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sjw-publishings · 4 months

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Lit Gud Streamin

With much encouragement from @dumb-and-jocked

>First Time Streamin’ bro?

The house husband blushed at the first comment coming to respond to him.

Carson Green was anxious…he’d heard of streaming but never tried it until some pestering from his Gaymer group as of late.

The stay at home husband wanted to help with the finances, hence why he even considered it in the first place. Sure it was nice being a homemaker, and definitely had a flair in cooking, but he wanted to do something different.

“Y…Yeah, it’s my first time.”

>LOL K

He was relatively unsure of this, but he had known and spoken to several of the guys a week ago, and though he could have sworn they talked about a different topic entirely, he recalled about many of them bragging about ‘raking in the dough’ for gaming.

True enough, many of them are not only being paid handsomely in royalties for streaming, but they have a surprisingly large fanbase!

Admittedly, he was sort of shocked…and sort of jealousy that many of them are quite popular online, almost like they reached stardom within a week or less.

But regardless, his group also promised that they will help out with ‘assimilating’ him into the platform and moderate his stream. So surely he would reach a certain level of success with their guidance.

Though he’s still unsure how exactly will do they so.

“W…What games will we be playing?”

>Dis the game dude

>Ur in it, brought in da Boiz to watch the stream.

With that, the number count rose exponentially, from single digits, to doubles.

The house husband blushed, twiddling his thumbs at being watched by wide audience. Is it like a reality show game? Or is it something different entirely?

Granted, there weren’t any instructions or briefings given about it. Maybe it is a more on the spot, spontaneous kind of thing?

“D…Do I need to do anything in particular?”

>Just be yourself , LOL

>You gotta impress us Noob.

He…kind of doesn’t like being called a noob, but he is new to streaming after all. So he ought to listen to them, no matter how they are like.

>Dude, ur Tagline?

Tagline…?

Oh yeah! All the cool streamers he watched had one.

Wait? Since when did he watch…well he is a gamer after all, so it’s only natural that he DID watch streams, at least some of em by proxy. He is rather connected to the other guys.

“Ummm…ok LOL, what kind of tagline. Do you all have any suggestions, dudes?”

>Just Lit Gud man.

>Yeah RAT

He thought maybe it’s tough love or something…though it really feels extremely rude. Almost draining even, like yeah it was exhausting trying to keep up with his group’s gaming shenanigans, but even in their streamin’ advice?

C’mon Man!

Plus he’s just got married not a while ago! They could’ve at least be NICE to him since he’s now tied down! Like don’t get me wrong, he loves his husbro, but when all is said and done, he does miss the glory days of being with the rest of the guys.

“Look, I-D-K if Lit Gud Noobs is such a nice tagline?”

Desperate for a win here. Yeah, he may be getting quite aggro. But it’s justified! Bro.

“And who you callin’ Rat, RATZ!”

His mouth slurred at that remark, a very sleazy…immature slur as he quickly covered his mouth in that regard.

Though admittedly, he kinda liked that.

After all, if he was the rat, then these noobs are his goons. And while he usually isn’t the dominant one in his relationships, admittedly he kinda liked roleplaying as one of the typical bros, even if he wasn’t THAT asian compared to them.

>RAT BOD

>You lift Bro?

“My body…its not that well off-“

>Get lit or get Shyt on

He’s gotta get LIT.

Watching as his weight sizzle away down, melting away the bubbling tummy fat into a faint trail of a six pack, straining loosely on the shirt being his college grad pectorals.

Gotta show off after all. Specially during the bachelor’s party!

His diet consisted of pizza, soda and chips. And so ducking what? Body trim as DUCK, that’s how he lived and how his rats loved it. Some people said it was his GENE-tics or some shit that he had this bod, but you know what he says to em’?

Get lit or get Shyt on!

But even so, da shyt? Why did these bastards gotta treat him like that? Weren’t they all buds or somethin’?

“You RATZ are always so rude.”

>We rude? KAPPA

>Haha Noob!

With every interaction and vocabulary pollution, hunching lazily towards the screen, eyes entranced by the masses of comments.

LIGHTING and EMPHASIZIN’ random words, like an obnoxious mixture tainting his patience. Persistent name calling and being on the receiving end of the relationship kinda pisses him off.

>LOL K, How’s the stream?

But admittedly, a growing part of him is really getting pumped, while irritated, a small part of him liked broadcasting to these gamers.

If only they had some MAN-NERS, sheesh!

“How the streamin’ goin? Dude IDK, just a Jerkin’ stream today, nothin but insults.”

> Git Gud

> Just Git Gud

> Noob

Chat, filled with your run of the mill, cloned responses. Your typical mocks and insults, passive threading onto aggressive, a fine balance of being slightly very aggro but chill, producing RUDE DUCKIN’ INSULTS.

Each one after another, a shytposting blend that makes the stupid obnoxiousness rise higher and higher. Calves toning out from jumping upwards in sports as his body shrunk downward, making sure he sees eye to eye with dem BOIZ.

One liner aggressiveness alongside swarms of memes and complete nonsense. Idiotic behaviour, fitting a ‘RatChat’. Blending in with the other dudes, speakin’ their language, participating campus exercises and roughing around with the other bros!

Like a game, course, they are gamers after all. They know the COMBO, dissecting their streamer bud like it’s nothin’! Insults kicking right from the beginning!

He wanted to beat them at their own game!

Be hetter-BETTER! Calson Greo wanted to be a PRO.

“Alright RATZ, What’ll make me less of a noob and g-”

>Git Gud Noob

“GIT GUD?”

His voice slurred, eyebrows raised as he slumped back in his gaming chair. Like a simple command burning into his skull.

He just gotta GIT GUD! No instructions needed, except you gotta be IN DA LOOP. At TOP! As his buttocks clenched at the refusal of being BOT! Cheeks meant for exercise and gamin’.

He had to GIT GUD! And that’s being on top of his game always!

>You gotta be LIT Fam

“LIT?”

A delicious fuming rage erupted from his screen, as a multitude of laughing frogs and emojis filled his entire chat.

Igniting a fire within, his skin tanning till its just RIGHT. Made for a BOI who spends time gamin’ both online and in sports. Just like every other of his classmates back on campus.

>Stop being such a QUEER

“QUEER? Da SHYT?”

SHYT, these men tryin’ to get under his skin. Really making him all pent and rock solid. NO HOMO!

Wait WUT?

DUDE! LIEK…man he’s really even sounding immature in his thoughts? Wasn’t he some sort of QUEER? DA FK? He was g…a…guy, A GUY! YEAH! He was a guy like em!

“Thought you all stand for GUY RIGHTS?”

HE ALWAYS TOPS! Yeah so maybe he had a PHAG, but it was clear they are ‘sabotaging’ his GAY STREAM and tryin’ makin’ it the way it ought to be!

Full of SHYT-talkin’, assholes are dragging him down to THEIR level. A more rodent, nastier bunch instead of friendly GHEYS! But alright! If these idiots want to game, then they gonna-

>Look PHAG, if you want to WIN you gotta stop sucking

“SUK DEEZ NUTS!”

GOTTEM

An obnoxious Tenor bursted out from the man, retaliating like an immature douchebag as he finally sunk to their level. Height stooping at an average 5ft 9, GPA scores barely scrapping by the median. A fellow backslider like the crowd.

And HE was going to let these DOUCHEBOIS get it HARD!

>Just Chillax Gay Boi

“I AM CHILLAX!”

He sneered, as his voice rose into a stupidly obnoxious loud tenor, allowing that youthful tone engulf him in an asian tan like his peers, makin’ sure he is part of the Hivemind that is Snitch culture.

“No Sweats allowed…Just CHILLAX man…”

Feeling his mind sinking into the mass rebellious conformity that is his gamin’ community, his voice cooled slightly, gifted the flexibility to yell when he WANTS to BOIIII!

His buttoned down fused, as the simple white tee clung over his frame with slackened glee, bluntly accentuating his pectorals, as a typical print was plastered over like another typical meshed up shirt that the zoomers would wear.

He was NO SWEAT, Trousers shortening up to his thighs, lightening up into a more mesh, flexible material. Hanging loose L-sized on his waist are his flaming red basketball shorts, stickin’ out like a sore thumb whenever the dude stands up or goes for a bathroom breaks.

>Yo streamer, you a player?

“Am I a play-yer?”

The young man slurred, smirking as he acknowledged that remark, teasing those thirsty PHAGS and RATZ like he always does.

ResidentSnorer and various funny frogs spammed the chat box like no other, skyrocketing his view count to the thousands.

The young Boi loved every minute of it. He was getting the fame, boi.

“Course I am, ain’t easy being this good…”

>u dating someone?

“DAY-TING?”

Slippers took a hit in their quality, soft material becoming a pair of stretchable basketball shoes. Made for the kind of guy who keeps his options open.

Both in da basketball court, and in da bed. And yeah, it was technically his home. Well, he and his GAY fiancé’s. But it’s mostly a BRO thing! Roommates with benefits!

“Boiz, I have a fiancé , but..”

>Sounds Sus

>you gay or what?

His eyes widened, SHYT, he wasn’t supposed to say that. Not that he minded the older man…except when he was being GHEY-but weren’t they a couple…of MEN.

But aren’t they together? Da SHYT! He was a playah! BUT what about that time when they cuddled-BRUH that’s GHEY! BUT WHAT ABOUT-YOU GHEY BROSKI? BRO? B-

“BUTT-FK! I mean…I MEAN my BOI-FRIEND!”

>MEGAFAG

Fiddling the ring, the band stretched beyond the size of his palm, turning into pure eleastic as it slid down his right wrist, loosely fitting like its part of some showoffy trend.

As the chat continues to spam various emotes, including a distinct rainbow head, don’t these douchebags know he’s single and ready to mingle? Why are they thinkin’ he’s gonna be bangin’ it with some dude?

“Who you noobs calling GAY? It’s just ONE night!”

> QUEER ALERT!

> GAY GAY GAY

One hand palming below, the other one flippin the stream. Colson Groh’s darkened hair flicked down the side, his new asian ethnicity fully taking hold without remorse, blending in with the group of bullies pickin’ on him and his-FAG!

“One night of PRANKIN FAGS!”

Picking on em hard, he wasn’t one of em, but man is it HOT setting them STRAIGHT! The twenty two year college dude smirked, as PHAGS couldn’t resist starin’ at his clean-shaven slack-jaw and risen cheekbones till they get completely RAT PRANKED.

GGEZ

>Ayyy LIT

>Lets go BOI

>AFKin’ RAT!

“Bet you all can’t get ladies to your doorstep.”

>Check GayPay

GayPay my arse, StraightCoin’s the deal bro.

Though speakin’ of ladies. Hot damn…is he THAT dry? Cause he’s having that fantasy every straight, gamin’ charged college guy’s has.

Surrounded by hot ladies.

Then again, he’s always THIRSTIN’. Course, a guy like him can get a bunch of women in a flash. But he totally can jerk like a maiden-less douchebag like a bunch of the idiots watchin’ him.

Makes him relatable to his RATZ, yeah? Sides, nothin’ wrong with a lil jerkin’ on cam, nothing GHEY bout it!

>Yo RAT, check out your numbers

>BRO past 7k

>NO CAP

LIT_GUD: +7k subs

“Nggh!”

Rapidly vibrating his 7 inch joystick, brows raised as they thinned out. The last bit of hesitation melting away, making way for youthful gamin’ bravado as a seedy wide grin beamed in the stream.

“How to LIT GUD getting chicks?”

>PRO-DUCTION BRO!

>GIT LIT STREAM!

>YEEEEAAAAH BOI!

Comments flooding all over his stream, a mass mindset and mentality calling all to pump. PUMP! Pumping his POG-O STICK to the MAX! The Go-To-Game for men of his kind.

The HIGH score, as his eyes narrowed in utmost dumb simplicity, tilting his head upward to the ceiling as he grinned wildly as he thought bout’ that simple fantasy!

All da LADIES comin’ at him. YAAA BOIII!

“JUST LIT GUD BOIIIIIIIIIIIIII!”

Colton Goh no scoped all over his boxers, slumping back as drops of youthful rebellion spluttered all over, mucking it with obnoxious bully testosterone like he always does.

Feels so LIT! Being able to climax whenever the heck he wants, why abstain when he can just LIT GUD MAN! All those goody two shoe brethren back at campus grounds are really missin’ out.

But of course, he’ll scoop the remaining wads of mayo to his jerk off bottle later. He may be a backslider, but he gotta be up in his production game, beat his last record and all that shiz.

Speakin’ of which.

“E….Z….”

7k’s still just rookie numbers for a guy like him, but considering he got it all in a bunch of hours, he’s as good as the pros like the rest of em’!

“Yo…and that’s how you dudes get the ladies, man.”

>AYYYOOOO

>MY STREAMER!

>YA BOIIIIII

“Boiz, if you see any gays going all homo on ya. You gotta give em the LIT GUD!”

Normally he would collab with his streaming buds, but he really oughta help his Bromies out by teachin em.

Especially ratting out GHEYS until they turn into a couple of rats like he is. And what better way than to create his own Streamin’ channel? All he got to do was be himself bro.

Brings in the subs, and sides, hot chicks dig him, and fags thirstin’ over him get weeded out until they are a bunch of rats like he and his gamer crew.

‘[TOP] Gay Dude Joined the stream’

Speaking of fags…

“Ayy, a new fag joined the stream, sweet.”

Not sure how did ‘Gay Dude’ squirmed into his ‘TOP’ friends list, but he must’ve added him during that stupid RNG game he tried last night while he drank Heteroade with the bois.

But honestly, heh, he doesn’t give a Rats arse bout em’. After all, he needed someone to dunk on to celebrate his 7k Subs, so why not make sure the fag gets the whole RatChat streamin’ experience?

Heh, this will be hot.

“Give em a couple of Lit Guds in the chat, noobs.”

#Lit Gud Streamin #Lit Gud Streaming #gay to straight #mental change #g2s #racialchange #camp christening #christian #age regression tf #zoomer tf

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clearexpertarcade · 5 months

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matt weekends were filled with partying and beer he was in love with the college nightlife but Matt was steadily increasing his waistline without him realizing it I mean all that beer and getting high which would lead to a pig out at the end of the night Lucky for Matt the first 5 Ibs he gained went straight to his ass only making matt hotter.

Matt had managed to gain a respectable 15 pounds, covering his formerly shredded abs with a bit of a belly but no one would have called him fat or probably even noticed

Matt's love of burgers and pastries was steadily increasing his waistline without him realising it the ex-jock’s belly grew steadily each day he was growing inch by inch how could he not when Matt's diet slowly turned into one of beer, pizza, pasta, McDonald’s, Dunkin’ Donuts, and burritos. And all the partying Matt did Left him with little time to work out not that he gave it much thought

Matt said to his roommate ''am getting pizza you want anything''

Roommate “Shouldn’t you be laying off the fast food?”

Mate “Sure beats having to make my own dinner”

The roommate walked over to Matt lifted his shirt reached out and gave Matt soft layer of extra pudge a squeeze

Roommate “Maybe you ought to think about laying off the pizza a bit.”

Matt lowered his shirt “ Yes, fine Whatever Um, yeah, I’ll take 2 large meat lovers with extra cheese and the dessert cookie cake …. You want anything''

Roommate ''“That’s all for you?”

Matt “Yeah bro what do you want?”

Roommate '' am good''

Mate '' oh and a bottle of diet coke''

Roomate “Haha you enjoyed yourself.''

and enjoy himself he did Matt quite happily and stuffed himself with pizza lifting piece by piece, watching the multitude of cheeses stretch away from the rest of the pizza. He used his finger to sever the excess and toss it back into his mouth.

Matt would be meandering about the dorm room with his bare beer belly on for show. Matt would belch and rub his way around the room. Matt's roommate walked up to him and patted his belly which was starting to droop a little over the elastic waistband “Careful buddy, you’re gonna get fat.” Matt shrugged, taking another sip of his beer “I’ll still hit the gym and run, you know? It will all balance out in the end.”

Matt didn't listen to his roommate's warning and continued pigged out in every sense of the word and his belly grew wider and wider, drooping lower and lower, his once flat chest was developing into a heavy pair of moobs.

Matt kept convincing himself that his 36" pants still fit he’d suck in his growing belly and grunt and groan “Damn it,” he grunted, attempting to get the button in his jeans to reach the hole. Matt tried buttoning them but they wouldn’t close ''Just suck in. Just suck it in''. These fit the last time Matt wore them.

Matt tossed himself against his bed pushing himself onto the bed. Sure enough, he managed to get the ends to meet and do up his pants. Sitting up was a little uncomfortable, but at least his pants were fastened.

Later that night Matt and his roommate kicked back watched TV down some beers and got high. Time melted away as they talked and In what seemed like no time at all, Matt had downed two beers The button of his shorts groaned audibly but didn’t give. As Matt leaned forward to reach for his third beer but suddenly he heard the button on his shorts groan. There was a pinch at his waist, then a loud snap, and the pressure dissipated immediately from his waist as his button went flying across the room. His zipper gave under the pressure of his surging belly and jiggled wildly on his lap, jutting forward even farther than it had before, leaving his belly completely exposed, pale, flabby, and jiggly right before his roommate's eyes.

“You’ve gotten fat, man Looks like you could use some new shorts I can't believe you just busted out your pants. You need to lay off the burgers and beer, big guy.''

“Man,” Matt gave his belly a jiggle, “I am getting’ fuckin’ fat dude. I need to hit the gym. I didn’t notice how big this puppy was getting!”

Matt stood shirtless in front of his 3-sided mirror with his shorts busted open and gave his belly a squeeze and grabbed a handful of his flesh. He gasped and he felt his fingers press deeply into his soft stomach. It felt like bread dough being kneaded between his fingers. It was then that Matt realized that the Fat Gut he saw looking in the mirror was his. He screamed aloud in shock when he realized that he was fat.

#fat belly #fatboy #letgo #fat #fatboystory #fatty #pop #exjock #fat guy

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sugutoad · 6 months

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Cabin Matchup for @november-solarstorms

╰┈➤ Thank you for doing Matchups at Sugutoad

╰┈➤ Cabin 10 ‘ Goddess of Love, my moms Aphrodite’

I’ll be honest, this one just came straight to me. Since you do matchups, you probably had those moments when you see a matchup and it just hits you?

