#it's about how they both come from metro city.... they BOTH know what it is to be rejected & cast out....

[boyrobott]

Astro and Hamegg + parallels vs. contrasts

[andy-wm]

On a personal note...

This is a personal story, so feel free to scroll on past (if you're only here for the Jikookery I can respect that).

I'm posting this because it's connected to what Jimin and Jungkook (specifically Jimin) may or may not be doing with this album and their travel series "Are you sure", and by that I mean coming out publicly as queer and as lovers. If it sounds vague, it is, because I don't know what they're doing yet. I don't know how far Jimin is taking this or what direction he'll go. But if he is going to make his private life public, then my post is relevant even though my experience is a microscopic spec 0f what he will encounter.

I live in a conservative little town on the edge of a big city, we're almost the last stop on the metro train line. This place has 10 000 residents and a reputation for being a little on the rough side. It's not a bad place and the people are not bad people but they won't step aside if you pick a fight, lets put it that way.

There's one high school in our little town, and I am the school librarian. I also run the school's pride club and when I started it 5 years ago (that's when I joined this school) it kicked up a bit of a stink. The community had mixed feelings. I wasn't out as trans at that point, only as queer. The school principal supported the club but wanted me to keep it quiet (I didn't). She wanted me to be appeasing (I wasn't). And when we had challenges from homophobic students, she wanted me to 'let her handle it' ( I didn't).

I responded to bigotry with patience and kindness, modelling the behaviour I expected and having many many conversations about prejudice, the patriarchy, learned behaviour, fear of the unknown, and minding your own damn business....

When I came out as trans to the school community - changing my name and pronouns - I faced some real push back from both staff and students. Students were less openly hostile but sometimes the subtle attempts at bullying are worse. My line manager was really difficult about it. I was a hot topic of conversation. It wasn't a good time. But I stuck with it, partly because I couldn't go back and partly because the Pride Club students were so empowered by what I was doing. They thought I was really brave. I couldn't let them down.

It was a tough time for me personally. Every day was a struggle as I navigated my wavering sense of identity and tried to be true to myself. Most of my family and friends were okay with it but some were not. Some flipped back and forth, some thought I had lost my mind. I had to let a few people go from my life, including one of my closest friends. I've lost a few more since then. I've cried more in the past few years than I have in my whole life and I am pretty tough, so you gotta know - it was a lot.

Fast forward to now. The pride club is well established, homophobia still exists but it's less overt and it's no longer ignored, and we have staff who are active allies. It's definitely a success. Our students to have a safe place where they can be themselves, and slow change is coming to the culture of the school.

It has come at a personal cost though. Not a HUGE personal cost but enough for it to matter. I am recognised and known around town because, well, most people in small communities know each other. But more so because of my role in the school, and because I am the only out and vocal queer person on school staff (yes, there are other LGBTQIA+ staff but they keep it quiet, and I don't really blame them).

At school i still have to correct people on my pronouns on a daily basis, and occasionally a student will throw a comment my way but it's not often these days. I have to come out to all the new staff pretty much as soon as I first meet them otherwise it's awkward. It's just an everyday thing. It's not a big deal but it's tiring, and it's something cis/straight people don't ever have to think about.

What is tough, though, is sniping from the community at large every now and again. I have been targeted on community socials and I've had had some pretty brusque service from local shop owners and service personnel in local businesses. Sometimes I see kids from school at the shops and they point me out to their parents. I pretend it's because they're happy to see me (what the fuck else am I going to do - hide in the apple crate?) They may say a friendly hello... or they may following me through the aisles of the supermarket trying to menace me - yes, that has happened - I just have to wait and see.

I do have allies in the community too - like the gorgeous pharmacist who always gets my name and pronouns right and compliments me (on whatever he can think of) every time I collect my meds. There's a stern woman in the hardware store who makes a point of loudly correcting herself when she uses the wrong pronouns (often). I appreciate this, I really do, but honestly it would be great if she could be a little quieter.

I am not a celebrity by any means, just a small town school librarian. But wherever I go in my small town - to the doctor, the supermarket, the park, or the gym - there's a chance I'll encounter someone who knows my face. Sometimes that makes me nervous.

The point of this long and boring post is to give people who may not know what it's like, a bit of insight into the experience of a regular, everyday person who lives in a conservative place and who is both recognisable and queer. It can be exhausting, and from time to time I struggle with mental health issues. So I have no doubt that for people who are really well known, it would be much, much worse. They would be the subject of public debate on news sites and TV. They'd be tossed into arguments by politicians on both sides of the divide. They'd encounter hostility in person too, and that's really frightening.

So please remember that if the celebs you admire choose NOT to come out, it's because they've weighed up their choices and that's the safest option for them. Support them where they're at, so they can live their best life under the circumstances.

If they do come out, they'll probably need even more support. Please love them, defend them, celebrate them, and validate them. They need you more than you know.

And above all else, be a good human.

PS, no need to comment here, this is purely a PSA <3

[translatemunson]

devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes • ttfd

chapter one of the tortured firefighters department

masterlist | next chapter

cw: fem!reader, afab!reader, description of clothes, mentions of food, mentions of alcohol, proofread by my bye-lingual ass (let me know if i forgot anything)

You knocked on the white door again, not sure why you feel nervous about all of this. It’s just a small get-together at one of your coworker’s houses. For sure it’s better than spending another night in the library, writing your thesis, but it kinda makes you nervous.

So this is what life looks like when away from the screens that raised you?

From the East Coast all the way to LA to get your PhD, the city of angels was no more than a stranger on the window. Before moving, you had worked on the 9-1-1 call center for your region because the shift’s schedule could actually fit your undergrad and master’s schedule — also the money was enough to survive, and you could check your notes on slow shifts. But once after a massive power outage, your superior thought your desk was too small for your brain.

Not that you were a bad dispatcher — your responses and action times were above average, actually —, but he’d seen how you managed the data influx, pinning all the accidents, teams on call and reported issues on the white board and shouting directions for quicker routes and delay problems. After that, you’d spend more time helping fixing turnaround times and implementing some sort of algorithm and protocols for when the next disaster hits. At some point, they transferred you to Florida during the hurricane season because of your reputation — that spread like a wildfire, believe you or not.

You lasted enough to finish your master’s degree and hop on a plane to LA, for your PhD in dynamical systems theory. You had a job offer, leaving your 9-1-1 days behind for some small desk and endless boring demands. It didn’t last much, though, because, after eight months, it made you miss the adrenaline rush and large income of data from the 9-1-1.

That’s how you ended up at the Los Angeles 9-1-1 call center in Metro, always happy to jump on some calls and help other dispatchers with logistics and patterns. Nobody warned you about tsunamis or earthquakes, but you knew you could manage them just like a pro — if they ever happened again, which was a matter of time.

“Hey! I was starting to think you would bail on me!” Maddie opened the door, the genuine happiness glow irradiating and making her smile almost unbearable. “Please, come in.”

“Got caught up in traffic. Who knew the logistics mastermind would be stuck in a casual traffic jam?” You gave her the flowers you bought and held the brownie pan with both hands. “Hope I’m not too late.”

“Oh no, you arrived just in time! Here, let me take care of this,” she took the pan from your hands and motioned to the living room. “Make yourself at home. And thanks for the flowers!”

“Our last guest, finally!” Howard, aka Chim, Maddie’s boyfriend, left his place on the counter to greet you. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the voice!”

“Hope I didn’t disappoint you.” You hugged him, your extroverted persona finally happy to be in a room with real people, and not just some endless phone calls and work talk. “Sorry I’m late.”

“That’s ok, those guys are too busy with their games to notice we are a little behind schedule. But Jee is getting hangry” He pointed to the couch, where three adults, one child and one baby were too busy with the TV screen to notice your arrival.

“I guess the kid’s table is full tonight.”

“Hey, we’ve heard that!” One of them screamed from the couch, not bothering to look in your direction. He raised his arm, the tattoos across his skin showing against his white skin, in protest.

“Nice crowd.” You followed Maddie into the kitchen, Chim’s voice in the background saying it was the last race.

“I’m so glad you’re here. Water, juice or some alcohol?” She offered while reaching for the glasses. “Oh, Chim made some Margaritas.”

“I’d love one of those, thank you.” You fixed your green dress, somehow feeling overdressed. Not exactly your fault, when Maddie invited you for dinner, you visualized all the scenarios in your mind. Afraid of looking lazy, you went for a flowy green dress and a batch of brownies, to show some appreciation.

Between Margarita sips and after work gossip — because, nowadays, your work schedules mostly were off sync —, you helped Maddie setting the table and dishes. And, as expected, one race became four, with Chim playing the commentator. Maddie took the chance to show you the houses they were applying for, making good use of Jee’s quiet bedroom to talk.

“Are the others not good enough or just too expensive?” She had been talking about house scouting for weeks, and even helped you find a new place while doing so.

“You’d be impressed to see the final price of those houses once you track all the problems.” She played with her hair. “How’ve you been doing?”

“My thesis is starting to follow me like an unwanted ghost, and work has been— no, not gonna jinx it. Moving has been a pain in the ass, but thanks for telling me about that loft. The rent is actually acceptable and the view is amazing!”

“Glad it worked for you! And don’t thank me, actually it was—”

“Hey, Mads, we’re just waiting for you two.” The tall blue eyed guy stood in the hallway and gave the door a weak tap. Oh, tattoo guy, you noticed. “Chim is destroying the dumplings Albert made and Jee is not happy with being left out of the girls reunion. You better hurry up.”

“We are right behind you, Buck.” She said, bringing you with her to the dining table.

After some quick introductions — Albert, Chim’s half-brother; Eddie and his son Christopher, and Buck, Maddie’s little brother —, you indulged in some dumplings and pork ramen. Albert was experimenting with Korean cuisine, talking about opening a restaurant and finally having enough money to move out to his own place.

“Well, I think you should do it. I’d be happy to order this every day,” you said, pointing your chopsticks to the almost empty bowl.

“Thanks– sorry, what is your name again?”

“Everyone just call me Brains.” The nickname stuck since your first major catastrophe at the call center job — and maybe a little because of your bachelor.

“Wait, I think I’ve met you before.” Eddie announced and looked at Chris. “You went to his school a few weeks ago to talk about pursuing math in college, right?”

“I did a small presentation, yeah. My professor asked me for a favor since his kids are students there, but he had a full schedule. I had a nice time with the kiddos.”

“She is super smart!” Chris shared, in his own words, a little about your presentation. Talking to the younger ones about advanced math proved to be a challenge, but once you showed them all the cool things math made possible, you had their attention.

“Why are you working on the 9-1-1 instead of, I don’t know, teaching in college?” Buck inquired, beer in hand.

“Would you believe me if I said I have an adrenaline addiction and I can’t stay away from trouble?” You pressed your lips together and shook your head.

“Oh, he would, because he was addicted to—”

Maddie slapped Chimney on the arm. “Hey, there’s two kids in the room.” 

And all eyes were on Chris, who was too busy with his noodles to notice, and Jee, playing with her bites of veggies. You laughed, leaving your empty cup on the table, and reaching for the last dumpling.

“I guess we are all addicted to something,” you stared at Buck's blue eyes and took a bite. “Maybe once I get my PhD, I’ll go full professor and find some adrenaline on handing out really hard exams. But the chances are very low.”

“You should try being part of LAFD, you might like it,” Albert suggested.

“I can barely carry my boxes upstairs, being that physical isn’t for me.” The admission made you shyly smile, because you were definitely hinting that firefighters were strong. “Math, on the other hand…”

“Please, don’t give her any more ideas! Since Brains started working with us, the dispatching process changed for the better.” Maddie brought her hands together and begged in a joking tone.

A few Margaritas and some dessert later, you were helping Maddie with the dishes while Albert played with Christopher, and Buck was holding Jee so she wouldn’t throw a tantrum. Chim asked Eddie to help with a few construction questions, feeling like he was missing some important topics while house scouting.

“I think I’m done for the night,” you told her as you closed the cabinet door. “Thanks for the invite, Maddie. You were right, I needed a break.”

“I know when I see someone on the verge of burnout.” You looked at her, the tequila making the simple action of laughing much more easier. “Let me know when you’re settled at your new place so I can get you a housewarming gift.”

“Oh please, don’t bother, Maddie. I’m sure you’re too busy with Jee and moving matters.”

“Sure you don’t want some ramen for tomorrow? Albert may be a good cook, but he has no idea of the measurements.”

“You’re sick of the smell, right?”

