#because that wasn't how the pin was described in the book

[deanpinterester]

the illustrated hunger games is finally gonna have the real mockingjay pin i see

[kquil]

REMUS LUPIN | 15:09 ⏤NOT SO SECRET ADMIRER

SUM. : you can't hide your adoration for remus lupin and often end up staring at him, good thing he thinks you're really cute

G. : obvious secret admirer reader ; flustered remus ; reader is adorable but shy ; remus is insecure ; james, sirius and peter being a tease ; fluff

LENGTH : 1.2k

NOT PROOFREAD OR EDITED

The first time Remus noticed you, he thought you were staring at the man beside him instead, boisterously laughing away at a comment James made. It was a common occurance to see cute girls longingly pinning after one of his best friends from a distance because why wouldn’t that be the case? Sirius had the looks, the attitude, the charms, he had everything. And, although Remus was happy for his friend, he couldn’t help but feel slightly tortured over the fact that some who had such a darling look about them fell for such a notorious playboy. 

Before he could stop himself, Remus pointed you out to Sirius, who immediately turned towards you, eager to send a flirtatious wink your way but quickly realised the slight misalignment of your gaze. Following your stare, a slow smirk took over his dashing features.

“Nah, she’s staring at you mate,” Sirius chuckles, relishing in his tall friend’s shocked and flustered expression.

“No way that’s true…” Remus uttered. He hardly gains any attention because of his visible scars, he can’t imagine such a cute girl giving him such courtesy. 

“See for yourself,” Sirius prompts with a subtle nod in your direction. He’s a little impressed by how lost in the moment you were, staring at Remus with such a yearning stare, he feels a little swell of pride in his chest knowing that his friend had such a devoted admirer, “look at her and if you meet eyes instantly then she's staring at you, not me. Bonus if she gets flustered and acts like she wasn't looking in the first place,” 

“Fine…” still in disbelief over the fact that he had an admirer, Remus turned in your direction, confident that you would not react in the way Sirius had described. 

“You’ve got a sweet one there Moony,” Sirius teased, preparing for the usual shove to push his shoulder back but it never came. 

You reacted exactly as Sirius had described and Remus couldn’t believe just how cute you were.

After that small encounter, Remus has noticed you more and more often. It’s come to the point where the other marauders had begun teasing him by pointing you out in the sea of students whenever they happened to spot you.  

“Hey look, it’s your missus, Moony,” Sirius grinned, pointing at you during dinner, “give her some sugar, will you?” 

“Don’t look now but I can see future Mrs Lupin staring at her beloved for the 1000th time today,” James directed Remus’ attention to you staring at him while walking to a class, hugging your books to your chest, “I wonde-'' James began but was cut off when he and the rest of the marauders saw you bump into another student with a squeak. You had been so distracted with your staring that you neglected to look where you were going. Could you get any more adorable?

“It’s your wife, Moony, don’t be shy now and say hello,” Peter jabbed at Remus’ side with a toothy grin, brows jumping up and down in suggestion.

They all deserved being hit upside the head for their teasing but they persisted; they knew Remus had grown a unique fondness for you too and, despite their frequent playful taunting, at some point they worried that Remus would soon grow tired of you but his affection only seemed to grow more instead. Soon enough, they found out that you were a year below them and a Ravenclaw who, naturally, spent a lot of her time in the library studying. 

In support of their friend, the boys sacrificed more time hanging out at the library so that Remus and you could have your moment together. That moment being more like stolen glances from across the room when the other wasn’t looking. 

It started off cute but now it was just pure frustration for all the marauders but Remus.

Clearly there could be something between you two but you didn’t know that you had caught Remus’ attention and Remus was too afraid to confront you himself, his insecurities winning over the obvious fact that you liked him. They did their best to tempt Remus into making a move but he was stubborn and stood his ground; the boys grew terribly close to pulling out patches of their own hair. 

Remus doesn’t ever act on his desires. For a very long time, he has discouraged himself from doing things he wants to do simply because he doesn't think he deserves to be happy. Because he is a monster. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up and he doesn't believe he could be a boyfriend that you so clearly deserve. You need someone present, who won’t keep secrets, who can provide a good future for you and that someone wasn’t him. You’re very cute and your dream-like staring is flattering but Remus couldn’t do something so cruel to you. 

“I’m sure she will understand, Moony,” Sirius reassures as the four of them walk to their next class. 

“Yeah, we don’t care for your furry little problem, and as your future wife, neither would she,” James adds as Peter nods along beside him. 

“Stop it,” Remus demands in a soft tone. He knows they mean well but his decision is final, he’s staying away from you. 

“Ah!” a squeal followed by the thudding of fallen books relays the sudden force that collides with Remus’ torso. The boys notice something far earlier than he did and have jumped away without being noticed, leaving Remus to panic as he realises who you are and what had just happened. 

Immediately kneeling down, Remus helps you collect up your books and other equipment, “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, are you alright?” Remus rambled, his eyes searching your figure for any sign of injury; he knows he’s a big, tall guy and with his infliction had an unassuming strength behind his lanky figure so he was worried. Thankfully you seemed okay.

It doesn’t take long for you to realise who you had bumped into and were forced into a trance as your movements slowed and restored to what you were used to doing - staring at the man of your affections in awe. There’s something about Remus Lupin that draws your eye. As a prefect, he’s already well respected and carries a dignified air about him that contrasts endearingly to his soft appearance. 

He’s really pretty and handsome, so much so that his scars never take away from his looks, instead the marred skin adds to his unique charms. You adore how smart he is, you love his smile, love that he smells like chocolate whenever he walks past, love the way his hands look when he’s reading a book - you adore him. But you’ve always been too shy to confront anyone and that included Remus, so you settled for keeping your distance and admired him from afar only. 

Now that you were forced into such an innocuous but incredibly intimate interaction with him, you don’t know what to do. You let him guide you back up to your feet and hand you back your small pile of books. He’s smiling at you and saying words you couldn’t hear because you were just so enamoured. 

“You’re really pretty…” you whisper with admiration in your eyes and love in your voice, realising too late what you had said aloud and running off in embarrassment, desperately uttering your apologies as you go. 

With the tips of his ears glowing red, Remus stares off at your retreating figure with a soft smile on his lips.

‘Maybe I should ask her out…’ 

A/N : remus is too pretty for his own good, ami right or am i right?

NAVI. | PART 2

[wonderlandwalker]

Adventure Unlocked | Eddie Munson x Reader

Stranger Things Masterlist / Inbox

Summary: You unexpectedly figure out a new kink Eddie has and plan the perfect moment to test it out

Content Warnings / Tags: Smut, 18+, porn with very little plot, PnV

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Once again not proofread but I haven't had much time to write recently so still wanted to post this. Got the idea from a request @urhoneycombwitch read and couldn't get it out of my head so here's my take on it.

It was supposed to be just another day at Eddie's trailer, a study date like the two of you regularly had, where you would try and catch up on reading and Eddie would do anything but. Except dates with Eddie were rarely like they were supposed to be, and today wasnt an exception. He was sitting at his desk, working on a new campaign while you sat at the bed with your books spread out, trying to concentrate but inevitably reading the same paragraph over and over again.

“Can you hand me the folder from the nightstand please?” You weren’t listening, not really anyway, only humming in respone, causing him to call out once more.

“Sweetheart, hand me the notes.” He was more assertive now, his tone of voice deeper in order to capture your attention, and it worked. 

“Yes sir.” It was meant as a quip, as banter the two of you were so used to, but Eddie’s head shot up the moment you said it. You noticed the blush creeping up on his neck as his mouth was slightly opened, eyes staring into yours. And just as quickly as it had happened, it was gone. A small cough to recover his composure and his focus back on his writing, but you still caught his glance everytime he looked in your direction, still noticed the manner in which he fidgeting wirh his pen. You had noticed, and there was no turning back now.

"Eddie" he only hummed in response to your inquiry, not daring to make eye contact just yet

"Eddie, look at me" he was slow to comply, nervous about your response, because Eddie wasn't stupid, the cat was out of the bag now.

"Does that turn you on?" Still hesitant, he moved his head up once more, not realising how much closer You had gotten to him by now, but the moment he looked at you, all his worries disappeared, because your expression was soft, there was a twinkle in your eyes that he could only describe as exited, and the way your pupils were dilated told him he wasn't the only one into this.

"Yeah" it was barely a whisper, a confession he didn't think he'd be making, so delicately given because he knew you would never crush it. 

Just as you were leaning in to connect his lips with yours, the front door opened, and Wayne shouted to inform you he had gotten home from work, having picked up dinner for the three of you on his way, so you decided to put a pin in your new discovery. 

The next days came and went as the both of you were busy trying to keep up with life, and Eddie didnt push the subject, perhaps worried it was not something you were comfortable with, but little did he know he only needed to wait a little bit longer, because you had been planning. Planning the perfect moment to continue where the two of you had left off, and right now while you were at the hellfire club is where it all came together, 

He looked at the clock above the door and back to you, his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

“Where is everyone else?” They were never late, always so eager to get started they wouldn’t dare miss anything.

“I told them we’re starting a bit later today” Your tone was nonchalant, and it threw him off further.

“Why would you tell them that?” He looked so cute while thinking so hard, trying to trace back the day to figure out what had warrented this.

“Because I have some other plans first.” You had pushed your chair back, walking over to where he was sitting.

“What are you talking about” He was still very much in the dark, not quite catching on to pitch in your voice dropping ever so slightly.

“Don’t you have a quest for me?” You were standing in front of him now, supporting yourself on the arm rests of his throne, he was getting flustered with how close you were, fidgeting from his clueless nature. 

“I didn’t prepare any new adventures.” He looked up into your eyes as you leaned down closer to whisper in his ear.

“I’m sure you can think of one, dungeon master.” You could feel his body shudder from how close you were, and as you leaned back you saw his pupils dilate. 

“Do you mean-”

“Yeah” That’s all it took for him to understand, because he immediately took the opportunity to capture your face in his hands and kiss you with all the might he had. You’re sure he could have simply kept doing that all night, but you had other plans. So you started to trail kisses down his neck, paying extra attention to the pulse point right underneath his ear that you knew made him grow weak every single time, he was putty in your hands, and that’s exactly how you liked it. 

After a little while you lowered yourself to your knees in front of him, looking up at him through your lashes. You could see him struggling to keep his eyes open as you palmed him through his trousers, already hard from the idea alone. He wasted no time in shimmying out of them as you tugged at the fabric, letting it pool around his ankles. 

You didnt waste any more time taking his dick into your hands, stroking him slowly as you watched his head fall back and hit the back of the chair, but that was the last thing on his mind right now.

“Baby please” it was closer to a whine then it was to a question, and it turned you on just the same. You looked up at him once more, the tension causing him to catch your gaze before you spoke.

“Why don’t you make me?” It was a challenge, one he wasnt about to turn down. It only took one more look into your eyes, seeing the calmth behind them, before he complied. He raked his hand through your hair, twisting it in order to get a grip as he pushed your head down towards where he needed you the most. You were more than happy to comply, using your tongue in a sloppy attempt to keep up with the rhythm in which he was pushing down your throat. Eddie’s size had always been hard to take, but with practise and patience you had gotten better at it, breathing through your nose now as he hit the back of your throat, causing a slight gag from you which in turn made him realised a loud moan of your name as he leaned back into his throne. 

“Have I ever told you how amazing you are?” It was sweet, how he could be so out of his mind and still remind you, still praising you.

His grip faltered and you took it as a sign to double your effort, taking him deeper until your nose nestled against his pelvic bone, making you gag against him. A borderline sinful moan left him at the feeling, and as you were about to prepare yourself for the feeling of his cum sliding down your throat, he pulled you off him. For a split second you wondered if something was wrong, but the moment you met his eyes and saw the raw lust radiating in them, you knew what was about to happen.

“I need to be inside of you sweetheart, sit on my lap” This was the Eddie you had been trying to lure out, and you wouldnt dare let him ask twice. 

So you got off your knees and as you stood up his hands found the backs of your thighs, pulling you into his lap. His mouth attached itself feverishly to your neck, sucking bruises you’re sure would be visible for days, not that you’d mind. His hands were everywhere now, roaming over your ass and finding their way underneath your shirt as he took your nipples between his fingers and tugged at them, causing you to arch your back, leaning further into him.

“Does that feel good baby” His tongue was still hot on your skin, and the question was muffled by your own body, not daring to lean away from him. All you could do was moan out his name, desperate for him to continue. But right after you did you felt a sting on your ass as one of Eddie’s hands was now massasiging the flesh and his other found its way under your chin, tilting your head to look at him.

“That’s not what you call me now is it.” His tone had dropped an octave, and it was driving you insanel. “I’m sorry.. sir” Immediatly a grin appeared on his face.

“Much better sweetheart.” he moved his head in order to be able to attach his lips to the upper part of your breasts, every once in a while using his teeth to nip at the flesh there. In the meantime his hands made their way back under your skirt, kneading your inner thighs as he inched closer and closer to where you needed him the most. 

“Tell me what you want.” 

“I want you to touch me.” He looked up from where his mouth had made its home, a gleam in his eye that you werent sure you should feel worried or excited, but it sent a thrill down your spine nonetheless.

“I’m already touching you.” 

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean, hm” His fingers trailed closer to your core as they slipped your underwear to the side, sliding over your folds, teasing you.

“You’re so wet for me already, is this where you need me honey” 

“Please-” He kissed you as one of his fingers entered you, his thumb tracing slow circles on your clit as he swallowed your moans.

“That’s it princess, think you can handle another?” You wanted to answer him, but all you could do was nod as he looked at you expextingly, reconnecting your lips in a searing kiss the moment he added another finger, crooking them and causing you to cling onto him, your nails leaving faint scratch marks on his shoulders.

But as the feeling started to build he removed his fingers from inside of you, not leaving you empty for long as you could feel his hard dick at your entrance, pushing all the way inside with one thrust. It always made you feel so full to have him inside of you, and this time was no exception, the way he was stretching you feeling so good.

“Fuck, you’re taking me so well, perfect for me.” His breathing had become laboured, and the way he was already ruthlessly thrusting up in you you figured he wouldn’t be lasting long either. 

“Need you to cum for me sweetheart, think you can do that?” Once again all you could do was whine as your head rested on his shoulder, hoping he knew you well enough to know what you needed.

“Fucking you so good you can’t even talk anymore. Don’t you worry, I’ll take good care of you.” He found your mouth in a slow kiss, much different than the ones before, now he took his time, exploring with his tongue and silencing all the pleas that left you. The moment his long fingers found your clit you were a goner, all that built up tension and pleasure toppeling over as you came undone around him, your walls spasming and gripping him even tighter, etching Eddie towards his orgasm as well.

