#from what we see of his interactions with others he's polite and respectful if (after the time skip) cold and severe

[symphonyofsilence]

Daily reminder that most of the sect members follow their sect leaders because they were born to that sect, or that sect was stable and powerful enough to provide them with security, and the Wen Remnants followed Wei Wuxian even though they were afraid of him because that was their only option, but the YMJ members that followed Jiang Cheng ever since the Sunshot Campaign freely CHOSE to do so. He was 17. And an extremely traumatized seventeen-year-old at that. He was simultaneously looking for his brother and participating in a war while rebuilding his sect. Lotus Pier was destroyed. There were only 3 people left of the YMJ sect (2 as far as they knew with WWX missing.) The sect was brought to ruins. The YMJ sect couldn't have had much riches left. But the new sect (and they were enough for YMJ to be called a sect again) CHOSE to follow Jiang Cheng.

[adascore]

THE MISSED SWAP

pairing: alexia putellas x england!reader

warnings: swearing. reader receives a push. jealous alexia. mentions of alexia doing her acl.

author's note: finally finished this!! love writing about the complexity of their rivalry!

part 1 | masterlist

•••••••

The press conference room was filled with all sorts of journalists; Spaniards, Brits or just avid women's football researchers who were hyped about the upcoming friendly between Spain and England.

Between Y/N and Alexia rested only a few metres, their respective coaches accompanying them. Sarina and her captain sat composed waiting on the start of the conference, while their opposition exuded a calm confidence that would have intimidated any other pair.

Despite the heartwarming interaction at the Champions League final a month prior, there was no evidence of any kind of friendship as the two star players avoided each other's eyes, and any traces of the camaraderie from Turin seemed distant.

In an attempt to break the ice, Alexia discreetly sought a glance from the striker, hoping for a sign of recognition or acknowledgment, but the Spaniard was only met with a polite smile from Sarina.

The midfielder felt almost stupid for having looked forward to this, seeing her again after Turin. She'd hoped it was the start of a change, one where they could talk to one another without the forced formalities and could even become friends.

Yeah, she felt incredibly stupid.

The moderator signaled the start of the pre-match press conference. ''Good morning, everyone. Welcome to the press conference with Spain coach and captain Jorge Vilda and Alexia Putellas, as well as England coach and captain Sarina Wiegman and Y/N Y/L. We are going to start with the questions.''

The first few minutes were standard; asking about the expectations, main thoughts about the opposition, how they were all feeling about the upcoming European Championships, etc. The four of them answered all the questions directly and in a diplomatic manner.

However, it was a certain Spanish journalist that decided to shake things up. ''Hello, everyone. This question is for Alexia,'' the man spoke up in his native language, ''after the Champions League final, we witnessed, what seemed, an emotional interaction between you and Y/N. Would you say your relationship has changed since then? Or was it just a moment for the camera's? Will it have any impact on the game tomorrow?''

Alexia maintained her diplomatic tone, carefully choosing her words. ''Good morning. The final in Turin was an intense and emotional moment for both of our teams. With Y/N, we share respect for football, the game. Now, we are here to represent our countries in preparation for the Euro's.''

The reporter, undeterred by the captain's media-trained answer, pressed with a sly smile. ''But is there a good relationship between you two? There seemed to have been a connection of some sorts.''

''I understand there might be interest in our personal relationship, but I want to focus on our match tomorrow.'' She answered with poise, not entertaining the controversy he was trying to stir.

Y/N couldn't help but smirk at the journalist's persistence. Despite not understand their language, it was clear Alexia hadn't given him the satisfaction of actually answering his question.

The moderator urged for someone else to take the microphone, quickly wanting to move on before it became more of an issue. The word was then given to an English journalist.

''Hi, for the Daily Mail,'' he greeted them, Y/N having to fight the urge to roll her eyes at the mention of for which news outlet he worked for, ''for Y/N, uh, many of the players of the Spanish team play for Barcelona, and we all saw what happened last month. Do you think their defeat had something to do with your presence or maybe that the rivalry between you and Alexia Putellas was a factor in that?''

Y/N raised an eyebrow at the loaded question, but remained composed. ''Every match is different, and Spain is also different from Barcelona. Football is a team sport, and the outcome of a match depends on a lot of different factors. I don't think it is fair to attribute the result of a match to the presence or absence of a single player. I mean- I'm a footballer, not a witch.'' She concluded her answer with a lighthearted joke, relieved it caused some of the tension in the room to disappear.

''A question for both the coaches,'' the conference moved on again, ''how do each of you feel about another meeting between Alexia and Y/N? They're not just the star players of your teams, but also of women's football. Does it add any excitement or pressure to the match?''

Sarina responded first. ''Well, every match is a great opportunity to have good battles, as a group or as individuals. They're both exceptional talents so it will be a treat to watch for all of us, but the main focus is on the team performance and preparing for the European Championship next month.''

Jorge nodded, seemingly agreeing. ''Individual matchups add excitement, but the success of the team remains a priority.''

The press conference concluded not much later, the four of them alleviated they could get up and leave.

As they exited, Y/N and Alexia found themselves walking side by side, albeit a bit awkwardly. The corridor felt like a neutral ground, free from the scrutiny of the media.

“They're always searching for stuff…” Y/N broke the silence, still somewhat frustrated over the questions about their personal relationship.

Alexia nodded in agreement, her expression reflecting a similar feeling. “Yeah, so stupid.”

The quietness returned, both women unsure of what to say.

“Congrats on winning the league again, by the way.” Alexia rambled, the words leaving her mouth like a speed train.

Y/N smiled, appreciating the attempt to continue the conversation. “Thanks, you too.”

“Thank you.” The midfielder hesitated, a subtle struggle visible on her face.

Alexia sighed, searching for the right words. “Look, about Turin…”

Y/N raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “What about it?”

There was a pause as they walked, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air.

“I wanted to talk more, you know, after the match.” She admitted, a hint of vulnerability in her voice.

The England captain slowly nodded. “Ah, yeah, it looked like that, but then your coach whisked you away.” She awkwardly laughed.

“I don't know why he did that, it probably felt as weird to me as it did to you,” Alexia responded, “but I just wanted to thank you for your words, cause… you didn't have to come up to me, but you did.”

Y/N smiled warmly. “You really don't have to thank me. I know what it's like as captain, it's tough. It just felt like the right thing to do.”

“What you said about our growth and stuff, it means more than you think, you know, to the team.” The Spaniard quickly added the last bit, not wanting to get too sentimental.

“I'm glad if it brought a bit of comfort to your team. I meant it, you guys have really made a great transition.” Y/N wasn't by any means a great loser, but she would always give a team credit when it's due.

Alexia nodded appreciatively. “Thanks. I'm, uh, excited about tomorrow.”

The England captain grinned, feeling a subtle shift in their dynamic. "Yeah, it should be a good game.''

“Yes, it should. Hopefully it goes my way this time.''

Y/N loudly laughed at Alexia's words, taking the Barcelona midfielder by surprise. ''I didn't know you were this funny, Putellas.''

Alexia chuckled, a genuine smile breaking through.

“Y/N…”

The striker turned back to where the call of her name came from, and she was met with the hesitant face of Sarina.

She gave her coach a hand motion that said ‘I'm right there, let me wrap this up'. The Dutchwoman seemed to understand as she gave both players a nod.

“Uh, I gotta go- team stuff, but I'll see you tomorrow then.” Y/N bid goodbye.

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

Alexia watched her rival leave, eyes roaming over her athletic figure that was adorned in an England training kit that seemed to highlight every curve of her body.

The Spaniard had to shake herself out of her daze, not knowing what came over her.

As she turned to head in the opposite direction, she refocused herself on the game ahead and realized she had to put aside the emotions and complexities that seemed to find her every time she encountered the England captain.

It had already cost her one match, she wouldn't dare let it happen again.

The score wasn't reflective of how exciting and high-pressing the match actually was. Neither side had scored, but there had been plenty of great chances.

It also included a lot of fouls, specifically on the English captain by the Spanish players.

Y/N found herself on the receiving end of another rough challenge, this time from Carmona.

As the referee's whistle pierced through the stadium, signaling the foul, Y/N couldn't contain her frustration. “Fucking cunt.” She muttered under her breath.

The Real Madrid defender, catching wind of the insult, didn't take it lightly. “What did you say?” She exclaimed, responding with a push.

The striker didn't budge, simply giving her an unimpressed look. “I said you're a fucking cunt.” She repeated her words, not one bit intimidated.

The tension escalated, and the players from both teams rushed to get involved.

More of the Spanish players stepped in to defend the young player, throwing insults at Y/N. While the England players tried to form a protective barrier around their captain, not shy of vulgar words themselves.

Amidst the chaos, Alexia took a step forward, signaling to her Spanish teammates to calm down. “That's enough.” She told Olga, placing herself in-between the Brit and the defender.

“Let it go, it's just a friendly. No need for this.” Her authoritative tone resonated, and she managed to diffuse the situation.

Olga, still visibly upset, reluctantly stepped back, but mumbled some more Spanish swear words that had Patri giving her a light push.

Alexia, with an apologetic look, turned around to address Y/N, but Rachel intervened, pulling her captain away from the aftermath of the chaos.

“We need to take more advantage of the counterattacks, we're just giving everything away.” Rachel immediately focused back on the game, whispering her thoughts.

Y/N caught Alexia's intention, but let it go, redirecting her attention to the unfolding match.

In a retaliatory turn of events, Georgia committed a foul against Alexia.

The England captain didn't want it to escalate the way it had only a few minutes before, so she quickly addressed her teammate.

“G, tone it down!”

The midfielder gave a thumbs up and an apology to Alexia, which the Spaniard accepted.

The final whistle blew, ending the intense encounter with a draw. Both sides were disappointed not to walk away with the win, but the result felt right to the match.

As the players exchanged handshakes and words of sportsmanship, Y/N and Alexia found themselves facing each other once more.

“Good match.” They chorused, shaking hands with a content smile.

“I guess it didn't really go your way this time.” Y/N chuckled, recalling Alexia's words from the day before.

The midfielder laughed, relieved there was no tension between them anymore. “It was tough today. Great defense from your team.”

“Thanks, your attacks warranted it.” The Brit playfully rolled her eyes.

They walked together towards the officials to shake their hands, making small talk about the match.

“Hey… your shirt…” Y/N switched topics, pointing at the red Spain jersey.

“Yeah?” Alexia's eyes widened slightly, almost beaming at the fact that the striker would want to swap shirts.

“My teammate, Katie, she's quite the fan and would you do me a favor and like, ask her to exchange kits? She didn't get to play today and it would really cheer her up.”

A tinge of red colored Alexia's cheeks as she realized her misinterpretation. “Oh, uh, yeah, no problem.”

“You don't have to, if you want to keep the shirt.” Y/N noticed the slight expression change in the opposition's face.

“No, I really want to. I'll ask her, no big deal.” Alexia quickly brushed it off, embarrassed by her own thoughts.

“Thank you so much, it will mean a lot to her. Usually she's a chatterbox, but…” The striker trailed off.

Alexia nodded, finding it a sweet gesture of the rivaling captain.

“Uh, actually, could you do the same? One of the younger girls, Claudia, really looks up to you and would appreciate the shirt.”

The midfielder saw her younger teammate lingering not too far from where they were standing, not subtle in observing the captains' interaction.

“She's the small girl that's standing behind you.” Alexia smiled, laughing as Pina pretended to look at the crowd once she caught her Barcelona teammate watching her.

Y/N followed her eyes and gave Claudia a wave, which the girl shyly returned.

“I‘ll ask as well,” she softly responded, “uh, so I'll see you in the Euro's final then?” Y/N grinned, teasingly.

“Yeah, I'll see you there.”

As they parted ways, each player headed toward the teammate they had promised to exchange shirts with.

“ALEXIA PUTELLAS TEARS ACL BEFORE WOMEN's EUROS”

Y/N read the headline in utter shock, in disbelief that the Spain captain had tore her ACL in training, the day before the start of the tournament.

“You heard about Putellas?” Jill interrupted her thoughts, joining her in the lounge that had been set up for the team.

“Yeah.” She nodded, closing her phone.

“I feel for her.” The Manchester City player sympathized.

Y/N remained quiet, wondering how Alexia was doing- mentally then.

“Are you two friends?” Jill inquired, confused by the captain's silence.

She looked at her older friend, lifting her shoulders. “I don't know. We're not enemies.”

Intrigued by the cryptic response, Jill couldn't resist probing further. “You guys were laughing with each other after the Spain match.”

“Yeah, and?” Y/N chuckled, uncomfortable by her teammate's stare.

The midfielder raised an eyebrow. “What's the story?”

“There is no story, we just had a laugh.” The captain retorted.

“You used to shut down like a toddler whenever someone mentioned her, and now you're acting like buddies together. What happened, Cap?” Jill was properly confused on what the status was with the two football stars.

“I won, that's what happened.” Y/N opened her phone again, hoping her response was enough to satisfy Jill's curiosity.

The older one frowned. “Won what?”

“I won the final. Champions League. She lost.” It was a vague clarification, they both knew that.

“And that makes you friends?”

Y/N sighed, sensing the skepticism in Jill's tone. “You don't get it, Scott- be glad that you don't.”

“So what if you hadn't won?” Jill asked, a subtle gravity behind her question.

Y/N took a moment before responding, contemplating the hypothetical scenario. “There was no way I would have lost that final. Not in a hundred years.”

“So humble you are.” Her teammate sarcastically commented.

The captain dramatically winked at the older woman.

“But seriously… what is that?” Jill made a gesture with her hand, as if she was physically pointing between her and Alexia.

“Don't know, I guess she isn't as pretentious as I thought she was.” Y/N answered, recognizing the wrong perspective she had of the Spaniard.

