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[beeduoo]

Up and at it yesss lets bring ghe mansion back

[siriuslylantsov]

sobriquet

pairing: spencer reid x reader

description: spencer reacts to you calling him a nickname for the first time.

tags: fluff fluff and more fluff, established relationship, fem!reader, kissing and all around domesticity, bit cheesy, little teasing, spencer gets momentarily overwhelmed with how much he feels but i dont get into the nitty gritty.

a/n: sobriquet is the french word for nickname. anywho i just need spencer reid to call me angel. hope you like this! happy reading :)

wc: 1.3k

◦ /ˈsəʊbrɪkeɪ/ ◦

the bright noon sun filters through the sheer curtains as you wake up, groggily pulling yourself into a sitting position. you rub at the sleep in your eyes with a low grumble. the space beside you is vacant, you run a hand over the spencer shaped chasm indented into the mattress. it's gone cold so you assume he's been up for a while, having let you sleep in, probably perched on the couch, book in hand.

you drag yourself into the living room of spencer's apartment, despite the daylight scattered across the space, it still feels cosy, relentlessly cosy. which is probably why you spend so much time here, like you are now. a rare case-free weekend off presented itself to the team, so the two of you decided on spending a lazy 2 days together.  

you bend at the waist and wrap your arms around spencer's shoulders when you find him on the couch. he lets out a slightly distracted hum, pressing his lips to your forearm in a kiss, though it's more open mouthed as you catch him in the middle of reading a passage. you squeeze him once and walk to the kitchen. he follows you, needing a refill to his coffee.

both of you work in silence, spencer engrossed in the pages in front of him as the moka pot heats up on the stove while you grab the carton of milk from the fridge. when you open the cabinet for the box of cereal that resides there, you don't find it. strange. you open the one beside it in hopes that you'd find it there, you don't.

“baby, where's the cereal?” you ask spencer, peering behind boxes and packets for a glimpse of the tell-tale red of the kelloggs logo.

his eyes dart up from his book, finally tearing away from the words. did you just call him baby?

you push up from your knees, turning to look at him expectantly, “spencer?”

his eyes are wide, eyebrows pinched up ever so slightly that a line forms in the middle, you want to smooth it out. he looks alarmed, so you cross over to him, taking the book out of his hands and setting it on the counter, turning off the heat to the stove at the same time.

“hey, are you okay?” your voice is low so as to not alarm him further, but still pressing to know what’s wrong.

apart from the alarm, his face is unreadable. “what did you just say?”

you graze a hand over his forearm, “are you okay?”

“no. before that.”

“um... where's the cereal? spencer, are you-”

“you called me baby,” he interjects. barely a whisper but you catch it.

oh. your lips part, trying to get a read on his face, you can't. “did i?” you respond meekly, playing dumb in case he didn't like it. the two of you haven't experimented with nicknames much, the relationship being fairly new and only used to addressing eachother by first or last names.

he nods, lips curling into a small smile. oh. “say it again?”

you want to protest but he's quick to stop you with a “please.”

“baby,” you chew your bottom lip nervously, searching for any recoil in his eyes, you find none. his smile only grows.

“again.”

“spence,” you whine, feeling embarrassed.

“please,” he repeats, eyes big and imploring.

you sigh, how do you possibly deny him? chagrin be damned.

“baby,” you whisper, almost cooing, as you raise a hand to cup his cheek.

teeth peek out of his mouth now, grinning wholeheartedly. his arms find solace around your waist as he pulls you in, tucking his head into your neck. you can feel his smile on your skin, and you giggle.

“i take it you like it then?” you murmur, threading your fingers into his hair the back of his head.

he presses a kiss to your neck. “of course i do, angel,” he responds, words trailing off tentatively.

angel. your brain runs circles around the way the word sounded coming from him, how good it sounded, angel. in a matter of seconds, he’d managed to turn the tables and you understand why he reacted how he did when you called him baby, you wouldn't mind him calling you angel again either.

you pull back to look at his face. he's a shy and sheepish thing when you take him in. your face isn't as unreadable as his was, cheeks flushed and eyes crinkled at the corners as you try to bite back a smile, so he calms easily. 

“that's new,” you remark, poking at his chest.

“yeah,” he says, pulling you closer as he leans against the counter. “you like it?”

“mhm,” you hum giddily, rising on your toes to kiss him. 

his lips move against yours gently as he kisses you back. his tongue prods at the seam of your lips, urging you to let him in. you nip it before pulling back.

“i've got morning breath,” you explain simply, alleviating his confusion.

he's indifferent when he leans back in, “does it look like i care?”

you give him a quick peck on the nose before exhaling a puff of hot air into his face, trying to drum up as much bad breath as you can. you laugh as his face scrunches up in mild disgust, nose wrinkled, and lips pulled into a pout. he's quick to recover though, head dipping to kiss you again. sighing into the kiss, you push his face from yours and hide under his chin. his arms move higher and wrap across your shoulders.

“in the hallway,” spencer says abruptly.

you hum into his chest in confusion, and he explains further, “the cereal is in a bag in the hallway. i finished the last of it earlier and went to go buy some more.”

“you went grocery shopping? just for cereal?” your voice is muffled against his shirt, but he can make out what you're saying.

“yeah, gotta make sure my angel is fed,” he murmurs into your hair that tickles his chin.

you groan a little at how corny he sounds but bury further into him regardless, clearly flustered. he huffs out a chuckle at your state.

“oh don't be so smug,” you grumble, lifting your head up to look at him. god was he pretty.

“angel,” he drags out, almost taunting, but inherently laced in affection. he can't help it, you are an angel personified to him, the name was only fitting. and it wasn't often that you were on the tail end of the teasing, so he's making sure to take advantage of whatever was making you all giddy as if you couldn't do the same thing to him tenfold. 

when he sees the glint in your eyes though, he knows you're about to. he braces himself internally as you hold his face with two soft hands, cradling him. he shifts slightly to kiss your palm, admittedly trying to avoid your gaze. 

“beautiful,” you start, and he's already done for, turning his head further into your hand. you're not having it, so you bring him back to you, firmer grip this time but fingers still as soft as before. “perfect,” you continue, words also firm, “angel boy.” 

you seem to have rendered him silent, an easy thing for you to do because it's you, chipping away at any and all words he had stored simply because of what you called him. it's unbelievable that a mere nickname could reduce him to this–he’ll be sure to try it on you later. but for now, he just hugs you again, dropping his head back into your neck and arms around your waist. yours loop around his neck, rooting his head where it is. 

your fingers press into his scalp, massaging lightly. you continue murmuring little things into the silence, turning your head so he hears you better. angel, baby, genius boy, pumpkin, sweet cheeks, shnookums. 

his head lifts up, bewildered, “shnookums?”

“hey! i don't know what you're into,” you lean back in surrender, hoping to bring some humour into this because frankly, he was overwhelmed, and you knew.

he lets out a low chuckle, pressing his forehead to yours and you melt sleepily against him.

“i love you,” you whisper.

“i love you too, angel girl.” 

m.list | reblogs and replies are appreciated!

[sunnywalnut]

Today I saw my first Starbucks ad that had careful product placement, no words or obvious promos, and just two people having a good time.

And to that I want to say.

Fuck you Starbucks.

I know what you're doing.

Lost enough money due to supporting Israel that you've finally turned to sneakiness? Your brand suddenly isn't enough to sell? How saddening.

Like I know that brands and businesses do product placement. I know they do ads and promos. I know they do things to show their "customers"(actors) having a good time with their products. That's not just a Starbucks thing.

But what IS a Starbucks thing is the sneaky approach to it now. They were so careful to have the only logos showing being on the cups. It's subtle. And it's definitely on purpose. Trying to get you to crave both the drink and the experience.

BUT HEY.

REMEMBER.

STARBUCKS AIN'T SHIT GUYS.

IT'S BITTER, OVERROASTED COFFEE BEANS IN A CUP COVERED UP WITH ENOUGH SUGAR TO KILL A MAN.

There's no fucking way that you're going to be enjoying yourself while choking down a caramel French toast macchiato that tastes like licking a dirty brick y'all.

Also like. They're supporting genocide, so.

Maybe. Don't fall for the new promos. Okay?

Free Palestine.

EDIT: I have since been informed that the Starbucks brand itself is not complicit in genocide and instead, it is the CEO of Starbucks who is a Zionist. I have since made an apology post for accidentally spreading misinformation in the reblogs and have tagged my sources with evidence. If you can, please do repost that version of this post instead.

I will still be leaving this version of the post (the original) up and unedited, because I do not want to appear as if I am trying to change the narrative in any way or pretending as if what I have said doesn't exist or effect people.

While I am more than a little embarrassed about my initial approach to the subject, I have since learned more proper ways of threading together my thoughts as well as vetting my resources thoroughly. Thank you, and I hope you have a good night/day.

Free Palestine.

