#caretaker peter 2

[spacecadet-ticklesinspace]

Putting It In Perspective

Summary: A presentation has Two stumped until an event happens with Peter 1 that puts things in perspective ❤️

(Of course, it wouldn't be getting over writer's block on my page without whumpee Peter 1 ❤️ I put this poor kid through so much, but I just love getting to write the older two taking care of him ❤️ Enjoy guys ❤️)

Peter 2 stared at the computer in front of him. He hated making presentations. There was a reason he stuck with recalibrations and reports rather than standing awkwardly in front of a group of people judging what color shirt you chose to wear. However, Harry had personally asked him to speak about his and Otto's newest invention at the next Oscorp convention.

To which he could not say no.

The eldest spider groaned as he scrubbed his face. "Why do I do this to myself?"

His self loathing was interrupted by his cell phone. Two's tingle spiked when he saw Peter 1's face appear on the caller ID.

The eldest immediately answered. "Hello?"

"T-tobey?"

The panic in the youngest's voice mixed with his alias made Two's spidey sense spike even higher. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"She . . . She's gone," One whispered.

"Whose gone Pete?"

"The lady."

"What lady Pete?"

One sniffed. "There was a-a robbery and this lady . . . She was just passing by and she . . ."

Two felt his heart crack, he knew exactly what One was going through. "Where are you bud?"

"Mercy h-hospital. They won't let me l-leave without a-a guardian present."

Peter 2 was already out the door with two important things tucked under his arm. "Let them know I'm on the way okay? I'll be there soon."

"O-okay."

"Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?"

"No, I'll be okay."

"Are you sure?" Two opened the car door. "I can do two things at once."

A small wet chuckle answered the tease. "I'm not doubting you. I just don't think I can concentrate on two conversations right-right now."

"Okay." The eldest started his car. "If you need me before I get there, call me back, okay bud?"

"I will, see you soon."

With a click, One ended the conversation and Two made his way to the hospital. He hadn't asked the youngest if he had any injuries, but knowing the emotional stress he was under, he wouldn't get any answers until he got there anyway. Thankfully, Mercy was a short drive from Two's home so he soon found Peter 1 at the nurse's station inside. "Hey."

The youngest Peter immediately raced into his brother's arms. "Tobey!"

While not his favorite alias, the names allowed the boys to prevent any accidental slip ups about dimensions or Spidermen when in certain situations. Like right now with a male nurse coming to join them.

Peter 2 already had One in a hug so he quickly tugged down his shirt to hide the strip of red peeking out. "I gotcha bud. I'm here."

Meanwhile, the nurse stepped forward. "Your brother was a hero tonight Mr. Parker."

"I got bits and pieces over the phone. Mind filling in the rest---." Two quickly read his name tag. "Mr. Sparks."

Sparks nodded. "There was a robbery across the street from the library. A homeless woman---."

"Loraine."

The eldest turned to Peter 1.

"Her name is Loraine."

Sparks nodded again. "Loraine was walking past the shop being robbed and accidentally got hit. Your brother stayed with her until the police arrived."

Peter 2 immediately pulled One back. "Any injuries on you?"

The youngest shook his head.

Two turned to look at Nurse Sparks and relaxed at the added nod of affirmation. "I'm glad you're okay."

"What about Loraine?"

"You can't save them all Bug. I'm sorry it has to be that way."

"You did the best you could Tom." Nurse Sparks gave the youngest a reassuring smile. "Most wouldn't have stayed with her given the circumstances. You made sure she didn't die alone."

"Sh-she has a daughter in California. They haven't spoken in a few years but . . ."

"Did she give you an address or phone number?"

Peter 1 shook his head. "Just her name. I-I'm sorry, I didn't. . ."

"It's okay. We'll use the name to try and contact her."

Two smiled at his younger brother. He could tell the kid was a mess but he was still trying to make sure Loraine was taken care of. After Peter had given the nurse the name of Loraine's daughter and the police had all the information they needed, the mask fully came off.

One made it to the elevator before he slumped against Two.

Sensing it coming, Peter 2 wrapped an arm around him. "You okay?"

The youngest shook his head.

"You've been through a lot tonight Pete, but I'm proud of the way you handled that. Loraine is in good hands now."

One turned and buried his face in Two's shoulders.

"Like I said Bug, we can try, but we can't save them all."

The moment was interrupted by the ding of the elevator. Two led the youngest to the car and helped him inside. "Do you need anything? I brought some things with me in case you did."

One stayed quiet as Two reached into the back. He held out a small bear to youngest, staying quiet as One buried his face into the bear's head. In addition, Two pulled a blanket out of the back seat. It was a big checkered print one that swamped the youngest's small frame and made Two feel like he was in an oven when used, but One absolutely loved it.

"It's pretty cold out." Two layed the blanket in One's lap. "Need to warm up?"

"What's going to happen to her?"

"Well, the hospital will make sure she's taken care of and her daughter is called. Then they'll make sure she has a proper funeral."

"Will anyone go?"

"I'm sure her daughter and her family will come. And I'm sure Loraine's friends will come too."

One looked up at his brother.

"You'd have to take that up with the family Pete."

The youngest nodded as his attention turned back out the window.

In response, Two began the drive home again. It hurt to see Peter 1 so broken. The kid was so young and he got dropped the world's biggest gift of defending the city for people like Loraine. Apparently her death had affected him more than the eldest realized.

"If I die, would you come to my funeral?"

Two immediately pulled over. "What!"

"If I died, would you come to my funeral?"

"One are you okay? Did you get hurt?"

"Two."

"Bug, you know I would be there for you no matter what. I'd be shattered but I'd be there."

". . . Three too?"

"You know he would too Pete." The eldest squeezed One's shoulder. "But why do you ask?"

The youngest shrugged.

A light clicked on in Two's head. "Does this have something to do with Loraine?"

Tears began welling up in One's eyes.

"Peter---."

"Everyone forgot her Two. She's alone right now, she had no one . . . And now she might be forgotten cause she's---."

"Oh Bug." Peter 2 immediately pulled his younger brother into a hug.

A moment later, the dam of emotions broke as One sobbed into Two's shoulder.

For a while, the two stayed put while cars zoomed past in the background. One's tears quickly soaked Two's collar.

Once the sobs quieted to sniffles, the eldest readjusted so he could press his forehead to One's and look him in the eye. "I could never forget you Pete. You mean the absolute world to me. And I want to keep you around for as long as possible."

The youngest sniffed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay, if you have thoughts like that, I'm always here to listen and remind you that you are so loved. Nothing's going to change that."

One immediately jumped back into his brother's arms. "I love you so much."

"I love you too Bug. You going to be okay?"

A head nod made Two's shoulders relax.

"Need a minute?"

One nodded again.

"Let me know when you're ready."

It took a couple minutes but One eventually relaxed back into the passenger seat.

"Are you okay?"

The youngest nodded a third time as he wiped some stray tears off of his cheeks. "Thank you."

"Of course. Now, how about we head home?"

A final nod. "Okay."

With that confirmation, Peter 2 pulled back on to the road. The remainder of the journey only took a couple minutes longer, but by the time the eldest pulled into the driveway, One was almost asleep.

Two chuckled before gently shaking him fully awake. "Hey Pete?"

The youngest's head shot up.

"You awake?"

"Mh-hm," One mumbled as his eyes closed again.

Peter 2 squeezed his shoulder. "You sure?"

One's head thunked against the window. Between Spidermaning and the whole chaos that followed, the youngest was completely drained. Two remembered nights like those. Coming home to an empty apartment after loosing someone you tried to protect, it always made the event feel even worse as it echoed off of the empty space. The eldest knew he couldn't protect One from everything, but he would be there as soon as he could to help him through anything.

Peter 2 gently moved One's head off of the window so he could come around and open the door. Carefully, Two unbuckled the seat belt before wrapping him with the blanket.

Then, with a bit of effort, he lifted One into his arms. "My back will hate me for this later, but that's okay."

The eldest stepped inside the house and laid Peter 1 on the couch. After the events of tonight, he wasn't quite ready to let the youngest out of his sight. He made sure to remove One's socks and shoes before tucking the blanket securely around him. To testify to his exhaustion, the youngest never moved an inch even as Peter 2 sat by his head.

Two turned and there was his computer. "Now I'm back at square one."

As the youngest finally stirred, the eldest Peter smoothed down his hair. Honestly, after everything that had happened, that presentation didn't seem so daunting anymore. It was hard to freak out about being in front of a group of people when your younger brother unintentionally scared you to death.

If that call had been different, with Peter 1 in Loraine's place, Two hoped someone like One would do the same thing he had done for her. If it couldn't be him, he wished it would be someone kind enough to remind the youngest he wasn't dying alone.

As quickly as that thought appeared, the eldest shoved it out of his head again. One was here, he was alive, and he was safe. Entertaining what if scenarios just led to unnecessary anxiety and panic.

Two huffed out at a chuckle as picked back up his computer. "Like what I'm doing with this presentation."

A weight pressed against his leg. Two looked down to see One's head had shifted closer to him.

The eldest spider smiled. "Thanks Bug. You give me heart attacks a lot, but I couldn't do this without you."

And with that, Two typed away.

[faeriekit]

I feel like you’ll appreciate this flavor of feral brain rot as a true delicacy.

Ghostly Courting 101

1.) When you have someone you like, you politely sneak into their haunt and leave a gift that hints at your identity. If they’re interested, they’ll start hunting for you. If not, it’ll be removed without the other party feeling any societal pressure.

2.) For ghosts who died a violent or wrongful death, one of the most meaningful things you can do is avenge them. Attack their murderer, haunt their negligent doctor, etc. It’s not guaranteed to win their affection, but it’s a hell of a display.

Now, per the laws of unintended consequences, Danny finds Red Hood rearranging his freezer.

It’s 3:00 AM. He just wanted some water. Why is Gotham’s favorite son trying to leave him a fuck off huge casserole?

“Are you trying to propose or something?” Danny asks the liminal.

“Maybe???”

“Ghost weird or fruitloop weird?” Danny snatches his boo-berry ice cream and starts digging for a spoon.

Red Hood takes off his helmet to make sure Danny can see the Eyebrow of Judgment.

“Fruitloop then,” he says between bites. “We haven’t even sparred, and I sure as shit didn’t avenge you or anything.”

Oh. Oh no.

“Hood, why are you blushing?”

