#here are my muses with daddy issues please please please

[nemesyaaa]

a house in nebraska ! rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary ; you were the reason he won't come home but you still call home. this story is based on the song of ethel cain.

warnings : it's angst. fully angst. it's about toxic relationship. so violence, arguing and fighting, sick behavior, daddy and mommy issues, the urge of love and being loved, mentions of drugs, the feeling of being misunderstood and unsteady. home is used as a metaphor of relationship. it's about inner rage too. slight of smut but very little. both rafe and reader being fucked up. southern goth/small town coded.

author's note : it's my first time writing angst so be easy one me please ! as i said, it's based on " a house in nebraska" by ethel cain (because she's my favorite artist and my muse.) and a lot of her songs make me think of rafe, but i also take inspo of her others songs like crush, strangers, and hard times. also a hint of bet on losing dogs by mitski.

i dont know how many words are in this works, but i think around 3k ? it's a one-shot ! BETTER TO READ IT WHILE LISTENING TO A SAD SONG. (a house in nebraska (live version)or anything else)

you lived in the nebraska with rafe, he was your man and you were his girl. it was a small town that allowed you to be just him and you against the world, to be safe from the rest. but the ugly truth was that your house had become a raging mess. the mattresses had become dirty, the silence too comfortable, the night too long, the emptiness too deep, the love too absent and the violence too present. everyone was angry here, even demons and the silence.

rafe was a storm, and every time you tried to calm it, you became further worse. no, you weren't becoming like him, you were becoming him, the mirror of his emotions, full of rage and inexpressible feelings. like a bomb, you needed it to come out, to scream and explode. like a bomb, you needed to hurt, and destroy everything in your way.

you had built this house together, when he still worked with his hands, oh god, how much you loved those big and strong hands, the dirt and bruises on his skin. the softness of his palms when he touched you, the pulsating veins engraved. they were made to love you, to caging you. they were always rushed with blood and wounds because of his work, but despite how dirty they were when he came home, they were always pure and clean on your body. but you also were so in love with his messy sweaty hair, caressing by the wind. he was tall and handsome, the kind of man who worked all day, and drunk at night, some whiskey or bourbon. but never missed to please the needs of his girl.

when he smoked his red marlboros on the porch, you were sitting on his lap like a sleepy girl to take a nap on his heavy arms that managed to hug your body. when he took a sip of his cold beer, while you had nothing to do but being his own pretty girl. when he allowed you to bathe him, cleaning the mess and the sweat. when you used to learn him how to play some classic music on the old piano, and he was just turned on by the way you used so damn well your fingers, and making you sit on the board, and fuck you right there, even if the windows were wide open.

at this time, you would have die for him.

when he still listened to what you said, when he still answered your calls and did not make you sick by his silence, when you laughed every time he came home . but now you were starting to hate the fact that he was coming.

how did the man who was supposed to make you so happy manage to break you so easily? but you weren't an angel either, oh far from it, you had neither wings nor halo on your head, you didn't even have god in your heart. you made him, like all men, your enemy.

it was four in the morning, it was still dark, you were waiting in the living room.

the tv wasn't on. rafe had broken it during an argument. that wasn’t the only thing he shattered, you had to be the hardest thing he does. not even with his fists, with just the force of his words, the way they were murderous, the way they had the force to tear your heart open and crushed it into pieces.

most people would say that this man was not the type to cry, that a man doesn't cry, but rafe cried. and you had seen him a couple of times, and the first time you saw him burst into tears, you knew straight away that it was the real him. that behind all this hatred, this anger, there was a hurted little boy. and who grew up with an open wound, a wound impossible to heal, even with all the love in the world.

rafe was the kind of man who screamed, who cried, who bled, a fallen angel who had lost god along the way, who had been ignored, but mostly, never heard.

when he opened the door to the house, you hated the strong smell of alcohol, but also of blood. you never asked him for anything, the only thing you wanted was for him to come home on time for dinner, to go to bed with you. but no one, absolutely, no one tamed a dog like him. and you rathered not bet on losing dogs.

“where were you ?? ” you had already started shouting due to lack of patience, getting up from the chair to confront him.

you had seen him sigh, making that bored face, like you had no reason to be upset, that face that made all women become even worse.

“if you had the same energy to scream when we fuck, we would have a fantastic sex life.”

“seriously, rafe? you want to play the asshole, right now ? ”

“ it will suit your bitch behavior, so why not ?”

you slapped him very hard in the face. what obviously rafe didn't find this very amusing, he crushed you in the wall, pinned your hands above your head.

“ don't you dare slapping me again. you want to be mean, sweetheart ? i can be meaner. let's see....oh this is the necklace that your mom offered to you before leaving ? how sweet. maybe, i can sell it for a good price. ”

“ rafe. don't. ”

he shushed you, by putting his other hand on your mouth. “ you're not allowed to talk right now. you had your turn for, now, it's my fucking turn. and i will do whatever the fuck i want ! it's my house, my rules. ”

he unhooked the necklace, as you tried to break away from his grip but he closed his fingers tighter against your wrists.

“I'm going to kill you, no matter what you do, i'm going to kill you. ”

“murder me” he said with a louder voice. “i’m asking you to murder me! it’s probably the only good thing you’ll have done well in your life. you know even if i die tonight, i will die yours. even if you kill me, i will always be here.”

he released you, and you exploded. “you have exceeded the limits, rafe! ”

” since when are there boundaries between us, sugar? we're freaks, remember? ”

you threw away the first object you found, it was an empty coffee cup. you threw it at his face. but he had dodged it with a sick smile. your jaw clenched, eyes blazing with fury, you were out of control. you were what he wanted you to be every time he came home late

” oh you can do better than that baby. i'm sure i taught you how to shoot better than this when i showed you how to kill? do you remember? ”

“ this, this fucking attitude, rafe is why everybody leaves you ! ”

“ yes. and do i fucking care, y/n ? do i fucking care ? i grew up in a family where nobody loved me, nobody reached after me, nobody looked after me, nobody dared to pay attention to me and you tell me i have to care about everyone leaving me ? no, it's not fucking fair ! so do you understand ? i don't care. if you want to leave, you know better than me that the door is open because you're the only one to be stucking in front, waiting like a fucking dog that i come come. ”

“ fine. i leave ! ”

you took the keys of the car, even if rafe hated that you drove, especially at midnight. but you were too upset, too mad.

your man wasn't done with you. he stood in front of the car you were driving.

“if you think i'm afraid of killing you, when you were the one who taught me how to do that, you're wrong. ”

" yes ? then show me how well i did my job. kill me. ”

“ rafe, i’m not kidding. ”

“ perfect, we are both serious then. ”

you moved the car forward, pressing the pedal with your feet. you hitted him with the car. it was strong but not violent either.

you got out of the car quickly to check on him. but he was smiling, a little blood on his face.

“are you sick!? ”

“ i raised you well, i fear. now, lick this face. i can see in your eyes how pretty you find me covered with blood, so please yourself, lick it all. ”

“ wait, i will find some tis….”

“ no, with your tongue. clean my whole face with your tongue. don't waste anything. i want to be able to kiss you right after, and recognize the taste of my blood all over your mouth. you want to be sick ? make me feel sick too. ”

maybe you were too young to realize that some loves could be bad. but this relationship was toxic. you had both destroyed each other, and it was complicated when you saw this world, this universe only through your union. you felt like you had lost a lot, like you had lost everything, like you had failed. maybe, you were the failure, and rafe, the problem. but also, maybe, he was the failure and you, the problem.

and you hated not knowing what was going on in rafe's head, you hated that no one on this earth could figure it out, and that even rafe himself didn't know it. he was crazy, he was sick but that wasn't all, it couldn't be just that.

you gave up the fight, going to the bathroom to take a bath. you needed some peace because the house didn't feel like a home anymore.

sometimes wheezie would call you to see if you were okay, she had grown up, and you lied to her all the time. because it hurt so much to be two in a relationship, but not feel like you were a part of it anymore. and the worst part of it all was that you could kill yourself for just one minute of affection, just one second of happiness, just one moment in the past when everything was okay. where rafe was still the sweet little boy you knew. but the stories were not meant to have a happy ending.

it was hard this feeling, this lack when he still lived with you in this terrible house. but one day you'll be the reason he won't come home again. but you would always call home. you promised yourself. because it would always be yours.

rafe had joined you in the bathtub. and you could tell by his red and empty eyes, his blank stare that he had been crying. he cried and he was not the drugs, he was you, only you.

and you didn't mention it. you didn't say anything. you preferred to stay smart and not start another fight.

“the walls could break down with so much screams. ” you said, laughing slightly.

“maybe we should sell the house. ”

“i like this house. i feel at home here. i have nowhere to go. ” you lied for the two first, but not for the last.

and it was true. you had built everything, paved everything here. you had remade a world. you couldn't leave, you couldn't leave anything. and above all, you were too tired to leave.

it would be a lie to say that you didn't had sex in the bathtub, that you didn't feel his tears on your shoulder, that you didn't feel his thrusts get harder each time a sob broke out his empty eyes, that you didn't feel how much he was breaking every time you took pleasure. because, it was hard for him to seeing you being happy. because it was so hard to take care of you. because it was so hard to feel loved and being loved. you were both too young, too stupid, too sick for love.

and rafe wanted to make you happy without sex, without all this selfish sex. no, he wanted to make you happy by some casual things. but sometimes, you pissed him off so bad to the point, he wanted to leave. but how can a man who hoped to be loved can leave the woman who promised to cherish him ? it was too tired, too angry, and too unsteady to leave. you broke him too. and it was sad for him, because you were the only one he was not scared to tell it hurts.

but at six in the morning you were fighting again as if it were a ritual, a need, a desire to destroy each other, as if sometimes love needed to be violent and destructive to work. actually, for freaks like you, surely.

“why did you throw my fucking drugs down the toilet?! ”

“because you don’t need that!” ”

“you don’t know what i need, you barely know what i want! you had no fucking right to do that. ”

“ don't be a crybaby ! ”

“ repeat. i dare you to repeat. ”

“crybaby! you're a fucking crybaby, rafe! your new personality changes nothing about the boy you were and will always be! what, you don't like the truth ? bad for you, i'm about to tell you what everyone doesn't want to tell you. because i'm not scared at all of you ! you're a fucking crybaby ! ”

“ but you're still here, you're still fucking here. because you know what ? i'm maybe a crybaby, but i'm a river worth wading. and this is why, you're standing in front of me with all this confidence. you wanted a broken man, you wanted someone to fix ? then come on baby, i'm here, i'm watching you, i'm listening, i'm literally at your feets, fix me ! fix the little boy you wanted, make him better. ”

“ rafe…”

“no, i'm asking you now who do you think you are? do you think that because you have this attitude, it doesn't make you a little girl who needs her daddy? because damn, yes, you need him. but i fear daddy was the only one who didn't need you because guess what ? he left. and you make all the men leave around you ! but the difference between us is that you care. when i fucking dont care.”

