#cannot be arsed with that shit man

[theterrornaut]

DREDD!

[luv-again]

UGHHHHHH fuck this essay man. it's asking me to write 2 separate paragraphs abt the author and their work's historical/economic context + its socio-cultural context but the author i picked,,, both applies under the same situation in the author's life ?? like ik it'll be different for other authors but my pick isn't that deep. like,, she grew up surrounded by forest and animals and books. nothing else. it's literally not deep enough to section into those two categories bc they're one and the same in this context

[martitheevans]

My worst trait is that I naturally don't like people who are school teachers regardless of whether I meet them bc they are my teachers or not bc like most of the teachers I've ever had are ARSEHOLES

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

I have no excuses. Short, silly nonsense. Once again you can blame @scrunggly-art for this, entirely because I found her mix-up with this art extremely fucking funny. In which Henry has a request, and Hans gets confused.

"Hans--"

Hans stops. "Yes?" he mutters, from his position halfway down Henry's chest.

"I've been thinking..."

Hans resists the urge to sigh and leans up, placing a final lingering kiss to Henry's nipple as he does.

"Yes?"

"I wondered if you wanted to try, ah..."

He's blushing. It's fucking adorable. "Out with it, Hal."

"If you wanted to be... fuck--"

He's wriggling, now, looking away. Hans reaches out to cup his jaw, turning him to look at him.

"If I wanted to be what?"

"If you wanted to try being... on top."

Oh. Hans bites back a laugh: Henry looks so sincere that he couldn't possibly giggle at him while he's being so vulnerable. But it's such a simple, easily given request. He can't believe Henry has managed to work himself up so much over it.

"Is that all?" he drawls. "It would be my pleasure, believe me."

He leans back, slings a leg over Henry's hips so he's straddling him and holds himself sure and straight-backed: the stance he takes while riding. Henry peers up at him. He's frowning.

"Hans--"

Hans squeezes his thighs, gripping Henry between them, and spits into his palm. "Yes?"

Henry opens and shuts his mouth a few times. "...nothing."

⚔ ⚔ ⚔

Afterwards, both sweaty and spent and Henry sporting some stinging, red marks across the plane of his back, they lie tangled together on the bed, sleepily taking each other in.

Henry swallows. He's going to have to explain sooner or later, he knows. May as well be now, when Hans is too blissful to feel too embarrassed about the whole affair. And it's not like Henry is disappointed: any thoughts of what he'd really had in mind had been banished as soon as Hans had sunk down on him. But still: he's going to have to tell him.

"Hans..."

Hans looks at him through lidded eyes. "Hmm?"

"Look, don't take this the wrong way, but--"

Hans's eyes snap open properly. "But what?"

Shit. Careful steps. "When I said... when I asked if you wanted to try, you know... being on top?"

"...did you not enjoy yourself?"

He looks fucking alarmed, now.

"No! I mean: yes, it was... it was great. Brilliant. Really," Henry quickly clarifies. "It's just... that wasn't what I meant."

Hans frowns. "What? But... I was on top. What are you on about?"

Henry chews on his lip. He's aware - quite painfully aware, sometimes - of how inexperienced the both of them are at laying with another man. He tries to remember what Bartosch had told him that night in Trosky Castle, after Henry had made an arse of himself when he hadn't been able to answer his questions about preferences.

"Right," he says, "But the thing is, what I meant - what that means - is that wanted to know if you wanted to, well, you know. Give rather than receive. That's what that means. Being on top."

Hans frowns. Then his eye go wide.

"Oh. Oh. Oh, Jesus Christ, Henry--" he bursts into peals of laughter then quickly slaps his hand over his mouth to smother them. "And when I-- you must have thought I was insane. I should have realised. And you should have said something!"

Henry shrugs. That, he cannot deny.

"I was going to," he says, "but you did that thing with your legs, and, well. I figured I'd ask again another time. Didn't want to put you off."

Hans snorts with poorly constrained laughter. "God, Henry. Didn't want to put me off. Really." He moves closer and kisses him. Henry can feel him smile against his lips. "So what you were really asking, my dearest friend, is if I can fuck you in the arse for a change?"

Henry feels himself blush. "...yes," he says.

Hans rolls his eyes and places a firm hand to Henry's bare hip.

"I'd love to," he says, eyes dark and sparkling. "But Christ Above, Henry, really."

"What?" Henry protests, trying to ignore the feeling of his cock already twitching back to life.

"Next time--" Hans squeezes him, rubbing his thumb over his hipbone, "just fucking ask."

[genderqueerdykes]

As a genderqueer trans man, I've met far too many people who make "hating men" their entire fucking personality. And this is from cis radfem women, to trans lesbians, to cis male drag queens, to binary fucking trans men. So many people think "hating men" is how we solve society hating women. It is so not it.

"I hate men" is like people think they're scoring morality brownie points. It shows they've not actually taken any critical thoughts about feminism or the patriarchy. They're like "oh so I say this and people think I'm a good person? Cool then I will say it".

And sure there is nuance. In a lot of cases. But man haters really just cannot be arsed with this level of thinking, huh?

Sorry, I realise this is somewhat angry but! Obviously not aimed at you. Thank you for being so out spoken about this.

thank you so much for sending this i really, really appreciate it. you are so right.

it's literally a personality trait to so many people, it's embarrassing. like it's ACTUALLY embarrassing. people like to say cringe this cringe that. i think man hating, especially as a personality type, is one of the most embarrassing things you can choose to do. like we literally criticize misogynists here, people who genuinely spend tons of time thinking about and finding ways to oppress women. it's great that we talk about this. but making an entire personality type out of hating men isn't helping. it's not gonna make misogynistic men stop being misogynists. there are men who identify as proud misogynists. why is a woman identifying as a proud man hater be any different? same behavior.

"I hate men" is like people think they're scoring morality brownie points. It shows they've not actually taken any critical thoughts about feminism or the patriarchy. They're like "oh so I say this and people think I'm a good person? Cool then I will say it".

EXACTLY. it's virtue signalling. all "i hate men" is is virtue signalling. people trying to show off their peacock feathers to other people who suck up to terfs. they want to look like they're progressive and sound like a "good person". they so desperately want to be a "good queer," but all this is is sucking up to terfs and radfems. it's so painfully obvious that so many people see them as the ones who are "correct". i guarantee you way more people are secret radfems than they let on, or at the very least, parrot their beliefs without realizing. people will do everything in their power to discredit everyone but radfems and transradfems. like why are people so ready and willing to act like they're right about everything despite claiming to hate terfs. seems like a lot of the "i hate terfs" shit on here is also virtue signalling.

like, i'm calling people out for this. i'm so tired of seeing "op hates terfs" "terfs get the FUCK off my blog <3" and shit like that and then the person running the blog openly and giddily talks about how they hate all men. trans men. gay men. bi men. pan men. aro men. ace men. polyamorous men. bigender men. intersex men. gender non conforming men. butch men. genderfluid men. men who are also trans women. okay, well this is terf ideology. are you sure you hate terfs? because i think you're terfs.

like seriously the amount of people on here who literally spend all day sucking up to terfs and trans/radfems and then virtue signal and show off how much they say they hate terfs is staggering. the amount of people on here who proudly and loudly say they hate trans men and mascs with a passion but then turn around and "fuck terfs" is mind numbing. if you act like this, you're terfs. no matter what you think you're doing, you are sucking up to radfems and that's it. that's all you're accomplishing.

[gazstations]

Come Home, My Darling

CHAPTER FOUR

ᯓᡣ𐭩 CHAPTER SUMMARY

Kate Laswell tells 141 the full truth of what she knows behind the reason she pushed for John's family to go into protective custody.

♡ Chapter Warnings: None.

◇ Notes: Happy April Fools! This chapter is not a joke

○●○ SERIES MASTERLIST ♡ PREV ♡ NEXT

NAVIGATION MASTERLIST

♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

IT WAS THE DAY YOU LEFT THAT JOHN PRICE FOUND OUT THE TRUTH.

The anger gnawed at the edges of his brain like maggots. Slithering around with tiny legs that prickled the ridged flesh just right. It was disappointment in oneself that melded into a chaotic mess. A demon that clawed up from the pits of hell and sunk fire into his stomach. Anger was an old comrade, patting his back and telling him he would never be able to carry on without. 

John Price was angry far more than he was civil. 

