#oh my god and it’s national broadcast

[joeyisourranger]

nate’s either gonna score 7 goals today or take his skate off and throw it at someone

[usertoxicyaoi]

"I'm the only one in the world who'd think 'sunny' is a dirty word."

MY PERSONAL WEATHERMAN (2023). Episode 1.

[scoupsakakitty]

Hii, could i request that yk in some reality shows, the MC is making the idols call someone, like their friends or family. So I was wondering if I could request a jeonghan, hoshi, mingyu or Vernon au where they called you and they didnt expect it cuz the relationship is still new to the public. Im sorry idk if that makes sense

The Call | idol!Jeonghan x Reader | fluff

The game segment had started off harmlessly. The MCs were laughing, the members were competitive, and everything was lighthearted until the next challenge was revealed.

“Now, let’s have a special phone call segment! Each member will randomly call someone close to them!”

The room was filled with surprised reactions, and Jeonghan instantly tensed up. His relationship with Y/N wasn’t exactly a secret among his members, but the public barely knew anything. They had been dating for a while, but the two of them had kept things lowkey. And now, on national television, he was being forced to make a spontaneous call.

The other members were excitedly pulling out their phones, already dialing friends and family, but Jeonghan hesitated. He glanced at the camera, then at the screen displaying his name.

“Hyung, hurry up!” Hoshi nudged him with a grin.

With a small sigh, Jeonghan unlocked his phone and scrolled through his contacts. His fingers hovered over Y/N’s name for a second before he pressed the call button.

The call connected after the third ring.

“Jeonghan? You’re calling me?”

The familiarity in Y/N’s voice made his heart skip a beat. He could hear the confusion, but also the warmth. The members immediately erupted into a chorus of teasing and dramatic gasps.

“Y/N! You’re live on air,” Jeonghan warned quickly, chuckling at the reaction from both Y/N and the members.

“Oh my god, are you serious?” came the immediate response, and he could picture the way Y/N’s eyes must have widened in surprise.

The MCs leaned in with interest. “Y/N, how do you feel about Jeonghan randomly calling you?”

There was a pause, and then a soft laugh from the other end. “Honestly? I’m surprised. He usually texts before calling. But it’s nice. Hi, everyone!”

The members cooed exaggeratedly while Jeonghan rubbed the back of his neck, a rare moment of shyness washing over him.

“So, what does Jeonghan call you when you’re alone?” DK asked mischievously, sending the studio into chaos.

Jeonghan groaned. “Alright, that’s enough of this segment!”

But even as the teasing continued, he couldn’t help the way his smile lingered, the warmth of Y/N’s voice still ringing in his ears.

The segment continued with other members making their calls, but the energy in the room was still fixated on Jeonghan’s moment. The MCs had taken note of the reactions, and even the fans watching the live broadcast were buzzing with excitement over this rare glimpse into Jeonghan’s personal life.

After the show ended, Jeonghan found himself scrolling through messages. As expected, fans were already speculating about Y/N and their relationship. He exhaled slowly, thinking about how much had changed since he first started dating. Keeping things private had always been his instinct, but now that it was out there, he felt strangely relieved.

His phone buzzed with an incoming message from Y/N.

Y/N: So, I’m famous now?

Jeonghan chuckled, typing a quick reply.

Jeonghan: You’ve always been famous to me.

His heart warmed when he saw Y/N typing back almost immediately. Maybe this unplanned reveal wasn’t so bad after all.

[hunterrrs]

Monday morning, the nerves were long gone, her prep work was largely done and the magnitude of the looming moment finally hit Michelle Crechiolo hard.

That night, when the Penguins battled the Philadelphia Flyers, she would become the first female broadcaster to ever call a regular season Penguins game.

When Crechiolo realized that morning that she would be a trailblazer and perhaps an inspiration to other women in hockey, her thoughts drifted to one of her favorite photos — a picture of her when back she was playing in Mini Mites.

“It’s making me emotional thinking about it now,” she later told the Post-Gazette, her voice quivering. “I’ve got the Jofa gloves, wooden stick. I’ve got on a little pink turtleneck under all my equipment. And I’m just posing and cheesing, and I’m missing a tooth. And I’m just so happy to be a hockey player.

“I’m just thinking about what that little girl would say if I told her that I was doing this, doing color commentary on a Pittsburgh Penguins radio broadcast. It’s just so surreal. It really is. I stuck with hockey because I loved it, and it’s led me here. And I just couldn’t be more grateful to be in this position. It’s wild.”

Around 10 a.m. Sunday, Crechiolo received a text message from Leo McCafferty, the Penguins’ vice president of content and production. He told her they believed she would be a great option to step in for Phil Bourque, who was sick. He asked if she would be up for taking his place on the radio broadcast.

“I was like, ‘Oh, hell yeah,’” she said with a laugh. “That was my response.”

When she hung up the phone, she had a brief moment of nervousness, wondering what she had just gotten herself into. But then she just felt “pure excitement.” She rushed downstairs to share the news with her boyfriend, Chuck.

“That’s when it hit me. ‘Oh my god, I’m going to be the color analyst on a National Hockey League broadcast between the Penguins and Flyers,’” she said.

Not only that, Crechiolo is the first woman to do play-by-play or color commentary on a local TV or radio broadcast for any of Pittsburgh’s three big-league teams.

Once Crechiolo calmed down, she went about her business as usual. She headed to UPMC Lemieux Sports Complex to watch practice, then in the locker room she gathered as many “nuggets” as she could for Monday’s broadcast.

Sidney Crosby, Jake Guentzel, Tristan Jarry and Rickard Rakell were among the players who gave her support and advice — or a good-natured ribbing.

When they began broadcasting her quick hits up on the Jumbotron, Crechiolo was anxious about stepping into an on-camera role. But something coach Mike Sullivan said about a player making his NHL debut resonated with her.

“He said, ‘It’s not about putting pressure on yourself. You’re there for a reason. It’s about getting excited for the opportunity, because you’re just doing something you love to do,’” Crechiolo said. “And that was how I felt about this.”

michelle 🥰🥰🥰

[youdent1ty]

look it's another sonic movie 3 thoughts post (I have to)

spoilers under the cut absolutely do not look if you haven't seen the movie

i am absolutely crushed. there is no god. all hope is lost.

anyway INCREDIBLE movie but I'm sitting here in my cheap tack-on mustache and red and black powersuit and cannot fathom what i just witnessed

HE DIED??? ROBOTNIK DIED? bummer

my friend genuinely had to hug me in the theater for a minute i was crying so hard. and his message to stone? such a gorgeous choice to have him broadcast to the whole world his love for him.

honestly though felt like stone didn't have that much screentime. little disappointed at that but he had so much personality it made up for it

someone please tell me that post credits scene means robotnik is alive though. maybe it's dependant on whether or not jim returns but if he's gone forever then uh oh

too sad to draw right now but stobotnik nation PLEASE GO CRAZY

[empiredesimparte]

Live broadcast of ‘Le Sacre de Napoléon V’ on the national channel Francesim 2, hosted by Stéphane Bernard

(Another journalist) We see the imperial couple's carriage leaving the Palais des Tuileries, the ceremony is starting! (Stéphane Bernard) Yes, my dear, here we are. This is a historic day for all of Francesim!

(Stéphane Bernard) Look at these images of the majestic Notre-Dame Cathedral, where the heads of state are taking their places. They are the first to enter, as per His Imperial Majesty's wish. Of course, this is excluding the journalists and cameras. We live in the era of communication. (Another journalist) It's also the first time under the French Empire that the coronation is taking place in the presence of foreign leaders. (Stéphane Bernard) Yes, if you like, it's a completely different atmosphere compared to the coronation of Napoleon IV in 2001, or year 209.

(Stéphane Bernard) His approach was more traditional. It was necessary to win back the French people. Thus, all the guests – around ten thousand – were French. It was also necessary to "introduce" oneself, which is why the emperor focused all the images on his person, the new aristocracy, and the imperial splendor.

(Stéphane Bernard) Today, in 2022, 21 years later, Emperor Napoleon V enjoys a popularity that nearly reaches 80%! You understand, the issues are completely different now. Napoleon V's coronation is a soft power operation. It's subtler than with Napoleon IV: by using symbols of the monarchy like the orb representing universalism, the splendor, and traditions, he strengthens the image and cultural influence of Francesim worldwide. This grand event showcases the stability and grandeur of the nation while cultivating a sense of national pride.

(Another journalist) Is it also a way for a young emperor like Napoleon V to assert his legitimacy in front of other crowned heads? (Stéphane Bernard) No, I don't think so. Allow me to say that this would be a very mistaken interpretation of the ceremony. The Emperor of the French derives his legitimacy solely from the French people. The other heads of state, or God, have absolutely no role to play in this process. It is a solemn moment where the sacred bond between the sovereign and his people is celebrated and renewed, without external interference. That is why the heads of state and ambassadors are not filmed during or after the ceremony.

(Other journalist) Wait, Stéphane, let me stop you right there. Le sacre is a religious ceremony. What do you mean? (Stéphane Bernard) I will delve into this more during the ceremony, but it is crucial to distinguish the different moments of the coronation. Religion, while important, constitutes only a part of it: the anointing. Note that there are few sacral monarchies in Europesim today. The Empire of Pierreland is one of the rare countries that have preserved this grand religious tradition. In Francesim, Emperor Napoleon IV chose to reinstate the coronation for reasons other than legitimacy. Emperor Napoleon III, for example, was never crowned! (Another journalist) The imperial procession is now on the Champs-Elysées. Oh, look, Stéphane, the first images of Their Majesties!

(Stéphane Bernard) Admire Their Majesties in their Petit Habit de Sacre, an outfit elegantly inspired by the coronation of Napoleon I. This traditional French attire, reserved for the most solemn occasions, is today enhanced by a touch of originality unique to Napoleon V: he proudly wears the famous bicorne of his illustrious ancestor, Napoleon I. (Another journalist) I must say, it's quite something to see a Simparte wearing that famous hat! (Stéphane Bernard) For the most fervent Simpartists, it is truly a relic.

(Stéphane Bernard) Empress Charlotte, on the other hand, is adorned with the prestigious ruby set of Marie-Louise of Austria, created by the renowned court jeweler, François Regnault Nitot. She is also wearing the famous diamond necklace of Queen Marie-Antoinette. A curious choice, considering the tumultuous history associated with this piece, but it remains spectacular nonetheless. If my memory serves me right, this necklace is composed of 650 diamonds. (Another journalist) Yes, about 2800 carats in total. Their Majesties appear to be in exceptional form. Our colleagues at the Palais des Tuileries this morning reported that the emperor was particularly cheerful.

(Stéphane Bernard) Yes, a lot of emotions will affect him today. Right now, before our eyes, he is still a secular figure like all of us. But when he takes his oath to the French People shortly, he will no longer be the same man. Numerous rites will transform this private individual into a mystical figure: the Emperor. This is what we will witness today, the transformation of our dear sovereign.

(Stéphane Bernard) The imperial procession is now in front of the Arc de Triomphe de l'Étoile, this emblematic monument of Napoleonic heritage. Built under the orders of Napoleon I, magnified by Napoleon III and Baron Haussmann, this grand edifice embodies the glory and victories of the Empire. Let us not forget the famous promise of the Emperor to his soldiers: "You will only return to your homes under triumphal arches". (Other journalist) Indeed, this is a very symbolic step in the procession.

(Stéphane Bernard) Absolutely. The imperial procession recently passed the Palais Royal, which was once the seat of the Tribunat during the Empire. Today, this iconic place houses the Ministry of Culture as well as the Constitutional Council. Now, the procession is about to cross the Pont-Neuf to reach the cathedral through the grand west entrance. On this sacred day, the imperial couple is the only one granted the honor of entering through this majestic gate. The guests, on the other hand, enter the cathedral through the north facade.

⚜ Le Sacre de Napoléon V | N°7 | Francesim, Paris, 28 Thermidor An 230

The imperial cortege made its way to Notre-Dame cathedral in Paris, while the coronation guests took their seats. It was broadcast live on television by Stéphane Bernard, the famous journalist for the crowned heads in Francesim.

Beginning ▬ Previous ▬ Next

⚜ Guests at the coronation

TIM, Emperor David I and Empress Katalina of Pierreland (@officalroyalsofpierreland)

HRH, Prince Oliver, Duke of Rothsey (@officalroyalsofpierreland)

HIM, Queen Viviana II of the Ionian Union (@funkyllama)

TM, King Arnaut and Queen Lorraine of Uspana (@nexility-sims)

HM, Queen Anastasia of Carrington and HRH, Prince Hisirdoux, the Duke of Clois (@royalhouseofcarrington)

TRH, Crown Prince George, Duke of Everton and Crown Princess Anne, Duchess of Everton (@crownsofesha)

HRH, Margaret, the Princess Royal of Corrilea (@theroyalsofcorrilea)

HM, Queen Diana and HRH, Prince Gerhard of SimDonia (@bridgeportbritt)

HRH, Madame Royale Eleanor de Thornolie (@theroyalthornoliachronicles)

TM, King Giovanni and Queen Consort Cassandre (@royalhouseofcardsleyts4)

TIM, The High King and High Queen of the Presean Empire (@stthomaspalace)

TM, King George I and Queen Elizabeth of Illyria (@the-lancasters)

TRH, the Duke and Duchess of Marseille and Saint-Lyon (@sosa-royals)

HM, Rosalind II, Queen of the Armoricans (@armoricaroyalty)

HM, King Arthur of the United Kingdom of Prydain and Voltadelmar (@prydainroyals)

TRH, The Prince and Princess of Belen (@housekonig)

HIH,  The Princess Imperial Eliana of Alexandria (@thealexandrianroyals)

TM, Queen Najwa and King Abeni of Oasis Springs (@hrh-the-royals)

TRH, Crown Princess Emeline and Crown Prince Cedric of Whitmore (@whitmoreroyals)

TM, King Oliver and Queen Charlotte of Cedoria and the Isle (@thebaillieroyals)

TM, King James II and Queen Alibhe of United Kingdoms of Great Briton and Ériu (@trhor)

Her Majesty Queen Irene and HRH Prince James (@albanyroyals)

⚜ Traduction française

(Autre journaliste) On voit le carrosse du couple impérial quitter le palais des Tuileries, la cérémonie commence ! (Stéphane Bernard) Oui mon cher, ça y est nous y sommes. C'est une journée historique pour la Francesim toute entière !

