#oh wait that happened a long time ago

[mywingsareonwheels]

Oh for fuck’s sake.

I went to the official UK govt petition site to sign a petition to increase the funding to Pakistan to help with the horrific floods and their after-effects. (Still frankly to an inadequate sum, but, you know. It would help.)

But all the petitions are closed for two weeks as part of the mourning for the queen. So I can’t.

I’m just... I’m neither mourning nor celebrating the death of the queen. I know and love people doing each, but neither is really my style. But this? This complete freezing of *anything* happening in the UK right now, this sudden cutting off of democracy? This makes me so fucking furious.

People in Pakistan are dying right now. It’s a former part of the British Empire and got thoroughly asset-stripped during that time of colonialist horror, and that gives the UK now a massive responsibility towards it, even beyond that we all owe to everyone everywhere. Whatever any of our attitudes to the queen are, priorities are a fucking thing you would fucking think.

I can probably afford a small donation myself to one of the appeals, and will, but just... I hate this. The UK is in crisis. The world is in crisis. People are suffering and dying *RIGHT NOW*. Just pausing our entire country’s everything for two weeks, while spending so much damn money on the mourning and then the celebration of one family, encapsulates everything I hate about Britain.

Meanwhile the BBC is barely reporting on anything non-monarchy-related. FFS.

[bruhstation]

more of the trainsaw man au.... no confusion, no delay, and no bel prize!!!!

[disposal-blueeee]

doodles

edgar vargas and squee by johnen vasquez

scriabin by zarla-s

[iceeericeee]

I wonder how many tags i can add on to this

[freebooter4ever]

awww basketball again

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

Very emotional about the breakfast story in the Gospel of John. Simon, James and John, Thomas, Nathanael, and a few others are out together. Simon says he's going fishing, and the others say they're coming along. They spend all night trying to get a good haul, and they catch nothing. Dawn is breaking, and they see a man on the shore a long way off, but they can't tell who he is. He shouts to them, "You don't have any fish, do you?" They have to shout back a disgruntled, "No." The man replies, "Put the net on the other side and you'll catch some fish!" Maybe they roll their eyes a bit--they're the ones out on the water, and they have been all night, what would he know?--and the fish start flooding into the net.

And John looks at Simon and remembers: this has happened before. Three years ago, before everything changed--that voice had shouted to them the same instruction.

"Simon!!" he says, "It's the Lord!"

And it hits Simon like a thunderbolt. He frantically throws on his coat (he'd stripped for work) and plunges into the water. He'd walked on the water before to meet Jesus, what was swimming a hundred yards? So eager to reach Him he can't wait the few minutes for the boat to come in--and when it gets there, he has to go and help unload the fish anyway. But even those few moments with Jesus are worth the soaking wet robes and the exhaustion. And anyway, He already has a fire going--with some fish of His own. "Come and have breakfast!" He says.

And then they sit and eat together, just like they had done so many times over the past three years, and He's there with them, perhaps gently laughing at Simon, still dripping from his swim, and it's like He never left.

He never truly did.

[proonv]

uh sorry for posting weirdly it will regrettably happen again

[cosmoseinfeld]

WHY WAS DENNIS WEARING A WATCH IN S13, MR HOWERTON?

[moonfurthetemmie]

The Slash Fic part 2 which is apparently slowly turning into Simping For All Of Them but that’s fine

Previous Next

You wake a couple of times before you manage to stay up.

The first time, you were barely conscious. You heard voices, though they sounded like they’re underwater and you can’t really understand them. You remember being slung over someone’s shoulder and being in pain. You were jostled as the person walked and apparently made some kind of noise, because they seemed to address you before you passed out again. You think you heard something like ‘we’ll be there soon’ before you went.

The second time you were in a strange room, and a familiar figure was wrapping your arm. 

“Oh. Morning. Nice of you to wake up.” She’d grinned at you. You still couldn’t see very well, but you recognized Cross’s voice.

“How ya feeling?”

You’d only blinked at her, and then looked down at your arm. You tried to say it hurts but all you could manage was incoherent mumbling.

“…Yeaaah. You might have a concussion,” she didn’t seem to have been talking to you. “Not surprising, you fell down a whole set of stairs. I’m more surprised you’re not dead, honestly.”

Your vision began to dim again, and her voice faded back out, as she mumbled to herself about having a person with a concussion in the maze wouldn’t be as fun.

Finally, you wake up in a makeshift bed made of cardboard boxes, with an old pillow and blanket. It’s…not comfortable. 

