Me-needs-therapy - Diti🥀

Arcane as unhinged posts 3/?

Part 2

fully obsessed with him and his teeth

No matter what happens in The Stolen Heir, always remember, Oak was canonically a leash kid

Scarlet Witch! By artist @iminpainrz on Twitter.

Inspired by her Romani Heritage.

It’s here. It’s yours, it’s mine, it’s ours. It’s an album I wrote alone about the whims, fantasies, heartaches, dramas and tragedies I lived out as a young woman between 18 and 20. I remember making tracklist after tracklist, obsessing over the right way to tell the story. I had to be ruthless with my choices, and I left behind some songs I am still unfailingly proud of now. Therefore, you have 6 From The Vault tracks! I recorded this album when I was 32 (and still growing up, now) and the memories it brought back filled me with nostalgia and appreciation. For life, for you, for the fact that I get to reclaim my work. Thank you a million times, for the memories that break our fall. 💥🐉🏰  Speak Now (MY VERSION!) is out now. 

http://taylor.lnk.to/SpeakNowTaylorsVersion

PC: Beth Garrabrant 

No matter what happens in The Stolen Heir, always remember, Oak was canonically a leash kid

My miguel artwork sketch v. colored. Really love both versions!

Get prints and stickers of the colored version HERE

This is why I love each of them (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

when you really think about it, each and every Crow is fucking terrifying. Kaz cut out a man's eye. Jesper can manipulate bullets and kill you from a mile away. Inej could be standing behind you with a knife pointed at your head and you wouldn't know. Matthias used to hunt grishas with a wolf by his side. Nina is a corpse witch, and even before that, she could explode a man's heart with pure willpower. And even Wylan, the "nicest, softest" one, made a bomb using Lumia, liquid fire, and an acid that could melt everything on its way. We see them as a cute little friend group, but other people think of Crows and probably have chills going down their spine.

Miguel: You can't just adopt two other Spider-men from other multiverses!

Otto: You did.

Miguel: WHAT?!

Norman: Kind of hypocritical if you ask me.

Miguel: I DID NOT ADOPT ANY SPIDER-PEOPLE!

Otto: *Grins while pointing with one of his actuators* Uh-huh and who are they?

Miles, Gwen, Pavitr, and Hobie: *Remaking the lego death star with Peter 1, 2, and 3*

Miguel: That. They're not-! Those aren't my kids! I'm just their mentor!

Norman: *Drinking his coffee while reading* That's how it always starts.

Miguel: *Growing his claws and fangs out* THEY ARE NOT MY KIDS!

Otto: Then who made those four bracelets on your writs?

Miguel: *Looks at his wists to see four bracelets saying ToSpiderdad, #1Padre, #1AuthorityFigure, and GreatestPapa:)*

Otto: *Waiting for a response*

Miguel: I-... It was a gift! That- This doesn't-!

Norman: *Still reading* Welcome to the father figure club, O'Hara.

Miguel: *Growls, clenching his fists* Cállate!

Business Marriages

part 1

sherlock x fem!reader (lime: MMMM MAKE OUT)

this takes place after a few months of the first part

“This is a bit stupid,” you said suddenly, startling your friend who was busily fixing your hair in front of the vanity.

“What’s stupid?” she asked, “This is your wedding day, and the groom’s handsome is he not? I thought you always said you wanted to marry someone handsome and smart,”

“Yeah but not under these circumstances,” you sighed, eyes skimming the surface of the vanity mirror, taking in the beauty reflected into your eyes.

“What circumstances?” she looked at you confusedly, and you shake your head, “Not one you need to worry your pretty little head about,”

She huffed, “Okay,” and went back to fixing your hair. You looked at yourself in the mirror again, glancing from your dress to your fixed face. An ivory dress, wrapped around your body with a slit that ran up your thigh. Your face, almost unrecognizable.

You looked to your side, earning a small scolding from [B/F/N] for turning your head so suddenly, to look at the veil that rested on the couch. A princess veil with laces sewn at the rim. It seemed itchy.

