#plot is getting thic

[twistedmafiaau]

- 𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚝'𝚜 𝚃𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚃𝚎𝚊 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚢 -

Little Trivia for the curios ones -

A Pisces - Pisces is the twelfth and final astrological sign in the zodiac. Going from February 19 to March 20 (though only Malleus knows Reagan birth date) Pisces are known for their dreamy nature, deep empathy, and artistic flair.

Her pure silver cufflinks - Cufflinks are items of jewelry that are used to secure the cuff of dress shirts. Cufflinks can be manufactured from a variety of different materials. The visible part of a cufflink is often decorated in some way, such as with a birthstone or something which reflects a hobby or association. In this case it represent Chamomile flowers, that have a long association with peace and tranquillity.

◀ 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 ||| 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 3 - 𝙼𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 |||

When you gazed up at Reagan she had just picked up the photo of that man; her eyes resembling the cloudless summer sky were darker, — the peaceful sky shrouded with thundering storm clouds — her lips drawn into a tight line, her shoulders sunken and curved inwards as if to protect herself. As if the man that destroyed her life was standing right behind her, hands on her shoulders, with a pleased grin.

She glanced at you briefly before turning the photo face down once more, her nimble hands trembling slightly.

“I don’t know…” she muttered, her expression now pensive instead of scared, as if she could fight fear with logic. “After hearing your story and learning about his morbid obsession with you and your mother I honestly don’t know why targeted me and my family, along with others too.” she looked up at you, her brow furrowed with apology, “My condolences, by the way. Your mother must’ve fought tooth and nail to keep you safe from that monster. I hope she had the proper burial she deserved, as a warrior.”

Her words struck something in your brain. Burial as a warrior. You made a mental note that, perhaps, Raegan was a non-native of the city.  

She kept speaking. “Also, I too have thought that maybe the mafia must’ve done something to trigger his more vindictive side, ence why the sadistic executions. I tried asking Malleus for some track record of this man but was told he didn’t have intel about this, and even if he had it they were property of either of the two families and he doesn’t have access to them. Although I have the slight hunch that we’re dealing with someone far from mentally sane…”

Reagan took a big gulp of her tea, like it was a shot of pure courage-inducing vodka. 

“If you say the mask is a new addition to his usual modus operandi then, mayhaps, he was trying to hide his face. A message for sure, maybe challenging others to try and track him down when his face is unknown. Some family bosses are relatively new to their positions, so they might know him by a rumor or by his codename and not by his face, that would make sense. It’s a trickery, a game of who’s smarter.”

Another mental note.

Reagan was sure still a scared young girl, shy and neurotic with all her little gestures, terrified of the experience she had — far too young to know how much cruelty hid in the dark corners of humanity — yet she still had the mind and deduction strings comparable to the famous August Dupain. Perhaps she had always had such a brilliant mind or perhaps it was the proximity to a figure like Malleus Draconia that had made her develop a detached sense of rationality.

Either way chance's high that Malleus was fond of her not only for her Emerald Isle novel-like beauty and her posed and lovable manners, but also for the mind she kept trained despite her fear.

“As to why the tensions are always high between Malleus and the other two families, well…as I said prior I don’t know why he targeted me, the day he made my life tumble downhill to hell was three years ago and I didn’t even know Malleus at the time. I don’t know whether it is relevant or not, but during that same time my older sister had recently started working as a model for one of the Shonenheit products but never got to interact directly with Nightshade.”

Reagan took out of her purse a lipstick, implying that it was the product to be advertised. The color was your mother’s favourite. Around the black cylinder was written in elegant handwriting, a phrase in French that Reagan could not translate, saying that she had received vague answers on the matter and that she could not ask anyone with knowledge without Malleus getting upset.

She passed you the lipstick with trembling hands, hoping you could give her an answer that quenched her curiosity.

“L’avenir saura ce que le passé a causé.” read the label.

You knew what that meant but decided to keep quiet for the moment and let Raegan continue with her story.

“Actually I wasn’t the one who managed to portray him. My little brother took the photo, moments before…he destroyed my family.” Reagan explained, her breaths coming out shallow, panicked.

“We didn’t even know where he popped out from. One moment he was outside the next one he was inside our house. He killed my father with his own rifle, stabbed my mother and tied my older sister to the bed and used them both like they were nothing more but toys for his amusement. Me and my little brother could only watch in silence from our closet, terrified.” Each sentence she spoke became more clipped and short almost as if she wanted to quickly end her own memory. 

“The two of us escaped from the backdoor and were placed in a shelter for homeless people. What an irony, right?” her tone was a mix of several emotions — bitter, frightful, brittle, self-deprecating…

“We went to my big sister’s agency a week later, hoping to get the higher ups to help us, to protect us. Vil Schoenheit himself listened to my story but gave me this distasteful look, like I was a flaming dumpster can instead of a person, to think one of his employees was brutally dissacrated and killed…he didn’t even bat an eye. He treated me like I was one of those hysterical fangirls of his, begging for attention.”

Reagan shook her head, fighting the tears that started to form on her lashes. 

“One night me and my brother got woken up by one of the shelter’s workers. They said a relative of ours got wind of the situation and decided to take us in. I should’ve known it was nothing more than a lie. The thought should’ve risen in my mind when we got driven to a train station, those deserted ones with just a few small buildings a mile away from each other. I should’ve sensed the danger sooner when we found out the stationmaster's office was empty. It happened all so quickly. I was away for just a minute…”

You noticed how she started trembling, hugging her figure like it brought her comfort; her eyes wide, her breath shallow and her face so pale. You knew the symptoms of a panic attack when you saw one.

“There was…so much blood. So many stab wounds on his tiny little body…and he was there, behind me. Waiting for me. The pain my body went through, the scars that still litters my body, the anguish he caused me…it was all amusement to him. And after he finished toying with me he tossed me into an empty container, leaving me to die like a stray dog. Shipped to only God knows where, for I still don’t know how long. You might be thinking why Malleus also despises the Kingscholar family. Turns out the container was supposed to carry a shipment of weapons from overseas, a bargaining chip promised to Malleus by Leona himself. You can imagine the surprise of the two heads of families when instead of weapons they found me, trembling, bleeding and scared curled in the corner. Malleus was the only one who cared for me, comforted me for the long time I spent in one of his private clinics. When, after months spent in silence, I told him everything...to say he was furious would be an awful understatement.”

Reagan broke down, choking on sobs and tears streaming down her cheeks. The pain of reliving all of that once more too much for her. She was still a kid after all.

You offered anything you could give her — your hand for closeness, a handkerchief and words of comfort.

“Am I such a bad daughter? Such an awful sister? I feel like I could’ve done more, save one of them at least instead of yielding like a coward.” she said, gripping your hand like you could disappear in front of her eyes.

What a dreadful scar that man left on such a young thing…

“Miss Amaris, I need to know…is it so dire of me to wish, from the bottom of my heart, that this man would die for all the disgusting things he’s done? Do you also wish to end his life?”

Things are starting to get interesting. @echosofmortality how will Mort respond to this 😈

[daryltwdixon]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 6.5 | Part 7

Summary: You wake in Joel’s bed, sharing a quiet, tender moment together. But by mid-morning, he can’t keep what’s been bottled up inside any longer, and the dam finally breaks, taking everything with it. || smut MDNI 18+, thigh grinding/riding, handjob, pinv, still considered a pregnancy kink right?, dirty talk, lots of longing and angst, fighting (physical and emotional!!!), no outbreak, they're still terrible communicators, possessive joel, these are not healthy dynamics and I do not support these characters lol, au: joel speaks his mind, this is not medically accurate we do it for the plot || notes: this follows a bit of a different layout than the other parts, more focused on the drama than the smut. and it sure is dramatic. but hope you still enjoy!

The next morning, things felt… well, normal. 

Waking up next to Joel was becoming close to what could almost be routine with how often you stayed there, though your brain still struggled to make sense of how it all happened. How his house, his sheets, his scent had started to feel like home. 

Sleep came in fragments these days, always interrupted: by the need to pee, by the stretch of your skin, by the tiny feet inside you drumming against your ribs at ungodly hours. Nothing about your body was comfortable anymore—except maybe this.

Joel was still asleep, his body slung heavy and loose with the kind of deep, unguarded rest you never saw from him in daylight. He took up so much space—broad shoulders pressed into the mattress, bicep curled behind his head, the other arm draped over your hip as if to anchor you to him. His bare chest rose and fell beneath your palm, warm and solid, coarse hair spreading beneath your fingertips in a dark, masculine patch.

You couldn’t help but touch him. It was always hard to fight the urge, especially when he was laid out like this: soft in the face, the furrow between his brows smoothed out, sunlight painting the bridge of his nose, brushing across the dark stubble along his jaw. You let your hand drift, fingers splayed, tracing idle patterns through the hair on his chest, letting your nails graze lightly just to feel him shiver in his sleep.

