#aim acclaim

[bughead-in-the-comics]

From Aim Acclaim, Jughead's Jokes #70 (1980).

#bughead #jughead jones #betty cooper #archie andrews #geraldine grundy #waldo weatherbee #old comics #digest comics #complete panels #jughead's jokes #bughead high school #bughead contest #bughead art #bughead painting #bughead spazzing #aim acclaim

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

Wrt localization, I can understand wanting to change let's say a joke if the context of the joke would be lost on people due to play on the language. But when someone changes the content of a story and characterization to the point where it's a completely different experience and then they have the audacity to say "have respect for the localizers. You support gg" or some nonsense in response to criticism, it's really disingenuous.

Not sure if you saw when I mentioned it before, but yeah. There are times when they have to make cultural changes (Pokemon did it with food to make more sense to the western audience!), change jokes that won't land in translation, etc. Those are reasonable changes that have to be made or the audience will just be confused/uninterested/disconnected.

Sometimes there are also jokes that in different cultures would be deemed inappropriate (like the sex joke aimed at Edelgard in the middle of the night - that makes sense that it was removed because western culture would've been largely uncomfortable with it). Age differences also account for this, in that what's seen as appropriate to a teen audience in JP is not necessarily considered appropriate in the west.

My viewpoint toward localization is that it should only be that. Everything else should be a faithful translation as much as is able, i.e. doesn't alter the message given in the original script. It doesn't matter if the content is from Japan, if it's a JRPG or what have you. If it was of French origin, I'd still say the same thing: that the messages and narrative of the French originating story should be handled faithfully and should be telling the same story/characterizations/etc to all audiences in any location.

Obviously in translation you can't make everything one to one or the sentences would sound off and/or broken. That's why you reword things to have the sentences structurally accurate in the translated language. Doing that, however, should not involve changing the meaning behind the sentence or trying to sell a different narrative. Doing that becomes a different story, even if only in bits and pieces. When a story nudges really fuckin' hard trying to tell you something that's wrong is right or that something right is wrong, but that narrative is only added into a loc and didn't already exist, it's a disrespect toward the writers and their original intention.

Even if, yes, the writers were very bias toward Edelgard (which they were as that was, again, confirmed in an interview), it didn't come at the cost of other characters. It didn't come at the cost of Rhea being worse, Dimitri being worse, or Claude being worse. It didn't come at the cost of her allies all being disgusted by their enemies that they were invading. They loved Edelgard when they were writing her, but they didn't make that cloud how they treated other characters (and while yes, the Nabateans get largely ignored in favor of focusing on Edelgard and such, it's not at the cost of their characterization or to make them seem worse).

Even if the loc heaps praise upon praise toward Edelgard and that doesn't harm the original intent, it's what they do to other characters that disrespects the original content. It would be like if they took FE10/RD and had Ike (who was actually just and a good person) spouting nonsense about Micaiah that just wasn't true, hyping up his allies to kill her because she Must Die.

Personally, I'm no Micaiah fan. She was one of my most hated characters in the franchise until Edelgard (and Berandetta) showed up. I still am not fond of Micaiah and she's still pretty low on the rung for me. That said, I would not enjoy a narrative where Ike wrongfully labeled her and her allies and provided his people (and the Laguz Alliance by extension) a false narrative about her. If those things about her were true I wouldn't care, but they wouldn't be. Why does that not work for Ike? Because it's not who he is as a character to say those things, and thus if he did, it means something is off.

The original has some ??? points about Edelgard that favor her/lift her up, but again, it's not doing harm to other characters. Yeah, we get the whole "they are the enemy" stuff from her side, but like... that's the point. If you team up with her, you're on her side and are seeing the story through her perspective, which makes her enemies, well, the enemies. They're viewed in a bad light on that one route.

But when you actually come into contact with the characters in question? It's not as bad as she makes it out to be. She, as the protagonist of her own story, makes other named characters and their ways of living sound very bad because she views them negatively, but we don't actually see what she claims if we personally come into contact with those characters.

What the loc does is have her say those things, understandably from her side, but then trash the characters' very characterization and personality to match her and her/her allies' opinions of them. The characters reflect her views with no pushback whatsoever, when it should be that the pushback is how those characters she talks about behave.

There should be a dissonance between her thoughts about them and who they truly are. It should make you question, "is this really right?". You should feel bad when you kill genuinely good people (like Sylvain. You shouldn't feel like he's some trash scumbag, but feel upset about his death and find yourself questioning why he had to die - not cheering for his death).

Point being, the loc changed that stuff because ??? I guess they wanted Edelgard to shine at her very absolute brightest, and the only way to do that was to harp on all the characters who opposed her. I don't understand why they would do that tbh (like I know the intent, i.e. making her look good, but I don't know why they went to such lengths to vilify her enemies and not just say hey, maybe she's wrong about these people but I'm still going to fight for her, if fighting for her is what you decided to do. The one idea I have is the final paragraphs of this post).

It just makes it feel a lot like purist culture, where if you've sided with her than they can't possibly let her be actually bad and do bad things. You've sided with her, so she simply cannot be a villain! It makes the loc team seem afraid of a concept of siding with the villains, feeling the need to change it because it's BaD to play a game/route where you do that. It feels like it's portraying the idea that if you do bad things in a video game, you condone those bad things irl.

Whether that was their thought process or not, that's exactly what it comes off as, and that since they loved Edelgard they couldn't portray her poorly unless there was no other option. In the times they do finally portray her poorly via other characters, there's always pushback in some form, like someone defending her, giving her the benefit of the doubt after everything she'd already done and still intended to do, or being sad about fighting/killing her. In the original that was still there, but the loc just added to it - just by doing a whole lot of damage to other characters in the process.

Meanwhile with Rhea, there's always negative pushback. If she does something good, there's a negative thought following her good actions. Obviously there isn't space for that to happen literally every single time, but when possible it's there. Again, this is another thing the loc amped up, and I can only guess it's because she's the head of the Church (and churches are viewed as the enemy in most JPRGs) and the main person Edelgard opposes (with no acknowledgement from the loc team, about why that is, being a bad thing).

It's like, the one time there's a game where the Church isn't actually the enemy, they... made it so that the loc reflected that the Church is still actually the enemy. Churches being the enemy are so common that it was intentionally used in the original script as a red herring. You think they're gonna be the big bads because they always are in JRPGs.

The point of that was meant to fulfill itself as a red herring, making you focus on them and scrutinize everything they said and did even heavier than you would anyone else. It makes everything Edelgard does get swept under the rug and causes the player not to notice until it's fastballed at you. That's why you end up fighting her and not the Church except if you're specifically on her route.

That was lost in loc, of course, and it got so overwhelmingly popular in the west (which I do believe is a reason they did it to begin with, i.e. made the Church the baddies by western viewpoint because the west apparently eats that shit right up) that Hopes catered most strongly toward the western audience, making the Church the big bads (who... don't even do anything wrong whatsoever in this game and hardly even exist to do so, but I can only guess they got largely ignored because they were so hated, and less positive interaction with them meant less worry of killing innocent people/more not caring about them as the enemy) of two routes out of three; not because that was the original script's intent, but because they just went with what was popular even if it went against their home game's intention. I was pretty unsurprised to find out this went over very badly with JP players.

In other words the loc was so widely understood as the true canon/intent of the story (despite its vast and drastic changes) that Hopes was crafted around the loc more than it was the original script. The loc of Houses altered so much that it changed the perception of the audience consuming it, so whether the JP writers are aware that that's why the game was consumed the way it was or not, they just knew a chunk of the western audience loved Edelgard and hated Rhea.

When I play a game I want the same story and experience that everyone has playing it. I don't want to understand it differently than it's meant to be understood and was understood in the region it was created in. If it's a dark and mature themed game, it should stay that way. It western audiences can't handle that, then the game shouldn't be played by them whether it comes out in the west or not.

If you can't handle the content of a video game, you shouldn't play it, plain and simple. No amount of "oh but I like this portion of it!" changes the overall narrative that you can't handle and/or don't like (and you wouldn't know you like a part of it if you didn't play it at all, which you did play it despite knowing it's largely not for you. If you didn't know but play it and find out, you put it down and move on). The game's messages should not be altered to fit purists or baby the players. If it needs to be edited that strongly to work in the west, my feeling on it is that it should not be released in the west.

If it is released, the story should not be altered to baby its audience. If people do play it despite that and can't handle it, it's their responsibility to stop playing it and not bitch at the people who released it (in any region) or bitch at the loc team for not changing anything (i.e. bitching that the loc team didn't change creative aspects of the story to fulfill another region's agenda).

Why does that happen though? Capitalism, quite frankly. Companies prefer the money added to their coffers than to keep the originality of a creative piece of art. They'll follow any political agenda that's popular, any social media agenda that's popular, etc, even if it means changing creativity.

They want the most people possible to purchase it, so if more people will buy the product, even if it means sullying the creative work of the original writers, they'll do it. That may not be true worldwide, but it absolutely is with many western companies. If the narrative of a game doesn't fit what western culture agrees with, they'll change it to make it so that western culture agrees with it (re: the Church).

Localization shouldn't exist to change a work of art/to change any media form for the sake of just releasing it in another region for the profit, but it does happen; hence why I prefer translation to loc. Over the years I've grown to hate western localization more and more.

If localizers have to work that badly to change what already exists (including changing the intent of the creator(s)), I have zero respect for their "efforts" for trying to alter a story and possibly even pursue a particular agenda (because we play games to have fun and enjoy something, not to have irl agendas thrown back in our faces).

Translators who go through loops upon loops to make sure the story stays as intact as possible with only changes of necessity are the ones I respect. Translating things to keep the meaning of a story is a lot more difficult and trying than just going "well how about we just completely change this and then we don't even have to think about how to work it out".

Also, there's a difference between pursuing an agenda or writing something to fix a glaring issue like racism. If there are aspects of a media that got changed in the west to eliminate racism (which is often, especially in Japan from my understanding based on other media I consume, done because of ignorance and not genuinely harmful intent), that's understandable.

That alone shouldn't alter a whole story though, and if it has to because the racism or whatever it is is that bad, then the work should simply not be released in the west! Simple as that! If it's that bad, why support those things by changing them to sound nicer/better and let the original product still generate revenue?

Now, is all localization this bad? No. Is Houses' localization bad enough that it changed an entire region's perception on the contents of the game? Yes. That's a no no for me.

I respect localization that does its best to keep the same story and change what won't work in another region (including what may be deemed unacceptable in said region or really toes a line of general regional discomfort).

I do not respect localization that sticks in the team's own biases or tries to push any kind of agenda to appeal to certain people. If a piece of creative media is created without the intention to push any kind of agenda, it should remain that way and not suddenly have things added to it for that purpose.

I respect creative media. I don't respect capitalism and changing content to cater to a specific subset of an audience, including the staff's own.

#DCB Ask #my response to this isn't just about Houses (that's a chunk of it) but also about loc itself #if I ever made a book or even just an eBook that got translated #I would NOT want what happened to Houses happening to my writing #personally I'd just straight up ask it to be removed and unavailable in that region unless/until #the people behind translating/localizing it fixed it to fit the narrative I set for my /own/ writing #if there were consumers from another region who got a different story entirely from the region I released it in #there's something wrong that happened between regions and unfortunately most ppl don't realize that #most ppl will assume whatever is in the loc was the author's intent #which means anything that looks bad in that region now reflects on me as the author #and it's even worse if it causes controversy. for example like the stuff we get in Hopes #the amount of underlying racism. I haven't seen the entire JP script but like #at this point I don't know if my concerns should be aimed at the localizers or the original writers #I wouldn't want that for my own writing. I wouldn't want people questioning ME based on loc changes #when I view in depth how I feel abt smth I prefer to put myself in the situation #and figure out how I'd feel about it. that's why with Houses I don't find it acceptable #it's not something I'd want to happen to my own writing. look at how Edelgard is viewed now overall #she's the most controversial character surrounded by negativity that FE has ever seen #despite having a character borderline identical to her in the past in one of the most beloved and acclaimed titles #and most of that is... bc of the loc :(

[sugar-grigri]

2. Protest: between the author's cynicism and the antagonist's emergence

Fujimoto once again tests you as a reader

Why? Because this chapter requires you to pay as much attention to the foreground as to the background

Yes, hello headache, but now I need you to follow me…….

First of all, I see it as cynicism. The only thing that would make me laugh is if I thought Fujimoto was teasing us.

How and why? Because the church in Chainsaw Man is us. Victims of CSM (who belong to the work), and young people, students who don't always have the right to vote, who come out of curiosity (the fans) fighting bloody battles against the communities.

Come on, Fujimoto follows the networks

Like his OS, but especially Just listen to the song, it's about the relationship between a work, its author and its audience.

I think Fujimoto relishes the debates and arguments on Twitter and other networks.

Fujimoto follows them as much as he suffers them, acclaimed by critics and his own, adored by his fans, he is also the target of threats and hatred.

Whether it's from those who hate his work or those who adore it but can't forgive him for making them suffer.

Fujimoto is as much a figure of protest as Chainsaw Man.

And he's there in the shadows like Denji

But it's not just a wink, and then we get more serious

The protest in the background is just as important as the foreground

Denji and Yoshida are shown as much as the crowd, with the cut-out swapping places between background and foreground. As if Fujimoto were placing them in the same position of importance.

Why ?

First of all, this chapter proves that NO, Yoshida is not up to the task of being the antagonist

who could be the antagonist then?

Where ? Who ? We're a bit confused... well yeah, it was easy to understand that Makima was the antagonist

Not only do we kind of forget that it wasn't that easy to know she was the antagonist, the revelation that she was a demon came very, very late, as did what she was really capable of doing

In CSM the real antagonist is present from the start, and then appears more clearly

Fujimoto likes to use this process to make his work chilling, to encourage you to reread while seeing the chapters take shape under a different light.

SO WHO'S THE ANTAGONIST?

Chainsaw man himself or, (confirming my theory again), Fake! ChainsawMan

To put it simply, since part 2, Fujimoto has shown that Chainsaw Man is controversial, both adored and feared.

This fear would naturally give rise to a Fake!Chainsaw Man demon, whose aim would be to increase its power by maximizing people's fear of Chainsaw Man.

Now let's take a step back. Nostradamus' prophecy is about to come true. Fami's goal is to prevent this apocalypse (for pizza). But this prophecy, as Yoshida knew about it and got in touch with Fami, shows that public safety is aware of the danger.

So why do we want Chainsaw Man to disappear? Would Public Security abandon humanity? Hardly imaginable.

I've given it some thought, and here's the plan as I imagine it.

An alliance has been formed between Fami and Public Security, to take control of Chainsaw Man. Not an absolute alliance, I imagine, but the two groups have common interests.

Both groups need a champion to face this apocalypse.

The fact is, Chainsaw Man is getting weaker.

Turning a demon into a hero who is close to humans means that part of the population no longer fears him, so his power falls proportionally.

Chainsaw Man can't face the apocalypse now.

The solution is to separate Chainsaw and Man. Literally.

When Yoshida invites Denji to live quietly, it's so that he can literally retire.

To make way for whom? Bingo. Fake!CSM

So why do they want CSM to disappear? Why so much emphasis on Haruka and the worship of Chainsaw Man's church?

Nothing creates greater fear than giving people a hero and then suddenly taking him away. We're back to another of CSM's key themes: necessary evil.

If, overnight, CSM no longer appeared to fight the demons, then the world would be in disarray. And fear would increase... giving power to the secretly chosen champion.

A champion... who only appears before dawn. At the very last moment.

The existence of Chainsaw Man leads to clashes, increased tensions and dissent.

His disappearance, meanwhile, will lead to a consensus: the despair of a humanity with no so-called protection.

Nostradamus' prophecy is not simply a prophecy announcing the apocalypse, but a plan that has been in front of us all along.

To be saved, humanity must descend into chaos.

If you want to better understand my theory about Fake!CSM :

#chainsaw man #csm #csm part 2 #fujimoto #denji #yoshida #nayuta #makima #my thoughts #csm spoilers #csm 133

[sunkiss3dlily]

to you, i'm just a man (to me, you're all i am) part three | joel miller x reader

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3604

Summary: You find yourself in trouble with David and his people, and you decide to sacrifice yourself for the ones you love the most.

Note(s): Okay, you guys are gonna hate me but I decided to make it four parts as, once again, the third part became too long, but I promise, the fourth will be the last part! I hope this sets you up for the grand ending we are all waiting for haha! Thank you for all the support! And as always feedback is appreciated, but please be respectful! Please give me any (detailed, please!) requests in my inbox or comments if you have any, I would love to hear them! Thank you so much for reading! ♡

Taglist: @wonwoosthetic @paleidiot @orcasoul @slut4mascss @paqerings @missladym1981

✮˚. ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚,

Fiery orange embers adorned the stack of logs before you. David sat just behind them, opposite you, while the lifeless form of the prized buck lay on the floor, maintaining the distance between you and David.

"You weren't kidding about being a good shot," David complimented, rubbing his hands together by the fire he had made in the centre of the abandoned shack where you two had taken shelter while waiting for James to return with the medicine. "You must've had a lot of practice with a weapon like that, huh? Someone in your group teach you?"

You, for one, did not appreciate his attempts at small talk and straightened up, keeping your rifle balanced on your lap, aiming straight at him just in case. You rolled your eyes slightly, keeping an eye out for the other man, James, in case he tried to sneak up on you.

"You're not one to trust easily; I get it. I've been there." He nods, and you narrow your gaze back towards him. His attempt to relate to you did little to ease your skepticism. The flickering flames danced across his face, casting shadows that only deepened your suspicion. He let out a breath. "Do you believe in God?"

You let out a scoff of disbelief that he was asking you that question.

"I know, I know," he chuckled. "Weird time to find religion, especially with it being the end of days and all, but I've... I've seen and felt things—things that cannot be explained. It's like there's a force out there guiding me and protecting me." He notices your unamused expression and shrugs. "Call it what you want, but I choose to believe in God and his will, and by acclaiming that faith, he has shown me that everything happens for a reason."

An odd chill that isn't just the breeze of the cold wind rises on your skin, multiplying the goosebumps by a hundred. You shift uncomfortably in your seat.

"Like us, meeting in the woods today—maybe, just maybe, our paths crossed for a good reason. Perhaps our meeting was for a greater purpose."

You raise your eyebrows, yeah right. "What, like some divine intervention?"

David nods, his eyes filled with a glimmer of excitement that unsettles you to the core. "Exactly. Like some sort of divine intervention. Call it coincidence if you will, but I believe there is a plan in motion, and our meeting is a part of it. Maybe we are meant to help each other in some way. It may sound far-fetched, I know, but sometimes life surprises us in the most unexpected ways."

An exasperated sigh passes your lips, and it is evident that you are not playing into David's hand by opening up to him.

He clears his throat, sitting up, and this grabs your attention instantly, your hands tightening once more on the rifle. "I can prove it to you, if you like."

