#fangs and all

[cliopadra]

Can’t believe it’s been a whole year since the crew secretly saved Izzy and sailed off with him into the sunset! What a lovely ending that was!

[deadeery]

VAMPIFIES YOUR PIRATES 🩸🩸🧛‍♂️💥

[bigfatbreak]

In your villain dad au, does Tom have any male admirers?

[jen-with-a-pen]

Live images of me seeing birbs fucking posting Miguel ohara fic:

I DIDNT ASK YOU TO CARE ABOUT ME 😭😭 YOU KNOW WHO

;   —   webs && whispers    |    miguel o'hara

summary: set pre-atsv. he's the hero. you're the villain. but, that's been changing, hasn't it? pairing: miguel o'hara / villain!reader (gender neutral) tags: pre-established 'situationship' aka hero v. villain, enemies to lovers, sexual tension thick enough you can cut it with a butter knife, established reader pseudonym a/n: ... the people asked, so the people got *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

EARTH-928B. NUEVA YORK. MANHATTAN. WEST & 13TH. 11:56 PM.

"You're a hard spider to find these days."

Miguel feels irritation slip up his spine long before the phantom shift of your voice meets his ears. It's a hazy sound, like a chorus of susurrations converging into one. 

In the last few months, he's grown accustomed to it. 

Miquel, however, isn't sure he'll get used to the way you slip in and out of space like the flea on the tightrope. Here nor there, always lurching between the frames in reality, always ephemerally present. And the sound — voices of past, present, and future all overlapping at once, then: silence.

In a disjointed stutter, you're suddenly close — encroaching on his personal space in a way that makes his lip curl. A flash of fangs emerges beneath his mask. 

His back is still to you.

"I'm not in the mood, Whisper."

Beneath your mask, your face twitches. He sounds exhausted — though that isn't entirely new for Nueva York's un-friendly borough-stalking Spider-man. 

"Are you ever?" you quietly chirp as you stalk up beside him; you cross your arms, "I'm inclined to think you're avoiding me."

Up here, on a penthouse roof backlit by the nightlife above and below, you watch tension ripple into his shoulders as he rolls his posture back. That black mask hasn't left the horizon. Tar-black eyes stare out over the city, only narrowing slightly at your accusation. 

"We aren't friends."

He turns to walk away.

In a rush of hushes, you appear directly before him.

"Mierda—!"

"Sorry."

"We talked about that, Whisper," Miguel leans his weight onto one leg, reaches up, and pinches his brow through his mask, "It's called personal sp—"

You roll your eyes. You straighten up and move to step back, but — instead — shift a meter backward. You talk over him.

"Personal space, right, sure, Spidey," you slip towards the edge of the building, planting a boot on the lip of the ledge. You wind your arms tighter around yourself, "You're ignoring my question."

"You never asked one," he grits; against his better judgment, he moves to your side at the ledge.

"It was implied."

"I've been busy."

"Too busy for your nemesis?" you tsk and click your tongue. 

He's looking at you now. 

"Please. 'Nemesis' is hardly the correct title."

You scoff. Your shoulders bob. "Oh? C'mon then, Spider-bite, what is?"

It's a fair question — one that Miguel wasn't sure he has the answer for. 

In the beginning, this little tango was rife with explosive violence, scalding anger, bloodied knuckles, and sworn endings. You were a terrorist, fated to exploit and destroy the people whose mistakes made you: Alchemax. He was the hero, destined to protect and serve the people of Nueva York. Good and bad. 

Constant. Like the rise of the sun and the fall of the moon. Spider-man versus Whisper. Frontpage headlines. Time and time and time again.

Then, something shifted. Miguel can't remember when it began, or why... But, the collisions of fists became a tandem of fists. A team-up brought on by — was it Mysterio, maybe? You never liked the guy. 

Lyla remembers. She remembers everything. The footage from the incident is shaky — blame the multiple CCTV views all meshed together in a hot tangle of the canon-relevant plot. 

Spider-man is down on his luck. On his knees. Mysterio: laughing. Vitals: dropping. Three ribs: broken. Mask: compromised. Lyla's footage swivels inward, the sight of Miguel's one eye. A rageful carnelian smithed hard into a pained gaze. 

