#overlap between these two things but now that you say it it makes so much SENSE-

[wethecelestial]

y'all. it finally happened (went to a rope jam, met a guy who was also looking for a tying partner, he casually mentions mid-hog tying me that he's been picking up the knots quickly because he's a climber)

[nadvs]

Can you write a lil blurb about rafe fucking reader in head lock I remember someone requested before but I can’t find it

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

18+

Friends with benefits would be too generous a term. Rafe is nowhere near a friend. When you’re not naked together, your breath on his neck while he’s buried deep inside you, you hardly even look at each other.

And you like it that way. The only thing you two have in common is how much you like being tangled up in one another, roughly panting through orgasms. You don’t need to get along. Not when the sex is this good.

It’s a typical summer night on the north side of the island. Music throbs through the massive beach house, throngs of people talking and drinking and dancing around you.

You’re with your friends when a guy approaches you, making a playful comment about what you’re drinking.

Rafe watches from the other side of the room. When you laugh at something he says to you, jealousy twists in his stomach.

He can’t handle witnessing this for very long before he approaches you, wrapping his hand around your forearm, leaning to speak into your ear.

“Let’s go,” Rafe mumbles, his deep voice hitting you at your core.

You flash a polite smile to the stranger trying to hit on you before letting Rafe lead you out of the crowd.

It’s not the first time he’s pulling you out of a party to fuck you. Excitement bubbles in you as he manhandles you into a bathroom, locking the door behind you, and pushes up against your back.

You meet Rafe’s blue eyes in the mirror as he stands behind you, feeling him grind against you. You watch the reflection of his hands dragging up your body to squeeze your tits.

“I was in the middle of a conversation,” you tease. He grips tighter, making you gasp in anticipation.

“You think I give a fuck?” Rafe asks, pushing his growing cock against your ass.

You bite your lip as he shifts to bunch up the fabric of your skirt and pull your panties down.

Rafe sighs a breath of relief into your ear as he runs his fingers over the warmth between your legs. He shuffles to unzip his pants and pull himself out of his boxers.

When his tip pushes against your entrance, a moan spills from your mouth.

“You wanna go back to your little conversation now?” Rafe taunts. He sinks another inch into you, urging you to lean forward and arch your back.

“No,” you whisper. He huffs a gratified chuckle as his hand wraps against the back of your neck, forcing you to bend over even more. Your breath fogs on the mirror as you press your trembling hands down.

Rafe shoves his full length into you, his body flush against yours, the cold countertop hard on your hips. The sound of your pounding heart mixes with the dampened music and overlapping chatter on the other side of the door.

His firm arms wrap around your head. He boxes you in, completely constricting you, as he starts to thrash into you. With every pump, his hold on you tightens. His pace is frenzied and desperate.

He rides the power trip of having you like this. Minutes ago, you were entertaining some moron, but he’s balls deep in you right now, reminding you who you really belong to.

You look into the mirror, the way your body jolts with every slam, the way his lips are parted, the way his face is contorted in an expression that tells you he has a point to prove.

When he’s in this state, you know he’s only chasing his own pleasure, so you dip a hand between your legs to touch yourself while he plunges in and out of you.

You meet his reflected eyes and his forearm presses against your throat in the headlock he has you in.

“I own you,” he grunts. You nod in desperation. In these sinful, heated moments, he possesses you completely.

Rafe’s hips stutter as he reaches his peak, nearly cutting off your airway as he cums deep inside you. Your orgasm rushes through your body seconds later, filling you with euphoria.

Once he releases you, you’re gasping for air. His dimples cave into his cheeks as he smiles in sick satisfaction, buttoning his jeans back up behind you.

“Go back to him if you want to so bad,” he tells you. He meets your gaze in the mirror. “While you talk to him, you can think about how it’s my cum dripping out of you.”

Rafe leaves you bent over and breathless, staring at your own fucked out expression. It always ends this way. And you know you’ll let him do it again and again and again.

[bloodmoonmuses]

clover | mark lee

genre: mark lee x reader, friends to lovers, college au, fluff :)

wc: 2.3k

warnings: some swearing, mentions of alcohol

summary: mark collects four leaf clovers. when you help him find his hundredth clover, mark declares you his good luck charm.

If asked whether or not you believe in fate, you’d probably say no. You found the concept of it unnerving- a predetermined future that one must simply accept… How boring. What you believed in more was the butterfly effect- the chaos of it, the lack of control, the overlapping of timelines. The flapping of a butterfly’s wings could cause a hurricane. It’s the little things that have the biggest effect.

The first time you hang out with Mark Lee is per the forgetfulness of your best friend, Johnny. The three of you were supposed to meet for a group project, but it slipped his mind. You knew of Mark, of course, but never really hung outside of group settings. 

Mark is a butterfly- fluttering, social, beautiful and delicate. You wanted to pin and press his wings like a taxidermist, preserving their beauty in eternal serenity. Though most times, he felt too golden to pin down. He was simply meant to be free.

The two of you lie under a tree in the campus’ courtyard, skimming your textbook for more information. Mark sat quietly, plucking blades of grass out of the ground. When your vision blurs, signaling you’re no longer absorbing information, you close your textbook.

“Think he’s still coming?” Mark inquires.

“Nah. I texted him, but he hasn’t responded,” you say as you check your phone once more for confirmation.

“Hm,” Mark closes his textbook as well. “ Wanna call it a day?” 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Spring is well under way, but today is warmer than usual. It’s actually nice enough to be outside. You linger on your faded picnic blanket, lying on your back with your eyes closed, while Mark gathers his things. Sunlight filters through the leaves, making abstractly shaped shadows dance across your chest and stomach. You trace the warmth with your fingers.

“I can consolidate our research into a document if you want,” Mark pipes. You thought he had left already.

You crack open an eye. “We’re still talking about the project?”

He looks at you sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand. “I mean, that’s what I’m here for.”

You crack a grin, scoffing at Mark’s eagerness to actually work. “Didn’t know you were such a goody-two-shoes.” 

“I’m not,” he contests, pouting slightly.

He’s so cute. You want to stuff him with fluff and tie a bow on his pretty head. No wonder everyone babies him so much. His eyes simply demand such.

“I’m just messing with you,” you say. “Sounds like a plan. I can make the slideshow, if you want.”

“Cool.”

Mark starts to leave before returning to his seat and asking, “Hey, ______. Why haven’t we hung out before?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. You have plenty of friends. Didn’t think you’d need more.”

You look at Mark, sitting criss-cross on the corner of your blanket. He has a pile of clovers on his leg, and he continues to sift through the grass in pursuit of more. He plucks another, identifying it as a four leaf clover, and places it on your belly.

“Looks like I just made another. It’s been weeks since I’ve found one.”

“A four leaf clover?” Your fingers play with the floweret, watching as it rises and falls with your breaths. Mark’s eyes follow the movement as well.

“Yeah, I collect them. You’re, like, my good luck charm now. Dude, it’s fate.”

“Do I get a say in the matter, dude, or does fate take precedence?” you joke, asking with a giggle.

Mark beams at you, eyes crinkling into half moons. “Wanna be my good luck charm?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely…”

Mark grabs his backpack, taking out a sheet of parchment paper and a book. Then, he takes the clover from you, placing it in between two sheets. Finally, he places the clover in the middle of the book. He closes it, giving the book a firm squeeze, and puts it back in his bag.

“Pressing it for later,” he says.

—

The second time you hang out with Mark Lee is per the drunkenness of your best friend, Johnny. You told yourself you’d stop going to parties with him. It seemed that every time you did, you were relegated to designated driver. So there you sat, on the stairs of the back porch, hoping Johnny would pass out in the next hour or so. However, you knew this wouldn’t happen any time soon. Johnny’s alcohol tolerance is annoyingly high. You decide to enjoy the fresh air regardless.

House parties this big were conducted for only one reason- to get everyone in attendance as fucked up as possible (and assuage their guilt in doing so with the presence of other fucked up people). A girl, a twig-like thing, does a keg stand in the middle of the backyard. She nearly topples over entirely, but manages to return to the ground upright before immediately dissolving into a heap of bones and flesh.

On your left, you watch a smarmy frat boy sidle up to another girl, caging her against the house. She’s drinking him up, flashing the most obvious “fuck me” eyes you’ve ever seen. On your right, a guy blows chunks into a bush. Such is the dichotomy of life. 

The back door of the house swings open and the music that’s blasting from inside temporarily bleeds into the backyard. When it closes, the sound is muffled, making you feel as though you’re underwater. You look up to see Mark, surprisingly. The two of you haven’t spoken since the group project. He sits next to you, muttering a brief hello. 

“Not your crowd?” he says, noticing the dissatisfaction on your face. 

“Johnny’s my crowd, but he’s hammered.”

Mark scoffs. “Sounds about right.”

You look at Mark. He seems mostly sober, save for the faint dusting of pink adorning his cheeks. “Are you drinking tonight?” you ask him.

Mark tips his beer towards you, taking another swig before saying, “Just the one. I have a paper to write tomorrow. You?”

“Designated driver.” You’ve been nursing a cup of lemonade. You feel like a prude.

“Daaaang.” He drags out the word, following it with a low whistle. “That sucks, dude.”

“Needed some fresh air?” you ask him.

“Nah, just wanted to catch up with my good luck charm. Saw you walking out." 

Your heart beats a bit faster, though you're not sure why. “Have I been doing a good job?”

“I get to be here outside with you instead of in that hellhole. So, I’d say yes.”

You end up driving Johnny and Mark home that night. Apparently, his designated driver (Jaemin) bailed on him. Mark sits in the passenger seat while Johnny is passed out in the back. It’s quiet, moonlight seeping into the car in a hazy glow. It illuminates Mark’s side profile and you sneak glances at him in your periphery. He’s visibly fighting off sleep, head lolling to the side then suddenly jerking to attention every few minutes.

When he does this a third time, you say, “You can sleep. We’re about ten minutes away.”

“Wanna make sure you’re safe,” murmurs Mark. His voice is gravelly, the sentence barely croaking out of him. “Don’t wanna leave you alone.”

“I’ll survive. I’ll wake you up when we get there.” With your permission, he drifts off to sleep, lips slightly parted. 

When you arrive at the boys’ dorm, Johnny stirs lightly as he feels the car has come to a stop. You shake Mark’s shoulder, waking him from his slumber.

You walk up to Mark’s room, the two of you lugging Johnny with much difficulty. He’s practically dead weight, wasted enough to the point of not being able to hold himself up. When you finally manage to get him on Mark’s couch, you’re winded. You sit on the floor while Mark sits next to Johnny. 

“The only thing comforting me right now is the fact that he’s gonna wake up with a horrible hangover.”

At this, Mark laughs, his own chest heaving at the physical exertion of transporting a Johnny-sized human.

“Thanks for helping me bring him up,” Mark says.

“No problem. Take a video of him suffering for me please.”

“Anything for my good luck charm. Speaking of…” Mark quickly retreats to his room, returning with a small wooden box in his hands. He places it in your lap.

You open the box to see it full of four leaf clovers encased in resin. He takes out a heart shaped one and hands it to you.

“This one is yours. The hundredth clover in my collection.”

“I’m honored.” You cradle the preserved clover in your hands, watching the light bounce off of its shiny surface. The moment overwhelms you, chest constricting with adoration of the simple gesture.

“I was thinking of making it into a bracelet. Then you can harness your lucky powers wherever you go. Like a superhero- or something like that.”

He smile at you, a toothy and boyish grin, and your inhibitions seem to melt away. Perhaps you could be persuaded into believing in fate. Making him happy in this way feels like destiny. You would do so forever if given the chance.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

—

The third time you hang out with Mark Lee, Johnny isn’t much of a factor. Then the fourth time, and the fifth, sixth and seventh- until one night, Mark asks you on a date. You think. You’re not really sure at this point. 

You’re at his apartment, something that occurs more often following the party incident, killing time with him and (of course) Johnny. The three of you are supposed to be having a movie night, but can’t agree on a film. In lieu of such, you’re simply arguing about movies.

“It’s ridiculous,” Johnny says.

You cross your arms. “It’s high art.”

“Do not refer to Twilight as ‘high art.’”

“The first one has an indie feel to it. The too-blue coloring grading? Imagine stumbling upon that at Sundance or South by Southwest. Those film bitches would be all over it if not for the negative connotation of pseudo vampire smut.”

“Never seen it,” Mark says. His comment gets drowned out, however, as you continue to rant at Johnny.

“The series only got bad because they gave the sequels to a male director.”

“That is not the only reason.”

Johnny’s phone rings. “It’s Jaehyun. Jaemin left him at a party.”

Johnny gathers his belongings and exits. He attempts something of a wink towards Mark, which is awkward because 1.) You see it, and 2.) It looks more like some dust flew into his eyes than a cheeky gesture.

“Be back in a bit,” Johnny says. 

“What was that about?” you ask. Mark is beet red. 

“Nothing,” Mark sputters. “So.”

“So…”

“Twilight. Movies. You like both of those things, right?” Mark rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, swinging his arm in tandem. He can’t really make eye contact with you, but he’s trying, blinking rapidly as his eyes flicker around the room. 

When the silence becomes unbearable you say, “Is there a reason you’re acting like we’ve never met before?”

“Just answer the question.” He sighs, face planting into his palm.

“I mean- Marginally. I mostly just like making Johnny angry-”

“Would you like to go to the movies with me?”

“Yeah, I’d love to.”

—

It’s raining. Mark is soaking wet, green hoodie soiled. You can’t help but imagine a butterfly with dripping wings, dejectedly fluttering in an attempt to dry itself off. Funnily, the sun was beaming brightly just a few hours ago. If you hadn’t checked the weather ahead of time, you’d probably be drenched as well. 

“Forgot my umbrella,” says Mark as he walks up to you.

“Clearly.”

“I feel like an idiot.”

“Guess I’m not as lucky as you thought.”

“Impossible.”

“Wanna just go back to your place?” you say as you pat his shoulder.  “Then you can get changed.”

You return to Mark’s apartment, making two cups of chamomile tea. When Mark exits his room, he sits on the couch. There’s enough room for at least three people in between the two of you. When you move to sit closer, Mark literally flinches.

His right hand is clasped tightly into a fist, quivering from the force with which Mark is holding it shut. 

“Okay Mark. What’s wrong?” You reach out to him, placing your hand on top of his closed one.

He averts your gaze. “I don’t know how I managed to fuck this up-”

“The rain is out of your control, Mark. It’s not a big deal.”

Then suddenly, Mark opens his hand to reveal your clover, still in its heart shaped encasing, but now attached to a bracelet just as he said he would. The butterflies in your stomach fly up to your sternum. Your breath hitches there.

“I had this whole thing planned. After the movie I was gonna drive you home and it was supposed to be this whole thing that led up to me giving you the bracelet under the moon but then it started-”

“Mark. It’s okay!” you say with a laugh.

“ I like you, ______. I was gonna tell you that I like you.” Mark shuts his eyes tightly, practically wincing with each word. 

You lean over to kiss his cheek, accidentally giving him a butterfly kiss as well when you linger there. Mark giggles at the contact of your eyelashes, and you feel his face move against your lips.

“Well, it’s a good thing I like you too.”

Eventually, Mark’s lips meet yours, gently kissing you as though you’ll break. Warmth spreads throughout your entire body and you pull Mark closer in pursuit of more. Mark places a final peck on your nose and pulls away. He grabs the clover bracelet and ties it to your wrist. 

“Lucky me,” Mark says.

a/n: unedited and feedback is always appreciated!

[chlorinecake]

Hey can you make something like "kissing I hope they catch us " but for a black reader please?

Hot Cocoa Kisses —⊹ N.RK (西村力) ☕️

Pairing… ₊˚⊹ ᰔ boyfriend!riki x girlfriend!reader

Warnings… ₊˚⊹ slightly heated make-out session, teasing, pet names, fluff, rushed

Words… ₊˚⊹ ᰔ 867 -> “Your lips taste like hot cocoa”

It was a chilly winter day when you and your boyfriend Riki sat in the living room together.

Cradled in the fluffiest blankets you two could find, you sat in between Riki’s legs on the couch, reading a manga he received as a Christmas gift out loud as he braided a tiny section of your hair. Not to style it, of course, but just out of pure endearment for you.

“So what’s happening now?” Riki asked, mostly focused on carefully overlapping the three strands of hair he was working on.

“Hmm… I actually stopped reading the words a few pages ago. The illustrations alone are much more interesting in my opinion,” you replied, just as he kissed the center of your scalp, letting you know that he was done playing with your hair.

“Let me see,” he said, taking the comic from your hands to examine it for himself. “Yeahhh… the dialogue is pretty impressive, actually. No wonder a little baby like you only wants to look at the pictures though,” he giggled, tickling the spot beneath your jawline before getting up and walking towards the kitchen.

You weren’t ready to leave the warmth of the cozy couch yet, but you understood that Riki wanted one more thing before y’all continued to spend this lovely winter evening together: Hot cocoa.

Your arms found Riki’s waist as he reached for the top cabinet, grabbing the box of hot cocoa mix from the top shelf.

“Almost forgot about these,” he said, pulling down mini marshmallows next.

You put yourself in charge of warming the milk for your drinks, followed by stirring the cocoa mix into your mugs and then waiting for it to cool.

“Are they finished, yet? It’s not like we’re making “cold cocoa” anyways,” Riki sighed, leaning over the counter on his elbows.

“Well if we add the marshmallows now, they’re just gonna melt again, see?” You said, grabbing one of the cups to take a sip, “I mean, it’s not as hot anymore, though, if you’re just tired of waiting.”

Upon saying that, Riki just stared at you for much longer than necessary, holding back a smile as his eyes glittered with amusement.

“W-what?” You asked, poking him on the shoulder which only made him laugh out loud this time.

“It’s the braid you did, isn’t it?,” you continued with a pout. He shook his head at your words, walking up to you and taking your face in one of his hands, swiping some moisture from your upper lip with his thumb before tasting it himself.

“You had a milk mustache, silly,” he smiled softly, eyes not leaving your lips as he licked his own, leaning in with a soft kiss.

Humming into the embrace, a smile creeped upon Riki's face as your hand found his neck, supporting yourself against the counter for him to only pull you closer.

