#understandable but i was also disappointed

[arcanetrivia]

[Image description: "Rules for Dating My Son", with the word "alligator" and some other phrases pasted over the original text in some spots. The final text reads:

RULES FOR DATING MY ALLIGATOR

He is not your alligator.

If you show up to my house looking like a stripper, I will high five my alligator.

If I see any "sexts" on his phone, I will also high five my alligator.

Understand that if I don't like you, I will probably not let you hang out around my alligator.

Understand that I can make you be nice to my alligator.

He's a alligator. Unless you have a alligator, your opinion is probably coming from a place of ignorance.

You are not in charge of him and it is not up to you to change him. Take him for who he is, aka an alligator.

He is a alligator. I taught him that. You better act like a lady and be careful around him because he's a wild animal and has poor impulse control.

I know how to avoid getting bit by an alligator.

If you are rude to my alligator and he decides to bite you on your finger, I will be disappointed in him, but also at the same time I'll be disappointed in you for being rude.

/end description]

This is the first funny thing I’ve ever seen on Facebook in my entire life

[starshipsofstarlord]

divine like aged wine | daryl dixon

summary. daryl begins to feel like you will get bored of him sooner or later as he is older than you, and starting to show his age. you show him just how much that doesn’t matter, and that despite the grey hairs and looming wrinkles, that you still love him (6.2k)

warnings. smut, oral sex (m receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, praise, slight hair pulling, insecure!daryl, older!daryl + younger!reader (reader is mid 30s, daryl is mid 50s), age gap relationship, mentions of death, angst, fluff

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

The silhouette that Daryl saw in the mirror was a different man than who he had once been, he was no longer the young tracker that he was at the beginning of the outbreak. He’d aged, and there were clear staples in his appearance that made that evident. His hair was waved with its grown out length, and he carried the definition of crows feet around his eyes; his eyes that had witnessed so much misery, that had cried when he had mourned those lost.

He was bulkier, his arms held memorised muscle from his tactical efforts of taking down walkers and fighting the bad men and disastrous women that wished to cause pain in order to earn themselves power through the transpiring impact of fear. But that weight that rested either side of his torso had also brought additional huskiness to his stomach, he was no longer slender and lean like he had been when he had met you, he was a unit of the world’s making, and he was losing his appetite from looking at himself.

It would be a sin to deny the prize of food, he was aware of that, considering that in the past tense he had to survive days without consuming a meal, and you were preparing the finest dining that you could effectively make in the dim reality of the apocalypse. Years had gone by and he’d never once taken in his appearance so sullenly, but the chaos had calmed for the moment, and his thoughts were entangling in his insecure peripheral. Perhaps he could eat less, he thought to himself, understanding that there were men in better shape than him whom would risk their life to be sat at the dining table by your side.

Daryl squinted his eyes at the version of him that appeared in the bathroom mirror, the act bringing more attentive focus to the scar that ran down the left side of his face. It was on the right in the crafted glass which opposed the realistic truth, and he raised his hand to slant his fingertips against the damaged flesh. It was best for him not to turn, he was focally aware of the scars which were imbedded with cruel love upon his back’s damaged canvas. If he told himself that he was not troubled goods, he’d be lying to himself, he was imposed with the tragically acclaimed boulder of daunting tragedy casting a bland and aging shadow across his entire being.

The towel hung lowly on his wide hips, shielding the appendage that fuelled his testosterone from his own belittling view. He didn’t want to change into his everyday clothing, he’d have to discard the material that concealed half of his body and see another mound of flaws that made his heart heavier. He was lost in the time frame in which he had been discriminating his body, it had felt as though everything had been put on pause around him. But that was idly not the certified case, the soft approaching footfalls met with his ears before the door creaked to be ajar, and Daryl whipped around on the intrusion.

It was the first time that he in fact minded being interrupted following a shower by you, he’d never once flinched at your presence, and that made a light frown appear on your surprised complexion. He had been too cooped up in picking apart all the things that he did not like about his form that he had almost forgotten that you had expected him to return to you in the kitchen, and he felt surreally guilty that you had walked in on him during such a disappointing moment. “Is everything alright Daryl?” Your tone made it clear that you were concerned, and that emotion was only emphasised when he drew his gaze to the floor.

As he did so he realised that even his feet had scuffs and blisters on them, and he felt repulsed. He was attuned with the morals that he followed, but he hated the capsule of flesh that he was trapped in whilst he routinely kept somehow striving onwards. Before there had hardly been a moment where he could ponder on all the things that he despised of himself, but now there was, he realised that he had a dislike towards everything that his body had grown into. “‘m fine.” His words were not convincing, Daryl did not give you the chance however to get a conforming answer, he strode out of the bathroom, gripping his towel around himself with tight fingers as he fled from your view.

You stood there in your lonely and confusedly adjourned suffering, misunderstanding the cold attitude you had seemingly earned. All you had clambered the stairs to find Daryl was so that you could inform him that supper was ready, but he had slunk away into your bedroom, taking up the efforts of closing said door behind his retreat. Your arms wrapped around yourself as you stared into the mirror, your saddened reflection gazing tiredly at you, feeling fruitless in your attempts to make the man that you loved happy. Maybe he had fallen out of love with you, you thought with solemn afflictions, knowing that if he had it would still be impossible to hate him.

The behaviour that Daryl was displaying was strange, and you felt as though you were the root for the cause, especially since he had been aiming his attention in any direction but you. With a shaky sigh you ran your hands through your hair, tidying up the frizzed strands that had moved on their own accord from the heat of the stove. Spite boiled up inside of you as you saw your first mere strand of grey, however you held it in, shaking your head softly as you realised that there were bigger problems in the current world than your own appearance. You were in your mid thirties, making you roughly twenty years more youthful than your lover.

It had never been a problem before, your age that was, it had barely come up in conversation. With a surrender towards Daryl wishing to be left alone, you trudged back down the stairs, eating your meal by yourself and enclosing the portion that you had spared for him in a tupperware container, assuming that he would venture downstairs to eat it later. But later never came, the house remained indignantly silent and still throughout the falling dusk, and you twiddled your fingers with nerves. He needed some time to mull whatever was racketing through his brain over, and you wanted to give that to him, and so you pulled a blanket onto the couch, deciding that was where you were to lay your head tonight.

Dog curled up on your midsection, and you ran a numb hand along his back, ruffing up the fur and then smoothing it down. He was nuzzled atop of you, his chin curled in the crook of your neck, gifting you with more warmth than the blanket with. The company of the loyal canine made you feel a tad better from the distantness that Daryl had treated you with, your brain mulled over the situation as you drifted out of consciousness, feeling dread for the approaching morning. You would discover the rouse that was clouding Daryl's brain, and aid him in fixing whatever was broken within it. As you closed your eyes and drifted off, you were oblivious to Daryl's presence descending down the stairs.

The bowman watched your peaceful slumber without disturbing you, his weapon of standard choice draped over his shoulder with its leather strap. He felt guilty leaving the house in the night when you were asleep, but he found solace in clearing his head through the art of hunting. To be outside the walls was something that he had always favoured, and whilst this was his home and so were you, he was aware that he was in dire need to screw his head on straight. It wasn’t fair for him to take his toll of insecurity out on you, and guilt bubbled within him from his sudden exit from the bathroom previously.

He was now draped in his outdoor wear, the same damming boots slung on his feet that had given him those gnarly blisters. There was no time for rest, he thought solemnly, it would only enforce the fact that he was growing older in your mind, and that wasn’t how he wanted you to picture him. He wanted to be the lean, protective redneck that he once was, the one that you had met during the outbreak. There was a dwindling twine of sadness that harboured within him, there was no situation where he could go back into the far past, he’d been too preoccupied with searching for a future in which you would all survive that he hardly had a chance to glance backwards.

But now the calm of the storm had set, he had that opportunity, and he resented the journey that had drifted him into the arms of safety. Your arms would be the angelic wings that would console him, but admitting his insecurities would only damage the exterior that he had built up throughout the difficult years. His age was the threat that grabbed with ferocity at his throat, with each passing 365 days his body was now growing weaker, slowing down only had the capability of enforcing the democratic, virtuous stance of becoming a senior citizen.

He wished to bend down and press a featherlight kiss to the brim of your forehead before he departed, though he would be swindled with repenting guilt if he were to wake you, and so he plodded by his lonesome out the front door, Dog watching his fleeing footsteps with one eye open. The weight that pressed infinitely down onto his shoulders did not lessen as he stalked away, his eyes were withdrawn from anything that he could fixate on, he was relevantly seeking out a distraction in his mind. There was a subdued ache in his knee, and he had gotten used to the afflicting discomfort despite it making him feel eons older. He assured that the door closed with nothing more than the click of the flattened hinge, and Dog's ears pricked up from the sound, though he remained across your torso.

The sonnet of chorusing crickets rattled their legs against their emerald wings outdoors, the symphonised ruckus leading you to peel your eyes open. It was still fairly early in the morn, the dawning sunbeams casting shapes and dusty shadows across the wooden floorboards. Dog remained atop of you, groaning with a tiresome tone as you shuffled beneath him, removing yourself from the horizontal position that you had slept in so that you could simply be seated on the aged couch. You felt disdained, there was an enveloping silence in the house, and as you drifted your gaze over to the front door, you could only release a defeated sigh. Whilst the door remained in its closed state, the scarred boots that fit Daryl's feet and his companioning crossbow had vanished from their placements.