Daughter of Aphrodite and Legacy of Hecate

Do you know how beautiful you are? The way when entering the room, the sound of heels clicking against the cabin floor, all eyes are on you. They feel intimidated by your cold yet beautiful aura.

You have the best outfits in Camp Half Blood. After bribing Chiron that at least once every month campers should be allowed to wear whatever they wish. But Chiron insisted that orange must be somehow incorporated through your outfit but let’s be honest, it’s hard to pull the colour orange if you don’t know what you are doing.

After hearing that news, campers flooded the Aphrodite cabin. They were so eager to talk to you, to sort of thank you and help them with an outfit. Together you and your siblings made everyone look beautiful.

Even though charmspeak is quite rare amongst Aphrodite kids, being a legacy of Hecate sort of gave you a boost up. Sorcerers have been known to use charmspeak such as Medea. But even if it weren’t for Hecate, I just feel like you would get charmspeak with that sharp tongue of yours.

You radiance so much confidence, the young campers look up at you. Though you are known to be aloof, you have the sweetest smile but some people say it’s the use of your Aphrodite beauty but only you know the truth

You have control over magic, maybe not as much as Lou Ellen or Alabaster but since your father was the son of Hecate you had some control. And I know for a fact that Drew and other Aphrodite kids get jealous at times since outfits tend to be seasonal. You really can’t wear a short skirt in the winter, right? Well not if you don’t have magic. Using a small spell, you can control the warmth of your body. So despite it freezing or boiling outside, you can wear anything you feel like.

Fighting is a dance when it comes to you. Think of Mitsuri from Demon Slayer. The way you grab your sword, tiptoeing around and spinning so gracefully. It all looks so sequenced out and so beautiful.

Can I just say you would be besties with Drew? Ultimately two Aphrodite girls who are so similar ought to be friends. When Drew was elected councillor of the Aphrodite cabin, she elected you as her assistant to help her around. Though we all know she just wanted your company and to talk with someone, she didn’t want to be lonely.

Whenever there is a party, you always help set everything around. Whether it’s making the lights or making sure everyone looks beautiful. But no one ever knows where you are when the party happens. Plot Twist: You are most likely in your room and reading a horror story . But don’t worry, your siblings won’t rat you out and will bring food from the party. Drew always pokes you around for liking too much horror and ghost thing, she won’t admit but she is scared of ghosts and you bringing them up all the time isn’t helping,

You are one of the top demigods in Camp Halfblood. You pass all your classes with flying colours, whether it’s archery or hand-to-hand combat. While Percy was doing his own prophecy, you were sent on small quests to help the camp.

I don’t know why… but I feel like you would join the Titan Army. Upon hearing that, your siblings were heartbroken but when the war was finished they welcomed you with open arms.

After leaving for New Rome for college, you certainly left a mark and legacy in Camp. Memories of you linger around every part of Camp.

I know this is a cabin matchup but can I just add that if I were to give you a romantic matchup it would be Rachel? But if you are interested in guys then perhaps Leo/Percy?

#pjo matchups #percy jackson matchups #Aphrodite #cabin 10 #camp halfblood #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus #piper mclean #silena beauregard #drew tanaka #aphrodite kids #daughter of Aphrodite #Pjo oc #sazh moonboards #Pjo moonboard #sazh matchup

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mcflymemes · 6 months

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PROMPTS FROM NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM * assorted dialogue from the 2006 film, adjust as necessary

can you believe this weather?

you didn't get evicted again, did you?

i know that things have been kind of up and down for me lately, and that's been really hard for you.

i really feel like my moment's coming, and when it does... everything's just gonna come together.

that wasn't a compliment.

i felt a connection when i entered this office.

let me point you in the right direction.

i cannot tolerate this type of chaos.

nice firm handshake. i like that. tells a lot about a man.

where is he? i'll beat him with my fist!

don't try anything funny.

you really think he's the one?

it's pretty quiet in here these days.

it can get a little spooky around here at night.

i ought to punch you in the nose.

do them in order, do them all, and do them quick.

read the instructions! it explains everything.

do you know what's going on here?

i can't feel my lip.

i know what you're thinking. don't do it. not a good idea.

don't talk down to me!

a man must look inward to find his own answers.

how can i be of help?

actually, i gotta be honest. i don't think i'm coming back.

did you give up on that as well?

some men are born great. others have greatness thrust upon them.

i don't like to be manhandled!

the bigger they are, the harder they fall.

i thought you liked surprises.

i don't know if what happened last night was real.

brush up on your history.

there's a storm coming.

maybe when you have a break, could i buy you a cup of coffee?

i can't hear you through the glass.

you can't fight it and neither can i.

we're gonna have a little talk.

you don't have to be near each other.

what's that supposed to mean?

don't be a kiss-ass.

the thing is, not everyone is great.

no one comes here anymore.

i was on my way to go clean it up.

can i talk to you about this, please?

can you please give me one more night?

we just had a little misunderstanding.

come to work with me tonight.

i prefer hanging out with people who are dead for 200 years. it's the live ones that throw me.

you're really taking your job seriously.

i'm not making fun of you.

i don't wanna hurt you.

we'll take it from here.

someone call my name?

will you save the lectures, please?

i never did any of those things.

what are you made of?

that's all you got for me?

how come you speak english?

i am forever in your debt.

that didn't hurt. don't be a baby.

we can get this done, but we gotta do it together.

you think you can track the guys who took it?

you're worth saving, my dear.

don't you know your history?

don't ever talk to me like that.

great to see you in one piece.

i told you i wasn't making fun of you.

no hard feelings, all right?

with great victory comes great sacrifice.

it's gonna be tough to talk my way out of this one.

hey, it's getting late. are you ready to go home?

#rp meme #rp memes #rp prompt #roleplay memes #rp starters #roleplay prompt #ask meme #ask memes #roleplay meme #roleplay inbox prompts #rp inbox meme #inbox prompt #inbox meme #sentence starter prompt #sentence starters #sentence starter #mcflymemes #night at the museum #movie prompts

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bella-rose29 · 6 months

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You Shall Go to the Ball!

Anthony Lockwood x f!Karim!reader

Requested by anon: Hey, I don't know if you accept requests, but I have one. Reader(she is George's sister) accompanies Lockwood&co to the ball at Fittes and she is jealous when she sees Lockwood talking to the girl (maybe reader enemy or something)most of the time. She decides to interrupt the conversation and introduces herself as his wife, while showing the ring Lucy gave her, explaining what to do. A long chapter please😊

I am so sorry that this took so long anon 😭 (I'm also not sure about the title tbh but oh well)

a long chapter this will be! I made the reader George's adopted sister (I hope that's ok!). I also made this super long because I got so carried away and if it deviates from what you wanted then I'm so sorry my lovely

I made it just... a generic ball? I don't know if you had one specifically in mind but I thought it would fit better to have an occasion where they aren't fighting for their lives lol

sorry if your name is Maya bc that is the name of Lucy's crush in this and also sorry if your name is Steph bc she's the enemy of the reader (I had to put names in I'm sorry 🥲)

Word count: 9.8k (I'm doing my bit you guys)

Warnings: swearing, a sexual innuendo or two, bullying (mostly focused on the fact the reader is adopted), lockwood and reader love each other but they haven't done anything about it, tumblr lagged while I wrote most of this so there are probably mistakes, lockwood has some mildly self-deprecating thoughts, mentions of lockwood's suicidal tendencies, there's probably more but idk what

Tag list: @anathemaloren, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @dangelnleif, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @novelizt, @ran23sblog, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @wandamaximoffbae, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife

As always, let me know here if you would like to be added to/removed from the tag list for my lockwood and co works (or drop me a message!) <3

Y/n was not happy.

She ought to have been, given the occasion, but she was very much unhappy instead.

Lucy was trying not to laugh too loudly, but was failing at her attempts to stifle just how funny she found the whole situation. "You know," she said between breathy laughs, "all of this would be a whole lot easier if you just told him how you feel."

"Nope. Not happening. Every time I try I freeze up and blabber some unintelligible words that make no sense, and I look like an idiot. So no."

The 'him' in question was Anthony Lockwood, the head of Lockwood and Co and resident of 35 Portland Row. Lucy Carlyle, George Karim and Holly Munro lived here too, and as George's sister Y/n had been invited to Lucy's 18th birthday party. It was a small party, only the five of them (six if you included the Skull, but only Lucy could hear it so Y/n didn't), but the atmosphere was lively and music was playing over the speakers George had set up. Banners and balloons stating 'Happy Birthday!' were strewn all over the living room (Y/n could already see Holly's eye twitching at the amount of confetti on the floor), and the boys were busy refilling glasses (another reason not to count the Skull - it had nothing to hold a drink with).

"You have to do it at some point though," she whispered into Y/n's ear. "But right now, you need to move." Lucy pointed in the direction Y/n was supposed to go, and she tilted her head back as she groaned.

"Remind me why you ever made me play this game?"

"Because it's my birthday, and you love me. Go on, unless you wanna forfeit."

"You're evil," Y/n hissed as she pushed herself off of the floor and made her way over to Lockwood. "I'm sorry, again."

"I'm not sure what for, to be honest. You're just playing the game." He smiled up at her from his place by the fire, and Y/n tried to ignore George's glare. "George, please stop looking at me like that. Lucy was the one who dared Y/n to sit on me." Y/n felt her face warm at his words, knowing that this night could only end in disaster for her, and decided to bite the bullet. Huffing, she turned and sat down, her back facing Lockwood as her legs went either side of his, and she let out a small yelp of surprise when his arms snaked around her waist and pulled her against him. Lucy only laughed, loud and obnoxious, and Y/n couldn't find it in her to shoot a look, still too taken aback by the feel of being hugged by Lockwood in this way. "You alright?" he asked, voice quiet and gentle in her ear, and she felt his breath on the side of her face.

"Y-yeah. I'm alright. How are you?" She cringed at herself, but his light chuckle reverberated through her and calmed her immediately.

"I'm alright. Quite comfy, actually. You're very warm." As if to back up his point he snuggled in to her shoulder, nose rubbing against the side of her neck, and Y/n almost choked. Instead she made a sort of strangled noise, and he stopped and looked up at her as though he was about to say something. Lockwood opened his mouth, but was cut off by George.

"Okay, she's sat on him, can she go back now? I don't wanna look at this anymore."

"George, Lucy dared her to do it for the rest of the game," Holly piped up, clearly enjoying this as much as Lucy. She also knew about Y/n's feelings for Lockwood, the three of them having had multiple nights where they talked for hours about the other two members of Lockwood and Co, and hadn't wasted any time at all in joining Lucy in her teasing about Y/n's crush. "Rules are rules, I'm afraid."

"Yeah, and it's my birthday, so don't even start to think about asking to stop the game. Besides, they look quite comfortable now, wouldn't wanna make 'em move again, would we?"

"I'm very comfortable, thanks Luce," Lockwood said, his hold tightening on Y/n.

"Y-yep. Perfectly good." Lucy and Holly shared a look, stifling their laughter. George sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, huffing at the scene in front of him. Y/n's brother also knew about her feelings for his boss, and he while he wasn't exactly mad about it, he also wasn't thrilled. She knew that he meant well, and was only looking out for her (especially since Lockwood tended to throw himself directly into danger most of the time), but a little support would be appreciated.

The rest of the game went without much incident, although George did have to stick his hand in the toilet (a dare from Holly that nobody expected, although since her arrival in the house the toilets were spotless so it wasn't much of a trial), and by the time Y/n realised that she should be getting home it was well past midnight.

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Okay, um- Lockwood! Hi!" He had just entered the living room where Y/n was stood clearing up (the others had gone up to their respective bedrooms), and she apprehended him in the doorway. "Can you help me call a taxi? I need to go home now and it's really late and-"

"Woah, slow down!" He placed his hands on her shoulders, a smile on his face. "Why don't you just stay over, yeah? It's what, two in the morning? You might as well sleep here and leave after breakfast. Your parents probably expected you to stay here anyway, right?" She nodded. It was a common occurrence for her to stay the night at Portland Row when visiting, since she didn't see them all that much. "So it's not a problem, really. You can take my bed if you like, save waking the others up."

"Lockwood, you really don't have to do that," Y/n started, but he cut her off.

"Nonsense. Holly's stayed too, so I'd feel bad if I turfed you out at this time of night."

"No, I mean giving me your bed. You don't have to do that." He shrugged, then moved to grab a blanket from one of the cupboards.

"I'll be alright, I'll sleep on the sofa. Seriously, Y/n/n, it's fine." He flashed her one of his smiles, and instantly she melted and gave in.

"Ugh, fine. But don't complain tomorrow morning when your back hurts," she wagged a finger at him, exhaustion winning out over guilt about taking his bed as she moved towards the door.

"Alright," he laughed, and Y/n didn't think she'd heard a better sound.

She traipsed upstairs and got ready for bed, and when she fell asleep moments after settling in she dreamed of the brown haired boy downstairs.

~~~

Y/n was sat at home in her room a day or so later when George burst in, arms filled with papers and glasses skewed on his nose.

"I've been thinking," he started, dumping the papers on the end of her bed and flopping next to her.

"Hi, Georgie, I'm doing great, thanks. What am I doing? Oh, not much, just sat here reading a book and listening to music." She sent him a pointed look to which he huffed and lightly slapped her arm.

"Shut up. Hi, how are you? Great, nice, okay. Can you listen to me now?"

"What?"

"So I've been thinking about you and Lockwood, and I've decided I don't mind too much. I mean, it's irritating, really, but technically I don't need to do a boyfriend check because I live with him so I know all his nasty habits and that, and I know that he's loyal to a fault, which is something I should probably raise with him, actually," George paused, frowning as he lost his train of thought.

"Um- okay... Where has this come from? I thought you wanted me to stop liking him?"

"Yeah, but then I had to listen to him pining after you for the last two hours at the Archives and I realised that maybe it would be better if you just got together already." Y/n stared at him in shock, processing the information her brother had just spewed.

"Wait, wait. Lockwood likes me? Are you sure?"

"Completely. This isn't some hypothesis or theory, it's fact. My sanity can prove it because it's nearly all gone."

"Okay, but... you're sure? Like this isn't a joke, right?"

"No! It's not a joke! God, you really are perfect for each other; he said the same thing you know. Didn't believe that I was telling the truth about you reciprocating his feelings. Seriously, you're both idiots for not seeing it, I mean, he let you sit on him a couple of days ago!"

"That was part of a game!" Y/n spluttered, face heating at the memory of his hands around her and his head in the crook of her neck.

"Well he wouldn't have cosied up to me, would he!" Y/n fell backwards against the headboard, hands pressed to her face as she groaned in frustration."You're still not gonna do anything about it, are you?" George was quieter now, and Y/n moved her hands slightly to peer at him through her fingers.

"Correct. I want cold hard proof before I make a proper fool of myself and have to never go to Portland Row again for fear of dying from embarrassment." Now it was George's turn to groan in frustration.

"Well somebody's just going to have to engineer a situation where you confess then, aren't they?!"

"Please, no. I will murder you while you sleep if you try anything." George was impassive when Y/n glared at him, used to her threats of death.

"Fine! I won't do anything, alright! Happy?"

"Sort of." They sat in comfortable silence for a little while, Y/n trying to read her book again but eventually getting too distracted by the mountain of paperwork that her brother hadn't touched since arriving. "What is all that, anyway?" she pointed to the end of the bed.

"Oh, my research for a case we have in a couple of days. I couldn't sit with Lockwood anymore, he was driving me insane."

Y/n rolled her eyes at her brother's dramatics. "Do you want help looking through it all?"

"Please. I have no doubts that Lockwood will be doing anything but research right now, and there's a lot to get through. At least I know that you'll stay focused."

"Come on then. Oh, are you staying for dinner? Mum's cooking tonight so you know it'll be good."

"I might do. I get caught up in this stuff anyway so we'll see what time it is. Thanks for the help, Y/n/n."

"No problem, Georgie." She ruffled his hair, laughing when he practically threw himself off of the bed to escape. He landed on the floor with a thud, only making Y/n laugh harder.

"I hate you," he said, sitting up and glaring at her through wonky glasses. "You're the devil, I swear."

~~~

Lockwood and George were cleaning the equipment after yet another successful case when George dropped the chains he was oiling and looked up at his boss.

"I don't get it," he started, making Lockwood glance up with a frown.

"Get what?"

"You barely know Y/n, and you only ever interact when she's here with us, so how are you so hopeless when it comes to my sister?"

Lockwood blushed as he remembered all the times he'd lied to his friends, telling them that he was going on a supply run or heading to the shops when in reality he was making his way to the cafe that Y/n worked at. He spent a good hour or so in there multiple times a week, and sometimes he'd offer to walk her home at the end of her shift, desperate for another few minutes in her presence. Since first meeting her not long after George joined his agency (she'd brought cake, homemade, saying that she wanted to give George a 'congrats on the new job!' present) Lockwood had wanted to be around her all the time; she was like the sun, and everything was gloomy without her. The first time he'd showed up at her place of work, he'd pretended it was a coincidence, acting surprised when he saw her behind the counter. Truthfully, he'd taken a gamble on whether or not she'd be working that day, but the blinding smile that was present on her face as she served customers (although Lockwood could tell it was a fake one) immediately told him that his gamble had paid off.

"Lockwood? Hi! How are you? How's Georgie doing, is he alright? Oh, did you want anything?"

"Just a tea, thanks love," he'd replied, not meaning for the term of endearment to slip out, but her resultant blush was enough to make him decide on repeating it. She started making a cup (he'd asked for it to take away), asking questions every now and then to get his order right, and he answered those as well as her previous questions about George. Eventually, he'd had to leave, paying for the tea he now held and exiting the shop with a promise to come back soon when she'd waved goodbye. It had become a sort of ritual for the two of them, Lockwood appearing a couple of times a week, sometimes to sit at a table with some case files, others he would just get his order to go, but he'd find a way to talk to her every time. On the days when he'd promised to walk her home she would have a cup of tea already prepared for him, sat on his usual table in the corner next to a plate of whatever pastry or cake she thought that he would enjoy. At some point over the years, Lockwood had started feeling his cheeks heat up whenever Y/n smiled at him, or butterflies start up in his stomach when their hands brushed, and eventually he'd had to accept the fact that he was falling in love with her.

