#and I need this songfic

[shapeshifterraccoon]

where is my iwaoi broken melodies songfic??? rude???

[mediumgayitalian]

i mean I wouldn’t hate it if you went down the song line by line and explained your reasonings 👀 <- you don’t have to of course

ASK AND YOU SHALL FUCKING RECEIVE HOLY SHIT.

[girlinthetardis04]

I have been hit with the Blorbo Disease, so have this mediocre snippet 🤭

For context this takes place halfway through the AU, when they reunited with the Ithacan peeps, and they're catching up.

~~~~~~~~~~~⛵~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Agamemnon is dead?!" Eurylochos couldn't help but blurt out his distress at the news.

Penelope nodded from her seat next to Odysseus, whose arms were coiled so tightly around her shoulders any onlooker might worry they'd fuse together. "Believe me, I wish I could say it was a surprise. But you don't know how Clytemnestra has been since... You know. Before the war. I don't think there hasn't been a day in these ten years where she hasn't thought about it."

The rest of the conversation faded away into an indistinct buzzing for Cassandra, who hastily excused herself from the dinner table.

She rushed over to the parapet of the ship, desperate for some fresh air; yet, no matter how many deep breaths she took, it felt as if there was nothing but a vacuum in her lungs.

This wasn't meant to happen. She wasn't meant to be here. She wasn't meant to be alive. She had seen it, countless times. Agamemnon, torn to pieces. Clytemnestra, manic and covered on blood. Herself, laying on the floor, cold, lifeless, bloodstained-

A gentle hand firmly placed itself on her shoulder.

"You can relax, my friend"

Ah, of course. Polites. In the early days of sailing, he had been her only solace (aside from her dear sister in law) amongst the greek soldiers. Cassandra sometimes wondered if Helios himself hadn't fashioned a ray of his sun into a person to make Polites. There truly was no other explanation for how a man that had just been through a decade of bloody war could be so open and welcoming to everything and everyone the world threw at him.

"You seem troubled, Cassandra" he leaned on the parapet next to her "or, more than usual, I suppose"

Cassandra sighed. There wasn't a chance she'd be believed, but perhaps it would do her some good to let it out.

"I wasn't meant to be here, Polites. I wasn't meant to be on this ship."

Taking a deep breath, she turned around so she was no longer faxing the open waters.

"I was to be Agamemnon's prize. I was to be taken back to his palace, and..."

Her throat nearly dried up at the mere thought.

"And I was meant to die there. Killed by Clytemnestra. I saw it, Polites. Countless times"

Polites couldn't help but furrow his brows. Whether in confusion or concern, Cassandra wasn't sure. "I had years to come to terms with it. Years to accept my fate. But now..." She brought a hand to her cheek, drying her tears. When had she begun crying?

"For the first time in my life, I... I don't know what will happen next. I wasn't meant to live this far. I-"

Her hands were shaking, something she only noticed once Polites had taken them into his.

"How... How do you do it, Polites? Never once have I seen you troubled, or defeated, no matter what the Gods throw at us. How?"

Polites merely shrugged, with that smile that never seemed to leave his face. "I just... try to greet the world with open arms."

Cassandra shook her head.

"I do not understand"

"Well...I just spent the last ten years of my life fighting. I looked around and realized how tired I was of the war and bloodshed. I thought to myself 'is this how we're supposed to live?'"

He frowned, reminiscing about the conflict. The battles, the blood, the clashing of swords...it was too much for anyone.

"Why should we take, when we could give? We're not at war anymore. We can stop and lower our guard."

He gestured to the empty deck of the ship, and the waters surrounding him and Cassandra.

"Here, we have a chance for some some adjustment, I'm telling you."

He gently pulled Cassandra along as he wandered across the deck to sit down on an old empty crate, patting the empty space next to him for Cassandra to sit as well.

"This life is amazing, when you greet it with open arms."

Polites gave her a kind smile, softly cupping her face in his hands. Cassandra unconsciously leaned into his touch, too captivated by his words to notice.