“A little.” She smirked.

“I guess I won’t have to worry about lunch tomorrow.” 

“Make two, Mads!” Buck approached the kitchen counter. “Leaving already, Brains?”

“Yeah, gonna finish moving to my new place tomorrow.” Maddie left the blue tupperware in front of you. “Thanks, I’ll bring it to you next wednesday.”

“Can I get more brownies?”

“Anything for my favorite dispatcher.” You looked around, opting for a quick goodbye. “It was nice to meet y’all. Again, thanks for the invite, Maddie.”

“Nice to meet you too, Brains,” Buck said, getting closer. “Hope to speak to you soon, dispatcher Brains.”

“I hope we don’t, firefighter Buckley.” You teased him. “Have a good night, guys.”

You left Maddie’s place, drove to your new place, opened the door for an empty apartment, stored the ramen in the fridge, climbed up the stairs and fell face first into your bed, shoes and all. 

If you didn’t know Maddie, you’d say she had second intentions with that dinner. 

author's note: hi guys! chapters will be short because it helps me keep the momentum with the writing (and keep the impostor's syndrome away from my efforts). also yeah i'm using TTFD as an acronym bc i choose a whole ass long title for the fic. huge shout out to my love my bestie my soulmate @munsonsreputation for always supporting me (love you kaaaay). also hi casey welcome to the 9-1-1 fandom, thank you for the endless edits on tiktok haha. i guess i see y'all next week...

[gluion]

familiarity (it’s all sticky) ➵ lee seokmin

peter parker!lee seokmin x spiderman!reader

you’re not sure why you decide to show up at your ex’s place all wounded up from tonight’s battle.

genre/warnings ➵ exes (to sort of lovers?), angst, touch of fluff, afab reader (no gendered terms), hurt/comfort (both physical and emotional), discussions of wounds and depictions of blood, lowercase intended, ghost-spider au (though please don’t expect it to be accurate!), reader is obviously spiderman while dokyeom is peter parker i mean HELLO?? i am right, dokyeom is a lil a slob here, reader’s hair is long enough to be tucked behind their ear, based everything on google when it comes to patching up wounds omg, kissing fingertips, mentions of non-sexual stripping and showering (let him take care of you)

word count ➵ 4k words

playlist ➵ nonviolent communication by metro boomin, james blake, a$ap rocky, & 21 savage // hummingbird by metro boomin & james blake

a/n ➵ my svt writing debut <3 i thought this fic would also work really well for my silly dk and i wanted caratblr to have a chance to read this lil baby of mine <3 here's the original work if you're interested! and ofc, thank you to my cat @wuahae for betareading the original :’) you know how much i love you! don't forget to reblog and leave feedback!

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! want to request? check out my guidelines! masterlist

new york city never falls silent. the bustle of every new yorker can be heard through their footsteps,  the wheels that glide against the train tracks along with the beeps of taxis sound throughout the city. the metropolis stays alive in every street, every alleyway, every corner. no matter what hour it may be, each pavement is wide awake.

but the lights seem hazy tonight; the luminescence pours out of every building, the led boards are only blurs of silhouettes and illegible words. normally, you would warn against going out if someone could barely make sense of what these signs say, but you never seem to follow your own advice.

as you swing through the city, web clinging onto every building, blood continues to seep through the white spandex that covers you from head to toe. your body feels heavy, the pain in your lower abdomen continuing to spike with every movement—every swing—you make.

you bite on your lip, holding back the whimpers. your eyes dart through every street sign you pass. with every swing, you realize you’re nowhere close to where you should be. instead… 

you don’t allow yourself to think it over. maybe the loss of blood has you moving out of impulse, but for now, you can only think of getting rid of the pain.

you swing around the corner before landing down at the familiar fire escape, paint-chipped and rusted just like you remember. a hiss leaves your mouth as your hand reaches out to the spot where the blood continues to seep through, holding it down to keep pressure on the wound.

you’re face-to-face with the window; the reflection of you all suited up in some persona is a sight you’re accustomed to—but not on the glass of his window. you’re not sure why you came back here, injured in an identity he only knew of through word of mouth.

but the throbbing in your abdomen doesn’t give you enough time to think more about it. pushing the window up, you throw one leg over the edge into the apartment. your eyes quickly scan through the familiar space—a room you once treated as yours.

pillows scattered and bedsheets wrinkled, the walls are littered with the same posters of anime he swears to be the best of all time (which you agreed with), along with his desk, littered with trinkets you haven’t seen since the day you left him—ones that he talked about to you back then with so much joy.

as you attempt to get your other leg over the edge of the window, you yelp at the sharp pain that strikes. “fuck,” you whimper, gasping out a breath. another groan rips out from your throat as you force your leg over, head resting on the frame with closed eyes, bracing yourself through the wave of pain that follows.

as pants continue to leave your mouth, your senses tingle as your ears catch the sound of footsteps on the other side of the room. you attempt to stand up only for another groan to leave your lips, and you realize it’s too late—the door creaks open, revealing the man you haven’t been face-to-face with since you said your farewell months ago.

dressed in an oversized white tee and a pair of black shorts, dokyeom stands with a bag of chips in his hand and disheveled hair, eyes wide and gaping. you can only assume he was fresh from bed.  

“s-spiderman?!” he looks around, noticing the mess that you’re being exposed to. before you can register it, he rushes in, dropping the bag of chips somewhere near the doorway, and tries to tidy his bed. “w-what are you doing here? i think you might’ve entered the wrong room,” he stutters as he attempts to fix his pillows and bedsheets (poorly, if you may say). 

somehow, the sight of dokyeom all frazzled makes you smile behind your mask. the idea of your—no, you mean, this guy all worried about you seeing how untidy he lives makes you chuckle.

but as you laugh, pain shoots through your lower abdomen once more. you cough out before hissing, pressing onto the wound. it takes everything in you to keep your body upright until you feel a pair of hands rest on your shoulders. you look up only to be met with his worried expression.

and you spot the way his eyes trail down to where your hand rests. you’re thankful that the mask could hide the heat that rises to your cheeks.

“oh god, you need that treated,” dokyeom’s eyes snap back up to you, and your breath hitches. even after all these months, he still holds stars in his eyes.

it’s been a while since you last saw him up close. the bags on his under eyes have turned a few shades darker, and you notice an eyelash that rests on his cheek. you don’t think about what you do next, your free hand reaching out to his face, and his breath hitches. once you pick it out, you flick the strand off of your fingers, and that’s when you realize the mistake you committed.

“s-sorry,” you choke out. although you try to keep your voice as low and gruntled as possible, he frowns. he bites the inside of his cheek as his eyes flicker between your masked face and the wound.

“i-i don’t know how to help. i can call for an ambulan—”

you grab onto his arm before he can leave. as you shake your head, he gulps. “i can’t really help you,” he says, but your grip doesn’t falter. with that, he lets out a sigh before kneeling in front of you. his hands find themselves on the ledge, his arms now caging your frail figure. “do you have someone in mind who can help you?”

dokyeom’s question is innocent. you’re sure the last thing he meant was to mock your situation—showing up in a “stranger’s” room unannounced—but it strikes a chord in you.

you haven’t spoken to him since you broke up a few months back. when you’re outside of your suit, you avoid him like the plague. in the hallways of campus, you take any possible route to not cross his. but when you’re covered in your second skin, you find yourself on top of buildings watching him from far away. with the distance, you allow yourself to learn about what he’s been up to since you two last spoke. 

so you don’t know why you sit in front of him all injured and dressed up in white, black, and pink spandex, because you haven’t spoken to him since that day. shame bubbles within you all while reality slowly slips from your fingertips. and the way your body gets heavier with every second that passes has him mumbling profanities.

his hands hold onto you as he makes you lean your weight on the frame of the window. “wait,” he says as he stands up and walks into his bathroom. before you know it, he comes out with a box.

dokyeom finds his spot back in front of you and he opens what he retrieved. as he looks through the supplies of bandages, alcohol, gauze, and more, he says as his eyes flicker up towards you, “i don’t know how much this will help but it’ll do for now.”

and you should be thankful that someone is willing to bandage you up after the rough night you’ve had, but it feels like a lie to have dokyeom be the one to do it, especially when you haven’t told him the truth.

so when he grabs onto the supplies he needs to treat your wound, your free hand reaches for the underside of your mask. his eyes follow where it rests, and he freezes in his tracks. your fingertips curl on the fabric as you take a deep breath.

“you don’t—”

you shake your head, cutting him off, and you close your eyes before pulling off the mask.

you’re afraid to look at the boy kneeling in front of you, for you can only imagine the annoyance—the disgust—that will paint his features. it’s not like you had a choice to show up at his fire escape this one night, but it was your choice to reveal who spiderman really is behind the mask.

a beat passes.

you’re not sure what to do at this moment. what are you supposed to do after a vigilante reveals who they are?

but when you open your eyes, dokyeom looks back at you with an emotion you can’t pinpoint. he averts his eyes, trailing down to your wound. “let me see it,” he whispers.

you gulp, an attempt to clear your throat and thoughts, before letting your hand move away from the puncture. your hand grips the hem of the top of your suit, peeling it upwards to reveal a bloody wound. from the sight, it looks like you were stabbed, but it’s only a deep cut.

he pulls out a piece of cloth, reaching out and pressing it to your wound. you yelp, eyes squeezing shut at the contact.  “i’m sorry, but we need to stop the bleeding a bit more.” it takes everything in you to open your eyes. you’re met with the sight of dokyeom whose face holds a thousand emotions—you can’t identify any of them.

“can you keep pressure on it?” you only nod before you remove your gloves, afraid to touch the wound with fabric covered in grime. you dump your mask and gloves on the space beside you before letting your hand reach to where the cloth is held against. your hand brushes against his for a split second—you retract your hand immediately at the contact with his skin.

at the sudden motion, the cloth against your stomach drops with nothing left to hold it. dokyeom curses in a panic, hand shooting out in an attempt to save it, but you react faster. snatching it mid-fall, you grasp it tightly, placing the cloth back onto your wound. his eyes dart between where your hand rests and your face, a twinge of worry cast on his features, but he doesn’t give you an opportunity to say anything as he stands up quickly and walks back to his bathroom.

you hear the water run for a moment. the noises of the street fill your ears. the lights from outside cascade the floor, hues of yellow and purple filling the room. and then thunder rumbles; it shakes the floorboards. the sounds of raindrops follow, and you feel your back start to get wet from the storm that has entered new york city.

you try to push yourself off the ledge, a groan ripping out of your throat once more. and you’re finally on your feet. but at any moment, it feels like you may collapse.

“wait, wait! what are you doing?” dokyeom exclaims as he rushes out of the bathroom. he quickly grabs hold of you in an attempt to keep you steady. “don’t stand up or that wound might get worse.”

“i-it’s just the rain. i don’t want to leave the window open.” as you turn your torso, another spike strikes where your wound is. the yelp that leaves your mouth has dokyeom grip onto your arm tighter.

“no, just sit. i’ll take care of it,” he says as he brings you to his chair, his hand never leaves your arm. you let out a hiss until your bottom meets the cushion. as soon as your back rests on the chair, you close your eyes for a moment from the pain.

his hand leaves you. you hear the window shut; the car horns and barks from stray animals are now muffled.

when your eyes flutter open, dokyeom crouches in front of you with a wet towel in his hand. “i need to clean it.” you only nod before removing the cloth on your wound. he grabs it from you and places it on his lap.

as he raises the wet towel to your wound, you flinch at the contact. he quickly retracts it and asks, “does it hurt?”

“no, it’s just cold,” you mumble back. he only nods before attempting to clean the area around your wound. while he keeps his eyes on the puncture, your eyes remain on his face; hues of yellow cast upon him.

his skin glows under the city lights—did anyone know about the stars you once carved on it?

“is this why we broke up?” his eyes snap toward yours as he asks that question.

you cannot help but bite the inside of your cheek. “y-yeah,” you choke out.

he hums before his eyes go back down to your injury. “i’m guessing this is why you were distant then, right?”

you don’t bother to speak, letting the silence speak for itself.

he removes the wet towel; the white cloth is covered in patches of red. as he crumples it into a ball, you spot that his white shirt holds splotches of blood as well.

dokyeom stands up to drop the pieces of fabric on the table behind you. “your dad obviously doesn’t know,” he mutters to himself.

it’s a rhetorical question. of course, your father has no clue of your late-night rendezvous. you’re sure he could never look at you the same if he found out because to him, he would never understand what you do. he would see you only as a low-life criminal in the same way the nypd does. 

dokyeom then dabs a cotton ball soaked in betadine on your abdomen. you bite on your lip as a hiss leaves your mouth. “fuck,” you curse, and he only continues to clean up your wound.

silence takes over you two. as he bandages you up, you allow yourself to close your eyes. you were thankful to find rest in these small moments. but you don’t miss the warmth of his fingertips on your skin; they feel just like last time.

