#but I want to try to remember not to lose this again

[fandom-susceptible]

I know people have already talked about this scene before but I wanted to break it down myself because I love it so much. Little Lira yells "Rayla! Callum wants to have ten babies with you!" and everyone's reactions just kill me

Poor Callum has been doing so well with these kids, he's gonna be such a good dad one day, and he knows EXACTLY where he went wrong that produced this result and he also knows there's NOTHING he can do to stop it

Ethari is clearly the first of the elves to start to process what she said. Rayla's so distracted. Runaan frankly just looks tired.

:3 Rayla doesn't look upset at the concept though, just surprised. And Stella is literally just the :o meme.

Lira looks so pleased with herself. This little girl lives for chaos. She has done this on purpose. The smallest child here is convinced they're about to die (figuratively). The middle child is just trying to figure out what the big deal is. Callum is going for damage control.

He also knows this little girl did this to him on purpose. Ezran has absolutely said shit like that out of context to get him in trouble.

Rayla's recovering, has to blink to process what just happened. Runaan is like I barely signed up for one child, I'm not babysitting grandchildren yet. He's reconsidering whether being alive is a good thing. Ethari is connecting the dots between Lira's mischievous nature and Callum's frantic reaction.

He's the first elf adult to fully grasp what's just happened, and this is fucking hilarious. He brought this on the poor boy by unleashing Lira on him without warning him.

Runaan and Rayla have a strong like father like daughter moment as Ethari just loses it laughing. What was this household like when Rayla was growing up? How often did this happen? Ethari is the dad with all the puns that make them both groan and Runaan threaten his life, you can just tell

The laughter sinks in and Runaan visibly remembers why he likes being alive. Rayla is more concerned about how funny Ethari finds this than the statement itself. You can see her thinking Moon help me, Dad, please no.

Lira is so proud of herself. She made Pride Papa Ethari cackle. Callum isn't sure what to do but is fairly certain he's not in trouble. Runaan is vaguely amused at how much this hit his husband in the funny bone. We can no longer see Rayla's expression.

god I love the Moonfam parts of this episode. Runaan is so fucking done with having guests, Callum is a good partner and is gonna be such a great dad one day, and Ethari and Rayla are both just so happy to be home and together again

[s0fter-sin]

cw mild horror

johnny moves into a new house with his dog riley after his last relationship implodes

it's on the older side, a fixer upper; a project he can lose himself in so he doesn't have to let himself think of how his ex used him up just to toss him aside. the backyard's huge with a cluster of trees ringing the property that look beautiful in the sunset. it even has a basement, rarely seen in the uk, that's perfect to store all the supplies he'll need to fix the place up

the only downside is how far away it is from everything; it takes a good hour to drive to anything

but johnny has riley and that's all he needs

he talks to him as he works on the place; promises a new start for them both, that this could be the place they always needed. sure it's old and the groans and scratches that occasionally come from the walls can be a bit unsettling and the smell coming from the dumbwaiter is… concerning but johnny needs this place to work; he needs something to go right and be his and if that thing is a slightly creepy house then so be it

it was a steal; he still can't believe how cheap he got it considering the size of the block but the realtor seemed all too happy to be rid of it. she couldn’t tell him much about the place beyond the size of the land and that it only belonged to two people since it was built; the original owner who built it before it went abandoned for a decade or so until it was bought by a young couple who owned it for over thirty years

he asked about the couple, if they were happy in the long years they lived here, but she just said it wasn’t her place to say. johnny just shrugged; guess confidentiality extends beyond doctors these days

riley sticks by his side as he evaluates the house, figuring out what needs to be done and what to prioritise. he gives himself a week to wallow, living out of boxes with battery powered lanterns to light his - admittedly dismal - dinners before he gets to work. he decides to start with the wiring and old electricity box in the basement. riley occasionally gets distracted by some smell in the old vents but always coming back when johnny starts talking again

it's late by the time he gets the lights to finally stay on so he decides to shower in his newly lit bathroom and turn in

he's laying in bed, hair still wet, when he hears the scratch of riley's nails on the floorboards and sighs, swinging an arm down the side of the bed for pets if riley wants them; wiggling them in invitation when feels his breath on his fingers

"am i doing the right thing?" he asks him. "just- up and leavin'? i don't miss him. i don't... but... should i have tried to make it right 'stead of runnin' with my tail between my legs?"

riley's breaths are all that answer him

then he remembers his ex's apathetic face when he walked in on him in their living room; when he looked him right in the eyes and didn't even bother to stop his moans or hide the legs slung around his waist

"that shouldn't be on me," he growls. "he's the one who decided to nail that goddamn tart- i shouldn't be the one to have to fix shit. he should've been the one on his knees beggin' me to stay."

and he did beg- begged him not to sell the flat he owned and already paid off, the one his ex never spent a dime on rent on yet still had the audacity to ask to stay until he found a new place to fuck his side piece in

"just... why didn't he try?" he whispers. "...why wasn't i enough?"

johnny flinches as riley's tongue laps at his fingers, thick and wet and gross, and he huffs a laugh. "you're right," he smiles. "we're better off without him. just you and me, aye boy?"

he doesn't stop licking and johhny laughs again, pulling his hand back to wipe off on the sheets

"nasty boy," he chuckles. "least you love me."

a whine comes from the bedroom door and johnny frowns, looking over as the door swayed open; he thought he treated those hinges already, the sound was driving him nuts

bloody old place, he groans, sitting up-

and freezes when riley cocks his head at him from the doorway

johnny's throat constricts, ice flooding his system while the warm, wet saliva still on his hand burns. his neck protests as he slowly turns to his left, his quickening breaths roaring in his ears; everything in him begging him to not to look-

and screams when he sees a pair of brown eyes and wet lips spread in a wild grin before the man throws himself back into the vent in the wall

the same scratching and groaning johnny’s heard since the day he moved in following him as he crawls somewhere inside the house

[siri-ike]

The spray was never supposed to last long. So when Tim came home and heard Dick say he'd sat there with "Bruce" for three full hours, he was concerned, to say the least. He can't still be in his fantasy. He can't still be this docile. Real Bruce wouldn't even be this docile, let alone "elementary school arson record" Bruce. But he just sat there. Staring at anyone who came into view.

His grip was tight, much tighter than he could pull off when he was high. And no way would Nightwing ever ask him to stop. He'd hold him forever if not for all their pesky human needs like eating and sleeping. Speaking of sleep, shouldn't he be getting tired? "Hey, Bruce?" Dick whispered so as not to disturb too much. "Are you tired? Do you want to go to bed?"

Bruce shook his head. "I fell asleep, during Gray Ghost." His voice was calm and low (for a child), and he didn't even try to un-bury himself from his dad's hold.

This is big. He slept and didn't lose his memory. Dick waved Tim over.

"What?" Tim spoke at a normal volume.

"He didn't forget dinner." Dick kept whispering, but his excitement shined through. "He woke up at 4:43 pm yesterday, we had dinner at 9, afterward, he got to watch some Gray Ghost tapes and fell asleep. At 4:43 am he woke up again because Phantom was destabilizing as usual, but when Zatanna asked him what happened, he told her about dinner. He Remembered Dinner." Dick really emphasized the last part.

"That's great," Tim brought his tone down to match Dicks. "So then he's stable?"

"Stable? Dude, no. He's aging backwards."

"Oh, right. I forget people are supposed to get older." Tim said, fully serious. "I'll run some tests, and we should keep monitoring him."

"How about we run tests, and you go to your room and take some melatonin." Dick suggested. Let's see if he knows how aging works in the morning afternoon.

One hour later, at 9, Bruce was willing to eat. Dick hadn't left his side and could attest that he was calm non combative and ate like he hadn't seen food in a month. "Please don't be Stockholm syndrome, please don't be Stockholm syndrome," He repeated in his head. "It's too fast to be Stockholm, I can't let him leave. He thought he was dead a few hours ago. Wait, did he ever say he didn't?"

"Hey B? I, uh, Bruce?" He addresses the boy across the dining table.

"Yes, Father?"

Crap, crap, crap. Other age appropriate swears. Dick doesn't look anything like Thomas. If anything, he looks like Martha. No, wait, he looks like his own parents. Unless.

"Bruce, what is my name?" Nightwing fiddled with the mask in his hands.

Bruce just sat there, confused. Like he didn't expect him to have a name at all. "You're... you're, uh," He looked shamefully down at his food. "I don't know." His voice quivered.

"It's ok, Bruce. My name's Richard Grayson, Dick for short." He reassured. "Just one more question, alright?" He gave Bruce time to consider and nod. Nightwing put his arms down on the table and looked Bruce in the eyes. "Are you alive?"

"No~" his guilty expression instantly turned to utter glee.

Nightwing thought for a moment. "Are you dead?"

"No." He giggled.

"Then what are you?" So much for "one more question."

"I am not bound by life or death."

Dick didn't recognize the language, but it sounded otherworldly, almost like a mix of TRAP music and demonic incantations with a hint of backwards English. He also needed a minute.

"Alfred?" Dick asked head in his hands, slumped over in a chair in a corner of the kitchen. "I'm starting to think my son might be the devil."

"Master Dick, all parents think their children are devils from time to time. I certainly thought it with each of you, and look how you turned out... raising more hellspawn." He joked, kind of.

Dick couldn't help but chuckle a bit. "I think we need to move up our meeting with Harley." He sat up, hands on his knees as if to brace himself. "Bring her here, rather than go to her."

"Isn't she in Arkham right now?"

Nightwing pulls out his phone. "I'll figure something out." He scrolls through his contacts and finds two Jim Gordans. He picks the one with the incognito picture.

"Commissioner Jim Gordon." Jim answers.

"Hi, this is Nightwing. Remember that boy, a month ago, who claimed to be a clone of Batman?"

"Yes, he showed up right before all of you dropped out of the world. Did he survive?"

"Yeah, he's... something. Look, I need Harley Quinn."

"Harley Quinn, the clown or Harley Quinn, the doctor?"

"The doctor."

"You know there are plenty of psychologists in Gotham."

"And none can handle these sorts of things without losing their minds, too."

-Silence-

"Alright, I'll see what I can do."

*click*

"Why do you need a doctor?" Bruce had innocently popped in, probably to talk to Alfred.

