the-oracles-maw

[the-oracles-maw]

don't you beg for love

kinda a vent fic to console myself. Anyway, it's been a hot minute and I'm sorry about that. Finals are coming up. Also also if anyone wants to see a different dbd killer feel free to request who!

Cowboy grandpa Caleb gives you some cowboy grandpa advice.

The Grave of Glenvale had become more of a home to you than the Entity's twisted copy of your own. You've never been to Arizona, you would reason. What young folk like yourself haven't fantasized about being a mysterious cowboy looming into a Saloon? Big, hot iron strapped to your hip, ready to clean house of bandits?

You kept telling yourself that as you made your way into the Saloon, or what was left of it. Some of the letters reading "DEAD DAWG" had been shot off, making it read more like the "D D DA G SALOON"

You were fine, you told yourself. You were curious about what the whiskey was like in the late 1800's. You were into the cowboy aesthetic.

A grumble and a cough rings out. An uncharacteristically chipper voice that did not suit whom it belonged to.

"Why, ain't you a sight for sore eyes."

You weren't fine.

If you were fine, you wouldn't have totally just perked up hearing the mangled voice of the undead bounty hunter that all but took you in when you found yourself in this warped, new world.

Caleb's genuine smile was comically lopsided, one side of his face completely, grotesquely smooshed thanks to the bullet that shattered and ripped through his jaw. If one knew any better, they'd turn tail and run from the sight.

The outlaw ran his thick fingers over the rim of the glass of fresh neat whiskey, which somehow looked drinkable. The Entity was good to her killers, that was for sure, apparently.

"What're standing there for, mo chuisle? Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable. I don't bite."

Trying not to drag your feet, you settle on the barstool across from Caleb, looking away from him. Already, you felt a little bit better. The sound of glass dragging across old wood makes your eyes snap up at him, Caleb holds a new glass of whiskey for you. Where it came from, you haven't a clue. The Entity had her ways, perhaps. And you didn't dare question it.

"Have some," He drawled. "Yer lookin' rough."

You paused, and look at the honey colored liquid, already anticipating the bitter, burning sting down your throat.

"Well? Go on." Caleb insisted, nudging the glass towards you.

You take the glass, and slam it back. "It ain't like them fancy rich folk pops yer used to back home. You're not meant to taste it," you remember Caleb telling you. You cough loudly as you down the drink in one gulp, still not used to the bitter burn, causing the man to laugh.

"Bah, you'l get use to it, eventually. Now, talk to me dotey," Caleb stretched, you could hear the creaking of the metal brace on his bad leg. "What's eating at you now?"

What wasn't eating at you? Compared to Caleb, and most, if not all of your cohorts, you hadn't been here very long. But, if one was keeping track the best they could, it was likely you'd been trapped here for a little over three months. You did the Entity's bidding well. You gave her fresh sacrifices. She was please and kept you healthy and strong. But still...

You felt out of place.

You struggled to connect with your fellow killers. Even the band known as the Legion, who seemed just about your age, seemed... off-put by you. The outgoing and charismatic Danny Johnson wouldn't give you a second glance. When the killers mingled about the campfire before retreating to their respective realms, you were forced to stay far away, or awkwardly follow Caleb on the rare occasion he made an appearance.

"So, I..." You began, trying to find the words. "I went out with Frank and his friends."

"Did you now?" Caleb took a swig of the whiskey. "How was that? You have fun?"

You sigh sadly. "It was... I don't know, kind of like I wasn't there. I mean, I had a good time, it was bowling but..."

"Now, lemme ask you something, mo chuisle..." Caleb's voice was uncharacteristically soft. Gentle, even as he leaned in. "Why do you even stick around Frank, huh? You ain't into 'em, and they ain't into you."

You don't have an answer to that, you just look down at the empty glass guiltily. Caleb shakes his head. On your slouched shoulder, a rough hand finds purchase.

"Hey now, you don't mind if you lend me an ear, do ya?"

Not at all.

"Look," Caleb clears his throat, scooching the barstool a little closer to you. "I know it hurts, trust me, I know. But, there's just gonna be folks out there who, for whatever God damned reason, just don't like ya. Doesn't necessarily have to be something you did."

You could tell by the tone of Caleb's voice that this was something he himself's also struggled with: Feeling out of place. An Irish immigrant, undesirable by white employers and pioneers on the western front. "And sometimes, dotey? You gotta know when to give it up."

You sigh sadly. Deep down, you know Caleb is right. Frank and the Legion will probably never see you as a friend. "I know... I... I guess I just want people to like me."

"Why, I like ya!" Caleb playfully nudges you on the shoulder, making you laugh. "But... yeah. I get it. You're still a young lil' thing. You wanna run wild with people your age."

You nod.

"Look 'it me."

You kept your gaze downcast. Caleb gingerly reached for your chin and tilted it upwards.

"Look 'it me, mo chuisle."

"I know yer crushed," Caleb continued, "It might take a while to, 'find your people,' so to speak. Took me my whole damn life. Took me 'till my last few years to find my people." His lips rose as you both knew he was referring to the Hellshire Gang.

Caleb gently caressed your shoulder, patting it every now and then, his eyes softening. "Ya can't beg for folks to like ya, mo chuisle. It'll only hurt you in the end." A soft smile returns to his face. "And when you find your people, you won't have to beg. You know why?"

You blink, and Caleb grins. "Because the best folk'll see you the way I do, grá mo chroí."

