#they could MAKE the thing instead i suppose

[mywritersmind]

could you kimi antonelli x famous movie star reader! who is at the met gala and kimi is just thirsting over how good she looks. it can be like set when they do those vogue grwms of he is at the paddock watching the livestream?

PRETTY IN PINK - KA12

listen up : No warnings!! thanks for the request it’s not exactly the vogue grwm but i hope u still like it!! supportive kimi 4L!

words : 555

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Everyone in the paddock knows Kimi Antonelli. Youngest F1 driver on the grid, superstar in the making, italian mercedes driver, but most importantly: He is Y/n L/n’s boyfriend.

It’s not something people push onto him, it’s something he brings up at any chance he gets. The first time she came to the paddock, photos went viral of Kimi and Y/n, news spreading fast of the up and coming movie star and formula one prodigy.

Now, Kimi is sitting in his garage, a camera on him that he doesn’t even notice. He’s busy staring at his phone.

“Kimi.” The camera man laughs, “What’cha watching?” The curly haired boy looks up in surprise, smiling when he registers his words.

“My girlfriend!” He turns his phone to show him, the scene switching to a close up of Y/n’s outfit. He moves his phone back in front of him, smiling genuinely as if his girlfriend was in front of him.

She’s beautiful, a vision in pink and something Kimi is jealous that everyone else gets to see in person while he’s stuck around cars. Sure, the things he races are incredible… but to Kimi, his girlfriend can make his heart race just as fast as his car.

“It’s the Met Gala today, her first one.” He beams, his eyes locked on his screen while he talks.

“That’s awfully impressive-” The man is quickly cut off by Kimi.

“Sh sh! She’s talking!” He waves his hands as the man shuts up. Everyone around them is focused on the boy now, the screens all showing his face now.

Y/n smiles politely at the interviewer, “Y/n!” The woman says, “You look stunning, tell us about your look!” She goes, going into every detail that Kimi already knows because she’s been excited about this for months.

“You’re very supportive.” The camera man says to Kimi.

“Of course I am, I love her. She’s at every race she can be but- I definitely understand missing one for the biggest fashion night of the year… at least, that’s what she says. I don’t know anything about fashion.” He watches her push her hair behind her ear, the girl laughing elegantly.

The question shifts and Kimi focuses back on her words, “I’d like to say hi to my lovely boyfriend who I know is watching instead of preparing for his race.” She holds the microphone high, looking directly into the camera. “Kimi, get into that car and fucking kick ass.”

Kimi laughs, she’s definitely not supposed to swear but she’s never been one for following rules. “Oh!” She turns back just before she’s about to go, grabbing the microphone again, “Don’t break a tooth kissing the screen, K.” and then she winks, being ushered back up the stairs without another look.

He laughs again, and so does the rest of the paddock. Kimi sets his phone down, “I guess I'll wait to kiss her when she’s actually in front of me.” The camera zooms out, showing him sigh in his chair.

He slips his phone into his pocket, his fingers tingling in anticipation because all he wants to do is talk to her. He smiles while walking farther into the garage, the image of his girlfriend in pink fresh in his memory and motivating for the day ahead.

[sakuravalenp]

He's supposed to be invincible - DC X DP

Just something random that came to my mind.

So, Danny ends up being adopted/fostered by Bruce just months before Damian arrives at the manor, the how and why is your choice, but the GIW is still a threat. 

Now, Danny catches Damian attacking Tim the first time and instead of telling the rest of the family or scolding Damian, he went lik:

“You haven't even defeated me, and you think you have a right to attack Tim? Get in line, kid.”

And so Damian understands that to get the right to fight against Tim, he needs to get rid of Danny first. Climb the power pyramid, if you will. And so, Damian starts his assassination attempts against Danny. 

But here's the thing: Danny is making absolutely no effort to stop him, he just takes the attempts. The first time, Damian successfully stabs Danny, and goes to announce his victory over Danny to his father. Bruce rushes to Danny, worried for his safety, and finds him just chilling there, not a single drop of blood or injury. Damian is gapping.

“Oh yeah, the kid beat me in a round of hide and seek. He’s pretty good.”

Bruce is relieved and pats Damian’s head, not noticing his utter confusion. And so a cartoon-like montage starts: Damian attacks Danny and claims victory, but Danny is completely fine, and says Damian won at some random game. Everyone thinks the two are super close, and that Damian’s excitement about winning is super cute. 

Eventually, positive enforcement wears Damian down, because everyone congratulates him and gives him affection for winning the “stupid things” Danny comes up with. He gradually calms down and integrates pretty well. Danny does end up being his closest sibling because he’s the only one that actually knows all of Damian. The only one Damian could attack with zero restraint and still be treated the same. 

But the important thing here is: Danny becomes an invincible figure in Damians mind. He could be stabbed, decapitated, poisoned, and still come back like nothing happened.

So surely, when Phantom is shot out of the sky by a Blood Blossom, surely he’ll just stand back up in a minute like always. Surely, he’s just waiting to get back to the cave to pretend like he always did for Damian. Surely, he’s just putting on a show on the medbay. 

But hours go by, and he’s still pretending. Still looking pale. Still keeping his eyes closed.

Damian doesn’t understand why he hasn’t bounced back yet. He should be okay by now. Alfred is moving around, changing the IV,dabbing Danny’s head with a damp cloth. There’s commotion outside as everyone is trying to get an antidote.

But this shouldn’t be happening. 

Danny is invincible.

Danny should be back to normal already.

So Damian starts shaking Danny. Screaming to stop pretending and tell them he was beaten in some stupid game again. To open his eyes already. 

Father is pulling him away, trying to calm him down, but he keeps struggling in his arms, because he’s getting Danny to wake up. 

And he doesn’t notice the tears falling down his face until he runs out of energy, and all that’s left is hiccuping in his father’s arms.

...

So… yeah, that’s what my mind supplied today while on the bus :)

Maybe one day I'll write it, but I don't have time, so I would love to see someone else's take on it.

[wemlygust]

yeah no OP is too correct for me not to reblerg this Sidenote: the fact that "maybe" is clearly "may-bee", but it is difficult to mentally pronounce "perbe" as "per-bee" instead of "perb", is very interesting to me. I suppose it may be the "y" that makes the difference? If it were meant to be prnounced as "mayb", I guess we might spell it as "maibe," instead? That spelling seems more natural for a "maib/mayb" sound, to me. ^in the above paragraph, I wrote, "it may be", which has brought to my attention that "it per be" is not a thing. "Per" on its own means "according to" or "in/for/during each" (e.g. "5 miles per hour" or "one lunchbox per person") rather than "can" or "could", yeah? So for this reason maychance "maychance" makes more sense than "perbe". OR, perbe the word "per" is all wrong and we've been doing it wrong this whole time! *gasp* Anyway if we want perbe to be "per-bee" we should probably spell it as "perby" even though that doesn't look like maybe anymore. Maybe "maybe" only ends in an "e" because having two y's in "mayby" would look kinda silly?

the existence of "maybe", "perhaps", "perchance", and "mayhaps" suggests there should also be "maychance" and "perbe"

[heartyluv]

I love your writings of Zayne and Sylus! Can you do one of Zayne and Sylus (separately) where reader tells them that she thinks they should break up because she feels like she isn’t good enough for him so she needs to focus on herself, plus he’s been so busy, and they haven’t had time to be with each other for a while. Which leads up to this moment. Zayne and Sylus ofc get angry because they love reader so much and deny her request. No matter what they will always chose her and who is she to tell him how to feel. Kind of angsty, passionate, and deep yearning if you get what I’m saying. Thank you.🙇🏻‍♀️

Note: You guys are getting all the angst today LOLL. I had some extra time to actually get this done, especially since it didn’t need to be too long. I hope you enjoy, luvly! Thank you so much for being here.

Warning: You talk badly about yourself in this, but I’m here to tell you that all of you luvlys deserve nothing but the absolute best and nothing less. I luv you. 😚

Zayne

Zayne was worried when he got a text from you while he was at work during another one of his late night shifts. He hasn’t been able to be around you for long for the last couple of weeks because of being on call so often lately, so when you messaged him on your own accord for the first time in a while at almost one in the morning, all his focus was out the window. It was a good thing he was due to go home soon.

“Hey, Z. Sorry if you’re busy. Nothing’s wrong, but if you had time tomorrow, could I come by and we talk for a little bit? Love you.”

He wasn’t waiting until tomorrow. Especially when he tried to text and call you and you didn’t answer any attempt. And not when you texted him like that. No emojis, no babe, no lovebug, not even an I in saying that you love him. So when he finally was able to get out of the hospital, the first thing he did was drive to your home.

He doesn’t know about the mental turmoil you’ve been dealing with. He doesn’t know that it’s been going on long before he started getting really busy.

You’ve been feeling insecure about, well, everything. About you not feeling like you’re good enough for someone as talented, intelligent, and handsome as your boyfriend, feeling like he deserves someone who can match him in ways you believe you’re incapable of doing. The distance hasn’t helped, and all you could think of was all the pretty doctors and nurses that he’s around everyday, all the women he encounters on the daily who are undoubtedly just as enamored by him as you were when you first laid your eyes on him.

You tried to convince yourself that this was just you having a moment of weakness, that you simply missed him so much that your brain couldn’t help but try and pin something on you since you haven’t seen him in what feels like forever. It got so bad that you genuinely wondered if he was working overtime, longer than usual, just to get away from you.

Because you knew Zayne was never that cruel, you came to the conclusion that it was time to talk, to tell him that perhaps breaking up is good for the both of you so he doesn’t have to deal with you.

You were rehearsing all of what you hoped you could properly communicate in your bed, when you got a text.

“I’m outside. Please open the door.”

Your whole body froze. He wasn’t supposed to be here now. But you couldn’t just leave him out there, so you dragged yourself out of bed to get ready to tell him something you’d never be prepared enough to say.

His eyes were full of curiosity, confusion, and concern when you stood face to face. He was so worried that he didn’t even bother removing his coat or making himself comfortable. Instead, he just turned your light on so that he could see you properly.

“I got your text, yet you didn’t respond to me when I tried to message and call you back. You’ve worried me. Tell me, what’s wrong?”

You swallow, feeling the tears in your eyes burn as you tried to get yourself right to say what you needed to. But every time you looked into his worrying eyes, your heart cracked. For yourself and for the fact that even with the love in them, you couldn’t help but feel like you were undeserving of it.

“I think we need to break up, Zayne,” you rush out, shutting your eyes and breathing out as if you were being held underwater. No amount of tugging on your pajama sleeve was going to ease your nerves, so you resorted to your fingers, picking at the skin until it hurt.

Zayne hated that. He placed a large palm on both of your hands, looking down at them before he looked up at you.

“Is it something I’ve done wrong? Because of my recent increase in absence?” he studies you, trying to look for any of your ticks to try and see if you’ll lie.

“I just—” the tears fall loosely, rushing down your cheeks. Instead of piecing your thoughts together, they just start spilling out uncontrollably. “I just believe you deserve so much more than me, than what I offer you. I could never be what you need, what you deserve. You’re one of the youngest and most successful surgeons in the world, Zayne. You are so perfect that it makes me wonder how I was so lucky to be given someone like you. And because of that it’s best for me to just let you go so that you—“

“Stop,” he interrupts you. “You don’t get to tell me what I deserve when everything and all I’ve ever wanted, needed, is standing right in front of me, trying to leave.”

Your heart beats rapidly from the intense emotions and heavy stress you’ve weighed upon yourself.

“I could lose my job, lose everything I’ve ever earned in this life, and the only thing that would keep me going is you, do you understand that?” He reaches his hand up to cup your face. “But because you’ve come to me with this, it’s obvious that I’ve failed in making sure you know and understand how special you are to me. And it is my responsibility to instill that security in you and us, again.”

He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours. He shut all of that down before you had the chance to dig an unnecessary hole deeper, even if that uncertainly is still in the back of your mind.

“I will listen to your concerns and I will mend your heart, but I will not let you discredit or talk down on the only person I’ll only and will ever, love. Is that fair?”

You nod, unable to speak due to embarrassment, relief, and even because of that tinge of fear in your chest. “I’m sorry,” you only mumble.

“There’s no need to apologize to me. It’s my fault for letting these thoughts have the chance to stew in your pretty mind when I know that reassurance is one of the things that keeps us strong. We’re okay, my love. We always will be.”

Sylus

When you started ignoring Sylus’ text messages today, he tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. You had times where you forgot to even look at your phone, so he couldn’t fault you. His kitten, funnily enough, was still human. He was bothered that you had only spoken with him once this morning and it was almost five in the evening now.

Even then, he figured that since he’ll see you later, you can tell him what was so much more important than him while he teased you about it. But when you ignored his phone calls, he knew there was a problem.

You never missed a call from him because his ringtone was the song he had playing when he asked to be your boyfriend. It was a beautiful night on a luxurious rooftop restaurant that he rented for the night as a special way to romance you. It was unique and the song always had you smiling, floating to your phone when you went to pick up as that same dreamy memory replayed in your mind. So now that you’re not answering, his anger and concern began to mend together.

“She’s home?” Luke says with confusion when he gives Sylus your location. He had him find you after his first and only attempt to call you went to voicemail.

“Boss, did you do something?” Kieran asks, his tone laced with shock. You never got like this and the only thing he could think was that after almost three years together, you must’ve had your first real big fight that they were unaware of.

Prepared to debunk that theory, he suddenly got the text message that had him in front of your house faster than anything or anyone could comprehend.