Then, you. Standing: tall. Voice: rageful. Fists: lit with power and already cracking across the opalescent globe of Mysterio's helmet.

SPIDER-MAN IS MINE. 

Yours. 

When did that happen? When did you begin to see his side, when did you begin to admire the safe consistency he built in this city? When did you envy it? When did the rage fade at the thought of him? When did something more tepid, more comfortable crawl in?

You turn your face upwards; there's a when moment your masked gazes connect. For a moment, things are still. Slow. There isn't danger here, nor hatred nor anger. The tension is different. Palpable still, but it feels like swallowing roses more than blood.

He looks away first.

"Try 'Number One Annoyance'."

His voice is distant.

You hum. "Care to enlighten your 'Number One Annoyance', then? You've been gone. People have noticed."

He was afraid of that.

Miguel exhales tightly. "Get out of here, Whisper."

He can feel your scowl. Then, your physical form flickers for a moment. A wash of emotions is present — a tell. In the past, that was how he knew you were going to snap. Now, in this context, he isn't quite sure what to make of it. There's a rush of voices, smothered quickly by a grounding inhale. 

You're quiet for a long moment then. Miguel's chest is tight — it's guilt.

"I'm only asking because I care," you finally say; it's like it's been wrenched out of your chest by his own clawed fist. It's an admission as quiet as the shadowed hushes that follow your every warp through space. 

He reacts coldly. The only way he knows how to these days. "I didn't ask you to care."

The claws twist. 

Another fast crackle, transparency pulsing quickly through your spine and nerves. Here nor there. Ephemerally calm. Like the ocean before a storm. Your face twists fast to his. Mask be damned. Miguel can see anger. 

Guilt. And the dawning realization this was a mistake. 

"It's better if I do this alone," comes the follow-up. It's... gentler. Still cold. Harsh. 

You look away. "Do what?"

Your eyes stay affixed to the horizon. Spider-man doesn't move. The stirring in your chest hurts. Hurts worse when you realize he's right. After all, he's the hero and you're the villain. You both have roles to play. Parts to act. The show must go on. 

"...A part of you knows I can't tell you that."

You sigh, rolling your neck, "You're right."

"...And a part of me wants to tell you."

It's quiet. Nearly inaudible. But you hear it. And you can't help the loose grin that flashes across your face at the admission. Your scoff is more like a huff. Gloved palms slip to your hips as you step back from the ledge. 

Suddenly, the tension is different. Lighter. Like it was a handful of weeks ago before he disappeared into the woven stream of time. 

Miguel follows suit. Beneath his own mask, his expression has lightened. 

"Yea?" you ask, stepping back like a prey recognizing the hunt. 

Miguel steps forward, shrugging easily. His voice is almost playful. "Yea. But, y'know, last I checked you're wanted on a new charge of grand larceny—"

"Oops. Sticky fingers," you chitter with a waggle of your hands. He watches you slip downward and through the fabric of space. You emerge behind him in a whisper of wind. 

Miguel is quick, he catches your hand with a web and tugs. You let yourself land in his grip — his black-gloved hand wraps around your wrist. He knows you're allowing this. You could easily wash away through the air, manifest around him in any three-meter radius. 

The closeness is tight.

"While the Spider's away..." he tsks.

Your glove slips around the web and tangles it tightly in your fist. You push back and move around him. He's allowing this. His arm crosses behind his back. You absently admire the ripple of muscle there. 

Then, you unceremoniously kick the back of his left knee and he crumples. The grip on his hand is tight. Miguel grits his fangs. 

"Play nice," he warns.

"I've known you long enough to tell when you're stalling, you know," you let slip the chirp with a sly look at the black and red Spider-man. 

On cue, there's the hum of a patrol copter over your shoulder. A few blocks away, still, but it's coming. Somewhere, in the bowels of the city, sirens begin. 

[ BOLO ALERT, MOST WANTED. ALIAS: WHISPER. ]

"If you leave now, you'll beat them by a minute," he says slowly, "Sixty-five floors is quite the trek."

