just don't want you to die again," he says, helplessness bleeding through every syllable of his words.

Your heart aches at his obvious pain. All you want, all you've ever wanted is to make that pain a little bit smaller. You step forward closing the distance between you, and he doesn't back away or move from you this time.

“Everybody dies. Regardless of what happens here I will too someday. But you’ve given me extra time. You did that. You saved me, again and again. And I’m so happy that you did. That I got to have that time with you. To share donuts with you in bed, or fold post-its frogs in the office."

His eyes close tightly, and he gives a slight shake of his head, grief and denial warring in his features. “None of that matters if you don’t survive,” he says quietly.

“You say it doesn’t matter, but it does, Miguel. Those moments matter to me. And even if we die here in this stupid video game loading screen, or if we make it out of here, but something else gets me, it will still matter to me.”

There's no telling if your grand speech is actually getting through to him because he's still not looking at you or meeting your eyes. You grab at his shoulder for his attention. It's all you can do to not shake him and rattle him until he accepts what you are trying to tell him.

"I want to be with you, and even if you can’t save me in the end, that's okay. I just want to be with you for as long as I can. However long or short of a time that is, I won’t have any regrets as long as I get to spend it with you. I told you, didn’t I? Every me in every universe would say the same, given a choice."

He doesn’t respond this time and part of you feels like you’re talking to a besieged wall. Reaching up, you cup his cheeks in your hands and pull his face down to meet your eyes.

“How many other universes are out there where those versions of us never get to know each other at all? …Thousands? …Millions? We’re the lucky ones, Miguel. We got to meet, and we have a chance against all odds. So what if it means we have to jump through a few hoops and universes to be together?”

His eyes open fully at your words, and lock on your face. You think you can see the cracks in his defenses. His hands unfurl and twitch at his sides as if he’s fighting himself to reach for you.

"I love you,” you tell him, and his lips part with a slight tremble.

You’re running out of things to say that can convince him now. The only thing that’s left is for Miguel to make the choice.

Your hand slides down from his face, and he looks distraught at the loss of contact as you take one small step back and away from him.

"Let's try to be happy this time," you tell him.

Reaching out your hand towards him, you try your best to smile through your nervousness, hoping that he is going to say yes to you this time despite his trademark stubbornness that you’ve come to love and hate sometimes.

Miguel looks at your hand, hesitation carved into every shade of red in those eyes. His hand flexes by his side, but doesn’t move.

He’s still unsure, and hope falls flat in your chest at the thought that he might very well make the choice to stay and destroy himself despite how much you don’t want him to.

But then he nods, and your heart begins to sing.

Tentative as it may be, his arm still reaches out towards you, fingers seeking out yours and he takes your hand.

"Yeah," he answers quietly. “Let’s be happy.”

Your smile grows wider, eyes watery as your vision blur around the edges when you look up at him. Happiness blossoming in your chest until it feels so full you think your ribs might burst from it.

You squeeze down on his larger hands in yours, to reassure yourself that he is really here, with you. And he is.

"Lyla," you say, and your watch pings at your command, before Lyla’s face lights up the space above.

"Good to have you back with us, boss," she says with a salute in Miguel’s direction. “Where to now?” 

“Lyla,” he acknowledges with a faint smile and a nod, but he doesn’t look away from your face. "Do the thing. Take us home. Home-home."

Warm amber light rises up to surround you both, and Miguel pulls you into his chest. A kaleidoscope of colors explodes before your eyes, swirling around the two of you as he holds you in his arms.

You can't stop smiling at him, grinning like an idiot, as you tilt up to press your forehead to his.

Reality reforms around you, specks of navy-blue filling the large and vast sky. You're standing on the rooftop of a tall building surrounded by the skyline of brightly lit skyscrapers, a labyrinth of levitating bridges and streets laid out beneath. Floating vehicles buzz and soar through the sky like flamboyant dragonflies. Below your feet there is an ocean of dotted neon lights and colorful hologram billboards filling every inch and corner of the city below.

This must be Miguel's home dimension. What did he call it?  Earth-3000-something? Nueva York, he said, and it certainly looks new—bright and fantastical, like nothing you’ve ever known before—but you only have eyes for the man in front of you.

Miguel pulls back slightly, squeezing down on your hand.