Daryl had left. Left you and your home to find the flavour of solace elsewhere, and you were conveyed with regretful sadness; you should have assured him that he was able to open up to you, followed him earnestly until you were assured that he was fine. The youngest Dixon was the man that you had heartedly fallen for, and whilst the deterrences that he had faced had impacted him, he was still the one that you loved. With shaky hands you brushed your knuckles under your eyes, refraining any tearful emotion from sloping down your face in the form of beaded salt. There was something the matter, and it was upon you in dutiful position to uncover what it was.

You remained seated, Dog beside you as you waited and waited. However your head instantaneously whipped to the side as you heard the door moan to be ajar, and watched as Daryl entered your home with the look of failure written in irritated scripture on his face. He’d been out hunting, it was clear from his attire and stance, however there was no game strung to his belt loops, it was starved from any prey. Daryl dared not glance at you, despite how besotted with you he was - he just wasn’t good enough, those words repeatedly whirled in his brain like a thorn stuck in his side. This time though, you were not going to let the silence create a divided space between the both of you, and so you stood, and crossed the entry way into the living space. Dog retreated from his seating, first going over to greet Daryl before excusing himself, no doubt going to rest on your bed in peace.

“Talk.” The command was missing the pressure that the word often enforced by it, instead your tone was as light as a feather, it brushed across his ears in a gentle caress that tickled his senses, and you hoped that it did not provoke his problem once more. You reached out with your palm, holding his jaw with sweet exasperation as you angled his irises to connect the dots with your own. “Whatever the matter is D, communicate it with me. I’m here to listen, it’s give and take in this relationship, so don’t, for the love of god, do not shut me out.” He wasn’t going to back away this time, the sigh that he released with fruitless despair stated as much. Even though he was evading direct eye contact, he licked his dry lips as he began to speak, his sentence breaking your heart into helpless smithereens.

“I’m gettin’ old, sunshine, an’ one of these days, you’re gonna get bored of me.” There was a somber cast across his blue paned irises, derived from his prevailing insecurities that gripped him suffocatingly tight. “An’ that’s alrigh’ if yer do, I get it. Jus’ wanna be with ya fer as long as I can.” The rolling pebble of emotion drifted down his waterline, despite the irony of him leaving to hunt. Perhaps it was his sorrowful minded thinking of lessening the blow on himself of the departure that would inhibit him from losing you, though his brain’s protective coping mechanisms were righteously silly, as you had not once had the intention of ever abandoning Daryl, and you never would.

“We’re all aging honey,” you proclaimed, copiously understanding that the toll in which your partner was experiencing were enhanced due to him being your elder age wise. But since the beginning of the outbreak, none of you were as youthful as you had began your walker killing journey on, and since being induced with every inkling of distasteful grievances that outlined your persons, you certainly all appeared older than your first scuff of survival. “And that is definitely not a flaw; we’ve lived through years of shit that has been thrown out of blue at us, and we are the ones who have lived through it. You are still Daryl Dixon, the man that I love and will always love. Your age does not define what you mean to me, and it never will. I have fought my ass off to remain beside you, and there is nobody, nobody else that I would rather have settled down with. We aren’t young any more, and there’s nothing wrong with that, we’ve grown older together, and I intend to grow even older with you until our last days.”

Daryl was possessed by speechlessness, his tongue felt like it was trapped by the sharp indent of a pin that held it to the bottom of his mouth, he was strongly relieved that was your point of your view on his mental qualms, though there were still some sirens springing a constant, nightmarish lullaby in his head. “Bu’-“ He felt as though his insistent problems may irritate you after your consoling speech, and he did not want to rouse the need for your forgiveness in the air. But he could not in-debt himself with remaining quiet now, not since he had opened his worrisome rambling heart up to you. “You still attracted ta me though? I’ve got all those ol’ scars, an’ I’ve got wrinkles now, an’ I ain’t as fast on my feet as I used ta be.”

“Daryl, honey.” You braced your hands on the same biceps that were often once flaunted by his torn sleeveless flannels, holding him steady as you leant your face closer, the tips of your noses tapping against each other. “None of that makes you any less beautiful to me, it shows that you have survived an eerily long time, and I cherish anything that you see as a flaw in yourself. Because to me, you don’t have any flaws, sure sometimes there’s decisions you make that I don’t agree with, but we all do things in the spur of the moment. And in no moment will I up and leave you for a singular reason, as there is nothing that you could do or have upon your flesh that could ease everything that I feel toward you.” You words were viper sharp with passion, and in the midst of your sentimental wording, your bodies had drawn against one another, in the proximity that you never took advantage of. Just being close to Daryl was a gift, there was a whim of it being the last time, and so you made sure that you made the most of it.

“I love you woman, more than I ever thought I could.” He traced the outline of your form with comforted serenity, his hands picked your own in the clasp of his unshackled wrists, as his thumbs stroked across the back of them. “An’ there ain’ nothin’ that could stop me from worshippin’ ya. Yer sweeter than those nasty berries that you and Maggie planted, an’ more peaceful than watching the river brush over itself.” His face lowered, as he nudged the hair out of your adoration filled expression, kissing you with vigorous need. You participated with as much necessity, as you breathed heavily through your nose for oxygen access. Your body was endorsed by the coursing adrenaline that travelled within your veins, your heart was palpitating uncontrollably in your chest from the premise of a sexual endeavour with the only man in the world that you were so enamoured with.

Releasing his hands, you gripped his locks, tugging at the rooted strands as Daryl cupped your waist with sensual desire. Your mouths were copiously in sync, moulded together in blissful animosity, as you devoured every inch of controllable humanity that rested in your skeletal bodies. He moaned into your mouth as you gave one last defying tug to the brunette strands attached to his scalp, before your fingers inadvertently danced with poisoned temptation upon the metal buckle of his belt. You laughed lightly as you gave yourselves a momentous breath from locking lips, as you unshackled the entrapment that encircled his waist, allowing the combination of metal and leather to fall to the ground. “Boots off too?” You enquired, and Daryl smiled, loving how well you knew him, the blisters were excruciating although he had masked the biting pain whilst you were orally entangled in arousing physicality.

“Yeah.” He smiled, his cheekbones becoming brightly prominent during the emphasis of his lips; with you he felt truly happy, more so now that he knew that you accepted him with age riddling his entirety. “Take ‘em off sunshine.” His tone was as smooth as a block of farmhouse butter, and you were attuned to the fact that he was not referring to his tattered footwear. With the tasking tips of your fingertips, you drew down the teeth of his zipper on the jeans that he wore, descending the metal partition lower until the top of his trailed abdomen was exposed, and the tough denim became looser around his waist. The coil of starving lust swirled around in your stomach as you shimmied the hugging fabric lower until his precum ebbed length sprung up from its aroused state. He needed this, and you, and whilst he often had the preference of being the giver in these situations, he was captivated with the notion of being the centre of your devoted attention.

Daryl always looked out for others, it was a loyal tendency that he hadn’t ever relinquished, and he felt proud with you being the focal point of his priorities, though it was admittedly nice for him to feel cherished by your body and mind. His hips surprisedly jolted as you wrapped your hand around the thick girth of his cock, the contact causing an array of hormones to shoot out from the core of his apocalyptic designed being. Air rasped in puffs inwards and outwards from his mouth as you stroked him, your motions being made up from slow and teasing intentions. You wanted him to feel like he was about to burst, he had to feel alive, which was the most important part of surviving as if there was no other time to breathe a last breath. The tip of his cock was a deep hue of pink like a well gardened rose petal, precum leaking from the slit at the very top.

Daryl’s arousal rarely was as apparently throbbing in the visual aspect department in comparison to the present; his length would usually already been sheathed within one of your pleasurable spots, such as your mouth or cunt. Patience was not a virtue to either one of you, however you wished to admire every inch of his ridged flesh, as its weight was balanced in perfect disposition upon your palm. The desire to taste his supple flesh was crawling down your spine in a stoking manner, causing bumps of paralleled anticipation to outline the shape of your vulnerable human skin. You were salivating, the moisture wafted around your tongue as you leant closer to Daryl’s shaft, the swelling waiting time lessening as you opened your mouth to take his length within its oral capacity.

“F-fuck.” His accented whisper was strewn ruggedly out from his lips as he bit stubbornly at his bottom one from the sensations that raptured his soul that had felt weakened by the clouding insecurities that bereaved any whisper of judgment into a contorted flaw which made him significantly lesser than he had once been. The feeling of your supple lips gliding down his length and towards the base of his wide cock made his mind become clouded from the affects of euphoria, it was a paradise of escape from the qualms that he often faced, and he was physically too weak to push your head away from his most personal area of his form. The large tip finally reached the back of your throat, and you swallowed down the instinct to gag, instead forcing your body’s primal limitations to continue applying pleasure to the man that you so wholly adored.

This was to be about him, and you found it to be your own duty to ensure it remained so, stretching your tongue out from beneath the heavenly weight of his cock to stroke farther down the parts of his shaft that you couldn’t quite accommodate to fit into your mouth. Your cheeks ached in a delightful way as your lips were stretched around his width, and you had to focus your breathing through your nostrils as there was no route for airflow to make passage through your mouthful of him. In a gentle notion, one of your hands found purchase around his balls, lightly stroking the skin to grant the man that you called your own more pleasure.

Sweat framed his brow, glistening beneath the dim lighting as it trickled upon his temples, his teeth gnawing frustratedly upon his bottom lip, peeling at the blood flushed flesh. This was the solace he needed, not the sexual advances of your warm, wet mouth, though he wasn’t to to complain about your heavenly lips, but you in your entirety, accepting and loving him as the same. It had riddled him with an anxiety that had rattled his bones throughout thinking that he was naught enough, contorting his mindset into one of wallowing in silence and submission that he never would be.