“Riki~,” you mumbled while disconnecting your lips, “where’d all that come from?” you asked, still in a daze as you felt heat rush to your face.

He bit his lower lip, looking you up and down through hooded eyes as his hands rested on either side of the countertop, caging you in before his intimidating frame.

“Nowhere,” he smirked, pecking you one last time on the corner of your mouth before continuing, “your lips taste like hot cocoa and I just couldn’t resist.”

Playfully smacking your boyfriend’s chest, he released you from his arm cage, watching as you went back to the other counter, shaking marshmallows in both your mugs before sealing the bag closed.

He took so much delight in seeing how flustered you appeared now. You even fumbled with your fingers as you tried closing the bag all thanks to his actions.

“Are you sure you don’t want something cold to drink instead? You seem warm all of a sudden,” he teased, wiping the spilled remnants of sugary mix from the countertop with a napkin.

“Do I? Maybe it’s because you keep looking at me like this,” you teased back, dramatically reenacting the way he looked at you earlier, biting your lip to seal the deal.

He laughed with his entire body, leaning over the counter as soft giggles rumbled from his body. But then, his cocky side returned.

“Is that the only thing I did that got you flustered, or is there more?” He asked, voice deepening slightly as his piercing gaze scanned you once again.

“Hmm… well… you also touched me like this,” you said, cupping his face in your hands, “and then I nearly fainted when you kissed me like there was no tomorrow!”

“No tomorrow, huh? That sounds romantic,” he smirked, trying to mask how giddy you were making him feel in this moment even though the pink hue staining his cheeks and ears made it impossible to hide.

“That’s because it was romantic, Riki,” you smiled lovingly, kissing your finger and placing it on his rosy nose before walking back to the living room, warm mugs in both your hands as you returned to your seats on the cozy couch.

The same place you knew Riki would eventually start to kiss you again the moment you sat your cup down.

❆ Thank you for reading this quick little fic, and special thanks to my bbygirl for requesting this !!

❆ Feel free to check out more cute and fun reads like this at the pinned post on my blog :3

❆ Taglist: @squoxle @ashgonedash @nikisdubblchococake @yourmomscuntis2tighy @watamotee33 @noodlesimp @microwvdstrawb3rri3s @star-yawnznn

[annabelle--cane]

it's fascinating to me the way that different social media platforms result in different types of fandom behavior. while s5 of tma was airing, I spent a good amount of time on tma tiktok (I log back in about once every two months now, going back to in-person school after a year a half of lockdown seem to re-blanace my brain and made me once again not really enjoy the format) while still using tumblr as my main socmed, and while there was a lot of overlap in the fan culture, some things were notably different.

tumblr tma fans had near-encyclopedic knowledge of the source material, but it was kind of an ongoing joke for tiktok tma fans that everyone binged the whole show in a week-long fugue state and lost memory of about 35% of it. tumblr has virtually no character limit and allows posts to be passed around by users indefinitely, which lends itself to fairly in-depth meta analysis being made and shared until most any fan could say "the time and space discrepancies at hill top road? psh yeah, I know all about them, I've read seven scrupulously cited posts that lay out all the details." for the entire time that s5 was airing, tiktok videos could still only be a minute long, and I know from a lot of personal effort that there's only so much you can fit into a one minute script that you also have to memorize and record (and cc manually with tiktok text stickers, as they didn't add the caption feature until april 2021) if you want the process to take less than four hours of your one mortal human life. and then you only see the video if your following or fyp algorithm shows it to you. there were a few tma meta-ish videos that got popular because other people would make their own videos referencing them and tag the account so their followers could see what they were talking about, but it's much harder to circulate content you like there. several times I saw people post videos saying "I got into cosplay to film some [agnes or annabelle or gerry or another secondary character] and I just realized I have no idea what their deal actually is 💀".

a thing that tiktok tma fandom was definitely better at than tumblr tma fandom was accurately remembering certain pieces of characterization and the flow of certain scenes. I've seen a bunch of posts on here where someone is trying to argue a point with excerpts from the text ("x character is nicer than you all give them credit for" "x character is so mean to y character in this scene" "z theory can't be true because y character said a line that disproves it") where the argument only holds up because the poster has gotten these excerpts from a transcript dive and hasn't listened to the episodes they're from recently, because while the text alone can be construed to mean one thing, the way it's delivered on-podcast clearly intends another. tiktok, being an audio and video based medium, allows audio clips to be shared around a lot, and cosplayers would often all make videos acting along to the same show clips of juicy interpersonal drama, and so tiktok fans, though they may have had less overall memory of what characters said, always had a better grasp on how they said it. an average tiktok tma fan might not have remembered melanie's subplot about war ghosts, but they would know the nuances of how the way she talks to jon changes between mag 28 and mag 155.

[g1rld1ary]

omg hiiiiii! just saw your requests opened, so excited! i was hoping you could write something for lockwood with the enemies to lovers trope. anything you feel like with that is awesome! and ofc if you don’t want to feel free to not write it 🩷🩷

-mel

what once was ; anthony lockwood x reader

➻ synopsis: you and lockwood hated each other, you had since you were just starting out as agents. when your team is made to work with his on a big case, deeper feelings might just get revealed

➻ word count: 10K (exactly, what are the chances?)

➻ warnings: swearing, mentions of kissing, angst maybe?, injuries

➻ thank u so much for this request lovely!!!! i am SO sorry this took almost a month, but it's the longest fic I've ever posted here so hopefully that makes up for it a little?? if this isn't what u had in mind pls let me know and I'd be happy to write something different! ik it might not be exactly enemies to lovers but I hateee when the dynamic has no respect or reason to be lovers. anyway thank u for the request lolol!!!! xxxxx

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You thought you were a good person. You dedicated your life to fighting ghosts, you helped old ladies cross the street, you recycled when you could. That was enough to be considered a good person, right? You were almost totally convinced, except for the all the vile things you had to say about Anthony Lockwood.

He was, with no exaggeration, the bane of your existence. You had known him all your life, but hadn’t been friends with him since you were both twelve, just beginner agents. And yet, despite all of this hatred burning up within you, it seemed like the universe wouldn’t give you a moment of peace.

You understood running into his company every once in a while — agency events, maybe the occasional case, but lately it seemed like it was every week you had to face Lockwood’s nauseating grin and infuriating attempts at being charming. Whether it was your respective teams being sent on overlapping missions, picking up more supplies or just trying to pick up a coffee after a draining night, you had started to see Lockwood everywhere.

When you saw him again whilst you were picking up some doughnuts for your team you couldn’t help yourself snapping at him.

“God, are you obsessed with me or something, Anthony?” You barely spared him a glance as you finished the transaction with the cashier, quietly thanking him as you left. Lockwood did the same, practically throwing down his cash to catch up to you.

“You wish I was obsessed with you! I am just as unhappy as you are, trust me.”

“So what, you chased after me just say something we both already knew? Or do you have something you’d like to say, an apology perhaps?” You chanced a look in his eyes. Hurt flashed through them, and you felt a sick sense of satisfaction.

“I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He cried, almost dropping his own box of pastries when he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. You didn’t try to hide the rolling of your eyes.

“Whatever,” You huffed, before being struck with an idea. “By the way, did you hear that I’m now a team leader? That makes me the youngest in at least ten years — maybe ever. Pretty good for someone not fit to be an agent, don’t you think?” You feigned an interest in his opinion. His face dropped for a moment, then contorted to become almost polite.

“That was never—” You interrupted him with another sigh.

“Anthony, I really don’t care to listen to you discredit my achievements anymore.” You left him on the side of the street, marching back to your dorm at Fittes. You didn’t need to hear him tear you down and ruin your self-confidence more than he already had — not that you would ever tell him that. Lockwood was similarly disgruntled. Every interaction between you two turned into a fight regardless of what he said; he just couldn’t win.

You had a week of blissful distance from Lockwood and Co before you ran into them, quite unfortunately. You and your team had been assigned to an apartment that allegedly housed a few Type Ones, nothing serious but the residents had complained of hearing noises at odd hours. You held a bit of doubt — living in the dorms had forced you to become accustomed to the most bizarre noises at night, and those were most definitely not ghosts. Plus, adults tended to be paranoid; the noise could be anything from rodents to their little children being awake in the early hours of the morning.

Still, you had a job to complete, so you trudged your small team up to the apartment in question, ready for a quick job and to be cozy in bed before midnight. When Lockwood and Co were standing outside the apartment next to your appointed one, your face dropped into a scowl.

“What are you doing here?” You snapped, talking directly to Lockwood. He hesitated for a moment before turning to face you, brilliant smile shining.

“Lovely to see you again too, sweetheart, we’re actually here on a job? Nice of you to come as our clean-up crew, but that really won’t be necessary. Run along now.” You had to hand it to him, Lockwood had perfected his condescending tone. You were going to respond when the girl behind him began to talk.

“Hey, I recognise you! You’re—” Lockwood cut her off quickly.

“Alright, Luce, I think it’s time we go inside, don’t you?” He was shepherding the girl through the apartment door before you could process what was happening. George, to his credit, looked highly amused at the whole thing. You always liked George, even when he was at Fittes, and seeing him was usually the only upside to your interactions with Lockwood and Co.

“Who’s the girl?” You asked, nodding your head to where she and Lockwood had disappeared to.

“Lucy Carlyle,” He answered, “She’s a Listener — still learning the ropes.”

“And she knows me how?” George just smiled, and you could tell he was keeping secrets.

“I’m sure you’ll find out one day.” He began to follow the rest of his coworkers and you pouted.

“I hate when you side with him!” You called after him, before composing yourself and directing your own team to start the night. They just went along with it, used to your behaviour, and set up your equipment for the mission.

It was not going well. You could all feel a supernatural presence, but no ghosts and no signs of what you’d thought might’ve been the source. Plus, all you could hear was the apartment next door — their stompy footsteps, their laughter over the tea you knew they always had, and one of them wouldn’t stop knocking on the fucking wall.

It was supremely childish, and you would put all of your bets on it being Lockwood trying to throw you off your game. Unfortunately, it was working. And your bad mood was spreading to your teammates. The mission was certainly not going well, all four of you picking fights and throwing digs at each other as you searched uselessly for what could possible be the source, all with no confirmed supernatural presence.

Just as you were about to say something really cruel to your favourite member of your team, the words died in your throat. The temperature rose a few degrees, and you could practically see all your negative thoughts floating away. By the looks of it, your teammates all felt it too. When the freezing shock of the change wore off, you all resigned to embarrassment, realising exactly what had just happened.

This was only furthered when Lockwood waltzed into the apartment, cocky grin practically blinding you.

“Guess that another successful mission for Lockwood and Co now includes saving the careers of egotistical Fittes agents too now,” He crowed, and you rolled your eyes so hard you thought they might disconnect from your face.

“Clearly,” You tried to keep your tone level, “The source wasn’t in this apartment, so we couldn’t have found it regardless of if you were here.”

“Plus they were just Type Ones. You didn’t save any lives, Lockwood,” Your best friend, Sarah, piped up and you smirked.

“Maybe not in the physical sense,” He conceded, “But I definitely saved the career of the ‘youngest ever team leader’ — don’t think you would’ve kept the position for very long if you couldn’t fight a simple Type One.” You turned red in humiliation. How dare Lockwood act so high and mighty, like you owed him the career you fought so hard for? You wanted to express all the seething fury that burned your tongue, but the only thing that came out was a vicious declaration.

“I hate you, Anthony Lockwood.” Lockwood at least had the decency to look somewhat hurt. Although you’d been arguing for years with the insults only getting meaner as you both grew up and developed more precise vocabularies, neither of you had ever vocalised any hatred before. It cut deeper than Lockwood thought it would. You didn’t wait to observe the intricacies of his reaction, storming out of the apartment, making sure your kit bag hit him heavily as you passed.

“Well,” Lockwood broke the awkward silence that fell over the apartment, “I think we’re all done for the night. Let’s go.” Lockwood and Co began packing up their kit bags and gear, Lucy sweeping some leftover magnesium dust under an armchair. Lockwood paused in the doorway, looking back to Sarah with a curious softness.

“Make sure she’s alright, yeah?” Sarah nodded, swallowing a curious look. With a final nod he was gone, leaving the rest of your team to wonder what had just happened to shift the dynamic.

Back in your dorm at Fittes, you were still fired up. Pissed off by Lockwood’s ego, his audacity, you had practically already paced a hole in the floor upon your short return from dinner. All of these years and he still didn’t believe you were a capable agent, let alone team leader! You may not have really hated him; it was hard to truly hate someone who you shared so much history with, but you were glad you said it. Glad you hurt him, even a little. Maybe then he’d know how you felt.

He had — probably unwittingly — saved you arse though. It was one of your very first missions and unfortunately Lockwood was right; a team leader who couldn’t defeat a simple Type One, or realise that their case was a goose chase in the wrong apartment, wouldn’t last. So although he was the one who had told you you couldn’t be an agent in the first place, you probably owed your current position to him, which only mad you more mad. It was an endless cycle of being angry at Anthony Lockwood.

When Sarah came in to sit on your bed, you still weren’t done, taking the opportunity to verbalise your stream of thought.

“He is simply the worst person in the whole world and has no respect for me! I mean, he wouldn’t have helped at all if it didn’t serve his own inflated ego ,” You said, throwing your hands in the air in anguish. Sarah simply watched, barely concealing her amusement.

“Ok, but have you considered maybe he just argues back because you hate him? I mean, where did it start?” You huffed, vaulting yourself back onto your mattress.

“When we were twelve years old, he told me I couldn’t be an agent. I said ‘fuck you’ and have worked my bloody arse off to be one despite it, and to become the youngest team leader at Fittes, and yet every time I see him he still tries to sabotage my career or make me look stupid! God, he drives me up the wall!”

“So you’ve said all these horrid things because he didn’t believe in you?” She laughed a little, eliciting a deep frown from you.

“You don’t get it,” You said, tone solemn, “He was my best friend. He was supposed to believe in me even when everyone else said it was dumb.” The dampened mood brought a premature end to your conversation, Sarah leaving you to your thoughts and feelings as you dwelled on the past in a way you would usually forbid yourself from.

You pulled a framed photo out from behind your stack of books on the shelf. You and Lockwood as children, smiling brightly on a day at the beach, a spade in your hand and a bucket in his, your free ones intertwined as kids often do. You didn’t know why you’d kept it after all these years, looking at any photo of Lockwood typically made you mad, but you felt a bit guilty discarding the keepsake, especially the handmade frame his parents had given you one birthday before they passed. Plus, the memory untouched was one of your favourites — one of the last of your carefree days in childhood when you and Lockwood were best friends and both your families were whole. You held it softly for a moment, indulging yourself in being swept away by memories before deciding enough was enough and returning to the present, distracting yourself with a novel you’d picked up.

You were given a few weeks to cool down, blissfully free from any trace of Lockwood. You thought he must’ve been aware of the heightened tension between you recently, since you’d seen Lucy shopping around Arif’s and ran into George whilst getting your usual Friday night takeaway.

Hearing your name being called from around the corner of an aisle you turned quickly, reflexes on edge. Seeing it was just the redhead you relaxed, making yourself smile.

“Oh, hi, Lucy. How are you?” You made polite conversation, continuing on with your shopping. She replied cordially, a vague awkward air between you that you were both trying your best to overcome.

“We’re all really sorry about the case the other day, by the way. We didn’t mean to take it over or jeopardise your job or anything.”

“It’s nothing,” You assured, “I shouldn’t have let my emotions get the best of me, every agent knows that.”

“Yeah, but if Lockwood hadn’t—”

“Lucy,” You interrupted, “You don’t need to condemn Lockwood, or defend him. We both know where we stand with each other and that’s ok. I hope that doesn’t stop us from being friends either; you’re sweet.” Lucy managed a smile, revealing a pretty sparkle in her eye.

“I’d like to be friends too. Maybe we just won’t tell him,” She giggled, and you nodded gravely.

“Sounds like a plan.” You left Arif’s with a bag full of groceries and plan for coffee sometime.

George was less forgiving than Lucy. As you bickered over who got the last can of Coke in the restaurant’s little fridge, he imparted some of his very much unwanted advice.

“You should apologise. I think you crossed a line,” He said and you rolled your eyes.

“He questioned my right to even be where I am — I think I have the right to be pissed at him.”

“He didn’t mean it,” George said quickly. Almost too quickly.

“How would you know?” You narrowed your eyes. George recoiled — he’d been caught.

“You know,” He trailed off, “Lockwood’s not like that. You should know that better than anyone.” You huffed again, fed up.

“I knew,” You corrected, “He’s shown me exactly how he feels about me now. And I am absolutely fine with that. I’m taking the Coke.” You ended the conversation abruptly, snatching the can out of George’s grip.

“But Lockwood doesn’t like any of the other flavours!” He called after you. You exaggerated a laugh, not looking back as you opened the restaurant door quickly.

“I know!” You yelled over your shoulder. George watched you leave, calculating look in his eyes. You said you hated Lockwood, he didn’t doubt you believed it, too. But he knew that most people didn’t remember which fizzy drinks their enemies liked.

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Thankfully, you got just the distraction you needed. Your team had been given one of the most exciting cases on the Fittes roster. One of those old boutique hotels with funnily named rooms and a long, terrible history that had you buried in fascinating research. You couldn’t believe your team had been given the assignment, it was a sign that you were really beginning to be respected as a team leader in the agency. So, you couldn’t screw it up.

You and your team had been practically camped out in the Fittes archives, researching as much as you possibly could about the old hotel. There were a smattering of unfortunate deaths across the years — some darker than others, but you were confident it was nothing you couldn’t handle. The owners hadn’t specified exactly what supernatural experiences they had seen around the hotel, just that it was clear there were several presences around and they wanted them all gone to reopen the hotel as soon as possible. This did admittedly make you a little apprehensive — you didn’t actually have a solid idea of how many ghosts you’d be dealing with, and it was anyone’s guess how many of them would be Type Twos.

