#i love to believe that my soul goes searching for him when my body is asleep...

[weeping-mistytree]

I dreamed of him, after a long time, I dreamed of him, but it wasn't my body, it was kind of cruel I believe, how I can only dream of him when is through the eyes of somebody else... I wish he was my destiny, but the universe took him from me, I can't even dream about him anymore.

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

then send me a son

pairing: joel miller x reader

cws/tags: so much angst (w/ happy ending! i swear), discussion of suicide attempt (the canon one), suicidal ideations, losing a child, losing a parent, survivors guilt, discussions of abortion, unplanned pregnancy, p in v, oral sex, virginity loss (but it's not that big of deal/not a kink), both dealing w grief, ellie is dead, this is set in jackson post tlou pt I

summary: joel is put on suicide watch after he returns to jackson w/o ellie and reader becomes his 'caregiver' of sorts. lowkey enemies to lovers but also not bc it's kinda one-sided 'hatred'

a/n: author is pro-choice! and also understands the complexities of mental health that reader and joel do not at times (just wanted to make it clear that i understand... from personal experience... what depression is like as well as suicidal ideation).

title is from the song 'the suburbs' by arcade fire, but listen to the entirety of the suburbs (album) and funeral (album) if you want to understand my mindframe while writing this

the last sentence is a quote and i've reblogged it before but i'll find the image and post it/reblog it again

wc: 9.4k

masterlist | ko-fi | taglist

Joel is just surprised Tommy has the gall to ask, “Where’s Ellie?” when he arrives in Jackson alone. 

In this world, when two people leave and only one comes back, you don’t ask because you already know what happened. You wait for that person to tell you about a miracle, and when they don’t, you know for sure. 

“Heaven, if you believe in that sort of thing,” is Joel’s response. 

But Joel doesn’t believe in Heaven or Hell, or anything other than ashes and dirt. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Tommy says because he’d already said ‘I’m sorry’ when Sarah died, and that didn’t bring her back. 

It takes a hefty amount of booze to get Joel to tell the story.

“I just hope she died for something. Then, at least, I’ll know I’m being selfish.”

I didn’t get that with Sarah, he thinks. She didn’t die for a ‘noble cause’. He doubts Ellie did either. 

“You’re being put on watch,” Maria tells him the next morning – when he’s sober and asking what his duties are now that he’s back. 

Life goes on, which means work goes on, so what’s my job? As long as it’s not burning bodies, I’ll be okay. 

“Watch? Like I’m watching, or I’m being watched.”

“Being watched.”

He asks why, though he doesn’t need to. Tommy knows why he’s got that scar on his forehead. 

“Fucking authoritarian bullshit,” he mutters, half into his pillow. “Thought you were a communist.”

“I am. And this has nothing to do with that.”

“I bet Tommy put you up to it anyway.”

“He didn’t ‘put me up to anything’.”

“But he told you, didn’t he?”

“He told me a long time ago.”

“Figures. You always knew I was a coward.”

“You say stuff like that, and then act like you don’t need help.”

“I didn’t say I don’t need help. I said I don’t want it.”

She’s silent, letting him continue. “Now let me grieve in peace, will you?”

She hums something akin to agreement, but asks for something that sounds like protest to him. “Where’s your gun?”

“Which one?”

“All of ‘em.”

He tells her because he doesn’t want Tommy or anyone else searching through all his bullshit because that’s what happens if he doesn’t give ‘em up.

“Want my kitchen knives too?” he says, almost wryly. 

She takes most of them, but leaves the more blunt ones out of sympathy. He can have butter on his toast. Unless she takes the toaster so he can’t take it with him in the bathtub. 

She leaves the toaster, and then, leaves him alone. 

Quite frankly, he’s too old to kill himself. Sure, people do it at his age, but he’s so goddamn tired. Moreover, he knows he could get someone else to do it pretty easily. Maybe he could be a martyr. He could save someone from a clicker or a soldier. He could save someone’s life for once. But would that be enough to save his soul? To make it to Heaven and see Ellie and Sarah again?

Maybe, he would, if God really does love people the way some say he does. But if Joel was God, he’d deny himself entry.

He stays in bed for the rest of the day. Aside from the two times he eats. And once in the middle of the night to take a piss because he may be depressed, but the last of his dignity is motivation enough not to wet the bed. 

He doesn’t shower or change his clothes. Not like he’s wearing a shirt anyway, just boxers ‘cause it’s too hot outside and he doesn’t want to get up and turn on the fan. Sleep doesn’t come easy, but it comes. It comes because it has to, reluctant as it is.

He wakes up to the voice of an unfamiliar woman. Quieter than Ellie or Sarah, less stern than Maria or Tess. Not like he was expecting to hear from three out of four of those women, not outside of his dreams. 

You’ve always cared about people, saving lives and all that. But you’re no good with a gun, so Tommy finds a better job than patrol for you.  

“You’re going to be watching my brother, Joel.”

“Like, spying on him?”

“No, like making sure he doesn’t kill himself.”

A suicidal man is nothing new, especially in this world, but Tommy’s bluntness about it is. He acts as if it’s a normal job. Like the ones in office buildings that sound wonderful even though the people who tell you about them assure you it was barely better than life is now. This new watchmen position is the same as patrol, in a way. Terrifying in the gravity it holds. You have to keep someone alive.

You can shoot deer, you can run quickly, you can hide well. You can survive on your own. But, at age 10, your mom bled out as you sat by her side. You were too weak to carry her, to dig a grave and bury her. Your survival feels unearned, but you’re no good with guns. You’d miss if you tried to do it. That’s a rare thought anyway, and surely not one you plan to ever speak aloud. They’d put you on watch too, which sounds suffocating, in all honesty.

You don’t know Joel. You’ve heard his name in passing, but you arrived in Jackson during the period of time he was gone. He was going to take some girl to some hospital for something or other. 

“What about that girl?” you ask. “Is she not taking care of him?”

“She’s not around anymore.”

“Oh,” you say. 

He just nods. The ‘why’ of the whole arrangement makes sense, but you’re still unclear on the ‘how’. Am I just supposed to stay in his house 24/7? Is he allowed to shower on his own? Do I have to cook or do laundry?

“Just check in on him. He’s not the most… personable, but don’t take anything he says to heart.”

Just check in on him. It sounds simpler than it will be, you know that much. Even keeping a plant alive takes more than ‘checking in on it’. 

You arrive at his house around 10 AM. You assume he’ll be awake, but when you look around his living room and kitchen, you can’t find him. Oh God, you think. What if he’s… 

He’s asleep in bed. You’re pretty sure. He’s lying there and there’s no evidence that anything’s wrong, but when you say his name from the doorway, he doesn’t move. So, you walk closer to him, just to make sure he’s breathing. 

“Joel,” you say softly – because your other option is reaching out to touch him, and you feel that’s a little too personal, especially when he’s not wearing a shirt. 

“Who the Hell are you and how did you get into my house?” he says. 

“Tommy sent me.”

“Oh, so they’re making you watch me?”

“Yeah.”

You’re glad he knows about the arrangement. Maybe he’ll give you some direction on what to do with him. 

“Must hate you if they stuck you with me.” 

You can’t tell if he’s being ironic, but you hope so. Still, you don’t know how to respond. You decide on a simple, “I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

Though you’re alone in the room, you sit with perfect posture on Joel’s couch, looking around at the decor – or lack thereof – looking for clues about who this man is. 

You think about making him breakfast, but you’d have to raid his cabinets to do so, and you’re terrified to make any missteps when it comes to Joel. You don’t think he’ll kill himself over burnt toast, but there is a persistent need lodged inside your brain to make him like you. It’s a little selfish when you should be focused on just keeping him alive, but maybe if he likes you, he’ll feel better, maybe you’ll feel better too. That’s still nothing but the ever-lingering hope in your heart. But it’s something.

He comes downstairs eventually, in a t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms. 

“Good morning,” you say. 

“No, it ain’t,” he says, heading in the direction of the kitchen. 

“Do you want me to help you with anything? Breakfast or coffee?”

“I can make my own damn coffee, kid.”

And he does. The first shred of kindness you get from him is an offer to pour you a cup. 

“I’m alright, but thank you.”

He sits down in a chair across from you and sips his coffee as you watch him awkwardly. 

“Are you really gonna do that all day?”

“Do what?”

“Sit there and stare at me.”

“I don’t know what else to do.”

“You could leave, for starters.”

“I’ll get in trouble.”

“What? You afraid Tommy’ll get upset with you?”

“A little.”

“He’s a softie. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

You are worried. Sure, you want Tommy to be happy with you, but moreover, you don’t want to leave Joel alone lest something happen to him. You might not know the guy very well, but you’d hate to see someone take their own life. 

“Can I just stay here? I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

He shrugs, and you take it as a yes.

He does not need a caregiver or a watchman. He does not need you, but you look like a kicked puppy and there’s no way he’ll force you to leave. Another young girl he’ll reluctantly let stick by his side. It’s almost cruel of Tommy to send someone like you. Someone young and full of life. Someone he has a hard time pushing away. 

He should’ve sent Joel a crotchety old bitch or a drill sergeant. Maybe Tommy thinks he’s doing Joel a favor by giving him a nice girl, polite and eager to please. It’s a good thing your chipper attitude irritates him. It’s the first item on the very small list of qualities that Joel dislikes.

At first, he insists on making his own food. You’re still a guest, even if he’s reluctant to have you as one. It doesn’t matter where he lives, he’ll always have been raised in Texas. He’ll always hear his mother calling him out on his lack of manners. His hospitality is force of habit.

Plus, if he lets you do anything for him, he’ll owe you something – at least in his mind. And he doesn’t want to owe anyone anything. He doesn’t want to give or get or build any kind of rapport with you whatsoever, especially since you seem to take all attention as progress, despite the fact that Joel is harsh with you most of the time. 

The whole ordeal makes him feel like more of a failure than he did before. He couldn’t save Ellie, or Sarah for that matter, and now he’s being forced into his own retirement or held hostage depending on how you look at it, so he can’t even get the satisfaction that productivity brings.

He also finds himself pretty fucking bored without work. He became so used to being in constant battle, even in his sleep. One wrong move and he was dead. The worst injury he’s gotten in the past few weeks was a paper cut.

Reading was never his biggest hobby, but it’s not bad when you find the right book. Often, you’ll sit across the room from him and read a book of your own, and the silence as he relaxes into the couch is quite peaceful for a change. 

No amount of peace and quiet can cure his boredom, though. It makes him antsy, and you notice. You notice a lot when your job is just staring at him, it seems.

“I found a book of crossword puzzles,” you announce. 

“Congratulations,” Joel says. 

“I thought since you were bored, I’d give them to you, and maybe you could do them…”

By the look on your face, he can guess that you’re regretting your words. Lest he make you cry, he accepts the book. 

“Plus, it looks kind of old so I don’t know if I’d know how to do it myself,” you add.

He knows you don’t mean it as an insult, but it sounds like one, and it makes him laugh. The list of qualities Joel likes about you is already long — and buried deep in his subconscious — but he’ll have to add the fact that you can make him laugh.

“Are you calling me old?”

“Not in a bad way. You’re just older than I am.”

He flips through the book and finds that about 80% of them are done. 

“Somebody did most of these already.”

“I’m sorry… maybe I could erase that person’s answers and then you could do them?”

“I think I’d still be able to tell.”

You hang your head in defeat. 

“Gimme a pencil and I’ll try the ones that aren’t done yet.”

You look through his junk drawer, find a pencil, and hand it to him. He doesn’t expect you to sit on the couch next to him. 

“I know you’re supposed to watch me, but you don’t have to watch that closely.”

You move away slightly, no longer looking over his shoulder. 

“I was just curious about the answers.”

“I was kidding around,” he says (though, it’s only a half-truth). “Come back here.”

It takes him about a week to finish the book. 

“Had to go back and fix some of the others,” he says. “The person who originally filled ‘em out was an idiot.”

“That’s not very nice. Maybe it was a kid.”

“Kid had great handwriting, then.”

You pause, hesitating for a reason he can’t pinpoint. 

“What? You want me to say sorry for calling that guy an idiot. ‘Cause I will if it matters that much to you.”

“No, no, fuck that guy, he was an idiot,” you say, clearly taking after him. 

“Language, Missy,” he says, jokingly scolding you. 

“Sorry. I should stop swearing.”

“It’s okay. You probably picked it up from me anyway.”

“Maybe,” you agree. You’re fidgeting, holding something behind your back, he notices. 

“Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” you say, holding it out to him. “I just figured since you finished the crossword book, I should get you more.”

He only did the crosswords for you. He never really cared for them anyway. He just wanted to make you happy — he’d rather have you content than pissy or whiny. The only thing worse than your constant insistence on getting his approval would be if you just sat there and cried all day.

He’d tried to give the book back to you, but you couldn’t do ‘em on your own since you were lacking in 90s pop culture knowledge. So, he did them, with you watching over his shoulder the whole time. 

He’s about to admit this to you and hand the new one back over to you when he looks at the pages – white paper, stapled together, all drawn up in pen. 

“Did you make these?” he asks, in awe of both your ability to draw perfectly straight lines, and moreover, how much you must care if you’re willing to go to these lengths. Kiss-ass behavior, he tells himself.

You nod, and he gets the sudden urge to hug you, but opts for a thank you with a smile he can’t repress.

“You didn’t have to do all this, but it’s very sweet of you.”

He considers taking back the ‘very sweet’ comment when he finds that 3 down is four letters with the prompt “grumpy old man”. JOEL fits perfectly in the blank spaces. 

You go on walks, read endless books, and Joel finally lets you start taking on some of the housework. It should be nice, but you get the feeling he’s not all that happy about this situation. Not that he tells you it outright. He doesn’t tell you much at all. And you’ve tried. It’s not like you’re asking hard-hitting questions. 

“How old are you?” 

“56.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

He doesn’t even bother to ask the same question back to you. Sometimes, he doesn’t even look up at you when you speak to him. You know it’s the depression of losing someone close to you, you know what that feels like – the problem is, you don’t know how to fix it. You only know how to hide it.

It’s quite simple, in theory. All you have to do is give him the desire to get out of bed every day. But you don’t even know what he likes. All you know is that your presence is not high on his list of favorite things. You try and try until you swear his shitty attitude is rubbing off on you. 

Tommy checks in with you periodically, asking you how things are going with Joel, and this would be the perfect opportunity for you to get out of this position, which Joel would probably love, but to spite him, you tell Tommy it’s going well.

And it is, in a way – Joel is not actively mean to you. He doesn’t insult you or argue with you, he just mostly ignores you. So, you figure if you ignore him, maybe he’ll miss your attention. Stupid teenage bullshit mindset, acting like you have a crush on him, playing some sort of push and pull game that he’s not even privy to. 

But that’s not like you. That brooding behavior is all Joel, so it lasts no more than a day or so until you go back to trying, and accept the fact that he’s just an asshole. Doesn’t mean you have to be one. 

You never expected to win him over with the crossword puzzles but you see the look in his eyes when you give him the homemade ones, and you know there’s something in there besides all that pain. You know that look, can’t put a name to it, all you know is that it’s a good sign, one you had yet to see from Joel.

Joel wouldn’t have thought he’d get tired of hearing someone ask, “can I do anything for you?”, constantly begging to dote on him, to care for him. The last time someone did this for him was on Father’s Day, which is an ancient holiday now, almost mythical.

But it’s been weeks of the same old shit. It has nothing to do with you. In fact, you’re probably the best ‘caregiver’ he could’ve gotten stuck with. Thing is, though, he doesn’t want a caregiver, and he’s tired of said caregiver bombarding him. It’s enough to just have her watching him like a hawk, but yapping in his ear is another thing. Because he enjoys the quiet (and because the way you ask him questions reminds him of Ellie.)

It’s a joke, a stupid joke. It’s his patience wearing thin.

“Can I get you anything?” you ask. 

“Sure. A beer, maybe. And a fuckin’ blowjob,” he mutters. Yeah, that’d be the dream but it’s a joke, bordering on a jab at you. 

“I don’t think we have any beer,” you say. You both know damn well there’s no alcohol in the house. 

“I know.”

“And, as for the other thing- is that something that you’d want… me to do?”

“Hey,” his tone softens. “Sweetheart, it was a joke. I was messing with you.”

“Okay, so you don’t want that, correct?”