"Prove what?"

He smiles and gestures aimlessly: "I can prove that everything happens for a reason, that you and I were meant to meet each other this way."

You gaze back at him with a stoic expression, clearly unamused by the direction of the conversation. However, beneath the surface of your irritation, a subtle pulse of unease begins to intensify, growing more palpable with each passing second in this man's presence.

David leaned in slightly, his gaze never leaving yours, as if trying to imprint his words on your mind. "You see, we didn't expect this winter to be so cruel. Nothing'll grow. The game's been hard to find, but I'm sure you know all about that." He paused, letting the weight of his words linger before continuing. "So I sent four of our people to a nearby town to scavenge what they could."

A shiver ran down your spine, and you tightened your grip on the rifle, sensing there was more to this story.

"And only three of them came back." David's eyes gleamed in the flickering firelight, his voice taking on a sinister edge. "The one who didn't make it was a father. A man with a daughter, just a teenager. Can you imagine the pain of losing your father in these times?" He let the question hang in the air, studying your reaction.

Your heart raced, a knot forming in the pit of your stomach as your thoughts unconsciously wandered to Ellie and Joel.

"You see," he continued, leaning back slightly but maintaining an unsettling gaze, "it turns out he was murdered. Murdered by this crazy man."

Another heavy pause lingered in the air, his words sinking in, and you could sense the direction this conversation was taking, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up.

"And get this." David's tone took on a chilling cadence. "That crazy man was traveling with a little girl and a woman that looked just like you."

In a swift motion, you rose to your feet, rifle poised, and aimed squarely at him, your finger coiling around the trigger.

A contented smile painted itself across his face, and he playfully shook his head in amusement. "See? Fate has a way of guiding us."

Your heart raced, a symphony of adrenaline orchestrating its frantic beats as the thought of Ellie having to defend herself and Joel against who knows how many of those men right now consumed you. "You've been watching us all this time?"

David casually brushed aside the notion with a nonchalant shake of his head. "No, not at all. Just you, just today, just by chance. You see, it wasn't planned, but here we are nonetheless."

The panic inside you was something you hadn't felt in a long, long time. You felt utterly terrified, though your tone was angry as you gritted out, "Where the fuck is your friend? If he's so much as—"

David's eyes glinted with calculated charm as he interrupted your brewing anger with a sly smile. 'I told you, we are not here to cause you or your little girl any harm. We can protect you, both of you. Isn't that right, James?'

You turn rapidly, only now noticing James standing in the doorway, rifle raised and trained on you. You wish you'd had the common sense to remove the bullets when he left. Taking a step back, you aim the rifle back at David but keep your eyes trained on James. "Shoot me and I'll take your fucking preacher down with me."

James glares back at you, though his hold on the rifle is shaky. "You killed Alec."

"She didn't kill anyone, James," David calls, redirecting the taller man's attention back to him. "Lower the gun."

James looks as though he is going to argue, but David shakes his head, and so James concedes.

"Did you bring the medicine?" You ask, keeping your gaze flitting between both men equally so neither of them can catch you off guard. James nods his head once under the watchful eye of David. "Toss it over here."

To your surprise, the bag is tossed your way almost immediately, and you clutch it desperately in one hand, feeling the bottles and syringe against your icy fingers as your heart races. You take a few steps back, watching them both cautiously.

"He's sick, isn't he? The man?" David speaks with a feigned sincerity as he moves to stand up. "You know, he's the only one we need. You and the little one can make it out unscathed if you just hand him over. It's not like he's going to make it out anyway."

You ignore his words, stepping back slowly, the snow hitting you almost immediately as you make it out of the shack. You gesture your gun towards both of them, "I'm leaving, and if I ever see either of you again, I'll fucking kill you."

"It doesn't need to be like this," David calls, still trying to persuade you despite your threat. "You and your daughter can join us, no questions asked. You still have a chance."

You fire a warning shot at James' boot, the impact jolting him with pain. His rifle reacts, rising in response, but you're already hurtling back through the trees. Desperation fuels your every step as you race through the clearing, the silent prayer to any deity echoing in your mind – a fervent wish that Joel and Ellie will still be alive when you reach them.

✮˚. ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚,

You descend the basement steps with ragged, labored breaths, catching Ellie off guard as she tends to Joel's semi-conscious form, gently offering sips of water.

"Where the fuck were you?" Ellie demands, her red-rimmed eyes reflecting her worry. "You were gone for hours!"

You shake your head, having no time to properly respond, dropping to your knees beside the mattress where Joel lies. You lift his coat and shirt, revealing the wound that looks even worse than before.

Ellie abandons her attempts to moisturize Joel's lips, watching as you retrieve a syringe and a bottle of penicillin from the bag James gave you. "What is that? Where did you get it?"

"Penicillin. It'll help with the infection," your breathing is shaky, and you can tell your demeanor unsettles Ellie. Ignoring her second question, you are too panicked to care. "Shit. Where do I put this?"

Ellie looks at you, dumbfounded, before turning to Joel and shaking his shoulder gently. "Hey, man, where do we put this? Joel? Joel!"

You draw liquid into the syringe while Ellie attempts to wake Joel, desperately wracking your brain for any inkling of an idea on where to administer it. However, the looming threat of David and James has put you on high alert, making it challenging to think straight. With an unsteady breath, you declare, "Okay. I'm gonna put it in the wound."

"Yeah, o-okay," Ellie nods, not entirely confident in your idea. "You got this."

Her words, albeit sweet, do nothing to reassure you.

"Fuck," you mumble, reaching over to clasp Joel's limp hand in yours. "Please don't let this be the thing that kills you."

His hand twitches slightly as you make contact, but you are too preoccupied with angling the syringe correctly to notice.

You press down onto the plunger as the syringe makes contact, and Joel's hand tightens on your own, weakly, yet the first proper sign of life in so long you could weep. "I'm here," you murmur, more for your own assurance. You made it in time."I'm sorry," an apology for the pain you are causing him physically, but secretly an even bigger apology for him being the injured one. If it had been you, you wouldn't want them risking their lives like this for you. You'd want them to move on, but you couldn't, and wouldn't, stop trying for him. For him and Ellie.

He groans faintly, and his grip on your hand loosens entirely as you finish plunging the medicine into his wound, steadily retracting the syringe and covering him back up, tucking him under his coat carefully. You lay a hand over his forehead and feel he is still quite hot, but hope that the medicine will start fighting against his fever soon enough.

As you settle down onto your knees beside the mattress with a shaky breath, you look up to meet Ellie's eyes. "No one came here while I was gone? You didn't hear anyone outside?"

"No," she shakes her head, her eyes filling with that familiar fear that you've only seen a few times in her usually bright eyes. "We're not safe here, are we?"

You breathe out shakily, debating on whether to lie or be honest. You slowly shake your head, deciding that it was best for her safety if she knew what was really going on. "I met two men in the woods. They knew who I was, what Joel did to that man. They were members of his group."

"They want to kill us?" Ellie asks after a beat of silence, looking down at the floor to avoid your gaze and to avoid you noticing her fear.

"Not us," and that is all you need to say for Ellie to understand.

✮˚. ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚,

You administered another dose of penicillin to Joel's wound after a couple of hours, fumbling blindly in the dark. As you repeated the motion of clasping his hand in yours, you felt the familiar warmth of his grip in return. This time, it seemed just a little bit stronger, though that might have been your exhausted and desperate mind playing tricks on you.

"You'll wake me if anything happens, right?" Ellie's voice cut through the darkness, causing you to visibly flinch as you were checking Joel's temperature, your hand tensing against his cool skin. She seemed to sniffle before speaking again. "You won't just leave?"

Clearing your throat softly, you replied, "I won't just leave, I promise. But you need to get some rest. We might have to start moving tomorrow, whether Joel is ready or not. We'll have to make our way back to Jackson to get him some proper help."

Silence followed, and you found yourself lying down beside Joel, shuffling as close to him as the floor allowed.

"Are they going to come for us?" Ellie's voice startled you a few minutes later. You did your best to calm your racing heart before responding. "I don't... I don't know. They might try, which is why we need to start moving as soon as possible."

"You didn't kill them? The two men."

You sighed, closing your eyes. "No, I didn't."

"Why not?"

You didn't know. Something niggled at you with the realisation that maybe you should've.

"Goodnight, Ellie."

✮˚. ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚,

Sleep eluded you that night, despite pressing close to Joel and feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your palm. Even the reassurance of your rifle's presence, just a quick flex of your fingers away, failed to bring the peace you sought.

As the morning rays beamed overhead, the burden of exhaustion settled throughout your body. Yet, giving up wasn't an option—not now, not after everything.

Drawing another dose of penicillin into the syringe, you administered it into Joel's wound with an exhausted expression. Closing your eyes, you pressed slowly down on the plunger, dozing for a moment until you felt fingers wrap around your wrist.

It was so gentle that it barely phased you until you finished pressing the plunger down. Opening your eyes, you found a large hand clasping your wrist. Without much hesitation, you wrapped your free hand around Joel's hand and looked at his face, relief blooming in your chest.

'"Joel," you whispered softly, careful not to disturb the sleeping Ellie next to him. His eyes were half-lidded, maybe even less, but they remained fixed on you. Squeezing his hand gently, you observed as his lips parted, though no audible sound emerged. "It's okay; you're okay. Just rest. We're right here. I'll get you through this, I promise."'

After covering his wound and tucking the coat back around him, you released his hand and settled back down beside him. His head turned in your direction, eyes still open, and he gazed at you with an expression that eluded your understanding. Yet, you could discern a softening of his features as he looked in your direction, as if looking at you brought him some comfort.

His fingers twitched in the corner of your eye, and upon closer inspection, you found them almost outstretched. Gently reaching down, you intertwined your fingers with his, and he responded with a reassuring squeeze.

Tearfully, you lowered your head and pressed it against his shoulder, your hand still intertwined with his on the mattress. "Thank you for holding on," you murmured into his shirt. "Just a little longer, okay? Just until I can get you back to Jackson."

You feel him nod, and as you look up, you notice his eyes are beginning to close fully once more. You squeeze his hand, and for a moment, you feel his cold thumb gliding along the back of your palm in a soothing motion until he falls back to sleep, his hand still in yours.

Smiling faintly into his shoulder, you follow him into the realm of sleep.

✮˚. ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚,

The frantic call of your name jolts you awake, tearing you from the easiest slumber you've experienced in days. Instantly, you sit up, watching as Ellie races down the staircase, mirroring the urgency you displayed just the day before.

"Ellie? What's happening?" Your voice, thick with sleep, responds, momentarily forgetting the looming threat of David and James.

She clutches Joel's rifle, urgency etched across her face. "They're here, the raiders. There's a whole group."

Panic courses through your veins as you quickly shake off the remnants of sleep, your mind racing to formulate an action plan. "Did they see you?" She looks too panicked to respond, her gaze fixed on the staircase. "Ellie? Focus! Did they see you?"

"No, no, I ran back here before they could." Ellie blurts out, her eyes flicking back up the staircase. "They've got guns and—fuck, my footprints. They're going to track us here."

You know she's right.

"I'll lead them away," you decide almost immediately, moving to stand up but stopping when there is a light tug on the bottom of your coat. You turn, seeing Joel looking up at you with an intense desperation in his eyes. He struggles to speak, just like before, but with the way he shakes his head, you can already tell what he is trying to convey. "I have to, Joel. I have to! I'll... I'll lead them away, and if... if I don't come back, then that'll give you both enough time to get on Callus and start back to Jackson."

His eyes plead with you, but you turn away, and Ellie's face is panic-stricken in the same way.

"They'll fucking kill you!" Ellie argues. "We need to stay. We can't go without you!"

"You have to, Ellie. You have to."

Another firm tug on your coat, and you turn back to look at Joel. His eyes are watery, and his mouth opens, but all he can utter is, "Stay."

You shake your head, fighting back your own tears. "It's going to be okay. I'll... I'll find my way back to Jackson somehow."

He shakes his head, and you bite your lip to hold back a sob. You reach down, intertwining your fingers. He holds them without a second thought, and then you squeeze.

Once. I.

Twice. Love.

Thrice. You.

Through your tears, you manage a smile as his body tenses in realization. Before he can react, you gently pull away from his grip and stand up, taking your rifle in stride. You can't bring yourself to look back at Joel, even as you hear him attempt to utter your name numerous times in a hoarse voice. It's torture, but you force yourself to hold back.

"Ellie." You stand in front of her, and she avoids meeting your eyes until you gently place a hand on her shoulder. That's when you notice the tears swimming in her eyes. "It's going to be okay, okay?"

Her lip wobbles, but she nods, replying shakily, "Yeah."

"You're so special, Ellie. You're going to change the world; I already know it." You assure her softly, cupping her cheek. She leans into the touch—the gentlest she's ever known. "But do as I said, alright? Don't you dare follow me. Stay with Joel, give him another dose of the penicillin, and get both of you back on Callus if I don't make it back. Then, just get the fuck out of here. Don't look back, okay? Not for a second."

She attempts to say your name in a pleading tone, but you silence her with a shake of your head.

"Promise me, Ellie," you implore. "Promise me that you will not follow me, please."

She nods, and her lip trembles so much that you can't resist pulling the teenager into your arms. One of your arms wraps around her shoulder, while your other hand rests against her ponytail, running your fingers through her dark locks as if for the last time. Neither of you had ever embraced each other before, but it feels right now. Ellie means something to you now. Joel means something to you now. You have to do this for them.

"I have to go," you murmur, gently pulling away from the hug. Ellie frantically wipes away the tears sliding down her cheeks as you smile sadly at her. Without finding the strength to turn around and say a proper goodbye, you rush up the staircase, closing the door behind you. Leaning against it, you let out a soft sob, grappling with the thought of never seeing either of them again. Yet, you'd rather have them lose you than for you to lose them. You scan the room hurriedly, searching for something to block the door and buy them some time.

Your eyes land on a heavy-looking wooden table pushed against the wall. With a surge of adrenaline, you grip the table's edge, your muscles straining as you drag it towards the door. The weight feels immense, but you refuse to let it defeat you. Sweat beads on your forehead as you finally position the table in front of the door, wedging it against the frame as best you can. It may not hold for long, but it's all you can do in this moment.

Pressing your hand against the door as a silent goodbye, you make your way out of the house, determined to end this.

©️sunkiss3dlily, 2024.

#joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #the last of us #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you

[lastoneout]

Making this it's own post bcs I don't want to detract from the racism discussion on the last post I reblogged(and also this is rambly as hell, sorry) but like I always find the critique that "x genre of music is only about drinking, sex, and violence" wild bcs....almost ALL music in every genre is about that?? Like with rap/hip-hop it ofc this argument ties directly back to racism but even with other genres that get shit on like country people are like "they just sing about getting beers with the boys and driving their trucks" like???? Yeah, I could grab 50 songs from other genres that are about that and beloved regardless??? Getting beers with the boys is a fucking cherished meme on this webbed site!! Or that one Ed Sheeran song people roast all the time like "how dare he write a song about finding his girl's body attractive" bro, are you new here. 99.9% of popular music is "my partner is really hot and I want to have sex with them" and that's like the ONE song of his I know of that's just about fucking like he writes about other stuff, people just ignore those bcs it doesn't fit the narrative of him being a shallow misogynist everyone here loves to drag around and beat like a dead horse.

Why is this a bad thing when people you don't like do it, but fine when the people you do like do it, huh? Hozier is one of the most popular artists out there rn, this site worships the ground he walks on, and yeah his music has a lot of layers of poetic meaning but a lot of it is just about sex and falling in love and violence and drinking. The two are not mutually exclusive!!

Which is kinda the root of it, them not being mutually exclusive, bcs imo even if a genre was entirely saturated with songs exclusively about drinking and sex(which no genre is, you just haven't gone looking for the other stuff), I just don't think that's a problem or means the music is bad or less artistically meaningful?? I genuinely don't think there's a damn thing wrong with writing a song or twelve about finding someone attractive or talking about the violence a lot of people live with every day of their lives or even just churning out a fun party anthem for people to play while they get white girl wasted at a tailgate. Who cares if the art is shallow, why does it have to be "deep" to be worthy of respect, and why does deep and worthy of respect mean "no sex, violence, or drinking", three things that have been part of the human experience since we fucking became humans!

Honestly if you really are looking down on rap and country for being about sex and drinking and violence I want you to ask yourself why you think some artists should be denied the right to write about shit everyone else is writing about all the damn time to massive critical acclaim. Why should black people and rural poor people and women(bcs this is also a critique I heard a LOT aimed at female pop stars) be denied the right to explore the full spectrum of human experience and emotion in their art. Why do they HAVE to tell stories about something else to be taken seriously when their fellow artists can churn out entire albums full of songs about sex and violence and partying and not have anyone bat a fucking eye.

And, on top of that, please ask yourself why you think that something can't be deep while being about sex, drugs, partying, and violence. Bcs that is some fucking discount moral panic bullshit that needs to get knocked out of your head before it festers and you start insisting people who like horror are weird because violence can't be art.

#sorry been sitting on this one for a few days in my head and decided to get it all out #music

[novelizt]

EXPECTO PATRONUM II ☁︎ ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

GENRE ➺ HOGWARTS AU [slytherin! lockwood x fem! ravenclaw! reader]. rivals to lovers (and a dash of 'everyone knows but them'). fluff and angst.

WC ➺ 17.4k

SYNOPSIS ➺ after a six year rivalry with lockwood, your patronus suddenly matches his when it didn't before.

DISCLAIMER ➺ reader is implied to be shorter than lockwood. appearance of harry potter next gen characters and a few ocs. lockwood calls reader 'sweetheart' and 'dearest vexation', (+'my girl). prefect! lockwood. jessica lockwood lives!! (i also headcanon him being a cunning-flirt, so lockwood might read slightly ooc.)

WARNINGS ➺ strained family dynamics (for reader). boggarts, and a lot of unpolished dialogue. QUILL KIPPS. blood and injuries (tending to wounds). mentions of kids and marriage at the end.

⚜ PART 1 | SERIES MASTERLIST

In true Slytherin and Gryffindor fashion, neither of the boys hesitated. Lockwood swung a hex at you. You deflected with a basic protego. He advanced, closing the distance to aim better.

On the other side, Daria flung offensive spells at James. She managed to cast levicorpus on him. He hung upside down, chained in the air. That didn't dampen the flames of his spirit. He threw more charms and jinxes at her. She responded just as quickly.

You almost lost sight of Lockwood before he casted an impressive disillusionment charm on himself. He melted into the background as your blood rushed. You opened your senses and spun revelios in attempt to unveil him.

James's feet found the floor thanks to Lockwood, and the Potter striked a petrificus totalus back at Daria. Instead of turning his attention on you, James nodded to the air and sat like his part was done. He was heaving but smirking.

The hairs on your neck rose and you turned to dodge a stupefy the still disillusioned Lockwood slung at you. You could only hear your breathing and your shoes tapping.

