#Why do you as a man have another man in your big two page spread character illustration-

[robocops-a-christ-allegory]

I havent read Adrian’s entry in the other Whos Who so I dont know if this changed because this version wasnt written by Paul Kupperberg or Marv Wolfman since neither of them were credited but in the first entry I saw of him Adrian is canonized as having been one of those people who were very left in the 60s (even actually being called a leftist) and then turned into a republican when he got older BECAUSE HE LIKE, GOT REAL, MAN!

This is actually mentioned by Blackthorn in issue 49 but I kind of thought she might be referring to Just him being a Super Nice DA (because that happened a few times in past issues).

(though obviously calling him a bleeding heart makes it obvious what she means)

I really like this for him. Its very fitting for Adrian’s character to have been the kind of person that thinks they grew out of leftism

[bunnys-kisses]

single father simon (again!!!) ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

the apartment building felt bad for simon riley. a military man with a newborn daughter, his lovely little ruby with her tuft of blond hair and big curious dark eyes. she was a spitting image of her father, except compacted into a chubby little girl.

ruby was precious though, which was why as simon's neighbour you made sure the riley's were taken care of. you'd often bring over leftovers, telling simon that it was impossible to cook for one person.

"simon." you said with your hands on your hips, "if anyone tells you that you can make a lasagna for one person is lying or trying to sell you something... which means they're also lying. so take it!" you weren't taking no for an answer!

you even went as far as to donate to him one of your old onsies from when you were a baby (it wasn't like it was doing anything in storage). it was a pastel pink with an embroidered winnie the pooh. when simon saw you holding her after he put it on her, his heart leapt. he wanted to put all of his babies in the clothes you wore when you were a baby.

it wasn't that simon was finding another womb to occupy, but you were simply so good with ruby. when he had to drive out of the city and to base or had to sit on boring online debriefs. you were more than happy to watch ruby. you worked from home at a lackluster office job, you didn't mind having the little girl nearby! she brought a little excitement to the job when you identified objects in your office.

"this is a stapler! you use this to i guess.. staple pages together! s-t-a-p-l-e-r!" then smiled at the girl in the playpen.

the nail in the coffin for simon was when you were watching her for an afternoon and all of a sudden you were feverishly knocking on the door. in your arms was the little girl, she didn't look hurt. but you looked scared.

"i'm so sorry, simon..." you swallowed, "she said her first word. i know it said between ten to fourteen months, but! i didn't think it would be almost right at ten!"

"what did she say?" simon said as he beckoned you inside, a strong arm curled around your shoulders as you carried ruby.

you looked at him with a big frown before you said, "goddamnit... her first word was goddamnit." apparently you were cutting peppers for dinner and nicked your finger. you said the word and she parroted it!

simon knew you were going to be his bride. his missuses, the new mother to his baby girl and the future mother of all the other riley kids.

the electricity between you two aided in your eventual tumbling into bed. simon spread you out on the big queen mattress as let that large cock of his bully the deepest parts of your sex. simon made sure that ruby was safe with another (much older) neighbour so you wouldn't worry. (you were already becoming so much like a mother, it was honestly endearing!!).

simon managed to take you missionary, the mating press and finally ending with doggy style. your sweet moans only made him go harder. he needed to breed his future wife!! did he maybe forget to mention that he wasn't using protection, maybe. there was no evidence that he did or didn't. but when that little piece of plastic came back positive, he was there for you.

he knelt in front of you while you sat on the toilet. his large hand in your hair, "don't be sad, love. you're already a mother to ruby, why not give her a sibling? a little brother to bully." he then took your hands and kissed you on the cheek, "we'll be a family. we could even get married tomorrow if that makes you feel better?"

you'd be married at the courthouse within the week. simon in his military finest and you in a dress that you thrifted only days prior. you had even made you own veil and it turned out well. your bouquet was flowers stolen from the front of city hall. daisies, roses and a few dandelions.

he pulled you in for the kiss, a promise that you two would be together forever. and the two day honeymoon with just the two of you (and technically the baby you carried) was nothing short of romantic. you stayed in the city, but you two played tourist. you both didn't want to be too far away from ruby. after all she was so small.

soon you became the mother of two with a loving husband. ruby and her future brother that was sound asleep in your womb as you laid cuddled up next to simon. maybe his methods were a little unorthodox to bag himself a proper mama for his daughter. but you melted into the role so easily.

"my beautiful wife." he said with his voice tinged with utter devotion. he didn't want another woman to be his daughter's mother! only you, and he had the ring to prove it.

you were the perfect wife to him and the perfect mother to ruby. and you'd only get better with your son on the way. <3

[luvgavii]

color me jealous - (pg8)

summary: jealous pedri featuring rúben mf dias ;) (model!reader)

dedicated to all the pedri girls <3

You were smiling at your phone while you sipped on the expensive champagne, replaying your Instagram story over and over again, the imagine you posted of the flowers your boyfriend sent to your dressing room before your modelling show never failing to spread a smile to your face. But of course, your happy moment had to be interrupted.

Turning on your heels, a strong scent of perfume met your nose as two arms wrapped tightly around you, the elder woman air kissing your cheeks.

“you were absolutely beautiful up there, y/n!” The lady, one of whom dresses you wore tonight spoke in an elegant voice yet thick accent you could only recognise as french.

“thank you! the dress was beautiful,” you smiled brightly, the woman giving your hands a squeeze, whispering another few rounds of praises before disappearing somewhere in the gallery to mingle with the rest of the stuck up, posh people. You knew you had to join them, but your thoughts were filled with one person only.

You looked around, your eyes scanning every table, every single corner of the big gallery for Pedri, yet you could not spot him anywhere.

A frown crept to your face, a thousand thoughts filling your mind.

‘did he leave early?’

‘why would he leave before coming up to you, kissing you and telling you he’s proud of you?’

‘maybe he had a football emergency?’

‘football emergency this late?’

“I saw Pedri outside taking a phone call a few minutes ago,” the familiar voice of Rúben Dias came from behind you, making your eyes widen as you whipped your head around, meeting Rúben’s warm smile and eyes.

“Rú? What are you doing here?” You asked, a chuckle escaping your lips as you went in to hug the tall man.

Rúben laughed, wrapping his arms around you before speaking, “As if I’d miss out on seeing you on that runway,” his smile could almost reach his ears as he looked down at you.

While any other girl would absolutely melt under Rúben’s eyes, you always made sure to keep a respectful distance, first because you had Pedri who was your person in every possible way and second because you didn’t want to fuel into Rúben’s flirting too much. You were loving the attention, though.

“thank you! I appreciate it,” you smiled, you were happy to see him, the last time you two had hung out was a long time ago when you were modelling in England, but the Man City player always seemed to have some interest in you, even before you started going out with Pedri a few months ago.

You and Rúben have always been friendly, sure, he was always playful flirting with you, but whatever attraction you had felt for the portuguese has quickly disappeared when you met Pedri. As soon as Rúben had posted a picture of the two of you at the gala, arms wrapped around your shoulders as your hand rested on his chest, the fans and media went wild.

It didn’t take long for the fans to figure out where the location of the after party of your modelling agency took place, and while Pedri was on the phone with his manager, he couldn’t help the frown on his face when the fans a few feet away were chanting Rúben Dias’ name.

You met Pedri almost six months ago when your best friend insisted on going to a Barcelona game, and while you didn’t know much about football at the time, your interest was quickly growing when you saw the man who wore number 8. With the help of a friend of a friend, who happened to be married to one of the players, you stuck around long enough to meet them after the game and you and Pedri became inseparable ever since.

He was confused as to why in the world there were people holding Man City jerseys, chanting the name of another football player, until he checked Instagram and saw the photo that was now on every gossip page. People were speculating, asking if you and him had broken up so short after hard launching your relationship and Pedri hated that more than he liked to admit. He hated being in the spotlight with things like these but he hated even more the way Rúben fucking Dias held his arm around you.

Back inside, you were laughing at whatever Rúben had said, your head falling back and your nose scrunching in that adorable way Pedri always said he adores.

Pedri, Pedri, Pedri, Pedri, your mind repeated over and over again.

Your eyes met across the room, his brown eyes softening when your gazes locked. His eyes hid some kind of harshness in them, and you could immediately tell that there was something bothering him, and that something happened to start with an ‘R’ and end with an ‘úben’.

While it was morally wrong to fuel Pedri’s jealousy, you couldn’t help yourself and keeping your boyfriend on his toes wouldn’t hurt.

Your palm pressed against Rúben’s bicep as you leaned up to whisper something in his ear, Pedri’s eye twitching while he watched from afar, wondering what the hell you could’ve said that got Rúben smiling so brightly. He clenched the glass of whiskey harder in his hands until his knuckles turned white and for a second Pedri considered calling Gavi to help him commit murder, knowing his best friend would definitely help dig away the body.

“you’re really trying to tick Pedri off, huh?” Rúben laughed, making you chuckle and making Pedri picture his murder in graphic detail.

“he’s really sweet, I like it when he gets a bit rough and jealous sometimes,” you laughed, shaking your head at Rúben, your eyes meeting the familiar chocolate brown orbs.

“what, like, throw you to the wall rough?” Rúben raised an eyebrow, but couldn’t help the smile that spread to his lips.

“no, not like that,” you laughed knowing you were not about to discuss your sex life with Rúben, at the after party of your show.

“mi amor?” you heard the soft, familiar voice calling out for you, both you and Rúben turning to see Pedri.

He looked almost sad, and you couldn’t help the pain in your chest when you saw that disappointed glimmer in your boyfriend’s eyes which was probably because you barely got to see him after the show. The quicky in your dressing room before hitting the runway was good tho.

“can I talk to you for a second?” Pedri dragged his voice, his eyes falling from Rúben to you, not caring how rude the other football player might consider him, “alone.”

You nodded and bid Rúben goodbye, thanking him for coming. Pedri was still a golden retriever, so even if he was slightly pissed off because you paid so much attention to Rúben, he still shook his hand.

“looking forward to that friendly,” Rúben said with a slight tease in his voice, making Pedri clench his jaw, he barely recognized himself, he was never this jealous.

“I’m looking forward to rearranging your jaw—“ Pedri muttered under his breath as you and him walked away, his words caused you to laugh and hit his shoulder.

“can you not? he was nice to you,” you chuckled, stopping in a secluded spot in the gallery.

“by flirting with you all night? damn, we have different definitions for ‘nice’,” Pedri huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked you in the eyes.

Jealousy, rage and so much love and affection was in them. No matter how much you annoyed him, Pedri never seemed to be able to lash out at you and that was the greenest flag you could think of.

“you did that on purpose didn’t you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow when you smiled cheekily, your arms wrapping around his waist and your chin resting on his chest, “you’re so annoying,” Pedri mumbled when he realised all that overly friendly stuff with Rúben was an act.

“you love meee,” you chuckled, laughing at Pedri’s narrowed eyes, knowing he was either plotting your murder or thinking of how to get you back.

His lips curled into a grin, his nose rubbing against yours as he spoke against your lips, “too much, mi estrella.”

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Azriel being jeolous of His mate’s Fictional boyfriend 😅❤️

Bookish crush

You both are readers. I think that would be something you two would probably bond over. Something that might bring you closer. Get you talking. So the library or a hidden-away corner would be a place you two lingered a lot.

And most evenings it was you pressed against Azriel's chest. Each holding a book. It's such quality time. And knowing that you feel so comfortable in someone's presence that you don't even have to talk is priceless. Although, one of Azriel's hands would be moving through your hair, fingers twisting the ends of it.

Side note, why do I think that if you're super tired Azriel would get his shadows to hold the book for you? Like you could be tucked in a blanket, all snuggled up, maybe even against Azriel's side and the dark mist is just flipping through pages for you.

And Azriel knows about the smutty books that Nesta was giving out to every breathing female around her because Cassian is complaining on the daily how some imaginary dick is making his mate more blushy than he had ever seen. Just Azriel had never seen any of the similar covers among your book piles. Until the "infection" spreads.

It started rather innocently - Azriel walked in on you blushing. Cheeks so bright with crimson they almost looked on fire. He asked you if something happened but you kind of brushed him off, saying something about a cute date and how you suddenly had the urge to kick your feet up and down. Azriel had raised a brow at that but chose not to comment. But his observations stayed sharp.

Azriel is so aware of how your eyes grow big at times, how you just throw your head back, how you silently shout at the pages. He had heard you from another room once. A light screech that was followed by a handful of words that didn't make sense.

"That's it. What's this book about?", Azriel had broken the silence after watching you nearly combusting internally for about twenty minutes. His book now long forgotten. You didn't answer at first and that made Azriel frown slightly, "Y/N!", your eyes shot up as you muttered a quick, "Huh?"

"What are you reading about?", Azriel repeated his question, your eyes fell onto the pages, "Oh, just a love story", you breathed out almost a sigh, "enemies to lovers actually, and he's a grump". Azriel raised an eyebrow at you, "So why are you doing all of this?". Now it was your turn to crock your head to the side, "What this?"

Azriel said nothing at first. Just watching you. He wondered if he should mention it at all. Maybe you were just a reader who had a lot of expressions. "Well, why are you throwing your head up? Getting all giddy? Looking at that book like...", and Azriel stops because your cheeks are as crimson now as before. He moves forward, "Let me see,", "NO!", you nearly scream, making him stop. "Why not, come on...", Azriel tries to reach for the hardcover again but you press it closer to your chest.

"Just there's a male and he's... like very adorable", you blur out, "He's just uhh...", Azriel's big eyes watched you, "He's uhh... uhh? What does uhh mean?". You looked at Azriel for a moment, debating what to tell him. It was one thing talking about silly book crushes to the girls, completely different admitting it to someone you fancied in real life.

"Well... There's a male here", you tapped the cover of the book you were reading, "Tall, handsome, dark feathers. A true romantic. You could say a man written by a woman", your words sounded so true and honest that Azriel couldn't help but tighten his jaw. "And you're blushing because?", he asked casually. "Well... I fancy him like well no... not him... well the idea of that", you said messily and now Azriel was frowning. Did you fancy some bloke in a book? What did he have that Azriel didn't?

"Right... let me read it", Azriel reached for the book again. "No, Az, it is silly", you shook your head. "Well, no it is not. Because you fancy him and I've here been trying to smitten you for months but it doesn't seem to work so give me the book", Azriel blurred out and it felt as if he didn't mean to say most of it allowed. "You don't need to compete with him and for the record, I do like you", you mumbled, dropping the book to the side as you inched closer to the spymaster. His hands pulled you closer, "Still don't like that there is any version of a male that gets you all blushy", Azriel grumbled and you let out a chuckle, "Should I make you a list of things I like about him?", you teased and Azriel rolled his eyes. Yet his shadows were already tucking the book deep within their black swirl for an in-depth investigation later on.

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | 0.5 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (18+)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

You leave Como, your arrival in Verona is going to make the rest of the trip much more complicated.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance, professor / student relationship, age gap ( 22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity, bickering and teasing, extremely suggestive, somewhat graphic towards end, minors dni. WC: 5.8k

…

You’re driving him fucking crazy. You’re spending far too much time together. The worst part? — You’re actually listening to him now. No, the worst part about that is that you’ll listen to what he tells you, but you’re still giving him all of that fucking attitude about it.

The two of you have spent so much time together, in fact, that Bradley didn’t get another chance to get Natasha alone. It’s for the best, because she actually smiles and waves him off when he leaves this time. Normally, they’ve argued by now. He never moved on and she’s not coming back — the usual kind of stuff.

Today, she had stretched up onto her tiptoes and draped her arms around his thick shoulders, exhaling calmly against the warm skin of his neck. “We’re looking forward to seeing you again next year, Bradley.”

And then, she had taken a step back and entwined her fingers with her husbands. And Bradley hadn’t said anything. He’d looked the woman that he spent so long loving in the eye, and said absolutely nothing. And now, he’s sitting on a packed minibus to a different location, with nothing but you on his mind.

In a professional sense of course.

It’s professional, because he’s sitting here and watching you read the play that he gave you. It’s from the Gracchan period, a time where social mobility was a big focus, but the play itself is by a very wealthy man — making fun of that. It’s about a girl from a poor family of farmers who falls in love with a very powerful man in their town.

Bradley’s eyes scan the page, then flicker up to your face. Your brows are furrowed in concentration, the small playbook open against one thigh and your dictionary wedged open between yours and Bradley’s. You’re just past the first act.

“I don’t… she…?” You shake your head in confusion, lifting it to look at Bradley. “She wants to belong to him? — Like work for him?”

Bradley’s lips twitch. He gives a small shake of his head, leaning closer and taking the dictionary. He flips around a little, his shoulder pressing into yours. Warm skin, the smell of his cologne, the rumble of the wheels against the uneven road.

