#cubby creative

[seongwars]

show & tell

this was funnier in my head. part of the lads!dadverse

“Cece, you brought your pet?” Elsa gasped as Cece stood proudly, holding out her backpack for her friends.

Today was Show and Tell, and while her four-year-old classmates had brought boring things like stuffed animals and picture books, Cece had brought something cool.

Mephisto stuck his head out studying his surroundings. He was surrounded by small humans who he deduced were Cece's classmates. Elsa hesitantly reached out, and the crow, sensing her caution, offered his head out for a gentle pat, eliciting a giggle from her.

“You’re lucky,” Ariel sighed dramatically. “Mommy wouldn’t let me bring Reddie, so I had to bring coral instead. Your mommy and daddy are so nice!”

Cece beamed. Yes. Yes, they were. But not as nice as Luke and Kieran who helped her sneak Mephisto into her backpack.

Because the second she pulled Mephisto from her backpack, his wings whirred to life, his eyes flickered a deep, ominous red, and he let out a polite little caw as if introducing himself to the class.

And before anyone could truly process what was happening…Mephisto launched into the air.

He flapped across the room, tilting his head in concern as children screamed and clambered into the closet, dove under tables, and threw themselves behind bookshelves. Even Elsa, who he let pet him earlier, was crying.

“Cece, TURN HIM OFF!” the teacher shrieked, ducking behind a cubby.

“I CAN’T! ONLY DADDY CAN!” Cece yelled back.

⋆☾⋆⁺

"I'm so sorry," you blurted, absolutely mortified, as you skidded into the principal’s office. Sylus strolled in behind you, calm, composed, and completely unhelpful.

His eyes flicked to the principal, then to Cece, who sat in the chair looking completely unbothered, swinging her legs like she hadn’t just caused mass hysteria while Mephisto was perched on her shoulder. 

Sylus felt his heart swell with pride. Look at his little girl—so smart, so creative, so fearless. She had only wanted to show her classmates the thing she loved most.

Next to you. And him, of course. 

"Mr. and Mrs. Qin," the principal greeted, voice carefully measured. 

“I just want to reassure you that Cece isn’t in trouble. We’d just like to ensure that, moving forward, only age-appropriate toys are brought in for Show and Tell.”

You exhaled in relief. “Oh, thank God. Mr. Meyer, we’re so sorry that this happened.”

“The good news,” Mr. Meyer continued, “is that no children were harmed.”

You sagged a little further. Okay, okay, not that bad.

“And while the classroom is still somewhat intact, I can’t say the same for the emotional wellbeing of the students or their families, who we now have to call.”

You winced. “Oh. Oh no. We’re so sorry. If there’s anything we can do, please let us know.” You bowed your head, apologizing profusely for what felt like the thousandth time in the last five minutes. 

Mr. Meyer smiled knowingly. "Well, there is one thing…"

And that’s how Sylus, Kieran, and Luke found themselves buying thousands of dollars worth of snacks and juice boxes for Cece’s class for the remainder of the year.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This house looked like a little cottage until I saw how they expanded it out the back. I'm impressed by the creative updates they gave it. The historic 1723 home in Bourne, MA has really gone thru transformations. 4bds, 3ba, 2,199sqft, $799k.

I love that they used original doors, aged, wood, etc., but it loses something in the translation when they pair it all with brand new walls painted gray.

Sliding barn door opens to the living room.

Love the beams and that they left the original fireplace. I would paint the rooms in period colors.

This looks like an area where they joined the buildings, but it's a cute little flex space and has an original fireplace.

Outside the kitchen they made a cute little dining area with the original wide plank flooring.

Love the island, the lights, and the dark gray cabinetry. I see that they have a soapstone sink, also.

Love the laundry room sink.

Bedroom on the main floor has a cute little original cubby outside.

All original.

Upstairs hallway with wide plank flooring.

Cute little bedroom.

Vintage bath.

The bedrooms aren't very large. This one looks like it was once 2 smaller rooms.

The primary suite is on the uppermost floor.

It has a cute ensuite- look at the little tub.

Patio outdoors.

Looks like an old garage on the property. That has potential to be a cute studio or guest house.

1.61 acre lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/203-County-Rd-Bourne-MA-02532/186976663_zpid/

[bengals-barnesbabe]

Picture Day

Tee Higgins x Chase!Reader

Desc: You start getting antsy 5 weeks postpartum and find something to do with your hands.

TW: nothing too bad, mostly fluff.

Princess Ti | Main Masterlist

WC: about 1k

＊✿❀ *. ꕥ * · ❀✿＊

The buzz from your clippers fed your creative soul. You had only come in the salon to reminisce and take some time to yourself while your baby girl naps. You couldn't help but miss the chatter of clientele and the smell of coconut oil usually in the air. The pristine white counters in front of each station were completely bare, only each counter’s handheld hair dryer sticking out of the black cubbies.

Sitting in front of the first station, you think back to when your husband asked you what you really wanted in your home. It was a ballsy ask, in your opinion; you weren’t even sure what he meant by it. But he said you could turn the basement into whatever you wanted. It baffled you because you thought he’d want a man cave to escape the realities of marriage. That’s what your dad did, so you thought it was normal to think so.

So you tossed around the idea of taking on more personal and private clients in a home suite. A month later, he pleasantly surprised you with a fully furnished and functional home salon. It resembled a mini version of your main salon in the city. There is nothing that man wouldn't do for you.

After giving birth, Tee kicked into full dad mode. When he said your only job once Tiana was born was to just take care of her, he did not go back on his word. He's been an absolutely phenomenal father and partner, always taking her when you need a break, making sure you eat and stay hydrated, and even getting up during the night to calm her down. Him and your brother are literally upstairs putting together a new nursery glider so your morning feedings can be cozier.

Maybe that's why you're so antsy. You were so used to always caring for others; now that someone is holding you down the same way, you don't know what to do with yourself. You don't even cook anymore. Your mom has been handling all the meals so you can take time and heal. Everything they were doing was amazing, and you deeply appreciated it, but damn, you were bored.

The sound of your phone buzzing made your train of thought drown.

Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

we're done with yo fancy ass chair, come see it while Titi still sleep

sent at 2:23 pm

You thought about going back upstairs for a minute, but a different idea caught your attention.

To: Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

I have a better idea, you bring your wack ass fade to the basement and come sit in my chair😌

read at 2:27 pm

Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

arent you supposed to be resting, imma tell momma👎🏾

To: Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

Im offering you a free haircut and you wanna go rat me out😑 don't you have team pictures in a few days👀

Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

fine im coming, but when momma finds out I'm blaming you

To: Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

yea right, just come down here. AND DONT TELL TEE!

Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

yea... a little late for that one😬

read at 2:33 pm

Great, just when you thought you'd be able to do your own thing, your little brother goes and fucks it up before it happens.

Oh well, you shrugged and walked over to the back of the salon for your supplies to set up for Ja'Marr's haircut. You grabbed an apron for you and a barber cape for him (even though you should let him be itchy for threatening to snitch), your black pro clippers, a razor, a number 1 and 2 comb, some holding spray, and a brush. Then, set up your chair.

Minutes later, you were all ready, and your client walked in with your husband.

"Y/n, what are you doing?" He asked with an amused smirk on his face.

"I'm giving my brother the haircut he so desperately needs." You smile back, patting the back of the chair for J to sit down.

"You're supposed to be resting." He crosses his arms as you drape the cape over your brother.

Smirking, you untie your apron and walk up to your husband with your hands on your hips. "Look at me, babe." You slowly spin around to give him an eyeful of your postpartum baby body.

"I see you, mamas. Trust me, I see you." The very nice thing about everyone making sure you take care of yourself these last few weeks has been your ability to prioritize your "snap back." You weren't working out to get to a certain shape. You were just prioritizing strengthening your core, which meant some belly binding, light ab exercises, and self-care. You were nowhere near your pre-baby weight, but you liked the extra curves, and someone else did too.

"You can't just expect me to just sit down and wait for Tiana to wake up. I gotta keep my body active, practice my trade."

He knew you were saying words, but ever since that apron came off, his mind was somewhere else. "Oh, I know how you can get active."

"Alright, y'all just nasty. Am I getting my hair done or what?" Ja'Marr groans from behind you.

"Yea Tee, you gon' let me work or what?" You say, biting your lip.

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "Fine," he says, pulling a waiting chair over to the corner of your area. The 6-week rule playing over and over in his mind.

"Good, now let's get to work. Don't worry babe, you're next." You chirp, picking up the brush to begin the haircut.

But Ja'Marr jerks his head away. "Ay, Y/n don't go too rough now."

You can't help but snort. "Yes, yes, I know. You too tenderheaded for my skills."

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

~ a/n: yall see what I did there ;) last addition to the au for a while. time to go work on some other fics ♡

[minyoongisnewthing]

Han river lullaby chapter five | myg

Chapter one, Chapter two, chapter three, chapter four chapter six

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: angst, fluff, exs to lovers, eventual smut, idol!au, co parents, second chance romance.

Chapter warnings: Sassy uncle Jin should carry his own warning honestly, other then that I don’t believe there are any. If I’m wrong please let me know and I will happily add them.

Word count: 4.8k approximately.

Authors notes: I hope everyone had a great Easter, and I am still so amazed and thankful for the love my story has gotten every comment, like and reblog has meant the world to me, but finally we are here, half way through this story already! I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

That Thursday you found yourself standing in Han's preschool hallway, surrounded by tiny art projects and bright construction paper decorations. Parent-Teacher interviews always made you nervous, but this time felt different—because this time, Yoongi was coming too.

You spotted him before he saw you, making his way down the colorful hallway. Even in casual clothes—a simple black sweater and jeans bucket hat pulled low—he looked slightly out of place among the finger paintings and alphabet charts. But the moment Han spotted him, none of that mattered.

"Appa!" Han broke free from your grip, racing toward him. "You came!"

Yoongi's whole face softened as he caught Han, lifting him easily. "Of course I did, I Wouldn't miss it."

Your heart squeezed at the sight—at how natural they looked together, at how Yoongi's eyes crinkled with genuine joy as Han babbled about his artwork on the walls.

"Mr. Min?" Han's teacher, Ms. Park, appeared in the doorway, her eyes widening slightly in recognition before she schooled her features into professional warmth. "And Ms. Y/L/N. Please, come in."

Inside the classroom, Han proudly showed Yoongi the cubby where he kept his school bag, his favorite reading corner, and the plant he was helping to grow. You watched as Yoongi absorbed every detail, asking questions and responding with appropriate enthusiasm to each new discovery.

"And this!" Han dragged Yoongi to the wall of family pictures Han and his pre-school class had drawn. It was an array of stick figures and bright crayon chaos. "This is my drawing of us!"

Your breath caught as you looked at the crayon masterpiece—three stick figures, one tall with black hair (clearly Yoongi), one medium with your hair color, and one small figure between them, holding both their hands, all with big smiles on their faces.

Yoongi went very still beside you, his eyes fixed on the drawing.

"That's beautiful, Han," Ms. Park said gently, sensing the weight of the moment. "Why don't you show your parents what you've been up too in the reading corner?"

