#but that might be stretching things a bit 😔

[sunlightfeeling]

why is takuya looking at tsuyoshi like he wants to eat him alive…?

Bokura no Ongaku: 2013.10.4

[julietsf1]

Frights & Feuds (🎃) - Franco Colapinto x Reader

summary: Y/N and Franco never liked each other, but leave it to Lando to throw them into matching costumes at his Halloween party.

warnings: smut!! mdni!!!

AN: so I’ve figured out that I can’t follow anyone back as this is my secondary blog! no moots, just vibes 😔 but wanted to say I really love all the sweet comments I’ve gotten on the last few posts!! I’m traveling for work rn so I might be a bit less responsive, but I appreciate them so much, makes my day! anyway here’s something new <3

___________________________________________

The salty breeze hit my face as I stepped onto Lando’s yacht, excitement bubbling in my chest. A Star Wars-themed Halloween party—on a yacht, no less—was basically a dream come true. I mean, who wouldn't want to channel their inner galactic hero for a night? My white jumpsuit, the one Padmé wore in Attack of the Clones, was snug in all the right places, and with the plastic blaster on my hip, I actually felt like I could take on an army of battle droids.

The yacht itself, though… that was something else entirely.

It was like Halloween had exploded. Neon orange cobwebs, flickering plastic pumpkins, and inflatable ghosts swayed ominously in the breeze. If there was such a thing as too many decorations, Lando had found it and then doubled down. I couldn’t help but chuckle under my breath as I stepped onto the deck.

“It looks like Party City threw up,” I muttered, shaking my head in amusement. Somehow, that made it perfect. Only Lando could pull off something this chaotic and get away with it.

I wasn’t mad though—this level of over-the-top was what I’d come to expect from him. It was chaotic, ridiculous, and, in its own weird way, perfect. The kind of vibe that told you anything could happen tonight, and honestly? That was exactly what I’d signed up for.

I made my way through the growing crowd, dodging people dressed in costumes so random they made me question if we were even at the same party. Carlos strutted by in his sexy fireman outfit, suspenders barely clinging to his shoulders, a grin stretched across his face.

“Senator,” he said with a mock salute, flexing unnecessarily as he passed.

I laughed. “Carlos, put those away. No one's here to see that.”

“Oh, they are. Trust me.” He winked and strutted off, clearly enjoying the attention.

Just ahead, I spotted Oscar, and… I had to blink twice. He had a slice of bread taped to his chest, and a gold medal swinging from his neck. “Breadwinner,” I muttered, shaking my head.

As I weaved through the madness, Alex clanked around in a robot suit that squeaked with every step. I waved at him, trying not to laugh too hard as his costume practically fell apart before my eyes.

I stopped in my tracks when I caught sight of Max. The world champion himself was dressed as an old lady, complete with a wig, glasses, and a cane. He was shuffling around like he had all the time in the world, and I could practically hear him muttering about “these young people” as he dodged a dancing Daniel, who was in full cowboy mode.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, barely able to contain my laughter as I snapped a quick photo for future blackmail.

Despite the absurdity of it all, the party was fun in that weird, chaotic way that only Lando could pull off. I could already tell it was going to be one of those nights where anything could happen.

Now, if only I could find the mastermind behind this whole mess.

I pushed my way through the crowd, determined to track down Lando and demand an explanation for why I was Padmé in a party full of random costumes. Finally, I spotted him at the bar, leaning casually against the counter in a football jersey, a lazy grin spread across his face.

“Lando!” I called, marching up to him with all the authority I could muster in the little jumpsuit. “We need to talk.”

He turned, his grin widening when he saw me. “Ah, Senator Amidala herself! You made it. Looking good, by the way.”

I rolled my eyes but smiled. “What is this? You told me this party had a Star Wars theme.”

Lando gave me a look of pure innocence, raising his hands. “I said you had a Star Wars theme. Everyone’s got their own thing going on.”

I blinked. “So, this—” I gestured around the deck, “—isn’t a themed party?”

“Nope!” He popped the “p” with a proud grin. “I thought it’d be more fun to give everyone different costumes. You know, shake things up a bit. Keep people on their toes.”

I groaned, but I couldn’t help laughing. “Of course you did. Why am I even surprised?”

“Come on, you love it,” Lando teased, throwing an arm around my shoulder. “It’s Halloween. You’re supposed to embrace the chaos.”

I snorted. “Chaos, yes. But coordinated chaos, at least. Can’t believe I’m the only one in full Star Wars gear.”

Lando’s grin stretched wider, that mischievous spark lighting up his eyes. “Well, not exactly the only one.”

Before I could even process what that meant, the crowd shifted, and I spotted him.

Franco Colapinto.

He was making his way across the deck, dressed head-to-toe as Anakin Skywalker, lightsaber strapped to his belt, the leather tunic pulling the whole look together in a way that made him stand out. Hair fluffy, stupid grin on his face and a little sparkle in his eyes. I felt a flutter in my stomach. Not because he looked so good—no, more like an annoyance flutter, obviously. Of all people, Lando had paired me with him?

I whipped around to face Lando, who was grinning ear to ear. “Lando. Why the hell is he Anakin?”

Lando laughed, hands up defensively. “Come on, it’s perfect! Padmé and Anakin? Star-crossed lovers, forbidden love, the whole deal. I’m a genius.”

My jaw clenched as I shot Lando a warning glare. “You’re an idiot.”

Franco reached us just as I was about to march off. “Really, Lando?” he said, his tone dripping with irritation. “You had to pair me up with her?”

I crossed my arms, irritation spiking. “Wow, I see you’re already embracing the Anakin vibe. Got the whole ‘whiny man baby’ thing down perfectly.” I tilted my head, raising an eyebrow. “What’s next, you gonna throw a tantrum?”

His smirk faltered for a split second before he shot back. “You’d know all about being dramatic, wouldn’t you, Senator?”

I crossed my arms, my annoyance flaring. “Oh please, just so you know, no one’s thrilled about this.”

He shot me an exasperated look. “Right, because being stuck with me is so unbearable.”

“Pretty high on the list, actually,” I shot back, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

Lando, sensing the tension but clearly loving every second of it, grinned even wider. “Look at this! You two are just proving my point.”

“There is no vibe,” Franco and I said in unison, whipping around to glare at Lando. I could feel my cheeks burning as Franco’s gaze flicked toward me, clearly enjoying the fact that we’d said the same thing at the same time.

Lando, ever the shit-stirrer, shrugged. “Sure, whatever you say. But come on, you guys have been bickering for months. It’s exhausting. Just fuck and get it over with.”

Franco scoffed, folding his arms. “Throw me overboard, please.”

I laughed, feeling a bit of satisfaction at his remark. “Same.”

Lando wiggled his eyebrows. “See? Perfect match.”

I was ready to smack the grin off his face. Instead, I opted for a glare. “Lando, there is no match. You’ve been watching too many movies.”

Franco glanced at me, that smug smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Although I can’t blame him for thinking you’d fall for me. I look good tonight.”

I rolled my eyes, already done with this conversation. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Franco chuckled softly. “Don’t worry. I’ll leave the ideas to Norris here.”

Lando beamed as if he’d just won the lottery, clearly thrilled that his plan was working—at least in his mind. “This is gonna be fun.”

I huffed and turned on my heel, determined to find someone else to talk to. Anyone but Franco. Tonight was going to be a nightmare.

..

The thrum of music pulsed through the yacht, vibrating beneath my feet as I wove through the crowd, trying to shake off the lingering annoyance of my earlier encounter with Franco. But even surrounded by the chaos of Lando’s party, it was hard to ignore the nagging feeling that he was somewhere nearby, probably plotting his next move.

I spotted Charles near the bar, sipping something that was probably far too fancy for a Halloween party. He was still in his banana costume—because of course Lando would put him in something like that. And yet, somehow, Charles managed to pull it off, still looking unfairly attractive despite being dressed as a literal piece of fruit.

“Y/N!” he called, waving me over with a wide grin. “Come, dance with me!”

I couldn’t help but laugh as I joined him, his infectious energy making it hard to stay in a bad mood. “You’re the only person who can make a banana look good, you know that?”

He wiggled his eyebrows playfully. “It’s a gift.”

The music shifted to something more upbeat, and before I could object, Charles pulled me onto the makeshift dance floor. We started moving to the rhythm, his goofy dance moves making me laugh as we twirled around the deck.

It was nice, a welcome distraction from the tension of earlier. That is, until I glanced across the floor and spotted Franco. He was dancing with Alexandra St. Mleux, Charles’s girlfriend, who was dressed as a blueberry—because apparently, that’s what Lando had decided was her fate for the night. Her sleek, dark hair framed her face, and despite the ridiculous costume, she looked effortlessly elegant, as always.

Franco, meanwhile, was his usual smug self, moving with a confidence that grated on my nerves. His eyes met mine briefly, and I could practically see the challenge flash in them. Of course, he couldn’t just leave me in peace.

“Don’t look now,” Charles whispered, leaning in as we twirled closer to Franco and Alexandra, “but I think someone’s trying to make you jealous.”

I rolled my eyes. “Jealous? Please. If anything, I’m just annoyed I have to see his face all night.”

Charles chuckled softly. “Whatever you say.”

We danced around the floor, Charles keeping things light and fun while Franco, predictably, kept throwing glances my way. It was like we were locked in some kind of silent competition, neither of us willing to back down or show any sign of weakness.

Eventually, the two pairs ended up near each other, Franco and Alexandra’s dance bringing them close enough that I could hear Franco’s voice, laced with sarcasm. “Careful, Y/N. Don’t trip in those boots. Would hate to see you fall.”

I shot him a withering look. “At least I don’t have to rely on flashy dance moves to distract from my shitty personality.”

Alexandra glanced between us, her elegant face calm, but I could see the glimmer of amusement in her eyes. She exchanged a quick look with Charles, who raised an eyebrow.

“Ils ne s’arrêtent jamais, hein ? On change de partenaire ?” (They never stop, do they? Shall we switch partners?)

Charles nodded, laughing softly. “Ouais, ils vont jamais tenir comme ça.” (Yeah, they’re not gonna last like this.)

Without warning, Charles stepped back, giving Alexandra an exaggerated bow. “May I have this dance?”

Alexandra giggled and curtsied in return. “Of course, mon coeur. You two, don’t kill each other!”

I blinked, caught off guard as Charles grabbed Alexandra’s hand, leaving me standing there, suddenly face-to-face with Franco. He didn’t waste a second, stepping into position, his hand catching mine in a smooth, annoyingly practiced movement.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me again,” Franco said, his voice low and taunting.

I narrowed my eyes. “What a miserable party so far.”

We started to move, circling each other as the music continued to play. The space between us was tight, and the only thickened. My heart pounded with every step, my pulse quickening not from attraction, definitely not. It had to be from the frustration of being stuck in this forced proximity. I could feel Franco’s breath, hot against my skin as we moved, and it made my teeth clench.

“You really should loosen up,” he said, his tone patronizing. “You’re a bit stiff.”

I clenched my jaw, trying to keep my cool. “And you should stop trying so hard to impress everyone.”

Franco raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Oh, is that what you think I’m doing? Are you impressed?”

“Hardly,” I said, struggling to maintain some distance as we moved in sync. His arm brushed against mine every few seconds, and each touch felt like a spark that kept building. A spark of annoyance of course.

His gaze flicked down to my feet, and he chuckled. “You know, for someone who likes to talk big, your dancing skills could use some work. Trying not to step on my toes?”

I felt a surge of irritation. “Maybe I should. It might actually shut you up.”

Franco’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Go ahead. I can take it.”

I didn’t hesitate. Before I could second-guess myself, I stomped down hard on his foot. The satisfying thud made him wince, his smirk faltering for a split second. The rush of satisfaction was immediate, and I pulled away from him, offering a sweet, sarcastic smile.

“There,” I said, with faux sweetness. “Happy?”

Franco, still gritting his teeth, shot me a look that said he was both irritated and impressed. “Thrilled.”

Without another word, I turned on my heel and walked off, feeling the tension melt away with each step. I spotted George by the drinks, watching the whole thing with an amused smile. His Shakespearean costume—complete with ruffled collar and feathered quill—stood out for all the wrong reasons.

As I approached, George raised an eyebrow and took a dramatic sip from his drink. “A thousand times more captivating than the finest of plays,” he said in a mock-Shakespearean voice, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Verily, the bickering hath been most entertaining.”

I huffed, crossing my arms. “Don’t.”

He smirked, clearly enjoying my frustration. “What? I’m just saying. It’s entertaining.”

“I swear, Lando’s going to pay for this,” I muttered, grabbing a drink from the bar.

George chuckled softly. “Oh, I don’t doubt it. But, if it makes you feel any better, I’m fairly certain you got Franco good there.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

He nodded, trying and failing to hide a grin. “He’s limping.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, the tension from the dance fading as I sipped my drink. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be a total disaster after all.

..

I took another sip of my drink, letting the laughter and music swirl around me. After the disaster of dancing with Franco, I was ready for a moment of peace. Nearby, George—ever the history enthusiast—was in the middle of a dramatic lecture on Halloween traditions, his Shakespearean outfit only adding to the theatrical flair. Oscar and Lewis stood at his side, looking like trapped animals in search of an escape route.

“So you see,” George continued, waving his feathered quill like it was a sword, “the tradition of carving pumpkins actually stems from the Irish myth of Stingy Jack. A fellow who tricked the devil himself and was condemned to wander the Earth with only a hollowed-out turnip to light his way.”

Oscar blinked slowly, clearly trying to appear engaged. “Turnip, huh? Fascinating.”

Lewis, looking angelic in his costume complete with wings cleared his throat. “That’s, um, really something, mate. But I should… probably check on something.” He made a hasty retreat, flashing Oscar a grateful look as he melted into the crowd.

George sighed dramatically as he watched him go. “He’s made a habit of leaving me recently. You’d think I’m the devil, and Ferrari’s his hollowed-out turnip.”

Oscar smirked, trying not to laugh. “Or maybe it’s because you get a bit... passionate with your history lessons. No offense.”

George flourished his quill with an exaggerated air of gravitas. “I am nothing if not committed to the education of my peers.”

I joined them just as Oscar gave me a playful nudge. “You missed quite the lecture on the importance of pumpkins.”

I chuckled, taking a sip of my drink. “I’m sure it was riveting.”

Oscar’s eyes flicked over my costume, a mischievous glint in them. “By the way, love the couple’s costume. Padmé and Anakin? Very cute.”

I groaned, already feeling the familiar annoyance creep up. “Don’t even start. I swear, if this blaster were real, I’d have already used it on him.”

