#which again not necessarily bad but something definitely feels off about it

[kaibump]

I dunno man between all these 'have you watched' 'have you read' 'do you know this character' type of poll accounts it really seems like people under a certain age bracket straight up barely consume a lot of media or bother to watch anything older than current seasonal fodder and it's kind of sad tbh

[gold-onthe-inside]

wrong person...

who? spencer reid x blake!reader content warnings: reference to an open wound (as a metaphor), kissing, implied sex based on: req. @imagining-in-the-margins wrong recipient prompt (nsfw) - Character sends their friend a detailed review of their recent sexual encounter… and accidentally sends it to the person they’re reviewing - can be xOC word count: 1.5k a/n: it broke my heart having to make penelope the bad gal in this fic, but tbf, my girl can cross boundaries, even with the best intentions. reader is a psychologist and alex's goddaughter, set in s8 (maeve does not exist), after the fifth date. also, slightly tweaked the prompt so it's not necessarily a play-by-play review, but enough to sting. spencer's not the kind that kisses and tells in my book, and i don't feel comfortable writing reader!characters that do.

So, maybe it wasn't an entirely awful idea to let your godmother set you up with her colleague. He's definitely smarter than all your own colleagues combined, and easy to wind up too. In the beginning, it had all been to get Alex off your back, and then you hadn't been able to stop thinking about him all week. You had rules to navigate this stuff, you had refused to get attached until he texted or called you first, and there was a 5th date minimum to invite him in like this. Most days, your heart still felt like an open wound, too many men using you like a plaything, a stepping stone to someone else, but Spencer was different.

You leant on your elbow, always an early riser, the sun barely peeking through your curtains, as you took in his features - the slope of his nose, his perfect peach coloured lips that had been reverent to you all night, cleverly placed love bites behind his ear and chest. At 30, you were too old to be careless. He had freckles too, if you looked close enough, lightly dotting his nose. He's gorgeous and it felt ridiculous that he didn't know it with the way his jawline was sculpted by Michelangelo himself. You'd learnt a long time ago not to trust boys as pretty as he was, but Spencer was all heart, no matter what Alex said about his brain capacity. He was earnest in a way that modern men weren't, you could see why Alex was begging you to see him.

Slowly but surely, he started to stir, hazel eyes blinking up at you. "Hi, beautiful," he murmured, all hoarse from sleep and you couldn't help a smile.

"Morning, sunshine," you replied, and he's already leaning up to kiss you, his hand sliding into your hair, and you sink into his warmth, letting it dissolve you all over again, until his phone started to ring, and he had the decency to give you a sense of closure before pulling away entirely.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, slowly opening his golden green eyes.

"It's your job, don't apologise," you said, your voice mellow like honey, and he kissed your nose before shifting to take the call. You'd rather he kiss you like that and leave for work, than the guys who left before you could wake up - or worse, while you were in the shower. You sat up in bed, watching as he pinned his phone between his ear and shoulder, scrabbling to put on clothes and hopping into a pair of trousers, trying not to laugh - he was easily embarrassed, not that you minded. You liked reassuring him afterwards that you really did like him.

He doesn't blame you for speaking up before he hangs up, you were only trying to help, calling out his name to toss him his watch, which he caught in both hands (he's getting better at that), but it means Penelope hears her voice. And from there on, all hell breaks loose.

Penelope's relentless with this stuff, really the only thing that bothers him about her. He loved her with all his heart, but sometimes, she just didn't know where to draw the line. It's not the first time in history that an FBI agent had done something like this. Alex was kind enough not to say anything, which everyone took as a woman of her age being demure and respectful. But the rest of them…

It was his fault entirely, he should have had better control of his temper. But texting had always been a pet peeve of his, and every time his phone went off that day, it had been Penelope probing about the girl she'd heard over the phone. He'd done everything he could think of, even begged Morgan to call Penelope off the hunt, told him he'd do everyone's paperwork for the rest of the month, but even Morgan knew when a cause was lost. Penelope had tracked his card, found the restaurant the two of you had gone to (some niche Korean place he knew you'd like), and had gone to the extent of tracking you down and ID'ing you, and doing a full background check, and was updating him so often that he'd lost track of the case he was actually supposed to be working. Not being able to narrow the profile any further and the next phone vibration being the last straw, he'd texted back in a blind rage, not even reading the message that had actually been sent.

Spencer: stop texting me at work! i'm probably never gonna see her again anyway, so just STOP!

In his defence, not that he actually thought he had one after his mistake, Penelope had actually stopped texting him after the message had sent. He'd thought it was his text, but it had actually been because she'd tracked down their unsub. It wasn't until he called you with the intention of telling you that he was flying back that night (and was craving Thai food and her company) that he realised something was wrong, because you wouldn't answer. You always answered your cell. Not because of him personally, or so he was flattered to think until Alex corrected that, but because the virtue of your profession. Any call could be an emergency call so you always always picked up. You'd interrupted dates to answer calls - not that he minded, not with how his job sent him all over the country at a moment's notice. So, why wouldn't you answer his?

And then he realised. He had fucked up. Massively, massively fucked up. You had texted him around noon, wishing him luck with the case, that you had taken a lunch break in case he wanted to talk, and asking whether he'd eaten. To which he'd replied with a complete overreaction and now he was sorely tempted to jump out of the jet without a parachute.

He closed down any kind of small talk, sidelining Penelope's attempt to probe deeper, but even then, it was, what, an hour between Quantico and DC?

You were watching Roman Holiday on your couch, practically swallowed in blankets as you watched your comfort movie when the bell rang. Repeatedly. You didn't pause the movie - you had it memorised - as you left your cocoon to answer the door, looking through the peephole first. Spencer was panting, out of breath, almost bent over as you opened the door, mostly to make sure he didn't pass out. "What, were you chased by a hyena or something?"

"I'm… so… sorry," he panted, looking up at her. "I… I can explain all of it, I didn't mean it."

"I'm surprised you even came here, I thought you were never gonna see me again," you said dryly, knowing it was a low blow - he deserved a chance to explain - but you had been miserable for hours. He could live with a little of your sarcasm.

"I didn't mean to send it to you," he said and you tilted your head.

"I know that, you're too smart to mix up pronouns," you said.

"Penelope… heard your voice this morning… she was like a dog…. With a bone all day, just… constantly texting me and asking about you and I couldn't focus at work, I just texted it to her to shut her up for a bit, I didn't… actually mean in… Can I sit down?" he asked, pleading at you, and you really can't resist those eyes, so you stepped aside, letting him into your apartment.

He's too good at his job not to see how that one text had ruined your day - with your favourite movie and everything but the mattress from your bedroom hauled out to the couch, and he crashed into an armchair, his gaze on you as you poured him a glass of water and walked over, kneeling beside him to make him drink it. He let the cool liquid wash down his throat, then set the glass aside, leaning over and closer to you. "I really really didn't mean any of that. I mean, I did mean the stop texting part, and I meant it for Penelope, but not for you, I always want to hear from you, I mean, if I could, I'd shrink you down to Tinkerbell size and take you with me everywhere, but miniaturisation technology is too far away, we're barely getting 3D printing to work reliably--"

"I believe you," you said softly, pressing your hand to his wrist, feeling his thumping pulse.

"You do?" he asked, looking at you with those beautiful eyes.

"I do," you said. "To be fair, it did feel very uncharacteristic of you to say that to me, let alone get angry at me."

"It's just been a really long day," he said, tiredly, and you nod.

"I have the perfect cure for that," you said, smiling up at him.

"Yeah?"

"Roman Holiday and takeout," you replied and he smiled back down at you.

"Sounds perfect to me."

[ally1uvsu]

Freezing. | Choi su-bong (Thanos) x Nam-gyu

Summary; Where Thanos can’t really help but notice how Nam-gyu constantly makes paws with his sweater, and how he sometimes rubs his hands together. Just to his luck, it doesn’t take long for him to discover that Nam-gyu’s body is weirdly cold, just like his hands. Info; fluff, mentions of drugs (avrg thangyu behavior tbh), it’s that whole cold body and warm body shit, definitely ooc but who cares? I don’t, feelings realization because why not, cuddling, Thanos just thinks a lot on this 😭, both of them ponder over their feelings for each other but don’t necessarily speak up, hand-holding (slightly), overall just these two being really, REALLY, gay. Notes; they’re both real gay and we all know it like.. why is Nam-gyu so clingy like chill Thanos is all yours.. anyways uh forgive me if this is bad it’s like nearly 1am and I’m getting the most random ideas but i’m also exhausted so hence why this is so short bye. And also, the lowercase thing is intentional.

It was right after the second game, that stupid pentathlon one. Honestly, it was kind of fun considering the fact Thanos was high off his ass the whole time, just like Nam-gyu.

Nam-gyu, who speaking of which, Thanos was eyeing just now as he watched the short-haired man in line for his food. Thanos couldn’t really help but notice something now that the effects of the drug kind of rested down after the game. Nam-gyu was constantly making sweater paws.

That made Thanos furrow his brow, he observed him rub his hands together before letting them fall limply to his sides as he stepped up in line and grabbed the food from the guard, and Thanos drifted his gaze elsewhere, not really feeling like being caught staring.

The group sat together as always, yet Thanos was a bit quieter than usual. He was thinking, was Nam-gyu cold? Hell, this place wasn’t even cold, surprisingly. It was kept at room temperature and sometimes it even got stuffy after the games due to having over 100 people inside a room to sleep together.

His gaze drifted to elsewhere in the wall as he picked on his food wordlessly, some might as well just think he’s high, at this point. And then Nam-gyu leaves to the bathroom at some point and Thanos is staring again. Which doesn’t go unnoticed by a girl beside him, Se-mi.

"You’re staring." She said teasingly and almost matter-of-factly, shit, was it really that obvious? Yes, it is and he knew it. "Didn’t peg you for the kind of guy to have a thing for people you treat like sidekicks." She snorted, even though Thanos knew she was just teasing, his heart involuntarily skipped a beat.

"The hell would I be staring at him for?" Thanos replied back, although with less bite to it than it’d usually have. "I’m just observing, jeez, a guy can’t even stare anymore nowadays."

"I never said you couldn’t, but you sounded really defensive over there.. sold yourself out." Se-mi said before standing, giving him one last glance. "Y’know, it’s not that hard to see it, honestly. You both don’t even try." And then she left.

Thanos paused, it wasn’t hard to see what? Whatever she was implying.. it wasn’t something the rapper was totally opposed to. Well, in his honest opinion, he has always been bisexual, he often leaned towards women.. but doesn’t really have an experience with men.

But something Thanos can’t deny is that he indeed does find Nam-gyu weirdly attractive at certain points. Well, mainly the way he ducks his head down or covers his mouth when he laughs, or when he bites his lip when he’s focused or even nervous.

And then he stopped, why was he even thinking about this again?

And yet, the poor rapper didn’t even have a chance to think further when his gaze locked into the familiar figure walking back inside the room, again with those stupid sweater paws. Seriously, was Nam-gyu really that cold all the damn time or was it some sort of habit?

But hey, at least he could pull it off. If anything, Thanos thought the way he stupidly covered his hands with the tracksuit jacket as if it was too big for him was cute.

Thanos wondered, Nam-gyu had pretty hands, if he also had to be honest. He drifted off again as the man sat by him and began talking about whatever. Maybe he could hold them? Just not right now, in front of everyone. Just to his luck, Nam-gyu’s bed was above his, Thanos was in luck.

He just kept nodding here and there to whatever Nam-gyu was talking about, and obviously, he noticed it. But didn’t really pay any mind to it, guessing Thanos is just probably high anyways. "And then he messed up on the whole…"

He never would need to know Thanos is wondering if Nam-gyu had a cold body. Thanos knew himself for having a warm body at all times, would it feel good to have Nam-gyu close? Maybe he could use his own body heat to warm him up. And while he brainstormed, whatever his mind picked up from Nam-gyu’s words were all uselessly jumbling up into nonsense into his brain. "Yeah, Nam-su. You tell them." Thanos said without really knowing what was Nam-gyu even talking about.

"It’s Nam-gyu." The other corrected slightly annoyedly, and plus, that didn’t really have anything to do with the topic. Seriously, what was this junkie on? Probably on the pills safely kept inside the cross necklace but whatever, he didn’t have the luxury to pick who listens to him in this hell of a place. "Yeah, whatever." Thanos shrugged at the correction, not thinking much of it, really.

Thanos just really decided to stick to whatever plan he made, which could be considered extremely half-assed. The second it was time for lights out, Thanos found himself sitting on his bunk with Nam-gyu chatting away uselessly about their lives out there.

Well, that was until that fucking voice announced lights would be out in ten minutes, but, at least Thanos could put his plan to action.

"Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, dude. Get some sleep so we can-" Nam-gyu was already standing up as he said that, but he paused when he felt a hand on his. His gaze drifted lower to see Thanos’ hand loosely wrapped around his palm, almost holding it.

"Are you cold?" Thanos finally blurted out, referring to the way Nam-gyu placed his jacket. Thanos let his hand relax onto the other’s, and then he realized just how freezing cold his hand was for some reason. Was Nam-gyu’s body that cold all over?

Nam-gyu seemed to be caught extremely off-guard by the gesture, brows furrowing before he opened his mouth to speak, and yet he didn’t pull his hand back. "Not necessarily," he said quickly, well, yeah, he was cold. But there wasn’t much to do about it and complaining would make it worse.

"Your hands are freezing cold." Thanos said again as if it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world. "No fucking shit." Nam-gyu said as he finally pulled his hand back. "Whatever, if you’re done holding my hand to state obvious shit, I’ll go to sleep now."

But Thanos didn’t let go this time, determined to buy Nam-gyu with whatever excuse he could find in the moment. "Your body is probably freezing, too. And these blankets are just fuckin’ excuse of an actual one."

Nam-gyu blinked, "The hell are you implying?" And then Thanos scooted over and patted a spot next to him on the bed, looking at Nam-gyu with a almost pleading gaze. He paused for a bit, it wasn’t light anyone would see it, the lights were slowly dimming down to a nothing. And plus, he did feel cold in the moment. Maybe body heat could help him rather than the ass mattress and the stupidly thin blanket.

And then Nam-gyu was sighing and sliding under the covers next to Thanos, he didn’t face him, hell no. Nam-gyu probably would have a heart attack considering how he has been on his head about the purple haired one. As much as he hated to admit it, Thanos’ body felt good against his own. Weirdly warm and comfortable.

He closed his eyes briefly, trying to will away the blush on his cheeks as he felt arms draped over his waist, he could very distinctively feel the rapper’s warm breath on the back of his neck, and it wasn’t long before he felt a hand on his own, with lazily intertwined fingers. He shivered very visibly when he felt a hand slide under his shirt.

Thanos had just found out Nam-gyu’s body was just as cold as his hands, and his own felt actually nice on the raven haired man’s body, they weren’t cold like his, Thanos wasn’t cold like him. Thanos’ body was warm in a comfortable way that Nam-gyu weirdly found himself craving.

"I think I might burn your blanket down so I get to do this more often." Thanos mumbled, a shit eating grin on his face Nam-gyu couldn’t see but he could tell was there. "Don’t you fucking dare, asshole." He said back, but in reality? He wouldn’t mind having this for the rest of the game days until he died, that is, if he does die in here.

And Nam-gyu also found out that he could fall asleep faster than usual with a certain purple haired man with his arms draped over him while his hands were on him.

This probably sucked bye, I’m so sleepy and I have a biology essay due in like five hours and a half and I’m barely halfway through it, enjoy tho:)

[sushirrrry]

RIBBON a harry styles christmas one-shot; 15.4k words cw: intercourse (m/f) summary: harry, a cynic during the holidays, meets marianne, who turns his holiday blues into the prettiest colors of reds, greens, and whites. happy holidays <3

The only thing that Harry hated more than Christmas was the obligational Christmas parties that would precede it.

Anything that revolved around Christmas seemed to harsh his mellow; it was a build up to a day that truly didn’t seem to mean anything to him. He wasn’t religious, wasn’t surrounded by the family anyone would call supportive or happy, and most of all, he was alone most of the time beside his friends that seemed to keep him grounded. But they all had lives, families of their own to celebrate with.

Maybe it was because he never felt the joy in it—the simplicity of laying around the fire in the morning, sipping coffee as he looked out at the snow falling in heaps from the sky.

The holidays felt like a chore, like something people did because they always felt that they had to. Harry didn’t want to, so he just chose not to. Maybe that disillusioned cynicism led him to be more Scrooge than Frosty, but his hatred of the color red, twinkling fairy lights, and eggnog didn’t seem to cease when he was walking towards a house with a gift tucked under his arm, and a bottle of red wine was held in his other hand.

His friend, Manuel, had invited him for a holiday party—while he had attempted to say no, the office where he worked seemed to convince him that it wasn’t just about the party, but more about the conversations and refreshments that would also be involved. Drinking was a hobby that Harry could definitely get behind, so he found the bit of holiday joy in him.

Just for an hour, anyways, he had told himself.

Harry had been sat at his desk, staring at the blinking cursor on his laptop screen. It mocked him, a silent reminder of the article he had promised to deliver three days ago, but had been caught up on his phrasing, which meant that his true journalistic tendencies had given him the worst imposter syndrome since he had begun working there over five-years prior.

The topic was festive cheer in London—a piece meant to capture the magic of the holidays for his editor’s seasonal roundup. But every time he tried to summon the right words, his mind wandered to the irony of it all.

Harry, the self-proclaimed Grinch of his social circle, tasked with romanticizing a season he barely tolerated. Yet, there he had been, writing about the holiday markets, sending letters to Santa, and the most festive places to find the holiday lights.

The idea of writing about twinkling lights and joyful carolers felt disingenuous, like trying to paint over a gray sky with glitter. He sighed, rubbing his temples. Maybe he’d made a mistake trying to test his abilities on writing what he didn’t know—he had decided to try something new in taking on a project that he didn’t necessarily love. He was good at writing what he liked, so he was trying his hand in writing something he knew nothing about.

Now, the only person to hold accountable for choosing this was himself. It mocked him;  Harry’s cynicism made every attempt to write about holiday joy feel like a bad joke.

It was then that he heard Manuel approach his desk, a sly look on his face as he started off with, ‘I know that you probably won’t come, but.’. Harry had rolled his eyes, but kept the smile on his face to let his friend and coworker know that he wasn’t just doing this for the holiday, but that he was still a good member of society, and a social one, at that.

So, instead of complaining, he had found a small gift for Manuel and his girlfriend, Franny—again, against everything that Harry was, and found it in himself to at least look the part of joyful.

When he had approached their home, Manuel looked him over with a already drunken, precarious smile that welcomed him as soon as the door opened.

“There he is,” Manuel laughed, pulling Harry inside, “Didn’t get the memo that you were supposed to wear red or green, but I guess I can’t be picky.”

Harry looked down at the black jumper that coated his body, the black denim pants making him stand out against the bright, bold colors of the holiday season. He handed Manuel the small gift—which was a puzzle of Dachshunds with Santa hats sitting around a fireplace. He knew that Manuel and Franny had two, so he was a bit chuffed with himself that he could find a gift that would actually make sense.

“Red and green just aren’t my colors,” Harry told him with a smirk. “Coal is black—still Christmas themed.”

Manuel laughed, “Only for the bad boys and girls.”

Harry shrugged with the same smirk that he had been wearing; Manuel took Harry’s coat, along with the gift and led him to the kitchen. “You can put the wine there in the kitchen—feel free to open it and get yourself a glass.”

The flat was already buzzing with the chatter of partygoers and the faint strains of Christmas music when Harry arrived. The scent of mulled wine and spiced biscuits lingered in the air, mingling with the occasional waft of a fresh pine wreath hung by the door.

