#i still need to find joan :(

[realnielsbohr]

ok im not even really. religious anymore but i collect those tiny saint keychains and they finally came out with a hildegard of bingen one. she is one of my favorite saints AND her feast day is on my birthday. so um. i need to acquire that one IMMEDIATELY

[mythvoiced]

Aeri can’t decide what she hates more - the way the bejeweled pin in the victor from District 8’s hair is lopsided, or the girl herself. Oh, what Aeri wouldn’t give to wear such an accessory again, or even wear the finery the victor has been gifted to wear to the viewing. That was her once, wasn’t it?

But now? She’s stuck here, watching this spectacle. The brat, who has no idea what privilege she’s been presented with, keeps on creasing the delicate threads of her gown and her stylists also clearly have no idea on how to do the brat’s makeup. And then there’s that damn pin- Aeri’s pin once upon a time- only in place because it’s tangled in there-

And Aeri can’t hold back. When the brat’s stylists are gone, she reaches into the girl’s hair and extracts the pin. Her fingers, callused from years of hard labor that still feels foreign to Aeri, are quick to untangle most of the obvious knots in the brat’s hair before shetwists the locks into a ponytail and then a bun. The pin goes back in.

Aeri glares at the girl through the mirror. Don’t you dare mess up my work.

( congrats lenlen!! you get....aeri, being really resentful, i hope marìa doesn't mind too much ^^' )

@stillresolved | !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! LET HER BE RESENTFUL

---

There's a harshness to being dolled up when you are in no way receptive to it.

María isn't foreign to the roughness of life - she's a fucking Victor, after all, isn't she - she's started working in factories just about around the age even the most moral of District 8 people might turn their back in fear on seeing her walk in, pretending not seeing her would free them of the responsibility of working with a child.

Her hands and nose and palate and lungs had long gotten used and keep getting used to the aftermath of working with chemicals, of being so very intimate with garments and colours, with fumes and heat, with the hard work of surviving, with the hard work of fighting to be allowed a minimal chance at said survival, at figuring that there's little more for people from District 8 to fight for.

Still... it's not the same.

Being pushed around, dressed in things she would have never chosen for herself to serve a people, a man, because she's not stupid enough to not be able to tell what is Capitol and what is Snow and how Capitol is Snow, it's a kind of biting and harsh and rough that doesn't leave behind the usual kind of scars and memories and bruises.

Even surviving the Games had come with a desperately accepted sense of relief, one covered in blood and the humiliation of all she'd done and all she'd thought she'd get to accomplish, only for reality to crash in on her in a victory she hadn't wanted to partake in, hadn't wanted to make possible, when she'd wanted her Games to be victor-less in lieu of ending the Games themselves.

This... this is humiliation in the long run. This has hardly any hope attached to it, waiting for her on the other end of the line. Sometimes, on the worst days, it feels like the true brunt of the battle, walking with blood-stained soles and palms and sparkling as she does, wearing all that might make even the softest source of light appear like flames reflecting off her frame, covering her in fire that had not eaten her alive - much to a few people's disdain.

Picking at things, not holding still, grimacing, shifting her muscles, arms, face to make her stylists' life as difficult as possible, it was all she had to fight back.

The Arena came with death and violence, and living back at home had been physical labour upon physical labour, straining her young body until she could no longer tell if she was broken beyond repair or fitter than children her age should be - had they grown up privileged within the Capitol's safety.

Here she has only threads to tear apart and reflections to glare at.

And a new challenge behind every door.

She feels yanked back, an intensity of motion caused less by the avox suddenly in her hair and more her own stiffness that hadn't prepared her for submission to someone suddenly rearranging her.

After her stylists had left, she'd succumbed to the tension of not wanting to be there, without the added hard work of making sure everybody else does. Lost in her thought, somebody's hands suddenly returning on her had fortified, molten it into a newly forged blade, stiff and ready to strike, tensing everything within her and making a few fingers in her hair turn into a grappling hook tied to a moving mountain.

María is startled enough she can't remember how to glare.

A frown does accompany her widened eyes anyway, making her look... appalled, almost, an addition to her expression so unsuited to typically frightened features, youth tainted by the face of someone used to having to fight to stay alive.

It almost happens in a flash then. The reflection moves and adjusts and fixes and what had started as something that had María's lips split into something acid and trembling, turns into something unpleasant and acrid, but silent, as María sits and lets herself be mandhandled one more time.

That's when she glares. After the avox finishes up, after their eyes meet in the mirror and María sees none of the downturned gazes they're trying to make her accustomed to.

Seeing avoxes pisses her off.

Why take it out on them.

She understands what they are, what they're supposed to represent.

To her, an avox is a statement. No longer a person but rather someone rid of their innate right to be considered one. Even with the determination and life in this avox' eyes, María has come to understand them as tools Snow uses to assert his dominance, people from all circles of life, punished with the robbing of their words... and their detached tongue metaphorically forced to lick away at the tip of the shoes of people like María.

All a scheme.

Infighting.

Use the prey on the prey, make them take each other out.

It'd be easier to feel pity if María could sleep, if the avox hadn't adjusted her appearance, and if the avox wasn't staring her down as if she had any right to do so.

She's oddly beautiful.

She's oddly familiar.

"Why are you helping them?" she hisses, low, whispered, because she might never admit it, but she's... she's a little scared, isn't she? Lately? Devora's face swims before her inner eye, so stern, so wrong.

"I'm on your side more than they are," she adds, pulling a strand of her hair out of the freshly adjusted bun.

[bloomingonionbitch]

also while shuffling books around today and unpacking the last few boxes i found TWO "Picture Book of Saints"!!!!

i only remember having one copy as a kid so where did the second one come from?????

[nazunasgf]

people's s/o tell their partners oh yeah you should meet my friends

meanwhile, 100% of my usual friend group... are his friends too.

[leupagus]

Guys I Might Have Three Nickels

I've been watching "Agatha Christie's Marple" for the past few days and it's pretty good! Marple adaptations all tend to have a better caliber of actors than a lot of bog-standard mystery shows (looking at you, "Madame Blanc"), and while Joan Hickson's Marple is right up there with David Suchet's Poirot and Jeremy Brett's Holmes as "literally can never be beaten, these are the best anyone's done it," both Geraldine McEwan and Julia McKenzie do a fantastic job as Miss Marple.

Then I got to "The Secret of Chimneys," Season 5 episode 2

and guys

Guys

So there's a murder of a viscount, like there is, and this detective Finch rolls up and immediately spots Miss Marple (in her NIGHTIE! standing at the window like some kind of hussy, honestly Jane) and doffs his cap to her with that little smile that makes you go, "huh."

At this point I've watched a couple dozen Miss Marple episodes where she goes through detectives like wildfire and this guy's supposed to be a "*guru*" so I'm expecting some battle of the egos or something and like, Stephen Dillane is great! But bleh, I might have to skip this one.

Then my dude asks Miss Marple to SHOW HIM THE BODY, with a pleased little smile at her as she goes "uhhhhhhhh but my knitting?" (He even does that thing where you use someone's honorific and wait for them to give you their name, and that's when I was like "ohhh this bitch knows exactly who she is.") What follows is what I can only describe as a meet-cute in the secret passageway where the viscount was shot (and in fact the body is STILL THERE) and where Miss Marple literally asks the police equivalent of "is there a Mrs Finch" and he looks at her like this:

At which point I'm like "ohhh my dude not only knows who she is, he deliberately came here without a sergeant so he could draft her," and sure enough he just starts...handing her pieces of evidence like "hey babe can you decipher this note for me thanks love you" while Miss Marple is like, "this approval and camaraderie coming from a cop... not sure if want."

Next is a series of romantic strolls through the gardens while they discuss murder, during which Finch reveals his undying love I mean his research into Miss Marple and the "dozen case files" of her previous exploits that he's collected like some deranged fanboy. Miss Marple responds to this by BLUSHING LIKE A SCHOOLGIRL and stammering about how pish tosh it's nothing really, and I couldn't find a gif of it but he's staring at her like this:

Yeah I bet u r tempted

He also makes a half-hearted attempt at negging her "amateur sleuth" status, only to then immediately assure her that he makes like, so much money being a big fancy detective and can keep her in all the yarn and garden seed she could ever desire.

There's also a late-night tryst at the compost pile right after Finch has been (mildly) poisoned and Miss Marple is like "men are so weak" as she roots through the garbage for clues.

Not how he wanted their first date to go D:

The next morning there's another murder which: bummer, but also allows the two of them to read love letters together and for Finch to give Miss Marple the following look as she explains how secret assignations among lovers can "quicken the ardor":

Miss Marple then goes onto solve the murders and btw hands over the priceless diamond that's been literally missing for two literal decades that she found in her spare time. The entire scene features Finch looking at her like this:

After the dust settles, Finch and Miss Marple have a lovely moment where he calls himself "another one of your casualties," then super casually mentions that he's probably going to have to go on assignment to use the diamond in a daring international espionage case and I can't decide if he's asking Miss Marple to go with him or simply trying to show her that he is cool and smart and would make an excellent wife, but either way the episode ends with her turning him down and Jane, we need to talk about your priorities.

Anyway I've already written 2K about the subsequent 10-year epistolary romance these two have following this episode because I make poor choices.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Baby Face - A John Shelby/Reader One Short Story.

Words - 2,742

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

You and your girlfriends, you have names for each of them. Names the don’t know about. Tommy is razor cheeks, because of course. Those cheekbones. Arthur is angry fella, again, self-explanatory, and John is... 

“Look, girls,” you chime, sipping upon your gin while discreetly nodding in the direction of the Garrison’s entrance. “Baby face just walked in.”  

“He’s so adorable,” your friend Marjie sighs, turning to you with a look of pure adoration upon her face. “I don’t know what I’d like to do more, mother him or get on him!” 

“Oh,” you snort, shaking your head, “it’s the latter for me. I would ride that man all the way to town and back!”  

Your girls all cackle, huddling close, Joan the next to speak. “Would you, though? I mean, he’s a bit too sweet looking for me! Dunno if he’d have it in him, to be as much man as I’d need!” 

You turn to view him again, catching his eye. He gives you an appreciative sweep with his eyes, winking. Turning back to your friends, you beam widely. “He’s got it in him. I know we call him baby face, but there’s a demon lurking beneath. I know there is.” 

“A shilling says you’re wrong.” Reaching into her purse, Winnie pulls out the very coin itself, slapping it down on the table. Joan and Marjie follow suit. “Are you prepared to put your money where your mouth is?” 

Rifling in your bag, you remove your dainty little purse, taking out the coin and placing it with theirs. “I’ll put my money there. My mouth has other plans.” 

“Oooh, you dirty cat!” Winnie shrieks, her brother, the man you needed to accompany you to the pub in order to be served in the first place turning, tutting and shaking his head.  

“All alley cats, the lot of ya!” 

“Oh, pipe down, our Wilf,” she orders lightly, giving him a nudge where he’s turned in his seat at the next table over with his lad friends. “We’re only having a bit of fun!” 

A bit of fun. You can guess with almost certainty you’d receive exactly that from John Shelby. Turning again, you see he’s still at the bar, drinking with a couple of the lesser famed Blinders, once again catching your eye. He lifts his chin, holding your gaze fast while sipping his whiskey, placing his glass down and making a motion with his fingers for you to go over. Smiling, you remain in your seat. 

He can work a little harder than that.  

The excited squeaks of your friends – who of course witnessed it – tinkle through the air, Joan holding out a cigarette, lighting it for you, her eyes suddenly widening.  

“Baby face on his way over! This is not a bloody drill!” 

Your heart somersaults, but you remain calm, feeling him arrive at your side. “Evening, ladies. Having a good time, are ya?” 

Looking up at him, you’re near intoxicated out of your mind by his scent, his eyes so much more beautiful close up. God, he’s simply divine. “I could be having a better one.” 

“Oh, ar?” he chimes, raising an eyebrow as he idly chews upon his toothpick. “Anything I can help with?”  

Your girlfriends snort with giggles, John giving them a fleeting look of curiosity before his eyes fall back upon you. He doesn’t wait for you to reply. “How about I get another gin in that glass for ya, and we go from there?” 

You stand, licking your lips, watching his eyes flit down, his pupils inking a little. You have to stop yourself from diving on him right there and then. “Lead the way.” He offers his arm, and you take it to a little “ooooh!” chorus from your friends, turning to give them a scolding look. After being escorted from the bar and furnished with another drink, one drink leads to two, two to three, the evening flying by as you get to know the third Shelby brother a little better.  

You find him to be sweet and charming beneath the veil of hardened gangster, and, well, cheeky as hell.  

“I gotta hand it to ya, bab. Those are some cracking legs you’ve got,” he compliments with a wink, looking down and back up again, his cocky smile broadening.  

You lean in close to him, gliding a fingernail over his defined jaw. “Why thank you.” 

His intense gaze doesn’t leave you for a second, turning to press a little kiss to your fingertip. “Yeah, your legs look amazing, but they’d look even better wrapped around me.”  

The signals you’ve been giving to one another have all led to this point, your smile broadening in an instant. “I have lodgings above the shoe shop on Bennett Street. Want to come and see for yourself how good they’ll look around you?” 

You’ve never seen a man see off a fresh whiskey quite so fast before. “Lead the way, love.” You know the Shelby abode is closer than your little room above Mr. Smedley’s Shoes and Leather goods, but you’d prefer to be in your own space with a man you truly don’t know well at all. Outside, you fall into step at his side, taking his arm again, thinking how gentlemanly he is, right up until he suddenly pushes you into an alleyway.  

You feel a little anxious at first, but the way he looks at you. Oh, look. There’s the demon you knew was lurking beneath the surface, spitting out his toothpick before his mouth lands upon yours. His kisses are whiskey tinged and lust dripping, all sweet heat and need as he pushes himself against you. It’s imposing, but not intimidating, his want for you melding with yours as the sparks begin to crackle further into illumination.  

“Come on, mister. You’re not shagging me in an alleyway.” Grabbing his hand, you lead him back out to the street again, John releasing it to wrap an arm around your shoulders instead, your own extending around his waist. The balmy summer evening still warms the pale, inky violet of night, the air pleasant, the birds still twittering as they sit on the viaducts above, turning three corners before you end up on Bennett Street.  

John Shelby has never been so pleased to see a shoe shop in all of his life, and the spring in his step confirms it. If not, the way he begins to lay hot kisses upon your neck as you jiggle the key in the side door lock tells you plenty. The entrance to the two lodging rooms above the is separate from the shop itself, a narrow staircase taking you up a flight, turning right into an equally narrow passageway.  

“Bathroom is at the end there.” you point, unlocking the door to the left and opening it to reveal your modest dwelling.  

“It’s your bed I wanna know the way to more right now,” he breathes, shrugging his jacket off, his hands impatiently moving to you, smoothing over your body, mouth still furiously heated at your neck. God, the raw passion in him. It’s almost enough to make your knees buckle, feeling your dress come loose in his hands as you step out of your shoes, turning to kiss him.  

He backs you against the door, hands pawing at you urgently, kisses full-bodied and blistering with heat. Your hands begin the desperate devouring of clothes, having his shirt unfastened in haste to feel his skin against yours, your body smoothed and squeezed in a touch that leaves you breathless. Your fingers rain trails of exploration over his chest, and the noise he makes as his tongue swirls with yours is pure sin, his touch slipping to your undergarments.  

He fights against the lace, a hand slipping within, pulling a gasp from you when his fingers brush against the petals of your sex. You whine at the tease, and he smiles against your lips, pulling from the kiss to look at you through a heavy-lidded gaze, watching the need dance in your eyes. He relents his tease, his fingertips gently stroking the slick of your anticipation, your head thudding back against the door.  

The wood feels cool and steadying against your body, skin heating up rapidly, a summer tempest beginning to swell as the stroking of your bundle has you purring softly, John’s lips returning to yours. His body melds into your curves, his cock hard at your hip, his touch rousing the little bolts that spark up your spine. He draws all manner of sweet noises from you, and he swallows back every one of them in each kiss, his free arm locking around your waist.  

Lifting you, he carries your barely dressed form to the bed, throwing you down, removing the rest of his clothes as you impatiently pull yourself out of your undies, your stockings shimmied down, receiving his pale skinned, freckle flecked, gorgeous body between your legs. His kisses trail your eager flesh, shifting, hands wandering along the path his lips map, settling at your apex and delving within your folds with a keen, firm drag.  

The wet of each lick has little pin pricks skittering over your nerves, the warmth of it catching quickly, your edges caught in the heat of his flame. The roll of his tongue over your clit is slow and full of heat, hands kneading in soft clench upon your thighs, the outline of him through the dimness of your room gilded in the last of the summer light still reasonably visible.  

He is a feast for your eyes, his wide back and well-bounded bum so peachy, it invites you to sink your teeth into it, if you weren’t so lost in the delirium of his mouth pressed so keenly against your sex. The heat he evokes burns you to your marrow, the scald of your arousal growing as every flicker of his tongue sends flames skittering through you. The addition of his fingers pushing into your cunt has a sweltering flush of pleasure twining through you, your hands reaching to rest either side of his head. 

Neatly shorn stubble prickles at your fingertips, your back arching as he works you with hunger, your dew sparkling upon his fingers. He twists them in a way that has your mouth dropping open, a sound you scarcely believe came from you filling the air, John’s lips wrapping your clit in a suck that is a gentle crush of pillowy heat to begin with, the pull intensifying, little glimmers rushing through you until... 

“Oh!” It tears through you, sudden and overbearing, leaving you trembling, your release still rolling through you as his tongue slows, your fluttering walls pulsing around his fingers, withdrawing them as he sits up, inspecting his sodden hand. 

“Fuckin’ ‘ell!” he rumbles, shaking the trails of slick from them, chuckling to himself. “Proper enjoyed that, didn’t ya?” He brings those fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean before grasping your thighs and yanking you closer to where he kneels, a predatory look glinting the blue of his eyes. “Think you’re ready to get fucked now, ain’t ya?” 

“You bloody better,” you mewl, hands trawling his arms as he lowers to you, placing kisses at your sternum. You can feel the head of his cock pressing for entrance, the tip breeching you, but all he gives is a mere inch before pulling back. His mouth closes over your nipple in a warm suck, pushing again, opening you around him, slipping back once more. Oh... you certainly were right. He’s a demon.  

“John, please,” you complain, and he has the gall to give you his most innocent, unassuming look. Damn that baby face.  

“Please what, bab?” 

You chuckle, but it’s pained, hissing a breath when his teeth close upon your nipple. “Please fuck me.”  

“I will, love,” he murmurs, mouth moving to your neck, tongue pressing against where your pulse flickers madly. “Eventually.” His teeth lock in another bite, cock breeching you again, a couple of inches parting your needy, soaking walls this time, twitching before abandoning you again. “Gonna make you desperate for it before I do, though.” 

“And to think, my friend thought you were so adorable,” you quip, body juddering beneath him, John laughing as his tongue swipes over the crescent of each breast, hands smoothing down your back.  

“Your friend don’t fucking know shit.” Indeed, she doesn’t. Your bet? Won already... and he’s barely been inside you.  

His merciless tease continues, and every second of it is agonising to your overstimulated body, your cunt streaming needily, yearning for him to simply fill you. When he finally does, you have to hope that Mr. Taggart, the other lodger there above the shoe shop is out for the night from the cadence of your wail, spread wide around the girth of the gangster who offers kisses steeped in sugared embers, fingers trawling through your hair.  

No matter how dangerous he is, you desire nothing more than to slap him when he retreats once more, chuckling at your pain. “Alright, fine,” he begins, turning you onto your side, moving to lie behind you. “I suppose I’d better play fair, save spitting me teeth.”  

He hauls your leg up so it rests in the cradle of his elbow, hand reaching to grasp his cock. He purposefully rubs himself along your slit, the gloss of your cunt smearing over his thick, veiny shaft, your whimpers reaching crescendo. You need him so badly, you are not above begging, but finally, he plunges into you fully, sating you beautifully. And oh, he feels sublime.  

His other hand reaches beneath your neck, turning your head to meet your lips in kisses that scald you, like a summer heatwave cutting through an arctic chill, moaning against your tongue as he arrows you so deeply, you see stars. The rhythm of his fuck is contained to begin with, each daggering into your soft, dripping warmth allowing you to feel every ridge of his cock, falling then into a tempo that has you gasping against his lips. 

The snap of his hips has your tits heaving, kissing back every little cry, telling you how good you feel around him, how beautiful you look while you’re getting fucked, moaning into your mouth as his hand slides down to begin stroking your clit in time with every deep thrust. You’re adrift from yourself, cast out onto the vast sea that begins to whirl, the storm that is John leaving you feeling unmoored entirely as he splits you deep and fucks you hard.  

“Come on, darlin’. Don’t be shy,” he encourages you, mouth moving to suck a purple welt upon your neck with a deep groan full of smoke and salt. “Let me hear you scream for me.”  

You feel the shiver in your muscles spread as he rails you relentlessly, his sweat slicked chest rubbing against your back as your voice breaks on the scream he fucks out of you, your waves flooding his shore as you come hard for him, every fibre of your being alight, twitching and beaming. He slows, giving you time to recover, sliding from you and turning you over, pulling your hips up before re-entering your molten core from behind.  

Your pleasure is still warming your bones as he begins to fuck you in all out, brutal carnal fury, groaning deep as he splits you around him, hands clasped at your hips, eyes fixed upon the sight of his cock rapidly assailing your soaking little hole. He pants hard, each twitch of his cock tightened upon by the clutch of your walls as he rapidly has you ascending again, coming with him as he paints your insides white, growling cusses as his release blinds him completely.  