“ you're sick, a sick asshole. and don't touch me ! ” you pushed him away, but he came back, his hand on your throat. “ but you're the sick one who loves me, remember that ?” he answered.

“ but do you think i still love you ? ” you said with a smirk, taking pleasure to see his widen eyes. “ i'm asking you right now, do you think i still love you, and if one day, someone will like you like i do ? it would be so hard for you to find happiness after me, i can promise you this. you will fight a lot. because ? can you see ? can you see i can breathe without you, i can live without you ? but you, can you do this ? yes, you can fight, you can scream and shout but what else ? ”

“ it doesn't hurt, y/n. it doesn't hurt. and you can't break me, as you can't fix me. ”

“ then why are you crying, big boy ? why are those tears for, if not for me ? ”

“ i built a home for you, i did everything for you. ”

“ and then what ? ”

“ don't make me regret it, y/n. don't make me regret the only good thing i've made well in my life, just don't make me regret...this. you don't understand. why did every house i'm in never felt like home ? ”

“ you destroy everything, rafe. but me too, i guess. the difference is that you have an excuse, a reason for being like that. your dad fucked up with you. and i hate him for that. if he had loved you correctly, you would have known and learned how to love people, how to be attached to them. but you don't know any of that, you don't know what it is to love, and to be loved. everything i do for you, you could call it love, even when i'm mean. but it's false, love is tender, it's beautiful. but you know, i think i'm sick because i also like the way you love me, this violence, this rage, this impulsiveness, it drives me crazy but it makes me alive. so, do you think you could do it again? ”

“ why you didn't leave, why you never leave ? ”

“ because it's our house. we're stuck in forever. this is our house in nebraska, our only heaven. now be a good boy and cry a little for me, i think i'm going away a little...” you said, taking him in your arms, your hand placed on his back, and your hand pressed to his cheek. “don’t worry, i cry a lot too. all the time, even when you make me happy. ” you shushed him, bursted in tears in the hug.

you kissed him on the corner of his lips, your mouth meeting his tears, before he joined you in this kiss, you felt his sad and salty tongue against yours, his hands came squeeze your waist.

but now in the present, you were alone. the house still existed but it was just you.

you weren't sleeping anymore, because you kept hoping that he would come home, you were hoping that he would come home late at night.

but you were alone in a dirty and cold mattress. and you prayed for him hoping he was okay. the phone was broken but you were hoping to hear it ring, the door was open and you were waiting for a sign.

nothing was right, everything was wrong. you just wanted to say to rafe that he had you, that he had a house, and his home missed him, like nobody ever does in his life.

you didn't realize that you had been lying all this time, and that you were silently dying. but at least you died, only his.

[headquarters90]

Comfort (Damian Wayne)

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Reader

Words:

Warnings: implied depression, nudity but no smut, daddy issues

A/N: It's been awhile since I've posted for the batfam. I think I burnt myself out trying to focus on a series that I was doing for my own pleasure on here anyways. Kind of fighting a current bout myself and decided to write this to make me feel better. Hopefully, I'm back on my grove soon!

Please read

Releasing a sigh, you rubbed the heel of your palm against your forehead before bringing it down to rub at your eye. You can feel your tiredness sink into you and yet you knew that chances of sleep was slim.

“Beloved?”

Hearing the soft voice, you found yourself turning your head in that direction, noticing the shadow that stood by your window.

“Hi,” you murmured softly, watching as the shadow came closer until the light could hit him and you noticed the concerned look on his face.

“Why are we up so late?” Damian asked softly, putting his weapon against the wall before coming to kneel before you. “Everything alright?”

“Tired,” you answered softly and he frowned softly, watching you before he stood, offering a hand.

“Come on, shower then.”

You lifted your head to look at him, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Tt. Come on, beloved.”

You stared at him and he heaved a sigh before leaning over and lifting you up, causing a squeak to leave you.

“What are you doing?” You questioned and he gave you a dull look.

“We’re going to shower, love,” he answered plainly as he made his way to the bathroom with you in his arms.

“But I don’t-”

“Y/N.”

Scrunching your nose, you nodded as he placed you on the counter before going about getting the shower ready.

Your eyes watched him before they flirted over him. Out of habit, and maybe to try to get out of the shower situation, your eyes searched for any indication for a wound. It wouldn’t have been the first time you’ve patched him up.

If he could, he preferred you to do it anyways.

But you couldn’t see any. So, unfortunately, you’ll have his undivided attention.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you naked before, that wasn’t the issue. You…just didn’t want to focus on yourself right now and you knew that’s what will happen. Especially since he could always tell when you weren’t okay.

You honestly just wanted to lay in bed under the covers and hide away.

“My love?”

You found yourself blinking, your eyes lifted to meet his, and it was only then that you realized he was done getting the shower ready.

And that he had managed to undress in the meantime too.

“Let’s get you undressed, beloved,” he murmured, gently pulling you off the counter.

You allowed him to take your clothes off, silently enjoying the feelings of his hands against your skin.

“I don’t know why you try to put up a fight every time you feel this way,” he spoke softly as one of his hands rested against the side of her neck. “I know it’s not body image. We handled that already.”

“Just…want to hide away,” you admitted quietly, allowing him to lead you into the shower, “and a lot of work.”

“And yet you appreciate it every time,” Damian mused, wrapping his arms around your waist as you melted into him.

“Yeah, I know,” you murmured, resting your head on his shoulder.

The two of you stood like that for a bit before you felt him press a kiss against your temple as one of his arms reached out for something.

“Close your eyes and tilt your head back,” he ordered softly and you did just that, feeling the water run down your hair before he was tilted your head forward and hands began to massage shampoo into your hair.

He was careful not to get soap in your eyes as he rinsed it out before doing the same thing with conditioner.

Damian was careful and slow when it came to washing your body and it made you give a small smile.

“What about you?” You questioned softly as he reached to turn off the shower. “You just got back from patrol.”

“I’ll worry about myself later,” he promised, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “You being okay is more important right now.”

“Imagine what your brothers would say if they saw you now,” you teased softly, earning a chuckle from him.

“Feeling somewhat better then?” He asked, wrapping a towel around his waist before wrapping one around you.

“A little bit,” you answered, walking out of the bathroom. Stumbling a bit when he gently pushed you towards the bed, you scowled to yourself before taking a seat on said bed, your eyes tracking him as he shuffled through drawers.

He tossed a shirt onto the bed before he pulled on some sweats and you looked at the shirt, smiling softly at the sight of one of the few t-shirts he owned.

Removing the towel from yourself, you pulled the shirt on before moving to get under the covers. He joined you not soon after.

Pulling you into his chest, the two of you laid like that. His fingers gently trailed up and down your back, occasionally tracing some type of pattern or word, and his other hand held yours against his chest.

“Thank you,” you murmured softly, turning your head just enough to press a kiss against his chest.

“Of course, my beloved,” he pressed a kiss against your head, “I’m here whenever you need me,” he promised. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[diazsdimples]

Fuck It Friday/ Inspiration Saturday

I'm not sure it's even Friday anywhere anymore, and it's barely even Saturday here too, but as we say, fuck it! Please enjoy some more Sauna Sex, my primary wip until it's finished.

I was tagged for FIF by @daffi-990 (who just uploaded the final Rivals chapter, PLEASE go read that fic), @bucksbignaturals @spotsandsocks @cal-daisies-and-briars and @theotherbuckley, thank you friends!

Snippet below the cut

Eddie keeps his hands bracketed around Buck’s face, his touch grounding as he directs Buck’s attention towards him. He nuzzles into Buck’s neck, nipping at the heated flesh at the base of his throat and Buck whines, arching his back so his chest is flushed with Eddie’s. The skin-on-skin contact keeps him from spiralling into a panic. Eddie’s here. Eddie isn’t leaving him. In fact, Eddie’s kissing down Buck’s neck, to his chest, and is taking one of Buck’s nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the sensitive nub until Buck has no choice but to let out a high, reedy whine. His erection had flagged ever so slightly with the embarrassment, followed quickly by fear of fucking everything up, but Eddie’s mouth on him brings him back to full hardness in a matter of seconds. He lets out a low groan as he threads his fingers through Eddie's hair, tugging lightly on the silky, damp strands. Eddie hums against his chest, the sound vibrating through his teeth and onto Buck’s nipple, and Buck’s breath hitches. "Fuck, that feels good," he sighs. Eddie looks up at him, his eyes hooded and dark with lust. He sucks lightly on Buck's nipple, his teeth just barely grazing the pebbled flesh. Buck keens, his hips twitching forward of their own volition, the head of his cock brushing so lightly against Eddie’s stomach that Buck almost wonders if he imagines the sensation. "Can't wait to hear the noises you'll make when I'm inside you," Eddie muses, licking Buck’s nipple one last time. He releases Buck's nipple and presses a final kiss to the centre of his chest, and Buck feels like he's about to burst out of his own skin.

Np tagging

 @hippolotamus  @watchyourbuck @bidisasterevankinard

@neverevan @babybibuck @aroeddiediaz  @bibuckbuckgoose

@alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @bucksbignaturals @bucks-daddy-issues @wikiangela @loveyouanyway

 @exhuastedpigeon @kitteneddiediaz @thekristen999 @slightlyobsessedwitheverything

@actualalligator @actuallyitsellie @dangerpronebuddie @tommysdaddykink @loserdiaz

@elvensorceress @underwaterninja13 @rainbow-nerdss @steadfastsaturnsrings @thewolvesof1998

@monsterrae1 @inell @perfectlysunny02 @rogerzsteven @wildlife4life (lmk if you want adding or removing)

[mrsnancywheeler]

I gotta see Billy’s muse who doesn’t take his shit anymore and bullies tf outta him right back and his just flabbergasted

she usually bites back but that's just before she's running off, i do think in a situation where she's also a little drunk, had done a line or two and she won't just say her piece and leave now

"you are so fucking needy, just a spoiled brat from a rich family thinking she can get what she wants anywhere she goes. just another spoiled goddamn groupie" billy shakes his head and you're enraged

"billy, when are you gonna get it through your thick fucking skull that I don't have to be here. you're fucking working for this, for the money, I don't fucking have too and you're just as replaceable. as you always remind me, I'm rich and I'm pretty, I could have fucking anyone else."