Warm fairy lights draped across the walls cast a golden glow over the room, illuminating the sea of faces as people laughed and mingled, their cheeks rosy from the warmth and alcohol. It seemed that Harry knew most people here—knew was also a strong word, but he had been familiar with a lot of the faces here.

Harry could hear bursts of laughter coming from the kitchen, where someone was loudly debating the merits of figgy pudding and the actual necessity for fruitcake in the holiday season. The whole scene was a chaotic patchwork of holiday cheer, meticulously curated to appear effortless. He scanned the room, his writer’s mind noting every detail as potential material, before grabbing a glass of mulled wine from a nearby table and retreating to the sidelines.

Manuel’s place was decorated within an inch of its life: fairy lights twinkled around every doorway, garlands adorned the walls, and a massive Christmas tree dominated the living room, its branches weighed down by an excess of ornaments—each one meticulously placed. Harry stood with his glass of mulled wine from the kitchen and tried to blend into the background, his writer’s mind quietly cataloging the clichés for potential use later.

That was the way his mind worked, using every ounce of inspiration he needed was standing in this room with him.

“Enjoying yourself?”

The voice caught him off guard from his studying of the atmosphere. He turned to see a woman standing beside him, her dark hair tied up in a loose bun as strands fell into her face. She had an easy smile and the kind of confidence that put people at ease; the reindeer on her sweater was wearing an elf hat, which Harry took note of quite quickly.

“It’s... definitely festive,” Harry said, lifting his glass took take a small sip of the warm liquid, nodding to himself. He hadn’t recognized the woman, not knowing if she had worked in his building or not.

“Festive?” she repeated, her eyes narrowing in mock offense. “You’re not a Grinch, are you?”

Harry took a moment to look at her, wondering if she had been serious with her approach. When she saw her smirk and lifted eyebrow, he bit the inside of his lip and shrugged at her.

“I prefer the term ‘realist’,” he countered. “But sure, I guess we can villainize the term with ‘Grinch’.”

She laughed, a warm, genuine sound that made him smile despite his deepest will to not show any smile at all.

“Marianne,” she said, extending her hand out to him; her eyes were a deep chocolate brown, almost matching the doe-like creature on her sweater. Her lashes fluttered, long and full of volume to brighten them in a way that Harry felt intrigued by.

“Harry.” He shook her hand, noting the faint speck of paint on her knuckles. “Artist?”

“Teacher,” she corrected. “And you?”

“Uh, a writer,” He nodded, referencing Manuel who had been standing next to the tree, talking to a few other coworkers of his, “I work with Manuel, actually. Same agency. Currently battling a deadline, actually. Thought I’d come tonight to find some… inspiration.”

“Ah, the glamorous life of the creatively tortured,” Marianne teased, which made Harry’s heart skip a beat at the nonchalance of her wit, “What are you writing about?”

Harry sniffled, feeling his body get warmer at the thought of her initial intrigue; she was watching him intently.

“Uh, well,” He swallowed, “Really just writing about the festivity of London during the holiday season. What makes everyone so happy this time of year. That kind of thing.” Harry looked down into his cup, almost like he had been ashamed that he was unable to come up with those areas in his life.

Marianne nodded in understanding, humming along as she thought about it.

“You’ve really got that ‘I’d rather be anywhere else then here’ look, which is ironic considering this party is practically a Hallmark movie, and I’m not sure I know anyone that would pass up a comfy little Hallmark movie.”

Harry felt the smirk he had been wearing continue to creep up on his face. “Don’t let Manuel hear you say that. He’s very proud of his aesthetic,” Harry looked at the 8ft tall tree, “Lots of… color.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Did you see the mistletoe over the door? Also, very subtle.”

Harry turned towards the mistletoe that he had been standing underneath in the doorway from the kitchen space to the living space. A flush grew on his face as he took a few steps forward.

Marianne noticed, biting the inside of her cheek at his forward awkwardness before she took in a breath.

Harry licked over his lips before he turned back towards her, “So, how do you know Manuel and Franny?”

Marianne held onto her own mulled wine taking a gracious sip, her other hand in her back pocket before blinking a few times. “Uh, well, I work with Franny, actually. We work across the hall from one another.”

It occurred to Harry that he recalled Franny being a teacher, “Oh, right—I knew that. I mean—I knew that she was a teacher.” He corrected himself. His eyes looked up at the television that had started to play Last Christmas, people’s faces were audibly excited to hear it. Harry took in a breath, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the sound of it.

Marianne hummed, “Yeah, she teaches older kids, but I’m with the little ones,” She showed him her knuckles again, “As you can see by the lack of coloring inside the lines.”

Taking another long swig of the mulled wine, Harry cleared his throat noticing that it had gone down rather smoothly. His shoulder was bumped by someone trying to get by, and he took a step towards Marianne. But this time, he was tackled by the smell of an ocean breeze, coconuts and the salty air.

He furrowed his brows before shaking his head.

Harry glanced at her knuckles, biting back a smile now that he was a bit closer to her. “You have the hands of someone who truly understands chaos.” He teased her dryly, licking his lips to taste the subtly of the mulled wine remnants.

Marianne raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Ah, yes, artist. I think some artists may be offended by the comparison. Don’t expect me to pull out the crayons and start coloring in the lines with you, Harry.”

Harry chuckled, the sound light and easy, then his gaze flickered back to the TV, where the first few notes of Last Christmas were filling the room. Again. He groaned, shaking his head. “If I hear that chorus one more time tonight, I might just start questioning my life choices.”

“Poor Harry,” Marianne said dryly, a mischievous grin tugging at the corner of her lips. “Are you going to cry into your mulled wine now? Do I need to get you a tissue?”

“My empty mulled wine cup,” Harry shot back, half-joking. “I mean, it’s basically a Christmas carol written by a sadistic mastermind who knew exactly how to ruin people’s will to live. It’s basically Stockholm Syndrome in song form,” He rolled his eyes, “But I only give it a small pass because it’s Wham!”

Marianne snorted into her drink, clearly trying not to laugh. “Honestly, though, I get it,” She raised her brows, “The Wham! part, I mean. I love George Michael.”

Harry said, a playful edge to the tone in his voice. “We’re all trapped in this toxic cycle of holiday cheer, Marianne. How are we supposed to be happy in the state of the world?”

Marianne shot him a look, trying to suppress a laugh. “You’re ridiculous. You know that, right? Did Santa spit in your eggnog? Maybe you should think more about being thankful that your world is supplying mulled wine and Last Christmas on repeat rather than the worst parts of the world right now.”

“Sounds kind of dirty.” Harry said, leaning in with a grin, ignoring her attempt to turn his thoughts around, “Don’t want to think of Santa spitting anything.”

Marianne flushed at his comment, “Oh, so you’re freaky, too? Who thinks of Santa doing salacious acts?”

“You’re telling me Santa isn’t getting it on up there?” Harry quipped, “You’re telling me there’s other things to do in the North Pole than having salacious affairs with his wife?”

Marianne’s eyes widened in mock horror, and she nearly choked on her mulled wine. “I—what? Oh my god, Harry, stop.” She quickly wiped her mouth, though her face was flushed with both laughter and embarrassment. “I did not sign up for this version of Santa Claus. I’m just trying to have a holiday conversation here, and you’ve turned it into... whatever this is.”

Harry leaned back with an exaggerated look of innocence, grinning ear to ear. “What? You’re telling me you never wondered why Santa is so jolly all the time? Living in the coldest place on Earth... how do you think they stay warm?”

Marianne rolled her eyes, her expression a perfect blend of disbelief and amusement by his conversation. She hadn’t found this kind of conversation all night. “I don’t even know where to begin with that. First, no one needs to know about Santa's... extracurricular activities. And second, you're really going to make me picture Santa in some very inappropriate situations, aren’t you?”

Marianne reached into the kitchen, grabbing an open bottle of red wine before pouring more into each of their cups.

“Hey, I’m just trying to broaden your holiday perspective on the why,” Harry teased, nudging her shoulder. “Maybe you’ve been too focused on mulled wine and Christmas carols and not enough on the real holiday truth of it all.”

Marianne let out an exaggerated sigh, pretending to be exasperated, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “Yeah, because Santa's private life is exactly what we need to be focusing on. Forget world peace. Forget the spirit of giving. Let's talk about Santa's salacious affairs with Mrs. Claus, maybe that’s what will save our Christmas joy.”

“I’m just saying,” Harry shrugged with a playful grin, “some things need to be looked at a bit more closely.”

“Well, maybe it’s you that needs to be unpacked,” Marianne quipped, she raised an eyebrow. “Honestly, I think this may have some underlying tones for you. I saw you walk away from the mistletoe, but,” She bit her lip, “Maybe you’re ignoring some aspects of your life.”

Harry looked into his cup, pursing his lips to the side before he felt a chuckle leave him.

“All I’m saying is ff I’m not here, who will remind you that everything isn’t as wholesome as it seems?”

“True,” she said, taking a longer, deliberate sip of her drink, clearly still flustered but enjoying the chaos of the conversation. “But next time, could we please talk about something that doesn’t involve Santa Claus' imaginary affairs, or the world’s most depressing Christmas carol?”

“You’re just mad I’m ruining this precariously false magic of Christmas for you,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head. “But, fine. Next topic: What’s your big Christmas wish this year? Aside from not having to think about Santa’s... extracurriculars.”

Marianne gave him a long, pointed look. “It’s for world peace and... if you make sure the wine stays full.”

“Well,” Harry grinned, taking the bottle that she had just sat down back on the table. He tilted it up pouring in a bit more to her cup, “that’s a wish I can definitely make come true.”

Her eyes narrowed for a split second as she studied him. “I mean, you’re tolerable. For now.” She took another sip of her wine, then leaned back against the wall, clearly enjoying the playful back-and-forth. “But honestly, I don’t know how you manage to be such a Scrooge with the Christmas spirit in the air.”

“I’m just realistic,” Harry replied, winking. “You can’t expect people to act like happy little elves when they’re being force-fed Last Christmas and peppermint lattes all month long. It’s exhausting.”

Marianne shook her head with a smile, clearly enjoying the banter between her and Harry now. “Maybe you just need to let loose a little. Have some fun. I don’t know... maybe kiss someone under the mistletoe or something.”

“Did the wine go straight to your head, then?” Harry’s grin widened as he met her gaze. “Is that an offer?”

Marianne shrugged nonchalantly, feigning indifference. “Only if you stop conspiring about Santa and his possible sexual affairs with Mrs. Claus. I must paint the holidays in a positive light for you, it seems.”

“Bold move,” Harry said with a half-laugh. “But I think I might need some help doing that, however, with your painting skills, I don’t know how well that will work.”

In a confident pass, Harry took a large step backwards, letting himself standing under the doorway that the obnoxiously large mistletoe had been hanging. Leaning against the doorframe, he took another large sip of the maroon wine before raising his brows at her.

Marianne soon felt a rush of adrenaline; her eyes landing on his green ones that had somehow been completely thought upon until they met in that moment. Taking a step or two, Marianne moves closer to him, letting her hand move to the nape of his neck. Taking the initiative, she let the distance between them close—her lips landing on his quicker than he had expected.

When they kissed, it was impulsive but electric, the kind of spark Harry hadn’t felt in a long time. His breath hitched as their lips met, the warmth of her touch grounding him in a way that startled him. Marianne’s fingers brushed against the nape of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine, while his free hand instinctively settled on her waist, pulling her closer. Their hips touched, brushing against each other.

For a moment, the room around them blurred—the music, the chatter, the festive chaos fading into an unimportant hum.

Harry’s mind raced, caught between the raw intensity of the moment and a nagging disbelief that this was actually happening. Marianne tasted faintly of mulled wine, her kiss both confident and exploratory, as if testing the boundaries of this unexpected connection. The steady rhythm of his breathing had grounded her in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, both catching their breath even when neither had exerted any energy whatsoever. Something about it was breathtaking.

Harry chuckled softly, his voice low and a little unsteady. “Well, that was... unexpected.”

Marianne let her hand drop, a bit confused by his statement, “You knew it was coming, right?”

Harry blinked, swallowing as he shook his head then, “Oh—yeah. I wasn’t talking about… that.”

Marianne blinked a couple of times as if trying to process what just happened, seeing his eyes sparkle by the help of the twinkling lights that hung around the living space filled with people. But, in some odd way, she had found herself drawn to the one person who sat in the corner on his own.

“So, there you go,” Marianne took a step back, letting the space between them became vacant again, “Just making sure you are given the first-hand experience for your Christmas writing piece.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, a smug grin creeping across his face. “I’m just here for learning the traditions.” He looked in his cup, wondering how it was empty again. But the dizziness of his head had started to make more sense, he thought.

She tilted her head, clearly not buying it, but there was a flicker of humor in her eyes. “You know, I don’t think you’re as smooth as you think you are.”

“Hey, I’m just going with the flow,” Harry said, shrugging dramatically. “Can’t help it if I’m naturally charming. You were the one telling me I should take part in the mistletoe of it all.”

She narrowed her eyes, a hint of mischief in her smile. “Oh, I see how it is. You think this is your grand holiday conquest? I’m just one of many victims of your holiday charm?”

“Victims is a crazy word to describe yourself in this moment, Rudolph,” Harry’s thumb nudged the redness of her nose, knowing it was a fresh blush from the wine—possibly the kiss they partook in, “Now I’m the villain in your Christmas story? I was just trying to make your night a little more interesting.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” Marianne replied, her lips still slightly parted, her expression a mix of disbelief and amusement at the way that he had certainly waltzed into her life. “But I’m going to need a little more than a holiday kiss to think you’re anything other than trouble. A quiet, Grinch sitting in the back of the Hallmark movie of a party. How do I get myself involved with your type?”

“Trouble?” Harry chuckled, leaning against the doorframe casually, still watching her with that confident smile. “I’m nothing but a good time, Marianne. Don’t act like you’re not enjoying yourself.”

“I’ll enjoy myself more when you stop making me think about Santa's love life,” she shot back quickly, her tone still playful at him. “You seriously ruined that whole festive fantasy for me, by the way.”

Harry grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. “What can I say? I’m a truth-teller—it’s a gift. Someone has to keep you grounded in this reality.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “That’s what you think, huh? Well, I’ll admit, the night wouldn’t be nearly as interesting without you here. I had a conversation with someone who was a banker. Don’t know if I made great financial decisions this holiday season after that convo.”

Harry stepped forward again, not too close, just enough to keep the tension hanging between them. “I’m pretty sure that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all night,” He licked over his lips, which he noticed she had taken quite an interest in, “Being a tortured poet, or whatever you called me.”

The words sat between them when Marianne tucked her hair behind her ear, the parts that had fallen out of the messy bun. The moment stretched between them, the playful tension still hanging in the air like the faint scent of mulled wine.

Harry broke the silence first, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he glanced toward the door that he hadn’t walked in too long ago. “So… want to get out of here?”

Marianne blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion, but the idea wasn’t entirely unappealing—she was just a bit unsure that he had offered at all. She took a small step back, still holding onto her drink. “Really? Just like that?”

“Well, yeah,” Harry said, his grin widening as he stuck a hand in his pocket. “It’s the holiday season. The lights are up, the streets are empty, bit of snow on the ground... I don’t know. Seems like the kind of night you’re supposed to be doing something a little reckless.”

“Reckless, huh?” Marianne repeated, arching an eyebrow as she looked him over. “Is that the angle we’re going for now? I’m supposed to just follow some guy I barely know into the night and trust it’ll be… memorable?”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, a laugh escaping him. “Fair point. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. But, y’know… it could be fun. I mean, it’s not like we’re going to exchange deep secrets or anything.”

“Right,” she said, her voice slightly guarded but still curious at his intentions. “A walk could be good. In the cold. And no deep secrets—got it.”

Harry took a step closer, his eyes flicking to the door as if to give her the opening to say no if he was being a bit too forward. But he felt that he had been listening to and reading the signals correctly. “Well, if you’re not too afraid of a little adventure, I’d be happy to escort you around.”

She gave him a look, trying to read him, her lips quirking up at the corners despite herself. “I don’t know. A walk with a guy I just met. Seems a little… risky.”

“That’s the fun of it,” Harry said, his voice lowering slightly, his smile taking on an edge of uncertainty as if he was testing the waters himself. “Who needs safety when you’ve got the Christmas lights and a bit of mulled wine to keep us warm, right?”

“Mm, right,” Marianne murmured, her eyes flicking between his, the flicker of doubt still there but quickly overshadowed by something else entirely. “You’re really persistent, aren’t you?”

“It’s the innate journalist in me,” he answered with a soft chuckle. “But maybe I just really want to know where this night goes, and it’s something I have to investigate for myself.”

She paused, still unsure, but the weight of the moment—the chance to step outside her own box, to experience something unexpected—tempted her. “Okay, fine. But only for a little bit,” she warned, her voice light but serious, as though setting a boundary. “I’ll have to get my coat.”

“I’ll make no promises,” Harry replied, grinning. “But I’ll try my best.”

Marianne took a deep breath, then reached for her coat that had been hanging by the front door. When she had moved towards the door, he turned towards the open bottle of wine, taking it in his hands nonchalantly, hiding it against him before following her.

“Here, take this,” He handed the bottle to her, putting on his own coat, finding it within himself to tease her further, “Figure we don’t need a cup. Already shared lips, and all that.”

Marianne rolled her eyes, attempting to be disgusted by his charm but it was seemingly working against her.

“Alright. Let’s go, then. But I’m warning you—I’m not some easy Christmas miracle.”

Harry’s eyes sparkled as he held the door open for her. “You don’t have to be, but I’m already smiling in the face of a ten-foot tree filled with nutcrackers and elves, so you’re already doing something right.”

As they stepped outside into the crisp winter air, slipping away from the noise of the party, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that this walk—this simple, uncertain step into the night—was somehow an attempt at him moving outside of his sheltered, inhabitable box. But, then again, they barely knew each other. It could be awkward. It could be nothing. Yet, as the chilly air hit his skin, he found himself hoping for a little something.

Their conversation meandered from the absurdities of Christmas traditions to a shared love of books. With each few steps, Harry took a sip, passing the bottle to Marianne before she’d stop at a house and marvel at the lights that covered the snowy homes.

Marianne lit up as she described her favorite art books, her hands animated as she talked about the way colors and brushstrokes could evoke emotion. Harry, in turn, shared his fascination with biographies, his voice gaining energy as he recounted tales of writers and their chaotic lives.

“So, what’s the most pretentious book you’ve ever read?” Marianne asked, a teasing glint in her eye as she tucked her hands into the pockets of her long coat.

“Easy,” Harry replied, his breath frosty in the air. "Proust’s In Search of Lost Time. Took me two years to get through it, and I’m still not sure I understood half of it."

She laughed, tilting her head. "Two years? That’s dedication. I gave up on it after fifty pages. Life’s too short for that much existential pastry talk."

“Pastry talk?” Harry chuckled.

“You know, the whole madeleine thing? It’s like an entire chapter about a biscuit or tea cake or whatever the hell it was. Something about taking the time to look back.”

Harry smirked at the way that she described it, almost laughing at her memory. “Fair point. What about you? What’s the most overrated book on your shelf, then?”

"The Great Gatsby," she said without hesitation. "It’s just rich people being sad."

Harry gasped in mock offense. "That’s a classic! That actually has a good point to it.”

"Sure, if you like a story where everyone’s miserable and nobody learns anything and it doesn’t even have a happy ending—Daisy just succumbs to societal pressure, and Gatsby lets her get away. And Tom is a fucked-up man with residual trauma and blood on his hands."