"I see it in your face, there's so much fear inside your heart; so why not replace it, and light up the world, here's how to start: greet the world with open arms"

Cassandra leaned onto his shoulder, too drained by all the emotions of that evening to keep herself upright.

"...greet the world with open arms..."

She carefully rolled the worlds off her tongue, as if trying to grasp some hidden meaning.

Her eyelids grew heavy, and in a few moments she slumped over Polites's shoulder.

He chuckled, covering the former princess of Troy with his cloak to shield her from the cold night air. He leaned his head on hers.

"You can relax, my friend."

[draculasfavoritewife]

Azúcar (Capítulo 3)

Summary: So long as you leave all emotional intimacy out of the equation, your relationship with Miguel can be pretty damn near perfect.

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!Spider!Reader

Warnings: This miniseries covers a wide range of potential triggers, including heavy sexual tension, bad/nonexistent communication, depression, implied smut, using said smut as coping mechanism, mentions of child death, guilt complex, a tiny bit of emotional manipulation, avoidant attachment style (lookin' at you, Señor O'Hara), and one shameless display of my bite kink, whoops.

Note: I use the shortened version of his name "Mique" in my own writing just because I personally prefer it. Swap it with whatever nickname you prefer in your head :) For my intents and purposes, Reader understands and speaks Spanish.

Lyrics from "Sugar" by Sleep Token

*Spanish translations at the end! (I am fairly bilingual, but if I made a lil mistake here or there do forgive me)

Believe 

That though we never eat

We still know how to feed...

To the outside observer, Miguel O’Hara is usually a highly meticulous, controlled man. Even those within his inner circle know him for his capacity to always be mentally one step ahead, rarely showing much more emotion than weary annoyance or laser focus. 

A few who have fought beside him for a long time can testify to his more animal side in a struggle, especially when he is fighting tooth and claw to protect everything he has worked for and keep the multiverse from collapsing. 

But none of them will ever fully experience the man who now has you trapped against your refrigerator, unable to escape from his hungry grasp and the tree-trunk thighs on either side of your own legs that effectively prevent you from wriggling away. 

“You sorry yet, Princesa?”

He grins down at your defiant expression, crimson eyes glittering and long canines fully extended now in predatory pleasure. One of the things about you that will always keep Miguel coming back for more is the fact that you stand up to him, no matter what.

He knows full well how intimidating he is, physically and otherwise, yet you can not only take it, but almost seem to thrive on it and push back. 

No one else dares to. 

And he likes it. 

You glare up into his smug face, panting slightly from trying to take the reins back from his crusade on your body.

“No.” 

He fakes a pout. “Haven’t you had enough yet?” 

That makes you laugh.

Enough of Miguel is something you are never going to have, simple as that. You could spend the rest of your life trying to figure him out, reeling from the punishing force of his intensity or wondering where he is for days on end when he disappears, and you would still test all his boundaries just like this, if it meant keeping him a constant presence in your life. 

No, you definitely haven’t had enough. 

“Something funny?” he growls. 

Your palms flatten against the fridge door, giving you just enough adhesive to pull yourself up and wrap your legs around his hips. “Just you.” 

“Sassy, aren’t we?” He presses his forehead to yours, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Almost like you’re asking for trouble.” 

As you feel his fingers rake down the backs of your legs, you sigh into his touch and sling your arms around his neck. “Maybe I’ll apologize, if you kiss me again?” 

One large hand is raised to caress your jawline, impossibly softly for its size and the sheer power behind it.

“Bueno, pregúntame, Ángel. Y dime por favor.” 

You groan, but the tips of his claws on the other hand prickle insistently through your leggings, telling you he won’t give in until you do. 

“Fine…please, Miguel?” 

His grin stretches wider, and you almost — almost — wonder what would happen if you just tightened your hold around his hips, if that would wipe that arrogant expression off his gorgeous face.

But that would really be asking for it, and you do still have food on the stove. 

“Please what, Baby?” 

You reach for his face.

“Please kiss me.” 