“Shit baby, where do you want me-”

“Inside, need you to cum inside of me” That’s what did him in, he didnt waste another second as he pushed his hips into you, his cum painting your walls as he let out more profanities. 

For a minute the two of you sat there, with him still inside of you as he traced gentle patterns onto your back with his fingertips, his face nestling into your hair as he basked in your presence.

“We’re definitely doing that again.” His matter of fact tone made you giggling, causing him to squeeze his arms around you in a tight hug

“Whatever you say, dungeon master” His eyes immediately grew dark again at the title, looking down at you with that glimmer you loved to see.

“Careful what you say sweetheart, I can go another round right now” Just as he was about to prove it to you, a series of loud knocks came from the door. “Why is the door locked, are you guys in there?” Dustins voice rang from the hallway, and Eddie started to get up in order to let them in.

You got up in order to move to the chair next to him, but just as you were about to sit down Eddie grabbed you by the hips as he sat down in his throne, positioning you to sit on his lap as you got started on today's session. As you were playing his cum started to drip out of you and onto his leg underneath your skirt, and from the way he started squirming you knew he noticed as well, telling you this definitely wasn’t over yet.

[marzipanandminutiae]

i'd love to learn just how victorian rational dress reformists would react at contemporary feminine hairstyles!

...in a similar line of thought do we have any records about their opinions on the Practicality of little girls hair or even the 20's bob (if some lived to see it)?

I'm not sure!

One of their biggest beefs with hair in their own time was often with hairpieces: false buns, curls, bangs/fringes, etc. used to augment one's natural hair. I'm not sure if they felt it weighed the head down or the extra pins were uncomfortable or what, but they didn't like it. false hair still exists, but its popularity has vastly waned. so maybe they'd think we had solved some issues- though long hair worn loose all the time would probably be seen as Hampering to women's daily activity

You do see some advocacy for short hair as an easier and sometimes healthier (??) option, but more often I've seen artistic and/or Dress Reform-oriented women with short hair who said nothing about it. You also have men who are...clearly just into ladies with short hair writing long Ye Olde Thinkpieces about how great it is. I mean, no shame there, I guess- everyone has their Thing. And while short hair on women was unusual, the Victwardians didn't seem to regard it with the same massive distrust and hand-wringing as conservative commentators of the 1920s did. Perhaps because it was less widespread?

The idea that little girls not only could have short hair but should was fairly common throughout the 19th century, obviously with variations. Similar reasoning was in play to that you might expect nowadays: that it was easier to care for, and that an active child wouldn't be hindered by it. there was also an idea, similar to that which led some women's hair to be cut off during serious illness, that short hair kept the head cooler and prevented or lowered fevers. I've actually read an admonition to keep children's hair short for just that reason in a book from the 1830s- The Ladies' Medical Oracle, by Elizabeth Mott. obviously this wasn't universal- see also: the original Alice in Wonderland illustrations, although it's worth noting that the real Alice Liddell had a bob as a child

(yes, little girls were expected to be active to a degree- even more if you're reading a book by someone who has experience with Actual Human Children. some doctors fretted that the uterus would be damaged by too much physical activity, but it seems like in practice, parents' were...again, aware of how real children behave. Longfellow's 1860 poem The Children's Hour describes his daughters storming his office to shower him with affection, quite energetically, and it was a smash hit)

as for how they reacted to 1920s bobs...well, most of the adult adopters thereof had at least lived through part of the Long Hair As Default For Women Edwardian era, and their thoughts ranged greatly on the subject. In fact, essays by Irene Castle (believed to be the originator of the trend in her late 20s c. 1913 or 1914, long before it caught on properly) and Mary Pickford (a late adopter at age 36 c. 1928) on why they had vs. hadn't cut their hair are often paired together as a commentary on how the trend was seen, along with others. sometimes these essays are rather strange- one wonders why these women, who must have lived when adult women all wore their hair up every day, describe the alleged oppression of "long, trailing locks." I guess when what you like has some social unacceptability, you might be inclined to phrase things in black and white thus

Dress reformers of the 1920s were more concerned with the deleterious effects of high-heeled shoes and the general idea that young women were encouraged to be too frivolous- and too loose in their sexual morals, as represented by the "short skirts"- actually about calf-length -and low-backed evening gowns of the era. that sounds kind of weird today, in the era of sex positivity, but earlier dress reform had, with a few exceptions, disavowed ideas of sexual freedom as thoroughly as mainstream society did. and I kind of get it- the notion that they advocated "free love" was often used to discredit genuine women's rights groups. still they weren't totally immune to sexual mores of their time, and some likely genuinely believed what they were saying

and that's not even getting into the Coiffure a la Titus trend of the late 18th-early 19th century, which had advocates claiming it was the best thing ever and detractors insisting it would result in women catching colds all the time. it was ever thus

anyway that's a bit of a long-winded answer, but I hope it helps!

[lineycantdance]

For all the people clamoring for a book/movie/prequel about Haymitch's Games, why is there virtually ZERO fanart of the 2nd Quarter Quell? Young Haymitch who was canonically a baddie? Maysilee Donner, the OG owner of the Mockingjay pin whose death Katniss explicitly compares to Rue's? Where y'all at?

Suzanne dedicates 3-4 pages in ch 14 of CF to describing Haymitch's Games. We know what the arena was like, how most of the tributes died (bloodbath killed 18, volcanic eruption killed 12), we know how Haymitch outlasted 47 other tributes, we know how he won and why the Capitol was unhappy with his victory.

PLEASE the fact that the arena was designed to look picturesque and enticing but every temptation, from the flowers and fruit, to the butterflies and even the water itself, was toxic like some kind of twisted Garden of Eden???? Gotta hand it to the Gamemakers, that's so scrumptiously evil!

Also, I'm sorry to bring this back to my girlie Maysilee, but the fact that she wasn't killed by another tribute but by flamingo mutts minutes after she broke off her alliance with Haymitch and just as soon as he figured out the force field... Ohhh the Gamemakers did her so dirty!

Honestly, for a character with connections to many established characters in the trilogy, (she was Madge's aunt, Katniss's mom's best friend, AND Haymitch's ally) and who is the originator of an object which was both a testament to the intergenerational dynamics in the series and whose symbolic significance is central to the entire HG franchise, we know very little about Maysilee.

Maysilee's family ran a sweet shop, she owned a pet canary (a songbird used to detect poisonous gas in coal mines) which was bequeathed to Katniss's mother after her death, and she had a twin sister who eventually married the Mayor but suffers from chronic pain, presumably because she remains devastated by her sister's death.

These details establish Maysilee as someone distinctly of the well-off merchant class of D12, and they evoke notions of frivolity, excess, and indulgence. Arguably so does the pin which is described as a family heirloom made of solid gold in the book. And yet, these details also speak to the simple joys in life that should be luxuriated.

Katniss's mother receiving the songbird foreshadows her falling in love with Katniss's father as well as his eventual death in the coal mines. Similar to the cakes in the Mellarks' bakery that Prim so admired, sweets represent joy, beauty, and pleasure, even if rare and fleeting.

Candy as both a source of temptation and pleasure, the canary as both a melodious songbird and detector of poison, plus the fact that the 2nd QQ arena was a poisonous paradise, I feel like these dualities had to be intentional! Maysilee's weapon of choice was poisonous darts. She was both beautiful and lethal.

I would like to imagine that Maysilee had something of a rebellious streak as the original owner of the Mockingjay pin. I would like to imagine that she probably had some important things to say given that the last thing the Gamemakers did to her was rob her of her voice.

Maysilee stuck her neck out for Haymitch and rescued him from a Career tribute before their alliance was formed. I would also like to imagine that, even though she died in the arena, her legacy lives on in the little and big acts of defiance exhibited by the other characters around her.

Her spirit lives on in Katniss's mom who moved from the merchant sector to the Seam to be with Katniss's father. In Madge who brings Gale her mother's medicine after he's whipped for hunting illegally. In Haymitch who becomes a key figure in the rebellion. And obviously in Katniss who risks her life for Prim, Rue, and Peeta.

We're all familiar with the origin story of the Mockingjay as a crossbreed between the mockingbird and a Capitol muttation—the Jabberjay which was intended to gather rebel intelligence but backfired. The Mockingjay thrived outside of the Capitol's control and thus became a symbol of anti-Capitol resistance.

It's called a MOCKINGjay because it made a mockery of the Capitol's failings. Sometimes mockingbirds are called nightingales but Suzanne intentionally used the former in the portmanteau of her fictional bird species because she literally spells things out with her naming conventions!

Thus, any character who acts in defiance of the Capitol's expectations or designs is akin to a Mockingjay. It's Haymitch avoiding other tributes as much as possible and only winning by exploiting the arena's forcefield—the D1 girl's axe backfires, and she's taken out by her own weapon. It's Katniss holding out the berries and refusing to win on the Gamemakers' terms, forcing their hand to let both her and Peeta live. It's Reaper using the Capitol flag for his makeshift morgue.

It's all the tributes who gave solace, comfort, dignity, and respect to other tributes in their deaths (this happens A LOT but notice that all the D12 Victors do this). It's Thresh sparing Katniss for taking care of Rue. It's Peeta playing with the intent of helping Katniss win. It's Mags volunteering for Annie, it's Finnick resuscitating Peeta, etc. It's anyone risking their life or livelihood for someone else's sake. It's care, compassion, and even love persisting in the most brutal of circumstances.

For me, taking risks to care for others is what flies in the face of the Capitol ideology that people are inherently prone to war, violence, and destruction. This is especially true when it happens in the Games which are premised upon an "every man for himself" and "kill or be killed" mentality.

For me, taking risks to care for other people is the power of the Mockingjay symbol. It's also the meaning of the Hanging Tree song; risking everything for the chance of love and true freedom, even unto death. And that kind of hope is what rebellions are built on.

I just think that the Mockingjay pin means so much!!! I didn't even mention how, when Katniss pins it on her green shirt, she associates it with the freedom of being in the woods. It reminds her of her father whose singing voice was so beautiful that the mockingjays stopped to listen. The pin grounds her and makes her feel like she's taking a piece of home, a piece of her father into the arena.

Also, the pin is what makes Rue want to trust Katniss! For Rue, music is the one thing she can't live without, and back in D11 she sings to mockingjays to communicate that the working day is done. Katniss offers to give the pin to Rue, but Rue says she likes seeing it on Katniss better.

Also, let's not forget that the pin is a parting gift from Madge, Katniss's friend who truly cherishes her. As with the crowd who offers her the three fingered salute which she attributes to D12's respect for her father or Prim's loveableness, Katniss has difficulty recognizing that people like Madge already respect, admire, and care for her in her own right for her tenacity and bravery.

Madge is very insistent about informing Katniss that she's allowed a district token and implores her to wear the pin into the arena. This is likely a way of honoring her aunt who presumably also wore the pin as her district token. If so, then it's likely that Haymitch would have recognized the pin which may have given him an extra push to do his utmost to save Katniss because it reminded him of the girl he couldn't save.

Anyway, I feel like the intricacies of the mockingjay pin, its original owner, and its connection to the 2nd QQ are a little underappreciated. Like, this isn't even getting into the everlark parallels that write themselves... Please, Haymitch and Maysilee paved the way. They were the blueprint.

Personally, although I'm just as intrigued about the 2nd QQ as the rest of y'all, I'm fine with it being left up to the readers' imagination. There have been some great fan interpretations both in the form of fanfiction as well as the fan film by mainstay pro: https://youtu.be/7mUjssn86h4?si=PNH1rblPBp1Us5pg

I just find it kind of strange that, given how much interest there seems to be around Haymitch's Games, there isn't that much fan content, discussion, or analyses about them. Please feel free to contribute any thoughts, corrections, or reactions to this post!

[black-is-iconic]

Midnight Lovers

Chapter one : Unspoken Desires

A loud thwack echoed through the air and suddenly your surroundings were shifted, now standing in what looked looked like a blue tinted room, although it could hardly be describe as such, in fact it almost looked like you were still inside the forest, only more…beautiful. It was like a room had merged with nature and taken on a blue tint, it had no discernable boundaries just endless forest and beautifully sculpted furniture scattered about. the floor was covered in lush grass, purplish blue light rains down on you from the cloud ceiling roof above casting the entire space into an ethereal glow. It was quiet and peaceful except for the muffled noises of a babbling brook, you hardly had time to take it all in as he swiftly walked over to a bed, placed you down and snuggled up behind you.

The warmth of his chest bleeding through his shirt was heavenly, his hands respectfully stayed glued to your stomach no unwanted advances were made against you, it was just…soothing, so safe. It was hard to tell who was comforting who, but eventually you fell asleep peacefully nestled comfortably in his arms with the sound of the stream drifting in the background.

And so would start your strange new life with the four clone brothers, with Aizetsu swiftly becoming your favorite with how kind, gentle and attentive he was to you. You quickly grew to love him more than the other clones who were chaotic and unpredictable, unlike Karaku who had wandering hands and a lustful eye and Urogi who was Impulsive, boisterous and rough Aizetsu was always calm, polite and caring.

Every night, (you quickly grew accustomed to their nocturnal behaviors) there was a warm meal prepared for you, a new kimono and he'd even offer to help you style your kinky [H/L] hair or massage any stress or aches from your body with his own gentle touch. For a demon he's quite….compassionate to you at least, you'd seen him snap at his brothers every now and then and it was evident he wasn't above violence…just never towards you.

Today however, you got stuck with Sekido. Out of the four clone brothers he was the most….mysterious, he never once tried to interact with you, and only really came out of his room when they had a mission or to yell at his brothers. But you really didn't see too much of him, and you weren't sure whether it was because he didn't like interacting with humans other than well…..eating them or some other reason but it was clear as day that he didn't really like you or want to be around you.

Curiosity bubbled up within you as he sat beside you in silence while burying his face in a book, you were more than aware he felt your burning stares but he didn't make any motion to acknowledge you, instead he continued to stare resolutely at the page. So against your better judgement, your body moving before your mind can fully comprehend what you're doing, you reach out and place your hand gently upon his shoulder feeling the hardened muscles beneath your fingertips tense as his beautiful scarlet pools of molten fire bore into your soul with such intensity it made your heart thump wildly in your chest. You wanted to apologize, to squirm away but the intensity of his gaze pinned you in place. After what seemed hours, the heat of his fiery gaze finally subsided leaving the tingling sensation of cold sweat on your skin to remain. "What do you want human?" His voice deep, rough, and gravelly sounding. You swallowed thickly at the question, and cleared your throat "I….um……sorry" you muttered averting your gaze "I…wanted…..uh..to know….what book you're reading" as those string of words fell from your lips he seemed to stiffen ever so slightly, you took note of it as he turned to look at you, a long moment passed before he replied, "plants" allowing silence to once again reign as there was no further explanation.