Your eyes don't feel as stingy anymore as you smile back at him. You think you're going to leave the Legion alone for a little while, and stick by Caleb. Sure, your friendship was... unconventional, but you never had to beg for Caleb's attention. And best of all? He was delighted to have you around.

Perhaps your people, age gap be damned, was right in front of you, sharing a whiskey with you.

You wouldn't ever have to beg.

__

"mo chuisle": literally "my pulse" my darling, my love

"grá mo chroí": literally "love of my heart"

#peepaw caleb #writeblr #my writing #the deathslinger #dead by daylight #dead by daylight x reader #caleb quinn #caleb quinn x you #caleb quinn dbd #caleb quinn x reader #deathslinger #deathslinger dbd #dbd x you #dbd killer x reader #dbd killer #dbd deathslinger #deathslinger x reader #irish language #hurt/comfort #vent fic #x gender neutral reader #platonic x reader #deathslinger being a grandpa again #dbd x reader #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher fic

[the-oracles-maw]

I bring you the greatest challenge of them all. Clown fluff!

curSE YOU… you knOW I CAN’t REFUSE A CHALLENGE… I’M A WHORE FOR PROVING PEOPLE WRONG. ..

DBD / Slasher ShortKenneth Chase / The ClownPrompt: Fluff

“You’re a good boy!” You cooed, gently sliding your palm across the animal’s snout. Maurice nickered softly, pushing his nose into your fingers to meet your grasp. People could say what they wanted about Kenneth and his realm, but you liked it here. The Clown had never done anything unwarranted to you (at least, not out of a trial). In fact, he’d been… Hospitable. He let you come to his caravan; he let you spend time with his beloved horse.

Ken never said much. He’d give you a lazy nod of greeting and tip his drink in your direction, but that was all. He never bothered you. 

The Clown was sat on the top stair of his caravan, the chipped door swung open and letting the brewing scent of his tonics drift into the run-down fair. You could hear the distant sounds of jingling machinery and fairground music dancing across the wind. Maurice; the poor, rotting horse, was stuck on the ground. Legs too weak to hold him, he was confined to lie there. You could see the regret in Kenneth’s eyes every time he glanced over; you knew he loved the animal. You knew it. 

“He’s not hurtin’,” Ken finally grumbles to you. You look up to find the man’s eyes settled on you. He looks exhausted, slumped on that step and tiredly watching you befriend his horse. He nods in the vague direction of the innards of the caravan, “made some tonic. Can’t walk, but… He ain’t hurtin.”

You paused, directing your attention back to the poor thing. He looked like he’d seen better days, for sure. The sight of him tugged deeply at your heartstrings, and you knew it was killing Kenneth himself. You could hear Ken choking on his own breath as he tried to force down another few swigs of whatever it was he was drowning himself in. 

The stairs of the caravan creaked. A shadow loomed over your body, and you glanced up just in time to feel two thick hands clamp around your waist. You forget how fast he was. Panic shot through you for a second as he so easily hauled you up into the air, and you felt your feet meet the air. You thought, for a moment, he’d grown tired of your lingering. 

Kenneth set you down on the back of the horse and carefully let go of you. You ground your feet into the dirt and gripped loosely onto Maurice’s greasy, mane (or at least, what was left of it), and looked up to the man in curiosity. He was still there, standing over you. “He likes you,” the Clown nods. You feel his thick, bandages fingers tangle in your hair as he gives you an affectionate pat. 

There’s a trace of a smile quirking at his lips. The garish make-up that stains his skin pulls into an expression that almost looks happy for a change. You grin at him. You see a fond flicker in his eyes as he laughs quietly to himself, coughing lightly into his fist before he nods at you and lumbers back to his place on the step. 

Kenneth ain’t so bad.

#UGHH THIS IS SO CUTE #Kenneth freaks me the fuck out #as do clowns in general #but I wanna give Kenneth a hug #he needs it

[the-oracles-maw]

The Entity: are you seriously hunting survivors by yourself?

Tarhos: Nah I’m with mY BOYYYYYYYYYYYYYS

*The faithful three cheering* *Alejandro screeching* *war horn*

#this is so stupid #dead by daylight #dbd #the knight #tarhos kovács #the knight dbd #the jailer #the jailer dbd #dead by daylight x reader #the knight dead by daylight #Tarhos dbd #Tarhos dead by daylight #alejandro santiago #incorrect quotes #incorrect dbd #incorrect dead by daylight

[the-oracles-maw]

macushla

Playing cards with the Deathslinger

My first DBD fic!! contains: killer!reader, just straight up peepaw Caleb save a horse...

You could say you've settled into your role in this strange new world.

It's routine. You find yourself... somewhere. The Entity starves. It's your responsibility to feed it. When it is sated, you're sent back to the campfire. The Entity's food? You don't care to know. You've grown numb to it.

You've seen others who have a similar role to yours. Particularly two men and two women about your age. The thrill they get from their assignment by the Entity. Licking the blood from their knives and bats. As for you? Your eyes just linger on your hands coated in red. They would definitely be stained.

Your cohorts weren't much for conversation, save for the aforementioned killers your age. They were often met with a grunt or a cold shoulder.

Which is why you pondered endlessly about this bond you created with the Deathslinger.

Caleb thumbed through the deck of cards, dealing them between the two of you with almost impossible dexterity with rotting fingers. He never spoke much (perhaps that's what made it so easy for you to open up to him, you fear you'd annoy the old man.) When he did speak, it was an odd voice: a midwestern drawl somehow with a heavy Irish accent. It wasn't unpleasant.