"Hey, buddy." It was impressive, really. Not many people can sneak up on him, especially not so casually. "Harley's a friend of ours. She's just going to talk to you. Think you could do that for me?" Dick has raised more than enough titans to know you can't force kids that age to do anything.

"M-hm." Bruce turned toward Alfred. "I had water and sleep and darkness, but my head still hurts. Can I have something?"

"Oh, dear." Alfred put his hand on Bruce's forehead. "Well, your temperature is normal. Where does it hurt?"

"Here, and here." He he presses on his forehead, then to the sides of his head just above the ears.

"I'm gonna give you one more Ibuprofen, and we'll do some tests after that." Alfred put the medicine box back on its top cabinet shelf. "How does that sound?"

"Good," Bruce placed the pill in the back of his throat with his hands like he was auditioning for a horror movie, then he downed the water like a normal person. He was about to head out but stopped. "Alfred? Can I have candy?" He pointed at the fancy glass bowl full of chocolate covered salt caramels.

"Last I checked, sugar does not remedy headaches... you can have one." Alfred didn't even look at the puppy eyes. He is not willing to put up a fight for something so small.

Bruce delightfully lifted the lid and, careful not to touch more than one, picked out a treat. He likes the ones with blue marzipan.

Nightwing watched him leave the room without a care in the world. "I think you just got played."

"The headache is real. And I believe more than just swelling. He may no longer be throwing up and seizing. But he's been asleep for almost a month, only waking up for an hour or less, always at the same time. Then there's the more recent confusion in identity. Those are not psychological symptoms. They are neurological." Alfred gave his most serious "listen very closely, I'm not even going to buffer this with sarcasm" face.

"I'll schedule a brain scan."

Clone Danny long post

The footprints lead Alfred out of the room and to the right but quickly dried up on the short hair carpet.

Alfred checked every room to the right of Danny's. He had to have left the family wing. 40 minutes of searching later, Alfred was about to go down yet another hallway when he heard faint music and metal clanging. He walked closer to the sound until he could make out some words.

🎶I- can hear the sound of violins🎶

🎶long before- it begins🎶

The gym. Someone is at the gym. He told Dick to relax. This is the opposite of relaxing. He stops for a moment outside the door to gather himself. People listen to empathy more than anger. When Alfred pushed the door open and looked down at the workout area, he didn't see a disobedient clown. No. Instead, he was forcibly dragged back to 1989, staring at a 13 year old Bruce doing chest presses. He always looked the most at ease when he was at the gym. The rest of the time, he would be looking for his parents' killer or discovering seacret organizations. Alfred used to cherish the time Bruce spent at the gym because he knew it was the closest he could get to calm. Shortly, Danny put down his 3 kg weights and addressed Alfred.

"Morning, Alfred. Breakfast already? Thought I had more time." He sounded like Bruce, more than just his voice. Danny had his own way of talking, but this was all Bruce.

"Young Master," best not to object to his perceived reality, whatever that may be. "It's almost seven in the afternoon, not morning." The sun would have spoiled that for him anyway. "And dinner will be ready in two hours."

"Oh, ok. I'll be there at nine then." Danny simply went over to the next station in his routine. Right as he sat down on the floor, something seemed to dawn on him. "Alfred? Did something happen to me?" He asked innocently.

Alfred remained frozen, staring at the young boy. "What would give you that idea?"

"I woke up in a different room than usual, I had to switch down all my weights, and the files in my father's office have been moved. And then you came in looking like you've seen a ghost." Ever the detective.

"Nothing gets past you. I'm afraid you had a rather bad fever and spent a few days in bed. I would like to examine your health, but it can wait. Let's say, eight-thirty? Before dinner?"

"Kitchen at eight-thirty, got it."

Alfred left the room and braced himself on the door. He thinks he's Bruce. He probably thinks it's the 80s or 90s, too. It's a good thing most everyone is out hunting down clues and/or committing extreme acts of violence.

Danny had changed into an all black suit (bowtie and kerchief included) before coming to the kitchen at 8:27. Hmm, he does like to be punctual. His temperature and heart rate were normal, for once he didn't have bags under his eyes, which responded in time to light. But, he was definitely younger than he was when he arrived. Dick wasn't imagining that.

"Can you tell me your name, age, and today's date?"

"Bruce Thomas Wayne, 12, almost 13, today is November, uh," He struggled a bit. "17th? Maybe a bit later, 1988." He avoided eye contact. "Just so we're clear, I wouldn't have known today's date even if I hadn't been sick."

Alfred smiled a little, remembering how much he used to care about getting good scores on everything. "I'll be sure to include that in the report." He retorted sarcastically, earning a small grin back. "Now go wash up, dinners almost ready."

As per routine, Alfred started by bringing out the helthiest dishes. They all knew it was a trick to get them to eat vegetables, but no one was ever willing to wait. Danny was so hungry, even the brussel sprouts were appetizing. Now if Alfred could just stop staring at him and actually put the container on the table.

"Alfred?"

"W, what?"

"Are you OK?"

Danny had combed his hair when he'd asked him to wash up. This was Bruce. This was the boy Alfred raised. The one who had fallen asleep in his arms every night for months because he refused to be alone in the dark. The one who used to "forget" to tell Alfred about the handfuls of peanut butter in his pockets, ruining thousand dollars dress pants on six different occasions. The one who wanted to keep street cats knowing full well he was allergic.

"Do you need a day off? Or maybe a week?"

"What? No. I'm alright master Bruce. Just, uhm, glad to see you have your appetite back. That's all." Keep it together now. He set down a steaming glass dish full of baked carrots, sweet potatoes, bell peppers, onions, brussel sprouts, broccoli, cauliflower, and mushrooms.

Danny took as big a serving as he could fit (vegetables can only go in the top right on his plate), making sure not to let the butter run too much. The next dish was steamed turnip. Crap. Another vegetable. Can't mix them. Can't put it somewhere else. The only option is to finish the baked vegetables fast.

By the time he finished his quarter of a turnip, six more dishes had already shown up. How many people does Alfred think live here?

At 21:11 Dick walked into the dining room. Dressed in a plain shirt and pants. The two boys looked like they were going to entirely different events.

"Hello." Danny invited. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

"This gentleman is detective Richard Grayson." Alfred interjected. "Master Dick, would you care to join us for dinner?"

"Oh, where are my manners? Here, have a seat. There's plenty of food."

The dinner after that was awkward, but nice. It's good to have some company once in a while. Ever since his parents died, it's just been him and Alfred.

He did wake up late in the afternoon, so it shouldn't be such a surprise that he got to stay up and watch his gray ghost VHS tapes way later than his usual bedtime. Only interrupted occasionally by Alfred, making sure he's keeping all that food down. He had to have been really sick. He doesn't even remember throwing up recently.

He must have dosed off at some point because he was awoken abruptly at some horrid hour of the night by an ear pierceing scream. He hurried to its sorce in the family wing where he saw what looked like another Bruce, except this one had white hair and wore a black onesie. He appeared to be melting into a glowing green sludge. Bruce knelt down and grabbed the boy, who stopped screaming. Opting to bury his face in Bruce's chest instead.

Alfred came just as the gruesome scene was over. 4:50 am, same place, same time, every night. Alfred had hoped something had improved when the screaming stopped early. But rather than the typical gorey mess, there was Danny, inconsolable and covered in slime.

"Wh, wh, ah?" Who was that? What was that?? Why was that???

"Master da- Bruce." At lightning speed, Alfred was on his knees and holding Danny. "Come on, you don't have to be here." He tried to lift him up, but Danny resisted.

"...Why do you have the carpet cleaner?" He accused. "Did you know this would happen?"

[ladyrosemone]

HEAR ME OUT 🗣🗣‼️

Using Google Translate here, sorry if something doesn't make sense

I love the angst plot about the neglected reader; and don't get me wrong, I love it more when the batfamily grovels for forgiveness from the "forgotten child"

But then...nothing happens, and I'm left...And now?

They either crumble under the obsession, or fight in an endless cycle, or give up and succumb to Stockholm syndrome. I love reading them, but I always wanted something...more.

And here I leave my contribution.

Reader Wayne -biological to follow tradition- abandoned LEADER of a underworld.

Stay with me;

Tired of being invisible and insignificant before the wonderful talents of Bruce's chosen children (not father, he never was), not even being a priority for Alfred (admittedly, he abandoned his daughter in favor of the Waynes, I think It is more credible that we go to the fifth plane for him) What do you do with free time, selfishness disguised as empathy and a lot of money at your fingertips? You open a brothel first.

You attract all kinds of people; drug addicts who would do anything for easy money and easier drugs, people in need of jobs and guidance, the low and forgotten of Gotham, the women (touching on the subject with all the respect it deserves) who have nothing to lose or with some extra mouths to feed. In short, everything that the city abandoned by God leaves aside.

Little by little, in silence and discretion, we become recognized; Deals here, influences there, and in a moment, we ruled the underworld. We offer all kinds of services to the villains of Gotham, alliances and protection, secrets and methods of elimination, lust and accompaniment, everything in a bit.

Do you remember that loan we took out when we left? Maybe Bruce or Tim found the charge on a document, and the purchase was...a house outside of Gotham? Who bought it? Dick? Jason? Maybe Cassandra or Stephenie? Well, whoever it was, it's a piece of junk about to fall down, so what difference does it make?

There is something more important to do. (There is always that with them, right?) Maybe it's too complicated a mission even for all of them together, or they just need that piece of the puzzle to win once again, whatever they need takes them to Gotham's underworld, takes them to Sanctuary.

How fun! New pieces have joined the board, and what pieces...In the style of his good friend Edward (The Riddler), leaves little clues that bring them closer to the reader, the Savior, to whom they all owe something and serve him.

Inevitably our ego (perhaps a savior complex or a degree of narcissism) makes us want to reveal ourselves to them, and we meet them at the suburban house they left aside.

Surprise! The unknown child is now the most influential crime boss of his generation! Aren't you proud? Of course, business and family don't mix.

All help is given with the Savior (us) in exchange for something clear, the profits do not come alone, and all he asks for is...Time together?...Of course.

Coffee chats with Bruce (the press mistakes them for a new conquest, disgusting), gymnastics with Richard (since when can you contort like that?!) reading with Jason (they have the same tastes apparently) playing video games with Tim (and hack a few government accounts) taking care of animals with Damian (You have a whole zoo with exotic rescued animals!) shopping with your sisters or just staying silent with Cassandra, even Duke gets his quality time! (Why they accepted him immediately, what does he have that I don't)

It makes them realize something they lost, the funny thing is they never had it in the first place, and knowing that hurts more than any wound.

