#:: taking the shot. :: musings. ::

[thehotpilot]

what a relationship might and could look like could also just mean that buck is learning what a relationship with a man looks like for the first time..every lasting couple on the show has had their moment of what does this look like going forward, and what if it doesn’t? i personally think it’s a good indicator that a lot of thought is going into the relationship from a storytelling perspective, and whatever end will be treated with care for buck (and tommy)

[mappingthesky]

not a prompt necessarily but I’m always down for planymphia angst 🙏🙏🙏

in response to multiple asks i’ve received for planymphia angst… here is this <3

i know baby, no attachment

None of this had been in the plan.

It was the first thing they’d talked about that first night in Jane’s apartment; Neither of them were looking for anything serious. They were both unavailable, incapable of making any promises. Not now. Not yet. It would be clean, simple, no strings attached. Just two people using each other. Innocently, admittedly using each other, but using each other nonetheless.

They’d been on the couch in Jane’s dimly lit apartment. Jane was an obvious sort of gorgeous. It was the first thing Nymphia had noticed about her, what drew her in on that first night they’d met: she’d been wearing something meant to lure you in, hypnotized by the clinging of her clothes to her body, the wave of her hair, her eyes tightlined and sharpened like knives. Jane was almost lethal to look at, all done up and primed to kill; the most magnetic friend-of-a-friend Nymphia had ever been introduced to. She was somehow even more gorgeous now, sitting on the couch in her casual clothes, her face aglow in the light of the television, her auburn hair pulled up into a messy top knot. She was painfully, effortlessly attractive, and, much to Nymphia’s surprise, only so much of a smooth talker. She came off suave at first, all punchlines and quick remarks, but after a while Nymphia could start to see her thinking. Jane would be in the middle of a sentence, flying through it, hurtling towards some revelation, and then she’d catch herself. She’d pause, freeze on a word and scoff at it, like she was considering whether whatever she was about to say would be worth the sentiment. And then she’d go a bit shy, averting her eyes and playing with the pilling on the upholstery, giving away just how carefully considered she was. And just when Nymphia was starting to think that Jane was completely nervous to her core, that Nymphia might actually have the upper hand in this situation, Jane would bring it back. She’d pick her head up and let the words go, say something so stunningly direct and devastating. It left Nymphia a little breathless, a little too endeared, a little too eager to kiss her.

They could have guessed at the chemistry, but it didn’t come close to the real thing.

What happened when Jane’s skin hit Nymphia was the sort of collision that produced suns and planets and supernovas, flinging particles off into space with enough pressure to form entire worlds. Nymphia could practically see the stars behind her eyes, fluttering shut when Jane was hovering above her, hand between her legs, finding some undiscovered place that Nymphia didn’t know had been there all along, waiting to be found. Jane turned Nymphia’s body into something more than it was before, transforming her irrevocably. Jane was a comet crashing through her atmosphere, and Nymphia was awe-struck, staring at the sky and watching the sparks shower. You can’t be prepared for such life-altering things, it's what makes them so devastating.

What neither of them could have predicted was the ease of what came after - the lying in bed, talking about it. The debrief. Nymphia was a bit too happily fucked, and unwilling to share the extent of her satisfaction. She was worried she would come off easy, inexperienced somehow. Jane, however, was endlessly attentive. She wanted Nymphia’s experience of the encounter, all the details - what she liked, what satisfied her the most, what she wanted more of. Her sheer desire to please was enough to pull the details out of Nymphia. She was rewarded when Jane allowed her to relive it, this time through Jane’s eyes. Jane’s gaze was far off with remembering, a smile playing at her lips as she recounted her experience of Nymphia in such erotic detail, every telling arch and shudder, and the whole thing was so overwhelmingly flattering that it sort of made Nymphia want to do it all over again.

Nymphia had known better than to pack an overnight bag. She thought she had, anyway.

Her eyes were closed and she was nearly asleep when she’d mumbled, ‘I should be going soon.”

Jane just chuckled. “You’re half asleep already.” Her fingers trailed up the curve of Nymphia’s thigh. “Just spend the night. If you want to.”

Nymphia's eyes were suddenly open, “Yeah?” Jane traced stars onto her hip.

“Mhm,” Jane hummed, eyes flickering up, then back to the curve of Nymphia’s waist.

Nymphia closed her eyes, savored in the feeling of Jane on her skin. A long moment passed.

“D’you cuddle? Or is that against the rules.”