[alvie-pines]

fyi punk should be diy. if any of my followers wanna dress punk but feel like they cant because its expensive, here's the secret: a good punk look can and should be made out of literal junk. old bottle caps, safety pins. i recently asked my sister if she'd give me some spare key rings so i could join them up with mine and make a longer chain (its attached to my favorite pair of pants rn). if something doesnt feel shiny and pointy and punk enough, stab it with some safety pins. make your own patches out of spare fabric scraps. cut the logos and patterns off of shirts and turn them into patches. pick up some cheap basic embroidery stuff (thread, needle, bamboo ring, thats all you need--hell you dont even need the ring its just helpful) to sew your patches on & make some of your own. or just embroider right on your clothes! it doesnt have to look good. most real punk patches are self-made with wonky lettering. you can get a good leather jacket, denim jacket, vest, etc at your local thrift store. you can try chains like savers and you can try non-chain shops. (btw thrift shops arent just for clothes, theyre lifesavers in general. i got my favorite table for $15 at savers. its old and ornate with carved designs and shit. please shop at thrift stores theyre the best thing ever.) also, when i was younger i remember i made my own spiky bracelets out of studded ribbon (cheap, get it at joanns or some other fabric or crafts store) and safety pins to hold it together. dont waste money on fucking hot topic. you can make your own shit. thats what punk is all about. i promise anyone judging you for having handmade punk clothes and accessories is a fucking poser.

[killlerfang1]

So apparently Across the Spider-Verse has MULTIPLE different versions of the movie out in theaters right now???

This reddit thread by Hohoho-you goes into the details but so far all the differences between the versions include

During the opening of the film one version has a "cough" text before the Sony logo appears and added comic frames during Gwen's monologue

Lyla either takes a bunny selfie of Miguel or offers a fist bump after he calls for backup

When Gwen asks who Miguel is he either says "that’s classified” or “isn’t it obvious”

Miguel either says "that's funny" or "No" when Gwen calls him the blue panther

The build up from when Miguel was going to bite the Vulture is cut

When Jefferson fell through one of Spot's spots he either groans and looks around, or has a quick frame reaction of his face

When the Spot is going to put his finger in the mini collider he either says "-which would... not be good" or "oh what the heck."

In the chai tea scene Miles either says "no! no." Or "sorry! im sorry" after getting called out by Pavitr

When Hobie first comes on screen and Miles says "Hobie" a little text saying "Hobie" popping up above Miles’ head may or may not appear

One version has Gwen's lines when she's looking for Miles in the rubble removed

At the spider society, when Jessica asks if "anybody else got jokes" the text boxes that show up can either be yellow or blue in color

During the canon event scene Hobie has different coloring and lighting depending on the version

When Ben Reilly grabs Miles during the chase scene he either says “I’ve got you trapped in my well defined musculature so don't even-“ or “This one’s called the sleeper hold, I’m using my bicep to constrict your-"

During the chase scene Miles rides Web-Slingers horse through the villain prison and receives cheers from said villains all while the other spiders get boo’d. This scene is cut in an alternate version

In the same chase scene when the spiders cross the tightrope they either fall or get launched in the air, with the falling scene being a slightly extended version

When Miles venom strikes Miguel the line where he says "sorry man I'm goin' home" is cut

When Peter B. Parker returns home MJ either says "Hi" or "How was work" upon his return

during the Prowler!Miles reveal one version has him with more lines and details on his face (thank you @cannibalgal for pointing this one out to me)

I've only seen the film once so far but based on other people's comments online the changes seem to be mixed and matched depending on when and where you go to see the movie

(edit: added more changes)

[osaemu]

WHEN YOU'RE SICK: STREAMER!GOJO

✩ ‧ ˚. synopsis: you have a cold, and he has a bag of sweets—how does your streamer boyfriend comfort you when you're sick? (streamer!au)

contents: fem!reader. fluff. pet names. very self-indulgent bc i'm sick right now and needed this for myself :,) can mostly be read outside of the streamer!au i guess.

“i brought you some sweets!”

you look up drowsily when your boyfriend’s familiar voice pulls you out of your sleep. your eyes slowly adjust to the soft lighting of your room and to the perfect, sharp features of the face inches from yours. “satoru, how are you here—”

he cuts you off by pressing a finger to your lips, and a moment later, satoru slips some sort of candy into your mouth. “‘cause you’re sick, and i’m a good boyfriend. obviously,” he teases, smiling endearingly when your eyes light up from the sugary taste of whatever satoru gave you. “how’d you catch a cold, anyways?”

you sit up a little bit, resting your back against the headboard and your head on satoru’s shoulder. “i’m not actually sure,” you admit, snuggling into the arm that wraps itself around you.  “aw, you’re wearing the hoodie i got you,” you point out, tapping on his chest. it’s a small inside joke between the two of you—the logo on the top left of the hoodie is the one from the streamer inmaki’s channel, a user who has a long-standing reputation for being one of your boyfriend’s haters.

“only because i practically ran out of the house once i got your text,” satoru huffs, rolling his blue eyes good-naturedly. he notices the little smile on your face and the way you cover your mouth in an attempt to hide your laugh, so he pulls out his phone from his pocket and adds, “hey, what was i supposed to do when i get a message like this?”

random girl i guess i like: can u come over :( i’m sick and imy

“why’d you change my contact to ‘random girl i guess i like?’” you gasp dramatically, snatching satoru’s phone away from him. a nervous laugh slips out of your boyfriend’s lips before you turn on him, squinting your eyes at him suspiciously. “if i looked at suguru’s contact, what would i see next?”

“...you don’t wanna know.”

“satoru gojo, answer me or i swear—” you don’t get to finish your threat before a sneeze cuts you off, followed by two more that leave you deflated in satoru’s arms. somehow, your head slides down from his shoulder and ends up on his chest, and a look of concern overtakes satoru’s expression.

“how sick are you?” he asks tentatively, fishing out another candy from his pocket and prodding at your lips with it. you open your mouth and let him feed you, taking a second to relish the sweetness of the sugar-loaded bite before you shrug and sniffle again. “poor thing,” satoru coos, rounding his eyes down at you while you rub your nose to get rid of the subtle itching sensation. 

“i can’t stop sniffling,” you mumble dryly, staring up at satoru pathetically. it’s as if you’re a wet cat that’s been sitting in the rain for hours, and as if he’s the kind old man who takes you in and dries you off. satoru’s slender fingers thread themselves through your dishelved hair, stroking it and twining it around his hand. “s’ been like this for hou— no, days,” you continue, determined to complain for at least the next couple minutes. “and—”

satoru’s hands move from the top of your head to your cheeks, cupping them intensely enough to hold your face still as he leans down and gives you a quick kiss on the lips. you make a small sound in protest, not wanting to get him sick too, but he ignores you and peppers feather-like kisses all over your face. “you’re so cute like this, y’know?” he murmurs, squishing your face in between his hands. “all rumpled and bedhead-y, aww.”

“satoru, you’ll get sick,” you point out, futilely trying to lean away from his lips when he goes back in for a kiss again. “satoru!”

“i don’t care,” he grumbles, swatting away your hand when you try to pull on the strings of his hoodie. “you’re my girlfriend, and if i wanna kiss you, then i will. and i don’t care if i get sick, ‘cause i have a pretty girl to take care of me anyways, don’t i?”

you stop protesting and let him press his lips back to yours again, and even though you sniffle again about three times, satoru’s as devoted to you as ever. “really?”

“yeah. my mom— ow, i mean, you too!” he adds quickly, grinning playfully even when you swat his chest. “i’m joking, i’m joking. have some candy, sweet girl.” before you can say anything, satoru shoves a handful of bright, colorful sweets in your mouth and kisses your nose. “take a nap. i’ll be here when you wake up, i promise.”

somehow, the moment you hear satoru’s murmured reassurances, your eyes grow heavy and you surrender yourself to his grip. “m’kay…” you mumble, closing your eyes and exhaling softly. and maybe it’s your imagination, but you swear you can feel satoru’s suppressed laughter as you fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. 

… 

“wait, now what do i do?”