The room is pretty bare, aside from you and your bed. There’s a plain grey clock on the wall, which tells you it’s either about midday or midnight. There’s a cooler on the opposite side of the room. The door is just a plate of metal with a handle. You don’t seem to be in a house of any kind. The room doesn’t seem to be a cell, either.

There’s a vaguely familiar woman sitting by your guest bed, sharpening a pocket knife. The mismatched red and yellow eyes would be recognizable on any human, but on a dark-skinned lady covered in scars, they stand out a bit more. 

Error doesn’t look like she’s been in as many fights as Nightmare and Cross, but she tends to prefer incapacitating her targets from a distance before going in for the kill. Or at least, that’s what the news stations think. No one who’s actually seen them in action has lived to tell the tale. All anyone has to go off of is the fact that some of their victims are found hanging by their feet from trees or balconies, and she’s the only one who has bright blue magic cables, but it’s a fair assumption.

She notices you wake up and grins at you. A sharp grin that tells you you’re in danger.

“Well. Look who decided to face reality again.” She twirls her knife in her hand and stands. “You’ve been asleep for a while.”

Your mouth feels cemented shut, but you manage to say, “Where…am I?”

Error flicks her knife shut and puts it in her pocket. “You’re in our warehouse!” She says, spreading her arms wide. “We turned it into a death maze. It’s going to be great. You’re going to hate it.” She grins more. “But before we get to that, Cross has been in charge of making sure you heal up from your tumble down those stairs, so I gotta tell her you’re up. Do me a favor and try to at least say hi.”

“…and if I don’t?”

She flicks her hand. Before you can blink, there are blue strings coming from her hands and wrapped around your neck. 

“I kill you.”

The strings aren’t tight enough to hurt you. But they are tight enough to warn you.

Just as quickly as they’d appeared, the strings vanish. Error chuckles and picks her phone up from the floor where she’d been sitting.

As she dials her friend’s number, she says, “I should also let you know that we took your phone, and your watch, and everything else on you that could potentially be used to call for help.” 

After a few rings, Cross picks up.

“‘Yellow,” comes Cross’s voice.

“They’re awake.”

“Yepic.”

Error holds out the phone to you. “Say hi.”

You gulp and do your best to keep the terrified stutter out of your voice.

“Oh you’re coherent and everything too?” Cross sounds surprised. Then excited. “Hell yeah. How are you feeling?”

You don’t want to answer, but Error’s gaze tells you that it would be safer to keep talking.

“Um…okay? Ph-physically, that is.”

“How’s your arm?”

You look down at your other. You’d forgotten that you broke it falling down the stairs.

“It feels fine right now,” you say. 

“And your head?” You reach up and feel the linen bandage wrapped around your head. “The bandages are…kind of tight.”

“Well, I had to make sure it would stop bleeding,” she says dismissively. “You ever seen someone get a cut on their head? It bleeds a lot. Even if it’s just a tiny little knick. And you nearly busted your head open, so I also had to take into account your skull possibly being cracked.”

“Do…do you wrap broken bones often?”

“Nah, usually Error does that,” she says casually. “I usually just set the bones. But yeah, we have to do most of our medical care, since there’s not a hospital in the multiverse that would admit us.”

“…how would that work out if you needed surgery?”

“It wouldn’t,” Errors snorts. “So we’re careful.”

“Very!” Cross agrees. “That’s why we don’t jump at walls in dark, unfamiliar, multistory houses.”

You glare at the phone. Not that it’ll do much.

Error laughs. “They’re giving you a dirty look.”

“Okay but it was stupid,” Cross states. “You realize that, right?”

“It was either that or get cut in half!” You snap.

“Which would’ve been a much quicker and less painful death than the one you’re about to get!” Cross says cheerfully. “I’ll get Night, we’ll be there in a few minutes. Then I can do a full check up on our new friend and see if they’re ready to play in the maze with us.”

You do not like how she said that. 

“See you then,” Error says, like she’s just talking to friends about hanging out for a game night. She hangs up the phone. “You’re going to be fun,” she decides, looking you over. “You want anything to eat? Or some water or something?”

You don’t feel like eating. You don’t know how long you’ve been out, though, and your throat does feel rather parched. 

“Just…some water please,” you say. She opens the cooler and pulls out a cold bottle of water. She tosses it to you, and you barely manage to catch it with your good hand. You jostle your broken arm in the process. You hiss in pain.

“Oops. My bad.” She doesn’t sound very sorry.