Anger got shit done. You can only take action when your blood is boiling over. Calm cannot take down malice. You have to play the players' game. See the deceit because you are also rigging the system. 

Anger was muscle memory. The twitch was a familiar comfort. Told him that some of his humanity was still intact if he still got revolted by what he witnessed. 

The captain was a pillar of leadership. He commanded. He was the man who made the tough calls. He had to live with his actions, even when sometimes people ended up caught in the crossfire. No one got through this life without hurting someone. Even good people left someone with scars. 

The captain had made far more enemies than he ever had friends. The difference was less than ten to an upwards of fifty. He was the face people plastered on the wall and threw darts at. The one that made their voodoo dolls of him and bent the arms to see if his would break as well. 

John Price was a name infamous for getting cursed, damned, and everything in between.

He put away the big dogs. Left them deteriorating behind bars or six feet underground. He was swift. Had a record to prove he was exceptional. That's why he was always on rotation. Hitting the ground running with his trusted men by his side. 

But this one bastard was the top of the food chain as well. Put most other terrorists to shame. He made a fool out of John, broke that clean record of getting shit done, and shoved the ripped contents into his mouth. Humiliation was not an emotion John dealt with accordingly. He was so resistant to being wrong that the flames spread with might throughout his body. 

Kate had just finished telling the team all that she had in her pocket. She had lied in your presence. John found himself grateful. Detail was still classified, and you were still a civilian. It's just the way things were. 

The boys were silent. Gaz eyed John closely, watching the way the stoic captain went rigid. John could feel the weight of his stare, burning his flesh with cautious and questioning intent. He ignored it. Tried to. Even if a bit of him was unraveling inside. 

“Vladimir Makarov is after my family?” he questioned with a low timbre, words teetering on collapse.

The name rattled in his head like a loose coin in a bottle, the syllables alone striking the utmost fury without ever physically touching his skin. John’s skin burned, and the hair rose along his arms in anticipation. Back to square one, straight into the lion’s den like a damn puppet.

“Thought we sent his arse tae the Gulag,” Soap remarked. the Sergeant's lips were pouted, disdain on his face. 

John knew there was a mutual, burning hatred for the mentioned terrorist. He wanted to wring the bastard's neck. If he had it his way, he’d have Makarov hanging from a flag pole in a town square. Picked apart by vultures and a visual reminder to his supporters that evil had no shelter. 

But General Shepard was monitoring them at the time. Got the brass up his ass about military etiquette. John pulled a lot of shit. Dragged his boys through the fire with him. He listened to orders only when he believed they were worthwhile. 

Killing Makarov against regulation would've been a swift reason to get 141 disbanded. John was a lot of things, but he wasn’t willing to risk losing his team. 

So, he followed rules for once and regretted it a second later. 

He knew it was wrong to keep Makarov alive. He was a pure manipulator. His work never stopped when he got put behind bars. No, John knew the gears would keep turning. You had to shoot those bastards in the head twice. Just to ensure the finality of death. Otherwise, they always found a way back. 

“You did. There was a full prison break. He was the main retrieval, but hundreds of prisoners also escaped in the process,” Kate informed.

She dropped a small file on the table, the contents inside relayed information about said prison break. A break out of the Gulag was impressive, John had to admit. But he didn't want to give the bastard too much credit.

John gritted his teeth as he glanced at the file. He wouldn't fully read it right now, not while his head was full of cotton. 

Makarov was playing games. Going after his family was a sick joke. Helping you and the kids evade the Russian would be like treading through a minefield. While John wouldn't have wished for any of his adversaries to be pursuing you, the last one he wanted was Makarov. 

if you were caught, the flesh would be pried off your bone slowly. You were never meant to be a part of that. You were always meant to be separate from the darkness of his job. He got dirty so he could clean his hands at the door and be a simple husband and father. The lines were muddled now. Danger was in your periphery, and John couldn’t be there to block it with his own hand. 

No, he had to sit back and let some bodyguard take the reins. Fucking bullshit. 

Kate eyed John, and he met her gaze with a steely edge. Her eyes were calculating, thoughtful and he hated when she started analyzing him. She read him almost as well as you did sometimes. He felt stripped down and vulnerable. He loved holding his emotions close to his chest, hiding from anyone else. 

Eventually, Kate looked away.

“This is going to get personal,” she didn't outright say it, but John knew well she was mainly addressing him. His jaw clenched.

“Makarov is always going to be personal,” John responded. He crossed his arms against his chest and leaned back against the wall behind him. 

Gaz spoke next, “We put Makarov in. We have to take him out.”

Kate sighed, “Maybe. But we all still have jobs. What's happening with John's family is horrible, but we can't let that distract us from everything Makarov can do. He's looking for weak points, and we all know messing with our team won't be the end.”

“My family is my priority, Kate,” John declared. 

“And if you were anyone else, I would pull you off the mission,” Kate countered. “I know I can't stop you. But I urge you to at least consider other ways Makarov might try to shake the system.” 

John was listening only halfway. Deep down, he knew Kate was right. But his tunnel vision was thick, the walls clearly bordering his family. They were all he saw. He would demolish that cottage he built if he could not return to your soft embrace at the end of the day. He was not losing you. 

“We got it, Laswell,” Gaz spoke for John. 

“Any pings on Makarov?” Ghost now took the chair. 

“No. As of right now, he's in hiding,” Kate said. “We have to wait for a sign. In the meantime, we carry on as normal.”

“Nothin’ normal ‘bout our jobs,” Soap hummed. 

That was an obvious fact. Even when John was curled up on the couch with you and the kids, he was still a killer. You and him had created life, and he snuffed other life out the very next day. Normality was a concept they did not know. He could play pretend, but nothing changed the scars he had. 

“Is my family settled somewhere?” John asked finally.

“They're still on their flight,” Kate said. 

Flight. John's blood ran cold at that. They really were going where he couldn't follow. He wanted to shut the whole thing down, but that would only endanger you. Maybe the universe was finally catching up for all the sins he's committed. 

“They'll be okay, Cap,” Gaz said. 

“Yeah,” John responded halfheartedly. 

Then a thought struck him. How in the bloody hell did Kate know Makarov was the one heading your capture? If he was going dark after a prison break, he wouldn't lay out his cards so fast. That wasn't his style. 

“How'd you find out it was Makarov?” John asked. He wasn't accusing. He trusted Kate wholeheartedly, but he was still curious. 

Kate didn't waver as she answered. She was clear and poised. “An old friend. Owed me a favor.” 

“Old friend,” John repeated with a scoff. “One that knows Makarov's activity?” 

“There's a lot you don't know, John,” Kate said.

He nodded, “Sure.” 

It was an odd situation. Kate, even as much as John knew about her, was still a mystery. She talked about her wife sometimes, but nothing else about her home or hobbies when she wasn't providing intel to 141. Even then, John considered her his closest ally.

However, he wasn't sure how well he favored this mystery man. He was well acquainted with wolves in sheep's clothing.

“We can trust this friend?” Gaz asked. 

“Trust is a tricky word for this situation, Garrick,” Kate remarked. 

John almost pulled the plug right then. Yet, even he knew the intricacies of military relationships. They were complicated and had a tendency to be messy. 

Hell, John thought of his old friend, Nikolai. The Russian was a loose cannon, but he had been by John's side more than anyone. If there was chaos, there was Nikolai. John trusted him, they were close. But John even wondered if Nikolai was even the man's given name. Though, he still trusted the man enough to also be around his family once or twice. Whenever he came around.

He knew he had to give Kate grace, but it was tough when he never vetted her man himself. John liked control. Which is why he often turned his nose up at official military orders. Got himself in more than enough trouble that way. 

“And his intel is viable?” John asked. Enough overthinking, get back on the track. 

“Usually is,” Kate offered. “Helped us with the Zakhaev Airport situation.” 

John bit his tongue then. He had to accept the situation for right now. Kate wouldn't deliberately lead them astray, but he hoped she wasn't being fooled. They couldn't afford mistakes. Not when his own family was being closed in on. Hopefully, protective custody did its job. 

“One wrong move, and I'll put a bullet through your guy's head,” Price said with venom on his tongue.

“I'll give you the gun, sir,” Ghost responded, his eyes said a lot despite the rest of his face being obscured. His second-in-command did not enjoy this either. They both hated following information that they themselves did not partake in collecting.