[machveil]

CoD Headcanon: General Keegan Russ Thoughts

I want to write for Keegan so bad, you guys don’t understand— so here’s some general headcanons because I need a baseline for when I write for him

found family oriented!! calling people ‘kid’, very protective of his team? yes and yes. he also has a canon age (38 in 2027, 35 as of 2024) which makes me immensely happy - he’ll take you under his wing, has solid advice and an easygoing attitude about helping you

quiet and has resting bitch face, but he’s nice when you get him talking. has a fast draining social battery outside of the field, he’ll talk and socialize when it’s called for, but otherwise he’s fine with letting people he’s close with talk for him

Keegan has an actual sense of fashion, it’s just very simple. keeps his civvies nice and clean, no holes or loose threads if he can help it. prefers a simple pair of jeans, a nice leather belt, maybe a black t-shirt - but, he’s a jacket man. owns a handful of bomber and leather jackets. he’s also got a small collection of nice, leather shoes, casual and formal, all taken care of and treated

in a platonic relationship, Keegan isn’t afraid of casual contact. a pat on the back here, a shoulder nudge there. ruffles your hair even if you complain about it. he’s great at maintaining eye contact, can you maintain eye contact? keep looking at those icy blue eyes, it feels like they’re staring into your soul. speaking of staring, another CoD man I vehemently believe will stare at you, no questions asked. cold gaze boring into you— when was the last time he blinked?

in a romantic relationship, Keegan is a provider through and through. you can work if you want to, he won’t moan about you leaving to put hours in, but he also wouldn’t mind you just staying home. he might look reserved and unapproachable, but with you? he’s all lopsided smiles and smitten gazes

pampers you, you might as well let him. he’ll come home with stuff for you just because he thought you might like it - a shirt with your favorite media’s logo on it, a coffee mug with a cute print, an item you like to collect. he’s very attentive, has a keen eye and sharp memory when it comes to you

Keegan P. Russ is a ‘babe’, ‘baby’, ‘babygirl’ sort of guy. period. ‘doll’, ‘pretty thing’, and ‘sweetheart’ are also on the table, and he will croon and coo at you, voice a little raspy as he gets your attention. and, oh, he’s making hard eye contact with you. he’ll chuckle if you look away, his intense gaze never faltering, “What? What’s wrong? Keep those pretty eyes on me, baby.”

also, Keegan is canonically fluent in Spanish… and with his voice? oh man, he’ll be lowly whispering into your ear, ‘corazón’, ‘amor’, ‘bebé’ - he doesn’t stop with the pet names, will not quit. if he hear’s a friend refer to you by your name he’ll jokingly correct them, “Who? Oh, you mean my baby?”

constantly a menace and he knows it. unlike Simon “Ghost” Riley who at least pretends he’s doing nothing, Keegan will make it known. you want him to come over to you? I don’t know, “What’s in it for me, doll face? A kiss? Make it two.”. he’ll dodge your hugs and kisses sometimes just to be a pain in the ass, gets a good chuckle out of him when you snap at him to just stand still already

low-key a brat sometimes, he likes messing with you because it gets his heart pumping, a pleasant warmth blooming in his chest. it’s less mean spirited, more ‘your cat loves you, but it will be a pain’ - if he ever goes too far he’ll apologize. he can read a room pretty well, but sometimes he can get a little too condescending when teasing you. he’s competent when it comes to communication, he’s got the emotional availability for it, soft spoken words and a hushed tone when he knows he messed up

Keegan Russ does his absolute best to make you feel loved - platonic and romantic. he’ll listen to you intently, body relaxed as he takes in your words and voice. he makes sure people listen to you when you speak, if someone tries talking over you Keegan will shut them down immediately, encouraging you to keep talking. he’ll wrap a protective arm around your shoulders, walking closest to the road when you’re out and about

he’d fight anyone that hurts or threatens his close-knit friends - his family. he’s the type to get silently emotional if one of his friends has to leave for a prolonged period of time, he knows they’re out there, but it feels like they’re gone. if you ever have to be away from him for more than a couple days, unrelated to deployments, Keegan is keeping in contact with you as best he can

guys I’m on my knees, send Keegan blurbs and thoughts to my inbox I need to write for this man my brain won’t shut up—

[felassan]

Taash's art piece is just so beautiful! With how windy it looks (her hair blowing around), the blue-green background, and the wave-like pattern in the background, it gives the impression of the rushing sea. (and with the rushing sea, it has a sense of adventure!). The ocean background makes sense - she is affiliated with the Lords of Fortune, a group with a cephalopod logo and who are based out of Rivain, a nation almost completely surrounded by the sea. Their vibe/aesthetic has been described as incorporating a pirate-y element, they have ships, and they were said to hold dominion over the coasts of Rivain. We've also seen in-game shots now of a Rivaini shore that we will visit, complete with bright blue-green sea. the eye-like pattern in the sea in the top right and some of the 'triangles' in the sea remind me of dragons and sea-serpents.

With Taash's design, the 'protruding' parts of her armor, like around her shoulders (two, three) look like they could be dragon-scales. Trophies from dragon hunts? :) In Thedas, armor can be made from dragonscale. I wonder, is the jade-looking horn (the same color as the sea) a covering for that horn, or a straight-up replacement horn? We can see here that it has polished planes and cut edges in the manner of a cut gem. Gold coins fall around her, fitting for someone affiliated with a piratey, treasure-hunting faction. The red threads, rope-like in appearance, remind me of that aspect of some Qunari armor/clothing. In this piece they sort of flow around her in places, but we can see here for example that they're an element of her clothing. I wonder if she's Qunari, Tal-Vashoth or Vashoth. Being associated with a group originating in Rivain, maybe she's from Kont-aar or its surrounds, a coastal city in northern Rivain that is the only peaceful Qunari settlement on the mainland continent? Her gold jewelry and items are beautiful. Jewelry seems to be a notable part of clothing in Rivain, and among the Lords of Fortune, those that survive for more than a few years wear their treasures, charms and other items. It seems like Taash is a successful Lord of Fortune(/adjacent), someone who has found/won many treasures and accomplished great feats. The gold dragon at her collarbone is a cool touch.

Maybe it was Taash who wrote this Codex, and the title is alliterative, "Taash Talks"? The writer comes across like a dragon enthusiast and it references being near the shore/sea. Iron Bull once said "So, when you face a dragon, does it get your heart pumping? Do you breathe a little faster, feel the blood racing?" (in the DA:TV trailer, Varric says that they will need someone "with fire in their blood" to face dragons). And from this blurb, something has been unsettling the dragons in Rivain, in a way that dovetails in the Lord of Fortunes being concerned with it:

Upon eastern shores and sunkissed sands, the Lords of Fortune no longer hold dominion over the coasts of Rivain – not when dragons are growing bolder and laying wastes to their ships.

[source]

[chixkencxrry]

crazy, crazy for loving you

Summary: Loss can make people go insane. (Yandere! Miguel O’hara x Yandere! Fem! Reader)

MINORS DNI

Warning: They’re both insane and a bit immoral. They are both very, very unstable people. This is a dark story of mutual obsession. (Mutual Non-Con Voyuerism, Mutual Masturbation, P in V, Swearwords, Mutual Stalking, Mutual Non-Con Spying, Oral (F receiving), Dark themes, Cockwarming) YOUR CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA IS ON YOU AND YOU ALONE!

When you see him, it's hard to keep your hands at your side and not run to him. It’s hard not to look at the man that wears your dead husband’s face and not weep like a baby. But you know it isn’t him. No, this man with the war in his eyes and fangs of a beast is not your Miguel.

But, God – God, did you wish it was. 

So, yes, you were quick to agree to be apart of his little operation. Quick clipping the gizmo onto your wrist. The Spiderman logo spread along your torso like some awful red target. He knew your name, but it was obvious that you didn’t exist in his world. If you had, you were sure they would have been together. No. The you of his world was dead, like the him of your world. It was darkly poetic. 

Lyla had taken a liking to you – his AI. She unintentionally helped you keep track of him; you didn’t stalk just keep track. 

Then it happened. The fine click that had truly sent your observing of Miguel corrupt into something else, something darker. 

Something had caused the collapse of your world. It was a war, much like the great Titan on EARTH-199999. Your world crumbled before you; you already didn’t have much left after the death of your Miguel but now you had nothing left. 

When the collapse of it came, you were not on the battlefield with the other Avengers. You had been in the cemetery, fingers clawing into Miguel’s grave – determined to bury yourself in there with him. The cold mud coated your hands and body, knee digging in. You were about two feet deep, mad with intent. 

“Y/N?”

The word stilled you. It was Miguel, you turned your head in a horrible hopefulness. Disappointment settled on your shoulders, in some half-mad frenzy, you’d thought it was your Miguel. But it wasn’t it was Miguel.

“Leave me alone.” you growled. “My world is dying.”

“You don’t have to.”

I died when you did.

“I’m right here, Y/N.”

“No.” you muttered, fingers in the dirt. “You’re below. I’m getting you out.”

A warm body dropped down, covering your back and pushing you forward. You wiggled and fought but felt a pinch at the side of your neck. Your mania subsided, a false peace overwhelming you. Before you knew it, you collapsed in the mud. 

It had taken weeks of manic behaviour. They had to sedate you to get you to calm down – barricade and and chain you to stop you from attacking. You’d gone mad. 

When Miguel came to visit you, you’d taken a turn for the better. 

“I heard you broke Spiderman 8077’s jaw.” Miguel doesn’t seem amused. He stands over you – through the fizzing cage that electrocutes you everytime you touch it. You can’t bring yourself to snarl or fight. You look at him – flesh, bone, hope. 

“He tried to make me forget.”

Miguel flinched. “He suggested something to help you sleep.”

“If I sleep, I forget him.”

“It doesn’t work like that.” Miguel’s tone was soft and low. You closed your eyes and imagined being home in your apartment, the record player on and rain falling. Miguel dancing with you, dipping you low and laughing on your skin. 

