#Web Traffic Tracking

[theseoblogspace]

Mastering Google Analytics for Small Businesses

Are you a small business owner in Australia finding it hard to understand your website’s performance? The key to unlocking valuable insights and driving online success could be right at your fingertips – Google Analytics1. Google Analytics is the internet’s most widely used web analytics service1. It offers a powerful suite of tools to help you track, measure, and optimize your digital presence.…

[olivergisttv]

How to Monitor Website Traffic in Real-Time for Free (2025 Guide)

If you’re running a website, knowing what’s happening right now is crucial. Whether it’s a new blog post, a marketing campaign, or a sudden spike in traffic from social media, real-time monitoring lets you react fast and make data-driven decisions. Luckily, you don’t need to break the bank to track visitors in real time. This guide shows you free tools and how to set them up for real-time website…

[salingers]

OCTOBER’S END.

pairing: joel miller x reader.

summary: halloween, with your dad’s best friend.

warnings: 18+ mdni. alcohol. cream pie. language. ghostface!joel. unprotected piv. vaginal fingering.

word count: 3,843.

a/n: a03 & master-list. debut, written for @mermaidgirl30’s halloween writing challenge. <3

Everything’s bigger in Texas, including Halloween. Your childhood neighborhood is locally televised each October’s end, due to every home’s enthusiastic participation. There’s an annual stoppage of traffic for the singular evening’s festivities, permitting only costumed bodies to roam the gated community’s residential roads. 

Branches draped in gauzy webs. Yards engulfed in artificial fog. A beloved holiday tradition, predating the tailend of the seventies, when Dad and Joel were elementary aged and wielding pillowcases of candies. Now, they’re fifty-somethings, bemoaning mutual back pain and cursing pesky lawn decorations.

“Here,” Joel gruffs, while individually sliding Dad two Reese’s pumpkins, from across the kitchen’s counter. “Protein break. ‘S four grams.”

Dad swipes them both up, before confirming that statement by thumbing one’s wrapper, “That ain’t bad.”

You’re quietly laughing at their supposed refueling, while stooping behind the fridge’s door and scanning the moistened shelves. There. A seasonal beer, from your favorite brewery in Austin. It’s comfortably predictable, returning home for Halloween; From Dad purchasing your favorite autumnal ales, to Joel Miller’s ruggedness.

You properly right yourself. Then, using your waist, nudge the appliance’s door shut, “Dad, where’s your bottle opener?”

Dad’s phone abruptly drones, reverberating against granite and interrupting your question; He grimaces at the caller’s illuminated identity.

You guess, “Ghostface?”

Dad laughs, before emphasizing, “Worse. My neediest client.” He abandons his barstool, continuing, “Actin’ like buildin’ up in Waco makes ‘er Joanna Gaines.” Dad apologetically nods toward you, “Joel. Will ‘ya?”

Joel’s scruffy chin tips upwards, directing you, “C’mere.”

Something’s brewing, once Dad vacates the vicinity. Your forced proximity to Joel is newly palpable; Tonight’s different. You’re obedient, in approaching him. Joel doesn’t stop staring. The bottle’s neck is being strangled, under your dominant hand. You can’t completely ward off an image of taking him into your palm.

Your minimal passage to his barstool seemed slow-motioned, almost. You’re not sure. Time’s just apparently lengthier, under Joel’s browned gaze.

 Joel grunts, fingering his carabiner of keys, attempting to sift out his bottle opener keychain, “You playin’ Michael Meyers, ‘gain? ‘Round one night, only?”

You amusedly scoff, “Keepin’ track?”

Joel shrugs, “Eight days, in eight years.”

You’re genuinely surprised that Joel’s noted your absence. Maybe, Dad revealed that specific number, correlating to your sparse appearances in Austin; Well, it could’ve been that Dad mentioned to Joel about how since your high school’s graduation, you’ve only managed to visit home yearly. That’s just basic math. Right?

You stammer, “Uh huh. ‘S my favorite holiday.”

Joel hums, before abruptly wrapping his calloused palm around the entirety of your hand and the beer bottle’s width, “Hm. ‘N that your favorite beer?”

You’re momentarily silent, muted by Joel’s warmth. A sizable hand, roughened from decades of hard labor. The tips of his delectably thick fingers begin tightening at your wrist, securing his hold as he’s standing himself up.

Even fully seated, Joel’s intimidating in size. Him standing toe-to-toe with you? That’s another story. His construction boots are weathered and worn; They would be comically large, in comparison to your measly-sized sneakers, but nothing’s funny about Joel Miller’s body mere inches from yours.

You reply by mustering an eager nod; And, whether that’s in response to Joel’s prior question pertaining your liking of the beer, or merely an approval of his nearness to you? You haven’t decided.

Joel rasps, “Anythin’ else?” He’s pulling your combined hands downward, to his waist. The carabiner’s remained attached to his belt’s loop, “That ‘ya favor?”

You’re struggling to think of something witty to retort. Because, the frayed seam of Joel’s zipper is right there. He’s deftly notching the bottle’s cap inside of the opener’s teeth; The beer crisply hisses, releasing any contained pressure.

Joel whispers, “What, darlin’? Bat got your tongue?”

You defeatedly laugh, “Somethin’ like that.”

He grins, carefully releasing you, “Taste it.”

You harshly gulp, “S–Sorry? Oh, right. T–The beer.” 

Joel agrees, “That’s right.” Then, darkly teases, “Y’know, that pretty mind ‘a yours is boundin’ for the gutter.”

He crosses his arms against his broad chest, the canvas fabric of his Carhartt jacket drawing taut. Joel’s now cocking his head, sending his gaze along the pathway from the glass vessel that you’re feebly holding, to the lower lip that you’re inadvertently biting; Daring you.

You’re feignedly bold, “Meet ‘ya there.”

You drink, even if it’s primarily to keep yourself from further stuttering. At first, it’s an adequate enough distraction; The alcohol’s frigid in temperature, soothing to the high-strung tendons of your throat, from the inside-out. Then, you’re curiously drawn to Joel’s own gulping throat, and that transient composure of yours is gone.

Joel’s devotedly watching you, his glare heady and sensual. His Adam’s apple jerks, moving atop the clenched muscles and corded veins of his neck. You’re somewhat tipping back, gathering your final mouthful, for now; You’ve drained three-fourths of it, by the time that you’ve halted your sipping.

Then, Joel’s thumb darts out, before smoothing against your glistening mouth. He drawls, “Got it lookin’ real good. Let’s see.”

You’re only narrowly audible, “Oh? Joel.” 

Joel’s tongue, deliciously large and scrubbed pink, strokes his finger. He groans, “Mm. Ain’t sure. Need ‘t sample it from the source.”

You inwardly whimper, “Yeah?”

You’re foolishly tempted to extend him the ambered bottle itself, because surely Joel Miller, your dad’s best friend, would identify that as the ‘source’. Not your parted, wanting lips. Like Joel’s read your hesitant mind, he reassuringly pins your hands behind your back, easily dismissing the beer; A singular hand of his own, dwarfing the pair of your wrists.

Joel’s ghosting your lips, “Yeah.”

For good measure, Joel lightly moans, sucking his dampened digit. Humming around the pumpkin spiced suds, lapping up any residual taste from his finger. Arms restrained, spine straightened; Your chest’s rising urgently.

Joel’s own chest, delicately hairy below his threadbare t-shirt, is an odd inch away. A desperate heat’s begun permeating your lower abdomen; Achingly unfurling, taking up residency in your cunt.

Of course, it’s then that Dad’s barrelling over, having withdrawn from his nearby office, “Sorry ‘bout that, kid. Get ‘er open?”

You’re coughing out, “Y–Yep.” Then, “Thanks, Joel.”

Dropping your wrists, Joel winks, “Oh. ‘M pleasure.”

Your incriminating closeness to Joel goes unrecognized by Dad; Seeing as, Joel’s wide shoulders completely obscure you from view.

Dad sighs, “Gee, there ain’t no escapin’ this shiplap.”

Joel immediately laughs, casually reclaiming his prior barstool. The jarring segue from Joel’s flirting with you, to his joking with Dad, is absolutely disorientating. You’re fidgeting, repeatedly and silently tapping your foot. You can’t do Joel here; You’ll settle for doing last-minute Halloween preparations.

You blurt, “Goin’ to start organizin’ the candy. ‘S all in the garage, Dad?”

Dad assuredly nods, “Sure is. ‘Cept these.” He chuckles, gathering the forgotten wrappers from his earlier ‘protein break’ with Joel.

You remind him, “Don’t forget to refill the fog tanks.”

Dad, who seemingly had forgotten, regretfully snaps his fingers, “What would I do without ‘ya?” He’s bragging to Joel, “Look at ‘er.”

Joel agreeably nods. Eyeing you, “Good girl.”

─

Because, Dad and Joel are career contractors, who are simultaneously life-long friends and next-door neighbors, it’s only right that they’ve done an elaborate, joint Halloween for three decades; Locally dubbed the ‘Construction Fright’.

A (questionably) age-appropriate spread of horror, featuring thrifted tools that bludgeon and dismember an assortment of plastic skeletons. Hard hats, faux-bloodied and stabbed with rusted nails. Construction tape, riddled in spiderwebs.

A half-dozen, battered wheelbarrows, brimming with chocolate candies; Three brown ones, carrying Hershey’s, Rolo, and Tootsie Roll. Three orange ones, containing every imaginable variant of Reese’s. 

 You’ve already been working for nearly an hour; Arranging the color-coordinated barrows of candy. You’re jamming the recycling bin’s lid shut, overtop the cardboard and plastic wrappings of king-sized bars, when the entry door’s opened.

Dad’s entering the garage, “Sun’s settin’ soon, kid. ‘Oughta get dressed.” He lazily squeezes you in an impromptu side-hug, “Thanks, for helpin’.”

You breathily sigh, “Mhm. Oh, I need ‘t light the Jack-O-Lanterns.”

Joel appears, insisting,  “Go on, darlin’. I’ll get ‘em sweatin’ for ‘ya.”

You’re thinking, ‘That’s ridiculously slutty of him to say’, when Joel continues, this time addressing Dad, “Hey. Phone’s ringin’ over ‘gain.”

Dad sighs, “Got ‘t be kiddin’ me.” Then, grumbles, “Sure hopin’ it’s Ghostface.” He grins, lightly pinching your elbow.

You giggle, “C’mon. She can’t be that bad.”

Dad shrugs, smiling before swiftly jogging up the garage’s concrete steps; When Dad’s fully retreated inside, and the door’s naturally swung shut, Joel doesn’t waste any time pinning your body against it.

Joel whispers, “Bet ‘ya find that this pussy’s wet ‘f me, when you’re undressin’ it.” His jeaned, muscular thigh’s nudging your legs ajar.

You airily groan, “P–Please. Fuckin’ kiss me.”

Joel grins, wedging his ample thigh’s sturdy surface against your beating cunt. He kisses you; Joel Miller fuckin’ kisses you. He’s grabbing your face, thumbing your cheekbones. His lengthy fingers, scraping your skull.

His tongue’s deeply delving, eagerly exploring your mouth’s every crevasse. You can’t breathe efficiently or think coherently. Everything’s Joel. His graying beard, raking your chin; A woodsy scent, like that of the hardware store’s lumber aisles, exuding from his clothing.

You’re moaning, “Ngh.” Then, ripping at the silvery hair that’s curling against the nape of his sun-freckled neck, “More.”

Joel’s grunting, “Fuck. Need ‘t stop.” He can’t stop, and sucks your bottom lip, once more. Then, “H–Hear ‘im? He’s gainin’ on us.”

Sure enough, Dad’s approaching. It’s damn-near impossible to quit rutting along Joel’s denimed, upper leg. You’re whining, “Need ‘ya.”

Joel’s panting, “T–Tonight, darlin’.” He arousingly whispers, “All night. When the porch light’s out, sneak over.” Then, darker and deeper, “Repeat it.”

You repeat, “Tonight. When the porch light’s out, sneak over.”