You don’t even care about the three shillings you just won; all the prize you need is being turned and pulled into a set of strong arms, sharing kisses with your baby-faced demon as every drop of pleasure he so expertly bestowed upon you ebbs away.  

“Fancy letting me do that to you again sometime?” he asks, and you smirk immediately, turning him onto his back and seating yourself astride him. 

“You aren’t leaving here until you do it to me at least another three times,” you demand, leaning to kiss the centre of his chest, the vibrations from his chuckle tickling your lips.  

“Oh ar, bab. You can count on that.”  

[as-is-above-so-below]

The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

Part 6: Darling

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes call sign: Freyja warning: implied sexual content, MDNI Note: PART 6 HAS ARRIVED! Thank you for all of your support! A special thank you to @lethalchiralium and @peachesofteal for workshopping with me, per usual, and being my beta! Enjoy and blessed be! (p.s. ghost drinking an orange sodie lol) << Previous | Next >>

Simon could hear his daughter’s screams as he came up the walkway to their front door, duffel slung over his shoulder. He had returned from a month-long deployment an hour ago and only allowed himself enough time to debrief and return his weapons once on base before hopping in his car and heading home.

He entered the house, still in full gear (mask and all), to find his heavily pregnant wife pacing the living room, their crying daughter in her arms. Her eyes and cheeks were red when she turned to the door, sobbing in relief at the sight of him.

“Oh, sweetheart. What’s going on?” he asked, dropping his bag by the door and going to her.

“She has a-a cold.”

“I can see that.” He wiped at the snot and drool on Joanie’s lip with his glove. “Where’s Roach?”

“He went to pick König up. You didn’t see him?”

“No. Must’ve just missed ‘im.” When Price handed out assignments for their most recent deployment, Roach had offered (more like decided) to stay with Freyja for the duration of his absence. With König also deployed, it made sense for him to help her with the baby and housekeeping while Simon was gone. Better than staying on base – alone – for a month. Knowing someone was in the house with his family made him feel better about leaving for such an extended period, especially with his track record. The last time he had left the country, leaving his pregnant spouse behind…

Simon rubbed his daughter’s back, his heartstrings tugging at the thought of her being in pain. “Give ’er here, I’ll take a turn.”

“Si, no, you must be exhausted-”

“I am exhausted, which means I’m in no mood to argue. Go to bed, love, please.”

His pleading didn’t seem to affect her as she went back to doing laps around the couch. “The doctor said there’s nothing we can do. It just has to pass. I’ve tried everything. Chest salve, shower steam, saline – nothing’s working. Every-Every time we put her down or sit down, the screaming just gets worse. Can’t stop…moving, and your son is kicking the shit out of me-”

This was ironic, considering how Joan only kicked when Simon or one of their friends spoke or touched her belly. Now, their son only ever kicked for her.

“Freyja.”

She stopped her rambling and found he had stepped into her path; he firmly held her biceps and dragged his hands up and down. Freyja sniffled as another tear slipped down her cheek. No singular word could describe how she felt (and probably looked). Drained, fatigued, beaten, dog-tired; none quite did the trick.

“You look like shit. You need to get some rest.”

“No, Simon, please just go to…bed.”

Soon as Ghost took Joan and returned to massaging her spine, her wails simmered to quiet whimpers as she cuddled into him. She dropped her head onto his shoulder, little fingers hanging from the collar of his shirt to the top of his vest. Their baby was getting big, her senseless baby talk beginning to lean more toward coherent vocabulary. When Joanie cried a soft “Dada” against his neck, Freyja started to sob harder, the heels of her palms dug into her eyes. 

Shit. “What’s wrong? She stopped screaming bloody murder. That’s a good thing.”

“I’ve been trying to calm her down for hours! You come home, and after five minutes, you’ve fixed it. She hates me! She fucking hates me!”

“Frey, look at me.” He stopped comforting Joan for a moment to tilt his wife’s chin up, forcing her to listen to him. When she did, he took his hand back. “Babies see their mothers as an extension of themselves. She knows your heartbeat and breathing sounds; she gets food from you…”

“Who told you that?”

“…I read about it.”

Freyja softened, tears no longer flowing freely. “You read parenting books?”

“Of course I do. I want to be the best for them and you.” He pulled her into his chest with one arm, his covered lips pressing into her hair. “You are her mother. I could never take your place. You’re her home. But I’ve been gone for a month, and I’ve never been away from her this long. There’s something to be said about missing her dad and wanting some comfort.”

When Simon brushed her tears away, she turned to kiss his palm, then rested her cheek there. Freyja didn’t know how, but her husband sure had a way with words, always knowing how to make her feel better. 

“Better?”

“Mhm,” she hummed and, before she could reach to pull his mask up, Joanie whined in frustration, kicking her legs impatiently, about to start up again. Simon chuckled and let his wife go, his heavy boots thunking against the hard floor as he began what would be a long night of getting his steps in. 

“Good. Now do as Daddy tells you and go to bed. Don’t make me tell you again.”

.

.

.

Coming up on the end of her pregnancy, the ‘waddling’ stage was in full swing. If Freyja thought she was big just before Joan was born, she was almost certainly a whale now, and she was losing energy much faster than before. This time around, though, they were sure to schedule a c-section for the week before her due date. The OB didn’t put up much of an argument with her medical history and Joan’s early arrival.

Her phone pinged again as she rounded the corner toward her husband’s office.

And again.

Joan’s irritable whines became more evident as she closed in on her destination. “Si, I can only move so fast.”

“Oh, thank god.” Ghost detached Joan’s iron grip from his mask while she was distracted. She continued to kick her little legs against him, trying to get away. “She’s antsy. I can’t get her down for shit. She’s sick of me.”

He wheeled his chair around the desk and tugged her missing sock back on (to her protest) until he reached the other side and placed her feet on the floor. “See? Mum’s here. Go see her,” he cooed, her tiny hands gripping his thumbs for support.

“Dad Ghost” as she had lovingly coined Simon in his work attire, was a walking contradiction. An arguably massive man, a masked mystery to majority of the population on base, snapping otherwise cocky and egotistical soldiers back in line. Still, no one dared to laugh as he screamed at them for poor technique or a lackluster performance with a blonde baby on his hip or strapped to his back. It never failed to make her want to giggle, hearing such a soft, gentle tone from the big scary skull plate affixed to his balaclava. 

Freyja was halfway across the room when he stood their daughter between his comically large boots. “She won’t go that far,” she admonished. “If you give her too big of a task, she’s not going to even try-”

As if sensing her mother’s doubt, Joan took a steady step forward, still holding Simon’s hands in deep concentration. Then another, and another –

Until he couldn’t stretch forward anymore, and she let go, hobbling towards Freyja until she stumbled at her feet, letting out a soft baby grunt.

They both stared at each other in silence, eyes wide and mouths agape in shock. Neither spoke for a good minute, until Joanie pulled herself up again by Freyja’s cargo pants, babbling, “Mum mum mum mummm”, gnawing at the thick material and looking up with big, brown eyes.

“Did she just…?”

“I told you, she’s bloody brilliant.” Simon shot up to scoop the baby and place her in his wife’s waiting arms.

“My big, smart girl! I can’t believe it!” She squealed and giggled as Freyja peppered her face in fat, wet kisses and gently shook her. Ghost joined in, playfully nibbling at the rolls on the other side through the black material covering his face. Joanie smacked them both away, screaming with joy. Amongst all the commotion, Price stopped in the doorway on his way to their brief (which they were about to be late for). 

“What’s going on here?” he asked, fists on his hips in faux anger. “I thought we had an understanding! No fun at work without Granddad.”

“We officially have a walker on our hands!”

Price gasped and crossed the room in an instant. “And I missed it?!” He shoved the stack of mission folders at the lieutenant and stole his granddaughter from her mother, hiking her high up on his waist. “You walked without me? I’m offended, little miss, but I’ll settle for a victory lap.”

He plucked his green bucket hat off the top of his head and dropped it onto hers, earning a high-pitched shriek of delight when it covered her face. “Let’s roll, everybody. We’ve got a meeting to get to,” he commanded before marching down the hall. “Oi, lads! She walked!”

A chorus of cheers broke out in the distance, followed by a wall-shaking group chant, “Joanie! Joanie! Joanie!”

Freyja just stood there, pouting, arms crossed atop her belly. “Just once, I’d like to celebrate our baby’s milestones in peace.”

“You know that’s not possible, love.” Ghost chuckled next to her, offering a single pat to her ass as they headed to the briefing. While neither of them would be going, it was their job to know what was going on during their impending absence. The ruckus started to die down when the couple sat, and the others followed suit. Soap placed a mug of peppermint tea in front of her, which she thanked him for, and  Laswell, Gaz, and Soap filed around the table.

“Kӧnig and Roach should be here shortly,” Price said, bouncing Joan on his lap as Ghost passed out manila folders.

Gaz checked his watch with a furrowed brow. “It’s five past. Maybe they forgot?”

“Just give them a few minutes. I’m sure they’ll be here.”

“His office was closed, so he’s definitely in there. I can go grab ‘im. It’s no trouble,” he offered, the metal legs of his chair scraping against the floor as he stood up.

“Be my guest, Sergeant,” Freyja hummed, making eye contact with John as she sipped her tea, hiding her mischievous grin behind the cup. She waited for an appropriate amount of time, about how long it would take to take ten paces up the hall before she held up five fingers. 

“You’re a demon.”

“Five, four, three, two…”

“Verdammt nochmal!” 

There’s a loud bang, eerily similar to the sound of a six-foot-six body slamming into the floor. Boots thunder against the ground until Gaz appears in the doorway again, eyes wide and blushing like a madman.

“Genau deshalb habe ich das Militär verlassen, keiner von euch hat den Anstand, verdammt noch mal anzuklopfen!”

“Didn’t knock, did you.”

“Nope.”

“How bad?”

König stomped into the meeting, red as a tomato as he jerked his long, tangled (read: freshly fucked) hair into a knot at the base of his neck before slipping his hood on. Roach walked in behind him, grinning like an absolute idiot (read: clearly the one doing the fucking), albeit a bit flush, and his clothes untucked and wrinkled as he plopped beside John. 

“At least I didn’t get knifed this time.”

“Der Tag ist noch jung, Unteroffizier.”

“I don’t know what that means, but it sounded like a threat.”

“It was,” Freyja sang, her body shaking as she attempted to withhold laughter.

By the time Price had finished divulging the details of the op scheduled for the end of the month (which was also around the time of her c-section, which left Freyja and those deploying disappointed), Joanie had escaped his hold to crawl across the table and landed in her mother’s lap. She sat back against Frey’s round belly, happily gnawing on a teething ring while the captain combed her fingers through her soft, blonde curls. 

John cleared his throat and leaned back, tipping the chair on its back legs. “So…In a shocking turn of events, Roach is the top–”

“WHAT DID YOU SAY, CAPTAIN?!” Soap screeched after choking on his coffee, leaving a stain on his shirt as it dripped from his nose.

“Oh, mein Gott…” 

“I don’t know. What did I say, Sergeant?”

Across the table, Roach held his lips between his teeth as he wheezed, quickly signing, “Only for my king.”

“PLEASE PLÖTZE! Stop talking!” König, finally deciding he’d had enough, shot up from his seat and practically sprinted out of the room, almost bonking his head on the door frame on his way out. A moment later, he stormed back in and snagged his forgotten file awaiting him in Roach’s outstretched hand before turning back out.

Biting his lip, Soap muttered, “Interesting…” to himself, eyeing the Austrian’s retreating form before flicking back over to Roach. The Brit was already looking at him, probably having heard him being sat next to him. He winked with a devilish smirk, and practically purred, “S’alright, happens tae th' best o' us.”

.

.

.

A few days shy of their next mission, and the birth of the newest Riley, the gang gathered around their living room for one last game night before Roach, König, Soap, and John departed for another mission. Roach and König were less than pleased to be missing the birth of their godson, but it couldn’t be helped.

Kyle placed a red eight down on the stack of cards, ending his turn. “C’mon, mate, what’s the wildest thing you’ve done on a mission?” he prodded, raising a brow in Simon’s direction. “You know all our stories. It’s only fair.”

The two shared a knowing look, and Freyja giggled once before Kyle interrupted, “Besides that, you heathens.”

Simon pressed against the kitchen chair he had dragged in for himself, seriously considering what he would consider the most outlandish activity he had partaken in outside of combat. Particularly, that didn’t involve screwing his wife in places they shouldn’t, like public places, sniper lookouts, cars, or supply closets…

Before he could drift too far, he caught the saucy side-eye his wife was throwing him from her deep armchair.

“No.”

Soap peeked up from his hand with a quirked brow. “Does Ghostie have an embarrassing secret? Now we have to know!”

“It’s not a secret, and I’m not embarrassed by it just because I don’t flaunt it around,” he said, shot back the rest of his whiskey, and replaced his mask. Simon didn’t always wear it with their friends; he just so happened to feel inclined to it that night. There was no rhyme or reason as to when he needed the comfort; the urge just came and went as it pleased. 

He tried his best to sound completely disinterested, hoping the discussion would blow over as he threw down his card. “Blue.”

Unfortunately, his plan did not work, and all interest in their game of Uno was lost. Kyle threw his hand down on the table, completely giddy. “WHAT IS IT?! TELL US!”

Simon groaned, throwing his cards at his wife, who simply laughed. “See, look what you did.” He sighed and begrudgingly unhooked his mask from behind his ears, tossing that at her too. After a beat, he let his tongue loll out, revealing a silver ball.

Several (if not all) of their jaws dropped, save for Freyja’s, who was utterly thrilled that this was happening.

Johnny was the first to speak. “Is…that…” he stuttered, staring unabashedly in disbelief. 

He snapped his mouth shut again once everyone had had a decent look. “Alright, can we move on please–”

The Scot pounced across the space, clearing the coffee table as he knocked Simon out of his chair, taking them both down into a heap on the floor. They wrestled as he tried to dig his fingers into Ghost’s mouth and pry it open again. “LEMME SEE!”

“JOHNNY!” Simon roared, bucking and thrashing his hips in attempt to get the man off, but he quickly scooted up until he sat firmly on his chest, knees pinning his shoulders as he yanked the piercing back out.

“Awe, so that’s why you’re always fuckin’ like horny teenagers! Oh, ah bet that feels good on your cu-”

“SHUT UP, SOAP!” “THAT’LL DO!” 

Freyja whipped her slipper at Johnny’s head, which he swiftly dodged. Meanwhile, Gaz was face down on the floor, having a fit and struggling to breathe. Price looked like he would actually rather die than endure another moment of the scene unfolding at his feet. Kӧnig was carefully weaving between people and furniture to remove Soap before he got hurt, and Roach stayed in his spot, mouth open in silent laughter.

Thank God Joanie was a heavy sleeper.

“Are you gonnae sit there ‘n tell meh that a’m wrong? A husband should always eat arse!”

“JOHNNY, OH MY FUCKING GOD!”

Kyle finally caught his breath and cut back in, “But does it WORK?!”

Everybody froze, including Kӧnig, whose hands looped under Johnny’s armpits, about to extract him. From underneath him, Simon glared up at his wife (who started this whole fucking mess). “Freyja–”

But Freyja, being the brat she is and loving the chaos, “…It works.”

Simon covered his face with both of his now freed hands, so utterly sick of her shit as the sergeant shook his shoulders, he and Gaz both screaming like madmen. Kӧnig still hovered over them, ready to remove Johnny if Simon called for it, his red hair up in a neat top knot at the crown of his head. A few strands hung loosely by his ears and at the peak of his forehead, framing his pale skin.

“AAAAAYYYYYY, SO YOU DO GIVE GOOD HEAD!”

He removed his shield at that, looking up at Johnny with a confused expression. “Who said I don’t give good head?”

Price flinched with a crinkled nose and grabbed his hat from the back of the couch. “That’s my cue.”

“Scary guys either have monster cock or scary good head,” Kyle stated as if it were pure fact.

“But he has both.”

“I can’t fucking take this.” Simon finally shoved at Johnny and the Austrian lifted him with ease, standing the Scot back on his feet.

Soap dusted off his pants. “Damn, you’ll have’ta get one’a those, Köni,” he teased and turned to face the giant, looking up at him with a boyish grin. 

König’s skin, ever the shy one, immediately painted itself a rosy hue, unable to be hidden by any hood or mask. Even Roach was taken by his brashness and turned a little pink himself, choosing to sip his drink. König was, unfortunately, frozen in place, wide eyes staring down at Johnny’s proud face.

Three seconds pass.

Then two more.

Then three again.

“OH MY GOD, THAT WAS THEM?! The threesome you told me about a few weeks ago, was them?”

With nowhere else to go, König collapsed onto the couch and pulled the neck of his sweater over his face. “Verdammter Himmel, Johnny…” If he could crawl into a hole and die, he would.

“What can ah say? M’services are world-class.”

“Can confirm,” Roach added, having put his glass down so he could use both hands to talk.

Johnny raised a brow and dragged his eyes from Roach’s shoes, slowly up his shins, then his thighs and chest before settling on the challenging smirk on his freckled face. “‘S that so?” he asked, stepping into the space between Roach’s knees and the table.

Roach simply nodded, looking up at his boyfriend through hooded lashes, resembling a lovesick puppy with shocking accuracy. He knew exactly what he was doing, too, the tip of his tongue poking out between his teeth. Roach was a…talented flirt, to say the least.

His glass was carefully removed from his hand and placed on a coaster. Without a second thought, Soap wrapped his fingers around Roach’s wrist, dragged it behind his neck, and tossed the man over his shoulder. Gaz gaped, completely dumbfounded into silence – flabbergasted, if you will. He paused in the entryway, looking over his opposite shoulder.

“You comin’, Kö?”

König, still tucked away in the corner of the couch, peeked out from the cocoon he had created with his sweater. Even his forehead was tinged red, still. He openly stared for a bit before mustering up enough courage to rise again, and in an impossibly meek voice for such a large man, replied, “...Yes, sir,” and loosely tangled their fingers together.

Kyle threw his hands up then dropped them onto his head, dragging his cap back a bit. “WHAT IS GOING ON?!”

Freyja offered a sympathetic pat, her bottom lip jutted out. Poor Simon, who had returned to his seat, covered his mouth with one palm as he tried to contain his chuckles. He pulled his mask back on after retrieving it from the floor.

“Don’t worry, Gaz,” she said and poked his cheek. “We’ll find you a nice girl.”

“I GET AROUND FINE!” He swatted her hand away, glowering at her. “You’re all just a bunch of slags!”

He jumped up, abandoning his beer and putting his hat back in place. “Where’s my niece? I need to restore my innocence,” he grumbled, trudging upstairs.

“Simon, did he just call us sluts?”

“Yes, darling.”

taglist: @esthervalea, @miss-leto, @sweetestcowboy, @blueoorchid, @apocalypticseagull, @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction, @covenlovenn, @330bpm-whiplash, @gnoccheyy, @jaggernauticals, @dwkfan, @untoldshortsofthefandomsdoms, @bobfloydsgf, @maviee, @thomaslefteyebrow, @kyovy, @prodyng, @scout-fang, @avalkyrieofparis, @misshoneypaper, @berryjuicyy, @voteforpedropascal, @beakami, @addictedtothefictionalworld

Copyright © 2023 as-is-above-so-below. All rights reserved.

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 47

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe : Military School

Words: 7K

Masterlist

———————————————————————-

Saturday, February 6th; 09:15 AM -  Ona's Room

I wake up to rather pleasant caresses on my back. The tips of her fingers slowly and repeatedly glide along my spine. I savor the moment without opening my eyes, afraid that it might fade away.

"You know, I can tell you’re not sleeping anymore," Lucy murmurs with a hint of amusement.

I hum softly, vibrating against her chest in time with her chuckles. I tighten my hold on her as I stretch my limbs, finally fluttering my eyes open to adjust to the daylight. I realize I forgot to close the blinds last night. What a terrible host I am.

"Good morning," I mumble.

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

I smile at her response. Once I feel awake enough, I glance behind me but am surprised to find us alone.

"Is Joan not here anymore?"

"He went downstairs about fifteen minutes ago, I’d say."

"Did he wake you?"

"I was already dozing a bit," she admits.

"Oh, sorry about that," I grimace. "I should have warned you. He tends to wake up early."

"It’s all good," she smiles.

"Didn’t you want to go running today?"

"Not really. I might have gone if I had a guide," she jokes.

I chuckle at the idea that she might still expect me to join her. I’ve done enough of anything that resembles jogging. I enjoy the feeling after a run, but it’s been so long since I’ve done anything that I’ll just end up killing my lungs. Plus, running is Lucy's passion. As I’ve told her before, I love that we have different worlds.

"Looks like you'll have to wait until you're back in Manchester."

"It seems so, yes. I had a feeling you wouldn’t be motivated," she laughs as I sit up. "What are you doing?"

I glance over my shoulder, seeing her genuinely curious expression. I smile and respond as if it’s obvious:

"Well, I’m getting up."

"Why? Come back," she pleads with a whine.

A small yelp escapes me as she pulls me back down, then pins me by half-lying on top of me. Her laughter echoes in my ears, making me smile. It’s true that we’ve stayed in bed a little longer these past couple of days, but I didn’t expect it to continue. From what I know, Lucy is someone who wakes up early and doesn’t like to linger in bed.

"I was just keeping my distance before. In reality, I’m someone who loves spending time in bed with her girlfriend."

"Really?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Mmhmm," she smiles. "So, can we cuddle?"

"If you ask so nicely."

My laughter is muffled by her lips capturing mine for our first morning kiss. I bite my lip when she continues kissing down my neck. I almost reopen my wound when she starts gently nibbling on my skin.