"Lockwood? Lockwood! Back to the present, please!" George demanded, snapping his fingers in front of his friend's face. He was sure it had only been a few seconds, but George was annoyed all the same at Lockwood's daydreaming. He huffed in frustration, picking up the chains again."You two are insufferable, do you know that? Seriously, just ask her out already. She feels the same and you know it."

"I thought you didn't want me dating your sister?" Lockwood frowned, feeling hope start to bloom in his chest.

"Yeah, well, then I had to sit and listen to you talk about her for two hours the other day and I lost my mind."

"Oh. Well. I wasn't that annoying, was I?" George only stared at him, expression saying 'Are you serious?' and Lockwood had his answer.

"Just, I don't know. You both like each other, so why not? It'll save me from the pining at least."

Lockwood was quiet for a while, mulling over George's words. "I just know that she can do better than me," he eventually said, not looking up from the boots he was polishing. "I don't want her to... regret being with me, or something."

"Lockwood, having spent the last four years listening to her talk about you I can say with confidence that she won't regret being with you. All I ask is that you dial down the suicidal tendencies on cases, yeah? I really don't want to deal with her heartbroken." George's voice was the softest Lockwood had ever heard it, and Lockwood nodded his assent.

"Alright. I'm not making any promises though Sometimes my suicidal tendencies help us stop dying instead."

"I'm not doing much better than that, am I?"

"Nope. I will be slightly less chaotic on cases and that's as much as I can do for you."

"Fine. Keep polishing those boots, you've missed a spot."

~~~

It was a few weeks later when Lucy called Y/n up in a panic, yelling random words down the phone and ranting about something that sounded important.

"Lucy, Lucy! Stop talking for a moment!" The other girl did so, promptly falling silent, and Y/n took a breath. "What's happened?"

"There's this party- ball- thing that Fittes are throwing in like, two weeks, and we have to go because we've been invited but I have nothing to wear. At all. And you always know what to do in these situations so I figured you could help me?"

She was quiet for a moment, and then said "But it's... in two weeks?"

"Yeah."

"So why are you worrying about it right now?"

"Because loads of people have been invited, Y/n! What if the perfect outfit sells out? What if I end up in something I hate because there was nothing else?"

"Wait, wait wait." Y/n sat forward on her bed, pulling the phone off of the nightstand when the cord no longer reached. "Are you trying to impress somebody?" Now it was Lucy's turn to be quiet, and Y/n scoffed in disbelief. "Oh my god, Lucy Carlyle, do you have a crush?!"

"No, I don't! Shut up! Ugh! You are so annoying, for fuck's sake!"

"You totally do! You so have a crush! Who is it? Tell me!"

"I am telling you nothing, you nosey little bastard!"

"Okay, okay! Fine! I will get this information out of you, I hope you know. When do you wanna go shopping then?"

"Today?"

"Jesus, thanks for the notice!"

"A different day then! But we are not leaving it to the last minute like you always do!"

"No, no, it's fine, Luce. Mum's gone full clean mode anyway so it gives me an excuse to get out the house. Make my siblings do the work."

"Aren't you worried about your own room coming under fire?"

"Nope. We did mine yesterday, so I know I'm safe. I'll meet you at yours in twenty minutes?"

"Yeah, alright." They hung up and Y/n rushed downstairs, grabbing her bag and coat and pulling her shoes on, and within a few minutes she was yelling to her parents that she'd be back later and laughing at her siblings when they complained about her leaving them to their mother's cleaning fury.

~~~

"So," Y/n started, her tone supposedly disinterested as she, Lucy and Holly browsed the department store racks for something for the two agents to wear. "Who is it? The person you're dressing up for?"

"Oi, quit it." Lucy sent a glare her way, but it was too late. Holly had overheard and was joining in, and for once Y/n was glad that it wasn't her being questioned about a crush.

"Are we talking about Maya?"

"No," Lucy shot back, far too quickly for it to be the truth, and her rapidly reddening cheeks weren't helping either.

"Is that her name? Oh my god, okay! Wait, what do you know about her, Holly?"

"She hasn't told you anything? Okay, okay, so she's called Maya, works at Fittes which isn't brilliant, but she's sweet enough. Lucy totally wrecked her first impression though, which was hilarious."

"It was not! I looked like an idiot!" Lucy now had her face in her hands, and Holly had moved to link arms with Y/n. It turned out that Lucy had quite literally fallen for this girl after tripping on a kerb when staring at her, and Holly had laughed so hard she had to dash to a nearby toilet.

"Yeah, no, that is hilarious, Luce," Y/n cackled, gaining some glares from other shoppers.

"You can't talk, little miss 'I sat on Lockwood's lap and fucking yelped'!" Y/n opened her mouth in protest, looking to Holly for support, but the girl only shook her head and sided with Lucy again.

"I didn't think anybody heard that," she mumbled, mortified that apparently they had heard, and worse, hadn't forgotten.

"Oh we all heard, trust me."

"Ugh, I thought I was free because Lucy has a crush now!"

"Nope. Neither of you are off the hook," Holly declared as she laughed, and Y/n and Lucy shared a look. "Why did you yelp, anyway?"

"I was surprised, okay?"

"Did he have a flare in his pocket?" Lucy snickered with an exaggerated wink, and Y/n whacked her arm.

"No, he did not! You are ridiculous! He just... pulled me backwards into a hug, and it surprised me," she explained, voice higher than usual.

"Right... okay," Holly said, playfully narrowing her eyes. "Whatever you say!"

"I'm telling the truth!" Y/n called after them as they moved on, and she rushed to catch up.

~~~

"Oh, this store is so much better than that last one, look at the range!"

"Holly, have you ever considered working in retail if you stop being an agent?"

"God no, have you heard the horror stories? No thank you."

They were wandering around the third department store of the day when Lucy gasped loudly and practically ran to a rack of clothes.

"This one. This is the one. Oh, look at it! No, no way! It has pockets?! I am in love, and I can die happy!"

"Lucy, what are you actually talking about? Because we can't see it from here," Y/n said, and Lucy turned around with a wide smile on her face as she held up the dress. It was similar to the one she'd worn a while ago, back before Holly had joined and Lockwood and Co were into theft (they needed a book from the Black Library), but Lucy had wanted a new one given the other was slightly worse for wear.

"Oh, Lucy, it's gorgeous," Holly complimented, and Y/n agreed.

"Yeah, seriously Luce. Go and try it on!"

They ushered her into the changing rooms, and while they were waiting Holly and Y/n had a seat on the chairs nearby.

"What are you going to wear?" Holly asked, and Y/n frowned in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"To the ball? What are you going to wear? You are coming with us, aren't you?"

"Uh, I guess I can. I hadn't thought about it, to be honest. I don't think I have anything suitable to wear though."

"Well we've still got time, we can look around for something! Maybe something that will help you confess?" Holly nudged, and Y/n was just about to stop spluttering in protest and defend herself when Lucy walked out.

"Holy shit, Lucy."

"Yeah, holy shit."

"'Holy shit' in a good way or 'holy shit' in a bad way?" she asked, chewing on her lip and smoothing out the fabric.

"Good way," Y/n and Holly replied instantly.

"You look amazing, Luce, honestly," Y/n smiled, and Lucy returned it.

"Definitely that one," Holly agreed.

~~~

Holly had insisted that they keep looking around the store for something for Y/n (Lucy had agreed with Holly that Y/n 'shall go to the ball!' - she'd even declared it like the fairy godmother), and so they spent the next few hours carrying out the same painful process that they had just done with Lucy.

"Y/n? Is that you? It is!"

Y/n froze at the voice, squeezing her eyes shut in the hopes that if she just kept walking then she would be left alone.

"Y/n!"

No chance of that, then, given she'd been taken by the arm and wrapped in a hug that was entirely too fake and smelt incredibly strongly of perfume.

"Steph, hi," Y/n hoped she didn't sound too displeased to see the girl, but then again they'd never been friends, and Steph had always been a bitch to her.

"What are you doing here? I didn't think shopping was your..." she waved her hands at Y/n, "thing." She glanced up and down Y/n's body, raising her eyebrows slightly and smiling too widely.

"Not really, but I prefer it when I'm with my friends and they wanted to go out," she said, trying to figure out an escape route.

"Oh, so you're not getting anything?" Before Y/n could respond, Steph had already started talking again. "Of course you aren't, you couldn't afford it, what with your family having so many people in it."

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Lucy, please don't," Y/n hissed, trying to deter her friend from beating the shit out of her enemy.

"You have no right to talk to her like that, okay? And for your information, she is getting something, and it's going to be a dress that makes her look like the goddess she is, alright? So take your fake brands and irrelevant opinions and shove 'em up your arse!" Lucy ranted, shoving her finger in Steph's direction to emphasise her points. The girl was taken aback for a moment, blinking in shock, then scoffed.

"Whatever. Enjoy your lame dress, Karim. Or whatever your last name is, since we all know that you're adopted." Steph left, her two companions following with a click of their stupidly high heels, and Y/n felt tears start to prick at the corners of her eyes. Lucy was practically growling after them, and Holly had brought Y/n into a proper hug, tight and comforting.

"Well she's a bitch. How d'you know her?"

"School," Y/n sniffed, trying to prevent the tears from falling. "She never liked me for some reason, or maybe I was just easy to pick on because I don't know who my real parents are, but she always made it a point to single me out."

"Right, if she ever comes back I'm punching her."

"Lucy," Y/n berated, although she was laughing a little as she did so.

"I mean it! She's awful! Now, have we looked everywhere in this store?"

"I think so, let's try the next one," Holly said.

"Guys, it's not a big deal, really. Don't let me take up more of your time."

"Y/n, stop being ridiculous. We are finding you a dress and that's that."

"Lucy," Y/n whined as the girl grabbed hold of her arm, Holly taking the other, and led her off out of the store.

~~~

"This one?"

"Hm? No, I don't think so."

"What about this one?"

"God no, I'd look like shit."

"How about-"

"Ew, nope."

Many of their discussions had continued in this manner since leaving the store where Steph had appeared, and Y/n was still trying to find a dress that she loved. There had been many that had looked great, but when she'd tried them on there was something just not quite right, and she'd taken it off with a sigh. Curfew was starting to creep up on the three of them, and Y/n was worried that she'd never find an outfit and have to either go in a potato sack or just not go at all.

"You'll find something, Y/n," Holly said, nudging her shoulder against Y/n's.

"It's not looking very likely though, is it?" Holly didn't say anything, offering a sympathetic smile instead.

"Oh. My. God. Y/n/n, what about this one?" Lucy shouted from across the store (the last one that they hadn't previously looked around). Y/n and Holly giggled at their friend's antics, walking over to see what she wanted them to see. She was holding up a deep red dress, gaping at it with her eyes wide and mouth hanging open like she was a fish. "Ok. No thinking, no questioning, find the dressing room and put this on." Lucy bundled the dress into Y/n's arms and then shoved her in the direction of the changing rooms.

"You sure about this one, Lucy?"

"I'm positive, Holly."

~~~

The two agents were waiting outside for Y/n to appear when George turned up.

"What are you two doing here? Lucy, haven't you already got a dress?"

"Oh, hi George. Yeah, I got one earlier since my other nice dress is kind of old now, but Y/n's trying one on. Why are you here?"

"Apparently my other suit isn't nice enough, so I had to get a new one. Lucky that we've been getting some high paying customers recently that I could afford it."

"When you say your 'other suit', do you mean the one that has plasm stains and holes in it from moths?"

"...Yes."

"She's been in there a while, do you think she needs help?" Holly said after a lull in Lucy and George's conversation.

"I'm fine! Gimme two seconds!" Y/n shouted, and Lucy snickered.

"Wait, why's she trying on a dress?" George frowned, finally registering the fact that his sister was in the changing room.

"Because she's coming with us to the Fittes Ball in a couple of weeks and this girl was being a bitch-"

"Stephanie?"

"Uh- yeah. How'd you know?"

"Y/n complains about her a lot. I think they're arch enemies or something."

"Oh."

"What's she got to do with finding a dress though? Attending the ball makes sense, but where does Steph come into this?"

"Lucy might have shouted that Y/n was going to get a dress that made her look like a goddess," Holly chimed in.

"Ah, I see. So now my sister is... what, trying one on?"

"Yep. You sure you're okay?" Lucy shouted the last part in the direction of a stall, just as Y/n swept back the curtain and stepped out.

"Woah," Lucy and Holly said. George was silent, staring at his sister.

"Good woah or bad woah?" Y/n asked, smiling a little as she remembered Lucy asking a similar thing earlier that day.

"Good woah, for sure," Holly said, Lucy nodding next to her.

"Oh, Georgie. I didn't know you were here," Y/n looked more nervous now, clearly wanting her brother to say something positive.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

"Yeah. I do. I really do."

"You look beautiful, Y/n/n."

"Thank you, Georgie."

"Definitely look like a goddess," Lucy added.

~~~

"Lockwood, hi!" Y/n hadn't expected to see him today, but he had just entered the small cafe that she worked in.

"Hi, Y/n/n, how're you?" He looked antsy, like he wanted to know something, and was shifting on his feet.

"I'm alright... you okay? You look like you have a rash," she said, starting to make him a tea the way she knew he liked it.

"Uh- what? No, I don't... I don't have a rash, I just, well, I heard that you're coming to the ball with us next week?"

"Oh, yeah. The girls convinced me to go. We went dress shopping for Lucy last week and Holly told me I should go with you all. You don't mind, do you?"

"No! No, of course I don't mind!"

"Good, 'cause I already got a dress when Lucy got hers, and it was expensive and I need a justification for getting it or Mum'll be mad." She poured the hot water in, careful not to spill any over her hands (it had happened more times today than she'd like to admit), turning and finishing the tea off, placing a lid on the top of the take away cup. She pushed it across the counter, shaking her head when Lockwood pulled out his wallet to pay. "On the house, you look like you need it." He smiled at her, making her heart flutter, and pushed a fiver into the tip jar next to her as he ignored her protests.

"Thank you. Are you going to get changed with the rest of us? Or do you want us to pick you up from yours?"

"Oh, I was gonna get changed with Holly and Lucy. I'll probably come over quite early if that's alright with you?"

"Of course, you know I don't mind having you over, love. Thanks for the tea!" he called out as he left, unaware of Y/n's blush.

~~~

"Why do girls take so long getting ready for things?"

Lockwood looked up at George's words as he entered the kitchen, folding his paper and throwing it on the table. "Not sure. I'm relatively sure they plan world domination while they do it."

"Makes sense," George shrugged, flopping into a chair and pulling at his bow tie. "They have been in Lucy's room for hours now though. Do you think we need to be worried?"

"I hear them laughing every now and then, so they're still alive at least," Lockwood replied. George hummed, pushing his glasses back up his nose. All of a sudden the two boys heard footsteps thundering on the stairs, and a moment later Lucy's head poked through the kitchen door.

"Please make your way into the hall!" she half shouted, not caring that she was only a few metres away from them and disappearing again. Lockwood and George shared a look, then slowly pushed themselves out of their chairs and moved into the hallway to stand in front of the stairs. A few minutes passed, with hushed conversation barely audible from the top of the stairs, and eventually Holly said "Oh, I'll go!" and came downstairs. She looked lovely in her dress, gold fabric shimmering as she took the steps and ended up at the bottom, Lucy following closely behind in her deep blue (a staple colour for the girl), also looking gorgeous. Lockwood frowned slightly when he realised that Y/n wasn't with them, and when her head poked over the bannister with a worried expression he started feeling nervous.

"Guys, are you sure?" she asked, biting her lip. Lucy and Holly nodded, and George gave her a thumbs up.

"Wait," Lockwood started. "Has everybody seen her dress but me?"

"Yep," George said, the girls nodding behind him.

"So why are you so nervous, Y/n/n?" he called up, frowning.

"I don't know!"

"Just come downstairs!" A loud honk sounded from outside then, and the four agents turned to look in the direction of the sound.

"That'll be the cab," Lucy piped up, heading over to the door. "We'll wait for you two," she winked, and Lockwood felt his face heat up. How did she know about his feelings for Y/n?

"Please don't break her heart, Lockwood. Or I'll deliberately throw badly the next time we're on a case."

"George, no offence, but you can't aim anyway. Maybe if you deliberately aimed badly you'd throw it the right way."

"I mean it. Remember what we talked about the other week, and don't screw it up, yeah?" George patted Lockwood's shoulder, grabbing his jacket and heading outside after the girls.

"Lockwood?"

"Yeah?"

"They've all left, haven't they?"

"Yeah." Y/n didn't answer, instead letting out a groan that made Lockwood chuckle.

"Just come downstairs, Y/n/n. We're going to be late."

"Promise you'll be nice?"

"Why would I not be nice?"

"I don't know! Just promise?"

"Okay! I promise!" He was trying to stifle his laughter in the hopes that she wouldn't take it the wrong way when Y/n appeared at the top of the landing and took his breath away. She was stunning, the dress fitting perfectly and making her look ethereal.

"Lockwood? I look terrible, don't I? I'll stay here, you guys go without me-"

"No! No, don't... you look... you look- pretty," he settled on, wincing at his awkwardness. "You look really pretty, Y/n." He didn't miss the way her smile grew, or the way his face warmed, and when she muttered a small 'Thanks' under her breath his heart stuttered. "We should, uh," he cleared his throat. "We should probably... go..." he trailed off, still blushing. She had come closer and now he could smell her perfume, and when she brushed past him to open the door he thought he might faint from the brief physical contact. What was wrong with him? He was Anthony bloody Lockwood, so why was he acting so foolishly around this girl?

"Are you coming, then? Or are you gonna keep standing there like a lemon?"

"Uh, yeah, I'm- yep."