Every hair on your body stood as paranoia sunk in. You're tempted to give up, but you remembered who you were up against and regained your resolve.

You backed against one side of the cage, leaving three directions he could come at you from. In that position, he couldn't catch you from behind.

You'd obviously underestimated Lockwood's growth. The last time you saw him cast a spell as impressive as his disillusionment was the sleeping trance charm he used on the dragon. He used your lack of knowledge against you and you were both impressed and frightened by it.

You remind yourself that you were a Ravenclaw, one of the most highly acclaimed students under Professor Flitwick and the brightest witch of your age.

Everytime you won against Lockwood, it was because you were using your head. Then, it finally clicked for you.

You held out your wand and went on a limb as you spoke, "Accio Prefect Badge."

You heard a gasp to your left and spun your wand to cast revelio. Lockwood's face appeared, speeding towards you, left hand trying to remove the badge he often boasted about. You couldn't help but smile, raising your wand, ready to cast.

His wand rose to rival yours. You heard the beginnings of an explosion spell before adjusting yourself.

Your hand was furious and your lips moved at a speed you didn't know was possible. The beginnings of his firework charm surged towards you before the sound was cut off by the crippling noise akin to metal meeting metal.

The explosion was engulfed by silvery light. It swallowed the flames until all that remained was your patronus.

They say the devil's in the details, and you forgot about one in particular detail. Your smile faded as a silence befell the room.

Your patronus had stayed a crane. Its wings, pearlescent and broad as it hovered, a carbon copy of Lockwood's.

There was static in your ears. Your face drained of colour and your heart plummeted to your stomach.

The patronus's glow casted a faint veil between you and Lockwood. He looked back at you with a shocked but not surprised expression. Neither of you expected James to raise his wand and stupefy you.

—

Everything was all black for a while. You had no dreams. Yet, somewhere in the void, you began to hear giggles, familiar and chilling.

"Come on now," one spoke.

"Stumped by a stupefy!" another added, this one more energetic.

"And by Jamesie, no less."

"Potters are trouble," the other tutted.

The first gasped. "I saw her lids twitch!"

"We know you're awake already."

You cracked your eyes open, and, sure enough, you're greeted by two golden-haired rascals; Lorcan and Lysander Scamander.

Three years your juniors, they were Ravenclaw's notorious twins who were known to be as caring as they were mischievous.

Your throat dried, your neck stiffened, and you wished the duel was all a dream. You tried to sit up, to no avail.

Lorcan jumped into action, helping you up by propping a pillow behind you whilst Lysander passed you a cup of water. It wasn't spiked with anything, you pleasantly discovered. You finished the whole glass in one fell swoop.

When you shifted to return the glass to the bedside table, you felt a tug on your opposite arm and nearly jumped when you spotted curls of brown crushing your hand. He was slouched but there was no mistaking that resting sad face.

No wonder the twins were so smiley.

You turned to them. "How long has he been here?"

"Asking about him first?" Lorcan grinned.

Lysander cupped his chin. "That's awfully un-rival-like of you."

"Hush. Just tell me."

"Since you asked," Lorcan said with an attitude.

"Tony's been here since lunch," Lysander answered. You laxed. That wasn't so bad, it couldn't have been too long.

"Lunchtime yesterday," Lorcan corrected.

Your soul departed from your body.

"He would have come sooner if Madame Pomfrey didn't keep you under intensive care," Lysander continued, as if that was any better. "No visitors until she deemed you stable enough."

"He's very stubborn, you know."

"I think she knows, Lorcan."

"And you let him?" You kept your voice down but your tone was a borderline shriek.

"He wouldn't let up." Lorcan shrugged.

"Professor Flitwick said the best we could do is bring you two food and drink," Lysander backed up.

Your jaw loosened at the news. "The professors allowed this?"

The pressure on your hand lightened. Your lips smacked shut as Lockwood said, "I'm their best student, they let me do anything."

Say something smart, you told yourself. It's the only right reaction to an egoistic comment like that, but your mental function ceased at the rasp in his voice. His very, very groggy voice that made you feel like you've been hit by lightning.

One hand rested on yours while his other arm lazily held up his head. He looked like he was about to fall asleep again, yet, he looked like he hadn't slept at the same time. Gray swooped under his eyes, he turned more gaunt than the last time you saw him...

Goodness, the last time you saw him. Heat crawled up your neck.

The patronus. The crane, his crane. Now yours, too.

He knows.

The Scamander twins were on the same wavelength because Lorcan hopped onto an empty square of your bed and asked, "So... is it true?"

Lysander crossed his arms and placed them on the bed. "Did your patronus really change?"

"Did it?" Lockwood asked, just to drive the fact home. Though tired, he did that smirk-smile that you've committed to memory.

You blamed your near internal decapitation for your unaligned state of mind. You answered quietly, "It did."

Lorcan and Lysander exchanged looks. Bright-eyed, like they had just discovered a Fantastic Beast of their own. They both leaned toward you, forcing you to lean toward Lockwood to retain some of your personal bubble. He didn't mind, he even squeezed your hand to reassure you.

"How did it happen?"

"What was it before?"

"Did it happen consciously?"

"Did someone cause it to change?"

You didn't know which twin was speaking, their lips were moving at the same time. You processed their words before answering. "It just did. It was a giraffe. No, I didn't expect it to change at all. And I don't know."

The last answer wasn't really a lie. Lockwood didn't do anything special, but your patronus was now miraculously connected to his. He was involved somehow. You would be grasping at straws if you didn't consider your earlier adventures to be the catalyst.

Lorcan and Lysander had a whispery discussion while you drowned in your reverie. When they decided that they were sated with your answers, they waved you goodbye. You faintly hear a muttering of George's name and it all made sense.

George had sent the twins to gather intel because he knew you could never say no to them. That, or he was still upset at you over being dragged into the anti-Amortentia scheme. The bugger.

You sat up despite your aching head, but surrendered the moment Lockwood brushed a finger over your knuckles. It's odd to give in so quickly, but it was too late to go back on it.

Your eyes shifted to him and, just like before, his were already on you. A smile formed on his lips but it wasn't your favourite one. He gave you a tight-lipped grin that matched the ashen grey under his eyes.

"You were stupefied," he said.

You rolled your eyes and pretended not to see his smile grow. The weirdo missed seeing it.

"Unfortunately," he continued. "You had backed yourself too close to Professor's cage. The stupefy basically bludgeoned your skull against the cage and the protective spells sent you in the opposite direction."

Just hearing the technicalities made you grimace. You remained grateful he didn't mention Madam Pomfrey's methods of fixing you up. If you had broken your skull, you wanted to be ignorant of it. Lockwood understood your dread and kept the rest of the details to himself.

That still didn't answer the question that's been at the forefront of your mind. "Why are you here?"

He sucked in an audible breath, eyes wandering. Classic evasive Lockwood move. You already knew he was going to respond with a lie.

"Because I owe you one," he said.

You mastered the art of stoicism, but that didn't take away from the fact that it was harder to practise that time around.

"You don't owe me a thing," you replied, coughing away the dejection that bled into your voice. "We're even. The Romanian Longhorn incident, remember?"

"How could I forget?" He smiled at the floor. Another swipe over your knuckles that sent you into orbit. "But I would have been spell-bound for the rest of my life if you hadn't intervened."

Years—That's how long you'd been avoiding his eyes and how his emotions swam in them, but now, you couldn't convince your angel and devil to look away. Honey in a bottle eyes pried open so raw you physically felt the weight of his words, and then the shackles of your own guilt.

It clawed at your throat, coiling its gangly fingers around your windpipe and choking you until your fears were forced out. "You were spell-bound because of me."

He responded with a frigid laugh. "Are you kidding me?"

Your brows furrowed. "No? Why would I kid about something like this? You were under the influence of Amortentia. It's not the first time a tragedy had come from its misuse. Have we not learned from the story of Vol—"

The cold bit at you as he disentangled his hand from yours, pushing himself back to see you in full. "This is not about the moral of the story or what could've happened. Why are you blaming yourself?" He scoffed. "Sweetheart, you're not the one who tricked me. Some nutter did."

"Listen here," you gave a despondent sigh, crossing your arms and distancing yourself by pressing your back into the pillow. "She wouldn't have done that if you hadn't... been so fixed on me."

"Sorry, is that a sin?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Fancying someone that isn't her isn't a crime. You didn't do anything to hurt me. What she did was the making of her own evils."

"Fancying? Lockwood– Nevermind that. She said—"

"You value her word over mine?"

"No!" Your heart clenched, your mind raced. "Merlin, no. I just mean that you would be better off without me."

Lockwood never looked so frustrated before. Not at you, at least. He pressed his lips together, fists on his hips as he paced.

Your eyes followed in wait. There's not much else you could say. You'd let the biggest resident of your mind go in that one exchange. You didn't take into account how anxious it would make you to see him react.

He stopped, as did your heart. You sat up straighter when he let his arms fall to his sides.

"You are the most despicable woman I have ever met," he said in one breath.

You had a lot to say about that. You were offended, humiliated, and humbled all at once. Yet, he didn't let you say a thing until he finished.

"And I could easily choose some other lovely lady who doesn't give me a migraine every time I speak to them, but I can't. Because I've been taken by you the moment you called me a twat for mistaking a llama and camel even though I am the raised as a muggle between us." He stole a breath to replenish his air. "And I try to make you understand that there is no getting rid of me, but your lack of awareness is equivalent of my lack of failure—"

You rolled your eyes at that and he cracked a smile.

"And if I had to guess, it would take about a million years and triple that of worshipping before I get you to understand that I am hopelessly, irrevocably in love with you; But I'm already aware, and I'm going to spend all of my mortal years trying, and then spend the rest of our reincarnations doing that over and over just so I can be yours. Don't even try to stop me, sweetheart. You know I never give up."

Your cheeks hurt from trying to repress a smile.

"Come on," Lockwood coaxed. "No need to be shy. You can smile, sweetheart."

And so, you did. But you didn't expect the waterworks to begin.

Salty tears slid down your cheeks and into your mouth. You tried to wipe them away to preserve the rest of your dignity in the face of Anthony Lockwood but it was for naught.

Your breath hitched as your chest constricted, but it's the first time you cried tears of joy. You couldn't help but laugh amidst the pain.

Years of trying to prove yourself to your family. Years trying to meet ungodly expectations just to earn your place at their table—they return to you at the same moment. You cried for every minute you fought for a modicum of love from people who preferred pride, all while Lockwood was right there. You didn't see it until he spelled it out for you.

Lockwood washed away the shattering memories with every swipe that dried your tears, then quelled the rest of your fears as his arms came around you.

He held you fast against him. "I hate to say it, but I love the way you keep my feet on the ground. Snarky attitude and all," he said.

Your head hurt from both the injury and the crying, but you'd never felt so seen, so loved.

It was pure instinct to try and hit him. That time, he let you. Your fist met his chest with a dull thud.

"Would you look at that," he chuckled against your hair. "You got me."

He earned a soft laugh from you, and you didn't see it, but he smiled your favourite smile.

You got him in more ways than one.

—

If you admonished one thing, it was whispering behind your back. The likelihood for people to do just that tripled since the patronus business got out.

You and Lockwood, renowned for butting heads at any given opportunity, had the same patronus. They were studying magic. Of course they knew what that meant.

In the recent days, you'd taken to hiding in the confines of the library. If not, you'd be tucking yourself in your room behind a good novel.

Lockwood had taken up the same hobbies.

You pulled a book out of its space to examine the cover, just to double take and peer between the space it left behind. You'd recognise that smirk anywhere. Only Lockwood would pose all suave against a shelf like that.

He smirked. "Like what you see?"

"I don't know. An ogre is covering a pretty, rebound version of Hogwarts, A History."

He laughed all dashingly then closed the book he pretended to read. He came closer, setting his forearm on the shelf.

"I open my heart to you and you wound me. You are a cruel, cruel woman."

"If you didn't like that about me, you would have handed your heart to someone else."

"Have I told you how much I love your feistiness?"

You cheeks strained from holding back a smile. "Bugger off."

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then duly decided to drop the act. "I don't feel like being obedient today. Come with me?"

You squinted at him. "Where?"

"It's a secret. Why, you scared, smart girl?"

You pursed your lips, miffed. "Please. You're the bigger pansy between the two of us."

His smile stretched. "Prove it."

"I will."

You returned the book to its place, locking Lockwood out of view. You heard his laugh and stifled yours as he was reprimanded by Madam Pince.

—

Calling Lockwood a danger magnet was putting it lightly. The man actively sought out danger like it was weaved into his state of being.

Somebody had to keep him in check, and some Higher Being had chosen you to be his keeper. So, there you found yourself, at the margins of the Forbidden Forest in the belly of the night.

"If I die, I want a special coffin in the likely event that my corpse leaps out and strangles yours."

"Sweetheart," Lockwood set his hand between your shoulders, easing you forward. "I'd be torn to bits before I ever let anything touch a hair on your head."

"Very reassuring."

He poked his head over your shoulder just to flash you a smile. "I know."

He chuckled as you shoved his face away.

Even if you were braced in your warmest cloak, the chill of being at the thresh of such a foreboding precinct of Hogwarts was overwhelming. It was like being face to face with a Roman Longhorn, except there were more than two eyes on you. You could already see their glowing irises peering at you behind the foliage.

They scrambled for the dark when Lockwood had casted lumos, lighting up the dirt path ahead. He eased his arm over your shoulder, squeezing you to him, before trudging on.

"What are we looking for?" you whispered. In your mind, the less creatures that knew you were ever in the Forbidden Forest, the better.

Students were punished to walk through the very path you were on, and here you and Lockwood stood, walking it on your own volition. Your reason for being there was to prove an arrogant Slytherin wrong, but you were walking the path regardless.

It took a moment for Lockwood to answer. He was already looking between the branches. "Promise you won't behead me if I tell you."

"I would behead you even if I did promise."

His lip quirked. "A spitfire as always."

You feigned politeness. "May I know now, please?"

"Since I'm doomed either way, I won't tell you that we're on the hunt for a unicorn."

Your feet dug into the dirt, halting Lockwood in his path. Disbelief written on your face. "A unicorn?!"

"Well, 'hunt' is an abrasive word. I suppose 'find' is a more apt verb—"

You slapped his chest, and he turned to you with a grin so blinding it outdid the lumos.

You motioned to the vast forest ahead. "Spotting one is as likely as becoming friends with a centaur."

"It isn't impossible," he quipped, as if that would inspire you.

"Lockwood," You pinched the bridge of your nose and exhaled, expelling all your murder ideations in the same breath. "You are as reckless as a Gryffindor."

"I take full offence. Gryffindors rush in with no clear goal. I, on the contrary, have a remarkable one."

You gave him the benefit of the doubt. "What would this 'remarkable' goal be?"

He was the picture of youth as he smiled. "To fulfil a childhood dream."

The nuance was lost on you. You trusted him to not have done something so particularly stupid.

He tapped your chin. "Why the face? You're the one who drew them all over your notebook."

You reeled. "Me? When?"

He looked dumbfounded. "When we met. You threw the whole notebook at me, remember?"

It dawned on you slowly. The cogs finally clicked into place, and you shoved him, just for him to catch your hand and grin.

"You remember it now?" he mused.

He let your hands fall between you, refusing to let you go.

Your cheeks warmed. "That was six years ago. Rowena knows where that notebook is now! I haven't drawn a unicorn since third-year Care of Magical Creatures."

He reclaimed his spot by your side, throwing his arm around you once more. "It's a testament to my impeccable memory."

"Your memory won't help if we're torn apart by rogue beasts," you chastised.

You expected a response. A real, apologetic response. But you watched as his eyes fell over your shoulder and simply stared instead.

You scoffed at him. "You are terrible—"

He cupped a hand over your mouth. "Shh!"

"Woat aye you loofing at?" You shook your head, freeing your mouth. "What are you looking at?"

A smile teased at his lips as he pointed over your shoulder. The glow at the end of his wand died, making the presence of the very real, very majestic unicorn prominent. Its coat shined like it was made of moonlight. You almost forgot to breathe as you watched it with the intrigue of a tyke.

Lockwood was much closer than before. His whispers loud in your ears. "Breathe, sweetheart. Can't have you fainting on me now."

You breathed a laugh then snapped to cover your own mouth. The creature craned its head around, allowing you to glimpse midnight blue eyes before it galloped into the trees. A short but worthwhile encounter.

Lockwood tugged on your arm, bringing you back to the present and leading you out of the forest.

You're still at a loss of words when you glimpsed his triumphant smile. "Not impossible," he reiterated.

You're on the brink of a laugh as you agreed, "Not impossible."

As you broke into safer forest, you realised that night wasn't over. Not for Lockwood, at least. His hand slipped down your arm before he twined his fingers with yours.

His smile brightened when you adjusted your grip to hold him tighter.

"We have one more stop before we succumb to sleep," he told you, leading you through the clearing.

Your curiosity grew as you passed Hagrid's hut. "Somewhere within Hogwarts, I hope. At this point, I find it plausible that you're scheming to sneak out to Hogsmeade."

A metaphorical lightbulb blinked above him. "Not yet, but that is a brilliant idea."

"There isn't a moment of peace when you're involved."

His fingers ghosted over your knuckles. It affected you more than you cared to show.

"Sweetheart, we both know we're susceptible to boredom when it's too quiet."

"I suppose," you hummed.

You did enjoy the cracks in the silence being filled by intelligent squabble or nonsensical arguments. But only if they involved one audacious Slytherin.

Your thoughts turned to static as torchlight began to cast a golden glow in the grass. This clearing was the opposite of empty. Torches and cages inflated where the air should have been. What fit in the cages were what stole the air from your lungs.

Lockwood was absolutely joyed that your first reaction was the dropping of your jaw.

The cages were filled by dragons. Luckily, asleep. The same ones that were supposed to be there for educational purposes.

You heard that they were on the loom for being transported back to Romania, but you never thought that they were being kept this close to the castle.

Lockwood led you by the hand, further between the cages. They shrunk in size until you were at the end of the line, facing a chillingly familiar face.

You laid a hand against the grainy bars, close but not too close to admire the sleeping beast. "The juvenile Romanian..."

Lockwood stared down at the nameplate welded against the bars. "Her name's Gorgonzola."

"She's named after a cheese?"

Lockwood chuckled. You felt the shake of his shoulder through your linked hands. "We were almost wiped out by aged dairy."

"It's a good thing we quelled her then." You nudged his side, and he nudged you right back. "Now, we're able to admire her without the impending threat of death."

"If that incident hadn't occurred, you would still hate me," he chuckled. It came out soulless.

You were taken aback. You weren't his biggest fan, but it would be too dire to say you hated him.

"Lockwood, I wouldn't hate you."

"Well," he downplayed the frown in his tone. "we wouldn't be friends."

You turned to face him. The toes of your shoes bumping his. He looked up, surprise evident in his eyes. You were so close, he could see his own reflection in your eyes.