He gave a slight nod and licking his thumb flicking a page, "plants?" You echoed his words and he scowled quietly as he continued staring blankly into the book. His brows creased together, and his eyes narrowed to slits he unconsciously fidgeted whenever there was noise from outside, meaning you. Taking a deep breath your palm danced along your forearm as the air thickened in awkwardness, with a long exhale you tried to speak but he beat you it.

"Aizetsu has just just returned, you can leave now" he stated in a bored tone without sparing you a glance. His voice sounded tired and defeated as if something had deeply upset him, your body flinched at the tone of his voice. Your mouth opened slightly at his abrupt response but before you could form a reply, he snapped his book shut startling you slightly as he swiftly rose to his feet. Kimono flowing gracefully around his lithe figure as he stalked passed you to disappear out of sight, you sheepishly followed despite every aspect of your body screaming 'no! Don't follow him! He's dangerous!' But you couldn't deny your curiosity, after all, he was one of your…. masters? Owners? It wasn't exactly clear yet what you were to them yet, but that's besides the point. You wanted to know more about him, and the fact that he went out of his way to avoid you at all cost only fed your insatiable curiousty.

So you trailed behind him in the bending him slowly trying carefully to place your foot to conceal any sound, but he turned to you with a arched brow and you ran smack dab into his muscled chest. Causing you to stumble back a bit his hands caught you by the waist and steadied you, "what do you want go away, I already told you Aizetsu has returned if you're looking for the other two idiots. They got stuck in the sunrise so they had to seek shelter in a cave," he mumbled turning around but your fingers grasped the sleeve of his kimono halting his actions.

"I-I"the words died on your tongue as he stared straight ahead avoiding any form of eye contact with you. Your heart sank in disappointment and sadness, why is he so difficult to talk to?! "I want to spend time with you and get to know you" the words spilled from your lips like water flowing freely, pouring forth in a cascade "I'm sorry I kept asking questions but I'm just really curious about you".

His eyes widened slightly as though surprised with your admission, "W-why would you want to do that?" He asked sounding genuinely confused, doubtful, angry, hesitant, and just a little bit…..hopeful? His expression faltered momentarily revealing the small glimpse of vulnerability and shyness, for a moment you got a glance into the depths of his soul, a rare glimpse which left you breathless.

He was…a lonely man yearning for companionship, for acceptance. This thought alone caused your heart to clench in sympathy, but as quickly it came his true mask slid back over his emotions hiding whatever emotion he had been having, replaced by cold indifference.

He swiftly turned away from you with a deep scowl, grumbling something under his breath "if that's what you wish" he whispered so softly that you barely catch it, as he swiftly strode across the vast room, his footsteps echoing loudly throughout the cavernous room. He walked towards a door, two large doors with gold riming's and crimson wood carved into intricate designs, he pushed one open revealing a dark room. His room was very traditional with Japanese style décor, red silk carpets decorating the floor, an intricate cherry blossom canopy hanging from the ceiling concealing a large cozy bed with it's transparent red curtains framing it. A fireplace adorned the wall near the bed, an incense holder rested atop it sending out a sweet fragrant scent that instantly calmed your nerves as it filled the room with a pleasant aroma, cherry mahogany wood furniture decorated the space giving off an atmosphere of sophistication and tranquility. He walked over to the chair seated in front of the fireplace taking a seat and kicking off his sandals, your feet stayed firmly planted outside the room as you watched him from afar. The fire cast a warm glow around the room and on him. and he leaned over the cushy chair arching a brow, "well are you waiting for an invitation?" He growled but there was a certain underlying note of tenderness, you excitedly scampered over to him planting yourself by his feet resting against the chair. A heavy sigh fell from your lips as you watched his hands twitch along his thighs, every now and then moving in your direction only to change direction at the last moment to preform some small gesture.

After the third movement of his hand, you kinda caught into what he wanted or at least you thought you did. Slowly your hand drifted towards his slowly brushing against his hand until you grasped it, his hand flinched at first but after a few seconds he relaxed.

The warmth radiating between your hands, comforting as you rested your head on his leg, but to your surprise his other hand snaked over your waist gingerly pulling you and situating you on his lap. He never once made eye contact with you but his muscular arm rested loosely around your waist as he buried himself in a book.

It might've been the light of the fire but you swear you could see the smallest of blushes adorn his cheek, "whatcha reading" you murmured quietly and his eyes dropped down to your and once again you were trapped staring into those infinite pools of ruby flame, causing the butterflies residing in your stomach to flutter around wildly making you feel dizzy and light headed, his hand twitched slightly but stayed firm around your waist, with a light sigh he lowered the book in front of you.

Pulling you flush against his back and holding the book open so you could read along if you chose, you happily snuggled back into his warmth and he rested his head atop of yours….this is nice….

[thefiery-phoenix]

YANDERE TAEHUN SEONG HEADCANONS (HOW TO FIGHT/ VIRAL HIT)

Words cannot describe how much I simp for this man, like please... it's ILLEGAL to be this fine and cue my unholy screeching fangirling and let's get into this...

Look, he might be an absolute jerk at times but hey, he's YOUR jerk. Which means he will care for you and make sure you're doing okay whether you like it or not. After the death of his friend Do-Un, he wanted nothing to do with feelings and emotions, he perceived them as a waste of time. That was what got his friend killed in the first place anyway, he simply couldn't afford to get attached to someone else after what happened. He remained reserved and introverted, with of course, his usual brash nature and crude insults

Despite his rough and tough exterior, he's not that cruel and heartless to just stand by and watch you get bullied and that's how the two of you met. You were a quiet shy little thing who mostly kept to yourself. Sometimes he liked watching you, even if it was something he'd never admit and a secret he would take to the grave. He finds it annoying how you always stick your nose in some or the other book all the time. He calls you a nerd, although endearingly as surprising as that is. You aren't exempt from his teasing and mockery either but when he sees you get bullied by some of the new transfer students in the class because of the "shitty pathetic excuse of a transfer programme" as termed and worded by Taehun, his gaze hardened and his fists clenched in his hands till they turned white

He hated and despised the way those idiots talked about you, how dare they? He just stormed over and did his usual 1440 kick and sent them spiraling to another dimension altogether. Of course, he wasn't done yet, he kept slapping them repeatedly and spoke "You ever talk shit about them like that again, I'll cut your tongue off and shove it down your bloody throat...", completed with a psychotic maniacal smile which undoubtedly sent shivers and chills down your bullies spines. Everyone knew he'd stick to his word and stay true to what he said and the very next second, they immediately fell at your feet begging you for forgiveness

You're basically untouchable now since you have him protecting you. Anytime someone he doesn't like approaches you, be it a male or female, he just gives them a death stare till they leave since they decided that their life was more important. Will keep calling you a dumbass and idiot at times but, endearingly. He likes it when you get flustered and embarrassed, you look adorable and cute with those bashful expressions of yours. Which will end up in him teasing you even more to get a rise from you

He loves pinning you to the wall and takes great pride in how helpless and powerless you are against him. He smirks when he feels you trying to push him away as he snickers in amusement "You tryna push me away? Feels like a baby kicking me". He will get you to do Taekwando with him because it's a way he can spend more time with you, as much as he's too stubborn to admit it. He starts becoming jealous and possessive of you as time passes and he'll become overbearing. He'll be like a shadow, constantly following you around and when you confront him about it, he'll make it sound so obvious about why he's following you and say that you're too clumsy and naive and can't take care of yourself

He wants you to rely on him. He wants you to cling on to him when you feel scared about something as he wraps his arm around you and pulls you closer to him as he tells you he's here for you. He has a heart too you know. As for his fangirls, he doesn't give a damn about them and you know that. He has eyes only for you. You won't be able to escape from him either since he's pretty influential and has a great sense of tracking people down. He will end up kidnapping you at some point when he sees you getting too close to someone else other than him, especially with that Hobin

It's not like you can go to his dad Hansu for help either, he knew about his son's possessive and obsessive tendencies towards you and he's equally possessive of you too. He's just glad his son found someone to be with him. Taehun wouldn't physically abuse you, he never harms someone that he loves but be ready for a lot of arguments though. He hates seeing you cry, he'll just sigh and call you a little crybaby as he pulls you close to him and apologizes softly for making you cry as he gently cradles you. He shows and reveals his soft side only for you

May the gods above have mercy on anyone who dares to mess with even a strand of hair on your head for he will make sure they spend the next few months of their lives strapped to an IV in a hospital. You aren't allowed to go anywhere without him anymore, you're too oblivious and naive, he's worried something might happen. He will get bashful and flustered for a few moments when you compliment his achievements in Taekwando till he tells you to shut it

If he catches you trying to escape, he will be mad but he won't take it out on you. This is where his manipulation tactics come in play, he'll keep messing with those dweebs you call friends till you admit you were in the wrong. He loves it when he kisses you on the lips, your lips are soft as he laces your fingers through his. He also likes it when you run your hands through his hair or just hold his hand, he adores how your hand is compared to his calloused one

All in all, he may be prickly but deep down he loves you. And yes, he has killed for you and will kill for you and perhaps even stalked the living daylights out of you without your knowledge...

[jesslockwood]

Detecting the Haunted Masterlist 

Chapter Three

Word Count: 3.2k

Pairing(s): Anthony Lockwood x Detective!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Angst

A/n: hello friends! I'm sorry I haven't posted in forever!!! its going to be a busy summer for me as its my last year in my acting program, and I have professional Shakespeare shows coming up (auditions and rehearsals) soon. I really hope to be active but im not sure how active I will be but I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Add yourself to the Taglist

In all of Anthony’s life, he wanted people to love him. He wasn’t sure why but the praise of others and the showering of adoration towards him just gave him the feeling of being loved. Maybe it was because that’s what his life was missing, love. 

The current problem with wanting to be even just admired, was that you wouldn’t speak to him, unless absolutely necessary or with someone else in the room. He couldn’t pin point what had changed, but it put him in a grouchy mood. 

He had even snapped at George and Lucy at one point, because of it, which he felt bad about.

He just couldn’t understand why you would all of a sudden you just seem to loathe the mere presence of him. 

That was until he saw you having a conversation with none other than Quill Kipps in the library. That made Lockwood want to explode. He did his best to keep his composure, but how could he? Especially when someone he cared for was talking to his rival. 

You had laughed at something he said, before Anthony made his way over. 

“Tony! I see you have a new agent in training on your hands.” Kipps seemingly tries to antagonize him, “I thought you had enough troubles trying to keep your agency afloat, Being such a small and insignificant one.” 

Lockwood grits his teeth, and his fist goes into a ball, clenching it so tightly. 

“Anyway, my offer still stands.” He says directed towards Y/n in a overly confident tone before making his leave.

Anthony tightens his jaw even more if that was even possible to do so.

You shake your head while smiling, as Kipps leaves and Anthony notices. 

“When’d you get so chummy with Kipps?” He asks with an intensity that you can only describe as uncomfortable.

You ignore his prompted stare down, and shift over a book, and open it to start your next reading.

He keeps staring waiting for you answer.

“When did you get so controlling with who I talk to? Last time I checked you were my boss, not my boyfriend.” You say not even meeting his gaze, ignoring the way saying boyfriend made your body tingle.

He looks genuinely shocked, and hurt, when you spew the words with venom at him, wth a fiery anger, but you had to hate him, or else you’d hate everyone else around you. The problem was that hating everyone wasn't an option you wanted to explore, so your anger had to be directed towards Anthony Lockwood. That was or else it would consume you.

George walks towards the two, carefully, as if he could be the detonator to explode one of the two colleges of his on each other.

“I uh, found the paper in the archives we were looking for, Y/n.” He says before carefully setting it down on the table the two of you were working at.

George had noticed the tension in the house between Lockwood and Y/n, he knew Lucy could feel it too, as she kept trying to get Lockwood and Y/n to avoid each other as much as possible as she tried to figure out what triggered all this, for lack of a better term, teenage angst in the house. 

Well it felt like more than just teenage angst. It felt like a rage radiating off of the two directed towards each other, as if they were two old miserable manifestations bickering like an old couple while trying to murder everyone in the way that ticked them off.

Yeah that was more of the level of tension that was going on, especially when Lucy or himself got caught in the crossfire of the two. He actually didn’t hate Y/n, he had gotten to tolerate her during their times in the archives, but he couldn’t get a good reading of why she acted the way she did towards them, but mostly Lockwood. He was so curious of what was making her tick, or ticked off, pun intended.

Even Lockwood was making things feel off. He had been pissed almost every single day these past couple of weeks, and had even bursted with anger towards himself and Lucy.

George started to think of all the ways he could figure out what was wrong, and deiced to let Lucy in on his plot when he got home, to figure out what the hell these two had tasted to be so bitter to everyone.

George had come out of dreamland to find Y/n and Lockwood bickering.

“At least I talked to someone who wasn’t a stuck up prick for once!” Y/n almost yells.

“I think you’ve got it all wrong, love, you did talk to the stuck up prick, he just left with what’s left of his dignity, from the last time he was here!” Lockwood raises her one.

“Guys, Guys!” Lucy comes rushing In to break it up, “Maybe let’s try to not get kicked out of the archives? Y/n let’s uh, go get lunch, there’s this place I've been meaning to take you to.” 

Y/n gives Anthony one last glare before, picking up her jacket and heading out with Lucy.

“Well, that was awkward…” George mumbles faintly, before giving Lockwood a disappointed look before getting back to work.

“Urgh! He such a pompous ass!” You rant to Lucy, in between shoving pizza in your mouth. 

“Lockwood can be… selfish. But it’s really more because he wants the us and the whole agency to benefit… trust me I know it all too well.” She tries to console you, and you can see the genuine hurt in her eyes from it. 

If he could hurt Lucy, and get others hurt, even killed… who knows what the guy could do to you. Maybe the Job Kipps offered you wasn’t such a bad idea. 

It especially felt good to know it would make Lockwood infuriated. Maybe this was a chance to get a back at Lockwood a bit. Not to the degree you wanted, but it was something.

You make small talk with Lucy while eating, coming up with a plan in your head of how to piss him off the most.

To say Lockwood was pissed was a total understatement. He was enraged.

George and Lucy even seemed to tiptoed around Lockwood as of recently, and Lockwood felt nothing but isolated, and that led him to be able to sit and stew in his anger even longer. 

The both of you seemed to avoid each other physically, which made Lockwood all the more furious. The only time you’d see each other was for training, which George and Lucy had taken over most of that, and cases.

Today you had to train with your rapier again, and that was the main thing Lockwood oversaw.

“C’mon again!” He yells, as you missed one of the practice targets. 

You glare daggers into his direction, as he seemly does the same. 