Pasquale’s love for the 1970s American rock pours through the car in the form of an Eagles album. Bradley knows which one. You couldn’t have less of a clue.

“She’s saying she wants to give herself to him. Not belong to him.” Bradley explains patiently, turning the book towards you so that you can see the rough translation. It’s an easy mistake to make. That’s why he has you reading the play, so you’ll be able to use the context of the scene to eliminate the mistakes you’re making.

You look up at Bradley briefly. Belong to, give herself to — you’re stuck on how that could possibly not mean the same thing, until it hits you. Give herself to. Her body, she means.

“Oh. Thanks.” You set your headphones back on your ears and turn your attention back to the play. Bradley gives you a curt nod and adjusts his sunglasses. He spreads his thighs just a little. His knee presses gently against yours, not pushing, just sitting there.

You don’t mind it much. But, you’re beginning to notice a pattern. He touches you too much. When you’re studying together, his feet rest on your side of the table, constantly nudging your ankles. He’ll get too close when you’re walking by each other. He’ll sit with his legs spread so far that you’ve got no choice but to let his thigh smush into yours. But, you don’t mind that too much.

What you do mind, is that the man in this book was described briefly in the beginning as having brown curls. And now, now that the protagonist is throwing herself at him, there’s only one person that you’re picturing playing him.

It’s not your fault. He’s arrogant, he mocks her constantly and he’s got brown curls. Sounds like Bradley. Unfortunately, at this moment in time, Bradley’s character is all too willing to make the wrong choice. You swallow softly, brows knitted together as you try to convince yourself that you’ve got the translation wrong.

That his hands aren’t trailing up, under the fabric of his skirt. Your eyes dart from the page to Bradley’s hands resting against his thighs. You study the tanned flesh, the sun-bleached, blonde hair at his wrist. The protruding veins on the back of his hands. The gold class ring on his finger.

Bradley feels you shift in your seat, your thigh knocking into his. He glances down again and quickly back to the road. Those denim cutoffs fit your thighs perfectly. But, he can’t stop himself from taking a peek at your face. Plastered in discomfort.

Maybe he shouldn’t have given you a book with a sex scene in it, but this is mild compared to some of the content in his class. This book is the introduction to virtus versus pudictia. He figures the concept will be something you get your head around pretty quickly. Men doing whatever the fuck they want and women waiting patiently for a husband. Sounds exactly like what you’ve got going on already.

It’s only a three hour drive from Como to Verona, and Bradley’s got prep work for his research here to get done. He sits there and cards through the papers like he’s working, but really he spends most of the journey just observing.

Your reaction to his syllabus irritates him, but intrigues him in a way that he just can’t explain. He wants you to stop being so old-fashioned and wake up to the concept that sex is just a natural part of life — but also, he isn’t used to being around girls like you. He has made a point of surrounding himself with people who are nothing like you.

“Hey, Bradley,” You broach the topic tentatively, and he feels you shift slightly closer to Pasquale. He sighs. You dog-ear the page and close the book of the play. His eyes linger on that, before he finally looks up at you. You shift once more, taking a deep breath before speaking. “So, I spoke to my parents…”

You’re not going home. That wouldn’t make sense. You wouldn’t have just spent three hours giving yourself a headache by trying to read a raunchy Roman play if you were going home. Bradley’s brows draw together. He sets his papers down on his legs.

Pasquale winces as he looks between the two of you — it has been such a smooth drive so far.

“My dad has spoken to the Dean, he wants me to have my own room for the rest of the trip. He’s paying.” You explain calmly, pulling your knees up to your chest and resting your feet against the bench. Dog-earing pages and sitting like a kid, it just doesn’t fit into this image that Bradley has of you in his head.

He scoffs, lips twitching under that stupid moustache. “Of course he is.”

Between the two of you, neither one is really sure what his problem is. Maybe he wants you to be more independent, maybe he just likes the way your face looks when you scowl at him. Either way, he’s an expert at getting under your skin.

“Would you rather pay?” You bite back. Pasquale cringes, leaning away from the two of you. Bradley’s stare is something to behold. He really has perfected it. It’s mean, hardened and it’s superior all at once. And yet, it still doesn’t make him look any less handsome.

“I’d rather that you at least try to get along with the other kids. It would make your life easier.”

“I’m not a kid.”

“You know what I meant.” He knows that. It doesn’t make him feel any better about the way he feels about you. But, he knows that you’re more mature than he gives you credit for. Even if you punched him in the nuts last week.

“It’s really none of your business either way, I was just letting you know.”

It’s quiet between the two of you for a while. Almost long enough for the entirety of Hotel California to play through those dusty speakers.

“Does your dad know that you’re the one who started that fight?” Bradley really can’t help it. He’s a decade your senior, he should really be more mature about things. But, there’s just something about you that makes him want to put an end to your know-it-all attitude.

“I didn’t.” You cross one knee over the other, lifting your chin and straightening your spine.

“Pulled a good handful of her hair out, kid.” He scoffs, turning his attention back to his paperwork. His tone is so dismissive that even Pasquale wouldn’t judge you for hitting him in the balls again.

“I’m not a kid!” You turn sharply towards him, scowling furiously.

“Right. That’s why you’re here, huh? — Because you’re grown up enough to stand up to your dad?” He doesn’t even look up at you. That’s the worst part. Pasquale winces so hard that he has to fight with himself to keep his eyes open and on the road. He waits for the sound of an impact, a hit, a scream — anything.

Instead, you lean in so close that the soft curve of your breast nudges Bradley’s arm. “I’m grown up enough to know that pining over a married woman is pathetic.”

“Pining? — Kid, your own fucking fiancé couldn’t care if you lived or died. Don’t fucking lecture me about love.”

It falls quiet quickly. The voices in the back of the bus fade out, everyone turns their attention towards the two of you, arguing again. You look down slowly. Bradley follows your gaze to his fingers curled around your forearm, tight. He looks back up and this is all to familiar. Sitting with you facing him, blinking at him like you’re about to cry.

“Get out.” He breathes finally, releasing your arm and sitting back against the door. Your face twists, confused. Pasquale shoots a look at Bradley — they can’t just leave a kid on the side of the road, surely. “Sit in the back. Finish that fucking play, we’ve got more to cover.”

Pasquale pulls over to the side of the winding, countryside road and steps out of the van, pulling his door open. You’re silent as you get out and step into the back, finding all of the seats taken. Abigail pushes Luke’s backpack off of a seat and gestures for you to sit with a pitiful smile. You take the spot and secure your headphones over your ears again, reaching to the Walkman at your side and skipping the song.

You don’t say another word for the rest of the drive. Bradley doesn’t even look at you. He gives you your key first just so you’ll go. This place does have an elevator, it’s just dusty and creaky and awful. You’re on a different floor to everyone else too. That doesn’t help.

You sit down, settling against the foot of the bed with your suitcase abandoned in the corner. He doesn’t know anything about your relationship. He just has so many cruel things that he could say to you — she’s all that you’ve got on him, and clearly she is a sore subject. The thought bubbles in your chest to the point that it makes your face warm. It makes you entire body hot.

That stupid look on his face. Like he knows anything about you, or Malcolm, or the way that you love each other.

You wish you had longer to sit and stew. Instead, you’re interrupted by his stupid, big fist slamming against the other side of the door to your hotel room. You know it’s him because he’s the only one rude enough to do it. Unsurprisingly, when you tear the door open, he’s the one in the hall. Without saying anything, he brushes past you and walks inside, then lifts up the textbook in his hand.

“Let’s get this shit over with so that we don’t have to see each other later.”

You wouldn’t be foolish enough to think he was here to apologise, but still, his attitude makes you want to hit him with that textbook. But, he’s got a point, and you would rather not see him this evening either. So, you sit down on the bed and fold your arms over your chest.

He takes a look at you and frowns, then does a survey of the room. Wardrobe, your own bathroom, two nightstands, suitcase rack, floor lamp. No desk. Begrudgingly, he takes a seat beside you on the bed.

“Alright, the play that I gave you,” He exhales like that will make him let go of all of the anger he’s holding on to. It doesn’t. “It focuses heavily on the sexual roles of men and women in developing Rome. Did you pick up on that?”

You watch him open the textbook and flip through, searching for something in particular. It really would be quite easy to tear the book from his hands and get him with it. It’s a hefty book. Instead, you shrug your shoulders and leave him with a simple, “I guess.”

He looks up at you, bored. “You guess? — The male main character had a wife, a girlfriend and a mistress. The female main character devoted herself solely to this one man, that she knew was never going to be hers. What do you think that suggests about gender roles back then?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do know, stop acting like you’re stupid.” He bites back. There’s a second where you stare at him and both of you take a moment to decide whether this is going to become another argument. You sigh softly.

“It’s patriarchal.”

“Right,” Bradley nods, “So there were these concepts back then called—“

The lesson goes on, and the more you engage, the less hostile he becomes. As much as you struggle when it comes to reading text excerpts and answering the questions he gives you on those, it gets to the point where you’ll crack a joke and he’ll laugh. That’s got to be diplomacy of some kind.

Both of you grow unintentionally closer, shifting periodically, leaning closer to see the text, or look at a picture. So, when you’re stumped by a question and you turn sharply away from him and throw yourself down, smushing your face into the pillow and growling in frustration, he finally realizes just how close the two of you have gotten.

You, laying on your front on this double bed, groaning into the pillow. Him, close enough that if he moved his leg, it would graze your hip. Bradley stares at you for a moment, then — while you’re not looking — lets his eyes trail. Along the feminine length of your legs, up over the curve of your waist in those cut-offs.

He lifts a hand and strokes it tenderly over the top of your hair, careful not to catch of tug at your lengths. He repeats the motion a few times. You feel him shift closer.

“It’s alright,” Bradley says quietly, stroking your hair back with a surprisingly gentle hand. “It’s a hard class. That was good. You’re doing well, I’m impressed.”

“Please,” You scoff without lifting your face from the pillow. You shift just a little and hook your arms under it, hugging it closer to your body. His eyes dart down to the way your back curves into your eyes, then slam shut. He should make an excuse to leave. “The only thing that could impress you would have happened a hundred years ago.”

“You know that this course focuses mainly on things that happened from —“ Bradley stops correcting you as you turn your head and glare at him. His eyes are trained on your face. He’s not looking at the way those denim cut-offs hug your figure, but fuck, he’s thinking about it. “Nevermind.”

He stares forwards. His hand is still resting in your hair. He should move it. He should leave. He hasn’t ever felt like this — countless students throwing themselves at him and he’s ignored every single one. He’s being ridiculous. It’s just the forbidden fruit effect. The proximity.

He should move his hand. He just can’t take his eyes off of your face. The swell of your lips. The slight scrunch of your nose. The narrowed look in your eyes. Bradley lifts his hand.

Then, he takes the length of your hair resting against your cheek and brushes it softly back, revealing the rest of your face to him. He shifts his hips, sitting just a fraction closer, making you easier to reach as you lay at his side.

“I mean it,” He says quietly. Your lips quirk softly, almost a smile. You’re about to tell him that he’s probably never spoken to you so kindly ever. Then, he speaks again. “You’re trying. I see that you’re trying. You’re doing a really good job.”

His thumb swipes softly over your temple, guiding your hair back further out of your face. The smile fades from your face. Then, you’re just blinking up at him. Your face is calm. His doesn’t reveal anything.

Slowly, his thumb swipes along the same trial. Over the skin covering your temple, just slightly into your hairline. It doesn’t even cross your mind to move. Maybe because you’re too thrown off by this sudden tenderness, maybe because you don’t actually hate this feeling.

The third time, he doesn’t follow the same route. His thumb swipes tenderly along the skin of your cheek, gently trailing in a small circle along the apple of your cheek. Further down. You stare up at him. Your heartbeat betrays you, thudding away in your chest as his thumb leaves your cheek and meets the corner of your mouth.

His eyes dart from his thumb to your eyes, studying your expression briefly, before he looks down again. You’re silent as he swipes his thumb delicately over the plump skin of your bottom lip.

“What did you mean earlier? — About Malcolm?” Your sudden question surprises the both of you, putting an abrupt end to the out of body feeling that was fogging Bradley’s mind. He blinks, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he pulls his hand away from your face.

“What?”

“You said he wouldn’t care if I lived or died. Why?” You push yourself up from your front, settling onto your knees instead. Bradley’s brows knit together. The only thing he can think to say is your name. He stumbles it out, baffled. “You don’t even know him. Why would you say something like that?”

He could turn this into another screaming match. Avoid answering until you’re yelling so hard that you’re blue in the face. But, he won’t. He deserves answers too — he’s tired of that night clouding his head, having no idea if you remember or not.

“Because he left you on the side of the road to freeze to death last December,” Bradley’s suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he’s sitting on your bed, alone in your room. Your face twists in confusion. He’s not done yet. “And the only reason you didn’t freeze to death was because I hauled your ass into my truck and drove you to your parents’ house.”

He’s expecting to have to elaborate further, but you know exactly which night he was talking about. You remember the three days after blacking out that Malcolm wouldn’t so much as answer the phone to you.

“No you didn’t.”

Bradley raises his eyebrows at you. He wishes there was something he could show you, some way he could prove to you how fucked up you had been when he had found you on that curb.

“You were wearing a blue dress with sparkly shit on it,” Bradley says, his voice too calm. You were. You woke up still in it the next morning. “Open-toed heels.”

What the fuck were you thinking? — In the middle of December?

“Your parents live at the end of a long street with a bunch of Oak trees on it,” They do. Last house on the left. You stare at him, unblinking. “Your room is on the second floor, at the back of the house. Your window overlooks the swimming pool. I called your fiancé from that stupid fucking pink phone on your nightstand eight times before he picked up.”

Your chest shudders with the next slow breath that you draw in. He sits there, watching you try to rationalize what he’s telling you. There’s too much information for it to be a lie. The look on his face tells you that he isn’t lying.

“You… spoke to Malcolm that night? — What did he say?”

Bradley makes a face, then turns his chin towards the ceiling and sighs. He looks down and rubs his rough palm over his jaw, shaking his head at you. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that he left you in the fucking snow, unconscious.”

The air conditioning unit rattles behind you, making you all the more aware of the sweat starting to bead on the nape of your neck. You swallow softly and look down at the textbook between the two of you.

“We were fighting that night, but he — I think I — I think I ran off…” Your memories of that night are fuzzy. Truthfully, you can’t even remember what the two of you had been arguing about, much less what happened for him to be so angry even days later. “Whatever happened wasn’t his fault—“

“No?” Bradley interrupts, a level louder than he had been previously. You pull back from him subconsciously, bracing yourself on the bed behind you, trying to find purchase in the sheets. “It wasn’t his fault? — Anything could have happened to you, you know that? — What kind of man lets someone that they love put themselves at risk like that?”

“He probably didn’t realize. I’m sure he thought that I got a cab. Wait, Bradley, what did you say to him?”

Wait, Bradley, what did you say to him? — He’s looking at you, but he’s had this conversation before with Natasha. All those years ago. Seconds before he had answered her and watched any love she had had for him ebb away.

“We had a conversation.” Bradley answers you dryly. Your brows knit together, leaning just slightly closer. “I asked him where he was. If he knew where you were. He asked me if you were still sulking on the curb outside of the quad. He knew exactly where you were.”

Finally, he renders you speechless. For the first time, maybe ever, you’re left without something to say to him. There’s a brief silence between the two of you before he speaks again.

“What were the two of you arguing about that night?” Bradley presses.

“I — I can’t remember. Something stu—“

“Why did you kiss me?”

Your eyes go round, widening incredulously at the man sitting on the other side of your bed. The man that you’ve spent the last week and a half screaming at. The smug, over-confident man ten years older than you who refuses to dress his age or pay grade. The man who threatened your fiancé back in December.

“What?” You shriek, pushing up onto your knees and scrunching your face up at him.

“You sat in my car and begged me not to take you into your parents’ house. You kissed me. I dragged you out of the truck and put you to bed.” Bradley says it so calmly — you wonder how often he has thought about this moment to be able to recount it so easily.

You look him over. There’s no more distance between the two of you than there would be between a driver’s seat and a passenger seat. Obviously you were out of your mind that night, running away from Malcolm and not kicking and screaming when this oaf had put you in his car. But there’s not a chance in hell that you would have kissed him. You can’t stand him.

Still, here with just the two of you, you’re not sure how it would benefit him to be lying about this.

So, you take a deep breath and try to ignore the heartbeat thudding in your ears. You stare at him. His hair is neat enough. Short at the back and sides, curly on top. It would have been shorter when he was in the Navy, but you remember it being longer at the beginning of the year. You hadn’t shown up to many of his classes, so you can only guess at what he wore during the winter. Vaguely, you’ve got a memory of him in grey slacks and a navy sweater. Still not wearing a tie.

