#so yeah... um...

[mroddmod]

they are like puppies. 2 me

[depresed-duck]

I AM PHYSICALLY INCAPABLE OF BEING NORMAL ABOUT THEM

[snoozeeroo]

arcane modern au continued !!! (i'm super unwell abt them 💔)

[shepscapades]

[Part 1] [PART 2] [Part 3]

The unexpected return of a face Xisuma never thought he'd see again.

[obsesssedblerd]

when sukuna kisses you for the first time, it’s far more intense than you’ve ever imagined. you’re sitting in his lap, and your head spins as the king of curses’ tongue hungrily explores your mouth. his large hands possessively roam your body; squeezing, stroking, discovering every spot that makes you tremble and whine into his mouth. when he grabs the back of your neck and pulls you back to look at your flustered, dizzy expression, he laughs, dangerous and condescending. “we’ve barely begun, and you’re already breathing hard, little sorcerer? i thought you said you could handle it.” he licks a slow, long stripe, starting from your collarbone and going all the way up your neck, enjoying the way you shudder. “silly girl,” he purrs near your ear, “oh, i’m going to ruin you.”

[ccnidar1a]

two types of mafioso

[cucumberteapot]

Okay, so I've read the Spider-man: Across the Spider-verse artbook, and there is this fantastic passage on Earth-42 that gives context to the dimension, Miles G., Uncle Aaron and the Sinister Six.

“Miles comes face to face with a parallel world version of his own in Earth-42 – an alternate reality where he never gained superpowers and where his Uncle Aaron is still alive. “We wanted to craft this moment where Miles encounters this powerful figure in his life that he loved so much and he lost," says director Justin K. Thompson. “That's when he realizes that he is not really in his own dimension, as well as the gravity of what he has lost. In this reality, Aaron has had to shake off his life of crime and became a surrogate father figure to Miles.”

The artists changed Uncle Aaron's outward appearance to reflect this new reality and convey how he has changed. The Uncle Aaron of Earth-42 has a little gray in his beard. His clothing still has the old “cool streetwear” vibe, but he has a more sophisticated and older look. In this alternate reality, the Sinister Six have been able to flourish and take over the world. “We wanted to create a world where it felt like Aaron and Miles G. Morales [this reality counterpart to Miles Morales] are the only heroes.”

It's a much darker version of Miles' original home. So, we looked at comic book artists who epitomized that sort of noirish world - artists like Frank Miller, Sean Gordon Murphy, John Polygon, where there is heavy use of black and colors sort of recede behind the dark shadows. The powerless version of Miles is still capable and efficient and has great acrobatic and physical prowess. We also needed Miles to feel trapped in this dark world. We wanted to leave the audience with the burning question: ‘How is he going to get home?’ It was just exciting to see the development of this world to underscore all of these narrative choices we were making.”

[honey-bird10]

MAN I WAS ALREADY NOT HAVING A GOOD TIME MAKING THIS BUT THEN I NEEDED TO CHANGE SOMETHING AND THIS PROMPT CAME UP WHEN I TRIED TO SAVE IT YOU KNOW WHAT I THINK I'll JUST DIE

HERE IT IS WITHOUT THE PROMPT IF ANYONE CARES

[the-twst-cast-needs-therapy]

More (not really) Ultimate ability slander!

(Someone needs to enlighten me on the Diasomnia UMs since the wiki is pretty barren and I don't know them that well yet ;0;)

Part 1

Part 3

[tekatonic]

doodle i made on my brother's phone today

[autisticrosewilson]

"Oh Steph wouldn't like Jason just because they have similar backgrounds because he kills people/is a criminal/fights the bats!!"

This is in the 90's BEFORE he even tortured her. She doesn't go through with it, but she sees the evil he's capable of and its enough for her to justify it. She only doesn't because it "goes against what Batman taught her" but well.

That's the same man who would let her dad's friends infest her house for MONTHS until BLACK CANARY came to Gotham and handled it

A grown man who would go on to verbally degrade her, withhold the tools he gave everyone else, keep her intentionally isolated and then use her lack of resources against her.