“why did you come here?” his question has your eyes snapping open, and you are met with a frown resting on his face.

you bite the inside of your cheek. “i-i don’t know.” it’s a lie—one you both know. you had every chance to change the route you were taking. instead, you chose to go to his place—even if it may be on the other side of where you live.

he lets out a sigh. it’s clear that he’s disappointed by your words, but all he says is “okay,” as he gets up. “you can stay here for the night.” he stands in front of you in a shirt covered in patches of blood—it’s proof that his heart still holds a spot for you.

despite the venom that was laced in your words the night you cut ties with him, he leaves you a space for you to fill. it’s another choice you can make, but one you’re not sure if you should take.

dokyeom walks to the desk behind you and flips the lamp on. you swivel the chair so that you’re face-to-face with his slouched figure. you would’ve scolded him, but you’re not in the place to do so—not after what you two had.

but a part of you wishes to chide those words—hey, keep slouching and your back will get worse—for old time’s sake. it takes everything in you to hold back from saying the reminder, but it takes nothing to let your hand grip the back of his shirt. his movements halt.

as you sit up, you let your face bury into the arch of his back. the scent of his laundry detergent (it’s still the same smell of lavender) fills your nose, and you let your hands trail around his torso until they find their home on his waist. even after all these months, your hands knew where to rest—your spidey senses knew who to go to.

you feel his hands rest on your arms, his thumb drawing circles on your forearm. you breathe at the same pace as him. whenever his shoulders move up, yours follow. and you allow yourself to cherish just this once the familiar warmth of dokyeom. you let your soul mesh with his once more.

with closed eyes, you whisper, “i still look for you.” his thumb stops moving, and a shaky breath leaves your mouth. “i’m here because all i know is you.”

it’s half of a lie, but still a lie nevertheless. you shake your head against his shirt. “no,” you rescind. “i know i shouldn’t be here, and i had every chance to go back home, but,” you take a deep breath. “would you let me, just this once, be honest with you?”

your question hangs in the air—it’s not for him but for you. all the choices you took led to this moment, from embracing the persona you were handed through a single spider bite all the way to removing the mask in front of him.

dokyeom spins to face you. he stands in front of you with the remnants of you covering him, his shirt coated in hues of red and your blood dried up on his hands. the light behind him causes a shadow to paint his face.

but when he kneels once more in front of you, you get a good look at his features. he still looks like the same boy you first met—the same one you fell in love with—but you wonder if he was still the one you knew?

that is until his hand reaches toward your face. you hold your breath as it finds its spot on your cheek. but as his thumb grazes your cheekbone, a trembling breath leaves you. you gulp everything down—your fears and anxieties—so that you can finally be honest with dokyeom.

“i wanted to tell you who i really am.” a flicker of confusion flashes through his eyes. “and i know i’m not doing it in the best state,” a chuckle leaves your mouth. “but with every day that passes, and every injury i need to endure, i didn’t know when i would be able to tell you what went wrong with us.” a beat passes. “what went wrong with me.”

he shakes his head. “nothing’s wrong with you. what are you talking about?” a frown takes over his face. “i mean, you’re spiderman, for god’s sake.” you weren’t able to hold back the giggle that slipped from your lips.

but it wouldn’t be fair to just accept his words as is, not after the damage you’ve caused.

you let a hand rest on his, the one that rests on your cheek, and you curl your fingers so that you hold it. “i’m sorry that this is me.” the whisper is loud enough to fill the silence of his room. “i’m sorry that i crashed here all injured and left you to deal with the mess,” your eyes flicker to his bed. “especially on a night when you were resting.”

as soon as your eyes go back to dokyeom, you notice that he’s biting the inside of his cheek. “why are you telling me this?” it’s an honest question, one he couldn’t figure out the answer to. “we haven’t seen each other since you broke up with me.”

and he has every right to be confused with your sudden appearance. after all the months spent avoiding him in the halls while still seeking him on top of buildings, dokyeom was left with no clue as to why you come to him first in such a dire situation. why is it that you chose to reveal such an intimate part of yourself months after you two have drifted?

“do i have to say it?” you ask.

and he looks back into your eyes before saying, “it’s the least you can do.”

so you grab onto his hand, moving it so that it rests in yours. the sight of his fingers and palms covered in splotches of you fills your heart with warmth. it’s proof of the time he spent to patch you up. no matter who you may be—spiderman or not—you will forever be at his mercy.

“we can’t be together. it will only be another cycle of pain.” for both of you. as your eyes land back on his face, you spot sorrow coating his features.

“but i still do.” it’s an unfinished thought on his end. despite the frown you show, all he does is flash you a bitter smile. “i always have and always will.”

and it clicks.

“n-no, dokyeom,” you shake your head. “you can’t.”

he brings your hand close to his lips, letting it linger for a moment. “but you do,” he whispers into your fingertips. “right?”

even after revealing who spiderman truly is behind the mask, you expect dokyeom to rethink everything he knows. the months spent away from you should be enough reason to reconsider how much he knows of you now. but even if you two were to spend years apart, he would still read you as well as he does now. 

“i can’t,” you choke out. “i can only offer so much, and you deserve so much more.”

he smiles at you—the same one you used to see every day, no matter what time of the day it may be—as his free hand reaches for your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

“i couldn’t care any less.”

you shake your head. it’s clear he doesn’t understand the gravity of it all; to be with you means to remain in constant danger. “no, dokyeom. you don’t understand. i broke up with you because i’m batshit scared of what will happen to you.”

because it seems to always occur—anyone you come close to becomes another target for your enemies. it’s already hard enough to handle the responsibility of being a masked hero, but you don’t think you could handle a possibility where dokyeom’s death would be on your hands.

but all he does is shake his head and says, “i don’t care. i still love you.”

you haven’t heard him say that to you in months. such a simple phrase causes warmth to fill your limbs and heat to rise to your cheeks. he still has the same effect on you after so long.

there are consequences that this conversation bears. you should have stood up and left as soon as he patched you up. it should’ve been obvious that the longer you stayed, the more you would pour out sentiments that you tried to keep under wraps—under the mask—and it seemed that dokyeom knew how to undo them even better than he did then.

and hearing dokyeom say those words has you falling into a perpetual cycle of torment, one that makes every day intolerable for you can only watch him from afar. but aren’t you already living it the more you deny what’s in front of you two?

so you only nod, and bring his hand close so you can feel his fingertips on your lips. with closed eyes, you whisper, “okay.”

it’s a testament to everything—one to his offer to let you sleep in this very room you once treated as yours, one to his confession that tilted your world’s axis, one to the very situation you’re in—and you’re sure he knows it, too.

he smiles as soon as your eyes flutter open. “let’s go to sleep.”

you know that sleep meant to be wrapped in his arms all while he would leave kisses on your temple. you don’t remember the last time you got enough rest, but you remember that the last time you slept in dokyeom’s arms was the last one you were able to fall into slumber at ease.

so you nod, allowing him to help you out of the chair. and he helps you through it all—shedding the suit off of you, cleaning you of all the grime from tonight’s adventure, and getting dressed in fresh clothes—until you two find your place on his bed.

nothing is said for the rest of the night. for once, you drift into slumber without any secrets stashed away.

taglist ➵ @kflixnet @blankjournal

[damiansgoodgirll]

Jude x reader where he buys reader a birthday gift and reader REALLY doesn’t like him spending money on her and her reaction isn’t the greatest and jude gets all pouty until he sees her wearing it one day.☺️

jude bellingham x reader

spoiling you

you weren’t used to the fancy lifestyle your boyfriend jude was used too. you were a normal girl, grew up with a normal life, normal friends and your parents had normal jobs. you learnt how to appreciate the small things you had and, the high cost of living nowadays, the value of money and how money weren’t everything but, for some people were everything and more.

you were born in a normal town, not a big city like jude was, you weren’t used to the way people would dress in big cities and how they would show off their expensive cars and outfits. not only you weren’t used to that, you simply didn’t care.

jude learnt how you preferred a box of chocolates instead of a box of jewels, the way your smile shined everytime he got you a new book instead of a new expensive bag, how you preferred home cooked meal instead of spending thousands of money in a fancy restaurant, how you didn’t care about taking the metro or the bus instead of having a private driver.

but, deep down, he wanted to spoil you in more ways and what better occasion or your big birthday?

he had everything in mind. he saw a beautiful chanel bag, classy and elegant just how you were to him and he decided to gift you that. but when he walked into the store he also saw a beautiful chanel bracelet that would go amazing with your outfits and he decided to add that too at the gift.

he thought it wasn’t enough though, he wanted to spoil you with more than a bag and a bracelet. he wanted you to see how it really felt being able to have luxurious things. so he decided to match everything with a diamonds necklace, a very expensive one.

he put everything in a white bag so you wouldn’t suspect anything.

and when the party was over and it was only the two of you, that was when he decided to give you your gift.

“happy birthday love” he smiled as he handed you the bag.

“jude…we talked about this” you said.

“i know i know, but i wanted to give you something anyway” he teased “come on, open it” he said as you were both sitting on the couch.

your expression was between shocked and confused when you saw two chanel boxes and a tiffany one.

“jude? what is this?” you asked him, a little confused.

“your birthday gift! come on, open them, you’re gonna loved them” he was so happy and excited that you couldn’t say no to that face.

he was right - you liked the bag, the bracelet and the necklace, you only thought it was too much for you.

“jude i - i don’t know what to say…this is too much, like way too much, you shouldn’t have…” you said.

not the reaction he wanted but the reaction he was expecting.

“i know…i just wanted to spoil you, you never let me spoil you so i used your birthday as an excuse” he explained, looking at you with his big puppy eyes “if you don’t like them i can always return them…”

“what? jude i love them, all of this…it’s just…i didn’t expect it. you spoil me every single day, with your love and the things you do for me, that’s enough for me because i love you…” you said smiling at him.

“i love you too…” he kissed your lips “and i know you’re gonna find an occasion to wear those” he whispered and you nodded, too lost in his big eyes.

and the occasion came only two days after your birthday party. you were both invited to a business dinner and for the first time in your life, you thought about wearing those expensive things that jude got you for your birthday.

the moment he saw you coming down from the stairs wearing a beautiful long dress, hi heels, the black chanel bag he got you, the bracelet wrapped around your wrist and the necklace falling right into your cleavage, he thought he died and came back. you looked stunning and he fell in love with you more and more.

[femsolid]

Hi femsolid, since you and @floatingbook are the only two separate French bloggers that I know of. I wanted to ask on how you deal with colored men in particular middle eastern men. I don’t have a car so I often use Uber I’m thinking of switching to G7 I’m not sure if it’s any better. I have noticed that as drivers they are very aggressive and id prefer not to deal with that. I noticed that they tend to show more aggression to regular women (non Muslim women). I use the metro mainly and bc of that I come in contact with men. I haven’t had many negative experiences but I have noticed people getting more antsy on the metro. I’m also thinking of switching to female only membership only private spaces. I use to enjoy walking in public spaces but men keeping using that as an excuse for small talk. They often approach me and are very persistent. I think it’s ridiculous that I can’t be in public spaces. Do you know any good places in Ile de France? I’m happy we don’t have to beat around the bush about the immigration problem because a lot of these women are problematic too. Both genders ask me for money but it’s mainly women that try to use their children as a prop against me. So many of them are so entitled when asking for money too. I’ve noticed with them they never ask Caucasian French people they intentionally go after other minorities. Also what Arrondissements do you avoid? I once ended up in one part of town where I questioned what city I was in. Those neighborhoods tend to be a hit or miss sometimes people are nice sometimes they aren’t. Anyways please make a post on how to live in France as a separatist. I live in Paris so that makes it easier

I don't keep track of where I'll find more people of colour so I can avoid them, I don't sort through men based on their ethnicities, I don't call muslim women "non regular women", I don't view syrian refugees as a nuisance using their kids (who should be in school but are left in the street by the french government) against me, I don't believe there's an "immigration problem", I know there are more white men raping their daughters in France than there are refugees catcalling you.

