#just repeating that for those who don't know

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley/female reader This is the last part before the epilogue

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise honey, remember?” You nod, but your eyes stay glued to the windshield, tracking the raindrops sliding on and off the glass. “Hey,” he reaches for your hand, pulling it into his grasp, “it’s okay. You’re safe.”

“I’m with you.” You repeat the mantra, the one you repeat in the shower, in bed, in the living room. I’m safe. I’m with you. 

He wants to look away from the road so badly long enough to see your eyes, really see them. It’s how he knows where you are, if you’re there, or here, or somewhere else. Just in case, he reminds you. “The kids are with Gaz and Cami. Soap is sleeping in the guest room. They’re all together, and they’re safe.” You nod again, but answer as a robot.

“They’re safe.” He can’t do it. He pulls the car over and you turn in alarm, watching as he steps around to the passenger side door and pulls it wide, dropping to his knee.

“Look at me-“

“You’re getting wet!” You sputter, grabbing at his jacket, but he stills you.

“Look at me, mama.” Your eyes are full of tears, and he cups your cheek. “Where are you?” Your lip wobbles.

“That room.” He pries your fingers open and places your palm over his chest.

“What’s that?”

“Your heart.”

“Your heart, sweet girl. It’s yours. Count them for me.” You shake your head, clenching your eyes shut, and he squeezes your knee. “Deep breath. Count them.”

“O-one, two, thr-we, four…” he does it with you, quietly, supporting, but not coaching. Not leading. You have to do it, you have to bring yourself back. “F-ive… five, six, seven, eight, nine…” each beat steadies your voice until you’re sitting a little straighter, breathing a little deeper.

“There she is. There’s my girl.” He wipes a tear from your cheek, “that’s it.”

“Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen…” you reach twenty five, and then give him a nod. He is thoroughly soaked now, but who cares. It’s not even close to what matters.

“Where are you?” He presses a slow kiss to your forehead.

“I’m here, with you.” You meet his gaze, clear and focused, and he nods.

“Okay.”

“You could have told me.”

“Not as fun, mama, I wanted it to be a surprise.” You’re standing in the middle of the room, looking around, smiling. It’s the same room he brought you to years ago. The room where he put the ring on your finger, the room you told him you’d spend the rest of your life, his life, together. The curtains are the same, the decor, even the bedspread.

“Si,” your voice wavers, and he pulls you into his arms, holding you against his chest.

“Are you happy?”

“Yes.”

You're surprisingly not nervous at all, though he's not that shocked. You have a few tattoos, medium sized, black and grey like his. No sleeves or anything that extensive, but you picked up a small collection during your travels. 

"Wait... are you serious?" You squeak, eyeing the chair and then the guy sitting beside it, Mark, the same guy that's done almost all of Simon's work. Simon's still not sure how he convinced him to come out here and do this, but he suspects the sentimental piece of this occasion had a lot to do with it. "What... what is it?" Simon glances at him, and then nods, holding his breath as he pulls the stencil out of the binder to lay it flat in front of you. 

It's a ring. Black and grey to match your other tattoos, but the same shape, band, everything, as the one you lost. Except- 

The stone frames three constellations. Orion, Phoenix and... "Lyra." You whisper, tracing the line work. You look up at him with tears in your eyes. "Orpheus and Eurydice." 

"Everyone says it's a tragedy, y'know? That he failed. But those people have never felt the way I feel about you." His throat is unbearably tight, and he swallows to keep it together. "They don't know how I'd go to hell to bring you home, they don't know how desperate I'd be to look back and and make sure you're still there with me," he breathes deep through his nose, chasing away the tidal wave rising in his chest. Mark, thankfully, has decided to pretend to be busy with something else. "They don't know how I'd let myself be ripped apart just to see you again. To spend eternity with you." 

"Simon..." 

"You don't have to do it," he rushes out, squeezing your hand, "just say so, and we'll leave. I won't be mad." You reach for him, tugging him close by his wrist and standing up on your tiptoes, trying to bury your face in his neck, seeking you safe space. 

"I love you. I love... I love you." He brushes your tears away. "I want it. Yes, of course. I want it." 

"You sure?" You cast one last look at the drawing, and nod. 

"Eternity with you." He smiles. 

"Eternity." 

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

ephemeral

Pairing: Batfam x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k words

Summary: You were forgetting something. However the most frustrating part was you couldn't seem to remember what exactly it was that you were forgetting.

A/N: This was inspired by this post by @bonefanatic! I know that it's Yandere!Batfam in the OG post but as soon as I read it this is just what it inspired. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

You were renowned for forgetting things.

You'd always forget to bring your keys the day when your mother happened to be running late. You'd forget your pencil case on the day of exams and forget your bus pass on the rare days that your father didn't give you a ride.

On sunny days you'd forget to wear your sunscreen. On rainy days, much like today, you'd forget your umbrella. Now, when you were a young girl, running back home through the rain wouldn't matter. In fact, you had vague memories of your feet splashing through puddles, hands shielding your face from the pelting rain while you and an old lover got soaked to the bone.

You could hardly even remember those days; just the sound of splashing puddles and the deep petrichor, the cold of the rain mixed with the warmth of someone's laughter...

A coo brought you out of your thoughts and your eyes met those of bright blue. The baby strapped to your chest gave you a semblance of a toothy smile, his teeth only beginning to come out and you returned it, leaning in to rub your nose against his, revelling in the giggles it brought out.

The sweet boy, who only ever saw you, was the reason you couldn't let yourself get wet, standing in the shade of an apartment building and choosing to wait out the rain.

You gave your baby a once over, making sure that he didn't get wet in your effort to reach the building. He looked fine and his clothing wasn't wet, although he did seem a little cold. You held his tiny hands in between your palms, repeating the process with his feet until you were satisfied.

The door of the building swung open and you immediately covered Thomas' ears to protect him from the cold breeze, letting him burrow his face into your chest.

In came a man that had to be larger than anyone you had ever seen in your life. Clearly, he had been caught in the rain, his boots were soaked and so was his leather jacket. He donned a motorcycle helmet, and your stomach lurched at the thought of him driving that out in this weather. Without realizing it, your eyes glanced over his figure, wondering if he had possibly gotten hurt.

When you brought your eyes back up from his muddy boots to his face you were slightly startled. When had he taken off his helmet? His blue eyes stared back at you, shock apparent on his features before he had schooled them back to monotony.

"Are you lost? I don't think you live here." His voice was low and gravelly, but it found a familiar place in the back of your head.

You gave him a small smile, "No, I'm just trying to wait out the rain. I forgot to bring an umbrella, and I really don't want my son to get sick."

His eyes glanced down to your son and you curiously watched as something swirled in his eyes. Longing perhaps? Maybe he had some baby fever? It didn't quite seem like that though...you just couldn't put your finger on it.

"Would you like me to call you a cab?"

"I already tried. The streets here are too narrow for a cab to drive through so I'd have to walk a bit before I'd reach the road."

He nodded, taking a beat before he responded, "Wait here."

And then he took off for the stairs and even though he looked relaxed, you saw him taking multiples stairs in a single step, resisting the curious urge to tell him to be careful and not to slip because of his wet shoes.

He didn't make you wait long, reappearing in less than 5 minutes with an umbrella and something else in his hands.

"Oh, I couldn't."

"Please, I insist. I don't think the rain is going to stop anytime soon and there isn't anywhere for you to sit down," He said earnestly, placing the umbrella in your hands, "I already called a cab. It should be waiting for you at the corner."

"Thank you, young man." You watched him run his fingers through the cute little tuft of white hair bashfully before he handed you something else—a fuzzy blanket patterned with bats.

You looked curiously up at him, "For the little guy. He looks cold."

You really wanted to refuse, but Thomas' nose and ears had begun to turn red from the chill and with the blanket he'd be better protected as you walked to the cab. So, you bundled up the baby in the cozy blanket and thanked the man again who said goodbye with a melancholic smile.

While taking the cab home, your fingers traced over the embroidered monogram in the corner of the blanket that looked like it was brand new.

T.W.

***

You don't know what it was about the travelling circus that had you so enraptured. There was just something about watching the acrobats soar through the sky like birds, as though they were weightless, that made you feel equal parts worried and in awe.

It was unusual. You didn't enjoy watching gymnasts while you grew up and you had certainly never visited a circus, and yet while sitting in the seats for the performance of Haly's travelling circus for the 4th time since they had arrived at Gotham, you couldn't help but wait in anticipation for the show to begin.

Thomas was clutched to your lap, every bit as excited as you were, when a man with dark hair and blue eyes—a common feature here in Gotham, it seemed—sat next to you.

You spared him a glance, only to find him staring back at you with a small smile and a cone of roasted chestnuts in his hand. He handed you a pair of ear protectors.

"They're handing it outside the tent—wouldn't want the little guy to hurt his ears."

You thanked him with a smile, placing them over Thomas' ears and giggling when he laughed at you pointing at the man who returned his toothy grin with one of his own.

"Would you like one?" He offered, holding out the warm chestnuts for you to take and you obliged, thanking him and relishing in the taste and the immediate warmth that spread through your body.

"So, what brings you to the circus?"

Your arms tightened around Thomas, resting your cheek on the top of his head as you contemplated the answer, "I don't know. I just like the acrobats. Every time I watch them, I feel comfortable, like I've been watching them my entire life. Which is weird because I've never seen acrobats before Haly's circus came to Gotham."

You looked back at him, "What about you?"

"My mom used to be an acrobat here. After I lost her, I like to visit, so I don't forget her." He explained, eyes scrolling across the bright colours of the circus, taking everything in. You placed a gentle hand on his arm, trying to comfort him.

He looked down at Thomas, watching as the baby gave him an innocent grin that had returned with a sad smile and giving a delicate little pinch to his pudgy thigh before looking back up at you.

"I really don't want to lose my mom a second time."

***

One thing you really couldn't appreciate enough before having children was the freedom to shop for groceries all alone. Now, after having an infant, something as simple as stocking the fridge turned into a long and arduous feat.

You’d have to get Thomas dressed, make sure his nappy was changed, and time it just right—long enough since he’d eaten that you wouldn’t need to change him again, but not so long that he’d get hungry and need you to breastfeed him in the middle of the store.

Not only that, you'd also be stuck pushing a cart around with him strapped to your chest because he was still too young for the shopping cart.

And finally, the most torturous part of this whole excursion—the car loading. Most of your bags were heavy and packed full, and you couldn’t load them into the trunk with Thomas strapped to you.

So, you’d carefully place him in the car seat, turning on the engine and air conditioning to cool the car after its time baking in the parking lot. Then, you’d haul the heavy groceries into the trunk, turn off the car, take Thomas back out, return the trolley to its rightful place, and—once again—secure him in his car seat before finally heading home.

You stared at the cart full of groceries—enough to last you at least 3 weeks so you wouldn't have to make another trip for a while—trying to summon the energy to load the heavy items in the blasted vehicle.

"Mo—Ma'am?"

A young man approached you, a half-drunk coffee in his hand and your brows twitched. Just how many coffees had this boy had today? You shook your head of the thought. Why would you even care?

"Do you need some help?"

Giving him a polite smile, you shook your head, "I'm okay. Thank you, sweetie."

He gave you a sad smile, and it made you immediately want to take your words back and to give him the world instead. The feeling confused you even more. Why were you so concerned about him? And why did he look so sad after you refused his request? If anything, he should’ve been relieved that he wouldn’t have to do any work.

"Are you sure? I really don't mind." He tried again, this time placing his hand on the handle of the trolley, his hand just a hair away from yours. It was peculiar—your instinct for stranger-danger urged you to pull your hand away, and yet, you felt an equally strong urge to place your hand over his.

You smiled again, "I guess I'll take you up on your offer."

He was stronger than he looked. Despite his scrawny frame, he easily lifted your bags into the trunk, loading everything and shutting it in record time. Dusting off his hands with a proud smile, he turned to you as if expecting praise—only to deflate when he caught you watching him with a small, lingering smile.

It was as though he grew sadder with each passing second, his expression dimming as he gave you one last longing look before turning that same gaze to Thomas, "I’ll return the cart for you. Why don’t you strap him in?"

You nodded, thanking him again, "Thank you so much for your help."

Using Thomas’ little fist, you waved goodbye to the boy. He returned it with an expression far too tired for his young face. You resisted the urge to tell him to get a good night’s rest, instead watching him push the trolley away through your rearview mirror. A pang hit your chest at the sight of his slumped shoulders.

***

A figure collided with your back and you would have been knocked over if he had been any taller, however when you looked down, a young boy with dark hair and beautiful green eyes looked back up at you.

"Ummi..." He murmured, before he even had a chance to stop himself and you frowned in concern for this child who couldn't have been more than 9 years old who all of a sudden looked so small and unsure and something in your soul reached out for him.

You leaned down, well, as much as you could with a baby strapped to your chest, "Did you lose your mom, sweetheart?"

He flinched, eyes going wide and his bottom lip began to tremble in a way that made you want to hold him to your heart and soothe him, "Yes...I have lost my ummi...and I wish she'd come back....I miss her very much."

You reached out a hand before you could stop yourself, almost reaching for him to run your fingers through his hair and scratch your nails lightly against his scalp—

"Damian!"

Your hand froze an inch away as a man, slightly older than you, ran up to him. When your eyes met his, a rush of something surged through you—so intense and so sudden that there wasn’t even time for an epiphany.

All you knew was, you had met this man before.

Only, you couldn't remember when.

"I'm sorry about him. You know how kids are." The man with familiar blue eyes told you, flashing you a charming smile that had done an incredibly good job of hiding the misery underneath. And yet, you still saw past the mask. And still… you chose to look away.

You smiled up at him before glancing down at Thomas, now realizing why this curious stranger's eyes felt so familiar—your son looked up at you with almost identical ones, "I do know."

The man followed your gaze to the happy baby in your arms and you watched as the corner of his lips had dropped from the calculated smile he had worn. It was like he had frozen in time and the more you watched him, the more despondent his expression became.

His son—Damian. Why did that name sound so familiar?— looked up at him with concern, now grabbing his hand and tugging him away.

"Baba." He said softly, finally managing to knock the man out of his stupor.

"Oh," He finally spoke, looking down at his distressed son, "I'm sorry, miss. I hope my son didn't hurt you or the baby. If you need any medical bills covered, you can contact this number."

He handed you a business card and walked away before you could even argue about how absurd it was that you would ask for him to pay your medical bills over his adorable son bumping into you. It was an honest mistake!

You could only watch them walk away before your eyes looked down at the Wayne Enterprises business card.

"Bruce Wayne, CEO."

'Bruce'

You swore you had heard that name before.

And yet... you'd forgotten.