Harry chuckled, raising an eyebrow as he glanced over at her, clearly intrigued by the passion in her voice over talking about the story. His own thoughts and curiosity raging inside of him as he continues to question and push her thoughts, “But I still think there's something about the way it captures the illusions we all chase, right? The idea that money can buy happiness—or at least the appearance of it. Gatsby just sits in that large house, waiting, and longing for something that money can’t buy him.”

Marianne snorted, kicking a small patch of snow off the sidewalk as they walked. "That’s exactly it. It’s like a big, glittery metaphor for capitalism. Everyone’s just pretending to be happy, but underneath, they’re all screwed up. Like… it’s not even about Gatsby wanting Daisy—it's about him wanting the dream she represents. The 'American Dream' that’s totally unattainable and hollow, if you ask me."

Harry gave a low whistle. "Okay, you're really passionate about this." He smirked, trying to tease her, but buying into to rile her up more, "Maybe you're right. Or maybe I just like reading about rich people doing dumb things. It's... comforting in its own way."

Marianne shot him a side-eye, amused by his statement. "You would. You’re probably one of those people who reads Gatsby with a glass of scotch in hand, pretending to understand the intricacies of wealth and how the story itself was stolen in the first place."

Harry took a swig of the bottle of wine, handing it over to her, kicking a bit of snow himself. "Okay, maybe not the scotch part, but... you can't say it isn't fascinating. The idea that these people are stuck in their own version of the dream, but none of them can see how messed up it is because they’re just blind to their own misery. Gatsby is kind of tragic, in that way."

Marianne raised an eyebrow, her breath misting in the cold air. "I’ll give you that," she said, turning to face him, a teasing smile on her lips. "Maybe you're not as much of a lost cause as I thought. Understanding tragedy in a way that Shakespeare would be proud of."

Marianne took her own swig of the bottle; the warmth of her fingers was thankful for the liquor flowing through her veins.

Harry grinned, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets as they walked through the snow, the soft crunch of their footsteps blending with the gentle fall of flakes around them; he grinned at the sight of them falling from the dark sky. "Do you think it’s a love story? Gatsby?”

Marianne shook her head, laughing softly. "It’s not a love story. It’s an existential crisis in a green light. A beautiful, well-written existential crisis."

"Now who’s the cynic?" Harry remarked, his tone warm despite the teasing. "You know, for someone who seems to always look on the bright side, you’re sure good at analyzing all these sad, tragic romantic stories."

She shrugged nonchalantly, her breath visible in the cold before she felt a ping in her chest that was going to lead them down a different road of conversation.

"Sometimes the most realistic thing about life is that it doesn't end the way we want it to. And that’s fine. People don’t always get happy endings. So, yeah, maybe I’m a cynic in that way, but I do try to think about happy endings. But I think the stories that end badly are the ones that have the most to say."

Harry’s eyes lingered on her, a little more serious than before. “Yeah, maybe. Or maybe we just don’t know how to recognize a good ending when it’s staring us in the face. So used to being cynical you forget there are happy parts sprinkled into the story.”

For a moment, the lightness of the conversation faltered, the cool air between them carrying a heavier silence. Then, as if breaking the spell, Harry smiled, nudging her with his elbow. “But hey, I’m still not convinced Gatsby was a waste of time. He had a plan—he had the right idea for how to be romantic, but it just didn’t turn out in his favor that time. At least it’s better than reading a book about some random guy pretending to be some tragic, tortured soul who ends up alone, right?”

Marianne shot him a smirk at his placed words. “You wouldn’t happen to be describing yourself, would you?”

Harry’s grin grew wider, shaking his head. "Well, I did just say I wasn't the tragic type—so... guess we’ll never know."

Marianne felt the laughter dance out of her, the sound light and genuine, and they both slipped back into an easy rhythm as the snowflakes danced around them, each of them lost in the moment but strangely at ease with one another despite how little they really knew about each other.

Their banter flowed easily, the conversation peppered with playful jabs and surprising insights. By the time the topic shifted to their favorite holiday stories, the space between them had shrunk. Harry found himself watching the way Marianne’s eyes sparkled when she laughed, while she noticed the way his face softened when he spoke about writing. The connection between them deepened, unspoken but undeniable, as the night carried on.

As the night wore on, their banter became more flirtatious, the space between them shrinking until they were leaning in closer than necessary, arms practically touching each time they would stop to linger and look at the lights of the house. The way that the wine worked was in their favor, letting them be loose with the spirit of the holidays wrapping around them—even if Harry hadn’t expected it.

When they were stopped for a moment, Marianne turned her head into a tilt as she stared at the house in front of them. There happened to be a slur in her words as she mumbled out, “I have a bad astigmatism, and don’t have my glasses on, so these lights are kind of wigging me out. Feels like I’m on one and I really don’t know how I feel about the stupid light up gnomes.”

Harry bit his lip as he started to laugh at her remarks, trying his best to keep it inside. But when she turned to look at him, she noticed that the dimples in his cheeks were trying extraordinarily hard not to bust out laughing—which in turn, made her start to laugh even harder.

Tears started to build up in her eyes as she found it harder to breathe then, pulling her sweater over her face. She used her hand to push at Harry slightly, “Stop laughing,” She said, finding her breath, pointing her finger at him.

But it didn’t stop—he didn’t stop. Instead, he found himself laughing harder. Marianne wiped at her eyes, feeling the coolness of her fingers before shaking her head.

Harry let out a snicker, still grinning from the laugh she’d triggered. "I’m sorry, but you’ve got to admit it’s hilarious. Gnomes, really? Someone got paid and spent their money on Christmas gnomes? Horrifying. Especially if you can’t see that well."

Marianne rolled her eyes, trying to fight off the smile that threatened to spread across her face. "You're awful. I’m out here having a moment with these damn lights, and you're over here cackling like some evil villain."

Harry raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening at her accusations. Unfortunately, his lips hurt from the amount of smiling he had done that evening, "I can't help it! You’re too easy to amuse. You’re all serious about gnomes, and then—" He stopped himself, letting out a breath of laughter. "Sorry. Can we pretend I’m a gentleman for, like, five more seconds? I liked that part of the night."

She bit back another laugh, wiping at her eyes. "You are ridiculous. You know that, right?"

"Hey, I’m just appreciating the moment." Harry stepped closer, trying to hold his composure. "Look, we’re out here in the snow, freezing our asses off. Gnomes are the least of our worries, except if you’re you."

Marianne tilted her head slightly, her eyes still glinting when she took another close look at him. "Yeah, maybe we should get out of here before it gets worse."

Harry’s expression was far too immodest to hide from her, suddenly looking at her with the same glitter in his eyes that he had shown he before stepping under the mistletoe. “And you were the one saying it was too risky to go on a walk. Now you’re taking me home? Sounds like a perfect excuse to find somewhere warm.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, the weight of his words starting to sink in as she felt herself warming from the inside out. “I mean, if you’re cold, I do have a warm place nearby,” she said, her tone garnered in a bit of a tease now, though a little less controlled than before.

Harry’s expression shifted, a teasing spark in his eyes as he tilted his head. “A warm place, huh? What, like Mrs. Claus, offering me a drink to get me in out of the snow?”

Marianne found herself laughing again, shaking her head. "You’re seriously comparing me to Mrs. Claus now? Maybe I’ll just have to start baking cookies to seal the deal."

"Honestly, though, that’s probably how she got Santa in bed." Harry smirked, crossing his arms as he gave her a sideways glance; he rolled his eyes in a bit of mocking manner, “I mean, you can’t just offer someone warmth without it leading somewhere.”

Marianne chuckled, shaking her head but giving him a sidelong glance to match his. “Oh, you think you're that irresistible, huh?”

“I mean… you’re the one inviting me to warm up at your place,” Harry stepped closer, his voice lowering, the flirtation more obvious now. “So, if the shoe fits.”

She felt a flutter of something unfamiliar at the way his gaze softened, but she shook it off, trying to keep the conversation light. "Alright, alright. If you’re really that desperate for warmth, my place is a couple blocks away." She shrugged, pretending to be casual, but the slight flush on her cheeks betrayed her as she fell into his touch a bit more; his hands moved to the sides of her arms before she turned to look at the gnomes once again.

Harry raised an eyebrow, his grin growing wider. "Well, you are offering warmth... can’t turn that down, can I?"

The air between them shifted. Marianne swallowed, her heart suddenly beating a little faster. “You sure about that? It’s not like I’m offering you a hot tub and a massage, you know. It’ll be more…” She thought for a moment, “More momentary than that.”

Harry chuckled, stepping even closer, “I’m sure. Besides, how bad can it be? Worst case, I end up on your couch with a drink and no gnomes. Preferably no Christmas lights. Not exactly the worst way to spend a night,” He shrugged, “But I guess I could also get behind us taking our clothes off and lying next to each other to conserve body heat—preferably you on top of me, if that is an option I can choose.”

She met his gaze, biting back a smile. "You’re intolerable."

They started walking again, the snow falling more steadily now, the night feeling warmer despite the chill. Neither of them spoke for a few moments, the tension thick but unspoken, a shared understanding between them as they made their way down the street, the promise of something more hanging in the air.

When they arrived at Marianne’s home, she walked up the small steps before reaching for her keys in the jacket pocket. They were both covered in a bit of snow, as it had started to fall more than before. The streets were starting to line with it; Harry stood with her under the awning to hide from the weather.

Her hands slipped the key into the lock before opening the door, the warmth of the house meeting Harry as he walked in behind her.

“Shit, it’s cold,” She cursed, kicking off her shoes and hanging up her jacket. “You can—I mean, just throw your stuff down there.”

Harry nodded a few times, kicking his own shoes off and placing his coat on the hook next to hers. The moment now started to feel a bit more real as he turned to notice her home around it. It was the definition of warmth and comfort; the space smelled like gingerbread, his eyes homing in on the garland wrapped around the staircase railing.

“Would you like something to drink? Hot Toddy maybe?” She offered, shuffling her way towards the kitchen, throwing away the empty wine bottle she had been carrying, “I can also do just tea if you think the alcohol limit has been breached.”

Harry put his hands in his pockets, moving his way into the kitchen to follow her. “Uh—whatever you’re having is fine with me.”

Marianne licked over her lips, tucking her hair behind her ear before she set the kettle on the stove and turned on some hot water.

“I—you know what, actually,” Harry made a remark as they stood in the kitchen. His eyes turned to her as he watched her lean against the counter, her arms were crossed over her chest as she watched him approach her with a look on his face that melted the frigidness of her hands.

Instead of speaking again, his hands reached to grab at her face, pulling her into him with a swift motion. The fluttering of her stomach nearly making her drop to her knees as he tilted her head back, letting his lips roam around hers.

Marianne felt herself moan into the kiss, her hands reaching to hold onto his wrists that held onto her so delicately, but with a needed force that had practically picked her up off her feet.

Pulling away for a moment, Marianne caught her breath; the kiss was unsuspected but entirely encouraged. “Okay, so— uh, let’s—”

“We—I think—” He pieced together, nodding, letting his nose rub against hers.

“Sofa—that’s fine.” She hummed, letting her eyes dim at the feeling of his hands wrapping around her waist. In an instant, his hands picked her up, placing her on his hips as she let her legs hold against him tightly.

The soft feeling of his black jumper under her hands was welcomed as he took them into the living room, placing her down on the sofa—she fell quite a bit from his hips, but laughed at the feeling when her back hit the cushion.

Harry’s eyes stayed on hers but flashed up to the window before he scattered a chuckle, “Window’s fully open.” He murmured, walking over before closing the curtains dramatically quickly. “Your neighbors almost saw you get fully rattled.”

Marianne placed her hand over her eyes in a flush of embarrassment by his words, shaking her head at the way that he spoke. Her feet hung off the edge of the sofa arm where he had left her, “You’re just so charming.”

Harry pulled the jumper off over his head, revealing the white t-shirt he had underneath, his eyes a bit dazed in the heat before he returned to his called upon place. Practically crawling, he found his way above her, the giggle coming from her made him smile. Her legs opened to allow him space for him on the sofa before her hands ran down the cotton of his t-shirt.

Marianne pulled herself up, letting her head rest against the accent pillow closer to the other armrest. Harry braced himself with one hand on the armrest, the other slipping around her waist, pulling her closer. His grin softened as his eyes scanned her face, lingering on the flush in her cheeks and the way her lips parted slightly now, caught somewhere between teasing and expectation.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low, “for someone who just called me charming in an entirely mocking way, you’re making it really hard to believe you’re not into it.”

Marianne raised an eyebrow, her hand still resting against his chest, fingers curling slightly in the soft cotton of his shirt. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself too much. This is about getting warm, remember?”

Harry let out a soft laugh, leaning in closer, his breath brushing against her ear. His nose making it nudge against her throat as he felt her sink into the feeling; her eyes shut at the way that his tongue softly lapped at her jaw. “Is that so? Because from where I’m sitting—or, well, crawling—it feels like you’ve got me wrapped around your finger. Maybe vice versa.”

Her lips twitched into a smirk, but she didn’t move away. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just easy to manipulate.”

His laughter faded into something softer, lifting his head as his gaze dropped to her lips. “Dangerous words, Marianne. You keep talking like that, and I might have to prove you wrong. Play hard to get and all that.”

She met his gaze, her pulse quickening as the air between them thickened. “Big talk for someone who was just crawling.”

“Actions speak louder than words,” He whispered, his mouth finally brushing against hers, tentative at first, as though testing her reaction. “I have a feeling that you could get me to crawl anywhere right now.”

Marianne didn’t hesitate. Her hand slid up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. It was slow but deliberate, a mixture of heat and resistance, the kind of kiss that felt like it could spiral out of control if either of them let it.

When they finally broke apart, her forehead rested against his as they both caught their breath. Marianne let out a shaky laugh, her fingers still tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Well… this escalated quickly. I thought my night was just going to be mulled wine and ginger biscuits.”

Harry’s grin returned, lazy and utterly pleased with himself. “What can I say? I told you that holiday shit was overrated.”

Marianne rolled her eyes but didn’t move away from him.

Harry tilted his head, his fingers lightly tracing circles on her waist as he felt he needed to draw her attention back a little. “Maybe we’re both a little to blame. You’ve got this whole��� 'irresistible' thing going on.”

She laughed, the sound more genuine now, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “You realize we’re strangers, right?”

Harry nodded, his grin softening into something more sincere. “We know each other’s stance on Gatsby, and you’re calling us strangers? At the very least, Marianne. At the very least.”

When he pulled back, she let out a soft sigh, the weight of the moment settling over them. “Well,” she said after a pause, her voice lighter but with a subtle edge of mischief, “if you’re feeling so confident, maybe we should find another way to get warm. A heater would work splendidly in your place.”

Harry laughed, his voice low and rich as he leaned closer. “Oh, is that what we’re calling it now? A heater?”

She smirked, nudging him with her knee. Instead of reacting, Marianne took her fingers at the bottom of his t-shirt, letting it wrap in her fingers before pulling it up. The reveling underneath made her mouth dry at first; she didn’t want to give him too much attention, or it would only make his confidence stronger.

As their lips met again, Harry’s hands cupped Marianne’s face gently, his thumbs brushing along her cheekbones as though he were committing every detail of her to memory. The warmth between them intensified, their breaths mingling as the kiss deepened, slow and deliberate. Marianne’s fingers found their way into his hair, tugging softly, and he exhaled a low, contented sound against her lips.

The room around them seemed to fade into the background—only the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree casting a soft, warm glow in the dimness. Harry shifted, his hands sliding down to her waist as he pulled her closer, their movements unhurried but full of intent. Marianne let out a soft laugh, her head tilting back as she felt his lips trail along her jawline and down her neck, each kiss sending a flutter through her.

“Harry,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, a mixture of hesitation and invitation. Her hands moved to rest against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palms.

He paused for a moment, pulling back to meet her gaze. His eyes searched hers, a question lingering in their depth. She smiled softly, her hand brushing along his jaw, answering him without words as she leaned in to kiss him again. The way she melted into him left no room for doubt.

Harry stood, pulling her with him, their bodies fitting together effortlessly. His hands lingered at her waist, steadying her as they moved toward the sofa, her laughter soft against his shoulder as they stumbled slightly. He eased her down onto the cushions, the glow of the Christmas lights illuminating the warmth in her expression as she looked up at him.

Their movements slowed, deliberate yet electric, each touch and kiss building the connection between them. Neither rushed nor hesitant, they navigated the space between them with care, the world outside falling away entirely. It wasn’t just the warmth of the firelight or the blanket that had been tossed aside earlier; it was them, discovering something in each other that felt both new and undeniably right.

As they drew closer, their hands found new places to hold to steady, and their breaths fell into sync. In the quiet of the room, surrounded by the soft hum of Christmas melodies and the faint scent of pine, their closeness became something unspoken, a silent understanding that this moment was theirs.

His hands moved to quickly remove her pants, threw her sweater off, his pants were off. The touch of their skin was electric as he practically panted into her kiss, noses nudging one another as he moved to touch along the edges of her panties.

Marianne bit on her lip as his fingers moved against her, she pressed herself against him. Harry moved the edge of her panties away, letting his fingers brush against her without the barrier between them. She gasped the feeling, knowing that she had been practically dripping for him without direct touch. The teasing, the night they’d had had been building to this moment before she threw her head back in anticipation for what she needed most.

“Don’t wanna’ wait any longer,” She murmured, the wine felt like it had been sitting on her brain, making her decisions cursed, “No messing around.”

Harry nodded into her neck, kissing her softly before he took himself in his hand, pushing open at her entrance before he let his mouth drop open slightly. He had been ready from the moment that she wrapped her legs around his waist. His brows furrowed at the feeling; the way that she wanted to surrender to him so quickly. When he pushed in, they both gasped at the feeling.

“Oh, fuck,” Harry breathed out, his eyes shutting before he clenched his fist on the armrest, his shoulder holding him up. He knew if he opened his eyes, he’d look down to see Marianne looking up at him with the bright, chocolate brown eyes—the demeanor of two people just needing affection to the highest.

It had been quick, no frills. They had barely undressed; her sweater was off, the black lace of her bra pushed against her breasts, her underwear pushed to the side, the thrill of their need for someone—anyone—had gotten the best of them as Harry’s hips pushed her legs apart.

The warmth that enveloped him was almost overwhelming. Marianne let out a soft gasp, her fingers digging into his hips as she pulled him closer. The urgency of their encounter left no room for gentleness or finesse; it was raw and intimate and something that neither of them had expected going into that night, but only what could have possibly been the best outcome.

Harry's hips began to move, slowly at first, then with increasing fervor. The creaking of the sofa that held their bodyweight beneath them punctuated their ragged breaths and muffled moans. Marianne arched her back, pressing herself against him, seeking more contact, more friction from their compromising position that was entirely unsuited for what they both desired.

"Harry," she whispered, her voice thick with desire. "Look at me. Please."

He hesitated, knowing that meeting her gaze would make this real, would shatter the illusion that this was just a nameless, faceless encounter. But the pull was too strong. Harry opened his eyes, looking down to find Marianne's warm brown eyes locked onto his, filled with a mixture of vulnerability and passion that made his breath catch in his throat. In that moment, the world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them suspended in time with the only light of the lamp in the dark living room space.

Marianne's lips parted, her breathing shallow as she reached up to cup Harry's face with trembling hands. The tenderness of the gesture contrasted sharply with the urgency of their coupling, adding a layer of intimacy that neither had anticipated. She hadn’t expected to feel the way she had, only knowing him for so long but the feeling of their skin on skin had somehow felt right.

"I—" Harry started to say, but the words died on his lips as Marianne pulled him down for a kiss. It was deep and desperate, their tongues tangling as they sought to convey through touch what they couldn't through words.