“I’m breaking up with you, Sylus. I’m so sorry.”

Sylus angry was scary—because he didn’t look angry. He had the face that you could compare to a sleeping baby; calm, peaceful unbothered. But under the surface, he was one wrong sentence away from losing his shit.

Your door was thrown open, broken off the hinges when you ran into your living room. His head quirked to the side when he saw you. Puffy and eyes, runny nose, oversized clothing in a relatively warm house. He didn’t know what was wrong, but running from him? He wasn’t allowing it.

“It seems you’ve gotten my attention as you anticipated, sweetie.” He steps toward you, feeling his heart twist with concern as you look at everything but his eyes. “You ignore me, and I allow it all day. Yet to repay me for my generosity, my sweet kitten decides to push her luck and sends me nonsense.”

His playful attempt to control himself drops when he thinks of how prepared you were to just send him that message as if he would ever just accept such a thing. “There is nothing above me that I an incapable of fixing when it comes to keeping you happy. Talk to me. Tell me what needs to be done so that we can resolve it together like we’re supposed to.”

You taught Sylus what real communication was. In this moment, he’s thankful for it because he’s determined to use it to get rid of all your worries and concerns. He tilts your chin up when you refuse to look at him and that sends the waterworks rushing again.

Sylus has been so busy that this was the first night you would’ve seen him face to face in over a month. A part of the reason as to why you were driven to send him that message is because you felt like he was only ready to see you since you nagged him so much.

Even if you didn’t seem to understand that, it couldn’t be further away from the truth for the man looking down at you with determination. Being away from you was hard, but your safety meant more to him than anything. Being apart from you was necessary to ensure nothing ever touched a hair on your head while he handled things you didn’t need to concern yourself with.

Between him being gone and the type of charismatic man he is, you firmly believed that Sylus would inevitably find someone better. You became so dependent on him in a way that made you feel desperate. You felt that maybe you were way in over your head, that this separation was needed so that you could accurately reflect.

You believe that he should have someone secure in themselves, someone who could keep up with him. Someone that was better than you, someone more than you’d ever be.

“I’ve been thinking… And I believe that it’s good for the both us to separate. I didn’t intend to drop this on you, not like this. I just feel like I’m not worthy of you—that you’re a man that women would give nothing but the best to. All I want is for you to get the things that make you happy, not have you settling for something like me.”

You’re surprised that he actually let you finish.

He breathes out, shaking his head slightly. “For someone so smart, your mind must’ve worked tirelessly to convince you to believe something so ridiculous.”

His thumb runs along your bottom lip, staring at them before he looks into your eyes. “It insults me that you don’t think that I know what I want, that I know what I deserve. It insults me that you would belittle the only real thing I’ve ever had in my life, so boldly. It angers me, that I’ve not done my part to properly ensure that you know that you are the only person alive that I would destroy this planet and myself for.”

Your breath hitches when he pulls you closer. “If you ever believed for a second, that I’d let you simmer in this darkness, that I’d let you leave me, I need to do a better job in showing you the kind of man whose children you’ll carry.” He kisses your nose. “Whose ring you’ll bear.” Another kiss to your lips. “Whose heart you will always own.” A final one to your forehead.

“Sylus…” you whimper, feeling the emotions bubble inside you again, threatening to spillover. You want to believe that what you sent was a spark of simple insecurity. But you know it’s been inside you long enough for it to erupt the way it did.

It’s the fact that he would never even allow you to deal with any of this on your own that makes your tears spill.

“You don’t need to say anything, pretty.” He rubs the tears away, one by one as they come. “The only thing you need to tell me are ways we can make sure that this belief never plagues your mind again and how I can keep you confident in my love for you.”

He simply takes your hand, walking out of your apartment and makes a phone call to have your door repaired tonight because you’ll be staying with him until further notice.

“You’re stuck with me for life, kitten. Not even death could keep me from you. And I’m going to make sure that you always understand that.”

[biscuits-and-gracie]

My Sweet Little Crybaby

summary: Rafe learning how to handle his sweet crybaby.

characters: rafe cameron. crybaby! reader

warnings: just rafe being a little mean.

word count: 1.2k

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────

The afternoon sun slanted low through the windows of Rafe’s room, staining the air gold. The ceiling fan whirred tiredly overhead, stirring the heavy heat that clung to the walls. Rafe’s shirt lay crumpled on the floor, his shoes half-kicked under the bed, abandoned like everything else when you’d stumbled back from the chaos of the beach and the races and the noise.

Now, it was the slow, honeyed part of the day - the part where time stretched soft and quiet around you, where the only thing that mattered was him.

You were curled into Rafe’s side, arms looped tight around his waist, your cheek pressed against the warm skin of his chest. His heart thudded steadily under your ear - a tether, a comfort, the one thing anchoring you after the frantic, endless weekend.

Rafe lounged against the headboard, scrolling lazily through his phone with one hand, the other resting heavy and absent on your lower back. His fingers tapped idly against your spine like he didn’t even realize he was touching you - like it was just muscle memory now.

You squeezed him a little tighter.

Rafe shifted, sighing, but didn’t look away from his screen.

"Jesus, babe," he muttered, voice rough and amused. "You’re like a damn koala today."

You only nodded against him, your fingers curling tighter in the waistband of his jeans, grounding yourself.

He chuckled under his breath, low and smug.

"You scared I’m gonna run off or somethin'?" he teased, voice lilting with lazy affection. "Clinging like that, huh?"

Still, you said nothing. You just pressed closer, breathing him in - the salt of his skin, the faint sting of sweat and ocean and Rafe - and soaked in the solid, irrefutable realness of him.

It had been a long weekend. Too much noise. Too many people. Too many ways you could have lost him if things had gone wrong.

You needed to feel him. Real and safe and breathing, alive right under your hands.

Rafe finally glanced down - caught the small, stubborn way you buried your face harder into him, the tremble he hadn’t noticed in your hold.

He snorted.

"God, you’re such a little crybaby sometimes," he said lightly, his voice playful but sharper than he realized. "You gonna start bawlin’ if I get up to take a piss?"

It was meant to be a joke. It was supposed to make you huff, maybe smack him and laugh it off.

Instead - You sniffled. A small, broken sound you couldn’t bite back.

Rafe froze.

His phone dropped somewhere onto the mattress as he tilted your chin up with two careful fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze.

Your eyes - big, watery, shimmering with unshed tears - blinked up at him, your bottom lip trembling pathetically.

Rafe’s heart cracked clean down the middle.

"Aw, fuck," he muttered, his voice crumbling into something soft and desperate. "Hey, hey- come on, baby girl. Don't cry. I didn’t mean it."

A fat tear slipped free, tracking a slow, shimmering line down your cheek. Rafe let out a miserable, helpless laugh - the kind of sound you make when you realize you’ve just hurt the only thing you care about.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered, almost to himself.

He dragged you fully into his lap, wrapping himself around you like a shield. One big hand smoothed over your back, the other cupping the back of your head, cradling you like something fragile and precious.

"I’m such an asshole sometimes," he murmured into your hair, pressing desperate, apologetic kisses against the crown of your head. "You know I don’t mean that shit, right? You know that, baby?"

You hiccupped softly, clutching the front of his shorts like you were afraid he might vanish.

"You’re my girl," Rafe whispered, voice low and urgent against your temple. "You’re my whole fuckin' world. You hear me?"

He wiped your cheeks with the rough pads of his thumbs, slow and careful, like he was terrified of hurting you again. His forehead pressed against yours, the warm brush of his breath grounding you in the sticky, quiet room.

"You wanna be clingy? Fine. Be as clingy as you want," he whispered, almost smiling. "You wanna follow me around like a little lost puppy? Good. You’re mine either way."

You sniffled again, the sound smaller this time, your body slowly melting against him.

"You scare me sometimes," you whispered, the words barely audible - more breath than voice.

Rafe's arms tightened instantly, locking you against him like he could anchor you both by sheer force of will.

"I know, angel," he breathed, fierce and ragged. "I know. I scare myself sometimes too."

He kissed you then - once, twice, messy and lingering - the kind of kisses that left you a little ruined, a little more his with every brush of his mouth.

"Not gonna leave you," Rafe promised against your lips, voice raw and solemn. "Not ever. You hear me?"

You nodded, silent tears slipping free again - but this time, they weren't from hurt.

This time, they were from how loved you felt. How completely, utterly, hopelessly loved you were.

And Rafe - reckless, cruel, brutal Rafe Cameron - just held you tighter, like if he let go even for a second, the world might swallow you whole.

He wouldn’t let it. He’d burn it down first.

Later, long after the sun dipped below the horizon and the house settled into silence, you were still tangled up together in the messy, rumpled bed. The soft whir of the fan filled the room, mixing with the slow drag of Rafe’s breathing.

You shifted closer, nuzzling into the warm crook of his neck, and heard him huff a soft, grumbly laugh.

"Jesus," he muttered, half-asleep. "Clingier than ever. You got no self-respect, huh?"

You stiffened, heart sinking stupidly fast. You didn’t want to be too much. You didn’t want to annoy him.

You started to pull back - just a little - but Rafe’s arm snapped tighter around you, locking you in place.

"Where the fuck you think you’re going?" he grumbled, voice rough with sleep. His mouth brushed the top of your head, the press of it warm and firm. "You started this, crybaby. You’re stuck with me now."

You let out a tiny, breathless laugh against his chest, your fingers curling back into the bare skin of his side.

Rafe shifted, pulling the blanket higher over both of you, cocooning you against him. His thumb drew slow, lazy circles into the small of your back - grounding, sure, his.

"You feel good there," he murmured, so soft you barely caught it. "Stay right there, yeah?"

You nodded, every part of you relaxing, the last thread of fear or shame unwinding from your chest.

Rafe kissed your forehead, slow and lingering, and just before you slipped into sleep - warm, safe, completely surrounded by him - you heard him whisper into your hair:

"My sweet little crybaby," he breathed. "My whole fuckin' heart."

And for the first time in days - maybe weeks - you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[bueckersworld]

i won’t call you mine

“scared to fall? then i’m your guy, i won’t call you mine.”

SYNOPSIS: a midnight beach meet-up wasn’t supposed to mean anything—but under moonlight and soft confessions, paige feels like more than a passing summer mistake.

WARNINGS: mild language, emotional vulnerability, romantic boundaries, alcohol mention — not consumed.

WORD COUNT: 3k RECOMMENDED SONG: duvet cover — ashley singh. info. masterlist. taglist. just for the summer.

you tell yourself it isn’t a date.

you’ve said it out loud, even—twice. once to your friend when she asked where you were going tonight, and again to yourself in the mirror, brushing a hand over your outfit like you weren’t trying. like you didn’t take twenty minutes picking it out. like you didn’t check her instagram story before leaving, just to see if she’d posted something—anything—since last night.

she hadn’t.

but she did text you.

paige:

you busy tonight?

you:

depends. will i need a new shirt this time?

paige:

no promises.

paige:

meet me on the beach. midnight.

you hesitated—only for a second—then typed back,

send the pin.

and now you’re here.

barefoot in the sand, shoes in hand, breeze in your hair. the moon spills silver over the shoreline and the waves crash just loud enough to drown your thoughts. there’s something sacred about a beach at night—something that makes you quieter, more honest. and maybe that’s why you’re nervous now, standing in the dark, heart racing with the wind.

you see her before she sees you.

paige, sitting near the waterline with her knees drawn up and a hoodie over her head. she looks relaxed in a way you hadn’t expected. grounded. she’s tracing shapes in the sand with one finger, like the ocean’s her soundtrack and she’s just trying to keep time.

you walk toward her, slow. cautious.

she looks up, and when she sees you, her whole face changes.

like it was worth waiting for.

“you came,” she says, standing up and brushing sand from her legs.

“you sent a pin,” you shrug, trying to sound chill.

“true.” she smiles. “but you didn’t have to show up.”

you shrug again, stepping closer. “maybe i was hoping you’d ruin another shirt.”

she laughs, soft and breathy. “i left my drink in the car. but i could run back and fix that.”

“maybe later.”

you sit together on a large towel she’s already laid out, a cooler beside it that you hadn’t noticed before.

“i brought snacks,” she says, pulling it open. “and by snacks i mean mostly candy and one bottle of water.”

“balanced.”

“i’m an athlete. i plan things.”

you steal a pack of sour gummies and kick your feet out in the sand.

“so,” she says, voice low. “tell me something about you.”

you glance over. “like what?”

“i don’t know. something people don’t usually know. something real.”

you chew on a gummy, stare out at the ocean.

“i get tired of pretending i don’t care,” you admit. “i act like i’m not looking for anything, but sometimes… i think i just say that because i’m scared to actually want it.”

she’s quiet beside you. for a second, you think maybe you’ve said too much.

then she says, “yeah. i get that.”

you turn your head. she’s already looking at you.

“people expect so much from me all the time,” she murmurs. “so when i’m not being watched or coached or praised, i just wanna disappear. not belong to anyone.”

“but?”

her lips twist slightly. “but sometimes i wanna belong anyway.”

you don’t kiss. not yet.

instead, you talk.

you tell her about the worst date you ever went on. she tells you about a fan who asked her to sign their forehead. you laugh too hard at the way she mimics them. she laughs at your terrible imitation of a florida accent. the moon keeps moving, the tide creeps closer, but neither of you shift.

it’s not a date. but it feels like one.

not serious. but also… not not.

“you’re easy to talk to,” she says suddenly.

you smile. “you say that like it surprises you.”

“it does.”

you toss a gummy at her. she catches it. grins.