"Lex," I whisper, gently pushing her shoulders.

"Weak spot, Miss Batlle?" she teases after a final kiss on my neck.

The smile she gives me as she looks at me makes me melt. So this is the real Lucy, the one she’s hidden from me until now. I blush, trying to hide my face with my hands, but Lucy pins them down on either side of my head, laughing.

"I’ll take that as a yes. This kind of wake-up call is much nicer, isn’t it?"

"I could get used to it…" I reply, still blushing.

"Relax. I won’t do it again if it makes you uncomfortable."

"No, it’s okay... It was... nice."

She smiles at me before resting her head on my shoulder. I take advantage of the moment, being the one who gets to hold her for once. My hand plays absentmindedly with her hair as I reflect. It really was nice. I need to learn to relax. I’ve already accepted that Lucy is the only one who can help me, and it seems that’s truly the case.

"Do you remember the weekend in the Alps we wanted to spend with my friends?" she breaks the silence.

"The one I ruined because I got sent back to class?"

"Indeed, that’s the one," she giggles.

She props herself up on her elbows to look at me. I feel embarrassed just thinking about it. I had felt so guilty for canceling her plans. Plus, it was a rare opportunity to get closer to her at the time.

"I remember, yes. Why do you ask?"

"I might have changed my mind about you coming with us," she tells me, letting her fingers trail along my stomach.

"Oh, really...? Is that still happening?"

"Yeah. We’ve rescheduled it for a week during the next school break since I couldn’t make it the first time. I’d like you to come with me."

"And how would I get there? You’ve already planned everything, right? Aren’t you all flying?"

"No, we’re driving there, and as for the room, I’ve reserved one with a double bed. I’ll just need to notify them of your presence to adjust the price..."

"You realize that means we’ll be sharing a hotel room for an entire week?"

"Of course," she smiles. "I want that, or I wouldn’t be asking. The only question is whether you want it too. If it helps, I heard Alexia will be coming as well."

"Really?" I ask, surprised.

"Mmhmm," her smile grows. "Jenni wanted to bring her along for once. And Ingrid will probably invite Mapi if their relationship has evolved and she knows you’re both coming."

"You’ve thought of every argument to make me say yes, huh?"

"I want you to come. We need this, and we won’t have a better opportunity to spend time with all our friends together."

"You know, my answer was yes from the start, but I appreciate that you’re still trying so hard to convince me."

"You idiot."

We laugh together before she rests her head back on my shoulder.

"Speaking of Mapi and Ingrid... Do you think they’ll be okay?" I ask.

"Why wouldn’t they be?"

"I don’t know... I haven’t really had time to follow their relationship... So I’m worried about Mapi."

"I’m not worried about them. They both have commitment issues, but Ingrid will take it in stride and reassure her. She wanted a new relationship. To be honest, I think they’re made for each other."

"I hope so..." I murmur, staring at the ceiling. "Mapi has reasons to be scared, you know. Her parents didn’t exactly give her the best love possible. And as for her romantic relationships, I dumped her like an old shoe, and her ex cheated on her with my ex, so..."

"You still care about her a lot to be so concerned, huh?"

"We’ve been through a lot together, so yes, of course. But tell me... I had the impression you didn’t like her that much. How come you talked to her when we weren’t on good terms?"

"You’re exaggerating. It’s not that I didn’t like her, I just thought she had a bad influence on you. And, I guess I was jealous of your relationship in a way..."

"Thought?" I repeat. "So you don’t think she’s a bad influence anymore?"

"No," she sighs. "When you stopped writing to me, she started harassing me, lecturing me. She was afraid you wouldn’t recover. That’s when I realized how much she cares about you. Sure, she drags you into her crazy plans, but she’ll always take care of you..."

"I’m glad you understand that... Mapi is really amazing, if you only knew. We support each other a lot because we know everything about each other, but you have nothing to be jealous of. Sure, she’s my ex, and we’re very close, but..."

I shrug, smiling softly.

"If we wanted to get back together, we would have done it a long time ago. If I had to describe her to someone, I’d say she’s my best friend, or even the third daughter of the family since she’s always hanging around here when I’m here," I chuckle.

"I know," she smiles. "You know what really feels strange to me? That your ex is dating my best friend."

"Put that way, it is indeed very strange," I laugh. "At least it’s no longer ambiguous between us. Well, Mapi did kiss me not too long ago, but believe me, she quickly regretted it," I giggle.

- "What?" She furrows her brows, sitting up. "She kissed you?"

- "It was nothing crazy," I reply with an amused smile. "It happened during Christmas break. She had just been dumped and needed some affection. She regretted it the second she realized what she had done, if that makes you feel any better."

- "Hmm... And I'm supposed to not worry about her or the fact that her stuff is still in your room? I doubt you'd like it if you found my ex's things in mine, or if you knew one of them had kissed me."

I wince at the thought. No, definitely not. If I were in her shoes, I probably would have thrown them out the window and lost my cool.

- "She'll move all her things out if that's what you want."

She giggles, burying her head in my neck. Her nose brushes up and down along my neck.

- "No, of course not. I was just teasing. But let me tell you right now, if we ever live together, she's not allowed to infest our apartment with her stuff."

- "It's a promise," I chuckle.

- "Now I'm reassured," she jokes.

- "So, what about Ingrid...? Are they really in love with each other?"

- "Especially Mapi. You should see the messages she sends her. Ingrid showed them to me. They were super cheesy."

- "Oh no, please... She didn't do that?"

- "She did," she laughs. "I had no idea she was such a hopeless romantic," she adds sarcastically.

- "I can't believe it," I giggle.

Having known Mapi in a relationship, I can say she's far from good at writing mushy messages. I used to laugh at the ones she sent me, even though I never told her. Expressing her love wasn't her strong suit, but it was really sweet and adorable that she tried. I'm glad she's comfortable enough with Ingrid to send her those kinds of messages. It seems like she's finally found someone good for her.

- "And you know," Lucy continues.

- "Hmm?"

- "Mapi really helped change my mind about us. It's partly why I trust her more now. Even if that whole thing with Korbin hadn't happened, I would have come to see you to talk about our relationship. I just couldn't stand the distance between us anymore."

- "And what did she say to make you change your mind?"

- "Ah, that's a secret," she giggles, stretching. "Anyway, we should get up. The girls are probably waiting for us."

- "I doubt it."

- "You'd be surprised."

She kisses my cheek before heading to the bathroom. I raise an eyebrow, wondering if she's right about the girls. I'll find out soon enough. Lucy returns quickly, the only difference being that she's swapped her shorts for sweatpants, and her hair is now gathered in a messy bun. I bite my lip at the sight. She doesn't seem to notice as she heads to her suitcase to pack her clothes.

- "Why were you so upset after your last breakup?" I start a new conversation. "You never really talked about it."

We've talked a lot about Mapi and Feli, so I suppose it's okay to talk about her ex. Lucy pauses in her movements.

- "Are you sure you want to know?" she asks, running a hand through her hair.

- "Of course," I say, sitting up to pay more attention.

- "Okay. Do you remember that girl at the bar, the day I rejected you?"

- "Yes...?"

- "That was her," she says bluntly. "Her name is Alex, and we were together for four months. I thought she might be the one. We spent a lot of time together during the summer. In the end, she reacted like the others when I went back to work and blamed me for my lack of commitment. She wanted more, and I wasn't able to give it to her."

- "I see... Is that why you were scared for us?"

- "Partly, yes," she sighs. "I was afraid of making the same mistake with you and hurting you even more."

- "That won't happen. I'm not letting you go now that I have you. I'll keep chasing after you as long as you try to run away," I joke, making her smile.

- "Well, that's reassuring, I suppose."

I return her smile with a nod. She said I'm different from the others, and I plan to prove it. I care about her a lot, so there's no way I'm letting her go without a good reason. She hasn't let go of me yet, so neither will I.

- "Everything will be fine, I promise," I say.

- "I hope so.... Okay, now, I'm starving, so if you could get ready so we can go down."

I chuckle and nod. Before heading to the bathroom, I turn back to her.

- "Thanks for being honest with me. You were right about communication being important."

- "I'm always right, babe."

I laugh as I close the door. I slip into some sweatpants as well, then brush my teeth and hair before we head downstairs. I realize I haven't yet seen Lucy's house as I watch her looking around. Then again, we did arrive pretty late.

- "The house is really beautiful."

- "Too big for my taste, if you ask me. I'll give you a tour later, if you want."

She nods with a smile. Mine appears as we enter the kitchen and see Samuel busy at the stove.

- "Hey, handsome," I say, making him jump.

- "Oh, damn! You’re crazy! I almost had a heart attack!"

I laugh at his fake stern look. He doesn’t look convincing at all, especially since he pulls me into a hug the next second.

- "You’re lucky I missed you, or I’d make you clean up this whole mess," he says, pointing at the now-disorganized counter, which is apparently my fault.

- "Oops... Sorry."

- "Yeah, sure... You don't mean it at all."

- "It's true, you're right," I giggle.

- "How are you? I heard about your adventures. I didn’t imagine it was that bad," he grimaces.

- "I’m fine. It was worse at first," I reply.

He smiles, understanding that I don’t want to dwell on it, and finally looks behind me. I turn to see Lucy watching us with amusement from the kitchen entrance. She approaches when I extend my hand to her.

- "My mom probably told you about her... This is Lucy."

- "So you’re the one responsible for all of this, huh?" he teases. "Nice to finally put a face to the name, Lucy. I assume I can call you by your first name?"

- "Of course," she smiles. "It’s nice to finally meet you, too. She’s told me a lot about you."

- "Not as much as she talked about you. You’re the only person whose name I remembered, given how many times she mentioned you."

- "Sam," I groan, hiding my blush in Lucy’s arms.

- "Aw, don’t be shy," she giggles. "It’s cute," she says before kissing my forehead. "As for you, she’s talked a lot about your cooking. It seems she’s starting to prefer mine," she adds, making him gasp.

- "Oh, really? I’ll remember that,  Ona."

- "Shh! You weren’t supposed to say anything! Now he’s going to be sulking all weekend."

- "Don’t worry. She did say I absolutely had to try your dishes," she tries to make up for it.

- "Hmm, sure," he smiles. "Well,  Ona, you sure don’t pick the ugly ones, huh? And that’s coming from the gayest person on the planet."

His comment makes me blush again. He’s really not holding back today. Luckily, Lucy finds it funny and thanks him for the compliment.

- "So, who made the first move? I want all the details!"

- "You’re not getting anything," I say just as Lucy points to me.

I give her a wide-eyed look and tap her hand.

- "Don’t tell him!"

- "Oh, it’s not a secret," she smiles.

- "So, it was you, Onita ? I never would have guessed."

"I’m full of surprises, what can I say. »

I wait for their laughter to subside before offering Lucy a coffee. She accepts eagerly, so I start making it for her while preparing my hot chocolate on the side.

“You’re lucky. This is probably the first time she’s ever bothered to serve anyone,” Sam teases.

“Are you done?” I groan at Sam. “You’re going to scare her away!”

“Not at all,” Lucy replies. “I like being the exception.”

I glance at Lucy, who’s seated on a barstool, watching me with an amused expression. The least I can do is make her coffee. When I’m at her place, she always takes care of everything for me. It’s not my fault that my mom hired people to handle the household chores. I’m just taking advantage of the chance to do something myself since Sam usually forbids it.

“Are the girls already up?” I ask.

“Yeah, they’re eating in the dining room with Joan,” he informs me. “I made pancakes and pastries.”

“Great, thanks.”

“Jo’s happy to see you again, you know.”

“I know. He slept with us last night. Was he too much trouble?”

“A little, but nothing we couldn’t handle. You should check in with him more often. He asks me almost every day if you’ve called.”

“I’ll try, I promise,” I reply, feeling guilty. “It’s just been complicated lately—between my broken phone and all the drama…”

“Oh, right. What happened with that? You’re not the type to mistreat your phone.”

“I threw it on the ground out of frustration,” I shrug. “Mom let me get a new one,” I say, pulling it out of my pocket.

“Well, make sure you use it.”

“I will.”

I take my mug out of the microwave and hand Lucy her coffee. She thanks me with a kiss, which makes me smile like an idiot. I could easily get used to these little gestures of affection.

“That’s sweet,” Sam grins. “Are you planning on coming back for the holidays?” he asks us.

“Maybe. We’ll talk about it,” Lucy answers before I can.

“Hmm… Well, we’re going to join the girls. Thanks again for breakfast, Sam. See you later.”

“See you later, girls.”

I lead Lucy to the dining room, which is not far from the kitchen. It’s my least favorite room in the house, but I might change my mind when we find Mapi, Ingrid, and my little brother chatting and laughing over breakfast.

“Ah! There they are at last,” Mapi says when she sees us.

“Ona!” 

I hand my mug to Lucy and pick up Joan. He kisses my cheek and then, surprisingly, does the same to Lucy. I’m not used to him warming up to strangers so quickly. I’m glad he’s reacting this way with Lucy. He even asks Lucy to sit next to him. I’m going to get jealous if this keeps up! So, I sit across from Ingrid while my brother takes the seat between Lucy and Mapi.

“How are you, girls? Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah… We had a good night,” Mapi responds.

I can’t believe it! Mapi Leon blushing? That’s a first! Lucy and I exchange a knowing look. It seems like everything worked out fine after all. To avoid teasing her further, I turn to Lucy.

“What would you like?” I ask, taking her plate.

“Pancakes, please,” she answers with a small smile.

I serve her as well as she did for me. After I’m done, I hand her plate back and grab a pain au chocolat for myself. Sam made them from scratch, so they’re the best.

“Any ideas on what we could do this afternoon?” I finally ask.

“We could show them around town since they’re here,” Mapi suggests. “And bring the little rascal along.”

“I’m not little anymore!” my brother whines.

“Aww, you’re almost as touchy as your sister,” Mapi chuckles, pinching his cheek.

“Hey!” I protest.

“Let’s not start this early in the morning,” Lucy intervenes. “But exploring the town sounds like a good idea.”

“It’s definitely more pleasant than Manchester. This town seems great,” Ingrid comments.

“We could go out to eat afterward,” Mapi suggests.

“Yeah. We should let Sam know,” I agree.

“Yep, you’re right! I’ll go tell him now.”

She doesn’t wait for anyone’s confirmation before heading to the kitchen. I smile as I see Ingrid’s eyes follow her, then she turns to me.

“Your best friend has a serious commitment issue, huh? I thought I had one, but she’s worse than anyone.”

“I’m not surprised,” I reply.

“If I hadn’t kissed her, we’d still be stuck. But once she’s on board, there’s no stopping her!”

“We could do without the details,” Lucy interjects. “Especially with a child at the table.”

“Oh, I’m only talking about some kisses, nothing more.”

“We’re happy for you,” I say.

“That’s it!” Mapi interrupts with a huge grin. “We’ve got the all-clear for lunch.”

I suppress my smile, noticing how euphoric she seems. Last night must have done her a lot of good.

“By the way, did you ask  Ona about the Alps?” Ingrid changes the subject.

“Just now. You’ll have to put up with me for another week,” I answer.

“You should be saying that to Lucy,” she giggles.

“Don’t worry, we’re getting along quite well so far,” Lucy replies.

“Absolutely,” I nod in agreement.

I smile at Lucy, who seems to be teasing me. I understand why when she brings a napkin to my chin.

“You really don’t know how to eat.”

I feel embarrassed as the others laugh around the table.

“Thanks,” I mumble when she’s done.

“You’re welcome,” she smiles warmly. “So, are you taking her with you?” she asks Ingrid, nodding toward Mapi.

“Hmm… I’m not sure yet.”

“Really?” Mapi says, looking disappointed.

“What? It’s not even been a day since we got together.”

“They haven’t been together long either!” my best friend retorts, pointing at us.

“That’s different. They’ve been hanging out and sleeping together for a while.”

“Pff. Fine. I get it,” she says, pouting.

It’s funny to see Mapi get upset over something so minor. I would probably act the same way if I didn’t know Ingrid was joking. This shows they still have a lot to learn about each other. Over my visits to their office, I’ve discovered that Ingrid has quite a playful side—just as much as Mapi. Lucy is probably right when she says they’re meant to be together.

“You silly thing. Of course, you’re coming with us! And it’s not a question, it’s a requirement.”

Mapi’s reaction is priceless. She’s always been so dominant with me; this must be a new experience for her. I hide my amusement as I continue my breakfast, enjoying Lucy’s hand resting on my thigh. I realize I’m the last one still eating, and I need to hurry if we want to leave soon.

Saturday, February 6th; 2:00 PM - Downtown.

I’ve never seen the town so crowded as it is today. No one expected this. I have to hold Joan’s hand to keep from losing him. He’s now nestled between Lucy and me, but at least this way I’m sure we won’t lose him in the crowd.

“It’s crazy; yesterday, there was no one,” Mapi comments.

“We could have stayed at the restaurant longer if we’d known.”

« Ona,” my brother calls, tugging on my hand. “Can we go to the pool instead?”

“The pool?” I frown.

“It’s a good idea; it could be fun,” Lucy agrees. “There’s no point in staying here, anyway. We won’t see anything interesting with this many people.”

"Do you have enough swimsuits to lend us?" Ingrid asked me.

"Well..."

"You promised we'd go again someday!" Joan whined.

I bit my lip nervously. The idea didn’t excite me as much as it did the others. I sighed, releasing the tension in my shoulders.

"I think I can find something if that's what everyone wants."

"Yessss!" 

Joan drew attention by jumping up and down with excitement. No one seemed to notice my reluctance, so I kept quiet to avoid dampening everyone’s enthusiasm. We headed back to the car. Hector had agreed to let us use one on the condition that either Lucy or Ingrid drive. I was slightly annoyed by this. Lucy offered to let me drive, but in the end, I let her take the wheel. I might have agreed if we were alone, but today wasn’t the case. We returned home to gather our things. Fortunately, I found swimsuits that fit Lucy and Ingrid. Once ready, we set off for the indoor pool that also had a water slide park, as requested by Joan. Mapi and Ingrid reacted like big kids to the idea. Unlike in the city, we were relieved to see that there were far fewer people here. Mapi was the first to rush inside with Joan. It seemed like they had really missed this. It had been so long since we last came.

"This place is huge," Ingrid commented.

"Yeah. There are plenty of pools to satisfy everyone, so it’s really cool."

We caught up with Joan and Mapi, who were already in line to buy our tickets. The place was so big that it didn’t feel crowded. I managed to get ahead of Lucy to buy our tickets, including Joan’s, since she had already paid for lunch. She didn’t like it, but it was my weekend at home. When we’re in Manchester, she’s the one who pays, so it’s only fair to return the favor. Once everyone was through, we headed to the locker rooms. Mapi and Ingrid decided to share a locker, so we did the same with Lucy and Joan. The three excited ones were the first to finish undressing. I was the slowest. Lucy must have noticed because she told them to go ahead. Unable to hold them back any longer, they even took Joan with them, promising to keep an eye on her.

"Is everything okay?" she asked once we were alone.

"Yeah..."

"I can tell it’s not. Do you want to talk about it?"

I sighed softly. I wish she had noticed earlier. Neither of us had removed much yet. We had just taken off our jackets and shoes.

"I’ve never... you know," I said, gesturing to myself.

I realized she didn’t understand when she frowned. I nervously ran my hand through my hair, feeling anxious about confessing this to her.

"You're the only one, besides Joan, who’s seen me in my underwear since what Feli did to me. No one else has seen my scars, and I don’t feel comfortable being this exposed anymore. Plus, I still have bruises from Korbin, and they’re not exactly pretty."

"Why didn’t you say something earlier?"

"I don’t know. Everyone was so excited to come here," I shrugged.

She gently cupped my cheeks, forcing me to lift the head I had lowered.

"You should’ve told me."

"It’s fine, really... I need to push through this sooner or later."

"You don’t have to do it alone. If you had told me you were uncomfortable with your body, I would’ve told you that you’re beautiful to me, and you always will be. No matter how many marks you have, they’re part of your story, and you shouldn’t be ashamed of them."

Tears welled up in my eyes. Why is she so perfect? She smiled before kissing me tenderly. The kiss deepened with so much love that it made my stomach flip. While I was distracted, she gently lifted my sweater and took it off before I could even process what was happening.

"If I have to help you love your body again, I’ll do it. In any case, I’m very happy to be the only one who gets to touch it."

The way her eyes devoured my torso made me blush furiously. She bit her lip to stifle a smile as her gaze slowly moved back up to meet mine.

"I’d feel more comfortable if you took off your top too," I finally managed to say.

She chuckled softly and, to my surprise, complied. How can she envy my little belly when she has such a sculpted body? For the first time, I took in the sight, lingering on her lower abdomen where her abs were slightly visible. Not to mention the tattoo that made her even sexier. I should have looked back up, but my eyes were glued to her torso. It was her laugh that snapped me out of it.

"Glad you like what you see."

"Oh God, look at you! How am I supposed to feel confident next to you?" I retorted, making her laugh.

"Start running again if you don’t like your body. You only maintain it with exercise."

"Is that the future fitness coach talking?" I asked, watching her take off her pants.

"Maybe."

"I’m already jealous of your future clients."

"Clients?" she laughed. "We won’t be in school anymore. But if you want, I’ll give you a special training session."

"Oh really? Like an intense workout?"

"No. Like a girlfriend workout," she said with a wink.

"Maybe we can negotiate then," I joked.

"Alright, enough teasing. Get undressed so we can go."