They packed themselves into the taxi, Lockwood stubbornly ignoring Lucy's smirk as the last two available seats for him and Y/n were right next to each other (which he was entirely certain had been planned), thighs pressed together, and a few moments later they were on the road, heading for the Fittes building.

~~~

"Holy shit, this is insane, Lucy," Y/n gasped, staring around the room in wonder. "Lucy?" She looked for her friend, wondering why she hadn't said anything in response, when she saw Lucy talking to a girl.

"That's Maya," Holly whispered, taking Y/n's arm and looping it through her own.

"God, she's gorgeous. I can see why Lucy likes her." Holly hummed her agreement, taking the two of them on a lap of the room.

"Did something happen between you and Lockwood before you got in the taxi?" she asked after a pause.

"What? No, why?" Y/n's eyes were wide, heat creeping up her neck at the memory of him calling her pretty.

"He can't stop staring at you. He looks like an idiot, to be completely honest." Now her eyes were wide for a different reason, turning to find Lockwood's body in the crowd. Sure enough, he was already looking their way, and after a few moments he seemed to realise that he'd been caught, blushing and rejoining the conversation he was having with George and some agent from Rotwell.

"You sure nothing happened?" Holly asked again, eyebrow raised.

"...Yep." The other girl just laughed, clearly not believing her, and dragged her further around the room.

~~~

"You alright, Luce?"

"Not really," she said, slumping into the chair next to Y/n. "Maya's talking to some other girl and I couldn't relate to anything they were saying, so I left."

"Aw, Lucy. You have been talking to her for what, an hour already? You're not going to have everything in common," Y/n reassured her friend, offering a soft smile.

"I s'pose you're right," she started. "That's what makes a good relationship, right?" Lucy was perking up with every word, sitting up in her chair and leaning forward.

"Yeah, like Y/n and Lockwood," Holly chimed in.

"Yeah, Holly's right. Wait, like- what?! What do you mean?! We're not- he's not-" Y/n spluttered, trying desperately to gain control of the situation after the slip-up and failing miserably. Lucy and Holly were doubled over laughing, clearly finding the situation hilarious, when all of a sudden Y/n shot her arms out to either side, grabbing hold of her friends. "No, seriously, stop it now. Look," she pointed towards Lockwood, hoping the girls would pick up on what was wrong.

"Is that-?"

"I'm gonna kick her arse into next fucking we-"

"Fucking Stephanie," Y/n spat, not missing the way that she was flirting with Lockwood. She hadn't realised the bitch was here, but now that she had it was incredibly difficult to take her eyes off of the scene. Now it was her turn to be gloomy, and every attempt to talk to Lockwood ended with Steph's friends (minions) pushing her back and acting like incredibly non-threatening bodyguards, but Y/n didn't want to cause a scene in the middle of a party that she wasn't technically invited to by shoving back.

Roughly an hour and a half after first spotting Stephanie with Lockwood, Y/n was stood with her back to a wall as she miserably looked on at the two of them somehow still engaged in conversation. The worst part was, Steph didn't look like she would be ending their chat anytime soon, and didn't appear to want to leave. Whether the girl knew about his affiliation with Y/n or not, she wasn't sure, but it was making Y/n increasingly more irritated as the night went on.

"Here," Lucy said, appearing at Y/n's side. "Take this." She held her hand out, one of her rings that she always wore sat in the centre of her palm, the sapphire shining up at her from its place in the centre of the band of silver.

"Uh, why?" A frown settled on Y/n's face, unsure where Lucy's mind was going.

"Because you're gonna go up to Lockwood, big smile on your face, and ask Steph why she's fondling your husband." Y/n could only stare at her friend, wondering what the actual hell had come over her.

"But... he's not my husband?"

"She doesn't need to know that, does she? You two are practically an old married couple anyway, so what does it matter? Besides, if nothing else it's an opportunity to cuddle up to him," she said the last part with a wink, making Y/n flush as she remembered the last time she had 'cuddled up' to Lockwood.

"Well, George is over there, he's not going to play along, is he?" she attempted to find a way out of this situation that Lucy had put her in, but the agent had a solution to everything, it seemed.

"Oh, I told him about this. He's promised to go with it. There was absolutely no way I was gonna let your brother be oblivious, he's a terrible liar sometimes." Lucy was still standing with her hand out, ring gleaming up at Y/n, and she had half a mind to say no and continue suffering until she heard a loud laugh come from the other side of the room. Both girls looked for the source, and Y/n bristled when she realised that it was Steph laughing, hand placed firmly on Lockwood's arm as she leaned into him. Not thinking twice, Y/n grabbed the ring, shoved it on her finger, and marched over to where her new fake husband stood. She squeezed between Steph and Lockwood (difficult, since the other girl had practically glued herself to him) and wrapped her arms around his waist, trying to steady her heart as she felt his warmth engulf her.

"Hi, love," she smiled up at him, willing him to stop staring at her with his eyes so wide open in shock and hug her back. He stuttered for a moment, going red, and vaguely Y/n registered Steph's outraged expression in the corner of her eye and George's stifled laughter.

"Uh- hi- hello."

"Y/n? I didn't realise you were going to be here," Steph asked through gritted teeth, obviously annoyed at the interruption.

"Oh, Steph! I didn't see you there! Of course I'm here, why wouldn't I be? My husband got invited and so naturally I was his plus one!" It was petty, she knew, but totally worth it for the look on Steph's face when Y/n emphasised the word 'husband' while smiling lovingly up at Lockwood.

"...Husband?" she asked, eyes flicking back and forth between the two of them. Lockwood was still rigid as a pole, although he had brought his arms around Y/n's waist after she pinched him in the side. He leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"I second that. Husband?"

"Oh, did I not tell you?" Lockwood hadn't moved his head away from her ear, instead nuzzling further into her neck, and it was becoming difficult to think straight. "We got married!" She flashed the ring at Steph, delighting in both the pure, unfiltered shock on her face and also the way in which Lockwood had moved his hands to hold her body closer to his.

"Well- I- okay then. But one question, for Lockwood?" He pulled his head up, dopey smile on his face as he nodded for Steph to continue.

"Why would you ever marry someone like her? I mean, you know that she's adopted, right?"

Y/n could practically feel George bristle behind her and get ready to punch Steph's lights out, but Lockwood remained calm, his expression sharpening and spine straightening as he took Steph in.

"I don't see how her not being biologically related to her parents affects how much I love her, do you?"

"It's just that-"

"I married Y/n because of who she is, not because of her family, although having George around is wonderful," Lockwood cast a smile at Y/n's brother before continuing. "She's the most incredible person I have ever met, and she far outshines you in every way and I think you know that, and you're jealous of it. I know that I'm jealous of how incredible you are, darling," he turned to Y/n, using the hand that wasn't around her waist to push back a lock of hair, his fingers lingering for a few moments more than was necessary as he smiled softly at her. "And quite honestly, Steph, if you can't agree with me on that then I don't think we have anything else to talk about, do we?" It was a rhetorical question, Lockwood already turning away and linking his hand with Y/n's as he dragged her to the side of the room, but they could hear Steph spluttering being them as they went.

"So," he started once they were far enough away. "What was that all about?" He hadn't let go of her hand, and his thumb had started softly tracing patterns over their intertwined fingers.

"What?"

"I don't remember marrying you, Y/n, unless it happened when I was really drunk or sleep deprived," he joked, although something in his eyes was searching for any hint of truth to the words in her face.

"I just- she's- I-" Y/n took a breath, trying to figure out how to explain the whole thing to him without him getting mad or laughing at her. "Steph's always hated me, and Lucy knows that-"

"What's Lucy got to do with this?" She huffed at him, small frown appearing on her face.

"If you let me finish then you'd know!"

"Alright! Alright!"

"Yeah, so Lucy knows that Steph hates me, and I hate her, and you two were talking for so long and she was all over you and I couldn't keep watching, so Lucy gave me this ring that I think is actually one of mine that she stole," she frowned down at her hand, going off on a tangent, "and she told me I should go over and say we were married to get rid of Steph."

Lockwood didn't say anything, instead just staring at her with a blank expression, and Y/n looked down at their still linked hands.

"I'm sorry," she whispered after a while.

"Don't be," he whispered back, using his free hand to lift her chin up. "I'm just a little annoyed, to be honest."

"Oh, god, I really am sorry, Lockwood! I didn't mean to make you upset or anything, I just got pissed off with her and-"

"No! No no no, stop right there. I'm not annoyed at you, darling, never you. I'm annoyed at myself for not coming up with that plan earlier. She was really starting to piss me off too, and I kept hoping that George would intervene or something and he never did- I'm going to have to talk to him about that," Lockwood frowned, looking in her brother's direction. "I'm also... I'm annoyed that this is how I tell you that-"

"Here you are! I was wondering where you two had run off to!" George appeared, bright smile on his face, and Y/n couldn't stop the glare that came onto her face. Tell me what? If only George had turned up a few moments later, then she would know what Lockwood wanted to say. "We should probably find the others, party's wrapping up now and I'm craving my bed." Lockwood heaved a sigh, then nodded in agreement, following after George as her brother tried to find Lucy and Holly, casting a slightly pained glance over his shoulder at Y/n.

Tell me what?!

~~~

The journey back to Portland Row was uneventful since everybody was exhausted, although Lucy was practically buzzing in her seat because Maya had passed on her number, telling Lucy to call her.

"This means something, right?" she exclaimed as they piled through the front door. "I have a real chance with her, don't I?"

"Yes, Lucy. Yes you do," Y/n yawned, leaning slightly on Lockwood to take her heels off. Why she'd ever let Holly convince her that heels were needed when she could have worn her trainers instead she wasn't sure, but she breathed a sigh of relief when the first one was finally off. She wobbled for a moment trying to undo the strap on the other one when Lockwood steadied her, crouched down, and took her leg into his hands as his fingers worked the clasp. A few moments later he was done, gently pulling the shoe off of her foot, and although he had only had his hands on her for what couldn't have been more than ten seconds Y/n could feel her cheeks heating up and her heart beating faster.

"Lockwood, what the fuck are you doing?"

"George, they're having a moment, alright? Leave 'em alone," Lucy hissed, taking him by the arm and dragging him upstairs, hushed apologies whispered as he tripped and face planted due to her harsh tugging.

"Good night you two, I'll see you in the morning," Holly said, following after her coworkers and leaving Y/n and Lockwood in the entrance hall alone for the second time in the last twenty-four hours.

"You're not going to bed, are you?" Y/n asked, a knowing smile on her face as she looked at Lockwood. He shrugged, heading towards the library instead of up the stairs.

"I'm not feeling too tired, to be honest," he replied.

"You never feel tired, I swear. Do you ever sleep?" She mock gasped. "Are you a vampire? Is that why you're so pale and are always awake at night?" She broke off into a fit of giggles, exhaustion making her mildly hyper.

"No, I am not a vampire," Lockwood laughed, shaking his head at her antics. "Go on, you should head up. Unlike me you can't run on tea and tea alone."

Y/n nodded, heading for the stairs, but stopped a little way up as she remembered something. "Lockwood?"

He paused in the doorway of the library, turning to face her with one hand still on the handle. "Yeah?"

"What were you gonna tell me before George came over? At the ball? You said you were annoyed that it took you so long to tell me something." A frown had worked its way onto her face, but Lockwood's was filled with a smile.

"Go to bed, darling. I'll see you in the morning." He disappeared into the library, leaving Y/n standing on the staircase staring at the place he had just been.

~~~

The next morning Y/n woke to an empty room, Lucy and Holly nowhere to be seen in the attic. She laid in bed for a little while, soaking in not having to get up and go to work, but eventually the need for food grew too strong and she was forced to start her day.

The kitchen was empty of George, too, and a short investigation led to finding a scribbled note on the thinking cloth that Holly, Lucy and George had gone for a grocery run at the supermarket. That left Lockwood, who was either hiding away in the house or had gone off on his own somewhere. Y/n's question was answered a few minutes later as she was pouring hot water into a mug for tea, and she nearly spilled the liquid all over her hands when Lockwood appeared and asked her to pour a cup for him.

"Shitting hell, Lockwood! Where did you come from?"

"Oh, I was downstairs. Doing a spot of rapier practice. Thanks," he gratefully accepted the mug that Y/n handed him, smiling brightly at her over the edge. She tried desperately to ignore the flush to his skin (and the mental images of Lockwood training), and turned back to her own mug of tea, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment in the hopes that she could go back to thinking normal thoughts. "You alright?"

"Hm? Oh, yes! Yeah, yep. I'm fine," she exclaimed, wincing at how the words came out. Lockwood stifled a snort (unsuccessfully) and took a sip of tea, yelping a moment later.

"Shit, that's hot!"

"Why wouldn't it be? You idiot!" Y/n was laughing fully, not bothering to hide how amusing she found the whole situation, and Lockwood was glaring at her from where he stood fanning his mouth. "You literally watched me pour boiling water into that like, a minute ago!"

"I know! I know! Stop laughing, will you? I feel bullied. I'm being bullied."

He took a glass out of the cupboard, filling it up with cold water from the tap and taking a long drink. They stood in silence for a while after that, Lockwood taking tentative sips of his tea while Y/n took large gulps, trying not to laugh at him when the memory of his reaction came back. They were very rarely alone in the house, with at least one other person somewhere and about to walk in, and Y/n decided that Lockwood had nowhere to go so she might as well corner him.

"Why didn't you answer me last night? When I asked what you wanted to tell me?"

He froze momentarily, the tips of his ears going pink as he hid behind his mug and scratched at the back of his head. "It doesn't matter, Y/n/n. Really."

"Well it matters to me, Lockwood. If nothing else the not knowing is killing me. Also I had just dragged you into a marriage with me, and while I do feel bad about that I also feel that you owe me this as well."

"You didn't drag me into a marriage, you surprised me with one," he joked, clearly stalling.

"Okay, fine, but seriously what were you going to say before my idiot brother came over?"

"I was just... going to say that..." he mumbled the last part, all the words smushed together and said quietly so that Y/n had trouble picking them out.

"Sorry, I genuinely could not hear you for the life of me Lockwood," her expression was apologetic, and he sighed through his nose as he looked up at the ceiling, closing his eyes before making a decision.

"I was going to say that I was annoyed that it took me so long to tell you that I love you."

"I love you too, Lockwood," Y/n frowned, wondering why he looked so beaten up about it. The five of them often told each other that they loved them, the words thrown around casually all the time.

"No, I mean- I love you, Y/n. To the point that George punches me in the arm sometimes because I won't shut up about how amazing or funny or kind or smart you are."

"Oh."

"Yeah." He hesitated for a few seconds, then spoke up again. "If you don't... I don't want this to ruin our friendship if you don't feel the same way though."

"Why wouldn't I feel the same?"

"You haven't said anything and it's- it's freaking me out!"

"Well I do feel the same! I'm just also freaking out because you love me too!"

"We're a mess, aren't we?" Lockwood laughed.

"Absolutely."

"So- So if I asked you on a date... would you-"

"Yes. Sorry, I- you can finish."