"good luck with that, I doubt they'll want to deal with your tantrums"

"I doubt any girl wants to put up with the poor, tortured artist soul of billy dunne and all his fucking daddy issues." and he's taken aback because you're very personally tearing into him, usually you say one thing, tell him to fuck off, and that's the end of it, but you're being venomous now. "besides, if I'm just another fucking groupie then I'd love to go hang out with the rest of the band, I'm sure I can please them too. I could go find eddie..." you're so close to billy's face that you can see every muscle twitch, every clench of the jaw, and how that comment specifically upsets him more. you smile, "what do you not like that? I mean, since I'm just a needy groupie, I'm sure he'd be willing to help out with my needs, take me off your plate."

finally you're stepping away from him, lighting a cigarette. well at least you're about to when billy's kissing you, roughly. "don't even think about pulling that shit. you're my girl, my fucking girl." he doesn't know what else to do now that you've torn him a new one, but trust the way he fucks you after is insane

[asimplearchivist]

𝑪𝑯. 𝑽𝑰 — 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑺𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑹.

𝐂𝐇. 𝐕𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary 🕷️ ⤏ you reflect on your history with miguel—both your husband and your new…colleague. pairing 🕷️ miguel o’hara/spider!reader word count 🕷️ 5.8k a/n 🕷️ [gif credit] ⤏ the chapter I had planned previously just didn’t fit right yet, plus my poll ruled that so I decided to go a different direction since my muse was being a capricious bitch like usual. we’ll hit the levity another day boys.⤏ I sprinkled in the little bit of comic lore that I’ve absorbed through fanfics and the wiki while tweaking it all to fit the timeline of my fanon for this fic, but I tried not to go into too much detail bc ATSV!Miguel’s history is still so vague. please correct me if there are any glaring mistakes.⤏ please mind the tags in the masterpost linked below. here be stupid (albeit lore accurate) decisions. 🕷️ MASTERPOST 🕷️ 🕷️ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ 🕷️ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER 🕷️

Considering how odd your life had proven to be until present, you shouldn’t really have been surprised by how quickly you were able to adapt to your new circumstances.

Receiving high enough marks in your earliest years that you were hand-selected to be sent to Alchemax’s glorified drone factory of a school, steadily ascending through the ranks of your peers as your intellect was honed and sharpened with heavy instruction and endless study, and working your ass off through the highest levels of education in hopes of becoming successful enough to live comfortably all culminating in you meeting the love of your life in the process was only the start.

Your Miguel had been an undesirable individual, one to whom you hadn’t initially been attracted due to the history that preceded him (mostly because you had roomed with Xina for a time). He’d been a cocksure player with mommy and daddy issues, as well as an arrogant attitude and smart mouth in equal measure—playing himself off as the typical bad boy to hide all the scarred wounds he nursed underneath his standoffish exterior.

You hadn’t been able to stand him at first. The first time you’d met him, when he’d stopped by the dorm to pick Xina up for a date very early on in their relationship, you’d waited up apprehensively until she got home that night. You’d told her that he was bad news, that you only saw trouble branded across that massive forehead of his, and that she should drop him like a hot potato.

“But I like hot potatoes,” she’d said, eyes twinkling as she’d undressed for bed. “I’ve known him for a long time—since we were kids. He’s really a sweetheart once you get to know him. He’s standoffish to everyone he meets at first, but once he warms up to you, he’s really nice. Just wait, you’ll see. Let him get used to you.”

The first time he’d hung out at the dorm, you’d waited until Xina had slipped into the restroom before leveling him with a glare full of hellfire.

“You break her heart and I’ll break that stupidly fucking perfect nose of yours,” you’d growled, jabbing a finger in his slackened face. “Don’t think you’re fooling me, O’Hara. I know your type, I’ve read your mail—you think you can get away with everything you set your mind to just because you feel like you’re entitled. But I’m warning you right now—don’t test me. She deserves someone who will treat her right. I will not hesitate to wreck your shit, tú hijo de puta*.”

He’d only stared at you, jaw slack as he’d continued to lounge on the couch—taking up nearly half its width with his wide wingspan and those ridiculously long legs he’d sprattled out as though he owned the place. He hadn’t had the chance to respond before Xina had trotted back into the main room. You’d set down the drink on the coffee table that you’d used a guise to get closer and had moved back over to the kitchenette to resume cooking supper as though not a word had been uttered. He hadn’t said another thing to you the rest of the night save a mumbled, “Good night,” when he’d left, averting his eyes from yours the entire time.

Xina had given you a suspicious look once she’d shut and locked the door behind him, but hadn’t brought anything about it up until days later.

“Mig said he really liked your tacos,” she’d remarked casually while the pair of you’d worked on your assignments, sprawled on the floor in the warm afternoon sunshine spilling through the window. “He hasn’t had his mother’s cooking in a while, but he said it reminded him of home. He wanted me to thank you.”

You’d hummed noncommittally, scribbling away at your notes. “Is that all?”

“And he said you threatened him within an inch of his life.”

You’d tipped your head, casting her a glance through your lashes. You’d expected her to get irritated about it, but instead she’d looked…amused. “And…?”

“He also said,” she’d continued, lowering her tablet and folding her arms to prop herself up, “that he’s glad I’ve got someone loyal like you to look after me.”

“Someone has to,” you’d responded evenly, returning your attention to your handwriting. “You’d be up a creek with no paddle without me.”

“He wanted to know if you’d be okay with him coming over again.”

You’d looked back up to her, raising an incredulous brow. “I’m not your keeper, Xi. You can do whatever the hell you want with him.”

She’d mirrored your expression. “I think he’d just like some assurance that you won’t gnaw on his ankles the next time he hits the door.”

Rolling your eyes, you’d shaken your head. “I’m fine. I got my bluff in. I’ll even make him churros if it’ll get him to crack just one smile.”

“Careful, he’ll probably hold you to that. That man has a sweet tooth worse than anyone I’ve ever met.”

He’d orbited you like a small child would a large dog (despite the size comparison being the exact opposite) for a long time after that, only daring to venture closer when you had brandished food at him like peace offerings. How you had managed to actually intimidate him was beyond you (and a part of you had always wondered if he had only acted like it for your benefit), but you had never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth—so to have had all six foot five of Miguel O’Hara give you as wide of a berth as one would a bear when you so much as stepped into the room was a power trip you’d tried not to let get to your head.

He wasn’t as bad as you’d first anticipated. He did warm up to you over time, and you’d discovered that his curt demeanor stemmed primarily from his awkwardness. He didn’t talk much because he didn’t know how to talk. He had a difficult time parsing his true meanings and feelings, often stumbling over words or being unintentionally blunt or misleading in the process—if he got frustrated enough, he’d even stutter a bit. He was still an asshole sometimes, certainly—especially around other people he didn’t know or just plainly didn't like, as well as when he’d been in a foul mood after a bad day—but he was, admittedly, pleasant enough company to keep around.

He’d inhale any food you’d set down in front of him, anyway, and cooking had always been your biggest love language, so that had made you feel a bit better about him, at least. A complete dickbag would have complained about your heavy-handedness for powdered thyme and salt, but Miguel had only ever asked for seconds (and sometimes thirds) and had expressed his gratitude by bullying his way in front of the sink to help clean up the dishes.

“He’s like that,” Xina had laughed when you’d griped at her about it. “Can’t thank anyone to save his life, but he’ll be damned if he lets you do anything yourself. Very much an ‘acts of service’ type of guy.”

He had a really dumb sense of humor, unexpectedly simple for one as intelligent as he was—and you knew he’d had to have been keen of mind in order to catch Xina’s eye in the first place, as she didn’t tolerate ignorance in the slightest—but the plainness of his puns and quips and jokes always caught you by surprise. You hadn’t ever been able to bestow a name upon the glitter of mirth in his eyes when he’d managed to make you laugh until Xina had pointed it out.

“He likes you, you know,” she’d said casually over coffee somewhere near the university. “He asks about you all the time, wants to know more about you. I think it would help if you’d give him a little more than the time of day.”

You’d given her a wry smirk. “You want me to be chatty with your boyfriend?”

“Just enough to convince him that you’re not some weird cryptid that lives in my pantry,” she’d sighed, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know how many times he’s asked me how we never met you growing up in school.”

“I’m younger than both of you by a couple of years,” you’d reminded her longsufferingly. “I got bumped up to graduate early. I’m lucky I qualified.”

“No luck about it. You’re a smart cookie, cupcake.” She’d sipped her coffee, eyes cutting out to the street on the other side of the glass, then had pursed her lips. “You know, he…didn’t have a great childhood. He’s been through a lot.” She hadn’t met your puzzled expression. “Just…cut him some slack, will you? He’s a good guy.”

“I don’t have anything against him,” you’d assured her. “He’s just not really the type of person I usually gravitate towards.”

“Oh, yeah, and you’re all about those mousy little nerds who can’t pick up a sack of flour,” she’d laughed, rolling her eyes. “I mean it. He likes you. I can’t say that for a whole lot of people, you know. It takes a lot for him to open up as it is, and he’s really making an effort to try. I don’t know what it is about you, but I’ve never seen him so invested in getting to know someone new—he’s got his little posse and that’s about the extent of his centrism.”

You’d frowned. “You’re not worried about that?”

“Nah.” She’d shaken her head. “Mig’s a lot of things, but duplicitous isn’t one of them. I think you just made a really strong impression on him. Maybe all that bad bitch energy you’ve got oozing off of you is actually toning him down some.”

Eventually, he’d offered to help you cook, too. He’d helped Xina pick up around the dorm when you were out. He’d even helped you study for the biochemistry exam you’d convinced yourself that you’d fail, and you’d ended up making an A. He’d interwoven himself inextricably into your lives and daily routine, resulting in those orbiting your immediate social circle referring to you as the ‘dumbass trio’. Wherever Miguel and Xina went, you often weren’t far behind—not of your own volition, of course, as they often roped you into whatever they were doing unless it was strictly a couple’s thing. Xina had sworn up and down that they had mutually agreed to include you on most things so you wouldn’t feel left out, which you’d appreciated a bit more than you’d ever have readily admitted.

You did make him churros for Christmas, and he had, indeed, smiled—so sincere and sweet in the tight, enveloping hug that he’d given you in lieu of thanks with Xina’s laughter tittering over the pounding of your heart in your ears. You’d patted him awkwardly on the back as he’d released you, turning to the tray to pluck up one of the sweets while you’d been too busy resisting the urge to watch his thick fingers disappear past those impossibly plush lips for his tongue to collect the sugar crystals lingering there—you’d managed it (barely), but you’d spent a little too long that night huffing the collar of your sweater while stripping in the bathroom to shower because his cologne had seeped into the chunky knit and you had never before smelled anything so divine.

Eventually, you met Gabriel, too, who had flirted so shamelessly with you that first time Miguel’d had his face buried in his hands throughout the entire ordeal, muttering curses to himself in Spanish that you hadn’t been able to quite catch (but hadn’t necessarily had to—the mortification in his eyes had been clear).