Finally, you were confident you and your team had done as much research as you could, and you were prepared for anything. And so you packed your kit bags, took the train ride and rocked up to the hotel mid afternoon, confidence overflowing. By nightfall you’d been on a tour of the grounds, set up your base and had started brewing some tea to get you all in the zone. You took a glance out the front window, seeing movement in one of the windows of the house next door. It was owned by the people who ran the hotel and they intended to open it as a second venue, but delegated the job to some smaller agency since the stakes for it weren’t as high.

It was all going well for a while. You had a plan to go room by room, making each ghost free before finishing in the majorly haunted kitchen. You were inclined to believe there’d be a cluster of Type Twos there since it was set alight years ago, and the accident had been swept under the rug in favour of saving the business.

The entryway was easy; a few Type Ones that practically led you their sources, clearly just wanting to finally be laid to rest. There was one nasty Limbless that gave you all a fright, but your researcher, Ben, was always miles ahead of the rest of you and knew exactly who the ghost was and therefore how to put him to rest. You told him you owed him a beer later and moved on, crossing a single room off the floor plan and shifting into the library, which was not so easy.

You started to think things were not as great as you originally anticipated when you turned to face the mass of Type Ones. Not the end of the world, a little bloody annoying though. Sarah seemed to agree, kicking the leg of a couch in frustration. The four of you figured your way out of it, though significantly depleted of supplies.

You returned to your home base to recoup, physically and mentally battered.

“What’s the plan?” Sarah asked, chugging down mouthfuls from her water bottle. You bit the inside of your cheek as you thought hard, tapping your fingers insistently on the old wooden table.

“Alright, I think we’ve got enough for one more safely. Kyan, you go outside and get the rest of our equipment whilst we hit the second bedroom.”

“If we’re right then there should only be the one ghost there, right? The strangled woman?” You nodded in response to Ben, mentally drawing your plan.

“And if you’re wrong?” Kyan asked.

“We won’t be,” You affirmed, tapping twice on the table to get you all moving.

Kyan left the building to go fetch the spare supplies and the remaining three of you ventured into the second bedroom. Everything was as it should be; lower temperature, creeping feelings of unease and miasma. You’d put together your chain circle and were feeling good about the Type Two woman you were facing, well, as good as you could in those circumstances.

That was, until it wasn’t just one Type Two. Despite the research and preparation you’d undertaken, there was definitely more than one Type Two enraged by your presence in the room at that moment. There was the woman, an angry apparition of some sort — you didn’t have the time to exactly figure out which subtype she fell into when a man also appeared. Shit. He wasted no time showing you he was aggressive too, and your heart sunk into your toes.

Doing some quick mental calculations, you announced the new plan — to get out. As team leader, you refused to be responsible for an injury or something worse because you wouldn’t back down when you knew you didn’t have enough defences left.

“Soon as it’s safe, get the fuck out of here,” You said, feeling to make sure they were still both in the circle with you as you stood with backs inward. “Use your defences as liberally as you feel you need to — we’re all getting out of here tonight.”

“What about the sources?” Sarah asked nervously, “We’ve only got one or two so far.”

“Who cares? Most agencies get one or two a mission and we’re in a giant bloody hotel. We’ve got more nights to get this done. We can’t get it done if you lot go off and die, can we?” Ben shrugged.

“S’pose not. Let’s go.” With that the three of you made a run for it, bolting out the bedroom door and into the corridor.

“Oh fuck!” You yelled, dodging out the way of another phantom headed your way. Evidently your previous endeavours had attracted the attention of some of the other ghosts inhabiting the hotel, none looking all that happy.

Your swear words didn’t falter as you continued the escape, ducking and jumping and making an utter fool of yourself to ensure you all made it out alive. You’d been covered by Sarah a few minutes ago with one of her magnesium flares, and so returned the favour without hesitation, only faltering slightly when you realised it was your last. You tried not to worry about it too much, you were nearing the laundry where there was a back door you could get to.

The closer you got to your escape the fewer visible apparitions there were. That was a good thing, your chances of ghost touch reducing greatly. However, that didn’t mean you weren’t still being hunted. A poltergeist had found you somewhere along the way, and the stream of things being thrown at you hadn’t ended yet. You’d vaguely felt something heavy hitting the back of your head and shoulders, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins was withholding the pain for the moment.

You’d crossed the threshold into the laundry, the back door within your sights. Maybe you got complacent, believing the end was nearer than you thought. Maybe it was just awful timing. However, as your feet hit the tiles of the room, you were being swept off your feet by the washing machine sliding into you, crushing you between it and the wall. You cried out unintentionally, feeling a sickening crack inside your chest. Your teammates turned back, door wide open and safety in sight.

“Don’t you dare come back for me,” You croaked, the wind pushed out of you. “Or I swear to God I’ll come and haunt you.” Ben took the threat and ran, ducking out the door into the fresh air of the night. Sarah hesitated, turning back to lock eyes with you, regret painted across her features. With a final threat she left too, leaving you to try and push the machine away from you in order to make your own escape. However, in an unfortunate series of events, the adrenaline started to wear off after your chase and you felt the sharp pain running along your skull, a thick drop of blood making its way down from a strand of hair into your left eye. Plus, you were pretty sure the machine had broken one of your wrists as any pressure you put onto it trying to move the machine set your nerves on fire, leaving you just your legs to try and make an escape. Turns out it’s harder than it looks to push a stupidly heavy washing machine away from you with your legs when you’re incapacitated on the floor.

Seeing your best friend the strangled woman approaching you sighed, trying to resign yourself to your fate. There was no way you were making it out without a miracle, and you were never the lucky kind. As she spotted you, you sealed your eyes tightly closed, unwilling to watch your own demise. It never came. When you chanced one eye open all you saw was sparks, the unmistakeable smell of a magnesium flare filling the room. You didn’t know what to feel. Relieved, of course, pissed off that your team had disrespected your wishes and endangered themselves, faint from the adrenaline and blood loss. Mostly faint, you decided, as you lay your head back against the tile, a sleep sounding like the nicest thing in the world suddenly.

You must have passed out for a minute or two as when you opened your eyes again you were in the air, distant voices yelling over the explosions and lights, but you felt a million miles away. You cuddled yourself into the body of whoever was carrying you — they were warm and your body felt ice cold. Everywhere you looked appeared blurry (and slightly pink, presumably from the blood in your eye), so you granted yourself some mercy and simply closed them. You thought you heard a mumbled “Hold on for me,” But you couldn’t be sure, everything was ringing in your head and the weight of staying awake was heavy on your foggy brain.

The next time you woke up was about half an hour later, or so you guessed. The sky was fractionally lighter than you remembered seeing, inching towards dawn, and you were laid down on dewey wet grass. The cool of it was nice on your skin, though you knew it would do major damage to your hair. Not that that was your greatest concern at the moment. You pushed yourself up on your elbows slowly, looking around at the scene that was coming into focus. Your team were on one side of you, looking exhausted but mostly physically fine. Straight ahead of you was Barnes, not looking as disappointed as you thought he would after a failed case. To your left was Lockwood and Co. Why were Lockwood and Co here? Why was Lockwood looking at you so intently, and why did he look like he was worried about you?

Only the first of your questions was answered. Evidently Lockwood and Co were the ‘small agency’ the hotel owners had given a chance for the smaller house on the edge of the property. They heard the commotion your team had made and Sarah’s screaming outside the kitchen door and came to save the day — of course. You were about to put up the protest that you didn’t need saving but it died in your throat when you saw the serious looks of everyone around you. Clearly this wasn’t the time for any of your bullshit.

“Clearly this case is bigger than your team can achieve,” Barnes said, and the fire was reignited within you. He must have been able to see what you were going to say and cut you off, “But I’m not taking you off the case.”

“Thank you,” You said quickly, tension in your shoulders releasing slightly.

“Lockwood and Co will work with you until the hotel is ghost free.”

“What?” You and Lockwood cried in unison, and you felt his eyes fall back on you. You refused to meet his gaze.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sir—” You started, being cut off by Lockwood.

“We don’t work well together—”

“I happen to know you both need this case, or do you not care about the future of your jobs?” Barnes raised an eyebrow in the intimidating way only he could pull off. He had you there. Failing in a case, especially one that resulted in a near death experience would certainly jeopardise your trajectory at Fittes, and, unbeknownst to you, Lockwood and Co were pretty desperate for some good representation, unable to receive the praise deserved from the Combe Carey Hall case. You looked at Lockwood to find him already searching your face. After a moment of silent arguing between the two of you, you turned back to face Barnes, exaggerated smiles on both your faces.

“We’ll do it.” You smiled sweetly. A few more formalities sent Barnes and the other DEPRAC officer off, and only the two teams were left standing around, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of all the kit bags.

“So what do we do now?” Sarah asked, a thought very similar to the ones bouncing around your head at the moment.

“Breakfast?” George suggested, and you didn’t think you’d ever seen your team agree to something so enthusiastically. The group of you all headed back to the train station, but Lockwood didn’t let you continue in the line to get your ticket. Instead he pulled you away from the crowd, seeming to have already told Lucy what was happening, judging from her cheerful wave goodbye.

You glared at him, yanking your arm away then groaning at the pain.

“What are we doing, Lockwood?” You asked with an exaggerated huff.

“We’re going to the hospital,” He said, unbothered by your protests. “And don’t say you’re fine because it’s clear you’re injured. I’d say a broken wrist, concussion and maybe a cracked rib, but we can let the doctors tell us I’m wrong, I’d be happy for them to tell you otherwise.” That shut you up, not least because you knew he was probably right. You’d been given a shot of adrenaline and a few painkillers by the DEPRAC officer who accompanied Barnes over, but you probably did need actual medical attention.

It was a very awkward cab ride to the local hospital. You and Lockwood were so used to arguing by now that silence felt like the only other viable option. You couldn’t make small talk, what would you even talk about? The only thing you knew about his life was his childhood, and you sure as hell weren’t gonna talk about that. The tension was palpable in the backseat, and when the cab driver wished you good luck for the hospital visit, you figured he didn’t just mean because of your injuries. You did force yourself to thank Lockwood when he paid for the ride though, even if it was just for the sake of the day moving on faster.

At least the waiting room created its own noise; beeping and chattering and footsteps filling the silence between you two. You struggled with the form in front of you, inconveniently having your dominant hand be out of working order. You painfully etched out your information over an embarrassing amount of time before Lockwood huffed loudly and snatched the clipboard from your lap.

“Fuck’s sake,” He muttered, pulling his own pen from his suit pocket, beginning to scribble down the answers for you. You just relaxed, your tired, drug-addled brain being allowed to rest for a moment. It wasn’t until he asked about your health insurance that you fully realised he was answering the questions by memory and forced your eyes to focus on the paper. Sure enough he’d gotten it all right, birthday and middle name included. You glanced up at him curiously, but it seemed like this was the moment he refused to make eye contact. You only had to inform him of things that had changed since you’d fallen out, neither of you verbalising that fact.

Things didn’t change when you were called into the doctor’s office either. The mix of pain, medicine and sleep deprivation led you to embrace the exam table and bordered on falling asleep as Lockwood talked for you. He’d gotten the rundown of the actual events from Sarah and his brief moments when he saved you, and explained the night as you got an x-ray for your hand. Plus, as you were waiting for the cast (it was, in fact, broken), he explained your previous medical history — the knee you dislocated when you were nine and the broken pinky finger from the year after. You only had to participate to explain the injuries you’d acquired during your career as an agent; the ones from after you and Lockwood stopped being friends.

The whole trip was extremely bizarre and slightly unnerving, and you were glad to get on the train on the way back.

“You were wrong about one thing,” You said, pulling out your walkman from your kit bag.

“And what’s that?” Lockwood asked, and you got the impression he was bracing to be yelled at again — you felt almost bad.

“No cracked rib for me.” You grinned, beginning to laugh uncharacteristically. You didn’t know why, it really wasn’t that funny, but Lockwood followed suit soon after. The two of you laughed borderline hysterically, much too energetic for that hour of the morning when everyone else was still heading to work. It only tapered off when your poor ribs couldn’t take it anymore (not broken but aggressively bruised), and the two of you fell back into silence. You had your music and Lockwood had a magazine you suspected he’d stolen from the A+E waiting room.

The only other time you spoke during the trip was when you summoned the courage to utter a somewhat genuine “Thank you.”

“What?”

“Thanks. For not letting me die. And stuff.”

“Oh. You’re welcome,” Lockwood shot you a smile, the glowing kind you rarely got to see anymore.

As you got back to London and closer to Portland Row where your team was waiting, the air seemed to get thicker between the two of you once again. Maybe it was the proximity to the things that had torn you apart or the sense that you had predefined roles to play, but the carefree air between you had dissipated, leaving only the familiar tension that had been building over the last four years.

You followed Lockwood inside, trying to hide the out of body experience you were having returning to his family home after so many years. It had changed a little, of course, but still felt overwhelmingly the same, which both scared and comforted you. All the freaky foreign ghost hunting objects still littered the shelves, and you took the liberty of admiring them once again, remembering the stories Lockwood’s parents would tell about them and the adventures they’d had when collecting them. In your periphery you saw Lockwood hurriedly grab something off the wall by the stairs, shoving it in a drawer, but you really had no interest, choosing instead to reacquaint yourself with the house. The glimpse you got up the stairs showed a myriad of framed pictures of Lockwood and you scoffed — of course his ego would be on full display within his own home.

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It was surprisingly easy to get into the groove of working with Lockwood and Co. Obviously you already liked George and Lucy, but your team seemed to work unexpectedly well with theirs. You and Lockwood stayed out of each other’s ways, the few times you were left to work together resulting in another stupid argument. The first time when you thought he was calling you dumb, the second over something minuscule; who’d let the tea brew too long so it tasted shit. And then who had to subsequently get up and make the next pot. Despite both of you honestly trying to be professional and get on with the job, it was agreed by everyone that it was simply easiest to keep the two of you apart as much as possible.

However, when the hotel owners wanted the leaders of both teams to meet up for updates on the case, you couldn’t get out of it. The day wasn’t looking good. You’d shown up to Portland Row so you could get a cab together — the meeting being dinner in central London, and had already argued with him over his choice of socks. In your defence, the powder blue socks matching your dress did make it look like you were a high school couple trying to match at a formal! However, George had rolled his eyes and pushed the two of you back out and towards the waiting cab, effectively ending that argument. You’d also teased Lockwood for bringing his rapier to a business dinner, but that was neither here nor there.

You’d held it together for most of the dinner, both of you putting on your best fronts and using your most formal tones to convince the elder couple that you were confident about the case. You found yourself kicking his shins to stop Lockwood from making promises you couldn’t keep regarding the case, and he got you back with condescending remarks, correcting you when he disagreed with how you presented the case. Altogether though you thought you were pretty subtle, and the two of you were presenting a model image of your respective companies.

However, when you shot Lockwood one of your saccharine smiles under the pretence of friendliness — he’d just undermined your authority again and stolen the best piece of dessert that you were going for, as if he didn’t torture you enough — you were shocked to hear the woman across from you laugh.

“It’s so wonderful to see you two bicker like an old married couple,” She giggled, and both you and Lockwood’s jaws dropped. “I mean, it just seems so dismal to be dating in these times, but you two give me hope that the future generations will still be able find love despite the Problem.”

“And clearly you’re both sensible kids, which is very important for a lasting relationship. Working for two different agencies would surely diffuse tensions around all those dangerous missions and such you agents partake in — except for this one, of course,” Her husband chimed in, jolly glint in his eyes.

“Yes, yes, but it’s important to remember to be kids as much as you can. But you two playing footsies all night has proved that you’ve got that covered too. Silliness is just as crucial as being sensible, it’s how a marriage stays fun. We would know, we’ve had fifty odd years of it!”

You didn’t know how to react, and by the looks of it, Lockwood didn’t know either with his signature smile frozen on his face. First of all, you were not playing footsies with Anthony Lockwood — the bruise forming under his trouser leg was testament to that. Second of all, you had no idea how the woman could get your dynamic so incredibly wrong. Aside from all of Lockwood’s double edged comments and cocky corrections of basically anything you said, the two of you had hardly addressed each other directly all night, you might as well have been strangers!

The dinner wrapped up very soon after. The couple had taken a liking to you both and so trusted your teams to handle the case as you saw fit, only making you promise to take a romantic weekend getaway (or honeymoon! As the woman had remarked optimistically) to the hotel once it was completely ghost-free and renovated. For once you were glad that Lockwood was unable to ever shut up as he took the lead, seeming to believe that corroborating their assumption was the best choice in your situation. You weren’t sure you were entirely comfortable with lying to this sweet old couple, but you couldn’t deny that Lockwood was a better talker than you, and would probably handle the situation with more delicacy.

That was how you ended up being led out of the restaurant with Lockwood’s hand on the small of your back. You wondered if he’d ever done this before, and you didn’t know if you meant for a real or pretend relationship. You both said your goodbyes to the couple, flattered by the abundance of compliments they paid you — both personally and professionally, assuring you they were overjoyed to have your teams work the case. Just before they stepped into the cab the woman took you aside.

“Hold onto a boy who looks at you like that,” She said, “You might fight, but when he’s this in awe of you, you’ll find a way to make it work.” You didn’t know how to respond to that and so simply nodded, offering a weak smile as she slid into the back seat of the taxi.

That left you and Lockwood alone. You just looked at each other for a moment, unsure of how to proceed.

“Do you mind if we walk home? I really fancy some air right now.” Lockwood easily agreed, looking rather flustered himself, and off the two of you went into the night.

Neither of you spoke for a while, but you could tell he wanted to. Lockwood always chewed his lip when he was holding something back, he had since he was a child. You sighed and asked him, knowing it was the only way to make the habit go away.

“Nothing,” He said, “Just weird. Don’t you think?”

“Nah,” You lied, “Old people just say things like that all the time. They don’t care to know the full picture.”

“Which is?”

“We hate each other.” Hurt flashed through his eyes, but it didn’t make you feel as good as it did the first time you’d said it.

“I don’t hate you,” He said quietly, almost a whisper.

“What?”

“I don’t hate you. We don’t get along anymore, but I don’t hate you. I hope you know that.” You faltered for a second. Had his use of ‘anymore’ been intentional to create a stabbing feeling in your gut?