Oscar laughed, shaking his head. “Easy there, Senator. You don’t want to go full dark side.”

I sighed, leaning back against the bar. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I couldn’t quite pinpoint why Franco and I rubbed each other the wrong way. Sure, his cocky smirk was enough to set me on edge, but there was more to it than that. Something about his whole persona made me want to throttle him.

“You’re really not into the whole star-crossed lovers thing, huh?” Oscar teased.

I shot him a look. “If I wanted a tragic romance, I’d read a book. Right now, I just want to make it through this night without throwing Franco off the yacht.”

Oscar’s grin widened. “You two have a vibe, though. It’s hard to miss.”

I rolled my eyes. “If by ‘vibe,’ you mean I’d love to smack him in the face, then sure.”

Before Oscar could respond, Carlos swooped in with a grin, his fireman costume still drawing more attention than it should have. “Ah, the fighting—classic signs of passion. You know what they say about hate, right?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. It’s passion in disguise?”

Carlos wagged a finger at me, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Exactly. All that energy has to go somewhere. I’m a fireman, I recognize fire when I see it.”

“Yeah, well,” I muttered, “I am not taking you serious as a fireman with a uniform like that.”

Carlos laughed, undeterred. “You know, sparks like this? They usually lead to something pretty interesting.”

I crossed my arms. “It’s not sparks, Carlos. It’s a dumpster fire.”

..

The bass of the music was pulsing through the yacht as Lando spun track after track in the DJ booth, looking far too pleased with himself. A crowd had gathered around, hyped up by his usual antics, and the energy was infectious. I was craving a break from all the drama and tension on the deck, so I made my way over to him. He spotted me and waved me in with an exaggerated grin.

“Y/N!” he shouted over the music. “Come save me from my own brilliance!”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling as I slipped into the booth. “Brilliance, huh? Pretty sure you’re just pressing buttons.”

“Hey, there’s an art to this,” Lando replied, turning a dial with unnecessary flair. “You’re just not refined enough to get it.”

I snorted. “Right, forgot you’re the second comming of Beethoven.”

He shot me a cheeky grin. “Finally you appreciate my genius. Speaking of appreciating things—what’s the status with you and lover boy over there?”

I frowned, confused. “Lover boy? What are you talking about?”

Lando gestured with his chin toward the bar. I followed his gaze and—of course—there was Franco, surrounded by a group of girls, all of them looking way too captivated by whatever nonsense he was saying. I felt an annoying twinge of something in my chest.

“Oh him. Glad he’s entertaining the entire female population on this yacht and out of my way.” I muttered, taking a sip of my drink.

Lando’s eyes gleamed, and he leaned in with a wicked grin. “Ohhh, someone's sounding a little jealous.”

I shot him a look. “You are out of your damn mind, Norris.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Lando said, clearly unconvinced. “You’ve got that tone, Y/N. The one where you’re pretending you don’t care but deep down you do.”

I laughed despite myself, shaking my head. “Lando, I don’t care. At all.”

He smirked. “Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England. Come on, just admit it.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Trust me, I’m thrilled to have a break.”

Lando leaned closer, lowering his voice dramatically. “Darling, you totally dig that weird tension you’ve got. Sucks you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

I nudged him, hard. “I swear, you’re the most annoying person on this boat.”

He laughed, dodging me as he adjusted the volume. “I live to serve. But come on, there’s clearly a thing here.”

“There’s no thing,” I said, crossing my arms. “He just rubs me the wrong way. That’s it.”

Lando looked at me mischievously, wiggling his eyebrows. “Maybe you should ask if he can rub you—”

“Don’t,” I warned.

He flashed a wicked grin. “Fine, fine. But it’s only a matter of time.”

I shoved him again, a little harder this time, accidentally knocking over my drink which spilled directly onto the electronics.

“Oh, shit!” I gasped, scrambling to grab a napkin, but it was too late.

A loud pop echoed through the booth, and suddenly, the entire yacht went dark. The music cut off, the lights blinked out, and silence descended over the party.

For a second, there was nothing but confused murmuring from the crowd, people pulling out their phones for light. But Lando? Lando was doubled over, laughing like a maniac.

“Oh my God,” he gasped between fits of laughter. “You—You just shut down the entire party!”

I stood there, frozen in disbelief. “I didn’t mean to! I—oh my God, what did I do?”

Lando was still laughing so hard he could barely breathe.

I glared at him. “Lando! This is serious!”

But he couldn’t stop. “Serious? This is the funniest thing! Instantly makes the party more interesting.”

As people around us tried to figure out what was happening, Lando clapped me on the shoulder, still chuckling. “You’re a hot mess, Y/N. Never change.”

As the yacht rocked gently in the dark, I couldn’t help but laugh with him. Leave it to Lando to find humor in the disaster I’d just caused.

..

The yacht was pitch black, save for the glow of a few phone screens. Lando, ever the opportunist in chaos, was soaking it all in, practically buzzing with excitement.

"Alright, people!" he yelled, his voice carrying over the deck. "The power’s out, the music’s dead—so you know what that means. It’s time for a game of truth or dare!"

A chorus of laughter and groans followed, but with the party in full swing, no one was about to leave just because the lights were out. Alex, the saint that he is, immediately started working on fixing the power while the other people started gathering in a loose circle, the mood shifting into something more mischievous, encouraged by the anonymity the dark provided.

I found myself sitting next to Oscar, who still had his ridiculous slice of bread taped to his chest, and on my other side, George, who looked far too excited for whatever was about to happen. Across the circle, Franco leaned back against the railing, his face barely visible in the flickering light of someone’s phone, but I could sense that annoying grin of his even in the dark.

“Alright, who’s first?” Lando asked, rubbing his hands together like he was about to start the most chaotic plan of the night.

Max, who was still rocking the old lady costume, raised his hand. “Truth,” he said, a little too eagerly.

Lando grinned. “Max! Alright, truth: Have you ever used a fake name at a hotel to avoid fans?”

Max barely hesitated. “Of course. I go by ‘Gertrude’—suits the look, don’t you think?” He gestured to his outfit, earning laughs from around the circle.

Lando chuckled, then pointed at Oscar. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

Oscar sighed dramatically, clearly not enthused but willing to play along. “Dare.”

Lando’s grin widened. “Alright, I dare you to dance… interpretively… to the sound of silence.”

Oscar rolled his eyes but stood up, performing the most absurd, exaggerated dance moves to the silent deck. Everyone was in hysterics by the end of it, with Oscar bowing dramatically before sitting back down.

The game rolled on, with truths and dares flying left and right. Checo was dared to chug a mystery drink—something Max had mixed together from the darkest corners of the yacht’s mini-bar. Lewis was asked to reveal his most embarrassing podium moment, which turned out to involve him tripping over a champagne bottle and almost face-planting in front of the world’s cameras.

And then it was my turn.

Lando turned to me, that gleam in his eyes saying he was about to stir the pot. “Y/N. Truth or dare?”

I sighed, feeling the weight of everyone's gaze on me. “Dare,” I said, determined to go for it.

Lando’s grin widened, and I could see mischief brewing in his eyes. “Alright, Y/N, since you’re so brave… I dare you to whisper something you’d never admit in front of anyone—right in Franco’s ear.”

The circle erupted in laughter and teasing whistles. I felt my face go hot, and I shot Lando a murderous look. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope!” Lando said, looking far too proud of himself. “And make it something juicy, too.”

I crossed my arms, the heat rising in my cheeks as Franco leaned back, arms crossed, smirking like this was the greatest thing that could’ve happened to him tonight.

“Well?” he drawled, clearly enjoying the situation. “You gonna play along?”

The group was watching, waiting, and there was no way I could back out now. I steeled myself, got up, and marched over to him. Leaning down, I got as close to his ear as possible, feeling the warmth radiate off him.

I hesitated for a split second, questioning if I should really be honest, before whispering, just loud enough for only him to hear, “You’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met, and the fact that you know you’re hot makes it worse.”

I pulled back quickly, my face burning, refusing to meet his gaze. His smirk deepened, but to my surprise, he didn’t respond—just stared at me, eyes glinting in the dim light, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. For a moment, I thought he looked… confused, entertained? Seems like I had succesfully thrown him off his game though.

But the confusion didn’t last long. Franco shifted back into his cocky persona like slipping on an old coat, leaning casually against the railing with that same infuriating smirk. Whatever moment had passed between us was over, buried beneath his usual act.

“Well, that must’ve been juicy,” Lando said, cackling. “Look at his face!”

I sat back down, trying to shake off the weird tension that seemed to hang in the air. Franco didn’t say anything, but I could feel his eyes on me. Whatever. It wasn’t worth dwelling on.

The game continued, people laughing and shouting as the dares got more ridiculous, but my focus was elsewhere.

..

Thank god that it didn’t take long for Alex to fix the electricity with a generator. The lights flickered back on, the music resumed, and the entire yacht buzzed with renewed energy. George, of course, was taking full credit for saving the night, and Alex looked just as proud.

People were back to dancing and laughing, picking up right where they left off. The power outage had become just another part of the weird night. But after the tension from earlier—the truth or dare, the constant run-ins with Franco—I needed a break from it all.

The temperature had dropped, and my costume wasn’t offering much warmth.

I slipped away from the crowd, making my way toward Lando’s room, knowing he always kept a stash of hoodies and sweaters for moments like these. A moment of peace, away from the noise and tension, sounded perfect.

I pushed open the door to Lando’s room, expecting it to be empty. But, of course, my luck was running out tonight. Franco was there, standing near the closet, rummaging through Lando’s things.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I snapped, my irritation flaring immediately.

He glanced up, completely unfazed by my entrance. “Looking for my lightsaber,” he said casually, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

“In Lando’s room?” I crossed my arms, my irritation spiking further. “Are you serious?”

Franco shrugged, standing upright with that infuriating smirk on his face. “What? It might’ve ended up here. You know how parties go.”

I rolled my eyes and moved toward the dresser. “Of course. Can’t even keep track of a toy.”

He leaned against the closet door, still watching me. “I didn’t realize my presence would offend you so much.”

I turned to face him, the frustration from the entire night bubbling up. “Your presence always offends me. Honestly, I hate that I have to see your stupid face everywhere.”

His smirk widened, eyes gleaming. “That’s funny, because I remember you saying earlier that you think I am hot.”

My hands tightened into fists at my sides. “I said that to get a reaction and get Lando off my back.”

“Sure,” he drawled, stepping closer. “Just happened to he something you came up with. I doubt you hate my face as much as you claim.”

“You are so full of yourself,” I spat, the anger flaring in my chest. “You walk around here like you own the place, thinking everyone is in love with you.”

Franco took another step, the space between us shrinking. “I’m not full of myself. I’m confident and charming. There’s a difference.”

“Charming?” I scoffed. “More like delusional.”

His expression darkened, but his smirk didn’t fade. “Oh, and you’re so different? Always twirling around, batting your eyelashes.”

I took a step toward him, my heart pounding. “I don’t twirl, and I don’t bat my eyelashes at anybody. Especially not to you.”

His eyes narrowed, and the tension between us thickened, our words sharper now, cutting into the air between us. “Please. You’re just pissed off because you can’t handle the fact that you are wildly attracted to me.”

“God, I hate you,” I growled, my voice barely above a whisper.

And then, before I could even process what was happening, I grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him toward me. The kiss was sudden, explosive—born out of the fire of our argument. Franco didn’t hesitate, his hands gripping my waist as he kissed me back with the same intensity.

The heat between us was overwhelming, fueled by all the anger, all the frustration that had been building up. His lips were rough against mine, his body pressing me back against the wall as the kiss deepened.

His mouth was hot and demanding. I kissed him back, my frustration and desire merging into one explosive force. My fingers tangled in his hair, softly holding on to his brown locks for support. He groaned, making my mind run places I didn’t think it would.

Breaking away for air, I gasped, "This doesn’t change anything."

Franco chuckled, his warm breath fanning my face. "Keep telling yourself that, cariño."

He still towered over me, my body between his and the door.

"You think you know everything, don't you?” I said rolling my eyes, only half annoyed.

"I know what I want right now," he murmured, his hands sliding up my thighs, tugging on the waistband of my shorts. "And I want you."

I hate to admit but that definitely sent some flutters to my stomach. Without thinking I put my lips on his again.

He swiftly pulled down my shorts, fingers teasing the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, making me tremble. I could feel his hardness against my stomach, and I knew he wanted me as much as I wanted him. I tugged on his shirt, signaling to take it off.

With a smirk he stepped back and took off the top half of his costume, revealing his sculpted chest. I stared with googly eyes, not even caring at this point.

“¿Apurada, eh?” He grinned, his eyes dark with intent, "Good, because I can't wait much longer either."

He swiftly reached for my shirt and pulled it over my head. As I pulled down my pants, I could see a little blush creeping up on his cheeks.

I kissed him hard, biting his lower lip, tasting the saltiness of his skin. My hands explored his body, mapping the contours of his muscles. He groaned again, cupping my breasts, thumbs brushing over my hardening nipples.

He smiled against my lips, his hands moving lower. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my panties and slowly slid them down my legs, his touch electric.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he whispered, his breath hot against my ear.

He lifted me up, his hands on my ass, wrapping my legs around him for support. He kissed me again, his tongue exploring my mouth as he undid my bra with practiced ease, freeing my breasts, and then lowered his head, taking a nipple into his mouth. I arched off the doorframe, moaning as his tongue teased and suckled.

"You like that, huh?" He whispered, his breath hot against my sensitive skin. "I'm gonna make you feel so good."

I could barely form words, but I managed to gasp, "Please, Franco..."

He moved one of his hands to between my thighs, feeling the arousal dripping between my legs.

"You're so wet," he murmured, his fingers working my sensitive clit, making me squirm. "You want me inside you, don't you?"

I nodded, my breath coming in short gasps. "Yes, please... I need you."

“Such a good girl for me.” He said, with a dark twinkle in his green eyes.

Franco did not waste a moment, quickly lowering his pants, letting his cock spring free. He positioned himself between my thighs, pressing against my entrance. With one smooth thrust, he filled me, stretching me in the most delicious way. I cried out.

He began to move, his hips thrusting in a slow, steady rhythm. Each stroke sent waves of pleasure through me, building towards something incredible. I clung to him, my nails digging into his back, urging him on.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," he grunted, his eyes closed in concentration. "Tight... so fucking tight."

He started speeding up his pace. The tension coiled within me, tighter and tighter with each thrust. I could feel my orgasm building, a delicious pressure building at my core.

"Franco... I'm close," I panted, my voice hoarse.