─

You’re admittedly distracted, during the evening’s trick-or-treating segment. You understand that nothing’s allowed to appear awry around Dad, but Joel’s playing casual too well. You shouldn’t overthink, but it’s torturous; That he’s apparently unaffected. Drinking with Dad and Tommy. Never really staring at you.

Joel’s (conveniently) costumed as himself every Halloween, but himself during working hours; A leathered tool belt, cinching his tender waist. A backwards Filson hat, tamping his unkempt curls. His dirtiest ‘white’ t-shirt; The neckline’s absurdly tattered and torn, an array of holes displaying his body’s coarse hair.

Midland’s country cover of ‘Wicked Game’ is emitting from neighboring speakers. You can’t resist likening the song’s drumming pattern to your own heart’s pulsating rhythm; Yearning for Joel’s attention. Then, Dad’s whistling for your attention.

Dad’s pointing, “Look, kid. Your ‘ol boyfriend, Nick. He’s fuckin’ Ghostface.” Dad humorously roars, standing, “See ‘im? H–Hold on.”

You’re avidly protesting, but Dad’s already approaching Nick, who’s not wearing, but holding his hooded mask; Fingers cupping the elongated, rubbery chin. There’s nothing inherently wrong about him; He (morally) should be your holiday hook-up, not your dad’s best friend. It’s too bad.

Joel snipes, “Dick?”

You tut, “It’s Nick.”

Joel’s feigning understanding, “Oh, Prick.”

You’re unsure what’s initiated this potent sexual tension, but it’s consumed your every thought this Halloween; While, Joel’s every word is loaded. His irritated sarcasm’s gunned your way. Any bickering’s uncommon, for the pair of you. You’re hoping that Tommy’s too busy proffering candy to notice.

Dad’s returned, towing Nick, “Weren’t we just talkin’ ‘bout him, kid? So funny.” Dad, and his dorky penchant for inside-jokes.

Nick cluelessly smiles, “Hi, you.”

You politely reply, “Hi, yourself.”

Nick’s extending his hand, summoning you from your designated seat, “Got ‘t see this costume.” Then, he’s declaring you, “Stunning.”

You’re incredulously laughing, “They’re bloodied overalls.”

Nick grins, persisting, “Love ‘em. Also, this apron’s awesome.” He’s thumbing your accessory’s front, tracing the logo, “Carhartt girl, huh?”

You’re aiming to get under Joel’s skin with, “Scream girl, too.” You inspect Nick’s black robe, feeling his arm’s draping sleeve.

Oh, Joel Miller’s jealous. He’s rolling his earthy-toned eyes; Aggressively peeling his beer’s damp label, while instigating Dad, “Hearin’ this?”

Dad’s indifferent, shrugging. He’s always approved of Nick for you; He’s Texan, and plays Minor League Baseball. That’ll do it.

Nick’s pleading, “Let’s please walk ‘round, sweep the neighborhood?”

Joel snarks, “Hell. Reckon he’s recruitin’ for Neighborhood Watch?”

Nick’s nervously smiling, having not heard Joel’s dig, but surely hearing Dad and Tommy’s abrupt snickering.

You kindly respond, “Let’s. Love seein’ the decorations.”

─

It’s nine-thirty. Your street’s grown habitually sparse; Toddlers, having resigned to stringent bedtimes. Teens, having retreated to erupting parties.

You decipher Joel’s looming silhouette; His rocking chair’s creaking, upon the dimmed porch’s planks. A gleaming tumbler of (presumably) whiskey is resting against his crossed leg, the glass winking at you.

Joel’s dragging his index finger’s edge against his groomed mustache, thumbing his angrily tightened jaw. He rasps, “Ain’t walk ‘ya home?” 

You’re ascending his porch’s tread, “Didn’t need that. Told ‘im so.” Then, untying your apron’s chaotic knot, “Uncross your leg, Joel.”

Joel’s pleasingly pliant; He warns, “That’s the only order that I’m takin’ tonight.” His lap’s deliciously spreading, “Get ‘t drawin’ the blinds.”

The anticipation’s wetting you. You’re immediately scampering along the porch’s perimeter, rolling down every privacy blind; Joel’s patiently swigging his auburn liquor. You whimper, “A–Anythin’ else?”

Joel’s rolling the wick of his adjacent kerosene lantern; Thrusting his opened lap, scrounging his Zippo lighter from an anterior pant pocket. His hand’s arousingly veined, while flicking the lighter’s flint wheel.

He belatedly replies, “Drop your apron. Undo your overalls.”

You’ve dropped the apron, and something’s spilling out from the largest pocket; Joel’s deeply exhaling, “Explain that.”

The lamp’s emitting faint light, fire illuminating his hardening expression. He’s so scarily sexy. You’re inching nearer, but Joel hoists his palm, stopping you.

You embarrassedly gulp, “N–Nick’s mask. Asked me ‘t hold it. He never wore it.”

Joel’s impatient, waving, “And?”

You’re tentatively unhooking your denimed straps, gently uttering, “W–Would ‘ya? Wear it?”

Joel’s mildly surprised, “Oh?” Deciding, “Bring it here. On your knees.”

You instantly kneel, before gathering up the discarded disguise using your teeth. You’re crawling to Joel, crossing the porch’s dully-lit surface. The bib upon your overalls undone; The garment’s buckling loops clinking.

Joel involuntarily moans, “Ngh. Dirty fuckin’ girl.” His index finger’s pumping from his balled up fist, signaling you.

Your pussy’s thumping, because of his commanding, curling digit. You’re itching to suck it. You need anything of Joel’s inside of you.

You’ve gradually reached Joel; You’re being caged in-between his lengthy legs. Joel forcibly pinches your face, removing the mask from your bite’s grasp. The item’s resultantly spat, against his abutted groin.

He’s astonished at the filthy sight, rustling, “How ‘bout that.” You’re resting on your haunches, while Joel praises, “Good girl.”

Joel’s abruptly leaning downward, before hungrily lifting your body’s entirety along his own. He’s immediately kissing you, sinking against the rocking chair’s curved spine; The porch’s cedar ground sighs, creakily duetting with Joel’s groans.

You’re practically siphoning the remnant whiskey from his tongue’s cushioned pad; Your mouth’s rabidly sucking, while your waist’s desperately grinding.

Joel’s bypassing your denimed, disoriented trousers; His palm’s greedily grasping your back’s arched column. His remaining arm, ladling your ass. Then, Joel’s effortlessly hauling your goosebumped figure upward; The rocking chair’s momentum being an assistant. The mask’s wedged in-between your upright bodies.

Joel breathes, “T–The lamp. Hang tight.” You’re licking Joel’s partially bearded throat; He’s briefly hunching, responsibly lowering the wick, consequently extinguishing the flame. Your quartet of limbs, wrapping his flexing torso.

You’re whispering, “You’re so big and strong, Joel.”

He amusedly sighs, “Yeah?” Promising, “Ain’t seen nothin’.”

Then, Joel’s roughly stamping your body against the front door’s exterior; His bulge swelling, pinning your pussy. The entry knob’s blindly twisted. Joel’s heavy-footed steps are reverberated, crunching his home’s metallic threshold.

First, Joel carelessly clears his entry way’s waist-heighted table. Juggling you, while his tanned arm’s sweeping everything off; A ceramic, coffee-stained mug of loose change’s completely shattered. Second, Joel harshly kicks his anterior door shut; There’s an impressive boot print, left behind.

Joel’s panting, “Tell me ‘t stop?”

You’re begging, “K–Keep goin’.”

He hums, “Hm. Need it, darlin’?” Joel’s hurriedly planting you upon the table’s cleared crest, kissing your nodding throat. Agreeing, “Yeah. You do.”

It’s dizzyingly hot; Joel gruffly ripping off your mussed overalls, easily tugging off your slip-on sneakers. He’s lobbing them across the room, away from the mess of coins and shards. You’re noticing the Ghostface mask, under his unmoving bicep.

Joel’s noticing you, “This what ‘ya want?” He’s hesitantly thumbing the mask’s gaping jaw. “Ain’t scared?”

You quietly say, “Like ‘t be scared.” You’re reaching upward, prying off his hat; His hair’s deliciously gray and tousled. “Here.”

Joel’s flinging his accessory away. Then, handing you the hooded, horror mask, “Go ‘head.” He warns, “Wearin’ it ‘till you’re comin’. Understand?”

You’re stroking his untidy hair, readying him, “Won’t be long.” You murmur, “S–Soppin’ for ‘ya.”

Joel’s grunting, “Fuck’s sake.” Kissing you, in-between threatening, “Filthy. ‘Oughta edge ‘ya. Talkin’ like that.”

He impatiently rings your wrists; You’re positioning the mask properly overhead. The draping fabric’s hitting Joel’s colossal shoulders. 

Your pulse’s hammering, “Oh.”

The mask’s milky-colored expression, surveying you. Stark, against the setting of Joel’s unlighted home. His index finger’s impulsively traveling your body; Dragging over your bottom lip’s dampened flesh. Then, carnally downard, riding your throat. Fingering your jugular’s delicate divet. Hooking your undershirt’s airy collar.

Joel’s taunting, “Heart’s racin’.”

You’re anguishly rutting against his console table’s lacquered top. You need to be touched. You beg, “J–Joel. Oh, Joel.”

Joel’s eerily tilting his head, “Pussy’s racin’ like that, too?” Whispering, “Ain’t it?”

You’re deliriously horny, “Yes.”

He’s humming, “Hm. Shirt’s got ‘t go, first.” His unoccupied hand’s rummaging his hind pocket, while, “Reckon that my knife’ll work?”

You’re pleading, “C–Cut it off.”

Then, Joel’s brandishing his utility knife. The blade’s expertly flicked outward. He urges, “Try ‘t hold still.”

Joel Miller’s carving your fucking shirt; His blade’s blunt edge skimming your sternum. He’s effortlessly halved it, forging an impromptu vest. He’s instantaneously shoving the garment overtop your rigid shoulders.

The knife’s frigid handle brushes your tapered nipple; Joel’s awaiting permission, hovering your underwear’s waistline. You’re nodding, kneading his large shoulders. His finger’s hitching the material, before his blade’s cutting it.

Snipping the remaining side, Joel grunts, “Cunt need stuffin’?” He’s pocketing your saturated underwear and his retracted knife, “I know it’s wet ‘nough to take two fingers.”

You’ve been fantasizing about Joel entering you all Halloween. And, finally; He does. He’s groaning, “S–Swallowin’ both of ‘em. ‘Jus like that?”

Your angling head’s hitting the paneled wall. You’re obscenely squelching around his battering digits. You belatedly respond, “JoelJoelJoelJoel.”

Joel’s roughened wrist’s repeatedly rubbing your beating clit. You’re clenching speechlessly around him, innately meeting every re-entry. Your spine’s warming; Your stomach’s taut.

Your arousal’s watering his driving hand; His palm’s pooling. Joel’s incessantly steady. Praising, “Comin’ up. Doin’ good.”

You’re gasping, “There. Oh, right there.”

The instant that you’re coming, Joel’s yanking off his hindering mask. His beard’s patchy and sweaty. He grins, “Man ‘a my word.”

Then, Joel’s amused mouth’s pounding upon your own; He’s desperately inhaling your breaking moans. Licking your teeth’s underside. 

You’re abundantly squirting, as Joel’s uncorking your cunt. Your spotting vision’s correcting leisurely. You’re languidly sighing; Breathing deeply.

He’s genuinely insane for drinking you from his cupped palm. Then, Joel’s mouthing his soggy fingers; Hitting knuckle. You’re blurting, “Need ‘t fuck.”

Joel’s arching his aging brow; Rasping, ���Ask nicely.” Then, he’s towing your body overtop his broad shoulder. Spanking you, “Greedy fuckin’ girl.”

You’re nakedly suspended, Joel’s bicep rippling below your ass. He’s entering his living room; Carefully placing you across his cognac-colored sectional. You’re propping upon the chaise’s leathered cushions. You whine, “Please, Joel.”

Joel’s tutting, “Better’n that.” 

You supply, “Pretty please?”