The kiss seemed to ignite something within them both. Harry's thrusts became more purposeful, angling to hit the spot that made Marianne gasp and shudder beneath him. Her nails raked down his back, leaving red marks in their wake, a physical manifestation of the intensity building between them. The pain mingled with pleasure, driving Harry to push harder, deeper, chasing the release that hovered just out of reach.

Marianne broke the kiss, throwing her head back against the arm of the sofa. Her legs wrapped tightly around Harry's waist, heels digging into the small of his back as she met his thrusts with equal fervor. The room filled with the sound of skin against skin, punctuated by their shared gasps and moans.

"God, Marianne," Harry groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He inhaled deeply with a groan following, drinking in the scent of her perfume mingled with sweat and arousal. It was intoxicating, clouding his senses and pushing him closer to the edge.

Marianne's hands tangled in Harry's hair, tugging gently as she felt the familiar tension building within her. Her body trembled beneath him, every nerve ending alight with sensation. She could feel herself teetering on the brink of that all too familiar feeling of want, desperate for release but wanting to prolong this moment for as long as possible.

"Harry, I'm close," she whispered breathlessly, her lips brushing against his ear. "Please, don't stop. Please. Fuck."

Her words spurred him on, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own climax. The couch creaked dangerously beneath them, but neither paid it any mind, too lost in the sensations coursing through their bodies.

Marianne's back arched sharply, a strangled cry escaping her lips as she finally tumbled over the edge. Her inner walls clenched around Harry, pulling him deeper as waves of pleasure washed over her like the ocean of her dreams. The sight and feel of her coming undone beneath him was too much for Harry to bear.

With a deep, guttural groan, he followed her over the precipice, his hips stuttering as he spilled himself inside her, the shaking of his body only stilled that her hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer for the relief he desperately needed.

For several long moments, they remained locked together, bodies trembling with aftershocks as they struggled to catch their breath. Her chest pushed upwards as she breathed; their lungs practically touching as Harry laid upon her, feeling light as a feather. The reality of what they had just done began to seep in as he stared at the nape of her neck for a few moments, replacing the mystical haze of lust with a mixture of confusion and lingering desire.

Harry slowly lifted his head from Marianne's neck, his eyes meeting hers once more even when he realized that he shouldn’t have. The vulnerability he saw there made his chest tighten. He opened his mouth to speak but found himself at a loss for words.

What could he possibly say to make sense of this unexpected turn of events?

Marianne's hands slid from his hair, trailing down his back before coming to rest on his shoulders. She bit her lip, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features as she searched Harry's face for any sign of regret or disappointment that could have possibly been lingering in that moment. Finding none, that she could notice, she let out a shaky breath, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin.

"I... I don't know what to say," Marianne whispered, her voice barely audible. She swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. "This wasn't... I mean, I didn't expect..."

Harry nodded, understanding her unfinished thoughts. “Me neither," he admitted, his voice rough.

It was unspoken; but he concluded that he was still inside of her, blinking a few times in the heat of the moment. He shifted slightly, suddenly aware of their still-joined bodies and the awkwardness of their position. With a soft groan, he carefully disentangled himself from her, immediately missing the warmth of her embrace.

It was the odd feeling of wondering why he missed it then; he had only met her, but he knew that could have been the first and last time.

Marianne sat up, pulling her underwear back into place and readjusting her bra. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for her discarded sweater, pulling it over her head.

Harry watched her, feeling a strange mix of emotions as he tucked himself back into his pants and zipped up his jeans. The air between them felt heavy, charged with unspoken questions and lingering desire. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, trying to gather his thoughts before either of them was able to speak again.

Harry cleared his throat, licking over his lips as he sat next to her, fully dressed in her still in her underwear.

"I should probably..." he began, gesturing vaguely towards the front door.

Marianne looked up, her eyes wide and vulnerable. "Oh," she said softly, disappointment evident in her voice as she realized that he hadn’t wanted to stay. She glanced towards the window, where she could see the snowflakes lashing against the glass, driven by howling winds in the silence between them. "I-I mean, it’s really coming down out there."

Harry followed her gaze, noticing for the first time the storm raging outside. He'd been so caught up in the moment, in Marianne, that he hadn't even registered the sound of the wind or the snow that seemed to harbor on the glass.

"Yeah," he agreed, his voice hoarse. He hesitated, torn between the desire to flee from the intensity of what had just happened and the practical need to not walk back to his place in the weathering mix of snow and ice. "I suppose it wouldn't be safe to walk back home yet, then.”

Marianne nodded, a flicker of hope crossing her features. "You could... stay, if you want. Just— I don’t know, of course, whatever you want." she added quickly, not wanting to seem too eager or presumptuous that he would want to stay the night.

Harry considered her offer, his eyes roaming over her face. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, he found himself drawn to her, unable to ignore the connection that had sparked between them. "Yeah, okay," he said softly. "Thanks."

A small smile tugged at Marianne's lips as she stood up, smoothing down her sweater as she placed it over her; leaving her in her panties that had the pink lace over the waistband. "I'll get us some tea," she offered, padding towards the kitchen on bare feet. “You— uh, if you’d like to clean up, you can head upstairs to the bathroom. I can be up there in a moment.”

Harry watched her go, his eyes lingering on the sway of her hips as she disappeared into the kitchen. He let out a long breath, running his hands over his face as he tried to process everything that had just happened. The sudden intimacy, the intensity of their connection - it was all so unexpected.

With a soft groan, he pushed himself up from the couch and made his way upstairs. The bathroom was small but tidy, decorated in shades of pale blue and white. Harry caught sight of himself in the mirror above the sink and paused, taking in his disheveled appearance. His hair was a mess, his shirt wrinkled, and there was a faint red mark on his neck where Marianne had nipped at his skin.

As he washed his hands and splashed some cool water on his face, Harry's mind raced. What did this mean for them? Would things be awkward now?

Harry stared at himself for another moment longer, looking directly into the mirror before he pushed the hair off his face. When going to leave the small upstairs washroom, he found himself standing in the hallway near the stairs; tension in the room was palpable as Marianne returned, two steaming mugs of tea in her hands. Harry had settled to follow her into her bedroom, his hair still damp on the front from the quick wash in the bathroom.

Their eyes met, and a spark of electricity seemed to pass between them.

Marianne set the mugs down on the nightstands; first one side, and then the other, her hands shaking slightly. She hesitated for a moment before sitting next to Harry at the end of the bed, close enough that their thighs brushed. The contact sent a shiver through both.

"I..." Harry began, but words failed him. Instead of being able to finish his words, his face turned towards hers when he felt her reach out, cupping Harry’s face in her hand. He leaned into her touch, eyes fluttering shut as they faced one another now.

In an instant, the tentative atmosphere shattered. Their lips crashed together in a desperate kiss, all thoughts of tea forgotten, once again. Marianne climbed onto Harry's lap, straddling him while his hands moved to push her down onto his crotch; the feeling of her once again drove his eroticism to a new height.

“Wait,” Harry told her softly, holding onto her wrists to pause her action. His hands reached to hold onto her in an affection to let her know that he hadn’t wanted to push her away, but to give him a moment. “Marianne, uh,” He swallowed, but felt her hips push into his, causing a moan to escape his lips unintentionally, “Fuck. I—I forgot.”

Marianne chuckled a little bit, her tongue leaving a small lick on his upper lip as she teased him.

“Was it important?” She asked, her voice a bit hazy and erotic. “You’re not married, are you?”

With a heavy breath, Harry held her hips into place again, letting a grin take over before he shook his head. “No, no—uh, but,”

Marianne stopped at his word; a bit curious to his need to speak then. Her eyes searched his face. Harry’s sentence hung in the air, unfinished as Marianne tilted her head, her darkened eyes searching his face. Her breath was warm against his cheek, her lips still ghosting over his as if daring him to finish the thought. She moved her hips slightly, testing his resolve, and Harry’s grip on her tightened, his fingers pressing into her waist as though anchoring himself.

“But what?” Marianne prompted; her voice soft yet dripping with playful challenge. She leaned in, her lips brushing against his jawline now, teasing him further. “You’re not exactly making a convincing case for stopping.”

Harry let out a breathless laugh, his head tipping back against the air as his hands slid to her thighs, squeezing gently. “It’s not that I want to stop,” he murmured, his voice rough with the strain of holding back. “I just... I don’t usually—”

“You don’t usually what?” she interrupted, her lips trailing down to the corner of his mouth. “Get this lucky? Because trust me, I don’t usually climb into laps, either.”

That earned a laugh from him, one that was half-frustration, half-admiration. “You’re relentless.”

“And you’re stalling even thought we could already be halfway through round two by now,” she countered, her fingers brushing over the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “So, unless you’re about to tell me that you’re some kind of undercover royal or a spy with a secret identity, I think we’re good here.”

Harry’s lips parted as if to say something, but instead, he caught her mouth in another kiss, silencing any further conversation. This time, there was no hesitation, no holding back. His hands roamed her sides, sliding beneath her sweater to find the bare skin of her lower back, and Marianne gasped softly against his lips. Her nails grazed the nape of his neck, drawing a low groan from him that reverberated between them.

Marianne leaned into him, pressing her chest against his as she tugged at the hem of his shirt. “Off,” she murmured, her voice edged with impatience. Harry obliged, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank the shirt over his head before pulling her back to him.

The warmth of her skin against his sent his pulse racing, and his hands found their way under her sweater again, mapping out the curve of her spine. Marianne shifted on his lap, her movements deliberate now, and Harry’s grip on her tightened instinctively.

“God, you’re trouble,” he muttered against her lips, his voice laced with both amusement and desire.

“You love it,” she shot back, her smile audible even with his eyes shut, even as she kissed him again.

Marianne pushed at his chest so he would lay on his back, letting the softness of the flannel blanket that laid across her neatly made bed touch his hot skin. As she crawled up his body, letting her lips flutter against his, he smiled again.

“You’re really going to make me go again? Christ, Marianne, you’re a bit of a minx.”

She paused for a moment; letting the tension sit with him. When he responded, making his lips yearn for hers, she had the answer that she desperately wanted from him.

“Seems like the want is mutual.” Her voice was a whisper, hot against his lips—his were parted, letting a moan fall through them.

Harry shook his head, “I’ll go all night.”

The tension between them crackled like static, the rest of the world falling away as their shared laughter melted into something deeper, something raw. The flicker of the Christmas lights reflected in their eyes as they lost themselves in each other, the cold night outside forgotten in the heat of the moment.

Marianne woke to the faint light of dawn streaming through her window. For a moment, she lay still, her mind piecing together the events of the night before. The complete covering of her body under the covers kept her warm, taking in a deep breath.

She turned her head, half-expecting to find Harry still beside her, but the bed was empty.

The night had been overwhelming in the most unexpected way; she rolled onto her back, looking up at the ceiling. Pushing her hair away from her face, her thoughts traveled to how the night had unraveled a stream of ribbon – her skin felt hot remembering the touches of his hands on her.

It had been a while since she had been that intimate with someone like that. One of the deepest regrets was knowing that she was waking up with him not there. It was always unspoken; waking up in the morning from the night before, padding out of the room with a mission to leave before you wake the other. She should have expected this, but in her mind, it had been more than just going home with someone.

She had felt that her and Harry had a connection of some sort. She wouldn’t even know how to get in contact with him if she wanted—she didn’t know his last name. She supposed that she could ask Franny at work for his contact information, but given that he wasn’t there the next morning, she figured that maybe he didn’t want to hear from her.

It had been a whirlwind. Making their way to the bed that night felt like a triumph in itself; she hadn’t expected their lingering touches to last, but almost every hour she would feel his hand creeping along her side, almost like he had been thinking in his sleep.

As Marianne sat up, she tried to not think too much of the night before but think more of the upcoming day instead. She stretched up, letting her arms dance above her head as her shoulders and neck felt tight.

When her feet hit the floor, it felt cold beneath her. She searched through her drawers, finding a long-sleeve cotton sweater that hung to her thighs. She threw her hair into a bun on the top of her head, before making her way to the stairs.

Padding into the living room from the staircase, she found him standing by the front door, his coat in hand. He looked up, startled, as she made her entrance.

Even in the morning, hair tousled with sleep, eyes a bit puffy from the early morning rise, he looked good. It looked like he may not have slept too well, which made her heart sink at the thought that she may have kept him awake.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, shaking his head. His coat dangled from his arm. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I was just heading out.”

“Couldn’t figure out the lock?” She teased, her voice still husky with sleep.

Harry chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “I—yeah.”

Marianne crossed her arms, leaning against the railing. “Guess you can’t get away that easy,” She took in a deep breath, “Or without saying goodbye first.”

Harry took in a breath, putting one hand in his pocket as he turned towards her then. “I—I mean, I didn’t want to just leave, but I- I didn’t—”

Marianne shook her head, “No, I get it. Hook-up etiquette is…”

“Weird.” Harry bit his lip, “I’m a bit out of practice, I guess.”

“Hooking up with a lot of broads, then?” Marianne’s tone was teasing, and she smirked when the flush returned to Harry’s cheeks.

They stood in a beat of silence before she cleared her throat, trying to make the most of the time that he had been standing there—maybe to break the awkwardness that had come into the room yet again.

“Well, if you’re here, you might as well help me with something. I have a hard time doing it by myself—physically.” She bit her lip, eyes widening at the way her words may have been perceived, “Oh! I mean—not that, uh,”

“I mean, I guess we can go again, then. I guess I was pretty good at it last night, wasn’t I?” He chuckled, interrupting her to make the joke, then shrugged. “But, yeah, I can help with whatever.”

“Decorating the tree,” She pointed to a box of ornaments and a slightly crooked artificial tree standing in the corner of the room. Harry followed her gaze, a skeptical eyebrow raised. “I can’t reach a lot of the top. It’s just easier with two people.”

“You’re really leaning into the Christmas spirit, huh?”

“When you live alone, you’ve got to make your own magic,” she replied, already pulling the tree upright. “Or are you going to stand there and criticize my technique?”

Harry sighed but set his coat aside on the edge of the sofa. He had taken note that she still hadn’t put on pants, her underwear now had small bows of ribbon patterned in red, “Alright, then. Let’s do this—uh, is there any way that this can involve coffee?”

Marianne lit up, “Oh—yeah, of course. Let me go make us some. Can you start to take items out of that box?”

On her way to the kitchen, she put on a pot of coffee, waiting for enough for the two of them. Harry had begun to look through some of the items that she had for decoration.

Marianne opened the second box when she returned, setting a cup of coffee next to Harry on the coffee table. When she looked in the box, she was suddenly met with the remembrance of last Christmas; the way that she hadn’t put the lights away alone but was going to have to bring them out alone if Harry hadn’t been here. As they worked, untangling fairy lights and hanging mismatched ornaments, their banter softened into a rhythm that felt almost natural, like they had done this a dozen times before.

"Do people actually enjoy untangling these?" Harry muttered, holding up a knot of fairy lights with a grimace.

"Maybe they see it as a metaphor for life," Marianne quipped, carefully hanging a glittery bauble coated in silver. "Unravel the mess, and you find the beauty."

Harry snorted at her cute remark, "That sounds like something out of a self-help book."

"Hey, some of us need a little optimism to get through the day and the holiday season," She shot back, though her tone was light. "Besides, it beats your Grinch-like grumbling."

"Touché," He admitted, smirking. "Alright, Cindy Lou, where do these go?" He held up a string of lights, their multicolored bulbs catching the morning light.

Marianne stepped closer, her fingers brushing against his as she guided the string toward the tree. "Around the middle, I think. It needs some sparkle in there."

As they worked together, the conversation drifted from playful teasing to quieter, more introspective topics. Marianne shared snippets of her life—how she’d recently picked up pottery to distract herself after the breakup that past spring, how her students had surprised her with handmade ornaments last Christmas, especially when Harry picked one up and examined it with a bit of curiosity.

"One of them made this," she said, holding up a slightly lopsided clay star painted in bright primary colors. "He told me it was supposed to be ‘abstract.’ Big word for a four-year-old."

Harry chuckled as he looked up at it, he placed a red bauble on the tree, "Abstract is a solid excuse for anything that doesn’t go as planned."

Marianne gave him a warm gaze, letting her eyes fall to the way that his sweater sleeves had been rolled up. She watched the way that he took a step back, letting his eyes fall over the way the that the lights cast a soft colorful light over the room then. It was still early, but it looked like he had been contemplating for a moment.

Harry hesitated before speaking, then confessed, "I think I’ve been stuck in my own mess for so long that I forgot how to step back and just... appreciate things."

Marianne looked at him, her expression softening. "Maybe untangling fairy lights wasn’t such a bad metaphor after all."

The morning light filtered through Marianne’s small space, highlighting the modest but cozy living room. The faint smell of coffee mingled with the scent of pine from the Christmas tree standing bare in the corner. Harry stood beside it, holding the string of tangled lights, his hair still slightly disheveled. Marianne sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting through a box of ornaments, her sweater slipping off one shoulder as she worked.

“Alright,” Marianne said, holding up a particularly gaudy ornament shaped like a snowman. “This one’s either going on the tree or in the trash. Thoughts?”

Harry tilted his head, inspecting it with mock seriousness. “Trash. Absolutely trash.”

She laughed, tossing it to the side. “Wow, you’re ruthless. Remind me not to let you near any sentimental ornaments. My niece made me that.”

He smirked, kneeling beside her and picking up a small, glittery star. “This one’s safe, though, right? It’s classic.”

“Classic,” she agreed, handing him a hook for it. “Go ahead, looks like the last one.”

Harry rolled his eyes but stood, carefully placing the star on one of the branches. He stepped back, pretending to admire his handiwork. “Perfect. The tree’s basically done now, right? The lights are placed right?”

“It looks great,” Marianne shrugged, letting her smirk take over with a quick tease, “Well, the parts I was involved in.”

He chuckled but didn’t respond, his smile faltering slightly as he stared at the tree. Harry took a seat on the sofa, letting his gaze over the tree settle. Marianne noticed the shift in his expression, the way his shoulders tensed just a bit. She crossed her arms over her chest, her voice softening. “Hey. You okay?”

Harry glanced at her quickly, hesitating as if he didn’t want to answer, before he shrugged. “Yeah, just… thinking.”

She moved over to take a seat next to him, brushing her hands on her sweater as she moved closer to him. “Thinking about what? I—I mean, I don’t know if you have something against Christmas, I figured it was just your sense of humor, but…”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not really my favorite time of year,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. There was a part of him that felt odd giving her any information like this, but he figured that she had more intimate memories of him, so this didn’t seem quite as big, “Never has been.”

Marianne frowned, folding her arms. “I think it can be difficult for a lot of people, for a lot of reasons.” She trailed off, watching him closely.

He let out a soft laugh, though it lacked his usual warmth. “Shouldn’t be.”

She didn’t press, just waited, and after a moment, he continued.

“It’s just… growing up, I didn’t really have a family to spend it with. My parents… they weren’t around much. And when they were, Christmas was more about them fighting or making a show for other people than it was about actually being together, just the three of us, you know? By the time I got older, it just felt pointless to even try to get everyone together. They were never happy memories. Everyone else was celebrating, and I was just… there.” He gestured vaguely, as if searching for the right words. “I guess it just became this reminder of what I didn’t have.”

Marianne’s heart twisted at the vulnerability in his voice. She reached out, her hand resting lightly on his arm. “Harry, I’m sorry. That sounds… really lonely.”