We know that, and we use it (like everything) to our advantage. And in the end, with the service done and the day saved, we don't need any more of them, The door is over there!

Only that the sinner has already tasted God's forgiveness, why would he want to leave him?

So they keep coming back, trying to get you to leave that evil path (according to them) and come home, safe, to them. But not out of love (there is no such thing as love for a Wayne), but out of guilt, which becomes a need, which becomes an obsession.

And while we should be careful with that...it's more entertaining to be the puppeteer than the puppet. There is no compassion, there is no empathy, there is no affection or pity; There's ambition, there's status, there's power, and in a world like Gotham, that's all that matters.

And the bat family knows it; They are not stupid, they know that you are using them, like a dog waiting for a caress, a rope to be pulled to open the door, salvation itself...maybe it is their fault acting on them, but they will not let go of the crumbs that are given to them we give.

There is no happy ending, only an unhealthy relationship between the two; the most powerful playing, we know that if we keep pushing, a prison will be a more merciful destiny.

But we don't care anymore, not now that we have the world in our hands.

[isa-ghost]

I genuinely intend to remain reinforcing that Phil Does Not Want To Do Lore On The Realm because I don't want the community's pushing to send him to the point of never doing anything like it again (I've seen this lowkey happen before in other fandoms).

BUT...

I see such a clear pipeline from trPhil's "no fuck you go away I'm burying previous trauma and pain in logging obsessively" to some sort of "fine, I admit I'm miserable because I lost family and friends AGAIN, and I will begrudgingly try soothing it with letting people in my bubble again" type surrender moment brought on by trSneeg because he's so persuasive and makes excellent points with pure logic and reason and the idea makes me salivate.

Obviously it's all 100% ooc jokes and even if it WAS intentional rp, we have no guarantee that trPhil is "main" (specifically q) Phil, but technically trPhil HAS vaguely opened up to trSneeg about the grief and scars he has in the wake of losing his children. trSneeg knows trPhil is bitter and still grieving. He can see that logging, no matter what trPhil insists, is Not helping him actually heal. It's just barely letting him cope.

It's the same old tricks rpPhil has always turned to to deal with baggage, immersing himself as much as he can in physical labor of some kind. His projects back home in Hardcore, the "trains in his basement" in DSMP after he had to kill his own son, all the building and looting and protesting he did on QSMP any time the kids were taken away from him.

And I think we've seen more than enough evidence to show that trSneeg could 100% keep his cool through all the stubborn and heated refusal trPhil would meet with his attempts to convince him to just be willing to socialize and invest in people again. Not even to join Yellow, just let himself have meaningful connections again, rather than sticking to tolerating his and trFit's presences (most of the time). Even though trPhil's evasive behavior has been reinforced (probably tenfold) after The Keepers assaulted him and destroyed his wings AGAIN, I think with the tenacity and confidence trSneeg exudes, he could slowly eventually coax trPhil into opening up again. Even if just a tiny bit.

Especially because he sees why trPhil is so adamant on sticking to his guns rn, he knows it's not JUST the factions and snails. He'd see it even if trPhil hadn't straight up told him multiple times already. Right away, trSneeg would make it very clear that trPhil would have no obligations to anyone or anything, that socializing doesn't mean he HAS to save people from the peril they face or take a side in the interpersonal conflicts they have or help them all figure out what the deal is with the eyes or the Keepers or anything else.

He doesn't have to put up with a snail that reminds him of his lost kids, he doesn't have to choose a side like it's Purgatory again, he doesn't have to get involved with the horrors people are going through like he often did with the islanders, he doesn't have to help solve/understand whatever is going on in The Realm like he did with The Federation and The Codes and everything else fucked up and strange on Quesadilla Island. If having friends is all he wants, he can have that.

And even if trSneeg STILL couldn't sway trPhil with All That, that would mean we'd get a gut-wrenching storyline about how after so many years of loving and losing again and again throughout his immortal life, rpPhil knows that pain is a part of love whether you want it to be or not, you can't have one without the other. He can't make connections here without signing up for the stress and pain that comes with it because that's what it means to care about people.

It's not just the most recent time putting him off from it all, it's an entire cycle he's been forced to suffer in for as long as he can remember, because that's what being immortal entails. He wants the cycle to end already. He can't stand being fully alone right now whether he admits it or not thanks to QI. His determination to isolate himself as much as he can while he's in The Realm is to slowly reacclimate himself to being alone so he can tolerate it in his home world again. When the loneliness gets unbearable, that's when he has no qualms with being pestered by people or goes to see what everyone else is up to. As that happens less over time, he'll go home again now that complete isolation doesn't hurt anymore (or more accurately: now that he's reconvinced himself it doesn't).

All of this is to say, trSneeg is 100% the guy that would break the ice under trPhil and get his story rolling, whether that means he embraces the pain of loving and caring again, or reinforces how hellbent he is on trying to escape it.

[emwallas176]

Just finished episode 3x19 (Memoria) and I have a lot of thoughts…

(Firstly, season three will just NOT give Lex a break)

Let’s recap the ep together:

- Lex agrees to have a shady scientist run experiments on him to try and regain the seven weeks he lost during his “psychotic break”

- Clark confronts him and tells him to stop (now I get Clark is concerned about his secret coming out but what the hell. Lex isn’t even trying to dig up anything about Clark at the moment. He lost seven weeks! Of vital memories! Including the fact that his own father drugged him and caused a psychotic break and locked him up in an institution and performed highly dangerous electroshock therapy on him. Clearly Lionel is a threat to Lex’s safety. And the most mind boggling part is that Clark knows all of this! Don’t you think that Lex deserves to know?? Don’t you think that not telling him is actually putting him in danger?? How is Clark justifying that with himself?? Even if he was concerned about Lex knowing his secret. Which I fully believe that Belle Reeve showed that Lex would one hundred percent keep his secret and protect him but I digress. Clark doesn’t have to tell him that bit. If he just told Lex about everything else then he wouldn’t have to go through with the procedure anymore. But he doesn’t. So Lex continues with the experiments)

- anyway, Lex has a psychotic break (again) and remembers repressed memories about his brother Julian who died when he was a baby and

SPOILERS

- turns out Lex’s mother was so terrified after witnessing how Lionel treated Lex (and was probably suffering from post-partum depression) that she goes and kills her son… horrible

- then twelve year old Lex witnesses this and covers for his mom, taking the blame! And suffering Lionel’s misplaced wrath for the next ten years (also since Lex called it a repressed memory during his confrontation with Lionel does that mean that for all these years he truly believed he killed his brother??? Bc if so….)

- also let’s not forget to mention that after getting into it with Clark Lex ends up being the one to save him from the lab after Clark is stuck in a vat of kryptonite (and is Lex thanked? No. Clark accuses Lex of becoming his father. Does he apologize for this? No. Instead he asks Lex why his father hates him so much. Clark Kent you are on thin ice young man.)

* special reminder that the episode before this while under Chloe’s truth serum, Lex admitted that the one thing he wants more than anything is his father to love him. Just in case that provides any context that absolutely breaks your heart.

* also ALSO no one even came to his fucking birthday party!!

I’m burning this whole place to the ground I swear to god. Smallville doesn’t deserve nice things. I’m going to keep Lex right here next to me until they learn to treat him better. IS THIS YOUR VILLAIN? Be fucking fr. You wish he was the villain. You stain his name to try and hide the fact that this boy has more morals and goodness inside of him than you know what to do with. I’m losing my mind.

[lillaydee]

Head Over Heels Part 16

Jackson!Joel / Reader

Special Guest Appearance by a Certain FBI Agent who may or may not look a lot like Joel.

You left the loneliness of your home and headed to Jackson with Joel and the teenage girl he was with, hoping your new life would be less lonely. You should've stayed alone.

WARNING:

Non-canon Compliant, Pining, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Joel Lives (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Jealousy, Loneliness, Trauma.

MEGA WARNING: Descriptions of Attempted Sexual Assault.

@copperhalfcent @joelalorian @vickie5446 @peelieblue @nandan11 @liciafonseca @senoratess @denisanoemi @lovefreylove @heartpatch

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 15

---

Joel raised his hands as the guards pulled the dogs away, eyes still on you. He was studying your face. Just in case. He wasn’t going to take his eyes off you until he was sure he wasn’t getting shot. If this was it for him, let your beautiful face be the last thing he saw.

“Wait,” Tommy said, moving towards Joel. The guards stood still, guns still aimed at the man you loved, but did not shoot. Tommy saw it in their faces, how hesitant they were, how disbelieving. He didn’t want to believe it either. He was not losing his brother like this. He stopped maybe five feet away from Joel, just behind the guards.

“Were you bitten?” he asked Joel.

“Not that I remember. Last clicker was maybe two days ago. I would’ve turned by now.”

Tommy pointed at all the muck and blood all over his person, “That your blood?”

Joel shook his head, “Nah, clickers’.”

Tommy turned to Diana, asked her to get some hot water in buckets. Hank, Benny and some of the ladies went with her.

What followed was an awkward ten minutes where Joel was just standing there with his hands up, the dogs still trying to get at him, Ellie telling you she could smell him from all the way where you were standing, Marcus trying hard not to laugh.

When the buckets were brought out, Tommy ordered Joel to strip.

“What?”

“Strip. You’re washing, and then we’ll let the dogs sniff you again.”

“Here? It’s freezing.”

“Hence the hot water.”

Joel looked at everyone who had gathered at the gate, a good fifty people at least. His eyes caught yours and you might have imagined it, but you thought you saw his ears got pinker, even more so than it already was. He took his jacket off and tossed it aside, peeling his clothing one by one, his skin looking red and raw from the freezing temperature, dirt and sweat residues all over him. The scar you had stitched up was visible, and the crowd started murmuring at the many such marks on his well-built body.  

You didn’t realize it until Liv nudged you with her elbow, but you were ravaging his body with your eyes. That dream you had of him was giving you so many naughty thoughts, now that he was here in front of you rather than your dream, and it was clearly written all over your face, your bottom lip almost bleeding from your own teeth biting on them.