Jill raised an eyebrow. “She probably thought the same of you.” She laughed.

“I guess so.” The younger player admitted. “Should I send her a message? Like wishing her well or something?” Y/N asked Jill, holding up her phone.

She looked at the striker's phone, considering the suggestion. “Why not? I can't think of one player who wouldn't be happy to get a message from you.”

“Alright…” Y/N mumbled, opening Instagram and pulling up Alexia's account.

Jill glanced at her screen. “You don't even follow her!” She scoffed.

The captain looked from her screen to Jill, and back to her screen. “Yeah, and?”

“Follow her, and send the message.” The midfielder instructed.

“Are you my boss?” Y/N playfully rolled her eyes, but followed up on Jill's instruction.

| Y/N.Y/L: hey, heard about the injury. hope you're doing alright, and know that a lot of people are behind you. take care ❤️

“Good enough for Miss Scott?” Y/N asked her teammate.

Jill nodded, approvingly. “Look at you, extending an olive branch.'' She teased.

''An olive branch? We never had any problems.'' The younger one frowned, as an olive branch usually meant for there to have been a conflict.

The Manchester City player chuckled at her confusion. ''Well, it's a nice gesture. I'm sure she'll appreciate it.''

Y/N shrugged. ''It's a serious injury, she's at least out for like 8-9 months. I can't imagine her not playing with Spain and Barca.''

Jill nodded, a similar sympathetic look on her face. ''Yeah, I just hope she comes out better of it.''

''She will.'' Y/N said, voice full of confidence.

It was still Alexia. La Reina. She would not be taken down easily.

Meanwhile, freshly arrived in her home country, Alexia finally unlocked her phone after a long and hectic day. A certain notification stood out, it couldn't be could it?

She could feel her heartbeat as she saw the message from Y/N. She hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether to open it immediately or not. Alexia edged herself, answering everyone else's messages before getting to the Brit's.

After an eternity, she decided to open and read it as her curiosity got the better of her.

Alexia's eyes softened as she read over the words. Y/N's DM was not something that anyone hadn't told her before, but her rivaling captain had taken the time to wish her well and that meant more than Alexia was ready to admit yet.

| alexiaputellas: hey, I am back home now so doing better! thank you for your words and good luck at the tournament! ❤️

The captain stared at her phone, pondering on how their relationship had changed so much- at least to the point where they were sending messages to one another. Yet, here they were, exchanging words beyond the constraints of the game.

She couldn't deny the intrigue she had towards the striker. The phenomenon that was the England captain was unexplored territory for the Spaniard. Everything she had though before about Y/N all seemed to fade as she got more and more glimpses of who her rival actually was.

As Alexia wondered about the new dynamics, her train of thought was interrupted by a new notification.

| Y/N.Y/L: that's great to her! too bad we can't meet in the final now

The Catalan smiled, her fingers swiftly moving over the screen to compose a reply.

| alexiaputellas: yeah, maybe another time!

| alexiaputellas: if you do play against Spain, I don't want you to win, though 😉

| Y/N.Y/L: ooooohhhh, im gonna play extra harder against them now :)

| Y/N.Y/L: are you coming back to England to watch them?

| alexiaputellas: yes, after I've had my surgery!

| Y/N.Y/L: good luck with that, btw

| alexiaputellas: thank you ☺

The messages continued on for a while, mostly staying on the joking side. Alexia appreciated the unexpected distraction Y/N provided for her, her torn knee having become forgotten for just a few moments.

Their next meeting came 2 weeks later as England took on Spain in the quarterfinals. Y/N was wary about meeting their team still quite early on in the tournament, but it would be a great test for them, and not having Alexia on the pitch could only be a benefit to the English- even if it happened due to unfortunate circumstances.

The match was intense, reminiscent of their friendly match the month before. In the 54th minute, England fell behind, conceding a goal. The pressure only intensified as the entire team and stadium looked at their captain, in serious need of a solution.

Y/N screamed more motivation at her teammates, applauding and praising every pass and chance they made. Fortunately, Ella managed to equalize, and Georgia had everyone going crazy as she put one extra in the net during extra time.

The striker jumped into the young midfielder's arms, yelling inaudible things as they celebrated her world of a goal. ''You're a legend, G!''

''Come on, girls! We can do this!'' Millie exclaimed, clapping her hands to hype everyone up to keep their lead.

''Keep pressuring them! It's in our hands now! You're doing amazing!'' Y/N joined in, her infectious energy working on the team as they all nodded and got back to their spots on the pitch.

The whistle blew and the entire squad could feel a huge weight leaving their shoulders, relieved this tribulation was over and they could focus on the semifinals.

In the post-match rituals, Y/N glanced towards the Spanish team. A bittersweet realization struck her- the victory was nice, but a part of the competition was missing without the direct face-off with the Spanish captain. She almost forgot her colleague would not be on the pitch to shake hands with, or to analyze the match with.

She tried finding her in the crowd, but Alexia must have already made an escape to the locker rooms. The Brit didn't blame her, she probably didn't want to stick around to see a rival team celebrating knocking their team out. 

Half an hour later, Alexia watched Irene stroll into their changing rooms- one of the last players to arrive, holding a white England shirt in her hand.

Her curiosity got the better of her and she approached her fellow captain on the other side of the room. ''Irene, who did you swap with?'' She asked.

Irene grinned, unfolding the jersey as Y/N's name and number was displayed in front of Alexia's eyes. ''Our favorite girl,'' Irene sarcastically said, the England player had caused a lot of damage to both of the women, on club and international level, ''she asked me. You just can't say no to that face, can you?'' The defender chuckled.

A subtle flicker of disbelief crossed Alexia's features as Irene continued chatting about the exchange. The realization that Y/N had chosen to swap shirts with the older woman stung a bit, sparking an unfamiliar emotion in her. Perhaps, it was a fleeting sense of envy for the seeming connection that her and Irene had. The Spaniard had played against the Lyon striker numerous times during her stint at PSG.

Despite her attempt to keep a neutral expression, Alexia's reaction was far from enthusiastic. ''Oh, that's great.'' She replied, her tone a bit more dejected than she had wanted.

Irene noticed the shift in her teammate's demeanor. She raised an eyebrow and shot a look at Alexia. ''Something on your mind?'' She questioned, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she sensed there might be more to the midfielder's reaction.

''No, nothing at all. Just… surprised.'' Alexia forced a smile, attempting to downplay the jealousy. However, her eyes betrayed her.

The defender raised an eyebrow, her grin only widening. ''Surprised? Why? We've known each other for a long time, played against her a bunch of times.'' She responded casually, enjoying whatever was happening at the moment.

''Yeah, true. Well, good for you.'' Alexia nodded, trying to mask her unease with a nonchalant tone.

The Barcelona player chuckled, starting to recognize what this might be about. She held up the England shirt, a teasing glint in her own eyes. ''You want it? I still have a Lyon one from a few years ago.'' She playfully extended the jersey towards Alexia.

The midfielder shook her head, again forcing herself to laugh. ''No, no. It's all yours, don't even want it, anyway.'' Alexia waved off the offered shirt with a dismissive gesture.

''Alright, whatever suits you.'' Irene smiled, placing the shirt in her own bag.

She left the blonde alone, walking back to where she had settled before the defender had waltzed into the room.

Alone with her thoughts, Alexia couldn’t shake off the uncomfortable feeling. Watching Irene prance around with Y/N’s shirt left her with a strange mix of emotions that she hadn’t dealt with before, or at least not when it pertained to her teammate and rival.

What puzzled her even more was why Y/N had never asked her for a shirt swap. She wondered if their rivalry and everyone’s comparisons of the two, overshadowed the possibility of something more- whatever that something more was. Did the England captain only see their interactions through the lens of competition?

Alexia grappled with a simple yet difficult question: did she want Y/N to ask for a shirt swap or did it bother her more that she didn’t seem to be considered for one?

[saltofmercury]

As someone who has just fallen for König, thank you for the reading material. He's just more adorable now. May I request a 'there was only one bed' trope with König? If you don't feel comfortable with it or need anything else please let me know. <3

First of all, very very special thank you. You are the first to make me think of TWO ideas for this prompt but I will be publishing that one later.

Second, I’m surprised I never thought of this prompt for myself!

Anyway I love u and I hope you like this version and I’ll tag ya in the second one.

“There’s only one.”

At the start of your relationship, König was polite. Too polite. Maybe it was the cultural differences or the military instilled in him but between you two but he always kept his distance from you.

He asked to hold your hand when many other men would just simply grab your hand and intertwine their fingers against yours.

He asked if he could have a kiss, it was cute, almost innocent the way he asked as if he would get in trouble if he stole one.

Further down your relationship when you spent the night at each other’s houses he would leave you in his room while he took the couch. Same thing when he stayed at your house. He took your couch and never gave it a second thought.

You always respected this, even appreciated that he was so gentle with you, he was never one to be so forward with you, but it was just eating you up inside… does he really like me?

*

One afternoon while you two were building a puzzle together he casually brought up a “holiday” for you two.

“It’s not far, it’s technically up north from where we are now.”

You looked up at him from the table still holding a blue piece clearly not finding its spot. Was this extra?

“You want to go up north?” You say, still concentrating if the manufacturer had given you 501 pieces instead.

“I think it would be fun. A change of environment” he had said simply. He looked down now hoping you would say yes. He was fidgeting in the middle of the puzzle. König was so backwards to you. He worked on the middle of the puzzle and then slowly worked out.

You thought it over.

It was harmless, you needed a break from work and you craved a little more interaction, affection from him.

“Okay let’s do it.”

*

The ride up north should have been long, tedious, and never ending. Surprisingly it had become a great window of opportunity for the two of you. He told you about his childhood. A restless, dangerous, and tornado of a child in his backyard.

You loved when he talked to you about his childhood, it helped you piece together the guy that he was today. You laughed and smiled at all his expressions, his concentration to storytelling.

When you had arrived at the hotel, he took the opportunity to unpack for you and carry your luggage as you went to reserve a spot for dinner.

You requested an outside table, the wait would be about 30 minutes, right as the host called out to you, and he appeared in front of you half an hour later.

“Jesus,” you said sarcastically.

“Was pretty sure you abandoned me.”

He smiled at you, “No, just last minute details I needed to fix.”

You wanted to ask what details he was referring to, but the waiter approached your table to discuss specials.

*

It wasn’t until after dinner that you noticed him off. He kept fidgeting and finding an excuse to not go to the hotel.

“Do you want to see the park?” “Maybe there’s a fun event happening tonight.”

It has been a pretty long drive and a long day. What you really wanted to do was unwind for the day, shower, and wear cozy pajamas.

“No, maybe tomorrow, why don’t we go back?”

He looked nervous. Took a deep breath and agreed.

“Okay, let’s go back.”

*

You approached the hotel, rushed upstairs with him. Commenting on their choice of artwork.

Would you look at the rug? Gosh it makes me feel dizzy.

Look at this picture, it’s teal and the carpet is red!

He responded with small hums.

He opened the door for you, you ran inside the bathroom. You needed to wash away the sweat and grime of the day.

Once finished, you stepped outside, looking for your lotion and pj’s. You saw König sitting at the edge of the bed, elbows to his knees, rubbing his hands in circles.

“Are you washing your hands there?” You joked.

He said nothing. You kneeled toward your suitcase, got ready for bed in the bathroom.

“You okay there?” König kept fidgeting with his hands. Why did he seem ..Anxious? You approached him.

“Are you alright?”

He spoke softly, “There’s only one bed.”

“So?” Then it hit you.

Bed. (Singular)

One bed. (Sharing?)

König was sitting at the edge of ONE bed.

Maybe the universe had finally pushed aside the boundaries that König had been so fixated on. You had secretly said a small prayer —thank you so very much.

“Is that a problem?” You asked.

“No.” He was firm, but quickly added “I just want to make sure you’re comfortable. I didn’t plan this.”

You laughed. Only König would think because you shared one bed with one another it was malicious on his part.

“Would you stop it?” You shook your head and pulled him up towards the bed. You pulled back the sheets, nestled the pillows up around you. You pat down the side next to you and wiggled your eyebrows. He settled in. You settled yourself right next to him, a leg over his, an arm over him.

“This is okay. This is more than okay. This is the best..” you yawned

He was stiff. “… dove”

but as he peered down at you, seeing how relaxed you were, you closed your eyes against him, he then got comfortable with you.

“This is okay.” He says back. A confirmation. “The best.”

His heart warmed up with the thought of you being so comfortable, so at peace with him. You didn’t even think twice about sharing a bed with him and he did. Maybe he needed to shut off his brain when it came to you because this felt like home. This felt better than the couch.

He made a mental note of this moment.

It isn’t until weeks later that he confesses to you one night as you snuggle up next to him at his house —

“I don’t know why we didn’t do this sooner…Sleeping next to you is easy.”

[simpforboys]

I GOT YOU WITH REQUESTS.

this is kinda angsty.. but what about neteyam and you having a really good relationship until he sees someone kiss you (you did not reciprocate but neteyam was too mad to hear you out) and so you guys break up and now youve been like enemies but theres always that sexual tension and one day when you reach a heated argument he fucks you dumb and keeps telling you that youre not gonna find anyone better than him🏃‍♀️💨

fmokx

fmokx: jealousy, envy

neteyam x fem!omatikaya!reader

summary: a misunderstanding can lead to broken hearts… and backs.

warnings: smut! angst, fluff ending, breeding kink, dirty talk, mean!dom!neteyam, sexual tension, lovers to enemies to lovers again, jealousy, creampie, foul language, oral (f + m receiving), neteyam’s side eye (bc its scary)

aged up!neteyam (around 20-21)

yunoi: you-no-eye

envy.

it’s amazing how much envy can cause a person to do horrible things.

envy filled yunoi as he saw neteyam flirting with you.

yunoi, a strong hunter of the metkayina clan, saw you when you arrived with the sully family to awa’atlu.

he had long curly hair, a strong jawline, sharp cheekbones, and big eyes.

he had heard the rumors that you and neteyam were going to mate, but the sky people attack interrupted the ceremony.

and yunoi wasn’t going to allow neteyam to take you officially off the market.

