Follow me home; to where the lonely ones roam.

♡ Get lost in the dark to find yourself. Independent multimuse. Mix of canon / oc muses.

[salvationofsouls]

✦ask. ✧ rules.✦canons. ✧ ocs. ✦selective. 

RULES

✯ IC =/= OOC. Don’t godmode.✯ ✯ Selective & semi-active due to work.✯ ✯ Will happily write with crosscanon & OCs. ✯ ✯ Do not assume to know muses unless you do. ✯ ✯ Please cut your posts & tag all standard triggers. ✯ ✯ I use small text/icons. You use whatever you want. ✯ ✯ No underage, no smut with minors. (mun is 21+). ✯ ✯ Time taken to reply may vary. Do not pressure. ✯ ✯ If I reply with a para; do not give me a line. ✯ ✯ If drama is started; you will be blocked. ✯ ✯ PM me if you have any questions. ✯

[stxincd]

Where Ilya is currently complaining about what is, objectively speaking, truly a cute picture of two happy husbands side-by-side, Shane is making himself a smoothie at the very same time; Each ingredient is weighed with care before being placed into the blender, a mixture of fruit and green leaves as well as some powder made of a variety of nutrients and vitamins. He hums as fingers press against the spinach that threatens to spill free from the top, stuffs it in with a bit more force, then closes the blender before pressing the little button that will make it all into an easy-to-consume beverage that Shane likes to enjoy on an almost-daily basis.

He's only meeting Ilya's gaze when that blender runs, dark doe-eyes accompanied by lifted brows and a bit of a curious, amused expression. As said, he knows precisely which picture the other is referring to - it had popped up on Shane's own feed just this morning during his still-in-bed-social-media-check. Made him smile, even.

Still does.

"...I am afraid that, yes, this is exactly what it has done to you." A light jab but playful, with Shane's smile widening as his attention returns to the blender; He stops it briefly, gives the cup a shake, then lets it run a second time. "You've brought that onto yourself, Rozanov. Should've thought about it before falling in love with me. It's too late now to change any of it."

It does make Shane feel a little smug, he has to admit that much.

"---I suggest for you to adjust to your new reputation - I'm pretty sure this picture won't be the last to ever be taken of us where we both look stupidly in love."

[salvationofsouls]

‘You are very smug for man making drink out of garden.’

The offence in his voice would have been more convincing if Ilya had not already crossed half the kitchen to look over Shane’s shoulder, phone forgotten behind him now that there was a far more immediate crime happening in front of him. Spinach. Powder. Fruit measured like it had personally signed some terrible little Canadian contract. Shane took pleasure in this sort of thing, which remained suspicious after years of evidence, and Ilya watched him with the wounded dignity of a man being asked to respect a blender. He loved him. This was the problem. He loved this ridiculous, disciplined, beautiful man and his disgusting green habits ( and now internet knew Ilya looked at him like that; like happy idiot husband with no survival instinct ) which was frankly unacceptable. He leaned one hip against the counter, close enough to be annoying on purpose, because if Shane was going to stand there looking pleased with himself, Ilya was absolutely going to become everyone’s problem.

‘I cannot adjust. I am too famous and too handsome for this tragedy.’

His mouth betrayed him before pride could organise a better defence, the corner of it pulling despite all his effort, because Shane was right and being right made him impossible. There would be more photographs. More mornings where Ilya stood beside his husband in public without bracing for disaster, more strangers seeing what used to belong only to hotel rooms, locked doors and careful little lies. It still caught somewhere behind his ribs sometimes, the ease of it now; Shane with a wedding ring, Shane in his kitchen, Shane telling him it was too late like Ilya had ever wanted a way back from this. Idiot. Beautiful idiot. His idiot ( mine, and everyone knew, and fuck if that did not still make him want to laugh at the worst possible times ) making vegetable punishment in their kitchen. He reached past him, stole a piece of fruit from the counter, and ate it with the grave seriousness he usually reserved for game footage.

‘But maybe you are right. Maybe I am stupidly in love. Still not drinking that, though. I limits.’

[milkandsins]

ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ɢᴏ ᴇxᴀᴄᴛʟʏ ᴀꜱ ᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ ʙᴜᴛ ᴡᴇ'ʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ꜱᴏ....ɪᴛꜱ ᴀ ᴡɪɴ

Nora Bishop and Eden Hale Independent, Private, Fandomless and Selective

©

[salvationofsouls]

| ♡ | ~ @vspomnit

‘Buck.’