Bueno, pregúntame, Ángel. Y dime por favor = Well then, ask me, Angel. And say please

(2) (4)

[theofficialuriel]

is All Too Well (10 minute version) (Taylor's Version) (From the Vault) by Taylor Swift Timber-Post-Grieves-Coded or am I projecting?

[canisonicscrewyou]

Hi ignore that I haven't been working on the prologue so I can start editing+posting The Fobwatch Fic. Anyways this fic scene possessed me at like 2 AM the other night and I needed to. Get it out of my system. And now you get to see too. This follows not-terribly-long after this scene actually. (Only other one posted)

Context to get here: Rory's watch opening, processing, the Master failing badly at kidnapping Amy, returning her back, and an argument that had ensued between the Doctor(11) and the Master.

Timeline context: Rory/Darvill!Master regenerated from Missy. Timeline fuckery.

"Anyways, now that we're over that." The Master presses a button on his TARDIS console. "Maybe it's time for something more familiar."

Music plays over the speakers.

Oh-oh-oh-ohhhhh-

"Wait-" The Master bangs on the console in his frustration, and the song starts to skip.

Rah rah-ah-ah-ah-a-ah

Gaga ohh-la— -la

Thud. "— that's not right-"

Caughzz—

- Want your—

Bad Romance.

"That isn't- oh- oh yeah, right, sorry - last chick was on the aux-"

Ooh-la-la

Want your-

Last chick? The Master had been holding Amy hostage... Kind of. The Doctor glanced at her, and she looks at him. "I was in here for all of forty minutes, I wouldn't even know how to put it on-" she starts, and there's a moment before the Doctor catches up and turns to follow the Master with a look of knowing delight on his face.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, wait a second, last who?"

Love love love I want your—

The Master rolls his eyes. "Oh, come on Doctor. I feel like that was very clear. Last girl round. My darling little sister, trying her best..."

Amy's brow knits, and she speaks up to direct a question to the Master, who was... stewing. "Sorry- Can you guys change that much?"

His face scrunches, and he pulls himself out of it."We can change much more than you think, Amy."

I want it bad your bad romance—

"Last time around I was a very cunty Scotswoman and I wish I could say I took inspiration."

There's a moment where he tries to skip, or stop, or something, but it kept going. So he did the next best thing- smack the column of the console with a loud, dull thud from the glass. And a sharp, quiet hiss from the Master when he winces and grabs the offending hand.

I want your - bad bad bad bad-ad —

oh-oh-oh-oh—

After a moment, the Master turns to the Doctor and points. "Don't go getting any ideas copying me next time around."

Bad Romance finally stops.

The Doctor suddenly turned serious about the whole thing. Right. Next time around. He wasn't sure if he wanted the Master to know that. Or Amy... "Master, the thing- about next time-"

The Master got closer, and prodded the Doctor's shoulder with a finger. "Don't worry about that too much, I wasn't talking to you right then. That was for later." The other song starts.* And with that finger poke, the Master makes a dramatic motion, as if he pushed himself away from the Doctor with great force as he circled his TARDIS console away from them both to check another monitor.

*Most Likely: Mamma Mia, Under Attack, or Istanbul(Not Constantinople). It will probably be mentioned again in a manner similar to Bad Romance once I decide. Yippeee.

Insert A Song Beat

"Did you seriously do that on purpose?" Amy asks, looking around the TARDIS for the exact source of the music, and then back at the Master. He still wasn't as far off from the sad drowned cat look earlier as he thought, looking up at her.

"Oh, Amy, there's on thing you should've picked up on by now: I'm dramatic." He winks at her. "You have to be, to keep up with him." He tilts his chin to the Doctor, and his attention returns to a monitor as it makes a beeping noise.

"... Anyways, Doctor, you can start running now." He says.

The Doctor hesitates. "... What do you mean?"

The Master continues to look on idly. "I mean that I happened to- to take- Amy to buy time. And to bother you. Oh, I know it bothered you. Probably even more than the whole Rory-Oopsie."

If the Doctor didn't want to believe he didn't have A Plan, he'd find A Plan.

"I knew you'd come back to Leadworth as soon as I did. Gave me enough time."