"So what do we do now? As long as I exist, the universe will still be out to get you," he says.

Despite the bleakness of the picture he’s painting, his eyes are soft and there’s something that sounds like hope in his tone.

You smile at him, eyes narrowing against the bright neon lights of the tall towering buildings around you.

"We live,” you answer, “Together. As long as we can. I hear you're some kind of genius scientist or something. I'm sure we'll think of something fun to do in the infinite multiverse."

“What do you want to do first?” he asks.

“Sleep.”

He's smiling at you, the corners of his fangs peeking out against his lower lip, eyes squinting in a way that makes him look almost boyish.

The sight of it makes your cheeks warm pleasantly and affection blossoms endlessly in your chest for him.

This isn’t the end, but if it were, it feels like it's a good one this time. Miguel walks out towards the ledge of the building, turning back to reach out his hand to you.

"Let’s go, Cielito."

[Nueva York, Earth 928-C]

The end.

Credit and Dedication: One final time, this is dedicated to @thirstworldproblemss who is my muse, my partner-in-writing-&-brainstorming, who makes writing so much more fun everyday.

And then of course. To everyone of you. We are finally here. Thank you for coming on this journey with me. I want to thank everyone who has followed along in this story this entire time. Writing Every You Every Me has been one of the most joyous writing experiences I've had. That is largely because of you guys! Thank you for every heartfelt feedback you guys have left here, thank you for coming into my asks, thank you for clicking that little heart on the bottom letting me know you've read it and for the lurkers who has followed along all the while, thank you for taking the time to read this story of mine! Having this audience has made me grow so much as a writer. Having your company while I wrote this has brought me so much joy. Reading everyone's reactions and theories has been a privilege that not a lot of writers get in the process of writing a multi-chaptered story. Thank you so so much.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[rubykgrant]

Finally finished touching my picture of a re-design for one of my super hero characters! On paper, I used white paint to blend the colors of the markers, and it looked very vibrant... until I scanned it, and the colors were muted. It took a while to fix it in MS Paint, but it is done!

This is one of the character I've had since 8th grade, and has thusly gone through SEVERAL changes; initially I had a character with wind powers and feathered wings as their whole theme. First it was a crow, but then I decided to go with golden eagle feathers. The character evolved as well, and eventually, I thought it was just too type-cast-y to have a Native American character with nature/animals powers... but I didn't want him to NOT be Native American anymore, that wasn't what needed to change. I shuffled around powers between other characters, and finally had something better! Now with energy abilities that projects as physical forms of colorful light, the character became Vivid! The light can change into shapes that work as force-fields for defense, stairs for climbing up high, or simply as energy blasts for attacking (I gave the wings/wind powers to a different character, still golden feathers, but with more of an "angelic" theme for the whole look)

Who the character is, just as himself, is mostly the same, because I love this kid; Rodney is an easy-going friendly guy, a little bit socially awkward, but with an open and kind attitude that makes him easy to relax around. He's sensitive and considerate, and really smart as well. He previously went to a school for gifted kids, but the atmosphere there was too competitive and harsh. He finally convinced his family to let him go to a regular school with the friends he has (a handful of them become super heroes as well), and it is a relief to chill academically, and grow more into who he is. Sometimes Rodney worries too much about being annoying, and tries too hard to be helpful or avoid confrontation by keeping his comments to himself... his friends help reassure him- he doesn't need to be perfect, he deserves to speak-up, and they aren't going to stop liking him over disagreements or because he's "weird". They're ALL weird!

Rodney has the chance to get into different types of art, and he appreciates many things that are surreal, both whimsical and horror. While he was good at memorizing facts for school, he's also incredibly creative, able to figure out complicated puzzles and recognize patterns other people don't notice (he's got a whole galaxy-brain mandala-universe going on in there). In his every-day life, he wears his hair down, but pulls it back for the hero look (during formal occasions, he braids it). Some elements from his super hero outfit comes from different sci-fi sources, but I wanted to keep it simple and easy. I like to imagine the kids made their first outfits from clothes they had, and up-graded to to proper hero clothing later, but it still isn't too complicated. The undershirt and leggings are bright colors- orange/yellow, teal/green, blue/aqua, purple/pink. He has a large short-sleeved shirt with a high collar (but it's loose, not tight around his neck). The shirt is dark, but not quite true-black, and specifically doesn't have too many details with the wrinkles or creases (like an optical illusion, it seems almost like a solid object even where it over-laps). He has matching boots as well. He also has a visor that works as his mask to hide his secret identity (and it's a bit inspired by Garnet's cool look~). Rodney's a bit of a string-bean, but he's not "scrawny", and he has soft shapes to his features