What gets me the most is not what you're saying, I've heard it all before, it's the way you're saying it. It's the nonchalance, as if there was a tacit and national agreement on the matter. You probably don't think you said anything racist at all. It's probably the way your family speaks at dinner time, or how your favourite presidential candidate speaks, or how whatever "feminist" space you frequent speaks too. You assume I totally get where you're coming from and will obviously agree and give you some tips on how to avoid those nasty arabs.

So I'm going to tell you something, only because I'm feeling very patient today. Racism is a conspiracy theory. And when you're so used to having racist conversations with your racist friends and family that you think you can actually say shit like that in public, be scared. And stop watching racist news channels.

If I were to make a post about being a feminist separatist in France, you'd probably find it very unhelpful, as it wouldn't address any of your bourgeois problems such as refugee kids begging you for coins.

[rwrbmovie]

BTS of #RWRBMovie: 'z' in your last name

TZP via HOLA:

Clifton Collins Jr., who plays my father in the film, was amazing. I knew of him. I’d seen his projects, but we’d never crossed paths before. And then we met and we just got along, thick as thieves. And he’s like an OG Mexican from Los Angeles which was so colorful. He made it feel like there was family on set. Same with Matthew being Puerto Rican. Their influences help you get into that vibe, and then you do the scene and it’s wonderful. You really bring that accuracy to it.

There’s a line in the film when Alex and Henry are in Paris, and Henry asks him a question about his mom’s campaign, and Alex starts telling him about his father and his abuela coming to the States. The line is something like “If you’re an immigrant in America and you have a ‘Z’ in your last name, there’s a lot of people in positions of power that don’t look and sound like you. I’ve been given the opportunity to be someone in the world that my father didn’t see when he was growing up.” As someone with two ‘Zs’ in his last name (laughs), that was a tough scene for me because I had to be there as Alex and not as Taylor. It was very emotional to think of my family and what they went through to come to the United States. Even though they came here a long time ago, you still think about all of the people that are coming to America today and about all of their stories. Alex realizes that his father didn’t have any role models growing up and now he’s a congressman. That fuels his fire to be the change. That was so exciting for me.

From NYT:

For both Zakhar Perez and the director, the character Alex’s biracial identity was particularly meaningful. López grew up in Panama City, Fla., with his Puerto Rican father and Polish Russian mother, while Zakhar Perez is of Mexican, Middle Eastern and Mediterranean descent and was raised in northwest Indiana, where he said there was only one other Mexican family. “Matthew and I talked a lot about the mestizo journey,” Zakhar Perez said in a video call before SAG-AFTRA, the actor’s union, went on strike. “Being part Mexican, part lots of other things, I don’t want to say you’re forgotten, but in today’s world, it’s like, you’re either this or you’re that. There’s nothing in between. I’m kind of a cultural chameleon.” “As a young Latiné queer man, I never read something that centered someone like Alex,” López said, echoing his star. “If I had been presented with this character when I was in my late teens, early 20s, it may have changed how I thought about myself.”

From Windy City Times:

Was the part about having a Z in your last name personal or the book? ML: It was personal. That was about me and Taylor. It came from a conversation that Taylor and I had when making the film.

From Metro Weekly:

Alex has a line about grow ing up in Texas as a kid with a last name that ends with Z, which is I guess something else you can relate to, Florida style. ML: And Taylor Zakhar Perez also. Taylor and I talked about that scene a lot as being something that we both understood. My aunt Priscilla Lopez is a beloved, beloved stage actor. She was in the original cast of A Chorus Line. And there's a story that she tells about Mandy Gonzalez, who was in In the Heights with her, and Mandy once told Priscilla that Priscilla made it okay for her to be someone with a Z in her last name. And that was a thing that Taylor and I spent a lot of time discussing as well. It was important to me that that scene be in the movie. There was never a chance in hell that that scene was ever getting cut.

From Teen Vogue:

TV: One of my favorite parts is when they’re in Paris, and Alex talks about being a young person of color coming up from Texas and not seeing anybody who looked like himself or his dad in politics, and Henry’s response to that simply being: “I’m learning.” I don’t know if you were in the theater for that one, but half the crowd was like, awwwww. ML: Yeah, I was for that. TV: I’m married to a white man, and I was like, that is the perfect thing a white man can say in that situation. ML: I’m married to a white man, too. Speaking as someone who is a person of color married to a white man: that’s like the ultimate thing you ever want your white boyfriend or husband or partner to say. That’s it. “I’m learning.”

ML via THR:

There’s a scene in the movie that is very much me, which I gave Taylor after they’ve had sex for the first time. They’re there in pillow talk mode, and he tells Henry about what it’s like to be the son of an immigrant with a Z in your last name. It was really important to me to talk about growing up with a Z in your last name and even just how our names are pronounced, the spellings of our names sometimes if you have Latin ancestry. To have to answer for your name has always been something for me that I struggled with until I stopped struggling with it. So, I needed to put that into Alex’s story and when it came time to shoot that scene again, it was something I didn’t have to explain to Taylor Zakhar Perez. He got it instantly. The only thing that I did screw him up with is like, “We’re going to do this [scene] as a oner, and we’re going to do it as a top shot that starts in a wide shot and comes all the way down to your face, and we’re not going to leave this scene until you get it right in one.”

[stereodaydreams]

Safe & Sound

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader, 2.3k (18+, smut, oral(f!reciving), pnv sex, established relationships, use of baby/baby girl, no y/n, smidge of angst)

Notes: I write for another fandom in a different blog and couldn’t help but jump on the Miguel train. 💛✨

-

18+

-

Nueva York’s metro moves like a metal bullet tearing into a lavender and yellow sunrise. Birds break out into the skies, traveling from one tree to the next. Steam rises from vents as those waking rush to heat their homes, covering the streets and taxis in a man made fog. The thick mist drifts past cafes where open signs have just flipped and welcome bells ring. But high up on the 76th floor of a condominium, two bodies intertwine beneath warm sheets, too far to be awoken by the commotion.

Miguel’s legs drape over the edge of a bed, bare feet caught in strips of golden sunlight. It’s a king sized bed and somehow he manages to spill out of it, especially when he bullies his way over into your side, broad shoulders blotting out the sun and keeping you in the shadows where your sleep remains undisturbed.

There’s a wide gap from where his side of the bed should be. No matter how many times you tease him about a hostile takeover of what little domain you have of the king sized mattress, Miguel finds a way to fit himself around you. Your bare skin is warm and soft against his. You smell like a blend of your body wash, the pile of bed sheets, and a little like him and it drives him fucking wild. He’ll take whatever time he can have pressed up against you because... well.

Being Spider-Man is more demanding than a full time job. Try as hard as he might, there are nights where his superhero duties don’t end in a timely fashion and you sleep alone with a hand on his pillow. He tells you it’s because no one else can do what he does and… well, it’s half of the truth.

“I’m the one and only Spider-Man,” he laments to you. “The city needs me.”

“You have to come back in one piece. Promise?” you ask as worry etches itself on your face and on your body.

Large fingers wrap around your chin and Miguel pulls you in for a chaste but sweet kiss. Brown eyes blink slowly and his cheeks wrinkle in a smile.

“Always,” Miguel answers.

While you know his big superhero secret identity, there’s another secret that’s he’s been keeping from you— a little white lie. Miguel O’Hara is the only Spider-Man of Earth-928 but he’s not the only Spider-Man. He’s seen alternate realities, other universes where he’s an ordinary man working at a lab while a teenager gets bit and becomes Spider-Man or one where he’s a bodybuilder turned movie star. The multiverse is vast and entertaining to pick apart until Miguel gets a peek of realities that make his stomach twist and drop.

The fortunate events which link you two together often leads to roads where one of you is doomed to an early grave. So he decides he doesn’t want to leave your lives up to chance. Everyday, he whittles at his algorithms, tinkers with new wrist tech, all in the hopes of containing the status quo of his reality.

Miguel’s confident. Statistically, there has to be a reality where it all ends well for you both and it very well may be this one.

He watches your chest rise and fall as you doze and slowly moves his arm from your waist to your wrist. His fingers idly trace a band of metal on your ring finger and he smiles to himself, turning his gaze to a matching gold band on his hand.

You’re his, as he is yours and you are here, alive and safe and—

Miguel buries his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in. Your back tenses as you wake, lungs inflating from a quick and deep inhale. With one eye open, you find the time on a wall clock and wince at the numbers you see.

“Mig…” you protest. It’s early, but not unreasonably so and you wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t your day off together. No superhero business, no work calls, just the two of you and a lazy morning. “Five more minutes. No… wait, half an hour.”

“Baby,” he purrs back in your ear.

You make a noise while burying your face into the pillow, your body twisting away from his grasp. Miguel laughs and exhales a warm breath that tickles the nape of your neck.

“Are you still tired?” he asks, voice low and laced with desire.

You know that tone and if his wandering hands slipping from your waist to your backside are any kind of indicator, Miguel won’t be letting you slumber for much longer. You can’t help it. Your back arches to his touch, lips parting in a half moan.

“Mhmm,” you mumble, your face digging into cotton as you nod. “Can’t wake up m’too sleepy.”

He chuckles, chest vibrating against your back. You’re lucky he finds you cute. Miguel’s palm grips your butt and gives it a small squeeze before the weight behind you dips as he shuffles his large body further down the bed. His hands engulf your thighs, fingers pressing into your skin as he pulls them apart. You’ve no choice but to reorient yourself onto your back, following his movement down your thighs.

“Mig, what are you up to?” You eye him warily with a lazy smile tugging at your lips. Your vision blurs as your eyelids threaten to shut.

He lays a kiss on your inner thigh. Bright red tints the edges of his eyes, threatening to spill over and replace the soft brown.

“Do you need help waking up?” At your nod, he continues, “That’s what I’m up to.”

He smirks, fangs catching the light of the morning sun and it’s gone once his face dips lower. His tongue drags along the seam of your sex, dipping between your folds for a quick taste. Miguel lets out a rumbling sound, pushing his face in deeper to breathe you in. Your fingers work their way into his hair but your grip is loose, a sleepy sort of pawing at his head. Still half awake, your thighs are slack, tensing only as his tongue rises and reaches a hard nub of nerves.

“Mig…” you moan, eyes fluttering shut.

“That’s my baby. Come here.”

A hand wraps around your back and lifts your hips up for him while thick fingers prod at your cunt. Miguel wraps his lips around your clit, licking flat, broad strokes as amber eyes watch you writhe and jolt beneath him.

“You don’t look so sleepy anymore,” he goads. You shake your head and he chuckles. “No?”

“Nuh uh-h. Oh god—”

He eases two fingers in knuckle deep, groaning at how wet they get. Pumping them in slowly, Miguel curls them around sensitive nerves, feeling you clench down on his hand. It’s easy to lose yourself to the feel of your husband’s mouth on you and the stretch of his fingers pounding into you, but you eventually notice something’s off.

You can feel him grinning while he licks and swirls his tongue around your swollen nub, hands beginning to slow to a halt. His fingers pull almost all the way out you, causing your eyes to finally open and a noise of protest leaves your lips.

“Mig—” you begin, swallowing down a hiccupy moan. “Miguel, please.”

Miguel raises an eyebrow at you, shrugs his shoulders like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Wicked as ever, his tongue moves at unrelenting speeds. Heat flares from your abdomen, thighs twitching out of your control. Between you and him, there’s a damp mess between your legs as Miguel bullies your clit. Your hips try to chase his fingers as they leave you for good, desperate to clench around something, anything. You let out a sob when he stops to press a kiss to your clit.

“Babe!” you cry out, pulling harshly at his hair.

His face rises just enough for you to spot how drenched his chin is. A pink tongue darts around his lips and he smirks.

“You want it, baby girl?” His voice takes on a rougher quality as he challenges you. Large fingers push at your cunt, almost in but not quite. “Work for it.”

Your limbs are still heavy from sleep but the need to feel Miguel makes you roll your hips until you feel yourself push down and squeeze around his fingers. He doesn’t move though, grins wider while he watches you fuck yourself on his hand.

“Isn’t that better?” Miguel asks like he doesn’t know the answer. The hand on your back slips away, flattening onto the bed as he rises above you. You’re too busy trying to follow his other hand to realize he’s right by your head, wide shoulders blotting out the morning sun.

Breath hot and heavy, he snarls in your ear, “Does it feel good when you listen?”

“Mhmm!”

You cling to him, clumsily grabbing his arms as an anchor. Between gasps and moans, his name is a chant on your lips, drawing him closer.