He’s gradually moving nearer; His denim-clad shins, butting the couch’s edge. Joel’s unhurriedly thumbing his belt’s loop, painfully prolonging his removing it. You’re wetting and writhing against his furniture’s fabric.

Joel’s unimpressed, “C’mon.”

Shedding his accessory; Working his zipper. His acting arm’s so freckled, tanned, veined. Joel’s yanking his t-shirt overhead, before subsequently revealing an appetizing, softened tummy. His happy trail’s graying and wiry.

You’re begging, “Joel. Please.”

He’s winking, “Good ‘nough.”

Every sound’s tantalizing; Joel’s boots and pants, thumping across the carpet. His bare, bulky thigh’s abruptly rubbing against your naked pussy; Then, Joel’s mirroring your body’s horizontal position. Mounting you.

Your arousal’s drenching his underwear’s front; His length’s largely tenting the humid material, “Beggin’ like that. Fuckin’ slut.”

You’re involuntarily panting, when Joel’s finally and fully undressed. His cock’s deliciously girthy. The tip’s engorged, reddened and seeping; Erecting far beyond his belly’s button.

You’re whimpering, “PleasePleasePlease.”

Joel grins, “Cunt’s quiverin’. Feelin’ that?”

You desperately nod, “Need you ‘t feel it.”

Joel’s immediately pistoning his fleshy waist; His cock’s knocking your cervix’s wall. His rough thrusting’s fastly inching your bodies upward, until your head’s rearing the sofa’s supple tailend.

He whispers, “Warm ‘nough?”

You gasp, “C–Cock’s perfect.”

Joel’s inaudibly responding; Ramming your hand, palming your pelvis. You’re feeling his cock, below your abdomen’s exterior. He’s interlocking your fingers; His own swallowing yours; Pressing. You’re practically tracing his bulbous, twitching tip.

He’s praising, “Takin’ me well.”

Joel’s bottoming-out, pounding steadily; His bloated, weighty balls welting your taint. Your clit’s puffing, from his pubic bone’s rhythmic route. Dementedly fucking you. You’re moaning, “Ah. F–Fuck.”

He murmurs, “Cunt’s gulpin’ me.” Joel’s hooking your knee’s underside, before lugging it overtop his broad shoulder’s slope, “Needy fuckin’ hole.”

You’re stammering, “Ngh. M–Mm. RightThereRightThere.”

Then, Joel’s angling deeper, differently; Laying his body’s robust weight against your languid, vertical leg. Your foot’s achingly surpassing your head. His chest hair’s graying and saturated; Scraping you.

Your pussy’s overwhelmingly spasming. Joel’s messily tonguing your nipple’s peak; His mustache’s prickling the sensitive skin. You’re tugging at his hair’s curling strands, “J–Joel. Close.”

Joel’s echoing your prior words, “Meet ‘ya there.”

You’re shockingly surprised, that Joel’s remembered the momentary retort; Your faux-bold response and pumpkin spiced alcohol. That’s it. You’re blindly coming. His cock’s densely brimming your contracting hole; Hammering you.

Your pussy’s pornographically sloshing. Joel whimpers, “A–’Atta girl. Drenchin’ it.” Then, “Comin’ inside. ‘M snipped. Yeah?”

You’re immediately kissing him. Palming his beard’s rugged stubble. Sucking his tongue’s pink pores; Tasting your arousal’s heady flavoring.

His climaxing moan’s roaring down your throat; Cum rapidly spurting, coating your cunt. You’re rubbing his rolling eye’s crinkled grooves. His forehead’s tanned and wrinkled. Joel’s especially gorgeous, while cumming hard.

You’re pouring, when Joel’s unplugging you. He’s breathlessly cursing, “Fuckin’ hot.” Standing, “Gettin’ towels. Need anythin’ else? Water?”

You’re beginning to respond, when Joel’s unexpectedly bending; Kissing you. You smile, tapping your bottom lip, “What’s that for?”

Joel’s embarrassedly pointing, toward the nearby microwave’s blinking clock. He explains, “Ten thirty-one on October thirty-first. ‘Dunno. Good luck? Make ‘a wish or somethin’.”

You’re actually dumbfounded, “Oh? You’re absurdly cute.”

Joel frowns, “Ain’t allowed ‘t call me that. ‘Specially while leakin’ my seed.” He’s nakedly turning, preparing to walk, “Water?”

You’re pulling Joel’s hand, “Wait. Want ‘t hear your wish.”

He gulps, “That… You’ll be visitin’ home on Thanksgivin’.”

[wwaheoh]

Hey, Hi, Hello!! I don’t know if you’re not taking request or not but If it’s not too much of a hassle or if you have the free time, could I please request a part two of that unrequited love post where the reader starts intentionally avoiding those same characters you posted? Like basically the aftermath of the confession. If you’re closed or busy you really don’t have to accept this but thank you for that read 😭

“Aversion to Heartache…” Zenless Zone Zero x gnReader

Von Lycaon, Zhu Yuan

a/n: not including Anby, since she’s the one avoiding you at the end of Unrequited. also i am always open to requests or chats! just know that it might take some time to get back to you, since i write when i take a break or can’t draw

Sequel to: “Unrequited” (Lycaon, Zhu Yuan, Anby)

It’s been a couple of weeks since your failed confession. You had been purposefully avoiding Lycaon- even Victoria Housekeeping as well as the cafe they used as a front. Ads would pop up on websites, various members on it but the pure white fur of the Therian on your mind sticking out like a sore thumb against the muted colors of the rest of the staff.

Sighing, you clicked on the X to delete the ad, not wanting to see it any longer. You misclicked, accidentally clicking on the web link and being rerouted to the contact page of Victoria Housekeeping. It was familiar- having used it to venture into the Hollow, where you met Lycaon.

Quickly closing the tab, you tried to clear your mind. Lycaon, Lycaon, Lycaon, every day it felt like you got reminded of him. The good times you both had, spending afternoons and sometimes nights with him. Then quickly being soured by you confessing to him- the look on his face more unflattering than what really occurred.

You should go out for a bit… maybe some fresh air would help. Standing up, you put on some casual clothes, fixing a hoodie on and zipping it up before taking your keys.

Closing the door behind you and locking it, you took a deep breath of the cold afternoon air. Fresh, with only a couple of people milling about. A car or two passing by every couple of minutes. Stepping out from the front of your apartment, you began your aimless walk. Letting the sounds of the city fill your ears.

After tens of minutes, you found yourself in Lumina Square. Somewhere bustling with traffic. Following the crowd, you looked through the windows, commenting on things mentally- before something caught your eye.

Lycaon. The wolf-Therian was sitting in front of a noodle shop with… someone else. A figure wearing a blue-orange jacket, hair reaching their chin. Here you were, constantly on the verge of tears and Lycaon had already moved on. Seemingly having replaced you, seeing as how expressive this person was to him.

His ear twitched, a tell-tale sign of where he was going to look- having either heard or smelled something of note. Quickly you lifted your hood up, hiding your face as you quickly followed the crowd, hoping to avoid his gaze and possible confrontation, forever if possible.

Yet he knew you were there. With the aroma and cooking of the noodle shop covering up most of your tracks, but that familiar scent you had snaked its way in. Yet you were already gone, faded back into the crowd.

After the revelation of who Zhu Yuan’s heart had been captivated by, you had begun to slowly avoid Zhu Yuan. The heartache you felt as you spent time with her became more pervasive with each day. Something you wanted became poisoned, leading you to call hangouts off or declining Zhu Yuan whenever she invited you.

She very easily figured this out, but the question was ‘why?’. The two of you hadn’t had a falling out- nothing egregious and there was no reason for you to have any bad blood. Yet every time she approached you, you quickly tried to find an out- you weren’t as slick as you thought you were.

It became harder and harder for her to initiate anything, being stationed in different areas of New Eridu, as well as growing feelings for her partner Qingyi. Yet it still ate at her.

One day on patrol, you were responding to an urgent call, pulling up with lights flashing. A man had a girl hostage, blade to her neck as they ordered the cops to hand them a vehicle to make their escape from a robbery gone wrong.

Just as you were about to go in, a blur passed you, a familiar figure grabbed the girl, cuffing the suspect before roundhouse kicking them, knocking them and a piece of the wall out. As well as a couple of molars.

You watched her in a trance as she consoled the victim. Then you noticed that she was about to turn, with you quickly walking away back to your car. She stepped to follow you but was stopped, having to give a recount and file paperwork for the arrest, as well as return to film the rest of the promotional material for the director.

Qingyi watched you leave as she stepped out of the car, dots connecting in her head as she watched the hurt look on both you and Zhu Yuan’s face. She needed to do something about this...

[kiame-sama]

Not gonna lie, Drider!Rook made me think about the story ‘The Most Dangerous Game’ and I can just picture him wanting to hunt Reader since he’s never encountered such an exotic and unique prey like a Human, as he’s vibrating from excitement about how his newest ‘Prey’ shall fair against him

He probably read stories about Humans in his youth and wondered before they went extinct, how they were able to survive without gills, scales, claws, wings, poison, etc or even without magic

Because Reader uses hidden traps and misleading tracks, Rook calls her ‘Mademoiselle Trickster’ (Mademoiselle is a title for an Unmarried Women in French) and felt his heart skip a beat seeing Reader use her intelligence, cunning and trickery to get the upper hand over him

Only he’s not going to eat or kill her, rather he just wants to feel the thrill of the hunt by chasing an endangered species (He has no intention to harm her)

But here’s a twist, the hunt is actually a common mating practice for his species of Drider (Or just his family) when it comes to finding a mate

There’s not really a lot of information about Rook’s family as he’s quite secretive about himself (Which I find ironic because he wants to know everything when it comes to his ‘Muses’)

(I know the shadows over his eyes don't make sense given the pose and the angle of the lighting, but I liked the way they looked all darkened and menacing, so I kept the eye shadows for my own aesthetic.)

(Rook waiting in his web on the Pomefiore ballroom ceiling. He does this to observe the other students and document their habits and will even do this web building around campus in heavy traffic areas/popular gathering spots to stalk others more effectively. Vil will often throw things at Rook if he sees the Drider has built yet another web on the Pomefiore ceiling. His dorm robes aren't well suited for the upsidedown life, but he makes due and uses magic to keep his favorite hat in place on his head.)

- Rook would absolutely love hunting the little Human Trickster if only to experience the thrill of The Hunt. He wouldn't dare harm a hair on his sweet Human's head, but he would absolutely love a back and forth of Hunter and Hunted with them just for fun. He may not tell the little Human it is just for fun, seeing as he wants an authentic experience and a good hunt. Once he eventually catches his Human- and he will catch them at some point- he will be practically bouncing from the thrill of it all and only then will he inform the terrified Human that this was a game and not an actual hunt. Were it an actual hunt, they would not have seen a single hair of the Drider before he struck.

- There is little as exhilarating to Rook than a hunt for prey that knows how to fight back and evade him. Any traps his Human sets, no matter how flimsy or obvious, will only thrill Rook becuase he loves the idea of being hunted by his own prey. To flip the tables on such a skilled Huntsman only makes the game more fun. There is nothing quite like the thrill of chasing down dangerous game and it certainly gets Rook's blood burning hot and pumping.

- As Rook is a Golden Huntsman Drider, he doesn't often participate in web-building in regards to hunting his prey. He will build webs for many reasons in many places, but rarely ever will he build a web to be used in an actual hunt. Huntsman are a spider species known for wandering, tracking down prey, and foraging when needed, Rook is no different and is a voracious predator when it comes to the true hunting and gathering of prey. Naturally, this does mean all of his family shares this drive to hunt. Hunting is ingrained in a Huntsman's DNA so naturally they will also hunt prospective mates.

- Like their spider counterparts, male Huntsman Driders- upon locating a suitable mate- have a tendency to lay their legs in substrate and shuffle them back and forth to make a rustling or rattling sound depending on the substrate. Usually a hunter would not be keen to reveal themselves, but this sound can draw in curious prey and curious mates who are seeking the Drider making the sound. Part of this mating display is hunting their mates down and drawing them in with the sound before springing. Naturally, when they have their mates in their grasp, they don't let go easily as Huntsman Spiders are known to cling tightly to prey and even predators to stop themselves from being shaken off or dislodged from their quarry.