“I would be a lot better if I didn’t have the constant screaming in my ear.” You mumble sarcastically.

“Sorry, I didn’t get that? Maybe you could actually try this time?” He says before smirking and leaning back to where he was sitting seeming satisfied with ticking you off.

“I’d like to see you do better.” You taunt stalking towards him, “The best I’ve seen in action was the Fittes team at a case I was working.”

He clenches his jaw, looking at you with an intense fire behind his eyes. 

“You’re more show than skill.” You smirk as his face turns even more sour. He gets up and moves right into your personal space. 

“Really? If you think I’m all show, then lets put it to the test, Love.” He pulls his rapier out and backs you into the wall.

You visibly gulp, not because of his challenge, but the sheer proximity of how close his face was to yours. 

He stares into your eyes, with his full of an emotion you couldn’t quite pinpoint. He had a anger but there was something else behind it. 

He shakes his head and scoffs, turning around walking away.

That made your whole body burn with fury. You knew he was one of the best from stories you had heard, but boy did that make you want to try harder to be better. 

“Like I said, all show.” You mumble loud enough for him to hear. 

He stops on the spot, turning around about to say something, and before he can Lucy is running down the stairs with a small stack of letters in her hand. 

“Hey, Y/n You’ve got mail.” 

You give Lockwood a victory smirk, and he gives you a glare saying ‘this isn’t over’.

“Thanks, Lucy.” You take the mail form her, before looking it over, until stopping on one letter in particular. 

“Crap…” you mumble to yourself, opening it quickly. 

Lockwood and Lucy seem intrigued to know what had gotten the rise out of you.

You skim over the letter, or well, the invitation. Your grandparents wanted to see you, and you knew that they rarely did unless it had to do with their agenda. 

You started to feel ill, hoping it was you actually getting sick to get out of it, instead of the idea of visiting them. 

“What is it?” Lockwood asks slightly worried as you lean to grab the wall. 

You want to throw the letter out, but you hand it to Lucy, “You can read it amongst yourselves, if you wish, Especially since I think I’m going to need you to accompany me.”

They give each other a look, as you head upstairs and They both follow you up quickly, if not seconds later. 

George seems intrigued to what is going on, and comes out of the sitting room area, with his usual cleaning gear on, and duster in his hand. 

Lucy starts reading aloud, “Y/n Y/l/n and Lockwood & co, You are formally invited to The Saunders Ball, this Friday. Please wear formal wear and please arrive early to meet and dine with The Saunders.”

“How in the bloody hell do you know the Saunders?!” Lockwood almost yells.

George pipes up, “And why would one of the oldest of richest families in London want dinner with with us?”

“Blood Relation, to me, unfortunately.” You say, wishing this wasn’t their reaction. 

Lucy and Lockwood sit there with their mouths ajar, while George looks like he’s going through every probability in his mind.

“Look, there’s no need to come. I can face my grandparents myself-“

“There’s no way were passing this up. It’s an opportunity for the company to find more clients.” Lockwood pipes up.

Your jaw clenches as try you to smile to pretend to be pleased that he wants to come. 

“Great. does everyone have formal wear? Or do we have to go shopping?”

Lucy shakes her head no, and you give a light smile, before grabbing her hand.

“Let’s go then, my treat.” You say before running out the door with Lucy. 

Lockwood gives one last glance at the door, before standing up.

“C’mon George, Lets go find out all we can about the Saunders.”

Lockwood wouldn’t try to dive into your history if he could help it, but he needed to know anything he could about who’s doors he was about to step into and how to best be prepared to gain new clients. 

Lucy had told you a bit about her past life, how she didn’t come from much, and her old employer, and briefly what happened to her best friend Norrie.

“Hey Lu?” You grab her attention with the nickname you called her in your nightly talks, “Im sorry.”

“What do you mean?” She asks, looking directly at you as you walked down the street of the shops. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about all this. It’s something my Mum left in the past when she left home from my grandparents. I’ve never really lived rich my mother just came from money.” You sigh as you continue to explain, “We really lived off of my Dad’s pay, and my mother worked part time in a flower shop. It- it’s not really important what they did. But my grandparents- well they only ever summon me if they want something.”

Lucy gives a sympathetic look, with almost an understanding. 

“My grandparents hated my dad, because the took their only daughter away, to live a ‘life of poverty’ and my dad, ‘he couldn’t provide’. Ah, it’s so messed up! Then my parents had me, and all they ever wanted was me to become their ‘Perfect grandchild of the Saunders’ but I never was that, or could be that.” You ramble it all out.

“I’m sorry y/n” she replies, “For all that family rubbish. I- I know the struggle of family too well.” She mentions with an understanding you’ve never felt. 

You felt so heard. You felt so seen even though your pasts couldn’t have been more different. It was so touching.

“Thank you. For being my friend.” You blurt out, as she gives you a genuine smile. 

“C’mon let's check out this shop!” You say while dragging her in and you both giggle. 

Lockwood was tapping his fingers against the table. He was getting George to pull article after article about your grandparents. After Fairfax, Lockwood couldn’t just walk into this blindly, especially at the reaction that Y/n had at the mere invitation of dinner with them. 

The archives seemed to have little to no information so far, other than that they were old money for being a huge lavender supply over the years and that they had a similar social circle to Fairfax; rich and socialites. Their only link to each other was Marissa Fittes and Penelope Fittes.

Lockwood sighed, as he hoped this wouldn’t turn into another Fairfax situation. At this point in time, he didn’t think he could really trust y/n anymore. 

But maybe that was the problem between himself and y/n, that she couldn’t trust him. He never had thought about it that way. He had told Lucy and George about his past, but not y/n, so maybe that’s why she didn’t share much about herself. 

Maybe it was time Lockwood let himself go of this rampant disease of the feeling of resentment. At least to a small degree, just so they all could survive dinner and the ball with one of London's most powerful and influential families. 

It was finally the day to head to dinner and the ball with your grandparents, and you were just pretending to have it all together, but underneath you were an earthquake of nerves waiting to start to rumble. 

You were curling Lucy’s hair with an curling iron, trying to distract yourself from the whole situation. 

“That’s a beautiful necklace you have on.” You mention breaking the almost silence as the record player played a soft tune in the back of the room.

She grabs it, fiddling with it, “Thanks, Lockwood gave it to me, for the Fittes ball.” You freeze for a second, trying to hold your face still in the same way it was. 

You were partly shocked she even mentioned it, because that was the night your father had died at the hands of him.  You were Devastated but wasn’t the only emotion you were feeling, you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your chest when she said Lockwood gave it to her. You hated yourself even more for falling into this trap of his charms. 

You were trying to hold a small smile, ads you finished Lucy’s hair. Your eyes started to water slightly, and as you tried to hold your tears in, there was a knock at the door. 

“Luce, Y/n, are you two ready yet?” Lockwood asks from the other side.

“You’re done Lu.” You say before turning around before the tears started to come out and started to go get your dress on. 

“I’m coming out, Y/n just has to put her dress on.” Lucy explains.

“Okay.” He repsonds.

Lucy slips out, and you here her shoes click against the stairs as she walks down. 

You wipe away your tears and start to pull your dress on before hearing your name being called.

 “Y/n?” 

“Yes Lockwood?” You reply.

You start to struggled with he zipper on your dress, as Lockwood starts to speak, “I just wanted to say that I’m- Y/n/n are you okay?” He asks as you made a loud sound as you crashed into the vanity. 

“Uh yeah I just can’t- I can’t get this stupid zipper.” You sigh in defeat, “Can you come in and help me?”

“Yeah, of course.” He says as he opens the door. His breath is taken away as If his lungs were ghost touched. You were leaning against the vanity, with a beautiful red dress on. 

“I know it’s pathetic but that the last case we had this week hurt my shoulder, so you don’t have to say it.” You mention looking away, before meeting his gaze. 

Was he… admiring you? You couldn’t tell for the few seconds he looked at you, before his expression changed as he moved towards you.

“It was my fault, on that case. I should have prepared you more so don’t worry about it. I’m just glad the dresser that hit you in the shoulder didn’t hurt you more.” He said, “That was quick moving, your getting out of the way before it squashed you.“ 

That was almost a compliment and an admittance of fault. What was going on with him? He motions for you to turn around and you do. As he moves your hair out of the way, a shiver runs down your spine, and goose bumps arise on your skin. 

You try to distract yourself at the feeling of his close proximity to you by cracking a joke, “Yeah well, now I can’t zip myself up, or get out of this stupid gown. Thank you Grandma and Grandpa for this choice of attire I truly adore feeling trapped.” 

He laughs a small almost silent laugh, as he grabs the zipper and slowly zips it up. It was agonizingly slow. You couldn’t tell if he was doing this to spite you, or because he was feeling the same weird feelings that you were. 

You shook off the second thought, it had to be to make you uncomfortable. You couldn’t have second thoughts on this no matter how warm it made your body feel. 

You swear you heard him take a shaky breath in before he finished and you turned to face him. You were really close to his face, and you could see the way his eyes looked almost puppy dog like. His eyes trailed your whole face for a few seconds before he took a small step back.

“Shall we?” He extended his arm, before you both descended the stairs, heading out to the car to take you to the infamous Saunders ball. You only hoped that your grandparents didn’t pull some bullshit like they usually did with you. 

You had no idea what was in store for you and your team, and that’s what was killing you. The not knowing.

Taglist:

@waitingforthesunrise @sleep-i-ness @rinisfruity14 @uku-lelevillain

[thegreathuxton]

Partner in Crime

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem! Reader (NO USE OF Y/N)

Inspired by "Partner in Crime" by Madilyn Mei.

Summary: You walk right up to the head of the empty grave and point at it.

"Get in," you say.

Warnings: MAJOR SPOILERS - Follows book 5 (I've read the books lol). Friends to lovers. Angsty teens, but they find a resolution at the end. Lucy and Lockwood are JUST FRIENDS. Underage drinking. Swearing. Barnes is a huge cockblock. Fluff to angst to fluff. Insinuated height difference (Lockwood is taller than reader).

A/N: NOT BETA RED WE DIE LIKE MEN!! RAHHHH... I went a little Cuckoo Crazy for this one, guys. I'm guesstimating it's between 6k and 9k words. Who knows!

1.

The first time you met him, you were sitting on a bench in Scotland Yard. He was still quite young. Years younger than how you knew him now. He had a bloody nose and sat alone. You had a broken arm and sat alone as well, on a bench opposite of him, all the while filling out some paperwork with your one good hand. Your penmanship was undeniably horrendous, being it was coming from your non-dominant hand.

You felt him staring at you. A little too hard, you must admit. You got through half your case report before you got fed up. You were already agitated because filling out this paperwork was taking twice as long as it should have. You'd be done and gone if it weren't for that stupid, bloody poltergeist and your stupid broken arm.

"Can I help you?" You snapped.

He wasn't slow at giving you a faint smile. Even while holding a tissue to his cherry-red nose in quite an unattractive manner, his charm hit you in waves.

"Quite the opposite, actually," he said so softly. Your wall of anger cracked like an eggshell. "I was hoping I could help you out."

You looked down, partly because you didn't want him to see the blush of frustration blossoming on your cheeks and partly because if you stared at him any longer, your angry act might just crumble all together.

"I'm fine," you muttered.

"You don't look fine..."

The silence engulfed the hall. The ringing telephones were merely echoes, and the voices of people were quiet. It was three in the morning, after all. The only people who would be up at this hour would be the dead, and kids stupid enough, like you, to make the choice to become an agent.

You go back to your chicken scratch. It's a slow and miserable process. There really is no nice way to describe how you had a safe hurl towards you at lighting speed and pin your arm against the wall, snapping it in three places, when the pen you're using is bleeding all over the page and is very well-bound determined to empty itself all over the white paper.

You sat your pen down again out of frustration. You took a deep breath.

You suddenly felt someone draw close, and the clipboard you had been using was lifted out of your lap.

"I don't quite like asking for help, either, you know," he said, picking up the pen and crossing his legs. "But we all have to learn how to do so, eventually. I'll let you off this time."

He was smiling as he read over what you had written. He had shoved a tissue up his nostril to ease the bleeding for the time without having to use his hands. Quite frankly, he looked as stupid as he was exhausted. His hair was messed up. His clean dress shirt was rolled up to his elbows, and his tie was undone, hanging limply around his neck and shoulders.

He said your name, and you snapped to attention. He was still smiling and looking at the paper.

"Beautiful name," he murmured. "Too bad it's the only thing I can read on this piece of paper."

"It's not that bad!" You scoffed, taking offense.

"I beg your pardon?" He chortled, then held out the clipboard. He pointed to what looked like a sentence. It was more of just a blob where you had pressed down on the pen too hard. "What does that say?"

You were silent.

"Can't tell, can you?" He said, his eyebrows raised and the twinkle in his eye agitating you beyond belief. "Neither can I, and I'm sure Inspector Barnes won't be able to decipher this hodgepodge, either. So, let's start over."

He takes the paper you had spent thirty minutes on off the clipboard and crumples it in his hand. There's a fresh, new page beneath it. He then turns to you, grinning.

"Anthony Lockwood, professional scribe and interpreter at your service," he feigned a salute in an attempt to make you smile. Begrudgingly, you let him have that small win. He sat up straight and pretended to push up an imaginary pair of glasses on his nose. He spoke in a hoity-toity voice, like a stuck-up therapist. "What kind of visitor did you have this evening, ma'am?"

To be completely frank, it was hard to resist smiling. He was trying to cheer you up, and, admittedly, it was working.

"Poltergeist," you muttered, hunched over and looking at the floor. He scribbled on the paper.

"And is that what hurt your arm, or is the cast and sling merely a fashion statement?"

You shot him a look. He was still smiling, and he looked at you through long eyelashes. He looked like a dopey, single-tusked walrus with the way his tissue had been so stuffed up his nostril. You looked away again. If you looked at him any longer, your smile would break free. You then felt him gently touch the cast. His fingers merely grazed it. When you looked at him again, his eyes were still on yours, as if he knew you'd look again.

"How'd it happen?" He spoke oh so softly once more.

You sighed.

"It was a situation at the bank on Baker Street. A team had gone in and done away with one visitor and called DEPRAC to come help with the rest and disposal. I show up and go in by myself. The place didn't feel right to begin with, even with the visitor eliminated by a team of agents. I started scattering salt, and all of a sudden..." When you spoke, you used your good hand to help visualize. "A safe just launched out from the wall and pinned my arm there. I was lucky it was just that, but I'm going to be stuck in this cast for a while."

Anthony nodded along and rubbed his chin.

"Are you a sensitive?" He asked and started scribbling on the page again.

You nodded. "They employed me here at Scotland Yard to go on cases and provide extra security to our adult team."

He slowly set the pen down. "I bet working here is such a drag," he said rather slowly.