Ghost and Soap exchanged a glance then while Gaz nodded along in agreement. His men always had his back, and that's why he chose them. They knew they had to get dirty as well. In fact, he was pretty sure they craved the blood. Violence became addicting in a lot of ways, even if it wasn't enjoyable all the time. 

They got the job done because one way or another they were fucked up in the head. 

“I'm not wrong about this,” Kate stated confidently. “Makarov has been planning this behind bars. Now he's able to act.”

Kate grabbed the file discarded on the table, signaling her part in the conversation was done. She obviously had said everything she wanted to. John just had more questions. He mainly wanted to know where you and the kids were flying. Yet, even if Kate knew, he had to accept she wouldn't tell him. For their safety. 

“Get some rest,” Kate suggested. “Shepard has a new mission for you. I'll send you the meeting time.”

With that, she marched out of the room with her shoulders straight and even strides. She was a determined woman on a mission. Admirable, really. Kate Laswell was a force to be reckoned with. She did not take people's shit and always proved why she was at the top with the rest of them. 

It was silent for a moment before John sighed and leaned over the table. It was a miracle he wasn't gray yet. The wear and tear just showed more with the lines on his face than anything else. 

“I need a bloody drink,” he muttered.

Soap just patted his back, a small hum of agreement.

°•○●○•°

TAGLIST

@callsignpxnguin @crystal-freak24 @haneybunny @tenshis-cake @aneternallyexhaustedpigeon @thriving-n-jiving @leon-thot-kennedy

If you would like to be added for future chapters, let me know!

[laswells-ashtray]

(You don't have to answer instantly, don't burn yourself out)

MacMillan and MacTavish having a very Scottish bonding moment that confused the ever loving daylights out of poor Nik/everyone

(I apologize for the potential spam lol)

I'm so sorry but I'm blind as shit even with my glasses on because they're two years old and I need new ones so I have to ask. What is your pfp because I cannot for the life of me figure it out but it's funky and I love it.

Anyway, *cracks knuckles* you're about to watch me tear into different parts of Scotland with no context other than I'm Scottish and allowed to

"Now, lad. Wit bit of Scotland are ye fae exactly?"

John instantly knows that letting MacMillan and Soap drink together is a dangerous choice because the two get on like a house on fire but that's not what worries John. What worries John is this. The Scotland talk because he'd sat through more than enough rants from Mac back in the day about the best parts of Scotland and [in Mac's own words] the "shite" parts.

"Glasgow, sir. Pollockshaw, if ye ken it?" There's a brief moment of silence between the Englishmen at the table and Nik as they await the older Scot's reaction. Is that a good place? Fuck if John knows.

"Aye, aye. I get ye, I'm Stewarton myself." Mac looks amused, as does Soap. That has to be a good sign, surely.

"Oh, you're a hard man then. Dinnae tell me you went tae school there anaw?" It takes one glance around the table to know that he isn't the only one needing a written translation. Simon is mouthing half of the words that Soap says under his breath to try and follow along with him, Kyle looks positively befuddled and Nik looks two seconds away from seeing if he can lift both arms properly.

"Aye, fuckin' shitehole and I wis quick tae get my arse oot of that fuckin' school. Could've been worse, I could've been fae Cumnock. Or ye could've been fae Maryhill."

"My da's side is fae Maryhill."

Oh fuck. John doesn't try to hide his wince. Leave it up to Mac to commit some cardinal sin when discussing Scotland.

"Even he'd agree with ye, it's a soulless vacuum of dugshite, empty needles and misery."

Nevermind then?! John is confused, deeply confused. Why the hatred for Maryhill? And better question, where the fuck is Maryhill?

Mac and Soap share a laugh between themselves that only furthers the confusion between the non-Scots of the table.

"Better than Govan." They both crack up at that, loud laughter waving over the table. Is it possible for someone to laugh Scottish because both of them seem to be doing so.

Kyle nudges him with a light elbow to the ribs, cheeky bugger.

"You catch what any of that meant?"

"Not a fucking word, sergeant. Not a fucking word."

Eventually, they leave the two men to chatter between themselves. None of them have the ears nor dictionary to translate whatever the fuck those two are spitting at each other. That is until John hears a question that has him demanding silence from his end of the table.

Leave it to Mac to ask the dreaded question of the night.

"So, son. Ye a Rangers boy or a Celtic boy?"

Even Simon and Kyle look over with wary expressions, Nik might not understand the significance of such a thing but the lads do. Mac asks with such a casual demeanour, you'd almost think it was a friendly query. It is not.

"Rangers, sir."

"Smart choice, son."

A shared sentiment passes through them all.

Thank fuck.

[thatoneautisticshark]

Would you perchance write something about either Price or Ghost (or both, author's choice 🫡) coming out as trans to the rest of the team? I love soft little stories where a character carefully pick the right time to reveal that they weren't always a man or the completely unapologetic reveal of top surgery scars without any shame whatsoever. I also love me some lovey dovey 141 boys finding out new things about each other and only becoming closer because of it ♥️

Heheheh. Yes yup absoulutely I love this. THANK YOU FOR THE ASK! I ADORE GETTING THEM!

Ghost leaned against the wall debating it. He'd been working with the 141 for three years now. He really should come out to them.

Not just because he did trust them and wanted the most important people in his life to know him, truly know him.

But he also felt is was... probably a necessary thing to inform them of. He'd hate to be like injured on his chest and they go to treat it, and tits.

He sat back, chewing on his lip as he debated it.

He didn't get to debate it for long because Johnny noticed something was up. "Ghos' ye good?"

Ghost half considered just nodding and letting that be the end of it, but he was also being a pussy. "Uh... yeah just... just something ay should tell you guys... probably."

And just like that he had three sets of eyes on him. And was also regretting his decision, somewhat considering exiting via the window.

"I'm trans. Like born... a girl in the wrong body... but I'm a guy."

Silence.

Shit shit shit.

Soap spoke up "Damn noice."

Ghost blinked at him. That was it? No transphobia, or being an arse or anythin? Just... noice?

Gaz stared at him intently for a second.."So have you had the titty chop? Because like... I cannot believe you were born female. Obviously you were meant to be a guy."

Ghost quickly blinked back the years before answering... "Uhm.. yeah .... No I haven't... they were just small so I built up the muscle to make em look like pecs"

The scot whistled "Damn LT! Dedication!" He declared high fiving the brit.

Ghost nodded glancing over at Price who hadn't said a word. "Uhm... sir?"

Price glanced up blinking. "yeah... sorry just .. You know what can't be fucked to word it." The older then pulled his shirt off, gesturing at the scars under his pecs "I am also.. uh.. trans"

Well this was going a shit tonne better then Simon was expecting. He didn't even know why he was worried. It was his team.

Hope this is what you wanted anon!! I couldn't pick so you got both!!

[soft-faerie-sage]

Gonna live react to the newest doctor who so spoilers below

- idk how i feel about the BBC saying Whoniverse to me, especially before the spin offs are out. It feels like when the grown ups are trying to be in on the jokes. Which CAN be endearing... tbd

- oh fuck okay nukes good morning wtf

- audio processing disorder go brrrr i cannot understand shit without my precious subtitles

- i miss 1950s fashion

- SPOON (yk what at this point i hope this whole spoon motif is the doctor finally coming out as autistic, haha get it bc im autistic and then there's spoon theory)

- i dont have hope for this random man's lifespan

- are people just... staying for the next show without paying? Is the theatre playing different films in the same room?? Like VASTLY different films???

- the couple making out in front of Mr Ring-a-Ding is so fuckin real

- these bitches arent aware of the 4th wall, its okay guys deadpool and pinkie pie will desensitize you one day

- "this one's kinda silly, innit?" XD

- did 3D fucking exist yet??