***

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@notslaybabes

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

DC Taglist:

@tchatso

@p--e--a--c--h--e--s

@sometimeseverythingsucks

@sokkas-honour

@unstable1902

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@evermoore580

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@fuckingjinkies

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@that-one-fangirl69

@eloriis

[duck9irbl]

1

Everything is numbers. Even nothing has a number. 1 thing can change everything. Perhaps it was a moment or a memory a single action or in action of someone or something. Did or didn't do or said or didn't say. 1 out of multiple what if's.

Just like right now 1 single thought overwhelming the mind. Covered in darkness the only light in the words...

To who they belong too or who is directed at are for now unknow until we get to peck into the shadows your a monster

We see 1 man standing what looks to be 1 bed containing 2 people. The people look asleep peaceful unaware. They seem to not know the man but he knows them. I can make this quick and easy

'The chose should be easy right?' He thinks to himself. But as he looks upset from his slight frown. Yet conflicted onto what to do with the furrow of his brow and scrunched up face. From the 2 bag under his eyes you can at least tell he's tired. Again looking down.

1 sentence yet again appeared in his mind. with all of my heart and every fiber of my very being

That 1 sentence again surrounded by darkness the only light the words itself. How could numbers change everything?

1 sickness, 1 boy who escaped being the 1 survivor, 1 offer that he took, 2 brothers with 2 different paths he both took. their just kids

That 1 boy got to grow up despite- because of two brothers. That one boy becoming 1 man staring back at the two brothers. He sits their and watches over the cover of the shadows watching- like he's waiting for something to show up- rather someone. The roles revered 1 man. 2 boys. 1 sword. 1 choice he has to make. That will change everything.

1 lived 1 died. That would stay the same one would live the other would die that much was the same but the question was? Witch brother? YOU

He looks again to what he see's now are not 2 brothers fighting, 2 brothers who picked different paths to different outcomes. But right now- right now he see's 2 brothers sleeping peaceful unaware of the danger that might come. 2 children who don't know any better.

Both kids look at him seemingly awake in shock but maybe thinks is just a bad dream. He doesn't move as to not alert his brother. Their both awake but the other doesn't know that Their just kids who don't know any better

Again that same sentence pops into his mind. Growing more upset, more bitter, more painful stronger and stronger each time. It doesn't stop itself after once no it goes again and again. The same 3 words the 1 sentence repeating again and again. I HATE YOU-! Why?

Like a mantra, a silent prayer, a plea, a beg- hoping to forget. It gets so loud so overwhelming it consumes your very being. You can't hear anything else, you can't feel anything else you can't see anything else. You can't think of anything else. You just want to get rid of it. For it to get off the face of this reality to go somewhere else- anywhere else. JUST GO AWAY-! I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOU

I HATE YOU-! it'd be so easy just to kill him

He snaps out of it with a turn of the children heads the cuddle close to each other as if trying to shield each other from this bad dream- this nightmare.

Then a thought came to mind 3 simple words so similar yet so different. Just like the two brothers. Both words each have 3 in them with the same amount of letters in each, both making 1 sentence. How can something so similar be so different?

He stares at the boys hate oozing off of his in a glare yet he can't bring himself to fully do it. His eyebrows furrowing as his eyes look distant. He looks lost. His eye bags looking darker than before as his decision finally puts the full weight on him. With those 3 distant words yet he wants to remember fondly.

I love you.

I hate you. I love you.

Both words holding so much meaning. He loves 1 of the brothers his farther figure the one who not only gave him a chance in life but a chance to love again. The other brother he hates. The monster who almost made him lose sight of how things truly were.

I love you. I hate you.

I hate you.

This supposed to be the right chose... right?

His face scrunches up as his eyebrows furrow even closer together. As as he allows himself to close his eyes to calm down to rethink onto what he's going to do. What he was gonna do. What he wanted to do. With the words echoing for now one last time.

I love him.

I hate him.

The words no longer in pure darkness with light surrounding them. Yet what frames the words is darkness.

I love him. I hate him.

Time travel swapped AU

Law and his incoming mental breakdown 🙃 He hates Doflamingo with burning passion but little Cora-san clearly loves him. What now?

[olderthannetfic]

Hi OTNF and everyone,

I am finding that it's harder and harder and harder to get into anything - book, show, movie... most things seem, you know, to just not be doing it for me, be it fanfic or original stuff.

In part, I think, it's a general restlessness and that it's become harder to give anything enough time to get into the stories, the characters, the settings, the narrative voices... I guess you can call it attention deficit on my part, just a need for stories to deliver those sweet, sweet hits quickly, but they're not.

I'm not currently ficcing but I did for years (might again in the future, who knows), and it's made reading, specifically, harder. It's like I've become more aware of what goes on behind the scene, I guess? I feel like I can see the writer giving up on a sentence, skipping a scene because fuck this, trying hard to not repeat a word although it's the only one that fits, etc.

Or maybe it's just the *everything* around us in the world that is weighing on me too much? I could say it's adult life, but then again I have more free time than most (and boy do I need hours of doing nothing to survive the other hours), and no family/partner (all that would put even more pressure on me): what is wrong, to make everything so UGHHH?

I feel like I'm stuck in a rut with a brain moaning feed me, feeeed me, and whatever I try to give it, it spits everything out. (Yes, I've tried hobbies, and nothing sticks there either. I've never really found rewards or satisfaction there, so...)

Decades ago as a kid, I was a voracious reader, although studying literature took the pleasure of it away from me. It took time and discovering fanfic that brought me back to reading, but at the time the internet was starting to be a thing, too, and it can't have helped the attention thing. AFAIK I'm not ADHD but then again, I couldn't get a proper diagnosis (the therapists I saw were either dismissive or just about The Talking, which was pointless for me).

I just wonder how it all disappeared, you know? Sometimes I find something that catches my attention for a while - a book (but I read quite quickly when motivated), a fandom... but it's been a while now, and it's just so frustrating! When is it going to come back? Will it ever? *gulp*

I know that books were escapism when I was a child, and then fandom was escapism, but at the moment I find myself grabbing at air and my empty hands are mocking me. Give me my escapism baaaaack!

So, uh. Anyone here with me?

--

Yes.

I felt like that during part of lockdown. Anhedonia is common in those kinds of circumstances.

Getting your mojo back is certainly possible, but you may need to go see a professional about depression and have some chemical assistance (yes, even if you don't feel sad per se), or you may need to change your lifestyle to one that doesn't have the thing causing you to need eleventy billion hours of downtime.

Aside from serious interventions like that, you can consider a social media detox. Remove every source of doomscrolling and time wasting of that type. When the attention span is zero and nothing brings joy, the tiny and useless hits from finishing a game of solitaire or seeing one more instagram post become very attractive. This is a trap. It will suck what little energy and joy you have and make your muscles flabby for the work of getting into an in-depth book/hobby/experience.

I know the feeling of being able to see how the sausage is made, but... well... first, being in a better mental state will make that matter less, and second, reading prose that is more competent will make that less of an issue. A lot of mainstream tradpub genre fiction is not, in my opinion, very well written these days. Obviously, people are still enjoying it, and that's fine, but if you're noticing writers fumbling around, it might be time to check out some literary fiction or some other category known more for prose quality than anything else.

It's also important to have some structure and some things to look forward to. Even if you feel tired, overwhelmed, and busy, sometimes, the answer is to do more... But it must be things that are distinct and significant and that get you off of the couch, like going to one museum every weekend.

I saw some advice once about this kind of thing that phrased it as "One big adventure; one small adventure."

Every week, you should have those two things to look forward to that matter. Check out a new coffee shop. That could be the small one. Go to an event: a gallery opening, a concert, whatever.

Physical exercise and doing some things that aren't as verbal and conscious thought-involving is important too. Painting is a better hobby for zoning out than writing is. Taking long walks in nature is good for most people.

--

The kind of intense, obsessive love I had for reading as a child and that I sometimes have for fandom requires a lot of attention and some time. It's escapist, but that masks how much work it actually was. It didn't feel like work only because we were in training.

If you've filled your brain and your day up with a thousand petty annoyances or minor and useless attempts to feel something, you won't have the capacity for those deeper things.

Because you are already at a point that's equivalent to a bad sprained ankle, trying to get back to running right now won't work. You have to stay off of the ankle for a bit, then build your strength and stamina back up.

[fatliberation]

Sorry for leaving this in your inbox, but I need to vent and ask for advice in a place where people won't mock me. What do you do when sex is super difficult because of your fat? I've recently gotten into my first relationship and. I thought I had a handle on my internalized fatphobia and self hate but this has made it worse than ever. We can't have satisfying penetrative sex (we've tried all the tips and workarounds. Nothing works. I'm larger than most of the FA community.), and recieving oral sex is also difficult for me. I also get tired and sweaty extremely quickly if I have to like hold up myself on mostly my arms or something, so he has to do most of the work. So sex is just. Mostly the one that works on repeat, and we don't have it very often because it isn't that fun for either of us, and it also makes me cry afterwards sometimes because of how disappointing it is & me beating myself up over it.

I'm genuinely worried my boyfriend is going to leave me for this. He's clearly very frustrated with the situation, even though he tries to be nice about it most of the time. Earlier today I tried to like be flirty and hint at stuff and he just. got a bit sad. and then said that clearly neither of us enjoy the sex we're having and that he has a lot of trouble staying hard.and that he doesn't see the point when we're both forcing it for no reason. I think he's going to break up with me soon. His ex is way lighter than me, so he's probably comparing the normal sex he had with her with whatever the fuck this abnormal shitshow is :/

All the work I've done on myself to be happy with being fat (including working up the courage to date, what a mistake that was lmao) is all gone. This has ruined my self-esteem so much. I feel like one of those fatphobic jokes but a person.

first and foremost, please try your best to remember this: your body is not the problem. one more time. your body is not the problem. I'm so very sorry you're concerned that your boyfriend would leave you over this. it sounds like he has a lot of preconceived ideas about how sex is supposed to go. I promise you that it doesn't have to be this way. if this is something that could really end the relationship, know that this person is not compatible or open to exploring your needs, rather than your needs being "too difficult." I promise it's him, not you. I know folks who are 600+ pounds who have excellent sex lives and partners who satisfy them and enjoy satisfying them. when someone starts treating your pleasure like a chore, that's just shitty. I know how much it hurts. it also does damage to your own openness to pleasure. when you're caught up in feeling like sex/your body is something that needs to be "fixed," nothing is going to feel sexy, because all that pressure puts stress on and takes you out of the mental state where you're able to experience pleasure. does that make sense? so many couples get stuck in this cycle.

there are so many ways to engage in pleasure without penetration or orgasm. there's a lot that goes into foreplay, setting a mood, making your partner feel appreciated and attractive. words and touch play a huge part in this. something as simple as exploring each other's bodies, not with the intention of reaching climax, but simply to be vulnerable and engage each others' senses. have your partner give you a massage. play with your hair. tickle your back with a feather. shower together. kiss you. compliment you. if either of you are into any kinks or dirty talk, that could be a great way to engage each other sexually without the pressure of "achieving" a goal. the goal here is just to feel good, close, and connected. societal messaging about sex has placed so much importance on orgasm instead of pleasure - when taking the time and space to relax and receive attention, is key.

feel free to check out my other posts on fat sex ed, there's lots of assistive toys that can make pleasure more accessible, but I think that should be a tool for later, since the biggest issue here is the pressure to perform. know that pleasurable sex can exist for you! but for now, I would recommend taking a break from sex altogether since it is not pleasurable for you right now. because pleasure is the whole point. forcing it is only going to feel worse. you do not owe it to your boyfriend, especially if it doesn't feel good and is taking an emotional toll. I hope you both are able to take a step back, reassess and communicate, and are able to reconnect and create a safe space to explore.

I understand why you're beating yourself up over this, I've been there too. but also know that it's just another societal standard that's been internalized (and it doesn't sound like your boyfriend is helping). like you said, you've done a lot to unlearn fatphobia. there's a lot of internalized beliefs we absorb from society surrounding sex, just like body image. I promise that there is nothing wrong with you. If your boyfriend takes his frustration out on you instead of making you feel safe to express your needs, then he's not a supportive partner. you deserve someone who takes delight in your pleasure and your body. believe me, we're out there.

[vidavalor]

<<There's also the little bit where journalists write *records*... while a detective or PI will be writing things down, they're not for public knowledge>>

Oh, for sure! Love this, Kaylee! Books and papers as records of the past... but so too are people? *diverges slightly from original topic of post to happily follow thread of records*

Stripadeliveragram and the grammophone out in the intercut scenes of The Arrival...

Maggie is repeating the origin story of her family's record shop but I suspect that she doesn't know it but she's really repeating the origin of her family itself. Maggie is descended from her great-grandmother, who started the record shop in a corner of Mr. Fell's bookshop in the 1920s, yes? Well...

Corner: A place where any two lines intersect; an angle. Off of this: the place where streets or walls meet.

As a result of corner being rooted in the Old French corne, its original meanings, though, also include the other meaning of corne:

a horn; the hard growth atop the head of a mammal.

This is actually part of the etymology of the word horny.

The original meaning of horny was something that resembled an animal horn but not really being made of horn. It did not take long, though, for people to adapt it to have the secondary meaning of to be sexually aroused, which has pretty obviously long since overtaken the other meaning to become basically the sole meaning of the word today.

It had a few variants before settling into the horny that has lasted for awhile now. In the 17th century, to have the horn meant the same as to feel horny does today, and phrasing it as feeling hornish was a thing for awhile, before horny caught back on and stuck. While this meaning of the word rather unsurprisingly came from the phallic associations of animal horns, it was a gender-neutral term from the start. Equal linguistic opportunity from the get-go when it came to having the horn.

Within the word corner is the word corn. Some kernels of truth (groan lol) might be in here because...

Corn on the cob... I am a professional midwife/cobbler.

I think we found the sweetly corny great-grandmother who, ahem, popped some corn in Mr. Fell's bookshop back in the 1920s and led to Mags' eventual existence as a result...

A development that, if correct, will add an absolutely hilarious new layer to...

...I mean, yes, he does like waiting inside but, eventually, as the rest of the scene points out, those seeds get planted... I feel like Aziraphale might know that better than anyone else. 😂 *tilts head*...

...'always cunt-tains the seeds'...? *snicker*

Honk the big, cross duck's horn just right and, under the right circumstances, not that long later, wave hello the little hen.

Muriel: But you don't look like a bee. You look like a murder hornet or a snake or...

Crowley: We talk all the time. We've been doing it for millions of years.... It's great.

So, Aziraphale arrived in Edinburgh with a briefcase we never see him open and a hat that reads, among other things, "PRESS 66" on it, right?

And we might think that these are just Aziraphale's journalist cosplaying accessories but I think there are some hints that there's a bit more going on here than we might think-- all of it very relevant to The Finale.

We think that Aziraphale's arrival in Edinburgh is the first time that we see these things but, in true Good Omens form, the hat and briefcase are both actually glimpsed in a prior scene... rather significantly placed in that earlier scene, even.