You and Miguel had spent time together, too. Sometimes he’d come to the dorm when Xina was busy elsewhere just to catch a break. He’d told you that he enjoyed the quiet, and that you were relaxing to be around. Having gradually gathered bits and pieces of his past through the various off-handed remarks that Xina had made about his parents, you’d taken that as an utmost compliment. He was, truly, a sweetheart beneath all those bristles he brandished to most. He trusted next to no one, but was loyal to a fault to those select few that he did.

Your best friend’s boyfriend had weaseled his way into your heart, you’d had to admit, and had wormed into your good graces. Over time, you’d learned his eccentricities and mannerisms and colloquialisms. You’d gotten used to him. You’d grown comfortable around him. You’d go so far as to say that you’d liked him, too.

Then he’d cheated with his brother’s girl, a stunt just like you’d initially feared.

You kept your promise. When he’d stopped by the dorm (while Xina was out—the point of which had been clearly made to assure lack of contact on both of their parts) to exchange the meager few belongings of hers that had ended up at his place with his own, you’d broken his nose with a solid jab that he hadn’t even had a chance to block due to his surprise. Luckily, he had set the box down first, and your rage had delayed just long enough to make sure nothing of Xina’s was broken in the process.

He’d bled all over the front of his shirt. You’d shoved a wad of toilet tissue into his sticky, crimson-stained hands, and with stinging eyes and a tight throat you’d slammed the door shut in his teary, crestfallen face.

You didn’t see him for a long time after that. Xina had buckled down and nearly worked herself to death to finish her classes and graduated early. You’d followed the year after her, transitioning into Alchemax’s robotics department, specializing in nanotech, but flexible enough that you ended up working all over the department when the various teams needed an extra set of hands. You’d secured a lease on a nice apartment thanks to your wages, had caught your future by the tail, and had settled in to enjoy your newfound independence and freedom.

Miguel had shown up on your doorstep a couple of years later holding a box brimming with tamales and a bottle of your favorite wine a couple of years later, eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, overall looking like the definition—the epitome—of shattered.

You’d almost turned him away—had almost laughed about how karma was a bitch—but the half-circle bruises under his eyes, the welling split in his lip, and the tears gathering on his lash line as he’d croaked out a hoarse and utterly pitiful, “I really fucked up, pastelita**,” had stayed your instinctual cruelty.

So, with an exasperated sigh, you’d stepped away from the doorpost to gesture him inside. Within minutes, he’d set himself down on the very edge of the end of the couch, shoulders hunched in and downwards, knees clamped together to take up as little space as possible while you’d brought a couple of chipped coffee mugs from your cabinet into which to pour the borderline cloyingly sweet strawberry wine. He hadn’t touched any of the tamales until you’d demolished three, but you’d been able to tell that he was only eating to have something on his stomach. He’d looked ill, and if it weren’t for his confession you’d have been pressing the back of your palm to that massive forehead of his.

Dana had flipped the script on him—had grown bored of the lack of thrill for the affair once Gabriel had caught wind and cut all ties to leave her with his older brother in favor of pursuing an older, richer man further up the hierarchy at Alchemax—and Miguel had no one else to whom he could turn to wallow in his sorrows.

You hadn’t given him an inch. You’d told him just what he’d done to Xina, how you hadn’t had a full conversation with her beyond a handful of texts in the last six months because she’d buried herself so deeply in her work so she wouldn’t have to think about how she felt. You’d told him how big of a dick he’d been to ruin the trust not only for his childhood best friend and girlfriend, but also his brother. You’d told him that you were still pissed enough now, a couple of years later, that he was lucky he wasn’t getting a full sixteen ounces of fermented fruit juice in the eyes. You’d told him that he’d hurt you, too, because you’d ended up losing both of the only friends you’d ever managed to make that had tolerated you enough to keep you around in the process.

He’d taken it all with a lowered gaze but in good faith. He’d admitted that he’d done wrong, and that he’d never be able to truly forgive himself for it. He’d said that he deserved every bit of misfortunate that had riddled his life ever since he’d made that irreparable mistake. He’d also told you that he’d reached out to Xina in attempts to make amends, and had at least convinced her to talk for a few minutes to let her know how sorry he was, that he didn’t expect her to forgive him, and that he would like to make it up to her by remaining friends on somewhat good terms if she wanted.

That had surprised you. Miguel didn’t admit he was wrong. Ever. That he’d go so far as to give someone room to think that indefinitely had proven to you then and there and he had actually realized how badly he’d made a mess of things and had genuinely wanted to change his trajectory.

So you’d shared your homemade salsa with him, had watched at least seven more tamales disappear down his ravenous gullet, and had told him that you could make them better with an arm tied behind your back and blindfolded. You’d managed to leverage a wet, quiet chuckle out of him when you’d told him how ugly he was when he cried—which was really a complete, bald-faced lie. You’d never seen a man look more gorgeous than Miguel O’Hara sobbing into a mug comically small clutched in his mitt of a hand stating proudly in gold calligraphy on a turquoise glaze that, ‘I’m too cute to compute,’ about how uncertain he was that he’d ever be able to fix everything good in his life that he’d broken with his stupidity and recklessness.

You’d bundled him up in your favorite, heaviest blanket after three mugs of wine and had tipped him over to stretch across the woefully ill-fitting length of your couch well past midnight. You’d shoved a pillow under his head, had pulled off his shoes (with his feet dangling off the opposite arm, it only made him look twice as tall), and had slept in the armchair next to him so he wouldn’t wake up alone.

Perhaps you’d been too easy on him. Perhaps you shouldn’t have entertained him after everything he’d done, much less forgive him after one sob story. But you’d missed him, too—like crazy, like hell. You’d missed his sullen pouts at being teased about his forehead and his stupid jokes about mitochondria and the way his smile was just a bit too wide and lopsided, like he didn’t know how to measure it once someone did manage to crack his solemn facade.

You’d called Xina the next morning to explain your end of the story (whatever details Miguel had elected to share with you, even while intoxicated, you held in strict confidence—just like hers were secrets you’d carry to your grave). She’d sighed and said she knew everything, and that she didn’t want to have drama. It would take a long time for them to salvage their relationship and reconcile, but she’d admitted that she’d missed him, too, and just wanted him back as one of her best friends.

Miguel had spent significantly more time with you after that. He came over with food after work once he’d made sure you were home, fussing you right out of the kitchen and letting you pick whatever the pair of you would watch—even if he sighed when you would, inevitably, pick another romcom from a century prior.

It had been a slow process, patching those wounds. Miguel had changed a lot in the time you’d lost, had matured more than you’d ever imagined he would. He cleared the air with Gabriel, and that Christmas all four of you spent the holidays comfortably together eating too many sweets and exchanging gifts. You baked him pan dulce and he brought you cinnamon rolls that he’d made all by himself—although they had been a bit gooey, not quite baked long enough, you’d eaten half the pan yourself.

A year passed. Things got easier. You had no longer felt anxious, hurt, or resentful upon seeing him walk through the door—excitement, affection, and fondness took their places instead. He had made amends as best as he was able, working endlessly to patch up the wounds he’d so carelessly inflicted while also fixing his own issues to prevent it from happening again.

…He’d confessed his feelings for you entirely by accident. It had just slipped one night, after a few too many drinks and continuous bumping into each other while washing and drying and storing the dishes, that he’d liked you for a long time—since he’d met you, really—and he wouldn’t have added the fact that him seeking your company had long since slipped from avoiding loneliness into wanting to stay close to you if you hadn’t nearly pried the words from his clenched jaw with increasingly creative and outlandish threats of nonviolence.

He had intended to never say a word, you’d learned. After everything he’d done and gone through, he’d convinced himself that he was undeserving of love and utterly incapable of nurturing it into anything remotely palpable, healthy, and long-term. He was terrified of losing for good what little bit of love that he’d managed to salvage from the only people he’d had in his life that genuinely cared for him unconditionally, having already ruined his first serious relationship with a night of foolhardy negligence. Despite his ardent adoration of you and how you had changed his flaws into virtues, he had resigned himself to remaining your friend for the rest of his list so he would never risk fucking up his chances at happiness again—he would have taken that to the grave, had his restraint not wavered with your nonchalant, half-teasing confession of him being the most important—and favorite—person in your life.

(Except it hadn’t been a joke. You’d realized, in the span of a breath after you’d uttered those baring words, that it was entirely true—even your close friendship with Xina paled in comparison for the bond that you and Miguel had painstakingly built throughout the trials and crises you’d faced together. Despite his grievous errors, he’d remained steadfast in the face of resolving them—a trait so rarely seen that you’d stood by his side in support without question.)

In a blind panic at your prolonged, shocked silence, he’d thus fallen into a continuous spiel that contained more words than he’d ever spoken throughout your entire acquaintance combined. He vomited his childhood traumas and adolescent hardships and formative follies up as if he were lancing an infected wound, and the underlying explanations behind his personality, behavior, and insecurities became all too apparent in that moment. It didn’t excuse any of his actions, by any means—he’d acknowledged that much vehemently without you even having to open your mouth—and he’d known that he would never truly be able to reconcile all the shit he’d brought upon himself, which had resulted, in turn, in him inflicting misery and heartache upon others entirely undeserving of it. He’d apologized profusely for every slight he’d made at you, had begged that you disregard him ever having said those three damning words in order for everything to stay as it was, to go back to normal, so he wouldn’t lose you, too, for a second time.

…He had never been anyone’s favorite in his entire life. That idea had broken your heart.

But it had been a lot to swallow all at once, too. You’d shoved an ice cube into his mouth to calm his hammering heart and to stifle his anxious rambling, as well as to give yourself a couple of minutes to regather your bearings. You hadn’t been able to form a coherent thought, much to your chagrin—too caught up in the all-to-recent memory of him gazing down at you with such softness and reverence that one would have thought that you had strung up the constellations before murmuring with as much conviction as one would a benediction, “I love you,” emblazoned onto the backs of your eyelids and ringing in your ears.

Once the ice cube had melted, he’d tried to start talking again. You’d hushed him by placing your fingertips over his chapped, chewed lips and saying softly, “I love you, too, tonto.* I have for a while, I just…didn’t know how I felt about it, and wasn’t sure about bringing it up.” You’d cupped his jaw, then, and had stroked the pad of your thumb along the crease of his gaping mouth.

The wake of his relief had crashed over him so hard that he’d cried. You’d armed him up as best as you were able, given your size difference, and had held him until he’d soaked your shoulder, rubbing his back in soothing circles all the while. You’d never felt more at ease in someone’s embrace as you had with him, despite the emotional turmoil involved and the uncertainties the pair of you now faced.

