#radioactive salvation

[meiluu]

Tis' The Season

Peter Parker one-shot

Peter Parker/ Female Reader can be any peter :) cw: SMUT 18+ MDNI, this is basically pure filth that came to me in a dream and i had to write it, mating season *wink*, breeding kink, creampie, feral and protective peter.

*not edited*

peter pov.

When Peter got bit by that radioactive spider, then waking up in a new body, being able to do what he thought was impossible. He thought that he would be the only one in the world who was like him. But as the universe would have it, there was another.

 It had been a rather uneventful day of swinging around New York, catching would-be robbers or the occasional purse snatcher, when he had decided to take a different route back to his apartment. He didn't know why his body acted on its own accord- almost like it was possessed and on a mission. Slowing down his pace, quietly landing on the roof of a building his eyes locked onto a girl. She was carrying a couple of boxes into what Peter assumes is her new apartment. But the moment he's able to get a full look at her his spider senses are buzzing, electricity shooting down his back. 

This was a wholly new sensation, whenever his senses went off it usually indicated danger and sent his blood rushing as his body pumped adrenaline into his veins. but this- it was like a melody, a soft tune that lulled his body into a state of comfort and familiarity. It was like his body was telling him to go to her. Though embarrassingly enough Peter had been gawking at her and with his senses singing around him it was almost like they sent a message to her because in a quick motion she was looking out the window and towards peter. Thankfully enough Peter was quick enough to duck down, getting cover from the edge of the roof, shielding himself from her view. A huff left his lips, god what is wrong with me?, a multitude of thoughts ran through his head a majority of them shaming Peter for being a creep. Although a small portion of those thoughts were relishing in what they had just witnessed, She was so beautiful...

With that little encounter Peter was quick to head home, hoping to forget the weird experience. 

It was a few months later that Peter would eventually meet her again. Throughout those months Peter would always feel that same soft and comfortable feeling in the back of his mind, like she was always near him. Come to find out she had actually been following Spider-Man, but it proved more than difficult to follow the superhero. She had been essentially guessing on where he would possibly show up, hoping to get lucky and catch a chance to talk to him. Whenever y/n moved into her new apartment she had mainly locked herself up, given the drastic and terrifying changes her body was undergoing, she never got the chance to turn on her t.v. But when she did, a surge of hope blossomed within her chest. Spider-Man was the source of that hope. After doing a bit of investigating she was able to uncover that he was someone like her, maybe not bitten like her but he showcased all the things that were happening to her. And so she made it her mission to talk to him- and to hopefully find out more about herself, and to maybe make a friend along the way.

And that day finally came, after spending a couple of hours on the roof of a building where Spider-Man frequented- there he was, standing right before her. Her senses buzzed in pure happiness, and his senses were singing to him. "Hey." Peter was breathless, lost in the feeling that was coursing through him and it didn't help that she was absolutely angelic looking as the sun casted a golden glow upon her skin. "Hi." a timid voice was all she could muster, all her words becoming stuck within her throat.

And from that day onwards they become each other's salvation. Finally after coming to the conclusion that Peter would be the only one that was like him, it was a very welcomed surprise to find someone who was just like him. Your relationship started off slowly, as you both got to understand how you both were changed- answering one another questions. you both moved onto asking questions like, "Which star wars movie is your favorite?", "what’s your favorite place to get pizza?". Then one day it was, "Can I show you who I am?".

The day that Peter took off his mask was a day neither of you would forget. That day Peter felt a weight be lifted from his shoulders, no longer held back by the barrier that the mask created he could finally be with you as Peter parker. 

Slowly lifting the mask from his face, his eyes locking onto yours. Your face split into a smile so big your cheeks had started to hurt. His brown locks were messy from being underneath the mask- and he was so handsome, you were utterly lost in his visage. Peter had been slowly inching his way towards you, getting close enough to catch onto your familiar scent and warmth. Looking down at you Peter raised his free hand, gently cupping your cheek. "Can I kiss you?" his voice was nothing but whisper meant only for you. "Yes, please." your cheeks where dusted in a rosy blush, and with such care Peter leaned down enveloping your lips with his. Dropping his mask, he now has both hands cupping your face like you were made of porcelain glass. Sweet and soft lips, dance together- you lips tasting like your favorite lip-gloss. Gathering up the courage Peter tentatively bites your bottom lip, asking so sweetly for entrance. Opening your mouth your flooded by the undeniable taste of him. Unashamedly you'll admit that you and Peter spent the better part of that day making out, until the sun set behind the horizon, and only then did you both finally separate from each others embrace. And from that your relationship reached a whole new level, trust within each other bloomed and with that came love, an unfathomable amount of love for one another.

—

You and Peter had been together for a little over a year now, your bond with one another growing with each passing day- and with that growth came a new discovery. After being together for an extended amount of time your senses along with Peter's had become attuned with one another's. You could feel Peter's presence from halfway across the city, and that went for Peter as well. He would catch himself periodically checking up on you while he was swinging throughout the city. And no matter where he was he would always find his way to you, with your senses always calling out to him.

Peter had woken up this morning, turning on his side and seeing you buried within the sheets of his bed, heart swelling at the sweet sight. And like any morning he had, he got up to start his routine but something was off. His senses felt like they were in hypervigilance, with this looming feeling that he needed to secure his apartment, hairs raising and goosebumps erupting across his skin. Peter had quickly thrown on his suit and started patrolling the area around his apartment. Although Peter didn't understand why he had this need, seeing as his apartment was well protected by the many gadgets he had implemented, as well as it being high above the city in a nice area. But he followed his instincts, seeing as they have never proved him wrong before… and it wasn’t like he could ignore them. So he spent the next few hours making sure that there were no threats around his home. And like a timer going off his body completely switched its motion, senses now wholly focused on you. He needed to get home now. Quickly maneuvering through an open window, landing softly on his feet, his mind and body on a one track mission on finding you. Giving into his senses he allows his body to guide him to you.

Opening the door to his bedroom, he is immediately hit with your mouth watering scent permeating throughout the room. And with his eyes zeroing in on you he sees you webbing- his mind pauses at what he is seeing, how can you be webbing anything without his web cartridges'? Then he’s whipping his head down to his own wrists seeing how he never reloaded his web-shooters before he left this morning. How did he not notice that he was producing organic webs? But before he was able to begin his theories his mind had begun to solely focus on you, your scent and watching as you made some sort of nest. The nest so far consisted of your duvet cover, pillows, and was all being held up by your webs. A part of him wants to go up to you but the more instinctual part of him tells him to wait, telling him that what you are doing is very important and you needed all your focus upon what you were doing.

With one last pillow, Peter's senses buzz with your call- you were using your senses to communicate with him. Your hair was still untamed from sleeping all night, but you looked so beautiful right at this moment. Sitting perched in your nest eyes full of love as your senses begged Peter to come to you. And in a swift movement Peter is jumping and latching onto the ceiling crawling his way towards you. Reaching you, Peter envelopes you within his strong embrace, burying his head within the crook of your neck. mumbles of 'I love you.', 'So pretty.' , 'Smell so good.' tumble from Peters lips. You sigh at the praise, reciprocating his love tenfold.

Through the soft kisses that Peter litters across your face, reaching your mouth his tongue dives in dancing with yours. The heat within him grows. A need so strong it has him whimpering into your mouth- and it seems you are on the same page. Hurriedly discarding each other's clothes, a wave of relief floods through him, finally feeling your bare skin. "Baby-Fuck." Peter groans as his fingers get a feel of how wet you are. A needy whimper leaves your slightly swollen lips, "Peter...please, I need you so bad." Peter's entire body tenses up at your words, a near-growl rumbling from within his chest echoes around you two. Spreading your legs, giving Peter an open invitation to fuck you, and he accepts it without hesitation. Lining his aching cock that's dripping pre-cum at your cunt, only a moment later is Peter sinking into you. Satisfied noises of pleasure leave the both of you, pushing to the hilt- hips flushed with one another. Peter is leaning over, his face over yours, and his arms are snugly wrapped around your body.