- Belinda tell him to take you to May 23 or 25, like it will also not work but i cannot fathom why we do not try

- XD oh god if only Gallifrey were called Timelordia

- YO HE SAID WHAT I SAID

- getting Hell Bent flashbacks every time Gallifrey is mentioned 🫥

- i really shouldnt be laughing at the dramatic irony of there is no gallifrey to go back to

- he thinks he's soooo cute putting his fists on his hips

- im glad she is happy to go to 1952

- THEIR OUTFITS

- Belinda "We can go now 😃" Chandra my beloved

- please let her go home my dude please respect her decisions

- the fuck do you mean "save it for later, Belinda" sir you have put her in this situation without properly warning her oh my god

- oh this poor poor mum "i will sit and wait for that boy forever" 😭

- "Does that give you hope?" The TARDIS is a symbol of hope 😭😭😭

- that head spin XD

- OH THEY HAVE A WHOLE SCOOBY DOO THING

- yo wait they have TV character nicknames and this is the TV episode broooo 🤯

- "Really? Just 'the Doctor'? Always?" "Yeah" "Ridiculous." I love her omg

- damn they actually got me with the laugh

- i actually really like the light thing

- movies also feed me i can relate

- oh my god his wife poor mr pye

- omg his wife is so beautiful he's so so precious i love when people are in love

- i really like the god angle tbh sorry my scifi brethren

- honour bound eh?

- the doctor's like "how do i make myself sad? Ah yes. Gallifrey."

- something hilarious about this moment being animated

- 😮 that BITCH here i was feeling sorry for you goddamn (the mother not mr Pye)

- oh whoops im dumb

- god imagine if the Doctor and Belinda showed up in my dorm after pushing through the screen, i'd lose it

- ngl jealous af of these fans

- just like Extremis fr

- oh fuck

- love seeing regeneration energy but i a little feel like thats a waste of extra like what if Oxygen 2.0 happens

- omg they put his arse in Blender

- YES BELINDA USING HER NURSING KNOWLEDGE

- oh yay theyre alive!

- okay not to be a bitch but i love they committed to the bit of 15 crying literally every single episode

[luizsoul]

This scenario just came into my mind and I cannot waste it.

So enjoy it and see how my head works:

Hiccup wakes up and goes to the kitchen, Jack is already awake eating his cereal while scrolling through his phone. Hiccup prepares his breakfast and sits down in front of his friend, who looks at him and simply says, "Who do you think has the fattest ass between all of us?"

Hiccup looks up at him, "First of all, good morning. Second of all, who the fuck starts a conversation like that?!"

"Me. Now come on, answer it." Jack took the spoon full of cereal to his mouth.

"Why are you asking me this?"

"I was talking to Tuffnut the other day and–"

"What the hell were you guys talking about?"

"It just came up. And we might have been high as shit but that's irrelevant."

"Jack, I'm not answering that."

"Why not?"

"Because it's weird! How would you feel if–"

"Hi guys, good morning." Rapunzel came into the kitchen with a bright smile and Merida by her side.

Merida just nodded and sat beside Jack, "What are you guys yelling about?"

"Oh, nothing. I just asked Hiccup who he thinks has the fattest ass between all of us and I'm waiting for him to respond."

"Oh my Odin. Merida, just ignore him."

Merida looked at Hiccup with a smirk and said, "Who is it?"

"Oh my gods, why are we even making this an issue?!"

"Hic', it's just us. There is no one recording. Jack?" Rapunzel chimed in.

"Yeah, come on, man. It's just for fun."

"I don't pay attention to those things, so it doesn't matter."

"Come on, lad. Did you never look at one of our arses and thought "Damn!", because I have." Merida said with a weird pride in her voice.

Jack smiled, "Really? Who?"

Merida simply looked at Hiccup and smiled.

"Holy shit. Kill me now, please."

"I'm saying those jeans are really doing you a favor, man. No wonder Astrid likes you."

*Jack and Rapunzel lose it. Hiccup is redder than a pepper*

"What about you, Punzie?" Merida asked trying not to laugh too loudly.

"It's between Eugene and Astrid." Rapunzel sat on the table, "Remember when we went bowling and she wore those pantalona pants? I was like, "Yeah, i get it."

"See that, Hic'? Even Punzie answered it, c'mon."

Hiccup raised his head to them, muttered just loud enough for them to hear, "Astrid and Jack."

"See? Was that too hard?"

"Yes and I'm going to my bedroom and forget this ever happened."

Hiccup raises from his chair and goes to his bedroom, leaving his friends in the kitchen.

"So... Did you get it all of it?"

"Loud and clear." Jack shows his phone, recording everything.

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

Random hybrid! AU idea that I have floating around my head rn (featuring reader x poly!141 dynamics) 😎

So I’m picturing a world where hybrids are often treated like second class citizens. They can have jobs, but they don’t achieve high status in them, and more often than not will have humans manage or mind them. They’re very similar to humans, but often have smaller statures and of course have tails and ears of animals, sometimes even horns or feathers or claws. Generally hybrids will be sent to jobs they’re best suited to according to their ‘breed’.

One of those jobs can be serving in the military, in fact in this AU it’s encouraged for families to send their hybrids to jobs that they can ‘live away’ in just so that the government can curb trends in neglect and stop antisocial behaviour from runaway hybrids. Our MC is one of these hybrids that gets sent away, born to a family of two humans that couldn’t understand how they’d ended up with a kid with defective ‘dog’ genes.

Of course, reader grows up with a chip on their shoulder because of their crappy parents, so pretty much from the get go in their new job they’re a cheeky shit. They don’t take orders well, they’re constantly being disciplined, they mouth off, they’re sloppy and ultimately they don’t want to be there.

However after a brutal few months of punishment reader eventually caves. They do a good enough job that eventually the traits that make them difficult, become the ones that make them hard as nails. They’re the ones that make reader actually proud of something for once in their life, their capability to do what others cannot.

And for years reader serves and does their job well, though never having the black mark of their bad beginnings scrubbed from their record. Other hybrids have soldiers choose them, to be their permanent handlers and serve them on the field for as long as they live. Though reader never gets the pleasure, as much as they start to yearn for someone that might want them, that might wish to train them and take the time to smooth out their still jagged edges. No one ever wants to take the chance. No one wants the onus of shepherding the black sheep.

Then Ghost shows up.

He comes to the grounds and says his Captain, a man named Price, has ordered for a hybrid to join their team. They need one that can keep up in stressful environments, one that can move fast and take orders quickly. He stressed how deadly the jobs would be and immediately the handlers are balking, not wanting to waste their well trained hybrids on a task force with a near constant suicide mission. Until they remember that you’re still around. Little smart mouth sod that you are, wouldn’t be much of a waste if they were back again after disposing of you.

And so you’re pretty much sent off packing with a kick on your arse and a silent but ever inferred ‘don’t fucking come back’ order.

When you first get a proper look at the skull mask clad giant, you’re scared shitless. The handlers had done some damage to you in their time, but this man stood multiple feet above you and could take you out with one swipe. The fear he elicits is enough to keep you quiet for at least 5 minutes until you’re back to your usual self. Back to the wolf that growls and snarls and bites at the bars, the one that tries to keep the hurt at bay with a flash of their bloodied teeth.

Ghost sees through the act right away. He knows how bad hybrids have it, he has an inkling of what you’ve been through. So instead of treating you how they would, instead of grabbing your scruff and going to hit you and slam down that ‘insolent’ personality of yours he shows you the utmost amount of patience and kindness.

He gently undoes your too-tight collar and replaces it with one from his bag. He puts a couple fingers under the leather just to make sure it’s comfortable for you. Even after you grunt at him when he asks if it’s ok, he just huffs out a laugh at you and ruffles the hair between your ears, rubbing a flat palm around your fluffy head. He doesn’t even care when you growl at him for it, something you’d have been lashed for before. Instead he withdraws his hand and respects your space. He even leads you to a car and has you sit in the backseat with him, telling you after that it’s alright to lean against him and get some rest if you’d like!

Already you feel like your defences are shaking loose. You’re not quite sure of yourself. No matter how many snide remarks you make at the man he doesn’t try to correct you, he doesn’t even give you a cuff around the ears. He just shrugs you off and gives you watchful looks, sizing you up and making you feel even tinier than you are.

It unnerves you like nothing else and ultimately, as you start to dose off and slip ever closer to Ghost, you wonder what the rest of his team will be like. You wonder if maybe your new posting is just the change you’d been craving…

[bella-rose29]

Deck the Halls (and not your partner) - Part 2

To make this work (I'm sorry) the reader has a very large family, and they will have names (I genuinely cannot be asked to try and figure that out and make it entirely... non OC)

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: swearing, lockwood and children so beware your hearts, lockwood gets hugged and can't deal with it, the family members are mean, reader doesn't eat much, lockwood is still a bit of an arse and so is the reader (but hers is more justified), proofread maybe once

series master list

So far, it had absolutely been a shitshow.