Someone brought him a stool as he was unbuckling his belt, toeing his boots off. Some naughty whistles began sounding as he stripped his lower body off his pants.

Well damn.

It was freezing. You didn’t know for sure, but it had to be in the low 20s. And yet, his boxer briefs still revealed what seemed to be something quite impressive underneath.

Damn, you were starting to sweat. Maybe it’s not in the 20s after all?

Someone cleared their throat, and you saw Esther standing to the side, openly gawking at your currently-ex-sort-of-boyfriend-but-hopefully-soon-to-be-boyfriend-for-real's crotch, a sly, hungry smirk on her face. You noticed the other ladies having a similar look, although they were not quite as open about it as she was.

Oh, hell no.

You didn’t realize it, but your feet were quickly moving towards him, turning around and facing the crowd, opening your jacket to cover him.

There was an audible groan from the ladies.

“Oh, come on, Elena. Be a sport,” Esther said.

“Your nose looks nicely healed, Esther. Perhaps we should break it one more time?”

She rolled her eyes, “Spoilsport,” she said, turning around to get back to her job.

“Nothing to see here, ladies,” you shouted, shout whispering at Ellie to come help you. She did, but had a ‘you stink, Joel’ look on her face at all times, standing next to you with her jacket open.

“Jealous, are we?” Joel’s low voice teased, as he took a seat on the stool, hissing from the cold contact. “I thought we broke up.”

You couldn’t see him, but you could tell he was smirking.

“Shut up.”

Will, Benny and Marcus came to join you and Ellie, Hank joining a little later with a blanket which they all held in front of him to protect him from the gawking crowd. You swore you heard some ladies boo.

You took the smaller bucket Diana had placed among the bigger ones and scooped some steaming water, checking that it wasn’t boiling hot before pouring some down his head, tipping his head back a little so as not to drown him. His eyes were opened, looking at you as you began massaging his scalp a little to get rid of the crusted gunk and blood that nested there. His eyes closed involuntarily as you did, making you feel all warm and gooey inside. Must be the steam from the water.

Once his hair was clean-ish, you began rubbing his face, his neck, his shoulders, Joel surrendering to your care, his eyes shut, his body relaxed. But when you began rubbing his chest, his eyes snapped open again, telling you maybe he should continue bathing himself from there.

“What? Why?”

His lips were in a circle, trembling a little, maybe from the cold, but maybe from trying to figure out what to say.

Marcus snorted, his hand covering Ellie's eyes, the teenager questioning his action, and that’s when you noticed Joel's hands were covering his crotch, a guilty look on his face. Marcus pulled a still confused Ellie away, mumbling something about waiting with the crowd instead.

Oh.

“Elena,” Will said, “Maybe that’s a good idea.”

You followed Ellie and Marcus, your cheeks feeling so hot you were sure everyone could see them blush. You didn’t know what Ellie told then, but Maria, Liv and Diana were having a difficult time straightening their faces, bursting into laughter as soon as you angrily asked them what they were smirking about.

Sheesh. Children.

As soon as the buckets were empty, the men wrapped the blanket around a shivering Joel, and the dogs were brought back, happily wagging their tails at him this time.

Oh, thank God.

You couldn’t help yourself. You threw yourself at him, hugging him with all your might and telling him you were sorry you slapped him, sorry you broke up with him. He let you hug him, his arms trapped under the blanket, telling you he needed to go into quarantine now, will you bring him some clothes? And maybe his toothbrush?

You were about to kiss him when Tommy pulled you away, telling you he still needed to quarantine. Standard procedure when he had been alone out there for this long, just in case. You can kiss him tomorrow, he said. You rolled your eyes at him and walked to your old home, happily choosing some warm clothing for him, bringing him his toothbrush as requested, a pillow and an extra blanket for the night.

Unbeknownst to him, you sat by the door, refusing to leave him. You didn’t sleep at all. You heard him snore, God, he must be exhausted. Captain was drinking non stop for nearly 30 minutes, you were told. He fell asleep almost soon after. Poor lad.

Ellie came in the next morning with breakfast, the two of you practically vibrating as you waited for the 24 hours to be up. As soon as the doors opened, Joel found himself almost toppling over from very aggressive hugs from you and his little girl. The two of you thanking him for coming back, for not dying, for finding the books you wanted. And as soon as he found his footing, he gave the hugs right back, thanking the two of you for waiting for him, for not giving up on him, holding his two ladies close to him as they escorted him to breakfast.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him, worried that if you blinked, he would disappear, and that this would all be a dream. Ellie went off to school after, telling you that she would go straight home after school, so please, no hanky-panky in the living room, and ducked just in time as your hand mysteriously reached out to pull her ear. You and Joel stopped at the clinic, the doctor giving him a general check up. He frowned a little at Joel's wince when he was asked to lift his leg, his back clearly bothering him, but he decided against asking the man to stay for a night - mainly because the man was practically growling when asked about anything that might be of concern.

You walked him home, fingers interlaced together. You stopped at his front door, telling him that you would leave him to rest, that you would be back for lunch to bring him something. You leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, but he pulled you inside with him, going for your lips instead, kicking the door closed behind him.

You found yourself unable to protest at all. Realistically, you should demand him to rest. But you couldn’t. You let him kiss you, pull you up into his hold and brought you upstairs to his room. He placed you gently on his bed, his lips moving from yours to your jaw, your neck, your chest, before going back up to kiss you once more on the lips, ending the kiss with a peck on your nose.

“I need a shower,” he said. “I know you didn’t sleep last night. I know you were outside my door. Sleep. I will join you in a bit,” he whispered as he nuzzled your ear, before biting your earlobe gently, and getting up, pulling the blanket up, covering you to your chin, and went into the bathroom.

Wait, what?

**********

Really? He was going to just leave you hanging? You tried. You really tried to see his point of view, as you heard him potter around in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, heard small metal clipping going on, maybe trimming his beard. You got it, sort of. He was tired, he was filthy, he wanted to have a proper clean up, maybe shave. But… he carried you all the way up here, making your legs all useless with his kisses, and then… just… asked you to sleep?

How the fuck were you going to do that?

Especially in this bed, where in your dreams he… well… you know.

And he was right in there, in that bathroom. Naked.

Well, you thought, as you heard the shower turn on, and heard his groans from having the hot water hit his body, technically, you haven’t showered in two days. You needed to preserve water here in Jackson, and it’s winter, so showering wasn’t exactly ideal if you were preserving water and it’s freezing cold outside. But, you thought, realistically speaking, it wouldn’t be a waste of water if you were to say… share the shower… and him being in there was just a bonus. Right?

You could smell the shampoo he was using. So you got up, undressed, and opened the door, gently knocking before you did, even though you knew that he wouldn’t hear it over the sounds of the shower.

Shit, he looked good wet. And naked. His back was to you, so you slowly went into the shower with him, gently touching his back as not to alarm him, and slowly brought your hand around to his front, hugging him from behind. His hands immediately joined yours, bringing one up to kiss.

“Can I help you?” he asked, a smile heard in his voice, shampoo suds running down his body.

“Just thought you might need some help cleaning yourself,” you said, kissing his back.

“I thought we broke up,” he said, teasingly. “Changed your mind?”

“We are still broken up. I’m just being a good friend.”

“That so?” he asked. He picked up the soap and ran it onto the small towel he used to clean himself and passed it to you. You cleaned his back, his arms, his butt, unable to help yourself from taking a bite, and he chuckled at your cheekiness, behave now, he said.

“What if I don’t want to behave?”

He turned, pushing you up against the shower wall, his eyes ravaging your naked body you ran the towel on his torso teasingly, going lower and lower before lowering yourself to clean his now very much awake manhood.

Fuck, he whispered.

You didn’t touch him. Not directly. You proceeded to clean his crotch as gently and as thoroughly as you could, keeping the towel between your hand and his very sensitive skin, while he hissed and cursed from your taunting. You moved on to his thighs, legs, and finally feet, before standing back up and telling him to rinse himself, using the towel to clean your own body after running the soap on it again.

You went about cleaning yourself, acting as if this was a daily occurrence, as he stood there under the water, staring at you in disbelief. You lathered up your hair with shampoo, asking him to move aside once you were done.

“Excuse me?”

“You need to move. I need to rinse.”

He did, after seemingly snapped from a deep, deep daydream, and you moved under the shower, groaning a little as the hot water hit you at full force, rinsing the suds off your hair, your body, humming a little.

His hands suddenly wrapped itself around your body, his lips latching onto your neck. You could feel his stiffness on your back as he growled a little from contact with your nipples, stiff and perky from being in the shower – okay, maybe the fact that the man you had used for inspiration for 16 years was holding you, naked in the shower might have had something to do with it – his fingers quickly trapping the stiff peaks between themselves as he mouthed openly at your neck, jaw and ear.

You couldn’t move. You so desperately wanted to keep up the nonchalance, the charade of just wanting to share a shower in times of need, but God his fingers were delicious, and his mouth… fuck. You tried to speak, but your words came out in whimpers, a squeak, at most.

You jumped a little in his arms when his fingers rubbed your long neglected nub, the activity of tending to such needs neglected from a busy life of running away from clickers and raiders and settling in a new town while navigating your feelings for a man you’d been in love with for so long and healing from an attempted assault, your legs almost giving out at the sensation. He didn’t stop, circling on the nub with two fingers, pulling your body closer to his own, saving you from drowning in the falling waters as your head tilted up, your eyes closed, your mouth open, his mouth never stopping the much welcomed assault on your neck, whispering to you to let go, he’d got you, let go, beautiful. Fuck, you are so beautiful.

And you did, clamping your legs shut as his fingers continued their excellent, deserving of applaud work, body shuddering uncontrollably in his arms, as he soothed you with whispers and promises of more to come.

As soon as he dried you, he wasted no time in studying your entire body with his tongue, sending your rocketing to heaven two more times before finally taking you, holding you close to his body, whispering his adorations for you, his longing for you, rocking slowly into you as he made love to you, his body shivering from control, wanting to get you there again, before you pulled him tightly to you and begged him to let go, that you loved him, to make you his, that you had always been his, and will always be.

He came with a whimpered grunt, his breath heavy in your ears, breathless whispers of love and devotion followed, telling you that he loved you, that he was yours, before, now and always.

You fell asleep in his arms, a dreamless sleep, feeling so much safer than you had ever felt before.

