What’s The Edit That Convinced You To Watch A Series? Here’s Mine:

Absolutely

THIS !!! YESSIRRRRRR

HE GOT BICURIOUS IN THE TIMELOOP !!!

Never let me go mentioned !!! I love that book <33

Thanks @mistressaccost for tagging me ♥︎

These are books I'm currently reading or started and didn't finish last year or last last year.

I'm the furthest through David Copperfield and The Well of loneliness.

I tag @meganatthefarm and @zqnl if they want to!

Gorgeous <333

What could’ve been. Classic speculative space art by Robert McCall

Favorite pre spiderverse 2 memes that turned out to be true

:0 absolutely reading this when I have the time 😁😁

[04.20.2100, 23:16]

Three months, ten days, eleven hours, and twenty-two minutes.

It has officially been three months, ten days, eleven hours, and twenty-two minutes since Miguel received the distress transmission from dimension TRN-38375277, and in a fit of impulsive urgency unbeknownst to him, left 928 without a trace.

This would have been a complicated, but still resolvable excursion; one Miguel estimated to be over in a few weeks. The Doctor Strange of this dimension had been influenced by the Dark Hold, raising his megalomania to new standards, and opened a rift in the sky— which melded “neighboring” dimensions as if the fabric of the multiverse were putty in his hands.

(An incident not unlike the collider of 1610.)

Miguel’s directive was to covertly establish his presence in that universe, fix the existing damage, send the stragglers home, then track down Strange and dispose of said dark power.

He did not expect SHIELD meddling, the demons, the possessions, the Spot’s recurrence, an unstable mutant girl making a wreck of everything, 616 Peter somehow getting briefly roped into this mess, LYLA being lost, and his watch going down.

By his estimate, it’s been roughly seventy-nine days since his last transmission, and seventy-eight of them were spent without a properly working gizmo. Any and all remaining function had been stuttering, just to keep his atoms stable and not much else. Even that was difficult, given he’d had to infiltrate this dimension’s Alchemax (which, of course, was the same cartoonishly evil corpo hell as the last one) just to pilfer parts to keep it alive.

This mission really couldn’t have gone any worse.

For all intents and purposes, he’s stuck in a dimension falling apart at the seams, forced to ally with the Spot to try to fix the hole in the sky (and get rid of the demons. Can’t forget the shocking demons), in an apartment owned by SHIELD with enough regulations and meddling to put the worst Nueva York landlord to shame.

(He despises how easy it was to meld back into Alchemax’s workforce, back to becoming a drone, even after all this time. He should’ve just Peter’ed it and kept sneaking in and outright stealing.)

(He’s tired. He’s so tired.)

His eyes, rimmed with dark circles from lack of sleep, are glued to the watch as if staring hard enough could somehow get it to work. His hands are moving quickly and carefully in a way that shows a learned diligence, but all the focus and care in the world can’t keep the agitation down as the watch continues to flicker and glitch like it’s mocking him.

"Come on… come on—”

He grits his teeth as the watch short-circuits again, nearly throwing it (maybe himself too) into the wall before he stops himself, inhaling slowly. He sets it down and scrubs a hand over his face. He knows he has to remain calm and keep working on the damn thing, but it’s so aggravating to watch his only way home keep flickering out like it’s mocking him.

He stretches again, and takes a few deep, grounding breaths to force himself into some vague resemblance of mental acuity to undo what he did and put the watch back to its (new) normal state— holding on by a prayer with only the ability to stabilize him. Absentmindedly, he takes a sip from an abandoned mug and grimaces at the taste.

(Cris would have made it better, his mind unhelpfully tosses at him.)

The cup is sat back down with a clatter just shy of too loud. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, this- this has to stop. No work's going to get done like this— postulating over everything in that endlessly spiralling, maddening way his mind is wont to do this late at night. No matter the fact that he is effectively stranded in another dimension, stuck with a bunch of cobbled-together variants with the intelligence of a brick between them, under both SHIELD and Alchemax's thumb.

Nor the fact that LYLA had been cut off sometime when his watch first went on the fritz, and she was his only connection left to the Spider-Society, or that he has no clue how aforementioned society is functioning without him, or if it is....

Familiar as an old friend, that sinking paranoia creeps up his spine. Miguel has never been away from HQ this long, much less without How are they managing? Were they managing? How is Jessica doing coming off maternity leave? Who's been doing the assignments? The recuiting? How far have things fallen without him to manage it?