You loosen your grip and gently shake the web from your hand. Miguel rolls his shoulder. You slip through time, landing before him in a low squat.

Your voice is sincere. 

"Try not to be a stranger."

"No promises."

"I'd never ask for one," you call over your shoulder as you stand and move towards the far ledge. Your costume, as pitch-black as the darkest night, is light in red and blue from the arriving patrols.

Just like that, in a haze of voices and a whisper of time, you're gone. 

And Miguel is left to himself on that rooftop, again.

[miitarion]

[onionrimgs]

being a twst staff enjoyer is insane. character shows a smidge of more emotion than usual or the live2d body model moves a bit more and u honestly feel like letting out a scream of relief

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 271

“Grandmother is visiting,” Damian suddenly said with no warning and with his usual not-quite demanding tone. 

“Who?” Tim wasn’t the only one to startle, seeing as Bruce had practically froze, a downturn to his lips in a silent show of confusion. 

Damian scowled. “Are you deaf Drake? Grandmother is coming to Gotham to, quote, make sure I am being properly cared for.” None of them had known that Ras was with anyone actually. At least Tim was pretty sure that would have been in the files. 

“Oh?” Dick didn’t quite crouch to Damian’s height but it was a near thing. “She-” “He,” Damian corrected, interrupting him. They all exchanged a glance before Dick continued. 

“Is he coming to the Manor or…” 

Damian scoffed again, a tiny bit of a flush against his face. “No, Grandmother will most likely be staying with Akhi-”

Now wait one moment-

“YOU HAVE ANOTHER BROTHER?!” 

[raepliica]

priest guy sending mixed signals, what is he up to?🤨🕶🤏

~~~

[Image Description: A warm-toned comic featuring Trigun98 characters. It opens with Vash shouting "YOWCH!!" as a half-eaten donut flies through the air, a bruise on Vash's tongue. Meryl, editing papers, is annoyed as he complains: "Ow! Ow! I bi'e my 'ongue..." "What's the rush?" Meryl asks, "They're all yours." Vash, still hurt, tries to explain: "They're jus' sooo good!" Meryl argues back, "Well, savour it then!" Wolfwood has been watching the scene unfold as Meryl continues, "Satisfying your sweet tooth doesn't come cheap, unfortunately." Wolfwood clicks his lighter open and closed, again and again. Without a word, he leans closer, his thumb on Vash's lips. "Wolfwood...?" Vash trails off. Then, Wolfwood opens Vash's mouth and knicks his thumb on one of Vash's canines in one fell swoop. "Wah? Huh??" Vash says as Wolfwood pulls his bleeding thumb away. He licks the blood off the wound then snickers at Vash. Meryl looks disgusted, Vash has lit up in an embarrassed explosion, and Milly remarks, curious: "Those are surprisingly sharp, Mr. Vash!" Question marks float around Vash, and his donuts lay discarded on the table. Each panel is signed by raepliica. End ID]

[purring-io]

[ * Doodle because teeth dysphoria (I winged all the teeth and they may not be anatomically accurate) ]

[ * Don't follow for art, I don't post drawings that often on this blog ]

[valentimmy]

sephiroth but this time he did an oopsie :(

[toboldlymuppet]

...and I think to myself, what a wonderful world 🌷💕

a pin-up reward for nov last year on patreon there's more versions (+nsfw) of this there :)

[cliopadra]

“Izzy’s regret is never allowing himself to fall in love” well good thing he’s alive and well and can be gently pushed into an All Deck on Hands situation to fix that, huh?

(Just got out of an *incredibly* dull seminar, so have a set of Izzy doodles I made to entertain myself )

[squidthusiast]

So what if I drew Marina in a bunch of Ellen Ripley outfits, what then huh??? What’cha gonna do hmm??? (Sigourney Weaver had no business serving like that)

[lizardkingeliot]

Will you, uh, do the fang thing again?

[venomgaia]

gal who calls you girliepop and collects bugs

[jeeaark]

After successfully romancing all the lovely ladies, was looking forward to what Bachelor Romance Drama would ensue during the Durge run.

Apparently, my Durge's love life was uh- very straightforward.