Miguel’s an odd entity. Without the mask, he’s soft with you, cracks smiles throughout the day and fills your ears with loving whispers of devotion. He’s not demanding of you in the way that he is with his team of superheroes at his beck and call. You’ve overheard him being prickly and impatient when things don’t go to his plans, seen him bare his teeth in anger. But never at you.

In here, where the sheets are silken, the atmosphere a little lighter, a little slower… Miguel’s a different man.

“You’re so close… I can feel it,” he growls out. He places a hand on your hip to still your twisting form and it’s infuriating how little effort he uses to hold you like a limp doll. With slick sounds, his fingers slide in and out of you, dragging across taut nerves. “Not yet, baby girl. Not yet.”

“Mig, please. I need you. I need…”

“Hmm?” He lays a kiss on your cheek, lips lifting in a smirk. Miguel wanders down, repeating his hummed reply, kissing your jaw and nipping at your neck. “Say it again.”

You whine and rake your nails across the broad expanse of his shoulders, drawing red lines on sun-kissed skin. “Need you in me, Miguel.”

Your words seep through his skin and into his bones. Every fiber of him aches for you. He’s the king of edging himself, of self control as he fights to ignore the throbbing twitch of his cock. You call to him once more, needy and desperate for him, and Miguel’s done. His hips rut forward, seeking your soaked cunt and he finds it, the fat head of him nudging at your entrance.

He groans out your name, head hung forward and his hands splaying around your face. The sheets strain from his claws retracting and returning and all you see in his eyes are red. Miguel’s shoulders push into the backs of your knees as he hinges forward, forcing your thighs further open for him. There’s mumbled Spanish flowing past his lips as he claims you slowly, your husband taking his sweet time filling you up.

“Fuck, sweet girl. My wife. So fucking tight for me,” he groans.

The pace he sets is fast and devastatingly deep. Miguel reaches spots that makes you incoherent, makes your head toss back as you spew whatever your fucked out mind can give him. It’s messy, rough and he fucks you like you’d never break. And you never do. You always give him what he needs and knowing that brings him to his knees.

Red eyes find you in the waves of passion and Miguel’s looking at you as though this moment is finite. He’s never going to tell you about the other you’s— can’t let you know the statistics which haunt him daily.

Instead, Miguel devours your every moan, lips crushing yours so he can taste you as you tremble. You’re impossibly tight around him, muscles clamping down on him and skin slick with sweat. Your nails mark his back and shoulders, smaller fingers winding into his curls and tugging hard. He can feel you falling off the edge and leans into it, all too happy to chase the end with you.

His hand works its way between you, firm thumb rubbing tight circles around your clit. There’s no reprieve from the cascade of sensations he’s building. Miguel chases your climax until you come around him with a cry of his name.

“Yes, baby girl. Fuck. Fuck,” he moans.

Hips rutting faster, cock pushing you towards hypersensitivity, he wraps an arm around you and pulls you in close. His back muscles seize beneath your hands as he comes with a groan. Miguel’s muttering your name in a breathy chant, hips slowing to a roll as more of his thick spend fills you.

His nose bumps yours, eyes brimming with warmth and fondness. It should feel dirty and hot with how wet it sounds between your legs but you don’t hear it when Miguel murmurs in your ear.

“Still sleepy?” he coos.

You grab at his cheeks and squeeze, receiving an eye roll on his part. He’s handsome but stubborn, your husband.

“Mig…” you laugh. “Can’t feel my bones after that.”

He nuzzles your cheek and hums an acknowledgment. You’re warm, still clinging to him in more than one way. Outside, the sky’s turned blue as the sun finds its way through the windows, shining brightly on your skin. Beads of sweat caught on your neck and chest glitter in the light. He’s never seen anything as beautiful as you.

“Breakfast?” he offers.

“Shower,” you insist and twist your hips to remind him of the stickiness which coats both your bodies.

“Mmm. But I like you like this,” Miguel teases. He rolls his hips, cock still hard and buried deep, eliciting a moan from your lips. “So full of me, baby.”

“I like it, too,” you answer and squeeze his cheek again.

Miguel smiles as if he’s a man unburdened. Here in Spiderman 2099’s universe, you’re safe and sound.

[chqolan]

Comfort at night — Ed x Reader

A/N: this was something i had written up for a while in my drafts and i’m finally posting it! unfortunately there was a weird error that happened and i had to redo the last bit of this, so apologies if it feels rushed </3

TW: gn reader, fluff, a bit of angst, ed and reader are friends ! , mentions of that card game ed talks about in world tour, author can’t write to save her life

recently his nightmares had become more frequent than usual for the first time in a while. every night felt the same — constantly bursting awake, feeling dizzy, out of breath and covered in sweat… he felt like such an idiot, like a stupid little kid who couldn’t sleep alone.

ed let’s out a sigh and grabs his phone from the nightstand as he sits up against his headboard. he glanced at the time, ‘just 1:00 am…’. with a swift motion of his thumb, he unlocks his phone and opens his messaging app. from there he sees a series of texts he’s yet to respond to, but he didn’t have time for that right now.

he glanced over your contact, contemplating wether or not he should be bothering you at this hour…

‘you up?’

to his surprise, he seen the typing icon appear from your end of the screen almost instantly.

‘yup! i might get ready to sleep soon though.’ he only watched as you continued typing, ‘did you need something?’. ed sighed and forced himself to respond in a ‘normal’ way.

‘can’t sleep.’

you glance at his response and bite the inside of your cheek, waiting to see if he’d say anything else. though after a minute or so, you caught the hint that he had no intentions of continuing. both you and ed have been familiar with each other for quite some time after he helped you with beating up some weird creeps who were following you around in the subway.

since then, the two of you had become mutual friends. he’s opened up about his past, but did so very cautiously as he didn’t want to scare you away. ed wouldn’t ever admit it — but it was comforting to have a friend who wasn’t fully involved in his past or his crazy line of work. comfort was also something that ed was never used to receiving during his years growing up… the feeling was still quite foreign, but he only ever felt it with you.

‘wanna come over to my place, then? i don’t mind staying up a bit longer.’

‘plus, it feels like a while since you’ve last swung by metro city. we should enjoy your time here together while we can!’

ed reads over your messages and hums to himself. will he ever get used to the gratitude and kindness you show him? he always tends to ask himself that same question…

‘yea, you’re right.’

‘i’ll head on over right now.’

the next thing he knew, he was at the front door to your apartment. he held a blank stare and slowly held up his fist to softly knock (more like bang) at the door. the sound of the lock fumbling from the other end was heard and you cracked the door open to take a peak. once you notice it's ed, you fully open up your door to welcome him inside.

your place was so clean and organized compared to his, he thought. just by stepping inside he felt a wave of comfort wash over him. ed makes his way over to your couch and plops down with a sigh. you could tell how exhausted he was just by looking at him...

although you didn't know the details of everything, you knew that ed has been through (and still puts up with) a lot. you'd never be able to relate to his struggles like his neo shadaloo group could, but you made sure to give him all of your comfort and support for whenever he needed it.

"i know you're not one for small talk, so i'll get to the point..." ed keeps his eyes on the blank tv screen in front of him, but you knew he was listening. you take a seat next to ed and turn your full attention to him. "what's going on? you don't look like you're holding up too well, ed." you noticed from the moment you opened the door that he looked in worse shape than usual.

the bags under his eyes made it apparent that he's been lacking proper rest time, and his pale skin was scattered with red patches, along with what you could only assume to be bruises. knowing ed, he most likely wouldn't bother to take some time off and take care of himself.

the boxer was hesitant to respond. he didn’t know how to communicate very well, and the last thing he wanted to do was accidentally lash out at you. ed looks in every direction except yours and you notice his leg started to bounce… was he nervous?

without even thinking, you placed your hand on his knee and softly stroked it. the sudden contact took ed by surprise as that same leg stopped its bouncing. there it was again — that weird sense of comfort you brought him which he would never get used to.

ed couldn’t bring it in himself to answer your question even though it was something so simple. he hated that he didn’t know how to respond. the boxer tiredly rubs his eyes and awkwardly clears his throat. “you’ve still got those cards i gave you, yea?” ed looks over at you and he can sense your small hint of confusion from him desperately trying to change topics.

to his surprise, you don’t mind and let up.

“oh, uh.. of course i do.” your response makes him crack a slight grin as he pulls out a small deck of cards from the pocket of his hoodie.

of course he carried these around with him.

nothing can stop the small laugh that you let out at the sight of him hurriedly looking through all his cards.

you remember ed telling you about this trading card game he had been into… you’ve bought him some cards on certain occasions because you’d figure he’d enjoy it with how much he seems to gush over this game. and he had also bought you a small deck of cards along with giving away some spare ones he thought were useless for him. he mentioned that it’d be useful for whenever you two had a chance to hang out and play together.

it didn’t take long for you to get up and find your small deck of cards. once you came back to your main living room, you seen ed already seated at your table. he was organizing everything and sat on the opposite side to your seat. without wasting any more time, you grab your seat and begin getting your cards ready to play.

to be honest, you weren’t sure how much time had passed. once you two played multiple rounds of that trading card game, you had binged a few comedy shows that had ed intrigued even though he would never admit… but you can tell he was into it just by how much he bantered with the episodes as they went on.

and now you were here…

ed was fast asleep as he snuggled into you. it took everything in you to hold on your giggle and not wake him up. you were certain that he wasn’t aware of how close he was holding on to you right now… he would probably die of embarrassment if he was conscious right now. ed had only asked to share your bed because it ‘looked comfy as hell’ , but in reality you knew there was definitely more reason behind it. and that’s how you can only assume it had to do with his night terrors.

it’s not a surprise that he wouldn’t admit that, but you knew better and allowed him to sleep with you for the night. his face finally looked relaxed as he slept here close to you. honestly, you also never would’ve thought he’d be the small spoon between you two.

though, you couldn’t stop thinking about how there was a part of you that felt extremely sorry for him… sometimes you can sense and feel the heart of a little boy inside of ed, but he’s forced to keep up such a rough exterior due to everything he’s been through.

the thought of it made you frown a little bit.

he deserves so much better.

although he’ll never fully tell you what’s going on, you still want to be there for him as much as you can. you gently move his hair to the side to see his full face and you instantly smile at the sight of him.

without even thinking, you slowly place a kiss on his forehead and close your eyes with an even bigger grin on your face now.

“good night, ed.”

[insert-the-4thwall-entity]

Imma just info dump some [conceptional, not final] stuff real quick for Transformers Starfall :

It's 2055, Japan's the number one lead in the world for tech innovation. The location of main interest is Neo-saka (New Osaka), where it's the 2nd most advanced city next to Metro-tokyo. Don't expect many changes from our current time, it's only in tech and architect.

The plot follows Kai Natsumi, a teen who likes art, music, J-alt style/rock//grunge specifically, motorbike riding, space, robots and aliens. Nobody knows what happened to her parents, Yoshimoru 'Yoshi' and Juno, herself included. In the city she lives almost everyone has a materialistic, 'everything must be the same' mindset and Kai hates it. If someone has something very unique about them, they have to hide it, but 30% of the unique people would rather show it off and rebel against the materialistic hivemind, like a punk. Kai and her friends (names in progress) are one of those punks. The [N] of them actually formed a group/gang called The Outliers.

'What about the cybertronians?', you ask and to that i shall answer :

This isn't a case where it's their first time on earth, they've been living amongst humans for god knows how long. Optimus prime, the current leader, had decided to put Earth under autobot protection from the decepticons, because Megatron wants to strip earth of it's natural resources and enslave humanity, so he could take over Cybertron and the galaxy. No human knew that there where alien robots roaming around as vehicles. Well, until the night fate decided to do it's own thing.

During that night Kai was attacked by Skywarp and Thundercracker with the assistance of Ravage and Rumble, because 'If that insignificant lifeform exposes us to it's natives, it'll be a significant problem!'. In response Kai manages to take out Ravage with her favorite guitar that she carries around to play wherever she likes. Just as she was about to go on a edicius mission by going against the bigger 'cons, the autobots come in, including Optimus. Kai didn't give up fighting tho, she decided to help said autobots by distracting the 'cons. This shows Kai knows which type of alien archetypes are trustworthy or not and her standards when it come to the question 'If aliens showed up, what would you do?'. The fight was pretty short too, so it didn't take long to put a few scratches on the 'cons. After it tho Kai, still not familiar with the Autobots, thanks Optimus for 'stopping me before killing myself, i guess', states that she'll keep them a secret 'till further notice and sorta jokes it being all a dream. As she was heading towards home, Op replies with a single, soft 'hm' to which Kai took is as both a 'your welcome' and a 'thank you for the help'. That's when they've practically earned each other's respect.