He was attained to wearing his flaws unto his sleeve, although you had finally brought silence to the insistent pacing of his mind. And though his body was tensed, it was for an alternative reason, as he fought off the inexplicable ending that his body would succumb to with a physical release. The motive to vanquish all tension from his body was upon him, barrelling through his veins in strokes of pleasure as your tongue danced over his sensitive flesh, but he relented, taking mouthfuls of air as he staved off from surrendering to emptying his seed into your mouth.

You were intoxicated by the careless sonnets that ripped out from his chest, they were almost that of a beast than a man. He was becoming feral, you could feel as much as his sack tightened, ready to spend all that lay within. But surprise chortled you as Daryl leant decisively backwards, pushing your head away from his nethers attentively, grasping lovingly at the line of your jaw. “Somethin’ wrong, honey?” You spoke now that your mouth was vacant of his length, ogling up at him with eyes that adored to take in his appearance, not only in moments like this.

Everything felt better now that you had consoled him with the assurance that you had no intentions of abandoning him in the now nor future, and he wanted to repay your kindness with his own actions, that too would bring him a simple man’s sin of gluttonous pleasure. He lightly pulled you up by your arms, bringing you closer to his height, his lips flush from the rotation of blood in his body that you had caused. “Nah.” Daryl answered, eyes trailing across each curve that shaped your figure with his heart practically in his throat. “Not a single thing, jus’ need ta be inside ya sunshine.”

It would be the most secure embrace that would ground him to his very core, a haven from all the shit that surrounded the both of you. Times like this reminded Daryl that the difference in age between the both of you in fact was not crucial, though sometimes it did numb his mind with it as a distraction. He pulled you to him, laying you delicately on the couch as though you may break, because you were fragile, but not in the literal sense he knew. There was nothing in the world that he cherished more than you, you were his slice of peace in the fucked up reality that you both endured, and he would be damned if he cracked any mental or physical attribute that your soul attained.

You resumed your battle of tongues, playfully biting his bottom lip that stirred an animosity within him, driving him forwards to clamber over your body, pressing himself closely to you, but it was still not close enough. His hands slithered downwards, pulling with uncoordinated vigour at your pants, appreciating the aid you granted him with removing them. He was consumed by his supple lust, a man hungered for the need to be connected with the woman who he loved. All that remained was your panties that concealed you from him, and he had little patience to toy with them.

And so he tore them from your hips, the cotton splitting in two from his lack of restraint, a half in each hand which he discarded on the floor, having peeled away all of the layers that kept your sex hidden from his gaze and touch. His digits could not resist in feeling the slick that had gathered upon your core, created from the image of him lost in his pleasure. It astounded him that your attraction to him could make you so drenched, practically lathered in a river of lust; even if he was aging you found him to be as beautiful as a deity, weathered by survival but still regarded among the gods. Though he didn’t see it, and you did, there was no other man remaining in the world that was like him, he was a perished breed of human that remained on the earth. A survivor, hardened by time but continually fighting for the beliefs that formed layers around his soul.

“Stop teasing Daryl. I thought you needed to be inside me.” His previous words spat desperately from your tongue, as you regarded him with an impatience to feel all of him. It was merely torturous waiting to feel every inch of him within your cunt, even as he adjusted himself, taking a grasp of his shaft and angling it to slide down to your entrance that was yearning to be stretched open by his length. He sung a groan out as he felt how much your body desired him against the tip of his cock, he wanted to bury himself within your heavenly warmth and become doused in the comfort that the tightness of you wrapped around him allowed him to surrender to.

His movement was slow yet backboned with intent as he pushed into you, breathing out a strung out breath that had built in his chest for far too long. He had felt inflicted by the consciousness of his wilting appearance the last handful of times that you had made love together, and he had hidden that voice. It had been imprisoned in the corners of his mind, and he had tried with determination to push it away but it had not yielded. But all he had required to dull the commenting thoughts that digressed his own body was you to pour your adoration onto him despite the flaws that he resented. “Fuuuuck.”

The tone of his voice was gravelly, stripped down by the raw emotion that he felt. Your nails imbedded themselves into his shoulder blades, sketching crescent moons into his clothed flesh as your head sank deeper into the seating of the couch. A moan was strangled out from your throat from the pleasure that sparked in your midsection as he pushed deeper into you, until he was filling you with his entirety. “You feel so- fuck, fucking good baby.” The praise that you bestowed upon Daryl lit him up like a flame, a depraved hunger danced behind his eyes like burning embers. From your words, he leaned back, his hands on either side of your head and pulled back, only to push straight back into your pussy, bringing both of you ample pleasure.

There was nothing that could compare to being so close to the man that raked his hips to pivot against your own, his pace building as the explosions of ecstasy transcended between your bodies like a cycled blood transfusion. Not a single thing. Each movement was an act of pristine intimacy, a link that blessed your vessels with the passion of having the ability to be so vividly close to one another. “So do you s-sunshine.” Daryl hissed out, having forgone thinking about a singular qualm that had blinded his perception of how lucky he was in this reality. He had survived this far, and not only that, but you had too, giving you the chance of a life together throughout the maelstrom like carnage that had changed the entire planet for eternity.

He felt his tongue become drowned by the gruff noises that it permitted to leave him, responding to each whimper and keen and moan that released from your parted, panting lips. His brow bone was tense with a frown put together by focus, as he stared down at your face, pride swelling in his chest as he had the knowledge that it was him giving you rolling waves of pleasure to spin uncontrollably throughout your veins. Your arousal coated him, making it far more easier to slide in and out of your succulent walls, they parted for him each time from the accustomed entry that you always granted him. He knew that he never had to worry about another man being in his position, he couldn’t imagine it, and nor could you from the blissful contortion that rested heavily and without care on your features.

“Getting close Dar.” The information was heaved out from puffs of air, your lips mindlessly moving even when words were not falling from them. Daryl too could feel the oncoming tide of his own release, it crept up on him like a hunting predator, staving off the kill until the prime opportunity presented itself. There was plenty of things that he was still not certain of in this world, but one that he was sure of was that he was going to ensure that you came first - as he always did. Daryl’s body continued to move, spinning the room out of focus for your eyes as he continued his motions, staggering his pace just a little, but not too much so that the looming of your high would not collapse and crumble.

Your legs bound themselves strictly around his waist, your teeth clenching as spots swayed in your vision, peppering the sight of the man fucking you with pixels of black and grey. He had you where he wanted you, topping over the edge of your orgasm as it transpired around you like an aura. He thought selfishly that he was pleased that no other soul had witnessed you appear so distracted, you were always on guard when out of the confines of your home, aware that the unexpected could traipse upon you at any second that it desired. “You getting there?” Too fucked out to form full sentences, you tangled your hands in his hair, and that seemed to pull the trigger within him.

The sound of your name escaped Daryl’s lips as he buried his head into the safety of your throat, spreading little kisses against your skin as his tension dissolved. Ropes of his seed spilled within you, filling your core as he remained inside, small, almost inaudible whimpers leaving him. You pressed your lips to the crown of his head as you brought your arms around him, cocooning him in the afterglow that you shared. He remained there for minutes longer, composing himself before he removed himself from your cunt, falling beside you on the couch that was too small for most, but for the both of you was as cozy as it could get. “Thank you sunshine.” Daryl murmured as he brought you closer to be resting against his body, and you stifled a chuckle at the doziness that had befallen him

“You don’t have to thank me for sex.” Your eyes rolled, but the archer shook his head of brown locks, his hand angling around you to raise your face to meet your his own, your lips meeting in a delicately languid kiss. His fingertips traced the line of your jaw, his heart swimming with leaps of love for you and only you. Daryl was a good man, he knew that he tried his best to be, however he was delirious with how you saw him. Not everyone would find him to be a diamond in a pile of cracked rocks, but here you were, always caressing his scars with care, and reminding him that he was allowed to be loved. A long, long time ago he wouldn’t have believed that he would have someone that stood by him through everything, let alone the silent battles ongoing in his mind. You had your own opinions, and you depicted them outright, always giving him time to himself when it was required, and as soon as there was a place to console him, putting yourself in it.

“Not fer tha’, for everythin’.” He thought of his life with you, and he could not have been more appreciative of it. It was never going to be perfect, you were both humans fighting to live in a world that wished to eradicate your species, but there were moments to be cherished when you were not trying to protect yourselves. Daryl wanted to kick himself for even attempting to protect himself from; it was foolish on his part, but you always managed to understand his mindset. That was one of the very many reasons as to why he loved you, and he could not voice it enough as he remained curled up with you, basking in the mortal emoting of the love that you held dearly for one another. He was aging, and he had hated it, but he despised it far less now that you had brought a light that only you could give to the natural process that was weaving through each of you, reminding him of the normality of it.

[corroded-hellfire]

By the Book - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish story

Summary: Eddie takes your daughter on a trip to the bookstore.

Note: This came about because @munson-blurbs and I were in a bookstore and heard a mom call for her daughter Eliza 🥺

Words: 1.2k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Ooh, what about this one?”

Eliza stacks an eighth book on top of the pile she’s amassed on the low table set in the middle of the children’s section. 

Eddie releases a small huff of laughter from his place on the tiny giraffe chair across from his daughter. He loves that Eliza wants to buy books for her younger siblings, but, in true Munson fashion, she’s going a bit overboard.

“We already have one about ducks, don’t we?” Eddie asks.