Lockwood had remained silent for the next hour and a half of the train journey, and with not much else to do but plan every tiny detail of their fake relationship Y/n thought she might be going mad.

Luckily they already knew a lot about each other, so they could get away with not going over basic details about the other's life, but Y/n hadn't talked much about her family to anyone other than George in rants after phone calls with them, so if they thought that she was talking shit about them behind their backs (which she was, but they didn't need to know that) then they would descend like vultures.

She was disrupted from her thoughts when Lockwood stood up from the table seats they'd managed to get, his leg kicking at hers as he manoeuvred into the aisle, not sparing a second glance at Y/n. She frowned, about to call after him and ask where he was going, but when he disappeared out the doors and into the next carriage she decided that she didn't really care, and at least he wasn't brooding in her field of vision.

Y/n had barely been on her own for a minute when a family of five came into the carriage (they must have got on at the station they had recently stopped at), and with her being the only one sat on a table on her own and all the others taken, they made for her. She swallowed, for once wishing Lockwood was here to make her look less selfish, and sat up a little straighter in her seat.

"Excuse me, but would you mind moving? We've got three kids and need somewhere for us all to sit, and since there's only one of you..." The man trailed off, looking at Y/n pointedly, and while initially she had wanted to hold her ground she could feel herself shrinking under his gaze.

Where the fuck is Lockwood?!

He could talk his way out of this, she was sure. It was one of the few things she begrudgingly accepted was brilliant about him. It's not like Y/n didn't need the table; Lockwood's huge bag was sat on it and taking up most of the space, and her own backpack was on the seat next to her, but suddenly her breath was coming too quickly and her throat was closing up, and the man in front of her looked a little too similar to that one uncle-

"Is everything alright?" Lockwood's voice broke through the silence, and Y/n was annoyed to find herself reaching for him.

"Yeah, we just need this table, but this girl isn't moving."

"Sorry, my girlfriend's pretty tired at the moment, what with agents being in high demand right now. How about if we share? I think she needs a nap, poor thing, and we've got rather a lot of luggage between the two of us. I'll move over her side, shall I? Then you can take the other- yes, hello, little one." One of the couples' children had been tugging on Lockwood's hand, and Y/n could see the man's posture relax the more Lockwood talked, watching as her fake-boyfriend picked up the small child with ease and planted him on the train seat. The other two followed quickly, glad to not be on their feet any longer, and Lockwood came to sit next to Y/n, pulling his bag closer to them on the table and shoving her backpack onto the floor between everyone's legs. "See, you three all fit there perfectly don't you! You're only small," Lockwood was saying to the children, not yet noticing Y/n's shaky state. Their parents seemed to be content with the arrangement, taking their own seats across the aisle where they could watch their kids, and through the slight haze covering her eyes Y/n could see them visibly relax.

Once everybody was settled, Lockwood shuffled around in his seat trying to get comfortable, and when his elbow accidentally jabbed into Y/n's side he frowned at her.

"You alright?" he whispered, not wanting to draw the attention of their new companions. She took a moment to reply, not quite registering that Lockwood had actually said anything.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. I'm fine."

"Right... just- you didn't say anything when I elbowed you just then and I'm worried you might be having a stroke."

"I'm not having a stroke, you idiot," she said, glare appearing on her face. She had some much better names for him, but with three children under the age of ten in front of her, she figured she should stick to the more family-friendly ones. Lockwood smiled, bright and wide and far too blinding.

"That's better." Apparently he had forgotten about the mishap on the platform earlier, and his previous ignorance of her presence, because after that he launched into a whole spiel of what their plan would be.

"Actually," she interrupted, not caring that he looked annoyed, "I've had a lot of time to figure this out. I just need you to confirm or come up with something better on a few things and we should be fine."

"Alright then, what's your grand plan?"

"Well we already know most of the basic stuff about each other, what with living together for nearly three years, so that solves that problem. One thing I did think of was family, since neither of us have actually..." she trailed off, unsure where the two of them stood on that subject given what had happened earlier. Lockwood was only nodding, his brow furrowed.

"Come to think of it, you've never really mentioned your family much," he said.

Y/n shrugged. "I just don't... you know... I just don't..." she flailed her hands around in front of her for a few moments, trying to come up with the right words.

"I don't know," Lockwood replied coolly, "Should I?"

"I just thought I'd tell you about who's gonna be there today, which is my mum and dad, my four brothers, my sister, my Aunt Linda, and her daughter Stephanie. Oh, and my grandparents on my mother's side, but they'll probably be in bed by the time we get there."

"That's... a lot of people."

"Yeah. There'll be more for the party tomorrow, and then the day after will be the same group from today again, and we're leaving that day anyway."

"Okay... what about names?"

"My mum is called Emma, my dad is Ben, my brothers are Sam, John, William, and Tom from oldest to youngest, and then my sister is called Olivia. My Grandma is Jean and my Gramps is Richard."

"Right." Lockwood paused for a moment, reciting the names under his breath. "Anything else I should know?"

"Aunt Linda and Steph are gonna be the worst, since they always try and make life miserable for me. They're ridiculously rich and like making fun of my job- oh, yeah, barely anybody supports my life choices or my job as an agent, so just prepare for that. Uh, where was I? Oh yeah, Steph and Linda will try and find out anything that could be used against us, so I really hope you can act because otherwise they'll figure this whole thing out in seconds."

"Wait-"

"And my brother Will is the most supportive, 'cause he knows that there are options for work after my Talent fades and I'm not going to be out on the streets-"

"Y/n-"

"-and he, John and Sam all play rugby so try not to piss them off because they're twice your size and will snap you like a twig-"

"Y/n!"

"What?!"

"You need to slow down! Go back to the part about your family not supporting your job?"

"Oh, there's not much to it, really." She felt awkward now, his gaze far too sharp for her liking. If he knew the full extent of how much she didn't like her family, he would waste no time in using it to make fun of her and take the upper hand while he could, and she would be left to sink further into herself until she disappeared. "They just don't think I'll have many options, so they want me to think about my next steps."

"Okay..." Lockwood trailed off, getting distracted by something the children were talking about and being asked his opinion on starfish. He looked as though he was about to start conversing with her again, but the train pulled into the platform they needed, and Lockwood was all business getting the luggage out safely.

~~~

"Are you alright?"

Y/n jumped a little in the back of the taxi, not expecting Lockwood's voice so close to her ear. "Yeah, I'm fine, why?"

"You're very bouncy. If you're fine then could you not? You're jolting me."

Why had she thought he was trying to be nice? She should have known better by now that he wouldn't ever be that way with her, but it still stung.

Truthfully, she was on the verge of tears.

She wouldn't ever tell Lockwood that, of course, because how could he understand? He seemed to walk into any situation effortlessly, with endless optimism and charm that made life easy for him. Y/n was stuck panicking about seeing her family again, because if she couldn't even stand up to some random strangers on the train, how was she ever going to stand up to her family? No, she would just have to do her best to hide everything from Lockwood, to reduce the amount of blackmail material he would have against her.

~~~

The taxi pulled up outside the large cottage-style house, and Lockwood let out a low whistle.

"L/n, you never said your family was this fancy."

"They aren't. It was my Grandma's house, then she got dodgy knees and never moved out, and we moved in after selling up our old place to look after her and Gramps. We're about as fancy as your family, Lockwood, in that we too have multiple mortgages on this building to keep it."

"Anthony."

"What?" Y/n frowned, not sure what he was talking about.

"If we're going to pretend that we're dating, you probably shouldn't be calling me by my last name."

"Oh." She hadn't thought about that. The only reason she even knew his first name was because it was in large print on the sign outside the house, since it was generally accepted that he went by Lockwood and that was that.

"Or you could use some sort of nickname. I've got a few for you if you'd like to hear them." The grin on his face made Y/n think that she really didn't want to hear them, but he opened his mouth again anyway. "How about Sugarplum?" Y/n got out the car, slamming the door shut on him a little more harshly than she needed to. "Snookums? I think you look like a Snookums." The taxi driver was giving the two of them strange looks as he unloaded their bags, but Y/n ignored Lockwo- Anthony (she would have to get used to that) and handed over the money for the drive. "What about Sun Beam? Actually, you're too grumpy for that one. Oh, I know! My personal favourite," he paused for some sort of dramatic effect, being left behind on the driveway as Y/n stomped towards the front door. "Schmoopie."