So yeah. I'm sure Steph's faith in Batman and his teachings have wavered plenty. Just because DC casually discarded the way she was treated so she could play happy family with the boys, but she has NO REASON TO. Before she was aged down there was definite tension between her and Tim, and while Babs worked to get that relationship back, Bruce did no such thing. "Oh I'm just as proud of you as I was with the boys" when he thought she was dying doesn't fucking change how he treated her.

And of course, there's her own forray into betraying the family and being a criminal in The Next Batman series.

That's without getting into how she was compared to Jason, the way she watched a murdered east end kid be toted as another violent, reckless, idiot who didn't think and got himself killed.

"Oh but he tried to kill Tim!" First of all, you didn't read that comic. Jason was TESTING him, they were 2 years apart MAXIMUM, and Tim FOUGHT BACK. Jason gave him a little cut and a nose bleed that he slapped a bandage on and was fine. Damian also started his first meeting with Tim antagonistically and even though he was actively hostile to her, Steph still formed a close sibling bond. Her first meeting with Tim she threw a brick at him. He spent a not significant amount of time belittling her and telling her she wasn't cut out for hero work when she came back. This is the same guy who hallucinated Jason just so Jason could be like "Oh I got myself killed don't be like me!" Can we be real she doesn't give a shit. I guess you could count Hush but. I know they retconned it so that was Jason but when the fuck would he have had the time to do that between death, catanoia, the All-caste, and his murder tour.

Stephanie understands better than anyone that desperate circumstances lead to desperate people who do bad things. Stephanie understands being belittled and compared to a rich white boy who never had to fight to survive like you did. She understands being isolated from the hero community. She understands the evil that exists and the ways the system is corrupt, and that the bad guy never STAYS caught. And it's not like she has any big problem with people who kill, Babs said in 90's she would fucking LOVE Joker to drop dead and Dinah has killed multiple times. She literally switched places with Lady Shiva? These are both women Steph looks up to. You don't think Steph would feel any admiration at all for someone who gave Bruce a taste of what it feels like to be shown up? Someone who made Roman's life hell? Someone who made Tim put action behind his shit talking? An alley kid who came back and refused to be another statistic, who showed everyone who spent the last decade calling him stupid and reckless EXACTLY how cunning he can be? None? At all?

I just find it a little hard to believe.

[burningspicesaxe]

Pre corrupt shadowspice fam💔💔💔

[pineappical]

cooking lessons

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

so glad not to see any Skeleton War nonsense on my dash this year. such a dumb concept. as if the skeletons could ever not win, literally every human is a sleeper agent

[1-marigold-1]

"me and Tango never hold hands, we held eachother" - Jimmy 2024

[bjlipss]

— 00:48, nanami-sized hugs .

cw: fem reader, explicit smut, soft dom!nanami, body worship, oral (f receiving), teasing. nanami being so effortlessly sexy it’s rude, deep penetration, gentle roughness, creampie, aftercare, sleepy love, pillow talk

-> part 1 <-

you don’t know how long you stay like that—draped over him, curled up in the center of his warmth, pretending your body is enough to crush him under the weight of your love.

but eventually, his fingers start trailing lower.

not in a hurry. not even trying anything. he’s just tracing the curve of your spine, slow and steady, like he’s memorizing you with his hands. it feels good. grounding. his palm is so large, it nearly covers your entire lower back when he presses it there and holds.

you hum against his neck, shifting slightly to get more comfortable. except you end up wiggling your hips a little too much in his lap—and you feel it, the way his breath catches, the sudden tension that tightens in his thighs.

“hmm,” you say, a little too innocently. “did i just discover something interesting?”

his voice is low, patient. “i don’t think you’re playing fair anymore.”

“oh?” you blink up at him. “are there rules to this game?”

he gives you a flat look, but his ears are pink. “you said you were hugging me.”

“i am.” you scoot forward a little, purposefully letting your thighs bracket his. “just very enthusiastically.”

he exhales through his nose. “you’re a menace.”

“you love it.”

“unfortunately.” his hands settle on your hips, grounding you again. “be good.”

“define good.”

“don’t make me do it for you.”

oh. okay.

you squirm again, just to test him—and that’s when his hands tighten, not hard, but firm. final. the way he always gets when he’s had enough of your teasing and is two seconds from putting you exactly where he wants you.

you go still.