Suddenly, your door was thrown open and you snapped your head over to the entrance. It was your mother, teary-eyed with a bouquet of flowers in hand. Your father was by the door frame, leaning and proudly smiling at his daughter.

“Mom, you-” you were cut off by your mother throwing herself on you. You hugged her back without hesitating, squeezing her as tight as you could.

“You didn’t tell us you were marrying!” she bawled, “I’m sorry we made you feel like you couldn’t marry Mr. Sherlock!”

“I,” you pondered for a bit, nervously crafting up an excuse in your head and discarding it, “Forgot,”

[B/F/N]  stared at you in disbelief, “How could you have forgot to tell your own parents?!”

“Don’t worry, [B/F/N]—[N/N] has always been a very forgetful person,” your father waved his hand.

“Is the wedding starting?” [B/F/N] asked, picking up the veil on the couch.

“Yeah, I just wanted to see my baby all grown up,” your mother smiled sweetly at you and you smiled back. With that, your parents left the bride’s room and let [B/F/N] finish dressing you up, which wasn’t much.

She draped the veil over your head and adjusted it a bit, before stepping away to view the final product. You looked marvelous, honestly, and you always have but now, you looked even more marvelous.

“Ready?” she asked.

“No,” you answered.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

The piano chimed, music bouncing off the walls of the church the wedding was held in. You, for one, didn’t want a wedding in a church but your boss was incredibly insistent.

Your arm was interlocked with your father’s, your view in front tainted with white due to the veil. It wasn’t long before your veil was lifted and folded back, showing a more clear view of your soon-to-be husband.

Black, messy curls and blue eyes, stern as can be, glaring at you up and down. You smiled, facing the old priest that stood before you two. As the priest began to speak, so did you and Sherlock’s quiet conversation.

“Not a very religious dress,” Sherlock whispered.

“I’m not the one who insisted on a wedding in a church,” you whispered back.

“Your boss again?” he inquired, “Do you ever disobey him?”

“A few times and it’s not a very savoury thing, just wait until this dumb case is over,” you huffed.

“If I knew it was so much trouble, I never would’ve took it,” he hissed.

“What’s up your ass today?” you asked, eyes darting to his figure.

“Fuck you,” he scowled.

“Fuck you too,” you answered sweetly, a smile on your lips.

The priest cleared his throat, eyeing the two of you. You played it innocent, looking down at your bouquet of various white flowers whereas Sherlock stared back at him.

“Do you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, take her, [Y/N] [L/N], to be your lawfully wedded wife, in bad, in sickness, and in health?” asked the priest.

You snickered at his full name, him casting you a harsh glare before saying his answer in a nonchalant, bored tone, “I do,”

“And do you, [Y/N] [L/N], take him, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, to be your lawfully wedded husband, in bad, in sickness, and in health?” the priest turned to you.

“I do,” you replied simply, with no hesitation and no decipherable tone.

Sherlock took the smaller wedding band from the plush cushion atop the hold, sliding it on your finger impatiently. You took his, taking his hand in yours and sliding it on.

“By the power vested in me by God and man, I pronounce you wife and husband. What God has joined together, let no man put asunder. You may now kiss the bride,” the priest finished.

You faced him and witth a very, very playful smirk, leaned in and caught his lips. Upon pulling away, you were greeted by the shocked face of Sherlock Holmes, unaware that you really would kiss him.

You hummed, locking your arm and his, “Shall we go now?”

“Very well,” he seemed to have regained his consciousness and dragged his feet along the red carpet laid over the floors of the church.

Outside, you turned your back and with a sigh, you threw the bouquet over your head. Then, you charged into the limousine parked before you with Sherlock being dragged behind by yours truly.

Resting inside the air-conditioned limo, Sherlock couldn’t help but ask, “How did you rent this?”

“Boss,” you shrugged.

“What’s next?” he asked again.

“Wedding reception so nobody suspects we’re just marrying for work,” you huffed, taking off your veil and pumps.