Joel was always so warm. The kind of heat that felt like security, the kind that seeped into your bones and made you melt right into him. He was a furnace as he laid next to you. It felt safe and warm and secure next to him. One of his thick thighs was wedged between your legs, supporting your hips and keeping the ache in your bones at bay, but also creating a whole new kind of ache—a throbbing pulse you couldn’t quite ignore.

Sometimes you wondered if it was just the pregnancy. If it was hormones making you this needy, this desperate for him in the early morning light. But then he’d breathe against your neck, heavy and steady, or shift beneath you and pull you closer, and you knew it wasn’t just that. It was him. You’d never felt this strung-out and aching, like you might crawl right out of your skin just to get closer.

You pressed closer then, greedy for him, for the solidity of his body. Your swollen belly pressed snug to his side, your leg hiked up over his, and for a moment, you just breathed him in. He smelled of that pine leather cologne he always wore and the faintest hint of last night’s sweat that still clung to him.

Your hand slowly wandered down the curve of his chest, tracing the faint scar just under his ribs, feeling the soft give of his stomach beneath your palm. Your fingers played along the dip of his waist, following the trail of hair down until you reached the band of his sleep shorts, his hip bones jutting out under your touch.

He shifted, a low sound rumbling from his throat, half a groan, half a sigh. The arm around you tightened, pulling you in closer, and you felt him begin to stir, breath hitching as your nails scraped lazily over his skin. Your eyes traced the length of his body—broad chest, thick arms, the way his stomach rose and fell with each breath, the muscles in his thighs flexing as he adjusted beneath you.

You were so caught up in the feel of him, so solid, so present, so utterly Joel he was that you barely noticed when his eyes cracked open, lashes casting shadows across his cheekbones as he looked at you, still foggy with sleep. His mouth twitched into the beginnings of a lazy, crooked smile.

“Mornin’,” he rasped, voice gravelly and rough with sleep, his hand sliding up under your shirt, palm spreading wide over the curve of your back.

You smiled lightly up at him, your finger hooking into the top of his waistband as you said, “Good morning,” 

He let out a soft grunt, half amusement, half satisfaction, and tucked you closer, big hand gliding up and down your spine with steady, lazy affection. The warmth of his thigh was still pressed snug between your legs, and you couldn’t help the way you rocked against him, just a little, seeking out any relief for the ache you woke up with.

Joel’s gaze flickered down, darkening as he felt you move. His hand stilled, heavy at the small of your back. “Someone’s eager this mornin’,” he murmured, his voice low, the smile never leaving his lips. He squeezed your hip, guiding you to press down just a little harder on his thigh.

You bit back a laugh, the sound coming out as more of a breathless sigh. “I blame hormones.”

He hummed, a deep rumble in his chest, and shifted his thigh, giving you more to grind against. His eyes were heavy-lidded, hungry, but still gentle in the way only Joel could be—with you, at least. 

“Can feel how wet you are, sweetheart.” His hand pressed between your shoulders, holding you steady as he watched your face, watching the way you moved for him. “You want somethin’ from me?”

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but you didn’t stop. You finally moved your hand below his waistband and curled your fingers around him, sliding over the thickness that waited beneath the fabric, already hard and aching for you. He shuddered, hips twitching just barely, a low, broken sound caught at the back of his throat. He let you stroke him, slow and teasing, his eyes fluttering shut as your thumb swiped across the slit at the head of him, spreading the pearl of precum. 

“Jesus,” he said, fidgeting beneath your touch, his hand coming up to cup your face then, pulling you closer to him, his lips brushing over yours as he said, “You like makin’ me crazy for you, huh?”

You nodded, feeling too breathless to tease him back at the feeling of how thick he was in your hand. You reached forward just a little bit to place a kiss against his lips and he sighed dreamily into it, your mouths slotting together, tongues already searching for each other in a dance you’d come to know so well. His hand threaded into your hair, keeping you close as you moaned into his mouth, your hips grinding down on his thigh, matching the rhythm of your hand as you stroked him.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispered against your lips, “Take what you need baby. Ride my thigh, just like that. Gonna take good care of you if you come for me.”

You whimpered, caught between embarrassment and desperate hunger. Your body was so heavy, so swollen with want, and the pressure of him beneath you was almost enough to make you dizzy. He held you steady, watching your face, kissing your jaw, murmuring encouragement every time your hips rolled a little harder, a little sloppier.

“There you go,” he whispered, voice so gentle but the words biting at your resolve. “This all for me? Just from wakin’ up next to me, hmm? Greedy little thing.”

“Yes, Joel,” you whispered as you kept your hand wrapped around him, stroking him as you moved, loving the way his cock pulsed under your touch, how he didn't care to bite back the moans every time you squeezed a little tighter.

“Come on pretty girl,” he coaxed, kissing your lips between words, groaning as you squeezed the head of his cock in your hand, “Want to feel you come just from this. Be a good girl for me, baby.”

His praise did you in, pleasure cresting in a wave as you cried out, grinding down hard on his thigh, squeezing him tight in your fist. He hissed, holding himself together as you rode through your climax, fingers loosening and twitching around his cock. 

When you finally stilled, breathless and shaking, Joel’s arms came around you, gathering you close, his lips pressing lazy kisses to your hair and shoulders.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mumbled, voice like gravel, “You’re perfect.” 

“Here, let me—” you started, realizing he hadn’t finished yet.

“Don’t worry, greedy girl,” he chuckled rough with affection. “I’ve got you. Why don’t you turn over for me?”

You did as you were bid, rolling onto your other side with his help. Joel crowded up behind you, big hands steady and sure as he adjusted you—so careful with your body, always mindful of your swollen belly, always treating you like something precious and breakable, even as he was aching for you.

He slid his arm across your clavicle, cradling you close so your face tucked into the warm crook of his elbow, his other arm hooking beneath your belly and holding you flush against him. You felt him press up behind you, the thick head of his cock nudging at your entrance, and he groaned low and desperate. 

“Promised I’d take care of you,” he said, his voice tight as his breath fanned over your ear, “Always gonna take care of what’s mine, baby. All fuckin’ mine.”

Goosebumps rose across your skin and he slowly pushed inside you. Your body welcomed him, pulsing from your own release, stretching to accommodate the sheer girth of him. Your head tipped back, jaw slackening as your lips fell open. Joel’s breath stuttered out, his face buried in the nook of your neck, lips pressed to your skin. His hand stayed splayed wide of your stomach as he pushed himself into you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice rough in your ear, “So good for me, always takin’ this cock so well.”

He moved inside you, slow at first, rocking his hips while keeping you locked tight in his arms. The weight of his body behind you, the press of his hand over your belly, the heat of his breath at your ear. It was overwhelming, and you never felt safer, more wanted.You moaned, helpless, reaching back to grab at his thigh, needing to anchor yourself to him. Joel’s grip tightened, his possessiveness coming out in every word, every movement as it so often did in these moments. His voice dropped lower, rougher, almost a growl.

“Tell me, baby. You ever feel this way before, huh?” His hips snapped a little harder then, his words sharpening with how much he needed you. “My brother ever make you this cock drunk? Ever have you so full you can’t even think straight?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer, just pressed his mouth to your ear, biting down gently. “Knew you’d never need anyone else after me. Knew you were fuckin’ mine the second I made you come on my cock that first time. Now look at you, carryin’ my baby, takin’ it so well in my bed. No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to make you feel this good.”

You sobbed his name, caught between shame and desperate pleasure, the stretch of him inside you almost too much. Joel’s hand slid lower, finding the pulse between your legs, working your clit in slow, insistent circles.

“That’s right, my pretty girl,” he hissed, “Give it to me. Wanna feel you come on my cock, wanna see you lose your fuckin’ mind for me. Just for me.”

You came again, shivering in his arms, and Joel groaned behind you, the sound thick and desperate as he felt you clench and pulse around him, drawing him in even deeper. His arms locked tighter, holding you close, his hips stuttering as he finally let go, spilling inside you with a low, broken moan.

He stayed pressed to your back, catching his breath, his body curled protectively around yours. His hand never left your belly, stroking gentle circles there, as if he could soothe every ache and tell you without words how much you meant to him.

You let yourself drift in that silence for a moment, letting your breathing slow, letting his touch ground you. But the words he’d said, the rawness, the edge, still lingered, curling in your chest with something you couldn’t quite name.

“Joel…” you whispered, voice small in the hush of the room. He hummed in response, nuzzling the back of your neck.

You hesitated, then said softly, “You can’t… you can’t say things like that.”

He went still, hand pausing on your belly. “What things?” His voice was quieter now, the cockiness gone, just him and you and the smell of sweat.

You sighed, turning in his arms to look into his eyes, something nervous and uncertain there in them as you said, “When you ask me if anyone’s ever…if Tommy has ever made me feel the things you make me feel.”