[acheronist]

hey! i saw your post about “he was a marine by the cut of his big” and the first thing i thought is i know he wrote in inverse and obviously it would be confusing and you’d probably forget or skip words from time to time, i think he likely meant to write “the cut of his gib” as in “he was a marine based on his overall appearance/way he looked” :)

ohhh omg i hadn’t read it that way at all but that’s so interesting!!! HENRY!!!! 'the cut of his gib' does make a lot of sense like i just had a very crazy moment of second-guessing myself LMAO but nearly all of this & the next facing page were written in the backwards code system he made up, excluding like… 7~10 words for both pages? and big/gib is the last word on the page + it's kind of hard to tell if there is a period to end the phrase or if what i Think could be a period is actually just a spot of damage along the crease of the paper.... so i can't tell if that's the whole sentence or not....... it just feels kind of unlikely to me that he’d suddenly drop the pattern in that exact spot???? no source very little evidence it’s just how i feel 🧐💌🤷🏻‍♀️⁉️ also i don't think after four lines of getting the backwards script done at 100% he's gonna randomly give up and phone it in on the last word of the page lmfao

fwiw also, russell a. potter’s transcription (where he’s cited that he didn’t have much to improve upon re: a.g.e jones & richard cyriax transcriptions of the pages either) also reads this portion as “wos a marine By the cut of his big” so that also makes me feel a bit more certain !?

but 'cut of his gib' definitely does make more sense as like... a normal phrase he'd genuinely say as opposed to like... y'know, the higher up officers writing in with a very proper queen's english type of language. like oh well yes of course he'd be using the language that a working class sailor would use!!! but also he was 🤏🏻juuuuuust Probably Dyslexic enough with his spelling that now i'm also wondering if he might have gotten a j/g noise mixed up in the 'cut of his jib' slang. hm. also i was just wondering if this phrase was even popular around the 1840s (it was) BUT I JUST REALIZED IT COMES FROM A SAILING TERM ORIGINALLY!!!! that's crazy i had no idea.... okay so anyways that also definitely lends credit towards "the cut of his jib" being in his vernacular

oh something else i'm thinking about now is like... a lot of his Full Pages are organized on a slight slant? like he had the paper angled a bit While he wrote, but also he started squeezing the words in together as he neared the end of the pages.... so that might have something to do with if it's a full sentence or not.... running out of literal space on the paper mid-sentence..... the arrangement of letters is obviously important to him in other places (the spirals etc) so that might be something..... i dunnooooo….

MUCH TO CONSIDER! i fear we may have to bust out the ouija board and get henry to explain himself & read his shitty handwriting for us

[drinkmoarwater]

Within fifteen minutes of meeting her, Guy can tell Jazz is the type of person to think his jokes are funny but won’t admit it. She keeps looking up to the sky or over her shoulder for divine intervention, or maybe someone that isn’t there. He keeps up a steady stream of wisecracks, calling her green every fifth sentence to see how long it’ll take for her to break.

“No, keep both your eyes open,” he says. Guy is showing her how to shoot rays with her ring, a basic skill every new lantern needs. Too many were lost to opportunists or rogues without a way to defend themselves. “You’re missing because you take away half of your natural aiming system. Try again with both eyes on the prize?”

Jazz huffs, an almost snort of amusement that she masks with annoyance. Score. She misses the practice target again, shooting wide but not hitting the ceiling this time. She winces.

“Sorry about that. I’ll help clean the scorch marks, promise.” Jazz lowers her fist a few inches, wary and looking up at him. “Is there…something else we can work on, for now?”

Guy frowns, not disappointed but confused. Most of the green lantern recruits he trained kept at it until they got it right out of stubbornness alone. He presumes he would have been the same if he weren’t such a natural talent, but he can’t blame his coworkers. Amongst a group of people lumped together because of their extraordinary force of will, it was rare for them to quit anything.

“Of course we can.” Guy walks her through the basics of flight and how to not die from a nasty fall.

