#this is badly written and im sorry abt it

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

everyone in the jrwi fandom who is so desperate for well written female characters should stop forcing their hcs into canon and start reading worm

[potatobugz]

??!?! HOW DO YOU WRITE BRITISH PEOPLE

[writeousposting]

took a writing prompt a ran w it.. havent finished, but here's the wip for now, since ive not posted anything writing yet on here.

Wip under the cut.

It was a shining day, the sun blaring down on the people of Yokohama, not quite blistering, but not gently in any way. A seemingly perfect day for Osamu.

Warmness was always her favourite; it reminded her of home. The agency.

Speaking of; she was heading there from her dorm! She was a bit (very) late, but it was a routine, at this point! Though, she was sure that Kunikida would be angry. She was a bit later than usual, to his defence.

As if on a cue, to save her from her demise of work, a strangely familiar portal opened beneath her. Strange, she could have sworn her ability nullified other’s.

It usually did! Not at the touch of the ability itself, though, hence the portal, she reasoned. Not giving herself a second to think about what to do, she clumsily fell through said portal, the yellowish glistening exterior encasing her, almost gently.

Weird.

Though, she had no time to linger and consider the feeling, as she was quickly thrown out of it, head pounding as she realised her eyes had somehow slid shut.

As she opened the lids that encased the balls inset in her skull, once thing become apparent;

She collapsed! And her head hurt! One weird thing right into another! (Though, they were likely connected.) It didn’t take long for the uncomfortable pounding of her head to lighten to a mild headache, and for her to realise she had been kidnapped.

How unfortunate.. Perhaps it was a beautiful woman willing to commit double suicide with her? (Not that she actually cared about beautiful women.)

Though… As she glanced around the place she woke in, she came to the quick realisation that it was important to get going and start figuring out on how to get out of the.. Cage she was in. She blinked. A Cage. And not just a cage, a dog crate. A roomy one, she fit it easily, but it was still built for a dog.

A wretched mutt of a creature, she thought. Thankfully for her, no dog seemed to be in sight or had been in the crate for at least some time.

Speaking of sight, a quick sweep of the room revealed a particular lack of it. There was only one, small lamp atop the crate she was being held in, just enough for her to see herself and just barely outside the crate, and not much farther.

Attempting to push herself forward, against the cage’s door, makes her deathy aware that a collar is tied tightly around her throat and bound to the bars at the back of the cage, straining at her neck as she leans towards the entrance.

The collar tightened. She leaned back towards where it was tied to evade any possible choking.

She was even chained up like a dog.

This had to of been on purpose, she thought bitterly. Someone she knew was doing this.

But who?

As if given a cue, a soft creaking of a door at the top of what Osamu assumes is stairs leading down to the - assumed - cellar she was stuck in echo’s out into her ears. She held her breath as steps slowly approached, stairs audibly straining under the weight of her captor.

She stared expectingly, waiting. It was only one set of footsteps, she could do a one v one.

However, whatever she was expecting was false - not that she knew what she was expecting - as Fyodor, the Russian terrorist, is who steps out of the dark, flicking the lights on to give the brunette a better line of sight at the rat of a man.

”Dostoevsky,” she seethed, a cough violently pushing its way out of her throat. Probably from the stale air and dust of the cellar, she thought, internal monologue bitter in every sense of the word, even the dissatisfying taste of a salty meal lingered on her tongue at the sight of the man.

Said man snickered, approaching the cage with an amused glint in his eyes. Her hands gripped a leash, pink in colour, tight enough his knuckles turned white.

The Russian bent down to the entrance of the cage, opening it slowly, movement methodical, practised, purposeful.

Osamu couldn't help but scowl disapprovingly. She had been captured by a rat, she thought angrily. She would never live this down.

Another amused noise escaped the Russian’s throat. His pale limps reached out, and Osamu quickly backed as far into the cage as she could, like a feral animal backing from the touch of a vet.

As much as she detested the cage, the crate, she despised that man even more. He could barely be considered a man at all, in her eyes. (not that she was better).

The being before her returned the sneer, before his expression returned to a neutral one. A tingle of pride shot through Osamu as that small, VERY small, victory.

However, that single moment of distraction is what got her attached to the leash in the monster’s hands and unlatched from the crate.

She would have been thankful for that, if it were not Dostoevsky at the other end of the leash.

If it were Chuuya, maybe she wouldn't mind, but the girl wasn't here, and instead that thing was, she spat to herself, mentally, of course. (she would never admit to preferring Chuuya over anyone. Over her dead fucking body).

She would crudely snapped from her thoughts as Dostoevsky harshly tugged at the leash, beckoning the detective out of the crate. With a tense sigh, Osamu followed, crawling out of the crate (if only it were large enough to stand in, she mused), and stood once she exited.

Apparently that was the wrong thing to do, as the person before her quickly shoved her to the ground, quite rudely, might she add, without a word.

A quiet yelp escaped her mouth despite herself. Her face flushed a beat red.

Dostoevsky’s lips curled upwards at the corners, “Dogs don’t stand on two legs, yknow,” she spoke smoothly, voice almost comforting at the way it sounded.

Osamu quickly slapped herself to take the thought out of her mind. Dostoevsky was not comforting, no. That was worse than admitting Chuuya was someone she valued! (which she wasn't).

It took a moment for the brunette to realise that she had been called a dog.

Well, that would explain the crate, she thought, glancing at it bitterly. She detested everything ‘dog’. And rat. But mostly dog.

Shaking her mind clear, she glared up at Dostoevsky, who seemed to be observing her with amusement.

”What,” Osama barked out, holding back a snarl. That would be too dog-like.

”Nothing,” she insisted, shaking her head gently, “Just waiting for you to be ready to go upstairs,” he added on, somehow graceful as he stood in a dirty wet cellar.

Of which Osamu was on the floor of. Pushing aside her pride, she nodded solemnly, “I’m ready,” she sighed out.

A smile graced Fyodor’s lips, “Then let’s go.” he began to walk, hand still harshly gripping the poor leash that had been latched to her via the collar unfortunately bound to her throat.

Recounting the crude way she had been shoved to the ground when standing, Osamu opted to crawl, on her hand and knees.

If she got dirty, she could simply clean it once she got out of whatever game Dostoevsky was plotting.

After a small struggle against the stairs, Osamu was lead to a living room, a large one, at that.

She supposes that the Russian was rich, which would explain the large living spaces as well as the well-executed décor.

"Stay," was the only word that left Dostoevsky's lips as he led Osamu to sit beside the couch, not on the couch, but beside it.

Osamu supposes that the man was taking the 'dog' thing overly serious. Fyodor would disappear into the kitchen, giving Osamu a chance to inspect her surroundings.