“They are geese,” the almost-kindergartener tells him. “I like this one with the superhero.”

“I could read that to them while they wear the Superman and Wonder Woman pajamas that Luke bought them,” Eddie says. 

“Yeah!” She happily slides that book closer to her father. “Can I get a book?”

“Sure thing, sweet pea. But we’re not going to be able to get all of these for the babies. They’re so little and there’s plenty of time to get them more books.”

Eliza sighs in disappointment, the exhale so strong that it blows some curls off her forehead. 

“Okay,” she reluctantly replies. “But these.”

She pushes two copies of Corduroy in his direction. One side of Eddie’s mouth quirks up in a smile; he remembers that as one of the few books in his room as a young boy. 

“That’s a good book,” Eddie says, picking up one of the books. “But why do we need two?”

The withering look Eliza gives him makes him wonder if he’s the one whose brain hasn’t fully developed yet, not hers. She’s a very convincing almost-four-year-old.

“You can’t buy for one baby and not other!”

Eddie chuckles softly, but kindly.

“Lize, they don’t each need a book,” he explains. “I can’t read two books at the same time, but they can both listen to one at the same time.”

“Oh.” Eliza plops down in the elephant chair next to her. She purses her lips, and Eddie tilts his head to the side in question.

“What’s up?”

Big brown eyes meet his own and Eddie sees a rare flash of timidity go across her face. She looks down at the table and the pad of her forefinger traces invisible patterns. The hesitation makes Eddie furrow his brow—he can’t remember the last time Eliza didn’t speak her mind.

“How do I be a big sister?” Her voice is soft, unsure. 

“Oh,” Eddie says in surprise. That’s not something he was expecting. His heart reaches out to his daughter, crestfallen that this has been a thought that’s been growing inside of her. “Liza, you’re already a wonderful big sister.”

“But I dunno stuff. How am I gonna hold two babies?”

“Ah,” Eddie hums. He nods in head in understanding, offering her a gentle smile. “That’s confusing, huh? How to cuddle both babies at the same time? What do the babies share and what do they have their own of? What to do when they both cry?”

“Uh huh.”

“Wanna know a secret?”

Eliza looks up and bobs her head up and down.

“Sometimes I don’t know the answer to that either.” The little girl looks shocked at his response, which makes him chuckle. “It’s complicated, isn’t it? Mama and I learn as we go, though.”

“Mama gets ‘fused too?” she asks.

“Yeah. Mama and I have never had twins before. It’s something new.” He reaches over and gently taps his fingers up her wrist. “And you’ve never been a big sister before. Or a sister to twins. That’s also new and something you’ll learn as you grow up. Your brothers, too. And when you were born, Luke had to learn how to be a big brother. He didn’t know.”

“So, Luke knows now?”

Eddie winces, his mind trying to figure out a proper reply to that.

“Maybe a different source of information would be better,” he finally says. His eyes light up as an idea pops into his head. “Why don’t we see if they have a book on being a big sister?”

“Okay.” Eliza slides off of her chair and Eddie pushes himself up out of his with a groan. 

He cracks his back and looks down at the giraffe chair. He shakes his head; he’s proud of himself for getting up after being down so low. His long legs, he’d argue—that’s what made it hard. Not his age.

The two of them leave the pile of baby books on the table as they venture over to the shelves. It doesn’t take long to find what they’re looking for. The section is actually quite large, which has Eddie smiling down at his daughter.

“Look at all these books,” he says. “Lots of people need to learn how to have a little sibling—or siblings.”

The reassurance seems to chase away Eliza’s insecurity as she scans the book covers with eager eyes. A soft hum emanates from her as she allows her fingers to brush against a few at eye level. 

“I like this one,” she says, stopping on a particularly pink book. No surprise there.

Eddie pulls it from the shelf and looks over the cover. 

“I Love Being A Big Sister,” he reads. “That sounds perfect for you.”

A smile grows on Eliza’s face and warmth spreads through Eddie’s chest. 

“I do love it!” she says.

“I know you do!” Eddie boops the tip of her nose with a ringed finger. He nods towards the rest of the books in the children’s section. “Want to find another book too?”

“Yes!” All the light and excitement are officially back in his little girl. She twirls around, holding her hands above her head. “I want a book with a ballerina!”

Eddie walks over to set down the book he’s holding on top of the pile for the twins—silently deciding that he will buy all of those books after all. If you say anything about it when they get home, he’ll just say that he wants them to be as educated as possible. How can you argue with that?

“A ballerina princess!” Eliza squeals. Her little feet tap in place, her hands stretch up towards the book just out of her reach. 

Whipped father that he is, Eddie comes over and gets the book down for her before she even has to ask. 

“Ah!” Eliza cheers. She clutches the book to her chest and begins to twirl once more. After two spins, she leaps towards the table, in an attempt to mirror the action of the ballerina princess on the cover of her new book. 

“Happy with your choice?” He already knows the answer of course.

“Mhmm!” she hums. “Can we read it to Scarlett, too? Even if it’s my book?”

Eddie grins and leans down to press a kiss to the top of her curls.

“Absolutely, sweet pea. See? You’re already the most thoughtful big sister.”

She beams up at him with a proud smile and it’s enough to melt Eddie on the spot. Luckily for him, Eliza picks up her books and heads in the direction of the checkout—because if she asked, Eddie would’ve bought her the whole store. 

[ohbo-ohno]

unironically the best thing about writing fanfic is writing what YOU want. i read a sapphic romance with a butch who was not nearly butch enough for my tastes so i started working on a wip with a really butchy butch. i wanted something sweet with katniss discovering she's covey and was disappointed i couldn't find a fic like that and then i remembered.... i can just write it. 90% of the porn i write is just what i think is hot

truly i just write what i want to see more of, which is why i really just... cannot understand using ai to write fic. it's plagiarism, it's bad for the environment, but also the computer can't give you what you want. only YOU know what you want, and the computer can't read your mind to pick out all the little details you want to read. you can put in a million different wordings of the same prompt and you're never going to get exactly what you want. just pick up a pen and do it yourself

[oceane-rei]

I don‘t trust our stove because it’s gas, I grew up with induction which is much quicker and more adjustable

Our fridge doesn’t have a thermostat and needs manual adjustment which causes my trust issues (I just set you to 3, why are you too warm again?)

There is no such thing as a trustworthy microwave, they always heat food unevenly

Kettle kinda gets close but lacks versatility

My coffee machine sometimes makes a bigger coffee than I tell it to if it’s the first coffee of the day

I don’t use the toaster enough to judge it but he‘s probably reliable in the same way a construction worker is reliable, he’ll do the job but no one knows after how many beer breaks

We just got a new used dishwasher and it’s a very good model but I haven’t used it yet since I’m not home for a few weeks so I can’t judge him

The airfryer once betrayed me when I tried to use it for reheating rather than the microwave so no thank you

And our deepfryer is very basic but very good but he also once made my fries too dark despite them only being in the beef grease for 3 minutes smh

The oven has enough different modes and I understand and use all of them for different purposes and it never disappoints. Oven my best friend even if you’re a bit old and need a really good cleaning someday.

tell me the appliance that is your best friend ever in the kitchen

[sturniololuvz]

Can u write a fic where its like the triplets r on tour and sls went with them and she was missing nate and at the Boston show the boys suprised her with nate and his family but nate told her he couldn't go because of a work party or something so she was shocked

“Boston, With Love”

Tour had been amazing — lights, crowds, adrenaline.

But it was also exhausting. And for their little sister, tagging along as the only girl in a tour bus full of loud boys, it was starting to wear thin.

Especially without Nate.

He’d told her he had to skip the Boston stop — something about a work party he couldn’t get out of. And even though she tried to be understanding, the disappointment had clung to her like a shadow all week.

She missed him. Stupidly, deeply, in a way she couldn’t even fully explain to her brothers.

They tried. They made jokes. Bought her iced coffee when she looked extra tired. Let her sleep in the top bunk, even though Chris hated giving it up.

But she was still quieter than usual backstage before the Boston show.

“You good?” Nick asked, nudging her lightly as they waited behind the curtain.

“Yeah,” she lied.

Matt gave her a sideways glance, but didn’t push.

The crowd screamed. Lights went down. The boys ran out, hyped as always.

She watched from the wings, arms crossed, trying to shake the ache in her chest.

And then—

“Before we get to the next part,” Chris said into the mic, a little grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, “we got a surprise for someone really special tonight.”

The crowd quieted, sensing something.

“She’s been on the road with us, putting up with all our annoying crap,” Matt added.

“And she’s been missing someone bad,” Nick said, smirking toward the side of the stage.

She blinked, confused. Then turned—

And froze.

Nate.

Standing there with his goofy grin, holding a bouquet of flowers. Her jaw dropped.

“You said you couldn’t come,” she whispered.

He laughed, stepping forward to wrap her up in a hug. “I lied.”

“You lied?”

“Matt made me. Blame him.”

She couldn’t even be mad. She threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking the flowers out of his hand.

On stage, the boys pointed and cheered. The crowd was eating it up.

“You didn’t actually think we’d come to Boston and not bring your favorite person, right?” Chris called out.

She buried her face in Nate’s shoulder, laughing and crying all at once.

It was loud. Overwhelming. But for the first time all week, her heart felt full again.

And later, when the show ended and she was tucked under Nate’s arm in the dressing room, she looked at her brothers with watery eyes.

“Thanks for knowing what I needed before I did.”

Chris shrugged. “It’s kind of our job.”