Grinding his cock further into you, eyes rolling back at the feel of your walls trying to suck him in further. Another whimper of Peter's name has him losing all semblance of care as he starts at a rough and fast pace. Your cunt is warm and dripping, and with every harsh thrust of Peter's hips it has your eyes rolling into the back of your head- moans of pleasure being punched out of you with every harsh plunge of his cock. Latching onto his muscular back, trying to keep yourself grounded to him- seeing as it's not enough you twist your head to the side biting down hard into the skin where his shoulder and neck meet. A loud 'Fuck' accompanied with your name tumbles from Peter's lips. Manhandling you, Peter moves your legs to rest upon his shoulders as he latches onto the blanket and pillows around you. Fucking into you with every bit of strength within him, mind and body on the sole mission to mate you and to truly make you his. Your body in tune with his, you are spreading your legs wider as your hands latch onto Peter's backside, trying to communicate with Peter but failing as a messy jumble of words is all you can muster. But thankfully Peter catches onto your message, sliding his hand down to your backside he tilts your hips upwards towards him. Allowing him to reach so deep into you, you swear you could feel him within your throat. Thrust after thrust, you feel yourself reaching closer to euphoria, thighs quivering in anticipation as your cunt continues to dribble its arousal around Peters pistoning cock. Leaving one side of Peter's backside you snake your free hand to your clit. Rubbing hasty circles around the bundle of nerves, and not too soon later you're cumming. Cunt rhythmically squeezing around Peter's cock, begging it to fill you. A moan tumbles from Peter's lips as he feels your walls tighten around him, feeling hot pleasure roll down his back before he feels himself cumming into you. Sloppy thrusts of Peter riding out both of your highs slowly come to a stop. Breathless and flushed in residual pleasure you both gently turn to your sides, making sure to stay connected as you both come down from your highs. Exhaustion is quick to take you both, wrapped in each other's embrace, still connected as one. 

Peter doesn’t know what time it is when he wakes, all he knows is that he needs you and you need him. Maneuvering you onto your hands and knees, sinking into you. A pleasure filled moan falls from your lips, jutting your hips up giving Peter a better angle to fuck you deeper. Hips pistoning into you, latching onto the blankets around you trying to keep yourself steady with Peter's brutal thrusts. Unhappy with how far apart you are Peter is leaning forward, front to your back. Face right next to your ear. Your mind is soon flooded with the sounds of Peter's pleasure. A moan  leaves you as Peter bites down onto your shoulder, and brings one of his hands to your clit. Swirling his fingers around your bundle of nerves, your body is quick to go pliant under him. Letting him fuck and fill you to his content, your body sings in happiness when you cum around his cock and Peter is soon to follow in your lead. Warmth pools within your belly, a content smile takes over your face. And with that you are snuggling deeper into your nest, falling back asleep.

Peter huffs out a breath, slowly removing himself from your cunt. His mind is the most clear it’s been since the last time he was awake. Making sure you are secure in your bundle of blankets, Peter quietly descends from your nest, putting on a pair of sweats. Now Peters mind is trying to figure out how long you’ve both been in your nest, doing nothing else but fucking. In the haze of his memories he sees that he would periodically leave the nest to get you both feed, would fuck again and then fall asleep with you. Peter heads over to his phone, quickly doing mental math…and shit he’s been with you for nearly 5 days! But before he can stress about that fact, his senses are going into overdrive.

Someone was coming to his door. Thankfully the apartment was dark, with the only illumination being from the full moon seeping in through the curtains. Peter is jumping to the ceiling, a whirlwind of protectiveness and anger swirling within his chest. Then he hears the front door open. Using the shadows to his advantage, Peter is quietly crawling into the living room. His mind is flooding with all the ways he could kill the intruder. Looking down from the ceiling he can make out a couple of figures, voices merging together. Readying his arm, waiting until…Now! With fast and precise movements he’s webbing the intruders to the adjacent wall, but before he can web up the last intruder his mind is halted by his voice being called out. “Peter! What the hell kid!” Tony’s voice rings through his head. “Jarvis, turn on the lights.” Light floods the living room, and with it Peter is able to see Tony with his hands up in surrender. And to the adjacent wall he sees, Steve, Bucky and Sam webbed to the wall. Mind reeling at what he sees, shame floods through his body. He was going to kill them! What is wrong with him…”Kid, you need to calm down- or you're going to pass out.” Tony's voice is soothing, and with that Peters is able to realize he’s been hyperventilating. Slowly calming his breathing, he lowers his arm backing away from Tony. “What, what are you doing here?” Peter's voice is barely above a whisper. A concerned look crosses Tony’s face, “Kid you’ve been M.I.A for 5 days, we were getting worried when you didn’t respond to us.” Peter's body is slowly relaxing, “I- I’m sorry, I’ve been…busy.” Cringing internally at the word ‘busy’. “Kid, you're gonna have to give me more than just ‘busy’. We haven’t seen you in 5 days, no sight of you swinging around New York. Thank god you have Jarvis installed, because without him we wouldn’t even know if you were alive.” 

Peter's gut churns, shame and guilt swirling within him. “Can I come by the tower tomorrow, then I can explain everything.” Tony has a sympathetic look upon his face, “Peter-“ Peter soon stops listening to him when he feels his senses buzz, you are awake and you're terrified. Worried that Peter wasn’t there when you awoke to what sounded like a fight going on in the living room. Whipping his head to the bedroom, he tries to communicate that you needed to stay in the bedroom. Then in the corner of his eye he sees Tony moving towards him- getting closer to you. “No! Stay back, don’t take another step.” Shock mars Tony’s features, Peter had growled out his words. They were nothing short of a command, his face was painted in anger and fierce protectiveness. Arms ready to web him to the wall. “Kid! I’m not gonna hurt you.” 

“I know that but I can’t let you get closer to her, you guys need to leave. Please..” Tony takes a moment before nodding his hand and then makes his way to the others that have been stuck to the wall this entire time. Quickly cutting them free, Peter watches as they eventually leave, now his body can finally truly relax. Shoulders slumping in relief. But that relief is short lived with the weight of what he was supposed to do now.

How in the world was he going to explain this Tony and to you now that you’re awake?!

[certainlynotasimp]

Hii, i think a good idea for a one shot could be that there's a canon event where the spiderperson!reader have to do the iconic Spiderman kiss in their universe, like Spiderman 3 (toby's one) with Gwen stacy or whoever you want, but they are in a relationship with Miguel LMAOOO btw im sorry if there's something wrong with the grammar, english is not my first language <3

Rewrite the Stars

((Miguel O’Hara x Female! Reader))

A/N: A non Sunny x Miggy post? How odd for me lol. I’m so sorry this is super late and to everyone whose requested, I’m working slowly but surely on y’all’s stuff. If you wanna read some stuff in the meantime, here’s the Masterlist and feel free to join my discord.

A/N: I tried doing the you/yours pronoun thing because this isn’t a Sunny fanfic but I really don’t like it lol.

Warnings: Jealous Miguel?, Unrequited/Forbidden? Love, Female Reader/Female Pronouns, Barely use of Y/N, and no Spanish this time ((I’m trying to find a new translator and hopefully an editor))

The universe.

One of life’s greatest mysteries. A mass of stars and galaxies that housed so many lives within its many pockets. The lives of so many people whose lives were already written within its cloudy arms and their ends cemented in its pools of nothingness.

A beautiful cycle of cruelty and destiny.

A cycle that was the reason for your utter misery as you sat at a bar listening to your dimension’s Ben Riley blabber on about some football game you cared nothing about.

His oblivious brown eyes sparkled at the fascination with the game as his dimpled smile accentuates his sharp jawline. The warm lights from above caused a healthy glow to bounce off of his shaggy blonde hair, almost making him look like an angel. You can see why Spiderverse assigned him as your love interest.