“It was a joke. I’m sorry I even said it.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you say, sheepishly. “It’s your house, your rules, right?”

The concept of free speech in his house was one he’d brought up regarding ‘swear words’— It’s his house so he’s allowed to say ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, ‘bitch’, and every other word he could come up with, and he came up with some deep cuts just to make you laugh. Admittedly, it’s a nice sound.

“Yeah.” He thinks for a moment. “I just think that these sorts of topics aren’t appropriate for someone…”

“You know I’m an adult, right, Joel?”

“Yes, I know, but you’re still young and you seem a little innocent. I don’t want to put those types of thoughts in your head.”

“I know what a blowjob is, and I know what sex is. I just haven’t found the right person yet. That doesn’t mean I’ve never thought about it or whatever.”

You rarely snap at him, so he knows that word — innocent — must’ve been more offensive than he’d meant it. Maybe you’re not innocent. Maybe you’re just kind and a hell of a lot younger than him. Maybe it just seems like you should be.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just saying that I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“But do you want it?” You punctuate every word with a newfound annoyance.

“It’s not about that.”

“Yes it is.” You’re quite incredulous for someone who has been presented with the idea only a moment ago.

“Fine. Yes, in theory, if we were just two people who know each other, then, sure, if you offered, I’d say yes.”

“I offered.”

The way he calls you ‘sweetheart’ feels more like an insult than a term of endearment. You’d rather be ‘kid’ or nothing at all, anything less patronizing. It’s worse when he calls you innocent. You’re not innocent, you’re just nice — something that Joel is not. You’re painfully nice. You’ve heard it makes people like you. You’re still waiting on the results, though.

But, if he’d ordered you to suck him off, you’d have kneed him in the balls, and he would’ve thought twice about calling you ‘sweetheart’. The thing is, he doesn’t. Instead, he backs away from the opportunity, tells you it was a joke. 

But you see two things behind his eyes: one, he wants this. He might not want to want this, but he does. More importantly, you see his genuine concern for your well-being override this desire and you realize you feel safer around him than you do around most men. That’s one of the reasons that you do give him ‘a fuckin’ blowjob’. The other being that, sometimes, before you go to bed, you can’t sleep, and a certain man comes to mind as your fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties. 

When you reiterate that you offered, you exchange a long stare wherein you try to reach into each other’s souls and sort this shit out but when you both realize you can’t, Joel says, “Okay.”

And you say, “Okay.”

A new kind of tension bubbles to the surface as Joel sits down on the couch and you kneel before him. 

You fiddle with his belt, eventually managing to get it undone, but Joel does the rest of the work it takes to get his pants down to his ankles, boxers too. 

You’d imagined he’d be big, but that’s how fantasies work. Every man’s dick is big in your lewd daydreams, but it’s like you manifested it with Joel. You begin to feel like you’re in over your head, and though you aren’t innocent, you aren’t experienced enough to take him. But who are you to back down from a challenge?

Joel can see hesitation wash over your face for the first time. You pause, study the scene like you’re trying to decide your approach, and then you take his cock in your hand, looking up at him like you’re asking for the green light.

He gives you the go-ahead with the only piece of advice he thinks you’ll need. “Just don’t bite, and you’ll do fine.”

He probably should’ve mentioned another thing: don’t take too much at once or you’ll choke. His head lolls back and his eyes fall closed the moment your lips meet the tip of it. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t want you to feel intimidated by his presence while you’re exploring, so to speak. He lets out a low groan of approval to let you know he’s still with you.

But he’s fading into a beautiful oblivion until he hears you gag, feels you sputter and it shocks him out of that blissful feeling. His eyes snap open and he cradles the back of your head. 

“Easy, easy,” he says. “Don’t hurt yourself.” 

You pull away briefly and catch your breath. 

“That’s good,” he says. “Breathe, baby.”

He can see you looking for instructions, so he takes your hand and helps you get a firm grip on his cock, sliding your hand up and down, and finally letting you do it on your own. 

“Doin’ good, baby,” he says. “You gotta give your mouth a break sometimes.”

You’ve never gotten anything close to praise from Joel before. It’d warm your heart like nothing else if it weren’t so goddamn sexy in this context. 

You nod, wipe the spit from your chin, and give your mouth a brief break, but you can’t hold yourself back forever. Soon, your lips are back on his cock, kissing from the base to the tip, flicking your tongue over the head, seeing what reactions you can get from him. 

When you get into the rhythm of hand and mouth in tandem, you barely register him telling you that he’s gonna come. 

You imagine it’s an acquired taste but it’s not awful. You can swallow it. So, you do, and you look up at him with a smile. 

He looks like he’s woken up from a dream and he’s still getting his bearings straight, but he’s quick to stand up and take your hand. 

“Where are we going?”

“To my bed.”

You’d follow him anywhere but bed does sound good to you right now. It sounds like an adventure. You don’t go into his bedroom unless absolutely necessary. You’d think he was hiding something horrible in there if you didn’t have a mutual feeling regarding your own bedroom.

“Are we going to have sex?” you ask. 

“No,” he says. 

“Then, what are we going to do?”

“You,” he begins. “Are going to lie back and relax.”

He coaxes you to lie down, and he doesn’t have to try hard. 

“I,” he continues. “Am going to make you feel good.”

You’re fairly certain about what he means, so there’s nothing left for you to do but let him do the work. It’s just another part of the job you’ll have to learn from experience.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says. 

You nod. 

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he says, playing with the hem of your t-shirt. 

“Wait-” you say, sitting up, and he withdraws. “Can we kiss… first?”

He looks surprised for a moment, and you worry you’ve fucked up. 

“I just feel like we should do that,” you say, much quieter.

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess that makes sense.”

His hand cups your cheek and he looks you in the eyes like he’s trying to find answers somewhere in there. 

“Has anyone ever kissed you before?”

“Not really, not the way I want you to kiss me.”

“Feels a bit rude of me to have put my dick in your mouth before you’d even been kissed.”

Still, he leans in and kisses you, but it’s soft, gentle. It’s not a peck on the lips, though, it’s more. It gradually gains momentum and passion. Eventually, he slips his tongue in your mouth and you take it in stride. 

“You’re very good at this,” he says. “If I didn’t know any better, I wouldn’t think this was your first time.”

“Is that a compliment?” you ask, doubting Joel is capable of such things.

He ignores your question, and sighs. You know it’s not directed at you because you’re fairly sure he’s not listening.

“I know I said I was gonna do some things with you, but I don’t wanna take things too fast, okay?”

“Are you saying you’re just going to kiss me?”

“I think that’d be the right thing to do.”

“That’s not fair,” you whine.

You wish you could sound sexy, or whatever, but you probably come off like a bratty child.  

“Excuse me?”

“That’s not fair. You said you’d make me feel good. I thought you were gonna return the favor.”

“I was.”

“Then, why are you backing out?”

You’re shocked that he’s the pussy — pun-intended — in this scenario.

“I thought it might be too much for you.”

You grab his hand and slip it under the flimsy fabric of your shorts. 

His eyes go wide. 

Fucking hell, you’re wet, is the only thought on Joel’s mind. It makes sense. He’d be offended, maybe even worried if you were dry as a desert down there, but he’s barely touched you. Either you really enjoyed kissing him or you actually liked sucking him off too.

He gently presses the pads of his fingers against the wet spot on your panties.

“You’re right, baby. It’s only fair if I help you out.”

He’s able to get your shorts and your panties down in one swift pull. You look impressed by the action. Just you wait, he thinks. He’s not an expert by any means, but it’s not too hard to learn if you pay attention — and sex is one of the only times Joel does listen — it’s also not a skill you lose over time. It’s muscle memory, or maybe it’s innate.

His thumb rubs your clit lazily as he watches your face scrunch up in pleasure, your eyes fill with need. When the first finger slips inside you, he hears a breathy sigh come from above — it sounds like relief though he knows you haven’t come yet.

He’s never had a woman have such a strong reaction to his lips on her clit. It almost startles him at first. You’re frantic from the moment his lips meet your skin, crying out for him like you’re scared he’ll stop.

“Hey,” he says, “I’m right here. Don’t have to get so worked up. I’m gonna take care of you.”

He can’t say another word because his lips are occupied, so he relies on his hands, his soothing touch, to tell you that everything is alright. He gets the urge to tell you how good you are for him, how good you taste, how pretty you are like this, but he knows it’d be cruel to let up now. He’s callous often, sometimes harsh, but rarely cruel.

His instinct tells him to drag this out, to make your thighs shake, to have tears running down your cheeks, to tease you. To be the asshole that he tends to be when you’re around (and when you’re not). This is a version of Joel you might come to like.

He’s lived long enough to be well-practiced in this field of life. Doesn’t matter if he’s particularly romantic or even sociable, it’s just happened enough times over the course of fifty plus years for him to know the ins and outs. He can get you there quickly and lead you through it slowly.

He’s so used to you saying his name in a tone he considers pestering that he’s begun to hate the word itself. But when it’s drawn out and desperate like this, it sounds wonderful.

You’re at his mercy, he thinks. Which means he’s in control. And, as much as he’d hate to admit it, control does not mean he can kill you, control means he can care for you.

When you come down from your high, Joel is looking up at you from between your thighs with messy hair and kiss-dark lips. His smile looks like one of pride. Your cheeks heat up, only half-remembering what just happened. You could describe the event simply in a cause and effect relationship — he went down on you, so you came. You know what an orgasm feels like, but that was something beyond anything you’d ever experienced before. You fear an addiction may be coming on.

Your voice comes out shaky, which only makes your first words after a long silence sound stupider. “Thank you.”

He looks confused, and it takes him a moment to respond. “My pleasure,” he says, and you swear it might be when you see a semi through his sweatpants.

You’d offer more ‘help’ but you truly don’t think you can manage it. You can feel your body pulling you towards sleep. Your eyes have barely opened and they want to close again.

Joel notices because how could he not, you’re completely naked in every sense of the word.

“Get some rest,” he says before standing up.

He’s leaving.

“Where are you going?” you ask, instinctively.

“Downstairs.”

You do not want to say it. The fear of rejection is too strong, but so is the sudden urge to cry. Holding back tears is a strength of yours, though, so Joel never sees them. Somehow, after doing one of the most adult things, you feel like a baby in the wake of it. You are supposed to be taking care of him, and you are failing.

“What?” is his response to your refusal to meet his eyes.

“I just assumed you were going to stay. That’s all.”

“I can. If that’s what you need me to do.”

You don’t say anything. He climbs into bed anyway after picking up your underwear and handing it to you.

He doesn’t hold you but he doesn’t leave either. What he does do is kiss you on the forehead when he thinks you’re already asleep. It’s a compromise between your fear and your desire.

It isn’t as weird as one might think it would be — acting as if you’ve never done anything remotely sexual with one another. It’s easier because you don’t have to go back to being friends. You never really were. It was always awkward. What’s new? Only your knowledge that at least some of your feelings are mutual. Only the fact that you think about having sex with him every time he’s in front of you. It’s really just out of curiosity sometimes. What would he be like in bed? Does he want it too? How would you even broach the subject?

Sometimes, it’s not just curiosity. Those days are harder to navigate. You have to pretend like every little touch — most of them accidental — fuels the fire. It’s not the sensation itself. It’s just the acute awareness of his body, how close it is to yours, how easily you could reach out and touch him, that enters your mind.

“You’re staring.” Joel says from the other side of the couch.

“Sorry. I zoned out.”

“Got something’ on your mind?”

“Not really.”

“C’mon, what is it?”

“Why do you suddenly care about my thoughts?” About me.

“You think I didn’t care about you before? You’ve been in my house everyday for months now.”

“So?”

“And, I haven’t tried to kick you out yet.”

“You’re not allowed to kick me out. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Okay. How ‘bout this: I’m down here sitting with you because I know you don’t like to be alone.”

“So you pity me?”

“No, if I pitied you, I’d have told Tommy to give you a new job.”

“Okay, so, you expect me to believe you care but you refuse to talk to me half the time.”

“I’m not much of a talker. But, now that I’m trying to talk to you, you’re shutting me out.”

“I’m not— It’s just not a big deal. I don’t even remember what I was thinking about anyway.”

“Bullshit.”

“What?”

“I said, that’s bullshit.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll talk.”

You take a deep breath before speaking, one long enough that he gestures for you to go on.

“I was just thinking about what it would be like if we had sex.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, since we, you know, we did that stuff… it’s not like it’s a totally crazy thought.”

“‘That stuff’? Be more specific, honey.”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“I do, but you can’t be thinking about having sex with me when you can’t even use big girl words when you’re talking about it.”

“It doesn’t even matter.” Your face is burning. It so, totally, does matter. “I was just curious.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Mm-hmm. Go on thinking, I’ll get back to reading.”

“Wait, what? You just made me tell you that to make me embarrassed? You’re not even gonna—”

“What? Gonna fuck you?”

The word slips out of his mouth so easily.

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Well, I’m not.”

Truth is: he’s been thinking about you every day since. He only caught you staring because he was doing the same. He tries to restrain himself because it feels like the right thing to do.

But he still, he acquiesces and takes you upstairs to his bedroom.

He lays you down on the bed and undresses you slowly like you’re a gift and he doesn’t want to tear the paper. He places your clothes atop the dresser, but leaves his strewn across the floor.

Wonder fills your eyes as he reveals his naked body. Hesitation and awe wrapped up in one.

“Wow,” you say, breaking the silence, “it’s, um, you know— do you think it’ll fit?”

It’s not the first time he’s heard that. It no longer brings him that bashful pride that it did when he was younger. It’s just a fact. A nuisance sometimes.

“Not if we don’t get you ready first.”

“Do you need to get ready first too?”

He looks down at his cock, rock-hard and eager.

“No, baby, just looking at you is enough to get me ready.”

A thought crosses his mind — one he thought he’d left in his teenage years — what if he comes too quickly?

He lies back on the bed next to you and reaches for you, waits for you to let him maneuver you.

“Come here,” he says.

You sit up and face him, slowly inch towards his arms that beckon you.

You’re fairly sure you know what he wants you to do. Sit on his face. But god, something about it seems awkward in the amount of control you simultaneously give up and are given in turn.

“You trust me, right?” he asks.

“Of course.”

An answer you wouldn’t have ever thought you’d give back when you first met.

“Then, come sit on my face.”

You swing your leg over him and steady yourself above his face.

He grips your thighs to guide you. You grip the headboard to save yourself from passing out the moment Joel’s mouth meets your skin.

Joel wouldn’t be the man you’d have thought would have such a talented tongue based on how little he uses it. You can’t blame him for not talking right now. Your moans echo off his bedroom walls and permeate the balmy summer air. The windows are closed and the curtains shield your naked bodies from the neighbors but even if you’d left them open, you wouldn’t have the sense to care.

You’re an incoherent mess of moans and half-words, trembling thighs and sweat. Your orgasm comes on strong, and if your eyes weren’t screwed shut, maybe you’d see the gates of heaven.

It’s been a while since he’s done this. Tess never liked it like this and the last woman before her was one from another lifetime, pre-outbreak, an inconceivable world despite having once called it home.

He’s not really thinking about that, though, in this moment, all Joel can think of is you. Your skin, your sweat, your heat, and the pretty noises you make. At one point, he swears he hears his name though your thighs are covering his ears. And he doesn’t mind it one bit.

“I’m gonna pass out,” he hears from above him.

“No, you’re not. I’ve got you,” he tries to say, though surely his words are muffled.

“Don’t let me go.”

He doesn’t. He carefully helps you lie back on the bed. When he meets your gaze, he swears he’s never seen adoration like that in anyone’s eyes before. At least, not in a long time.

It terrifies him, but in spite of his hesitation, he holds you close.

A blanket of peaceful silence settles over your bare bodies.

You speak quietly, trying not to awaken Joel’s senses. The ones that pull him away from you. The moment feels like glass in your hands.

“Are we going to have sex?”

“Hm?”

“We were going to, right? You were getting me ready for it.”

“I thought I wore you out.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I want to stop.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’d tell you if you were.”

He hesitates.

“I’ll be good. I promise.”

Those are the words that awaken his arousal. In an instant, you find his body looming above yours. He kisses you until your lips are red and puffy. He doesn’t break your gaze as he positions his cock at your entrance. Your green light is your needy hips begging him to fuck you.

He starts slow, even the head is a stretch. You scrunch up your face and hold back the urge to squirm.

