#we might have felt different if they actually like. showed the pressure or something of the like

[mantisgodsdomain]

we all know what you hate that wasn't elaborated in bugfables (every. Thing) and which the fandom ignores.

Therefore, 21, exclusively for canon and not fanon

(Choosing Violence)

21. part of canon you think is overhyped

Elizant's whole... thing honestly felt kind of poorly executed and, like... excuse-ish for us? Sure, she has a nice sob story, but we had already read the Ladybug lore books, like, in Chapter 2 or so, and we were already really inclined to agree with Leif on this new queen rubbing us the wrong way with just about all of her actions leading up to this point, and "i'm under a lot of stress" rang incredibly hollow as a result.

Sure, she's stressed. She's a queen, there's stress in that job. However, as someone who has felt the pressure to live up to expectations before, we really don't think that the pressure to live up to her mother's legacy actually excuses any of that and it makes everything the game tries to throw at us regarding "but it was okay because she felt bad about it and she's trying to fix everything" honestly feel just... incredibly shallow. Maybe it would be different for someone who didn't read the Lore Books at the first available opportunity. For us... it really makes everything regarding her sudden heel-turn into a Sympathetic Character feel pale and overhyped.

[daryltwdixon]

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

Summary: Cracks begin to show in the life you were building with the Miller brothers, the weight of the third trimester pressing down as Tommy lashes out in a way you didn’t see coming. Seeking comfort and clarity, you leave with Joel—where tension, tenderness, and long-buried feelings finally surface behind closed doors.

|| smut MDNI 18+, arguing, Tommy is an ass, pinv, fingering, pregnancy kink?, dirty talk obvi, breeding kink, possessive joel, some longing and angst, no outbreak, they still cant f'ing communicate ||

notes: I promise I actually like tommy in the show / game lmao. sorry this took me so long! was traveling to see family and literally had no downtime. enjoy!!!

The nursery was only half finished. 

The bassinet was still in its box, unopened, up against the wall. Paint cans were stacked in the corner, samples painted haphazardly on the walls that had been dried for weeks. It was like dust had settled over everything—over the plans, the promises, the parts that were supposed to come next.

You sat in the recliner, the one meant for late-night feedings and early-morning lullabies. One hand rested on your belly, your thumb moving in slow, steady circles— something to do, to keep your breath even. 

You were supposed to be building the crib today. Joel had followed Tommy home from the job site, both of their boots still dirty with sawdust, just to make it in time. They’d barely stepped inside before it was clear something was wrong.

Tommy stood by the window, arms crossed so tightly across his chest it looked like he might splinter from the pressure. His jaw was locked, shoulders coiled. Joel mirrored him from the doorway—hands tucked under his arms, weight leaned against the frame like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or go.

Whatever was between them wasn’t being said, but you felt it all the same. Thick in the air, pressing down like humidity before a storm. Crawling across your skin, making you itch in places you couldn’t reach.

It had started weeks ago. Subtle, at first. Tommy pulling away in small, quiet ways—forgetting appointments, brushing past you with less warmth, keeping his kisses chaste and short. The bigger your belly got, the more he seemed to disappear.

Maybe now that it was real—your body changing more by the day, the shape of this future becoming something tangible—he was seeing it differently. Maybe he was seeing you differently.

You hadn’t wanted to believe it at first. Maybe it was nerves. Maybe it was stress. But as your due date crept closer, it became harder to ignore. He barely touched the baby clothes, the packages that came for the nursery. Or you.

Something had cracked, and no one wanted to look at the pieces. Now, whatever this was—this silence, this standoff—it felt like the final leak in a dam. Like the whole thing was about to burst open.

You tried to ease the pressure. Something small. Something safe.

“Have either of you thought more about names?” your voice came out lighter than it should. Like a peace offering. “We should probably decide before he gets here.”

Tommy didn’t even look at you. “You mean you and Joel should decide.”

You exhaled. Of course.

“Tommy… you’ve been avoiding every conversation about the baby lately,” you said gently. “For weeks. Can’t you just…talk to us? To me?”

“Maybe that’s because every time we talk,” he snapped, “I’m the one who’s unreasonable. I’m the one who’s supposed to suck it up and smile.”

“You are being unreasonable,” you said, too fast, too sharp. Then, softer—more careful. “You keep shutting Joel out of everything. You won’t let him have a say in any of the decisions or plans. He’s supposed to be part of this.”

Tommy laughed—a short, humorless bark. “He was part of this. We needed him to help. That’s what this was. A favor. You and me—we were gonna raise this baby. He’s not—” he shook his head, letting the end of his sentence hang between the three of you.

You rose from the chair slowly, pressing your palm into the armrest as you shifted your weight, the other hand supporting your swollen belly. Joel moved instinctively, ready to help, but you lifted a hand without looking at him. I’m fine.

Your knees ached. Your back pulled. The baby shifted under your ribs, like he knew something was wrong.

You crossed the room, stopping just a few feet from your husband. “Tommy,” you said, voice calm but full, “we agreed he would be part of this. We agreed to try it this way. We’re supposed to be a team. He’s not just some uncle. He’s the baby’s—”

“Don’t fucking say it.”

His voice cracked halfway through the word, and for a second you saw it. The grief. The way it was wrapped around his anger like barbed wire.

Joel pushed off the doorway. “Then what the hell am I, Tommy?” His voice was calm, but there was steel under it. “What, just a stud you called in when things didn’t go your way? You think I’m gonna stand here and act like none of this matters?”

Tommy scoffed as he looked at his brother. “You think it does matter? What—you catch feelings after a couple fucks and now you think she’s yours?”

Your heart lurched at the venom in his words. Joel stepped even closer, his voice low and even and deadly calm.

“I think I was there when she couldn’t stop throwing up for three days straight. I think I was the one bringing her crackers and Pedialyte at two in the goddamn morning. And where the hell were you? Out with Frank again?”

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just kept his eyes locked on his brother.

“I was there when she had those dizzy spells. When she got scared something was wrong. When she cried through the whole damn glucose test because you were too busy to answer your phone.”

He stepped forward in front of you. Steady. Final. “So yeah. I think I’ve earned the right to stand here. And I think you better watch your damn mouth when you talk about her like that.”

You stood frozen, heart in your throat, Joel’s words echoing louder than the silence that followed. You hadn’t expected him to speak—not like that. Not so plainly.

But maybe what scared you more was how much it meant to hear someone fight for you.

And then Tommy looked at Joel. Really looked at him. “Tell me the truth. You wanted her the whole time, didn’t you?”

Joel’s voice was tight. “That’s not fair.”

“Answer me.”

Joel looked down, breathed once, then met his brother’s eyes. “It didn’t start like that.”

“But it is like that now, huh?” Tommy’s voice broke. “You think you can just stand in my house, in my life, and pretend this is yours now?”

Joel’s voice cut in, sharp. “That’s enough.”

Tommy shook his head, face red. “Get the hell out of my house.”

“I’m not leavin’ her,” Joel said. “Not when you’re actin’ like this.”

“You don’t get to—”

“She’s pregnant,” Joel bit out, stepping into Tommy's space. “And you’re standing here yelling like she hasn’t been carryin’ all this on alone for weeks.”

“Alone?!” Tommy exploded—but you stepped between them before either could say another word.

“He’s right.” Your voice wavered, but it didn’t break. “That’s enough.”

You pressed a finger into Tommy’s chest, trembling with everything you hadn’t said.

“You’re the one who asked for this, Tommy. You’re the one who said you could handle it. And now you want to punish me–what? For trying to make this work even when you barely look at me anymore? I’m trying, Tommy.” You shook your head, blinking back tears. “Don’t rewrite this like I betrayed you. I already took the blame for my mistakes. We moved forward, we agreed this would be the three of us.”

Tommy stared at you like he didn’t recognize you.

“You want him here?” he asked, voice hollow. “Playin’ daddy, picking names for our baby in our house? Fine. But don’t act like I’m crazy for wanting my wife back.”

He didn’t stop when you called his name. He turned, shoved past Joel—hard enough to make it known—and stormed out.

The door slammed.

And just like that, the nursery was silent again.

Before

Joel never had a party phase. 

He never did the college thing. No keg stands, no spring breaks, no waking up in someone else's dorm bed not remembering how he got there. Never packed into a room with three roommates and a GameCube. By the time most guys his age were skipping class and shotgunning beers, he was knee-deep in diapers and formula receipts. 

He graduated high school, married his pregnant girlfriend, and tried to do the right thing. And within a year, Sarah was born—and Jess was gone. Real gone. Not a slow unravel. More like a door slamming and a trail of dust behind her.

He told himself she was never meant to be a mom. Hell, they were both still just kids at the time.

But that didn’t make it right. Didn’t make it easier, either. She left the baby. Left him. Just checked out and never looked back.

So when one of Tommy’s friends invited them to some frat party, Joel didn’t see the point. He tried to beg off, mumbled something about Sarah needing him, even as valid as that was. But Tommy had already lined up a sitter and wasn’t about to let him off the hook.

“You need a night, man,” he’d said. “Just one damn night to remember what it’s like to have a pulse.”

So Joel went.

And now, he stood just inside the front door of a house packed with strangers, wondering what the hell he was doing here.

The place smelled like beer, sweat, cheap cologne, and microwave pizza. Every surface was sticky. A girl brushed past him, laughing too loud, perfume trailing behind her like cotton candy and alcohol. Guys with shaggy hair and flip-flops shouted over the blare of some terrible pop track, slapping each other on the backs like they’d just survived war.

Joel felt old. Not in years. In miles.

These kids weren’t that much younger than him, technically. But they weren’t people who'd held a screaming newborn at 3 a.m. They weren’t worried about overdue bills or busted radiators. These were the types who’d call home if they overdrew their account and had money wired to them in an hour.

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and slipped through the crowd, trying not to bump into anyone. A couple was making out against the fridge in the kitchen as he grabbed a red solo cup of beer. Someone was throwing up in the sink. There were Doritos crushed under his boots.

He needed air.

The back door stuck a little when he pushed it open. He stepped onto the porch, the screen door slapping shut behind him with a squeal. Out here, it was quieter. Cooler. The music still thudded through the house like a pulse, but it was distant now—muted by the walls and the steady hum of crickets in the yard.

A few people lingered at the far end of the porch, passing a joint back and forth, slouched on the railing and talking low. One guy stood off to the side with a cigarette between his fingers.

Joel walked over, nodding once.

“Hey,” he said, voice low. “Can I bum one?”

The guy didn’t say anything, just held out the pack and a lighter.

Joel took both. Lit the cigarette and handed them back with a quiet thanks.

He hadn’t smoked since Jess told him she was pregnant. He quit cold turkey that day—barely even missed it. But tonight? He needed something to bite back the tightness in his chest. Something to ground him. He’d shower the second he got home anyway, throw his clothes straight in the wash before checking on his sleeping toddler. 

God, he wished he was already there.

The smoke burned a little as it hit the back of his throat. He exhaled slow, watching it curl up into the porch light.

Time passed. People wandered back inside. The weed-smokers disappeared. The porch emptied out until it was just him.

Joel leaned against the railing and let his shoulders drop. He pulled out his old blocky cellphone, flipped it open with a quiet snap. No missed calls from the babysitter. No voicemails.

He stared at the screen a second longer than he needed to. Just making sure.

He almost wished there was something. A reason to leave. A reason to get the hell outta here and go home. But everything seemed fine. He closed the phone and slipped it back into his pocket, jaw tightening as he took another drag of the cigarette between his fingers.

Just as he was settling into the quiet, the back door creaked open again. He didn’t look to see who it was, just figured it was some more potheads needing to get their fix. But he was surprised when he looked up, that his sudden gravitational pull felt off balance. 

You stepped outside, fingers gripping the neck of a beer bottle, bringing it to your lips that shined in the moonlight from whatever gloss you had swiped across them tonight. Your black tank top clung to every inch of your chest and your mid-drift peeked below until your jeans that hung low on your hips, hugged you perfectly. 

When you made your way out onto the porch, you looked like you didn’t owe the world shit, that you didn’t give a shit if anyone noticed you. But he noticed you. Everyone probably did.

Joel couldn’t stop staring.

When your eyes met his, it was like the world blinked. Just a beat—long enough to catch, short enough to question. And then you didn’t look away.

You tilted your head, your eyes glancing down at the beer and cigarette in his hand.

“That cheap stuff tastes like shit,” you said, “Like it came outta someone’s shoe. You’re better off with the good stuff.” you dangled your beer bottle up, shaking it just a little to show off you weren’t drinking from the keg. 

“Not really one to drink it for the taste,” Joel said. You moved forward with a small smile.

“Mind if I take a hit off that?” you said smoothly, pointing to the cigarette.

He handed it to you wordlessly, and watched, entranced despite himself as your glossy lips wrapped around it, the ember burning at the tip.

“Told my parents I quit,” you said, blowing out the smoke, “Which is true. But nights like this make me a liar,”

Joel liked the way you talked. Dry, confident, like you were letting him in on your world. You weren’t fawning, weren’t giggling. You were sharp. Maybe a little reckless. Probably younger than him by a year or two, but smarter than half the house of partygoers combined.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you around,” you said, handing him back the cigarette.

He shrugged. “That’s probably a good thing.”

You sipped your drink. “So you don’t go here?”

“Nah. Not exactly the academic type. Friend of a friend invited us out.”

You nodded, still watching him. The cigarette passed quietly between the two of you.

“And by ‘us,’ I’m guessin’ you mean...?”

“My brother,” he answered, “He’s around here somewhere. He’s better at this kinda scene than me.”

“I don’t know,” you said. “You seem to be doing just fine.”

Joel looked at you then—really looked—and felt something low in his chest shift, just slightly off-center. Your hair was pulled back in a pony-tail, big eyes that had no business looking at him like you were.

He huffed, barely a smile. “Don’t know about that.”

You shrugged, but didn’t look away. “You’ve got that whole brooding-loner thing going for you. Girls eat that shit up.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

“Mhm.” You took another sip of your beer, slow and deliberate. “I’ve been out here, what—five minutes? I can already tell. Not even trying, and yet you look like you’ve got some kind of tragic backstory.”

He snorted, caught somewhere between amused and flustered. “Not sure that’s a compliment.”

“It is,” you said, leaning in a little, just enough that your voice dropped slightly. “You wear it well.”

Joel swallowed once, felt the heat crawl up the back of his neck. You were watching him like you already knew how he’d taste. Like you were just deciding whether or not it’d be worth the trouble.

He cleared his throat, looked down at his boots for half a second, then back up.

“What about you?” he asked. “You come to these things just to psychoanalyze strangers with your imported beer?”

“No, silly.” You smiled, slow and confident. “I come for the free cigarettes and hot strangers to psychoanalyze.”

Joel huffed a soft breath, smirk faint but real. He flicked ash off the end of the cigarette, not quite looking at you when he said, “Don’t know if I fit the bill on that second one.”

Your eyes didn’t leave him. “On the contrary, mystery man, pretty sure you’re tickin’ all the boxes.”

And Joel—God help him—he forgot his own name for a second.

He leaned a little closer, felt the pull of you like gravity. His fingers twitched with the urge to touch your waist, to tuck a piece of your hair that fell from your ponytail back just so he could feel what it was like between his fingers. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time. Maybe ever.

You were about to say something else, he could sense it, that moment between beats when something clicks open, but then a girl stumbled out the back door, making you turn as she grabbed your arm.

“Hey!” she slurred, glancing between the two of you before locking eyes with you. “I need you—seriously, Stacey’s throwing up and she just called freaking Mark, and she’s, like, sobbing—please come help.”

You looked over, face twisting with reluctant affection. “Shit. Yeah, okay.” you turned back to him, apology written all over your face, handing him back the nearly burnt out cigarette.

“Duty calls,” Joel said with a short nod.

“I’ll find you later?” you offered, a little breathless, and before he could reply, you were gone–swept back into the house, the music blaring for the moment the door was open, then leaving him out in the quiet again.

He stood there like a damn idiot, heart still pounding. He couldn’t even remember what he’d said to you—just a blur of cigarette smoke and smart little smiles.

You didn’t ask his name.

He didn’t ask yours.

But you’d looked at him like you already knew him.

The porch felt quieter now. Emptier, somehow, like you’d taken the oxygen with you when you left.