"... Time for what..?"

"Oh, to use that little trip-alarm you left for me to download the psychic data I needed from yourr TARDIS. To my TARDIS." The Master looked up with a big self-pleased smile to the Doctor's serious furrowed brow.

"Doon't worryy! I only took what I needed. C'mon, what's a little hacking among girls? Buut, I'll tell you this," he pushes a big square button, and the door to his ship opens.

"If you start running now, you'll get to your TARDIS with enough time to stop me from getting access to try 'n send her into orbit from here— ah,ah,ah,ah-" the Master tuts and pushes the monitor away from the other two, and braced himself against the Doctor when he tried to rush at his console with a shout, "- don't bother, Doctor, the controls are isomorphic," a lie, "you know me," he said into the Doctor's ear. "But I would run."

That felt. Good. That felt familiar.

The Doctor was already backing up. The Master didn't let go, right away, his hands following the other even as he left the embrace in unexpected panic.

"Amy, run!" The Doctor shouts, and runs.

"Amy, you can stay!" The Master shouts immediately in turn, turning to Amy with an open hand out.

And Amy hesitates, mouth open and eyes wide as she stares at the Master(at Rory's eyes), before following the Doctor out at a sprint. [cont]

[seventh-district]

Could've left me just the way you found me, but you came and put your wings around me. You went out of your way, to fix what you didn't break.

This song is so incredibly Sam & Darlin' coded and no one can tell me otherwise.

[lots of lyrical analysis below the cut] [there's also a short little fanfic blurb of them stargazing down there too (this post got really out of hand lmao)]

For those not fully caught up, note that the following commentary contains various spoilers for Sam and Darlin's stories.

Note: Unfortunately this song is gendered, using the word 'girl' several times. Which sucks a little bit for immersion purposes, not only for keeping Darlin' gender-neutral, but also because I see this song as a duet between them, and Darlin' obviously wouldn't be addressing Sam with the word 'girl' either. So! As with most songs on their playlist, we're just gonna mentally omit any gendered terms we come across.

Side note: Frustratingly, this is one of those songs that didn't really even need to gender the subject in the first place. No part of the story or message is lost without it. But alas, many songs are like that, and so the playlist-makers of the world shall continue to suffer. [/lh]

Anyways, preamble's over. It's lyric time now yay!

Sam's Part

I was a ten-year train wreck

Technically for Sam I suppose it was 13 years, but ten is close enough (and 'ten' admittedly flows a lot better in the rhythm of the song than 'thirteen' would.) Anyways, we're not here to split hairs, (I have to remind myself), we're just here to point out similarities.

In Sam's Dec. '22 HBW, he says "For the last 13 years or so I haven't had to care too much about how I look. Seemed a little redundant after turnin', considerin' I didn't wanna be around much'a anybody anyway."

I think he's mentioned or alluded to that roughly 13 year period of time more than once, but that's the one I remember best so it's the example I'm using. There's still about 4 Sam audios I've yet to listen to as of making this post, so if I'm missing some Key Lore I'll edit this later. But for now, I don't think Sam has given many specifics on exactly how bad things got during that time. Luckily, 'train wreck' is a pretty broad and subjective term, so it easily covers any degree to which he may have fallen apart during those years.

It also feels like a very 'him' way of quickly brushing over the details of his past/his hurt, as he seems to tend to do with Darlin', (not all the time ofc but it's still something I've noticed) putting his own hurt on the backburner to prioritize and attend to theirs. Even outside of his dynamic with them, I think as a healer, it's something he learned to do. And now he does it with everyone. Put on a brave face, compartmentalize things and unpack them later, etc. I could go on and on but there'll be time for that in other posts I'm sure. For now, lets get back to the song at hand.

With a last-call longneck

Due to personal reasons, I've yet to decide if I want to HC him as having used alcohol as a coping mechanism during that time. I don't recall him having mentioned alcohol much, if at all, (maybe one mention of whiskey that I don't have time to find right now) so I don't think it's necessarily canon that he did, but it's certainly possible. My personal preferences aside, I'll admit it makes for some good additional angst. (And- self-indulgently- it makes some other songs on my playlist for them more fitting.) So, for the sake of this song, let's imagine that he did.