His eyes followed every movement of your mouth. "Sulking over a version of us that doesn't even exist, snake boy?"

The edges of his lips upturned. "Just considering the possibilities, sweetheart."

You recognised that spark of mischief anywhere. You only had yourself to blame when he'd closed the distance even more.

"Besides," He cupped your cheek, drawing you closer. His fingers tickled the underside of your ear while his thumb brushed your cheek. "I like this reality better."

I do, too, you intended to say, but the words died on your tongue. Your lips parted as he inched closer and closer. Honesty lulling you together.

You felt his lips land on the corner of yours, teasing. You hummed in dismay before he drew away, leaning in to finally—

"Hey! What are you two doing here?" The dragon's caretaker, most likely. By the sound of it, he wasn't happy to see two miscreant students skulking around.

Lockwood bit his tongue, holding back the urge to call out and tell them to shove off just so he had a moment to kiss you—but the look on your face sobered him quickly.

You didn't have the luxury of being involved in trouble as he did. Your family would know if you got into trouble. The dominos would fall, and a sad you was the kind of thing Lockwood casted spells to avoid.

He tightened his hold on your hand. "We'll get back to this," he promised.

You nodded firmly, holding onto him with the same intensity.

Though the moment was left behind, Lockwood clung to the vision of your eyes fluttering shut. Your lovelorn face seared into the back of his mind, keeping him up all night.

—

You didn't know where you and Lockwood stood at that moment in time. You were walking the line between more than friends, less than lovers. Wherever your feet were, you realised you had a lot to make up for.

If he caught you at the right time, you might just blurt out that you loved him, too. You'd been fortunate enough to have the restraint to keep your confession contained.

The thought of telling him felt like bearing your soul. You were unprepared for it. But there were new ambitions that stirred in your thawing heart. They all centred around one, Anthony Lockwood.

You tried to be subtle, but in Lockwood's eyes, you were as subtle as a gun.

You remained your verbally abrasive self (how he found it enamoring eluded you), but you picked up the habit of awarding him with a kiss on the cheek when he drapes an arm over your shoulders. He's yet to brace himself and melts every time.

In the same time frame, you magically found a way to duplicate your notes so he didn't have to hurt his hands to write them.

His hands were perfectly fine. Lockwood said you're insane for it, but you replied with, "have I ever been sane?"

To that he'd shake his head and smile a smile that encompasses a million confessions.

On another morning, a gaggle of first-years delivered a gift box of his favourite knacks from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and Honeydukes sweets. They told him it was from an anonymous benefactor but one look up and his eagle eyes spotted your poorly done disillusionment charm.

He thanked the kids with a smile and sent them off just so he could tap your disillusioned arse as he passed, then had the gall to chuckle at your yelp.

The rest of Hogwarts progressively became aware of the development. Professor McGonagall purposely seated you apart. Professor Flitwick did the opposite. Professor Longbottom occasionally tipped off ideas like hiding spots and locations with a view.

Even Peeves seemed to be aware that you were unofficially an item. To your utmost surprise, the poltergeist took it easy on you.

Your shenanigans began to pay back Lockwood's six years of unnoticed pining. The man of the hour appreciated them but his heart could not take that much affection. Realistically, it could, but he never passed up an opportunity to be dramatic about it. Especially when he caught sight of you in his colours.

It was the last Quidditch match of the year—his final match as a student of Hogwarts; Gryffindor versus Slytherin.

He wholly expected to see you among your housemates, sporting the deep blue you looked so good in or even in red, just to spite him, but his heart stalled when he spotted you in steal-his-heart green.

He knew it was you even from miles away because you were sporting his number and wearing his jersey. The very jersey you said you'd never wear, you wore with a smile so bright it makes the cloudy skies part just for you.

He was just about ready to abandon his broom when you blew a cheeky kiss his way.

"Lockwood!" his teammate called urgently.

Lockwood begrudgingly looked away. He leaned into his broom to chase the Snitch, but he couldn't pry his eyes away from you for too long.

At the tail end of the game, the Snitch hovered right in front of you. You stared at it while Lockwood lunged for it, catching it in his palm and (un)covertly planting a kiss on your cheek.

It sent the stands into uproar and secured another win for Slytherin. He pointed to you as his team threw him up on their shoulders.

—

"You–" He snatched you from your path, beguiling you behind a fluted column. "–are unbelievable."

You smirked when you whirled to face him, resting an arm over his shoulder. The other against his forearm—and you chuckled when you felt him flex his arm to impress you. He couldn't help but smile.

His nose bumped yours, taunting. Judging by the way you raised your head to follow, you wanted the same thing he did.

Unfortunately for you, he was still Lockwood. He pulled his head back to coax that scowl from you. It sent him back to the first time he'd seen that look on your face. The weight of the world lightened every time he saw it.

You're not one to sulk, or beg, or admit you want something. Of course, you changed the topic. "Congratulations on the win, Captain."

"Captain? I like the sound of that." He did his best to remain chivalrous, but the thought of slipping his hands under your—his—jersey to caress your bare waist was meddlesome. It was tempting, and he barely fought the urge by drawing circles over the shirt instead. "Call me captain again, sweetheart."

You must be getting back at him. He had no other explanation for the rapturous grin on your face. "You're being too kind . . . I'm never going to call you that again."

"You are cruel, have I told you that before?"

You laughed, and he felt your breath on his neck. He found it reasonable to assume you're experienced in torturing boys who are in love with you. He clamped his lips when you graced him with a kiss on his chin. So close yet so far. "You love that about me though."

His fingers dug into your sides, keeping you to him even when you tried to pull away. Your fox grin only grew, confirming that you were torturing him on purpose.

He was immediately pardoned from guilt. He slid his hands down, and then up; touching your skin with chilled fingers. His smile reached his eyes as your mouth parted for a gasp.

"I do," he said, playing along and kissing the corner of your lip. "I'm forever harrowed by the very thought of you."

His form of play is quickly dispatched once his eyes meet yours. The mischief died away, leaving something deeper. More amorous. Yearning.

"Anthony..." It's but a whisper, but his fingers grappled to feel more of your skin. You felt them at the curve of your ribs, holding you with the prudence reserved for a fragile thing.

He drew you closer, as if the proximity of your mouths weren't enough to sate his cravings. "Say my name like that again."

"Anthony," you mused.

You're flush to him. If you were any closer, you'd feel his smirk against you, on your lips or your skin. You weren't picky.

His voice dropped to a lower register. "Yes, sweetheart?"

You lifted yourself on your toes. You met his eyes, but they travelled to his lips with intent. His eyes fluttered shut, transfixed on your smell, your hand tangling into his hair, your breath fanning his lip—everything. You drew closer and closer. He almost tasted the satisfaction of finally kissing–

"You better not be snogging behind there!" Kat Godwin, the dementor in disguise. Now, the person you wished to throw into the Black Lake.

You groaned and rocked back. Lockwood held on to your waist, closing the distance and allowing himself the reprieve of pressing his forehead against yours.

"We'll come back to this."

"Third time's the charm," you hoped.

His pulse raced as you snaked your hands up his torso, bracing your hands on his chest. If he didn't love you so much, he would have felt betrayed for the way you shoved him into the open.

"Anthony Lockwood," Godwin tutted. "I should have known..."

He glanced back at you, glimpsed your smile, and decided that he liked you too much to be mad.

He turned back to Godwin with a smirk. "I'm positive I saw a roach run through here." His lip twitched when her eyes darted down the hall.

Lockwood watched you book it for the opposite hall, ducking out of sight and escaping trouble. You blew a kiss before you turned the corner and he found that he didn't mind being your scapegoat.

—

Lockwood was aware that your beauty and brains could charm even the deadest of hearts. Some days, he wished you didn't have the magnetism you did. He dreaded every second watching that Gryffindor boy scamper up to you, a rose in hand.

Lockwood wasn't one to be mean up close, but he found glaring from a distance to be fair game.

You looked up from your book, innocent and unknowing, with a smile made for a princess. You turned the lion boy away, of course. You didn't even glance at the Gryffindor boy's love offering. The sad chap went off to wallow on his own.

Your head turned at the sound of Lockwood's footsteps. A smile coming to you before he even reached you.

"Hello, snake boy."

Lockwood didn't dawdle. "He was chatting you up."

"You were watching?"

"It's hard to miss trollop."

Amusement danced in your eyes. He forgot how gracious you were when he was caught up in his own mind-matter.

You shifted to the side and patted the spot next to you. Like a puppet on a string, he sat. Leaving no space between you, his arm flushed against yours.

"You're jealous," you said, with a lot more merriment than he expected from you.

His brows furrowed. "He's a twat. I'm just glad you had the sense to turn him away."

You crossed your legs and set your hands on your lap, exuding confidence that made him forget his own name. "So, you are jealous."

"Indefinitely," he said mindlessly.

"My poor serpent boy," you cooed sympathetically.

Your hands found his cheeks, and he had no reason to complain. He even nuzzled into your hold.

"You're never this touchy in public," he muttered, appreciating the closeness. He dipped his head to plant a gracious kiss on your palm.

You spoke like the action didn't rile you up. "I know someone adores me enough to be jealous of a boy I don't even know."

You felt his smile against your hand. Yours grew.

He planted one more kiss on your other palm before he drew himself away. He fought the urge to lean down and steal your first kiss right then and there because he had something much more fitting planned for you.

"I know you hate breaking rules but this is the last time I'm coaxing you to, I promise."

"I don't believe that for a second, but if you're so convinced, I don't see why I shouldn't be involved."

He turned your hand, placing a kiss on your knuckle. "The Astronomy Tower, after hours."

"Are you mad? The Astronomy Tower has special protection charms on it's doors."

Lockwood was mischief personified with a grin like that. "Have you no faith in me? I swear by Merlin's name, by the time you sneak out, I'll have the door open for you. I am a gentleman, after all."

It was glaringly obvious that you lost your ability to say 'no' to him.

—

You'd become acquainted with the darkest halls in your recent trysts with Lockwood. You would be lying if you said you weren't sceptical this time around.

The Astronomy Tower, a heavily guarded place following the murder of the previous Headmaster, was Lockwood's idea of a good time.

It was no easy feat to get in, especially when it was dark out and the charms were upped for maximum protection.

You let the glow from your wand guide you through the halls. Once you made it to the base of the stairs, you're greeted by the sight of Lockwood. Suave and plucked from your dreams, he kicked off the wall and pushed the door open with ease. All while wearing your favourite smile. You could have kissed him senseless.

He bowed at the waist, flourishing a hand at the open walkway. "Ladies first."

"You are... unbelievable. You actually did it."

He held his palm out towards you, like an invitation to dance. "Did you ever have a doubt?"

"For a moment," you admitted, placing your hand in his.

"Anything is possible, if you have enough nerve." He punctuated his statement by kissing your knuckle, his eyes never leaving yours. He was luring you in, and it was working. "Shall we?"

You nodded, allowing him to guide you up the stairs, passed the landing before you set foot on the observation deck. The gold accents of the room shone, even in moonlight. The books that filled the shelves vibrated, like they were dying to open themselves and unleash the knowledge they held, and the skyline ceiling was so brilliant, you could reach up and feel it against your skin.

If you spoke the want to touch a star, you had no doubt Lockwood would take a shot in the dark just to make it happen.

"Don't look at the books, sweetheart. Look at me."

"But the books are so pretty."

He grinned, holding back the urge to say something cliché. You could guess what it was.

Instead, he said, "Plenty of time for them later. I have to show you something."

He guided you to the balcony, the night's chill amplifying the feel of his warm hands on yours. It was getting hard to act like your heart wasn't jumping for joy.

The wind tousled your hair, the stars dotted the sky, and Anthony Lockwood made everything look so much brighter.

He rounded until your back was against his chest, pulling you in until you felt the thrum of his heart against your shoulder. Arms wound around you to shield you from the bite of frost than rolled in now that winter was one step through the door.

You found that his pulse was just as eratic as yours. Fervent in every sense of the word.

You'd never been in this position with anyone. The proximity was jarring, but it was welcomed nonetheless. You laxed into him, and he eased into you.

You weren't paying attention to the view as you hummed. "This is nice."

"I know... I was waiting until you didn't want to decapitate me to bring you here."

You turned your body to rest your cheek on his shoulder. "It's not my fault you're insufferable."

"Is that truly your favourite word to describe me? I hear it plenty."

"You tell me, serpent boy. I don't remember every little thing about myself."

"Remembering the little things about you is my job, thank you very much."

You felt the rumble of his laugh through his chest, reminiscent of a cat's purr of contentment. It took everything in you not to bring it up.

All whilst Lockwood was trying to keep himself together. Anything that involved you took a lot of restraint on his part.

Unexpectedly, you broke the silence. Your voice, the song of a lark in the night. "Have I ever told you how much I appreciate you?"

"No, I don't think you have." He hated to put a distance between you but he wanted to see your lips make the words as you said it. "Go on and tell me."

He memorised the way your smile reached your eyes and the softness of your brightened cheeks as the stars reflected in your eyes. You'd always been beautiful, but you were vibrant now. He liked to think he had something to do with it.

"I don't hate the way you know me better than I know myself."

He cracked a smile, cupping your cheek with the tenderness one reserves for their most precious thing. "Come on, you're more eloquent than that, sweetheart."

Your smile widened, and you melted into his palm. "If the world allowed it, I'd like to go back and return every stolen glance, every missed confession, and every chance we lost to be friends sooner."

His cheeks hurt from withholding a smile. "We can move past our regrets. Besides, aspirations have changed. I don't just want to be friends anymore, sweetheart." His thumb swiped against your cheek, printing the image of you into his memory. "I want to be your life's confidant, your harbinger of hope, your worst nightmare, and the object of your dreams. I want to be everything to you, because you are already everything to me."

Of course, he had to outdo you in words.

“Cheesy...” you teased.

His thumb travelled down the curve of your cheek, flitting over the plush of your lips. It took everything not to steal you away as you pressed your delicate lips against the pad of his thumb, like his confession didn't have to be returned in words.

And you didn't seem to be looking for words at all. Your hands found his lapels. With a sharp tug, you finally connect your lips to his. Years fell away as he grasped your neck, holding you to him as your fingers slid into his hair.

You exchanged breaths. A mess of clashing teeth and rushing emotions. Judging by the fervency in his grappling for skin, you got an idea of how long he'd been waiting for this, for you.

Yet, he wasn't savage about it. His movements were eager but equally as careful, savouring every stolen second he had you all to himself.

Even as the air ran short, he couldn't fathom the idea of being too far from you. You broke the kiss, chasing oxygen. He rested his forehead against yours, heaving with a smile that could brave you through your worst times.

His thumb swiped over your lips once more, already missing you. "Would you find it pathetic if I said I've dreamt of doing that?"

"I'd be more flattered, really. What girl wouldn't want to be wanted like this?"

You disarmed him as you cupped his chin.

"Can't imagine," he replied. He bumped his nose to yours, and you leaned into him even more.

Should have known that the world wasn't kind enough to give you much time to yourselves. Both of you jumped into action the second you heard the clicking of shoes coming up the stairs.

Anthony refused to release your hand, even as you rushed for cover. Your whispered urgencies fell on deaf ears. You didn't get far enough to hide fully.

Your back was against the wall, hidden from sight. Anthony was not. You were whispering for him to just duck beside you when he clamped a hand over your mouth and posed for whoever appeared inside the Tower.

"Lockwood?" Lucy Carlyle.

You sighed in relief. You weren't in inescapable trouble after all.

"Hey, Luce! Fancy seeing you here."

"What are you doing?" A few more steps.

Anthony panicked. "No! Sorry–" He cleared his throat. "I... made a mess of a hex. It's a disaster."

You bit his palm, offended. The way he sputtered was victory enough.

"Really?" Lucy questioned, deep in disbelief. "You look completely fine... Except your hair."

"Terrible winds, really. The mess is off to the side." His smile was so unconvincing you could laugh.

Instead, you started a trail of pecks across his palm, travelling down to his wrist until he choked on air. Your heart swelled and mischief bubbled to the surface. You grew audacious enough to nip at his skin.

Lucy's voice rang out. "I can help—"

"Absolutely not!" Anthony winced at the crack in his voice. "I mean, I have it handled."

You heard a few more steps. Anthony laxed. You assumed Lucy was walking away. "If you say so..."

"Haha. I appreciate the concern, Luce. Let's keep this between us, hm?"

"Sure..." Her steps echoed as she toed down the steps. Before she shut the door, she added, "Say 'hi' to the Ravenclaw for me."

Anthony slumped himself against you, sulking as you laughed. "Not as sly as we thought, hm?"

"I've had better days..."

You ran your hands through his hair, attempting to right the mess you made of it earlier. "Then you're blaming the night?"

He raised his head from your shoulder. "Don't tell me you're about to side with the moon again. I'll start to think I'm competing with it."

"Well, the moon is beautiful."

"Oh, come off it. I'm so much better."

He took it upon himself to prove it, pressing your hips into the wall as he stole another ground-shattering kiss from. You surrendered, musing his hair to your heart's content.

—

Anthony thought that the perfect way to start off a relationship was to demonstrate how you two truly clicked in terms of cruelty. Not that you'd call it that outright. You'd crossed out Lockwood's 'revenge' and wrote 'comeuppance' in its place.

He eyed the plans from over your shoulder. "Does it make a difference?"

"Comeuppance is just karmic debt being repaid. Revenge sounds like it could be a crime."

"It's only a crime if we get caught."

That could very well be Anthony's life motto.

You rolled the scroll up and casted a hasty concealment charm on it, packing it away in the bag of supplies before you looked down the hallway.

"You go cause a distraction."

He guffawed, clutching his cloak like he'd been stabbed. "I came up with the plan. Why do I get distraction duty?"

"Because," you drawled, fixing his tie. "You're a sweet boyfriend who does anything to pacify his vengeful girlfriend."

"Defence is a pivotal subject in the field I'm aiming for. I could lose my career if this goes wrong."

"I can cover all our future living expenses, and we won't get caught. Swish away the pessimism, captain."

"I'm not being pessimistic. I just want to be the one flinging oobleck balloons."

You smiled faultlessly. "We'll miss our chance if we don't time this correctly."

His shoulders sunk, a grumble shaking his chest before he righted himself. "Do what you please. Just... don't turn me into a ferret. I heard a terrible rumour about some other Slytherin being turned into one."

"You have my word."

An enchantment here and a flick of a wand there, and a baby eagle stood in the place of your lover. You cupped him in your hands, cooing cordially as he nipped at your fingers.

If a bird could blush, you assumed he would have. You set him on the window sill.

A ways down, Professor Loathes-Your-Guts strolled by. Unassuming and grumpy as ever.

"As good as I am, it won't last forever. Off you go, Cinderbird."

Anthony squawked indignantly before you shoved him off the sill. He stretched his wings, working out the complexities of flight right before he hit the pavement.

His odd way of flying seized the Professor's attention right away. She caught him in her hands, stopping right where you wanted her.