He shrugged again, his gaze fixed on the tree. “It was what it was. But there just didn’t seem to be any reason to make any memories surrounding it. I just ignored this time of year.” He glanced at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“It—but this is nice. I like this,” He chewed on his bottom lip before he stared at the way that her hand settled on his forearm, his fingers brushing hers for a moment. “Thanks, Marianne.”

“For what?”

“For… I don’t know. Letting me be here, I guess. For not making this weird.”

She smiled, her expression soft as she took in a deep breath, “Everyone deserves to have one happy Christmas memory, at least,” She swallowed, looking back at the tree then, “I hope this is one of those.”

He nodded, swallowing hard as he looked back at the tree. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat, “Very much so.”

For a moment, silence settled between them, not awkward but contemplative. Harry felt a quiet shift within himself, a glimmer of something he couldn’t quite name but wasn’t ready to dismiss. Marianne’s sarcastic edge gave way to quiet vulnerability, while Harry’s usual cynicism melted into genuine curiosity about her. She told him about her students, and her decision to spend Christmas embracing her independence this year.

Harry glanced at her; her face illuminated by the soft glow of the fairy lights. For a moment, he felt the tension of his deadline and his usual holiday cynicism slip away, replaced by an unfamiliar warmth that tugged at the edges of his guarded heart. The glow of the fairy lights and Marianne’s quiet presence seemed to momentarily bridge the gap between his disillusionment and the simple joys he had long dismissed.

The multicolored lights blinked haphazardly, casting a kaleidoscope of hues across the room. A patchwork of ornaments dangled from the branches—some glittering with polished perfection, others endearingly imperfect like Marianne’s lopsided clay star. Tinsel shimmered unevenly, catching the soft glow of the fairy lights. Harry tilted his head, his critical eye scanning the mismatched decorations. It was far from magazine-perfect, but something about its imperfections made it feel... genuine.

"It’s a little chaotic," he murmured.

Marianne smiled, nudging him gently. "Kind of like us, don’t you think?" He glanced at her, the warmth in her eyes mirroring the soft glow of the tree, and felt his usual cynicism begin to wane.

"I think it’s perfect," he admitted quietly. It was far from perfect—the lights blinked unevenly, and the ornaments clashed—but it felt oddly right.

Harry let his gaze linger on Marianne, taking in the way the soft light caught the curve of her smile and the slight furrow of her brow, as if she were deep in thought. He wondered what was going through her mind, whether her thoughts mirrored the strange mix of contentment and uncertainty that churned within him.

Marianne, for her part, noticed the way Harry’s fingers tapped rhythmically against the side of his mug, betraying a nervous energy he seemed intent on hiding. It was a moment suspended in time, the world outside the small flat fading into irrelevance as they sat side by side, each silently grappling with the fragile, burgeoning connection between them.

Marianne glanced at him, her resolve to keep things casual wavering.

It was then that Harry decided he should be getting home. Marianne agreed, nodding a few times before Harry lifted from the sofa. She had followed him to the door, his coat in his hands before they stood in front of the door again.

“I had a great time,” He finally said, “With you.”

Marianne let out a breath, crossing her arms over her chest as she felt the cold from behind the door already. She pulled her top lip in her mouth before she cleared her throat, contemplating whether she wanted to say anything else. She noticed that he had been baiting her to speak, tilting his head.

“What are you doing tonight?” She asked tentatively, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry looked at her, his usual cynicism replaced by something warmer, softer. “No plans.”

Marianne bit on her bottom lip, taking every part of her independence away as she stared at him with a longing glance that caught his attention

“Would you like to go,” She shrugged, “On like, a real date?”

Harry pushed his hair off of his forehead, trying his best to hide the smile that caught on his face. It somehow wouldn’t go away. “I—yeah. I would, actually.”

Letting out a breath of relief, Marianne rested her hand on the back of her neck. “Great. Great—yeah.” She grabbed a piece of mail that sat next to the door, using a pen to write down her phone number. She stood to hand it to him, “Text me when you get home, and we’ll set something up.”

As a gesture, Harry took the half of the envelope she wrote, to write his own number—just in case they were to lose touch. Harry took the empty envelope she wrote on, folding it and putting it in his pocket before he leaned in kiss her. It was a soft kiss this time, one that melted for a moment before he pulled back and let his eyes fall over her. The breath was held in his lungs before he nodded a few times.

“Will do,” He told her, reaching for the front door, “Bye, Marianne.”

“Bye.” She stated softly, watching as he pulled the door behind him, a last fleeting glance.

Marianne stood by the door for a moment after Harry left, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, running her fingers through her hair. The reality of the night settled over her like the falling snow outside—quick, fleeting, and somehow magical.

She wandered back to the couch, sitting down and pulling the throw blanket over her lap. The Christmas lights on her tree twinkled softly, casting a warm glow around the room. She sipped the last of her coffee, the faint hum of the music station still playing faintly in the background.

For a moment, she thought about texting him first but decided against it.

“Let him make the move,” she whispered to herself, smiling at the memory of his crooked grin, the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her.

Across town, Harry walked briskly, his hands buried in his coat pockets, the envelope she’d written on folded neatly inside one of them. The snow crunched under his shoes, the cold biting at his cheeks, but he didn’t care. His mind replayed the way her lips felt against his, the sound of her laugh, the spark in her eyes when she teased him. He felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time—lightness, as though the weight of the world had been lifted.

When he reached his flat, Harry sat on the edge of his bed, pulling out the envelope at the quickest moment he could. Her handwriting was rushed but endearing, the kind of messy scrawl that hinted at a bit of chaos, a bit of charm. He smiled as he unlocked his phone and began typing.

Harry: Made it home in one piece.

Harry: Free all day. Don’t want to sound too desperate, but I’d love to have dinner tonight.

He hesitated for a moment before sending another text.

Harry: Would love to do more Christmas light viewing, too.

He stared at the screen for a second longer than he needed to before hitting send. Tossing the envelope on his nightstand, he leaned back against his pillows, his mind drifting back to the warmth of her apartment and the way she’d looked at him like he wasn’t just passing through.

Back at Marianne’s place, her phone buzzed on the coffee table. She picked it up, her smile growing wider as she read his message. With a grin, she replied:

Marianne: Glad you didn’t freeze. Dinner and a walk would be great.

Harry’s reply came almost instantly.

Harry: Pick you up at 7?

Marianne laughed softly to herself, leaning back into the couch as she typed her response.

Marianne: I’ll be the one in the ugly Christmas sweater.

Harry bit his lip, shaking his head.

Harry: I’ll be the one in black.

As Harry set his phone down on the nightstand, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The faint glow of the sun trying to peak from behind the grey clouds outside his window cast long shadows across the room, but his thoughts were nowhere near the cold night or the city beyond. Instead, they lingered on Marianne—her laugh, the sparkle in her eyes, the way she’d somehow made him feel less like a cynic and more like someone who might just believe in the magic of the season again.

He stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling with a contented sigh.

Christmas had always been something he tolerated rather than celebrated, a time of year that often felt more like a reminder of what was missing. But now, as he thought about seeing her again in just a few short hours, the easy way they fit into each other's company, he couldn’t help but chuckle softly to himself.

For the first time in a long time, Christmas didn’t feel like a burden. It felt like a beginning.

[gyllenhaalstuff]

Deal

- Donnie Darko ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི

Summary: Donnie knows a secret of yours and you have to make sure it doesn’t get out.

Warnings: Blackmailing, coercion, dub-con/non-con, stalking, dom!Donnie, Donnie is pathetic and obsessive, oral (f and m receiving), face fucking ish, unprotected sex, piv sex

Word count: 2000~

Notes: If dark themes aren’t your cup of tea, maybe this isn’t for you. Take care ᡣ𐭩

The walk to your house was a bit awkward. You felt as if the teacher wanted you to suffer by pairing you up with Donnie. And Donnie felt as if God had just proven his existence.

He had walked this way many times before, unbeknownst to you. The best was being at your house during the night. When your light was on, he could see you clearly, but you wouldn’t be able to catch him looking in. That’s when he would watch you change, watch you dance around the room and get off grinding against your pillow. And when he went to sleep, that’s all he’d think about.

Your house was empty; your parents weren’t getting home from work till dinner time. You and Donnie sat on the rug in your room. History books and notepads spread across the floor. 

You didn’t dislike Donnie. He was a bit weird, but that was it, which was a shame considering he wasn’t all that bad in other compartments.

The industrial revolution wasn’t necessarily interesting to either of you, and after 30 minutes, your minds began to slip out of your ears. “Do you want something to drink?” You asked, needing to stretch your legs. “Just water.”

As you filled up two glasses in the kitchen, Donnie fidgeted nervously. He couldn’t believe he was finally inside. Inside the room he knew like the back of his palm, with the girl he dreamed of every night, waking up sweating with his sheets damp. 

You walked back into the room and handed Donnie one of the glasses. He thanked you and sipped on it. “You’re different than I thought,” you blurted, just to break the tension in the air. “How so?” He cocked his head, internally screaming. “There’s this notion that you’re insane or something, but you seem quite normal to me.” 

Donnie tried his best not to feel ashamed knowing he was definitely not normal, at least when it came to you. “Well, who knows,” was the best he came up with. You snickered at his response. “I don’t think you’re normal either,” he said. You raised an eyebrow. “How so?” Donnie thought for a second. He had a bunch of reasons for thinking that, though most of them would expose him too.

“You dropped one of your notebooks after class once, so I picked it up to give it back to you,” he began. It was half truth, half lie. You never actually dropped it; he just stole it out of your backpack during a break. Nerves were building up in you. “It opened on one of the pages, and it turned out it was a journal. Talking about boys, that pillow you use to—“ You cut him off with a panicked shush. Tried to gather your thoughts. A few quiet seconds passed.

“Was it bad?” You asked nervously. “Is masturbation bad? cause I don’t—“ You cut him off again. “Oh god.” You buried your warm face in your palms. “If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.” You were officially caught in his trap. “What’s in it for me?”

Your eyes widened; were you being blackmailed? “Just as long as you don’t talk about it.” The people around you were all pure girls with hearts of gold, and you couldn’t risk all of your dirty secrets spilling out. “If you do what I say, then I promise to keep shut, deal?” he said, giving you an ultimatum.

You nodded; what else was there to do? “First, I’ll tell you something embarrassing about me to make it even,” he suggested, making you feel a bit lighter. “When I do it, I think of you.” You froze, shocked and flattered all at once. “So if you want me to keep your little secret, maybe you could give me a hand.” He leaned closer and could feel the dizzying scent of your perfume. “No reason for any of us to feel ashamed really,” he mumbled and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear before kissing you.

You didn’t know what to do, but kissing back felt like the safest option. When his tongue entered your mouth, you almost got swept away and forgot the situation you were in.

Donnie was straining hard against his black jeans. It was all too much. Being in your room, breathing in your scent, kissing you. He leaned back and saw how nervous you were. “I would never hurt you, okay?” he tried to reassure you. You mumbled an okay, not knowing whether to believe him or not. Not knowing if the buzzing in you was from fear or arousal. 

He instructed you to lay on the bed and you did. He kissed you again and felt up your shirt. Cupped your breast over your bra before sneaking back his hand to unlatch it. He moaned as he felt your naked skin beneath his palm. In his mind, you were as enthusiastic as he was.

His leg snaked between yours and pressed up against you. Donnie thought he was going to lose his mind when a whimper escaped your lips. He could feel your heat through his denim-clad knee.

He leaned back, ripped off your shirt, and began unbuttoning your pants; he needed to see all of you. Seconds later, your clothes were scattered on the floor. The worst thing about it all was that you could feel how wet you were, and embarrassment surged in you. 

It was unclear whether it helped or not when Donnie began rambling curses under his breath. He thought he might cum in his pants at the sight. You looked better than he could’ve ever imagined, and he had imagined it a lot.

“You’re perfect; you’re not real,” he whispered to himself and spread your thighs open with his hand. You felt like hiding. No one had ever seen you like this. “Poor thing, having to get off by yourself all the time.”

One of his fingers ran over your clit gently. When your legs twitched, he smiled to himself. “I’m gonna make it worth it for you,” echoed before he leaned forward. He burrowed his face in the crook of your groin, breathing in deeply.

His kisses were uncoordinated, apparent that he was doing this for his own pleasure. His mouth went wherever it could reach, savoring you. Your heart pounded so loudly you could hear it. You didn’t want this to feel good, didn’t want to want this. But your body definitely did. Your hips betrayed you and bucked up against Donnie’s eager mouth. 

His breath fanned against your burning skin as his lips wrapped around your clit, licking and nipping at you. His hips rutted unconsciously against your bed. Hell, he could cum just from this. Just from having his mouth on you and grinding against your sheets that so deliciously smelled of your laundry detergent. 

A string of saliva connected the two of you when he pulled away. His thumb ran over your hole up to your clit. He could almost feel it pulsating, or maybe that was his own rapid heartbeat he was feeling. 

You had never done this before, never done anything before. You hated to admit that your expectations started to get exceeded. 

Donnie stood up on his knees and undid his pants. He pulled out his leaking cock, red and aching. “Come here,” he said, paired with a motion of his hand. You crawled forward and repeated over and over to yourself that you didn’t want this. But your mouth was hopelessly salivating.

You didn’t fully know what to do. You pressed your lips against his tip and slowly took him in. Thankfully, you didn’t actually have to think or do a lot at all since Donnie grabbed a fistful of your hair and controlled your movements himself.  I don’t like this. This is just to keep my secrets safe. This is to protect myself. Your eyes closed involuntarily and stung with tears. You couldn’t help but moan around him.

This was Donnie’s dream. You, fully at his disposal. He would be the first and only to ever see you like this. If there was a God, this was the closest he’d ever get. His back hunched over as he pulled you farther onto him, feeling himself hit your throat with each thrust. He felt himself get dangerously close to the edge and pulled you off.

Your face was damp with tears and saliva. Donnie cupped your cheek and wiped some of the smudged mascara off with his thumb. “You’re insane,” he chuckled, “you’re too good.” 

He flipped you over onto your stomach and put his hands on your ass. Feeling up your soft skin. “Tell me you want me,” he begged, his voice shaking. He wanted this to be reciprocated; he wanted to hear you admit it. “Yeah, I do,” you responded, not sure what you actually wanted, with your mind and body being at war with each other. But what did it matter? “I want you.”

Donnie choked back a moan before placing his cock between your folds, running it back and forth, gathering your wetness. “I can tell. You love this,” he mumbled. 

When his tip slipped in, he let out a pathetic whine. This was a thousand times better than his hand paired with your cum-stained yearbook photo. This was heaven. He leaned over you, grabbed your waist, and stayed still for a minute. He wanted this to last.

When he finally moved, you felt your brain slip out of your ear along with your dignity. You couldn’t get lower than this. He hit spots you didn’t even know existed; you hated him for it. He kept mumbling into the skin of your shoulder as he fucked you relentlessly and somewhat unskillfully. Profanity and praises spewing out into the air.

“God. God. I love this, love you,” Donnie whined against you. You were like his sex doll in that moment. Lying still, not resisting. The only thing setting you apart from a toy were the moans escaping you.

Donnie’s nails dug crescent marks into your hips as he neared his orgasm. “I want you to cum,” he breathed out. He wanted you to show him that he was doing good, that you liked this, liked him. His hand sneaked around to rub circles against your clit. Your body jerked as he did. The friction caused by his callused skin sent you into overdrive. Your walls clenched around him. You had never heard noises like that come from you before. Desperate, high-pitched noises that couldn’t be held back no matter how hard you tried. 

“I love you, I love you…,” Donnie rambled as he lost his rhythm. He stalled, buried deep inside you, and painted your insides with his cum. He stayed for a moment, catching his breath. 

He flipped you around and saw your tired, vulnerable expression. “Are you alright?” he asked, genuinely concerned. You looked away. “I feel dirty.” Donnie turned your face back to him. “Hey, hey, no. You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Especially now.”

You were mad at him. Mad at him for reading your journal, for taking your virginity, and for making it feel good. But his words made you soften; even though you felt ruined, he thought you were prettier than ever. Since he was the only one who knew, maybe he was the only one that could make you feel better about this.

“You’re perfect; I never thought I’d get you,” he said, joy evident in his voice, before lying down on top of you. Your ego multiplied in size even though your self-respect had left you for good. 

The Band-Aid was ripped off that day. And later that night when Donnie peeked through your window, your hand moved between your thighs, moving in and out of you while your trusty pillow lay thrown on the floor. Pride ran through his veins; he had corrupted you, and the only one who would accept you like this was him.

[darlingbabyboo]

"Baby, you're my whore!"

♡ Tokyo Revengers characters and their bimbo girlfriends ♡

Part 2 (Kazutora, Izana, Bonten! Mikey)

Part 3 (Hanma, Chifuyu, Angry, Ran, Hakkai, Inui)

Ken Ryuguji (Draken)

It has been said before and I will be one of the people to say it again

Definition of dress slutty: I can fight

Growing up in a brothel (with women that made sure that he was drinking his respect women juice everyday) he lets you dress however you please

Your skirt might be too short for his comfort, but as long as you feel comfortable and satiated, he's gonna bite his tongue

Who is he, to mess with what the love of his life wants?

On your stupidity

He's been hanging out with dumbasses all his life, if his baby happens to be a bit of a dumb fuck, he won't say a thing

He also thinks that you're absolutely adorable when you look at him with question in your eyes and say the most idiotic things known to man

A bit exasperating

But moreso adorable

"Kenny." He hums to show you that he's listening and continues fixing up his motorcycle. "What's the matter angel?"

"Why doesn't hair grow at the side of your head." He blinks and looks back at you, genuine wonder in your eyes. He sighs, and presses his forehead against the cool of his bike.

"Kenny, are you okay!?" He feels your arms wrap around his shoulders and your weight begin to press against him. You're ridiculous, but he loves you so much it hurts. He couldn't imagine a life without you around.

"'s nothing angel, don't worry your pretty head about it."

Takemichi Hanagaki (Takemitchy)

He's weak to you okay, he loves your short skirts that barely cover up your panties and your tight shirts that show off your lace bra's (if you even wear one some days)

You can say the dumbest shit or do the stupidest things and he'll be nodding along like a little puppy dog

Is it so wrong to be completely in love with your girlfriend? He worships you like a god and how dare anyone have the nerve to blame him?

You see the world in a way that he could never imagine, and you open his eyes to a world of possibilities

He just believes that he's lucky that you two are even together, you're beautiful and kind and even if there's not a lot going on in your head, you're the best girl that he's ever known

He just wants to be with you forever

You jump into his open arms, your arms wrapping around his neck and his automatically enclose around your waist. "Sweetie, I got a 40% on my test?" You say, cheerfully.

"W-what? I'm sorry. I know you studied hard for that."

"What?" You crock your head to the side and look at him with confusion in your eyes, "no, all I need is another 40% and then I'll be at an 80% average!"

Takemichi opens his mouth to say something, mainly, what in the world would make you think that, and how the hell do you think averages work? Instead, he shakes his head and gives a soft smile. He loves how you see the world, no matter how ridiculous it is, though he's going to need to talk to you about how grades work. He squeezes your waist, "I believe in you Sweetheart."

Takashi Mitsuya

He supports your endeavours, he even encourages them!

You want to wear a skirt that shows off your panties, sure! Just let him make a few adjustments and- while we're at it, why doesn't he just bedazzle that top too!

He wants the best for his darling, which means that you're going to be wearing things fit for a queen

It's in his nature to spoil his girl, so don't worry your pretty little head about any of the gorgeous clothes that you want, he's already on it

Though, there's not a lot going in your pretty little head, which he doesn't necessarily mind

He doesn't care if you stay the stupidest shit imaginable

You look at him with so much love and admiration in your eyes that he can't find it in him to worry too much about you

"Taka! This is so cute!" You spin around in your skirt, which raises above the lace panties that he also handmade for you. "Too bad about the people living in olden times." You pout.