(Stéphane Bernard) Regardez ces images de la majestueuse cathédrale Notre-Dame, où les chefs d'État prennent place. Ce sont eux, les premiers à entrer, selon le souhait de Sa Majesté Impériale. Bien entendu, si l'on met de côté les journalistes et les caméras. Nous vivons à l'ère de la communication.

(Autre journaliste) C'est la première fois d'ailleurs sous l'empire français que le sacre s'effectue en présence de dirigeants étrangers. (Stéphane Bernard) Oui, si vous voulez, c'est une tout autre ambiance que le sacre de Napoléon IV en 2001, ou l'an 209.

(Stéphane Bernard) Son approche était plus traditionnelle et orientée vers un nationalisme assumé. Il fallait reconquérir les Français. Ainsi, tous les invités – environ dix mille – étaient français. Il était également nécessaire de 'se présenter', c'est pourquoi l'empereur a focalisé toutes les images sur sa personne, la nouvelle aristocratie et le faste impérial.

(Stéphane Bernard) Aujourd'hui, en 2022 soit 21 ans plus tard, l'empereur Napoléon V bénéficie d'une popularité qui frôle les 80% ! Vous le comprenez bien, les problématiques ont radicalement changé. Le couronnement de Napoléon V est une opération de soft power. C'est plus subtil qu'avec Napoléon IV : en utilisant les symboles de la monarchie comme le globe qui représente l'universalisme, le faste et les traditions, il renforce l'image et l'influence culturelle de la Francesim à travers le monde. Cet événement grandiose permet de montrer la stabilité et la grandeur de la nation, tout en cultivant un sentiment de fierté nationale.

(Autre journaliste) Est-ce un moyen aussi pour un jeune empereur comme Napoléon V d'asseoir sa légitimité devant d'autres têtes couronnées ? (Stéphane Bernard) Non, je ne crois pas. Permettez-moi de vous dire que ce serait une interprétation très erronée de la cérémonie. L'empereur des Français tire sa légitimité uniquement du Peuple français. Les autres chefs d'État, comme Dieu, n'ont absolument aucun rôle à jouer dans ce processus. Il s'agit d'un moment solennel où le lien sacré entre le souverain et son peuple est célébré et renouvelé, sans ingérence extérieure. C'est pourquoi les chefs d'états et les ambassadeurs ne sont pas filmés durant ou après la cérémonie.

(Autre journaliste) Attendez, Stéphane, je vous arrête tout de suite. Le Sacre est une cérémonie religieuse. Qu'est-ce que vous voulez dire ? (Stéphane Bernard) Je reviendrai sur ce point plus en détail pendant la cérémonie, mais il est crucial de distinguer les différents moments du sacre. La religion, bien qu'importante, n'en constitue qu'une partie : celle de l'onction. Notez qu'il y a peu de monarchies sacrales en Europesim de nos jours. L'empire de Pierreland est l'un des rares pays à avoir conservé cette grande tradition religieuse. En Francesim, l'empereur Napoléon IV a choisi de rétablir le sacre pour d'autres raisons que la légitimité. Napoléon III, lui, n'a jamais été sacré par exemple ! (Autre journaliste) Le cortège impérial est maintenant sur les Champs-Elysées. Oh, regardez Stéphane, les premières images de Leurs Majestés !

(Stéphane Bernard) C'est un moment marquant de cette journée historique ! Admirez Leurs Majestés dans leur Petit Habit de Sacre, une tenue élégamment inspirée du couronnement de Napoléon Ier. Cette tenue traditionnelle française, réservée aux occasions les plus solennelles, est aujourd'hui sublimée par une touche d'originalité propre à Napoléon V : il arbore fièrement le célèbre bicorne de son illustre ancêtre, Napoléon Ier. (Autre journaliste) Je dois dire que ça fait quelque chose de voir un Simparte porter ce célèbre chapeau ! (Stéphane Bernard) Pour les Simpartistes les plus fervents, il s'agit d'une véritable relique.

(Stéphane Bernard) L'impératrice Charlotte, quant à elle, porte la prestigieuse parure de rubis de Marie-Louise d'Autriche, créé par le célèbre joaillier de la cour impériale, François Regnault Nitot. Elle porte aussi le fameux collier de diamants de la reine Marie-Antoinette. Un choix certes curieux, compte tenu de l'histoire tumultueuse associée à ce bijou, mais il n'en reste pas moins spectaculaire. Si ma mémoire ne me fait pas défaut, ce collier est composé de 650 diamants. (Autre journaliste) Oui, environ, pour 2800 carats. Leurs Majestés semblent dans une forme exceptionnelle. Nos collègues qui se trouvaient au palais des Tuileries ce matin racontent que l'empereur était particulièrement enjoué.

(Stéphane Bernard) Beaucoup d'émotions, oui, vont l'affecter aujourd'hui. Là sous nos yeux, il est encore un personnage profane comme nous tous. Mais lorsqu'il prononcera son serment au Peuple français tout à l'heure, il ne sera déjà plus le même homme. Si vous voulez, de nombreux rites vont transformer cette personne privée en figure mystique : l'empereur. C'est cela qu'on va vivre aujourd'hui, la transformation de notre cher souverain.

(Stéphane Bernard) Le cortège impérial se trouve maintenant devant l'Arc de Triomphe de l'Étoile, ce monument emblématique du patrimoine napoléonien. Construit sous les ordres de Napoléon Ier, magnifié par Napoléon III et le baron Haussmann, cet édifice grandiose incarne la gloire et les victoires de l'Empire. N'oublions pas la promesse célèbre de l'Empereur à ses soldats : « Vous ne rentrerez dans vos foyers que sous des arcs de triomphe ». (Autre journaliste) C'est en effet une étape très symbolique du cortège.

(Stéphane Bernard) Absolument. Le cortège impérial est passé il y a peu devant le Palais Royal, autrefois le siège du Tribunat sous l'Empire. Aujourd'hui, ce lieu emblématique abrite le ministère de la Culture ainsi que le Conseil constitutionnel. À présent, le cortège s'apprête à traverser le Pont-Neuf pour rejoindre la cathédrale par la grande porte ouest. En ce jour sacré, le couple impérial est le seul à avoir l'honneur d'entrer par cette majestueuse entrée. Les invités, quant à eux, accèdent à la cathédrale par la façade nord.

[cleolinda]

I am so fucking pissed. We’re hearing forecasts that we might get FIVE FUCKING INCHES OF SNOW overnight from Monday to Tuesday. In ALABAMA, where we have no snow removal equipment. Like I think we got one bag of sand for the whole town. No snow tires, I don’t even know what those are. This isn’t cute “Haha it’s just barely below freezing! Snowball fight!!!” snow. This is 14° Fuck (-11° Come the Fuck On) snow. FIVE INCHES? We get flurries and the city descends into madness.

What if we lose POWER. Everything runs off USB cord stuck in the outlet charging nowadays. This is why everyone used to run out and buy Milk Bread Batteries. Listen. I have this memory of the power going out during this wild snowstorm when I was a kid--I want to say it was Winter Storm '93. Ask anyone who lived in Alabama at the time. Like we had Desert Storm '92 the military operation one year and Winter Storm '93 the next. It was that serious in our minds, and I'm not sure you can blame us:

The storm dumped several inches of snow each hour on Birmingham, which ended up with officially 13 inches of snow.

Due to the high winds some parts of Birmingham reported drifts 5 to 6 feet deep. One state trooper reported that the roads were in the worst shape he had ever seen. "People can't tell what's road and what's not."

Low temperatures during the storm were in the 5-to-10 degree range on that Sunday.

IN A TOWN WHERE WE DON'T KNOW WHAT A SNOW PLOW IS. I think we had one for the entire county. Like I'm only kind of joking here.

And our power went out.

The snow was so heavy that it pulled down power lines either by its own weight, or by the tree branches its weight broke off. Meanwhile, the power at my house already went off every time a squirrel sneezed. I don't how many days this lasted; it was probably like, 2-3 days, but in my head, I was 14 years old boxed up with my family with no heat and it lasted two weeks. Maybe three years. The four of us slept in sleeping bags layered with quilts, huddled on the floor around a wood burning fire. (In the haunted house, no less.) The carpet was really nice, at least. We had a--do people still call them boomboxes? A big portable cassette player--battery-powered--with AM/FM radio. We listened to whatever TV shows were broadcast from the ABC station at night. We did have hot water; I took a lot of hot baths. We cooked food over the outdoor grill (which we moved to the comfortably large area under the deck, to hold off the falling snow), sometimes using aluminum foil as a kind of thin impromptu frying pan, and kept perishables like milk and meat in a cooler. Oh, did we have a bag of ice for the cooler? No, we used snow. God knows there was enough of it. Of course, I'm sure the refrigerator was perfectly serviceable even without power, because it was TEN DEGREES FUCK ALL.

I remember going outside a good bit and playing, as much as a teenager plays, in the snow with my seven-year-old sister. I remember that all the neighborhood kids got big rubber trashcan lids and used them as toboggans, going up to the top of the hill on our street and pretty successfully sledding down. Maybe it was "lmao snowball fight!!" snow when I was 14. I'm 45 now, and the cold makes me hurt. It makes me hurt all over. Maybe Winter Storm '24 will be a fun core memory for my nephew. I am pissed. And also charging all my electronics.

(ETA: It’s ‘24 now, isn’t it. My brain hasn’t clicked the date over yet. What is time.)

[haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll]

Tracklist:

40 Years Super Hot Body Ready for Party • Aries Taurus Gemini Cancer Leo Virgo Libra and Scorpio Sagittarius Capricorn Aquarius Pisces Fart Song • Butterflies Scared My Cat When I Was Burping in Your Face on Wednesday Morning • Drunk Log out with Spooky Music Settings on My Firm Tits Pictures • Grandpa Says Fuck While Grandma Screams What Repeated Several Times • Grumpy Trumpy Python Toddler Taxi with False News and Emotions • Hugging Blood Thirsty Vampires with a Transylvanian Accent and Slapped Butts • I Farted as an Official Statement Against Global Warming, Expressing My Worries! • I’m Handsome When Wearing a Bag on My Head, Said the Horny Motherfuckers Politely • Is That Cellulite or Just Your Ugly Face? • Kindergarten Farting Fanfare Discussed with Disgusting Asian Clay Warriors Terracotta Song • Leaking Ladies Xylophone Solo Learning with Lusty Lashes Song • Lisping on Penis Peyote Creaking Mirth Radio, Let’s Lisp! Song • Lowering My Filthy Boobs to the Height of Your Curly Chest Hair with Freckles • Mom’s Cleaning Closet Looks Like a Women’s Porn Stash • My Gay Expense Combination Password Gore Seeking Battle Was Sinning • My Hangover Got Hung over by a Hung Guy from Hungary • My Horoscope Sign Is Poop and Yours Is Farts • Nearly Touching Myself with Your Girlfriend’s Hands While Doing the Dishes • Peeing a Farting Swearing Shouting and Pooping in Different Languages Made Me Famous Song • Petite Girls Liked My Fat Farts in Skinny Jeans with Justice • Pooping a Masterpiece in the Little Boys Room on National TV Broadcast • Puerto Del Penis Summer Holiday with Topless Sun Bathing and Surfing Fun • Puking Girls Are Holding Each Others Hair While Selling Butter to Pregnant Vomiting Men • Real Sharks Was a Great Accessory for My Swimming Pool Party Massacre • Relaxing Music for Penis Boys and Vagina Girls, I Have Money Cash, Yes! • Rescuing My Penis from Your Vagina at the Last Minute, Whoah! • Scary Music and Naked Ladies Cemetery Collection Flickering Through Growth • Shaking Sausages in the Men’s Room and Dangling Coconuts • Short Temper Anus Removal with Lipstick on the Collar • Shouting Poopers to Girls While a Crying Man Is Pooping Poop, How Adorable Screaming Babies Are! • Silly Talking Childish Macho Man Thanking Prayers for God’s Food Yes Hello! • Skinny Bitch, Fat Bitch, Rich Bitch, Poor Bitch, All Bitches Poop! • Smelling That Pussy in the Air at the Private Night Club Farting Room • Smudging Chocolate over the Toilet, So Everyone Would Think I Pooped • Sneaking Beans into Your Butthole While U Talk to a Handsome Stranger • Snuggling in Satan’s Satin Sheets with Shattered Dreams and No Boner Song • Solitary Fighting My Big Toe with the Desolate Strangler • Spoiling Desert by Pulling Your Finger Thirteen Times in a Row • Strolling with Morning Wood in the Woods While Mourning to This Song • Stutter and Chinese Food Destroyed My Artwork in the Toilet Bowl Coffee Shop • Sunny Morning Boner at the Beach Gym Towel Rental Song • Surprisingly Soft Boobs on the Milf Statue in the Garden of Jugs, Oh It Was Your Mom Sorry! •

Taming My Daughter’s Boyfriend with Booze and Fists of Agony • Teleporting My Cock to the Urinals Hurts When Peeing Penis Action • That Penis Is Not Mine, Stop Accusing Me of Curing Your Cancer! What • The Brothel Cup Cake Dispenser Had a Variety of Chocolate Brownies Too • The Giggling Killer Was Invited for Tea and Mustard with a Former Laughing Idiot • The Headache Fuckers with Migraine Were Chopping Fucking Painkillers • The Itchy Vampire Vagina Was a Gothic Curse from Medieval Times Song • The Lying Bitch Hermit Ducking Group Was Insisting on Bitch Slaps • The Penis Teens Shouting Squad Declared War on the Vagina Milfs Departure • The Pussy Cock Was Meowing and Cock-a-Doodle-Dooing with Glance • The Singing Orgy Group Remembered My Fancy Birthday Party, Super! • The Sock on My Penis Shook the Genuine Spokesman While Crying Song • The Syphilis Motown Singers Were Blowing Deranged Adultery at Me Song • The Toy Collector’s Mature Attitude Otter Raised Homeland Security Breach • The Triangle of Pussy and Clipping Smoothies Burping Smootch • Typical Asian Food Poured into the Purse of an European Hooker Prostitute Igloo • Under Water Farting Wiz Nick Y Minaj Naked Twerking Shower Saloon Barf Thong • Updating My Profile Picture While Pooping Macaroni with Japanese Subtitles • Using Mother´s Panther Underwear Because of Broken Shopping Bag to the Store • Washing Hamburgers with Dirty Sauce in Leather Pants While Howling • What Ugly Shit on Your Finger! Oh, It’s Your Wedding Ring? It’s Very Nice! • Whistling and Farting a Heavenly Polyphonic Song for Dying Virgins • Violin Licking Sounds by a Hard Baritone Dick Song Licker • Young Girls Selling Old Men´s Boxers in Thongs with Soulful Tutti-Frutti • Your Butthole Swallowed My Telephone, Will It Come out from the Mouth Then? • Your Mom´s Butt Massage Seems Innocent at First, Before Handing out Religious Leaflets

Spotify ♪ Youtube

[thewhumpcaretaker]

🝊 Curse in Two Bodies: 7 - Yule Special 🝊

Masterlist | Summary: With the curse evenly split between them, Adelais and Ninlen struggle through their respective holiday celebrations while pretending they both just have colds. But Adelais isn't doing too well.