He couldn’t make out much from the outraged sputtering, but Danny nearly shat his fucking core out when it clicked.

“Is this about Joker???”

Danny was gonna take the stuttering as a yes.

Cool, cool, cool. He was calm. He was so fucking normal, it was fine, it was fine, it was—

Ancients take him, Danny beat the shit out of this guy’s murderer or something. He basically did a fucking flash mob proposal!

“Why the fuck am I even here?!” Red Hood screamed.

And the other guy’s fucking clueless!

I see, I see.

1: Which casserole. This is important. What casserole could the hindbrain of Jason Peter Todd's ghost instincts think is marriage material?? Is this like a comfort food can-of-cream-of-mushroom based casserole dish or like one of those newfangled sushi bake type things?? What did Jason whip out to prove he's marriage material??

2: What does JASON think is going on?? Did he hunt Danny down?? Did he just wake up in a stranger's apartment with a casserole in his hand?? Did he go to the grocery store with a list in mind or did he get home and realize he (for some reason) had every ingredient to make tuna casserole??

3: Wait. So does this mean that Jason thinks that casseroles are a good enough hint at his identity??? Does some part of Jason think that his most essential and core part of his identity is his tendency towards caretaking?? YO—

4: It's in a vintage pyrex. Look me in the eyes. This is not just Pyrex it's gotta be the old style pyrex that doesn't shatter in the oven without a pan underneath it. I am a connoisseur of white people culture and this is deeply important to me. It could even be one of the patterned ones. This is part of the gesture.

5: Danny is emotionally moved and it sucks considering that this was a complete accident

6: Jason is emotionally moved and has no idea what the fuck is going on. He wakes up at his safehouse one morning with bridal magazines in his hands which he apparently bought himself?? He's going insane. Is he cursed?? Did that twink who kicked the Joker's ass curse him??????? Curse him into...matrimony???????????????????

[erinwantstowrite]

random questions for funsies pt4

1. if damian had to leave for a month (for a mission, or something) and his pets were to be divided among his siblings for caretaking, which sibling is getting which creature?

2. you encounter a dragon. just a whole dragon. sitting in your living room. what is your first reaction

3. peter has a chance to eat anything. literally anything. but only one thing, and only once, with no repercussions. what (probably inedible thing) is he choosing to eat? (this question was made because i've been in a nom nom mood all day and have been dismayed that all the things i'd love to consume [i.e smooth paint, a squishy cat, etc etc] are not edible)

4. this one is for all the marbles. pineapple on pizza or no? or, perhaps, secret third option: pineapple with NO pizza

Alfred and Bruce have to take care of them because they're usually the ones that do so when Damian is at school, etc. I feel like if those two were unavailable, the next person it would go to would be Jon, actually, cause he lives on a farm. At least for the barn yards and the dogs. I had no idea about Goliath and Wiggles until recently and I'm sure that Jon can handle them too,,,, perhaps,,,

wondering how tf it got in. probably call animal control. maybe die and my last words be "awww here dragon bb you're so cuuuute" (can you tell i would pet a mountain lion if i could)

he'd probably want to know what a rock tastes like but you know like those sea colored rocks?? those specifically. he's convinced they'd take like a gummy

peter, tim, and dick: yeah!! everyone else: ABSOLUTELY NOT

[honestsycrets]

brujería i: inhuman | ceo!miguel x succubus!reader

❛ pairing | ceo!miguel x succubus!reader

❛ type | doubleshot, explicit

❛ summary | since taking over his bio-father's company, miguel just can't seem to sleep. there may be someone behind that though. or, a succubus wants miguel.

❛ tags | some sacrilege, succubus!reader, ceo!miguel, sex-dreams, sleepy sex, dub!con: miguel is asleep during many encounters, exhibitionism outside of a church, f!reader, some mention of blood and wounds, au with deviations from canon, slight hurt miguel, slight caretaking peter, excessive bodily fluids, some mindgames.

❛ request fulfilled | Was wondering if i could request ceo!miguel x succubus! reader? whether he’s spider-man is completely up to you but reader is basically like a demon hiding in plain sight, toying and feeding on the sexual energy of people. maybe she’s a new hire and then she visits him in his dreams or smth. miguel becomes her target and he finds himself falling in love with her and wanting her so much it brings out an intense carnal desire inside him (1/2)

❛ sy's notes | i based some of miguel's sleep paralysis on my own experience. the catholic religious connotations are not very heavy, but if you're sensitive to that sort of thing, i'd probably skip this one.

Miguel O’Hara was never a superstitious man.

He grew up in a deeply Catholic home thick with superstition. His grandmother’s rosary still sat on his desk, enveloped in a spherical glass alongside stacks of organized paperwork on the latest drug his not-so-dearly held biological father left before he kicked it. Corruption was fiercely rooted, a fact that Miguel was not so subtle about. The papers he rifled through that morning revealed the stupidest account of Brujería among reports of Rapture.

“Brujería-- what bullshit,” he murmured as he dropped a stack of papers back onto the oak desk. He glanced at the glass tabletop and found his reflection therein. His eyes, crinkled at the edges, carried the reflection of countless days of his dark exhaustion. “Si no es una cosa es otra.”

“Miguel?”

“What, Lyla?” Miguel threw a glare at the ceiling at the AI that sang at him. She seemed far too happy with her position as the resident terror of his new office. New was an overstatement. It was his father’s before he croaked, reflected in some of his tacky taste in the things Miguel had immediately thrown out. Why else would it have a picturesque, but grandiose view of Nueva York but for a great view of the people he was destroying? The bright windows also did a bang-up job of burning his eyes

“The psychiatrist is here,” she chirped. “Are you going to tell her about your wet dreams?”

The flutters that danced over his skin at night at the strike of three. Foreign warmth caressed his skin like a warm blanket over his skin. His heart rate raced, and pleasure burrowed under his skin. It never failed that Miguel would wake to a rush of pleasure, cum painting his sheets sticky, his heart soaring into his throat. With such pleasure, why would he tell anyone but Lyla about his pathetic, ruined state that came night after night?

Miguel waved his hand in dismissal. He instead checked the chunky watch on his wrist. You're just on time. He appreciates a punctual professional given how much work he had to complete. In lieu of the report of spiritual abuse, he picks up the pile of sexual misconduct. That was a more pressing matter to address. The actual victims were far more important than some bruto’s complaint of ojos based on a huevo in some water. He should send these idiots to any middle schooler’s chemistry class. The bruja who was coming to visit him today could hardly be a source of concern.

“Why would I do that? Let her in. You listen in and I’ll unplug you.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Lyla teased, but he knew she was right. Lyla was one of his only friends and by far the one he spent the most time with. She has patience for him. He slips his reading glasses out of their holster as the lock on his office door hisses apart, welcoming in the strange woman whose name he could never find but in Stone’s personal records. A chroí, my love, like Stone could love anyone else but himself.

“Dr. O’Hara.”

Miguel slipped the lenses on. Not only was the woman before him, not the sort of hippy-dippy woman he expected, but you were… familiar. Oh, so familiar. He’s never met you before. Yet, he finds himself inexplicably pulled to closing the gap between your bodies.

You extend your hand for him to take.

“Dr…” You finished his sentence by offering your name.

“Have I met you before?” His large hand clasped your own. A blanket of warmth blossomed from your small hand in his grip. Gentle at first, your very same small hands laced in his. The sudden realization of where he’d seen you hit him like a bullet through the head: unexpected and instantaneous. The image rippled across his mind, Miguel’s hand collared on your nape, his fat dick splitting your cunt against his office’s wide windows. Another pulse of heat soared through his hand--

Miguel jerked his hand back. What in the hell?

“¿Estás bien?” You were so close that he could smell the perfume on your skin. A dark cherry, sultry, and so good. He was swimming in the vague delusion that was your skin against his. There was something delicious about the way you looked at him, tracing the outline of his tie that sat tightly behind a constricting vest. He was hazy, clumsily falling back into his office chair. Moving was tiring with the sudden vial of desire that flooded through his veins. You were at his side in an instant.

“I’m fine,” he lied. “It’s… the heat.”

“Oh! Stone's office is always hot. Here, I'll help you,” No-- he tried to argue. Against his wishes, you slipped his suit jacket off his shoulders and down his muscular arms, loitering a bit too long along his pumped biceps. “Though, I guess it’s all yours now, isn’t it? We all are.”

Miguel has no energy to fight you, lost in the haze that was last night’s forgotten dream. He’d never met you before, that much he was sure. Yet he swore, on all that was scientific and right, that he dreamed of your body on his, emptying him of any worries as he came into the nothingness of his sheets. It wasn’t just pleasure, it was a sea of rapture, and he drowned in it.

“According to your AI, you’re burning up lately.”

How do you know? You walked around his chair, your slender heels clicking over the hardwood floor. His eyes traced the curves of your velvet red pencil dress up to your bust as you leaned in, the back of your hand taking his temperature on his forehead. Your bust had delicate black lace detailing that enhanced your natural beauty. It scorched his ability to be a decent gentleman. Every man had their limits. He’s nearly at his, and you’ve only just arrived.

“You're so warm,” you gasped, but it's strained, a crack through stained glass. “Let me help you.”

You reached for the knot of his tie. That’s enough-- Miguel shoves your hand from his neck. He tugs the charcoal tie away from his throat, drawing it away from his white button-up. You wet your lips, drawing a sheen across your perfectly applied lipstick. You came in here with a plan and purpose to inflame him-- and did just that.

“Careful.”

A pause-- your eyes challenged him, seemed to know how weak he was in resisting the strain of lust that came with your mere presence. He was losing the fight quicker than he’d like. Miguel has to focus. “Your findings on Rapture’s… trial run. Where are they?”

“Destroyed,” you answered curtly.

"Project 2099?"

“Under seal. Oh, don’t look at me like that, hermoso. It wasn’t my choice.”

Hermoso. A flicker of anger shot through him as you reclined on his desk and ran your hands across the rim. You seem to notice the rosary on his desk, eyes lingering on it for more than a few seconds. You dipped so comfortably between propriety and looseness. The distance between your easily accessible skirt and his hardening erection is the entirety of only a few steps. “Stone’s orders, not mine.”

“There are no copies?”

“Why would there be? Stone was always very persistent with what he wanted.”

You? He doesn’t ask.