“rewon (morning), y/n.” yunoi bowed his head to you as you went out to help find some berries for breakfast.

“hi, yunoi.” you bowed back, a mutual sign of respect to acknowledge the hunter.

yunoi would give you constant looks, only an idiot would not see how much the man was interested in you.

and it pissed neteyam off.

neteyam would openly hold your hand in public, trying to scare yunoi off. but yunoi wasn’t going to back down without a challenge.

“why don’t you join me for a swim? i can show you around the reef properly.” yunoi stared down at you, a deep smirk on his face.

“no, thank you. i have to get back to my family for breakfast.” you politely declined, wishing the man would leave you alone.

“are they really your family, though? rumor has it, you and neteyam aren’t officially mated.” yunoi raised his brow bone at you.

your ears fell in annoyance.

“yes, they are my family. they took me in, didn’t they?”

“more like they brought you to me.” he smirked at you.

you pushed your braids out of your face, tail swaying lowly. you were tired, annoyed, and wanted to eat.

“what do you want from me, yunoi?”

“i want you. you as a whole.”

neteyam had been curious as to what was taking you so long, but when he saw you speaking to yunoi in the distance, he hid behind a tree to see the interaction.

he watched as yunoi grabbed your hand, pulling you into him as he kissed you.

neteyam’s face scowled from the sight, but he didn’t get to watch the rest. he turned back, stomping angrily back to the pod.

you shoved yunoi back by his chest, your hands touching his tribal tattoos as you cringed.

“get it through your thick skull that i will not be with you. i will always be neteyam’s.” you scolded the boy, turning around so your tail could whip him.

but yunoi smirked, knowing neteyam saw the scene.

too annoyed to finish your berry picking, you wandered back into the pod. neteyam watched as you came in.

“what the hell was that?” he asked angrily, nostrils flared and ears turned upward.

“ma neteyam-“ you went to hold the boy, needing some comfort, but when he flinched away from you, you stood dumbfounded.

“do not. i saw him kiss you.”

“that is true. you saw him kiss me, not the other way around.”

“i cannot believe you. after everything we have been through.” neteyam scoffed at you, starting to walk out of the pod again. his braids swayed roughly as he walked.

“you are being irrational,” you barked back with annoyance. first yunoi, now neteyam.

you went to grab his forearm, but neteyam pulled it away from you.

“we are now nothing. go run back to that fish-lipped skxawng (moron).”

and with that, neteyam dove into the ocean and left you. your hands were shaking in frustration as you threw down the woven basket you were holding.

you walked away angrily, lo’ak furrowing his brows.

“y/n-“

“no.” you kept walking, letting your anger get the best of you.

lo’ak didn’t take it to heart, knowing his brother probably did something stupid.

➽─────────────────❥

the sullys soon realized something happened between you and neteyam.

you did not speak, began sleeping on opposite sides of the pod, and would brush past each other with a scowl.

and while all you wanted was for the boy to realize his mistake, neteyam was too blindsided by rage.

neteyam stood against a tree, his arms folded over the other as you helped tsireya feed the ilus.

you laughed with the girl, almost getting your hand nipped.

everyone throughout the village heard about you and neteyam within days. men would approach you, trying to take you out as girls would do the same to neteyam.

while neither of you would admit it, the jealousy that radiated off of the both of you was insane.

“are you going to stop giving y/n a side eye?” kiri asked her brother.

“she is a cheater.” neteyam said back, his voice low.

“is she really? or did you just not allow her to explain what happened?” kiri stared at her brother’s emotionless face as his ears fell flat.

“i saw that skxawng (idiot) kiss her.”

“but did she kiss back?”

neteyam rolled his eyes at his sister, seeing the way a tall fisherman gave you a smirk as he gave you more fish.

“look-“

“she is a beautiful person, neteyam. of course men will be fawning over her. but remember who she’s always wanted to be with.”

neteyam huffed, not responding.

“she’s always wanted to be with you, incase you didn’t get that through your big skull.” kiri teased.

neteyam rolled his eyes once more, this time playfully.

“yeah, i got that.”

that night, during dinner you and neteyam sat on opposite sides. you sat on your knees as you ate, thanking neytiri for the food.

the tension was thick and you could feel neteyam keep looking at you.

you two would accidentally make eye contact, you looking away as you kept picking at your food.

the family ate in silence, maybe because they were too afraid to speak.

you helped neytiri put everything back neatly, and when the family eventually fell asleep, you woke up to your arm being tugged.

you growled lowly, seeing neteyam tugging you awake.

“shhh,” he placed his finger over his lips. you complied, following him out and over a few ways away from the closest marui pod.

“what do you think you’re doing?” you questioned him, seeing his braids sway as he walked with passion.

he turned to look at you, his silhouette illuminated by the eclipse. he had an expression on his face like he was holding something back.

“hello?” you asked once more, growing aggravated at the boy.

“you can’t just wake me up in the middle of the night and not say anything, skxawng!” you insulted, rolling your eyes, ready to leave when neteyam grabbed you.

“y/n…” his chest was rising and falling, his once glowing eyes now dark. his pupils were blown wide, he looked not like himself.

in one sudden motion, he grabbed your jaw and kissed you. you immediately kissed back, missing the way he felt on your skin.

he kissed you like it was the last thing he’ll ever do, tugging on your queue which caused you to whimper in his mouth.

“you gonna be a good girl for me?” he asked, his lips dangerously close to yours.

you nodded, whines leaving your throat. neteyam stared down at you, pushing you down to your knees.

he untied his loincloth, the material falling into the sand to unleash his throbbing cock. it looked like it had been hard for hours.

“suck it, c’mon.” he grabbed your jaw, opening your mouth and forcing his cock down your throat.

your pussy gushed as he fucking your throat. you held his thighs as he gripped your hair.

tears fell from your eyes as you gagged around his cock, but the noises he made made it all worth it.

“you love sucking my cock, huh, baby? missed it didn’t you.”

you nodded against him, spit dribbling out of your mouth. “don’t you fucking dare touch yourself.”

neteyam ordered when he saw your hand reach for your loincloth. you whined at the man as he took his cock out of your throat.

“don’t be fucking needy.” he slapped his dick on your tongue a couple times, allowing you to catch your breath before shoving it inside once more.

neteyam’s hips were snapping angrily. something must have triggered him from the time you went to sleep til now, and you would be lying if you were to say you weren’t enjoying it.

neteyam bit his lip as he whimpered, loving the way your lips wrapped around his cock. “such a pretty baby…” he cooed.

when he was close to cumming, he ripped your head off of him. his eyes were like a reptile, about to attack its prey.

“neteyam-“ you breathed out as he pushed you down onto the sand.

juices were rushing down your thigh, soaking your loincloth as he finally untied it. “pretty pussy… too bad i’m going to destroy it.”

you moaned as he blew air directly onto your sensitive clit, back arching as he smirked.

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” you panted as he finally sucked on your clit, humming against it.

neteyam was not taking his time with you. he was quick, wanting you to come so he can finally claim you as his.

“c’mon, y/n.” he urged on, two fingers thrusting in and out of you. he curled them towards him, causing you to scream out.

neteyam’s free hand went to cover your mouth, his cock twitching as you clenched around his fingers.

“so good, ‘teyam. so good.” you praised, pulling his braids as he whimpered against you.

the lack of pleasure you hadn’t received in months was driving you insane. the way neteyam ate you out in an animalistic manner, your head was spinning.

“i’m gonna cum-“ you warned, but neteyam pulled away.

you growled at the loss of contact, pissed that he stopped when you were so close.

“shut the fuck up.” he slapped your cheek, not enough to hurt you, but enough to make you adjust your attitude.

“gonna fuck this whore pussy, okay?” he looked at you, and while he was in total domination, he waited for you to give him a nod of consent.

your head fell back against the sand as he slipped inside of you, his cock burying itself in your cervix.

“fuck!” you practically screamed out, feeling neteyam bite on your shoulder.

he felt your pussy clenching around him as you adjusted, the motion causing his head to ring.

within seconds, he was rutting his hips into yours. you were a moaning mess, nails digging at his back.

“take that fucking dick,” he said. the pleasure was too much as you tried to push back.

he grabbed your body, holding you tightly against him so you couldn’t move.

he was panting against you, looking into your eyes as you pulled him into you again. you kissed him feverishly, thrusting your hips upwards to get him deeper.

“you’re never going to find anyone better than me. got that?” he said between thrusts.

you whined, nodding against him.

“say it.” he gritted out.

“i’m never going to find anyone better than you, neteyam!” you screamed out as he rubbed your clit.

“i’m going to put a fucking baby in this little cunt, okay?” he said.

“yesssss…” you were being fucked dumb on his cock, not even hearing what he was saying.

“you want me to give you my babies?”

“yes, give me your babies!”

“who’s this pussy belong to?” he asked, his ears perking up as he was yunoi looking out of his pod. neteyam smirked as he rubbed your clit faster.

your limbs were practically attached to his, legs gripping onto his waist.

“answer me, y/n.” neteyam made sure to say your name loudly so yunoi could hear.

“it’s yours! my pussy is yours, neteyam!” you were so close to cumming, you were panting against him.

“cum on my cock, baby. i’ve got you.” neteyam held your hips as he came in you, your pussy convulsing against him as your eyes rolled back.

you were shaking, dizzy, and panting as you were up with eywa for a few moments.

when things seemed to calm down, neteyam pulled you against him.

“i’m sorry, ma y/n. i should’ve listened to you.”

he buried himself into your neck and collarbone as you pet his hair.

“it is okay. let’s just promise not to do it again, yeah?”

neteyam nodded against you.

➽─────────────────❥

the next morning, the village was confused to see you and neteyam all lovey again.

“what is happening?” yunoi’s friend, latiska, asked.

yunoi was scowling, but he knew his place now.

——

tags: @mayhemories @useryourbut

[cat-hesarose]

Izzy Hands and broken promises

Now that I've had a day to digest the ending, I'm still in the "Izzy should have lived" camp but can better understand why it soured an otherwise great season finale for me.

Keep reading if you like rants about storytelling and queer catharsis from people with a Bachelor degree's worth of overconfidence and strong opinions.

Bar a handful of icks (Zheng Yi Sao getting outsmarted by Ricky, etc), I loved this season and don't see a wealth of problems that would not have been solved by two additional episodes. That said, Izzy's death is one of the things I can't see making any more sense if they had more time to explore his journey because his journey is what problematizes djenk's stated reasoning for his death.

In that one interview (and to be fair, we only have a brief window into his intentions as of right now), djenks positions Izzy as two things, specifically to Ed: a mentor and a father figure. And yeah, mentor figures often die. Their student surpasses them, or acquires a new narrative drive from their mentor's death to continue a quest.

Neither of these things feel like a fit for Izzy and Ed's dynamic nor their respective arcs. Neither does "father figure". Izzy was a love interest. He was described as a love interest. He confessed love to Edward. His mentor relationship was more established with Stede, if anything, who is an unreliable narrator and may well have been lying about Edward claiming that Izzy taught him everything he knows.

The journey that Izzy went on this season was parallel to Ed and Stede but it was with the crew. It's one big queerplatonic love story essentially, of him finding himself as an individual through the support they give and the space they hold for him. Season 2 Izzy Hands is, among other things, a love letter and showcase of the queer community's power to revive hope and purpose.

Izzy has the world's messiest breakup with Ed when they're both at their worst, and his healing begins with the crew of the Revenge. He only interacts with Ed again after bonding with, and growing through, the crew. So yes, it absolutely makes sense that his journey would proceed towards making peace with/saying goodbye to "Blackbeard". But it does not make sense that it would end there, with his death.

Djenks says that they're pirates, and people die. And yeah they do. But in the hand-wavy logic universe of OFMD it feels dismissive to say that about the death of a major character. And odds are, David "Izzy is my favourite character" Jenkins is not dismissive of Izzy, so that leaves tragedy.

My issue with that is, season 2 Izzy is no longer an innately tragic character. If you told me at the end of season 1 that season 2 would end with Izzy dying in Edward's arms telling him to go forth and change and accept love, I would've gone "that's sad but it makes sense." Because it would have, at the time. Season 2 Izzy departed from the trappings (so I thought) of the doomed fate of the bitter old repressed grimdark pirate when he put on the gold-painted wooden hoof and embraced his new role as First Mate of Stede Bonnet's gay floating kindergarten.

His death feels like a betrayal because, in a show that does queer characters Really Well, Izzy's arc feels like a broken promise. To say nothing of the politics of having a character attempt suicide, begin to heal, then say "I want to go" before dying, I wanted Izzy to want to live. It really felt like that was where his character was going, where his character was supposed to go.

Death for a character who is showing all this potential is only a natural ending in a tragedy. It isn't presented as peaceful or to punctuate another character's growth. Season 2 Izzy Hands had ceased to be reliant on and subject to Blackbeard. If anything, he was tied to the crew, who all stood back and felt much more removed from his death than they probably would have been if the show had more time to show their emotional responses. Having him die in Ed's arms, apologising for fueling Ed's destructive tendencies and encouraging him to be himself and accept love, feels like he got shunted off his new arc and back onto the old one. It feels like he went through all of that just to take a last-minute huge step back and re-subjugate himself to this character who does not reciprocate his devotion.

It makes me wonder if his death scene was one of the first ones written, before all that energy was spent giving him a new life and new connections and new, you know, new reason to live.

