#and I don’t know if I’ll ever be dedicated enough to write a fic of this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

g1rld1ary · 2 months

Note

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

-mel

what once was ; anthony lockwood x reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, but if Lockwood hadn’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And if you’re wrong?” Kyan asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We don’t work well together—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Which is?”

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucy watched you go suspiciously, before turning to Lockwood.

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

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

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

144 notes · View notes

margowritesthings · 1 year

Text

The Greatest Gift A Cowgirl Could Ask For

a @rdrevents Valentines gift exchange for @cowboydisaster

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader word count: 4,400 words warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, explicit language, sexual themes, vaginal sex, mentions of death, unprotected sex, throwing up (TW EMETOPHOBIA), very brief mention of SA in the past, unexpected pregnancy, mentions of Micah Bell a/n: am I britney spears in her 2000 grammy award winning song??? because oops, i did it again. i don't know how I managed to get Bea as my recipient for a SECOND time, but it only felt right to carry on building this universe I've made for her and lying to her about it all week. Whoops.

Bea, my beloved, Happy Valentines Day. You deserve the world and Im so glad I could dedicate this fic to you. Honestly I probably couldn't have gotten the motivation to get back on my feet and write again if it wasn't for you. Thanks for everything you do bby and I hope this lives up to your 'if by some miracle you get me for your gift exchange disregard my prompts and write a TGG prequel' (yes she actually said that) idea. Love you lots xxx

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes @luvliewriting @mrsarthurmorgan7 @photo1030 @snobbybastard

My Darling Wife,

I’m writing to you from up near Tempest Rim. I’ve tracked this bounty all over the goddamn Grizzlies and I’m ready to come home to you. I miss you so much and I’m real sorry I can’t be home in time for St. Valentines. Hopefully I can catch this bastard soon and make it up to ya. We’ll go to the theatre and sit right at the back, how’s that sound? I’ll move heaven and Earth to be beside you soon, you know I will.

I can’t wait to see you, sweetheart. I’ll be there as fast as I can be with enough money to take you out on the town. Won’t be long, I promise.

All my love, Arthur

Your finger runs over his looped script, over and over as if it will somehow will your husband out of the crumpled paper and into your bed. It’s been 2 months since the letter arrived, 2 months of the agony of not knowing if he’s dead or alive robbing you of sleep each and every night. You miss him, more than you could ever imagine one person could miss another and you honestly don’t know what you’ll do if he doesn’t come home.

It’s a 600 dollar bounty, it’s sure to be a tough job you constantly reassure yourself, unable to focus on anything but the absence of half of your very soul in every waking moment.

The day he comes home starts like any other. Time's arrow marches on, the sun rises and sets over your makeshift family as they work and plan and rob and hunt. You busy yourself planning a job with Karen, cushioned into your schedule between menial tasks so that it’s just that bit easier to not think about him. As usual, your efforts are in vain, but at least the chores are done, your steed Diesel is happy, and, all being well, you and Karen will have about 30 dollars to split between you when the week is out.

An hour before he comes home, everyone retires to bed, save for John (who’s on watch tonight) and you’re left alone by the campfire. It crackles and pops, embers swirling the air around you. It feels like you stare at the twisting flames until your eyes blur and burn and you can’t tell which are tears of irritation to your senses and which are your heart breaking once more.

Moments before you’re reunited with the second half of your heart, you hear John yelling. It’s instinct that drives your hand into your holster, still resting against your hip despite the late hour, and you perk up like a startled deer, straining to decipher Marston’s words.

“Who is it?!” “Arthur, you dumbass!”

Arthur.

Arthur?

“Arthur?!” It’s a breathless shout, barely heard over the rushing blood in your ears as your feet take you to your husband before your mind can even fathom that he’s here.

But sure enough, when you reach the edge of camp, heart racing, you see Arthur Morgan riding his chestnut mare straight towards you, spurring her into a gallop as soon as he lays his eye on his waiting wife. Marston probably makes some remark about who ‘decided to show up’, but to you, there is nothing but you and Arthur, two magnets parted by an unnatural force finally reaching each other again with a deafening crash.

And it is. A crash, that is, when Arthur all but throws himself off his saddle and your bodies collide, great big arms wrapping around your frame. It is then that the tears fall down your cheek, soaking into Arthur’s coat that smells so much like him it truly feels like a dream.

You thought he was dead.

Only when you’re safely in his arms, when he’s pressing frantic kisses to your head, whispering your name over and over into your hair do you allow yourself to admit that fact. You thought he was never coming back, and yet here he is. Words fail you, the overwhelming emotion settling right in your throat.

“Oh, god… oh, darlin’ I-I missed you so much…”

You feel two large hands cup your cheeks, pulling you in for a kiss that holds everything and anything the past 3 months could have been had you not spent it apart. But everything fits back into place, the world starts spinning again and you’re whole the second Arthur Morgan’s lips meet yours. It lasts a lifetime, it lasts a fraction of a second. You want to stop time, keep Arthur in your arms forever and never again have to go through the torture of being away from each other. The two of you only part to throw near identical scowls at John, who is amusing himself by telling you to get a room.

Unfortunately, as Ms. Grimshaw so often reminds you all, the Van der Linde Camp is not a hotel, so tonight you will not be afforded the luxury of a private suite as John so kindly suggested. There is only your tent, hitched against the gang’s weapons wagon, the old canvas pulled around to offer a little privacy when you and Arthur first started… well, needing the seclusion.

Calloused fingers intertwine with your own digits, Arthur’s other hand flipping John off before his weight pulls you towards your little corner of camp. There's so much purpose in his stride, the need to have you all to himself, not even share you with the lord above or wildlife below, driving him forward. Driving him home.

When you’re finally, truly alone, the tears welling in your eyes glistening in the candlelight, no words are needed. Soon enough, you’ll talk for hours on end, catching each other up on every little detail of the last few months. But for now, all that there is and all that could matter is right this very second, when Arthur reaches for you, brushing a thumb over the tear tracks on your left cheek. His eyes, looking almost emerald in the dark of night, roam over each and every detail of you with such an intensity in him that you think he’s trying to remember this moment for the rest of time. You’re sure it’s one you could never possibly forget.

Arthur snakes both arms around your waist, guiding you backwards until the backs of your knees gently hit the cot and you lay back onto it. He covers the full length of you and then some, making you feel so fragile and small. It’s nice to feel breakable for once, to let go of the need to be the strongest in the room, lest you be ridiculed for being too sensitive or too weak or too womanly. Arthur knows just how strong you are, you need to prove nothing to him, so you can submit to his embrace, allow yourself to just breathe for once knowing you can break and there’s re will always be somebody to put you back together.

He lowers himself to your lips, pressing a kiss to them that doesn’t last nearly long enough. Arthur then kisses your nose, then your cheeks and chin, before trailing down to the crook of your neck. Your skin feels as though it’s on fire, so starved for the man you cannot live without that now he’s finally here everything feels that much more intense. The tiniest scrape of Arthur’s teeth against your flesh shoots through every single nerve in your body and you moan right into his ear. You can actually feel him harden against your thigh at the sweet melody of your pleasure.

Pushing Arthur’s hat off to the side, your fingers rake through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp encouragingly as he nibbles at your skin.

“Oh, Arthur… Oh, I missed you so much…” You breathlessly whisper, feeling your heart skip a beat when he pauses his movements to glance at you from under impossibly long eyelashes, jade green eyes glistening up at you.

“I missed you too, sweetheart. So so much.” His voice is soft, as if he’s handling the peacefulness around you so delicately and it causes the overwhelming emotion to well in your chest and choke up your throat. Arthur sees this, trying not to be too taken with his own surprising amount of emotion himself, and relieves you of your job of a response by directing his attention to the buttons of your shirt. You don’t remember him pushing your jacket off your shoulders, but there it lies on the floor beside the entrance to your tent, so he must have.

Despite the juxtaposition of such dainty buttonholes and such large fingers, Arthur expertly undresses your top half until you’re bare to him. He takes no time at all to take one of your nipples into his mouth, kissing and sucking at it with a hunger you feel right in your toes. You moan loudly, unable to stop yourself after yearning for this very feeling for so long.