Ever since then the Autobots and the Outliers have been allies and Kai has been living the dream of being friends/teammates with robot aliens.

so yeah, will post designs, or hell maybe start a fan manga -

[xappetites]

one thing leads to another

Russell Adler x f!Reader (Bell) | Adler is half convinced Bell's using tenderness as a battering ram on purpose, he also needed someone to understand him more than he would ever admit, shit's fucked but that's par for the course, as always i sort of added a year between finding Bell and the rest of the game | word count: 1,672

London is a mess, but then again, all cities are. And this one has the benefit of both being friendly ground but not exactly home, in case the whole thing goes sideways. 

Besides, it’s not like Adler’s an amateur. He wouldn’t have started this game without the certainty that he’d be able to handle it, roll with all of the possible outcomes. 

No, this was calculated. 

He purposely picked the side of town where metro police drag their feet, no matter how urgent the call. And he’s carrying a trusty sedative in a hypodermic needle retrofitted into a pen, so all he really needs to worry about is Bell.

Quite frankly, Bell’s all he’s been worrying about for the past eight months, though for the most part he can justify it as just another job hazard. The rest he blames on being a sexually active human with an average libido and moderately good circulation. 

Sure, he’s seen her bleeding out, sweat drenched and bruised from several rounds of interrogation. Feverish, mumbling, staring into his soul like she could tear into him with her eyes alone. And she still slides silk soft over the ridges of his brain.

It was easy to ignore, all things considered; in that dark room with nothing but the microphone and the bell. To watch her, past whatever attraction he can’t shake, looking closely for results. But now she’s out in the world, fully convinced that she’s known him for decades; now she remembers a different Russell Adler. The one he was before the crooked line of his life proved to him that he wasn’t one for an easy ride; the man who would banter mid firefight, with the kind of gusto that makes him roll his eyes coming from Park and Lazar over comms. 

And sure, that means she’s comfortable enough to follow his instructions without much back-talk and she's amenable enough that she’ll take initiative to do what’s best for the mission on her own. She’s efficient and useful; and she claws that old playfulness out of him kicking and screaming. Even if he tries to resist, to ignore her easy jabs, the gallows humor, it’s those damn eyes and the light of affection in them that forces him to respond just to focus on something else.

It’s so obvious that even Sims commented on it, how he hadn’t heard chatter like that from him in years. So maybe that’s why Adler wanted this meeting to be private; why he asked Bell to slip away from Park when he called. Selling it as an added challenge when he dared her to find him in London with nothing to go on but the arrival time of his flight. A test of skill and loyalty.

Just as Park’s had Bell here for a week. Officially, for a briefing of the few leads MI6 has in Berlin. Off the record, offering proof of concept to the powers that be: one shining, sweet success to prove what programming can do. Work. That’s what’s behind Adler standing alone in a no name club, not the impulse to hog Bell all to himself, or the unspeakable notion that he misses her.

He’s too professional to let it show, and he knows what needs to be done, but that’s the filthy truth of him, the way his hands itch for skin on skin contact. The manufactured familiarity that allows her to touch him all the time —hands solid on his shoulders or her thigh pressed against his in the back of a cab. All the more tempting for being forbidden. More nagging in the back of his mind because he’s stealing her from the man he’s hunted for so long. 

The sensation makes Adler lay his palms flat on the bar top, check his watch. All he can do at the moment is wait. 

Two more minutes to his midnight meeting with Bell. Two minutes that are nothing in the grand scheme of his standing stakeout record of several months. Minutes that he watches tick like molasses over his wrist. Anticipation settling horrible in the pit of his stomach with the possibility that, once out of Park’s watchful eye, Bell will abscond back to Perseus. And won’t that be a fun one to explain. A betrayal he can already taste, that hurts in a way that it shouldn’t. Burning as it goes down like the whiskey that’s suddenly shoved his way over the bar. 

“I didn’t order this.”

“Your missus said you looked thirsty.”

The bartender tosses a wry smile his way too, nodding in the general direction of a very smug Bell. Who, at least, has the decency not to appear out of the smoke like this is a private eye movie, she just simply is there, close enough to touch, when she wasn’t the second before.

“You made it,” he greets her, watches her grin grow slow and tilted over her mouth. Her hips angled to squeeze in next to him, lean her weight on the bar and steal a sip off his drink. And Adler hates how proud he sounds, how his shoulders lose tension when she takes the first, poison-taster gulp of liquor like a half apology for ambushing him. 

“You doubted it?” 

“Park can be hard to sidestep.”

Bell outright giggles then, smile blinding in her satisfaction, but she doesn’t offer anything else. She won’t spoil the magician’s trick. 

“So what’s your story?” She asks instead, dipping closer still, until Adler can feel the ghostly touch of her hair against his cheek. “If this were to go tits up. Who are you tonight?”

“Well, you already told the bartender, I’m your husband.”

“Got you sore about that?”

There’s laughter in Bell’s voice, a tease of her fingertips straightening the collar of his jacket. Of course he’s fucking sore, with the way the thought goes right between his legs, aches in the pit of his stomach. Here with her lips on the rim of his glass, her body nudging insistently into his personal space like picking at a wound.

“Just wondering how believable it’d be for me to have a wife so beautiful.”

“Please, Russ, you’re the most attractive man I know.”

She moves, digging out a cigarette and flagging the bartender for an ashtray, and the extra inch of distance is such a deep relief that it takes Adler half a second to realize she’s smoking when they were supposed to have culled that out of her.

“I thought you’d quit,” he tries, as a thin, icy stream of uncertainty slides down his spine. He tries to be rational, smoking is the least dangerous of Bell’s old habits; complicated by the physiological dependence on nicotine to boot. This doesn’t have to be a sign of impending doom, he just has to keep an eye on it.

“In this line of work? It wasn’t meant to last,” she pauses, takes a drag and holds the smoke for long enough to notice she’s having his exact brand, familiar and comforting. “Besides, you give me cravings.”

The eyes, it’s always the fucking eyes. The way they catch on his scar, climbing along until she’s staring him down with nothing but open, honest desire, and a sort of sadness underneath. Like she’s given up on the magnetic pull she feels for him as soon as she admits to it.

Bell knows he’d put the job above anything, knows that’s what nuked his marriage. She knows because he told her, made her privy to things the likes of Sims only suspect. It was easy too, once he got started, to let the words get away from him; maybe not during the first session, but by the twentieth? The fiftieth? He’d find himself in the jungle of Vietnam and in the weeds of his personal hang ups all the same. 

We fought together, bled together. 

A mantra that to a degree poisoned him too. Enough to make him need this, once at the very least, to hold Bell steady by the back of the neck, tasting the smoke and the surprise on her lips. Then he has to do it again, since Bell’s crushing the cigarette out so she can pull herself closer by his lapels, run her fingers through his hair with a whisper of ‘fuck Russ’. And he is absolutely fucked in so many ways.

Fucked in the ease of walking beside her back to his hotel. And in how she sighs against his mouth when her cold hands sneak under clothes in the elevator. Adler feels his heart beating in double time as he finally works himself inside her, inch by inch so he can’t hide from this. He could regret it, he already does, as he struggles to make this last as long as he can, but he can never pretend it didn’t happen. 

He’ll always have the way she clings to him, his name stumbling out of her when he hits the angle that makes her melt, to weigh on his conscience. He’ll keep coming back to her shoulder, still slick from the shower as he rested his forehead on it, because that was the third time he’d come that night and it never lost its edge to feel her around him.

These are the things Adler knows will haunt him. Keep him up at night until he finds the next excuse to have her, in a different hotel and a different city, with the same burning desperation.

And it’s what he sees, clear as day, playing in her mind that night as he tries to drag Perseus’ location out of her. Every kiss and every single time he drew meaningless shapes over her skin while she was curled up against his side.

The way he demands the information but has not let go of her hand, the fact that they both know how this ends. And he can only fucking hope, with her brilliant eyes burning through him again, that she can forgive him for falling for her.

[tonybicyclestark]

could we get a drabble about them post Dr. Strange?? 👀

SOOOOOOOOO this ended up being longer than a drabble. I didn't know what to write cus the post Dr Strange era is still WIP but uh... this happened and now it's almost 1k. HELP

"Are we seriously going to live in this creepy weird old house of your new cult now?" Tony asks. He's lying on the couch in what seems to be the sitting room. Then again, the rooms change so often Tony doesn't really know if any of them are permanent fixtures. The Clock swats at Tony's head affectionately at that quip. Both it and Stephen know Tony doesn't really mean it. If Tony had any ill will towards the Sanctum, he'd have never been allowed in. Husband to the Master of the Sanctum or not. "It's not creepy and we don't have to stay here, as long as I have a passageway linked between here and where we live." Stephen replied nonchalantly as he floated in midair, trying to read. "Great! Problem solved then. We have the compound." Tony replies. Stephen stays silent. "Oh come on Stephanie, give me something here." Tony retorts.

"You know how I feel about the Compound."

"Yea yea, you hate the fact that it's so far outside the city - away from the NYC views and the killer commute." Tony says, recalling the same argument they've been having ever since the Compound was created years ago. "But counterpoint, you don't have to travel every week to Metro General anymore and you have portals anyway so what's the big deal?" "The big deal is that it's not home Tony." Stephen sighs. "And you think this is? I love you Steph, so much baby, and I'm super proud of all that... magic sorcery things you do now but can you really imagine me living here? With the bots?" Stephen ignored him. "Oh come on, the bots and Cloakie will probably set this entire place on fire before we even fully move in." "The Sanctum is protected against fires among other things." Stephen diverts.

"That's so not the point. The point is -"

"The point is that we have a perfectly great home waiting for us, right here in New York City, that has all the space we could need and is within walking distance to the Sanctum." Stephen finishes, closing the book and floating back down to the floor.

"The Tower? That's what this has been about? You want to go back to the tower? The one that was attacked multiple times by various bad guys because it's literally a beacon for trouble? That tower?" Tony asks bewildered. He'd always thought everyone was on board with the move away from there to upstate New York.

"It was perfect for everyone. The team had their own floors, location was as central as you can get here, we had space for family rooms, games rooms and a fully stacked Med-bay and did I mention that everyone loved living there together?" Stephen emphasizes.

Tony was confused at that, and Stephen could see it. He sighed and explained, "The team agreed about the Compound because they thought it was the best choice strategically but no one wanted to leave Tony. It was our home."

Tony tried to process what he was hearing.

"Clint retired fully because the Compound was too far for him to keep coming back to from the farm. When we were still at the tower, he'd still been a part-time Avenger. Steve loved being able to go on his runs at Central Park and I know he misses it as well. It's home Tony. I know we left and you sold it but - I don't think for a second any of us liked leaving it." Stephen explains gently. He's very aware of how quickly this conversation could be interpreted as him and the rest ganging up on Tony. "But previous arguments still stand. We need the compound for training, especially for all terrains and outdoor field training." Tony spoke as his mind already spun with ideas for re-purchasing the tower and getting everyone's things in order.

"Well, it doesn't seem like much of an issue when I have portals now does it? I can always set up a permanent portal to the Compound." Tony looked up at him in slight awe. "You really thought this through huh? You guys really want to go home?" Tony asked.

"It's home Tony. Everyone wants that. No one ever wanted to mention it to you, that's all." "I'll deal with that later but for now....I guess I'm begging Pepper to help me buy my tower back." Tony concedes. "I'm the one telling the rest though. You're not getting all the credit." Stephen laughs joyfully. Things might have changed much in the past year since his accident, but this... the feeling of home...that's still the same as always.

Tony smiles at that laugh. "You sure this is what you want? That it won't interfere with your duties as a Wizard?" Tony clarifies once again. Instead of getting annoyed Stephen just smiles and says, "Yes Tony, I'm sure." He agrees. "Besides, the tower rests on the main ley lines connecting back to the Sanctum. It's a perfect conduit for the mystic arts."

"That really a thing?" Tony questions, pausing in his emails to Pepper.

Stephen smirks a little and says, "Why do you think it attracts all that trouble and theoretics? Definitely not for that ugly design."

[godhandler]

How Was Noritoshi Kamo Found To Have Blood Manipulation? 