You spent the rest of the day in bed, stepping out to go get something eat, only to find a Tupperware container with food in it in front of his bedroom door.

Oh… that’s right… Ellie…

You ignored the cringing images of the teenager in your head as Joel reached out for you, peppering kisses all over your naked back, and you were back in his arms, and he didn’t let you go all the way ‘til morning.

Joel woke up the next morning with a stiff back, his back being shot anyway from the fight with the clickers. That was why he was so late, it turned out. He threw his back, so badly, he couldn’t even mount Captain those first few days. The steed laid down next to him and made him roll onto him, and he was in so much pain the horse had to walk slower than it would’ve liked. That horse saved my life more times than I’d like to admit, he said. Stood guard over him as he slept, alerted him when there was threat around, and at one point, even chased a group of rabbits so he could shoot one.

Was there enough space in Jackson to plant premium grade barley? What else do horses love? That steed deserved the best, you’d decided. Kingly treatment from now on. Only the best for him, even if you had to starve yourself.

You gave him a massage, even going so far as heating some rocks and using them to soothe his aches. Sorry you are with an old man, he said, sorry you are with a premenopausal woman, you said. The two of you laughed, giddy that the two of you were finally together.

**********

“Well, well, well, look who finally came out for air,” Diana teased as you and Joel walked into the hall for breakfast, three whole days after he was released from quarantine.

Ellie scoffed, “That’s probably because their food supply magically stopped. After what I heard last night, I am never risking going up there with food again,” she said, dodging a punch to the shoulder from Joel, who immediately winced.

“Back bothering you again, old man?” Tommy asked, a smirk accompanying the concern. Joel nodded, blushing a little at the implication.

“Threw it fighting the clickers off,” he grunted, punching a now laughing Tommy on the shoulder, wincing again.

“Hey, Teresa!” Tommy called, the new lady immediately coming over. “You said you used to massage people, right? Can you do something about Joel’s back?”

The lady, in your humble opinion, looked a bit too eager when nodding, eyeing Joel up and down as if he was candy, and she was an greedy little girl on Halloween.

“Uh, you can demonstrate on me, I’ll do it,” you said, a little too quickly, and definitely louder than you intended. Her face fell, before composing herself and nodding.

Tommy stood up, laughing, telling Joel to stand with him.

“Put your arms across your chest,” he said, slipping his hand around Joel’s torso and lifting his up a few times, cracking his back, bringing his brother immediate relief.

“You couldn’t have just done that straightaway? You had to call Teresa and ask her to massage Joel?” you threw a spoon at him.

“Just wanted to see you squirm, sister,” he said, laughing as Maria smacked him on the chest.

After breakfast, Joel helped you pack up your apartment, for what it was worth, carrying your possessions home, all entire box of it. When he got upstairs, he passed by your old room and unpacked your clothing in his closet, placing your pillow on his bed, well, your bed now, too, and you didn’t care to correct him. Especially not now, when he was showing you how happy he was that you were finally home again, determined to never let you go, ever.

The next morning, you made the three of you breakfast. And this time, Joel sat down with you and Ellie, eating his fill of omelettes and toast, asking for seconds. He watched as you checked Ellie’s Science homework at the table, telling her where she made mistakes, the teenager listening intently to your explanations. A smile decorated his usually grumpy face at the sight.

This was his dream, the one he was so scared of living at first due to the possibility that all this would be taken away in the blink of an eye in an uncertain world. But being alone on that road with Captain made him realize that he would rather live it while he could, so that at least, the memory of it would ease the pain that loss would inevitably bring, be it for him or you or Ellie. The memory of Sarah grinning at him with eggs all over her teeth the morning before she died was one he thought of every time he had breakfast, and for a long time, that memory haunted him. But now, he realized, it was a memory he cherished more than anything, his little girl being cheeky with him.

And this, right here, the sight of the woman he loved teaching his daughter at the kitchen table over breakfast that she made and served with love, was one he wanted to remember should the dreaded happened, and he wanted the two of you to have such memories of him too.

“So, now that we are all living together again,” Ellie said, “Are you two going to get married?”

“Ellie!” you exclaimed, worried that the question might scare Joel into panicking, although you were dying to hear his answer.

“What? It’s a long time coming!” she defended herself.

“She’s right,” he said, standing up and going around the table, kneeling before you with a grunt. He took your hand in his, kissing it, before looking up at you with hope in his eyes.

“Elena, I never thought I would be this happy in my life. My luck with women was non-existent, at best, to the point that I shut my heart out to anyone. But you, you managed to find your way in and never left. Elena, I’ve been in love with you for 16 years. Took me a long time to finally admit it, but now that I have, I want more. More of us, more of this, forever. I want to spend whatever’s left of my life with you and Ellie, here, in our home. I want to grow old with you. I want you to be last thing I see before I go to bed and the first when I wake up. Always. Elena, Darling, will you marry me?”

You looked down to see a gorgeous diamond ring in a battered velvet casing, the rock glittering in the morning light.

“Where did you…”

“Found it about a year after I met you. Kept it with me since, in case I found the balls to tell you how I felt.”

“I would rather wear the ring you made for us,” you said, as his ears turn pink at the realisation you had peeked inside his secret box of obsession.

“Well, if you say yes to this ring, we can put those on say… Sunday?”

“Sunday? That’s two days from now! I have to go tell Maria. Make sure there’s enough time to prepare!” Ellie said, jumping off her chair running to the door, ignoring your pleas for her to come back and not make a fuss.

“Well?” Joel asked, looking up at you, his eyes so hopeful and true, earnest.

You gave him a teary smile, nodding, a whispered yes escaping your lips.

He stood up, picking you up and kissing you breathless, asking again and again if he heard you right. Did you really say yes? You will marry me? Yes, you silly old man, I will marry you. He slipped the ring onto your finger, rubbing his thumb over it before kissing you again, slowly pushing you back onto the kitchen counter, deepening his kiss to the point that all the thoughts in your head disappeared.

The front door burst open and the two of you jumped away from each other as if someone threw cold water all over you.

Maria, Liv and Diana were in your living room, their faces red from running, excitement clear across the three of them. Will, Benny, Tommy and Marcus ran in after them, all with expectant looks on their faces. You just lifted your hand up and the ladies’ screams were so loud you were sure the guards could hear them all the way from the gates.

Later, as the nine of you were in Maria’s living room, having a glass of wine celebrating the happy news, the three ladies cornered you.

“So,” Maria started, “Who’s your maid of honour?”

You wanted to laugh, the idea of having a wedding party when all it would be was maybe fifteen of you at the spot at the edge of the town with you and Joel exchanging vows in your best clothes before heading to the hall for a meal was rather funny to you. But then, Marcus cleared his throat, Jake in his hands, looking at you expectantly, making you remember a promise you made him.

“Erm, actually, I promised Marcus that he would be my man of honour.”

The ladies looked to him in protest, but he just smiled his winning smile at them and they deflated, conceding that at least they didn’t have to be jealous of each other.

Later that night, you found Joel in the kitchen with your brothers alone, they two of them speaking in low tones to him, their faces serious. Joel said something back, which seemed to change things, your brothers hugging him tight, patting him on his back, whispering something to him, and he nodded, before the three men parted with wet eyes.

“What were my brothers saying to you just now? In the kitchen?” you asked him, as the two of you laid in bed that night.

“The usual, they were just telling me what they’ll do to me if I hurt you.”

“What would they do?”

“Something along the lines of skinning me alive before removing all the bones in my body, and then killing me.”

You laughed. “Was that all?”

“They asked me to take good care of you,” he said, turning to kiss you on the temple. “I will, you know. Until my dying breath, if you would let me.”

You smiled at him, whispering that you already knew that, before kissing him.

**********

As far as weddings in the outbreak went, yours and Joel’s was perfect. You said your vows at sunset, at the edge of the town, overlooking the rolling fields of Wyoming. Your brothers walked you down the aisle, Ike officiating. Marcus held your bouquet, while Ellie was the ring bearer, even going so far as forgetting her aversion to dresses for the occasion, the rings Joel had made now placed on your fingers. His, with your name carved on the inside, yours, his.

The ladies found a white dress for you to wear, Lucy altering it to fit you perfectly, and Joel wore a smart suit they had found for him. God, he looked, mouth-wateringly good. Ellie and her friends scoured the town for fake flowers for your bouquet, seeing as it was winter. Joel’s bad-assery was completely thrown out the window when he first saw you walk down the aisle, tears falling uncontrollably down his face amidst his contagious smile, kissing you on the cheek, telling you that you looked so beautiful in your dress, although he did place your jacket on you as soon as you said ‘I do’.

In his speech at dinner, Will welcomed Joel to the family, acknowledging the irony, seeing as he and Benny were absent for the majority of your life after the outbreak, and Joel was there all along. Benny could hardly speak as he hugged you congratulations, telling you your parents would’ve loved Joel and Ellie.

Joel led you onto the makeshift dancefloor, swaying you in his arms, kissing you as if he needed your lips to breathe, thanking you for giving him a chance, for saying yes to him, for marrying him. You, in turn, thanked him for asking, for not giving up on you.

You couldn’t help see Ellie and Dina dancing together, your brothers with their ladies, and Tommy and Maria, Jake in between them, his gummy smile evident.

Wait… was Marcus dancing with Lydia?

He saw you looking at him, and you gave him a meaningful eyebrow raise. He shrugged, a sly smile on his face, as he led her in the slow dance.

“Looks like Marcus found someone,” you said to Joel, who turned and smiled at the sight.

“Phew,” he joked, “At least I don’t have to worry about him anymore huh?”

“You never had to worry, silly. I’m yours. Have always been yours,” you said, kissing him.

“I know that now. We belong together,” he whispered, as you laid your head on his chest, his body rocking you side to side, “Two old birds, at the end of the world, head over heels in love with each other.”

You lifted your head up, kissing your husband sweetly. You were never going to argue with that.

THE END

[bestiainfinita]

I had a discussion on Instagram about Eurylochus and wanted to share it here , the post where this conversation happened is irrelevant but it was about Eurylochus and the end of the Thunder Saga, anyways I made a comment and this guy’s responded:

Then I responded with this across some comments (I chose not to use screen caps for most of my things because they are a lot of comments and it might be over the limit of them, and I had the stuff I said saved):

Lol what are you in buddy???