Oh Ievenar, God of Justice, who holds the scales:

Today I come to you with gratitude. For these few hours, I lost myself in the joy of the season, sitting in an easy chair to watch flames consume the yule tree piece by piece in our hearth. What’s a little pain in my body anyway? At an approximately fifty-fifty split, the curse feels, for each of us, like one of the worst sore throats we’ve ever had, but it’s bearable. And it wouldn't work any other way, with the palace festivities happening at the same time as my family's party. I think it was a pretty clever solution. The flannel buttoned up to my chin hides what lacerations there still are, wrapped twice in gauze to prevent visible bleeding. And I am with the people I love, at the little cabin in the valley outside Korsaivar City, where the smoke rises against a golden sky while the sun slowly plunges into the longest night of the year. Home sits on good land, over a humble but deep mana well. I can feel the familiar, energetic strength radiating both from the people around me and from the soil below.

I do love these people, in spite of everything. We aren’t a peaceful family. We claw at one another in our desperation to rise above the circumstances we were born into. I am, at times, tired of being their meal ticket. But they’ve been doting on me all day. They think I have a cold, as an excuse for my raspy voice and my pain on swallowing. It has meant that I can’t hold my newborn niece, Esmerelda, but still, she waves to me across the room in a conversation of curious glances. They’ve wrapped me in quilts, and given me cup after cup of steaming hot chocolate and tea. I feel so cared for… Rarely have I felt so comfortable in every part of my body except the neck. It doesn’t stop me from drawing deep inhales of cedar smoke. Every burning breath is a reminder of how possible it is to be happy even in pain. I am happy, Ievenar.

But I don’t come to you for myself. I come to you, as usual, for Adelais.

It was about three o’clock when he appeared on the television in the corner, tuned to the news broadcast of the royal celebration and national address. Immaculate, as usual, in a pure white military uniform adorned in thin lines of gold, he stood on the balcony overlooking the south courtyard, flanked by his mother and father. Neither of them looked at him even once.

He, too, had made illness his excuse for the way his voice would sound when he spoke his piece on the state of the kingdom and the decrees for the upcoming year. I doubt anyone will question it. He looked positively ashen.

He rested on the cold granite of the railing sometimes, to stop himself from swaying. Those months spent on life support are still haunting his atrophied frame. He’s dizzy, and he’s in at least as much pain as me. Even now, I swallow, and feel that knife-like jab in response, and it makes me uneasy for him.

I don’t want him to suffer so much, Ievenar. It’s as simple as that, what I have to say to you today.

I texted him, because I couldn’t contain myself. “I can see you on TV.”

He was sitting by that point, mercifully, at some kind of long, marble table set up on the balcony. The feed kept cutting to close-ups of his father, who droned on about war bonds, and in those stretches, he was able to reply, “Lovely. /s” His eyes darted across the crowd from one news team to another.

“I’m seeing the feed on your left, from KNZ Daily. And sometimes the one across from you, centered.”

He looked down at his phone, then right at the camera, his face expressionless. “Do I look as bad as I feel?”

Should I have lied? I didn’t. “It’s definitely believable that you’re sick. I don’t know why they have you up there on live news.”

“Neither do I. It’s a PR disaster waiting to happen.”

“You’re doing well so far.” A small shake of the head, and he abandoned his phone pointedly enough that I didn’t bother texting again.

He managed to get to his feet to speak. I couldn’t hear him much over the sounds of the card game going on in my own home. I redirected my attention again and again to the cards on the table and the gingerbread cookies, away from the thready, stumbling rasp of his voice, underpinned with misery even as he forced himself to smile. The warmth and laughter surrounding me seemed to mock him. Just because I was born here, and he was born there, we suffer differently. Where is the justice in that, Ievenar? If it were me, working long hours in the fields, everyone would see the injustice. But because his suffering is the suffering of guilt, no one sees it.

I looked down at my phone again when the card game was over, and at the television. He was seated once more by that time, and the sun painted pink and gold across his bloodless face. A chill wind ruffled the platinum blond fluff under his crown, and he rubbed at his temple. “Ninlen,” he had texted me (some ten minutes prior), “I think I’m actually coming down with something.”

A strange, protective jolt went through my heart. I felt the unmistakable, intoxicating uprush of my body drawing power involuntarily. “Did you feel that?” my mother asked. “Ripple in the mana.”

“Weird,” I lied, and discharged it quietly, flexing my wrists and letting the veins glow under my sleeves until I didn’t feel like I’d explode anymore.

Under control again, I managed to type, “It’s cold out there. You’ll feel better when you’re inside.”

“No. My throat hurts worse and worse. I’m getting congested. And I feel so faint.” He was visibly frowning and sniffling. Did you see him, Ievenar? Were you looking at him? You made him so miserable. Why punish him now, when he’s already in pain? He’s sick. Just lift the curse for a little while, just…

I know that’s not how it works. But it’s how it should work. I’ll say it. That’s what I see. If his throat hurts anyway, why double it?

“Come back tonight. Please. I won’t be able to sleep like this.” The please, from him…that’s really something.

“I can’t. I’ve rightfully taken my paid leave, and I promised my family. I’m so sorry. But I’ll be there first thing in the morning.” He sniffed again and left me on read.

The press conference wore on. Outside the thick lattice of my window, snowflakes started to tumble out of the sky. Heavy and thick, good for a snowman tomorrow. It had started up at the palace too. Despite the overhang above the balcony, a dusting had started to settle on Adelais’ hair and his almost bluish lips. He was shivering too violently to conceal.

“Will they let you go inside, now that your speaking part is over? If you tell them you’re sick?”

“There’s not much chance of that.” But he leaned towards his mother while the mics were cut to focus on the choir performance in the courtyard below. He whispered something to her, and she shook her head. A moment later, she whispered back, turning her whole body for it, lips drawn tight and speaking forcefully. Adelais looked away. His eyes went…a bit dead. A scolding looks the same even in the royal family.

“I’m sorry,” I texted. “This is awful.” He stared down at his lap, at my reply, his face trembling dangerously.

“It’s fine. I deserve it.” It’s lucky I was glued to my phone in a near frenzy of nerves, because the message was deleted a moment later. I looked back up and watched him take deep breath after deep breath, fighting not to cry.

When I tell you I almost drew the entire mana well into my body, Ievenar… God, such a desperation came over me, to intervene. But we were setting the table for dinner, laying out the candles and the sprigs of holly.

I did the only thing I could think to do. I texted Steward Quincy. “The Prince is genuinely sick. Get him inside if you can. If you can’t, get him a coat or a blanket or something warm.”

“In the middle of the Yule broadcast? I don’t even have the authority to do that.”

“Do you want him to pass out on live television?” It was a bit of an exaggeration, but so be it.

A minute later, a member of the PR team stepped up behind him, speaking briefly to him and setting a thick overcoat around his shoulders. I have very been grateful today, Ievenar. But I was most grateful at that moment.

Another wave of emotion seemed to go through him, by the heavy way he was breathing, but he fought it down. He looked right into the camera then, and smiled weakly at me. At me, I’m certain, because a moment later he texted, “thank you.” But I’m also certain that the whole portion of the kingdom who happened to be watching at that moment found themselves thoroughly dazzled by the fondness there.

I’m laying in my childhood bed now, and I can’t stop thinking about him. He’s trying to sleep now and probably can’t. He told me afterwards, in his formal, matter-of-fact way, “It seems I have a fever. Everything hurts. Don’t be late tomorrow morning.”

And I won’t be late. But I also won’t be early enough. So please. Nature is hurting him enough tonight, Ievenar. Can’t you just give him a break, just this once? Before I go mad with protectiveness and draw every spark of power from here to Montagleo, leave him alone.

[pollymorgan]

Oh my God, how embarrassing... I did it and translated my German fanfiction into English... into bad English! Don't be too harsh on me, but rather make suggestions for improvement: So now a little phone sex with Coach Negan. 🙈😌

Warnings: arrogant Negan, frustrated woman, explicit phone sex

Today is one of those days again, where nothing seems to work as it should. Just like so often lately. Why couldn't I transfer those damn photos to the laptop? I've never been very tech-savvy, but the modern world practically forced me to. I'm actually a cookbook author and used to be quite successful with it. Some of my books were bestsellers and I even had my own cooking segment on a nationally broadcasted morning show. But then I was suddenly replaced by a younger, "cooler" colleague and ever since then, I've been struggling to keep afloat with social media, more or less. If only the technology would cooperate..

Even in my personal life, I have been replaced. Four months ago, my husband left us. By us, I mean my three children and me. After 19 years of marriage. But love goes where it goes, right? Nothing can be done against that. At least, those were his words when he got into his Porsche with a blonde woman who could be his daughter and disappeared.

Since then, he has managed to do something with his children exactly twice. But in exchange, he has already disappointed them seven times by canceling the meetings at short notice. Yes, I'm keeping count. At least for now.

My oldest daughter Penny is 15 years old and fully immersed in puberty, and it seems that this situation is hardest on her. She and her father were always a unit, his little princess. But there's no trace of that at the moment. Most of the time, he doesn't even bother to answer his damn phone when she tries to reach him.

I see her suffering. She's lost interest in school, and her circle of friends is dwindling visibly. I would love to help her, but how? At the moment, I just can't seem to reach her. Our communication mostly consists of doors slamming.

But back to my current problem. These damn pictures! The article is supposed to go online today. I cooked an Indian dish and had to drive halfway across town to get these damn spices. Thursdays always bring an international post, and now, of all times, nothing is working again. My laptop doesn't recognize the memory card, and the camera won't connect either. I keep plugging and unplugging the cable, hoping the error will magically resolve. Which of course it doesn't. Suddenly, I glance at the small display in the lower right-hand corner. Damn it! So late. I won't be picking up the kids on time again, the second time this cursed week. Annoyed, I close the screen. Grabbing my purse, I walk quickly to the garage. Where's the damn car key? Nervously, I rummage through my chaotic bag, spilling half of its contents on the floor. Finally finding it, I get into the car and speed out of the driveway.

The first stop is the kindergarten to pick up my youngest. She's a real bundle of nerves, but so sweet that you can forgive her anything. Of course, she throws a tantrum right at pickup. It's a real struggle to get her into the car. Like a madwoman, I drive on to the elementary school to pick up my 9-year-old son. He is the calm one in our family and thankfully waits with his best friend relaxed in front of the school. At least one who's not mad at me. Lucky me. And off we go, heading to my daughter's high school. From a distance, I can see her and immediately know that - once again - something is wrong. She stands all alone and pretty annoyed on the street, looking out for me. When I park the car right in front of her feet, she angrily drops onto the passenger seat.

"Penny, I can explain, you know what a loser I am when it comes to technology..." I try to justify myself.

My eldest rolls her eyes in annoyance. "Mum, this time, for once, it's not your fault..." I see tears forming in the corners of her eyes, and automatically, I feel a lump in my throat.

"Mister Smith... he..."

She doesn't need to continue speaking; just hearing that name fills me with such anger again. Right from the start, there have been issues with her physical education teacher, Negan Smith.

I've only seen him twice so far, at parent-teacher conferences, but Penny's stories are enough for me to know that he's an absolute failure as a teacher. He has his favorites whom he praises to the skies, while the less athletic students suffer under his authoritarian ways. My daughter already feels uncomfortable in her own skin, and that jerk doesn't even realize the impact his remarks have on the young girls.

A few years ago, his wife passed away from cancer. A terrible tragedy, but apparently that did not make him more empathetic; quite the opposite.

I'm currently looking in the rearview mirror to avoid hitting anyone in the chaos outside the school. That's all I need on this crappy day. Then I catch sight of none other than Penny's physical education teacher.

"Isn't that him?" I ask excitedly.

My daughter buries her face even further into the backpack in her lap. "Yes, Mom, it's okay, please just drive..."

The anger that had been building up recently had just found a good release.

With the words "Nothing is good...", I yank open my driver's door and head purposefully towards my daughter's physical education teacher, who is just stowing his bag in his car.

"Who do you think you are?" I stand behind him with arms crossed, eagerly awaiting his reaction.

Confused, he turns around to face me and suddenly a big grin spreads across his face. "Negan Smith, nice to meet you, and who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"

What a cocky jerk!

"The mother of a rather offended young girl, because of you..."

Can't he just drop his arrogant smile for once? Quite unimpressed, he closes the door of his car.

"Penny has so much potential and she's wasting it on the damn bench..."

Such an idiot, he clearly knows who I am.

"Maybe you should listen to the young students as well, instead of just spouting off random remarks at them?"

Amused, he shakes his head. "I did... her excuse for skipping today's P.E. class was menstrual cramps..."

"And in your opinion that's not a valid reason or what? How dare you even pass judgment on that? Your students' bodies are going through changes and such discomforts should be taken seriously..." I respond a bit too loudly, causing some students to turn towards us.

Resigned, he raises his hands. "Of course, but not every damn other week. Maybe you should give your daughter some biology lessons again and explain to her that her P.E. teacher isn't completely from another planet."

Oh God, what does this man think he is..

"And you should work on your teaching skills... Otherwise, maybe I should consider contacting the school board!"

„Oh wow, you're actually a bigger drama queen than your dear daughter!".

Did he really just say that? Did he just seriously insult me? My daughter's teacher. I look at him in disbelief, but he just grins.

"And now she's quiet... I really have to go now, but I'm pretty sure we'll meet again soon." With these words, he jumps into his car and drives off.

Completely perplexed, I walk back to my car and am greeted by my daughter with the words "That was soooo embarrassing.."