He deepened his strokes, his hips snapping against mine, driving me wild. "Come for me, cariño. Let it go."

His words were all I needed. With a final, powerful thrust, I shattered, crying out his name as my body trem. Franco followed, his own release spilling deep within me, his hips jerking uncontrollably.

We both sank down on the ground, our hearts racing, our bodies slick with sweat. I turned my head, meeting his intense gaze.

Franco’s expression softened, the tension in the air shifting into something heavier, something neither of us could brush off. “I didn’t think this would feel so… right.”

I didn’t fight it this time. “Me either.”

He leaned in again, slower this time, as if daring me to stop him. But I didn’t. I closed the distance, giving in to the pull between us.

..

The door closed behind us with a soft click, and I took a breath, still trying to shake the whirlwind of what had just happened. The party outside was still going strong, lights and music filling the night air. Franco walked beside me, casual as ever, but the tension between us still lingered, making every step feel more charged than it should.

Before I could gather my thoughts, Lando appeared, sliding smoothly between us like he’d been waiting for this moment all night. His grin was wide, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Well, well, well!” he chimed, throwing an arm over each of our shoulders. “Look who finally decided to rejoin the living! What were you two doing in there? Having a nice little chat?”

I rolled my eyes, trying not to laugh. “Lando, can you not?”

“Can I not?” he gasped dramatically, pulling his arms back and clutching his chest like I’d mortally wounded him. “After all I’ve done for you two? I think you owe me some credit here.”

Franco smirked, clearly amused by Lando’s antics. “Credit for what? Being a pain in the ass?”

Lando sighed theatrically, looking between us. “Oh please, you’re both welcome. I’ve been watching this play out for weeks. It was only a matter of time.”

Franco glanced at me, catching my eye with a lingering look. His smirk softened slightly, his eyes flicking down briefly before meeting mine again, a warmth that hadn’t been there before.

I felt my breath catch, a slight flutter in my chest that I tried to ignore. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Norris,” I muttered, but my voice lacked its usual edge.

Franco chuckled, and I could feel the heat of his arm brushing against mine, his presence suddenly feeling heavier in the best way.

Lando caught the exchanged glances, his eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. “Oh, I see how it is,” he said, leaning back and pretending to cross his arms. “You two are having a moment and I’m just here… being forgotten.”

Franco raised an eyebrow, turning to me with a grin. “Looks like we’ve upset him.”

I shot him a warning look but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips. “Ignore him.”

Lando groaned. “You two are turning on me already.”

Franco leaned in a little closer to me, his voice low but loud enough for Lando to hear. “I guess we do make a good team.”

I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks at the comment, but I brushed it off with a playful scoff. “Don’t push your luck.”

Lando, meanwhile, was trying his best to get back into the conversation. “Anyway, now that you’ve finally gotten past all the tension, what’s next? Dinner? A romantic stroll under the moonlight?”

Franco grinned, glancing at me before turning back to Lando. “Actually, I was thinking breakfast.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, what?”

Franco turned fully toward me, his grin softening just a little. “Yeah. Breakfast. Tomorrow.”

I leaned in smiling, giving him a little peck. “Sounds lovely.”

I swear Franco was blushing a bit, the twinkle in his eyes brighter than ever. Who would’ve thought.

Lando, realizing he wasn’t the one in control of the conversation anymore, groaned dramatically. “Gross. I’ve I had known I’d be third-wheeling this hard I would’ve not played cupid.”

Franco laughed, shaking his head. “Pretty sure you’ll survive.”

Lando stepped back, pretending to sulk. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.” He turned to me, his grin reappearing. “For now.”

“Not surprised,” I muttered, though I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face.

Lando gave a little wave, already walking back toward the rest of the party. “Enjoy your breakfast date! And remember—you can thank me later!”

As he disappeared into the crowd, I let out a long breath, finally turning back to Franco. He was watching me, a quiet smile still playing on his lips.

“So, breakfast?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, leaning in slightly. “Yep. I figure we’ve had enough drama for one night. Why not start the day fresh?”

I met his eyes for a moment before nodding. That sounded very cute. “Alright. Breakfast it is.”

Franco grinned, the cocky edge softening into something more sincere. “I’ll pick you up at ten.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “You’d better be on time.”

“Oh, I will be,” he said, brushing his hand against mine for just a moment. “No way I’m missing this.”

[babyleostuff]

hi!! can i request one where they’re sitting on the sofa and you join them but you sit a little far from them (just some distance 😭) and not next to them and what they would do/their reaction aaaaa 😆 like nothing personal maybe oc just wants a lil space 😂

ah, this is so so cute. thank you for this fluffy request anon <3

scoups: i could write a whole essay on choi seungcheol and “putting distance” between you. he is the definition of “you love your personal space. cheol also loves your personal space”. there is no “sitting a little far from” with this man :)

jeonghan: understands that you need some space, maybe he’d extend his hand to link your pinkies together

joshua: same as his evil twin - doesn’t mind, he’s fine with it (okay, he might whine a bit) (a lot)

jun: panics because “what the hell”? why are you sitting so far from him? what is going on? had he done something wrong? had he forgotten about an anniversary? he’s literally shaking on that sofa

hoshi: this yapper won’t shut up before you tell him why you decided to sit so far away from him (so rude in his opinion)

wonwoo: cries on the inside because that means you don’t love him anymore. he’s ready to pack up his things and move out.

woozi: totally chill with it, no problem. and when you’d decide that it was time to close the “distance”, he’d be waiting for you with arms wide open.

dk: gives you the biggest puppy eyes. why what when for what reason. like yes, he understands you need some space but at the same time… CUDDLE ME!!!

mingyu: does not like it at. all. why are you being so cruel? why don’t you want to cuddle? you need space? but you can literally get space in his arms? gets sad and moves even further away from you (wants you to feel bad for him so you’d stop with the “distance” thing)

minghao: you want space and sit a bit further away? cool. you change your mind and want a hug? great. he’s right there ready for cuddles.

vernon: he’s like “slay ✌🏼” and stretches his feet on the couch

seungkwan: he’s so so torn because at one hand he understand your need for space, but… he is a clingy babie, he needs hugs :(

dino: he's giving "pookie? you don't love me anymore pookie? 😔" energy. mans is too shy to ask you why you decided to sit so far from him (even though it's literally not that far) and he's sufferingggg. he's a clingy baby so this is a big no no for him

[sweeterthanficstion]

— between here and there || l.s.k

pairing: ghost!leon kennedy x ghosthunter!fem!reader

tags: set in 2001, graphic depictions of dead animals one is right under the cut, mentions of death, mentions of grief, mentions of violence, themes of obsession and love, implied/referenced childhood abuse inflicted by a parent, typical horror topics. (if i missed anything pls dm me and let me know!!)

summary: Even if it is full of love, all a ghost can do is haunt. Or: The year is 2001, and you've just found out about a haunted homestead on a prairie, sure to hold a million mysteries within its rotting walls. You've chased rumors of the supernatural before, but this place feels... different. Maybe this time, you'll find the evidence you need to prove the existence of the other side—and finally go viral. But quickly you come to learn that some doors, once opened, can't be shut.

word count: 6.6k

a/n: i wrote 80% of this fic on my phone, so i'm sorry if it reads badly 😔, i hope you enjoy regardless though! and things will make more sense in the coming parts, i promise <3 also; thank you claudia for beta-reading for me!! n also thank you @/uhlunaro for bone-chill, go read their work!! it's so good n inspired this fic.

playlist ⭑ AO3 || back to the party ⭑ next (coming soon) »

You were eight when you saw your first ghost. Your mother had found you with your face pressed up against the living room window, eyes wide as you stared out into your backyard, convinced there was a dog by the fence that was staring right back.

Your mother had ushered you back to bed, murmuring about how there was no dog out there, and you needed to sleep. But you saw him! You swear it! Floppy ears and a bone between his teeth.

You couldn’t sleep that night, tossing and turning and anxiously waiting for morning to come. By the time the sunlight had crept through your window, you scampered outside to prove it. You’d spent nearly an hour out in the early morning cold, digging, digging, digging with your bare hands, until eventually, you found it, something that wasn’t a dog—not anymore, anyway.

Wrapped in a plastic bag you found it, decayed skin clinging stubbornly to yellowed ribs poking through like splintered wood. Its jaw hung open, snapped and crooked, patches of fur still clinging to the skull, matted until it resembled something more like melted plastic. There was a sense of grief that came with finding its body, a suffocating presence that weighed down over your little lungs, tightened your oesophagus, made your stomach clench.

You gave the rotting dog carcass a proper burial. 

A grave by the oak tree, dirt pressed down gently over its brittle body as if the dog might still feel it, a ring of daisies set atop in remembrance. When you finally stood, wiping mud-stained hands on your pants, you could feel your mother’s eyes on you, her silence heavier than her words ever were.

After that, her patience thinned. She’d catch you whispering to empty rooms, her voice sharper each time, the snap of her voice was soon paired with the snap of a belt. The corners of your room were just corners, she’d say. The shadows were just that; shadows. 

You stopped talking about it, but the flashes of something stayed—the fleeting movements, the whispers, the shadows that lingered in the corners of your vision. The haunting weight of it all clung to you like a thick blanket, creeping in with every bump in the night, until curiosity bled into something deeper. 

Eventually, you gave up waiting and started searching, looking for answers between ghost-hunting forums and haunted houses. 

And now, years later, you’re chasing a truth you’re still yet to prove. 

You jolt from your thoughts the same time the van does over a potholed, eyes snapping to the stretch of dirt road before you. The homestead comes into view, your breath catches in your throat at the sight of it—looking every bit more eerie when bathed in hues of twilight than it did in the grainy two-bit photos on your laptop screen. 

Luis lets out a low whistle from the driver’s seat, before he clicks his tongue and puts the car into park. “Well, we’ve seen worse.”

Luis says it with an air of carelessness you struggle to stomach under the looming shadow of the homestead. He’s never believed in the paranormal the same way you do, always the wind, always a shadow to him, everything has an explanation. Never a ghost, never a spirit.

Yet, he sticks with you, out of what sense of loyalty you’re not entirely sure, but you’re grateful all the same. Maybe it’s the remnants of a childhood bond that keeps him tethered to your side, echoes of sleepovers and whispered secrets, of nights spent laughing over nothing, long before you were chasing shadows and seeking the dead.

It’s not that Luis doesn’t care—he does, more than he’ll ever admit. He just doesn’t see the world the way you do. And that’s okay. He doesn’t have to believe. You do.

He slides out of the car easily, no doubt eager to unpack the camera gear. You hear the back of the van slide open, before you finally make the decision to move, feeling as if your bones have stuck themselves together—rigor mortis.

The homestead looks like it’s rotting from the inside out. Once-grand pillars holding up the front porch that have long since bowed, wood that rots and splinters from years of neglect. The windows, fogged over with dust, are cracked and warped as if the house itself has been trying to keep the world out for far too long.

“What even happened here?” Luis asks, eyeing the decayed structure with a grimace as the both of you step onto the creaking front porch.

In truth, the research had been thin. The house didn’t show up on any official ghost-hunting registry, and there wasn’t much mention of it in local history. But there were enough stories, enough pieces of something to make you believe it was worth the three hour plane trip.

If no one else could get proof, then maybe you could. This could be your big break, could be your skyrocket to supernatural stardom—If that was even really a thing.

“A lot. Murders, disappearances, all the fun stuff.” You joke, flashing a wide grin over your shoulder, trying to ease the pit in your chest, and find amusement at the way Luis shivers at the mention of murders. His shoulders stiffen enough to make you bite back a laugh.

Luis fixes you with a hard stare. “You’re not right, anyone ever tell you that?”

“Plenty of times,” you reply, grin only widening. You reach up and give his cheek a playful pat, “You’re not special.”

He rolls his eyes and you’re well aware he doesn’t buy your teasing, but that’s half the fun. You slip past him to check out the entryway, Luis trailing behind with his camera over his shoulder.

Luis keeps his distance as you wedge the door open. A thick layer of dust comes loose with the movement, swirling with the fading light and wafting straight into your face. You cough violently, waving it away with a grimace.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Luis mutters, adjusting the lens of his camera.

“Nothing’s going to happen—” And as if infuriatingly on cue, the door slips from your gasp and slams shut with a bone-rattling thud.

The both of you jump despite yourselves—Luis lets out a yelp that he stifles with a cough, while you freeze, hand still hanging in the air where the door had once been.

The silence that follows is deafening. You stare at the door for a beat, pulse-quickening as if it might just spring open again on its own, while you feel the burn of Luis’ gaze in the back of your neck, waiting for you to explain it away with your usual bravado.

You lower your hand slowly, give him a sidelong glance. You take a step back from the door as if daring it to open or slam shut again. “Well. That’s one way to make an entrance.”

Luis glares at you. “Yeah, real funny. Can we leave now?”

Rolling your eyes, you reach for the handle and tug the front door open again, choosing to ignore Luis’ insistence. The homestead is as quiet as you imagined it’d be, even so you can’t shake the eeriness of the silence. You swear you can hear static in your head.

Luis hands you a flashlight, which you flick on before toeing the warped floorboards. The wood groans beneath you, but it holds, so you plant your foot fully inside, waiting for the house to react. One second. Two.

Nothing.

With a relieved sigh you step deeper into the homestead. The pale remains of sunlight filter through grimy windows, while dust swirls lazily in the beam of your flashlight as you sweep it across the room.

“Are you recording?” You whisper over your shoulder to Luis, who gives a quick nod, a thumbs-up flashing in your periphery.

The homestead opens up around you—parlour to the left, kitchen and dining room through the door on the right, and a staircase, old and worn, curling up toward the shadows in the back.

“We’ll set up in the parlour,” you murmur, moving toward it. Your hand brushes against the wall as you reach for the light switch, fingers hesitant. You flick it, expecting nothing. But then the chain bulb overhead sputters to life, casting a weak, flickering glow across the room.

“Huh,” you breathe. “Not bad.”

Nightfall comes sooner than you would’ve hoped, and you’re starting to understand why there’s so little about this homestead online. In the two long hours you and Lewis have been here, the silence has remained unbroken. The EMF reader has not spiked once and the camera has picked up nothing. No doors have slammed, nothing has creaked strangely, not even an unsettlingly cold gust of wind. 

Maybe this place is a waste of time, another dead end to add to your already growing list. You contemplate if packing the van up now is a good option. But yet, yet—you can’t shake the feeling that there is something waiting for you here, just beyond reach. A presence. A secret.

There’s still upstairs, a voice nags at the back of your head. Rooms yet to explore, yet to be turned inside out so you can find what’s hidden in the confines of this home’s brittle bones.