Y/n stopped suddenly, turning to look back at her fake boyfriend with an incredulous look on her face. "Schmoopie?" He looked far too proud of himself as he picked up his bag and caught up with her, and she resisted the urge to hit him.

"Don't you like it, Schmoopie?"

"Call me that again and I'll be chucking your Source in the furnaces within the week." Lockwood (Anthony - she really needed to start calling him Anthony or she'd be saying 'Lockwood' to her family) Can't you just use my name? Or, you know, a more generic pet name?"

"Fine. You're very boring, I hope you know that."

"Sure. Just swear to me you'll never call me 'Schmoopie' again." She said the word with disgust, scrunching her nose up and fighting the urge to gag.

"Whatever you want, darling." That wasn't much better, but at least it was normal. Y/n raised her hand to knock, but before she could the door was being flung open, revealing a woman in a very festive jumper.

"You're here! She's here!"

~~~

Lockwood stood back slightly as the woman wrapped her arms around Y/n, squeezing so tightly he feared for his colleague's spine.

He braced himself for a similar treatment when she pulled back and spotted him, and the next thing he knew he was close to being suffocated as she brought him into a hug. Lockwood held his breath, his eyes wide and arms stuck out to the side as he tried to figure out what the hell he was meant to be doing. He hadn't been hugged like this since, well, since Jess. It took him a few seconds to work out that he needed to reciprocate the hug, but once he had, god. Why was he choking up? He could feel Y/n's eyes on him, so he shut his own and basked in the feeling of actually being held.

"You must be the boyfriend!" the woman said, pulling back and holding him by the forearms.

"Mum! Please don't terrify him!"

So this was Emma L/n, Y/n's mother.

"Yes, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs L/n." He flashed one of his winning smiles, and he could see her visibly relaxing.

"Oh Emma, please!" She looked back over her shoulder at Y/n, mouthing (incredibly non-subtly) 'He's handsome!'

"Mum!" Y/n hissed, starting to turn red.

"What's your name then young man!"

"Anthony Lockwood," he replied, and took particular pleasure in seeing Y/n squirm in the background.

"Well, you'd better come in. Do you need help with the bags?"

"Oh, no, I've got them," he assured her, shouldering his large bag and reaching for the suitcase handle that Y/n was currently holding onto. She didn't relent for a moment, and they had a silent argument for control of the suitcase until eventually with a small tug he won, stumbling ever so slightly from the effort.

"Everything alright?" Emma asked, frowning at the two of them.

"Yes, perfectly fine!" Lockwood called back, shooting a glare at Y/n. She reciprocated, clenching her jaw at his smug smile that came afterwards. He moved inside the house, Y/n following shortly behind and closing the door to keep the warmth in.

"Where should we put our bags?" Y/n asked her mother.

~~~

They had a problem.

A very large problem.

"Well I'm not sharing with you," Lockwood said, moving further into the room that Y/n's mother had shown them to.

"Good," she said, eyeing the double bed. "Just don't complain when your back gives in from sleeping on the floor for so long."

"What? No, I'm taking the bed."

"It's my family home, what gives you more reason to have the bed than me?"

"I'm your boss, and I pay your wages. If you want to keep being paid then I'm having the bed."

Y/n scoffed, shaking her head. "Arsehole," she muttered, going over to the windows and closing the curtains against the now-dark sky outside. The bed was definitely large enough for two people to share, but when those two people hated each others' guts and weren't actually dating, the bed was far too small.

"What was that?"

"Arsehole," she repeated loudly, making sure to look him dead in the eyes when she did so, then immediately turning and heading into the en-suite bathroom.

"What is your issue with me?" he said, following after her.

"You're taking the bed! It's my fucking house!"

"Let's not forget that without me, you would be in a lot more of a tricky situation! I think I deserve the bed for my efforts; it's not easy pretending to love you, you know!"

"Oh, like it's so easy to love you?! You are so horrible to me, all the time, and now I have to pretend to actually want to be with you?! I'd have been in a difficult situation anyway, the only difference is that in this one, I have a fake boyfriend. I could deal with the humiliation of not having anyone with me, but this?" she laughed bitterly. "This is near to being beyond me, Lockwood." Fuck, why was she tearing up? She closed the bathroom door firmly in Lockwood's face, ignoring the shocked expression on his face in the second before he disappeared from her view.

She pushed the lock, waiting for the click before turning and facing the sink, bracing her hands on the edge and heaving a few deep breaths. She hadn't realised how hard it would be to pretend that she was completely fine around her family while they picked and prodded and commented and made snide remarks, and having Lockwood around was only making it worse.

She couldn't even begin to imagine all the things he would use as ammunition in the future. He'd have a field day on this holiday, taking all of her family's words and turning them against her, becoming even worse than he had been before.

A knock sounded on the door, light and unsure, and Lockwood's voice followed afterwards. "...Y/n? I- I'm-" he sighed, and she could imagine him clenching his jaw and looking up at the ceiling as he tried to fight against the nice words he was clearly trying to say. "I have a shit sleep schedule anyway, and you go to sleep a lot faster than I do so it's better for me to sit in a chair when I can't get to sleep and you can lie down, so... yeah." Y/n was surprised at how kind he was, and was starting to wonder if he was having some sort of stroke. But then he started talking again and she knew that he was completely fine.