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, what's the adventure in working for Scotland Yard. You must have amazing skill for them to employ you. You could be an agent, I'm sure..." He casually started to tap the pen against the clipboard. "And, you know, I've been looking for a sensitive in my agency. I'd be happy to interview you."

You scoffed and smiled. "I'm good. Thanks for the offer."

"Oh, come on," he half-whined. "What do they have here that I haven't?

"Free room and board, all on top of good pay."

He was instantly stumped.

"Ah," he swallowed, looking away and slumping back against the bench. "I see."

He wrote a little more on the paper and then cleared his throat. He set the clipboard down but still held the pen intently. He looked at your cast then up at you.

"May I?"

You thought about it for a moment. Again, you decided to let him have this small win.

He helped you gently remove your arm from the sling and rested it on his lap while he signed your cast. He had the faintest smile on his face, and his eyes were so focused on writing as neatly as he could. When he was finished, he put the pen on the clipboard. You looked down to see what he had written. It was a phone number and his name. You wanted to scoff again but held it back. Inspector Barnes had just stepped out of his office and pointed at Lockwood before eyeing you.

"He troubling you?" The Inspector asked.

"Not at all," you muttered back, putting your cast back in the sling. "He helped me finish my paperwork."

Barnes hummed, and Anthony stood.

"Take that bloody tissue out of your nose, Lockwood," Barnes muttered. Lockwood was fast to cooperate. "Follow me."

Barnes disappeared into his office again. Anthony looked back at you. His gaze was soft and his smile softer.

"Stay out of trouble and away from haunted banks, won't you?" He beamed. "I'd quite like to meet again."

"Lockwood!" Barnes barked from his office and made you both jump before you could respond.

"You better go," you murmured. "He often gets quiet cranky when four o'clock hits."

You watched his chest rise and fall with a deep breath.

"Noted," he murmured back. He gazed at you for a heartbeat longer, then turned and disappeared into Barnes's office.

2.

You and Lockwood became good friends over the following months. You would see him on many cases and occasionally went out to lunch or breakfast with him and his associate, George Karim. He would make excuses to come to Scotland Yard to see you if he wasn't on a case. If he was on a case, or if he was pulled to the building by Barnes, he would go out of his way to find you and see you while he was there. You came over to Portland Row, his agency, more often than not. Sometimes, you'd even spend the night because you'd stay after supper for a cup of tea and get to talking into the late hours of the night. He's told you many things. He's told you about his sister. He's told you about his parents. George had even noticed that you'd become more trusted by Lockwood than he was.

What locked and sealed your bond was when he showed you the family graveyard, where his parents and sister had been buried. It was something even George knew nothing about.

An incredibly close companionship started there. When Barnes noticed, he warned you about the trouble that came with Anthony Lockwood, but you didn't listen, and that is what became your downfall.

"He throws caution into the wind at every chance," Barnes scolded you after you turned up late one evening after spending the night at Portland Row. "You'll get yourself killed."

Again, you refused to listen to his harping.

It was one winter, a year after you'd first met Lockwood, the last year you'd laid eyes on him, when cases spiked all over London. The London Underground had suddenly been infested with clusters of visitors. Many agents had already died by the time you had been brought in. You were assigned as a monitor/supervisor. The rest of Scotland Yard's supervisors were all scared shitless to go anywhere near the Tube, so they sent you instead, since you still had Talent.

Three teams from three different agencies were brought in that night. Fittes, Rotwell, and last, but not least, A.J. Lockwood and Company. That last one made you giddy and nervous all at once.

The clock had struck ten, and all the teams were gathered around in the station in little pockets of groups. Lockwood had a friendly arm wrapped around your shoulder, regaling you and George on a story. George couldn't have been less interested. He rolled his eyes and shoved his hands in his pockets. You, on the other hand, were enthralled. It had been days since you'd last seen him, then. Just having him close to you was a great pleasure.

It was a quarter until eleven when you all decided to start moving deeper into the underground. One of the sensitives from Fittes claimed to have heard a scream echoing. You were too enraptured in Lockwood's words, so you hadn't really been alert enough to confirm what she had heard.

All three agencies, plus one (you), moved deeper into the tunnel. Each team took their own readings but continued to come up with nothing but rubbish. Lockwood stuck right by your side with one hand on his rapier and his other hovering just above your lower back.

"I missed you," he muttered into your ear. You grinned.

"You're just saying that, so I'll tell Barnes to up your pay," you joked.

"No, really," he said. His thumb ran a tender line down your spine, distracting you from the skittering noise that your ears had just picked up that came from down the tunnel. "You'd be surprised by just how hard it is to get you off my mind after I've seen you. I still wish you'd quit this lousy job and come be with me... Us, I mean." He corrected himself and cleared his throat when George looked his way.

"You know good and well that there's no room for me in that shoddy house," you chortle and mindlessly check your thermometer. You unconsciously register the slight temperature drop, the deeper you travel into the tunnel.

"There's plenty of room!" Scoffed Lockwood. "The attic is always available. Or, you know, you could always stay with me in mine." He wiggled his eyebrows at you. You elbowed him in response.

You all walked about half a mile into the tunnel when you heard something that the others didn't and stopped. Lockwood was the first to notice. You listened for a moment longer. Those who were also sensitive to sound started picking up what you were getting as well.

"Flashlights off," Lockwood ordered for you without you having to say anything at all.

You couldn't help but cringe when overhearing another agent mutter the words "kiss ass" beneath their breath. It wasn't the time to get snippy, though. Something was coming. You could hear it, but the fact that you couldn't see it unsettled you. The long and dark tunnel before you made your hastily grasp the handle of your rapier.

It was a very faint clicking and hissing sound at first. It wasn't until it got just the faintest hint louder that you realized what it was. The air itself seemed to start shaking, and the ground trembled beneath your feet.

"Everyone get to the side!" You screamed. Lockwood pulled you to him, then pressed the two of you flush against the wall of the tunnel, and all three teams divided unevenly on either side of the tracks. Not but a few seconds later, the air screamed past you and rattled everyone's equipment. The rush of a speeding train made everyone's ears pop, and the wail of the dead came with it. There was no visual. Just a foul smell and a sharp, piercing scream. It lasted for what seemed like an eternity, then abruptly stopped. The clicking and hissing and a faint whistle of a train died away.

"Ghost train," you grumbled. "Lovely."

Lockwood was the first to open his eyes. You were next. Your heart dropped.

One by one, visitors of all kinds started to morph out of thin air. Not a single one of them were recognizably human. The reimagined corpses were singed flesh in bone. You could actually smell the burning, and it made your eyes water.

"I read that there was a crash down here in 1980," said George suddenly, loud enough for everyone to hear as you all brought out your rapiers and salt bombs. "Fittes documents say that it's been taken care of... but I guess it wasn't taken care of well enough."

The Fittes agents had no time for witty retorts. More and more visitors started forming, and their sorrowful wailing was becoming too much to bear.

"Is it even possible for sources to reappear?" Lockwood mumbled.

"No clue. That, or Fittes didn't take care of it properly in the first place," you mumbled back. "I don't see anything that could be considered a source. There's no wreckage or bones or anything. Not even a stuffed animal. They probably just scattered salt and called it good..."

You looked down. The railroad tracks were rusted over and stained from ectoplasm burns. You had a feeling your theory was correct.

"There's too many," said one of the Rotwell agents.

"You all were assigned this job for a reason. You get it done, or you don't receive pay," you said. Later, you cursed yourself for this. You had spent too much time with Lockwood and started to pick up on his reckless habits. He still stood next to you as if personal space didn't matter.

You took a step forward, much to Lockwood's chagrin. The closest visitor, a tar-black skeleton with a dangling jaw and a few wisps of charred hair clinging to the dead scalp, raised its head and reared back. Orange fire engulfed it as it screamed and drew the rest of the visitors to attention. It charged, and you readied your rapier.

A salt bomb exploded behind you and sent your flying forward before you got the chance to swing. You missed the visitor by the meekest of scrapes. You scrambled to your feet. The sleeve of your coat steamed from the slightest touch of ectoplasm. A Rotwell agent was ghost locked, standing in the middle of the tracks. The visitor was still charging, now heading towards the agent on the tracks.

"Move!" Someone screamed, trying to get the agent's attention, but it was too late. Another Rotwell agent threw a bomb but sorely missed. The panic had turned the lot completely stupid. It exploded against the wall and blinded everyone in proximity, including you.

You covered your eyes for just a second. Your ears were ringing, and your vision was blurry when you looked again. There lied the Rotwell agent, flat on their back, jaw dropped and eyes a pure, milky white. Their body twitched and spasmed, then fell still.

Someone screamed. The rest of the visitors followed and started charging. You sat there and watched the body, feeling entirely numb, until someone grabbed your hand and pulled you free from the state of shock you were in. It was Lockwood, of course. He had his rapier drawn and protected you with his life, swinging at visitors with the passion and excellence you were so used to.

Fittes agents joined him in his fight and held their magnesium flares high, but the visitors were fast to reform, and there were too many to look for a mass source.

Out of bombs, flares, and steaming with ectoplasm, you all had retreated. The visitors still screamed in their agony. Lockwood, ever the gentleman, still held your hand and held it tight. He didn't let go until you were back at the station.

3.

Everything passed like a blur. The Ghost-Touched Rotwell agent had been left on the tracks. The team would go and retrieve the body in the morning when it was safe.

DEPRAC was called and brought in. Inspector Barnes came to you first, and it wasn't a pretty sight. He went rumbling right past everyone else, straight to you. Lockwood had been consoling you before he'd seen Barnes, and the color left his already pale face. Barnes screamed at you for your reckless abandon. The fact that a Rotwell agent had been killed only made it that much worse.

Lockwood tried to interject, but Barnes quickly had him pushed away.

"You were supposed to supervise!"

"I was! It's just that--"

"There are no excuses. You had one job, and you blew it. Now we have another dead agent, and another mountain of paperwork to fill out before this section can be cleared!" Barnes didn't want excuses. When he looked at you, you crumpled. Your self-worth lowered with every searing second.

"She was doing her job, Inspector," Lockwood came back and cut in again. He tried to get close to you, but Barnes quickly cut him off.

"You," Barnes seethed. "If it hadn't been for you, she would have been fine."

"Don't blame this on him!" You interjected. "He didn't do anything!"

"He did plenty," barked Barnes. "He's been distracting you and knocking you off course for the past few months. And I speculate that he's been doing it on purpose, too." He switched and looked to Lockwood. Lockwood had a sudden stillness about him. He was stiff and quiet, neither denying nor agreeing with Barnes's statement. Barnes's eyes narrowed.

"You've been trying to get me to fire her, haven't you, you little shit?"

Barnes using such foul was virtually unheard of to you. You wanted to get Barnes to stop, but once he was going, there was no stopping him.

"Just so you could add her to your own grubby crew, huh? Is that what you want?"

"I have to say, it's been quite tempting," Lockwood said very quietly. He still did not move. "She's quite an agent, sir. And I believe she deserves to be with us, rather than waste her time in a place like Scotland Yard."

Barnes's eyes went wide with anger and shock. Without turning to look at you, he spoke to you.

"I'm transferring you to the Liverpool sector."

"What? You can't just--"

"Yes, I can," said Barnes. His word was final. "Until you can get whatever this little twat has done to you out of your head, you will be working with the DEPRAC stationed in Liverpool. End. Of. Discussion."

You stood there, frozen. It felt like your world just shattered into a million and one pieces. Lockwood was calling your name, but it all seemed like an echo. You felt warm hands on your cheeks. Your vision came back into focus. Lockwood had his forehead pressed against yours, getting your attention so abruptly.

"He doesn't mean it. He couldn't possibly," he muttered relentlessly. You said nothing because his words weren't registering in your mind, and the tears stung your eyes.

If there was anything you had learned about Barnes over the years you worked with him, it is that he never went back on his word.

"It's over, Anthony," you muttered and squeezed your eyes shut.

"What?" He whispered, brushing back your hair. You could feel his breath fanning your face. "No, no. You can't be serious. He's not serious at all. You are NOT leaving. That's not how this is going to go. That's not right."

"You can't decide how the world works," you said. You reached up and placed your hands over his, slowly getting him to lower them. "If that were true, all this wouldn't be happening in the first place."

You opened your eyes again and wanted to do nothing but start crying. His big, brown eyes searched yours so desperately. Every time you tried to lean back, he'd chase after you and keep you right up against him.

"Don't go," he whispered.

"I don't think I have a choice."

"I need you here," he wrapped his arms around your waist. "I need you to stay with me. Stay forever."

"Lockwood, I--"

"Please..." He buried his face into your shoulder and held you tighter. "I can't lose you. I need to be around you. I swear, I'll go crazy if I can't see you."

His hands shot up to hold your face in his hands again. His thumbs gently brushed over your cheeks, and his lips seemed impossibly close to yours. Too close. You had to break free. If he got any closer, you knew you'd quit your job just to stay with him. Stay there in London. God, the longer it repeated in your head, the more irresistible it seemed to be. He was driving you crazy.

"I have to go," you whispered.

"I won't let you."

"You have to."

"I don't, and you know it."

He kept getting closer, and he spoke more breathily. His lips barely touched yours. They ghosted, then finally pushed fully against yours. His lips were soft and sweet. His kiss wasn't demanding. It was full of something you've never felt before, on top of need and desperation. You had to yank yourself away because you could feel yourself slipping. You actually had to shove him because every time you tried to peel yourself away, he would follow and keep you with him.

He stumbled, and his hands fell to his sides. His cheeks were pink, and his eyes were wide and wild. His lips still moved like a fish out of water, gasping for air. His shoulders, heavy with the burden of running an agency and the guilt brought on by past, rose and fell with heavy breaths. You just stared at him, unable to define whether he was an image of beauty or longing.

You then turned away before he could speak again and call you back like a siren. You had to cover your ears. Even as you rushed out of the station, you could hear him calling your name.

4.

Years had passed since then. You hadn't seen Lockwood since the morning he escorted you to the train station. Even then, that was filled with silence and his longing glances. Getting on the train was the hardest part. He would have followed you up the stairs if the conductor hadn't stopped him.

For months, you exchanged letters with him until he stopped replying. It made your heart ache. You waited weeks for a reply, but it never came. You gave up on waiting after a year. Barnes also checked in with you and constantly made sure you kept busy. You wanted to thank him for it. You managed to forget all about sometimes, thanks to the shit-ton of work he had provided you.

On your spare time, you would buy copies of The Times. More often than not, you'd find Lockwood somewhere inside. Pictures of him from yet another successful case. Then, there was suddenly the mention of another girl that had joined his team. A sensitive by the name of Lucy Carlyle. True, your jealousy festered and bubbled, but you didn't let it explode. Instead, you stopped buying copies of The Times and focused on your work.