But, as before, you’d worked through the complications together. Xina and Gabe had both supported you, after a bit of surprise (and exchanging money not-so-subtly under the table the next time you all had gotten together for dinner—Gabriel complaining about being out fifty dollars falling short of Xina’s smug, knowing look had not gone unnoticed). Dating felt no different from the comfortable, borderline domestic rhythm you’d already—unwittingly—fallen into that past year since his plea for mercy, except that he now had no holds barred around you.

While you’d suspected that he’d never be big on PDA or sweet nothings, Miguel had shown his ardency for you in other ways. All the issues with your apartment magically resolved themselves whenever you’d complain about them. Your closets, cabinets, and pantry had stayed stocked even when you ran out of time to make grocery runs after grueling nights at the lab. He’d insisted on paying for everything, had hardly ever let you lift a finger, and had spoiled you absolutely rotten. He’d done his damnedest to redeem the second chance that you’d granted him, and you’d been a little amazed at how seriously he had taken the whole affair.

Xina hadn’t been miffed about it in the slightest. “He’s a different man, now—a better man,” she’d told you, “and you’re to thank for that. I never could get through to him like you can, and that’s okay. It’s wonderful, actually. I’m so proud of him and I’m so, so very happy for you. You deserve the world and I think he’s doing his best to give it to you…if you’ll let him try.”

Your strict intolerance for his vices had polished off his roughened edges with friction. Your high expectations had driven up the standards he’d long since set for himself. Your hopes had helped him to accept what he had thought were his weaker qualities, but were, in fact, what you had considered his greatest strengths. You’d mended his aching soul and he had given you everything that you could ever have asked for in return.

The wedding had been a cozy, intimate affair. The honeymoon, despite the lavish PTO and cushiony funds you’d both accrued over the course of your shared workaholic employment, hadn’t lasted nearly long enough, in your opinion. Finding a penthouse to lease together with your joint salaries afforded you a breathtaking view of Nueva York in the mornings and evenings, and after a short time it had become a home.

You were thankful to have experienced all the good times, as well as the bad. You would’ve endured those tragedies all over again to experience that devoted love once more.

You still missed your husband like hell some days, though. Much of your life now had grown around the grief that used to suffocate you, gently laying over tender roots for new experiences, but there were still times that you had to spritz his old pillow with his slowly diminishing bottle of cologne and recluse yourself inside your bedroom until the ache loosened enough for you to rise and greet the life you now had to live without him. You no longer felt the urge to visit his grave anymore, except for his birthday and your anniversary, however, knowing that he wasn’t truly there, but in your heart—and you considered that the ultimate step forward.

You wondered at the odd twist of fate, though, to be tossed by sheer chance into a league of multidimensional Spider-People like yourself, led by a copy of the man whom you’d have sacrificed your own life in exchange for his (and still would without question nor consideration). You saw much of that initially wounded, derisive man in this new Miguel—but instead of ever finding healing and bettering himself, he had seemingly gotten worse. (Or something had made him worse. You were uncertain of which was the case.)

You couldn’t entirely blame him for it. While he hadn’t revealed the details (and was under no obligations to do so whatsoever), you’d gotten enough of the gist that he’d struggled through some horrific circumstances…and had just barely made it out the other side, if your perception of his underlying misery was to be believed.

He softened up somewhat after that raw, quiet conversation in his lab, at least with you. He no longer acted as though he walked on eggshells around you—no longer rigid and on edge when you were remotely close to his proximity. He wasn’t as guarded, either, relaxing just enough to reveal his calmer, quieter nature. Being the leader of the Society was tedious, stressful, endless work, and having to wrangle so many odds and ends ranging from mischievous to volatile would render anyone’s nerves to short fuses. You figured out that he’d whittled himself down to the bone, yet refused to accept any help from the likes of his most valued associates, despite Jess and Peter B.’s prodding and insistence otherwise.

So, since you hadn’t been around long enough to even know where to start making headway in the mountain of anomalous analytics or projection reports with which he had to deal with every day, you opted to try to help him in the few areas where you confidently could.

You coaxed him out to grab meals in the cafeteria when LYLA told you he’d been cooped up in his lab alone for too long, you organized his tools and things when he did happen to be out so he’d have a clean and tidy workspace to come back to, and you continued your accidentally established tradition of bringing him a sweet upon your daily deliveries of leftover baked goods from your shop every evening. He’d started to grumble at you about the lattermost habit, remarking that he had a strict diet that he’d maximized for his metabolism and physical activity, but you’d told him that the treats wouldn’t stay on his physique as busy as he stayed.

“In fact,” you’d argued playfully, “I think it’s been doing wonders for improving your mood. The newbies aren’t running for the hills whenever you walk through the foyer anymore.”

He’d stopped bringing it up after that, didn’t quibble with you about it anymore, and you’d noticed that the corner of his mouth had started to pinch when you’d press the crinkling sack into his not-so-reluctantly awaiting palm. You hoped that it was a restricted smile and not a grimace, like you had feared initially.

(…Had he ever smiled around you? You couldn’t recall a single instance of it happening. You’d have to work on rectifying that.)

You enjoyed learning about the other Spiders, too. Nothing fascinated you more than to delve into deep discussions about the state of their respective universes—the time periods, technology, and history all relative to yours—as well as their personal differences. To all be the same type of hero, you were amazed by how vastly different each and every single one was. All were bound, however, by a common story, punctuated by tragedies that defined every purpose.

You still hadn’t been able to figure out this Miguel, though. You would never intentionally pry into his story, even though he had consented to his bio to be uploaded to the Society’s network for transparency’s sake—you felt that it was something he would tell you personally if it was that important, or if he trusted you enough to be inclined to do so. You were vastly curious about his physiological characteristics, however, so you’d spent an entire afternoon mentally compiling a comparison and contrast between your late husband and what you had gathered about his multidimensional counterpart.

Taller, bulkier, with all the added traits of spider-abilities overwhelmingly evident, but the same features otherwise. Red eyes with perfect vision that seemed extremely sensitive to light (the only explanation for why he kept his lab so damned dark all the time, and also how he could read with perfect clarity from so far away). Fangs and talons that could tear through just about anything. Same frown when concentrating on something, same sullen pout when teased. More soft-spoken, significantly shorter in patience and temper, extremely antisocial…that lattermost fact, at least, remained exactly the same. In so many ways, he was still the person you had known best, even if he wasn’t yours.

You decided soon enough that, despite the rocky start of your acquaintance, that if no one else would get through to him, you’d do your damnedest to try breaking down the walls he’d so meticulously built up around himself. It was the least you could do, by helping to mend another version of him back together again, to repay your husband—the man you’d loved most—for giving you the best years of your comparatively drab and lonely life, even if this Miguel were to fight you tooth and nail every step of the way. He deserved to be safe and sound just like everyone else ever did.

[marielschism]

Please do talk about the Marquis, all plot bunnies, how an eventual relationship with him would turn out. Any thoughts are most anticipated! 👀

FR?????????????? okay!

so i'm currently working on patron of the arts, a marquis de gramont x artist!reader fic where he is an art patron/cultural sugar daddy who is horrendously down bad for you, an artist in their flop era. i'm making an hc post for it over at my writing sideblog [@marielserif] so if anyone's interested 👀 i'll post it some time next week!

pairing: marquis de gramont x reader note: i think i made him unbearably ooc. whatever warnings: some mature themes/content; unedited; not an entirely healthy relationship (vincent has issues!!!!!!)

general relationship hcs

side note: these hcs operate under the assumption that the reader is unaware of his work.

i am deeply fascinated by yandere stuff, so every time i think of marquis de gramont, i can't help but sprinkle a bit of obsessive yearning on his part (because i honestly think he's the type to do so! he chased john wick all over the world! that should be me!). he is ruthless, ambitious, and determined, and i think this, too, translates into how he deals with his relationships.

i think that he's the type to fall hard for someone, but is also the type to deny the feeling initially, trying to stamp it out of his brain as hard as he can, constantly pretending that he is unaffected by you. he does not need you. he wants you. he has lived through most of his life without your presence, surely he can live through more.

his dedication to denying his feelings leads him into a great number of sticky situations: perhaps he dismisses you a bit too much, and it puts a significant strain on your relationship. he might even end up with you hating him.

he is used to being feared. he is used to being hunted. but he will never get used to the feeling of your hatred, so that could easily force him to act on his feelings before he makes things worse. it is a wake up call for him: he does not want to lose you because of his own pride.

good for you!

when the marquis is in it, good god, he is in it.

i think that marquis de gramont is an incredibly selfish man. if he loves you, you become an extension of himself — and in turn, he will ensure your safety and your joy. you deserve it. you're his.

he's a patron of the arts — he'll get along with you better if you have some appreciation for art and culture. your conversations with him will be longer, too, and sometimes more heated. vincent is very opinionated, and he'll defend his opinions to the death. he'll take you to museums, renting out entire scenic cultural hotspots just for you (and him) to enjoy at your own pace. he is prone to over-explaining when he is excited, so expect that you'll be doing a lot of listening.

if he senses that you're actually listening to him and he's feeling particularly generous, he'll reward you. you know what that entails.

there are times where you're feeling tired, and you're just not in the mood to listen to him ramble about his least favorite painting in the musee d'orsay. he does not fault you for it, but you feel the mild disappointment radiating off him in waves. you'll have to...make it up to him somehow.

he'll appreciate it very much.

anyway, vincent will take you to the ballet, dress you in the finest of things, and take you to the swankiest of establishments. you deserve nothing but the best.

if you inform him that you are uncomfortable with being spoiled like this, he will try to tone it down a little. the code word here is try. he will go back to sending you swarovski-embellished fountain pens in two weeks.

despite this, he's not above accompanying you to places like gas stations or grocery stores. sure, he'll take at least three bodyguards with him to ensure your safety, but he'll be there for you. he's capable of being normal!

(forgot to mention that vincent de gramont is territorial and overprotective at times. what's the use of all of his power if he can't use it protect the one he loves?)

(his brand of protection can feel almost like a prison at times. you'll have to clearly communicate with him about what you want, and you have to be very firm with him if you don't want to feel like you're a bird in a gilded cage. you have to make sure that he knows you won't just take it.)

(you need a backbone to love him. that's the truth of it all.)

vincent is also touch-starved, though he denies this constantly.

he can be an incredibly greedy kisser. he kisses you like he's starving, and he'll hold you like you'll turn into dust if he lets go.

he can be gentle, too — easy does it, and he takes it as slow as you want. languid, lazy, like you have all of the time in the world.

he's also a horrific tease. he's a smug bastard. he'll do everything except kiss you — he'll bite your earlobe, let his lips travel to your pulse, and kiss the corners of your lips. when you whine, he'll pull away with that smirk of his, and leave you to your racing heart. you're flustered as hell, and he looks unaffected by it.