As Han tugged you both toward his favorite books, you caught Yoongi discreetly wiping at his eyes

“damn, the little Picasso got me”  

“Softy” you teased nudging his shoulder playfully

The parent-teacher conference itself was surprisingly smooth. You and Yoongi sat side by side, your knees occasionally brushing as Ms. Park went through Han's progress.

"Han's doing wonderfully," she assured you both. "His social skills are excellent, he's very creative, he loves to draw as you saw, and his reading level is actually a tiny bit above average for his age." She smiled warmly. "Though he does have quite the stubborn streak when he sets his mind to something, and sometimes has trouble relaxing at nap time."

You and Yoongi exchanged knowing looks.

"Wonder where he gets that from," you muttered under your breath.

Yoongi scoffed quietly. "Oh, like you're not just as bad, the kid didn’t stand a chance."

The familiar banter felt... nice. Natural. Like maybe you could really do this, that the ease so far hadn’t been a fluke, you could be parents together, support each other, create something stable for Han.

After the conference, as Han showed Yoongi every single book he'd read in the past month, Ms. Park pulled you aside.

"I just wanted to say," she began carefully, "that Han seems... happier lately. More settled. Having both of you here, involved..." She smiled. "It makes a difference."

You swallowed past the sudden lump in your throat. "Thank you. We're... we're trying."

Looking back at Yoongi and Han, you found them deep in conversation now, about a particularly elaborate block tower Han had insisted on building. Yoongi was crouched at Han's level, listening intently as his son explained his architectural vision, complete with dramatic hand gestures.

"Eomma!" Han called out. "Come see what Appa and I built!"

As you joined them on the floor, watching Han direct Yoongi on proper block placement with all the authority of a tiny construction foreman, you couldn't help but smile.

This was what mattered. These moments, these small victories, this careful dance of building something new while honoring what was.

One block at a time

Later that afternoon, the school reported that Han had taken the best nap he’d had in weeks. And if you and Yoongi shared a smile when picking him up for a park playdate, well, that was just good parenting in your book.

Bright and early the following Saturday morning saw you bleary-eyed, barely caffeinated, and desperately second-guessing your life choices as you pulled into the parking lot of the children’s boutique Yoongi had told you about. According to him, Seokjin insisted it was the place for anyone serious about decking out a kid’s room just like his nephew deserved—and Seokjin had many opinions, especially when it came to his self proclaimed and honorary role as favourite Uncle.

The store was all soft lighting and whimsical displays—tiny clothes that cost more than your entire outfit and themed nursery setups that looked plucked from Pinterest fever dreams. You were still shaking off the fog of sleep when Han, warm little fingers gripping your hand tightly, suddenly lit up with recognition.

“Uncle Jin!!!” he squealed, his voice echoing across the store like a cannon blast. Before you could blink, he let go of your hand and bolted across the polished tile floor, launching himself straight into Seokjin’s waiting arms.

Yoongi’s steps faltered beside Jin. He watched the scene unfold with an expression that could only be described as mild betrayal. You had to bite back a laugh.

“Wow,” Yoongi muttered under his breath, a smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “The little traitor, et tu Han.”

A soft chuckle slipped from you. “Drama queen we just can’t compete with the magnetism of Worldwide Handsome up there, I’m afraid.”

Ahead of you, Jin lifted Han easily onto his hip like he did it every day, beaming with pride as the little boy chattered away animatedly. Jin caught your eye and gave you and Yoongi a wink over Han’s shoulder before disappearing further into the store with your son, already pointing at some space themed bedding display.

Yoongi sighed, falling back into step beside you as you wandered down the nearest aisle filled with cloud-shaped nightlights and hand-stitched throw pillows.

“I’ll remember this next time he begs for Dino nuggets, and insists I’m the only one that makes them right.” Yoongi said, mock bitterness in his tone.

You nudged him playfully. “You’ll still cave. You always do.”

He didn’t argue, just smiled in that soft, private way he sometimes did when he thought you weren’t looking.

A few aisles later, you and Yoongi found yourselves crouched in front of a display of bed linens, deep in a heated debate that had somehow become more intense than necessary. His sweater sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, a sure sign he was taking this decision far too seriously.

“I’m just saying,” you argued, picking up a plain navy-blue comforter set, “he’s three. He changes his mind more than he changes his socks. Plain is safer.”

Yoongi held up a comforter set covered in astronauts wearing different coloured space suits. “Okay, but this? This is epic. Look at this little guy! He’s riding a comet!”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re such a pushover for him.”

He grinned, unabashed. “Not denying it.”

You were just opening your mouth to tease him further when a sudden burst of animated voices reached your ears. One of them was unmistakably Han—high-pitched, passionate, and growing louder by the second. The other, deeper and equally dramatic, was Seokjin.

Yoongi stood up, peeking over the display. “What the—?”

You followed quickly, and the sight before you nearly had you doubling over with laughter.

In the middle of the store stood Han and Seokjin, fully locked in what could only be described as a theatrical, borderline operatic debate in the middle of the glow-in-the-dark sticker section. Hands were flying, eyebrows were raised, and both parties looked like they were seconds away from presenting PowerPoint slides to back their claims.

“I told you, Uncle Jin, the star ones are cooler!” Han insisted, clutching a packet of star and planet stickers to his chest like they were a rare treasure.

“But dinosaurs, Han, you like dinosaurs.” Seokjin countered, holding up his own pick with flourish. “They roar. These stickers will make your room prehistoric chic.”

Han crossed his arms, glaring up at him with the fiery resolve of a kid who’d watched too many courtroom dramas. “But uncle Jin, space is cooler. Dinosaurs are for babies!.”

Yoongi choked on a laugh beside you.

“Told you his mind changes more than his underwear, but should… should we break that up?” you asked, eyes wide as Han stomped his foot for emphasis.

“No, no,” Yoongi said, biting back a laugh as his eyes crinkled with delight. “I wanna see how this plays out.”

The argument escalated into a flurry of sass, dramatic sighs. Seokjin whipped his hair for emphasis. Han mimicked him with a flick of his whole head. You could’ve sworn you saw a store employee peeking around the corner to spectate.

It ended, of course, with Han triumphant, the galaxy and star stickers clutched in one victorious hand while Seokjin sulked dramatically beside him. But in true Jin fashion, he still tossed the dinosaur stickers into the basket on the way to the register.

All because he was apparently physically incapable of leaving a store without buying just one more thing, Han decided to push his luck by picking up a moon shaped night light, and with nerves of steel turned the biggest puppy dog eyes you’d seen him give up to seokjin, who ruffled his hair and called him a ‘little rascal’ while putting that night light in the cart too.

As you and Yoongi approached, Han was already bragging.

“I told you space was better, Uncle Jin’s just a sore loser isn’t he Appa.”

Seokjin gasped like he’d been mortally wounded. “You wound me, child!”

Yoongi snorted, scooping Han up as he beamed in victory.

“You absolute little hustler,” Yoongi muttered, shaking his head with a grin. “We’re all doomed.”

You couldn’t disagree

Back in Yoongi’s apartment, the three of you had barely stepped inside Han’s room before he clapped his hands in joy and launched into full explanation of his vision.

“Okay! Appa, you do the moon. Eomma, you do the stars. Uncle Jin, you can help me open the stickers,” Han said, already climbing onto his little stool to sit like he was presenting blueprints for a spaceship.

You couldn’t help but laugh, exchanging a glance with Yoongi as you started remaking Han’s bed. The new navy-blue comforter set contrasted perfectly with the pale walls, giving the room a cozy, dreamy vibe that made it feel more like home.

Once the bed was made, Han handed Yoongi a large, glow-in-the-dark moon sticker with a sense of ceremony.

“This one right above my pillow, please,” he said with the utmost seriousness, like its placement determined the success of the entire galaxy.

“Right here,” Yoongi murmured, already stepping up onto the bed to reach the spot Han pointed to.

You turned, just in time to catch Yoongi mid-stretch.

His black crew neck had ridden up slightly, exposing a sliver of toned skin and the subtle dip of his waist. His jeans—worn in and soft—fit him like they were tailored, perfectly hugging his frame like sin as he reached for the wall.

You froze, your mouth suddenly dry.

God. Really? Your brain chose now to betray you like this?

You tried to look away, tried to focus on something—anything—else, but your eyes wandered on instinct, tracing the lines of his back, the definition in his forearms, the way his shoulder blades moved beneath the fabric.

The way those damn jeans made it impossible to not look.

Your jaw clenched as you quickly shook your head, trying to banish the thoughts before they spiraled any further. Focus, focus. Stickers. Your child. Room decorating.

But when your gaze drifted sideways, you immediately regretted it.

Seokjin was already watching you, leaned casually against the doorway with his arms crossed and a slow, cat-like grin spreading across his face.

You’d been caught. And Seokjin, of all people, was the last person you wanted clocking you checking out Yoongi’s ass.

Your eyes narrowed, fixing him with what you hoped was your best Don’t you dare stare.

Seokjin raised one teasing eyebrow.

“Not. A. Word.” you mouthed, but it only made him smirk wider.

Thankfully, Han was far too busy trying to peel a sticker off its backing to notice the silent exchange happening above his head.

Yoongi stepped down from the bed with a satisfied hum, brushing his hands off. “Moon, secure and glowing.”

“Perfect!” Han beamed, giving a proud nod. “Now stars everywhere!”

“Everywhere?” Yoongi asked with mock dread.

Han nodded solemnly. “They go all over, Appa. Even the closet.”

Yoongi chuckled, already peeling another sticker. “Guess we’re building a universe huh.”

You smiled as you watched them, heart twisting in that painfully sweet way it always did when Yoongi and Han were like this—effortless. Familiar. Like no time had passed at all.

And then, from behind you, Seokjin muttered low enough for only you to hear, “Staring’s free, you know. But touching will cost extra.”

You elbowed him hard in the ribs.

He only laughed harder.

You stood back and took it all in — the glowing constellations scattered unevenly across the ceiling, the oversized moon sticker positioned perfectly above Han’s pillow, the navy comforter smoothed neatly over the bed now crowned with a dozen mismatched plush toys. It was chaos, yes, but it was Han’s chaos. Bright and expressive and entirely his.

Your chest swelled with quiet pride — not just for the room, but for you and Yoongi. Somehow, between awkward co-parenting schedules, you’d managed to give Han this little piece of magic. A space that felt like home in both places.

You started gathering your things, folding Han’s jacket over your arm as he lit up his new moon night light and busied himself assigning names to every single sticker on the wall. You were just reaching for your bag when Yoongi touched your elbow lightly, pulling you aside, his voice dropping low so Han wouldn’t overhear.

“Y/N,” he started, and already his tone was heavy with guilt, “I know I was meant to have him from Thursday through to Monday, but—” he paused, exhaling through his nose. “There’s an event in Japan. It’s important. I really tried to get out of it, but…”

He didn’t need to finish. You saw it in the way his eyes flickered with regret, the way his fingers tapped absently against the palm of his hand.

You shook your head quickly, brushing off the concern before it could settle between you. “Yoon, it’s okay. I don’t want or expect you to halt your career, or any obligations you have.,” you said sincerely. “I’ll talk to the hospital about the crèche schedule or book a sitter during my shift. We’ll make it work — it’s fine, really.”