It was nice, like.. Really nice. It was old-fashioned, sure, but it was big, bigger than the Russian alone needed, thats for sure.

Osamu was stationed right beside the couch, a large piece of furniture that looked like it would squeak if you sat on it. She doubted Fyodor used it anyway, it looked way too shiny for that, almost new.

So did the coffee table, actually. The glass in the middle of it glittering brightly at Osamu. If she peered at it from above, she could probably see herself in the reflection of it! The wood was nicely furnished as well, a nice deep burgundy colour seeped into it from the finish.

She rarely cared about furniture, but she had little else to do than inspect it. And it was strange, there was a bottom compartment to the table, like most of it’s kind do, but nothing was on it aside from a single book and some candles, neatly stacked around each other.

“Neat freak,” she would mutter to herself, letting her gaze scan across the room for something. What she was looking for, exactly? She wasn't sure. A way out, perhaps?

There was a fire place. A nice brick one, too, real, unlike most nowadays, being fake flames pushed onto a heater. She supposes she can give Fyodor that, at least. There was a picture atop it, like some old manors used to do with the head of the house; but this wasnt a portrait. It was.. Well, maybe a portrait, but it was a dog. A brown one with brown eyes and bandages wrapped around it.

It looks like her as a dog. A shiver sent down her spine at that thought.

It had to of been a coincidence, right?

Right?

…

She wasnt allotted any more time to ponder over the coincidences of the picture, as Dostoevsky waltzed back into the room, a confident timbre to his posture, amused. Entertained, even.

End of WIP.

[vaugarde]

i already knew about roy’s wattrel evolving because people on twitter were comparing it to gliscor’s evolution and claiming it’s the same thing and it’s kinda amusing to me because liiiiike. gliscor didnt really invent the concept of evolving to save your trainer, thats literally a potential reading for charizard’s evolution. when i compare later pokeani moments back to gliscor i hope im implying properly that it’s all mostly just a bit. like im not actually saying dracovish is just like gliscor because it also refused to be recalled in an important battle so it could fight to the end.

that being said gliscor’s evolution was like a million times better than kilowattrel’s lol

[seoafin]

I'm sorry it straight up reeks of internalized misogyny and just plain misogyny when women complain about weak female characters

[officialbillhader]

Homophobia

Listen i understand this book was written in the 80s but between the main character being a mary sue, the characters all being rather typical stereotyped characters, the lack of an actual female with a unique personality (assuming any of the characters have a unique personality), an unnecessary sex scene just to show the mary sue can get laid, the author also decided to make one of the (kind of nuanced) bad guys a gay pedophile, and i seriously put my head in my hands and debated if i wanted to continue reading this book

[lewkwoodnco]

Can I make you a request about Anthony Lockwood based on the song “So American” by Olivia Rodrigo🥺😭

so american! - Lockwood x Reader

when he laughs at all my jokes and he says I’m so american oh god it’s just not fair of him to make me feel this much I’d go anywhere he goes when he says I’m so american oh god I’m gonna marry him if he keeps this shit up i might just be in la la la la la la la la la love

a/n: this fic has been rattling around in my head for a couple of weeks now and I was soooo double minded abt writing it so THANK YOU for the ask!!!!!! might not have written it otherwise heheh also I’m sooo proud of how my gifs turned out it was so fun to colour them all guts themed 😍😍 I hope you enjoy!! <333 also im having issues w the keep reading button AGAIN so sorry :(((

warnings/tropes: lockwood and reader are already in an established relationship, fluffy fluff, veeerrry small sprinkling of angst but happy ending! domestic sweetness

word count: 3.3k!

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

“Ready?”

Lockwood ducked into the car's passenger seat, grinning at the sight of her comically desperate expression. George and Lucy were fussing in the backseat, mainly because of Lucy’s seatbelt, or lack thereof, and they didn't seem to notice his arrival.

“Just wear the fucking seatbelt.”

"I'll be fine, George."

"She got her license at 16. 16! They just let anyone drive all willy-nilly up and down the roads in America."

Lucy gave him a look. He finally gave up and tugged at his own seatbelt sceptically, muttering darkly under his breath.

Lockwood & Co. was much more than a psychical investigation agency. Outside of their working hours, each member liked to work on some kind of passion project. After not having driven for over a year since she got her driving license in the States, she had decided to apply for one in London. Luckily, her employer had gallantly offered to provide her with the lessons she badly needed, having been the first of the three to earn his license. Well, employer and boyfriend. 

Her mother could hardly believe the news and, frankly, so could she. In a lot of ways, having an English boyfriend was vastly different from having an American one. First, there was a slight communication barrier, given how terrible she was with accents. Then there were the differing preferences - Lockwood seemed forever ready for a cuppa at any time of day, whereas the only kind of tea she really enjoyed was iced tea. Still, these differences left gaps for lingering gazes and silences that stretched on a little too much, and somewhere in between she slipped her hand into his, and the rest was history. 

Lockwood turned away to buckle his seatbelt.

"Okay, your seatbelt on?"

"Yes."

"Ready to go?"

"Hang on," came George's peeved voice from behind them, "you're not going to brief her first?" The two of them stared at each other blankly. 

"Uh, Y/N, do you remember how to drive?"

"Sure." It was one of those things you never forget, like riding a bicycle. Sure, it had been a while, but how hard could it truly be?

"Brilliant. Now-"

George pulled himself forward between the two front seats, straining against his seatbelt. “We don’t drive on the right side here. We drive on the left side of the road. Left. Left.”

She glanced at her rearview mirror which outlined the line of cars behind them parked on the left side of the street.

“No. You don’t say.”

Lockwood coughed, poorly concealing his laugh as he craned his neck towards the backseat windows. "Right, all clear. I think we can move of-"

"Parking brake."

"Er, right, what George said. Disable the parking brake first."

“I’ve never driven with a parking brake before.”

“So you push in this metal bit, like so,” said Lockwood, gently manoeuvring her fingers into the right grip, “and then pull it up a little, and then bring it all the way down.”

She tugged at it in frustration. “I -it’s not working.”

“Lockwood, did you tell her to step on the “

“Step-on-the-brake-while-doing-that-yes I was just about to say, George. I think I know how to teach someone how to drive. Unless you’d like to take over?”

"Oh, please. You couldn't pay me to sit in the front seat with that maniac driving."

She got her parking brake down, checked her mirrors, and they were off. For a minute there it was quite enjoyable, trundling through the mostly empty backstreets of London. Lockwood even tried to prop his feet on the dashboard before getting badly told off by George. He was forever propping his feet up at the slightest chance - at the Archives, at home, and now here. Maybe it was all part of some innate desire to be a wheelbarrow.

And so, things were going perfectly rosy, until she faced her first real challenge - oncoming traffic. As soon as the car heading towards them came into plain enough view, the four of them went into hysterics. The road was just narrow enough to make overtaking a little too tricky for her abilities at the moment.