Anyway, that's how I feel about it. TL;DR Izzy's growth should have included LIVING HIS HARD-WON NEW LIFE and if I ever see djenks i'm going to cross the road and avoid eye contact.

[g1rld1ary]

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

-mel

what once was ; anthony lockwood x reader

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

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

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

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

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, but if Lockwood hadn’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

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.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

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.

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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.”

[red-write-hand]

Modern!Tommy headcanons

(this could just be my thoughts splat onto a page but have fun! also no beta read we die like tommy's sexuality the moment he saw alfie solomons)

If that man could take his computer to bed with him, he would

He runs on cigarettes and coffee

I feel like he would totally have those machines that are super intricate about making coffee

Usually an apple loyalist but buys add-ons from others (think headphones, charging cables, other Bluetooth items)

Listens to The Neighborhood, Drake, Hozier, Eminem, The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, Kendrick Lamar, Bastille

Exclusively buys from Boss, started as a joke with his brothers but then he realized he really likes the suits he bought

Owns a bunch of clubs and knows about the best clubs to go to if you want a good time

Likes to eat expensive food but will never turn down Italian take out at horrible hours of the night

Absolutely owns a pair of those Bluetooth Raybans that play music discreetly

Favorite movies are the Tobey Maguire Spidermans, Star Wars (only the New Hope, Empire Strikes Back, Return of the Jedi, Revenge of the Sith, and Rise of Skywalker)

Has better figured out his own mental health and sexuality

this👏man👏is👏bisexual👏 (it radiates off him, takes one to know one)

since it is more widely accepted, he feels a little better about it

he absolutely had his first bi panic when he would banter with Freddie

that and EVERY interaction with Alfie

alfie bought him a tiny pride flag which he keeps in his desk, right next to his incredibly expensive alcohol ~x fem!Reader headcanons (m! in part 2)~ warnings: kinda unethical office workplace relationship?

its become a joke of sorts about being tommy's secretary around his family

this all stemmed from him taking an interest in you when you applied

you really were gorgeous to him

you're the only person he is slightly comfortable around besides the Blinders or his own family

the longer you work with him, the more comfortable he gets

after awhile, he (politely, our boy is respectful) asks you to call him Tommy instead of 'Mr. Shelby'

he is one of the most sought after men in the city which makes him very alluring to most

you don't super see it, he's always been very "normal" around, not the silver tongued devil most people knew him as

it wasn't that you didn't like him, you really did, his gorgeous frame, his perfect eyes, his slender fingers, his dark hair, everything was amazing except for the fact that he never really showed any interest in you, to him (you thought), you were his secretary, nothing more

oh how wrong you were

this all changes one late night, him still tirelessly working and you still there making sure that he doesn't stay there all night

it doesn't take much for him to just keep running on fumes so it usually falls upon you to remind him what god awful hour it is

you gently crack open the door and poke your head in

"Hey, Tommy, it's almost 1, pack it up and get some actual sleep."

He rolled his neck and closed his computer, just before packing everything up, he stops

"Cmon 'ere"

It was simple and you knew what could happen if something were to go down but you could find a new job if you had to

The Shelby building was quiet and the only office with any lights on was his

You leaned on the side of his desk and he opens the big drawer at the bottom

He procures the bottle of probably very expensive alcohol and starts pouring you one

"Why do you stay so late? Making sure I go home isn't in your contract."

You thought about it, it had become such a part of your daily cycle

"I guess I've just gotten used to it. Seemed like the right things to do after awhile."

He thanks you quietly and hands your glass of the whiskey he had poured

This was the softest you had ever seen him, you decided to capitalize off of it

"I've never understood it, why are you so comfortable with me Tommy?"

He nods slowly, knowing he would have to explain himself soon

"Polly says I don't 'ave my head straight yet, so my answer won't do you much good."

You, of course, weren't satisfied with that answer so you decided to play a hunch

By this hour of the night, his hair was rather disheveled so you tentatively ran your finger through it, fixing it for him

a small smirk bloomed on your lips when his expression seemed to soften more

This sort of tension was now a pattern for the two of you

The tension got to such a height that after awhile, late at night, he would just pull you into his lap and have his hand wrapped around your waist

You like to run your hands through his hair or trace his jaw with your fingertip

this is just how it is for the two of you and both of you like that <3

[pablitogavii]

i was wondering if you could write about gavi getting jealous after his friends talk about the reader (his girlfriend) being rlly pretty or about her ass and body and his teamates talking about how good she is and he see thee same teamates talking to her when she is coming to pick him up and he gets rlly clingy

Pablo's POV

It was a good game, a 3:0 win for Barça, and another goal for myself. It was definitely a good day and to top it all, my girl was watching me from the stands and is giving me a ride home.

"Buena juega!" Xavi hugged me before slapping my ass as I left toward the changing rooms. Mierda! Why always me!?

"Pablito had a supporter today at the stands chicos!" Ansu joked when we all arrived at the changing room starting to take off our sweaty jerseys. I just smiled feeling lucky to have a girl who would come watch my matches and be my big supporter.

"She looks so hot in a Barça jersey!" Araujo aded and I felt my fists clench.

Yeah, my jersey hijo de puta! I thought to myself but didn't let their provocations get to me. They always do things to get my reaction, calling me a "hot head" all the time.

"But hermano, her ass in that shorts...damn! Pablo is a lucky cabrón!" Ferran's chuckled and I clenched my jaw. That was my ass to look at, not yours!

"Things I'd do to that ass!" those words were the last straw and I turned around to face the three guys staring in amusement back at me.

"Watch it..she is MY girl!" I said giving them a death glare and they made a joke about it raising their hands in surrender.

What the fuck!? I never look at other man's girl...it's so filthy!

"Can I steal you for a moment Gavi?" Xavi called and I nodded hoping it won't take too long cause I couldn't wait to kiss her lips again.

Your POV

I was waiting by the gates like we said but Pablo was running a bit late. I just assumed he was celebrating his goal and an amazing win. I was really proud of him today!

I sat on some chairs taking out my phone to scroll through Instagram while I waited before I heard familiar voices calling my name.

It was Ansu, Araujo and Ferran with bright smiles on their faces and I got up politely smiling back. You didn't really interact much with Pablo's teammates, except for Pedri who is like a brother to you, but you were still friends.

"Pablo is right behind us. He was talking to Xavi about the national team stuff" Ansu told me and I nodded once again proud of my boy.

"You got him whipped Y/N. This was the first time I saw Pablo really jealous" Ferran commented and you got curious about what he meant so they told you the story.

"We did it on purpose, tho. To mess with him. Not that you aren't beautiful, but we respect that you are Pablo's girl of course" Araujo explained getting a little nervous but you giggled reassuring him that it was fine and kinda curious why Pablo got so riled up?

"Amor!" speak of the devil, Pablo rushed pushing past the guy and snaking his arms immediately around my waist and pulling me into quite a theatrical kiss.

"Alright, bye Pablo. Bye Y/N!" Ferran said as the three of them started walking away and Pablo made sure to stand right behind me to block any possible sight of my ass. He was so adorable when he was acting jealous!!

Pablo's POV

Why was she laughing with them!? Fuck! I was all of the sudden is such a bad mood!

"Everything alright, cariño?" she asked while driving us to my apartment and I just nodded murmuring a quick "fine" meanwhile still staring at my phone.

I was being stupid! She is my girl and she would never do anything with any of them!

"Congrats on a win but you don't really seem happy...what's up Pablito?" she asked me as we came into the apartment and I just tossed my bag onto the floor and went to sit on the sofa.

"I'm tired." was all I said really not in the mood to tell her that I was jealous because my teammates made inappropriate comments about how hot my girl is.

"Is this about what your teammates said?" she moved to sit next to me and I gave her a curious look. How did she know?

"How do you know about that?" I said

"They told me that you got really jealous because they talked about me?" she said making it sound like a joke but I wasn't exactly feeling like it was nothing.

"I'm not jealous! And they were not just talking about you! They were talking about things they would do to you...and how hot and sexy you are..and I'm sorry I don't find that funny!" I snapped at her and she gave me a concerned look. Fuck! Why did I yell at my princesa like that!?

"Pablo..they were doing it to get a reaction from you..that's all" she tried but to me it just felt like she was defending them. How the hell is any of this okay!?

Your POV

I just tried to deflate the situation, reassuring him that his teammates meant not harm but he just rolled his eyes leaving to get changed without a word.

Wow! This was such a stupid argument!

I followed behind him hearing that he was in the shower and I took that opportunity to get into pajamas and wait for him in our shared bed.

Hopefully the shower will help clam him down a bit.

When he came out in just his pajama pants and shirtless running a towel through his wet hair, I almost forgot we just had an argument..I was suddenly extremely turned on.

When he laid down, I moved closer kissing his cheek and down to his sharp jawline while he just stayed quiet hopefully enjoying my ministrations.

"Amor, can we not fight?" I whisper moving my hand now to touch his strong abs smirking when I saw that his eyes were closed and that he was certainly ready to fold as well. It was stupid after all!

"They were just messing with you Pablito.." I added not expecting him to suddenly move away turning around to look at me once again angry.

"Why are you defending them again!? Mierda! Whatever!" he said getting up before leaving to sleep in the guest room. Childish!

"You won't be able to sleep alone, angry bird!" I yelled after him knowing what a big cuddle bear my man is but also knowing I won't be able to fall asleep until his arms are around me again.

Pablo's POV

I knew I overreacted the moment I laid my head on the pillow of the guest room. I was just so furious that I didn't punch their stupid faces after the filth that left their mouth!

I was angry at them and I was taking it our on her..fucking idiot!

I regretted leaving the moment I did but I also happen to be a stubborn hijo de puta and I wanted to prove to her that I could sleep alone!

Almost two hours have past and I was twisting and turning trying to get comfortable but it was useless...I had nobody to hold..nobody's hair to kiss..nobody's breathing to listen to...I couldn't sleep without her!

I faked going to get some water stealing a glance through an open crack of our bedroom door just to see her twisting and turning he same way I did for past two hours. I was smirking. She couldn't sleep without me either.

When I slowly got back into our room, her back was turned towards me and I slowly slipped under covers snaking my arm around her waist receiving an immediate reaction while pulling her back against me.

"Finally..I knew you couldn't sleep alone Pablito" she teased and I refused to tell her how right she was. It was my ego what can I say.

"Nahh I just saw you fidgeting when I went to get some water and I felt bad princesa..that's all" I lied and she giggled pushing her bum more into me and i felt myself getting hard. Mierda! Why were we arguing again?

"I mean they are not wrong..your ass really is so hot bombón..hot and all mine!" I hummed feeling her move against me slowly and I grabbed her bum giving it a rough squeeze that made her moan loudly.

"Don't you think I deserve a treat for winning..and for not punching their faces" I smirked and she turned around kissing my lips passionately while running her small hands through my hair..fuck those made me weak.

"Mhmm whatever you want papi" she said preciously and I smirked biting her lower lip while getting on top of her determined to release some of this pent up frustration.

[vhstown]

hobie brown x you headcanons

— hobie x gn!reader (established relationship)

warnings: brief mentions of violence (?) + politics (just his own), fluff

note: set in the multiverse + reader is aware of the spider-society (though has an ambiguous role). i rly wanted to write hobie without the bad boy possessive energy haha 💀 a bit ooc as always he's a tough one lol (kind of too detailed to be hcs but we roll)

Hobie is very much secure in your relationship. Even if it's less established than your typical one, he doesn't get jealous or uncomfortable when he sees you around others. It's more amusing to him than anything, observing how you interact with people. He enjoys watching you in silence with the occasional witty interjection, and he likes listening to you speak even if it's not with him. He's one of those people who immediately decide whether they trust someone or not, and he's trusted you since you met, even if there was, and still is, incessant bickering.

The bickering is endless, by the way. Even when you move past friends (a lot faster than you realise), he's always on your case. You've been trying not to pick up on his speech patterns, but it's almost impossible considering how nice it sounds to hear the accent roll off his tongue. When you accidentally bust out a "wagwan" he can't contain his laughter, nearly doubling over at the way your face was stuck in embarrassment. He makes it a habit to rub it in your face now, teasing you by talking to you like you're from Camden; the way he talked to you before was just the tip of the iceberg.

Hobie isn't hesitant about touch at all. He's always touching you in some way or another. Whether it's his arm slung around your shoulders, his chin on the top of your head or even holding your hand, it definitely draws some attention when a near 7ft punk (though he's not bound by the label of height, according to him) is hovering around you like a giant flashing accessory.

And the man is shamelessly 'gross'. He'll kiss you even with your morning breath or after you've just eaten. Whenever you put something on your lips, no matter if it's lip balm or whatever you like to wear, he's always just waiting to mess it up. Hobie's a tease if anything too, pinching you unexpectedly just to see the flash of a pissed-off expression on your face. You've made it a habit to not give him that satisfaction, but he doesn't need it. Everything you do is more than enough to amuse him, even if he does try to kiss you hanging upside down, scaring the ever living hell out of you in his attempt.

When you're cold, he's always trying to warm you up by rubbing his hands over your shoulders and arms (though his sarcasm is more than enough to set you on fire sometimes.) It is pretty cold in his universe, so he's used to it (#1 denier of the cold; punks don't get cold.)

Hobie is known for being firm in his beliefs. He's an unapologetic anarchist, and while he doesn't shout about his political beliefs every second, you can see it in the way he acts. Even if you're not as bent on it as he is, you have to respect his commitment. You're one of the only people he tells about his universe, his experiences, what he lives for. It's refreshing in comparison to his spontenaeity, and while you don't see him much differently after he opens up, you realise that Hobie is one hell of a person. He's your person, (as much as he denies being confined to anyone or anything.)