7 hours later

Finally peace! Why does it always have to be such a struggle to get the kids to bed? Isn't it unfair that you are a thousand times more tired than the dear little ones? What a crappy day! I'm glad to be freshly showered in my bed and finally have some time off. Just me and my phone, no one else. No more whining, arguing, and crying. As much as I sometimes curse technology, I also love being able to connect with people over the internet. It's fun to respond to comments, the direct exchange with like-minded people is the only positive thing about social media. As I scroll through Instagram, I suddenly see comments coming in at a rapid pace. Confused, I open them. From "Do you always look so good when you cook?" to "Can you cook that for me sometime?" to heart emojis, and they all come from the same account. As I read the name, a shock runs through me. Can this be for real? "Coach Negan" is he not only a tactless asshole, but also a real psychopath? Excited, I click on his account, but apart from a profile picture where he is clearly recognizable, there is no further information.

I quickly open the messaging function and type "What is this???" into my phone. It only takes a few seconds and I receive a response.

"I am a fan 😉"

For a while, I stare at the screen, unable to believe what is happening here.

Suddenly, he sends me a picture. I open it and see a photo of me from my highlights, showing me from my post "Valentine's Day." I had cooked a three-course meal and written a pretty cheesy text back then. It's one of my most liked posts.

"Red lipstick suits you. Matches your fiery nature.." he writes.

What does he want to achieve? Did the confrontation before school hurt him so much that he is trying to provoke me? But to be honest, it seems like he's the one giving me a warning. Well, but if there's one thing I've learned, it's that the best defense is a good offense.

"Oh, do you think so? Most men say I look better without wearing anything...I mean, without lipstick, of course.. 😉".

"Are you already in bed?" he asks next. What a bizarre situation? Why does my daughter's teacher want to know where I am? The same teacher who called me a ‚drama queen‘ just a few hours ago.

I keep trying to type a suitable response on my phone and then delete it again. Finally, I write briefly, "Yes, and you?"

"Yes, and I'm studying your profile. Do you realize how crazy you can drive a man with these pictures? Why am I even asking, of course you do. 😉"

The feeling of small electric shocks runs through my body. The whole thing feels strangely forbidden. Maybe what I'm doing here is damn wrong, but right now, the consequences seem pretty irrelevant to me.

"How mean, you can look at my pictures, but you don't have any online yourself."

"That's true, but how about you hear my voice instead?" Attached to this message was his phone number. Okay, this is all moving pretty quickly, in a pretty strange direction. I'm so excited that I can feel my heart pounding wildly in my chest. But what do I have to lose? I haven't felt like this in the last 20 years. Okay, it's a damn bizarre situation, but I'm an adult and single. So I can finally talk to whoever I want. Even with the biggest jerk I've come across lately.

Feeling totally tense, I dial the number and as it rings, it gets even worse. I take a few deep breaths, and suddenly the deep voice on the other end answers with a "What took you so long to decide?" and I can practically feel his grin.

"Well, I had to think for a moment about what would be so sensible about calling my daughter's narcissistic gym teacher in the middle of the night," I say calmly.

"And what would be sensible about that?" he asks with interest.

"I haven't really found a solid reason yet, but maybe you can tell me?"

He thinks for a moment, and I imagine him lying in his bed. A slight tingling sensation spreads in my stomach, which is intensified by his response.

"Well, I can make sure you feel a little better... forget all the everyday crap that's weighing on your pretty shoulders right now."

I briefly close my eyes to focus more on his voice, which really manages to relax me a bit with just that simple sentence.

"And how do you plan to do that?" I ask softly.

"When was the last time you were really well fucked?" As soon as he says it, my lower abdomen tightens, and I automatically press my legs together.

After I take a moment to collect myself, I honestly respond, "That was much too long ago..."

"Oh, poor girl," Negan provocatively replies, but instead of getting upset about it, it triggers completely different feelings in me. "Tell me about what you imagine when you stroke your lonely pussy at night."

I have to swallow briefly to get rid of the extremely dry feeling in my throat.

"I can tell you what I think about when I do it in a moment..." I say softly but firmly.

And his tone changes too. His breathing becomes heavier. "Then tell me, come on," he commands.

"I imagine it's your fingers running over my body and finally sliding my panties to the side and penetrating deep into me..." My cheeks feel like they're glowing. I've never talked like this with anyone before, and now I just did it with a man who is actually a stranger to me.

"Come on, sweetheart... touch yourself for me and tell me if you're wet," he interrupts.

Without thinking, I click on the speaker icon on my display and place the phone next to me on the pillow, then I slide my right hand under my nightgown into my panties and I'm surprised at how aroused I already am, how swollen my clit is, and how sensitive my whole intimate area has become. I sigh softly.

"Fuck, the sweet little sounds you're making... they make my damn cock twitch in my hand with joy..."

Just the thought that he's so aroused by me on the other end sends waves of pleasure through my body.

"I'm already so wet because of you, Negan..." I admit breathlessly.

"You dirty, pretty lady, if I were with you right now, I would slowly penetrate deep into you... you need that now, don't you?"

"Yes!" I can only whisper.

"Okay, now do everything exactly as I tell you, understood?" he demands.

"Yes, please tell me what to do.." I focus solely on his voice, completely tuning out everything else.

"Take off your panties. Use your index and middle fingers to gently stroke over your mons pubis and then slowly over your outer labia, but not more, just right there.."

Immediately, I follow his instructions. The air feels cool on my bare lower abdomen. I feel strangely exposed, even though I am alone in my bedroom, but it's not uncomfortable, quite the opposite. I begin to caress myself gently.

"How does that feel?" his voice breaks the silence again.

"Good, but I want more.." I plead.

"I already knew that.. Bend your legs and spread them wide.. as far as you can.." He gives me a brief moment to comply with his instructions. "Now push your pelvis even further forward.. Imagine I'm between your legs and you want to present me with your beautiful pussy, you would like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes.." I say and nod vigorously, even though no one can see me.

"Such a good girl.. and now run your index finger through your slit, spread your juices.."

I can't and don't want to hold back my moans now. There is silence for a while at the other end, then I speak heavily.

"Are you also pleasuring your cock for me?" I ask as I continue to touch myself.

"Oh, sweetheart, so your thoughts are currently only about that.." he says snappily. "Yes, I am, and if you keep moaning so sweetly into the phone, it won't be long, so it's time for you to start massaging your clit, but don't be too timid, circle it with two fingers and use some pressure, even if you're very sensitive now, you can take it.."

Oh God, that was exactly what I needed right now. My body felt like in ecstasy and I could feel the orgasm slowly building up.

"Don't come yet," he commanded, and on cue, I immediately removed my fingers from my most sensitive spot.

"Now, bring your knees close to your body!“

"Yes," I replied, completely exhausted. "You're doing it perfectly, how much I would love to see you in this position right now, just the damn thought!" I could clearly hear him softly moaning. This sound made my body twitch with excitement.

"Penetrate yourself with two fingers... nice and slow. Focus entirely on the feeling of stretching your pussy wide... Tell me when you're all the way in!"

"Now," I whispered, already quite spent.

"Then add your ring finger, once you've done that, you can come intensely as a reward, I promise."

Slowly, I press the third finger into me, which initially causes a bittersweet pull, but I'm so wet that it's not a problem.

Without me telling him, Negan knows that I fulfilled his request.

"So perfect, sweetheart! And now, pleasure your clit! Bring yourself to climax and don't hold back any sound, I want to hear every sweet noise from you."

With the first gentle touch, my body twitches like crazy.

"Negan, please come with me," I stammer into the phone.

"Yes, I promise, beautiful," he replies breathlessly.

And these words are enough for me to come as intensely as I haven't in the past years. My thighs tremble uncontrollably and my heart almost jumps out of my chest. My lower abdomen contracts in waves and I can barely breathe. It feels like I am weightless for a few seconds.

"Do you feel good?" he asks after a short pause.

"Perfect.." I reply and can't gather my thoughts yet.

"Okay, then I expect you tomorrow at 3:30 p.m. for a parent-teacher meeting at the school, and, by the way, without panties.. Good night!" After these words, I only hear a beep on the line.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Daniel Villarreal at LGBTQ Nation:

Conservative commentator and former Fox News anchor Megyn Kelly yelled, “Eff you, Taylor Swift” and accused the pop star of wanting to sterilize children and chop off their body parts after Swift endorsed Vice President Kamala Harris for president.

On The Megyn Kelly Show, the titular host noted that Swift’s Instagram endorsement said, “I think [Harris] is a steady-handed, gifted leader and I believe we can accomplish so much more in this country if we are led by calm and not chaos. I was so heartened and impressed by her selection of running mate [Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz], who has been standing up for LGBTQ+ rights, IVF, and a woman’s right to her own body for decades.” “Oh my God,” Kelly said on her broadcast before repeating right-wing lies about Walz. “So this woman is fine with his plan to take custody of the children from parents who don’t want them to chop off their body parts and put them in Minnesota court’s custody so the body parts can be chopped off and they can be sterilized outside the custody of their parents. That’s what led Taylor Swift to endorse him.”

Kelly’s lie, which has been previously repeated by former President Donald Trump and his supporters, distorts Walz’s record on transgender kids and gender-affirming care. Right-wingers have dishonestly claimed that Walz signed legislation allowing minors to receive gender-affirming surgeries and that this legislation allows courts to take trans kids from their unsupportive parents (or, as Trump put it, “kidnap kids to change their gender.”) Walz never signed any such legislation, authorities in his state aren’t authorized to take custody of trans kids, and gender-affirming surgeries are almost never performed on minors. In reality, Walz issued a “trans refuge state” executive order and signed H.F. 146 in 2023. Both helped establish Minnesota as a safe state for gender-affirming care and protected families and care providers from out-of-state prosecutions against gender-affirming care. Neither the order nor the law allow judicial and state officials to take trans children out of the homes of non-supportive families. 

“You can kiss your sales to the Republican audience goodbye, Taylor, hope you enjoyed them while you had them.  I’m allowed to criticize Taylor Swift,” Kelly continued, “and I don’t give a s**t who gets upset. This is disgusting. She wants to vote Harris-Walz, she can do it all she wants. But to say the reason she’s doing it is because of Tim Walz‘s stance on LGBTQ — eff you, Taylor Swift and eff, all of the people who want to see these children have body parts chopped off and watch them sterilized under the age of consent, and then we’ll ride off to their multi gazillion dollar mansions, never to think of them again.” “This pair, Taylor and her boyfriend Travis Kelce are the epitomes of elite snobs,” Kelly added. “They both have gazillions of dollars. She doesn’t care what happens to these kids.”

Cry more, Megyn!

From the 09.10.2024 edition of SiriusXM Triumph/Devil May Care Media's The Megyn Kelly Show:

[afeiandhisdao]

Xiao Shunyao

Aka our dearest Ah Fei in real life

However in this post, we are not going to talk about his biography, nope. We are about to focus on a much deeper aspect. *Sigh*

Simping!

Yes, more precisely simping about Xiao Shunyao's piercings and tattoos.

So let's buckle up and dive in!

Xiao Shunyao - Piercings and Tattoos

1. Eyebrow Piercing

Our beloved YaoYao sports a stunning eyebrow piercing in his left eyebrow. He mostly films after taking them out, so you might've noticed a scar there.

Picture courtesy to : AP and Ybybyb on weibo

2. Nip piercing

Ahem well, this might be partially mature themed and if you are uncomfortable with such, you might consider avoiding reading further.

Yes, Xiao Shunyao has a nip piercing and you can see that here. (Picture Courtesy: Xiao Shunyao Official Weibo)

Now, TATTOOS!

Yes. He has tattoos. SEVERAL of them.

1. HUSTLER

From the medias Xiao Shunyao had shared beforehand, his biggest tattoo is on his left bicep. It says 'Hustler' in decorated cursive. (Please note this is very old. About 10 years old. He might have modified it by now.)

Picture Courtesy : Xiao Shunyao Official Weibo (in the first image it might look that it's on right arm, but that's a selfie.

2. 23 a cute little curved ♡ and a little triangle

Even though the tattoos are unexplained and mostly covered probably because of China's broadcasting rules, Xiao Shunyao is often seen sporting a small 23 and curved heart tattoo. And further up, there's a litte triangle, just above 23.

Picture credit : Ybybyb on weibo (left) and Xiao Shunyao Official Weibo (right)

3. The Stripe Sleeve of Inscriptions (undisclosed)

There's quite a wide stripe of inscriptions tattoo running down his right arm, from inside of his wrist to all the way to the base of shoulder joint. Please note that this tattoo is also very old and might have been modified (mostly added new elements) in the mean time.

Even though it's undisclosed for whatever reason, from the look of it, it might be a Tibetan sloka script. But it's just an assumption.

Around 2013:

Around 2023 (only a sneakpeek):

Picture Courtesy: Xiao Shunyao Official Weibo and Xiao Shunyao fanclub on weibo

4. Five little stars! ⁠✯✯✯✯✯

One of his small tattoos, on his right wrist (outwards). There's five tiny stars, with one relatively bigger and an arc of four smaller ones and as @qinzai has pointed it out, the closest decipher of the stars representing the national flag of China.

5. TRAMP STAMP

LAST but definitely not the LEAST! THE LOWER BACK TATTOO!!!!!!! (OH MY GOD HOW CAN THIS MAN GET HOTTER!!???)

IT'S A SPIDER

even tho looked like a crab on first glance. However (Hot damn man??! Wtf)

Okay, this was it! Well, not really, I wanted to rant and simp more and flood with pictures but Tumblr limited the number of pictures. Hence I'll be posting sneak-peeks of his Piercings and Tattoos on twitter and link it in here! Take a look if you feel like ~♡

P.S. - I am thirsty bye-

[pleathewrites]

bellow the fire into my deadened lungs

chapter 1 excerpt — what are your thoughts on child abuse? + burncare read full story here

September

Meeting semi-regularly with Hawks has been… ‘Strange,’ Dabi thinks. 

The Number Two’s got a bad temper, hates being out of the loop, and hates it more when Dabi can’t be bothered to spare more than a few words at him. Dabi mostly makes Hawks do small jobs — gather bits of mild information and tail certain lower-ranked heroes. Dabi doesn’t ask for any top secrets because he has a feeling Hawks would only feed him lies. ‘Why?’ Because that’s what Dabi does. 