“What do I do? WHY isn’t he slowing down?”

“Don’t panic, it’s alright. Stop a little to the side.”

She cursed, fumbling for the brake pedal her foot had carelessly slipped off of. Lockwood was nervously watching the car get closer and closer to them.

“Now would be a good time to stop, Y/N. Brake! BRAKE!”

They shot ahead sharply, swerving right sharply, narrowly missing the car passing them. Lucy swore loudly and George gripped the car grab handle above him as he started scolding no one in particular. 

"NOT THE BRAKE!”

Lockwood gripped the steering wheel over her hands, frantically trying to steer them to safety. With some difficulty, she shifted her foot back to the right pedal and slammed the brakes. There was a bit of a scuffle in the backseat, including George going off on Lucy in a very ‘I-told-you-so’ tone.

At the front of the car, Lockwood and she were still frozen, reeling from the past very exciting 30 seconds. Her eyes settled to where his hands were still resting on hers, tightly pinning her fingers to the steering wheel.

“Your hands are so warm.”

He peeled them off almost instantly, and she was sorry she brought it up in the first place. “Yeah, well, they’re panicking, just like the rest of me. What the bloody hell was that? I thought you said you knew how to drive!”

“I do know how to drive.” She bit back a smile at the sight of her 180 cm tall boyfriend trying to catch his breath with his hand dramatically splayed across his chest, muttering something about Americans handing out licenses to just about anyone.

The drive back to the rental car agency was much less eventful. After returning the car, they trudged back up the road to Portland Row. As they hung their coats up, she met his thoughtful gaze.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He drew in a breath and hesitated. “You look nice.”

“Is this some convoluted way of patting yourself on the back for your fashion choices?”

“So you agree? You think you look nice?”

She groaned. She should have known no good was going to come from showing Lockwood Mean Girls. Still, it was hard to stay mad for long at a face like that. "You’re such a nuisance. A…delightful one, arguably, but still a nuisance.”

"You find me delightful?"

"That's your takeaway?”

"Next thing I know you’ll be saying you fancy me.”

“I’m literally wearing your shirt right now.”

“Luce!” He turned and started down the hallway. “Y/N says I’m delightful!”

As usual, the four of them reconvened in the kitchen a little after lunch for a tea break. Well, the four of them minus Lockwood, who had been bullied into fixing a plumbing issue in the basement. They sipped their tea and chewed their biscuits in silence. She wished she could bring down a little for Lockwood.

“Maybe I should go see if he needs some help.”

“No!” George nearly upset his tea, which made Lucy choke on her biscuit. “ Don’t go down there. You’ll distract him, he won’t get shit done, and that’ll be one more week without hot water for me.”

So she sat back down sulkily, brooding over her tea, until another topic of conversation struck her.

“Speaking of Lockwood -“

“- no one’s mentioned Lockwood-“

“-did you guys see the socks he was wearing today?”

Lucy and George didn’t even try to muffle their groans.

“They were very nice socks! They had the most precious pattern of baby ducks against a darling blue backgr-“

She stopped short as Lucy reached across the table to grip her hand.

“Y/N, I say this with love, but if I have to hear one more word about Lockwood, or his stupid bloody socks, I am going to ram a fork into my eye.”

She blinked, confused, and scoffed. “Gosh, you guys are so overdramatic. I don’t talk about him that much.”

George and Lucy exchanged a look.

“Okay, so maybe I like my boyfriend and I enjoy talking about him. Is that really so bad?”

Lockwood rescued all of them from the siege of George’s response by walking in right then, holding a wrench and looking a little worse for wear, but appeared very pleased with himself.

“Fixed!”

“Finally.”

Lucy frowned at the clock above the stove. “Isn’t that client meeting at Tooting today?”

Lockwood’s smile slipped right off as he glanced at his watch and rushed out of the kitchen, muttering furiously. His simple black leather watch which complemented his wrist so perfectly-

“Y/N! Time to leave!”

Maybe George and Lucy had a point.

Once their client meeting had finished, she and Lockwood stood on the pavement outside the house, looking for cabs to flag down. It was a balmy evening, and a cloudless sky meant they could enjoy the warmth of the setting sun beating down on them. She squinted down the road while Lockwood pulled something out from his coat pocket.

“For a job well done this morning and at the meeting…” he revealed two pieces of tightly wrapped square candies sitting on his palm. “A little treat.”

She stared at the candy for a moment, thinking hard.

“Caramel! I just remembered.”

“…what?”

“That’s what we call it in the States. A caramel.”

“It’s made of caramel, sure-“

“Plural is caramels.”

He made a strangled sound from the back of his throat. “Changing an uncountable noun into a countable one? That’s just lazy.”

“Fine. What do you call it?”

“Toffee.” The vowels rolled off his tongue like silk in that English accent that had made it difficult to fully concentrate from day one. Standing next to him, watching him gently and methodically unfolding the golden wrapper, shining and glinting like a beacon of light…maybe this was all she needed to be happy.

“Taw-fee?”

He pulled a face at her exaggerated American drawl, and she leaned her head on his shoulder as he pried apart the stuck halves of the toffee. She watched him visibly relax as the first tangy notes hit his tongue, her own half close to melting in her palm under the brunt of the setting sun. He met her gaze and gave a faint smile, almost reflexively covering her hand with his own.

“God, you’re so American. So, which is it? Toffee or caramel?”

She bites into what's left of the soft treat she's scraped off her palm. It's warm and comforting and she instantly feels a little more happy. Maybe it's the candy, or maybe it's the boy whose side is pressed into hers. Love, she decides. It's love.

“How many cups of tea have you had today?”

As idyllic as the weekend had been, they were back to their usual busy routine which meant that their evening tea break was the first time they’d see each other since breakfast. She had just walked into the kitchen where Lockwood was seated at the kitchen table, pouring over a mess of papers with a cup of tea to the side. One of the first things she had learnt about Lockwood was his near-debilitating addiction to tea. Now, he silently took a sip from his mug and she gave an exaggerated sigh, settling into the opposite end of the table.

“You really drink too much caffeine.”

He quirked his lips into a lopsided half-smile -/ he peered at the papers she had spilled onto the table. “What’s all…” he gestured to her papers with his mug, “…that?”

“The Rotwell agents give me hell for my American accent when they’re on duty at DEPRAC.” She held up her list of words dolefully. “‘Least I can do is pronounce things right.”

He slid into the chair next to her, taking a look at the list. “Which one are you at?”

“Pri-vacy. Pri...vacy. Nope, can't do it.”

“Of course it sounds weird when you say it like that. Try using it in a sentence.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Fine. If I have to say ‘pri-vacy’ one more time, I’m running you through with my rapier."