“It’s gonna be a little uncomfortable at first, baby, and that’s why we’re gonna take it slow.”

Slow is an understatement. It takes ages for him to give you another inch — or maybe you’re just antsy. This one makes you whimper, makes you clamp down around him.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re gonna be fine.”

Joel’s voice is tender and sweet, and it gives you enough hope to ask for something you think he’d usually deny you.

“Can you hold my hand?”

He interlocks his fingers with yours. It feels oddly natural. He doubts he’s heard someone ask to hold his hand since— not now, he’ll go soft if he thinks about her. He’ll close in on himself and you need him — in more ways than one.

He continues slowly as he promised he would until he hears your moans of pleasure and your pleas for more, more, more. More is a little bit faster, a little bit harder, as deep as you can take it, and most importantly, his thumb tracing circles on your clit.

You squeeze his hand with yours as your inner walls clamp down around him.

“Just let it happen. It’s okay. I’m right here.”

When you come, he does too — the most blissful mistake he’s ever made.

Curses fly out of his mouth through his orgasm, stopping briefly as he catches his breath, and resuming when he pulls out and watches as his come drips out of you.

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you insist. “I liked it.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Because I fucking loved it. “But, it’s dangerous. We’ve gotta be more careful.”

In the future — it’s implied. Another time is nothing when the lines have all been crossed and when the other side brings him a warmth the hot summer never could.

You have more power over him than the sun.

It becomes a routine — briefly — and you are more careful. You discreetly buy condoms, but when your next period doesn’t come, you fear it might be too late.

You don’t tell Joel, not at first. Sometimes, they’re irregular, and you don’t want to give the man a heart attack. But then a week passes, another week passes, and eventually you have to — especially when you’re beginning to feel a bit nauseous and have no other explanation for it. It’s better to say something before he asks.

“Joel,” you say, “I haven’t gotten my period yet.”

A look of horror crosses his face before he asks, “How late is it?”

You take a breath before admitting, “A few weeks.”

“How many?”

“Almost three.”

“Fuck.” He sighs in preemptive defeat. “Have you taken a test?”

“No, I thought it would come so I didn’t want to overreact.”

“We’re going to go get one.”

He stands up immediately and turns towards the door.

“Wait,” you say, stopping him in his tracks.

“I should probably get it. It’ll look less suspicious.”

No, it won’t. Those who suspect something is up with you, will have their suspicions, and those who don’t, won’t think to pay attention.

They recommend taking multiple because false negatives are common.

The first one is a clear positive, so clear you think it might be a false positive, so you wait to freak out until you see two lines come up on the second test.

Joel is silent, even when you hand him the test.

But, so are you, because what more is there to say? The tests say it all.

“I’ll do whatever you need me to,” he says, and you’re surprised until he clarifies.

“I doubt they’ll make you pay for the pill or the procedure — however they do it, but I’ll take care of you while you’re recovering. I’ll be there through it all. Promise.”

The pill or the procedure. The abortion that he expects you to have. Truth be told, you hadn’t really thought about what you’d do until now. It’s probably the right decision. Do you really want to bring a baby into this world? Can you even take care of one?

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll make an appointment.”

You save your tears for Maria. She approaches you in the clinic. You’d be delighted to see her at any other moment.

“Making an appointment?” she asks.

“Yeah, just a checkup,” you lie.

The woman at the counter clarifies with you. “Just a checkup? Is that what you’d prefer?”

You turn back and forth between her and Maria.

“Um, no,” you say, “keep it as is.”

Maria raises an eyebrow and there is nowhere left to hide. You might be able to outrun her, but she knows where you live and isn’t afraid to confront you at your doorstep.

She saves you some of your dignity when she whispers, “How about a chat at my place? I have some tea that helps with nausea.”

The tea is persuasive but you’d have to go anyway. You don’t speak on the walk to Maria’s. She brews the tea and you sit across from each other in the kitchen before she finally speaks.

“What’s the appointment for?” she asks. “And I’m not here to judge you, I just want the truth.”

You’re not my mom, you could say, but she’s the closest thing you’ve had to one since your own passed.

“An abortion,” you say quietly, looking down at the table, at your hands around the mug.

“Okay,” she says, gently. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

You try to reply but all the comes out is a sob.

Eventually, she pries the truth out of you. You explain what happened when you told Joel the news.

“So, he made the decision, and then told you he’d be there for you if he did what you wanted?”

“I guess. But, I think it might be the right choice. I mean, it'd be hard to raise a child in this world…” You cut yourself off when you look at her bump. She’s gonna be a mom, a good mom. And, stupidly, you’re jealous.

Even though it’s not there yet, you swear you can see a high chair in your periphery. You could be holding a warm bottle instead of a hot mug of tea. Maria could be feeding her child his first bite of baby food next to you.

“Let me ask you something, and I want you to really think about it, and be honest with me.”

You nod and wait for her question.

“If Joel had said he’d support you no matter what, even if you wanted to keep the child, if he said he’d step up as a father, would you have made the appointment?”

“I don’t know.” Oh, but you do. Maria waits for you to come to a conclusion, for you to spit it out.

“I like the idea of having a kid. I love kids, and I sometimes think about what it would be like being a mom, but I know that I can’t be one. Not right now.”

If there is one thing Joel can’t be, it’s a father. Not again. He’s too old, too grouchy, too cynical. He’s not the man he used to be. He was never good at it anyway. He couldn’t save his own kid. He’s already a failed father — once, if not, twice.

You’d be a great mother, and that’s the greatest tragedy. He’s failed you already. He’s not good at the kinder things of life. He shouldn’t have indulged in you, in the love you gave him when he cannot give it back. There are a lot of things Joel can’t quite get right — being a lover, a father, a good man.

Every night since the outbreak began, he’s watched Sarah bleed out in his arms. Sometimes he sees Tess, Sam and Henry, Bill, even Tommy which feels like an augury. Ellie is there almost every night, losing consciousness. Only sometimes is she in that hospital bed, often, she’s lying in the show, with blue lips and almost no pulse. Now, you’ve begun to enter his subconscious. You’re always too far out of reach, screaming his name until he’s shot dead, and the last thing he hears is you shriek as you watch him die in front of you.

Another person is another tragedy once they have the misfortune of coming into his life. There cannot be another person, especially not a child.

You should be back by now, he thinks as he splashes water on his face for the umpteenth time, hoping it’ll wash away all the mistakes he’s made.

He can tell it’s Maria by the way her knuckles rap on his front door. He can tell she’s pissed too.

When he opens the door, he sees you in standing behind her, like you’re afraid of him.

“Unless you want to have this discussion on your doorstep, I suggest you let me — us — inside.”

He does, reluctantly.

“Joel Miller, when do you plan on becoming a man?”

“What?”

“You just told her to make an appointment, didn’t even give her a chance to think about it? You managed to run away from your problems while you’re on house arrest. Impressive.”

“I thought that was what we both wanted,” he says, looking past her, to you.

“I guess, maybe,” you shrug.

The one thing he’s grateful for is Maria’s suggestion that you talk privately.

You sit further from him than usual, you refuse to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask what you wanted. I thought I was making the right choice.”

“It’s okay. I don’t even know what I want.”

But the tears suggest otherwise.

“Do you want to keep the baby?”

“Maybe, but I can’t. It’s not a good idea.”

“That’s what I think, but Maria’s right, it’s your choice.”

“But I don’t know how to make that choice.”

“You’ve got a good heart. Follow it.”

You spend a lot of time thinking, remembering, and trying to convince yourself that there is no part of you that wants to be a mother. But, in your bedside drawer, there is a handful of photos — all from before the outbreak. You see your mom as a child on a swing set, and as a teen blowing out candles on her birthday. Her mom is in that one too, sitting next to her, smiling. You wish more than anything to have pictures of you and your mom.

You think about the little girl who pretended a ratty old stuffed bear was her baby. You can hear your mom telling you that you’re doing a good job, how you’ll be good at this one day. Your bedtime stories were never about fairy princesses, but about your family, the ones you didn’t get to meet.

“I wish I could have that,” you’d say.

“One day, you might be able to — the world is scary right now, but that doesn’t mean it’s gonna be like this forever,” she’d insist.

In retrospect, you wonder if she really believed that, if she really believed that teddy bear would one day be a baby that you’d be the one carrying, and she’d be the proud grandmother.

“I told her I wanted to be a mom like her,” you explain to Joel, and he understands.

You know about Ellie, but not about Sarah. Joel never brings either of them up to you. Until now. It’s a fair trade, he tells himself. Photos for photos, info for info. But it’s more than that.

“Hold on for one minute, I’m gonna go get something, and I’ll be right back.”

It’ll only take him a second to grab the pictures, but he’ll need a moment to compose himself.

“This is Sarah,” he says, pointing to the little girl in the photo. “My daughter.”

You’re silent for a moment, gazing at the photo, at a younger Joel you’ve never met.

You’re the first person not to tell him that you’re sorry for his loss, and he is relieved not to hear the empty sympathies once more.

“What was she like?” you ask.

It’s hard to explain, and for that reason, he talks for at least a half hour about Sarah. All her likes and dislikes, all his favorite moments from the day she was born until the day she died. He tells the story of that too.

When you try to tell him that he sounds like he was a good dad, he has to explain why he wasn’t.

“I couldn’t save her,” he says.

“I couldn’t save her either,” you say, pointing to your mother in one of the photos.

“You were just a child,” he says. “It’s not your fault.”

“And, you were just a man,” you say. “It’s not your fault.”

“A grown man.”

“Doing the best that you could.”

And you’re right. He did try his best. He stops arguing not because he’ll ever concede but because the weight of the present falls upon him all at once as he meets your eyes and remembers why you’re here.

He can’t have Sarah back, he can’t have Ellie back, but you’re right in front of him — and he loves you. It’s too late to turn back and kick you out on your first day, it’s too late to never speak to you, it’s too late to not love you.

It’s not too late to fail you like he’s failed everyone else. It’s not too late to do the opposite either.

You tell him your decision, and wait for his disagreement, for him to dissuade you. But, he doesn’t.

“Okay,” he says.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try my best.”

You cancel the appointment and make the final decision, but it doesn’t feel real until Joel finishes building the crib in the spare bedroom. The most unexpected part is how excited you feel even when you’re nauseous, even when your feet are bloated, even when your back is killing you.

You’re also terrified, particularly when you hear Maria’s account of her labor and delivery. For someone describing how painful it was, she seems oddly unfazed, happy even. She’s too focused on her baby boy, and you get it — he is pretty cute.

When the day comes, you find that you’ve underestimated the pain entirely. The wounds you’ve gotten in combat are nothing compared to this. Every hour that goes by feels like a full day for you. Every time the doctor checks your dilation it’s still not yet time.

Until it is. And everything becomes a million times more chaotic. You swear the only thing keeping you sane is Joel’s hand in yours. (You have to apologize later for squeezing it so tightly.)

Finally, the telltale cry comes, and it feels like you’ve run a marathon by how exhausted you are and by how proud you are of yourself for doing it. This will go down as the greatest feat of your life and you are more than satisfied with that fact.

The doctor announces that it’s a boy and though he said he’d be fine with either gender, Joel’s smile is wider than you’ve ever seen it. You’re smiling almost as big. It hurts your cheek muscles but you can’t stop, especially when they hand you your baby boy. Though he doesn’t know how to speak, his hand wrapped around your finger tells you that it’s going to be okay.

There is so much pain in this world, but not in this room.

[frogemeat]

It’s time for some Dipper character analysis for my Relativity Falls AU that I have promptly named, drumroll please!!!

Half of a Whole !! (This name is subject to change bc I’m indecisive c: ))

So let’s get some basics out of the way. Dipper in this AU is the Author (or the Narrator, in this case,) and didn’t get to know Stan that well. He bonded with Ford very quickly, but Stan kept him at arms length just like he did with Mabel at first.

Honestly, it’s much worse with Dipper. Stan views Dipper as someone who’s trying to separate him and Ford, especially when he asks Ford to be his protege and to stay in Gravity Falls with him. So, Stan is not the biggest fan of Dipper, while Dipper doesn’t really know how to handle Stan and his more… rambunctious behavior.

So Dipper does his nerdy things while Stan acts like a little shit towards him. Stan is, and I’m saying this in the most affectionate way possible, a little shit towards him.

So when Stan goes missing Dipper is the most emotionally stable out of all of them. Don’t get me wrong, he is devastated that Stan’s missing! Even if they weren’t close he had still grown fond of Stan and his abrasive personality. He even started teaching Stan different fighting styles after he learned he liked to box! Things were going good.

And then-

Well, we all know what happens next.

The Oddpocalypse happens, Stan gets his memories wiped, they can’t find him, and it’s all his fault.

If he never interacted with Steve, never made a deal with him, never got tricked, then they wouldn’t be here. Stan would still be with them, memories intact, and not lost in the Oregon wilderness.

So he looks. He keeps looking long after Mabel and Ford go home, the boys body too exhausted to keep looking despite the kids protest. Mabel goes with him because she’s too scared to let the tween out of her sight. He’s alone. It’s for the best.

He looks. He finds nothing.

Guilt eats at him.

The next day he goes out and looks.

He feels sick.

He spends the entire week searching through the forest with a fine tooth comb.

He tries to keep it together for Mabel and Ford. He cooks even though he’s bad at it. He convince Mabel to sleep and stops Ford from sneaking out. When he’s not trying to keep everything together, he’s out searching.

He can’t sleep.

He retraces his steps. He asks people in town. He looks and looks and looks. He comes home empty handed.

One day, when he’s dead on his feet and staring blankly at their empty fridge, Mabel takes his hand and sits him down. She makes Mabelcakes.

The guilt eats at him.

Time passes. He goes from searching once a day, to once a week, to every month. He might not be searching everyday now, but he never stops looking. He can’t. He failed Stanley once. He won’t fail him again. So he keeps looking.

Ford and Mabel tell him stories about Stan. His biggest regret is that he didn’t try harder to break down Stan’s walls. He hears stories about a boy who acts tough but had the biggest heart. A boy who loved to draw and who loved the ocean. He learns about a boy who gave the best hugs in the world. He learns about a boy who he would’ve loved with his entire heart and soul.

When Mabel comes storming into the shack one day, out of breath and claiming she found Stan he didn’t know how to react. He didn’t know if he believed her. He wanted to. He wanted to so badly. But he was a scientist. A man of logic. He needed evidence.

He goes into town the next day. There’s a boy who looks like Ford and smiles like Stan.

The guilt eats at him.

[crimsonwolf715]

What Have I Done?

{I know canonically that Dick’s fears are all mental hurdles (failure, his family not loving him, etc), but I like the idea of that soul eating guilt. So enjoy this definitely far (maybe not really far, but still far) from canon fic about Dick on fear toxin 🫡}

Scarecrow’s been out of Arkham for three days. Tim managed to find his location and the Bats are at the place so they can get him back to Arkham before he causes a major incident. 

“Scarecrow’s in the warehouse, so proceed with caution,” Bruce says. 

“You got it, old man,” Jason says. 

“I’m always cautious,” Damian says. 

“That is a lie,” Tim replies. 

“Don’t fight, you two,” Dick says. “Focus on Scarecrow.” 

The five split up and start searching the warehouse. 

Dick’s cautious when walking into each area, making sure he has an exit route. After searching half of his area, he walks into a room with his escrima sticks at the ready. There’s nothing in the room beside a large bookcase partially against one wall. Dick checks behind it for anything, then turns to leave. The door slams shut and he hears some kind of click. He runs over and starts trying to open the door. 

Gas starts coming in through the vents and Dick pulls his mask on. He keeps trying to manhandle the door open when something comes flying at him. He ducks and realizes that it’s a small rock. He turns the way it came from in just enough time to see another rock hit his mask. His mask cracks and he starts cursing. Gas fills the room and Dick continues to try to get out, but the door stays firmly in place. 

He’s holding his breath, trying to avoid inhaling any at all, but that doesn’t work. He can’t hold his breath long enough. He breathes it in and starts coughing immediately. It feels like it’s burning his nose and throat. He keeps trying to get out the door until he hears it. 

“Richard.” 

Dick turns and Bruce is standing there in full Batman uniform, giving Dick the full power of the Batglare™. 

“You’re a disgrace, a plague on this family,” Bruce says. “You failed me. You’re not a part of this family anymore.” 