With a grunt, he pushes himself off the bench ignoring how his joints protest and paces around his room like a caged tiger. This isn’t working. He isn’t working. All he’s doing is getting stressed and then getting stressed about being stressed.

It’s frustrating. Everything about this situation is frustrating: the way he keeps getting lost in his head, the fact that he’s not making any progress on the watch, this universe, the coffee.

But the thoughts just keep coming. Miguel could be dead for all the others were concerned, and the whole operation could have fallen apart because of it. They needs him, the multiverse needs the Spider-Society, who knows how things have fallen apart, or who replaced him—

—No.

This— Goddamnit. This has to stop.

He grits his teeth, turns in his mindless pacing, as if he could force his rapidly spiraling thoughts down by sheer will alone. This does not matter right now. It can’t matter. He has no time to be stewing in the worry and frustration and anger— the latter directed mostly at himself for being so careless and useless.

You’re getting off task. Focus. Fix the watch. Contact HQ, contact LYLA, go home—

… but God, he’s tired, and he can feel it seeping into the bones. Not the kind that gets mended by a nap, or even a day off, but the kind of weary that comes with over-working and over-thinking and over-pushing for far too long, like a broken leg that keeps being used.

(Just another thing on that long, long list he can’t afford to think about.)

Slumping back into his seat, he scrubs a hand down his face again, before looking up skyward, begging, begging for help to force his ever-abusive brain to focus; to be practical and logical and grounded in his own expertise to get the watch back online, or at least get some contact with HQ.

It… doesn't work. Of course it doesn't work. When had it ever?

Still, he has to do… something. Has to keep working and pushing and trying because when had something so trivial and superficial and unimportant as “Miguel Not Feeling Good” ever stopped him? He rubs his eyes to try to clear them and goes back to what at this rate might just be mutilating his poor watch’s guts.

A deep sense of exhaustion is starting to weigh down on him— the kind that not even the strongest, overpriced coffee could ever alleviate. There’s an ache forming around his temples, an early warning sign of a splitting headache to come if he doesn’t get his damn brain to shut up and do what it’s supposed to be doing right now.

He doesn’t notice his hands are shaking ever-so-slightly as he deftly dismantles his watch.

Miguel gets a solid twenty-five minutes of work in before the damned thing shorts out again, and his fingers twitch as his jaw clenches. It's infuriating how he can't seem to get anywhere with this watch, how he keeps failing, or how there's so many other failures waiting in the wings.

(A universe that doesn't exist anymore, the people who got hurt because of him, his shortcomings, his temper, his misuse of his duties as a leader...)

Stop that.

What is wrong with him? He’s been through worse; why is it getting to him now?

It’s the lack of control you have, a voice in his head that sounds like LYLA chimes in. You can’t stand for one single second being unable to anticipate every variable and every outcome and where everyone is.

And your self care is dogshit.

God, he misses her.

He shakes his head, trying to shake those thoughts out of it before they can go anywhere. He’s just tired; he has a headache, he’s been working on this damn watch for God knows how many hours at this point— it’s just… everything. He knows he just has to stay calm and focus, keep at it until he can find a way to fix this mess. He can do this. He can, he has. He just has to force himself.

He’s pulled himself through worse. He’s pulled himself though worse.

Miguel doesn’t know how, or when, or what he did, given his current two-seconds-away-from-a-nervous-breakdown state, but the gizmo’s display fizzles fully back to life, the golden glow a shocking godsend. For a split second, he can’t believe it. He almost thinks he’s seeing things, or hallucinating— the screen’s display has kept flickering in and out for months, so this seems just as well to be another trick of his mind, a cruel tease of hope.

But then the display stays consistent and un-glitching, and the disbelief turns into an instant flood of relief.

“No way…”

Miguel stares at the watch screen in what honestly might just be awe, before he lets out a huff of exhausted, disbelieving laughter. Finally, finally, something seems to be going right. Maybe he will go back to church, just this once.

Then he quickly starts to check the different functions— the vitals monitors, the communications, the cross-dimensional connections— it’s all there, everything’s all back, working fine (mostly fine, anyway.)

He has to take a second to just be grateful for this— a connection to the outside, a way back to HQ, to home, to LYLA. With trembling hands, he fumbles to enter a line of communication.

(If he tears up when he sees LYLA’s signature after so long, that’s between him and God.)

“Lyls, is my office clean? I’m coming home.”