His brows furrowed, mouth opening for a moment before closing again, eyes drifting over your shoulder in thought. 

“With the way things are right now… I’m already so…” you buried your face in the pillow.

He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, thumb tracing the line of your cheek as his eyes came back to you. “Hey,” he said again, softer this time. “I’m sorry. I know I get carried away.”

You nodded, not quite able to meet his gaze. “It just… it gets in my head. I know it’s just talk, but right now everything feels so… intense. Heavy, you know? I just need it to be you and me, just for a little while. No one else.”

“Alright,” he murmured, voice softer, “I can do that. I promise.”

You let yourself relax into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat thudding strong and sure against your cheek.

“I got you,” he whispered, his lips brushing your hair. “Always.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself believe it, letting the quiet settle between you. Wrapped in Joel’s arms, for just a moment, the rest of the world could wait.

Later that morning, the house felt unusually quiet—just the low hum of the fridge, the distant tick of a clock, and the sunlight slipping in through half-closed blinds, striping the living room floor in gold. You stood near the old couch, hands braced at the small of your aching back, watching Joel as he finished gathering your things. Your shoes sat where you’d left them by the coffee table, just out of reach.

You eyed them, willing yourself to bend, but your body had other ideas. With a defeated laugh, you dropped your arms and stood there, belly rounding out in front of you, toes barely peeking beneath its curve. “I feel so helpless,” you giggled, breath catching as you tried again to reach for your shoes, only to give up with a little sigh.

Joel turned at the sound, the corners of his eyes crinkling with something between amusement and worry. “Ain’t helpless,” he said, voice a low rumble. You watched the way he moved unhurried, steady, filling the space so completely as he made his way over to you.

He knelt in front of you, the soft thud of his knees muffled against the old rug, and took your foot in his hands, slipping on your shoe, lacing it up with quick, practiced movements. Then the other, just as careful, his broad shoulders hunched in concentration, the top of his head catching a slant of sunlight.

When he finished tying your shoes, Joel didn’t move to get up. He stayed kneeling on the old rug in front of you, one hand wrapping gently around the back of your calf, thumb tracing thoughtless circles. His head bowed a little, eyes fixed on your legs in front of him, jaw set as if he was working something over and over in his mind.

The morning seemed to hush around you as you watched him, noticing the way his brows pinched together, the distant look in his eyes. He was somewhere else, thinking so hard you could feel the air around you shrinking just to this moment.

You opened your mouth, about to ask what was wrong, but before you could, Joel spoke, his voice low, barely above a whisper, still not quite looking up at you.

“Leave him.”

The words didn’t register at first. 

“What?” you breathed, sure you’d misheard.

That’s when Joel finally looked up, really looking at you, still kneeling on the floor in front of you. It felt so vulnerable, so raw, pleading in a way you’d never seen before. He swallowed hard, hands tightening gently at your leg as he met your eyes, voice breaking just a little.

“Leave him,” he said again, everything in him laid bare.

You blinked down at him. “Joel… I—”

He stood slowly, hands trailing up from your calves to your shoulders, his touch hesitant, like he didn’t know if you’d let him hold you. His palms cupped the back of your arms, not squeezing, just there. His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, he looked as wrecked as you’d ever seen him.

“I know I’m not supposed to say it,” he said, the words tumbling out like he couldn’t stop them now that they’d started. “I know it ain’t… fair. But I can’t keep pretendin’ ”

He swallowed, jaw tight. “It ain’t about the baby anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time. You know it. I know it.”

You shook your head, the tears stinging, but he pressed on.

“Tommy—he gets to walk around actin’ like everything’s normal, claimin’ this baby’s his, claimin’ you. All I do is stand on the sidelines, pretend I’m just helpin’ out, just some fuckin’… uncle. I gotta stand there and watch you cry over him, watch him treat you like you don’t matter. And I’m the one here, holdin’ you together when he can barely look at you.”

He looked away, chest heaving, voice breaking. “He asked this of us. Asked me to do this—then treats me like it was nothin’. Like you’re nothin’. And you…you keep comin’ back to me. You keep wantin’ me. So I know it ain’t just me who feels it.”

You’d never heard Joel talk like this before—like the words were burning his throat, like if he stopped, he’d never be able to say it again. Once, months ago, he’d admitted he wanted you. But this was different. Now he sounded like a man drowning.

And you felt caught in his undertow, sinking just as fast.

He raked a hand through his beard, eyes shining with something desperate before his hands fell on you again. “I’m tired, darlin’. Tired of bein’ on the sidelines, watchin’ you cry over him, of hidin’ what this really is. I’m yours, and I love you. It’s killin’ me to watch you let him take everythin’ from you. From me. From us.”

And for some reason, as you watched him, as he waited your answer, your thoughts immediately were of Tommy. Of your vows, of the years you’d spent building a future you could barely recognize anymore. Of all the nights you’d spent crying, and all the mornings you’d woken up in Joel’s arms instead. Was it always headed here? Had you just been pretending too?

Tommy was your husband. He’d been your first love, your future, your family. He was supposed to be all of it. But you couldn’t shake the memories that belonged to Joel too. The way he was always there, always solid, the person you leaned on—at first for Tommy’s sake, and then… somehow, for your own. You thought it was comfort, survival. You thought you were just playing the role Tommy asked for.

It hit you now, standing in front of Joel, just how much you’d missed. You’d been living this way for months—sharing yourself between them, saying it was all agreed, all out in the open. But still, you’d let yourself believe it was something you could manage, that it could stay simple, that no one would get hurt. You hadn’t let yourself see the way Joel looked at you, how often he put you first, how quietly he let Tommy take credit, how he swallowed his feelings for your sake and the baby’s.

God, you couldn’t let him go. You didn’t want to. Maybe you loved him too, maybe you always had and just refused to see it.

But Tommy. And this baby. And the wreckage you’d leave behind if you chose yourself, if you chose Joel.

And here he was, pouring everything out for you, breaking himself open because he couldn’t stand in the shadows anymore. Because he loved you. Because you think…maybe, almost certainly…you loved him back.

 It all tangled together inside you—loyalty, guilt, fear, want—making it impossible to breathe, impossible to choose.

You felt the world slip sideways, like your heart was in your throat. “You can’t…” you whispered, voice barely there, “You can’t ask me to leave my husband.”

Joel’s grip loosened, his hands falling away slow, like letting go was the hardest thing he’d ever done. You saw the pain in his eyes, the way it hollowed him out. He looked older in that moment, worn down and emptied, as if saying the truth had cost him something he couldn’t ever get back.

You took a step back, knees trembling, the world tilting beneath your feet. “Take me home,” you whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. “Please.”

The whole ride home, you tried not to cry. You weren’t sure if Joel said your name once or maybe even twice. Everything was a blur, your thoughts screaming so loudly you could barely hear the world outside. It all felt dreamlike, suspended, unreal.

You’d be kidding yourself if you hadn’t all along how hard this would be, how eventually you’d have to make a choice. To pick one of them. But how were you supposed to choose? The man you married, the man you’d loved for years, who you built a life with… or the man beside you in the truck, who saw you, wanted you, cared for you in ways no one ever had?

And what if fate really was a twisted son of a bitch? What if destiny was cruel enough to let you meet Joel first, only for you to be blind to it and end up falling for his brother instead? You tried to build a future with Tommy, tried to make it work, only for everything to splinter when he couldn’t give you a child. And as if that wasn’t enough, it had to be Joel—his own brother—who could. As if the universe itself was determined to tangle all your lives together, to make you pay for something you never even understood.

You barely said goodbye as you climbed out of the truck, slamming the door behind you as Joel parked. Maybe he thought of getting out too, but you’d already made it halfway to the porch, fumbling with your keys, desperate to get inside. You didn’t even look back. It wasn’t anger, not really, or at least, not at him. Joel was right. He was valid in every feeling, every need. What you had was real, stronger than anything you’d ever known, with a pull you could feel in your bones.

You were angry at yourself. For thinking you could have both. For letting yourself believe you could keep your life neat and easy, that you could somehow have your cake and eat it too. How did you ever think this would work? That you could be the hinge between two brothers and keep the peace?

The door clicked shut behind you, louder than you meant, and your eyes blurred so badly with tears you couldn’t make out anything in the mid morning light. You were already halfway to the stairs when you heard the scrape of a chair, a mug thumping on the dining room table.

“Hey—” Tommy’s voice cracked, hoarse with sleep or worry, you couldn’t tell. He was on his feet in a second, moving toward you, catching you just as you broke, your face falling into your hands, sobs spilling out uncontrollably.

He wrapped you up the moment you let go, arms tight, rocking you gently in the foyer, his chin pressing against your hair. “Honey,” he whispered, kissing the crown of your head, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

You clung to him harder, wanting to explain everything and knowing you couldn’t. You wanted him to understand—this wasn’t how you’d pictured things, all you ever wanted was a baby with him. You’d never planned for Joel to become such a force, such a gravitational pull in your life, but now you couldn’t picture a future without him in it. Not as an uncle. Not as a stand-in. You wanted them both, in some impossible, beautiful fantasy you thought could work. Just you and the two men you loved, raising your child together.