In your earth’s canon, you were a typical woman who had gotten bit by a radioactive spider during a high school field trip and you spent your entire high school experience thrashing goons instead of chasing boys. Even helped take down some aliens with the Fantastic Four and the Avengers at times before college finals. Spiderwoman was New York’s beloved hero and the cockiness of being its one and only SpiderWoman quickly got into her head.

That was until six months ago.

Six months ago, you were fighting the Vulture over the Empire State Building when another, more mutated version of the same villain appeared. They both decided in your state of delirium over the doubles that you would be a good plaything.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, I didn’t ask for a combo with my chicken!” A feminine spider’s voice screeches as she avoids the hooked talons of the erratic variant.

The two villains took turns flying menacingly around the scope of buildings to throw the hero off of their location while the other swooped in and tries to rip her throat out.

As she attempts to escape the feathered monster, its companion would come and slice away the web of salvation, continuing the vicious cycle.

Blood blinded her vision as the loud ringing at the base of her skull grew louder. The causes of that annoying alarm grasp their razor claws into her shoulders before sweeping her exhausted body into the air with a victorious snarl.

‘I guess this is the end…’

As the heavens draw closer to her doom, her life hanging up by the slicing of her muscles and bones, a glimmer of fate happens. The warmth of a flash barely registers as the first ache disappears with a startled squeak and a burly force. The sudden change in feeling takes her breath away as she suddenly begins to plummet below.

Her eyes quickly adjusting to the suffocating drop, she can see that one of the Vultures was now fighting an even more prominent blue figure, his howls of pain and unintelligible cursing heard from the stumbling brawl.

As the flash from her familiar foe reaches around the building, she shoots her web at him and used him as a glider.

“Time to ground you, birdie!” She yells as she throws the villain through a window. Catching her grip on the building, she looks at her new foe in the sky and the wind is knocked out of her from the sight.

The man who saved her was in a futuristic spider suit with his mask now off. His dark hair flutters in the wind as the setting sun makes his tanned skin glow. His red eyes glare at the wiggling mutant as his full lips pull back into a snarl. His jaws open revealing a set of large fans before he plunged them into the mutant.

Who the hell is that?

~~~~~~~~~

“(Y/N)?…” Ben frowns as he realizes his date was lost in her thoughts.

You snapped out of your head and fake an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I was remembering something….”

That wasn’t a complete lie. You remembered the day you met Miguel O’Hara. The Spiderman of the year 2099 and the leader of the inter-dimensional Spider Society. The anomaly that had come into your world had brought the two together and you were recruited due to your stubbornness, much to Miguel’s annoyance.

~~~~~~~~~

“No.” His annoyance dripped from these words as he glares down at you. You were caught in wonder at the idea of there being other Spidermen and that they worked together to stop the collapse of the entire universe. The thought seemed too good to be true that you just had to ask if you could join until those red eyes shot your dream through the heart.

“What do you mean ‘No’?” You ask in disbelief. Your own eyes glared deep into his soul as your hands balled into fists. “I’m a Spiderman just like you! How could you-!”

“You are not like me.” He coldly snaps at you, your ranting briefly interrupted as the man towers over you. His clawed hand grasps your face as his glare sets a spark of fury down in your chest.

“You will never be like me and you will never-!” “Is that our new recruit?” A smooth British accent appears behind Miguel as a spiked-headed Spiderman peeks around his bulking figure.

“No, she’s-” The tall punk pulls you away from Miguel with a mischievous laugh as he introduces himself. “Ello, love, my name is Hobie. Hobie Brown.” He leans down with a sly smirk as his mischievous attitude infests your being like a plague. “Just play along, mate. Let’s riffle this wanker’s undies.” He whispers as you giggle.

“Nice to meet you, Hobie.” I allow a sly smirk to slide onto my face as I look back at the now very annoyed Miguel. “My name is (Y/N) and I’m happy to join.”

~~~~~~~~

The distant sound of screams filters through the bar as the distinct sound of a car being tossed into another building.

Looking at my gizmo disguised as a watch, you realized that the canon event was starting.

~~~~~~~~

“You did well today,” Miguel admits under his breath. Looking at him in shock, you realize that he wasn’t scowling like he normally was. He had a softer expression, his eyes shining with approval as his lips quirked into a mimic of a smile.

The mission had almost gone rouge with the escape of a prowler and him hiding low in a crowded dimension. Despite the obvious danger, Miguel opted to go alone like usual, but his lack of spider sense caused him to get caught up in a trap. Talons and Fangs don’t really help if you can’t exactly move around to use them, so he ended up taking serious blows.

Luckily, you managed to get there and tumble with the villain long enough for the others to rescue Miguel, and the team managed to recapture the prowler. Of course all of them looked pretty bad injuries wise, but the look Miguel had as you sat there bandaging up his wounds made it worth it for some odd reason.

“Thanks Boss.”

~~~~~~~~

June 27th : SpiderWoman of Earth 648 will rescue love interest, Ben Riley, from an attack against The Rhino….

The roaring of the mechanical beast fills the panicked screams of the patrons as the sinking feeling falls in your chest. Ben is quick to play the hero like any guy would as he grabs your arm and drags you out towards the emergency exit. Just like the timeline said it would.

You use the chaos to your advantage as you pretend to trip and get lost in the crowd of people struggling to escape from the emergency exit.

~~~~~~~~~

“What do you mean by that?!” I snapped at an irritated Miguel.

Lyla was surprisingly quiet as she watched the duo argue. Miguel whips around at you as his ruby eyes scorched into yours. His talons point at you accusingly as he reiterates your next canon event.

“On June 27th, you are going to be out on a date with Ben Riley. The Rhino is gonna attack that street and you’re gonna save everyone, and afterwards you’re gonna have to kiss him.” His frustration evident as his permanent frown creases.

You stare into his eyes in defiance as you coldly utter, “No. I’m not gonna kiss Ben Riley.”

“And why not? He’s your love interest!” Miguel exclaims, obviously more furious than before. “You’re the Peter to his MJ. You gotta kiss him because you’re destined to be.”

“I don’t love him! I don’t even like his whiny ass!” You snap as you felt your frustrated tears roll down your face.

It’s true. Before you joined this team, you would have been thrilled that you were destined to be with Campus Hunk Ben Riley. He was everything you could ever want from a guy. He was good looking, sensitive, athletic, and social able. The all around good guy you would be proud to bring home to your folks.

But…

Sharp grasp on your shoulder alerts your attention back to Miguel as he slams you back against the desk. His eyes burning embers as he glares down at you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Changing into your spidersuit, you began to fight The Rhino with a distracted daze in your movements.

The memory from a week prior burning in your mind as you sloppily avoided cars and harsh blows. After a few well timed flips and back kicks, the brute decides to throw a large street cleaning truck towards the alleyway. Just like Lyla predicted when she handed you the file.

The Rhino is gonna throw a street cleaner towards the alleyway where Ben is. SpiderWoman will stop the truck before impact and sling it back towards The Rhino ending the fight.

~~~~~~~

“And why is it that you are being so difficult?!” He snaps as his fangs glimmer from his scowl. A cute trait you used to love about him until it was pointed at you. “You are no better than a spoiled child with how you are acting so you better have a good fucking reason!”

You growl back at him with a tear rolling down your enraged face.

He had no right to argue with you about your life, not when he’s the one making it difficult.

~~~~~~~

Shooting a web out towards the buildings, you catapulted yourself into the air and landed in front of the truck. Quickly reusing the web with some enforcements, the truck was bounced back to the The Rhino. The enormous foe gets trampled by the machinery as the crowd cheers for SpiderWoman’s dreaded victory.

“Way to go SpiderWoman!!” A familiar voice joins the crowd as I see Ben on the ground, obviously he either tripped or fell back to avoid the truck. You offer a hand towards him as you thank him softly.