But the Bird has interesting thoughts. 

Dabi will admit — seeing Hawks’ speech during the Hero Ranking ceremony was wildly entertaining. Dabi assumed the hero had a flair for the dramatic, but he never thought the guy would be so bold to make such a scene on national live television. 

“Who’s gonna be happy hearing that? Stain?”

Dabi remembers Spinner’s spit-take at Hawks’ interruption of Edgeshot trying to seem oh, so humble. 

“You don’t think we need to change how we do things?... Why are those less accomplished than me playing it safe?”

Dabi remembers the way Toga’s eyes sparkled, the way even Shigaraki started to tilt his head in consideration. Dabi thinks the raining feathers were a bit over the top since the guy was already fucking floating, but he’ll admit it was a nice touch.

But his favorite — “Now, go ahead, Number One Hero, with a lower approval rating than me.”

Dabi actually let out a snort, at that one. 

It’s been a few weeks since that broadcast, but ever since, Dabi’s interest in the hero has been considerably piqued. 

He sent Hawks a set of coordinates and a time to meet about an hour ago. He’s late himself, but only by thirty minutes, and, well, he’s a villain.

He immediately spots the stupid little bird because, in an industrial town full of grey, that stupid yellow suit is an absolute eyesore. 

“You don’t own any other clothes, Hero?” 

Back turned, with only crimson wings in his view, Dabi hoped the guy would have jumped. Dabi’s been told he can be as quiet as a ghost, but then he remembers Hawks telling him something about telepathic feathers and sound vibration. 

“Dabi!” Hawks twirls halfway with that stupid grin of his, “You’re actually early. For you.”

“Say my name louder, would you. Might as well dial up the Commission right now and let ‘em know you turned, while you’re at it,” The words are worried, but Dabi’s tone stays neutral because they both know the Commission is already informed about every single one of their meetings. It’s just Hawks who thinks Dabi’s dumb as rocks. 

“We’re in a literal alleyway in one of the sketchiest towns in Japan, dude.”

“Tch,” Dabi’s nose scrunches in a sneer, ‘Of course he’d consider this town to be sketchy, just because it’s a little run down.’

Hawks scratches at the back of his head, “Though, I guess you got a point. I — uh, heh, I didn’t have time to change. Patrol and all.” 

Dabi deadpans, “You can spare ten minutes. It’s not gonna kill you,” and Hawks still looks weirdly apologetic so he adds on, “Birdy, you’re acting like I’m the one who’s gonna be waitin’ up on you. Has that been the trend, so far?”

“You know, now that you bring it up…” And Dabi just thinks, ‘oh, Gods, no,’ while Hawks puts a gloved finger to his chin, “Why are you always late?”

Dabi doesn’t answer. 

Hawks puts his hands up in mock surrender, “Alright, fine. Be mysterious, whatever,” Then clasps his hands behind his back. Dabi thinks that’ll be the end of that, but Hawks loves the sound of his own voice too much, “You villains are so dramatic.”

Dabi gapes, and lays his hand over his chest in offense, “I’m dramatic?” He scoffs — he cannot stand half the shit that comes out of this smart-ass’s mouth. His hand leaves his chest to point at the Number Two, “This coming from the guy that not only interrupted a rank ceremony but made it rain feathers while he did it? Braggin’ about his own approval rating while floating in the fuckin’ air?”

And — ‘oh shit’ — Dabi should have kept his mouth shut. 

Because he sees the bastard’s golden eyes fucking gleam, and crimson feathers ruffle, “Eh? You keepin’ tabs on me, Hot Stuff?” and he starts to lean in, close enough for Dabi to feel the need to reel back, his nose a mere inch away from Dabi’s own, “Ya like watchin’ me?” Pale eyelashes flutter.

Dabi’s had enough. 

He hears a muffled ‘oomph!’ as his scarred hand pushes Hawks’ face away, “Don’t fuckin’ flatter yourself, the ceremony was national news.”

Hawks pulls back and laughs a little. It’s a breathy sound, almost a rumble with how deep the guy’s voice is, but it’s always quiet. Tired. 

Dabi’s stomach chooses that moment to let out a loud and horrifying grumble. 

Hawks’ bushy eyebrow lifts in question, and Dabi can feel the blood gather in his cheeks, humiliation warming his usually cool skin. 

“So, there is a reason you look like a bag of bones,” Hawks says.

Dabi knows the guy is trying to be cheeky, but it hits harder than intended because, ‘Yeah, I haven’t eaten all fuckin’ day,’ and the only thing he does remember eating is cheap instant udon, yesterday. He put a boiled egg in it for protein, but that stuff only goes so far.

Luckily, Hawks continues without needing a response from Dabi, “C’mon, I’m hungry, too, and I saw a chicken place around here. On me, the place is probably cheap, anyway, considering,” and waves his hand around broadly, referring to their current location.

Usually, this is the part where ‘Person B’ says something like, ‘I don’t need your charity!’ but Dabi isn’t prideful enough to deny free sustenance, especially since he can’t even remember the last time he ate real meat. 

So, he shrugs, “Lead the way. But first, button up your fuckin’ jacket and take off your glasses, for fuck’s sake. I know you can move your feathers, so — I dunno, move ‘em under your jacket, or somethin’. Hide them.”

And Hawks actually has the audacity to pout, “I hate compressing my wings.”

“Gods,” Dabi groans to the sky, “It’s just for the walk there.”

After grumbling some more, mostly to himself, Hawks relents and leads the way to a mostly empty chicken shop with neon signs and shiny wooden floors. They sit in a booth at the farthest corner, and order. 

Hawks is somewhat right — food is cheap in a town like this. Dabi’s not well-versed in all things economics, but he knows an underfunded town is a wanted-villain’s safest haven. The residents of such towns rarely call for police — police mean heroes, and heroes mean collateral damage; the residents of this town already struggle to make ends meet with their healthy bodies and standing businesses. One bad fight can end in dozens of collapsed buildings, and an overflow of the nearest already-at-capacity hospital. 

‘As long as you don’t cause too much trouble, the residents here won’t even bat an eye at you, no matter how wanted you are.’

Dabi takes off his facemask and hood when their food is served, and Hawks lets his wings out with a ruffle. The hero begins to dig in, but his gloves stay on.

“Isn’t this cannibalism, for you?”

The previous expression of excitement on Hawks’ face drops, “Ha ha. You’re so clever. I’ve never heard that one before.”

“Fuck off.”

“No, seriously, you should be a comedian.”

“Go to hell. It was actually a semi-serious question.”

A smile quirks at the corner of Hawks’ lips, “Just let me eat in peace, man.”

And so, they eat for a bit, mostly in silence, until Dabi decides the silence feels suffocating. Hawks isn’t asking any questions, not his usual, ‘so whaddya got for me, today?’ and it leaves Dabi with his own thoughts.

After finishing about half his plate, Dabi finally asks what’s been on his mind since watching the Bird on television. 

“What are your thoughts on child abuse?” 

Hawks freezes, a chicken piece halfway through his open mouth when he looks up at Dabi, muffling out, “What?” 

Dabi lets his chin rest on his palm, curling his greasy fingers inwards to avoid his seams, “Humor me, Hero. Got a penny if ya need one.” 

Hawks swallows and puts down his fork — ‘eating chicken wings with fuckin’ utensils, what a priss.’ 

“Uh, gonna need a little bit more context here, man…”

He looks so wary.

Dabi sighs and spells it out for the dumb bird, “What would you do, as a hero, if you received a report of child abuse?”

Hawks takes a moment, scratching at his goatee, “Well, investigate, then hopefully make an arrest,” He shrugs, “Abusers should be jailed. I dunno what you want from me beyond that. Random question, dude.”

Dabi, more or less, ignores the confusion in Hawks’ eyes, but he does take note of how Hawks hasn’t continued eating. The hero is sat back, waiting for Dabi to provide the clearly missing context. 

Dabi has to know what kind of person he’s dealing with, because meeting Hawks this past month and seeing his actions on live television make Dabi… tentatively hopeful — about what, he’s not sure, but Dabi doesn’t like surprises, so he has to ask.

“Mm. But, what if that same abuser shows kindness to everyone else, outside those few people?” 

At that, Hawks lets out a scoff, “It’s usually an act, man. Why are you asking me this? I mean, like, yes, yeah it doesn’t matter if they treat others differently. Doesn’t make up for what they’re doing, the people they’re hurting.”

“Uh-huh,” Dabi’s eyes never leave Hawks’ face, noting the expressive curl of blonde eyebrows, bushed up in earnest to match his glinting frown, “And if other people are, say, ‘counting on them’?”

Those blond eyebrows furrow closer, wild hairs almost touching, “What do you mean?” 

Dabi tilts his head away from the palm it rests on and unfurls those fingers one-by-one to count off, “World leaders, presidents, peace figures.... heroes,” and even Dabi knows his voice took a sharp turn at the last item, and he doubts Hawks had missed it.

“I… No, no, it’s still wrong. It’s complicated, yeah, but... it doesn’t matter how much good someone does if that same person is going off to abuse someone else. Especially their own family.”

Dabi doesn’t know why, but hearing that come from a hero does something to him, speaks to a too-short past life, and validates the soft blindspot of his otherwise iron conscience.

Dabi picks off a piece of his own chicken and takes a bite, “Yeah, we’ll see.”

Meanwhile, Hawks looks completely out of sorts. He’s biting his lip, his hand coming up to rub the knuckle of his gloved index right underneath it. 

Dabi waits. 

“I… I didn’t spend a lot of my life with my birth parents. They were abusive. And they were… y’know, what everyone would call ‘bad people’. Drug addicts, thieves. Probably other things, too, I dunno,” and Dabi is listening to every single word, food completely forgotten. Hawks isn’t looking at him, lidded eyes are directed more towards Dabi’s shoulder, and that’s okay because Dabi hasn’t spoken a single word of his own abuse, so he’s not going to judge how others do it. 

The blond’s head shakes, “Ah,” and clearing gold eyes look back to Dabi, “Point is, even they didn’t face consequences for what they did to me. My dad… He’s in jail, but it’s not for what he did to me. And my mom… Commission paid her a hefty check to adopt me, so she's probably off living an even better life — or maybe dead from overdose, I dunno.” 

“Sounds hard,” it’s a shitty response, but Dabi doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to reveal his own story, but for all that’s broken and wrong and rotted inside of him, he still feels empathy towards this guy, towards the Number Two Hero.

‘Birds of a feather, ‘n all that.’

“Yeah, well. Just makes me think, if apparently ‘bad people’ can get away with the crime of child abuse — people with practically zero social or economic influence — then, how do the same institutions hold someone with real status accountable?”

Against his desire to appear aloof, Dabi feels the sharp tug of his own lips pulling into a small smile, “Askin’ all the right questions. Best ones have no answer.”

Hawks laughs, and it's the same one as the alley, low and quiet. Soft. 

Dabi wonders if the guy lets himself laugh often. He smiles a lot, that’s for certain, but smiles are always easier to fake than laughter.  

“I have a feeling a lot of villains have this kind of backstory, or something similar, huh.”

“As you?” Dabi raises a brow, the easiest kind of expression he can do to the lack of staples there, a constant reminder of his ‘backstory,’ like he’s a fucking manga character,  “Maybe. ‘Cept they weren’t saved by anyone. No one’s jumpin’ up and down to take care of us. That’s the difference between us,” his index finger flicking back-and-forth in the space between them, “Heroes ‘n villains.”

The laugh that leaves Hawks is wrong this time. It’s bitter and booming — dark, and not nearly as lovely as Dabi found the others.

“Saved. Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

Dabi’s stomach churns something sick. He hopes it’s the chicken.

*

The next time Dabi is supposed to meet Hawks, the skin around the staples of his hands feels like it’s on fire. Red, itchy, and, ‘Oh Gods,’ Dabi thinks he’s starting to see something white seep out the seam of his right wrist.  

He used up the last of his supplies two weeks ago. Right now, the only things he has in his apartment are gauze, soap, and tap water that can be boiled. 

Dabi thinks about calling one of the League members, any of them, but after Kamino, there’s been wanted posters of their faces plastered everywhere, mostly definitely around cities nice enough to have open pharmacies.

He calls Hawks. 

“Hello! Where are ya, hot stuff? I’ve been waitin’ for half an hour, and I even took the time to change my clothes.”

Dabi rolls his eyes at the nickname and grips the phone tighter. It makes his wrist burn. He doesn’t waste any time, “Do you have access to any antiseptics or disinfectants right now? Strong ones. Or maybe even antibiotics, like silver sulfadiazine?”

“Burn cream? Uh… not, like, I don’t have any on me. I could get some? Is everything alright?”

Dabi closes his eyes and rubs his brow, “Yeah, I’m gonna send you some new coordinates. Bring the supplies here. And hurry.”

He hangs up and sets to boiling some water. 

Three loud knocks later echo through Dabi’s apartment, and he yells, “Come in!” as he pats his wrists dry with a paper towel. 

“Dabi?” Hawks’ voice rings through the apartment and his large wings come into view from where Dabi stands in the kitchen. Hawks takes his shoes off at the entryway — ‘how well mannered.’ — and perks up when he spots the scarred man.

“Hey! So, I got an assortment of things. Hydrogen peroxide, saline, antibacterial ointment, got the silver sulfadiazine like you asked — that shit is expensive without a coupon — and, oh! I got these, like, film coverings, pharmacist calls ‘em ‘nanocrystalline silver dressing’ , supposed to be better for fighting infection,” He shrugs, “I also went ahead and got some other things like gauze, dressing, Q-tips, pins,” and sets the plastic bag on the countertop,  “Here, take a look.”

Dabi does, with his eyes because he doesn’t want his freshly cleaned wrists getting even more infected with whatever bacteria could be on the plastic bag or any of these items. 

“... Damn. Thanks, Birdy,” He’s honestly shocked Hawks got this much stuff. 

He ignores the way his heart beats faster, ‘Might finally be the sepsis.’

When Dabi looks back up at the guy, his feathers are wiggling again, something Dabi has come to understand what the hero does when he’s somewhat pleased, “Uh, can you wash your hands over there in the sink and pull out the… Hm, the silver dressing, white dressing, and the gauze? Just set it on the counter, I’ll be right back.”

Dabi walks over to his bathroom, hearing the affirmative, “Sure!” from the hero, and closes the door with his elbow. 

He needs a minute. 