[starlordcumidk]

surprise visitor

TASM!Peter Parker x friend!reader

(reader has a crush on peter, peter doesn’t know)

summary: on a nightly walk you get surprised by the friendly neighborhood spider-man who offers to walk home with you. but you recognize his voice.

cw: not proofread, reference to song (Tek It Cafune), reader is friendly with a handful of spider-man characters, mischaracterization, swearing

wc: 1.5k

It was cool out, a perfect opportunity to get some fresh air and you took it. Headphones on your head, running shoes laced, comfy sweater and gym shorts on lock. You checked to make sure you had your keys and walked out the door, music playing as you snuck off into the night.

It was weird, walking around Manhattan with minimal foot traffic, but it was in between the hours of ‘going out’ and ‘stumbling home’ on a Friday night, so it was just you and some passerby’s. Quiet, easy, safe. Perfect. Just what you needed to get your mind off of finals for a brief period.

After twenty minutes, one of your all time favorite songs is playing and you can’t help but step in time to the music, quickening your pace as you smile a little, mouthing the words. Then another comes on and you can’t help but to skip a bit, losing yourself to the sound, feeling for a moment that you were completely free, even if there were teenagers on the opposite side of the street judging you heavily for your whimsy.

Well, that is until you see a bit of webbing hit the fire escape a few feet ahead of you, stopping you dead in your tracks as you look around for trouble. When there’s no smugglers, trenchcoat creeps or monsters in your line of sight you furrow your brows and turn around to keep going, but are stopped by an upside down Spider-Man.

You jump, heart pounding as watch as his jaw moves under his mask before you yank your headphones off and catch the end of his sentence.

“-ing tonight?” His voice is deeper than you anticipated.

“You scared the shit out of me, dude.” You say a bit breathlessly, moving your hand to your chest. “Repeat yourself, couldn’t hear you.”

“Ah- uhm… sorry- sorry.” He laughs softly and lowers himself to his feet, turning midair like it was nothing. “Are you having fun dance-walking tonight?”

“Uh- yea.” You say softly, suddenly a little embarrassed. Teenagers can go to fuck themselves but Spider-Man? Him stumbling upon your whismy walk makes you feel a bit too seen. ”Shouldn’t you be like… punching Green Goblin or something?”

The hero shakes his head slightly and shrugs, looking up and down the street. “Have you seen him anywhere? I’m really tired of that guy ghosting me.”

You let out a soft laugh and roll your eyes, nervously crossing your arms over your chest as you look at the masked man. “What about minor criminals? Any of those?”

He looks up and down the road again, somehow showing a lot of emotion even beneath the big white eyes.

“Note taken….” You say before looking up and down the road, only a few people off in the distance walking the opposite direction. The silence fell over the two of you other than the soft hum of ‘Tek it’ by Cafuné and the sounds of New York.

You were just standing there, eyes locked on Spider-Man, quite literally saying nothing for a long, long time. After you had enough of the silence you just nodded and went to put the headphones on.

But he jumped and held a hand out, stepping closer. “Wait! Wait-“ he paused, causing you to put the headphone back to their spot on your neck. “Let me walk with you?” A part of his voice was… familiar now. As if he was deepening it and speaking slower than normal before. It reminded you of someone but you weren’t sure who.

“Why?” Your voice is laced with the curiosity rattling in your brain, your brows furrowed and nose slightly scrunched.

“What if a creep tries to rob you, can’t have that.” His voice is back to the slow, deep version, and now you can’t unhear the undertone of… someone you know.

“I thought you just implied that the streets were safe right now?” You add, turning slightly and starting to walk back in the direction of your apartment.

“Well, maybe I’m just bored and saw a very… fantastical dance-walk while sitting on a gargoyle.”

“I prefer the term whimsy walk, but I’ll take fantastical.”

“Whimsy walk?” He says with a laugh, the hint of his real voice slipping again and your mind starts to try and place it all on its own.

The height could be anyone, the build? That really rules out everyone you know. Most of your guy friends — Ned, Peter, Harry —- didn’t have this lean of a build. At least you don’t think Peter does, you’ve never seen him outside of his baggy sweaters or hoodie-flannel combo. Even when it was hot out, he keeps himself cozy, saying he has low iron.

“Do I know you?” You ask as you keep walking, turning your headphones off as you look him over, your mind still searching for the connection it desperately wanted to make.

“What?” He stutters out, deepening his voice a bit, knocking down to an unrealistic key. “I’d remember someone as whimsical and pretty as you.”

“Oh ew, don’t flirt. And don’t lower your voice like that, it’ll mess with your vocal folds.” You say, your nose scrunching again.

“You mean cords?”

“Nuh-uh, folds.”

He just laughs a little more, shaking his head as he continues to walk in step with you, looking at you for a moment before he softly speaks up. “I think maybe we have bio-lab on Tuesdays together.”

You immediately start to scan all 40 other students in your lab and try to find the ones that match his height and build. Only three are there, so you narrow your eyes at him. “So you’re either the frat bro with the curly hair, petri dish licker or…. Guy with the gauges.”

Except, he doesn’t sound or act like any of them. You can’t imagine petri-dish guy would be smart enough to fight the evil doers of New York, but then again, double lives are separate for a reason, maybe petri-dish was secretly charming and witty.

“Petri-dish licker?” He sounds horrified. You made Spider-Man physically tense up as he walked next to you. “God, I can’t believe you’d think I was Reid.”

“Hmm, but you know his name, so you know him. And your ears don’t look like they have gauges, so you’re curly.” You claim it proudly, even if you were extremely wrong.

“Nope. Not curly, good guess though.” He laughs and there’s that brightness, the one your brain can’t place without seeing his face and it’s bugging you so badly.

“What? But only curly, petri and gauges are tall enough for me to look up at and this… built.” You huff and close your eyes, walking blindly for a moment as you try to place him. “Are you petri? I mean- Reid?”

“No, stop suggesting I like to lick petri dishes.”

“Well, I can’t figure out who you are and I can quite literally see an indent of your ears, and you don’t have any piercings. So… if you’re none of them, I’m lost. You’re lying.” You keep your eyes closed, walking ahead and trusting yourself to find him in your mind somewhere.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself if you walk blindly, you know?” His voice lifts a bit and there’s a hand hovering over your lower back, ready to catch you if you trip or fall. “Open your eyes.” He says your name and it makes your skin crawl, you know him. You know you know him, more than you know any rando from bio-lab.

He’s a friend, or a friend of a friend. Maybe he is MJ’s new boyfriend. The one you met at her birthday party last weekend and comes around your group study sessions every time it’s supposed to be no distractions.

“Cam?” You ask softly, stumbling a little over a grate and feeling his hand grip the back of your sweater, keeping you upright.

“No.” He sounds clipped, like he was a bit offended by the suggestion.

“I swear, I know you… your voice.”

Spider-Man just shakes his head and peels up his mask just to the ball of his nose, taking in a deep breath, holding in a laugh. And the sound of his breath makes you look at him again, peeking with one eye, and you know that mouth, that small beauty mark on his chin. You look at them every day.

It all starts to click in your mind, the late night texts, the last minute canceling, the shit excuses. Your friend group chalked it up to him being busy with his part time job at the Bugle and his twenty credit hours and tutoring. But maybe he wasn’t actually working or tutoring. Maybe he was a fucking skyscraper crawling, bad guy pinching little shit.

“Peter?” You stop in your tracks and watch as Spider-Man trips slightly over the side walk, looking back at you as he starts to pull the mask back over his lips. Everything in you was on fire. This may be the angriest you’ve ever been, for some reason you can’t stop yourself from reaching out and grabbing at his mask. “What the fuck-“

Peter quickly grabs your hand, pulling it away from his mask and stumbled backwards, looking around and huffing. “Jesus, stop- don’t- I’m not….” His voice is low and he keeps your hand in his. “I don’t know any Peter’s.”

“Yea. Because you’re Pet-“ Before you could finish the words he’s gone, his hand dropping yours and swinging off somewhere in the distance. No goodbye, no explanation. Just… gone.

[zadle]

How to replace Microsoft and support the BDS boycott

reach out to your tech friends about replacing windows with an alternative operating system, such as linux or a *BSD OS. if you decide to do this on your own, make sure to back up your hard drive first. windows profits off your usage data (even if you never paid for it) and can use it to train their AI, which is arming israel.

if your work or school requires you to acquire windows, look up massgrave (it's very simple to activate windows).

duckduckgo is just microsoft's bing in a trench coat. they have made a secret exception for microsoft's tracking services in the past. check out Searx instances, or try alternative indie web search engines such as Marginalia or Wiby.

if you're using microsoft's outlook for email, consider Tuta or Disroot (avoid proton; it's all privacy theatre that's only somewhat better than other email providers, and the CEO has voiced support for trump).

don't pay to watch the minecraft movie that's coming out. i've heard it's incredibly underwhelming anyway.

insist on playing minecraft but don't want to give microsoft money? avoid bedrock edition. check out UltimMC if you need a way to acquire java edition and you don't own it. if you're a server operator, you can set your server to offline mode in server.properties which allows people who acquire minecraft the cool way to connect, but this should be paired with a server-side authentication plugin/mod for safety reasons (in offline mode, anyone can log in with any username, including a whitelisted or operator username, and there are bots scanning for servers to grief). don't use realms. disable telemetry with mods if you can.

get a vpn (i recommend airvpn for p2p connections) and download qBittorrent. in case you're interested in media published by microsoft. or just in general. learn to torrent, and make sure all your torrent traffic goes through your vpn service.

if you're using microsoft edge, consider switching to an alternative browser such as LibreWolf (basically firefox with better privacy and security out of the box; mozilla is not the innocent robin hood figure they're made out to be) or Ungoogled-Chromium (chromium without the google spyware; unfortunately lacks auto-update in most cases).

if you're using microsoft's AI for anything, consider getting a library card instead.

[baka-bakeneko]

Enmesh - Miguel O'Hara

Miguel O'Hara x Fem Spider Scientist reader (afab biology)

a/n: venom venom venom miguel is the dirtiest and slimy but i'm loving this alot. also i ain't copin' to shit. (part two)

tags: Minors DNI, NSFW, Spiderverse hopping, scientific discovery, symbiotic relationship (kinda), references to self-harm (destruction and/or suicide), obsessive Venom, just as obsessive and possessive Miguel O'Hara, consensual non-consent, breeding kink, missionary, oral sex, tentacle (not tentacles), anal fingering, no use of lube, creampie, hint to cervix penetration

wc: 4.24 k

synopsis: Miguel asks you, fellow scientist and spider-in-training, to investigate an anomaly that popped up on the radar.

Miguel had tasked you to follow a couple of Spiders out on patrols, due to the spike in anomalies on Earth TRN688. He’d attempted to go out to that verse himself, but was called to aid Spiderwoman.

You did as ordered, keeping close remarks in the New York you appeared in. Following the Spider you were partnered with, you kept up with your own built-in web slingers and scanned over the landscape with your anomaly tracker.

Miguel followed your tracking, monitoring the spikes in the radar and mapping the New York geography. He was distracted in his own task, enough so that Jessica pocketed his personal tracker on you.

You managed to stop on the same rooftop as Reilly, catching your breath with another scan of the radar.

“What’s up?” He asked, pulling off his mask to catch his breath.

You shrugged, narrowing your eyes at the tracker as a spike rose up in the landscape. “We need to get over there.”

You pointed across Central Park, directly over the water. “There’s a spike out there.”

Reilly exhaled, returning his mask back on and kicking off of the rooftop. “Let’s go.”

You scampered after him, looking over the ledge of the rooftop to see your companion free-falling into New York traffic before catching himself on a web at the last second. You released a shaky breath, shooting out a web and jumping from the ledge, swinging after the Spider.

Upon reaching the anomaly spike, you landed roughly on the scorched grass in Central Park. You pulled yourself up and walked around the crash site of the meteorite. Reilly landed carefully behind you, watching as you slowly approached the cracked open, smoking space rock.