“you’re not what i expected,” she adds.

“you keep saying that.”

“because it keeps being true.”

at some point, your shoulders touch. you’re not sure when it started, but now you feel the heat of her next to you. her hand is right there in the space between your legs. almost close enough to brush. almost.

you steal a glance.

she’s looking at the sky now, her expression calm. but you can see the tension in her fingers. like she’s thinking about it too.

you break the silence.

“what happens if we do like each other?”

she exhales. “we don’t.”

you turn toward her. “you sure?”

“no,” she says. “but if we pretend we don’t, maybe it won’t hurt when we leave.”

you nod. slow. it makes sense. it also doesn’t.

you both go quiet again.

you stay like that for a while—shoulders barely touching, knees brushing, breaths syncing up like tides. the kind of closeness that doesn’t demand anything. the kind that says i see you. stay here anyway.

finally, she stands.

“come on,” she says, brushing sand off her legs again. “i’ll walk you back to your car.”

you follow her up the beach, shoes still in hand.

when you reach the lot, she hesitates beside your door.

you turn toward her, not sure if this is where you say goodbye or pretend like none of it mattered.

but then—

“can i see you again?” she asks, voice quiet.

you tilt your head. “i thought we weren’t calling this anything.”

“we’re not.” she looks away, like that makes it easier. “but i still wanna see you.”

you nod, slow. “me too.”

she leans in—not for a kiss, just close enough for her hand to brush your arm. “goodnight, not-a-date.”

you smirk. “goodnight, drink assassin.”

she walks away before you can say anything else, her hoodie pulled low and her hands in her pockets like she’s not the kind of person who just knocked the air out of your chest with a single look.

you get in your car.

sit in silence for a minute.

then, your phone buzzes.

paige:

i still don’t want anything serious.

you stare at it for a second.

then you type back.

you:

i know.

i still want to see you too.

© bueckersworld

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡ chapter 2 of just for the summer. how are we feeling??? there might be smut next chapter guys 😏😏

𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝘩𝑢𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠, 𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑟

taglist: @elswhore @private-but-not-a-secret @paigebaby5 @raimund00 @bravemode @d1paigebueckersglazer @evanpeterstoe @zi0nnnn @jadasogay @fuddaround @jaylie-bee @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @mrsarnold @lol-12n @sayurireidotcom @iwasbored-okay @kl0verk @bqringtears @agnesblight @scarlett177 @syraxsbigfanfr @youmeandjennessey @asapeveryday

[hhdolly]

Reassurance

Boyfriend!Ghost x Fem!Reader | 1.1k words | Fluff to Smut

Content Warnings: Light pussy slapping, creampie.

It had been a fortnight. Two weeks since you’ve started distancing yourself from Simon.

Instead of going into detail about your day like you usually would, all that would be said was a deadpanned “It was fine.”

And that drove Simon crazy. He pondered while watching you cook, cleaning, or even just sleeping. What did he do to make you so aloof and dismissive? When he told you about the halfwitted joke Soap made, you didn’t even care to laugh.

He missed the way you would ramble on about how stupid your coworkers are. He missed the way you would jokingly make fun of his sense of fashion, and he most certainly missed when you would stay up late talking to him until you fell asleep, even if eighty percent of your words were indecipherable when it came to that point.

He tried to give you the space you needed, but when you didn’t even acknowledge your one-year anniversary, that broke the straw on the camel’s back.

He strode up to you, “What’s been up with you?” He furrowed his brows, cornering you in the corner of the counter, leaning in so far you thought your spine would crack from how far it was bending itself. You slid to the right, attempting to slip out of this confrontation.

But he stepped alongside you, tilting his head, “Hm?” He looked down at your eyes, you’ve never felt so captivated—or is it that you felt like you were being garroted—by his overawing eyes. Brown eyes are the most common and deemed the most ‘plain-looking’ of all eye colors, but could other eyes reflect the worry his eyes reflected?

You shrugged. And that irritated him further. “How am I supposed to make you feel better if you just fucking ignore me?” You stayed silent, opening your mouth like you were going to say something, but your vocal cords felt frozen. You stared, trying to outstare him; Maybe he’d back off then.

But no… he kept staring, leaning closer and closer, until the tips of your noses touched, and his palms, he placed them both onto the counter. Now, you really couldn’t escape.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

What is this? A romcom? When did the lights get so dim, and when did your heart start beating so fast? When did the sun start setting and casting a golden light, painting the kitchen a daffodil shade of yellow? When did he get so beautiful? You don’t recount his lashes being so lush, in which you more or less felt jealousy rather than attraction towards, and him smelling so redolent, like a forest after a heavy rainstorm.

“If I tell you, you’d definitely get mad.”

“Love, it’d be impossible to piss me off more than I already am.” His palms lifted, and he leaned back, crossing his arms, waiting for your response.

You couldn’t think of an excuse. So you let it out, “You don’t love me anymore.” You bluntly stated, like it were a fact.

The fact that you stated it like it was a fact and not a thing you were accusing him of, truly did piss him off more than he already was. “When did I say that? Or imply that?” His eyes squinted in confusion.

“I felt it—and you said you weren’t getting offended.”

“No, love, I said I wouldn’t get pissed.” He chuckled at the hilarity of the situation. “You don’t even know your own emotions sometimes, and you want to try and guess mine? You’re fuckin’ ridiculous.”

“Same thing.” You got quiet again. “So… you do love me?”

“I would’ve kicked you to the curb if I didn’t.”

Your arms enwrapped his body, relieved as you felt his warmth. He leaned his head down, kissing your neck and picking you up to the bedroom.

He threw you onto the bed. You protested, “Don’t you want dinner?” He hummed, “No. I’ve missed ‘er— and you, of course.” He leaned down, kissing your inner thighs, and you softly sighed. A light slap came down onto your pussy, earning a whimper from your lips.

“Want this cock?” He asked, rubbing your pussy through your pants. You nodded, shaking from how long it’d been since he’d been intimate with you. “Yeah?” He condescendingly asked again, “Gonna stretch you out, and fill that womb up, love.” He said as he unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants. He pulled your pants down, pulled your panties to the side, and fingered you to keep your walls stimulated, his cock dripping with pre-cum, maybe it was your heat radiating off of your clit.

“If you can’t handle two fingers, maybe we shouldn’t make love today.” He teased. “No, noo…” You whined. “Please, don’t. I can take it,” your orgasm crashed over you, and you held back the moan. “I’ll take your word for it, love.” He lined up his eight-inch cock, the girth making it more menacing.

You were lying, it hurt, it was only half way in, and the tightness of your cunt was even making him weak. “Fuck, baby.” He groaned, rocking his hips back and forth, his palms tight on your waist. You couldn’t speak; if he went any deeper, he would be in your guts, or it felt like that.

“Oh, oh my gosh, Simon!” You choked out, repositioning yourself to straddle on top of him, still only taking in half his cock. Your hips moved by themselves, not wanting to stop the immense pleasure coursing through your body. Your clip rubbed against his shaft as you bounced up and down, doubling the stimulation.

His hands reached your hips, roughly pushing you down, making you take all eight inches. “Take it all.” He roughly spoke. He chuckled at your loud mewls, it was more amusing to see you quietly oblige, your body shaking.

“Just like tha’, baby.” His head tilted back, he tried not to moan as well. Your divorced neighbor wouldn’t appreciate your loving sex at midnight.

“I love—I love you…” You breathed out, leaning forward as your reached yet another climax, kissing his lips as his dick moved in and out of your walls, hitting your G-spot as it slipped back in.

“Now you love me, mm?” He pulled you back as you leaned back up, opening your mouth and passionately French kissing you. You noticed he started to pant raggedly. “Are you close?”

He nodded, grabbing your hips once again, lifting you and roughly pushing you down onto his cock, your tits bouncing, a weird sensation to feel.

“Oh..!” You closed your eyes, leaning back as he spilled his warm seeds into your womb. He pulled out, lying next to you.

“Talk to me next time, yeah?”

[buddiesbuddiess]

There have been a lot of discussions as to why Buck and Eddie’s argument was coded as a married couple’s argument, and I think one of the biggest reasons is that they argued in the way particularly unique to married couples - i.e they were arguing about one thing, but really they were arguing about several things. Married couple arguments always go this way because they speak each other’s language so well that they communicate on a level several layers deep, even when they’re at odds.

So I thought I’d go through each line and try to tease out the layers to further demonstrate the couple-coded nature of this entire scene:

“I thought I said I was gonna get groceries” = “We have an established domestic pattern and you’re breaking it. The fact that you’re breaking it means I can tell something is off.”

“I was out. It’s fine.” = “You’ve hurt me so I’m isolating you from our domestic pattern. Since you’re leaving me anyway I may as well act as if I’m already single. I’m trying to de-center you in my life so that it hurts less.”

“It doesn’t feel like it’s fine.” = “You’re being passive aggressive with me, and you’re insulting me by pretending there isn’t something else going on when I know you so well that I can tell that there is.”

“I heard you finally got the call from El Paso Fire” = “You’re leaving me, and I had to hear it from somebody else. I’ve been hurt two-fold by you.”

“Who told you?” = “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out. I’ve lost control of this situation and now I’m on the back foot.”

“Hen told Chimney who told Ravi who called me” = “Everybody knew except me. This hurts. I’m supposed to be your confidante and you’ve been keeping secrets from me.”

“I was going to tell you” = “I know I messed up by not telling you, and I’ve been feeling guilty about it. But don’t you see that I didn’t tell you because telling you was too scary, telling you would make it real?”

“But you didn’t. Instead everyone has been tiptoeing around behind my back because apparently I’m too fragile” = “Everyone is treating me like a child, including you. You have emotionally isolated me from our partnership.”

“Look how you’re acting now” = “You haven’t approached this discussion like an adult. How can this be a partnership when you’ve ambushed me like this?”

“You really think I wouldn’t have been happy for you?” = “It hurts me that you think I would put my pain before your happiness. Is that really what you think of me?”

“I know you wouldn’t. You make everything about you” = “Can you blame me for assuming that when we’ve been in this situation before?” - but also a bit of: “I have a ready-made arsenal of things you do that upset me (because we are a couple, and that’s what happens when you’re a couple, consequences of sharing a life) and I’m willing to whip them out during an argument (because that is how married couples win fights)”

“You’ve been spiralling since the funeral” = “I can see your pain despite that fact you think I can’t. Your pain is loud to me. It makes me feel like I can’t tell you things because I’m too busy worrying about you.”

“I’m sorry I’m sad that Bobby’s dead” = “I feel like you’re using my grief against me to win an argument, so I’m going to be petty about it and throw it in your face.”

“You aren’t the only one that lost him.” = “I’m in pain too. Why can’t you see that the way I can see yours?”

“You never asked what it was like.” = “I’ve not been receiving what I need from you emotionally. I’ve been cut off from you and unable to share my pain. This hurts because you are the person I rely on the most.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that’s what it was like” = “I’ve been too blinded by my own pain to factor yours in too. I recognise that I’ve hurt you by doing this.”

“I couldn’t save him” = “I’m finally able to share my pain with you, which is what I really needed all along.”

“You think I didn’t do all I could to save him?” = “It’s not just on you. I don’t want you to shoulder this guilt alone.”

“I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t there.” = “We’ve had an emotional breakthrough, but I’m still hurting, and I’m not ready to fix things between us because I feel like I don’t deserve it.”

This shows for me how this argument escalated so quickly: both Buck and Eddie can intuitively understand the layers behind what each person is saying, and that’s how they’re able to make these dramatic leaps from one grievance to the next. They understand the undercurrents of each other’s pain. And that’s why couple arguments get so messy so quickly.

[johanna-swann]

Am I the only one really pissed Tommy will probably not be in 8x18, not because of the ship, but because of the story line? I think the chances of Tommy being in season 9 are still fairly good, we might still get Bucktommy back, but it'll feel like too little too late for me because it just doesn't make sense.

They keep putting the Bucktommy plot on ice like time passes differently for them, like it doesn't matter that weeks or months pass between their interactions. "We can take care of that later, it won't turn bad in the freezer, right?"

First they didn't show us anything relevant about their relationship after 7x06. They flirted a little at the medal ceremony and had dinner in 7x10, that was it. They only really put him in one episode of 8a before the break-up and it was kinda cute, but again we didn't find out much about their relationship. We barely got the confirmation that they are indeed boyfriends and then the next episode the Bucktommy plot was suddenly over - or so we were lead to believe.

Even then Minear could've said something like: "This is going to continue to affect Buck and we will see this thread continue after the midseason hiatus." Instead we got: "Well, it isn't impossible that we'll see Tommy again, he is a character in that universe and a firefighter at that, so they could technically run into each other at work." The first one sounds like: "At least for Buck this story line isn't over, but that doesn't mean we'll see Tommy again soon." The second one sound a lot like: "The story line is pretty much over, we haven't really thought about it much."

Tommy does reappear though about 5-6 months later (in universe). And okay, Tommy initiated the break-up and probably thought Buck wouldn't want to hear from him after that, Buck likely assumed Tommy was sure about the break-up and reaching out wouldn't change anything. Also the show was on hiatus, so they get a pass for this one. But then we get confirmation that they still have feelings for each other and we get confirmation that Buck wants to reach out and apologise.

And then they put the Bucktommy plot on ice again for 3 episodes and (in universe) another month or longer go by and they don't even mention Tommy in the meantime. How does that make sense. Are we supposed to believe that Buck just forgot to reach out to Tommy? They even bothered to confirm in an interview that this doesn't happen off screen. Otherwise we could at least assume that Buck reached out, but Tommy didn't answer because he was still hurt or something like that.