Mitsuya walks up to you with a raised brow at your words. He wraps his hands around your waist, trying to think about what you could possibly mean. "Why, my love?" He finally bites.

You go on your tiptoes and press a kiss on his cheek, leaving behind a glittery mark. "They had to live in black and couldn't see all these pretty colours, like the clothes you make for me!"

Mitsuya nods along to your words, smile already pulling up at your words. He presses a kiss on your forehead. "That's not how it works my love."

You look at him with so much love and admiration in your eyes, expecting him to explain everything to you. He smiles, brushing his thumb against your cheek. He's so hopelessly in love with you.

Keisuke Baji

He adores harlots, whores, and anything else of the variety!

He loves the dumb, hazy look in your eyes when you come across something "complicated" (first time he's the smart one in a relationship)

Loves the things you dress up, encourages you to dress however you want, you know what, get even sluttier! He wants your skirt to be so short that your panties show when you stretch the tiniest bit, shirts so tight that you can't wear a bra

He loves his babygirl, and everyone's free to take a look at you

As long as they remember that you belong to him

"Babe, what's wrong?" You question as Baji grips his hands around yours and growls. You press a kiss to his lips as you try to calm him down. Greedily, he bites your bottom lip and deepens the kiss, hands on your ass.

"Asshole was flirting with my pretty girl. Hate when people try to touch what's mine."

You start to tear up, thinking he's angry with you, "sorry baby, I didn't know!"

"Nonono," He presses his lips against you harder, adoring the way that your red lipstick will leave behind marks on his lips, "not your fault- never your fault. Jus' means we gotta set his car on fire." You nod in understanding, not thinking twice of his act of violence. He gives you a wide, toothy grin, he doesn't think that he could love someone more.

Nahoya Kawata (Smiley)

Definition of a tease

He doesn't care how you dress (one of the people that really adores how you dress and would appreciate you to get even sluttier). You could wear a bra and a thong outside and he wouldn't bat an eye.

He just loves making fun for how naïve you can be.

"C'mon, one kiss!"

"No!" You huff, crossing your arms and facing your back to him, "'m 100% loyal to 'hoya."

He restrains his laugh, biting down on his lip. "Baby, I am Nahoya!" He manages to force out (though some giggles slip his lips).

"No! You said you were Souya! 'm not gonna fall for your tricks!"

You already are he desperately wants to say, but he's having too much fun messing with you. "Well, now I'm saying I'm Nahoya."

He doesn't need to look your way to know that your brows have furrowed deeper, trying to run through things in your small little head. "No! I'm not a cheater."

He sucks his teeth. His stomach's gonna hurt with how much he's gonna be laughing later. He turns you around and presses a quick kiss against your lips, you giving an indignant gasp at the action. You'll probably be whining about this later, when he explains what's going on, but this was worth it. God, you're a keeper.

Yasuhiro Muto (Mucho)

Not someone who loves the way you dress, wouldn't disapprove of it completely, he would never tell you how to do things or what clothes to wear, but he subtly encourages you to wear something else

It doesn't come from a bad place, he's just protective of you and doesn't want you to get harassed (he's also a bit traditional)

If you're determined to wear what you want, then he'll bend to your will. He would never let you be uncomfortable

He'll get used to things, just for you

Your intelligence, though...

He loves you through and through but he's always on the look-out around you. He has to make sure that no one is taking advantage of your innocence

"What's going on here?" The guys crowding you stutter away, looking at him with wide eyes. You don't notice the fear that has blanketed them and beam at him, running to wrap your arms around his waist.

"'hiro. These guys are asking if I want to hang out with them in, do you want to come with us?"

He purses his lips, yet another group of guys preying on your naivety. "No darling, I think we're going to go, I'm sure that these guys understand." He narrows his eyes at them so that they understand the consequences if they try to stay around you. They get the message, scurrying away like rats they are. You look at them with a pout on your lips, not aware of their dark intentions. He cups the side of your face and turns you towards him, "darling, why don't we see a movie at home." Your frown quickly disappears, a wide smile replacing it.

"That sounds great 'hiro!"

[olive-treeeee]

Bad Timing - 11th Doctor x Reader

Summary: You and the doctor are running from a horrific beast, but He has something to tell you.

Warnings: Monsters and Snogging.

Hello all! I hope you're all doing well, this is my first fan fiction so be nice! But if you like what you see I take requests!

“I think you made him angry.” The Doctor’s voice was tight with panic, the edges fraying in a way you’d never heard before. He wasn’t just nervous; he was afraid, Terrified even. And if he was afraid, you were as good as dead. He moved in front of you, his stance tense, like a man trying to shield a child. He squared his shoulders, puffed out his chest, Small and fragile pretending to be bigger than he was. It would have been almost endearing if it wasn’t utterly useless.

Your breath hitched as your gaze stayed locked on the thing in front of you. It was wrong. Blinding white, the color of fresh snow and hospital walls, but there was nothing pure about it. Its eyes, a vast blue, the other red and raw, freshly wounded. its gaze tore into you with a predator’s patience. A fresh scar slashed down its grotesque, rodent-like face, its curved ears twitching at every breath you took.

And then there was its body. massive. A hulking, bearlike beast, towering over you both like a skyscraper waiting to collapse. One swipe, one lazy flick of its monstrous claw, and you would be nothing but shredded meat. You could feel it. It knew that too and you bet it liked it.

Desperate, you turned to the Doctor, searching for some sign of reassurance, some plan, some miracle. But for the first time since you’d met him, he was silent.

“Angry?” You managed to get out. It felt more like a panicked ramble. “Why would he be angry?”

The doctor, still eyes glued to the monster, noticed the snapped pile of sticks and twigs, the pile was too small for the monster to have sat in but based on where the monster stood and the sudden switch, you would assume that it was the reason. 

“It was a nest for its offspring and you broke it.” The doctor’s voice wobbled. “You stepped on it and you broke it.” 

He didn’t sound like he was angry or telling you off in any way, which surprised you considering you were face to face with certain death and it was all your fault.

“I didn’t mean to.” You squeaked.

The Doctor twitched his head, “I don't think it cares. Over three hundred years of hunting, searching and scouring the planet for a nest for its newborns and it's been squandered by a human.”

Silence fell over you as you heard the monster’s snarls and growls. It sounded somewhat like a lion or a tiger. Both of you took a mini step back again as you felt your heart beating louder and louder. You looked to the doctor for some sort of comfort, but when you did, you received no such thing. The same look of eyes wide and a slightly agape mouth, still etched on his face didn’t necessarily take you by surprise but it definitely made your heart sink. 

“Doctor.” You said, tugging at his sleeve.

“Yeah?” He responds, eyes still glued to the monster.

“Would now be the best time to run?” You began to panic even more. The Doctor turned to look at you for a split second, the first time he looked at you since you saw the creature. You’d never admit it but you liked it when he looked at you. 

Even during certain death. Especially during certain death.

The Doctor, without taking his eyes off the monster stretched his arm around so he’s able to grip your hand. “Uh, yes. Yes I think that would be a great idea.”

He snapped out of his daze and pulled you by the hand and together you ran for your lives. The monster lets out an eardrum rupturing screech before barrelling for both of you. The ground shakes at every single booming step. You Watch as corridors twist and turn in your view.

You looked back, the doctor’s hand still in yours. A huge group of cyber armoured soldiers burst through one of the doors, their guns pointed at the creature - you were safe.

“Where did you put the TARDIS?” You asked, still slightly out of breath. You looked around, the entire building isn’t anything you’ve seen before. A spaceship of some kind? A derelict hunk of metal whirling through deep space, sent to keep the beast contained and never return to whatever hell it came from. There’s an acute feeling of despair that stains the walls of this Wraithhold.

“I haven’t the foggiest. It was meant to be here.” The Doctor said, panic dripping in his voice. “It was right here, I swear.”

“So, we’ve Lost it?”

“Unfortunately.”

Your heart Slammed against your ribs, a cold dread coiling in your gut. This is it, Here you are, Stranded on a dying, rust coated hunk of junk with nothing but the faint sounds of systems, slowly failing and the slow, wet grunts of the thing that might eat you alive. Panic grips at your throat, what if no one can get you off this god forsaken ship? What if you never see your mum again? Never step foot into your crummy job ever again? Never feel the warmth of the sun? It wasn’t much of a life before Him but now you are standing at the edge of something so much worse. 

“(Y/N)” The Doctor broke you out of your trance. You spun around to look at him properly. His hair flopping in front of his face, dropped to his knees, twisting slightly so he was facing you. He looked to have been trying to ‘sonic’ an exit out of the side of the metal. “I think this is bad timing, but I have a feeling that we might not make it out alive-”

“Oh my god, please don’t say that.” You shrieked. “You have never said anything like that.”

“Would you just let me finish?” He cut you off, launching to his feet in one fluid motion. Before you could protest, his hand was suddenly on you. Warm, firm, calloused as it pressed against your mouth, silencing you. Your breath hitched. He never touched you. Not like this. Not ever.

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears as his gaze burned into yours.

“We might not make it out alive,” he murmured, low and rough. This was so unlike him. He was usually so bubbly, but this tone, it made you feel something. Then he shrugged, “but we probably will, because it’s me. But if we don’t…” His fingers twitched against your skin, his thumb ghosting along your cheek as his voice dropped to something almost guttural. “I need to do this. Just once.”

And then, before you could process it, before you could even breathe. His lips crashed into yours.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative. It was raw, searing, all-consuming. His fingers slid from your mouth to cradle your jaw, tilting your head just right as he deepened the kiss, pressing himself flush against you. Heat coiled low in your stomach. The metal walls around you, the danger, the ticking clock. It all dissolved, drowned out by the way he tasted, the way he took you in his arms. 

When he finally pulled back, just enough for his forehead to rest against yours, his breath was uneven. His hands lingered, thumbs stroking along the skin of your jawline as though worshipping the shape of you.

“If we die,” he whispered, lips barely brushing against yours, “at least I’ll go, knowing what that felt like.”

You pull away from him, a sly grin plastered across your face. “That was really cheesy, doctor.” 

The doctor looked back at you with a look you couldn’t quite read, you supposed – you hoped it was a positive one. Then he smiled, oh god, He smiled. His dimples brimming on his cheeks. “You know me, gotta keep you on your toes.”

The Moment, just as quick as it started, was cut short by the ear splitting, shrill roar of the monster. You both snapped your heads in perfect unison adrenaline pulsing all over again.

“Speaking of keeping you on your toes.” A wicked grin spread across his face, Then before you could react, he laced his hand in yours and the two of you took off down the corridor

[kanmom51]

I actually have a crazy theory...

I have already sent this ask as the response to someone else’s thoughts, but then I thought about it and I REALLY wanted to know your opinion about this.

I think Jikook by the beginning of last year didn't know they were enlisting together.

I think they obviously knew about buddy system but didn't actually think they would need to use it. Because it's not really done by idols, and also they both could've gone to safer and easier stations, where they could have more freedom.

BUT THEN Jimin started working intensely on his album and JK started acting out (like having drunken lives), and it became VERY CLEAR that they would not be able to do 18 months apart.

I mean do you remember, that at this time JK said himself that he was not working on anything. And I think the plan was for Jimin to go first (just like a lot of us thought he would) and for JK to have more time for promo alone, when others are gone (I’m pretty sure that HYBE definitely wanted for JK to have big solo debut apart from other members).

But then like I said the drunken lives happened and realization hit, that they have to apply for buddy system, that 18 months apart would be BAD for both of them.

And that's when HYBE (or whoever) made specific demands from JK. Like if he wanted to leave by the end of the year (and he had to for buddy system to work) he HAS TO do the album, and because there was no time to write it from scratch they got all the English songs. Also his schedule was extremely packed and difficult.

So I think that the travel show was something Jikook specifically done for themselves because JK's schedule was so insane that if not for that excuse they would not be able to hang out freely before the enlistment. (By the way am I the only one who thinks that we are getting the travel show only next year? And waiting for it now is kinda crazy?)

But again it's just my theory, mostly because HYBE doesn't feel (to me) like the company who would just let their artists do whatever they want. To me they are waaay more pragmatic than that, and if they decided to allow their stars to enlist together (something that isn't really done in idol culture), than they would make sure to get something in return. They worked JK very hard, and I think he took it because he had a specific goal (more like a person) in mind that he was willing to work for.

So, although we might be on the same wave with some of your thoughts, I don't fully agree with you.

I agree that they didn't know they would be enlisting together way back at the start of 2023.

I think that way back then they were still struggling with the realization that they will have to be enlisting. All the way back to the end of 2022, basically up to around the Busan concert, which was October 2022, they still held hope that some kind of arrangement could and would be found to allow for them not to enlist or to serve a shorter term. It was quite a conundrum for them, something I think most of them struggled with (and I say most because I do think that at least one of them did genuinely want to enlist) - on the one hand this is a life changing pretty scary thing (terrifying even - we saw how sad, and I will even say broken, JM was having to shave off his hair, and that was only a small part of it) they would have to do (joining the army is not a walk in the park, no pun intended), not to mention being in their prime, in the height of their success, having to part with the life they are accustomed to (professionally and personally), not being something they would necessarily want to do. And on the other hand you have that sense of commitment to the country and to their fellow Koreans, that have to face that same compulsory enlistment, adding the knowledge that not taking that path of enlistment could also come at a price. Like us, they knew that there were those that indeed believed they should be given an exemption, but at the same time many Koreans would have frowned upon it, and it's them that have to live among their people. Also, enlisting like any other SK young man would allow them more freedom in the future when it comes to voicing their opinions, as they had, like all others who had served their country fulfilling their duties. Criticisms of anything within a society you live in is easier to swallow when the person voicing said opinion is part of that society and enjoys not only the rights bestowed on those who live there, but has also fulfilled all required duties as well.

Long story short, end of 2022 the decision to enlist became a reality and Jin enlisting hit them all VERY hard. At that point I don't think they had a plan of enlistment just yet, although we do know from RM, for instance, that he was supposed to enlist with Hobi but ended up pushing back as he was busy working on his album and preferred not to lose the momentum.

And btw, hearing this from RM also teaches us that JM was never going to enlist so early on. And here I think our ways part when it comes to the continuation of your theory, because I do believe that JM's plan had ALWAYS been to stick around for JK's solo debut, whenever that would be. And I'll get back to it in a few...

JK was struggling start of 2023. What we got to see, starting with his lives in Feb 2023, him deleting his IG, was him pulling himself out of the pit he was in. Taking initiative and deleting his IG (which I will once again say was a big old F U to the company) and reaching out to us with his lives was JK becoming more active in getting better.

*Side note: I'm using the term getting better meaning pulling yourself out of a bad place you are in mentally (one that effects you physically as well).

Idk if starting the lives was a conscious decision on his part towards getting better, but I do believe that starting them was a key part in it.

Talking to us, sharing things with us, setting (at least trying to set) boundaries with his fans what is and is not acceptable on his part as an idol when it comes to fan behavior and interactions with him, doing it all in the most JK way, intelligently and respectfully.

JM was busy all the way from end of July 2023 through to the release of Face and until the end of his promotions. It's not that they weren't seeing each other or spending time together during this time. It's not that JM wasn't there for JK, as much as he could in the moment. It's very important to state this. But JK was struggling with everything. It's the hiatus, Jin's enlistment, their looming enlistment (the unknown of what will be with the two of them - separation for such a long time is something that both of them would find extremely hard to handle for so many reasons), the lack of direction, the lack of a structured timetable (JK is neuro divergent - there is zero doubt in my mind - if it's asd or adhd or a combination of the two, which in my mind is the most likely of them all). He was kind of lost and his anchor, JM, was not available in the way that he needed. Not JM's fault. Not JK's fault. It just was what it was, and JK was a little lost. It's natural for something like this to happen. I spoke about it quite a bit in my posts about his lives at the time. We saw RM was kind of lost for a while there too. The trick is to pick yourself up and pull yourself out of it (with help of others if necessary), and JK did, and JM was ecstatic to see him doing it. Those comments of his during JK's lives (we are talking about the lives during Feb-Mar 2023) were testimony to that.

Once again I can't seem to reign myself in and keep on point, lol.

So, where was I? Oh yes, they didn't know what will happen, but at the same time JM was not planning on enlisting earlier that year. Understand this: JM enlisting earlier would, to them, mean them being apart for not 18 months, but for 18 months plus. Plus the time between JM's enlistment and JK's enlistment. And plus the time from JM's discharge to JK's discharge. Even without JK's situation this was not something that they would want or agree on. Not to mention JK not only wanting JM around for his solo debut, but NEEDING him around for it. And it's not about being by his side 24/7, which he wasn't and he couldn't be. It's about being accessible. Being there to support him if he needed. Whenever he needed it. Being able to be with him for his first solo performance (this brings me close to another ask I received and am working on regarding JK's FIRST big solo performance). All this has to be within the limits of their glass closet (glass getting a little murky for their own liking since the end of 2021 all the way to the end of 2023), and the limits set by the powers of be (some of which JK very defiantly crossed). So yeah, JM was going to wait for JK's solo debut before enlisting.

As for enlisting together. That was something that was being assessed and in the works for several months. Something obviously kept quiet for good reason.

Was there a give and take with the company when it came to JK and the album? 100%. There were things he wanted, there were things they wanted, there were frogs that it being a first solo album he knew he would have to swallow.

Were some of these concessions given to allow the two more freedom, like allowing the 'travel show'? I do believe they were. Perhaps also prices paid (with Golden) for demands agreed upon in their new contracts. I can definitely see that happening.

The push for a full length album could be one of those, for example. JK was talking about a mini album even as late as mid July, and then it turned into a full length album. Could it have been the company pressuring him into it? Yes it could, as in the company wanting this. But JK is not one to cave in just because the company wants. So very possibly we had a bit of give and take going on here, and some of it most definitley would have had to do with allowances made for the two of them.

But at the same time I don't think it had anything to do with the joint enlistment. Not only don't I think that the company would have a say in it, legally or morally, but this wouldn't be something that either of them would stand for. So, in case I didn't make myself clear here, I will say it again - the company didn't use the possibility of joint enlistment as a tool to get something extra out of JK.

You talk about Hybe not being a company that will allow their artists to do as they wish. BTS belong to Big Hit, which is a subsidiary of Hybe. But Hybe would not have existed if not for BTS. BTS made BH what it is today and Hybe was built on their coat tails. And BTS, the members, they have enjoyed many freedoms within their company over the years. Not full freedom though. And Jikook, well they were allowed to be (while in other companies this was not allowed, couples forced apart or forced out). And not only were they allowed to be, but towards the end of 2020 there was movement towards normalizing their relationship, ear suck, hickey and all.

But then came Hybe and Hybe going public, and I knew the day that was announced that even though the members will get a huge payout this move will cost them freedoms they already had, because now there were shareholders and share prices to worry about, and when your band is the main bread winner for that company, well, as I mentioned, there is a price to pay. And they have been paying that price. The two of them for the 2 years prior to their enlistment. As long as they were under their old contracts they were bound by them. Which is why I feel like there will be changes coming when they are done with their MS and well into their new contracts. This will be freedom regarding their art (I think we can already see part of that with RM's new album) but also regarding their personal lives, in a sense of what they can or cannot show if they choose to. JK telling us he's human, telling us he loves us but he deserves to be happy, or even more needs to be happy to be able to create and perform and make us happy (you need to be especially dense if you don't understand that this also includes being in a relationship with another person, who may or may not be a member of his own band). This includes setting boundaries with their fans - yes they love them and feel indebted to them, but at the same time they need to stay in their own lane (I do think JK has been too nice at times setting these boundaries, while others like RM, Yoongi and Tae - a couple of times - were way blunter).