“Oh. I guess I don’t really hate you either, if we’re getting sappy about it.” You tried to diffuse the tension growing between you, not wanting it to evolve into a discussion about what estranged you in the first place. Lockwood refused to apologise and you refused to forget, resulting in the bitter stalemate you’d been locked in for the past few years.

Your distraction came with a glance over Lockwood’s shoulder, and the wisp of a phantom coming into view. Lockwood was trying to continue the conversation about your developing relationship, but stopped when he noticed you frozen beside him. Turning slowly he swore when he saw the ghost, going straight for his rapier.

“Put your hand into my coat pocket,” He said, effectively drawing you from your freeze.

“Excuse me?” You whisper-yelled, not in the mood for him to try and lighten the mood with whatever dumb joke he was trying to make.

“Just trust me, I have flares in the inside pocket, just reach in and grab them to defend yourself whilst I keep an eye on them.” Them? You wondered until you looked around, seeing other ghosts start to emerge from the shadows, attracted by the scene you were obviously creating. You wasted no more time, ignoring the intimacy of reaching into Lockwood’s jacket, grabbing yourself a flare for each hand. With you accounted for, Lockwood told you the plan, he’d fight a path back to Portland Row and you’d cover the both of you with the flares, since you weren’t good for very much else with a broken wrist and no rapier.

It was hardly the most intense situation you or Lockwood had been in, but as the primary fighter in the situation, Lockwood was still putting up a good show of skill. Despite yourself you were entranced, admiring the graceful way he moved with the rapier, so in tune with it you’d think it was connected to his arm. As much as you hated Lockwood — well, you’d just established you didn’t actually hate him. As much as you thought he was egotistical and irritating, you had to admit that you really admired him as an agent. Lockwood was undeniably talented with a rapier — it was the fencing competition that got him started in this business in the first place — but to watch him in action was really something special. If you didn’t know better you’d think it was easy for him, he fought with the same ease and elegance he might drink a cup of tea.

You were so caught up in watching him that you hardly noticed when you arrived in front of 35 Portland Row, both luckily un-ghost touched. You were also alerted to the proximity you’d found yourself in. You’d stayed close obviously, not wanting to be left to the ghosts, but when Lockwood had turned to make sure you were still with him safely inside the iron fence, you found yourself only inches apart.

At this distance you were alerted to just how much he’d changed since you were kids. He was taller, obviously, your chin tilted up to make eye contact. He’d lost the baby fat that used to fill out his cheeks, leaving his face defined and bordering on gaunt — you figured he wasn’t taking very good care of himself, judging on the dark circles that seemed by now permanent. Plus something had changed in his eyes. He didn’t look carefree anymore, something dark and tortured lay behind the charming smiles. It wasn’t hard to guess what it was, and you figured you probably had something identical. However, the small scar on his jawline from when you accidentally flung a plastic toy into his face was still there which drew a small smile from you. Something within you urged to run your finger along it, and you felt your fingers twitch before you realised how inappropriate it was. That instinct didn’t feel so bad though when you caught Lockwood’s gaze shift down to your lips. Only momentarily, but you saw it. And worse? The fact that you didn’t mind. After all of these years and the fighting and terrible words shared, here you were maybe about to kiss Anthony Lockwood. You would be disgusted with yourself if you didn’t have so many other feelings fighting their way to the top.

The front door opening was enough to make you both jump apart, you rushing towards it to get as far from Lockwood as possible.

“Hey Lucy!” You called, practically floating up the front steps you were going so fast.

“Uh, hey, guys. We thought we heard you outside so I got sent to check. Had to make sure you weren’t secretly making out or something,” She joked and you forced out a laugh, far too loud to be real.

“As if! Come on, I’m dying for some tea.” You slid past her, rushing straight to the kitchen for a minute to think.

Lucy watched you go suspiciously, before turning to Lockwood.

“What did you do?” She interrogated, all her scary Lucy-ness coming out.

“I don’t know,” Lockwood replied earnestly, still somewhat dazed himself. Lucy gave him one last look up and down before returning inside, leaving Lockwood to fix his smile on before rejoining the two teams.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

The week leading up to your team’s next attempt at the hotel was extremely weird. You and Lockwood hadn’t spoken about what had happened (or almost happened) out in the front garden, but you had had a long talk about your behaviour lately. Over a few cups of tea in the kitchen whilst the rest of your teams were working down in the basement, you managed to both admit you were being dickheads. There was no mention of the underlying factors of your resentment, but you both agreed for the sake of your jobs you would try and be friends, or at least civil. No more bickering, no more picking apart small comments, no more rolling eyes.

It worked for a bit, which was really complicating your emotions. On the one hand, Lockwood was lovely, like he’d always been, and it was kind of nice to be able to talk and joke with him again after so many years, although you both carefully avoided the topic of your personal lives. On the other hand, it made you sad to pretend that everything was fine when you knew what you did. He didn’t think you could be an agent; Lockwood didn’t think you were good enough. And you could both pretend all you liked to be friends, but as long as that was what he thought about you it could never be real. So, while you’d both stopped your rivalry on the surface and gotten on with the case, there was a tension bubbling behind your smiles that both of you could see whenever you locked eyes.

It all came to a head when you started discussing your action plan for the hotel. All seven of you were standing in the basement of Portland Row, staring at a blown up floor plan of the place, little figurines representing each of you. It didn’t take you long to realise that you weren’t being represented.

“Where am I?” You asked, an uneasy silence falling over the room.

“You’re not coming.” Lockwood took the fall, even though it had been a unanimous decision whilst you were on an Arif’s run one afternoon.

“Excuse me?” You couldn’t help the biting tone in your words, fury you’d worked hard to conceal bubbling back up to the surface.

“Your wrist—” Sarah tried to reason, but something in you had unlocked and you were not backing down this time.

“You and I know full well if this was a Fittes case I would still be out in the field, broken wrist be damned,” You spat, and you could practically see the gears turning in Lockwood and Lucy’s heads.

“They make you go into the field injured?” Lucy asked, but you weren’t focused on answering her — George nodded for you.

“So who’s barred me from being in the field, on what I might remind you, was my case first.” There were a few moments of silence where no one wanted to be the subject of your anger, but with a resigned sigh, Lockwood accepted the blame.

“It was my idea.” You couldn’t help the frustrated groan that came out of your mouth.

“God, this is so typical! You’ve never thought I was good enough, and now what? Sabotaging my cases? My career? Because you don’t believe in me,” Your voice broke on the last sentence, and you could feel the tears heavy behind your eyes, threatening to fall. You spat a final “Fuck you,” before running up the basement stairs, up to where you knew the bathroom would be for some privacy.

You realised when you were at the top of the stairs that in your time working with Lockwood and Co you hadn’t actually used their bathroom, and didn’t remember which of the closed doors it was. Choosing one blindly you shut yourself inside, finally letting the tears that blurred your vision roll down your cheeks.

You sobbed heavily, indulging all the terrible feelings you’d been concealing for far too long. When the tears weren’t so frequent the setting around you came back into focus, and you noticed with a start you definitely weren’t in the bathroom. The view from the window told you it was Lockwood’s late parent’s bedroom, but the used furniture and messy bed said someone was still living there. Your stomach dropped as you stood, wiping the tears from your eyes. Looking around you were sure this was Lockwood’s room, the suit jacket on the desk chair a dead giveaway. However, a picture frame on his nightstand attracted your attention the most. It was the same one you had in your dorm at Fittes, the one gifted to you by Lockwood’s parents for your birthday. Both of you grinning widely and carelessly joyful. It had been so long since you’d felt like that, even longer since you’d felt it around Lockwood. The thought made your heart ache a bit. His parents would be so disappointed in the two of you. That made you start crying a little again, picking up the photo to examine it closer.

“It’s been there since you left,” A voice from behind you said. “I couldn’t bring myself to put it away.” You hadn’t noticed Lockwood come in and you didn’t know how long he’d been standing there. You put the photo down with a start, turning away to wipe your face dry again.

“Go away, Lockwood. Just give me a minute and I’ll be back downstairs. I overreacted but I need to get over it, okay?” You snapped, praying your face wasn��t still red and splotchy (it was).

“No,” He said, and you turned to face him curiously. “Look, this has gone on long enough and we need to fix things.” You crossed your arms petulantly, a silent challenge for him to fix the damage you believed to be all his. “You said downstairs that I thought you couldn’t be an agent. Why?”

“Don’t you remember when I told you I wanted to be an agent like you?” You scoffed, “You all but laughed in my face! You said I couldn’t do it, that I’d be injured or killed and I couldn’t handle it. I’ve thought about that every case since, you killed my self esteem for years. I thought that if no one else, my best friend should have believed in me. But here I am, youngest team leader at Fittes with the highest successful case rate for my division. All in spite of you.” Lockwood stared at you, and you could practically see his neurons firing and making connections at a million miles an hour.

“That’s not what I said.” You could barely contain your bitter laugh.

“Does it matter? You didn’t believe in me, that’s what’s important.”

“No,” He said, “Because that’s not what I meant at all. I did believe in you — I do. I always have.” You scoffed again as he stumbled over his words. A little grovelling now couldn’t make up for all the years of anxiety and insecurity he’d caused.

“I mean it! If I didn’t believe in you, then what’s all this?” He led you to one of his dresser drawers. Opening it there were a stack of papers and you picked a few of them up, flipping through them. Every single one was about you. Photos from your childhood together, newspaper clippings of your successes throughout the years, the magazine article you interviewed for talking about women in power in the ghost hunting field. Lockwood had saved every piece of media about you, the ragged edges showing he’d ripped them out just to keep them. You remained silent, astonished by this new revelation. You looked up at him, and Lockwood could have cried at the look in your eyes.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t be an agent,” He explained, “Or that’s not what I meant. I meant that you shouldn’t, or more clearly, I was saying don’t. Asking. Don’t you remember? My parents were dead, my sister had just died. You were all I had left, and I didn’t want you to jump head first into the most dangerous job in the world. I wanted to protect you.” It was Lockwood’s turn for his voice to break and tears to arise, and you suddenly felt supremely stupid.

“Oh,” Was all you could say. After all of these years; the insults thrown and dirty looks exchanged, all your anger came from a misunderstanding? Not only that, a misunderstanding that twisted such an earnest declaration of care into something so awful.

“But you did it, and you weren’t just any agent,” He laughed slightly despite his emotions, “You were the best bloody agent Fittes has ever seen and all I could do was watch from the shadows and be proud of you silently. Why do you think Lucy knew who you were already? There were pictures of you all over the house before I made them take them all down when I knew we were working together. I didn’t want to scare you off.”

“But all the arguing…” You trailed off, still unable to completely process this information.

“Just because I love you doesn’t mean you don’t drive me up the wall, especially when you were being — or I believed you were — deliberately obtuse to my efforts to explain myself. But now I see we were just on totally different wavelengths.” You were really struggling, there was a lot of new information being revealed at such a rapid pace that was completely changing your perspective on your whole adolescence.

“You love me?” Lockwood did laugh this time, loudly and with the same charm he usually had.

“Yes, you idiot. I have since we were kids.”

Oh. Oh. You suddenly felt like an idiot. All of this time you thought that Lockwood believed you were weak, not good enough, not worthy of your successes, when in fact it was the complete opposite. And then you thought about how you felt about Lockwood. How his believed lack of faith in you affected you so much because you cared so deeply about what he thought of you. How you could never bring yourself to look away when he was fighting because he was so completely in his element. How nice it had been to be able to joke around with him during your research. Oh God. You thought you simply respected him and his skills as an agent, but evidently the truth had been just out of reach your whole life.

“Anthony?” He was already looking at you, eyes searching deep into your soul. “I think I might love you too.” Neither of you could help the kiddish smiles making their way on your faces, and he wrapped his arms around you tightly before you knew what was happening. It felt nice to be held by him again, the last time would have been after his sister died. These were much better circumstances.

When you both came down the stairs later, no one mentioned your intertwined hands. You all had a lovely dinner at Portland Row, warmth and laughter filling the space and making you feel at home like you used to when you were a kid.

It wasn’t until you were on your way back to the Fittes dorms that Sarah leaned over to you, mischievous grin on her face.

“Tell me you were making out up there, please,” She giggled, and you shoved her away lightheartedly.

“Shut up,” You laughed, “Besides, it wasn’t making out.”

[hysteria-things]

✿ PROMISE? ✿ PART NINE.

ʚ♡ɞ 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 ʚ♡ɞ

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: chris x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: another invite to a party was not what you were expecting from your former crush…

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMOKING WEED, mention of intoxication, swearing

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,652

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: you guys must hate me right now😂

i promise (lol) i’ll have a fic out soon! i’ve been struggling so that’s why i haven’t been as active, but i’ll try my best to be :)

“𝐈’𝐌 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐘,” 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐆𝐄 says, waving at the smoke that exits her mouth.

“paige, it’s fine. the pits were three weeks ago. i’m over it. i’m alive, aren’t i?”

she frowns with a nod. paige wanted to hang out with you today since you didn’t have anything going on, so you planned a sleepover with just the two of you. her dad is out of town with her brother, leaving her alone for a few days. you guys are sitting in her living room at the moment with the TV portraying a shitty netflix movie she clicked on, even though you aren’t paying attention to it.

after a second puff, she hands you the blunt. you inhale deeply, the smoke flowing through your body with ease. “anything new going on? more specifically chris related?” she smirks.

“no,” you reply, narrowing your eyes at the girl. you told her about what he did the night of the pits, and she's not letting go about how she thinks you like him.

you don’t.

“that’s boring.” she mumbles. “anything else? not chris related because you’re lame.”

“my cousins are coming tomorrow; my mom told me this morning. they’re staying with monica for a few weeks, who is their best friend since they’re close in age. she lives right next door to us.” you start, putting the blunt between your lips once more. “she’s a family friend i’ve pretty much known my whole life.

“hm.” she hums, falling silent and looking around the room before speaking again. “are you sure you don’t have at least a little feelings for chris?”

“no. we just started being friends again!” you argue. “ask that again and you’re earning a slap across the face.”

she laughs, adjusting herself to where she leans back on her elbows. “is that kevin butler texting? i remember you having the fattest crush on him when we were in middle school.”

confused, you stare at her to see she is looking at your lit-up screen on the coffee table. “shut up.” you snarl, rolling your eyes intensely. “i bumped into him at the pits.”

she gasps, sitting up as fast as lightning. not going to lie, it made you flinch a little. “do you like ryan again? or is this like a love triangle? now things are getting good.” she props herself on her knees to feed into the gossip.

“no, i don’t like kevin.” you say, which is somewhat of a lie.

“please, please, please answer it.” she begs, handing you the phone. you can tell the drug you two inhaled is starting to take over. you snatch the phone from her and open up the message.

“i hope you know i’m coming with you to that party,” paige says, peeking over your shoulder.

“chris is going to hate me.” you say lowly, locking the phone and placing it back where it was before.

she knits her eyebrows together. “why? he doesn’t control you.”

“i know, but i don’t want him to drag me to his house again.” you bite your lip to nibble on it. “that’s embarrassing.”

“chris doesn’t have to find out. you are your own person and you make your own decisions, no?” she says, patting you on the chest.

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 afternoon the next day. when you get there, you see two recognizable cars in the driveway. you sprint up the stairs and enter through the front door, to be greeted by numerous voices overlapping each other. the pitter-patter of paws slam against the wood floors when you shut the door. “oh!” you say in a startle as chichi jumps onto his hind legs to put his front two on your thigh. his tail wags as he greets you with smothers and barks while you pat his head.

peering around the wall, chichi zooms back into the living room. your cousin bethany — who gave you your journal all of those years ago — and her husband dillon are sitting on the floor in front of where your mom and dad are seated. your other cousin amalia and her husband james are on the other couch, their six-year-old twins playing with toys on the coffee table. “y/n!” oliver, one of the twins, exclaims. he runs over to hug you.

“hello, people. fancy seeing you here,” you say, sitting on the floor alongside bethany and dillon.

when your mom said everybody, you thought she was exaggerating, but she meant everybody.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 scurrying through your closet to try and find a perfect outfit for tonight. you usually don’t care about that certain thing, but you have a good feeling about kevin’s party in less than two hours. you groan loudly as your bedroom door opens. “is everything okay here?” bethany asks, peeking her head in.

you nod. “yes!”

“alright, then. i was sent to tell you that dinner’s ready.”

“i’m not eating right now. i’m going out soon.” you exhale sharply, still tearing your closet apart.

she raises a brow, intrigued. “where are you going?”

“out with friends.” you smile nervously, rubbing the sweat off of your hands on your pajamas, looking in the pile of clothes some more to see if a decent outfit will magically appear out of thin air. she gives you a suspicious look, checking to see if anybody is around before closing the door. “who’s the boy?”

“there is no boy.”

“you don’t get dressed up to ‘go out with friends’.”

you sigh in defeat. “fine. i was invited to this party and i want to dress nice, but all i have is bum sh— stuff; and i’m running out of time. the party is in less than two hours.”

she brings her finger up to her chin to think for a moment. you can see a lightbulb go off in her head. “let me make a call.” she pulls out her phone, her nails clicking against the screen. “monica works in fashion. she’ll have stuff to fit, i’m sure.”

speaking of the devil, monica appears at your house in minutes. it’s like you blinked and here she is, her tall figure kneeling in front of the bag she places down and pulls out two dresses. “you don’t seem like the type to wear fancy shit, so i brought these that i know you’ll look good in.”

the dress she is holding in her right hand is a red silky v-neck with stitched openings going up to the stitching that separates the chest from the bottom. the other one is a simple dress that is holographic. you tilt your head to think as you look from one to the other. “my mom is going to kill me if she sees me wearing one of these.”

she giggles, her long hair with blonde highlights falling over her shoulders when she does so. “oh, we got that covered.” she says matter of factly, pointing between her and bethany.

“hence why i am going to help you leave without her seeing, and covering up for you while you’re gone. you’re nineteen years old. you have to live a little, but safely. even if you have to lie from time to time.” bethany says, eyeing her best friend.

“just out of curiosity, does your mom know you snuck out?” you say because this plan seems too good to be true.