Arthur coos and shushes you and it vibrates across your skin, not helping you stay quiet in the slightest. The hand not tugging on his dirty blonde locks reaches between your two longing bodies to begin to unbuckle his belt. You can feel your own heartbeat throbbing between your legs, your coil growing tighter and tighter by the second. It’s been almost 3 months since your bodies have joined like this, and yet you’re not sure you can wait another minute.

You’re purring for Arthur, twitching and grinding as your hand fumbles desperately at the belt. His absence from your skin is agony the second he pulls his hips back to sit up straight. Spotting your downright bratty expression, bottom lip protruding in a pout, Arthur chuckles lowly, “Patience, baby… I gotta get these damn clothes off us.” He gestures to his belt, still very much buckled around his waist. Definitely not your fault. He was being far too distracting.

He’s quick, you’ll give him that, shedding his clothes without taking his eyes off you. You burn under his stare, even more so when he crawls back on top of you to slide your boots off one by one and peel your pants and undergarments down your legs.

The heat radiates off his huge body, his cock pulsing with need. The way he’s putting his weight into his arms to stop from crushing you with his weight adds a definition to his already beautifully sculpted body. Reaching down, you brush the tip of your finger oh so gently over his rosy head, finding a bead of cum already leaking, and you snap. You can’t wait a second longer, scratching and gripping at him like he’s the air you need to breathe.

“Please, Arthur, please I need you. S-So long, it’s been so long-” “Shh, I know, princess, I know. I’m gonna take care of you, okay? Gonna take care of your pretty little cunt, I promise.” He soothes you, though his own voice is shaky from the very effort of restraining himself, maintaining his control to not drive into you and ruin you. While he whispers to you, he lines himself up at your entrance and you quiver in anticipation.

In all your years before you met Arthur, you never really saw sex as anything but something to give, or worse, something to be taken from you. You never truly understood, not until you met Arthur, who taught you it’s something to share, to experience. With Arthur, it’s different. It is connection and pleasure and it’s wonderful and god damn it, it’s addictive. So when Arthur slides into you, letting out a visceral, guttural groan as he does, everything is right in the world.

You feel so full, especially when Arthur pushes all the way to the hilt, connecting you completely at the pelvis. The moan that escapes your lips is downright obscene and Arthur crashes down into your mouth to swallow it.

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s been so long, or the emotion of it all, but you swear you can feel everything. Every vein and ridge, every twitch and movement of his perfect cock as Arthur slowly starts to move in and out of you.

“Fuck… s-so good, darlin. So tight- y’feel so fucking good, princess…”

You’ve never hurtled so close towards a climax so quickly in your life. His torturously slow, deep thrusts drag into your sweet spot every fucking time and trying to hold back brings a blur into your vision. Your own hips grind against his, Arthur gripping into your flesh to guide you perfectly in time with him.

“I-I’m so close already, Arthur… fuck…” You breathe out, your breath tickling Arthur’s ear and sending a visible shudder down his spine. He looks proud at your admission.

“You missed me that much, huh? Gonna cum for me already, darlin’?”

He gives you no time to respond, pressing a thumb to your clit and rubbing in time with everything else. You implode, pulling Arthur down to catch the scream you’re about to wake everybody up with. It has never felt so intense, and with every thrust Arthur fucks into you it only grows and grows, shattering you to pieces for Arthur to fix back together again.

When you return, a rhythmic thudding in your ears, the first thing you see is Arthur, of course. His jaw is fluttering madly, a bead of sweat clinging to his forehead but the candlelight makes him look ethereal. You still can’t believe he’s here, alive.

Tears start to glisten in your eyes. You’ve never cried during sex before, not for anything positive, at least, but somehow this doesn’t feel wrong. Arthur slows again, watching you, and you spot an extra shine to his own jade orbs. He knows. He feels it too.

He’s right there with you. As he always is.

He brushes a piece of hair stuck to your forehead away, and the gesture is enough to send the tears falling down the same worn path on your cheeks as before.

“I love you, Mr. Morgan…” “I love you, Mrs. Morgan…”

It seems to become too much for Arthur to stay still, and you’re glad for it. You’re desperate for the friction, already flying towards another orgasm. He’s really fucking into you this time, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in. He’s groaning and growling and you decide in that moment that it’s your favourite sound in all the world.

“I… I ain’t gonna last much longer, baby…”

“C-Cum in me…” “Huh?” He slows, shuddering at the exertion required to control his movements, “I-”

But you’re not listening to his protests, your nails digging into the skin of his back and ass and anywhere else you can reach to urge him forwards again.

“Please Arthur, I-I need you… I need you to cum with me, I need you with me…” you plead with him, not truly understanding your need but honouring it. You’ve been without him for so long, you deserve him with you now.

He appears to consider you for just a moment, before diving down to lock your lips with his. His tongue delves into your mouth, tasting every bit of you and he starts to pump into you unreservedly. His body grinds against yours and the friction is perfect and you’re so fucking full and before you can even try to hold back, you’re cumming again, stars scattering your vision, heart pounding out of your chest to find release from it’s mortal, physical cage. Your inner walls twitch around Arthur’s length and this time, he doesn’t hold back either.

His eyes fly open and lock onto yours as you both climax together. It’s vulnerable and strange, but perhaps more connected than you ever thought possible for two people to be.

Arthur’s cock twitches inside you, pumping out his spend as he groans viscerally, completely losing control of his rhythm as he thrusts into you one last time, harsh and deep. You’ve never experienced this before, with Arthur or any other man, normally erring on the side of caution when it came to such matters, but even as you come down you can’t bring yourself to regret it. Whatever you and Arthur just experienced together felt spiritual, and worth much more than a little risk.

Arthur collapses, even as depleted as he is still considerate enough to collapse onto his elbows and not crush you. He slides out of you, earning a little wince, and rolls to the side so you can rest your head on his chest. It’s like a locket that’s been ripped apart, finally fixed together with the most satisfying click.

═══════☆═══════

Two months later, life has returned to its equilibrium. You and Arthur are perhaps clingier, still in a sort of second honeymoon phase where you just can’t seem to keep your hands off each other, more so than usual. It’s a side effect of prolonged solitude, you’re sure.

The first time it happens, you blame Pearson and think nothing of it. It’s pretty early in the morning and you’re sitting with Tilly and Abigail, peeling potatoes for the stew tonight. Abigail is venting her frustrations about when John did this and John said that, and everything feels so normal. Pearson arrives, throwing a rather large, rather dead fish onto the table you’re leaning against and you feel the thud from the weight of it vibrate against your back.

It isn’t until the smell invades your senses that everything starts to feel off. It smells exactly like all the other fish Pearson has ever slammed onto that poor table, which doesn’t explain why you immediately lurch forwards, grabbing an empty bucket and throwing up your breakfast. The fish stench is suffocating and all you can do is get the hell away from it, not noticing when Abigail’s brows knit together almost… knowingly?

You skip the stew that night.

―

The second time it happens, you try not to think about it. You’re riding Diesel and almost don’t make it off him in time. There is nothing to set you off, no horse shit or rotting animal at the side of the road, and yet in an instant your stomach feels like it has been flipped upside down.

The sheer volume of your retching catches Arthur’s attention and he tugs on the leather reins in his hands to steady his mare.

“Darlin’? Y’alright?”

His concern is evident in his tone and in the tight line between his brows, which deepens when he finds you unable to respond in anything but a frantic nod. He dismounts, spurs clicking against the dusty ground when he approaches you.

“Oh, sweetheart… that’s it, easy, easy… you’re okay…”

You feel gentle circles rubbed into the tense muscles of your back as you try to get through this again. It’s not lost on you that Arthur is speaking to you like a spooked horse, but it actually really does help. (You decide to prioritise peace of mind and not psychoanalyse why that is). Eventually, it relents and you regain your composure, albeit somewhat less gracefully than you’d have liked.

“Sorry… I don’t know what’s gotten into me, maybe I ate somethin’.”

Your apology for something you can’t help earns you a sad smile from your husband, who places a loving kiss on the top of your head before reaching for your discarded hat and putting it back on for you.

“Y’don’t gotta apologise. I gotcha, darlin’.”

You know he does.

He always does.

―

The third time it happens, the luxury of denial is stolen from you. It’s early enough that your view while you sit with Abigail drinking coffee involves glorious hues of orange and pink scattered around the rising sun. It’s peaceful, tranquil. The warmth of the little metal mug in your hands and Arthur’s jacket around your shoulders is enough to ward off the fresh morning chill in the air.