Jazz takes to flight like a fish to water. She does a few laps around the ceiling of the warehouse they’re in exactly how he tells her, laughing every once in a while. She surprises Guy by doing a few spins, moving a little faster than he expected and not so much as clipping a corner. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she’s had another teacher.

“Nice moves, newbie.”

“Thanks,” she says. She’s bashful, smoothing down her hair from the wind of her flight. “My brother and I went to one of those indoor skydiving places for his birthday last year. He wanted to be an astronaut, so that was the safest way to get to ‘zero gravity.’ I learned a couple tricks.”

Guy can feel his eyebrow twitch. It’s fine, he’s a great teacher. He taught her everything she knows, and no one else taught her anything. “Let’s try some constructs, hmm?” He makes a huge set of cartoonish eyes. “Let’s see what you got.”

Jazz mimics him, making her own set of eyes without eyelashes or the reflective sheen that Guy’s have. She makes a domed shield around herself, but instead of the smooth wall of light he’s used to seeing from lanterns, Jazz’s constructs take on a patchy glow.

Guy knocks on the dome, testing its strength on and around the patches. The construct is fine, but he decides to test Jazz while he’s at it. “These are solid, kid. They look…splotchier than I’m used to seeing, but they’ll do the job.”

Jazz's brow creases and she drops the dome all at once, her arms falling to her sides. He meant to make her mad, not insecure. Guy scrambles to distract her, “Try making something offensive this time.” He forms a middle finger with a censor bar over it. "Whoops, wrong offensive."

His joke gets him a strained smile, more out of appreciation than amusement. He'll take it, until he can get a proper laugh out of her. Jazz stands there thinking about what weapon she should make and Guy waits. She shrugs and makes a set of blocky fists over her own.

"Oooh, you'll be a hit in no time." Guy makes small floating targets all around himself. "Let's see if your aim is any better with those."

"Don't make me miss on purpose." There it is. Jazz smirks and settles into a stance she must have been practicing for years. Guy barks out a laugh and decides to make the targets dance around him in a nonsensical pattern. She doesn't blanche like most new recruits do. Jazz takes a deep breath and moves.

In the split second before she charges forward, Guy wonders what she fights for. Green Lanterns have a tendency to push through obstacles, to keep fighting when they're outmatched, to forget about consequences until the battle is over. Jazz fights smart, not ruthless.

The first construct she strikes shatters into light, the second not far behind as Jazz uses a combo. She kicks one target without enhancing her foot and learns her lesson quick, making constructs around both hands and feet. Guy excuses himself from the conflict by hovering several feet back and up. Jazz keeps busy with the targets.

He watches how she fights for a minute. She's trained in kickboxing and tae kwon do at the very least, mixing the two in a brutal barrage of blows. Guy realizes that Jazz isn't familiar with weapons because she's used to turning her own body into one. She's an awful shot since she's never tried to hit anything more than a few feet away.

She doesn't take a break or a breather. Jazz keeps fighting, panting but still moving. If he reformed the targets she shattered, he knows she would stay here for hours until she collapsed. She is stubborn, though not in everything. She knows when to be headstrong and when to step back, something he didn't learn until a year into the job.

Guy stops replacing the targets, letting her destroy the rest while he thinks. He thinks Jazz is no stranger to pushing herself by sheer force of will, but it isn't her first choice. What drew the ring to her? So many of the members of his corps draw their will from something personal, like self-preservation or seeking justice for some tragedy. They're easy to rile up, himself included, but Jazz isn't like that.

She demolishes the last target but doesn't drop her stance. She's tired, but not yet worn out. "How was that?" she asks.

Guy crosses his arms. "Not bad," he says. He doesn't move, letting his ring produce a small dart of light from where it's exposed resting on his bicep. "Think fast."

The dart shoots toward Jazz, fast but not so much that he'd hurt her with it. She dodges, throwing herself to the side. Without thinking about it, she throws a punch with her construct fist and it flies off her hand. The construct impacts the wall three feet to Guy's side.

Guy eyes the scorch mark on the wall. He grins, "I think we found a way for you to actually hit a target."

Jazz looks up at him with wide eyes, surprised at herself. She laughs.

Short DPXDC Prompts #882

Guy Gardner is informed that he has a new Lantern recruit to train. A human from Earth by the name of Jasmine Fenton.