You sip on the water, trying to ignore Error humming the Smash Bro’s theme as she examines her now very sharp knife, until the door creaks open. Cross comes in, along with Nightmare, the man who’d been at the desk at the motel you’d foolishly decided to stay at, against your instincts.

You’d always imagined he’d be big and burly, but he was more on the small side. Short and spindly, but with enough visible muscle that you knew he could easily overpower you. His purple eyes were curious, but cold. He was a natural killer, and you could tell just by looking at him.

Cross was more like you imagined. Big and strong looking, and covered in scars. You hadn’t really gotten a good look at her before. She was pale; that much you remembered. And you remembered that red eye. The other was white. You’d never seen a human with a white iris before. Then again, you’d never seen a human with red eyes. Or purple eyes. 

Nightmare’s carrying a plastic shopping bag with what look like medical supplies.

Cross comes forward and crouches next to your bed. “You seem alright,” she muses. “Here, try to follow my finger with just your eyes.”

You’re not entirely sure the point of this test, but you manage. Your eyes hurt for some reason, but you can follow her finger just fine.

“Good. You probably don’t have any serious brain injuries, then.”

“Probably??” She shrugs. “We’re not doctors. We just do what we can.”

That’s fair, you decide. You still don’t like that.

Cross does a few more tests on you, then checks over your arm, and then unwraps your head bandage and examines your head injury. 

She hums thoughtfully. You’re trying your best to sit still, but every instinct is yelling at you to get as far away from her as possible. She was being very gentle with you, but that didn’t make you relax.

“You seem to be in pretty good shape,” she says finally, backing up. “Night, can you-“

“Yep.” Nightmare pulls out a fresh wrap bandage and tosses it to Cross, who catches it flawlessly. She re-wraps your head, making it just as tight as before.

“There!” She pats your shoulder and you flinch. “You should be good. Just a little bit of food and rest and then we can throw you in the maze.”

“Why do you even have a death maze?” You ask without thinking. The Meme Squad all turned to you and you shrank back.

Nightmare snickered. “You don’t have to be that scared of us yet,” he says. You do not like that smile. Error points at you with her knife casually. “As you might’ve noticed, we’re a bunch of nerds. We found this abandoned warehouse, so we made it into a maze that looks like the backrooms.” She tilts her head to the side. “You know what the Backrooms are, right?”

“Y…yeah. You clip through reality and go to a never ending maze that may or may not be full of monsters?”

“Exactly.”

Nightmare crosses his arms. “Our maze only has a metaphorical kind of monsters. It would be really fun to watch some freaky thing chase you down, though.”

You shift uncomfortably. 

All you wanted was to go visit your friends. Why did you have to get caught be these psychopaths?? 

“What do want to eat, by the way?” Cross asks. “And don’t say ‘nothing.’ You have to eat something.”

“You’re being awfully hospitable for serial killers who are going to chase me through their backrooms-themed death maze.”

“Well it won’t be any fun if you can’t run.”

“What’s the point of running?” You ask. “Is there even a way out?”

Nightmare grins. “There is, actually. The entrance and exit to the maze is the front door of the warehouse.”

“Anyway,” Cross says, snapping her fingers in your direction. “Food?”

[born-to-lose]

In my depressed era again <3

[vimbry]

finding out who popularised my least favourite form of dialogue made up of pithy ordinary observations of extraordinary events and hyperbolic responses to ordinary events resulting in all characters being functionally the same sarcastic quirky person and grabbing j.oss w.hedon like the cat who knocked over the onions

[beeduoo]

originnssssss who remembers origins i Loved origins

Lowkey i ate with rhis actually no i didn't i ate wirh rhat ENDER EYE Why is it so rendered Hello

IGNORW RHEIR UGLY UGLY DESIGNS This was before they switched to their iconic Skins past e didn't know......

[gibbearish]

theres a kickstarter i backed back in march 2021 thats been going through issue after issue during the production process but has been keeping backers updated the whole time and a couple months ago they announced they were finally able to start shipping orders im excited

[sugarcult]

.

[noxtivagus]

wmtsb n kh is stuck in my head rn 🥺🫶🏼

[luvrxbunny]

fangs

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

Summary: You see Miguel’s fangs for the first time. 

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, fangs, very minimal self-doubt, cum in pants (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 1.9k

A/N: I used google translate for the spanish so if anything is incorrect im sorry 

‘Your package was delivered’

Your face brightens at the notification as you hop out of bed and rush to the front door. When you open it you’re met with the broad, muscular back of your boyfriend, Miguel O’Hara.