There is absolutely no warning when it hits, when it happens again. You’re so goddamn sick (no pun intended) of hurling. Your eyes water and your throat hurts a little and you curse under your breath when it’s over. Abi is beside you, rubbing your back in an attempt to soothe you. She waits until it’s over before speaking hesitantly.

“Uh, can I ask you somethin’?”

You nod, eyes still red and glistening as you swirl coffee around your mouth to take away from the awful, acidic taste lingering.

“When did you last bleed?”

“What, like an injury? Uh, I cut my hand couple days back, but I don’t see what-“

… Oh fuck.

═══════☆═══════

The anxiety bounces around your body and you decide that you’ve become far too acquainted with the concept of nausea. You can actually tell the difference between nerves twisting your stomach and… well, let’s say it as it is: morning sickness. This is the former, you deduce, spinning both your engagement and wedding ring around your finger to give your hands something better to do than carve fingernail-shaped moons into your palm. He should be home any minute now. Any minute now and it will all change forever.

It’s quite late, but the poker game Arthur was scoping out for potential jobs is known to last a while. You’re the only one still awake, poking the embers of the campfire to keep yourself as comfortable as possible.

You hear hooves hitting dry dirt first, and it seems to trigger your fight or flight response. God, you’d love to run away from this, but that is pretty much impossible, so fight it is. It’ll be the greatest fight of your life, you’ll soon learn, one you’re privileged to be a part of. But right now, it feels like an all-consuming unknown.

Arthur can tell something is wrong the second he sees you. You’re terrible at hiding things, especially from him. He always reads you as though you have a poster advertising your feelings printed on your forehead. Arthur dismounts, kissing you tenderly on the temple and wrapping his arms around you.

“What’re you still doin’ up, darlin’? Is everything alright?” You can feel his worry vibrating in his chest as you nuzzle into his embrace.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I just… Can we talk? I kept the fire goin’.” You say it into his shirt, reluctant to move from this hold.

“Of course…” there’s something in his voice, a tense apprehension that really doesn’t help the knot contorting itself in your gut.

While you’re more than capable of keeping a fire going, Arthur is an expert, and has it healthily burning within seconds of you sitting down on the overturned log the gang has fashioned into a bench. You’re back to spinning your beautiful gold bands around your finger, trying to remember to breathe in and out every so often.

“What’s goin’ on, sweetheart?” His voice is so soft, so kind that it makes you want to cry. But you promised yourself you wouldn’t until you’d told him, because this might just be the most important conversation you’ve ever had, and you definitely won’t get through it if you’re a blubbering mess.

“I, uh… I… somethin’s happened.”

You hear his breath hitch in his throat and Arthur leans towards you, completely enveloping your hands in his. They’re sandwiched in now and you can’t fiddle with your rings anymore.

“What? What happened? Was it Micah? If he’s said somethin’ to you, I’ll kill him, the rat bastard-”

“No, no, it’s… as much as I’d love to see that, it’s not him.”

The tension releases. Just a little bit.

“I’m pregnant.”

Oh wait, there it is.

The silence is deafening, even though you’re almost certain it isn’t actually silent out here right now. There's a fire going and crickets are just metres away, you’re just shutting down with nerves.

The normally so often tense, fluttering jaw of Arthur Morgan is slack, his eyes wide and gaping at you, occasionally flicking down to your so far bump-less belly. (You should know- you’ve been obsessively looking in a mirror any chance you get for some sort of sign that this is really happening).

Say something. Please say something. Please don’t be angry. Oh, God please don’t hate me.

“I-I… You’re pregnant?” He repeats, reassuring you that you haven’t actually gone deaf, though his tone holds no indication of anything but shock. That’s probably fair…

You nod, hands instinctively reaching over your belly. It feels… weird. Holding your hands over your baby. Yours and Arthur’s baby.

“It happened a couple months back, when you got back from The Grizzlies, I think… I-I’m sorry, Arthur. I shoulda’ been more careful and-and…” You’re rambling, filling a silence that probably should just be allowed to be a silence.

“There… There’s gonna be a baby?”

There. Right there, adorning Arthur’s beautiful features, is the pull of a smile. It chokes you up instantly, so far deep in nightmares of arguments and unhappiness that you hadn’t even considered the good. You start to nod, a little bit of your fringe falling in your face.

“Yeah… There’s gonna be a baby. Our baby…”

“Our baby…” He repeats, his arm raising to brush the hair away from your eyes in such a natural manner it feels like it’s just his instinct to care for you. It is his instinct to care for you, Arthur has shown you that in every minute of every day of your marriage, and suddenly you’re not sure why you’ve been so scared.

“I’m gonna be a dad?” He still seems in disbelief, but that’s normal. It’s taken you a few days to come to terms with it, and even then the fingernail marks in your palms are still red raw.

“You’re gonna be a dad.”

It hits him. Really hits him and he all but throws himself into you, scooping you up and spinning you around as he laughs unreservedly.

“Well goddamn, I’m gonna be a Daddy!”

You laugh with him, worries and anxiety a distant memory as your feet swing around in the air. You’re probably waking the camp up, but you don’t care all that much. Right now, you’re the happiest girl in the world.

A baby. There’s gonna be a baby. Arthur’s baby.

Really, it’s the greatest gift a cowgirl could ask for.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan x f!reader #arthur morgan x y/n #rdr2 fanfiction #red dead redepmtion 2 #arthur morgan rdr #rdr2 arthur #rdr valentines change

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petertingle-yipyip · 1 month

Text

CAUGHT IN THE MIDDLE - MIGUEL OHARA

//idk why this took so long to post, it was already done when i revisited it. edit: nvm its cause i kinda missed some of the request//

Pairing: dad!miguel x GN!reader

Word Count: 1,801

Summary (request): hii, this is platonic request! can you do a fic where miguel comforts a reader ( gender neutral if possible ) who's turned 18 recently and is super anxious because their parents are pressuring them to pick a career/collage, decide what they wanna do in the future, etc and it's all making them feel really overwhelmed and restless?

“Hey there, kiddo.” Your dad strided into your room with your mom in tow. “How’s homework?”

“It’s fine.” You answered quizzically. “What’s going on here?” You gestured to the two of them.

“Well, we just came to see if you needed anything.”

“No, I’m okay. Thanks though.”

“Honey.” Your mom offered your dad a look and you could tell there was something else.

“Okay.” You sighed and pushed away from your desk. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” Your dad tried, which earned him a pointed look from you.

“Alright, alright.” He put his hands up in surrender. “Your mother and I-”

“You need to start thinking about your next step.” Your mom cut in.

“Oh… Guys, I’ve still got time.” You tried. “Besides, I’m not sure what I want to major in.”

And that was true. There was so much going on with your vigilantism and latest recruitment into the Spider Society that you hadn’t had time to sit and think about your major, let alone what school you wanted. You knew MIT and Columbia were great options. Harvard was on the table, as were the other Ivys. But what was the point of applying if you didn’t know why you would be there?

“Calendar wise, yes, there’s time. But you know how steep the competition to these higher schools can be. Are you ready for the SATs? Or the ACTs?” Your mom continued, and her high emotions began to grate your own sensitive nerves.

“Mom.” You tried.

“We’ll pay the application fees.” Your dad offered, though your mom was still on her rant.

“No, I don’t need you to.” You told him.

“And your personal essay, what would you write about? Do you have any ideas? Oh goodness, there’s so much to do.”

“Mom.” You said roughly, finally cutting through her own words. “I don’t know, okay? I’ve been busy… I haven’t thought about it.”

“You can’t waste time anymore, Y/N.” Your mom said firmly, pushing your chair back against the desk.

“I’m not wasting time, Mom. Please just relax.”

“Sweetie, maybe Y/N needs to do this at a different pace.” Your dad offered and you gave a thankful expression.

“I don’t care.” She snapped. “My child won’t miss an opportunity because of hesitation.”

She slid your laptop in front of you and then leaned down to meet your eyes. “This is your chance to get somewhere better than this.”

“I like where I come from.” You said honestly.

“That doesn’t mean you have to stay here.”

“How about I take Y/N to the library to do these?” Your dad offered. “Wi-fi’s been acting up today.”