Here they are, sitting together, the hat atop the briefcase, both in front of Jimbriel's once Fly-containing box, beside/behind the memory-wiped Muriel, in the scene below:

So, as Muriel is sitting there, not remembering Aziraphale, and as Aziraphale is sitting there, remembering Muriel and thinking all the things about the fact that they don't remember him at all? In the shot between them is the box into which Jim put his memory and brought it to Crowley and Aziraphale for safe keeping. In front of that box? Is Aziraphale's press hat and briefcase, seemingly drawing some connections between the journalist accessories and the memory plots in S2. Hmm...

What this scene also shows is that Aziraphale didn't just magic this stuff up as props when he arrived in Scotland. Even though we didn't see them in the car on the way up, they were there on the passenger seat for him to retrieve upon his arrival. He brought them with him from the shop. He packed them overnight and they were there, all ready to go, prior to Muriel's arrival, which coincided with Crowley coming over and moving the plants out of the car because Aziraphale planned to take it to Scotland. Why does this matter?

Because it might signal that there's more to the briefcase and the hat with its press credentials than we might initially suspect.

I think it would be safe to say that Aziraphale, by this point in the story, would be concerned that his memories were in danger.

He knows he's always been on a collision course with falling and this is all escalating pretty quickly in S2 in the two days prior to Aziraphale packing this press stuff and taking the car. Gabriel was The Supreme Archangel and he couldn't remember who he was and the archangels had shown up to threaten them and say that they're going to be spying on him even more closely, sending another angel to bug them the next day... the memory-wiped Muriel being quite an interesting choice, as that's sending quite a threatening message. Aziraphale also had roped Maggie and Nina into this and he knew he was likely going to have a confrontation with Heaven and Hell coming.

One of the first things he'd be concerned about would be his memories, right? and it's here where we can mention what we later learn about what Heaven can and cannot do regarding those memories... things that are new to us but that Aziraphale likely would have already known and factored into his plan, as we'll see.

Hints are given to this all season via Gabriel but it really becomes overt in this scene here:

This scene proves that Gabriel's memories aren't just in The Fly in S2-- they're also still in his mind. His memories are shown to be in two places at once. Gabriel's memories-- ones even directly related to the trauma he underwent-- actually began to come back before The Fly, in this scene. Gabriel felt safe and like he was talking with someone who could understand in this scene with Crowley so the memories began to come back for him.

The point here is that this scene shows that, when Gabriel "took his memories out" and put them into The Fly, what he was really doing was basically backing them up. He "uploaded" his memories into The Fly for safekeeping so he could retrieve them later, as a way to keep it so that they wouldn't be erased forever, but those same memories are still also on the "hard drive" of his mind. They were just mostly inaccessible to him for almost all of S2 because of trauma.

Before you say well, Gabriel might be a special case because he took his own memories out to avoid Heaven attacking him? Consider that Crowley didn't have a chance to do that-- but he tells Gabriel he knows how Gabriel feels.

Crowley has had the same experiences with his own memories. He's been able to bring some back at different times, without a lot of context, but a lot remains blocked. Crowley saying that he's been able to retrieve some memories means that those memories are still there in his mind, just very painful and difficult to access.

The idea might be that their memory loss is actually trauma-blocking. If Crowley's situation has the same effect as Gabriel's, it suggests that Heaven can't actually take people's memories-- they can only block them.

This would then be suggesting, as a lot in S2 did, that Gabriel didn't develop retrograde amnesia from taking his memories out-- he developed amnesia from the trauma he underwent.

When he felt safe enough to confront some of that trauma, the memories started to come back to him a bit.

What does this have to do with Aziraphale's briefcase, you ask?

It is connected because Gabriel's memory loss being from the trauma of Heaven trying to kill him, not from putting his memories into The Fly, proves that an angel could take his out their memories and not get amnesia from doing so.

Gabriel's story is showing that they could take out their memories whenever they want and still retain those memories also in their minds and be perfectly fine.

It's showing that Aziraphale could have backed up his memories in S2 without experiencing memory loss-- and the press hat and the briefcase are tied to just how he might have done that.

Aziraphale might have taken one look at Gabriel and his memory situation and the archangels circling the shop and thought that it would be a good idea to backup his memories and store them somewhere safe for if this all went pear-shaped.

What's interesting is that then, in a parallel shot to Aziraphale arriving in Edinburgh, we have this later scene when Aziraphale returns to London... note what's missing:

We see him park by the suit shop-- but no suitcase/briefcase this time. No hat. He's also taken off the raincoat. We never see them again for the rest of the season but we see a whole bunch of scenes that hint at where they are and why Aziraphale has left them in that location.

In this moment, we spend a strange amount of time on watching Aziraphale get out of the car and look around, hands-free, pat The Bentley, go for a little walk for a moment...

He talks to Nina, he goes back to the bookshop and greets Crowley and gets an armful of plants. The Bentley is largely the focus of the scene with Nina as well and its moving up in a scene that involves Nina and her bicycle-- another "mad 'American' woman on a bicycle", in parallel to Anathema in S1-- recalls Aziraphale miracling a bike rack onto the boot of The Bentley to transport Anathema's bike back to Jasmine Cottage. The key to getting Anathema and her bike safely home to her cottage was the bike rack Aziraphale made happen; the key to getting him and Crowley safely to the South Downs Cottage might be what Aziraphale stashed in the trunk of the car on his trip.

Here's where we can see that scenes before and around this involving Shax and Crowley show us pretty emphatically where the briefcase and the press hat are not located in the car...

They can't be on the passenger seat as they were on the way to Edinburgh because Shax wouldn't have been able to sit there when she got into the car on the drive back from Edinburgh. They also can't be in the backseat because the scene adjacent to Aziraphale's return to London is he and Crowley loading the plants back into the backseat. Crowley would have handed him his things if they were back there.

So, we have all of these shots of Aziraphale's return that are, among other things, emphasizing that the hat, the raincoat, and the briefcase are all not things he's taking out of The Bentley's trunk upon his return, even if they are his belongings and he brought them with him from the bookshop. He's intentionally leaving them all in the Crowley's car.

Aziraphale definitely did not leave his memories in a briefcase in The Resurrectionist Pub, even though that's the last place we saw the briefcase. How do we know that?

Because let's say that we're right here and Aziraphale did put his memories into the briefcase... either into something else that he then locked into the briefcase or just into the briefcase itself. What's the one problem with this?

He locked them in there for safekeeping, right? So...

He can't just leave the briefcase for Crowley-- he also needs to leave the key to the briefcase, yes? He needs to leave the combination somewhere... but he also has to hide that combination key. The briefcase wouldn't be very safe if just anyone could figure out how to open it, right? It needs to be something only Crowley can understand.

This is why Aziraphale is not a private detective in Edinburgh but a journalist because the key is in the hat.

How does one open the locked briefcase?

Press 66. 😉

The briefcase and the hat go together because the briefcase cannot be opened without the press credentials in the hat which, in very Good Omens and Crowley & Aziraphale form, look like they're one thing but are really another when you consider alternate meanings of words. Aziraphale knows that only Crowley would see Aziraphale's hat atop that briefcase and the 'Press 66' and work out that it's how to open the briefcase.

It would also be very Good Omens to nod to famous film Macguffins and then make them actually important in Good Omens' story. While a "what's in the briefcase?" thing here is very Pulp Fiction, the film that inspired the briefcase in Pulp Fiction is 1955's atomic noir Kiss Me Deadly, which is being referenced all over the place in S2.

The scene where Aziraphale picks Shax up from the side of the road is a homage to Kiss Me Deadly's opening scene, Gabriel's memory issues and his "I am in The Fly" note is similar to part of the central mystery of that film, and Kiss Me Deadly is the origin of the popularization of the word vavoom/va-va-voom.

Like basically every other film referenced in Good Omens, it's also known for innovative use when it comes to language-- particularly, coded cinematic language, in this case. Like North by Northwest, which is referenced in both parts of 1941 so far, Kiss Me Deadly found innovative ways to get around the Hays Code to tell its story. References to The Maltese Falcon in the story are also likely in relation to that story using etymology-based language to queer code aspects of its story, in a similar way to Good Omens, but also that The Maltese Falcon itself is a bit of a MacGuffin. In Good Omens, though, it seems like they're actually winking at those by making Macguffin-alluding things actually important parts of the story.

Anyway, the biggest fan theory about what's in the briefcase in Pulp Fiction is based around the combination to the briefcase being 666 in the film and the idea is that it's Marcellus Wallace's soul, which he sold to the devil. Famously, the audience never sees what's inside the briefcase. We might be saying here that the combination to Aziraphale's briefcase being 66 may be nodding to Pulp Fiction's briefcase a bit and hinting at the Satan in The Final 15 ideas. 66 is also tied to Route 66 and rock 'n roll in America, Buddy Holly, and the paralleling Gabriel & Beez flashback, maybe especially hinting at memory-related things happening with the briefcase.

I won't spoil you on what's in the briefcase in Kiss Me Deadly but let's just say that it goes along with Good Omens pretty well thematically... in a much, much darker way. The film being very bleak noir makes it very different in tone from Good Omens but the fact that the briefcase is actually is relevant to the story in the end of that film might also hint that Aziraphale's disappeared briefcase might wind up being important in The Finale, too.

Adding to this theory is also that another briefcase in The Bentley's trunk/boot was also something shown earlier in S2-- on a very significant night in Crowley & Aziraphale's history:

When Aziraphale is in Edinburgh, we see him intentionally hamming up his newspaper man persona and, in doing so, he takes the briefcase into The Resurrectionist Pub, right? Bit of foreshadowing there as to what will happen to Aziraphale and what will need to happen to bring him back?

Yes, we don't see the briefcase again after this scene but I doubt he left it in the pub because it would be useless to Crowley without the hat, on which Aziraphale has hidden the briefcase combination hidden in plain sight. Aziraphale was seen wearing the hat in one scene set after we last saw the briefcase, proving that both of them and the raincoat are in the trunk of The Bentley:

Aziraphale wore this whole get up to Edinburgh so that, if anyone was watching him, they'd think he was Muriel-like cosplaying a newspaper man. I mean... we know the trench coat is a little Columbo-esque, but why wouldn't he just be a private detective and not a journalist, if the goal was just to play a role to help solve the Gabriel mystery? Because he had to be a old movie-esque journalist so he could have the word press there in the credentials, only for its other meaning for the briefcase combination.

Aziraphale definitely had a whole other list of motivations for being the one to go to Edinburgh. He wanted Crowley to rest in the shop and to talk to Gabriel, he wanted to be the one to go tackle the mystery, and he wanted to work on his 1827 issues by going to the graveyard again... but we might find we can add to that list that he also realized it would be a good opportunity to hide his memories in a briefcase in The Bentley with actions that are right there, in plain sight of anyone who is watching-- including us 😉-- but might not be deemed suspicious.

Parallel-wise, the briefcase and The Bentley are the matchbox and the moving box and PRESS 66 is Aziraphale's equivalent to I AM IN THE FLY... all before Aziraphale and Crowley actually figured out what Gabriel and Beez did to protect Gabriel.

He's pressing on the press hat he's leaving for Mr. Six Shots of Espresso... 😂 The press card is in his hat, like a feather... Crowley's "it'd be a real feather in your cap wing" joke from the foreshadowing "I'll be damned"/"It's not so bad when you get used to it" scene in 1.01...

That demon doesn't know it yet but he's driving around with Aziraphale in the trunk because Aziraphale figured out how to get around the worst case scenario. He knew he was on a collision course with falling and he found a way to potentially dodge the memory loss by stashing his memories for Crowley in The Bentley.

His enthusiasm in Edinburgh is him barely able to contain his amusement at getting one over on anyone watching him who think they know what they're seeing but don't realize what he's actually up to.

No wonder why he was walking on air when he got back to London-- it was mission accomplished. He'd managed to leave Crowley the ability to bring him back, tucked away in the safest spot possible.

The bookseller who, like the others, is a metaphorical book/paper, left their out for Heaven and Hell trying to kill him for Crowley's safekeeping in a briefcase... the thing people use for...

...paperwork. 😂

But wait... there's one other big question, though, yes?

Why didn't Aziraphale tell Crowley this?

There absolutely was enough time and opportunity to tell Crowley he'd backed up his memories and left them in The Bentley's trunk.

The fact that this didn't come up seems wild, right, because they both know that Crowley has been having a steady anxiety attack about Heaven and Hell circling all week. We would think that, if Aziraphale had figured out this plan to circumvent that threat, the first thing he would have done would be to tell Crowley about it, yes?

Except... while I wrote this meta from the perspective of what the end result of Aziraphale's actions with the briefcase might be in The Finale, I don't actually think that was Aziraphale's own motivation for doing what he did.

Aziraphale didn't take out his memories and leave them in the briefcase in The Bentley for Crowley as a backup plan for them to elude a form of death for Aziraphale.

He left them there for Crowley to find and have after Aziraphale was already gone. Why else would Crowley need the combination on the credentials on the hat, right?

If Aziraphale had intended on his memories in the briefcase being a plan to save himself, he would have told Crowley about it so that Crowley would know. Instead, though, it's something of a suicide note. He left them for Crowley to find and have in the future.

I think The Bentley was even warning of this suicide ideation and showing concern upon the return to London for Aziraphale over what he had put in its trunk. The car is worried. [I love Good Omens-- when else am I going to type a sentence like that? 😂]

Aziraphale first parked it in front of Battye [madness] & Palm [to take]. It's a shop reflective of a lot of that depression and suicide ideation happening in Aziraphale's story and leading to his fall that I looked at in The Devil Takes The Hindmost.

The Bentley then drives itself-- and all Aziraphale's Aziraphaleness in the briefcase-- up a few feet. What is The Bentley then aligning Aziraphale with?

Death.

The car parked itself in front of the Give Me Death half of Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death...

... until Aziraphale told it to go back to where he parked it. Then, The Bentley backed up a few feet to Battye & Palm and all the madness that is the rest of the season. The car was foreshadowing the end, parking itself right along where it would be parked the last time we'd see it in S2.

The trunk is aligned with Give Me Death in The Final 15...

...fulfilling the foreshadowing of the end of S1.

[n1ghtfurys]

Okay so did I drop off the face of the planet? Yes, yes I did but here's some Simon fluff because I don't know what I'm doing.

:)

Simon isn't the most touchy boyfriend. He'll drape an arm around you when you're both sprawled out on the sofa or let you wrap yourself around him in bed even though he runs way too hot for it. So it's not that he's not affectionate, he's just not really the type to seek you out for attention.

Not only that but he's a man of very, very few words. Other than the occasional compliment on an outfit or sweet message when he's on a long deployment he's not particularly vocal about his feelings either. That is, until he's tired.