Nick grinned. “We’re like emotional support brothers.”

Matt just tossed her a water bottle. “Don’t ever say we don’t love you.”

She smiled, wiping her eyes.

“I know.”

⸻

[endofthelinegang]

“how don’t you know the difference between your left and right?” with Walker please, where reader and him have a sibling dynamic (both in the Thunderbolts, I love this team so much. Now I think I understand how fans felt about the Avengers, which I wasn’t into the MCU at the time)

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ john walker x fem! platonic! reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ the f word

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ wait stop because even if you fucking hate john walker this is funny shit. (2.1k words)

The mission brief was simple.

Sneak in. Secure the drive. Sneak out.

It was a three-step process, like a microwave meal or an Instagram tutorial on microwave desserts, and somehow—somehow—you were still managing to screw it up by step two.

“Left,” John growled through your comms. “Take a left at the fork.”

Naturally, you put up your fingers but then quickly decided that would get you bullied so you took a guess and ended up going right.

“...That’s your other left,” came the follow-up, clipped and already filled with the bitter disappointment of a man who knows better than to expect anything else from you.

You stopped mid-step. The hallway lights overhead were flickering dramatically—broken bulbs, unstable wiring—and in any other context, this might’ve been a suspenseful moment. Tactical. High-stakes. Because it was clear whatever danger was dangering had just been through here or was still right in that general area.

Instead, you blinked. “There’s no such thing as ‘other left.’” you scoffed and stood rolling your eyes. 

“Yes there is,” John hissed. “It’s called right.” The mission had only started moments ago and he was ready to come down there and shoot you himself.

You tilted your head, hand on your hip. “That’s a label society assigned. Much like gender and sporks. Though the idea of a spork is a lot more useful than the other labels, it’s a really fun word to say too.” Before you could repeat the word spork and somehow mindlessly start walking down the trail that screamed danger John made a comment,

“God, I knew I should’ve left you in the van.” 

“Joke’s on you,” you replied cheerfully. “I hotwired the van. You couldn’t leave me even if you wanted to.” There was a reason he kept you around, all of your illegal knowledge that you felt overly confident doing and sharing. In fact you would even show John Tiktoks and Reels of all the people your age putting it all over their public social media platforms. To which he was not surprised that half of the New York population happened to be these people.

A pause. A deep, deep inhale on his end.

And then, voice flat: “Turn. The hell. Around.” You sighed dramatically, like this was somehow his fault, and began rotating yourself in slow, half-conscious steps like a Sims character that couldn’t find a free tile.

And, because you knew it would drive him completely feral, you whispered into the mic: “...Which one’s left again?” You smiled at yourself turning back around and jogging out of the area he specifically kept telling you to get out of and stay out of.

You could feel the eye twitch through the comms. 

“Left is the side with your watch on it,” John said, enunciating each word like you were a foreign dignitary he hated but had to be polite to. “The same watch you said made you ‘feel like a spy, but slutty.’ Remember that?”

“I do. I also stand by that.” As much as he pretended to ignore you all the time he did recall everything you said. In all fairness the watch was completely blacked out with a leather band. 

“Great. So use your slutty spy watch to figure out which direction to go before I come down there and push you out a window.” John would’ve said something more violent but that would have started an actual argument. 

You gasped. “You said you weren’t gonna use your military strength on me!” You continued to walk back where you had started, you also realized John was kind of a total dumbass because there was like one window and it had bars over it. 

“I lied.” And with that, you finally—finally—pivoted the correct direction and continued down the left hallway like a reluctant Sims character with one trait point in Navigation and zero in Listening.

—

You met up with him two corridors later. You were lightly jogging, in fact almost skipping, and you might be wondering where this good mood was coming from. Nothing was better than a mission with just John because at the end of the day you could save your own ass you did not need him there. But messing with him, yeah, you needed that.  He was already standing by the server room door, arms crossed, jaw tight, the image of Grumpy Soldier Barbie—but in your defense, he looked like that all the time.

“You’re late,” he sassed looking you up and down. 

You rolled your eyes. “Relax. I was out here doing recon.”

“You got lost.” He whisper-yelled, not appreciating the very idea that you thought anything you had done was recon.

“Reconnaissance of the floor plan,” you said smoothly, brushing past him with your hand on the panel. “Maybe if your directions were better—”

“They were good directions. They were literally left. That’s it. That’s not even complicated. It’s not like I said ‘head northwest by the air shaft and look for the door with the red laser grid.’” He repeated real instructions from a previous mission he had gone on with Yelena. Instructions she also chose to ignore. 

“That sounds kinda fun actually.” You had no idea what he was talking about. 

“You are not allowed to speak anymore.”

He had the two of you on the move. The server room opened with a quiet click. You ducked in, he followed close behind, and for about thirty blessed seconds, things were normal. Professional. Efficient. Until you spotted the wires. John of course had you closest to the wires so that if you pulled the wrong one it would be your fuck up and not his. 

“Uhhh…” you said, hands hovering over the motherboard. “Which cord do I pull?” The board was a mess, yes there was green but all of the wires were so small.

John looked up from the small device he was planting in the far corner. “Green.”

You stared at the wires even closer, there were three different greens. There were different shades of every color and all of the greens were super far apart from each other which meant that they all probably did different things. 

“...Green which?” you asked, hands hovering over top of the crazy mess in front of you.

He looked over. Blinked. And then, with the slow patience of a father of four who just caught one of his kids trying to microwave foil, he moved you over, pointed directly at the correct green wire, and said—

“This green. Right here. Not seafoam. Not olive. Green.”

You nodded solemnly. “Got it.”

And then, because apparently you were put on this earth to test his willpower, you reached for the wrong one. Not slowly either you grabbed that motherfucker like you were really going to pull it up and out. 

“Nope!” he barked, grabbing your wrist before you could trigger an accidental building-wide meltdown. “Do you have some kind of death wish, or are you just genetically incapable of behaving?”

“I don’t respond well to being micromanaged,” you sniffed and pouted. He gave you the look—that devastating combo of older-brother exhaustion and someone who once had dreams before you happened to him.

“You know,” he said, voice low and tight, “I’ve had missions go off the rails before. I’ve had teammates flake. I’ve had intel turn out bad. But nothing—nothing—has ever compared to trying to get you to do something simple.”

You tilted your head sweetly. “That’s just because you’re not used to working with people as unique as me.” You held his hands and swung them back and forth before getting up as he watched you in plain horror. 

“Unique,” he repeated, dead-eyed. “Is that what we’re calling this now?”

You grinned. “You love me.” 

“I’d trade you for a ham sandwich.” He scoffed and started walking away from you to which you got right behind him and yelled in his ear, 

“A ham sandwich?” you repeated, mock-offended. “That’s so basic. At least make it like… a fancy club sandwich or something.”

He gave a long sigh, eyes skyward like he was praying for strength. “Do the job, dumbass.”

—

The escape route—because of course—was also somehow your fault. It started fine. Quiet hallway, clear egress, no hostiles in sight. The corridors were low-lit, industrial concrete with buzzing fluorescent lights overhead and peeling paint on the corners. You could hear the hum of distant generators, the faint tick of your watch, and the crunch of your boots on loose debris.

John’s plan had been tight. Simple extraction. The van was parked in an alley on the north side, GPS-tracked and synced to the route in your earpiece. Cameras had been looped, alarms temporarily frozen, and all you had to do—all you had to do—was follow him and not get distracted.

Until you stopped at the final turn and muttered, “Wait, I thought the exit was that way,” and pointed the wrong direction again.

He didn’t even look. He just kept walking. “Don’t you start.”

“No, but I really thought it was—”

“Left. I said left again. For the third time.”

“And again, I ask: my left, or yours?”

“HOW IS THAT A REAL QUESTION.”

“BECAUSE I’M WALKING BEHIND YOU. PERSPECTIVES CHANGE.”

He whipped around to face you mid-step, face flushed, hair slightly mussed, entire being radiating the energy of a babysitter who was about ten seconds from calling your mom.

“I’m going to ask you one time,” he said, slowly. “And I want you to really think about this before you answer.”

You saluted. “Aye aye, Captain America-lite.”

He visibly had to restrain himself from launching you into orbit.

“How—don’t—you know—the difference—between your left—and your right?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

Thought for a second.

And then said, earnestly:

“It’s conceptual.”

John looked like he aged four years in real time.

“...Conceptual.”

“Yeah. Like, I get it in theory. But in practice? I just vibe.”

“You just vibe? This is tactical infiltration, not yoga.”

“Exactly. You gotta feel the space.”

“I swear to God,” he muttered, turning back toward the exit, “if you make me do paperwork on your death certificate I’m writing vibes as the cause of death.”

—

You made it back to the van, somehow.

Your boots hit pavement with a final, glorious crunch, and the cold night air slapped your face like a wake-up call from God Himself. The alley was still empty, shadows long and stretched under the flickering glow of a busted streetlamp that buzzed like it was shorting out on its final life. The mission had drained just enough energy from you that you were too tired to celebrate but not too tired to be smug. That perfect, post-chaos middle ground.

You both clambered into the van—the familiar creak of the door, the satisfying thunk as it shut behind you. John wordlessly dropped into the driver's seat, hands on the wheel but not starting it yet, like he needed a minute to recover from whatever the hell just happened.

There was a brief moment of quiet where you both sat there, the adrenaline fading, the mission technically complete. The drive buzzed in your pack. The radio hummed.

A random pop station played something way too upbeat for the mood. A pigeon flew overhead and nearly dive-bombed the van’s windshield for no reason except to keep you humble.