Something in him doesn’t want to think of it, what his father could have done to you that would make you so willing to stand so close to him. Your gaze faltered. You bore at his groin, his sleek dark slacks straining against his length.

“Now you want to know if I fucked him, que no?”

That's a yes. The way you slip onto his desk, legs slightly apart, tells him all he needs to know. His gaze falters, down then up again, an irrational amount of envy welling low in his belly. He found himself wondering what you’ve done in this very room. You bat your long lashes, far too pretty. He isn't easily dissuaded.

“I've barely met you and you want to know everything about my work and personal life. You’re so greedy. So like him.”

“I am nothing like that man.” At that very moment, his eyes locked with yours. A distant rage filled his belly. No one, he meant no one, compared him with that maniac. His tongue twisted in his mouth, ready to make some sharp remark, but you snatched his words by leaning forward, pressing your lips to his head. Your fingertips combed through his dark hair, a warm comfort. A kiss? His hands felt heavy, weighed down by an impossible weight, one he couldn’t push off no matter how much he strained.

"Hasta luego, Miguel.”

The door closes behind you with a clap. Back in the chair, Miguel was heaving heavy breaths. The restriction on his body loosened up and allowed Miguel to grab the black mirror stashed in a drawer below his desk. Your sticky lipstick left a stain on his forehead, strained with stress lines. He wiped away the red stain of your lipstick and rolled the remnants between his thumb and middle finger.

"Like Stone," he repeated with a hiss. "Mierda."

He wracked his hand around his swollen cock-- panting as he beat himself off, ecstasy claiming that he had to have you. The insatiable need to have -- his father’s whore-- overrode any of the papers on his desk. He came into the cold nothingness that is the air, his hands coated in his own essence. Miguel untucked a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped himself clean.

“Lyla? Who?” he gasped a breath, “Who is that woman?”

“Beats me,” Lyla thought she was so funny. “She’s not in any electronic records.”

“Really.”

Even if that was the case, Miguel would be damned if Stone got the better of him in death. Miguel cleaned up his hand and whirled open the sexual harassment folder-- he was nothing if not a determined man.

You shouldn’t be here. No, really, you should not be employed here.

He doesn’t know your qualifications because he cannot find them. In the electronic documents, your file is bare bones. The suggestion of your education is non-verifiable but signed off by Stone himself. If it were only him, he might chalk it up to corruption. But there were others-- other dead bodies-- who signed off on your highly amended report on Rapture. The board claimed your employment was not a subject for discussion. Even if he were the face of the company, you were untouchable.

He left his office to the small coffee shop on the third floor. The man who ran it, Peter, was a refreshment from the stress of the day in his own, weird little way. It was probably the high quantity of caffeine that kept him awake.

On the surface, Miguel’s dreams are unoffensive. Light things, like fingers brushing veins that creep along his muscles, soapy breasts dragging along his chest. Using your body like a sponge to clean him after a heavy session at the gym. You are always on your knees, suckling the cum free from his cock with an angelic little flutter of your lashes and those sultry, cat-like eyes. He was in a state of constant arousal with nothing to show for it but a consistently swollen dick. At his age, he considers it a feat.

“You’re so sexy, Peter.”

There it was again. Your giggle over top of the sound of the hiss of a coffee machine. Peter was laughing, shy, or uncomfortable, he couldn’t quite tell. Miguel slips off his wire sunglasses, looking along the bar for the source.

“Hey, Miguel!”

He paced around the corner, then back. There are a few work couples and colleagues speaking with one another. Their tables are fresh with coffee and tea, tiny wrapped sandwiches a poor lunch. You’re conspicuously absent. The lack of sleep was fucking with his head, it had to be. He settled the glasses into the lining of his suit pocket and withdrew his wallet.

“Miguel! You'll never guess who came by. Uh, the usual?” Peter bounced over, leaning over the cash register with a glitter in his eye. He was more upbeat than even usual. Some girl must have made his day, he decided. Sí, he rumbled. Miguel dipped his fingers into his wallet to pull out his card only to be stopped short of the action.

“Nope,” Peter pushed Miguel’s hand away. “Someone paid for you.”

“For me?” Miguel settled the card in its proper slot. “Who?”

“You know,” Peter whispers. "The bruja."

“She was here?” he repeated, following Peter across the side of the bar as he began to make his coffee. Peter is an airhead, a wonderful airhead. Some part of him is infectious on days when he’s not being stalked by a woman with no traceable name. It was as if you were wiped clean. “When?”

“About two hours ago? She said you looked spooked and left me some money for your coffee. I think she likes you.”

You were doing more than liking him.

“And why would you think that?” Miguel pulled out a chair at the bar, humoring the scrawnier man. Peter frothed some milk, a fluffy cloud of relaxation on top of his usual coffee dusted with cinnamon and nutmeg. Miguel takes the mug from Peter, wrinkling his nose at the addition of nutmeg.

“Well, she turned down some dude from marketing,” Peter mentions. “I've been here for a while and-- she rarely turns anyone down.”

You rarely turn anyone down?

It bothered him long after he finished the coffee. You’re so sexy, Peter. You weren’t there. Peter told him that you’d been gone for two hours. He should not have heard the wisps of your caramelized voice in the coffee shop.

It’s the exhaustion, Miguel convinced himself. He just needs the weekend, to rest.

By Saturday night, he hit his last nerve.

Restful sleep would not come. He lay in his large, empty king-sized bed after searching through files for another project that had no other name but 2099 for the entirety of ten long hours. Any information-- redacted-- but your name slapped over the top and bottom of countless documents was like a great, big fuck-you O'Hara. The more he read about you, the angrier he became. You enraged him, but he was positively enthralled with your presence.

He lay in bed listening to should-be soothing jazz that now grated his ear. Night after night, his torment never failed. When he finally found an instance of peace, his muscles locked up. Not quite awake, but not quite asleep. Heavy pressure overtook his chest and arms forced him to remain still. The world fazed in and out, doom on beating alarm bells in the back of his mind. Then he felt it, the phantom pressure on his neck that slid over his tawny skin, from his belly to the dark happy trail that dipped below his silky pants.

Miguel gritted his teeth and ripped himself from his trance. When his eyes popped apart, he was greeted by his shock. Hunger flowed through him in warm waves, piercing underneath his skin. Miguel’s fingers twinged, your phantom figure on top of him. It looked like you, but misty, as though an illusion. In the darkness, he can only make out the shadows that bounce off what little light is in the room.

“Motherfucker--”

Though he said that, your teasing fingers freed him from his cozy pants, ripping them around his hirsute thighs. His length lulls against his body, a shameful drool of cum gathered at his cock. A night of phantom touches has done him in. Miguel lurched back onto his flat pillows when he was abruptly shoved down by an outrageous amount of force. With his arms thrown up by his head-- he whimpered, frustrated with tonight's-- dream, delusion, dare he say-- reality. His joints were locked by invincible chains that forced him to stay in place. The more he fought, the hotter his need became for what came next. His body was pitifully trained.

He wasn’t certain that it was you-- but it smelled so deeply of your perfume, rich and cherry, flooding his nostrils. So familiar. He glanced down at the opaque figure, grinding over his hard cock. A pair of hands crashed onto his shoulder, claws curling into his broad shoulders. Blood seeped forth. A growl gathered in his chest, ripping up when something warm and tight sunk down on his bobbing dick. Miguel gritted his teeth: it had been a long time since he’d been with anyone. Not for a lack of viable partners, but his annoyance with them all.

Despite his immense muscle, he was too weak to do anything about it. Even if he could, what would he do? Throw off the sex-crazed hallucination on his dick? You rolled your hips over him, suckling him right back up. Hypnotized by the smoky illusion, Miguel gazed on begrudgingly, grunting as you rolled over him, his dick straining your insides. He was a toy, nothing more and nothing less, used for his fat cock that split your airy body apart. His hips jerked, frustrated as he found he could go no deeper. You punished him by dragging your claws over his swarthy shoulders, over his collarbones. Blood ripped free, sliding down his deltoids.

“Chingado,” Miguel’s lips parted for the word, hips juddering up like a hungry slut. It wasn’t normal, the warm tickle of your lubricant over his shaft, exquisite in its nature. His heels dug into the bed, balls tightened. He was so damn close to his relief, he could taste it on his tongue, bordering somewhere between immense pleasure and decadent pain. Your need for his pain won out, dipping down over his chest and latching your fangs over his chest-- then up, hooking on the front of his throat. It was going to bruise, badly.

You shook loose his orgasm, ripped free with the need to fill you, own you-- as though he were not the one being owned. His hips staggered, sticky whips of cum coating your walls in waves. More than he’d cum before before. His eyes shut hard, tears pricking the sides of his eyes. Then, as if it never happened, the hold on his hands was released. He struggled with his freedom, his hands slack, softening cock worthlessly weeping over his thigh. The pain-- oh, the pain, it washed over him moments later.

“Woah,” Lyla interrupted, “Miguel! What happened?”

She couldn’t see you. His eyes were like two dark coins, staring up at the ceiling, wide, and unseeing. He can hear her frantic questions, the ligature marks left behind from invincible chains, and the all-too-real blood and bruising that left him utterly ruined.

“It,” he choked out, heat biting at his well-chiseled face. “It hurts.”

He doesn’t remember what comes next. It was five in the morning when he finally rolled out of bed, and onto the floor, gripping the growing headache that grew miserably behind his head. Bitterness bubbled in his stomach, exhaustion in his eyes. The aberration that was his poor sleep was irksome more than anything. He felt someone’s eyes on him, soft and worried, rushing to his aid as though he were an old man who fell off a bed.

“Hey, you’re awake,” Peter said with an undercurrent of concern soaring through his words. “No, wait. I got you.”

He helped him sit against the frame of his bed, a frame that looks small as shit with Miguel’s large body against the frame. He’s unsure of what to say, assuming that Lyla called him in desperation, and let him into the house that Peter most definitely did not have a key to. Miguel’s chest ached. “What happened? Are you… are you okay?”

Everyone seems to ask him that lately.

“I’m fine,” he was alien to the feeling of care. He knew when Miguel dug himself into a hole. Miguel didn’t want to think about what happened only a few hours prior when his exhaustion took over his body and knocked him out. He dreamed of nothing. An abyss of unsettled nothingness, the ache low in his belly to fuck you until you were soaked in his cum and Miguel could finally, finally rest his tired eyes. Miguel pulled on a fluffy white robe Peter supplied, dragging it over thick strips of gauze and medical tape.