I grumbled as I took off my pants. Seeing her in a swimsuit had made me feel a bit more confident. My girlfriend is a knockout. To think she chose me when she could have any other girl. I neatly folded my clothes before Lucy closed our locker. She kept the key by strapping it to her wrist. She smiled at me as she held out her hand.

"Ready?"

I nodded, taking her hand timidly. Without giving me time to think, she led me toward the showers. Walking behind her, I noticed a new tattoo that ran the length of her back.

"Wow," I breathed.

"What is it?"

« Your back »

"Oh, right," she laughed.

"It’s beautiful."

« Thanks. » 

We reached the showers, where only a few spots were occupied. We managed to get two next to each other to rinse off before heading to the pools. As we exited, I looked around for the girls, but they were nowhere to be found. Knowing them, they had probably headed straight for the slides. I gasped when I no longer felt my feet on the ground. Instinctively, I kicked my legs, but it didn’t stop Lucy from cradling me in her arms.

"Hey! What are you doing? Put me down!"

"Nope," she giggled.

I laughed when I realized she was enjoying herself. She gave me a playful smack on the butt as she approached the nearest pool.

"No, please! Don’t do this!"

I begged, clinging to her neck. Her laugh was muffled against my shoulder as I squeezed her tightly.

"Hmm... What’s your offer to avoid it?"

"Anything you want."

"Oh really?"

"Yes!"

"Alright. I’ll remember that you owe me one," she laughed, setting me down.

I groaned, punching her arm.

"That was really uncool."

"Oh, don’t pout, please," she said, pouting herself. "Or I might actually throw you in the water."

"No! Besides, I want to find the girls before getting in the pool."

"The girls can take care of Joan if that’s what you’re worried about. I’d like us to spend some time together if we can."

I bit my lip, thinking over her suggestion. It would indeed be a chance to enjoy some time as a couple and also to get to know this new side of Lucy. I liked discovering new aspects of her. I groaned when she made an adorable face to try and convince me.

"Stop making that face."

"Please," she insisted.

I had nothing to worry about with Joan, right? Ingrid was an instructor at a private school, so I had no doubt she could be serious about her safety. I sighed, clearly giving in to Lucy, who started to smile.

"Alright, you win," I conceded. "Let’s spend some time together."

"Yes!" she said, lifting me up again, making me panic.

"No, no, no, please," I pleaded, struggling as she moved toward the pool steps.

"Relax," she giggled. "Hold on to me and just let it happen."

"No, please. I don’t like getting in all at once. And I don’t want to get my hair wet."

"We’ll get in slowly together. And as for your hair, either tie it up or wash it again tonight."

"Luce!"

She ignored my pleas and continued to move forward, dipping her feet into the water. I quickly tied up my hair with the elastic around my wrist. It didn’t matter if it got wet; I just hated having it loose in the pool. Apparently, Lucy felt the same since she had tied hers up before the shower. I clung to her neck as I felt the tips of my toes touch the water next.

"Slowly, please."

"I promise."

I managed to wrap my legs around her waist so she could hold me better. I pressed closer to her as the water reached my calves. I held my breath as it began to rise to my thighs. Lucy must have noticed because she giggled softly.

"The water isn’t that cold. »

- "Speak for yourself," I whispered into her neck. "I can be really sensitive to the cold sometimes."

- "Then keep clinging to me. I love it," she murmured teasingly.

- "It's not funny," I giggled.

I suddenly inhaled sharply when Lucy took a big step, causing the water to cover our legs.

- "Stop, stop."

- "Oh, come on. The worst part hasn't even happened yet."

- "Exactly! It's coming."

- "Then brace yourself."

I whimpered into her neck as she continued to slowly make her way through the pool. Her upper body was warm compared to the coldness of the water. She lowered herself so that the water reached our chests. I rested my head on her shoulder, pressing myself against her as much as I could. She must have gotten the message because she tightened her arms around me.

- "It wasn't so bad, was it?"

- "No... Never with you."

She kept moving until she no longer had to bend her knees. I slowly lifted my head so we could look at each other for a moment without saying anything. I appreciated our closeness.

- "Your wounds are starting to heal," she noted.

- "Yeah... I still have some scabs."

- "Maybe, but your black eye is starting to fade."

I closed my eyes as she gently touched it. The gesture was soft until she pressed on it. I groaned in annoyance, reopening my eyes.

- "Sorry," she smiled sincerely. "I'll put some cream on it for you tonight."

- "Thanks," I murmured.

I closed my eyes again as I rested my head on her shoulder. She really was perfect in my eyes. Just like this moment we were sharing.

- "I still can't believe it..."

- "What?"

- "Us. It’s hard to realize..."

- "I know. That's why we need to spend time together outside of school, so you can separate things."

- "Going back is going to be tough," I sighed.

- "It’ll all be over soon."

- "By the way... What will happen after school?"

- "We’ll go over the offer I secured for you. We'll have time to talk about it during the next break. For now, the most important thing is passing your exams."

- "Ah, there you are!" a familiar voice suddenly interrupted. It was Ingrid.

I turned to see her standing at the edge of the pool with her arms crossed. Our moment alone didn’t last as long as I thought.

- "Is something wrong?" Lucy asked.

- "We thought you were going to join us, not sneak off to cuddle!"

- "Hey there!"

We didn't have time to respond before we were attacked by two human torpedoes named Joan and Mapi. I groaned in frustration, now completely soaked. I was also forced to step away from Lucy when Joan slipped between us.

- "Did you go on the slides?" Lucy asked her.

- "Yes! We almost did all of them with Mapi and Ingrid. Don’t you want to try them?"

- "Later, we’ve got all the time in the world," she replied.

Ingrid distracted me by jumping in to join us. Joan took advantage of this to take my place in Lucy's arms. He had learned to swim this summer but didn’t like staying in one spot for too long. I didn’t have time to process their conversation before Mapi jumped on my back.

- "Get down, Mapi."

- "No way, I'm taking advantage while you’re back. Besides, your mom told me to take it easy on my leg," she joked.

I frowned, recognizing a half-truth in her statement.

- "Is that true? Why?"

I placed my hand on the scars on her knee, looking at her briefly. I was one of the few people, along with my mom, that she allowed to touch them. I always worried when she mentioned her injury since she rarely talked about it because it was such a hard experience for her. My mom had helped her a lot through it, so I never felt jealous of their close relationship. I was just glad Mapi had someone to support her.

- "The pain has come back."

- "Why didn’t you tell me sooner?"

- "Because it wasn’t that important. Hey girls, should we head back to the slides now that we’ve found you?"

- "Don’t change the subject, Mapi," I growled. "It is important."

- "I’m fine, I promise."

I sighed when she kissed my cheek before getting down to join my sister, who was starting to get excited about her suggestion. This gave Lucy the chance to return to me.

- "Everything okay?" she asked.

- "Yeah..."

I smiled at Ingrid, who was standing beside us. I realized she must have overheard our entire conversation.

- "Do you know what she went through?"

- "She vaguely mentioned it, yes."

- "You’re lucky. She doesn’t talk about it with everyone."

- "What’s the story?" Lucy asked.

- "I’ll explain another time," I replied. "Anyway, let’s go before we lose sight of them."

We joined Mapi and Joan, who were waiting for us at the edge of the pool. Joan was getting antsy. We headed to the slide area to make him happy. I’ve always loved the slides here. They’re very diverse. You can do them alone or with others. Some even have inner tubes. I have no doubt we’ll have a great afternoon, all five of us.

[croxovergoddess]

Clone High Spoilers!

Joan: I need an emotionally mature man and that's just not JFK

JFK in the finale: Befriends Abe even after finding out he also likes Joan. Still loves Joan but doesn't think of her as something to own. Stops Topher from blackmailing Abe the second he hears about it. Takes a moment from the test to support Confucius when he and Harriet are having problems. Wants Abe to be honest with Joan even if it means those two ending up together.

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

IOTA Reviews: Conformation and Re-Creation (The Final Day)

Well, here we are. The final two episodes of Season 5. It's been a long and complicated journey, so let me get you up to speed on what exactly happened this season, episode by episode.

Evolution: Ladybug and Cat Noir chase Monarch through time, and it's not nearly as cool as it sounds.

Multiplication: Adrien likes Marinette now because the plot says so.

Destruction: Cat Noir accidentally Cataclysms Monarch, and it somehow leads to the most guilt he feels using his Cataclysm on anyone.

Jubilation: Ever want to have the image of Ladybug and Cat Noir being teen parents burned into your brain? No? Too bad!

Illusion: Nino establishes himself as a leader so terrible, Zapp Brannigan would call him an idiot.

Determination: Marinette likes Cat Noir now because the plot says so.

Passion: Nathalie shows she'd rather silently judge Gabriel for his actions over actually doing anything to stop him.

Reunion: Marinette talks with the spirit of Joan of Arc, and it's not nearly as cool as it sounds.

Elation: Someone tries to murder Marinette over ice cream for the third time in four seasons.

Transmission: Yeah, I totally believe you're replacing Marinette and Adrien with two new main characters in the middle of your fifth season.

Deflagration: Because of Tikki and Plagg's terrible decisions, Monarch comes the closest he's ever come to winning.

Perfection: Kagami becomes a giant cloud Akuma, symbolizing her also becoming a total airhead for the rest of the season.

Migration: The writers realize they have no idea what to do with Luka, so they kick him out of the show entirely.

Derision: “How many things do you want to retcon to make this story work?” “Yes.”

Intuition: Gabriel continues to prove how pathetic of a villain he is, even when he has unlimited chances.

Protection: Even after being tricked three times by her, Kagami still thinks Lila is a trustworthy person.

Adoration: “We have Lumity at home”.

Emotion: The episode where Felix essentially commits genocide is somehow also the one where the writers want the audience to start viewing him in a sympathetic light.

Pretension: Felix likes Kagami because the plot says so, and vice versa.

Revelation: Lila only gets as far as she does thanks to Marinette becoming as dumb as the rest of the class.

Confrontation: Our heroes expose the villain's evil plans by spying on them through a bathroom peephole.

Collusion: Remember kids, violent revolutions against politicians are never the answer.

Revolution: Remember kids, violent revolutions against politicians are always the answer.

Representation: To the surprise of literally no one, Felix is revealed to be a Sentimonster, yet the writers still won't tell us that Adrien and Kagami are the same.

Now that you're all caught up, let's get into the twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth episode of Miraculous Ladybug's fifth season: Conformation and Re-Creation

After a brief news report showing everyone enjoying the first day of Summer vacation, Gabriel and Tomoe finally decide to launch “Perfect Alliance”. What does this plan entail? For starters, Gabriel transforms into Monarch, detransforms to akumatize himself into Nightormentor again, gives himself the powers of the Mouse, Rooster and Horse Miraculous in order to clone himself and fly around the globe to spread his nightmare dust. Because just akumatizing Sandboy again and giving him the Mouse Miraculous' Multitude was just too complex of a plan.

Marinette is the first to be affected by the dust, we get a dream where she dresses up as a knight to save Adrien from a cheap recolor of Fang in his dragon form.

This is a weird episode of Super Why.

Marinette defeats the dragon, who reverts back to Gabriel, who is accidentally killed by the fight, causing Adrien to cry since Adrien was watching the whole thing. Marinette wakes up, thankful that it was all just a bad dream sequence. She decides she needs to find out just where Gabriel sent Adrien to make sure he's safe, something that won't make sense as I'll explain later on. As she tries to leave, she keeps experiencing sudden headaches, as do her parents and Alya.

Meanwhile, Adrien is still left reeling from the effects of the nightmare dust from last episode, to the point where he has a panic attack, demanding to be let out. Gabriel, seemingly aware of this, decides to give Adrien the “antidote”, an Alliance ring with an app called “Perfect Alliance”. So once again, despite claiming to do this for his son, Gabriel willingly chose to make his life worse as part of his evil plans. Remember this, it'll be important later on.

Plagg suggests Adrien transform into Cat Noir, but Adrien reminds him that there are cameras everywhere, so he can't risk it. Plagg disables the cameras, but Adrien still says no. Whether he was aware that the robot who was sent to give him the Alliance ring with the new app had a hidden camera is irrevelant, because Adrien gives a different reason why he can't transform.

Adrien: I'm not in my right mind. I'm too angry; at myself for falling short of Marinette's love, at my father for sending me here in London, at this stupid app and these rings that use my image... it makes me sick! This nightmare is giving me the horrible feeling that, if I transform, I'll get akumatized and destroy everything with my Cataclysm. Marinette, Ladybug...

Plagg: Surely Ladybug can help you.

Adrien: If I ask her for help, I'd have to give her information that would jeopardize my secret identity... and I can't.

Okay, let me make one thing clear. The reason that Adrien can't risk exposing his identity thanks to all the cameras is a good one, and the fact that he doesn't want to risk exposing his identity to Ladybug in particular is a good sign of character development, but the problem I have is the fact that the writers decided to bench Adrien in the first place.

Yes, you heard that right. In arguably the most boneheaded decision in the show's history since... well, a lot of things this season, Adrien, despite being the son of the main villain, isn't going to get involved in the final battle at all.

There are multiple reasons why Adrien staying put in this room is a terrible idea, and most of them involve the fact that almost none of the in-universe explanations for this hold up.

Adrien is being heavily monitored by cameras? We just saw Plagg was able to disable them with ease.

Adrien can't ask Ladybug for help without jeopardizing his secret identity? The fact that he's at risk of being akumatized as is, with or without the Cat Miraculous, will still blow his cover due to Monarch's mind reading abilities (which we saw when Monarch almost learned Luka's secret in “Migration”), so he really has nothing to lose here.

Adrien isn't in the right state of mind thanks to the nightmare dust? Literally every other character who takes part in the final battle is able to either find a way to fight off the nightmares or keeps going while still under the influence of the nightmare dust.

Adrien's ultimate plan to take off his Miraculous and let Plagg choose a new temporary holder? We saw this exact same scenario play out earlier this season in “The Kwamis' Choice”, and things went horribly, horribly wrong.

Do you see why this makes no sense? Even though the show loves to boast about how valuable of an asset Cat Noir is, the writers are bending over backwards to justify keeping Adrien as far away from the final battle as possible, because they know damn well that they'd have to address how terrible his father really is with the reveal.

And the best part? This is basically the last we'll see of Adrien in this episode. Do you want to know how many lines he gets in the next episode, AKA, the final episode of the season? Three. AND THEY'RE ALL AFTER THE FINAL BATTLE.

But we're not done talking about this stupid idea yet, because unlike the other episodes, I have something else to rant about: The writers' commentary. In November of 2023, around four months after the finale premiered, the writers of this show recorded their own audio commentary, and while I don't have the exact translation (if anyone reading this has a translation of this, I would really appreciate the effort), I have seen one post summarizing the things they said, and all I can say is DEAR. LORD. This is not just shooting yourself in the foot. This is shooting yourself in the foot multiple times with Judas Bullets.

Like, it's amazing. We've always speculated just what goes through the writers' heads that makes them come up with some of the strangest ideas to take the story, and now, we have a first-hand account of why these episodes turned out the way they did. For this one moment, they gave about three explanations as to why Adrien was benched for the finale.

Let's start with the first one, Cat Blanc. I know what you're thinking, wasn't Cat Blanc an Akuma from an alternate timeline that our Adrien shouldn't know about? Not according to Melenie Duval. While Adrien's fear of being akumatized is reasonable, Duval claims that he could become Cat Blanc... which makes no sense as A) Adrien's nightmare was of an entirely different Akuma, and B) The aforementioned nightmare dust never informed Adrien of the alternate timeline where Cat Blanc destroyed the world, it just provided him with a nightmare about a similar scenario.

And in case you weren't questioning this woman's judgment, Duval has done on the record to state that her favorite episode of the entire show is “Derision”.

Our next reasoning is especially stupid, as the rest of the writing team reveal that they had planned to keep Adrien out of the final battle as far back as 2014, nine years before the finished product premiered. Why would they do that? Because they wanted Ladybug to unify with the Cat Miraculous, of course! Sure, you could have just saved this unification for a special or something like that so you don't bench one of your main characters, or you could have at least had Adrien willingly give his Miraculous to Ladybug to unify with in person, but nope. This is seriously one of their defenses— I mean, explanations, for why Adrien isn't allowed to be in the final battle, because they thought it would be more important to give Marinette her 10th new form in three seasons than letting Adrien get some form of closure with his father.

And here's the final reason they gave in the commentary. Remember that dream sequence of Marinette dressed as a knight that was also sort of foreshadowed in “Gabriel Agreste”? Turns out, the writers wanted to, and stop me if you've heard this before, play with the tropes and symbolism of fairy tales. Wow, I've never seen any kind of pop culture do that before... except for Into the Woods, The Princess Bride, Hook, Shrek, Princess Tutu, Ella Enchanted, Hoodwinked!, Enchanted, Tangled, Once Upon a Time, Frozen, RWBY, Ever After High, Red Shoes and the Seven Dwarves, Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio, and Nimona. But other than those, that's so original!

Even though the writers are acting like they're breaking new ground, do you want to know what they mean by this? They're just doing another damsel in distress situation but this time, Adrien, the boy, is the one who needs to be saved by Marinette, who is, GASP, a girl?! WOW! That totally changes everything!

Okay, yes, the damsel in distress trope has usually been seen as a misogynistic one due to the fact that the people who needed to be saved are usually women, but like I mentioned way back in my “Gabriel Agreste” review, just swapping the genders isn't enough to breathe new life into a trope as old as this one. It's arguably worse because Adrien isn't just someone who needs to be saved. He's a superhero, and like I mentioned, there were plenty of options to get him out of his room in London.

And I'm guessing that some of you are thinking, “But IOTA! You just want Adrien to save the day by himself because he's a guy!” Just remember that I had this exact same problem last season where the roles were reversed. Remember how I hated the way Marinette's arc about dealing with the stress of being Guardian was hijacked by Adrien complaining about Ladybug not trusting him? This time, we have an arc about Adrien trying to break free from his father's influence that's been hijacked by Marinette needing to save Adrien by herself, robbing him of any agency he had to the plot entirely. This issue isn't about gender. It's never been about gender. I would have the exact same problem if Adrien was the one who confronted Monarch by himself while Marinette was trapped in her room.

This leads to the biggest problem I have with this plot development: It ultimately goes against the core theme of teamwork the show keeps trying to convey. Remember how last season, Marinette needed to learn to let other people trust her? Now, she's going to beat up Monarch all by herself without any help. Remember how last season, Adrien needed to prove he didn't deserve to be left in the dark about everything? Now, he's going to stay all the way in London while his partner gets in the fight of her life. It's detrimental to both of them as characters, and makes everything that happened to them in Season 4 completely pointless.

Okay, now that I've spent five pages ranting about this insane decision, let's get back on track, shall we? As the Perfect Alliance app helps Adrien and Kagami calm down, Marinette sneaks into the Agreste mansion as Ladybug. Meanwhile, Nathalie has her own nightmare about Gabriel winning, AKA, the very thing she could have stopped a long time ago by ratting her evil boss out to Ladybug and Cat Noir.

We then learn just what the Perfect Alliance app really does. Basically, thanks to the technobabble, it helps alleviate the stress from their nightmares. Or, to put it in Layman's terms, Gabriel and Tomoe plan to get the entire population of Earth addicted to cyber crack. We see this affect several of Marinette's classmates, but because Mylene has a sudden disdain for technology that “Was made without respect for the Earth's resources”, she's the only one who sees the problem here. I'd ask why this wasn't established earlier this season, but it doesn't matter, since Mylene gives in anyway,

Because it's a day that ends with a “Y”, Gabriel goes to talk to Emilie's body yet again, and it seems like even the writers realized how tired this got, as Nathalie finally decided to ambush him with a crossbow.

Miss Sancoeur, I served with Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I knew Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Buffy the Vamprie Slayer was a friend of mine. Miss Sancoeur, you're no Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Yes, it only took five seasons worth of evil plans for Nathalie to realize just how demented her boss really is.

Nathalie: I can't let you do that... if you make the wish to bring her back, someone will have to go in her place. Emilie would never have agreed to this!

Gabriel: Do you think I'd be monstrous enough to sacrifice a human being?

Uh... yes? That is literally what equivalent exchange means. You really don't know how the wish works after researching it?

Shockingly, the frail woman armed with nothing but a crossbow isn't able to stop someone with superpowers. There isn't even a fight. Monarch just knocks the crossbow out of her hands and she faints. Maybe you should have actually come up with some sort of plan before confronting Gabriel by yourself, dumbass.

Back to Ladybug, she searches through Gabriel's stuff and finally learns he's Monarch... even though she should already know thanks to Felix and Kagami's play last episode. She even looks pretty shocked to see Monarch detransform.

Back to the commentary, the writers justify this with their absurd “Every episode can be watched on its own” rule. Because simply having Marinette say she already knows was out of the equation, I guess. Seriously, earlier in the episode, Tikki (who, along with Plagg, wasn't affected by the nightmare dust for some reason) had doubts that Marinette should break into the Agreste mansion, and it came across like neither of them knew the truth, and this was a reckless decision that wasn't motivated by Gabriel being Monarch at all. Once again, the writers fail to understand the idea of using “Previously On...” segments to help new viewers catch up on what's happening. It's even more confusing when you remember that Tikki knows Adrien is Cat Noir, so his father being Monarch coupled with his sudden absence should be setting off all kinds of red flags in her book.

Ladybug tries to text Cat Noir about who Monarch really is, but chooses not to send it after Gabriel pushes a few of her buttons. Rather than jumping Gabriel while she still has the element of surprise, she only chooses to grill Nathalie for questions once Gabriel is out of the room. And of course, only when she's on death's door does Nathalie tell Ladybug to stop Monarch, but not before telling her to transform back.