Side note and this is something I noticed very early on in season 7: Either Tommy is in the episode or he ceases to exist. He is barely ever mentioned by anyone, even Buck. Bobby brings him up once in 7x09 and Buck says how he misses Tommy in the two episodes right after the break-up and that's it. There are ways to make characters appear more present than they are by having the other characters talk about them. They never did that with Tommy. Nobody except Bobby ever asks about their relationship or Tommy individually even though Eddie, Hen and Chimney are all friends with Tommy as well. It's strange.

Anyway, then Tommy does come back for the helicopter chase in 8x15, but this doesn't move the Bucktommy plot anywhere at all. They have that very short maybe flirty interaction in the helicopter which sort of indicates that they still have feelings for each other, but the show already told us as much in 8x11.

Since then we haven't seen Buck and Tommy interact and fair enough, we had a main character death. Maybe the romance plot doesn't take priority right now. But are you honestly telling me that Tommy once again came when Buck called, confirmed Buck still matters to him and then witnesses how Buck completely breaks down over Bobby's death and then Tommy just doesn't talk to Buck till September? Buck at some point will start to move on from Bobby's death, will think about the other things in his life and he doesn't check in with Tommy? Even though he's been meaning to talk to him and Tommy also lost Bobby?

Fuck still having a shot at Bucktommy canon (2.0), I want their story line well written. I want their time line to make sense. Them actually going canon again is very low on my list of priorities tbh.

[echodoctor]

I've noticed a few people take "the Universe leads and we follow" to mean that the Northern Island's spiritual traditions were a more authoritarian kind of faith, similar to something like Catholicism- God hands down decrees and mortals must obey them.

And while that is one way you could interpret that, it's very much not the way I read it when I saw that line.

I do want to preface this by saying I am some extremely white dumbass who knows shit about this secondhand only so please take what I am about to say with not so much as grain as an entire Lot's wife worth of salt, but:

I think the followers of the Universe might have something closer to Taoism going on.

Again, this is something I'm very vague on, but I remember reading that the ideal in Taoism is essentially to be in utter harmony with the natural rhythms of the world around you, effortlessly moving with them instead of desperately struggling against the flow. The world has natural processes: night follows day, decay follows death, the tides come in and out, etc. Understand and accept those processes, and you can float through seemingly effortlessly, because the natural movements of the world are at your back and carrying you forward, instead of something you struggle against.

There's a dynamic that shows up in a lot of classical Chinese stuff between Confucianism (very concerned with things being right and correct and proper) and Taoism, where the Confucian is angrily trying to make everything Work The Way It Should and the Taoist is affectionately teasing the Confucian for getting so worked up, and is having a much easier time because they've accepted the way things already are.

Like, the Confucian walks through a lovely peach grove and keeps getting mad because the trees are shedding leaves all over the path and no one bothered to rake them off, you're supposed to be keeping these paths clear, doesn't anyone do anything around here! The Taoist just has a nice walk and enjoys the peaches, maybe catches a nice ripe tasty fruit right before it falls on the Confucian's head.

I don't think it would be a one-to-one thing, but my personal guess is that the followers of the Universe believed in something similar.

The Universe leads you, in the same way that an ocean current sweeping you out to sea is leading you. That's just the way it is, and you can either struggle against it until you tire yourself out and drown, or you can recognize what's happening and learn how to ride the current to your destination.

This could have both positive aspects (compassion and acceptance towards others, living in peace with the world instead of changing it by violence) and negative ones (sometimes the world really does need to be changed, and you don't just have to accept things that make you miserable instead of working to fix them).

We can see a lot of that negative side in both the King and Siffrin. The King urges the party to be frozen at their happiest moment, because he can't wrap his head around the idea that you could make things even better instead of just being given something and praying you don't lose it. Siffrin falls into the natural rhythm of the script, and doesn't try to fight against what feels the most correct because this is how things are, why would he believe that's something he has the power to change?

(One big difference here is that Taoism also believes that change is one of the fundamental forces, that the world is constantly changing, whereas I think the Followers of the Universe would probably be a kind of narrative foil for the House of Change in canon, just for story purposes.)

(Sometimes things need to change, and sometimes you need to accept them. A healthier outlook probably finds a good balance of both.)

When the Change God tells Siffrin that his god "will never really talk to you", I wonder if a follower of the Universe who remembered more about their beliefs could have argued back that their god never stops speaking?

Through the flight of birds, the movement of clouds, the beating of your own heart- the Universe is speaking all the time. To live is to be in constant conversation with it.

It's fun and all the think the universe is being mean to Loop and Siffrin but tbh I like to think the universe is more apathetic than actively malicious. Real "a universe that doesn't care but people do" type of deal.

The universe is hard to grasp or even personify. According to the change god the universe can't even talk to its followers. It's so massive and incomprehensible it just can't.

Like... imagine you had to do something for one of the like octillion atoms that make up your body. You don't know this thing, you don't know it's situation, not really. It's kinda hard to pay attention when you're busy being... well perpetual existence. But it becomes just loud enough to hear. Hurts just enough to feel. But instead of squashing this thing like a bug you give it a crumb and simply move on.

But that also makes the whole "The universe leads and we must follow" philosophy very hilarious. Like the universe does NOT know what the little specks on this single planet are doing just like we don't notice how our cells move around in our body.

The universe isn't leading shit. It's giving you the tools to do it yourself. It's like when you ask your mom to drive you somewhere and she just hands you the keys and says don't wreck the car, except this "mom" doesn't comprehend that its kids aren't even old enough to drive (aka can't handle godly powers like timecraft)

[nubianqueensworld]

Chapter 4: The Fire Beneath

The room seemed to close in around them as Stack’s words hung heavy in the air. Monet tightened her fingers around the pendant hidden beneath her shirt, its warmth almost a comfort now. She could feel the weight of her situation pressing down, but she refused to let herself break. She had to think, to act. She couldn’t just drift along like a leaf in the wind.

“What do you mean by figuring out what the necklace ‘wants’?” Monet asked, her voice low but firm.

Stack leaned back in his chair, studying her like he was trying to piece together a puzzle. “That thing didn’t just drop you here for fun, doll. Magic like that—if it’s real—doesn’t happen by accident. Either it’s got a purpose, or somebody does. You’ve gotta figure out which it is.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that?” she shot back. “It’s not like the damn thing came with an instruction manual.”

Stack smirked, though his eyes remained sharp. “Lucky for you, I know a guy.”

Monet arched an eyebrow. “You know a guy?” she repeated, her tone skeptical. “That’s reassuring.”

“This ain’t amateur hour,” Stack said, the grin fading from his face. “You want answers? Then you play by my rules. And that starts with trustin’ me—at least a little.”

Monet exhaled slowly, crossing her arms over her chest. Trust wasn’t something that came easily to her, especially not in a situation like this. But the truth was, she didn’t have much of a choice. If Stack could help her uncover the secrets of the necklace—and maybe even find her way home—then she had to take the chance.

“Fine,” she said finally. “But if this goes sideways—”

“It won’t,” Stack cut in smoothly, rising from his chair. “Come on. Let’s go see the guy.”

Monet followed him reluctantly, her mind racing as they made their way down the creaking stairs and out into the cool night air. The streets of the town were quieter now, the buzz of the juke joint fading behind them as they walked. Stack moved with purpose, his long strides and unshakable confidence making it clear he knew this town like the back of his hand.

“Who is this guy, anyway?” Monet asked, breaking the silence.

“Name’s Elroy,” Stack replied. “He’s a bit... eccentric. But if anyone knows about strange things, it’s him.”

Monet frowned. “Strange things? That’s what we’re calling this now?”

Stack shot her a quick grin. “What would you call it?”

She didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure how to describe what was happening to her—or the magic that seemed to pulse from the necklace with every step. Instead, she kept her eyes on the path ahead, the dim glow of streetlights casting long shadows over the quiet road.

They stopped in front of a small, unassuming house at the edge of town. The windows were dark, but faint wisps of smoke curled up from the chimney, suggesting someone was home. Stack knocked on the door twice, then waited.

After a moment, the door creaked open, and a man peered out. Elroy was older, his graying hair slick similar to Stack’s his sharp eyes flicked between Stack and Monet with unmistakable curiosity.

“Stack,” Elroy said, his voice gravelly. “You only show up when there’s trouble.”

“Good to see you too, old man,” Stack replied with a chuckle. “We need your help.”

Elroy’s gaze landed on Monet, narrowing slightly. “And who’s this?”

“This is Monet,” Stack said. “She’s got somethin’ I think you’ll want to see.”

Elroy stepped aside, waving them in. “Well, come on, then. Don’t just stand there.”

Monet followed Stack into the dimly lit house, her nerves twisting as Elroy shut the door behind them. The interior was cluttered but cozy, with books and trinkets piled on every available surface. A small fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows over the walls.

“So,” Elroy said, sinking into a worn armchair and eyeing them expectantly. “What’s this about?”

Monet hesitated, glancing at Stack for reassurance. He gave her a nod, and she reached for the necklace, pulling it out from beneath her shirt. The stone glowed faintly in the firelight, its warmth spreading through her hand as she held it up.

Elroy’s eyes widened slightly, a spark of recognition flickering across his face. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “That’s no ordinary trinket, is it?”

Monet shook her head. “It... brought me here,” she said. “From the future.”

Elroy didn’t react the way she expected—no disbelief, no laughter. Instead, he leaned forward, his expression serious. “Tell me everything,” he said.

Over the next few minutes, Monet recounted everything that had happened—the funeral, the necklace, the sudden flash of light that had transported her here. Elroy listened intently, his brow furrowed as he processed her words.

When she finished, he sat back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the necklace. “That’s old magic,” he said finally. “Powerful, dangerous magic.”

Monet’s heart sank. “What kind of magic?”

Elroy met her gaze, his expression grim. “Time magic,” he said. “The kind that doesn’t just happen. Someone—or something—wants you here, girl. And they don’t want you leaving until you’ve done what they brought you here to do.”

Monet’s grip on the necklace tightened as the full weight of his words sank in. Whatever had brought her here, it wasn’t random. The necklace had a purpose, and until she uncovered it, she was trapped.

—-------------------------------------------------------

The pendant seemed to glow brighter in Monet’s hand as Elroy’s words sank in. Time magic. Dangerous. Purposeful. Her grandmother had always said the necklace was special, but this? This felt overwhelming, far bigger than anything she could have imagined.

“So, someone brought me here on purpose?” Monet asked, her voice tense. “Why? What do they want from me?”

Elroy leaned back in his chair, studying her with a look that was equal parts curiosity and concern. “Magic like this doesn’t move people without reason,” he said. “It’s tied to events, places, decisions. Whatever brought you here, girl, it’s connected to something this town’s wrapped up in. But finding the why? That’s the hard part.”

Stack folded his arms, his expression tight. “You mean she’s stuck here until she plays out whatever game this is?”

Elroy nodded. “Pretty much. The magic’s holding her tethered to this time—this place. And until it’s satisfied, she’s not going anywhere.”

Monet’s heart sank. “Satisfied? What does that even mean?”

Elroy tilted his head, his sharp eyes gleaming in the firelight. “Could mean a lotta things,” he said cryptically. “Magic’s a funny thing. Sometimes it needs you to learn something. Sometimes it wants you to change something. Or sometimes,” he added, his tone darkening, “it wants you to stop something.”

Monet shivered at the weight of his words. “Stop something? Like what?”

Elroy shrugged, his posture relaxed despite the gravity of the conversation. “That’s for you to figure out. But I’ll tell you this—time magic’s tricky. It doesn’t care what you want or what you fear. It’s gonna put you where it needs you, whether you’re ready or not.”

Stack glanced at Monet, his expression tense but composed. “So we figure out what it wants,” he said. “Fast.”

Elroy nodded. “That’d be wise,” he said. “Especially if Silas is sniffin’ around. That man doesn’t touch nothin’ without a reason.”

Monet swallowed hard, the warmth of the necklace a constant reminder of the strange power she carried. The idea that the necklace had a purpose—some hidden directive—made her stomach churn. But she couldn’t afford to crumble. Not here, not now.

“What do I do?” she asked quietly, her voice steadier than she expected.

Elroy leaned forward, his gaze piercing. “You listen,” he said simply. “To the necklace. To this place. To the people around you. Magic like this? It’ll give you clues. But you’ve gotta pay attention.”

Stack gave her a sharp nod. “That’s somethin’ I can help with,” he said. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s this town and its secrets.”

Elroy chuckled dryly, his eyes flicking to Stack. “And you ain’t afraid to twist those secrets when it suits you, huh?”

Stack smirked. “Gotta survive somehow.”

Monet watched the exchange, her mind racing. She didn’t trust the necklace, didn’t trust this magic that had uprooted her life and tossed her into a world she didn’t understand. But Stack and Elroy? As much as she hated to admit it, they might be the only allies she had.

“Alright,” she said finally, her voice firm. “Let’s figure this out.”

Elroy’s sharp grin widened. “That’s the spirit,” he said, rising from his chair. “I’ll do some digging. If there’s somethin’ about this necklace I’ve missed, I’ll find it.”

Stack nodded, his posture shifting into action mode. “And I’ll keep her safe. If Silas is lookin’ for her, we can’t afford to let her outta my sight.”

Monet exhaled slowly, the weight of the situation settling fully on her shoulders. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do, or why the necklace had chosen her. But one thing was clear: she wasn’t leaving this town until she unraveled its secrets—and her own.