“Yeah, and maybe I’ll find inspiration.” You added on. “I can look through some books and see if anything feels right… I get what you’re saying, Mom, but I don’t want to rush into something I shouldn’t.”

She blew out a sigh and stood straight. “Fine.” She conceeded. “But please, get at least two done today.”

“Yeah, okay.” You nodded, figuring you could at least do that much, even if just to please your mom.

After all, she had given you everything she could growing up. Her and your dad gave up a lot so you would have what you needed and what you wanted. You didn’t have everything under the sun but you had more than enough. And that dedication was what inspired your actions as a spider-person. Your parents looked out for you in ways no one else ever would. They put everything on the line for a payout that didn’t always go in their favor, but in yours.

And being able to give that back to the community you grew up in, the community that supported you and welcomed you. That was what you wanted your adult life to be, something so giving and so genuine that it could inspire someone else to do the same.

But what kind of career or schooling could give that to you?

When your dad dropped you off, he gave you his credit card and said your mom would be checking the account to see the pending charge so you had to keep your end of the deal. You offered a laugh and thanked him for getting you out of the house.

“Kid, I know she’s a bit overbearing but she wants what’s best for you.” Your dad said honestly.

“I know, Dad.” You nodded. “I’m just a little bit caught in the middle right now. Can’t look too far ahead.”

“Can’t look back, either… Remember where you come from, of course, but don’t let it hold you back. Okay?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Call when you’re done.”

You offered a lazy sluate before skipping up the library steps. Once your dad’s car was out of view, you ducked around the side of the building to the library’s alley. You pulled your watch from your backpack before tucking it behind the usual pile of boxes and fit the device into place. You weren’t even in your suit but you’d wandered HQ in your pajamas before, so coming in your school clothes wouldn’t be a big deal.

Once you stepped through your portal, various spider-people greeted you in the halls. You offered nods or waves but didn’t stop for much conversation, not until you reached the head honcho’s office.

“What are you doing here?” He asked without turning to face you. Surprisingly, his platform was actually ground level today, meaning no one had annoyed him enough to raise it. “Don’t you have something else you should be doing?”

“No.” You shrugged. “It’s still daylight back home and the weirdos don’t start till dusk, at least so…”

“Not what I meant.”

“Then what?”

“Those college applications you promised your mom.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah, oh.”

“Why are you spying on me anyway?” You asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Because you, insectito, are the biggest pain the ass here… So what’s the problem then?”

“I don’t know what I wanna do with my life.” You said honestly, scooting some of his papers over so you could sit on the desk. “Mom wants me to just throw my name in the pot everywhere to see what happens and Dad just wants to make Mom happy.”

“Mmm.. And what do you want?”

You shrugged. “I dunno.”

“What do you like to do? Any classes in school get you excited?”

“Not really.. Bio is cool sometimes but..”

“That’s a start.” He glanced over with a small, almost proud smile that lasted half a second. “Biology major is broad enough to start picking schools.”

“I guess but-”

“What about bio do you like?”

“Miguel, can you just-”

“People, plants, or animals?”

You groaned and flopped backwards on the desk, throwing your arms over your eyes. You thought coming to Miguel would be a good time to rant and not be given advice, because half of the time he seemed to drown out your voice anyways. But of course the one time you just needed him to ignore your words, he had to do the exact opposite of what you wanted.

“You’re the worst.” You muttered, to which you felt a kick to your foot. “Hey!”

“Y/N, your parents are right.” He started and you groaned again. “You’re a smart kid but you have to find some sort of direction.”

“I’m just caught up in the middle, trying to keep going.. But it’s just not that simple.” You complained and when you got no answer, you kept talking. “But I have to keep going or they’ll call me a quitter.”

“Who will?”

“Everyone.” You shrugged. “I don’t know, probably no one.”

Miguel turned fully and took hold of your arms to haul you upright. You let out a loud sound of complaint as he did so and you didn’t bother to fight it, not that you’d have much of a chance to do so anyway. You dramatically let your head fall back so you could see his expression and he looked down at you with a small smile. You huffed a sigh and raised your brows expectantly as you waited for him to say something.

“What about a geneticist?” He offered and you were taken aback, no doubt your face showing it because he gave a quick chuckle. “I’m serious.”

“Yeah, you usually are but what the hell are you talking about?” You said in bewilderment.

He shrugged slightly before turning back to his work and you couldn’t help but follow him.

“You’re always lurking around to see what I’m doing.” He explained. “You ask questions about what I do and how all of my stuff works.”

“Like that injection you refuse to talk about.” You agreed and peaked up with a questioning expression. Without looking at you, he pushed your face away.

“Exactly.” He agreed with a nod. “And then you could study your own DNA and see if you can find anything cool.”

“I could give myself fangs!” You yelled with excitement before camping a hand over your mouth when you realized how loud you were.

“Yeah, and then you give yourself a lisp.” He rolled his eyes slightly. “What I’m saying is that maybe some sort of higher level biology career is where you’re heading… You’re one of the smarter spiders around here anyways. Might as well do something other than engineering.”

“Don’t you think science in general is a bit stereotypical for a spider? … Oh, shit. Is it our canon?”

“No.” He laughed a little. “There’s a Peter Parker around here that’s a photographer for a newspaper.”

“Oh.. That’s fun?” You tried.

“He takes fake candids of Spiderman and sells them to his Daily Bugle.” Miguel deadpanned and you laughed. “Not every spider leads a strenuous academic life.”

“But you think I could?”

“I think you should. Y/N, you’re always challenging yourself physically. Maybe it’s time to do it academically.” He shrugged. “But what do I know?”

You pursed your lips in thought as you considered his words. Maybe not genetics, but a STEM field could be fun. And with your current academic status, you’d be able to swing one of the better programs with better labs and better opportunities. You could try your hand at different branches and see what stuck. Even if you didn’t find one, you’d have a better direction for a graduate school at the very least.

“Thanks.” You said honestly with a small smile. “That actually helped… You always do.”

He put a hand on your head and gave you a small shake that made you laugh.

You went home after that and headed straight into the library after you fished out your backpack. You ended up doing four applications and got a text from your mom after each one. With every submission, you felt a little less stuck.

#miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #miguel x reader #miguel spiderverse #spiderman fic #spiderman 2099 #across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderman fanfic #spiderverse fic #dad!miguel ohara #gn reader #gn!reader

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ben-wisehart · 1 year

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hi! do you ever feel like the bingqiu fandom is binghe biased? like a lot of the time its giving.. “wow binghe is our little precious bun who deserves the world and more! ..oh and stinky neet loser sqq is so blessed to have him lul” it feels unfair towards sqq :( it makes me sad hes no ones fave but thats okay like whatever right? but even when its bingqiu hes treated like an afterthought. like we have binghe fans criticising sqq for not doing more, sj fans are frankly delusional, sqh fans think hes “too mean” to their precious hamster, liushen fans only like him bc hes a good hole/dick for lqg (obligatory “not all men” lol) idk i only follow a handful of svsss twt accs because no one seems to like him, he feels either tolerated or treated as a gag character lol 🥹

i just dislike a lot of fanon bingqiu i think? i read all the books before hopping on twitter and i see some absolute rancid takes on there like the woobification of Shaun(tm) qinghua and jiumei.. which is easy enough to avoid tbf so whatever floats their boat idc. but when i follow bingqiu accs, it feels like OC x OC rather than ~bingqiu~ if that makes sense? like i LOVE the manipulative crybaby domtop x flustered thin face subby pillow princess they have going on!! and fanon bingqiu is just.. not it? and obv id never send hate or anything (i just block and keep it moving) but it makes it kinda sucky when the fandom is already teeny tiny and a large chunk of the fandom isnt what i envisioned/expected i guess which is so odd! when they essentially erase canon!! if it’s like some queerbaity ship or whatever, people can characterise them however they want but its like CANON how they act/are in bed/etc and its all taken away!!! idk im probably just whining sorry 😭

(i included all my thoughts here sorry for the spam!!)

hey, thanks for stopping by!! I definitely know what you mean with regards to SQQ, but I will assure you that there are very much still plenty of dedicated "sqq mains" out there. My sphere of influence on twitter is heavily biased toward people for whom sqq is their favourite character, so maybe I'm not getting a representative sample of the fandom overall, but he's definitely a very well loved character and has more than his fair share of people who do him justice in their writing and for whom he's their primary blorbo!! I remember posting this on reddit a while back and more than half of the responses (though admittedly a small sample size) had him as their fave. So, I don't think he's without appreciation!