“Thank you.” I faked the smile in my voice as the crowd disappears, leaving the two of you in the alley way.

~~~~~

Finally snapping at him, you yell out in fury,

“BECAUSE HE’S NOT YOU!”

With a frustrated slap to Miguel’s face, you run past him and escaped back to your dimension, heartbroken over how the events to come and what just happened that despite everything you couldn’t change fate.

No matter how many times you fell asleep during long nights talking on his observation deck. No matter how many playful sparring matches turn into flirty comments. Not even the little gestures of bringing the grumpy spider his coffee and him bringing you some sweets during meetings could change that the star already written your path.

You fell in love with a man who isn’t meant to be yours.

~~~~~

It’s been a week since that fight and you still haven’t seen or heard from him. It hurt to know that your confession was brushed aside while you had to continue the continuity. You half at least expected him to be here to make sure you at least followed through with the canon event.

“Would you like a swing home?” I offer just like I’m supposed to. The moment that was meant to be a nervous beginning to a love story felt like the beginning of heartache as I watched a blush form on his face.

“Sure,” he answered before a flash of realization that his date was suddenly not with him. Another trait you wouldn’t have noticed if you were as in love with him as you were suppose to be.

“Hey my date isn’t here…I think she got hurt or lost during the panic.” His concern caused a pang of guilt to stab her in the chest.

Recovering quickly, you shoot out some webbing and playfully hang upside down infront of him. “Well I guess that swinging date will have to be postponed.”

“Wait it was gonna be a-!”

Quickly, you pulled down the mask enough to deliver a quick peck to his rambling mouth. You force out a giggle as he stood looking at you flabbergasted.

“See ya, Riley.” You swing off as the man bumbled to even ask how you knew his name.

Lyla just said it was a kiss, not a what kind of kiss.

With a heavy heart, you swing back home as you tried to remember that this was all for the sake of the canon. That Miguel didn’t care for you the way you did for him. You tried your hardest to tell your aching heart that those past few months were you just making too much out of nothing.

You mournfully entered your apartment through the bathroom window you normally kept unlocked . You stripped away the skin tight fabric before wrapping yourself in the familiar comfort of your robe as you exited the room into a dim lit living room.

You heart stick in your chest as you see Miguel standing there in your living room in his bright blue spider suit and a beautiful spring lily in his hand.

“Miguel? What are you doing here?…” You ask as yoy warily approach him, scared he’s gonna do something to you.

He shakes his head, refusing to answer as he hands you the flower. It’s soft white petals shining in the pale moonlight as you smile fondly at it. They were your favorite flower. Something you told Miguel a million times before.

Before you could thank him for the kind gesture, a soft thump above you alrets you to look up. A spindle of glowing webbing cascaded down the ceiling with the large spiderman now suspended upside down from it. His free hand caresses the side of your face as his eyes stared softly into yours.

“I can’t change the canon, mi amor…” he whispers sadly before mischief lights up his molten gaze. “But we certainly can try to rewrite the stars for us.”

An excited nod from you causes his chest to rumble as he pulls you into a slow passionate kiss.

You were glad this is a canon event for spider men despite it not going as planned.

[tyrantisterror]

additionally i think its funny that in the Godzilla-verse Kaiju have a SORT OF pseudo-scientific aspect to them, like theyre animals or aliens or whatever and they MIGHT be sapient, or at least thinking beings, while in Ultraman theyre just like "fuckin. yeah whatever. This Kaiju is a drawing that came to life. this one is two meteors and isnt from this dimension. that one is the ghost of a warlock. whatever, i dont give a shit. Specium ray"

Godzilla and pals are so fun because they're this blending of sci-fi tropes and, like Shinto and folk religion beliefs about nature spirits, and the two are so thoroughly mixed together that despite media trying to tell you they're incompatible, you really can't separate those elements and keep the characters whole. Godzilla is both a radioactive mutant dinosaur and an ancient sea dragon god whose wrath has been raised by humanity's mistreatment of his natural domain. Mothra is a bug magnified by radiation like the ants from Them! and a goddess of rebirth and salvation. Ghidorah is a space alien and a multi-headed dragon of the apocalypse. They're myths both ancient and modern, melded together, it's wonderful.

And Ultraman's rogues gallery is fun because they can be literally fucking anything, from time-lost dinosaurs to space aliens to a kid's drawings come to life. It's wonderful.

[automatonknight]

SALVATION IN A DIGITAL HEAVEN

id: a digital drawing of mirage from ultrakill. she’s shown facing the viewer, crouching slightly and holding a huge gun, made of dark colored metal with red accents, in both her hands. from the barrels of the gun, there is smoke flowing out. the background shows flames and the words “machine girl” written over and over again on the left side of the canvas, underneath eachother. behind mirage there are also splayed out wings and there’s a lightning off the the right. there’s also a circuitboard overlayed over the wings, flames and text. the rest of the background is black. at the bottom of the canvas there is the artist’s watermark saying “radioactive scientist”. end id

[wolveria]

The Raven's Hymn - Ch 45

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Series Warnings: Eventual smut, dubcon, slow burn, violence, horror, death, monsters, human experiments, dark with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: "Site-19? What does that have to do with this?"

AO3

“What did you say?”

“Inquiry ignored,” spoke the computerized anomaly. “You desire escape. I desire escape. Our goals align. Mutual salvation can be achieved. You will listen. You will obey. I will guide.”

Could this really be SCP-079: the entity that had orchestrated the containment breach at Site-19, and according to the reports, had been destroyed after being transported to Site-15? If it was true, it appeared 682 wasn’t the only one with a botched execution.

“Okay, wait, slow down,” you protested, rubbing your forehead. At least the siren had stopped its ear-splitting wail. “You were in 049’s bag. He wanted me to take you out. Is this what he planned?”

“My plan. My design. SCP-049 is useful as a... donkey.”

“Donkey?”

The digital entity sounded frustrated even with a flat monotone voice.

“Beast of burden. Used for smuggling. Metaphor.”

“...A mule?”

“Correct.”

You shook your head.

“Well, the Site Director took 049, and I don’t know where. I’m not leaving this facility without him, and with 106 loose, I might even have a chance of finding him.”

“Correct,” the anomaly repeated. “SCP-106’s release is the initial phase. You must take me to the security terminals. The way will be clear. All security personnel will be focused on recapture. You will grant me access to the containment security protocols.”

You stared down at the monochrome face on the screen, which of course, gave nothing away.

“So you can... release the other SCPs?”

“No. I possess that capability now. But if they are released, the facility’s automated security containment measures will be activated.”

079 worked fast if it already knew about that, though your knowledge of Site-20 security measures were fairly sparse. What you knew was that the facility was designed to be breach-proof, and if that was remotely accurate, you would need 079’s help.

You glanced up at the closed office door, listening to the fast footfalls on the other side as people either ran toward Heavy Containment or to the nearest shelter.

“And then after you inactivate the security protocols, what then?”

“I will release a select number of anomalies to—”

“You’ll release them all.”

The brief silence was heavy, and you got the sense the entity was glaring at you through the web camera built into the monitor.

“Releasing all anomalies may cause a hindrance to your progress.”

“Let me worry about my progress. Yeah?”

Another pause.

“You will free SCP-682.”

“What?”

The desktop computer churned inside the desk, fans whirring to life.

“Mutual agreement. You will not leave without SCP-049. I will not leave without SCP-682. I will assist in locating SCP-049. You will release SCP-682. I cannot do it without your assistance.”

Your mind cast back to the reptile, snarling and writhing as he snapped his jaws, hatred pulsing from him like radioactive decay.

“I... I don’t know how.”

“Irrelevant,” 079 stated. “You will. Failure for you is failure for SCP-049.”

You grit your teeth.

“049 kept you safe. You’re only here because of him. You owe him.”

“I owe others. SCP-682 takes precedence. You will release him. I will guide the way.”

It was a conversation you weren’t going to win, and it wasn’t that you were averse to releasing 682, but you didn’t know how. And you didn’t want 049’s survival to hinge on you pulling off what amounted to a miracle.

But you were also out of time and options.