Jane’s hum was an amused look at you asking so soon. She was already pulling Nymphia to her chest.

That first night turned into a three-day sleepover, because of course it did. Nymphia and Jane stretched themselves over the long arc of the weekend, sharing the sort of welcome, unexpected ease that you can’t put down, the kind that you’ll happily destroy your routine over and resign yourself to picking up the pieces after the fact. One weekend became another, and then occasional nights at Nymphia’s apartment with the door shut and her duvet crumpled at the end of the bed. And then they added the weekday rendezvous: Nymphia meeting Jane at her place after work on Thursday evenings, promising not to keep her up late and failing miserably, leaning her head on Jane’s shoulder in the morning as she locked the door on her way out. And then Nymphia was bleeding into Jane’s week, her Tuesdays and Wednesdays, her breakfasts and dinners, her late-night ice cream cravings and subsequent walks to 7-11. And then it was all too regular: Nymphia and Jane, Jane and Nymphia.

It's been a few months now, and there are so many things Nymphia loves about Jane.

She loves how Jane drives with one hand on her thigh, or with her fingers in her mouth. How she looks over to the passenger seat with that special look that's reserved just for Nymphia, and makes her feel like the only person she's ever wanted. She loves how she listens to her music loud, sings along when she’s drunk and tossing her hair, or when it's Sunday morning and she’s at the stove and there’s a record spinning in the living room. Nymphia loves how unabashed Jane is, how bold. How she never hesitates when it comes to the people in her life, how to be loved by Jane is to be fiercely defended by her. Nymphia loves how Jane kisses her in the middle of her sentences, especially when she's talking too much. She loves that Jane is so rough. How she can fuck her like she hates her. She loves how Jane can be so tender. How she can fuck her soft and slow, as reverent as religion. How Jane can make a mess of her, then put her back together again.

There are so many things Nymphia hates.

She hates that Jane is so impulsive, how she strikes so thoughtlessly, how she has to return to the wounds later to draw the venom out of them. How Jane is so stubborn, so set in her ways, so inflexible. How there’s two Janes - the one she’s with now, the one she is around her friends. The one who doesn’t kiss her, hardly touches her aside from a possessive arm around her shoulder or a tap on her knee. How the real Jane, Nymphia’s Jane, emerges as soon as they’re alone together, the one who will see her downturned gaze on the way home and coo what can I do, princess? Hmm? What can I do to see that pretty smile? Nymphia hates that she forgives Jane so easily, that she crumbles every time, that she loves Jane completely and entirely and beyond any measure of hurt that she could unknowingly inflict upon her.

She hates that she’s still sitting at this party, long after Jane promised they’d leave. She hates that Jane’s friends clearly like her; they laugh at Nymphia’s jokes, compliment her shoes, send knowing glances and winks across the room every time Jane so much as mentions her name. She hates how, when they ask what they are, Jane is all too quick to brush them off.

It's obvious that Nymphia’s upset by the way she pounds up the stairs, by the way she wordlessly digs through her purse for her keys, by the way the anger and the hurt and the disappointment emanate from her like poison.

“I just can’t believe they asked that,” Jane scoffs. Nymphia says nothing, gritting her teeth as she turns the key in the lock.

It should be obvious, but Jane is a bit too self-absorbed to notice.

“Like, we don’t even know what we are,” Jane says, and Nymphia feels sick, because she thought she did. “Why would she put me on the spot like that? In front of everyone?”

Nymphia pushes into the apartment, beelining for the kitchen.

“I mean, it was weird, right?” Jane continues, relentless. “Why do they need to know so bad?”

“Yeah,” Nymphia’s voice is hard, laced with venom. She chucks her keys onto the counter with a little too much force. “Why would they?”

“Right,” Jane doesn’t notice. “It would be nice if they could just let us-“

“I don’t know why they could possibly be so confused.” Nymphia interrupts, working off her thigh-highs.

Jane misses a beat. “Wait. Are you-“

“I can’t fucking imagine why they’d think that we’re together.” Nymphia lets her boots drop to the floor, one gut-wrenching smack after the other.

Jane blinks, brows knit together. Nymphia straightens up, fumbles with things on the counter that don’t need to be fumbled with. “Are you upset about this?”

“Why would I be upset?” Nymphia picks up a stray mug, sets it down again. “You just told all of your friends that we’re nothing serious. Why would I ever be upset about that, Jane?”

“I didn’t say that, Nymph,” Jane starts, already on the defense. “I said that we’re something.”