[ 860+ words  |  part of Obeisance to The Arrow Universe  |  fluff, angst, canon-compliant  |  tw: adultery, misogyny, blood, Kamo sr. is a fuckwad]

Who was Ms. Kanagusuku? For starters, she was a bold spirit who left her little backwater village after high school for the spicy flashy metro city life. She was then the tired waitress who locked eyes with the handsome older man at his event (said event being the 100 Day Celebration of his son). A number on a napkin, a meeting in a bar, a walk along the river that carried the same name as that gentleman- Kamo. She was the young homewrecker whose guilt melted as his unhesitant lips warmed her neck, her fingers twined around the strands of his long hair. She was the dumb fucking clown who believed him when he said, “My wife? Don’t even take her name, she’ll never understand me the way you do” and “You’re different, sweetheart, you’re the only one for me. I’ll leave her the second I can” and “You don’t want to get involved with my family, it’s too complicated there” and “Keep the baby, my darling, we’ll raise him together, we’ll get married and be a happy family.”

Not like any of that happened. But that was all years ago. Right now, Ms. Kanagusuku is a damsel who stubbed her toe and is writhing in pain on the kitchen floor. 

I know this is all karma for what I did, but isn’t it getting a bit too much? 

“Mama?” Noritoshi’s voice calls out from the living room. “Are you okay?”

At least, at the very least, I’ve still got my son.

Her bright-eyed and soft-cheeked little boy doesn’t wait for her to reply as he comes running to her, eyes widening when he notices her like that. Her broken toenail is bleeding all over.

“Mama, you’re hurt!” He’s almost in tears, poor child, as he softly picks up her hand in both of his and kisses it, exactly the way she does to him when he gets a boo-boo. He doesn’t know how to help other than that. “Mama, Mama, it’s ok.” He’s distraught, sniffing his tears in. “Just fix your blood, okay?”

Fix my blood? “I’m fine, baby. I just shouted because I was surprised, it doesn’t actually hurt.” Ms. Kanagusuku lies. “I’ll bandage it now, don’t worry.”

Noritoshi shakes his head. “Fix your blood first, Mama. You’re so red everywhere.” He chokes back a sob.

“How do you fix blood, son?” His father’s voice drawls lazily. For someone who promised to give her the moon, he hasn’t even put down his magazine to help her up. “Go wash the blood off, you’re scaring him.”

“I can’t fucking walk.”

“God!” Kamo slams the magazine down, having to help her stumble into the bathroom. “Don’t curse in front of him!”

Little Noritoshi is still sniffling when his dad picks him up. However harsh he is to his mistress, he’s always been a good father. That, and the fact that Kamo pays for everything, is the only reason, Ms. Kanagusuku tells herself as she washes the blood off her foot with a wince, that she tolerates the way he acts towards her. 

“Toshi, when you grow up don’t be a crybaby like your mother, alright?” His dad doesn’t come by often, only about twice a week around dinner time, and is always gone by the time he’s awake the next morning. Even though he’s worried sick about his mother’s leg, it’s nice to be held up like this. “Ah, I forgot,” Kamo laughs. “How do you fix blood, huh, silly boy?”

“You pull it back in so it's not bloody anymore.”

Kamo freezes. Ms. Kanagusuku, clouded in her own pain, misses the moment when Noritoshi’s life tips over.

"Can you do that?"

"Papa?"

“You can pull your blood in?”

“Yeah, Papa.”

Kamo Sr. runs to get a sewing needle, dips it in his beer, and sticks it into his son’s trembling fingertip. If he flinches because the needle went deeper than he thought, Kamo ignores it. Noritoshi’s blood drips down his finger like tears.

“Show me that you can fix it.” It’s a command but his father’s voice is light. The child is scared of things he doesn’t understand yet. 

Yet he obeys. He scrunches his eyes shut tight and wishes really really hard that his wound gets fixed. What he does, subconsciously, is manipulate the leaked blood back into his veins and increase the platelet count to seal the injury. When he opens his eyes a second later, his wound has scabbed over, and his father is bear-hugging him so tight that his ribs hurt. “I'm so proud of you, my son. I’m so proud to be your father.” Noritoshi’s six-year-old head is spinning. “You’re a godsend, you don’t even understand. Noritoshi-” He says, “-wake up early tomorrow, we’ll go out, yes, son?”

Ms. Kanagusuku is still in the bathroom. Of all the things that she is, she is ignorant of the fact that this is her last day with her son. She doesn’t know that tomorrow, Kamo Noritoshi will be packaged in an expensive kimono and presented to the Clan as the heir. She doesn’t know that they will be torn apart like grass in the wind, and will only see each other after 12 years. She doesn’t know that the memory of this day will haunt him for the rest of his life.  

a/n: at the time of their meeting, Kamo’s father was 30 and his mother was 19. So at the point of this fic, his mother would be 25 and his father 36. Kanagusuku is an Okinawan surname; she was a new kid in mainland Japan who thought she was living her own Cinderella story finding Kamo Sr. but it was actually more like The Conjuring. he gets away with abusing her because he's got her trapped. the only way she can leave is by letting go of her son too, which she eventually does as we know in canon. also the fact that she keeps her Okinawan version of her surname instead of changing it to Kaneshiro, which is the Japanese version of the name, to fit into Kyoto society, says something about her. on one hand, she is a homewrecker who fucked a married man knowing full well what she was doing. on the other hand... does she actually deserve all this?

this is very important to me that u picture takumi from nana when u think of Kamo Sr.

[boschfanaccount]

How would the 3 boys propose to the reader

How they propose to you

Bosch, Jamie Siu & Luke Sullivan x Reader (separate). Reader is neutral Sorry this took a while to come out!! I'm finally free from uni and i have a lot of requests lined up I will get through slowly so thank you for your patience.

Bosch is an anxious mess. You both love each other so very much but theres that teeny tiny voice in his head that always makes him doubt and act on impulse. But this is something he knows he's wanted to do for the longest time, it took a lot of courage to even act upon making preparations for you. It's your 4th anniversary of being together. He first makes you a home cooked meal from his home country, a meal which he loves. You tell him how good it is and that he is too sweet for cooking for you. He then lets you get ready to then take you out to a very special spot. A park that sits on the harbour of Metro City, beautifully lit up at night. Walking up to the railing, you lean on it and breathe in the fresh air. Bosch then comes up besides you as he puts his hands on your waist, leaning in to give you a kiss on your temple.

"Thank you for this Bosch, you're too sweet." "It's the least I could do. Happy anniversary, but uhm... I actually have a present for you." You look at him with a soft look, "what is it?" you question. "I want you to close your eyes for a second". Nodding, turn to fully face him and close your eyes. You hear some rustling before he tells you to open your eyes. You bring your hand up to you mouth as your eyes widen in shock, letting out a small gasp. You're presented with a velvety red box fitted with a small and classy ring crusted with small diamonds. "[y/n], you're the love of my life, a-and... I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know I'm not the best boyfriend sometimes and I have my moments but, I hope you can accept me... Will you marry me?". Jumping up and down before leaping into his arms. "Yes!" you exclaim as a few tears fall down your face. He stands back up and fully accepts your embrace. "I love you so much, thank you [y/n].

Jamie would most definitely propose to you in the sleekest way possible. He will have everything planned out down to the exact time, he has a mini speech prepped and the perfect plan to catch you off guard. Jamie would also be confident at first and kind of fumble a little bit but he's well aware you are the one for him and he is the one for you. He has no doubts about you saying yes once he pops the question and that fills him with so much pride and joy. Time moves so fast when you're with your boyfriend, you have been together for 3 years already yet it feels like you've known each other and been together for so much longer. Having gotten you ready for a fancy dinner date at an elegant chinese restaurant that Jamie has been meaning to try with you. You both went out shopping to purchase coordinating outfits, the colours of your outfits are black and yellow. Mostly black decorated with gold jewellery.

Once at the restaurant, you are both seated next to an open window which has the perfect view of Metro City. "This is so nice baby, thank you for booking this place." Taking his hand in yours Jamie looks at you with a satisfied look, "It's no problem, you know I'd do anything for you. I am the great Jamie Siu after all!" He says jokingly. You giggle at his statement. After having a delicious and filling dinner, you both are waiting for your desserts to arrive to your table. Little words are exchanged as you stare into eachothers eyes and hands intertwined on the table, the silence comfortable. The silence is broken by a waitress coming up and handing you your desserts however there was something off with yours. Your plate was flat and had writing on it, more specifically the words "Will you...", once you read the words you see Jamie walk up to you and get on one knee. Your heart starts beating fast but a bright smile decorates your face. "Marry me?" Jamie asks, a yellow lined black velvet ring box displaying a beautiful golden ring with a decently sized diamond placed on top. "Jamie!" You express, "Of course!!! Oh my gosh!!" He takes your hand and slides the sing on. "[Y/n], when I met you through Yang, I never thought you would end up being mine some day. But here we are, you are now officially my fiancée. I love you dearly and I don't know if I could ever express that fully in words but thank you." Jamie stands up and cups your face, bringing you in for a gentle kiss.

Luke, oh Luke. Luke would definitely have a mini freak out to himself over how he should propose to you. He is a confident man but sometimes he goes through weird moments of weakness where he's just unsure. Luke takes his time and never rushes into things so when he realises he needs to propose to you, he thought about everything carefully and wanted to make sure it was something you would like and that you were sure to say yes to him. While he is a bit of a chiller, I don't think Luke would be overly romantic but would still try his best to be, you deserve it after all. Having spent almost 4 years together, Luke decides it's time. There are a few places in mind that Luke would want to take you on, deciding on taking you to the beach. A quiet and calming beach. It would be the perfect setting, having a nice dinner first then taking you on a romantic walk along the beach to watch the sun set and finally get on one knee and confess his never ending love for you and ask you to marry him.

"Mmm! Luke have you tried this? It tastes so good!" Picking up a piece of your dinner on your fork and putting in front of Luke so he can have a taste. "Wow, yeah that is really good, want to try mine?" You nod. After having dinner it was time to now go on a quiet stroll on the sand. Holding onto Lukes large hand and leaning your head on his arm. Luke can feel his nervousness grow, you're perfect in his eyes. "Is something wrong love?" You ask, concern laced in your voice. "Haha, yeah. I'm just fine. Don't worry your little head." Luke brings you into a side hug, his hand resting on your hip. "There is one thing I want to talk to you about though." Stopping to stand in front of you, he takes your hand in his and rubs his thumb over your knuckles. "So... I've been wanting to ask you this for a while and for the longest time I thought I wasn't ready but every day I spend with you, I want to always be by your side. You make me so proud and I feel so powerful when I see you cheering for me in battles. I'm the luckiest man alive [y/n]. With that..." pulling out a box with a silver ring inside with a small rectangular diamond placed on top. "Will you marry me?" It takes you a few seconds to respond, you feel so joyed and happy and you needed a moment to process the sweetness of Luke's words. With shaky hands you cup Lukes face in your hands and place a kiss on his lips. "Yes" you giggle. "I truly love you so much, I'm glad to now be your fiancée" Luke picks you up, sharing laughs as he spins you around. Taking in the cool breeze of the beach with the cool water brushing up to your feet.

[dagreninjagurl]

Christmas Shopping

This is gonna be my first Venom fanfic cuz I’m bored and I’m trying new stuff out. And happy holidays to all.

This event takes place after Venom War, AND THIS COULD HAVE HAPPENED IF VENOM WAR HAD A HAPPY ENDING. It’s mainly Dylan Brock and Bren Waters going Christmas shopping until something came up.

———————————————————————————

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been trying to recover from the Venom War. It was so chaotic. I don’t even know where to began with it. But all I know is that we got Dad and Venom back. I never told them this, but I feel so glad for both of them to be home. We don’t have to be on the run anymore. Spider-Man made sure there would be no military units or science company on our asses again.

RING! RING!

I pick up my phone from my bed—near Sleeper who was peacefully napping on the bed. I stare at my phone as I realized Bren was the one who was calling me.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Hey, man. You wanna go Christmas shopping with us?” he spoke as Toxin. I heard the wind blowing through the phone. I only assume they were swinging through the city.

“Why? It’s only December 1st.” I said.

“Cuz we’re gonna be out of town next week. Might as well shop and hang out with you,”

“Can you pick me up? I don’t have a ride,”

“Well, I’m already at your door. So be ready,” Bren replied as I soon heard the door bell ring.

DING DONG!

“You’re going with Bren, I assume,” Sleeper calmly said as it stretched in its cat form.

“Yeah. You coming with?” I asked it. In response, Sleeper nodded.