“oh, god, no. i’d still be grounded.” she shakes her head and you laugh out loud. “amalia and i used to have each other’s backs all the time when we were your age, younger, even. now, it’s time i have yours.”

you smile at that. she’s so cool, despite her being in her early thirties. amalia is a few years older. after some consideration, you point to the red dress. “that one.”

“good choice.” monica starts. “go to the bathroom and put it on.”

you get up from the floor and go to the restroom which is only a few feet away from your room. taking off what you’re wearing, you slip into the dress. you hum, checking yourself out in the mirror for a few seconds. it fits your form perfectly, your body looking better than it has ever looked in your nineteen years of living. you smirk at this boost of confidence. the more you look, the more you realize how short it is. the weird thing is, you don’t mind.

you look phenomenal.

walking back to the girls with a twirl, you hear bethany audibly gasp. “holy shit. you look stunning!”

“i feel it.”

“ooh, la la. what’s going on here? a secret fashion show?” amalia chirps while coming up behind you, cocking an eyebrow slightly. she goes over to monica to greet her before continuing. “it’s not that you don’t look gorgeous, but why? you got a date?”

“y/n here is sneaking out to go to a party.” bethany grins, patting you on the shoulder.

“no fucking way.” amalia gasps. “y/n, my most introverted little cousin, is sneaking out to party?”

“please don’t tell my mom,” you beg with a hint of worry that she’ll snitch.

she scoffs. “who do you think i am? this is a very special occasion i have to take part in… ‘cause girl, you are rocking it in that dress.”

you giggle as bethany sits you down at the vanity. she grabs her makeup bag that’s in her purse and leans in front of you. monica is scavenging your bedroom to look for jewelry, and she finds some that can match. amalia hovers above you and her sister.

bethany finishes the makeup look after a few minutes and monica hooks you up with a matching necklace and earring set that is silver, all of them giving an approving look. bethany looks at her watch and smiles. “you made it just in time. have fun.” she winks, ushering you to the entrance of your house.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @moncherriis @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @raysmayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @tworosesblackthorn @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hearrtsturns @stars4matt @freshsturns @etershine @sukiipjs @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @ivyyyyyysposts @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @thesturniolos @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @bernardsbendystraws @hoes4matthew @deareststurns

[amymbona]

maybe it's bc i love drama, but i want to know if the duo ever found out who the reader is in the tashi's friend thing

It would probably slip out of your mouth at the most random of moments.

I'm imagining you're at your dorm, it's the second time the boys visit - now coming to Stanford mainly for you than Tashi, to be honest - like three months after they first (in their impression) met you. This time, all three of you are much more eager, struggling to hold back. Really struggling. And eventually, the two end buried between your legs, simultaneously eating you out.

They work so well together, tongues overlapping where they run all over your pussy. Art's lips are latched onto your clit, gently sucking and focusing purely on giving you the beast possible treatment. Meanwhile, Patrick's tongue is sliding through your wet folds, tasting the arousal that built up as a result of their constant flirting game. The two are working wonders together, making you see stars, that you wonder if they've ever done this before.

"Fuck, yeah... Fuck. This is so good - yeah - so good." you moan, fingers tangling in the mess of curls between your legs, pushing both their head together and closer to your burning core. "Fuck - mhm - yeah, god, I've been waiting for this for so long."

The boys both stop immediately, exchanging a glance. For so long, you say? Well, when the three of you went clubbing during their last visit, they certainly noticed a hint of interest from your side, but mistook it entirely for the result of alcohol in your body. And even though they both spend the last three months' nights jerking off to your pictures that they got from Tashi, they definitely wouldn't call this period long.

"For so long?" Art peeps, lifting himself just enough to be able to look you in the eyes. Your own snap open at the sudden realisation that all of your secrets have fallen uncovered within seconds.

"That's flattering, honey," Patrick chimes in, smirking next to his friend. "Did Tashi's words about us make you this wet?"

Bold of them to assume all it took was Tashi blabbering about the two to make you a horny mess.

"Or is there something you're not telling us?" Art mumbles in question. His hot breath hits your bare cunt, making you shiver under them.

"I... Uh..." it's difficult to keep your cool when you're laying half naked under the two boys, getting you pussy eaten out by them as if you were a four-course meal. There's no way you could possibly be successful in building up your little white lie.

"I think she wants to tell us something, Artie," Patrick smirks, slowly moving himself from between your legs, climbing up to hover over you. Meanwhile, Art hums as he remains leisurely resting between your legs, lightly nibbling onto the soft flesh of your inner thigh. And immediately, Patrick senses your distress. "Do you, baby?"

He's really good at this, Patrick, driving you crazy just with that overly confident smile of his, knowing damn well that he has the upper hand in this situation. You gulp, shifting under the weight of their two bodies, but don't get too far before Patrick's hand grabs your jaw. "What's wrong with liking you? You like me too, no?"

"Of course we like you, darling," Patrick coos, a small head tilt making him appear almost innocent, as he lightly caresses your lips with his thumb. "A lot."

"But we like honesty too," Art chimes in from between your legs and rubs his face over your cunt. Again, this time almost excruciatingly slow, licks through your aching, wet folds. Both of the boys laugh when a needy whimper comes from your mouth and your hips buckle in the direction of Art's mouth. "And honest girls get rewarded."

Fuck. They know you so well, they know all your weak spots and how exactly to play with you to mold you to their liking. And, fortunately for the two, you're easy enough to mess with.

"I- I am being honest," you mumble, eyes flicking between Patrick's, looking for any hint of comfort in his face. But he doesn't offer you any.

Instead, he seems to be the evil one of the two, pulling the strings and ensuring you remain on your tip toes. "We don't really believe you, baby. You're terrible at hiding secrets." He mumbles with feigned compassion, thumb circling the outline of your glossed lips.

They part with anorher gasp as Art kisses your clit once again, this time slow and light, a complete contrast to the abusing pace they once set before. It's almost a form of tortute from the boys, as you feel the built up arousal slowly slipping away, just a bit before you were brought to the desired edge.

"Please," you whisper, hips jerking once again.

"Please what, darling?" Patrick coos in response, having to do the talking for both of the boys, since Art's mouth is too occupied by making love to your cunt.

Please, they know damn well what you need. What you want. But they love tortuting you too.

"I need to - mhm - fuck, please," the way Art's mouth is doing wonders to your cunt, tongue sliding through your folds and teasing your needy hole is making your back arch, legs tremble and muscles clench around nothing as you wish for more, as you need more, because the boyish tenderness is definitely not what you need at the moment.

"Oh, that's bad," Patrick pouts while caressing your sweat covered cheek, adoring the way your pupils widen. "Cause Artie over here is really, really miserable at working with liars. With bad girls. Think how unfair it is all the good girls out there that receive the same treatment."

At this point, the boys could hardly care about the truth behind your word. All they want is to see you squirm and beg and promise him the impossible, just so they could let you cum.

And Art, being the more angelic of the two - and not completely stupid either - decides to give you a little push forward. "Y'know, Pat," he mumbles, his hot breath only adding to the sensation you're feeling. "This face is a little familiar to me."

"Is it?" Patrick mumbles, grasping your jaw again with a gentle touch. "Hmm, big eyes, nice lips - very kisabble - I wonder what else that mouth does. You sure we've seen her before?"

"You... You have," you moan when Art's tongue slides fully into your pussy, quickly in and out, feeling the tight walls squeeze him.

"Really?" Patrick caresses your cheek gently.

You nod eagerly, thighs squeezing Art's head, your cunt wanting to suck him in whole, needing him to bring you to that precious edge. You need it, you need him down there to help you. "The tennis academy."

"Oh."

In reward, Art finally puts all the work in, the tip of his nose rubbing over your burning clit, his lips overlapping those of yours. He's working wonders, and soon pushing you over the precious edge. All three of you are the most delighted you possibly could be, the boys satisfied not to only know who you really are, but mainly to see you in such a delicate state, completely crumbling like them, and you're just happy to receive the sweetest orgasm of your life. And all of this, thanks to your precious roommate, who can't keep her nose out of people's personal business.

[lynn-tged-posting]

tged webtoon ep 163 spoilers and thoughts that are making me procrastinate on like all of my work but its totally fine below the cut

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i am so serious i was completely tricked into thinking this would just be a light episode with some ominous foreshadowing but still some answers for how to defeat fate. i thought we'd be in silly haha territory now and that soon we'd reach the end and everything would be wonderful now and they can finally have what they want. I WAS PROVEN WRONG

YOU. YOU TRICKED ME FROM THE GETGO BY SETTING THE MOOD OF THE EP TO BE SILLY OFF THE BAT. YOUR STUPID CUTE HAIR BEING MESSY WHEN U WAKE UP AND THOSE SILLY ASS D*SNEY ANIMALS. YOU YOU YOU YOU RAPHAEL YOU FOOLED ME

it's super cute and funny that his singing and his general demeanor is so fairytale esque that animals and people just love him even though he tried to destroy what they were working on . he looks adorable with messy hair. i wanna see it more. cute and blond. but also. FUCK YOU

like we went from that to this and i was like "oh my god they're gonna have a bonding moment" and i was so so happy i just,, i really thought,,,,

like he looks so pretty here!! and then javier says something so sweet and so javier-brand of affectionate and they're being funny about it and it's so cute and they're all smiley afterward in the reflections of the water so its like "awww stupid fucking idiots being happy at each other without even really knowing it i love them so much" AND THEN.

STUPID FUCKING OMINOUS REFLECTION GOT ME ALL WORRIED. BUT THEN I THOUGHT OF RAPHIE AT THE START AND WENT "nahhh thats just. yknow. the normal foreshadowing at something bigger. they haven't even gotten answers yet. it's fine" oh lynn. oh girl you had no idea.

like they're so close to the truth cmon they wouldnt dump what they need to do to stop fate AND whats going on w javier at the same time right? ha. ha. ha.

ominous panels aside POOR LLOYD,,, OF ALL THE SECRETS HE COULD HAVE CHOSEN,,, he had no idea its not fair </3 we got blushy lloyd as a result i love this panel btw he's very very cute. super duper bug of him. i really like that the artist has been drawing the two of them at this angle a lot recently they look so stupid i like it a lot

ALSO JAVIER DO YOU. HAVE SOMETHING YOU WANT TO SAY. WHY DID HE ASK THAT I. JAVIER U CANT JUST ASK PEOPLE HOW DEE- WHAT THE FUCK

and then we got hit w javier being worried and i was like "man me too buddy, im worried too but im sure itll be oka-"

DEATH FLAG. WHY. WHY DID YOU HAVE TO THINK THAT LLOYD OH GOD. i read this and my worry that was briefly washed away IMMEDIATELY came back . tged is very good at giving me tonal whiplash. i dont think thats a bad thing but also its not good for my health either so. /lh

AND THEN WE GOT HIT WITH THE JEWEL OF TRUTH SECTION AND. AAAAHHH AAAAAAAAHHH the darkness that lloyd is in, he's all alone when he hears this god i . oh god i have so much to say okay

it's kind of hard to go shot by shot with this section because all my thoughts are overlapping with each other but ill try my best???

he's immediately pushed into communication between just him and the jewel and shrouded in a very very isolating darkness. there's so so so much empty space and all my yapping about how much lloyd has been isolating himself for the sake of finally protecting his loved ones kind of comes to a head here. and then we hear the truth...

lloyd is a BUG. the fact that he EXISTS is a problem that has been the catalyst of all the pain and work that he and javier have had to go through, so so early in the story. he's essentially being told that its HIS fault fate is threatening their lives. AND WOW THAT HURTS. how do you cope with being told that?? how do you manage that???

and on TOP of it all, in order to fix it, he has to choose. rid the world of this bug, or let the bug take over. THAT'S SO EVIL

the only way to protect his loved ones is to forfeit his protection over them, giving up his life. and yet the only way for him to continue being there to protect them is to lose the life of the one he absolutely loves most, javier. WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK WHY WOULD THEY DO THAT

the moment he hears this he falls to his knees. im so fucking ill IM SICK . THIS IS SICK AND TWISTED!!!!!!!!!!!

some more thoughts on the language and just. inherent despair of this section:

i think the choice of calling lloyd a bug is so so so heartwrenching. i don't know if it's an intentional thing by the writer/adapter or if it's just something they defaulted to since the world is considered a system, but either way it makes me so damn emotional

i'm a computer engineer, so i take some computer science classes too as part of my major, and one of those fun facts that you learn in those classes is that debugging/bugs became common terminology in compsci for a very silly reason. "bugs" as a word to describe error and defects had been present before, but it became conflated with programming due to a team of programmers actually finding a moth, a true to life Bug, interfering with their computer and thus messing with their program.

see, the JoT could have called lloyd anything. an error, a mistake, a problem, hell even a glitch would have worked. but they specifically said bug (and again whether or not thats intentional is up for debate but i will treat it like it is)

and the thing about bugs, the thing that haunts me now, is that without them the rest of the program (theoretically) works fine. if that moth hadnt entered the computer of those programmers, then their code would have been operating smoothly. the system would be chugging along well.

the knight of blood and iron would be functioning just fine.

yeah it'd be sad, yeah javier would have lost everyone, but it would have gone exactly as the program was written. the memory allocated for the class lloyd_frontera would be freed, and the story wouldn't have had to call on it, ever. but lloyd, the bug, the moth, stuck around. errors ensue.

and often, bugs are HUMAN error. it's a problem in a human design, not a natural glitch or mistake. the moth wouldn't have been able to enter that computer if it was built differently. bugs do not appear naturally. and they do not go away until you go back to where the bug appears and FIX IT. lloyd cannot fix the story, he can NEVER achieve the happy ending he's always wanted, because the program will always be bugged because of HIM.

suddenly too, all the little changes that have happened in the story thus far make so much sense. all of those events happening EARLIER than they should have completely tracks.

the choices lloyd made - to defeat neumann, defeat lacona, go to cremo, go to the capital - pushed javier's presence ahead, and i know that's like really really obvious, but coupled with this bug analogy i feel insane because

something that's very common in programming in general are function calls, where on the side you have the function written out all complete, and in your main code you can just say the name of the function. when it compiles, itll know what to refer to when it sees the name in your main code.

something else thats very common is conditionals! y'know, your classic "if (comparison here) then do (this thing here) else (do this thing here)", you might have seen this before (or not, im not sure how well versed tged tumblr is on programming which is why im explaining this)

and u think back to javier being there EARLY and oh. ooohh....

if (javier.location == magentano.event_location(banquet)) {

kyle_betrayal(alicia);

}

this function, this betrayal, was called early. THIS WAS CALLED EARLY because a certain character object, lloyd frontera, changed the state of javier's location way sooner than it should have happened. a bug. a bug. a bug. a bug made the code jump to this conditional. he's been a bug this whole time

and you think to when the glitches on javier first started appearing and oh. oooohhh. the object referred to as javier, disabled the "protagonist" variable on him and passed it onto lloyd. but that won't do, because all these functions for the ENTIRE STORY rely on javier's class object. how can it call on lloyd instead? lloyd should have been freed, aka the memory storing his little array of data, should have been REMOVED. CAUSE HE WAS SUPPOSED TO DIE

theres more examples of this throughout the whole story that maybe ill list another day (as much as im yapping about it, its really not that hard/deep on figuring out where things were called early lol) but yeah yeah yeah. yeah this is so so evil and i cant believe i didnt put two and two together earlier. this analogy is SO EVIL WHY WOULD THEY DO THIS TO ME

apologies for the jargon btw. i have no idea if i explained this right or if anyone else really knows what im talking about but i've been losing it over this for the entire weekend ALKDFJLSDKF

WHATS WORSE IS THAT IVE BEEN CALLING LLOYD A BUG FOR LIKE. ACTUAL MONTHS. I WOULD REFER TO HIM AS A CREATURE AND AS A LITTLE ITTY BITTY BUG AND NOW I FEEL SO SO TERRIBLE BECAUSE HE REALLY WAS A BUG. I MADE A SHITPOST AND EVERYTHING (that ill prolly post later) THAT I HAD NO IDEA WOULD. AGE POORLY SOB SOB SOB

I AM SO SO SORRY LLOYD. I DIDN'T KNOW I DIDN'T KNOW I DIDN'T KNOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

sniffle,,, sob,,, anyway,,, thats enough yapping about bugs and programming and lloyd being a bug,,, back to the anguish

the following section is just. god ow ow OW. the shaking linework, the shadows setting in at the top with the dramatic bottom lighting, and the blur on javier as he loses focus and starts truly, truly panicking makes me INSANE. artist you're making me CRAZY!!!

javier truly has no idea either but god dammit he's trying his best to help, but how can lloyd explain this to the man whos completely and utterly loyal to him to the point of sincere devotion? if lloyd tells him, whos to say that javier - the martyr that he is - won't just give up his life for him? god that's so... GOD. GOD GOD GOD WHY AGHHH

AND AGGHHH AGGGHHHH THE FLASHBACKS TO THE P PANELS OF SUHO WORKING SO SO HARD TO REACH THE LIGHT. GOD FUCK. FUCK FUCK FUCK

ITS DIMMER ITS HARDER TO REACH AND OH MY GOD THE PANEL OF LLOYD REACHING UP EVEN IN HIS PANIC TOWARDS HOPE. THE THOUGHT THAT "ITLL GET BETTER ONE DAY" COMFORTED HIM AND KEPT HIM ALIVE BUT NOW ITS BEING RIPPED FROM HIM I FEEL ILL. EVIL EVIL EVIL EVIL

this panel of that light going out . not much words on this i just feel sick to my stomach. why would u do that.

and finally at the end of the chapter we have this incredibly HAUNTING panel of lloyd panicking. the despair here is UNREAL. the lineart is shaken and messy and scribbly, and the focus on his face and his hand gives the panel a very claustrophobic and hard-to-breathe feel and it makes mE SICK!!! IT MAKES ME SICK!!! SICK AND TWISTED!!!! JEWEL OF TRUTH I HATE YOU!!!!!!!

anyway that's all my thoughts for right now . i really really hope they figure out a loophole or something . if they dont im actually gonna keel over and die /j not literally but yknow what i mean

SICK AND TWISTED!!! is my final word on this ep

thanks for joining me in hell ill see yall next week salute emoji

[adore-laur]

DEVOTION

— please enjoy harry & sawyer getting freaky in miami (inspired by this ask)💃

——

MIAMI, 1993

People are packed into the arena like sardines. August humidity suffuses the air, a cacophony of chatter overlaps, and infectious energy pulses in the room as everyone waits for Sade to hit the stage in all their sensational glory.