“No, don’t do this,” Dick pleads. “I’m sorry, Dad.” 

“You should be. You’re a sorry excuse for a partner and a son.” 

Tears well up in Dick’s eyes. “ Please, stop. ” 

“You should just go back to Blüdhaven and never come back.” 

Dick starts crying. “ Dad. ” 

Bruce starts shouting that Dick needs to leave and Dick claws his comm out of his ear so he can better cover his ears. He hears his family start screaming in pain. He opens his eyes and sees all of them being brutally tortured by Joker, Two-Face, and Scarecrow. Dick squeezes his eyes shut, refusing to believe that’s what’s happening. A loud bang interrupts his family’s screams. Dick turns and Scarecrow’s there with a big ass sword. Dick pulls out his escrima sticks and attacks Scarecrow. The two start sparring, Dick having the upper hand. 

“Dick, snap out of it.”  

Scarecrow’s not going down with the usual amount of force, so Dick stops pulling his punches as much. 

“You’re worthless. You’ve failed the city and your family. My toxins will turn this city into a hellhole of despair.” 

Scarecrow uses his sword to disarm Dick. Dick throws a kick at him but he manages to dodge it. Scarecrow raises the sword and Dick grabs the knife out of his boot that he only keeps for emergencies. He throws it and it nails Scarecrow in the side. Scarecrow drops as Dick’s vision blurs. 

“No, I need to get him into custody and stop the bleeding.” 

Dick’s body gives out and he passes out. 

Dick wakes up and he’s in the warehouse. He sits up and Tim’s beside him, bleeding. It seemed like he was trying to stop the bleeding, but he passed out before he could. Dick goes over and realizes that he can’t move his right arm without excruciating pain. He ignores it and starts putting pressure on the wound. Jason runs into the room. 

“What the hell did you do?” Jason asks. 

“What did I do?” Dick replies, confused. 

“Tim was fighting you, so yes I’m asking you.” 

Dick backs away from Tim, realizing that he wasn’t fighting Scarecrow. He was fighting Tim. Jason rushes over to Tim. 

“What is wrong with you right now?” Jason asks. 

Dick’s back hits the wall and pain shoots through his shoulder. He ignores it as tears well up in his eyes. 

“What have I done?” Dick asks. 

Dick runs out of the room and he hears Jason shouting his name but he ignores it entirely. He makes it outside and trips. He lands on his knees, then throws up. Once he finally stops throwing up or dry heaving, which takes almost ten minutes, he looks for his comm. He doesn’t find it though. 

I must have left it inside. I remember I took it out because all I could hear was Bruce saying that I was a… I am a failure. I almost killed my little brother. Tim’s been through so much and I probably just gave him so much more trauma. He’ll never trust me again.  

Tears start falling and Dick quietly sobs there, unsure what else to do. 

“Dick.” 

Dick turns and even though he can barely see past the tears, he recognizes the outline of Batman. He starts crying harder, all of the things Bruce said earlier rushing back into his head. He feels Bruce’s hand on his good shoulder and he tries to push the hand away. He doesn’t deserve any kind of comfort. 

“Jason’s gotten Tim to Leslie and he’s gonna be fine,” Bruce says. “We need to get you there too.” 

“No.” 

“Tonight isn’t your fault.” 

“Yes it is. I’m supposed to protect my siblings, and I almost killed Tim. How am I supposed to live with myself, Dad?” 

Bruce pulls Dick into a hug, careful of Dick’s shoulder even though he didn’t tell him about the injury. Dick hugs Bruce back tightly and the sobbing resumes. 

“You’ll take it one day at a time, like we always do.” 

Bruce rubs Dick’s back until a small beep sounds. 

“I hear you. We’re on our way back now,” Bruce says to whoever’s on comms. 

“I… I can’t face him, Dad.” 

“I’m gonna take you to Leslie. We can discuss you talking to Tim once you’ve completely detoxed. I’m going to pick you up now, is that alright?” 

“Sure.” 

Bruce gently picks Dick up and takes him to the Batmobile. The drive is silent, Dick silently crying. When they get to the Cave, Tim’s nowhere to be seen. Leslie’s waiting for them though. 

“Go see Tim, Dad. I’ll be fine,” Dick says. 

“Are you…?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure.” 

Leslie gives him a checkup and aside from having to bite down on his lip hard enough to draw blood when she checks his shoulder, she doesn’t seem concerned. Dick’s barely hearing what she’s saying, but nothing concerning. 

“I don’t know exactly what’s wrong with your shoulder.” 

Dick turns to look at her. 

“I want to take you in to get scans,” Leslie says.

“Great, sounds perfect,” Dick replies.

“Don’t be sarcastic with me.” 

“I’m not. Get off my ass about it.” 

Leslie looks surprised and Dick sighs. “Sorry, I don’t mean that. I just… I don’t really want to be around right now, and I don’t really want to go to the hospital.” 

The elevator opens and Damian comes out. Dick watches as Damian makes a beeline for him. He braces himself for a lecture or criticism, anything to live up to how people should be treating him. 

“Are you alright, Grayson?” 

“God only knows what’s wrong with my shoulder, but other than that I’m peachy. Is Tim alright?” 

“Yes, Timothy’s fine. He didn’t lose too much blood thanks to the three of you and I apprehended Scarecrow with Father. Nothing for you to worry about.” 

“I hurt Tim.” 

“Under the influence of fear toxin. You clearly thought that you were protecting yourself from someone that would cause you permanent harm. No one blames you.” 

“Other than me,” Dick says. 

“Other than you,” Damian echoes. “I’m going to stay here with you for a while. Father’s speaking with Timothy and Alfred’s otherwise occupied.” 

Dick notices that Leslie’s in the elevator, but he doesn’t care to say anything. 

She’ll be back.  

Damian sits in front of Dick and leans against him. Dick runs his hand through Damian’s hair, quietly humming. 

“What song is this?” Damian asks. 

“I don’t know,” Dick answers. “My mom used to sing it but I can’t remember the words well enough to look it up.” 

“My mother used to sing to me as well.” 

“Yeah, it kinda seems to be a thing that moms do. Jason said that his mother always used to sing this one song to him and he always knew that it was time to settle down. He didn’t tell me what song it was because I would abuse that, which he technically isn’t wrong about, but even Tim said that his mother sang to him when she was around.” 

Damian nods and Dick goes back to humming. Damian falls asleep after a short while and Dick keeps running a hand through his hair, trying not to cry again. Jason comes down with his hands in his pockets. 

“What the hell did you do?”  

Dick looks back down at Damian so Jason can’t see the tears starting to fall. 

“My sweet baby,” Dick whispers. 

“Hey. Can we talk, Dickie?” Jason asks quietly. 

“Sure,” Dick answers, surprising himself with how steady his voice is. 

“I… You…” Jason takes a breath. “I’m sorry.” 

Dick looks up at Jason. “For what?” 

“I… Tim told us that you possibly had been affected by some kind of drugs and I blamed you the second I saw Tim’s condition.” 

“It’s my fault, Jason.” 

“It was the drugs.” 

“It was me. Drugs or not, it was my hands that hurt him. That wasn’t Scarecrow.” 

“Get your head out of your ass,” Jason says. “That’s not how this works. Those drugs make you completely hallucinate something different than what’s really there. As someone who’s killed people on that before, it’s not black and white. Tim’s fine and that’s great, but you need to get out of your head.” 

Dick goes to snap back at Jason and he finds he has nothing to say. Jason’s not wrong, but all Dick can think is that he hurt his little brother. That it could have been Damian. That Tim could have been a little less prepared and died because of him. 

“Jason…” 

“Yeah?” 

“I forgive you. You took the exact approach I did.” 

“Thanks. Leslie’s probably gonna be storming down here any minute.” 

“Did she tell Dad that I was refusing the hospital?” 

“Oh, she was going when I saw her. If that approach doesn’t work, then she’ll just come down here and give you a lecture.” 

“Yeah, sounds nice. As long as she isn’t too loud and wakes Damian.” 

“Oh, Damian got the normal fear toxin and the cure administered. He’ll be sleeping till morning regardless.” 

“Well, that makes him falling asleep in this position make more sense.” 

“He likes you.” 

“I’m sure he does, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s sleeping on me in a way that was perfectly normal for me with Bruce.” 

Leslie comes down with a triumphant look. 

“Bruce must have told her that you should go,” Jason says. 

“When was the last time he was the boss of me? I’m not moving.” 

“Alfred said that you had to get your shoulder checked out,” Leslie says. 

“Fine, I’ll go,” Dick says. “Jason, can you take Damian?” 

Jason gently picks up Damian, who huffs, but doesn’t wake up. Dick gets up and follows Leslie. She drives him to the hospital and she must have called ahead because it was ready when they got there. Dick goes through the process without complaint, even though he’d rather complain a lot. 

“How did this happen?” Leslie asks as she looks over the scans. 

“I don’t know,” Dick answers. “I barely remember most of tonight. That probably won’t stick, but I don’t know.” 

“Alright, I’ll see if Tim can let me know. If not, that’s fine. Your injury, thankfully, isn’t as bad as I thought it was. You’ll still have a recovery time for it, but it’s not too bad. No working while this is healing.” 

“I think I’m just gonna stay at home and hug my baby brother.” 

“I doubt Damian will let you hug him that long, but feel free to do that with one arm.” 

She goes through the plan with him and gets his arm in a sling, which is annoying. She takes him back to the manor and when he walks in, Bruce is sitting at the dining room table. 

“Hey, Dad,” Dick says. 

“Hey,” Bruce replies. “How’s your shoulder?” 

“Fine. I’ll be in this thing for a little while, but that’s not the end of the world. Why aren’t you with Tim?” 

“Tim wants to talk to you, so I was waiting for you.” 

Dick takes a breath, then nods. The two walk upstairs and Tim’s arguing with Jason about the proper way to hold Damian. 

“I am holding him just fine. He’s still asleep and he’s not complaining,” Jason says. 

“Hey, Dick,” Tim says. 

Jason turns. “Hey, Dickie.” 

“Hey, you two.” 

“I’ll give you guys a minute,” Jason says. “I’m gonna get Damian into his bed.” 

Jason heads out and Dick takes a seat. 

“I’m not mad at you,” Tim says. “I know it wasn’t you.” 

“Thanks, buddy. I’m sorry that I hurt you,” Dick replies. 

“Did I hurt your shoulder?” Tim asks. “I don’t really remember the end of the fight.” 

“I actually don’t know. I don’t really remember my shoulder getting hurt. I’ll be in this for a while and be fine, so it doesn’t really matter who hurt my shoulder.” 

“Hey, Dick?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You still see us as equals, right?” 

“Of course.” 

“So no hard feelings then. Batman’s kicked the shit out of ninety percent of the Justice League and they still don’t hold a grudge, much.” 

Dick nods. “Okay, deal. I didn’t think of it like that.” 

Tim shrugs. “Sometimes you need a more objective view. I’m trying not to be so objective about my relationships with you guys, but it’s good for things like this.” 

Dick ruffles Tim’s hair. “Alright, I’m gonna try to get some rest.” 

“I’ll see you in the morning, Dick.” 

“See you in the morning, Tim.” 

Dick heads to his room to try to get some rest.

[angelasscribbles]

Audrey's Broken Heart

Fandom: Astrea's Broken Heart (Romance Club)

Pairings: Audrey (F!MC) x multiple LI's

Word Count: 2,479

Rating: MA for mentions of violence

Warnings for this chapter: mentions of violence (canon), slight sexual innuendo.

A/N: So that last chapter (season 2, chapter 1) left something to be desired in my mind. So I rewrote it and tweaked a few things.

I have no idea who to tag other than @harleybeaumont because I don't know who is into this story and I can't even remember the RC blog that is like CFWC so here it goes out into the ether. May the odds be ever in it's favor!

My other stuff: Master List.

The world spun as I lay on my back, gazing up at the stained glass window above me.

So this is how I die.

The fucking irony.

I had escaped one religious cult only to fall victim to another… after a lifetime of avoiding and rejecting even the most mundane churches and religious philosophies.

How? How had I ended up here?

This was Ruth’s fault.

Assigning blame wouldn’t help me now. I needed help, but there was no one to call. My cell phone was gone, and no one even knew where I was. Instead, I prayed. I prayed to a God I had ceased to believe in. I prayed fervently as I cast my eyes around the church searching for a way out… a weapon… an ally…. Anything of use.

There was nothing.

Nothing and no one. And no response from God.

I closed my eyes against the inevitable. A deep, all-encompassing grief spread through me.

I wasn’t ready to die. 

Faces flashed through my mind, but not the ones you would think.

It wasn’t my parents or a lost love that occupied my dying thoughts. No. It was the four men who had inexplicably become my whole world.

David. He had offered to come with me or at least drive me here, but I hadn’t let him. I should have let him. But then he’d be in the same predicament. David. Sweet, sarcastic, passionate. The world needed him in it. At least I could die knowing he was safe. That was some amount of comfort.

Mikael. Would he be disappointed? Sad? I thought so, but I wasn’t sure. There seemed to be a connection between us, but nothing tangible, nothing ever spoken. He was the consummate professional. He would be there to comfort the others.

Cassiel. His job was to protect us. Where was he now? Would he blame himself? I hoped not. He was already too serious, too angry at the world. Despair filled me as I realized that the progress we’d made would die with me. All those cracks in his armor would refill and seal shut forever.

Raphael. He lived with a deep, pervasive sadness. This would only make it worse. It might destroy him. He was too good for this world. Compassionate. Caring. Vulnerable. As I lay dying, I swore I could feel his soft lips on mine again.

There was a commotion and my eyes fluttered open, but what I saw didn’t make any sense. Or maybe it did.

I saw an angel, which was appropriate because I was dying. Had he come to collect my soul?

I could feel my life slipping away. I was too weak to fight anymore, too weak to even cry out for help, too weak to understand what was happening around me.

No one was trying to kill me anymore. The cult members had scattered. A booming voice filled the room, promising damnation and darkness.

The angel was raining vengeance down on the evildoers. It would have made me happy if I’d had the energy to feel anything at all.

Through the last vestiges of consciousness, my fog addled brain registered something wholly impossible.

The angel…. It was Raphael.

My eyes closed again as I sank into the darkness.

The next thing I was aware of was the warmth of my own bed.

My body was leadened. I couldn’t move or speak, but I knew I was home, and more importantly, alive.

Barely.

I was vaguely aware of voices as I faded in and out of consciousness. Distressed murmurs. Fervent pleas to live. Voices that rose and fell in discord and grief.

When my eyes opened, I was in a verdant valley of lush green grass and rolling hills. The sky above me was a vibrant blue.

Across the valley was a glimmering golden light pulsating from an open portal. I could feel the peace emanating from it. I felt pulled toward it. I wanted to go to it, enter it, and forget all the pain and chaos of the world I’d left behind, but when I took a step toward it, I felt an equally compelling pull in the other direction. I turned to look back and found myself staring down at my own body.

Mikael perched next to me holding my hand, heedless of the blood covering it, and now him. “I can’t hear her.” His voice was filled with despair.

I felt his touch and the pull to go back became slightly stronger. I took a step in that direction and paused again, casting a glance back at that golden glow that promised peace.

My mother appeared beside me. Laying her hand on my shoulder, she gave me a look filled with compassion, love, and regret. “It’s up to you if you go back or not.”

“Mom?” My voice quivered. I opened my mouth but couldn’t decide which of the million questions spilling through my head I should ask.

Before I could process the fact that my mother was with me, that I was being offered a choice between continuing life or not; before I could ask her anything, the pull from my body grew stronger.

“You were sent to us for a reason, Audrey…”

I looked back to see Mikael holding my body close to his. Mikael covered in my blood. Mikael pouring his healing energy into my broken body. Mikael with tears of grief pouring down his face. My choice was made, and I was suddenly back in my body.

“I’m sorry, Audrey, but healing souls is beyond my power…”

What power was he talking about? I still couldn’t speak, couldn’t open my eyes. Everything hurt. He lowered me onto the bed and laid his head on my chest, listening to my heartbeat. He started to pull away from me, but I finally managed to move, wrapping my arms around him weakly.

He froze. Hope filled his voice. “Audrey?”

I clutched at him tighter, and he moved so that he was lying next to me, cradling me in his arms. “It’s okay, Audrey. I’m here, I’m here.”