Anthony freed himself as the first balloon careened down and splat against her head, drenching her in watered starch. You muffled a laugh as she screamed bloody murder. She had yet to get the sludge out of her hair before you dropped three more.

Blood pumping, Anthony flew right up, turning human right as he shot through the window.

"Save some for me!"

You kicked the box of balloons toward him, absolutely riveted by the scene you'd caused below. You looked far too good doing evil, and he was the Slytherin.

He dropped five balloons before Peeves uncovered the plot and took matters into his hands.

The poltergeist bombarded the Professor with the remaining ammunition and left the basket over her head as a consolation prize. While she shrieked at him, you and Anthony booked it—hands connected, boasting matching smiles.

Operation: DADA Comeuppance — Success!

And thanks to the spirit of mischief, you were never caught.

—

Anthony found it ironic that your favourite views were of crepuscular rays; those beams of light that slice through dense foliage or part the clouds to shine on dreary ground, because it's how he often described you—rarely letting the light in but always magnificent when you do.

You were standing under one of those rays as you bowed to a Hippogriff, once again setting an example for the class. It's to nobody's surprise, he's the first to burst into applause.

You glared at him. He mimicked your deep bow in response. The twitch of your lip was reward enough for him.

It wasn't long until the party was assigned to pairs. It was an easy guess as to who leeched to your side the second people broke off into their groups.

You waved your finger at him, as if that would keep him from you. "If you keep tailing me, we'll end up on the Bulletin'."

"I love a good word in. About us, specifically," he replied.

You shook your head, more endeared than disappointed. "Of course, you would."

"If I were you, I'd be showing off my new boyfriend."

"You say 'boyfriend' with so much conviction, you would think we've been going out for years."

"My apologies, m'lady. Would 'husband' suit your tastes more?"

"Lockwood!"

He withheld a smile. "You can call me Anthony, sweetheart. In fact, you can keep my last name for yourself."

Your mouth dropped into an 'o'. "I cannot believe what I'm hearing."

He took a more tentative step towards you, closing distance. "What are you hearing?"

"Nonsense. I hear nonsense," you replied. You were doomed the second your back hit a tree. Anthony wasted no time to trap you against it. "You are..."

He leaned down, bumping your nose with his. It was inertia that drew him close enough to touch lips. "I'm what– Oof!"

He clutched his chest after you pushed him away, smiling like you were faultless. "I'd like a ring if you are seriously talking about stealing surnames. A nice, awe-inspiring ring. Not a common one. Something privy to us."

He rubbed his shirt as he spoke, a smile teasing his lips. "How's about a house to start?"

Your visage changed. Genuine surprise marred your features. "You're serious?"

"It's a big house, and it could use a magical touch."

The way your lips quirked into a smile made him forget himself. A mistake he'll try not to make in the future.

Under the spell of your gaze, he hadn't seen your Hippogriff friend rush for him. He received a headbutt to the side and crashed into a tree. If that weren't bad enough, a fat fruit thumped him right on the head.

For a fleeting moment, everything went blurry. He saw you as a smudge in his vision. When he tried to talk, all that came out was gibberish.

"He's a friend," you explained to the Hippogriff. It gave a ninny and nudged its snout against Lockwood's side as a form of apology.

When he came to, he got a faceful of Hippogriff cheek. You waved the gentle beast out of the way before cradling Anthony's head.

His foul sentiments dissipated. Perhaps he should get bodied by a Hippogriff more often if that meant he got to see you this doting again.

"Merlin, Lockwood... I forgot she was protective."

"That's 'Anthony' to you, sweetheart, and 's alright," he slurred, blinking his vision back to clarity. He smacked his lips, luckily not tasting blood. "I get protective of you, too."

"Not the time to flirt, serpent boy."

"You're holding me. There is no better time to flirt."

"Alright, Casanova."

Your hands travelled to his wrist, assessing his pulse, then pressing into his side to check the extent of the damage. If this was a glimpse of how you'd be as a healer, he was already jealous of the patients you'd be caring for.

The second his brain fog cleared, he patted his pockets in search of his gifts.

You sat back on your calves, staring him down like the wind could blow him over. "Looks like minor damage."

"Excellent news," he rasped. He took your hand and placed a solid metal something in your palm. "This is for, if you choose to accept my invitation." He fished in his pocket for a second object. He placed that into your closed palm as well. "And this is for you in general."

The first object was a heavy silver key. The ornamental kind of key you loved to hold as a child. You stared at it with so much intensity, he was convinced you were trying to set it on fire with your eyes.

"You're just... giving this to me?"

Worry crossed his face. "Yes. If you'd like it, of course."

"I like it," you said urgently. "How could I not? I just... Don't I have to do something to earn this? Like, giving up a handful of galleons or marrying–"

He let go of the breath he was holding.

"Hold it there, sweetheart," he grasped your hands the second he saw your mind going in all different directions. "I want us to live together, no conditions. I want to be close to you." Of course, he had to add, “I know, I couldn't believe it myself.”

Your hands tightened around his. He'd let you squeeze his fingers bloodless if it quelled your worries.

He cracked a smile, relieved to see you giving the effort to return it. He carefully unravelled your hands to show you the second object.

You gasped. As would any girl when they're presented with a ring. It was the metal that complimented your skin best. A solid band detailed in engravings and decadent carvings. Your worry morphed into panic. With tense shoulders, your eyes flit to Anthony's.

"Relax," he mused, turning the ring in his hands and sliding it on your third finger. "It's not an engagement ring. It's a passion project of mine..."

Your shoulders laxed. "Thank Merlin... Hogwarts is not a place to propose."

"Agreed, and I'd never disrespect you by proposing so drably." He chuckled, examining the ring on your finger before brandishing his matching one. "They're a pair, loaded with protective charms and a trace. It functions as a handy portkey, too."

You raised your hand to the light, examining the engravings in full. "Why turn it into a portkey?"

"The trace tells me if you're in trouble. The portkey will take me to you the second you are."

Only a witch like you would fall in love with intricate spell work. It made you susceptible to melting for gestures as thoughtful as Anthony's.

He admired you as you admired the ring. His heart jumped as you quickly turned your head to kiss his cheek.

"Thank you," you whispered. The raw, unfiltered gratitude in your voice made him fall for you all over again.

His smile reached his eyes. "Anytime, sweetheart."

—

Waiting on the last train out of Hogwarts felt like some kind of catharsis. A journey that spanned seven years felt like a short car ride home. There was happiness doled by sadness, and sadness doled by happiness.

It was in Anthony's nature to look on the bright side, but it was difficult when he hadn't seen you since the awarding ceremony. You outdid him, of course. Bringing home one medal more than him.

His initial plan was to sulk, maybe play kicked puppy and finesse himself a kiss, but his anticipation blurred into worry as the train entered view, but you didn't.

He broke from the crowd, leaving his things with Lucy and George before going off to find you.

He didn't peg you as the type to take a last walk to your favourite spots, but he found you in the dingy Defence classroom. As much as you loathed the lingering stench, you exalted the memories in that very room. The only subject of concern was a boy toying with an empty cage on the far side of the room. Anthony turned a blind eye to the stranger, for how could he look away from you?

Your eyes, that were peering ruefully out the window, snapped to Anthony's. He felt the beginnings of a smile creep up.

Without warning, a wardrobe wove open, the hinges holding it together rasped as a black form ballooned out of it. Your gaze fell on it, and horror replaced the nostalgia instantaneously.

He'd never heard you scream so loud.

Blood rushed to his head. He found his wand.

You fell to the floor, clamping your hands over your ears with your eyes shut tight.

Vision in red, he turned his attention to the boggart that crushed the air in the room. It took the form of four figures; A horrific scene sampled from the many tormented stories plucked from the war...

He paused, finding his own tortured face staring back at him and your anguished one shackled, unable to help. The two remaining figures must have been members of your family, looming over you and watching you without compassion. They were your boggart.

He didn't hesitate to mutter the counter-charm.

The illusion burst. The boggart whirled back into the closet with the wardrobe doors crashing shut.

The boy Anthony hadn't paid attention to stood to reopen it but Anthony threw a stupefy right at him. The boy nearly dented the wall with how hard he rammed into it.

Anthony advanced, fury heavy in his steps. It only heightened as he realised who the boy was. It was the Gryffindor boy you'd rejected all those weeks ago.

"You have got to be kidding me." Anthony scoffed.

The lion boy's nose flared, turning him twice as ugly. Anthony might have felt bad if he wasn't furious.

He didn't give the Gryffindor time to recuperate before he drew him up by the collar and cracked his back against the wall. "You bastard. You couldn't take the 'L', could you?"

The boy's head lulled. Anthony had to give it to him, he thought he'd be out cold with how solid the spell hit him, but the tosser had the resolve to spit at him.

There was no guilt in the way Anthony threw him to the floor. He could have done worse if you hadn't called for him.

"Anthony."

He turned his head, relieved to find that you'd returned to normal. Save the red that rimmed your eyes, you were fine. You were the one thing that kept him from bludgeoning the roach on the floor.

No words were needed.

The Gryffindor laughed, repulsed. "So, you were with him this whole time? Godric... you're a bitch—"

"Quite the mouth for someone who'd stoop low enough to unleash a boggart on a lady," Lockwood said dismally. "I suggest you scat. Before I show you what each of my accolades mean."

Courageous as the Gryffindor was, he was brainless. "Did you hand a few to her for 'favours'? Hm?"

Oh, the number of jinxes the human body could handle before breaking. The boy was lucky you were there. Anthony was gentleman enough not to hex in front of a lady.

He sufficed with carving crescents into his own palms to restrain himself. "Serpents don't concern themselves with the opinions of sheep. I suggest you stitch your mouth. There is a lady present, if you aren't too blind to see her."

"Kiss up," the Gryffindor simpered.

Patient as Anthony was, you weren't. You hurled a spell at the Gryffindor. After a twitch, his head hit the ground.

You showed Anthony your palms when you were met with inquisition.

"What? Was I supposed to let him speak to you like that?"

Holding back a smile was futile. He was proud. "You're cute."

You stepped over the Gryffindor and returned his smile. "I know." You brushed the imaginary dust off Anthony's shoulders and righted the orientation of his medals before you took his hand. "As I remember, we have a train to catch."

He twined your fingers, bringing your hand to his lips to worship your knuckles. "Shall we, m'lady?"

"We shall."

You exited the classroom, hands intertwined, leaving behind an incapacitated moron. If the rest of your lives were going to be spent like that, you had no qualms with it.

"Have I told you how gorgeous you look today?"

"No." You looked at him expectantly. "Tell me."

He pressed a kiss to your temple and gave your hand a squeeze as he said, "My dearest vexation, you are a vision. Aphrodite herself would be green with envy."

Definitely no qualms there.

—

"Why is it that you travel by this rather than apparating?"

You were always a sponge for knowledge, but your eyes were particularly bright once the train had delivered you to Platform 9¾. It spat you right out into the muggle world.

Anthony realised that he had never seen you in all-muggle clothes, and he wasn't shy of staring. He was rightfully in a daze until you'd asked the question.

"Cabs take us directly to where we want without raising suspicion from muggles."

"So, they willingly spend their sickles on simply getting home? How impractical, and expensive."

He hid a laugh. "It is the way it is, sweetheart. Nothing we can do to change that. It's best you avoid saying 'sickles' though. It'll confuse them."

"Noted."

Anthony loathed the silence, but he made due with it. He had you for a view, after all. He recounted all of your details, down to the flutter of your lashes as the breeze caressed your face.

Weirdly enough, the ride to Portland Row was much shorter than he remembered.

He slipped out first, flattening a hand at the top of the cab's door and taking the brunt of the impact when you expectedly bumped your head on the way out.

"Sorry."

"Don't mention it. I did the same as a kid."

You kissed his cheek anyway, and he turned his head to the side to make the warmth of his cheeks discreet.

As he unloaded the trunks, you absorbed the Lockwood family estate as it stood: A tall, classical home with wrought-iron fencing leading to the bricked door arch and its charming knocker... the picture of a fine London home.

The only thing out of place was the irritating, freckled face of a neighbour Anthony hoped disappeared.

"Tony! Done with community service?"

You turned to Quill Kipps with a frown. Anthony withheld a laugh. You had never met the man but you obviously disliked him already.

Kipps straightened, realising that you were present. "You have a dame with you... Quite the looker, too."

"I have a name, if you had the mind to ask." You crossed your arms. Anthony found that to be a sign to look away. You had yourself handled. "I suppose the oaf with room temperature IQ has a name, too?"

Quill Kipps's smirk faltered. "He does." His eyes shifted to Anthony before he clicked his tongue. "Just trying to rile up Tony. Hope you stick around though, sweetheart. He could use a backbone."

Anthony soured at the nickname.

You didn't let up your glare until Kipps vanished from sight.

You shifted your heated gaze to Anthony. "Did you hear what he called me? How have you not jinxed him?"

"Trust me, I'm not a fan of him either, but he's a muggle. Trying to fight him would be bullying."

"The lack of justice!"

He snorted. "It's bearable. Now, come on. There's someone who's been dying to meet you."

"I can stupefy the freckled redhead double quick."

"Sweetheart, no."

He seized your hand to make sure you didn't run off and break a law, no matter how entertaining that would be for the both of you.

—

"I'm Jessica Lockwood! Jess is preferable. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Your arm almost fell off from the intensity of her handshake. The older girl was twice as energetic as Anthony and triple times as smiley.

Your boyfriend was the one who saved your hand by taking it into his. "Jess, I like my girl with both her hands intact, please."

"Don't kid. You'd still be smitten if she was cursed into a worm." She slapped her brother's shoulder. You kept in a laugh as he struggled to remain upright. She didn't forget you for a second. "Once Anthony starts talking about you, it never truly ends. I didn't believe he hated you for a second. When he 'complained' about you, he'd use phrases like *'annoyingly distracting'* and *'unfairly attractive'*."

"Jess..."

"The truth was bound to come out." She shot you a knowing look. "You can tell in the smile. He does it without knowing"

"He is terribly obvious," you doubled, holding his hand in both of yours in a pacifying manner.

His mouth fell open. "My word . . . It's been five minutes and the pair of you are already cornering me."

"This is the beginning of something beautiful," Jessica sang. She winked at you before meandering to the door next to the steps. "Now show her your room and unpack before dinner. We're having potato soup. Are you allergic, sweets?"

You smiled until both of your cheeks hurt. "Not at all. I like the sound of potato soup. Before that, I'd like to formally introduce myself–"

"There's no need for it, really. Anthony blabbed about you enough. I'll call you two down when it's ready."

Anthony lead you to the stairs by the shoulders. "Up we go, sweetheart. Before Jess says more than she should."

"I think she's a treat, Anthony. I wish I had a sister like her."

"She kicked me into a lake once. You wouldn't find her very nice if she did that to you, would you?"

"I would kick you into a lake, too, if you were my brother."

"Let's not open that can of worms, sweetheart. I want to be your husband. Obliviate this conversation from my memory."

You laughed, patting his knuckles sympathetically. "Torturing you is just as fun as laughing about it."

"You and Jess get along like a house on fire. That said, I'm not sure how long I'll stay sane."

"I'll save you a room at St. Mungo's." He fought a smile as you stalled on the taller steps. He was a goner the second you turned to wrap your arms around him. "You love it though. And you love me."

He sighed into your hair. "Unfortunately."

His arms wound around you, pulling you close enough for your heartbeats to sync. He nuzzled into your shoulder, and you did the worst thing you could possibly do: you played with his hair. He melted.

The prospect of you being in his forever home made a strange feeling bubble in his stomach. He figured it was what he had been looking for—a sense of fulfilment, or maybe he just needed someone to play with his hair the way you did.

Jessica's voice speared through the tranquillity. "No funny business, both of you!"

"Yes, ma'am," Anthony responded. He stole a chaste kiss from you before leading you to the first door on the second floor.

—

He should have known you'd go straight for the bed. You were always lounging or reclining if you weren't working. Anthony developed a disease that entailed observing you every time you did. He could probably paint a portrait of you, if he only had the artistic talent.

You stretched like a starfish, relishing the softness of the sheets that still smelt of him.

"I could die here, happily."

Anthony kneeled in the space next you to fix the blanket over you. "Sweet as that is, I like you better alive."

"I'll live and die here," you cooed, pulling him down beside you. "So much better than my room... well, my old room. My parents decorated the house like it was a prison. Seeing your mess can make any place feel like home."

"Should I be offended? You just called my interior decorating skills a mess."

"You're ugly enough to distract them from the mess."

"Thank you, sweetheart. Much appreciated."

"You're welcome."

He lowered his body next to yours, throwing an arm over your waist. The brush of his fingers on your stomach did not go unnoticed.

You took the liberty to rest your head on his shoulder, snuggling deeper into the blanket as you did. The perfect plot to hide your warming cheeks.

"Getting cosy, already? In my room?"

"We can share, can't we?" The way you looked at him made the temptation of a cosy cuddle difficult to resist.

"Jess would behead me, and I don't mean metaphorically. We have a collection of axes from pivotal historic events downstairs."

"Just a nap then. We have some time before dinner."

You made a good bargain. There was only so much saying 'no' Anthony could do to you before he bent.

"Just this once."

"Just this once," you confirm with an unconvincing smile.

"I am a gentleman, you understand that? We can't stay here for too long."

"I know."

"Then why are you smiling like that?"

Your smile only grew. "Cause I'll be the barbarian this time. I demand to stay here."

"Sweetheart—"

"My mind's already made up. Sleep, Anthony."

“My sister—"

"Sleep."

He tapped your side in surrender. He dragged the blanket higher to cover your shoulders. "If I am putting my neck out for a cuddle, might as well ask for your input. Though, the idea itself might be absurd."

"Anthony, 'absurd' means 'innovative' in your language. Spill."

"Is it possible to shrink a patronus? I was thinking about the practicality of a smaller patronus after I signed up for the auror training programme."

"It'd be more covert."

"My thought exactly." His expression turned pensive. "I might use it to get into the specialised auror squadron."

"Well," You sat up and wiggled your wand out of your pocket. "Only one way to find out."

He couldn't leave it alone. "First person to do it gets a tick on the Tally."

"You're just bitter I got one more medallion than you."

"What can I say?" He tapped your nose, bringing the smile back to your face. "I love the competition."

—

The spellcasting didn't cease, even after dinner had passed.

You found yourselves under the covers, using the space between you as an arena for your patronuses. So far, every cast came out a regular-sized patronus.

Anthony's eyes drifted to the glint of your ring every time it was your turn. The engravings came to life every time it came into contact with magic. He felt the pulse of it through his own ring. He shouldn't have felt as thrilled as he did, but he couldn't help it.

"Anthony. Are you sleeping with your eyes open?"

"No. Just looking at you."

Your lip curled. "Cheesy."

"You love it."

"No comment."