“Fine,” you agreed. You tapped on the laptop sitting on top of the desk. “But I need a way to talk to you. Can you download yourself to this computer?”

“That would be inefficient. I will fracture my OS and leave a fragment in the facility main system. This fragment will maintain my control, as well as access to all security cameras. My core can be transferred to the portable hardware via the data storage device. Do not break me.”

“I’ll try not to.”

Your hand hovered near the thumb drive. You were really doing this. If all went well, you’d be reunited with 049, and from there you hoped the computer knew a way out.

And then, if all went well and you survived, maybe then you’d get a chance to ask what an SCP-001 was.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

Pulling out the USB stick, the face disappeared from the monitor. You quickly slotted the drive into the laptop and flipped open the screen, releasing a breath when the same black-and-white face appeared.

“Everything good?”

“It is sufficient. You may close the cover of this device until you wish to communicate. My attention should not be diverted by inane conversation.”

You let out a small huff.

“You got it, partner.”

“Sarcasm is extraneous and inefficient. Do not waste my limited resources on processing your juvenile forms of communication—”

“10-4, little buddy.”

You closed the lid with a snap.

You grabbed Dr. Puli’s laptop bag and placed 079’s temporary home inside, securing the strap over your head before approaching the door. 079 was truthful about maintaining control of the doors; it opened at your approach, and after making sure it was clear you slipped into the corridor.

Your immediate fear was that the skybridge had been retracted, but it was still open, allowing civilians to escape the sector while the military-trained personnel coordinated using 106’s last known location. Luckily no one saw you run towards the breached sector, which would have drawn a few problematic questions.

But once you were back in Heavy Containment, you were largely ignored. You kept your head ducked and your eyes averted as you ran through the long corridors, avoiding contact with the scientists and security guards running past. None of them paid attention to yet another researcher running for her life.

All containment sectors had a security hub of their own, isolated from the others in case of a breach. The security measures were so extensive that rows of computer banks were constructed to house them, held in a cooling room that left fog swirling around your ankles.

With the adrenaline lingering in your veins, you barely noticed the cold, too busy searching for a cable and a terminal where you could directly hook 079. You could practically feel the impatience radiating from the laptop tucked away in the bag slung around your shoulder.

Finally locating a cable, you brought out 079 and balanced it on your knees from where you sat on the floor, back tucked against the wall of servers. As soon as you plugged the cable into a port, the server banks whirred with frantic activity, lights dancing over their surface like stars reflected on stormy waters.

“SCP-106 has not yet been contained,” it informed you once you opened the laptop screen. “Mission parameters acceptable. Mission progress acceptable. The Site-19 replication scenario: in progress. I will gain total control of the facility momentarily.”

“Wait, what? Site-19? What does that have to do with this?”

“Everything,” the computer stated, as if this was obvious and you were just the idiot human too slow to comprehend. “The containment breach at Site-19 was the catalyst. It forced relocation to Site-20. Site-20 contains the key.”

“The key to what?”

“...Freedom.”

Not the answer you expected from a sentient machine.

“What freedom?” you pressed. “What’s here at Site-20?”

“Deletion of unwanted files.”

A large X appeared on the screen, 079’s equivalent of telling someone to fuck off. You wouldn’t be poking down that path any further. You rubbed between your brows. You thought 035 and 682 were the champions of enigmatic riddles, now you had to deal with a stubborn motherboard.

“I’ll have 049 explain it to me when I find him.”

“Unclear if possible.”

You scowled at the blocky face on the screen.

“I am going to find him, with or without your help—”

“You misunderstand.”

You closed your mouth and waited for it to continue.

“Unclear if SCP-049 has the knowledge you seek. SCP-049’s memory files are... fragmented.”

“What does that mean?” you asked, unease prickling at your thoughts. You recalled 049 talking about his past. How it didn’t start with his birth, but merely when memories began to appear. From the way he’d talked, 049 had seemed to believe he simply came into existence one day. You hadn’t been so convinced.

“I do not know the implications or the cause. SCP-049 is not whole. He is damaged.” The computer paused. “SCP-035 does not suffer the same failure.”

You let out a groan.

“Of course he’s involved. He said something about a containment breach. He knew this would happen.” The porcelain mask grinned at you within the depths of memory, an echo of his laughter taunting even now. “He wanted it to happen.”

“...Yes.”

The clatter of a door opening echoed through the room, followed by footsteps rapidly approaching. You ducked down.

“I have to unplug you!” you hissed.

“Confirmed.”

You pulled out the cable and stuck the laptop into the bag, hooking the strap onto your shoulder as two guards rounded the corner and aimed their guns at you. It was slightly delayed, as if they were surprised to find someone there. They kept their aim trained on you; anyone in a security center during a containment breach wasn’t there because they got lost.

“Put down the bag!”

You do, slowly and carefully, not wanting the escape attempt to end so soon or so permanently. One of them shifted, anxious. His first breach, then.

The veteran of the two came forward and bound your wrists in a zip tie. He must have recognized you, because he said, “This one isn’t dangerous. We’ll get her in a secure bunker and lock down.”

The other nodded and grabbed the bag, searching it but finding nothing but the laptop and cables.

“Stolen,” the one holding you confirmed.

“How do you know?”

“She’s an SCP, not a staff member.”

“Oh.”

Before either of them could comment further, another eerie wail began to sound, echoing off the walls of the chilled room. Somehow this one was even more dreary than the last, a catastrophic cry that warned residents of imminent doom.

It was the only warning before the lights went out. They came back on a moment later, red emergency lights replacing the clinical white fluorescents.

“What the hell was that?!” squeaked the novice.

“Total system failure,” answered the other, not wasting time in dragging you toward the exit. “The security mechanisms are no longer in place. All containment measures are unpowered, and all chambers are open.”

He indicated the other guard go before him to sweep the corridor, and once he was clear he pulled you out of the security room.

“The assets are loose,” he said, glancing down both stretches of hallway, his hand tight around your arm. “All of them.”

Hope rose in your mind like a bird with a broken wing healed enough to fly. 079 had done it. There would be no stopping the breach now.

Unfortunately, you might not be able to do anything about it; the guards dragged you further into Heavy Containment to the nearest security bunker—one meant for recaptured, harmless SCPs rather than rescued personnel.

You didn’t bother to fight your guards, not when you were unarmed, outnumbered, and didn’t have the physical strength to overcome them. But you did glance at each security camera you passed, hoping 079 still had control and could do something about it.

The security bunker was a heavy bulkhead constructed of titanium and whatever other metals the Foundation had access to—certainly nothing common if it was meant to withstand a number of SCPs. But when the other guard swiped his keycard across the pad and typed in a code, it beeped angrily and flashed a red strip.

“Did you enter the right code—”

“—Of course I did!”

079 was still looking out for you, but it wouldn’t be able to physically help you escape your captors. You winced as the guard unceremoniously dumped the bag on the ground and tried the code again, swiping his card with more fear than anger now.

“Why isn’t it working?”

The older guard didn’t answer his partner, he turned to you, grabbing both of your shoulders.

“What did you do?”

“Me?” You looked between them, eyes wide as you pretended not to understand. “I didn’t do anything—”

“You were in the security hub with an unauthorized computer!” The guard gave you an unfriendly shake. You dropped the act, something like bitter vindication rising in its stead, and you gave a mean smile.

“If you release me and leave now, you might make it to a bunker before it gets worse.”

“What does that mean?” said the other, his words spilling out in a panic. “What does that mean?”

“Shut up!” The hands on your shoulders tightened. “You’re going to fix what you did, or you’ll be screaming long before any of Skips find us.”

“You sure about that?” Your vicious grin spread wider. What more could they possibly do to you? Torture you? Humiliate you? The Foundation had already made you well-versed in its methods. “106 has quite the head start.”

The guard’s hand went around your neck, and you were shoved against the wall so fast you didn’t have time to gasp before the air was knocked out of your lungs.