And then—

“So…” you said, angling toward him with a smug smile. “We gonna talk about the fact that despite all my ‘distractions,’ we still got out clean?”

He didn’t even look up. “Luck.”

“Skill.”

“Luck.”

You poked his bicep, still smug. “Admit it. You like having me around.”

He gave you a long, baleful stare. “You make my blood pressure rise like a balloon animal in a microwave.”

“But a fun balloon animal,” you said brightly. “Like, the dog kind.”

He closed his eyes. Whispered a quiet, resigned, “Why me.”

You beamed, settling back into your seat, feet up on the dash.

He didn’t make you move them.

And later, when you both walked into the safehouse and he saw you take the couch first, he didn’t say anything. He tossed you a water bottle. Turned on the shitty hotel TV. Sat down next to you like it was nothing.

The safehouse smelled like dusty air filters and microwave popcorn someone had definitely burned earlier in the week. The couch was too firm, the lighting was too yellow, and the remote had teeth marks in it—unclear if human. It was perfect. It was home—for now.

But when you turned the wrong direction again—again—to hand him the remote?

He just caught it mid-air, muttering, “Still your wrong left, dumbass.”

You grinned. “Still made the shot though.”

“Unfortunately.”

And that was it.

That was how John Walker—ex-Captain America, Thunderbolt, grumpy golden retriever in combat boots—ended another day stuck with you. His teammate. His human migraine.

His family.

Even if it killed him slowly.

Even if you never learned your left from your right.

Even if you made “conceptual directions” your new excuse for everything.

You, him, and the mission.

That was the job. That was the team. And, God help him, he wouldn’t change it for the world.

[uncomfortably-bowing]

i really do think that juri-anthy as a duelist-bride pair would make for such an intriguing dynamic. neither would know at all what to do with each other if juri had actually won a duel. of all the potential duelist pairings i think it's the one that would be the most governed by mutual hate and disrespect

of all the duelists juri is probably the least interested in anthy. she's really always been more interested in shiori (obviously) and utena (who is the one she compares to shiori, the one who she seems most interested in proving something to, the one whose motivations and philosophy seem to really enflame her, and of course the one who she, like miki, ends up seeming to have some romantic interest in at the end). juri's interested in shiori, she's interested in utena, she's interested in proving/disproving miracles, she's interested in maintaining her power and her image as put-together and strong, she's interested in winning, and, like, obviously anthy acts as a symbol of all these, but beyond that she really has no interest in anthy in particular (even moreso than the other duelists who also turn anthy into a symbol)

what would juri even do if she won and proved her case against miracles? she'd stew in her own disappointment and quiet for months like she already had, just all the more vindicated

meanwhile anthy, on top of feeling the same pain of not being with utena, i think would really be just like. brimming with disdain over how inactive juri is as a person.

anthy also kinda has the worst read on juri compared to the rest of the duelists. her attempt at imitating shiori with the flower is pretty deliberate and obvious, and it DOES seem to enrage juri and help push her towards the duels, but not nearly as much as utena being earnest in her conversation with her. again, utena is the one that juri compares to shiori, not anthy. i think anthy can pull off a convincing kozue, or pretend to be the status and romantic objects that touga and saionji want, but i think she straight up does not get shiori and juri's dynamic at the start of the series (and gets a much better understanding of it later on). by necessity, anthy needs to be present and give juri attention to be a convincing rose bride. juri fell in love with the girl she thought had a bf who then didn't talk to her, she doesn't WANT attention or someone who is present lol

there's a lot of duelist-bride relationships that would lead to built resentment (saionji and touga with anthy, miki and anthy, hell even utena and anthy of course by the end). but juri and anthy? i truly think they'd go days without even talking to each other. i feel like they'd reaffirm every single thing they dislike about themselves. juri not wanting to stay with anthy but not being able to bear the hit to her pride of losing a duel. i think they'd have a weird toxic relationship where they both project the actual girls they're into onto each other with literally no romantic attraction behind it. i think they'd go to bed at 4 PM after fencing practice, juri with a newspaper in hand, anthy with knitting needles, neither having spoken for eight weeks. utena would be sobbing outside while shiori is trying to wire the school with a bomb.

(also the inverse of this is that a nanami-anthy duelist-bride pairing would probably start with a similar mutual disrespect and disdain but quickly evolve to a great mutual respect ala utenanthy, even if it stayed solely platonic)

[elviriel]

respectfully, i don't think you can compare it to brasso's death. yeah, Andor is the Everyone dies show. I don't think anyone was expecting Cinta to miraculously survive to the end when nobody else likely will- I definitely wasn't- but it's about the manner in which it happened. It's just, I've seen before, to an extent that's actually eerie and by that i mean, this exact scenario. Women in love part ways and reunite; they spend the night together only for one of them to immediately die from a bullet that's not meant for her.

And that may be what it comes down to! It's possible that for those who haven't witnessed the trope before, then Cinta's death doesn't hit you in its specificity. That being said, it's also a trope that's well documented, and that's faced plenty of backlash before, so you would think the Andor creative team would be at least aware of it. I do understand the point that Cinta's death was making within the narrative. But on a meta level, I don't think it's out of pocket to be disappointed in the creative team for not having the foresight to circumvent That Trope, especially when Andor is that good of a show! They clearly know what they're doing and have approached everything skillfully so far, so it does bother me that they walked right, and i mean right, into the trope.

It's not like SW is full of queer women, so yeah, I can't help but think there was a way to do better here.

Guys. Killing Cinta was not an example of bury your gays. That trope takes place when a gay character's death is metatextually treated as less important than a het character's. The unimportance of deaths in the pursuit of the rebellion is literally a central theme in this show!!! Cinta is the EIGHTH named rebel to die in this show!!! Not to mention Kreegr's men, or even the Narkina escapees. Every single one of these characters will die an uncelebrated yet ultimately important death in the pursuit of freedom!! Yes, killing a character after they've had a chance to be openly gay is a trope but they're treating it no differently than Brasso's death last arc. He too found love, and it didn't save him. The camera doesn't even link her death to vel in any way- her death is another symbolic death representing the danger of disorganization, infighting, naivety, not following orders, etc. Yes I wish some gay characters would get to survive onscreen and even live a happy life. But you're looking for it in the wrong show.

[ghostsprobably]

DISCLAIMER this is just the episode summary okay, like its copy and pasted from my notes and i typed it like a year ago 😅 i have all of season 1 plotted out like this so that i could get an idea of the timeline and character beats

im scared yall will be disappointed bc its short and choppy but also i think i should put stuff out there ya know. its the bones! the bones!!

let me know what u think bye

It’s a sunny Monday in Gardenia, New York, a bustling town just outside of the city, and a woman is playfully nudging her daughter awake. “Bloom, you’re going to be late for school!” she says. Bloom, her 16 year old daughter with a head of firey red hair, leaps from her bed and frantically starts getting dressed, then with a moan she slumps back on to her bed as she realizes it’s the first day of summer vacation.

Since she’s awake now and the weather is already so nice, Bloom decides to go to the beach.

At the beach, Bloom meets a girl named Stella, thinking she’s just a cool rich girl from the Hamptons.

Stella shows interest in the drawings of fairies Bloom is working on, and tells her she also has a pretty big thing for fairies, though she always imagined them a bit more stylish and sparkly

Bloom and Stella hang out for a while at the beach, all the while Bloom is amazed at this cool, beautiful girl wanting to talk to her, she seems so interesting and mysterious. The sun is beginning to set, and Stella declares that she is just starving, and could really use some good earth food. Bloom is confused by this, but Stella offers to pay for dinner so she’s happy to drop it.

On the way to a restaurant nearby, they encounter a massive wolf with glowing eyes that seems to be after stella – gnut isn’t the one that attacks them, but he isn’t erased from the show don’t worry

The girls run away and try to hide, but they know the wolf is going to find them. As Bloom begins to call 911, Stella stops her, saying that’ll only give them more problems. As Bloom starts to question her, Stella is suddenly glowing, and brilliantly sparkling wings emerge from her back, as well as her sporting a new outfit.

Stella sends out a blast of light at the massive wolf, and screams “RUN!!!” as she hurries Bloom through a portal. The two girls are suddenly standing in a huge, beautiful bedroom filled with luxury the likes of which Bloom has never seen. But she doesn’t have a moment to take it in before being overwhelmed by a feeling she can’t describe. She falls to her knees with tears welling up in her eyes as Stella tries to comfort her with jokes and smiles. “Take me back!” Bloom shouts and Stella opens the portal back to the beach where they met.

The intense feeling subsides and Bloom tries to make sense of what just happened. “You’re a fairy!” she suddenly shouts excitedly, to which Stella does a twirl and shows Bloom her wings, all while the wolf approaches once again. Before the girls see it, it lunges at Stella, pinning her to the ground under its massive paws.

Bloom screams and throws her hands out instinctively, which ends up shooting a fiery blast at the wolf that knocks it a good sixty feet across the sand.

Bloom helps a barely conscious Stella back to her house, where her parents are shocked to see them. Her dad is a fireman and lifts Stella up to bring to the couch, where her mother is ready with a first aid kit to begin cleaning the scratches along her back. “You’re okay,” Vanessa says, “They missed your wings.” And she and Mike freeze.

The rest of the episode is Stella explaining that she is a princess on another world where sometimes girls are born with magical powers and fairy wings. She wanted to come to earth before school starts in the fall because she can relax more on the beaches when nobody recognizes her. Buuuuuut she’s not really suppsed to come to often because magic isn’t exactly allowed on earth, and it’s just so hard to resist using her powers!