If he had come straight from his office, he would be in his work clothes. You would be sitting in the passenger side of his truck. It was snowing out, so you know he would have been cold. The sun-kissed pink hue on his cheeks was probably still there, just frost-chilled in variety this time. His facial hair is always neat. Everything tidily shaved, his moustache always trimmed. He’s certainly not ugly.

Long lashes. A slight bump in his nose, like he might have broken it once, but it suits him. Slightly raised scar tissue on his cheek, his throat. Lashes that touch the bone of his eye socket when he closes his eyes. Freckles dotting his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. Eyes that can’t quite decide whether they’re brown, black, amber or hazel. Pink, plush lips.

Ah. That’s where your attention catches. You practically take a mental snapshot of the place where your eyes land. The hollows of his cheeks, the scars on his left side. His strong jaw, usually clenched when he’s looking at you. The thick length of his neck, his protruding adam’s apple, the gold chain usually visible just inside of his collar. Those thick, reddish pink lips.

Pushing up on your knees, you lift your gaze and find him already staring. He knows exactly what you’re about to do. His hand finds your hip and grabs at it roughly as you put one knee in front of the other and crawl to him. He guides you where he wants you and lifts his other hand, cupping your jaw.

His rough palm sits against your jaw bone. Tenderly touching your cheek, just slightly grazing your throat. Eclipsing the side of your face with the magnitude of his hand size. Even up close, you’ve still got no clue of why you would kiss him. Well, nothing that you can rationalize. No explanation that would make any kind of sense to you on any regular day.

But, if you’re being honest with yourself, it’s because you know that there is no rationalizing this. The want that you feel for him just doesn’t make sense. His fingers curled around your hipbone, pressing roughly into the denim there — it doesn’t make sense.

And yet, when the strong hand on the side of your jaw pulls you forwards, you’re all too willing to lean all the way into him and kiss him. Softly, slowly. Your bottom lip between his, controlled even though all he wants to do is throw you down on his bed and kiss you like he means it.

Bradley figures that’s a bad thing, that he’s in control of the situation enough to be gentle with you, but not to stop himself from making this mistake. His tongue swipes softly against your lip at the same time his hand tugs at your hip. You wobble forwards, he parts his thighs and tugs again making you land unceremoniously against his legs.

You can feel the abandoned textbook digging into your ankle. Its glossed pages, open and forgotten.

His hand trails from your jaw, around to the back of your neck. He feels you tense against him as he pulls you close by your neck and your waist, lifting, and then planting you on your back. The second that your spine touches the sheets, you tear your mouth away from his with a gasp.

He stills, kneeling between your parted thighs, staring down at you. You glance down. He watches your brows knit together and follows your gaze down to the necklace that has slipped from his shirt. You lift your stiff hand from your side and reach out for it. He swallows as the delicate tips of your fingers graze the gold cross. You wonder where his dog tags are. Why he’s wearing this today. If he just wore the tags for Natasha’s benefit, maybe.

“I didn’t know you’re religious.” You breathe out. He’s just close enough to be able to hear you. His hands flex around the pits of your knees, skimming down your calves.

“I’m not,” He answers you quietly. “It belonged to my dad.”

You breathe out hard, but it doesn’t make that weird feeling in your chest go away. You just keep on staring at that dangling necklace. Something keeps you from looking him in the eye. Fear, shame — lust — you’re not sure exactly what it is.

Turning your head, you’re met with the sight of his flexing forearm, planted beside your head. Bradley watches through darkened eyes as you reach out once again, starting at the back of his hand. You trail the vein in his skin from his fist, up along the inside of his forearm, onto his bicep. Stopping at the hem of his white t-shirt sleeve.

Bradley leans down, moving to the side to catch your mouth. This second kiss is different from the first. It’s all him. His tongue swipes your bottom lip and you’ve got the sense to press into him, to open your mouth. Both of you are surely aware of how dead still you’re laying, the way your hands are balled in the sheets at your sides.

But, you lift your chin and chase his kiss like he’s got your next breath. He pushes harder against you, his tongue pressing forwards and grazing yours. Suddenly, your hands aren’t so still any more. They’re up and shoving at his chest.

“What are you doing?” You gasp, horrified.

He sits back on his knees and stares at you. You’re right. What the fuck is he doing? — You’re one of his students, and fuck, your father would never let this go. Your fiancé too. Fuck, your fiancé.

“Keep your tongue in your mouth, what is the matter with you?” You snap at him, sitting up swiftly and hitting his chest with another hard shove. Bradley stares at you. Never in a million years was he expecting your issue here to be with the fact that he’d barely grazed your tongue with his.

“Excuse me?”

“Your tongue, you animal! — What do you think you’re doing?” You pull your legs out from between his thighs and shift away from him, leaping off of the bed. His jaw falls slack, staring at the way you’re glaring at him from the bottom of the bed.

“Kissing! — What? — Are you telling me that you’ve never—“ He shakes his head, trying to make sense of what he’s hearing. He knew you were inexperienced but french kissing has been popular in the US for a lot longer than you’ve even been alive.

“No, I haven’t! — What kind of girl—“

“Alright, stop yelling, stop yelling!” Bradley stands up swiftly and catches hold of both of your biceps. Quieting, you crane your neck back to look at him. He looks down at you and exhales. “That was a mistake. Right?”

His thumbs brush gently along the backs of your arms. You’re silent, just staring up at him, but he gives a quick nod anyway. That’s good enough. Squeezing your arm, he lets you go and then moves.

“Fuck. Okay,” He runs a hand over his jaw and turns, dizzily trying to collect his things. “We’re good. We just need to not get in each other’s way, get you a C — and then we’re out of each other’s hair.”

There are so many things you want to say. Even more that you want to ask him. But, you don’t. You just nod silently at him and tuck your hands behind your back. Then, you make the mistake of glancing downwards. The khaki colouring of his shorts has never looked as indecent as it does now.

Bradley doesn’t need to follow your gaze to know what you’re staring at. He knows all too well that he has been rock hard since he first grabbed at your hip. The little squeak you had made had sent every red blood cell in his body rushing south, and the way you’re staring at his straining dick now doesn’t help.

You make it worse too. There’s no shock on your face, you’re not saying anything. You’re just staring at the way his thick length is pressing against the fabric of the shorts, hard, and because of you. Natasha, that you had understood. She had been touching him and she was undeniably gorgeous. And they had history.

“Stop —“ Bradley pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand and dips a hand into his shorts to adjust himself with the other. That still doesn’t stop you from staring. He frowns at you. First you don’t know how to kiss, and now he’s realizing that you’ve probably never seen a dick either. “For fucks’ sake.

Your eyes finally go wide as he grabs the textbook, turns on his heel and leaves the room with a slam of the door. You flinch at the sound, suddenly completely alone in your room, reeling. Ashamedly, your first instinct is to call Matthew.

Bradley walks down the hall, takes the stairs, and into his own room. It’s empty, meaning that Luke’s probably in Robin’s room. Bradley should be an adult and go and lecture them both. Instead, he slams the door to their bathroom and twists the lock. Cold water probably would have been the best thing to do. Instead, letting the warm stream soak his body, his clothes ditched on the floor, he feels like he can finally breathe.

Truthfully, your fiancé is the furthest thing from his mind. The fact that you’re his student has never felt as minuscule as it did when he was kneeling between your thighs and watching your delicate fingers toy with his necklace. You’re graduating. This is just extra credit. If you had passed the first time, you’d be out of his class already.

All the excuses in the world doesn’t make it okay that he has kissed you twice now. But, that doesn’t stop him from trailing his palm along his toned stomach, wrapping a hand loosely around the base of his cock and planting his free palm on the tile in front of him.

Upstairs and three doors to the right, you’re sitting criss-crossed on the same bed that you had just kissed your professor in with an old plastic phone pressed to your ear. The line rings, and rings until it feels like you’re about to burst into tears until finally his voice comes through on the other end.

“Hello?”

“I need to ask you something and I need you to please answer me honestly. Okay?”

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @wkndwlff @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @thecitysgraveyard @cherrycola27 @sugarcoated-lame

[cheesecakezyum]

I just found your blog and I am LOVING the Wukong content. I was hoping to request some smut headcanons (maybe alphabet hcs- if you feel up to it). I completely understand ty! <333

NSFW Alphabet ; Sun Wukong

Please do not click the ‘keep reading’ option if you are under the age of 18. Adults only, please! :)

Welcome to my page! I’m ecstatic that you’re enjoying what I’m providing <3 Doing alphabet headcanons are actually some of my favorites!

Mainly because it helps me with future pieces of writing (smut ofc) — like a cheat sheet almost!

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A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He loves to hold you in general, so after a session of utter passion? It’s tripled. He’ll sometimes want to keep his cock buried in you overnight if you’re up for it and continue from where you two left off the next morning.

He’s not too big on cleaning himself personally after sex (like the absolute gremlin he is), but he’ll begrudgingly set a warm bath for you if that’s what you want! You’ve explained UTI’s and yeast infections to him, which is why he no longer complains about keeping his semen inside you as long as he can.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves his tail. I mean, it’s like a third hand! Another tool to balance himself, grab things, and especially bring you to him when he’s needy.

He personally loves your ears. They’re so cute and small compared to his! Sometimes you’ll catch him fiddling with your earlobes. He also enjoys the noises you make when he nibbles on them.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

It turns him on extremely seeing you covered in his cum— legs spread, ever so slightly trembling as you’re leaking with his semen, your face twisted into an expression of pure bliss. It’s enough to get him riled up all over again.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Has a Owner/Property kink that even to this day hasn’t publicly told you about. You found out yourself after a certain rigorous handjob when he basically begged you to let him cum, ending his plead with master.

Praise kink too, but he’s a bit more open with that.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

At first he may seem clumsy, but he’s simply learning what makes your body tick. After maybe 3-4 sessions expect him to have your anatomy and personal pleasures memorized to the tea. Every whimper, moan— it’s all a sign to let him know that he should keep the ministrations going.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

The mating press.

His main interest is the deeper penetration aspect of the position. He also loves the look of your helpless face every time he presses into you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Pretty goofy! But Wukong knows when to switch the mood to make it better for you both. One minute he’ll be joking to you about a show playing in the background and the next will be eating you out like you’re the last meal he’ll ever have.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

This man is 100% a hobo. Although being filled with body hair already (cause, y’know. Monkey?) he has a pretty clean happy trail which matches the ash orange color of his mane!

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He won’t have sex with you unless there’s at least some sort of feelings in the mix. Whether they’re unspoken or not it’s something that’s always there. He’s not there just to fuck, he wants to make love.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Doesn’t masturbate often. He’d have to really be in the mood, but even still— he has trouble concentrating when it’s only imagination. If he ever does though, you’d be the only thing on his mind. Maybe a picture, or a voicemail would do.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding. It’s instinctual for him to have reproductive urges; The idea of stuffing you full of his cum to be the future carrier of his children is quite appealing to the simian.

Marking. He likes both you and everyone else to know who you belong to. Whether it be carrying your scent with him— or the many bites littered around your body. He thinks it’s like taking a park of him with you.

Cockwarming. While it can be seen as torture for both parties, he adores the way you slowly break down above him. A simple shift of the hips enough to make such deliciously crude noises escape from those pretty lips. It makes sex that much more gratifying if there’s at least a bit of a wait.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He’s a bit more comfortable if you guys have some type of privacy, considering the entirety of Flower Fruit Mountain is littered with primates. So a bedroom or bathroom would do.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Being the big spoon. While it may start as sweet and lighthearted before you know it he’ll be slowly pressing his clothed erection into you, huffing softly and asking if you’re up for a round or two.

Your own moans. He’ll work hard as hell if it means by the end of the night you’re screaming his name, begging for more— to go even harder.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Degradation/Humiliation.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Prefers to definitely give. He finds his own pleasure in yours!

Let’s just say he knows how to use his tongue quite well. This can go back to E; He knows what you need to reach your climax and he’s more than happy to give it to you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and rough. Wukong wants to feel your walls clenching every single time he’s just about to pull out, only to thrust back in without a care in the world.

As his peak eventually reaches though— he will often try to chase it with a faster, sloppier pace. ONLY if he knows you’re both close.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

While he does like to take his time with you, quickies are a pretty common occurrence when you’re with Wukong. In a certain spot with few wandering eyes? He’ll lift you up against the wall and pound into you.

In a certain position while your cleaning? On the counter you go. Just sucks that you have to pick up even more of a mess after.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Not too fancied on the idea of trying something new unless he has somewhat of an idea of what’s gonna go down. He doesn’t want to be left in the dark, and communication is especially key for this monkey.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

His stamina is as big as his ego. This man could go fucking you a whole night if it meant filling you up to the brim.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn’t have any toys, and isn’t too fond of buying any simply because he doesn’t know where? Like???

If you have your own, though, he’d be more than happy to hear how to use them and spice up your tango just a bit more.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Humiliation really isn’t his game, but he loves to mention how destroyed you look under him— asking you to tell him just what you want him to do while he’s hovered over you.

It just gives him a bit of pride to know that he can make you into such a mess. You lustful deviant you!

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

I don’t think he’d be necessarily loud. The trembling quiver of his voice as he breathes out your name— the occasional curse.

He’d have to be pretty wound up in order to raise that voice of his. It’s not necessarily impossible! The stroke of his tail is a pretty quick way to get an unprepared whore moan out of him.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

It’s like he’s constantly in the honeymoon phase when he’s with you. Pet names like hun, sweetie, peaches, schnookums even. His corniness is sickeningly addictive.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Sleeper build. He doesn’t look necessarily ripped at first glance with all those robes but a good feel of those thighs or biceps shows that even thousands of years later, he’s in great shape.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High, very high. Maybe not at first; jumping straight into sex after building a relationship just isn’t him. One taste of that pie, however, and suddenly he can’t seem to get enough of you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

He doesn’t fall asleep immediately after sex. It’s certainly tempting, but he’d much more prefer taking care of you, taking in the moment and making sure you’re okay.

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Maneskin has been my go-to for music while I’m writing, especially spicier prompts/ideas I have yet to publish ;D

Definitely give their new album a listen if you’re interested!

[alloftheimaginesblog]

pretty {peter parker}

plot: you're a singer and every time peter hears you sing, he has to stop whatever he's doing to listen.

character: peter parker!tasm x reader

requested by anon - i didn't know what peter you wanted so I did tasm peter :)

song is feels like by gracie abrams

You gnawed at your nails, nail polish chipped so it didn't really matter if you destroyed it more, as you stared at the scribbled pages on your notebook. Under your breath, you sang the lyrics you were trying to figure out, scoring out and adding new words each time you sang it. Song writing was fucking hard. Every so often you found a perfect lyric, the perfect melody but to get to that it took a lot of work and determination.

You were sitting by your wall piano Peter had bought you for Christmas two years ago, moving your fingers down the keys just waiting for the right notes to piece themselves together in the perfect fashion.

For your songs, you would sometimes take inspiration from real life events, people you knew, sometimes you'd make it all up but most of the time, it was Peter who inspired you. Peter Parker, your wonderful doting boyfriend who also turned into Spider-Man but that's a story for another time.

Peter was your muse.

He was drinking his coffee, sipping the warm liquid as he watched you with - what could only be described as - lovesick eyes. Peter loved to watch you sing, loved to hear you, loved to watch the magic happen in your little corner. You were oblivious to everything when you were writing your songs, too focussed and in your own little bubble. Peter loved it. He loved when you filled up the apartment with melodies and lyrics and high notes, he lived for it. It's why he bought you the piano and why he encouraged you so damn much. You were so talented and he knew that one day, you'd get your big break.

"I would do whatever you wanted," you half murmured, half sang as you played it out on the piano, "We don't have to leave the apartment..." You glanced over at Peter and smiled, "Met you at the right time..." Of course it was about him, they usually were. A song about how much you loved him and how much you cherished your relationship with him.

"And I need you sometimes." Peter exhaled as he shook his head. You sounded so pretty. Every time he heard you sing, you just blew him away. He knew you were good but he'd never heard anything or anyone like it. Such raw, pure talent, "We'll be alright. Met you at the right time. This is what it feels like. And I miss you some nights. We'll be alright."

As you ended the song, scribbling down the last few lines of lyrics, Peter moved to you, wrapping you up in his warmth and pressing a kiss to your forehead, "You are unbelievably talented, sweetheart," he murmured in your ear, "Honestly I- you're incredible."

You rolled your eyes, fighting the warmth that spread on your cheeks, "You're the superhero, Pete. I just sing."