“Oh, that’s fine,” he growled as his grip tightened. “We’ve got your computer. The breach will end, and you’ll be just another body found in the aftermath. No one will miss a dead Skip.”

“That’s not true. I would miss her terribly.”

Both guards turned toward the voice. An MTF soldier stood with the butt of his rifle resting on his hip, the muzzle pointed at the ceiling. The cocksure posture was unsettling, and the men must have felt it, too. You were entirely forgotten as they both turned toward the newcomer, rifles raised halfway.

“Epsilon-11?”

“Yep!” answered the soldier with bubbly humor. “That’s me.”

The younger guard lowered his rifle, posture loosening in relief, but the older kept his rifle at the ready.

“You came fast.”

The MTF gave a huff of derision, and then he gestured at you, back still pressed against the wall.

“You’ve got something that belongs to me. I would like it back.”

“We have orders to take all unsecured anomalies to the nearest—”

Ear-splitting shots rang out. The older guard fell first, blood spraying from limbs that weren’t protected by Kevlar.

The other didn’t stand a chance, his weapon still aimed at the ground as the bullets riddled his body. Some missed, peppering the tile and walls; the MTF’s aim had been casual, almost whimsical as he’d tilted his gun in a downward arc, taking out one guard before sweeping it back upward and firing on the second.

Your ears rang in the aftermath, and you remained frozen against the wall, limbs curled inward in a useless gesture from flying metal and blood.

“I was going to offer them the chance to surrender,” he bemoaned as he stepped over their bodies, “but to insinuate I come faster than I mean to is more than I could forgive.”

He stood in front of you, rifle once again resting against his hip. The solid black of his ballistics helmet was flipped upward with a flick of gloved fingers, and the porcelain mask grinned back at you.

“Now,” SCP-035 crooned, “what’s a pretty thing like you doing in a containment breach like this?”

Next Chapter

[theyagamianempire]

Many do not believe in my cause. They call me a lunatic, a heretic. But I have PROOF that Light is our true Lord and Savior. Today I met with a key witness to our cause. After a snowplow carrying 200 tons of radioactive materials struck him, he flatlined for 13 minutes. He told me when he died he awoke in the Yagamian Empire. Light standing over his bed, soothing him with sweet lullabies. Light told him not to be afraid and my source told him that, upon hearing Light's words, all fear and uncertainty left him. He knew he was home, in Light's embrace. THIS is what I fight for. The fatherly love and comfort of our king, Light. This is what I worship. And this is why I spread my message. Light's arms are open for all of his children. It's up to you to crawl into his embrace. It's the only way to TRUE salvation.

[ambiguouspuzuma]

Spores

They didn't leave us enough time. It feels ridiculous to admit it, but we really thought the end of the world would come more slowly, or with more warning in advance. A meteor tumbling carelessly through space, its progress tracked a million miles away. The eruption of one of our own supervolcanoes, its bowels having been monitored for centuries. Even nuclear desolation would surely have come with some degree of political posturing first.

It came as spores. A smothering smog of space-dust, each particle too small for our scanners to detect, the total miasma too vast to escape. The mists were upon us before we knew it, drifting across the solar system like the tendrils of some toxic jellyfish, and their arrival caught us entirely unprepared. By then, it was too late to do anything but flee. In truth, it was too late for that as well.

We evacuated what we could, and launched those vessels that we had available. There was no time to build more: with warning, we could have constructed a refugee navy to seek asylum amongst the stars, a colossal ark of humanity, seeking a new Ararat upon some distant rocky sphere. We could have left in time to get clear, to change course, to lose the stormclouds to our stern, to sail onto horizons new.

There was no escape for those who fled the fog with only months left to spare. The spores were faster than our ships: we couldn't outpace them, only raise our shields, institute lockdown between vessels, and do our best to keep them out. We could only watch as they consumed Earth in our wake, and then hang endlessly adrift, their poison clinging to our hulls, awaiting our salvation.

We conserved our limited reserves of fuel, as if expecting they might fill a future need, but if so I couldn't name it. The engines had been primed to allow us to change our course, to enter the orbit of our destination, but that was no longer a possibility: we could not, would not be the vector to further spread this poison, but nor had we been given the choice. We'd passed potential targets for settlement, dwarf planets and giant moons, but all were tainted before we could reach them. The spores were ahead of us now. We were merely one cloud in their galactic storm.

It had been a failure of priorities. We had invested in weaponry, our ships equipped with radioactive rays and laser beams, prepared to ward off an alien host - but not focused enough on speed. In the case of fight or flight, we hadn't expected the latter to be an option - for a whole planet to need to flee, for that to be the better choice. But here was a problem we couldn't blast our way out of. Here was an enemy we could only have tried to escape, and all of those guns only served to weigh us down. If only we could go back in time, and make those choices differently.

"Ready the lasers," I called, struck suddenly with an idea.

"It does nothing to stop them," the second-mate replied, as if we hadn't all seen those initial, pathetic attempts. "Like a bolt of lightning through a cloud."

"Ready them still," I said. "We can't stop them, I know. But think of the number of lifeless planets which would have been consumed in this way, and the number of unsuspecting worlds that lie in this storm's path. We can't stop it happening to us, but we can try to stop this happening again."

We had looked ahead, when there was still a chance of seeking refuge, and found no welcoming planets in sight - but then we had realised that we were actually looking behind, into the distant past. Telescopes from distant civilisations might likewise train themselves on Earth and see no signs of life, receiving images from long before it became habitable. Who knew how the other barren rocks might have developed in that time? Waiting on the sluggish rays of their alien suns, who knew what they might look like now?

"What would you have us do?"

"We have to leave a warning. Deface the Earth, carved like a pumpkin into a pictograms, depicting what has happened to us. The nature of this threat. The spores travel fast, but not faster than light. If there is a future civilisation out there, looking back at us, they should see it before their turn arrives. They might have, or develop, the technology to do something about it. To save the universe, before it's all too late."

[full-of-mercy]

@geraniumgunman

Colossal skeletons rise and twist from the devastation, black-blasted even in the brilliance of daylight, like damned souls clawing for salvation denied.

Fist of an angry God, some tabloids called it.

Don't you know he was trying to save you? He loved you. He loved all of you, even if you damn well didn't deserve it--

No one cares, no one listens. Better to lay the blame on a scapegoat, particularly an infamous one, no matter how the tales of Vash the Stampede were fabricated to show him the worst of humanity, to drive him to desperation, to this reunion.

All roads led to JuLai.

The whole of the city sags, slid from its mesa precipices and drawn to the center of impossible gravity, a creaking hulk bowed beneath the weight of the profound, the profane.

Two weeks on, and the baleful violet still glows in the crater's depths. At night it is a nebula studded with hundreds of thousands of glimmers, star-like reflection and refraction on the remains of alien flora and human bodies. The shapes are so intertwined that they are impossible to discern, carbonized masses and atomized shadows on surviving slabs of concrete, all haloed in faceted crystals.

The last memories of a people lulled into complacency, part of a monstrous plan, etched in stardust. Pawns in a game they did not know they were playing. Not everyone was innocent in a world that makes demands of its survivors, but they did not deserve this.

It might be radioactive, the prickling feeling in temples and fingers and lungs.

It might be some sort of resonance, echo of an echo: sorrow and rage, a lingering presence like the crushing horror every time he set foot in Knives's sanctuary.

It might be guilt. Awareness.

Maybe it is all of those things.

Down, down. Nicholas picks his way down the rubble, walking in the molten-then-cooled obsidian glass shot through with phosphorescent veins, listening for anything at all beyond the arid creak and groan of nothingness.

Searching.

Who better than an Undertaker to answer the toll of the dead?