I was searchin', I'd been hurt real bad

This one feels pretty self-explanatory given what Alexis did, (and, if you wanna get even angstier with it, whatever his family did earlier on in his life) so there isn't much commentary to add on my end.

I HC that in spite of 'not wanting to be around anybody', he- like Darlin- still had a tiny part of himself buried deep down that was, in a way, 'searching' for someone to find solace in. (No this isn't me projecting onto them both haha what are you talking about-)

Movin' on, gettin' sidetracked One step forward and five back

This is generally applicable enough that I don't feel the need to give too much of a specific example. Anyone who's recovered or is recovering from trauma knows this non-linear, back-and-forth struggle well already, and I'm sure he was no stranger to it.

If I were to give some examples though, I could point to Darlin's (and subsequently, Sam's) encounter with Alexis at the summit, or the shit that Quinn dredged up about Fredrick and threw at Sam in the interrogation room. Those are both more recent examples and I imagine these lines of the song to be coming from a place of him prior to meeting Darlin', but still, they're some instances where I'm sure he felt like the past was pulling him back in. I'm sure that there's been many throughout those 13 years that we were never witness to.

Not your fault, I was scared to fall

This line reminds me of their 'Cuddles and Confessions' audio. I don't think he ever explicitly said he was 'scared' per se, so afaik there's no specific line I can quote, but in that and every audio prior, he was obviously hesitant to admit, perhaps even to himself, that he was gradually falling for them. Even after the initial confession, there's certain limits of his (e.g. biting) that he carries for far longer, and some that I (and others) HC that he'll carry forever. So this line feels to me like him reassuring Darlin' that his reluctance isn't the fault of them, but his past.

Darlin's Part

You were the star in the pitch black Shine the way on the way back

We don't have any canon instances of them comparing Sam to a star, but I can see it being something they'd say (perhaps less poetically, but the sentiment would be there) one night while laying up on their roof watching the stars with him. Maybe they're dead-tired, talking nonsense with lidded eyes at the end of a long day, fighting sleep in favor of more time spent with him.

"What- what're you pointin' at Darlin'?"

Their hazy focus is trained on the brightest star visible in their line of sight, arm stretched out to the sky above them. "That really bright one, to the... to the left."

Sam does his best to follow their less-than-specific directions of 'to the left', their pointed finger doing little to help given the difference in perspective. Luckily, after all these years, he knows this stretch of night sky like the back of his hand, so it isn't hard to locate the brightest one. Ghosting his fingers up along their arm, he takes their hand in his and brings it back down to earth. "Okay, yeah, I see it now. What about it though?"

"That's you." They say, matter-of-factly.

"That's me?" He questions, humor in his tone.

"Mhm." They nod with finality, blinking slow.

Sam considers the odd statement for a moment before gently correcting them. "I'm uh, I'm pretty sure that's Sirius, actually."

They scoff. "I am being serious."

Sam stifles a laugh into their hair. "No- no I mean- like... what's another name for it... Oh! It's also called the Dog Star."

"C'mon Sam, at least call it the Wolf Star if you're trying to turn this around on me..."

He shakes his head and readies himself to explain further, but they cut him off before he can start. "But no- no, this one isn't about me. That's you."

He decides to play along, finding something endearing in their overtired nonsense. "Okay... then would'ja be so kind as to explain to this confused old man just how, or why that star is me?"

Their frown is audible in their voice as they latch onto the wrong part of his sentence. "You're not old, Sam. ...Do I need to tell Asher to kick the jokes down a notch?"

He smiles at their over-protectivity. "There'll be no need for that, now. Was just a joke, darlin', I promise."

They huff, but thankfully shift focus back to the prior topic. "It's... I dunno. It's just you, Sam. It's... bright. Light. Something warm, out there in the cold dark. Standing out amongst all the rest. Calling to me, stealing my attention. I... I didn't come out here looking for it, but there it is. ...There you were. In the dark. The only bright thing I'd seen in... fuck, in years. Years of chasing fleeting warmth, tripping over myself in the pitch black, falling into... places 'n people I shouldn't have. You were the light in that darkness. Even there, surrounded by the ghost of him. You outshone it. Your warmth didn't hurt. I didn't have to squint when I looked at you. You weren't the blinding sun. You were the brightest star I'd ever seen. You guided me back home."