Lockwood choked on his tea.

"...or, you know...'pry-vacy' sounds perfectly fine."

She gave him a brief smile. “Anyway, I’ve got to do a Satchell’s run now. Lucy says we’re out of flares. Don’t wait up for me.”

It took her a decent amount of time to collect all the supplies they were out of stock on, yet when she returned Lockwood was still sitting in that same chair, staring at the same papers with worn-out eyes, distractedly tugging at his hair. He barely looked up when she walked in, mystified.

“You’re still up?”

He rubbed his face firmly. “I can’t…I can’t figure this out.” She took a closer look at the papers. There were reports dating back two centuries on the house of one of their upcoming cases.

“The investigation is tomorrow and I have no idea what or where the Source could be.”

“Well…maybe George’s figured it out.”

“If he did, he’d be home by now.” He hunched over the papers once again, his head swaying dangerously close to the table, and she was instantly reminded of how exhausted Lockwood had looked that morning. As if he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. She started stacking some papers together.

“It’s getting late. We should head to bed.”

“But I’m not done yet.”

“You can continue in the morning, but right now, you need to rest.”

His features hardened like he was ready to start a fight, but it lasted all of half a second before they caved to exhaustion. He looked like a drenched cat left out in the rain, with his hair messed up and in disarray.

“George is still at the Archives. What kind of a boss would I be to go to bed now? What kind of a…friend?”

Lockwood leaned back in his chair, briefly pressing a hand to his eyes and then his forehead, his forearm trembling ever so slightly. In the dim light of the kitchen, he seemed more skeleton than Man with his malnourished pallor and the scar on his lip being carefully outlined by a shadow. She ran a hand through his hair, down his neck, all the way to his shoulder.

“Hey. Don’t beat yourself up over it. You’re human, too.”

He gave a deep sigh. “Fine. I’ll come in a while.”

“Promise?”

He gave a jerky nod. The tea in his mug had gone stone cold by then, and so she brewed him a fresh cup. He looked up, confused, as she placed it next to his papers.

“What about the caffeine?”

She bit the inside of her cheek and combed down the hair sticking up all haywire, as if she hadn’t heard him. “What about it?”

He smiled faintly and gave the hand on his shoulder a light squeeze, and returned to his work with his eyes humming with a little more energy.

Later that night, she dreamt that he was falling, and she was losing her mind trying to save him.

She should have known nothing was going to right in the job from the very beginning. None of them had been able to find much information on the house, and they were running late, so tempers were running very high. Even during the case itself, they were forced to split up and fumble through improvised plans. That was until she had stumbled onto Lockwood frozen at the basement door, looking down into the darkness in a strange way. 

Go back, he had said. I don’t know what any of us can expect in this place. So I’ll come with you, she had replied. Or let’s wait for George or Lucy. I can’t. Why not? It’s different. I don’t have the time to explain it. Different how?

You’re more important.

The look on his face was more foreign than the house itself.

Now they were home, back at Portland Row. Lucy and George had sensed something was off and retired to their rooms. Lockwood headed towards the kitchen, and she followed him. He hadn’t spoken a word since her face had blanched at the sight of him poised at the basement’s entrance. She tugged at the ends of her hair. She could feel an argument brewing and she didn’t like it one bit.

“Are you okay?”

Lockwood continued rummaging through the refrigerator for his routine drink of orange juice, taking his time to reply. “Don’t I look okay?”

“Yes. No.” He was terribly confusing. “Why did you say you weren’t important?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You said you were less important.”

He finally twisted the cap off the carton with his trembling fingers. The case had shaken all of them up, but for some reason, he was trying to hide it.

“Well…it’s not not true.”

“No it isn’t.”

“I’m a figurehead, Y/N. I represent the agency, that’s my name on the plaque out there, but that’s about it. You, Lucy, George…you’re the soul of the agency.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If…heaven forbid, something were to happen to one of us…”

Oh, he was so aggravating. She massaged her temples. She was going to punch him soon if she wasn’t careful.

“…the lot of you’d be better off without me than anyone else, and-“

"Oh god, shut up already!"

Lockwood abandoned the carton and straightened, and they glared at each other from opposite ends of the kitchen. “Or what? You'll shoot me?"

His expression softened only marginally when he saw how close she was to tears. She shook her head.

"If you pull another stunt like this...I might just have to marry you.”

“I’d have to marry you so that you can look down at your bloody hand and remember that there are people out there who would be nothing without you.”

“Y/-“

“Shame on you, Anthony J. Lockwood. Do you think George wouldn’t care about losing his best friend? Or Lucy? Or me? Hm?”

The tears had started to trickle down her face, and he walked towards her with a sympathetic expression, any and all rage long forgotten, and offered her his handkerchief. She could barely manage a weak glare before caving and accepting it, wiping away at her face. As soon as she was done, she wrapped her arms around him, and he enveloped her in a warm hug that smelled faintly of vanilla.

“That was a…a terrible thing to say, Anthony.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Well, you’re doing a pretty shitty job then. I’m worried about you every day.”

She felt rather than saw his smile, though he could perfectly picture it in her mind - uneven and tipped to the right, but perfectly sincere.

"Also, I'm pretty sure that shooting remark counts as xenophobia."

"Yes, I'm hugging you very xenophobically now."

She buried her face into his chest and scrunched her nose hard. It was moments like these that only cemented her faith that she was never going to find somebody who made her feel the way Lockwood did. Seeing him standing outside the basement, she didn’t even need to think about what to do next. It had become incredibly instinctual - her readiness to take his hand and hurtle into the latest oblivion, blind as a bat. It didn’t get more simple than this: she just wanted to be wherever he was. 

It was him and her, and her and him - Portland Row’s cripplingly disaster couple, Mr A.J. Lockwood and Miss Americana.