You knew, even through the heartbreak, that Tommy had reason to feel the way he did. Even though he was the one who’d first suggested this, he couldn’t have known how much it would change you, how much it would change everything.

He held you until your sobs softened, his hands smoothing over your hair, grounding you.

“Talk to me, baby,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “Please. Are you okay?”

You wiped your eyes with trembling hands, forcing yourself to breathe deeply, to find your voice again. Nodding, you pressed your palms against his chest, steadying yourself as you finally met his eyes.

“I’m fine. I just…” you shook your head, gazing up at him, “Tommy, why were you so…” you hesitated, your voice breaking around the words, “What happened yesterday?”

Tommy’s eyes dropped to the floor. His hands stiffened around you, searching for the words. “I messed up. I know I did. I… I was angry and I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair. None of this is fair, I know.” He swallowed, eyes shining with something raw. “I’m sorry, honey. I shouldn’t have said those things.”

You nodded, but it didn’t feel like enough. The ache inside you was still sharp. “But you meant them,” you whispered, “Didn’t you? The things you said—about me, about Joel, about the baby.”

Tommy’s jaw worked, shame flickering across his face. He reached up, fingers threading through your hair, his thumb brushing your cheek with so much tenderness, “I was angry. I was scared. I didn’t mean all of it.” His voice dropped, hoarse and pleading. 

You held his gaze, desperate for something real, something to hold onto, “Do you still want this, Tommy?” you asked, your words trembling with need. “Do you still want me? This family? After everything?”

He stared at you, searching your face like he could find his answer there. His eyes were wet, his voice ragged. “I do. God, I do. I just—” He shook his head, trying to hold himself together. “I don’t know how to do this, but I want you. I want our baby. I want all of it.”

Before you could say more, a sudden sharp movement made you wince. Instinctively, your hands flew to your belly, pressing gently where the baby’s heel—or maybe an elbow—thudded against your ribs from the inside. You let out a small, startled sound, your breath catching as the sensation lingered.

Tommy’s hands covered yours instantly, his touch gentle, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “He kickin’ again?” he asked, voice a little lighter now, though still concerned.

You nodded, letting out a shaky laugh. “Feels like he’s trying to break out.”

Tommy smiled, the first real one you’d seen from him in days. “He’s gonna be a handful, huh?” His hands moved to your hips, steadying you, thumbs pressing soothing little lines into the small of your back.

“I uh… Learned somethin’ while readin’ that book you gave me,” he offered, nudging your arm playfully.

“Oh yeah?” You tried to sound curious, grateful for the change in subject, letting him tug you gently out of your head and back into the warmth of the living room. “Which one?”

He bent to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “What to Expect When You’re Expectin’, of course. The classic.”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips despite everything. “Bet you skipped right to the good parts.”

Tommy grinned, shaking his head, “Actually…” He turned you so your back was to his chest, and slipped his big hands beneath your belly, palms lifting with careful, practiced strength. You sighed out, relief washing through you as the pressure lessened, your spine grateful for the reprieve.

“Oh–” you sighed, your head dropping back onto his shoulder, tension melting from your body. You let your eyes flutter closed as you breathed through the release of tension.

Tommy kept you there in his arms with his hands steady, the rise and fall of your belly matching the gentle rhythm of his breathing. He pressed a kiss to your exposed shoulder, voice a soft rumble in your ear, “Let me take care of you.”

You didn’t have it in you to argue. That was all you wanted. Just for him to be here, present, to see you and stay beside you. To be the husband you needed, the father this baby deserved. He’d been so distant lately, lost in his own thoughts, and maybe he didn’t even realize how much you missed him.

You stayed like that for a moment, letting him hold you, letting yourself relax into his body and the softness of the morning. For just a few precious seconds, the heaviness in your chest eased, the worries faded, and you let yourself believe, maybe, that things could be simple again.

Tommy nuzzled your cheek, his hand smoothing down your belly. “He’s lucky, you know. To have you for his mama.”

You swallowed, a tightness returning, but you held onto the warmth as long as you could. “He’s lucky to have you too,” you whispered, your hand finding his on your belly, fingers threading together.

 Joel, a few weeks later

Your eyes.

He couldn’t get them out of his head. He felt haunted by the way you’d looked at him last, pain and shock and something deeper flickering through. Every time Joel closed his own eyes, yours stared back at him. Confusion, then pain, then a kind of sorrow he hadn’t known he could cause. Maybe that was the worst of it, knowing you’d looked at him like you didn’t recognize him anymore.

He sat alone at the far end of the bar, shoulders hunched, the air thick with the smell of cheap beer and fried food. His third glass of whiskey was nearly empty, but the burn in his chest hadn’t faded. He nursed the glass, letting the heat crawl down his throat, wishing it would take the edge off the ache in his gut. It didn’t.

Joel Miller never asked for things. He learned the hard way that nothing was ever handed to him. When Sarah’s mom left, he’d prayed for a sign, for mercy, for anything that might make it hurt less. None of it came. He’d gotten used to that kind of emptiness, filled it with work, sweat, exhaustion, anything to keep from wanting what he couldn’t have.

But then you.

He didn’t mean for things to change, not like they did. Didn’t mean for a deal struck in desperation to become the center of his goddamn world. He never meant to start wanting things like soft mornings, the sound of your laughter, the smell of you in his bed. He didn’t mean to want…this. A family with you. 

And he never meant to need you.

Now look at him. Washed up, bitter, nothing to show for it but a ruined family and a half-empty glass. Weeks had passed with nothing but silence. And these last weeks had been so crucial in your pregnancy, he knew. He knew it was only a matter of time before you went into labor. Would he get a phone call? Would he have to hear about it after the fact? Even Tommy had been avoiding him, working separate jobs, never meeting his eyes in the rare moments they did cross paths. Joel had never felt so exiled.

It was punishment, he told himself. For wanting too much. For saying what should’ve stayed buried in his chest. He deserved it. He’d fucked everything up by asking, by hoping.

But the longer he sat there, nursing his shame, the more it curdled into something ugly, something stubborn. He started to wonder—why shouldn’t he ask for more? Why shouldn’t he get to want you, after everything he’d done, everything Tommy hadn’t?

He thought of how you’d cried to him, how Tommy had left you to do it alone. How you’d reached for Joel in the night, not your husband. How it was Joel you called when you needed someone steady.

Didn’t that mean something? Didn’t he deserve something too, for once?

The whiskey didn’t answer. The bartender didn’t look his way. The whole world spun on, uncaring. Joel stared into the bottom of his glass, jaw clenched, the want and the guilt burning together now, making something sharp and wild out of him.

Maybe he didn’t deserve you. But even if that were true, he knew for damn certain his brother didn’t deserve you either. 

The bar lights blurred as Joel got to his feet, setting down the empty glass with a heavy, final thud. He slapped some bills on the sticky wood, not bothering to count.

He was already moving, pushing out into the night air, his mind made up before his feet hit the parking lot.

You

Dinner was quiet, the kind of quiet that crawls under your skin and makes everything feel brittle. The kitchen light buzzed overhead. You pushed food around your plate, barely eating, feeling every small irritation sharper than usual. Tommy sat across from you, arms crossed, his own meal barely touched.

He sighed, “You gotta eat more than that, honey. For the baby.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Tommy frowned. “You need to keep your strength up. Doctor said—”

You set your fork down with a little more force than necessary. “I know what the doctor said, Tommy. I was there.”

He rolled his eyes, muttering, “Hard to tell sometimes. You never listen to me anyway.”

You stiffened, the tension simmering right under your skin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just means you don’t listen, is all,” he replied, voice tight. “Always got your mind somewhere else.”

Your hands balled into fists under the table. You wanted to scream, to throw your plate across the room. Instead, you bit out, “Maybe if you tried talking to me instead of talking at me, I’d want to listen.”

Tommy’s face went hard. “Real nice.”

You stared at him, something ugly swirling in your chest. This wasn’t about dinner. It wasn’t even about the baby, not really. You knew exactly what was bothering you. The ache of missing Joel had been gnawing at your insides every minute he was gone. But you couldn’t say that, not now. Not ever. Besides, it was you who’d been avoiding him.

Maybe Tommy sensed something had happened between you and Joel, and maybe he knew more than he let on, but he never asked. Maybe he didn’t want to know.

The argument stalled, both of you sulking in silence, a thousand things always left unsaid. You were about to get up when a sharp, heavy knock rattled the front door.

You froze. Tommy scraped his chair back and headed for the entryway, leaving you sitting there, heart suddenly pounding.