In the back of their mind, they recall something they once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can see a star that's already burnt out, because it's light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

They remember Sam's words, once whispered to them on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

They think about dead stars.

They think about time.

"...-lin'? Darlin'?" Sam's calloused hand slides up their forearm, pulling them out of their thoughts. "There you are. Think I lost ya' for a minute there... you good?"

They look up at Sam, concern creasing his features, shadows cast across his face from the light of the dying stars above him.

They reach out, pulling him down into them. Burying their face into his collar, Sam's concern grows when he feels it saturate with tears. A human might struggle to hear their words, muffled against the thick fabric, but his hearing catches it just fine.

"Don't burn out too quick. Please. I still need you here. I don't- I don't wanna be left in the dark again. Please, please Sam. Don't leave me here. I'm not selfish enough to ask you for forever, but please. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet."

.......Whoopsies! Really, genuinely didn't mean to improv an entire scene there, good god. Also didn't mean to swerve hard into angst at the end but uh. that's what came out! so I'm rolling with it lmao. Aaanyways let's move on, it's getting late and this is a song analysis post, not a fic.

Out of nowhere, answered all my prayers

'Out of nowhere' reminds me of Sam's words from the same HBW video I referenced earlier. "You came into my life like a damn wreckin' ball. There was no preparing for that, clothing or otherwise." While those were Sam's words, not Darlin's, I still feel like they feel similarly to how suddenly Sam came into their life as well. (Not in a bad way, mind you!)

[the significance of 'answered all my prayers' edges into my own personal more headcanon-y/personal/OC-ified Darlin' territory, so we can just gloss over this one for the sake of at least attempting to keep this more universally applicable]

Picked up the towel that I threw in Took in a heart that was ruined

Again, largely self-explanatory I feel. (*proceeds to explain anyways*) I imagine that Darlin' was at the point of throwing in the towel, hellbent on a solo-mission to find Quinn regardless of the danger it posed to them. I doubt they were looking toward the future anymore, (to reference Sam,) fully willing to throw themself at their problems until they really did break.

The specific use of 'ruined' hits hard here, because after everything they went through with Quinn, and especially after he recounted it all to Sam in that interrogation room, I imagine that they really, truly did feel ruined.

Showed me the past ain't a tattoo Loved me even when you didn't have to

These lines in particular make me sick with emotion every time I hear this song, because I feel like they hit the nail on the head for how Darlin' feels.

I'll be here citing various quotes all night that I feel showcase that sentiment, but we don't have time for that! So instead I'm just pointing to the entirety of 'Quinn's Aftermath' video, and leaving you with this single quote from it.

"Everything that he said reflects nothin' on you, and everything on him."

Equally Applicable Lines

And I don't know why Why you saw something in me, baby But you saw right through All the pain, and you came and saved me Yeah, I know you didn't leave me lonely Weren't the one that put the heartbreak on me Picked up the pieces It wasn't the mess that you made Could've left me just the way you found me But you came and put your wings around me You went out of your way To fix what you didn't break

Again, I think these lines are all pretty self-explanatory, and are just as accurate coming from either one of them. To me, at least, their entire dynamic is that they saved each other, in their own ways.

(But I will admit, the final verses about 'going out of your way to fix what you didn't break' are definitely conjuring up memories of Sam in the early days, literally going out of his way to visit and heal Darlin' after their fight with the two vamps. In general, his continued/repeated healing of them after they once again hurt themselves is the very literal definition of fixing what he didn't break.

But! While we may have more blatant examples of Sam being 'the fixer' so to speak, I think he'd argue that Darlin' has done plenty fixing of their own. Physical wounds aren't the only things that need healing, after all.)