———————————————————————————

If you want to get added to the tag list let me know….next chapter is coming very, very soon ;)

Taglist: @marley1773

[chock-and-bates]

i’m the anon who asked about mpreg in spark’s fly. do you perhaps have more snippet for the sequel? (no pressure. ily!)

because you said ily 🥰 here is the rest of the scene from the original snippet-

Charles stomps out of the bathroom, until he’s standing in front of Max on the bed, glaring down at him with his hand on his hips.

“I’m mad,” he spits out, “Because this is the last race I’ll be able to attend this season and I came to see my mate, my husband, the father of my pup, win the fucking championship. But instead you’re not even trying.”

There it is. Guilt chews at his heart, but Max tries to keep it off his face.

“Thanks a lot Charles,” he says, bitterly sarcastic, “I really appreciate the words of support.”

“Don’t try to lie to me Max Emilian,” Charles is having none of it, “I know you, all of you. You are not fucking trying. If you had left it all out on the track and still got P3 I would not be angry. But instead I came all this way, dealt with all of this, just to watch you sabotage yourself and give up.”

Called out, Max can’t keep looking at him. He lowers his eyes in shame, his cheeks hot.

They’re quiet for a long moment, until he hears Charles give a deep sigh. Soon his mate joins him on the bed, apparently not truly angry enough to keep his distance in the face of Max’s distress.

Charles presses close to his side and Max immediately takes the invitation, wrapping an arm around Charles to draw him in, nuzzling in close to properly scent him, finally encasing his omega in his own pheromones. His free hand finds its way to the baby bump, caressing it in a motion that is meant to soothe, though if it’s for him, Charles, or their pup he cannot say.

“So possessive,” Charles murmurs into his hair as he’s scented, “Everyone already knows I’m yours, chéri. They can see your mark, see the pup you put in me. Still not enough for you?”

“Never,” Max growls, finally ceasing the scenting to come to rest with his lips against Charles' mating mark. He’d love to sink his teeth in, reopen it, make it scar even more.

But he won’t, not until after the birth. He won’t let himself do anything that will put Charles’ body under unnecessary stress.

Max supposes he should take that line of thinking and expand it to avoiding any unnecessary stress for Charles.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles from where he’s still buried in the crook of his neck, easier to say when he doesn’t have to make eye contact. “My head has been fucked this weekend. Everything has felt shit and I’m just ready for it all to be over so I can focus on you and the pup. But you’re right, I should have tried harder.”

Another sigh, “I do not like seeing you like this, you know?” Hesitant fingers comb through his hair, “If this is about… the agreement…We- we do not have to do it this weekend, chéri. Even if you win, we can wait. Maybe that will help you focus.”

Max scrunches his eyes shut, can’t bring himself to respond as he curls around Charles even tighter.

His mate can truly read him like a book.

“No,” he finally says, “We promised we’d wait until I won the championship. If I win tomorrow, we will do it. And if you want to see me win… then I will win.” He finally lifts his head, presses a lingering kiss to Charles cheek, “I promised I would give you everything, baby. I will give you this.”

Purrs begin to erupt from Charles' chest as he turns to rub his nose against Max’s in a little nuzzle, “Thank you, alpha. I know you can do it.”

“Of course I can do it,” Max smirks, “But I think I could use extra encouragement…” His hand on the bump slides down suggestively, creeping between Charles thighs.

“You are so greedy,” Charles scolds, but his breathless tone is encouraging. So is the way he spreads his legs.

“Come on, baby,” Max croons, his fingers dipping into Charles panties, “Having you on Saturday nights has been the only thing I’ve enjoyed about you sitting out this year. Let’s take advantage one last time, yes?”

[bettelaboure]

⊹The exception⊹ | Felix Yongbok Lee

⊹Pairing: Felix Yongbok Lee x The Reader

⊹Summary: forbidden romance between Stray Kids' Felix and his PR specialist unravels in stolen moments, quiet confessions, and breathtaking intimacy—only to be destroyed by scandal, silence, and the harsh reality of an industry that punishes love

⊹Warnings: suggestive content, emotional heartbreak, workplace romance, power imbalance, public scandal, angst

⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹

You’re hiding in the conference room again. Not hiding from the job—God knows that never ends—but from him.

The book in your hands is supposed to help. Kill Switch is your emotional support blanket, your escape hatch, your "if he’s brooding and emotionally constipated, I can fix him" anthem. But the words blur when the door swings open.

You don’t need to look up. The scent of cologne and smugness announces Felix first.

“You have got to stop claiming rooms like they’re fictional boyfriends,” he says, plopping into the chair across from you with that slow, lazy sprawl like he has nothing but time to kill.

You don’t flinch. You refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“I booked it,” you say, highlighting a line you’ve already memorized. “Properly. Through the calendar. Like a normal, functioning adult.”

“Sounds exhausting.” He leans in on his elbows. “Want me to teach you how to break the rules instead?”

You finally look up. “Tell me. What’s it like being the human version of a migraine?”

He grins, delighted. “You’re lucky you’re cute, or I’d sue you for emotional damage.”

You bite your lip, hard. Because he’s joking. Of course he’s joking. That’s all Felix ever does—banter and tease and throw gasoline on your carefully lit candles of control.

“Felix, I swear—”

He reaches over and plucks the book from your hands. You gasp, too slow to stop him.

“‘She doesn’t need a hero. She needs a monster. Me,’” he reads dramatically, narrowing his eyes at the page. “Damn. You highlight like it’s a sacred ritual.”

“It is,” you snatch it back. “Romance books are the only place where people actually mean what they say.”

His smirk falters.

You didn’t mean to say that out loud.

The air tightens between you. He leans back slowly, head tilted like he’s trying to see past your PR-perfect exterior.

“You really believe that?” he asks, softly this time.

You hesitate. Then nod.

“In real life, people dodge. They backtrack. They make you feel crazy for needing clarity,” you say. “In romance novels, they fight for it.”

Felix doesn’t say anything for a second. Just studies you like you’re something more complicated than he expected.

Finally, he shifts. “So what are the rules, then?” he says, lighter again. “Romance law, according to you.”

You cross your arms, trying not to smile. “Rule One: Never fall for someone who gets under your skin on purpose.”

His eyebrows lift. “Yikes. That’s rough for me.”

“Rule Two: If he flirts by insulting your favorite things, he’s not the one.”

Felix makes a wounded sound. “Hey! I insult you, not your books. Equal opportunity chaos.”

You shake your head, lips twitching.

“Rule Three,” you say, and here’s where you pause. Because your heart skips—traitorously—when he leans closer. You could count the constellations in his eyes at this distance.

“Don’t fall for someone whose job overlaps with yours. Exception: if he's your rival and the sexual tension is unbearable.”

Felix watches you, the teasing faded, replaced with something quiet and unreadable.

“You always follow the rules?” he asks.

“No,” you admit. “But I try.”

Felix reaches out—hesitates—then tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your breath catches.

“Well,” he murmurs, “if we’re in a romance novel, you know what happens around Rule Three, right?”

You swallow. “What?”

He leans in, lips almost brushing your ear. “The exception happens.”

It takes months.

Months of accidental brushes—his hand grazing yours as you both reach for the same folder, his fingers brushing your waist as he slips past in the narrow hallway. Each contact lingers too long to be just friendly, but never long enough to cross the line.

One night, it’s raining after an award show. You sit together in the backseat of the van, both staring out opposite windows, but your knees touch—and neither of you moves away. When you shiver, he doesn’t ask, just slides off his jacket and wraps it around your shoulders. You whisper a thank you into the quiet, and he just nods, like it means more than it should.

A late shoot runs over, and everyone else leaves. You’re starving. He returns an hour later with your favorite takeout and a sheepish grin. You eat on the studio couch, cross-legged, teasing each other between bites. When you laugh—really laugh, the kind that scrunches your eyes—he stares for a beat too long.

Then he kisses you.

It’s awkward at first—your lips crash, your teeth knock. But then his hand finds your jaw, cradling it tenderly as your bodies sync. You grab the front of his hoodie, anchoring yourself to him, and the kiss deepens. The air turns molten. When you finally break apart, breathless, neither of you speaks. You don’t need to.

That night, you go home with him.

The air between you is heavy with anticipation, the kind that simmers just below the skin. His hand brushes yours as he unlocks the door, and the touch lingers, hesitant. Once inside, neither of you rushes. You hover near the kitchen counter, nerves jittering in your chest, while he sets down his keys, then turns to face you—his gaze soft, unreadable.

He steps closer, inch by inch, until you feel the warmth radiating off him. His fingers find yours again, intertwining slowly. He raises your joined hands to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles, eyes never leaving yours.

"Still sure about the exception?" he murmurs, voice husky with something more than want.

You nod, breath shallow. "I’ve never been more sure of anything."

He closes the space between you and kisses you—not with heat, but reverence. Like he's memorizing you. His lips move gently against yours, and you melt into it, your hands finding the hem of his shirt. He breaks the kiss only to whisper your name, then kisses you again, deeper this time.

Clothes slip away between soft laughter and quiet gasps. His hands roam carefully, reverently, like every inch of your skin is a secret he’s determined to uncover. He presses his mouth to the hollow of your throat, your shoulder, the curve of your hip. Every touch is slow, deliberate. Worshipful.

When he lays you back on his bed, the dim light casts a golden halo around you. You reach for him, and he comes willingly, settling over you with a gentleness that makes your heart ache. He kisses the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your collarbone. Whispers your name like it’s a prayer.

"Are you okay?" he asks, forehead pressed to yours.

"Yes," you breathe, threading your fingers through his hair. "I want this. I want you."

His hand finds yours again and pins it softly beside your head as he moves inside you, slow and sure. The world narrows to just the two of you—the rhythm of your breaths, the way he watches your face like he’s watching something sacred. It’s not just physical. It’s a letting go. A giving in. A promise made without words.

You kiss him through the crescendo, and when you both fall apart, it’s with his arms wrapped tightly around you, like he's afraid of what might come next. You fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, steady beneath your cheek, like the first rhythm you’ve ever trusted.

After that, the moments come easier. Soft mornings tangled in his sheets, your voice reading him chapters from your dog-eared romances. He teases the prose, but his thumb draws lazy circles on your hip under the blanket, and he never misses a word. At night, he tells you his truths—how the idol life feels like a glass box sometimes, how hard it is to always smile. You tell him how exhausting it is to curate perfection.

You fit. You fall. Slowly. Completely.

Then the headlines hit.

Blurry photos. A hotel hallway. Your hand on his chest, his gaze locked to your face like it’s the only thing in the world.

You thought you were careful. You weren’t.

The company reacts instantly. PR crises erupt like wildfires—flashes of headlines, grainy images splashed across gossip columns: STRAY KIDS' FELIX IN LATE-NIGHT ROMANTIC SCANDAL? and MYSTERY WOMAN IDENTIFIED AS COMPANY PR SPECIALIST.

Your inbox becomes a graveyard of panicked messages. Conference calls blur together, each one colder than the last. You're told it’s better for everyone if you leave quietly. That your presence compromises not just him—but the group, the brand.

Felix storms into the last meeting like a force of nature. The door slams behind him, startling the executives mid-sentence. His jaw is clenched so tight you think it might crack, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

"This is bullshit," he growls, his voice rough and barely restrained. "She did nothing wrong. None of this is her fault."

The room falls deathly quiet.

"You knew," he continues, pacing now, wild energy radiating off him. "You knew we were close. You knew we were careful. But the moment a camera catches us in a hallway—just talking, not even touching—you act like we’ve committed a damn crime."

One of the senior execs clears their throat. "Felix, this isn't personal. This is about optics. The group’s image—"

"To hell with the image!" he explodes, slamming a hand on the table. Everyone flinches. His eyes flash dangerously. "We didn’t hide. We weren’t sneaking around. We just… wanted something real. For once."

He turns, gaze scanning the room, daring someone to challenge him. "But I forgot. Real isn’t allowed here, is it? Not if it doesn’t come with a PR plan and a pre-approved script."

No one speaks. Not even you.

Finally, Felix exhales a shaky breath, voice breaking as he says, "She mattered. And you’re treating her like a liability. Like she’s disposable."

His fury quiets then—not gone, but channeled inward, where it hurts more. He looks at you, eyes rimmed red, voice lower now, wrecked. "You mattered. You still do."

Then he walks out. No more words. Just the echo of everything he couldn’t fix.

But even he can't rewrite the rules that have already been carved into stone.

That night—your last—you sit in his apartment in silence. The only light comes from the city outside, casting fractured reflections on the floor. You sip cold tea you don’t taste. He sits beside you, a hand on your thigh, his thumb brushing in slow, useless comfort.

"I’ll say something," he murmurs. "I'll go public. I’ll—"

You turn to him, press a finger to his lips. "And what happens after that? You lose everything you’ve worked for? They spin it worse? Make me the villain?"

He looks at you like he’s already mourning you. "So what? I’ll lose it. I'd still have you."

You kiss him then—hard, aching, like you’re trying to memorize the shape of him before you forget. Your fingers twist in his shirt, dragging him closer until breath and heartbeats blur. He responds in kind, kissing you like a promise and a goodbye all at once.

You undress each other slowly—his hands brushing under your shirt, your fingers fumbling with the buttons on his. It's not rushed. It's reverent. Like peeling back the final layer of defense, like unwrapping something precious that neither of you wants to let go of. Each item of clothing falls to the floor with quiet finality, soft thuds in a world that’s suddenly far too silent.