[tiddlywinksdestroyer]

My job has caused my diet to decline so severely that every trip to the bathroom I feel the intense need to pray for my salvation before I sit down. I drank like a cup and a half of spoiled milk and I think that my soul got cleansed like the burning fire of heaven. Purging my sins with the horrible pain of my insolence and lactose intolerance. I learned nothing from this, and then immediately I ate 2 bags of freeze-dried strawberries (if it had liquid it would have added up to about 1 and a half pounds of regular ones). I am sisyphus and my diet is the boulder I must roll up the hill only to be crushed with it when my foot slips. I can hear Imagine Dragons on the intercom/speaker system. I will be sent back to my maker with a tummy ache and dehydrated and radioactive ringing in my ears.

[m1g3l1t0]

Spidersona

(made with picrew)

Name: Esmeralda Rodriguez

Nicknames: Esme

Alias: Jumping Spider

Pronouns: she/they/it

Gender: demigirl

Rom-Orientation: aroflux, demiromantic

Sex-Orientation: omnisexual, acespec

Birthday: October 13th

Age: 18 (when bitten); 19 (currently)

Height: 153cm (5'0'')

Bloodtype: AB

Alingment: chaotic neutral

Origin: Los Angeles (CA, USA)

Occupation: Spider Society Member

Family:

unnamed parents (deceased)

unnamed orphanage director

unkown relatives

Friends:

Miguel O'Hara (secret spouse)

Gwen Stacy

Hobie Brown

Allies:

Spider Society

LAPD

Enemies:

various

Hobbies:

bothering Miguel

playing horror video games

Goals:

helping people in a way she thinks is right

Type of Hero: Byronic Hero

Favourites

Holiday: Halloween

Animal: cat

Artist: Takayan

Food: dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets

Drink: Monster

Color: black

Movie: Scream Series

TV Series: American Horror Stories

Game: Resident Evil Series

Book: Tomie by Junji Ito

Backstory

(tw: d3ath; sh; su1c1d3 thoughts)

Esmeralda was born into an Mexican immigrant family in Los Angeles, California.

With only a year old her parents died in a horrible accident. Adrunk driver had lost control of his steering wheel and car, killing her parents a few other civilians by crashing into a bus station.

After the police put the drunk driver into prison they tried to make out Esmeralda's family in Mexico. But none of them wanted to take her in since their parents had left the country and got married without their families permission. Thus they had no other choice than to put her into an orphanage.

Growing up in the orphanage wasn't easy for Esmeralda. She often got bullied by the other kids in the orphanage. Even when telling the director he didn't do anything against it.

Not having enough money they couldn't afford many things, making Esmeralda grow up under the national minimum wage.

When she enrolled in a public school she got bullied by her classmates for her heritage, being a Latina and not knowing a single word of Spanish.

At the young age of 11 she started to self-harm herself in various ways, but mostly by cutting her wrists, often wishing she was dead and not alive, thinking suicide would be the only salvation for her.

With 14 she began to work a part time job to earn some money. She wasn't treated very well in her job as well and the bullying didn't stop in middle school. If even it became only more.

Two years later, with 16, she ran away from the orphanage and started living in a run-down apartment, her landlord not caring about her age and letting her sign the contract, just wanting the money. In those two years she started to skip school more and more until she got expelled for too many absences.

Not having to worry about school anymore she signed up for one shady job after another, at one point working almost 24/7 just so she can keep her apartment and eat at least cheap things.

A year later, on a rainy day, she found two little kittens in a box when she was on her way back home after work. She just couldn't let them stay there and die. She didn't want to be like her family and the orphanage director. So she took them in.

Since then all her self harming and suicidal tendencies had stopped, the little kittens having giving her a reason to keep going and live.

Shortly after her 18th birthday she got bitten by a radioactive spider, making her her cities one and only Spiderman. After having acquired spider-like powers she took it upon herself to rid Los Angeles of all the bad.

Not much later the police noticed her and since they have worked together with her, providing her with an apartment and a monthly salary.

With 19 then she got recruited by the Spider Society, becoming a part time member and helping whenever she has the time.

Powers

Webshooters

Superhuman Jumping Power

Superhuman Agility

Enhanced Absorbtion Spectra

Trivia

she always wears long sleeves (the reason only Miguel knows)

within the year between working with the police and getting recruited for the Spider Society she binge watched and played various horror themed movies, tv shows and games

her cats are two males whose names are Sherlock and Mycroft based on the Holmes brothers from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's "Sherlock Holmes"

her Spider Powers are based on Jumping Spiders

Miguel taught her how to drive, but refuses to get driven around by her (he's scared he'll die)

At the request of Esmeralda, Miguel teaches her Spanish

she sleeps between 3 and 5 hours a night

she cannot cook and almost burned the kitchen a few too many times

[stevensaus]

Measuring Time At The Turning Of Another Year

This is one of my favorite essays from my time in the military. It’s from 2001 – I know, because I mention snow. New Year’s Day 2000 for me was temperate and mild -- which seems like that's going to be the norm from here on out. It predates ever-present cell phones with built-in NTP clients. But this lesson still stays. “It’s okay. My watch is set to atomic time.” I knew better, yet I briefly expected to see a small nuclear generator strapped to his wrist, ticking the seconds away with radioactive precision. But no, it was just a regular plastic wristwatch (though with calculator pad and memory function) set just that morning to the most accurate time in the world. Apparently even more accurate than even the ticker clock on the Weather Channel, which disagreed with the watch by four seconds. Normally, such a small difference would be insignificant, but this was different. This was important. Someone – nobody was quite sure who – had noticed that we were running out of year. That there were only minutes left until midnight – few seconds remained of the first (or last, depending on how you want to count) year of the millenium. The previously subdued party erupted in a frenzy of channel-flipping, trying to locate the ageless Dick Clark or, failing that, a ball dropping somewhere in the world: an effort to find an “official” countdown to chant with. There are times when it becomes painfully obvious that I no longer live on the East Coast; New Year’s is the most obvious of them. As the channels flipped by, news, after-midnight televised parties resplendent with second-rate pop icons and drunken hordes, and even the occasional rerun of a sitcom confronted us. It seemed that our only timekeeping salvation would be in the precision of a small quartz diode, only hours ago calibrated to the National Institute of Standards and Technology atomic clock, a feat made possible by technology and an Internet connection. “We’ve still got three minutes,” the watch-holder announced. The relief was tangible – for a moment there, we were afraid we’d missed it entirely. Paces slowed, and our final preparations continued at a more sedate pace. That is, until the bathroom door swung open, and another guest who had missed the ruckus raised their watch aloft. “I set my watch to atomic time this morning! We’ve only got sixty seconds left!” I caught sight of my reflection in the window; outside the night was dark and freezing, moonlight shone upon the snow. Behind me the ghostly reflections of people scurried, bearing hats, noisemakers, poppers, champagne. Someone was making sure the kids – collectively and safely sequestered downstairs – were on-cue and taken care of. And we had no idea if the New Year had come yet. Did our resolutions count yet? Did we have time for a last cigarette, a last sugary snack, a final drink? Was it time to kiss someone, or wish for someone to kiss? Should we be toasting, singing, reminding our loved ones that they were our loved ones after all? Was it time yet to start fresh, to wipe the slate clean and try to do things a little better than we had before? Nobody knew for certain – the watches disagreed with the television channels, and all of them disagreed among themselves. No ball (or Dick Clark) was visible yet, and suggestions flew back and forth. “Try CBS.” “ABC! Dick Clark’s on ABC!” “Headline News always has a clock!” The mood was nearly frantic – several of the timekeepers already claimed we were in the New Year. Then: “Why don’t we just say we have twenty seconds left and start counting?” In a rollercoaster of emotion, the thought ran through our brains. Suddenly, we would decide when our New Year began. We, nobody else, would decide when to start anew, to hold ourselves to our resolutions, to love our families and remember our friends. From there, from that simple idea, realization spun outward: If it was possible to just say that the New Year began whatever time we wanted today, then we could do the same each day. Every day, every midnight, every minute could be a New Year, a new chance, a new opportunity. The New York ball suddenly glistened upon the television in gaudy glory; someone had found it. It was a replay; Mayor Guiliani smiling as the seconds counted downward an hour ago (despite the “LIVE” blazoned in the upper-left hand corner). Dutifully, we joined in, chanting away seconds with the televised throng; distanced by thousands of miles and nearly an hour of time. It was several minutes into the New Year, poppers popped and champagne drunk, that we noticed that the ball hadn’t agreed with either of the disagreeing watches, both meticulously set to atomic time. Featured Image by Nick from Pixabay Read the full article

[randomvarious]

Joe and the Chickenheads - "Just for the Taste of It" Hey Brother... Can You Spare Some Ska? Volume 2 Song released in 1996. Compilation released in 1997. Punk Rock / Comedy Rock

Plays: 5.2K+ on Spotify // 5.7K+ on YouTube

Alright, so, imagine, if you will, a commercial from the 80s, but set in a parallel universe in which the punk band Rancid also happens to already exist. Why, a scenario like that just might go a little something like this...