“Audrey?” It was Raphael’s voice, and it flooded me with memories of dying. Quiet but terrified sounds issued from the back of my throat.

He tried again. “Audrey, you are home. You are safe.”

Yes. Home. Safe. Raphael was here, Mikael was here. I was safe. My eyes fluttered open and my heart surged with joy and relief when I saw his face. Then my gaze dropped to his white shirt, rumpled and soaked in blood. Was it my blood? Or the blood of the cult members?

No. That was impossible.

The image of Raphael as an avenging angel came back to me, and I swear I saw him that way again. Standing in my bedroom at Astrea, glowing with wings sprouting from his back. I clutched harder to Mikael as I shrank away from him.

Pain flashed through Raphael’s eyes. “Audrey, I saved you. I’m not trying to hurt you.”

I blinked several times. One moment he had wings, the next moment he didn’t. I was losing my mind. Of course Raphael would never hurt me.

Mikael held me tight and reassured me. “It’s okay, Audrey. Raphael would never hurt you.” Then to Raphael, “She’s been through a trauma. She needs time.”

“Of course, I’ll go.” He sounded so broken that my heart shattered.

“Wait!” I cried out. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Audrey. Would you like me to take away the memory?”

I blinked up at him as he approached. “What?”

“I can take away the memory of what you saw.”

“How?”

He gave me a sad smile. “The same way Mikael healed you. There are things about us that you don’t know. Your memories will be recoverable, but this will give your mind a chance to heal before we confront all that.”

“No.” I shook my head as a vision of my mother in a verdant meadow flashed through my mind. “Don’t take my memories. Just…. Hold me for a moment?”

Mikael released me as I was engulfed in Raphael’s arms. I clung to him as if my life depended on it. He had saved me. Twice now. The memory of him catching me when I had fallen swirled through my mind. I had no idea what he was or if my mind had been playing tricks on me in that church, but to the very core of my soul, I knew that this being would never hurt me. None of them would. The tears started as my body began to shake, a delayed reaction to the horror I had experienced.

A clatter in the hallway drew everyone’s attention. Mikael excused himself to check on it. I heard raised voices in the hallway. Mikael’s and David’s.

Snippets of the conversation floated in to me. Enough to discern that David had done something to the villagers and that Mikael wasn’t happy about it.

I pushed away from Raphael and looked up into his face. “Let him in. I want David. Please!”

I needn’t have asked. The next moment, he was barging through the door. “Audrey! Audrey, are you okay?”

I pushed myself up into sitting as he threw himself onto the bed. Another man covered in blood, but not mine. David hadn’t been there like Raphael and he wasn’t the one that had healed me like Mikael.

The cult members. The villagers. I instinctively knew whose blood it was and why. He hadn’t been there in time to rescue me, but he had avenged me, and I loved him for it.

“I think so,” I answered as he pulled my body this way and that, inspecting me for injuries. When he was satisfied that I was no longer dying, he embraced me fiercely as tears slipped down his face. “I thought we had lost you!”

“I’m here. I’m alive. Thanks to Raphael and Mikael.”

Raphael wrapped his arms around me from the other side, and the three of us sat that way for a long while.

When David pulled away to wipe the wetness from his face, I looked around the room to find Mikael standing awkwardly at the end of the bed. I gave him a weak smile. There was only one person missing.

Before I could ask where he was, Cassiel appeared in the doorway, as if summoned by my thoughts.

“How is she—” his question was cut short as his eyes fell on me sitting up in the bed.

He then did the most un-Cassiel thing I’d ever seen. A smile of relief and joy lit up his face as he bound across the room and leapt onto the bed unceremoniously knocking the other men out of his way as he scooped me into his arms and hugged me firmly against him while raining kisses on the top of my head. “Audrey, you’re alive!”

“Yes!” a laugh burst out of me despite the terror I’d been through. Cassiel acting like an over exuberant puppy was possibly even more surprising and unlikely than me being kidnapped by a deranged cult.

I looked around at the other three men, but none of them seemed upset at being displaced.

David was a little bemused while Raphael radiated nothing but happiness. Mikael wore a thoughtful expression as his eyes traveled from me to each of the other men.

The image of wings sprouting from Raphael’s back was still occasionally there when I gazed at him, but it was fading as I convinced myself that part had been a dream.

But I was healed. Raphael had managed to save me somehow. Mikael had done something to bring me back. Raphael had admitted to having powers. And David had somehow gotten to the village and back in a time frame that didn’t seem wholly possible.

I pushed all of that to the side. There would be time for questions later. I needed a shower. And food.

Cassiel released me and moved away as if suddenly embarrassed by his outburst. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I told him before requesting privacy for a shower.

I stood before the bathroom mirror and inspected my body. There were no cuts, scrapes, bruises, or other signs of the torture I had endured.

How was that possible?

I hugged myself for a moment before stepping under the spray of hot water. Whatever had happened, I was happy to be alive and whole again. At least physically.

When I emerged from the shower, there were fresh, clean sheets on my bed. I sank into it gratefully.

One by one, the guys showed back up. Mikael brought food with him. I devoured it. I guess almost dying works up an appetite. I noticed they had all showered and changed as well. All physical proof of my ordeal had been erased. My body had been healed. My mind and soul were going to take a little longer.

Cassiel was the first to move toward the door. “I guess we should get out of here and let you get some rest.”

My cheeks flamed red as I stared down at my comforter and asked, “Could one of you stay?”

David spoke up immediately. “I’ll stay!”

“We’ll take turns.” Mikael’s tone brooked no disagreement.

“Fine,” David acquiesced, “I’ll take the first shift.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Raphael said. “You’ve been through a horrible ordeal. It’s normal to need support.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

“I’ll be here in two hours to relieve you,” Cassiel told David, then turning his attention to me said, “We won’t leave you alone and I promise no one will ever hurt you again.”

Something in his tone made my heart race. I believed him.

The others trailed out of the room. Someone clicked the light off.

David gazed at me with the same intensity he always did, but all the playfulness was gone. “Tell me what you need, little witch.”

The familiar nickname earned a small smile from me as I snuggled into the covers. “Just talk to me until I fall asleep.”

“I can do that.”

“Would it be weird if I asked you to lay in the bed with me?”

His mischievous grin finally returned. “If I ever say no to that, go ahead and shoot me because I’ve clearly lost my mind.”

“Stop it,” I scoffed, “I’m serious!”

“So am I.”

He climbed into bed and tenderly wrapped his arms around me. As if he were afraid I would break. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.” My body relaxed into his. I listened to the sound of his voice as the horror of the day receded a little.

As I slipped off to sleep, I knew one thing for certain. Everything bad that had ever happened to me had happened outside these walls. Whatever was going on in here, I was safe. I was surrounded by love. I was home.

[englandsgirl18181234]

Can you tell what happens later in Zeus's regret au? How does he react after Athena's seizure and what changes?

And regarding both versions of the au, what are the consequences of such a seizure for Athena? Why she even have it?

Oh and for the second version, does Ares react somehow when he finds out that Athena really wasn't faking and his sons deserved Apollo's attack?

Hi! I'm So sorry this took so long for me to answer, my friend! Hopefully you like it anyway.

So in the Zeus's Regret AU, once Athena's condition is revealed to the rest of the Council, a lot of things happen at once.

Zeus abdicates and then goes into seclusion once he realizes that Athena's condition is his fault. He's absolutely horrified, and he's trying to find ways to make up for what he's done. He's also searching for ways and try to heal Athena.

Athena and Apollo basically barricade themselves in Athena's palace out of paranoia, putting up so many protections that the magic is practically tangible. They believe that Zeus is out to get them. They think he's angry with them, both for hiding Athena's condition from him for so long and for letting it be discovered by the rest of the council, and that he's going to punish them for it. Potentially by doing to Apollo what he did to Athena.

The rest of the Olympian Council are reeling from both the revelation and from Zeus abdicating so suddenly. They're all horrified that something like this was happening right under their noses and none of them realized. They're trying to understand how it happened and why Apollo and Athena hid it from them. They're also all in shock that a goddess, and an Olympian Council member at that, could be permanently harmed in such a way. Especially when Zeus's reaction makes it clear that it wasn't even on purpose. They're also all trying to get used to Zeus no longer being King. They understand why he did it, but that doesn't make it any less surprising or any less of an adjustment.

And Athena's seizures actively make her condition worse if they last long enough. They cause physical damage to both her body and her brain and that pulls away resources that would otherwise be used to try and heal the damage to her soul and the restriction on her connection to her domains.

And it really depends on the AU for why she has them in specific situations.

In my Chthonic Apollo AU for example, the seizure is triggered by Phobos and Deimos attacking her. Whereas in Zeus's Regret, it just hits her out of nowhere with nothing in particular triggering it. Seizures are weird like that sometimes.

And for the Chthonic Apollo AU, it's not so much that he believed Athena was faking as it was that he saw his sons in danger and reacted without thinking. He loves all his children fiercely in my AU's, and would defend them with his life. And his godly children are the only ones he's allowed to do that with because of the laws Zeus set, so coming to their defense is even more automatic for him.

He could see that what Apollo did, to both him and them*, was just as automatic as his own actions, so he doesn't blame Apollo or Athena for any of it.

*because Apollo does attack Ares too when he becomes a threat

He doesn't want to chase them when they run, and he wouldn't have if not for Zeus's orders. He actually goes easier on them than he would have otherwise, often slowing down the others enough for Apollo and Athena to escape unseen. It's not enough for Zeus or the others to notice and punish him for it, but he is partially the reason Athena and Apollo make it to the Underworld.

Thank you for your questions my friend, I love them very much!!

[iam-hypernova]

Today I wanna talk about a typology gold mine.

Silent planet's Everything was Sound (2016). Named after the C. S. Lewis Novel "Out of the silent planet", this band will excite any and all bookworms with an open mind and the will to try on a new music genre. This is a concept album that follows a person who enters a panopticon, a prison where nine subjects with an assigned enneagram type are studied. I'm very excited for this, so let's dive right in.

Inherit the earth: "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth" Matthew 5:5. We find a protagonist, a Fool of no name drifting in the woods. In these woods, he finds a hidden panopticon, seemingly under the earth : "I'd wonder upon this grave then fall, I'd fall inside". With only a diary on him "With nothing to show but a rain stained book containing my literary charades... New blots of ink, archetypal shapes and shades bleed through each and every page" he begins to explore a prison so impressive it seems like a miracle: "I wandered upon the altar of human invention, an exhibition of erudition. Find me here, son of man. How far we fall". He's ready to listen to nine soul touching stories.

Psychescape: “I think that I’m a better problem-solver because of my schizophrenia. When you have to question reality every single day, I think that makes you change how you view the world.” Cecilia McGough. The first subject is enneagram six, with the Magician archetype. It's a person suffering from schizophrenia. They introduce the protagonist to the cruel hand played on them: "Oh fragile mind, you will learn how to fracture". They begin describing their experience as a bizzare mix of suffering and enchantment "Follow me, I'll take you to the edge of reason. Fall with me, we'll make a home in our delusion". Their mind is a unique mix of fragments with no exit. A trap with a fascinating tale to tell anyone who wants to hear. They have a spark in their eyes, a childlike wonder with a vision to change the world, yet are trapped inside their own head: "I'd change the world but I'm chained to myself". Trapped inside their own head, unable to cause any change in the world and themselves.

Dying in circles: "We loathe the church, not its poison. Apart from the church, we too love the poison". Friedrich Nietzsche. The second subject is enneagram two, a god loving prisoner of their own worship, and of the Saint archetype. Motivated by their love for people, they followed the commands of Jesus, finding shelter. But as he goes on, he describes his worship and community to be violent, critical, legalist, bloodthirsty: "Water poured out, but we want wine". What should be a loving, altruistic, humanitarian way of life is filled with violence, spite, and feelings of having desecrated their God with disappointment. "The image of God is sleeping on the ground". But the worst part is that they probably also see themselves in their counterparts' violent approach to faith. "When you fell to your knees to wash my feet, did you see the trampled shadows stained underneath?". Trapped under the altar of a God forsaken by His own believers.

Understanding love as loss: "When they're so alone they find a backdoor out of life. You know you're not the only one" Amy Lee. The third prisoner is enneagram four, of the Creator archetype. A (very relatably so) sufferer of depression. They live their every day regretting of living, never finding warmth or shelter, or joy. Not necessarily bc they aren't surrounded by loving people, but because their soul is so sick they struggle to feel any joy, or love, ever. "Searching for solace in a toxic temple, servants of lead climbing through your head". As if trapped in a room, sitting still, watching their own body, mind, heart collapse through a window. Scared and with no control left, they are even more scared that going outside, finding help, isn't even worthy, or possible. They can't express how it feels to die before everyone's eyes every day "Floundering in a state of metaxis, one is waning, one is dead; In both we feel too much". It feels like everyone simply lives their life without them. Stained by thoughts that they are a breathing burden to them, only capable of causing pain. And yet, they express love constantly. "Intricate: I watched the world dance inside your head [...] misery: losing hope for a dying world, or did we lose hope in ourselves, my ineffable?". They speak to someone describing them as a miracle too great to be spoken; ineffable. The last thing that they do is very scarily lament about them with love: "you were my ineffable". Not going to be trapped for long.

Tout comprendre: "To understand all..." there's nothing but silence here. The archetype of the ruler is sitting on the center. Ruling over the subjects, watching them, letting them die. With the visitor of the panopticon already very shaken. As if the people there are little toys, not to be played with, but collected, observed, locked.

Panic room: "S... O... S... Help... Me...". Johnny got his gun. Next in the front lines is enneagram five, of the hero/warrior archetype. A soldier. A disposable hero. By the lyrics, it seems like he's fidgeting, repeating words (which is called echolalia): "Tap tap tap, the window glass... My disconnected self... Self... It's self consuming". He is trapped in a dark room, panicking, watching through the window on the other side of the room. He is haunted by atrocities of war he was unfortunately a part of. He recalls atrocities that are too haunting to anyone who is around to listen. He recalls being shaken by the fact that he, in self defense took a life: "I took a life that takes mine". Laid inside a homeless nest, all the darkness comes alive, it drags him to the void. Trapped inside his memories.

RedivideЯ: "Mania starts off fun—not sleeping for days, keeping company with your brain, which has become a wonderful computer, showing 24 TV channels all about you. That goes horribly wrong after a while." Carrie Fisher. The next subject is enneagram seven, a Seeker, a person with bipolar disorder. All the lyrics here are perfectly palindrome, just like the title of the song. Best part? The palindrome mirroring happens to the perfect middle of the song: "I did, didn't I? I didn't, did I?". On top of the world, they feel big. Unstoppable. And unforgiving. "there is me, forgiving nothing, manic then depressive". They are perfectly symbolically split in half. "Sister moon, brother sun". The other half is small, weak, helpless, meek. "Depressive then manic, nothing forgiving me, is there...?". Trapped in switching between feeling like a god and feeling helpless in the face of god.

Nervosa: "I starved myself to feel in control, only to find myself losing control of everything" Unknown speaker. Next is enneagram three, a lover "I am haunted by a nonexistent lover; the specter, the ghost, the soul starving host", a sufferer of anorexia. "Look straight through me, look at the nightmare, behold your child, perfection; a rotting shell of atrophy". One of the most haunting stories. One that my family knows of. I have no words, I'll just let the song speak of its own greatness: "I am not my own reflection, I am not myself. I am not myself! No! I was gifted with the vision, but cursed to be the witness... Invisible to me...". A person haunted by their mirror, and trapped in a depleted body.

C'est Tout pardonner: "... Is to forgive all". The second half of the quote that inspired Garrett Russell to write this album. The archetype of the Innocent is floating inside the prison, seemingly liberating mentally the prisoners, maybe the visitor too.

Orphan: "Until my city stops crying, do not ask me to wipe away my tears." Moe Moussa. Next in the front line is enneagram nine, a simple Orphan, as the title suggests. Plagued by war, this orphan simply calls for action. "Singing songs of life, when all we know is death". Wherever you live, do not forget to help victims of war in any way you can. Donate, speak about it, protest. Just do something in your power. "Love will take hold","If love's a sin, I'll become a heretic". Let love take hold. Help those who are trapped in genocide. #freepalestine

No place to breathe: "Δεν έχω οξυγόνο" (=I have no oxygen) Tempi train disaster slogan. Second to last, this Rebel is of enneagram eight, and speaks of their own shackles, fascism. Reflecting the band's merch, the dear rebel says: "Make every breath a protest in a world where your neighbors cannot breathe". Do not forget to protest, people. There are many things to protest against, many causes to fight for. Just look around you. You are trapped in a world where your neighbors cannot breathe.