“Miggy?” You say with a laugh. “What are you doing out here? Oh my god, are you my package?!” You’re hunched over, laughing at your own joke as Miguel stands from his seated position, casting his large shadow over you. 

“Hi, amor.” He places a kiss on your forehead and walks in. “How has your day been?” He asks as he strips off his suit top and walks to the bedroom but you don’t answer, still wondering about something. 

“Why were you just sitting out there?” You ask while closing the front door and taking your slippers off. Miguel hasn’t said anything, letting a long pause draw out before answering.

“I was calming down.” He comes back out in a t-shirt that’s tighter than it needs to be and some gray sweatpants. 

“The fight was pretty intense, a little demanding y’know? So I just wanted to- I wanted to calm down before coming inside… But how was your day?” You don’t let the subject change, still confused with his statement. 

There have been plenty of times when Miguel would burst in, still aggressive and amped up from the latest fight, adrenaline still coursing through him. The first time it happened you were a little scared of course, you’d never seen him like that, eyes clouded with violence, his claws out in the air and threatening, with a deep scowl on his face. But that was a long time ago.

You’ve mastered the art of turning him from Spider-Man to Miggy. You learned it quite some time ago, which just furthers your confusion from his response. He’s rummaging through the cabinets, muttering about how he’s starving and you realize he hasn’t met your gaze since you found him which is incredibly unlike him. 

“Miguel, is that the truth? I mean- You’ve come in all amped up before so…” You trail off as Miguel freezes in the kitchen before sighing and running a hand through his hair. He closes the cabinet gently and turns to you, eyes cast downward before meeting yours. He takes another breath and walks to you. “It’s the technical truth uh… The whole truth is that my fangs were out and… I just- I don’t want you to see them.” He finishes his sentence and walks past you, to the bathroom and closes the door. 

You stand at the entrance to the kitchen in a stupor as you process his words and go chasing after him. You’re pounding on the bathroom door, begging him to let you see them, to let you kiss him with them out, and every other thought that comes to your mind, hoping it lightens the situation. You stop pounding after a few minutes, arms growing tired and getting a little embarrassed at his silence. You make your way over to the couch as you wait for him. 

You think about what he said, that he doesn’t want you to see his fangs and you feel a little pang of hurt in your heart that ripples through your body. 

He doesn’t want me to see them? Why though… Does he think I won’t like them? Does he think my opinion of him will change or something? I love him though, doesn’t he understand that?? Maybe it’s something super intimate, maybe he just doesn’t feel enough for me, for him to expose himself like that. Maybe he doesn’t trust me enough to be that vulnerable, to give all of him to me… 

Your thoughts turn your mood sour as Miguel finally emerges from the bathroom, teeth brushed and face newly washed. “I don’t want to show them to you.” The words strike your heart again as you nod your head at him, not even looking up at him as you fall into your negative thoughts. He watches you stare into the carpet, obviously deep in thought but you look sad. 

“You okay, hermosa?” He wipes his hands in the towel around his neck as he sits beside you on the couch. You don’t hear him, too inside your own head, leaving him ignored. He watches you for a bit before grabbing one of your thighs and turning your body to face him, knocking you out of your trance. You have a deep, heartbreaking expression on your face that you quickly mask with happiness when your eyes meet his. “I asked if you were okay, baby.” 

“Oh! Y-yeah! Yeah, I’m fine, sorry.” You giggle at him but it sounds hollow, making him guilty. He already knows why, he knows how your mind works, he knows how you think. He pulls you in, one leg is extended past him and the other is folded on the couch, touching his leg, your face a few inches from his. 

“Mi cariño, no tiene nada to do with you, okay? Nothing. I just-” He emphasizes ‘nothing’, willing you to believe him. He’s absently rubbing your calf as he tries to piece together what he wants to say. “They’re weapons. I feel like… I don't think I want you to see that… A part of me that’s a weapon. You look at me like… como si fuera tu todo, like I hung the stars… I love that and I don’t want it to change. Nunca quiero que eso cambie.” His eyes are looking at your calf, how his hand wraps around it instead of you. 

(“My love, it has nothing to do with you okay?” “...like I'm your everything…” “I never want that to change.” )

If he had been looking at you he would’ve seen the look of utter disbelief that rested on your face. You put your hand over his and pull yourself closer to him, placing a kiss on his forehead before speaking. “Miguel, I look at you that way because, despite the way you feel about yourself, I believe that you deserve every good thing the world has to offer. I want you to know that you don’t have to show them to me if you really don’t want to but be aware… I will love you for the rest of my life.. and there is nothing that can change that, my feelings for you literally cannot decrease.” 