Well, that all lasted until news of the death of Penelope Fittes and the collapse of the Fittes agency altogether came into light. And Lockwood was at the center of it all.

You'd never bought a train ticket so fast.

5.

You swept off the last traces of dirt from your clothes and pocketed your gloves, since they were dirty as well.

On the train ride, you'd read all about Lockwood's excursions. You'd read how many times he's been shot and stabbed. It made you sick to your stomach, just how much this boy had gone out of his way to get himself killed.

And now here you were, just outside of Portland Row, about to face him for the first time in years. It was obvious from each tabloid you'd read that someone needed to put him in place. If Barnes, George, or this Lucy Carlyle girl wasn't going to do it, then you would.

The first knock on the door sends an electric bolt right down your spine. There was once a time, you remember, when knocking wasn't even necessary when you came to Portland Row.

A dark skinned girl in a navy pinafore dress answers the door. You're a little taken aback, but if that shows on your face, the girl doesn't express it.

"Do you have an appointment?" The girl asked curtly.

"I need to speak with Anthony Lockwood."

"Many people want to speak with him, but with the recent collapse of the Kingdom's biggest agencies, he is kept occupied. Please, make an appointment and come back then," she moves to close the door, but a hand that isn't yours stops it. A familiar face is at once at the door, and it puts you at ease.

George replaces the girl in the door. He gives you one look, then moves to clean his glasses on his shirt. Once he fixes them back on his face, he motions for you to come inside, and you enter Portland Row in a split second.

While the girl closes the door after you've come in, you are met with an unexpected and grappling hug from George Karim himself. It sends you into a shock. You give him an awkward hug back, so unsure of what all that was for.

"Thank you for coming back," George mutters. He fixes his glasses once he pulls away from you. "I'd given up all hope of your return months ago, and I'm sorry for being so straightforward, but..." His eyes flicker from side to side. "Now that you're here, I can't help but think that Lockwood might go back to normal."

"Back to normal?" You scoff quietly. "He was always reckless, but from what I've read, he's way past that. He's suicidal!"

"He's mopey and hung up, is what he is. And I've only known him for a few months at best," the girl suddenly mutters. Her arms were folded.

"That's Holly, by the way," mutters George. "She's... our assistant. And you haven't met Lucy yet. I think you might like her. She almost got Lockwood out of his spunk, but not quite."

He shuffles around on his feet for a moment.

"He's out with Lucy right now, by the way. Got called for another interview. I don't know when they'll be back..."

You take time to look around the home. It's changed so much. What catches your eye most is the door on the landing. It is wide open. The house no longer smells of burnt toast but of fresh paint and new carpet. Everything smells new. There was no death glow beaming down the stairs. There is nothing. Just an empty room where the paint continues to dry.

"Where's Jess?" You whisper, and George joins you in looking up the stairs at the swinging door.

"He's managed to move on from some things," mumbles George. He fixes his glasses. "Just some things, though."

George then turns and goes into the kitchen. You and Holly follow. George starts the kettle and takes a seat at the kitchen, as do you and Holly.

"How's Liverpool? Last time I heard from you, you said it was quite drab," asks George, trying to make some nice conversation.

"It still is," you chortle and poke at the new thinking cloth on the table. It made you sad. Out of all the things you thought would remain the same, you didn't think the thinking cloth would be an item to go. "It's not as bad as London is, most of the time..." Your thumb rubs over an ink blob that contains Lockwood's handwriting. You stared at the same handwriting on all the letters he sent you for months, and for many more, you wished you could see more of it.

You and George continue to speak quietly. You learned more about Holly as she started warming up to you, too. George fixed your tea, making it just the way you liked it. It touches you that he remembered.

You try not to focus on the time and instead hone in on the conversation at hand. Before you knew it, it started getting late. Really late.

You glance at the clock on the stove. It reads 7:45 PM. When you look, so does George and Holly. The room falls silent.

"You could... spend the night. I know Lockwood won't mind," says George.

Suddenly, you all shift. The front door unlocks and swings open. Three voices enter the house. You all stand. First George, then Holly, then you.

"I'm fine, I told you. Don't touch me! Let me go!"

You recognize that voice all too well.

"Lucy, do you think you can get him upstairs?"

"I don't think so. He's too heavy."

"Lemme go, you bloody idiots," Lockwood grumbles. There was rumbling, and things were knocked over. A glass breaks. "Ach, bloody hell... who the fuck put that there?"

"Aaaand there he goes," one of the voices you didn't recognize sighs. George steps into the hall, and so does Holly. It was too crowded to see much.

"What happened?" Mutters George.

"He got asked a question that was a little too sensitive. Took it too hard and got something to drink because of it. A little too much to drink," says a female voice. "I asked Quill to help me get him home. He kept smacking me away every time I tried to take away the bottle of whiskey away from him."

You step into the hall, finally. Heads raise.

"Who's she?"

The heads turn. You recognize Quill Kipps, an agent who also frequented the pages of The Times. You also recognize Lucy Carlyle. You look down. Long legs in dress pants are slipping and sliding on the tile floors, trying to stand. You look away, back up at the eyes staring at you with curiosity.

"Hi," you murmur and introduce yourself. "Pleasure to meet you all."

"Who the hell..." More things rattle. Your heart races as you watch him stand. He swipes his hair back, eyes closed, and a cocky, drunk smile on his face. His eyes open slowly, and they then focus on you and stop. His smile wavers.

"Here we go," mutters George.

Your eyes burn with tears, and you stand straight as he stumbles slowly forward. He shoves Kipps and George out of the way when they try to steady him. Nothing stops him from reaching you.

Lockwood's long arms wrap around your waist, and his nose buries into the crook of your neck. You feel him breathing you in and starting to melt against you. It's all silent. He starts to shake, and you hold him to you, afraid he might fall and actually hurt himself.

"I missed you so much, my sweet girl..." He whispers. His breath is hot and shaky against your skin. You feel hot wet tears streak along your skin as he nuzzles himself deeper.

You put your hands on his shoulders and try to push him away so you can see his face. He allows only that. His brown eyes search yours. His pupils are blown, and his pink lips are slightly agape. He goes to push his forehead against yours. His lips are so close to yours again. You can smell the whiskey on his breath.

"I waited for you for so long," he whispers and leans in.

Before he can get too close, your instincts kick in.

You smack him across the face so hard his body tilts to the side. The sound echos through the hall. He stumbles again and has to put his hand on the wall to catch himself. He raises his hand to touch his stinging cheek. It's bright red, and he immediately flinches as soon as his hand comes into the slightest contact with it.

George suddenly grabs Lucy's sleeve and starts dragging her away. Kipps and Holly follow as well, a little too quickly. You and Lockwood are then alone.

6.

"That wasn't very nice..." mutters Lockwood, pouting like a petulant baby as he puts himself back together.

"I hoped it wasn't," you mutter, wiping the tears from your face. "Maybe it'll fucking sober you up so I can finally tell you what a piece of shit you are and have the chance you'll listen to me for once."

He actually chuckles and leans his back against the wall. He rubs his cheek and looks at you, as if he still can't believe you're here. He's smiling, and the tears are still present in his eyes. You stand there, unable to look at him and rocking on your heels. You keep rubbing away the tears, then fold your arms, trying to quiet your sniffling.

"The fuck is your problem, Anthony?" You hiss again.

"Don't believe I've got one, sweet girl," he chuckles again, tilting his head and taking his hand off his smarting cheek. "But we could make one. Me aaaand you. In my beeeed."

He slowly tilts himself forward and stands up straight. He glides across the hall in one long step. You're tempted to slap him again. Instead, you just shoulder-check him and head straight to the door. You shrug on your coat and open the front door.

"I've got something to show you," you say to him and point to the road outside. "So get your sorry ass out of the house, and you better sober up a little before I smack you again and make you."

Lockwood looks at you, his lips pursed. He wipes his mouth and blows a raspberry. He looks at the ground, rubbing his shoe on the new entrance rug.

"Whatever you want, sweet girl. You know I'd die for you."

7.

"Aha, I think I know where you're taking me!" Lockwood beams and grunts as he pulls himself up over the ledge of the small graveyard. He drops down and dusts himself off. He still has that dorky, drunk smile on his face as he looks up at you, and he puts his hands in his pockets. You have to turn away and walk deeper into the tiny cemetery, shuffling through knee-high grass and over abandoned tombstones.

"You know, if you wanted me to cry out all the booze I drank, you could have just hugged me back when we were at the house," he chortles, but once he came upon his family's graves, he stops. There is a freshly dug grave sitting right next to his sister's. The shovel is sticking up from the mound of dirt beside it. His smile drops as soon as he sees this. You see it, and as soon as he sees you see it, it pops right back up like nothing has changed.

"What is all this? Certainly not the... homecoming gift I was hoping for..." He says, breath lost and choked up. He rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat.

You walk right up to the head of the empty grave and point at it.

"Get in," you say.

"Pardon?" He stutters.

"Get," you point again, "in."

"Why?"

"Well, you've obviously had a death wish since I've left. You made England's biggest agency collapse and nearly died doing that, too. You've been shot and stabbed I don't know how many times, and it's driving me insane that you keep doing this. You keep getting hurt, and it's not by ghosts. You're getting yourself into shit that I don't know about and I'm so afraid that, one day, I'll pick up a fucking paper and your obituary is going to be the first thing I see," you tried to keep yourself from yelling. "So you wanna die so fucking bad!? Then die then! Get in the grave and see what it's like! Show me what I came all the way from fucking Liverpool to see!"

He just stares at you, almost in disbelief.

"This is a nice joke," he laughs. He raises his hands and beams. "You got me! I'm sober! I'm good!"

"I'm not joking."

You storm back around the grave to face him.

"Get in the grave, Lockwood."

He scoffs and laughs. His eyes roll and he shoves his hands in his pockets again. His tongue clicks and he leans forward, getting face to face with you.

"No."

Oh. His smile makes you want to slap him twice as hard. You purse your lips, and your jaw ticks from side to side. Upon your silence, his smile keeps growing.

"This was nice, but now it's time to go back home and get something to eat--"

You grab him by his collar and shove him toward the foot of the grave. He spins, his arms flailing wildly to try to catch his balance. He gets his footing, just as his heels teeter right at the very edge. His arms still whirl around like windmills. His look of panic transforms into flushed embarrassment. He smiles again. God, that smile.

You pick up a rock and chuck it at him. Unfortunately, that's the one thing to send him over the edge.

Your eyes go wide as he yells out and comically falls backward into the grave. You heard him land with an 'oof' and loud thud.

8.

You run up to the edge, get on your knees, and look down. You are worried at first, but slowly feel that worry ebb away.

He is lying on his back, legs up in the air. His navy blue socks, covered in a sailboat pattern, are now covered in dirt and dust. You huff and glare at him as his legs fell to the ground. Another cloud of dust plumes at his theatrics. He coughs a little bit, trying to catch his breath after the fall. You watch him take a deep breath and huff.

"Did it hurt?" You ask.

"When I fell from heaven? Not really, but I scraped my knee pretty bad crawling my way out of hell--"

You throw another rock, and it pings right off his chest. He yelps and croons. He curls himself into a little ball, as if that will shield him from being pelted further by rocks.

"Okay! Okay, I get it. No jokes. All serious," he let's out another deep breath but remains in his protective ball formation. "Yes. It hurt quite a bit."

"Good. And you deserved it too, since your the biggest twat I've met on this side of the world."

"You've met other twats like me?" He teases.

"Sure. Never as big as you, though."

You sit there in silence for some time. There are so many questions running through your brain, but your mouth runs dry, and you don't want to ask any of them. You force yourself, though. If you were going back to Liverpool the next morning, you'd be going back with long awaited answers.

"Why did you stop writing back to me?" You ask.

He sighs. He doesn't respond. You clump up a wad of dirt in your palms and throw it at him.

"Hey, will you cut that out!?" He barks, looking up at you. You throw another wad of dirt and hit him square in the face. It knocks him back onto his back. He's spluttering and snarling at the same time.

"Are you gonna answer my God damn questions? Or am I going to have to keep throwing dirt at you? I could do either, honestly. Seeing you look this pathetic makes me feel powerful."

"Oh? Does my misery turn you on?" He mutters, wiping dirt from his cheek.

"Shut up and answer me."

He sits up and tries to shrug off the rest of the dirt on him. He clicks his tongue and leans his back against the wall of the grave.

"Barnes found out I was contacting you," he says softly. "And told me to quit."

"And you listened?" You scoff.

"Not initially, no," he says in defense. "But I had to, eventually. One day, he just showed up at our doorstep and told me if I sent one more letter, I'd be fined."

"That sounds like bullshit," you say, folding your arms. You take a seat at the edge of the grave and let your legs dangle.

"I thought so too," he laughs, "until he hand delivered me a blue slip saying I owed one hundred pounds for an obstruction of privacy between a privately employed agent, and an employed agent of federal law. I still thought it sounded like absolute rubbish and sent another, but in came just another fine. Then, I was two hundred pounds in debt. I actually just got that paid off, by the way. There was a time when I tried to send another, but George nearly lost his marbles when I attempted it. Another hundred added to our debt was the last thing he wanted. That bloody bastard wrestled the envelope from my hands. He's actually much stronger than what he lets on."

You smile. The thought of George actually initiating physical contact with Lockwood amused you. You look up at the setting sun. The sky is a beautiful salmon and orange color. You sigh.

"So when you stopped talking to me, it wasn't intentional?"

"Of course it wasn't," chortles Lockwood. "You're my favorite person in the entire world. God would smite me before I'd ever purposely give up on talking to you. And I'd been planning on sneaking away to Liverpool for a holiday, but... well, I've had quite a few pairs of eyes on me for some time now. I didn't want to bring the danger to your front door."

"Anthony, your trouble in a man-shaped package. There's always some danger lurking in your corner," you laugh and he laughs too.

The silence is more comfortable now. Less tense, now that some weight has been released.

"I really did miss you," he then whispers. You almost strain to hear him. "I tried so hard to find someone to fill the gap you left, but I... it was impossible. There's no one like you out there in this world. No one as special. No one I could love as much as I do you."

Your heart stopped.

"You love me?" You whisper.

"I'm crazy about you. Of course I love you. Ever since I met you in Scotland Yard and I signed your cast," he smiles fondly at the memory. "I know that was probably at my least attractive point then, with a bloody tissue shoved so high up my nostril, it tickled my brain, but I just knew there was something about you. And when you first called, my heart was going so fast. You can ask George about it when we get home. He'll tell you all about how I nearly collapsed at the sound of your voice."

You laugh again, and it's like the sweetest song he's ever heard. He'll do anything for that sound. He'll do anything for you, alone.