The name left him before anything else could; rough, breathless and almost disbelieving despite the fact Steve had spent every day trying to find his way back. He stood in the doorway with his jacket torn, hair longer than it had been when he left and blood dried near his temple; the serum having done what it could while leaving enough behind to show that whatever happened had taken its toll. Five seconds. That was all it had been meant to be. Return the stones, step onto the platform and come back to Bucky waiting there, alive and real; ( wasn’t that the whole point? Hadn’t enough already been taken from them? ) Yet the timeline had locked him out before he could return and every attempt to force it open had risked making things worse. The memory still caused his blood to feel like ice; standing in a world that was not his, knowing Bucky was beyond him when HYDRA had already stolen years from them both and time, apparently, had decided it wanted its share too. Lucien had found him eventually, pulling him out through means Steve did not understand and probably never would, but none of that mattered as much as the man in front of him. His best friend. His oldest loyalty. The one person Steve had spent half his life trying to get back to, only to end up being the one who disappeared.

‘I tried to come back sooner.’

He took a step forward and stopped; not because he wanted the distance, but because Bucky deserved the choice after everything. Steve wanted to reach for him. Wanted to put a hand to his shoulder like they were still two boys in Brooklyn and the world had not spent decades tearing pieces out of them. Wanted to check him over with his own eyes because the worry had been unbearable and seeing him there did not erase it all at once. Instead he stayed where he was, hands loose, face worn, because the apology was there, clear as day, and Steve still could not get it past his throat. ( He knew what being left behind did. There was an ache inside him he could not erase. ) All he could do was stand there and hope Bucky heard the truth in it; that Steve had fought like hell, that he had come back the second there was a way, that even in another timeline, Bucky had been the reason he kept going.

‘I’m here now, pal.’

[esotericsoldier]

🐺 |- ESOTERICSOLDIER is a private & selective ORIGINAL MIXED FANDOM MUSE. Valentin is entangled in the Marvel universe with original lore & headcanons.

Come along & follow him learning to find himself.

A study in - learning to answer to a name, compassion as something terrifying, hands that do not hurt, discovering choice, old scars losing their power, I don’t know how to be alive, being loved without earning it, fear mistaken for loyalty, the first time kindness stayed, shame in the throat, recovering without becoming someone else, asking for help, protecting without disappearing, softness as a learned language, wanting something and surviving it, the quiet work of healing, I am not what they called me.

Deeply connected to: @fangsforhire

[pittbats]

PittBats; An independent multi-muse for HBO'S The Pitt OC blog. feat. A Navy Trauma Surgeon, Alt Goth Orthopedic Surgeon, an Overworked Nurse, an Airforce Charge Nurse, Airforce Radiologist and a Sad EMT. Crossover, other fandoms, Canon and OC Friendly. Written and created by La.

[fortitudina]

HER SMALL ORDER WAS one that he was beyond willing to accept, quick to tip his head with a faint smirk tugging on to his lips. Even when she was angry with him, she was still highly adorable, and he could not help but look at her in awe and adoration. He stepped into their home without hesitation, taking in the sight of the familiar place. God, was he glad to be within those walls once again, and with her. His hands found their way to her almost instantly as his foot kicked the door behind, slamming it shut. He cared very little that he was soaked or that he was battered and bruised. Now that he was home, all he could think about was her.

Fingers brushed against her cheeks; the softness of her skin was a far more welcome feeling than the hard grip of his pistol, or the coarse feeling of a Nemesis's ridges. She was everything he wanted to feel, to smell, to taste... She was the home he now had, and despite everything, every moment he condemned himself to believing he would not return, that part of him had fought to ensure he did. " I've missed you, Red... " Words were once again a whisper, his voice low and husky as he allowed that space between them to lessen yet again, until his lips found hers and this time, he settled a far more tender but passionate kiss upon them. His need to bathe could wait just that bit longer, if it meant he could adorn his wife with love and affection.

[salvationofsouls]

‘You are impossible, Kennedy.’