It's a gem that you found when he was back from deployment pretty early on in your relationship. He gets all loose, lipped and affectionate when he's really tired. It's like he loses the ability to hold his tongue and all of those sweet gushy things he thinks about you come flowing out.

When he gets back this time he looks like he's been dragged through multiple hedges so after a shower that you know could cook pasta, he almost immediately falls into a drowsy, almost, sleep when he finally gets to collapse into bed. You go to lie down with him, partly because you missed him but mostly because, in his half-dead haze, he asked you to, a rare but welcome occurrence.

You already find it adorable that he’s asking for your comfort, this big military guy who'd just been out doing god knows what to god knows who, wants to lie in bed and be held, wants you to play with his hair, wants to feel how you trail your fingertips up and down his arms, his back, along his neck, wants to hear you whisper sweet things into his ear, in that tone he loves so much.

He’s quiet mostly, you genuinely think he's fallen asleep but every so often he hums, or groans and shuffles himself closer or leans into your touch whenever it finds his cheek.

You let him move until his head sits comfortably on your chest, his hands balled into the t-shirt he gave you before his deployment and your hands running through his messy blonde hair.

He mumbles something that you don't quite catch, looking up at you through half open eyes. You love the way he looks at you like not even oxygen matters to him now that he has you. He mutters things about how pretty you are, compares you to the stars and the moon and the sky at dawn, names all of the things he loves about you. He repeats it over and over sometimes thinking of something new to tell you, some other little comment locked away behind his cold exterior. You know he won't remember any of it when he wakes up, but you also know he means every word.

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][semi-public][idk man, feet? Like, she does some things but not with her dawgs out][handjob][nipple play][standing sex][unprotected sex][blowjob][implied snowballing]

"Why are you mewing?"

"What?"

Your question breaks Kento's reverie, that little bubble in which he is optimally productive and narrowed eyes raise to meet your gaze.

You look like the picture of leisure.

A pen spinning idly on your nimble fingers, your elbow resting on your desk and the plethora of colourful pens you'd stuck in your hair in an attempt to get Kento to smile. You have yet to succeed at that, but you pay it no mind, shifting closer to your desk, the wheels of your chair scuff against the linoleum floors and you rest both elbows on your desk.

"Mewing." You repeat. "The model thing?"

You elaborate vaguely and you watch as those thin, blonde brows crease into a frown, upper lip curling in distaste at the fact that you keep teaching him urban slang without his consent.

"I don't need to mew."

Kento dismisses, slender fingers moving through his sandy blonde strands, not even tousling them in an unattractive way, and you let out a whistle.

"Not you flexing your face card." You tease and you feel a sick sense of fulfillment when he lets out that heavy sigh, removing his freaky glasses and pinching the bridge of his perfect (and rideable) nose.

"I hate that I know what those words mean." Kento complains, before tugging on his tie, loosening the knot up just a bit.

"You look tired." You hum softly. "Your eyebags are heavier than usual. Overtime?"

"Another Curse." He responds lazily, slumping the tiniest bit against the back of his chair and Kento lets out a heavy groan.

"I want to quit."

The words aren't unusual when it's Kento. He's a man who loves complaining about things, and you're already fishing in your bag for your second lunch box, sliding it across the surface of your desks. He takes it, without hesitance, opening it up and picking up the sandwich, raising it to his mouth to take a generous bite.

Mayonnaise rests at the corners of his mouth but you don't hesitate to lean over, wiping away the messes with your thumb.

And Kento's lips quirk into a smile at the action.

'Wife' isn't a term everyone gives to anybody, and 'friend' isn't a term he'd give anybody.

But you somehow manage to be both. Except wife, but you're a variant: his workwife.

You behave just like a wife would. Greeting him with a coffee every morning, despite the fact that he gets his own on his way to work but always orders an extra small so that he can see the smile on your face when you slide that '#1 Husband' cup across his desk.

You listen to him complain, occasionally straighten his tie that he's left intentionally crooked just to feel the brushes of your fingertips against his skin.

And it's the little quirks.

When you work hard, you're so focused. Everytime he passes by your desk on his way to the bathroom, he sticks one of your colourful pens into your hair and it's gotten to the point where Kento just goes to the bathroom, because he wants to see the way your face tugs with confusion whenever you redo that bun and your stationery clatters to the floor.

You pack him in lunches, you talk to him all the time despite the fact that sometimes, he'd like to hear you talk with your mouth full.

Kento remembers important dates, like your birthday, your parents' anniversary, the day you found whatever stray you managed to find a home for and your doctor's appointments (which he schedules for you).

He buys little trinkets, small baubles that remind him of you and you do the same. Kento's desk has a little ornamental seashell that you gave him when you visited the beach in your hometown. Your desk has a little ornamental Big Ben replica from Kento's trip to London to get rid of a Curse.

"Kento?" Your voice brings him back, but so does the sight of your manicured fingers, snapping in front of his face. "Ken? You okay?"

Ken.

Ken.

Ken.

The sound of your voice calling him that, so soft and so sweet, makes it even harder to conceal the large bulge in the front of his slacks and Kento clears his throat.

"Hm? Yes, I'm fine. Just thinking."

You know better than to ask, so instead, you do what you always do. Your kitten heel bumps against Kento's dress shoe, in a small act of almost childish affection and Kento's tuts you.

"You shouldn't be wearing heels for too long."

A muscular hand grasps your ankle, carefully undoing the buckle and he slides your heel off. One foot at a time, and he rests your one foot in his lap, while absentmindedly massaging the arch, his thumbs enjoying the feel of the pantyhose against his finger pads.

"You know, I have no idea how you're not married or at least, seeing someone." You state, your toes curling with each press of Kento's thumb to your foot, easing aches you didn't even know were there.

"No woman would be okay with the fact that her partners goes to work and massages another woman's feet." Kento hums, eyes lowered to your feet as he presses, the sight of your manicured toes shielded by semi-transparent hosiery isn't something he thought he needed to see.

But God, was he wrong.

He likes that your toenails are the prettiest shade of nude, so lovely with your complexion. Manicured, trimmed, filed, perfect.

"Then maybe don't massage my feet?" You suggest, resting your chin in the palm of your hand as you watch Kento with a bored, almost lovey stare.

He's a gorgeous man.

Small, hazel eyes, thin eyebrows (they're natural, you asked), perfect hair and a perfect body. But you're not too focused on his body when it comes to his jaw.

A jawline so sharp it could cut glossy wrapping paper without a single fault.

"No." Kento's voice brings you to the forefront of your mind and you let out a laugh, lowering your feet from his lap and setting them on the lush carpet beneath your feet. And you lean over, cradling Kento's face in your hands and you don't miss the way his expression softens the tiniest bit.

Brows relaxing, jaw unclenching and you brush your thumbs across his cheekbones.

"You're too perfect for this world."

Kento's barely even there, working on documents like he's on autopilot, muscular hands scribbling details into blocks and he occasionally pauses to push up his goggles. And you can't help it.

Brushing your foot up his calf, and.... Nothing.

Light work, no reaction.

Your foot shifts, trailing up Kento's thigh and only when your foot reaches where you assume the leg of his boxers would end, do his eyes lift to meet your stare.

"Yes, wife?" He hums and you feel that tingle in your stomach. He calls you that like it's your name and it makes your ears itch in only a way your ankles can scratch.

"No, nothing." You shake your head. "Just wanted to see you get nervous."

"Won't work, try harder."

Kento's eyes lower back to the stack of paper in front of him, a new challenge being brought to the front of your braincell and you act boldly.

Placing your foot right over his bulge.

His really hard, really big bulge. And you swallow, eyes widening and Kento doesn't even glance up at you.

"Didn't think it through, did you?" He teases and you shake your head. "I did not."

But when you move to move away your foot, Kento's hand grasps your ankle in a pretty firm grip, and his free hand just continues to page through the stack.

And he keeps your foot there.

"Finish what you started."

The closet is stuffy, the fluorescent light is intense and it makes sweat accumulate on the back of your neck, droplets dribbling down into the collar of your shirt but you don't notice it.

Of course you don't. Not when Kento's tongue is in your mouth, his hands resting on your waist, thumbs brushing against the curve of the underside of your breasts and his cock, fucking into your hand at the slowest, most painstaking pace.

Kento's big.

Long, thick, with the prettiest little tuft of hair just above his base. He's a neat man, but he's a messy man, beads of precum sliding down his shaft, wetting your palm and making the most obscene sound that echoes in the quietness of the supply closet.

Boxes and boxes surround you. Standard office supplies, sticky notes in every colour, boxes of highlighters and gel pens adjusted to be comfortable for the grip of an office worker. Japan really is ahead of it's time when it comes to stationery, but the thought leaves your mind when Kento kisses your neck.

He's gentle, and slow, but his hands make light work of your blouse, lowering his head to press a kiss to that delicate little 'v' between your clavicles and he shudders out a breath.

"Your hands feel so good...."

Kento breathes out, his thumbs brushing over your nipples until they form stiff peaks, painfully hard and just... Begging for attention from his soft, warm tongue.

"But you take such good care of your hands." He adds softly, pressing kisses along the swell of your breasts, soft tits to adorn with kisses and gentle lovebites that'll leave bruises for only your eyes.

And hopefully his.

"I like your manicure." Kento sighs quietly. "Is that with the money of our bet?"

You only nod your head. You're not able to do much when his warm fingertips are tugging so teasingly on your nipples, your head tipping back against a shelf and you let out a panted breath.

Your hand strokes him just a bit faster, your wrist having the slightest bit of torsion as you work his already weepy cock, squeezing your hand the tiniest bit tighter when you get to the tip.

The flushed, pink and rosy tip, crying thick beads of precum, twitching with each movement you make.

You're barely focused on the pens that clatter out of your hair, tumbling to the floor when Kento lifts you from the cool tiles, guiding your legs to wrap around his narrow waist.

A hole is easy to rip into your nylons, and you're pulling your panties to the side with hazy eyes and a fuzzy brain, and your body turns to a flurry of static when he slides into you.

You're so warm.

So wet and so so tight, Kento buries his face in your neck as he shifts you in his arms. He's so happy you're not wearing that pencil skirt, instead, he gets to watch the fluttering mauve fabric of your skirt slide down your thighs and rest at the crease of your hips, while his forearms hook beneath your knees.

Kento fucks into you like a man with all the time in the world. Cock dragging against your gummy insides, nudging at your cervix with the cutest, lingering pecks. All as Kento's lips find purchase around one of your taut nipples, suckling and dragging his tongue along the bud.

Your nerves are tingling.

Your fingers card through his hair, nails digging into the back of his neck and Kento's warm breaths brush across your skin, doing nothing to ease the goosebumps that spatter across your flesh. And you whine, a low sound that echoes through the room and your hips roll to meet each of Kento's thrusts.

And a low groan leaves his lips, shifting you a bit more and he begins to move you. Up... Down... Up... Down...

The repetitive motion and the delightful tingle that makes your toes curl in your heels, the scratch of his fuzzy pubic bone brushing against your clit is one of the leading sensations that make your brain glitch.

"You're tighter than I imagined."

Kento breathes out, peeking up at you from between your breasts, and that's... That's what gets you.

Fluttering walls spasm around Kento's cock, trickling liquids dribbling down his cock as your hips buck and twitch. He kisses you.

Deep and long, like his strokes, and Kento's tongue drags against the roof of your mouth. He drinks your moans like sweet nectar, swallowing each breath and sound like they're heaven themself.

You're on your knees in front of Kento before you know.

You can see he's close. The way he twitches, flushed crown dripping onto your tongue before your lips wrap around his tip, your hands following in suit. Your thighs are still shaking when you're sucking his cock, hands stroking him in tandem.

Clockwise, anticlockwise, up and down.

You feel Kento's fingers carding through your hair, keeping your head in place as he grips the shelf above him with such desperation that you can hear the wood splinter.

Kento's hips stutter when he comes.

Shooting warm pulses of cum into your warm, wet mouth, painting your tongue in that pretty pearlescent fluid that tastes distinctly like.... Cinnamon and pineapple.

"Don't swallow." Kento whispers softly, guiding you to your feet and his body presses against yours, his hand coming to cup your cheek while the other rests on the curve of your hip.

"Spit it back in my mouth, wife."

[klorophile]

I agree and I don't at the same time... I've been having mixed feelings about this take and I'm gonna try to put some words on it.

First of, Arcane absolutely is a modern tragedy, yes, of course, no doubts about that. It's even presented with a classic theatre colored structure: different acts composed of episodes (scenes), and even works in threes to be fancy. And I mean... the characters, their actions, the consequences, the themes, ... You see how things will go bad, and they do go bad because of their premices. Tragedy all the way.

Yes. ...For season 1. But season 2? I personally expected season 2 not to be a tragedy, or at least not fully. Because I feel like... "what's the point?" Season 1 was already fantastically sad. Absolutely all the characters were shaken at their core (to the point of death for some), everyone was facing their big ass consequences by the end of it. Why repeat that in season 2? Because the message of "you always pay the consequences of your actions" had already been 100% delivered, I feel like there was no need to repeat it for another 9 episodes. In a way, I feel like it's redundant.

And maybe that wouldn't have been a problem. I mean, Game of Thrones told us from the start "you're gonna cry, 'cause the world is horrible and that's it" and repeated it throughout all the seasons, sure, but I think one of the differences is that Game of Thrones never promised anything else. While I know I feel like Arcane did.

One of their motto for the second season was that everything was going to be turned upside down, a 'story of opposites' as Silco says, they wanted to force the characters to be the opposite of what they usually are (Vi with no one to protect, Jinx a hero, ruthless Caitlyn, not alive silco ToT etc). And well... If season 1 was a complete tragedy and season 2 is going to be the upside down version, then why is it still a tragedy?

And I know, writing those words, that the obvious answer is "because everyone still face consequences", "because the world is a tragedy no matter who you are", "because you can't escape", etc etc. Okay. Maybe (most probably) I'm just a pussy who can't stand sad endings, especially when I have a blorbo from this show. Maybe.

But I think a lot of us are feeling betrayed, not just disappointed, hence the strong reactions. For @angelinthefire's "Because I think a lot of the complaints you see come from some people result from expecting it to be a certain kind of story that it's not." I wonder: Wasn't it the story itself that made us expect another genre at the end? Like I said, the part 1 tragedy then part 2 same tragedy feels weird.

And, in all honesty, I hate that I am saying all of that, because I completely agree that people should just tell the story they want to tell however they want to tell it. I did not expect to find myself complain about something being a tragedy instead of having a good ending.

But the other thing is that I feel like season 2 is not completely consistant about its 'consequences', and also, well, a bit cruel... Because if you look at Caitlyn, she paid very little, she's just forgiven by the narrative like that, because the writers decided that she was 'good', and that in spite of her actions. And don't read this as Caitlyn hate, I absolutely love her, but I think that doing this to her kept her away from the character development she could have had. I feel like they made her narratively good, but also less narratively intersting than she could have been.