He stays silent, avoiding your gaze still but you let him. You know that expressing himself is hard for him and hearing people speak positively to him is even harder. You giggle softly at his silence and place another kiss on his head. You’re about to get up from the couch when he pulls you back in, pressing his lips to yours with a bruising intensity that has a fire starting up in your stomach. Your lips part for him as he sighs into you, his hand grips your hair and he grunts as you feel something push against your mouth. He’s breathing faster, kissing you more passionately as you try to pull away. 

Eventually, you break from his grasp and try to look at him but he’s already turned from you. You want to protest but don’t want to push him. You bring one of your hands to rest at his nape, playing with some of the hairs there, trying to soothe him. You’re about to tell him that he doesn’t need to turn away, you can leave until he’s calmed down but he turns to you. His mouth is shut but his eyes are so fragile, like they’re pleading with you to be gentle. He holds your eye contact for a bit before opening his mouth in a smile-grimace expression. 

A gasp slips from your mouth and your hands come up to hold his face, pulling it to yours. You inspect his fangs as his warm breath floats over your face. You bring one hand from his face to tail over one of them, earning a flinch from Miguel but you run your other thumb across his cheek, attempting to soothe his worries. 

They’re much bigger than you expected, they look like they’d barely fit in his mouth. They’re smooth and glossy like marble, cleaner than you expected too. You wonder silently if he lets them come out, brushes them, and then retracts them as your other hand comes from his cheek to his mouth. They’re thick, they look like they could leave a sizeable puncture wound if he bit you. Your fingers squeeze around both fangs, feeling their width for yourself. Your fingers run along the length of his fangs and then go up to his gums. 

You’re completely captivated by his teeth, you haven’t even looked back up at him since he opened his mouth. You absently caress his fangs while inspecting his gums, trying to understand where they go when retracted. You give up on that when your thumb runs over the bottom of his fangs. 

He groans out, loud and ragged against your face. 

Your eyes flicker up to look at him and his eyes are rolled back into his head, eyebrows furrowed as he moans out a loose rendition of your name. You’re staring at him in awe as he mutters out a mix of unfinished words. You immediately look down into his lap and see a patch of dark gray spreading out. 

A moan rips from your throat as you press your hand against his hard, twitching, leaking cock and kiss him. His hips instantly twitch up into your hand, using the friction to prolong his orgasm. He’s moaning into your mouth, his hands are frantic as they push your head into his face, his fangs digging into your lips almost painfully. You slide your tongue into his mouth when he moans again, you explore it, feeling the fangs instantly and running your tongue over them. 

The action earns a gut-wrenching whine from Miguel as he starts to tremble. His hips are still bucking up into your palm, overstimulating himself as his cock spurts out mini loads. 

You pull away from him slowly, your hand gently massaging his cock as he comes down. He drops his head onto your shoulder as he pants, unsteady syllables of your name falling from his lips. 

He lifts his head from your shoulder once his cock stops jumping in your hold. There’s a rare pink hue over his face as he leans in to kiss you. You accept it with a smile, kissing him back before pulling away again. 

“So…” You start semi-awkwardly, a light laugh in your tone as he groans out, embarrassed. “Did that feel good? Are they sensitive?” A shuddering breath leaves him as he recalls how your fingers felt gliding over his fangs, how arousal punched into his gut the moment you touched them. 

“Yeah… It felt-” His sentence is cut off with a whisper of a whine as he thinks about it, breathing speeding up, chest heaving at the fresh memory. You’re surprised at this, you’ve never seen him so delirious so… fucked out. “Me sentí tan bien, bebé. N-no sabía que me sentía así. I loved it so much, you made me feel so fucking good, amor. Te amo tanto, cariño.” 

(“I felt so good, baby. I-I didn't know I felt like that”... “I love you so much, darling.”)

A smile graces your face at the one phrase you understand, ‘Te amo’. You pull him in for another kiss before whispering. “Good.” He groans and pulls you into his lap, whining when your weight presses against his sensitive cock. You smile into his lips and kiss him again, pulling away again to giggle at him. 

“ ‘S not funny.” He grumbles out as he leans back, laying down on the couch with you on top of him. You continue giggling into his neck and you can feel his cheeks fatten up with his smile. 

You guys stay there for the rest of the night, intermittently waking up to smother the other in kisses before falling back to sleep. 

Thank you so much for reading!! Please please please give any feedback you may have! I want it all!