He took one last drag from the cigarette, flicked it into the yard, and let the silence wrap around him. Music still pulsed faintly from inside, muted now, swallowed by the thick summer air. A few fireflies blinked out by the fence. The sky above was dark and low, stars peeking through the haze of humidity and porch light glow.

He braced his hands on the railing and stared out at nothing for a long minute.

Eventually, he straightened up, ran a hand down his face, and turned back toward the house. He hadn’t seen Tommy in a while, and if he didn’t check in soon, he might completely lose track of his little brother.

Still… he glanced at the door once more before heading inside, like maybe you’d reappear if he looked hard enough.

You didn’t.

So he opened the door and stepped back into the noise. The music hit harder now—bass thrumming straight through his chest, like it was syncing up with his pulse. Everything felt louder, warmer, just a little off-kilter. The crowd moved in flashes—glimpses of faces, glitter, teeth, hands in the air—and Joel moved through it like he wasn’t fully there.

Maybe it was the beer. Maybe it was you.

He made his way through the crowd slowly, eyes skimming over the living room couches, checking the faces of couples tangled together, wondering if Tommy was caught in some sort of lip lock with a random girl by now.

“Joel!”

He blinked and turned toward the sound.

There was his little brother, shoving his way through the crowd, hair messy, cheeks flushed from beer and the thrill of whatever he’d been up to. He looked like he’d just won a bet or found twenty bucks on the sidewalk.

Joel raised an eyebrow. “You good?”

Tommy grabbed his arm, grinning like an idiot. “Better than good.”

Joel gave him a look, dry. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m in love,” Tommy announced.

Joel snorted. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m serious, man.” Tommy’s eyes were gleaming. “I just met the girl I’m gonna marry.”

Joel shook his head, a smile creeping over his face. Only his little brother.

“Where?” he asked, playing along.

Tommy spun, rising on his toes to look above the crowd. “She went back that way. Wait—hold up—there.” He pointed past the kitchen, toward the hall that led to the bathrooms and the back patio.

Joel’s eyes followed his hand.

And landed on you.

You were standing beside your drunk friend, your brows knitted as you held a water bottle to her lips, gently brushing hair back from her face. Still impossibly beautiful. Still glowing in a way that had nothing to do with the lighting or the beer or the gloss on your lips.

And Tommy was pointing at you.

Joel didn’t move. Couldn’t.

“D’you see her?” Tommy said. “Little tank top, high ponytail—God, man, she’s—fuck. She smiled at me and I swear I felt it in my spine. I’m gonna find her after her friend’s chill. She said she’d come back.”

Joel’s mouth opened. Then closed.

Because what the hell was he supposed to say?

Joel nodded once, slowly. “Yeah. I see her.”

Tommy clapped his back. “She’s everything, man.”

Joel didn’t answer. Just took a long drink of his beer.

And said nothing at all.

Present Day

You were silent as you climbed into Joel’s truck, his hand reaching for yours—rough, steady, warm—lifting you carefully onto the bench seat with your full belly.

Tears still clung to your lashes, blurring the view out the passenger window as you looked up at the house. At the window just above the garage. The one that led into the nursery.

The one where it all fell apart.

Your heart ached—not just from the fight, but from the truth in it. The worst part was… you understood Tommy. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was right. Maybe not about everything, but enough. Enough to leave a sting that wouldn’t fade anytime soon.

But that man inside the house—yelling, jealous, eyes full of something that looked too much like hate—he didn’t feel like the Tommy you knew. The man you married filled the house with music and laughter, who sang off-key in the shower and danced you around the living room with a beer in one hand and your waist in the other. He made late-night grilled cheese and kissed you with his whole heart, like he couldn’t believe you were real. He was your best friend. The one who stayed up with you talking nonsense into the middle of the night. The one who brought you coffee just the way you liked it. The one who made everything feel like the two of you were in it together—always.

He used to listen. Really listen. He was open. Curious. Soft where you needed softness and strong where you didn’t even realize you needed strength.

Where had that man gone?

Where had you gone?

“He just needs some time,” Joel said softly as if hearing your thoughts as he started the truck. It rumbled to life, and all you could do was bluntly nod, your throat too tight. 

“Thanks–” you choked out, “For…I don’t know.” You shook your head. What the hell were you thanking him for? Sticking up for you to your own husband? Getting you out of your own house? Sitting beside you like the only steady thing left while everything else went to hell?

Maybe just… being here.

Joel didn’t answer. He just kept driving, one hand on the wheel, the other resting palm-down on the bench between you. Like if you needed it, his hand, his steadiness, his silence…it would be there.

You sat in it—the hum of the engine, the wind coming through the windows, the muffled ache in your chest—while familiar streets gave way to unfamiliar ones. Houses changed. Yards grew wider. You passed the sign for Joel’s neighborhood, only a few miles away, but it felt like crossing a border into a different world.

“Do you remember,” Joel said, breaking the silence, “when we first met?”

You blinked, looked over at him, trying to come back to the present. “Huh?”

He didn’t look at you. Just kept his eyes on the road, but his voice was warm and comforting. That southern drawl like velvet. “You were in school. Tommy and I got dragged to some party by a buddy of ours.”

“Oh… right.” You blinked through the cobwebs of the memory. “Back when I thought I was cool for liking even grosser beer.”

Joel let out a quiet laugh at that. Just a puff of air through his nose, but it softened the edges of the truck’s cab.

“Yeah.” he sighed heavily, hand coming up to his chin as he leaned against his side door.

“What about it?”

He shook his head a little, jaw working, his fingers regripping the wheel. The leather creaked.

“Just funny how it all…” He trailed off. Exhaled. “I don’t know. Nevermind”

You studied him, brow furrowing. “What were you gonna say?”

At the next red light, he finally looked over.

His eyes met yours across the bench seat—deep, quiet, and full of something raw. Something you had been seeing more of since whatever this was had started. 

A part of Joel no one else ever saw.

Your heart kicked at the look on his face. Like he was standing on a ledge and just now realizing how far the drop really was.

“It’s just…” Joel’s voice dropped. “I knew you first.”

You blinked, your brow furrowing deeper. “Tommy introduced us that night.”

Joel shook his head, eyes back on the road now, but there was a small smile twitching at his lips. “Nah, if I remember right, you bummed my only cigarette off me on the back porch. Spent ten minutes tryna figure me out like some sort of shrink.”

You let out a small, breathy laugh, the corner of your mouth lifting. You didn’t fully remember it, not clearly—but it felt right.

“Sounds like me, I guess.”

Joel’s fingers drummed once against the wheel, then stilled. “I just… I wonder sometimes.”

“Wonder what?”

The light turned green.

He didn’t answer right away. Just stepped on the gas. The truck lurched forward.

The golden hour light slanted across his face, catching the hard lines of his profile, the scar at his temple, the way his jaw twitched like he was biting down on something he’d been holding back for years.

“I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d had the guts to tell my brother I saw you first.”

You didn’t say anything.

There wasn’t anything to say.

The cab filled with silence. The kind that settled in your chest and turned tides in your stomach. The kind that said more than words ever could.

Outside the window, the trees blurred past in a haze of dying light.

And neither of you reached to turn on the radio.

When the truck pulled into the driveway, the sky was streaked in burnt orange and lavender, the last light stretching long across the hood. Joel was quick to hop out, moving around to your side before the engine had fully ticked quiet. He opened your door and held out his hand without a word.

You took it gingerly, wincing as your body shifted with effort. Six months in, everything took a little more.

He helped you down slow, steady, his hand catching at the crook of your elbow before it slid down to the small of your back as you found your footing. He kept it there as you walked toward the house—not holding you up, not rushing. Just… there.

When you stepped inside, you blinked at the silence.

“No Sarah?”

“She’s studyin’ at her friend’s. They got their exams comin’ up now,” he said, pulling the front door shut behind you. He toed off his boots near the mat, and you followed suit, groaning as you kicked yours off. Your feet were beyond swollen.

“Can we order a pizza or something? I’m dying,” you muttered, pressing a hand into the small of your back and arching until it cracked. The relief was minimal, but it was something.

Joel glanced over. His eyes skimmed your face, down to your belly, then back again. “Why don’t you sit down,” he said, already heading toward the kitchen. “I’ll make somethin’. It’ll be quick.”

You hovered near the table, one hand resting on the slope of your belly. The house was quiet. You hesitated, unsure.

“I don’t mind,” he added. “Just relax a minute.”

You wandered to the table and eased down into a chair, the weight of the day heavier now that you weren’t pretending it wasn’t. The silence of the house pressed in at the edges. You stared at the wood grain in the table. Breathed in the faint scent of garlic still lingering in the air from whatever he was fixing up. It all felt… normal. Which made it worse.

Joel moved around the kitchen, pulling things from the fridge. A box of pasta. A jar of sauce. His movements were easy, practiced.

You didn’t speak until he was chopping something—onions maybe, the soft rhythmic knock of the knife filling the space.

“I don’t know what happened,” you said quietly.

He glanced up.

You weren’t even sure where the words had come from, but they were out now.

“Things were okay. Good, even. Me and Tommy. Me and you. It felt like we were getting into a rhythm. But the last few weeks…”

Joel didn’t say anything. He just kept chopping. Listening.

You pressed your hand over your belly. “Feels like the closer we get, the more he pulls away. Like he’s finally seeing what this is gonna look like and—” Your voice cracked. You swallowed. “—and I don’t think he likes it.”

Joel set the knife down, wiped his hands on a towel. He didn’t push. Just looked at you across the counter.

“You don’t have to figure it all out tonight,” he said. “You can stay here, if you want. I’m not sure when Sarah’s gettin’ home, but… we can watch a movie or somethin’. Just… take your mind off it.”

You nodded slowly, eyes burning. “I’m just really tired, honestly.”

He understood, turning back to his cooking on the stove. You sat there, eyes unfocused, listening to the low simmer of the sauce, the clink of dishes, the soft scrape of silverware being laid out. So domestic and easy.

Before long, dinner was ready. Nothing fancy—just pasta with a little garlic, some toasted bread, and water poured into mismatched glasses.

You sat across from each other at the table, the kitchen bathed in that soft in-between light, not quite night yet.

The food was warm. The silence was easy. Neither of you said much, and that was fine. Joel wasn’t the type to fill quiet just to hear himself talk, and you didn’t have the energy to pretend you were okay. So you ate. Slowly. Each bite keeping you tethered to reality a little more.

He looked up once, just briefly, like he was checking on you without making a thing of it. You caught it but didn’t say anything. Just kept eating, your hand resting against the curve of your stomach.

By the time your plate was mostly cleared, the exhaustion was creeping back in full force—behind your eyes, in your limbs, settling deep.

Joel stood and grabbed your empty dish without a word. Washed it. Dried it. Set it aside.

Then he turned to you, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Come on. Let’s get you upstairs.”

You didn’t argue. You just stood, slowly, your joints stiff from sitting too long. His hand found your back again, that same steady pressure, guiding you through the quiet house like it was muscle memory.

When you reached the bedroom, you sat on the edge of his bed, the familiar scent of his cologne and detergent wrapping around you like a weighted blanket. Usually, it stirred something electric in your blood—lit a fuse that burned hot and fast. But tonight, it was grounding. Comforting. A balm for something deeper.

Joel gave you the softest smile, the kind he rarely let anyone see, then knelt in front of you and began to pull your socks off—slow, careful. His hands were warm, calloused in all the familiar ways, but his touch was gentler than usual. Reverent, even. He slid your pants down next, then your shirt, peeling each layer away without rush or heat.

This wasn’t the same kind of hunger he’d shown you before—wasn’t the fierce, consuming need that usually lived in the space between these sheets. This was something else. Something quieter. Worship without fire.

He stepped away for a moment, grabbed one of his sleep shirts from the dresser. You raised your arms, and he pulled it over your head with care, letting it fall over your bump and thighs. It smelled like him. Made you feel like you were wrapped in him.

Then he started to undress—slow and casual, unbothered by your gaze—and turned toward the bathroom as he unbuttoned his jeans.

“I’m gonna shower,” he said softly, voice low and rasped from the day as he shucked off the last of his clothing. “You go on and get comfortable.”

You nodded, watching him go.

And God, that view.

Joel’s bare back was broad, solid, built like it belonged to another time—hewn from marble and made to be seen on Greek statues of Achilles or Aries. You couldn’t help but stare at his tight, perky ass that always looked like it was made just for your hands.

He was so thoroughly masculine. So undeniably made from earth and sweat and quiet strength, it made something low in you ache—blood warming, mouth going dry. Even now. Even after the day you’d had.

That pull toward him never let up these days. Not really. It just shifted, simmered, and waited.

After a moment of sitting in patient silence, you eased yourself into the bed, shifting slowly beneath the sheets until the pressure on your hips and back lightened. You reached for the remote and turned Joel’s TV on low—just enough sound to fill the quiet without pulling you in. A dull hum. Something to keep the thoughts from circling too tight.

You pulled your phone out, thumb hovering before you typed the message. A small knot formed in your stomach, tight and uneasy.

I love you. I still want this with you. Can we talk in the morning?

You stared at it for a second longer than you should’ve. Then you hit send.

With a quiet sigh, you turned the phone face-down on the nightstand. You weren’t sure if you expected a reply. You weren’t even sure if you wanted one. But he deserved to know where you were, even if probably already assumed. You didn’t want him thinking you’d just given up or disappeared.

The door to the bathroom opened a few minutes later, a wave of steam curling into the bedroom as Joel stepped out, toweling off his hair. A dark towel hung low on his hips, drops of water trailing down his chest, catching in the lines of muscle carved from years of labor.

He moved toward his dresser, rifling through a drawer for something clean to sleep in.

You shifted onto your side, the tension in your belly easing with the change in position. One arm tucked beneath your bump, the other bent under your head. You watched him move, quiet and unbothered by your gaze.

“Enjoyin’ the view?” he asked, not even looking up, his voice thick with amusement.

You heard the smile in his voice before you saw it, that boyish grin flicking over his shoulder as he turned toward you.

His eyes caught yours from across the room. Your smile mirrored his.

“Definitely,” you said, voice soft but sure.

Joel chuckled under his breath, the sound low and rough as he pulled a clean shirt over his head and stepped into a pair of loose flannel sleep shorts. He didn’t rush—never did—but there was something different in the way he moved now. Something quieter, like the air between you had thickened just a little.

He turned off the bathroom light and crossed the room, climbing into bed behind you without a word. The mattress dipped under his weight, and then his arm was sliding around your waist, pulling you gently against him.

His chest pressed to your back, one of his legs curling around yours. His body was warm from the shower, and the scent of soap clung to his skin—clean and comforting, with that lingering hint of spice that was just him.

You exhaled slowly, letting yourself sink into the feeling. Into him.

Joel’s hand rested low on your belly for a beat, thumb brushing absent circles against the soft cotton of his shirt stretched over it. It felt instinctual, protective. Like his body had already memorized the shape of yours, the places that needed soothing.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, lips close to your ear.

You nodded, not trusting your voice just yet. “Yeah.” you said, swallowing dryly, “Just… nice to not be alone.”

He hummed in agreement, nuzzling the back of your neck gently. “You’re not,” he said. “Not tonight.”

His hand slipped up beneath the hem of his shirt you were wearing, fingers grazing your bare skin—light, curious, like he was just reminding himself of the feel of you. That he was still allowed to touch you like this.

You shifted slightly, giving him room. The smallest invitation.

Then—he stilled.

You felt it too. A soft nudge from inside, low and to the left. The baby moved again, a firm little kick right against Joel’s palm.

His breath caught. He didn’t pull away.

“Was that…?” he asked, voice low and rough, like he couldn’t believe it.

You smiled into the pillow. “Yeah. Think he’s saying hi.”

Joel didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stayed there, hand wide over your belly, chest pressed to your back. You felt him swallow, the rise and fall of his breath slowing as he processed it—really felt it.

“That’s…” he exhaled, the sound brushing the back of your neck. “Wow. He’s strong.”

“Tell me about it,” you murmured with a soft groan, shifting your hips to ease the pressure. Then your hand reached back, finding his cheek, fingers curling gently as you turned your head to look at him. “Those Miller genes must make tough boys.”