The daydream dissolves when you hear the click of your cell open. His voice of stone ordered; “Lay down.”

Instinct, really – the way you move to the cot and wiggle until your back hits the wall. The bed shakes as Miguel’s massive frame sets itself on the bed. He held you, pulling you close. He smelt like your Miguel. Felt like him too. But were all rugged edges compared to the softness of the man you were married to. Your fingers threaded in his hair, snagging a few by accident to bring them to your nose. You tucked some strands into your suit. For later.

For the first time in years, sleep came to you with ease. With that ease came the confirmation of what a gift reuniting with this different Miguel was. You had a second chance. Now, it was time to make use of it. Properly.

***

Miguel had started watching you when your world collapsed and you’d transition to his universe. Now, it wasn’t that he hadn’t been stalking – following – shit – observing you before. He’d just wanted you to get used to the Universe first. Ensuring you had a good identity, a day job and income. 

You’d been grateful. So, very grateful.

He imagined that gratitude as something baser, raw and trembling. But he knew not to test the hand of fate. Yet he hungered for you. The devotion you’d shown to your husband, a version of him, was indescribably delicious. He wanted that for himself. Wanted you, all tears, all love. Each aspect of you a memorising thing; greed flooded him at the thought of claiming you.

It seemed like fate to offer you the guest room of his apartment. He hadn’t used it in years, and it was a waste not to let you in. You’d jumped at the opportunity – a perfect gift. You didn’t know what you were doing to him. Yes. Having you in his house, showering, eating, naked, open – mierda!

 He took a deep breath to cool himself down. You were still at the dorm quarters of HQ, significantly more sane than you were a week ago when the two of you first slept together. Your scent still lingered in his mind. Lilies and cucumbers, fresh and vibrant. Thick and rich, god – he wanted more of that. More of the security of holding you. More of having you have him. The feel of your body curled into his, the softness of your silk skin breaking the delicate thread of his self-control. 

Miguel looked at the room he’d allotted to you. Climbing to a corner to screw in a non-reflective camera. Getting you here was the first step and he was a patient man. Miguel had to make sure the apartment looked lived in. Making sure that some floorboards creaked, chipped at some paint on the walls, and ensured there was a leaky faucet in the guest bath.

His watch dinged. Fifteen minutes away. 

Lyla flickered into existence. “Wow. This violates so many laws.”

“Didn’t ask.” he grumbled, wrenching open a panel of the wall to place a listening device.

“You get that for free.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Anamolly on Earth-7834, they need backup.”

“There are thousands of other Spiders to call.” He placed a nail between his teeth, hammering the panel back on.

“Yeah, well, Y’N asked for you.”

That made him pause. Swearing, he hurriedly put the panel back and suited up, tapping his gizmo and falling into a different dimension. 

***

You only felt a little bad for deceiving Lyla. 

Sure, Miguel would probably be pissed when he found out that you had lied and made his AI lie to him with some clever coding but it would be worth it in the end when the two of you were finally together. You just couldn’t get out of HQ unnoticed without some sort of distraction. So, you figured what could be better than calling in a favour with a friend you’d made while traversing Universes? Felicia was more than willing to play the part, ever wanton for chaos. 

She helped you cause a minor anomaly which sent off enough of the Spiders off and allowed you to sneak into Miguel’s apartment. You looked for the master – the only room with a photo in it, one of him and his passed daughter. It broke your heart to know the pain he’d experienced. But you knew you were here now and more than willing to provide comfort and a new child. You’d even let him name the first one. 

You weren’t here for that. You were here to plant a few presents. Sticking to his bedroom ceiling, you planted a camera in the corner, near his closet. In his bathroom, by his shower and mirror – you planted another one. 

Time was limited. You knew the false alarm would only give you a short time. Before you left, you went through his closet, nose dug into his clothing and inhaling his scent. Sandalwood and oud. God, the earthiness sent a shiver down your spine. Unable to control yourself, you snatched a T-shirt and left through the window. You have five minutes left until your proposed arrival. Five minutes until Miguel consensually lets you into his home. 

Foolish boy.

If only he knew what you had in store for him. 

***

Miguel hurriedly returned home. Frustration laced his sojourn, as he tried to figure out just how Lyla had mistaken you calling out the anomaly of you being there and requesting his help. It was probably some bug. A minor thing he would fix after he greeted you. 

One minute left.

He was cutting it close, climbing through his window and showering as fast as possible. He hadn’t even had time to dry himself off when the doorbell rang, pulling clothes on with wet skin. 

“She’s here!” chimed Lyla, a little too cheerfully.

Miguel rolled his eyes. “No soy sordo, Lyla.”

When he opened the door, you were standing there with just two bags and a smile on your full lips. Eyes fluttering up at him with thick lashes and a soft look; “Hey.”

“Come in,” he welcomed without preamble. Miguel purposefully kept the space for you to pass narrowly. You were shorter than him and plush as you passed, buttocks jamming him slightly as you turned your back to pass in. Your toes shoved behind your feet to slip out of your shoes without him asking, he forgot for a moment that you knew him, even if it was another version. There were parts of himself you probably knew better than anyone did.

That made him excited. 

“Your apartment is lovely.” You said earnestly. “Where do I put my bags?”

He moved to you, taking the bags and walking ahead to lead you to the guest room. It wasn’t bad. A queen-sized bed and all other necessities for a room. Miguel gestured to the opened door, “That’s the bathroom.Might give you some trouble but you’re welcome to use me – I mean mine anytime.”

You didn’t seem to catch him fumbling – ayúdame dios – walking around the room to get a better view. In the dim light, you looked fantastic, the neon of the outside shining on your skin and the expanse of your perfect skin exposed in those tiny shorts you wore. 

Jealously bloomed in his chest. Had you fucking worn those on your walk here? How many people saw you? How many men had seen you in this way? Feral rage gripped him. Miguel set your bags down in the doorway, stepping back before he did something violent. 

“You eat yet?” the question came out as a snappish growl which seemed to startle you. He cringed. He didn’t want you to fear him – he just wanted you to know your place as his. 

Your brows furrowed. “You good, Miguel?”

“I’m dandy, princesa.”

A delicious blush bloomed on your skin. The honey was not enough to stop it from beaming forward. He wanted to drag his tongue down – to see how far this blush went. “I-I haven’t eaten yet.”

He smiled a slow, easy grin. “I’ve got some food in the kitchen. Eat with me?”

“Sure.”

Dinner went by slowly. Not in an awkward manner but it was agonising all the same. Agonsing to watch you sit across from him, agonising not to touch you, agonising not bit into your flesh and claw into your pussy with his hard cock. 

His patience wore thin but he maintained. 

The two of you had drinks afterwards, sitting on the couch until it grew too late. You yawned, hands stretching to the ceiling and pointed breasts jotting out through the cotton of your tank top. Your hoodie was abandoned somewhere. He eyed the pleasant curves of your body, the grooves that came from you being Spider-Woman and the softness that came from your natural figure.

“I’m gonna take that shower.” You announced. “Thank you for letting me stay with you, Miguel…I really appreciate it.”

Could you appreciate it with your mouth around his cock? “Of course. Anything for you. Y/N.”

You smiled prettily scampering off into your room. Miguel wasted no time in heading to his own, pulling up a camera feed from your bathroom. He sighed, watching you undress. You were humming along to something, hips shaking and hands running down your body. 

He raised his hips, shoving his sweatpants down. His half-hard length plopping out. Fingers encircled the base, rubbing up and down as he watched you move. 

You stepped into the shower and he switched the cameras. You sodded your body up, perfect nipples hard and hand slipping between your thighs. You rubbed yourself frantically. Rolling your nipple under your palms as you humped your fingers. 

Miguel turned the volume up, his own cock coated in his special essence as he watched you. His hand became frenzied, tighter as it took him closer to an orgasm. His peak came as your voice sounded the last thing he expected to hear. 

His own name. 

“Meirda…Y/N…you want me too, baby?” He coated himself, groaning as you slumped on the video. You shook off your climax and finished showering, stepping out with a glow. He restarted the video, turning the volume louder – thankful for his soundproof room. 

The knowledge that this wasn’t one-sided set something off in him. He threw his head, stroking himself from top to bottom. Desire coiled in his belly, like a snake ready to pounce.

Who was he to deny your wants, princesa?

***

Your fingers rapped on Miguel’s door somewhere close to midnight. You’d timed it perfectly. Your fearless leader hardly slept anyway so you were sure you wouldn’t be intruding. After all, you were sick? Weren’t you? The pills weren’t working, you needed to sleep. You hadn’t slept properly since that night. Lies concocted to make it all work. You just had to maintain your facade of innocence. 

You smiled, thinking of Miguel’s little performance for you on your camera. You’d seen him stroke himself over and over at some random video feed. You saw his thick seed spurt out. Saw the girth of his length twitch to life. Fuck. You wanted that. 