He shook his head, "I hide behind a mask, (y/n). You're the one that bares your heart so openly and beautifully every freaking time you sing! You are so amazing and I love that I can help to inspire some of the lyrics." Peter pressed another kiss to your head, "Can I hear the full thing?"

[seiya234]

for @dril-cipher because this is your fucking fault. also @marypsue for giving this perfectly good ape anxiety.

-----

Ian looked around.

Well, this certainly wasn't his beautiful house, that was for certain.

It looked uncomfortably like one of the designs for Grauntie Carla's house that Worris did for MTM. He sat at a kitchen table that had clearly been handmade by someone who mostly knew what they were doing; the table had been sanded down and sealed, but the surface was still bumpy and uneven. The walls were dressed with plaid wallpaper and covered in pictures, paintings, taxidermied creatures both real and unreal, old bottles, and a Bobby Big Mouth Big Boi Big Bass that had been popular when his grandparents were alive. The rug underneath him was a t-shirt rug, but Ian never knew they could be made big enough to cover an entire room. There was a cup of coffee poured for him, in a cup that read "Eye miss you!"

Ian sighed. This place was practically crumbling under the weight of all the meaning.

"I am getting a little tired of the Symbolism Room," he muttered to himself.

"Have you considered that a plain, empty room is in and of itself also imbued with symbolism?"

Ian whipped around.

A cartoonishly tall man walked into the kitchen. He was dressed in all black- black jeans, black dress shirt, black belt with a small silver and turquoise buckle- save for the white priest's collar around his neck. He had hair just like Ian's, albeit curlier, bare feet, and-

"Antlers?" Ian asked. It was probably rude but he was getting really tired of the Dreams of Great Import so....

"A long story," the man said with a grin, sitting across from Ian at the table. He too had a mug, though his read "I'm horny!" He caught Ian looking at it and smiled wanly. "My wife loved puns, though to be honest this isn't a pun so much as a bad joke."

(past tense)

Ian took a drink of his coffee; it was aggressively mediocre. "Alright, can you tell me why I'm here, so we can resolve whatever emotional issue has come up again, and I can get back to my regularly scheduled nothingness?"

Ian's words didn't get the slightest rise out of the other man which was... concerning. He worked best when people were mad.

"Certainly. I'm here because you're scared."

"I'm scared of a lot of things, you're going to need to try harder than that."

The man paused to take a drink of his coffee, grimacing slightly at the taste, then leaned back in his chair. "I'm here because when you get into the groove for Mizar the Magnificent, everything feels right in a way you don't feel most other times. I'm here because sometimes you turn off your prosthetic because it feels... right to only have the one eye. I'm here because... despite everyone assuring you that Bill can't come back, that you can't bring him back, you know that's not true." Another drink. "It would just take you fifteen minutes, if that."

Ian felt the blood drain from his face, spread his hands on the table to keep them from shaking.

He hadn't told even Mira about the first two things.

"Congratulations," Ian managed to drawl, "you know my deepest, darkest fears. Have a fucking cookie." It took some effort but he pushed himself back from the table, got out of the chair. "I'm done with this little game, so snooze you later, hit the road Jack, GO-"

The antlered man held up a hand. It was wreathed in blue flame, like the fire from a room he tried not to think about, like Alcor's fire

(like MY fire)

like the fire he felt blazing in lieu of his implant.

"Who are you?" Ian asked.

"I'm Henry. Henry Pines."

"I- oh." Well that was all the wind out of his sails right there. "Okay, wasn't expecting you to actually just tell me that, I thought there would be at least another two pages of banter before we got there. Thanks?"

"Of course."

"Though that name means like, nothing to me."

"Ah. I should have k-"

Henry disappeared. Ian was still in the room.

A minute passed.

He drank his coffee, which was now getting cold and sludgy.

"Oh, sorry about that."

Ian jumped, again, and turned around to face Henry, who was still barefoot and all in black, but now had laundry hanging from his antlers. "Seriously, I know this narrative calls for jump scares, but can you try to stop that?"

"My apologies. I'm still being digested."

"Digested-" Ian paused.

The blue fire.

The antlers.

The girl told him about one night.

"You're... you're Paloma."

A flash of long dark hair and flowering antlers and back to the man in black. "Among many other names, but yes."

"So when you say digested..."

"Di-Alcor ate me."

"He what."

Henry very primly sniffed. "I can see how my phrasing can be taken as a reference to oral sex but could we please attend to the matter at hand?"

"Which is? I feel like we're wildly off track."

"Fair. More coffee?"

Ian held out his mug and Henry poured from a handmade pitcher that somehow managed to perfectly recreate the effect of googly eyes in clay.

They sat for a moment, and drank their coffee, which was slightly better this time.

Finally, Henry began. "M-Mira is pregnant."

"She is... Oh stars is this going to be a weird fatherhood talk? Because full disrespect, I've gotten one of these from Alcor and that was bad enough."

"What on God's green earth did Di- Alcor have to say to you about that?"

"I think he was trying to tell me I would do a good job, but he ended up damning me with faint praise for about fifteen minutes and then ghosted me so, a solid 3 out of 10, points for effort I guess."

Henry frowned. "I am a little concerned that my- that he hasn't learned any social graces or niceties in a thousand years, or has willfully forgotten them-"

"It's not that," and now Ian just felt... cold. Empty. "It's Bill. It's always about Bill, always fucking WILL BE-"

"Your hair is on fire," Henry calmly noted.

It didn't feel like it was. That probably wasn't a good sign.

"Every time I think we're done with him, done and gone, something comes up, and we have to have the same conversation over and over and OVER-"

Ian ran a hand through the flames on his head. "And the worse thing is, this time it's all me. I can't stop thinking about Bill. And the baby. And what that means. Maybe it means nothing. Or everything. And Bill, Bill is like an itch under my skin

(a fire)

and the more I itch it, the itchier I become, and I can't. Stop. Thinking. About Me. No. Shit, wait. Him. Do you See?"

The room was silent for a minute.

"I held a knife to her throat once," Ian finally managed to get out. "Infants, they're so, so much easier than adults. Their bodies are so soft and squishy." He looked at Henry, who had been patiently listening, hands folded, collar white as bone. "I have no idea why I'm telling you any of this."

"I have been told by my wife before that I have a 'secret telling kind of face.'"

"Sounds like something Mira would say."

Henry smiled wanly, but went on. "I'm here because I know what all of this feels like."

"I sincerely doubt that."

"No, honestly, I do. I thought you could use an ear and some advice-."

That old familiar feeling of squirrels eating his brain, of his heart stuttering in his chest, the great massive snarl barely contained in his skin up and out and "You have no idea what I need to keep inside of me."

Henry reached across the table, and laid a hand on Ian's arm and-

(ian was in a forest. it was dark and he tried to walk, tried to run, but he couldn't he was pushed down face first into the dirt from the feeling of anger, anger that at one point may have had a reason behind but that reason was long forgotten and now the anger was a self feeding, self regulating beast

ian was in a forest and he felt small, so horrifically small, so viscerally aware that there were things (people) that could hurt him, hurt him and even kill him, and nothing or no one in the forest would DO anything about it.

ian was in a forest and rising above him was a tree but haha not really that wasn't a tree that was a beast a monster a thing no it was

Death.)

-patted it gently.

Or at least, Henry would have if Ian was still sitting at the table, and not, say, with his back against the wall and his chair toppled to the side of the table.

"You're-"

"I was. He came from me. I birthed him."

Even shit scared, Ian must have given Henry a look, because Henry said "Metaphorically. I've never gotten the full details about how that works because to be perfectly honest, Alcor doesn't even know."

Henry got up, and walked around the table.

"Hand up?"

"You going to inflict yet another horrific mental scar on me?"

"No. And my apologies. I really need to be better about telling, not showing." Henry paused. "Or is it the other way around? I am a little embarrassed to admit that despite my occupation, I am not well versed in the mechanics of storytelling."

"It depends," Ian said, and let himself be hauled up.

"It's... hard," Henry began as they sat back at the table. "To have to control yourself. To feel like if you loosen that control for even one second, all hell will break loose. Especially when you have had all hell break loose before."

A dark look passed across Henry's face, and Ian remembered that there were limbs on those limbs in the forest.

A lot of them.

"I tried, for several years, to keep myself as tamped down as firmly as possible. And even before-" he waved a hand to indicate the antlers, the weird dreamscape symbolism bullshit room- "all of this, I kept fighting myself, every single day, to stay in control. Because control was all I had. Because control was the only thing that could save myself, could keep me from harming others."

"Okay, so what extremely traumatic life changing event happened to you that made you change your mind?"

"I won't bore you with the details, save to say I have never liked trophy hunters. But I realized in that time that my control.. it was brittle steel. It was weak from having to hold in so much, for so long, and then it shattered under stress."

"Okay, but most people don't have monsters tucked up in their souls."

"Fair but look. The point is, the power you have inside of you. It's not inherently good or bad- let me finish Ian Thomas Beale-"

(Ian's mouth audibly snapped shut)

"- it just is. Bill used his power for ill. Just because that power is there doesn't mean you have to use it. Or if you do, that it would be for ill."

"That's too much like temptation for me," Ian finally said, quietly.

"I know. I'm not saying you have to. Hell, I'm not even saying that this dream is going to magically cure you of your fears and control issues-"

"Because that would be too easy."

Henry nodded. "Oh of course. My apologies, I am all over the place today-"

"On account of being digested."

"Yes, lets go with that. No, I guess I just wanted to say, as trite as it sounds... try to relax."

"What if I hurt them?"

Henry rolled his eyes, which was a little incongruous with the impression Ian had gotten from him. "There is no universe where Ian Beale as he is now, would hurt Mira Ramachandran, or their baby. Honestly, you're more likely to hurt other people who hurt them, which probably is not great, but I am certainly not one to judge."

(so many limbs)

"I have literally been under tremendous stress my whole life, even before finding out about the past life murder triangle."

"Trust me, I know. But just... from one monster to another? It's okay to relax. It's okay to let that control loosen for a minute. The world won't end-"

"But it almost did. Twice. Maybe three times? It's hard for me to remember."

"But it didn't."

Ian... he must have looked as lost as he felt, because Henry smiled, sadly.

"I know you hear this from Mira, and from your friends, and even occasionally from Alcor, but I thought it would help to hear it from a stranger too."

Ian thought for a second.

"I think... it kind of did? Or maybe I'm just saying this to get out of this dream because I'm getting tired of talking. I don't know."

"You probably won't remember this dream up here-" Henry tapped his head. "-but you will here-" and he tapped his chest. "-and that's all that really matters to me."

"That's kind of corny."

"I was not a corny man when I was alive, let me indulge a little bit."

Henry leaned over, and gently kissed Ian on the forehead. "Keep her safe."

Ian realized, far too late, who he had been really, truly talking to this whole time, and it felt like his bowels were turning to water. But he managed to creak out an "Of course," before everything went dark.

---

The last few weeks had been hard for Mira, considering the massive amount of emotional labor she was doing for both her brother and her husband. Alcor was probably a lost cause at this point, but with Ian...

She sighed.

She understood, really, she did, but she was tired and-

"Hey."

She rolled over, to see Ian looking at her. "Hey back. You seem... relaxed?"

Ian smiled, and laid a hand on her stomach, which was still relatively flat.

"Yeah. I don't know I think... I think I've had my head up my ass for the last month, about all of this."

"You have."

"And I owe you an apology."

"Apology accepted if you can grab the peanut butter for me before I throw up."

"Of course."

Ian got up. He wasn't sure why it felt like the fire under his skin had died down, why it felt like he could handle his shit a little better today than even yesterday, but for once, he was not going to look this gift horse in the mouth.

[abiiors]

Helpful

Yeah, I don't even know what to say about this one except that I need a freezing cold shower.

warnings - MINORS DNI!!! Pure filth, female reader, typos because there is no way I'm reading this again.

wc - 2.5k

‘What’s up with you?’ Ross’s distant voice brings you out of your daze. 

You blink a couple times, peeling your eyes away from a spot on the wall you’ve been staring at. His eyebrows are furrowed as he stares at you in confusion, more specifically, as he stares at your hands on the desk. You follow his gaze and wince when your eyes land on what he’s looking at. 

Your knuckles have turned white from clutching the pen in a death grip, the notepad undeath it has several angry, black lines on it—gashes more like. The top page has already been stabbed through and the damage is at least three pages deep. 

Wow.

‘What’s up,’ he repeats, body fully turned toward you as his bass sits idly on his lap. 

Everything is hot and uncomfortable. The leather of the chair sticks to your thighs, you’re hyper-aware of the way your sweater chafes against your nipples, you constantly feel on edge and worst of all, you know the reason behind it too. But there’s nothing you can do to take care of the situation right now. At least, not for another six to seven hours. And there’s no way you can explain all of this to him. 

‘It’s too warm,’ you shrug and he raises an eyebrow before pointedly staring out the window where the world has turned white. 

‘In the middle of January?’ 

‘Yes, Ross,’ you grit out, ‘now can I get back to work, please?’

But of course, it wouldn’t be Ross if he gave up so easily. ‘No, you’re lying to me,’ he points out, ‘come on, something’s up.’

You grind your jaw lightly, roll your neck as you wonder how best to tell him. You’re not shy around each other, you’ve never been particularly shy around each other. But you do work with him—even if it’s on a freelance basis. One thing is very clear, however. Now that he has sensed something, he’s not going to give up easily. 

‘I, uh…it’s not exactly work appropriate?’ you hedge but he only rolls his eyes. 

‘Come on, I’m a grown man and you’ve told me way worse things before.’

That much is true. You have discussed several topics at length before—topics that include but are not limited to kinks, sexual history, preferences, the works. But this is something you haven’t talked about before. Your hesitation only piques his interest; enough that he finally sets the bass aside and leans back onto his chair. You feel small tingles at the way he sits—arms behind his head that makes his t-shirt stretch over his biceps, chin tilted up slightly in a scrutinising manner, long legs spread wide enough for someone to kneel betw—

No. Stop!

‘This is interesting,’ he mumbles as a smirk forms on his face. ‘Seems like last night wasn’t…good enough?’

Of course, he would know about last night too. You did put up drunken Instagram stories featuring some random man you met at the bar. It wouldn’t take him much to put two and two together. 

‘Let’s just say,’ your nails dig into your palm and you think of a delicate way to say this, ‘let’s just say he was quite…self-centred.’

Ross winces in sympathy but the curious expression remains. ‘Then why didn’t you, for the lack of a better term, take matters into your own hands?’

And that’s the fucking problem. The root cause of all this frustration. A flush creeps up your neck as you struggle to maintain eye contact with him. ‘I did.’

‘What was that?’ he quips.

‘I did!’ you repeat louder, already feeling the mortification burning through you, making you flustered. It makes you want to say something, anything, to fill in the awkward silence. And that’s how you end up speaking more than you should have. ‘The wand…broke’

The moment of silence stretches on to infinity before Ross’s face splits into a wide grin and he breaks out into a fit of frankly juvenile giggles. He takes big, gasping breaths to calm himself down, bites his lip to stop himself but nothing works. Nothing works until you snap your laptop shut and get up to leave. 

‘Hey, hey, hey,’ he’s up in an instant and hurrying toward you. Seconds later, his fingers are lightly clasped around your wrists. ‘Sorry, I’m sorry.’

You roll your eyes in exasperation but don’t shake his hand away until you look at his eyes. It’s his thinking face, his eyes glint with the beginnings of a new idea and something tells you this is going to be a bad idea…

‘Let me help you,’ he breathes. 

Taken aback would be an understatement. Frankly what you feel at this moment is flabbergasted!

‘What?’ you ask, screech really, but he simply shrugs. 

‘I said, let me help you.’

Gone is the immature laughter from a few seconds ago. Now his eyes scan you with renewed interest as he fixates on where he’s holding your wrist. Right over your pulse point. Right as your heartbeat becomes erratic. 

You can’t lie, Ross looks good, really good. And if you’re being truly honest, his face has flashed in front of you once or twice (or thrice or more) when you’ve used the now useless wand in the past. You can’t deny the way you’ve stared at his fingers every time he’s played in front of you, the way you’ve stared at his large hands every time he’s been anywhere near you. 

The timing couldn’t be any more perfect than this. The guys aren’t supposed to be in until after lunch and it’s barely 10 am. The only people in the studio are you and Ross, maybe a tech here or there but no one who would barge in without knocking. 

And then there is the way Ross’s gaze has shifted from interest to something darker, to something barely concealed. 

‘You want to help me?’

‘Only if you want that too,’ he shrugs. And oh, you want it. You really, really want it. Still…this is not a decision you should be making lightly.

Wetness pools between your legs at the thought of him being there. This whole morning has been the worst kind of edging and now you are just desperate for a release, desperate for anything that you can get. 