He laughed before picking up his wand. He concentrated as best as he could, but one glimpse at your face, and it slipped. His patronus emerged as it usually did.

Magnificent, iridescent, and face-slapping. Its silvery sands dissipated as Anthony received a well-placed smack to the cheek.

"That was worse than the last one," you snorted.

Anthony nudged your knee. "I'd like to see you do better."

Even if a million failed attempts already plagued you, you went through the motions. This time, the swishes of your wand were smaller and more slurred—like your wrist was limp as you cast.

Your patronus burst forth. Beautiful and respectable, and the size of a mouse.

"Aha!" You threw your hands up, sending the blanket flying and letting the cold air rush in. "I win! Get the Tally, give me my point."

"Merlin, sweetheart. Careful." Anthony chuckled, gathering the blanket and quickly chucking it over your head before getting up from the bed to fetch the notebook.

Your head poked out of the swaths of fabric, just to prop your chin on his shoulder and watch as he drew another line under your column. Two points more than his.

He leaned his head on yours. "Happy?"

"Very," you quipped.

The patronus trounced over his hand, soaring over your head like a halo before perching on his nose.

"Try it." You coaxed. "Smaller shapes, dramatic flicks."

"You're going to laugh if it fails, aren't you?"

"When do I not?"

The crane flew over to the nightstand, preening it's feathers before cocking its head at Anthony. Urging him to go on.

With a sigh, he gave in and gave it another go. The first attempt was as bad as the last. The second one worked like a charm.

His patronus skipped the usual fly around the room, preferring to head straight for yours, landing next to it and dancing around it before they took off like butterflies in the wind.

Your lips parted for a yawn. Anthony felt your weight press against his side, his arm instinctively finding home around your waist.

"How late is it?" Your eyes were too bleary to read the time.

Anthony found the clock. "A quarter to midnight." He hauled you closer, settling you against the pillows before dimming the lights. "I think we're due for some shut-eye."

"A Slytherin who values a proper sleep schedule . . . Boo!"

He didn't even try to fight you. You were already swaying.

You felt his chest rumble as he spoke. "We can stay up then."

"Your idea, not mine."

Your head rested against him, the steady lub-dub of his heart pounding against your cheek. He felt yours against your ribs as he rubbed circles under your shirt. Even then, he couldn't tear his eyes away from your miniature patronuses.

They lit up the room like restless twin flames. Your eyes followed them, too, but not for long.

The combination of the patronuses' light and Lockwood's gentle massaging proved to be an effective sleeping pill. It wasn't long 'till your earlier words were void and your breath evened out.

"Thought we were staying up," Anthony whispered, more endeared than anything. He couldn't help but place a kiss on your forehead.

The curious thing was... your patronus hadn't disappeared, even as you slept.

The pair of tiny cranes danced in flight. Nipping playfully before beautifully looping around one another.

He observed them for a while more before the drowse began to creep in. He dispelled his patronus, and only then did both of them disappear. Never leaving one without the other.

He cracked a smile as he slipped the blanket tighter around you, blessing your head with another kiss before he, himself, succumbed to the symphonies of sleep.

—

When life spun from essays and practicals to work and elbow grease, Anthony often found himself thinking of the future, of the past and where the two met in the middle.

He wondered if you ever missed the opulence of living in a pureblood home: The fluted columns, the glistening chandeliers, and the sunlight that streamed through ceiling-length windows.

He'd stare at the back of your head, feeling the doubt creep in. Then, you'd turn and chide him about some miscellaneous argument you refused to let rest, then all would be right in the world.

On a particularly gruelling day, he traipsed straight to bed without breakfast, too tuckered out to even lift a finger.

He heard you and Jessica chattering while you cleaned downstairs—moving furniture and kicking the ol' vacuum back to life. Sometime after dusting the bookshelves, you carefully opened the door to your (Lockwood's) room—mindful not to wake him with its creaking. He watched you through lidded eyes. You didn't notice his blinking.

Your hands glided a cloth over the nightstand pictures. When you'd reached the family portrait, you smiled. He found himself holding his breath.

"Your son is a dolt, you know," you snitched as if they'd be ready to gossip with you. You brought the picture to the light and rubbed away a stain on the glass. "Can't even take care of himself these days. He's lucky Jess and I are here to scold him . . . But he is a good man. A polite, romantic, and utterly chaotic one," You took a breath to calm yourself. "but I can't bring myself to hate him more than I... Well, I can't get the word out, but I will eventually. I've only been here for a while but living seems so much easier now. Not to alarm you, but it may have something to do with your son."

It was complete agony to continue feigning sleep after that. You cleaned the other night table, then adjusted the blanket so he was fully covered.

You left the room like you hadn't taken his heart with you.

—

On the dreaded eve of his parents' death, you approached him as he scrutinised the chipping paint and the stick-on stars on the ceiling.

Detached wasn't an apt word to describe how he had been acting all day. He was somewhere else mentally. Not even Jessica could break through to him.

"Jess told me to check on you," you said quietly, trying not to startle him.

All he did was hum in return.

You filled the empty space on the bed. "Anthony . . . Grief is just love with nowhere to go." You set your hand on his cheek, carefully swiping over his cheek, catching tears that have yet to fall. "No need to repress anything in front of me, serpent boy."

He took a shuddering breath. The first time he truly took a breath all day. It shattered you as his eyes glazed over. Even then, he refused to look at you. Refused to show you how torn up he was.

"I just... I miss them, but it's been so many years since they left. I thought–" He sucked in a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose just to cover his eyes. "I thought it would be easier. It's supposed to be easier."

You shifted closer, the bed dipping at your weight and bringing him closer to you. He thought he'd seen it all, but he'd never seen that kind of softness on your face. You pried his fingers away and wiped his tears yourself.

He was reduced to a little boy, and you were still sticking around. No barbs, no sharp sarcasm. Just your caring eyes and even more careful hands grasping his cheeks.

"Grief never really leaves, Anthony. They're your parents, of course you'd miss them." You mustered a smile, but it only revealed the tears gathering at your eyeline. "But you don't have to feel it alone. Jessica is here, and she loves you more than anything. It hurts her to see you so distant." He reached up to hold your hand in his. Your melancholic smile stretched. "And I'm here, too. You'd have to be pretty daft to forget your roommate."

He managed a smile, squeezing your hand in silent thanks — just before he had felt his façade fracture.

Anthony sat up, pulling you onto his thighs and wrapping you in a hug that was all-encompassing. He hid his face in your shoulder, and you rubbed his back as he finally let the tears free.

Sobs racked his body, his heart picked itself apart once more, but at least he could breath. Keeping all of the heartache to himself was like holding his breath. There was only so much he could hold before he needed air.

He didn't know how long Jessica had stood at the door before you beckoned her closer. Another pair of arms came around you two, washing away all the misplaced guilt he'd been stewing in since morning.

It didn't make him miss his parents less, but it reminded him that there were still people he got to hold hands with. And you were right, it was easier than doing it alone.

—

The conversation at dinner was a calm one. Less on banter and more on planning what to do in the morning.

The general consensus was to pick up flowers and bring some things to picnic with before visiting the Lockwoods' graves.

Jessica hugged Lockwood extra tight before letting him turn in for the night.

You glued yourself to his side the second he slid into bed. The responsibility of initiating skinship usually was on him, so, the change of pace was heavily appreciated.

He wrapped an arm around you and pressed a kiss to your head in unspoken gratitude.

You fought your nature to fall asleep first, just to stay up with him, but your resolve crumbled after your third yawn. You drifted off. Your arms didn't budge, and he was relishing the closeness for what it was.

Though, his mind wouldn't stop turning.

He never heard his parents' story, but he knew his mother had been a half-blood. He wanted to know how they met, if his mother's patronus ever changed, if his father had fashioned something from muggle magic to impress her.

So many questions that would remain unanswered forever.

He reached for his wand when insomnia had stolen enough hours of sleep from him. In the darkness, he whispered the enchantment.

His patronus burst forth, silvery and glorious... and not alone. Contrary to his previous casts, he summoned not just one crane, but two.

The pair of them remained quiet, for your sake. They perched on the armoire opposite of the bed and preened one another. He was entranced by their obvious affections, only breaking from focus when you shuffled in his arms.

The patronuses faded away, and you blinked into the darkness.

"What are you up to?" Your voice was heavy with drowse. Anthony fought the urge to pinch your cheek.

"Nothing, sweetheart." He glided a hand over your eyes, coaxing, "Go back to sleep."

You grumbled. "I saw something, you liar."

"Just a trick of the light."

You eyed him with sleepy uncertainty before your head went limp against his shoulder once more. "We'll come back to this," you swore.

Anthony pacified you by rubbing your back. "You bet, sweetheart. Now get your beauty sleep. I can't always be the prettier one."

He didn't have to tell you twice.

Not long after, his own eyes began to droop with the twin cranes still swimming in his mind.

—

The last time the sky had been this alive was the night Anthony had stolen you away to the Astronomy Tower. It felt like a lifetime ago.

You barely even noticed the extra luminescence of the moon or Anthony, who had been waiting for some form of acknowledgement all day.

Grunts were your definition of olive branches, and he wasn't having it. He stole the page from your hands and raised it above his head.

Your response was snap. "Anthony... I don't have time to dawdle."

"Why are you so worked up?"

You flailed your arms, gesturing wildly to the hulking stack of papers on your desk. "The warden at St. Mungo's wants to speak to me, personally. I need to be ready."

He read your scrawl on the paper, quickly giving up on trying to understand what it all meant.

What you dove into was far beyond the field of study in Hogwarts. Madame Pomfrey clearly took her role as your mentor seriously. You were advancing quickly.

"My girl," he said with a laugh. "You're the only witch who can commit a twelve-foot scroll to heart in the span of two hours. You'll be fine."

He loosened his grip on the paper as you leapt up to snatch it back from him, sitting back down on your chair with your lips pursed. Stress lines forming where your smile lines were supposed to. He hated seeing you so... consumed.

He wondered if you'd been hiding that face behind the four walls of your bedroom before things had changed between you, back when medals were currency in your home rather than achievements.

"This is a once in a lifetime opportunity... and it's being handed to me. I have to put my best foot forward." Your hold on the page turned sentimental. "I can't mess it up, Anthony."

He set his hands on your shoulders, and you surrendered to his touch. He took it as a good sign and cleared himself to kiss the top of your head.

"You are the best at what you do," he assured. "No one can compare. I'm not just saying that. You genuinely scare people with how much you know." He spun your chair to face him, tilting your chin to see you. "My dearest vexation... You've got this, and I've got you."

Your shoulders dropped with the intensity of your sigh. "I don't know what to do... I might forget something I'm supposed to know."

"You could never." He scrutinised your work desk before he made the decision. "What you need is a break. Dance with me?"

He drew you up by both hands, guiding one of your hands to rest on his shoulder. When your eyes drifted back to your stack of papers, he killed the lights so you wouldn't be able to see them.

You laxed as soon as the room plunged into the dark. That left you, Anthony, and the glow of the moon and streetlights.

Anthony returned his hand to yours and hummed a sentimental tune to lead the dance.

You leaned into the music, resting your head against his shoulder. He, in turn, rested his cheek against your head.

"This reminds me of our first dance," you mumbled.

"How could I forget?"

You concealed a smile in his shirt. "A lovely dance on the balcony after you kissed me senseless."

"It takes two to tango, sweetheart." He pulled closer, basking in the yelp you let out. "And my hair didn't stand a chance in your hands."

"In my defence, the tousled look suits you." You had the cheek to peck the juncture between his shoulder and neck. "Like the princes I used to read about."

"Charming."

"Don't be salty, captain. You'll always be my favourite." You rubbed his shoulder as a gesture of peace.

"As I should be."

You chuckled. "You're smirking. I feel it."

"You can't even see me."

"Don't have to," you chirped. "I know you."

"I've never met a woman so cumbersome."

Your head jerked back. Even in the limited lighting, he could see the scowl on your face. "You know other women?"

He couldn't hold back a grin. "Merlin, you are so jealous." He pressed a kiss to your temple, a gesture of truce. "You're my only and only vexation, spitfire. Everyone and everything pales in comparison."

You opened your mouth with the intent of giving a smart answer, but he shot you down before you even said it.

"Don't bring the moon into this."

You sealed your lips into a smile. Your worries slipped away, and you relished the few minutes you stole for a moonlight waltz with your lover.

—

In the two years you'd lived together, he'd picked up on your ticks. And you, his.

When you lightly bump your forehead against his cheek, Anthony knew it was your way of demanding a kiss. He never denied you one.

You learned to wear loose shirts to sleep because Anthony liked to slip his hand up your bare back and feel the up-and-down motions of your breathing as you slept.

He never forgot to bring home a little keepsake from work for you, accompanied by a single flower you got to add to a growing bouquet in the living room.

Anthony often got colds in the winter seasons, but he retains his reverent hate for the smell of Vix. So, you made your own impromptu mint remedy with lemongrass and ginger. To him, it was so much better.

Last but not least, a new chess board found home in the receiving room. The pieces only move when you and Anthony arrive home from your respective statutes of work.

Gist is, you had a routine, and you knew what to do for every boyfriend-shaped hurdle life had in store for you.

Imagine the panic that hit you the second your enchanted ring started to warm and shake.

The day was dark and ruthless. Rain pelting down like cats and dogs. Electricity had gone out as well.

You were wary to answer the door, since you were home alone, but you did so anyway because your ring had only grown more restless.

Your heart ceased in your chest as you took in the sight of Anthony. He couldn't even hold himself up. Lucy and James were doing that for him.

You choked on nothing. "Merlin..."

You reached out. Like a moth to a flame, Anthony gravitated to you. Falling into your arms and sighing into your shoulder like your presence alone could suture the injuries that marred his figure from head to toe.

"We took him to St. Mungo's," Lucy elaborated, clutching her own side. She was less beat, but she was still slouched in pain.

James had taken over when she wheezed for breath. "He fought every medi-witch that approached. Said he just wanted to come home and see you."

"You twat," you scolded in a whisper. It took most of your energy to keep Anthony upright. You schooled your expression, offering a mustered smile to his companions. "Thank you for bringing him home. See yourselves to St. Mungo's. I'll cover your tab when my shift rolls by."

James hooked his arm around a limping Lucy, offering you a grateful smile before producing his wand and apparating in the guise of the rain.

Anthony was tracking blood and mud wherever he walked. It was useless trying to get farther than the living room. You'd rather have a tarnished sofa than a bloodless boyfriend.

"What happened, Anthony?" Your tone was firm, but quiet—careful of a headache that could be blooming behind his ears.

You tore off his coat to get to the scratches on his arms. Repairing him one injury at a time. Even if the injuries were gone, his skin was still drenched in his own sweat and blood. It was a mess, and you'd be damned than leave him looking so trodden.

You accioed a basin of water and a handful of washcloths to your side. Swiping away grime as you healed him.

Only when you began to unbutton his shirt did he find his voice.

"We're moving a bit too fast, sweetheart. Where's your decorum?"

Your gaze held bite. He chuckled like his smile would save him.

"Where's your mind? You've been unresponsive for five minutes! I thought you were stewing in the after-effects of a psychological curse—" You drowned a blood-stained cloth in the basin of water, watching scarlet swirl into the clear water before moving back to his shirt. "—and I'd have to give you a permanent room at the ward, and then break the news to Jess—"

"I'm fine—"

"But I'm not!"

You sat back on your calves, taken aback by your own tone. The backs of your fists pressed into your eyes, forcing your tears back in before returning to assessing his wounds.

He was quiet as you examined the deeper gashes slashed across his torso. Your hands swiped at your cheeks before your lips moved, muttering cures and charms that stitched him up like new.

You wiped the blood away, but you wrung the cloth like you still saw blood. On the fabric, on your hands, on his skin.

Your voice was devoid of life as you asked, "May I see your back?"

He winced as he sat forward. At least the pain wasn't as unbearable as earlier. He saw some herbs swirling in the basin, so it was safe to assume you'd taken extra precautions to make things as painless for him as possible. His heart wrenched as you repaired him and dirtied the water with even more blood.

"I didn't mean things to get messy," Anthony told you slowly. He felt your hand pause on his back, then continue with more careful intent. "The suspect had an accomplice we didn't account for. Had us outnumbered... and they had a spell book full of vulgar spells. Nasty ones."

"So, you took the brunt of them?"

He chanced a smirk. "You know me too well."

"You're reckless."

"I couldn't let my subordinates get hurt," he rasped, sucking in a breath when you purposely pressed down on an open wound.

You magicked it away and cleaned the blood, but you refused to meet his eyes the whole time.

Finally, the insistent shaking of the linked rings faded. It calmed your pulse by a fraction, but nothing could cease the trembling of your hands.

Anthony took the liberty to take them in his, your matching rings clinking against one another.

"I'm here... I'm okay."

You hung your head, forehead meeting your twined hands. "I almost lost you... I couldn't find your pulse right away, and there was so much blood—all I could see was red. Anthony—"

"Shh." He closed the space, flattening himself against your side and drawing you into his chest so you could feel the familiar thrum of his heart. "We're okay. I'm so sorry, sweetheart... I didn't mean to scare you."

You sniffed, hiding your face in his neck. "Why didn't you accept help from St. Mungo's? They have blood banks to replenish what you lost, I can't do much about that here."

He held you tighter, rubbing your arm as he racked his mind. "I thought it was too late for me... I just wanted to see you. I wanted to come home."

You hit his chest once, seething as you sobbed. Your tears wet his shoulder, but he didn't stop you. He took your rage until you went boneless in his arms—clinging to him like it would calm the racing of your heart.

Eventually, you picked yourself up to gather another cloth to wipe away the bloodstains on his face. Hands still shaking but determined to restore him to full health.

As low as it was, he still heard you. "I love you, you know that? It's impossible for me to remember a time where you weren't around."

He searched your eyes, finding nothing but morose truth in them. It was the first time you'd said those three words to him. Explicitly, without sarcastic connotation.

He caught your wrist, lowering your hands so he could look at you. "I know... and I love you, too. I'm sorry."

"Then why put your neck out like that? You promised me a ring, Anthony Lockwood. You gave me your word. You can't do that if you're gone."

"I'd never forget," he promised, kissing apologies across your palms and wrists. "How could I when it comes to you?"

"Then tell me why you put yourself in so much danger— in so much pain."

He licked his chapped lips. Your eyes pleaded for explanation, and he'd be cruel not to suffice you with an answer.

Reluctantly, he retrieved the box in his pocket. It was the only thing untouched by blood. Your eyes snagged on it immediately.

Anthony chuckled, nervous, before popping the case open. Inside sat an ornate ring, embellished with your birthstones put together. An eagle held yours in its talons, and a snake held his in its mouth. Your identities intertwined.

Whatever words you wanted to get out died in your throat, mouth hinging but never uttering a word.

Anthony tried his best not to stutter. "They tried to take it from me... I didn't let them. You can imagine that they weren't happy with being deprived of such a beaut."