Thank you for feeding me with this delicious content <333

Severance Fic Recs

Some Mark and Devon sibling stuff, a little Mark/Helly and a lot of Mark/Petey. Mind the tags on some of these. Will update as needed. Here we gooo

ephemeral green by fractions

just another wretched pawn by fauchevalent

Mark never learned how to take care of the plants. It wasn’t really something he’d thought much of. He’d glanced at Gemma spritzing the leaves, and sometimes, he’d been in the room while she trimmed or repotted them when they were ready. To him, she possessed some sort of connection to them that he didn’t understand. She had some mystical knowledge about what they needed and when they needed it. She was a caretaker. He is not. -- Mark tries to take care of Gemma's plants after her death. Pre-main series timline, informed by the events of 2x07.

An Item of Comfort by Honeybee_Bub

In the aftermath of ORTBO, each time Mark leaves work, he has been noticing tremors running through him. It's always brief and stops before the elevator even rises to the main level, so he pushes it off as a side effect of reintegration. Until one day, he finds himself quickly wiping his eyes from tears he never cried before Judd can see when the elevator doors open.

Suddenly, without prompting, Cobel speaks up. “To get in,” she says matter-of-factly, “you’ll have to pretend to be pregnant again. There’s a sweater under your seat, you’ll tuck it under your shirt.” “Are you fucking with me?” Devon asks, breaking out into sharp, surprised laughter. “Our plan is a fucking sitcom plot line? That’s how you’re getting us into the Lumon-branded fucking birthing cabins?”

apropos of the wet snow by wreckageofstars

[By the way: facing the wall, such gentlemen—that is, the “direct” persons and men of action—are genuinely nonplussed. For them a wall is not an evasion, as for us people who think and consequently do nothing; it is not an excuse for turning aside, an excuse for which we are always very glad, though we scarcely believe in it ourselves, as a rule. No, they are nonplussed in all sincerity. The wall has for them something tranquillising, morally soothing, final—maybe even something mysterious ... but of the wall later.]

The Hellebore Tonic by aelizel

Soon after Helly R. regains awareness, she nearly loses her body to a new threat.

Star Child by brilliantly

When Helly fucks around, Helena finds out.

Each Time I Think I’m Close To Knowing by five_rat_lore

“I don’t want to play those stupid, fucking games. I don’t want to list all the shit my outie knows, I don’t even want to think about it.” Dylan can’t remember his kids… but he also can’t forget how to be a father.

what remains is perfectly scattered by Princex_N

Mark is lucky, he knows it. He holds the thought in the center of his mind and tries not to forget it. He is here because he got lucky, because his sister loves him, and things could have been so much worse. Knowing that things could be worse, though, doesn't really change the fact that they're still really fucking hard.

replace/repair by kuragin

“I’m not your new Petey,” Helly says, turning to leave. Mark catches her by the wrist; feels her tense under his grasp. “Hey. Wait.” (or: before the goats, Mark and Helly actually have a real conversation)

Goodbye Party by ReneDherbley

Mark doesn’t really know what it’s supposed to be like, but he guesses his outie’s been to a funeral before, and for some reason he can’t shake off the feeling of wanting to run away. Why did they even have to make such a big deal out of Irving’s dismissal? It’s not like he’s actually dead. Or: Mark realizes what happened to Petey through reintegration sickness

between where we are and we've been by Princex_N

"Hey, kid," Irving says, voice pitched down soft in the dark. "How are you holding up?" A moment between Irving and Mark, after Mark gets out of the break room in Half Loop

april, come she will by passingafternoon

Life finds a way, even on the severed floor. Seasons change and plants grow. Even Lumon can't stop flowers from blooming. (In which Dylan solves a mystery, Mark finds a leaf, Irving falls in love, Helly makes a list, and Petey dreams of spring.)

Don't Swallow The Cap by WhovianB

After Helly attempts to get a message to her Outie, Mark recalls an unpleasant experience. “Hey, Mark? Could you answer a question?” “Sure.” “What the fuck did they do to you?”

Why Are You Saying That Like You Hate It? by EightMinutesToSunrise

Helly asks who she's replacing. No one really wants to answer her.

compress/repress by kuragin

He wished his innie was there so he could choke him to death. Wished he could thank his outie for doing what he could and break his nose for doing it wrong. But it didn’t matter anymore, he realized, because they were both just him. Mark gets reintegrated. There's a lot to catch up on.