We see Gabriel and Tomoe put their plan into action. They create a fake scene of Ladybug and Cat Noir kidnapping Adrien and Kagami in order to rile up the public (who aren't in the best state of mind thanks to the nightmares) in order to for them to use the Alliance rings to transform them into the “Miraculized”. In other words, it's basically “Heroes' Day” all over again. Seriously, think about it. Just like “Heroes' Day”, it looks like Adrien is being harmed by Ladybug in an attempt to push the population to the brink of despair so Gabriel can create an army in the process. Yeah, the public doesn't know the two are the same, but the audience does. Granted, this is a minor nitpick compared to the rest of my problems with this episode, but I hope you can see what I'm getting at here.

Case in point, the reason Nathalie told Ladybug to detransform was because Gabriel has found a way to track her and Cat Noir through their “quantum signatures”. With Cat Noir, it was thanks to the dust from Gabriel's Cataclysm wound, and with Ladybug, it was thanks to the Magical Charm she gave Gabriel earlier in “Gabriel Agreste”... which he shouldn't have since it was destroyed in “Dearest Family”.

Seriously, this is the season finale. How the hell are the writers still struggling to remember important events like this?

Now's as good a time as any to talk about the Miraculized's design. Yeah, they're pretty lame. They all look like they're wearing fencing gear, and don't look intimidating in the slightest. They also now have the ability to use every Miraculous power at once, which breaks the previously established rules about the Alliance rings in that only one ring can handle each Miraculous power. You could at least argue that the robots used in “Confrontation” had more advanced technology that made them capable of using multiple powers, but nothing has changed about the Alliance rings to justify this. And remember, this is something every Miraculized in the world can use, yet the system hasn't been completely fried, and as we'll later see Monarch can still freely use the other Kwamis' power even when they're being shared with the Miraculized across the world. In fact, how can the Miraculized even transform like this? Monarch doesn't akumatize anyone to spread this transformation. Gabriel just tells to say “Alliance, Miraculize Me!”, and now they can transform. Was this always a function of the Alliance rings? Is there a tiny Akuma hidden in each ring? How the hell does any this work?

Ladybug fights off some of the Miraculized who used Voyage to find her, and remembers Nathalie's advice to detransform. So just like in “Passion”, even though she's still wearing her Miraculous, the system specifically designed to track her down isn't able to find her unless she's still transformed. Marinette runs away to a safe place before running into Plagg, who tells her Cat Noir is out of commission. With no other options, Marinette decides to unify with the Ladybug and Cat Miraculous, turning into Bug Noire, revealing her identity to Monarch in the process, and ending the episode.

Bug Noire's design is admittedly pretty nice. I like the balance of red, black, and green, though the hair is a little too long for my taste. Granted, I still don't get why this is the reason why Adrien can't be here to fight Monarch alongside his partner. I'm just saying, was it really worth it, writers?

THE BIGGEST IDIOT OF THE EPISODE IS... NATHALIE

Yep, right before the finish line, Nathalie gets her second award this season. After spending several episodes doing nothing but letting herself rot away, Nathalie only chose to finally do something about Gabriel once he was literally about to enact his final plan, thought she could stop him with nothing but a crossbow, and only begged Ladybug for help when it looked like she was about to die and had nothing left to lose.

“Re-Creation”, the final episode of the season, starts off with Lila watching some broadcasts of people succumbing to their paranoia (and she does it while smirking because the writers still don't think we understand she's evil) and transforming into Miraculized while she puts on a new disguise that makes her look like an evil Edna Mode.

How come Lila isn't even affected by the nightmare dust like the rest of the human population? As always, never explained!

Back in the Agreste mansion, Bug Noire and Monarch are duking it out, and we get some pretty creative uses of Lucky Charm, like when she summons a piano to crash down on Monarch. Meanwhile, after Marinette's friends manage to get the Alliance ring off a Miraculized Ivan, we get to see how the rest of the world is dealing with the Miraculized. In Shanghai, the Renlings help Fei through her nightmares, Su-Han has recruited Jagged Stone, Luka, Penny and Fang to the Order of the Guardians instead of actually getting backup like he said he would in “Multiplication”, Present Bunnix finally decides to do something and uses Burrow to sent the Guardians to Paris, while the United Heroez fight off the Miraculized and learn the true nature of the Alliance rings. Just remember, it was too much for the writers to let Adrien get involved in the final battle, yet all these side characters get to do something in the finale for some reason.

Meanwhile, as if things couldn't get any worse, Nino decides the Resistance needs to get involved after reassuring Mr. Damocles that they never give up. Believe me, not much would change if you guys just threw in the towel, especially now that the United Heroez are here, and have Eagle, a member whose powers work as an instant cure for everyone's nightmares. Hey, while we're on the subject, does anyone know where the United Heroez were this entire season? I can excuse Fei as she's just one teenager in Shanghai, but the Americans have a small army of heroes, including the president, yet they just let two violent coups in France happen last week.

As Bug Noire and Monarch keep fighting, Bug Noire comes up with the brilliant idea to Cataclysm the Butterfly Miraculous, only being foiled by Monarch already having Resistance active. Okay, is a side effect of using the Cat Miraculous this season a taste for blood? Why the hell are the heroes so okay with trying to use Cataclysm on their enemies now? Bug Noire then decides to use her Cataclysm for something far more reasonable, breaking the ground beneath her and Monarch. Because I guess Bug Noire is really gunning for Biggest Idiot this episode.

Back with the Resistance, they meet up with the Guardians, United Heroez, and Ladydragon, who have actually been getting shit done. Wow, it's just like that scene from that one movie where all the characters we've come to know over the years rally together for the final battle! What was it called again? Oh yeah, Spy Kids 3-D: Game Over.

While the other heroes are overwhelmed by the Miraculized, we cut back to Bug Noire and Monarch yet again, now inside the area where Emilie's body is. The two keep fighting as Monarch tells Bug Noire why he's doing all this, all while Lila breaks into the mansion.

Monarch: I want my wife, Adrien's mother, to come back to us! Once our family is reunited, Kagami and Adrien will become the eternal icons of this world! And we will be here to witness their absolute triumph!

Bug Noire: “Your wife”? “Come back”? “Kagami and Adrien, eternal icons”? How many lives are you going to ruin in the name of your crazy dreams?!

Monarch: As many as it takes! In order to bring Emilie back, someone else will have to disappear! In order to heal the wound that Cat Noir inflicted on me, someone else will have to be wounded!

Bug Noire: Someone else? But who?

Monarch: Anyone! No one matters except us! How about you, Marinette? Wouldn't you give your life for your sweet Adrien's happiness?

Bug Noire: Do you really think that's what he'd want? To discover that his father has turned into a supervillain, willing to make innocent people pay the price of his madness?

Monarch: Adrien would do the same thing!

Bug Noire: Never! Unlike you, Adrien has made his peace with it. He's not living in the past! He has a whole life ahead of him!

Bug Noire: You'd know this if you ever took an interest in him. But in reality, Adrien means NOTHING to you anymore! You've locked him in your house! Locked him in your Alliance rings!

Bug Noire: Locked him into a life that allows you to hide behind him in order to justify YOUR madness!

Monarch: All I want is for him to be happy!

Remember all of this, because it's going to be important soon.

Bug Noire uses her Lucky Charm, and gets a tube of glue. She uses some of it on this random boomerang she found (I'm assuming it's the remains of Nathalie's crossbow), sticks it to her yo-yo, and then throws it at Emilie's coffin. Monarch reflexively grabs the sticky boomerang, and loses all of the rings on his right hand just as Bug Noire uses Cataclysm on the elevator to get to this area of the mansion, with the intent on CRUSHING EMILIE WITH IT. Our hero, ladies and gentlemen! Monarch saves his wife, but because he's distracted, he can't stop Bug Noire from throwing her staff at the Butterfly Miraculous, knocking it off and reverting Monarch back to Gabriel. Bug Noire ties up Gabriel's feet, and when Gabriel tries to sucker punch her with Venom, Bug Noire grabs the hand, threatening to Cataclysm the remaining Alliance rings and the two rings she should damn well know contain Adrien's Amok. Either she's bluffing, or we accidentally got the Paris Special universe's version of these events.

Bug Noire tries to reason with Gabriel, who then breaks down crying, showing how deep down, he just really cares about his family. And even though just six episodes ago, Marinette said that it was very easy for idealistic people to be taken advantage of by others, she buys into Gabriel's last-minute sob story, and wouldn't you know it, he stabs her in the back. Congratulations, Marinette. You just doomed the universe. Even when the Dino Charge Rangers accidentally got everyone on their planet killed, they were at least able to fix it themselves.

It's time to go back to the commentary, where we can learn the writers' true intent for this scene. They honestly believe that both Marinette and Gabriel care for Adrien in their own ways, and the whole reason that Marinette chose to trust Gabriel was to teach the lesson that it's important to talk out your feelings with others... a lesson that fails because 1) Marinette had already beaten Gabriel through violence, 2) Marinette trusting Gabriel backfired horribly, and 3) Gabriel won because he took advantage of Marinette's trust! You can't teach a lesson about trust when for all intents and purposes, Marinette once again lost BECAUSE SHE CHOSE TO TRUST SOMEONE!

Even though he had to unify with Tikki and Plagg to try making the wish in “Deflagration” (I really shouldn't have used the “Great Continuity!” clip earlier), we get yet another retcon this season: Tikki and Plagg have to reveal their true forms. Yeah, I know Tikki's true form was briefly seen in “Dearest Family”, but that doesn't change the fact that Monarch didn't do this when he had the Ladybug and Cat Miraculous in “Deflagration”.

Tikki and Plagg's true forms just look okay. I like the otherworldly theme, but they don't really stand out much. They honestly look more like forms Ladybug and Cat Noir would have than anything else.

It's here that we get the culmination of five seasons' worth of lore. After a brief glimpse of it in “Ephemeral”, Tikki and Plagg, the Kwamis of Creation and Destruction will merge their energies to form their true true form, the Kwami of Reality itself, able to grand any wish asked. This majestic, otherworldly being's name? Gimmi. Just... Gimmi. The commentary claims they're named after an ABBA song, and I wish I was making this up.

Like with Tikki and Plagg's true forms, Gimmi has an okay design. They're just a little too pink for something meant to be a fusion of the red Tikki and the black Plagg.

As Marinette begs Gabriel not to go through with this, Gabriel doesn't think twice about it, and instead, gives Marinette the rings containing Adrien's Amok, along with a request, fully aware that his time is almost up.

Gabriel: Marinette, make sure that Adrien never knows about the villain that I was, but instead, that he remembers the times I tried to be a good father.

Alright, we've finally gotten to the most controversial part of the episode: Gabriel's “redemption”, and I put that term extremely loosely.

Put aside the fact that almost a third of this season was spent telling the audience that a certain character who shall not be named is beyond saving despite working alongside him multiple times for the past two seasons, Gabriel's last-minute redemption falls flat because he doesn't even seem to feel remorse for what he's done. Not once does he actually say he's sorry for what he's done, just how Emilie's death affected him. That's understandable, but he doesn't even seem to acknowledge the weight of his actions or how many lives have been endangered. Remember earlier, when Monarch said he was perfectly okay with sacrificing someone else if it means his family can be happy? Yeah, that never comes back, especially now that him making the wish is portrayed as a good thing when every time it's been discussed ever since it was first explained in “Robostus” just how dangerous actually using it is.

In fact, let's discuss the fact that Gabriel is getting to make the wish in the first place. The whole idea of this basically contradicts Gabriel supposedly realizing he's gone too far. Rather than just having Gabriel give up his quest and let Emilie rest in peace, we're supposed to be happy that Gabriel double-crossed Marinette even when the music is making it seem like it's a bad thing... WHICH IT IS! Once again, for a show that loves to go on and on about how powerful love is, it really loves to show people getting screwed over whenever they decide to show compassion to their enemies. Imagine if in Return of the Jedi, when Luke chose to not give into the Dark Side by sparing Vader, Vader took the chance to kick him in the crotch while he was distracted. That's basically what happened here.

Next, notice how Gabriel specifically asks Marinette to make sure Adrien never learns the truth about who he was, and “Remembers the times he tried to be a good father”. After everything he's done, Gabriel isn't even willing to let Adrien learn about what he's done, because he wants him to focus exclusively on the times he TRIED to be a good father. This isn't the matter of Gabriel missing Adrien's fencing tournament because he had an important business meeting. Gabriel was a literal supervillain who preyed on innocent people in order to obtain absolute power, and he wasn't even a good father to his only kid. He was neglectful, controlling, and in the last few months of his life, spent more time trying to ruin his relationship with his girlfriend for no reason other than because he thought his associate's kid was a better match for him. He was a terrible father, and Gabriel even seems to be aware of this, but rather than find a way to repent for everything he's done, Gabriel is basically going to take the coward's way out by forcing Marinette to sugarcoat his life instead of admitting he was, at the very least, a flawed parent, all so Adrien will feel bad when he finally drops dead.

And yeah, let's talk about how Gabriel assumes that Adrien shouldn't be allowed to know the truth... WHEN THAT'S NOT HIS DECISION TO MAKE. Adrien should be the one to judge whether he believes Gabriel was a good father or not. Of course Gabriel would assume he was a good father despite the numerous red flags, but Adrien is another story. By keeping the truth hidden from Adrien, you're depriving him of a potentially important moment in his life where he finally learns to break free from his father's influence. Instead, even though he's a fucking superhero, we're just supposed to accept the fact that Adrien is just a poor, fragile, sensitive baby boy who can't handle hearing any bad news or else I guess he'll explode. It says a lot when, of all movies, Star Trek V: The Final Frontier did a better job handling an idea like this, by saying that pain is a natural part of life.

But let's talk about the biggest problem with this turn of events: The fact that it essentially vindicates everything Gabriel has done, with or without the mask, as well as essentially convey a pro-child abuse message. In case you weren't around before I posted this review, I asked my followers who have been victims of child abuse or poor parenting to share their experiences so I could get an idea of how similar they were to what Adrien has had to go through. And a lot of them were pretty similar.

During almost all of what I read from these people, their parents or guardians shared one thing in common: An inability to admit being wrong. All of them tended to either blame their kids for whatever happened to them, or find ways to justify their poor treatment. As far as they're concerned, it's the kid's fault that they're being treated so poorly. And while I'm sure a handful of people isn't enough to survey the entire population of abuse victims on this planet, the fact that some of these people, as in actual victims of child abuse, were able to see similarities with their own upbringings and the way the main villain treats his son and don't buy the show deciding to act like all of that was perfectly okay says a lot about how much this finale dropped the ball when it came to the lesson it wanted to teach.

Yes, from what I've read from my followers and other things online, some abusive parents do believe that what they're doing to their children is out of a warped view of love, but that isn't enough to validate their actions completely, and it obviously doesn't validate Gabriel's actions during the last five seasons. During the entire run of the show, Gabriel has denied his son a normal life, treats him like an object, and despite claiming that he really loves him deep down, he almost never shows it. It seemed like the show was either going to have Gabriel realize the error of his ways due to how fruitless they ended up being, but having him get the upper hand on Marinette at the very last second ultimately makes it so all of his effort, every evil plan, every civilian endangered, was all worth it. And that's why Gabriel's final moments supposedly acting like he's repented for his actions don't work, and why it turned what was initially just a boring finale into one that was beyond infuriating.

And I'm assuming that you're thinking to yourself, what exactly is the wish Gabriel was so desperate to make that he tricked Marinette at the last second?

We never really learn what kind of wish Gabriel makes using Gimmi, even in the epilogue. I'm also going to talk about this in a later post, but of course Astruc, being Astruc had to give his usual sarcastic remarks to anyone who had the slightest question about what the hell just happened.

I love how someone will ask something like “Do you mind clearing up a few questions I have about the season finale?”, and Astruc will hear what they said as if they just asked, “Is Mylene secretly the reincarnation of the Anti-Christ?”.

So Gabriel makes his wish, somehow reunites with Emilie's soul as he ascends to Heaven... until the angels realize they made a horrible mistake, and send Gabriel to his custom-made Tenth Circle of Hell. Reality itself is rewritten and all of the characters we've come to know over the past five seasons are effectively dead. If that isn't supposed to be a happy ending, I don't know what is.

According to the transcript, it's been a month after the wish is made, we see how Paris has changed since then. Not only has Miss Bustier given birth to her baby, she's also been elected as Mayor of Paris, already passing her first law, the “Eco Rule”.

Miss Bustier: It consists of very simple principles: don't take more from the Earth than what it can give us, distribute its riches equitably and don't pollute more than it can recycle.

Remember when Mylene said that you can't solve climate change with a single law? I guess the writers forgot to recycle that moral too, because despite the vague as hell guidelines, Paris has already adapted to function without plastic wrappers or cars. Just remember, it's only been one month since the wish was made. Even Star Trek needed at least 130 years and a nuclear war before its utopian society could be established. And that's not even getting into the new school she's helped create.

Miss Bustier: In this new school, there will be no classes or struggling to get good grades. Children of all ages will be able to intermix and freely access all kinds of activities.

The fuck you mean ��no grades”?! How the hell will that even work?! We're supposed to see this as her being an impressive politician, but it comes across like some grade schooler's “If I were president” essay. And remember, ONE. MONTH.

How else has the Eco Rule been implemented? All of the Alliance rings have been melted down and reforged into a statue honoring... the great hero, Gabriel Agreste.

Yep. This is the ultimate fate of the main villain after five seasons of terrorizing the city of Paris: He gets a fucking statue in his honor. Are we sure this is a victory for the good guys? And no, just surviving the villain's master plan doesn't count as a win.

Even better, according to Adrien, he somehow helped defeat Monarch... even though Gabriel is Monarch, so is Monarch a different person in this world? What about Monarch's previous identities, Hawkmoth and Shadowmoth? Did they still exist in this world? They had to, considering that Chloe and Andre are still nowhere to be seen since the revolution, implying that either she's different in this world, or she also betrayed Ladybug for the same reasons. Nathalie is also back in full health, so did she ever use the Peacock? Was the Peacock ever damaged? We see Felix has it in this new world, but Emilie is still dead, so did she die of different causes in this timeline? Speaking of time, what happened to Bunnix? Did she survive too? Is she aware of the changes to the world like she was in “Cat Blanc”?

To summarize, WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!?

Adrien is hesitant to wear the ring because he's not sure if he can ever be even half the man his amazing father was. Marinette tells Adrien to be himself while handing the ring to him. So... was this an order? If so, was it intentional? Does Marinette even know what she's doing, or because she's a product of Gabriel's wish, she has to do this without a hitch? In fact, when he made the wish, why didn't Gabriel make Adrien, Felix, and Kagami humans instead of forcing them to rely on rings containing their souls that can easily break?

This scene is a great way to summarize Adrienette this season: The writers trying to write a heartwarming scene while hoping the audience doesn't think too hard about all the uncomfortable things it implies.

After reforging the Miraculous she got back from Monarch, Marinette decides to hand them off. Because fuck it, let's break the temp hero rule while we're at it! Chloe who? Ladybug, Cat Noir, Rena Rouge, Carapace, Viperion, Pegasus, Ryuko, Vesperia, Polymouse, Pigella, Purple Tigress, Miss Hound, Rooster Bold, Caprikid, Minotaurox, Bunnix, and even Argos (despite being the reason the heroes lost their Miraculous in the first place) assemble, ready for whatever challenge the world throws at them. Also, there's no reveal between Ladybug and Cat Noir this season because the writers still want to drag this plotline out, even when there's no excuse as to why they can't now that Monarch is gone.

We then learn who got the Butterfly Miraculous: Lila, who plans to get revenge on Marinette. Yep, the girl who has never even touched a Miraculous in five seasons is going to be Hawkmoth's successor. Not Tomoe (who I should mention never answered for being Gabriel's accomplice), not Audrey, not even Chloe. It's Lila. How the hell did she even get it anyway? Did Gabriel intentionally recreate the world to have Lila get the Butterfly Miraculous, or did Lila somehow retain her memories through close proximity to the wish and--

Fuck it, season's over anyway. Thank God...

THE BIGGEST IDIOT OF THE EPISODE IS...MARINETTE

While I can't say for certain what she did with Adrien is her fault thanks to Gabriel making the wish, I can say a good chunk of the things Marinette did leading up to Gabriel winning are on her. She recklessly used her Cataclysm multiple times in her fight with Monarch, tried to crush Emilie's comatose body with debris, once again chose to gloat about how she was going to take Gabriel's Miraculous instead of just doing it the first chance she got, seemingly forgot Adrien was a Sentimonster, and somehow managed to lose even when she had Gabriel at her mercy.

So, yeah... this finale was terrible, if it wasn't obvious from this review.

It was just a complete trainwreck from start to finish. A good chunk of the first part was spent either ignoring the events of the last episode, or coming up with excuses as to why Adrien shouldn't get involved. And that's not even getting into Nathalie's “redemption”, which only really happened once she had nothing to lose, seeing how she was even closer to dying than Gabriel was. In fact, now that I think about it, why was more emphasis given to Nathalie's declining health over Gabriel? You know, the guy who's enacting his final plan because he's supposedly hours from death, yet effortlessly manages to clone himself, fly around the world as an Akuma, and keep up with Bug Noire when he struggled to enact a plan that required him to leave the lair without traveling around the world during “Intuition”? Given how we now know that the writers wanted the final battle to involve Bug Noire, I'm starting to think they also prioritized her opponent being in top shape while ignoring the Cataclysm wound affecting him.