You heard voices. Tommy’s was low and annoyed, and then another, rough and urgent, words muffled but unmistakably angry. The front door banged open, making you jump in your seat. The sound of boots hit the hardwood, the smell of whiskey and cigarettes hitting you before you even saw him.

Joel strode past Tommy, ignoring the hand at his shoulder. His eyes were wild, dark and desperate, and before you could react, he was kneeling beside you right there in the dining room. He looked wrecked, raw, everything stripped bare.

“Joel, what are you doing? Have you been smok–” 

He cut you off, grabbing your hands, holding them tight like he might break apart if he let go. “I’m sorry,” he rasped, voice thick. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry. But I can’t—I do this. I need you to see. Need you to understand what this is, what you are to me.”

“Joel…”

Tommy stormed into the room, voice sharp. “You got no right to barge in here. This is my house. She’s my wife, goddammit, Joel.”

Joel’s eyes never left you. 

He just clung tighter to your hands, gaze pleading, almost haunted. “You don’t know what it’s been like—how it’s been eatin’ me alive, sweetheart. I see you everywhere. I wake up in the middle of the night just... I can’t breathe. I can’t fuckin’ think straight.”

You opened your mouth again, but he just shook his head, voice cracking. “I know I ruined everything. I know I asked for too much. But I can’t stand watchin’ him treat you like you’re somethin’ he has to endure, like you’re not the best thing that ever happened to any of us. You needed him, and he left you alone. Over and over. And I’m the bastard who made it worse by fallin’ for you. But I can’t lie. I love you. I love you so goddamn much it’s made me stupid.”

Tommy’s jaw flexed across the room. “Let her go, Joel. Jesus, look at yourself. You reek like booze. You’re pathetic.”

Joel’s head snapped up at that, finally turning on his brother, rage simmering in his eyes. His hands still held yours even as he looked away, “You wanna talk about pathetic? You had everything. You had her, you had a family, and you still managed to make her feel alone. That’s on you, not me.”

Tommy bristled, stepping closer, voice rising. “You think you’re some kind of hero or somethin'? She showed up cryin' the last time she saw you. And you're...you're just a goddamn homewrecker. You’re supposed to be my brother, and you’re tryin’ to steal my wife—”

“Hey–” you tried to cut in, but they were already too heated.

Joel’s lip curled, the words coming out as a snarl. “You don’t even know what you’ve got. You’ve never treated her like she mattered. You just wanted a baby, and when you couldn’t do it yourself, you handed her off to me like it was a job, not a fuckin’ life. Just admit you’re angry ‘cause you know I can actually take care of her.”

Tommy shoved him then, hard, and Joel staggered back, catching himself on his palms behind him.

“You piece of shit,” Tommy spat. 

“Guys, please, don’t do this.” you begged, looking between the two brothers. Your stomach clenched and tightened beneath your hand as you flattened then against your swollen belly.

They ignored you, Joel getting up on his feet and moving into Tommy’s space. He glared at his brother, chest heaving, eyes wild with grief and fury.

“Go ahead, Tommy,” Joel growled, voice low and venomous. “Hit me all you want. Won’t change a damn thing. You couldn’t give her what she needed. Couldn’t give her a family. And you sure as hell never made her feel the way I do. Had to show you the way, didn’t I? How to touch your own fucking–”

But he was cut off by a right hook to the jaw, Tommy’s fist flying through the air. Joel staggered a little, but was quick to push back, lashing out in return, and then they were tangled, fists flying, bodies crashing into the table, sending a glass shattering to the floor.

You shouted again, stepping toward them, panic clawing at your throat, your hips and stomach tightening in clenching waves. “Stop it! Please, just stop!” But they barely registered you, lost in months of anger, shame, and jealousy.

Tommy had Joel pressed back against the wall, forearm pinning him, spit flying. “You think you’re better than me?” he roared. “She’s my wife, not yours!”

Joel snarled, twisting free, shoving Tommy back and sending him stumbling. He caught sight of you trying to get closer, and his tone softened even in the chaos, rough but laced with worry. “Not right now,” he said, breathless, eyes flicking over you, pleading for you to stay back, “This is between us.”

You hesitated, wanting to reach out for one of them, but Joel was already swinging, fist connecting with Tommy’s ribs, knocking the wind out of him. Tommy slammed Joel back against the wall, knuckles bruising, both men wild-eyed, locked in a vicious, ugly dance neither seemed able to end.

Your whole body was trembling, tears streaming down your face. “Stop it! Please, you’re going to hurt each other!”

A sudden, sharp pain twisted through your belly, stronger than before. You doubled over, a cry escaping your lips, and just as you felt a gush of warmth down your legs, you gasped, “Oh my god.”

The chaos stopped all at once. Joel and Tommy froze, both of them panting, bruised and bloodied, staring at you in utter shock. 

The room fell silent but for your ragged breaths and the sound of water pooling on the floor.

taglist: @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @alidiggory92 @pinkylouise @izzy698 @doblasftcisco @devotedlypaleluminary @elsplayground @puduvallee @victoriaholland @legoemma @leenieweenie12 @possiblyafangirl @alitaar @mads198-9 @emmaoc10 @auteurdelabre @the-last-twin-of-krypton @lilasskicker2 @levislegislation @flowercrowns-goodvibes@starmurdock@94namkooksworld @staley83, @escapefromrealitylol, @starkleila, @ashleyfilm, @honeyydip, @timeladyrikaofgallifrey, @brooklynbbxo, @ratoonstown, @caroldxnvxrs, @lovelykat001

[zackcalderon]

important question: what are your top 5 kyle gallner roles?

oh god oh fuck ok im doing this on pure instinct bcuz if i think about it for too long I'll change my mind 5000000 times

1. matt campbell (the haunting in connecticut)

is thic a good movie? no. but he acts the fuck down, and it was the second role i ever saw him in and i fell in lesbian love with him on impact.. he's so 🥺 and queer To Me and literally three apples tall

2. benson (the passenger)

he deserves every award ever for playing benson. oscar. pulitzer. glaad award. he was acting DOWN! where else can you get a homoerotic traumatized sicko freak who takes a little twink under his wing and ruins his life and somehow he's still so likeable... the power of kyle

3. beaver/cassidy casablanca (veronica mars)

they massacred my boy with the end of his plot but idc.. he slayed so hard that they had to kill him and make him a villain even tho that was such a garbo decision... I'll love that gay boy until i die

4. quentin smith (nightmare on elm street 2010)

bad movie. maybe even a terrible movie. but kyle said I'm here to show u bitches acting! and he did!!! and he looked so pretty princess while doing it!!!!!!!!! i think the plot itself Could've been interesting if they put any care into it and i feel like kyle felt the same way but im also probably projecting.. regardless quentin i love you

5. eric (what comes around)/emmett (mother may i)

cheating by doing two but i don't care!!!! i watched these on the same day back to back so they're linked in my brain. 1. he looked good as FUCK in both roles 2. i really loved that he was so Much in what comes around and that he was acting circles around the girl from stranger things with the bug eyes, very pleasing to me 3. mmi just has such a mommy issues freak swag that i can't not include it, like she is that girl

[justshitandanime]

Arukana Famiria/ La storia della Arcana Famiglia (Anime) Critic, opinion, no spoilers

An anime with a intense Italian flavor, and, as part Italian, I HAD to watch it.

Italians with powers. That’s the resume.

Plot? Pretty average, the resume say it all, but make the character’s powers based in Tarot Cards is cool (?). With the chapters, it tend to show more about the inner issues and sub trama between the family members, but it can feel like a little slow. You can expect a ton of action knowing, since minute 1, that there are powers, but that’s false, there is barely any fighting. There are chapters that are entirely talking. Which is not bad per se, but knowing the resume, is not what you expect.

The story get a little better like at chapter 9, when some few plot twists give a ton of info and make clear a lot of the weird crappy plot of the first chapters.

A small extra bad point? The Title of the episodes are in a font that’s impossible to read, like, damn, if you have some dyslexia, you don’t understand a fuck. At least is only the titles.

The characters are a little all over the place and at moments are too many to remember which one had which card. The female protagonist at least don’t have the “lady in distress syndrome” and she can defend herself. Her issue is be like “nobody tell me what to do” but also a “I will obey because my rank” so... Make your mind!. At least she is not annoying as fuck, thank you.

The main “male lovers” are a little basic plain bitches, with emotional constipation so you don’t tend to love any of them. Is even more likely you love more some of the secundary ones lol Like the silly “butler”, the lasagna man, the bald or even the one who have a thic italian accent... THEY ARE ALL ITALIANS, WHY HE IS MORE ITALIAN THAN THE REST? WTF?

Some are supposedely the “best of the best” and the “epic strong badass ones” and yet they are so stupid that you want to slap them 32 times. They can fall into an unnecessary fight with 500 people because someone touch a boob....