His hands find your skin, warm and trembling, tracing the lines of your shoulders, the dip of your waist, the curve of your spine. You gasp when his mouth follows, pressing kisses in the hollow of your throat, the inside of your wrist, the spot just behind your knee that makes you shiver. You arch toward him, and his breath hitches like he’s trying to memorize the sound you make.

When you finally fall into bed, limbs tangled and hearts racing, he holds you like a question he doesn’t want answered. He moves with care, like your body is a memory he’s carving into his bones. There’s heat, yes—skin slick, breath shallow, the friction of need drawing gasps from both your lips—but it’s the way his forehead rests against yours, the way your fingers clutch at his back, that burns the most.

He whispers your name like a plea and a prayer. And when you come undone beneath him, it’s with his mouth against your shoulder, your hand clutching his, and the aching, quiet knowledge that this is goodbye disguised as closeness.

After, he doesn’t let go. His arms stay wrapped around you, one hand tracing invisible circles on your back. You bury your face in his neck and breathe him in, memorizing the scent of cologne and sorrow.

Neither of you speaks. You don’t have to.

Not for this.

After, you lie with your head on his chest, fingers drawing lazy spirals on his skin. He doesn’t speak. Just holds you. Just breathes.

Before you go, you place Kill Switch on his nightstand—your copy, the one with the cracked spine and coffee stains and bent pages from nights reading aloud to each other. Inside, tucked between pages 239 and 240, is your note:

She didn’t need a monster. She needed someone to stay.

He finds it the next morning. Sits on the edge of the bed with the book in his hands like it might break. He doesn’t cry—not then.

But when he walks into practice later and sees your old coffee mug still on the table, untouched, he almost does.

He reads the note again that night. And the next. And the one after that.

Like a rule he forgot to follow.

Taglist: @petersasteria @redhoodedtoad @mirahyun @sherrayyyyy @sherxoo @dilfismz @breakmeoff @janie-osuih @forevervibezzzz1 @kuinnoa @juliskopf @maskedcrawford @szonyix6277@ldydeath

[comesatimecomesashadow]

frayed synapses *ೃ༄

ׂ╰┈➤ . . . you're reading part iv.

cw *ೃ༄ mentions of injuries/scars + insecurity about them, descriptions of poor mental health/social anxiety

summary *ೃ༄ with the burden of job-related stress weighing on your back, you decide to unwind at a local pub. yet instead of relaxation, you find out that your neighbor is none other than Simon RIley, a member of the military. after making the decision to clumsily ask him to have tea with you after an embarrassing first impression, you find that underneath Simon Riley's hardened, stone-cold façade, is a man who desperately seeks an end to the turmoil that plagues him.

note *ೃ༄ sorry for the late update, i was fighting demons (crippling depression), enjoy !

masterlist | series masterlist | prev . . next

“I didn’t think i’d being seein’ you after..” 

“I know.” your eyes were trained on the client’s face in front of you, a calm look washed over your visage as you faced the same person that gave you the scar on your forearm. “Did you hope you wouldn’t see me again? I understand our last conversation was distressing for you.” You spoke with a welcoming tone. It made you anxious to even be in the room with them, but they were someone in need. A person with anger issues was still a person underneath. 

“I.. yeah. I guess you could say that I just.. What you said made me feel like..” She mulled it over in her mind as if she was trying to find the right words to say to you. It was clear she felt remorse for her actions which was a good thing. “-like.. I don’t know, it just hurt, it made me angry that you pointed shit like that out, like it's supposed to be obvious.” 

You heard her words and gazed into her guilt-ridden blue eyes. What came next made them wide, as if she’d just witnessed something completely other-worldly. “I’m sorry.” you said. With the most sincere voice you possessed, you apologized to her. 

“Why are you apologizing? ..I’m the one who did that to you..!” She gestured to your forearm and a glossy layer of water covered her eyes. All you did was hand her a tissue as if her crying didn’t bother you at all — because it didn’t. It was normal, in fact, it was healthy. “I should be apologizing to you…” she muttered as she wiped her tears. 

“I’m apologizing to you because I hurt you,” you said simply, “You deserve to be treated like a person, with respect and without judgement.” 

“It was wrong, what I did.” She was sure of her statement but used it as more of a weapon to refute your statement than an acknowledgement. 

“It was and I'm proud of you for admitting that. It's a hard thing to apologize when you’ve done something wrong- It requires a type of vulnerability that you’ve mentioned you’re not used to.” you explained her feelings to her with a soothing tone, encouraging her to keep going on in her journey. “My only job is to help you get better and I understand that confronting these types of feelings is never easy, but I want you to keep trying, alright?” 

She only nodded, a few more tears slipping out. 

“You’ve come a long way from where you were at a year ago. Healing is never linear and you may go back to old patterns every now and then, but it will never erase the amount of progress you’ve achieved as long as you keep trying.” She nodded again at your reassuring words but with a smile on her face this time. 

“Yeah, I.. Thank you.” She clutched the used tissue and tucked it into her pocket. 

You looked at the time on your watch and offered a small smile. “Our time’s up unfortunately, but I'll see you again this time next week. Alright?” 

“Yeah, that’s fine.” She got up and smiled at you before leaving the room. Once the door closed you were left standing in the cold room. With a heavy sigh, you collected your things and headed out of the old building. The prison you worked at wasn’t new, it had been around for decades but the atmosphere was anything but dreary, in fact it was quite lively. Most of the inmates knew who you were and didn’t really bother to pay much mind to you, which was perfect given how much of a recluse you were outside of your job. They never said much more than a greeting or a farewell and it was rare that they started conversations with you. You interacted more with the staff since you worked alongside them in a sense but the interactions weren’t anything special. 

Needless to say, your work life was pretty mundane. 

Much like your personal life — but it wasn't as if you were actively searching for something to change. You’d spent your life looking for stability and now that you had it, you were satisfied, at least that’s what you wanted to convince yourself of. Sure it got a little lonely every now and then but that was normal. You didn’t need anything else — or anyone else for that matter. 

Yet when you climbed up those familiar crimson carpet stairs and were greeted by the sight of a very familiar man standing in front of the door to the flat next to yours, it made an unknown warm feeling settle in your chest. You debated on whether or not to say something to your neighbor — To Simon — but you decided against it. What if he didn’t want to speak to you? He was probably tired from work anyway. You walked up to your door and juggled the keys in your hands looking for the right one. Just as you found your house key, a gruff voice — belonging to Simon —  grabbed your attention. 

“Afternoon.” he greeted awkwardly. 

You turned your head towards him slowly, not expecting a man — who was evidently closed off —  to start a conversation with you. Sure you got to know more about him and vice versa during the time the two of you spent at the coffee shop, but nothing had changed — he was still only your neighbor, just as you were to him. Even if your heart yearned for human connection, your brain kept denying you of it. A defense mechanism at its finest, as if it was infused within you like the blood in your veins. “Afternoon.” you hastily took off your earphones to give him your full attention. Gazing upon him for a moment, you noticed the way his dark-blonde hair relentlessly shined in the dim light of the hallway. Simon’s visage carried remnants of the eyeblack he presumably used for his job, it made him look dirty and tired — but you still smiled. “Did you just get back?” 

“Yeah, work n’ that.” he vaguely explained, “Sorry for leavin’ so abruptly.” 

You gingerly shook your head, “S’fine, wasn’t anything too important to be apologizing about anyway.” Your eyes remained locked on his as the two of you stood in the hallway. The both of you taking in the fact that you were in front of one another once again as if it was an other-worldly experience. 

“Guess so,” Simon said simply as he turned to you fully. “How’s the arm?” His eyes broke away from yours momentarily to glance at your still bandaged arm. Was he concerned about it? About you?

“Better than the last time we met,” you chuckled, “Finally got the stitches out, hurt a bit though.” Your comment made him chuckle. As a soldier, he was used to the feeling of removing stitches all too well. It took you a while to register that this was the first time you’ve seen him without his black surgical mask on. Simon’s face wasn’t littered with scars, but many of them were present — not uncommon for someone in his line of work. 

“When are you gettin’ the bandages off?” he asked you, an interested lilt to his voice as he did. 

“Friday this week at three. Why do you ask?” Your fingers ghosted over the bandages absentmindedly. The injury didn’t hurt much anymore but you did wonder if it would leave a scar. Simon’s eyes drifted from yours as if he was considering something but words failed to leave him. 

“No reason, just askin’.” 

“Alright then,” there was something off about his answer but you didn’t push. Clutching your folder closer to your chest as you inserted your key into the door and pushed it open you bid him a quiet, “Have a good afternoon, Simon.” The tall blond only nodded without a word as he watched you disappear into the comfort of your flat once more. He could burn holes into your door with the way he was intently staring at your close door with regret. Regret that despite his years, he still couldn’t form normal human connection outside of work. 

The key felt cold in his hand as he pushed it into the lock, his flat felt foreign — empty. There was barely any furnishings in it except for what was absolutely necessary: a couch in the living room, a widescreen television on the wall in front of it, his bed which sat lonely in his bedroom next to a nightstand that rarely held anything in it, stools that sat bare in front of the kitchen island. . .  He didn’t feel the need to decorate since he was always gone, but the bare walls and the popcorn ceiling of his apartment made him wonder about yours. 

What did yours look like? 

Did you have pictures on the walls? Were you the type to take care of plants? You did smell of lavender sometimes.. Was your living room lively? Was your room a silent reflection of you and your interests? There were so many questions that swirled in his mind as he left his keys hanging on the backside of the door and got settled. Questions that he hoped he’d get the answers to. 

If only he had the guts to try and get to know you. 

.

.

.

Work once again began to consume your life and you couldn’t be happier. 

It wasn’t too hard to fall back into the rhythm of things after the incident. Offering tissues to clients, helping them work through their deep-seated issues, talking about their daily lives, what their lives were like before imprisonment; It was all good work. The week passed by like a flash thankfully and soon enough came the time when the bandages would come off. When your doctor had first tended to your wound she notified you that it was likely to leave a scar — Shanks made from scratch in a jail cell weren’t exactly the best thing to be cut with. At the time, you could care less as long as you were alive. Now that the familiar white strips of bandage were gone, the lighter patch of skin shone through. 

You didn’t know what to think of it, to say the least. 

Your eyes spent a great deal of time just gazing upon the scar on your arm after your appointment. Though the TV was on in front of you playing a random sitcom, your mind was elsewhere. The lifted patch of skin on your arm bothered you. It was like a living reminder of your stupidity — it almost taunted you with the way it stood out. A frustrated sigh made its way from your throat as you got up from the couch and threw on a comfortable hoodie. 

Maybe a walk would clear your head. 

You grabbed your box of toothpicks and slipped the black stick in between your lips, stuffing the box in the back pocket of your jeans as you made your way out of your flat. When you pulled the warm key from the lock and turned to walk out, you almost jumped out of your skin upon seeing your neighbor next to you. He was lucky you didn’t shriek from the surprise of it. 

“Simon!” you whisper-yelled. Your hand flew over your chest as you leaned against your door to regain your composure. “What the hell are you doing?” 

“Goin’ for a run.” he said simply as if he didn’t almost cause you a heart attack. “Didn’t mean t’scare ya. Sorry.” A sliver of a smile made its way onto his face. Simon was used to being intimidating because of his height and the fact that he was a high-ranking soldier. Usually, he wasn’t fazed by shocked reactions but seeing you genuinely startled by him was a little funny — considering you’d proved yourself to be extremely observant. 

A deep breath settled into your lungs while you straightened up. “Is that a habit of yours?? You almost gave me a heart attack..!” Granted, you were still a little shaken but at least it took your mind off things, specifically the scar that seemed to itch endlessly. 

Simon only peered down at you, a calmer look upon his face. “You ok?” his voice was as gruff as always. 

“Yeah, I’m fine- you said you were going out for a run? At this hour?” Somehow, you knew how to make a conversation feel as natural as breathing which made it easier for Simon to ease into your presence. It was something he could do mindlessly with you, he noticed. 

“Yeah. What are you doin’ out this late? S’pretty dangerous to be out.” The dingy light in the hallway flickered and the air was stale but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Being here, with him — talking to him — felt like a much needed release. It was astonishing how a simple exchange of words with him was akin to a taste of the finest water. You wondered how long you could preserve the stream this time. 

“Guess so,” you shrugged, biting on the toothpick mindlessly with your molars, “I just needed a distraction I guess.” You adjusted yourself to lean against the wall, your vision torn away from Simon’s visage. He guessed it was something you didn’t feel like talking about. 

So he didn’t ask; He only leaned up against the wall beside you. “. . .D’you wanna go on a walk?” His dusty auburn irises could see the ghost of a smile on your lips, a genuine one. 

“Are you asking me to join you?” 

“D’you see anyone else ‘ere?” 

You chuckled, “You’ve got jokes.” 

“I’ll tell ya some more if it’ll get that frown off you.” Simon snickered when he said it but you felt his words to be genuine, just masked under a joking tone. Maybe Simon had the capacity to worry for you after all, no matter how much sense it didn’t make to you. After all, you were just his neighbor. 

Nothing more. 

You pushed yourself off the wall and Simon followed after you. “Wasn’t frowning.” 

“Was too.” 

You wondered then, as you walked down the carpeted stairs beside him, if you could preserve this endless flow of natural, unfiltered, dialogue. In the comfortable silence that settled between the pair of you, the thought of keeping this night close to your heart seemed more enticing by the minute. 

taglist *ೃ༄ . . . @dwkfan . . @savannahsomething . . @thatghostlykid . .