Once again, Hybe wouldn't have the right to 'allow' or 'disallow' them to enlist together. This would have been their decision and theirs alone. Hybe could talk about timing and what they would like to happen before or after, but not if it can or will happen. Hybe could like or dislike it, support it or not, but they would have no power over it. The military alone would have a say if to allow it or not, and at the end of the day we know how that one ended.

I also want to touch on another point.

Again.

Their choice to enlist together.

I've seen talk about Jikookers using the term NEED when it comes to the two of them - needing to be with one another to get through their military service, and I wanted to put in my two cents on this.

The way I think of it is that when people use the term need in that case it's not about saying that if they weren't allowed to enlist together they wouldn't have survived it. No. That isn't it. Not in my opinion, in any case.

These two young men are strong physically and mentally, and they would get through whatever was thrown their way (wouldn't be easy, I tell you that, but they would get through it). Chances are that if they wouldn't have gone down the path of enlisting together they could have landed a cushier placement, band perhaps, like NJ, who knows. But definitley the choice to do this together had a price tag to it, and their letters from Festa tell us as much as well (even though they obviously sugar coat it for us, but the sentiments are clear - it's hard).

So, they chose this. They knew this was going to be hard. A harder, more difficult, placement if they were to go down this path. And yet this was their choice!!

Why?

And here comes that NEED into play.

Yes, I do think that they needed this. They needed each other. They needed to not be separated for 18 months not knowing if and how often they could get to see each other or be together (maybe, if allowed, once in 3 months, and only if their units allowed the time off at the same time). They needed that person that they trusted and KNEW that would stand by their side, that would support them, be their rock, catch them when they fall, be by their side in their time of need, just like they always have been.

They are each other's PERSON. The one that would ALWAYS be there through good and bad.

They both put it down in words:

JM

And JK

Shock, awe... I must be one of those delusional Jikookers that believe JK's lyrics were not describing his relationship with us, the fans. Another song written for the one person they love, yet given as a gift to Army.

And in his very subtle but intelligent way, he told us that himself:

"Even when I was working on the song, I really wanted to release it as a fan song".

Just like JM did, eh?

Would it be too hard to just say : "I wrote this song for my fans"? He chose not to, didn't he? Once again we have choices here.

I digress.

You could replace NEED with WANT, if you will. Same same in this case, imo. Seeing how hard they fought to find their way to this exact point.

The first, the only idols to ever do this!!

Bottom line:

To me, using the term NEED in this context is not about them not being able to make it otherwise, but more about a choice made to have that person they feel closest to, the person that has since forever been their emotional anchor, the person that lifted them up when they fell, the person that stood by them, cared for them, supported them when they were struggling. The person that KNEW them to the core and would be there by their side to get through this together with.

Each other.

[aprilblossomgirl]

i feel like i'm hurting so much for faifa in this episode. he doesn't deserve to hear that many hurtful words. before i continue, i think i need to say this first: as an asian myself, i will always understand why most (asian) shows choose forgiveness when dealing with bad parents/parenting, no matter how unforgivable they might be seen by the rest of the audience. and that, i believe, is not of any agenda by the showmaker. of course, to not generalize it, few medias didn't go through that route because of a different preference or goal in the storytelling. however, understanding forgiveness doesn't necessarily mean i believe it is always the 'right' way of wrapping up an arc.

thinking about the upcoming faifawine's story starting next week, i feel like some dialogues in this episode, no matter how they really felt off to me, are intentionally right there as a further backstory for faifa. and especially if the directing choice of faifa's expression changes through that scene with the whole family is anything to go by.

when yotha called fai, he said this first: "Tell me honestly. Don’t be scared of hurting anyone." as if yotha knows that fai always keeps his feelings to himself to avoid hurting anyone else.

fai trying to come up with a reasoning, "I was probably just angry with her, but I think everyone was hurt by what happened— Dad, Newton, and Mom." as if to avoid answering yotha's question, "Do you hate her?" with his real answer.

"If Mom really wanted to abandon us, why would she have taken me with her?" shows that fai was not being optimistic (as yotha implied) but somehow trusted the mom. only to be shattered later, "I thought if I brought Faifa who loves being with his Dad and brothers, at least he would ask me to bring him back to visit everyone often and we’d all see each other sometimes. On the other hand, if I’d brought you, Yotha, we might have been so happy that we wouldn’t have wanted to come back and see anyone here again..." (what nonsense! i cannot understand any logic behind this one.) in a way implying that she might haven't been that happy with fai, which somehow validate what he and yotha had been talking about before: "I don’t know why she took me with her even though you were the one who wanted to go." / "Because she loves you more than me." / "That’s definitely not the reason." oh, i was right. mom doesn't love me. but she's hurting. but...

imagine being faifa, hearing all of those hurtful excuses, but his immediate response was trying to justify why mom did what she did instead of trying to validate the real feeling he himself was having. and i say this with my whole being: that's a pretty accurate representation of how we, asian kids, mostly were nurtured. the scene just stabbed me right in the heart.

faifa might haven't said anything, but his face didn't lie. you could very clearly see how his face instantly dropped once mom told her reason for taking him instead of yotha at that time. and i still cannot forget the face he made a few episodes back when mom gave him something he was allergic to. the level of gaslighting here is too suffocating to witness. the emotional neglect just hits too hard. i cannot even begin to break it further into fai's loneliness.

all these made me wonder how the upcoming third arc will 'deal' with fai's inner wound. i hope the show won't brush it off because i think it would add more depth to the romance part, how he navigates his feelings once someone finally enters his life, as it has been implied that wine was also dealing with heartbreak.

[gotham-daydreams]

Okay, so, I love Isekai fanfic. I just do, it's so fun. I like the idea of the reader loving this stuff and dreaming of it, but being so worried about them thinking ill of you. I would also be so embarrassed. Like, "Crud, they're gonna think I'm so lame and stupid." Only to find out, "Oh. I have some of the most dangerous, intelligent people on the planet obsessed with me who will never let me go home... Not the kind of bad I expected, and yet this is somehow worse." I'm also interested in the Idol one. The idea of someone being friends with Idols, and this fear that people only like you to try to get close to these people. That you're just being used. And then the sudden whiplash of them wanting you, and the fear it brings when you realize you're being stalked. From one kind of bad, to very different and worse kind of bad. I am very excited

Yes!!! Exactly!!!

For the Isekai one, I also decided to do that because... well, usually the MC is placed right at the foot the the yanderes/Batfam, or tries to go to them - which isn't bad by any means! Honestly it'd be pretty smart to do that considering things, and it works out for plot convenience.

Though, I couldn't help but think about a reader that just... avoids them? At all costs? Not because they have something to hide necessarily, but moreso because, well, that'd be really embarrassing... and sure, it's one thing to read about them- but its an entirely different thing to meet them face to face. How are you supposed to act? Of course you'd have to pretend you don't know them... but they're scarily good at reading people! What if they think you're some kind of stalker??? Or worse!

Basically, I need a reader that is super anxious and an overthinker so they decide to take a harder but socially 'easier' route of just... avoiding them, LMAO

Though yeah, when that realization comes around, and the reader notices a little too late that maybe the Batfam is obsessed over them? And they can't go home? It's so over. A breakdown is definitely imminent.

As for the switch one? I know!!! I love it so much!! I've only read a handful of yandere stories where the fixation for the yans switches, and even less where the original fixation wasn't an asshole, so this is me trying to do that but with the Batfam :]

The feeling of being used will definitely appear every now and again, but there is more of a fear of "something you didn't take seriously now becoming serious and it's too late for you", especially as the reader does try to pull away and break things off from the family, but it definitely doesn't work out.

I'll be honest, there is more than just the idols and the family using the reader to get what they want out of them, but that is the general premise without me getting into details and writing even longer descriptions, lol

For example: just to live, the reader does some shady buisness - but they are trying to get out of it (the family doesn't know they're even doing that kind of buisness, though). The reader also knows a lot of people... more than the Batfam thought! And just generally the Batfam looking into the reader as they realize they don't actually know a lot about them, and through that some of them become obsessed and super jealous...

It's not a lot as the whole switch from the idols to the main character does take more of a focus, but what I've mentioned above is just more things in between and during that gradual switch.

It's even worse then you think that the Batfam was doing it out of malice at first, then it slowly became something else.... oh man. And just how all these little things that meant to harm you, are now supposed to like, be signs of affection??? Super confusing, but god is it dreadful and terrifying.

[shima-draws]

WOO HOO EZIO'S HERE 👏

As always more info about him under the cut <3

Name: Ezio

Age: 27

Hair color: White

Eye color: Red

Element: None

Ezio's a runaway who cast off his life as a noble and is now adventuring freely with Nahu and co.! He was never one for the stuffy upper class life he grew up in, and has been trying to outrun his legacy for ages. Nahu and the others don't even know he's from a high class society and when they do find out, needless to say they are shocked because Ezio was the LAST person they expected among all of them to have a fancy shmancy background.

It's not something he necessarily tries to keep secret; he just views it as something that's not part of him anymore. However he still does have ties to that world--there's a girl he grew up with and who is a close friend of his that he's actually engaged to. Neither of them want anything to do with the engagement, and said friend was more than encouraging when it came to Ezio cutting ties with his status and running off.

Ezio's extremely independent and self-sufficient! He knows very well how to handle himself in most aspects of life. He's also very stoic and quiet most of the time, preferring actions over words. When it comes to combat he's one of the strongest members of the team, being an expert at sword wielding and hand-to-hand. Considering he's a non-elemental that's pretty impressive.

He's also stupidly loyal and ridiculously self sacrificial (but like, most of the group are too so he's not special in that regard. LMAO) He's got a very unhealthy attachment to Nahu and probably needs to go to therapy. Ezio will put Nahu above everybody else, no matter what the situation, even if he has to betray other members of the group. He is the definition of Ride or Die. (He cares about them tho of course!! He loves them all very much, Nahu's just his top priority in all cases.) He's down BAD for Nahu and everybody knows it except for Nahu :)))) Main reasoning behind this stems from the fact that Nahu was probably the first person Ezio met that was actually genuine and not plastic and fake like all the people he grew up around. Nahu beat up some people hired to bring Ezio home and then smiled at him one (1) time and that was IT. He was done for. He will now die for Nahu and follow him to the ends of the earth. End of story

(This comes back to bite him in the ass later bc Nahu uhhh disappears for Reasons™ and Ezio spirals HARD. Cue him going off on his own and disregarding the rest of the squad bc he literally cannot fathom living without Nahu. Again. THERAPY)

Ezio's actually a shockingly good dancer, too (dance lessons growing up), but he adamantly refuses to dance with anybody who can't keep up with him. Which is basically most of the group. The only person who can is Ione, because of her idol background. Everyone is jealous of her for this. LOL

He's also fluent in multiple languages (again, noble background) including sign language, so he and Sage are the only ones capable of communicating with Ione for a while until they teach everyone else :"D

Due to his upbringing he's uhh. Emotionally constipated lol. It's definitely a learning curve for him trying to actually show his feelings and be truthful about them. This is something he generally struggles with but luckily he's got the best group of friends anybody could ask for who support him through everything. EVEN his simping 😂

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hello, I really wanted your opinion on how Harry anger and mildly obssesion with goodness balance out

I mean, our boy spared Peter, but strangled Mundungus. He more often then not uses harmless spells, but I genualy think that he's willing to kill someone if the situation asks for it, like you mentioned before

It is kinda contradictory to me, it woud be nice to know you take on it

Okay, so first thing first, as someone who used to have anger issues, I just want to say that being an angry person ≠ being a bad person. Like, how angry you are is completely separate from how good you are. Emotions aren't necessarily tied to your moral compass.

The thing about anger and anger issues is that it's not something you control oftentimes. When you get really angry, like, properly angry, you become a spectator in your own body. You move and act out of anger, but it's not something you chose to do consciously you didn't plan it or decide upon it at any point. It just kinda happens. And it's a lot of really hard work for it not to happen once the issue is there.

As such, it happens that once you calm down, you might regret things you did in that burst of anger, but it's already done.

Harry's anger is shown like this sometimes, like something not fully under his control:

Harry was not aware of releasing George, all he knew was that a second later both of them were sprinting at Malfoy. He had completely forgotten the fact that all the teachers were watching: All he wanted to do was cause Malfoy as much pain as possible. With no time to draw out his wand, he merely drew back the fist clutching the Snitch and sank it as hard as he could into Malfoy’s stomach — “Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO!” He could hear girls’ voices screaming, Malfoy yelling, George swearing, a whistle blowing, and the bellowing of the crowd around him, but he did not care, not until somebody in the vicinity yelled “IMPEDIMENTA!” and only when he was knocked over backward by the force of the spell did he abandon the attempt to punch every inch of Malfoy he could reach. . . .

(OotP)

Anger management issues are issues with emotional regulation at the end of the day. The issue is with management, control, and regulation, where your emotions quite literally take over you. That's where phrases like "seeing red" come from. It's that all-encompassing anger that takes over, and that's the only thing you can see.

But Harry's anger isn't always like this. Sometimes his anger just pushes him to act on something he wants anyway, even when calmer:

Hatred rose in Harry such as he had never known before. He flung himself out from behind the fountain and bellowed “Crucio!” Bellatrix screamed. The spell had knocked her off her feet, but she did not writhe and shriek with pain as Neville had — she was already on her feet again, breathless, no longer laughing. Harry dodged behind the golden fountain again — her counterspell hit the head of the handsome wizard, which was blown off and landed twenty feet away, gouging long scratches into the wooden floor. “Never used an Unforgivable Curse before, have you, boy?” she yelled. She had abandoned her baby voice now. “You need to mean them, Potter! You need to really want to cause pain — to enjoy it — righteous anger won’t hurt me for long...”

(OotP)

Even when Harry's calm he thinks Bellatrix deserves torture or death. His anger in the above scene is defined well by Bellatrix. It's righteous anger. It's anger that doesn't push him out of control but propels him to act on something he already wanted to do. It's like an injection of nerves and courage, and not that same out-of-control feeling I mentioned earlier.

Now, Harry's "obsession with goodness" is completely separate from his anger.

What's important to note is what is the definition of good. Good is defined by Harry and the HP books as a whole as good = Just. Good in the HP books and according to Harry, is not some vague idea where everyone deserves mercy, it's a good where everyone gets what they deserve. Bad people have bad things happen to them, and good people have good things happen to them. It's about justice and righteousness.

Quirrell helped Voldemort, so he deserved to die in Harry's opinion.

well, unless you count Quirrell, and he got what he deserved seeing as he was working with Voldemort.

(HBP)

Stan Shunpike was under the imperius. He didn't choose to help Voldemort, he was innocent, so he didn't deserve to die in Harry's opinion.

I saw Stan Shunpike. ... You know, the bloke who was the conductor on the Knight Bus? And I tried to Disarm him instead of — well, he doesn’t know what he’s doing, does he? He must be Imperiused!

(DH)

And it makes sense. I mean, is it good that murderers and rapists go to prison? Absolutely. You need to punish bad deeds to stop bad people from hurting people, how that should be done isn't something I want to get into, but righteousness and justice include punishments for evil acts, and that's good. It's good murderers and other criminals can't just walk around and hurt people without consequences. A good person won't let a bad one hurt others, and for that, said good person needs to be willing to fight, and yes, hurt in self-defense or in defense of others.

And Harry believes in this kind of good. A good that is righteous and just. Harry doesn't think everyone deserves the same treatment. He'll treat you well if you deserve it.

“...It’s time you learned some respect!” “It’s time you earned it.” said Harry

(DH)

Harry's respect and kindness need to be earned. You need to deserve it. His scorn and hate, are similarly earned through your actions and what you say.

That being said, most people don't deserve death in Harry's book. His starting point is that you should be kept alive, and helped, and treated well. You need to actively do something to get on Harry's shitlist. Even Snape only got on Harry's shitlist after Snape mocked and ridiculed Harry in that first potions class.

In the scene with Mundungus, Harry is angry. He doesn't actually think Mundungus deserves death, some punishment, yes, but not death. He stole from Sirius, and he did a horrible thing (for Harry he did an awful disrespect to Sirius whom Harry is still grieving at that point), so the good thing would be him getting his comeuppance. But in that scene, I think there is a bit of this out-of-control anger I mentioned earlier, as I don't think a calm Harry would've strangled him in this way. Harry acted in anger and instinct, he wasn't rationalizing anything in that moment.

And regarding Pettigrew, Harry did want to kill him, he wished for him to die, to be punished, but he:

Was calmer by that point, he wasn't angry anymore so he didn't have the push of anger

He is compassionate. While he wants Peter dead, he doesn't want Lupin and Sirius to become killers because he cares about them, he doesn't want them to have to suffer through killing their ex-freind. But he wouldn't mind if Peter died to the dementors.

He is practical. He wants to bring Peter back to the castle and have him sent to Azkaban — which would allow Sirius to be exonerated. It would serve justice, it would be righteous. As Harry mentioned in the following quote, it'll be what he thinks Peter deserves:

“NO!” Harry yelled. He ran forward, placing himself in front of Pettigrew, facing the wands. “You can’t kill him,” he said breathlessly. “You can’t.” Black and Lupin both looked staggered. “Harry, this piece of vermin is the reason you have no parents,” Black snarled. “This cringing bit of filth would have seen you die too, without turning a hair. You heard him. His own stinking skin meant more to him than your whole family.” “I know,” Harry panted. “We’ll take him up to the castle. We’ll hand him over to the dementors. . . . He can go to Azkaban . . . but don’t kill him.” “Harry!” gasped Pettigrew, and he flung his arms around Harry’s knees. “You — thank you — it’s more than I deserve — thank you —” “Get off me,” Harry spat, throwing Pettigrew’s hands off him in disgust. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it because — I don’t reckon my dad would’ve wanted them to become killers — just for you.” No one moved or made a sound except Pettigrew, whose breath was coming in wheezes as he clutched his chest. Black and Lupin were looking at each other. Then, with one movement, they lowered their wands. “You’re the only person who has the right to decide, Harry,” said Black. “But think . . . think what he did. . . .” “He can go to Azkaban,” Harry repeated. “If anyone deserves that place, he does. . . .”

(PoA)

But that good Harry believes in does allow for reform. It allows for forgiveness. Harry is a very forgiving person, he believes people can regret their past actions and change. He doesn't, for the most part, believe people are evil from birth or that someone who did evil would necessarily always be evil. Specifically with Voldemort, Harry feels a connection to him, he understands him and that understanding leads him to deem Voldemort as redeemable. As someone who could be saved. It's sentimentality talking there, as, let's say, I don't see Harry making such offers to Umbridge.