Joel gave a quiet huff of a smile, but his eyes stayed on your belly. On his hand, still moving slow under your shirt, like he was memorizing every curve.

“I wouldn’t… this wouldn’t be real without you,” you said quietly, your thumb brushing his jaw. “No matter how messy it gets. You’re part of this. He’s here because of you.”

His gaze flicked to yours then—steady, searching, something unreadable in it. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t pull away either. His fingers spread wider over your belly, grounding himself in the feel of it. Of you. Of him. The little life shifting beneath his hand.

Then he leaned in.

His lips met yours, slow and sure. The brush of his beard tickled your chin, your lips, your shoulder as he breathed you in. Your mouths molded together easily, unhurried, familiar.

The hand on your belly shifted—sliding lower, then wrapping around your hips to pull you closer into him. His body curved around yours, heat pressing into your back, chest to spine, hips tucked tight flush against yours. You could feel him against you as the moment turned heated, solid and wanting beneath his pants.

Still, he kissed you like he had all the time in the world.

Your fingers curled behind his neck, pulling him closer as your tongue brushed his. A soft, low sound slipped from his throat, almost like a whimper.

He kissed you more and more, each second growing a little needier. His hand slid further beneath the hem of the shirt you wore—his shirt—palm grazing your stomach, your ribs, until his fingers found the soft underside of your breast. He cupped you gently, thumb stroking over the sensitive skin, slow circles that made your breath stutter.

“You tell me to stop, I’ll stop,” he murmured against your mouth, but his hands stayed steady and gentle against your soft skin.

Your breath caught, but not from surprise. It was the way he said it—low, honest, a little desperate under all that restraint.

“I don’t want you to,” you whispered back.

That was all he needed. He groaned softly, deep in his chest, and kissed you again as you arched into him, pressing your chest against his palm, the ache blooming fast and low inside you. His touch grew firmer, more certain, squeezing and caressing, dragging another soft gasp from your lips.

Joel shifted, rolling his hips against you slowly, deliberately. You felt him thick and hard through his shorts, grinding into the curve of your ass with a low exhale.

“You look so pretty like this,” he murmured against your skin, voice thick with heat. His mouth trailed down the side of your face, beard scraping your cheek, your jaw, your neck as he kissed you slowly. “Belly all big and swollen with our baby, like it was always supposed to be this way.”

You moaned softly, your breath catching as your hips rocked back to meet him, chasing the friction. His hand slid from your breast down to your belly, splaying wide as he held you there, possessive and tender all at once. You whimpered, the heat between your legs only growing as he ground into you again, deeper now, his cock rubbing right against your soaked core through your panties and his shorts. The friction was maddening, so close, but not enough.

Joel groaned, voice breaking as he rutted against you. “You feel that? How bad I want you? How much I need you?”

His hand drifted down, slow and greedy, rubbing his calloused fingers over your covered mound. Then he pushed the fabric aside, dipping into your folds—slick and aching—and swore under his breath.

“Christ,” he muttered, thick with awe. “You’re soaked, honey. Already drippin’ for me.” His lips brushed your ear. “Already knocked up with my baby, and you still need more, huh?”

“Yes, Joel—please,” you gasped, your voice breaking. You lifted your knee, spreading your legs wider for him, offering everything.

“I know, darlin’,” he rasped, fingers gathering more of your slick, moving in slow, delicious circles around your clit. “Gonna make you come so many times before I even get my cock in you.”

You cried out softly as two of his thick fingers pushed inside with no hesitation, just the perfect stretch as he filled you. Your head dropped back against his shoulder, mouth falling open as pleasure bloomed bright and hot beneath your skin.

His lips grazed your neck, then your shoulder, the scruff of his beard scraping gently as his tongue licked a slow line over your pulse. He growled into your skin, low and deep, like he wanted to sink his teeth into you.

“That’s it,” he murmured, fingers curling deep as you pulsed around them. “You feel that? That’s me takin’ care of you. My girl.”

“So—so good, Joel,” you moaned, hips rolling to meet each thrust of his fingers. “Please. More.”

He hummed behind you, the sound dark and indulgent. He pulled his fingers out, slick and shining, and brought them up to circle your swollen clit, slow and firm.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “Completely fucked out and I haven’t even touched you properly yet. You love this, don’t you? Show me how much you need this.”

Your only answer was a moan, ragged and high as your body arched for him, chasing every stroke like it was oxygen. Joel kissed your neck again, then your jaw, voice rough and trembling. His fingers didn’t let up the slow, steady circles over your clit, so firm and perfect. His other hand had slid beneath your body, wrapping and anchoring you against him.

The pleasure climbed fast, stealing your breath, your thoughts. Your hips rolled helplessly, grinding into his hand, chasing that friction, that pressure, desperate to crest at the edge.

Your back arched against him, and your head tilted, lips parting on a ragged moan, “Joel—oh god—”

Your orgasm hit sharp and sudden. Your body seized, fluttering around nothing, thighs clenching tight as his fingers kept moving, easing you through it. He didn’t stop. Not when your hips jerked, not when your breath stuttered into sobs. Not even when your legs started to shake.

“C’mon, sweet girl,” he growled against you, “Again. Know you can do it.” 

His mouth was everywhere as he said it—your neck, your shoulder, your cheek—kissing you with a reverence that bordered on ruinous.

You barely had a moment to breathe before his fingers dipped back inside you. Two again, deep and slow, curling just right, the heel of his palm offering friction against your aching and sensitive clit. Your body responded instantly to him, your back curling further into him.

You whimpered, hand fisting in the sheets. He curled his fingers again, thick and warm as they pushed against the spot inside you that made your eyes roll back.  The second wave crept up slower, thicker, your limbs going soft and heavy even as your core tightened like a coil wound to the point of snapping.

You moaned, louder this time, body trembling in his arms.

“Joel—Joel, I—”

“I know, sweet girl,” he rasped, his mouth brushing your ear, fingers still working you with unrelenting care. “Can feel your pussy grippin’ my fingers. Be a good girl now and give me another.”

Your breath caught on a sob as your body shattered again—this one deeper, longer, stealing the last of your strength. You came with a choked cry, thighs trembling, hips bucking against his hand. Your muscles clung to his fingers like they were the only thing tethering you to the world, your body instinctively holding onto him, knowing he was the one who did this to you.

Joel held you through it. His palm stayed firm and grounding over your belly while the other hand slowed, easing you down from the high. His fingers remained inside, stroking you with reverence as your body twitched and shook with the aftershocks.

Then he brought his fingers up—slick and shining with your arousal—and kissed your cheek, slow and warm.

His voice dropped to a gravelly whisper at your ear, full of control and hunger.

“Open.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a honey-laced command, thick with heat and tension.

You obeyed.

Your lips parted, and his fingers slid into your mouth. The moment his knuckles brushed your lips, you closed around them, tongue flattening beneath as you hollowed your cheeks and sucked him in. The taste of yourself on his skin was heady, electric.

A low rumble of satisfaction vibrated deep in Joel’s chest.

He pulled his fingers free with a slow drag and gripped your jaw with that same hand, still wet, turning your face toward him as he leaned in and kissed you—hungry, consuming. Your hand flew to his hair, twisting in the dark hair at the base of his neck as his tongue pushed into your mouth, both of you moaning into each other like it hurt to be apart for even a second.

His body pressed tighter to yours, and you felt him—thick and heavy, and his hand moved between you, tugging your panties down your thighs, off entirely, leaving you bare for him.

One hand wrapped around the base of his cock, guiding himself to your soaked entrance. He rubbed the swollen head through your folds, slow and teasing, gathering your slick as your breath hitched.

Then he lined himself up, the broad head pushing against your opening. The stretch made you gasp, even after everything he’d already given you. You wondered for a moment if you’d ever get used to the stretch of him splitting you in two.

You reached for him instinctively, needing him closer, deeper. Joel’s hand returned to your belly, spreading wide, anchoring you again as he sank into you.

Slow. Deep. Devastating.

You moaned, the sound trembling out of you, as he filled you inch by inch—no rush, no mercy. He buried himself to the hilt with a guttural groan, your walls fluttering around him in helpless welcome.

Your eyes fluttered shut, body arching back into him, completely surrounded by him. He held still for a beat, just feeling you pulling him in deeper. You whispered his name, and he exhaled shakily against your neck.

He stayed there for a moment, fully buried, like it took everything in him not to come right then as he let you adjust. He was so thick, stretching you as your walls fluttered with every uneven breath you took. And Joel felt it—every twitch, every pulse. His hand splayed across your belly like he needed to hold onto something solid before he lost control entirely.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice torn and low. “You feel that? Feel how deep I am inside you?”

You whimpered, barely able to speak, body already fluttering around him in overstimulated waves. Your hands clutched at the sheets, at his arm, at anything you could find.

He pulled back just an inch and pushed in again, slow and heavy, dragging another desperate moan from your throat.

“Mine,” he growled, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it, but it slipped out as his cock felt you gripping him, quivering around him. His hips rolled into you again, grinding deep, making you cry out.

“You were made for this,” he rasped, kissing your neck, your shoulder, his hand gripping your breast now, fingers toying with your nipple. “For me. Made to be full of me—my cock, my cum, my baby.”

You gasped, arching into his touch, your body trembling from how completely he owned you in this moment. He thrust again—harder now, still slow but deeper, rougher. You could swear you could feel him in your stomach as he rutted into you.

You sobbed his name, overwhelmed, wrecked, clinging to him like he was your gravity.

His mouth dropped to your ear again, voice dark and shaking.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he whispered. “Can’t stop thinkin’ about it—how sweet you look like this. Belly round, tits heavy, pussy so fuckin’ wet for me I could drown in it.”

Another deep thrust. Another broken sound from your lips.

“Fuckin’ mine,” he growled, hips snapping harder now, losing rhythm in his need. “All of it. Every inch of you.”

He wrapped his arm under your belly again, lifting just enough to hold you steady, like you were something precious, fragile—his.

“I don’t care what happens tomorrow,” he said, thrusting slow and deep, burying his cock to the hilt. “Right now, you’re mine. This body’s mine. This pussy—” he grunted, grinding into you until your toes curled “—fuckin’ belongs to me.”

And you could only nod, barely breathing, gasping his name as the heat built again, faster this time, rising wild and uncontrollable between your legs. It was nearly Pavlovian how fast this man could bring your body to the edge within minutes.

Your body was already trembling again, every nerve stretched to its breaking point, and Joel felt it. He sensed it in the way your breath hitched, your thighs tensed, your walls fluttered around him. He thrusted deeper, slower, the weight of him unbearable in the best way. His hand slid between your legs, fingers circling your clit with practiced, devastating precision.

“You’re close again,” he muttered, lips at your ear. “I can feel it. Pussy’s already startin’ to milk me, like you need it. Need to come on my cock, huh, baby?”

You whimpered something incoherent, your nails digging into his arm as your hips rocked into every thrust, chasing that final wave. The pleasure was blinding, your body overstimulated but desperate. His voice. His hands. The way he filled you like nothing else ever could.

Then—barely above a whisper, like it wasn’t meant for you at all, “He could never give you this.”

Joel’s voice cracked around the words. Still deep. Still raw. But it shook.

“What I give you… how I make you feel...”

You sobbed out a moan, and that was it. Your body shattered, pleasure exploding through you so violently your legs kicked and shook, your cries muffled by the sheets. You clenched around him, tight and relentless, pulling him with you.

“Fuck—fuck, baby—” Joel groaned, losing himself, grinding deep into you as your orgasm ripped through you.

He cursed again, low and guttural, his hips jerking as he spilled into you with a strangled moan. The sound of his voice, wrecked and unguarded was enough to send another shiver down your spine.

He didn’t stop moving, not at first. Slow, instinctive rolls of his hips, keeping his cock deep inside you, like he couldn’t stand to pull away just yet.

You lay there, both of you trembling, still joined, his chest heaving against your back, his arms locked around your belly like you might disappear if he let go.

You hummed softly as he slid out of you, the loss of him making your body twitch with oversensitivity. He didn’t go far, his arms just curled tighter around you, pulling you into his chest like he couldn’t get enough of your skin. His face tucked into your neck, breathing you in like oxygen.

You closed your eyes and let him hold you, your hand resting on top of his where it lay over your belly.

“Joel?” you asked gently once your breath came back to you.

He hummed in response, tired and wrecked, lips brushing your skin.

“What did you mean earlier?”

You felt him tense—just barely. A flicker of hesitation. His breath slowed, deepened, like reality was creeping back in and neither of you could stop it.

“When?” he asked, low and cautious.

You swallowed hard, your voice quiet but certain. “You said… you wonder what would’ve happened if you told Tommy…”

I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d had the guts to tell my brother I saw you first.

You could feel the words hanging there between you, unspoken but known. 

Joel sucked in a breath and exhaled slowly before shifting, pulling away from your back and settling against the pillows. His arm draped over his eyes as he laid back, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that told you he was thinking. Too much.

You turned carefully, your body sore and boneless but needing to be near him. You laid your head on his chest, your belly pressing against his side, fitting awkwardly but close. He didn’t stop you. Just let you come to him.

His hand dropped from his eyes a moment later, resting on your back, his thumb tracing over your spine.

“I shouldn’t’ve said that,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Not tonight.”

That was it. No elaboration. No apology, either. Just Joel’s version of walking the line—saying something and unsaying it all at once.

You looked up at him, searching his face. “But…what did you mean? Did you…have you always have feelings?”

He didn’t look at you. Just stared at the ceiling, jaw working.

After a moment, his hand slid to your belly, resting there like it always did.

“I don’t know what any of it means." he said finally. “I just know it ain’t simple.”

Your throat ached, but you nodded anyway. Because it wasn’t.

Not with him. Not with Tommy. Not with this.

You laid your head back on his chest, his heartbeat steady in your ear. And neither of you said anything else.

Because maybe silence was safer than the truth.

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[defectiveporcelaindoll]

Chapter III: So High School

“Bittersweet sixteen suddenly”

series masterlist previous chapter

pairing: post-prison/ cm: evolution Spencer Reid x BAU AFAB!Reader (I like to think this is where Spencer is during the current seasons.)

series synopsis: an unsub with a taste for couples and power imbalances leads Doctor Spencer Reid not only back into the classroom but down the hypothetical aisle with the BAU's newest Probie for an undercover assignment that may change his life.

cw: age gap (Spencer is 42, reader is 24 in chapter 1), Use of y/n's (I'm sorry, I know l'm sick of it too.), fake marriage, romance romancing, kisses and touches but no smut (yet…maybe) ; Reader is feisty and flirty; Spencer is anxious and has an aggressive outburst; female reader she/her pronouns, and mentions of typical CM violence.

wc: 2.7k (they just keep getting longer and longer)

“Okay. Classes are canceled, if anyone asks, you’re sick. I called Emily, let her know we won't be working tonight. Uh, what else- oh! I got us a reservation at the Glass Garden. I think that might be fun, and I got us a table at a restaurant that has really great reviews,” he called from his place on the sofa. Hearing the bathroom door open, he turned, his breath catching in his lungs. In the backlight of the bathroom, Spencer Reid almost believed he’d seen an angel standing in his living room in a sundress.

“Oh- um, you look really pretty- not that you aren’t always pretty, obviously you must know that you’re beautiful but I just—in comparison to when you were crying… you’re…” Any attempt to save himself from the awkward hole he’d dug himself into died on his tongue as Y/N giggled. Her laugh was like a ray of sunlight, melting parts of Spencer’s heart he’d long forgotten.

“Okay, so I’m sick,” she gives him her best fake little kid cough, causing him to roll his eyes. “We’re off duty and you made us plans…oh, and I guess I clean up pretty good for a girl who just had a meltdown against our front door.”

“Very well… for a girl who had a meltdown against our front door,” Spencer nods, his cheeks beginning to ache from the smile that’s been plastered on his lips since she entered the room.

Once they were off campus, the couple let out an exhale neither were aware they'd been holding, away from prying eyes allowed to simply exist as individuals for the first time in weeks.

“You said we’re going to a glass garden?” Y/N asks, fiddling with the sleeve of the cardigan Spencer insisted she bring as they make their way down the highway.