So you take a deep breath and take a step closer to him. ‘I want that.’

You couldn’t have picked a better place for a semi-public and borderline scandalous hook-up, honestly. The studio is soundproof, the locks bolted shut and the sofa is made for comfort. They have all spent late nights here countless times. And now as Ross pulls you toward it, you wonder why you haven’t done any of this sooner. 

The single soft kiss has long since stopped being soft. You gasp loudly as he bites your lower lip and presses his knee between your parted legs. Your back arches from the slight touch, tits pushed almost into his face as his tongue runs over the spot he’s just bitten. 

‘Fuck–I need you to touch me,’ you whimper into his mouth, ‘please–shit!’

‘But I’ve only just started,’ he pouts and goes back to kissing your jaw. His hands wander roughly over your stomach, over your hips but the only thing it does is drive you even crazier. 

‘I love foreplay,’ you pant, ‘I really do but I need you right now.’ 

There’s no way he doesn’t hear the desperation in your voice. There’s no way he doesn’t know how dire the situation is and it very clearly strokes his ego. 

‘Mmm, so impatient,’ he smirks but his hands are already fumbling with the buttons of your jeans. You lift up your hips, granting him as much access as possible. Your thigh presses up against his hardness making him groan. 

‘Tell me how much you want me,’ he grunts as his mouth moves lower. Your t-shirt is pushed up and over your bra and his kisses turn feverish as he trails over your stomach. ‘Tell me,’ he speaks again, rougher this time. 

This is payment, you realise. If he is going to make you feel good then you have to make him feel good in return. 

‘Ross–fuck,’ you moan as he takes off your jeans in one fluid motion and chucks it to one corner of the room. ‘Please,’ you whine shamelessly, ‘I can’t wait anymore.’

He hooks one finger in the band of your panties and slides it down mercilessly slow. ‘God,’ he breathes in a strained voice, ‘fuck, I’ve wanted to have you for so long.’

The sight of him leaning between your legs and looking at you hungrily is enough to drive you insane but the words? They take your desire to a whole new level. Tears of frustration well up and you feel no shame in what you’re about to do. You simply let your thighs drape over his shoulders and pull him closer. 

The first contact of his tongue sends a jolt of lightning through your veins. Your blood turns to lava as your gasp echoes around the room and you already know you aren’t going to last very long. 

He licks a broad strip, paying special attention to your clit when he gets there. Every time his beard grazes your sensitive skin, you feel the knot in your stomach tightening more and more. His big hands come to rest on your thighs, fingers gripping tightly at the same time yours tangle in his hair. 

‘Fu–fuck, you’re so good at this,’ you gasp out when his teeth graze against you. And it’s not a hollow compliment either; his mouth truly does feel divine between your legs. Much better than any vibrator or any other person has ever felt. ‘So good to me,’ you moan. 

You are instantly rewarded with a deep hum that shoots straight through your bloodstream and makes your head spin. 

‘That’s it, my pretty girl,’ he whispers hoarsely and the knot tightens and tightens some more, ‘let me taste you on my tongue.’

There’s a moment of complete and utter insanity before the knot finally snaps and waves of pleasure come crashing down on you. Time loses all meaning as you chant his name over and over again, as he licks up every last drop of your orgasm before your hold around his head slips and your thighs slip away from his shoulders. 

‘Fucking hell!’ he curses in between your ragged breaths, ‘you’re so beautiful. So fucking sexy.’ 

His hand creeps up to his crotch, palming himself through his jeans as you realise that he also needs his release. It also hasn’t gone unnoticed how Ross has yet to lose any item of clothing and you're in front of him barely even wearing your top. 

‘Do you have a condom on you?’ you ask as soon as you trust your voice a bit more. 

Even through your haze, you watch him raise an eyebrow cockily. ‘Insatiable,’ he grins and then promptly takes his wallet out. 

Of course, Ross would have a condom on him everywhere he goes. You want to roll your eyes but he’s already pulling out a small silver square and all other thoughts evaporate away at the anticipation of what’s about to come. 

Your fingers start working on his jeans as he does quick work of taking his t-shirt off. Your throat suddenly goes dry at the sight of him—shirtless and hair messy, mouth wet from previous activities, pupils blown out wide. A silver chain rests around his neck, ending right at the base of his throat—and suddenly you can’t wait any longer as the heat returns. 

‘You’re so hot,’ you blurt out, letting your eyes hungrily roam over every inch of skin you can see. 

A drop-dead gorgeous smirk blooms over his face and you realise too late how he’s never going to let you live this down. ‘What was that?’ he taunts, ‘couldn’t hear you the first time.’ 

‘You heard me,’ you hook a finger in his chain and tug him closer, ‘now come here and fuck me like you���ve been wanting to.’

A single strand of hair comes to rest on his forehead as he closes his eyes briefly. His Adam’s Apple bobs slightly from an audible swallow—clearly an effect of your words. So he wastes no time in taking off his jeans and boxers. 

Your eyes widen and your jaw drops slightly because oh my god, he’s big. Bigger than you’ve imagined. And you have done some serious imagining. You’re honestly sure your eyes gloss over a little as you feel yourself pulsating with need all over. 

You watch in fascination as he puts the condom on and gives himself a few pumps. Then he lines himself with your entrance and nudges it once. Twice. Each little contact feels like fireworks being lit under your skin, crackling and hot. But all your thoughts instantly zero in when he pushes his tip in, slow and tortuous at first and then slams in all at once, stretching you out deliciously once he bottoms out. 

Your eyes roll back in pleasure as his heavy grown echoes around the room. ‘You feel—’ he pants, trying to get his breathing under control, ‘fuck, you feel heavenly.’

He pulls out, almost until the very last moment and then slams in again, and again, and again before you’ve settled into a nice rhythm. Before your pants and moans become indistinguishable from each other. The familiar feeling starts building at the base of your spine and your legs come to wrap around his middle. The movement suddenly makes him slide in deeper, suddenly makes his tip nudge your g-spot and the loud moan that rips out of you can only be described as thoroughly unholy. 

Your nails dig into his back, leaving scratches and marks. Your face is buried deep into the crook of his neck where you feel the chain against your cheek and Ross’s thrusts become wild and erratic. He is a man that fucks with reckless abandon and you’ve never been more grateful for anything else. 

His words turn into incorrigible, filthy grunts; growing louder and dirtier with each thrust. Your walls clench around him impossibly tighter. He’s close, you can tell it from the way his cock twitches, from the way he loses all rhythm.

And you feel the knot tightening once again. 

‘I’m so close,’ you both moan at the same time as the other, both breathing heavily right next to each other’s ear. His name spills out of your lips in form of screams as you feel yourself come undone. Moments later, he thrusts one final time and finds his own climax. 

It takes you twice as long to come down from this high; still panting, still locked together as Ross tries to support his weight on his elbows. 

‘That was…’ he breathes unevenly, unable to find the right words. 

‘Yeah, that was…’ you agree, mouth still close to his ear. 

There is a moment of silence punctuated with loud breaths slowly returning to normalcy. 

‘We should do this again,’ you breathe as soon as there’s enough air in your lungs. 

‘Agreed,’ he nods while placing a delicate kiss on the shell of your ear. ‘We should definitely even make this a thing.’ 

[jedijesi]

Caught in the Cat's Web Chapter 9

Miguel O'Hara x Felicia Hardy Reader

Previous Chapter 🕸️ Series Masterlist

Warnings: Fluff, SMUT PiV, oral

Word Count: 4.3K

Summary: Miguel and Felicia go on their first date.

Co-Author:@stclairesplace

New York, Earth-192

Felicia elegantly slips through the window of her luxurious penthouse. It's the same old story, another mission accomplished successfully. As the adrenaline high of her day slowly fades away, a sense of weariness begins to take hold, and the soreness in her shoulders and neck starts to spread, a reminder of the physical toll of her daring exploits. 

Felicia heads towards her marble bathroom, intent on washing away the blood and sweat from her latest mission. As she prepares to step into the shower, her wristwatch suddenly chimes, alerting her to an incoming call from LYLA. Curious, she taps her watch, summoning LYLA's holographic projection in front of her.

“What’s up, LYLA?” 

LYLA hastily scanned their surroundings to ensure no one was lurking in the apartment before leaning in close to Felicia. In a conspiratorial whisper, she relayed the message, "Your man-hunk instructed me to tell you to call him as soon as you get back from your mission. He says it’s something 'important'." With a mischievous wink, LYLA's holographic projection disappeared, leaving Felicia intrigued by the secretive message.

Eager to know more, she took a quick shower, donned her coziest pair of sweats, and made herself comfortable on her couch. Lifting her watch, she fiddled with it, determined to figure out how to page Miguel. After about 5 minutes of this, the watch begins to ring as it calls him. 

“Hola hermosa, how was the mission today?” 

“Oh, you knoooowww. The usual ass-kicking adventure that I always win in the end.” She shrugs confidently. “LYLA told me to call you as soon as I could, is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine, I just wanted to ask you what your plans are for the night. Doing something special?”

“Well I was hoping you were going to be my something special since we were so deliberately interrupted the last time.” 

Miguel chuckles at the comment, “I will seriously never forgive LYLA for that.” 

“But why are you asking, Big Guy? You tynna be my something special?” She teases. 

“I’m just thinking about that little agreement we made. Where if I kiss you-“

“You have to take me on a real date.” Realization finally dawns on Felicia’s face. “Is the big bad Miguel O’Hara finally taking me out on a date?!” She taunts him. 

“More like telling you sweetheart.” Felicia could feel a chill shoot down her spine at Miguel’s demand. “Wear something nice and I’ll pick you up at your place at 7 tonight.” 

“Oh, I love it when you’re bossy.” She purrs. “I’ll be waiting for you, big boy.” 

A few hours passed and Felicia was giddy with excitement waiting for Miguel to knock on her door and take her out for their date. As she sifted through her stolen jewels, searching for the perfect ones to complement her outfit, Felicia couldn't help but notice the genuine happiness etched in her smile. The last time she was this giddy was when she and Peter used to go out, and when she stole a Banksy two months ago. Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. She briskly walks over, heels clicking against the hardwood floor with each step. 

As Felicia opens the door, she is greeted by the sight of Miguel leaning against the door frame, exuding an air of confidence and allure. His relaxed posture accentuates his well-defined physique, and his attire perfectly complements his charm. Miguel stands at her doorway in a sleek ensemble, donning black dress pants that fit him perfectly. He pairs them with a tight-fitting, dark burgundy dress shirt, creating a sophisticated and stylish look that allows him to show off his muscles. The deep hue of the shirt adds a touch of elegance to his attire, complementing his overall appearance. A subtle grin plays on his lips, and his eyes meet Felicia's with a magnetic intensity, instantly captivating her. The combination of Miguel's irresistible presence leaves Felicia momentarily mesmerized, unable to look away from the captivating sight before her.

While Felicia takes a moment to admire him in such sophisticated attire, Miguel also takes very strong notice of what Felicia is wearing as well. Just upon simply opening the door, Felicia makes a stunning entrance, dressed in a chic solid black dress, paired with dazzling diamonds around her neck, wrist, and fingers. The dress flatters her figure with its tailored fit and stylish design. The square neckline adds a touch of sophistication, while the drawstring detail accentuates her waist. The split thigh adds a hint of allure to her outfit, striking a perfect balance between elegance and confidence. Together, Miguel and Felicia make a beautiful couple, their attire reflecting their styles while harmonizing with each other.

“Hi,” she shyly greets him with a soft simile. 

“Hey gorgeous, you ready?” Miguel’s knowing smirk intrigued Felicia. 

“Oh, you have no idea.” Felicia takes a step closer, looking up at him through her lashes. 

“So, where are you takin’ me, Spider?” 

“You’ll see.” His voice was laced with mischief. Miguel holds out his arms for her, which she takes without any hesitation in her body. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the autumn leaves gently danced around them, Miguel and Felicia strolled hand in hand through the bustling streets of New York City. The city's vibrant energy reverberated through their beings and with each step. Miguel had planned a special evening for Felicia, knowing all too well that her love for jazz ran deep within her. Approaching a dimly lit corner, they arrived at a charming jazz restaurant tucked away from the chaos of the city. Its warm ambiance and smooth melodies floating through the air instantly put them at ease. Felicia's eyes sparkled with surprise as she realized where they were heading, appreciating the thoughtfulness that mirrored Miguel's attention to detail.

The couple was led to a candlelit table, their seats intimately close, inviting an air of intimacy even amidst the crowd. As soon as the waiter hands them their menus and leaves Felicia speaks up, “So…” Felicia glances around. “I guess you did your homework. How’d you know I would like this place, and even jazz music for all that matter?”

Miguel sheepishly looks down at the menu he’s holding. He clears his throat before saying, “I remember how happy you were, listening to the music at the gala… and I um- I heard you talking to Jess about it when you were in the lounge room.”

Felicia smirked at the thought of him eavesdropping on her conversation. “You’re a sneaky little spider aren’t you?” She teases with a grin. “You know it’s really rude to listen to other people’s conversations, didn’t your mama teach you that?”

“Bite me.” He teases. 

With their orders placed, the two continued their flirty banter, filling the intimate space between them like a symphony of playful whispers. It was a dance of words and winks, a secret language of attraction that only they understood. Their playful banter was a dance of words, a magnetic force drawing them closer with every quip and jest. Their fingers brushed as they reached for their wine glasses, the fleeting touch sending sparks of anticipation through them.

Miguel leaned in, his voice husky yet gentle, "You know, everything tonight was specifically chosen for you, mí Hermosa.”

Felicia felt her cheeks grow warm due to Miguel’s statement. Her bashful expression was illuminated by the soft golden glow of the candles. Her voice laced with mischief, she replied, "Oh really? And what else do you have planned to please me?"

A knowing smile danced across Miguel's lips. "Well, aside from this dinner, how about we move along to Stage 2 of my plan for us?" he suggested, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

Their food arrived, plated with precision, but the melodies wafting across the room seized their attention. Forks, poised in mid-air, were forgotten as their eyes locked, silently speaking a shared language of anticipation. Without breaking their intense gaze, Miguel extended his hand across the table, fingers tenderly wrapping around Felicia's. His touch was a delicate caress that sent a delightful shiver coursing down her spine, a silent promise of the evening's magic yet to come.

"May I have this dance?" Miguel whispered, his voice dripping with invitation.

Felicia's eyes widened with a happy surprise. Delighted, she accepted his offer with a radiant smile, allowing Miguel to guide her gracefully onto the dance floor. The music enveloped them like a warm embrace as they swayed together. 

Their bodies moved in perfect unison as their laughter became a language all their own, whispered in the rhythm of their dance. Playful spirits danced along with them, caught up in the intoxicating atmosphere of the moment. In that fleeting, magical moment, as they swayed to the sultry jazz, the small club and the bustling backdrop of New York City transformed into their private haven. The world outside faded to a distant hum, leaving only Miguel and Felicia cocooned in their own universe.

As the notes of the music faded into the night, the echo of their laughter filled the air, a testament to the magic they had shared. Miguel still holds Felicia close as they finish their dancing, before finishing their meals and leaving the quaint restaurant behind them.

“Hey,” Felicia grabs Miguel's attention, the dazzling city lights illuminating their cheerful faces. “Thank you, for tonight. I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun. I’m really glad I got to share it with you.” She leans up briefly to place a chaste kiss on his lips. 

Miguel's eyebrows furrow as if confused, “You're acting like the night is over, Hermosa.” Now it was Felicia’s turn to care the puzzled expression. “We’re not done, yet.” He smirks down at the now, surprised expression on her face. He leans down to whisper softly in her ear, “C’mere, baby, one more thing we gotta do tonight.” 

Like giggling children, the two runs down the sidewalk, taking a turn into a secluded ally, hidden from any sights of onlookers passing by. She peeks around the corner to make sure no one notices, only to turn around to see him completely covered in his signature blue and red Spider-Man suit. 

“You ready?” He asks as he quickly types something into his watch. 

“Ready for what, Mig?”

“You’ll see when we get there. But for now…” he pulls out a blindfold, slowly approaching her to wrap it around her eyes before continuing, “it remains a surprise.” He whispers. 

“That’s a little kinky, Mig, but I’m into it.” She says with a devious smirk.

Miguel rolls his eyes at Felicia;’s comment. “Hold onto me.” He wraps an arm around her waist, ensuring her safety.

“Oh honey, you don’t have to tell me twice.” She wraps her arms around his neck before she feels him take off into the air swinging through the bustling streets of New York. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New York, Earth-323

Miguel and Felicia swing gracefully through the colorful portal Miguel touches down softly on his feet, balancing effortlessly, while Felicia remains nestled securely against his chest.