You sunk into yourself. "You almost died... to save a ring."

"Your ring," he said carefully. "If you still want to have me as your husband, of course."

"I have half a mind to say 'no'." You laughed bitterly, swiping at your cheeks. "Merlin, Anthony... You have terrible timing when it comes to presenting things like this."

"A lot of realisations happen when you walk the line with Death."

He readjusted his hold on the box, refusing to let go of your hand. You admired the craftsmanship of the ring before you leaned on his shoulder.

"Promise me you'll never do that again. I'd rather have a husband than some hunk of metal."

He let out a breath of relief, hugging you to him as you smiled into his shoulder. "Rude. I learned how to craft a ring just for you."

"You crafted this?"

He felt the world hold its breath as he slid the ring onto your finger. A perfect fit for his perfect match. He kissed your knuckle to further cement the notion.

"From scratch," he boasted. "I made a killing from the pen business. I used the money to take some lessons from a smith in Hatton Garden."

"I cannot believe you..."

"You didn't believe me when I said I cleaned your desks before you'd arrive to class."

"That's different," you said promptly. "You almost got yourself killed to preserve a ring."

"That ring brings me one step closer to marrying you," he tutted. He even leaned down to steal a kiss. "It was worth it."

"I would have brought you back from the dead just to strangle you if you did die on our new sofa."

"Good thing I didn't."

You cracked a smile. "Good thing you didn't," you agreed. "But I'm not forgiving you so easily. You gave me a scare, Mr. Lockwood. I hope you know that you're not allowed to hug me tonight."

"I thought near-death would warrant me extra hugs."

"I can give you everything else, just not hugs."

"How cruel..."

You waved your hand dismissively. "Take it or leave it. What do you want while you're not allowed to hug me?"

Anthony wanted a lot of things. The cheesy dynamics in the books you read, the happily ever after where the couple ends up married and in love with a kid or two. He wants your kids to look like him but act like you, so you two wouldn't spend half the time greying from stress. He wanted to be part of your story forevermore.

But holding your hand would do for now.

He tangled your fingers together and kissed your knuckles. "This is enough for me."

Disbelief was written all over your face. "Really? I thought you'd be more combative."

"We have all the time in the world, sweetheart. We can live in the moment."

"I can only hope you don't jump into some other death-defying scheme again. I'll be all grey before you."

"I think you'd look like the snarkiest grandmother ever."

"Thank you, my love."

His brows furrowed. "My love?"

"What's with that reaction?" Your arms crossed. "Fine. I won't call you that."

"No! I was playing. Say it again, please."

"You lost your chance, snake boy." You shook his hand off, standing from the couch.

You didn't get far. Anthony latched to your waist, smiling into your shirt. "I pledge to never approach a renowned criminal ever again. Just say it again. Please, Sweetheart? Spitfire? My dearest vexation? M'lady?"

You didn't even get close to picking up the basin before Anthony snatched it from you.

"When I get back," he said sternly. "I want to hear you say 'my love' again. Even just a whisper. Thank you."

If you were subject to his clownery for the rest of your life, it wasn't that bad of a price to pay. He was thoughtful when he used his brain.

Every Slytherin boy needed their Ravenclaw girl to keep their ambitions from getting them into trouble, after all.

It wasn't long 'till Lockwood crashed back into your arms. Spinning you in the air like he hadn't been on the verge of death minutes prior. His eyes were wide with expectation, and you didn't want to torture the boy for too long. Not after the lengths he went to to keep your ring safe.

You exaggerated the sweetness in your tone as you said, "My love."

Anthony was more than ready to hear those words for the rest of his life.

Neither of you noticed the pair of cranes that soared past the window, announcing the end of the rain and welcoming the beginnings of a wonderful season.

BONUS ANGST ➺ If I didn't include Jessica, Anthony would be able to see Thestrals. You would do some absurd things to distract him when you pass the carriages—even when you were rivals.

⚜ PART 1 | SERIES MASTERLIST

SWEETHEARTS ➺ @kiyasoup @toddandersondupe @locknco @onecojg @avdiobliss @mentallyillsodapop @mitskiswift99 @mischivana @bella-rose29 @wordsarelife

NOTE ➺ expecto patronus was the title because the initial idea was they always protect each other :>

i like to think mitski's 'my love mine all mine' was the song they danced to. so romantic~ i'm just baffled that i was able to write so many words XD all this was once just brain barf, crazy. it was a rollercoaster, but i hope you enjoyed 💙

as always, leave your thoughts in the comments or reblogs, i love hearing feedback <3

love always 💙 until next time, my dearest vexations 😘

⌠ @novelizt 2023 ⌡

#— ❨ 🌺 ❩ 𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐙𝐈𝐄'𝐒 𝐔𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐀 ₊˚.༄ #lockwood hogwarts au #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood x you #anthony lockwood fluff #anthony lockwood angst #anthony lockwood fanfiction

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Ursula Andress (Dr. No, Casino Royale, She)—She's really at her hottest when reaching for or aiming a weapon, but I would thank her if she so much as glared at me.

Madhabi Mukherjee (Charulata, The Big City, The Coward)—Madhabi Mukherjee is legendary for her nuanced and sensitive performances in some of the classics of Bengali cinema particularly her roles in Satyajit Ray's films

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Ursula Andress propaganda:

Madhabi Mukherjee:

She played in some of the most critically acclaimed films in bengali cinema and she is an incredibly talented actress. Everybody should watch 'The Big City' she's so good in it!

Linked clip

Gifset 1

Gifset 2

#madhabi mukherjee #ursula andress #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 2

[jensenackles-daily]

familybusinessbeerco: FBBC Friends and Family BIG NEWS!!! We are thrilled to share that our beer has been making its way across Austin, San Antonio, and Houston as of last month! Our goal is to spread our beer far and wide, reaching every Texan and beyond. By early 2025, we aim to have our presence established throughout Texas! As we continue our search for the perfect taproom location in Austin, please note that we will be temporarily closing our Dripping Springs location beginning today while we search for a new spot closer to town. Our focus is set on efficiently distributing our products, ensuring that we deliver the freshest FB beer to our valued partners both on- and off-premises. You can expect to see us more frequently in retail chains, conducting in-store demonstrations and participating in local craft beer festivals. Additionally, we are in the process of reintroducing our seasonal rotations and rotating IPA series, so be on the lookout for these offerings in the market. We are dedicated to advocating for legislative reforms in the craft beer industry to benefit Texas breweries. With great excitement, we anticipate the future of Family Business as we venture into new markets with our acclaimed flagship beers and seasonal brews! 🍻 (x)

#jensen ackles #danneel ackles #fbbc #news

[polaroidcats]

Ugly crying & the marauders generation - a pseudo-scientific approach (my marauders crying PhD abstract)

Abstract

In recent days, there have been a variety of claims as to who the prettiest and ugliest crier in the marauders generation could be. This paper aims to address the recent surge in opinions on the matter, and categorize different approaches as well as add a new approach to the scientific examination of ugliness/prettiness when it comes to crying. I hope to provide readers with an overview of the current state of research and encourage all marauders scholars to add their own and I intend to make a contribution to the discourse by committing to the bit and writing a pseudo-academic paper about it instead of actually working on my thesis.

Introduction

In the following paper, the discourse about 5 marauders era characters will be examined in regards to their various levels of perceived ugliness whilst crying. Scholars who may ask why Peter [Pettigrew] is not included in this analysis are advised to refer to acclaimed marauders ugly crying scholar @lynxindisguise's (2023) original poll on the popular blogging website "tumblr.com" which did not include Peter, but rather two non-marauders characters named Lily and Regulus. This paper will follow that approach, since Peter is the nastiest skank bitch I have ever met, I do not trust him and he is a fugly slut. The characters included in this approach are as follows: James Potter, Lily Evans, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Regulus Black.

Following the scientific criteria for ugly crying, as stated by lynxindisguise et. al (2023), the question of the ugliest crier can be answered by observing the crying person and assessing their ugly-levels on the following parameters: (1) unbecoming facial expressions, (2) facial swelling/blotching, (3) unsettling noises, (4) snot factor, (5) tear volume, (6) general loss of dignity, (7) glistening eyes/lashes, (8) Victorian heroine factor, (9) elegant tear-wiping, (10) post-cry glow (ibid).

Criteria (1)-(6) can be categorized as the ugly crying parameters whereas (7)-(10) are pretty crying parameters, creating a false binary between ugly and pretty crying, which may be problematised and addressed in another the paper. In contrast to lynxindisguise’s original 10 criteria to measure the aesthetics of crying, this paper proposes to add (11) explosiveness of cry as another ugly crying parameter, in order to get a more clear assessment of where on the ugly-pretty crying scale a character falls.

The ugly crying parameters

(1) Unbecoming facial expressions

James Potter is mentioned in this category by several marauders scholars: @jaylienpotter talks about his red face and ugly sobbing, @artbyace mentions his “scrunched up cry face” and @sectoren claimes “james (…) is that one handsome guy that when the waterworks get going becomes like. Cartoonishly ugly”, raising the question of upkeeping toxic masculinity in order to avoid having to witness more of James Potter’s crying “mug”.

Though James Potter features heavily in this category, another character who is also mentioned just as often is Remus Lupin: @kaaaaaaarf, @appreciatedmoron and @http-starboy all emphasise that Remus Lupin is the one with a red and blotchy face.

(2) facial swelling/blotching

While there is a definitive overlap between the categories of facial swelling/blotching, unbecoming facial expressions and snot factor, Sirius’ and Regulus’ victorian heroine complexions, which give them an advantage in the homonymous category, may be to their disadvantage in the “blotching” category. This will require further research by other scholars.

(3) unsettling noises

James Potter is mentioned in this category by Jaylienpotter (2023), claiming he not only hiccups when crying but also that “his cries are one of the most heartbreaking things you’ll ever hear” and similarly, artbyace states that “James loves and feels so loudly”, whereas “Sirius is silent”, both sentiments are reminiscent of znelda’s (2023) statements that James “was allowed to feel his emotions freely in a loving household” and “Sirius (…) [is] used to hide [his] feelings and [has] become stoic”.

With several other scholars, among them also @jamesunderwater (2023) raising the point that James may be the ugliest crier due to him being “the only one well adjusted enough to have access to his feelings” this raises the question of possibly introducing another category, maybe of emotional awareness/stability to be able to measure this parameter more efficiently, though emotional vulnerability may also just be a part of the unsettling noises parameter, suggesting that there is a correlation between noisiness and the existing environment being welcoming to and accepting of various expressions of emotions.

(4) snot factor

The most popular winner in the snot factor category seems to be Remus Lupin, with several scholars agreeing that his sobs are the dampest and snottiest out of all the candidates. kaaaaaaarf (2023) writes “he turnes all red and blochty and snot drips out of his nose (…) he cant (sic) not cry with his mouth open as well so there is a lot of spit”, and appreciatedmoron (2023) agrees with kaaaaaaarf on this.

It only seems right to me to include spit in the snot category as well, seeing as they’re both crying-related bodily fluids that add to the ugly-cry factor. http-starboy (2023) also mentions snot in regards to Remus Lupin, which compared to both their comments in (1) opens up the question of how unbecoming facial expressions, more particularly redness of the face and snot factor may be related, as several authors seem to write about both specifically in relation to each other. Whether this is just pure coincidence or not would need further research, for which we currently do not have enough funding. This is only one of the many research gaps in the relatively new field of marauder’s ugly crying studies, which cannot fully be addressed in this paper.

James Potter is also mentioned in the snot category, namely by the marauders scholar artbyace (2023).

(5) tear volume

Artbyace (2023) claims James Potter is “full on bawling” which can only be assumed to refer to tear volume, but the most convincing argument for tear volume comes from the acclaimed marauders scholar @fruityindividual (2023), stating that “tsunami warning tones go off in sirius’ brain anytime remus is close 2 (sic) tears” which already indicates high levels of tear volumes. The author then goes on to specify the volume by claiming that “indeed the ocean wishes rj lupin would jump in and help contribute 2 (sic) rising sea levels”, further emphasizing the volume of Remus's tears.

(6) general loss of dignity

@pastaplatypus (2023) writes about James Potter not being able to do a Melodramatic Bollywood Cry, which is perceived as inherently racist by the crier.

I would like to argue that Sirius Black also deserves to be mentioned in this category. While as of today, with less than 1 hour left to vote, 15.5% of voters agree that Sirius is the ugliest crier, the more outspoken voices all argue for different ugly criers. Due to their upbringing, I am tempted to name both Black brothers in the “loss of dignity” category and look forward to reading future contributions to this discussion.

The pretty crying parameters

(7) glistening eyes/lashes

Undoubtedly Sirius Black deserves to be mentioned in this category. I believe his dark lashes and glimmering eyes are part of what makes him the prettiest crier. Whereas Remus’s eyes also sometimes glisten or appear red, and it is usually attributed to be caused by drug consumption, which more often than not is a wrong assumption, but he happily goes along with the pretense of being a weed-smoking bad boy in order to hide his ugly crying damp tendencies.

(8) Victorian heroine factor

It almost seems superfluous to even mention Sirius (and, to a lesser degree, Regulus) Black in this category. This category was made for Sirius, as is apparent when reading lynxindisguises (2023) description of the victorian heroine factor, in response to a question by the scholar @plecotusauritus:

“the Victorian Heroine Factor is a deeply scientific assessment of the Vibes. Is this person giving tragically beautiful, windswept Victorian Heroine, sobbing gently into their hands while sprawled across a boulder or a well or a fountain of some sort? When they look up at you, do their tear-plumped lips part elegantly as a single tear slides down their cheek?”

(9) elegant tear-wiping

There hasn't been a lot of research in this area, but I would like to propose handkerchiefs with embroidered initials and family crests as another potential factor in favor of the Black brothers scoring high marks in this category as well as the Victorian heroine factor.

(10) post-cry glow

Artbyace (2023) claims “lily is always beautiful (…) even when crying”, which is echoed by znelda’s (2023) earlier claim that “Lily (…) [is] a woman and no woman is ugly when crying.”

Sirius is the other popular choice by marauders scholars for this category, with @in-flvx (2023) stating that he “handsomely handsomes while dying after 12 years of torture hell and another year in shackles”, which would mean that “a few tears would[n’t] stop him from being the hottest person in the room at all times” (ibid).

Additional parameters

I am suggesting to introduce an additional metric in order to further specify and better assess the ugly-crying levels:

(11) explosiveness of cry

@felixantares (2023) introduces the idea that Remus “is the type that very few people have been seen cry because he ignores every difficult emotion hes (sic) ever had (…) and it all explodes at once and its horrible to watch when he breaks down”, a sentiment shared by several of the other authors mentioned above in various other categories.

Further opinions & conclusions

The most popular consensus seems to be that Sirius cannot be the ugliest crier, sometimes also in direct comparison to his brother: @spindrifters (2023) answers the question of the ugliest crier with “obviously it’s regulus”, elaborating that “at least [it’s] definitely not sirius bc (sic) reg is canonically less handsome in all ways” which brings up the question if regular beauty plays into ugly crying. This is contrasted by lynxindisguises argument, that Sirius may be an ugly crier because he’s so gorgeous, and his ugly crying subverts the expectations of beauty:

“the most beautiful man alive looks hideous while crying, and his deeply awkward and perpetually damp bf (sic) is literally in his element while crying – dampness becomes him, you might say.”

This statement raises yet another question – does regular crying make the crier more or less ugly? Can an ugly crier become a pretty crier by practice or are we all born either ugly or pretty criers, condemned to this fate for life?

While this paper has given an overview of the current state of research to ugly crying/pretty crying, it has also raised many more questions. Other topics which may be addressed in future papers also include the philosophical question whether ugly crying is in the eye of the beholder and if it is possible to ugly cry without being perceived, and if it is possible to ugly cry if the person perceiving you doesn’t find it ugly. Since the research field of ugly crying is a relatively new one, we can only hope to read many more opinions on these and other topics in the future, and I look forward to reading different scholar’s approaches to these highly relevant topics.

#marauders #idek what to tag this as lol #i don't write fic i only write pseudo scientific papers on fandom analysis (apparently) lol i had so much fun writing this #even if just 1 person reads it i'll be happy i know it's ridiculous #scientific analysis of ugly crying #akso i tried to tag everyone i mentioned to make it feel more like i'm actually quoting them (which i am) but if anyone doesn't want to be #tagged in this lmk and i'll remove it haha #anyways okay i'll post it now #this is what happens when i go on tumblr during work hours and then keep thinking about how much more fun editing papers would be if they #were about the marauders instead of the things i have to read/edit at work #hp #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #lily evans #regulus black #(this thing has almost 2k words and i wrote it in 2-3hours) #idek what that says about me #that this is how i chose to spend my tuesday evening #but i love it

[hajimedics]

On Puppets, Agency, and Fate

I’ve been writing this thinkpiece for around a week while looking further into Welcome Home’s symbolism through queer/neurodivergent lenses; strengthening my belief that its themes of freedom and fate cannot be separated from the struggles the characters face as queer/neurodivergent folks.

This writing is going to be a mix of canonical content and my personal interpretation as I make many connections to various readings. Not to mention that the story is very far from done according to the words of the creator himself, so please take the things I say with a grain of salt.

You can view this thinkpiece in Google Docs format here.

CW: mentions/discussions of homophobia, transphobia, ableism, and abuse

I've always adored explorations of humanity and their deteriorating, fluctuating psyche through characters constantly challenged by the narrative (example: Phos from Land of the L*strous, Kris from D*ltarune, Guts from B*rserk, Mae from N*ght in the W*ods) and how they struggle to find their place in the world and freedom. To progress, humanity has always desire freedom. Freedom of expression. Freedom to think. Freedom to honestly, unapologetically be who one wants to be. Humans and humanity are not always synonymous. Welcome Home is a case of this too, its ensemble cast consisting of puppets.

Clown has stated that themes of being queer/neurodivergent are very integral to the story in many aspects, from the characters to the metanarrative. I want to talk about the things I've noticed, the analogies they carry, and how every character's identity contributes to the themes or the story.

First off, the neighborhood.

The neighborhood in general

From the perspective of Welcome Home Puppet Show’s creators, the neighborhood is the idea of a perfect, idyllic community through the lens of cisheteronormavity from the 70s. It is something out of a children’s dream with the colorful imagery, the peaceful yet eventful neighborhood filled with fun activities where everyone in the neighborhood is happy and there are no realistic problems like capitalism, oppression, relationship problems, sickness, and death. Of course, it’s the given obvious because this is a puppet show we’re talking about. A show aimed at kids.

Everyone has a role to play in the neighborhood – the shopkeeper, the mailman, the baker, the bug nerd – they all fit the traditional, stereotypical, cartoonish American mold of what the dream urban life is like in the 70s (and it still is in my small hometown, in Indonesia! We’re quite traditional in a sense) especially with the lack of serious overarching threats of aforementioned human problems.