TAGLIST: @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @ahead-fullofdreams @neewtmas @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits

[artificialbreezy]

okay so theoretically,,, idek if Matt smokes but i can’t stop thinking abt like,, fwb!Matt who shares his weed but only if you earn it. getting you to ride his thigh, praising you for being so good for him. talking you through it, one hand on your hip to guide you, the other pulling up your shirt so he can leave marks across your chest. he doesn’t even care if you’re making a mess on his pants, they can be washed, but the memory of you getting yourself off, using him to come undone? he could die a happy man

i am simply perishing

girl i’m fucking DEAD over this thought

i’m sorry i’m a sucker for fwb to lovers so don’t mind me

CW: poorly written smut, mentions of drug use (just weed but still), pet names, kinda filthy language, a lil bit of daddy kink bc Matt is in fact daddy. sorry LOL, no actual p in v smut just me rambling really and poorly written smutty themes (im trying bro)

NSFW below the cut ◡̈

but maybe there was a rule of no kissing. kissing equals feelings ya know? so that’s the big rule. like he doesn’t mind kissing your neck down to your chest, but the face? off limits. until today. he’s tired of hiding how feels. he just wants you to be his. he’s tired of people staring at you when you’re in public and his friends making comments about how hot you are. he knows it all. he knows he said no strings attached, but after a year of sleeping together and hanging out all the time he couldn’t help it. so when he woke up that morning and sent you the “hey, wanna come smoke with me?” text, he knew something was gonna happen. he knew he was either reading the situation wrong and this was gonna end the relationship or he was not reading the situation wrong and he’s gonna walk away with a partner.

he was pulled away from his thoughts when he heard his front door open and saw you walk in. “hey dollface.” he smiled towards you. “hi Matty” you blushed his way. you'd think after everything you two had done you wouldn't be so nervous around the man in front of you. You couldn't help it. after the year you've really gotten to know Matt, you couldn't help but feel a certain way. you couldnt help but want to make him happy, you lived to hear his praise. whether that's in his bedroom or around all your friends. you just wanted him to be proud of you. to look at you like you were the only person around, but he said at the very beginning "no strings, honey. you can do that right?" and as much as it hurt to know at any moment he could call it quits, you were just happy to have him in some capacity.

Matt was in front of you with his hands on your waist before you had time to get out of your head. "I have a preroll with your name on it, if you want it of course. you know I'll never force you into it." you chuckled a little, "have I ever told you no before?" he pulled your face to his, lips brushing against yours ever so gently. "never, cause you're my good girl huh?" you nodded against his lips. too scared that if you spoke, he'd move away from you. scared that maybe you were imagining his lips against yours. like this was all some dream. it wasn't until Matt closed the slight gap between the two of you that you realized he was doing this. he broke his rule. there were strings, pulling you to each other and this was proof.

Matt was pulling you towards his couch while his mouth was on yours and his hands traveling down your body until he landed on your ass. he pulled away for a spilt second, just long enough to fall back and pat his lap, signaling you to have a seat. you crawled into his lap, your legs on either side of him. he leaned forward and placed a soft kiss to your lips before he spoke up. "I want you, no. I need you to show me something. can you do that for me baby?" nodding, you said "anything you want Matt." "I need you to show me how badly you need me. I need to know how you feel. I need to feel you make a mess all over my pants. I need you to show me what you need."

His hands were on your hips, guiding you against his thigh. "come on, baby. need to hear how good you feel. how good I'm making you feel. when I'm not even inside you." whimpering as you picked up speed, chasing a high you were desperate to feel. "daddy.." "oh there she is, come on sweet girl. I know you want to. can you be my best girl? can you give daddy what he wants?" you nodded vigorously. “uh huh. uh huh anything you want.” “that’s a good girl. I know you’re close. give me what I want and i’ll make it worth your while angel.” that was enough to push you over the edge. Matt helped move your hips once he saw your body stutter so he could help you ride out your high. you slowly stopped, leaning your head against Matt’s shoulder trying to catch your breath.

“sweetheart, we gotta talk about some things.” Matt rubbed your back as he spoke. you nodded against him, scared of what he was going to say to you now. “i’d like to take you on a date, kiss you a bunch more times because now that i’ve gotten a taste i don’t think i can go back and hold your hand in public. if you’ll let me of course.” you didn’t answer him, not trusting your voice. you sat up, grabbed the boys face and connected your lips once again.

[miss3d-messages]

i feel like some of u r willfully misunderstanding the appeal of billford tbh...... like we r NOT arguing over the fact that they were toxic, thats absolutely a given, and im pretty sure none of us acutally want them back together unless its in an au where.... bill manages to acutally get help.

like billford was absolutely toxic, to bill literally hammering fords hand in, being manipulated constanly, ect you defitnly get the point if you've read TBOB.

i think most of us r just talking abt the fact that they defitnly DID date at some point, despite the fact they were toxic.

and also its just kinda funny to go "haha old man toxic yaoi" (IT IS A LOT MORE COMPLEX THAN THAT OBVIOUSLY BUT U GET THE POINT.)

sorgy this was very badly explained but cliffnotes is most billford shippers do acknowledge that they r toxic but their relationship is so interesting to disect. this is poorly written its like 1 am man im sorry im so tired....... someone has absolutely written this better but the point is there toxic but quite interesting *pushes up nerd glasses* ok im just repeating things atp ill shut up now!!!

[definitelynotshouting]

So I just started playing In Stars and Time because I got curious about the sad little blorbo you occasionally post about and afshdjdkrn

I just. Wanna hug them. So badly 😭

Siffrin isat my everything my cinnamon fucking apple WKDNWKDNEKEKSK HE IS SOOOOO SQUISHABLE...... THEY NEED A HUG SO BAD I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

Incredibly pleased im helping spread the isat propaganda like the dev rlly just Made a whump fic in video game format huh....... for tumblr girlies by a tumblr girlie.... my gods we respect the grind as if i could EVER be normal abt that

I'll be so real ive already written little tidbits for a longer au oneshot i want to write in between chapters of hunger au, and the exercise in 2nd person pov is SO MUCH FUN im enjoying myself immensely :] here, a snippet for both fun and profit (and more fun):

"Siffrin...." Odile says, and it strikes a sour chord, a ripple of dissonance that screws rivets around your chest and tightens. She shouldn't have to say your name like that, with that kind of weight— as if all the Craft in the world isn't enough to carry it. Pure reflex ducks your chin into the collar of your cloak; you avert your gaze back to the rubble-littered floor of the tunnel, tracing dark crags in the stone where sputtering torchlight fails to reach. There you go again, stardust. Loop's voice is an ephemeral echo in your ears, a byproduct of months, years worth of past loops gone by. It isn't real. Gone and made yourself another person's problem. It isn't real. "— need you to start taking this more seriously." Odile bites out each word with the same deportment of a dog tearing off chunks of meat, clipped and cutting. Her brows knit together, mouth pulling down in a sharp curve; the lines around her eyes are tight, carved from the knife's edge of her own disappointment. Her disappointment in you. You almost miss the next sentence as well. "I have no way of helping you if you don't speak to me," she says. "And when you minimize these things you went through— you realize that's going back on your word, yes? Gems alive, Siffrin. We want to help." You speak before your mind has caught up with your mouth, hundreds of loops sanding down the words into something practiced, rote. "But there's nothing to help me w—" "Stop lying to me." Odile snaps, and your jaw shuts so fast you miss biting your tongue by a mere hair's-breadth. Your lungs threaten to buckle— inhale. Exhale. Come on, stardust, Loop's imaginary voice sneers, can't you do something as simple as breathe? Or are you just that blinding useless? ... Shut up. Odile's eyes slip shut. She raises a hand to meet them, kneading at the soft skin between her brows. "I'm... sorry, Siffrin," she says, halting, stilted. "I shouldn't— that wasn't productive. I apologize." Tentatively, you say: "You don't have to." "Yes, I do." Odile straightens once again, tucking a strand of sweat-slicked hair back behind her ear with a grimace. "It's not... conversations like these are... hard. Yelling is pointless for both of us. I'm sorry." "But you didn't—" "Siffrin," she says, and this time the syllables of your name twist, a rise and fall that cracks wryly in the middle. One sharp eyebrow arches up into the canopy of her hairline. "You're supposed to say you accept the apology." You stare. She stares right back. Oh. She's serious. "I..." you look down. "Um. Accept?" "Excellent," Odile says brusquely, and bends to peer at an invisible speck of dirt clinging to her forearm. She brushes at it with absent, studious flicks, the epitome of single-minded focus. "Then now we can move on with our lives."