Luis follows behind as you carve a path up the stairs, flicking the stairwell light on and waiting for the flicker of the bulb to cease into a steady hum. It takes a moment too long, and your fingers twitch at the edge of your flashlight.

You never did shake your fear of the dark.

Upstairs, the floor is dappled in the pale glow of the moon. You sweep your flashlight through the shadows, the light catching on each warped surface, every peeling edge of wallpaper, casting lonesome shadows across the splintering floors. You watch the EMF reader calibrate and tick in your hand as you tread further down the hallway. The air up here feels heavier, like it’s holding its breath, waiting for you.

That’s when you see it.

Or him, rather. 

At first, you make out nothing but a vague shape standing at the end of the hallway, a shadow where there shouldn’t be one.

But as your eyes adjust, you make out the figure’s skin; a sickly pale, marred with crawling veins like rivers of ink. He has hair like dull flaxen straw, eyes that are such a piercing blue you make them out even in the dark. You freeze, your breath catching in your throat as a chill crawls down your spine. You take a step back, stumbling into Luis, who nearly drops the camera.

The light overhead flickers dramatically before the bulb bursts with a sharp pop, plunging the hall into sudden darkness. Your EMF reader spikes violently in time with your heart slamming against your ribs, and in the panic, you scramble to bring up your flashlight—but as the beam sweeps over him, he vanishes, parts of his body disintegrating into the light, like bend the rules of physics themselves, like something wrong.

“Is that—?” it hits Luis the same time it hits you. Not a person. A ghost.

But there’s no haunting glow, no cloud of smoke. He doesn't float; in fact he doesn’t move at all. Instead, the air grows thick, an oppressive weight that threatens to shatter your ribs inwards and pierce into your lungs.

You hear him. The sickly sound of breathing, a rasping inhale followed by an exhale, like a death rattle. The noise crawls under your skin, itches against your bones.

Your own breath catches in your throat in favour of hearing his. The sound swells, crescendos, then tithers to nothing. Silence, like buzzing in your ears, is all that’s left behind. Slowly, you peel your  eyes open, the ghost is nowhere to be seen.

You come back to reality like ungluing yourself from a fly trap—slowly, sticky, the numbness in your body ceases.

“Did you.. Did you get that on tape?” You ask Luis between bated breath, eyes still glued to the wall where he had been.

Luis swallows hard, his breathing ragged. He fumbles with the camera, fingers trembling, flipping through settings with a frantic sort of urgency. His face drains of colour as he checks the screen. The camera blinks, sputters.

Panic surges as you rush downstairs, tripping over your feet. Luis yanks the camera from his shoulder, flipping it open to review the footage. His hands move fast, flipping through buttons…

Then, the camera shuts off with a mechanical click, the small screen fading to black.

"No, no, no," Luis mutters, voice tight with frustration. He pulls out the tape reel, and the acrid smell hits you first. He stares at it, brow furrowing. You step closer, peering over his shoulder. The reel is ruined—burnt and blackened beyond recognition, as if scorched by something unseen.

Neither of you says a word.

“Sorry, we’re full.”

The words feel like a death sentence this late at night. Luis sighs sharply, his breath fogging up the plexiglass screen between him and the motel keeper. “There’s got to be something, no? Just one room,” he mutters, pushing the crumpled fifty across the counter one more time, almost pleading.

The motel keeper eyes the money, before shaking her head. “I’m serious, hon,” she says, her voice flat, tired. “We’re booked solid. You can try the highway if you’re desperate.”

You’re really only half-listening to the exchange, shivering from the cold as you lean by the side of the van parked under the carport. 

The motel sign above flickers weakly, casting uneven shadows across the parking lot, the words The Black Dog barely legible in the failing neon glow. Cerberus snarls from the sign like a bad omen, one head flickering on and off as if it’s ready to give up entirely.

After the encounter at the homestead, neither Luis nor yourself could shake the feeling of dread that had settled like a thick fog, a weighted blanket that provided more unease than comfort. The decision to leave for the night had been easy, but now, standing outside in the frigid air, you’re starting to feel the sting of bad luck. There are only two motels in this entire town—one’s closed for maintenance, and this one, The Black Dog, is fully booked.

Luis pulls back from the counter with a groan, stuffing the money into his pocket as he joins you outside. “No luck,” he mutters, breath curling in the chilled air.

But you're distracted, focused on the yellowing photographs lining the walls behind the motel keeper’s desk, town history captured in fleeting moments behind dusty glass. Your eyes widen in realisation when you note the homestead is in one of them. A farmer’s family stands at the front of it; a husband, a wife, his daughter and two sons.

You quickly rush up to the window, leaning down closer to the little cutout in the plexiglass as you rest your elbows on the counter. “That photo,” You start, finger pressed to the plastic surface, “do you know who the people in it are?”

The motel keeper swivels in her squeaky office chair, her eyes widening with a sort of realisation. “Them? Well they’re the original settlers of this land,” She hums, turning back. “Their family were the first to come this far east, their father built that homestead with his bare hands.”

“What happened to them?” You ask, your curiosity piqued. Desperate for more, desperate for answers. Although, your ghost looks nothing like any of the men in the picture.

“Well they died,” The motel keeper says, something akin to god-fearing in her voice. “But whatever malevolent force has been haunting that place never did.”

You stare at her, wide-eyed and unblinking. Luis fills in for you where you can’t. 

“You’re not serious,” he says, but it comes out more like a question than a statement.

“Dead serious, hon. That place is no good. They say the prairie wind drove that family mad—” she states, sticking a thumb over her shoulder to point to the picture “—we’re just not so sure it was the wind that did it.”

You decidedly spend that night in the back of the van, parked right outside the homestead on that old gravel path. 

The wind whistles terribly and you begin to understand what they mean by prairie fever—you can’t fathom what it would’ve been like, out here, all alone with nothing but the wind and the wolves.

“Something’s wrong,” Luis murmurs just loud enough for you to hear. You turn your head, watching as he stares at the ceiling of the van.

There is a sudden unease that settles in your chest, watching him like this. Luis has never been rattled by the dark, never questioned the supernatural because he didn’t have a reason to. In many ways, he has been your anchor.

And what is a ship without its anchor?

You hum, mirroring his movements and righting your neck to stare up at the ceiling. “Luis, you say this every—”

“No, I mean it.” He cuts in, a certain urgency to his words. “We saw something, I saw it. He was–” His words die, fizzle into nothing on his tongue as if it’ll be a sin to refer to the shadow as anything more than just a shadow. “We can’t go back in there.”

You understand… yet you don’t.

“This is the closest we’ve ever been Luis, what do you mean we can’t?” Your words are oddly calm despite the desperation they clearly convey, “You know how much this means to me.”

Luis sighs, “I get it, I’m just not sure this is a good idea.” He hesitates. “I think… I think we’re way in over our heads this time.”

“I’ll be careful. I promise.”

Luis holds you to it.

A car crash—that’s what you see in your dream. Although, it feels more like a vision; a premonition or maybe a memory. 

You’re trapped behind your own eyes, sitting rigid in the passenger seat. There’s the sound of tyres screaming against the asphalt, a horrible blur of red and blue, glass and smoke. 

The car swerves hard, jerking your body with it, weightless, floating, falling. The ground falls away, and for a split second, there’s nothing. Just the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. 

You try to catch a glimpse of the driver, but your eyes are glued to the chaos that unfolds before you. You catch a glimpse of the side of his face, shadowed in the flickering lights. Just the curve of his jawline—sharp, familiar.

And then you slam into a tree.

The night is much less forgiving than day. In moonlight, your mind is left to fill in the gaps, pulls at the seams of reality, and paints over it with every fear you’ve ever had the cowardice to bury. A creak in the floor becomes footsteps. A sigh of wind becomes a distant cry. 

But daylight? Daylight spills over the horizon like a gentle promise. In daylight, things feel explainable. Safe. You do not falter and question the shape of shadows, each one is tethered to something, tangible and real, solid in your grasp.

Yet the homestead does not follow these rules.

The walls bleed with secrets you’ve yet to learn, each groan of the floorboards underneath your gentle footsteps sounds like another pair is following closely behind. Light spills through windows, but  it dies before it reaches the corners, and does not fill the room the way it should.

It’s that morning, one hour into your second investigation, that you smell it—something faint at first that quickly grows stronger, souring the air with each breath you suck in. It’s familiar but unwelcome, the unmistakable stench of decay. Luis notices it too, his nose wrinkling as he glances toward the far end of the hallway.

“Do you smell that?” he asks, his voice quiet.

You nod. 

The smell rots. It festers the further you walk down the hallway, intensifying until it clings to you like a second skin. It seeps through the floorboards, through every crack in splintering wood, and it leads you to a door. The one at the end of the hallway from the night before. The one you didn’t manage to open because he had been there.

Luis nudges you with his elbow. “Ladies first.”

“Very brave,” you mutter, pushing the door open.

Inside, the room is cold, the air heavy with dust. Yellowing and peeling wallpaper lines the walls, a dusty bed in the corner, a dresser by the opposite wall and a wardrobe by the adjacent one.

But what draws your attention are the walls—every inch covered in horrifying jagged scratches, as if something had clawed at the walls in a frenzy of desperation.

N-O-E-L.

The letters are scrawled over and over, the same pattern repeated a millennia of times. They twist and turn, written backwards and mirrored, as if whatever had left them behind had longed for a voice it had forgotten how to use.

“What the hell…” Luis murmurs, stepping closer with his polaroid camera, the shutter sounding as he snaps a few photos of the scratches. “What are we dealing with, the ghost of Christmas past?”

You swallow, admittedly now confused. “What does that even mean?” You muse, walking towards a wall and running your fingers over the splintering wood.

“His name, maybe?” Luis supplies, lifting his head from behind the camera.

Without thinking, you speak. “Is your name Noel?” 

Silence answers.

You decide to move around the room, keen to find answers where your ghost refuses to give them to you. Your fingertips grazing the walls as if you could pull the truth from the cracks in the old plaster.

“I know you did this,” you say, your voice firm but edged with a strange softness, like you’re coaxing something fragile from the dark. “Why won’t you tell me your name?”

The lights flicker. Luis begins to pray.

The stench grows, grows, grows, more potent with each step you take towards the bed. You fear you’ll find rot when you pull the covers back—a body, perhaps. But what you find confuses you more. You fall to your knees by the bed, crane your neck to peer beneath it, and your eyes catch the glint of silver.

Your hand stretches out, inching under the bed as your teeth catch your lip. When you pull the object free, you look up at Luis, who meets your gaze with the same confusion. In your hands you hold a hunting knife.

And as quickly as it had come, the stench subsides.

You turn the knife over in your hand as you push yourself off the dusty floor, a strange emblem is etched into the heel of the blade. 

“Well that’s not weird at all,” Luis mutters, taking the knife from your hand to inspect it himself. You bite the inside of your cheek, about to say something more, when a faint creak draws your attention. The wardrobe. The door swings open, as if nudged by an unseen hand. You meet Luis’ wary gaze, your heart thrumming with anticipation.

Drawn like a moth to a flame, you rise to your feet, walking closer, pulling the door open by its rusting brass handle. Inside hangs a tarnished mirror, and in it you catch your own reflection—dark circles ring your eyes, your reflection looks as drained as you’ve begun to feel.

Luis hums over your shoulder, a spark of realisation lighting his expression as he clicks his tongue. “Not Noel, look.”

You squint into the mirror, making out the jagged inscriptions in the wall that are now mirrored. “Leon?”

There’s a knock on the wall behind you, too loud to be mistaken for the walls of the house adjusting. 

“Is that a yes?” You breathe.

Two knocks.

Luis stares at you, his voice hushed, disbelieving. “Are you talking to a ghost?”

“Holy fuck, I’m talking to a ghost.”

Your ghost isn’t as terrifying with a name to its haunt. Leon, you’ve come to find, is gentle. You and Luis have spent the past three hours communicating with him; knock once for yes, twice for no. A language of patience.

You’ve been documenting it all in your notebooks—entry after entry of everything you’ve learnt. It's all you can do, considering the tapes you’ve tried to record burn out. You figure he doesn’t like the notion of being seen. Being known is different, though. You can feel that—he wants to be known.

He cannot leave.

He doesn’t remember how he got here.

He knows only his name.

You find he also likes to move things.

First, it was the photos. Luis had left the polaroids from the bedroom out on the dining room table to develop, safe with the windows drawn. You’d found them around the house later, one in your bag, another nestled between the equipment. Harmless. Cute, almost.

Then Leon started to move bigger objects. Your torch was found in the bedroom closet, Luis’ lighter in a kitchen cabinet, your hairpins scattered like breadcrumbs on the mantle of the fireplace. It’s a game to him, one that you find yourself eager to indulge. 

You slip into the kitchen, carrying a small wooden figure you’d picked up from the general store—nothing too special, a simple carving of a bluebird. Ghostly fingers might appreciate the weight of its worn edges, you think.

“Alright,” you say aloud, speaking to the empty room, “I – uh, got you something.”

You place the bluebird on the dining table, straightening the figure before taking a few gentle steps back. The temperature in the room drops suddenly, a chilly cold that you no longer mistake for the prairie wind, a denseness in the air that can only be explained by experience. 

Your EMF reader ticks up, and you itch to jot down the reading, yet the moment you turn your back, there’s the sound of wood scraping against wood. You spin back on your heel, only to see that the little bird has moved, facing the window with its beak pointed towards the fading sunlight.

“So you like the bird then?” You nearly laugh, low and under your breath.

There’s another scrape, this time longer. The bird moves again, right before your eyes, closer to the edge of the table.

Despite the absurdity of it all, you continue to talk. “Careful, you’ll knock it off.” You warn softly.

For a moment, nothing happens. Then the bird stops just short of tipping over the edge, as if Leon has taken your words into consideration. You watch as the bird drags back across the table to the centre. 

The lights flicker with your laughter, as if your ghost finds amusement in the cadence of your voice.

You begin to wonder how anyone could’ve thought this home was malevolent at all. The unease that had come with your first encounter has long since given way to something deeper—an ache, a yearning, a quiet desperation to understand. You don’t want to leave. You want to stay, to uncover every secret this house holds. 

How did he die? Was it peaceful, or something violent? What kind of life did he lead? Did he love? Did he lose?

You sit on the living room floor, your back pressed against the wall, clicking your pen twice as you jot down tonight’s meeting in your notebook. From the wall beside you, two soft knocks answer in return.

There is a difference between an architectural haunting and a hereditary one. There’s a certain comfort in knowing a haunting is bound to a place, that its roots lie deep within the dirt that make up the home’s foundation. That it cannot follow you home.