‘I can’t believe I just let an undercover hero into my apartment. Am I going to have to move? Fuck… fuck, fuck!’

“Shit,” he whispers to himself as he opens his medicine cabinet and fetches a pair of tweezers and a box of latex gloves.

‘I can’t believe he bought all that stuff. Dude’s loaded, that’s fine and all, but… what the fuck? I only asked for the burn cream…’ 

Dabi shakes his head, closes the medicine cabinet, and is greeted with the reflection of his own confused expression, etched by a small crack at the upper left side. He takes a minute to look at the man staring back at him, looking at his scars and his freshly dyed roots. He knows he’s a frightening sight, something out of nightmares and horror movies. 

He hates looking at himself, sometimes. He knows others do, too. 

Some nights, the vulnerability of his upsettingly-human psyche will claw its way out like the vicious beast it is, and force him to understand his loneliness. On those nights, he will understand why people turned away a half-dead teen, why store owners chased him out with their bats and mops, and why heroes will always, always attack on-sight upon seeing Dabi’s face. 

He will understand why the League’s bar is really the one place he can ever sip his drink in peace and enjoy the burn at the back of his throat without some prick trying to slip him paper bills in exchange for things he can’t even say out loud. On those nights, the righteous anger will leave his body like steam from boiling water, and leave him hollow and cold and so, very, very alone. 

He wonders if tonight will be one of those nights. 

“Uh, Dabi? You alright in there?”

Dabi blinks out and away from his reflection, ‘Maybe not,’ and leaves his bathroom. 

When he comes back to the kitchen, all the supplies he asked for are out and ready to use. Hawks sits on Dabi’s only stool, waiting.

Dabi didn’t get a chance to really look at the guy, until now. The hero did end up changing his attire for tonight — black sweatshirt, normal jeans that are still on the baggier side, and black boots closer to the kind in fashion magazines than those hideously yellow rainboots he normally tends to wear. When Dabi lifts his eyes back up, he notices the hero’s hair looks a bit different, a little more chaotic, and a little less stiff — it looks soft. 

‘Oh, pull it fucking together.’

Dabi clears his throat and hands over the box of latex gloves, “Do you mind helping me out? I just need you to do this wrist, and then I can work on the other.”

Hawks is nodding and stretching the gloves over his hands before Dabi even finishes his sentence. 

“Y’know, your place isn’t anything like I’d thought it’d be. ‘S nice. Clean.” 

Dabi hears a snap! and a muttered, “shit.”

He opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong before he looks at Hawks’ hand, and sees matte black claws curving out fingers loosely lined with tattered blue latex.

“Oh.”

“Heh,” Hawks laughs, a bit nervously, “Sorry ‘bout that. My own gloves are so thick, I forget I have these.”

“Why am I just now seeing these?” Dabi wonders out loud, eyes glued to the tips of talons he could have sworn that, for a split second, sparkled at him, “Shit. Those are fucking sharp, man. You’re tellin’ me you don’t fight with ‘em?” He doesn’t really pay attention to broadcasts of hero fights but from the ones he’s seen, the Number Two’s hands were always gloved.

“Ah,” Hawks starts to pull a fresh latex glove over his hand again, leaving some space between the ends of each finger for his talons this time, “That wouldn’t be very heroic, would it? There’d be a lot of… blood. Kids don’t need to see that kind of gore in the news, y’know.”

Dabi raises an eyebrow, “I… guess....” 

Honestly, Dabi thinks that’s a bullshit excuse, to not use something so clearly advantageous in serious combat, especially when the hero's life is on the line practically every day, ‘Even if he doesn’t want to use them, why does he cover them?’

He lets the matter be, for now, and looks over the directions on the box of the nanocrystalline silver dressing. He reads it twice, just to make sure. 

Hawks speaks up, apparently needing to hear his own voice again, “The directions say that for exudative wounds, you should apply the dressing dry.”

“Yeah, I see that.”

“So... Let’s get started!” 

Dabi huffs. He hates that he needs help but he’s always been shit with his right hand, and he doesn’t want to risk dropping anything. He lays his left hand out towards Hawks and critically watches every move the man makes. 

Hawks is extremely gentle, and he dresses the wound as if he’s done this a thousand times over. The hero’s eyes never leave Dabi’s wrist, except for the few times he’d go over and read the instructions again to make sure he’s doing everything right. He cradles Dabi’s forearm with one hand as he uses the other to smooth the silver dressing on, the pressure of his fingers light around the staples and firm around the skin. After he applies the secondary dressing, he briefly looks up at Dabi to ask, “You alright?” 

Dabi can only nod. 

When the gauze is wrapped and firmly pinned in place, Hawks finally lets go and Dabi takes a step back to breathe.  

He immediately sets to work on his other hand, moistening the silver dressing with the clean water he’d boiled earlier on. 

“You sure you don’t want help with the other hand? I’ve been trained in this kinda stuff, first aid. I don’t mind.”

‘Well, that explains a little.’  

Still, Dabi shakes his head, “I prefer to do it myself,” and there’s truth in that, it’s the absolute truth, Dabi likes to do things himself. He likes things done his way, and he doesn’t like being touched. 

But the gentle feeling of Hawks’ fingers on his skin urges him to reconsider. 

He won’t, but some part of him wishes he would. 

As he starts to apply the silver dressing with his tweezers, he hears Hawks ask, “Can I ask you something really personal? Like, probably boundary-crossing?”

Dabi’s eyes never leave his working hands, “You got a lot of nerve, Birdbrain, thinkin’ we’re cool like that.”

He hears a small squawk, “C’mon, dude! I’m in your apartment, per your request! I think we’re along the lines of something, ‘like that’.”

Dabi snorts, “I won’t stop you, but don’t be surprised if I tell you to fuck off.”

Hawks laughs — the same small breathy one that makes Dabi’s own mouth quirk up.

Hawks asks why his body is full of scars.  

And Dabi… Well, every passing day, Dabi feels himself getting closer to death and, tonight, it makes his lips a little loose. Maybe he just wants someone to know his story, maybe he wants to try saying it out loud. And if he’s gonna tell his tale, it might as well be in the company of his favorite little double-agent.

When he finishes wrapping up the gauze around his right wrist, he digs for the cigarette packet deep in his pocket, takes out a stick, and lights it up. 

“My father,” He begins, “He’s the reason I’m like this, the reason I look like this, act this way. I know the whole ‘daddy issues’ thing is overrated but, well,” He shrugs, not daring to look up from his apartment floor. He takes another puff, the nicotine in his veins calming him, the smoke down his throat grounding him. He remembers his conviction, “That man took everything from me, left me like this, and he only ever got rewarded.”

He briefly glances at Hawks, the man’s gold eyes filled with an empathetic sorrow that only people like them could give each other, “I’m sorry.”

Dabi shakes his head and looks away, because he can’t deal with this, can’t have someone looking at him like that, not after all these years, “Not your fault. Nothing to be sorry for.”

“He’ll burn,” Hawks says, and Dabi sees the man’s fists clench from the corner of his eye, “Wherever he is, one way or another, he’ll burn.”

Dabi doesn’t know what kind of feelings are running through the hero right now. He thinks that maybe if he looks up, he might see.

‘Is he angry? Is it for me? Does he pity me, feel sorry for me? Is he triggered by my story the way I was by his? Or is he just telling me what he thinks I want to hear?’ — but Dabi doesn’t want to see. 

Because if Hawks only knew who Dabi’s father was, who made him like this, and did this to him, he doesn’t want to know if the hero would look at him the same way gold eyes do now. 

“I don’t wanna talk about this anymore, Birdy.”

Dabi walks over to his worn-out couch and sits down with a tired sigh. Hawks follows. 

For the next ten minutes, Dabi relays small bits and pieces of League information to Hawks, and the hero returns with tidbits of hero business. 

It honestly just feels like a way to fill the time. 

When a moment of silence reaches them, and Dabi’s cigarette has burned all the way through the filter, Dabi speaks up about something he kept quiet to himself last time, “Say, since you asked me a deeply personal question, grant me the same privilege?” 

“Sure, as long as I get the same privilege of tellin’ you to fuck off if I want.”

Dabi snorts and ashes his cigarette, tilts his head towards the hero.

“Was I wrong? Back then, about the Commission saving you?” 

He sees Hawks bite his lips and sink deeper into the sofa cushions, tilting his head back. He sighs, “You’re an observant fucker, aren’t you?”

Dabi smirks, “What villain isn’t?” 

“The ones that get caught.”

And at that, Dabi barks a laugh and is honestly shocked at the sound of it. He thinks Hawks is, too, by the way his blond eyebrows round up, and his previously conflicted eyes soften. 

Hawks lifts one of his clawed hands up, and if Dabi didn’t know better, he’d think the gesture was some kind of show-and-tell, but at the way Hawks’ own eyes glaze over his talons, Dabi thinks the movement is more for the hero’s own comfort. 

“I lied earlier, about the reason I don’t fight with my claws,” Hawks finally says, softly, almost as if he were speaking to himself. 

Dabi knows to keep quiet. 

“I do care about wanting kids to live in a safer world, to… spare them. Of the horrific consequences that come from battles, traumatizing images ‘n all that stuff. Of course, I care about that. But… But I know my abilities. If allowed, I know I’d be able to use my claws in ways that wouldn’t end in some kind of, fucking , feral episode.”

Dabi’s eyebrows slowly knit together, “Allowed?”

Golden eyes flick over to Dabi’s and the vulnerability swirling in them makes the scarred man want… something.

To gasp, reach out, put his own wrapped hands over the talons, and warm them up a bit, just — something.

He’s horrified at these new and intrusive thoughts. 

Instead of doing anything, he waits. 

“The Commission,” Hawks drops his hand to his lap and averts his eyes there, “They have an image of what they believe society wants a hero to look like, along with other things. They… told me they were ‘correcting’ my flaws.”

There’s a beat of heavy, waiting silence.

“They appreciate my quirk — it’s strong and versatile, good for offense, defense, rescue — stuff like that. But they don’t… They hate my raptor genes, the mutations. Like, the only thing I’m allowed to have and show are my wings — everything else has to be hidden or removed. I’m a mutant, but I have to do everything I can to look as ‘humane’ as possible.”

‘What is even considered ‘humane’, in a society of quirked-people?’ 

Dabi is immediately reminded of his hatred towards hero society, “Shit, what the fuck, Birdy. Is that why you wear those stupid-ass gloves?”

Hawks sends a bitter and sad smile to Dabi, “Was the only way to convince them to let me keep my talons. They used to clip ‘em or file them down, but that fucking hurts and they grow back wrong, so. Yeah, got these gloves and told them I’ll never take ‘em off.”

“Tch,” Dabi feels so disgusted right now, at the people who run this society, “So they make you nice ‘n pretty for everyone to look at while they profit of’a’ya. Sick.”

“Yeah, well,” Hawks huffs a laugh, and it’s the one that makes Dabi feel sick to his stomach, “I’m the Number Two Hero, with my own agency! All at the tender age of twenty-four — oops, sorry, twenty-two, Commission fudged my age to make me look even more impressive. An eighteen-year-old success story is prettier than a twenty-year-old one.”

Bile threatens to well up in Dabi’s throat at that — the effort to make this hero fit into society’s obsession with the ‘barely legal’ trope.

“I should be grateful, right?” Hawks bitterly smiles, “Everybody wants to fuck me and every hero wants to be me.”

“Fuck outta here if you’re gonna talk like that, Birdbrain.”

Pink lips bite themselves into a smile, one so much more shy and on the edge of mischievous, “Wanna see my feet?”

“What the fuck?”

He does. He really does.

read full chapter here

my other works

[wildaboutmnhockey]

The national broadcasts are always biased against the Wild but OH MY GOD SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT THE AVS FOR TWO SECONDS

[bitchinbarzal]

End of the road | Jack & Indie

Jack had been stressed in the lead up to the announcement, Indie took the brunt of it.

She wanted to be supportive, she knew this stress was more than he’d ever dealt with before. She wanted to be a good girlfriend.

Jack got too much, took it too far.

Hence why they were standing in her motorhome on Saturday night at Zandvoort screaming at one another. Quite the difference to Indie’s beaming smiley face on the broadcast that afternoon as she told everyone how Jack was finally a formula one driver.

“You were mean Jack! You embarrassed me!”

Jack had guest starred on the broadcast with Indie and Will that afternoon, making a comment of “You know she’s a girl and a reporter of course she’ll gossip” on live TV when Jack was asked about Indie saying she almost told everyone about his signing because she was so excited.

For Jack, it rolled off the tongue with a laugh.

For Indie, her heart dropped and she felt sick. They were laughing at her. Jack was making fun of her.

“Indie you’re being dramatic, it wasn’t like that!”

Her arms crossed over her chest and she scowled “Wasn’t like that? Are you serious? Jack you came to my place of work and you embarrassed me on national television!”

His hands flapped about, silently saying ‘I give up’

They stood in silence, Jack not sure what to say to Indie any longer. She wasn’t seeing his side.

Indie’s chest rose and fell with each rapid breath she took.

“You’re not even sorry Jack”

He scoffed “I didn’t do anything!”

“You hurt me!”

“I didn’t-“

“You don’t get to tell me what hurts me Jack, I’m hurt, that’s not up for debate!” She shouts, emotion clogging her throat.

He just sighs a breath of defeat “I don’t know what to say Indie! I’ve been stressed because of the contract you know that, I didn’t upset you on purpose and I’m sorry you took it that way-“

Indie stomped her foot, that like a child “I took it that way? That I took it that way?! Oh my god Jack, grow up! You can’t admit you’re wrong? That you are sorry for hurting me? Unless you’re not sorry?”

Her question poises her to him, a raised eyebrow waiting for an answer “Well?”

“Indie I’m not apologising when I did nothing wrong” he mumbles, shrugging his shoulders.

Indie bites her lip and sniffles “Well then… I think it’s best you leave. I have nothing more to say to you”

Jack frowns “In, come on you’re being dramatic! This is the biggest weekend of my life so far I can’t be fighting with my girlfriend-“

“I don’t know if I want to be your girlfriend anymore Jack… I need to think and I need space to do that”

Jack’s face fell “What? Indie c’mon-“

“Please jack, leave!” She turned away from him, unable to look at him “I need space and time, away from you”

He wanted to stay, he wanted to ask Indie to take the space but not ask him to leave. He didn’t want to go, to be unsure if he’d be allowed back.