-------

[shameless self-promo of my Sam & Darlin' playlist for those few of u interested enough to make it to the very end of this wall of text. if u liked this then u might like some of the other songs on there soooo maybe go check it out and maybe perhaps give it a follow so i can get a little serotonin boost or dopamine or whatever the chemical is that's released when Number Go Up. ...okay that's it i hope u enjoyed my fixation-induced ramblings! thank u and goodnight]

[ilyfynn]

one note and i will go back to actually writing again

[lostinthe-void-666]

The desire to make a Xisuma songfic of Wasted Potential by Lindsay Liebro is growing. I have ideas now.

[omgpoindexter]

2!

this song directly correlates to the fic as it is… kinda based on the same movie 🤪 don’t tell me meteorologist dex and tornado streamer doesn’t shiver your timbers

[pyreneese]

Hey Death Note artists, amv and animatic makers who I love oh so dearly, you're all missing out on a prime lawlight song I just found ;) here.

[zelreedsandwrites]

Bitches only want one thing and it’s a homoerotic vignette of Imogen going absolutely feral to protect Laudna set to Get Off My Back by Bryan Adams 🤷🏼‍♀️

[cate-deriana]

Broken when I thought that you were whole All the future memories that we'll never get to know Explaining, explaining the pain that I got When you left me in this life Tell me I can do this, I can do this on my own So Far Gone - ONE OK ROCK

Why is this so Lockwood/ Jessica coded?

[writinginthesecrettrees]

So yeah.

Dean finds the porn Sam did to make ends meet in Stanford, and he doesn't say anything. But suddenly Centerfold is playing non-stop ("Driver picks the music, bitch.") and belting out "My blood runs cold, my memory has just been sold, my angel is the centerfold" and it doesn't take a pre-law genius long to figure out what's eating at him.

And maybe they never really broke up but that last time (furtive, angry, desperate, hurryhurryhurry before the bus pulls up) had been a goodbye and they both know that Dean's flings and Sam's almost-fiancee in those years weren't cheating. But this... getting money for getting fucked on film feels like a betrayal. If Sam would rather do porn than call Dean for help... Maybe the betrayal was his. He could have gone with Sam, could have kept him safe, could have gotten a job or hustled pool or, hell, he could have done the porn so Sammy could focus on school and stay his only. If Sam was doing porn, Dean had failed him. As a brother, as a lover--

Sam's voiice cuts through his thoughts. "I pretended they were you. I just... I was so empty without you."

And he wants to say he was too but instead he says "looked stuffed full to me," under his breath, half-hoping Sam won't hear and he doesn't look. Can't bear to see the kicked puppy hurt in Sam's eyes that he doesn't deserve because it was Dean's failing. Dean's fault.

And that's why he deserves the "Bet it took you all of an hour to fall into some bar slut's bed" Sam throws at him and the only time he's ever heard that venomous tone was aimed at Dad. Dean takes a breath, tries to pull his thoughts into some semblance of an argument and maybe if they get it all out, bleed out the poison, they can be them again, but Sam sighs before Dean can respond. "Dean, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"Yeah, whatever," Dean says, because he still wants that fight but if Sam's gonna be all mature. He glances over to see Sam with some wry smile and a bottomless sadness etched on his face, quickly hidden when he notices Dean looking.

"Yeah, whatever," Sam says and maybe it's his imagination, maybe wishful thinking, but Dean could swear there's longing there, some note that reminds him of years gone by. Back when they still tried to be just brothers.

And it's the way Sam chuckles as he calls Dean "Jerk" that has Dean changing the music, and he's not belting it out but he still sings along with "buckle up baby, it's a bumpy ride, we're two kids hitching down the road of life" and the ache in his heart eases just a little when Sam's hand slides over to brush against his leg.

[draculasfavoritewife]

Azúcar (Capítulo 1)

Summary: You know how this little game always ends, and yet you can't help playing along with it anyway.

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!Spider!Reader

Warnings: This miniseries covers a wide range of potential triggers, including heavy sexual tension, bad/nonexistent communication, depression, implied smut, using said smut as coping mechanism, mentions of child death, guilt complex, a tiny bit of emotional manipulation, avoidant attachment style (lookin' at you, Señor O'Hara), and one shameless display of my bite kink, whoops.