You leaned forward to look at the rock, plain of anything significant.

A splash of shadow lurched out at you and, in the split second of you lurching back in shock, Reilly shot a heavy web out to stop it. The captured ooze writhed on the ground before your feet, slowly soaking in Reilly’s web until you stamped a foot to cut it off.

You dug through your research bag to find a vial large enough for the thing to fit in and bent to stuff it in. You screwed on a tamper seal, holding the vial up to your face as the ooze, dark as night, began to float within the glass like a lava lamp.

Your thumb folded over the front of the glass, watching as the ooze lurched in the direction of it like it tried to attack you.

“The fuck is that?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know. But it’s alive.”

“No shit. It almost ate you.” Reilly said, standing to fold his hand over the back of his neck. “O’Hara would’ve killed me if something happened to you.”

You tore your gaze away from the ooze to look at Reilly. “I appreciate you babysitting me. I’ll tell Miguel your contribution to my safety.”

Reilly dropped his arms to his side, then crossed them over his chest. “Is that all we came for?”

You pursed your lips, bringing the vial into your full hold. “I think so.”

You gave the ooze another curious look then straightened up the contents of your bag to put it in carefully.

“Let’s go show him what we found.”

-

As soon as you were back in headquarters, you bounded towards Miguel’s office. You held onto the strap of your bag carefully, slipping between the countless number of Spider-people in the direction of the epicenter.

You paused at the gate of Miguel’s office, catching your breath once again when you noticed it was occupied with a group.

“Hone— Miguel,” you corrected yourself, pushing yourself forward to Miguel’s platform.

Miguel was directed at the front of the group, looking down at them in pause of giving orders. His eyes slowly shifted over to you, noting your ragged breathing and flushed face.

“Dismissed.” He waved off the group in an instant, lowering the platform to allow you up. “What did you find? Are you okay?”

You nodded, immediately digging into your bag to retrieve the ooze vial. “Your anomaly…was a meteorite. This was found at the crash site.”

You held the vial up between the two of you, your view crossed between it and Miguel’s gaze. Your fingers held the top of the vial and the two of you watched as the ooze lashed up at where your fingers touched the glass.

“Shocking,” Miguel whispered, gripping the bottom of the vial in effort to get the ooze to react to his touch.

The ooze paused, homing itself at the top of the glass where you touched before drooping a glob down as if to test the waters at Miguel’s touch. The two of you watched as it stretched along the vial, touching both ends of the glass and thrumming slightly.

“What do you think it is?” You asked, wanting to hear another scientist’s theory.

“I’m not entirely sure. Is it dangerous?” Miguel asked, tugging the vial from your hold and rolling it in his palm.

You winced softly, watching your discovery slosh about the vial. “It lashed out at me when I arrived but Reilly caught it.”

Miguel’s brows furrowed, pulling his eyes from the ooze before meeting your gaze. “You’re okay?”

His free hand reached out, retracting his claws, and caressed your cheek. You grinned briefly, leaning into his touch.

“I’m fine. Web-slinger’s coming along great.”

Miguel hid a gulp, mirroring your grin before retreating his touch. “You did great, hermosa. I’m dismissing you.”

You nodded, your eyes cutting to the ooze vial in his palm. When you looked at it, the ooze reacted and lurched out in your direction.

“Okay. Will you be home for dinner?”

Miguel folded his lips together, looking down at the ooze vial then back at you. “I may be a bit late. Gonna see what makes this thing tick.”

While you wanted to stay to conduct research with Miguel, you knew that Lyla would be just as good as you in that aspect. You reached for your shoulder, tensing the muscle that throbbed in its place.

Raising on your toes, you leaned forward with bracing Miguel’s thick forearm. “Don’t be too late, okay? You need your sleep.”

You kissed his stubbled cheek, rested your forehead to his temple. “And I miss you.”

Miguel fought the deep exhale from his chest, turning in the direction of your mouth. He was tempted at your soft lips, his nose nudging yours. “I miss you too. I promise not to overdo it.”

“I’m holding you to that,” you whispered, pointing your pinkie finger out for Miguel to cross with his own.

He did so, noting your thumb circling the silicone band on your ring finger. “Get some rest.”

-

Miguel managed to find another container to move the ooze into. He tapped it into the jar and immediately flipped it over.

Watching the sludge dart to the bottom of the jar then below to the table. He forced his hand over the bottom of the jar to keep it from slipping free and marked its response to light.

Nothing.

Its response to water, a quick drop next to it made the ooze not react. Miguel glared at the sludge, shifting the jar back and forth for some sort of response from it.

"You're alive, I know you have a weakness."

When he spoke at it, the ooze seemed to perk up in the direction of his voice. Miguel quirked a brow, tilted his head. "You can hear."

The ooze fashioned its glob in the direction of Miguel's tilt, as if to mimic him. Miguel peeled the jar up and tentatively poked out to the ooze.

"Are you..." Miguel began, watching the ooze lash out to his finger and worm quickly up his arm.

"Whoa, slow down." He reached to stop the sludge but it disappeared under his palm.

Miguel still felt the crawl of the ooze on his body, over his skin and, then, under it. He fashioned his claws, ready to tear into his skin but took a deep breath.

"Lyla!" Miguel called out, looking around his office for his AI. "Run a diagnostic. Quickly."

Lyla blipped into being, scanning over Miguel as he took a few deep breaths in before he felt a sudden onset of heat.

"Mierde," he released in a pant, waving for Lyla to dissipate his suit for the full scan.

"What's wrong, Miguel?" Lyla asked, zipping around Miguel's head as she produced a virtual tablet. "Your temperature's raised to 125."

Miguel's stomach rumbled slightly, his throat growing dryer by the second. His mouth was drying, his tongue aching from the lack of moisture.

"What do you have so far?" Miguel asked, resting his hands on his hips and following Lyla round his head. He kept his breathing steady, blinking slowly while his heart pounded hard against his ribs.

"I-I'm checking," Lyla cut out her attitude, running through her tablet at the scrolling diagnostic. "What is this, Miguel?"

"The-the anomaly," Miguel muttered, snapping his fingers in the direction of the empty jar. "The thing understands words, cognizant of what I say."

Lyla nodded, looking up from her tablet. "I see. The thing is trying to make a nest in your chest, Miguel. It's attaching to your spinal cord."

Miguel gulped, straightening his stature. "Is it...aggressive?"

"Not as I've seen so far. The...thing is trying to inhabit your spleen and draw nutrients from it."

"No," Miguel grunted, immediately clenching his side and puncturing his skin with his claws. "Not if I have a say in it."

Hungry.

Miguel heard the word echo through his head, the word husking into his ear. He tilted his chin, raising his hand to Lyla. "It speaks."

Lyla raised her brows, scrolling through the tablet and stopping at a blip. "It appears to be receding from your spleen. Quick, say something."

Miguel deadpanned at Lyla, cocked his jaw as his body grew in chills. "What are you hungry for?"

Anything.

Miguel looked to Lyla as she turned the tablet towards him. He noted the ooze retreating back to his spinal cord, housing itself between his vertebrae.

"Do you have a name?"

We are Venom.

Miguel exhaled and Lyla resumed her final diagnostics.

"You say you eat anything, yet you garner for my spleen. Why?" Miguel asked, retracting his claws from his skin.

We eat anything. Humans are food.

"Why not eat me immediately?" Miguel asked.

You are with the woman. The scientist. We are symbiotic. We want the woman.

Miguel grit his teeth. "You can't eat her."

We do not wish to eat her. We want her to host us.

Miguel scoffed, waving for Lyla to retrieve his clothes. "Never going to happen. You want to stay with me, that's fine. But you're never getting her."

The ooze within him hummed, the noise reverberated down his spine and he tensed his top lip.

"That's the only way you'll stay. Otherwise, I will destroy you."

Not before destroying yourself first.

"So be it." Miguel cocked his jaw, unfolding his pants after they blipped into existence on his workstation. He gave a nod to Lyla. "I have nothing better to do anyways."

What about the woman?

"My woman," Miguel stressed, pulling on his pants. He reached for his shirt next, folding it over his head and pulling it over his torso.

Mi amor, you call her that. What does that mean?

Miguel scoffed, suddenly glancing to Lyla. "It tapped into my brain stem too?"

Lyla solemnly nodded. Miguel hid a roll of his eyes.

"It means 'my love'. My second language."

And hermosa?

Miguel shook his head. "'Beautiful'."

She is.

"Hey." Miguel snapped his fingers as he stared straightforward. "Venom, right? You...stay out of the way of her. If I recognize a single drop of you in her, I'll dissect myself to kill you. Do we understand each other?"

Venom laxed within Miguel, the closest form of contentedness he felt after the being melded into him.

Fine. We go home to her, though?

Miguel shut his eyes in slight disbelief. "Yes. We do. She's my fiancée."

Lucky.

-

You tried to stay up for Miguel, even after you climbed into bed. There was nothing to keep you in the meantime, after eating dinner and cleaning up the apartment, you waited.

It wasn't until your head jerked back up that you realized you had dozed off. And there was still no sign of Miguel. Shutting off your light, you returned to bed and soon fell asleep.

Miguel appeared in the bedroom when you were finally gone. He waited at the door, listening to you rustle between the sheets.

Venom demanded to be fed as soon as Miguel left headquarters. In order to keep his part of the deal, Miguel stopped at a convenience store and stocked up on roller hot dogs.

The taste of rolled-over grease settled wrong on his tongue, he gagged over not hacking the food back up.

"Why not chicken?" Miguel asked, on his way back to the apartment while suppressing a belch.

Chicken, no.

Miguel stepped into the room and stood at the foot of the bed, staring at you splayed over the mattress. He chuckled, tugging at your big toe.

She's pretty.

"She's my everything," Miguel offered, kneeling onto the bed and moving over you.

She smells delicious.

Miguel cut his face to the side, snarling at the darkness of the room. "You stay out of my mind. She's private."

Venom growled within Miguel. He felt a soft wiggle in his side, acknowledging the familiar ooze that emanated from his skin.

We feel how you do about her.

Venom's appendage caressed Miguel's chin and his nostrils flared.

"I'm not open to sharing." Miguel retorted, his top lip peeling up to reveal his fang.

Who said anything about sharing? We share your body, Miguel. Everything else is one.

Miguel leaned down and rested his forehead to your stomach, nudging his nose along your skin. You stirred, your hand tensing.

"She's mine, only mine," Miguel whispered.

You wish to impregnate her.

Miguel slammed his eyes shut, teeth grit harder as he folded his bottom lip to your skin. "I want her through and through."

Touching.

Miguel tsked, kissing up your body as he applied his weight over you. Venom's appendage slithered over the bed and ghosted over your pillow.

"You don't get to touch her," Miguel ordered softly. "Not unless it's through me."

Your rules.

Venom retracted the appendage and Miguel kissed behind your ear.

"Hermosa, I'm home." Miguel whispered. "I'm sorry I'm late."

Your tired hand reached up to comb through Miguel's hair. "You're burning up, baby."

"I know." Miguel rolled his eyes, his hands planting at your hips. "Cool off with me."

You grinned, working up to waking. "Keep moving like this, I'll break out in a sweat too."

Miguel hummed, kissing across your cheek. "I miss you."

You arched into Miguel, feeling the heat of his body all over you like a rash. His crotch was raving with heat, pressed just over your panties.

"I missed you," you hissed back, feeling your body awaken to his touch.

Her sounds, they are delicious too.

Miguel bit at your earlobe, earning your coo. He bowed his head, forcing out a remark to Venom. "Stop it."

"I can't help it," you moaned, raising your leg.

"Mi amor." Miguel returned to your mouth and kissed you, feeling the anomaly within him ebbing up his throat.

He pulled back with a harsh swallow. His jaw cocked, Miguel reversed back down your body with kisses.

In your shirt, he muttered at Venom to stay in their lane. He bit at the waistband of your panties and peeled them down, lashing his tongue out to stripe your pubic bone.