He didn’t want to lose her.

Alas, he gave in “I’ll go, but In, this isn’t over”

“Jack-“

“No, this isn’t our end I won’t let it be in the middle of a track in a fight. I love you ok?” He walked to her, kissing her forehead “I’ll see you tomorrow, good luck in the morning”

As soft as the moment was Indie grabbed his wrist and mumbled “If you loved me, you wouldn’t hurt me. Goodbye Jack”

[maddieautobot273]

Silk & Cologne (54)

A Miguel O'Hara X OC Fanfic - link to AO3 (X)

Chapter 54: Dawn - previous chapter (X)

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Female! Spidersona OC

Words: 5.8K words

Warnings: PG for injury and implied weapon of mass destruction

Summary: Lisa and her friends shut down the poral threatening to collapse Earth-1218.

//////

We all stared up at the portal in the sky, watching as it slowly sparked and crackled. It was becoming unstable. If it collapsed, would it simply be over and done with? It would go out in style and take my universe with it?

“What do we do now?” Noir asked, raising his voice as a large and loud gust of wind rush passed us. 

“We need to figure out a way to contain it!” Miguel yelled back, using his body to brace and shield mine from the wind, or try to at least. 

Panic rattled in my mind about the multitude of things that could go wrong. Even if we do contain it, what about the authorities? People would talk, ask questions. What about the national guard? The military? 

Come to think of it, where are they? 

A wave of guilt washed over me, “I probably shouldn’t have been too quick to kick Chameleon to the curb.”

“If you hadn’t, he would have taken me to God knows where,” Kasey shook her head as she glanced my way, her arms raised to shield her face from the wind. “You saved me, Lisa.”

“Don’t ever apologize for something like that,” Miguel reassured me. “In fact, I may have an idea on how to stop this. Well, two actually!”

“Let's hear it then before we’re blown away like leaves!” Gwen screamed, trying to keep herself and Touga from falling over. 

“Lyla,” Miguel brought his gizmo up to his face, trying to scroll through the touch screen. “Remember Project: Reset? Back in the old Alchemax days?”

“Oh, do I!” Lyla grins as her holoform appears, rubbing her hands together like an eager grasshopper before cycling through the database on her personal screen. 

“What’s Project: Reset?” I asked him.

I watched as a small portal opened beside Miguel and he reached inside it. He pulled his hand out, holding a strange looking sleek white baton. “Back during my early days in Alchemax when I first started, my old boss would have me occasionally work with the company’s R&D department. They were experimenting with a weapon that– with enough charge– could wipe and realtor people’s memory on a massive scale.”

“Sounds like a weapon of mass destruction to me!” Toya commented. 

“It was, which was why I convinced my then boss at the time to shut it down before more could be made,” Miguel responded. 

“Okaaay, but how does that help us with that?” I asked again, pointing at the portal as the integrity seemed to be getting worse. 

“With the portal? Nothing.” Miguel yelled over the wind as he began to tweak and make altercations with the device. “Lyla, Margo, and Gabriel can work their magic from HQ and contain the blast, sending it directly back to Harry’s dimension and doing a number on his lab. At the same time, I can trigger this device to alter the town’s people’s memories so they won’t remember anything from the invasion.”

“That’s brilliant!” Hannah beamed, gripping onto Touga to keep still. “A little terrifying, but brilliant!”

“But what about everyone else all over the world that was watching the festival online or on TV?” Kasey asked. “They’ll know something is off if the people of New York suddenly act like this all never happened.”

“Remember the part I mentioned about charging the device?” Miguel recalled. His eyes scanned the area, looking up to the top of the Statue of Liberty, specifically the tip of the flame torch in Lady Liberty’s hand. “If I can get high enough, I can pick up the broadcast signal and transmit the wipe to everyone that was watching the show!”

“Perfect, let’s do that!” I exclaimed, eyes widening in relief. 

“But there’s a catch,” Miguel quickly added, hooking his arm around my shoulders to stop me from blowing away. “I need to replace the memory of the invasion with something else-!”

“Like a fake memory or an actual event?” Noir asked. 

“Definitely the ladder!” Miguel answered back in earnest. 

“Like. . . like a canon event?” My mind was racing as I tried to figure out what new memory we could create to replace the one of the invasion. 

I could sense the gears in his head turning as Miguel looked over at me. “Kind of, yeah!”

“We’re always saving the canon from breaking, so this will be a wonderful change of pace!” Gwen grimaced and pushed against the wind. 

“So what kind of canon event?” Toya asked, his voice yelling over the wind. “It has to be something big right?”

Think, Lisa, think! 

All of those people, in the audience and watching on TV, their phones, laptops, why were they all tuning in in the first place?

Then it hits me. How could I have been so blind?

“What about our show?” I suggested, looking out towards the team. 

“The show?” Kasey repeated with more emphasis. 

“Yes, the show. Our dance, you guys!” I exclaimed, my gaze washing over Kasey, Hannah, Toya, and Touga specifically. 

My Webslingers. 

“Everyone came to see our show, so let’s give them a show!” I fought against the wind with an encouraging smile as I took my mask off so they could see my face. 

My friends looked at each other, silently debating what to do. 

“But wait, you said it alters people’s memories,” Kasey spoke up, a look of worry on her face. “Does that mean our memories will be changed too?”

Miguel hesitated briefly as the eyelets of his mask drooped to a sad expression, his voice laced with apology. “The device has been altered to protect only those wearing a gizmo. So, yes. . . your memories will be altered.”

“Then. . . that means you guys won’t remember everything that’s happened. You all finally getting the chance to see the real Miguel. The real me. . .” The realization hit me as I felt my heart drop to my stomach. 

My body suddenly felt heavy and limb. For a second, I thought I wouldn’t have to hide such a big secret from them anymore. I thought I’d be able to finally be my complete self around them.

I felt the grip of Miguel’s arm tighten around my shoulders, his silent apology plucking at my heartstrings.  

“If by the odd chance this does work. . . might as well go out with a bang, right?” Touga shrugged with a contagious smile. 

“What?” My voice was barely a whisper being carried out into the wind as I looked up towards my friends. 

“Considering all of the crazy stuff that we’ve seen in the last hour?” Hannah gawked at her friend before sharing a glance with me and the rest of the group. “I’m in! I think this can work!”

“If Hannah’s in, I’m in!” Toya grinned, grabbing her hand before looking over at Kasey. “What about you, K?”

Kasey glanced between everyone else before her gaze fell upon me. My eyes poured into hers, pleading for her to trust me. She suddenly laughed, hysterical even, before waving her hands in the air. “You’re our friend, Lisa. Super hero or not. What the hell! This day can’t keep getting any weirder, right?”

I grinned in relief before looking over to Miguel, nodding my head. “Let’s go with your plan.”

“Alright, team, repair the stage as best as you can and get a camera set up. I’ll contact HQ and establish the signal at the top of the statue,” Miguel relayed his orders like the organized leader I knew him to be, watching as the Spiders set off to do their task. His gaze fell upon me and my friends. “Webslingers, do what you do best.”

I looked out to my friends, smiling confidently as I used my powers to leap for them, gathering them in my arms before web-slinging us closer to the stage. 

“Gabriel, are you there? Did Lyla fill you in?” Miguel spoke in the background as he began running for the statue. 

“Yeah, she did, but still struggling to believe it,” his little brother’s voice spoke through the com-link. “Project: Reset? Are you serious? You must be really desperate to whip that out all of a sudden.”

“Don’t start with me,” Miguel grumbled, muttering something else in Spanish that I couldn’t decipher, although I couldn’t help the faint smirk that formed on my lips when my friends and I arrived on the stage. 

We quickly helped the others clean up the stage while they patched up broken and loose panels with their webbing. There was a lightning crackle like noise as I whipped my head up to the statue of liberty to see another portal open up just feet away from Harry’s portal. It was a portal from Spider Society HQ. 

“Our portal is stabilized, Miguel,” Margo’s voice spoke up through the com-link. “Ready to go on your mark.”

“We’re just missing one more piece to this puzzle,” Miguel uttered softly in the com-link before raising his voice. “METRO! Are you still around?”

“Right here, boss man!” A new voice fluttered through the com-link as a white and black dressed spider swinged up onto the stage. 

METRO’s spider suit had a black and white colour scheme that almost reminded me of the anti-venom spider-suit, but this one felt more personalized with a white spider necklace hanging low on his chest and a black with white spider webbing bandana wrapped around his forehead. The top part of his head was uncovered, giving way to his immaculately tailored dreadlocks of black and light aubrey brown coloured hair. 

Wait a minute, METRO BOOMIN?!

“Wait, he’s a Spider-Man too?!” I gasped, eyes wide as I looked between him and the small speck of Miguel’s body clinging onto Lady Liberty’s torch. “But you said originally no spider-person could actually exist in my dimension!”

“That’s right.” Miguel responded quickly. “He’s not from your dimension.”

“Huh?” I gawked, my head trying to wrap around the concept as METRO quickly fixed and set up his DJ player and sound mixer. 

“It’s true, Muse! I’d do the whole ‘Okay let’s do this one last time’ speech, but clearly we don’t got time for that,” METRO chuckled anxiously as he finished setting up. “I’m from Earth-101, I developed a psychic connection to my other dimensions personas. It’s how I’m here. Call me Metro-Spider.”

“O-Okay?” I wasn’t sure exactly how to respond to that, but I at least offered him a reassuring thumbs up. 

“Okay, we’re ready!” Hannah exclaimed as she and the others joined me on stage.

Leave it to Hannah to accidentally leave her bag backstage with backup costumes for all of us in the event something horribly went wrong. Loose stitching? Fabric got ripped? Trying escaping an enemy anomaly invasion and potential dimensional destruction. 

“Okay, Miguel, we’re in position!” I exclaimed through the com-link as I looked around the newly rebuilt stage, held together miraculously by our spider friends webbing and looked over as they each got cameras set up aimed towards us. 

“Cameras are primed and ready to roll!” Gwen chimed in, attaching the reset adaptor to the camera and the little device blinked green, indicating its connection to Miguel’s wand. 

“Here goes nothing!” Miguel took a deep breath. “But if this doesn’t work–”

“It’s going to work, Miguel,” I insisted, my gaze locking on to his body. “Trust me.”

I could feel our gazes locked on to one another, even at such a long distance apart. I felt a long caress down our bond, soothing me, both of us, as I breathed in and out slowly. In that moment my mind flashed back to when we danced together for the first time, he way he held me close, and when he whispered to me those same words I sent out to him through our bond. 

‘Do you trust me, Miguel?’

‘With my life, Lisa.’ 

“Let’s do it!” I called out as I launched a web to connect with the webbing along the stage, my player syncing with METRO’s sound system. 

“We’re coming to you live!” Noir announced with a signature radio actor voice, signaling us to start. 

I suddenly felt a tap on my wrist. I glanced over to see Kasey had leaned in closer to me, whispering, “If you still want to tell us about the whole super hero spider thing after all this is over, just come talk to us. We’ll think it’s crazy, but I know you’ll convince us otherwise.” 

I smiled softly at her, giving her hand a squeeze. “Thanks Kasey. I’m glad to have you as my friend.”

She smiled back before pulling away. 

Music started to play, the familiar violins and drum beats fluttering our ears as my friends and I started to dance, picking it right up from where we left off before the world seemed to go to shit. 

“I'm still fighting, I don't fear I've lost

Am I dreamin', is there more like us?

Got me feelin', like it's all too much

I feel beaten, but I can't give up!”

I cast a comforting glance to Kasey who was startled at first, expecting us to start from the beginning. After giving her an encouraging nod, motioning for her to follow my lead, she immediately stepped up and danced in sync with us. 

“Here we go!” METRO yelled excitedly. 

“I can't find it in myself to just walk away

I can't find it in myself to lose everything!” 

I closed my eyes, and it was like we were back in our dance studio, learning this dance for the first time. 

We all turned, forming a circle as Touya, Touga, Hannah and I surrounded Kasey. We all reached our arms out towards her as she crossed her arms over her chest, something similar to the Wakanda Forever salute before flexing her arms down to her sides. As she did that, the rest of us dropped to one knee, kneeling as we bowed our heads to her.

Just like before. Just like we practiced. 

“You’re doing great,” I whispered softly to them all. 

“Feel everyone's against me, don't want me to be great

Things might look bad, I'm afraid to look death in the face!”

“One, two, three, LET’S GO-!” Metro-Spider shouted, a fist in the air. 

That’s the signal. 

I could hear the ringing of Miguel activating the reset device and quickly soon after, wave after wave of pulsing blue energy soared across the sky of the entire city, and with any luck, the entire world. 

The beat dropped as Kasey then propelled herself forward, sliding along the floor. Hannah and I steered clear of her entrance. As we faced in her direction, Toya stepped behind Hannah and Touga stepped behind me, the boys hoisting us up to our feet and became our dance partners. The pair of us did a sweet waltz as Kasey was up front performing her own solo.

“I'm good now, who's really bad? 

I choose me now, what's wrong with that?

Wish you could see me

Now, now, mm, who had my back, baby?

Know no love lost, good always will win~”

I looked up into the sky, towards the portal to Harry’s dimension. The waves of energy from Miguel’s reset wand and the counteractive sparks from the conduit portal Lyla, Margo, and Gabriel created fought back against the enemy portal. It started to shrink, contorting violently. 

It’s working!

“Just a little more power and we can shut it down!” Gabriel’s voice rang through the com-link.

‘Finish it strong for me.’ Miguel’s voice purred through the bond. 

He had said the same thing when we were fighting Isabella in Noir’s dimension, and I felt the same surge of confident, motivative energy as I poured my heart out into the last steps of the dance, my voice reaching out. 

“Not done fightin', I don't fear I've lost 

Am I dreamin', is there more like us?

Got me feeling, like it's all too much

I feel beaten, but I can't give up!”

Kasey stepped aside, pulling up to the front of the stage as she and the others danced behind me. I was confused at first, but seeing her encouraging nod gave me the push to keep going. Together, I danced along with my friends as I sang the last set of lyrics to help me focus, my heart pounding in my chest. 

“I'm still fighting, I don't fear I've lost

Am I dreamin', is there more like us?

Got me feelin', like it's all too much

I feel beaten, but I can't give up!”

The enemy portal shrank smaller and smaller until it blipped into a tiny spec. There was a blink of light before the energy dispersed and sparkled in the sky like a giant firework. It gave us the perfect backdrop as we closed out the song. 