But when a haunting becomes hereditary—when it latches onto you, burrows under your skin, sinks its claws into your soul, twisting, festering—when it’s tethered to you, that's when the fear takes hold. You cannot outrun a hereditary haunting.

Last night, you dreamt again. The homestead, its walls bleeding dark and thick, like wounds seeping into your memory. The flashes came in fragments: the house, the woods, a clearing bathed in moonlight. A glint of a knife to match the gleam of his eyes. And then, the sensation of cold mud pressed against your skin as you lay in the dirt, helpless, hopeless, dead.

You wake in the middle of the night and wonder when this haunting stopped feeling architectural.

Luis finds you on the third day in the parlour, your fingers curled around the edge of an old, weather-beaten box. It drags across the warped floorboards with a groan, sending up a small cloud of dust. 

He pauses in the doorway. “What are you doing?” His voice cuts through the otherwise quiet home. 

“Cleaning up.” You keep your eyes on the box, focused as you rifle through its contents.

Luis steps further into the room, his boots crunching on the debris-strewn floor, nearly tripping over the marbles you had laid out earlier for Leon to move. “Cleaning up?” His brow furrows. “Jesus, I thought we were here to investigate.”

“We are,” you mutter, your hands brushing off the dust clinging to your clothes as you turn to face him. “I’m just helping out.”

“Helping out?” Luis stops mid-step, his confusion sharpening. “Helping the ghost?”

Your hands still. The air shifts, colder than before, almost as if something is standing beside you. You glance over your shoulder, but it’s just Luis, a mix of disbelief and frustration in his gaze.

“Yes, Luis,” You sound annoyed now. Tension thick in the air.

His laugh is short and bitter. “This is crazy,” he mutters, his voice rising slightly. “You’re growing too - too attached, we need to leave.”

“No.” You straighten up, the words more defensive than you intend. “He needs help. Look at the state of this place!” You gesture to the peeling wallpaper, the broken furniture scattered, the oppressive sense of neglect.

“He?” Luis tries to be your voice of reason, tethering you back to reality, to the here and now because currently you seem like you’re in a different plane of existence entirely. 

“Yes, he.” You drag the box into a corner, your back to him, and run your hand across its lid. The texture feels wrong—too damp, too cold, as if the cardboard itself is rotting from the inside. “He’s trapped here,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Luis. “I don’t know how long, but... it’s been years. He doesn’t even have anyone to mourn him.”

Luis exhales sharply, his breath fogging the air. When did it get so cold? “You don’t know that,” he snaps, his voice louder, louder, louder. “You don’t even know who ‘he’ is!”

The words hit you like a slap. Something shifts, as if the chain binding his anchor to your ship has snapped and broken all at once.

“I’m not—” You stop, swallowing the words. “I’m not crazy, Luis.”

You can see the flicker of regret in his eyes, the way his expression softens, but it doesn’t erase the sting of his words. He hesitates, lowering his voice as if it could take back the hurt.

“I didn’t say that,” he murmurs, “But you’re not thinking straight. You haven’t been since that night. The ghost—or whatever it is—has you hooked. And you don’t even see it–”

Each word feels like a knife twisting deeper. The betrayal coils inside you, bitter and raw. You trusted him to believe in you, to see you, even when no one else did. You open your mouth to argue, but your ghost has better timing.

A sudden, violent knocking echoes through the house, an urgency to each rap. This time, it’s not coming from within the walls, and oddly, that unsettles you more than if it were. The sound pounds from the front door, growing louder, louder, louder with each second that passes. When both you and Luis rush to the foyer, you stare blankly as the door handle rattles on its own.

You don’t think when you walk forward, as if compelled by an unseen force, your hand wrapping around the crystal handle before twisting it and tugging it open. There, crumpled on the porch, lies a bird.

It’s ruined. Feather slicked by a sheen of its own blood, some still fluttering in the wind, others matted to exposed bone. The body is split open, like something had torn it apart with its bare hands, its innards spilt on the rotting boards. Thin ropes of intestine, wet and glistening, loop over themselves. 

The head, nearly severed, hangs at a grotesque angle, twisted so far back it looks as though it were straining to see something beyond its reach, connected by just a thin sinew of flesh. One of its glassy black eyes remains open, dull and lifeless, its beak parted in a scream that never came.

The bird has blue feathers. A bluebird, you realise.

Leon doesn’t speak much the rest of the day—if you can qualify the knocks and the flickers of light as speech at all. When you ask him about the bluebird, there's only silence. When you press him on whether he caused it, a vase shatters like fallen stars at your feet.

Perhaps he’s not all gentle. Neither are you, though, so you give him grace. You pick up the shards of glass one by one, wrap them up in a handkerchief, and discard them in the garden. 

It’s only when you return inside that you realise you’re bleeding. A thin line of red trails from the split in your thumb, the sting arrives after, delayed but insistent. You watch it drip, swirling with the water as you rinse it away, the crimson draining down the sink.

You’ve grown used to seeing Leon in your periphery. His shadow is a presence that has grown comforting. Unknown to know, unfamiliar to familiar. You find yourself looking forward to the night even more now, eager for a glimpse of him. But tonight, he doesn’t visit.

You think you might’ve upset him. Between the dead bird and the silence, maybe he didn’t like all the arguing, how loud the house had gotten today. You don’t blame him. 

“Luis wants to leave tomorrow,” You hum softly into the darkness. You don’t need to see Leon to know he’ll be listening. “I have to go with him.”

Silence.

“I’ll miss you,” You try again, your voice holding a sense of urgency. Please, please, please.

Again, silence.

You ignore the tears that prick at your eyes, upset that your ghost is ignoring you. You fall asleep with a headache and a heartache to match. But when you dream that night, it’s much more alarming than any of the ones before.

You wake in the darkness, your body stiff in your dream like you’ve lost your flesh and have been made up of bones. Rigor mortis once more. For a second you think this might be some sort of horrible sleep paralysis,but before the panic can set in, your eyes focus on the cracks of light in your vision, seeping through the darkness of your mind.

You’re not sure what part of your brain comes to the conclusion, but you realise you’re stuck under something, in something maybe. A coffin? Something wooden. You can smell the musk of the cottonwood.

When you wake from the dream, your headache is pounding twice as hard, you sit up, groaning as you press a hand to your head. When your eyes open, your breath catches in your throat. 

Leon.

He's there. Right there.

Closer than he’s ever dared to get, standing beside your bed, watching, waiting, like he always is. Yet, he looks more solid, more here than you’d ever seen of him before. You could make out the shape of his nose, the curve of his eyes, the length of his lashes.

Your heart beats wildly in your chest, bated breath caught in the cavern of your throat as you try to comprehend what you’re seeing. 

“Leon,” you whisper his name, your voice shaky, barely more than a breath.

He doesn’t move, but his eyes soften, just slightly, a weight behind his gaze that you can’t quite place. You watch his chest rise and fall with breath that should not be there, lungs that have no reason to expand, a heart that doesn’t beat. And yet, yet, he is here, in front of you, as vivid as anyone else would be.

You lift your hand, your fingers trembling as they hover just above his cheek. You know he isn’t real, not in the way you are, but in this moment, he feels real enough. The heat of your skin, the cool air between you—it all blurs together until the only thing you are sure of is him.

Slowly, carefully, your fingertips brush his skin.

It is faint—barely a touch at all, like reaching through fog—but it is there. For a second, maybe less, his skin feels solid beneath your fingers, cold but tangible. The breath catches in your throat as your hand lingers, the boundary between life and death blurring, blurring, blurring. His eyes flutter closed. 

But then, just as quickly, the sensation is gone. Your fingers slip through air, the chill of the room returning, and he is nothing more than a ghost again.

No, no, no your mind screams. A desperation in the way you reach for him again only to feel nothing. A hand over his chest is merely a hand in mid-air. You cannot feel the beat of his undead heart.

Yet, the weight of his gaze remains, heavy with something you cannot name. You want more. You want him to stay. You want to stay.

Leon’s lips part, the faintest hint of a breath escaping, and you swear you can almost hear him say something. Almost. His hand twitches, as if he is also trying to reach for you, but can’t quite cross the divide.

It is unbearable, the way you see him see you. 

You don’t tell Luis of what happened last night, refuse to unravel the complexities of the ache in your being that cannot be satiated anymore. 

It’s not pain exactly—at least not the kind Luis would understand. It’s deeper than that, a longing you can’t explain. You’re stuck here, you realise, tethered not by chains but by something far less visible, yet much harder to sever. 

Luis frowns when you tell him to go without you, that you’ll follow in a day or two. He doesn’t believe you, not entirely. There is scepticism in the way he argues, but you don’t have much fight left anymore. Maybe there isn’t in him, either.

You’d promised yourself this was temporary—a few nights, maybe a week—just long enough to get the evidence you needed. But those days had unravelled into something else. You couldn’t say when you’d first realised you weren’t going to leave. Maybe it was when the lights began to flicker in time with your heartbeat, or when the chill of the air began to feel like a ghost of a touch on your skin.

There was no evidence to gather anymore. No story left to tell but this one.

And perhaps, you think, that’s always been the truth of you—this love of yours, spilling over the edges of your heart until it found something, someone, to hold onto. Living or dead, it didn’t seem to matter. Love for you has never needed a pulse, just a presence.

You walk through the homestead, the familiar creak of the floorboards beneath your feet, and find that the air no longer feels heavy. There’s no longer that crushing weight on your chest, no musk of decay hanging like a warning. You breathe, and for the first time, the house feels still.

"Leon?" you call, your voice fragile, unsure.

The lights flicker in response, faint and distant.

Maybe, you think, this house has always been your grave.

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

[the-anime-enthusiast]

MHA CHARACTERS TYPES IN WOMEN

#1 Katsuki Bakugou

KATSUKI BAKUGOU - PHYSICAL

He likes his women tall and strong (with a scary similar demeanor to his mother 😭). I'm talking 5'6 and up, might feel weird about dating someone taller than him, but the more the merrier⁉️ (I also bc he gets to be around 5'10 to 6ft whenever he finally finishes growing) 🙏

He FOR SURE fw chubby girls, like a lifter kind of chubby... Someone strong and with muscle but something on their bones other than skin yk?

For some this is unfortunate, be he would NEVER date a blonde 😭 He thinks it's creepy cuz he feels weird about dating someone blonde considering his mom's blonde too 😭 He wouldn't mind a darker, more honey blonde than anything, though 😌

He LOVES freckles and moles 😈 He questioned his sanity given Izuku has freckles whenever he found out he liked them, but always tries to keep it out of his mind cuz he'll get the heebie-jeebies again 😔 despite the intrusive thoughts, he loves to kiss them and point out how pretty they are everytime he gets the chance 🤗

He def has a thing for strong legs and a nice ass 🌚 BROS FS AN ASS MAN 😭 Loves just hugging you from behind and grabbing it, not even to be a perv it's just comforting in a weird way 😭🙏

He fw hips to 🙏😌 something to squeeze and kiss on when he's yk 😶‍🌫️ "downtown" 😶‍🌫️ following this he likes stretch marks too, rubbing them feeling the difference in texture on your skin 🤧

Going back to the strong legs 🙏 (and a lil on the chubby stuff) HE FW HEAVY ON THICK ANKLES it's so strange to him and makes him question whether he's sane or not, but he loves it. FS the weirdest thing he find attractive 🫡

He also appreciates some skull crushers 😈 Doesn't even have to be all muscles, just something squishy that's too big for his hand to wrap all the way around 😌

LOVES A BROWN EYED BADDIE ‼️ He loves the look of doe eyes staring up at him but the second your face relaxes and you look like a cold stone bitch he twitches a lil 🤭 (if yk what I mean) He can't get the gojo meme out of his head and gets the heebie-jeebies when looking into someone's blue eyes 😭😭 (monoma freaks him out))

KATSUKI BAKUGOU - MENTAL

You know how he didn't hold back on Uraraka? 😈 Yeah, he likes women who can hold their own against him and honestly that's all he asks for. Ofc he has other standards but something about a strong woman who's just as hard headed as him, really gets him going 🌚

Given he's had to calm down since the war, he appreciates a little bit of feist in his partner, but also a side of them that can be sweet and just as doting as he is 🤭

One of the main points of the people he takes interest in, are that they feel safe around him. 🫶He wants someone who will just fall in his arms at the end of a long day ranting on about work into his neck as he just sits there and listens 🌹 (occasionally chiming in on your coworkers you don't like 😈 )...

KATSUKI BAKUGOU - RANDOMS

He fucks with MUSICIANS HEAVVYYYYY 🎸🎶 You gonna bust out the guitar and strum along to his crazy good beats? HELL YEAH‼️ Maybe some bass to back him up? FUCK YEAH‼️ Gonna pull out your own sticks and out drum him?? DOUBLE FUCK YEAH ‼️Maybe even the clarinet to impress his dad? Hell. Motherfucking. Yeah. Any instrument and he's automatically impressed, he's learned from playing the drums just how much dedication and hard work goes into learning so he truly appreciates it 😈

LOVES FOODIES ‼️ "Hey babe I was thinking of trying that new katsu-" "You don't even have to ask" he replied dragging you to the car. He loves when people eat his food and compliment him on it (although he'll never admit it) so a GF WHO DOES THAT? SIGN HIM UP. 🎂

Low-key fucks with shy girls 😉 He loves outgoingness, don't get me wrong, but whenever they're behind closed doors and his gf gets all shy and scared to look into his eyes he practically melts (the thought of knowing that his gf feels the EXACT same way as him makes him puddy in your hands) 😈

PHYSICAL TOUCH ‼️GIFT GIVING ‼️ QUALITY TIME ‼️ HIS WEAKNESSES ‼️‼️When he can't find the words to tell you how he feels he'll use these to his advantage, hugging you from behind kissing your neck, bringing a lil Stuffie home for you when he knows your down, or just sitting in silence with your favorite TV show on 😌🙏 All that matters is that hes close to you or in your arms making you feel good when you otherwise cant 🫶

THAT'S IT THANKYOU BYYEE 🫶🫶

these are some head cannons for da best boi bakugou bc he's been my fav character for 6 years and what better way to celebrate than curate a list of my fav head cannons for him 🫶

(lemme know who I should do next 😉)

OKAY NOW ACTUALLY BYE BYEEE 😍😍

[chrissturniolosbiggestslut]

Can we get a tooth-rotting chris x reader, just them having a super cuddly morning, like them waking up cuddly and then going upstairs to make breakfast and still being all over eachother??? LOVE YOUUU

— “YOU'RE BOTH INSANELY SOFT"

┌──❀*̥˚───❀*̥˚─┐

thank for the request cutie i love u too! i hope this is good enough chat bc i hate this😔

in which:

you and chris's love language is both physical touch, making your mornings a lot of nothing but cuddling and softness.

warnings: curly-headed!reader i guess but like that's it, insane fluff but a lot of plot, established relationship chris x reader

**NOT PROOFREAD**

└───❀*̥˚───❀*̥˚┘

one thing about you and chris was that you both had a inordinate about of clinginess inside of you. not a moment went by where one of you wasn't touching the other in some way. you adored it, how you and chris shared the same love language. however many other's didn't; like nick.

seeing as nick was the mother of the group, if you will, he was often in charge of waking everybody up on trips. in doing this, he absolutely despised how difficult it was to get you and chris out of bed. someone was always on top of someone and nobody ever wanted to get up.