"I mean I think I got my answer, to be honest." He smiled softly at Y/n, placing his mug down and slowly coming over to where she leaned against the countertop. She reached her arms up and draped them around his neck, bringing him into a hug, and his own hands found their way to her waist. His eyes flicked between hers and her lips, and then he was whispering "Can I kiss you?" and leaning in when she nodded, pressing his lips to hers gently. They didn't rush, taking their time as they kissed softly, Lockwood's fingers brushing the skin just under her jumper and Y/n's fingers tangling in his hair, and when they pulled away for air they stayed close, foreheads bumping against each other.

~~~

When Holly, Lucy and George got home just over an hour later, arms laden with shopping bags, the silence was deafening.

"I really hope they haven't killed each other," Holly frowned, peering up the stairs as if doing so would help her find their missing friends.

"Maybe they've finally got together and are on a date," Lucy exclaimed, poking George in the side when he wouldn't move out of the way of the cupboard that she needed to open.

"Ow! I'm torn about that. On the one hand if they do get together I'll be glad they've stopped pining, on the other they'll be insufferable. You know what Lockwood's like, all lovey-dovey and attention giving, and Y/n will soak it up like a dry sponge."

"Oh, I found them!" Holly poked her head through the kitchen door, neither Lucy or George having noticed her leave. She lead them to the library, motioning for quiet as she pushed the door open. "They must have been reading and got tired. They totally confessed, just look at them!"

Lockwood and Y/n were curled up (somehow) on the larger of the two armchairs in the library, limbs entangled and hanging off of the arms and a book dangled in Lockwood's free hand, the other wrapped around Y/n keeping her safely tucked into his chest as the two of them slept. George looked like he was trying to be upset, but Lucy could see the smile he was holding off at the sight in front of them.

"We should leave them to it, I s'pose," Lucy murmured, pulling the door shut softly with a small click. "You alright, George?"

"Just thinking about how horrible things will be with them finally together," he replied, rolling his eyes and heading back into the kitchen to start dinner.

"He's not really upset, is he," Holly said, more stating it as a fact than posing a question.

"Nope. He's gonna be singing while he cooks, I can guarantee it."

Sure enough, barely five seconds after Lucy said the words, singing could be heard from behind the closed kitchen door alongside the clash of pots and pans.

#lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader #lockwood & co #idiots in love

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moonstruckme · 3 months

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hi mae!! i saw ur anon earlier abt which characters u have reqs for rn and u mentioned not having any for tasm!peter, which i think is a crime, so i’m here to change that!

i looooved your marauders fic where reader came out as nonbinary (im enby myself) and i was wondering how that would go with peter? maybe during the stage where they both know they like each other, but haven’t officially started dating yet, and reader comes out to him as what they see as a “warning”. i’m openly enby but still present as very femme, so whenever there’s even an inkling of romance between me and a guy i’m always like “oh they dont know im enby. if i tell them they’re not gonna like me anymore, but also, this is who i am”. of course, no need to write this if you aren’t comfortable/not feeling inspired by it!! thank you love 🫶🏽🫶🏽

Hi gorgeous, thank you for requesting! I'm always a bit worried about these because I can only really try to imagine the enby experience from my outsider's perspective, so please lmk if there are any inaccuracies and/or insensitivities :)

tasm!Peter Parker x nb!reader ♡ 1.1k words

You’re constructing your lego flowers at about half Peter’s pace. Peter’s a whiz with everything, and you thought you were used to it, but the way he’s leaving you in his dust is borderline humiliating. He barely even has to look at the instructions, while you’re turning them over in your hands, glancing repeatedly between the paper and the small plastic pieces strewn between you on the couch.

It might have something to do with your lack of focus. Which might have something to do with Peter being in especially flirty form today.

It’s no secret that the two of you have feelings for each other. You have for a while, and you’ve both been aware of it for almost as long. Until today, neither of you seemed prepared to do anything about it. But something feels different. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, quick glances through his lashes as he talks, or the way his friendly touches seem more intentional than usual, or the fact that he’d wanted to build lego flowers with you because he thought you’d like it, despite you never having exhibited any interest in legos in your life.

None of it is unwelcome. You want to enjoy it, but the escalation makes your palms sweat. It makes it seem like something is going to happen, some change, and you haven’t been honest with him yet. You feel like a time bomb. Or a mirage. Peter thinks he’s getting one thing with you, and then you lift the veil to reveal that you’re something else entirely. You feel like you have an obligation to clue him in before he makes any kind of move. And you’re scared of missing your window, but you have no idea when it’s passing.

“I think you’re missing this one.” Peter’s hand moves over your lap, depositing a lego piece.

You look up at him, returning his smile. “Thanks,” you say. “This is super unfair, by the way. You’ve got years of experience on me.”

“It’s not a competition,” he laughs, looking at you in that way again. Warm, sunny, and something else. He holds his finished product out to you, a plasticky snapdragon. “Here, add it to our bouquet.”

You take it from him compliantly, picking up the vase you’d dug out from your cabinet to hold the growing selection of plastic flowers. You can feel Peter’s eyes on you, and your hands shake a little as you arrange it among the others. If he puts on smooth jazz and starts lighting candles, you’ll bolt.

“You’re gonna have a whole collection by the time we’re done here,” he says, and you hum in affirmation. His smile fades a bit. “Are you hungry? I could make us some dinner.”

You aren’t, really, but you ought to be. You suspect your appetite’s just clogged up with nerves. “Sure, I could eat.”

Peter hops up, seeming happy to have something to do. “Okay, sick.” He starts going through cabinets, energy zinging off him in every direction. “We have frozen pizza! Or, uh, leftover thai food, or mac and cheese. Ooh, and we’ve got breadcrumbs! We could crust up the mac and cheese, if we’re feeling fancy.” He looks at you, raising his eyebrows comically high.

“We can be fancy,” you say, trying to imitate his teasing tone.

You don’t think you pull it off very well. Peter frowns and sets the boxed mac and cheese down on the counter.

“Hey, are you okay?” You must look startled, because he softens the question with a smile. “You just seem a little spacey today. Is…are you having fun?”

“I am,” you say, perhaps too quickly. Your voice is tinged with desperation. You try again, more sincerely. “I am, Pete. This is fun. I’m sorry, I’m just a little out of it.”

“That’s okay.” He makes his way back over to the couch, folding a leg underneath him as he sits. His eyes are earnest on yours. Reassuring, even though he doesn’t know what there is to reassure yet. “What’s eating you?”

You try to look casual, make your tone sound offhand. “Have I mentioned that I’m nonbinary?”

Peter blinks. “Uh, no. I don’t think so.”

“Oh.” You grin, shrugging. Every move you make feels stilted and embarrassing. “Well, I am. I’ve just been thinking I should make sure you knew, just in case you didn’t.”

“Okay.” He seems a bit stunned, but he hasn’t broken eye contact with you. And Peter’s not looking at you like he’s seeing through the veil. He’s looking at you the way he always has. “Are you—is this your way of trying to tell me that you want me to use different pronouns for you?”

“What?” you laugh. “No. I’m not trying to tell you anything, just…I like you, and I didn’t want to, like, trap you in anything if you didn’t know.” The levity saps from your tone as you go on, until your voice is painfully quiet. “I understand if you don’t like me anymore. It’s cool.”

“What?” Peter repeats you, but the delivery is off. He sounds gutted. “Why would you think that?”

You shrug. You’re doing your best to look normal, but your face is burning something awful.

“You’re not—” he shakes his head. “You’re not trapping me in anything. Sweetheart.” Peter surges into your corner of the couch, crowding you as much as hugging you. Mindless of the viscous little plastic pieces biting into his knees. He smells like laundry detergent. “Thank you for telling me,” he says, face an inch from your ear, “but it doesn’t change how I feel about you. Sorry to disappoint.”

You laugh, the sound embarrassingly choked. He rubs your back roughly.

“I can tell this is you just trying to get out of things,” he goes on with impressive lightness, “and I really hate to tell you this, but you’re stuck with me. We have a lego bouquet now. Those are binding.” You laugh again, and Peter’s voice drops to a more sincere register. “Thanks for telling me though, really.” He releases you, or partly, hands sliding down your shoulders to rest on the crooks of your elbows. “I like getting to know you. I’ll take whatever new material you want to give me.”

“Thanks,” you say softly. You muster your confidence, taking his forearms in your hands and giving them a friendly squeeze. “I didn’t realize the lego flowers were a contract, though. I think I may want to renegotiate my terms.”

Peter blows out a breath, shaking his head. “Sorry, can’t help you. There’s no backing out now.”

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tinyozlion · 5 months

Text

Zechs Marquise / Milliardo Peacecraft: A Heel Turn for the Greater Good

Zechs Merquise is the main character of Gundam Wing.

Ah, you thought it was Heero, or maybe Relena, didn’t you? Well, judging by the first act of the series, this is clearly not the case!

Zechs is the very first character we’re introduced to. He’s mysterious, handsome, ultra-competent. He shows concern for civilian safety and the safety of his men. He takes personal risks, fights on the front lines. He demonstrates right away that he has a strong ethical code that places great importance on the moral conduct of soldiers. His subordinates look up to him, his superiors value and respect him. We get all of this in act one of episode one.

Absolute hero material, so far! Hard to see why he's being framed like antagonist. Whatever, I'm sure he'll be on the winning team in no time! Just like Quattro Vegeta, or whatever.

By episode three, we’re introduced to the Tallgeese, a mobile suit that matches all the criteria for being the Big Damn Hero Machine that a protagonist would use: it’s ancient, it’s got a history, it’s the progenitor suit, it’s got no bells or whistles, it demands great strength and skill from the pilot but offers unmatched performance to those who can overcome its challenges. It’s the perfect suit for Zechs, and obviously the next step in his hero’s journey! This is the part of the story where he can finally meet the terrifying, so-far unbeatable enemy on equal footing.

...But of course, OZ is also introduced in episode 3. So now we know that Zechs works for some faceless, secret military organization– but that’s fine, right? It’s the Alliance military that’s the Big Bad Guy, and Zechs seems to be part of some elite special unit that’s only for brave, self-sacrificing soldiers! OZ hasn’t done anything really bad yet, while on the other hand, the Gundam pilots have been a bunch of mercilessly violent loose cannons who’ll kill anyone who gets in their way.

In episode four, we meet Noin, an immediately likable and equally skilled OZ officer who has a deep personal connection with Zechs. Already this is a power couple we can get behind. We watch as Noin suffers a humiliating defeat and a barrage of misogyny from a Gundam pilot, who kills a bunch of young recruits in their sleep. Definitely not a good look for the Gundam Team! while Zechs and Noin (and Treize, in a more literal sense) come out of this episode smelling like roses.

Just look at them! They’re going to make such a great team. I hope they give those homicidal Gundam kids what for!

It’s only when episode five rolls around that we finally see what OZ is really about: assassinations, covert schemes, foul play, political manipulation, and the ruthless accumulation of power. Uh oh!

But surely, Lady Une is the real baddy here, and Treize is no more than a shadowy puppet master whose true motives remain mysterious. Zechs and Noin are still such obvious Good Guy candidates, they really ought to be the main protagonists of this show by now! The big scary OZ that the Colony rebels warned us about seems a far cry from the OZ we’ve seen so far. Even after the point where OZ becomes the new uncontested Bad Guy, Zechs and co. keep their noses pretty clean.

And then! Then Zechs reveals his tragic past, his double-identity, his secret Count of Monte Cristo/ Man in the Iron Mask plot to avenge the ruin of the Sanc Kingdom and the deaths of his family, the noble house of Peacecraft! How romantic, how dashing! His quest continues to best the Gundams, but this takes on the hue of personal enlightenment; Zechs wants to defeat the Gundam pilots to prove he is capable of being a “True Soldier”, worthy of the power he’s been given, worthy of what has been sacrificed to his cause.

Boy, that’s some hero behavior! And it gets even better: Zechs and Noin leave OZ to begin championing the Sanc Kingdom and its policies of Total Pacifism. No one can say Zechs isn’t one of the good guys now, right? He even dresses up all spiffy in white and becomes an ambassador to promote peace in the colonies!

–Or rather, he tries to.

Because despite having gained a reporte with a few of the Gundam pilots, he still hasn’t managed to ally with them. They still view him as an enemy, no matter how hard or how desperately he tries to convince them that he’s turned over a new leaf.

He can’t beat them, and he can’t join them. Why?

Pictured: the saddest boys in the universe.

The second act of Gundam Wing is a crucible where every character is forced to re-evaluate their place in the ongoing conflict. You can see and feel his frustration building as the future spirals out of control.

What is the purpose of Zechs Merquise, or of Milliardo Peacecraft?

He has refused to be OZ’s mascot, the Lightning Count. He’s not capable of bringing peace to the colonies by himself. He can’t join the Gundams in their fight against OZ. He can’t even protect the Sanc Kingdom, because the very act of fighting in its name is used as an excuse to wipe it out.

He bids a heartfelt adieu to his Big Damn Hero Machine, the Tallgeese, and finds himself in possession of its polar opposite: the Epyon, a machine made to scour its pilot and the world of hypocrisy.

Finally, Zechs has his answer– the reason why his purpose eludes him, why all his best intentions go astray, why the harder he tries to align his moral compass to the Gundam pilots or embrace his pacifistic inheritance, the more lost he becomes: He is not the hero.

He has been trying and failing to be a hero since episode one because this isn’t a story about noble, heroic, chivalrous warriors doing battle in order to gain personal clarity and strength.

It’s not about man-vs-man conflict resolving in a test of skill. If it were, Zechs would have been victorious and completed his hero’s journey by now, and the show would be over.

But that was never the role he was meant to play. That’s not what the stage requires. The third act begins as he accepts a new mantle, and becomes the villain history needs in that moment to bring everything together.

“Zechs considers this place his grave. [...]He intends to pay for the sin of purging humanity, all by himself.”

–Not to purge humanity of “violent earthlings”, as his White Fang propaganda speech stated, but to purge the current generation of the means to wage mechanized warfare, and of the desire for combat and retribution itself, in order to finally bring the cycle of war between the earth and space to an end.

…But of course, nothing ever really ends, does it? History dances forward, with or without you, and all the sacrifices and fail-safes in the world will not stop new challenges from arising.

Nevertheless, if it is possible to choose, by means of noble principle, to be a villain for the sake of the greater good, in the full assurance of one’s own destruction and revilement, then surely that is also in some winding, definitionally tragic way, a path to heroism– and if this is so, then Zechs is strong (and disillusioned) enough to take it.

I do not think that the series supports the idea that his actions or their consequences are justified– only that they achieve their immediate purpose: setting the stage for peace. For now.

...And Now, An Important Note on Gundam Meta:

Zechs is what is referred to in the parlance of the Gundam fandom as a “Char Archetype”, or “Char Clone”-- a term I think is of debatable accuracy. For a longer discussion on Char Aznable and his role in MS Gundam, please see the entry: The Char Aznable Problem. But I want to make it clear that knowing about Char’s backstory IS NOT a necessary prerequisite to understanding Zechs’s story.

Zechs and Char share a lot of DNA as characters, that’s unavoidable– a masked man in red who poses a threat to the main Gundam pilot is a staple of the genre; he’s deliberately an homage to Char, as much an expected feature of a Gundam series as... well, Gundams. That much is not in question.

However: Char’s motivations only make sense in the context of the original Gundam series; if you try to apply the same logic within the structure of Gundam Wing, it becomes gibberish. But the gibberish is by design– If you don’t understand the context behind Zech’s late-series genocidal spiel on why “earthlings are the ultimate threat to peace so we must destroy earth, the source of all conflict yadda-yadda blah-blah”, then… yeah, you’re up to speed. No one else listening to White Fang’s broadcast understood it either. It’s MEANT to sound like the ramblings of an extremist madman who poses a catastrophic and unavoidable threat to both Earth AND the Space Colonies he claims to represent. That’s the basic nature of his Ozymandius Gambit: invent something scary enough that everyone has to band together to fight it.

So you don’t need to know about Char to understand Zechs– but knowing about Char does make Zech’s role (and Treize’s role!) in Gundam Wing that much more interesting.

Zechs is not a Char Clone, he is a conversation with the idea of Char, taking a theme and transposing it into a new composition.

--Anyway, it’s a little unfair to try and force a comparison between Zechs and Char, when Char had MS Gundam, Zeta Gundam, and Char’s Counterattack to do everything he did, and Zechs only had Wing.

Now, I’m not a mathematician or anything, but I’d say that makes Zechs roughly…

Three times faster.

#milliardo peacecraft #zechs merquise #gundam wing #gundam wing meta #gundam meta #character analysis #parsing post #tinyozlion pgw

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privateanxieties · 10 months

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Stay?

In honor of our fallen comrade AO3, here's a 3.1K Frank Castle fic.

Summary: Frank is forced to call in a favor from an old acquaintance he hasn't seen since his second tour. What he gets is more than he bargained for, and for the first time in his life, he doesn't think that's such a bad thing.

Pair: Frank Castle x Reader (she/her); flirting, banter, Frank Castle needs a hug, fluff, NO sMut SorRy

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He shouldn't fucking be here, especially at sundown. That much was clear based on the telltale signs of trepidation in his hands and chest. No, he wasn't shaking. Frank Castle was not a pussy. But, he also was not certain she wouldn't shoot him on sight — or even through the wooden door.

Damn Curtis for being bedridden.

"Can't cover your six this time, Frank," he'd said on the end of a cough. "But I know someone who can."

Yeah. Frank knew too. He knew exactly what her skillset was and why it earned her the name full metal cunt less than four months into her first tour. He didn't particularly approve of the moniker, despite agreeing with the underlying meaning. The guys that bestowed it upon her were jackasses, but even they'd had to yield some quiet respect in the face of facts. That's what one got for being the best damn sniper of all active battalions at that time.

Frank hadn't seen her since before Kandahar. Curtis had been cagey on the details, but if his own memory served, she'd been pulled from the ranks and reassigned too — on the other side of the world. Covert ops were a dime a dozen in those days. Last Frank heard from her, they were supposed to—

The door flew open with a quiet click. Whether the click had come from the lock or his brain, he wasn't sure. She stood in front of him like a one-two punch on legs.

"You know, the rain check for that beer expired a while ago, Castle."

Maybe he was about to expire, if he kept staring at the exposed skin of her shoulder where the black silk robe had slid off. It didn't leave a whole lot to mystery, and it worked wonders to reveal just how little of a threat she considered him. He couldn't imagine she'd have answered the door in that get-up if she expected company of a hostile nature. He cleared his throat and stood the slightest bit taller.

"That's what the flowers are for, sweetheart," he grumbled out at last, gripping the bouquet tighter and shifting subtly on his feet. Her eyes narrowed.

"Something making you nervous?"

Not subtle enough, apparently.

"Hoyle call?" he asked, deflecting her question.

"Of course he called. You'd be dead if he hadn't," she shot back plainly. The tilt of her neck drew his eyes to the damp skin for a brief moment. Freshly showered. Faint jasmine in the air.

"C'mon… I'm not that scary. Am I?" he joked, lips pulling at the edges.

"Scary? No," her voice sang ever-so-gently. She was scanning him from head to toe. "But, given that everyone you've paid a house visit to lately has wound up full of holes, the working policy ought to have been on sight."