BUT IS ITALIAN, AND THEY TALK SOMETIMES LIKE ITALIANS (that’s a +1) * Scream in Italian Mafia *

Score: 2/5 and 4/10. Don’t watch it if you are Italian. Italian stereotipes all over the place. Not very recommended.

[aashi-heartfilia]

That's basically the BnHA chapters lately...

35 Days!! 35 Days and you're telling me that the entire class 1A minus Deku were just sitting around with their classes suspended and doing nothing while Deku was out there in wild defeating Tartaros villains, gaining new power-ups and what not!??

If it was going to be just Deku-deku saves the day again they why did they even bother telling that "WE ALL BECAME ULTIMATE HEROES!!" Just why?

Like how is this even possible? We're already in the ENDGAME of this story and there are still new characters remaining to appear out of the blue.

And yeah while it was foreshadowed a while back that some heroes from outside of Japan are coming to help but All Might having a disciple all along and it wasn't mentioned in 300+ chapters is just too much of a stretch.

Also, it feels like Horikoshi suddenly realised how less female characters actually are and decided that from now on I'm gonna fill the plot with thic badass women until people get bored of seeing them and I get tired of drawing them.

First Lady Nagant and now this!

Instead of giving panel time to LoV or even more of class 1A, we get one more chapter detailing on how Stain got that piece of info (which wasn't even needed but anyways)

Also, just 3 days remaining for Shigaraki's form to complete?

Are you kidding me?

Yeah people like Jiro, Tokoyami and Bakugo etc had new moves this time (class 1A vs Deku) but they still appear to be nowhere near to possess a threat to Shigaraki.

Honestly, I have no idea where the story is even going at this point, what will be the conclusion of this show? And hell yeah they did the class dirty..and not just class, where is LoV?

No clues to where Toga is? Did she went back to the crew or got seperated? UA has already made preperation for her but where is she? What about Dabi, Mr Compress and Snipper?

Also, where the heck is Shigaraki?

So if we keep on introducing new Characters every fucking week, just one question...

Where should the old characters go?

[snow-flake-writes]

I saw this post a while back and I tried to look for it to repost and say my thoughts on it, but I couldn’t find it. Someone said that OC stories are not “x reader” stories. Said something about not putting “x reader” tags when it’s just your OC.

Well I have to disagree with this.

Sure, they are two completely different tags, but you shouldn’t get mad at them for putting “x reader” when it’s just about their OC( like “character x OC” but says “x reader” in tags). Technically, it’s still “x reader” ‘cause you can change the OC’s looks and descriptions in your own head if you want.

Some people might like the plot for the story with the character they’d like to read about, and can just change the OC in your head.

Or some are truly interested in the authors OC.

Really, it’s completely fine to put “x reader” in tags when it’s just about your OC.

Having “x reader” in the tags can actually help people find your story. Helps the author show their story to more people. Cause most people don’t just search up “character x OC”.

If you don’t like the OC stories, then don’t read them.🤷🏻‍♀️ if you do, then read it.

I hope this was clear for explaining. If your still confused about my reason, then please pm me. I’ll gladly help you understand.

This isn’t really a big deal, it can just hurt people’s motivation to show the world their own creation. Everyone deserves to show the world what they can do, or what their passionate about.

So with that in mind, please don’t criticize people’s stories for something that isn’t that big of a deal.

I’m curious to what all of you think on this. Please feel free to comment your opinion.

Tagging: (if you would not like to be tagged in future posts, not sure if I’ll ever really do this again, please pm me)((I literally just tagged everyone I’m following))

@mx-kenpachi-be-thic @asnxdt @gorepity @lordduckass @defaultuser-lol @sukunasslut @bleachhaven @silenceofthecookies @onepiece-writting-forest @pinkaxolotl85 @handsoffmyscarfsherlock @purplelurkinghini @bakugotrashpanda @lcsbianist @dudeandduchess @voidbait @katsvbae @du7de @birdypendragon @notkageyamasprincess @secondhand-trash @avis-writeshq @vivinhun @dcondcst @miioouu @daddyzanchez @okatu-trash @planeta-en-orbita-x16 @ask-riiiiicksanchez @i-keepmyideals @zoraideale122 @raindrops-doujin @amissotakuworld @blue-pandicorn @importantpersonpicklepeach @luciddreamsfordays @theyugiohfanartistwritersblog @drstone-writings @aciid-eater @chuuyasnumber1simp @senkuishigami @senkusslut @senkuthirstclub

[rational-mastermind]

Okay, so yeah, this is another post that’ll be dissecting THAT scene from the SU finale.

But I’ll save my ranting for under the cut. Nothing too big, just an interesting perspective I picked up on.

Still with me? Cool. So, not long after screaming over the finale, my husband decided to do poke at the plot holes with me. An infamous tick of his, it seems.

One of which was Steven’s quote here in the scene

“It’s me. It’s always been me.”

Now hold your torches and pitchforks. His problem with it was his reoccurring trips down memory lane through the eyes of Pink Diamond.

And not to mention this little...hesitation before Gem!Steven showed up.

How the gem first forms Pink, and then Rose, and then Steven. I can’t blame him for questioning where the hell Pink or Rose even went if it’s “just been Steven”.

Well here’s the simple solution.

For the dreams, Steven’s an empath. (Not empathetic, but empathic). It’s pretty damn obvious. Don’t think people will argue with me but for the sake of the post, I’ll list why just the same.

There are six types of Empaths and I’m glad that Steven has actually demonstrated each one and here’s how.

1. Emotional Empath

The emotional empath is one of the most common types of empaths. It’s literally feeling what others feel. Picking up on other’s emotions, having those emotions influence you, or understanding on a deeper level what it’s like, even if you’ve never experienced it.

Such as being able to tell when somethng’s wrong with the CGs and figuring out how to best fix it. Feeling the Cluster’s need to form to a point that it physically overwhelmed him. Reaching out to Blue’s depression when she visited Pink’s grave-site (notice how Blue Pearl wasn’t crying then) and crying tears with her.

2. Physical/Medical Empath

Now, technically this is supposed to be about intuitively knowing what’s hurting another person physically and knowing how to heal them, but for the sake of a cartoon about a magic alien boy, we get healing spit. Heals Connie’s eyes. Heals Greg’s leg. Heals cracked gems. Now if only Steven could bottle this as the cure for cancer. XD

3. Plant Empath

Basically having a green thumb. Understanding what plants need and such. Sometimes even feel as though the plants may guide you. Or in Steven’s case, being able to grant them sentience. (I mean, healing spit, why not?) We’ve seen it a dozen times, and even Rose/Pink had it. The flowers, the bushes, the rose insignia on her shield. It wasn’t prominent, except for the watermelons and Pumpkin, but it was there.

4. Animal Empath

Hm, an connection with animals, eh? Liiiiike zombie lions? Corrupted gems? Half-blind kitties? Honestly when you spend enough time around any creature, you start to see they’re not too different from humans.

5. Claircognizant/Intuitive Empath

This is basically where an empath can be confused for a lie-detector. Intuition can be used for knowing that someone is bullshitting, skirting around the issue, or trying to bury something. Steven’s whole adventure in digging through his mom’s past is a great example. Connie trying not to talk about hurting the kid in school. Pearl hiding Rose’s identity. Calling out White for being childish. I wouldn’t say he’s the most intuitive, but it’s there. Something more intuitive would likely be, having a somewhat sub-conscious understanding of something, mostly something that will bring harm. Like moving the glass from the ledge, knowing when today just won’t go right and it isn’t pessimism, or one particular box catching your eye more than others of the same variety. That I would say is more related to Garnet than Steven.

Finally the last piece.

6. Geomantic Empath

Geomantic empathy is sometimes called place or environmental empathy. Those with this ability have are more in tune to the physical landscape and their surroundings.

Such as when Stevonnie landed on the planet where Pink and Yellow were talking. It wasn’t Steven, literally remembering what Pink remembered. It was him refeeling what was left behind here. It’s like walking into an old colonial house and getting that feel of how different life was or what people used to live like. Except for Steven, this is much more acute. Especially while harboring the exact same gem.

Oh. And that dream with the caterpillar and Pink Pearl and this?

Yeah geez.. This is called stress. I’m sure a lot of us are familiar with it.

When you’re under a lot of stress, but don’t allow yourself to show it, it’s easy for that to manifest in your dreams. It’ll seem hyper realistic, but speaking from experience, it’s just a dream and yeah, will often involve recent events or people who specifically stress you out a lot.

Ever since arriving on home world, Steven’s been trying to be patient and courteous, been holding himself together, been trying to understand what it was his mom used to do. This stress, kinda seems to clash with his geomantic empathy and thus the hair, Pink Pearl, and seeming to predict what Blue was about to say. So that all settled, then why did the gem first become Pink? Why Pink or Rose? Why not just automatically shift to Steven? Well it is still Pink Diamond’s gem. The gem itself is still a pink diamond and therefore will know it is. But the thing about how it’s “always been Steven” is that when White took away the gem, Steven’s gem...was poofed.