"y'know i really wish that the two of you weren't such a fucking pain in the ass to wake up!" nick shouted through the room, ripping the cover from on top of you and chris.

chris twisted atop of you, wrapping his arms tighter around your torso and snuggling his head into your stomach. "that sounds like a you problem, nick," he murmured, eliciting a tired giggle from you as your hand made it's way into the boy's hair.

nick groaned, "i hate you! both of you!"

"no you don't," you smiled.

nick only deadpanned, staring at you. "yes. i do."

you both rolled your eyes as nick walked away, making his way to the bathroom where matt was getting ready to also start getting ready.

you stretched out a little, ruffling chris's hair one last time. "baby, we should really start getting ready. we can sleep some more in the car if you want?"

the brunette shook his head. "no. wanna stay here with you," he muttered.

you only blinked. "chris we have to leave the room and get breakfast anyways, we might as well just speed things up. please, love, for me?"

at hearing the last bit, chris's eyes opened, looking up at you as he adjusted himself to look up at you. he sighed, "fine. but only because you look really pretty.

you stared at the boy, knowing that your curls were tucked into a bonnet and your lips were most definitely chapped. "sure, sweetheart. now c'mon lets go."

chris groans, a pout taking up his face as he rolls off the bed so you can get up.

after about an hour or so, you and all of the triplets are ready for the day. the four of you make your way downstairs to catch the hotel breakfast.

on the walk to the elevator, chris rushes to your side, grasping your hand in his. you smile, looking up at him. he only smiles back.

you hear a gagging sound behind you, catching your attention. you soon realize its only nick pretending to hate you and chris's relationship.

"you guys are so fucking gross i hate you both!" he whines.

chris rolls his eyes, "nick your just mad as fuck that every man you've ever been attracted to was fucking straight and you're single. so shut the fuck up.

your hand clasps your mouth as you glance at matt, making sure you both just heard the same thing. "oh shit," you whispered.

"y'know what chris-" nick shouts, preparing to go off on chris.

matt grabs his shoulder, "nick! shut your fucking mouth and keep walking. its like 9 am i don't think the whole floor wants to hear this."

"yeah you big fat beast! shut your damn mouth," chris taunts, a smirk on his face. your lips curl as you remove your hand from chris's, slapping his arm with it. "ow!' he shouts dramatically, clutching his arm.

"stop being mean to nick," you scold, walking side by side with him, your arms now crossed.

his arms flail, dropping on his thighs, "of course you're defending nick over me! me! your own boyfriend of over a year."

"and nick's my best friend of over 10 years, i think he takes the fucking cake," you giggle.

chris huffs, his arms now crossed as well. "this is racism," he murmurs to himself.

"what was that?!"

"nothing!"

you and the triplets now sat on a few couches downstairs, enjoying your breakfast and talking amongst each other.

as you're talking to matt, you feel a head on your shoulder and a few curls tickling your face and mouth. you look down, seeing no other than chris.

"hey baby," you greet him, wrapping an arm around him and scratching his back as you continue talking to matt.

chris whispers in your ear, "are you still mad at me?"

you smile slightly, watching as matt's eyes roll at how many times your conversation has been interrupted by your boyfriend.

"love i was never mad at you, i just wish you'd drop the fucking attitude."

he frowns, "i was just hungry..." he excuses, looking at you with doe eyes and dilated pupils. he now smiles, "you're so pretty."

"you're pretty too, baby."

his smile grows. he continues to pick at his food, not lifting his head from your shoulder once. you could tell he was still a bit drowsy, so you weren't too hard on him about his attitude.

"have i ever told you how much i love you. its like you were literally made for me baby!"

you smile softly, "i know, i love you too."

"EW I CAN'T STAND THIS!" nick shrieks, "YOU'RE BOTH SO INSANELY SOFT AND IT DISGUSTS ME!"

"maybe try crying about it?" you retort jokingly, you and chris laughing uncontrollably as you watch nicks jaw drop to his feet.

"this is unbelievable."

[jadedbirch]

In response to this post about War of Faith

@isilaie said

Finally someone expresses what I was thinking 🙄 I've got a huge problem with propaganda (from any side) and despite the superb directing and acting this one is so blatant that in another context (or country) it almost could be considered as parody. I love Yibo to pieces but ...I think it started with "faith makes great" that there is a kind of red thread (pun intended) in his choice of roles. His success proves him right of course but ...😔🤷‍♀️

I really wanted to address your comment @isilaie because I think it's important we are all aware of the things that are going on "under the surface" so to speak when we engage with this kind of content. Again, speaking as someone who used to live under a totalitarian communist regime, I'm very aware that whatever "choices" and "freedoms" that people like Yibo enjoy are completely illusory. Especially if we assume from the preponderance of evidence that he's queer - and therefore have to assume that whatever lifestyle he may enjoy is sanctioned by the government - then these choices are even more impacted. We've all seen how quickly c-ent can make someone's career disappear (i.e. Zhang Zhehan) and how quickly the CCP can make PEOPLE disappear (i.e. Fan Bingbing) for not toeing the party line or not sending the right message. The more high profile you are (like Xiao Zhan and Wang Yibo), the more scrutinized you are for all your "choices." Plus, we also know that these days you can't get anything past the sensors w/o a healthy dose of Patriotism, and at the end of the day, the project that Yibo might sign up for can end up being something else entirely by the time it hits the screen.

So, the only thing I'm going to judge my beloved son on is making career moves that allow him to grow and develop as an artist - and War of Faith definitely gave him the opportunity to once again stretch his acting chops. And I think his success is due to his radiant talent that turns anything he touches into gold, and not so much due to his "patriotic" project choices, but shit, I'm only slightly biased because I gave birth to him LMAO.

As for War of Faith laying it on so thick that it's almost a parody - you're correct - and I actually said to a friend last night that it's ironic that as I watch the show, the Big Communist Heroes actually come off as fanatical terrorists to me. Hmmmm. Interesting.

(On a funnier note, people have pointed out how incredibly GAY this Comrade Drama is for such blatant propaganda, and that perhaps you needed a heavy dose of one to slip in the other. If that's the case even the tiniest bit, then kudos to Yibo for making another secret BL drama right in front of everyone's salad.)

[annabelle--cane]

Basira's last feat as a police officer was helping to save Callum from his kidnappers. There is an implied hook to a supposedly scrapped arc of a reunion between the two in season five. I think it makes some sense for her to work in a place geared towards children.

my thoughts exactly! she took to the reading and research parts of working in the institute quite quickly, and the "I’ve always held the opinion that the world would be a better place if everyone just thought more" line is very like the basira we know.

if I may make a stretch about the implications of a few lines, this is her second deputy head role, she says mr donaldson only "technically" runs the school, she more-or-less accepts celia's assertion that she's the one calling the shots, and she says she's been "in charge" at st luke's for five years. she might be second-in-command on paper while actually doing most of the work for any number of reasons (maybe she's a bit young to be officially heading a school like this, maybe it's just that mr donaldson is a man and she's not 😔), but I think this could also imply a proclivity towards working in partnerships where she still gets to exercise meaningful control and agency.

her two big problems in archives were passivity in the face of situations she knew she wanted to change and her tendency to act as an no-nuance judge of who and what is good or bad, and this seems like a setup that might mitigate those flaws and let her act as the best version of herself. she's in a position where she is expected to regularly take decisive action and can't just sit back and let things happen, but there is also someone a rung up the ladder from her who can (if he doesn't suck) let her know if her judgment is out of whack. it doesn't seem like she's relying on anyone to be her "fixed point" like with daisy, but she's not working alone.

[knifetomeatu]

I know this isn't a headcanon but I've been stuck on the idea of what nubbins would look and act like if he was alive in the second movie and I just wanted to know if you have any ideas :]

i love this ask bc i wake up in tears every day of my life wondering What If Nubbins Didn't Die so!! yippie!!! (also i know i took super long to answer this i have a million things swirling around in my brain and this ask has been one of them for a while lol)

pretty obvious choice but i think he'd still be sporting that sweet jacket, maybe chop gave it to him when he got back??

and, since the sawyers seem to be doing relatively well for themselves by the 2nd movie, i like to think nubbins would wanna look more "successful" or "fancier" (whatever his idea of those is😭) which i imagine might be: more camo (like chop wore!!), new jewelry, and nice shiny bowling shoes, stolen straight off the feet of your uncle who was the head of his league (rip😔) jewelry includes a necklace made of teeth, and rings made of shattered femurs💖 lovely plus i thought since chop gets to snack on his own scalp with that hanger, nubbins deserves a gross little habit as well🥰 so maybe, since we know he enjoys slicing himself, why not let him have a cut on his hand he likes to keep open just for a little drink every once in a while? i mean look at him he needs it!! speaking of chop, i like to think that he LOVES making nubbins laugh, like when he does ANYTHING nubbins is the first person he glances at to see his reaction, and nubbins is so zapped out of his mind even more he is just LOVIN it😭 i imagine him super giddy and kind of Always High during tcm 2, always giggling in reaction to his family's actions or the attempts by lefty/stretch/LG to defeat them side note: i LOVE stretch SO much, but i do believe that if she had to deal with both of these freaks solo she wouldnt have made it😢 apologies to my dearest wife💔 (tho maybe if she 1v1'd each of them she'd make it out she IS pretty kickass) bonus nubbins in a ponytail after growing his hair out a bit bc i thought itd be cute and i was Correct😭💚 so unbelievably babygirl my GOD

[mamawasatesttube]

I feel so shy not being able to hide in the anon asks but for the sake of desperation I'll ask anyway.

First of all I must say that I love the way you express yourself, because even though you are against some things, or at least you don't like them. You express it so well and so respectful that's addicting.

Anyway the questions were what you thought about Tim+Kon+Bernard, because I've seen a lot of people talking about it but I don't know if it makes much sense if you think of their relationship.

Also if you had some songs that reminded you of Kon I'd love the recs! Because I'm still a newbie in the whole DC comics, but I've been having a Kon brain rot for a while.

Sorry if I don't express myself correctly, English isn't my first language. If any of this makes you uncomfy please feel free of ignoring me and I hope you have plenty of good days!!💕💕 Be careful to not catch a cold

aww thank you that's very sweet of you to say!!! :D i do love to simply start talking and rambling all the time. one of my top skills. (and yeah i turned off anon asks a while ago because unfortunately talking about racism in fandom often gets you labelled a bitch with a terrible personality 😔✊ alas!)

as for tim/kon/bernard ... i really, really dislike that ship. it takes everything i already strongly dislike about tim/ber (tim drake: robin is the worst comic i've ever read, and i'm including jeph loeb's supergirl when i say this), and multiplies it by a factor of about 500.

my biggest problem with tim/ber is that megfitz wrote them with absolutely no actual chemistry. there is nothing in the text to tell me why they actually like each other. there is nothing in the text that tells me what the issues in their relationship are, or how they might grow together as people, or anything. which is absolutely insane because you'd think "bernard knows tim's secret identity, but has not told tim that he knows" would be a MAJOR point of conflict, but instead it's just completely glossed over to the point of the comic asking us to accept that the bats would ever allow a mob of random civilians on a mission with them. there's stretching suspension of disbelief, and then there's putting suspension of disbelief on the medieval torture rack and tearing it apart. like. come ON. (tdr is also like. teehee gentrification but its cute? which is insane to me in a different way. its just. its so bad. its such a bad comic.)

so adding kon to that mix kind of gives me hives because a) we have all of my issues with tdr being incredibly inconsistent, both internally and with all existing tim characterization ever, and b) it brings up all of my issues with how kon has been written since yj2019. which i could get into Yet Again but in the interests of being at least a little bit concise, it's also incredibly inconsistent and drives me bonkers. so the concept of this ship just makes me go "why the FUCK" because i just truly genuinely cannot fathom why kon and bernard would ever give a shit about each other. i can barely even fathom why tim and bernard give a shit about each other because megfitz did the comic script equivalent of picking up two barbie dolls and mashing them together and going LOOK THEYRE IN LOVE. they have no consistent characterization under her pen.

so adding kon into that just makes me want to tear my hair out a little bit because. like. to be entirely honest i don't know how some random dude from one of tim's many high schools who tim was friendly with, sure, but not particularly close with, can hold a candle to Whatever The Fuck Tim And Kon Have Going On. especially with how flat their relationship reads to me in tdr (what do they even like about each other??? why is bernard in fucking biophysics or whatever while wanting to be a chef??? why does tim not go "you know culinary school exists right??" when he finds out??? how am i supposed to believe that tim "duty" drake would ever leave people in a burning building just for his sad boyfriend??? that batman and co would ever let a bunch of civilians fight alongside them - or for that matter, that they'd need bernard to tell them tim's in trouble?? what the fuck alternate dimension are they from where any of this makes sense???). tim/ber just is such a nothing ship to me that adding kon to it is just like. EXTREME nothing. to me tim/ber/kon is basically a flag that says "i don't care about characterization" and it's just so very deeply NOT my thing at all whatsoever.

...which is why to ME tim's first boyfriend is ives, not bernard, and in this essay i will--

ahem. anyways!! re: kon songs, oh man i have a lot. i have a whole playlist even. with a linked document to explain every song choice. i also lately have been thinking about making a second playlist for all the songs that didn't make it onto the first one!! much to consider.

also don't worry your english is totally fine ♥ and it's very sweet of you to wish me well healthwise and also a little funny because actually i am just getting over a cold that had me sniffly and miserable most of last week. but i'm much better tonight so yippee!! thank you again :D

[cowpokeomens]

I hope you're still taking Mayhew thoughts cos boy do I have em.