But with that said, I do get where you’re coming from. I’m not gonna talk about readers who take his actions in bad faith and actively dislike him (HOW??), but as you’ve said, even among people who do like him, we don’t always understand him as well as we could. Most fans do get on some level that he’s an unreliable narrator, but it’s still very common for people to take him at face value and completely miss his depth. He’s a funny little guy with amusing narration, but he’s also kind and selfless, and he’s also smart and witty, and obnoxious and annoying, and frankly pretty insensitive, and deeply, deeply traumatised—and a million other things! He has layers.

I think all popular characters in fandom will inevitably start getting boiled down to a few key traits. And as somebody who’s been writing fic for 15 years, it’s really hard not to let your own biases colour your portrayal? I absolutely do it with SQQ!! I focus on his kinder, warmer aspects and downplay his flaws, I’ll readily admit that. We all get drawn to a favourite character for a certain trait, and that trait becomes the grit around which our interpretations form. If you’re somebody that likes silly characters, you’re going to write SQQ and dial his silliness up to eleven. If you like kind characters, you’ll write SQQ with emphasis on his kindness. None of these traits are OOC in and of themselves, but if you start to only read fanfic and don’t revisit the source material, you can get lost in what’s popular and forget all the depth that actually made them interesting in the first place. And once you’ve grown attached to a particular version of the characters in your head, it can be really hard to let go of it. I don’t really know where I’m going with this, but I'll add that I think protagonists are just particularly prone to this happening because they're usually the one the audience relates to most.

Idk if any of that really addresses the stuff you were talking about. You mentioned dom top Binghe/pillow princess sqq and to be honest I’m kind of reluctant to talk about this in depth because I’ve received negative comments in the past for supposedly being anti-bottom Binghe, when all I’ve ever said on this matter is that I think it’s a bit weird to insist that “I’m scared of hurting you so I might as well let you do it” is proof that Binghe is canonically a bottom. The fact that someone found that statement so threatening to their view of the characters that they would go to my ao3 page, click on the first fic they saw that happened to feature bottom SQQ and leave their holier-than-thou anonymous opinion there is just bizarre to me.

To be honest tho, it tends to be Binghe characterisation that puts me off moreso than Shen Qingqiu. The only SQQ characterisation that truly bothers me is when people write him as willing to hurt Binghe, or willing to do anything with underage Binghe, but there is a LOT of Binghe stuff that I’m sensitive too. Idk if you read this thread of mine but like, even my friends whom I love make “Binghe stalking/imprisoning/"atticwifing" SQQ” jokes and these bother me way more than any random stranger saying SQQ would get off on spanking Binghe.

And like, it’s kind of hard because objectively, Binghe is a very dark character, so it doesn't feel particularly OOC to say he would do those things, but it's about framing. It bothers me when the emphasis is on how fucked up he is and not how hard he's trying, because it implies a level of futility that I just don’t think is there in canon. To me the beauty of him is in how much doing right by SQQ doesn't come naturally to him, but he ultimately decides to do it anyway because he wants SQQ to be happy. (I feel it needs to be said that I don't mean this in a judgy "if you write dark Binghe you don't understand him and are a bad person" way. Just that I myself can't handle that, and I strongly disagree if you think it's where Bingqiu's relationship is headed).

but idk, I've found my corner and I'm very happy here. I actually don't read fic as often as you'd think, mostly because I am sooooo picky, so I totally get where you're coming from :) but the fandom is still decently sized and very diverse, so there are always going to be at least a few people who share your feelings, if you can find them!

#svsss meta #anonymous #askbox #thank you for sharing your thoughts!! im sorry it took ages to reply #and that I mostly went on a tangent. again. idk what I'm saying half the time

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graylinesspam · 5 months

Note

Glad you’re finally updating your ASOI series!! haven’t heard about it in a while

Speaking of… I had a thought the other day about the public’s view on the clones (and I had no one to share it with so I’ll just dump it in your ask box if you don’t mind)

Anyway, civilians in most of the clone centric fics I read are very hostile towards clones for some reason and I find it very implausible.

Just think of it, there are genetically modified soldiers who are badass, wear cool armor and are also extremely hot.

And now imagine if that happened in real life… I really think people would love them and also sympathize with them due to them technically being slaves. And Ahsoka’s interviews would only add fuel to the fire because now they have NAMES and can hear stories of their beloved heroes.

But what’s more important, everyone would be thirsting over them.

And what happens in real life when people unanimously thirst over someone? They make edits. They make edits and write fanfiction and create whole ass blogs dedicated to the object of their thirst.

I bet the boys constantly record holos of them being badasses on the frontlines and a lot of recordings would mysteriously end up leaked, so the editors would have more than enough material

I can imagine Ahsoka sending Rex some holo and it’s an edit of him to the most unholy track you’ve ever heard which has like a billion likes and WILDING comments (something among the lines of “he walks like it’s heavy” with the replies “I can hold it for him”). He honestly doesn’t know how to react to that, like he is mortified (and a bit flattered really).

And some parts of it might actually be cannon given how many girls hang out at 79’s, they definitely know where the good stuff is ;)

And then the fangirls become a big group of clone-sympathizers who go on strikes for for clones’ rights and it somehow leads to the discovery of the chips and somehow palpatine dies and order you-know-what never happens and the war ends and clones get refund for years of service and everyone lives happily ever after. Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

No but this 1000% percent. You nailed it in one. Theres already a lot of bad feelings toward the jedi that Palpatine has been sowing the seeds for a long time. So I'd be hesitant to say that the citizens are immidietly chill with the clones. That's just not how the propaganda machine works. Especially since pretty much the only reactions the citizens have to the clones in cannon are negative. HOWEVER, firstly the anti-clone protests are primarily on Coruscant where the clones are not doing anything positive, they're acting as an unwelcome military police (which is literally always bad) or they're being drunk and disorderly in public (which is objectively funny).

But as for the rest of the galaxy? especially the planets where the clones are actively doing some good? GIRL. The republic is trying to portray the clones as a professional unified military force, but Ahsoka totally undermines all of that by bringing clone business to public attention. And as internet culture always does the citizens have a fucking field day with every scrap of information she gives up.

Like babes you have no idea how much of this AU is fueled by me joke watching clone thirst traps and thinking "I bet this would actually happen in SW" It starts with the public hounding her for details about Anakin cuz he's like a heart throb and she's all like "can we talk about anything other than how bad you all want to fuck him?" and she insists on talking about the clones instead, so all these thirsty ass hos who've hopped on the stream to hear some juicy Anakin content get introduced to a ROSTER of clones instead and some are like "y'know they are kinda cute" and then theres simps and people asking all kinds of questions about them and Ahsoka's doing shitty personality breakdowns.

I just don't know how to write that content in a way that's like Interesting. like just get on tiktok yourself i guess.

But like also Ahsoka reading the guys to filth too. Like she starts hyping them up then realizes that she's just fueling the simps so she just starts being painfully honest with the fangirls about their favorite clones.

like "wolffe girlies, I hate to tell you this, He does not give a fuck about you. He is not the grumpy to your sunshine. the man is a surely old bastard. He's like 6 I think? doesn't matter he was born a pissed off old man. He doesn't like you. He'll never like you. He likes exactly five people in the entire galaxy and I'm not even on that list anymore. And you don't even want to know what I had to do to get on it. Please realize that you are not special and he's not secretly soft and protective on the inside. He will hurt you're feelings."

And when I say that she is ALWAYS ragging on Fives. Every time she compliments him she has to pause and say "This is just gonna go to his head." And she takes every chance possible to humble him. "He might be one of my favorite brothers and one of the best men I've ever known but he's a fucking disaster. If it wasn't for my entire force ability and the best luck streak I've ever seen he'd be dead." She knows he thinks he's a hot shot ladie's man and she will NOT support his ego.