[og-danny-dorito]

Would it be possible to request a hc of ghost who’s fwb with reader and he catches feelings like how he’d go abt that👀

hello!! sorry about the late response, but of course!! this is. VERY badly written and i ended up getting carried away and making it kind of like a fic so please be warned. i've hit a writing block recently so that's why it sucks 🚶

[ Ghost Catching Feelings For His "Friend With Benefits" ]

TW: mentions of sexual content. minors do not interact. small text included in post (warning for my visually impaired readers).

The relationship you and ghost have is very uhh... complicated. To say the least.

its not like no one's heard of the "friends with benefits" situation at some point in their lives, but he never really thought he'd be involved in something like that

it's even more of a shocker when he starts noticing that he wants a little more than the body that he's learned like the back of his hand

to be more specific, he wants your company. and regardless of whatever logical train of thought might go on in anyone else's head, to him that's a problem

ghost is very task oriented. when he starts to realize that he's developing feelings for you, he's going to do everything in his power to stop it

which means he's going to start avoiding you (rip)

usually he sticks around for a little bit after your little "meetups" are done, but ya'll start going back to square one with him just disappearing after he's done cleaning you up

the meetings start dwindling down in frequency and, eventually, to zero

it hurts your feelings, of course, but you know him well enough to know that he's not very confrontational when it comes to emotions and he's either lost interest in you or wants to stop for some other unknown reason

you won't pressure him to speak, but the fact that he doesn't even have the balls to tell you to your face pisses you off enough that you end up coming to his quarters one day after you get back from a mission

your blood is already boiling hot from the adrenaline of almost having you and 5 of your comrade's blown to bits, the fuel of not being able to take your energy out in the "usual" means fueling you enough to go banging on his door at an ungodly hour of the morning

only you didn't actually expect the door to swing open and reveal the very man you were only half searching for. and it doesn't look like he expected you either.

there's a long beat of silence where it doesn't really look like either of you know what to say, but you eventually speak up after searching his eyes for any sort emotion to go off of.

"Where the fuck have you been these past few weeks?!"

his stunned silence gives you plenty of room to rant at him about how upset you are that he ghosted you (pun fully intended im hilarious i know), not knowing what's been up with him and how HORRIBLE his communication skills are, how he didn't even have the balls to say that he didn't find you attractive anymore-

but you can barely get the rest of the words out before he pulls you into his room with a clean swoop and shuts the door behind him, throwing you off your balance enough to fall onto his cot with a guttural "hough!"

but you only have enough time to get your bearings before he sends you that look

yes, that look. like he's waiting for you to be ready to listen to what he has to say, arms folded against his chest as he stands in front of the door like he's guarding it

and after enough of a pause of silence for you to catch your breath and give him enough of an irritated but intent stare, he speaks

"I never said I didn't want you anymore. I didn't say anything. It was on purpose."

your eye twitches a little bit, sitting up with a groan. your muscles are already aching from the day but being thrown around certainly didn't make it better

"I... I didn't want to cross any lines. Found myself wanting more than just your mouth on me and got cold feet. Got nervous."

it's almost kind of odd how unsure he sounds, but you've seen this uncertainty in him before

he gets this way when he talks about something he thinks you'd like, or when you can see that you said something that made him want to laugh but he isn't letting himself do it

it's restraint, and you can see from the tightness in his shoulders that there's a lot of things that he wants to say that he isn't letting himself verbalize

but you choose to be patient with him, and sit up fully to lean against the wall and place your hands in your lap, waiting.

the silence between you eventually prompts you to speak, and you can't help the crease of confusion that furrows between your brows

"What are you saying? You uh... want me to... what do you want?"

the words make him stiffen a little, and for a second you can see his eyes flicker over you

it's something like desire, something you've sen a thousand times before in one of the many endeavors where he pursued you into some abandoned storage room in the base or played the game of cat and mouse that eventually lead into one of your personal quarters

only this time he looks more focused on your emotions and how you're processing the situation as if he's expecting you to figure it out on your own

aaand eventually the pieces start to click together. you don't... understand everything, but you get the idea of what he's saying to you

he wants you

not just your body, but you. as a person. it's something that burns slow as a realization, the flames making your neck and face heat up as you process what's going on

"You like me?"

his tone is soft when he responds. "More than that, love."

and so you sit in silence for a bit before he makes his move towards you

he's cautious at first, as if offering an opening for you to back out if you want, then goes in for the kill

you spend the night together like you have many times before, but somehow it feels different this time. more exposed, in a way.

he still doesn't take off his mask tonight, but over time he ends up getting more comfortable with it and makes an effort to remove it on occasion

like a lot of things in your relationship, the process of revealing himself both physically and emotionally is slow since this is almost entirely uncharted territory for him

he still struggles with feeling like he doesn't really deserve you or is somehow holding you down, but he barely ever verbalizes these thoughts since they reveal a more vulnerable side of him that he barely lets anyone else see

but even though it takes time, progress reveals that he's an incredibly caring lover and speaks with his actions where his words fail him

that and he's really possessive. but he was before you two were an item anyway so it doesn't change much

it's just that now he's a lot more open with his displeasure of others rather than having to resort just tracking them like a hawk from across a room or something

but overall i think that he'd be very tentative in going about actually establishing a relationship with you, but he loosens up later on and finds himself genuinely feeling safe with you and trusting you almost entirely

© ogdannydorito 2022; reblogs are greatly appreciated! do not repost, republish, or generally plagiarize any of my works without permission. translations welcome with proper credit.

[mono-dot-jpeg]

protection - k. leona

summary; you don't need protection but leona likes to insist on it when the rest of his dorm are trying to be assholes.

genre/extra tags; fluff, comedy if you squint, jaguar! reader, cat behaviors but with humans, quiet-ish(?)! reader, reader has vitiligo, reader is mc but not really???, reader is referred to as mc and prefect, reader has no mentioned skin tone, reader is implied to be shorter but not by much (sorry, jaguars are just shorter than lions), slightly badly written hurt/comfort, ooc leona?????