© 2025 comesatimecomesashadow

[andorology]

people in the replies of your post arguing that Bix having a kid was a good, symbolic ending, actually, are making me feel insane.

Have these people ever like. Critically watched a television show or movie before?

A female character who SELF-DESCRIBES that she wants to win the fight (more than cassian does in this show, btw, which is its own thing i could comment on), who wants to rebel, who has directly faced trauma TWICE because of the Empire’s rule…fucked off to the place she was almost sexually assaulted to have a kid??? To *checks notes* further a man’s narrative, ah right, as always.

This happens again, and again, and AGAIN to women in fiction. They are supposed to be our cool feminist action girls until the moment they are a plot tool for the male MC, in which case they suddenly morph into a stay at home baby machine, “at peace” because while their SO went off to save the world, they…had a kid.

It’s not about her being a mom. It is about the way in which it has been written and depicted on screen. “But maybe she helped in other ways while pregnant, maybe she stayed with the rebellion until the war ended!” cool well we don’t see any of that, i wish that for her, i really do, but what we are shown, what is written, is the same thing we see over and over again.

“It’s Luthen’s message about a sunrise we’ll never see” right but see we got that already. because we knew the end of the story. because cassian dies. that was loud and clear. didn’t need a widowed wife and fatherless child to get that across.

It is exhausting to get an entire galaxy of interesting women and to see so many of them written into the same goddamn corners as so many other women in fiction. Exhausting.

hi anon. so you saw that LMAO. that was so funny actually because i didn't say in the slightest what they think i was saying??

you already nailed it. the trope is so TIRED. i'm tired. bix could have done so much instead of...that. again, and in case anyone says something again: i love mothers <3 mothers not bad. mothers good actually

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Not off topic at all! It's yet another reason why these episodes play so poorly. Why the hell did season three give us Miraculer - the episode where Chloe resists an akuma - if that wasn't going to pay off in Chat Blanc? Why show us that akumas could be resisted if you weren't going to let it matter when the male lead got hit by one? Why fill season four with examples of side characters breaking free of akumas if you weren't going to let Adrien break free in Ephemeral? Why let the resistance break free of the nightmare dust if Adrien was going to give into it? It's all incredibly insulting to his character. If you're going to let the male romantic lead fail, then let everyone else fail, too! I have no idea what message canon is trying to send with this crap. It's certainly not an uplifting one.

I'm going to dig into season three's version of this failure to explain how this kind of thing is supposed to work in case anyone was curious about the technical elements. Seemed prudent since this is my lets-get-really-technical-about-how-this-show-failed-the-power-of-love post.

Up until season three, we never saw anyone resist an akuma. Once you were hit, you were trapped until the heroes freed you. The lore about that was a little confusing with some episodes seeing a person revert as soon as the akuma was freed and others requiring a Miraculous Ladybug to be cast, but either way no one was freeing themselves. Then Miraculer aired. Ninth in production order and eleventh in air order, this episode changed everything.

Chloe: No, Hawk Moth! I am a superheroine! I am Queen Bee! Ladybug will come and get me when she needs me! I WILL NEVER JOIN YOU! (throws her photo onto the ground as the akuma exits it... and pants)

With this one move, rejecting akumas was suddenly on the table. In the world of competent story telling, a moment like this is introduced to setup a new power so that the power can have a big payoff later on. The most common payoff for a moment like this is for it to setup a climactic moment to make that moment feel more reasonable to the audience.

For example, if Chat Blanc saw the first ever akuma rejection out of nowhere, then it would throw some audience members out of the story because we'd never seen that happen before. The confusion of this new power coming out of nowhere cheapens the climax because it feels like something the writers made up at the last minute. Instead of being drawn into the story, viewers pause and go, "Wait, what? Since when was that a thing?" For a prime example of this issue in action, see the ending of season four where Gabriel is somehow able to use Ladybug's yo-yo to get the miraculous even though nothing in the show setup the idea that non-Guardians could use that power.

If you want to avoid this type of confusion in your big climatic moment, then you have to establish whatever power you want to use before the climax. That's why you want to either hint at or use this power in a less climactic moment that takes place earlier in the story. That lets the power feel more organic to the world by letting the audience know that the power is a thing when the stakes are lower. It even makes sense to only tell the audience about the power while keeping it a secret from the heroes so that they can be shocked while we go "I knew it!!!! Power of love baby!" Setup and payoff. (Note while this can be foreshadowing, it's not required to be foreshadowing. That's a specific subcategory of setup and payoff that I ranted about in the linked post. Hinting at a power is foreshadowing. Using the power probably isn't.)

For reasons beyond my understanding, canon didn't do any of the above in season three. Chloe rejects an akuma in Miraculer and that lore-changing moment means nothing to the story even though Miraculer comes about half a season before Chat Blanc. No other akuma rejections show up in season three and no one ever finds out that this rejection happened. It's all setup and no payoff making this scene a pointless waste of the audience's time just like everything else about the Chloe arc. It's not here for anything meaningful. Cut it and nothing about canon's story changes. You could even argue that it's worse than a waste of our time because of how badly this moment undermines Adrien's character if people remember it while watching Chat Blanc. They might understandably wonder why Chloe got the love-interest-level akuma-rejection power while Adrien didn't.

If the writers weren't going to use akuma rejections in moments were it truly mattered, then they should never have written Chloe's akuma rejection scene. I'd even argue that they never should have introduced the akuma rejection power because its existence continues to be a problem for Adrien's character throughout the show. For another example, see the multiple akuma rejections in the episodes leading up to Ephemeral where suddenly akuma rejections weren't on the table anymore. Talk about systemic writing issues and a lack of critical thinking!

What message are the writers trying to send by letting everyone but Adrien use this power? Marinette got to use it. Alya got to use it. Nino got to use it. Luka got to use it. Kagami got to use it. Chloe got to use it. Alix's conspiracy theory obsessed brother got to use it. The list goes on! What makes Adrien so unworthy?

Miraculous vs The Power of Love

I've written several posts where I talked about Miraculous' poor use of the power of love trope and how that massively turned me off to canon. Three strikes and you're out! When this topic comes up I usually bring up Adrien and only Adrien. This has led to some anger at the fact that I didn't mention love failing anyone else as it absolutely has. I've also seen some anger over my desire for Adrien to defeat Gabriel's control and win the day since Adrien is a victim and that means that it's perfectly fine if he fails to beat his father's control no matter what the consequences of that failure are. After all, the failure isn't really on Adrien. It's on Gabriel. A sentiment I understand, but don't agree with since this is a writing blog. I'm discussing the message the writing is sending not which character gets the in-universe blame.

I'm not going to change how I discuss this topic since it is my honest opinion, but I can explain that opinion in depth to hopefully save us all from miscommunication! That's why I'm making this post! It addresses all of the above. I'll be linking to this whenever the topic comes up so that I can include some nuance without having to go into all of the detail I'm about to go into because - as you'll see - this is a long one which is why I don't go into this depth in other posts. It would just totally derail them. I'm also not going to go into the deconstruction aspect of things here because this is already really long, but I do have a post on that for even more nuance!

If you disagree with any of this, that's totally fine! I just ask that you keep the your counter arguments civil. Remember, we're talking about a badly written kids show that none of us have the power to change and the magical power of love isn't real so it doesn't actually matter if I'm right about this. Nor is Adrien going to thank you for coming to his aid. He doesn't exist and, as always, my issue is not him as a person. My issue is the way the narrative uses him as a storytelling tool.

What Is the Power of Love?

The power of love is a trope where either platonic or romantic love saves the hero from some type of conflict or upsetting situation. It's a rather broad trope that can be used in conflicts of any size, but even TV tropes acknowledges that it's primarily "applied in dire situations to make things better. In fact, in many Disney movies it's the solution to everything." That definition is how I approach the power of love.

To put it more bluntly, unless we're talking about a specific example, when I say "the power of love" I am thinking of a story's climax or, in the case of something like a multi-season show, one of the climaxes. More specifically, I'm thinking of the lyrics to one of my favorite cheesy pop songs:

There comes a time When you face the toughest of fights Searching for a sign Lost in the darkest of nights The wind blows so cold Standing alone Before the battle's begun But deep in your soul The future unfolds As bright as the rays of the sun You've got to believe In the power of love

If it's not the toughest of fights or the darkest of nights, then the power of love failing may disappoint me, but I don't consider it an unforgivable sin. In some cases, I'd even be disappointed if the power of love was brought in before the climax! The power of love is the ultimate cheesy move so it makes sense to save it for the last minute if using it earlier would lessen or even ruin that last minute epic save.

To show what I mean, let's talk about another trope that Miraculous has failed to use well, but that doesn't ruin the show for me. A trope that has led the show to do the exact thing we just discussed: ignore a small moment when love should have won to allow for a bigger win when all hope seems lost.

The Evil Clone Thing

[Image description: the Buzz and Woody meme with the words "Evil Clones. Evil Clones Everywhere"]

There have been an absurd number of episodes where the evil clone/evil twin trope came into play, but the three big ones are Ladybug, Optigami, and the season four final. In each of these episodes, we see a good character replaced by an identical evil version. We also see the good character's love interest fail to recognize that their crush/romantic partner has been replaced. That means that all three of these episodes see the power of romantic love failing. We also don't see a more platonic version of love show up to save the day.

The worst of these episode is the season four final where Marinette doesn't recognize that Felix has taken Adrien's place. That deception is how Gabriel steals the miraculous so it's obviously a pretty big deal and can be argued as a major fail for the power of love. I don't disagree. I think that Marinette's love should have let her see through the lies and dislike that the writers took this route to make her lose. However, I don't have this on my list of moments when the power of love needed to win for the story to work.

While Marinette failing to recognize Felix leads to her darkest hour, it does not happen in her darkest hour. Her darkest hour comes when she actually loses the miraculous which happens in a completely different scene from the one where she's deceived. It's also worth noting that Felix is not present in this moment of loss so there was no opportunity for the power of love to pull off a last minute win.

The loss of the miraculous leads to a scene where Ladybug is sitting alone in the rain, ready to give up all hope. And what happens next?

[Image description: Chat Noir standing in the rain, smiling, holding out his hand to Ladybug]

Chat Noir shows up to reignite Ladybug's will to fight via his love and support. She takes his hand, he draws her into a hug, and they stand together as one, ready to once again face their enemy:

Cat Noir: We're gonna get them back one by one…until the very last. And we'll make sure this never happens again. Ladybug: You...and me? Cat Noir: You, the best superhero there ever was... and me, your loyal partner.

A lot of people love this scene and it led to some major hype for season five which means that it's time to quote some more of that cheesy song that I brought up at the start:

Stand by my side There's nothing to hide Together we'll fight to the end Take hold of my hand And you'll understand What it truly means to be friends You've got to believe (you've got to believe) In the power of love

While I don't love the season four final, it is a B-tier execution of the thing I was talking about earlier. Canon let love fail in a small moment to increase tension and give Ladybug a "darkest night" moment. That darkest night moment then led to a semi-epic power-of-love comeback that understandably got a lot of fans super excited for season five because they assumed that it was going to be the season of Ladynoir. In other words, for a lot of fans, the power of love did its job in the season four final!

All of this is why I don't bring up Marinette when I talk about the power of love failing. It does fail her, but not in her darkest nights and toughest fights. Any time she's overwhelmed and ready to give up all hope, someone comes along to give her the will to fight on. That person is usually Chat Noir because he's her end game love interest so of course the writers use him! His "you and me against the world" moments may not be the most epic example of the power of love winning, but they are the power of love winning, so saying that the power of love fails Marinette feels like an overstatement of harm. She's never had a total loss.

The closest we get to Marinette truly losing is the season five final. That episode feels like an ultimate-level failure to many of us, on par with Ephemeral, but the writers clearly don't agree. For them, season five had a happy ending which makes critiquing that final fight tricky. I'll be arguing that Adrien lost hard in the next section, but I can't say the same for Marinette and this section is about her so let's focus on that for now.

No matter how much I hate the final, I can't look at the picture below this paragraph and argue that love failed Marinette because what did losing cost her? This isn't the season four final where she genuinely suffered. This is her getting everything she's ever wanted! The miraculous are back in her hands, she won the heart of the boy she loves, and no one is actively messing with her love life anymore. That's a pretty solid win even if she didn't win the actual fight.

[Image description: Adrien and Marinette at the end of the season five final, kissing in the spot that used to house Emilie's statue.]

This is further complicated by the fact that - as written - the season five final doesn't put Marinette in a position to use the power of love. She's never given a chance to save Adrien or even just talk to him. She doesn't know that's he's in trouble, locked up in a padded cell, suffering all alone! And Adrien's love can't rally her in her darkest moment when all hope seems lost because - for the first time ever in a season final - she never got one of those! She was a badass in the final fight! No pep talk or supportive teammates necessary! She would have had a total victory if the writers hasn't made her try to talk sense to the villain or sent her Adrien's ring just so Gabriel could make the wish, further adding to the problem of this show's absolutely vile messaging around love.

In other words, lack of love isn't why Marinette loses the final fight. She loses because the writers wanted love to empower Gabriel in his darkest moment, a move the writers have the audacity to call a mutual victory. (Gross. Abusive terrorist should not get power of love moments without a massive redemption arc first. It's yet another insult to the trope. Gabriel did not deserve peace while his son goes on to suffer.)