But Yoongi didn’t look reassured. He looked like a man caught between two worlds — one where his dreams lived under spotlights, and another where they giggled while naming glow-in-the-dark stars. His jaw tensed like he had more to say, like he wanted to argue or apologize more deeply, but all he managed was a quiet, “You sure?”

You nodded with a soft smile. “Positive. He’ll be okay, Yoongi. You’re doing fantastic, we're doing fantastic with him.”

That seemed to break something loose in him — the tension in his shoulders dropped slightly as he looked past you, watching Han hold court almost with his stickers, babbling animatedly about a galaxy he’d created on the wall to his toys.

“He really does love it here,” Yoongi said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You followed his gaze and smiled. “No Yoongi, he loves you. This place is just a bonus to him, a place he sees you.”

Yoongi glanced back at you, eyes softening with a gratitude he didn’t quite know how to voice. And you weren’t sure he needed to.

You’d both managed to placate Han about the change in plans, sweetening the disappointment with the promise that Appa would come to your house for dinner next weekend. It had thrilled him enough to bounce right past his sadness. And now, as you moved through your small apartment tidying the last few things and adjusting the lighting in the dining nook, you realized something: it felt right having Yoongi here again. Not just dropping Han off or picking him up at the door—but here. Inside your home. Moving through your shared space. Not as two exes cautiously orbiting around past wounds, but as parents who were trying.

It had been too long since he’d existed in this world of yours. The lived-in clutter of Han’s books and toys, the candle flickering softly near the TV, the music humming gently in the background. You wanted him to see it—how you and Han lived. To feel the warmth of this home you’d built. Not perfect, but full of love.

The banchan were already laid out: crisp kimchi that snapped lightly with each bite, seasoned bean sprouts glistening with sesame oil, and fluffy white rice steaming in its bowl. The rich, garlicky scent of marinated pork drifted from the oven, its sweet-salty glaze of soy sauce caramelizing to a glossy sheen. The entire apartment felt wrapped in comfort.

A sudden knock, sharp and eager, rattled the door. It was all the warning Han needed. He tore through the room, feet pattering wildly across the wood floors, his voice a shrill squeal of joy.

“APPA!” he shouted, practically vibrating as he skidded to a stop.

Your heart skipped—whether from Han’s excitement or your own nervous flutter, you couldn’t tell. Calm down, you told yourself, smoothing your hands down your sweater. This wasn’t a date. It was dinner.

Still, when you opened the door and saw him—really saw him—you felt like someone had knocked the wind out of your lungs.

Yoongi stood there dressed simply but devastatingly well: a crisp white button-down that skimmed the sharp lines of his shoulders, sleeves casually rolled to his forearms. Dark jeans hugged his legs just right, worn at the knees in a way that made him look effortlessly cool. His black hair was slightly styled, pushed back from his forehead, a few pieces falling rebelliously into his eyes. And those eyes—deep, dark, and warm—met yours with a quiet familiarity that pulled something taut inside you.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice like a slow glide of velvet.

You cleared your throat, trying to hide how your pulse leapt. “Hey. Come in.”

As he stepped past you, his cologne curled around your senses—clean, woodsy, and subtle. Something that smelled like skin warmed by sun and just a hint of spice. Your breath caught for half a second as the scent lingered between you.

Han grabbed Yoongi’s hand before the door had even closed.

“Appa, Appa! Come play in my room! I wanna show you my new cars, the green one zoomed so fast, you won’t believe it!”

Yoongi chuckled, a deep, warm sound from his chest. He ruffled Han’s hair with one hand, his other still clutching the boy’s fingers.

“Of course, buddy. But we’ve got to listen to Eomma—when she calls us for dinner, we come, okay?”

Han nodded with cartoonish enthusiasm. “Okay, let’s go!” And just like that, he tugged Yoongi down the hallway, already rambling about engines and race tracks.

You shook your head with a fond smile, watching them disappear. The soft sound of Yoongi’s low laughter trailed down the hall as you turned back to the table, laying out utensils with slightly trembling hands.

When you finally called them to the table, Han came barreling out, and Yoongi followed at a more leisurely pace, that same amused smile tugging at his lips. He moved with a kind of grounded calm—shoulders relaxed, movements fluid, always slightly slower than the world around him.

You gestured to the seat across from you, and he sat, carefully, like someone easing into unfamiliar territory. His long fingers rested loosely on the table’s edge, thumb brushing against the grain.

“I hope you still like dwaeji bulgogi,” you said, placing a generous helping of the glistening pork on his plate.

Yoongi’s lips twitched into a smile, eyes crinkling slightly. “You know I do.”

You offered a smile of your own, then handed him the rice bowl. “I figured I’d cook something you taught me how to make.”

That made him pause. His dark eyes flicked up, catching yours for a long second. Something unreadable—nostalgia, maybe, or something heavier—glinted there. But he didn’t speak it aloud. Instead, he reached for the bean sprouts, and his hand brushed yours. Just a graze. A whisper of skin. But it set your nerves buzzing like struck wires.

Your eyes met. And for the briefest second, the air between you tightened, a quiet electricity humming in the space that hadn’t existed here in years.

“Eomma makes the best food, right, Appa?” Han said suddenly, his cheeks puffed out with rice.

Yoongi broke the stare first, chuckling softly. “She really does.”

You swallowed, the air still thick around you.

Dinner went on like that. The food, the laughter, Han’s endless chatter. But beneath it all, those touches kept happening. Small. Fleeting. The brush of his fingers passing you the kimchi. The nudge of his knee under the table. The way he watched you when he thought you weren’t looking.

By the time dinner ended, you were flushed, your heart refusing to calm.

As you cleared the table, Yoongi leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely, watching you with that quiet attentiveness he always had. His voice, when he spoke, was warm, unassuming.

“Want me to help you clean up?”

You shook your head, waving him off. “No, you’re a guest. Don’t worry about it.”

He let out a dramatic yaa, rising to his feet, and made his way toward you, leaning against the counter like it was second nature.

“Ouch. A guest? Is that all I am?” He raised an eyebrow, his tone teasing, but the smile tugging at his lips was boyish, charming.

You paused, mortified, glancing at him with wide eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant, you jerk.”

His laugh was low, honeyed and rich, and without thinking, your hand dipped into the sink, scooping up a handful of soapy bubbles. In a flash, you flicked them at him, white foam landing squarely on his perfect white shirt.

Yoongi’s eyes widened. He stared down at the soap on his chest, then looked at you like you’d just declared war.

“Oh, you are so in for it,” he said, mock-serious, already dipping his fingers into the sink.

“Yoongi, don’t—!”

Too late. He flicked water in your direction, smirking as you tried to dodge. Bubbles flew, giggles spilled from both of you like you were kids again, caught in the sheer joy of play.

At some point, you lunged forward, towel in hand, intending to retaliate. But instead, you collided with him—your bodies pressing close. His hands landed at your waist to steady you, warm and strong through the fabric of your shirt. Your fingers curled instinctively around his wrist.

You froze. And so did he.

You were chest-to-chest, breaths mingling, hearts pounding. The warmth of his skin seeped through the layers between you, the scent of his cologne so close now it was dizzying. Yoongi’s eyes searched yours, the humor draining into something quieter, something heavier. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then returned to your eyes.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved.

“Eomma! Appa! Are you okay?”

Han’s voice was a lightning bolt, jolting you both back to your senses.

You stepped back quickly, cheeks flushed, brushing stray bubbles from your arm. Yoongi’s hands slipped away, and he cleared his throat, trying to look unbothered, though that mischievous smile still tugged at his lips.

“Yeah, we’re okay Han,” he called out, loud enough for Han to hear, “Eomma just decided to splash me with dishwater for no reason at all!”

You scoffed, glaring at him. “No reason? You started it!”

“Slander,” he said, grinning.

Han appeared a moment later, clutching his stuffed bunny and looking very serious. “You have to say sorry, Eomma.”

You sighed. “Okay, okay. Sorry, Appa.”

“Can we have dessert now?” Han asked, voice hopeful.

Yoongi chuckled, ruffling his hair. “I think that’s fair.”

You turned back toward the kitchen, and as you reached for the dishes, Yoongi’s voice dropped low behind you.

“Nice apology… Eomma.”

You turned just enough to see that familiar spark in his eyes—and with no hesitation, flicked another bubble at him.

“Oops.”

Yoongi’s narrowed gaze told you this wasn’t over.

Dessert was simple but sweet—dairy-free ice cream with strawberries for Han, while you and Yoongi had regular ice cream topped with fresh fruit. Han happily dug into his bowl, swinging his legs under the table as he hummed in delight at the treat.

After cleaning up, the three of you settled into the living room, Han immediately climbing into Yoongi’s lap as you put on a Disney movie. The room was warm, filled with the soft glow of the TV and the rhythmic sound of Han’s little breaths as he started to relax against Yoongi.

Halfway through the movie, Han’s sleepy voice broke the comfortable silence.

“Appa, can you stay the night?”

Yoongi’s body stiffened just slightly. You felt it before you saw it—the way his fingers tensed against Han’s back, the way his jaw tightened just a fraction before he schooled his features into something softer.

He smoothed a hand over Han’s hair, choosing his words carefully. “Han, son… not this time, okay? Appa has an early morning tomorrow, a really big day.”

Han blinked up at him, sleepy but sharp, studying Yoongi’s face as if trying to decide whether or not to believe him. You held your breath, unsure how he’d react.

Finally, after a long pause, Han let out a tiny, resigned sigh and burrowed further into Yoongi’s chest. “Okay,” he mumbled, eyes already fluttering shut.

Yoongi let out a breath of relief, his hand still rubbing slow, soothing circles over Han’s back. He glanced at you briefly, something unreadable in his gaze.

You offered him a small smile, knowing this was something that would take time—Han’s little heart was so eager, so full of love, but this wasn’t a wound that could be healed overnight, but was healing slowly.

Han’s little snores filled the quiet space, soft and steady, a reminder of how completely at peace he was in his sleep. You watched his tiny chest rise and fall, his hand clutching his well-loved bunny, and you felt the familiar warmth of love and protectiveness bloom in your chest.

Gently, you reached out and tapped Yoongi’s shoulder to get his attention. He turned to you, and you nodded toward Han before gesturing for him to follow. Together, the two of you carefully maneuvered Han into his room, mindful not to wake him as you laid him down and tucked the blankets around him.

Standing in the doorway, both of you lingered, watching the way Han snuggled deeper into his blankets, his bunny still firmly held against his cheek. The sight made you smile, but there was also something bittersweet about it.

“I’m sorry about that, Yoon,” you murmured, breaking the silence.

Yoongi shook his head, his voice soft but certain. “It’s okay. I really do have an early day tomorrow. You know… he snores like you.”

Your lips quirked up at the corner, amused. “Yeah? About the only thing he got from me, though.”

Yoongi hummed, his gaze lingering on Han before flickering back to you. “I don’t know… he has your eye color.”

You turned to meet his gaze and found something in his expression that you couldn’t quite place—soft, searching, something close to nostalgia. It made your breath catch for just a moment.

Instead of answering, you simply smiled, letting the moment settle between you. Then, with quiet steps, you walked Yoongi to the door, the air between you charged but gentle.