His lips rise into a ghost of a smile and even his entire face seem to barely light up as you play your hand.

"'Might be the only person your age who knows how t' play twenty-five."

"I don't know," you shrug. "Back home we'd text each old games as a gimmick. I'd imagine there's a couple kids who know how to play because of that."

"Bah," Caleb waved his hand. "That don't count. Come on, now! Nobody appreciates the simplicity of the classics no more."

You shrug. "Guess not."

Caleb gives you a crooked smile. "Ain't many young folk like you no more, mo chuisle. I taught you well."

Caleb called you that a lot. Mo chuisle. A little more often than your actual name. And you were the only person whom he called by name. You never asked him what it meant.

Your conversations often went like this. Caleb would crack an uncharacteristic joke about your age, sometimes when he was in a good mood, you supposed within earshot of the group of friends called the Legion.

"What surprised me the most," you began, "was how sloppy they were." You eye the hand you intend to trump on Caleb. "It's like they're just sticking their hands into the live wires until something works."

"Suits you, don't it? Make it easier on you?"

"Eh, I think I prefer the challenge." You knew that was what exactly Caleb wanted to hear. His broken jaw made his proud smile comically lopsided. You fan out the cards you intend on trumping Caleb with, and he raises a brow, putting down his hand.

"You sure about that?" He asks lowly, eyeing your hand quizzically.

"What?"

"I think you should look at that hand again, mo chuisle."

You look at your cards again, and notice a fatal fumble in your hand that would have cost you the game. You fight a blush you feel coming onto your cheeks and sheepishly pull back your hand. "Huh..."

"Come on now, you know better than that."

Caleb wasn't sure what he saw in you. Or why he gave you such special treatment. There were a few "killers," he supposed that were around your age. A few too many, he supposed. What made you different? Was he unconsciously reminded of someone from his past? Did he think you were weak and needed protection?

He wasn't sure what it was about you that tugged at whatever was left of his heart that endeared him to you. It felt natural. He needed to protect you, and he didn't know why.

It was best he'd kept it that way.

"Look here," Caleb fanned out his set of cards for you, continuing on with the game you both briefly forgot you were playing. "I reckon we jink this, mo chuisle."

Mo chuisle.

Maybe one day, he'd tell you what your little nickname meant. One day, if you all somehow get out of here, or, when eventually, this dark God decides to turn on you all.

— mo chuisle: "my darling" "my blood" literally means "my pulse." macushla: the song where "mo chuisle" comes from.

#yeehaw #the deathslinger #Caleb quinn #caleb quinn x reader #deathslinger dbd #dbd x reader #dbd x you #Caleb Quinn x reader #Caleb Quinn x you #Caleb Quinn dbd #dbd deathslinger #dbd killer x reader #my writing #writeblr #dead by daylight x reader #dbd #dbd killer #peepaw caleb #platonic x reader #irish language #dead by daylight #dead by daylight x you #slasher x reader #slasher fic

[the-oracles-maw]

HEY GANG WHO WANTS TO SEE DEAD BY DAYLIGHT WRITING LEMME KNOWWWW 🖤🖤🖤

#ive come to make an announcement #writeblr #my writing #dead by daylight #dead by daylight x reader #dbd #dbd x reader #dbd x you #looking for suggestions

[the-oracles-maw]

downtime

Miguel is hard on you because he cares. Set after the events of beyond the spider verse I guess?? So very, very not canon.

father figure! Miguel o'hara x reader

It's been a while since you've come into headquarters voluntarily.

And Miguel's noticed.

You see, you were perhaps a social experiment for the hardheaded spider-man.

"You're good for him," another spider-man, Peter B., had told you one day when he insisted on introducing you to his rambunctious toddler, Mayday. That was also the day he told you about that kid. Miles.

You have yet to meet him. But apparently, Miles' appearance sent shockwaves throughout the Spider-Society, bringing it to the brink of disbanding. You came along sometime after it, into the arms of angry and protective spider-people, who at first, didn't want you anywhere near their leader.

Miguel was exasperated by you. How, he thought, could such a natural talented spider, like you, even at a relatively young age! Be so goddamn lazy? And reckless! He stared at you as you lay buried beneath your quilts in the apartment the society provided for you like a slug. Truly, it was fascinating how heavy you slept.

He wondered if you played possum during your missions and he didn't know. If it turns out you did, he'd rip you a new one.

"(name,)..." His voice uncharacteristically soft, but still edged with annoyance as he approached you, before firmly shaking your shoulder with a heavy sigh. "Oye, (name.) Up, up, up. It's past noon."

Somewhere, you were far, far away. You have a hand at whatever is trying to coax you from wonderful, wonderful slumber. You mutter something into your pillow, but with Miguel's enhanced hearing, it sounded an awful lot like "Go fuck yourself."

Miguel raised a graceful brow at your half-conscious protest. Tossing all self control out the window, and knowing you're a sleep deprived monster who sleeps fully clothed, he grabs your ankles and begins to gradually drag you from your pillow and off the other side of the bed.

"Jesus Christ! Okay! Okay! I'm getting up!"

"This cannot be healthy for you, (name.) Sleeping until noon. Ever thought about going to bed earlier? Putting aside your games for once?"

"Pot, meet kettle, asshole."

"Touché."

He's still lingering in your tiny apartment, passing you a warm empanada as you exit your bedroom, hair in a towel and spider-suit donned. "Seriously, it's a miracle you haven't missed a mission."