First of all, since the start Eurylochus has had one objective in mind just like Odysseus, Eurylochus wanted to protect the crew and to get them home while Odysseus wanted to go home to be with his son and wife, that’s the main reason the diversion between Eury and Ody happened, because Ody cared more about getting home than about the crew, while Eury cared more about the crew than getting home.

In ‘Full Speed Ahead’ (Song 03) he tells Ody that they are out of food and they need to feed THE CREW so he asks the captain / king what they should do, because that’s is what he’s supposed to do, he proposes attacking and just taking the food because he wants to ensure food for the crew no matter what, this is also proveen in ‘Polyphemus’ (Song 06) when the first thing he says is “There are enough sheep here to feed the entire fleet” he was thinking about the crew again. Then in ‘Remeber Them’ (Song 09) he’s the one who ask “But captain, what do we do with our fallen friends?” because he CARES about the crew.

Also he not only cares about the crew but he cares about Odysseus too (he’s part of the crew but anyways), this is better shown in ‘Luck Runs Out’ (Song 11); “You could be caught off guard and lose your life” “I just don’t wanna see another life end” “You are like the brother I could never do without”.

Then in the same song (‘Luck Runs Out’) we understand why he opened the wind bag. He was afraid, he was afraid of the Gods and what they might do to him, Odysseus and the crew; “You could be caught off guard and lose your life” “Or piss off this God and infuse us with strife” “Don’t forget how dangerous the gods are”.

Now the Circe thing, y’all have very selective hearing and didn’t understood Eury at all, he is still afraid during this song (‘Puppeteer’ Song 14); he’s afraid of a Goddess, of Circe, he gave those men for dead because they were captured by a literal Goddess, and he is also afraid of what she might to to Odysseus and the rest of the crew if they try to face her; “Think about the men we have left before there’s none, let’s just cut our loses, you and I, and let’s run” “What if she can’t be killed!? — Will you chose to leave?”

By the way, I would like to point out that in this song (‘Puppeteer’) Odysseus says “There’s no length I wouldn’t go, if it was you I’d have to save, I can only hope you’ll do the same…” and Eurylochus responds by literally doing that, by trying to stop Odysseus from going into that suicidal mission, (let me remind y’all that the only reason Odysseus stood his ground against Circe was thanks to Deus Ex Hermes).

And another thing, some of you people like to say Eurylochus wanted Odysseus gone or blasphemy like that, then why didn’t he killed him in ‘Mutiny’ (Song 24), he had Odysseus stabbed and defenseless but he didn’t killed him, he and the crew just restrained him and treated all of his wounds, they didn’t want him dead, they just couldn’t trust him anymore and therefore couldn’t have him as his captain.

Then they said this (ignoring stuff I already talked about):

And finally I finished the conversation and responded with this:

1. I literally addressed the Circe situation in my previous comments, and explained how he gave those men for dead because to save them they would have had to fight a LITERAL GODDESS (remember they just lost 11 ships / more than 500 men to another God), and again, the only reason Ody won / was able to talk it through was thanks to Hermes’s intervention.

2. Again, I believe the treasure was a misdirection, and the real reason was fear, as I have explained before / in my previous comments.

3. If he wanted to forget what he did and act like nothing have happened, he wouldn't even have confessed in the first place, so it's obviously not about that.

4. That part was a metaphor, see how it is similar to 'Luck Runs Out' in the way that one was talking as a friend and the other as his title, in 'Luck Runs Out' Odysseus is the one talking as a friend while in 'Mutiny' Eurylochus is the one talking as a friend (we know because he called him "Ody" instead of "Captain"), so he was talking one on one and Odysseus was responding talking about himself about how HE wanted to go back to HIS kingdom HIS son and HIS wife ignoring what Eurylochus was saying to him as well as his concerns (like he did in ‘Luck Runs Out’), then the crew jumps in showing Odysseus that all of the crew thinks the same, that they are all tired, that they are all hurt, and that they are all hungry, something that Odysseus's own suffering has made him oblivious to, and now he tries to talk to the crew, to calm them and convince them, but he has already shown them that his priority is himself, so they ignore his pleading and try to give themselves comfort in the only way they currently can, try so solve the only problem they as mere men are able to, and so they killed the cattle to eat.

[sylusonychinus]

I absolutely adore It’s Okay If You Forget Me. I was wondering if you could write a similar concept with Caleb where the reader isn’t the MC.

Loosing my head

Pairings: Caleb x Reader

warning: Angst Good luck readers

What did I say? What did I do? I can feel it in my chest—the weight of it all pressing down on me. My thoughts are tangled up in knots, every word we’ve said, every look exchanged, echoing in my mind. This isn't how it was supposed to be. It never was.

I watch you from across the room, your back to me. The silence between us is suffocating, a thick fog I can’t break through. There was a time when this room, this space, felt like our own world. When I could look into your eyes and feel the fire that burned between us—when nothing else mattered.

Just yesterday, you said, your smile a light in the dark. We were laughing, sharing quiet moments, everything so effortless. I remember how your hand brushed mine, and for a moment, everything felt... perfect.

I wasn’t always good at this. Relationships were never something I was taught to navigate. But with you, it felt different. You made me feel like I could be someone better. Like, maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t a lost cause. The way you cared for me—it was something I never thought I deserved. And I let myself fall for you. Completely.

But now? Now, all I feel is distance. And it’s killing me.

I close my eyes, trying to push the thoughts away, but they're relentless.

I remember that night. The first time I saw you after everything started changing. We were sitting at that café, the sun setting just right, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple.

“I’m not sure about this anymore, Caleb.” Your voice was so small, so unsure, that it sent a chill straight through me. It was like the world had shifted beneath us, and neither of us had noticed until it was too late.

“What do you mean?” I’d asked, panic rising in my chest. I didn’t know what I was afraid of—the possibility of losing you or the reality of it all hitting me.

You didn’t answer right away, and when you finally did, it was with a softness that made my stomach drop. “I think... I think we’re not moving in the same direction anymore.”

Those words—they still echo. Not because of what you said, but because I couldn't hear it. I didn’t want to hear it.

“We can fix this,” I’d pleaded, desperate, my voice rising a little louder than I intended. “We just need to talk. We can work through it.”

But you shook your head, eyes filled with something I couldn’t touch anymore. “I don’t know, Caleb. I don’t know if I can anymore.”

Now, all I can feel is the aftermath. The way we’ve been spinning in circles, trying to hold onto something that’s already slipping through our fingers. You take me so high, only for us to fall, again and again. And each time, it feels like we’re getting farther apart.

I take a shaky breath. Every day feels like we’re just falling. Falling from some kind of high that I can’t even remember anymore. What happened to the love we used to have? The kind of love that made everything else fade away. I want that back. I need that back.

But I don’t know how to stop this free-fall. How do we fix something that's been broken for so long, when every word we say seems to push us further into the dark?

You’re still standing there, distant, and the ache in my chest grows. I could reach for you, but what if it’s already too late? What if everything we’ve fought for is already gone? What if I lost you the moment I stopped listening, the moment I thought things would just magically fall into place?

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, though I don’t know if I’m apologizing to you or to myself. The words feel too small for everything we’ve gone through. But I don’t know what else to say.

You don’t answer, but I feel the weight of your silence settle over me like a heavy blanket. And I’m left standing here, in the cold, holding on to nothing but the memory of the way we used to be.

a/n: i tried to make it really angsty :33 also some of this may come from personal experience

[rollercoasterwords]

i rember seeing you update your tags with memory loss and my heart dropped lol it’s always been one of my biggest fears and you mercilessly explored it (and specifically how it affected relationships) and it was terrifying and beautiful and wonderful

the way you write memory loss haunts

me i love your writing so much im in awe and uh have a wondrous day 😭

hiiiii thank u yeah i have. many thoughts about memory loss clearly lol

i think in general part of what compels me is that i feel as though there is a very prevalent message that we should think of life as a linear journey through time, moving from past to future, and also that the meaning of life is evaluated in ways tied to that linear concept of time--i.e., the idea that death is a fundamentally more important experience than most (if not all) other moments of life, because it is temporally at the "end" of a linear life cycle. & this is something i explored in thtf bc i wanted to push back on & question the presumption that death is necessarily any more important of a moment simply because it's the last moment we might have, & i wanted to explore a concept of life in which moments happening at different points of time are not necessarily ever "over"--those moments have always happened & are always happening somewhere in the fabric of the universe...basically thtf was me exploring how things might change if we break away slightly from life measured by linear timelines.

ANYWAY lily's story arc in worm moon is kind of a similar exploration. i think one thing that people find really frightening about this kind of memory loss--which was based around early-onset dementia--is the idea that you are losing these moments when you can't remember them, and also becoming unmoored from your linear temporality. your life is no longer a straight & predictable line from past to present to future; now the past interjects on the present, times get tangled up, etc. & again i wanted to explore the ways in which that can be painful but also the idea that a life unmoored from memory and time does not necessarily preclude joy & love & everything that people generally find makes life worth living; yes, lily losing her memory of her son is painful, but that doesn't mean the moments and the times she lived with him go away. they aren't lost or eroded because they didn't exist only inside her memory or her mind, y'know? the past is always happening and the future is always happening and the present is always happening all at once, etc...or maybe it's not! who knows! but just because we tend to perceive reality one way doesn't mean other perceptions of reality are necessarily less real.

& with sirius's experience of memory loss--there are some overlapping themes, but also different stuff i wanted to unpack & explore. i wanted to write a character going through the trauma & frustration & loss of feeling as though an important piece of past & memory had been stolen from him, and how that blank space can leave a hole inside you, and you can spend so much time trying to fill it--but at the end of the day, sometimes memory is just gone. sometimes it was never made correctly in the first place, and you end up with a hole in your life. and so often in stories about that kind of traumatic memory loss what i've seen is a narrative where there's an eventual restoration of memory that fills in the hole and allows the character to finally move on. but i wanted a character who has to come to terms with the fact that this specific, acute kind of memory loss is permanent--there is no healing of the hole, there is no patching over it, you just have to learn how to be a new person around it because you can't go back to the person you were before it, because that person is no longer you. and you have to learn to live with a trauma that you can't even name. i think that's a stumbling point for me with a lot of narratives i've encountered about trauma: oftentimes, they rely very heavily on finding ways to name & explain that trauma as a means of healing from it and coming to terms with it and moving past it. and if you have a traumatic experience tied to memory loss, or if the memory loss is the traumatic experience, then it's not really something you can "come to terms with." you just have to accept that something happened to you or your body or however you think of that person you can't remember and you'll never fully know what it is; you'll never get to sit down and watch a movie of the memory that says "this is the Truth and this is What Happened and this is why there's a hole inside you and you have nightmares about things you can't remember." anyway i think i'm just rambling now & not explaining this very well lol it's easier to just write what i want to say through these characters yayyyy fanfiction let's all clap & cheer etc

[cruise-in-your-glow-bus]

I see and love and fully support all of the HCs and fics about the Papas being asked to take someone's virginity but HEAR ME OUT HERE: What about:

It's been such a long time since anyone touched me and I'm not sure I even remember how, and sure they say it's just like riding a bicycle but I was shit at that too, and what if I'm Bad At Sex congregant with a Papa who talks them through it and reassures them of all they're capable of?