“Good night, Yoon,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “Drive safe home”

Yoongi hesitated, his fingers brushing yours for just a fleeting second before he pulled away. “Good night, y/n”

taglist: @busanbby-jjk @jajabro @kam9404 @yoongiiuu93 @julseka07 @tea4sykes @marihoneywk @maryhopemei @sanarin @misschelliejeon @boraluv @wobblewobble822 @amarawayne @hyuninslutbbgirl @Granataepfelchen @mar-lo-pap @enfppuff @senaqsstuff @vainkiss @rinkud @lanyia

[charlesf1leclerc]

For kuwtl can we do one with like friendship bracelets where the family or mum and kids makes friendship bracelets to give to the fans and it’ll be like a cute family bonding moment also absolutely love this series

warnings: none

summary: Charles comes home to his two girls making some special gifts

It was a quiet Tuesday evening after school and the girls were in their play room while you were preparing dinner downstairs and Remy watched cartoons on the Tv.

The door to your house creaked and clicked as a key unlocked it and the door flew open revealing your husband, revealing Charles. He took his shoes of placing them into the cubby after shutting the door behind him before he made his way over into the open plan living room

Hearing the footsteps and the familiar sound of the door Remy perked up.

“Papa” he giggled and tan towards his father who bent down to pick him up and plant kisses all over his cheeks.

“Hello baby, I missed you” he laughed patting his sons head. Continuing to hold his son he walked over to you kissing you on the cheek. 

“ and I missed you” you leaned in to give him a kiss on the lips.

“Mm what’s this” he swiped his finger in the pasta sauce.

“Hey!” you smacked his hand

“ stay away from my sauce”

“Sorry just looks irresistible ” he laughed, “ where are my other two babies” he questioned as his put the youngest back down as he run off to continue watching his show almost as if he papa didn’t matter anymore.

“ in the playroom”

He nodded his head moving to walk up the staircase.

He pushed the door open to his two girls seated at the table in the middle of the colourful room. 

“Papa “ Sicily squeaked in delight.

Charles walked over to the girls giving them both a kiss and crouching down at the table next to them.

“ what are we doing my loves?” He asked stroking Indy’s hair. If you couldn’t tell Charles loved physical affection to all members of his family in the sense of hugs and kisses with his girls and more with you if you know what I mean.

“ we’re making bracelets “ Indy spoke

Charles looked at the assortment of beads and string out on the table and the few already made bracelets from each of the girls.

“ ah I see they’re very pretty”

“ there like your ones” Sicily explained 

“ the ones you get at race day papa” Indy went on further 

“ yes your right” he nodded

“ it’s not fair you get all the bracelets so we thought we would make some for you to take next race so you can share” Indy explained

“ that’s very thoughtful darling I’m sure they will love them, can I make one?”

“ sure papa” Sicily pushed the beads towards him.

The three of them continued on until dinner was ready making many bracelets in the meantime.

“ you must put them in your bag now papa so you don’t forget them” Sicily said as Indy collected them up handing them to their papa.

“ I will do it right now, you two go downstairs l be down in a minute” and with that the two girls ran towards the food.

Charles was proud to have such thoughtful daughters and creative ones two. He was proud of his whole family.

A/N: Thank you for the request I hope you liked it and it’s what you wanted. xx

[not-wholly-unheroic]

I recently found a copy of the graphic novel version of Straight on Til Morning at my local used bookstore and got a great deal so I wanted to share a few of my likes, dislikes, and general observations. I’d been meaning to write up a proper review of the book for awhile now but have been SUPER behind. Anyway, the graphic novel follows the book pretty closely and I’ll be sharing some images from it, so this WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS for those of you who haven’t read it.

First off, the artwork for the graphic novel is beautiful and some scenes are illustrated in a really creative way. For example, I love the depiction of this particular scene where Wendy is writing her stories and Hook sort of…comes to life off the page.

I also really love that while (most of) the characters are still recognizably Disney’s version…they also look a tad more realistic and have some of the illustrator’s own personal interpretation mixed in.

George Darling is a great example. In the graphic novel he is slimmer than in the film and looks remarkably like J.M. Barrie…which I have to consider was probably intentional.

And then there’s the Lost Boys in their animal costumes…Tootles, Skipper (excuse me, this is Nibs erasure—you can add Skipper but don’t just eliminate Nibs!), Slightly, Cubby, and the Twins.

The pirates, however, are a totally different story. Who the heck are these guys???

Anyway… at least they get Hook’s personality right. I love this bit, in particular, where one of the pirates gets a little rough with Wendy and Hook is having none of it. Also, the idea of Hook capturing Wendy to be a mother to the crew is a nice nod to the book.

One big complaint I do have is that the characters are, on occasion, a little TOO self-aware. Like in this scene where one of the pirates makes a sort of on-the-nose observation about Hook’s feud with Pan.

But I will admit, I did cackle at Hook’s reaction.

He said would you please stop trying to psychoanalyze me and look for symbolism and just let the story be about a boy and a pirate? (Hook, how do you even know who Freud is??)

You may have noticed by now that I haven’t said anything about Peter�� That’s because Peter barely features in the story at all and honestly when he does show up, he’s…kinda useless and clueless. Now, admittedly, Wendy is meant to be older in this (around 16) so of course, it’s reasonable to think she might not quite view him the same way she did at 12…but in having her team up with Tink to do all the heavy-lifting of the plot (because, ya know, girlpower and all that), Peter sort of ends up not really doing anything. I’d almost rather have an evil Pan, as annoying as that trope is because at least then he actually does something. In this story, it truly feels like Wendy has just…outgrown Peter altogether. And that hurts.

Speaking of which…ya know what hurts even more for me as a Hook fan? THIS.

This poor man is curled up on the deck in the fetal position, terrified of a crocodile who has been long-dead, crying out for a best friend who never even existed except inside his own mind because he was so alone that he made him up.

O W !! Why would you do this to me, Disney?!

It ends for Hook with the crew deciding to drop him off somewhere with enough gold to pay for his keep and hire a caretaker because he’s so mentally unstable they don’t trust him to live by himself.

I hate to say it, but honestly, watching him die would be less painful. At least that would be over with fairly quickly. This just hurts.

But everyone else lives happily ever after, so it’s okay, right? Right??? 😫😭 (Don’t mind me, I’ll just be over here in the corner, crying over my pirate boy.)

[ultimate-007]

The end of Bond as we know him.

The Broccoli era is over. Amazon now have creative control over James Bond.

This could be good news, or it could be a disaster. I'm skeptical: look what happened when Disney took over other "franchise" properties like Star Wars, Marvel and Planet Of The Apes: they cheapened them and made some truly atrocious "product". I'm not convinced Amazon will be any different.

Cubby Broccoli is turning in his grave.

[florencemtrash]

Hummingbird: Chapter Three

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

What if the Earth-1610 (Miles’s universe) version of Miguel’s wife was actually Miles’s AP Art teacher?

Masterlist

Warnings: Terrible science jargon

It was almost silly how quickly the world returned to normal.

Alchemax was splashed on every local newspaper, website, social media account, and TV channel for a solid week before complaints shifted to the neverending construction on the streets of New York. The subway somehow got tighter, packed bodies grumbling about the thirty minutes added to their commute after ten subway cars had fallen through a spot and landed in the Hudson river. 

But the events never faded away from your consciousness. The only way you could fall asleep was by leaving all the lights on. It racked up your electric bill like hell, but you couldn’t stand seeing the shadows creep along the wall as nighttime descended on the city - it reminded you too much of the Spot’s blank face and how he managed to stare into your soul without eyes.

Then there was the growing problem of your forgetfulness. You’d never been the best at keeping track of belongings - Mamá always blamed it on your creative brain - but now everything was being misplaced. The alarm clock would disappear from the nightstand and appear in the kitchen, your sock collection was dwindling every day and never making it into the dirty hamper, for Christ’s sake you still hadn’t found your favorite yellow sneakers and it was irritating you to hell and back. 

I’m losing my goddamn mind. You often found yourself thinking.

You threw yourself into work, staying in the classroom late to grade and lesson plan until the night crew got used to vacuuming around your feet. You took on extra projects at the Academy, signing up to run after-school detention and volunteering for props and set design for this year’s spring musical “The Addams Family.”

Anything to stay out of your apartment. Anything to keep you from being alone.

Three empty coffee cups mocked your bleary eyes as you sat hunched over the sewing machine after hours. Cheap black lace trailed off the table, slowly shortening as you incorporated the material into Morticia’s dress.

“Fuck!” You hissed in pain and stuck your thumb in your mouth, sucking away the blood from your fourth needle prick of the night. At this rate you’d have more holes punched into you than swiss cheese.

It was time to give up for tonight.

Before you could forget you slipped the stolen Brooklyn Visions Academy uniform from your bag and hid it in the bottom-most cubby in the storage room. The sleeping bag and pillow from your apartment were also stuffed there, ready for Miles to use whenever he needed an extra break from being a superhero. You suspected Gwen had also been sneaking by to visit Miles now that she had more freedom to explore the multiverse - hence the spare uniform.

“How’s he doing?” You’d asked Miles earlier that day. Miguel’s unspoken name had lingered on the tip of your tongue, forcing the color to rise into your cheeks. Luckily Miles knew exactly who you were talking about.

A knowing grin grew on his face, “Not too bad. He seems more on edge than usual, but I hear he’s working on his temper.” 

“He’s not body slamming any more teenagers?” 

“Not that I know of.”

“Good.” You paused, “If he gives you any more trouble, send him my way. I’ll give him a piece of my mind.” 

Miles saluted you, “You got it.”

You meant it as a joke… but you also wanted a reason to see him again.

You were just about to switch the light off in your classroom when a flash of yellow caught your eye. Tucked behind a stack of newsprint, the vine charcoal rubbing away on your fingers as you carefully lifted the papers, was your prized pair of yellow converse.

It was too late to think about how they’d ended up so far from home, so you tossed them in your bag, threw out the coffee cups, and saved your muddled mind the trouble of figuring it out tonight.

The midnight subway car was filled with the usual Friday-night suspects - overworked nurses, loners just killing time, drunk party goers covered in more glitter than a kindergartener’s Valentine’s day card, and you.

You didn’t miss Richard, not really. What you really missed was coming home to someone and the feeling of another body weighing down the right side of the bed. More recently you’d been imagining what it would be like to come home to Miguel.

You kicked off your shoes at the bottom of the landing, shuffling up the steps and pulling off your clothes as you went, modesty be damned. By the time you face planted on your bed, hair still damp from the shower, it was nearing 2am and Miguel still hadn’t left your mind. He’d planted himself in your thoughts like a spider too high up on a wall for you to squash and too large for you to ignore.

Mercifully you didn’t have to endure the pains of a schoolgirl crush for very long. Sleep dragged you under and you welcomed it as your mind finally went quiet.

You awoke with a start, suffocating under the heavy blankets that you’d buried yourself in last night. You’d been dreaming again about the collider. You’d been dreaming about Miguel - this time in a feverish haze that left your mind in a puddle on the floor. 

How was it possible that a stranger could occupy so much space in your mind? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he’d held you like you were everything and then left without saying goodbye.

But you weren’t complete strangers…

“Aren’t you his wife?” 

Miles had asked the question so innocently and Miguel hadn’t said anything against it, so it must be true. Somewhere, in some other universe, you’d been married to one another. 