"If you could not take for fucking ever in the bathroom though that would be great, because I really need a piss."

~~~

"Ah, there you both are! You took your time putting your bags away!" Linda's gaze drifted to Y/n as she said that, eyes sharpening and making the back of Y/n's neck prickle.

"Oh, that's my fault, sorry," Lockwood started, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her in. Y/n stiffened, not used to being so close to him, and tried to force a smile onto her face. "I got carried away asking questions about the photos around the room, and I think I might have driven her slightly mad." He was smiling so widely and cheerfully that Y/n could practically feel everybody relaxing and warming up to him. It was frustrating, really, how they had known him for roughly ten seconds and already seemed to like him more than her. Her brothers were eyeing him up, trying to figure out whether they needed to take him outside or just give him a good talking to. Her sister Olivia was also eyeing Lockwood up, but in a very different way to their brothers that was making Y/n somewhat uncomfortable. It wasn't that they didn't get on and that was what was wrong, but they were sisters, and therefore they naturally disagreed on some things.

Apparently Lockwood's level of attractiveness was one of them.

"Oh, not to worry," her mother said, already loving having Lockwood here. "I made tea, if you'd like some? There's cake too, and far too much of it, so take as much as you want!"

"Tea would be lovely, Emma, thank you," Lockwood said, moving his arm away from Y/n's shoulders. She nearly jumped out of her skin in shock when she felt his hand land on her lower back instead, pushing her forward towards the empty loveseat that sat closest to the roaring fire. "Try not to look quite so horrified at this whole thing, darling," he whispered right into her ear, emphasising the pet name. "And maybe relax a little too, yeah?" He sat down on the chair, leaving very little room for Y/n to sit down herself without pressing up against him. She gave up trying to keep space between them when she ended up perching on the edge and gained strange looks from everyone else. Lockwood pulled her back towards him, grabbing her waist with both hands and tugging until she was right up against his chest, their thighs pressed together. He didn't let go, keeping his arms around her and nestling his head in the crook of her neck. She hadn't loosened up since walking in to the living room, and she was entirely sure that her spine was as stiff as one of the wooden floorboards under her feet. Her mother handed over two mugs of tea, placing them on the small side table next to their chair, then went to cut two slices of cake, starting with Lockwood's. He accepted his plate gratefully, smiling brightly up at her.

"How big of a slice, Y/n/n?"

"Uh... maybe-"

"Don't give her too big of a slice, she doesn't need that much," Stephanie interrupted, her tone sickly sweet. Y/n froze, and behind her she could feel Lockwood glancing between the two girls, trying to figure out what was happening. Her mother cut a decent sized slice, ignoring her niece's comment and handing the plate to Y/n.

"Did you make this, Emma?" Lock-Anthony (she might just give up trying to correct herself in a minute) asked.

"Oh, yeah, but you know, it's not my best."

"Well I think it's delicious, you'll have to share the recipe with me so I can have more of it back in London!"

"I'd be happy to! Do you bake then?"

"Oh, no, I'm awful. I'd burn the house down I'm sure. But our friend George is a magician in the kitchen."

"Remind me what you do for work again?" her father asked.

"Actually, maybe you could just... tell us. Since we know nothing about you!" Linda laughed. "We don't even know your name!"

"Anthony Lockwood," he said, yet another of his classic Lockwood smiles taking over his face. Y/n was starting to feel sick from the way Stephanie and Linda were watching them, and she put her fork down on her plate. "Y/n hasn't mentioned me much then?"

"No," Linda simpered. "I have to say, I was very surprised when I heard my sister say that Y/n had a boyfriend. I'm even more surprised that you actually exist!"

"I can't really blame her for not saying anything, I suppose. We're very busy a lot of the time and when we are free I'm often dragging her out on dates and the like, so if you haven't heard from her then that's entirely my fault." God, how was he such a good liar? Everybody believed him right away, but if she tried to get away with something like that they'd be asking so many questions she would give up and tell the truth.

"And... what is it you do for work?" her father asked again, desperate for the answer.

"I'm an agent."

"Fittes or Rotwell?"

"Uh... no, I-"

"Bunchurch then? Or maybe Grimble?"

"Actually," Lockwood glanced at Y/n, and she nodded slightly, bracing herself for her family's reaction. "I run my own agency. George, who I mentioned earlier, is our researcher, Lucy is our Listener, Holly our secretary, and then of course there's Y/n. Best Touch in England." He squeezed her slightly, and when she looked back at him he was smiling up at her so adoringly that she wondered how she ever hated him.

Then he jabbed her side, making her wobble and nearly spill the tea that she'd just picked up, and she remembered that he was a dick.

"Your... own... agency?"

"Yes." Lockwood didn't seem perturbed, which was lucky, because Y/n was feeling increasingly more unsettled with every second that passed. "We're based in London in my family home, but we take clients from all around England."

"Right... so that makes you Y/n's... boss?"

"I know it's not... the usual, but there is nothing that says we cannot be in a relationship. Believe me, I've checked. I don't think there is anything that could have been done to stop me from falling for your daughter, sir, despite her own best efforts, and I like to think that I keep my role as her boss completely separate from my role as her boyfriend."

Y/n stared at him in mild shock, not quite believing how sincere he sounded, and Lockwood was refusing to look at her.

Uneasy glances were exchanged by nearly all of Y/n's gathered family members, the only exceptions being Will, who had always supported Y/n, and Olivia, who was too busy checking Lockwood out. Y/n put her plate of cake down, having spent the last few minutes picking at it and barely eating any, and ignored the look that Lockwood gave her. She wasn't feeling hungry at all now that she was surrounded by everyone, and Stephanie was watching every move she made with terrifying intensity. No doubt there would be some fresh insults this year, and Y/n couldn't wait to be back home again.

Home.

Since when had she considered Lockwood's house her home?

"You alright?" Lockwood whispered in her ear. He kept asking her that, and it was freaking her out a little.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She stood up, gently detaching herself from Lockwood's grip and putting her mug of tea on the side table, half drunk. "Just need the loo, be back in a bit." She tried smiling at everyone, but the water gathering in her eyes made it difficult to pretend that she was actually fine, and she left the room finding it hard to breathe. Y/n headed up the stairs and into the bathroom attached to the room that she and Lockwood were staying in, and for the second time that day braced herself on the sink as she tried to regain control of her body. "Fuck," she muttered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." She splashed some cold water on her face, holding it against her skin in the hopes that it would shock her back into being alright again, then turned off the tap and sat on the floor, her back to the sink and her legs stretched out in front.

Only two more days to go, and then she could go back to her normal life.

Two more days of this, and she was free, and could eat as much cake as she wanted, because George and Lucy would be stuffing their faces too.

She just had to fake it until then.

part 3

Tag list: @ahead-fullofdreams, @anathemaloren, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @aysha4life, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @locklyebrainrot, @locknco, @mentallyillsodapop (I just realised I hadn't added you I'm so sorry 😭 although I don't know if you wanted to be added actually idkkk) @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @ran23sblog, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife

please let me know if I've missed you off the series tag list, and I'll put you right on! <3

[kawaiibarty]

TELL ME MORE ABOUT YOUR OBSESSION WITH XENO/GIVE ME HEADCANONS. I BEG.

XENOPHILIUS LOVEGOOD UABDJSNS

absolutely cannot be arsed with gender. if you asked him what he was he'd probably laugh at you and say that he's an elf.

the most gorgeous silvery, curly, cascading locks that literally glimmer. like edward cullen type shit

he's creepily tall and albino with the biggest, brightest blue eyes with this sort of red hue ARGH

i like to hc him as visually impaired because of albinism 😔

his voice is really deep and it surprises people whenever he talks because woah you don't sound like a forest fairy because you look like one mf

pearls, silver rings, gemstones, sea shells, doilies, tomes of the most arcane shit, paintings everywhere

oH i like to see him as a painter because i remember that the ceiling of lunas room was covered in paintings of her friends and i love love the idea of xeno being the one to teach her that skill.

his favourite things to paint were ocean landscapes and the mountain skyline.

his best subjects were astronomy and arithmancy

SKETCHBOOKS UGHHHHHH this man was obsessed with art !!!! but decided to pursue a career as a journalist because he loved writing stories about different kinds of magical creatures and he NEEDED everyone to know about them all

his favourite magical creatures were unicorns, thestrals and sirens

an only child and halfblood wizard

makes his own jewellery (that's how he and pandora bonded and then they discovered that they both loved all things whimsical and cryptic BOOM THE CUTEST FUCKING COUPLE EVER LIKE OMF XENODORA WILL ALWAYS BE ENDGAME TO ME)

norwegian/british

ALWAYS BRAIDED HIS HAIR IN THAT NORSE VIKING WAY

he's so beautiful omg

wait im rambling now im sorry

[materassassino]

Joenicky + 7 (dessert)

Not striiiiiiiictly a dessert, but close enough, I think.

One Word Prompts!

---

“Something smells divine.”

Nicolò barely looks up from his stirring as the door opens and shuts, though his heart first skips and then settles into gentle warmth like a cat in a sunbeam, as it always does when Yusuf returns home. He hums a greeting, concentrating on his pot and the vicious bubbles that threaten to spit and burn like the lava of Mongibello (something Nicolò remembers vividly and painfully). It is very close to being done.

Yusuf, reckless and foolhardy, comes up behind him to hook his chin on Nicolò’s shoulder, palms settling on his waist.

“Jam!” he exclaims, delighted.

“Halima gave me a whole basket of quinces for helping with the goat pen,” Nicolò explains. “And, to be frank, I have no idea what else to do with them.”