“Is it necessary?” he questioned.

“You ask a lot of question, Holmes,” you scowled, “Yes, because I’m sure you’re smart enough to understand why,”

“I have to dress smartly for it?” he asked before you gave him one of your ‘please stop’ smiles.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said.

“Like what?” you mumbled, ruffling your hair and loosening it from all the hair gel and tight ties.

“Like you’re done with me,” he scooted away to give you some space, “Do you have nicotine patches?”

“Somewhere, probably, tucked in a compartment, find it yourself,” you waved your hand, excusing him.

He did as told, opening and closing compartments in the seats just to find his nicotine patches. He looked back at you, “There aren’t any,”

You groaned, opening the compartment beside you and digging into the thin sections, searching for some patches. You eventually took out 5, throwing it to him.

He caught it perfectly, “Thank you,”

“You’re welcome,” you huffed, shutting the compartment.

You watched as he took off his suit jacket and throwing away his tie. Soon, he had his dress shirt unbuttoned, displaying his though lanky, nicely built body. You looked away nervously as a poor attempt to not invade his privacy.

“What? We’re married, aren’t we?” he asked, placing 4 nicotine patches on his body.

“We’re not close enough for this,” you closed your eyes, leaning into the leather seats of the limousine.

“What makes you think that?” he breathed, and you felt something trap you in. When you opened your eyes, you gasped in shock due to how close Holmes was.

His hands trapped you, his body hovering over yours and his face so, so close to yours. He smirked, “You kissed me, that’s an indication that we’re close enough,”

“That’s not true I just did it so-” you were cut off by his groan, “Yes, yes, I know, so people won’t be skeptical, all that,”

As soon as he finished that sentence, he kissed you immediately. His chapped lips pressed onto your colored ones. When he pulled away, all you could see was red on his lips, all you could feel was red rushing to your cheeks.

“Holmes, what-” he kissed you again, pulling away soon enough.

“Oh, so that’s how it is,” you chuckled annoyedly, hands grabbing his collar and pulling him in, forcing your lips on his.

He took you by the waist and flipped you, now he was sitting and you were on his lap. His hands were still gripping on your waist and your hands around his neck.

His and your lips moved in sync, fierce and full of aggravated passion. Your right hand slowly reached in to stroke his cheek while the kiss continued with no stops. Oxygen was suddenly very desirable.

You both parted, the pants filling the empty limousine. Your right hand still on his cheek, your left hand left to skim over his chest. It didn’t take him long to crave the taste of you again, so he did what he wanted.

His teeth dug into your bottom lip, tearing the skin slightly. Blood oozed out, the stinging pain shooting through your flesh like electricity. You let out a small squeak, the latter taking it as an opportunity to shove his tongue inside your mouth.

Just then, the door swung open. The chauffeur, unknowing of you and Sherlock’s scandalous acts, turned his head in a split second to admire the marble imperial staircase.

“Sorry,” you excused yourself, climbing down from him and swinging your veil on.

“I’m not,” he added, climbing out of the limo with you, dressed in mostly his suit jacket and his tie hung around his arm.

“Sherlock,” you sternly addressed him, strutting in front of him before his arm held yours, only for him to lead you into the hotel.

You rolled your eyes. This man, I swear to god.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

You huffed, finally able to rest your legs after countless of ‘thank you’s to people you don’t even know. Sherlock sat beside you with a groan, “I’d really rather be out there solving some crime right now but I’m stuck in this wedding reception,”

“I agree,” you sigh, “Do you want to ditch it?”

“This is our wedding reception,” he looked at you.

“Doesn’t deny the fact that the couple can ditch the reception, it can be masked as some private time with eachother,” you winked.

“Just say sex,” he huffed.

“It’s not fun like that,” you hummed, “Welp, do you want to ditch this or not?”

“…It’s not a wedding without some crime-solving,” he simply answered, and stood. He pulled you up and you two left the venue, hands intertwined and ready to dirty the expensive clothing you both wore with blood.