Are you thinking about me too? You wondered, opening your eyes in hopes of chasing the memory of him away.

…Maybe you were still dreaming, because the last time you checked you hadn’t fallen asleep under a tree in Central Park. And even if you had, you highly doubted you could have lugged your mattress and bed frame with you all the way from Brooklyn.

Oh por el amor de Dios.

The glorious thing about New York City is that everyone knew how to mind their own business. So when people saw a high school art teacher in Star Wars pjs leap for joy upon finding a $5 bill on the ground, they didn’t question it.

You were so ecstatic about saving yourself the two-and-a-half hour walk back to Brooklyn that you didn’t remember a highly important piece of information until after you hopped off the subway - you didn’t have your keys or your phone.

Joder. 

Your forehead knocked against the front door of your apartment building with an audible clunk.

“Por el amor de la mierda, ¿por qué mi vida es así?” You muttered under your breath. 

“Y/n?” Your landlord, Mrs. Fleming, pushed her tortoise-shell glasses higher up on her face, the thick lenses magnifying her eyes to bug-like proportions. “Oh it is you, my dear.” 

You groaned, color rushing into your cheeks as you turned around sheepishly. “Good morning, Mrs. Fleming.” 

The elderly woman gave you a once-over look, crocheting needles clicking together as she rummaged around in her bag for her keys, “The old walk of shame, I see.” 

“What?! Wait, no-this isn’t-I’m not-”

She patted you on the back before unlocking the door and holding it open for you, “I only use the turn of phrase because that’s what you young folks call it. Ain’t nothing shameful in it. It’s good of you to get out there. I never did like Richard much.”

You were at a loss for words.

Mrs. Fleming, sprightly as she was for her age, followed you up to your apartment with her extra set of keys jingling merrily in her hands.

“Now, you have a good rest of your weekend, dear.” She said once you’d been graciously let into your apartment, “And don’t forget your keys next time!” 

“Thanks Mrs. Fleming.” You said. Her amused chuckle echoed through the air as she shuffled off to her own apartment.

You sprawled out on the ground where your bed should have been, trying to even out your breathing as the reality of the morning’s events crashed down around you like a house of cards. 

This can’t be happening. ¿Qué diablos me pasa?

You rolled onto your stomach, repeatedly banging your face into a spare pillow to muffle the sound of your aggravated screams. 

The pillow accepted your frustration with little complaint until something in you just snapped. 

All at once the pillow disappeared from beneath you and then blinked into existence by the closet allowing your face to crash into the floor unprotected.

You grabbed at your burning nose, eyes swimming with tears of pain as you registered what had happened. 

“No… oh no.” 

>>>

The rain beat down irregularly, fluctuating back and forth from being barely a drizzle to a torrential downpour. 

You gripped an empty to-go cup in your hand, the tea you’d hoped would calm your nerves long gone. 

It took you three hours to make it here. First you kept teleporting your keys away every time you touched them, futilely chasing them around the apartment. Then you’d nearly gotten hit by a taxi and teleported yourself to the bathroom of a tea shop on the Upper West Side. Miraculously your powers had quieted after that, allowing you to get on the subway and here without incident.

A familiar figure made its way down the block, hood up to protect from the rain.

“Miles!” You leapt up from your seat, racing across the street to the annoyed honking of two taxis. 

“Miss Y/l/n? How’re you doing?” Miles narrowed his eyes in worry, seeing the way your fingers nervously pulled at a loose string from your sweater, “What happened to your face?” The flesh around your nose was red and tender, slowly transforming into a purple bruise.

“I’m sorry for bothering you like this, but I didn’t know where else to go.” You looked around carefully before lifting the cup in the palm of your hand.

You furrowed your brow in concentration, willing that same power within you to snap into place again.

“What’s supposed to-” 

“Just-just give me a minute.”

A minute passed, and nothing. Your heartbeat quickened as you grew more and more flustered.

“Miss Y/l/n are you sure you’re ok?” Skepticism and genuine concern laced his voice.

“I’m fine!” 

Snap!

The cup blinked out of existence like an old-school television that had been turned off. Miles saw it reappear over the park across the street and land on a dog walker’s head. The man in question looked up at the sky bewildered, like he expected to find God there.

Miles’s wide eyes met yours.

“Oh shit.” 

He pulled you into the empty alleyway behind his building, using his spider webs to straighten the trash cans that rolled around on the ground and clear out a space large enough for the two of you to comfortably stand side by side. 

He hung close to the street, Gwen’s face shimmering to life above his wrist as he spoke with his back turned to you.

“Hey, Gwen. I’ve got a situation.” He whispered into the watch.

You caught snippets of their conversation, shrinking in your coat as you tried to suppress the anxiety growing in your chest. If there was anything you’d learned about your powers it was that they tended to flare up with your emotions.

“Do you think we can trust him with this? I don’t want anything to happen to her… Yeah, yeah. No, I understand. I’ll bring her in. See you later.” 

Miles turned back to you, a strained smile on his face, “Sorry about that.”

“Miles, what’s going on?” “I got to bring you into Spidey HQ. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but Miguel might.” 

He unzipped his raincoat and hoodie, exposing the black and red spider-suit beneath and tugging on his mask. 

Your heart gave a flip at the mention of your husband’s name (could you even call him that?). Would he be happy to see you again? Would things be awkward between the two of you?

A familiar watch flashed on his wrist as he began pressing buttons on the orange holographic screen. You’d seen it happen before, a portal of wild glitching colors pulsing to life in front of you, but that didn’t make it any less impressive. Miles stepped into it, dragging you along with him like he was just passing through any regular doorway.

He swept his arm outward, smiling at the expression on your face.

“Welcome to Spidey HQ, Miss Y/l/n.”

Your jaw dropped as you passed through the portal - an actual portal - to Miguel’s dimension. 

Hundreds, no thousands, of Spider-People roamed the open air halls, some on two legs, some on four, some on wheels, and some just preferred to swing through the air on webs, catching and releasing the nimble strings with practiced grace from the walkways that crossed overhead like… well like a spider’s web. 

Miguel certainly hadn’t wasted the spider concept when it came to their headquarters.

“I didn’t know there was a universe composed entirely of Spider-Men…Spider-People?… Spider…” A cat hissed at your feet when you nearly stepped on its tail as you blindly followed Miles through the crowd, “Spider-Things?” 

“Sorry Spider-Cat!” Miles said as the feline grumbled, tail high in the air as it calmly leapt onto the wall and continued on its way as though gravity were only an inconvenience. 

“Actually, every world has only one Spider-Person, but the Alchemax explosion last year ended up opening holes into other universes. Miguel created this place as a hub for Spider-People while everyone tries to fix the anomalies.”

“Anomalies?”

“Yeah, beings that have accidentally gotten stuck in another world.”

“Oh… yeah that makes total sense..” Your words trailed off as a roaring laugh caught your attention, “Is that… is that a dinosaur?” 

You pointed at the group crowded around a cafeteria table howling with laughter. Burgers bounced on trays as the T-Rex doubled over to slap the table for dramatic effect.

“AY YO, REXA!” Miles shouted over your head, throwing his arms up wildly. 

Rexa exposed razor sharp teeth in a grin and waved one short arm towards you. You returned a meek wave in return. 

“That’s Rexa. She’s super funny. Just uh…” he covered his mouth before whispering in your ear, “Maybe don’t mention anything about her arms. She gets a little sensitive.”

“Oh…yeah, of course. No problem.” 

Miles continued to lead you through the building, periodically taking breaks for you to catch up as you kept your eyes trained on everything except the path he’d carved in front of you. At one point you simply disappeared from view, reappearing four stories up in a psychiatrist’s office.

A tweed-suited Spider-Man jumped in his seat, dropping the box of tissues he’d been preparing to throw to his client. 

“Oh! I… I’m so sorry.” You said, flustered at the sight of a sandy haired Peter Parker variant sobbing his eyes out into a spider plushie. You inched along the wall towards the door, “I’m just-I’m just going to make my way out.”

You closed the door as quietly as possible, turning around and coming face to face with Miles again. You jumped and snapped, this time landing on Rexa’s table, foot squishing her burger into roadkill.

You groaned and tilted your head up, watching Miles sail out the office window and swing his way down. 

This was going to take a while.

There was no shortage of Spiderpeople to steal your attention, but finally after a few (uninterrupted) turns down pristine white hallways and an elevator ride into the belly of Spidey HQ, it was just you and Miles again.

From his lair, Miguel traced your figure with his eyes. When you caught sight of the camera in the elevator, its red pupil narrowing in on you, you smiled sheepishly and waved. The small action made his stomach flip like a schoolboy who’d been given his first kiss. 

He needed to pull himself together before he saw you face to face again.

“I’m just saying, I think this is a good thing, Miguel.” Peter B. said, swinging up to the platform and wrapping an arm around Miguel’s broad shoulders. Mayday crawled out and onto the control board, pressing buttons haphazardly and closing half the screens. She clapped her hands in wonder and Miguel grumbled half-heartedly. 

Once she started walking, all bets were off. She’d be an absolute menace to Spider Society. Already she liked to treat Miguel like her personal playscape, crawling onto his shoulders and tugging at his brown curls. 

Her antics almost made him smile… almost.

“If she’s here then that can only mean something’s wrong.” Miguel said, keeping his eyes fixed on the screen and ignoring Mayday as she slumped over his back, slowly sliding down his chest and into his waiting arms with a dramatic sigh. 

You looked tired and nervous, fingers tugging at the strings of your raincoat. A purple bruise spread out from your nose, moving with the curve of your cheekbones. Had someone hurt you? 

Miguel’s blood began to boil.

“Or,” Peter bumped his hips against Miguel’s, “it could mean she wants to see you again.” 

“Stop that.” Miguel growled.

“Stop what?”

Stop giving me hope.

Miguel was about to bite back at Peter and wipe the mischievous grin on his face when the doors slid open. Miles’s voice rang through the empty space. 

“These are all those anomalies I was telling you about. Doc Oc, Rhino, Sandman, Mysterio. I don’t even want to know who that is.” 

“Why is it so dark in here?”

“Miguel likes to brood. I think he’s part vampire.” 

Miguel tossed Mayday into her father’s arms, swiftly turning around and busying himself at the control panel to distract from the pounding of his heart. A dozen screens flashed to life above the control board and Miguel concentrated on none of them.

Peter grinned like a madman. This was going great. 

“Miss Y/n!” He shouted out, throwing his hands in the air before hopping off the platform. Mayday squealed in delight and copied his actions. Miguel only cursed under his breath and rubbed his temples. Leave it to Peter to be the cause of 90% of his headaches.

“Looking good, teach!” 

“Ummm… thanks?” You responded as Mayday grabbed at you with chubby fingers. You didn’t have much choice but to hold her as Peter thrust her into your arms. Fear jolted through you like a lightning strike and you quickly handed her off to Miles, the poor girl frowning and continuing to make grabbing motions at you. The last thing you wanted was to make Mayday disappear from your arms.

Peter tipped his head to the side but for once made no comment. He continued to chat you up, pulling small smiles from your lips and ignoring the way you kept glancing at Miguel as his platform slowly lowered to the ground. 