Carried Over by Kaeyes

Mark's friendship with Petey gets off to a rocky start.

Waves by ProfessorTumblesworth

"We're friends. I'm the friend with the least to lose."

inside out, outside in by hiljainen

He can talk to Petey in a way he can’t talk to the others. He can tell Petey just about anything and trust that he’ll get it. Or at least won’t be weird about it. Maybe that does make him Mark’s favourite. That’s okay, though, isn’t it? It’s okay to have a best friend. It’s normal. He’s lucky to have a best friend. ——— A what-if/fix-it-ish canon divergence, where Petey doesn't die.

he ain’t heavy, he’s my brother by cassiandor

”If anything happened to you,” Devon mumbles into his neck, “you know I would just have to invent time travel to bring you back, right?” Mark lets out a watery laugh, his arms tightening around her. “I know you would,” he says. “I know.” Devon and Mark, through the years.

when the sun hits by Anonymous

Devon looks at Mark and, for a moment, she sees a six-year-old sniffling miserably as she carefully cleans his scraped knee; she sees a seven-year-old weeping over the makeshift grave for their dead dog; she sees a ten-year-old proudly showing her the handful of worms he dug up from the front yard. And then she blinks and the world refocuses to the present: adult Mark, wan and motionless on the couch.

incandescent by beamkatanachronicles

"How many Lumon employees does it take to change a lightbulb?"

undying flower by brutalizer

Gemma Scout is alive.

when you met the new you (did someone die inside?) by Princex_N

The bad thing isn't coming for him from somewhere outside of the office, it's already found its way inside of him. The rest of Mark S.'s workday, after the nosebleed stops.

the spins by jam (discojams)

Mark S. opens his eyes and steps out of the elevator onto the severed floor. He cocks his head. The room is slowly, slowly tilting. His stomach is a bit sour, but he feels happy, giddy, warm. He’s excited to see his coworkers, and he suddenly has an overwhelming urge to apologize for being such a dick these past few weeks. He really does like them. Mark Scout knows better than to drive to work drunk. He does it anyways.

remember when you and i would make things up? by Princex_N

His outie, his other self, whatever — he's not a good liar, he wears everything on his sleeve, flaunts it even, and forgets to pay attention to who is over him, watching it all, and what they could do to him. He's not a good liar, but Mark is; it's an important skill, and by now Mark can do it on instinct. Even like this. Especially like this. Mark is fine. He's barely even dizzy, this time. 

open invite by jam (discojams)

Around 11:00AM, Mark clears his throat, stands up, shoves his hands in his pockets, and locks himself in the supply closet. Mark S. gets an erection at work. Petey helps him out.

aftermath by eclipsj

“Mark,” Helly breathes. A wave of revulsion knocks over her, the thought of her body doing things that she wasn't there to witness. “Did you... did she…” She swallows, forcing herself to finish the sentence. “Did you kiss me? When I was her?” Mark finally looks up at her, something straining at his face. His eyes are tinged red, wet. The muscle in his jaw pulls, twitches. He opens his mouth. Closes it. “Worse,” he chokes out. A part of her already knows it's true. "Oh god," Helly says. //after episode 5, Helly and Mark deal with the fallout of him having sex with Helena. Helly tries to reclaim her body in a possibly less-than-healthy way

To Feel Many Other Ways by five_rat_lore

Mark S. experiences the effects of reintegration, haunted by Mark Scout’s memories, suffocated by his outie’s grief and anger. Luckily Helly is there to keep him grounded.

WIP :))

Making an invincible oc for fun :) Kind of a self insert but yea :p I don't have a superhero name yet but I do know her powers! Her temporary name is Jay and she has the ability to control the density of the air around her, so she can turn it solid or liquid (which, now that I'm thinking about it, could also mean she can control water in the atmosphere??). It's still a WIP so yea ^_^ I think she would just be in Teen team or Guardians of the Globe, but no relationships with any character (she definitely would be friends with the team tho).

Im exited to work more on her when I have the time :))

<333

Plsss 😭😭 I need this

I BETTER get some content talking about what the FUCK was going through Aaron’s mind when he first saw our Miles.

Like. This is a world where the sinister six basically rule the place. That’s his nephew but… wrong. And then it began pretending to be his nephew to his face.

He wouldn’t be seeing a scared or confused kid. He’d be seeing some uncanny unknown thing pretending to be one of the most important people to him.