The second half was mostly boring thanks to just how low the stakes felt. We know where Adrien is, and since Bug Noire was fighting Monarch, there was no danger of them taking her Miraculous, so for the most part, the Miraculized fighting the other heroes just felt like padding. Nobody even seemed to look for Ladybug or Cat Noir, not even the heroes. Of course, then we got to Gabriel's wish. I've gone over this before, but it bears repeating. Gabriel's “redemption” just doesn't work due to how little effort is spent actually making the audience feel bad for him other than saying “His wife is dead, and he's sad, so that justifies everything”. It doesn't help that we kind of had four episodes explaining why some people can't change, and it wasn't used when talking about Gabriel, but rather, Chloe and Lila. Because these writers really have their priorities straight.

The ending of the season itself practically falls apart with how many plotholes and unfortunate implications it has. And before you say that stuff like Adrien once again being left in the dark can be resolved next season, here's the thing: This was planned to be the series finale with how everything feels wrapped up. There's a sense of finality that shows all the main characters getting their happy ending, and we're just supposed to not question the new utopia Paris is now, much less the fact that even after eight years, Ladybug and Cat Noir still don't know who the other is. Even putting that aside, the show has always done a poor job of following up on plotpoints established in earlier seasons, as the lunchroom scene from “Illusion” shows.

Here's a summary of all the lessons the finale teaches: We shouldn't hold terrorists accountable for their actions if they just say they love their family, abuse victims should be constantly coddled and shouldn't be allowed to know the truth about their viewers, it's okay to keep crucial information from your significant other, genocide is okay as long as the person who commits it says it's for a good cause, love for others can easily be taken advantage of, so never trust anyone, genocide is the only way to create an eco-friendly world, environmental protection laws can be passed within a month and nobody (not even car manufacturers) will complain, teenage girls are worse than abusive parents who double as supervillains, and even if it was planned for almost a decade, don't let your main heroine be the one to save the day, but rather, the villain.

If anyone reading this is planning on becoming a writer and is worried that people won't like their work, just remember that there are people who get paid to work on this show.

But yeah, this is how the season ends, not with a bang, but with a nosedive. I was mostly pissed off with how Seasons 3 and 4 ended, but here? I'm just disappointed. This was the finale that we waited eight years for. The epic final battle against Monarch, and rather than the ultimate fight to the finish, the writers came with several excuses to not involve one of the two main characters in the final battle, the other main character fails to actually save the day, and the villain is rewarded for all of actions because he chose to turn himself into a messiah. I tuned into this season to at least see how the story would end out of curiosity, but it didn't even deliver an ending that made all the pointless filler, poor writing, and bad characterization worth it. I started this finale off bored, and I ended up furious for how lackluster this ending felt. It says a lot when this finale has been compared to Star vs. the Forces of Evil in terms of just screwing everything up.

THE BIGGEST IDIOT OF THE SEASON IS... MARINETTE

Marinette may not have been able to beat Gabriel in terms of stopping his plan, but she did manage to outdo him in terms of stupidity. Because she got the award four times this season (Evolution, Revelation, Confrontation, Re-Creation), she takes home the title of Biggest Idiot.

And for those who are curious or didn't keep up with my reviews, Gabriel gets second place with three Biggest Idiot Awards (Intuition, Protection, Revolution), we have a five-way tie for third place with Luka (Determination, Migration), Mayor Andre (Adoration, Action), Chloe (Deflagration, Collusion), Felix (Emotion, Representation), and Nathalie (Passion, Conformation), who all got the award twice, and a ten-way tie for fourth place with Alya (Multiplication), Xuppu (Destruction), Mr. Damocles (Jubiliation), Nino (Illusion), Joan of Arc (Reunion), Ice Cream Man Andre (Elation), Kagami (Perfection), Kim (Derision), and Tomoe (Pretension) each getting the award once.

And with that, we're done with Season 5. It's been a long road, but all I can say is...

At least, until the analysis and ranking posts.

[netherfeildren]

Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .4

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Mutual masturbation; Come eating; Angst; Vague mention of abortion; Discussions of child neglect; Discussions of unwanted pregnancy

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Some of this is so… phew… idk what came over me or how i come up with some of this shit. sorry (but not really). Joel’s a little nasty in this beware

Art is by Denis Sarazhin.

Word Count: 7.7K

Read on AO3

.4

A single person is missing for you, and the whole world is empty.

Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

To think that despite his momentary acquiescence to your need for space, he was not, afterwards, made into a raving, snarling beast prowling its cage after having tasted you, would be fallacy – because that was what he was calling it in his mind, for now. Not yet ready to accept it within himself as a full blown rejection, so yes, for now, space, time.

He returns home with Sarah after the lakehouse – Eva gone off with her girlfriends on an extension of the weekend, wanting to draw out the farewell to summer just a little longer – to their routine of lunches and snacks and daycare and evenings playing mermaids and dinosaurs in the little pool in the backyard that he’d gotten for her at HEB. He tries to be good, to remain calm, controlled, but it’s just short of impossible. He feels as though he still has the taste of you on the surface of his tongue, the sounds of your moans ringing in his ears at all hours of the day, in bed at night, hard and aching and alone, wanting you. This turns out to be a different type of hell to the one he’s usually used to, that of monotony and loneliness and resentment. No, this is burning and painful, a type of fire that whips through his arteries and chars his bones and leaves him dizzy and disoriented.

He’s never experienced something like this before. Not in his entire life. 

It is not easy, per se, but productive, to lose himself in his work, and the start of Sarah’s school year. She’s in a 3K program for the fall, her first time going to a real school, and the work and preparation and pure fucking anxiety induced at the thought of his baby going to such a big school is overwhelming. No small feat to accomplish all on his own. 

But at night, after he’s worked himself into the ground all day, and read Sarah her bedtime story, at least three times, sometimes up to seven, but never passing ten, that was their very strict rule, and tucked her in and checked the closet and under the bed and behind the door for monsters, when he’s finally found himself alone and quiet and with a spare, but infinitely painful moment to think of you, he lets you in, in full force.

He pulls his shirt up over the back of his head, tossing it into the hamper as he passes his closet into his restroom, undoes his belt and jeans, pulling his contraband from the pocket, to push them off as he reaches to turn on the shower. 

As he lets the water heat up, he pauses to look at himself in the mirror. Tall, long frame, still pleasing to a woman, he’d imagine. Well, he hopes so. He’s still strong, his shoulders broad, his chest built from the long hours of hauling and climbing and exhaustive physical labor. There are a few grays threaded through the dark curls at his temples. Sprouting, just in the last year, to remind him that he’s getting older. One of his buddies had told him that eventually everything went gray, everything. That weirded the fuck out of him, to be honest.  He hates the thought of you seeing that, thinking of him as old. You’re so much younger than him. So pretty. Too pretty. His middle has gone slightly softer since hitting forty, but only slightly. There’s no helping that. And the small creases at the corners of his eyes… shit, he’s getting old. But his cock is still long and thick, and he’ll give that to you as much as you’ll let him. If you ever let him. All the time if he can. All he has to do is find a way to see you again, to convince you to let him see you again.

He feels a small bitter ribbon of self consciousness curl through his stomach as he takes himself in. He doesn’t want you to think of him as some old man. Some old, sleazy man who’d seen you and been so fucking desperate for you, he hadn’t cared that he was married, that you’re too young for him, that he has a family, and responsibilities and a life, like some pathetic fucking pervert. You’re just so lovely, so soft and pretty and you smell so good, always. And he’s been so alone for so fucking long. He is lonely. And you, you’d looked at him, you’d seen him, you’d wanted him back just as fiercely as he’d wanted you, even if just for a moment. How was he ever supposed to be strong enough to resist that? And further than your wanting, you’re good and kind and smart and so fucking funny and adorable. Joel could be strong when he needed to be, but he could also be weak, and he thinks that you, perhaps, have the power to make him weaker than anything else. 

What do you do when you meet a woman, have a child, get married, and then find the person who you could very well fall, probably, very deeply in love with?

Because yes, even now, he is emotionally aware enough to recognize that. More than anything, he can recognize that he has, as of yet, never been in love, but that you present the great, great possibility for that. And yes, it’s too soon, and maybe nonsensical or crazy or what have you, but Joel has always been a man that’s known himself well. When he knows, he knows, and when he chooses, he chooses, and he is very close to knowing and choosing you. 

He looks down at your panties laying on the bathroom counter – the ones he’d stolen. After you’d slipped them off, too wet from your come, from him making you come – they’re his now. 

He runs his thumb and forefinger along the silk lace at the edge. They’re a pretty, soft blue. He loves the color blue now. It will, forevermore, be his favorite color after this. The cut in the back is high, he knows the soft flesh of your ass was left mostly uncovered by them, he remembers he felt it when you rode his thigh. He wishes he could have seen it. He hopes he’ll have another chance to see it. 

If he thinks about it hard enough, he can imagine that the middle gusset is still damp from you. He brings them to his face, presses them to his nose and inhales deeply. The scent: still faintly musky, but also, slightly sweet. He sticks his tongue out to taste the fabric, and a violent shiver passes through him. He has to clutch at the countertop to hold himself upright. His cock is fully erect and leaking now. 

He has to taste you. He has to get the chance to. He’ll die if he doesn’t. He’s sure of it.

He brings the soft lace down to his aching erection. He doesn’t care if he’s disgusting. He doesn’t care about anything. All he wants is to feel you. To temper this fire churning in his blood. He can’t remember the last time his body felt like this, the last time he wanted something this fucking badly he felt like he’d die if he didn’t have it. Maybe never – he doesn’t think he’s ever felt like this. He wraps your panties around his hard length and starts to jack himself off. Strong, tight strokes from base to tip with the tiny, blue silk sliding along his fevered skin. The sound of your orgasm, the look in your eyes as you humped his thigh, ground your little clit on him and soaked his denim. He should’ve touched you more when he had the chance. He wants to fuck you so badly, wants to sink into the tight, wet clutch of your cunt and fuck you full of his come. Mark you. Brand himself into your skin so that you’re never without him. He wants you to smell like him. He wants to feel the wet gush he felt on his jeans on his cock and dripping down his balls, and Jesus fucking Christ, he comes at that. Long, thick ropes of white spend, spitting from his swollen tip at the thought of your pussy coming around him, a desperate whimper escaping in the quiet loneliness of his restroom.  

-

He thinks of you constantly, what seems like every moment of the day, in the weeks that follow. As much as he tries to keep a straight head on, he can’t. He craves you, dreams of you, fucks his hand to the memory of you coming for him, spilling his seed over and over again in the shower at the remembered look in your eyes and the sounds you made for him. He can’t help himself. 

Outside of that, everything else in his life is bleak and slow and… and he doesn’t know what else to call it, except for sad and wanting. Lonely. To have touched something so alive, so beautiful and sweet and perfect, and then be forced to return to the barren landscape that is his life in everything outside of his daughter, it’s jarringly difficult to do. He wants to be strong, to do what you asked of him, but it had been so long since he’d really wanted something for himself. Couldn’t remember what the last thing had been, really, and so to now have something to desire, something to want and think of, it makes him weak and fills his head with all kinds of excuses to see you, to call you – he’d forced Tommy to steal your number for him out of Gerri’s phone – to go to your work and wait for you to come out, just so he can catch a single glimpse of you.

He restrains himself from that, though. He forces himself to focus his mind on other things, Sarah and school and playdates, and he works himself like a dog, taking on more contracts than he ever has before. He doesn’t give himself any time to rest, any time to think, and in the few moments that he does, when he stares at your number on the screen of his phone, imagining what it is he’d say to you if he called, if you answered, what the sound of your voice would be like saying hello to him, saying his name, or in the moments when he fucks himself raw and spent and sad, those are the moments when he feels weakest, when he feels most alone, when he’s almost overwhelmed with wanting. 

-

He only lasts a measly three weeks after the lake house before he’s outside of the elementary school, one late Wednesday afternoon during the second week of the new school year. The sky is dark and angry, on the verge of a downpour, and he’s been waiting, agitated and anxious, for about half an hour, before you finally come out the double doors. 

The lightest sprinkling of rain is starting up, and he jumps out of his truck’s cab, jacket in hand, to approach you. He says your name softly as he comes up on your side while you’re distracted, digging in your purse for something.

You jump slightly at the sound of his voice and turn your wide, worried eyes on him, “Joel–” your voice, soft and breathy, so sweet, “Is everything okay? What are you doing here? Is Sarah okay?”

He holds his hands up in what he hopes is an appeasing, non-threatening gesture, he doesn’t want you nervous. Fucking Christ, asking for Sarah with that look of worry in your eyes, “Everything’s fine, sweetheart,” how in the fuck is he supposed to not be obsessed with you? “I was just – I was just hoping we could talk, is all.”

You look around at the sparsely filled parking lot, as if searching for witnesses, or perhaps, an escape, but then you turn back to him and pause to take him in. He watches the sweep of your eyes down his body, and then back up, stopping to search for something in his eyes. Whatever you find there must give you the answer you need because you nod your head once, “Alright, we can talk,” you say softly.

“My truck? Can we drive for a bit? I’ll bring you back.” You nod again, and he drapes his jacket over your shoulders to protect you from the drizzle as he leads you to his truck. “S’bout to come down hard,” he murmurs as he opens the passenger door for you, taking your wrist in his hold to help you up into the truck. He can’t help himself, he reaches for your seatbelt and buckles you in himself – is filled with an obscenely embarrassing fizz of pleasure at the gesture of it. 

You’re looking at him with the most concerned little frown marring the soft spot between your delicate brows, “Are you okay?” your voice slow and unsure, and then more of him being unable to help himself, to keep his hands to himself, because he reaches up and gently brushes his thumb over the little frowning wrinkle, nods his head once. 

“I’m okay, baby.”

He drives for a bit, takes you to a spot up in the hills he likes to come to sometimes when he needs to think. Somewhere the two of you can be alone and quiet, just for a moment. He parks the truck by a copse of trees, a view of Austin on the other side of the two of you. The rain has turned into a violent downpour by now. He shuts off the engine and looks out at the view of the city. 

-

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t bother you – you asked me to stay away, but –” He lets his head fall back against the headrest and sighs, and the sound of it is so weary, pained in a way that’s so very, very sad. It makes you hurt for him. You reach across the center console to grip his bicep, you can’t help yourself. You could see from the first look at his face that something was wrong. You know he wouldn’t have come to look for you if he didn’t need you now. 

“You’re not bothering me. I know I shouldn’t, but I wanted to see you too.” You only confess this because of the look in his eyes. The glassy, burdened look of them. You wish that you could climb into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck, press your warmth into him. The rain hits the windshield like bullets, the sound deafening. The world outside of his truck’s cabin seems distorted, as if this liminal space the two of you sit in now, has been carved out of the rest of the real world, and the two of you exist here now, only, together. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’,” he wraps his hand over yours on his arm, drags his thumb over the smooth little hills of your knuckles. His gaze out the window is so far away, lost, something almost childlike in its desolation. You watch the strong ripple of his neck as he swallows, clears his throat. “Nothing – just wanted to see you. ‘Dunno… Felt so tired today.” He closes his eyes for a moment, “Couldn’t stop myself. Wanted to just give myself this one thing.” He lets his head roll against the seat to look at you, gives you the gentle curve of his crooked smile. So beautiful and so sad, and you can tell that something is endlessly wrong. You feel afraid, for one moment, that he’s going to start crying, the sadness in his eyes is so overwhelming. You don’t think you’ll be able to stand the sight of his tears, you think they might break you. “Just wanted to look at you, to sit here with you, just for a little bit.”

“Alright.” You’re quiet for a beat, watching him watch the rain. Part of you wants to give him space, give him quiet, but you need to know what’s wrong. You can’t bear the look in his eyes right now. “Did something happen?”

He’s silent, as if gathering his thoughts or his strength around him, and then: “Eva had a pregnancy scare this week.” A jagged shiver slices through you.

“What?” You croak, you try to pull your hand back, but he clamps down on your bones, holds you to him. “But I thought–”

He shakes his head, “Not mine.”

“Joel… what? Are– are you–” You blink furiously, at a loss. What do you say to the man who you’re kind of having an affair with when he tells you his wife, who is also seemingly having an affair, might be pregnant with another man’s child? This is all so, so fucked up. So ugly. You swallow, turn to look out at the rain. You don’t want to cry, but you can’t seem to help the tears from pooling. A bombardment of recurring images from your childhood slingshotting through your mind; your mother, leaving, angry, cold, quiet. Always pushing you away. The sound of her crying through her bedroom door, your child’s ear, pressed to the cool grain, trying to get as close to her as possible even though she doesn’t want you. Always shutting you out. Your father, dead to the world on the sofa in the living room, drowning in his liquor and yearning and hurt. The sight of a tall, handsome stranger, coming up the front walk to ring the doorbell, to take your mother away with him. The way he’d crouched down from his great height to ask you what your name was because she hadn’t even bothered to tell the man she was having an affair with, the man she was leaving you for, what your name was. 

What is it about being unlovable, you wonder, and why is it that some are cursed with it so cruelly, while others are not?

“Hey,” Joel tugs on your wrist, pulls you closer to him. “I told you, we’re not like that, we’ve never been. I don’t want you thinkin’ somethin’ else, that I haven’t been honest.” He drags the pad of his thumb over your cheekbone, tips your head back to catch your eyes. You let them flutter shut and swallow, open them again. If you talk you’ll cry, but he needs words from you now. You swallow again, shake your head. 

“It’s– it’s not that. I believe you. And even if it was otherwise, I have no right–”

“Stop. Don’t say that. You know that isn’t true. You have the right to honesty after what I’ve told you, after what we’ve done.” You try to pull back, but he brings his palm to wrap around the back of your neck and grip you by the scruff. “Stop,” he grits, “Don’t pull away from me.” 

You bring your palms up to his chest, clutch at the collar of his shirt. “I’m not. I’m not, I’m sorry. It’s just–” you huff a sharp, bitter laugh, “Sometimes it’s like you’re just telling me the story of my childhood, over and over again. Like you’re living it again for me. This all sounds very pathetically familiar.” A tear finally falls, you can’t help it. A weeper in a long line of weepers, always. 

“Sweetheart…” he brushes the track of your tear away with his thumb.

You shake your head. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Is she?”

“She’s fine. Took her to the doctor this morning.”

“God, Joel– I don’t – I don’t know how you do this.” Another tear. You think of your father, how weak, how broken he was after her. He could have never shouldered the things Joel does. You feel very sad, very sorry, for the both of them, as different as they are. You feel sorry for the whole miserable lot of you, really.

“She needed my help, she was scared–” his thumb sweeps a slow, hypnotizing path up and down the back of your neck. The rough callus on his thumb catches at your sensitive skin and makes you feel hot and sweaty and overwhelmed for the feel of it on every other tender place on your body. “Terrified, really. Of being trapped like that again.”

“Trapped?”

“Sarah was never her plan. Neither of us were. She never wanted any of this.”

“You told me the marriage wasn’t conventional… but I didn’t – I didn’t think Sarah was included in that…” Your stories are too similar, the similarities too painfully familiar.

“We met at a bar, it was–” he looks away, and you watch a hot flush flood his cheeks. He’s embarrassed to tell you this. “It was a one night thing. Her birth control failed, and then – it was just – well, ending the pregnancy was never an option for her, and I told her from the get go that I’d do whatever she wanted, support her in anything she chose. She chose to go on with it. So I asked her to marry me, it made sense, it was– it was the convenient thing. At least, at the time – in my mind, it seemed so. But we – we were strangers, there was no connection. And then… I don’t know. It wasn’t, eventually – it wasn’t the right thing, at all, for any of us. She never wanted to be a mother. She told me once, after, that she’d chosen wrong, she’d made the wrong decision. And I always tried to be supportive, but by that time, well – we had Sarah by that time, and I– I loved her more than anything I’d ever loved in my whole life. Didn’t even know it was possible to love anything that much – and it made me so fucking angry with her – to–  to hear her say something like that, that she should’ve gotten rid of her. It was – I don’t know – a very complicated and painful thing –  for the both of us to grapple with, I guess. But I–” he pauses, takes a deep breath. His eyes shift madly, looking out the window as if the rain will bring with it an explanation or an escape for whatever it is that’s churning inside his mind as he tells you this. “There was never really anything to be angry with, I don’t think. No real reason or focus for my anger. I realized it’s impossible to fault a person for not being what they were never meant to be. She never wanted this. And I hadn’t planned for it, it just happened. And the decisions we made were made, and then things just ended up as they did. Sometimes – I don’t,” he frowns, shaking his head, “I don’t know how to say it, but–” He turns to you now, a wild, pleading look in his eyes, “But how can I say that we made a mistake, without saying that Sarah was a mistake? Because if I’ve ever done a single thing absolutely perfect, in my whole entire life, it’s that little girl. She’s perfect. You know what I mean?”

You nod, swallowing back your tears, “Yes.”

He frowns at you, his eyes filled with infinite tenderness, “Don’t cry, sweetheart.”

“I’m not,” you lie, turning to press the back of your hand to your hot eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just – it reminds me of myself, of my own mother. She – she was the same, I think. Never meant to be a mother. But not bad. It’s just what it was. And hearing you, hearing this, it makes me so sad for you, for all of you. I’m sorry.” He leans forward, wraps his hand around your jaw to press his brow to your wet cheek and just holds there. The two of you breathe each other in, match the cadence of your breaths to the other. You snake your arms around his broad shoulders to press yourself closer to him. It scares you, this feeling of necessity he forces out of you, like you need him, even this soon, for strength, for comfort, for happiness. You’ve never felt like this before, and it’s coming on so quickly, overwhelming you. You feel like you need him, and if you don’t have him you’ll never be happy for the rest of your life, you’ll never be able to forget him, to let him go. He shifts to nuzzle against your cheek and then your jaw, and then the hot press of his lips to the tender spot behind your ear. A violent tremble moves through you at the feel of his soft mouth against your skin, and you dig your nails harshly into his shoulders. 