He had his hands on his hips, bright red and blue Spider-suit cutting a striking silhouette against the dark background. 

If he’d noticed you walking into the room, he didn’t show it and you tried your best not to deflate at that realization. 

“Don’t worry. He just likes to make an entrance,” Miles whispered in your ear. And some entrance that was. He stepped off the platform, back tight and straight as he moved forward with measured, even footsteps. 

Miles took one step forward, angling his body in front of you with a weariness in his eyes. 

Miguel stopped, face betraying nothing as he looked you up and down once.

“I never thought I’d see you again.” The words would have sounded romantic coming from someone else’s lips, but from him they just sounded dry and clinical.

“Same here.” You said. The words came out breathlessly.

“What’s happened?”

His hand hovered in the air between you two before he swiftly dropped it to his side. He wanted to reach out and touch your face. He wanted to tilt your chin upwards so he could take a good look at the damage done to your nose and make sure you were ok. Perhaps if you’d been alone he would have allowed himself to do it, but as it was, they had company. 

“We need your help, Miguel.” Miles cut through the tension, “Something’s up with Miss Y/l/n. She’s got powers now - teleportation similar to the Spot’s.” 

His heart stuttered in his chest.

“Is that true?” he said, desperately looking to you for answers. The Spot’s powers had made him unstable in more ways than one and Miguel shivered to think about anything happening to you.

You nodded, “Things keep disappearing when I touch them. Sometimes I accidentally teleport to places when I’m frustrated. I didn’t realize what was going on until I woke up in Central Park last night.”

Miguel turned around, muttering under his breath as his mind raced a thousand steps ahead of him. 

Of all the people this could have happened to, it had to be you. He thought he’d done the right thing by leaving you alone, forcing himself not to portal to your dimension every night. His multiversal travels had taught him a thing or two about the ways things operated. Some figures, like Peter Parker’s Spider-Man were well represented across worlds. Some figures, like himself, were harder to come by. 

As for you? He only knew of three worlds where you existed - in one world, his actions had led to your death and the death of your daughter. In the second, Spot had murdered you in his quest to figure out Spider-Man’s identity. 

And in this one… 

Well he thought he’d been keeping you safe. 

Teleportation was a dangerous ability - unpredictable and difficult to control. Left unchecked you could find yourself in front of a car speeding down the highway or at the top of Mount Everest or in a different dimension altogether, constantly glitching as your molecules broke apa-

“Wait,” Miguel stiffened, back tightening as he swiveled around on his heels, “Where’s your watch?”

“My watch?” you glanced at your naked wrist, “I mean I usually just check my phone for the t-”

“No, your day pass watch. The thing that stabilizes you in this universe.” 

Miles’s eyes blew open. “Mierda. Sabía que había olvidado algo.”

“How long have you two been here?”

“Maybe two hours.” You guessed.

“And nothing’s happened?”

“Is something supposed to happen?” 

Even Peter B. looked concerned. Panic rose in your chest and you threatened to snap. Miguel reached out and grasped your wrist, palm sliding down until you felt the weight and warmth of his hand wrapped in yours. He led you to the med bay, Peter and Miles following closely behind.

The paper atop the padded examination table crinkled as you took a seat, watching Miguel’s broad shoulders flex and stretch as he dug an extra watch out from the back of a cabinet.

“Lyla, run a scan of Y/n.”

The woman flickered to life in front of him. “What’s the magic word?” She fluttered her eyelashes.

“Lyla.” He was in no mood for games today

“Ok, ok. Don’t be testy.” Lyla appeared in front of you, an orange scanner materializing in her hands that swept across your body with a cool touch. “Scan complete.” 

“Here you go,” Miguel felt some relief pour back into his body as he fastened the watch around your wrist, hand lingering against your pulse like he wanted further confirmation that you were alive and well.

“Hey, why does she get one of the fancy ones?” Miles protested. The watch, identical to the ones worn by Miguel, Peter, and Miles flashed its face at you. It was far too elaborate and expensive to be just a day pass.

Miguel ignored him, walking over to one of the monitors and skimming through the output data.

“It took six months for Miguel to give me one of those bad boys,” The paper crinkled again as Peter hopped onto the table beside you, whispering, “Looks like someone’s got a favorite,” and earning a glare from Miguel. 

Peter winked suggestively.

Miguel scowled.

Your cheeks turned a rosy red, your coat disappearing from around your shoulders and landing in a rumple at Miguel’s feet like the world’s worst suggestive gesture. Peter howled with laughter.

“No puedo creerlo.” Miguel whispered, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Lyla, am I looking at this right?”

“You sure are. Y/n’s DNA is perfectly stable. Not a trace of multiversal quantum poisoning to be found. And! Her radiation signature matches that of more than a thousand different universes. Bet you’ve never seen that before.”

“How is that even possible?”

“Hmmmm, let me think.” Lyla spun around in a digital office chair, waiting for her moment to break the dramatic pause. Miguel groaned - he would need to improve her code and tone down the dramatism. “Looks like packets of quantum energy from across the multiverse were released during the Alchemax hypercompact fusion explosion and merged with the only unaltered sentient lifeform in the vicinity.” 

“Dios mio.”

At the end of her explanation she bowed gracefully, arm and fur-lined coat sweeping off to the side.

“Did you get any of that?” Peter asked out of the corner of his mouth.

“Peter, I took forestry as my science gen ed in art school and barely passed so… no.”

“Uhhh, can you repeat it for the rest of the class?” Miles piped up. 

Lyla leaned forward, one hand on her hip and the other tipped her heart-shaped sunglasses onto her head. 

“Y/n absorbed energy from a ton of different universes so as far as the multiverse is concerned, she doesn’t register as an anomaly. No glitching. No dying outside of her universe without a watch. No predicted multiversal collapse.” Lyla smiled. “Predicted.”

You looked less than pleased. The last month had been filled to the brim with life-altering events from finding out Miles was a superhero, to getting kidnapped and nearly dying, to finding out your variant’s husband was an all-too-attractive, brooding Spider-Man. It was getting to be too much - you were a teacher for crying out loud! Maybe you’d have handled it better if you were a crime-fighting detective, or a fancy scientist, or a millionaire with access to the latest tech and weapons. Instead you were just… you.

“Can you fix it?” 

Miguel flinched at the look on your face. You were looking to him for help and for answers, but he couldn’t provide them in any satisfactory way. He’d never encountered anyone with your abilities. 

The confusion and fear that came with discovering your powers - that was a journey all Spider-People went through, and they usually went through it alone.

Miguel sighed, “There’s nothing to fix, Y/n.” He said the words with a softness no one had heard from him in years, perhaps ever, “This is who you are now.” 

“So I’m just going to be stuck like this forever?”

“Having powers isn’t so bad.” Peter chimed in with a small smile. “From time to time, it can actually be pretty awesome.”

You allowed a small, empty smile to grow on your lips. It was a smile Miguel was well acquainted with - the kind of smile that said I’m not fine, but I want you to believe that I am.

“I have some tests we could run.” Miguel offered up, “I can’t reverse what’s happened but maybe I can come up with something to help you control your powers, at least while you’re learning how to use them.” 

You nodded, the smile turning into something real, “I would like that. Thank you.” 

Peter was practically vibrating with excitement when he caught the look that passed between the two of you and the hint of hope on Miguel’s usually stony face. 

He clapped his hands down on Miles’s shoulders, “Well would you look at the time? I need to put Mayday down for her nap and grab some food. You’ll learn this soon enough, but being a superhero does burn the calories.” 

He hopped off the table, waltzing all the way to the door before he noticed that Miles was missing from his side. “Miles! Come join me.” 

“Actually, I was going to wait with-”

“Miles.” Peter coughed into his fist, bug eyes burning into Miles until he got the hint.

“Oh? Oh! Yeah, sorry Miss Y/l/n, I forgot I told Gwen I’d meet up with her.” 

You waved him off, “I’ll be fine, Miles. Thanks for everything.” 

“I’ll show her how to use the watch and send her home when we’re finished.” Miguel said, pulling on a lab coat that had been draped over his office chair. He rarely had time to work in the lab, more focused on his primary duty of maintaining the stability of the multiverse, but the familiar glide of the fabric over his skin did help to relax him. It reminded him of the old days when Spider-Man didn’t exist and the multiverse was just a fun theory tossed around at company lunches. 

A thin silence stretched between you two after Miles and Peter left, and you contented yourself with watching Miguel as he busily typed away at his monitor, labeled vials, and prepared the syringes. Every movement was practiced and controlled like he’d done this a million times before.

Miguel was screaming on the inside. You were close enough for his heightened senses to pick up on the honey lemon shampoo you used tinged with the woodsy scent of linseed oil. He was powerless under your gaze like an insect trapped under a microscope.

“I just need to collect some blood samples.” Miguel said, gently holding out his hand. You offered your arm up without complaint, distracting yourself from the pinch of the needle by reading the faded name tag printed on his lab coat.

You whistled low to break the tension, “Dr. O’Hara. That’s impressive. What kind of doctor are you?”

“I was a geneticist. Not the medical kind though. I worked in research at Alchemax.” 

“Is that how you got your spidey powers?”

He rolled his eyes, “They’re not spidey powers, they’re acrachno-humanoid genetic augmentations.” 

“Qué estúpido. Just call them spidey powers. You scientists just like to give things complicated names to feel superior.” The corner of Miguel’s lips quirked up every so slightly. The thrill of seeing any emotion on Miguel’s face lightened the feeling in your chest.

“Was it hard becoming Spider-Man?” You asked.

Miguel shrugged, wiping away the small bead of blood on your arm. “I had it easier than most. I was already looking into the possibility of combining human and arachnid DNA and I had the resources to study my powers.” Miguel paused. It had been a long time - too long - since he’d had a conversation like this with anyone. He could cast his mind back to talks with you his wife, but those had always been domestic in nature.

“The hardest part was not having anyone to talk to.” He said, finishing his thought.

“Sounds lonely.” You remarked, accepting the q-tip from him and swabbing the inside of your cheek. He collected the sample in a vial of greenish liquid and gave it a thorough shake, “Do you have people now that you talk to?”

“No.” His answer was short and to the point. 

You’d touched a sore spot and you decided to prod it. “Would you like someone to talk to?” 

Again, the corner of his lips twitched, “Are you offering?”

You copied his shrug from earlier, “Maybe.” 

He took a few more cheek swabs and then a strand of hair. His hand lingered by your cheek, frowning as he took in the bruise on your face. 

Now that you two were alone he dared to gently tilt your head to the side.

“You never told me what happened.” 

Your hands flew up to your face in embarrassment and Miguel saw the tips of your ears grow red. He liked it.

“I may or may not have teleported my pillow away right before smashing my face into the floor.” 

The breath left his lungs in a quiet chuckle. That sounded like something you’d do.

“But no one’s bothering you?”

“What? Oh no. No, it’s nothing like that.” 

He nodded, the tightness in his chest unraveling with that knowledge. He knew you weren’t his wife and he knew that you didn’t know him well enough yet, but that didn’t stop him from caring. The truth was he liked you from the moment you slapped his shoulder and cursed at him, and it wasn’t just because you looked like someone from his past.