First father: "She's the soul of my soul." A father in Palestine who lost his daughter. This Sage and Hero speaks of death. One of the most universal pains. One that haunts me, my friends, my family, and my family's friends right now. The last subject, the enneagram one, seems to be a priest, or a religious leader of some sorts: "I'm a priest afraid to pray". He has been a harsh and legalist leader, but reformed after his loss: "You pulled me through time, to the edgeless night, I learned to love as you learned to die! I'll begin to feel again, and finish the chapter you couldn't write". "Candles in the dark, defiant to the night and shadow". He self admittedly struggles to feel for others, as his harsh inner critic dooms everyone involved. "Tongue tethered to the skeptic beating in my chest". But he wants to change. He will. Even if he's trapped in grief.

Inhabit the wound: "We inherit the earth, we inherit the war. I inhabit the wound, I dwell on the harm." Garrett Russell. The outro song is one of my favorites. Slowly but surely, they shake free from their prison. They gather around him. "The earth with a final gasp shook free from our inventions". "Nine lovers stumbled out from their shells of brokenness, they reached inside their roots to find the seeds born from their suffering". Now that they are free, they have one mission: To "Plant the tree of life inside the heart of the Machine". They only have one thing to cry out to the world: "REACH INSIDE! HEAL THE WOUND! MAKE US WHOLE!".

I adore this album. I was so fascinated to find out it revolves around the enneagram. The music, the storyline, it's just so theatrical, and I love it. It really became a part of me. Give it a listen. Infinity out of ten.

[taranida]

The first (probably? maybe?) book Alan Wake forgot he had written

Always, Alan, always.

Alright, in my last post I left a few questions unanswered and I want to clear them up one by one. I honestly didn’t believe that so many people would read the theory, and am very grateful for the attention it has received. This whole blog was created to write down everything my brain (and my dear fellow theorist J) cooked up after playing and replaying AW, AWAN, Control and AWII, and I would like to sort it all by writing about each point in details. It helps to make it make sense and notice the holes.

Now, let’s cut to the chase. The first point I mentioned last time was:

in the guide for the first game we can read excerpts from the book “Taken by the Dark Presence” found in a shoebox that has no author, but has initials of T.Z. and J.Z. on some pages, apparently written in the late 1960’s. And, oh boy, I have lots of questions for this one!

I will lay out what I’ve found and then my thoughts about it, and also how it all ties to “who wrote what”, because the buzzing question of “who wrote whom”is not something I’m interested in exploring atm. At least not until I will deal with the whole “Thomas ‘Tom’ Zane” mystery.

So, the book from the shoebox titled “Taken by the Dark Presence”. It’s filled with tips and tricks about enemies that we encounter on Alan’s journey and how to deal with them. Obviously, there is a lot of info, but I’ve chosen bits that are important for my purposes. Here are those excerpts from it:

It is stated, as you can see, in the introduction to this section of the guide, that focuses on fighting the Taken and Poltergeists, that the information is drawn from the book of an unknown writer, who composed it in the late 1960, with a little hint of initials and a huge hint of the POV being Thomas Zane’s: “corporeal form is my Barbara. My dear, sweet love.”

It does go against my theory of Thomas spending a week with Barbara-the-Dark-Presence in the cabin, not going outside to face Taken; after all, the info there is a text book of “tell me it was written by Thomas Zane without telling it”. If not for mentioning the Dark Presence wearing Barbara’s skin, it would be fine on that account; we have strong evidence that Taken were lurking around even before Thomas wrote his piece to bring Barbara back. Yes, Robert “The Colonel” Hambleton’s article will be repeated here:

And the end result of the poor writer’s visit:

All point to Thomas actually being in the midst of fighting and fleeing, although I cannot even start guessing for what and from what, I will again stress out two pieces of information that point to the Dark Presence playing the role of the loving Barbara, as it was written by Thomas:

And Cynthia’s words:

“The witch looked like her, but it wasn’t. Barbara was sweet. He didn’t understand until it was too late. He tried to undo it, wrote himself, her, everything he’d ever written out of the world.”

Thomas, as we can guess, didn’t understand who hid behind Barbara’s face for some time, and, when he did, was free to tie her, carve her heart out and write this secret poem, mentioned in “This House of Dreams”, that allowed him to escape, giving up his body to the Bright Presence, and drag the real Barbara’s essence (soul, spirit) with what was left of him into a safe heaven, their personal paradise. So, why would he run into the forest and fight bulldozers and Taken?

He didn’t. There is one little thing that makes this book’s author surely not Thomas — the flashbangs. I’m in no way a weapon enthusiast, let alone, specialist, but I’m alright with search engines. As far as the history of this particular grenade goes, it was invented by the British Army in the late 70s and adopted by the US some years later. Thomas Zane, who lived only till 1970, couldn’t have knowledge, let alone, this very item on his hands at the time. Yet it’s clearly stated in the book: “flashbang attacks if possible” and “coax numerous enemies around you, and then drop a flashbang”. In the first game even Alan is surprised to find this weapon not in the police cars:

And he lives in 2010, when flashbangs are already a known weapon, although, as I understand are not so easily obtained by civilians (if not at all; I’m not from US and can rely only on the info from the internet). It seems as if this particular bunch of flashbang-nades was placed there by some otherworldly means.

Taking all that, my belief is that “Taken by the Dark Presence” is a book written into reality by Alan — to help him on his journey — after he decided to make himself a protagonist in the story the Dark Presence was forcing him to write. Through the “Writer in the Cabin” TV’s we see how he slowly changes his stance on his “editor”, how he realises that something is wrong and he must change the story, giving himself the best chance to survive to save Alice (and not to plunge the world into eternal darkness preferably). That will also explain the J.Z. initials on the pages of the book: Alan, during that week, was not thinking clearly and could just mess names up.

As a side note, I’m extremely new to tumblr and have no idea how people here get into conversations, for me the comment section is the way to go, but I see rebloggs with tags or ideas I would love to discuss and have no clue what to do with them. I would highly appreciate if anyone who wants to add something or chat about a post to make themselves known in the comments as well. Or a message; both are great.

[swallowedbyfandom]

Penelope wakes from the void feeling lighter than she has in years. Colin Bridgerton had been an albatross around her neck, without the partial bond tugging on her senses she is blissfully free. She staggered over to her mirror to undress and inspect herself. She would rather be unmarked than bare any trace of Colin on her body.

She stands naked as the day she was born in front of her mirror laughing in wild delight. Fate has finally been kind to her. No longer shall she languish as a prisoner to half her soul. She has a glorious new soul mark made up of beautiful flowers with beautiful meanings. She will grasp this new opportunity with both hands. She will not allow a single Bridgerton back into her life, not even Violet. She is free they will not shackle her to the betrayer of her soul. Never again.

The last thing Portia expects to see when she goes to check in on her daughter is finding her Penelope standing defiant, proud, and naked in front of her mirror with tears of laughter and joy in her eyes. Those joyful eyes shoot over to her in the mirror and suddenly her Penelope is a different creature all together. There are no traces of joy only rebellion on her face.

"I will run away and marry a footman before I allow you to entrap me into marriage with Mr. Bridgerton. I don't care what benefits you think it will bring our family. I have been freed from a bond that has choked me since I was a girl of ten. I will not go back."

Harshly Portia retorts, "If you had told me you were both partially bonded I would have had you married, instead of wasting my resources debuting you."

"Please you would never have believed me. When have you ever believed a thing I say? It is too late now, I will not live your life. You represent me as the only child you had after Papa betrayed your bond. You settled for treating me ill instead of having the courage to turn your back on him. I will not make the same mistake."

"I am your mother, you will do as I say."

"I most assuredly will not. You gave birth to me but you have never been my mother. I will drag our family's tattered reputation further into the gutter before the whole of society if you interfere with my love life. You will find I have nothing left to lose but my freedom and there is much I will sacrifice to keep it."

Portia can see it in her eyes, Penelope will burn everything and everyone to the ground to avoid marriage to Colin Bridgerton. Hell she may enjoy burning it all, in retribution for what she has endured. Her youngest daughter is a stranger to her. She loves Penelope she does but she also hates that Penelope is a child born from a severed bond. She is a reminder of betrayal and weakness to her.

"Do not test my resolve, mother. I promise you will be appalled by the lengths I go to and the spite I harbor. I want to be left alone during the off season. Next season I will pursue the marriage mart in search for a husband. I will arrange my own sponsor and chaperones."

Portia exits with rage and pride burning under her chest. She will wash her hands of Penelope unless she does something that causes a scandal. The sooner she leaves the better. Still Portia is going to make Colin Bridgerton regret surviving the bond, he ruined her ball and overshadowed her marvelous fireworks display.

Penelope watches her mother leave with relief. She will not allow anything to taint her new start. She pulls her nightgown back on and calmly rings her bell for food, tea, and a bath. There is much she must accomplish today. She must put out her paper, make plans to leave Mayfair before Colin recovers enough to call on her.

She needs time to grieve, plot, and heal. She needs to learn how to put herself first. Who is she? What is she, when she is not busy being the other half of Colin Bridgerton's soul? What is her future, now?

She knows she must grow a thicker skin. The Ton will be dissecting her every move searching for weaknesses. All will be searching for that elusive reason to explain why charming Colin Bridgerton did not want her. She will not take the blame for this. He had acknowledged their soul bond when he was twelve and she was ten. Then he had gone off to Elton and returned a distant figure. Somewhere along the way he changed his mind and decided he could do better.

She could not be gracious about his rejections any longer, with the severance she no longer has to. She is so very tired of being gracious of other people's faults. He is not hers anymore, she shall not concern herself with him or his family in anyway other than avoidance.

She will be gone from Mayfair tonight. She will miss most of the Bridgerton's but she has to move on. A clean break from her once fated family is a price she is willing to pay. She shall send a farewell for Lady Violet to thank her for her years of kindness but that is all, she can afford. Perhaps she will send Lord Bridgerton a note so he can keep his family away from her. Yes that would be best the last thing she needs is dutiful Anthony Bridgerton deciding she is his responsibility. She will have to nip that nonsense in the bud.

She sets her maid to packing her belongings for a long trip. She has discreet travel arrangements to make and some documents to drop off. Thank god she already had forged identification documents in the event she was discovered as Lady Whistledown. She will be able to disappear without the Bridgertons tracking her down.

[undercoverbisexualfrog]

Fazbear Frights AU

The members of the Foot Clan (plus me and my mutual’s OCs) are high school students who tale the place of Fnaf Fazbear Frights stories. Now they’re all stuck living in purgatory together and get to watch each other’s stories during 'observation'. @solofanatic64 helped me a bunch with this so thank you SO much I can't thank you enough literally 90% of the stuff below is from her.

Characters in Order of Death:

Anton, To Be Beautiful

Made up of scrap metal and sewn on body parts, but he’s pretty shit at sewing so Ivan does it for him

Has major speech problems, really only Ivan understands him so has been designated as his translator

Only has one working eye, can’t fix it but there’s no mirrors around and his hands are really shaky

Mason is replaced by Ivan

If he loses a limb during observation he'll get it back once they get to purgatory (he still tries to find it)

Sometimes he still hears Eleanor's song when he's trying to sleep

Hair is a mix of his natural hair and ‘beautiful’ hair and can’t style it differently

Anton's limbs were discovered in his home but not before Eleanor fled, his death is considered a cold case

TC, Count the Ways

Possesses Funtime Freddy so can go back to Earth via him

Has Funtime Freddy in place of his head, has to hold his human head in his arms

Can’t remove Funtime Freddy head because that’s what killed him

Missing his right hand

TC stands for Takeshi Chouriki, not Tiger Claw

TC is the least unsettling to look at since the decapitation was clean

Get dizzy very easily due to the constant movement of his head, sometimes the others think it’s funny to take it and throw it around

Body was found by his grandfather eventually, it is believed he was murdered then put there to hide the body, no one suspects the actual animatronic

Ivan, The New Kid

The oldest of the many souls possessing Golden Freddy

Possesses Golden Freddy so can go back to Earth via him, can pick stuff up but is limited to inside the pizzeria

Wears a Golden Freddy mask, can’t remove it since he was killed by the animatronic

Completely mangled arm, covers it up with oversized clothing, he has limited movement in it now

Voice is raspy but not as raspy as Yasmin’s since he died of blood loss

Even after all the bodies were found at the abandoned pizzeria, it was never taken down and Kelsey continues to lure kids there, it breaks Ivan’s heart every time

Instead of having an obsession over Heather, Ivan is having issues coping with Anton’s disappearance, the story at the start isn’t about Heather’s sisters being killed but instead a love story that ends gory

Mick eventually told someone about Ivan's plan to find Kelsey, but it was far too late to save him

Diamonte 'Di' (OC), Hide-and-Seek

Has shadowy rabbit ears and a tail

Still has wooden stakes poking out of his torso

His shadow is sentient, it's unknown whether it's his own or Shadow Bonnie

Bloods leaking out of his mouth constantly and it will never stop

Constant discomfort on his back from the scrubbing

Di’s shadow can’t talk, but it’s very expressive and makes a lot of sounds

He’s the only one with a shadow

When his body was found, it was thought to be either him taking his own life or a 'horrible accident'

Chris, The Breaking Wheel

Takes Julius’s place, not Reed

Can’t move at all without the exoskeleton

Has these spasms where he goes and attacks the others until they turn of the exoskeleton

They also turn off the exoskeleton a lot, just to be dicks

Tries to justify being an asshole by saying it's fair since he's the only one who feels pain after death

Bloods leaking out of his mouth constantly and it will never stop

The only one who feels actual pain, everyone else just feel discomfort

He was found by Pickle and Shelly, but escaped, there have been search parties for him but no luck so far

Baxter, Gumdrop Angel

Missing body parts because of being eaten and all

Gumdrop nose is gone and already eaten by some other poor kid

Doesn’t have legs but Ivan found a wheelchair for him at the abandoned pizzeria, Di or TC usually pushes him (if it's TC Baxter had to hold his head)

Has tried working on prosthetics and stuff for himself but he has only one arm

Completely numb in gummy parts

Constantly has a sugary taste in his mouth

Some of his human body has been restored but it's still mostly gummy

No one will ever find out what happened to him, it'll just be a cold case

Xever, Jump for Tickets

Possesses Coils the Clown so can go back to Earth via him, can pick stuff up but only when in control of Coils

Has a Coils the Clown mask, can remove it since he wasn’t killed by the animatronic, he never wears it because he thinks it makes him look dumb and makes a massive deal out of it

Arms are kinda lanky like Coils’s post-death

There's a second soul in Coils but he doesn't know who it is, he’s never seen them but has talked to them multiple times, all he knows is they tried to warn him before his death

Bloods leaking out of his mouth constantly and it will never stop

Coils’ speech is limited to a few prerecorded lines so Xever can’t communicate to anyone

Sometimes goes down to control Coils just to get away from everyone else, always tries to stop people from going to the Jump for Tickets machine

His body was found by a maintenance worker after hours, there are theories on the series of events that led him underneath the Ticker Pulveriser but no conclusive evidence

Comet (@solofanatic64’s OC), Sea Bonnies

Body is made up of only water, sea bonnies, brain, and eyes, but she has impaired vision

Doesn't have vocal cords so sea bonnies talk for her, they sound like hundreds of blubbery high-pitched voices speaking at once

Usually carried in a fish tank because she tends to lose sea bonnies when she steps

Has some extra watery features such as sea bonnie ears and a tail, along with having a few sea bonnies to act as her eyebrows, she’s also wearing a purple raincoat with a hot pink bow on the top front

Sea bonnies died with her, now they're a hive mind that she semi-controls (she gets them to talk for her, can move the eyebrow ones, and can hear each other's thoughts)

Can't completely contain the water (e.g. anytime she takes a step, she leaves a puddle of water behind, anytime she touches/hits somebody, she splashes them), sea bonnies also sometimes fall out so when that happens they disintegrate and respawn inside her

The sensation of the sea bonnies swimming around doesn’t hurt her (anymore), but it still feels weird

Claudia watched her disintegrate, but no one believes her and Comet is considered missing

Yasmin (OC), Find Player Two!