Picture this: Mr Dierkes has had an awful stressful day and all he wants is to go home and slump on the couch watching his favourite comfort film. Then YOU pop your wee head in. You see he's had a shitty day and go over to snuggle with him but then he starts getting handsy and says he just needs some stress relief. You're happy to oblige 😍

Hello again, cum goblins! I got carried away :-/

Yeah it was a rough day, they’re so close to leaving for tour and everyone is stressed out and your impending separation is looming right there on the horizon and maybe he’s dreading it okay, so it was just. Not a good day. And he wants to sit on the couch and watch dumb reality TV and not be a person for an hour or two, when you poke your little head in from the bedroom where you definitely weren’t taking a nap, and you can tell immediately that he’s just Not In The Mood. So you pad over to him, sitting on the couch a little ways away from him to give him his space, waiting for him to say the first thing. Eventually he sighs and pauses the TV and says “staring at me won’t help, baby.” And you blush because yeah you were definitely staring but :-( he’s upset and you wanna fix it :-( and you say “is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” And poor Matt :-/ just :-/ yeah he knows exactly what would make him feel better :-/ so he looks you dead in the eye and says “stuffing your pretty cunt full of my cock might help a bit.” And brrrrr there goes your brain functions! No thoughts here! And he knows it too he knows what it does to you when he says shit like that (that’s why he says it smh bastard) but still, seeing your eyes glaze over and your lips part just slightly makes him a little feral :-/ can’t let you know though, guides you so that you’re straddling his lap, moves your shorts to the side and dips two fingers in you and you’re already soaked in anticipation, says “Kept it nice and wet for me, huh?” And you shudder a bit as you nod at him and he doesn’t waste time with formalities, pulls his cock out and pumps it a few times to get it full, keeps your shorts pulled to the side as he slides in into you in one fluid motion and your jaw drops open at the feeling of it stretching you 😔 he lays back, slapping your ass as he goes, says “go on, make me feel better.” Only you find you cant move because you’re still adjusting to the stretch and your legs feel like jello so the best you can do is grind down and whimper and that’s just not good enough for your Matty :-/ he rolls his eyes, says “seriously? That’s the best you can do? I could have just used a toy if I wanted to do all the work.” And you have no words because yeah you’re kind of useless right now, pawing at his chest and grinding onto his cock pitifully. He sighs melodramatically and sits up, pulling you into his chest so that he has better leverage to pull out and fuck back into you, saying “I could make a toy out of you, I guess.” And you can’t help the whimper that comes out at his words when he thrusts into you again, still holding you against him tightly. “Poor dumb girl can’t even ride my cock after a long day. Pathetic.” He’s fucking you earnestly now, dragging against the walls of your pussy deliciously as he goes. Your mouth is suddenly too empty, unoccupied in a way that makes your chest hurt, so you latch onto his neck and suck deeply and you can feel the rumble of his groan in your mouth as his pace quickens and you don’t even realize you’re going to cum until you do :-/ and the way your walls are clenching around Matt has him pushing you down onto the couch, your mouth unlatching form him with a pop, his hand coming down to hold your throat as he fucks you into the cushions :-/ you’re aware you’re being loud and the couch is gonna have a gross cum stain on it but you find you don’t care as he squeezes your throat tightly and cums into you, groaning and rambling about how good you are, how pretty you look with his cock in you, how good you’re taking it :-/ definitely gives you head in the shower afterwards when you’re supposed to be cleaning up oops bye

[annimoose]

Ranking malevolent characters on how hot I think they might be:

Arthur lester - 7 or 8/10

A lot of people seem to be drawn to him, whether that be appearance or personality wise (I totally believe this to be a side effect of John's manipulation bleeding over but skeijrir)

Claiming this because Noel asked him if was married during being asked what he wanted and when Oscar was going to ask him if he wanted to go do... something 🏳️‍🌈❓️

John Doe - 1 or 10/10

There is no in-between for this. He's either the beautiful and elegant fractured piece of the kiy or a shrimp. I will not elaborate further.

Peter Yang - 10/10

He was too sexy for the world. 😔

Eddie - 8/10

Big bruiser guy can attack me anytime, lord have mercy

Kellin - fucked up/10

I mean, hes a war veteran who wears a gas mask at all times. He's fucked up physically and mentally. I hope he's doing alright. (I- know he's not)

Antoine - 10/10

Another character too hot for the world. What a shame. 😩

The King In Yellow - 9/10

He's an elder god who's known for lavish and madness, I KNOW he's hot. Minus one point because he prolly is a lil fucked up after being split in two.

John even comments on how remarkable he is (this could be just to inflate his ego but whatever you say john,, 🙄)

The Vanguard - 0/10

Would've been a great mascot for the Talking Heads

(If I see a what that mouth do comment I will delete this fucking post)

The Trader - 6/10

Honestly, I just would love to see some Trader fanart. I think he would look cool :)

Micheal Faust - delectable/10 or 11/10

Are you Mr. Faust because damn you're looking like a fine snack. 🥴

Had a guy eat him out, like literally.

Lorick - FROG/10

FROG FRIEND, FROG FRIEND. No hot is simply FROG frien 🐸

Kayne - eeeehh,,, 5/10,, probably 6 being generous?

I know a controversial take but let me splain

Not necessarily calling him bad looking but I feel like his features would definitely be stretched and contorted just enough to be unnerving. Looks human but you can definitely tell he's not.

Yellow - piss baby/10

Roll em up like a jaundice blunt and smoke em up. 🚬

Uncle - 0/10

I know what I said about Auntie Nyan Nyan but I promise you I'm not a monster fucker.

Mmmm Antie Nyan Nyan could put a collar on me and walk me like the dirty dog I am anytime.

Wallace Larson - 8/10 personality wise - -0/10

Would probably look hot, ngl,, too bad hes rotten to the core.

I hope he's getting his femur shattered over and over again during his permanent vacay in the Dreamlands.

The Butcherrrr - 6/10

Probably wouldn't look too bad for an old man. I really dont have much more to add on him.

Butcher my beloved 💖

Marie - widow/10

She deserves the world on a silver plater 💖

Mr. Scratch - NIGHTMARE NIGHTMARE NIGHTMARE/10

Now if we're going to talk about Lilith, everyone knows she's a 20/10. That's literally her thing to be hot and to swoon men. Thankfully she did NOT do this to Arthur.

Oscar - 5/10

Idk, I just feel like he wouldn't be that hot. 🤷‍♀️

This does not make me love him even less because GOD he deserved better. 💖

Detective Noel - 9/10

God I miss my man wife. It's not even funny. 😭

I'm starving now, gotta see if I have any left over Mr. Faust in the fridge.

Yaaay I did most characters. 🎉

This kinda derailed a little bit, but eh, whatever.

[cat3ch1sm]

HI EVE

So umm I wanna start writing hxh stuff but I'm scared it'll be really ooc :(( I watched the whole anime, restarting it and I'm reading the Manga too so I know the personalities of the characters well but I'm still not confident I can portray it right... it would be super embarrassing if I post my first story/ headcanon and the comments i get are "they wouldnt say that" "they wouldnt do that" "that wouldnt happen" 😭the way you write characters sound so like them and I rlly wanna make hcs and stories like you so pls spill your secrets 🙏🙏 if it helps, the characters I think I'll be most writing for are the main 4, kalluto and alluka (they're so underrated!!) mb hisoka andddd silva & kikyo? (I kinda wanna make some cute scenarios w them like they go on a date or smthing 🥺 idk why) but ofc, I would love to learn how to write for the majority of the hxh characters. But ummm it's okay if u don't have any advice, I'll just cry infront of my blank Google docs page 😔😔 (I'm jk, have a good day!!)

🐢~ OMG HI IM SO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE I FEEL AWFUL :(( @xl3vviii i love uu thanks for your request and patience 💚💚 i will try my best to explain my process in a general way so it’s easy to write for any character you’d like! i really hope this helps you<333

🍀~ and i totally feel you on the not wanting mean comments thing😭😭 broo ive been fortunate enough to not really receive those kind of comments but i did once and WOW was i embarrassed and changed it immediately😭😭 and the crying in front of a blank google doc page?? you are so real for that 😭😭😭

🌲~ another note to my followers in general: i want to sincerely apologize for my absence. my devices i usually post on all decided to conveniently stop working so that really sucked but my phone is back again!! im really grateful for you all and your patience, and i want to thank you guys so much for 3.5k! i have no intentions of leaving and i hope i can write lots more for you guys. hopefully i don’t ever need to be gone that long again! i love u all so muchh and thank you a million times 💚💚

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐢 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬!

a/n~ so sorry if this sucks cause ive never given a tutorial for my writing but i will DO MY BEST

so you said you wanted to write cute scenarios of dates for the hxh main four+ hisoka, silva , and kikyo! first thing i usually consider when i get requests especially, or just when i have an idea, is: would this character even do this? like if someone asks me, “hey, can you write headcanons for illumi zoldyck with a soft/sweet/kind s/o?” that would be possible (though maybe a little far-fetched canonically). it’s fine to stretch those boundaries a bit for fanfiction, i think. but if that request had instead been like “can you write reader x soft/sweet/kind illumi?” that would’ve been a hard no. don’t alter characters’ natural personalities because then it’s not the same character. what sometimes helps me is, especially if i haven’t watched or read any media of the character im writing for in a while, is looking up the character’s wiki on the FANDOM site and reading through their personality traits as well as their key moments because it helps me to determine what the character would do in the story and how they might react to some things. feel free to also go back and look at clips of the anime or pages of the manga; i find it helps as well!

so for what you want to write specifically, cute dating scenarios, i think that most of the characters you’ve chosen are a good fit. the main four are good for a prompt like that, and the zoldyck children you’ve chosen can be fitting as well. but as for hisoka, kikyo, and silva, that kind of prompt might not fit so well because obviously these characters can’t be seen as sweet or kind or loving. has hisoka ever expressed any interest in wooing someone properly or is he someone who operates on lust? did kikyo and silva court each other and go on little dates or was their marriage probably arranged/forced/only useful for selfish purposes? do their personalities even allow for sentiments like dates? would they even consider that? before writing something ask yourself if you can really see the character doing that clearly in your mind.

i think it’s a great thing that you’ve watched and read the respective canon content of your characters, and it’s good to refer to it if you ever find yourself struggling to characterize someone accurately. however, it is fanfiction, so don’t feel like you need to be super rigid. write whatever you’d like, honestly. but here’s a really common thing i notice when people write fanfiction: they take one aspect of the character and run the shit into the ground. a prime example of this is hobie brown from across the spiderverse and his “i don’t believe in consistency” line. like Jesus Christ. well-written fictional characters, like the ones of hxh, are often as versatile as real people are. make sure the character doesn’t feel like some one-dimensional version of themselves, and please don’t write for the character only based on one aspect of their personality. for example, hisoka is rather unpredictable, so that’s something you’d probably want to incorporate into writings for him. but for characters like most of the zoldycks, you’re going to want to tread a little lighter since they aren’t the main characters and thus we don’t see a whole lot of them. in situations like this, you might have to focus on just what you can see of them. so again, just ask yourself if you can see the character really doing what you’re writing them to do. would they act that way in an actual episode of the anime or volume of the manga? if you’re unsure or the answer is no, try going a different route.

it is also okay to make mistakes. practicing a lot will eventually get you to where you want to be. i still find myself slipping up in my writings and getting carried away (so read over your writings before you publish them)!! my dms are open if you ever would like me personally to review a piece and offer maybe more specific advice!

i hope this helped you, dear💚 again feel free to dm me if you have any more questions. thank you for your support 💚

[spacedlexi]

A little while ago you said that you have nuanced feelings on Clem x Louis, and I think that’s how I’d describe my opinion on the ship as well. I was just wondering, what makes you feel that way? Personally, I think they’re romance scenes are cute and sweet, but the whole situation with Marlon makes me unable to see them as anything other than friends. I think they both mean a lot to each other, but the idea that they’d want to date so soon after that whole ordeal’s a bit of a stretch to me.

putting this under a read more so if anyone even Thinks they might get upset about mild louis opinions they can move on and stay happy. seriously people take this stuff too seriously sometimes and i dont want to stir anyone up but also im allowed to have my own opinions OKAY. none of this means i dont like him or them OKAY??

okay

thats pretty much where my opinions are too

the stuff with marlon and the vote is Definitely the biggest thing that influences my opinion about their romance. i always forget just how Cruel he is in EP2 😭 like im on your side dude what aj did was wrong can we just talk about this 😭 but he votes to kick them out. like his reaction about marlon doesnt bother me, its his insistence on kicking them out that does 😔 my clem will always forgive him for it, i believe him when he says he regrets it, but its gonna take some time for trust to build again. for both of them

having only one scene between his apology and the lock in was just not gonna happen for my clem. she was mad at him for it. aj almost died because of it. she might be doing better now but she still has trust issues and her trust was broken just as much as his was. he was fine with never seeing her again, sending her and aj out to their deaths because he struggled to accept his confused feelings about marlon. that pissed my clem off shdfksd she is barely keeping this child alive let alone herself. her face when ajs kicking the wall bro she was like "its so fucking over" 😭 cmon bro look at her shes dead inside have some compassion. and he still hits her with the "i dont know [if i want you to stay]" even after aj gets shot like cmon man...... Cmon.........

and while shes waiting for louis to finally be ready to talk about what happened with marlon (which my clem apologizes for in the dorm, she does genuinely feel bad about it), her and violet are only growing closer, focusing on preparing the school together for the bigger problem. clem knowing vi has her back is a huge source of relief in everything thats going on, and that means a Lot for my clem, who appreciates the idea of having a partner she can rely on. my clem is already sure of her feelings for vi by the time louis apologizes. but she appreciates his apology, and is looking forward to being friends again, because she did genuinely appreciate his friendship at the beginning. but her heart was really truly Broken about everything with marlon and the vote and i think thats gonna take more time to heal. depending on player choice some clems might not even forgive him (some others might say he was right and that clem didnt stop it but... i do not agree with that.. like how could she have... aasim calls mitch a hypocrite for saying the same thing)

the other less important thing is just his general blasé attitude. my clem takes things seriously, but that doesnt mean she doesnt know how to have fun. she Wants to. she just Cant. she has a child to take care of first, and she cares about the survival of the group. its why my clem is looking for someone she knows she can rely on. she never wanted any of this, and she just wants a little support, someone to help take the weight off so she CAN relax. shes so tired 😭. playing with louis while aasim hunts by himself made me feel Dirty 💀 (i literally couldnt do it the first time i felt so bad AASIM WAIT UP). and while i can understand and appreciate his "there might not be a tomorrow so enjoy today" outlook, it cant come at the expense of the group. louis i feel eventually learns this, finding a balance between the two, and Becomes someone clem can rely on. but his change doesnt begin until like.. after the raiders take everyone (because we have to get through the marlon stuff first). and if you save vi, you dont get to see any of it 😔

the thing about these two problems is that, if you were to take them out of this setting and throw them in like, a modern au, suddenly these are not issues anymore. no more life or death. the stakes are a lot lower. so i can see them dating in that scenario and having fun together. they do have cute moments!! but also due to less stakes, theres less to motivate louis to change. and i think they would fundamentally just not click on their worldviews. clem while she can have fun, ultimately takes things seriously, and louis doesnt. that doesnt mean they dont care about each other, and clem definitely appreciates his energy, but its why i see them still ending up as friends instead of romantic partners (esp if vi is around IM SORRY 😭 they just Click too well for me 😔 this is why my messy au exists 💀)

i also understand this is mostly personal preference and some people might like them for these reasons 😭 but the dynamic that they have i prefer as friends personally. theyre supportive of each other and deeply care about each other, just not romantically imo. especially not after the stuff with marlon. and thats ok!!!! i see it a lot like louis' relationship with vi. not romantic. but they Love each other regardless. honestly the reason why i like clem vi and louis as a trio so much is that clem slots between them really well. louis who doesnt take anything seriously, and vi who takes things Too seriously. clem exists between them. knowing having fun is important but also understanding the weight of responsibility. she helps louis become more responsible, and she helps vi chill the fuck out. she brings balance :)

i will say tho louis' "nothing wrong with short and sweet, right?" line was cute he got me there

[mitochondriencocktail]

For the kiss prompt … 11 & 12? 🥺

doing these in reverse because i want them to be happy HAHA Decided to randomly pull from the unwritten nerd!bojan x hockey player!jere college au that's just chilling in pieces on my drive i hope that's ok ;o;

12... in grief

Bojan's heart falls to the floor as the words tumble out of his mouth.