And we know when gems poof, they reform and change their looks.

(for a small example... ;D)

The gem needed to regenerate a new physical form. And that’s the interesting perspective.

Pink had shape-shifted into a rose-quartz for so long. This whole war had just been her shape-shifting and keeping everyone guessing. But we know a gem can’t hold the shape for long. She couldn’t be Rose Quartz 24/7.

So when Pearl “shattered” her, she was essentially poofed, and took on the new form. She permanently took on Rose Quartz’s form.

She wouldn’t have to shape-shift anymore, this was just her form. Like when Amethyst tried making her form better. Bigger, stronger, more like Pearl. (no gif provided but we all remember that episode, right?) But she would’ve kept that if she didn’t keep getting poofed, and same with Rose.

And then...

Rose met Greg.

And we’re all pretty much in agreement that Rose must’ve shape-shifted for as long as she could, to have Steven.

But, if a gem shape-shifts for too long, it does take a toll. And the gem either stops or, likely, poofs.

And took on its new form. The form the gem wanted to have.

So yeah, Pink Diamond’s gone. The gem won’t reform into her anymore, even if it’s supposed to. It’s supposed to be Pink, who wanted to be Rose, who wanted to be Steven, who wanted to be Rose or Pink...but in the end, it’s who he’s supposed to be. Who he’s meant to be.

So...

TLDR; Steven never saw his mom’s memories, he empathically connected with the past or stressed out. The gem’s poofed more times than any diamond and the new and permanent form is Steven. Not Rose. Not Pink.

[twistedmafiaau]

- 𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚝'𝚜 𝚃𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚃𝚎𝚊 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚢 -

Little Trivia for the curios ones -

Reagan - The name means "Little King" or "Little Ruler" in Irish colture, it embodies a youthful majesty, holding great promise and a calming presence.

Precious Calendula - The Calendula is a powerful anti-inflammatory flower. It is often used topically to heal wounds, burns, and soothe irritated skin and it represent emotional healing, strenght and resiliance.

◀ 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 ||| 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 2 - 𝙸𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 ||| 𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 ▶

Reagan’s cheeks darkened with a slight blush, highlighting the freckles scattered across the tip of her nose.

“Yes, I admit I ferreted a bit on your blog…and had a laugh or two with your personal comments on The King. Also I might not look like it but I’m nineteen, I turned just a month ago.” she explained, a shy smile curving her lips upward.

A small piece of information popped in your head; a speck of knowledge you remembered listening to when a few police women back at the station were talking about their relationships, that you classified as for later research for leisure.

A Pisces. Sensible, empathic and warm-hearted…that hid deep down in their heart restless, obsession and a lack of self confidence. 

You shook your head. This was irrelevant at the moment.

“I apologize again if my approach to reach out to you was… a tad over the top, but I was afraid either you turned me down, after all who believes a random stranger on the internet that says you’ve been assaulted by the same man, or… — Reagan paused, that same wave of fear, like a maelstrom, ready to swallow what little courage and carefree chatter she’d offered — …I was afraid he might be listening to me, spying me from some dark corner my eyes can’t reach. I don’t own a cellphone or a computer because of this stupid paranoia of mine. Ain’t that pathetic?” 

You offered her warm words of encouragement, telling her that her fears were important and not pathetic. Everyone reacts differently to trauma — some fight, springing back to their feet stronger than before, while others take more time and patience to heal.

Reagan wiped away a stray tear escaped from her lashes with a fancy napkin, muttering that she wished to be as strong as you were. 

“Sorry for derailing the conversation, it’s always painful reliving that kind of trauma.” she said, sitting back with her spine straight as she was attending one of those very strict, and very expensive, all girls academies. 

“From what I’ve read on your blog and magazine articles you come across as someone who’s strong willed…perhaps more hard headed than you like to admit. I figured you were someone with a strong sense of justice but also someone that harbored…vengeance deep within her heart. Two feelings so strong that, I thought, could help me in my intent.”

You noticed she started fiddling with everything her nimble fingers could reach: the cup handle, her pure silver cufflinks resembling little flowers, the prominent details of the little cell phone Malleus had given her… 

An habit shared by someone who was incredibly nervous but tried to hide it by keeping their hands busy.

“You see, I need informations. I’ve tried looking for and contacting anyone that had to do with this man, but ultimately they were unreachable or unwilling to talk… some of them were even dead before they got the chance of turning thirty. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to use you like a pawn in a bigger game of chess, I need confirmation.” Reagan rummaged in a small leather bag, coming out with a notebook that had seen better days, almost bursting with paper retails. You wondered how that thing even fitted inside her small bag.

She flipped through the pages with meticulousness, searching for something she was sure she’d put in between those yellowish papers. 

Reagan slided across the table a photo, facedown, waiting for you to pick it up and look at it.

“Tsu— I mean, Malleus is convinced that the man is part of either the Shonenheit family or the Kingscholar family, but I don’t think so. I think he’s someone outside the main mafia families, someone that’s trying to make a name for himself, gather subordinates, comrades in arms and discredit the reputation of the most important families to then take their place. I know it seems like a conjecture out of thin air and with little evidence to support it, but trust me...something about him is different.”

As you looked at the photo, a blurry picture of a back garden taken from a window, your eyes spotted that figure in the foliage, hidden by the night. The tailored suit with a fake burgundy black dahlia sawn with imprecision on the buttonhole, the pale mask of a fox with shakily painted details that hid those insane eyes — those same eyes full of sadistic enjoyment of having cornered someone weaker than him, destroyed the peace of a safe environment such as a house. Those same eyes you saw in between the steam and that you kept seeing behind your eyelids when your sleep was troubled.

A shiver ran across your spine. 

It was him, no doubts about it, your guts told you so.

“The reason why Mallues believes so is a bit macabre and it’s also the reason why the three families seems to be on thin ice when I pop out as a subject in conversations, but it’s also a long story…and I’m afraid I robbed you of much precious time already. Also, you needn’t to worry about Malleus asking for favors out of you, aside from the banter you keep up with the Kingscholar family I doubt he has any interests in you as a person. Many women, more beautiful and powerful than me, try constantly to gain his attention but he always says there’s no woman as charming as I, his precious calendula. Don’t know if that’s true but maybe you can read more into it than I can.”

So, Malleus Draconia was a devoted man, uh?

Your theories on the matter would wait until you were back on your loyal laptop. She piqued your curiosity with just one sentence. If Reagan was connected to that man you needed to know what else she was hiding behind that shy smile and overly polite manners.

You needed more information.

Bouncing the ball back to @echosofmortality let's see what Mort has to say now 😈

[breysreviews]

I don’t even know how to put into words how much I loved this book. I would’ve definitely finished it in 1 sitting if I didn’t have so much going on, but I did finish it in less than 24 hours, so that’s still a good sign. My heart is racing, I’m super emotional (and I’m a person who doesn’t tend to get emotional at all in books). This book had a lot of heavy touchy subjects, and it talked about them in a very eloquent and beautiful way. It is the story about 2 sisters who are polar opposites, but come together in the end, which I genuinely love. It should however have trigger warnings for certain things before the story begins.

Wins:

-Autumn and Ivy. I love them. Both of them. Their individual stories are absolutely amazing, their perspectives are amazing. And god bless Ivy for being thic and proud of it! MY QUEEN!

-handling very touchy subjects. I’m going to give out a few spoilers here so SPOILER WARNING. Autumn has 2 very touchy story plots that people can and will get triggered by. Her storyline addresses not only drug dealer, but also drug abuse and rape, and it’s not done in a IM DOING THIS BECAUSE ITS TRENDY kind of way, they stories that do that genuinely offend me, but in this story it is addressed very boldly in a way that people can learn from and understand

-the plot. It’s a very unique plot, the whole ghost wandering around thing is nothing new, but it’s done in a completely different way than I’ve ever read. The way that Ivy becomes a detective for her sister that’s not even close to her is amazing, I really loved it

-the romance. Super cute, the first reveal I was dying, cheering out, and then with the final reveal of the romance I was smitten and very happy. Very cute. Loved it

Opportunities

-can we throw away the “pretty skinny popular girl, versus her fat, dorky very unpopular sister” troupe, I’m sick of it. Stop doing it. I want to grab authors who flaunt it by the front for their shirts and shake them.

All in all, it was the better version of If I Stay. Please DO NOT come out with a storyline ruining sequel, I will take back every good thing I’ve said. In conclusion was the Last Confession of Autumn Casterly worth it? 1000% yes. Pick it up, again just be aware of some trigger warnings that aren’t mentioned.

[exxo-potato]

Hi could i please get a match up im a 5'9 bi girl with a pref for guys,im pale w/ freckles,&blue eyes w/ glasses,&a curly ginger pixiecut.Im an infp,Aquarius,&hufflepuff.Im goth &i have every sense of humour from puns to sarcastic quips to much worse.I have been told "you may dress in all black but you act like a rainbow or a golden retriever"&i feel like that is relevant here.I like drawing,reading (thic books & comics),&playing videogames i prefer someone dominant tho i am a switch.Thank you ❤

Hello anon and sorry for my delay in response.