It came against his mouth more than into the room, fond despite every ounce of worry still sitting beneath her ribs. Claire kissed him back for longer than she meant to, both hands caught in the wet fabric of his jacket now, keeping him close while the door rattled faintly in its frame behind him. He was cold. Far too cold. Rain clung to his hair and lashes, soaking through the front of her shirt where he leaned into her, and she could feel the tremor of exhaustion under all that stubborn affection. ( Gosh, she had missed this. Missed him. ) The ridiculous, reckless, half-battered man who came home half dead and still somehow made her feel like she was the one being looked after. It made her furious in a way that only love could, the kind that had nowhere sensible to go because he was here now, breathing against her, hands on her face, safe enough to scold and too dear to push away.

She pulled back only when the need to look at him became stronger than the need to keep kissing him. Her fingers moved to his collar, tugging it open enough to check the blood there, her mouth pressing into a thin line as she found more damage than he would ever have admitted on his own. Dinner could wait. The questions could wait too, though not for long, because she had spent days surviving on guesses, bad updates, and the horrible little habit of watching the door like staring hard enough could bring him through it. ( Idiot. Her idiot. Unfortunately, marriage made that a medical responsibility as well as an emotional one. ) Claire smoothed her thumb over the damp edge of his collar, then gave it one decisive tug towards the hallway.

‘Shower. Clean clothes. Then you can sit with me and tell me what happened before I start inventing my own versions in my head.’

[spiketheforsakensoul]

Spike smirked at the Devil. There was no doubt in his mind that Lucifer was exactly who he said he was. He’d heard of this club and its owner known for deals and various evenings that would make most people more than blush.

”No need to get your well tailored trousers in a twist, Lucifer. I’m not here to hunt,” Spike said at the straight forward greeting he’d been given. “But whut I desire is —“ He looked up into Lucifer’s eyes and for a moment, forgot what he’d been about to say, feeling a pull inside of him. “I want… Fun.”

He blinked and shook his head then sighed, “Got myself a chipped, then a bloody soul and ever since, it’s been a lot of pain and crazy in my head. Haven’t been able to hunt, kill, sex or violence… Everything I used to do for fun hasn’t been an option.”

[salvationofsouls]

‘How dare you! My trousers are magnificent. You, however, are one leather jacket away from becoming a cautionary tale with cheekbones.’

Lucifer’s grin stayed right where it was, mostly because a chipped vampire with a soul was exactly the kind of nonsense the universe liked throwing at him when he had been trying to enjoy a perfectly good drink. Fun. Right. That sounded simple, which meant it absolutely wasn’t. Spike wanted pleasure without punishment, noise without guilt, something that did not end with blood, screaming, or another tedious moral lesson. ( Honestly, what was the point of immortality if everyone kept taking away the best coping mechanisms? ) He lifted his glass, already amused despite himself.

‘Fine. No killing in my club, no hunting the clientele, and no making Detective Decker my problem before midnight. Apart from that, darling, I’m sure we can find you something sinful enough. Now, have you tried drugs?’

[nat111love]

SURFACE Season 2 | Episode 05

[bcmbsight]

Just when he'd thought it was over, he'd heard footsteps approaching him, tugging him right back in. A part of him was tempted to just leave, to tear open a hole through the factory roofing and make his escape, not looking back. But there he stood, cautious and all too alert eyes on the stranger as he neared. He knew that look, this wasn't just some guy off the streets, he was poised, his demeanour spoke of relentless discipline. Robbie had seen it countless times back during the war, peers, officers, as though the sky could fall and they'd still be stood there with the perfect posture, refusing to bend to anyone or anything's will.

"You have no idea." Robbie replied staying exactly where he was, not approaching him, but not backing away either. Instead, he just stood there, watching him, assessing him, waiting for any sign of an impending fight. The promise of not being his enemy wasn't enough, words could be so easily cast aside, that, he knew all too well.

"Why would you help me?" It had to be a ploy, some kind of trick to make him lower his guard. But why? For what reason? Was the thought of someone wanting to help him really so foreign? That kindness could be so alien to him? Honestly? Yes.

[salvationofsouls]

‘Because someone should.’

The answer left him without hesitation; simple, honest, and perhaps too quick for a man who clearly had no reason to trust help from a stranger. Steve remained where he was, hands visible and shield lowered, for distance was the only thing Robbie had accepted so far and he had no intention of taking that from him. The factory was still thick with smoke and burnt metal, broken machinery casting long shadows across the floor while the roof groaned above them as though it was considering giving up entirely. Robbie watched every movement like it might become a threat, and Steve recognised the caution even without knowing the story behind it. ( War had a habit of teaching people to doubt the hand before they ever saw the fist. ) He did not take offence to it. Couldn’t, really. Suspicion kept people alive when promises failed them, and Steve had seen enough promises break to understand why someone might hold their ground instead of stepping closer.