“see?” he says, voice dropping an octave. “you fit better when you behave.”

you blink, cheeks heating. “that’s so rude of you to say when i’m still trying to love you innocently.”

“there’s nothing innocent about the way you’re straddling me right now.”

“maybe i’m just thorough.”

“maybe you’re just asking for it.”

you fall into silence for a moment. you can feel his heartbeat under your palm, steady but quickening. the room has gotten warm. his touch hasn’t moved, but somehow it feels heavier, like the potential of his hands has your whole body buzzing.

“if i were asking for it,” you murmur, pressing your forehead to his, “how would i go about doing that?”

“carefully,” he replies, voice like honey and sin. “or not at all. i’m already listening.”

you let out a breathless little laugh. “you’re dangerous.”

“only with you.” he tilts his head and kisses the tip of your nose, then your cheekbone, then the edge of your jaw. “and only when you start it.”

you don’t say anything at first. you just wrap your arms tighter around his neck, tugging him in close until your mouths hover together, breath mingling.

“okay,” you whisper. “then let me start it properly.”

his lips curl in a soft, fond smile that promises everything.

his mouth brushes yours like he’s still deciding. like he’s savoring the option of kissing you before actually doing it. his hands stay where they are—resting calmly on your hips—but you can feel the electricity humming beneath his skin, ready to snap like a live wire.

“kiss me,” you whisper, breath soft against his lips.

and he does.

it’s deep. warm. slow. he kisses you like a man who knows he’s got all night. like he’s never going to get tired of the taste of you. like every flick of his tongue and press of his lips is just the beginning.

you whimper into his mouth when his fingers finally tighten around your waist again—pulling you closer, sliding down, down, until they rest low on your thighs. he drags you against him, just enough to feel the weight of his arousal press into the cradle of your hips.

your stomach flips. “kento…”

“mm.” he hums into your neck, trailing kisses down to your collarbone. “you wanted to manhandle me earlier, remember?”

“i—i was joking.”

“were you?” he bites gently at the base of your throat, right where your pulse jumps. “you’ve been squirming in my lap for the last ten minutes. rubbing that pretty little body all over me like you wanted something.”

you shiver. “i… yeah. okay. i did.”

he pulls back enough to look at you—his eyes dark, half-lidded, golden and slow-burning. “good,” he murmurs. “i like it when you’re honest.”

you blink up at him, dazed. “you’re so hot when you get like this, it’s unfair.”

his mouth twitches in the ghost of a smile. “when i get like what?”

“all serious and bossy. like you’re about to ruin me and pay my bills.”

his laugh is low and sinful, and he lifts you into his arms like it’s nothing—like you weigh nothing—and carries you toward the bedroom.

“i already pay your bills,” he says, kicking the door closed behind him. “i just haven’t ruined you yet.”

you cling to him, heart pounding. “are you about to?”

he lays you down gently, carefully, like you’re something precious. his voice is velvet-smooth. “oh, sweetheart,” he says, settling between your thighs, hands sliding up under your shirt. “you have no idea.”

the first thing he does is undress you like unwrapping a gift.

no rush. no harsh tugs. just his knuckles brushing reverently over every inch of exposed skin, fingers dragging slow lines over your sides and ribs, his gaze devouring every newly revealed inch of you with quiet reverence.

“so beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “you should see the way you look right now.”

you make a sound that’s half protest, half plea—but it turns into a gasp when he dips down, mouth hot and wet over your chest, his tongue circling a sensitive peak before he sucks it gently between his lips.

you arch under him, already trembling. he holds you still with one hand, the other trailing between your legs like he’s mapping you out, learning every twitch and flutter with greedy care.

“so responsive,” he says against your skin. “i barely touched you.”

“your voice is doing half the work,” you pant.