"I saved all your letters," he says. "I have your picture by my bedside. I dream about having you by my side, every single night."

"Now you're just starting to sound cheesy," you scoff and smile. He keeps smiling right back up at you. That million giga-watt smile. He had your heart in a steadfast hold, and you knew it.

"Cheesy is my middle name," Lockwood hums. He picks himself off the ground and stands up. His hair is riddled with dirt, and his white shirt is stained brown in many spots. He watches curiously as you hop down into the grave. You teeter and struggle to land on your feet, but he's there to save you, like he always is.

His arm wraps around your waist and pulls you close to him, preventing your fall. His free hand cups your cheek and brushes away a small tendril of hair.

"So now you know my story," he beams. "I get to ask a question now. So, I missed you. That much is obvious. But... did you miss me back?"

You stood there, looking at his smile, feeling the way his thumb traced your spine just how you remember and ogling him. Not too long ago, you thought you'd never see him again. You're so glad that you were wrong then.

You lean up and kiss him. He's fast to kiss back. You don't push him away this time.

He lets you breathe once you both are satisfied and breathing hard. He looks right into your eyes.

"Grant a crazy man one wish?" He murmurs, eyes sparkling and rejuvenated. This was the return of the Anthony you knew. "Stay forever. Here. With me."

"Crazy man doesn't mean reckless or suicidal man, does it?" You giggle.

"I will fight to the very last inch of my life if it means I get to come home to you again," he whispers.

"Then you've got yourself a deal."

[phoenix-is-the-hottest-thing]

This may be a bit of a weird ask, but I sometimes feel like I can't really form my own opinion on media I consume. Like, most of the time, while going through hi3's story for example, I follow the story but I don't really think about it? Like, I try to understand what's happening but most of the time (although sometimes I have some thought pop up) it's like I'm just one with the story. And what especially makes me feel like I can't make my own opinions is just how much of other's people's opinions on stuff I see. And when I think about it now, did I ever form an opinion that wasn't "stolen" or "borrowed" from someone else? I also sometimes feel like I was consuming different media from someone cause I'll be like "Wow, x character did y and z that was kinda cool" and another person will be like "Yea it reminds of how Mr.Squarckletickle died to become god and that one napkin was referencing Greek god Coulnaemeus and it was a really shocking to find out that bubblesquigle was actually a son of that god who saves and ruined countless civilization which was all depicted in the book you can find near a bench in CoolPlace" and I just feel like, bad, because sometimes I forget a line right after reading and I only notices very obvious things after second playthrough, but it feels like other people just manage to magically store and find all the lore in their brain while also managing to have a life and do stuff and I'm like. I feel incompetent and that they know some kinda secret that I don't. Anyways this is just me rambling you can delete this ask if you want

Overall it's totally fine to feed off the opinions of others, that's how humans learn what an opinion is, and all the kinds of opinions one can have, BUT. The fact that you're aware and unsatisfied, makes me think that's something about your habits you want to change. And I'm here to tell you: it's totally possible! It's basically studying material, so it can also make you better at academia, haha.

Like... it's not magic! It's very much a learned skill (and a passion for me). It requires rereading, and thinking about things with a bit of distance (in the heat of the moment I also tend to go WOAH THAT WAS COOL), and maybe writing down your thoughts, stuff like that. I often realize things as I describe them to my friends excitedly.

Pick something short to practice analyzing if you have trouble "storing lore", that's totally fine. For example, you can find a poem you like on this website and try to analyze it, and then go look at how other people analyze it. That'll be easier to start on that a video game since poems tend to be short and packed with meaning to find, and since you can often find what other people say about classic works, you can figure out how much you picked up on and what you missed.

You can look up the ways analysis is done too, there's a methodology to it! Sparknotes has a breakdown that'd be a good starting point.

Just try to have fun with it, it's like solving a puzzle. "What did the author try to convey? Did they succeed? Why did they phrase it this way, what is the subtext? Where does it fit in a bigger picture, if there is one? How does it further a theme or message?"

If you ever want to practice on my fics since they're also on the shorter side, it'd be a huge honor~ Feel free to leave a comment like that~ (My works are linked in my pinned post.)

[deepdeanvsweston]

ik you’ve mentioned that DSS is your least fav book in the series and i’m wondering what you would change about it?

im not the biggest fan of it either tbh :)

Oh SO many things buckle in team. Ok so roughly in keeping with canon:

- first, Hazel wouldn't mention that Daisy was dead in the first chapter, nor would it mention it on the blurb

- for me it took the shock out of it so much that I wasn't even surprised she came back

- so it would be this secret until. Well. She actually throws herself in and then the Grief Pages

- just as a side note, when I first read the chapters where Hazel was grieving, I remember thinking 'surely Hazel should be sadder?' because emotions always tend to come through really nicely when Robin writes her. I like to think that Hazel was telling herself 'Daisy wouldn't like me moping about and wailing in the casebook about it'

- anyway

- I'm ALWAYS sitting on the fence about whether I like the moment they reveal themselves as detectives/police officers (I can't quite remember what they call themselves)

- first read I hated it I was like 'what are you doing!!!' but on a re-read I did think 'oh this is very fifteen year old behaviour'

- I really enjoyed the 'theyre 1930s teenage girls so have to be covert in their operations' aspect of MMU, so when they did reveal themselves as 'police officers' and were conducting interviews I did miss those vibes

- so I'd possibly change that bit, I'm not sure what to though

- I'd change how the Damina kiss played out

- I think it was too on the fly personally

- I would have written as Daisy goes to Amina's room for something. And then when she comes back, Hazel describes her as pink and distracted and how she keeps touching her lips. And Hazel writes in her casebook how 'Daisy has lipstick on her lips that wasn't there before but knew Daisy wouldn't appreciate her pointing it out' sort of thing

- I'd change nearly the whole ending

- it's always always bugged me (and made me sad if I'm being honest) how everyone was paired up at the end. I've spoken about this before, but just to reiterate, I think it was bad that a series aimed at 9-12 had all the characters pair up at the end of the series, as if all happy endings included a partner, and especially considering the speed at which it was done

- Halexander I get, it'd been building for a while. Damina, for the same reason, though I would have liked more development. But George and Lavinia I actually had to put the book down because I was speechless

- so yeah I'd do away with George and Lavinia completely (apologies George/Lavinia shippers 💔)

- as for Halexander like I said I get it it had been building

- but what I'd have liked to had seen is the bit where George is like 'has Alex really not said anything?' I would have somehow implied that he was being respectful of Hazel's grief, rather than just being nervous to confess

- and then Hazel would go seek him out instead, and ask him, and ofc he'd say yes

- but then Hazel would tell him 'i can't do this, not right now' and I like to think it would be a sweet moment where they agree to be 'friends for the foreseeable future'

- the whole 'Daisy reveal' thing bugs me too, I just didn't enjoy the way it was done. I'm possibly biased and pinning more on these relationships than there actually is, but I think Bertie and Hazel should have got to see Daisy alive together

- No do you know what I just didn't like the way Daisy actually 'died' either. If we're keeping with canon, she had to die because of the Grief Pages, but maybe I would have had Daisy pulled overboard secretly at night without Hazel realising, maybe about halfway through the book (so earlier than in canon)

- and so Hazel still has this glimmer of hope that Daisy is out there and takes charge and perseveres to solve the case with George, Alex and Amina

- which in my professional opinion would have made the 'madam president' and Hazel telling Daisy she made herself president more meaningful

[huffys-other-blog]

Hunted down? (Mr.X x reader fluff)

I'm back bitches! contains: X speaking in broken english, slight mentions of sex but nothing actually sexual...very touchy X bc he's worried about you, Human × Monster

--------------------------

Hunted down? (Mr.X × Reader fluff)

-----------------------------------------

"Fuck fuck fuck fuuuuucckkk-"

You knew he was after you...you weren't from around here...but you knew the monster was sent to hunt down anyone left in racoon city, you had seen him kill multiple humans but he had always managed to let you slip by...until now. You'd always catch glimpses of his eyes...and he would glance back, and while he tended to have what could be described as a dead-eyed stare, the way he looked at you seemed uncannily human.

Alas...you didn't have time to worry about that anymore, you had to find a way out of there. You ran down one of the many maze-like halls of the RPD, occasionally turning a corner or two but it was mostly just straight hallway after straight hallway...and yet, those footsteps seemed to be behind you every way you went...until you managed to lose him when you booked it into the nearest safe room...or so you thought.

You took a moment to adjust to your new surroundings...but once you did...it was quite the odd sight to behold, a quilt, mattress and a few pillows were the only things of notice in the room. "Weird...but ultimately useless…" You muttered under your breath as you turned back around to leave, big mistake.

The Tyrant was the first thing you saw the moment you reopened that door, the way you jumped back in fear and onto the mattress as he entered the room was like that of a cartoon character. You wanted to scream but the fear took the voice right out of you...all you could do now was scamper towards the wall as he slowly approached you.

He eventually stopped approaching you and just….stared at you in the same uncanny way he had before...but then you noticed that he seemed to be a lot...calmer...something about you was different to him...perhaps he could tell you weren't from around here...or maybe it was because he just knew you had nothing to attack him with and he wanted to give you a chance...or maybe...just maybe...he was into you? No...that would be weird right?

He resumed his crawl towards you and eventually made his way onto the mattress, quickly bringing his face close to yours...he had you pinned against him, and there was nothing you could do except stare back into his eyes...that and inspect him as much as he was inspecting you.

His silver-ish skin seemed to glimmer and glisten even in the dimmest of light, each wrinkle on his face could be inspected for hours on end, he had an oddly high body temperature and was almost double the size of you...but at least your death would be comfy...that is if he wanted to kill you of course.

The Tyrant kept his eyes on you but raised his hand towards your face, you flinched back in fear...but you were quickly caught off guard by him placing his hand gently against your face, using his thumb to stroke your face. "I think he likes me?" you thought to yourself. You admired how gentle he was being, but at the same time...he had been chasing you for hours on end and you had seen him easily kill that rookie cop you had met earlier...he could easily end you if he wanted to...but he wasn't, he seemed entranced by you...in love even...no, he couldn't be...could he?

You felt him place his other hand on your other cheek...one could say you would almost be a you sandwich...jokes aside, all you could really do is hope that he didn't hurt you.

He seemed to inch his face closer to your's, his hot breath practically being blown into your face, all while he kept his eyes locked on you...and then, he seemed to try and smile as he moved his hands from your face and swept you up into his arms. "EEK! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" you yell, stopping the tyrant in his tracks by squirming. He didn't want to hurt you so he kept his grip on you to a minimum...but not loose enough to accidentally drop you. He waited for you to calm down before he made his next move.

"Why are you doing this??? What do you want????" you manage to barely scream out. He seemed sad at your behavior towards him but he seemed to understand that his way of trying to make friends was less than stellar. "...lone...ly…" he said in a low, grumbly voice. "...I...like you...want you...both as friend...and mate…want to protect outsider human...help them...love them... "

He seemed quite sorry about how he "introduced" himself as he let go of you...you could run away now...but he seemed genuine and you had to admit… you might have been overreacting a bit.

"Mate? Like a partner?" you ask, once again looking him in the eyes. "Yes...X so lonely…" he added. "no like hunting really...will only hurt zombies from now on...for you...X really really like you for long long time...since X lay his eyes upon human when first get lost in Racoon city…but X understand if human no like him...X just wanted to make you comfy... but got too touchy feely since he want to make sure human was not hurt by zombies or rookie cop….."

"Oh...so you just want someone to love...I think I understand but...wouldn't it be weird for us to be together?" you say as you continue looking at him. "Would a human and a mutant work?"

"We can try and make it work! If anyone try to stop us...then too bad! Human shouldn't let others judgements hurt them...neither should X!"

You just nod in agreement, it was something you had to think about for a bit however. "Ok...but just casually for now ok?" you add, to which the tyrant nodded back. "But why the mattress specifically?"

"X know it look suspicious...but human have no place to live...so X try and compromise with prison mattresses and pillows to make human a bed to sleep in! It not too comfy...but X hope he can at least provide shelter and food...and maybe "fun times" if human get closer to X and need to let off steam, X never ask for that kind of thing himself though, so don't worry!"

"Got it! You don't have to be too protective though!" you respond as you could feel yourself falling for the bioweapon, he was definitely a charmer...even if he had a hard time explaining it! "Give me a few bullets n stuff and I'm sure I can keep myself safe for a while, the help is very much appreciated! However, we should first find somewhere better to live than in here, somewhere like an abandoned motel maybe?"

"Yes...but tomorrow, it night time outside when X follow human in...X know he forget to bring blanket for bed...but X warm body hopefully keep human warm for the night!" he chirped as he offered to pull you in for a hug...which you gladly accepted, the tyrant pulled you close to him and laid himself down with you carefully cradled in his arms. His size and warmth were perfect, and soon enough...you both found yourself fast asleep, what had started out as what you assumed to be a hunt had turned into a tale of love and protection, and the monster was more than happy to protect his new friend no matter what!

The end.

[aquickstart]

You know the b99 episode where the dentist who did the perfect murder ends up confessing in a rage because Jake lays down the theory that he was impulsive and sloppy and simply got lucky at every turn? To me Oliver is lowkey the kind of guy Jake described.

i read your ask wrong the first time and assumed something you didn't imply at all and typed out almost a full response. talk about presumption and literacy my god. anyway. to actually answer this correctly this time.