She looks over to Bloom, who now suddenly understands the rush of what she felt at the beach.

[purplesimmer455]

Nancy's been going through a loud phase lately, and because of that she curses loudly in front of everyone. Iseul and Aubrey bite back laughs, Haruo giggles, and Riley and Stephanie turn to look at their daughter. "Nancy Mei Takamura," Stephanie says in her disappointed mom voice. "Ma, I just said asshat. Simsus llama," Nancy grumbles, adding the last part under her breath. "Nancy, don't talk to your mom like that," Riley adds, giving her an equally stern parental look. "Oh my gods, I just cursed once and you guys are acting like I kicked a plant or something!" Nancy says, her temper flaring. Her face burns as both her grandpops and auntie Iseul give her concerned looks and Haruo's eyes widen, and she rushes to her room before she can cry in front of them all.

A silence falls, and Riley goes over to comfort Haruo, who's upset that his sister is upset, while Stephanie goes to Nancy’s room and knocks on the door. "Can I come in?" She asks. "Yeah," Nancy says, wiping quickly at her eyes. Stephanie enters and sits down on the bed, patting the space next to her, and Nancy sighs but sits down. "What happened, sweetpea?" Stephanie asks gently. "I don't know, I've just been feeling so grumpy lately about everything. I'm sorry for snapping at you and Ren," Nancy says. "It's okay, I know you're going through a lot of changes from becoming a teen. I was also grumpy with my dads and my aunt Nancy at your age, so I understand," Stephanie admits. "Really?" Nancy says, sniffling a bit. "Yeah, and I want to say I'm sorry if Ren or I were too harsh." Stephanie says softly. Nancy nods and leans in to hug her mom. "You weren't, I guess. I just feel embarrassed that auntie Iseul and grandpops saw that," Nancy says. "It's okay, I'm sure they've had grumpy moments too so they understand." Stephanie adds softly, and Nancy smiles. "Can we stay in here for a few minutes? I don't know if I can go back out yet." Nancy asks, and Stephanie nods, "Sure, let me just text your parent." She says, sending off a quick text before hugging Nancy close to her again.

Edit: Nancy automatically cursed in-game so I decided to work it into the story. I was a grumpy and emotional teen sometimes just like Nancy is shown as here, and I feel like it's realistic to being at that age and going through so many changes. Nancy will be alright though, she has loving and supportive family and friends, and soon enough this phase will pass and she'll learn to emotionally regulate. 😊

@abbysimsfun You brought up how well Nancy handled her parents saying no to hanging out with Emily at the beach, and I was thinking of that when Nancy had her moment in the game. I feel like maybe that contributed to her being grumpy. 🤔😅

[daemyra-fire]

My thoughts on E7 S6

After all… it wasn't that bad… in fact, I loved it.

I think first of all, June needs to open her eyes to her reality. Everything people sacrifice for her and don't measure the consequences. It's time for her to understand that everything has repercussions.

The scene after the closet. I thought June would be furious and scream, but that wasn't the case. She was in shock and analyzing everything. Meanwhile, Nick had his chance to speak and explain his point a bit. But June doesn't hate him; she's disappointed. She's different, and we have something to hold onto.

The car scene, I loved how dramatic June almost threw herself out of the car (she's just a girl) and her saying, "Leave me here, I'll get out here." It's a very normal couple's fight. I found that moment funny.

Now, afterward, Nick is right in what he says to June, and that doesn't make him a villain, he makes it a reality. He does everything for her, but that doesn't mean he's not a commander and an eye, and he has to stay alive, so even though it wasn't right, June also lives under that regime that she has to survive. I suppose that with time she will understand that there wasn't much else to do there. It broke my heart when he called June, and she wouldn't turn around and screamed "June" louder and you can see how much it hurt to leave… my heart ached in that scene.

Luke is a manipulator. He knows June is hurt and pushes her even harder, making her feel bad and guilty about everything. And I can't stand him. His ego is so big, and he doesn't care if it makes June less. I can't stand him. If she missed Nick, it was because Luke couldn't understand her in the slightest. And this season, that gap is even more noticeable.

Rita arrived at a very bad time because Nick was sinking in his self-hatred, so he thinks he lost June and Rita comes to reaffirm that he is being used and that he is only good for that. So I don't agree with what he said but he's right, he must be tired of being used and not feeling useful, and that helped Rita open her eyes and realize that she has to fight for herself and no one will do it for her and that's okay, Nick is devastated but I don't see him deciding to be from Gilead completely, he's just lost without the thought of June in his life.

 Who would say that Moira was the one who had the most common sense in the chapter and that I don't blame her for loving Nick, I never thought she would understand but Moira is saying things that June refused to think, she trusted him because he had never disappointed her, she loves him because he was the only good thing in Gilead and despite his mistakes she still loves him and that is what hurts the most because everyone tells her that she is wrong and she still feels love for him, and Moira was the friend she needed where everyone was judging her for her feelings and I loved that scene

Lawrence just wants to stay alive and knows he needs June to fight too, I also think he was a bit hypocritical saying that Nick can't be trusted when he's the only one he talks to and plans things with, it's like they're trying to make him less trustworthy when we know he's one of the ones who has helped everyone the most and I don't agree with this narrative

And finally, Janine, please let her stop suffering. This character lives from suffering to suffering and it's time for her to stop, for her to fight for her freedom, for them to help her get out. She's the one who has lived through Gilead the most and I need a good ending for her, for her to be able to live in peace in Canada or wherever, but for her to get out of that place.

And the revolution begins. I'm very excited because if I want everyone to pay for what they did, and Serena deserves to suffer at this point, what a blind woman. I want to see the Handmaids united and everyone fighting against Gilead. It's time for everything not to go perfectly for that oppressive country.

Among all things, it was a great episode. I didn't feel like everything was over for June and Nick, and their relationship with Luke is becoming weaker and weaker. No matter how much they both hold on, they both know at this point it's not going to work. Whether June stays with Nick or not, Luke is still not the best option, so I have faith that they'll leave him the right way. Especially since June has tried several times to leave Luke this season, and he insists they can stay together. Now that she's fighting with Nick, he's taking advantage of it, and it's not fair to be in a relationship like that.

I don't think it was as bad as I thought it would be and there's still hope and this fight is about to start for real so I'm excited for the next chapter!

[izumiphoenix]

The Truth Behind the Mask

(1/? part of “Astarion: In Search of True Self” — [masterpost here])

Even before I played, I kept stumbling upon Astarion fanart and memes that made me assume he was just some overrated character who was only popular because of his flirty, sassy attitude (I’m so sorry Q^Q). That’s why I didn’t have the best first impression even before I started.

And even in-game, when you first meet him, Astarion seems like a shallow, selfish and flirty guy - someone who doesn’t really care what others think and just follows his whims.

Couldn’t be further from the truth!

From what I’ve seen in some discussions on social media, though, a lot of players still hold that first impression - even after completing his route. I’ve even seen people call him a red flag, label him evil or say they were disappointed in general.

Also, I feel like most guides (at least the ones I’ve come across) simplify his character too much - mainly focusing on which choices will gain his approval or disapproval. Maybe that’s to avoid spoilers, but still. There are definitely other players who see the deeper layers too - so this is just my way of sharing my personal journey of discovering the real Astarion.

So, how did that first impression start to unravel? When checking with the guide and watching his reactions and body language, I started thinking about why the approval/disapproval tips work.

How Approval Looks on the Surface

Let’s look at some general tips for gaining Astarion’s approval points: 

choosing evil replies/actions 

seeking power 

siding with evil characters 

deceiving your opponents  

supporting his desires  

being understanding and accepting towards him 

(bonus one, haven’t seen guides mention this) sarcastic replies  

And disapproval points: 

making pompous heroic statements (like “Worry not! I shall save everyone!”) 

helping the weak 

being open about your party's situation (tadpoles)

being judgmental or unsupportive towards him  

naive/goodie-two-shoes responses  

In most cases, it is explained by his natural inclination towards evil forces and power, making Astarion seem like a self-centred and power-hungry vampire who might, with Tav’s influence, turn to become a bit of a better person. Or not. 

But while it’s technically true that those actions affect his approval, there’s much more nuance to why Astarion reacts the way he does - especially in the early stages.

So what's really going on?

The first contradiction that made me feel confused about the reasons for Astarion’s reactions was how nice Tav is being to him (of course, if you chose good replies during their interactions) – a person who is mean to everyone else would be just as mean to Astarion. It didn’t make sense to me; a kind and understanding Tav would fit much better in the story.  

So what is going on there? Why does Astarion need a kind and gentle Tav who is cold and dismissive to the rest of the world?

Because he is terrified.  

When we first meet our pale elf, he has just escaped (as in been kidnapped) from 200 years of slavery, humiliation and torture where his wellbeing completely depended on Cazador’s whims and every mistake meant punishment. Of course he’s paranoid. Of course he’s always calculating risk. 

It’s not about Tav’s choices being good or evil, it’s about their possible consequences for Astarion. He doesn’t want Tav to be evil, he just wants to feel safe. That’s all.  