Meanwhile, Jinx had to die with Warwick, and the message is that she finally pays the consequences of her actions from when she was 12 and accidentally got her family killed. And that's... brutal. Of course, I am a Jinx stan, so I'm not objective at all, I am aware. But if I am a Jinx stan, it's because the show made her oh so relatable. A lot of people see themselves in her. And that makes killing her a little tricky I think... Especially as what she is being 'punished' for was an accident, that in the end does not get to be forgiven.

And I mean... I think all of this could have been okay, actually. Season 2 could have been a second tragedy, why not. But what bothers me the most is simply that it does not work as well as season 1.

In season 1, the end is unescapable. That is precisely why it's a tragedy. Everyone is aiming towards it, everything is falling falling falling to this. But I am not convinced by season 2. Viktor and Jayce had to be obliterated by the arcane to save the world? Ok, sure, but then explain it! How does it work? What did they actually stop? Because the Hexgate is still standing there, hextech still exists, Piltover is still what it is... Events are going to repeat themselves. And sure, there won't be Viktor for a new Glorious Evolution, which is for the better, but what how why Ekko what what happened?? It's just not explained enough. If it's all about consequences then the arcane and the wild rune should be explained better because nothing feels like consequences, it just feel like plot written for itself. It doesn't feel like a tragedy, it feels like a story written by people trying to knot an ending. Vi and Jinx can't have a relationship anymore, because they always fall in this codependant nocious thing so Jinx has to fake her own death and flee the country all on her own? Ok, that's interesting. But why show that they could and actually did begin to mend things between each other then? (the both of them working together as equals, Vi asking for Jinx's opinion, Jinx learning to be the big sister with Isha and by seeing Vi with her alcohol problem, ...) Why show Vander and Silco (Vi and Jinx parallels) together if by the end the conclusion is that you cannot mend a relationship when it's been too bad for too long?

Anyway, I feel like what I disagree with in season 2 (one of the things at least, because we're not talking about the Piltover/Zaun storytelling here, amongst other things) is that we were told that it did not have to end badly, and then it did anyway, and for reasons that are not solid enough. I agree with season 1 because I see how it couldn't have turned differently. It shows us its heroes, and because they are what they are, the end is what it is. But in season 2, I just feel like the sad ending was forced. It's the other way around: the end has to be sad, so the characters are going to do this and that. And I think that is also a part of why we read the 'consequences' with the morale glasses on: because if it is more forced than logically flowing, then we see the choices the writers deliberately made, who they chose to keep alive and who they did not, and we wonder why.

They say it's about consequences, but it feels more like they are forcing their characters in a direction because they want the end to go a certain way. It's not inescapable like season 1. And if it's not inescapable, then maybe we deserved a good ending for season 2. Or at least an episode 10 that would be an alternate ending or something.

I've been thinking about how I would most concisely sum up the plot of Acane. Because I think a lot of the complaints you see come from some people result from expecting it to be a certain kind of story that it's not.

And I think the most concise way to put it is that Arcane is about consequences. The first episode starts with an explosion, that the characters spend the rest of the arc dealing with the repercussions of. And then the first arc ends with two massive events - Powder killing her family and the invention of hextech - that they spend the entire rest of the show dealing with.

I think most of the stories we get from Western media are about achieving or accomplishing something, or the failure to achieve something. And you can frame Arcane in those terms. But I think to best understand the story, you have to step out of that typical framework. Because the thing with an achievement-based story is that there is a particular end goal in mind, and I don't think Arcand has that.

Like take Vi and Jinx, for example. A typical way to frame their story would be that it's about two sisters trying to rebuild their relationship. That presupposes a certain ending: They either succeed or fail at their relationship, and that's what the focus is on.

But it's not about that. It's about - how do you deal with an event that fundamentally changes you?

In season 1, Vi's answer was to recapture what things were like before. In season 2, they try to redo the past (saving Vander) and get a different outcome, but that's impossible. The answer comes with Ekko - to build something new.

And this is all over the show - action and reaction, how the arcane wakes up, killing is a cycle.

[aamy2100982]

A guy on twt spent 7 or 8 hours arguing with like 6 people from the Venom community about whether Eddie is LGBT or not and if the symbiote is a parasite xd

At work, for some reason. Because of course, making people angry on twt is more important xd

I also argued a bit

But after being told over and over again “you’re delusional”, “you’re making this too complicated”, “that doesn’t make sense” and just repeating the same arguments over and over again without any proof, I just decided to take it with a little humor and wish him a nice day.

I explained to him what I wanted to explain. But anyway he admitted hours later arguing with someone else that he doesn't even like Venom as a character, so he probably doesn't know anything about them and just wants to fight because... people from twt I guess

I now saw other people responding to him and I decided out of curiosity to see if he is still fighting.

I guess after almost 8-9 hours and a block he finally got tired

EDIT:

But it was really fun to see 6-10 people arguing about the symbrock. It makes you realize that the fandom is very well informed about the homosexual shit that happens in the comics and the supposed fans who swear that Venom is straight really don't know anything about the character.

Anyway, 10/10 experience, although the guy was obviously doing it to annoy others on the internet, he didn't threaten to kill me or dox me and I was able to say goodbye to him politely. twt is really a wonderful place.

edit:

FALSE ALARM PEOPLE, KEEP FIGHTING AND GOT ​​SUPPORT!

COME ON BUDDY, BEAT THOSE AUTISTIC PARASITE CORN ADDICTS, YOU CAN DO IT 🎉🎉

(to be fair they now respond to him with Symbrock nsfw, that's a terrible way to respond to an argument in my opinion)

[tmblrcolouredpaper]

You're regret?

🖤Bang Chan/ Reader

🖤anger, hugs, fluff

🖤 ~370 words

🖤When someone regrets liking you -

'It's not fair. That's so not fair, love!', Chan rages.

He walks up and down his room, his hand furiously ruffling his hair. There is this angry glint in his eyes that could burst into in an inferno if directed at the right person. When his eyes meet your, however, Chan turns soft, even smiles.

It's gentle, the way he places his palm on your cheek as if you were crying. He doesn't understand why you're not.

'I mean, it's true. If he regrets liking me then it's just his truth', you argue.

'Why in the world would anyone regret liking you? That's just cruel', Chan whispers and finally settles down on the bed in front of you.

'Perhaps one day you'll regret me and then you'll understand', you joke, aiming for a lighter mood.

It's the heaviest hug he has ever given you when Chan wraps his arms around you now. His usual approch of solely offering him to you is replaced by him actively pulling you against him.

'Zip it, love. No chance that I'll ever regret anything about you', he grunts.

'I was kidding', you answer.

'I'm not', he remarks.

'I'm okay with being someone's regret', you tell Chan.

'I'm not', he repeats.

It's sadness that you find in his eyes when he allows you to look at him.

'You make life richer, so much richer, luxurious even.'

'I am just me. Don't exaggerate now', you huff.

'Love, please', Chan sighs and places his forhead against yours.

'You are so unbelievably wonderful and I hate that some idiot adds to you feeling anything less than special. If he feels embaressed about liking you then he is the one being embaressing', Chan proceeds to speak louder and louder, and with the attitude of a little schoolboy, he adds, 'and stupid!'

'You're pouting, baby', you laugh and tenderly caress his cheek.

'There is your pretty laugh', he switches up his demineor.

'You make me happy', you simply state.

To that Chan doesn't respond. His eyes soften and e just nods, exhaling in relief.

'That's what I always aim for and that's why you can just forget those losers who don't know how to appreciate you.'

🖤 If you enjoyed reading this you might also wanna check out my other works:

🖤MASTERLIST

[my-stories-vault]

Whoa, we dived deep! Finally, hehe!

He deadpanned as he repeated your name once more. It sounded almost… pleading. You didnt miss that, and though you still thought he was being over-the-top, you decided to give in.

This was so beautiful ❤️. I mean, I love a man who wants to protect you even if you don't know what you're being protected from 💘😭. These men are rare 🤌🏻.

His face shifted from pure shock to something that looked like it hurt, like a dam just burst inside him. For a second, all the chaos, the danger, everything melted away, leaving just the connection he felt for her.

Ahhhhh, that hurt! And it hurt so good.

Can't even imagine how painful it must have been to lose four years of your past that you could've had but didn't because of your actual "past".

I love how your story explores a lot of angsty sweet-spots.

Russell debated to reach out, but decided now was not the time for a great family reunion. His eyes darted down the hall. “Alright, let’s get out of here before Rourke’s even had his morning coffee.”

You broke me 🙂.

Unable to comfort someone you love is one of the greatest losses.

You and Russell exchanged a look. Words weren’t necessary; you both knew exactly what was on the line here. Funny, you thought, how his combat skills now felt like a strange kind of comfort.

I love how you've given reader the time, situations, and perspectives to accept Russell. This form of understanding is truest and much needed ❤️

The other chuckled. “No way. Shaw’s decent, but those two he’s with? Dead weight.”

Maybe I'm reading too much into this but I feel like when Russell beat these two gaurds up, it was because they made it personal 🤣. I mean, 'both out cold and wondering what just hit them.' - c'mon!

“Was?”

This was so cute and anticipatory 🥹🥰.

Loved. It.

Tuesday’s Gone — Chapter 4

Russell Shaw x reader

Summary: When the police does little to no help to find your missing daughter, you are forced to contact Colter Shaw. What you don’t expect is how his investigation will reveal secrets about both your past and your daughter’s, in ways you never imagined.

Warnings: missing child trope, description and mention of murder, language, crawling in a narrow vent (I’m sorry my fellow claustrophobic loves), being held captive, being kidnapped

A/N: While proofreading, I realized my subconscious was probably influenced by @zepskies ’ S.I.N.G. (Beau Arlen x reader) fic — even with the different Jackles character. So, I want to give her credit for the first part of this chapter. 🤍

Title’s based on Tuesday’s Gone by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Catch up on Chapter 3 here

Tuesday’s Gone masterlist

━━━━━━━━━━✦✧✦━━━━━━━━━━━

You couldn’t stop the giggles, even as Russell held you firm, your back flush against his chest, his hands pinning yours effortlessly. The whole thing was just… well, kind of hot, really.

“Y/N” he sighed for the hundredth time, clearly on the edge of his patience. “You can’t giggle your way out of an actual assault. Try to focus, will you? What would you do if I were someone else?”

“But you’re you” you teased, half-joking, half-distracted. “And anyway, self-defense is kind of pointless. We live in a safe neighborhood. Nobody’s going to lay a hand on me.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, his grip tightening slightly as he paused, clearly choosing his words carefully. “Look, sweetheart… you’re a young, attractive woman” he said finally. “It’d just make me feel better if I knew you could handle yourself if… anything happened when I’m not around.”

At the time, you had no idea what he meant by that.

“Can you hear that?” you whispered, your ears straining in mock suspense. Russell’s brows knit together as he shot you a confused look.

“Hear what?”

“Paranoid by Black Sabbath. Pretty sure it’s coming from over here,” you said, playfully poking your finger at his temple.

He deadpanned as he repeated your name once more. It sounded almost… pleading. You didnt miss that, and though you still thought he was being over-the-top, you decided to give in.

“Fine…” you sighed “show me these life-saving moves, oh, mighty master!”

Russell cracked a grin, but his expression quickly shifted to that serious trainer look he was trying way too hard to pull off.

“Alright. First rule: break their grip. Grab my wrist… Come on, like you mean it.”

You reached out, gripping his wrist, and he showed you how to twist and pull back, making it surprisingly easy to break free. “See? Leverage, not strength” he explained.

“Okay, fine. Not bad” you admitted, trying not to let him see you were actually impressed. It was kind of cool.

He moved on, showing you a move to throw off an attacker.

“Step in close, get low, and drive your shoulder up under their chin” he said, positioning himself as the attacker. You gave it a try, and he stumbled back with a laugh.

“That’s the spirit!” he said, straightening up. You didn’t miss the small glint of pride in his eyes. “Alright, one more. This time, if someone comes at you from behind.”

Before you knew it, his arms were around you from behind, pulling you close. It was very déjà vu to the way he’d started this whole lesson. “Now, if you were actually in danger—”

“Danger, yes” you teased, leaning back into him just a bit and looked up at him through your lashes. “How’s a girl supposed to focus with such a handsome teacher breathing down her neck? I’m kind of having trouble concentrating, you know.”

He shook his head, a grin slipping out as he loosened his grip. “Laugh it up, sweetheart, but I’m serious here. You’ve got this. Just remember what I taught you, alright? What’s the most important rule!”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “When in doubt… aim for the balls.”

Russell chuckled, eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. “That’s my girl” he said, pulling you into a kiss.

━━━━━━━━━━✦✧✦━━━━━━━━━━━

A sharp throb pulsed through your skull, but it was nothing compared to the hollow ache in your chest. The cold floor beneath you felt like concrete, but you couldn’t be sure. For now, you kept your eyes closed, trying to piece together what the hell had happened.

The last thing you remembered was the warehouse — those two men ambushing you and Russell.

It was a trap. All of it, carefully set to lure Russell back in, and you along with him.

Your thoughts turned to Russell. He had to be here, somewhere… Somewhere close. The thought pushed you to crack one eye open. Dim light filtered through, casting shadows that made everything look warped and surreal.

You sat up slowly, feeling your muscles protest as you took in your surroundings. The room was small, cramped… more like a cell than a room.

The smell of mildew filled the air, mingling with the unmistakable metallic scent of rusted metal and something else. Blood. Your pulse quickened as you took in the details, every instinct screaming that escape wasn’t an option here.

Your gaze drifted to the far corner, where a dark shape slumped against the wall. Heart pounding, you squinted through the low light, hoping beyond hope that it was him. “Russell?” you tried to call out to him, but it was more of a whisper than anything.

A soft groan answered you, and relief mixed with dread flashed through your veins. You crawled forward, ignoring the scrape of the rough floor against your palms and knees.

As you got closer, Russell’s face came into view. It was uncharacteristically pale, smeared with a hint of dried blood. It wasn’t that bad, but still… it looked like his. His breaths were shallow, his eyes half-closed, and a few small bruises bloomed across his face and arms, telling you he hadn’t escaped this unscathed.

“Hey, Russ” you murmured, reaching out to touch his shoulder gently. His nickname felt both foreign and natural falling from your lips. It’s been a while since you called him that.

His skin was cold and clammy, but at your touch, his eyes fluttered open.

“Y/N…” he rasped with a voice that was both hoarse and somewhat defeated. He took a few moments to compose himself, but he quickly took in his surroundings. “I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have brought you with me.”

Your heart twisted, but you forced a small smile. “Not like I gave you a choice.”

He attempted a smile, but it faded rather abruptly, leaving a shadow of worry on his face. “Where’s Colter?”

“He— he’s not here” you replied scanning the cramped cell. “Do you think they’ve added him to their collection of ‘missing persons’?”