Losing my virginity was super overrated and disappointing and although I may have been deflowered in the technical sense I want to ritualistically try again as an offering congregant with a Papa who is entirely down to oblige some role play for mental health reasons, as a treat?

Someone hurt me a long time ago or told me I was unworthy and made me feel ashamed and I need to get out of my shell because I used to be okay and I used to enjoy this congregant with a Papa who spends a long slow time praising them and showing them how worthy they are?

I'm still so new with my gender or sexuality and I don't know what it's like to be with someone who knows me fully like this and what if I revert back to a past insecure version of myself congregant with a Papa who affirms and pleasures them and checks in throughout?

I don't even know if I like sex at all I just miss being held and caressed and cuddled and doted on congregant with a Papa who isn't pushy and holds them through their shame?

I'm into something that scares me because it's less typical and it makes me feel so good but I've never actually tried it and I need someone safe to help me through this new kink congregant with a Papa who is meticulous about safewording and check-ins and holding them in the space?

I detach from my body and have a hard time staying present during sex because I learned a long time ago that I'm a thing to be used and not an active participant and I want to change that but I don't know how congregant with a Papa that keeps them alert and focused and aware and cherished?

[manicpixiedreamedwins]

(I wanted to do something for Valentine's Day but I also needed to ease back into writing so I thought I would do something fun- I've decided to write a series of short fics based on whatever flower I flip to in this book.

Today's prompt was "Forget Me Not".)

The downtown streets were lined with paper heart garlands and flower petal paths.

Charles watched the petals flutters over his loafers as they walked across the cobblestones. He and Edwin hadn’t talked about their conversation in Hell, and he supposed this was mostly his doing. Edwin had made an attempt on the butcher shop rooftop in Port Townsend, but he had been too… nervous? Relieved?

Awestruck?

What do you say when the most important person in your entire existence tries to hand you their long dead heart and tells you that it is yours to keep?

Charles had certainly been trying to make good on his promise to figure it out, though. He’d tried experimentally grabbing Edwin’s hand during cases, instead of simply tapping him on the shoulder. He found he was rather fond of the way Edwin’s cheeks flushed pink when he did, and he really enjoyed way the Edwardian squeezed his palm lightly to let him know the touch was welcome.

That was just for him. 

Just for him.

That thought forced him to sort through why he’d been so temporarily gutted when he thought Edwin was going to tell him he had feelings for another. He was a good friend. He was Edwin’s best mate. He should want him to be happy, right? So why did a painful, sharp feeling settle in his gut when Edwin started talking about Monty right before he was dragged back to Hell?

It made sense when he was just worried about being replaced as a best friend, when he was just worried about losing Edwin in that way. He’d lost friends before. He laughed a little, bitterly, thinking of how he died.

But then he found Edwin. Edwin was special, different, a better kind of friend- the best kind of friend. Edwin felt like a missing piece of his heart.

He gazed at Edwin, who was currently framed by flowers in the shop window behind him.

But this… this was serious. Edwin deserved someone good, truly good, someone worth it, someone brilliant and kind and safe to love. Someone who would remember to buy him flowers on holidays, someone who would cherish him for who he was, someone who would defend him from Hell and other monsters.

And that definitely wasn’t anyone in Port Townsend, and fuck that probably wasn’t even him if he was his father’s son.

“Charles?” Edwin’s voice cut through his thoughts, and Charles came to.

“Yeah mate?” Charles grinned brightly, and Edwin tilted his head. The flowers continued to frame his face, and Charles found himself thinking he would look lovely holding them.

“I said I think I have found the murder weapon, for the client. Are you feeling alright?” The Edwardian asked, gently, and Charles’ smile dampened slightly.

“Never been better. Hey just a tick, I need to check something out. Think you can take that back to the office?”

“You… you do not even want to inspect it?”

“Oh yeah, I’ll just be a minute now won’t I?”

Edwin frowned, rolling his eyes slightly. He could tell Charles was hiding something, but he could also see that the curly haired ghost was not about to budge.

“Fine. When you get back then,” Edwin conceded, and found a mirror in a nearby clothing store display.

Charles stepped into the flower store.

—

Edwin sat at the desk, inspecting the garden spade.

It could not have been an easy death judging by the state their client came to them in, yet then again very few of their clients ever went comfortably. This was why they did what they did. They were helping them move on and find peace finally.

Charles, true to his word, did tumble through their office mirror about fifteen minutes later. Edwin was itching to know what his partner had been keeping from him. Was it currently case related? An old client paying respects, like the kind young woman who worked at the museum? Something else, like that ghost he occasionally traded records with?

“Hey ‘Win,” Charles grinned, trying to catch his footing. Edwin had to admit he found it endearing to watch Charles try and mirror travel on his own all these years later. 

“Charles,” He greeted, “would you like to tell me what you’ve been up to?”

“I uh… I got you these,” Charles confessed, pushing a bouquet of pale blue into Edwin’s hands.

Edwin’s face flushed a gorgeous shade of pink, all the way up to his ears. He studied the flowers, tracing the yellow eyelets and the soft blue petals, then met Charles’ eyes.

“Charles,” he squeaked, voice coming out lighter than he ever knew it could, “what in the world are these for?”

“They’re forget me nots mate,” Charles mumbled, “I… s’stupid I guess…” 

His voice trailed off, and Edwin shook his head. 

“Charles, it is not. I love them. Did you… did you mean something by them? Floriography was very popular in my time.”

Charles glanced down at his shoes, and Edwin reached out to touch his arm with his free hand as he kept talking.

“It is okay if you did not, they are beautiful—"

His partner smiled finally, glancing back up at Edwin he responded.

“Look I… I know I’m being really slow, at all of this figuring-it-out stuff. But I… I meant it when I said I love you. I know that part. And I’m trying. I guess they mean ‘forget me not’? That’s what the dead floral lady we were helping said they meant, anyway. That, and you look brills in blue.”

Edwin looked somehow pinker. He set the bouquet gently on the table, and threw his arms around Charles, burying his face against his cheek and pressing his lips against his ear.

“I will never, ever, forget you Charles,” The Edwardian whispered, “how could I? You are the love of my afterlife. I was not aware you were being serious, when you said we would figure this out and… that means the world to me, that you are trying. As you said, we have forever.”

Charles hugged back, brushing a hand through Edwin’s hair, and Edwin shivered as his fingertips traced his scalp. Oh. Oh. What he wouldn’t give to feel more of that.

“Thank you,” Charles mumbled, and Edwin smiled and leaned into the hug for a while. When they finally pulled back, Edwin thought a moment and then shyly, softly, leaned in and pressed a kiss against Charles’ cheek. It was fleeting- too soft, too fast, and Charles took his hand before he could walk away.

“Hey,” Charles mumbled, and pulled him in to peck him on the lips.

[svmmersoldier98]

Kindred souls Part 1

Pics are not mine, belongs to Pinterest. 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗺𝘆 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲. 𝗘𝗻𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵 𝗶𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝘀𝗼 𝘀𝗼𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿 𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗰𝗮𝘀𝗲. 𝗜 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗱𝗿𝗮𝗳𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗮 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗲 𝗻𝗼𝘄.. 𝗟𝗲𝘁 𝗺𝗲 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗶𝘁.

Pairings: Avengers! X F!OC,Bucky Barnes X F!OC Warnings: blood,stalking,past traumas,mention of Red Room and HYDRA,swearing (A lot),violence,flirting, fluff,angst,mentions of depression,ptsd and adhd Summary: OC was part of the Red Room, got taken at a very young age, escaped thanks to Natasha Romanoff and her sister who took down the Red Room. Now her past hunts her. Word count: 1.4K

I ran through the streets, soaked with water and mud. My clothes were dirty and ruined as I ran. The voices grew louder as I ended up in a dark valley where the only way out was up. It was impossible to get out of there before they caught up with me. I was always stubborn and brave, but that courage wasn’t so good in every situation.

When the voices finally caught up with me and the three men came towards me, adrenaline pumped through my veins and my heart raced so fast it was a miracle I was still alive. I noticed the pattern of their movements and tried to dance my way out of the encounter, but as soon as one of them spoke up, it was clear why they were after me. “2013 March 12”- One of them said. The confused look on my face made him even angrier than before. The other two men tried to calm him down, but they did not have much success. He was almost about to lash out at me when he suddenly stopped, seemed to calm down a little and spoke again.

“You killed my mother, my father and my sister. Don’t you remember? You even looked me straight in the eye and I watched you slaughter them in front of me. And yet you acted as if nothing had happened and left.“- My memories came back and I saw in front of me a small child, about 5 years old, crying in front of me. The bodies of his family were lying on the floor, covered in blood. I was the one who had killed them. I had made his life hell. It was already a great burden on my shoulders, how many lives I ruined in my life, in that short time. I was only 15 years old at the time. It was even a miracle that they sent me on a mission. I was the youngest one out there, the others weren't sent out until they were 20.

But Drejkov saw something in me, that I was capable of something impossible. Just like his other former widow. Natasha Romanoff. I thought I wasn't like her, she was strong and I was just trying to be strong. All that weighed on me every day. And I was still so young, how could I ruin so many lives in such a short time? When I answered him, he was on the verge of losing his temper and now his friends were rushing towards me too. I don’t want to hurt any more innocent people, but I don’t want to die either.  “I’m sorry about that. I had no other choice at that moment.“ -I said and one of them pulled out a gun and pointed it at me. I was fast and very well trained. The boy wasn’t used to a gun, he couldn’t handle it.