“So where’d you take me, big guy?” Miguel's suit disintegrates to show his face. He guides her body to the edge of the building they stand on, but not too close where she could fall. 

“To someplace that I think you’ll find quiet…” he removes the mask from her eyes, still standing behind her so she could take in the view all at once. “…exhilarating.”

Felicia's eyes adjust to the new change in light. Once she gathers her bearings, she takes in the extraordinary view in front of her. The once mundane streets of New York are quickly erased from her mind as she takes in the sight of such an incredible city, surrounded by the ethereal glow of bioluminescent water. Every bridge, every building, and every structure is adorned with this mesmerizing blue hue, creating a surreal and otherworldly atmosphere.

As she peers into the horizon, the towering skyscrapers become hidden among the lush trees and foliage that have seamlessly intertwined with the urban landscape. It's as if a magical forest has emerged from within the city, with branches and leaves reaching toward the sky, illuminated by the gentle radiance of the bioluminescent water. 

The streets are lined with cobblestones that seem to shimmer under your feet, reflecting the enchanting blue light in a dance of colors. The waterways that flow through the city are alive with glowing aquatic creatures, illuminating the canals and rivers with their vibrant presence. As day turns to night, the city truly comes alive. The glow intensifies, casting a soft and soothing light on everything it touches. The buildings appear to blend seamlessly with nature as if they were grown from the very land they stand on. In this city, the boundaries between reality and fantasy are blurred, creating a truly unique and breathtaking experience for all who live here. It is a place where nature and human architecture coexist in perfect harmony, offering a glimpse into a world where the ordinary becomes extraordinary.

“What do you think?” Miguel asks in suspense. 

“I think this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!” 

Felicia turns around to find Miguel only looking at her. The anticipation between them was palpable, their eyes locked in a passionate gaze. Their hearts pounded in synchrony, fueling the electric atmosphere surrounding them.

At that moment, time seemed to slow down as their faces slowly inched closer. Their lips met in a gentle embrace, a soft and tender connection that ignited a flame within them. The kiss deepened, fueled by their unspoken desire that had been building for far too long. Their bodies pressed against one another, creating an undeniable chemistry that intensified with every touch. The kiss grew hotter, their breaths mingling, as their hands hungrily explored each other's curves. They lost themselves in the sensation, unable to resist the magnetic pull drawing them closer.

Suddenly, Miguel reached into his pocket and grabbed his watch. With a mischievous smile, he typed a command, unleashing a swirling portal of light. Without breaking their intense embrace, they stumbled through the gateway, bursting into Miguel's lavish penthouse.

New York, Earth-928

As they stumbled through the elegant living room, their passion unchecked, they laughed and playfully bumped into furniture. The room seemed to fade into the background as they stumbled their way toward Miguel's bedroom, following their instincts and the tantalizing promise of what lay ahead.

Finally reaching their destination, they collapsed onto the plush bed, Felicia falling on top of Miguel's chest, their lips never parting for a moment. Clothes were discarded in a frenzy of desire, their bodies entwined with an urgency that spoke volumes of their longing. Time ceased to exist as they melted into each other, lost in a blissful symphony of pleasure. Each touch, each kiss, each moan was a testament to the undeniable chemistry and unspoken desires. 

Felicia and Miguel’s eyes locked, and a mischievous grin spread across Felicia's face.

"Well, well, well, Miguel. What do we have here?" Felicia teases. She takes a step back and lets Miguel see the slight bulge that rose in his pants, her hand reaching to caress it.

Miguel smirks, "Looks like we've found ourselves in quite a predicament, Felicia."

Their hands moved in a flurry of action, fumbling with buttons, zippers, and clasps. The air crackled with tension as they engaged in a playful game of undressing each other.

Felicia whispers, "You know, Miguel, I've always admired your impeccable taste in fashion. But tonight, I think we should both embrace a more minimalist approach."

Miguel leans closer, "I couldn't agree more, baby.”

With a final tug, Felicia's dress slid off her shoulders and pooled at her feet. Miguel's shirt soon joined it, revealing a sculpted physique that made Felicia's breath catch.

“Impressive…now, let's see what else you're hiding," Felicia says in a sultry tone.

Miguel darkly chuckles, "By all means, please continue."

Their playful banter continued as they shed the last remaining layers of clothing, leaving only their desire and anticipation hanging in the air.

In between kisses, Felicia speaks up, "You know, I've always been a fan of your suit design?”

“Oh ya?” he asks, moving to kiss her neck. “Why’s that?”

“It leaves very little to the imagination.” She smiles. 

With a sudden surge of passion, Miguel effortlessly lifted Felicia in his arms and carried her towards the bed, their bodies pressed together.

Felicia giggles at the movement, "Oh, Miguel, you know just how to make a girl feel wanted."

Miguel whispers in her ear as he lays her down on the bed, "And you, Felicia, have a way of making a man lose himself."

As they tumbled on the bed, their lips met again in a fiery kiss. Their bodies intertwined, and the room filled with the sound of their quickening breaths. The flirty banter now transformed into passionate moans as they explored the depths of their desire for each other.

“These stay here, Hermosa,” he says huskily, pinning her wrists above her head. 

Felicia wordlessly complies with his demand, excited for where this could be going. She silently gazed at the hands that caressed her body, and watched Miguel's head travel from her neck, to her stomach, and finally disappear in between her thighs. His mouth hovers over her panties as he looks up into her eyes with a devilish grin and licks his lips. He keeps his eyes on her as he slowly removes the underwear from her waist. 

Felicia lets out a small shiver as she feels the cool air on her heated skin. Without any words or warning, Miguel's lips touch her, his tongue lapping at her lips. Felicia is stunned at the suddenness, her back arching off the bed as he explores her with his tongue. He dives deeper inside of her, and she lets out a smile and whine as he begins to move his tongue more forcefully, his breaths becoming harsher as he picks up the pace. Felicia’s eyes squeeze shut at the motion, her hand still above her head tightly gripping the sheet, the other sliding down to caress Miguel’s head, tightly grabbing onto his curls, a silent plead for more. 

“Miguel” she whines his name. Her hips buck up at the pleasure of his tongue, and she feels his hands slowly run up her thighs and rest on her hips, keeping her in place on the bed. Felicia whines his name again, letting out a small moan as the hand on her hip moves to her clit, utilizing his thumb while his tongue explores her wet pussy. She can feel her body begin to shake from the overwhelming amount of pleasure. 

“How’s that?” Miguel mumbles into her soaking pussy. 

Felicia lets out a moan, clawing at the bed sheets as his thumb works faster. “F-fuck! So good!”

“Yeah?” He smirks at her. “Wanna cum on my fingers, baby?” Unable to muster up any words, Felicia’s head nods rapidly, begging him for more. “We’ll start with one and work our way up.” Miguel sits up a bit, moving his right hand for a better angle. He positions his middle finger at her entrance, letting her wetness, coat him. “You want it?”

Felicia nods her head, bucking her hips. “Yes!” She gasps out, desperate to feel him again.

Miguel shakes his head, “Tsk tsk tsk, come on, hermosa, beg.” 

“Fuck, Mig, I need it!” She cries, 

Miguel shrugs, “I guess that’ll do for now, but we'll have to work on your begging.” 

Suddenly, Miguel’s large finger slides into her, stretching her walls. Felicia gasps and cries a series of moans as the point of his finger abuses her G-Spot. Miguel leans back down, placing her legs over his shoulders. 

“Imma add another finger, okay?” Felicia nods in consent, biting her lip. 

“Fuck!” Felicia winces and moans as her walls stretch around his second finger. 

“I know, baby girl, I know,” Miguel whispers, massaging her hip with his free hand. “Do you need a break.”

“No, I can take it.” It's been a while since Felicia has had sex or even cum in general as work and life had been too chaotic. All of this combined with the fact that Miguel had huge hands, made her feel like a virgin again. 

“Good girl gotta get you ready to take my cock.” Felicia’s walls flutter around Miguel’s fingers, causing him to smirk. “Someone liked that.” 

After a moment to adjust, Miguel picks up the pace once again, slowly moving his finger in and out making sure they play with her g-spot each time. Knowing she was growing close Miguel dives into her pussy, his tongue flicking and sucking her clit. Unable, to control her body, Felicia’s hands shoot down to weave into Miguel’s hair, desperately tugging on the roots. 

“Cum for me, baby!” Miguel moans into her clit, sending her over the edge. 

With a scream, Felicia cums all over Miguel’s fingers and face. Her moans make Miguel even harder, even more desperate for her. 

As he sits up he licks his finger clean, moaning at the intoxicating taste. He then moves to hover over Felicia’s blissful face, both breathing heavily. Miguel kisses her lips in urgency, his tongue darting into her mouth. She tastes the flavor of her arousal on his tongue as well as the taste of him. She moans in pleasure in his mouth as he slowly pulls away from her lips. His hand reaches up to softly stroke her face and hold her chin. 

“You okay, baby girl?” He asks, still slightly panting from their previous kiss. 

She pants out a small laugh in reply. “Baby girl, huh? I could so get used to you calling me that.” She hurriedly kisses him, giving Miguel no time to reply. Both of her hands now tangled in his hair, as they kiss feverishly.  

He took his hard cock in his hand, slowly teasing her with it. He circles her clit until she begs and begs for more. Smiling, he slowly pushed his cock in, stretching her out as they moaned in pleasure. 

Felicia throws her head back into the pillow as she takes Miguel. “Fuck, it’s so big.” She cries.

“Need a break?” Miguel asks panting above her, not even halfway inside. 

Felicia shakes her head. “No, I can take it.”

“Good girl.” He whispers into her ear. Miguel continued to move slowly inside of her, watching as she writhed in pleasure yearning. Miguel finally completely sinks into her, pulling a gasp from Felicia. 

Felicia wraps her legs around Miguel’s waist. “Fuck me.” She demands. 

Not able to hold back any more increases his speed, listening to Felicia’s moans grow louder. The room fills with the sound of their moans and the headboard banging into the wall.

"God, you feel so fucking good." Miguel moans out.

She arches her back, Miguels’ movements becoming more frenzied as he feels her tight walls begin to contract with every thrust he gives. 

“Please, baby, pleasee” Felicia drawls out in a breathy moan.

“What do you want, Hermosa?” Miguel grunts. “You gotta beg.”

“I w-wanna cum! I need more, Miguel!” She cries.

Felicia starts to quiver at the growing pace, her hands gripping the bed sheets tightly as she can feel her orgasm start to build up. Her moans became more frequent as her hips started to rise and fall in rhythm with his. His breathing became labored as they reached a feverish pace, his fingers digging into her skin as he moved.

Miguel moans. “Uughh FUCK baby girl you were made for me. So fucking perfect for me like this.” He felt her body tense up beneath him, her breathing becoming ragged. “You gonna cum for me?”

Felicia nods her head as she finally let out a loud cry as she cums. Her orgasm triggers Miguel’s, cumming inside of her with a loud groan. He slowly and reluctantly pulled out, collapsing beside her, breathing heavily as they both savored the moment.

The two both lay on their backs on the bed, breathing heavily as they come down from their intense highs. The only sound that could be heard were their panting breaths. Felicia turns her head to the side, her chest rising and falling rapidly. 

"Wow," she whispered, her voice filled with satisfaction and eyes heavy with lust.

Miguel chuckled softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from her face. "Yeah, that was… wow," he replied, his voice still husky with desire.

They lay there in silence for a moment, basking in the afterglow of their passionate encounter. Miguel pulls Felicia into his arms, allowing her to rest on his chest. The room was filled with a mix of contentment and the lingering scent of their lovemaking.

Finally, she mustered the energy to speak again. "I can't believe how amazing that was," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of amazement.

He traced gentle circles on the bare skin of her back. "I'm glad I could make you cum like that," he murmured, his voice filled with tenderness. 

She turned her head to meet his gaze, a soft smile playing on her lips. "You know exactly what to do, sir.” she giggled. 

Miguel leaned in closer, his lips grazing her forehead. "You were so fucking beautiful." He whispered, his voice filled with admiration.

They stayed entwined in each other's arms, enjoying the closeness and the quiet intimacy of the moment. No words were needed as their bodies and hearts spoke a language only they understood. 

Felicia suddenly sits up, crawling on top of Miguel to situate herself on top of his lap, feeling his cock grow hard once again. She begins to glide her dripping pussy along his cock, rubbing herself against him as if he were her last ride.

“Round three?” She purrs. 

Chapter 10

A/N: First Smut of the series! Much more to cum!😏

Taglist: @leahnicole1219 @oscarissac2099 @www-interludeshadow-com

[the-bar-sinister]

Once in a Lifetime (But Still More Than Once) (552 words) by thesavagesabretooth

summary: Looking at an old legal history book, Kristoph points out a pair of figures to his protege Apollo, and suggests there might be something familiar about them.

-

"Come here, Justice, have a look at this."

"Hmm?" Apollo hurried over to Kristoph's desk, where his boss had a large, hardcover old book spread open, with several pictures interspersed through the dense text. "Is this a law book, sir?"

"Sort of. It's a book about the history of the law. Here– doesn't he look familiar to you somehow?"

Kristoph pointed a manicured nail at an old photograph, posed almost like a painting, of a forbidding and intense looking man in a cape, with a scar across his nose and a high collar.

"Ah… he looks a little like Dracula?" Apollo offered, embarrassedly. 

Kristoph laughed and shook his head, pulling down his glasses as he peered slyly at Apollo over them. "Well I suppose. But I was thinking there was something about him that reminded me of you, Mr. Justice."

"Of me? You're kidding! For one thing he looks like he's about seven feet tall, and uh, German, maybe?"

Kristoph waved a hand. "I don't mean the features, Apollo. Look at his expression. That intense, dubious stare. I swear you make the same face when someone says something particularly stupid to you."

"I guess…"Apollo rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the picture. He supposed he did make a face a little bit like it sometimes. His eye was drawn to another picture on the page, of a little Japanese man with a big smile. "But if you think that looks like me, you must think he looks like you, huh, sir?"

Kristoph followed Apollo's gaze, his eyebrows raising. "Ryuunosuke Naruhodo? Well, I won't turn down the comparison– he was a very famous defense attorney. Changed the face of law. Actually he worked with your friend up there– Mr. Barok Van Zieks. Why do you say he looks like me?"

Apollo glanced teasingly at his boss. "It's the smile, sir. It looks a little like yours."

"Hmmm…" Kristoph tapped his finger next to the picture. "There were rumors they were lovers, you know. What do you think, Mr. Justice– have we served at the bar together before?"

"Huh?" Apollo's eyes nearly bugged out of his head at the suggestion, and he flushed.

Kristoph laughed, and looped his arm around Apollo's waist. "I'm only teasing. But it's a romantic notion, don't you think? Of course, Van Zieks was a prosecutor. Do you think you'd ever serve the other side of the aisle?"

Apollo leaned into Kristoph, feeling like he couldn't take his eyes off the pictures now. "I don't know."

Kirstoph pointed out another picture on the page– Van Zieks and Naruhodo among a small crowd of other people outside a large and grand building.

"This is the two of them and the rest of their coterie at the ballet– Swan Lake in 1911. Imagine being there, back then?" Kristoph chuckled, and leaned on him. "Help me up, Apollo. I'll turn on some Tchaikovsky and see if it awakens anything in us."

Apollo shook his head and did as his boss asked. He was in one of his funny moods, and it was unlikely any work would get done for a while. But that was alright with him.

A few minutes later as the sounds of Swan Lake filled the office, Apollo looked at his boss' smile, and felt strangely nostalgic.

[giuliano-fan-account]

hxh Chapter 395: Founding: Part 1

Ohm yg od oh my god I love this chapter!!!!!!

So let’s get started

Spoilers... What else??

I’m deciding to use the viz translations since I didn’t review yesterday and they come out on sundays so yeaaa

Ok so we begin with Hinrigh who has Cracked The Code on the Heil-Ly base thing

They’re gonna go after those two guys and...... To be honest I don’t care if they end up dying!!!! Go ahead!! I forgot their names already and Togashi’s going to need to manage the like 60 new characters that he’s made this arc...

Man, I miss Kurapika and the Zodiacs and the Princes and Beyonds team... hm... 

Like these characters I love and all like Lynch and Zakuro and Tserriednich’s Militia people and Hinrigh but Man where did everybody else go????

Well good news is later this chapter we at least have the troupe!!

(Togashis trying to tell us to enjoy the little detours-- to the fullest)

Volksen ever. Apparently her officially translated name is like Bork something but Volk is a lot better in My opinion and people spell Giuliano like Juliano all the time so does it Really Matter?

Volk makes me think of a Volkswagen car and Bork makes me think she has an acidic reflux I’m sorry.