“Y/N?” Miguel’s voice was hoarse with sleep. You softened your face and frowned. “Did I wake you up? I’m so sorry…I just couldn’t sleep and you’d helped me that night…”

Ever generous, he opened his door wider to let you in. He’d changed form his earlier sweatpants. No doubt it was covered in his own spunk. A shame, really. “Of course, come inside. I’ll get another blanket for you.”

“Oh no.” You showed him the lilac blanket you’d brought with you from HQ. “I have my own.”

“Hmm.” He led you to the bed and slipped behind you to spoon you as easily as he had that night. You hummed, wiggling against him. You made sure to throw your blanket on both of you. You heard Miguel groan behind you, his body shifting and arms holding you close.

The synthetic material was interwoven with your pheromones, wired to set Miguel off. That night he had slept with you, you had plucked hair enough to get his DNA to pattern it so that it made him rut like a beast in heat. It was a chance you were taking. It would only work if Miguel wanted you too – if only a little You grinned, smiling as your payment boiled up. Miguel would be yours, it was what was best. 

Even if he didn’t know it yet.

Hours passed. You laid awake listening to him torture himself. Your patience grew thin. Why didn’t the idiot just hold you down and fuck you yet? “Miguel?” You whispered. “Everything alright?”

He murmured in Spanish, nothing clear enough for you to even hear. His hand, large and spanning, set itself on your hip. 

You ground your ass into his crouch. “Miguel?”

“Cállate princesa,” he growled in a tone that made your toes curl. An excited smile spread across your face. “I need to take a walk.”

That made your smile drop. “Now? It’s so late.”

He didn’t say anything, his weight lifting from the bed as he went to hurriedly dress. His back turned to you as he tried to be modest. Your eyes dropped to his round ass. Was he really going to go out and fuck some bitch after you did all the work? Not on your watch. 

“Miguel,” you dropped your tone, low and purring. “Come back to bed.”

He turned his head, eyes red as they flickered over you. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

Was he afraid of losing control? How adorable. You sat up, letting the blanket fall from you, the muscle shirt that was three sizes too big fell off your arm exposing an entire breast to him. You were being desperate but you’d be damned if he wasn’t going to rearrange your guts tonight.

He paused, staring at you. You almost grinned. That seemed to do it. 

He dropped the t-shirt he held and crawled over to you, pressing his forward to your as he inhaled your scent. “Tell me this is real.”

Oh.

You desperate thing. How I will devour you, How I will keep you. “It's real. I need you, Mig. I want you.”

His lips slammed onto yours. Tongue piercing the seam of your lips to kiss you fully. His hands pawed at your body, grabbing and groping at everything. Your sleep shirt was ripped in half as he claimed total access to your body. Your hands touched him everywhere, settling on the hump of his buttocks, pulling it close to your hips. You rubbed your bare crouch against his sweat, humping him with blind need. 

Miguel pushed you back, your head hitting a pillow as you watched him take his cock out. The fat, beautiful thing you’d been dreaming about riding since you met him. There wasn’t anytime for preamble – you wouldn’t suck the beautiful thing just yet. 

He stroked himself for a moment, red eyes boring into you as he lowered his face between your legs. Miguel ate you sloppily. Lips smacking and tongue licking, he sucked your swollen clit, pressing his index in and out of your weeping pussy. 

You gripped his head, arching your back as your thrust your hips up, truth spilled from you: “Eat me so good, Miguel. Fuck, you don’t know how long I wanted this.”

He was too busy enjoying his meal to respond. The lewd noises making you tremble as much as the act. Miguel’s fangs brushed against your folds, before he fucked your pussy with his tongue, pressing his dampened fingers to rub your clit as he licked your insides. 

Clenching around his head, your mouth spewed all manner of dark desires, the height of your arousal squirting all along his face. Words failed you as he continued to worship your pussy with his mouth and fingers. 

He raised his head for a moment. His left hand cupped your tit for him to suck while his other fingered you to your second orgasm. Thumb rubbing your clit in precise circles as he bit and sucked your areola. Faster than the first, you mewled your orgasm out on his fingers. Miguel let your nipple fall, watching you as he sucked his fingers dry. He sat on his hunches, leaning back as you writhed, quivering pussy begging for more. Begging for his cock. 

“You look pretty like this princesa, pretty falling apart in my bed for me. You want me to fuck you now? Want me to spread this pussy wide? Want me to make you fucking bawl? Beg for it, baby.” His face read of cruelty while his lips purred to you. You watched helpless as Miguel looked down on you. One of his hands stretched forward to your wanting hole and slapped it. You whimpered. He grinned and slapped it again. 

“I want you to know something before I fuck you,” he whispered, leaning forward, mushroom tip brushing along the seam of your slit. “You’re mine, princesa. You’re my puta. My perra, zorra. Mi amor. Mi todo. And I’m greedy, so when I fuck you – know that it's all over. I become your world and you become mine.”

You bit your lip. The words fell like poetry in your haze: you were truly made for each other. Did he even know how perfect he was for you?

“Ye…s.” You croaked out. “Yes, Miguel.”

His hips snapped, bottoming out into you so hard you screamed against his laughter.

***

Was this heaven?

Miguel had long since thought he was banned from such a place. Long since thought salvation was removed from him. But right now, while he held your waist and fucked his cock into you – he knew he had found it. You looked divine. Your mouth agape and hands rubbing all over him. Your breasts, bounced and full as he made his mark in you. He wanted every groove of his cock known by your pussy. His cock was to be imprinted, moulded into you. You were to know no other but his by the time he was done fucking the common sense out of you.

“My pretty cock dumb, princesa.”

You hummed, heels digging to his ass as his hips snapped. You squeezed him tight but he knew he was leaving marks on your body as he fucked you into his mattress. “Gonna keep you on my cock every day. You'd like that wouldn’t you, perra?”

“Love t-that.” Nails scrapped his back. “G-Gonna cum.”

He could feel that in the tightening of your pretty cunt. The slimy stickiness of your desire echoed in the room, he pinched your nipple making you cry out. “I know, princesa. Do that for me. Cum on my cock.”

Miguel felt your climax, wet and whimpering. You cried beneath him, overstimulated as he fucked you. He fondled your breast once more, hand going between the two of you. He rubbed your sensitive clitoris, smirking as you moaned from the ache. “Good girl. So pretty crying like that. Think you can go again?”

You shock your head, tears forming in your eyes. He felt his balls grow tight but kept at your clit. You shuddered at another shockwave. Finally, he thought leaning forward to cover you until your breasts smashed against his chest. His own release came, loosening the taut feeling that had centred his whole body. Miguel’s hips jerked, making sure his seed took its rightful place in you. 

When he tried to roll off, you kept him on. He looked at you questioning.“Don’t want any to drip out just yet.”

“No chance of that,” he muttered, kissing your neck. His hips jerked, as he found himself in a slow rhythm. “I’m not nearly done with this pussy yet.”

***

“I don’t think I’ve ever visited this universe.” you pointed out at one of the monitors. It was an Earth without a Spider-persona filled with cannibals. 

 Miguel looked to your side and grimaced. “Fuck no.”

You rolled your eyes. “What’s the sense of me being here if not to go to unknown places?”

Miguel huffed, hand sneaking under the skirt of your dress. “Princesa, you came here because you saw me talking to a female Spider-persona and then insisted on warming my cock for the rest of the afternoon.”

“So?” You waved your hand. He was lucky you didn’t her to that universe. Perky little bitch was looking a little too googly-eyed at him. “Maybe I was bored. You ever thought of that?”

“You can always go back out on the field.” He suggested.

You snorted, rolling your hips to make him hiss. His cock twitched, surrounded by your leaking cunt. “The last time I went on a mission I thought you were going to kill my poor partner.”

“He was being a little too friendly.” 

“Honey,” Miguel’s hand slipped inside the front of your dress, popping out your full breasts as he slowly rocked up into you. “Peter from Earth-997845 is very much engaged to Johnny Storm.” You wouldn’t mind going out again but you were so comfortable living simply with Miguel and helping him manage HQ. Who was he even talking to? He hadn’t gone on a mission for the months you two had started seeing each other either.

“You’re a hyp–” he stood up, making you bend over the desk, your breasts hitting the cool metal, he pressed the side of your face down as he slowly plunged in and out of you. “–ocrite.”

“Me?” He grunted, hands going up and down your sides as he took his time dragging his cock. “You’re the one who assaulted me in my office just so you could fill it up with your scent. You don’t think I know your tricks, zorra?”

You grinned, working your hips to meet him. “You better make me squirt a few times – just to make sure the scent takes then.”

Miguel chuckled above you, his talons ripping open your dress as he made good on your challenge. 

MASTERLIST

I'll probably make this a reoccurring thing. Hope you guys liked part 1. Reblogs and comments are nice.