(it's a lot harder for him to keep his composure if you're the one teasing him.)

he reaches out for you in his sleep, even if he is alone. a tired vincent will always reach out for you, no matter what stage of sleep he's in. in his sleep, he'll end up wrapping himself around your entire body like a boa constrictor no matter your size. one time, he fell asleep on top of you, and you had to elbow him awake because he was suffocating you.

(he owns a weighted blanket for when you're not around.)

if you play with vincent's hair, he will complain about you messing up the handiwork of his treasured coiffeur, but he won't say a word. when you pull your hands off his hair, he'll actually whine, and place your hands back. you have to clear your schedule if you want to play with his hair; he will not let you out of his presence until he's dead asleep.

if you really want to see a very stressed vincent, you can deny him your touch for weeks on end. but why would you do that? 😊

he's prone to taking drastic actions to get what he wants. a desperate vincent de gramont is someone you do not want to meet; a desperate vincent de gramont gets results.

so god help those who will try to take you from him.

plot bunnies

i really need to finish this because i have a 7-page paper due in 42 hours

i desperately wanted to write a ballet dancer!reader x patron!marquis de gramont instead of an artist!reader but im going to be completely honest with you i have zero knowledge of the world of ballet and i would NOT be able to do the idea justice.

(your rival dancer goes missing because of your patron. you investigate. things do not go well.)

also another plot bunny: leverage!reader

the marquis keeps an eye on you as leverage over your father, who is under his employ. think caine and his daughter.

he threatens your safety to keep your father in line constantly — but he's grown fond of you, strangely. you have a harmless hobby. it is soothing to watch you work. he is not going to hurt you.

(vincent even has his men protect you from harm. their presence in the area deter would-be muggers. you do not know this.)

at one point, your father grows stubborn, and vincent has to take a very drastic measure to ensure his cooperation.

he kidnaps you. of course he does.

strange things happen.

assistant!reader! you are his faithful assistant, and you get hurt in the line of duty. oh noooo. what happens next??? :OOO

[legacyfics-archive]

Sebastian Sallow x MC/Reader x Ominis Gaunt NSFW - Volume 1

First Volume for Sebastian Sallow x MC/Reader x Ominis Gaunt archive, this list is all NSFW works. More volumes coming soon. Not seeing your fic here? Send me an ask/message with a link so I can get it added!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

PLEASE NOTE: Some headcanons are separate Sebastian x MC and Ominis x MC

Oneshots

Carnal - @arthenaa

-> Insatiable - @arthenaa

Cheating - @kaminokatiee

-> Cheating Pt 2 - @kaminokatiee

-> Cheating Pt 3 - @kaminokatiee

Daddy Issues - @twitchydownfall

Dark Whispers, Light Vows Prologue - @seabass-swallows

-> Dark Whispers, Light Vows - 1 -@seabass-swallows

-> Dark Whispers, Light Vows - 2 - @seabass-swallows

Do You Sleep Anymore? - @sweetnsourdoh

-> Do You Sleep Anymore? Pt 2 - @sweetnsourdoh

-> Do You Sleep Anymore? Pt 3 - @sweetnsourdoh

-> Do You Sleep Anymore? Pt 4 - @sweetnsourdoh

-> Do You Sleep Anymore? Pt 5 - @sweetnsourdoh

-> Do You Sleep Anymore? Pt 6 - @sweetnsourdoh

-> Do You Sleep Anymore? Epilogue - @sweetnsourdoh

give him something to listen to - @cuffmeinblack

how the trio became a throuple - @underthenightskydreamsneverdie

I carry your heart with me (I carry you in my heart) - @tinaexe

I like my body when it's with your body - @tinaexe

Insatiable gravity - @tinaexe

Mallowsweet Muses - @anto-pops

-> Mallowsweet Muses Pt 2 - @anto-pops

-> Mallowsweet Muses Pt 3 - @anto-pops

May I feel said he - @tinaexe

No Better Way to Warm Up - @matchavellichor

-> No Better Way to Warm Up - @matchavellichor

Ominis Gaunt, Uncle Extraordinaire - @seabass-swallows

-> Ominis Gaunt, Uncle Extraordinaire Pt 2 - @seabass-swallows

-> Ominis Gaunt, Uncle Extraordinaire Pt 3 - @seabass-swallows

-> Ominis Gaunt, Uncle Extraordinaire Pt 4 - @seabass-swallows

Seven new ways that you can eat your young - @tinaexe

Sharing Is Caring - Everyone Has Needs - @underthenightskydreamsneverdie

-> Sharing is Caring Pt 1 - @underthenightskydreamsneverdie

-> Sharing is Caring Pt 2 - @underthenightskydreamsneverdie

-> Sharing is Caring Pt 3 - @underthenightskydreamsneverdie

-> Sharing is Caring Pt 4 - @underthenightskydreamsneverdie

Teach Him a Lesson - @fierymiasma

The Glory Hole - @twitchydownfall

Two Swines and Knickers - @lostmyremembrall

-> The Apology Gift - @lostmyremembrall

-> The Moral High Ground - @lostmyremembrall

Series

Broken Promises - @writingliv

Duplicity - @imagrindylow

Finally Normal-ish - @luckycharmedpuff (feat. Other HL boys)

Old habits die hard - @cuffmeinblack

Headcanons

As Subs and Doms - @underthenightskydreamsneverdie

Favorite Positions - @underthenightskydreamsneverdie

First Times - @underthenightskydreamsneverdie

How Loud/Dirty Talk - @underthenightskydreamsneverdie

[little-druddigon]

The name's Silver. Ethan had the great idea that I should make a blog and try socializing more, and of course Lance ended up agreeing. Tch, I think it's a waste of time but I'll do it. For now

OOC: Heeyyyyy Ace/Kishin here with another Silver! He may not be a ghost like Argent, but he's definitely got his fair share of trauma and daddy issues.

Likes and follows from @ask-mysterious-muses (please hit that blog up to if you're interested)

If ya wanna read more into his story, check out my series on Ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/series/3332971

Unfortunately, just like with my main multimuse blog, my work schedule will make rp and events a bit tricky, but I'll try to be a bit more social with Silv here. Don't wanna let Lance down, do we?

Pelipper and Musharna (and any alternatives) Mail and Malice, anon hate toward characters, etc all accepted. Keep interactions sfw plz, Silv is just a teen

Any mail sent by Silv is by Alakazam, Lance sends Dragonite

🗡🐲 = Silver and Lance Anons

((Thief speaks = Silver Posts

((Little thief = Silver Reblogs

((Interrogation = Silver Answers

((Dragon tongue = Lance Posts

((Dragon flight = Lance Reblogs

((Dragon wisdom = Lance Answers

[teastainedprose]

Intro / Master List

I made a place to shake out all of the writing blurbs free instead of leaving them to rot in my e-mail drafts. Fics, drabbles, nonsense musings, headcanons and whatever else falls out will go here. Side blog to @tearueful

I am here to WRITE because creativity DEMANDS it, and this is low enough energy that chronic pain can't steal it from me. Unless it has an A03 mirror link, the writing is RAW and probably full of errors. Real fuck it, we'll do it live hours.

I loveloveLOVE interactions on my posts and in my ask box. PLEASE add replies, reblog with your comments and/or and go HOG WILD in the tags. IT FEEDS MEEEE and further fuels my inspiration.

🔞 18+ content. I say fuck. I will write smut. The situations will be adult in nature more often than not. There will be problematic content as my favs are problematic.

The ask box is open and I encourage sending requests, inspiration, or just chatter.

Feel free to send ask requests on or off anon.

Current brain worms are focused on Homelander of The Boys with a mild Fallout invasion.

Archive of Our Own Link

Prompt Requests / Fandoms / Tags / Master List of Writing

I have no issues with prompts that are open ended with what characters are involved or ones that specify. Within the fandoms that have captivated my brain, I'm up for writing any relationship romantic, sexual, or platonic and x reader writings are ones I'll happily engage in.

Sending something in is no guarantee I'll write for said prompt or when I'll get to it. My mind is fickle and sometimes a prompt grabs me by the throat, or I let it simmer for a hot minute. That or I'll simply delete it if it doesn't spark joy.

I've been writing and RPing for a very long time, but only recently delved into anything canon adjacent and then writing actual fanfics for it. Thus what fandoms I'll write for are currently limited to things I've been hype fixated on or am currently fixated on. Obviously, the main one right now is Homelander. He's my poor lil meow meow, but I will happily slip back into writing OCs from my years of RP or other characters in fandoms I adore.

Fandoms I'll write for:

The Boys

Fallout, TV series

Wildstar (OCs)

World of Warcraft (OCs)

Given how long I've been writing for and what sort of dark stories I've written with friends, there's not much that I won't explore if it has an interesting concept that I can get a good story out of. Dark themes, kinky fuckery, violence, and sexual situations are all well and good. That being said, there's plenty of things that squick me out that I rather not touch but as I'm an adult I'll either delete the prompt or explain my thoughts on the prompt related to whatever character it is.

i.e., Homelander sure as shit has a lactation kink but pregnancy stuff is body horror to me. Can I write it? Possibly, it wholly depends on the prompt.

Writing

WIP List (Yes please ask about any you're interested in to motivate me 😭)

Fallout:

🔞Explosion (Lucy x Maximus)

🔞Too Sweet ( Cooper x Reader, WIP) : Chapter [1], Tag

🔞 Gash (Cooper x Reader)

🔞Take It As It Comes ( Pre-War!Cooper x Reader, WIP)

The Boys:

Fanfics

Play with Fire (Homelander x f!reader, plus sized, WIP) : Chapter [1] [2], [3] Tag

One Up (Homelander x f!Reader) : Chapter [1] , Tag

No Bad Dogs (Homelander x Kimiko??? besties!???!?!) : Concept stage, Tag

General Drabbles:

🔞Two Player Game (Homelander x f!reader)

🔞Lonely Together (Queen Maeve x Homelander)

Pinky Promise (Ryan Butcher & Homelander🥺)

Mark You Pretty (Homelander x reader)

🔞THC Gummies (Homelander x f!reader)

Introducing the 'wife' (Homelander x Billy Butcher)

Girl Dad (Homelander & Zoe)

Rainy Day (Homelander x reader)

Mix Tape (Homelander x reader)

Plushie (Homelander x reader)

Sugar Daddy (Homelander x reader)

🔞Making a Mess (Homelander x f!reader)

🔞Blackmail, Play With Fire side fic (Homelander x f!reader, plus-sized)

🔞Crusty.. (Homelander x reader)

Driving Lesson (Homelander & Ashley Barett)

🔞Over Eager (Homelander x f!reader)

Tampons (Homelander x f!reader)

Emoticons (Ryan Butcher & Homelander)

Flower Picking ( Homelander x reader)

🔞Office Tryst (Homelander x f!reader)

Breaking Point (Homelander x reader)

🔞Pet Play (Homelander x OC, WIP)

🔞Choke (Homelander x Reader, WIP)

Tags

General Tags

Drabble / Ask / Anon Ask / Fanfic Planning / Fanfic Chapter / Worldbuilding / Canon x You / Plus-Sized Reader / Brainstorming

The Boys

The Boys FanFic / The Boys Smut Homelander / Homelander Headcanon / Homelander x Reader / Homelander Writing / Homelander Smut Queen Maeve / Maeve Writing / Maeve Smut / Maeve x Homelander Kimiko / Kimiko Writing Frenchie / Frenchie Writing Ryan Butcher / Ryan Writing

Fallout

Fallout Fanfic / Fallout Smut Maximus / Lucy MacLean / VaultKnight / Cooper Howard / The Ghoul / Cooper Howard x Reader / The Ghoul x Reader

18+ Banner Source

[iomadachd]

SHIPPING INFO:// Answer the following for your muse(s) so people know how shipping works on your blog

REPOST. DON'T REBLOG

What’s your OTP for your Muse(s)?