And he's not afraid to involve you. Whenever you're in his universe, he takes you places like you're a tourist, no matter how used to the area you are. Hobie isn't exactly the most informative tour guide (and he takes any opportunity to bash corrupt political figures and tag up their campaigns), but it's the thought that counts. He loves showing you the little untouched nooks and lesser-known streets, hopping fences and swinging you over barbed wire to show you the real Camden. The culture, history, people — it's all Hobie. He lives in Camden, through Camden, and he wants to share it with you. No authority could ever supercede that.

What he also lives through is the punk scene. If it isn't obvious from his appearance already, he's always jamming on his guitar. If you ask what he's playing, he says he doesn't know yet. He's always coming up with something new; it's like there's an itch he needs to scratch whenever a new sound comes into his head, whether he's humming it, tapping it or strumming it on his guitar.

And he's good at it, his fingers gliding over the strings like it's a language he's fluent in, playing a half-formed chorus with shouty lyrics that don't exist but you can already hear (probably something to do with rebellion.) You like listening to him play, that familiar, addictive feeling coursing through you, the vibrations of the guitar never ceasing to strike you with awe. You wonder what it's like to hear him play at an actual gig (you'll find out soon when he sneaks you out for one; you won't be disappointed.) It's one of many things to admire about him. What he won't admit is that, more often than not, he's playing for you. Even if you're not exchanging words, the glances and music between you make the unfinished feel whole.

The man loves his guitar too. If he loves anything in this world, it's you, sure, but his guitar is also up there (can you blame him?) If he's not playing he's always idly tracing the stickers with his fingers, re-tuning it, whatever. It's a damn cool guitar, but a part of you might just be a little jealous of the musical instrument that's basically a part of him at this point.

That is, until the two of you are getting caught onto. Your more-than-friends relationship is pretty obvious, but when it starts interrupting with Hobie's Spider-society "duties", among his other anti-society antics, the both of you have the potential to fall into big trouble. It's not like he cares – leaving was in the back of his mind from the start, and it only fuels your bickering and crude gossip. Whatever happens, you know you've got Hobie, even if an entire multiverse of Spider-people actively reject you. You don't need to belong anything, nobody really does, he keeps telling you, but you're sure that if there's nothing else, you belong with him. You two against the world, so to speak. And your previous jealously completely fades when Hobie says something to you: you were both in an alley, hiding during a mission you weren't supposed to be on.

"You think they'll kill you for it?" you asked him jokingly, building up the mirth of the conversation as usual.

"If they kill me," Hobie starts, donning a sarcastic grin. "I want you to have my guitar."

It seems guitar lessons are an added bonus to your relationship — right after hiding from Miguel and Jessica, of course.

🕸️💫🎸

thanks for reading my self-indulgent rant lol. asks are open but not taking requests atm. feel free to comment (tho can't reply rip) love ya have a good one — if u liked this reblogs r appreciated <3

read the rest of my atsv headcanons here!

[pandoraheadcanons]

Josh Izzo Q&A from today's Omaticon 2024 panel!

There will be new content supporting the franchise throughout the year

JimCam personally reviews every piece of outgoing lore/content

The lore books are being updated with running changes when vigilant fans point out mistakes in the text/lore

Spider was not the first human to be born Pandora, though there are only a few Pandora-born humans do to resource constraints. Spider was born about 4-5 months before the Battle for the Hallelujah Mountains

The inclusion of "Spider's Adoption" in Jake and Neteyam's song-cord's is CONCEPT ART, and not canon (seen in an Instagram post from Deborah L. Scott, costume designer)

Josh would love to one day cover the time of the First Songs

All moons are named after characters from Greek mythology, Pandora's closest moon is Cassandra

His favorite characters from A2 are Kiri and Ronal

Expect a new 24" Payakan plush and a breaching Payakan statue (with lights!) on Shop Disney!

Different clans have different Iknimaya rights, and getting a banshee is not always the end-all goal of different clans' coming-of-age rituals.

There is a ritual around an akula hunt

All the main family's banshees are still at the reefs, just chilling in the mangroves. This lead to a discussion surrounding a "Banshees playing poker" image based off the "Dogs Playing Poker" image

Some leaders obtain more "political" sway and influence through their actions and state of their clan, such as Tonowari being highly respected among the various reef clans

Still no official confirmation of Neytiri's banshee's name, though remember Zoe has a name for it that is used on set

The "feathers" we see are NOT feathers, and are actually....scales! They were picked for their aesthetic and cinematic design, and officially they are scales. Do with this what you will.

Aonung is the son of both Tonowari and Ronal, so that debate on how the line was said can be put to rest.

Josh knows the gender of Ronal's baby, but cannot share it.

The souls we see in the Tree of Souls and other places exist as a "static backup," as if they were in an archive in Eywa-net. Memory-reliance, and conversations hold no permanent state in the "mind" of the deceased. They "live" in memory moments, a mote of memory. So, every conversation will begin afresh, with the deceased oftentimes not being aware of their death. This will happen every time, and there is no permanence.

There are new comics in the works, expect 2 between now and A3. They may feature movie-related lore.

The old lore is not canon, and lore-rebuild is constantly on-going.

He would love a complete map of Pandora "one day"

There will be more live and interactive experiences coming

They (Disney/Lightstorm) sometimes reach out to companies, though companies will also reach out to them. Merch is carefully constructed.

Finally, when asked on his thoughts on the fandom he said that we are "the kindest, nicest, understanding, and gracious fandom."

[inamindfarfaraway]

Here’s a sad thought about Princess Jasmine in Twisted: The Untold Story of a Royal Vizier, courtesy of listening to the soundtrack again and feeling the feelings about her and Ja’far: this version of the Sultan must be a really bad father.

We never see him interact with his stepdaughter. He already seems rather senile when he steals Scheherazade, and that’s sixteen years before the present day. His sanity may well have completely gone in that time. Even if it didn’t, he makes it clear in his one appearance that he considers everyone in his power to be objects defined entirely by how they can benefit him and remorselessly will torture, enslave and murder them on a whim. I doubt that he’d be sensitive or nurturing toward his child. Now, I think Scheherazade would be a great mother - but she never got to try.

The Sultan has evidently been very neglectful and distant, failing in his duties to teach the Princess how to be both a good person and a good member of royalty. Despite her being his only heir and old enough to marry and rule the kingdom, which apparently has no problem with a female sovereign, he’s let her grow up to be extremely sheltered and not at all adequately prepared for responsibility and politics. It doesn’t even occur to her that having her tiger assault a neighbouring country’s visiting prince might have consequences. The Sultan, and on his behalf the Captain of the Guard, don’t let her know important news and royal decrees: neither what a menace Aladdin is, leaving her vulnerable to him, nor the Sultan’s mass execution of the 2D Department, since for as insensitively egocentric as she is at the beginning, she’s still deeply sentimental and quick to empathize with the homeless peasant Aladdin, so I can’t believe that she wouldn’t be at least a little upset with the Sultan (or more likely Ja’far) over so many lost human lives.

More than that, her immaturity speaks to bad parenting on the most basic level. She hasn’t internalized the Sultan’s cruelty, but has learned his selfishness, entitlement, impulsiveness and poor emotional regulation. Her social skills are notably clumsy and underdeveloped (not picking up on Aladdin’s numerous red flags, “No high five”, “At least Abdul had a family who loved him!”, even cringing herself at the last one). The Sultan’s passed down absolutely zero wisdom of any kind.

Instead it’s Ja’far with whom she has a familiar father-daughter dynamic (“What’s up, are you mad at me?” “Where are you going?” “There she is!”). It’s him who shows concern when she runs away and gives the order to find her before all else, notices that she’s upset and talks her through her feelings, warns her about sexual predators, appreciates her idealism and effort. It’s him who provides the gentle but firm, healthy guidance and challenge that she needs to grow. Who sees her potential, respects and believes in her. Who loves her. However, he is ultimately in her service. Between the imbalanced power dynamic making him wary of treason (after all, the last time he had a stronger relationship than the Sultan with a woman the Sultan called his, it didn’t end well) and his other responsibilities taking away from their time together, he can’t be as influential a presence in his life as he’d like.

Maybe this why she’s initially so resentful of him. Subconsciously she does see him as a father all along, but he hurts her and lets her down sometimes. Like the Sultan, her only official parent, always has. That stings. The differences are that the Sultan hurts her much more, more consistently and without her best interests at heart… but Ja’far is the one she can lash out at and complain to and be a messy adolescent around, because firstly, he’s her subject instead of her ruler, and secondly, he’s actually involved in her life. He cares, and therefore yelling or halfheartedly trying to poison his wine will make an impact. The Sultan is untouchable. We know that she conflates the two in her head as unjust authority figures keeping her trapped and crushing her aspirations (“All the people who say I’m just dreaming, like Father and Ja’far”, one of the only times she mentions the Sultan). It’s easier to blame your problems on an employee everybody else hates than accept that your parent is a bad one.

Maybe this is the root of her discontentment as well, her yearning that she can’t articulate for something more than what the life she’s been given. The joke of “Everything and More” is that she doesn’t need anything besides what she has… but she does. She needs a competent, reliable parent. One who she can trusts loves her the person as her parent, not a servant of her bloodline, and she knows to love as such in turn.

No wonder she falls for “Orphaned at Thirty-Three” hook, line and sinker. She’s never known her mother. Her relationships with her paternal figures range from terrible to complicated. Having unconditionally loving, supportive parents and then suddenly losing them must be the worst thing she can imagine.

But in the end, the Sultan dies and her dad has to leave her. Although he found a way to live forever, it wasn’t enough to save her from the pain of being orphaned at sixteen.

[justaghostingon]

Is it wrong to date a guy from an enemy faction when your country doesn’t exist anymore? Asking for a friend

A kaebedo au in which kaeya lives in a spy drama and albedo in a sitcom

Note: Minor spoilers for some lore from Pernhari lore books

Given what we now know about how the crimson moon dynasty came before the eclipse dynasty and was more focused on alchemy, i would like to submit a theory that albedo is from the crimson moon faction

His master rhinedottr is famous for her alchemy after all, and he followed in her footsteps.

Not that these factions mean much to albedo, k’hanriah is long gone, and there is so much more in the world to discover

But Kaeya! Kaeya was sent as a spy by the k’hanrians who haven’t given up yet, they still have hope and cling to old traditions.

They served the dynasty of eclipse, of course the differences between crimson moon and exclipse matter to them

Especially if i go out on a limb and theorize the crimson moon had something to do with the fall of k’hanriah. Like a revolt or political infighting. Side eyes “the exclipse was swallowed by the crimson moon”

So it makes sense why neither kaeya nor albedo were aware that they’d meet another k’hanrian in mondstat, much less another captain in the knights

Kaeya spends a day in agony, fully expecting albedo to jump him and make kaeya follow some new “mission” or something

That is until albedo mentions alchemy, specifically kemia. The pride of the crimson moon’s alchemists.

Combined with albedo’s seeming lack of knowledge as to who kaeya is, this can only mean one thing.

Albedo isn’t a spy from eclipse here to get Kaeya back on track. He’s a spy from crimson moon here to do the same thing as kaeya!

Naturally kaeya can’t let an enemy spy get to close to mondstat! Especially since they might not be friendly like him!

Plus he’s grown up on stories that blame the crimson moon for k’hanriah’s fall. (Also the gods and abyss, but come on, we all know the rival political faction was the real enemy here) he does not want that to happen to mondstat

So kaeya decides to get close to albedo, feel him out and see what his intentions are, and dispose of him if he needs to.

Unfortunately for him, a wrench is thrown in his plans in the form of Klee. Sweet, loveable klee who adores her big brother albedo so much, and would definitely cry if he were to suddenly vanish, and he just couldn’t do that ot her (also there is an all powerful witch who will definitely destroy mondstat if they make her precious daughter cry)

Now kaeya must find other ways to handle mond’s latest ticking time bomb and figure out his secrets, all while trying to ignore how those eyes make his heart skip a beat (from fear, he lies to himself)

Meanwhile, albedo clocks kaeya as a k’hanrian from the eclipse faction the moment he saw him. Given how it was all over kaeya’s clothes, he thought this was intentional.

And sure, kaeya never talks about his homeland, or his people before mondstat, but given everything that went down its probably a sore spot. No one else brings it up ir comments on his heritage so albedo just assumes everyone knows and no one talks about it out of respect for kaeya, and some other illusive social cue.

So when kaeya starts getting close to albedo, with his signature flirty moves, albedo does not think this has anything to do with crimson moon vs eclipse. He thinks this is just kaeya trying to get to know the new captain

Maybe he’s curious about alchemy?

So he shows off a few cool potions to a wide eyes kaeya

Kaeya internally: is this a threat?

Albedo internally: i am winning at social interaction 😁

Albedo figured kaeya would get bored of him soon enough, when he realized that albedo’s job of alchemy is a lot more math and a lot less cool explosions.

But when kaeya sticks around, asking questions about albedo’s past, befriending klee, expressing curiousity in what exactly his potions can be used for, albedo starts to get suspicious

It’s not the alchemy itself. Albedo offered to teach kaeya some small potions and kaeya all but leapt away in his haste to refuse (those childhood stories of “touch alchemy and u die” realy stuck with him)

So he goes to sucrose and timeaus and asks them.

Sucrose is equally baffled, wonders if maybe kaeya just really likes chopping up ingredients

Albedo: hmm. He does do it everytime i ask…

Timeus: oh my archons, kaeya has a crush on you.

Albedo decides to test both theories. He stops letting kaeya cut his ingredients, but that doesn’t deter him. So he checks to see if Kaeya is attracted to him

By silently crowding close to kaeya to hear if his heart speeds up

Kaeya meanwhile, has a stone faced alchemist pushing him into a wall, is absolutely thinking he’s about to be murdered (and that it’s hot)

Albedo notices the speed up. Ahh so he does like me.