[ohmygraves]

“an invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. the thread may stretch or tangle, but will never break.”

~~~

there was a moment in simon's life when he yearned for some kind of connection.

a relationship. to be cherished by someone else, to have someone to come home to and hold, feel the soft beating heart in his arms that slowly fades his mask away. someone who would melt his cold, dead heart, making him warm again.

well, shit happens, and he stopped.

he's broken, he didn't even know how many pieces have fallen apart, scattered around and too small and tedious to pick up. there was no way someone like him would have any chance, or even deserves a chance in the first place. it wouldn't be fair. it's only right to give up the idea of even any romance or whatever his old, naive heart thinks of.

it's less trouble, and there's no use chasing for something so impossible.

ghost poured himself into work, focusing on each and every grueling mission thrown his way. much more productive than spending his time wallowing his lonesome, or even just drowning his sorrow with alcohol while he watches some 6/10 show on the tv, knowing full well he can't be arsed to pay attention to it and just using it as background noise.

life was easier like this. it was lonely, but it sure was easy.

until he met you.

he bumped into you when you were at the base, and you were walking around cluelessly. he knocked over your files, papers scattered around the ground, and he helped pick it up. you were wearing a visitor badge, he noticed, and the papers were some of the stuff for the military, with a shadow company logo on the header. ghost just assumed you worked for the company, and plus some shadows have been staying at the base for the upcoming mission.

you laughed nervously, thanking him as you dusted off yourself, taking the files from him. he didn't know why, but his heart clenched when he saw your nervous smile and red cheeks, which concerned him. was that a sign of a heart attack?

still, he tried to push it to the back of his head and told you to be careful, lots of people wandering around the base since it's a busy day, and to secure those papers more thoroughly since they seem to be important files. you nodded, thanking him again and asked if he could show you the meeting room, since you couldn't find it.

well, he was going to go there anyway, so he'll walk with you. why not? it's not like his heart has been thumping faster and faster in his ribcage and he's trying so hard to ignore.

ghost keeps listening to you talk, about seemingly nothing meaningful, yet somehow interested him. weather? yeah, been cloudy lately, it's not great for flying later. shadows? bunch of rowdy bastards, but they get the job done good. tall people everywhere at the base? surprisingly, yeah. not much of a surprise considering you're quite small to ghost, but a lot of people are shorter than him so it's not much of a surprise. he just nods along with you.

the two of you were halfway when he saw graves, talking to some other shadows in the hallway until he saw you, immediately approaching you. the commander quickly bombarded you with questions, asking where you had been and how you were late for the meeting for ten minutes. you explained how you had to pick up the documents you left in the car and you forgot where the room.

graves introduced you to ghost as his assistant, a secretary to help him with some paperwork for the shadows. you'll just be here for a while and then you'll stay behind and work some more on paperworks for your boss while he's away. he placed his hand behind the small of your back as he ushered you into the room, looking over to ghost to make sure that he's following. there was a small hint of something in his eyes, a slight glare, as if judging him for seeing how you're being friendly to him.

was he jealous?

ghost let out a sigh, his heart clenching just slightly as he walked inside the room, seeing how graves kept you by his side while he started the meeting.

[hmslusitania]

15 for timkon if you'd like! (“This is a lot, even for you.”)

“Oh boy,” Kon says, hesitating in the entryway to the microcave Tim’s claimed. When Steph and Cass had called him about it, he’d thought they were exaggerating. In Kon’s defence, Tim’s been on more than a few somewhat unhinged murderboard investigations in his life, and the girls’ claim that this is actually, truly, the most unsettling one he’s done, that he’s locked himself in a microcave and they’re not sure he’s been eating — and are absolutely sure he hasn’t been sleeping — had felt melodramatic in the way only Gothamites can get.

In reality, he thinks they might’ve undersold it.

“Uh, hey, buddy, whatcha doin’?” Kon asks, hovering over the piles of office document boxes that — jesus fuck, is that a LexCorp logo?

He finds Tim in the centre of the microcave next to the aforementioned murderboard, and then he kinda wishes he hadn’t. The focal image in the centre of Tim’s web of red yarn and blue yarn and green yarn and something that looks like yellow caution tape that’s been twisted into thread is… Kon.

Tim is hunched in gargoyle posture next to the murderboard, chewing on the wrong end of a pen while he stares at the board with eyes so far past unfocused and surrounded by such dark bags that Kon’s kinda a little surprised Tim hasn’t like… toppled over and passed out.

At the sound of Kon’s voice, Tim spins on the balls of his feet and hurls the pen from between his teeth at him. Kon rebuffs it with his TTK and when the pen clatters to some scattered manila folders on the cave floor, Tim frowns.

“You’re… real?” Tim asks, lifting an eyebrow to inspect him. When he talks, Kon can see the dark spot of ink on his tongue that really can’t be pleasant to taste.

“Please tell me you haven’t been hallucinating,” Kon requests, and immediately regrets it because he’s really not sure he wants the answer to that.

“Um, n—just like the squiggles in the corners of your eyes when you’re sleep dep—why are you here?” Tim asks.

“Well, this is, uh, kind of a lot, even for you?” Kon replies, and hovers closer to the one working electronic in the microcave besides the flickering overhead light: the coffee pot. There’s nothing but tarry sludge at the bottom of the pot which is definitely contributing to the acrid scent of the cave, alongside Tim’s general state of being.

“Oh,” Tim says, looking back at the murderboard and then to Kon again. He seems to finally register that the subject of his investigation is now in his personal space, because his eyes go wide in addition to glassy. “Oh.”

“Any chance you’ll tell me why I’m the subject of this, uh…” Kon trails off, gesturing at the murderboard. Tim doesn’t write his tacked-on notes in any sort of way Kon can read. It’s not actually shorthand, not the official version of it, but probably some hybrid system Tim’s developed on his own. Whether or not it’s legible to other Bats is anyone’s guess.

“Um,” Tim says, and falls off the balls of his feet to land hard on his ass on the desk where he’s been perched. Based on the way he rubs absently at his knees and rolls his ankles around, Kon gets the impression he’d been crouched like that for way too long. “You’ve been, uh, exhibiting some… uncharacteristic behaviours? For about ten months now, give or take.”

Kon blinks. “I have?”

“Yeah, your sense of humour’s shifted, because you keep finding me funnier than other people in our group,” Tim says. He reaches for the pen he’d had in his mouth, like he means to use it as a pointer stick, and remembers at the last second that he’d thrown it at Kon to test his realness. Kon picks it up and offers it to him. Tim thanks him with a distracted, dazed expression, and then points it at the red lines. “And, um, you’ve been agreeing with me more? So, like, I know you haven’t been replaced by Match this time, because that was all about him trying to argue with me and divide our team. Also, you keep looking at me more when you think I’m not looking, I had to run through so many hours of security tapes.”

Tim points to some pretty damning screen grabs of security footage from the Young Justice HQ that kind of make Kon want to die of embarrassment.

It kind of sucks that Tim is so smart that he’s noticed all of this, but has also completely failed to put it together.

“So, what’s your conclusion, detective?” Kon asks.

“I don’t… know,” Tim huffs, and rubs the heel of his hand into one of his eyes like it’s about to give up on him and he needs to fight it into submission. “And I can’t think of what happened ten months ago that would’ve started a change in behaviour or—”

“Can I give you a hint?” Kon asks, swallowing down the nerves it immediately gives him, just to offer.

Tim blinks. “Wait, you’re aware of the change in behaviour?”

“Yeah, Tim,” Kon says, only keeping himself from laughing at the consternation on Tim’s face by the skin of his teeth.

Tim looks between him and the murderboard, a deep frown on his face. “So what happened ten months ago?”

“Well, eleven months ago, you told us you’re bi,” Kon says. He folds his arms across his chest and tucks his hands under his biceps to keep Tim from noticing them shake with nerves. Not that Tim’s really in a state to notice anything at this point. “And it took me about a month to do some soul searching and figure out that I am, too?”

The furrow between Tim’s eyes gets just a little deeper, like he can’t make the math problem add up. “But… if that’s it, then why are you looking at me like…”

He trails off, staring at the board for an excruciating enough length of time that Kon seriously considers just flying away and hoping Tim’s so out of it that he won’t actually remember this conversation.

“Wait, you like me?” Tim asks, face fever-bright when he looks away from the board to stare at Kon instead.

“Only kind of, like, a lot?” Kon replies, balling his hands into fists under his arms.

“Oh,” Tim says, and finally, to Kon’s relief, his face smooths out into a smile. “Cool.”

And, mystery solved, he immediately loses power to all systems, and slumps into a deep sleep. When he starts to topple forward off the desk like a marionette with the strings cut, Kon swoops forward to catch him. There’s probably a bed somewhere in this microcave, but if there is, it’s completely buried by Tim’s boxes of files, and Kon doesn’t want to dig. He cradles Tim in his arms and carries him out of the cave into the uncharacteristically pleasant Gotham evening, and when Tim burrows closer into his chest and murmurs, “like you too,” Kon can only smile.