“Yes! The Chihuly Garden,” she smiled, loving the way his features lit up with such excitement. “It’s supposed to be this insanely beautiful collection of really intricate and colorful glass sculptures. I’ve always wanted to see it but we never have time when we’re in the city for a case. Actually, I saw one of the artist's pieces in London—god, it had to be almost twenty-five… years ago.”

Spencer’s heart dropped to his stomach, the excitement in his voice dying with the last words, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. His age was showing, and this feeling was something he’d never experienced before. For nearly twenty years, Spencer had been the youngest person on the team. Even at forty-two years old, he still was the baby until Y/N joined. Was this how everyone else felt, talking to him about ‘the good ole days’ for all those years?

Y/N glanced over at him, a soft sympathetic smile taking her lips. In the three weeks she’d spent in such close proximity to Spencer, she’d picked up on a few of his tells. Right now, she could see the wheels turning in his mind, convincing him he’d ruined things and debating addressing the difference in their ages.

“Spence—”

He didn't respond, his mind still running rampant until he felt the pressure of a hand on his thigh, pulling him back to reality and causing him to inhale sharply, his eyes frantically shifting between the hand, the road, and the woman in his passenger seat.

“There we go…” Y/N mumbled, giving his thigh a little squeeze before pulling her hand away and back into her lap. “You know it doesn’t bother me, right? You don’t need to freak yourself out because you’ve got a couple of years on me, Spencer,” she said with a little more confidence than Spencer was used to hearing from her.

“And besides, I’ve always had a taste for older men,” she shrugged, leaning across the center console to press a kiss to his now flushing cheeks. Spencer couldn't even bear to look at her, his heart racing as he tried to remain focused on the road. Was Y/N actually flirting with him or was she teasing him? Surely it had to be a joke.

The remainder of the drive was uneventfully quiet, with the couple only really speaking to point out the landmarks they’d passed until they pulled into the tiny parking lot beside the Space Needle. As soon as he’d killed the engine, Spencer was out of the car, running around the back to grab Y/N’s door. She smirked, eyeing the older man up and down as he playfully caught his breath from the minimal jog.

“Shall we, M’lady,” he mumbled awkwardly, offering her a hand as she slipped out of the car.

“get my car door isn’t that sweet. then pull me to the back seat”

“Who said chivalry was dead… Keep it up, we won't be making it out of this parking lot,” her brow wiggled rather suggestively as she watched Spencer gulp, his palm beginning to sweat against hers. “Come on, lover boy. I need that big brain to tell me all about the pretty glass.”

Their afternoon was spent hand in hand or arm in arm, the two only separating long enough for one of them to take a photo of the other. Spencer claimed he ‘needed a good photo for his office’. Y/N thought it was cheesy, but she’d giggle and pose wherever he directed her, and he’d try to do the same for her; though, his poses were far more stiff and awkward, but somehow, that made them all the more endearing.

They spent hours observing the installations, with Spencer rattling on about the different techniques used for each detail and Y/N occasionally offering her own commentary about how the art made her feel. To any passersby, they looked like a happy couple that had known each other for years, not two FBI agents playing make-believe for a while.

The restaurant Spencer had picked for dinner was across the park from the gardens, so there was no sense in moving the car. The once bright late summer sun had fallen victim to the Seattle clouds that were beginning to roll in as the couple meandered through the park. Spencer’s eyes trailed the younger woman’s face; he could tell she was contemplating something.

“What is it?”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Y/N glanced up at him, her hand falling from his grasp as she twisted her fingers anxiously, waiting for Spencer’s nod of approval. When it came, she paused, taking a deep breath.

“Doctor Spencer Reid, do you know that you completely changed my life?”

Spencer froze a few paces in front of her, brows knit together as he tried to decipher whether or not this was part of her act as the loving wife or if he actually, unbeknownst to him, had an effect on this young woman’s life.

“You taught a seminar in Nevada five years ago, breaking down the relationships between psychology and philosophy in human behavior.” Y/N’s gaze dropped, the summer breeze exposing the blush creeping up her ears. “I wasn’t even supposed to be in the class; I was an English major, but my roommate dragged me along… and maybe it was the way you taught, your excitement I guess? Or the way that it felt like you actually cared. I could’ve listened to you talk for hours.” She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “After that seminar, I marched myself down to the counseling office and became a psych major… added a year and a half to my college experience, but given that I’m about to walk into a very expensive restaurant, married to the professor who changed my life? I think it just might’ve been worth it.” She let out a breathy chuckle, her eyes searching Spencer’s for any indication of discomfort before dropping her gaze back to her hands, mindlessly fiddling with her wedding band. “Sorry, I just really needed to get that off my chest.”

“tell bout the first time you saw me”

For a moment, Spencer sat awestruck. He rarely found himself at a loss for words, but the newfound warmth in his chest made it nearly impossible to speak. So instead, he took her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as he nodded, guiding her down the path to the restaurant in silence until they reached the door. He hesitated just outside, bringing her knuckles to his lips.

“Thank you… just… thank you.”

Dinner went smoothly, with the only minor hiccup being Spencer’s tangent about the bread basket and his qualms with group food. But other than that, the two simply enjoyed each other’s company, the sound of rain echoing against the roof as they ate.

As the couple exited the restaurant, they were met with the heavy downpour of a summer night storm. Y/N sighed, pulling her cardigan around her a little tighter, her lips pursed as she looked up at Spencer, his hands stuffed anxiously in his pockets. There was no way they were getting to the car dry, he knew that as a fact. So, with a little sigh and a nod to Y/N, he stepped out from the covered awning, arms outstretched as he let the rain soak him.

“Oh, so you’re crazy!” Y/N called, her voice hardly audible over the downpour, making no attempt to move. After a minute, Spencer jogged back to her, his arms wrapping around her middle as he lifted her, kicking and laughing, carting her out into the rain. She wiggled free of him, a smile plastered on her face as her hair began to drip.

 She spun around, embracing the fact she was now thoroughly soaked, a girlish giggle passing her lips as she tucked wet hair behind her ears “Ya now, even soaking wet, this may just may be the most successful date I’ve ever been on.”

Spencer quirked a brow, his head falling to the side like a puppy’s. “Your dating pool is really that bad?” he mused, remembering what it was like to be in his twenties awkwardly trying to make meaningful connections with people

“I don’t even really date; the men—no, they were boys—that have come into my life only ever want to waste my time, so… It’s like a twisted game of kiss,marry, kill? Except everyone sucks and there is a good chance someone is going to actually be crazy enough to kill you?” She shrugged, taking a moment to stare up at the sky her lashes heavy with raindrops

“So what’s it gonna be?” she called, her head turning to glance up at Spencer, the challenge in her eyes illuminated by the gas lamps lining the pavement. “You gonna marry, kiss, or kill me, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer’s eyes darkened, accepting her challenge with a mix of desire and determination as he stepped closer. Wordlessly, closing the space between them, his hand gently cradling her jaw, his touch an even balance between tender and possessive. He leaned in, devouring her lips, capturing her in a kiss that was anything but tentative. The kiss was electric, a rush of sensation that made the world around them disappear. His other hand found its way to her waist, pulling her closer, his fingers digging into the damp fabric.

Y/N responded eagerly, her fingers gripping the damp fabric that clung to his chest, pulling him closer still. She melted into him, the feel of his lips moving against hers sending shivers down her spine despite the warmth that blossomed in her chest. The rain pounded around them, soaking their clothes and plastering her hair to her face, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was the way Spencer held her, the way his mouth moved over hers with a hunger that left her breathless.

“I’m betting on all three,” she whispered against his lips, her voice dripping with desire.

         “All three…” he repeated, pulling away just enough to press a kiss to her forehead, his hands still cradling her face. “I am way too old for you…” he muttered breathlessly, his head shaking as he brought it down to rest against hers.

“The bureau seems to disagree,” her retort was quick, her lips ghosting over his. “And like I said earlier, it doesn’t bother me. I’m a big girl. I know what I want.” She kissed him one more time, hard and quick, before bolting through the park towards the car, leaving Spencer standing in the rain like a lovesick kid.

Spencer watched her go, his heart pounding hard and heavy against his ribs while his mind raced a million miles a minute as he tried to make sense of the fact that his ‘wife’ just might actually like him.

“Are you coming or what?” The rain had died down enough for Y/N’s voice to travel with ease. Spencer ran his hand through his wet curls, pushing them off his face before breaking into a jog up to the car. When she was within arm's reach, Spencer pulled her close, just taking a moment to hold her, fantasize that this life they were leading could be his reality.

Y/N wasted no time, her lips finding the curve of his jaw with ease, her hands tugging at the collar of his shirt. Spencer let out a groan, his head turning just enough to grant her better access to the sensitive skin at his neck, carefully guiding her back against the car door before returning his hand to her jaw, drawing her lips up to his.

There was a moment of bliss, where this was the only world that mattered, just a couple of lovestruck kids, then the shrill tone of Spencer’s phone cut through the air.

“Let it ring,” she all but whined.

“That’s Emily’s ringtone—” he groaned, fishing the all too loud phone out of his pocket and sighing loudly before putting the phone to his ear. “It’s not really a good ti-” he stopped, his gaze flicking down to Y/N, her frame pressed against the car door, another sigh leaving his now slightly kiss-bruised lips as he untangled himself from her. “No, I understand, I hear you. We’re heading back to the house… we’ll be there to meet the officer.” She took that as her cue, silently slipping into the passenger seat. Spencer stayed outside, pacing the length of the car, nodding to himself as Emily continued to talk.

“I’ll let her know.” His voice was muffled from behind the window. “Yup. Okay. We’ll call you if there’s any update. Good night.” Y/N watched as he hung up the phone, his head hanging low for a moment before he turned, striking the back door in a heated flash of anger, before he stalked around the car, climbing into the driver's seat.

It’s silent for a moment, the car tense with now long-forgotten lust as Spencer tossed his phone into the center console.

“There’s another couple. Same MO, same calling card.” She could see the frustration bubbling to the surface again as Spencer’s knuckles started to turn white against the steering wheel. “Local field agent is going to bring the updated file and the crime scene photos to the house…”

“Spence, this isn’t your fault—”

“I never said it was,” he bites back, sending Y/N shrinking into her seat. “I’m sorry… I just— I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I didn’t mean to snap at you… I know there was nothing we could’ve done. But it's still frustrating.”

She nods, now her turn to comfort him, her hand hesitantly reaching out across the center console to pry his from the wheel, gently squeezing. “I know, Spence. I know. We’ll figure this out, build our profile, but unfortunately, we just need a little more time. Hopefully soon enough, this unsub will take the bait and it’ll be us against them…” She chuckles softly, shaking her head in an attempt to lighten the mood. “God, that’s morbid… thinking it’ll be a relief to have a murderer place a target on your head…”

“You get used to it…” he said, any warmth in his voice evaporated as the engine roared to life.

the brink of a wrinkle in time

taglist : @olives-and-sunshine @iniyalovesall @suzysface @guiltyyassin @spencereidbasis @tatilolz @cherrycemeterry @hiireadstuff @r-3dlips @sweetpeterparker @catertotshitposts

I hope i got everyone! if you’d like to be added to the taglist don’t hesitate to lemme know and as always i’d love to know the thoughts and feelings! xo

[rrenzwrld]

nobody else, nothing else

connie x bimbo cheerleader!black reader

finally got a chance to continue this concept! i actually like how it turned out even though it doesn’t show the whole bimbo cheerleader aspect. i just got carried away into the fic but i might think up more hcs…anyways enjoy!

ever since connie asked you out and your relationship progressed, he felt pressure. he felt some kind of pressure from anyone who’s ever known you or him to do things that he wasn’t used to doing.

“she’s high maintenance.” he knew that and didn’t mind catering to you whenever he could. you were the sweetest person ever and deserved the world.

“she’s way out of your league man. ain’t no way you pulled that” maybe you were but if you didn’t care, neither did he.. at least he tried not to. you were beautiful, smart, funny, sexy, kind, everything someone would only get in a dream.

“she’s too good for you. you don’t know how to handle her” they spoke of you as if you could be handled like a pet or something. like you were this wild animal he had to tame or you’d spiral out of control. most of the time connie didn’t care about what was said but if he was left with his thoughts for too long, it’d be good for no one.

“connie, you been ignoring and avoiding me. why?” he couldn’t tell you that.

“there’s a lot of stuff on my mind.”

“what, so you don’t have time for me anymore? you have time for basketball and everything else.”

“it’s not you.”

“that’s hard to believe.”

“y/n.. can you please? i don’t wanna talk right now.” you were visibly hurt. he could never tell you to go away but something was different today. he didn’t wanna let you see him in a way that you weren’t used to seeing

“oh really?” he could see your body shift at his words and it hurt him to see you like that but he didn’t wanna burden you with his insecurities. “well,” you looked down at your shoes. “let me know whenever you’re ready to talk.” he knew how you operated and even though you insinuated that your lines of communication would be open to him still, that phrase for you only meant that you’d have your phone on dnd for the rest of the day and there was no getting through to you until the end of it.

the day went on and connie found himself standing outside of the door of your last class, waiting for you to walk out of it. his thoughts had been consuming him all day but all he wanted was you in his arms to take all of that away. he couldn’t afford for you to be upset with him right now.

“y/n.” connie grabbed your arm as he saw you nearly walk past without acknowledging him. you looked at the loose grip on your arm.

“constance.”

“stop that.”

“stop what?”

“that. being childish, you know i don’t like when you call me that.”

“and i don’t like when you’re not honest with me.” you crossed your arms stern over your chest, letting him know you weren’t backing down from the topic at hand earlier.

“ay, tesoro…can we please not do this right now?” you shrugged.

“maybe not now but we have to talk about it after practice. promise?” you held out your pinky. of course connie wouldn’t tell anyone his feelings if he didn’t have to but it was you. he wanted to be able to do anything for you so he intertwined his pinky with yours.

“good. call me later?”

“of course, i love you.” he leaned in to quickly place a peck on your cheek before he left to get ready for practice while you waited for your mom to get you because you didn’t have cheer practice that day.

when practice was over, connie went home and make sure all his stuff was done before he decided to call you. the two of you called each other almost every night but this particular call was making him nervous.

“i’m guessing you’re ready to talk?” connie sighed loudly and you giggled at how annoyed he was but you pondered about why sharing his feelings was so difficult with you.

“i guess so.”

“so, what’s been going on? what’s been on your mind?” connie didn’t think he’d have to address these particular concerns with you and was worried as to if you’d judge him or not even though that wasn’t your character.

“just…some insecurities, that’s all.”

“elaborate, please?”

“people say i don’t deserve you and i don’t like how that makes me feel.” you didn’t like how that made you feel either and connie’s softened tone hadn’t made it easier. “makes me feel like a shitty boyfriend, ya know? like what do they think i’m doing wrong? am i doing anything wrong? what’s wrong with me? do you really deserve bette—“

“baby.” you interrupted his rambling. “you’re perfect, okay? you have nothing to prove to me and especially not to whoever is saying those things to you.” you sweet voice calmed connie over the phone but he knew he’d feel much better if he had one of your hugs to pair along with it. “i love you, you love me and that’s all that matters. nobody else, nothing else, alright?” connie stayed quiet for a moment before answering.

“yeah.”

“nobody else, nothing else.” in the back of connie’s mind, he didn’t think he deserved you. he believed he was too flawed for you and you were supposed to have someone as perfect as yourself. but you didn’t care about any of that. you loved connie for connie and no matter how imperfect he thought he was, he was perfect for you.

“now, how was practice?”

[ereardon]

Before I Knew [Jake Seresin x Reader] Chapter Ten

A Jake Seresin unexpected pregnancy fic

Overview: On your first night after moving to San Diego to spend more time with your brother Bob, you unknowingly have a one night stand with his teammate Jake Seresin. For the first time in his whole life, Bob has a closely knit friend group and you’re desperate not to rock the boat. But an unexpected and unplanned pregnancy upends your world, forcing you and Jake closer together, against Bob’s wishes. What will happen when you find yourself actually falling for the father of your unborn child? 

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader; Bob Floyd x Sister!Reader 

Warnings: Pregnancy, cursing, eventual smut, angst

Chapter summary: Ducky and Jake deal with jealousy; the team meets Bob's new girlfriend

WC: 2.5K

Masterlist here; previous chapter here

The first time it happened, you were at the library desk, sitting down and pouring over a handful of new returns, typing in their serial numbers to check where they were meant to be shelved. 