“Oh, right. My bad.” Nymphia scoffs. “We’re something. Let me know when you’re ready to illuminate me on whatever the fuck that means, Jane.”

Jane recoils at Nymphia’s profanity, unfamiliar with her frustration. She’s never seen her like this- so hurt, so ready to retaliate.

It's not funny. Jane shouldn’t laugh. She really shouldn’t, but she’s viscerally uncomfortable and horrifically unprepared for this situation, so she does anyways. “Are you really angry about this?”

The whole thing is white hot and embarrassing, and Nymphia has tears in her eyes when she turns and whips her purse to the floor.

Jane jumps. “What the fuck?” She’s wide-eyed, both hands held up in shock. “Nymphia. Are you serious right now?”

“I don’t know Jane,” Nymphia bites. “Are you serious?”

“What?”

“I kinda thought you might be,” Nymphia steps over her bag. “Y’know, because you cut me a key to your fucking apartment. I thought maybe that constituted we were more than,” she curls her fingers in the air, “something”.

Jane shakes her head, jaw tight and temple pulsing. When she speaks, it's in a lower voice, almost ashamed. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“You never want to talk about it!” Nymphia’s voice cracks, a desperate wail. Jane’s mouth opens, already halfway towards defending herself until she looks at Nymphia and sees her bottom lip quivering, the spilling over of her tears. Jane looked back with a concerned, almost panicked expression, lips frozen and slightly parted.

“Do you love me, Jane? Do you even fucking like me?”

Nymphia surprises herself with the question. She’s so amped up, so high on adrenaline that she lets it all out- the culmination of weeks of words she’d bitten back, suddenly pouring forth from where they’d been collecting in a lump in her throat.

“No, seriously, do you? Because I can’t fucking tell. I think you do, because- because you say all these beautiful things, and you spend so much time with me, and you take such good fucking care of me. So you must fucking love me, right? But when your friends ask, I have to sit there and listen to you tell them that we’re something. Like it’s so fucking confusing to you. Like it's a goddamn secret. Do you know what that feels like?”

Nymphia is fully pacing now, walking the length of the kitchen over and over again. Jane follows her with wincing, pained eyes.

What Nymphia hates, more than anything, is that she doesn’t hate Jane at all. Not for any of it.

“I’m fucking in love with you, Jane, alright?” Nymphia whines, hands whipping through the air with frustration. “I’m so in love with you, and everybody fucking knows it. Your friends, my friends, my mom, everyone! But no one seems to have any goddamn clue if you love me too. And you know what? I’m not sure if I do, either.”

When she finally expels the last of the words from the hole in her heart, Nymphia looks up through her tears. She can barely stomach the sight of Jane, lips parted and wordless, unsure of what to do with the outpouring of Nymphia’s heart. She stares at her, eyes twisted in pain, then looks to the ground, like Nymphia’s words have slid off her and collected in a puddle at her feet. Nymphia just cries, a pained and exhausted whimper on her lips as she pushes past Jane and into the living room. She collapses on one end of the couch, pulling her knees to her chest and hiding her face behind one hand, hot tears sliding down her cheeks and into her mouth.

Jane stands in the center of the room with her back turned, still facing the phantom of Nymphia’s words that may very well haunt her kitchen forever. Her head is spinning, because how the fuck did this happen. Nymphia is openly sobbing behind her, and the sound is so gut-wrenching that Jane is nauseated.

Nymphia makes a horrible, shuddering gasp for air and Jane finally breaks, crossing the room and dropping to her knees on the floor where Nymphia sits. She doesn’t even look at her, just sobs, and Jane can physically feel her heart fucking breaking.

“Nymphia,” she says, placing her palm on Nymphia’s knee. “Nymph. Hey.”

Nymphia shakes her head, face contorted with tears. She flinches at Jane’s hand like it fucking hurts, and Jane winces as the guilt slices through her. She exhales a sharp puff of defeat and drops her head in hurt.

Nymphia just cries and cries, and the reality of the situation sinks in Jane’s stomach with every sob. She’s sick to her stomach with concern, worried that Nymphia might actually fucking hyperventilate, and then she’s gently begging the girl to breathe. She goes to reach for Nymphia again and pauses, scared to reach out, scared to hurt Nymphia, scared that she’ll recoil from her again. It’s then that Jane knows, for the first time in all of her life, what she wants. She knows, right as it threatens to slip out of her hands.

“I’ve never done this before.”