With Rex though? GIRL! Ahsoka shows such obvious favoritism for Rex. She shares the most information about him and his fandom absolutely pops off. He is that clone. footage of him and his easy-to-identify blonde hair absolutely flood the fan sites. THE EDITS??? THE COMMENT SECTIONS????? But Ahsoka's like nah that's MY Captain. (I don't ship them at all but I do think of Ahsoka as a very possessive person and Rex is literally her platonic soul mate) Like she's split between saying "Of course Rex has the biggest fanbase he's the single best man in the galaxy. literally, the only man who hasn't disappointed me. he's perfect of course they like him." but then also, "None of you are good enough for him. You should be honored if he shows interest in you on account of him being perfection incarnate"

The clone fandom in my Au mimics the actual one quite a lot including the small personality traits of the clones being way over exaggerated and then universally accepted. Like Kix gaining popularity bc Ahsoka still responds to all questions about her health and wellbeing with quips like "Of course I took my meds, wouldn't want an angry medic on me" and "Yes i disinfected the wound. If I didn't Kix might have a stroke" or one time she shook a vitimin bottle and said "See Kix, I'm responsible, I'm taking them."

I could seriously go on forever like this, I've practically written an essay already. But yeah. You get it.

#star wars #ahsoka tano #clone wars #sw tcw #tcw #anakin skywalker #fanfic #501st #captain rex #ASOI #this post is unedited sorry if it's illegible

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childhoodtv-kalimthefairy · 8 months

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RidoAce week Day 1

Day 1: Childhood/Family

Yes I have a fic accompanying this drawing that took 3 hours and somehow ended up shitty. Also yes I’ll be doing both for each day, I am dedicated to this. I blame @writesology for getting me hooked on this ship. Anyways, Enjoy :)

When Riddle thinks about his childhood, he wouldn’t say it was a particularly exciting one. Really, it was more like a routine, he never had time to play with other kids because he was either studying or practicing magic. He remembered how he’d look outside his window, seeing kids playing and think to himself “Why would they waste there time? They don’t have a lot of time in life, why not dedicate it to preparing for a good future?”

Thinking back on it, he realized how idiotic it was. He didn’t know that though, at least until he met Trey and Chenya that fateful day. He remembered how they urged him to come outside to play with them, how that turned out to be one of the best decisions he has ever made. That day, for the first time, Riddle felt like a kid, a type of kid he read in his stories. Of course, everything must come to an end, that for Riddle was when his mother found out and banned him from independent studies. After that, for a few years, he forgot how it was like to be a kid.

Then he went to Night Raven College, where he reached the rope really quickly. Still, he wasn’t well liked, his temper and stricklier for the rules wasn’t something people liked. And for a while, he was fine with that.

Until he Overbloted.

In hindsight, he should’ve seen it coming. How all the repressed emotions, over use of his magic, and his general unhappiness made him finally reach his breaking point. Funny enough, the way he broke wasn’t cause of pressure, it was cause a loud-mouth first year decided that he had enough.

Ace Trappola. At first, he really did think Ace was attractive. Tall, beautiful eyes and seemed charming enough. Of course after eating his tart, Riddle decided he didn’t like him. He was a annoying, loud- mouth bother to him and he couldn’t see why he thought he was pretty.

But…After he overblotted, apologized to everyone and threw an unbirthday party, Ace seemed to warm up to him. Riddle, upon noticing this, found he didn’t mind.

As the months passed by, he found he really couldn’t shake the thought of the first-year out of his mind again. Everything Ace did, he noticed and it drives him crazy how he keeps finding them endearing. He wishes he could just squash those feelings down every time he talks to Ace, or sees him smile, or just being him just made his heart flutter.

He thought at the time that it would’ve been impossible for him to love him. They were so different, not just that but they had such a weird relationship, friends? Maybe? Something else. He wasnt sure at this point…

But then, much to his shock, Ace confessed.

It was when they were doing homework, Riddle helping him with a particular math question, when Ace told him.

“Dormhead, I really cant keep it to myself anymore, but i like you.”

And after that, it was history. Genuinely, the last 2 years in NRC had been one of the best years of my life, i felt like a kid again. Ace even gave me a promise ring at when I was graduating…

And now, were living together, almost 5 years later with out-

“Dad!”

Riddle looked up from his writing, grinning at the child who stood infront of him. He had Ace’s hair and personality but Riddles eyes, piercing blue.

“Daddd, come one papa made some pasta for dinner! He made it pink! Pretty pink!” The child whined, tugging on his fathers arm. Riddle grinned at him, “Now that sounds good right now. Will you take me to him, Orion?” Riddle asked, picking him up and kissing his cheeks. Just as he said that, Ace popped his head into the room, a grin on his own face. “Come on you two, dinner is gonna get cold if you dont get out here!”

Riddle and Orion nodded, the child kept chanting “pasta” as they went to dining room. As they sat down at the table, Riddle couldnt help but reminisc a bit. I mean, he was writing a book about his life since all his mothers…unsaviory, practicies came to light. Plus, he wanted to have something to look back on. But he couldnt help but think how ironic this was.

As a child he was told to look forward, follow the rules, marry a woman and to act maturely. But here he was, sitting with his husband and child, chatting happily, not caring for the rules currently.

If he thinks about it, alot of this is thanks to Ace, Trey and the others.

He has alot to be happy about.

If he could go back in time, hed tell his youngerself to love himself a little bit more. Take risks and to not listen to his mother.

But, if he did he would miss all of this, wouldnt he?

#ridoace #ridoaceweek23 #ace trappola #riddle rosehearts #riddle x ace #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #fanart #twst #Yes there kids named orion #I will probably add him on epic musical AU I have going #Bro I love this ship #Kill me rn they are so cute #But the art and writing came out so shitty 😭

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ivegennedmylastloss · 4 months

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hidey hodey neighborinoes i know i may or may not have disappeared for like half a fucking year but brain does what brain do. since i am now willing to admit that i likely will not find the motivation to write a full length fic like i would want, i wanted to post the “outline” (re: complete gibberish only past me could understand). at some point i’ll try to compile all the tidbits i had sprinkled across drafts and docs and try to clean it up a little but, well, im not even sure what i meant in some spots. hopefully ill pull the writers block out of my ass one day but until then, take this word vomit:

(for clarifications sake, r= red/ranboo, g= green/charlie, b= blue/sneeg, h= hetch, sfm= showfall media)

retelling of ep three from hetch’s pov. mask broke sfm doesn’t know. reset after stab still aware of what he’s doing but can’t control himself. hopeful ending with planning to save the trio and get them out?

the closet sfm is onto hetch so he has to do damage control ran receiving no instructions. things settle scenes been dragging he panics and basically controls r to kill ethan

maybe broadcasted to a different universe. problem w family and friends recognize

maybe broadcasted to rich assholes like in the purge/gladiator type deal?

the face of the hacker wasn’t actually supposed to do things but did anyways

follow up w/ rgb saving him g and b reluctant. r insist they won’t let anyone else die because of them. idk burn the mall maybe torch it like a fuckin wasp nest

employees stop at the door mannequins little nightmares two.

all four struggling down the road maybe r passing out carried by g or b

hot wire a car

traumatize gas station clerk

fire department from fire alarm

hetch flag down car 2 options:

car sped off but called police for them

offered ride to hospital

hetch the sidewalk isn’t wide enough fourth wheel type deal mostly unscathed compared to rgb but smol bean has anxiety and left over programming. weak little noodle arms can’t help shit. b sending hella death glares

b wouldn’t want to help hetch

r electrocuted from attempted mask removal

through the power of friendship and laws of physics or electrical plasma whatever it isn’t fatal hoorah

hetch stunned doesn’t help gb fuckin pissed at him

paramedics confused about what happened to these very dedicated cosplayers that are found half dead barely hours after the live finale

r wakes and is terrified thinking they’re at the box and start screaming for gb. hetch freezes g n b have to be held back by police

hospital r coma from noggin surgery (medically induced for healing cause wtf) g and b want to kick hetch’s ass only stop cause of r

prob not ccs maybe r foster kid hinted maybe

b needs to get to punch someone. american healthcare so probably a doctor or a nurse

hetch medically released first<irrelevant travel distance. hetch watching charlie and sneeg have friends and family going in and out but r has no on so hetch goes

others not allowed in camp out in waiting room. ran wakes up and freaks. competent doc allows them in and r calms down. good doc fights for them to be able to stay in the room psych health. special accommodations are made no tv in room gets a double room for more beds/couches <<needs special room post brain surgery op icu maybe nurse/doc maneuverability <<< maybe one allowed in at a time