“Excuse me?” You looked up. A guy, probably in his mid twenties, with blindingly white teeth and perfect olive skin, smiled down at you. “Could I ask you a question?” 

“Of course.” You pushed away the book and leaned forward on the desk, hands smoothed down over the cold surface. “How can I help you?” 

“I’m looking for a book about motorcycle repairs.” 

“Sure, I think that would be over in that back left corner.” You pointed one finger. 

He grinned. “Care to show me?” There was something flirty about the way he said it and you felt your blood pressure rise. 

“Sure.” You stood up and walked around the edge of the desk. 

His eyes widened as he looked you up and down. He cleared his throat. “Actually, uh, I’m sure I can find it myself. Thanks.” He was gone before you could even comprehend what had happened. 

And then you looked down and realized you could no longer hide it. 

***

“Y/N?” Jake’s voice rang out in the apartment. “Honey?” 

You emerged around the corner wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of bike shorts with a frown. “What did we talk about?” 

He smirked. “Sorry, habit.” 

“What do you want?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Just wanted to tell you I’m going out,” he said quietly. 

“The bar?” 

He hesitated. Then, “Um, No. a date.” 

Your heart squeezed. And even though you had said he should date, you hadn’t really meant it. You hadn’t thought he would go through with it. “Oh,” you whispered. “OK. See you later I guess.” 

Jake frowned. “Do you, uh, want to come with?” 

You cackled. “You’re joking, right?” 

“I don’t know what to do here, Y/N,” he sighed. “You seem upset but you told me to date. You practically shoved me out the door. And now I feel guilty leaving you alone.” 

“I’ll call Phoenix,” you said, picking up the phone. “I don’t want to go along on whatever slut date you have planned.” 

Jake’s face hardened. “Well OK. I guess I’ll see you later.” The sound of the door closing, hard, made you jump. 

You collapsed on the couch and pulled out your phone. “Phoenix, it’s Y/N. Listen, do you want to come over?” You paused. “Jake is out on a date.” 

“I’ll be there in ten.” 

***

“He’s a jerk.” 

“I told him to go!” 

Phoenix yanked her hand out of the popcorn bowl. “Still. Jerk.” 

“Was he like this when the two of you were together?” 

She closed her eyes for a moment then shook her head. “Yeah, uh, he’s always been like this.”

“Why do you sound so hesitant?” 

“Honestly?” 

“Hit me.” You pulled your legs up beneath you on the couch and slapped your knees. 

“I thought he would be different,” she said quietly. “With you. With the baby. That maybe this was the wakeup call he needed to get his life together.” 

“I guess not,” you replied. 

“Don’t count him out yet,” Phoenix added, sipping her wine. “He might surprise you.” 

Less than an hour later, you and Phoenix both turned as the key in the lock swiveled and the door opened. She looked over at you, wide eyed, as Jake stepped inside alone. 

“Trace,” he called out as he stepped into the living room. “Y/N.” 

“Hangman,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. “You’re home early. Quickie by the side of the road, no dinner?” 

He blushed, a grimace over his handsome and chiseled jawline. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” 

“Yup,” she said, tossing one arm over your shoulder. “Right here, watching Desperate Housewives.” 

“Natasha,” he said and there was something in his voice. Both of you registered it. A pleading. 

She turned to you. “Guess that’s my cue. Call me.” Phoenix stood up, her tanned legs unfolding gracefully. As she crossed the room, her eyes lingered in Jake but his eyes were glued on you. He stood in the middle of the room until the sound of the door shutting rattled the wall. 

“How was your date?” you asked. 

“I told her about you and she walked out.” 

“You’re so dumb.” You shook your head. “Why on earth would you tell her that on a first date?” 

Jake rubbed his eyes furiously. “What the hell else am I supposed to say, Y/N? If I want to take a girl back to my place, you’re in the next room. In six months, there will be a baby in a crib in the apartment.” 

You stood up. “You’re the one who asked me to move in. Who begged me. And now you’re blaming your shitty sex life on me?” 

“I, fuck!” Jake tossed his hands up into the air. His face, normally so composed, was angry. He stepped forward and instinctively your hands fell to your stomach. He stopped, his eyes wide. “Do you think I’m going to hurt you?” he whispered, voice shaking. 

“I don’t know,” you replied softly. Was he going to hurt you? Was dating someone else hurting you, even if you said it was fine? Was staying out late, flirting with other women, hurting you? 

You’d be lying if you said no. 

His green eyes bore into yours. “I’m going to bed.” 

“Jake!” You called out after him but he was already halfway down the hallway. 

You were frozen in the living room as the sound of his bedroom door shutting filled the apartment. Without thinking, you padded down the hallway and flung open the door to his room. Jake whirled around, his chest bare, wearing just a pair of khakis. “Y/N,” he breathed out. “What are you–?” 

“Are you going to hurt me?” you whispered, stepping closer. 

“Never.” 

“Why did you tell her?” you whispered. 

“What?” 

“The girl. The date. Why did you tell her about me?” 

Jake hesitated. “I told you. If I wanted to bring her home –” 

You shook your head, interrupting him. “That’s not the real reason, is it?” You stepped closer, so only a whisper of space was between the two of you. 

“Y/N.” Jake’s voice was low and dark, it practically rumbled through your body. “What are you doing?” 

“Are you going to hurt me?” you repeated. 

“No.” 

“Do you want me to see other people?” 

“No.” It came out automatically. 

“Why not?” 

“Because.” His breath was warm and smelled like beer but you knew without a shadow of a doubt he was stone cold sober. “Because you’re carrying my child.” 

“That’s it?” you asked. “That’s the only reason.” The room was dark and heady. You could feel your pulse racing. 

“You think I want other men touching you?” he whispered. “Putting their hands on your stomach, feeling our baby when I've never even felt our baby move?” 

You reached out, taking one of his hands in his, your other hand easing up the edge of your sweatshirt. Jake sucked in a breath at the curve of your lower stomach as you pressed his fingertips below your belly button. In the slim sliver of moonlight, you watched his tanned, large hand hold on. “It’s too early,” you whispered. “To feel anything.” You looked up. 

Jake was silent, his eyes glued to your stomach, his fingertips warm against your stretched skin. 

“I’m asking you,” you said quietly, “not to hurt me.” 

Jake pulled his hand away, but you could still feel the heat of his skin on yours. “That’s the last thing I’m going to do.” 

You stepped back. Any closer and you would throw yourself into Jake’s arms. You wanted nothing more than to feel his strong arms wrap around your body, pull you in tightly. Feel the whisper of his lips against yours. 

But for your sanity, you stepped back, into the door frame. Let the moonlight slip from Jake’s face until he was plunged into darkness. 

“Goodnight,” you whispered. 

Even in the darkness, you could picture his frown. “Goodnight.” 

***

“Tell me everything.”

Bob blushed and you nudged his arm with your elbow. Across the table, Phoenix grinned. “Tell her, Floyd.” 

“Her name is Sena,” he replied quietly. “We met on Hinge.” 

You squealed. Across the table, Bradley covered his ears while Phoenix cackled. 

Bob patted your hand. “Ducky, please.” 

“Tell me more,” you begged. 

He dipped his head. “She’s pretty.” 

“She’s fucking hot,” Phoenix corrected. 

“She’s beautiful,” Bob countered and you watched the way his eyes lit up. “She’s a pharmacist. Her family is from Mexico and she likes to surf.” 

“So she’s hot,” you said, leaning back and giggling. “Bobby, I’m happy. Are you happy?” 

“I’m happy.” 

“Why are we so happy?” Jake slid into the spot next to you on the bench, his thigh grazing yours for a second and you felt a flutter in your stomach. Jitters. 

“Bobby here has a girlfriend,” you said proudly.

Jake’s jaw dropped. “Shut up.” 

“OK Regina George,” Phoenix countered and the group laughed. 

“Bring her around sometime, Floyd,” Jake said. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

You swatted at him playfully. “Don’t tease him.” 

Jake caught your hand for a moment mid-air and the two of you paused, your eyes locked. And then Rooster coughed and your hand fell. You turned back to Bob whose blue eyes were watching you carefully. 

“Bring her around, though,” you said. “Please, Bobby? I want to meet her.” 

He took your hand and squeezed. “OK, Duck. You can meet her.” 

***

“A bar, really?” You frowned at the text on your phone. Bob and his new girlfriend were already at The Hard Deck with Phoenix and Coyote. You grunted and tugged at your dress, too tight around the middle. “I look fat,” you muttered to yourself. 

“You’re pregnant.” Jake hovered in the doorway and you turned. 

“I just look like I ate twelve donuts.” 

“You look beautiful.” 

“Shut up.” 

He shook his head. “No.” 

“I should change.” 

Jake grinned. “Should I sit down or is it not that kind of show?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Wait in the living room, I’ll be five minutes.” 

“I grew up with sisters, it’s never five minutes.” His voice trailed off as he meandered down the hallway. Twenty minutes later, you hated that he was right, you emerged in the living room wearing a flowing dress and your hair swept up, a pair of earrings dangling toward your collarbone. Jake stood up and patted down the legs of his jeans. “You look perfect.” 

“Are you sure?” you asked nervously. “I can go change, and–” 

“Woman.” He stepped forward and grabbed your arm lightly. “No more changing. We’re late as it is.” 

“Did you just call me woman?” 

Jake opened the door to his truck, shaking his head. “Hop in. Please.” 

The ride to the bar was largely silent, punctuated by Jake asking you what radio station you wanted and how you were feeling. By the time you pulled up to the bar, you could sense something was off. “Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?” 

“What?” He cut the engine. 

“You’re acting weird.” 

“I’m literally not saying anything.”

“That’s what’s weird!” 

“There’s no winning with you, sweetheart.” 

“Ugh there you go again with the nicknames.” 

“Jesus.” He flung open his door and stomped out. You struggled to chase after him, practically wobbling to catch up with him in the gravel parking lot. 

“Jake!” He whipped around as your fingertips closed around his bicep. “What’s the matter with you?” 

“You think it’s easy?” he asked. “Seeing you looking like that walking into a place like this?” 

You frowned. “I’m pregnant. No one is looking at me.” 

“Everyone is looking at you,” he whispered hotly. “You don’t look pregnant at all in that outfit. You look fucking gorgeous and I guarantee that every single guy in there is going to try to buy you a drink.” 

“Well I can’t drink,” you spat back. “So unless they want to buy me a ginger ale they can fuck off.” 

“I better not see anyone touching you.” 

“Well then you better keep your eyes peeled.” You shook your head. “I’m going to find Bobby.” 

The bar was crowded and you had to weave your way through sweaty bodies to get to the back. Just as one elbow was about to shoot out and smash you in the face, a hand pulled you back and you felt your back press against a hard chest, Jake’s fingertips smoothing over your side. “Watch out,” he hissed at the guy with the curveball elbow. “You almost hit her in the face.” 

“Sorry dude.” The guy barely shifted and Jake shoved him out of the way, using his forearm as a shield to protect you from the masses until the two of you were birthed out of the crowd into the back of the room. 

Bob stood up immediately and you stepped closer to him, Jake’s hand falling from your side. “Ducky,” he said and you tossed your arms around his neck, inhaling his familiar scent. “This is Sena. Sena, this is my little sister Y/N.” 

She held out one hand. “Hi, so nice to meet you! Bobby has told me so much about you.” 

Sena was way cuter than Bob had described. Tall and lithe, with beautiful tanned skin and shiny dark hair that fell past her shoulders with a slight wave. She had a stack of gold bracelets on one arm, and was wearing a pair of shorts and a crop top, a taunt section of skin showing a tattoo curved around her side that you couldn’t quite make out. You grinned. “Nice to meet you, too.” 

“Here, sit.” Bob pulled out a chair and you settled in. You turned, expecting Jake to be right behind you, but he disappeared into the crowd. Instead, you shook your head and turned to Sena. 

“So tell me everything,” you said and Bob shook his head with a sigh. “Let’s start with your biggest icks about my brother.” 

She laughed and you sat and listened as she waxed poetic about Bobby. There was an air about them, you noticed it instantly. The way her hand floated to his thigh, how he would smile at her when she spoke. A spark. Something deep inside of you panged with jealousy, and happiness. 

After a while, once the conversation had flipped to Bradley, you swiveled around and squinted. Jake still hadn’t come back to the table. It had been at least forty minutes since the two of you had arrived. 

You stood up and Bob looked up, eyes wide. “Have to pee,” you said and he nodded. You weaved through the crowd, now thinning on the edges, toward the long hallway in the back. 

But as you rounded the corner, your breath caught. 

Jake, with one hand pressed against the wood wall, leaning over a short redhead, her doe eyes trained on him, his free hand tipping her chin up toward him. You watched, mouth agape, as he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. 

You turned and fled, before he could see you. Even if it meant peeing your pants. You would pee in the sand, for all you cared. Anything to get away from Jake Seresin in that moment. 

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[midnightstargazer]

In OotP, when Regulus is first mentioned, this is how he's introduced:

"He was younger than me," said Sirius, "and a much better son, as I was constantly reminded."

The juxtaposition of those two things - younger and a better son - stands out because the Blacks are such an old-fashioned family. Sirius and Regulus seem like a typical "heir and a spare" situation, so for the spare to be a "better son" than the heir is a big deal.

In DH, when Harry visits the top floor of Grimmauld Place, one thing he notices is that Sirius had the larger bedroom. To me, this suggests that, at least when they were young children, their parents showed more favoritism to Sirius. He was, after all, the oldest and the heir. Given that Bellatrix and Walburga didn't have quiet, passive temperaments either, I doubt his personality would be seen as a problem until he ended up in Gryffindor, befriending the wrong people and rejecting everything the family stood for.

Regulus's more dutiful and obedient attitude was no doubt something they appreciated once Sirius really started rebelling, and it's easy to imagine them pitting their sons against each other: look at your brother, he's in the right house, he's rarely ever in detention, he's got friends we approve of - why can't you be like him? But still, they didn't disown Sirius until he ran away at sixteen. This suggests to me that any favoritism towards Regulus was, at least at first, an attempt to bring Sirius back into line and get him to behave the way they expected.

Even after Sirius ran away, they kept his room exactly as it was. Even if everything on the walls was attached with a permanent sticking charm, it shouldn't have been too difficult to cover it up. Furniture and personal items could certainly be gotten rid of. The fact that the room was still pretty much untouched tells me they kept holding out hope he might come back.

However, I do think that things would have changed for Regulus after Sirius was Sorted into Gryffindor and after he ran away. In both cases, there would have been more pressure on him to live up to the family's expectations. The impression we're given of Regulus in the books is of someone who didn't really think for himself and was very proud of his conformity. It seems reasonable to me that that would have come from growing up with an older brother who constantly defied their parents and, as a result, had lost their favoritism. And knowing, of course, that their love for him was just as conditional.

(That's not me saying he was forced into anything. I actually don't think Orion and Walburga would have forced either of their sons to join the Death Eaters. But I do think Regulus felt he had something to prove, was taught basically the same ideology at home, and was therefore easier to radicalize. And I think that feeling of having something to prove probably came, at least in part, from watching Sirius go from favorite son and heir to scapegoat to disowned.)

Both brothers, I think, ended up living very different lives than their family would've chosen for them. They would've been expected to marry pure-blood women and have kids, to support the blood purist ideology but not actually risk their lives for it, and either to live off their inherited wealth or to work in relatively safe, prestigious careers. So, in different ways, they both fell short.

I do think there was definitely a scapegoat and golden child dynamic, but I think it's a bit more complicated than that: changing favoritism through the years as it became more and more obvious that Sirius wouldn't fall into line with the family expectations, first to pit them against each other and then to cut Sirius off and replace him with Regulus.

[cheriladycl01]

Could you do fic for Checo Perez with wife reader? He had some insecurity about his abilities to race against the grid and she just hugged and comforted him. Add something else to it if you want to. Tag me later Thanks!! :))

The pressure is insane… - Sergio Perez x Wife! Reader

Plot: Checo replacing Alex was probably the best thing to happen to him in his Formula One career. However, so much pressure comes from being in that second Red Bull seat, not just the team but the fans too, and Checo doesn’t like the pressure on him.