In the general admission area, Harry stands behind Sawyer with his arms protectively draped over her shoulders. Her footing shifts occasionally as she fiddles with his rings. He can sense her anticipation—she's been looking forward to this concert for months. When he gifted her the tickets on her birthday, she wept and kissed him with a hunger he had never experienced from her before. As much as he spoils her, she goes the extra mile to show him her appreciation.

Once the lights go out, Harry can't wait to see her vivacious eyes and dazzling smile.

Sawyer looks ravishing tonight. Her black cropped tank top has a variety of enticing little cutouts—no bra underneath, he might add—and she's wearing low-waisted denim shorts that hug her ass most temptingly. There's a reason he opted to stand behind her—two, actually. One, he doesn't want any dudes getting a sneak peek at his girl. And two, he doesn't need anyone to see his hardness through his leather pants.

She curled her hair with natural-looking spirals and teased it with spray. Her long, wavy mane has always been a hassle to manage in the summertime, so she cut it collarbone-length. Her front bangs are tightly clipped back, and she wears gold hoop earrings. She’s truly a stunner.

Prior to leaving, Harry watched her as she got ready for the concert. They live together in a swanky Orlando penthouse, where simple things like her clothes hanging in the closet and makeup supplies cluttering the bathroom sink make him unbelievably happy. While he gently reminded Sawyer that they needed to leave soon for the three-and-a-half-hour drive to Miami, she applied her mascara and teased him by showing her cleavage while bent over the vanity. Despite his provocative urges, he managed to resist giving in.

When Sawyer turns to look at him now, the room reduces to just her. Lucious lips are stained with a pomegranate-red gloss. Skin glowing with moisture. Dark eyes filled with warmth. It’s breathtaking to behold the sheer beauty of her features. Time and time again, she hypnotizes him. He's beginning to think she can cast spells on his lovesick soul.

Sawyer taps his bicep before standing on her tiptoes to reach his ear. In an instinctive move, Harry touches her hip and leans down to better hear her.

Fanning herself, she says, "It's muggy in here. I'm going to buy a water bottle and braid my hair in the bathroom."

"I'll go with you."

"But you have to save our spot," she reminds him.

Though he nearly protests, he reluctantly nods and caresses the slick skin of her bare middle back. "Fine. You have your phone?"

"In my purse. I'll be fast."

Harry kisses the spot between her eyebrows before letting her go, keeping her locked in his gaze until she disappears past the lower seating sections. In crowds, regardless of size, he doesn’t like losing her. During baseball games, it’s less worrying since she always sits in the same section in her reserved seat, but in Miami, he's extra cautious because it's an unfamiliar city. Sawyer can stand up for herself since sass and stubbornness are intertwined in her Aries DNA, but Harry remains fiercely protective of her. She's a certified sweetheart, conspicuously beautiful, and also quite gullible to a fault—if anyone attempts to take advantage of that, they'll have to answer to him.

While she's gone, Harry observes the venue. There are people from all walks of life surrounding him. The staggered seating sections flanking the floor are filling quickly, and it's reminiscent of playing at Tinker Field, where he would watch fans fill the bleachers from the dugout.

In a few weeks, the minor league season will conclude, and Harry is looking forward to taking a much-needed break from pitching and traveling. He's thankful he didn’t have a game scheduled today, which gave him and Sawyer the chance to step out for a date. It aches to know she's missed him a little more after such a long season. Due to her full-time job, she can’t always travel across America with him or attend home games, but they’re able to make it work by cherishing their time together. Next month, they plan to celebrate their second anniversary in Seville, Spain. They'll sunbathe on the scenic beaches, relish a couples massage, and take romantic strolls through the city's idyllic parks.

And, if Harry doesn't chicken out, he'll ask her to marry him.

Fondly smiling at the thought, he watches two girls strut toward him, parting the crowd like the Red Sea. They're wearing variations of the same outfit—metallic miniskirts, frilly halter tops, and chunky heels. Based on their strikingly similar features, they must be twins. Twin One holds a Canon camera, while Twin Two laughs into her hands.

Harry waves politely before shoving his hands in his pockets. The moment a fan recognizes him, he knows it. There’s a strange shift in the atmosphere when he temporarily loses his shield of privacy. It's unavoidable when fifteen thousand people are gathered in a Miami venue. It comes with the territory of being a famous Florida sports figure.

"Are you Harry Styles?"

Here we go.

Feeling abnormal but pushing past it, he says, "In the flesh. How's it going, ladies?"

"Oh my gosh, we love you," Twin One gushes. "You're hella cute. You play for the Sun Rays, right?"

"Sort of. Our team name changed recently. We're now the Orlando Cubs."

"Oh, cool," she says distractedly. "Anyway, we want a picture with you."

With a sharp inhale, Harry nods once. “Sure, no problem."

It doesn't bother him to take pictures or sign autographs. Most people are respectful and genuinely honored to meet him. Rarely, however, do people demand things from him, like right now. Then he feels prickles of discomfort. It makes him feel as though he's being exploited. It makes him feel fictitious.

As the girls swarm around him and touch him like he's a wax figure with no boundaries, Sawyer nudges her way through the crowd, water bottle in hand. As she processes the situation, her movements slow and her shoulders drop slightly. She has her hair in two messy braids, with the shorter layers springing loose. She looks effortless and... annoyed. Yeah, Harry is all too familiar with that look. He has been on the receiving end of those slanted eyebrows, those gritted teeth, and those assessing eyes. How will this play out?

When she sees Sawyer, Twin Two strokes his arm suggestively. Thankfully, they see her as a mere stranger rather than his girlfriend. His mind flashes back to past discussions about keeping their relationship as private as possible, and he decides not to sacrifice that for such a meager moment. No chance.

"Can you take a photo of us?" It was wise of her to ask, rather than demand. Otherwise, Harry's friendly mask would have definitely slipped.

Sawyer purses her lips as she meets Harry's gaze. "Do you mind?" he asks, his expression hinting at a secret message.

By taking Twin One's camera, she recognizes his unspoken signal and cleverly leaps into her role. God, he's thankful for her. He knows it's challenging to deal with these bizarre occurrences that pop their bubble, but she handles them all so gracefully. When they get home, he’ll shower her with affection.

Sawyer raises the camera to her eye and says, "I'll take a few."

Harry straightens his posture and awkwardly places his hands on both girls' upper arms. His muscles tense uncomfortably as their hands slither around his waist and linger near his stomach. Amid three flashes, he’s suffocated by the pungent smell of perfume and spearmint gum.

“There you go,” Sawyer says, giving the camera back and forcing a smile.

They browse the pictures before staring at Harry with a sickening amount of adoration. "It was awesome meeting you," Twin Two says, biting her lip. "We'll see you around at the next Sun Rays game."

"Cubs," Sawyer mumbles around a fake cough. Only Harry catches it, and he restrains himself from grinning proudly and kissing her senselessly.

"Nice to meet you both," he says, briefly touching his heart. "Enjoy the concert, yeah?"

They nod, blush, and giggle simultaneously before walking off, staring back at him a couple of times before fading into the sea of strangers. Harry releases a breath he didn't know he was holding and concentrates on Sawyer drinking from her water bottle. He's about to apologize for the unnatural situation, but the venue goes dark, and the audience erupts with deafening cheers.

The joy he expected to see in Sawyer's eyes isn't there. Silently, she crosses her arms and faces the stage with a blank expression. Harry curses at himself—he knows it isn't his fault and that it's just how Sawyer is. She takes things to heart and lets them stew until her skeptical thoughts overflow without a lid. The fact that she didn’t witness the entire interaction has made her understandably upset. Harry regrets not saying no to the fans.

First on the setlist is "The Sweetest Taboo"—sonically sensual, intoxicatingly groovy, and a fantastic way to open their show. Everybody dances to the exquisite beat and sings along to the lyrics. The energy in the room soars to an unimaginable level. It's contagious.

Harry grips Sawyer's hand so the crowd doesn't swallow her whole. She turns and smiles softly, finally bobbing her head to the music. Slowly, she loosens up, unfurling the passionate girl he knows lives within her. The one who loves to dance.

She looks resplendent as indigo lights glide across her face. Her body begins to move—the shape of her swaying hips and the pinch of her waist are irresistible. Harry settles behind her and follows her smooth movements, grinding against her backside. The warmth of his hands rests on her ribcage, and they dance, getting lost in the ecstasy of experiencing live music.

With each song, they forget about the world outside and fall more in love with each other.

——

Harry and Sawyer leave the arena on a high after being captivated by Sade's sultry voice and entrancing stage presence for over an hour. The parking lots are already congested with people trying to beat traffic, so they decide to wait until it calms down.

As soon as they get into the car, Harry starts the engine and turns on the air conditioning before reclining in the driver's seat. With exhaustion swimming through his bones, he sighs contently. It was a magical concert, but he's not looking forward to driving back to Orlando. He'll need to stop by 7/11 for an energy drink and some snacks. Fortunately, tomorrow is Sunday, so they can both sleep in and laze around the whole day.

Sawyer unbraids her hair and removes the clips, then shakes her head cutely to loosen her wild curls. She looks tired as well. They danced the night away together, not caring who saw them. He told her to climb on his back a few times so she could get a better view of the stage. During the romantic slow-tempo songs, she hugged and kissed him sweetly, and he swears he almost got down on one knee right then and there.

"I love you, baby," Harry says, watching her take off her Doc Martens. "Tonight was divine."

A smile spreads across Sawyer's face. "I love you too. Hey, listen..." She reaches over to caress his cheek and thumb the corner of his mouth. "I'm sorry about my buzzkill attitude at the beginning."

Shaking his head, he kisses her palm. “You don't have to apologize. I appreciate how you handled those girls."

He hopes to forget about what happened. Honestly, as soon as the concert started, he forgot all about them. There was only one thing on his mind: Sawyer and the mesmerizing way she moved.

"I just... I got jealous," Sawyer confesses sheepishly.

Harry frowns in astonishment. Jealousy is a rare emotion for Sawyer. They’ve been dating for almost two years, and he can count on one hand the number of times she has been outwardly jealous. Since he only has eyes for her, there's no rhyme or reason for her to feel this way.

What a new and fun development, Harry thinks to himself. He loves how their relationship continues to surprise him.

Harry, however, has been caught having jealous fits many times before. Like that instance when Sawyer was invited to lunch by her so-called "cubicle neighbor." Harry is her forever lunch date, not anyone else. Even when he can't be there in person, he'll call her office fax number and keep her company while she munches her cucumber salad. Harry's jealousy grew when he discovered some guy was trying to steal that from him, so he ordered an impressive bouquet to be delivered to her desk the following day. It didn't take long for everyone to get the hint. Then there was that time when they were watching The Bodyguard, and Sawyer kept squealing girlishly over Kevin Costner's character. Okay, so he literally took a bullet for the woman he loved. Big deal! Harry smothered his jealousy by obnoxiously pretending to be Sawyer's bodyguard while exiting the movie theater and then proceeding to sing "I Have Nothing" off-key the entire way home. She just laughed, which was his goal in the first place.

"Why'd you get jealous?" Harry asks.

Sawyer's brow quirks. "Well, when I'm subjected to taking pictures of two pretty girls who are all over my boyfriend, it doesn't necessarily feel good."

"I know," he says, frustrated with himself. "I should've refused them. They kind of trapped me."

She pouts sympathetically before climbing over the console and straddling his thighs. "My sweet sunray. You're too nice."

Harry pulls her closer by hooking his fingers through her belt loops and tugging. "I'm sorry you were jealous."

"I shouldn't have been. You know why?"

"Tell me." Reaching around her, he turns up the volume of the radio to drown out the sounds of cars honking at each other. The cassette tape they listened to on the drive to Miami is still playing on loop. "Paradise" by Sade sets the mood.

"Because you're mine," Sawyer says with conviction.

Spreading his legs on the seat, he smirks. "Say that again, angel."

"You're mine. No one else's."

"Ditto," he replies, rubbing his palms along her suntanned thighs. "You've got my devotion."

His bodacious girl bites his bottom lip until it stings, then says, "Prove it."

"Good fuckin' lord," Harry murmurs against her mouth before diving in. He kisses her ravenously while fumbling to unbutton her shorts, eventually helping her shimmy out of them. Sawyer shoves her hand down his pants and grasps his bulge, stroking it purposefully. He gasps and slides his pants down halfway, revealing his tented boxers.

"Are you mine?" she asks, sitting right on his cock and sending shockwaves of sex drive down his spine. Her body's heat is addictive.

"Yes," he says breathlessly, kissing her flushed neck. "I'm your man."

"Then act like it. Show me who you belong to."

A shocked laugh escapes as he greedily grabs a handful of her ass. "Sawyer Alejandra, what has Miami done to you? Ay, Dios mío!"

She smiles seductively. "It's Sade's fault."

"Is that right?" Harry cranks the volume up even more before allusively sliding his hand under her top and cupping the swell of her breast. It fits perfectly, and when he teases her peaked nipple with his thumb, Sawyer's palm slaps against the window as she grinds against him. The glass is fogging with the A/C running, sweat drips down his back, and the song's driving bass line pulsates loudly through the speakers. It's filthy what they're doing, considering potential onlookers surround them. It's a good thing the car has tinted windows.

The thrill of their sexual escapade pulses through Harry's body. As he kisses Sawyer's heaving breasts through her top's cutouts, the pleasure becomes borderline intolerable. His lips search for any sliver of skin, and in response, she tugs at his hair and whimpers softly. Her skimpy lace underwear is damp, and he switches his attention to her clit. He rubs it with his knuckle, causing Sawyer's hips to momentarily stutter before she leans into the movement and stamps sloppy kisses all over his face, her cherry-flavored lip gloss transferring to his cheeks, nose, and jaw. They're as sweet as sugar.

"Almost there," Sawyer whispers, running her hand across his broad chest. Her fingers grip the material of his bejeweled sleeveless top to keep herself balanced, and Harry would let her rip it apart if he hadn't spent several hours meticulously hot gluing rhinestones onto it.

After kissing down her stomach and blowing air onto her belly button ring, he teases two fingers past her wet entrance, and it's all she needs to unravel completely. As she orgasms, she leaves love bites on his neck and moans. Her body language is desperate; the arch of her back and the tightening of her thighs against his own help her through her release.

"Nice and easy, baby," Harry murmurs, squeezing her waist. "Take your time."

From the gratifying pain she inflicts on the tender flesh of his neck, Harry comes in his boxers, his pelvis jerking as goosebumps rise over his skin in transient tidal waves. It feels equally divine and unholy to do what they just did. Tiredness kicks in as they both breathe heavily. Gradually, the condensation on the windows disappears. Sawyer's handprint is the last thing to vanish, and the sight will undeniably haunt his memory in the most marvelous way.

Harry opens the glovebox and finds the stash of napkins. After cleaning Sawyer and himself, he pulls his pants back up, shuts the radio off, and says, "I've made up my mind."

"About what?" Sawyer asks, sitting sideways on his lap so she can stretch her legs. In just her cropped top, underwear, and adorable ruffle socks, she's a masterpiece. And all his.

"I'm going to marry you one day," he says. It's something he's known for a long time. He hopes that easing her into the topic will make him more confident about proposing next month.

Sawyer pinches his earlobe. "Don't say dreamy things like that."

"Oh, that’s bogus," he retorts. "You say heart-stopping things to me all the time without even realizing it. Especially after sex."

"Not marriage-related things!"

"Does that mean you don't want to marry me?" he asks, fishing for a reaction.

When she goes quiet and stares contemplatively at him, Harry's stomach swoops. He knows her exceptionally well, which means he knows she tends to shy away from substantial conversations regarding their future when they're sprung upon her by his spontaneous nature. Perhaps it's too early to propose a lifelong commitment, but hasn't she imagined sharing a life with him before? The moment he kissed her for the first time, he fantasized about settling down, buying a house away from the city, tying the knot, and having curly-haired babies.

Eventually, Sawyer says, "I would marry you in this parking lot right now if you asked me to."

Harry feels an internal splash of relief and plays it cool by saying, "Please raise your standards."

"Are you saying you wouldn't want to marry me in a parking lot, lover boy?" She tosses her version of his question back to him with a frisky smile.

"I'd find you and marry you in every lifetime. How's that for an answer?"

She’s speechless for five full seconds before lurching forward to hug him, her heart hammering. "You're crazy. I love you so, so much."

"I adore you," Harry whispers. He reaches for the 'S' pendant hiding under his top's neckline and pulls it out. "I'm forever yours."

Sawyer kisses him repeatedly and says, "Forever."

During the journey home, she falls asleep with her head in his lap, holding his hand while he drives. His thumb absentmindedly strokes her ring finger, and he feels a surge of emotion and excitement knowing he will get to spend the years to come by her side.

Years filled with being deeply devoted to her.

——

[centrally-unplanned]

Saw this really cool post of a 1982 "SF" (Science fiction but in Japan that included things like anime, manga, tokusatsu, etc at the time) magazine that did a survey of active fan groups/circles at the time - ~woo, precious data! Lets see what we got:

Love to see a good gender breakdown - as is often the case in these things, while it is of course majority men the number of women participating is very strong. You do notice the age imbalance there - many women in their teens and college-aged, but it drops off quickly. I suspect that this is primarily because this survey is right in the middle of the first wave of the "pop SF boom", where more approachable works like Gundam and new manga subgenres were rapidly growing the community. So the older cadre was more heavily men, while the new group is more balanced. However, this is the early 1980's - it might just be that when a woman graduates college she was expected to marry and "settle down" still, inhibiting participation in these kinds of groups. I think it is primarily the former, Japan had pretty rapidly changed in the 1970's and female creative types were commonplace by then, but I won't pretend the latter players no role.

The writing on this page just contextualizes the piece, not much to report, though it does note that "3 people replied 'other' for gender...as a joke!" Sure, jan!

Anyway, on to page 2, what is our poll question of the day...

ロリコンについてどう思いますか? What do you think about lolicon?