[sugar-sweets-fanfic]

Andrea × Preg!Reader

Word count - 1,694

Prompt - A divorced pregnant woman lives next to Ursula and Janet. As the months past it gets harder for her to do much by herself. Andrea starts to help her here and there after he gains his mobility. One afternoon things grow intimate between the two.

Warnings - 18+(NO MINOR READERS PLEASE), fingering, pregnant kink, a bit of a mommy kink, handjob, fluff, and it's not proof read so sorry for any typos!

Readers note - this is my first fanfic so please bare with me 😅

It's been about a month since Andrea has helped you out. At first he would mainly just clean and head home. Then he began to practice or just play his violin for you. The more he visited the closer you got to him. Yes, you were a tad older than him. However, you couldn't let go of these wants for him. Still, you put them aside and continued to only be friendly towards the young man. Until he came over today, it was as though God had a special plan for you two this evening. Something you definitely weren't expecting.

As usual, you heard a knock on the front door. His knocks normally came in a silly little pattern. It always brought a smile to your face. Slowly, you gathered some energy to get up. Holding your big swollen tummy as you made your way to the door. Not even bothering to look through the peephole. You opened the door up and greeted Andrea.

"Good evening, Andrea. Come in, it looks like it will storm soon."

"G-Good evening, y/n."

He shared a warm inviting smile with you. As he made his way inside. Shutting the door for you and locking it. His eyes glide down to your belly. His smile grew as he met your gaze again. "You're getting so big." Andrea chuckled. You roll your eyes playfully. Giving him a gentle slap on the arm. Turning away from him as you waddle to the kitchen. "Gentlemen aren't suppose to comment on a woman's figure." You smile to yourself. As you grab two glasses from the upper cabinets. Pouring you both a glass of water. Your brows crease as it aches to stand for too long.

Andrea rubs his arm and let's out a soft laugh at your critique on his manners. He was about to make a snarky remark. Until he notices the pained look on your face. Quickly, he heads over to your side next to the counter. "You should sit down. Remember.. I'm here to help you. You need to rest." He said with a frown on his face. While you simply shake your head in response. "No.. I got this. The least I can do for you is get you a drink. Andrea, you do so much for me. I haven't done anything for you. Not even once, I feel bad."

Andrea stood there silently for a few moments. About to walk away he gathers an idea. Stepping behind you, his hands are planted on your hips. Causing you to jump lightly. Before you can protest whatever he was about to do. Andrea softly shushes you, while his hands snake around your waist. Your loose dress bunch under your belly. As his hands settle on that section of your body. Soon he lifts your baby bump, relieving all that pressure and weight from you. A deep sigh escapes you as your cheeks lightly heat up.

"There you go.. I hope this can help." Andrea says softly against your ear. His chin nearly resting on your shoulder.

"Oh yes.. Wow, it feels incredible. Thank you, thank you so much Andrea." You moan lightly. Unable to help, but lean against him. Your hands end up on top of his. As you close your eyes for a moment. Suddenly you feel his lip grace the side of your neck. Causing you to tense up and open your eyes. Pulling a bit from him, but not escaping his hold on you. Looking over your shoulder at him. Before you could question him he captures your lips with his. Pressing nice and tender kisses against your lips. Your eyes flutter shut as you couldn't help but kiss back. Geez, it felt crazy how he hand you wrapped around his finger.

"Andrea.. We shouldn't. This would never work." You utter between kisses.

"Mm.. Shh. Don't say such things. I know how you've been looking at me. To be honest, I've been looking at you the same way."

"R-Really?"

"Mhm.. And I know...Mamuśka potrzebuje masażu."

"Heh, w-what did you just say?"

"Mommy needs a massage." He smirked.

Your eyes widen at his translation. Gently, you fully pull away from his grasp. Turning your body to face him. As you step back a bit. "Andrea, I'm too old for you love. Please..you're making this more difficult." You say in a shy manner. As he moves closer to you. Backing you up into the corner of the room. Your back pressed against the angle of the walls. Your eyes stay focused on one another. As silence fill the space between you. "It's only a four year difference. C'mon mami.. Let me be the man you need. Because you're the woman I need.. I want." He leaned in and kissed your forehead.

A deep sigh leaves your lips, "okay.. But just this once."