Jane hears her own voice. Her words hang in the air for a moment, floating like smoke between Nymphia’s shaky, shattered breaths. Jane looks up.

“This,” she says, a tentative hand on Nymphia’s knee. “What you and I have. I’ve never-”

The words are hard for Jane to stomach. They don’t pour out like Nymphia’s do. They catch in her throat, feel wrong in her mouth. She’s not sure they’ll be enough.

“I’ve never had this with anyone,” she says. “I’ve never wanted to. Not until now.”

Nymphia wipes at her eyes, shudders a bit as her breathing quiets.

“I, um,” Jane glances down, scared to look. “I don’t know how.”

Nymphia finally looks at Jane, so small and nervous and crumbling at her feet. She wants to take her hand, to show her, to be endlessly patient even if it kills her. The desire is so enormous, even now. She almost hates herself for it.

“I know I’m fucking it up,” Jane says to the floor, her voice tiny and wavering. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that.”

“I just need to know,” Nymphia whispers.

Nymphia swallows hard, and then Jane looks up and its so fucking harrowing, so moving, because Nymphia can see the guilt in her eyes, the desire, the glimmer of words she can’t figure out how to say. She watches as she considers, catches herself, lets it go.

“I do.” Jane says. Nymphia’s heart plummets, because she knows what she means.

“I don’t want to say it now,” Jane says. “I don’t want it to be an apology. I want you to know I mean it. Is that okay?”

Nymphia nods and Jane mutters over and over I do, I do, you know I do.

It's beautiful and tragic and overwhelming, and Nymphia wants to crash into Jane, to merge together and surpass the need for words entirely. It's too soon to know yet if it's for better or for worse, only that she does it - that she reaches out and takes Jane’s hand.

“I don’t know if I’ll be any good at it.” There’s a hint of a smile on her lips, a bit of Jane laughing at herself. “But I want to try.”

Nymphia just nods and feels more tears streaming down her cheeks, and Jane’s crying too, and then they’re crashing into each other. Nymphia is leaning down and throwing her arms around Jane, who is sitting forward and clinging to her like she’s scared to let her go. Like she caught a shooting star in her bare fucking hands.

It's a whisper against her hair, but Nymphia hears it. “Can I try again?”

Nymphia could hate herself for it for all of forever. She’s prepared to. Jane doesn’t know what she’s doing, and she doesn't either. Nymphia nods anyway.

It's a new world, one of their own making. It's unexplored, uncharted, and they’re venturing into it together, hand in shaking hand. It's dangerous. She’s doing it anyway. She might hate herself for it. It might be the bravest thing she’s ever done.

[hopeforchanges]

*matthew mcconaughey enters the chat*

alright alright alright fellas how do we feel about an au where Galadriel, a commander in the High King's service, is dispatched to a desolate outpost in the far reaches of Middle-earth—a remote coastal village overlooked by the rest of the world. Her task? To guard an ancient relic that could tip the balance of power in the eternal struggle against Sauron. The mission is cloaked in such secrecy that she’s forbidden from disclosing her presence, let alone the true purpose of her assignment, to anyone.

She doesn’t expect much to happen in such an isolated place. But Galadriel, being Galadriel, can’t let well enough alone. One evening, restless and needing an escape from the crushing solitude, she ventures into the town’s tavern. There, she overhears whispers of a slaver ship docked at the harbor, its captives destined for the black markets of Umbar.

Galadriel doesn’t hesitate. Under the cover of night, she infiltrates the ship, intending to free the prisoners. Her plan is flawless until it isn’t—she’s discovered by the slavers just as she begins unlocking the captives’ chains. Before she can fight her way out, another intruder crashes the scene: a rogue sailor and smuggler named Halbrand, armed with nothing but sheer audacity and a blade sharper than his tongue.

Halbrand commandeers the entire operation, loading the freed prisoners (and an increasingly frustrated Galadriel) onto his ship and sailing them to safety. When they’re finally free, Galadriel realizes her predicament: she cannot return to her outpost without arousing suspicion, nor can she explain her mission to Halbrand. Meanwhile, Halbrand assumes she’s one of the captives he’s rescued—a noblewoman perhaps, judging by her sharp gaze and sharper words.

Bound by circumstance, Galadriel finds herself aboard Halbrand’s ship, playing the role of an enigmatic survivor. She’s constantly torn between her sense of duty and her growing reluctance to leave. Halbrand, for his part, is intrigued by her. There’s a storm in her eyes that speaks of battles fought and lost, and he can’t help but feel a strange connection to her—something he doesn’t quite understand but doesn’t want to lose.