"Not if you ain't involved in anything unsavory."

"I have a pile of catshit that needs cleaning. That unsavory enough?" she asked, right eyebrow raised delicately.

Sometimes — and he would deny it even under torture — Frank loved having his balls busted by someone as quick-witted as her. Where Lieberman nagged and sassed him without much success, she was right on target every time. He liked a challenge.

"Didn't peg you for a cat lover," he forwarded, fighting back a smirk.

A flicker of emotion came and went, but Frank thought he caught just the right amount of smugness in the second it passed over her face. She looked pleased, like his assessment of her character was correct. A moment later she was stepping back, gesturing for him to come inside and accepting the flowers with both her hands. If he'd splurged for the largest bouquet, it was in accordance with the favor he was about to ask.

"It's not my cat. If it was, I wouldn't have named it something as stupid as Chonks," she explained as he followed her down the hallway and into the living room of her surprisingly spacious apartment. The furnishings were nothing fancy, at least not in Frank's view, but the sheer square footage did catch his attention.

"Rent dry you out every month, Corporal?"

It wasn't his place to ask, and he didn't really give a shit, but he did want to rattle her chain. Just a little bit. Questioning her choice of rentals and calling her by rank was a good enough start. He watched her retrieve a vase from the open floor kitchen and fill it with water to the midpoint.

"Not that it's any of your business, but no. I'm doing alright for myself. Though, I don't blame you for being suspicious, what with…" she paused, waving her hand in a vague motion. "…everything."

Frank's jaw tightened. She noticed the moment it happened.

"I meant Kandahar. You can unclench your asshole," she commented lightly, arranging the flowers to her liking and leaning forward to breathe in the scent of the gardenias.

"Heard about Wolf and Rawlins. You're right to wonder where I get my money. Not like jobs for trained killers grow on trees. No one's hiring me as a marketing executive. That master's degree was a waste of time," she said as she pulled two glass bottles out of the fridge. Beer and cider.

"Still think beer tastes like piss, do ya?" Frank taunted, though he had to admit — his asshole did unclench after her acknowledgement of recent events. He wasn't sure how he felt about her knowing, but in the end, he'd rather not have to explain the last year of his life. It was fine.

She glanced his way between popping the metal caps open.

"Yep. Worse, even."

He held her gaze.

"Got a boyfriend?"

The inkling of a sardonic smile on her lips had Frank's own trembling with mirth.

"I'm as fond of those as I am of Chonks."

"Why do you stock it, then?" he pushed. It earned him a lovely eye roll.

"I don't know, Frank. Maybe I have friends over sometimes," she sassed, walking up to him. She stopped short of handing him the drink. He measured her resolve just like he measured everything else in life. He was pleased to find that for once, things were exactly as he thought them to be. With her, what he saw was what he got.

"Bullshit," he smirked, finally allowing his amusement out in the open.

A click of her tongue and hooded eyes had his whole posture relaxing.

"Yeah, well… not like you would judge."

Sharing a brief chuckle, they touched the lips of their bottles together with a quiet clink and drank. He abstained from giving in to the urge to compete and drink more than her. Sometimes Frank could choose not to be an ass, but only for the right people.

He took her in as she led him over to the couch, or rather, took in the long-healed scar on the back of her neck, covered just so by a few wisps of hair that had fallen from her up-do. He remembered that one. A shit story, if he ever heard one. It seemed they both knew a thing or two about a comrade's betrayal. What was it with these pieces of shit not having the nerve to stab you in the front?

"I'd try my hand at small talk, if I didn't know you're not one for chit-chat," she said, plopping down on the velvet sofa. He followed shortly. "Plus, Curtis sounded like death warmed over on the phone. So, I'm assuming you needed his help with something and he couldn't provide it. And now you're here."

"Brilliant deduction skills there, Holmes," he grumbled, taking another sip of the beer.

She blinked her eyes at him all innocent.

"I remember your standards being a little higher. Hoyle's a knockout corpsman but I wouldn't trust him to hit a sitting target 300 yards out," she snorted, setting her drink down on the coffee table before them.

"Oh yeah? And what's your best number, champ?" he mocked.

"A few more than that," she shot back instantly, tone flat.

Yeah. Frank knew. He remarked that she hadn't taken on a bragging habit, but she did keep her confidence, which was refreshing. Some pricks came back from warzones feeling like they could conquer the world. Most were soon disabused of the notion. She'd never seemed the type to have a chip on her shoulder, even back then. Even if — and Frank understood better than anyone — she had good reason to return from war loosely hinged and embittered.

He looked her over once more, a deep sigh sagging his shoulders before his expression hardened. She looked back with what seemed to Frank like thinly veiled insight. Eyes like a hawk.

"Not a lot of people I can trust these days, no matter how good a shot they are. Actually, the better they are, the more I don't like 'em."

Her lips pulled back to reveal a few pearly whites.

"Should I take the insufferable route and say well, then you should really hate me?" she joked, smile widening when he snorted and rolled his eyes in exaggerated fashion.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, princess. When's the last time you were behind the scope?" he taunted, wanting to see what she'd do.

"Couple weeks ago, when I scheduled an impromptu leadership change for the Yakuza. You?"

A double take. He rarely did them these days. His amusement was rapidly fading.

"What, you're a gun for hire now?"

Maybe his tone wasn't exactly as even as it should've been, given his reason for being there. Antagonizing someone you're about to ask a favor from was rarely a good strategy. He knew why his words came out the way they did. Maybe he'd expected different from her. Yet, it seemed that his smartass comment didn't provoke much ire. It was her turn to hold his gaze, and she looked decidedly unimpressed.

"Yup. And next week I'll probably be hired to kill the guy who hired me to kill that guy. They're eating each other whether I help or not. Why shouldn't I take their money before they expire of a different cause?" she explained, and Frank didn't really like how he felt it was too simple a reason for what she did.

"As interested as I am in discussing the intricacies of my killing-scumbags-for-fun-and-profit ideology, this is actually my day off. You pulled me out of a bubble bath and I still have gunpowder under my nails. So, if you're going to ask something, either ask or—"

A prolonged, sorrowful meow hijacked their conversation from down the hall, though one could hardly tell for how loud it actually was. She looked over his shoulder to appraise the situation, and just as Frank craned his neck to look too, there it was. A black hole with eyes and pointy teeth stared them both down, tail swinging from side to side leisurely. It meowed again, seemingly just as dejected.

"Three minutes past her dinner. Heartbreaking," she deadpanned.

Frank stifled a snort into the back of his hand.

"Do you want to feed her, Castle? Because I'm inclined to ask you to clean her litter box, too. Since you find this amusing and all."

"Nah. Imma watch you do it, though," he smirked, laughing again when she got up at a glacial pace and headed towards the kitchen with all the enthusiasm of a shift worker at four a.m. He quickly swiped the ten-pound creature off the floor with one arm before it could follow after her. Surprisingly, it didn't try to bite or claw his face off.

"Tell you what— I'll take Chonks off your hands for a minute. Don't want her jumping you for food."

"Oh no. That's never happened before." Laced with sarcasm, her words brought forward a mental picture he found himself thoroughly enjoying.

"Yeah? So Chonks is a little rascal, huh? Does Chonks have a particular strategy she ambushes you with?"

"I have a feeling you just like saying Chonks, so let me stop you before it gets annoying. She," Her index finger pointed straight at Frank's chest, where the cat rested amicably. "… is a criminal. Unrepenting. Extravagant. She flaunts her ill-gotten gains. She took a shit in the sink last week and she left a mouse on my pillow two days ago. It was still twitching."

Frank Castle hadn't had a good laugh in what felt like forever. Truthfully, he didn't really think he deserved much of what regular people took for granted. There were reasons for that everywhere he looked, no matter how much people like David Lieberman and Karen Page tried to persuade him otherwise. But sometimes… sometimes there were also moments like this. Maybe it was camaraderie, maybe mutual understanding — even, perhaps, a similar disposition to the person whose company he found himself not dreading. Whatever fate or circumstance settled on, and as much as he wanted to doubt it, these moments were getting more frequent as of late. Nothing crazy — he would never be a happy-go-lucky guy just minding his business. But somewhere between the cracks in a life he was still trying to make sense of, people slipped in substances he was having a hard time getting rid of. Laughter. Support. A little ball-busting that was good for morale. Help.

He'd turned up at her door with the clear intention for ask for help, and she didn't turn him down. She invited him inside, despite not having seen him in years. Despite the news and his reputation. Despite not owing him a goddamn thing.

He startled when a gentle vibration tickled his abdomen. He looked down. Chonks lay half-asleep, head on Frank's stomach and ass hanging off the side of his thigh. He tried adjusting for comfort without disturbing the creature.

"Ever been taken prisoner, Frank?" his host asked from the kitchen. He had to twist his neck to catch her eye.

"Not unwillingly," was the answer he settled on.

"Well, now you have. Congrats on popping that cherry."

When she entered his view again, her hands were holding two plates of human food. Her gaze was fixed on the purring lump of coal in his lap.

"Oh look, she's working double time. Hope you're comfortable. Once she's out, she's out," she announced nonchalantly, taking her seat next to him once more and setting the food down. The previously hungry cat didn't even stir. Frank looked at the assortment of finger foods. Smoked salmon. He was fucked.

"Yeah. I could put bluefin tuna in front of her nose — she's not getting up. So, how are you?" she continued taunting him, the beginnings of a shit-eating grin twisting the lower half of her face.

"You think I won't move her?" he tried. It was weak, even to his own ears. The look she gave him invoked pity.

"Frank… You're tough. You can be brutal when necessary. But you're not cruel, hm?"

She blinked at him all slow. Then, reaching out to him with the same mellow movement, she brushed her hand over the cat's obsidian fur. It burrowed further into him. Of the things Frank wished he hadn't forgotten about her, it was just how much nerve she had that topped the list. When he didn't answer, her smile grew further.

"Nah. Didn't think so. On the bright side, now you can tell me what you came here for in an abundance of detail."

She didn't let his glare deter her from fully enjoying his predicament, or from trying to pretend she was a good host by handing him the plate of snacks she'd prepared. She threw another look at his lap, eyebrows raising curiously.

"She's purring up a storm. You know they do that in response to trauma sometimes?"

"I'm sure missing dinner was tough," he sassed, finally accepting the food.

"Not theirs. Yours," she replied. Curt. To the point. It gutted him most effectively. And she probably knew that.

Despite huffing and puffing the rest of the evening, and despite trying his best to seem bothered and grumpy, the noticeable absence of tension in his back muscles telegraphed otherwise, both to him and his companion. If she noticed — and he knew she did — she said nothing, only met him halfway with a steady supply of beer and ears perked up for his tactical plans. Yet, at some point, those plans turned into examples. Examples turned into anecdotes. Anecdotes became jumbled nonsense, collected from various points in his life with seemingly no thread to link them. By the time Chonks finished her dubious therapy session, she'd already handed the duty over to her temporary human guardian.

And Frank wasn't used to talking this fucking much. He didn't like it when anyone did it around him, and especially not right next to him. But every time he looked to check if he was being a pain in the ass, he only found those same eyes fixed on him and that same veiled insight resting just outside his perception. Maybe he was talking to a fucking oracle, and it would've made sense, because how else would she have known exactly what to say to his increasingly unhinged verbiage? It kept pouring out with no end in sight.

That was, until her eyes scrunched closed and a lengthy yawn fell from her lips, and guilt hit Frank Castle like the first brick to the head he'd taken on his old construction job.

"Shit, I'm s—"

He got barely anywhere with that.

"D'you know this is the first evening I've been able to relax? Usually, I'd be chewing at the drywall by now. Maybe checking the secret assassin network for another job," she said. He sensed it was said in jest, but the honesty of the words knocked him off his feet like it was a living, breathing opponent. Suddenly, his mouth couldn't form any words of its own. The same enigmatic look of the past few hours danced in her eyes. Mellowed out. Open. Yet something was just there, and he couldn't put his finger on it. A moment later, her eyes cast downward. He followed her gaze without thinking, landing on his own chest.

"I know I besmirched her reputation plenty, but maybe the little felon isn't so bad," she said. The way her voice softened didn't go unnoticed by Frank. It couldn't have — it was ripping open something raw and tender right above the spot Chonks was warming with her small body.

"Hm?" he grunted, not trusting his own voice.

For his effort, the smile he received felt undeserved. But… maybe, just maybe, a little less so than usual. It managed to extract a similar one from his own lips, ones that refused to be pried open for fear of whatever noise might've escaped.

"She got you to stay."

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-fin-

A/N: Trying to fill a gap in the market for non-smutty FC fics, it's wild out here. Also, I'll keep this up for a bit, but after it's past its "shelf life", it'll go back into my private posts, because I don't want to go back on my word (explained here ).

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle fluff #punisher x reader

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wheels-of-despair · 11 months

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The Ups and Downs of Dating a Trash Panda Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie and Evil Woman's first date doesn't go exactly as planned… but everything works out in the end. Obviously. Contains: First date, questionable choices, proof that a good cheeseburger can fix anything. Words: 2.6k

"What, no dress?"

"Shut up."

"You really ought to put in a little effort."

"Cram it, dork."

"Guys like it when you get all prettied up for them."

"How would you know?"

"Maybe some lipstick."

"Good idea, can I borrow yours?"

"You're no fun," your brother grumbles before he gets tired of his annoying little game and leaves your doorway.

As if getting dressed for a first date isn't already stressful enough.

You don't know why you're stressing. The guy is perfect. You'd only known him for a week, but you were already completely crazy about him. He was funny, he was gorgeous, he scared you just the right amount, he had good taste in music. (Although you did dock points for being a Dio fan. He claimed he could get you to come around. As if your loyalty to The Ozz-Man could be tested by some pretty metalhead who was obsessed with the pint-sized weirdo that tried to replace a legend. Pfft.)

You settled on dark jeans, a shirt that your mom would call a "blouse", and relatively new Converse that hadn't been drawn on yet. The white parts were still white and everything. Yup, you think as you look in the mirror one last time, this is about as good as it's gonna get.

You decide to wait out the rest of the time in the kitchen, so you could dart outside as soon as you heard the van and not have to suffer through any awkward introductions.

You didn't even have time to sit down before you heard the unmistakable roar of that monstrous van.

"Leaving, I'll probably be back by dawn!" you yell before ducking out and making a beeline toward the driveway… where some vaguely familiar dweeb is getting out of Eddie's van.

"Hey."

"Who are you and what have you done with the feral trash panda I'm supposed to be going out with tonight?" you ask before you can stop yourself. You can't help it; he's wearing stiff jeans without holes in them, a tucked-in button-up without any stains on it, and freshly polished combat boots. He's even made an effort to tame his hair.

His pale face immediately turns red, and you curse yourself and your big mouth.

"Kidding. You look good." Oh god, he's going to just turn around and leave, isn't he? Honestly, you wouldn't blame him.

"Thanks," he says shyly, which feels even more out of character for him than the clothes do. "You do too."

"Ready to head out, or did you want to go in and get grilled?"

He gulps and spins on his heel. You follow him back toward the van and try not to smile as he gets halfway around the front before turning back, darting in front of you, and opening the passenger door. This adorable awkwardness is doing wonders for your nerves.

"Thank you, kind sir," you say with a wink as you get in. His eyes go big, and it takes him a second longer than it should to remember to shut the door. He hustles to the other side, jumps in, and starts the engine without looking at you. You're not used to having this effect on anyone. You're quite enjoying it.

In the week you'd known him, nearly every minute you'd spent together had been spent talking. Even when the teacher of the one class you shared together told you - well, him - to shut up and pay attention, you'd continued your conversation on paper. You had an entire notebook dedicated to Conversations with Eddie now.

But aside from the cassette mix blaring through his speakers, this ride was utterly silent. You wanted desperately to say something funny to ease the tension, but you were suddenly as tongue-tied as he was. What the hell is that about?

When you get into the little town you're still not completely familiar with, Eddie whips his van into a parking spot in front of a brick building.

"Uh… Italian good?"

Well done, Munson, three whole words. "Yup, that works."

He grins and jumps out, coming to open your door, but you beat him to it. You're quite capable of opening your own car door. You'll need to break him of that quick.

He gives you a funny look, but recovers as you join him on the sidewalk. He takes long strides toward the restaurant's front door and gives you a triumphant smirk as he holds it open for you. Yeah, okay, you win this one.

The second you step inside, you feel out of place. This is a fancy restaurant. White linen tablecloths, candles and fresh flowers on the tables, waiters wearing ties. Even with your attempts to dress up, you both still stick out like sore thumbs.

"Table for two, please," Eddie tells the hostess. She looks the pair of you up and down, puts her badly painted eyebrows back into place, and gives you a fake smile.

"Right this way," she says sweetly, leading you to a small table in the back. On the way, you pass a couple you've seen in school, all dressed up and eating with one of their families. They look at you with surprise, and the boy leans over to whisper something to the girl. Her eyes never leave you. Fantastic.

Eddie holds out your chair, clearly haven been coached on how to treat a lady, and you sit. He takes a seat across from you, and you both look around the dimly lit restaurant. This is the kind of place rich old men from three towns over bring their mistresses, or where seniors take their prom dates. What the hell?

"Come here often?" you ask, half-joking. His face reddens again.

"Not really," he admits.

"Good evening," your tie-wearing waiter greets before you can make Eddie any more uncomfortable. "Can I start you off with drinks as you peruse our menu?" He hands you each a laminated sheet.

"Uh… Mountain Dew?" The waiter's nose twitches at Eddie's request. "Same," you say with a mildly sarcastic smile.

"Very well," the waiter says, giving you a hard look down his crooked nose before leaving you alone. You feel like a kid who's been mistakenly seated at the adult's table… until you look at the menu. And then you look up at Eddie. His eyes are wide, probably for the same reason yours are: these prices are ridiculous.

"I don't even know what half this stuff is," you mumble, scanning the list in horror.

"Me either," Eddie admits. If he keeps going red like this, his head's going to explode before the night ends.

"Have you ever been here before?" you ask, genuinely this time.

"No," he says, almost guiltily, chewing his bottom lip.

"This doesn't really seem like us, does it?" You're trying to be as gentle as possible, for Eddie's sake, but you hate everything about this place. The flowers stink, the candle is giving you black lung, and you're feeling more claustrophobic by the second. You also suspect you'll both end up washing dishes to get out of here. Bet the people from school would love to see that.

"Do you want to bail?" he asks quietly, almost like he fears your answer.

"On you? No. On this overpriced shithole? Hell yeah." His face lights up, and he looks around to see if you're being watched. You are. Fuck it. "C'mon," you stand up, instinctively taking his hand and pulling him up to follow you, dodging tables and ties on your way out.

"Is there a problem?" the hostess asks as you rush past her.