“This will take some time to work through.” He tilted his head towards where the tabletop machines whirred and spun, “But if I’m right, I may be able to adjust your watch to stabilize you in a specific place, not just a specific universe. It’s not a permanent fix but you won’t be waking up in Central Park again anytime soon.” 

“That would be preferable.” 

You moved to take off the watch and hand it over to Miguel but he stopped you.

“Keep this one. In case anything happens you can contact me or the other Spider-People,” He said, walking her through the steps of using the watch, “Headquarters is always open so if anything happens, come here.” 

You nodded. With an encouraging look from Miguel you punched “Earth-1610” into the locator and then your home address. 

Just like last time the portal bloomed open beside you, scattering a few loose papers on the ground. Through the portal you caught a glimpse of your living room, citylights flashing outside your window.

“Come back next week. Until we have a better understanding of your powers it would be good for us to monitor you and check that you’re stable.” 

And it would be good for you to see her again. 

Miguel squashed the thought as soon as it popped into his brain in Peter’s voice. He really needed to stop spending so much time with him. 

You stepped through the portal and were embraced by the familiar smell of your apartment. It made you feel better about what was to come. You turned to smile at Miguel, his tired eyes lighting up ever so slightly.

“I’ll see you next week then.”

<- Previous chapter Next chapter ->

_________ Author's note: Here's the next chapter! Let me know what you guys think of the writing and where the story is going. I'm hoping to dive more deeply into Y/n x Miguel's relationship in the coming chapters so get ready for angst and fluff!

Taglist: @geraskier-thots @howabouticallyou @sweetheartlizzie07 @dont-mind-me27 @omg-edzia-stuff @sarcastically-defensive17 @trouble-sistar @saltyluminaryvoid @lunablue001 @sadslasher13 @yas-v @thel0v3hashira143 @trishuh8 @vague-flying-shape @tiana76 @dinuxia-bhm @mxtokko @devilsrose666 @natbratty @zettoaizawa-shusband @dorck26 @notasadgirlipromise @niyanispunk @thecraziestcrayon @athenxt @imnotyourbcbe @jannajuju @lunamoonbby @elle-19 @aces148 @sseleniaa @elaineiswithyou-blog @summerli-u @rattlethemskulls @sunseekerlove @bubbabobabubbles @loonalockley @aleombre @littlelilies @07-bilin @nerdalicios @insanely-creative-things @enby-rising @nataliahemsworth @coralineyouareinterribledanger @louderfortheback @damnzelsoul @enheduannasposts @bontensbabygirl @mynameiswilliamblake

[josnhoes]

Hmm knak au w/ Delicious in Dungeon would be hilarious. Like imagine reader is a young half-foot, the double wammy of being a child as the one race that's confused for human children all the time

I want to do half-foot too because it's cute. But I don't think the ever looming threat of such a short life span would be fun. So how about a dwarf? Still small and cute. Plus Senshi would just dive deeper into dad mode.

This is set pre finding Falin hence no Itsumi

Content warning: Canon violence mentions, eating monsters, panic attack mention

The group finds you in their task to find Falin. It wasn't hard to when they could hear your crying. And why wouldn't you be crying? You had woken up in some unknown place, a place where everything was so big that you felt small. Well that had been your assumption that everything was big, they you looked at your hand and had your *first* panic attack.

Then things got *worse*, you ran into actual monsters. And all you could do was run. Run and hide and pray to whatever diety would listen to save you. You couldn't help the tears as you bunkered down in the cubby hole in the wall.

The sound of a child crying had put the entire group on edge. Was it a new monster mimicking a child? But ultimately the group decided to check. And their shock was intense as they found a small Dwarven child sobbing in a hole in a wall. The kid was lucky the cleaners hadn't started fixing the hole.

It took some time to lure you out and Liaos had almost been tempted to leave you. Not out of malicious intent. But their mission was time sensitive, and a kid would slow them down... but those thoughts were quickly silenced with his own guilt at having considered it.

Marcille was asking how you got here, she hoped a group of adventures wouldn't bring a *child* into the dungeon. But only had more questions when you said you woke up here. You didn't tell her the whole truth about your origins, fear of being abandoned in such a dangerous place overruling the instinct to tell the truth.

Senshi is already working on a meal. He knows they can get answers later, right now the youngin need to eat. If they woke up in the dungeon they probably hadn't have eaten. It also helped cooking made him calm, and the entire situation had him stressed.

Chilchuk was just as panicked. There was a child in the dungeon. Had some adventure group drugged or used sleep magic to keep you unconscious to use as monster bait? With his guild protecting the half-foots did some horrible group decide to get *creative*. That could be figured out later. Right now he had to convince the group to take you back to the surface... a task he didn't know he could manage. Either way he refused to leave a child like this, flashes of his own daughters in his mind fueling that.

[bigmammallama5]

Some pottery from yesterday and today. I picked up some mushrooms, cleaned and organized my cubby, and threw a slump mold and drape mold yesterday. Today I played around with some super tall skinny slab bottles with subtle flowy details and threw three more tall bois! The idea for all these tall pots is for them to act as an extension of the bag wall inside the soda/salt kiln to try to protect the stacks a little better. They’re somewhat sacrificial and could potentially be pretty juicy.

You’ll be seeing way more pottery updates over the next 2-3 weeks, and I can finally say that it’s a positive. I found out at the beginning of February that the design firm I’ve worked at (for my father) since I graduated college was sadly going under. I’ve spent the last two months completely refreshing my stuff and applying for painfully scarce positions in my area. As you could have probably seen, my creativity had taken a huge hit and I was clinging to my pottery. Somehow, luckily, I did manage to find a position and accepted that job offer yesterday. I don’t start for a few weeks, so I’m going to take that time to adjust and prepare and yes, make lots of pots. I’m hoping this time will also help me get back to drawing and writing, but one step at a time.

[raccoonsrummagerostrum]

Meeting the Clan

Part 3

Yautja x Reader

Word count: >1k

Warnings: loud noises, fighting, eating, drinking, nausea, light gore, alien blood, slightly drunk reader, short of breath reader

Summary: your lover's clan invites you to dinner and it just keep getting worse

A/N: sorry I've been gone for so long, all my creativity was put into another project. I've got a lot of wips and a few requests/asks to get too, so look forward to more writing comming soon ❤

Part 1 & Part 2

This was not anything like meeting the parents. Even in all the sitcoms and bad reality tv that you had watched, you had never seen anything go so wrong. As the two faced off with each other Amedha, your lover's worst rival, still took the time to look over at you and whistle. Your lover lunged and dug their mandibles into his throat. Amedha responded by digging his claws deep into your lover's side, causing them to scream in pain, and thus release their rivals' neck. You knew better than to get in between them, but you couldn’t just let your lover get beat up like this. 

Amedha looked over to you again and winked. The food you had just eaten bubbled up in your throat, and you couldn't stop the disgusted expression from spreading across your face. However, this gave your lover the perfect opening to give their rival a hard right hook to the jaw. The crack of bone rang out around the room. They quickly gained the upper hand maneuvering to hold their rival down, holding his face against the floor. Amedha scoffed, earning a loud deep and angry growl from your love. They pulled his arm back until there was a sharp snap and a roar. You quickly shielded your eyes from the gruesome sight. 

You liked to think that you had a strong stomach. You didn’t mind gory horror movies, and could handle most everyday ooman injuries. Broken bones, and bloody cuts didn’t phase you, but this. Between the sounds of injury, the reactionary screams of pain, and the sight of all the blood and backwards facing limbs. You struggled very badly to deal. But the uproar from the table encouraged you to look again. 

Your lover now stood, one clawed foot atop their rival's head. They let out an ear splitting victory roar that rattled every plate on the table. The rest of the party cheered, and you added some meek applause. 

They then returned to your side, placing a kiss on your head as they sat back down. 

"Apologies, starlight. Such displays are not uncommon at these types of events."

"That's all right," you whispered back, "I was just worried." You reached out to the glowing green dripping from their abs. They chuffled in an attempt to calm you. It worked, but only slightly. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted your lover's rival slinking off. The moment the door closed behind him the table roared again and the festivities continued. 

--

After eating your weight in food, and more "wine" then you maybe could have handled, your lover, still somehow upright, guided you to their room. You tried to argue, suggesting you go back on the space plane and spend the night at your place, but your lover responded that space travel was not a good idea in your condition. They were right. 

A panel on the wall slid open to reveal a small two room cabin. The first room was meticulously organized, every wall was covered in weapons, tools, and trophies. The next room was more homey. As homey as the yautja get. Furs covered the walls and floor, trinkets and personal items littered every surface, and you recognized more than a few gifts from you. A cubbie was cut out high on one wall. 

You walked (stumbled) over and stuck your hands up to climb in, but didn't even come close. Your lover came up behind you and you noticed that the cubbie was even taller than them. You threw your hands up at them, demanding uppies. They chuffed at you in a way that sounded more like a laugh. That is when you noticed that they had a mask in their hand. It was much smaller than their usual helmet. They offered it to you, but in your inebriated state you still didn't understand. They turned the mask around and affixed it to your face. It was only then that you noticed that it had been getting hard for you to breathe. 

You greedily sucked in the fresh air from the mask. Only now realizing how out of breath you were. Your lover took the time to remind you that 'the air on earth is different to what we are used to, and thus the air on the ship is different to what you are used to'. But you were far to drunk and sleepy to pay attention.

Without any more time to process, your lover scoped you up and effortlessly carried you up and into the cubbie. You very quickly found yourself surrounded by soft furs, and plush covers. Your lover wrapped themselves around you with their back to the entrance. Between the soft bed, the exhausting dinner, and your lover's purrs you struggled to keep your eyes open. 

"We're gonna need to talk about what happened." You said fighting for consciousness. Your lover only replied.

"In the morning"

--

As your eyes opened you struggled to remember where you were. Eventualy the soft scratch of your lover's claws jogged your memory and you recalled last nights fight. And last nights announcement. You thought briefly about turning over and walking your lover, but you had now way of telling what time it was. But the second you stretched your legs your lover was awake anyway.

"Good morning starlight"

"How can you tell?" They turned the screen of ther writs gauntlet tword you, and using every ounce of yautja language skills you had you deduced that it was 9am. At that you let out an exasperated sigh.

"Are you all right starlight?"

"What happened last night?"

"Well," your lover began "we boarded my space plane, and then-"

"I remember what happened." You said, cutting them off and Flipping over. "I just don't understand what happened."

"What do you not understand?"

"Now your my mate? And that means I'm part of the clan?" They took a moment before awnsering.

"I do not understand either, but I am not unhappy. I am glad that you have been accepted so publicly."

"Honestly I am too, but what does this mean? Does this change anything?"

"Do you want things to change?" They asked tentively.

"No. That's why I'm worried."

"If you do not want anything to change, then nothing will."

"It just feels so official. Almost like were getting marrried."

"What is, getting married?" This earned another sigh.

"Its a ceremony where two people are joined In a legally binding commitment to eachother." Its a really big deal."

"Would you like to get married."

"Woah woah woah, slow down. I don't know about all that right now. I mean I do love you, but thats a really big commitment, and suddenly being called your mate and being part of the clan already feels like too much. I-I I just don't know."

"That is all right. I am happy with where things are now too."