[the-offside-rule]

Liam Lawson (VCARB) - Secret Santa

Day 9 of Christmas

Prompt: F1 secret santa exchange

25 Days Of Christmas

The rain drizzled down the Brazilian paddock, but the cool air inside the garages and motorhomes buzzed with excitement. It was media day, and it was that time of year again: picking the names for the Santa exchange, organized for the drivers to loosen up before the final race of the season. Rookie F1 driver Y/n Y/l/n stood by, a little nervous but mostly excited. This was her first year in Formula 1, and being asked to participate in the fun, she felt like part of the big family she’d always dreamed of joining.

After a quick drawing session, Y/n had pulled out a familiar name: Liam Lawson. A small smile crept onto her face. She had known Liam since they were kids, racing karts together. She remembered how obsessed he used to be (and still secretly was) with Cars, especially Lightning McQueen. It was the perfect opportunity for a gift, a playful nod to the good old days.

The paddock buzzed with energy as drivers bustled about, swapping jokes, preparing for the annual Secret Santa event. It was a light-hearted break from the intensity of the track, a chance for the drivers to relax and have a little fun. Fans eagerly awaited the video, and speculation had been rampant online about who would get who for Secret Santa this year. Y/N stood outside the Haas motorhome, tapping her foot nervously. She loved Christmas, but this event had her more on edge than usual. There was something about the thought of exchanging gifts with her fellow drivers (especially Liam) that made her heart race a little faster. She’d had a crush on Liam for as long as she could remember, ever since their karting days. It wasn’t exactly a secret to anyone but him, apparently. And according to the endless Twitter threads and Instagram posts, fans desperately wanted them to get together too.

The crew had already set up the cameras in the VCARB motorhome when Liam walked in, a bit curious but eager to see what he’d gotten. His eyes immediately lit up as he spotted the Lightning McQueen logo on the wrapping paper. "You ready for your gift?" The media coordinator grinned, appearing beside him. Liam forced a smile. "I guess so. Who got me again?" The coordinator's grin widened, clearly hiding the fact they knew exactly what was about to unfold. "You'll see." They teased, watching as he tore into the gifts, pulling out each item with increasing excitement.

"No way!"He exclaimed, pulling out the Crocs first, then the cap, then the socks. "This is amazing!" The camera zoomed in on his wide grin as he held up the Lightning McQueen backpack, laughing in disbelief. But it was the matching Lightning and Mater keyrings that truly caught his attention. His fingers brushed over the necklace, and for a moment, his smile softened into something more thoughtful.

"Whoever got this-" He started, looking up. "definitely knows me well." He looks across the paddock seeing Y/n grinning from ear to ear. "You?!" His eyes twinkled with excitement as he lifted up the keyrings. "I know youre obsessed with Cars so its the only logical thing to get you, mate." Y/n stammered, feeling heat rush to her cheeks. "And I know you still are, so I thought..." She trailed off as Liam scanned the matching keyrings. He chuckled softly, the sound making her stomach flip. "This is amazing, Y/n! I dont think you understand how much I actually love this." He thumbed the keyrings for a moment, then looked back up at her, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Do you realize what this means?"

Her brows furrowed. "What?" Liam dangled the keyrings in front of her. "It means our keys will always match." Y/n's heart did somersaults. "Yeah, I guess they will." She laughed, trying to play it cool, though internally, she was screaming. Oh my God, stop being cute! Liam glanced at the media team with a small smile. "I think this is the best Secret Santa gift I've ever gotten. Thank you, Y/n. Seriously." He smiled as he got up and pulled her in for a hug. "You’re welcome." She murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, still trying to process how her heart could be pounding so loud. With Liam grinning down at his gift, the media team signaled it was time to switch gears. Y/n waved at him one last time as she was led to the Haas garage for her turn to open her gift.

As she arrived, she found herself nervously glancing around. Her palms were sweaty, and her heart was still doing its usual Liam-induced gymnastics. The crew handed her a large, neatly wrapped gift, and she immediately noticed the familiar handwriting on the tag.

For Y/n. Hope you love this as much as I did picking it out. - Liam.

Her breath hitched. "Liam? He got me?" She carefully peeled back the pink wrapping paper, revealing a collection of Barbie-themed goodies. "Why, Barbie?" The crew asked. "I used to have a Barbie helmet, and my first kart was pink because I just loved Barbie." She smiled. There was a Barbiecolouringg book, a vintage Barbie and Ken doll, and at the bottom, a custom-made shirt. It was bright pink, of course, with a photo of her edited over a Barbie doll under the words, She’s Everything and below that, Liam’s face had been superimposed on a Ken doll with the words, He’s just Ken. Y/n burst out laughing, her heart swelling with warmth. She held up the shirt for the camera, turning to face the crew. "This is incredible. Oh my God, he did not!"

Her laughter died down, replaced by a fond smile. "He's the sweetest." She smiled. She stared at the note, her heart beating a little faster than usual. He remembered. She looked into the camera, her cheeks flushing pink. "Thank you, Liam. This is perfect." She said, a soft sincerity in her voice before turning away, overwhelmed by the emotions that had hit her all at once.

Y/n: Liam! I love the gift, thank you so much. I can’t believe you remembered the Barbie suit! You’re the best.

Back in the VCARB garage, Liam felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Seeing Y/N's name pop up, he couldn't help the grin that spread across his face.

Liam: Of course, I remembered, I’m glad you liked it. You totally made my day with the Lightning McQueen stuff.

Y/n: You’re welcome :) And I’m still laughing at the shirt. Did you really make that yourself?

Liam: What can I say? I’m a man of many talents ;)

Y/n: Well, you did a great job. Might have to wear it to the paddock tomorrow

Liam: You wouldn't dare.

Y/n: Watch me, Lawson.

Liam chuckled softly as he pocketed his phone. The media team might not have captured it on camera, but he had a sneaking suspicion that today’s gift exchange was going to be a memorable one, not just for the fans, but for them, too. Meanwhile, Y/n leaned back against the wall of the Haas garage, a wide smile on her face as she looked at the keyring in her hand. Maybe the fans were onto something after all.

As the video aired a few days later, fans went wild with excitement. Twitter exploded with hashtags like #LiamAndY/n and #SecretSantaGoals. Everyone had seen the chemistry, and for once, Y/n and Liam couldn’t deny that maybe—just maybe—they weren’t so delusional after all.

[kellysue]

Members of the cast of #FMLComix tell you how to pre-order #FMLComix.

FML #1 arrives in November 2024 with main cover art by David López and variant covers featuring artwork by Alvaro Martinez Bueno, David LaFuente, Nicola Scott (1:10 incentive variant), and Pepe Larraz (1:25 incentive variant). One additional variant cover will be revealed at a later date. Each issue will feature bonus material such as essays on music, true crime, interviews, and more that will be exclusive only to the single issues.

“David and I have been talking about doing something creator-owned together since Captain Marvel, but it took years for the stars and our schedules to properly align,” said DeConnick. “Now that we’re here though, it almost feels planned — like we needed exactly as long as it took us to grow and change, both as artists and as people, so that we could come back together for this big swing.

“FML is a challenging book — stylistically and in tone — and I’m not sure we could have pulled it off five years ago, honestly. But here we are—and I’m so proud of and impressed by the work put in by everyone involved. David is drawing like he’s got something to prove, Cris is pulling disparate styles together seamlessly, tying them together with her palette and Clayton of course, our ace and secret weapon, works his subtle magic on lettering to make sure you hear everything in your head exactly the way it was intended. McCubbin developed this terrific logo that evolves with each issue, and I don’t even know where to start with how supportive and inspiring Daniel Chabon’s editorial team has been. They’ve given us exactly what we needed at every step along the way.

“For my part, FML feels of a piece with Pretty Deadly and Bitch Planet; it’s as personal as the former and as satirical and of-the-moment as the latter.”

"This is without a doubt one of the best and most important books I have had the honor to edit in my fifteen years in the comic book industry,” added Senior Editor Daniel Chabon. “I have been a tremendous fan of this creative team for a long, long time; and I cannot wait for everyone to pick up this series and to see what an amazing achievement it is."

Riley is a 16-year-old heavy metal kid who draws down his anxiety with a ballpoint pen. His mother is an aging punk cartoonist slam dancing with a true crime obsession. Bound by threads of magical realism, they navigate the absurdities and horrors of our modern lives.

Issue one introduces Riley’s daily life: terrorism diaries, school shooter drills, and social pressures under the constant shadow of encroaching wildfires that rain ash like a morbid snow. His refuge? The Forest Park Witch’s House, where tales of chaos magic and trickster gods promise some semblance of sense in a senseless world.

Echoing the comedy of “Bottoms,” the nostalgic pull of “Stranger Things,” and the coming-of-age journey in “Stand By Me,” DeConnick’s first return to creator-owned comics since Bitch Planet is an apocalyptic odyssey that speaks to the resilience of the misfit and the power of art.

FML #1 (of 8) arrives in comic shops on November 6, 2024. It is now available to pre-order at your your local comic shop for $4.99.

Be sure to follow DarkHorseComics on social media and check our website, www.darkhorse.com for more news, announcements, and updates.