"Left the stove on!" you call over your shoulder as you burst through the door and find yourselves back outside, where the sun is just beginning to set. You turn to Eddie with a smile, which he returns. It's nice to be able to breathe again. And then you realize you're still holding hands, so you panic and break apart.

"Fucked that one up, didn't I?" He rubs the back of his neck, looking at you through one scrunched-up eye.

"Nah," you say, enjoying the fresh air and the feeling of freedom. "I'm honored that you think I'm a fancy Italian restaurant kind of girl."

"What kind of girl are you?"

"For you? I'd be a gas station hot dog kind of girl."

You briefly wonder if he's going to have a stroke, or get freaked out by how into him you are - way to come off like a stalker, you loser - and then he lets out the goofiest, dorkiest laugh you've ever heard.

"I think we can do a little better than gas station hot dogs. What are you in the mood for?"

You shrug. "What's your favorite?"

"There's a good burger joint a few streets over."

"That's more like it," you grin.

"You wanna walk?"

"Sure," you shrug. "Can I do something first?"

"Yeah?" You take a step toward him, and he instinctively steps back.

"Relax, I'm not gonna hurt you," you tell him with a smile. "Close your eyes?" Surprisingly, he doesn't put up a fight. You take a slow step toward him, stick your hands in his hair, and give it a gentle tousle.

That's all it takes to make it go wild again. He looks at you in confusion.

"There he is," you announce, crossing your arms and looking up at him with affection. "Knew you were in there somewhere." He ducks his head to hide his smile, and you stand at his side and give him a gentle nudge with your shoulder.

"I believe I heard talk of a good burger joint?"

He beams down at you, tilts his head, and begins walking in search of better food. After he catches his reflection in a store window and blushes again, he untucks and unbuttons his shirt, revealing a plain t-shirt underneath. Another step toward normalcy. For him, anyway.

After the third time your hands bump together on your journey, you glare up at him. "Am I gonna have to do everything myself?"

"What?" he asks. The boy is hopeless.

With a dramatic sigh and a good-natured roll of your eyes, you grab his hand and interlace your fingers, wondering whose face is burning more on the rest of your walk.

"This is it," he says as you approach a glass window with chipped paint advertising breakfast, lunch, dinner, and coffee. You probably would've missed it if he hadn't pointed it out. He opens the door, and you step inside to see a checkered floor, fluorescent lights, a long counter, and a row of red booths. Framed newspaper articles and vintage advertisements decorate the walls. Two booths are occupied, and three old codgers who must be regulars sit at the counter having a lively discussion about pie over steaming mugs of coffee.

"Yeah, this is more like it," you grin up at Eddie. He laughs and leads the way to a booth in the back that's seen better days, and you settle in across from each other. You look around and see the menu above the counter. Not only can you pronounce everything on it, you can afford it too. Yeah, this is definitely more like it.

"What do you recommend?" you ask.

"I pretty much always get a bacon cheeseburger."

"Perfect."

A grandmotherly type wearing Keds, pleated jeans, and a sweatshirt covered in sunflowers appears. "Hey, honey! Where you been?"

"Hey, Bernadettte. Uhhh… working hard in school?"

She laughs and pulls a pad and a pen from her apron. "Suuure. What'll it be, kids?"

"Two bacon cheeseburgers and a basket of fries, please."

"Drinks?"

You each pick a soda, and she gives you a smile before returning to the counter.

Now that you're both comfortable, your usual level of chatter quickly resumes. From the time Bernadette went to fetch your drinks to the time you finished sharing an after-dinner milkshake, the only silence came when both of your mouths were full.

"Can I get you kids anything else?" Bernadette eventually asks. If you eat another bite, you're going to explode.

"No ma'am," Eddie answers politely.

"Haven't seen you in here before," she remarks to you, ripping the ticket off and placing it face-down on the table.

"I've only been here about a week. But now that I've found the best burger in town, you'll probably be seeing a lot more of me," you joke.

She laughs. "I knew I was gonna like you. I'm Bernadette. You come back and see me anytime." Somebody calls for a refill at the counter, and she winks as she walks away.

"Ready?" Eddie asks, sucking down the last sip of his soda. You nod.

He takes the ticket to the register, and you tidy up your mess and tuck a few dollars under the milkshake glass so they don't drift away. Eddie returns and looks down at it, then at you with a glare.

"Non-negotiable," you say simply, standing between him and the tip on the table. He holds up his hands in defeat, then gestures toward the exit. You wave to Bernadette on your way out.

"You kids take care!" she calls.

"You too, Bernadette!" Eddie responds.

Holding hands is less awkward on the return trip. The drive home is quiet, but not unbearably so. It's peaceful now; you're both full, and happy, and comfortable with each other.

When you're back in your driveway, he puts the van in park and turns off the engine. You turn to tell him goodnight, but he's already darting around the front to open your door. You resist the urge to roll your eyes as he yanks it open and holds out his hand expectantly.

"You know you don't have to do that, right?"

"Let me be a gentleman, dammit. Just for tonight. I'll go back to being a… what did you call me earlier?"

"Trash panda?"

"I'll go back to being a trash panda tomorrow if you want."

"Fineee," you grumble playfully, taking his hand and sliding to the ground with a thump.

"Now what?" you ask, looking up at him with a devious grin.

"Uh…"

You lean back against the van and cross your arms, watching your flustered date try to make up his mind.

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, and he closes it again.

"I had a great time tonight," you prompt, finally taking pity on his floundering.

"Me too. Sorry I fucked it up."

"You didn't fuck it up. I think this might be the best date I've ever been on."

"Really?" he asks.

"Yup."

"Uh… me too…" Hopeless. Totally hopeless.

"I think this is the part where you kiss me goodnight," you stage-whisper, watching him blush again in the glow of your porch light.

"You're sure?" His dark eyes dart to your lips.

You lean closer. "Am I gonna have to do everything myself?" you tease, gently, repeating this question for the second time tonight.

Eddie grins and closes the distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that makes you go weak at the knees.

"Happy now?" he asks smugly when he pulls back, in a low, gravelly voice that sets your insides on fire. This motherfucker.

"Nah, I think you better try again."

He pulls you back to him without a word, a little more aggressive this time. You don't mind in the slightest. When you come up for air, he looks at you expectantly.

"Uh… yeah. Yeah, that was better." He grins triumphantly and stands to his full height, draping an arm around your shoulders.

"I'm walking you to your door. Deal with it." You laugh and let him.

After a shorter kiss on the doorstep and a promise that he'll call you tomorrow, he heads back the van, and you step inside.

Your brother is sitting at the kitchen table with a plate of cookies, a glass of milk, and a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Not a fuckin' word," you warn, trying to look threatening instead of hopelessly head-over-heels for a feral trash panda.

#writings of despair #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #i miiiiight've gotten a little carried away with this #deal with ittt

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unreadpoppy · 4 months

Text

down by the river - chapter 2

Raphael x Warlock! Tav

A/N: I have little to no clue where I'm going with this. Buckle up!

Read on AO3

Chapter 1

Tav looked around, her companions all asleep. She sighed and stood up, walking away from camp. Funnily enough, near where they had slept for the night, was a river, though no person was in it.

She picked up some pebbles and threw them in the river, watching them jump before falling into the water. Tav tried to focus on the now, but her mind kept wandering back to her past. She remembered a particular day.

‘Please, I’ll do anything, anything you want, if it means I’ll be free!’ She was on her knees, bowing before a pair of boots. She was much younger than, and covered in blood, her body shaking. ‘Please, save me.’

The young woman cried, and felt a hand underneath her chin, a single finger raising her head, and making her look at the warm brown eyes of her savior.

Tav was interrupted by the sound of a twig breaking behind her. She turned her head to see who had arrived.

“Who is Raphael?” Shadowheart asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tav shrugged, throwing another pebble.

The cleric raised an eyebrow. “I heard you murmuring that name. Is that what your mark means?”

Tav didn’t reply, brows furrowed. Shadowheart sighed. “Keep your secrets, then. We all seem to have them.”

She began to walk away when Tav, still looking forward, shouted “I’m a warlock, by the way.”

The half-elf stopped to look at her, and at the same time, she finally addressed her companion. Shadowheart raised a brow. “I heard your conversation earlier. You guys are not as sneaky as you think you are.”

Shadowheart nodded and walked back to her bedroll. A few minutes later, Tav went back to hers.

…

In the morning, Tav is the second to wake up, losing only to Astarion. She ate her breakfast, an apple, frowning in silence, while the elf looked at her.

A moment passed. Then

“Don’t even think about asking me stuff.” She said, out of nowhere.

“Excuse me?” He asked, baffled by the accusation.

“I see the way you’re looking.” Tav took another bite of the fruit. “Don’t even try.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “I was not thinking of bothering you with questions.”

“Really? Then you better not be thinking of biting me.”

I can keep my hunger in check, thank you very much.” He took a breath and continued. “You know, if you were a little bit more open, maybe people wouldn’t question you so much.“

Her lips thinned and she rolled her eyes. “And you are such an open book, Astarion.”

He huffed. “Well, at least everyone knows I’m a vampire. And that Wyll is indepted to a devil. And that Gale eats magic items.” Astarion looked at her, squinting his eyes. “You’re the only one here who’s shut off.” Before Tav could try to defend herself, he stood up, passing his hands on his legs, pretending to clean non existent dirt. “But suit yourself. I was trying to be nice. You ought to do the same.”

Tav finished eating, spitting the seeds away. After the rest of the group woke up and started to get ready, Karlach approached her.

“You know, I could tell you what that means.” She pointed towards Tav’s collarbone. “Since it’s in infernal.”

Tav grumbled. “I know what it means.” She began to walk away but turned around. Maybe she could try to be nice. “Thank you, anyways.” Karlach gave a small smile and nodded.

Then, as they were walking, Wyll, now adorned with a new set of horns, said “So, I’ve been told you and I have something in common.”

At that, Tav looked at Shadowheart, who immediately looked away. “Word travels fast here, it seems.”

Wyll chuckled. “They do, indeed. But, if you’re ever in need of help with some contracts, I’m happy to lend a hand.”

She raised a brow and nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind…Even if I don’t think I’ll need it.”

Wyll gave her a questioning look. “And why is that?”

Tav gave him a raised brow. “I’m on better terms with my patron then you are.”

“Oh, really?”

Before Tav could reply, she heard the sound of someone approaching them followed by a voice she recognized. Although she had her back to him, she heard his little speech.

“My, my, what manner of place is this? A path to redemption, or a road to damnation? Hard to say, for your journey is just beginning.”

Tav turned around and faced him. Quietly, she said to herself “Speaking of the devil”.

He wore his human guise, with those brown eyes and hair, and wearing a blue doublet. To the unpracticed eye, nobody would have noticed the small features of surprise that appeared on his face when seeing Tav, but she knew him well.

“What would suit the occasion? The words to a lullaby, perhaps?” Tav took a deep breath.

‘Here we go with the theatrics.’ She thought.

“The mouse smiled brightly: It outfoxed the cat!” He exclaimed. The next part of the lullaby Tav was familiar with. The man looked down as he finished. “Then down came the claw, and that, love, was that.” At the love part, he specifically kept eye contact with Tav.

“They do know how to write them in Cormyr, don’t they, Tav?” She could feel the eyes of everyone else in the party turning to look at her.

“It seems you haven’t talked about me yet, seeing the surprised look on your companions.” He addressed Tav and then the others, bowing his head slightly and opening his arms. “Well met, I am Raphael. Very much at your service.”

Tav looked at him, squinting her eyes and not saying anything. Raphael shook his head. “Tsk tsk. This is no way to treat your patron, Tav. It must be the surroundings. Rather bleak and lonesome. One feels so…exposed.” He gestured to her, the others and then to the world around them. “This quaint little scene is decidedly too middle of nowhere for my taste.”

With a snap of his fingers, they were all sent to Raphael’s domain.

#raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael the cambion #tav #warlock!tav #baldur's gate 3 fanfic #wyll #shadowheart #astarion #karlach #my writing #baldur's gate 3

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beautifulpersonpeach · 10 months

Text

A Rant.

A lot of you have sent me asks about how JK's solo promotions isn't the same as Jimin's and other BTS members, about JK's rumoured all-English album, about BTS doing payola (you can read my views 4th paragraph from the bottom), about how HYBE has apparently destroyed the BTS OT7 agenda...

I don't want to answer y'all for two reasons:

Perhaps some of you are newer followers, but I can only repeat myself so many times. Don't you get bored of hearing me say the same thing over and over again? /gen

I don't share the apprehension, worry, or appetite for speculation and theorizing that I'm seeing from many people on Tumblr and Twitter.

It's very possible I'm the one in La La Land and you all have good reason to be concerned. But the way I see it, a lot of hysteria is being driven by two things: (1) a very myopic pov, as though the time between June 2022 and December 2025 is the most defining period of BTS's solo careers, as though this is the best and only time for any member to make a move, leave their mark, and thrive. And that BTS/BigHit is working on the same timeline.

(2) All these conversations are being driven by people who have brought that toxic hyper-competitive feature of k-pop, inwards, into the group, and now see the members as direct competition in the narrowest and most reductive sense possible.

And I just don't relate.

I don't feel sad for Hobi on how his solo roll-out was 'sabotaged' relative to Jimin's, I don't feel angry for Joon on how his roll-out compared to JK's, I don't feel confused at JK possibly having a full English album, if anything I'm even more excited by how he's pushing himself and I think it suits him given his pronunciation is one of the best in BTS. I know he'll be more involved than with Seven given how long he's been working on his album, I just hope he doesn't sacrifice depth in his artistic and lyrical expression for a shallow, wider reach.

In my very honest opinion.

When BTS talk about wanting to be together for a really really long time, I wonder if people have sat down to really think about what that looks like. Because maybe it's just me, but I don't think it makes sense for a company/group that has operated like BigHit/BTS, to shove their grandest plans for seven individuals into a ~3 year window. Right now, it's JK getting the push, he's been very vocal and consistent about his solo ambitions for the last 4 years, and I'm glad he's getting this shot.

Also,

While I feel BigHit has become bloated and inefficient, the boys are still capable handling their affairs and I feel very comfortable not having all the answers for a business and career that isn't mine.

I have my opinions about how things could be done differently, and I think if people want to voice their dissatisfaction to the company that's obviously fine, but I don't feel sadness, anger, or pity for any of the guys in BTS in Chapter 2. Not for my biases, not for Jungkook, and certainly not for Jimin. And it's getting tedious repeating my unpopular sanctimonious opinions to people who have already made up their minds and really ought to be more honest with themselves.

Speaking of Jimin, it continues to amuse me how the top group of people who just do nawt rate this man, is his solos. It's like dejavu for the discourse around OSTs circa 2018 - 2021 all over again. PJMs complaining about how BigHit was holding him back from doing OSTs, just for Jimin to say he wasn't interested at the time. Or how in 2022 people were fretting in my inbox about how only Jimin hadn't done any solo work/promotions yet and I would put out gentle reminders about how he operates and his tendency to leapfrog the rest when he's ready, then we started getting the producer pics.

Jimin has always been a 'bigger picture' kind of guy so how can anyone blame me for not taking this latest outcry seriously when that man continues to do what he's always done: work in silence, and wow with the result.

(Does anyone really think a man with no plans would be airborne every 2 weeks, and that a company with no desire to market him would be paying for and managing those plans?)

Not to be dismissive of people who wanted a stronger American push for Jimin's debut, while I agree he would've benefitted from a more targeted push, I genuinely think Jimin has always been better suited for Europe anyway.

I mean, look at him.

Anon from yesterday said they envisioned Jungkook doing a song/video like Troye Sivan's Rush... I didn't comment on it yesterday, but Anon, personally, I've never seen Jungkook as capable of making a song like that. Jungkook will never make anything like that. The only person in BTS who has the range for that sort of provocation and subtext, is Jimin. And the market that will fully embrace that sort of art isn't America, it's Europe. In my opinion.

We'll see what his plans are.

Anyway, I'm not sure how more tactfully I can say this, but my blog isn't the place to be if you feel some type of way about seeing Jungkook succeed like this relative to your bias, if you think his promotion and success is at the expense of your bias, and so on. It's not even that I care about some vague OT7 ideal, it's that while I understand the anger and heightened emotions a lot of you feel, I just cannot relate to it. And it won't be enjoyable for either of us if you come to me with asks about it because we think very differently about the group and our relation to BTS.

You can mark this post to revisit in 6 months so we can compare notes.

#...if you're still in the fandom #maybe later after I've had some coffee I'll be feeling more up to answering all those asks #bts #bangtan #jimin #park jimin #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jikook #hobi #kookmin #bang pd #bighit #bts fandom #bts army #fandom behaviour

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queen-shiba · 1 year

Text

The Sassy Lost Child from another World and the Usurper from the Wilds

Author's note: Decided to use the name "Shiba" in this story. Self inserts for the win!

@killersweetie @vtoriacore @vtoriacore-rbs @maythearo @seraphni @h3apm3ch4n151m @b0nkers-papaya @soru-ya @soru-spam

Leona has formed a big brother/little sister relationship with the prefect, and decided it'd be a good idea to bring the child home over break, seeing as she is not a fan of being by herself for so long.

But it seems, she wasn't lying when she said she'd mouth off to the nobles and servants if they dared speak ill of him...

There was a banquet being held by the king of the Sunset Savannah.

Many come to enjoy it from far and wide!

Especially nobles who wish to be in the king's favor.

Leona hated special events like this with a burning passion.

Usually, he'd avoid going, and completely skip out on it, but his darling older brother insisted he went, and the prefect, whom he'd brought along with him, was eager as well, but would only go if he went.

Now they were stuck in some party the lion wanted no part in.

Shiba was hardly mingling with anyone, sticking to his side as if everyone else in the room was a monster.

Socializing wasn't her specialty.

Shiba had never really been to special events like this... Not often anyway..

She didn't know how to mingle.

The thought of talking to someone was... Scary..

Or someone wishing to talk to her...

By now, she was used to Falena and his wife, having gotten comfortable with them, as well as Kifaji.

Leona didn't mind the prefect staying with him.

He could tell she wanted to go off to a corner and be by herself. She'd most certainly need a recharge after this, just as much as he needed one.

The banquet lasted hours, going until late.

But even with all the laughter and reminiscing, Shiba did not miss the lours and dirty looks that some of the guests wore on their faces when Leona spoke, or walked by.

Their hushed whispers that no one else seemed to notice...

Shiba could hear them, and she'd tune into their conversations.

Leona could see how... Focused his not so little friend was.

"That's the second prince.." One of the nobles muttered.

"I hear he turns anything he touches to sand.." Another whispered.

Shiba eyed them, and decided to wait until the banquet was over to confront them.

They'd learn...

Just as the banquet ended, and everyone took their leave, Shiba found the two nobles who'd spoken out of turn and let it reach her ears.

They were alone in the hall, and quickly, she strayed away from Leona with a determined expression.

"So I hear you guys like to talk shit behind people's backs?" Shiba called.

Leona's eyes widened slightly when she wandered off just to say that, "Herbivore..!" He tried to call her back, but she did not listen.

What the hell was wrong with that girl!?

The two nobles she'd spoken to turned with a glare, meeting her gaze, "Oh? And who might you be?" One of them asked.