“I just– lemme just–” he mumbles against your skin, and then that hand wrapped around your jaw is turning your head and forcing your mouth open so that he’s kissing you, licking into your mouth and everything goes tight and painful and white hot inside of you. “Jesus–” he says against your mouth. He forces your head back to deepen the angle, his other hand coming up to fist painfully in your hair, and you whimper into him. His answering groan is deep and rumbling and so, so wanting. Your heart feels like it’s flipping and squeezing and pinching inside your ribcage. You can hear how much he wants you, this, in the cadence of the sounds he makes. The kiss is wet, sloppy, full of teeth and all the desperation and yearning of these past few weeks. The days and days of not seeing him, of remembering your encounter in that dark room at the lake house, the way he’d made you come against his thigh, the sound of his own orgasm, the inhibition, the flush in his cheeks as he spilled in his jeans for you. The desperate, pathetic nights of your cunt stuffed full of your fingers, so wet and aching and still not enough even though you’d made yourself orgasm multiple times at just the memory of him. You claw at his hair and neck and back, you want to draw blood, imprint yourself on him in some way, the same way he’s imprinted himself on you. He brings the hand in your hair down to your waist to press you closer to him. The center console digs painfully into your ribs and you want to climb over it and settle in his lap, but you know you shouldn’t, that if you end up over there you’ll let him fuck you, and that you’ll never come back from that. Not ever. He drags his hand up to your breast, grips the heavy weight in his large palm and squeezes, and it hurts and it feels so, so fucking good that you rip yourself away from his mouth, push at his broad chest to force him away from you. The both of you stare at each other, wide eyed and panting great, heaving gasps. His hair is sticking up at all angles, messy from your pillaging fingers, his eyes glassy and his cheeks flushed almost feverish. 

Oh, you want him so badly. This will be your undoing. 

“We– we can’t– I didn’t come here with you for– for that,” you gasp, pressing your fingers to your wet mouth.

“I know– I know– shit, we–” He passes a palm over his mouth, and you feel another tear slide down your burning cheek. You’re surprised you don’t see steam rise at the contact. “Fuck – fuck, baby, please. Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I got carried away– ”

“I’m not crying– I’m not.” Maybe if you say it enough times it’ll be true. You turn to wipe it away on the hill of your shoulder, try to hide your face.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you

“I wanted you to. I want it so badly,” you cry, squeezing your eyes shut tight. You feel inconsolable. 

“I know– I know.”

You want him so badly, so badly, so badly, you want him to keep touching you forever. “It hurts, Joel. It hurts–”

“Jesus, what hurts? Tell me.” He leans forward, gripping your knee painfully tight, and you press yourself into the door at your back, “Fuck– is that sweet, little cunt aching for me? Tell me, baby.”

You nod

“Fuck, what if– what if we just – just watch each other? What if you pet your cunt for me, and let me watch? Just– just to make the ache go away? Would that be okay?”

You shake your head, unsure, but your hand is clutching his over your knee now, digging your nails into the top of his palm and letting him slowly push your knee open further. 

His voice is so coaxing. Oh, he shouldn’t use that tone of voice against you, you’re powerless to it. “You can, it’s okay. It’s just to make the ache go away, it’s okay,” and you have no choice but to capitulate, no desire to not give in.

His palm on your knee slides up your thigh, pushing your skirt to bunch at your hips, and he hooks one finger into the side of your panties to pull them down as you lift your hips, allowing him to divest you of them. So easy, you’re so fucking easy, and you don’t even care. All you can focus on right now is the throbbing ache between your legs. 

His eyes don’t leave yours as he says, “Spread your legs… that’s it.” 

“Don’t– don’t look–” you stutter as you bring your shaking fingers to your core, and he’s leaning back to undo his belt and drag his zipper down. You can’t look either, you can’t, if you do, you’ll lose, you know it. You see the peripheral movement of him reaching into his clothes to pull the heft of his cock out, the shift of his upper body as he lifts his hips to readjust his pants to free himself. Your cunt is slick and throbbing, painfully swollen. 

You watch the movement of his shoulder as he starts to jack himself, “Just your clit first, baby. Soft, little circles, yeah… how does that feel?”

“Good– good, yes.” You’re panting, mouth hanging open. There is fire in his gaze, all for you, only for you. 

“Yeah? You need more?”

“Please, Joel–” You don’t know what you’re begging for, but you don’t think it’s for your touch alone. 

“Give yourself one finger, sweetheart. Just one – tell me how wet it is? Are you soaked for me?”

You press one finger inside, and yes, yes, your’re fucking soaked for him, you say. He groans at that, the rhythm of his shoulder gets faster. “I have to look, baby. Please, please, I have to see how wet it is.” The tops of his cheeks are flushed red, but as you watch the downward shift of his eyes to your spread sex, the place where you’re impaling yourself with a single finger, his eyes flare, the flush seems to ricochet even higher, hotter. You pull your finger out to cup yourself, hide yourself, burning with shyness and lust, but fuck, the look in his eyes, it’s bright hot, devouring. No one has ever looked at you like that. Never. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he moans, “Put ‘em back in. Fuck yourself, make yourself come. I have to see it.” So fucking gorgeous, you hear him mutter under his breath, and you finally give yourself permission to look down as you stuff two fingers back into your desperate pussy. Fuck your rules, you have to see him.

He’s huge.

Thick and long, the size of his cock is not made smaller by the massive breadth of his fist holding it in a vice-like grip, jacking it, tight and fast. The head is flushed a deep, angry red, the slit at the top weeping a pearly stream of precum that makes your mouth water and the muscles in your pelvis tighten – you want to taste him, you want him to fuck your mouth until you’re forced to swallow his load. There’s a thick vein running up the entire length of the underside of the shaft that you’re sure you’d feel his pulse in if you set your tongue against it. He’s pulled his heavy balls out over the edge of his jeans too, and he cups them and squeezes. 

“Spread yourself wider for me – yeah like that… Lemme see you stretch that cunt.”Oh, he’s so dirty. 

You’re sucking in quick, shallow gulps of air, on the verge of hyperventilating as you watch his massive palm beat at his cock, almost dizzy with lust, your blood rushing in your head, your pussy sopping wet, tight as a knot. This isn’t enough, you want to stop, you want to go further, you want him to touch you, to climb into his lap, to take that heavy, thick weight inside of you and feel him stretch you to the point of pain. “Don’t look– you shouldn’t look–” you don’t know why you say it, maybe because you feel you have to, but it’s nonsensical when your eyes are glued to him. 

“I have to look, baby. Please, don’t ask me that. I have to see it – fuck, you’re so gorgeous, look at you. Prettiest fucking cunt I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“Stop,” you moan, arching your back further to crook your fingers inside of yourself, hitching your knees higher to pet at the spongy, tender spot inside you that you’d like him to own. “St– stop– I’m–  m’not your baby– don’t– don’t– oh fuck, I’m gonna come–” your eyes roll to the back of your head at the sound of his choked growl, his eyes glued to your stretched sex, the sounds of your wetness and his slick palm echoing in the truck cabin. 

“You are, you are – even if you won’t let me touch you, won’t let me have you – you fucking belong to me now. Already, even like this – look at you, about to come for me with just my eyes on you.” His hips start to lift into his fist, his hand almost a blur for how fast he’s fucking himself, teeth gritted, tendons in his strong neck popping starkly under the surface of his flushed, sweaty skin. 

“Fuck– fuck, it’s so pretty.”

“Stop– please, Joel, I need–”

“Wanna taste it and fuck it and fill it with my come–”

“Oh my fucking God–” you’re going to come, now, now, it’s right there. You tell him.

“One more finger – lemme see you stretch yourself… yeah like that… my good fucking girl,” grunted as you stuff a third finger inside and start to spasm, mewling high and desperate for him, grinding your clit against the mound of your palm. You want his cock to stretch you like this, and you tell him. The sound he makes at your desperate plea, as if it’s been ripped out of him, painful, desperate, savage. You watch the wide head flush an almost deeper shade, verging on purple now, and he squeezes the base cruelly, his sack fisted tight in his other hand, and he starts to come, a thick white stream of milky spend that makes your mouth water, sliding over his fist and spurting onto his exposed belly. “Oh God, Joel, I want it.” You can’t stop the words, the sight of his orgasm forces them out of you. 

“I know, baby, I know. I want to give it to you,” he says through clenched teeth. 

You both stay frozen like that for a moment as you come down, panting and staring at each other wide eyed and flushed and trembling. That was, perhaps, no, it was without a doubt, the most intense thing you’ve ever experienced with a man, and you’d barely even touched each other. Pain and pleasure coalesce to leave you shaking and sweating, your skin hypersensitive. You’re scared you’re going to start crying again and scare him, give him the wrong idea – that you’d not liked this, that you’d not wanted this. When the truth is that nothing could ever compare to how much you wanted, needed it. How much you’ll want this forever now. You want to take him inside of you. The sheer force of your desire almost has a flavor, a shape to it. The strength of it, so potent, it is almost made sentient – a living thing. 

You pull your wet fingers out, and he snaps forward suddenly, to snatch your hand towards himself and brings the slick digits into his mouth, his tongue laving hot and wet between the spaces, sucking on them. All the while his eyes are zeroed in on the space between your legs, on the place that is still clenching and stretched, so ready and eager for him to fill. You gasp at his ferocity, at the feral look in his eyes because you can see, you can see that almost sentient desire you’re filled with, reflected in his own eyes. 

“Joel–” you whisper as he presses one final kiss to the wet tips of your fingers, his eyes fluttering shut as he holds there for one moment. 

“I know–” he whispers back, and when his eyes come back to yours, there is such a depth of understanding in them. You realize in this moment, in this shared look, that the two of you are the same in an essential way. It isn’t just your desire that connects the two of you now, it’s so much more. A loneliness, a sentimentality, perhaps, a keen sense of familiarity. That vein of shyness, of being closed off, that fear of opening up, of being hurt, of being left. He’s the same, you can see it, feel it. 

You’d never thought you had a very good sense of self identity – your perception of yourself skewed in the image of your mother, of who she was, of her shadow, of the things she’d done, but in this moment, looking into the reflection of Joel’s eyes, you feel you see yourself very clearly, almost securely, for the first time. It is recognition the two of you are sharing now, for some reason, in some way, you recognize him. And you find it ironic, that now, in this moment of all times, when you’re doing the very thing that you’d always been so afraid of, of turning into the thing that you’d always feared because of your mother, it is ironic that you are finally able to cast away her shadow, her image, and see only yourself, so clearly, so wholly, because of him.

And yet, despite the sudden, blinding clarity, oh, it was all so dark, so dark, that it be this man, this unavailable, married, unreachable man, that would make you feel so wholly seen, so understood, so connected. 

Your wrist is left wet and sticky where he’s gripped you with his spend covered fingers, but you’re careful not to wipe it away. You want to be left with the tightness of his dried come over your skin. 

“Don’t say that we shouldn’t have done that,” he tells you.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Good.”

“I was going to say that I wish we could do it again – that I wish we could do more.”

“Shit–” he whispers, passes his dry palm over his mouth and then up into his hair, to tug at the messy curls. You move to right your clothes, and he follows your lead, tucking himself back into his jeans. “Me too.”

You let your head rest back against the window as the two of you stare at each other in silence for a moment. It’s comforting, filled with companionship, understanding, the intimacy of the moment the two of you just shared. Your cheeks feel hot and you can’t help but smile at him, just a little, a small laugh escaping, and then he’s returning it, smiling and laughing softly too, until the both of you are wracked with the most ridiculous, schoolyard giggles, like two blushing teenagers. It’s a wonderful moment for the purity of it, the two of you together, laughing. Later, you’re sure it will make you very sad and desperate to relive it, but now, oh, now, it really does feel so wonderful. You wish the two of you could live here forever, together in this moment, in the warm, intimate space of his truck’s cabin.

You talk for hours after that, about nothing and everything. His work and yours, your art, his love of building things, of taking care of things, music and movies and books and Sarah. Always, Sarah. 

“She has an obsession with bats right now, weird kid, and there’s a sanctuary up town. We spent a few hours there on Saturday, she loved it. Scampering around in this Snow White princess dress she’s refused to take off for the past three weeks. Won’t part with the damn thing, not even to let me wash it.”

He loves her so much, and it makes your heart pinch and your eyes go hot and weepy. He is, you think, an exceptionally good father, an exceptionally good man. 

Eventually, however, it gets late enough that the two of you realize you need to get home. He drives you back to the school in the most comfortable of silences, your hand intertwined reassuringly in his strong embrace. It feels worryingly natural, right. 

“Will you let me see you again?” he asks when he pulls up next to your lonely car in the school parking lot. 

“I don’t– I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Joel. This will only go further from here if we continue. And I don’t– I can’t be your–” you frown, shaking your head, disgusted at yourself for even having to say the words, “I can’t be your mistress,” you tell him bluntly.

“I would never, never ask that of you.”

“So, then what is it supposed to be? You’re going to leave your wife? That– that isn’t what I want. I don’t want to be the thing that breaks your marriage up, your family, that leaves Sarah in a broken home. I cannot be that.” It would be your worst nightmare come to life. 

He says your name in the most serious tone you think he can muster, as if he can imbue the understanding of his words into your stubborn skull with the resonance of it, “There is no marriage to break up. She’s leaving soon, I know it, I can tell. She’s done. She’s leaving Sarah, and I don’t think she’s coming back this time. I don’t think I can let her just – just come in and out of our daughter’s life like that. Something needs to stop or change. I have to do something to make this better for my girl.”

“I understand that, and I can’t– I can’t tell you how sorry I am to hear that for Sarah. For you. Really, I understand more than I can tell you – but still, when it comes to you and I, or you and her – I can’t … I can’t get into that like this. I– I, I don’t–” you pant, “I don’t know. I’m sorry. But I can’t do that, this. Not now.”

“Baby–”

“No, Joel. You don’t understand – I watched my mother cheat on my father my entire childhood, until she up and left us one day, left him. I watched him love her for years, unreturned, suffer for her, and then I watched him kill himself slowly, drink himself to death until I buried him.”

“That isn’t what Eva and I are–”

“I cannot have an affair with you. I know – I know that’s basically what we’re already fucking doing – I know I’m a hypocrite–”

“You’re not–”

“But I can’t also be the reason you leave your marriage. It would kill me – do you understand?” your voice cracks, you’re shocked you’re not crying right now. “Please, Joel.”

He looks at you for a moment, you’re afraid you can see anger in his eyes, but then they go soft, understanding, and he says, “Yeah… yeah, sweetheart. I understand.” Your eyes flutter shut, and you let out a shaky breath, relieved, but at the same time, filled with a sick twist of disappointment. What would you do if he pressed you, if he forced you? You know part of you would like it. “Can I at least call you? Only sometimes, please. Just to talk – to hear your voice.”

You start to shake your head, but when you open your eyes and take in the pleading look in his gaze, you can’t say no. “Alright, yes… yes, you can call me. That’s okay.”

“Can I kiss you? Just once more?” You lean over the console and press your lips to his, sudden and rough, as an answer, your teeth clicking together harshly. Of course, you want to kiss him again, of course. 

One long, tight moment, you clutch his wrists to keep them from pulling you in closer, and then you’re pulling back, scrambling out of the truck and forcing yourself away from him. You need to get away before you lose all strength of will and just let him do whatever he wants to you. You hear him get out, as well, and follow you around to your driver’s side door, waiting behind you as you dig for your car keys in your bag. You open the door, and then turn back to him, you can’t help yourself, and he lifts a hand to drag his thumb across your cheekbone, along the edge of your jaw. His eyes look so sad, like he’s afraid this’ll be the last time the two of you ever see each other again. The tears are back and angrily demanding release, but you try and take deep breaths through your nose to keep them at bay while your entire frame shakes and shivers at the restraint. He nods once and leans forward to press a long kiss above your brow, and then he turns and walks back to his truck, gets inside. He waits until you’ve gotten in your own car and are driving away, great heaving sobs wracking your body, overwhelming you, before you see him finally turn his truck on and start to drive back home, back to his wife and child.

Chapter .5

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

End Notes: This was kind of a heavy one, if there’s anything you’d like to chat about (or yell at me for all the angsty bullshit) pls come do so :)

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

How will the boys (if they have kids with the reader) react to their kid’s favouriting their s/o, like always wanting her for bedtime stories or comfort stuff like that.

This can be one kid who only does that or all I don’t mind

!IF YOU FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE PLS IGNORE!

Btw this can be for 2007, 2016 or 2003

Your Kid Wants You Instead Of Him (Fluff)

Bayverse!Turtles x reader

A/N: I’m actually studying to become a pedagogue, so this is right up my alley😂💚 It is not uncommon for children between the age of 1 - 3 to show or have parental preferences at times. It’s part of them becoming independent and understanding they have options, so they will start reaching out for these said options.

---------

Warnings: Kids and parental stuff. (and spelling. Mama here is tired after crying during her last tmnt x reader😭😂)

---------

Leonardo:

“You know what time it is, big boy”, Leo said to your son, as he sat on the floor, playing with the train track he had gotten for his three year birthday. “It’s time to get ready for bed”.

“No”, Romeo said, picking his train up from the track, never once looking up at his father. Well that was new. Normally Romeo was all ears whenever Leo told him anything, doing whatever his parents wanted to be called a good boy. A little angel he was. Even now as he tried to ignore his father, he was still as could be, calmly playing on the floor.

“C’mon champ”, Leo said with a warm smile, crouching down so he could get closer to the toddler's height. “We’ll do what we always do! We pick out a cool pajama, and then we brush your teeth, making sure there’s no Karius and Baktus in there, and then I’ll read you a bedtime story”

“Nooo, daddy”, Romeo said, slightly agitated, wiggling his feet as he looked down on the train in his head, rocking himself back and furth, his tongue poking out of his mouth. Leo knew that tone and those movements way too well. His son was getting fussy. Leo knew Romeo was tired. But he stayed cool. He knew better than to stress, causing Romeo to be stressed in turn.

“Why not?”, Leo asked, patiently waiting for Romeo to make an answer, his toy train being his main interest.

“I want mommy to do it”, the toddler mumbled, rubbing his tired eyes.

At first Leo wasn’t sure what to think of that. He was always the one that put Romeo to bed before patrol, and then you would be the one to wake him up the next day, while Leo got some much needed sleep. That was one of the many ways he was sure to get some calm one on one time with his son, just like Leo used to crave from Master Splinter.

But Leo knew not to freak out over it. Who knew why Romeo wanted you to put him to bed today. It could very easily just be a one time thing, so why not let him do it?

“Okay, little ninja”, Leo said, standing up straight once more, reaching out a hand for his toddler. “Come, let’s go find mom”.

Romeo nodded with a tired smile, standing up so he could take Leo’s hand, before the two of them went looking for you in the lair.

Raphael:

“What ya got there, sweetpea?”, Raph asked, taking a seat next to his playing daughter, amongst all her many different dolls. “G. I. Jane?”, he asked, picking up the nearest doll.

“Daddy! No!”, Joan screeched. “Put it down!”

To say that Raph was shocked was an understatement. Joan had never screeched at him. Sure, she had something of a temper, but never has she screeched at him. On the contrary, she was usually the true version of a daddy’s girl, always hanging around him, wanting his attention. Raph’s little bundle of joy. So this had him frozen in place, still having the action figure in hand. And Joan did not like that.

“I said, put it down daddy!”, the three year old yelled, getting up so she could stomp on the ground.

“Joan, babygirl, what’s wrong?-”

That was when the screaming and crying started. Raph had still not let go of her action figure. Poor Raph had not intended to make her cry. He was simply just so shocked that he locked up, not sure what to do.

“It’s okay, princess”, Raph said, putting the action figure down so he could reach out for her so he could bring her in for a comforting hug. But Joan was not having it, yelling even louder, causing Raph to back up slightly.

“What’s going on here?”, you asked, hurrying into the room as soon as you heard your daughter cry.

“I’m not sure”, Raph said, a little scared. But as soon as Joan saw you, she ran straight for you with open arms, calming down the moment you sat down with her.

“It’s okay, Raph”, you comforted him as you saw his sad expression, as you rubbed Joan’s back. “It just happens sometimes with children”.

“Yeah, but I don’t like when she cries”, he said, with a small concerned frown on his face.

“Don’t worry”, you said. “She’ll be good in no time. Just give her a moment”.

And true to your words, she did just that. A few hours later, she was all good again, wanting to play with dolls with her father.

Donatello:

Gali had always been a sweet child, with a need to explore his surroundings. Kind of like how his father always had to explore the possibilities of his work in his lab. Therefore it wasn’t strange that Gali often turned to Donnie whenever experiencing something new. He learned a new sound? He had to say it to Donnie. He learned to stand? He had to show Donnie. He got a kitchen playset as a gift from his uncles? He had shown Donnie. And that was exactly what Gali was playing with, while you and Donnie sat by him, watching the one year old play, smashing his small kitchen utensils against the cabinets, in a way he had seen uncle Mikey do when he found out uncle Leo tried to cook.

“Hey, look at this”, Donnie said, opening one of the small empty kitchen cabinets. Gali looked up, pushed Donnie’s hand away from the cabinet, before slamming it shut, turning back to his work of smashing whatever he had in his hands against the counter. You laughed at this, causing your son to smile at you, before turning back to the kitchen with a happy screech.

Donnie chuckled at this, once again turning his attention toward the cabinet. Out of curiosity he opened it, just wanting to see how it was set up. But your son did not like this.