Praise Kelly Sue DeConnick and David López: “DeConnick has always combed top-notch lyrical text with a knack for bringing out the best in the artists she works with.”—Polygon

“Kelly Sue DeConnick either writes with a King Midas pen, is one of the few remaining wizards in the world, or, most likely, is just that damn good because Bitch Planet is yet another amazing series with her name on the cover.”—Word on the Nerd

“Pretty Deadly pushes at the limits of medium, challenging our ideas of what comics can be.”—IGN

“Kelly Sue DeConnick’s Wonder Woman Historia: The Amazons may just be the best thing to come out of the Black Label line to date.”—IGN

“Kelly Sue DeConnick is a force in comics.”—Book Riot

“Kelly Sue DeConnick—a powerhouse in the comics world.”—Salon

“A primal scream in exquisitely worked gold.”—Polygon on Wonder Woman Historia: The Amazons

“López’s pencils are like a breath of fresh air. His style evokes a classic superhero aesthetic while still bringing subtle emotional vulnerability to these characters through strong storytelling and page design.”—Nerds Unchained on Captain Marvel (2014)

[yellowjacketsfashion]

While there are lots of options as to where you can buy a replica of the Yellowjackets Letterman Jacket, they’re not always easily attainable. Last year for halloween I made my own letterman and I figured others could find my process helpful. (The supplies I used were things I already had or were accessible to me but there are other ways to create the same thing. If you have different materials that also work feel free to make suggestions or use them in your process).

HOW TO MAKE A YELLOWJACKETS LETTERMAN JACKET:

Supplies:

• Gold/Navy Letterman jacket

• Printer

• White Printer paper

• Gold Felt

•Chalk

• Heat ‘n Bond

• Embroidery floss in the colors White, Black, Gold and Gray (I ended up needing two packs of white).

• Embroidery needle

• White (or light colored) tissue paper

• White fabric (I used cotton)

• Embroidery hoop

• (Optional) White and Black thread

• Glue stick

Step 1: Aquire your jacket.

You can do a lot of different things for the plain base jacket. I bought mine off Amazon but if wanted too you could probably sew one or buy one second hand etc. The only specification is that it’s Gold and Navy. It is important to do this first because everything else builds off of this step.

Step 2: Print out designs.

Use the photos I provided below and paste them into a word document. From there you can size them up or down to reach the size that you like for printing. The “Yellowjackets” logo is for the back of the jacket so when I did it I kind of split the photo in half and put it on two different pages. In the end it turned out to be just shy of 13 inches length wise. The round patch goes on the front and mine was 4.25 inches in diameter.

Depending on the size of your jacket your patches can be bigger or smaller, but once your happy with the sizing you can then move onto the next step.

Step 3: Gather supplies.

The gold felt is to be used to create the back patch. Because of the size of mine I was able to get a little 50 cent sheet of it (I was able to place the logo at an angle to fit it) but because the patch sizes will be different it’s important to bring your print out of the logo when shopping to make sure you have enough. Most craft / fabric stores should have this in stock. It’s also a good idea to bring your letterman jacket with you to try to color match the shades of gold/yellow as best as possible.

The embroidery hoop, floss, white fabric, and thread are for the front patch as I hand embroidered mine but in theory you could use an embroidery machine or printable fabric sheets to create your patch. If you use these other methods you’ll need different supplies and different instructions that I can’t give.

The Heat ‘n Bond is to iron the patches onto your jacket so they stick (though I’ve had to re iron my back patch because the fibers of the wool make it hard to stick to). It will essentially act as double sided tape.

Step 4: Creating & attaching the back patch

• Cut out a piece of Heat n’ Bond that covers the area where your logo will go.

(i am using colored paper in the example pictures. Yellow represents the felt. White represents the heat and Bond).

• Once you have the right sized piece of Heat n’ Bond, iron it onto the back of your piece of Gold felt (make sure to follow the instructions on the Heat n’ bond packaging).

•Use your printed template of the logo and cut out the words on the felt. You can cut out the logo on paper first and trace it or attach the paper to the felt and just cut them both at the same time. (I moved the dot on the J down so that it’s still attached just to make it easier but you can do whatever you want).

• Put on your Letterman and use the chalk to mark where on the back you want the patch to go. For this step it can be helpful to have someone else assist you (though it’s possible to do it yourself).

• Take off the jacket and lay it flat to align the patch up with your chalk markings. Once it is where you want it you can Iron it onto the back of the jacket (according to the instructions on the Heat n’ Bond).

You now have a finished back patch!

Step 5: Creating the front patch.

• Trace the design of the front patch onto tissue paper (I would suggest a dark pen or sharpie so you can see it really well). If you have trouble seeing the design underneath it can be helpful to hold it to a window pane when it’s sunny or another light source. The photo of the logo I included has a white border around the black words but the patch in the show doesn’t have it so I just ignored it. From there you glue the traced tissue paper onto the fabric.

• Cut out a piece of white fabric big enough for your embroidery hoop and glue the tissue paper sketch onto the fabric.

• Put the fabric/tissue paper into the Embroidery hoop.

• Thread the needle and start embroidering the design. I found it good to use different techniques on different areas of the patch (long white stitches on the wings versus short ones on the background etc. I also thought it was helpful to embroider in color groupings (so like white all at once or yellow all at once etc. so you don’t have to switch out the floss that much). Save the white outer circle and black outline for last though to help clean everything up. The white and black sewing thread can be used to outline smaller details or neaten up some of the floss.

• Once the patch is done cut out a piece of Heat n’ Bond that covers the back of the patch.

• Put on your jacket and mark with chalk where you want to put the patch. In the show it’s placed by the second from the top button. (See Jackie reference photo at the top of the post).

• Iron on the Heat n’ Bond to the back of the patch (following packet instructions).

• Iron the Patch to the jacket based on your chalk markings.

• You have completed the front patch!

Above are some photo examples of my jacket (please ignore my messy hair in the left picture, being in the snow got it ruffled up).

Sorry for the long post but I think I got everything covered. I hope you guys found this helpful but if you have any questions about the jacket, my process, or anything else feel free to ask!

[writingfromasgard]

Kinktober 2024: Day 4: Clothed Sex [Price]

tw: feet rubs, slight angst, female reader x John Price

Of all the loving moments you share with your husband, John Price, it’s the bittersweet ones you love the most. You can feel his love thrumming against you whenever security pages your office phone to let you know he’s headed your way.

Excitement swells in your chest, along with grief in knowing tonight you’ll go home to an empty house. He’s freshly showered as he steps into your office, bringing in a wave of that woody cologne he wears. His expression is one of guilt, his head tilted downward and his shoulders drooping.

He’s holding a paper bag with your favorite restaurant’s logo plastered on the side. He walks like his feet are made of lead as he puts the bag on your desk and drags up the extra chair you keep in your office for him.

“Sorry, Doll.” He whispers, setting up your entire meal for you.

John settles back in the chair, a familiar gesture that signals the start of your shared moment. You instinctively twist your chair to face him, stretching your legs across his lap. His hands work up and down your calves while you enjoy your meal, nothing but your soft sighs of satisfaction filling the air.

“I went ahead and made dinner, too. You need to throw it in the oven to reheat it.” He lifts one ankle to kiss it. “You don’t have to do this every time work calls.” You reply.

“You know it could always be the last time.” His lips tug down into a frown. “I want to leave you with something good.”

The conversation dies down until you’re finished with your meal. He packs away the trash into the same bag it came in. He abandons his chair in favor of kneeling between your thighs, hands massaging them upward until they’re pushing your skirt up higher. He jerks you to the edge of your office chair.

You love the feeling of his beard against your inner thighs, lapping at you to get you worked up. You thread your hair through his hair, keeping quiet so the rest of the office doesn’t hear how good John’s treating you.

It’s hard to contain said noises when his thick fingers invade your slick walls, sinking to the knuckle with a raspy moan from his throat.

“Can I do that for you, Doll?” He asks, pumping his fingers inside of you. “Can I leave you with something good?”

You nod quickly, and his fingers leave you aching for more. He can’t seem to resist swirling them in his mouth to taste more of you before offering them to you. His other hand is undoing his belt while you clean off his fingers. There’s a muffled moan from both of you when he pushes into you. His mouth replaces his fingers, kissing you greedily through his shallow thrusts.

It’s nothing like what he gives to you in the bedroom, it’s simply satisfying a need to leave his mark on you before he leaves. You know, as his hands dig into your thighs, he’s going to leave bruises to remember him by. The pressure he applies when kissing you is meant to swell your lips, along with the bite to your lower lip.

Your nails dig into his neck, leaving crescent red marks behind. You wish you could run your nails down his back or his chest to leave further marks. You settle for the way he gasps your name against your lips, the way he comes undone so quickly, the rough pad of his thumb over your clit meant to send you over the edge with him.