I think we should break up.

Katrina, too patient, too understanding, too kind, had given Bojan a teary-eyed smile when he told her. She isn't stupid, she'd seen the growing distance between them. The way he and Jere had become inexplicably closer over the last several months.

Kat knocks their foreheads together, the dorm bed creaking with age.

“Fuck you, Bojan Cvjetićanin.”

“Well, probably not anymore.”

She lets out a sob of a laugh and Bojan opens his arms, letting Kat rest her weight on him. A familiar comfort to them both. 

After a moment of silence: “Is it him?”

Bojan stiffens.

“Yeah.”

“I can’t believe I lost you to a hockey player,” she snorts through her tears.

“You didn’t lose me,” he says. “Just… recalibrating our relationship.”

“Okay, Mr. Sociology degree.”

“I still love you. Just... in a way that might be a bit different than we were both expecting.”

A sigh. Kat rolls over so she can stare at the ceiling again.

“I love you, too.”

After Kat leaves, the weight of it all sinks in. The grief of heartbreak tears through him.

Bojan opens his phone.

Bojan: you free?

Jere: what’s up jokerman Jere: yes always for you ♥️😉 Jere: Bojan?

Bojan: Kat and i broke up

Jere: oh Jere: shit Jere: I am sorry 😟 Jere: you want me come over? Bojan: no i’m ok Bojan: i mean i’m not ok but i’m ok Bojan: just wanted someone to talk with Bojan: if you’re ok just texting? Jere: bojan keep me company while i finish homework 🥰

Bojan: haha what’re you working on?

Jere: [img_3452] Jere: medieval art paper 😔 Jere: idk why they make me take class

Bojan: LOL

Jere: not funny!! I suffering Jere: fuck off bojan Jere: sori Jere: i take it back

Bojan: no it’s ok it was funny

Jere: bojan think i’m funny 🥰🥰🥰 Jere: big mistake Jere: can i come over?

He hesitates, but manages to remain firm. Not tonight. His heart is still raw.

Bojan: i think i just need the room to myself Bojan: but tomorrow for sure let’s hang out

Jere: okei Jere: tomorrow yes promise ❤️😘

Bojan: Promise ❤️

11... in joy

The trek back isn’t long but the silence stretches between them, random chatter about the project, a few comments about the party. No mention of girls or dates or hurt feelings. When they get to Bojan’s apartment, Jere lingers, so Bojan beckons him in. 

“You should drink some water after that keg stand.” 

Jere beams as he’s handed a glass while seated on the couch. “You see me do it?” 

“You were the only thing anybody could stare at while it was happening.” 

A flush creeps across Jere’s face. He hides his smile in a sip of water, face obscured by the cup, but the crinkles around his eyes that stay trained on Bojan say otherwise. 

“Do…” Bojan flounders. He has the advantage of self-awareness in the situation, but he’s turning over every possible outcome. Analyzing. Assessing. 

Or, as Jere’s about to put it— “Bojan look like he need to shit.” 

“Oh fuck off,” Bojan says, cushioning it with a laugh as he catches the slight wince in Jere’s expression. 

He wipes a hand down his face, reaches for his book on the coffee table, and plops bodily down onto the couch, swinging his legs up and into Jere’s lap. 

“Do…?” Jere prods him. 

��I was going to ask if you wanted to stay, but,” Bojan motions to where his legs are occupying Jere’s lap, “I’ve decided you have no choice in the matter now.” 

Jere stares at Bojan. 

He looks up at him, still dejected, and sees it: this hasn’t clicked for Jere yet.

Jere rubs a hand along Bojan’s shin and breaks the eye contact with a giggle. He leans his head back on the couch and smiles. They sit in comfortable silence as Bojan thumbs through his book, letting the words on the page wash him away. 

“You going to go on new dates now?”

Bojan sets the book down. Stifles a sigh. Resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He’s going to really do this, isn’t he? 

“Well, I actually have a study date with some weird guy from the hockey team."

Jere’s hand that had been, up until then, rubbing up and down Bojan’s shin goes still. With a comically suspicious look, he regards Bojan; eyes narrowed, an open look of concentration. 

“Is… it’s me? Are you talking about me?” 

Jere does not make this easy. 

“Yeah,” Bojan nods. “I-“ Words catch in his throat. “I think we should try to make some headway on our project.” 

“Oh,” Jere nods, simple as that. “Okei.”

C’mon, please, figure it out, Bojan thinks.

He beams at Bojan, entirely unselfconscious, unaware. 

“Maybe we get lunch before? I have practice in morning.” And just like that, he’s switched gears. Bouncing and thrumming. 

“Sure,” Bojan nods, opening his book up again, but he can’t focus on a single word. Not when his heart is racing like this. “Yeah, we can do lunch.” 

“Maybe dinner too?” his voice is hesitant but inquiring, the sound of gears grinding evident in his head.

“Yeah, Jere, we can do dinner together too.” Bojan thinks he might be going insane and it’s all thanks to one Finnish exchange student.

"That make me so happy," Jere cheeses suddenly, a dreamy expression on his face, the faintest flush of alcohol on his cheeks. Bojan watches as Jere works through the final stretch of this puzzle in real time. He stares at Bojan with those unwavering, attentive eyes, surfacing suddenly from underneath the murk of his emotions. He flits between shock and confusion and amusement in a span of seconds, ending up with an expression that looks like he's been sucker punched right between the sternum.

"Oh," Jere breathes out.

Joy simmers between them.

The book falls to the floor. Bojan's drawing in his legs from Jere's lap. Clambering forward on all fours across the couch.

He leans in and kisses Jere.

[adracat]

G Witch Ep 20 thoughts

WHOOO YEAH that was great. The show is always great but I greatly enjoyed the entangling of plot threads as the sidecast get to stretch their legs. It's not the reunion we were hoping for yet, but good things come to those who wait

First up we have a few establishing scenes to convey where our cast are in the aftermath of Quinharbor. A bit surprised we don't get another timeskip, but this ups the chance for Mio Earth shenanigans so I'm not complaining. Guel is hellbent on making Shaddiq answer for his sins. Coincidentally, Shaddiq is just as furious with Guel.

I was assuming from the preview that this demonic Haro would be an alarm, but no. Just some weird interrogation of Martin. That poor kid is so bullied. He does it to himself, but still. Super funny that he went to the lounge just to give Secilia an update on his relationship with Earth House. Does someone have a crush? Join the club, buddy. You have like half of gwitch twitter to contend with. I respect a man who wants a woman to dom him

OOF. We knew it would happen, but it still stings to see all of GUND-ARM and Miorine being held responsible for Earth. Miorine canonically a problematic fav 😔 It's ok girl, I'm a Fire Emblem and Gundam fan. War crimes are a plus!

It was nice to see the kids, while confused, not angry or throwing accusations around. And the verbal support from Lilique was very appreciated. While they don't have the context, they believe in Miorine. She would probably break down crying if she knew. Or allow herself to feel anything more than pitch black despair

New hazing technique just dropped. Text someone about their accused warcriminal ex murdering people and see how they react. We don't see who it might be, but Suletta is justifiably unnerved. Whoever they are, probably dead now *spoilers*

Interesting bit of lore in this segment though. They emphasize the push into space by the corps led to mass casualties and it's a bit eerie when we consider real world parallels. Gwitch's corporate space overlords could be a dark glimpse into our future.

Petra speaking to Suletta wasn't on my bingo card but I liked it. Suletta's line here conveys she's just continuing to go through the motions of a happy school life because it's all she has. Prospera told her it would fill her heart after all.

Lol right for the jugular. But her guileless question here is interesting because of the connection Suletta made. She recognizes the girl's feelings because Petra admits she'd be lost without Lauda. You can see Suletta linking her love for Miorine to Petra and Lauda, which is paralleled again later.

This episode went from 0 to 60 in like two seconds flat. Shaddiq finally takes Michaelis out for a stroll and is embroiled in a heated clash with Guel who wants answers for his father. And ofc Shaddiq is still on his princely BS trying to defend Mio's honor lol. You're looking at the wrong person buddy. And I don't mean Prospera 😉

Meanwhile, the school is put on red alert as Kenanji tries to evacuate the students. I may not trust him but at least he has good priorities. But this is futile since the most toxic room is the galaxy finally opens. Norea runs off, looking for blood and her gundam as 5lan follows. This will turn out amazingly. So funny how Nika just leaves without comment, poor girl gonna have nightmares from the 5nore gauntlet.

This scene was great. Norea is feeling so much and overflowing with grief for Sophie mingled with rage at Spacian oppression. She can't waste time listening to 5lan, only vent at this injustice and take as many spacians as possible.

The Sophie bracelet kills me so much. They were together for years under Naji, pledged their lives to this cause, and now Sophie is gone. More on this later, but I had goosebumps from Norea's scenes throughout the episode. So good

Warcrimes! Warcrimes everywhere!! Norea has officially gone apeshit and now the school will pay for it. Shouldn't have locked her in with the gremlin tbh. He did not help her state of mind. This shot with Earth House is striking though. God this show is a looker.

Again, we have Suletta relating to Petra with these words. You can see as they wash over Suletta. She too wants nothing more than to be with her precious person. Props to Petra for taking the initiatve to aid her fellow students btw. Suletta isn't a surprise since we know her history on Mercury, but an average spacian girl drives home these are normal kids. They might benefit from their parents wealth, yet they aren't combatants or the callous suit husks of Benerit.

Guel finally gained his answers during this power struggle, and I have to say I appreciate Shaddiq's candor. He isn't lying or twisting words, straight up I manipulated your father and did all these terrorist hijinks. Points for honesty. Guel isn't happy with that ofc but then Shaddiq throws his own actions at him. Due to his prior rash behavior, his father is dead. Not because of Shaddiq.

AND GUESS WHO'S LISTENING? 'Oops sry Lauda, didn't have the chance to tell you while I was off being Miorine's secretary. Oh and don't mind the gundam in the closet. Later bro.'

Welp, goodbye metephorical haven for Miorine and Suletta and the place when their bond was cemented. We'll miss you. I want to see Suletta return afterward and find Cool-san. She can't leave little buddy in the rubble and not return it to Mio! (But really? The left orb, like her left eye that she's totally gonna lose? Okouchi, plz)

I'm happy the animals were well looked after. That was honestly my major concern throughout this episode. Tycho especially is an icon and she's stolen my heart. Suletta's goat mom must live🥺 And Demi-barding reveal! I had a feeling it was a Chuchu suit from the name so that's very neat. She's an understated pilot compared to the witches/Guel etc but no less cool/competant.

Nika and Chuchu's moment was cute. Their trust and affection for each other is a nice reprieve from all this dire mess. It also shows Chuchu's emotional growth from a fist-first talk later girl to someone who is willing to listen.

Shaddiq's rant here is rather illuminating, because while his methods MAY have led to a Cold War ceasefire, terrorist violence upon civilians can't be excused. The next statement about Miorine and the repeated insistence HE would be the one to play hero without staining his prize makes his actions seem like a narcisictic bid rather than genuine. As Delling said, a throne is vested with power and an egotistic boy isn't a fitting king.

However, this bit here gives Shaddiq a sad bit of poignance. He's right. Benerit and the SAL didn't care when it was Earthian lives. Norea says as much earlier, too. But they finally act when Spacians are the one's dying. If it wasn't for his idealized view of himself/others, he just might have succeeded. We'll see if the cuffs stick but with multiple eps left there's a good chance he wriggles free. The Space Assembly League are backing him/Ochs Earth after all.

I'll be honest, this got to me. She's reaching for a ghost, who was paradoxically the most alive person she knew. Sophie was nothing like the dead things in Norea's book, her private altar where she feared and worshipped death. It became an obsession for her as 5lan alludes, but he tried to reach for her and offered a living hand instead. He says they can leave and live instead of dying pointlessly. And just when we think she's reaching for him too, Norea dies and Sophie's bracelet burns. Stunning artistry here. It just might be the blow that sends 5lan on a quest to destroy Peil and Elan prime. I sure hope so!

Similarly, we have Suletta witness Petra's body. She's reaching out a hand, and it's not hard to draw the lines between the last scene and this. They were both reaching for a loved one, dying in pursuit of it.

Now there's Suletta who sees the potential cost of hesitation. What if she, like Petra, never sees Miorine? What if Miorine dies before she can reach her? Delicious pain

In the aftermath of death, we have Suletta resolved. She tends to the rubble in search of wounded and spurs Earth House to help. Considering her time as a rescue worker on Mercury, she isn't a stranger to this sight but the context is different. This was a school, a supposedly safe and normal place. Her mother was wrong again.

Without the school, greenhouse, and the illusion of normality, Suletta must now confront where to go from here. I think we all know what that means. EARTH PLEASE, but grab the Schwarzette before you leave. Hope next episode is a Mio centric episode! Unless reunion~