“I don’t know. I can only hope he’s busy slapping some sense into our captors while we’re stuck here” he said, as he tried to stand up.

As the weight of the situation settled in, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway.

You exchanged wary glances, instinctively stepping closer together.

The door to your cell creaked open, revealing a man in a brown suede jacket, sunglasses — mind you, it was inside a semi-dark room — flanked by two guards. Your heart raced as he stepped in, a self-assured smirk playing on his mischievous lips.

Behind him, a small figure shuffled into view, clutching a foreign stuffed toy anxiously.

Emma.

“Look who’s here” the man said, his voice dripping with mockery.

Emma’s wide eyes scanned the room, filled with confusion and fear. “Mommy?”

You felt your heart stop. “Baby girl”

As those words left your lips, Russell seemed frozen in place, his mind momentarily shutting down. It was the first time he was face-to-face with her, his daughter. He took in her small figure, the way she clutched a stuffed toy she probably got from these men tightly, and the wide green eyes that reflected the fear of the days spent in captivity.

His face shifted from pure shock to something that looked like it hurt, like a dam just burst inside him. For a second, all the chaos, the danger, everything melted away, leaving just the connection he felt for her.

But the moment didn’t last long, quickly swallowed up by the harsh reality. You saw the pain flicker in Russell’s eyes as he processed it all. “You’re okay, sweetheart” you assured Emma, stepping closer —only for Mr Douche’s goons to block your path with a grunt. You shot him a look, then turned back to Emma. “We’re getting you out of here.”

The man in his Aviators chuckled, sounding like a cold, amused cacophony. “Isn’t this all so touching?” he said with a mocking smile. Then, his face turned serious. “Shaw, it’s good to see you. Been what? Five? Six months”

Russell didn’t answer, clearly not falling to his little tricks. The man spoke up again. “But let’s not forget why we’re here. You’ve got a decision to make. And this time, it’s not just about you.”

You shot a glare his way before leaning closer to Russell. “Who the hell is this guy?” you whispered.

Russell’s answer was dry as his eyes stayed fixed on the man. “The greatest jackass of all time.”

This was James Rourke, head honcho at Horizon, the very top of the food chain in the world Russell once belonged to. Rourke looked out of place in his fancy brown suede jacket, like he’d wandered in from some luxury lounge instead of a prison cell. And his mustache — a perfectly trimmed little fucking pornstache, practically begging to be mocked — did nothing to make him look any less ridiculous.

Rourke’s smirk widened, clearly enjoying the tension. He glanced over at Emma, who clutched her stuffed toy tighter, her little eyes darting between you and Russell. “Sweet girl” he said, his voice soaked with fake warmth “you must be wondering what’s going on. Don’t worry, it’ll all make sense soon.”

“Leave her out of this,” you snapped.

Rourke tilted his head, smirking like he found your defiance cute. “Oh, sweetie,” he drawled, flashing that irritatingly smug smile. “I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands.” He glanced at Russell, his eyebrows lifted with mock surprise. “Come on, Russell. Did you actually believe you could just walk away?”

Russell’s jaw tightened. “I’m done playing by your rules, Rourke.”

Rourke’s eyes lit up with that twisted, almost playful glint, like he was savoring every second of Russell’s resistance. “Oh, Russell, you seem confused. There is no choice here. You either come back… or things might get, well, complicated.” His gaze slid over to Emma, who instinctively shrank back, catching the meaning immediately, even if not completely.

Your heart hammered in your chest. “You wouldn’t dare” you hissed.

Rourke laughed, sounding genuinely amused this time. “Oh, wouldn’t I? Let’s just say I believe in incentives.” He shot a dark look at Russell “So, either you get back in line… or your little girl here learns just how persuasive I can be.”

The room went ice-cold. Russell’s fists clenched as he glared at Rourke. “You leave her out of this. She’s got nothing to do with your mess.”

Rourke shrugged like he was discussing the weather. "Then stop pretending you’re free to leave. You knew the fine print when you signed up.” He stepped back, giving the guards a nod like they were his personal fan club. “Think it over, both of you. And just a heads-up… I don’t make empty promises.”

As Rourke strode out — with Emma being pulled by her tiny hand, crying out for wanting to stay with you — he shot a final smug look over his shoulder, and the guards followed, slamming the cell door shut behind them.

You sighed as the lock clicked, trapping you both in again. But Russell wasn’t about to throw in the towel. Staying put? Not a chance. Not with you and Emma tangled in this nightmare, and definitely not with Rourke trying to pull the strings.

His gaze swept the cell, then froze on something up high: an air vent, nearly hidden behind a stack of old crates.

“Perfect” he muttered, a hint of determination lighting up his face.

He grabbed one of the crates and slid it under the vent, then looked at you with that familiar spark in his eye. He hauled one of the crates over and tapped it, motioning for you to step up. “Give me a hand up, sweetheart. If we can get the screws loose, we’re gone.”

The nickname caught you off-guard. It fell so easily from his mouth, yet, it seemed so bittersweet now. “Sweetheart?”

He flashed a quick grin, already reaching for the vent. “Old habits die hard. Now, help me with this, yeah?”

You nodded, steadying him as he climbed up and started working on the vent cover. Using a rusty nail he pried from one of the crates, Russell twisted at the screws, working them free with grunts of effort.

With the last screw finally out, you both heard voices echoing from the hallway. Adrenaline kicked in as you climbed up and squeezed into the narrow vent, praying this actually led somewhere.

You hated this. Your claustrophobic ass was kicking you from the inside. How did you end up in a mess like this?

“How are you holding up?” he asked in a whisper, but the concern in his voice was unmistakable. Right. He remembered.

“Stop talking, continue crawling.” you said hurriedly. The less you acknowledged the suffocating surroundings, the better.

YYou crawled along, knees scraping, until you spotted a grate at the end. Kicking it loose, you dropped into a pitch-black storage room. Quietly, you slipped into the hallway beyond, letting Russell lead — his sure footing somehow both reassuring and a little unnerving.

“You know this place?” you whispered, trying to keep the nerves out of your voice.

“Nah” he muttered, casting a glance around. “Just following my instincts.”

“Oh, good. And what do your instincts say about where Emma is?”

Then, like something straight out of a scripted movie, you heard it: a small voice that was unmistakably hers. “Mommy?”

You turned the corner, and there she was, standing behind a closed door with a small window, clutching her stuffed toy. No guards in sight felt like a miracle. Relief and desperation flooded you all at once. The door was locked tight, and there was no key laying around, for obvious reasons.

You watched with a continuously racing heart as Russell pulled a paperclip from his pocket — of all things — and straightened it. “Can’t believe they missed this little bad boy” he murmured, working it into the lock. His gun and knife hadn’t been as lucky; those were gone in an instant. But the paperclip? Somehow, it had slipped right past their search.

With a quiet click, the lock gave way, and Russell shot you a quick, triumphant grin.

You threw the door wide, scooping Emma into your arms as her tiny hands clung to you like a lifeline. She was trembling. Crying.

“Shh, baby girl” you whispered, holding her close. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Russell debated to reach out, but decided now was not the time for a great family reunion. His eyes darted down the hall. “Alright, let’s get out of here before Rourke’s even had his morning coffee.”

“What about Colter?”

“I don’t know if he’s here. And the sooner we get her and you out of here, the better chances of… this ending good.”

He knew Colter could be in hot water, but he told himself he could handle it. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself to suppress the guilt. So far, there were no signs of Colter being around, and Rourke hadn’t mentioned him at all, which made him hope his brother was safely hiding somewhere.

And his priority right now was standing in front of him.

With Emma safe in your arms, you took a breath, steeling yourself for the final sprint to freedom.

You three tiptoed down the hallway when you turned a sharp corner and spotted a guy in black standing there. No visible weapons, which was a small victory in itself.

Your heart skipped a beat, but Russell quickly pulled you back next to the wall. He weighed his options, knowing he had to act fast.

“This ain’t going to be pretty. Just—“ he said as he motioned for you to turn around. You knew well what he was planning. And that indeed wasn’t going to be pretty. You nodded with a leaping heart and turned your back to him, clutching Emma’s head close to your chest, desperately trying to muffle any sounds that might come soon.

God, she's going to need a mountain of therapy after this. And maybe that puppy she’s been talking about.

Russell shot you a quick squeeze on the shoulder, a silent promise that everything would be okay. Then he stepped forward, moving with the kind of focus that made you hold your breath. You pulled Emma close with your heart racing as the seconds felt like goddamn hours.

There was a muffled thud.... and then silence. Russell’s hand on your back signaled it was safe, and you turned to see him standing over the guard, dusting off his hands with a grim, almost satisfied look.

“Alrighty” he whispered “no more interruptions, yeah?”

You let out a shaky breath and nodded, tightening your hold on Emma. Step by step, the three of you crept down the hallway, avoiding every echo and shadow, your goal almost within reach.

Then, up ahead, an exit sign cast a faint glow. Freedom was close enough to taste, and you exchanged a quick glance with Russell. You fult that tiny flicker of hope.

You took a deep breath, squeezing Emma a little tighter. Her small arms wrapped around your neck, a reminder of why you were risking everything. You need to stay calm.

Well, seemingly calm, at least.

You and Russell exchanged a look. Words weren’t necessary; you both knew exactly what was on the line here. Funny, you thought, how his combat skills now felt like a strange kind of comfort.

Just a few more steps down the hallway, and you ended up in a large, warehouse-style room, crates stacked high, lights flickering like something straight out of a bad action movie.

“Really? A crate room?” you muttered.

Russell scanned the area, eyeing a side door. “That might be our way out.”

“Oh yeah? Is that your gut talking, or do you actually know?”

Before he could shoot back, footsteps echoed down the hall. Russell hissed a quick curse and signaled for you to duck behind a stack of crates.

You crouched down, holding Emma close as the door creaked open and two guards strolled in, giving the room a once-over like they had it all under control.

“Think they’d make it this far?” one guard muttered.

The other chuckled. “No way. Shaw’s decent, but those two he’s with? Dead weight.”

Russell sized them up and he leaned in close. “Stay low.”

You gave a small nod, clutching Emma tighter.

Russell edged closer to the guards, blending into the shadows like a pro. In one smooth motion, he slammed the first guard into the second, and they both crumpled to the ground like a pair of falling dominoes. Before they could even register what was happening, he struck with quick punches and a perfectly timed knee, leaving them both out cold and wondering what just hit them.

Once they were on the floor, Russell wasted no time. He crouched down, quickly rifling through the guards’ gear. “We’re gonna need these” he muttered, pulling a pistol from one guard’s holster and a knife from the other. With practiced ease, he tucked the pistol into his waistband and handed the knife to you. “Think you can handle it?” he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips as he looked you over.

You raised an eyebrow at the guards' bodies, really, desperately trying to convince yourself they’re just sleeping. As you gripped the knife, you tried to motion your position to cover most of the scene from Emma. It worked, she was only focused on you. And you were only focusing on the difficulty of keeping her close with one hand.

Man, she is getting big.

“Well, my self-defense teacher never covered how to use a knife” you quipped.

Russell chuckled softly, a hint of pride in his eyes. “Just use it on instinct. Don’t hesitate when it counts. And remember to—”

“To aim for the balls” you finished with a smirk.

“I’d really like to meet your teacher. Must be a real pro” he said with a smirk.

You shrugged. “Eh, he was handsome, sure. But turned out he kept secrets.”

“Sounds like a total douche” he muttered, though you caught the guilt in his voice.

“Yep. Was a major douche.”

“Was?”

You gave him a teasing glance. “Well… I’m still trying to figure out what he’s like now.”

With a small smile and a quick glance at the guards, he pocketed extra ammo and anything else that might come in handy. Armed and ready, he led you both to the side door.

With Emma snug in your arms and a renewed sense of determination, you stepped into the night together.

For a second, the three of you standing there almost looked like some offbeat family photo… bittersweet, and about as far from normal as it gets.

But the moment you took in your surroundings, you felt a chilly sensation. This sure as hell didn’t look like Idaho Falls. Nor the rundown warehouse you’d started in.

You had no idea where you were.

━━━━━━━━━━✦✧✦━━━━━━━━━━━

Next on Tuesday’s Gone (Sneak Peak from Chapter 5)

Emma tilted her head while her expression turned adorably thoughtful. “You’re hairy. Like grandpa.”

Russell chuckled as he ran a hand through his beard. “Yeah, I guess I am. It’s my pirate look.”

Her eyes lit up at the word pirate. “Are you a pirate?! Can I be one, too?”

“Absolutely” he replied. “But we have to be sneaky pirates, okay? No one can know we’re here.”

Your heart did a little flip at the sight. The way he talked to your daughter — his daughter — his voice surprisingly soft and sweet, even in this situation. Emma’s reaction wasn’t a shock, though. She had a habit of linking beards (like the one your dad rocked) with safety and familiar love.

━━━━━━━━━━✦✧✦━━━━━━━━━━━

Whoa, we finally got that wonderfully chaotic family reunion! Can’t wait to dive deeper into Emma and Russell’s relationship in the upcoming chapters.

I hope you enjoyed reading.

Read Chapter 5 here

🤍Taglist🤍

@bitchykittenconnoisseur @smoothdogsgirl @spnfamily-j2 @winchesterwild78 @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @zepskies @kr804573 @sebastianstangirl01 @kmc1989

[concretejunglefm]

Poltergeists: Chapter 14.

Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 6, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 9, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader, Nicholas Ruffilo x Reader, possibly more BO members.

CW: Missing person, elements of supernatural horror, mentions of blood and possibly violence, unreliable narrator, implied smut. will update as it goes on. Heavy trigger warning for mentions of alcohol use, ptsd and panic attacks.

WC: 1.5k.

AN: This series will be told throughout a variety of flashbacks and present day, all which will be marked.

Divider: Silent-stories.

Tagged: @enemiestolovershoe, @fadingangelwisp, @littlepeachwhispers, @concreteangel92, @deathblacksmoke, @1toreyouapart, @lacy1986, @chaoticwineaunt, @ichoosetenderomens, @baddestomens, @blade-dressed-in-red, @halfalgorithmhafdeity, @geminigirlfromfinland, @fuck1ng-queen, @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard (if anyone else wishes to be tagged lmk)

PRESENT DAY

“Will you just let me pass so I can go with her!” Detective Green, or Detective Douche as I like to now call him, is keeping me back as the paramedics wheel her out from the house on a stretcher and into the back of an ambulance.

She wasn't pronounced dead on their arrival, which was a good sign, but the bruising around her neck raised some questions, not only from the paramedics but myself.

Nick is barely saying anything, keeping himself back, even as I continue to argue with Detective Douche about me going with them.

“I’ll take you down to the hospital myself but right now you need to be checked over.” He explains, but I refuse the help which comes my way from a small blonde yet hesitant paramedic, who's hand I swat at the moment she tries to reach for me to check me over. 