“Can't give up

Can't give, can't give up

Can't give, can't give up

Can't give, can't give up

Can't give up!” 

The music faded and the shimmering spectacle of the exploding portal faded into nothingness, giving way to the stars and the beautiful night sky. I took in deep breaths, my chest rising and falling as I lowered my fist from pounding it into the air with my finishing pose before my friend's dog piled me to the floor of the stage, their cheers and exasperated laughter filling the air. At the same time, Noir and Gwen cut the live broadcast feed and turned off the cameras. 

“Holy shit we actually did it!” Kasey laughed with a beaming smile. 

“That was like something out of an anime, oh my god!” Touga chuckled over Toya’s cackling. 

Hannah hugged me tightly, her thin arms wrapping around me. “We did it, we did it! You were amazing!” 

“Yeah. . .” I exchanged bewildered looks with each of them, the moment slowly processing in my mind before I reached my arms out to pull them all into a group hug. “I love you guys!”

I didn’t know why I was suddenly getting so emotional, but when my friends each returned their own embrace, I felt like my beating heart finally got the chance to slow down. Swift movement caught my ear as I looked up to see Miguel land near us on the stage, his mask evaporating from his face to show off his stunning eyes filled with pride. “It worked!”

“It did!” I beamed. 

When I moved to stand up, I suddenly felt a horrible, aching pain in my ankle as I immediately dropped back down to the floor, whining in pain. “OW!”

My friends immediately backed away, startled. But Miguel moved in, kneeling in front of me but was careful to not completely overshadow my form and gave me room to breathe. “What’s wrong?”

“I think– I think I sprained my ankle.” I hissed, my hand brushing down to find the source of the pain before retracting itself quickly. 

Miguel’s eyes looked me over, his eyes pleading silently before speaking, “May I?”

I nodded and watched as Miguel’s fingers gently, carefully skimmed down the calf of my left leg and as soon as his rough fingers brushed over my ankle, I bit my tongue as I held back a pained groan, fighting the urge to recoil from the touch. “That's definitely a sprain. You’d be screaming in pain if it was broken.”

“Obviously,” I couldn’t help but laugh as I shook my head. “Out of all of the things that happened tonight, this is what brings me under?”

“I’m glad it was something like this and not worse.” Miguel stated firmly, but a ghost of a relieved smile formed on his lips. 

He carefully stepped around me before gently scooping me up in his arms, and lifted me up from the floor. He held me close to his chest and I pretended to not see Hannah quietly squealing at the action, hiding behind Touga as my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. 

“Lyla tracked your home addresses through your phones,” Miguel spoke as a portal opened up behind my friends. “You’ll have another minute or so before the memory reset takes effect. I’d like you all to be in the safety of your homes when it happens.”

“Thanks for the free ride, Miguel,” Kasey grinned, offering him a salute. “We’ll see you around?”

Miguel offered Kasey a small smile as he nodded. “I’ll be around.”

“Good. After tonight, I think you owe us all a little group dinner night out,” She grinned, “You should come hang out with us sometime.”

“It could be fun.” I encouraged him softly with a soft brush of my fingers against his jawline. 

Miguel chuckled softly at the action before nodding again. “Fair enough. My treat then, just set a date and time.”

“So. . . I guess we’ll see you later?” Toya offered us a small wave. 

“See you later.” I waved back with my own smile. 

See you after your memories are erased and you won’t remember anything that happened tonight. 

One by one, I watched as my friends jumped through the portal. Kasey was the last to leave, offering me one more friendly farewell before following behind the others. The portal closed quickly after her departure. 

“Lyla, what’s the status of the dimensional integrity?” Miguel asked as Lyla’s holographic form appeared beside him. 

“Earth-1218 is slowly stabilizing, Miguel!” Lyla reported with a salute. “Margo and Gabriel will continue to monitor it for the remainder of the night to make sure there’s no setbacks, but all things considered, Project: Reset appears to have worked flawlessly!”

“So. . . no one in my dimension will remember what happened tonight?” I asked Miguel, staring up at him as the rest of the spiders regrouped at our location. 

“No one, except for you,” Miguel confirmed with a nod before his hold on me tightened ever so slightly. “But that doesn’t diminish what you accomplished tonight.”

“You did good kid,” Noir approached, patting my head gently. “Real good.”

I smirked over at him. “Aren’t I older than you?”

“I’d argue I’m more mature and older in spirit!” Noir jabbed playfully. 

“Okay, wise guy,” Gwen came up to his side, nudging his shoulder. “Do you want me to steal and hide your hat again?”

“The technical term is fedora and no!” Noir clutched his hat close to his head, making me laugh. 

“Alright, alright, settle down,” Miguel coaxed the group to ease up with a cautious stare. “I believe our work here is done. Spiders, let's go back home.”

Miguel swiped his finger along the screen of his gizmo, activating another portal. The familiar orange and yellow swirls and hexagons were a comforting sight as Gwen started running a head. 

“I’ll go a head and let Doc know to get a bed ready!” She chimed in. 

“Thank you, Gwen-!” Miguel could barely finish his thanks before Gwen was already through the portal. 

“Kids these days, they can never stay still,” Noir shook his head before running after her, disappearing into the portal. 

With just the two of us remaining, Miguel looked down at me with a softened expression. “You mind if I bring you back? Just so Doc can take a look at you?”

I nodded softly. “That’s fine. I don’t know how a normal doctor would react if two spider costumed people showed up to an ER in the middle of the night.”

“Wouldn’t that just be a regular Saturday night for them?” He grinned back. 

“Oh, hardy har har,” I mocked, rolling my eyes. 

Miguel started walking towards the portal, his arm that held up my shoulders lifting up to bring me closer to his face. “All that said, I really am proud of you, Lisa. You were spectacular, Spider-Muse.”

I grinned back at Miguel, cupping his cheek. “You weren’t so bad yourself, Spider-Man.”

The look he gave me made my heart flutter as his eyes seemed to sparkle just like the stars above. “Come here,” he whispered, before capturing my lips in a tender kiss as we phased through the portal. 

**********

“Oh I feel so awful for missing it, I just don’t know what happened!” My mother apologized profusely for the umpteenth time as Miguel and I stood with her at the departure gate at JFK international airport. 

It was now the early afternoon the following day since the Marvel Day festival ended, specifically just over 12 hours since myself, my friends and the Spider Society saved my dimension from complete and potential annihilation. 

Miguel’s plan with Project: Reset worked. After Spider-Doc looked me over and gave me some pain meds to sleep it off for a few hours, I woke up to check the news on my phone and for a second I thought I had woken up from a dream. It was like the anomaly invasion never happened, and all the news reported on were highlights of the Marvel Day festivities. 

One of the bigger highlights was The Webslingers performance. 

The firework-like explosion of Harry’s portal was played off as just that. Fireworks and special effects, which was why due to safety reasons, we didn’t have an audience physically with us. Nobody was expecting such a grand display, and as it turned out the animators and special effects crew working behind the scenes were so burnt out from the work that they “didn’t remember doing all of this but must have done it in their sleep”, and since then there’s been a call online to give their industry better pay. 

Honestly, good for them. 

When it came to my friends, when I first woke up this morning, the group chat was lively with reactions to our performance and watching the live playback. According to them, we had celebrated together briefly before we quickly realized I had done something to my ankle. They said they had seen Miguel take me to a nearby hospital and kept them all updated as they had their own little party back at the twin’s penthouse before returning home in the wee hours of the night. 

It was only then did the memory reset really sunk in for me. They really don’t remember anything that actually happened last night. The invasion, Kasey’s kidnapping and rescue, fighting Oscorp with Miguel and the others, seeing my powers in action. . . 

Perhaps it was for the best. 

As for my mom on the other hand, when Miguel and I arrived at her hotel room to check on her, the poor woman was so frazzled. Miguel’s reasoning behind her fainting was due to a sudden episode, or at least that’s what the “doctor’s” had told him when he said he had immediately handed her over to the local authorities to be brought to a nearby emergency room and they had contacted him. She didn’t remember arriving back to the hotel, and so I had explained that after I got my ankle checked out, between her fainting and the medication the nurses gave her, she passed out, and that we personally drove her back to let her rest. 

Speaking of my ankle. 

“And your ankle! Oh, I’m just happy you had Miguel and your friends with you, dear,” Janet hugged me tightly, and for a second I thought she was going to crush me. 

“Mom, I’ll be okay, really!” I reassured her with a gentle laugh as I attempted to return the embrace. “You’re acting like this is the first time I’ve injured myself.”

“I know, I know, it’s just been awhile, that’s all,” She shook her head, pulling away from me as she offered me an apologetic smile. “I know I can always watch your show online, but I would have loved to see the whole thing in person.”

“You showed up mom,” I took her hands in mine, squeezing them tightly. “That’s what matters to me.”

That part wasn’t a lie or made up memory. It was the truth and nothing but the truth. 

“You’ll be alright on your flight home, Janet?” Miguel asked with concern in his eyes. 

“Oh, yes, Miguel, don’t you worry!” Janet smiled reassuringly as she patted her fanny pack. “I’ve got my gravol with me so I won’t even know if I’m feeling sick on the plane as soon as I’m on board.”

“Or as dad liked to call it, the gravol haze?” I teased with a knowing look, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Oh hush you!” Janet glared at me with a playful grin. 

There was an announcement overheard that a certain flight would begin boarding soon. My mom’s eyes lit up as she quickly checked to make sure she had all her bags with her. 

“Oh, I should get going.” She sighed, grabbing her purse as she looked over towards Miguel and I. She had a soft smile on her face before she suddenly looked at me with this look of. . . longing. “But before I leave, honey, may I talk to you for a moment?”

My eyes lit up at the recognition in her words. Growing up I quickly learned if my mother ever gave me that look, she wanted to talk to me in private. Usually it was always something important, so I never kept her waiting. I should know, the first time she ever gave me that look was when she first told me when dad got sick all those years ago. 

“Sure, mom, just don’t miss your boarding time.” I nodded softly before glancing up at Miguel. “Give us a minute?”

“Of course,” Miguel smiled softly as he squeezed my shoulder, leaning in to peck my temple before stepping away. 

Once he was far enough where I convinced myself that he wouldn’t be able to hear our conversation, I stepped closer to my mom. “What’s going on?”

Janet was silent briefly, her eyes shifting as if she were choosing her words carefully. But when she spoke, she was calm and collected. “Would you feel comfortable if. . . if I showed Jin your performance?”

I could feel my nerves become static, my grip on her hands tightening. My pupils went wide, my eyes searching hers to try and find out if she was joking or not. But when it came to my mother, and topics like this, she never joked. 

Other than her updating me on his therapy progress every now and then, I haven’t physically seen or heard from my step-father since I cut contact with him. Just over 2 years ago. But if she could update me on his progress, then I could just as easily update him on mine. 

I want to show him how far I’ve come since then. 

“Sure,” I nodded softly. 

Janet’s eyes lit up in surprise, her jaw nearly dropping to the floor. “Wait, really?!”

I nodded again, squeezing her hands tightly. 

“Oh, that’s great, sweetheart, I’m so happy to hear that!” She even bounced a little in excitement. “He really has been doing better. I think watching it will just be the thing he needs to show him how strong and powerful you are and how far you’ve come. Show him what he’s been missing.”

What she said suddenly made a lump form in my throat, tears swelling in my eyes. “Oh, mom. . .”

“I know, I know, I overdid it,” she grinned, pulling me into another hug. “There’s also one other thing. This one, you don’t have to decide now, if you need time to think about it.”

My heart suddenly skipped a beat as I pulled back, anxiously awaiting to hear what she had to say. “Yes?”

“How would you feel about. . . flying down to Korea for a few days?” Janet suggested, her eye meeting mine with a genuine expression. “To come see him?”

If I thought I was frazzled before, I definitely was now. “When?”

“Anytime you want to, sweetie!” Janet quickly reassured me, squeezing my hands. “Again, it’s entirely up to you, but I was with your step-father for his most recent session and his therapist suggested the idea. He believes Jin is about ready to. . . make amends.”

My eyes widened at that. “And is. . . Jin ready for it?”

“I’m not sure if he’ll know for sure until it happens,” Janet shook her head with uncertainty. “But he does wish to see you. Even just for a few minutes.”

My mind was racing as the multitude of possibilities swarmed in my head. All the things that could go right, or wrong. Why did it feel like one weighed more than the other?

Even still, there was this sudden burning sensation in the pit of my stomach.  I met my mom’s gaze, offering her a small smile as I spoke softly, “I’ll think about it.”

She smiled back at me, holding me close. “Take as long as you need dear. I love you.”

Janet hugged me one last time as another announcement chimed over the speakers. She gathered her bags and I saw her off as she waddled to the security checkpoint. As I lowered my hand from waving at her, Miguel’s footsteps caught my ear as I turned to glance at him. “I’m okay.” I quickly reassured him. 

“Are you sure?” He asked me with a hint of worry in his eyes as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders, his hand reaching up to wipe a stray tear from my cheek. 

I nodded softly, leaning into him. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Alright,” Miguel gave me a tight squeeze, kissing the top of my head before he motioned to the side. “Let’s get going, and don’t forget~”

“I know, I know,” I rolled my eyes in an annoyed manner as I reached over to a pillar and grabbed the walking crutch I had left on the side while seeing my mother off. I hooked it under my left armpit, holding Miguel close with my right. “Do I have to keep this cast on for 4 weeks? Didn’t Spider-Doc say this could heal in half the time thanks to the healing factor of the spider powers?”

“Yes, but because of the reset, your friends and family don’t know about your powers anymore,” Miguel reminded gently. “So you have to keep up the façade of being your friendly neighborhood self.”

“Did you just make a Spider-Man joke?” I gawked at Miguel.

Miguel didn’t hide his cheeky grin and I caught a small glimpse of his fangs as he spoke. “Maybe I did.”

I groaned, rolling my eyes again as we stepped out into the main entrance of the airport. “Your–”

“An asshole?” He quickly chimed in, leaning in closer to me. 

I smirked back at him, bringing my hand up from his hand to cup his chin. “My asshole.”

“No lo olvides, mi Mona Lisa.” Miguel's tone was flirtatious as his hand caught the small of my back, his warm breath fanning my lips before he kissed me in the sunshine. - Don't you forget it, my Mona Lisa

///////

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