Also Otocin = Otoshin (doesn’t really matter to me) and Momolly = Momori (Momori is way cooler sorry so I will also be saying Momori) 

I also permanently associate Volksen with octopi now but that’s besides the point.

Anyways enough about the 6 People from last chapter let’s move on. 

Fun fact I still cant remember his freaking name What Is it Somebody please say It nobody has said it in the past 5 chapters and I’m confused but anyways. 

He says the Phantom troupe are checking out 3102 (next to the trap room 3101) because they think there might be a Hideout behind rooms 3101-3103 and of course they’re being insane about it, since to them it doesn’t matter if they have a plan or not. 

He’s been talking a lot about people being captured..... Togashi? Is this going to be another big theme??

He needs some water or some skin moisturizer or something He can’t be living like this dude look how dry that skin is...

Anyways they're threatening this guy to get in the room as you do.

I’m going to thank Togashi forever for visuals because without them in this arc I would be entirely lost.

I really don’t have any sympathy for this guy but Imagine if three guys just came into your room and then cut a hole in your bathroom.

I’m sorry but in this panel he looks so emo it’s... It’s the hair and the... The everything looks extra emo.

I love this conversation cause it opens new parallels between the mafia and the troupe, which Phinks, Feitan, and Nobunaga are already involved with and it gives some more insight, but also What is Nobunaga holding right now.

Is that like a ball of light or something

And why is it the only one there

Anyways enough of looking at random details its its

ITS FLASHBACK TIME

When I saw this page spread I kid you not I think I went crazy for a second. It’s a callback to the flashback in chapter... 102 (the panels were redrawn!!!!!!@2442454##$#%^$#)

I was right with Chrollo being the one on the left and Franklin being the one on the right closest to the tape, but I thought Shalnark would be the one sitting in front of the elder, and Phinks was the one running at the bottom..... However..

THE ONE WITH THE CURLY WAVY HAIR IS SHALNARK.......... (broken heart crying emoji /pos) 

God I love this Flashback Look at them all. Shalnark and Chrollo are my best guess at like 9 years old and Franklin is probably like uhh 16 or something.

Franklin has a Oldest-brother-that-is-cool-and-is-in-college-while-you-are-in-middle-school vibe which I’m not being super specific about you guys have to know what I’m talking about right.

Tbh this part felt a bit like I was on something but it’s ok it works out!

I love how they have Territory like its warrior cats. Like theyre those kids on the playground that would play warriors (definitely not me /s) But its taken to the actual extreme and they actually fight.

I’m guessing Uvo is also 16 but Puberty just hit him in the face with an iron bat. He’s like the Average bully archetype but also taken to the extreme because they live in a dump city.

Machi... She’s just... She’s like 5 or 6 years old oh my god she’s a literal baby actually... and she’s just handing Uvo a “Murder Weapon” they would probably call it. 

Baby Syanorke being a little smartass and then Immediately getting hit in the head with a plank of wood and passing out This was like the funniest part ever

Look at him tumble

...

Wait

.....

No...

NOOO.......

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO HOLY CRAP

...Anyways let’s move past that...

Fist fight Immediately 1 v 1

The low quality running of the little guy I can’t believe he’s a little guy

HELP ME THIS IS TERRIFYING WHY DO THEY LOOK LIKE THAT 

He is also Average bully archetype No. 2 but a different flavor for sure...... His hair looks like a walnut Phinks what are you doing.... 

Umm ok so Age guesstimate... the first appearance Phinks looks older and then he looks smaller in the other panel... So I’m gonna say he’s like 13 and Feitan... 

...

Yea I have no Idea let’s just say 13 as well.

Get wrecked. I only noticed the arrow now so hopefully you see it too now.

The little guy the little thief 

Meteor city civilization real

AGAIN WITH THE PEOPLE GETTING CAPTURED AND STUFF??

Ok so Basically 

Since Meteor city residents technically don’t exist since they don’t have any form of identification, that means it was legal to kidnap them, kill them, commit crime against them etc since they technically “weren’t human”...

A while later to prevent this, Meteor city allied with the mafia to be safe, but before that there were hundreds of victims and 70% of them were under 15.

Their ties with the mafia grew stronger, and Nen abilities came about the elders, and a pledge was made (The law of retribution): 

“Only life can compensate for a life.”

“We’ll accept anything you leave here, but don’t ever take anything away from us.” (a note left at the kurta massacre, if it rings a bell) 

And so with all this going on the Phantom troupe formed 12234543

PAKUNODA!!!!!!!!!!!!! I love her hair so much here its real 

This is so adorale im cyring .........

Ddue just became a part of the council at 9 years old I guess!

Tiny Just tiny little ones

POWER CLEANERS HELP 

MIGHTY SWEEPIN POWER CLEANERS

He also created dubbing wow /s 

IM CYRING AGAIN ........ So Paku must be like 8 or something but they have an Older sister Younger brother dynamic lol 

SHEILA?!?!?! You mean the lady in volume 0 who looks uncannily similar to Pariston Hill? 

...*snif* *sniffleef* eu......e.ue ,, 

Omg its Sheila and Sarasa... Sheila still has her silly rat ears...

I like Sarasa she’s a little silly and I wonder if she’ll be relevant too but as far as I know I dont remember her.

hehe im just imagining all of them just sitting down and watching a really badly dubbed but endearing episode of the power ra-cleaners.

D Hunter.... 

I live them that’s all I have to say

Oh god More human trafficking 

Even worse child trafficking... Yea this is going to be relevant 

And then It just skips back to them peacefully HELP 

To be continued!!! Yea nothing bad happening here totally

I’m guessing since the Title of the chapter is Founding: Part 1 that we’re still going to be in the flashback in part 2 since there’s still stuff that needs to happen.

I mean we still have yet to see 12 year old Nobunaga and what about the whole Council thing?? 

Oh god wait somebody may get captured during the screening NO 

And why is it called founding?? The troupe is officially founded I think when they’re like mm... I wanna say maybe 6 or 7 years older so maybe there’s a time skip idk.

Anyways keep being silly Goofer man Behave yourself.

(remember the hunter exam applicant form or wtv in the 1999 version well I wanted to draw them so here ignore the bad coloring and shading i made this at 2 am) 

[yourbodymyarchive]

Fic Recs Vol. 2: TMA hasn't let me go!

So, we're here once again! Wanted to make another rec list as I made the last one quite a bit ago and thought I'd just spread the good writing I've been soaking up like a plant the past few weeks. Some of these are recent, others not, it's mostly just anything I really really enjoyed and had in the first few pages of my bookmarks on AO3.

Let's get started:

we'll embrace that much longer (make more of a mess) by SmallishWormMasterOfTheUniverse. A Jon and Tim centric fic centered around a pair of handcuffs that locks the duo together. Hijinks ensue.

hanging curtain rods in hopes of windows by epilobium. Safehouse fic (my personal favorite genre of jmart fic). Honestly, never read a safehouse fic that made me yearn more than this one. Something about it just hit all the right notes in my heart. Safehouse in general is amazing. Keep doing what you do, safehouse era writers!

so revival/so alone by heartshapedguy. Another safehouse fic (big surprise there) that is also focused on the sheer capacity for yearning that the safehouse era holds. Also a very good study in how hard it is for depression to allow love into your heart. How it makes it impossible to believe that anyone could be in love with you, truly. jmart lovers, your food has arrived!

I warn you, baby, each night, as sure as you're born (you'll hear me howling outside your door) by distortiondaisiras. A great, I mean, truly great fic about the Basira and Jon dynamic we could've had on tape. Jon, who loves Daisy in his familial "I have no one to take care of me" way, and Basira, who loves Daisy in a slightly more obvious "You are the only one who could understand why I do the things I do" but complicated way nonetheless.

Surprise, Gertie: We've Unionized (subheading) In More Ways Than One by dduucckk. An amazing polychives fic for all of my polychives lovers. Features Gertrude Robinson, a statement or two, in-field research that should not be done by archival assistants, and love finding a way, always.

dragon slayer by hueue. Alternate meeting for jmart where Jon is already in his full monstrous transformation. He attempts to take Martin Blackwood's statement. Martin Blackwood, being the stubborn man he is, says, firmly, no. Somehow, they end up behaving like a married couple by the end.

i will not ask you where you came from by flwergardens. This fic is amazing. Truly. Reads like a statement that you would find in the Archives. Alternate universe. Jon's husband comes back from the dead. It is his husband. Obviously. Why wouldn't it be? (Spoiler/Not Spoiler: That's not his husband!)

[tomholland1996simp]

A Peter Parker x reader where the reader and Peter are best friends and one day they are studying together and the reader is wanting to ask peter to cuddle. Then maybe it ends with them cuddling just a short cuteness one x

Cuddles || Peter parker

Summary: The reader and Peter have been best friends for so long and whenever each other is sad they use cuddles as something to help one another through tough times. Now y/n needs Peter during studying as she’s feeling down after a fight with her mother.

A/N: Thank you for the requests, i’m trying to finish everything in my inbox. Some of the requests I never got around to doing, but i’m starting to do them now. Still keep up all the request though! Also I have a wattpad account that you can all check out to see my stories. Wattpad = @JustTomHolland26

(Isn’t proof read, it’s nearly 2am so I apologise if this is bad. I’m going bed now, goodnight)

You and Peter have been best friends for most of your life’s. At the age of five you both had met each other. He was just a young boy who had just lost his parents, and his aunt knew he needed a friend. May was best friends with your mum at the time, you had met her a couple times before. You never knew she had a cute nephew around your age.The five year old was crying in his room, not having spoken to anyone for days not even his aunt. He missed his parents, them being around and now he was left empty and alone.

Well that was until you came along. A little girl with the exact same gap in her tooth as Peter. Your mother had asked you if you wanted to make a new friend, and you agreed straight away. You loved making new friends, you didn’t really have many at that age so you wanted to try make some with any opportunity you got.

May showed you to Peters room, you remember her knocking at the door telling Peter that ‘someone’s here for you’. You remember walking into his bedroom that was filled with star wars posters, legos and other toys. Peter sniffled at the edge of his bed, you closed the door walking closer to him.

“Hi, i’m y/n” You told him with your bright smile.

“Hi i-im peter” He finally looked at you, him smiling a little seeing that you was around his age.

“Hi Peter, w-why you crying?” Five year old asked him.

“My mummy and daddy have gone to heaven” He told you.

“I’m sorry, my daddy is in heaven too. Maybe they would meet” You smile, Peter smiling knowing that you know what it’s like to lose someone. “Do you wanna be friends?”

“Yes, please” Peter smiled as you sat on his bed.

“You know what helps me when i’m sad?” Y/n asked the five year old, hun muttering a ‘what?’

“Cuddles” She smiles pulling Peter into a big long hug, them lying on the bed eventually falling asleep. Both May and y/m/n walked in an hour later seeing the two cute five year olds asleep.

Present day

You walk up to the door of the apartment, knocking on the door. Seconds later the door opens, you walk into the house you are very familiar with. Going straight to the kitchen to get a drink. “Hello to you too y/n!” May calls putting her shoes on in a rush.

“Hey May! Just gonna raid your cupboards, don’t mind me” You told her, grabbing a snack and walking over to her. “Remember May, breathe you look beautiful. Happy is such a lucky man” You tell her, her thanking you and kissing your head.

She shut the door behind her as you made your way to Peters room. Today had been such a long day and all you wanted to do is chill out with your best friend. Lately you have been struggling with life, you had an argument with your mum earlier, it had been coming up to the anniversary of your dads death.It really took a tole on your mother more than you. He died when you was really young, at age of 4 you don’t understand certain things so you didn’t remember a lot about him.

You go to his door, not bothering to knock. Peter was sitting on his bed, books, pages and notes spread all over his bed. He looked up when he saw you, a soft smile planted on his lips. “Hey” He diverts his eyes back on his revision notes.

“Hey, what you doing?” You asked sitting on his bed where there was space.

“Studying for the math test on Monday” He told you, you rolled your eyes. It was Saturday night and he was revising for a test on Monday. You asked him earlier to hang out but he said he had things to do, you didn’t realise revising on a Saturday was his ‘thing to do’.

“Peter, it’s Saturday. You shouldn’t be revising on a Saturday when you could be doing better things, like hanging out with your best friend” You say, placing your glass of water on the side.

Peter chuckled at your comment tapping his pen on the paper, “How about you revise with me, you have this test too, you know?” His eyes locked with yours, uh how you could stare into them all day. “Maybe you will get a good mark and impress Mr Brown” Peter adds on and smirks at you.

“Ooo, maybe I should gotta impress that sexy man.”

“He probably has a wife and kids” Peter laughs.

You shrug your shoulders, “Must have a big dick-“ Peter pushes you a little making you look at him laughing. “Your disgusting, that man is like 50 odd”

“I’m just joking” You tell him honestly, picking up one of his note books to start revising. However you grew bored after an hour, your phone kept vibrating, your mother sending you messages. She has always been like this during this time, for about two weeks she will be an absolute bitch, then she will act like nothing happened.

You swipe through all the messages she sent you. She was apologising then telling you to come home then saying to not ever come back. You love your mum but she can be too much sometimes, and you wish your dad could be there. The notes were long forgotten, you just stare at the screen holding your tears back.

The one time you sniffle, Peters head snaps up. “You okay?” He asked concerned, you both haven’t spoken words to each other in a while, him being too concentrated on his work.

“Erm-yeah, yeah. No, I just got a runny nose.” You lie to him with a fake smile, wiping your nose. “Hey, can we chill and watch a movie?” You ask him.

“Maybe later, in like an hour” He said, focusing back on his work believing your lie but still worried. You sigh, your head falling back on his head board. He had been studying for hours now and all you wanted to do is cuddle, watch a movie and sleep.

“Please” You pleaded, hoping he would catch on that you needed him. “I just want to cuddle” You tell him, he instantly knew something was wrong. Ever since that day when you were both five, anytime one another was sad you would always ask to cuddle. Peter quickly gathered all his things together, you apologetically smiling at him as the tears fall. He put everything one his desk, getting under the covers as soon as you got under them.

Peter opened his arms, you falling into them instantly. “It’s okay, I got you” He cooed you as you cried into his arms. One of his hands rubs your back whilst the other plays with your hair. Peter kisses your head, saying the most kindest things to make you calm down.

“My mum and I had an argument. It’s getting to the anniversary again, for my dad. A-and I can’t take her anymore, I love her so much but I always get treated like shit-like-like it’s my fault or something” You sniffle into his arms, his heart breaking.

“Y/n, Hey, look at me…..please.” You lift your head up to look directly at him. “I promise you it’s not your fault, what happened to your dad is not your fault. I thought that first with my parents and Ben, however I can just about say that it’s not my fault. I couldn’t have stopped it, and I can confidently say your fathers death has nothing to do with you. No one knew he would get into a car crash.” Peter kissed your forehead, brushing your hair from your face.

“I just feel like no one loves me or cares” You admittedly told him.

“That’s not true. I care, May cares, Mj, Ned and all our friends do. And we all love you…maybe even Mr Brown might.” This made you laugh a little. “Your mum does too. It must be hard on her but that isn’t an excuse for her to treat you like that, but I know deep down inside she does. Why didn’t you tell me you felt like this?” He was truly upset that he only just found out how you was feeling, that you never came to him before.

You looked at him feeling safe in his arms, “I don’t know. I-I just don’t want to loose you, Pete” You hug him tighter.

“You will never loose me y/n, we are in this together forever. Just next time come to me, you need to tell me these things and I’ll be your shoulder to cry on. I’m always here to cuddle. I love cuddling with you” He told you, laying back down into a more comfortable position, him noticing your tired eyes as you try to fight back your sleep.

“Go sleep, angel” He whispers as your eyes start to shut. “Thank you, Petey” You kiss his cheek before letting sleep take over you.

“Don’t thank me, i’ll always be here for you. I’m in love with you y/n” Peter whispers before falling into a deep sleep himself, still cuddling and holding you close.

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the comics: Taking the hit (Issue #26)

Moon Knight Issue #26: Hit it! / The Cabbie Killer

Two in one! What a wonderful time to be alive! 

Also this cover really gives me modern comic feels and I have no idea why. I feel like I've seen a variant of this cover before or perhaps another comic did a similar theme. Hmmm. 

We start with an editor's note from Denny O'Neil! That's either a good thing or a bad thing when it comes to a newer comic that is experiencing its first big few years and establishing characters and villains. 

It reads: 

Falling on our noses? 

   In tai chi chaun, a gentle and wonderful combination of martial arts and exercise, there is a concept called "exploring the limits." This means testing how close you can let an opponent come before he hits you and how far you can extend yourself towards him before you lose your balance and fall on your nose. What you learn is where your body is, its boundaries, and the distance it can be extended and yet retain wholeness and identity.