“Can’t we do this down at the hospital?” I argue and Kit relents, stepping back as he allows me to move forward and toward the open back doors of the second ambulance. I climb up and in, with Nick following silently. He can barely look me in the eye at the moment but my concerns aren't with him, they’re with the ambulance which already has a head start on us.

There were a lot of questions which came with apparently being missing for a year.

Missing. That was what they called it. Missing or dead. The latter somehow didn't scare me as much as it should've, perhaps because where I was felt enough like heaven that being dead was the last of my worries.

Detective Green was the one who questioned me, though even he seemed to have no understanding as to how I'd appeared out from the closet in our own home and unharmed at that. 

All that blood and there was not a mark on me.

I shudder at the memory of that night. I remember everything, as much as I wish not to. Sometimes it would play as a loop during the dull moments of the limbo I resided in.

Other times it would plague me as a literal repeat of events, taunting me as I yelled and called for bubs, only for my fate to always be the same.

My favorite moments were always those by the lake. Our spot.

I knew it was never her, but when the creature came to visit me disguised as her, wearing her skin as close to her image as possible, I could convince myself that I was happy here. 

Because it told me I should be.

“You’re free to go Mr. Seb—”

“Where’s Bubs?” I cut Kit off the minute he lets me go free from being observed, from being questioned, from everything, jumping up from the hospital bed as Nick reaches out as if to hold on and steady me.

“A room down the hall, but be warned Noah. It's not… she’s not in the best state.”

The warning is one I ignore, already half way through the door before heading down the hallway, questioning a nurse I pass on the way and following her direction.

I come to a stop as I reach the door, peering in at her through the glass before taking a step inside. I don't know what I'd anticipated seeing; perhaps the sight of her hooked up to a monitor and a machine or two, but there were tubes and wires everywhere.

Steadily approaching the bed, my fingers ghost along the blanket which lays over her before meeting her fingers. They’re warm but there’s no movement. There’s nothing. She looks as if she's sleeping and peaceful enough that I could be convinced she’s an angel.

From behind me I hear footsteps and when I turn my head I catch Nick standing in the doorway, his lip between his teeth as his brow furrows in worry.

There's a tightness in my throat as I go to speak and  I attempt to hold back the emotion wishing to push free.

“What happened?” 

FLASHBACK

DAY OF NOAH'S DISAPPEARANCE

You've been down at the station all day answering question after question. They didn't hold you. You don't think you're a suspect, though they treat you like one.

You can't remember the things you were asked, or what you said, all you know of that you kept repeating yourself with the same four things; you weren't awake when he was yelling, it was too dark for you to even see anything, you don't know where the blood came from, you don't know anything.

You don't know anything.

Except you do, but don't know if what you know is even real. Your mind has been playing so many tricks on you these last few months that even now, nothing feels real. You feel as if you're living in a daze, everything around you is hazy except there's no lightness, only a heaviness in your body and a thickness to the air which makes it difficult to breathe.

"Are you sure you want to go back in there?" Nicholas asks you from the drivers seat.

"Yeah, bubba. We can grab some stuff for you if you want?" Folio chimes in from the back. 

Everyone had taken shifts throughout the day to wait for you to be released from questioning after making their own statements. Nicholas had been there all day waiting for you, while Folio had been the last to come out and told Matt and Jolly to head home.

You haven't answered. You sit silent, looking out the passengers side window up at the house. It feels daunting to enter, but you know that have to.

"You can stay at mine." The feel of Nicholas' hand on your knee pulls you back from the drain of thoughts you'd been circling, your head snapping in his direction.

"No." You finally answer, your voice is horse from all the crying you've been doing. You're out of tears now, you think. "I... I'll be fine." Your voice isn't assuring, not even to yourself. "I just really want to be alone right now."

From the corner of your eye you can see Folio attempting to reach for you and stop you as you open the passengers side door, before he retreats. You know he's just worried about you, but he doesn't protest your wish to go back to the house or to even be alone.

Nicholas doesn't even voice his own concerns about you being left to your own devices when in such a clear vulnerable state but you realize why when you hear another door opening and as you step out, you turn to see Nicholas has followed your lead in climbing from the car, offering the keys to Folio who's climbing into the driver's seat from the back.

"Nick."

"No. Noah wouldn't want you to be alone right now and I definitely don't want to leave you on your own."

Tears prickle at the corners of your sore eyes once more. You believed the well to have run dry, only to be proven wrong. You don't have it in you to argue and you nod, turning and allowing Nicholas to lead you up the pathway to your home.

Yours and Noah's home.

When you enter you almost expect him to be sat in the couch playing a video game, or over by his desk working on something new, or to come bounding out from the kitchen and greet you, but the house is empty.

It feels as empty as it looks. It feels cold and menacing, like a beast which has now gone to lay dormant after a feast. Because that's what happened, wasn't it?

You sound stupid to believe the house took Noah from you, but it did. You know what you saw. At least you think you do.

Nick's voice doesn't reach your ears as you walk towards the couch, picking up Noah's hoodie which lays over the back of it. You slip it on and it feels like a warm embrace from him. It still smells enough like him that it provides a slight comfort, as if he'd worn it earlier that day.

Exhaustion is quick to hit you the minute you crawl onto the couch and you curl yourself up as small as you can, cocooning yourself in the safety of Noah's hoodie.

You can't bear the thought of going upstairs, of going to your room and where it happened. You know that the police have no hand in cleaning up the aftermath of any incident. Not even one where there's a pool of blood staining the floor and splashes of it coating the walls.

You want to pretend that none of this is happening, that it isn't real and that you haven't just lost your best friend, your boyfriend, in the most inexplicable way.

You hear Nick in the kitchen, cooking or tidying up, you have no idea, but you choose to ignore his presence and close your eyes, until you realise that having him here is perhaps a slight comfort after all. With your eyes closed you can almost convince yourself that it's Noah and that he's not gone at all.

[binniesunderworld]

How Gabriel Agreste Destroyed Adrien's Life: A 3 a.m. Analysis

From: ‘I enrolled in a school without my father's permission, I ran away from home to attend the first day of school and although I don't want my father to be angry with me, I'm not afraid of a punishment either because I KNOW there won't be one’.

To: ‘My girlfriend is alone with my father, with no one to protect her, completely defenceless. I NEED TO SAVE HER’.

One knows that his father is a good person who, no matter how angry he is, would never hurt him. The other doesn't, it's the opposite, he is no longer sure of anything, he fears for the safety of those he loves and is so terrified that he is about to have a panic attack.

But how did we get from the first to the second?

How Gabriel Agreste's abuse managed to completely change his son in a matter of days

People don't remember this because it happened a long time ago and has not been repeated, but Adrien used to be a NORMAL person, not as perfect as he is now. While he has always been kind and polite, there were also times when he allowed himself to be a bit hostile and not as perfect as we are used to seeing him (as Adrien, not as Chat Noir). Usually that ‘good boy’ facade was only used in front of his father and Nathalie, but in front of his friends he behaved like a normal teenager, even becoming a bit teasing, self-centred and rebellious. "The Bubbler", "Animan", "Kung Food" and "Evillustrator" being the clearest examples of these behaviours, in particular towards Nino, Chloé and Marinette.

In S1 it becomes clear that the only conflict Adrien has with his father is the fact that he does not give him as much freedom as Adrien would like. Apart from this, Adrien has no other problems with him and considers him to be a good father. There are several of Adrien's behaviours that suggest that Gabriel's overprotectiveness towards him was the only thing wrong with him, but that otherwise Gabriel was excellent. It is time for us to look at that.

1. Origins

Adrien literally enrolled in a school without his father's permission and when his father refused to approve Adrien's attendance, he ran away from home and went running to school. When Nathalie tries to convince him to come back Adrien simply says ‘this is what I want’ and turns around to continue up the stairs, not caring if she has anything else to say. He hears that someone needs help and immediately goes to their aid, and as soon as he finishes doing that he turns to Nathalie and the bodyguard with a charming smile expecting to see their proud faces, and when instead he sees that they are still angry he is immediately horrified and gives up.

This tells us a lot about Adrien: he is a spoilt child who has never been punished in his life, and when things get difficult his first reaction is to be adorable or do a good deed to be forgiven. Adrien intended to leave Nathalie talking to herself, and he wasn't worried about the idea of being punished when he got home from school because he knew it wasn't likely to happen. He then helps someone to ingratiate himself with Nathalie and the bodyguard so that they will stop being angry, and when he realises that it didn't work he is surprised. He is used to people forgiving his disobedience just because he is cute. He immediately gives up and asks Nathalie not to tell Gabriel. While he didn't want his father to be angry with him, he also didn't fear punishment because he knew he wouldn't get it.

Later, at the mansion, Adrien realises that Nathalie did tell Gabriel and he feels betrayed, as if he didn't expect her to do that. Basically, he is not used to people disobeying him. Gabriel again forbids Adrien from going to school but it's nothing he hasn't said before: Gabriel reprimands Adrien's behaviour with words, never with punishment, and there comes a point when words are no longer enough and Adrien is no longer afraid of them, hence he becomes ‘rebellious’. The next day Adrien runs away again and, surprise surprise, he is not punished, in fact he is rewarded. Despite having disobeyed his father again, he is rewarded and allowed to go to school, even Nathalie (whom he treated very badly) offers to help him. This reward is without explanation, just because. I'm not saying Adrien deserved to be locked up for life at home, at the end of the day he's just a teenager who wants to socialise with more people, but it's clear he was a spoilt child whose behaviours both good and bad were praised, just like Chloé and Felix, so if you ever wondered why he was such good friends with them, here's your answer.

2. The Bubbler

Here we get confirmation of how Adrien is a good boy only in front of his father and Nathalie, and how he is himself in front of his friends. At the beginning of the episode he together with Nino makes fun of his father because he does not agree to throw him a birthday party. Then, when Nino is akumatized, he at first refuses to be part of the party because he cares about Nino and wants to save him. Even when he realises that all the adults are trapped in bubbles, he never cares about his father, Nathalie or his bodyguard, only about saving Nino. And then he also gives up on this idea after a little chat with Plagg and says: "Okay, you're right. This might be the first day in my life that I actually get to do what I want for once", and Adrien joins the party without any show of consideration for the adults he knows.

Although all these behaviours were forgotten by the fandom, they are important to understand Adrien's character and how he changed due to his father's abuse. This is the normal behaviour of a teenager with a bit of a grudge: he's not a psychopath who wants something bad to happen to his father, he's a kid who knows that in the end he and his superhero partner will fix everything and he allows himself to have fun in the meantime. But it's something the current Adrien would never do, and there's where the difference lies.

3. Volpina & The Collector

This is the last episode in which we see Adrien acting like a normal teenager. He overhears Gabriel talking on the phone and decides to spy on him, then discovers that he has a safe behind his mother's portrait and out of curiosity goes to investigate. Adrien discovers the book and takes it with him, when he is discovered he quickly makes up a lie. RIP pre-lobotomised Adrien, you will always be missed.

This is the key point in the change of behaviour of both Adrien and Gabriel.

Gabriel confronts Adrien and he immediately gives an explanation in a tone of voice intended to generate sympathy:

—I just wanted to know what you were hiding behind that portrait that was so important.

This doesn't work so he resorts to blaming Gabriel himself:

—You.. you never told me about those things.

And this doesn't work either, so he decides to admit what he did but also looks for a way to justify himself:

—I was intending to give it back to you, I swear. But then I lost it.

Gabriel tells Adrien that he no longer trusts him, and what is Adrien's reaction? He just looks jaded and apologises to Gabriel, in an attitude that makes it clear that he is used to apologising to make things right, that he is not genuinely sorry, and also offers to buy him a new copy, confident that this will be enough for Gabriel to forgive him. This confirms the previous point: Adrien is used to getting out of his punishments just because he looks cute or does a good deed, and this became so repetitive that Adrien already knew how to get out of a punishment, and was not afraid of his father but simply tired of scolding that went nowhere. Again, there is no fear of consequences.

Everything changes completely when Gabriel tells him that this book is unique in the world, that there is no other copy. Apologies didn't work and the other form of redemption, buying him a copy, wasn't possible. Then is when Adrien's face changes completely to horror: he has just understood the magnitude of his mistake. His father punishes him by forbidding him to go back to school and Adrien is heartbroken, but does not try to reason with his father (as he had done, and many times, in past episodes). This is the birth of the Adrien we know now: from a normal boy to a submissive puppet. He knows that there is no way to redeem himself and that is why he decides not to fight, he finally realises that his actions have consequences, serious ones, taking away what is most precious to him: his freedom.

From here on we see a completely changed Adrien, from a rebellious teenager to a perfect doll with no thoughts of his own. Before, he pretended to be perfect only in front of his father, Nathalie and his bodyguard. Now he pretends to be perfect in front of everyone, regardless of whether he knows them or not. The trauma can be clearly seen: Adrien adopts this neat behaviour because he is afraid that his freedom will be taken away if his father finds out that he made another mistake. Now Adrien knows that he CAN be punished. He doesn't even allow himself to breathe in peace because of all the stress and fear he carries. And so it is that Adrien becomes a puppet unable to stop pretending even in front of his own friends: we go from an Adrien who was not afraid to react strangely to Marinette's odd behaviour, who was not afraid to tease Nino about his crush and who was not afraid to put Chloé in her place when the situation warranted it, to an Adrien who could not even keep his back bent for fear that his father would consider it inappropriate.

Gabriel Agreste being a shitty father and exploiting his son's weaknesses to profit from them

Despite being strict with Adrien, there were times when Gabriel let him spend time with his friends and have fun with them. In fact, in S1 there are several of these, most of them to be found there (before all the drama).

In ‘Animan’ he is in the zoo helping Nino with his date with Marinette.

In ‘Gamer’ he is playing video games for the school championship at Marinette's house.

In ‘Kung Food’ he comes to Marinette's house to help her with her uncle and even takes them to the hotel and stays for dinner with them, he spends practically the whole day away from home.

In ‘Horrificator’ he spends many hours filming the movie for the school.

In ‘The puppeteer’ he is going somewhere alone and relaxed.

In ‘Timebreaker’ he is present during the race between Alix and Kim.

As you can see, despite being strict, Gabriel sometimes let his son spend time with his friends. When did this change? After the book incident. After forbidding Adrien to attend school, Gabriel noticed how heartbroken he was and realised that school and his friends were not a whim for Adrien, but something he truly cherished. And Gabriel used these feelings to manipulate Adrien. In S1, before the incident, Adrien is more ‘rebellious’ and still has enough freedom to be with his friends. In S2, after the incident, Adrien behaves much better than in S1 and still doesn't have half as much freedom as before, and when he finally gets his father's permission to be with his friends, something happens at the last minute (Heroes Day Part 2, for example). This is because his father has discovered his Achilles' heel and uses it to benefit himself and manipulate Adrien.