"Fine, but I promise you'll want more of me." He chuckled.

Andrea reached down, lifting her dress a bit. Caressing your belly carefully as he kept eye contact with you. One of his hands slowly slid down. Feeling the warmth of your nether region. His cheeks grew rosey, biting his bottom lip. "Didn't know you weren't wearing underwear." He smirked. Causing you to shiver from a heated manner. "I couldn't put any on.. It's too hard to do now." You admit. Reaching up, you cup his face and smile. Spreading your legs a bit for him. Making Andrea more excited. He stared down at her tummy. As he focused on pleasuring you. Fingers delved deep through your folds. Massaging your pussy gently. Caressing your folds as his thumb circles your clit.

"G-God.." You whimper softly. As you pull him closer. Locking your lips against his jaw. Kissing down his neck in a rough manner. Deep kissing noises echoed in the room. Which was mixed with the moans of yours and Andrea's. Leading to Andrea pushing his index and middle finger inside you. "Ahhh.. Oh baby." You whimper against the crook of his neck. Your breath tickles his adam's apple. Giving him a semi hard on. Pushing you more against the corner. Pumping his fingers at a steady pace. Jamming them past his second knuckle.

"Baby, you are t-too good to me. Lemme touch you too, sweetheart." You whisper as you reach down. Having a little trouble reaching to get to his pants. Andrea chuckled and moved his hips forwards for her. "There you go, mami.." He uttered out softly. Taking his fingers out and moving his arm to give her better access. You subtly whine at the loss of his fingers. However, you couldn't help but chuckle at the reason for it. Getting his fly open you reach in and felt his erection.

"Mmm… we can please each other together.." He mumbled. Pressing his forehead against yours. Already rolling his hips up against your touch.

"Since you've been such a good boy.. I'll allow it." You tease.

Yanking his cock out of his pants, free it. You quickly spit on your palm. Reaching back down to wrap your hand around his shaft. Causing a gruff groan to escape him. You stare deep into his eyes. Starting to pump his shaft nice and swiftly. While he reaches back between your legs. Stuffing his fingers back into your cunt. Making your mouth hang out from pleasure. There you two were. Jerking one another off in such a tight corner. It felt so warm, from how heavy you two began to breathe. The way he throbbed in your grasp made you hunger for his climax. Your grip tightened and stroke grew faster. Earning you a loud cry of pleasure from the young man.

Out of nowhere he pulls his hand away from your core. Which makes you rather sexually frustrated. Before you can comment he pulls your grip away from his hard on. As you raise your eyebrows he lowers onto the floor. "Fuck me.. Please y/n. I want you to make me a proper man." He desperately begged. Staring up at you with those soft hazel eyes. How could you refuse? You had no words, only a hand gesture. Informing him to help you down, which he did.

You hovered over his lap, sitting up on your knees. Andrea had sat up, ready to cradle you in his lap. Wanting to help you be as comfortable as possible. You hold onto his shoulders as he holds the sides of your belly. You lower yourself onto his precuming erection. It slid in nice and easy, due to how wet you both were. Both you erupt into a sharp gasp. Sitting there a moment to adjust. Though, soon enough you began to roll your hips.

"Nnn... Mmh, oh Andrea. I don't need to make you a man.. You're already the man I need." You purr in pure lust. Cupping his face as you hump harder.

Andrea couldn't even speak from how good you made him feel. Whimpering at each hump you gave him. His mouth stayed agape. Your belly rested up against his flat stomach. So he let go of your baby bump. Moving his hands up the back of your dress. Groping your ass firmly, to help you bounce. His hips jerked up a bit to meet your collision. Both of you are speechless, only able to cry out in pleasure. Andrea squeezes your ass harder as he gives you an intense gaze. "I-Im gonna cum.." He said in deep moans

You lean in and whisper in his ear, "Do it inside me.."

Those words pushed him over the edge. Gasping harshly as he shifts his arms. Wrapping them tightly around your torso. Holding you down as his erection spews his warm love inside of you. The erratic orgasm threw you into an orgasm as well. Hugging on to him tightly as you sigh heavily. As you calm down from your climax. You feel his hand pet your back. Followed by gentle kisses on the side of your head. A smile grows on your face as you continue to relax against him.

"I love you.." You finally admit in a hushed manner.

"I love you more."