“You don't look fine.”

They both know he’s lying, but what else could be said? That the state Peter saved Miguel from was a rarity? That he’s used to being preyed upon by his own delusions? He needs a fuck, maybe that’s it.

“If you’re going to stay, be useful and get me that file.”

“Oh-- okay, this one?” he doesn’t look surprised. He padded across his room to his desk, kicked a chair that was falling apart aside, and picked up the folder on Brujería. It was buried behind more useful folders such as sexual harassment and inter-employee workplace violence. A fact that Miguel wasn’t exactly proud about in the first place.

“Brujería? Like witch stuff, right? No way. You think work is haunted too?” Peter says with a choked-out, nearly forced laugh. Miguel doesn’t pay himself enough for this. Of all the files at hand, it was nearly untouched. It included such things as ancestors, spirits, demons, and curses.

“I don’t. But the workers obviously do.”

Peter was soft and kind, but not stupid. He plopped down next to him and crossed his legs one over the other.

“The ones that say she’s a bruja?” Peter tapped on your photo. Your photo offers emptiness. That though you have a bright smile in the photo, it is undoubtedly fake. He never saw a woman look so innocent and sweet, but dangerous.

“You’ve heard?”

“Well, the men she hangs around always end up dead. They get all successful and rich then, bam, dead. But you can’t believe that right?” Peter reasons. “She’s not cursed, she just has bad luck. She’s always been nice to me.”

“A curse?”

“Yeah,” his warm breath wavers into a sigh. “Stone wanted company, found her in Sacred Heart-- you know, the one they say is cursed?”

“A cursed church? Give me a break. The only curse at Sacred Heart are the exploitive priests.”

“I’m just saying what I heard,” he’s whispering, shivers wracking up his arms at the mere mention. He tries not to push him anymore. Peter stood up and walked to the coffee stand in the corner of his dark room. For the days that he couldn’t be bothered to leave his room, he’d make a hot coffee in the corner and keep working just as he always did. “She’s always been nice to me.”

“Maybe you’re not her taste.”

“Yeah well, probably not. I don't look like you-- but she did call me sexy, so that's something right?” Peter laughed, “Want a cup of coffee?”

Sexy. That's it, he's so fucking sick of this shit.

“No, I don’t want a cup of fucking coffee,” Miguel bit back, shoving the bed several inches as he pushed his hand off of it, storming into his walk-in closet. “Lyla. When is mass at Sacred Heart?”

“Sacred Heart?” Lyla laughed. “You’re kidding--”

“Lyla,” he snarled, chucking his bag across the closet. It connected with his tall, black safe with a loud boom. She was quiet for a moment, undoubtedly momentary confusion for why non-believer Miguel O’Hara wanted to go to, of all things, a Catholic mass.

“6:30,” she answers.

“I’ll go with you,” Peter calls out.

Don’t bother, Miguel returns from the next room.

It’s been a long time since he dressed for mass-- some dark brown slacks and a warm, vanilla button-up. He snaps a chain necklace around his thick, bruised throat and his favorite watch. As he grabbed the manilla folder on brujería he felt like a child, lectured by his grandmother to not be like his bad man-loving, alcoholic mother and go to church. Despite very much not believing in any of this shit, it was frustrating, annoying even, that he had to go back there.

He didn’t want to go but his spirit was unsettled. Something told him that going to his grandmother’s favorite church would give him a sense of illumination, that it would make sense of the things that made no sense.

Sacred Heart stands on a hill, both physically and metaphorically. It takes offerings off the backs of the poor and sits atop a lush hill. Its stained-grey architecture is only beautiful by virtue of its stained-glass murals. He doesn’t care for the saints that loom overhead, unseeing eyes judgemental and cold. Viejitos and the truly devout are the only ones in attendance. Based on Peter’s account, he should expect you there. It doesn't take long to be proven right.

“Bendición.”

Is he hallucinating again? Despite the many rows of unspoken burgundy benches, you sit by him. Miguel is disconcerted as you slide your thick hips by, sandwiching him between the side of the bench and your chunky, beautiful thighs. He worked his words in his mouth for entirely too long.

“Dios te bendiga,” he said, the words chalky and thick in his throat, drawn up from the bottomless abyss of his fluttery stomach. You sat with a black lace veil pinned to your head. The only sort of women who wear a veil are very old or not Catholic at all. He veers on the latter. “You’re Catholic?”

“If you want me to be.”

“Why else would you be here?” he reached over and plucked up a cheap bible from a pouch behind the bench before him. Your eyes follow pupils dilating in a way that isn’t human at all, staring at the many words on the page that spun under his thumb.

“I think you know why,” you said with soft and pliable words. He felt himself melting.

Of course, Miguel thought, you always seem to show up during the most inopportune times.

"You didn't bring a bible," he offers it to you. Your eyes, dilate wide and bright at the sight of the thing, flicker a look down to it, then Miguel again.

"I prefer to listen." You turn away from it. He flipped it in his hand before returning it to its rightful pouch. For some reason, you did not want to be close to the book. He thinks he knows why.

“So you are stalking me.”

"Stalking is such a mean word, Miggy. Haunting, I like haunting better." Miguel throws open the report. He doesn’t want to read it-- but it is the last folder that may hold the information he needs. Your eyes fluttered to the footsteps of others filling their spot, an archaic song on the lips of the practitioners. Wrong page, Miguel.

"What was that?" he asked you.

"Nada."

He looked down to his lap where the report sat. The voices of those present, their lips forming an off-tuned song, itched at his already exhausted mind. The more he fought, the worse it became. You flipped open a black fan and cooled yourself with long flicks of your wrist. He doesn’t think it’s so hot.

“The rosary on your desk is from here, isn’t it?”

How would you know?

“You’re hiding something.”

Page 76. His fingers thumb on the pages on their own accord. Your eyes traced the movement, looking down at the pages before him. On deaths of company men.

I just do.

The thought entered his mind without prompting. He scanned names on the page. Aaron Delgado… asphyxiation. Tyler Stone… myocardial infarction. There were photos pinned there, photos that shouldn’t be so graphic, but somehow are. The men are as naked as the day they came into the world.

“If you say so, Miggy.”

“What are you hiding?”

You brought your hand over the file, closing it shut on top of his hand. He turns his hands over the top. Your fingers run over his knuckles, in misleading circles. “Are you sure you want the truth?”

“I don’t hide from the truth.”

“The truth,” you leaned in, your words husky against his ear. “The truth is I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m a good girl, Miggy. You have to believe me.”

Something about the way you spoke enraged him, prickling him enough to force him to stand in the middle of the priest’s words. He snatched your wrist with his thick hand, gripping you enough to leave pepper bruises across your skin. Your heels clicked after his boots, out through the foyer, past the bath of holy water, and down the discolored steps.

“Miguel?” you sang like a siren.

He’s hit his limit, throwing you against the discolored church wall. A gasp punched out of your lungs, aggravated by Miguel’s large hand strangling the breath from your throat. He felt warm as he kicked your legs apart and took up that space. The heat doesn’t feel like it is his. His bulge against your skirt certainly is. Now, he seems to expect pleasure when he is in your presence.

“You want me to fuck you, sí? That’s why you’re tormenting me every fucking night.”

“I thought you liked cumming,” you relinquished with a harsh giggle. It grates his last nerve. “You finally look relaxed when you do.”

“Qué mala eres,” Miguel snatched the bottom of your skirt, ripping it up the slit to expose your warm skin. He found no panties there, just smooth skin. He cupped your sex for emphasis. “No panties in church. You're filthy.”

“¿Y qué? You’re proving why I didn’t need them.”

He stared, lingering for a moment, challenging your insistence on control. Since he took over this god-forbidden company, you had been defying him with your devilish smile. Miguel slapped your cunt, eliciting a groan that was half of the pain that he’d had only a few hours ago. You liked it, scratching lines up his arms to his broad shoulders.

“You’re so big,” you balanced his abuse with your overwhelming worship. “So big and pretty.”

“Shut up,” he bit out and slipped his middle finger inside of you, unconcerned for your pleasure. Your muscles tightened around his finger, drawing him deeper. He slides another beside it, his hand leaving your cunt to slap your jaw, forcing you to keep focus. Your tender flesh is hot and red, a wonderful tenderness radiating throughout your jaw.

“And you're dripping, do you have no shame?” He grips your chin to look at your face. Raw defiance was slapped across your face. You rolled your hips onto his hand, forcing him to caress your walls in the right spot. He perked his brow, listening to the priest lecturing in the background. Your sweetness drooled over his curled wrist, dripping from his squelching fingers.

“For you,” you whined. “I want your dick. Give it--”

“You’re a brat.”

He said that-- but he was amused. Miguel slipped down onto his knees, knocking your legs rudely apart. His mouth encircled your puffy clit, bringing it into his mouth and suckling it fat. His rhythm was quick, making a point that he could make you cum too. You weren’t debating him, your hands tight in his hair, loud little moans beating free from your lips. His tongue was warm and soft, kissing and nipping.

The priest went quiet.

“You’re being too loud. Do you want them to hear us?” Miguel’s brow furrowed, slipping up from your vulva.

"Why is that my problem?" You whined in distaste after he stopped pleasuring you, your pulsing cunt beating like an open wound. Asshole.

"You could care for someone other than yourself." Miguel tilted his head, turning you to face the wall. He pulled himself free of his pants-- his thick cock fat against the curve of your ass. That’s what you wanted, he decided, gauging by your whine that came with his action.

"How does that get me what I want?" You shook your ass at him, waiting for him to rear back.

“This is what you wanted, hm? Fine, have it. Just shut up."

He leaned over you, your scratchy black veil catching along his stubble. He doesn’t wait for a response, pushing inside. He wasn’t just thick, he was long. But he knew you already knew that-- you knew every curve of his body, loved the thick veins on his cock that filled you so well. You scratched at the wall as he crushed you into the wall, his hips stuttering with your walls tightening him, drawing him further, impossibly deep.

Estúpida, he thought-- and knew you’d hear it. Whatever you were, you weren’t human. You were somewhere between a human and desire itself, evident in the way you looked at him, pleasured by his rutting hips against the church. The priest went back to his lecture-- the churchgoers enraptured in their worship. The only thing Miguel was enraptured with was the way your pussy tingled, the fluid soaking his cock, and the stretch in your lower belly. His hand clasped over your mouth, index finger poking into your mouth. Your tongue drew him in, fangs nipping his finger.