In Moon Knight we're exploring the limits. 

We're asking: What kind of adventures can our hero have and still be his own unique self. (Can we do fantasy? Science fiction? Humor?) How long should stories be? (One per issue? Two? Three? Or should a story extend over a number of issues?) How many liberties can we take with the traditional comic book format? (Our black-and-white covers are a solid success. but we're not sure about our other experiments --putting the title on the inside cover, next issue ads on the back cover, text features, cover galleries and whatever we come up with next.) 

Lots of questions. Very few answers. 

But that's okay. In fact, that's fine. That's what makes working on Moon Knight just about the most exciting job in comics. I've always liked journeys and everyone likes surpirses and Moon Knight is both. The magazine--and character--are fluid, not fully defined and we're busy exploring the limits. 

Of course, we may fall on our noses. You'll let us know if we do.

-Denny O'Neil. 

Okay! So this is a big thing for early comics! Many of you are only familiar with newer age comics and have graced Golden Age comics with a peak or two. But we’re sitting firm in the early 80s and Moon Knight is indeed a character that is unlike any other that was sitting firm in Marvel’s top tier. Born from a supernatural/horror type portion of Marvel that saw the birth of Man-Thing, Werewolf by Night, and others of the likes, Moon Knight bordered on classic Super-hero and supernatural horror. 

The note about Tai Chi and extension is actually really beautiful and a perfect metaphor for Moon Knight. I’ll have to remember that one! 

Now, to have a clear call to arms in where to take Moon Knight means that they have had this conversation in the writing room. They don’t know what to do with the comic. They have classic stories and ideas, but they don’t want to start repeating themselves this early int he game, but they also don’t want to jump the shark. 

It also means that this particular comic that we are about to read might be an experiment on where to take the comic. So let’s see what the story of the week is! 

We open with some utterly outstanding art. I mean, this stuff is GOLD. We got TWO spreads people! 

The first page describes the colors of sound. The beat of jazz and how it affects the senses. 

"First there is black. Then tehre is light, and all the colors of Jazz. And there is sound in these colos. A wailing trumpet drips cool violet, threaded with smoke. Heavy blue lumbers from the bass... While the clarinet tempts and tantalizes in hot pink counterpoint. But the drum... The drum beats Blood Red." 

We move from jazz to images of various uses of the phrase "Hit it!" Hit it to be starting the jazz band swinging. To fix a malfunctioing TV, to encourage a baseball player to hit the ball out of hte park to a child's drawing....

"Double meanings sometimes multiply." 

An abusive father and a crying child. 

"But even as a trumpet screams through the night...The drum still beats Blood Red.” 

"Hit it, Moon Knight. The night is here, the moon is full, and caught between one and the other dark deeds will prowl. Hit it, Moon Knight. Hit it. 

Cats in windows, cries from the alley, shadows mixing, and mysteries cloaked for the kill. Hit it, Moon Knight, Hit it. 

Fear in lurking, money itching to change hands, twitching and always, always blood to be spilled. 

It's hot, Moon Knight, and it's dark and it's now--Don't be late, Moon Knight, Not for your time to howl...

It might be in rage or it might be in pain...But never fear, Moon Knight, it's always the same. 

Just hit it, Moon Knight... Hit it!" 

Sometimes I think Moench just shows off. And then Sienkiewicz just FLEXES. 

We see Moon Knight on patrol. He passes by a building and we hear some men talking. 

One complains about the graveyard shift to Joe. 

But Joe isn't paying attention. He's having a flashback. 

He's reading the newspaper. Specifically the Obituaries. We see a children's drawing of the angry father. Joe throws the paper and runs away. 

He runs to a jazz club where the crowd flows out onto the sidewalk. 

Joe runs into the crowd and comes across a man in the way. 

Moon Knight notices the commotion and heads on over. 

"Just down the street the colors are wilder --Neon shrieks without mercy...And the beat is younger, faster, harder... Pounding, driving, relentlessly slamming... Everybody is doing it these days, getting great satisfaction..." 

They move past the jazz club to a rock house. 

Along the way we see people beaten, bloodied, and terribly wounded. 

"By hitting...hitting...hitting it!" 

Joe makes it to his destination at last: The funeral parlor. 

"I'm coming old man! Coming to pay my respects!" 

The blood red drum beats and he bursts into the parlor. 

There he finds the coffin of his father. 

A priest tries to speak to him. 

Joe beats the man down. 

Joe is ready to fight. To fight anyone that tries to stop him. That stands between him and his father. Him and his past. 

"Did you come to hit me too? Well, come on then--Hit me! Hit me till your arms fall off! You might as well...

He did it often enough! He hit me till I couldn't sleep at night--Any night! 

And then he hit me some more! And then he ran away--Left my mother alone! Finally he wouldn't hit me anymore! Finally he wouldn't even give me that!" 

Narration: "Blood red... The beat never ends... Pain, catharsis, rage--They shriek through nights lost to time..." 

Narration: "Turn away, Moon Knight--You were wrong--It's not your time to howl. There are others with stronger voice, greater cause..."

The priest interrupts demanding that Moon Knight stop him. 

Moon Knight: "No... There's been enough hitting tonight... I won't add to it." 

While Moon Knight talks to the priest, Joe stands up and punches Moon Knight. 

Here we remember that Marc Spector was a boxer. His violence settling from the school yard to the ring until his father turned him out. Marc moved from the ring to the battle field to the mercenary role. Marc runs hot with rage and fire. Who is he here? The raging child fighting back or the monster with nowhere else to put his fire than into those around him? 

A Rabbi once told him to stop. A Rabbi that tried to lead him down a path of passive peace when the world around him was violence and pain. A father that could not stand the sight of his son fighting back. 

Now we see a priest telling him to fight and him standing up and saying there is enough violence in the world that perhaps just this once there can be peace. 

And when violence falls on him, he does not take the passive path. He can’t. Everything Marc is and has been is refusing to look the other way while he is hurt. 

Narration: The crowning madness... Long live the king. And so, Moon Knight, the night was yours after all... And once started, the drum beats blood red...Forever." 

He is angry with himself. Angry at his loss of control. Angry that he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stop the violence. He couldn’t stop his own rage. His own need to hit back. To hit it. 

What an opener. This one has me feeling a lot here. The direction of past trauma on those around us. The need to get resolution only to have it taken away from us. How it leads to more pain. More hurt. More trauma. 

Does this remind anyone of anything?

Yeah. I went there. 

PART TWO: Cabbie Killer! 

This story is written by Denny O'Neil with artist Keith Pollard and editor Ralph Macchio. 

I know what you’re thinking. “Oh no, Jake!” 

We open on Jake sitting in his cab late at night. 

"This is Lockley. I'm headin' for the garage after I drop my fare." 

In the buses waits a man with a bazooka. 

Narration: It is quiet in Brooklyn, this cool autumn evening, as Jake Lockley ends a day of driving around New York City--Quiet for exactly four more seconds...Then, two events occur simultaneously. Lockley stamps on the breake to avoid "STUPID DOG" --and the car parked a few feet away erupts in eye stinging flame...

Jake's fare asks if it was an accident or a bomb. 

Jake sits stunned. "Neither. Just before the fireworks, I glimpsed a muzzle flash from the bushes. Weird as it seems, somebody shot off an old fashioned Bazooka! The thing that bugs me is, it looked like we were the target.... You got any enemies, mister?" 

Jake's fare decides it's probably safer to walk and departs the cab. Probably for the best. 

We cut to an hour or so later on a pier somewhere. We see a man in fancy military garb talking to another guy. 

He explains that because of the dog, he missed his target and the target got away. He explains that he will try again with success next time.

The other guy tells him he doesn't give second chances and to 'take a hike'.  

Military guy isn't happy. 

"You have hired me to destroy a taxi cab and so I shall--whether you like it or not. I gave my word--And Commodore Donny Planet always keeps his word. Understood?" 

Let me just say: WHAT A NAME. 

Oh no. I didn't think it was this issue. I suppose I take solace in knowing now that it isn’t Bill that gave us Speeden. It always seems wrong to see old Moon Knight drawn by someone else. They just don’t get the face right. 

But they sure do get the dialogue right. And the name. Steven. Because we all know who the vain one of the group is. Someone has to take care of the body and we all know it isn’t going to be Marc or Jake. 

Ladies and Gents and all of the others, I give you Speedo Steven. 

The pool scene wasn’t even needed. He literally came home after being shot at by a bazooka, changed into Steven, took a dip into a pool, then ran off to Brooklyn as Moon Knight. There was absolutely ZERO need for Steven to get into the smallest speedo he could find and take a swim. He even demanded that Marlene and Frenchie….wait. He demanded that Marlene meet him by the pool. She showed up in a bikini, expecting lovely pool time. Frenchie just showed up! In full attire. He was just there for the show. He takes it where he can get it, I suppose. 

Moon Knight, now flying over the city, spots something burning. On closer look, he finds a cab on fire. 

It seems the Bazooka man found a cab to hit. 

Saddened by the loss of a cab, he is at least relieved to know that Jake Lockley is not the primary target. 

Moon Knight tells Frenchie to take them to the Queens Cemetery. 

"For months, I've known that a lot of our local criminal types play poker there every Friday night...They figure they won't be disturbed. Maybe one of them will have some answers for us." 

Once there, he directs Frenchie to grab his cab and park it near the north gate. 

I just gotta say... I have always loved the idea that all the bad guys get together to play poker and complain about their foes. Takes me back to the Batman Animated Series "Almost got him" episode. 

I also gotta say that no one draws Moon Knight's face right in classic outfit with little emotive eyes like Bill. This one is just...lacking. They also over buffed him out in muscles. 

Just a small criticism. 

I do appreciate that Frenchie does still have his moon hat though. I love that stupid hat. 

Moon Knight takes out the guards and interrupts the poker party. 

One of the guys at the party knows something and spills it. 

"One of my boys was runnin' from the law...Ducked into a garage and hid a certain tape cassette the cops want in a cab. He told us that much before he died from a slug in the chest. Problem was he didn't say which cab or where in the cab he hid it." 

Turns out three cabs were in the garage that night. They hired Commando man to track the three cabs down. 

The boss man at the table laughs that Moon Knight isn't going anywhere and calls over a hired goon with a gun. 

Crawley! 

Now Crawley is a sort of undercover informant for Moon Knight and all the baddies at the poker table trust him. 

So Moon Knight has a problem. He can't fight Crawley like he was a regular thug. But if Crawley doesn't shoot him then they will know he's working for Moon Knight and lose all trust. 

Crawley takes a wide shot and Moon Knight uses the chance and kicks Crawley in the face. 

The choices he makes sometimes...

Crawley is knocked out and the thugs all scatter. He takes a moment to make sure Crawley is alright then runs after the main guy. 

The boss spots a nearby parked cab and jumps in. 

Moon Knight calmly sits at the wheel. 

He informs the boss that this is one of the cabs from the garage and that he suspects the Bazooka man is waiting at the garage for a shot. 

"You've got a choice: Either tell me where to find your assassin or we cruise 'round and 'round till HE finds US! Might take all night, but I'm in no hurry." 

The boss is more than ready to give up the goods and tells Moon Knight where Commodore Donny Planet is. 

He finds the Commodore in a boat. They fight and Moon Knight finds the Commodore to be freakishly strong. 

Moon Knight strikes at normally vulnerable spots only to get tossed around like nothing. 

It's near invulnerable vs. Moon Knight's ability to take the most brutal beating and keep going. 

Moon Knight switches tactics and tosses some Judo in, keeping the large man off balance. 

He knocks the man off the boat into a fishing net. 

"The safe thing-The smart thing- would be to just let him drown." He contemplates for but a moment. "No." 

He jumps in and saves the large brute then leaves him for the cops. 

And that’s the end of the cabbie killer. 

I must say, this one ended on a let down. I feel that if Moench had written it, we’d have ended on Jake finding the tape in his cab or something to indicate that he was the mark all along. Maybe that’s just me. 

Especially after the first half with “HIT IT”. That one was really amazing. Fantastic art, a very heavy subject, and only took a few pages to cover it. Even though it didn’t end with a distinct note, it still felt like an end. A story that needed to be told that still somehow painted a picture of Moon Knight despite it being a one off that didn’t give any sort of moral or definitive point. The man still was angry over a past pain that will never be resolved. He’ll end up in prison because of all the people he hurt, and his mental health will never be addressed. 

And that editorial at the start! What a piece! Learning to reach only as far as our body can go and learning not to get hit. I'm going to be thinking about that one for a while. Wow.

But that’s the story of Moon Knight, isn’t it? A story of underlining pain and trauma that affects his everyday life but that is never resolved, addressed, or healed. How it radiates out to affect everyone around him and the way he struggles to make the right choice and do the right thing…even though everything around him forces him back into that corner that forces him to fight for his life over and over again. 

[notthathobbes]

As someone who literally has a degree in writing let me tell you that yes, in the right context, these would HIT, and I hate educational and societal standards/examples of "bad writing" because...

...they're...objectively...wrong.

There's such a "highbrow" misinterpretation of literary quality that's been spread by gatekeepers, educators, and writers for, like, a long time.

(Like, definitely decades, probably centuries. Maybe longer. Ask your resident English/History double major.)

It insists (among many wrong things) that "good" writing must be both eloquent and bewildering. That it must use fancy words and string them together in a fastidious fashion. That it must be striving towards an equivalency to that of Michaelangelo's work: Angelic, entrancing, and perhaps even worthy of worship itself.

And what utter. Complete.

Bullshit.

Because...?

All writing is contextual and subjective.

Would these analogies be appropriate for a high school essay? Probably not. Would plenty of teachers still laugh if they encountered any? Abso-friggan-lutely.

Different styles of writing suit different pieces and purposes of writing. No one (1) single style is any objectively better than another because nothing is universally effective at everything.

Meaning...

Writing that's entertaining/informal/(un)expected/etc. isn't inherently "bad."

Just because we've been taught that the pinnacle of literature is Shakespeare doesn't mean that all good writing must be complex, pretty, or (gods forbid) written in iambic pentameter.

(For the record, I've read over 20 of his plays and all of his sonnets. Over 75% for fun and in my free time.

I love Shakespeare. I'm not slighting him. Just our modern idolization of his work.

Slutty English Bard man is talented, sure, but not a god.)

There are plenty of great writers that prefer for their books to be entertaining and understandable than to be of (arbitrary) "literary merit." Plenty more who surely hate works that need to be analyzed for hours to understand or must be combed through meticulously to catch and appreciate the smallest of details and nuances. I'm sure there are celebrated writers out there who would even like analogies like the ones above.

In fact, Kurt Vonnegut (Slaughterhouse V) would love some of them.

In Pity The Reader: On Writing with Style (a book detailing much of what Vonnegut had to say on writing, put together by his former student and friend Suzanne McConnell), one piece of advice he gives is:

"Don't be predictable. End your sentences with something unexpected. Keep me awake."

Not sure about you, but for more than a few of these analogies, I could never have predicted where they went. Does that make them automatically good?

Of course not!

If a piece of writing becomes too unpredictable, then it's suddenly also confusing and more difficult, the opposite of one other big piece of advice Vonnegut insists on:

Pity the reader.

Y'know, the title of the book.

It's about making it easier for the reader. Vonnegut was passionate about making the reader's job easy because:

"We must acknowledge that the reader is doing something quite difficult for him... He has to restage your show in his head -- costume and light it. His job is not easy."

Like I said, it's in the title: Pity the Reader -- meaning not think of the reader as pitiable, but:

Take pity on the reader.

Be nice to them. Use words they know, and put them in an order they can read. Throw in a joke or two. Don't give everyone long names that start with an "A" only to often call them nicknames with no connection to their full name. Stuff like that.

Vonnegut nails both of these points (Keep Me Awake & Pity the Reader) in his Creative Writing 101 Rule #8:

"Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To heck with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages."

Great advice, great book, great author.

Before you go, let's (quickly) use what we've learned:

Take #11 from this list: "The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife's infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free atm."

What information do we get from this "really bad" analogy? Perhaps:

The main character is a man mid-to-old age

The story takes place within the last few decades

He's been married to the same woman for 30 years

Said wife has cheated on him

He views infidelity as unforgivable and an end to their marriage

This all upsets him but not outrageously so, as if it is an inconvenience that can be (if not without annoyance) accepted and lived with

Therefore he doesn't care all too much about his wife/marriage

All of this information, and not to mention an unexpected ending/analogy (with a chuckle if you know what's funny), and this is "really bad"?

TLDR: Fuck the concept of "Really Bad [Anything]", because all it'll do is (best case) limit your creativity and understanding of writing, or (worst case) convince you that you suck before you've even given yourself the chance to be good.