"I have a system!" You protest, biting into the empanada, the savory meat waking you right up.

"Uh huh, sure. Come on, eat. I got a job for you."

"Oh come on!" You protest with a mouth full. "It's Saturday, dude!"

Miguel said nothing, just looking back at you.

Shoving the rest of the empanada in your mouth you grumble. "Mn.. Fine. Fuck you, then."

 ━━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━━ 

You saw this coming a mile away. And boy, did you give Ben hell for not watching your six on this mission. Even when he patted your shoulder saying to follow him, adding in "you've earned some downtime," was just a ploy to soften you up for the incoming lecture.

"I thought you were better than that, (name,) running headfirst into the anomalies. You could've missed and sent them running loose!"

"That was not me," you argued back. "Not this time." You turn away from him. You're really not in the mood for this debate. You're exhausted and in pain.

"Really? Who was it then?"

"Ben."

"Oh, we're pointing fingers now?"

"You're kidding right? I already talked to him! He went out to do his own thing!" You argued back and showed him your arm, watered and bruised from a harsh landing. You don't bother to look at the state of your badly aching chest. Miguel gave a long look at you and shook his head.

"Hey, let me ask you something," you say suddenly, despite the pain in your chest, you're raising your voice. Perhaps the adrenaline produced for your injuries was doing you some good. "How come whenever something goes wrong, your first instinct is that it had something to do with me? Why do you crawl up my ass all the time?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me! I'm not a child, Miguel." Miguel was certainly thinking about arguing back that you were acting like one, with your arms folded and raised voice, so he did just that.

"You don't even listen to me!" Your voice had become a sudden shout, capturing the attention of mingling spider-people, now staring at you and their boss. A few shaking their heads. Another few departing.

Feeling the countless eyes on him, (and being very much aware that more than a few of his subordinates were still pretty angry at him,) he sighed and shook his head. "Alright... you know what, (name)? Come... let's... talk about this."

His voice was uncharacteristically quiet. Even when he ordered the lingering spider-people out. Even when he urged you to sit. You were absolutely seething with anger, not exactly willing to hear him out. Still, his expression remained soft.

"Look, I... I know I'm tough on you." He began. You opened your mouth to fire something back, but he raised a hand to stop you. "I know. It doesn't feel like I'm trying to help you out-"

"The why bother?" You interrupt him. "Why try if you know every time I'm going to fuck something up? You happen to have a knack for these things. Especially if it's my fault that everything goes wrong."

Miguel was surprised to see tears starting to prick at your eyes. "Hey, no, nena, that's not it-" He's not sure where or how the nickname slipped, but he decided to roll with it. He sighed again. "You know what, maybe I'm just... not expressing this correctly."

Fuck, Miguel felt like an idiot right now. But it was as close to explaining why he was so tough on you as he could get. He scooted a little closer to you, bending down to look you in the eye as you bowed your head. "You remember what I told you that day? When I first took you in."

Clear as the fucking day, you thought. When the spider-society, or more specifically, Miguel, discovered you, the lone survivor of a universal collapse, he was much worse with his words.

"Yeah, you said I wasn't a huge mistake. Just the byproduct of a huge mistake."

Miguel visibly blushed at this recounting. You turn away from him. "I don't need the reminder that a fault in the system is all I'll ever be to you, asshole." Your voice was cracking. The pain in your arm and chest and your exhaustion was getting to you, and you were crumbling."

"(name)..." Miguel reached out, and tried to place a comforting hand on your shoulder, but you noticeably, painfully flinched.

"Fuck, I'll take you to get that checked out."

"I... I'll do it..." You're barely stringing a sentence together.

"Look at you," Miguel sighed. "I bet you can barely walk in this state. And I don't know how I feel about leaving you alone right now, nena. I still wanna talk." And there was the nickname again.

" Do you remember why, I said I decided to take you under my wing?"

You don't answer, sniffling. Miguel's lips curl up into a small smile. "Come on, nena. I know you know. I know you have a photographic memory like that. Freaks me the hell out. But, come on. I wanna hear you say it."

"I'm still spider-woman." You respond. Now looking up at him.

"And?"

You blink away the last of your tears. "You'll be there every step of the way, anomaly with nowhere to go or not. I'm spider-woman."

"Damn right you are." And with that, Miguel pulled you into a tight hug. His free hand gently petting your hair. You can't help but to bury your tearful face pitifully into his shoulder and whimper into it. "...And damn right I will, nena. Got me?"

You sniff. "...yeah."

"Now you listen to me, you're not a mistake. And... yeah, you're a pain, but you're not a disappointment. All I want is to look out for you. I'm a hard ass on you because I care. This is me caring."

"You have a funny way if showing it."

"I know, nena, I know." He continues to rub your hair. "I'm working on it." He gently lets you go, placing both hands ever so lightly on your shoulders, avoiding your injuries. "Why don't we get you patched up, yeah? Like I said, you could use some downtime."

You smile at that. "Sure. Everything is killing me." Miguel sighed as he outstretched a hand for you to help you up. "Am I gonna have to carry you?"

"This fine ass princess? Maybe."

"Ay, por dios, (name.)" There she was. The snarky, sassy you he's come to cherish like you were his own flesh and blood. Yeah, he thought. He's hard on you because he cares.

Perhaps he should, starting in the infirmary, express to you more of that "cares."

Peter B. was right. You were good for Miguel. And fuck him, Miguel thought, shaking his head with a smile.