As they sail across Middle-earth, smuggling goods, dodging corsairs, and helping the downtrodden, Galadriel begins to see the world through Halbrand’s eyes. She’s fascinated by his wit, his resilience, and the surprising kindness he hides beneath his roguish charm. Halbrand, in turn, finds himself captivated by her fire and her unshakable sense of purpose, even when she tries so hard to mask it.

But secrets have a way of surfacing. As Galadriel struggles with her hidden mission and the growing weight of her feelings for Halbrand, she begins to wonder: has she found something worth fighting for beyond her duty? And will Halbrand, if he ever learns the truth, see her as a betrayer or the unexpected gift he’s starting to believe she is?

[livesincerely]

“I thought I saw you sneak up here,” Jack murmurs.

“...I just needed some air,” Davey says in a thin, quiet voice, staring determinedly out into the darkness.

“Got room for one more?” Jack asks, stepping closer.

Davey gives a tiny shrug, wrapping his arms around himself. Taking this as permission, Jack clambers up onto the ledge and sits down beside him, not quite close enough to touch, letting his legs dangle over the edge.

The silence stretches on and on, as vast as the expanse of sky overhead. Hesitant, Jack allows it to linger for a long, breathless moment, and he’s honestly not sure if he’s trying to gather his thoughts or his nerve.

But finally he says, “Ain’t seen much’a you tonight. Ain’t seen much’a you in ages, really.”

He pauses there, trying to judge Davey’s reaction to his gentle prodding. But Davey doesn’t move, doesn’t even turn to face him, as still and stone-faced as a statue.

The pit in Jack’s stomach grows even wider.

Aloud he continues, “And I’m not tryin’ ta point fingers, Dave, but I’m startin’ to worry that somethin’s gone wrong between us. Horribly wrong. Maybe—“ He sucks in a breath. “Maybe so wrong that it can’t be fixed.”

He wants Davey to reassure him, to explain away the unease that colors their every interaction, why each conversation seems to end with a thousand words left unspoken. To say that it’s all going to be okay.

But he doesn’t say anything. Not a single, godforsaken word, and somehow, out of everything, that’s what cuts the deepest.

[boimlerkisser]

I actually on the fly decided to add little ear cones to the alien form of my ppg self insert!! Before it was just a kind of? Circle shape thing on her headband just for decoration, but I thought the ear cone would be a fun detail and a nod to Twi'Lek anatomy since you know ya girl will always love star wars!! 🫶🫶🫶🫶

[dustxechoes]

Starter Call

[the-ninja-legacy-whip]

From all of the cast who's best friends with who? Like who would call dibs when teaming up?

Welp:

It's no surprise that Cole's go-to choice is Zane, but beyond the elephant in the room, they are each other's oldest + longest-lasting friend, and know each other best. They often fall into line with one another without even having to ask!

Similar to Cole and Zane, Kai and Jay tend to fall into sync automatically, as despite their tendency to take shots at each other their elements complement one another well and they both know how to get the most out of each other's fighting style.

If Nya and Lloyd weren't already Ride or Die, they'd wind up with one another anyway given how much the Core Four tend to head off doing their own thing a fair chunk of the time. Suits Nya just fine though—although we gotta be careful that Lloyd's enthusiastically destructive tendancies don't rub off on her snknksnk

Antonia probably shouldn't be weaseling her way into anything remotely dangerous, but when she does she's obviously tagging along with Jesse (at least, until Nelson gets into the picture). Jesse never fights it because he knows he's not gonna win shgfdhggd

Sunni's de facto best friend may be Samantha, but whenever she does wind up entangled with some Ninja Things, she's tag-teaming with Miranda (in which they may get distracted talking about Jay or sci-fi topics), and/or Harleigh (depending on the point-in-time...and Harleigh's mood)

This is prolly gonna sound somewhat bizarre, but I plan to have Skylor and Pixal team up often because they are both badass and cool and I desire more of their dynamic. We had a teeny taste in Crystalized and I want MOAR (...at least, once Pixal starts to warm-up to Skylor after, y'know, Skylor's dad tearing her apart and stuff.)