Kaeya: i have to go now! Proceeds to rush out the door.

Albedo is confused. If kaeya likes him, why is he running?

He asks timeus and sucrose. Sucrose offers to stalk him for a while to find out why. Timeus replies that albedo was “too forward” and that people like “to be chased”

Albedo, chasing kaeya: is this what u want?

Kaeya: oh god he’s gonna kill me!

The method that albedo picks to woo Kaeya is to offer him a fancy lunch he cooked, complete with a traditional khanrian delicacy: the spider sandwich.

Kaeya does not enjoy this, his mind running wild trying to figure out what albedo is trying to say to him by feeding him spiders.

Albedo decides he can’t trust Rhinedottr’s ideas of “traditional delicacies” (who knew her spider sandwich wasn’t normal?)

So he turns to sucrose, who has been stalking kaeya. She proposes a date that she has gathered from her research: take him drinking.

Now if albedo had started with this, it probably would have gonne much easier for him. But after a week of being stalked, chased, and fed spiders, kaeya’s guard is way up.

He’s convinced this is an attempt to get him drunk to get information out of him. Well good luck with that, kaeya’s no light weight, he’s certain he can drink albedo under the table, and get him talking instead

Albedo is a but hesitant when kaeya suggests a drinking competition, but goes along with it.

The result is a very drunk albedo cuddling up to kaeya and whispering the periodic table seductively in his ear.

Kaeya was not prepared for that. Not at all. He comes back home thinking that the crimson moon really trains their spies to be good at keeping secrets

Albedo comes back to his home confident at a successful first date

Things continue onward in their will they won’t they, until one day kaeya wakes up in bed with albedo, in matching pjs, klee sleeping between them, and realizes that seduction was the crimson moons game all along, and he lost.

But oh well, its not like he’s really following eclipse’s orders anyways. He thinks as he goes back to sleep

The end

[magicalbats]

We Turn Not Older: Neuvillette

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 5402

Warnings: Afab!reader, some gendered language, blowjob, deep throating, breath play

A/N: Alright, so I'm technically late on this but I finished it and by god am I going to post it. I had this crazy idea that I was going to write a little something for most of the character birthdays going into 2024 (minus the obvious ones like Diona and Klee, duh) so the title will be used as the catchall for this "series". I'm going to elaborate further on this reader character in a different post but basically we're just replacing Lumine in the canon story and everything else stays the same haha

"We turn not older with years, but newer every day" - Emily Dickinson

⭐

Neuvillette turns from his perusal of the floor to ceiling bookcase at the sound of the door opening and then closing behind him. The contemplative look on his face morphs into one of friendly greeting when he sees it is you standing there rather than a Melusine or one of the many human secretaries constantly flitting about the Palais with files and documents to leave on his desk. He isn’t exactly the easiest person to get a good read on, but you think he looks almost relieved. 

“Ah, so you were able to make it after all. It is a pleasure to see you again, Traveler.”

The honorable Iudex smiles at you, his expression so soft around the edges and inviting that you feel the regular tensions in your body relaxing in response. You were under the impression that not many could count themselves lucky enough to be on the receiving end of such a warm welcome and for good reason. Neuvillette took his obligations to Fontaine as much as its people quite seriously, so there was always a certain decorum with which he carried himself when interacting with others. It was a direct contrast to the Hydro Archon who seemed to operate on the far opposite end of the spectrum. 

But you were not a citizen of this nation so no such expectations existed between you and him. He was free to speak and behave in whatever way he deemed fit when dealing with you, and he chose to be warm and welcoming because the two of you were friends now. You could call yourselves that, couldn’t you? 

Truth be told you were banking on it today. Offering him a smile of your own, you start to walk across the office, the plush, no doubt expensive rug under your feet almost completely silencing the heels of your boots to make for a near silent approach on your part. You were glad Sedine hadn’t insisted on personally seeing you in but that was yet another perk of being on such good terms with the Chief Justice. It allowed for private audiences with him like this.  

“It is your birthday, you know. I wouldn’t willingly miss the chance to celebrate it with you for the world.” 

“You flatter me, of course, but I do hope you didn’t neglect anything important just to come see me?” He makes it a question, the curve of his mouth taking on a vaguely wry edge at the thought of what you may have decided to skip out on given your reputation in Teyvat. He was in a good mood then, if he could find humor in your many exploits. A promising sign if there ever was one. 

Stepping around the corner of his spacious desk, you walk right up to him and come to a stop with mere feet to spare. The height difference forces you to crane your neck back to peer up at him and he likewise tips his chin down to pin you with that amused yet still perfectly congenial look. That he allows you to get this close without questioning it or backing up a step to keep the distance polite and respectful speaks volumes. Your heartbeat subtly begins to speed up. You wonder if he can sense it in some way. 

“Luckily I didn’t have any pressing matters to take care of so I came as soon as I got your letter. How else was I supposed to give you your birthday present?” 

“A present?” Neuvillette echoes you, and his expression finally slips to belie his confusion on the matter. He’d clearly noticed that you’d entered his office empty handed with nothing except the clothes on your back, not even Paimon in tow. The fact he hadn’t expected anything at all and didn’t give it a second thought until now only further vindicates your choice to come here like this. He deserved what you planned to give him, if he would accept it. 

Oh, and how you hoped he would. 

“But of course, Monsieur Neuvillette. That is the custom everywhere in Teyvat, isn’t it? Even Fontaine must recognize the tradition of giving presents to someone on their birthday?” 

“Well, yes. That is true but …” 

He doesn’t finish his thought. Allowing the words to trail off into a curious silence, he watches you bring your hands up without protest as you carefully place them across his chest. There are many layers of clothes between you and his skin, and you register a distant note of surprise when you realize how narrow he feels under your touch. All the different coats and shirts, and the wide shouldered justice robe had given the impression of someone much bigger. More filled out. He actually seems to be rather svelte under everything he’s wearing, a thought that is surprisingly intriguing in that moment. You wanted to find out how he looked when he was bare and vulnerable in the way only lovers are with one another. Perhaps you could convince him to undress himself for you, one layer at a time. Slowly. 

That was for later though. For now, in this moment, you had an objective in mind, and you give him a coquettish bat of your eyelashes as you pointedly press in on him with your hands. “You’re free to decline the offer, Monsieur, but I wanted to gift you something that no one else can. You told me once before that you don’t allow yourself to foster close relationships with others, didn’t you? I wonder when was the last time you were able to really relax …”

You can see his thoughts working in the soft lilac of his horizontally slit eyes, so fascinating to look into even when you were well aware you’d presented him with a conundrum. A moral dilemma, if you would. As a dragon sovereign he had no right to involve himself with humans beyond surface level interactions, never anything intimate or more personal beyond a friendly greeting and the impartial judgments he passed on them in the court. But you weren’t a human — not a normal one, anyway. You were not of Teyvat and he knew that. That changed things, didn’t it? For you, only you, he could bend the rules. 

Understanding finally clicks into place and you can’t help the grin that comes over you at the way Neuvillette’s body stiffens with the knowledge of what you were offering him. But rather than looking affronted like you’d half expected him to initially react, unsure of how he would perceive such an offer, his otherworldly gaze actually takes on a low simmering heat that sparks warmth in your own skin. The way he looks at you now is very close to being unreadable but his eyes do not lie. They very rarely do in your experience. 

“My dearest Traveler,” He says it softly, quiet to conceal the hot undercurrent just below the surface. “Are you suggesting a gift of sexual favors in place of a more customary exchange?”

“Only if you want it, Monsieur. Like I said, you’re welcome to turn it down if you’re not interested.” 

Neuvillette regards you for a long stretch with what you think must be cautious inner reflection. You don’t doubt that he was taking this time to consider every angle of your proposal and the possible implications that might come with it. That’s just the kind of person he is and it’s what makes him such an effective judge. You don’t mind it. Had even anticipated it on some level, so you wait patiently for him to reach his verdict with your hands still braced against his chest, as suggestive as they were anticipatory. 

At length, he finally draws a single carefully tempered breath before speaking in the low, measured tones of someone who thinks they have been presented with an offer that is too good to be true and they don’t trust it. Not fully. Not yet. “I believe one would have to be a fool to decline such a generous offer coming from you, Traveler. It is an honor just to know you would be willing to have me in such a way and I give you my sincerest thanks for that.” 

“I hear a ‘but’ in there.” 

He visibly hesitates to do it but he still gives in to the urge. Lifting his hand, Neuvillette gently brushes the tips of long gloved fingers across your cheek before cupping it against the curve of his palm. Every movement, every gesture is so deliberate and heedful that you understand what he’s going to say long before he actually speaks it. 

“Yes. You are human. Perhaps not in the usual sense and while I certainly acknowledge that you are not of this world, that doesn’t change the composition of your body. I’m afraid I don’t know what to do with human women, Mademoiselle.” 

“I can teach you.” Is your ready answer, complete with a teasing smile for his benefit, and Neuvillette graces you with a faint chuckle in response. 

“Then I suppose it would be rude of me not to accept. Do you bestow such generous gifts to many of the men you’ve met on your travels?” 

“Only the ones I like.” 

Grinning, you give his chest a more purposeful push. Picking up on your intentions, Neuvillette takes a slow step backward and then another. He lets you guide him towards his empty high backed chair, never taking the intensity of his gaze away from you for so much as a moment while you steer him where you want. It almost surprises you a little bit, how easily such a proudly composed man is willing to comply and let you take the lead like this but the warm glint in his eyes remains even when you trap him against the side of the desk. He’s clearly not only interested in what you plan to do and curious, but also amused by this turn of events. You may have had the control here, for the moment at least, but that was only because he was letting you have it. He could have flipped the tables on you all too quickly and both of you were well aware of it. 

“Sit?” You flick your eyes in the direction of the chair for emphasis. A strange, heady sense of power comes over you when he shifts to the side and lowers himself into the seat with neither question nor protest. Just obedience. No matter how cursory it may have been, it was still very intoxicating to taste. 

Giving him a chance to get settled, you watch as he starts to cross his long legs as if it was second nature for him to do so only to think better of it at the last moment. He situates himself with both feet planted squarely on the floor instead and you eagerly lower yourself to kneel before him, palming his knees so you can gently push them apart while you do it. 

Neuvillette’s mouth automatically pops open as if this was the first thing he found any real complaint in. You softly shush him though, quietly assuring him that you’ll take care of everything as you push the front of his long robe up and out of the way to reveal the top of his high waisted pants. There are a series of buttons keeping the placquet of the trousers closed. He doesn’t try to hide his fretting over what you’re doing while you work to get them undone, a series of “Are you certain”s and “Please, Traveler,”s spilling from his mouth while elegantly gloved hands hover over you in uncertainty. Making a mental note to correct that later, you keep tugging until you at last get the final button freed so you can pull at his pants enough to reveal what’s inside.

The underwear is plain and clean white, yet even you can tell at just a glance that this particular garment is no less exquisite than the rest of his richly crafted attire. The cotton is some of the softest you’ve ever felt and the stitching is perfectly neat and precise. Not so much as a single thread out of place or loose to draw attention to such an obvious imperfection. You can’t help smiling to yourself as you carefully untie the dainty cord at the waistband. 

“Are all of your clothes bought at the finest boutiques, Monsieur?” You tease, sending him a meaningful look from your spot on the floor. 

Neuvillette frowns slightly, like he doesn’t quite understand what that has to do with anything. In truth, he probably doesn’t. “I am not particularly concerned with fashion, if that is what you are implying. As the Iudex of Fontaine I’m merely held to certain standards - -“

“Yes, yes, Monsieur. I understand your position.”

He huffs an almost silent exhale at your giggling response. Consideringly, he observes the way you trace fingertips over the front of his crisp white braies and nudge the fabric down one teasing inch at a time, slowly exposing a strip of soft flesh across his lower belly. “Really, Mademoiselle, is going about it in this manner truly necessary? It is not a gift for me to see you debase yourself like a lowly commoner.” 

“Hmm. Are you quite familiar with the practices of commoners, Neuvillette?” 

“Hardly. It is just …” He once again trails off, a distant spark alighting behind his eyes when you get the underwear edged down enough to reveal the startings of a fine patch of hair. Its silvery-white, almost transparent had it not stood out in contrast against the smooth color of his skin. Just like how the hair on his head is so pale it makes his face look warmer complexioned than it really is, this had the same effect. Your mouth starts to water at the thought of what would come next, and he gives a faint grunt as you give his bottoms a more insistent tug. 

“But you are my esteemed guest, Traveler, and it seems inappropriate to make you kneel before me.” Neuvillette finally finishes his thought and not without effort. 

“You have not made me do anything though. I chose to kneel by my own free will.” You shoot him a quick, cheeky grin. “Besides, I thought you would like seeing a so-called human on their knees for you, oh mighty Hydro Dragon.” 

He sucks in a quick breath. You can tell he’s going to argue it, correct it, contest the allegation you’ve lobbied against him but you don’t give him the chance. With one final pull, his cock springs free. A soft hiss escapes Neuvillette’s suddenly tight mouth as it hits the air, still mostly flaccid but quickly stirring to life even as it smacks against the bare strip of flesh along his pelvis. You’re admittedly surprised and a bit relieved to see that it is a by all accounts normal looking organ of the human persuasion. You hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect from the reincarnation of a Soverign but he looks every bit as normal as you do. Funny thing, that. 

“Oh, Monsieur,” You rove your attention up, catching his eye and holding it as you lean over his lap. Your lips part and you swipe a slow lick of your tongue from the base up to the head. It twitches under the sensation, bobbing upward as if to follow you but you pull away too fast for it to find your mouth again. He looses a terse breath that sounds as appreciative of the gesture as it is bemused at the audacity to tease him like that. “Such a lovely cock for a lovely man. Are you sure you don’t enjoy seeing me on my knees?” 