‘I know you don’t have any reason to believe me.’

He gave the smallest nod, accepting that much without argument, because arguing with fear had never once made it listen. Robbie had not moved closer, but he had not run either, and Steve counted that for what it was. Something. Not trust, not yet, but enough to keep talking.( Sometimes enough had to be enough until the next breath. ) His grip stayed loose around the shield, though every instinct in him remained aware of the exits, the roof, the street beyond the broken walls, because caution went both ways and Captain America had survived too long to pretend otherwise.

‘So don’t believe me yet. Just let me prove I mean it.’

[salvationofsouls]

‘Move back. Now.’

The order left him clear and controlled, carrying across the street before the ground split any further beneath the parked cars. Steve already had the shield raised, boots braced against cracked pavement while the first tremor rolled through the block hard enough to set every alarm screaming at once. He had been on his way home, or at least what passed for it when a quiet ride through the city still meant listening for trouble at every red light; ( Natasha would have told him this was why he needed an actual night off, preferably one involving dinner with someone who hadn’t tried to kill him first ) but the thought vanished as another crack tore across the road. His eyes moved over the street, fast and practised, counting exits, civilians, distance, damage. Captain America was not the shield or the uniform. It was the decision to stand there when everyone else needed time to run.

‘Stay behind me until I tell you otherwise.’

[salvationofsouls]

‘I’m going to give you one chance to tell me you’re not infected.’

The gun stayed raised, though Claire’s finger rested outside the trigger guard, because there was a difference between being careful and being stupid and she had survived far too much to confuse the two. Rain hammered against the broken windows behind her, washing the smell of smoke through the ruined lobby while emergency lights strobed red across overturned desks and cracked tiles. She had come in looking for survivors, which apparently still counted as a habit she couldn’t shake ( please be human, please be something that could still answer ) no matter how many times the world punished her for it, but the figure ahead had moved before she could check the body by the stairs. Too fast to ignore. Too alive to dismiss. Claire kept her breathing even, eyes fixed on them as her grip adjusted around the pistol, and took one careful step sideways to keep the exit in view.

‘Talk to me. Slowly.’

[salvationofsouls]

[salvationofsouls]

Oh & be fair warned ; I'm about to drop open starters I've written ; no obligation to reply but if you want to feel free !

[salvationofsouls]

Right I'm here ; let me see what I can get done !

[salvationofsouls]

| ♡ | ~ @kataramenespsyxes

‘Lestat de Lioncourt. Oh, that is either a gift from the universe or evidence someone upstairs has finally developed taste.’

Lux had been behaving itself, which was suspicious in itself; all champagne, bass, perfume, expensive mistakes and humans convincing themselves indulgence counted as personality if they spent enough money doing it. Lucifer stood at the bar with a glass in hand, already halfway amused before the night had earned it, because vampires were rarely subtle and famous vampires were an entirely separate category of exhausting. Immortality did peculiar things to creatures left alone with mirrors and trauma for centuries; mortals became legends, legends became insufferable, and then they wandered into his club as if Hell itself had not already patented dramatic entrances. ( Honestly. He had fallen from Heaven with less announcement than some people used to enter a room. ) Still, there was something delicious about it; ego recognised ego, damage recognised damage, and Lucifer, unfortunately cursed with excellent instincts, found himself entertained.

‘Come on, then. Tell me, are you here for music, sin, or the tragic little comfort of meeting someone with a worse reputation than yours?’

[salvationofsouls]

| ♡ | ~ @des0latiion

‘You have been absent a long time, brother.’

The Dreaming knew Lupin before Morpheus spoke. Corridors altered, mirrors darkened, and the palace drew itself inward beneath the pressure of the Void; not fear, he would not grant it that, but recognition. Void did not belong easily in dreams. It was what waited when memory failed, when names fell away, when even nightmares found nothing left to use. Yet Lupin was Endless, and family had always been an inconvenience written into creation with permanent ink. ( A truth none of them had ever carried gracefully. ) Morpheus stood below his throne, robed in black, expression held with the discipline of a king who had learned to bury reaction beneath duty.

‘Why have you come?’