When Checo came into the seat, and performance wasn’t great, people in the team told him it would be fine and to keep his head up because everyone knew he was getting used to how different the Red Bull Car is thanks to Max’s driving style.

But at it came to his second season, and it didn’t seem like things were improving much, Christian kept talking to him, explaining what was expected of him as if he hadn’t already informed him over 100 times.

He was just struggling with a car that was clearly built for their main driver, which is why Pierre crumbled under pressure and it’s why they couldn’t put up with Alex when he didn’t learn the car quick enough for them.

The gave Checo the benefit of the doubt throughout 2022, but when Red Bulls most dominant season came around it was without a doubt that your husband had to step up.

And in your eyes he had, getting two race wins under his belt, but he wasn’t consistent enough for Christian and it seemed that he wanted Checo to be actually challenging Max more.

It got worse when the Ferrari and McLaren started to beat him despite being in the worse car, and it was deemed a ‘driver issue’

Sergio felt awful, for a man who had been racing for as long as he had, he never felt doubtful of his abilities to put on a show and drive to the best of his ability.

But now, in the Red Bull seat, he actually understood the words ‘under pressure’ because he was under it constantly.

“Baby what’s wrong with you, you’ve been jittery all week” you ask your husband who was currently watching over some of his old races with a notepad.

“Hmmm?” He asks not even throwing a glance in your direction.

You knew he wasn’t listening.

“Well I just think that when aliens invade Earth that we should have a bunker ready and prepared so that you and I can help create a new civilisation after the government kill them all …” you say trying to grab a reaction from him.

“Hmmm yeah that’s really nice” he starts but then he looks up and his head cocks to the side as if his brain just processed the words you said. “Wait what?” He asks.

You chuckle and little bit happy to have his attention.

“I just wanted to see if you were listening, I asked what’s been up with you lately” you say softly, taking a seat next to him, reaching over to grab the remote and pause the race he was observing so his full attention was on you.

“Nothing wrong, I’m fine” he lies.

“Hermoso, we’ve been married for 6 years, I know when somethings up” you smile taking his hand into yours and kissing the back of it softly while watching for his reaction.

“I just … nevermind it’s stupid” he sighs looking down.

“None of your feelings are stupid baby, please let me in” you say calmly.

“I just feel like, I’m so singled out on the grid. You’ve got so many amazing drivers and then there’s me. Lewis is a 7x world champion, and and Max my own team mate has won 2, and he’s probably going to win this year by a landslide and then there’s Fernando again he has two championships, and then you’ve got all this new talent in Lando, and Charles and Carlos and now that Oscar is here, it’s getting tough” he admits and you softly smile at him.

“Where have all these doubts come from honey?” You ask, you knew he didn’t think he was the best driver, but he never once compared his abilities to individual drivers.

“Christian said that if I didn’t improve he’d replace me with Yuki, Liam or Daniel and that i might not even get a AlphaTauri seat as a replacement” he says putting his face in his hands with a soft sigh.

You pull him into a hug in which he nuzzles his head into your neck.

You are an incredible driver, there’s just such an insane amount of talent on the grid right now, you being one of them. World champion or not baby, your still one of only 20 drivers in the world that are here! Your a race winner and I’m so proud of everything you’ve done. You are incredible” you smile wrapping your arms around him while you feel him shake a little, presumably where he’s crying.

“Im just awful at it all. Driving, being a husband … you’ve been asking for a baby for 3 years and I keep telling you no because I’m so career focused but I can’t even seem to be good at that career” he complains and you almost laugh.

“Oh honey, I think you forget you are without a doubt the best thing that’s ever happened to me, child or no child. And where you aren’t ready because your at a point in your career that is crucial, I’ll always understand that darling. You are all I need, you are all I want. And I married you because I’m happy with you” you say tightening your hold on him.

“You know, I would never not be ready to have a kid. If you want one, we can have one. I’d never say no” he argues wiping his eyes and looking at you, only for you to release a breath of relief.

“Thank god, that night in Saudi Arabia really stuck” you admit and he cocks his head to the side not understanding. You take his hand and place it on your stomach, there wasn’t much of a bump, but a slight and minuscule weight gain was there. Enough that when he run his hand over your tummy he could feel it.

“Are you saying?” He asks and you nod.

“I know, I know it’s not the right time because your so stressed and I’ve been so nervous to tell you because I know you’ve had a lot on your plate since being in Red Bull and it was such a shock to me” you start to ramble thinking you should have waited.

“No this is the best news ever! This has made my day, my week, my year even!” He smiles before lifting you up and twirling you round.

“I love you” he says pulling you in for a kiss, happy with life.

And now he didn’t have anything to worry about, as long as he was able to provide for you and your child or children in the future he knew he could handle the pressure because now there was something else riding on it!

A/N: hey guys I didn’t realise tumblr only lets you do 50 tags per post! So I’m not sure what to do about taglist anymore? Any suggestions?

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @seomako @urdad-hot @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount @styl1shl1v

[moonshynecybin]

i feel like maïna sent me an ask/prompt about. SOMETHING. like this for forced coming out au genuinely so long ago but i can’t find it for the life of me so perhaps i simply made that up. anyways here’s a short fic set in that universe about them dealing with the panopticon. and in fact being pda whores in the panopticon. bon apetit

“There’s a photographer over there,” Marc whispers in his ear, breath warm and close. He loops his arms around Vale’s neck as he says it, sounding nonchalant, but Vale knows him better than that by now, can see the tension tucked in his shoulders, hidden in the carefully collected smile on his face.

“Hmm.” He replies, amiably, nosing at Marc’s cheek. They’re in the paddock and they’re together— of course there’s a photographer on them. There’s probably seven photographers on them. Par for the course in years past, but especially these last couple of months.

And Vale’s always believed that if people are going to look, he might as well give them a show.

He lifts a hand and flips Marc’s cap off of his head, setting it down backwards so the brims of their hats arent competing. Marc’s face catches the sun, and Vale leans in to kiss where it hits the jut of his cheekbone because he can— because it’s what he would do, if they were actually together. If Marc was a girl. If any of this had happened the way it was supposed to, for people like them.

His stomach clenches, involuntary. He thinks he can hear the click of a camera firing. Good.

“Now he can see me.” Marc complains, leaning closer. He tries to hide behind Vale, using their height difference to squeeze himself into his shadow, and Vale laughs, tugging at where his hair is starting to curl behind his ears, where Marc’s skin is smooth and warm.

“It’s been a few weeks— We should probably give them something to see.”

“It has.” Marc agrees, sneaking his hands down now, snaking them inside Vale’s jacket and under his shirt. “We should.”

Vale yelps, curves his body inward reflexively. They’re like ice.

“That’s cold!” He pulls a face. Camera flash.

Marc ignores him, cackles an evil little laugh into the fabric of Vale’s shirt around his collarbone. Vale lets him, wraps an arm around his shoulders and leans back in, making sure Marc is the only one who can hear. It’s their preferred mode of communication these days— close, edging on the line of plausible deniability. His lips catch on the delicate skin of Marc’s temple as he speaks, and they’re in public, so it’s okay to keep them there.

“Karen from PR asked the next time we are available, so we can, ah, do another date.”

Just a few months ago this would all have felt like a minefield, but when he raises an eyebrow —a question— Marc just nods easily. Understanding without words. They’ve been getting good at this part, after everything, all the press and performance and years on track, years in each other’s beds. In MotoGP, you have to be adaptable, able to read another rider’s move, know how they’re going to take a corner almost before they do— and there’s a reason Marc and him are the best at what they do.

“We’re in Phillip Island next week— do you want to try out that place we went last year?” Marc responds, voice lower a little more reserved. His fingers edge under the elastic of Vale’s waistband. His hands must really be cold.

Vale nods, even as his chest clenches, resentment and something less empowering spiking through him. Last year. Right at the end. Phillip Island.

Not a good memory.

He lays a hand to Marc’s neck, thumb hitting the hinge of his jaw. Tilts him where he wants him. Marc goes— like he always does, moving easily with him, body pliable everywhere but the track. His brown eyes focus in on Vale’s face, intent. Unsettling, if you know how he catalogs information, if you know how what sort of instincts he has on the bike— shoving in beside Vale on track without a thought. Risking a bit more than Vale’s ever been able to comfortably stomach.

But Vale’s always thrived in high pressure situations, under attention, and the way Marc’s eyes laser on him only makes him settle. Makes him sharper. Clearer. Hot danger zipping under his collar, shivery and sweet. He wonders what Marc will let him do, out here in the middle of the paddock, with a photographer on them.

Marc’s hands flex, where they’re pressed under Vale’s shirt, like he can understand what Vale’s thinking, that same uncanny ability to predict a move rising to the surface. His nails scrape a little, dragging along the skin of Vale’s lower back.

“Let’s do that.” Vale says. He doesn’t really remember what were they talking about. A date, he thinks. Marc all to himself.

Alone.

The careful attention of Marc’s eyes drop to his mouth, then once, quick, over his shoulder. The photographer. Right.

The show.

“Okay,” Marc says, eyes searching Vale’s face, uncharacteristically serious. Contemplative. Like he’s thinking about something. Vale raises an an eyebrow, but before he can say anything the look on Marc’s face condenses, and he leans up to kiss Vale sweetly, open and a little messy.

And this has always been the thing that’s worked most between them. Easy and magnetic. The push and pull. The perfect picture.

And then Marc’s pushing forward, deeper, licking into Vale’s mouth. Kiss skewing dirty, dirtier than they usually get nowadays, making Vale’s pulse jump— a dare. How far are you willing to go? it asks, that same impudent instinct he has when he’s diving up the inside of Vale’s race line coloring the kiss, and Vale answers.

His teeth bite at Marc’s bottom lip, exercising a little more control, and he crowds forward, using his height to push Marc’s head back, hand splayed on the edge of his jaw. Directing him, coaxing him. And Marc relaxes like that, back arching into Vale as the kiss extends. A surrender.

Vale’s got him where he wants him, and he doesn’t want to leave. He wants to lift a thigh, get Marc pressed up high and tight against him, wants to drag him off to his motorhome, see how far Marc is willing to let him go, wants to—

Another camera shutters, louder, closer, and it breaks the thread between them, bringing them back to reality. To why they’re here. Vale clears his throat, and Marc ducks his head.

Suddenly Vale’s chest hurts, feels cracked open with Marc tucked up against him, nose edging inside his jacket to find some warmth against Vale’s collarbone. So solid and warm and real. The only way Vale gets to hold him anymore is like this, for the cameras.

Love you, he lets himself think, probably for the first time. Love you, he doesn’t say. The camera shutters, and he pulls Marc closer into the well of his body.

[knaveumineko]

Umineko Episode 5 Blog: A World Without Love

This is maybe the best one so far. I read the whole thing in one day and it felt like it took an hour. It's not the best story (Episode 1 still reads like it was written by a different author to everything after it) but it was easily the most fun I had reading an episode.

Ryukishi opens the Answer arcs by using the structure of Beatrice's game to present a parody of the murder mystery genre, presumably with the intent of highlighting how his own story differs from it. Erika is not only the best character in the story, but also pulling this double duty of both reimagining the detective character as an antagonist and chastising readers who engage with Umineko incorrectly.

Erika maintains the tradition of the detective as an outsider, but her investigations are framed as voyeuristic and bad-faith. I wondered if her story about Natsuhi's motives was meant to be some kind of commentary on female culprits in golden age detective fiction, but I don't have the background in the genre to know what the tropes are. As far as the fan commentary goes, we obviously have the quote where she misses the solution completely because she only pays attention to red truths. I also found it funny the way Ryukishi tries to make you hate her by deliberately painting her as a self-insert Mary Sue: she's super smart and everyone likes her and she's insane in the exact way that would be useful if you're in a detective story so I'm technically not metagaming and she's also a forensics expert too.

What it is that makes Lambdadelta's game a game without love? Probably the fact that Battler became an accomplice. The whole point of the murders is to show them to him, so it doesn't make any sense to have him in on it. It's interesting that this apparently isn't a rule break. I've been thinking that the way Sayo is so willing to butcher even those she genuinely cares for might be a function of the story-within-a-story gimmick. Sayo generally tries to keep everyone in-character, but because she has to play the culprit, she's able to write her own character as doing whatever the plot demands, even if it's not something she'd go through with easily in real life. It would fit the description of the fifth game being something she could have written, but would not have chosen to normally.

Episode 5 plays around with the boundaries between the real world and the meta world so much that it can be difficult to reconstruct what's actually happening on the gameboard. We never actually see Erika's perspective a single time in her own story. What is actually happening in her head when she declares her Detective's Authority to Battler and it actually works? Who is the Bernkastel Erika mentions on the gameboard. Does she conveniently have a delusion of the witch that created her?

My theory on what Erika's Authority actually means in-universe is that everyone is letting her play detective because having a neutral 3rd party accuse Natsuhi carries more weight than one of the siblings doing it. It became clear during Hideyoshi's death scene that the murders were being faked, although I'm not sure to what extent Sayo is involved. She probably killed the fake victims at the end of the story.

I wonder if the scene of the letter arriving is meant to represent Sayo disclosing her identity to everyone. I'm assuming Sayo is the baby from 19 years ago, if that baby isn't a total mislead, and disclosing this fact might be enough to get Battler on-board with a plan to pressure Natsuhi into a confession. The adults, I assume, just want to wrestle control away from Krauss. They probably even kidnapped him from his bed. In that case, what was the window thing about? Battler could have said nothing and Natsuhi would be in a lot of hot water. Is he conflicted on the plan?

Of course, the baby from 19 years ago being real would present a pretty major plot hole, in that it would imply that Natsuhi did something wrong, which I've been reliably informed is not possible.

Also, it was really funny to meet Knox for the first time and find that she thinks about the story in the exact same way that I do. I read back that Ground Rules post bemusedly after seeing half of the points I made get repeated by the characters in the story.

[swanwonyoung]

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with this video and my wonyoungism pinterest board

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

i will show you wonyoungism in pink, blue, black, red, literally in any color you like, because it's not about it at all.

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welcome to another guide !

a productivity guide (🍀)

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chapters 🪼

let's talk about the perfect routine and the negative effects of it.

how to be productive without being overwhelmed.

tips that worked for me and tips that didn't work for me.

there are other isms???

chapter one 🍀🌷🍏🩷

first of all, what is a perfect routine?

chatGPT gave me a short explanation about it and i also asked about the negative side, here is the answer :

A perfect routine is a balance between productivity and self-care. It includes time for work, exercise, learning, and relaxation. Flexibility is key, allowing space for creativity and rest. Small, consistent habits shape long-term success. The best routine is the one that makes you feel fulfilled and energized.

A "perfect" routine can become restrictive and stressful. The pressure to be productive all the time may lead to burnout. Lack of spontaneity can make life feel dull and repetitive. Missing a task might cause guilt instead of motivation. Balance is important, but so is embracing imperfection.

and this lack of motivation actually happened to me and i felt guilty for not completing some tasks, so you can trust me when i say that i know an actual routine that can help you like it helps me everyday, the first step is : embracing imperfection, just like chatGPT answered for me.

this video that i am using as a recommendation is actually for my first tip :

☆ consume content that aligns with your goals, for example: being more present on wonyoungism.

When you constantly consume visual content of what you want to do, little by little your subconscious will understand that you can also do what you see in those videos, it's like an invisible motivation, and actually i've been doing this for two years, and it's not just for wonyoungism, it's for studies, for workouts, literally everything, i even get motivated to organize my space just by watching videos about it, so it works.