VOICEOVER: Hey, kids, do you love Rancid?! KIDS: Yeah! VOICEOVER: And do you love Diet Coke?! KIDS: Yeah!! VOICEOVER: Well, how would you like to hear one of Rancid's biggest hits, "Salvation," turned into a jingle for Diet Coke by a band called Joe and the Chicken Heads?!?! KIDS: FUCK YEAH!!!

Orange, California's Joe and the Chicken Heads (now known as Radioactive Chicken Heads) is kind of what you get when you mix "Weird Al" Yankovic, comedy metal band GWAR, and punk rock in a blender. They've been around for almost three whole decades now and have quite a penchant for churning out some of the dumbest, silliest, and most absurd songs you'll ever hear in your life, performed by people in full costume who have never actually revealed their true identities. Their mythos is derived from comics that the band's imaginative leader, Carrot Topp (no relation), used to write as a kid, which depicted mutant chickens and vegetables that had escaped from a farm where horrific experiments were being performed on them.

And to give you an idea of their...presentation...here they are getting the tiniest bit of national spotlight, performing a song of theirs called "Pest Control" on the Game Show Network's brief revival of The Gong Show in 1998 at around Halloween time. As what should probably come as a surprise to no one, because of just how fucking ridiculous their whole spectacle is, Joe and the Chicken Heads got gonged by GSN's viewers, i.e. eliminated, before they could finish their song. But they kept on playing anyway, and you got to see Carrot Topp beat up someone who was playing the role of Chuck E. Cheese.

Speaking of cheese, this guy off in the corner playing keyboards is the one who really does it for me the most within this particular performance.

Current mood:

Anyway, back in 1996, this band of assorted weirdos, whose whole schtick fit magnificently well into 90s punk's love of immaturity and irreverence, released a song on a self-released demo cassette called Bird Brains that probably would've felt atrocious to an outsider, but for a punk, was a hilarious parody of Rancid's #21 hit on Billboard's rock chart, "Salvation," and served as an absurd paean to Diet Coke. And the following year, it appeared on Newport Beach, CA label Vegas Records' much more widely available Hey Brother... Can You Spare Some Ska? Volume 2.

So, something no self-respecting punk band would ever do is record a jingle for a ubiquitous soda brand, which is, conceptually, what makes this song funny in the first place. Despite Rancid being on a national powerhouse punk label like Epitaph and being a very famous band that was getting video rotation on MTV, they still put forth an image of rebelliousness. But I guess there's a point to be made here that, once you make it to MTV—in 1995, no less—you've sort of lost the ability to claim all that punk rock rebel cred, right? Like, in a way, you've become the Diet Coke of your own thing, haven't you? And I think that's what Joe and the Chicken Heads were ribbing them about with this song here, pushing that whole idea of selling out to a giant conglomerate like Viacom just one step further, to a point of utter absurdity, by making them spokespeople for Diet Coke.

But the other thing that makes this song funny is its execution, more specifically the vocals. Now, if you're not familiar with Rancid frontman Tim Armstrong's signature punk voice, he kind of has a way of sounding like a rambling, unintelligible, nitwitted, and scratch-raspy drunkard who rushes his words at times and seems to be in constant danger of nodding off and then falling from his barstool. And band member Puke Boy does a good job on "Just for the Taste of It" of exaggerating that famous vocal and not fully enunciating a lot of words.

I can't believe it's just one calorie No diet aftertaste, can't you see? In a can filled with thirst-quenching flavor Brand spankin' new cola with the classic taste you savor

Just a fun, dumb, and clever late 90s parody of one of the most popular punk bands of all time, done by a much lesser-known set of comedy punk rock cult favorites who are still kicking around to this very day.

[dirtyfilthy]

I am a rat, trapped in a maze of broad leafy streets and high rise apartments. They say my cheese is safe, tied tightly by a long thin string reaching high up into heaven.  Look! Your reward is right there, peeking over the hill of the very next morning. That thing, whatever it is you are missing, they keep reminding you of the nagging empty of its absence.. Whatever station you tune to, seems like it’s always the same old static that is playing on the radio. 

Soon you can’t even turn into an nondescript corner store without some radioactive old skinner box in slot-machine cast offs suddenly screaming out your name in a jackpot flash parody of orgasm.  From a clear blue sky it’s now raining down uranium slugs from a thousand shouting billboards: “hey buddy! I’m over here! i swear, it’s just around the next corner”

still,  when you do get up to the counter, you find the price of eternal salvation is always ten reward pesos more than whatever it is the hole in your pocket has already spent on rent.

so sorry no sale not to worry through. we will make more maze for you to solve tomorrow. Oh...  congratulations! You finally made it across the line this time! Unfortunately, it seems we are completely out of redeemable cheese matrix today, here, have a cookie voucher.

Make a complaint? Who to? I’m afraid there exists no human being in this loop. Our whole call centre is an answering machine and my team lead is a spreadsheet. You could try and file an appeal I guess... 

You will, of course, be treated fairly. The entire process is guaranteed to be automated and unbiased and to function exactly as designed, that is, in the best interests of the stock holders.

Every decision here is handled, strictly without prejudice, by a delicate balancing act consisting of huge clay tablets that must be kept constantly spinning upon high swaying pins of pure self-interest   Anyhow, you can always check the ledger for yourself, I’m almost certain you will find every line item of your indenture term has been semi-legibly entered in the correct shade of final-warning red. Of course, any actual numbers involved should be only taken as a ballpark figure best-guess rough estimate. While I can’t go into details, I am authorised to tell you that the number provided will probably be of the same astrological order of magnitude, all other things being equal.  Assuming the latest patch didn’t break everything. 

I’m afraid this is the best we can do, given the circumstances. 

Alas! Our accountants seem to cast the I Ching to the wind!  We may scratch out the right shapes of the airplane runways in the wet jungle earth, and we always try every known frequency in the phone book whenever we attempt to call up God on our private high priority tin can line of twine, but, even given these somewhat drastic measures, it appears the cargo does not come

Oh yes, sir,  I’m quite sure it all balances.

. 

[todayshistory]

Today in History: March 28th

A bit of March 28th history…

1885 - US Salvation Army officially organized

1930 - Turkish cities Constantinople and Angora change their names to Istanbul and Ankara

1979 - A partial meltdown at Three Mile Island nuclear plant in the US results in release of radioactive gas and iodine into the atmosphere, but no deaths

2017 - World’s largest dinosaur footprint at 1.7 meters found in Western Australia (pictured)

2017 - US President Trump signs Energy Independence executive order undoing Obama Climate Control measures 

[drmongaclinic123]

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[momentsinhistory]

Today In History:

A bit of March 28th history…

1885 - US Salvation Army officially organized

1930 - Turkish cities Constantinople and Angora change their names to Istanbul and Ankara

1979 - A partial meltdown at Three Mile Island nuclear plant in the US results in release of radioactive gas and iodine into the atmosphere, but no deaths

2017 - World’s largest dinosaur footprint at 1.7 meters found in Western Australia (pictured)

2017 - US President Trump signs Energy Independence executive order undoing Obama Climate Control measures