I match you with...

Ronan. He’s a pansexual 6′3 orc with 1″ tusks and a thin but toned build. He doesn’t dress like a goth, but he listens to a lot of “goth” bands and has a drawer-full of shirts from their concerts. In fact, he’s saving up to take you to one.

He’s not great at coming up with puns, but yours usually get a chuckle or two. Sarcasm, however, is something he has in spades, and will often respond to your humorous sarcasm with--you guessed it--more humorous sarcasm. He will banter with you until either you or a third party stops him.

He doesn’t mind that you don’t “act goth.” As long as you ID as goth, he will think of you as one. If anyone tries to call that into question, he will coolly but assertively reaffirm that you are, indeed, a goth.

Ronan dabbles in drawing and painting, but his artistic strength lies in ceramics. One of his secret fantasies is to reenact that one famous scene from Ghost with you over his pottery wheel, but he doesn’t know how to tell you without it sounding super cheesy. He’s a hopeless romantic at heart.

He reads a lot of scifi and fantasy series simultaneously. You can’t help but wonder how he keeps all those characters and plots straight in his head whenever you see him reading. He’s a huge fan of reading and snuggling, if it’s something you’re okay with.

Ronan mostly plays combat games like Smash, Mortal Kombat, Injustice, et c., but he’s open to trying new genres, as well, especially if he’s playing with you.

It might take him a while to get comfortable being intimate, but he’s open to almost anything so long as it’s not hurting you.  

EP

[fandomrecycling]

This plot be getting DUMMY THIC

You should know that all that time alone will have changed Kai. I can’t make any promises, I don’t even know what will happen. You could get hurt. The cynic in me is saying it’s a guarantee you’ll get hurt when you find him. But I would still hold out hope for your bother. There’s so much that’s happened to him, I just hope you’re prepared to face who he’s become.

“Whatever he’s become I can take it. I’m not going home without him.”

“That’s great and all, but if we can get a bed before then that’d be nice too, or at least a bigger tree to sleep under.” Jay uncomfortably shuffled on the ground.

“You don’t have to sleep in the dirt you know.” Cole huffed.

“How else am I supposed to stretch? A ninja needs good posture!”

Behind the stranger was a small group of others, all showing variying amounts of skin covered by ash and black markings. In the distance there was a large bonfire starting.

“Actually we are. Very.” Jay replied.

“You don’t have a place to stay?”

Lloyd answered. “We don’t have any money.”

The stranger grinned. “You can hunker down with us for awhile, we have food, a warm fire.”

“That’s all I need to hear!” Jay jumped up.

“Hold on motormouth.” Cole shushed him. “What’s with all the tattoos and armor you and your friends got?”

“Oh, these?” The man pointed to a sparse few on his chest, smiling. “They’re just a cultural practice! We don’t bite, I promise. You look like you could use a good meal.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. None of the ninja had had the most enriching time in their solo journeys. They’d admittedly seen weirder as well. These strangers seemed nice enough.

Lloyd got up. “Sure, we’d love to.”

[pigtailedgirl]

This is some really great discussion.

If I could join, do you also think that a problem of the film, and even the comic’s, story engine is that the superhero media can’t answer the question of accountability with it’s vigilante roots? Becoming enforcement arms of their countries is problems. Being free agents is problems as a reader or watcher must hand-wave the lack of true consequences over time, even for mistaken deaths or picking wrong sides or brainwashing excessively escalating violent scenes etc etc.

What is a solution? Could superheroes form their own country/agency to oversee their rights, abilities, framework of laws and punishments, and how they’d co-exist with other countries and non-powered? Would readers and movie-goers be off-put by developing this frame, as it would alter the one special ability in our everyday that is the current frame?

But Civil War fails accountability anyways largely because the movie at least is I think muddying that feeling guilty is different from being guilty under law, that laws are only accountable if they are just, and that the system and the people involved were too biased or powerless to be just.

What was held up as a version of accountability is a lie in Civil War. 

The movie doesn’t want to outright make this statement, because one half of those promoting that is supposed heroes. One half is Tony. And why can’t Tony have been wrong? Been accountable? For Ultron. For bringing in Ross? For wealth, and Peter and not listening and breaking laws he signed and attempted murder?

Strange, if you do make Tony wrong, even if the character does not admit it, the movie would fix. Imagine the end scene where there is not an agree to disagree letter but a Steve angry that Tony tried to kill them. A Tony who believes he’s entitled to be above his own account. A Rhodey who is traumatized and conflicted by his injury and his friend’s arrests and his governments stance and his other friends hypocrisy. Same with Vision, who now understands Wanda’s fear and worries of control as he made the mistake that hurt Rhodey, he’s enhanced, what’s his accountability/ role.

But they market and instead pivet on Steve being wrong. And Steve’s wrongness in the film, the thing even Team Cap fans seem to embrace, is misplaced guilt. Which is a lie too. 

I’m with @whyihatetonystark​ that Steve is knee-capped in this film everytime he’s close to exposing the lies of accountability. Wanda is blamed. Peggy dies. Bucky’s in danger. Team Tony doesn’t listen. Tony and T’Challa go revenge.

Poor Steve burdened by these troubles and forced to run. Guilt and depression get Steve, like hubris and ego get Tony.

@keire-ke​ is right they undercut pro-active Steve. A Steve who would maybe say Tony and Bruce built Ultron, I’m fighting for their accountability there. Make them trial. Pay restitution. Restrict Iron Man’s tech. 

A whole plot point of AOU is the Avengers are running through tearing Hydra and Shield to the ground. That movie brings the flaw that it ignores how in the hell is everyone cool with this? Countries? Peoples? Even Avengers? What’s the standing that they get no push back until Ultron starts fucking it up?

Yeah, umm what about Rumlow’s accountability in Lagos, where’s Steve on TV arguing that?

T’Chaka championing the Accords. T’Chaka is lying to the world about Wakanda and Black Panther. He was not good faithing it, it was a power move.

Retiring Steve shoulda shown at the UN to voice why he thought the Accords bad.

In the Thic Steve shoulda got Bucky the hell out of the plan on going to Siberia. 

And Steve could have been right. Zemo’s stupid plan to kill the 5 soldiers is non-sense. Because he had no control over who showed up in Siberia. 

Steve shouldn’t apologize for a disagreement that’s not him trying to ignore accountability and commit murder. That’s Tony. 

Steve shoulda realized the government and Tony don’t want accountability, dropped the American image Cap, been on run with those who seek justice, and advocating to bring it both in shadows and by finding true account.

You know, I think it's a real shame that so many of the Team Cap stans don't support Team Cap because of the accords but in spite of them. Shows how much the fandom as a whole knows about the Accords. I just read a small drabble clearly focused on Team Cap and slightly against Team IM and still, when asked about wanting help in breaking his team out of the Raft Steve answeres "I brought them into this mess, so I have to fix this".

But Steve didn't bring anyone into this mess. He would have been fine with retiring and not being Captain America anymore. Same with Sam. For Bucky, it was already do or die. Wanda had the choice between being locked in the compound or acting for herself without being controlled again. Clint wanted to help Wanda. The only one who was directly brought in by Steve was Scott, but Scott has always been the kinda guy who couldn't look away from things he deemed wrong, it's already landed him in prison, after all. And he knew that the Accords would threaten many, many innocents, some of which he knew. So yeah, Steve dragged him in and if he hadn't done it, Scott would have stayed home with his family and lose the right to stand up for himself and others.

The problem here is that people think if only someone restricted other people's agency, they wouldn't get in trouble. And sure, someone without any freedom of choice can't make a decidion that would endanger them because it would be forbidden. But is that a good thing? Yeah, less trouble at the cost of people's right to choose what kind of life they want to lead. You can't just lock people and say "It's what's best for you" like Tony did. And Tony didn't even care about Wanda's wellbeing, he cared about the damage she could do to others when she had already proven herself to not want to harm innocents. Only because she failed one time, something everyone does now and then.

Yeah, Clint could have stayed home but imagine how livid he would be after hearing about the CW because none of his former colleagues bothered to call him. Or how sad Scott would have been because he couldn't do anything to help. Or how helpless Wanda would have felt because now, once again, she was locked in and controlled by a more powerful man/organisation that saw her as a weapon, something valuable to be used to their whims. Again, nothing but a puppet.

I think it's a real shame that the fandom has collectively suppressed the actual nature of the accords so far that even people who oppose them don't actually know what they are about. And that's why Team IM stans always feel like they have the moral highground, because they have been spoonfed their information, while Team Cap stans have to dig or resign themselves to saying "Well, yeah, they did something bad but I like them anyway".