"Who I am is absolutely none of your business. I wanna know who the hell you think you are, talking about Leona as if he were lesser or some sort of monster," Shiba spoke firmly, "and under your breath no less."

The two puff up with annoyance at her words, "You must be the child he brought in... You ought to learn some manners."

"And bitch, so what if I am? My parents taught me plenty of manners, but I was also taught to defend others from shit bags like you who don't have anything else to do with themselves but count money in their bed and wait to be robbed."

"Just who do you think you are!?"

"Ahhhh don't hit me with that shit! I heard everything you said about him, and you are no better than he is!" Shiba unleashed her sharp tongue.

She was so far in, Leona couldn't stop her, only being able to snicker at how she spoke to them so freely. The Noble's baffled faces made it even better to watch!

"You couldn't even say it to his face! Maybe if you weren't so focused on him, you'd notice the stick up your ass!" Shiba tore them apart, "Maybe go get that removed instead of throwing shade where you can't throw hands!"

By the end of it, the nobles were too stunned to speak, storming off with their tails between their legs.

"You said she was sixteen?" Falena's voice sounded off next to Leona, to which he nodded, "She is."

The king could only sigh, "She certainly has a sharp tongue for her age..."

"That she does." Leona smirked, as Shiba returned to him, huffing, "I can't believe those jerks! Who do they think they are!?"

Leona's hand pat the head of the prefect, "Calm down Herbivore. You already got them."

She was so much like a gremlin...

It was good to know that she'd do that for him though...

No one had ever come to his defense like that....

It felt.. endearing.

The End

#twst #twisted wonderland #savanaclaw #leona kingscholar #twst mc #twisted wonderland mc #twisted wonderland headcanons #twst headcanons #twst fanfic #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst fic #twisted wonderland fic #sunset savanna #afterglow savanna #falena kingscholar #kifaji #twst shitpost #twst crack

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mercurygray · 3 months

Text

Mission Reports

Interrogation Hut, June 25th, 1943.

The first time was always the hardest.

Just once, Marion would have liked to have the CO, or the Air Exec, or someone with a modicum of authority sit down with the new fellows before they went out on their first mission and actually tell them what would happen when they got back - that they’d get out of their plane, and pack silently into the back of a deuce and a half, and file into the Interrogation hut, and then, once they’d all sat down, someone would start asking questions and they’d start talking.

But no one ever did.

And so Marion and her girls were faced with a room full of anxious, terrified men who’d just had their first taste of combat, men who’d just seen their friends shot and their planes wrecked and who had rushed along to they knew not where and shouted at to keep quiet and then asked, in unsparing terms, to tell the good lieutenant just what had happened when they were still trying to figure it out themselves.

(The fact that the people taking notes were a team of women was a different problem, but that too would pass, with time.)

John Egan was hanging around the room like a kicked puppy, superintending the proceedings with enough of his own anxiety to start a house on fire. Marion almost wanted to ask him to leave, but that would have been too much, and too soon - these were his men, and his mission, and whatever Hughlin might have thought about his leadership, this was what leaders did. They saw things through.

Still, when the last of the men had finally given his reports, and the whole group had trooped off to barracks so that each man could shower and shave and peel himself out of his flight suit, Egan remained, pent up and pacing.

She liked the young Air Exec, if the truth were told. A little enthusiastic some days, and his singing voice certainly left a lot to be desired, but he was truthful, John Egan was - no artifice, no hidden meaning. Either he said what he meant to, or he didn’t speak at all, and it was a rare day indeed when Bucky Egan didn’t have a single thing to say. And he cared deeply about people - she’d seen him steal oranges out of the mess hall for the village children, and empty his pockets at the sweet shop so that he’d have candy to pass around. He’d even brought her flowers, once - swiped from the roadside, and presented, with very little fanfare, before a staff meeting, a little boy handing his teacher his ill-gotten gains. Hughlin had scowled at him for it, but Marion didn’t much mind, and she’d thanked Egan for them and asked the kitchen for a jam jar to display them in. He deserved some credit, even when Hughlin didn’t think much of his command potential. Everyone deserved a little beauty, even in the middle of a war - and a little patience, too.

Marion collected a spare pencil from underneath one of the chairs and took a chance on a question she already knew the answer to. “I take it you're not a man who likes being left on the bench, Major.”

Egan practically snarled. “You ever met a guy who was? I'm not doing anything down here! I ought to be up there with them, where the real work is!”

Oh, there it was. Marion took a breath and looked him square in the eye to deliver her punch – “Are you saying that what I do here isn't real work, Major?”

That pulled him up short enough - just like she’d known it would. Maybe he didn’t respect Hughlin, but he’d never had an argument with her in the two months they’d known each other, even if he was technically her superior. (The edge added by five extra years of age helped a lot.) “No, I - just…”

“There are many reasons why I'm not up in a plane right now, and the fact that I'm not a pilot, or a man, is only one of them,” Marion said, her voice as non judgemental as she could manage. “Even if I were, the best place for me is here, where I am, doing what I am doing. Because what we do here, on the ground, is valuable and necessary. It means telegrams get sent to worrying parents. It means the Red Cross knows to look for names. It means men get the medical care they need. It means the next time we send the wing up, we know where the flak is, we know that the guns work, we know that we have done everything we can to bring them home.” She continued to hold his eye, though he looked very much like he wanted to look away. “And when you say things like that, Major Egan, like real work, it denigrates all the very real work it takes to get those planes up in the air every morning.”

He looked away, down at his shoes, and sank down into a chair, trying to make his tall frame a less easy target. Insult me all you like, John. I can take it. But not the cooks, or the mechanics, or the clerks in the mail room. Because every single of them thinks they’re not doing real work, either, and they’re all wrong.

She took another breath, tried to smile. “None of this is glamorous. None of this will get you a medal. But it will bring your friends home, and that is noble and right, and good. That is what a good leader does. That is part of caring, too.” And you care so much, John Egan, that that big heart of yours is going to burst with it some day. Don’t let anyone take that truth from you. You care, and that’s a hell of a lot more than some officers I’ve seen.

“Just feels wrong, is all,” He admitted, finally, drawing his shoulders up to his ears like he was suddenly cold. “Them getting shot at while I'm down here. Was easier when it was just me getting into it, but now that it’s them…” He left the sentence to hang in the air.

Marion nodded. “I feel that every single day. I can tell you that it does not get easier. But doing the work helps.”

“Doing the work?” He sounded lost.

“You have crew in the hospital. Go visit them and see they're not forgotten. You have supply requisitions to sign. Go make sure your mechanics have the parts they need. You have a bed. You need to sleep in it.”

He snorted. “Sleep in it?”

“So you can do the work tomorrow, too,” Marion said, unflinchingly. “And the next day, and the day after that. And it will not get easier, and you will not like it more. But the work will be done, and you will have done what you can do here to help them up there.”

He rose from the chair he’d been slouching into, taking all of this in with the same quiet consideration he gave many things when people weren’t looking. “Why doesn't anyone tell you?”

Why doesn’t anyone tell you what it’s like to watch your friends go out to die? “Because they can't,” Marion admitted. “Not until you've seen it.” Then you understand it too well.

He nodded again. “Thanks, Captain Brennan.”

“Any time, Major.” She paused and added something. “You know, you're welcome in here too, you know. I'm sure the Air Executive needs an after-action report of his own, some days.”

“Sure.” He glanced at the door for a moment and turned back with a sudden thought. “Who listens to you, Captain? When you’ve gotta get something off your chest?”

Marion tried hard not to beam at him. See what I said about caring? “Don’t you worry about me,” she said with a reassuring smile. “I believe your friend Cleven went with the Doctor to the hospital wing. I think you can catch him there.” I’m sure he’s got something he’d like to say to a friend, rather than a fellow officer. That's part of your work, too.

#i have written a thing #mercurygraypresents #marion brennan #tds cinematic universe

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qulizalfos · 3 months

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[runs in after abandoning my blog all week and throws this on the table] HAPPY BIRTHDAY WAYLI @wayward-sherlock PLEASE ACCEPT THIS FICLET AS A SYMBOL OF MY GRATITUDE TOWARDS HOW FUCKINF AWESOME U ARE ALWAYS <3 I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU BTW!!! anyways i hope u enjoy 2k of college byler shenanigans :) mwah

home (is wherever you are tonight)

“Oh, my God,” Will says, sitting forward, face alight in ways that terrify Mike. “There’s another reason, there’s a huge reason you're here, you—” “It’s Valentine’s Day, right?” The shift in Will’s expression is instantaneous. It might’ve qualified as comical, too, if Mike’s heart wasn’t about to explode.

You’d think Mike would have scrounged together a better sense of how to backpedal when he’s about to do something incredibly stupid.

He’s trying not to think too hard about how quickly they rattle off in his head, the world’s most inconvenient list of reminders. What is wrong with you? We’re just… not in the mood right now. You’ve been on the bench all year. Not for the first time he’s gritting his teeth and wondering if it would have been entirely too much to ask for him to have acquired, by now, some intricate sixth sense for recklessness. He’s well aware that there’s no cosmic cure against the potency of his own mistakes, but he’d take anything to help him generally steer clear of these specific situations.

Encounters with murderous, eldritch entities ought to do that to a person. In his —for the record, totally impartial— opinion.

No goddamn dice, he thinks as he raises a fist to knock.

Maybe it is different, he supposes, because he’s less consumed by a wave of defensive volatility and less likely to bury the truth at the first sign of scrutiny, recoil at any chance of being left behind, and more willing to stop before he gains too dangerous an amount of momentum. It still happens, obviously— (case in point: now, loitering in an empty corridor, bland wallpaper finding a way to make it look like it’s laughing down at him, shifting his weight as he waits) he’d just convinced himself he had it more under control.

It’s ridiculous anyway. This whole thing is clearly careening towards a setup for a copious amount of slip ups on his part. But, it’s whatever.

Will’s probably out, anyway, he considers, belatedly.

It’s Valentine’s Day, —granted, a Wednesday evening dragging by with a sluggish, hazy quality— but a significant date all the same. Will is, Mike hedges, almost definitely out, maybe with the mystery guy in their joint history lecture, whose name Mike neglected to wheedle out of him last week. Maybe they’re both walking home from some fucking café, and Will would be getting cold like he does when the threat of snow looms at every waking moment, and to make matters worse, the other guy might do something sickeningly romantic like wind his scarf around Will’s neck, all while Mike’s standing at his dorm door like an idiot.

It’s possible he’s not very committed to the whole “breathe” thing El suggested, the day before the sky turned blue again, the day he was most convinced it never would again.

He threads a nervous hand through the disaster-prone section of his hair, hoping to smoothen it out, as he lifts his clenched hand, setting his face in concentration and aiming to knock one more time, and—

He has to flinch back to avoid accidentally punching Will in the face with his knock. Needless to say, that would be pretty counterproductive.

Will. Standing in front of him, soft furrow between his brows, loose sweater, lips parted.

He’s beautiful.

He shoves the thought to the side. It’s not the safest one to have when Will is less than two feet in front of him.

“Mike?”

It hits him about an hour too late: Maybe it’s ironic, how this holiday, composed entirely of spontaneous lovesick bullshit and cordiform chocolate boxes, doesn’t warrant him showing up at someone’s door unannounced. Not when it’s already 7pm.

It isn’t that he hadn’t brought that into consideration, just that now it’s not just an inkling in the back of his mind he has to ignore if he has any hope of getting ready with minimal distraction, but a real, pressing concern, and—

Will’s face splits into a grin, and the thought vanishes as quick as it came.

“Hey,” Mike tries, too hastily. The longer Will stands, just blinking at him, the further Mike burrows his hands into the pockets of his jackets.

He snaps out of it fairly quickly, and the expression has melted into something pleasantly surprised. Mike can work with that. He’s done much more with much less. “Uh— hi.”

“Are you busy?” Mike cranes a neck to peer around Will’s shoulder, unsure of what he’s looking for but appreciating the lack of anything all the same. “If you’re busy, I’ll totally come back, to— fuck, maybe not tomorrow, you have that—”

“Mike.”

“Yep.”

“I’m not busy,” he says with bright eyes, stepping back from the door to accommodate him. “I— don’t just stand there, come in, of course I’m not busy. Why, what’s up?”

“Thought maybe you were off at a candlelit dinner,” Mike remarks, because it’s easier to get out than the other thing, kicking off his shoes and trying not to think too hard about Will, the same Will in the same shadowy alcove as him, whose expression is tinged with fondness, at dinner; with warm lighting and a muted hum of chatter and someone else sitting across from him. “With the fancy napkins.”

“I think I would’ve mentioned the horrors of scraping together enough money for anything like that,” he says, and Mike’s efforts at miming cradling the aforementioned, hypothetical napkin receive a raised eyebrow. “Seriously, is something going on? If Max—”

“Nothing’s happening,” Mike tells him, passing him out and swiveling around to keep walking backwards, reversing into the couch and pretending he didn’t whack his knee as he drops onto it, picking at the edge of the nearest cushion, sprawling out as much as he can manage to. “Which is precisely why I’m here. Well, one of the reasons.”

Will hums, folding his arms and leaning on the back of the couch, contemplative. It has no right to be as endearing as it is. “Are there a lot of reasons?”

“I’m not allowed to visit you anymore?” Mike jokes. “Should I have called and given you a week’s notice?” He sits up, relishing the back and forth. “Should I—”

“No, you’re just… I dunno.” Will pokes his shoulder and skirts the couch, settling in the space Mike makes for him. “You seem nervous. Like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Shit.

Mike lets out what may be considered as the fakest laugh he’s ever mustered, darting his eyes away and plastering on a frown. He gives a half-hearted attempt at an unconvinced, hopefully somewhat assuring scoff, tugging free the crease that’s formed at the ankle of his jeans. “What makes you say that?” he asks. He’d like to describe it as nonchalant. Maybe he’s not as good at hiding as the boy in front of him, but he’s been sidestepping the obvious for what feels like his whole life. He’s had more than enough practice.

“Oh, my God,” Will says, sitting forward, face alight in ways that terrify Mike. “There’s another reason, there’s a huge reason you’re here, you—”

“It’s Valentine’s Day, right?”

The shift in Will’s expression is instantaneous. It might’ve qualified as comical, too, if Mike’s heart wasn’t trying its damndest not to explode. Again, counterproductive.

Will’s mouth drops open a little, the line of his body stock still, and just hovers there, close enough that the warmth of his breath brushes Mike’s face, and the room slips into little more than a backdrop. Mike searches his eyes for a sign that’s not there. He lifts a hand from where it’s resting on a dark green cushion, weighing the implications and consequences of reaching out against the part of him that doesn’t want to consider technicalities until far, far later. The moment stretches, engraving itself into Mike’s memory.

And then it shatters.

Will slumps back, clearing his throat twice in rapid succession, and the corners of his mouth quirk up in diplomacy. “I mean, you’re not wrong.”

Mike’s throat feels unreasonably dry. “Nope,” he says, omitting any mention of the crisis he’d had marching down the hall, questioning whether he’d gotten the date wrong and everything would blow up in his face tenfold, and just drumming his fingers against his thigh.

“So—” Will frowns, “what are you trying to say?”

This was all going much smoother during the numerous rehearsals in his head. “It’s Valentine’s Day,” he parrots, trying not to think about Will’s sharp inhale too much, “and I haven’t done something on Valentine’s Day for years, and you’re free, and I’m free, and…” he trails off, searching for the right words. “I don’t know, I thought we could hang out.”

Silence.

It’s about to backfire, he can sense it, so he rushes to add: “In solidarity.”

“Right,” Will says, faraway. Mike sort of needs to run outside and scream for an untold amount of time.

“Doesn’t have to be super special,” he says, sensing the need for a prompt change in subject. “Unless you want it to be special, but I just figured— like, what were you gonna do before I came?”

Will glances at him once, quizzical, but drops it.

—

It’s a short walk from the dorm to the closest Circle K, and one spent wrapped up in pleasant, amicable conversation, catching up on the various aspects of each other’s lives that aren’t entwined already, and about halfway there Will stoops to tie his shoelace. As Mike waits he considers how scary it could be if he dwells too long on how noteworthy the most mundane tasks become in Will Byers’ company.

They wander inside, Mike leaning on the door to open it for Will in what he hopes is a courteous manner, and trails down an aisle beside Will, the faint beat of a trashy pop song barely covering the echo of their footsteps on the tiles.

“Just the sodas?” Mike checks, swerving to avoid a display stacked high.

“Yeah,” Will says, nabbing a coke and gesturing to the fridge. “Take your pick.”

Mike reaches for a 7Up.

“Knew it,” Will says, something indecipherable in his tone. And then he’s extending a hand, covering Mike’s for a split second — long enough for an odd sensation to bloom in his ribs, but short enough for him to want to say, fuck it, and tangle their fingers, but Will teases the can out of his grip, leaving Mike with a cool smear of condensation on his palm.

“We can pool our resources,” Mike quips as Will deposits the cans on the counter. The cashier flicks a lazy glance at them and tells them the price. “I have a quarter.”

“Generous of you,” Will observes, producing a crumpled dollar note from his back pocket.

They settle on a wall outside, and Mike kicks the solid stone intermittently with his dangling heels, sipping away as Will starts to talk. The sky runs like spilled ink above them, perforated with only a smattering of stars and a few dark clouds, but Will is bathed in the gold ring of a streetlamp. There’s a lull in conversation, but it’s fine. Mike’s content to stay here all night.

“This was nice,” he says, in lieu of everything else.

Will bumps against his shoulder. “Yeah?”

A tiny droplet of rain lands on Mike’s nose, and three more freckle more of his exposed skin. A low fizz kicks up, drilling into the gray landscape surrounding them, and more dots pepper on the wall.

“Yeah.” Will turns away. Mike scans the area around them, but they’re alone save for a few empty chip packets strewn across the concrete. Will’s gorgeous. Mike can’t explain it, but he knows when warmth floods your veins it’s a sign that merits extra morosis, and his intentions are in the right place, and it’s so hard to steer himself in any direction other than pitching forward and propping up a hand on the other side of Will’s jaw. Mike doesn’t let himself think too much of it as he presses a kiss to Will’s cheek.

It’s as short-lived as it is sweet: Will’s answering gasp, all wide eyes and questions in every line of his face, the beads of rain on his skin, near lucent in the orange lighting, the tickle of his bangs getting in Mike’s eyes a little when he turns.

And then Will’s breaking away to set down his Coke, and closing the gap between them.

Truthfully, Mike didn’t know that kissing could feel like this. It seems like something so untouchable, so far from what’s in his own comprehension of the world, that finding this kind of warmth could happen, but Will’s slinging an arm around his back and all coherent thoughts promptly dissolve in the now steadily falling rain.

#fun facr! writing this i discovered that valentines day 1990 (aka when this is set) = wednesday #and valentines day 2024 Is Also = wednesday #which makes me suiuper happy for no damn reason i just .YEAAG thanks universe. thtas awesome #byler #i hojpe this isnt exeptionally ooc !! i tried ot edit it more but iam a litle bit tired n i fear i am about to start hearing colors #so witg that im signing off goodbye yall. ily wayli #ill move it to ao3 soon. maybe tomrorw🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡

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