[melrosing]

I’m sure you’ve talked about this before but tumblr’s search function is ass 😭 what’s your endgame prediction for Jaime esp in light of the show? I think Jaime is def fighting the others as hinted in his weirwood dream. But the way got ended doesn’t feel right to me. On Reddit everyone’s saying it makes no sense so it has to be a bad adaptation of what GRRM told them but idk I don’t buy it. Especially since it seems like Cersei replaced young griff’s role

i have talked about it before but even i can't find it ha so i don't mind talking about it again however.... my thoughts on this are vague. longwinded post ahead which is more thought starters than anything definitive.

to briefly address the show ending... I mean it's literally impossible for Jaime's story to end like that, because we know that Cersei's can't end that way. Cersei is going to be murdered by the valonqar, whoever that turns out to be. and even apart from that, the book version of the twins are so done romantically. sure, there are the barest vestiges of that connection in Jaime's ADWD chapter ('back to Cersei, another part of him whispered'), but ASOS/AFFC otherwise make for an extremely thorough deconstruction of that relationship that ends with Jaime leaving Cersei for dead and wandering off the grid with Brienne. like.... GRRM didn't write all that for nothing. and sure, some people still think he might still bounce back to her in some way or another, but generally i have found.... that those theories don't tend to accompany the strongest takes on jaime's character dhjkls

for the same reason, I don't really know where this leaves us wrt the valonqar prophecy. if Jaime were still preoccupied with Cersei's cheating, he would've acted on it by now. Tyrion thinks in ACOK that if Jaime ever found out about Lancel, he'd have killed the kid himself. Jaime in AFFC suggests Lancel eat something and go to therapy. Jaime himself imagines in AFFC scenarios where he exacts revenge on the Kettleblacks and Cersei herself, and yet given the opportunity to do so.... he wanders off in the opposite direction.

the reason being that the connection Jaime once felt to Cersei has died. that bond was his reason for living, for doing anything at all - and now it's not enough for him to even stick around long enough to see what's happened to her in KL, never mind return to her side to exact revenge on her himself. in practise, he doesn't harbour the kind of action and rage he dreams about, or claims to Ilyn Payne. it's the same as how he claims he's Tywin's heir, and then keeps letting people off the hook t any given opportunity. like for all Jaime knows, he could die fighting """"the Hound"""", and never see Cersei again, and that's apparently just fine. the opposite of love isn't hate it's indifference etc. and no I don't think Jaime will ever feel truly indifferent to Cersei - she is his twin, the mother of his children, and the woman he has loved all his life. but I think it's entirely fair to say that the extremes of love and hate he felt within the context of their romance are gone, because the romance itself has gone. Jaime's feelings towards Cersei exist outside of that now.

returning to the valonqar prophecy. I don't think it's necessarily guaranteed that Jaime the valonqar, but I do think it would be myopic to claim that he isn't a real possibility. and since Cersei's end has to factor into what Jaime's is or isn't in some kind of way, I'll suppose that he is the valonqar for the sake of this post. it's not written, so I can't say how exactly I'll end up feeling about its execution, but per the previous paragraph, I don't imagine this will have anything to do with the 'Moonboy for all I know' shit. that was for AFFC. that was building to Jaime burning her letter. Jaime in TWOW is going to have left much of that behind, bc frankly he'll have other stuff to worry about.

but we know that Cersei will be dealing w wildfire (apart from what happens in the show, this is one of the most heavily foreshadowed events in the book), and whilst it's not clear when or why she'll use it, it seems like a natural site for the valonqar prophecy to come true, in whatever way it does. and Jaime has been here before w Aerys etc, this has perturbed him in other Cersei x wildfire scenes in AFFC, so it seems it's a likely full circle moment. potentially Tommen's life is wrapped up in this too - I think it's also foreshadowed that Cersei (I assume accidentally) will manage to kill Tommen in the wildfire blast as well. so like, sure, ig that would set the scene for valonqar Jaime. I've never really liked this prophecy for a whole host of reasons, but the idea of spurned lover Jaime tramping back to KL to kill Cersei over Moonboy is uh. ??? yeah im not worried about that

[as for the more sensitive implications of Jaime being the valonqar as Cersei's ex lover, which I believe exist regardless of whether the act is about Moonboy or not: I think that's an important conversation to be had, but not one I feel effectively able to have until we have the scene itself. so whilst i want to acknowledge that context, I've found that conversations aren't often productive when participants are each imagining a different version of the scene in their minds]

then we're just left to contemplate where exactly any of this comes in the broader picture of TWOW/ADOS. if it is (per the show) effectively the last act of the series, then idk. maybe Jaime dies in Cersei's wildfire/the general pyre that is KL by this point idk?? like ok sure. he saved the city once but he couldn't save it this time etc.

however I tend to believe that TLN will follow what happens in KL, or in the very least will follow Cersei's death. i'm never certain of this, but if not, it leaves you wondering what exactly Cersei, Aegon, Arianne, Joncon etc are even doing in the south throughout all this. like. carrying on as normal?? do they even notice TLN?? winter is setting in everywhere.

and I do fully believe Jaime will fight in TLN per the weirwood dream, widow's wail etc. Jaime's story is a redemption arc (whether ppl like that term or not, GRRM uses it himself), and fighting in TLN is a natural conclusion to Jaime's pivot to the pursuit of honour, and his arc's own gradual turn towards the northern storyline. Jaime's story has always been about leaving behind loyalty to individuals and institutions, and instead fighting for causes he believes in, according to his own set of values. there's also the fact that he has to attain widow's wail somehow (which i'm certain he will), and as it is currently in KL.... it seems reasonable to assume that Jaime will be stopping by KL before he moves north again. this could be a tenuous assumption or it could be entirely correct, guess we'll see. but whatever

so if TLN is the final act of the series, then Jaime either dies in TLN (fine), or possibly even survives the series (though on this I always hedge my optimism). survival possibilities include becoming Hand or a KG to Bran, joining the Night's Watch, becoming a hedge knight, literally whatever. I like the idea that he stays with Brienne whatever ends up happening, but if it's some bittersweet long distance shit then sure whatever that's workable. however i do prefer to just assume he'll die for my own sake xo

[sir-fenris]

What are your favorite enemy turned caretaker tropes? Does it go with whumper turned caretaker for you, or do you have something different in mind?

Hey! Thank you for the ask :D

I don't really have one favorite, because I like that dynamic in general tbh, as long as it's well-written (so it doesn't look like a sudden change of heart dynamic, yk?).

But I can definitely give you some tropes I most enjoy inside Enemy to Caretaker. Most dynamics I think of are in war settings, lab settings or settings that the dynamic really is enemies, not only whumpee&whumper.

-

➛ Enemy-to-Caretaker

No content warnings for this one, there's nothing explicit here, just general whump ;)

◆ Reluctant Whumper turned Caretaker ->

A Whumper that has to hurt/incarcerate/whump the Whumpee, it's not personal.

Perhaps they feel bad about it, perhaps not, but once the reason why they hurt Whumpee is gone, they care for Whumpee.

Is it out of a sense of obligation? Is it because there's no one else to do it? Is it just because it won't take much energy to do it, so why not? Is the reason for the whump the same for the caretaking somehow?

So many different routes to go with this one.

◆ Multiple Whumpers setting ->

A bunch of whumpers to one, or more, whumpees. But one of them thinks the others are going too far, because they hurt whumpee for no reason, hurt them way more than necessary, hurt them in ways this Whumper doesn't agree with.

So, Enemy-to-Caretaker ends up being the one patching Whumpee up, and giving them an extra portion of meal, or a break. Maybe Enemy tells the other to back off a bit, tries to forbid them from going too far.

Or maybe they know their teammates won't listen, and that this is going way too far. So they take Whumpee away and hides them. They still think Whumpee needs to be hurt or contained for some reason, but know they are the only one in charge of it. How does caretaking go, now that the other whumpers aren't there to take it too far again?

◆ Regretful Whumper turned Caretaker ->

And if Whumper is the one that went too far? Hurting Whumpee too much during a fit of rage, perhaps. Or got blinded by the adrenaline of war/chase/overrun. Maybe doing something while blinded by the notion that Whumpee is the enemy.

Maybe the whump happened at a distance (like city bombing, or a big operation in which Whumper wasn't on the front line, or something like that), and Whumper just realizes it was too far when they see Whumpee. Driven by guilt, they try to fix what they have broken.

◆ Whumper turned Reluctant Caretaker ->

On the opposite side, what about a Whumper being forced to care for whumpee? Whumper hates Whumpee, they are enemies, but caretaking makes itself an obligation.

Maybe they need Whumpee alive for some reason, something only Whumpee knows, can do or can be traded for. Maybe it's orders coming from Whumper's superiors. Maybe one of Whumper's friends like Whumpee, and Whumper wants to keep their friends happy.

How much care are they forced to extend? Do they make caretaking painful? Do they have to be gentle and careful? Do they do the bare minimum? Or do they go out of their way to ensure Whumpee's safety and well-being, for any reason?

What an interesting dynamic it makes, someone who hates you, who wants to hurt you, being forced to keep you safe and unharmed.

-

In these examples, it's all Enemy-Whumper to Caretaker, but there are other dynamics I've considered that aren't necessarily a Whumper-Enemy, but a Whumpee-Enemy turned Caretaker.

-

Here is the part 2

-

[sepublic]

When discussing the benefits but also the dangers of fantasy in TOH, it makes me consider how this ties into Belos’ bigotry, religious superiority, white supremacy, etc. Because I see how in the parallels to Luz and the depictions of his witch hunts as a ‘game’ he played as a kid, the show is getting into the thought process behind white supremacy and the like; Specifically, by suggesting that it comes from the same core principle of “I was born special, I’m a hero.”

Because think of it this way; I was born inherently better than others, it’s in my blood, I have to defeat evils? These aren’t unlike what white supremacists believe about themselves. After all, TOH is coming off of Harry Potter, which is criticized for the “It’s in his blood” trope with the protagonist.

This is foiled by Luz, who wants to believe at first that she’s special and things will automatically come to her because of it, but then Eda has to explain; Sorry kid, but if you want things you have to work for and earn them, just like anyone else. Some things can be attributed to luck on Luz’s part, but it’s not as if she’s blind to this and saying it’s ‘destiny’ (unlike someone else), plus in general we all have a bit of privilege in some ways.

And again, that ties back into Christian white supremacy, particularly the Puritans, who believed their colony would be a "City upon a Hill." That it’s their goal to enlighten people, or else root out the evildoers; You can see how this evolves into evangelicalism in the U.S. and the right’s obsession with anything new as satanic, even if it’s something like Elvis Presley or Pokemon (which Dana grew up with, coincidentally), or more recently, furries.

(No really, this actually happened I kid you not. It seems like an exaggeration but I swear it genuinely happened and it truly is absurd that it did.)

Anyhow I think that’s important, because it’s not just the message that Christian white supremacy is bad, it’s why people even believe and buy into these things to begin with. A lot of alt-right 4channers and the like fall into these rabbit holes because they feel cheated out of the implicit, unconscious promises of white supremacy and feel as if they’re owed something; So obviously women and PoC, the queers, the ‘diversity hires’ and affirmative action, this is what’s cheated them.

And you can see the connection between white christian ideas and how that can translate into a lot of fantasy stories, hence “It’s in your blood” and “It’s destiny,” as well as Isekai Colonialism; The idea that what if another world and its inhabitants just existed for you. These tropes are inspired by outdated ideas that Christian white supremacy, an outdated belief, has plenty examples of and sometimes even inspired.

And this is why it’s important to engage with these things critically and question them… But at the same time, Luz is still allowed to love Azura, it’s just about maintaining a critical eye and being self-aware of what you internalize and don’t. Hence her learning to differentiate reality from fiction and not become delusional; Hence King doing the same!

By making that connection, it does explain this type of bigotry by framing it in a way that viewers can actually relate to, even if they also condemn it just as much, if not moreso after understanding. It ties even the genocide with tropes like the dragon slayer, the endless horde of monsters you don’t ever have to feel bad about or question killing, or the DnD Evil Race; Which on their own, these stories aren’t necessarily in advocacy for genocide of course, some of them are just inspired by previous ones without making that connection. And most people know not to let it affect how they see reality.

Because it’s one thing to let yourself be petty and find catharsis against a genuine, extreme example who has gone out of their way to hurt you (those definitely exist, alas); But it’s another to actively search for people to feel angry towards, amidst groups unrelated to you, and provoke them until they give you that ‘justification’. Because you’re not responding to anything, you are the aggressor; In essence, you are performing a witch hunt, in a need to feel like a hero enacting righteous judgment.

Because you’re desperate for the power of putting someone else beneath you, which is what the mundane bully does, out of the belief this conversely translates into you being above others; Again, the ‘chosen one’ beliefs, the Christian white supremacy. And suddenly you better understand why Evangelicals raged over something as innocuous as the Pokemon games that Dana grew up with, back when they first came out.

So Luz understands; She does understand, better than some people, in fact. She understood the Collector. But just because she understands, doesn't necessarily mean Luz approves or excuses; She still has every right in condemning Belos because she never let herself go that far, and this behavior would be condemned even by those trying to make up for it; It’s why they try to make up for it. And the fiction Luz wants to happen for herself (which isn’t the same as the fictions one enjoys) isn't centered around there being hidden bad actors amongst the populace to constantly root out; Luz is only going to react, not act, and consistently, predominantly sees the best in others.

In the end, Belos latched onto Caleb marrying Evelyn, and then the Grimwalkers, and finally Luz, as a way of a proving a point to himself; That wiping out witches WAS in service of humanity, it would actually help them, by showing how he 'rescued' a human from temptation. I'm sure he genuinely loved Caleb, but in an extreme form of Luz's Wing it like Witches, at some point he subsumed Caleb's input and agency to instead make him into a docile trope to make decisions for.

And when Caleb didn't go along with that story, pointed out how it didn't fit the reality of the situation; Philip killed him! His priorities shifted from doing it for Caleb's sake, for the sake of HIS fantasy; He saw an opportunity to live out the Witch Hunter story and it mattered more to him than actually helping someone, or realizing in relief he didn't have to.

Hence the Titan saying Belos "fears what he can't control" due to "his need to be the hero in his own delusion." It’s a quote applicable to real life conservatives who look for things to outlaw, because hating makes them feel like righteous saviors; Remember Pokemon? Gotta save people from themselves and any potential temptations… Belos couldn't control Caleb, and the Grimwalkers? Belos' way of re-attempting his 'side quest' to again, prove that what he's doing is for the sake of humanity, in the absence of actual humans to work with.

Not that he cares about this for fear of hurting others, but because he fears it means he isn't the special hero. Note that Belos doesn't feel guilt over any witches and demons he killed in For the Future, it's telling; As is the assumption that even if he was treated with hostility when arriving in both Gravesfield and the isles, Belos still understood that murdering the colony was wrong… Yet ignores this lesson when it comes to demons because of hypocrisy, choosing to go after the world that was canonically accepting and would be much harder to attack.

And when Luz shows up, Belos abandons Hunter (showing how much he really cared) because Luz is a real human to save, even if she's technically a queer girl of color; But if you remember how Americans kidnapped Native children and assimilated them into Christian society and culture, it actually makes perfect sense because it's another form of genocide. And it's just as racist and insincere as the murder. And just like many homophobic Christians, Belos selectively chooses what to apply from the Bible because he knows it speaks contrary to what he does and he fears that, it’s something he can’t control despite his attempts to.

[kuroppiii]

Hi! I saw your Brazilian reader and I was wondering if you could do it again? This time its Sugawara x Filipino reader where she is an exchange student from the Philippines? I hope this is ok, thank you!

  binibini ᵕ̈       sugawara kōshi x filipina!reader ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : japanese boy tries to ⋮⋮  harana no clickbait

📋 content     ♡ # 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 🐮     ♡ # 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 🥛     ♡ # ~850 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 ( wow i got carried away )

🎶 on shuffle “ mundo ” - iv of spades

🧸 directory  ‹ ✩  like what you read ? check out more of my blog !  •ᴗ•

💬 kuroppiii ─ “ SOBRANG OKAY YAN ! started doing backflips when i first saw this nonnie , salamat sa request mo 🫶 i hope you like it !!! ( i ' ve said this before but my tagalog isn ' t the best :,) so pls correct me nicely if i ' m mistaken anywhere ! ) ”

sugawara was spacing off the day you arrived

he didn’t even catch when the teacher announced their section has just received a new transfer student

but what he did notice, was how stunning you were once you walked into the classroom

like the grip on his pen goes slack and it rolls off his desk and onto the floor clattering (😭😭😭)

he quickly picks it up before looking back up to find which desk you just sat down at

he sneaks glances at you the whole rest of the period

AND WHEN YOU ACCIDENTALLY CATCH HIM 🫠

internally he panics and freaks out and almost shuts down completely bc what if you thought he was looking at you bc he thought you were weird or something

when that is DEFINITELY not the case!!!

so on the outside he gives you a warm and reassuring smile

if you smiled back before looking to the front of the classroom again

you’d miss how his ears have turned an excruciatingly obvious shade of red

he’ll ask around about you during volleyball practice, specifically with the other third years

“have you seen that new girl in your classes too?” [sugawara]

“which one?” [asahi]

“y/n? the one from the philippines?” [daichi]

“the philippines?!” [sugawara]

he had no clue (since bro was not locked in when the teacher first introduced you)

now he’s wondering how you’re getting by, coming to a completely new country and all

can you speak the language here? are you having a hard time? can he help you with that?

sugawara’s such a gentleman, he can’t help but worry for your well being!

(he especially can’t help it when you look so pretty whenever you pass him in the halls in-between classes)

sugawara isn’t necessarily a shy guy, so he eventually (bc granted it took a few days for him to muster up the courage) comes up to you one day at the end of class

“hello! how is school here for you so far?” [sugawara]

“oh! um, it—” [you]

“MY NAME’S SUGAWARA BY THE WAY OR YOU CAN CALL ME SUGA EITHER IS FINE.” [sugawara]

yeah he totally nailed that. went totally to plan

“my name’s y/n. nice to meet you sugawara!” [you]

you know enough to talk to him oh my god you’re talking to him so he feels more encouraged to keep talking to you more!

whether that’s after class, or in passing in the halls

or for instance he’ll eat lunch with you if he ever sees you eating alone while you’re still in the process of making friends after your initial transfer

shows interest in what baon you have packed for the day

always eager to listen to you talk about where you’re from and your stories from back home

as you talk, he listens sooo intently with the most admiring look on his face "he wants that cookie so fucking bad"

if you get hung up on finding a translation for a word, he’ll help you through it

is quickly looking up translations of words in tagalog on his phone under the lunch table

he thinks you don’t catch it but you totally do he’s not slick

(despite this, sometimes you make it into a little game)

“so it’s like mcdonald’s?” [sugawara]

“nooo! jollibee isn’t a… a… ? oh, what is it in japanese—?” [you]

“franchise? like more than one shop?” [sugawara] (furious typing can be heard)

“no, it’s the person with makeup.” [you]

“mascot? the one in a costume?” [sugawara] (more aggressive backspacing and typing as he occasionally glances to something at his side)

“almost! the one with big shoes!” [you]

“clown? pasayo?” [sugawara]

“yes, clown! thanks suga!” [you]

(your smile is so cute as you thank him for helping you that he feels like he can melt right then and there) (you knew the word for “clown” the whole time)

asks ukai like every week if his store is carrying any of the snacks or foods you’ve mentioned—chippy, clover, piattos, mang juan, pancit canton—anything he can get his hands on to see your face light up when he surprises you with it

will watch any teleseryes you recommend

and when he sees the whole harana courting deal on those shows, he’s like “ok bet”

that’s how he’s going to turn this friendship to something more!

will start offering to walk you home sometimes, and if you live with family members he would try to get good on their good side and always politely waves hi to them when he drops you off

writes you small and cute notes in class or slips them into your bag when you’re not looking as his own kind of love letter sitch

and when he’s ready to really shoot his shot

he has kiyoko to help him fold origami flowers (real ones would’ve been harder to hide in his bag) so cute i’m sobbing </3

and before he drops you off one day, he might not feel confident enough to sing to you 😭

butttt instead he finds popular filo songs and queues them up to play from his phone in his pocket

then he gives you the flowers <3

“p-pwede ba kitang maging boyfriend? (google translated "can i be your boyfriend?")” [sugawara]

🗒⋆ *. ୨୧⋆｡ taglist : @akaakeis , @19calicos , @berrisweet kumusta lovelies ;)