Doesn’t have any physical injuries like the others do (yet), her soul form will resemble her mummifying corpse as time passes

Rather than everyone waiting 10 years or so for observation, they’re shown a flashback of what’s happened in her story

Developed claustrophobia after her death

Still trying to find Mary Jo in the afterlife, but she hasn’t yet

She's grown extremely attached to Xever since their deaths

Yasmin’s voice is very raspy due to dehydration having a part in her death, drinking water doesn’t help at all

She and Xever are the only ones who were friends in life, she was devastated to know she’d lost another friend, he was devastated to know that she was next

No one will ever find her body, it'll just be a cold case

Ask Me Stuff!

[genericpuff]

Okay I need someone to know there is an equally bad Hades x Persephone story (it might've been self published? But I'm not sure. I read it years ago as a gift from a friend).

But the basic premise of the story is very similar to a touch of darkness and lore Olympus. The names are changed slightly - Persephone is now Persy or something and hades is Hayden.

Persephone works at an accounting firm or something as a new hire and guess who the new business partner is that her company is trying to strike a deal with? Hades who's Uber rich and handsome. Only difference is for some reason Persephone has the power to make people tell her their deepest secrets so like for example when she was a kid people would confess creepy things to her - like her middle school teacher blatantly admitting to being a pedophile and she does nothing about it. (Granted it's like what would she do even magic powers aren't admissible in court but still). And there's a love triangle with some random human guy? Who is immune to her powers through sheer will power (and masturbation. Yes this is a plot point).

At some point Persephone travels Hayden's domain (which is somewhere in Asia like Shanghai for some reason and not Greece). I gave up at that point. There was lots of creepy things going on in the story a la "young new girl Persephone is constantly almost assaulted at every turn due to her irresistible beauty and people's need to tell her their secrets").

Worst book I've ever read. It's so bad I cannot for the life of me remember the title but it fashioned itself as a modern retelling of Hades and Persephone.

Could it have been The Cursed God? That's what I pulled up from a google search at least LMAO

Here's the summary:

"Hades is coming for me. But that doesn't mean he can have me . . . He says he knows me. Who I am. What I am. I'm pretty sure my boss Hayden is on some sort of weird power trip. He's sexy as hell, but has an arrogance that spells danger. I'm only serving drinks in his seedy strip club until I can afford my own flower shop. I just have to avoid the inexplicable pull between us in the meantime. Then he claims I'm Persephone and he's Hades, the God of the Underworld. He says I was taken from him and now he's here to awaken my spirit so he can take me back to the underworld. That his position in the underworld depends on it. Either he's crazy . . . or I'm a mythical goddess. A queen of the underworld. His Queen."

There was another one I found called Descent. And its summary is equally crazy:

"He was my savior once. Twice. Now he’s become my tormentor.

Hayden Montgomery was my best friend’s big brother. The last time I saw him was that Halloween night. The night he found me in the ruin of the chapel. The night he carried me home through a storm that was the omen warning us all of what would come.

That was five years ago. Now, he’s back. But he’s not the same man he was.

Once upon a time, I’d fantasized about our happily-ever-after. Once upon a time, I think I loved him.

But that was before he stood in the wreckage that is now my life and offered me the solution to my problems. And the cost? My body and my soul.

There’s something dark between Hayden and me. It binds us for better or for worse. Mostly worse. Like the moth to the flame, we can’t seem to resist the draw.

I just don’t know which of us is the moth and which the flame, but either way, we’re both going to get burned."

That last bit about the moth and flame is just- it's so delightfully Twilight "the lion fell in love with the lamb" vibes.

Anyways. Those are the two closest ones I could find that matched your description, but this has me learning that there are ... a LOT of 'modern' retellings of H x P that involve Persephone being an uwu babygirl and Hades being some wet rag abusive dickhead named Hayden. This is a sub-genre I didn't know existed and now I'm wishing I could just scrub my brain of it LOL

On the one hand, part of me now wants to believe that this issue goes deeper than Rachel, that Rachel is just yet another side effect of a bigger problem... but then I spot all the publication dates on these H x P "dark romance" books are from 2019 onwards. Obviously LO doesn't exist in a vacuum either, it's clear it took influences from works that existed before it, it's not the first "modern" retelling of Greek myth. But I can't help but feel a sense of dread that really makes me wonder just how much LO's existence has subsequently oversaturated the market with these "retellings" of a story that was originally a tragedy and meant to sympathize with the mothers whose daughters were forced into marriage, the same way 50 Shades and Twilight oversaturated the market with the "dark romance" genre itself, which is really just a dog whistle for abusive relationships at this point.

Don't really have anything else to say to close out this post. It's just depressing and I desperately want us all to hurry the fuck up and outgrow it instead of dressing up the same abusive "relationships" with a new coat of paint every 5-10 years.

[lady-o-ren]

FROM THE EDGE OF THE BLACK SEA

After a deadly confrontation with the Laird and Warchief of Clan Mackenzie, the last son of Lallybroch goes on a frantic search for his one true love, praying he isn't too late . . .

//

Jamie's found his runaway heart in the ruins of an old abbey by the sea.

He swings his long leg from off his great stallion's back and crosses what's left of the crumbling stone archway to the back where the wall of the abbey has collapsed.

Claire sits there amongst the rubble and weeds with her knees pulled up to her chest, transfixed by the rhythmic rise and fall of the black ocean waves. Was she longing for them to sweep her away?

Jamie couldn't bear the thought of losing her, even as guilt gnawed away at his guts for being the one to have selfishly brought her to this savage place.

For failing to keep her safe.

He can see the bruises on her neck with the lifting of her long dark curls by the cold misty wind and can only imagine what other marks hide beneath her cloak and crumpled dress, making his blood burn black with rage.

As if she's heard the mad thrashing of his heart, Claire looks over her shoulder and her eyes that could bewitch a man into giving up his soul widen in a burst of golden surprise.

"You idiot!" She cries to Jamie's horror. "You damned stupid fool!"

Seizing a rock, Claire hurls it at his head, followed by another and another after that. She then attempts to run when Jamie makes a move to grab her and becomes trapped against his chest.

"Let go of me!" She shouts, jerking violently in his arms wrapped ironclad around her.

"Sassenach! Claire! I'm not here to hurt ye!"

"Let go of me, damn you! Let go!"

The desperation in her voice tears at Jamie's very soul making his arms drop like lead at his sides.

Claire stumbles forward but doesn't run off like he feared she would. Instead she turns to face him, glaring fiercely, with her breath coming out in hurried white puffs around her flushed and freckled cheeks.

"Why did you follow me?" She demands.

"Why the hell did ye leave the castle wi'out telling me? Surely ye must've kent I'd search night and day for ye," Jamie fires back, shuddering with frustration and exhaustion from his tireless pursuit of her.

"It doesn't matter why. You weren't supposed to follow me anyhow." She waves her hand to the trees beyond them that blanket the hills. "Now Dougal will send the entire clan after us thinking you've betrayed him. "

"He won't. I made sure of that," says Jamie, voice cold and unrepentant as the tide crashing against the cliff side, eyeing her bruised throat.

Claire clasps her hand to it.

The same one she slashed Dougal's face and bare chest with in the shadows of her bedchamber, drawing blood that she can still taste like poison on her lips.

"You didn't have to - he didn't -"

Blood rushes to Jamie's face, furious as a thundercloud.

"I did what needed to be done to protect ye, Claire. "

"Jamie, that's all you've ever done for me. That's why I didn't tell you about Dougal. I didn't want to put you in danger."

"You think I care about myself? He hurt ye dammit!"

Jamie slams his fist against a standing stone.

"The one I've waited all my life for. Who holds the whole of my heart . . ." He takes a step closer, voice low and thick with passion. "The one I love."

Claire takes a step back, not daring to believe. Her voice a quivering whisper.

"You can't mean that."

Jamie fixes her with a searing blue gaze and says -

"Have I ever lied to ye?"

The tears come hot and fast down Claire's cheeks and Jamie does his best to thumb them away, lifting her face that's ethereal as a star in his big hands. Oh, how lovely she is.

"Since when?" She murmurs tearily. "How long?"

"From the moment I gave ye the breath of my body while you struggled for air on the shore, when ye weeped in my arms for what was lost to ye that first night at Leoch, my heart and soul have belonged to you. Even in death when I'm nothing more than dust in the wind and far beyond the hereafter, my love for you will never waver." He rests his brow against hers, bowed as if in prayer. "This I promise you wi' all that I am. Will you have me?"

Claire reluctantly pulls away and looks up at his face beaming with devotion she's never known, could never dream of, hands grasping at his chest.

"More than anything I want to say yes -"

"Then say yes!" Jamie sings, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth as he says so, clutching her waist to his.

"But the clan -" Claire pleads, cupping his stubbled cheek, forcing him to meet her gaze. "They'll kill you because of me."

Jamie lays his hand on her wrist, feeling her pulse throbbing hard against his palm and squeezes it.

"My uncle had many enemies and a great many of them are drinking to his death right now not knowing who gave their laird the final blow nor caring. And as for us," a shy and hopeful smile illuminates his face that gives Claire's heart an ache so sweet. "They'll think we've eloped just like my mother and father did. That damned fool James Fraser, they'll say, bewitched by his silkie bride."

And then there's no longer a need for words or even air as Claire once more takes Jamie's breath away, this time with a joyful, heavenly kiss.

//

Backstory: Jamie finds Claire on a rocky shoreline thinking she's a dead seal. But when the seal starts to move he thinks there's a pup trapped inside. He slashes the belly open and out comes Claire. Bloodied. White as bone. And her first gasp of human life leaves her choking and breathless hence Jamie giving her the breath of his body so that she may live.

Also I couldn't think of a better name for this drabble nonsense so I went with the first thing that popped into my head. The song by The Cure - The edge of the deep green sea. That song has a totally different vibe than what's conveyed here but damn what a great song.

Forgive the stupidity of the drabble pls

[abloomingperiod]

home | min yoongi

you can hear the urgent noises of the city outside of your windows along with the faint noise of the last raindrops slowly falling - unlike your own, which seems to only fasten their pace.

if it wasn’t for his arms embracing your figure, you swear you could slide down the floor like a puddle of recently melted ice.

“i-i… i don’t know what to d-do-“ you're able to phrase, those being your first words in the last 10 minutes.

“you don’t have to” he softly responds as his hand brushes your hair to the back of your ear, eyes attentively travelling through your face.

then, as you laid there on his lap as he always made you, yoongi starts rocking your body back and forth, pace slower than the bpm’s of a lullaby.

“but i should! i should!” you say as your eyes get drowned by your tears.

he tsk-tks, “you shouldn’t listen to whoever tells you that, even if it’s inside you” he says, his lips now finding you hair with repeated pecks, nose lovingly searching for your shampoo scent. “it’s okay, it's okay. for now, let it out and rest. you’re safe” he murmurs, arms tightening around your figure as you laid your head on his shoulder.

“you’re only saying that because i’m crying. tomorrow, i’ll be just as much of a loser as i am right now” you interject, voice weak and barely reaching his ears by the end as you nervously fiddled with your fingers.

“i’m saying that because it’s true. you’re home. i know you want to stop feeling like that, but you can't control your emotions, so just let it out. it's nothing unusual. and don't talk about yourself like that" he responds, his own fingers caressing yours as he always does when sensing your restless anxiety "if you feel lost, just remind yourself that you're home. i mean that." he keeps going, his voice barely audible if you didn't have your ear right next to his plump lips. "i can be home for you, if you let me” he responds.

“you wanna be home to a loser?”

“you clearly have no idea what a loser is" he says with a weak scoff. yoongi knows for a fact that you have a thing for the dramatic, but he also knows when it was you, someone that put a lot of pressure on themselves, feeling bad because you "should have everything sorted out".

he knew it, because he felt it, too. he knew the feeling like the palm of his hand, and he knew how god-awful it was to not be able to believe it when someone tried to genuinely help. he also knew, that he could use every trick in the book to reaffirm your worth and values, and it still wouldn't make a difference.

he knew you needed comfort, serenity and a place to freely feel. you needed a home.

he had felt that, and he promised to himself he would never let you go there alone. not you, not his home.

"i wanna be home to who is home to me” he says in a much serious and rigid tone, marking his words in your mind like no other sentence ever could, “and i love my home.”

you look up at him, and his eyes are already on yours. yours get wetter and wetter, as his keep going further and further inside your soul until you wrap your arms around his neck and buries your face back on his shoulders.

“look at me," he lifts your chin and goes to softly caress your arms, "not having control of everything is part of life. there’s nothing you can do about it but feel it when it hits you. don’t hold back from yourself, you’re more than safe to express it” he reassures. “you're not alone, and i understand what you're going through, okay?” he nods, searching for a mirrored action from you.

you feel more tears coming, but instead of hiding your face, you nod back.

"we've been there before, and you stood with me until everything got better. we can do this again, okay?” he says, tiny smile appearing on that puffy face of his “i'll be here for the good and for the bad, like you.”

you return the tiny smile and he pecks your nose making exaggerated muac noises, your smile only growing as you try to hide it with a muffled “stooooooop” coming out of your mouth, but he doesn’t let you and instead puts a finger on your cheek, returning your face to his. “look at me” and as you do, he gently pecks your lips, slowly as he possibly could, and you swear you could feel you heart slowing its frantic pace along with his lips.

pulling back, yoongi grins at you and whispers “you will always figure things out, and if any time you don’t feel like doing so, i’m here to help. we’re home, i’m your home. deal?”

you keep your eyes locked and a nod with “deal” comes out.

“good” he sighs, hands caressing your cheeks and eyes staring at your face like you're the only thing in the world as his gummy smile appears.

“you’re the best home i've ever had” he tells you, caressing your knuckles.

you weakly chuckle at his cute remark, your heartbeats slowing down along with you tears until you finally can breathe normally again and your right hand lovingly touches his clothed chest.

“you’re not bad yourself”.

[kikizoshi]

An Example of Working Something Out in Real-Time (Thoughts on How Fyodor's Ability Interacts with Him)

I rarely get such good examples of my thought process, and I think this one is really cool (you can see my explanations form and change in real-time), so I'd like to share here. I'll add in some context in brackets (what I was looking at/watching/reading while thinking about a particular point), but mostly, I'll let it speak for itself.

I was trying to see if I could explain how Fyodor's Ability works (referred to as Curse in my notes) from an Orthodox Christian perspective, so here's how that went:

without shedding of blood there is no remission [I was searching for a reason that Fyodor's Ability would cause blood to spray, and all I ended up finding was some stuff about the shedding of blood being necessary for being saved, so I ended up concluding that it was another point of evidence towards Fyodor's Ability being focused on saving people.]

Fyodor's Curse exists to save those who can't save themselves, just like Fyodor himself does [that is, Fyodor himself believes he exists to save people]

Those who wish to be saved, but for some reason cannot [an answer to the question "who can Fyodor's Ability save?"]

So why does that manifest through death?

Because they can't be saved otherwise.

But then, that means that the Curse is saying that some people just can't change. Or that they can't change enough. That they have no hope in this life. I don't like that message. Maybe that's what Fyodor believes though. Maybe he even goes into finding out he's Cursed with this core belief. [Here, I begin to look up hand symbolism in Russian Orthodoxy, and come across these three posts (categorised in order that I read them): 1, 2, 3] Maybe he, himself doesn't know that he has another power in his right hand. In his left hand, he has "punishment", or the "law" (external power), such as written code and principles. In his right hand, then, he has "the influence of blessing and cursing". This "speaking and blessing" are tightly related, they work hand-in-hand. One doesn't exist without the other.

[While working, I'd pasted some significant quotes that stuck out to me from the webpages.]

"The explanation most often given is that Christ’s right represents his merciful side, while his left represents his rigorous side."

��When the soul of a man departs out of the body, a great mystery is there accomplished. If it is under the guilt of sins there come bands of devils, and angels of the left hand, and powers of darkness take over that soul, and hold it fast on their side.”

“Question: Why is the footboard of the Cross of Christ pointed with the right side up, and the left down, and the head of Christ is also inclined to the right? Answer: Christ makes His right foot light and lifts it above the foot board in order to lighten the sins of the ones who believe in Him. And His left foot He lowers on the foot board in order that those who do not believe in Him should be weighed down and descend into hell. His head is inclined to the right, that He might incline all the heathen to believe and to worship Him.”