If you think about the episodes Ladybug and Optigami you'll notice a similar problem. The power of love failed to let Chat Noir and Alya recognize that their romantic interests had been replaced, but that failure didn't lead to their ultimate defeat. It didn't even lead the villains to a minor victory! Both episodes maintain the status quo.

This doesn't mean that I like those episodes. I would rewrite both of them to let love win because they're good examples of small moments where love can win without cheapening or ruining the season's big climax. I just don't view these episodes as times when the show needed to use the power of love if it wanted to honor its chosen genre. That requirement only applies when it's a darkest night or toughest fight.

Before we move on, please note that Ladybug was the power of Adrien's love failing, yet I never mention it when I'm complaining about the power of love failing. That's because I'm never purposefully listing every time Adrien's love failed and ignoring everyone else. I'm simply listing the moments when love needed to let the heroes win because we were in one of the show's darkest hours and that is the only time when I consider the power of love a true requirement. Love can fail in small moments to increase the tension, but if love fails at the moment when all hope seems lost, then why are we even here?

There are only three episodes that get that level of criticism from me and each one had a single character whose writing infuriated me: Adrien.

Adrien vs The Power of Love

There are three episodes where Gabriel's identity is revealed and the final fight goes down. Those episodes are Chat Blanc, Ephemeral, and the season five final. In each of these episodes, Adrien suffers on a scale that no other character has had to suffer:

In Chat Blanc he is akumatized and forced to use his cataclysm to kill both his father and the love of his life, dooming him to spend eternity alone in a dead word.

In Ephemeral he is akumatized and forced to use his powers to hand the love of his life over to his father, thereby allowing Gabriel to win and rewrite reality.

In the season five final, Adrien is left alone in a jail cell, tormented by nightmares while his father dies leaving Adrien an orphan. Adrien is then told some truly colossal lies about what actually happened, leading him to believe that Gabriel scarified himself to save Ladybug's life. Since Chat Noir's usual role in fights is protecting Ladybug, this is arguably the equivalent of Adrien being told that his failure to show up killed his father. I'm not even sure if that's the wrong message because Gabriel did die from a cataclysm and Adrien would understandably blame himself for that, too, so maybe this was a way to address that without going too dark for kids and why does that argument hold water? Wtf was this trash fire of a story line???

When you compare Adrien's treatment in these episodes to something like Marinette's treatment in season four final you can hopefully see why it feels like comparing a broken arm to a mortal blow. It's not that Marinette doesn't suffer. In terms of individual moments of suffering, Marinette beats out every other character! But while she may beat Adrien in breadth, he is the clear winner in terms of depth and the only one who never gets a true power of love moment.

Marinette's darkest nights and toughest fights ultimately work out so that she can go on to some new type of suffering, the old suffering fading away to nothing more than memory. Adrien's darkest nights and toughest fights lead to loss and suffering for which there is no cure other than rewinding time or rewriting reality. The season five final even has Adrien directly state that he's not worthy of Marinette's love:

Adrien: I'm not in my right mind. I'm too angry — at myself for falling short of Marinette's love, at my father for sending me here in London, at this stupid app and these rings that use my image... it makes me sick! This nightmare is giving me the horrible feeling that, if I transform, I'll get akumatized and destroy everything with my Cataclysm — Marinette, Ladybug... (Takes off the ring and hands it to Plagg.) Plagg: Surely Ladybug can help you. Adrien: If I ask her for help, I'd have to give her information that would jeopardize my secret identity... and I can't.

This is literally Adrien's last scene in the main story line. He doesn't show up again until the happily ever after epilogue where he and Marinette kiss. In other words, the show had Adrien directly state that he's unworthy of Marinette's love and then did nothing to counter that statement. I guess this poor unfortunate soul is just lucky that Marinette likes him enough to keep him around in spite of his many failings...

Writers, seriously, what the hell are you doing? This is the kind of dialogue that should lead into a power of love moment! How is thinking about Marinette leading Adrien to despair instead of strength? Why is Plagg just accepting this? Plagg is a magical being who was assigned to watch over Adrien. Shouldn't a character like that help Adrien rally in his darkest night? Where's Adrien's you and me against the world pep talk? That should go both ways!!! Have him break out, call Ladybug to tell her that he's not coming, only for her to rally him so he comes and at least fights outside in the city while she does her solo fight! Don't leave him alone to rot while almost every other character in the freaking show gets to fight!

It would be one thing if Adrien gave up because he was alone and scared, but Plagg is there and the writers directly bring up Marinette and love only to do nothing to show those as positive forces in Adrien's life!!! Instead, Marinette is the thing that keeps him from the fight because Adrien's nightmare is him getting akumatized and killing Marinette even though Adrien knows nothing about Chat Blanc.

[Image description: Adrien's nightmare where he's a blue haired version of Chat Blanc, holding Marinette's body in his arms having killed her with a cataclysm]

To be clear, in each of the three episodes I listed above, Adrien is undeniably a victim suffering at the hands of his main abuser. They're also some of the worst moments of abuse in the entire show. It would be perfectly reasonable for a real life person to give into despair if they were put into this situation, but real life people don't transform into magical cat boys who wield the raw power of Destruction. I was not looking for realism here. I was looking for hope and inspiration!

I wanted to see Adrien win! I wanted his love for Marinette and/or his friends to give him the strength to overpower his father's control because that's what the power of love is all about! When all hope seems lost, it's there to let the hero win because love is stronger than despair, hatred, fear, and magical remote controls! It is the bright light that blasts away the darkness in your darkest night! Unless your name is Adrien Agreste, then no love for you! Suffer, feather boy, suffer!

Example of what I wanted from canon

There are many ways to fix these three episodes so love wins, but to keep this simple let's focus on Chat Blanc and what the power of love winning might look like if we let canon play unchanged up until the moment where Adrien loses control of his powers:

Hawk Moth: Cat Blanc, I'm giving you the infinite power of destruction!! Together, you and I will seize Ladybug's Miraculous and awaken your mother!!! Obey!!! Cat Noir: (tries to fight back but fails) I'm sorry, Ladybug! (He succumbs his akumatization and transforms into Cat Blanc. Ladybug watches in horror at his transformation.) Hawk Moth: Seize her Miraculous, My Son!!! (Cat Blanc lifts his right arm to Ladybug, activating Mega Cataclysm.) Ladybug: No, Adrien! You have to resist!! (Cat Blanc whimpers as he changes his mind and points his arm to Hawk Moth.) Hawk Moth: How dare you!? Not me, Adrien!! Cat Blanc: (whimpering while looking to both of them) I... I don't know what to do!!!!!!

Instead of having the mega cataclysm go off here, we instead see this: Ladybug and Hawk Moth both realize that Chat Blanc is incapable of listening to either of them. Hawk Moth's reaction is to turn and run away, desperate to save himself. Ladybug's reaction is to run to her boyfriend's side, not caring about the danger. She wraps her arms around him, closes her eyes, and tells him that it's okay. That she's here and she loves him and she'll stay here and love him no matter what. It doesn't matter who his father is, it's still him and her against the world now and forever.

The more she talks, the weaker the mega cataclysm grows. By the time she makes her final vow, the mega cataclysm is little more than a flickering glow. A black clad hand touches both of her hair ties, disintegrating them, leaving her hair to fall free around her face since that was a thing in this episode. The minor wardrobe change makes her pull back and look at her boyfriend to see that he's back to Chat Noir, a purified akumas fluttering off in the distance. Chat Noir is crying, clearly distraught, but he's himself again because Marinette's presence allowed him to focus on her love over his father's poison. They won. Love won. Fear and abuse lost.

The couple embraces. Hawk Moth's big gambit failed and they now know his identity so the fight is almost over. Paris will soon be free.

From there you can have an epic battle with the temp holders where the butterfly and the peacock are recovered. Nino gets to punch Gabriel in the face a dozen times or so as a treat and Adrien gets to cuddle up with some treats, sitting the fight out since he's already done his part by surviving the reveal of his father's identity.

You could also have Gabriel just give up because he doesn't have any moves left and the full implications of what he did are smacking him in the face, sapping him of the will to fight. Anything that lets this asshole suffer is fine by me! Emilie's fate is up to you. I like to make her at least semi-decent and revive her to give Adrien a happier ending and Gabriel the horror of divorce papers, but that's just me.

Final Thoughts

As I said at the top, I'm going to continue to complain about the way that Adrien was written in these episodes. I don't consider his victim status a reasonable excuse for the way these episodes played out. If anything, his victim status is an even bigger black mark against the writing!

I come to family-oriented media for hope and happy endings! I want stories about victims being empowered! I want Gabriel's controlling nature to totally backfire on him and not in a mutually-assured-destruction way like we saw in Chat Blanc. I want Gabriel's choice to cost him everything and for him to suffer that loss for the rest of his life while Adrien gets endless love and support, allowing him to survive the reveal and go on to live a happy life. If that's not what you're selling, then I'm not buying thus me giving up on canon after the season five final. There's just no coming back from that kind of colossal writing failure.

I will try to remember to use the word "forced" when describing the problems (as in "forced to kill"), but that's the only thing I can change while still sharing my honest opinion since my main problem with these episodes isn't Gabriel's treatment of Adrien. While I don't like how far these episodes took Gabriel, you don't need to rewrite him to make the episodes work. It doesn't matter how far the writing takes Gabriel, he should never be able to successfully manipulate Adrien while threatening Adrien's supposed True Love.

As soon as Adrien knows that Marinette/Ladybug is in danger, it should be game over for Gabriel because love is supposed to be stronger than all of the awful things that Gabriel has done up to and including the sentimonster crap. In fact, the sentimonster crap just makes it even more important for Adrien to win! Gabriel should think he has victory in the bag because he views Adrien as a perfect doll, but love proves Gabriel wrong letting Adrien overpower his amok and win. The trope is called "love conquers all" not "love conquers the mildly inconvenient." The more dire the straits, the more important the win!

Unfortunately, that's not the message Miraculous is sending. By letting Adrien give into his father's control in the show's darkest hours, the message is that Gabriel's control is stronger than love. That Adrien will never be free. That he was Gabriel's perfect doll and you were silly if you ever expected him to be more than that. That's not a message that I'm that ever going to agree with and is yet another reason why I only bring up Adrien + these three episodes when I talk about the power of love failing.

You are never going to convince me that Adrien being allowed to give into despair was a good thing unless you pair that argument with some major changes to canon like love square not being together and/or Adrien not knowing that his actions would endanger Marinette. Even then you need to design that fix in a way that ultimately allows Adrien to win otherwise you are sending a terrible message to the audience. There should never be a scenario where the final battle ends the way canon had it end.

Gabriel is the show's big bad, Adrien is his main victim, and the theme of their relationship has been control. That means that, when it comes to the final fight with Gabriel, Adrien needs to be involved in a way that gives him agency. I'm not saying he needs to fight his father on his own or even at all! I'm okay with him sitting out the fight so long as you pair it with something big like Adrien being the one to learn Gabriel's identity or something more dramatic like my simple Chat Blanc fix.

However, Adrien sitting out only works if it's his own, freely-made choice. As soon as you pair it with something like magic nightmare dust you are once again sending the message that Gabriel's control is the strongest force in Adrien's life. I truly don't understand how anyone can embrace that message and call it good, especially when canon didn't ultimately do something positive with it like letting Adrien become stronger as time went on. He actually got weaker as the show went on!

Chat Blanc saw everyone lose because Adrien was able to at least try to fight back, denying his father total victory. Ephemeral saw none of that fighting spirit and Gabriel just outright won. Season five once again saw Gabriel win only, this time, the show didn't even let Adrien be part of the fight. What an uplifting character arc for Adrien! (That was sarcasm.) Play the episodes in reverse order and you might actually have something if you add a fourth one where he finally wins!

If you want to talk about more minor conflicts where the power of love should have won then I'm happy to do that! Canon has lots of options to pick from! But unless you specify that you want to talk about something minor, these three episodes are going to be my only examples of the power of love failing because they are the only times when love completely failed the character in question. Total loss, no silver lining, writers wtf are you doing?

Listing times when love failed Marinette or Alya in the same list as these three episodes just feels insulting to Adrien unless the context is something like a list ranking the failures from smallest to largest. I'll once again point out that I don't even list the other times when love failed Adrien because my issue isn't Adrien as a person. My issue is Adrien as a tool of the narrative and the asinine message that the Agreste arc sends to the young children this show is aimed at. I wouldn't even be okay with this in a show aimed at adults unless it was clearly marketed as a grimdark take on superheroes. Miraculous should not feel like a kiddiefied version of The Boys and yet here we are.

Why was Adrien granted magical powers and allowed to fight his controlling father for five seasons if Gabriel was just going to die without Adrien getting a decisive victory? Why focus season five on Gabriel controlling Adrien to such an extreme if Adrien was never going to be allowed to break free? Why make Adrien the main love interest and focus the entire show on romantic love if you don't have anything positive to say about romantic love? Why bother getting the love square together before every single final showdown in the freaking show if their relationship status was going to mean nothing? Where is my power of love always so strong?

(Btw, that song I kept quoting is from the original English dub soundtrack to Sailor Moon R - The Promise of the Rose. It plays as love and friendship save the planet Earth from an asteroid. The updated dub replaced the song with the original Japanese soundtrack and the comments are full of people complaining about the change because the song just takes this scene to the next level! I bring this up because Sailor Moon set many people's standards for the magical girl team show genre that Miraculous is clearly taking inspiration from, but failing to fully embrace. If you don't want love and friendship to be on par with nuclear weapons and asteroid attacks, then don't write a show about love and magic aimed at kids.)