It earned you a hard slam, stuffing you full, your strange body catching his thrusts beautifully. He slipped his hand over your soft cunt, working your clit for your orgasm, though you deserved no such thing. Habit, he supposed. Gloria a Dios-- the churchgoers clammed with one another. Nearly out of time, your pleasure won out, gushing over his fat cock. Miguel suckled a breath, his ego demanding him to hold out, batter your sweet cunt through your orgasm.

“I’m hungry-- Give it to me,” you bit on his finger, breaking the skin and urging blood to flow into his mouth. Your body twitched violently around his cock, drawing bright pleasure forth. “Give me your cum.”

"Stay out of my dreams."

"I don't want to," you reared your head back at him, your nose tight with wrinkles. He drew you fully onto his dick, the final thrusts were sloppy and immature-- but he held out, making you angrier by the second.

"I'll cum on the floor right here, I don't give a shit."

"No, no! Fine! I promise-- I'll let you sleep," the threat of going hungry is enough that you concede, punching your fist against the wall. He grunts in response and feeds your body with whips of cum that felt far heavier than his usual. A pleasure, far sweeter than any orgasm he could give you. Miguel soaked your sweet little body with his sticky cum, chest swelling heavily against your little back. He finishes and pulls himself free. To his surprise, your cunt doesn’t leak. Miguel staggers back with a perk in his eyebrow.

You look far better for wear than he does, clumsily zipping himself back into cum stained slacks, running his hand through his sweat-soaked hair. You recline on the wall, inspecting him. He knows how he looks. He's bruised, long gashes down his chest, and properly fucked-- a mess. The manila envelope sits forgotten by your heels, your skirt-- perfect, as though he never tore it in the first place.

“You’re not human.”

Miguel bends down, picking up the folder. Not like he needs it anymore. He does, however, need that information on Project 2099. I can help you, he hears. He catches your wide, toothy smile. You've grown fangs. He isn’t surprised.

“Not even a little.”

[fictional-orphan-smackdown]

Round 2, match 1!

All propaganda and what each competitor is from under the cut

Peter Parker/Spiderman (He's from a lot of things)

Orphaned twice over

Both of Peter's parents are dead so he's raised by his aunt and uncle, his uncle dies as part of his origin story. His aunt often dies eventually too, but she may come back depending on continuity (ex. Peter in the comics made a deal with the devil to sacrifice his marriage and child to bring Aunt May back)

It’s Spider-Man guys. Coolest guy ever.

The Baudelaire Orphans (A Series of Unfortunate Events)

The epitome of orphans, they’re the best

“I’m having a very terrible childhood right now”-Klaus

The story deadass begins with them being told that their parents died in a fire and that they're orphans now. They then bounce from guardian to guardian who tend to always meet a gruesome fate at the hands of Count Olaf. Not only have they been orphaned once, but have been orphaned multiple times and are called "The Baudelaire Orphans" by not only characters in the book but by the narrator himself. They're called "The Baudelaire Orphans" so many times that it might as well be a defining character trait of theirs, and honestly it sort've is. The series doesn't even end with them finding a home or guardians of any kind, it ends with the Baudelaires fate being completely ambiguous with them literally sailing away from the island they were stranded on in the final book (yeah this series is quite the journey, I highly suggest it). These poor three kids are probably the most orphaned kids of all time since their orphaned in a new way almost every book and they deserve at least one win in their unfortunate tale.

These guys are like the poster-child of orphaning, we open the series with them finding out that they're orphans and also have no access to their money so now they hop around from place to place from weirdo caretaker to another weird/crazy/murderous caretaker and it's all fun and games and murder and decieving and surviving and thriving and---my point is, these three are a wonderful trio of siblings who love and rely on one another through all their trials and tribulations.

Literally every single one of their problems come from being orphans. They’re continually referred to as orphans and the plot of the first half of the series is them being shuffled around to guardians.

These kids are so orphaned they never even get a found family outside themselves. At least most stories featuring orphaned kids see them fulfill some sorta epic destiny or have them find a new home or set of loved ones of sorts. The Baudelaires? They're thrown from one fucking failure of a home into the next, ignored, hunted, etc.. It's been years but like, even in the end, they still have to set sail alone. As individual characters, they aren't bad either. Violet's the dependable big sister who's knack for inventions comes in handy, Klaus is a well-read chap and Sunny is a lovely gremlin. They make a good trio.

Every single guardian they try to obtain throughout the series turns out to be someone who wants the large inheritance left for them and is willing to do whatever it takes to get it.

They basically fend for themselves the whole series when no adult will listern to them. The whole series is them being resourceful and clever the whole series despite the misfortune. Violet is a brilliant inventor, Klaus reads and collects knowledge, and Sunny learns to be a good cook over the series

their parents die tragically in a fire and then everything awful proceeds to happen to them

I haven't read these books in years but if any orphans deserve to win a smackdown it's these fools, they are constantly in the trenches in those books goddamn. Also that baby is like a shredder they have that on their side, I think that beast literally solo'd a snake?

(This one was specifically for Klaus, but I'll put it here still) He and his sisters being orphans is kinda the point. As in many books, it's the trigger for them to change lives and navigating hardships. The thing is, their hardships just grow worse and "unfortunate" (read "dreadful") events keep happening to them as they stick together instead of the story getting better. Klaus and Violet become Sunny's subtitute parents and get through their more and more miserable lives together keeping hope things would eventually get better

Arguably more famously orphaned than Bruce Wayne, if not for how their story happens while they’re orphaned children versus an orphaned adult. Definitely have the most famously tragic post-orphaning story. All three are incredibly brilliant in their own way, including the literal baby. Pursued relentlessly by the leader of a maniacal theater troupe and letdown by a slew of adults, so it’s all the more impressive how amazing they each turned out to be. Book series was so good it got turned into a pretty great movie and then a successful TV show years later. Also can’t forget how these three are orphaned repeatedly as the distant relatives who take them in get killed off in increasingly inventive manners. Let’s be honest, ain’t no characters out here orphaning like the Baudelaire orphans.

this series taught me so many cool words and phrases and I love each of the 3 main characters so much

Violet, Klaus, and Sunny are peddled from caretaker to caretaker over the course of 13 books, always being chased by the evil Count Olaf who wants to steal the Baudelaire fortune that the children are meant to inherit once they reach a certain age.

Spoilers ahead, the Baudelaires siblings story starts with them going from being the Baudelaire kids to the Baudelaire orphans, after their parents pass away in a mysterious fire. But they arent the only paternal figures that they lost, they go from tutor to tutor, almost all the good ones dying in front of them, and even the ones that survive at first their future is uncertain since the last time the kids see them they are blindfolded in a burnind building, and we never found out who make it out alive and who didnt. Even the main villian, Count Olaf their first tutor, and the only constant adult in their life after their parents death ends up dying in front of them. These three are orphans ten times over.

They are THE orphans. They have lost not only their parents but multiple guardians that they went to live with as well.

They're THE Orphans. The childhood book orphans we all read, Orphans Prime if you will. They lose their parents, every caregiver who's ever kind to them, then say fuck it and live on a deserted island on their own to raise themselves abd fully embrace their orphan status. On the island, they learn their parents survived the shipwreck then died again - double orphaning even.

OH MY SWEET LITTLE CHILDREN THAT FUELED MY LOVE FOR READING AND THE MACABRE Violet- Won her first of many invention competitions when she was five with an automatic rolling pin (comprised of a window shade and six pairs of roller skates). Extremely innovative and genius, foiled by her kindness to others. And she knows how to make a Molotov cocktail. Klaus- Absolute monster of a bibliophile, conducts research for fun, and has a photographic memory. He is known to want nothing more than "a good book, a comfy chair, and the warm glow of a reading lamp". He also is a Herman Melville fan, which is points for him in my book. Sunny- Most people know her only for her penchant for biting, but Sunny is a distinctly distinguished character. She has sharp wit (as long as you can read it through her babbles), her poker skills are phenomenal for a baby, and she has quite the knack for cooking! Also yeah, the teeth. She climbed an elevator shaft with them once.

They are constantly going through it, give these kids a break for real

[weebsinstash]

I'd be judging the hell out of Mom!Reader for naming her twins GABRIEL and GABRIELLA!!!! (Not judging her that much for instigating Miguel to get me or something, I mean. Stockholm syndrome is a bitch. and also. I get it, the power of big d and all that stuff) GIRL. That's the SAME NAME!!!!!

Smh there's so many beautiful names in spanish but MomReader and Miguel 2 are lacking in the creativity department.

Miguel over here watching Mom!You being so radiant and joyful while showing off her chunky babies and he's sending sly glances to you, lowkey being a snob as he thinks "OUR babies would have much better names" and before he knows it he's building up this little fantasy in his head by accident. He keeps hearing these little stories or details from the other you and the other him and in his head he keeps thinking of what he would've done, how he thinks it would've gone for you and him, and you two are not even in a relationship. In fact depending on how drawn out this gets, you haven't even been in the Spider Society for several weeks and are at home with no intention of ever coming back, heartbroken, alone

I even thought of "what if an afab Reader got so desperate to escape canon and have freedom again that she gets pregnant by a stranger and literally carries a full pregnancy so she can abandon the baby, because the kid will eventually become a Spider and maybe they'll take over the canon and then you'll be able to do whatever you want" because you're just. You're so upset that canon is controlling your life and basically like ENSLAVING you that you're desperate

Lmao Peter B sneaks back to see you even though he isn't supposed to and finds you, he's ecstatic, "oh my god you're SUPER pregnant!" and he knows he isn't supposed to see you but he zips it and goes back home and, months later he visits you again with gifts, "so where's the baby?" "I dunno, where IS the baby? :)"

Would the baby technically be an anomaly since you weren't supposed to have it, not like this? What if they had to get rid of it to re-stabilize the timeline or whatever? Now you're being EXTRA shunned because, "wow you went through all that just for yourself huh 🙄 you'd rather abandon a baby than get married..." like people just beyond appalled with you, meanwhile you feel extra victimized because, wow that was all for nothing, you're trying to rethink strategies since "the contigency" didn't work out.