Note: I use the shortened version of his name "Mique" in my own writing just because I personally prefer it. Swap it with whatever nickname you prefer in your head :) For my intents and purposes, Reader understands and speaks Spanish.

This series came to me in one feverish fell swoop during the summer of 2023 because my lovely friend made the fatal mistake of introducing me to Sleep Token's song "Sugar". The lyrics were just too perfectly Miguel-coded in my twisted mind and I was violently struck by the compulsion to write my first multi-chapter songfic, with each segment inspired by a stanza of lyrics. I hope it becomes as addictive to any readers out there as it has been to me during the creative process. As mentioned in my other Miguel-centric writings, reader is a spider-hero, but I left her pretty vague on purpose -- feel free to fill in her costume/powers/skill set with your own spidersona!

*Spanish translations at the end! (I am fairly bilingual, but if I made a lil mistake here or there do forgive me)

And you play a twisted little game...

“Miguel? Babe? You here?” You narrow your eyes to scan the darkened apartment, cursing under your breath at the way the shadows crouch so thickly in every corner and wishing, not for the first time, that your powers included night vision like his. When he leaves the lights out, you are reduced to mere muscle memory of the furniture layout to avoid crashing into everything and bruising your shins. 

He doesn’t answer.

If he is back, he’s being stubbornly silent. 

Hijo de puta. 

“Mique?” 

You fumble for the light switch, but just as your fingertips make contact with it, a massive hand pins yours under an iron grip, keeping you from illuminating your living space. 

“Leave ‘em off for a bit. Los ojos me duelen.” His velvety voice sounds rough and bone-tired, more and more of a frequent occurrence lately. You’re worried about him, but he barely lets you in much further than he does anyone else.

Keep them all at arm’s length. 

If putting up walls was an Olympic sport, Miguel O’Hara would hold the world record, you think. 

Funny, that it somehow still hasn’t stopped you from trying to climb over them. 

You sigh and let your hand go limp, but his tense hold remains, pinning your arm to the wall. “Why didn’t you say anything when I called, huh?” 

As your eyes adjust bit by bit to the dim, you catch the rise and fall of his immense shoulders in a flippant shrug. “Your spider-sense would have warned you if I was a danger. I didn’t see the point.” 

A spark of anger ignites in the bottom of your chest. “The point is that I just wanted to know if you were here tonight or not, you ass.” 

He lets you go and stalks away in the direction of the main window, and for as annoyed as you are, you can’t help the stab of sheer admiration as always at the way his statuesque form can move like no more than one of the shadows themselves. Miguel is a towering man, yet still walks with the silent grace that many of his lither counterparts possess.

“Well, now you know. I’m here. And since my presence only seems to further upset you, I’ll go now. Good to see you’re alright after today’s mission. Adios, Corazón.” 

Damn him.

Damn him. 

You know you should just let him leave. Watch him slip out through that open window and plunge down into the lightless night. You’ll see him tomorrow, after all. Telling him to stay will only make this frustrating, nameless tangle the two of you share that much harder to unwind later.

He knows all of that, too, and also knows exactly what he’s doing by calling you the name that only ever leaves his lips in the undisturbed quiet of your unmade bed. He’s playing one of his little games, and you both know it, and you know why he does it, why he is the way he is, and yet you still can’t do what you know you should. 

“Mique….” 

He flicks a glance over his shoulder at you, crimson eyes smoldering in the dark. 

You let out a long exhale, suddenly weary. 

“Stay here, tonight.” 

And just like that, you’ve willingly surrendered to his proverbial web once again. 

Hijo de puta = Son of a bitch

Los ojos me duelen = My eyes hurt

Corazón = Heart (here used as term of endearment)

(2)

[o0mochacoffee0o]

Ya’ll @wolfqueen66793 infected me with (platonic) Tails x Kit Brainrot so if you’ll excuse me I’m going to be writing a fanfic now titled “marry you” after the Bruno Mars song.

(…if anyone wants to know my silly brainrot scenarios that have spawned please ask me about it I have so many)