^the nice doctor thrown in for pity maybe philza if crossover? detective techno? or both detectives that almost beat the shit outta the responding cops for fucking up the most important case they’d ever get

sfm sends an employee pretending to be ranboos mom. the others are scared but also she is acting like a mom that lost her kid so maybe it’s okay??<< others not allowed in the room since family only? nope ran wakes up freaks cause that bitch ain’t momboo (dead question mark? orphan? don’t tell techno)

employee tries to strangle r no loose ends: doc pulls her off; trio breaks in hetch proves himself?; r is a bamf and defends themself (hitting? reverse uno they strangle her? rips out iv and stabs her?< needle to weak would have to be in eye)

r scared to sleep from cabin electrocution and execution hold hand 👉👈?

carousel saved NO FIRE IF CAROUSEL perhaps a group meet for victims ranboo and hetch reluctant to enter cause they think they’re their murderers. eef spots r and runs to hug him others follow positive to r wary to hetch b says hetch is the one responsible for saving all of them bada bing bada boom happy ending

#generation loss #genloss #gen loss #generation loss ranboo #ranboo #yell at me if i need to remove some tags im still a newbie #this draft has been sitting on my conscience like a tungsten cube and i just wanted to get it out #hello person sorting by new scrolling through the tags i hope you have a good day

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jimmyjrsmusoems · 7 months

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20 Questions for Fic Writers Tag Game

ty for the tag @babsvibes <33333333333

How many works do you have on ao3? 8

What's your total word count? 38,525

What fandoms do you write for? bob’s burgers

Top 5 fics by kudos:

you would break your back to make me break a smile

oh peach pit, where’d the hours go?

and tell all the stars above, this is dedicated to the one i love

falling for your fool's gold

a message in a bottle is all i can do (standing here, hoping it gets to you)

Do you respond to comments? i try so, so hard to respond to comments…..but i’m also very guilty of saying “that’s so sweet, let me form a coherent thought and then i’ll get back to them!”……..and then i wake up in a cold sweat three months later because it came back to haunt me in my dreams and i remember that i never responded. it’s something i’m working on! if i ever respond to your comments months down the line, i’m so sorry, just know that it probably made me cry when i read it 😔💖

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? my angstiest fic(s) either haven’t ended or haven’t been posted, and i’ve primarily posted fluff. i guess the first chapter of all i know, is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life is chock-full of teen angst

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? falling for your fool's gold or don’t be afraid to jump, then fall (into me)

Do you get hate on fics? not to my face!

Do you write smut? write??? yes. finish and post??? hasn’t happened yet but a girl can dream

Do you write crossovers? nope, and i’m not interested

Have you ever had a fic stolen? not to my knowledge but if it ever happens i will pull a john wick (the fic would be my puppy)

Have you ever had a fic translated? no, but i probably wouldn’t say no if someone asked 🥰

Have you ever co-written a fic before? no, and i don’t think i would want to - i have a hard enough time meeting my own deadlines. i would hate to drag someone down with me

What's your all-time favorite ship? 💖💞💕💓💞💕💖 tinimmy 💖💘💘💞💗💞

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will? you would break your back to make me break a smile 😔

What are your writing strengths? i’ve been told that i’m good at writing in-character / capturing voices, and i think that coming up with ideas / finding inspiration is very easy for me. i also think i have a talent for writing fluff and missing scene fics

What are your writing weaknesses? finding the goddamn motivation, self-doubt, time management, self-imposed deadlines, writing chronologically, accidentally repeating things / words because i work on the same thing for soooooo long that i end up forgetting what i've already said

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language? it’s not something that i see myself doing, but i think as long as you’re being respectful it’s fine

First fandom you wrote for? the first that i can remember is smosh 😭

Favorite fic you've ever written? all i know, is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life or don’t be afraid to jump, then fall (into me) (my two lowest rated fics.....lol)

#fic stuff

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lino-jagiyaa · 2 years

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SFW/Soft prompts:

Dialogue:

“i just wanted to remind you that you're doing a great job, and to keep up the hard work! i know that it can sometimes be a bit difficult but i promise your dedication and efforts will pay off.”

“If I could make everything better with a hug, I'd hug you the whole day until it was all okay”

“I can’t even explain in words, how much I love you”

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me”

“If you're hurting, please tell me. I don't know what it feels like, but I want to be here for you.”

“I want to understand what you're going through. I'm on your side. You are not in this alone”

“It’s just you and me against the world”

“Can we stay like this forever?”

“I’ll never let you go, don’t worry”

“I’m better when I’m with you”

“Because I love you!”

“Shut up and kiss me”

“Please don’t leave me”

“It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway.

“How about a kiss?”

“Your bed head is really cute”

“I love it when you get cuddly like this”

“Here, let’s share the blanket”

“But I wanna hear you sing!”

“You don’t ever have to pretend. Not with me. Not ever.”

“Just tell me everything’s gonna be okay.”

“I love you. Every part of you. Even the parts you don’t like.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything. We can just sit here”

“I can stay, if you want.”

“I’m not going anywhere”

“You look really beautiful in the moonlight”

Actions/scenarios:

Hearing a song that reminds them of you

Looking deeply into your eyes

Giving you a nickname

Giving them a nickname

When they’re crying

When they pick you up from work/school

Smelling your cologne/perfume in a crowd

Standing up for their s/o

Hearing your laugh

Walking together

Mornings with them

Letting them choose your outfit/matching outfits w them

When you ask them to help you w your homework

Reactions when you fall asleep on them

When you wear their clothes

Dates w them

Send in any number and idol from this list and I’ll write a mini fic or drabble!!:

skz, ateez, enhypen, txt, bts, twice, & itzy

(for now since I know them well enough 😅)

When requesting: Please note weither you’d like the reader to be male, female or gender neutral. Otherwise I’ll automatically make them gender neutral :)

Choose only one action and one or two dialogue :)

Leave the requests in my inbox ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

fill out this form to be added to my tag list!

Pls tag me if you use any of these! I'd love to see what you come up with :)

#stray kids #skz #stray kids drabbles #stray kids imagines #twice #romance prompts #k pop fluff #ateez #enhypen #itzy #txt #gender neutral reader #rin's mailbox ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡#linojagiyaa

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wackus-bonkus-maximus · 2 years

Note

So binge read odnlb and

First of all how dare you make me more invested in your Kagami and Felix dynamic than any other ship??? How could you do this to me?? I have been ruined as a shipper. RUINED. I will never, ever be able to get over your Felix and Kagami in this fic and how wonderfully they interact with all their bluffs and pride and calculations and CONSTRAINED FEELINNNGSS I - this is it for me. I’m done. I’m gone.

You wanna know how I’ve been ruined?? You wanna k n o w ? I will never be able to ship either of them with anyone else now. It feels wrong. It feels like a betrayal after seeing how HEART ACHINGLY BEAUTIFULLY they could click and the amazing angst they could work and

And you know this really small thing which hurt me so much is that whole thing you pulled where she has never had trouble differentiating the two because FELIX HAS A HARDNESS AND SHARPNESS THAT MAKES HIM HIS OWN PERSON like not because she recognised Adrien easily! oh no! twas not her ex she recognised easily, no no noooooo, it was because she recognised FELIX easily, FELIX, like it’s almost as if her own hard edges recognise the soulmate in his sharp edges okay that brOKE ME IN TWO like why why whyyyy would you do this to my innocent shipper heart, how could you make me more invested in Kagami and Felix than the actual lovesqUARE?!

Like but at the same time I shouldn’t blame you because I love both characters a lot individually -I love their complexities, how Kagami is Good with a little ruthless in her and Felix is Ruthless with a little good in him- I just never opened my eyes to how well their opposite symmetry two sides of the same coin mirror opposite chess masters dynamic works as a ship until you wrOTE MY SHIPPER’S RUINATION LIKE DAMN HOW CAN I COME BACK FROM THIS?!