#platonic miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman x reader #across the spiderverse #spiderman #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman: across the spiderverse #miguel spiderverse #spiderverse #atsv #spiderman atsv #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #my writing #writeblr #yours truly from ace Miguel central #Miguel o'hara x reader fluff #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #I hope I used oye correctly

[the-oracles-maw]

hesitancy

totally self indulgent trash

tw: implied past abusive relationship, power imbalance, this relationship isn't very healthy gang

Simon “ghost” riley x reader

"Simon? Are you ready to go?"

Your fiancé briefly pauses from typing away at the home office laptop. He was totally engrossed in finalizing paperwork, you paid little mind to the details. You squeeze your arm, nervously, shuffling in the gown you've picked out for the night. Simon's old military buddies had invited you both to a charity event. Something for veterans. Your gown was a tank-sleeve, somewhat form fitting number, that cascaded down to your ankles. It was a deep, dark teal color, and from the sleeves, a sheer, sparkly black split "cape" cascaded down your back, past your feet and onto the floor.

"Mn... in a minute." Simon's response was blunt. Not even looking up from the computer screen, sending a pang in your stomach. Perhaps he was very, very focused. And you must've disturbed him.

Shaking out the dress shirt he's picked out for the evening, you lay it over the back of the chair, daring to speak up again. "We've gotta leave in about a half hour."

"Mn..." His grunt became a little louder, as if he was annoyed. Or, at the very least, aware of your presence, fingers flying away across the keyboard.

"Um...." You speak up, your voice barely above a whisper. "Do... do you want me to call John?" Wondering if perhaps Simon didn't want to go to the charity. He wasn't exactly a people-person, as you knew. Perhaps offering him an out would please him? You always did your best to please your stoic man. "I... I can tell him you're not feeling well and-"

"Nah," he responded, still not looking at you. "I'll be done soon."

With each passing moments, your posture grew more tense, your body language growing more demure, submissive. A defense mechanism you've picked up in the past, especially regarding the men in your life. If you read their minds, you thought, if you bent over backwards to please them, then...

Simon, on the other hand, had a decent idea of what he was doing to you, as you meekly muttered that you were going to wait for him in the living room. A surge of adrenaline rushes through him hearing your meek voice, a tingling that starts in his chest, and creeps into his loins. A power imbalance he doesn't exactly relish, but didn't do anything to put a stop to either, under the assumption that this was just how you were.

There was a time, that, perhaps, Simon was amused of how easily you submitted to him. A ghost (lol) of a smile curling up his lips, he finishes up the paperwork on the laptop, and closes it. Grabbing the dress jacket you left on the computer chair for him, he makes his way into the living room, where you waited.

You were still curled into yourself. Did Simon not like the dress? Was it too revealing? You'd pulled over a big, fluffy jacket over it. Your shoulders drawn to each other, pinching the bit of visible tummy from your dress. Simon's lack of comment or attention has clearly done a blow on your self-esteem.

Simon looked on, despite his massive size, entirely silent. Flickers of compassion watch over him as he watches your pick yourself apart. He's grown to expect your complete submission, but now without having complicated feelings for it. The man couldn't deny that there was something sickeningly endearing the way you modified your behavior on a whim just to please him.

Simon knows exactly why you cast aside your gaze whenever he enters the room, when he's anything less than beaming with happiness. He knows exactly why you pick at your tummy, why you scrunch your shoulders. He knows very well, that you're irrationally terrified of the man. "You alright?" Simon, aware of your anguished state, lowers his voice as he approaches you.

You straighten up as he approaches. Furiously rubbing your tear stained eyes and cheeks, you rise to meet him. "I'm okay, Si. I'm okay." The man isn't convinced, but he allows you to adjust the collar of his dress jacket and shirt.

"You sure?" Simon was starting to grow concerned. This power, he was used to it. The assumption that this was just how you were... Well... to say he wasn't beginning to crow a little concerned was an understatement. Did he do something to cause this? Did something frighten you?

He sadly, was disappointed, but not al ass surprised, when he placed his hands over yours to fix his collar himself, and you flinched.

He backs up, raising his hands in surrender, also raising an inquisitive brow at this extreme reaction. His eyes soften at your spluttering following words:

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry, I-"

"You're trembling." His deep, accented voice rumbled. It was softer than it had been all night. His hands hovered over yours, not quite touching them, but they just, barely graved over yours as they shook. Violently.

"Come, let's talk about this. Come sit, luv." He made sure to watch his tone. With your anguished mental state, you would certainly get the wrong idea if he asked you to do something for him. He sits next to you and begins. "Now, what's going on, huh? You scared of me?"

You don't answer.

It was answer enough.

That did anger him. but for your sake, that anger only simmered inside him. He's exploited people being afraid of him for so long. Came with being a master interrogator, of course. But to see his significant other shy away from him like this? Did you think the man was made of stone?

"Easy... easy..." His hands hover over your shoulders and chest as you pull yourself tightly together. Simon thought his ego would be thoroughly fed by the way you were acting. Perhaps, at one time. At one time. Not now.

"Just... breathe... alright? Breathe... Relax... Don't look at me like I'm about to strike you, luv. I'm not. You hear me?"

His tone is gentle, but firm. His hands hover over your face now, as if he wants to wipe away your tears, but doesn't. As if touching your face would drive you over the edge. His voice continues to whisper to you, enveloping your senses like a great blanket, until you've sufficiently calmed down. Giving you a small smile, Simon shed his jacket.

"Look, I'm not... liking what I'm seeing..." he motioned his hand in a circle around you. "here." He reaches over, making sure to touch the jacket and not you, pulling it off.