You sighed, raising your hips for Miguel to pull your panties down. He did so, grinning devilishly as he did. The heat rose under his skin, feeling a prickle at the sight of your sex.

Miguel selfishly leaned in to kiss your inside thigh, dragging his lips along your skin before descending on your pussy. He didn't waste a moment, making a meal of your clit.

You edged awake, sitting up to tighten your grip on his hair. "Baby."

Miguel moaned into you, staring across your body to meet your tired eyes. Venom rattled in Miguel's chest, the ooze ready to lash out and gain his own taste of you.

Miguel pulled away, bit his own tongue to draw back the anomaly. You groaned, shifting your hips up to gain his mouth back.

"Stay," he hissed.

We want to taste.

You purred, grinding your hips back to the mattress. "So bossy."

Miguel flashed a grin at you, bowing back to resume between your legs. "Not a chance. Live in my wake," he muttered against your lips, kissing them before parting you with his tongue.

He forced his crotch to the bed, trying to work out his own pleasure while focusing on yours.

You want her. We want her too. We can help.

"Get bent," Miguel slopped, suctioning his mouth over your clit.

You crooned, breath picking up with each soft lap to your bundle of nerves. "Miguel, please..."

She begs for us.

"Not for you," Miguel offered, popping your clit from his mouth with another heated glare at you.

He shifted, grinding his pelvis against your heat. Your face pinched, a breathy groan escaping your lips. Your hands went to Miguel's hair, combing it from his face to see the lust driven in his eyes.

Instead of crimson lashing through his irises, it was obsidian. The black that pooled his pupils flashed then receded and you swallowed.

Miguel met your lips, allowed you to taste yourself on his tongue. Venom's appendage reappeared, slipping against your thigh as Miguel shifted out of his sweats.

His mouth occupied his demand for Venom to take a backseat. While he didn't understand the anomaly's obsession with you, he knew the need.

Hissing away from your kiss, Miguel bowed his head again. "Stay out of her," he whispered to himself.

She wants you, let us help please her.

"Not a chance," Miguel whispered, angling his stiffened cock against your entrance.

He sank in an inch, allowing you to adjust to his size. You squirmed, your hips lifting to earn more of him. "Please, baby. More."

You rocked your hips in effort to gain his friction. Miguel's hands at your hips held you still, hissing at the heat in his body. Venom ran laps along Miguel's spine, snarling and biting inside for a chance.

Miguel grabbed at the stray appendage of Venom slithering towards your ass and tossed it aside. He sank another inch into, adjusting to your clenching walls.

The heat from within you and the rising temperature of Venom made Miguel sweat out of his pants.

"Miguel, you okay?" You asked, taking note of the rivulets of sweat that doused his face.

The obsidian flashed in his eyes again, making him shed his shirt before going for yours next.

"I need to feel all of you," Miguel grunted, suddenly a man possessed.

The film of sweat on him slicked over your body, his hands gripping tighter in your hips as he sank further until you tensed. It was too much too soon, his size always being something to ease into.

Miguel ducked his head to your shoulder and recanted his hips. "Forgive me, mi amor. I'm starved for you."

His voice was laced with filth, the tone of him so needy and rough. He felt his throat was dragged through desertion to end at the fountain of you.

Miguel's arms caged over you, centering you in the middle of the bed while his skin dripped over yours. So open and naked, his eyes primal while he gulped at the sight of you.

She's so ripe.

Your legs melted further apart at Miguel's hips, your knees easing up while your stomach curled at the carnal stare that bore into you. You shared a soft swallow, feeling Miguel's throbbing cock nestled in your beating walls.

Venom's appendage snaked up your inner thigh, making your walls clench tighter, until a warmth settled between your cheeks.

Your hand reached down to examine the feeling, only to be caught by Miguel's hand on your wrist. You quirked, glancing between your bodies to acknowledge the warmth as Miguel's other hand wedged under your body and traced down your back.

He rested his palm to the small of your back, angling your hips to allow him more. You panted before his lips, feeling Miguel's fingers part your cheeks with a timid grin.

"I want to make you..."

Ours.

"Mine all over," he finished, leaning into your lips to peck. "Is that okay?"

You released a shaky breath and arched into Miguel's body. "Make me yours."

She's filthy. We like her.

"Stop me if it's too much," Miguel offered, finally relenting to Venom's appendage to take lead at your tighter hole.

At the same time, Miguel began to thrust softly into you. He readily eased your mind while Venom lapped the flexible appendage against your hole, making a movement like licking.

"Miguel," you gasped as Venom pushed in softly, testing the pucker of your ass.

Miguel nodded along with you, thrusting with your breaths and intoxicating himself between the two of them. He could taste Venom's excursion on his tongue, feeling the tight muscle slowly give way to the tip and thrust in.

The three of you vibrated on a similar wavelength, Miguel snarling as he fucked into and tasted you all at once. You wiggled at the slow drag of Miguel's assumed dry fingers in your ass, the feeling giving way to your slick being used as lube.

Venom pushed in softer, wiggling in soft half-circles to caress every sensitive wall. You cried into Miguel's mouth when both his fingers and his cock collided within you and sent a shockwave of pleasure to your system.

Your knees shook at Miguel's sides; he stared down at you, drinking in your demeanor while he and Venom made work of you.

She's beautiful.

"You're so beautiful," Miguel stole his words back from the anomaly as they echoed.

You smiled, drunk from the pleasure that vibrated through you. Miguel huffed against you, kissed your lips again as he ground his pelvis against your clit.

You felt another shock to your system, your toes curling as his fingers curved up to meet the thrusts of his cock.

Give her something good.

Miguel cut his eyes behind his lids, finally ignoring the alien and picking up his thrusts to meet your level of high. He was going to take you both over, not the anomaly obsessed.

Your hands gripped at Miguel's shoulders, not able to help the desperate clawing to his massive back to gain your standing. It was a fruitless effort, finding your hips rocking as Miguel's fingers ruined your ass and his cock paved through you.

"C-cum in me," you choked out, resting your forehead to Miguel's.

Make it good. Breed her.

Miguel ignored Venom's disturbed wants, only listened to you. He ground into you again, this time earning your body trembling as an orgasm tore through you.

It made a mess of you, your stomach heaving while your knees knocked at Miguel's sides. Your palms flattened to the small of Miguel's back, forcing his hips further into you. You rocked your hips to ride out your ecstasy, attempting to drive Miguel over at the same instance.

She's a keeper, alright.

Miguel mirthlessly scoffed, following the rock of your hips until the sweat broke out in another wave. He pushed into you, to the hilt, touching the white hot soft ring inside your pussy and came.

He doused your cervix with his cum, kissing at the womb's entrance with the desire to drive deeper into you. Miguel's mind raced, thinking of spelunking further, making you a whole new his.

At the same time, Venom slinked back to its recesses. Reeling back into Miguel, sated and quiet.

Miguel caught his breath over you, losing the strength in his arms and resting his full body against you. You panted just the same, staring up at the dark ceiling while your fingers combed through the nape of his hair. Your other hand traced up and down his spine, inadvertently petting the anomaly housed inside him.

"I," you began, lining your dry throat with a new coat of saliva. "I take it research wasn't a bust."

Miguel kissed at your neck, nuzzling his face in the crevice of your shoulder. "No, it wasn't. You...you brought me a blessing."

We're a blessing?

You edged your chin in to glance down at Miguel. "Really?" You asked, incredulous.

Miguel shook his head. "No, it's an actual pain in the ass. But worth further study."

You laughed softly then, resting your head back to the mattress. "Yeah, speaking of ass..."

Miguel tensed against you, ready for you to catch onto his secret play underneath the skin.

"I liked that," you admitted, rolling your eyes at the raw feeling of your hole, your walls still throbbing around Miguel's still-hard cock.

Of course she did.

Miguel grimaced at the anomaly's cocky nature echoed through him. He pecked at your skin. "I'll never do it again unless you want."

You blushed, shutting your eyes. "As long as I'm yours."

[songoftrillium]

It's midnight, so have a review of RAT TAXI

So, wait, first of all lets talk about the hot new genre you're never heard of: Rat Detective Music. I discovered it this morning when my computer bluescreened. When I reloaded, I came upon the typical logged out boring youtube homepage with the offering of generic videos, and here's where I discovered Rat Detective Music.

I was pulled in by the allured of a rat detective holding a gun. I clicked and was presented with what I could only describe as a futurefunk banger with all its lead instruments done by cheesy sounding instruments. If you don't believe me, do a web search for Rat Detective Music. Its a thing.

I have no idea who Louie Zong is, but he sure read the assignment and expanded the Rat Cinematic Universe into its Own Thing and honestly he's owning it into genre-defining territory that's left me pretty stunned.

This whole jazz/funk fusion is dripping with snarky puppy/herbie hancock influences intermarried extensively with retrofunk in a way that somehow feels a lot more self-aware. I never thought I'd say this but RAT TAXI might unironically be my favorite album of the year.

It opens with Traffic Jam, a heavy wash of cuban bebop rhythms and horn sections being thoroughly drenched in FM synhesizers. This absolute bop really shows the musician, out of the gates, isn't following the typical 4/4 and walks you through a full ensemble performance with different instruments taking their job VERY seriously, regardless of that cheese.

The Second track, Cheezy Street, featuring Dante NK on vocals, caught me off guard in a good way. Opening with an immediate Detroit hip hop beat, it still maintains that constant, leaning into both synth guitar and sax. The song itself takes itself as seriously as the genre, filled with rat and cheese lyrics that are thoroughly charming from cheddar rhymes to sewer weather. For all its cheese, this could be at home on any lo-fi hip hop track in Rat World.

Basement Boogie opens up presenting itself with more traditional walking bassline. This Rat Music song gets its cheese from a bitcrushed beat, and what sounds like an FM ensemble added during the apex of its chorus, keeping you firmly grounded in the gutter. This genre knows exactly what it is.

Rise & Shine is something I can describe as 'sniffy.' Its synth clav and warm rhodes held together with a peppery cocktail drum kit with a jungle beat. Its sinusinoid lead can only be described as 'dimensionally nasally' and uses its cheese to keep you in the rat mentality. Skillfully composed.

Rush Hour is a well-written song that feels like it doesn't fit. The opening, distinctly feline feeling lead, is the better way to describe this. What I DO love however is the unapologetic Yamaha YM2612 bassline that brings me to the Green Hills Zone. Feels like Anime Rock, which isn't an insult!

Home Bass brings us right back into the arms of Snarky Puppy, perhaps feeling even more like a Lingus jam than prior tunes. Technically, this is composed brilliantly. This however does break away pretty hard from the Rat Music quality in that is has no cheese! I could see this stand on its own.

Dumpster Disco dives right back into the realm of Rat though and does a better job of what I think Rush Hour tried to do. It plays with that Anime Rock synth while bringing back all the cheese you'd expect from the rest of this Rat Music album while going firmly "dance" in the chorus.

Recess opens with a dub effects section and a dx7 e-piano carrying through. This song plays with a vibe one would expect to find in a Phoenix Wright remix. It plays like a typical VG tune until right at the end the cheese comes in hard with a somehow sexy guitar lead to see it out.

Park Drive is a beautiful tune, but also feels pretty out of place. If this song were saved for a different themed release, this album itself wouldn't lose anything from it. I didn't hate this tune, but found myself waiting for the next song, and I don't think that does this song any favors. No rat.

Sewer Swing is the final song of the album and it doesn't hold back at all, going for a full-cheese spread of british fun machine synths seeing you out with the cheesiest showtune I've ever heard. I think ending the album with the very thing that defined it was brilliant(ly cheesy).

RAT TAXI is an absolute BOP. Genre-defining even in ways I sincerely hope other musicians follow. The album was fun, entertaining, and from a technical aspect, surprising at times how skilled the musician is. They know what they're doing, and I don't think any of their instrument choices are accidental.