His length eagerly swells as if in response. It grows in size and shape right before your eyes, stiffening and starting to stand at attention just for you. Evidently he was very much a grower. 

“I said it did not seem appropriate, mon petit voyageur,” Neuvilette murmurs, finally bringing one hand close to cup the side of your face again. Tenderly, his thumb brushes over the swell of your cheek while he looks into your eyes with a certain masculine weight that makes your loins curl into a knot. “I said nothing about not enjoying it.” 

“My mistake.” You whisper back as you reach out to wrap your fingers around his cock. 

Keeping your hold loose, you gently massage it up and then down, giving the base an encouraging squeeze before dragging your hand towards the glans again. The motion makes his foreskin bunch and gather over the head, and when you bring your hand down next you’re rewarded with a soft, sticky click. He was becoming excited rather quickly, wasn’t he? You assumed that meant your earlier assumption had been correct. He must rarely if ever allow himself to indulge in the urges of his human body like this. Not with another person, at least. 

You feel decidedly emboldened as you take a moment to nuzzle into his hand. It was reassuring to know that he did not fear touching you in reciprocation and you intended to enforce the behavior. Gently, at first, then more forcefully if need be. 

“Does this mean I have your permission to proceed, Monsieur Neuvillette?” 

The breath he draws is stilted. Short. “I would certainly be appreciative of that.” 

Bringing your attention back around with a smile, you regard his cock again. It’s a good, healthy size — sturdy in your hand and incredibly soft to the touch despite how firm it’s gotten just below the surface of all that delicate skin. You lean in on the next downward tug of your fingers, when the foreskin has been pulled back enough to expose the ruddy pink head. Flicking your tongue over the dainty slit, you issue a low moan at the shock of salty precum that floods your tastebuds. It’s not exactly bitter but it wasn’t sweet either. Just clean and faintly musky with a distant note of male pheromones to taste. It made sense that he would be as close to a neutral flavor as the human body was likely capable of though, given how much he enjoyed drinking water. It was delicious. 

You let out a quiet sigh into the still air. Giving in to the instinctive urge, you wrap your lips around the head. He tenses underneath you at the sensation of your mouth fully on him, suckling at the sensitive glans, and his hand gives a faint jolt against your cheek. Reaching further back, Neuvillette gingerly cradles the back of your head with a hushed groan but doesn’t do anything beyond that. 

A groan that you belatedly realize is your name. 

Not the customary ‘Traveler’ you got everywhere in Teyvat nor the altering variation of either ‘Mademoiselle’ or ‘mon petit’ that he occasionally used with you in private. Your real name. 

It wasn’t exactly uncommon for the friends you’d made throughout your travels to call you that but Neuvillette did it so rarely, so infrequently that it strikes something delicate and soft inside of you. He was perfectly polite and cordial, and that often meant keeping those around him at a socially acceptable distance. Close, but not so close as to imply intimacy. Far enough at arms length to avoid misunderstandings but not so far as to come off rude. It was a razor fine line he usually walked and aside from the Melusine’s, Furina seemed to be the only exception. 

And now you too, or so it appeared. At least for right now. 

Softly groaning, you lean further over his lap — lean further into your work and take him deeper into your mouth. The stretch is exquisite. It’s hard not to imagine the same cock stretching other parts of your body open in similar fashion, your cunt fluttering in unmistakable excitement as you swallow him down to the halfway point of his shaft. Neuvillette’s fingers lightly spasm against your hair, stiff with the desire to close his fist around the strands and perhaps tug or use them as leverage to push, but he fights it. You’re acutely aware of this fact even while you languidly lap at the underside of his length with your tongue. Still so polite even when you had him pulled in almost to your throat and there was another inch or two waiting just beyond the edge of your lips. You couldn’t abide by him holding himself in check like this when it was supposed to be his birthday present for him to enjoy. He should have been enjoying it to the fullest. 

So you reach back with your unoccupied hand, the one not currently holding him around the base, and blindly latch onto his stiff knuckles. Giving him a quick, reassuring squeeze, you press his palm firmly into the back of your head. He lets out a low, seething hiss in response, still valiantly fighting it for another moment longer despite the encouragement. The gentlemanly facade finally cracks though and a small portion of the Dragon Sovereign seems to peak out. When he finally pushes down on your head, it’s surprisingly forceful and demanding. The pressure makes you take another inch or so, and you moan a thick sound around the cock stuffed in your mouth. Now he was really tickling your tonsils and the sensation makes your salivary glands kick into overtime to produce a copious amount of drool that slowly starts to bubble out past your lips. You were going to make a mess at this rate. 

“Mon petit,” Neuvillette whispers the pet name like an oath. “I am afraid that — nnghn. I seem to be ill equipped for this particular activity. As shameful as it is to admit … I did not expect it to feel this good.” 

Noising an incomprehensible sound, a sentiment meant to put his concerns at ease, you nudge your face down a little closer to his lap and take another half inch. His narrow hips buck slightly at the sensation of slipping into your throat but now he’s struggling just to maintain his composure instead of thrusting up like he wants to. Neuvillette no longer has the luxury or the presence of mind to be concerned about his manners, and his fingers finally close around your hair at the root. The dull yank on your scalp makes your pussy clench tight in response. You couldn’t wait to have him. You hoped he would have you after this. If he was as pent up as you suspected, then it probably wasn’t a stretch to think he would. 

Gathering your own willpower, you slowly start to pull back off his cock. Choking yourself on it sounded like a great idea at the moment but you wanted to give him a short reprieve, a break to get a hold of himself. So you ignore the spit that dribbles down his length to coat your fingers where you’re squeezing it tight in an attempt to stave off his release. Neuvillette manages to surprise you slightly when he issues a low, barely audible growl at the loss of your mouth but you ignore that too. You finally make it to the glans a heartbeat later and you take the chance to swirl your tongue around the pink head. A quick glance through the fall of your lashes shows you his expression pinched in obvious pleasure and something darker. Something far more primal than simple arousal. You weren’t sure how far you could push him before the long dormant draconian instincts started to take over but you were curious and bullheaded enough to try it. 

You finally sit back, taking your mouth off his cock completely. The pretty face of the polite Iudex momentarily scrunches up in a tense, heady groan of frustration that leaves tiny little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes when he opens them to peer down at you. The intensity in those slit irises, the pupils blown wide and dark, inspires a nervous shudder down the length of your spine. You had no idea he could look at someone like that. Like so much meat. Prey that was his for the taking if only he would reach out with a sharp taloned claw and slice into laughably soft flesh to spill whatever was inside. 

Your pussy achingly throbs, though you aren’t entirely sure if it’s from sexual excitement or mortal fear. Perhaps it was both. 

“Are you enjoying yourself, Monsieur Neuvillette?” You speak softly, as if to avoid setting off the predator before you, but the only response you get is a single, hissed word. 

“Yes.” 

Then he’s pushing on your head just as demandingly as the first time, maybe even more so. He forces your face to his lap. Gives you no choice but to open your mouth wide and accept his cock again. Down, inch by inch, you take him straight to the edge of your throat and then you take him inside. Your gag reflex puts up cursory resistance for all of a single second and then he’s wedged as far down your gullet as he can go. You noise a pitifully muffled sound when your nose presses into his pelvis hard enough to bring tears to your eyes, the soft, nearly translucent hair tickling your skin. The muscles in your throat work around the intrusion as if to expel the blockage but it does very little in the way of good when he was already this deep. All you can do is heave on his cock and writhe there on the floor, your shoulders shuddering with each dry gag that assaults your body in violent waves. 

And you couldn’t remember the last time you’d been so painfully aroused. 

Groaning in deeply felt pleasure, Neuvillette gingerly leans back into his chair while keeping his hand pressed firm against the back of your head to hold you in place. You blink through the tears and peer up at him, committing every detail of his stricken face, his posture, his breathy voice as it tumbles out of him to memory even as you reach under your travel dress for what’s between your legs. Pressing your fingers into the crotch of your bloomers, you start to rub hasty circles into yourself while you watch him stiffly shake towards his own release. Never mind the fact you couldn’t breathe like this. It was just going to make for an even more powerful orgasm than what you were already anticipating. 

“Your throat is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before,” He grits out through tightly clenched teeth, his brows knitted so deeply that a small wrinkle had formed between them. “Du ciel à la terre, I can’t hold out any longer, mon petit, I am going to — nnghnnn!” 

Neuvillette cums with a sharp, rumbling grunt. The sound seems to vibrate through his shuddering frame and bleed into you, your eyes practically rolling to the back of your head when his cock gives one, pulsing throb before shooting thick ropes down your gullet. You choke at the sensation even as your throat desperately tries to get it all down before you can asphyxiate. It doesn’t feel like such a far off possibility at this point as you start to grow faint and dizzy from a lack of oxygen. But you just keep rubbing your cunt and swallowing, spurt after spurt of thick, creamy discharge until he finally hisses one final noise of pleasure before going lax underneath you. 

Without his hand holding you in place any longer, you quickly rear back and come up off his cock with a highly undignified, ugly wretching sound. You suck in a hungry mouthful of air even as sheets of drool and bubbling spit leak from your numb lips. You’re not half as concerned about that as you are with your quickly fleeting orgasm though. Like low tide, it seems to tauntingly lap at the edges of the shore line even as it quietly recedes out into the void of endless ocean without a second thought. You could almost sob at the loss as you rub yourself faster, harder. Even reaching up with your free hand to paw at your own breast through the thin material of your dress doesn’t bring it back. And you’d been so close too. 

“And what is this, Traveler?” 

Abruptly realizing that Neuvillette has recovered from his own orgasm and has been watching you for the last moment or so, you tip your head back to look at him. That glimpse of the dragon is gone and in its place is the same respectable Iudex you were usually accustomed to dealing with. The sole exception in his demeanor was the weight with which his gaze has settled upon you. There was a hunger there. An innate sense of superior dominance that had not been present when last he’d looked at you before this. 

It occurs to you then that you have perhaps awoken the beast in him with all your poking and prodding in more ways than one. There’s something in the way he looks at you down the length of his nose that sets your blood to boiling. You wanted — no, needed him to subjugate you to his will. That was what was missing. That was why your orgasm had fled at the first sign of reprieve from his iron will. 

Whimpering softly at your own helplessness, you lean back to press one hand against the floor and reach up with the other to tug one side of your dress down. He attentively watches your breast spill out into the open, drawing a subtle breath at the sight of you like this. So desperate. So needy and vulnerable. He doesn’t act on it though and you bite your lip to stop yourself from begging for it as you gather the front of your dress. You wonder if your sticky cunt had bled through the soft cotton of your bloomers yet as you present them to him without an ounce of shame to show for it. 

A small yet no less pleased smile plays across Neuvilette’s mouth. Rather primly, properly, he tugs the fabric of his justice robe to cover his lap and hide his softening cock from your voracious sights. The fact he doesn’t put it away, only covers it, makes your blood pound somehow even harder. It feels like you’ve got a second heartbeat in your cunt as he carefully shifts in his seat and brings the toe of an expensive shoe close to your pussy. 

“Is this how one handles human women, Mademoiselle?” He sounds vaguely amused, as if he already knew the answer. Like that one single exchange had enlightened him to a whole litany of sexual knowledge that he hadn’t been fully aware of before. 

You weren’t sure if it was just a result of his undeniable intelligence and he’d merely pieced everything together in record time or if it could really be a shared understanding with his past life. Did the Dragon Sovereign’s mate the same way people do? You didn’t really care about any of that right now. 

There’s only one thing on your mind and, at your nod, Neuvillette brings his foot closer. Slips it between your legs. He thoughtfully hums, as if considering his next move, and then presses up to flatten the top of his shoe along the pudge of your cunt. Even with the thin layer of your bloomers in the way it damn near makes you see double and you gasp. Your reaction seems to please him a great deal. Chuckling to himself, the Chief Justice of Fontaine slowly works his limb back and forth, up and down, to tease your slit with pressure that is simultaneously too much and yet not near enough to make you cum. You felt like you were going to be sick. 

“I must admit that this is quite interesting, Traveler.” He tells you softly, almost secretively. “You’ve certainly piqued my interest, at least. I had no idea touching you like this would make you look at me with such a … needy expression on your face. I wonder what will happen if I keep going. You’ll teach me this too won’t you, mon petit?” 

Of course you would. Anything for the birthday boy.

⭐

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I think some people are annoyed that we can’t be friends with whatever characters we want but I really like it esp for the housewardens. It shows us that everyone’s different and maybe some people need more time to trust others or maybe they don’t want to open up in the first place. It says a lot about how diverse and strong Twst’s characters are.

Oooh that’s a very good point you brought up! ^^ Even within just the dorm leaders themselves, there’s a wide range of relationships and relationship evolutions that we’ve witnessed (in regards to them and Yuu):

Riddle doesn’t particularly respect Yuu at the start; while he’s not overtly super ruse, he still views them as a troublemaker no different than his freshmen. Post chapter 1, we can see that Riddle has warmed up considerably and seems to consider Yuu a friend that helps to keep an eye on Ace and Deuce when they’re not at Heartslabyul. He does cute little things for Yuu, like fixing their necktie for them, routinely thanks them for favors, and offers to help them or show them around. Most notably, Riddle is one of the dorm leaders that is most open about what he is doing to try and reconcile with his childhood trauma (which he communicates to us in the start of episode 4).

Leona is consistently abrasive towards Yuu from the very beginning to the current state of the main story. Their first encounter involves Leona about to fight Yuu for stepping on his tail, and throughout the second episode, he just continues picking on Yuu and their friends, whether in games or in actual battle. He still seems very closed off and reluctant to help Yuu later on (unless it also personally benefits him, like in the case of episode 3), and isn’t interested in becoming friends (Leona still looks very annoyed when Grim calls out to him in episode 5).