[warnings; assholes being assholes, making fun of appearances (specifically vitiligo) but like this all only happens at the start and 1-2 times]

[gender neutral! reader]

word count; 907

a/n; yippee!!! thank you for the request! i hope you enjoy! i had a good time writing this! something abt jaguars just makes me so happy like when i watch owls. they're just silly little guys yk

also im bad at writing mean shit sometimes so uih,,,, dink donk sorry. also the spots that reader have are the rosette spots that jaguars have!! i only say the ones on the arms but it's implied that there's a pattern on them on their body :)))

you haven't really had much time in the savanaclaw dorm because despite how it contains people like you, they were not very nice. but it didn't really matter to you as you didn't need a pack to live happily. you have a pack, yeah, but it wasn't really a necessity for your kind of beastmen. you've learned very quickly that jaguar beastmen aren't really social people. so you've been accustomed to being alone in peaceful silence.

"you're brave for coming here looking like that. spots and all."

and you're more than used to a few verbal jabs about your looks.

you attempt to walk past the three beastmen but they're blocking your way. you huffed in annoyance.

"are you here to see dorm leader? because i'm sure he doesn't want to see you." one of them (the assumed leader) pokes at a particularly different part of your skin. it just happens to be one of the several spots you sport on your arm, the biggest rosette spot. you don't say anything as you push past them.

the collar of your shirt is tugged on, forcing you to stop. "we didn't say you could leave, short ass."

"no, you didn't, but i did." leona's voice rings out in the common room of the dorm. the air felt colder than ice despite the beaming sun outside. "you got a lot of nerve trying to make fun of my partner, you know?" he rolls his eyes at the trio as he pulls you to his side. "you okay, mc? they didn't hurt you right?"

you're faced away from the three as you look at leona, "i'm good." you mutter. you're not really shaken up, maybe feeling a little odd. somehow it felt different from the other times that you've been made fun of. was it because of leona coming to help?

"good. if there's any scratch of you, i don't think i would be so easy on you lot. tch." leona glared tiredly at the three beastmen. the trio pathetically blabbers their apologies as they leave. "why don't you fight back?"

you shrug as you both walk to leona's room, "i'm used to it. it's not the first time people picked on me." your ears flicker at the sound of beastmen in their respective dorm rooms. you can distinctly hear jack working out, it makes you huff in amusement. "i'm not social like you, leona, i don't express my anger as easily as you. also they just wanted to get a rise out of me to make me look bad in front of you."

"well, you should say when you're mad. or at least fight back?" he muttered. "you're... just as strong as i am."

"heh, takes a lot to call me strong, my lion." you snickered for a second but you stop, frowning slightly as you remember the odd feeling from earlier.

"shut up." he knocks a knuckle against your head. he opens to the door to his room, he gently grabs your hand and takes you into his room. closing the door and locking it, he faces you. "are you sure you're okay?" he asks. his eyes are stern but soft as he stares at you.

you take a moment to answer. in that moment, he rubs his head against your neck as if to comfort. "i don't know? felt weird when you stood up for me." he moves his head to look at you and wait for you to continue. your hands grip his clothes at the waist. "it didn't feel bad. they made fun of my... spots. i'm usually used to it but it felt different today. is that weird?" your ears flatten as you look up at him.

"nothing weird about feeling bad. being insulted sucks." he pauses, "was it at least a good thing that you felt when i came around?" his free hand reaches to brush his fingers through the layer of fur on your ears.

you lean into the touch, "i think so. but the insults kind of sunk in after that too..." you muttered as you rest your body against his. he's quick to lead you onto the bed, both of you laying down and finally getting comfy. "didn't like it. just wish they just made fun of my personality and not.. something i can't control." you try your best to explain. you pick at the stray hairs on his face, staring at your jaguar spots on your arms. "heard comments like it all the time and yet... something felt off." you sigh, "maybe it was because they mentioned you." his ears twitch at the comment.

"what did they say?"

"that you wouldn't wanna see me. poked at my spot after that." your finger rubs over the biggest rosette on your forearm.

"i'll make sure they get their heads straight." his hand grabs at your wrist and moves your arm as his lips kiss the spots. "until then, i won't ever say i don't want to see you. i love you a lot... and i hope you know that." his voice is stern but you can see the love pouring from his eyes as he stares at you.

you can feel your face go warm as he continues to stare at you, "s-stop looking at me like that, would you?!"

"but it's cute watching you be all embarrassed over me saying i love you." he snickers.

"back- back off, leona! not all of us are whipped for their partners!"

"don't lie to yourself, you love me too."

[iheartchv]

hihihii can i have a matchup pls ?? i was born in la, but am chinese/korean mixed, im 5'4, pale asf, and weigh around 95 lbs. i have brown/black hair and brown eyes, im thinking abt dying my hair tho !!

my personality type is entj, i like talking, but im lowkey awkward </3 idk how to describe my fashion style but ill try my best, i usually wear a tight top w baggy pants, ex baby tee w cargos. i also love wearing off shoulder sweaters paired with a skirt !!

i mainly listen to kpop, metal, and emo music :3 i love going to concerts and events that are close to me. i also love travelling since my parents have the time and resources to take me where i want <33

i am a competitive figure skater, i also play the violin and electric guitar. in my free time, i play games (genshin, cod, project sekai), and i love binge watching shows !

collectings things like vinyl, lego sets, plushies, and funko pops are also one of my hobbies !!

sorry if this is written badly or hard to understand </3

🤔 I'll match you with...

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick 🚁

I think Gaz would be your match

He'd be attracted to your more outgoing personality

And he'll find himself wanting to know more about you

Curious would be the right word

Thinks you're an extraordinary person

As if you couldn't be more perfect

Then he sees another side of you when he visits you

That's when he knows that you two would definitely become friends...

And more than friends

After spending so much time with Gaz, you can't help but feel something for him

You start to feel a little shy around him more, and blush if he's near you or compliment you

He will happily indulge in your hobbies with you

Being in the military, if he ever come across any Funko Pops or other collectables anywhere he will get it for you

Then he'll either mail it to you or bring it to you when he comes back home from the mission

He'll try his damnest to be at every competition to cheer you on and give you support

"You did amazing out there"

"You look... gorgeous"

During one of said figure skating competitions, when you both hug he can't help to give you a kiss on the top of your head

It shocked you that you quickly looked up at him, cheek pink

"S-sorry, I..."