....*siiiiiighs* guys I didn't, I didn't look at the second page before typing this up! I just wanted to report the gender data! This just happens to me, I swear -_-

But I can't back out now I guess:

It actually splits the question by gender - men are asked "are you a lolicon" while women are asked "what do you think of guys who are lolicon" - sexists, way to erase the female lolicon. Not actually joking there, it is a quite a thing due to its overlap with rape and dubcon fetishes - but I won't pretend I have expertise on the prevalence of that in 1982 Japan's SF community, even if it you see it today. Anyway, most men are not lolicons (the tallest line), though others fall on a spectrum from interested to "graduated", certainly a choice of words one could make.

Funnily a good dozen say they are called that by others, but not themselves - I believe that is related to the vague line between loli & shoujo aesthetics at the time. Which is important to emphasize, as I always do on this topic - sometimes the word lolicon just means "youthful" or "cute", sometimes it means like high schoolers, and sometimes it means real-deal underage stuff, and you won't know without context.

Meanwhile two women label lolicon men as "cute!", good for those two living their truth, while others are broadly tolerant but have Opinions. Which is fun, because the rest of the page is people sharing said opinions, sorted into "good" or "bad"! Some choice ones:

★ It's a symptom of modern civilization’s sick parts, but also an inevitable phenomenon. It’s better than having a rabbit or cat complex. Don’t lay hands on young girls. Lolicon must remain platonic. (♂/19/)

You see this theme a bit, "symptom of modernity", the new sexual fetishes are a product of a changing world. Certainly up for debate, but also very "in vogue" for the 80's & 90's to worry about that sort of declinist narrative. Then again, guy is a catgirl and bunnygirl hater, not sure we should listen to their shit taste.

On the flip side you get the "natural way of things" types, of which this is my favourite:

★ There’s nothing abnormal about having a dream involving an uncontrollable urge towards pre-teens. Even Romeo and Juliet would have made Romeo a lolicon given Juliet’s age (14), but people don’t think of it that way. Only at that age can girls love and respect men without ulterior motives. (♂/19/)

That last line, you are telling me so much about you with that one!! You can see how this is discourse, right? Like if one side says you are a "symptom of modernity" you ofc respond with "this is how all guys are" and with callbacks to traditional culture.

The "bad" side has a lot of ruthless condemnation, with more than one call for the lolicons to simply die or labelling them worthless scum. The magazine's writers do try to keep the tone breezy but I do think this topic being actually contentious in the community pokes through here. Though this serious one really did undercut herself a bit at the end:

★ I can understand why one person of the same gender might feel admiration or affection for a child or young girl, but for a man to only be able to love much younger women? That’s a mental illness! If they aren’t willing to fix themselves, they might as well die. They’re enemies of women. It's not going to turn out like Nabokov's Lolita. (♀/20s/)

I mean they did also kill jesus Humbert Humbert in Lolita. that was a pretty significant thing that happened. like i understand where you’re coming from here but they very much did kill the Lolita guy.

There is an editorial at the end, and it echoes something one of the comments also states; that the lolicon boom was seen as coming from "hard" SF fans, the people who did the really nerdy stuff. There is a word they use actually which is neat: 根暗/Nekura, meaning someone with a "gloomy root". It began seeing use as a slang for hyper-serious, boorish people in the late 1970's and became a fad to use in precisely 1982 - here is a live record of that! They associate "hard SF" fans with these sort of gloomy types who can't take a joke or appreciate hanging out with the buds at a bar, that kind of thing. From there, and here I am reading between the lines, these fans like a sort of "idealistically sterile" world, and lolicon as a preference (in comparison to Real Adult Women) flows naturally.

I mention this because astute readers might be going "oh, like otaku?" and that word was only just buzzing around at this time - it is typically dated to 1983. The editorial writers note that these nekura-types are nowadays proud of that fact, wearing it like an identity:

A: I’m not really sure why, I don’t fully understand the inner workings of the SF world, but it’s like, out there, hardcore SF fans are considered gloomy. Maybe that’s why there’s this connection to lolicon? B: But surprisingly, everyone’s actually pretty cheerful. In today’s world, the 'dark and gloomy tribe' is trendy. It’s like they’re enjoying calling themselves gloomy, almost as a fashion statement.

So yeah, I can totally see proto-otaku discourse going on at the edges here.

There is a third page but it continues in a similar vein. A bunch of mentions of Hideo Azuma, who I am growing increasingly convinced was more of a lodestone for the lolicon boom than is currently appreciated - he is the ur-reference everyone makes. More discussion of girls in sailor uniforms as a gateway drug, yeah yeah, "is fine as long as its fiction", of course of course, one of the magazine editors remarking he wants "a wife for practical uses but a daughter as a pet" yeah okay we can call it we're done here, no more survey data anyway.

Not the topic I expected to find, but still this is really valuable "primary source data" - you can't trust the literary class fully on these things, having first hand quotes from community members on otaku culture in the era is always valuable.

Sorry if you got tricked into reading this - in my defense I did too!

[glassbirdfeather]

Complaining about the final boss in Shadow of the Erdtree, both in terms of lore and mechanics. Spoilers for the end of Shadow of the Erdtree:

Part 1: The Lore

I think the ending is really good and foreshadowed well in it's own story. I think it is fitting and well told. But it isn't living in its own bubble. It exists in context to a previous story directly connected to it. In the context of the entirety of Elden Ring, it sucks.

If we were just dropped in the Shadow Realm and the main game didn't exist, it would be really, REALLY good. The problem arises when also having the context of who Miquella was in the base game. His motivations in the DLC retcon the motivations from the lore of the base game. And the retcon is worse. The thing that made him fascinating was that he was the only compassionate character among Marika's children, the only one who didn't care about petty power plays because he was focused on helping people and helping his sister. That it is revealed he is just as shallow and self-centered as the rest, so much as to be willing to endanger his sister in exchange for a consort after all the lore surrounding how he wanted to help her, takes away the facets that made him unique.

This may also contribute to why there are two general camps of people who like or don't like how Miquella is portrayed. There have been a couple of years between the original game and now. Memories of the original game's lore--if people even read those particular bits of item descriptions in the first place--have had time to fade.

However, I acknowledge that item descriptions in Elden Ring intentionally have author biases. It could be said that every Miquella-related item description was told from the perspective of someone bewitched. That would make a lot of sense.

So in the end, this also is a personal preference. I think that Miquella turning out to be a brat who will sacrifice his sister for his consort is much less interesting than him being motivated to do bad things for his sister.

This leads into the overlap between pure lore discussion and mechanics.

Part 2: I CAN'T FUCKING SEE

The last boss fight is shit. Part of what convinced people that the leaks were fake, not considering lore implications, is that many people looked at the attacks that were happening and judged them to be bad.

As someone with a passing understanding of editing animations and moves in a game, something that can be done with little modding skill to create a new enemy is to use existing animations and add new effects to them. People were convinced the fight was fake because of how many moves looked similar to ones from previous FromSoft bosses with lightning effects glued on. I cannot speak to the alleged copied animations in this fight, since I don't have experience with every FromSoft game, but I don't actually think reusing old bosses and animations is inherently a bad thing. The real complaint was that it looked to be both reused animations and extra effects.

Stretch new textures over existing enemies, increase the speed of their attacks, and then add events to those attacks that spawn a bunch of effects like explosions, or lightning bolts. These are all things I could do with my limited knowledge. These are the things that some mods have done, and have gotten ridiculed for. The ridicule is because doing that demonstrates a shallow understanding of what makes a fight not just hard, but fun.

I'm no master of boss design myself, but I can say with confidence that spamming incredibly long attack chains containing effects that blind the player and prevent them from seeing the next move in the chain is bad game design. Something that has been established as an unspoken but understood rule in souls-genre games is that you should be able to dodge an attack while standing point blank in front of the enemy. Whether this is by rolling, jumping, or running away, you know what's happening from seeing the start of the enemy's animation, and you should be able to escape being hit by the attack. I also argue that by this metric, Waterfowl Dance is a badly designed move, but I digress.

Waterfowl Dance is one move in an otherwise stellar boss fight.

In the DLC final fight, I. can't. see.

The screen is covered in lightning for at least 1/3rd of the battle, often making dodging a game of guess and hope. I 100% acknowledge that I was not good at that fight, and that many of the attacks that hit me were dodge-able if I'd learned them more. But some of them were chains of attacks that demanded I blindly learn a random rhythm of button presses. On account of all the lightning from the previous attack hiding the next swing.

One of the things I actually did like about the fight was the grab being a guaranteed 2HKO regardless of health values. It would have been a great gimmick on a better fight. Where I had a better probability of seeing it so I could dodge it.

I also liked the warp-in speed effects of the boss jumping in, although such warps felt very buggy.

Were the lightning effects transparent or otherwise did not obscure the battle so terribly, I wonder what kind of fight it would actually be. Maybe the attack chains only feel unreasonable to dodge to me because I cannot see what is happening in them. It is possible that the fight itself is just bad, and the lightning is, just like in a bad mod, being used as a crutch to hide a very boring, simple moveset.

But it is impossible for me, in the game's current state, to imagine how that fight might play.

Because I can't see shit.

Part 3: The Remembrance

Turning in the remembrance and a duplicate of it just to end up with a total of 3 Radahn swords I think really shows the lack of creativity under the lightning. That is what the essence of the DLC final boss distills down to: 2 variations of a sword we already have.

If the fight had been something COMPLETELY different, perhaps we would have gotten something interesting from Miquella's side of the pair. Something that bewitches a struck enemy? I don't know.

The last fight was a spectacle, but only due to all the fancy effects that it vomited everywhere. Remove them, and I suspect there exists an uninspired base.

[molsno]

one of mainstream feminism's largest failures of the past decade or so was the propagation of the term "toxic masculinity." I don't mean to say that the ways that men uphold rigid, overly-restrictive notions of masculinity shouldn't be discussed and criticized, but the name given to this phenomenon failed to accurately describe it for what it is: transmisogyny.

I think that here, julia serano's definition of transmisogyny makes it clear why that's a better word to describe this phenomenon. transmisogyny is the intersection between oppositional sexism, which is rooted in the belief that male and female are rigid, mutually exclusive, and "opposite" categories with no overlap between them whatsoever; and traditional sexism, the presumption that femininity is innately inferior to masculinity. when these two forms of sexism intersect, the result is transmisogyny.

when you look at it this way, it becomes clear why "toxic masculinity" is an insufficient term. when a man chastises a young boy for crying, or when a woman mocks her male date for ordering a fruity drink at a bar, it's a message that communicates two things:

"you're a man. that behavior is categorized as feminine, so it is off-limits to you."

"because that behavior is categorized as feminine, doing it anyway will make you inferior to other men."

because the message is a combination of these two forms of sexism, it's transmisogyny, even if the person being chastised is not transfem or even gender non-conforming. however, let's be clear: this doesn't mean that men are uniquely victimized by transmisogyny. while yes, it is painful for some men to be held to these expectations, by and large, it is men who stand to gain the most by upholding them.

the goal behind this particular instance of transmisogyny is to discourage men from becoming "lesser" in the eyes of society. it is to punish them for being feminine, so that they will police themselves without anyone needing to punish them further. it is to prevent anyone assigned male at birth from even thinking about partaking in femininity. it is to stop trans women from existing, because we vehemently reject the notions that the two sexes are opposites with no overlap and that femininity is inferior to masculinity in the first place.

men benefit from this form of transmisogyny, and until now, they've never been held accountable for it. sure, maybe cis women will ridicule a man who refuses to order a lavender drink at a coffee shop and only uses 3-in-1 shampoo with "men's" in a big bold font on the label for being insecure in his masculinity, but this minor grievance is easily outweighed by the many privileges he holds for being masculine. maintaining these privileges is of the utmost importance for him, which is why, even after years of mainstream feminists raising awareness about and mocking "toxic masculinity," men still uphold and enforce the transmisogyny that allowed them to obtain these privileges in the first place. their position at the top of the gender hierarchy is a great place to be, and they can only stay there by ensuring that everyone else is firmly beneath them, with trans women at the very bottom.

and let me make myself clear from the outset, before this post starts circulating around and people start adding their own additions to it. it is a failure of mainstream feminism that this topic always begins and ends with discussions about men, when the people who are the most traumatized by this phenomenon are trans women. yes, it is unfortunate that many men have been so heavily conditioned by this phenomenon that they can't so much as cry when someone near to them dies, but I have very little sympathy for those men who then turn around and enforce the very same transmisogyny onto others.

furthermore, nowhere in this post did I say that only cis men benefit from this form of transmisogyny; trans men can and do uphold it, and likewise benefit from doing so, albeit usually to a lesser extent than cis men. even if they do so because their masculinity is called into question at a far greater rate than cis men's masculinity (and thus the stakes for failing to conform are higher), it still pales in comparison to how often trans women have been harassed and assaulted for failing to conform to the expectations of masculinity that were placed upon us all our lives, expectations which most of us never wanted anything to do with.

moving forward, we need to discard "toxic masculinity" as a term and start describing it for what it is: transmisogyny. we need to center trans women in the conversation, as we're the ones who are the direct targets of transmisogyny. we need to hold tme people accountable for enforcing these overly rigid gender roles in the first place - ESPECIALLY cis men, who benefit the most from doing so. and most importantly, everyone needs to stop talking over trans women when we discuss transmisogyny by redirecting the conversation to talk about how it hurts some other group. it should be enough that it hurts us. transmisogyny is the core of so many forms of gendered oppression that challenging it directly will benefit everyone in the long run, but it will have the most immediate and profound impact on us, and I think that's an important enough reason to work to combat it.

[sinning-23]

Can we have a first kiss scenario with bertholdt and whoever else you want, thanks

OF COURSEEE! HERES PT 2 of the my first kiss headcannons!

Ps. Sorry this took so long I had to rewrite a part after it got deleted and it made my UPSETTI

Bertholdt

Your first kiss was in secret. You had been dating the tall and quiet brunette for a while and after dinner in the dinning hall you two had decided to walk for a bit together. He was a hel of a whole lot taller than you so when you did finally kiss he was bent down to meet your lips. He’s quick to have a grip around the back of your neck as the kiss manages to deepen. Times like these the height difference is a nuisance, so he doesn’t hesitate to pull you up a bit more while you stand on your tiptoes.

His face is beet red and you can’t help but laugh.

“Did you want to walk jsut so you could kiss me away from everyone?” You ask, your hand overlapping his, which was still on your neck.

His blush darkens. Guilty

"I-I just dont like the idea of everyone see us do that. I get teased you know." He admits as you chuckle, pressing another kiss to his lips and soon his cheek, and finally all over his face.

Levi

It was an accident. You had only done it out of reflex. Everyone deserved forehead kisses before a good night rest. Thats just like- science (Hanji strongly disagrees that it’s science)

Anyway, yo u had been up finishing paperwork with one another and he had slipped into a nap, his head was rested against his hand and he would sometimes fall forward, startling himself awake. This time however, he hadn’t dropped his head at all, and his breathing had become far deeper.

A smile falls over your lips and you stupidly pressed your lips to the captains temple.

He shoots awake, glaring at you as if you were spontaneously combusting.

“Did you just kiss my forehead l/n?

You are free, trying to find a way to explain yourself without coming across as a complete and utter fool.

"I-I...Captain, I apologize. It was out of habit." You gulp, seeing him furrow his brows a bit before resting his head completely don't he desk.

"Uh-huh. Dismissed l/n."

Erwin

It wasn’t common knowledge that Erwin was a married man, but even though you were somewhat secret, you relished in being his lifelong partner. You first kiss was actually at the wedding.

It was the tiniest ceremony, only some of Erwin’s closest colleagues and friends. He said a few words, the whole scene feeling as if you two eloped more than got married.

PDA wasnt particualart something Erwin favored and given both of your current positions it was wise to keep your relationship hidden, especially when Erwin had plant y targets on his back. The last thing he wanted was for harmt o come to you.

On the day of your 'ceremony' You decided that you should at least be out of uniform and dressed nicely with one of your favorite shirts and pants. Ernwin had done the same and here you were standing in front of one another.

He doesnr speak whwn he slips teh ring onto your finger, he only lingers there, his eyes fxated on the band now secure on your body. Like some form of ownership. it was odd but somewhat comforting? It would have relieved him far more if he had know you'd felt the same that day. whe you slipped the metal loop onto his had in return.

"I suppose this makes me your wife now." You hum, hand creeping up to child his face. He's exhausted, but so are you. Taking a chance eon love in this world was a risk but one he was open to talking with you.

"I suppose so." He responds, his lips pressing to yours in a sweet, and sealing kiss.

Hanji

Hanji was chaotic to say the least, but that was all the more reason to love them. On this particularly hot summer evening, There was much work to be done while they filed the reports from their experiments. You on the other hand simply sat pretty atop the center while they paced back and forth between stored specimens and paper to scribble on.

You'd quite fond of them, sticking around at hours of the night to listen to ramblings about titans and new discoveries. Of course, you hadn't told them that seeing as you were supposed to remain professional and a crush on your superior was far from that. Anyway, Hanji had asked is you seen this super important vial they needed and lo and behold it was behind you.

So, like any sensible person would, you grabbed it and handed it to them with a soft smile.

“AH! I could just kiss you!” Hanji cheers, holding your face before pressing the silliest, most comical kiss to your forehead before strutting out the lab to complete whatever new task was at the forefront of their mind.

Miche

It wasn’t your first kiss…but your last. Apparently there had been a breach in the wall and now you were tasked with evacuating near by villages. Miche, was talked with the obvious titan issue and your stomach dropped to the soles of your feet. You didn’t doubt your husband’s capabilities, no. He was highly skilled, but your intuition was harder ever wrong…and something bad was bound to happen if you two split up right now. Your panicking, hands shaking in the handles of your swords, the situations options limited.

You fight the oncoming panic and move to the roof he was currently standing on. He turns to face you, the look nothing short of confused and slight anger.

“You need to go. Now.” He speaks, more of an order than anything excised god knows if he’s show you jsut how wallet your panicked state effected him, he’s follow you in a heartbeat.