Maybe that was the cause, or maybe my mind was telling me not to dodge the bullet. That it would be easier to let it kill me after all the pain I'd caused. I'd deserve it. Then the bullet found me, in my chest, close to my heart, but not close enough to kill me. I pressed on the wound as they just ran away. The kid got more trauma, great. I needed immediate medical attention but didn’t know where to go. I mean, I couldn’t go to a normal hospital with a bullet in my chest, they'd ask far too many questions, and the police would probably get involved too. I couldn’t risk that. As I tried to hide in the shadows of the night, I noticed a large billboard on a building across the street. The Avengers. It was a bunch of guys until a familiar face appeared. Natasha. They had a live/work base, which was also mentioned on the billboard.

Well done Avengers, that’s not a way you hide from the enemy. I only had one chance, hopefully she will not ask any questions and just get the bullet out and I am on my way. After a long walk I was exhausted, I had lost a lot of blood, but I was here. The gates weren’t actually closed so I just pushed them aside and walked in. There was a big field around the even bigger building. A bunch of cars and training grounds. Strange, I thought to myself. Not a guard, but a retinal scanner. It's easy to hack into these things. I mean, I had to learn how to hack, I was supposed to be a deadly assassin. It didn’t take me long to do it, the screen was green and the doors were open. I walked in, stumbled to the elevator, read the signs and pressed the button that would take me to the “living area”. Where I would find Natasha, I assumed.

The elevator opened with a ding and I stepped out... so many people.. "So, um, hello." -I said, a little unsure of the situation. I looked around the room, everyone was staring at me. I was practically soaked from the rain. Water dripped off my clothes onto the floor, forming a small pool underneath me as I stood in front of the elevator. "Who are you?" - one of them asked. A tall, blond-haired, muscular man in a black T-shirt that clung perfectly to his body and gray sweatpants. He looked good, and he looked familiar. "Uh... my name is Ren. And I came here to talk to Natasha." -I said, my voice low as I was a little intimidated by all the people. "That's your first question, Rogers? Well, mine is, how the hell did you get in here? I built the security system myself!" -He was a few inch shorter, had black hair and sported a beard and mustache. "Then you must be Tony Stark." - I said, looking at the man in question. "It wasn't my intention to hack into your system. I just didn't know where to go." -I muttered quietly, waving my fingers around.

Once again, I felt like I did before... "Alright then. Why do you want to see her?" -Asked the blonde, who was obviously Rogers. "She's the reason I was able to escape. And the only person I remember." -My voice shook a little, but I continued. "Besides, I was attacked before I got here. Some people found me and claimed I killed their parents. Which is probably what happened. It's still a little of a blur to remember all this." -I said, heaving a sigh as I stared at the ground beneath me. I didn't tell them about my wound, which was bleeding at the moment. After all, I had been shot. My clothes were already wet, so I didn't think it would show. "You're bleeding," one of them said. A deep, hoarse voice. I felt a shiver run down my spine at that. "No, I'm not," I said quickly. Perhaps too quickly. "Yes, you're bleeding. I can smell it. And it's dripping from your clothes." -That deep voice again. Then a man appeared. He had a metal arm.

I tilted my head slightly to the side as I looked at the man in front of me. "You're the Winter Soldier. He mentioned you a few times. You were supposed to train us, but then you disappeared from HYDRA... " I said, still looking at him from head to toe. He looked different from what Dreykov had shown us. He still had long hair and that pain in his eyes, but something was different. "Who?" he asked simply, but his tone was demanding. "Dreykov. My so-called father. Or whatever he was." -I answered him. Then I heard a soft, low sigh of surprise in the room. "You were in the Red Room?" -a female voice. She sounded scared, even surprised. "Yes, I was. I escaped two years ago when you and your sister blew up that hellhole." - my voice went quiet again. I had never talked about it before. I don't know why I did now. I shifted my weight to my other leg and hissed at the sudden pain I felt in my chest. The bullet. It dripped even more and now soaking my shirt. Now they definitely see it. The tall blonde gasped and quickly rushed over to me, catching me as I nearly collapsed. "We can ask her more questions once the wound of hers are taken care of" he said in an imperious tone. It seemed like he was the boss here, everyone listened to him. I was taken into a white, bright room. Then everything went dark.  

[erogenousmind]

Storytelling

There is something so enjoyable about narrating to you exactly what I am going to do. About detailing those fantasies you have shared back to you, knowing how easily they can become reality. Walking you through it step by step, letting you know how it is going to feel, how you are going to respond. And letting the story guide you exactly where I want you to be.

Because in that story, you can be wherever and whatever we want you to be in your journey. You can be so perfectly trained, responding to suggestions and triggers automatically and without thought. Your conditioning and my control so complete that your thoughts melt away with a word. You drop deep into trance, a mantra on your lips, mindlessly repeating what you are told because I have commanded it. Your own will can vanish in the face of the pure pleasure you get from every act of obedience. And you can imagine what that can feel like. What it will feel like. When you are so totally possessed.

Or maybe you can still be a neophyte as you discover what you mind is capable of. Unsure what is happening or how you will respond. Reaching out to me with your words and with your trust as you sink down into the unknown. Experiencing the joy of trying new things. The giddiness of being playful with trance. Staring in awe as your body responds to suggestions. The happy frustration as your thoughts refuse to behave how they are told. How memories can slip away. How you can be frozen or puppeted by mere words. And you imagine that wide-eyed wonder. The butterflies of finally getting to live what had once only been a dream.

Or maybe you could imagine something in the middle. Maybe you can experience the best of both worlds. Because that is one of the amazing things about being able to surrender control of yourself in such a deep way. Your memories, your thoughts, your feelings can all become so malleable under my direction. So maybe part of you doesn't need to realize how deeply brainwashed you have become. Your mind can accept the story it is told. Despite the hours of conditioning. The suggestions, the triggers, the mantras. The way we have watched your mind melt away time and time again until my voice commands your obedience and my words replace your thoughts. Despite it all, you can still believe that you are in control, that your mind is your own. That you couldn't be taken so deep into hypnosis that you would lose all independence.

And then slowly, little by little, I can demonstrate it to you. At first, you don't even realize you are being commanded. You only notice the responses of your body, unsure what is causing them. The flush you feel in your cheeks, your inability to sit still. And then you hands moving with purpose, guided by a mind that is not yours, obeying commands you do not hear. And you wonder how it can be that you have lost control. And then you are turned to me. To feel the full force of my power over you. Helplessly lost in my eyes. Staring deeply and feeling your thoughts slip away. New thoughts are forming in that empty space now. Parts of you that were hidden away emerge. Words fill your head that are not your own, but that you have repeated many times.

You feel that familiar need, though you have been made to forget just how familiar it is. You need to let go. You need to give in. Resistance is so hard. It's so much easier to drop. To sink. You know how good it feels, even if you don't remember why. You feel something building. A crescendo in your mind as the intensity of my gaze sends you deeper. And then there is a word. A gesture. A trigger so deeply embedded into you, so much a part of you, that you respond without even fully understanding what it was. What was left of your facade of control fades away.

There is only deep, mindless, obedience.

And in that wonderful place, we create the stories I will tell you. You experience those fantasies you share. The ones placed deep in your mind. You live those fantasies.

So the next time I tell you a story, you can remember exactly how it feels.

[team-cap-for-the-win]

Obviously as you stated the MCU is an adaptation where the characters are different and it's completely fine to ship stucky there (and it's not ok to try to shame them the way op of the screenshot did).

That said, however, I don't blame comic fans for being TIRED. Yes, the purism goes both ways, but there are many mcu stucky fans that take 616 panels out of context (yes, even pre-retcon, because they have no clue what they're talking about) and use them as "evidence" for the basis of stucky as a whole. And that's how you end up with them saying stuff like "omg they are so in love in the comics" and the context is 20+ years old Steve grieving his 13 year old pseudo son before the Winter Soldier storyline was ever written.

There is also the issue of the mcu synergy. Sure, the movies really helped the comics' popularity, but the rippling effects they have on 616 are annoying to say the least. One of those things was the relationship between Steve and Bucky, which they kind of tried to match closer to the mcu version (you cannot tell me SoL wasn't pandering to mcu fans). Other examples would be in Gwenpool strikes back, where she straight up says "you two look good together, you should wrestle" and a panel in Squirrel Girl that the writer (or artist, I can't remember) described as "stumbling into a stucky coffeeshop au". And it's annoying as hell.

But of course there is more, like the recent Thunderbolts line up closely matching the upcoming mcu movie, and Sam's new comic being all about Red Hulk, also to match his upcoming movie. Do you see the issue here? And it's not just the CA side of things (but it's the one I'm most familiar with). So I don't blame comics fans for being tired of the mcu fans barging into the comics sphere just to boost their ship. Still they shouldn't harass the mcu stucky shippers or anything, but to me it's valid to call them out when they try to bring that into 616, because again, it's just weird.

The other day I saw another post complaining about how twitter is bullying the stuckies right now but they tried to defend their stance on 616 by talking about the age of consent and "16 is legal" so. I think as soon as you start mentioning THAT, you immediately lose the argument.

TLDR; it's not ok to harass and shame mcu stuckies but they should do their research if they want to talk about the comics and it's valid to criticise them when they get weird about it.

This post I saw is obviously insane. No, MCU Stucky fans are not shipping pedophilic sudo-incest; these two Bucky Barnes’s are just different characters. All of this is obvious, and there is not much of a point in dunking on it. But I do think it really exemplifies something I’ve noticed in the Marvel fan spaces that has been bothering me.

Both comic purists and movie purists seem so miserable, and I can not believe how many of them there are. The whole fanbase is just crawling with people who seem to be willfully choosing to misunderstand the idea of adaptation in a genre entirely built off adaptation. Even within comics themselves, every character has been reimagined and retconned and stretched to fill a thousand different shapes; the ‘definitive’ version of a character for you truly just comes down to personal taste and exposure. So people’s whole hearted dedication to acting like there favorite version is the only version anyone could possibly except and changing that vision is a immoral betrayal of the character is insane.

I haven’t been here that long, but Ive already learned that the only option is to go with the flow. I don’t know how you purists manage, because living like this sounds stressful.

[deoidesign]

Quick re-do of a 4 year old piece