“but in the video everything looks perfect”

trust me, i know that it looks like a perfect routine, but that's what i wanted to talk about, it's the main reason i wrote all of this, i wanted to let you know that they have a reality different from yours but that doesn't mean you need to ignore them, you can get inspired and adapt everything to your reality, it's okay if you don't have a lot of skin care, i don't have either and the basic works really well for me, it's okay if you don't have everything they have, so i wanted to suggest something we can do together : grab a pen and paper and write down everything you have, and then watch this video and write down things you wanted to have but can't have at the moment. once you've made this list, try to adapt it to your reality.

like for me it's: they have a table where they study, a vanity where they get ready and i don't, so i'll find what i already have here, like a smaller mirror and put it in a place of my choice, and it's in this place where i'm going to get ready for the day and to study i can sit at the table in the kitchen and study/write my daily journaling prompt.

see? it's way better finding solutions than starting to complain about what you have and what you don't.

and that's it for chapter one, if you didn't understand a single thing, you can send me an ask and i'll try to help you.

chapter two 🍀🌷🍏🩷

this was actually my journal prompt for today, and my answer was simple, how can i change my routine to something that doesn't overwhelm me? well, i can adapt what i want to my reality, stop trying to copy and paste those routines to my reality because they don't match, that's basically a little bit of my answer, and that actually gave me the idea to write this mini chapter, i want everyone to know what works and how to do it, so let's dive into this !

don't feel guilty for not being able to complete a task !

easier said than done, but when i started doing this i realized that my routine was never bad, i was the one making it looking bad just because i had 10 tasks for the day and only completed 5, considering it a lost day, when i actually did some of my tasks, but of course i didn't notice that and blamed myself for not being able to keep up with an insane routine, i was writing tasks that didn't fit my reality and that i didn't had enough resources to do it, so i started to reduce my tasks and that made me feel not guilty, because i actually complete my tasks, and if i don't do one thing i actually don't blame myself anymore, this positive effect won't happen overnight, but if you keep trying, it will happen little by little for example, my process took a whole year.

define what is really productive for you

It's kind of a trap to set yourself something you can't do and then feel bad about not being able to do it, I've already put things like doing workouts that go beyond my endurance instead of doing them little by little until I reach that level, just because I saw that in this random perfect routine, so I started to put things that i actually like to do, pilates or yoga, stretching and a light workout, and it works better ! i don't feel overwhelmed, and as a result, i feel like i am more productive this way, because i actually focus and do everything because i enjoy it, not because i feel pressured to do it, i 100% recommend this tip.

i know there are just two tips, but like i said, it's not to overwhelm yourself, but rather so that you can really focus and do it, and really notice your progress.

chapter three 🍀🌷🍏🩷

what worked for me :

adapt the tasks to my reality

a to-do list without too many tasks

more time to focus on what i have to do than tasks

what didn't work :

set a time limit to complete tasks

try to study without the pomodoro method

there are more things, but i wanted to focus on these, i tried to study or do anything else without breaks and it doesn't work for me, because i lose focus, if i'm not focused on what i set out to do, i'll do it without any effort, that time won't have been of any use.

remembering that: you don't have to copy my list because what might work for me might not work for you, and what doesn't work for me might work for you, but you can use it as an example to write your own version.

chapter four 🍀🌷🍏🩷

yes, there are other isms, but i'll actually tell you the ones i also follow besides wonyoungism, because there are a lot that i don't know about but i see people following, but my other isms are:

iveism, sserafimism, aespaism

yunjinism ( yunjin huh, le sserafim )

haerinism ( haerin kang, njz )

winterism ( minjeong kim, aespa )

and a new one : leeseoism (hyunseo lee, ive )

[thejournallo]

How Media's Portrayal of the Paranormal Sends Us Hidden Messages

Hello Hello! i've been absent for enough time. i need this to be a official restart and Today I want to dive into something that's been on my mind lately – how movies, TV shows, video games, and other media featuring paranormal elements might actually be sending us deeper messages than we realize.

have you ever seen a movie and thought "okay this is a lil too real and a lil too deep, it something else about it?" or have a strange unknown feelings that there is more about it that we want to admit? that's what i want to talk about!

Discleimer: Please note that the viewpoints expressed in this blog post reflect personal interpretations and are not intended to influence your beliefs. Consider this as an exploration of ideas rather than a directive on what to believe, acknowledging the potential cognitive influences involved. In less professional words: This is just what I believe, and I wanted to share it with you. Believe whatever feels right to you, and don’t let anyone pressure you into believing something you don’t want to.

Have you ever noticed how powerfully media influences what we believe is possible? The way supernatural phenomena are consistently portrayed across our screens creates a shared cultural understanding that shapes how we interpret our own unusual experiences.

Think about it – when someone experiences something they can't explain, they often reach for concepts they've seen in movies or TV: ghosts, energy fields, parallel dimensions. This effectively programs our perception filters! The more we consume these ideas through entertainment, the more they shift from "impossible" to "maybe possible" in our minds.

This connects directly to our manifestation work – our beliefs about what's possible significantly impact our ability to manifest our desires. Media might be subtly expanding (or limiting) those beliefs without us even realizing it.

There are some things I've noticed that stood out to me when I see content like this.

Reflecting Our Collective Fears

Ever notice how paranormal movies seem to change with the times? That's because they mirror our collective anxieties! Possession films exploded during periods when people felt their cultural identity was threatened. Apocalyptic supernatural scenarios gained popularity during times of environmental or political uncertainty. These aren't just random trends – they're symbolic expressions of what we collectively fear.

Teaching Moral Lessons Through Supernatural Consequences

So many paranormal stories follow the same pattern: someone breaks a rule or moral code, and supernatural consequences follow. Sound familiar? These aren't just scary stories – they're modern morality tales warning us about the dangers of specific behaviors or attitudes. The message might be: don't mess with forces you don't understand, respect boundaries, or honor the past.

Hiding Truths in Plain Sight

Sometimes creators use supernatural elements to discuss topics that would be too controversial or difficult to address directly. By wrapping real-world issues in paranormal packaging, they allow us to engage with uncomfortable truths from a safe distance. Some believers even suggest certain creators intentionally embed warnings about hidden realities this way.

Connecting Us to Ancient Wisdom

Many paranormal stories draw heavily from historical mystical traditions and ancient knowledge systems. Could these portrayals be serving as conduits for forgotten wisdom? Traditional understandings of reality repackaged for modern consumption? The next time you watch something supernatural, notice the ancient symbols and concepts being referenced!

Expanding Our Consciousness

Stories featuring altered states, psychic abilities, or different dimensions challenge us to question our perception of reality. These narratives might be gently encouraging us to consider possibilities beyond our everyday experience – perfectly aligning with our work on shifting and manifestation!

Summary

This post explores how media representations of the paranormal influence our beliefs and perceptions. It suggests that these portrayals shape our understanding of what is possible, reflect societal fears, teach moral lessons through supernatural consequences, and may even hide deeper truths or ancient wisdom within their narratives. Additionally, it proposes that such media can expand our consciousness by challenging our perceptions of reality.

What do you think about this theory? Have you ever watched a paranormal movie or show that felt like it was hinting at something deeper? I'd love to hear your thoughts! And as always, I’m here to answer any questions!

[random-things-of-mine]

𝘊𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯

Rainbow Factory Wally x GN Reader

- - - - -

"Don't touch any of the machines, there are camera's everywhere. If you still do I will know about it."

Rainbow stated, already regretting to give his alternative versions a tour in his factory.

"And stop bothering my personal assistant, I need them to focus on their job."

Y/n turned to face him, trying to give him reassuring look.

"They aren't that distracting, I can multi task just just fine.”

"You don't look half bad in that labcoat, better than your boss over there." Opposite mumbled.

"Oh thank you-" Y/n heard him and tried be polite.

"I wasn't complimenting you, geez no need to smile."

"Hmm sure."

His face was slightly flushed as he acted all defensively while they just calmly stared at him.

"I think you would look even better without it~" Lovesick joined the conversation, the tone in his voice was very flirty.

"To bad, the labcoats are mandatory." Y/n laughed, seeing no harm in comment.

They where about to say something else but another one of the bunch was already trying to get their attention.

"Get your grabby hands away from that-"

"You are no fun!"

Rainbow was restraining Opposite from mixing different vials with colors together. Wasting the substances as he had no clue on how the techniques they normally used here.

"My sincere apologies but it seems like three members of our group have disappeared...." Royal said apologetically.

Mob had sneaked away to rob the factory cafeteria snacks. His presence intimidating the poor staff.

Actor went out of his way to give out authographs of himself. Also trying to demand- convince everyone to watch his show.

Original had accidentally gotten separated from the group and gotten lost. He was crying somewhere in random hallway.

"We have a sick patiënt here, we might need to head to the infirmary." Priest added, as he pointed at Lovesick who had black substance leaking from his mouth and eyes, leaving stains everywhere.

So all in all things wheren't going that smoothly.

Rainbow looked like he was about to snap, Y/n took his hand leading him away to empty room.

"I shall ban all of them permanently from setting foot again on my property."

"Boss, you are clearly stressed out, let me handle this."

He looked at them, the cold look in his eyes became a bit softer, a bit more caring.

"No, you shouldn't concern yourself with them. Those idiots are my responsibility, not yours."

"But I want to help you, now sit and relax. Imma bring those puppets in line."

He felt his lips slighty curl up into a amused smile.

He had seen them tackle down escaping test subjects and using the grinder to drain color from bodies. Now he thought about it, this might actually be to easy for them.

"You get twenty minutes to get them all in my office."

"I’ll do it in fifteen if you take me out on to a nice restaurant of my choice and you'll be paying for everything."

Rainbow knew they would purposely pick a really fancy and pricy place to drain his funds. He stared at his watch, contemplating. Y/n waited for his anwser, looking at him challenging him to agree or they would call him a scared chicken to his face.

"You get ten minutes, or else we are splitting the costs."

"Deal!"

"Ah free food~ Nothing I love more in this world." Y/n smiled, letting out a exaggerated sigh.

"I can't believe they charge such a ridiculous amount of money for a simple salad." Rainbow grumpily remarked as he stared at the menu card.

The assistant stared at their boss, happy he took the time to dress up for the occasion, it almost felt like a date.

"If you wanted to hold my hand you could've just asked." They giggled, feigning innocence as his prosthetic was placed on top of their hand (having moved it themselves as he wasn't paying attention).

"I don't recall leaving my hand in that position... someone is in a cheeky mood I see." He said, now putting pressure onto the weight of his arm, trapping their hand under his one.

"Hey! I still need that arm to eat."

"That's to bad, afterall I just wanted to hold your hand so badly." He said mockingly.

Y/n tried to get free but their attempts where in vain, now they couldn't properly eat as they had terrible coordination skills with their other hand.

Rainbow smiled maliciously as he held up a spoonfull of food for them. He used his own free hand to hold it out for them to eat from.

"You seem to be struggling, let me help you."

"I don't want to be spoonfed, I'm not a kid (you wheren't Ophelia 🥰) !"

"Should've thought about that earlier, I don't intend on letting go of your arm now. So accept my offer here or starve."

"Can you at least give me something tasty, I don't want your salad. Unlike you I'm not on a diet."

Rainbow shoved the spoonful of his healthy nutritious meal into Y/n's mouth, deaf to their protests and complaints.

- - - - -

[animeloverskylarmoon]

Mayuri Kurotsuchi (Bleach) -Oneshot

You weren't certain how you got so unlucky. Ichigo always told you that this captain was a psycho. You should have taken it more seriously. Because when you discovered your abilities, the Head captain assured you that they would be able to help to avoid another breakdown like you had in the world of the living.

Splitting a building in half.

You were scared. Terrified that you would hurt someone. You'd gotten lucky that the structure was abandoned, but the next time you wouldn't be as fortunate. So here you were, in the soul society, hiding.

"I just need to make it to Rukia, then she can open that freaking portal and get me out of here."

You had one meeting with Mayuri Kurotsuchi and that was enough. He went on a tangent about all the experiments he wanted to conduct and it became clear that he had no interest in helping you hone your skills.

"There she is Nemu."

You flinched from your spot behind the wall. You weren't even offered a chance to run.

"W-Wait!!"

"Knock her out."

With a swift tap to the back of your head, your vision faded.

~~

"Such bothersome creatures, humans."

You were laying on the table and Mayuri moved closer, holding the needle.

"Master, if you'd explained to her that we were actually trying to help she might have been more willing."

Mayuri just grinned.

"Everything I do has a purpose. Powers such as hers are typically more prominent when she's in fear. I was merely checking to see if I could urge a fraction of that energy. I was right. You saw it didn't you?"

Nemu nods.

"Yes master, her reiatsu is quite raw. Humans in the world of the living are quite unique."

"Indeed they are. I will enjoy this."

He pressed the needle into your skin, watching the liquid slide beneath your skin as he stepped away.

"Now we wait until she wakes up. You're dismissed."

"Yes master." Nemu bowed, walking away.

Mayuri's gaze moved back to your form. You shifted against the table, and his eyes narrowed.

"Is she waking already?"

You should have been asleep for at least another hour, especially with what he'd just administered into your bloodstream. He placed the needle down, moving closer. Your eyes opened lazily, and Mayuri just folded his arms.

"How unusual, you're already awake."

It took a moment for you to gather your bearings, but when you did, your eyes shot open. You jolted upright.

"What the hell did you-"

Your statement dropped at the end, and your body disappeared. Mayuri grinned, and you staggered when you reappeared a distance away, eyes shaking in shock. You straightened, and Mayuri just watched you proudly. Your eyes drifted to your hands.

"W-What just happened..."

"I believe I fixed your problem."

You just stared at him. Because although he'd literally kidnapped you and possibly slipped some crazy evil genius serum in your veins, you couldn't deny that something felt different. It all felt lighter, like you'd dropped some heavy weight.

"Would you like to learn more?"

His grin was wide, because you knew he could see your eagerness to understand what happened. He would no doubt put you through some crazy trails, but your curiosity was brimming. You needed to know.

"I do."

Exactly what he wanted to hear.

~Four Months Later~

"WHAT THE HELL MAYURI!!"

You were being chased by a hollow and Mayuri just watched.

"I told you that your reiatsu was growing. You should never let your guard down."

"NO SHIT!!"

You spun around, clenching your fist. When it jumped at you, your legs grounded and you fired a punch. The base of your hand connected with its mask and the shockwave of energy caved the hollow's mask in, sending a rush of wind that batted against the trees present. The hollow disintegrated almost instantly as the wind began to level out.

You huffed.

"Impressive, your spiritual pressure has grown quite a lot. Your abilities are still very sloppy, but there is always room for improvement."

A vein popped on your head at the statement.

"I'LL SHOW YOU SLOPPY!!"

This was nothing new.

Mayuri made you his little lap dog. Always testing out his crazy theories on you. The first time you mastered flash step, he'd failed to tell you that you were close to the Kuchiki clan's residence. So when you landed in Byakuya's koi pond and killed some of his precious fish, it's safe to say that you'd spent that night in the fourth squad barracks getting healed by Hanataro.

He was a menace to society. An effortless genius, but a bastard. After your outburst, you'd left and headed to hang out with Nemu and her little association. She was having tea with some of the other female reapers.

"Then he says that I'm sloppy, do you believe that!!"

Okay, so maybe you just came to vent.

Rangiku laughs.

"That does sound like him."

You sighed heavily.

"I just wish he'd help me without it always turning into me ending up with a dozen bruises. Is that too much to ask?"

" I understand you might be skeptical, but Master must have faith in your abilities."

You snort.

"Like if, he just enjoys having me around to mess with." You grumbled.

Nemu wore a smile.

"Master has never taken interest in anyone who wasn't on some level important. Especially humans. In his eyes, there is worth. It may not seem like it, and he will never say it, but to him, you matter."

The statement was not what you were expecting.

You didn't want to talk about it further, so you grabbed a cup of tea and downed it like alcohol as Yachiru cheered in the background.

As you were making your way back after hours of venting, her words still wouldn't leave you.

That's why when you headed to his barracks, it was just a distraction. Your trips to the soul society were usually you hanging out with Mayuri and ending up in some kind of crazy situation.

Although that was the truth, you could have walked away at any time. You didn't have to keep coming back.

"So why do I.."

You couldn't answer the question.

"He will never say it, but to him, you matter."

You blushed as the words played back.

"I-IT'S NOT LIKE I LIKE HIM OR ANYTHING!!"

"Quit your yelling."

The nonchalant voice was expected. You hadn't even realized that you walked into his personal lab.

The blue haired male standing before you was not who you expected to see.

"W-WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!!!"

"Would you seize the yelling."

His voice sounds agitated and you just pointed dumbly, because you knew that voice.

"M-M-Mayuri!!"

He ran a hand through his hair, disinterested.

"Who else would it be? Do you think I would let some stranger into my personal space to exploit my discoveries? I'd quicker dissect them."