“good to know.” he kisses a line down your stomach, nosing at your waistband. “then you’ll fall apart the moment i put my mouth here, won’t you?”

you nod frantically. “please.”

he slips your bottoms off in one smooth motion, settles between your thighs, and kisses the inside of your knee—then your inner thigh—then closer, until his breath fans over you and you’re shaking.

his voice is low and reverent. “let me take care of you.”

and god, does he.

nanami eats you like he’s starving.

slow at first—deliberate—like he’s trying to memorize your taste, the way your body reacts to every stroke of his tongue. his hands pin your thighs apart gently, fingers squeezing just enough to remind you that you’re not going anywhere. he flicks, swirls, sucks—each motion fluid, patient, perfect—and every time you gasp, his eyes flutter shut like you’ve just fed him praise.

he moans into you when you cry his name, one hand sliding up to lace his fingers with yours. he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let you go. not even when you buck against his face or whimper that it’s too much—because his voice is there, grounding you, coaxing you through it:

“that’s it.”

“you’re doing so well for me.”

“give it to me, sweetheart. don’t hold back.”

you come with a cry, body writhing, legs shaking around his shoulders—and still he holds you, mouth gentle now, easing you down with slow licks and soothing kisses until you’re panting and pliant and utterly undone.

when he finally pulls back, lips slick and eyes dark, he crawls up over you, kissing your temple, your cheeks, your lips again.

“still want to manhandle me?” he teases, breathless.

you laugh weakly, dragging your hands through his hair. “you win.”

“i wasn’t playing to win,” he says softly, settling between your legs. “just wanted to love you properly.”

he kisses you slow after that. open-mouthed and heavy, like he wants to give you every part of himself through your lips. you taste yourself on his tongue— the warmth of it, the intimacy, makes your hips arch into him instinctively. he groans softly when your legs tighten around his waist.

“still with me?” he murmurs, brushing his nose against yours.

you nod. dizzy, floating. “yes. please.”

he leans back, just enough to strip off his own shirt. and god — he’s unreal. all lean muscle, soft golden skin, those strong shoulders and forearms you’ve admired a hundred times now laid bare in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. his belt comes undone next. then the quiet unzip of his pants. then the sigh of him settling fully between your thighs — thick, hard, flushed against your center.

you reach for him with greedy fingers. he smiles, lazy and fond, and rubs himself against you, slow and deliberate. “you’re already dripping. look at you.”

you whimper as the head of his cock slides against your folds, gathering slick, teasing your entrance. “don’t tease.”

“i’m not,” he murmurs, guiding himself into position. “i’m just enjoying my view.”

then — with a quiet groan — he presses in.

you both go still.

the stretch is slow. deep. he sinks in inch by inch, breathing through his nose like he’s trying to stay in control, because you’re so tight, so warm, and he’s so big it feels like he’s claiming a part of you no one else has ever touched. his fingers dig into your hips as he bottoms out, and when you whimper at how full you feel, he kisses your cheek and says, “i know, sweetheart. i know. just breathe.”

he gives you a moment — lets you wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his back — and once you start shifting against him, once you start needing more, he starts to move.

and it’s heaven.

his thrusts are deep and rhythmic — deliberate, rolling — more grind than snap. the kind of slow fucking that makes your whole body ache in the best way. his hands are everywhere — sliding up your thighs, gripping your ass, cupping your jaw like you’re something holy. and his voice, fuck, his voice is this low, reverent rumble right in your ear:

“so good for me.”

“you feel that? every inch of me, right here?”

“you take me so well, baby. fuck, just like that.”

“want me to fill you up, don’t you?”

you nod helplessly, whining as he rocks into you. “yes, god, yes— kento—”

he kisses you hard when you say his name like that, all breathless and wrecked. “you’ve got me,” he pants. “this—this is all for you. no one else gets this, do you understand me?”

you nod again, mouth open, eyes glassy. “just me. only me.”

his hips stutter a little, the first crack in his rhythm, and he curses under his breath. “gonna come,” he says, forehead pressed to yours. “fuck—gonna come inside you. want that, sweetheart?”

“want it so bad,” you breathe. “give it to me. fill me up.”

and with one last thrust — deep, hard, burying himself to the hilt — he groans your name and spills into you. thick and warm and endless. his whole body shudders above you, muscles trembling, voice breaking as he rides it out with slow, shallow thrusts that only push him deeper inside.

you’re panting. aching. boneless. still wrapped around him like a blanket, clinging to his shoulders as he rests there — still inside you — letting your breaths sync back up.