He tries to apologize

"It's okay, you don't have to apologize"

You softly smiled at him, staring into his eyes

As if reading your mind he gives you a kiss

It was better than winning any medal or prize you've won

Falling for Gaz and winning his heart was the biggest prize

[roxyzwritez]

pearlrose content

wanna see how ive been writing all these episodes? spoiler: it was not written with the intent to be read. but its really cute if you can get past and decipher my writes. (also im not 100% sure i like how i did this. may redo this one.) pls feedback. also @rosenotactuallyquartz i think you may like this ((im sorry abt the near daily tags))

under the cut so dashes don't get flooded

greg wakes up. gets coffee. gets breakfast. sits outside. frown.

rose floats over.

rose: good morning greg!

greg: hey rose.

rose: what's the matter? :(

greg: i was hoping you wouldn't ask.. im not doing great.

rose: why is that?

greg: i thought i'd be so happy that you're back. i thought i'd still be completely in love with you like i was before, but.. i just don't feel it anymore. im sorry.

rose, frown: that's okay, greg. we can be friends. i understand. i disappeared for 14 years- not that long to me, but that's a long time for humans. i understand if your feelings changed. especially with all my.. mistakes… revealed. im just glad you told me.

greg: are you sure? its okay to be upset, rose.

rose: i dont follow human relationship dynamics. im a little sad, sure, but you're still a friend. its not the end of the world.

greg: as long as you're okay.

rose: i am. don't worry about me, greg.

greg: okay.

she looks at him with a smile before flying off back home. she walks in.

tumblr note: im really unsure abt the breakup thing honestly. it feels weird especially how she just instantly goes to pearl. tell me ur thoughts yall!

stv, eatin chaps: hey mom.

rose: hi steven. wheres pearl?

stv: ooooooo-

rose chuckles: oh, stop it.

stv: i think she went to her room. she's been in there a lot recently.

rose: huh. alright, thank you steven.

stv: no problem.

rose goes into pearls room.

rose: pearl?

pearl quickly gets up: y-yes rose? sorry, i didn't know you were coming.

rose floats on over: i would like to talk to you about something.

pearl,😳: o-okay.

rose: i know how you feel about me. but im not entirely sure you understand how i feel about you.

pearl looks away: but- greg.

rose, chuckling: pearl. i talked to him just now, and he told me he doesn't feel that way towards me anymore. and from what i understand about human relationships, being with multiple people is a bit of a problem. ive always loved you, pearl. i knew either this would happen, or he'd… reach his time at some point. this was always going to happen, pearl. i don't need future vision for that.

pearl: i-

rose tacklehugs her to the ground and they roll around happy. pearl happycries

rose: ohh, my beloved pearl. not my pearl, but my beloved pearl. does- does that make sense?- oh my- (starts laughing)

pearl, chuckling softly: i know what you meant, rose.

rose: okay. good. le smoochie

pearl: i love you, rose. so much.

rose: i love you even more.

pearl: no, i do.

rose, chuckling: oh, pearl.

they smile at eachother.

stv: that was the cutest thing i've ever seen in my life.

pearl extremely embarrassed: STEVEN!? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE-

rose: pearl, its okay. they're all allowed to know. we don't need to be a secret. besides, garnet probably knows anyway.

pearl: o-okay. but steven please don't do that again.

stv: it was so worth it. i will never forget this.

rose: alright, steven. can me and pearl talk in private again?

stv: aww mann. okay. (leaves)

rose: you don't know how badly i wanted to be with you. always. it hurt that i couldn't be there for you for those years.. trapped in his gem. i wish i could've done something, but i just couldn't. believe me, i tried.

pearl: its okay. its not your fault. you're here now, and that is enough for me. (squeeze hug cry) im sorry for crying so much i cant help it.

rose: let it out, pearl. its okay. (soft hug n comforts back, headpats and otherwise adorable shit)

[luvinelysia]

still have my heart

[29.] distrust

warnings: trust issues i think, very badly written argument

masterlist ; prev | next

NOTES; idk how to write arguments 😭 updating then dissappearing again im very sorry abt the slow updates im still very sick <//33

TAGS [CLOSED]; @yaefics @miss-lovesick @lukhalm @munchymon @whats-humanity-lol @love-sicklesbian @aixaingela @aequha @monikidk @cameshitpost @bubblyclouds @softsonata @cridtiins @d4ngom1lk @ferumie @slvdsjjk @aeulia @apyrose @cheliope @serami00 @spookyrule @kayleigh-reuthlr @hiqhkey @yoimiya-m @yohoo-tehee @thenightsflower @dollpoetwriting @viovya @ishxmeru @still-dazai-simp-not-sorry @lunaflvms @shailuvs   @leathernourishingshoepolish @aethersluvrr @raideneiari @venus-is-incorrect @kazuhasdickwarmer @sunriabo @rinneamagisluv @saikiscleansink @ireallylikehamsters @krysstle @themusingsofmany @nejibae77 @ezri261 @ramenais @sukunasrealgf @venyan @ryhie @sketcheeee

[silvervinewine]

omg hi ‼️‼️

can I request a fic where reader and dotts used to be academic rivals back in their akademiya days..?.?.!..!!. then reader just randomly recalled a memory of scholar dotts and reader arguing abt a result from an experiment while helping present dottore w something 😭😭😭

iM SO SORRY ITS CONFUSING BUT I HOPE U GET THE IDEA AHAIEUEJSH HAVE A NICE DAY 💞💞

SILLY ARGUEMENTS, NEVER FORGOTTEN (W/ DOTTORE)

sitting together in the edge of your shared bedrooms' balcony. admiring the starry sky and the gentle cool breeze as you bask in each others' presence. you looked at him, grabbing his jaw strongli as you pulled him closer. noses touching, as he looked at you star struck.

lips only a small distance away when you whispered, "hey DOTTIE, you remember our akademiya days?"

ZANDIK looked at you, crinking eyes half lidded as he opened his mouth ajar, "yeah?"

"remember when you threatened to experiment on me if i didn't do my part?"

"what?"

you pushed him to the floor of the balcony, the kiss now forgotten, as you watched his face turn from sinful glee to a scowl of displeasure. you hopped of the edge, smirking sticking your tounge out at him, leaving him on the floor to his own devices.

"sorry but old grudges are never forgotten."

he got up clearly upset, pouting he raised his arms to defend himself, "but that was so long ago!"

you could still remember as clear as day, his silly student beret and robes accompanied by his mocking features etched upon his face. you wanted to wipe the smirk out of his face so badly, you wanted to kiss him so badly. his young growls, how he looked at you clearly seething, denying any affection thrown at him, he had grown past that point. now he sought after you, clinging to you like a child.

looking at you with puppy dog eyes, before shifting his gaze to the ground.

oh celestia, you wanted to kiss him so badly. but you had to resist, he wasn't going to win... this time atleast.

A/N this is specifically written for @maaarshieee, two dott characterizations in one, THANK YOU MYMANDOTTS FOR THE REQ!