Olivia: Since Nya has replaced me with garbage, I'll just have to take Bridget instead 😤  Bridget: No, no you're nOT—

Brad/Sally/Gene and Chad/Maggie/Meghan all come as packaged set within their trios, though while they're not ~main~ characters, they'll show up often enough during shenanigans to be mentioned and I love their dynamics with one another (despite Chad's group being jerks at this moment in time) but aaaah I'm so excited to use them more—they're not exactly friends but they do eventually see the similarities in one another and it's so fun

Harumi, meanwhile:

[missingstarter]

[ lowkey a silver / rockets energy ]

[mad-hunts]

an idea for how another character could meet barton in an untraditional way: your muse met barton while he was in residency by expressing concern for him as they saw him at the grocery store... with only like five bottles of wine in his cart at the checkout 🫠 JSJSJ

[movedto-mastcrmarksman]

hawkeye + effects of childhood.

Clint Barton webweavings 1/??

credits under the read more;

ocean vuong, "someday i'll love" // hawkeye: blind spot // conan gray, "family line" // fraction's hawkeye // the front bottoms, "father" // fraction's hawkeye // agustín gómez-arcos, "the carnivorous lamb" // solo avengers vol 1 issue 2 // unknown // hawkeye and us agent's grudge, various runs // clementine von radics // the avengers (1963) issue 65 // unknown // thunderbolts (2022) issue 1 // satany, tumblr

@starsnheroes @mastcrmarksman tags myself so i can reblog this @mastcrmarksman

[baileycatarina]

god my stupid ex boyfriend got me SO into obscure video games, I've since developed such a fascination with old and/or obscure games (JRPGs being my favorite) and it makes me feel like a massive fucking dweeb because I have all this weird obscure video game knowledge and I often don't know what to do with it. It's just there. I guess I just go insane about it and make it my follower's problem because I'm not used to having someone that's genuinely interested in what I have to say about that stuff LMAO.

My girlfriend seems to find it endearing so that's cool........

[not-gonna-lose]

Huh...? When did I get this app? Don't remember ever downloadin' it...

[dashiellqvverty]

anyway this is just the tags from my previous post about bix but i wanted to post them on their own

#i think part of my frustration is it felt LAZY#oh we want to gesture towards hope for the future (not necessarily a bad idea for the end of a show like this)#how can we do that? what if cassians girlfriend had a baby!#and its like. why bix???????#how does she feel about raising this child? has she ever wanted to be a mother?#would she have preferred to stay more active in the rebellion if she hadnt been pregnant?#we'll never fucking know#i'd almost rather have had a scene of her like talking to the baby telling a little story or something#wouldve been so fucking corny but couldve given more insight into bix herself#and not. standing in a wheat field or whatever so she. or more specifically her baby. can be a Symbol

[yeonban]

Possibly the funniest ramification (for me at least) of Tobias having a crush nowadays is that one of his most widely used tactics is making people fall in love with him in order to use them for various schemes w/o having to worry about their loyalty swaying long-term, which means that's his first thought half of the time when someone takes an interest in him. And now his second thought which follows 0.2 seconds after is a suddenly lifeless "ah." as he remembers that he can't exactly do that without giving his crush the impression that he's taken and fucking himself over on That front. Fuck his stupid baka life he's shooting himself in the foot NO MATTER what decision he opts for 😭

[dustxechoes]

starter call

[lususnatura]

ahh, don't mind me, y'all — i'm just thinking about how, in my canon, nico morselli (the doctor who blamore is allies with AND also is friends with but don't tell him that, shhh lol) was the first person that it actually learned to trust after it's transformation. and i say this because, in the first few months after it's transformation, it's nerve pain was actually even worse than it can be now. and due to how blamore's metabolism is different... nico felt like formulating a specific type of anti-convulsant for it's condition was the ideal option for blamore because there was a LOT of uncertainty around how much meds he should give it. so, in the meantime while nico worked on a drug that he knew wouldn't possibly O.D. it (man's also has some experience in biochemistry + he's also got a degree in that) those first few months were roughhh.

this is because he primarily used nerve blocks for it's pain which are actually injections that are given through the spine and as you all may know, blamore's spine is like a HUGELY sensitive spot for him. and so it doesn't let anyone it doesn't trust touch it + with this in mind, it didn't trust nico at first, but for an MD with some questionable patients (he's been the primary doctor of someone in the mob for years); nico actually seems to have his heart in the right place a good amount of the time because he comforted blamore every single time he gave him one of those injections 😭 because they never got any easier for blamore to take, and i don't mean nico just talked him through it, either. man's held it's hand and everything. and for that, he's a real one