Or less dark but imagine dumping that kid and then some time later you're invited back to the Spider Society and it's like "oh hey Miguel what's the deal with this random baby you're taking care of" and you don't even recognize it, don't even know, you didn't even look at it hard enough to ever really know what it looked like, and, well, WE know whose baby it is lmao. You thinking you escaped from it and it's off living its own life and is going to someday free you and they, maybe not even realizing your intentions and just thinking you were scared, are raising it to give it back to you. I'd go absolutely wild lmao. Their shock when you break it to them "I literally nicknamed it Connie as in contingency, I never even knew what sex it was, I never even fed it, oh my god get it out of here, you're ruining everything"

Miguel MAKING YOU raise it even if its like tbh a fucked up little accident, or, if it's the whole "anomaly baby's gotta go" situation, after the, uh, disposal, he realizes he's pushed you way too far and you're too stressed and scared to think and behave rationally anymore and THIS is where he basically assigns himself as your caretaker and eventually takes you for himself which is kiiiiiiiiinda for the best because you're losing it a little. Like idk I imagine with LYLA maybe he has her programmed to tell him his own canon or he can look at it himself but like, what if he avoided spoilers because he wanted his behavior with you to be authentic or whatever. Like Miguel 2 might let him know "yeah dude turns out we hook up with them in a lot of different universes, it's almost like a separate canon like Peter Parker having Mary Jane" and Miguel takes some sneak peeks at other realities and then he shuts himself off from it so he can move forward of his own accord, but he now knows a sort of guideline and maybe some things to avoid doing (he can see the reality where the YouTwo disaster is going down and he's like "I would NEVER make MY You feel replaced *acts like having Mom!You and Miguel2 around doesn't count, the denial is stored in his ass, that's why it's so big*")

He's got a little notebook or data log where he takes down notes and details on things you like, things he notices about you, things you do often, habits, favorite foods, favorite color, how often are you doing your laundry (he knows you keep re-wearing that bra, girl), are you making your bed, how well are you functioning. Jesus, he literally has technology that can recreate extremely hyperdetailed recreation simulations; if he isn't outright putting camera bots in your room, he can "recreate" however you've been spending your day. He can learn all your routines and rituals and habits, decide what things may be problems, what things you might need more of in your life, he's, studying you really, with a romantic and almost scientific obsession

Not to be all 50 shades of gray in here but would Miguel eventually come onto you, all pent up and control finally bursting, "if we were made for each other, you must like taking it as hard as I like to give it" and whether you want it or not he takes you, and your bodies feel like they fit together perfectly, he stretches you out and fills you up JUST right, you can't help but have your eyes roll into the back of your head with how good it is, and of course he used any good reactions out of you as an excuse/"sign" he's doing the right thing and to keep going, that you're consenting, that he's finally winning you over

Who know; the two of you might start having those babies faster than you both initially thought 😳

[dragonthunders01]

Spectember D7: Kin Selection

After 15 million years the fluvial regions of central Africa have been changing in magnitude but their ecosystem remained similar to the time humans once stood on their shores, and as they have been gone for a long time their inhabitants kept evolving, no much of the fauna to the exception of the forest dwelling ones have changed, new species split from the older ones and other replaced previous ones. Fishes have been as fluid in change as the river they live, and so some have always tried to adapt with new strategies for their own survival or even their relatives.

In this case remarks a species of elephantfish (Mormyridae), a group of very diverse electric fishes from Africa characterized by their developed brains compared to other bony fishes, they have been experiencing further specialization with their intelligence that has changed their survival strategies, The Caretaker elephant-fish (Gnathoscalprum comifamilis) is a sample species of it, descendant of the Peters's elephant-nose fish (Gnathonemus petersii) it differs little of their ancestors morphologically with a average length of 25 cm long, though it has a more robust pointy chin and a larger tail electric muscle that help them to perceive their environment more than other species, although this is not what makes them stranger compared to other species.

The thing that differs them is their social lifestyle, they gather in small groups composed by close familiars, sisters, brothers and often 2 or 4 parents that are the dominant of the group with dozens of younger individuals per breeding season, they recognize each other thanks to a specific learned systems of electric pings each of the familiar learn and memorize, to recognize each other, this varying of family and family and anybody outside of them are aggressively kick out. The group often live upon caring for them and the members often scattering the bottom for food or shelter, normally the brothers and sisters are proactively caring for the minor and main reproductive couple even risking their life, even if that means they likely will never reproduce with other, this behavior imprints on other of the same family and can be carried by the descendants of the reproductive couple which can be passed to another generation. A way to avoid inbreeding often go with lonely individuals of other families that managed to leave their group, that can properly unite successfully with other family if they are capable to prove they can benefit them, or if they straight up kill one of the main couples, which from there will select another mate of the same family and kick the original one that survive, this helping them to avoid inbreeding.

[my-midnight-musings-xoxo]

Major spoilers for MadK!

---

As mentioned, it’s J’s turn to be picked apart! It’s not an in-depth analysis either, sorry. It is a ramble about his character design! I apologize in advance if this is obvious or boring!

Alright, we’re starting at the bottom, literally. 

Lions symbolize courage, nobility, royalty, protectiveness specifically in a familial way. What’s intriguing is that lions represent both the devil and Jesus in the bible, befitting of J. (Note this isn’t an assumption of Ryo Suzuri’s religion, purely just speculation on design. I’m not religious but this along with the angel wings made me think of it). 

In 1 Peter 5:8 the devil is likened to a roaring lion: “seeking someone to devour,” referring to his deceptive and destructive nature. On the other hand, in Revelation 5:5, Jesus Christ is referred to as “the Lion of the Tribe of Judah,” epitomizing His divine authority, majesty, and ultimate victory over evil. - The Lion In Biblical Symbolism: A Powerful Emblem of Courage, Majesty, And Justice by Digital Bible

I wouldn’t call him a father figure, but he does take on this caretaker-esque role by bringing them to the brothel to “teach them”, it feels like a twisted sense of raising. He seems to take young people such as Datenshou, who in Vol 3 Chapter 16 was shown to be a young incensate when taken in by J.  The obvious view is young and vulnerable people are easier to mold into what you want. I think this leans into J viewing himself as the mentor Wald was to him, but also finding people similar to him, re-raising himself, or at the least self projection. His younger self in Vol 3 appears in chapter 15, and at one point J refers to himself as Wald’s greatest creation. (As much as I’d love to ramble about the metaphors of owning names, this will already be long)

Both J and Makoto cannot see themselves outside of their creators, with J’s third eye that he gouges out alluded to being Wald’s as J says “It was the eye of someone who cursed me a long, long time ago. Though I guess you could say I went to them to be cursed.” Earlier in the chapter younger J wanted to choose how he died if he couldn’t choose where he started. The only physical difference between Wald and J’s fate is that J fully passed on at the end, but Wald was forever stuck in his mansion. J was trapped mentally and physically for centuries after Wald, taking on the role of nobody led to no one truly knowing him. With Makoto he could finally rest, Vol 2 at the end of Chapter 16 J says while embracing Makoto after he forced him to kill his own father, “Hate me all you like…and quickly climb up here with me.” (The art is stunning here oh my gosh I could gush about it forever!) Once again J is choosing how he wishes to die, but it succeeds. I guess in this way you could argue it’s a metaphor for J killing himself, he’s transferred so much of himself into Makoto, but maybe that’s a reach who knows.

Onto the wings! Obviously, they’re associated with angels (honestly I would’ve loved it if he said ‘be not afraid’ like those biblically accurate angels when Makoto and him first met, it would’ve been beautifully ironic but that’s just me) but they quickly made me think of Lucifer. I highly doubt this was intentional, I just find it interesting that J is called an Archduke and that Archangels (from my research!) are sent to personally oversee and assist humans with a range of issues, do with that what you will. 

Something I appreciate is art seeming touchable. A popular example for me is Vittorio Reggianini, please do yourself a favor and look up his paintings! The way he paints such vivid textures not only shows his understanding of art but also his dedication and skill. 

Not only does Ryo Suzuri draw wings beautifully, but she also draws them in a way where I feel like I could reach through and feel them. The silky feathers, the soft and curved bone. I admit it looks quite nice to be wrapped in those wings, not only do they look soft to the touch they look safe to be embraced within, their size encouraging the appearance of safety, being shielded away from the outside.

Oh and the hair!! I am a sucker for seeing how different artists draw hair, and even more so for curls. I’ll admit part of that is my inability to draw them, but the first thing I thought when I saw J for the first time was, he has great hair! It’s just so luscious! There’s a scene in Vol 1 Chapter One when J is comforting Makoto and I stared at it for at least 30 seconds. He has this devilish angel quality that I mention so frequently because it’s so wonderfully done I refuse to shut up about it. 

The way his hair frames his face almost like smoke as he gazes up at Makoto with eyes full of acceptance and promise, his assured smirk with Makoto in his grasp, ugh! 

What I wouldn’t give for an artbook of this manga, I’ll make my own deal with a demon if I have to.

T_T 

One day I’m just going to gush about my favorite panels, it’ll probably be soon because I have so many thoughts!!

I meant for this to be posted yesterday so I scheduled it, but I must've done something wrong because it never posted. I'm sorry about that!

[shangchiswife]

asiya's masterlist!

a lot of you have been asking for a masterlist so here you go!