“fuck,” you whisper. “i’m gonna feel that for days.”

he laughs softly into your neck. “that was the idea.”

you smile, pressing lazy kisses to his temple, his cheek, his jaw. “i’m obsessed with you.”

he collapses over you slowly, like a warm weighted blanket. his body still trembles with the aftershocks of release, and for a few long moments, all either of you can do is breathe — hearts pounding together, chests pressed tight.

you’re still holding onto him. arms looped lazily around his back, fingertips tracing damp lines over the sharp slope of his shoulder blades. your thighs twitch around his hips, muscles fluttering from the way he filled you so deep you’re still stuffed full, his release thick and hot inside you.

nanami exhales against your skin, lips brushing your neck. “you okay?”

you nod into his shoulder. “more than okay. you ruined me.”

he lets out a low, soft chuckle — the kind he only makes when he’s completely relaxed, the warmth of it rumbling through his chest into yours. “good. that was the goal.”

he pulls back just enough to look at you.

his hair is a little messy — golden strands falling across his forehead, damp at the temples. his eyes are lidded, but alert, scanning your face with tender precision. his hand brushes over your cheek, knuckles dragging gently, thumb swiping under your eye like he’s wiping away tears that haven’t even fallen.

“you’re flushed,” he murmurs. “and dazed.”

“because you fucked the thoughts out of me.”

his brow twitches. “language.”

“you liked it when i begged!”

he pauses. “…i did.”

you grin up at him, utterly shameless, even with your legs still draped over his hips and the sticky mess of his release trickling from between your thighs.

“don’t move yet,” you whisper, honeyed tone reaching his ears. “i like the way you feel inside me.”

nanami’s eyes widen briefly and groans softly, kissing your collarbone. “you’re going to be the death of me.”

“you’re the one who did this to me.”

his hips shift slightly — just enough to make both of you gasp. his cock is still thick and warm inside you, softening gradually, but even that slight movement makes you tremble with overstimulation. you whimper softly, body clenching around him.

he curses under his breath and stills you with both hands. “easy. shh, I’ve got you. let me take care of you, baby.”

he pulls out gently, and it’s almost too much — the stretch of withdrawal, the emptiness after such fullness. his spend immediately begins to drip out of you, and he’s there instantly, catching it with his hand, smoothing his palm up between your thighs to soothe you.

“look at this,” he murmurs, reverent. “you’re leaking. made such a mess of you.”

you whimper, squirming at the sensation. “stop talking like that, i’ll get needy again.”

“you think i’d mind?” he leans in, kisses your stomach. “i’d have you again in a second. but right now, i need to clean you up or i won’t be able to think.”

you let him go, reluctantly, and watch as he pads toward the bathroom, naked, golden skin flushed pink and deliciously marked by your hands and mouth. he returns with warm towels and water and wipes you down gently, carefully — whispering little praises as he goes:

“so good for me.”

“you took all of me like it was nothing.”

“never seen anything more beautiful than you like this.”

he helps you into one of his softest tees and pulls a pair of clean briefs up your legs. he doesn’t rush a thing. every touch is careful, every glance full of quiet love.

when he finally tucks you back into bed and slides in beside you, he pulls you straight into his chest — your back to him, his front pressed firm and warm behind you, arms wrapped around your waist.

you feel the breath leave him in a contented sigh as his chin rests on your shoulder. “there. now i can rest.”

you reach back and run your fingers through his hair. “that was perfect.”

“you were perfect.”

you both go quiet, the soft ticking of the wall clock the only sound for a while.

then, you murmur, “hey, kento?”

“mm?”

“will you always hold me like this after?”

his voice is drowsy but certain. “every time.”

you smile. “even when we’re, like, old?”

“especially then,” he says. “you’ll always fit here.”

your heart twists and melts all at once.

he pulls the comforter up over both of you, humming faintly. you shift a little to nestle into him more deeply, and his arm tightens around your waist.

“i like this part,” you whisper.

“me too.” he kisses your temple. “but just so you know… if you wake me up in two hours asking for more, i won’t say no.”

you grin. “noted.”