"Well won't you look at that... A sight for sore eyes, luv." You swear you saw him lick his lips. "Just makin' sure you know it ain't about the dress." He even gave you a small smile.

"Look..." he began. "I know I can be... well, fuck it, intense but..." A long sigh. "You? You're my partner. Not my fucking squamates." He was still whispering. "I don't want to have to come home to someone who looks like a tick about to fucking pop whenever they're around me."

You avert your gaze.

"No, come on, luvie, look at me." This time, he did touch you, the tips of his big fingers tilting your chin. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

"I..." you start, your voice barely audible. "I don't know... why..."

"You know, just cause I'm military, don't mean I'm gonna smack you around, got me?"

"I know, I... I really don't know why I'm like this... I don't know why you scare me."

You cover your mouth as Simon gives you a slow nod. "I see. Don't say anything, luv." He reaches out his hand, unfurled, wanting you to take it. "Looks like we've got a little something to work on, yeah?"

He was right. This was something that was only going to worsen the more it was ignored. Instead of taking Simon's hand, you withdraw. Simon closes it and gives a proud nod. You needed to learn and shake the idea that due to your fiancé's career, that he had no intention to hurt you.

And Simon needed to swallow his pride, and read you better. Having you cater to every whims down to the way he breathes, is only going to brew fear and resentment, not love and respect.

"I think we should call it off, yeah?" Simon scoots in closer to you. Your sides were touching. "I don't think you're in any state to mingle about a bunch of people."

You agreed.

"Why don't you put on something cozy, I'll give John and the shrink a call, yeah?"

You were going to work on this. You weren't going to be mindlessly flighty around your man. And he was willing to put in the work himself to show you had nothing to fear? You were touched. Beyond touched.

Your face lights up, ever so slightly, and you speak, the clearest as you have that night. "Okay. Simon?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you."

~the-oracles-maw~

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #call of duty modern warfare #ghost call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty #my writng #writeblr #ghost x reader #ghost cod #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #cod x reader #cod #cod mw2 #tw power imbalance #tw implied abuse #hurt/comfort #tw toxic relationship #woahhhh #I wrote something #that's radical dude

[the-oracles-maw]

hey y'all, I really am not a fan of disappointing people, but I think I'm gonna chicken out of writing for the poll I put up

I overshot it, and found while I was writing, "you know what, I'm really not comfortable with writing this kind of smut. Especially if people are going to see it." especially dub con/noncon.

I ain't trying to kinkshame, I'm just realizing my limits of what I want to post online.

Maybe one day, or if someone still wants to see them, I could probably write this for you privately :)

Thanks for understanding,

Much luv, Fish 🪼

#i've come to make an announcement #karl heisenberg x reader #alcina dimitriscu x reader

[the-oracles-maw]

i couldn’t sleep last night. or the last 3. have a drabble for that.

alejandro vargas / reader | fluff | ~400 words.

“Alej?”

Nothing.

“Alejandro?”

“¿Que?” He responds, heavy with sleep.

“I can’t sleep.”

Alej grumbles, adjusting to lay on his back, not yet looking at you.

“What do you want me to about it?” He asks dryly.

“Help me,” You pout, hugging his arm to you, earning a subconscious little smile.

“Do you want me to give you tequila?”

“Alejandro Vargas.”

His full smile finally breaks through, eyes meeting yours with a twinkle of the moonlight that snuck in to watch.

“I can put honey in it.”

“I don’t want your dad’s cough syrup.”

Alej chuckles, moving his arm from his grasp, pulling you to rest your head on his chest. His hand resting on your upper arm, rubbing circles into your skin thoughtlessly, his grip sure and comforting.

“I could put lemon in it.” He continues with an obvious smile.

“I’m going to tell on you.”

“To who?”

“Rudy.”

Alejandro lightly laughs, entertaining you,

“What are you going to tell him?”

“I’m going to tell him my husband bullies his precious wife.”

“Yeah?”

“And that his precious wife can’t sleep.”

His arm pulls you up, capturing your lips with your own; almost too warm, almost too much, his beard that would be neglected till the next morning scratching your face in the process. His other hand wraps around to grip your hip, pulling you on top of him, your legs falling between his own, hips against hips as you tilted your head with the movement, his tongue lazily moving across your bottom lip, leaving your mouth wet as he pulls back.

“I’m just a cruel husband huh?” He teases against your mouth, peppering kisses across your cheek to your ear, leading you to rest your head against his shoulder.

“Well, I think I could redact a few statements,” You murmur, snuggling up to him as he adjusts the bedding, pulling it over your shoulders, his hand resting on your shoulder. The warmth spreads through you in sweet waves, melting you against his body. His chest lowly rising and falling, rocking you to lull your thoughts into nothing important. His free hand trails down your back, holding you at the small of your back.

“Tell me if you need anything,” Alejandro murmurs, sleep filling his voice, his chest vibrating against your face. You nod, unable to pull your body out of the warm lull he was pulling you into. The thick cotton warmth pulling you down, pulling you into the night.

[the-oracles-maw]

𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 & 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 | 𝐧𝐞𝐮𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐬

please like/reblog and credit if you use.

[the-oracles-maw]

miguel o'hara noticing that u really really like his big strong arms pls 🙏

i request

— MIGUEL O'HARA AND HIS ARMS !

pairing : miguel x reader !

a/n : anything for u dumpling!!!! thank you very much for requesting, also i jsut aced in my val game please be proud. p.s guys the reader doesnt know bro is spider-man lmao what a dumbass

It was early in the morning, and you were fatigued. Too exhausted to drive yourself to work, your boyfriend, Miguel, had offered to give you a ride.