The Last of Us:

joel miller- the babysitter - part 1- part 2 (smut)

joel miller- pretty pink skirt (smut)

joel miller- sweet nothing

Lord of the Rings/The Hobbit:

dating aragorn headcanons!

dating thorin headcanons!

incorrect lotr/hobbit quotes-

big back challenge ft. y/n, thorin, fili, and kili

scary thorin ft. y/n and thorin

Star Wars:

luke skywalker- paper rings

han solo- the one where he f's up

luke skywalker- you're scared of thunder?

luke skywalker- sunsets

Prequels-

anakin/obi-wan/padme- period

Anakin Skywalker-

anakin skywalker- pacify her (smut)

anakin skywalker- broken promises (smut)

anakin skywalker- wildest dreams

Obi-Wan Kenobi-

obi-wan- the way i loved you (smut)

obi-wan- party blues

obi-wan- sweet dreams

obi-wan- savior complex

obi-wan- drunken love

obi-wan- better man

Sequels-

poe dameron- yule ball

ben solo- i guess this is goodbye

poe dameron- traitor

hux- long drunk nights

kylo ren- safe space

poe dameron- nightmare

kylo ren- the last time

poe dameron- the other woman

hux- good little girl

poe dameron- clean

kylo ren- therapy

kylo ren- cardigan

Din Djarin-

din djarin- helping hand (smut)

din djarin- every dead-end street led you straight to me (smut)

din djarin- maroon

din djarin- caretaker

din djarin- family ties

din djarin- savior complex

din djarin- the protector

din djarin- you are in love

din djarin- nightmares

X-Men

logan howlett- electric touch (smut)

logan howlett- little black dress (smut)

logan howlett- a royal tea party

Marvel:

loki- mr. perfectly fine

pietro maximoff- saying goodbye

loki- if only you knew

steve rogers- sparks fly

bucky barnes- deja vu

loki- an escape from the palace

steve rogers- beach day

loki- speechless

Moonknight-

steven grant- late night talking

marc spector- dancing with out hands tied

steven grant- hug me

Spider-man-

miguel o'hara- stress relief (smut)

peter parker- a night under the stars

peter parker- i wish i were heather

otto octavius- merry christmas

harry osborn- hide and seek

tasm!peter/reader/otto- we'll take care of you

Norman Osborn-

norman osborn- dark paradise

norman osborn- they don't know about us

norman osborn- baby it's cold outside

norman osborn- i'm pregnant

norman osborn- look after you

norman osborn- let the games begin

norman osborn- i'm yours

norman osborn- worst behavior

norman osborn- experimental game

Norman Osborn and Otto Octavius-

otto octavius/norman osborn- skating

otto octavius/norman osborn- the moment i knew

otto octavius/norman osborn- save me

otto octavius/norman osborn- hostage

[princeescaluswords]

Underestimated

It's hilarious how no one more consistently misreads both Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski than stans of Fanon Stiles. In their urge to piss on Scott, they treat Stiles as if he is a fragile baby who doesn't constantly stand up for what he thinks is right, who doesn't make fun of threats like Gerard Argent to his face, who doesn't defy monstrous serial killers like Peter Hale and the nogitsune.

Even though Stiles had particular flaws which mean he will never be my favorite character, I would never say he wasn't clever, brave, and loyal. When he sees a problem, he takes action (even if I don't like the action he takes).

Which is why it's so mystifying that so-called fans of Stiles consistently write him as someone who would silently suffer from the neglect and disregard of popular jock Scott McCall (who was neither popular nor a jock). Just this morning, the day after Christmas, I came across a completely untagged story where Stiles mourns the way Scott has drifted away from their friendship, leaving poor baby Stiles alone and unable to depend on anyone. This is in the aftermath of Gerard kidnapping and beating Stiles from the lacrosse game in Battlefield (2x11).

I might enjoy a story where Stiles contemplates the shifting nature of his and Scott's friendship. I might even enjoy him mourning the loss of their closeness due to the horrors that have assaulted them. But, of course, that's not the approach this story took. Scott doesn't come for Stiles in Master Plan (2x12) demonstrating the weakening of their friendship. It is not because Scott couldn't find Stiles; it is not because the Hales insisted that stopping Gerard was more important, and it is certainly not because Scott had to prioritize saving people who he knew might die, including Jackson, Derek, and Derek's pack. No, no, Scott didn't come for Stiles because he was fixated on Allison, even though it was Allison who begged him not to get involved in Shape-Shifted (2x02) and even though Scott doesn't talk to or even as much as say her name from the time Stiles is kidnapped until long after Scott gets a text saying that Stiles has been found.

Does this person really believe that Stiles, who steals a police van to stop Jackson, who tortures Scott to punish him for letting his Dad get hurt, who shouts repeatedly at Lydia whom he has been in love with since the third Grade, would sit in the dark of his bedroom, feeling lost and empty because Scott doesn't make him the center of his universe? What scene could possibly have made them think that? The only time Stiles conceals things is to protect people, including himself.

Oh, I get that this is Stiles serving as Self-Insert. But I've seen so many variations of mourning/angry/vengeful/despondent Stiles crying because Scott fell in love with a girl for as long as I've been in the fandom, that I know it's a pretty popular trope. A terrible (and racist) trope manifested out of thin air, borrowing heavily from "the minority character must be a white character's caretaker" (you never see Derek scolded for not mentioning Stiles for the last two episodes of Season 2). It's not terrible because it's not canon (though it's not); it's not terrible because it's weaksauce (do friends really have to be exclusively devoted to you for the rest of their lives to be friends?). In the end, the largest reason it is terrible is because it makes Stiles into a sniveling little wuss, someone so dependent on others that he won't fight for what he wants.

Stiles Stilinski is many things, but he was never that.

[spacecadet-ticklesinspace]

Christmas Sniffles: Chapter 1

Summary: Right around the holidays, Peter 1 gets sick.

(Why is it whenever I get writer's block, I write something that's Peter 1 hurt/comfort? *frantically taps screen* Mental me explain! What do you mean by hurting blorbo! This was supposed to be a one-shot that turned into a whole thing 😅 Merry Christmas everyone! Hope you enjoy!)

Two knew it. From the moment he saw his youngest brother, he just knew something wasn't right.

At first, he thought it might be exhaustion. With One's school out for holiday break, the youngest had picked up extra shifts at the pizza place he worked at. He thought he could work straight through, but the manager had refused to have the place open on Christmas Eve or on Christmas morning. And due to his over time, the manager said he couldn't come in on the 23rd either.

With no one to celebrate with, Two had invited him to spend a couple days with him and MJ. When One stepped through the portal, he had looked exhausted.

"Hey Pete, you okay?" Two asked.

"I'm fine Two, just exhausted." One wrapped his older brother in a hug. "Work and all."

The oldest Peter returned the hug. "Aww, little responsibile . . . did you just got off of a shift?"

"Yeheah. Sorry if I'm hot and sweaty."

"That's okay." Peter 2 ruffled his younger brother's hair. "Why don't you go grab a quick shower before dinner?"

Peter 1 looked up. "But shouldn't I help with dinner."

Peter 2 playfully shoved him. "Go get clean, I can hold down the fort."

The youngest smirked as he hurried upstairs. Once One disappeared, Two's older brother instincs blared in the back of his head.

Peter 1 started coughing and sniffling because of "allergies". Then he had picked at his meal because he wasn't super hungry. Then by the end of the meal he was shivering because the room was cold.

After the meal, MJ and Two tried to convince One to enjoy a Christmas movie.

"I'd love too, but . . . c-could Icall it an early night?" One asked.

"Really?" The oldest Peter checked his phone. "It's not quite 8pm."

"I know---I'm just really tired."

"We understand sweetheart." MJ kissed his forehead. "Mm, you feel a little warm."

The youngest Peter gently pulled away. "I'm okay, I'll see you both in the morning."

"Night Pete." Two called out as the youngest headed upstairs.

"Did he seem . . . off to you?" MJ asked.

"A little."

"Do you think it's just tiredness?"

" . . . I hope so."

Before the two went to bed, Peter 2 poked his head into the guest room. The youngest seemed to be sleeping peacefully so Two left him and headed to bed.

"How was he?" MJ asked.

"Sleeping soundly for now. Maybe it was just a lack of sleep."

"I don't know . . ."

The oldest Peter wrapped his arms around his wife. "Let's let him sleep it off and see how he is in the morning."

"Usually you're the overprotective worry wart," MJ teased.

"Ihi'm trying to be better."

MJ snuggled closer. "You might have a built in spider sense, but I've know you long enough to tell when you're anxious too."

Two chuckled. "Aham I that obvious?"

"A little, but it's sweet to see how protective you are with them."

"I could say the same about you." The oldest Peter kissed MJ's nose. "You get that adorable little pucker right between your eyebrows."

MJ playfully slapped her husband's arm. "Ahand you grohowl."

"I do not!"

"Do too! Yohou sound juhust like aha Papa Bear."

In response, Peter 2 chuckled before he nuzzled his face into MJ's neck with a playful growl.

"Eeep! Peheter!"

"Juhust living uhup to thehe nickname."

He let up after a bit.

After her giggles calmed, MJ kissed her husband. "Ihi love yohou Tiger."

"I love yohou too sweheetie."

With the tension at ease for the moment, MJ and Peter 2 settled down to sleep.

[brooklynisher]

Just

Going off my original Spine hc (you know the drill)

I've been thinking about how The Spine explored music during his younger years. Because he never had many coping mechanisms He was banned from most of them

I think music was one he initially tried to hide.

It was a huge breath of fresh air when he realized that he was supposed to sing, but even so, he was more secretive about it.

Mostly because he wrote his own lyrics, and if you look at my SECOND Spine hc post, the robots weren't the ones who wrote the songs back in the day. I implied that it was only until VI that they started writing originals. Before that, the band was controlled by their caretaker.

So there are quite a few reasons why he could get in trouble for writing his own songs. I imagine, when it comes to building the perfect robot, Peter wasn't so much of a fan of a lack of control. If he lets The Spine write whatever he wants, The Spine has many more opportunities to do something he's not supposed to. Especially when it comes to writing songs. Who knows what they would be about? How could Peter manage that?

His suspicions were correct. The Spine would secretly write songs and a lot of them were about his feelings. Music was the most effective coping mechanism because it was essentially his only coping mechanism. And he kind of abused it.

Similar to how Peter started building a bunch of robots after Delilah died as a coping mechanism, The Spine wrote a lot of songs whenever he felt like he was being mistreated. He was very fast. He'd often find himself humming some of his songs whenever he felt something negative. But he was always very very quiet about it. He hid his lyrics very well. Some of them are still somewhere around the manor today.

But it wasn't just emotional songs. He made many songs he could use to substitute his lack of whimsical media. Because he always wanted to indulge in "children's hobbies", but he wasn't allowed to. So he tried to write his own fantasies and put them into song.

When he was reprogrammed for war, he ended up forgetting a lot of the songs he wrote, but he's managed to recover a few of them if not bits and pieces.

I'm thinking about songs like Wired Wrong, Electricity is in My Soul, and Hot on the Trail. Which 2/3 of those songs have more serious IRL reasons for being written (With Wired Wrong being about David's neurodivergence and Hot on the Trail being about a toxic partner David once had in a poly relationship [<- misunderstood. Click the link please!]), but we never got an in-lore explanation as to why The Spine is singing it.

But also other songs like the old version of Starlight Star-shine, Love World of Love, I Don't Have a Name For It, and She Said Maybe.