"[...] it is nonetheless very important as it shows most strongly how Christ in his person unites these two opposites which are born from the very fall of man, which are born from the identification with duality, the knowledge of good and evil. [...] And in the icon of 6th century Sinai we find these aspects of duality brought together beautifully “without mixture” into the person of Christ ."

I kept thinking "If the left hand condemns, then why does Fyodor use it to kill?" But, Fyodor doesn't believe in a fire-and-brimstone Hell. He believes that Hell is made of the suffering brought about by the inability to love. So then, when he says "grant you the great silence", I think he means that he can cleanse someone of their troubles so that, while they don't go to Heaven, they don't suffer in Hell (which is the absolute best he can do for them).

[Here I go to look at Fyodor's "I am Crime, I am Punishment" scene in Dead Apple, which I continue to look at for the rest of the session.]

Fyodor is Crime, and his Curse is Punishment. Crime holds Shibusawa's skull in his left hand, stands on the left side. Punishment hold an apple in his right hand, stands on the right side. Crime appears in white clothes. Punishment appears in Fyodor's normal clothes. The gem is on the back of Punishment's right hand.

Does this mean that Punishment has the correlation with divine? That would mean Crime, who is Fyodor, has the correlation with earthly litigation? Is Fyodor the damned, and his Curse the righteous? And yet, we see Punishment holding an apple in its right hand, mirroring the scull in Crime's left. The apple appears whole, unbitten, but Punishment offers it to the viewer and says to let loose.

The scull represents Shibusawa's death, maybe. His earthly litigation is already over—Crime ended his physical form with the knife. So now, Punishment is finishing it. Yet, while Punishment should oversee the righteous, it seems to instead mirror Satan in the Garden of Eden.

Or perhaps it's framed as Crime and Punishment using Shibusawa to judge the world? It's possible, but I don't like this idea.

Maybe things being so twisted is the point? Just as Raskolnikov twisted facts to believe he was a Napoleon, maybe Fyodor has twisted his own Curse to be a Demon? Since Fyodor believes that he, himself is a demon, perhaps the manifestation of his Curse also follows that. And so, the right and left would both be corrupted.

Right becomes a connection to the unholy—rather than lift up the righteous, Punishment lifts up the damned. Left becomes an releaser of the damned from their burden through spilling their blood and releasing them from the yoke of sin.

Wouldn't it make more sense for Left to condemn the righteous? No, because that doesn't fit with what Fyodor believes.

But I can't get past that the right hand is used to cleanse, not the left [referring to how the right hand is used to cleanse in Orthodox tradition, while Fyodor uses his left hand to "cleanse" Karma]. Unless that's inversed too? So that Left is Right and Right is Left? That would mean that Crime, Left, is assigned to lifting, and Punishment, Right, is assigned to damning. That isn't right though, since Fyodor doesn't un-damn anyone. He just releases them from their sins, so that they won't suffer unduly in Hell. I suppose you could say that Left is helping people from the side of the damned, who, as said, can't help themselves.

So then what is right doing? If this isn't inverse, but just a different take. Right is supposed to lift up the righteous, to deal more with matters of the spiritual. Since Fyodor, a human, can't touch the soul of someone (especially once Crime works on them), how does Punishment interact with people?

Does Punishment guide Fyodor's actions the way that person was saying about the mystics guiding the lawmakers? Is Punishment the voice God speaks to Fyodor through? Is that what he meant by "praying"? [Referring to when Fyodor says something to Dazai like, "I simply sat here and prayed."]

Oh my God, I think that's it. And this voice would have been present for Fyodor's whole life, though for his childhood he thought it was how God spoke to him (and still does, but also understands that it's part of his Curse).

So then, how does this fit thematically? ...Shit. Well, I need to know my interpretation of this. How much of Punishment is Fyodor? They're practically the same person. Practically? Are they not completely? Punishment can't be the voice of God, since it guides him to do this evil. But it can't be the voice of Satan, because my story is based on flaws driving conflict. It's Fyodor's own voice, it always has been.

How does God guide people. Sometimes, he's a voice in their head. Other times, he speaks through the people around you. Maybe Fyodor's arrogance had him assume that God only spoke to him through himself. Maybe Fyodor ignores every other word from God, that didn't come from Punishment. And that makes it so easy for Satan to plant misdirections in Fyodor's mind.

All of this would be allegory for me, since I don't believe in that. [It's important to me here that I don't believe in God because I'm trying to write my story as realistic as possible (other than the whole Ability Users thing), and confirming the existence of God wouldn't be realism, from my worldview's perspective.] Though I suppose Misha [my Bulgakov OC] makes God and Satan canon characters, I don't like the idea of Satan literally interacting with Fyodor outside of Misha. Irl, though, it's always complex. People make mistakes because of their traumas, their flaws, whatever, and it can appear at times as though Satan is guiding them. I'll probably follow a similar concept with Fyodor.

But concretely? 'Crime and Punishment' is the name of Fyodor's Curse, and 'Punishment', or 'Right', is the inner, spiritual manifestation of it. It reflects him because, ultimately, it *is* him. It's not like DID, with a different personality in the same head—this is Fyodor, with his talking to himself a bit more complex than other people. It will, then, reflect what he's going through. Maybe it's a bit like talking to your subconscious. Since it's also him, maybe it can give perspectives at right angles—ones that still come from Fyodor, following a different line of inquiry. Essentially bouncing ideas off yourself, because yourself is capable of looking at the same thing from two different angles at the same time.

So, growing up Fyodor had this voice in his head, which was his own, and which he believed God spoke to him through. Then, at some point in my story, something happens to make Fyodor (and therefore Punishment as well) begin to spiral. I think it's possible for Fyodor and Punishment to enter a viscous spiral. Like when you think yourself into a pit, but far worse, since he can essentially double think himself into a pit. That could explain why he's gone so downhill so quickly. Both Fyodor and Punishment have failed to regulate themselves, and are spiralling.

So in my current story, something similar will happen. Some inciting incident causes something fundamental about Fyodor to shift or crack, and it begins a viscous spiral that somehow culminates in Punishment telling him to use Crime for the first time. Fyodor uses it, it solves the problem beautifully (from his perspective, but ultimately, this event has to culminate in something much worse farther down the line), and Fyodor has that experience to ground his belief that his Curse is for saving people.

[This post has been in my drafts for about while, and I now have come across something that may support my "Fyodor talks to his Ability" idea:

This could actually make a lot of sense. The Devil spoke to Ivan, reflecting Ivan's own thoughts and ideas back at him, but twisting them somehow to make them demonic. I wonder if Fyodor's Ability had a similar effect?]

[totentnz]

You can chose SilverV or v/Muamar or both

🍭 What's something they can never agree on (big or small)?

🍬 Who is their biggest supporter (friend, family, etc)?

🍰 What is 'their song'? Officially or unofficially. (Esp for SilverV 👀)

💐 What’s their favorite “domestic bliss” moment? Do they cook/clean together? Do they like to go out shopping together?

love day emoji asks

otp; just the two of us (v/johnny)

🍭 What's something they can never agree on (big or small)?

v wants to get him a body. he thinks it's stupid, impossible and a waste of time (he ain't wrong) but v believes he deserves another shot at life, after all if she deserves it so does he. she keeps that promise in every version of reality. (<- temperance enjoyer)

there are other, smaller things but i cannot get them out right now lmao.

🍬 Who is their biggest supporter (friend, family, etc)?

during the events of the game there are very few people who even know about johnny and v doesn't talk about her feelings towards the engram. rogue and kerry probably suspect that there is more going on but she never confirms it.

during au: say yes to heaven (johnny gets a body au) the two are openly dating but the world forgot about johnny silverhand and he doesn't have his prosthetic anymore so to people who don't know their backstory he's just a regular guy.

when he returns to nc after going soul searching (haha) he actually has to go look for her since she moved out of the megabuilding apartment and they were strictly no-contact. kerry points him to where she currently resides (northside apartment + her motorcycle shop) so i would say he's a supporter. v was very good at making almost no friends during their time together so there is no one else. (this sounds a bit sad but it really isn't)

her brother vincent is a bit on the fence about her dating her aneurism but he's glad she found a genuine lover.

🍰 What is 'their song'? Officially or unofficially.

all my tags for cyberpunk are song names! (because most quests are also named after songs and the whole game is a big love you letter to music!!) so this is actually pretty easy!

Just the Two of Us (feat. Bill Withers) - Grover Washington, Jr.

Just the two of us We can make it if we try Just the two of us Building castles in the sky Just the two of us You and I We look for love, no time for tears Wasted water's all that is And it don't make no flowers grow Good things might come to those who wait Not for those who wait too late We gotta go for all we know

there are many more! since i'm a temperance ending enjoyer there is also this pretty recent addition.

Temperance - Royal & the Serpent

I don't think that I could ever be More than just a sick catastrophe Drowning in my asininity Hoping you won't ever want to leave I don't even know the reason why I've been up all night just getting high All I wanna do is run and hide I'm afraid that you might say goodbye [...] I don't think that I could ever be More than just a sick catastrophe Now that we have tasted misery Promise me that you won't ever leave

some honorary mentions:

Maybe My Soulmate Died - iamnotshane

Maybe my soulmate died, I don't know Maybe I don't have a soul

you know, johnny is her soulmate and he literally died. that's it, just those two lines.

Not My Type: Dead As Fuck 2 - Motionless In White

She loves me 'cause I like to give head like a zombie (I) eat, eat, eat 'til her insides are on me She loves me 'cause I give head like a zombie (I) eat, eat, eat and nobody's gonna stop me And in the glow of the pale moonlight She goes for a spin on my haunted hayride Tried out the living but I don't believe the hype 'Cause if she's got a pulse, then she's not my type

this is more of a joke than anything else, again both of them died and i know johnny is a liar but i do believe he gives head like a zombie.

💐 What’s their favorite “domestic bliss” moment? Do they cook/clean together? Do they like to go out shopping together?

i made a post some time ago about mundane things johnny and v do during the time they share a body. (also apparently my proper blog page is back now and christ alive do i need to update it lmao)

obviously during the game they do everything together, johnny is annoyed at those mundane things at first and frankly v is annoyed by shit like having to do laundry as well, not because of his presence but because she could do without it.

in au: say yes to heaven they spend some time being a boring couple, getting takeouts, sleeping in, going to the movies etc. eventually johnny suggests v should also leave nc for a bit. to everybody's surprise she actually she agrees (she's finally healing) and they go on a roadtrip! (we love that trope)

they drive down to atlanta to visit vincent and even go to one of kerry's concerts during his tour!

otp; baggage (v/muamar, set in au: everybody wants to rule the world - collab au where v didn't do the heist)

🍭 What's something they can never agree on (big or small)?

whether or not they should be dating LMAO mu is very much in love with v but she is annoyed by scared of that. they are constantly on and off. she eventually breaks up with him for good but she's not happy with that, he respects her choice though. (they truly are too old for that type of shit tbh)

🍬 Who is their biggest supporter (friend, family, etc)?

viv! (@bishicat hello bestie <;3) after her and v reconnected she's shocked and happy to hear she's seeing someone! v tells her to calm down about it since it's not that serious and she keeps teasing her about it.

viv also thinks its funny she's dating an ex-corpo, after all their friendship literally (temporarily) ended when she started working for arasaka. to v it's entirely different because muamar made the choice to leave while she was kicked out.

🍰 What is 'their song'? Officially or unofficially.

Baggage - Rare Americans

Should we start lovin', give this a try? You got baggage, but so do I You got baggage, but so do I Let's give it a try [...] This love is like a business It could drive us both insane Blind emotion leads to commotion But part of me likes that game Part of me wants the chaos And part of me walks alone What am I doing, who am I foolin' It's a life spent on your own [...] I've spent my whole life running I've spent my whole life running from myself

so let's unpack this (haha) as i mentioned before v wants him but she also doesn't. after her and viv get johnny his body back the three of them go on a roadtrip (i told you we love this trope) and muamar joins them! it was viv's idea and v was happy to have him along since the idea third-wheeling for weeks on end gave her hives.

she's actually happy for the first time in her life and they are a real, genuine couple. they even say "i love you", if you can believe it.

but because this cannot last (i cant stand the idea of her being happy leave me alone) once the trip comes to and end so does their relationship. i like comparing it to a dying pet, you know they are dying so you take them on a last trip to the park.

💐 What’s their favorite “domestic bliss” moment? Do they cook/clean together? Do they like to go out shopping together?

once you finish all of mu's gigs he tells you he wants to stop being a fixer right? and expand on his car business? (i might be wrong here, it's been a minute since i actually played)

the moment they started fucking dating they ended their professional relationship (kind of): she stopped taking gigs from him but is more than happy to steal cars for him LMAO.

she encourages him pursue his passion for cars. with v being a lowkey (motorcycle) mechanic herself, they bicker over cars vs. motorcycles a lot but also bond over their shared interest.

other than that there isn't much due to v's reluctance to get any more emotionally involved .

[wolfboy88]

If it's not too much to ask, I'd love to hear about Yours, Sea Wolf, and Blood Type!!

No, not at all :)

“Yours” – is pretty much a short follow up to “Three’s a Charm”

Scott can’t help the fond grin that spreads across his lips. It’s been a couple of months since Liam and Theo crashed his disastrous dinner date on Valentine’s Day and had mind-blowing and scorching sex before ending up in polyamorous relationship with his two betas. Scott had to admit he was a little apprehensive at first seeing as Liam and Theo have been in a relationship for decade, but really, he has nothing to worry about. Even now, as Liam and Theo continue to mess with Mason and Nolan and the others by being overly touchy feeling in front them, Scott’s glad that they found and have each other. They’re like a solidified unit these days, strong and powerful yet also incredibly cunning and Scott knows all about their mischievous, deviant ways.

It makes his jeans feel tight as he watches Theo arch his back and pronounce his ass as he lines his pool stick to take his shot and it certainly doesn’t help that Liam is right beside him, splaying his hand on the small of the chimera’s back.

“You’re drooling again,” comes Stiles’ nauseated and unamused voice, followed by Malia’s snort.

“Shut up,” Scott mutters, even though he really can’t stop himself from grinning. Stiles and Theo still really don’t get along but Scott’s starting to suspect their snarky commentary is their way communicating. “You were even worst with Lydia back in the day.”

“I was not,” Stiles insists. “Besides I can’t believe your bonking both of them. I mean sure, I get it. Theo’s always been hot and weirdly obsessed with you but Liam, he’s – ”

“Is just as hot,” Scott interrupts.

“He’s like our son. It’s like you’re defiling him,” Stiles finishes.

“I think Theo did that a long time ago,” Malia teases dryly and Kira fights to hide her smile with the back of hand.

“Legend of the Sea Wolf” – this one is an idea I’ve had for quite a while and basically I’m gonna twist some of Teen Wolf’s mythology in this and do like an urban legend/Halloween fic where Theo was the first patient of the Dread Doctors who worked at Eichen House and were fired for their inhumane experiments on their patients. I was gonna have Theo be a mix of a wolf, siren and kanima/chameleon and haunt the lake in the preserve every Halloween season searching for his soul mate with ocean blue eyes. Bodies begin to pile up all over town and when Mason goes missing, Liam goes to investigate the strange sightings in the preserve.

You’re My Blood Type (Vampire Theo) – or aka The Vampire Next Door.

A removalist van parks in the driveway of the abandoned creepy-looking Hale Manor next door, situated atop the hill that has been vacant for more than a decade gathering dust and cobwebs and Liam watches from the balcony of the Stilinski residence as people begin lugging furniture and boxes inside.

“I wonder which idiot brought that death trap,” his older brother Stiles muses, joining Liam in watching the flurry of activity as he sips one of those overly caffeinated energy drinks that Liam finds vulgar. “Probably someone weird or damn rich. Most likely both.”

“Hopefully someone who cares enough to restore it to its former glory,” Liam comments. “Some of the architectural designs date back to Roman times.”

“Nerd,” Stiles snorts. “You and your history kink.”

“What? It’s fascinating,” Liam finds himself saying. “The Hale Manor was built like a century ago. There’s even a gargoyle in the backyard and a cemetery.”

“And how would you know that?” Stiles says, quirking his eyebrows.

That’s all I have so far but basically Liam and Stiles are brothers in this and Theo moves in next door and is a descendant of the Hale’s who happen to be vampires.