You happily accepted.

You yawned, pressing the back of your head into the headrest of the passenger seat as your eyes slowly began to close. Miguel glanced over to you, then let out a chuckle at the sight.

"What time did you sleep?"

Opening your eyes, you were met with a very clear view of your boyfriend's arms.

You knew that he was jacked, for sure, but you marveled at the way his black compression shirt hugged his toned muscles, making them stand out even more than usual. Ignoring the extremely heavy weight on your eyelids, you couldn't keep your eyes off his biceps.

"You gonna answer me or keep staring at my arms?"

This snapped you out of your daze, causing you to blink twice before adjusting your posture. You averted your eyes to anywhere else but him as you felt the heat rising to your face.

"Yeah, ha... like 4, maybe?" You were too embarrassed to actually try to remember what time you finally passed out, but you knew it was late at night.

You didn't notice, but he was getting a kick out of seeing you like this, all flustered over just his arms. The smirk on his face was already formed thirty seconds ago, and he couldn't wipe off the smug that came with it.

"We're here. Don't get out yet though, I'm parking." He had a certain tone to his voice, like he was planning something. You shook your head, not wanting to be the reason he was late for his job, whatever it was.

"Ah, it's okay, I can just-"

You were distracted from the sudden movement of his hand moving from the gear shift, his arm reaching around the shoulders of your seat. He turned to get an accurate view of the rear window, reversing the car. One hand stayed on the wheel, and you swore right then and there that he looked ten times hotter while driving.

The arm you were staring at moments ago was now right in front of you, giving you a perfectly good look at the high definition of his muscles. It seemed that they were flexed this time, but you had no complaints.

Unbeknownst to you, he knew exactly what he was doing. He loved when you showed attraction towards him, and he loved embarrassing you about it even more.

He finally parked the car before looking at you, a small smile appearing when he saw that you were still in a trance with his arm.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and pulled you close to him, embracing you in his arm, looking down at you to see your flushed cheeks. "I'll see you later, hermosa." He kissed your forehead, and you felt your stomach doing flips.

You then gasped in realization, glancing at the time. "I'm gonna be late!" Frantically scurrying to gather your things, you thanked him for the ride before opening the door and hopping out.

"I'll pick you up later?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Sounds good!" You nodded as you gave him one last wave, rushing past everybody near the building in fear of your boss giving you a hard time today.

On the way to your office, you smiled to yourself. You couldn't wait to come home and be engulfed in his strong arms, where you were safe from the world.

Meanwhile, Miguel's head was clouded as he watched you enter the building safely, thinking of all the ways he could get you to blush from his arms again, when really, all it takes is a simple hug.

[the-oracles-maw]

I had poke for the first time and I forgot that I am whiter than office printer paper and I legally cannot do spicy food

#i’ve come to make an announcement #food #foodie #poke #hawaiian food #it was very good #I enjoyed it #just spicy #why is it spicy

[the-oracles-maw]

GBA Headcanons: post MoTH Makkaro Headcanons

I don’t like makkaro all that much (or at all while moth was still ongoing) but he introduced me to GBA and I have the most background known of him. No hate to those who do fw this mid ass husband /hj

After everything that's happened, your husband's powers gone, your marriage back from the brink of shambles, you both need the time to process.

After whisking you away on a new adventure once again, just as you remembered your loving husband, neither of you aren't exactly jumping at the opportunity to embark on another quest.

You kinda just... lie there. Preferably in the small bed in the cottage you both found. You appreciate the close proximity. Plus, the intimacy that comes with it.

You take the time to let just about everything out. Cry. Yell and scream at each other. Knock yourself off that pedestal to husband keeps putting you on. You hate when Mak does that.

Make up. Hug. Kiss like no tomorrow. Makkaro shivering from the intensity of the sensation of touch. It's like you're back in your honeymoon phase on this restarting of your relationship.

You cannot keep your hands off of each other, and end up having sex quite often. Even multiple times a day on different surfaces. Embraced on the bed, wrapped in the sheets, Nude, on the plush carpet in front of the fireplace, or even still clothed, bent over the kitchen island. It's perhaps your and Mak's favorite way of venting the remainder of your emotions with one another after everything.

With his sense of physical touch back with him, Makkaro's extremely sensitive, and you take full advantage of this.

As he gets used to the newfound sensations, one thing he doesn't get used to is how you feel beneath his fingers.

He always has a hand on you now. On the small of your back guiding you through a crowd, holding your hand in public, an arm around your waist introducing you to someone. Embracing you from behind while you're trying to do chores.

Even the occasional grope of your hips, thighs, or bold, desperate squeeze of your breasts. You have to shoo the man off, lest you become distracted.

It's like a grounding technique for him. He utilizes his newfound humanity to bring him back to the present when his thoughts run away from him.

This also comes into play with his ever frequent nightmares.

You remember his nightmares from after his imprisonment, they went away briefly after your wedding day, but after the Titan, the Guardian... They returned. How couldn't they?

But this time, you find yourself unable to sleep either.

So, you two built a brand new little love routine.

When it's him to be awoken from a nightmare, he usually finds himself nestled against your bosom, your hand running through his hair, encouraging him to cry. Just like that fateful day.

There's a small fireplace with a kindling that's become both of your "decompression spot." It's also where Makkaro finds you when you're plagued by a sleepless night.