The clearest proof of this is in the difference between ‘Horrificator’, where Gabriel let Adrien spend hours in the school filming the movie, and ‘Queen Banana’, where Gabriel let Adrien go for only a few minutes to the filming and right after he finished his part he literally left in a cage hanging from a helicopter. It is clear the pleasure that man developed in making his son miserable.

And we could talk about ‘Chat Blac’ and ‘Ephemeral’, but I won't touch those topics as they are not part of our timeline. I'll just say that they made it clear how far Gabriel is willing to go (literally traumatise Adrien) in order to get what he wants. What I think, is sick.

Adrien's Stockholm Syndrome: normalisation, justification and romanticisation, and how it makes him vulnerable to unhealthy relationships

1. Gabriel

We have already made it clear that Adrien became an uncritical puppet, and as a result he developed a terrible Stockholm syndrome. Adrien normalised all the manipulation, and by accepting it as something usual this caused him to start justifying it as well. Needless to name the episodes, in many of them there is always someone (usually Nino, Marinette or Plagg) who points out his father's problematic behaviour and Adrien immediately tries to justify it with ‘he does it because he loves me’ or ‘he just wants to protect me’. This shows us a big difference from the Adrien of S1 who was aware of his father's behaviour and even made fun of it, the current Adrien would never do that, on the contrary, he seems to live to justify Gabriel's actions. That's how serious the brainwashing is.

With Gabriel's behaviours now normalised and justified, they in turn begin to be romanticised. Despite being a shitty person, there are moments when Gabriel treats Adrien well: like when he hugs him (something Adrien is not used to), his worried words to Chat Noir about losing Adrien, or when he watches his mother's movie with him. These are all details that if they weren't accompanied by manipulation, anyone could call ‘cute’. And this makes Adrien unaware of the manipulation at first: his own denial and the kind details his father had for him confused his brain. Adrien did not think that his father could be so kind to him if he was a bad person, and that is why Adrien refused to consider him as such. This is a method of self-defence against dangerous situations, the feelings developed by this are not only romantic but any kind of feelings that are enough to make the victim feel safe in dangerous environments.

2. Kagami and Marinette

Let's start with Adrigami. Adrien didn't show a strong interest in Kagami until the chapter ‘Oni-Chan’ where he even rejects Ladybug's fist to make sure Kagami is okay, but what led to this? The romanticisation of obsession and control.

Kagami is simply Adrien's friend, but when she sees a photo of him with another girl, she gets so jealous that she is akumatized and starts chasing this other girl to get her away from Adrien. This is behaviour that is bad as a girlfriend, but even worse as a friend. Adrien doesn't take this seriously and even spends the whole fight making jokes instead of worrying that one of her friends is a jealous girl who is willing to kill for him even if they don't have any kind of commitment. Then, when he sees that Kagami still has the rose he gave her, his behaviour immediately changes and you could say that this is when he starts to feel a real attraction to her, even rejecting Ladybug's fist, whom he had long been in love with.

Here we see how dangerous the romanticisation of problematic behaviour is: Adrien is willing to let go of all the chaos Kagami caused and all her toxic behaviour just because she showed that she really ‘loved him’. And he reciprocates her feelings because he finds it cute that someone is in love with him enough to go crazy. The romanticisation of Gabriel's actions eventually led Adrien to romanticise other people's actions, even going so far as to feel honoured by all the questionable actions these people committed under the justification of loving him.

Something quite similar happens with Adrinette. In S5 Adrien mentions that he started to accept his feelings for Marinette from what happened in ‘The Puppeteer 2’, and there's no way this isn't weird. He had feelings for Marinette long before that, but it was that event that led him to accept them. Marinette literally assaults a ‘statue’ just because it looks like Adrien, starts fantasizing about a life together, steals one of his hair and many other weird things, and what's Adrien's response? To say that he fell in love. He literally saw how far Marinette was capable of going because of her obsession with him, and as much as that behaviour was justified with ‘it was a joke’, instead of caring, what he does is fall in love with her... because of her obsessive and bizarre behaviour towards him.

It is honestly quite disappointing to see how Gabriel's manipulation damaged Adrien to the point of leaving him craving only unhealthy relationships because that was his perception of love.

Both victim and perpetrator

Adrien developed a split personality and a taste for taking advantage of people when he is in situations of power. Gabriel turned Adrien into a victim and a perpetrator, the role depending on the situation. When Adrien is the one at a disadvantage, he displays submissive and manageable behaviour. When he has all the power, he has no problem using it selfishly and taking advantage of others. This was taught by Gabriel, from prudence to ruthlessness, are things Adrien learned from him. And in a way that's how Adrien differs from Chat Noir: the power they possess.

Adrien is always at a disadvantage: his life is in the public eye, everything he does is always monitored by his father or his fans, and if he makes a mistake it is very easy for his father to find out and punish him. This is why Adrien, always powerless, forces himself to act submissively. He does not possess the power in such situations, so he can only act as he is expected to act.

As Chat Noir things are quite different, he always has the power. Chat Noir is a superhero, he watches over Paris but no one watches over him, he has freedom, destructive power, a city that depends on him and a partner who needs him to defeat the supervillains. He has the power. And he uses this power to his advantage.

A clear example of this is his tendency to threaten. Adrien has several times been willing to give up his miraculous and even verbally threaten (in a passive-aggressive way) Ladybug just because it bothers him that she has secrets. All of S2 was Adrien threatening to give up his miraculous if Ladybug didn't tell him her secrets, and this behaviour wasn't like ‘we can't keep hiding things from each other anymore, this isn't healthy for me and if we're not going to be honest it's best to just give up’, no, this behaviour was like ‘if you don't tell me what you're hiding, I'll give this up and you see if you can do it all by yourself or if you find me a replacement’. I understand that he was tired of the situation, but manipulation is never justifiable behaviour. Evidence of this is found in episodes such as ‘Syren’, where Adrien even threatens Plagg with give up his Miraculous if he doesn't tell him what Ladybug is hiding.

Another example is ‘Glaciator’, where he invites Ladybug to a dinner and she makes it clear that she already has plans and is unlikely to go. And yet Adrien is self-illusioned, and when his fantasies are shattered by something Ladybug had already warned him would happen, he simply accuses her of mocking him, throws a tantrum, refuses to help with the akuma, and when Ladybug comes up with a good plan to defeat the villain he guilts her by saying: ‘Sorry, Ladybug, it's not cool to play with people's feelings’ when Ladybug never played with his feelings and in fact realised these only minutes ago.

There are many other episodes like these, too many to list. I guess the most notorious ones are ‘NY Special’ (where he has no problem being unfaithful to Kagami) and ‘Lies’ (where he also has no problem being unfaithful, lying to her, trying to provoke akumatizations and so on). His problematic behaviours are not only as Chat Noir, but also as Adrien when he finds himself in relationships where he has the power. In his courtship with Kagami he knows that she is completely in love with him and uses this to his advantage and does truly horrible things like the ones mentioned above without regard for her feelings because he knows or believes that she won't leave him. Something similar happens with his friendship with Chloé, he knows how much Chloé appreciated him and so every time she committed a bad deed he threatened to end their friendship. It's not wrong to want your friend to stop being a shitty person, and it's okay to let him/her know that if he/she continues this stupid behaviour you'll have no choice but to walk away, but the problem with this is that we go from Adrien's genuine concern for Chloé to empty threats just because, in the end, Chloé wouldn't change her behaviour and he wouldn't leave either.

Conclusions

This is not as well written as I would like it to be. I procrastinated for weeks and when I finally decided to write it I no longer had the series so fresh in my memory. I am a teenager with no professional knowledge of psychology who wrote this at 3 a.m. while I was not so sober.

This post is not salt against Adrien/Chat Noir, in all of ‘Miraculous’ there are only two or three characters I hate and none of those are Adrien, so this post is not hate towards him. While I did describe some of his behaviour in a not so nice way, that was not a personal opinion but an analysis. Like when you go to a psychologist and he doesn't give you his personal opinion but a diagnosis, the main difference being that I am not a professional nor do I claim to be one. Anyways, this is a direct attack on Gabriel Agreste for being a shitty person.

As you may have noticed, most of this analysis is based on S1 to S3. While I did mention some episodes from S4 and S5 they were not as relevant, this is because the first 3 seasons are the ones I've seen the most and ergo the ones I remember the most, maybe later (I don't think so) I'll do a part two on S4 and S5.

Finally: my personal opinion on Adrien. He is an amazing character whose development and build goes unnoticed by the fandom, this is probably because it wasn't done on purpose (if this character build was planned it wouldn't be half as good as it is, the writers aren't that talented). Adrien is just a boy, a victim of an abusive home that ingrained several of his father's behaviours within him and he has no ‘true personality’ as this depends on the situation he finds himself in. He acts this way as a method of survival and although it is not right, it is a psychological response and it is not as if he can help it. I'm really happy that the poor boy is free from his abusive father and I hope that in S6 he can be happy and get therapy.

[survivalove]

Sorry i know you don't like getting asks about this topic but it's related to your last post responding to that dumbass zk but it's funny how they keep pushing this false narrative that aang is bryke's self insert, they're clearly projecting cos that's more evident with zuko. like bryan konietzko is on record for saying zuko is his fav character and he's similar to him. dante basco refers to himself as zuko all the time while pandering to those desperate zk shippers and even said in an interview one of the reasons he ships zk is cos he was "into" mae whitman (mind you, she was only 16 and he was 30 when atla began airing)

UGH! don’t get me started on the freak that is dante basco. very nasty that he’s the only cast member that is continuously employed by the creators after the way he’s spoken about teen girls, fictional (mai) and real (mae). lol no pun intended. also lines up with the zuko favoritism you’re talking about ;)

the atla fandom has a very serious problem with logic if you haven’t noticed. the show is allegedly sooooo deep yet all their takes are beyond superficial. exhibit a:

1. aang is a mike self-insert because he’s bald

besides the fact that bryan is the one who can draw and talks about aang’s appearance the most, they cling to this narrative because it’s the easiest to sell to people that don’t know any better. just show people a picture of mike and aang and BOOM! narrative set.

meanwhile, as you said, zuko is the actual character favored by one of the creators out of his own mouth. mike has even gone on to say he used his experiences to write korra alone just like how bryan says he puts himself in zuko’s shoes when he writes episodes.

bryan is the one who joked about mike and aang having two bald heads just to state that aang’s inspiration is based on (tibetan) buddhist monks

bryan is the one who compares aang to mike while comparing himself to zuko. mike has never compared himself to aang unprompted

because the truth is, aang is a survivor of colonialism and genocide, raised outside of western ideals of masculinity. bryke clearly did their research on all the different cultures as creators and that’s commendable and all but ppl acting like that means that erases their caucasian-american perspective is bonkers.

aang can never be a self-insert to them because they are closer to the oppressors than the oppressed and that’s just a fact

zuko, on the other hand, the boy raised in colonial ideals who had to unlearn his wrongs, who is given chance after chance by the narrative despite his direct and indirect participation in colonialism, who is redeemed at the expense of voices of the colonized that he hurt repeatedly on his path to goodness, who is still allowed to have an empire at the end because he saw the error in his ways???

that is the most american you can get on this show and it just shows how most americans that fail to see this never saw themselves as colonizers to begin with. they just want the rest of us to skip to their redemption arc. kinda like how zuko’s arc is discussed by his superglazers lol

but i honestly can’t even just blame americans because a lot of non-american poc in this fandom i see try to push this propaganda as well. like how most of this fandom actually thinks his racist colonizer jokes are funny… or how many fans have been unironically repeating the fire nation’s supremacy logic for DECADES

the second superficial take of course is the “if i was a fourteen year old girl i wouldn’t have even looked aang’s way” thing but that has already been discussed in tandem so i’ll stop typing now

[bradshawed]

nine five albums that got me through 2024 (and some extras)!

this is so cool omg, thank you so much to my wife (@vampteeths) for the tag, i had sm fun! sorry for the essay and i think you'll find a slight recurring theme of indie, pop and indie-pop (with one or two surprises)!

1. the secret of us by gracie abrams, fav song: risk! released at the perfect moment & was exactly what i needed. makes u really realise that you're not alone and that so many others are going through similar experiences. this album to me, is perfection (don't get me started on how much i love the deluxe version)!

2. emails i can't send fwd: by sabrina carpenter, fav song: bet u wanna x i know u might be sick of hearing about sab but this album gave me so much confidence. it's sexy and emotionally validating at the same time. listening to this when ur overthinking about a boy and realising "wait a minute.. fuck him" is the best feeling, only second to listening to it as ur getting ready to go out

3. glass half empty by voilà, fav song: ballerina (with the word alive) indie rock ml, i've missed u! not a fan of all the songs on this album but of the ones i do like, i could listen to on repeat for hours. it's super energetic, great to have a song or two on any playlist to switch up the vibe and their lyrics really tell a story.

4. boy by luke hemmings, fav song: benny moving to something a little slower, calmer, great for a change of pace. really helped me through those moments when i needed to feel a little peace.

5. dreamers by charles leclerc and sofiane pamart, fav song: focus! you wouldn't expect to see me listening to a classical piano album but here we are. honestly fell in love with it sm so that it made it to my most listened to in 2024. incredibly composed, really emotional and grounding at the same time (also makes great background music).

6. MICO, fav song: tears in your eyes! it's not an album but an artist whose 2/3 songs i listened to religiously on repeat towards the end of 2024. honestly don't remember how i found him but i listened to one song and got hooked (if you hadn't realised i'm not a massive album person, i find a song, listen to it on repeat and find another, i rarely like full albums). i think i've been listening to homesick since july!

7. maneater by daryl hall & john oates and honey by coastal club struggled to think of a no. 7 but i can't believe i forgot this song duo that got me through late summer! i listened to a lot of my "trust fall" playlist (made for @sematarygirls) & my retro playlist and that song duo played on repeat for hours! (you can probs see that this year was big on confidence and maneater is the song).

8. beach weather, fav song: seth cohen another artist that i liked a few of their songs. hottest summer on record was great, even if we had the rainiest summer on record (but it was nice to dream). def one of my summer staples! idk why but it's just something about their beat that really has me relaxed, imaging my own obx summer (or maybe the name has something to do with it idk). pineapple sunrise (came out in 2023) was such a good album, i remember listening to sex, drugs, etc and hard feelings for ages!

9. what love is by zimmer90 does anyone else remember this song from 2023 that got really popular as an audio for those yearly wrapped reels? well, it's been on my liked songs since 2023 and got me through the start of 2024 so i believe that's a good reason as any to put it on the list (even if i never seem to remember what i listened to at the start of the year)!

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tagging, @bruisedboys, @sematarygirls, @zya8tracks, @lilithblackkk, @dixonsbrat, @edwardslvrr, @fallininlust, @thyme-in-a-bubble and anyone else who would like to join x