A creepy smile grew on his face and you sweatdropped.

"Yep, that's definitely him."

It took you a moment to realize his hair was dripping, as if he just came out of the shower. He was moving around the room casually, yet you still kept your distance.

This was weird.

Your silence must have finally drawn his attention, because he turned to you, and your face heated up.

"Why are you suddenly so quiet?"

"N-No reason!!"

You waved frantically.

He didn't seem to buy that. With one step, he was standing right in front of you.

Mayuri leaned slightly to match your height, wearing that know it all grin.

"Did you fall in love with this face?"

"T-THAT'S RIDICULOUS!!"

His stupid smirk didn't leave, and all you wanted to do at that moment was punch him if nothing but to stop your embarrassment. His hand slid behind your neck, and you meant to question it, but his lips were suddenly pressed to your own, and all you could do was gape like a fish. His sapphire tresses tickled your forehead, and you couldn't help but take in the scent of his wash. It was almost intoxicating.

His tongue drifted over your lips teasingly and you couldn't stop the sound that escaped. Mayuri pulled back, tauntingly. Enjoying the dazed look in your eyes.

"You're transparent, (Y/N)."

You swallowed. Because during the entirety of your partnership, he'd never called you by your name. Nor has he ever looked at you like that.

"Nemu was right.."

It seems you've gained the attention of this crazy genius. You weren't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

[c6jpg]

i haven’t played the quest but i’m very curious why you’d think it sucks ass (will read ur reply after i play it if u do respond. no pressure!)

honestly i can't even pinpoint a specific thing for me it was just that the overall execution was really bad? or unpolished. it felt like reading/playing through a rough draft/bullet point summary of something that could have been good if executed with more care and given like at least 2 or 3 acts to actually flesh itself out. like i actually liked the start of it but then the story really started speedrunning out of nowhere.

i am genuinely undecided if the story itself was truly "bad" bc it's different from the bad i felt with natlan's aq/everyone loves mavuika shit. there were several points with a lot of potential/interest but they just glossed over everything, which is like. the exact opposite of what people were hoping for out of this story. but those potentially good points might only be there bc of the literal YEARS of lore to build up to this point. so to see it be glazed over and "resolved" in such a half hearted way makes it feel almost insulting lol.

more specific spoilerly things under the cut

evil durin not actually getting to resurrect and at best do some goofy villain mimic murder framing shit was such a cop out. i want to SEE the evil dragon damn it and clearly now we never will!!!!

the resolution with mini durin in general just felt like such a cop out ending it COULD have been good if that entire part was fleshed out more, but little dude just showed up at the end and said yeah let's do this!!!!!!!

I also feel like evil durin wasn't really given like. a chance? he was described as an angry child and then completely waved off as a completely evil entity that must die/fuse with mini "good" durin. I feel like previous arcs gave him a lot more nuance (ESPECIALLY from subject 2 parallels and simulanka/mini durin's entire existence) that was just ignored so we could have a clear bad guy to blame everything on

actually ties in with my above point about never getting to see the evil dragon. I feel like we never truly confront durin which kind of felt like. should have been the Big Thing that happens in albedo's story but nah

they really bamboozled us with the trailer lol it painted a compleeeeeetely different picture from what actually ended up happening like all those bad ass scenes with albedo looking all menacing and shit? tame af and a completely different context in the actual quest

i wouldn't have hated the "reveal" that the whole murder set up was actually a long term plan to lure out evil durin if it was revealed more subtly... and maybe if so many people weren't actually in on it/figured it out... i was actually enjoying the quest up until the fake herta scene and then it just went into a dump of "no yeah we expected this" and then speedran the rest like. okay? glad everything went according to your perfect plan albedo

mondstadt invasion sequence felt so poorly implemented and animated lol but it could have been good if it was even half of what the natlan invasion sequence was like (genuinely the only thing natlan did well). like damn give it at least one proper cutscene that actually makes it look like the city is being invaded

I did like the idea of rotating through the different playable characters defending the city but again implemented so poorly i did not feel any urgency with it. also please never make me play an amber/mika duo ever again

also didn't help that they spent pretty much the entire invasion info dumping the main lore points that led up to this situation like please show don't tell

venti felt somewhat. out of character? in a way that rubbed me the wrong way. like he was too involved. made a lot of things too convenient. or like. it's a bit too common knowledge now that he's barbatos? not exactly sure what it was but I actually did not enjoy venti's presence for once

i liked the hexenzirkel trials bit and that boss fight is fun but it felt like we spent 5 seconds there. there should have at least been a domain leading up to the boss

also spent like 5 seconds speedrunning the resolution with mini durin like okay.......... sure.............. #alchemyYay

honestly everything that happened after the fake herta scene felt like a blur of a nothingburger that also somehow had a lot of lore in it but all the interesting parts of that lore happened off screen so it's really nothing

could literally hear someone yelling in the background of this quest going "OKAYYYY WRAP IT UP MOVE IT ALONG WE GOT OTHER SHIT TO DO"

stop dropping interesting one-liners of lore at the end of quests!!! what do you MEAN rhinedottir ate the ruler of life!!!!!

[janeyshivers]

how Mobile Suit Gundam SEED and SEED Destiny misunderstands eugenics (and how 0079, Zeta, and ZZ nailed it)

(note; unless i specify otherwise, i'm using 'Gundam SEED' as a catch-all for the combined 100 episode run of both Cosmic Era shows)

Gundam SEED is built around the idea of genetic modification on steroids, where huge populations of Coordinators (Spacenoid stand-ins, living in the Cosmic Era's equivalent of the Sides, the PLANTs) are genetically modified in-vitro to be immune to disease, to be stronger, smarter, and kind of better at everything than unmodified Naturals (Earthnoid stand-ins who are just normal-ass Earth people). i feel like this core setup, and the way the show handles it, falls into the trap of treating the arguments of eugenicists seriously, when there's absolutely no reason to give them an inch on anything, something that the early UC understood all too well.

for one thing, Gundam SEED fails to actually address any of the really pertinent questions gene therapy raises, especially since SEED doesn't just feature genetic engineering as a plot device like G-Witch and ZZ, it bases an entire faction around its use and makes it the driving force of the show's core conflict. the show does not, for example, broach the extremely thorny topic of how genetic modification will affect the marginalised. many current pushes for genetic modification are pushed by insane eugenics groups, and the show never addresses whether, for example, the PLANTs try to gene edit out autism, or screen for any kind of genetic markers for being gay or trans. it doesn't ask whether there is any validity to the search for genetic explanations for these things, as contemporary eugenics organisations such as Autism Speaks insist. would non-white Coordinator parents be pressured to bump their kid's skin up a couple of shades to reduce the impact of racism and colourism on their lives? we see from the forced-labour camps the Alliance sets up in North Africa during Destiny that the CE is a world where racism is still very much a cultural force, and yet SEED never addresses how that interacts with Coordinators, despite a lot of the roots of modern genetic research (undoubtedly something that has led to a lot of positive medical advances) nonetheless lying in the 'scientific racism' of the early 20th century. an unfavourable reading might even point out that since we never see any of this stuff addressed or treated as a problem (for example, we don't meet any queer or neurodivergent Coordinators), SEED accepts that these are indeed qualities for which there are genetic markers, and it's not worth examining that the PLANTs bin them. that is a slightly unfair reading because the lack of those kinds of characters among Naturals suggest it just wasn't something the writers felt they could include for whatever reason, but then I would argue that if you're not able to address these things then you have no business writing a science fiction story where an entire core culture is built around genetic modification in the first place.

i'm not arguing that any stories about genetic modification are, by definition, eugenicist; G-Witch features it in the form of Suletta herself, and Notrette's patented brand of Tasty Tomatoes. the difference is that the show doesn't feature an entire society built from the ground-up around genetic engineering, which makes the comparisons to fascists less immediate, and even then G-Witch takes the time to address that Suletta herself feels like her only value is as a tool, precisely because she was genetically engineered to fulfil a specific purpose. it comes closer to grappling with the real dark side of these ideas in a 25 episode run than SEED did in 100.

instead, the framing of genetic modification in SEED as creating people who are, unambiguously, better at absolutely everything, and whose main obstacle is jealousy from unmodified people, accepts at face value the premise that to be superior due to your genetics is possible. by doing this, and also ignoring any of the real concerns marginalised people had at the time, and continue to have to this day about the possible uses of genetic modification, the show comes off as validating eugenicists. while SEED hedges on the details, i would argue that by accepting this as a basic premise to begin with, the show has already validated an extremely noxious worldview.

that being said, the Coordinators do experience significant problems with fertility, with birthrates collapsing in the third generation and requiring interbreeding with Naturals to sustain their population. the show does not assert that genetic modification makes the Coordinators into flawless ubermensch, and clumsily attempts to argue for a middle ground between fascistic genetic purity and a degree of equality between Naturals and Coordinators. imo the issues the PLANTs end up having is because SEED isn't like, actively trying to write a treatise on why eugenics is good, instead, the writers chose a hot-button issue to address and then badly fumbled it, in the process treating seriously and partially validating ideas that are in the real world just a flimsy cover for racial hatred and other bigotries. to my mind, it's saying that eugenics works to a point and then starts to break down, but i think the idea that it can work up to any kind of point is giving it a lot more credit than it really deserves.

my core frustrations with that are a) that SEED is actually pretty good when it shunts that stuff into the background, e.g. in the first half of Destiny, and it's frustrating watching the show fall back into being about this shit and neglecting the stronger elements like the solid character work with Shinn and Athrun, and b) previous Gundam shows already staked out a strong position that what SEED takes as a given is actually total horseshit. the show's themes would be frustrating enough if they didn't exist as part of a franchise which has previously gotten this issue more or less right, with the highly combat-effective Coordinators being an obvious stand-in for the UC's Newtypes. the Zabis hijack the idea of Newtypes from Zeon Deikun and treat being a Newtype as a matter of genetics because it made their fascist spacenoid supremacy sound semi-legitimate and scientific. meanwhile, the text of 0079, Zeta, and ZZ insists that to be a Newtype is something almost impossible to define quantifiably. characters who are stated in-universe to be Oldtypes nonetheless experience Newtype visions, and the defining factor in developing Newtype abilities is nothing to do with being a pure-blooded Spacenoid, but about the simple fact of existing in space and allowing that to change the way you interact with the world. to my mind, the early UC's position is that while capable of providing miracles like the Sides, science is also too often invoked as a rhetorical device to retroactively justify existing dehumanisation and hatred by making it sound objective and logical, leading to Zeon seeing Earthnoids as so inhuman that killing billions of them in Operation British was acceptable to them. SEED doesn't just lack an interesting take on this core element of the UC (like Iron-Blooded Orphans' focus on how this creates avenues for labour exploitation through the stigmatisation of the Alaya-Vinjana system), it fails to understand it by accepting such a retroactive justification as part of its core premise, something that sticks out really badly because the CE shows are so interested in being a modern update of 0079 and Zeta.

my animosity towards the character of Kira in particular is that he's emblematic of these thematic and worldbuilding fuckups, cut as he is from the eugenic cloth. SEED Destiny's best moments were early on when Athrun seriously questioned Kira on his beliefs for the first time, after Kira insisted that Athrun betray ZAFT over nothing more than a hunch. and yet, Kira is vindicated, and his worldview of peace at all costs, while initially challenged by Shinn and Athrun in Destiny, is treated seriously by the show's end. Destiny's conclusion is that Kira, due to his superior genetics, simply knows better, and that we should sit down, shut the fuck up, and let our families be vaporised by nuclear murderbeams if that's what our genetically pure overlords think is best, even if the best evidence Kira has to support his worldview is little more than a hunch, wisdom granted by his superior genes. again, i don't think SEED understands that this is what it's saying; Kira talks the talk about equality between Naturals and Coordinators, it's just that the text of the show is so muddled and poorly written that it ends up saying the opposite. taken along with all of the other ways in which his character ends up screwing with the elements of SEED that i find legitimately compelling and interesting, it's difficult not to really hate him, and to find SEED as a whole deeply frustrating and disappointing.

SEED Freedom does so little to develop any of these ideas that it's honestly barely worth mentioning. having spent 100 episodes ceding ground to the eugenics shit, Freedom mostly just plays in the space that was created for it. it's much more concerned with bullshit comphet and assassinating the blackened, charred remains of Shinn's character than it is with grappling with the fact that "hey the show kept saying eugenics works do we maybe want to examine that a little in our legacy sequel". bad movie for a variety of reasons, but mostly unconnected from what im on about here.

[becomingpart2]

e https://impalementation.tumblr.com/post/188475654600/if-youre-still-taking-asks-you-mentioned-you-had hi, if you mind reading i link this to you

Okay, so I'm finally responding to this ask lol. Sorry for the wait.

I understand what this person is saying and I'm not going to go into every point because that's their interpretation. There's nothing to be discussed in how someone chooses to see symbolism because that's abstract and subjective.

What I am going to address is this:

"the point of seeing red is that buffy is capable of growing past that instability, is capable of saying no and meaning it"

Buffy had already been saying no before Seeing Red. She had been saying "no" from the beginning but even if we want to argue that the consent was left "ambiguous" in most of their encounters, Buffy had already reached that moment in her arc that OP mentions before Seeing Red. Buffy ends her "relationship" with spike several episodes earlier in As You Were.

Spike was the one who, as usually, wouldn't quit, wouldn't leave her alove. He insisted with her and bitched about it in the subsequent episodes, he even hooks up with Anya after she's left at the altar by Xander in a very deliberate "rebound" move from both of them where they're both kinda like "fuck our exes". So yeah I think he understood what Buffy meant and, most importantly, Buffy had already moved past that "uncertainity" and instability phase, she was making her decisions and sticking with them. It was Spike the one who couldn't/wouldn't accept what she decided. Who would follow her around and try to pressure her into budging, trying to make her doubt herself again. He was the one who pushed the situation to get to the point it got in Seeing Red, it had already ended as far as Buffy was concerned.

"with that in mind, i see buffy loving spike by the last episode actually as a matter of her loving herself [...] i see buffy’s advocacy re: spike throughout s7 as a direct, deliberate reversal of how she treated him in s6. just as she was determined to see him (read: herself) as a thing in s6, she is determined to see spike in s7 as deserving of forgiveness, as not a thing."

Like I said, I won't discuss whether this person is right or wrong for seeing spike as "the id" of the show (I think you could argue that for all vampires in the show, spike is just the one who stays the longest but his behaviour is not any different from any other soulless vampire when it comes to the common traits usually pointed out but anyway). So yeah I won't discuss whether that's right or wrong because that's their interpretation.

Because of that, I can understand why someone who sees Spike as the representation of Buffy's repressed id (something that could also be argued about Faith, which to me holds a bit more water since she's also a slayer) would say that her treatment of Spike in S6 and S7 mirrors how she sees herself. I can understand why someone would think that if that's how they see Spike's role in the show.

The issue with this interpretation and the subsequent defense of S7 is that it engages in abuse apologism because of the way that it whitewashes Spike's actions to merely being a reflection of Buffy's feelings. Similarly to the point made about the ambiguous consent of their relationship earlier, it places a responsibility on Buffy's shoulders for failings that are entirely Spike's. Buffy being depressed and feeling shitty about herself does not grant permission for another person (monster or not) to abuse her. It does not give permission for another person to take advantage of her vulnerable state. And that is true to any person, whether they're a superhero like Buffy or not. Someone being in a really low point of their life, struggling with their self-worth is not an open invitation for others to take advantage and it's not their fault if someone does it.

I understand that Buffy might have felt like she needed to forgive herself for how she acted in S6 but the truth is that she didn't do anything wrong. By choosing this line of defense of how S7 handled the lack of acknowledgement of the abuse in S6, you're implying that Buffy did something wrong that she needed to forgive herself for. And she didn't. Buffy could have an arc about "forgiving herself" without the show brushing off what happened, without leaving what happened between them in this ambiguous place where no one was at fault and because of that implying that both of them were. Because they weren't equally at fault. Even worse, this interpretation heavily suggests that what happened was actually entirely Buffy's fault - if only she wasn't so repressed, if only she was more at peace with her id, she wouldn't have fallen in a self-destructive path that would lead to "monsters" like Spike, who just don't know any better, taking advantage of her and hurting her.