That's not to say Makkaro knows when you're not actually sleeping, and just laying there. You don't want him to worry, you insist.

"Darling, what sort of fool do you take me for?" You've taken care of him this whole time, he's insistent he takes care of you in turn.

"Come along now.... Now, no, I know you're not a delicate jewel... But, look at you, my love..." He reaches out, cupping your face, wiping your tears with his thumbs. "Why can't you just let me be here for you, when you've been here for me this whole time?" He swiftly leans in, giving you a quick kiss on your nose, in an attempt to make you giggle.

"After all..." he trails off, a sad look in his eyes as he just stares at your tear stained cheeks. "Was I not the cause of these tears?"

"Well..."

You roll your eyes and trail off, a ghost of a smile starting to blossom at your lips. "I don't know... Why should I let you console me... when you made me like this?"

"Darling, please! Don't jape with me now!" Makkaro looks pitiful. You almost stifle a laugh. Almost.

"How many times must I say I'm sorry, my love?" Reaching out for your hand, he brings it to his lips, placing kiss after kiss on your knuckles. The laugh is just about to escape your lips, but the "you're in so much trouble" look never leaving your eyes.

"...You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

"Nope." You give him a glowing smile, at last. His favorite face of yours. A face he's blessed to still have to wake up to every morning.

Perhaps, somewhere in the Great Beyond, Frank, his beloved brother-in-arms, has put you up to this. Makkaro can practically hear him cackling at your teasing.

Speaking of, you both commissioned a little portrait of the skeleton. It hangs above your fireplace and has a little shrine of candles.

A shame you didn't get to know Frank very well, so Mak loves to fill you in. (Frank knew of you, of course, he called you Mrs. Mak.) You have to stop the poor man when he gets misty-eyed.

"With how you pester me, my love... Frank would have adored you."

As more and more time goes by, and as you both heal, the events of MoTH becomes an inside joke between you two.

Feeling cheeky and want to embarrass the hell out of your husband? bring up his time as a necromancer!

"Hey, Makkaro, my love. Remember the time when-"

"Darling please, no-"

He's fine, he's laughing along eventually.

Neither of you really know how you did it, but for what it's worth, your adventure that almost destroyed your love, has in the end, brought you closer than ever before.

It was also a learning experience for you two. As a married couple, there's going to be bumps in the road, not everything was perfect. And that was alright! You had each other. And as long as you had one another...

There was seemingly nothing either of you couldn't conquer.

In your cases, love truly did seem to conquer all.

#I did it #what a gas #what joy #good boy audios #good boy audios moth #magic of the heart #gba moth #gba #my writng #writeblr #gba makkaro #gba fanfiction #there are definitely quite a few jabs at makkaro #I couldn't resist

[the-oracles-maw]

I just went to the dentist and the doctor that came in to go over my x rays looked exactly like Miguel O’Hara

Lemme tell you I was not well

This man told me to stick my tongue out

He was telling me “your wisdom teeth need to come out now but they can’t bc you have a very breakable jaw” and the whole time I’m just like 🥺

#miguel o'hara x fem!reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #spiderman atsv #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel spiderverse

[the-oracles-maw]

I need Simon Riley who realizes just how much he loves you when he has a night terror.

He shoots out of bed with a shout, quickly looking to your side just to see it empty. His heart quickens even faster, images of your dead body, blood pouring out of your mouth and ears, eyes frantic before they still and glaze over. Remembering the scream he lets out as he shakes you, begging you.

"Please, please don't fuckin leave, love. God, not you. Please, you promised!"

He's having a panic attack and before he even processes it, he's running to the bathroom. Throwing him head into the toilet bowl, puking everything up as if his entire body is rejecting the very possibility of you no longer being there. He can't stop the tears ripping out of him and his fast, suffocating breaths stinging his throat as if the vomit isn't even there.

He doesn't even register your hand on his back, your panicked calling out to him.

"Baby? Baby what's wrong? Please talk to me" You beg, brushing his hair back, trying to hold onto him.

His wide, tear filled eyes meet yours and he throws himself into your arms, holding onto you like a lifeline. His crying doesn't stop, the intense emotions still overwhelming his senses.

"God please never leave me. I swear to god I'll be the best for you. I'll keep you safe, nothin's gonna happen to you" He swear as if he'd be your own guardian angel.

"Baby what happened? Did you have a nightmare?" You pet his hair, beginning to realize what's happening.

"I can't lose you, I can't. Not you. Please, I can't." He cries into your shirt, trying to calm down but he feels genuine fear that he doesn't feel outside the battlefield. You hold him as his breathing slows down, exhaustion overtaking him. You settle against the wall, fingers combing through his hair as you both fall asleep. Safe to say he doesn't have anymore nightmares that night.

(Friendly reminder that traumatized men aren't always fully numb and military men can have feelings !!)

[the-oracles-maw]

um hi

I’m Fish

This is my simp central and I guess writing and art blog lol

mostly call of duty and dead by daylight

Expect slow ass updates. Imma nursing student. Help

And I guess that's it

#ive come to make an announcement

[the-oracles-maw]

can we talk about how mentally sound Christine Daaé is I mean choosing her childhood friend whom she's known all her life to marry instead of the ethereal, much older, ghost, probably inhuman in spirit of a man who sings you promises of a world where you could be yourself and loves wholly, ethereally by this mysterious being?

im just saying if it was me I wouldve folded

#the phantom of the opera #ramin karimloo