“You always insisted you were not a Frank,” Yusuf teases, earning himself an inelegant snort and a blind pinch to the side as Nicolò reaches behind himself.

“Fool,” Nicolò says, full of affection. Yusuf kisses the side of his neck, something quick and innocent, but nevertheless a harbinger of better things to come later that night. Nicolò continues to stir.

“How much did you spend on honey?” Yusuf then asks archly. Nicolò allows himself to look away from the pot for just a moment to wince at him, and that is when it cruelly attacks: it spits, like an ornery camel, right onto the bare skin of Nicolò’s forearm.

He yelps, dropping his spoon and rearing back like a startled horse. Yusuf is, of course, still draped around him: he takes the full weight of Nicolò, and the bone of his hip collides, heavily, with the side of the table.

They both disentangle from each other, groaning at their ephemeral wounds. Nicolò inspects his arm, where a coin-sized glob of boiling hot quince jam sits, mocking him. Yusuf rubs his hip like an old man, muttering blasphemies under his breath, until he notices the jam. Nicolò, in turn, notices that look on his face, and yet cannot drag his arm away quickly enough before Yusuf has grabbed it and licked the jam off with the widest, most shit-eating grin in the world.

“You are disgusting!” Nicolò protests, pushing him away with a laugh. “Half of that was my hair!” He holds up his arm and displays the small new bald spot. Alas, their healing gift does not extend to the quick regrowth of hair.

Yusuf scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. “I have had my tongue in your arse, my love.”

“You put it so poetically,” Nicolò says, deadpan. He turns back to the pot, gives it one more stir, and nods. “Time to cool.” He catches Yusuf looking hopeful. “You will burn yourself, and then you will complain, and I will get to say ‘I told you so’ and that will only make you complain more.”

Yusuf narrows his eyes. “I hate your wisdom,” he grumbles.

“I know you too well,” Nicolò states, tugging gently on Yusuf’s beard. “Help me make the mlewi.”

--

In the end, it is too warm to eat in the kitchen. They take the food to the roof, the horizon ablaze even as the dark silk of evening settles above. The first bite Yusuf takes of bread and jam makes him close his eyes and moan in bliss.

“Exquisite!” he cries. “Nectar and ambrosia! The very essence of Tasnim itself!”

Nicolò feels his face flush. Truly, he should be used to the flowery accolades Yusuf heaps on him by now, but sometimes they still affect him like they did two centuries ago, when he was raw and had no idea what it truly was to be loved and wanted.

“It is only jam,” he mutters, taking his own bite. It is certainly good – Nicolò is nothing if not confident in his cooking skills – but nothing to write poetry about. Yusuf shakes his head.

“The simplest of pleasures are the loveliest ones,” he says. “I am grateful for these endless lifetimes I have been given, because it means you cook me the most wonderful things I have ever had the joy of eating.”

Despite the coolness of rapidly falling night, Nicolò feels so warm he fears he might melt through the roof and right into the room below. While Yusuf proves, time and time again, that he views Nicolò’s presence at his side as the greatest gift, Nicolò is still in awe of being loved so profoundly that even something so simple, created by his hands, is seen as a treasure.

“Although…” Yusuf continues, and he leans in close, far too close to be innocent, his breath hot on Nicolò’s ear, “your arse is still the finest thing I have ever dined on.”

Nicolò splutters, pushing Yusuf away in mock indignation, but Yusuf drags him after him, down onto the carpet, with sparkling eyes and bright laughter Nicolò cannot help but find contagious. When their lips meet, they taste of quince jam and sweet wine.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

DO U EVER THINK ABIUT GENDERBENT 141??? because I'm sorry I'm queer as hell and au where everything is the same but Ghost is the most handsome butch woman to ever walk the earth?!?!?!? Barkbarkbarkbark

OR EVEN BETTER.... FEM GHOST AND REGULAR GHOST MY BI ASS GETTING SQWUISHED BETWEEN THEM 🫠🫠🫠

Man I am FERAL 2day

-🔪

Have I ever thought of Genderbent 141? UH??? YES??? EVERY DAY???? (never shared it before, but I 100% have thought about it)

Genderbent!141 Thots

Simone Riley who’s ginormous for a woman, just as tall as half of the men around her, and with shoulders just as wide. Wears her hair in a crew cut (just like her male counterpart) because she gets hot around the neck and irritated with hair in her eyes if she tries to grow it out any longer, and she cannot be arsed to untie and retie her hair if she’s in a hurry to shoot a terrorist! Unironically uses her sports bra as a place to conceal MORE weapons. Do you know how many foldable knives she has hidden in her bra cups? Don’t ask, she won’t tell you. Never wears heels because she hates it and it’s just not her style, she’s a butch through and through.

Jane Price who surprisingly strikes SO much fear in recruits by being polite, understanding and a surprisingly calm leader because they KNOW that a woman that polite can’t survive/be taken seriously in the military unless she’s deadly efficient and ready to crush someone under her boot at the slightest provocation… Her hair is fairly long but she wears it tied in the military regulation bun that’s SO slicked back and tight it’s no wonder she has a permanent headache. Yes she wears the boonie hat all the time.

Kylie Garrick is pretty girl (just like Kyle is pretty boy). She has the PRETTIEST neatest cornrows and wears them in a bun because it’s convenient for work, plus it lets her still wear her beloved baseball cap!!!! She read the handbook cover-to-cover to know what’s allowed and what isn’t and knows exactly what she can get away with style wise. Watch her wear stud earrings of all colors and tinted lipbalm to skate by the ‘no makeup’ rules.

Johanna MacTavish is short but BEEFY. And I mean BEEFY. Between her arms and her thighs, she looks like she could crush skulls and watermelons alike with just a bit of squeezing… And she has taken advantage of her reputation as a destructive wildcard to get away with hair that does NOT pass regulation. I mean, are YOU going to go tell the one Scottish woman who’s built like a fridge and coincidentally the YOUNGEST recruit to pass SAS selection and also certified in demolitions and explosions to fix her hair? No, obviously not. So, she wears her hair LONG as shit and only pinned back enough to not get caught in her arms when shooting/fighting +  has an undercut so that she doesn’t overheat.

[ More Genderbent!COD ]

[farenmaddox]

What does it actually mean that Jack killed Felix the snake?

a.k.a. Jack didn't kill Mary, pt. 2

I wanted to make a separate post from my other post about how I think Jack didn't kill Mary to talk more about the snake. In that post, I brought up Felix only briefly, as an explanation for Jack's state of being at the time: "soulless, trying to do the right thing in spite of that, very in-control of himself and his powers." But I have like a million thoughts on the snake, so.

In-universe, Jack was doing what he thought was right. His three dads, whom he looks to for cues on right vs. wrong, were implicitly if not explicitly telling him the snake's life didn't matter. They gave zero shits about that snake. "hmmmm try feeding him this variety of foods that are comically inappropriate and keep him in this tiny box, IDC man." Like, at any time, Google and veterinarians were options, but none of them could be arsed to tell Jack about those options. Like, yes, Jack is a grown man, but also he's only been on the planet for two years and he doesn't know everything!!!

So clearly (to Jack, based on the messages he is getting), the snake's life/health have no real value, and since the suffering is caused by how bad Felix misses his original owner, the best option is to send him where he won't suffer anymore. Like... I get it. This is not how I (a person with life experience and pet ownership experience as well as possession of a soul) would handle the situation. But for Jack, I get it!!!

When it gets absolutely maddening is when you think about the snake symbolically, and what Felix might possibly represent:

Satan in the Garden, his father Lucifer, temptation toward selfishness and lies and away from Paradise and truth

the poisonous death caused by being in the closet/ashamed of one's own queer desire (14x14 is one hell of an episode and boy do I need to make a separate post about Jack's relationship to Cas and Jack saving Cas from being poisoned to death by his repression of his queer desire and Cas dying because he stopped repressing it while Chuck is still running the show, then [we're told, we don't see it, I'm so suspicious] Jack saving him again once Jack is God. ANYWAYYYYYY.)

the snake eating a chicken egg fable a.k.a. the entire narrative concept that Jack is either the snake who cannot help its nature or the bait they must use to rid themselves of their enemy

So you have the snake standing in for at least one but likely all three things. And then you have to just be like, "Actually it's incredible that he killed the snake. He has rejected his birthright, he has rejected repression of self, and he has basically said that he is the secret third thing that is neither the snake nor the egg." It seems like we should actually celebrate this?

But we can only see the symbolism because we are outside of the story. Sam, Dean, and Cas are in the story, and what they see is a kid with no soul has just killed his pet, which as a storytelling device means he is going to escalate to worse things, and his three dads (who can't be arsed to find a vet) are right to be worried and take that a certain way.

But then you look at Jack's "escalation" and it's... accidentally hurting a girl who didn't trust his control over his powers, even though he had excellent control, actually, and then immediately healing her and being very upset that she's hurt. Hmmmm. We're then supposed to believe he randomly loses all control and kills someone he loves, for absolutely no reason, because in storytelling that's what happens after a character reveals they are soulless enough to kill a pet. And guess who the storyteller is??? (You don't have to guess. It's Chuck.) Chuck knows how the story goes, and he knows that a human death is what comes next in convincing them to see Jack as a threat, and he knows exactly who should die to ensure Dean does his job in the narrative (it sure isn't Nick! Whom Jack did kill and whom Dean would literally buy Jack a beer for killing in any other circumstances! Symbolically killing Lucifer as he was unable to do before!). It is wildly inconsistent with Jack's motivations and actions for him to fly off the handle and kill Mary, but that's the story Chuck needs to see, so he makes it happen.

So for the characters, who are stuck in Chuck's story, Jack is escalating his capacity for violence and killing loved ones. We, who are outside, can see the symbolic meaning and see that actually Jack is outside with us, rejecting the entire narrative. He literally killed Chuck's narrative! (But he didn't kill Mary.)