“No!”, Gali said, pushing Donnies hand away from the kitchen playset. He then fully turned to Donnie, holding up a hand, determination in his eyes, letting out another “no”, before turning back towards the pink kitchen stove.

“O-kay”, Donnie said, slightly surprised. You could not help but smile a little at that too. Who would have thought your sound would have so much attitude hidden inside of him.

“Mommy”, Gali spoke, grabbing onto your hand, pulling you closer to the kitchen. Here he placed your hand upon the cabinet, motioning for you to open it. Once you did, he started putting his kitchen utensils into the open room, seeing how much there was space for.

Donnie let out a fake gasp acting hurt, causing Gali to look at him, making it very hard for you to not laugh. “Have you replaced me, Gali? You don’t want to play with your dad anymore?”

Gali just stared at him before turning back towards his kitchen set, making sounds of excitement as his kitchen utensils started falling out of the cabin and one to the floor.

“Well”, Donnie chuckled. “Can’t argue with that. He got a point”.

You couldn’t stop yourself from roaring out in laughter.

Michelangelo:

Sunny was a sweet and wonderful girl, with a smile as bright as the sun. The two of you counted yourself lucky for giving her such a fitting name, seeing every time you called out her name, she would come to you with a famous big smile, arms wide open asking for a hug. Especially from Mikey.

Sunny had always been a daddy’s girl. She always wanted to hug him, and she always wanted to cuddle up to him whenever she got tired. And whenever she had a nightmare, it was always him she called out for. But then one day, as all three of you sat in the living area of the lair, watching television, something different happened.

Like usual, whenever the time started getting close to Sunny’s bedtime, she would start to doze off. Her eyes slowly falling shut and her head slowly falling forward. At this point, she would normally just crawl over to Mikey and start cuddling up against his side, a sign that he had to get up and get her ready for bed. But tonight she was fighting it. Forcing her heavy eyes awake and snapping her head up, before slowly dozing off again, only to force herself awake again.

Mikey smiled at this before wrapping an arm around her, pulling her close to his side. But surprisingly, Sunny resisted that, letting out a few sounds of displeasure, pushing herself out from under his arm, before sitting at the same spot she sat in before. You and Mikey looked surprised at each other, neither of you really sure what was going on.

“What’s up, Sunny?”, Mikey asked your fussy toddler in concern. “You don’t wanna cuddle with daddy?”

“No”, she mumbled, not even looking at him before she crawled straight into your arms, trying to sooth herself by playing with her own fingers, staring off into the distance, resting her head against your chest.

Mikey was taken back. Where did his little cuddle bug go? He was confused for a moment, wondering if he had done something wrong. He hated the thought that he might have made his precious little girl sad without knowing it.

Sensing Mikey’s uneasiness, you leaned down to Sunny. “Do you just wanna cuddle with mommy for a bit?” She tiredly nodded her head. “Will you let daddy put you to bed afterwards?” She nodded again, before sighing, letting her head rest against you, her small eyes closing as she fell asleep. You and Mikey exchanged amused glances. How had you managed to get so lucky with a wonderful girl like her?

[inlovewithgreta]

I just can not get enough of Joan Ferguson so THANK YOU for the great stories! If you feel inclined some time, can you write one where she's allowing someone to think she's (Joan is) submissive, but partway through Joan has enough of pretending and unleashes her true self? Kind of like a "I'm not what you thought I was and youre about to find that out" moment and she totally loves getting the upper hand and shocking the person. I can just imagine her trying to be weak for this person to get what she wants and once she has it, the fun really begins. 😁

Words cannot explain how much I love writing for Joan. She’s so much fun and I absolutely loved writing this request!! Thank you for requesting more of our favorite Governor!! These Joan requests make me so giddy! I hope you enjoy, my love!! <3

The Freak Unleashed - Joan Ferguson x Fem!Reader

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Summary: Joan loves to tease and play with you.

Warnings: praise, bondage, oral sex, fingering, etc..

Word Count: 1.9k

Taglist: @celasteria @shslbunnylover @coffeebreath23 @bellatrixsbrat

© Do not copy, repost, or modify any of my works.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You were buried between your lover's legs. Your favorite place to be. Pleasuring her to your heart's content. Tasting and savoring every single inch of skin.

Being between the woman's legs was your favorite place on Earth. There was nowhere else you'd rather be. Hearing her quiet moans of pleasure felt like Heaven in your ears. Playing over and over like a symphony.

You sucked on her most sensitive spot between her legs, earning another husky moan from your lover. You were buried deep between her thighs, flicking your tongue across her folds.

Your own cunt was dripping juices down your thighs as you ate her out. You were so turned on, and a complete wet mess yet your love hadn't even touched you yet.

You were in charge. Or so you thought.

Joan had already come twice along your tongue, and to be honest she was loving every second of it. But she had you right where she wanted you. Tongue deep in her pussy, thinking you had the upper hand. Thinking the night would be all about her.

But the truth was, it was only half of what she wanted. A bit of stress relief. But she needed you. To taste you. To feed her desires and hunger.

In one swift, sharp pull to your hair, the woman pulled you roughly up her body. "Joan!—" you gasped at her sudden boldness, not expecting her to be rough tonight.

Joan's breathing was heavy. The woman had never been more turned on. Seeing you go from being 'in charge' to wide-eyed submissive in a matter of seconds was sexy. Joan was yearning for more.

She grabbed your hips, rolling you onto your back so she could straddle your waist. Her hands took hold of your own, pinning them tightly above your head.

"My turn, baby," she smirked wickedly. "You're mine now."

"But— it was supposed to be me in charge tonight!" You whined.

"Did you really think I would let you, my sweet little submissive princess, be in charge?" She chuckled. "I had you right where I wanted you the entire time."

You let out a faux pout. Joan was loving every second. She ignored your bratty behavior to kiss a path down your jawline, along your neck, and down your chest.

"Oh!" Joan captured your nipple in her mouth, her tongue coaxing the bud into a point. Your back immediately arched, and your lover knew you were putty in her hands.

Your moans immediately filled the air as she suckled your bud. Hands were quick to fly to her hair, pushing her face farther into your chest. But the second they did, Joan let go of your nipple with a 'pop'.

Hands grabbed at your wrists once more, holding them above your head and forcibly keeping them in place. "Don't move," she commanded.

Usually, the older woman wouldn't mind your fingers scratching at her scalp. But tonight, she wanted to have her fun. To play with you. To fuck you senseless.

While you couldn't do anything about it.

You did as she said, keeping your hands still as she slid off your frame, to pull something from the bedside drawer. You shivered with excitement when you saw her hands holding rope.

Joan was quick to bound your hands together before expertly wrapping the whole around the headboard to pin you into place. She tugged to confirm you could move before her smirk came back.

"Perfect." You were officially bound and at her mercy. The same spot you never thought you'd see yourself in tonight.

Her plan had worked perfectly.

"Just how I like my little Princess..." Your doe eyes bore into her own as she snaked her way down your body once more. Joan placed numerous kisses along your skin.

"And so wet for me," she said, running a finger through your slick. You whined and bucked your hips, needing more. More of Joan.

She braced herself on her knees, lifting her ass in the air as she leaned forward to lick a strip up your folds. She explored the ridges and valleys, taking her time in working you up even more.

"Joan!" You whined, when she only paid attention to the lower half of your pussy. "Please..."

"Begging already? That's a new record," she teased.

You tugged against the restraints, and Joan couldn't help but chuckle. Knowing exactly what you were wanting. You wanted to tangle your fingers in her hair to pull her closer. But with the restraints, you could only use your words, as your body was no longer your own to handle.

"Joan, baby, please!" Your wrists were already begging to be released as you tugged and pulled at your constraints.

"Since my little Princess has been asking so nicely..." Her fingers dug into your hips after she finally gave in to your whines and pleas. Her tongue circled your clit while two digits pushed deeply into your cunt.

Moans of pleasure soon greatly filled the room, as Joan's speed turned into an unrelenting tempo. The wet sounds of your pussy and your pornographic moans had Joan groaning into your pussy.

The vibrations on your clit immediately sent you spiraling over the edge. You had come faster than expected, but with all the teasing coming from your lover, she herself was not surprised.

Knowing one wouldn't suffice, she kept her grueling pace on your cunt. First allowing you to ride out your first orgasm as long as possible, but to allow you to chase after your second.

"S-Shit, Joan!" Your head fell back against the pillows as your head grew dizzy. Your body shook, wrists pulled, and legs threatened to close around your lover.

Feeling herself wanting to tease more, Joan hastily pulled away from you after feeling your pussy clench around her fingers. You were already so close, dangerously close, and you let out a loud whine when your lover came to straddle your hips.

Your chest heaved against her own, and Joan could feel your heartbeat pounding roughly in your chest. Her breasts were pushed deliciously against your own.

"P-Please. Please don't stop, I need you!" Your voice was raspy and weak as you gazed at her with glossy eyes and a large pout.

"How badly, baby?" She gave you a wicked smirk as she moved your hair off of your sweaty forehead and cupped your face.

"So..so bad.." you wiggling and bucking your hips, hoping your cunt would rub against her own. "Joan, my love, please!" You could feel tears threaten to spill from your eyes.

You were eager to not only please her, but to finish satisfying yourself. She hovered, and let out a dark, lustful laugh at your actions.

"Always so eager to touch me," she noted. You tugged again at your restraints as the first tear dropped down your cheek. "Does my poor little baby want to be free so we can come together? Would you like that?"

"Yes! Please, Joan!" You immediately responded, in which Joan reached up to release you of your restraints. Your hands went to fly to her body but she caught your wrists, examining the marks from your tugging.

"Does it hurt?" Her eyes softened as she noticed the darkening skin and rubbed her thumb in soothing motions.

"No, I'm okay," you reassured her. Her shift from dominating to worrying caused your heart to leap in your chest. Joan would never, ever, want to hurt you.

She let you go, allowing you the freedom to eagerly run your hands down her milky skin. All the way from her breasts, to her hips, and in between her plush thighs.

One hand grabbed at the muscles along her back while the other slipped between her thighs so your thumb could rub circles along her clit before shoving two fingers into her dripping center.

You were already bucking against her own digits that entered you, matching the pace of your own. "Oh, God!" Your nails dug into her back, causing Joan to groan from the mix of pain and pleasure.

She was moving herself up and down to match your fingers with every thrust. You spread your legs wide to accept her probing fingers. Your own hips bucked, matching her movements to meet each of her thrusts.

You both wanted to meet each other with every stroke. Moans of ecstasy filled the room as you both bounced against each other's hands.

Her head fell between the crook of your neck, muffling her moans while she sucked across your tender skin. She was sure to leave marks, but you wanted to hear her. Wanted to listen to her moans, grunts, and overall pornographic noises.

"I want to hear you, my love.." you pouted.

Joan playfully rolled her eyes, pushing herself away from your neck to sit up more straight. Her free hand gripped roughly at the headboard, causing creaks to be heard.

You hummed as your eyes hastily fell to her chest, watching her rather large breasts swaying in front of your face. Your lover noticed your gaze heavily set. She knew how much you loved to play with her boobs. And she herself loved when you did.

"Suck 'em, Princess," she urged you. "Suck on my tits."

You wasted no time in leaning your head forward, taking one breast in your mouth and swirling your tongue around a pink nipple.

"Yess... just like that," she cooed. Her head fell back with the mounting pleasure of you finger fucking her and sucking her breast. You were working hard to please your lover, and it was working.

The rhythm you both set reached a fever pitch, and you feel Joan clamp around your fingers. Your own pleasure was becoming too much, and you felt yourself close to the edge.

"Come with me, baby." She grunted, rocking her hips against your hand.

Your cries of pleasure were muffled against her boob as your release immediately washed over you. Joan came right after you, clutching the headboard with a deathly grip.

You could feel her juices dripping down your wrist as your own covered her slender digits. You were both panting messes, savoring the moment as you slowed your movements to elongate her orgasm.

"Fuck, baby.." Her hand left the bed to rummage through your messy hair.

You were muttering her name, pulling away from her tit, but tugging her erect nipple between your teeth as you went.

Your bodies were shaking as you collapsed into each other's arms. Chests rose and fell in unison, limbs tangled, and bodies became one. You closed your eyes, feeling fatigue instantly wash over you.

Joan nearly melted into you, both of you focusing on catching your breaths as you laid in a comfortable silence. The bed sank as you both enjoyed the comfort.

"Are you okay, my love?" She asked, gazing into your eyes with love and affection as a hand fell to your cheek. Everything else in the world felt like a million miles away compared to the woman, your lover, wrapped in your arms.

"More than okay.." you smiled tiredly. You were beyond fucked out, and Joan couldn't help but chuckle at you.

Her lips gently pressed against yours, engulfing you in the most loving, tender, bittersweet kiss before placing another kiss to the tip of your nose.

Your eyes grew heavy, and Joan hastily made her way to the bathroom to wet cloth with warm water and clean you up. She tossed the fabric aside to slide back into bed, taking your wrists in her hands to rub lotion against your darkened wrists.

"I love you..." you muttered, with a sweet smile.

Joan left the lotion on the bedside table, before pulling you into her arms once more. "I love you too, Princess... Now get some sleep, we'll take a nice warm shower after you've rested."

Her fingers ran through your hair, scratching at your scalp as you melted completely into her touch. You were happy. Fucked out, and in your lovers warm embrace.

Sleep was quick to consume you, and Joan followed suit right after. Ensuring you had completely fallen asleep before allowing her own sleep to consume herself.

The last thing you remembered was her hands in your hair, the gentle hum of her voice, and her chin rested on the top of your head.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

general masterlist | pamela masterlist | taglist

[magniloquent-raven]

Billy and El's relationship headcanons?

Yessss!! Always more than happy to talk about these two

I love El just kind of deciding that her and Billy are friends now. Billy gets no say in the matter.

She spends a lot of her time after Starcourt hanging out in his hospital room. Like, sitting in the corner quietly reading or practising her penmanship, anything that'll keep her occupied while Billy lays there and pretends to watch whatever's on TV. They don't really talk much. So Billy kind of figures Max put her up to this, keeping an eye on him. Or she's doing it out of some kind of obligation because he sort of saved her life.

The reality of it is that she doesn't feel quite at home living with the Byers yet, so she's finding any excuse to be elsewhere. And it just so happens that she wants to keep Billy company. It's a win-win.

When Billy gets out he figures he won't see her anymore. She's got her nerds to hang out with, she doesn't need to waste any more time on him now that everyone's pretty sure he's not gonna die.

Except the day after he moves into the tiny little apartment that some government stooge picked out for him, El shows up at his door with a gift bag in hand (Joyce introduced her to the concept of a housewarming present, and she was very excited about trying it out). It's already weird enough being on his own, trying to figure out how to live in his own space while he's relearning how to use his own body. He's navigating a lot of uncertainty, and then this kid comes along and he doesn't understand this either. It's a lot. He's going through a lot.

So he's a little too blunt when the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

She doesn't seem to notice the tone. Doesn't care that he's being rude. She just holds up the bag and smiles. "Making your house warm." She explains in careful, clipped sentences, that Joyce told her it's a thing friends do. That's the only part he really hears. Friends.

When he stepped between her and the Mind Flayer he didn't expect to get a friend out of it. He didn't expect anything but the pain that followed. The blood. The plan was to be a temporary shield for someone who deserved to live more than he did. He did his job. Max has never thanked him for it, why should anyone else.

He's not sure why her declaration makes his eyes well up. He doesn't really want to think about it that hard, if he's perfectly honest. It's awkward enough trying to blink away tears while some kid he barely knows intently watches him pull wads of tissue paper off a lumpy pile of...blanket? There's a fuzzy green throw blanket at the bottom of the bag, and he's not sure if that's going to make him laugh or cry some more.

By the time Mrs. Byers shows up that evening, he's feeling a little less emotionally unstable. A little. She spent the day helping him shelve all the books he never bothered unpacking after Neil moved them to Indiana. Every so often she'd ask what one was about, and always with refreshingly unbiased curiosity, never why do you have that or I wouldn't have expected you read something like this.

He knows a little about where she's from, memories the Mind Flayer left behind, impressions and echoes. He knows enough to understand why she is the way she is.

It occurs to him after she leaves that she knows just as much, if not more about him. The realization gives him vertigo, the bottom of his stomach dropping away. But despite that, he wonders if it's a good thing. They don't have to explain themselves to each other, they can just. Be friends. Might be nice.

bonus tidbits:

Billy lets El have a beer one time and she deeply regrets asking for one, because it's gross. She has to use his mouthwash twice and she's still making disgusted faces about it like an hour later

El's canon habit of dressing like people she spends a lot of time with. She hangs out with Billy for like two months and ends up getting a Joan Jett rocker shag. She steals a jean jacket from Jonathan. She likes his earring but when he tells her how ear piercing works she gets really upset because needles scare her. So he buys her some clip-ons

Max hates how much time they spend together, at first. She's jealous that they're so close. Both of them are people she's really wanted to like her but initially rejected her, and now they're just automatically each other's BFFs? How is that fair? But it's hard to stay angry when Billy seems so much happier nowadays, and she knows El has trouble making friends

It takes Billy a long time to get comfortable around Joyce. When she comes by to pick El up she's always so friendly and. Mom-like. One time she gave him a little pat on the shoulder and said she hopes he's doing okay all alone up here, before she left with El, and he spent the next ten minutes sitting on the floor in tears

Personally, I've always HCd El as a lesbian, I just think it would take her SO much to actually figure it out, because her relationship with Mike is kind of the first thing she latched onto after leaving the lab, so it would be hard to come to terms with what that attachment really is. But I like toying with the idea of her being introduced to the idea of what queerness even is via Billy's memories. She's scared to bring it up for a long time, it was something she only saw because he had so many memories of being made to feel bad about it, she doesn't quite understand all the shame and the anger, but it makes the idea of being gay scary. After she looked into Billy's memories she started to notice the things people say in real life, the attitudes they have, now that she's got context for what that kind of stuff means. And she doesn't know who to talk to about it other than Billy. Which would not go well at first, because it's Billy. But after they talk it out he'd be soooo much more protective of her, like. Insisting on driving her any time she wants to go somewhere, glowering at literally everybody who looks at her funny. Kinda hovering around waiting for there to be someone to beat the shit out of for her.

El being made aware of queerness being a thing might make her more likely to notice Will's gay too tbh, and then she'd be super protective of him. El ends up at Billy's place super agitated one day and ends up telling Billy the things she heard people saying about Will, and Billy's like, oh, well. I may have to run some kids over, okay.

[copperbadge]

I always enjoy writing updates on the royal family in these books, but I am having such fun expanding Simon's character and writing his banter with Ylias. I haven't gotten to write an older character who doesn't start out visibly struggling, and Simon's just kind of a dude who loves romance and enjoys being functionally king of chefs in Fons-Askaz.

Simon and Ylias had what I'm calling a "Ene-meet" over some cheese and the next time she saw him she called him Mr. Ricotta (I may try and make this better -- I'd like some kind of French pun where she basically calls him "white guy" while also calling him some form of cheese) and while they've since mostly buried the hatchet because they have to work together on the Reclamation Day festival, they are both enjoying pretending they're still smarting over it.

"Can you do all this..." Ylias gestured at their lists, "for Reclamation Day and also do the catering? Because I feel like we do throw around at least enough weight to make someone else take that over."

"Hm, there is a lot to supervise. A practical consideration, thank you," he said, absently flipping through his own notes. "I will find someone reliable enough to serve His Majesty but also young enough to still be impressed by the request. Which leaves remaining only the cooking competition."

"Not to complain, but this seems like a really random thing to have at Reclamation Day," Ylias said. "It's not a village fete or something."

"It began as a sort of grudge, years ago," he said. "Two cooks had a dispute; they declared to decide for one or the other on Reclamation Day -- in public, with the public's help in settling the matter. It proved very popular, and of course if there are a dozen people all competing, the results can be sold for funds for charity."

"So we're supposed to set this up, set the theme, and source the judges," Ylias said.

"Set-up is already arranged -- the judging tent is always in the same place. They only have to bring in their example of the challenge recipe and lay it out."

"I guess it's a little on the nose for this year's theme to be like...an Eddie Rambler classic recipe."

He smiled. "We may consider it but also, consider: are you aware of..." his voice dropped. "The Trash Tower?"

She nodded.

"Imagine a tent full of examples of Shivadh twists on the Trash Tower," he said.

"It doesn't look like Dante's inferno, but it doesn't not," she said. "Maybe another thing we want to ask about at the next meeting?"

"I think so. For judges, usually a member of the royal family, but also then someone who knows food, and sometimes a famous person if one can get one."

"Can we?"

"I would as soon not," LeFevre replied, which Ylias couldn't argue with. "I think perhaps for the royals, Princeps Joan would like to judge. Or if her fathers would prefer she does not, Duke Gerald. He would pretend it was his little one judging, give her some of everything to try, pretend he knows what she says. Very funny."

"Want me to tap someone with food chops from the town?" Ylias asked.

"Yes, but speak with me before you ask them, just to be sure."

"Yep, I wouldn't mind a road map to all the faux pas I could make," she muttered.

"Ah, well. I wouldn't let anyone cut you; I've already seen you at your worst and it is frankly somewhat mild," he said.

"I think I'm almost more insulted about being considered mediocre than I am that you won't let it go," she replied.

"We all need time to recover our wounds," he said gravely. "Another few years, perhaps, and I will begin to consider healing."

"Man, I didn't know calling you Mr. Ricotta would devastate you so completely."

He closed the notebook with a snap, smiling.

"And I must somehow go on, and fetch my groceries," he said.