[pruneunfair]

For princess jewels,I wanna say I hate her and everyone in the manhwa community hate her. Let me stated the reasons,1. shes fatphobic(no offense,I love cubby characters very much and I feel insulted of her. Seriously,she disgust me because she doesn't like her fiance when he is fat and has freckles,now shes so into him because he doesn't look fat anymore). 2. She crosses boundaries that she literally forced that blue haired name jade to be in her harem(the fact he has a fear of women but the fl doesn't acknowledge it is just ew). finally,she seems to have a terrible job managing her harem(because that red haired guys is so possessive yet she didn't acknowledge and always favour her other concubines which is just idiotic. Also,dog collars on the only black haired guy wow creative(*sarcasm). I heard the spoiler that the red haired guy is so jealous of the fiance that he murder him(smooth red haired guy,your just a concubine so that's really freaking smooth of you how very idiotic of a prince huh really idiotic)

Yeah reading this myself and of course watching a blacklightjack video I knew that it was garbage and I wasn't the only one who thought that. Thank God it got canceled after 50 chapters because the artist is a groomer.

[schrodingerscollective]

Here is our mind palace! We made this using Inkarnate - we used the free version which is pretty limited, however we were still able to do a lot with the free tools through some creativity and the layout is really nice! Lore dump under the cut:

I'm (Parker) gonna be talking about this along with Redfang, so we'll indicate who's talking by our names. Also, our inner world isn't sentient and not nearly as tangible as some other mind palaces, so we don't have a lot of lore and most areas aren't that detailed, however we're working on that! Also, we use the terms "headspace," "inner world" interchangeably (though I like to call it our mind palace as you can see lol) Ok, I'll go first!

Parker: My home is labelled "Parker's Tent," which is pretty much what it sounds like :) it's a HUGE tent, kinda like the ones kids dream about and it's super cool! There's lots of pillows and stuff and it's built a little bit off the ground with wooden panels (like, there's a big square platform that raises up like half a meter off the ground and the platform slopes down to meet the ground on all sides, and the tent is on that), and sometimes I just sit by the river bank outside and chill.

Then there's Wild's treehouse! It's built in a massive tree and has like a balcony all around in a circle (that's what the wooden circle under the tree in the map is) and inside there's lots of books and a hammock high up and the windows are really high up and you can see so many things! There's wooden panels that go up the side of the trunk to make a ladder, but Wild doesn't use it that much since he has wings most of the time.

There's also Nova's cabin (it's covered by trees and mist on the map because there were NO stamps that looked even remotely like a cabin lol), which is very rustic and cool :) the wood is all dark and the lights are warm and there's some awesome plants! I think they have some venus flytraps in there, but I don't know what the other ones are. There's also a circular wooden slab like the one Toothless lies on in HTTYD for Fennec (he/him), though it has some blankets and pillows and other stuff. Fennec is one of the oldest headmates in our system and works similarly to a Daemon (and is happy to be called a Daemon)! He usually appears as a brown dragon, though he's getting more comfortable changing forms to other animals so he doesn't use it all the time. He's very nice!

Redfang: I don't want to disclose much of Paint's cubby (indicated by the tree stump as there wasn't an appropriate sticker), however I will say that it's a very elaborate kid's cubby. It looks like a mushroom house and there are patches of gardens outside; the air is very peaceful.

The "little guy department," is what my headmates call the camp the warrior cats live in. It's situated in a small set of caves behind a waterfall, however I can't say much about it as they usually keep to themselves and I don't go over that way a lot. I don't even know how many of them there are, though they seem nice enough.

Then there's my den. The entrance is along the side of a small cliff, and my home is a decently sized cave that sits just below ground level. There are some pelts on the floor but not much else as I mostly go there to sleep. There's a small meadow outside my den, and when fireflies appear in the inner world some nights, a few will crawl inside my den. They don't bother me and I don't bother them, but I do think their lights are rather pretty.

Second last is the fairy door, which is likely the oldest part of the headspace and has a function different to anything we've seen in other system's headspaces. It was inspired by the small children's fairy door toy(?), however our fairy door is the size of a normal door and sits on the side of a tree trunk. Ours also opens, so there's that too. There's nothing inside as we don't have a fronting room - when we're fronting, we're just... in the body. And when we're not, we're in headspace. We don't often have use of it as forces unknown usually dictate who fronts, however it's very useful to have a visual when someone is actively trying to get in or out of front. The fairy door is on a small island, which you can cross by using the stepping stones.

The last area is the campfire, which is the group meeting place. The paths connecting all our homes also connect to the campfire, and we go there for meetings but also just for fun. We eat marshmallows, some folks fish and when it gets cold, we light the campfire (contrary to popular belief, the marshmallow-eating is not dependent on the lighting of the campfire).

That's about it. Parker has since left the building (brain) while I wrote my part, so I'm not sure how he wanted to end this post. I suppose I hope this is interesting to some of you? Feel free to ask any questions, we'd be more than happy to answer.

[plushiedepot]

Cubbies - Baby Cockatoo Plushie

[domonicriley]

After 60 Years, It's Time to Let James Bond Retire With Dignity

We’ve just had the news that Barbara Broccoli is stepping down as producer on the James Bond movies, giving creative control over to Amazon MGM. She’s the daughter of Albert R. “Cubby” Broccoli, and has been producing the series since Goldeneye in 1995.

Naturally, there’s a lot of concern about this, with people believing the franchise will suffer and become a playground for Amazon to try and make a name for themselves. I’m sure that will be true, but it’s not like this franchise was in a strong position anyway. In fact, if Amazon do put the final knife in and kill it off, so much the better.

The series is well past its best, and it would be a far nicer thing to let Bond retire for good. He’s out of his time, a product of the 1950s, who’s existed for far longer than intended. He’s a mirror of the world his creator, Ian Fleming, lived in.

A creature of gentlemen’s clubs, big losses and wins at the roulette wheel. A man of expensive watches, tailored suits, fast cars, and plenty of drinking, smoking and love-making.

In all of his incarnations, up to the most recent, he’s kept something of that. Sure, there were changes made to make him fit better with the ’70s, ’80s, and ’90s, but in most ways he remained the same character. They even made references to how he was a man out of his time, an anachronism. Maybe he’s not a particularly nice character, but that’s what he was.

Bond is what you might call an aspirational hero, rather than an inspirational one. He’s not relatable in the slightest, but is what many men would hope to be. I doubt there’s a man alive who hasn’t put on a tuxedo for the first time and imagined (or at least vainly hoped) that he bore some resemblance to the legendary spy.

Most men would like to think this lifestyle was for them, even if they grew out of it. They’d like to be as smooth, attractive, overpowering as he was. And even if this is something they’ll never experience personally, they could pretend for a couple of hours while watching him on the big screen.

Whether men still think like that isn’t important, because heroes are no made like that anymore. They have to be disassembled. All sincere heroes are, in some way, made into an object of ridicule or comedy, as is the case withe Marvel, or else have to be made more flawed and “human”. The latest version of the character didn’t even give “a damn” whether his vodka martini was shaken or stirred.

You see, 007 (as depicted onscreen) was supposed to be something of a superman. A kind of stand-in for Britain during the Cold War, always out there, ready to give the Soviets a good thrashing. But what’s the point of him now? There’s no Cold War and no Soviets. Any tech we could dream up to give him is pale in comparison with the tech we really have. Any attempt to make him into a larger-than-life character would end in the Marvelised style of self-deprecating humour.

Now these movies bear little resemblance to what they were, to what they always used to be until Daniel Craig took up the role and had to make it “grounded”. They are indistinguishable from a hundred other action movies, and anything that made them fun, memorable, or must-see events has been stripped away, to leave a more realistic portrayal of the character, fit for the 21st century.

Amazon won’t fix any of these things. Instead they will just make it into another content machine, in their quest to buy their way to being a credible movie studio. Who wants to see streaming shows about a young Bond, or an M spin-off, or maybe some origin stories for misunderstood villains?

You could say all of these things are needed to keep the franchise fresh. You could say it needs to keep up with the times, or risk being left behind. You might be right to say he’s not a likable character. But I say, if everything that made it unique and great has to be stripped away for it to survive, then it’s time for it to die.

In fact, for me, it did die when Craig entered, as a pale shadow of Bond. Whether you love or hate his portrayal, I think everyone can agree that Amazon won’t make it better, but the past few movies made big money, and as long as they continue to do so, the studio will continue to make them.

So let’s give Bond his leave, and let him retire to his gentleman’s club, to spend his days grouse shooting and playing cards. Let’s put him to rest in the 1950s and 1960s, the decades that created him, and let him leave with what dignity he has left still intact.

[houseofbrat]

Two months ago, Eon was locked in a battle over 007 with Amazon.

When it comes to Bond’s future, the power lies in the hands of Barbara Broccoli, who inherited the control from her father, Albert “Cubby” Broccoli, and who for 30 years has decided when a new Bond movie can go into production. She has told friends she doesn’t trust algorithm-centric Amazon with a character she helped to mythologize through big-screen storytelling and gut instinct. This fall, she characterized the status of a new movie in dire terms—no script, no story and no new Bond. To friends, Broccoli has characterized her thoughts on Amazon this way: “These people are f— idiots.” A representative for Eon, the production firm behind the Bond films, said Broccoli and other members of the family had no comment.  The two sides are at an impasse: Amazon needs Broccoli to furnish them with ideas for a new Bond movie, but Broccoli doesn’t want to make a new Bond movie with Amazon. The standoff, say people on both sides of the divide, boils down to a clash between the 20th-century Hollywood of big screens and big swings and a new entertainment industry ruled by Silicon Valley firms that prize data, algorithms and streaming subscriptions. 

Today, SHOCKING news that Amazon has gained creative control over the James Bond franchise.

Amazon MGM Studios is set to take creative control of the James Bond franchise. The shock announcement — which is sure to shake and, indeed, stir the industry — was made Thursday, alongside the news that long-time producers and custodians of 007, Michael G. Wilson and Barbara Broccoli, would be stepping back. As per details of the historic agreement, Amazon MGM Studios, Wilson and Broccoli have formed a new joint venture to house the James Bond intellectual property rights. The three parties will remain co-owners of the iconic franchise but Amazon MGM will have creative control. [...] Added Wilson: “With my 007 career spanning nearly 60 incredible years, I am stepping back from producing the James Bond films to focus on art and charitable projects. Therefore, Barbara and I agree, it is time for our trusted partner, Amazon MGM Studios, to lead James Bond into the future.” Broccoli commented, “My life has been dedicated to maintaining and building upon the extraordinary legacy that was handed to Michael and me by our father, producer Cubby Broccoli. I have had the honor of working closely with four of the tremendously talented actors who have played 007 and thousands of wonderful artists within the industry. With the conclusion of ‘No Time to Die’ and Michael retiring from the films, I feel it is time to focus on my other projects.”

How much money did Amazon pay Michael & Barbara? A quarter billion? Just how BIG was that cheque? Michael is in his 80s, so I can understand him cashing out. Barbara is only in her 60s. She's got at least another good ten years of producing work she can do.

The last two Bond movies sucked, but I don't rule out the possibility of them becoming worse.

I guess we can all start speculating again on who the next Bond will be.

My top guess is Henry Cavill but whatever.