I rush downstairs with Sleeper to see Dad and Venom watching a Christmas movie in the living room. Though, I only see Venom’s head bobbling next to Dad.

“I’m going Christmas shopping with Bren,” I said so that they won’t have to make a scene of worries. A moment later, Venom turned around to see me in my iconic blue sweatshirt.

“If you’re going out like that, at least wear a coat,” Venom scolded as he reached a tendril for my coat that was hooked onto a coat rack near the front door.

“Here,” he insisted.

“Thanks, Venom. Do you guys uh—want anything?” I asked them as I put on the gray coat.

“All we want is for you to have fun before we get a snowstorm. And chocolate of course,” Venom answered.

“Have fun, kiddo!” Dad exclaimed from the couch.

“Okay, see you guys later!” I said before exiting through the door with Sleeper on my shoulder.

As I exited, I saw Bren standing in front of the steps of the door. His expression seemed irritated as he watched me exit the door. He wore a maroon and navy blue jacket that corresponds to Toxin’s form.

“About time, man. I’ve been standing here for five minutes,” he complained as he stared at me as I locked the front door.

“Five minutes isn’t nothing,” I replied.

“Whatever. Anyway, where do you want to go?” Bren asked as I walked down the steps of the town house.

“I don’t know. You have anything in mind?” I questioned as we stood in front of the steps of the town house.

“We were gonna get a gift for Dad. Except, we don’t have clue what to get him,” he responded.

“What about we walk around town and see if we desire for any of the shops,” Sleeper suggested.

A moment later, we began to walk down the aisle of town houses. We live near the metro of the city—close enough to where we can intervene if there’s a crime nearby.

We walked down numerous blocks of stores. However, none of them caught my interest. Except, Bren and Toxin’s attention was focused on such a dogwater store.

We paused in front of a Barnes and Noble.

“How about we look through Barnes and Noble?” Bren suggested as he stared at the sign that spelled out BARNES & NOBLE.

“You actually shop here?” I questioned them.

“Yeah? You don’t?”

“No, man. It’s so dog water,” I responded in annoyance.

“Whatever, man. Let’s just get inside. It’s so cold out here,”

Then, we entered through the open entrance of the dog water store. I don’t know if they have chocolate in here. I could sense Venom really wanting it.

“Does this place sell Chocolate?” I asked Bren as Toxin slowly appeared next to his neck.

“Well there’s a Starbucks in here. There’s a chance they could have chocolate,” Bren answered.

We then walked passed a few aisles to reach Starbucks. There were only a few shelf’s that contained similar items to chocolate. We browsed through some of them. However, there was an inconvenience.

“What the hell? How are they out of chocolate?” Bren exclaimed in a frustrated look.

“You know what, it’s fine. We can always look somewhere else,” I responded.

“But they shouldn’t be out of chocolate. They’re usually in stock!” Toxin replied as he let out a tendril to tap on the display name.

“See? It’s supposed to be all chocolate,” Toxin said. “All of those greedy humans took them al!”

“Calling us greedy, huh?” I commented.

“Like what you said. Let’s look somewhere else,” Bren repeated.

However, as we slowly approached the exit of Starbucks, we heard a little commotion behind us.

“Give us ALL of you money, lady!” a man with a ski mask begged as he held a pistol in front of the cashier.

“YEAH! Just give us the money, and you’ll be free. You don’t want to die, do you?” the accomplish demanded as he held both a pistol and a gray Walmart bag.

Sleeper and I stared at Bren and Toxin, and they stared back. Without any words, and by the family connection we had, we already knew what to do.

“COME ON LADY HURRY—“

“You dare arm an innocent woman?” Toxin questioned as they shifted their arms into a sharp precise blade.

“You all are going to hell,” I sharply criticized in my Codex form. It’s a good thing Venom left a tiny piece of himself within me—in case of an emergency.

“WHAT THE HELL?!” one of the robbers shouted as Sleeper shifted into its regular form—fuming numerous chemicals in the air.

In the end, the two robbers were no big deal. We were only there to intimidate them. They lay flat—unconscious on the checkered floor.

“You will be safe, lady,” Toxin said as they walked across the two unconscious bodies.

“Please call the police immediately,” I requested. “And tell them… we saved you,”

End?…

———————————————————————————

Part 2?

I might create more Venom fanfics in the future.

I’m currently making a small comic and the fic was based off of that. Stay tuned for that!

Happy New Years everyone!

[bronzemettle]

Are the events of "Doctor Horrible's Sing-Along Blog" canon in the Bronze Realms?

At the very least not as-presented. I won't say that Doctor Horrible definitely exists in the BronzeRealms by default, but, I will say that, if he does, if that's a DLC module you decide to slot into the mainstream continuity, I know exactly where and how he fits into it. And it's not in 2008. Despite breaking the title and the framing device, it's in 1983. "Doctor Horrible's Sing-Along Home Videos", if you will.

The reason for this change is a little idea I'm shamelessly stealing from my headmate Alex called "Megamind Vs Doctor Horrible". Megamind is mainstream BronzeRealms, and if Doctor Horrible exists, it's as his foil.

The rest of this post will contain full spoilers for both Doctor Horrible's Sing Along Blog, and more importantly, Megamind. For real, person who I know is still reading this post and hasn't watched Megamind yet, yes you, DO NOT click further into this post, or read the comments, tags, or reblogs. I know it's an old movie, but if you can, Megamind is worth watching fresh.

...Are they gone? We've all seen the movie now, right? Right?

Okay. Let's start by saying that anything written in orange is optional to the Doctor Horrible Expansion Content. Make sense? (Might need a better rule if this kind of distinction comes up more often in future posts...)

The Evil League of Evil doesn't exist, but the Injustice Society does. Bad Horse, even from the young adulthood (for a horse) of 6 years, quickly becomes a powerful and leading figure in the Injustice Society alongside Icicle Senior in the 1950s. Bad Horse takes the reigns on their recruitment outreach programs, researching and evaluating lesser supervillains to see who has the potential to step up with a little boost of resources.

In 1983, Doctor Horrible earns his place in the Injustice Society when he murders a local environmental protester, depowers the beloved hero Captain Hammer, and conquers about one fifth of LA to rule according to his bidding.

Now, over in Metro City, "superhero" and "supervillain" don't mean the same thing that they do in any other city. Local culture dictates that a "supervillain" (as opposed to just a villain) is a registered member of the Doom Syndicate. This isn't a team, at least not usually. It's a loose coalition of "supervillains" who have agreed to a series of restrictions and terms regarding what kinds of crimes they can commit, what collateral damage is acceptable, standards of behavior, family-friendly language, what kinds of insults are off the table, what ideologies or political stances they can't express openly... They've agreed to keep their own schemes eminently low-stakes, no matter how spectacular they might become to witness. Even if a Doom Syndicate member conquers the city, they've agreed to a certain standard of fair treatment for their subjects and a charter for how they are and aren't allowed to respond or interfere when the citizens rise up against them. And once their schemes are foiled, they have to help clean up the mess and repair the city too.

In exchange, Doom Syndicate supervillains get reduced sentencing, nicer prison cells while they're in them (The "special containment unit" serves waffles on Wednesday), won't get shot at by the police when they're not in obviously bulletproof armor or vehicles, and Metro City will not contact outside authorities or accept help from outside superheroes in stopping them.

In essence, superhero fights in Metro City are for show. It's less scripted than Pro Wrestling, but otherwise very similar. Everyone is playing to the audience and tv cameras. Everyone wants to win, sure, but they're also willing to take a dive if it'll be cool or narratively dramatic. Sure, your school or workplace might get smashed to dust sometimes, but it'll be back up in a few days, thanks to Doom Syndicate. Maybe you'll even get to throw a dislodged pipe at someone's helmet to distract them while the hero sneaks up. That sounds fun. It's all in good faith. Long story short, no-one has ever died, not even once, during an official Doom Syndicate-sanctioned supervillain scheme or the superhero fights that result from them.

That is, before 1985, when Doom Syndicate co-founder Megamind was seen apparently having murdered the superhero Metro Man.

Besides taking place in the 80s the rest of the movie plays out basically the same, with an added sprinkle of... well... Tighten isn't playing by the rules, and Megamind isn't used to real lives being on the line. But despite seeing himself primarily as a performer, Megamind steps up and saves his city, for real. So despite going back to the performance fights after that, for the first time Metro City also knows that they have a true hero who will protect them when it's seriously needed.

In 1990, the genetic Augment tyrant Anton York is elected President of the United States in a Leap Term election (a concept I know I will have to actually define eventually but not right now). The Eugenics War comes to America, and superheroes and supervillains alike, everywhere, are disappearing or being forced to retire under suspicious circumstances.

Doctor Horrible passes himself off as an Augment and betrays the Injustice Society for a position in the new rising power structure of the world, sending the other villains scattering. He catches and executes the aging Bad Horse himself to secure the trust of the Augments. He is given a regional oversight position over all of Southern California, including Metro City.

When new legislation passes that forces the Mayor's office to officially disband the Doom Syndicate, nothing really changes. People just keep playing by the rules, same as they always have, and the local authorities who are used to it just play along too and take it easy. Metro City has its own thing going on and they like it. Then Doctor Horrible comes to enforce the new order of things.

With a need for the city to perform for outsider eyes, Megamind pretends to flip again and cave to the Augment regime, and volunteers to rule the city on Doctor Horrible's behalf. This buys them time, just a year or two until Doctor Horrible notices something's wrong (or right) and comes back. But it's long enough to start preparations for Megamind's greatest scheme yet.

Megamind's plan is to surround Metro City in a giant force field, and launch it into space. Metro City will be safe from the Eugenics War. While he and Minion are keeping up appearances as the city dictators and getting the force field all set up and triple-tested to make sure it won't fail and suffocate everyone, Roxanne Ritchi is hush-hush organizing an underground to make sure that everyone is on the right side of that barrier when it goes up, giving anyone who doesn't want to be stuck in the city a chance to get out, and helping people smuggle their loved ones from different parts of the country in to be safe with them.

But both Megamind and Roxanne have a secondary scheme. Both of them are secretly planning to be on the outside of the force field when it goes up, so that they can move on to other cities and keep fighting the good fight.

They both tell Minion to stay behind and protect the other, and the city. Instead of telling the two of them that they're both planning the same protection-doublecross, Minion just does the same thing. He goes to find Music Man, and tells him that all three of them are going to be gone while the city is in space, and if anything threatens the city, it will be up to Music Man to step up and stop it, even if he only sees himself as a performer, just like Megamind once had.

So when Doctor Horrible does return and force their hand, and the force field goes up, trapping Doctor Horrible and the regime he works for out, and the city goes up, free and secure, Minion finds Megamind and Roxanne and reveals that none of them went up with it, because the three of them are a team.

Thankfully for Music Man being able to avoid a massive nervous breakdown for actually having life-and-death stakes on his shoulders for the first time, the one time someone tries to sabotage the force field, Megamind's fellow Doom Syndicate supervillains come together with some of the other lesser-known local performer-superheroes to stop it.

Meanwhile, on the outside, Megamind, Roxanne, and Minion are taking the fight elsewhere. To Doctor Horrible, to LA.

When they sneak into his lab, they're horrified to discover the corpse of a woman being preserved in a glass case hooked up to some contraption. Someone named Penny. Megamind figures out the machine is meant to resurrect her, reversing the specific radiological effects of Doctor Horrible's Death Ray (the physical injuries having been surgically repaired by LA's best doctors years ago)... but it won't work.

Megamind is hella autistic and ditzy, and fixes an equation on the whiteboard before they leave without thinking about it. So when Doctor Horrible returns to his lab, he's able to activate the machine. He resurrects Penny. At first she's thankful, and when Roxanne approaches her and offers to sneak her out, she turns it down.

But this time he has the confidence to actually talk to her. She sees his LA. She hears about what he did to Captain Hammer, to the Injustice Society, to Bad Horse, what he's done for Anton York, and what he plans to do once he can get the upper hand on these superiors too.

She murders him. Stabs him, with a fork, and doesn't stop.

Megamind, Roxanne, Minion, and Penny, who they help to escape and take on a new identity, all survive the Eugenics War, to the end. There's another whole story about how after the war ended in 1998 they got Metro City back down to earth, but for now I'll leave it said that they did, all safe and sound, and Megamind happily returned to his performances, his city, his people. And most villains, the ones who don't play by the rules, still know better now than to come to Metro City. It might be all fun and games when you leave them alone, but that doesn't make it easy pickings. After all, no-one ever figured out what happened to Doctor Horrible...