I mean yes of course I still care about Marinette and Adrien but I know I’ll enjoy them in this fic and on top of that they’ll always have canon and other fics too, whereas I will never be able to enjoy your Kagami and Felix outside your writing because the ml writers don’t have half the brilliant characterisation or good taste in ships and other fanfic writers just cannot pull this dynamic off okay, like

Like I genuinely don’t think anybody else can pull off this characterisation of how Kagami and Felix are in a way two sides of the same coin - they are both fully on the side of (their own idea of) Justice and they will be a little cruel if they need to be to do so, but at the same time they are both so dedicated to protecting the people they love - and this is the most interesting bit because I feel like what you’re implying is that if it’s for the people they love then Felix and Kagami actually both have the potential to become a bit of a hypocrite against their values (I mean Felix I think it’s almost outright confirmed he has/does this rn with him working for Monarque but I’m intrigued how far he will go), like not compromising on the bottom line, I think neither of them will ever compromise on what they think is Absolute Injustice, but they may compromise enough to bend their morals just a bit, so long as they don’t Cross That Line (for Kagami I wonder if she will ever even get near that line while for Felix I wonder if he’d be willing to move the line signpost by an inch or two)

While we are on the subject how dare you imply Felix has kept her at an arm’s length this whole time because he’s insecure about being a senti and now you’re going to have her take his ring, and he won’t just be hurt or betrayed (as you’ve hinted he kinda already expects the betrayal bc he knows where Kagami’s values stand) he will be humiliated just like Adrien neevr wanted LB to look at him like that (and LB doesn’t even KNOW-know), for Felix to have his deepest darkest secret blasted on full volume to the ONE PERSON he never wanted to find out, and for her look at him as if he was LESS of a human even if it was just for a moment, even if it is just in that second of the initial shock - I- I need a minute

No I’m genuinely tortured by this, I keep thinking of all the potentials of how that scene would go like just imagining- like how do amoks work? does Kagami realise whose amok it is the minute she touches it? I feel like Luka’s suspicion of her mean her betraying LB on a small-medium degree is inevitable, so this could be her moral bending point, her freaking out and deciding to keep Felix’s secret and taking a ring lookalike to LB instead which isn’t an amok and is just waved off as a sentimental ring of his mother’s.

(even better if Felix doesn’t know know that She Knows and continues with his farce none the wiser so Kagami has the time to adjust to the revelation and my boy is spared some PAIN)

And Kagami can rationalise it against her sense of justice because forcing someone to divulge information against their will is just evil, really, and she can’t let LB do that as she knows she inevitably will and it doesn’t hurt their cause for her not to know Felix is a senti so why not keep that on the downlow? Though I imagine it must absolutely backfire/blow up in her face later

(Also Luka would have no right to judge Kagami for keeping secrets to protect the ones she loves considering but I feel like he still totally would 😂 that would be funny if he called her out later and someone was like Uhhh pot meet kettle?)

BUT THEN there is the alternative where you don’t figure out whose amok it is when you touch it and I’m like does Kagami hand the ring to LB first without realising first and they all find out only when LB commands “Adrien” to come to their location?

Ngl part of me wants to see Kagami wounded by her own betrayal - like her being shocked and appalled when Felix is forced to show up instead of Adrien as they expected, seeing the humiliation and betrayal on his face, and LB obviously doesn’t care bc Felix isn’t Adrien, LB doesn’t think there’s any good in him, so she’s not gonna show mercy because this is her CHANCE to find out the truth, everything about their identities and hideout has all just fallen into her lap, she’s totally ready to force Felix to bend to her will and interrogate the pants off him, and HONESTLY I would metaphorically DIE if at that point Kagami just snaps ‘no’.

Like silk over steel low-key feral protective Kagami saying no you are not about to take away his free will I don’t care if it’s for the greater good or not, no okay, N - O, squaring off against feral vengeful LB who may just lose it and actually Hurt Her because she is so close, SO CLOSE, to finding out the name of the man she has to murder for her kitty and the girl she thought was her ally just cares about her villainous boyfriend. bug vs dragon almost fight over peacock’s ring? 😬

Lol also it would be funny if we had indignant Luka in the background like I TOLD U NOT TO TRUST HER (pot, kettle) and I can just imagine Felix dryly saying to Kagami ‘it’s a bit rich of you to try and stop her now when you’re the one who gave the ring to her in the first place’ (I’m so convinced sarcasm would be his coping mechanism 😭)

Like see this is the interesting thing about Felix and Kagami that we don’t have with the lovesquare, it’s seeing how they interact within the context of their clashing morals, bc LB and CN are usually morally aligned in that they agree on what is Right, but Kagami and Felix aren’t like that, they Really Do Not Agree on what’s Right so it’s interesting if/how far one or both will compromise for the other, and how that will affect their relationship with each other and others

But like I don’t even know if either of the two scenarios above are even close to the mark bc there are clearly so many layers to each of their characterisations and idk if I’m even interpreting half of it right, like but the beautiful thing us I could be totally wrong and still love them because you can tell you’ve put so much thought into their interactions and motivations

and I’m so sad about this like I’m so in love with a ship that’s doomed to exist only in this fic, do you know how tragic it is to be addicted to a drug with only ONE supplier for a limited period of time???? I guess I can kinda think of it as like shipping a movie ship but I still cannot get over this personal tragedy okay don’t judge me

To sum up I am more invested in this fic’s feligami than s5’s lovesquare at this point and honestly I feel victimised ;-;

YESSSS I GOT ANOTHER ONE!!! beloved anon, welcome to the feligami circus <3

the idea of feligami was born when i saw this in s4 "Gabriel Agreste." me and my sister thought it was hilarious how they glared at each other once, then ignored each other the rest of the time. idk if i've said this, but it's actually at my sister's request (plus my own wish fulfillment) i wrote feligami into one does not love breathing. (i tried to put them into my other fic What Makes a Monster last year, but had no room D: )

you really said what i love about my felix and kagami best. i'm just. in AWE. not only do you understand how i have them diametrically opposed as players in monarque & ladybug's game, but you also understand how they function as characters!! i don't even think i could have stated it better, really, which is why i was grinning like an idiot while reading your ask.

taking what you said about "it’s almost as if [kagami's] own hard edges recognise the soulmate in his sharp edges" & "FELIX HAS A HARDNESS AND SHARPNESS THAT MAKES HIM HIS OWN PERSON like not because she recognised Adrien easily!" -- THIS WAS IMPORTANT I'M RLY GLAD IT GOT TO YOU! something felix uses to his advantage is his identical appearance to adrien. take that away from him with kagami, and what does he really have left? this "levels the playing field" between them, so to say, and i think that was what initially drew him to kagami. that she could tell felix was felix not by recognizing adrien, but by seeing him for who he really is <3

"Kagami is Good with a little ruthless in her and Felix is Ruthless with a little good in him" <- aaahh this GOT me, anon! and it's why i ship them & made them main side characters in the fic. by placing them on opposing sides yet weaving their storylines together, we get to see them bring out their true selves in each other. felix needs that; he's always being sneaky/has a trick up his sleeve, while kagami is blunt and direct and doesn't put up with bs. the more involved they get with one another, the more we see them bringing out those opposing qualities in each other; felix coming clean, and kagami sneaking around as a double agent. makes me think of this line of analysis: "I think neither of them will ever compromise on what they think is Absolute Injustice, but they may compromise enough to bend their morals just a bit, so long as they don’t Cross That Line." YES ABSOLUTELY!!!! aaahahah it's SO fun to write anon!! i'm glad you enjoy it as much as i do heheheheh.

i do dare imply. i dare all the implications. you guys are getting pretty good at guessing what my plans are, i must say. i've even taken some of your theories/guesses/hypotheses and pasted them in my notes doc so i can pack more of a punch when the time comes :DD HOWEVER you will never get me to admit to anything! NEVER! but i can promise that it will hurt, yes. i can promise that whatever u think felix and kagami are planning, it will indeed blow up in their faces (rip to your metaphorical death, anon). and i also promise this fic gets softer. i swear. that goes for feligami as well ;))

i'm sorry for your struggles. thank you for loving my feligami as much as i do. we can be in the post odblb feligami desert together (until i write them into another fic, or find another BETTER one).

thank you for this essay anon it made my day <33 there's nothing i like better than reading analyses on my own work before it's even done. and also thank you for binge reading odnlb! i hope you're ok bc most people seem to not be & i'm really getting worried for you guys.

#felix graham de vanily #felix fathom #kagami tsurugi #feligami #argos #ryuko #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #odnlb #one does not love breathing #odnlb discussion #odnlb theories #odnlb analysis

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