He really liked exploring topics of love in his more "fun" songs Perhaps it was because he felt like he was lacking it... hm...

[abbatoirablaze]

Shameless, Season 3 & 4 Master List

Seasons 1 & 2

Things never stay the same in the Gallagher household. At least, not for long anyways.

After you graduated high school, you helped your sister raise your five younger siblings. And things were like that...for a while. But then you ended up marrying your best friend.

Tony Markovich.

And yeah...things were pretty great there for a while too.

Until they weren't.

And now, you're living under an alias with your son...so that your husband doesn't know where to find you. And to be honest, ever since your dad disappeared...things have been going pretty well.

And then you met him.

Charlie Peters.

Who knew all you needed was that brooding version of sex on two legs to turn your life back into one big drama fest.

Season 3

Chapter 1: Oh How Things Change

Chapter 2: El Grand Canyon

Chapter 3: The American Dream & May I Trim Your Hedges

Chapter 4: The Helpful Gallaghers & The Sins of My Caretaker

Chapter 5: Cascading Failures

Chapter 6: A Long Way From Home & When There's A Will

Chapter 7: Frank The Plumber, Civil Wrongs & Order Room Service

Chapter 8: Survival Of The Fittest

Season 4

Chapter 9: Simple Pleasures & My Oldest Daughter

Chapter 10: Like Father Like Daughter & Strangers On A Train

Chapter 11: There's A Rub & Iron City

Chapter 12: A Jailbird, Invalid, Martyr, Cutter, Retard, and Parasitic Twin

Chapter 13: Hope Springs Paternal, The Legend Of Bonnie and Carl, & Liver, I hardly Knew Her

Chapter 14: Emily & Lazarus

Seasons 5 and 6

[ao3feed-irondadspiderson]

twitter interactions with your super-arch-nemesis-turned-father-figure

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55982590 by dumbassium it's a twitter fic. where tony's iron man who's a villain. it's just waffling.   The Daily Bugle ✔ @DailyBugleOfficial Iron Man seen fighting Avengers after attempting to rob a local bank. >> Iron Man @theinvincibleironman Excuse you, what do you mean attempting, I robbed it successfully >>> Captain America ✔ @CptSteveRogers Iron Man, return the money you stole and turn yourself in immediately -Captain America >>>>Iron Man @theinvincibleironman No can do capsicle, already spent it. >>>>>Spidey ✔ @spiderhyphenman on w h a t? >>>>>>Iron Man @theinvincibleironman Insect repellent. Words: 623, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English Series: Part 1 of completely unrelated villain!tony works because i love that trope 😋 Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Peter Parker, Academic Decathlon Team Members (Spider-Man: Homecoming), Tony Stark, Flash Thompson, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Sam Wilson (Marvel), Clint Barton, Wanda Maximoff, Bruce Banner, Thor (Marvel), Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones (Marvel) Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker Additional Tags: Twitter, Social Media, Villain Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, au where twitter is still a thing, Crack, no beta we die like ben, Enemy to Caretaker read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/55982590

[roseposts-stuff]

hello hello!! its time for the doctor who rankings again, today it's time for series 8!! really like this series guys not gonna lie :D again, these are my opinions and also just. mostly for my benefit but i post them here in case someone else is interested in my thoughts???

1. Listen (8x4) - oh how i love this episode guys, i love the opening already, peter capaldi was MADE for stuff like this, i think. i like the idea of a creature that has perfected hiding, i think that's interesting, and i love the ending with clara talking to the doctor as a kid, i love how we kinda still left it ambiguous whether this creature exists or not (i think it does, the creature that was on danny's bed didn't look like a human, even though we didn't see it clearly, but it's not 100% sure this creature is actually real). always love it when doctor who goes horror

2. Mummy on the Orient Express (8x8) - SO good, love this episode, i love the mystery of the mummy and i think a morally grey doctor was written well in this, i liked perkins a lot and kinda wished he had become a companion, and i liked the story. also the "are you my mummy" heritage still going strong lmao

3. Flatline (8x9) - SO GOOD!! i love the idea of creatures that are in 2D that's interesting, i like clara and there are so many hilarious things in this, personally i died permanently when clara just pulled the hammer from the bag and went "apparently they're in the walls", it was so funny to me lol, yeah, brilliant i think

4. Deep Breath (8x1) - does the beginning with clara feel a bit weird considering she has literally seen every regeneration of the doctor's and knows how it works? yeah. but i get where they're going with it and why it is there, because the audience has just lost the previous doctor, who is this new guy here why is he so different, how can he suddenly be so old?? the kids who might have started watching with matt smith might say, and i get that clara is now acting as the audience, i don't mind it. and i like the scene with vastra and clara. and the second half of the episode is brilliant, i love clara with the robot. guys. i don't remember if they had a name sorry guys lol. but she was great. i really think she's so much better in this series than in series 7. and this episode also has some really funny moments, i had so much fun following the doctor's adventures, and i love jenny, vastra and strax as people might notice from the previous posts. i LOVE them. miss them every day i want them back i hate that this is their last appearance on tv :( but yeah, a great introduction to the new doctor, dare i even say better than the eleventh hour are we ready for that conversation??

5. Dark Water/Death in Heaven (8x11/8x12) - always love meeting kate even if she's in a small role, live laugh love kate lethbridge-stewart if she got no fans i'm dead. anyway, i like finally meeting missy properly, she's great and i enjoyed the doctor and her together. i think the cliffhanger is good and i personally am a danny pink defender, i was sad that he died, he wasn't my favourite character but i didn't hate him like most people seem to do lol. i also think the cybermen are alright and the nod to the brigadier and the doctor saluting him is really nice i think

6. Time Heist (8x5) - it's a nice story, i like the concept and the teller is an interesting creature in my opinion, i like the time travel heist stuff and i like psi and saibra, i think it's great and seems a bit underappreciated in the fandom? or have i just not seen people talk about it? i don't know

7. Robot of Sherwood (8x3) - this was actually pretty good fun, i laughed so many times watching this, and even though the story isn't the best in my opinion, i think this is still very fun and enjoyable and i had a great time watching it. robin hood and the doctor's dynamic was actually pretty hilarious

8. The Caretaker (8x6) - i must say, this made me laugh a few times, i think it's fun, and i like clara and danny's relationship stuff here, i think the dynamic between the doctor and danny is interesting, but the story itself isn't the best and i don't think it's anything special

9. Into the Dalek (8x2) - now i get what this story is going for and how we start exploring the question of whether the doctor is a good man or not is great, i like that theme, and i personally like that last excange with the doctor and the dalek, how the doctor says that hatred isn't victory and the double meaning of "a good dalek". but even though steven moffat is 100% one of my favourite doctor who writers, something i must say that he doesn't get right are the daleks, i don't think he gets them. i think he sees them just plainly as evil angry tanks, which they're not, yes they're obviously evil, but they do have sort of personality, they're occasionally sassy and think themselves to be cleverer than they are, and i don't think moffat gets their characterisation right

10. In the Forest of the Night (8x10) - i don't hate it but it's not good either. it's pretty boring because our characters are just randomly running around a forest, which i do think can be done well, but this wasn't. i found clara and danny's relationship stuff to be okay and i think it was so sweet the kids shipped them lol, and i do think that the fact that this had so much of them being kinda happy makes danny's death in the next episode more sad. and i did 100% pick up on the message about protecting trees, which is indeed important, and i liked that the trees were protecting the earth and that children made the message to everyone like young people do today with the climate change, i think that's something that's good about this story.

11. Kill the Moon (8x7) - i don't completely hate it, it's got a few kinda funny lines and i think it did the morally grey doctor thing well, and i love the ending with clara. but the anti-abortion message is not it, and you know i'm giving the writer the benefit of the doubt, because i can 100% see an another way to interpret the story, that humans want to destroy things that they don't know about and we should instead give them a chance because it could be a good thing, but the way some things are worded in the story are just giving anti-abortion message. and i personally wasn't a fan of the random astronaut and the story as a whole just wasn't for me. though i think the morally grey doctor is done well, it feels kinda weird that he just. disappears mid story, i don't know, but yeah, not a fan

there we are, i liked this series, lots of great episodes i think, and peter capaldi is fantastic of course :D

[nya-in-the-multiverse]

having identity crisis-

(if you can handle a bit of negativity talk, i beg you to read this rant and help me figure it out cause there is only so much that my journal can do for me 💀)

i was 17 when i discovered shifting. i’m quite freshly 22 now.

mcu dr was my first ever dr and when I made it, I scripted myself as high schooler, as that was what I was at the time. I wanted to be best friend with Peter Parker, have good high school experience, and on and on- (as at the time covid was at it’s peak and I was locked up at my house).

as the time went on, I hated my life, I hated my college experience, I hated myself and everything around. I still kept my mcu dr with the setting of being a high schooler because I wanted to make up for the lost teen years. I still yearned for unhinged teen parties, for laughing in lessons, for going over classics in literature lessons, for school lunches with my friends.

last winter i put my degree on hold cause I couldn’t bare college anymore and went into a course for my current work, which I honestly like more than I thought I would. at first it was pure escape from toxic school environment but honestly I can see myself doing this for the next few years.

I haven’t really had any real effort for shifting into mcu in last 2 or so years because I honestly lost interest in it all together with phase 4 sorry not sorry

but now it resurfaced for me. i feel the passion for this dr like I did all those years ago when I first made it. I just don’t know what to do with myself in it-

I always planned to be Tony’s kid, still being someone he sort of “cares about” as a caretaker. I’d live at home with him. (this part i desperately wish to keep in) but as I now work here and live on my own, I can’t imagine going to high school in this dr. It feels ridiculous to me, especially when i do wanna date Bucky eventually

but i have no idea what else to do-

of course I will be an Avenger but what about the time when we’re not saving the world? I don’t wanna go to college. I hated college and it’s giving me ptsd even thinking about ever going back again

(I could technically script a better one? where i’ll get to study something I won’t hate?)

because as Tony’s child I feel like there will be so much pressure on me to just- do something

I could always help at the lab, help with his business or whatever- I just don’t know how to grow in this dr when I didn’t even experience it yet

please shifters who’s been trying for multiple years to reach their DRs, if you had similar dilemma let me know cause I feel so lost and so alone in this 🥲

also if I have here successful mcu shifters, feel free to tell me what you do besides saving the world in your free time cause I fear i’d feel like absolute shit without any purpose that I always felt with school