[theseoblogspace]

A Comprehensive Guide to Understanding and Improving Your Website's Analytics

Are you making the most of your website’s analytics? In today’s world, knowing what your website’s data means is key to making smart choices for your business1. This guide will show you how to use important metrics like pageviews and traffic sources to improve your site. We’ll look at the main metrics you should watch, why website analytics matter, and how to use Google Analytics to boost your…

[lesbian-magicsings]

Fucking Australian manifestations of tma fears (I saw someone cover america and I went. Oh my god time to be Australian!)

The lonely; night buses, night trains, gas stations at like. 1am because they’re the only thing open, drive in movie theatres

The vast; the blue mountains just as a whole, cablecars (yummy), the regional train lines, the ferry system, walking around the Sydney city centre in rush hour

The dark; unlit outback roads, fucking bilbies (they’re nocturnal), and my apartments dimly lit parking lot

The spiral; the random alarms that blare for no reason at my local train station, Sydney trains in general. NSW transport is the spiral. My ass is not making it off one of those trains one day. Pretty sure the carriage change doors are yellow too

The web; our spiders. Obviously. Racing horses (betting specifically) and Australia’s collective alcohol addiction !

The eye; the phone rules in nsw schools. Crowded train stations at rush hour, the isle cameras in woolies. Those people who try to interview the unwilling in public

The buried; those holes we used to make at the beach as children, animal dens, and fucking home loan debt. #high interest rates #kill me housing is going to put me into dept dept. also rip currents at beaches

The stranger; antique stores. The creepy ones, that one circus I have seen come once ever in my memory that is advertised every year. Oh and like. The backstreets of cities and those cafes that just don’t look entirely right

The corruption; ALL OF AUSTRALIAS BUGS. And also those videos where they smack bus seats and they come out with so much dust my allergies would be done for. Also fucking head lice

The flesh; the large amount of beauty salons EVERWHERE and I mean everywhere,, the prevalence of fake tan in fucking high schools. Cannibalism on the Kokoda track

The hunt; the fucking war we had with emus. Oh and dingoes and Tasmanian tigers. Also the large rabbit population of Australia

The slaughter; large amount of venomous animals in Australia, that one abandoned military hospital, every single Australians deep road rage and traffic hatred.

The desolation; the bushfires. Bushfire season. Half of Australia’s plants seeds being activated by fire and some trees encouraging fire. Oh and those people who ask randoms for lighters in public (no I don’t have one on me because I look vaguely emo but thanks for asking me right in front of my father)

[riki-riks-chick]

hii! do you write only for smut or for sfw too? If so, I was wondering if you could do a spiderman!jake x reader. Maybe an evil Spiderman (sorry i don’t know much about marvel 😭) kidnaps reader cause he knows that’s Spider-Man’s weakness then Jake saves the day 🫡

Third Person POV~

 "Sir watch out!" Jake had almost "too" quickly grabbed an older man, saving him from the speeding van that had almost just hit him. The man had gasped at the sudden movement, thanking Jake as he handed him his cane. "Thank you, young man.. I remember when I was that young and agile."

Jake can only smile at the man's words before speeding off. He's already gotten into enough trouble, but he's determined to keep his promise to you. 

He'd decided to take the "quicker" way, opting to web sling his way over the foot traffic crowding the streets below. He was hoping no one would see him because his mask is in his backpack, but it was worth it if he could get to you faster.

When he'd finally made it to your designated meeting spot, he was confused to see you gone. You had texted maybe five minutes ago, showing a picture of the pretty picnic you'd set up, but he wasn't seeing anything right now.

He had immediately felt that something was wrong, his spidey senses tingling as he pulled his mask out of his bag so he could slip it on just in case. He'd called you first, not wanting to assume anything bad happened, but when you didn't answer after multiple phone calls, he got worried.

He was ready to run off and attempt to find you, but when his phone dinged with a message from your number, he rushed to open it. The message read, "Come to this location and your pretty girlfriend lives." 

After that came a location and another message that said the floor to go to. The rooftop.

Jake didn't waste any time, slinging himself across multiple buildings until he reached the mentioned one, pulling himself up to the rooftop.

He'd glanced around before finding you dangling over the edge of the roof, held only by a very familiar, green-hued hand. 

 "What do you want with me, Green Goblin?!" He yelled, his eyes never leaving your form as you turned your head to look at him, clearly sobbing behind the tape that covered your mouth. "I want you dead." Green Goblin replied, tilting you further over the edge as Jake attempted to grab you with his web, missing due to how quick Green Goblin was able to move you. 

 "Now, now... Did you really think it'd be that easy?.." He snickered as Jake cursed under his breath, watching Green Goblin rip the tape from your mouth. "Come on sweetheart... Tell your boyfriend that if he gives up, you'll live."

"Don't do it!" You yell, crying out of fear as Green Goblin tilts you over the edge once more. "Make your choice Spider-Man."

Jake stood stunned, he couldn't fathom the decision at hand. Without Spider-Man, the world would cease to destruction and chaos. Without you he wouldn't be motivated to save the world that his world lived in.

Green Goblin had snickered, pulling you back up before heading towards the edge of the building. "I see you need some time to think. I'll see you once you have your answer."

And then he was gone, leaving a green cloud of smoke and fog as Jake groaned. He almost immediate left the rooftop in a daze, heading to his most trusted allie, Park Sunghoon.

"Come on, Sunghoon.. I can't beat this guy alone! He has Y/n!" Jake yells as Sunghoon groaned. "My Iron Man days are over. You know that better than anyone else."

 "Just do it for me!" Jake pleads, his eyes growing teary at the thought of losing you. Sunghoon sighs, glancing towards another longtime friend. "Cap.. I'm in if you're in." 

 "Must you drag me into everything?.." Jay asks with a sigh as Jake thanks the both of them. "You guys are great. Oh my god."

 "Slow down.. Jay and I will track him down. He's probably in some hidden warehouse or something. When we find him, don't act on emotion. He'll probably set up a trap for you to fall into. We get Goblin first and then your girlfriend." Sunghoon explains as Jake nods. "I understand."

Later that night, Jay and Sunghoon had managed to track the Goblin down. They had almost immediately suited up and made their way to the location, telling Jake to stay back while they scoped it out.

He waited patiently, hearing a loud scream as he immediately ran in, seeing you hanging over a large pool of only god knows what.

"Spider-Man.." Jake's heart aches at the smallest detail of you still not calling him by name, but by Spider-Man to keep his identity concealed. You were always so thoughtful, and he hated it because you would give your life for his so easily.

"I'm gonna save you, just hold on.."

"Spider-man! Over here." He turned his head, seeing the Goblin as he immediately went into combat mode. Slinging his webs, throwing fists, and drawing the Green Goblin away from you to enable Iron Man and Captain America to save you.

He kept The Goblin busy, fighting him until he sees Jay carrying you out of the warehouse. He then webs Green Goblin as he gets distracted, tying him up and then knocking him out. 

He then throws him into the pool you were previously suspended over, which he found out was acid. 

He then slings himself out of the warehouse where you're safe with Captain America and Iron Man. "Baby..." He smiles, hugging you as he takes his mask off. "I'm so sorry I let him take you like that.. I was so worried."

 "It's okay.. I'm glad you're safe." You smile, kissing him. "Let's get you home.. Okay?.."

I'mma keep it real i hate this. Took FOREVER just to suck. i hope anon that requested this likes it tho

[darkmaga-returns]

Tapping My Telephone 

In the spring of 2013, Edward Snowden, a contractor with Booz Allen Hamilton working for the National Security Agency, liberated a trove of documents essentially proving that all the previous NSA whistleblowers like Russel Tice, Edward Loomis, J. Kirk Wiebe, Thomas Drake and William Binney, and great journalists like James Bamford, author of The Puzzle Palace, Body of Secrets and The Shadow Factory,  had been right on and much worse. The NSA, Snowden’s leak proved, was violating the civil liberties of virtually all Americans, working with telecommunications and Silicon Valley firms to compile endless amounts of metadata and cellphone location data, search, web traffic, email and instant messenger histories. This is all not to mention their wide-scale surveillance of the rest of the people of the planet, in cooperation with the “Five Eyes” of the Anglosphere alliance, which includes Canada, the UK, Australia and New Zealand — six if one counts Israel. Snowden’s leak to journalists Glenn Greenwald, Laura Poitras, Ewen MacAskill and Barton Gellman was a heroic service to the American people and to mankind. Snowden has said he was motivated to do this when he saw National Intelligence Director James Clapper perjure himself before Congress, falsely denying that the NSA was collecting data on innocent Americans.

The U.S. government, which was apparently too busy keeping tabs on all of us to take care of their own secrets or track down their missing contractor, was embarrassed. So naturally they lied, claiming Snowden was a spy working for Russia and China. Well, he had originally gone to Hong Kong, and the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act warrant he released was the most recent version. You just have to imagine the rest of the case, because those total non sequiturs were all they ever had beyond wild anonymous claims.

[ot8kidz]

¹⁰ ʳᵘˡᵉˢ ᵗᵒ ᶠ#ᶜᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ˢᵗʳᵃⁿᵍᵉʳ, ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵒʷ ᵗᵒ ᵇʳᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉᵐ.

->✧･ﾟ:¹⁰ ʳᵘˡᵉˢ ᵗᵒ ᶠ#ᶜᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ˢᵗʳᵃⁿᵍᵉʳ, ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵒʷ ᵗᵒ ᵇʳᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉᵐ.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

->⋆˚࿔ Minsung!College AU ⋆˚࿔

(Hello! new to this so i'm sorry if this visually looks like shit, im working on it) (Each chapter is a rule!) (chap 1 -> 1.5k words) ╰━━━━━━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━━━━━━╯

-> ᴿᵁᴸᴱ ¹ ; ᴰᴼᴺ'ᵀ ˡᵉᵗ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ʷᵃˡᵏ ᵘ ᵗᵒ ᶜˡᵃˢˢ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵃ ᵇᵃᵈ ᵐᵒʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Under any regular circumstance, Han Jisung would’ve given up his 10-minute break to make it to his next class. His usual routine means he can’t get lunch at a regular time – the Politics professor scheduled classes in the lunch period every year since his career began. It was an unfortunate but unchangeable node in his life. Jisung always ended up eating lunch closer to three PM, when the dining hall was mostly empty and desolate, with just him and the silverware to accompany. Today was not one of these days. 

The first instance of poor timing happened in the morning. On account of the laundromat closing due to “family disturbance”, Jisung’s only clean clothes were locked away for the remainder of the week. He called the owner more times than he would like to admit, pacing around his dorm room as the call went unanswered. “Old bitch– If I had his address I’d be down there quicker than–” Jisung said, sighing dramatically, being cut off by his roommate (the more levelheaded of the two), trying to talk some actual human sense. “Look, ‘Sung, it’s literally two days without some hoodies and a couple of pairs of worn-out jeans, you’ll live,” Chan began, sighing, pouring himself a coffee. He watched as Han dialled the number again, rolling his eyes. If he had an opportunity to ignore the idiocy radiating from Han Jisung, he would try anything to seize it.

The dial clicked, and a sigh came from the other side of the phone. The sound of the call being answered made Jisung jump in place, snapping into order, “Hi! Yes, hi, um, my name is Han Jisung, you kinda have my clothes? I know you’re closed for the day and I’m sure your family shit is really important and stuff but I'm hoping I can grab them from you–” Jisung said a little too quickly for recognition, and yet the man on the other side of the phone still understood. 

“What do you mean, I have your clothes? I really don’t think I do–” The man said, his voice croaky and exasperated, probably from sleep. Jisung took a moment to register that this was NOT the owner of the college laundromat and just a random, probably tired man, and squealed, trying to ·remedy the embarrassment he had just caused. “I’m so sorry, Sir– I got this number off the web for my college laundry place and–” Jisung began, only interrupted by a quiet, low-pitched chuckle. He could swear he felt the heartbeat shift in his feet, but no one would believe his dramaticism if he tried. He cleared his throat, trying to continue, “Once again, I’m so sorry for the disturbance, you have a good day now–” He sped the words out, not letting the man get a word in edgewise as he hung up. He sighed, running his calloused fingers over the bridge of his nose, letting out a sound that Chan would call the “Hannie War Cry”. He slumped down in the closest seat to him and covered his face, revelling in the post-idiot embarrassment. “That wasn’t the owner, was it?” Chan smugly offered, trying not to laugh at the wrecked state of his roommate. Han just glared at him, returning to his previous grovelling. 