Azul doesn’t think of Yuu as anything special; while still professional, he initially sees them as another sucker to bait into a deal and take advantage of to acquire more assets for himself. According to Azul, Yuu doesn’t have any traits or skills worth taking—they’re unremarkable in every way to him. However, following episode 3, Azul is more willing to lend them a helping hand and to hear them out when they’re in need of help, most notably when the Scarabia mobs are chasing Yuu and Grim. Like Leona, Azul has his own reasons for wanting to assist, but at least he’s now taking Yuu’s word a little more seriously instead of taking them for another fool. Something else that’s interesting is that Azul’s business mindset still overrides his social interactions in the main story; he doesn’t give Yuu or anyone else overtly special treatment just because they’re on better terms or because Yuu literally saved his life.

Kalim is always pretty friendly and welcoming to Yuu, the same as he is with any other student or faculty member. Jamil, on the other hand, saw Yuu similarly to how Azul did: as some tool he could use to get his way. After the events of episode 4, Jamil no longer treats Yuu like someone he can weaponize to achieve his own goals, but treats them like how he treats everyone else with that stoic, diligent facade he always puts up. If I had to describe this, it’s like… Yuu was at a negative before, and now they’re on relatively neutral grounds? Or maybe Jamil feels that Yuu is a kindred spirit, considering they both need to constantly babysit dummies—

Vil is the dorm leader that is most consistently polite to Yuu, both before and after his Overblot. He acknowledges Yuu as his equal and thinks that they can play an important supportive role in the VDC group as their manager. Vil is very strict, but he isn’t unfair and he doesn’t chide Yuu for things out of their control or things they had no direct involvement in (ie Vil didn’t use his UM on Yuu because they didn’t eat the cake or pie that Trey made for them). After the OB, Vil is extremely apologetic to Yuu and even funnels his winnings to help renovate Ramshackle Dorm.

Idia doesn’t have a lot of time to engage with Yuu, but since he dislikes socializing, he, by extension, also dislikes Yuu and closes himself off from them. However, by the end of episode 6, Idia is making a genuine effort to reach out to others and hang out with them! He’s playing video games over at Ramshackle Dorm with Yuu and co~

Malleus’s episode hasn’t been released yet, but we’ve slowly been watching his and Yuu’s friendship come together over the course of the main story. Yuu’s the one person he’s met in his life that isn’t afraid of him and treats him like an equal (albeit in part due to Yuu’s ignorance about who he actually is), and we see just how much Malleus has come to cherish their company in the night. When he reveals his true identity to Yuu at the end of episode 5, then episode 6 skips addressing how their relationship has changed as a result of that discovery. 7 will likely pick up where this plot point left off, and I’m sure that many TWST fans are chomping at the bit to see how Malleus and Yuu’s dynamic will continue to develop.

In the end, it doesn’t feel like we’re super close to most of them (maybe varying degrees of “acquaintance” at most?), but it really helps in making Twisted Wonderland feel fleshed out! Different people, different personalities, different circumstances, different levels of comfort in opening up to and befriending others... The TWST cast is just really diverse!

[starsreminisce]

Every once in a while, there is some comment that suggests Elain and Lucien's mating bond is off or fake. I actually argue quite the opposite, and I think Lucien is intuitively attuned to Elain's emotions, and their bond is the strongest between the three sisters. I also think that when Elain is not doing well, Lucien starts showing up more.

This makes his appearance during ACOSF solstice even more interesting to me, given that he was absent for ACOSAF's solstice, both of them declaring that they can't stand to be around each other.

Feysand's bond is mental, Nessian's bond is physical, and Elucien's bond is emotional. I also think this manifests in how each of the sisters pushed away from their mate: Feyre thinking she should still be with Tamlin, Nesta randomly hooking up with random males. I also think it's how their mate helped their respective partner heal. Feyre and Nesta are similar in that both don't want to be weak or helpless anymore, but the end of their healing was marked differently. Feyre's was marked when she secured the Ouroboros with a message that suggests the mental power needed with a statement like "Only you can decide what breaks you," and Nesta's was marked by the Blood Rite.

We can go through the end of ACOMAF and the parts in ACOWAR where Lucien has been the only one advocating for Elain and just knowing what she needs while giving enough distance to prevent overwhelming her.

The part that sticks out to me was when Lucien decided to find Vassa, and he specifically said that "I’m not needed here. I’ll fight if you need me to." They were left alone for the first time, Elain wanted to stop him but she didn't, and he left to fulfill her prophecy.

The next scenes we had Elain enjoying herself to make bread (an act associated with accepting the bond, just saying), Elain speaking up to use her to convince Graysen to do something for the humans, we find out that Lucien is the heir to the Day Court (fulfilling Elain's need for sunshine), Elain's “His name is Lucien."

When was the next time we saw Lucien and Elain together? After Hybern had been defeated, and he came running to her, spying the blood on her hands and asking if she was okay, then offering his condolences and then his praise. I also have to remind y'all that Azriel saw her first and said nothing when she forced Truth-Teller back to him. In his bonus chapter, he didn't have a thought in regards to this either.

In ACOSAF, people also ignore that Lucien tried to be there for Elain, and she was "too polite" to turn him away until he got the hint and left. What stood out to me, though, was during the Solstice, it was Lucien who told Elain not to be troubled because he wouldn't be staying for long, and it was Lucien who turned down Feyre's invitation to both stay for the festivities and stay in Velaris for two weeks to "get to know Elain" before announcing that he would be moving in with Jurian and Vassa. Elain was in a pretty good place at this point in time.

However, in ACOSF, we get this little nugget:

But Elain said, “I went into the Cauldron, too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.”

On top of that, Elain and Nesta became estranged, Azriel pulling back his interactions with her, her being denied to search for the trove or being prevented from doing more than just tending to her little garden.

Is it a coincidence that Elain insisted on attending the Hewn City Solstice, knowing that its cruelty bothered her, was described as wearing pearl barrettes, and then the following day, Lucien was at the Inner Circle solstice, seemingly recanting his stance of not being able to stand to be around her for two minutes and his present of pearl earrings.

I don't think it's meant to be cruel on his behalf, considering he tried to hide his disappointment from her reaction upon receiving his present, but I do wonder if it's meant to be a statement that he sees what she's trying to do and trying to be as supportive as he could while still allowing her to dictate how their interactions would go.

Some people demand two extremities: either he is around too much or he doesn't care enough to try, but they fail to see how perfectly middle-ground Lucien is being. He is still accessible for her while allowing her to choose if she wants to interact with him.

ACOSAF Solstice = Elain happy and excited over cooking for everyone = Lucien saying he is not staying.

ACOSF Solstice = Elain pushing back on attending Hewn City, a place that brings her discomfort = Lucien staying for that Solstice.

Elain and Lucien are both capable of voicing out when things bother them, especially towards each other, as seen in ACOSAF, but I don't think if Lucien knew he was not wanted by her in ACOSAF solstice, he wouldn't have attended ACOSF solstice. He also would not have attended the Starfall in the later months, especially if there had been secret progress between her and Azriel.

Rhys came to Feyre's aid when she called for help mentally as she walked down the aisle, Cassian came to Nesta's aid when she was physically at her weakest, so it makes me wonder if Elain is approaching an emotional tipping point where she can't keep pretending that everything is fine when she sees both her sisters successfully moved on from their trauma because of help from their mates, Nesta especially.

We also have to acknowledge that the scent of their bond is strong a year later. I wonder if this manifested with Cassian asking Lucien where Elain was when he visited their training and Nesta calling Elain a wrench for staying far away from him as confirmation they too smell it. I would go so far as to wonder if that's why Rhys specifically brought up that Lucien has a right to the blood duel to Azriel because he smelled their bond. The only person that smell mattered to is Azriel.

So yeah, all in all, if SJM wanted to continue the train that Elain would reject the bond, she would have made other choices in ACOSF, starting with Vassa's development, Cassian's observations that Lucien is adamant about not being in Velaris, Elain trying to get closer to Azriel, Nesta flat out saying that it was Elain that Azriel was pining over by the fire, and it would have continued after Solstice where Azriel and Elain nearly kissed.

Instead, SJM chose to make their only interaction with that Lucien still looks at Elain with longing and Elain's bravado disappearing when he did.

[st-armand]

Hobie Brown & Anarchism: A Discussion Pt 2 (Race)

Authors Note: This is my dissertation for the discourse about Hobie’s politics being misrepresented as your friendly community radical leftist

Warnings: Political Ideologies, mentions of violence and oppression

Hobie’s politics are intertwined deeply with his race, as previously stated in my random headcanons post I talked about Hobie being a Jamaican Brit, he has a lot of great analysis on colonization and imperialism, living in a colonized state of New London

(Again I’ve headcanoned Hobie to live in Lenapehoking **New York/Brooklyn and the surrounding areas** that was recolonized by the British Government and renamed New London, I’ll say he was raised in Camden but he relocated to New London when his family decided to leave due to many poor people being displaced to the new settlement. He still exists in the 70s for the most part but sometimes I do set it in modern times, there are some books ill add that are after Hobie’s time period)

Hobie is in touch with his Caribbean roots, a roadman, but an islander at heart, his grandparents raised him very similarly to their own upbringing in Jamaica, he’s well versed in the liberative politics of the Caribbean, keeping track of coupes, falsely installed leaders, environmental activism, labor strikes and organizations, and queer liberation movements, he knows he’s unable to support their struggle physically but as Spiderman he’s vocal about the efforts of those overseas fighting against settler colonialism.

There are often times where there a diaspora groups who have movements in the colonial lands for their homelands, and those are instances where he can be present to fight, and protect.

Hobie is a dark skinned black man, he’s spent his life navigating colorism and antiblackness, whether you headcanon him as other, he still has existed in spaces where black men and women trans and cis have faced antiblackness, misogynoir and trans-misognynoir, from his family, himself and his community.

For many years he spent time witnessing these acts from people around him (Like how many of us know what family members to trust with our identities and politics because of how lax and unaware the adults we were raised with speak), I don’t see him as the person to spew hate, but he has had to unlearn constructs around colorism and his social political understanding of the world, first through lived experience, then through learned information, and then through community action—praxis.

I’d personally headcanon him as possibly genderqueer and asexual (like myself) due to how often he’s the receiving end of unwanted sexual attention, he enjoys sex, but sees it as an intimate act with people he needs to trust. Saying this he still had to navigate being queer in homophobic and transphobic in black spaces, (This is for all my black trans friends, white trans people please don’t use this as a reason to be anti-Black, this is a intracommunity conversation.)

He was lucky to have an expanse of siblings with varying gender expressions and sexuality so his home was a safe space, but he still wasn’t immune to facing this violence.

He goes hard for dark skinned black people, and black people who aren’t conventionally attractive, he knows he has privilege with his looks and how that bends people in his favor, but regardless of that Hobie wants people to KNOW him on a deep level, and isn’t shy about deep emotional connections and emotional maturity, he knows people intimately, in ways where people expose their inner most turmoil to him and he accepts them as they are, and asks before offering advice.

Considering his feelings on treating people with respect regardless of appearance this is best shown with the way he interacts with houseless people on the street, he doesn’t shirk away from the smell or their appearance, he is knowing and emphatic to the circumstances they’ve been forced into, he isn’t deterred by their delusions, hallucinations of breakdowns, and he is an expert at deescalate them when they’re having a mental health crisis. He doesn’t openly antagonize people (for the most part) but he kinda has this aquarian way of showing his authority through his intellectual capacity and cool demeanor, he does speak down to people who are treating people in a discriminating fashion, he’s very shady.

Like lets say he’s in a group of people and their spewing colorist remarks he’ll dramatically sigh and rub his temples and say shit like,

“Ya don’t really read do you?”

“C’me off it mate”

“Someone’s new ‘ere”

And if the person or conversation continues in that direction, he’ll openly state his opinions instead of making the tension palpable with his shade.

“Y’know ‘s quite simple innit? Dark skinned black people are the lowest on colonial racial pillers, dark skinned women navigate it the hardest, having to live in the confines of racialized ideas of beauty and attraction.”

If the person is open to learning he’ll continue to teach them in a nuanced fashion, taking his time to explain and highlight the histories and how they connect with modern social standards, but if they aren’t he just continues to be annoyed and exasperated, usually before that happens his group ushers them away, their space isn’t for people who want to debate the livelihood of other people.

As a taste of the romance and platonic parts,

Hobie finds all people attractive, he sees past their physical traits, and focuses on the content of their character, their morals, their personal goals and aspirations, that is where he finds beauty in people, sexually or romantically? As I stated before he has to know you before initiating a relationship like that, but he does recognize that there are beautiful people, he prefers to get into relationships with black people or non-black people of color only if they are willing to navigate antiblackness alongside him and for the safety of other black people, and don’t expect him to stay in a relationship with someone who’s family is racists or discriminatory especially if you don’t verbally set boundaries and hold the defensive.

He does have non conventional ideas of romance, but he gives and shows love in all kinds of way that it makes it worth feeling insecure in the basis of the relationship, I don’t believe that his consistency joke was meant to be understood as jumping between person to person, or manipulating you into a relationship with no future goal in mind, he doesn’t mind spending the rest of his life alone, especially taking into consideration his role as Spiderman, but he wants to have someone who will anchor him in the chaotic inconsistent world, that the roles they play in love are adaptable, a giver, a provider, a support system, a friend, a comrade he plays all those roles effortlessly and knows which you need and when. He isn’t devastated by moving on from someone he loves, he recognizes that people are in your life for a reason for a certain period of time, short term and long term, and he doesn’t fight the change when the tides of life are moving against him.

I got all yalls request imma reply so you know I see them, will work on them in the next few weeks since application deadlines are coming up <33