Uh... I mean, I don't have any true OTPs although I adore Dru/Spike and Diego/Lila. Otherwise I'm such a multishipper I'll go for most anything as long as there's chemistry.

What are you willing to RP when it comes to shipping?

Almost anything, although there are aspects to relationships I'm not generally comfortable with. The main ones are pregnancy and ships where one party is underage. Otherwise, I can make most things work if they get my interest. It just has to be plotted.

How large does the age gap have to be to make it uncomfortable?

Babycakes, half my muses have mommy/daddy issues. The age gaps can and will be extensive by decades to centuries.

Are you selective when shipping?

Yes and no. I love experimenting with ships, but there has to be feasible chemistry. At the very least, I have to vibe with my writing partner in order to write it. Sometimes I also have to warm up to the idea of a ship and let it be proved in a friendship first.

How far do steamy moments have to go before they’re considered NSFW?

Probably once hands are under clothes or clothing is coming off. I tend to fade to black more than anything, and might conservatively tag something as suggestive long before it truly is.

Who are other muses you ship your muse with?

More and less than you think. I'll just list here who I've got active ships with, or have ships I liked even if they've fallen by the wayside for whatever reason. Not all are romantic/sexual in nature. I have probably forgotten something

Adramalech - @suffcring

Cowbell - @suffcring

Dean - @suffcring, @big-d-little-i-big-n-little-ozzo, @agentbrompton, @shieldretired

Dewdrop - @alastors-radioshow, @suffcring, @tooxldtorememxer, @p0pestar

Leila - @ifyoucatchacriminal, @suffcring, @southern-belle-outcasts

Phantom - @tooxldtorememxer, @suffcring

Primo - @suffcring

Secondo - @suffcring, @tooxldtorememxer, @divinehr

Terzo - @tooxldtorememxer, @alastors-radioshow

Copia - @tooxldtorememxer, @suffcring

Rain - @tooxldtorememxer

Vessel - @thedxckpond

Viktor - @southern-belle-outcasts

Does one have to ask to ship with you?

Please and thank you. You can send shippy ask memes, but I might not treat it as a ship right off the bat.

How often do you like to ship?

So many.

Are you multiship?

LAUNCH THE ARMADA, MOTHERFUCKERS

Are you ship obsessed or ship more-or-less?

More-or-less. I’m here for juicy writing of all types. {<-stolen x2}

What is your favorite ship in your current fandom?

I... really really love my ship with @suffcring's Copia and my OC Leila. It might be a common ship in the fandom, but I love the multitudes of layers of story we've woven together and there's so much more to weave that we haven't gotten to show.

Finally, how does one ship with you?

Asks, DMs, smoke signals, bat your eyelashes. Jump in and hold up two muses and tell me you want them to kiss! I'm so open to experimenting that I'll hear you out at the very least.

tagged by: taken from @southern-belle-outcasts

tagging: you!

[therightfuldragonqueen]

hello!  like many fine people of this hellsite, i've been obsessed with house of the dragon since s1 aired. particularly based around rhaenyra targaryen. i would prefer to to use milly's fc (we did not get nearly enough of her), but i am not opposed to using emma's either! let me know your preference.

some information about me: i am a woman who uses she/her pronouns, 30 years old. i am seeking people 21+ and i'm not willing to negotiate on this.

so i’m looking for discord only plots for her.  i like to think i have a good handle on her character, i have a ton of headcanons and can write her in different verses ( au, modern, etc. )  right now, i’m most interested in plots based around these ships and these themes:

aemond targaryen ; exploring a toxic love, family first, heavy is the head, revenge is a dish best served cold. a plot i would like to do is: rhaenyra & aegon war for the crown but aemond joins the blacks, creating an interesting dynamic between the two siblings. ( i would prefer this character to be closer in age to rhaenyra. we can fuck with ages, it's our game. ) aegon targaryen ; exploring a toxic relationship, the golden child vs the rest, daddy issues x100. this is such a fun dynamic to explore, considering he knows that their father would never change the order of succession but yet, here he is with the conquerors crown on his head and his sister bloodthirsty. ( i would prefer this character to be closer in age to rhaenyra. we can fuck with ages, it's our game. ) daemon targaryen ; her first love, bloodlust, the dragon king and queen. what would have happened if daemon had agreed to taking rhaenyra to dragonstone and making her, his wife? we were robbed of that happening in the show and i'm still desperate to write out the aftermath of it. criston cole ; love over duty, the stained white cloak, first love. she gave him his title and he took her virginity. now he sits at the side of her sworn enemy and curses her every chance he gets but what if it didn't have to be that way?

harwin strong ; the father of her children. their dynaic was beautiful throughout the show and i would love to explore the beginnings etc. an OC ; this option leaves lots of options! this character could be a son of daemon/any of the great lords, a randomer or in the rare occasion, i would be open to a crossover. but that's very dependent on who etc.

please note that i’m not tied to a specific plot and would prefer to work that out together.  must be open to dark, questionable themes and preferably write nsfw.  i’ve been writing for ten years and i get invested in my pairings ( pinterest boards, headcanons, playlists, character musings etc. )

if you write as any of these characters and think you’d be interested in writing, please send me a dm or interact with this post and i’ll be in contact!  please don’t like this/contact me if you’re not going to reply when i reach out because it wastes everyone’s time! 💕

[ls-daydreams]

♫  I don't wanna be something I'm not to stay alive ♫

name: Michael Vail // age: teen (varies) // sign: cancer // from: Plain River // occupation: student, chef, nurse, #1 cop hater // issues: daddy, mommy, abandonment, etc // likes: anime, classic rock, collecting things, beating people up (athletically) // dislikes: his dad, untidiness // primary setting: silent rebellion

“Cared for” only by a corrupt, violent father who wants nothing to do with him, Michael has to learn how to fend for himself from a very early age. He becomes incredibly resourceful and knowledgeable, books and movies his only sources of entertainment until his shell is finally worn out by an unlikely friendship with Kai. Slowly, he eases into forming more bonds, which in turn help him escape the pain of his sheltered life, even if only momentarily. After all, the more attached you get, the more agonizing it is when you’re inevitably severed away.

Listen: Spotify | Youtube

Vibes: teen angst, emo, existential sadness

Story Info: Metanoia Intro Post | Metanoia Tag

Other playlists: Mal | Gabe | Kai

Tag list (please ask to be +/-): @mirioho​ @enchanted-lightning-aes​ @wildswrites​​

There’s an intentional order to the tracks, so if you’re listening make sure to turn shuffle off. More characters (and places and vibes and couples!) coming up, so if you’d like to be tagged in updates let me know! 💓

Using @words-after-midnight​‘s Character Songs tag as an excuse to post this :D (Rules: Choose one of your characters and list songs that fit them.)

Tagging @jezifster @dogmomwrites @pens-swords-stuff @dotr-rose-love @wildswrites @tate-lin @calicojackofficial @marinesocks​ (I’m just eager for song recs lol)

(if people like these, i’m thinking of accepting requests for others’ ocs. let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in and i’ll put together a little plan!)

Tracklist under the cut:

Lisa Hannigan - Sea Song

Alessia Cara - Here

WOODZ feat. MOON - Touché

The Cure - Lovesong

Muse - Uno

Two Feet - Fire In My Head

Digital Daggers - Fear the Fever

Nothing But Thieves - Your Blood

Muse - Hysteria

Kerli - Love Is Dead

Metallica - Until It Sleeps

The Neighbourhood - Daddy Issues

Mansionair - Easier

The Neighbourhood - Void

Evanescence - Hello

Evanescence - Eternal

[loomiskiller]

this is a highly canon divergent portrayal of billy loomis from the scream franchise where he got away with his kill spree. this means he doesn’t die and he frames stu for the killings. he maintains his innocent and acts the victim despite the fact he is anything but. another major change would be that he has raised sam on his own since she was three. she comes back years later when sam is thirteen. tara still exists in this, sam just did not always grow up around her. read more about it here. this blog is heavily head canon based along with totally ignoring canon. everything to do with this blog’s canon i have come up with on my own. duplicate and crossover friendly. blog established 3/28/23. but i have been writing him since 2022. blog under co. if you want to continue an ask meme, please move it to a new thread.

a study in: making a murderer, horror fanaticism, analysis of a serial killer, starting a legacy, getting away with murder, blame it on my daddy & mommy issues, being terrible person but good father, doomed by the narrative, dark & troubled past, a pretty face does not mean a pretty heart, masterful deception, freudian excuses, abandonment issues, troubled teenage hood, a serial killer functioning in normal society, and being the mastermind.

trigger warnings for: blood, murder, parental abuse, gore, abandonment issues, gaslighting, violence, mentions of self harm, violent & intrusive thoughts, potential toxic relationships, and other triggering topics. billy isn’t a good person even if he seems like he is. he has dark thoughts and he’s done terrible things. he will say shit that normal people won’t say and his introspections reflect that as well. he will be mean and rude. he may even hurt your muse even if he cares about them in some way. the only people i can guarantee he won’t hurt are his family members ( his sister vicki and his daughter sam ) excluding his parents. he will do bad things as well. proceed with caution when following me and interacting with me. i tag all triggers accordingly.

DUE TO HATE ANONS I HAVE GOTTEN i have to add this little blurb unfortunately: do not send me biphobic anons trying to argue with me about billy's sexuality. as far as we know, he is canonically straight. which means i can head canon him as whatever one i want. ergo, he is is bisexual in my portayal of him. he is bisexual. do not try to fight with me on this. do not try to change my mind. i will block someone without a second thought. billy is a bisexual man with a heavy preference for women. do NOT send me hate because of this.

while this blog is canon divergent and the whole scream franchise has been rewritten for my lore, i will not support or acknowledge ANY scream film after scream vi due to melissa's firing. the scream franchise ended with scream vi. i do not support scream 7. dni with me if you support this movie.