Let’s Look at That List Again

So let’s look at his approval/disapproval list again: 

refusing to help someone - approve! we don’t want to risk 

seeking power - yes, please! power means safety!

siding up with evil characters - they are strong, so why not use this to our benefit? 

deceiving your opponents - we didn’t even have to fight and got want we wanted? don’t see a problem  

supporting his desires - maybe this time, I won’t have to fight for what I want

being understanding and accepting towards him - finally someone doesn't treat me as a monster

sarcasm - humor is our everything, especially when there’s nothing else left 

On the other hand:

making pompous heroic statements - you are saying these cringe things with a straight face AND putting us in danger? hard nope! 

helping the weak - no one helped me, why should we bother 

disclosing truth about their situation - have you heard about caution?!  

being judgmental or unsupportive towards him - no thanks, had enough of that

naive/goodie-two-shoes responses - are we going to be fine with a leader like that?..  

What Kind of Tav Does He Need?

Astarion isn’t looking for an "evil" Tav - he’s looking for safety. Well, technically, he isn’t looking for anyone at all. But the kind of Tav he opens up to tends to be:

pragmatic, cautious and clever

emotionally intelligent

non-judgmental

strong enough to lead and survive

That’s why he feels comfortable with a Tav who might choose to be distant toward strangers but treats him with consistent care. In this context it’s not suspicious, it’s sensible. He doesn’t expect help from the world, and he respects those who understand that reality. In a hostile world, survival is more likely in a group, so he clings to the party and tries to secure his place using the only tools he knows: charm, wit and usefulness. And a part of that strategy, making sure the leader favors him and he won’t be cast aside, leads to his initial approaches for Tav. But we’ll get into that more in another post.

So if Tav shows kindness to him? That’s exactly what he’s aiming for. And it doesn’t even matter that much if they still go out of their way to help others - because if the care they show him feels real, that already shifts something deep inside. That already gives him a reason to start hoping that this might be real.

The Mask

So there’s the charm, the flirtation, the flair for drama. Some players may read that as shallow or even foolish. But it’s not. It’s a mask - one he’s worn so well and for so long that it feels real. It’s what kept him alive under Cazador for the last 200 years.

But if you keep going, if you give him time and space to feel safe, you start to see it slip. The closer Tav gets to him, the more glimpses we get of his real self - thoughtful and warm, wary and sharp, sometimes silly and awkward, and, beneath it all, deeply hurt. And if you stay with him through to the end, when he finally feels safe enough to stop performing, his whole demeanor changes. He’s calmer. More grounded. Still witty - but in a different way.

Still Astarion. Just more himself.

<next part>

<back to masterpost>

[literary-lesbo]

A Cold Fire

MedWhump May Day 5: Fever (Alt prompt) Summary: Emily's sick at work, JJ takes her home. set in CME Word Count: ~800 A/N: I'm disappointed in this one tbh but I got out of work too late to rewrite so here we are. I might redo it someday when I have more time

AO3

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Emily was cold. Not ‘add an extra layer cold’, the kind of cold that made your veins run with ice. No mug of warm tea or hot shower could fix the cold burrowing deep into Emily’s body, settling rather uncomfortably into her bones. She ached, everything ached. Every blink was agony, the click of her keyboard tore knives into her brain. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this awful, long before Hotch had gone into hiding leaving her in charge of the BAU. Long before BAU Gate had plagued her life, forcing her to work at all hours of the night to figure out how to get it taken down. 

The woman reached for her now cold mug of coffee, taking a few swigs of the bitter liquid. On other days she would’ve added a bit of splenda, maybe some milk, but she wasn’t drinking the coffee to enjoy it right now. She needed to stay awake and there was not a whole lot else she could do. She also had this fleeting hope that the caffeine would help her headache, it didn’t seem to be touching it yet. Nevertheless, she continued to drink it. 

Time was typically something that Emily had time tracking, she had several alarms set on her phone just to keep track of her days off, but in her current state she was a mess. Before long the sun had slipped behind the DC skyline, leaving her office lit only by the small lamp on her desk. She had considered getting up to turn it on, but she was fairly confident that if she stood she would collapse. If she could even make it to her feet. She hadn’t even begun to consider how she would get herself home, maybe just sleep in her office for the night? It wouldn’t be the first time. 

The woman was still debating when a familiar figure with blonde hair darkened her doorway. 

“Hey Em, everybody’s going out for drinks. You want to come?” JJ asked, offering her boss a practiced smile. Their relationship had been strained as of late, but she was trying. In truth, she missed her friend. She missed what their relationship used to be. 

Emily looked up from her computer, blinking a few times as she tried to process the words. Her head felt fuzzy, she could take JJ’s words and understand them individually but for some reason put them together in that order wasn’t making sense. The silver haired woman shook herself slightly, trying to force herself to answer. Her thoughts were moving sluggishly, she couldn’t manage to form an answer. 

“Emily? You okay?” JJ’s voice poked at the fog in her head, forcing her back into the present. She blinked up at JJ, squinting as she tried to remember what she had been asked. “Prentiss, are you in there?” The blonde tried again, taking a few steps into the office. Before lockdown, waltzing into Emily’s office wouldn’t have been a problem for JJ. Now though, it felt like she was breaking some unspoken rule. 

What Emily meant to say was: 

“I appreciate your concern but I'm fine JJ, don't worry about me. Go have fun with the team, you guys deserve a break.”

What she actually managed to get out was far less eloquent. 

“Uh…’mfine, go drink,” she croaked out, rubbing a hand across her sweat beaded forehead. Her hair had started to stick to her skin, probably the fever that had been slowly getting higher. Emily knew that she was sick, but there wasn’t a whole lot she could do about that. 

“Woah, you sound like shit,” JJ remarked, previous concerns about invading Emily’s space abandoned. She walked over to her boss’s desk, tilting the lamp slightly so that she could see her better. The sight that she was met with left JJ amused and concerned. 

Emily’s cheeks were flushed red, the rest of her face a ghostly white. Her eyes looked sunken and glossy, dark circles making it appear that she hadn’t slept in days. JJ frowned, reaching over to press her palm to Emily’s forehead. 

“Oh Em,” she moved her hand from the BAU Chiefs forehead to her cheek, trying to understand why Emily would even come to work today. JJ couldn’t help the sad smile that crossed her face when Emily leaned into her touch, pushing her fevered cheek into the soft palm of her coworker. 

“Pack up your stuff, I'm going to take you home.” 

“Hm? No, you…you’re goin’ out. ‘Mworking.” She couldn't deny that home sounded nice. The idea of not having to drive sounded even nicer. What she wouldn’t give to be curled up in her bed right now, tv on and mug of tea on her bedside table. 

JJ shook her head slightly, beginning to gather Emily’s stuff for her. It wasn’t a surprise that she was resisting, JJ was still having a hard time believing that she was conscious right now. 

“You’re done honey.” There was just not much arguing with that. JJ’s authoritative tone, coupled with just how terrible Emily was feeling, was enough to tip her towards agreement. She was too tired to fight with JJ and she was so cold. At least if she were home she could add a few more layers. That sounded nice. 

@medwhumpmay

[siggiedraws]

The problem with most western takes on Silver(both fan and official) is that they keep trying to treat him like a regular teenager. It’s why he’s had so many personality changes and been made infantilized, incompetent, clumsy, “trying his best” and a weenie. It’s all because they keep trying to treat him as a regular person thrust into his situation like Barry. Even when the apocalypse angle is applied he’s still primarily seen as regular kid so it’s only used to infantilize him more by trying to make his backstory about him being lonely and helpless.

I understand why people find that idea so compelling but this take always infantilizes and ignores Silver’s whole character. Silver is not a normal person. He’s so straightforward and honest that people think he’s crazy, he’s as focused, professional and precise as Blaze, he has as much skill as the other characters and he fought literal hell demons for most of his life.

agreed, and I appreciate how well-put this is! Silver absolutely gets infantilized too much compared to other characters. you never see this treatment with Blaze despite them being the same age, for instance. you could make the argument that Silver has more traits associated with immaturity that causes this popular interpretation of his character, which I don't disagree with, but that's kind of the issue. this black and white nuance-lacking view on characters that is extremely prevalent in fandom spaces is what causes so much misconstruing of his character.

generally speaking, I don't really enjoy projecting myself onto Sonic characters and I prefer to look at what's established in the source material/what the creators are going for. so I feel a little out of place with a lot of Sonic fans who engage with Sonic mainly via headcanon and wanting to see themselves in the characters. this fandom is very huge with all kinds of people though, so that sort of thing is expected. with that said, I think the mindset of wanting to relate to the characters is what causes people to see Silver and other Sonic characters as just normal people.

alternatively, there's also the common phenomenon of, rather than wanting to relate to Silver, people want to take care of him or feel bad for him, so they play up all the childish aspects to him and make him more of a normal kid. it's not my thing at all but it's definitely interesting to think about how others choose to engage.

the reason why I'm not a fan of any of this is generally that it feels dismissive or ignorant of Silver as he is in the source material, like you said. I love basically all aspects of Silver's character in the games so the lack of representation for it in the fandom is disappointing to me.

the source material is what brings fandom together in the first place, after all. fandom is ultimately a community of fans. choosing to ignore the source because it's not your taste makes me wonder.

[per1w1nkl3]

houses mom if such an interesting character... on one hand I cant say shes been a perfect parent and i feel like she was maybe absent or blind to her husband behavior or too forgiving (also she cheated on him multiplr times did not agree with his morals yet stayed with him all his life) (but it was diffrent times ig?). but towards house she's been the most understanding (second only to like. wilson): in 8x14 she doesnt bat an eye when one of houses subordinates is tripping on acid, when she finds ojt house is married and is commiting fraud, and not only is she not disappointed he was in prison she's been checking the newspaper for years! she knows she should call wilson AND she makes up a story to make wilson tell house to call her. she makes house speak at his abusive father's funeral