“I won’t say everything will be okay-“

“When you come back everything will be okay.” You explain, voice shaking. It breaks his heart

You can feel your eyes burn, tough he was skilled, you felt as if there was no fighting the feeling of impending doom.

You press your lips to his, your faces melting together like two puzzle pieces. How facial hair is scratching your face but you would have it any other way.

His face is tinted afterwards, and his lips purse as if he wished to say something. It was easy to see what it was so you said it instead.

Love is such a funny and cruel thing in this life

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

One massive difference between the western vs JP TWST fandoms that I haven't seen anyone else talk about is that the Japanese fandom seems to dwell in "grimdark" territory while the western one tries to see the best in these characters. From my glimpses into the Japanese fandom, they seem to see these character's darkness as the main appeal. That's reflected in their fanworks, since yandere works or things that dive into their dark sides are more popular there. While there is plenty of yandere content in the west, it seems more like a niche than the most popular way to portray the characters in fics where as in Japan that seems to be the norm on Pixiv. The JP seem to LOVE their grim dark fan theories WAY more than the western one. The western fandom seems like the opposite. Works seeing their humanity, them being decent partners, etc is the norm. Thought?

“I can fix him” vs “I can make him worse”—

Mmm, I have many thoughts on this but before I get into them I want to clarify some things. This is so everyone reading is running with the same definitions and thus can better understand (and perhaps contribute to) the discussion.

Firstly, “grimdark” can refer to any and all materials which people may find disturbing, amoral, and/or violent. Grimdark is NOT just yandere content. Although yandere content is an example of grimdark, not all grimdark is yandere.

Secondly, I want to dispel the notion that “grimdark” and “seeing the best in the characters” are opposites. They are actually not mutually exclusive; it is entirely possible to have the two overlap. For example, it is common for assassins to be after Kalim’s life (which is dark). However, Kalim himself is very cheery despite being cognizant of this (which is not dark, he is able to see the nest of this situation and is often praised for being a spot of sunshine in the cast). There are also much darker takes while staying true to Kalim’s caring nature, such as fandom works which portray his big heart (a strength) as a detriment, causing him to fall into deep paranoia and/or guilt. For the purposes of this discussion, I will still refer back to those two original viewpoints, just be aware that they are not truly “opposites”.

Lastly, the ask is phrased such that it suggests that dark content is “the norm” in Japanese circles. In actuality, the content you see is dependent on personal biases and what the algorithms feed you based on your likes and communities. While it’s true that perhaps Japanese fandoms have more dark content than the western fandoms, that doesn’t necessarily mean it is “the norm”. It is still considered niche, it is just that the fandom culture of Japan is more open-minded about these depictions, as well as fans’ choices to filter out dark content if they do not wish to encounter it. Western fandoms are very different in this regard. Rather than ignoring content they dislike or find disturbing, western fans tend to adopt an attitude of openly renouncing that which they dislike and, at times, calling out those that do enjoy that kind of thing. It is this social stigma and pressure within western fandoms which creates a less welcoming space for dark content to exist and to be publicly shared. Rather than saying one type of content is “the norm”, I think it’s more accurate to say certain types of content are deemed as being “acceptable” or “unacceptable” depending on the fandom culture.

Now then, as to why the western fandom in particular tends to favor works that show the TWST characters in a favorable light rather than focus on their darker aspects? There are many possible explanations for this:

Cultural differences in fandom spaces. I already mentioned this in the opening paragraphs, but it warrants repeating here. Japanese fans are much more reserved in how they express themselves and tend to keep quiet relating to content they dislike or don’t care for. Western fans are more outspoken and may actively “call out” what they dislike. This is typically observed in collectivist vs individualist countries, as conformity with the group/not causing disruptions to the group harmony and standing out and being one’s own individual are opposing ideologies and values.

Japan’s culture is one that stresses the importance of politeness and being proper. The country has strict social expectations of people and especially women (which makes up the majority of TWST’s fanbase). It is only in the realm of fiction where Japanese women are able to freely express themselves and to explore subject matter deemed socially inappropriate, however dark it may be. Fandom is their creative outlet. Meanwhile in the west, it’s the opposite. Overt uniqueness is more acceptable overall, but there is also a present effort of policing online content, often in the name of social activism and inclusion. This makes sense for western countries, many of which sport much more diverse populations than Japan.

Going in with the certain expectations of the game. Many western fans mistook Twisted Wonderland for a dating sim when its marketing materials first released, maybe due to a language barrier. This set them up for the wrong expectations about romancing and potentially “fixing” a villain, even when the game finally came out (due to residual feelings; I know for a fact there are still a handful of fans who want TWST to have a dating sim spinoff or wish the game had been a dating sim from the start).

Changes made in the localization.

I’m not sure what the ratio of westerners playing EN to JP, but the official localization made several changes which “blunted” some details or changed the context of some characters’ stories. For example, Jamil is no longer a “servant” but an “employee”, Kalim is his “employer”, not “master”, and Jamil complains that his parents will be “so mad at him” when he is asked why he doesn’t rebel against the Asims whole the consequences are made much more explicit in JP (his family will be thrown out onto the streets). Cater, Floyd, and Idia have also notably gotten a lot more memey dialogue that was not there in the original. These softened versions the characters may make western fans more likely to see the a less severe backstory or have goofier interpretation of certain characters.

Popular western media’s interpretations of villains. A lot of western media nowadays tries to redeem the bad guys. For example, in many young adult and adult romance fantasy novels, the love interest is often presented as a misunderstood bad boy that has a change of heart because of the protagonist. Disney themselves is also guilty of “softening” many of their more recent villains and giving new backstories to older villains to make them more sympathetic (Maleficent, Cruella, etc). Compare this to “classic” era Disney villains, who are just evil for the sake of being evil. These will naturally inform the general public’s views on villains. (It is also to be noted that Disney villains and specifically their evilness are extremely popular in Japan. They are adored for being fun characters, not necessarily admired for being bad.)

Disney’s reputation, especially in the west. The company is closely associated with fairy tales —and, more importantly, with magic and happy endings. This, too, may contribute to western fans wanting to look on the “bright side” of things and wish for happy endings for characters that are, in fact, part of the Disney brand. The Disney message is perhaps strongest in the west due to having its origins there:

The age differences between the Japanese and the western fandoms. The western TWST fandom skews young overall whereas the Japanese TWST fandom is older (which is why a lot of TWST merch you’ll see is expensive household goods and fashion; this is to appeal to working Japanese women). As I mentioned in the previous point, this means younger audiences in the west may mostly encounter media which presents villains in a more sympathetic light, or at least much earlier (which leaves a stronger impression). This makes them more inclined to view other media in a way which is more flattering for the villains even when they are dark or morally ambiguous in canon.

Younger fans may also be not as informed and thus lack some perspective, which means they may have more limited views. A 15 year old wouldn’t have as much life experience as a 20 year old—that’s not a bad thing, it’s an objective truth that has an impact on their perspective. They may see things more simplistically or see easier solutions to complex problems. Younger fans may, for example, be able to identify circumstances as being traumatic or unfair (such as the case with Jamil’s past and Leona’s desire to introduce new technologies to his home country) but may not understand the full ramifications (ie why Jamil cannot just leave or have Kalim to speak with his dad about it, how difficult Leona’s plans would be to implement as well as the social pushback due to the harm the advances could pose to the environment). This leads to more of a lean to positive content, as dark content would inherently mean problems are much more difficult to resolve and have more factors to them than what was originally considered.

I want to also point out that younger fans are especially concerned with what their peers may think of them, and so they may feel too embarrassed to dabble in darker content. Some dark content may also not be perceived as appropriate depending on the fan’s age. Alternatively, some fans may just not feel comfortable exploring those ideas (and that’s totally fine!).

Western fans project onto/relate to the characters they love. I’m not saying that Japanese fans don’t do this, but I feel like western fans tend to do this to a VERY strong and sometimes parasocial degree (which has its roots in comfort character and kinning culture, things which largely do not exist in east Asian fandoms). Like… western fans can relate to a character so deeply that any criticism of that character can feel like a personal attack on them, the fan. Likewise, if that character is presented as having flaws or doing questionable things (even if it is canon), the fans that are strongly projecting onto the character may feel that they themselves are flawed or somehow “bad” too. This can lead into trying to defend or justify the character’s flaws or actions. Maybe a fan that has shared trauma with a character sees them as a proxy and want to see the character (and thus, themselves) in a positive way or in good situations. In eastern fandoms, it is more appropriate to consider the character a separate entity rather than relating to or projecting onto them.

The western rise in moral justification for the content one consumes. This is a big one, and it has been alluded to in some of the other points. There is this belief circulating in western fandom spaces that “the content you consume reflects your real world values and morals”. So… if you believe that (or are in a social space where it is believed) and happen to like evil or morally grey characters, what does that imply about your own character? Does that mean you are morally bankrupt or that you condone bad things? Personally, I don’t think so but I understand why this way of thinking could make people feel ashamed. They may avoid looking at “dark” interpretations of a character and instead focus on wholesome feel-good content so that the content they consume reflects “well” on themselves. In other cases, fans may try to twist the bad points of a character to make it “morally okay” to like them.

That’s everything I could come up with off the top of my head!! I hope this was interesting to read and maybe helped you see the international TWST fandom from a new perspective. With that, I’ll leave you with this relevant Wreck-It Ralph quote: “I’m bad, and that’s good. I will never be good, and that’s not bad. There’s no one I’d rather be than me.”

[venomhound]

Hazbin Hotel - Handkerchief Headcanons

The rat in my brain was overclocking on its wheel about the Hazbin guys and their potential handkerchiefs after watching some historical romance. Then I had the existential realization that I am probably the singular cancerous overlap between Hazbin Hotel and actual historical fiction. So I have to do these myself I guess. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

(also huge thanks to @heart-of-the-morningstar for beta reading the Lucifer section; I love you boo-boo, MWUAH)

Hyperfixated rant pretending to be a history lesson and headcanons below the cut -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

*gently taps pointer on desk then smashes it against whiteboard*

HERE IS A HISTORY LESSON FOR YOU NERDS ABOUT HANDKERCHIEFS AND HANDKERCHIEF FLIRTING.

First off, I need to say I AM NOT talking about the Handkerchief Code. This is a form of LGBTQ+ signaling that many falsely say started in the 1970s (thats just when it first became 'mainstream', its much MUCH older then that).

Handkerchiefs have been used for flirting for literal centuries. There is so much history to them that I cannot possibly hope to cover. The Victorians even had an entire body language system dedicated to them. These are basically just historical highlights or things specifically related to this post.

Alright. So before the 1960s (when handkerchiefs finally went out of style) EVERYONE had one. Disposable tissues weren't even invented until 1924!

Needless to say, pre 1920s, open flirting (especially by a woman) was frowned upon. So handkerchiefs became a main method of doing so.

Im sure yall have seen the infamous 'lady dropping her handkerchief in front of a guy she likes' move in movies or tv. This is because a woman used to not be allowed to talk to a man she was not introduced to first. So by dropping her handkerchief in front of a guy she wants to talk to, this gives the guy an opening to pick up the handkerchief, give it back to her, and introduce himself. Thereby making them acquainted.

Because everyone had a goddamn handkerchief, if a woman is crying, as a man, you would only offer her your own handkerchief if your courting her, her lover, or actually related to her. Otherwise you would just say 'dry your tears' because she got her own stupid handkerchief. If you were none of those things and still gave a woman your handkerchief, WOOF, that was forward of you. You just did the Victorian equivalent of an unsolicited dick pic.

Lovers would often exchange handkerchiefs as tokens. Usually with their names or initials embroidered on the handkerchief. Men would openly wear these, usually tucked into a pocket or hat brim, with the initials showing as a way of bragging about their lady.

Although there are stories of womanizers who would have entire hat brims stuffed with a rainbow of handkerchiefs as a way of bragging about their conquests (and all the broken hearts they left behind).

Friends would also sometimes exchange handkerchiefs but this was really only in specific circumstances and I don't want to get into the weeds on that. Just keep in mind that it CAN be a friendship thing too.

Also for long distance couples (or just general weirdos) it was common for them to send their lovers a handkerchief scented with their perfume/cologne.

Im only telling you this fact because there is a really funny story about Elizabeth the first. She attended a tennis match between two men who were attempting to court her (pun not intended). In the middle of the match, one of the men walked over to Elizabeth, asked for her handkerchief, and used it to wipe the sweat from his face (scenting it). The other man was so offended by this action that he fucking jumped the first guy and a fistfight ensued. When the second guy was asked why he attacked the first, he said the handkerchief wipe was 'too saucy'. I cackle every time I think about this.

ALRIGHT. Now the history lesson is over and you have a general idea of handkerchief flirting. In my unprofessional opinion, the Hazbin guys who carry around handkerchiefs are; Alastor, Sir Pentious, Vox, and Lucifer (technically)

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Lucifer ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

I say technically Lucifer because he has a really bad habit of just forgetting about it or leaving it in random places. Guy will reach in his pocket for it, realize its not there, and be like 'oh no NOT AGAIN'.

He has a stash of them in his room and workshop. He also will carry around like two or three of them when he goes out because he KNOWS he is gonna lose at least one of them.

Lucifer's handkerchief is super fancy. Its made out of pure red silk (he likes the texture), with fancy white lace edges. A giant Morningstar family crest is embroidered in the center in golden thread.

I headcanon that Lucifer has always been a shut in and rarely, if ever, goes out. But when he does, this guy is super gracious with his handkerchiefs (he does carry around several after all!). Like, to the point its an actual problem.

Lucifer will see a girl crying and offer her his handkerchief without a second thought. Goes right over his head that its a little weird to give your handkerchief to a stranger and extremely flirty to give it to someone at all.

Has 100% started fights or accidentally made people fall for him because he didn't realize the message he was sending. I also just generally headcanon that shit like this (Lucifer being a social dumbass) is a big reason he hates Sinners.

An example: from Lucifer's POV, a guy just randomly started attacking him for comforting a lady; when from the guy's POV, Lucifer, the King of Hell, just came onto his guy's wife when she was emotionally vulnerable. But Lucifer being an idiot is another post >.<

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Vox ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

Although he was at the tail end of the handkerchief times; Vox still has one personally and sees it as a sign of being a proper gentleman. Or at least he says thats why he has one...

Vox normally keeps it hidden on the inside of his suit jacket though because he doesn't want to deal with random people asking about it or trying to get it. The other two Vees aren't exactly pleasant about it either.

Valentino constantly tries to steal it as a joke, he will 100% start waving it at Vox like a maiden sending their beloved off to war while playing keep away with it (Valentino says stupid shit while doing this too; like "Oh my beloved Vox! You've come to save me from this wretched boredom that has befallen me!"). Of course this is when Valentino isn't using it as a towel to clean up messes of various bodily fluids and nebulous origin that is. (Vox has opted to burn multiple handkerchiefs due to this)

Velvette just thinks its the funniest thing and makes fun of Vox so hard when she sees it. Who carries around handkerchiefs anymore? Isnt that unsanitary? What does a computer need a handkerchief for anyway? Does he sniff it or something? She will not let up.

So yeah, hidden in the pocket it goes. Honestly, Vox will only take it out if you two have become good friends or he has a major crush on you. Otherwise he will just throw a tissuebox at you.

But no matter if you two are platonic or romantic, if you accept his handkerchief and keep it, Vox is guaranteed to stutter and glitch a bit. The fact that you didn't make fun of him and actually want to keep a personalized item from his time just gives him butterflies.

For how flashy the Vees tend to be, your surprised Vox has such a pleasingly monochrome handkerchief. Its a beautiful azure blue with his Voxtech symbol embroidered in the corner in a dark cobalt. Made of pure cotton for optimal handkerchief efficiency because of course it is.

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Sir Pentious ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

Highkey one of the first germaphobes. Due to, you know, being alive in the time of plague and all.

Like Lucifer, he has a million handkerchiefs. But in Sir Pentious' case, its because he can't help but be polite and give one to his friends when they are sick or crying... and then burn/destroy them right after if they give it back.

Sir Pentious actually has two sets of handkerchiefs. The main ones are simple handkerchiefs made out of patterned cotton-blend fabric. That way they can be mass produced by the Egg Bois and still look nice. These are the ones he carries several sets of and gives out freely.

Be warned: sometimes the Egg Bois like to put their own names on them for fun. So you may end up with a relatively nice red and black plaid handkerchief with a very poorly embroidered 'STANLY' on it in neon green.

The other handkerchief type is his actual personal one. Its black and yellow striped with Sir Pentious' full name embordered along the bottom in a light gray. With how nice the embroidery is, you figure he must have done it himself.

Like I implied before, Sir Pentious is very protective of his handkerchief and doesn't give it to anyone. He normally just gives them his throwaway ones because he is afraid of germs and getting sick.

One of the first ways Sir Pentious tried to show Cherri Bomb his interest was offering his actual handkerchief to her. It was a super big deal to him. Cherri, not understanding the significance/meaning of the gesture, proceeded to blow her nose in it and give it right back.

Needless to say, the Egg Bois were quick to set fire to it

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Alastor ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

Alastor has a handkerchief. But he wont offer it to you. Nope. Not ever. Not as a flirting gesture, not even as a friend. Your not getting it.

There is a reason for this though; its because Alastor technically doesn't carry his own handkerchief. He actually carries around the handkerchief belonging to his late mother.

The handkerchief is practically ancient at this point. The just sheer amount of washing and general use it has gone through has worn nearly all color away from it. Most people falsely believe it to be a classic, white handkerchief. But when the light hits it right you can see hints of the vibrant color it once had.

Alastor's mother's initials are also hand embroidered in the corner. Since Rosie is the only one privy to the actual origin of the handkerchief; usually people falsely assume it to be a token from a lover and a sign that Alastor is already taken.

Alastor actually loves this because it helps ward off unwanted advances. He will totally pull it out and fake wipe his face with it as a subtle way to tell a lady to back off him.

He is super protective of it and delicately hand washes it himself. Alastor wont even let Niffty touch the thing. You get the feeling that it serves as some kind of weird security blanket for the stag.

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AN: This took wayyy longer to release then I meant it to because its the first writing thing Ive put on here and Im anxious about it aaahhh. Ive reread it like 12 times and I still guarantee I missed things OH WELL