REBLOG FROM THE SOURCE OR ELSE. this includes ASK MEMES, PSAS, EDITS, GIFS, AESTHETICS, MUSIC, MUSINGS, AND MORE. only things tagged with OKAY TO REBLOG are okay to reblogged from me. multiple offenses of this will result in a soft block to mutuals. non mutual rp blogs will get blocked automatically. non rp blogs will also get blocked automatically.

mun info: rissa. she / they. usa. 30.  i roleplay from mobile and the desktop. i primarily do not use images in my replies. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. this blog is low activity aka i reply at my own pace activity. 

links: rules. about. playlist. pinterest. head canons. ask memes. mains. verses.

affilates: @thvnkpink ( all blogs ), @depictedblue ( all blogs ), @lcveblossomed, @faeryworlds

HEAVILY AFFILATED WITH @loomissister.

blog roll: @loomisheir / @percentstardust / @neversith

personal / non rp blogs, do not reblog my ooc posts, my shit posts, my head canons, edits, and promos. reblog ask memes and other posts from the source. mass spamming my notifications with reblogs and likes will get you blocked.

[tuesdayisfordancing]

Watched about half of 3.4, here are my thoughts only on Jack Jr.:

I really liked the little silent exchange between Beverly and her son where she checks if he’s okay with her leaving him with Picard. The more mature iteration of last episode’s exchange when Picard wanted to talk to her privately. I’m wildly biased but I honestly think these two are playing REALLY well off each other! They’re very physically communicative and protective (reminiscent of some scenes with Wesley also). But let me see them work together more, stop sending one off to solve problems while the other has a Meaningful Talk with Picard. The little glimpse of her quietly analyzing stuff while he muses out loud was interesting! I want more!

Jack’s full body ‘ehhh’ when walking into the holodeck was also great but he is being way too cooperative. Thank god he is still being a little bitchy, but take it up by several notches please. That being said I liked the various awkward moments.

I guess explaining why the holodeck doesn’t cost them needed power is better than not explaining it, as has happened a number of times on other Trek shows, but like. You could simply have not had this scene take place in the holodeck!!! The thematic resonances you are trying to create by doing this are completely unnecessary and honestly the whole “fraught attempt at bonding/conciliation under the shadow of death” vibe would be way better served by being elsewhere. (I do like that Jack is a bit wigged by it though.)

I have VERY mixed feelings about Jack’s “I’m a Cool Brooding Loner” speech like. Okay FIRST the framing of it as “I’ve been alone - except my mom” with her as like an afterthought does NOT fit the relationship as it’s been presented up til now, and like given everything else about how motherhood, fatherhood, the Family Unit, has been treated in this show it adds to a SUPER icky normative family-values THING that I was not expecting to be this bad in Star Trek. It would fit much better with what’s been presented so far for Jack to say WE’VE only ever needed the two of us, WE’VE always been on the outside that’s how I grew up and how I’m content to be… you could have him switch a little awkwardly to speaking just of himself bc he’s not sure his mother wouldn’t be happier on the inside like she used to be, that would be cool. (Or aggressively continue to speak of them both out of defensiveness against that suspicion!) I HATE that part, I really hate it. I would be much more generous if all this ICK weren’t already present, but it is, so I’m not.

But I do at least love the implication that Jack’s daddy issues aren’t really directed at Picard so much as at All Of Starfleet, thank you that’s one of the things I was strongly hoping for, and it makes a lot of sense where he’s grown up under all these mysterious shadows that his mother doesn’t talk about, from Wesley to the Enterprise crew to his namesake.

…when Picard said perhaps he needed the moment, like a complete fool I had the thought that he might talk about Elnor. I knew he wouldn’t, of course I knew he wouldn’t, but I had the thought anyway. SIGHHHHH.

I am paused to do other things just as they’re about to talk about Jack Crusher (Sr), and I am both excited and trepidatious.

[labcampkill]

The Rules Pinned

Heya all welcome to lab-camp-kill, my new DBD multi-muse blog. After realizing that with the amount of character blogs I had was getting unwieldy. I decided to consolidate and make it so that I only had to keep track of the one blog for the most part.. The older blogs will still be up for now, though after a time of archiving probably will go away... All new roleplay and questions should be directed to here from now on.  When doing asks or RP please tag or indicate which muse you are interacting with.  The muses that now inhabit this blog are as follows (There will be some tags the old blog for those wishing to dig through their old content while it still exists. Also by clicking on the name of each character you can go to each of their individual Rule/FAQ page which are stil currently hosted in the old blogs that might change over time.) The Lab-  Exy’s Lab his realm.

The Experimentity(Exy) @experimentity -The ExperimEntity most people call him Exy.. He’s my version of the Entity... a strange science obsessed being... Who also has become a little bit of a Daddy... Exy is the owner of ALL of the muses on this blog.. The Campfire-  The survivor muses that I run.. these boys all share the same campfire and all know each other.. If you want to do asks/rp’s with them together that’s quite encouraged. (A special note about the campfire.. their campfire is also merged with @ask-the-dweets campfire, I don’t own those muses but we do a lot of RP together... if you are interested in doing shared campfire asks or RPs contact us both about that) Steve Harrington @askgogglessteve -  Steve as seen from Stranger things, for some reason this Steve refuses to take off his goggles. James Sunderland @silent-daylight-james  - James from Silent Hill 2, a sad man dragged into the entity’s realm after surviving a similar nightmare in the town of Silent Hill, Brad Vickers @ask-dbd-brad-vickers - Good old chicken hearted Brad Vickers from the Resident Evill universe. This is OG Brad from the OG Resident Evil 3 not the Remake. Dwight Fairfield @askgogglesdwight -  This is my version of Dwight, for some reason Exy decided to stick him with his Chute Malfunction head and wont let him change it..  The Killers- My three killers they don’t share realms but they know each other also both owned by Exy. Roman Bridger(Ghostface) @dbd-ghostface-roman - Now stuck in the Entitys realm Roman is the Ghostface from Scream 3, he has some anger issues especially over his half-sister Sidney Prescott.  Leslie Vernon(A.K.A. Leslie Mancuso)- Brand new to this blog, Leslie Vernon is a slasher killer from the super underappreciated gem of a movie called Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon. Johnny Slaughter/Sawyer- Recently created for the Texas Chainsaw Massacre video game. Johnny is a member of Bubba(Leatherface’s) family in the real world. Johnny is one of the more normal looking family members and he uses his good looks to lure victims to the family house. Recently Exy decided that he was perfect for trials so brought a version of him here to the realms. (Johnny is special, most of my muses are completely stuck in the Entity realms. But Johnny you can ask questions as if he were in the “Real World” of the TCM game as well like AU questions make clear that’s what you are doing if you do so.)  Rules-  - This is an ask blog for Dead By Daylight (DBD) muses  - +18 blog - Asks not directed at a specific muse will be given to one at random  - Asks can be sent to all muses at once  - Interacting with mutuals and non-mutuals alike! You don't have to follow the blog to send asks or starters I still have final say on who I interact of course but not following me isn’t the reason I choose not to interact.  - Please do not godmode (control) my muses. 

[icharchivist]

Regarding that other Anon musing about the origins of Lucilius and Beelzebub:

I personally assumed they happened after the split and the Astral God was like "smh my wife took the kids in the divorce" and, being the creator half of the duo, made clones of them for the Astral World and that's how we get Cilius n Bubs and Lucio didn't even find out about it until later and then felt bad for the two of them (I recall him referring to Lucilius as "a being like my own child" after putting him in the rift or smt)

Shalem was probably sealed by this point, so she only found out about her clone much later

And yeah, we know shockingly little about the Astrals and their society and stuff, but we do know that they can reproduce with humans, since Orchis is said to be half Astral on her father's side, so that implies that they do reproduce in a way that's similar to humans

I personally subscribe to the idea that Bahamut raised baby Shalem and Sahar and then decided that raising kids is hard, which is why he became a deadbeat dad to the wedges and then Lucilius and Beelzebub were also created as babies and they were raised by Astrals, because while the Astral God wanted speakers of their own, they still didn't wanna raise them and having daddy issues explains literally everything that's wrong with Lucilius and Bubs so that's what I'm going with 100%

Think about it, Lucilius inherited the deadbeat dad streak and created his primals as grown adults, too, so he could skip the awkward teen years

This is what I believe

MY WIFE TOOK THE CHILDREN IN THE DIVORCEDHLKJFDLD PLEASE I LOVE IT

But that's an actually very nice theory that would make a tons of sense. I keep forgetting that the Astral God is like. A thing in a sense? It's like oh yeah the Omnipotent split in two and Bahamut is one of those parts and now here we are and then i forget there's a 2nd one here that could be influencing the way creation works.

Honestly the idea could work that Bahamut kept most powers during the split but probably to the condition that anything he creates from now on is finite, compared to the Astral God being perhaps more limited in term of powers that influence the creation itself, but able to grant eternal life. So copying the Speakers (that existed before the split so before this worry) would only create "incomplete" recreation of them.

That's honestly pretty solid as theories go.

And yeah right, we don't know much for Astrals and stuff, though you do have a point for Orchis, but like it can still have this ambiguity of not being the normal ways Astrals would reproduce, but a possible way to reproduce (which could also explain why Orchis was thrown out of her own body at some point). Like somehow i thought about Superman (don't ask me why) where *technically* Kryptonians can reproduce like humans (and it's how Clark could have a son later with his human wife Lois), but as a civilization they basically made children in pods, so much so that the idea that making children the "normal" way was a complete antithesis to their civilization and stuff. What i'm getting at is that just because they /can/ reproduce like regular mortals, doesn't mean it's something they would normally do, though in this case, especially, since Orchis was half Astral, the Astral WOULD have to do it "the human way" regardless.

OBVIOUSLY nothing about it is confirmed, we genuinely don't have enough infos about how Astral reproduce to say that it MUST be different, what i'm getting at is that just because they CAN reproduce like regular humans and we have the proof of the existence of a mixed kid, doesn't actually really confirm it fully either.

Anyway, really loving the idea of Bahamut regretting the parent's life, and all of our mischieful ones having been kids at some point to the drama of their parents.

And Lucilius ending up heritating Bahamut's deadbeatness makes so much sense to me. He wanted to be like God and he was to his Primals, the same way Bahamut was with his wedges. And then both Bahamut and Lucilius end up surprised when their Light Inheritor ends up planning to take you down smh.

thank you for the insight, it was super interesting!!

Take care!