Jisung's emotional reactions caused him to lose track of time, which he only realised when he went to delete the number he had saved. He jumped up, cursing himself and the “dumb laundry place”  under his breath. He ran down the hallway into Chan’s closet, grabbing some clothes he thought would fit. He threw them on and grabbed his bag. He ran out of the door, almost forgetting his keys, before taking off.

Leaving at 9 AM to get to campus is a bad idea since the populated city wakes up to go to work right around this time. He sat in traffic, his hand drumming on the steering wheel out of nervousness, sighing every 2-3 minutes as he slowly advanced through the streets. He turned into the car park for the campus, throwing his parking badge in the window and pulling himself out of the car quicker than he ever had before. He walked with motivation through the cohorts of students, only to see that he had forgotten his keycard in the car. He groaned, throwing his bag onto the floor and running back to his car, grabbing it from the passenger seat and locking the car again, running inside. “Well, look who finally decided to show up—” 

“Fuck off, Hyunjin—“ Jisung breathlessly replied, storming through the hallway. He reached the entrance to the elevator, mentally noting his deep-rooted dislike for cardio, pressing the button rapidly. He groaned, looking at the watch on his wrist, biting the inside of his cheek, his eyebrows knitting together gently. The second instance of bad luck came after that.

He finally got in after 2 minutes of pensive waiting, narrowly missing the correct button and pressing the button to the sixth floor by accident, groaning, and selecting the seventh floor as he intended. He silently cursed whatever cruel deity was lying there, snickering at his unfortunate morning, and watched as the doors clicked shut. He travelled through the lower floors, the only sound in the air the gentle thrumming of the elevator shaft and the quiet melody escaping his headphones. A sigh of relief entered the air as the elevator slowed to a halt, opening at the seventh floor.

Jisung geared up to sprint as the metal doors creaked open, his feet carrying him quicker than his head was processing. He finally looked up just a second too late, his chest colliding with a man, sending them both crashing to the floor. In the few seconds it took him to recognise the (equal parts) compromising and embarrassing situation he had put himself in, his face had turned a shade of pink you could class as red.

Jisung’s eyes locked with the man whose body had cushioned his fall, his eyes drifting over the sculpted face below him, etching each imperfection into his feeble memory. His eyes glistened in the industrial lighting, shimmering with Jisung’s shaded reflection. His eyelashes danced on his waterline every time he blinked. The gentle dew of the humid morning clung to the contours of his cheeks. Every piece chipped at the wall surrounding Jisung’s heart, his pulse raising with every detail he caught.

“Are you going to get off of me anytime soon? Or do you just want me to lie here for a bit longer…?” The man said, sliding himself up, his upper body propped up by his elbows. 

Jisung’s eyes widened, clambering backward. He babbled out an apology, shuffling and stumbling to his feet, offering a sweat-drenched hand to the guy still on the floor. He took the man's hand in his own, pulling him up with the little strength stored in his biceps. After the near tumble, he brushed himself off, picking up the man’s stuff and handing it back to him.

“I’m sorry– I was running late and I didn’t look in front of me when I–” “Barged out of the elevator like a fearful cat?”

“...I was going to say ‘when I crashed into you’ but that works fine…”

Jisung looked up from the tuft of carpet he had rearranged, trying to push it back to its original arrangement, and locked eyes once again with–

“Minho. Lee Minho.” “Ah– Han! Han Jisung!” “The laundry guy?”

Jisung’s puzzled expression jerked a chuckle from Minho’s chest, raising his hand to cover his parted mouth. Jisung had finally (after some hard consideration) figured out that the man, Minho, in front of him was the guy he mistakenly called earlier on. Once again, his face reddened, his hand winded around, rubbing the nape of his neck shyly. “I haven’t had a good morning…”

Minho smiled sympathetically, passing Jisung a pastry from the depths of his bag.

“I can tell. Can I walk you to class?”

Jisung’s ever-moving brain had finally frozen. He didn’t have too many friends on campus. Chan was his roommate, and he could hardly call him a friend in good faith. The only people he really knew were the people in his class and Hyunjin. Him and Hyunjin had been friends in high school, and both unknowingly enrolled in the same college when they finished. Calling them close was an overstatement. He preferred to keep an ounce of distance between the two of them if he could. Jisung could function perfectly fine with the amount of individuality and alone time he had. He didn't need that to change. Or did he? He had spent hours sitting alone, wishing someone would send him a text or call him. Would it be so bad to make a new friend? Even if the way his t-shirt hugged the shape of his waist drove Jisung crazy?

“Oh! Yeah, sure.”

TBC ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

[liquid-luck-00]

Marks of Magic

Day 4 Leaves of Maribat Spooktober 2023

First *** Previous *** Next

Language and cursing is used

1540 Words

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She’s been at Gotham Academy for a little over a month and the seasons were starting to turn. She was sitting in Gotham Park under a giant white oak in the middle of the park.

Sure she had to deal with an odd rogue here and there but this was peaceful.

"You know you shouldn’t be alone." She looked up from her book and saw Jason standing above her.

"I haven’t been here that long." She put away the sketchbook in her bag as she got up.

"Really?" He reached above her and plucked something from her hat. "It seems you’ve been here long enough to start growing leaves, Nettie."

"I wouldn’t have if you actually got here when you said you would." She pouted at being called out, mostly because she did loose track of everything that happened around her. More than likely she was under that tree for an hour or two.

"B was being a pain, Alfred’s been watching me like a hawk, and…" He trailed off, he looked down kicking the ground.

"Jay." She grabbed his hands, they were cold but he didn’t seem to notice, pulling them up as his eyes followed the motion. "What happened?"

"It’s nothing." He grumbled looking away from her. So she grabbed his shoulder and squeeze them.

"Jason Peter Todd, Wayzz help me, for fucks sake something is bothering you so spill before I make you." She pulled him up slightly so they were eye level with each other. She was taller by a few centimeters but still.

"It’s nothing, really."

"It’s not nothing." She let him go. "You don't have to tell me, but if you want to I'll listen."

"I… not yet."

"Okay." She didn’t pry but knows her friend needs a distraction. "So why are there skeletons and spider webs going up everywhere?"

"What do you mean, it’s October."

"Yes and?" She tilted her head to the side, wondering why the month made a difference.

"Halloween!"

"What?"

"Have you never had Halloween?!"

"Sorry can’t say I have."

"Is it not a thing in Paris?" She shook her head in response. "Everyone gets dressed up and there is a huge festival here in the park. We would…" He would have kept talking but seemed to catch himself.

Fall she understood, granted back home it would be winding down from tourist season which meant a few final fairs would pop up. But there wouldn’t be much to note.

But this! This seemed like so much fun she had to try it.

"Dressed up, in costume?"

"Yeah! Heroes and demons, angels and monsters. Anything really."

She thought of elegant suits and dresses, masquerade was what she pictured. Not what Jay was describing at all.

"This is flying over your head, huh?"

"A bit."

"So what do you want to do?"

"It’s getting late, maybe grab a bite?"

"There’s a pretty good hotdog cart near by." Jason jabbed his thumb behind him.

"Lead the way."

Granted they weren’t even out of the park when they noticed. However in their defense they were pretty much in their own little world. It got eerily quiet, but just as fast everything came into hyper focus.

"Now which one of you was lucky number 13 to leave and set off the area?" Mari quickly looked around before her eyes focused on a stage of sorts and a man in a tacky three piece green suit with purple question marks all over it. She should probably keep more of an eye on rogue locations and incarcerations, but she just turned 14 and this should not be on her to do list.

"Well why don’t the two of you participate together, then." The Riddler practically giggled as a few henchmen shoved them into the center of this makeshift square.

Police cruisers blocked the street in order to stop traffic. The Riddler was standing on the bed of a semi truck with canons on either side of him, and what she assumes is a detonator in his hand.

"Three riddles, three detonators set up around the park. For each wrong answer I push a button, but if you’re right I won’t touch it."

"And how do we know you’ll actually keep your word?" Jason shouted at the villain.

"Quick on the suspicion, aren’t we! Where’s the fun if there’s no trust. Now!"

Mari was planning, she knows he wouldn’t actually let them go if they were right so she had to think. Two must be duds so... even if they answer right he could toss them, only one switch works so which is it?

"Let’s start simple and festive, shall we? Why do zombies never win at poker?"

She looked at Jason since she had no idea, yet he had a shit eating grin on his face.

"Because they have a tell-tale heart." Of course an Edgar Allen Poe reference, that explains his grin.

"One down two to go, kiddies." He dropped a remote, almost as if to prove it was in good faith, two remotes, it’s a 50 / 50 shot.

"Walk on the living, they don't even mumble, step on the dead, they mutter and grumble."

She blinked, the answer was simple. "Leaves."

"And the little miss speaks, correct". He drops one more remote, but this time he pulls a cane from behind him. Two henchmen come and grab each of them. The cane pointing at her, and she noticed the hollow barrel, a gun in the cane.

"Last one." Should she have been more surprised maybe, but who knows at this point. "While some spring forward, I choose to fall back. Come and join me while you sit on a haystack. I may show a movie with a crazed maniac, I will for sure host a festival to give you a heart attack."

Jay was staring livid, too angry to say a word, as he grit his teeth. This was not how she was going to die.

Sass.

Was all she thought when she closed her eyes, the riddle ringing in her mind, but no answer came. Then she opened them.

"There’s a pretty good hotdog cart near by." Jason jabbed his thumb behind him.

She looked at him puzzled, there was no way that happened, but it was so vivid in her mind, could it have actually happened, and how did she come back to this moment.

"Hey earth to Nettie is anyone home in there."

She felt a flick on her forehead, as her attention was drawn to Jay.

"Sorry I got the strangest feeling of deja-vu. This might be off the wall but… " She took a breath and recited. "While some spring forward, I choose to fall back. Come and join me while you sit on a haystack. I may show a movie with a crazed maniac, I will for sure host a festival to give you a heart attack."

"A riddle really?"

"I know it silly but it’s stuck in my head." She shrugged trying to play it off.

"October." They were walking now. "That’s the answer."

"Oh."

And then it happened, the Riddler, his speech, the suspicion from Jason, and it clicked, she called on Sass’s power, she turned back time.

"Now! Let’s start simple and festive, shall we? Why do zombies… "

She didn’t let him finish before she answered. "Because they have a tell-tale heart."

He was surprised and dropped a remote like before. "Walk on… "

"Leaves."

"While…" He stalked towards her.

"October." Things had changed, but she crossed her arms, a sense of confidence and lack of fear, made her ask. "Can you cut the theatrics now?"

"Why you little brat." He lunged at her and she pulled her fist back and caught him square in the nose before flipping him on his back.

She debated on answering him but she didn’t have to as Batman flew onto the scene.

"How? You? Nette?" Jay stumbled through his words.

"I’m from Paris, why wouldn’t I know how to do this?" She shrugged.

"I have more questions."

"Which can wait." An officer came out from the police line. "May we get a statement."

She looked over at Jason who was again staring at his shoes as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world, a feeling that someone was watching them, prickled down her spine.

"Yes, but do you mind driving us home after, it’s getting late." She tried to sound a bit shaken at the events and the officer smiled at her. He seemed honest enough.

"Of course I can, what’s your name."

"Marinette."

"I’m commissioner Gordon, and your Jason, right." She looked between the two, he nodded but Jay still avoided everyone’s eyes. "Alright let’s go."

The commissioner guided them away from the scene.

They gave a short statement before they were driven home.

She was the first one to be dropped off, and Jason tugged on her sleeve as she was getting out.

"Can…" He whispered but stopped. "Good night."

"Night Jay." She smiled as he let go, but she knows something is wrong. But she can’t do anything if he won’t tell her so she’ll wait.

"Come on Wayne." She heard as the door closed, and she blinked.

Did she hear that right. No it can’t be… can it.

Next

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