YES. yes exactly. i don't remember this episode well. but oliver quick is impulsive and hungry and horny and confused by his desires. he is sloppy. he is the kind of guy who thinks that of course no one wants him, ugh, poor him, he deserves a sob story because he might as well have been poor and neglected, he felt like he was, so what of it; insecure but compensating by pride. he is also the kind to think that he is smarter than everyone and understands whatever he set his mind to understand better than anyone ever could (i.e. felix, the cattons, the reality of being actually poor, too). he relies on his own perception. once he establishes what he thinks is the full picture, he sticks by this understanding until he gets hit in the face by the concrete wall of reality (e.g. farleigh who keeps defying his expectation and driving him more and more mad).

in his mind, as evidenced so clearly by his monologue in the end, he calculated everything perfectly because he is so smart and everyone else isn't. the truth of it is that the cattons played with him until it was too late. it just so happened that the cattons were also sloppy with their playing, and unfortunately oliver was too impulsive, and too hungry, and never had to face rejection in a way that mattered to him before oxford (because everyone at school was an idiot, clearly, so they just didn't appreciate his genius, and his family, predominantly women, were clearly also too meek to reach his depth of thinking (i am being sarcastic. this is oliver's logic)). he fumbles everything and everyone and then soliloquizes to convince himself (and us, the audience) that he actually didn't. it wasn't actually just a crush that accidentally drove him to something sinister, because oliver quick is a cold-hearted calculating mastermind. if you implied the contrary to his face he'd flip out, probably.

so that's that. but i'll tell you why i first misread your ask. i will also tell you most of what i typed out at first because it is still relevant because of your comparison of b99, a sitcom, and saltburn, an enigma of genre.

by comparing it with a sitcom you're picking up on genre conventions and bringing up, i think, indirectly, a great point about the messiness of saltburn as a film, a cinematic work of art, and the difficulty of defining its genre because of the context of its form. i saw a comment on tiktok in a similar vein, about how saltburn defies the concept of genre and is impossible to pin down, and disagreed with it, because saltburn is fundamentally gothic romanticism, which is, however, largely (if not exclusively) a book genre/aesthetic.

yeah! so like, with this comparison, you're kinda drawing attention to the fact, i think, that oliver soliloquizing his genius plan and recounting everything we've already seen is kind of silly on its own, on a surface level. it is kind of silly because it sounds like it does in marvel-esque flicks, because in those types of stories it's a cliché that works to emphasize the villain's villainy, the pride, the presumption of the win. in those stories we know these dudes are evil (there's nuance, but in general, they are anti-heroes). and i need to stress this: saltburn can definitely be watched and read in the exact same way. surface reading can be completely justified (it is a legitimate literary practice! i have a pdf on hand if you want but here's a citation on researchgate). it's liberating not to dig into psycho- and lit-analysis of a piece and could serve some of us well.

your ask is not about that at all, but i fuckin love the comparison. because saltburn is fuckin silly in a huge part. it has a whole bunch of bits and pieces that it strings together and a lot of people are trying to pin down its genre based on individual bits that they recognize the tone of. but this kind of seeing it is a mistake, because what it does is play into the aesthetics of gothic romanticism. and gothic romanticism can be anything at all, it just has to convey certain themes in certain ways. which is what it does. so it's not that much about whether saltburn is a comedy, a drama, a horror or a thriller. it's more about the fact that it's a gothic story. i fuckin love saltburn.

[haltandcatchfiretothemax]

FEMSLASH FEBRUARY #6: In which Cameron realizes that she has a wife

NOTE: it wasn't planned, but, this one turned out to be for @theresebelivett and her tattoo <3

[CN: food/dinner, being and getting upset at a restaurant] . .

Cameron made it through the first 20 minutes of dinner with two new, unknown representatives from Atari before she felt compelled to excuse herself and rush outside for some air.

The representatives themselves were refreshingly un-executive seeming. Nico, a gangly, unabashedly nerdy Filipino kid with shoulder length hair who’d just joined the company, collected vintage games and obscure comic books, and maintained a website with recommendations that was inspired by Comet. His boss, Becca, had described herself as an introvert, but had talked animatedly to Cameron about fantasy and speculative fiction, musical theater, David Lynch, gaming, and her attempts to learn to code. Becca was short (as most people were, next to Cameron), round, pale, bespectacled, and had several visible tattoos. She had bright brown eyes and short hair, and one side of her head was shaved, and she spoke to Cameron and Donna with this funny, endearing mix of real confidence and slightly nervous reverence.

The four of them met at Mountain View’s finest steakhouse, where Atari had reserved a quiet back room for their meeting, and Nico and Becca talked like the kids that Cameron used to chat with on the internet in the 1980s. They didn’t just know Phoenix, they knew Mutiny, seemed like they’d used it themselves. They didn’t just know Cameron’s most recent, independently released game, Steward, they knew every volume of the Spacebike Chronicles, and they knew about Pilgrim. Becca even had a Spacebike tattoo on the inside of her left arm, a simple outline of Cameron’s hero, standing next to her bike, and when Becca showed it to Cameron and Donna, it hadn’t felt smarmy or manipulative at all. Donna had laughed with delight, and said, “Oh, I kind of want one just like it!” But that was when Cameron had stood up abruptly and said, “Uh, I’ll be back…soon, bye,” and bolted.

After just over 10 minutes Donna went and found Cameron, who was standing outside, a few feet from the restaurant’s back entrance, chewing on her thumbnail.

“It’s a good thing you’re still here,” Donna said. “Those kids seem really nice, but if you’d left me here with them, alone, you’d be looking at a week on the couch, at least.”

Cameron looked at Donna, who was standing in front of her in a pale blue, cocktail-length asymmetrical dress that had a sort of Grecian vibe, that Cameron thought looked very nice on Donna, though the idea of having one shoulder covered and one shoulder bare made Cameron’s own skin crawl. Donna’s hair was pinned up, and she was wearing high heels. She’d convinced Cameron to leave Phoenix’s offices early that day, so they would have time to get dressed, and pushed her to wear her most expensive wool slacks and best-fitting blazer. Cameron hadn’t fully appreciated what a big deal this out of the blue dinner with Atari really was until she’d seen what Donna was wearing.

Donna reached for Cameron’s hand and gently pulled it away from her mouth, and kept it in hers. “What are you thinking?” she asked.

Miserably, Cameron said, “That you look beautiful. ‘Businessman’s wife who does all the actual work and closes the deal over drinks’ is a look that really suits you. Even though I don’t feel like I deserve it.”

“Don’t be silly,” Donna said. “I mean, you’re right, it is a look that suits me very well. But you absolutely deserve it. I’m only enjoying it immensely because I’m here with you.” She squeezed Cameron’s hand, and asked, “What’s really bothering you?”

“I don’t know,” Cameron admitted. “It just doesn’t feel good. I don’t know if it’s because it really doesn’t feel good, or because I’m remembering how it felt before.”

“What happened?” Donna asked, letting of Cameron’s hand. She crossed her arms over her chest. “How did it feel before?”

Cameron took a breath, as if that might help her hold back her tears, but it didn’t really work. Unsteadily, she said, “I made Pilgrim for you. And for me, too, and how I felt after Mutiny. I made it for you, and for us. Even if I didn’t realize it at first.”

Donna beamed at Cameron, and rubbed her upper arms, as if she were trying to keep warm.

Cameron took off her blazer, and put it around Donna’s shoulders.

“Thanks,” Donna said, pulling the blazer closed.

“I get that you and me and us is a very niche audience,” Cameron continued. “But they shit-canned it. And I’m still upset.”

“Well, I’m sure I would be too,” Donna said. “It’s okay that you feel that way, though. You get to feel that way for as long as you want to. You don’t have to decide anything, or sign anything, tonight. All you have to do is order the most expensive thing on the menu and enjoy it.”

“Yeah?” Cameron asked. “That’s okay, if we just have dinner, and maybe forget this ever happened?”

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Donna smiled. “They’re here for you. They came all the way down here because they want something from you, they need you. You’re the talent, and you’re the one who’s in charge.”

Cameron wiped some tears away with the back of her hand. “I’m the one who’s in charge.”

“We should also get more appetizers. And desserts,” Donna said.

“As always, you’re right,” Cameron said. She put her arm out, and Donna smiled at her, and took it. They started back toward the restaurant together.

[ladyloveandjustice]

So I read the third Magirevo novel (it was a very quick read, especially when you skim the parts that are just repeating things it already said which is uuuuh about half of it! Yeah unfortunately the prose has not gotten better) because I knew the final arc didn't get a lot of of time and I was curious to see what got cut out and honestly...not much of value.

There's an additional conversation with Euphie's mother (she exists in the novels!) and Anis' mother, which does show us Anis' mom is genuinely worried about her daughter and realizes she was wrong to put so much pressure on her and is even hoping she'll continue to work on magicology even after becoming Queen (also that Lainie's figured out how to use her brainwashing powers as an anti anxiety med if the target gives consent, which is interesting) and that Euphie's mom...exists, but it doesn't give us any new information or emotional insight that wasn't covered in the anime.

In fact, I mostly have a list of things I'm glad they changed or left out!

-For some reason this book is super into Tomas the Blacksmith, who's has only just been introduced and also doesn't have any personality traits? The scene where Tilty comforts Anis and suggests they ditch this stupid place and make a living as hot conwomen is entirely anime original, instead we get a very boring scene where the blacksmith who has no reason to care about royal spirit pacts or her gf troubles comforts her. So yes, I think the anime made a very good decision in having a touching scene with a character the audience might actually be fond of instead.

We also get a way too extended scene on how they collaborate with Tomas to make the magic dresses, I cannot imagine why the author thinks I would care about this. I guess it's to show Anis has a genuine bond with people of other classes, but they could have used an actually interesting character for that.

-Euphie's arguing with Anis is super repetitive over the queen vs immortal contractor thing in the novel, and Anis is weirdly childish during their duel, screaming "I hate you" at her several times like she's a five year old yelling at Mom which is just jarring considering the stakes and all.

-The duel also comes off as much more brutal, like Anis literally mentions she's going to hit Euphie with the same attack that seriously injured VampireAl and it could kill her and...why???? That makes no sense you're literally having this fight to protect her. Calm down!!!

-For some reason, when Euphie tells Anis she's not a fake, in the book she straddles her and starts shaking her while she's pinned down to the bed (I guess she's jerking her up and down?) Imagine how incredibly awkward it would have looked if the anime copied this, I'm so glad they didn't. The straddling should come later! It takes away the impact of when she pins her to the bed actually romantically!

-Then Euphie accidentally drains Anis' magical energy when they make out with her new super spirit powers and Anis passes out, which is such a dumb ending to a romantic moment, thank god the anime cut that shit. I don't understand why it was there. Did the author just not know how to fade to black?

-In the novel, Anis is the one who orders the sword and names it, rather than it being a sweet gesture from Euphie. The anime is doing so much work here.

-In the novel, for some reason Euphie and Anis decide to battle it out in the sky instead of just dancing- I'd be neutral on this, they're clearly having fun and this is the shit they're into, you do you girls, and it does have the incredibly funny moment where Anis goes "and then Euphie dropkicked me." Except the light novel takes forever to describe it and I ended up skimming over it. How long were they up there. If I were the townspeople I'd be yelling that I did not consent to being part of this bourgeoisie kink display and want to go home. Also when you remember they're both wearing heels there is such a possibility of one of those falling off and beaning someone in the head and killing them.

Things I thought were interesting/was neutral on:

-The anime does leave out some stuff in Lumi's backstory, namely that her father, the king who made the original spirit contract, did so to save the kingdom but eventually became a cruel, horrific ruler due to his emotions withering away, and Lumi had to kill her own dad to stop him. Lumi also shows more of cruel streak herself. I don't think the anime needed this, the whole immortality and emotions fading thing was enough to show there were consequences to the spirit contract, and it kinda makes Euphie look wildly irresponsible she'd risk becoming a despotic ruler. (However, Lumi does say she knows it won't happen to Euphie because Anis is there.) It is an interesting bit of lore though, and the novel leans more heavily on the theme that magic is pretty dangerous and terrible.

-Anis mentions in the novel that thinking she was fake is part of why she didn't tell Al about the rumors or why she left- she was afraid the nobles were catching on to how she was 'wrong' somehow and thought Al would notice too. I thought that was interesting and gave some more context to her actions.

-Tilty walks in on Anis and Euphie in bed together, and is like 'well well well' which was admittedly pretty funny, though it just became too much when Lumi also hopped in. Give them some privacy.

-This was fairly obvious anyway, but since we get Anis' POV the novel confirms her 'you were just kissing me on the lips out of friendship weren't you' was because she thought it was too good to be true. Also she just seems to like arguing for the sake of it, which Euphie points out to her.

All in all the anime is definitely the best way to experience the story. of the first three novels. The novels have too laden with repetition, unneeded exposition and poor pacing, the manga is also occasionally bogged down my exposition too and overall way skeevier, but the anime knows what's important about the story and what changes to make to make it shine. Though I do believe the anime team would have added some good original content if they'd had some extra room, pretty much everything it cut from the novel was not necessary.

[darael]

Hello hello! I saw you said something about Toki Pona being built on a poisonous philosophy and I was wondering if you could explain what you mean? You don't have to of course but I don't know anything about Toki Pona and the tag caught my interest. Have a nice day!

Okay so some context, both for you since you say you don't know anything about it and for my followers:

Toki Pona is a constructed language. It was originally designed to have a grand total of 120 words, and while the current word-count depends how you count them and who you ask, it's still below 150, the most common count of "essential" ones being 137. The creator, Sonja Lang, describes it as "an attempt to understand the meaning of life in 120 words".

As you can probably imagine, having only 137 words means each word has to do a lot of work — has to carry a lot of possible meanings. There are only five colour words (black, white, red, yellow, and bluegreen). There are only five number words (none/zero, one, two, many, all/infinite/manymany), and some of them also carry meanings that in English are not numbers (for example, the word for none or zero is also the word for not, and the word for all is also the word for life). One word means all kinds of grains, and also bread. You get the idea. This is, explicitly, not ambiguity but a declaration that each of these words represents a single underlying concept that can be translated into English in multiple ways. It's a claim that "life" and "everything" and "all of them" are in some way the same concept, and therefore get one word. Put a pin in that; we'll come back to it later.

Unfortunately, the underlying philosophy of Toki Pona is, as the word-count might suggest, minimalism. Minimalism as an ideology for life already had some serious issues in my book, notably in that the common version of it that leads to empty white rooms with one or two objects as "accents" is classist as all get out. It also encourages disposability culture, which ties into that — to live a "minimalist" life in that sense you have to (for example) not keep a jar of pens on your desk, because you can buy a disposable one when you need it so you shouldn't clutter your space with them when you don't. But that's just an association, not what can be poisonous about Toki Pona.

The name "Toki Pona" literally translates to "the language of good", but also "simple speech". The word "pona" represents all facets of goodness and simplicity. In Toki Pona, "simple" and "good" and indeed "useful" and "peace" are the same concept. "Okay," you might ask, "what's so bad about that?" I'll tell you what's so bad about it: in the same way, their antitheses are declared to be the same concept. Complexity (and all the shades of meaning it can give the world, all the understanding we can derive from it) is declared to be ontologically not just bad, but the same thing as badness. Specifically, that word — "ike" — is defined in the translation dictionary as "bad, negative; non-essential, irrelevant".

This attitude, in my experience, results in Toki Pona enthusiasts being very convinced that Toki Pona is inherently correct, and that anything that's difficult to express in that language wasn't worth expressing anyway. It's a combination of intellectual elitism with anti-intellectualism. The former manifests as an attitude that anyone who can't express what they want to say in a way the Toki Pona speaker deems "simple" (usually meaning "easily translated to Toki Pona") is somehow inadequate, and the latter as the idea that any concept not easily translated must not be worth dealing with.

This was kinda rambly but I hope it gave you a general idea of why, while I find it interesting as an experiment and an intellectual exercise, I despise Toki Pona as a philosophy.