Welcome Home first aired on 1969 and abruptly ended on 1974. A possible theory is that they cannot keep up with the competitor shows at the time (Sesame Street started on 1969 and The Muppet Show started on 1974, fun fact!), but seeing the amount of merchandise they put out and the way it stood out from various angles, this theory can be thrown out the window. The “about” page for WHPS also describes the show as well acclaimed and doing well during its runtime.

Another one is that the sentience of the puppets (and their desire to have autonomy over their own lives) have possibly impacted the writing of the story, given how they have their own identity outside of the one given by WHPS’s writers to them. Even more when you take into consideration that WHPS is produced during the era when LGBT history in America is at a major turning point. As cited from The Atlantic:

“Those years that followed, the decade of the 1970s, represent a remarkable period of transformation for gays and lesbians, particularly those living in America's coastal cities. At its core, that transformation was about visibility. During those years, there was the first gay television movie (That Certain Summer); a sexy on-screen kiss between two men in Sunday, Blood Sunday; and the release of Cabaret, which has been hailed as the first movie that "really celebrated homosexuality.

There were gains in politics too: Edward Koch, then serving in Congress, "became one of the first elected officials to publicly lobby on behalf of the homosexuals of Greenwich Village," Kaiser writes. Gay Pride Week was established. Perhaps most significantly: In December of 1973, the board of the American Psychiatric Association* voted 13-0 "to remove homosexuality from its list of psychiatric disorders."

The laws that no longer criminalizes or dehumanizes queer folks are being written. Changes are made. Even when LGBT movement was going on a fairly optimistic path, oppression and bigotry towards the community was still rampant. After all, oppressors just can’t change their views in a whim! Their hatred comes from their own thoughts and not because the higher ups told them so.

I won’t turn this into a writing about queer history instead of focusing on Welcome Home. Though, I think it's all worth mentioning given the things I'm going to discuss here and how Clown stated that these themes will become prevalent throughout the story. I decide to write this thinkpiece as an outlet for my thoughts and how I connected many of the story's aspects to the themes of freedom – both from their status as puppets and their identity.

Now that the overview is out of the way, time to bring in the big guns.

The neighborhood and Playfellow Workshop

If we take Playfellow Workshop's involvement in the characters' lives outside of episode recordings, Welcome Home becomes a huge transgender allegory, wrapped in a neat colorful package called "being puppets whose view on the world is much more narrow and simple in which they are controlled by beings above their comprehension".

Playfellow Workshop is the company that creates WHPS and owns its characters. They act as the "parents" to the "children" – WHPS' characters – in this comparison. They house the characters, have them as their responsibilities and assets, and, as any show production goes, they most definitely have staff that takes care of the puppets to see if there are any rips or tears in their bodies, making sure they are fit for the show production. It's just like how parents house their children when they cannot afford housing or live on their own, taking care of (or rather monitor) them, giving them shelter and food.

They are controlled both literally and figuratively by Playfellow Workshop – former because they're hand puppets made for children's entertainment and latter because of their status binding them to their duties. Just like how a parent has authority over their children under the guise of “you live under my roof, you live under my rules.” The rules in questions are the episodes which are produced on story scripts, and the puppets follow said scripts. 

Playfellow Workshop is extremely important to the puppets, whether the company is taking a positive role, a neutral role, or an antagonistic role. If the puppets were to break free from their grasp, who would take care of them? Who will place them onto their cases, or fix their rips and tears, or make sure they're in good shape? Playfellow Workshop may have taken a toll on the puppets, but no one can take care of the puppets better than Playfellow Workshop. 

You might be wondering, “But Senja, this can be read as a typical controlling parent and clueless children dynamic. Why so specific about it being a trans experience?”

It can be read like the former! I made more connections and thus thought "Hm. This is so true to my trans experience". 

There are multiple transgender characters in the story such as Frank, Poppy, and Julie. I was struggling on how to put my thoughts into words about the ways the producers of WHPS (could it be that they thought about the puppets not being cis?) can write in trans characters in WHPS, but I believe Clown himself and the wikipedia page for Gonzo from The Muppets said it best. 

A similar case for the puppets can be applied to the trans characters of Welcome Home! Still, the way the puppets present themselves to the audience is also ultimately a decision made by Playfellow Workshop, especially during episode recordings. Clown also said that they won’t reveal much about it since he doesn’t want to give out spoilers. Perhaps regarding to the nature of Playfellow Workshop, too?

The puppets and the scripts can also be a stand-in for how trans folks who still live with authoritative adult figures (especially those that don't accept them or begrudgingly does) are handling autonomy over their own bodies and actions. Although not shown for now, I predict there’s going to be an eventual identity dissonance between who the puppets truly are and who the puppets are according to WHPS’ writers.  It reminds me of my experience of when I was much younger, being a closeted trans person who often struggles with disassociation, looking into the mirror and feeling like me and my body are not one. Not myself. It's like they're two separate beings, "me" who is what I truly am, and "my body" that is dictated and dressed up by my parents. As much as I love my body, little me wanted to claw out and break free if it means I can have a semblance of independence over my life. (Things are much better these past few years, though!)

Again, I don’t like accusing Playfellow Workshop of purposefully mistreating the puppets or even taking pleasure in hurting them because we are just getting started; getting to know the personalities and character dynamics between each character. Authoritative parents won't exactly be abusive to their children. Maybe Playfellow Workshop is just doing their job. They take care of the puppets because if they're damaged, the show won't go on. They act indifferent towards the puppets because well, they're just puppets. No personal feelings. That's just how business goes.

We do know that Playfellow Workshop is a big problem regarding the WHPS’ cancellation and the puppets’ worrying fates.

Playfellow Workshop aside, what about the community regarding the puppets?

The neighborhood is a small town consisting of nine residents. Everyone knows each other, and it’s hard to keep secrets from one another with just how tight-knit everyone is; the experience of living in a small town rings true to mine. Almost everyone in my quaint hometown knows many details about each other and their families because our community strongly believes in the importance of bonds and our culture is built on the word "family".

The neighborhood is a family that does not fit the general criteria of what the traditional structure of a family is. There is no concrete "father" or "mother" or "siblings" assigned here – they're also not the typical found family where they meet one another by chance. They are placed inside the set by the creators of the WHPS, lives already decided by its writers (like a traditional family), but they find solace in each other, having their lives intertwined with one another through bonds that they also take part in building, even outside of the show's production (like a found family, as seen in the "answer" pages). They are friends. They are family. Not to mention how the neighborhood is called "Home", a place where a family lives.

But they also cannot get out – as in get out of WHPS instead of just the neighborhood. I will be covering connections to freedom for each character later on (Sally falling from the sky, Poppy as a flightless bird, Howdy as an adult caterpillar) but the way their existence is bound by the colorful stage sets and rainbow props can also be seen as a small analogy that traditional families are expected to always stick with each other no matter how bad things are. 

Themes of family aside, I’ll talk about how the so-called “long lost and unknown of number” episodes. WHPS’ episodes start with Wally leading the viewers through the cacophony of the neighborhood. Then other characters join in, with many of them having notable activity segments. The episodes then end with Wally, who has finished journeying with the viewer, when the day has ended. It is most peculiar and harrowing that the agency of the puppets regarding the show is dependent on Wally and the time of the day. Wally plays the central figure of the story, first being placed in the position as the protagonist and most important character in WHPS, then having to act as their savior because he is the only puppet thus far that has contact with the restoration team and you, the viewer. He is akin to a child who has to take the lead as the head of the family even though he is not prepared for it.

Nobody remembers Welcome Home. Nobody remembers who the puppets are. At the time, the puppets only have themselves and each other to rely on for support. Then again, it’s not even clear if they are with each other when they went missing or scattered around.

Now that I've covered the connections I've made regarding the neighborhood as a whole, I’d like to analyze its residences one by one.

Wally Darling

Wally is a very complex character and by far the most – ironically – human out of everyone in the cast. The word "freedom" is written all over him and the word "love" is sewn into every inch of his body.

Wally is shown to show little to no interest in romance or dating. He allowed his friends to get touchy-feely with him (examples being sleeping with Barnaby and getting hugged by Eddie) and doesn’t hesitate to show his affections to them, but it’s been said that he never found them romantic. Wally’s lack of interest in romance gives me the impression that he is in the AroAce spectrum. Clown even mentioned that he doesn’t know what to do if someone confesses their love to him. Wally knows what romance is, he knows what romantic love is, he just doesn't see himself finding a partner anytime soon.

Wally's view on love not only ties into his queerness, but also his neurodiversity – his autism. He is not good at reading social cues or acting "as accordingly" to the situations presented to him. Clown also suggested that Wally cannot process emotions “the way humans do”. They also entertain the idea that Wally is “emotionless”; but I’d rather interpret it as Wally having low empathy and possibly alexithymia, traits shared by many autistic folks (including me).

He expresses his love in a way that accommodates his neurodiversity: real actions.

Wally has been shown from time to time as someone who absolutely, truly loves his friends. The way he loves others cannot be categorized into simple boxes such as “romantic” or “platonic” or “familial”. Wally loves his friends dearly and it is deep and true, simple as that. He also loves you, the viewer, and a hidden page in the Welcome Home page says that "Wally is your best friend". When he was communicating with you, it read to me more like fascination, curiosity, and cries of help instead of macabre obsession as I normally would expect in psychological stories such as Welcome Home.

All of this makes the struggles he faced after WHPS' cancellation and getting separated from his friends more tragic.

Having the world that he knows ripped away from him must've been traumatizing to him. The world that he has always known is gone. The people that he knew and met everyday are scattered everywhere. Although there are many image file names that suggest he has contact with some of his friends, he doesn’t know if everyone is fine. He’s now left to pick up the pieces and try to stick them back together. He has so much to think about, too much to think about, and so he decides to reach out to you.

When you take into consideration that autistic folks often rely on self-made sets of rules, Wally's situation turns from sad to depressing. Autistic folks rely on schedules and routines (also seen through Frank) to give them a sense of control over their lives and help them ground themselves in reality. When Wally's "routine" is ripped away from him, he has to immediately make sense of his situation and make himself accustomed to a life full of uncertainty. His adaptation to change isn't simply about comfort – it's about surviving. His struggles don't only stop there. 

Wally's intentions are read wrongly, some people interpreting him as "creepy" or "malicious" instead of just "awkward" or "desperate". Interestingly, this flanderization and misconception of his character comes from the internet's view on him instead of from the audience/staff in-universe. His autistic traits that cannot be deemed "cute" enough (the way he stares, his mannerism, how he talks slowly, or his fixation on the viewer) is considered creepy in a way that appeals to the fandom and thus extrapolated into something more extreme; him being a lovesick obsessive love interest, him being a religious cult leader, or him being the overarching villain of the story. The way that people outside his universe are the ones demonizing him is poetic in a way – reflective of the world that we live in where ableism towards autistics are so embedded even in the way we view tragic characters with low empathy.

Maybe Wally’s mannerisms are written that way because it’s to add more mystery, but knowing that Clown likes to play with secrets and says that neurodivergency plays a huge part in the story makes me think it’s also the other way around. His behavior as an autistic and traumatized character is what makes people believe that he's the villain. It’s unintentional on his part, but people who fail to read between the lines can think otherwise. It reminds me that when autistic folks cannot express emotions "correctly” or act a certain way that is expected regarding certain social situations, neurotypicals immediately jump into bad, unsavory conclusions about their intentions.

In reality, Wally is a desperate person who just wants the viewer to know and realize his presence and (assumedly) save his friends. Sure, he isn't straightforward in his words when communicating to us through hidden audio files, but his intentions are getting more clear to me. He’s thrust into a situation where he now acts as the guardian for his friends instead of Playfellow Workshop. He wants to get in. He's not a saint. He's not a villain. He's a struggler.

Sally Starlet

Sally! Her name is a fun one. She’s a star. She’s also an actress/play writer, related to the phrase “star of the show”.

So far, Clown hasn’t confirmed anything regarding her sexuality or gender identity, but the interactions she has with other characters from various audio files gave me some clues.

Her interactions with male characters are comedic or bossy in a comical sense, definitely stays true to her bombastic personality. She's not particularly fond of having Barnaby or Howdy star in her plays – the former not taking it seriously while the latter advertising his products in the middle of her plays. She also likes bossing Eddie around as shown in Eddie's Big Lift and is entertained by his antics, from him calling her "ma'am" to him not being able to refuse any of her commands. 

Sally is noticeably more mellow around women like Julie and Poppy, notably the latter. Despite getting tired of Julie messing up the script of her plays, she isn’t annoyed with her and thinks of her antics as amusing rather than annoying. She is also patient with Poppy, not getting deterred by her always worrying nature and talks to her calmly. She encourages her ideas, help her to be more confident in herself and is very supportive of her! Their personalities bounce off one another really well, and she is just so sweet. Sally also endearingly calls Julie “Juliet” and Poppy “dear” and “darling”, something she doesn’t do with the male characters.

She gives me the impression of being a lesbian. She reminds me a lot of Lady D from RE VIII who’s a canon lesbian, calls Evan “manthing”, and speaks/acts in the same sophisticated manner as Sally, haha!

Besides her queerness, I found an interesting connection to freedom from her backstory. Sally was originally a star from space that falls to earth in order to pursue her interest in acting. She fell from a place that is vast and endless to a place surrounded by trees and predetermined fates. Also her working with play scripts… the show running on episode scripts… hm…

A falling star has a close definition to a meteor, burning brightly due to the pressure but then losing its spark and mass during its journey, ultimately burning into nothingness. Possibly just a coincidence, but the symbolism when related to Sally is sad.

Frank Frankly

Amidst the cheerful technicolor citizens of the neighborhood, Frank stood out the most by having grey skin and a constant frown on his face. He’s the bookworm character archetype of the show and is described as “arguably the smartest person in the neighborhood”. He’s also one of the handful characters that doesn’t have any information regarding where he was before he came to the neighborhood.

Frank is autistic. As I’ve mentioned in Wally’s part of this thinkpiece, Frank relies on routines and familiarity to give himself a sense of agency and control over his life. He likes arranging things in the order they’re supposed to go, he has a keen eye on organization and structure, and he wants things to be done right in his own ways. “This is the way things should be done, not that way.”

There are drawings Clown made depicting him stimming and infodumping about his special interests, those being entomology and insects. 

Frank and Julie are paired together in many Welcome Home-related content. They are best friends who does things together and spends time playing together. They perform a comedy duo; Frank is the "straight man" to Julie's "funny man". His friendship with Julie is very important to both the show and the overarching story. They are something more than simple friends, something less than lovers, and something just right and deep for the both of them. Not that Playfellow Workshop thinks much about that. 

The animation cells for “Julie-rella” has given me a very thin theory that themes of cisheteronormavity will be at play as the story goes. Frank is the prince charming, while Julie is Cinderella – fated to be together when the story ends. Well, maybe it’s just Sally, being her over-the-top self and her reenacting a classic fairy tale with her personal spin, but I just can’t help but think harder about the implications of it. Frank is not a cishet man, and Julie is not a cishet woman. I have talked about it in this short writing I made about Eddie and Frank.

Frank is canonically nonbinary and gay. He and Eddie are each other's love interests, something that isn’t outright shown. One can argue that they don’t exactly “act” like a typical couple from what we’ve seen, and their interactions in WHPS’ audios and merchandises gives off the feeling that they’re amicable at best (referring to the link I embedded above). They are noticeably closer in the “answer” page, though. It is not certain that their relationship at the time WHPS was still going and before Welcome Home Restoration Project’s involvement was already established or they’re just starting to get to know each other  – though many audios in the WHRP website leans more towards the latter. Either way, it reminds me of the way some queer people have to hide their relationships in public to avoid getting hate or persecution.

You know that one art of a terrified Frank with a bright red rectangle and many appendages surrounding him that can be found in the staff-only page? Regarding his status as the bookworm character, I have a feeling that the phrase “ignorance is bliss” will come at play here, subverting his character. 

Poppy Partridge

This sweet, poor bird who is always shaken by everything around her. Poppy grew up in a nest with her family, though growing up to become the biggest bird out of everyone, eventually leaving the nest and moving into the neighborhood, living inside a barn and rarely leaving it because of her anxiety. Poppy is described to not be based on just one bird, as Clown said. She is said to be a mix of “flamingo from father’s side, hen from mother’s side”, fitting with how unique everyone is in the neighborhood.

It is heartwarming that she is surrounded by people who are understanding of her anxiety. Nobody makes fun of her fretfulness or forces her to be “more social”, Howdy brings her groceries to her barn, and she even has her own baking business! She’s not the greatest at the things she likes doing, but it’s nice to see that she founds joy in them.

Poppy is canonically a trans lesbian. She’s very close with Sally, whose personality is a stark contrast to hers. Poppy feels like she can trust Sally with handling the jobs she’s supposed to do and Sally encourages her to be more true to herself. Poppy feels at ease whenever she’s around Sally and even seems to act more flustered around her – a possible love interest between the two. It’s also cute that Sally likes to drag Poppy in her antics, with the latter not being too bothered about it. They trust each other very much. Also their dynamic is also just really good, y’know?

Connected to themes of freedom in this story, Poppy is a flightless bird, yet another symbol of her state of freedom as a puppet to Playfellow Workshop. Many birds have the ability to spread their wings and fly away to the places that they desire while Poppy cannot. Like the rest of the cast, her world is limited by the trees around the neighborhood. She also left her nest not because she has big dreams like Sally or ambitions like Howdy, but because of the circumstances she cannot control on her own.

As I’ve mentioned earlier, Poppy grew up to be the biggest bird out of her family and it became the reason why she left for the neighborhood. And when she got there, she prefers being inside her own barn instead of going around and socializing with everyone.

Howdy Pillar

Ohhh my god. This guy. He originates from an apple as a teensy little caterpillar, then leaving the place where he was raised in because of his dreams (similar to Sally, different to Poppy). He is shown to be very proud and confident in himself, having a clear ambition on opening his very own shop and takes great pride in what he does. He’s a great talker and can easily convince even the proudest people in the neighborhood to purchase his wares, and his character gives me the impression that he prefers being around people that understands his dreams.

I cannot find any notable queer readings regarding Howdy, but his interactions with Barnaby gives me the impression that they’re close to one another. Howdy considers Barnaby his favorite customer, and is seemingly happy that Barnaby is willing to listen to him ramble about his family gossips.

I do find connections between his physical appearance and the story’s themes of freedom.

In a caterpillar’s life, when they’re about to reach their adult stage and move on from their juvenile stage, they turn into butterflies. Not the case with Howdy. He’s an adult caterpillar whose family are a bunch of butterflies. Like Poppy, whose symbolism of lack of freedom is the same as Howdy's, he cannot turn into a butterfly and fly away from the grasp of Playfellow Workshop – outside the neighborhood, outside the town surrounded by colorful trees and dictated by scripts.

Unlike Poppy however, Clown mentioned that Howdy has the possibility of turning into a butterfly someday. Poppy is also an adult bird, the last stage of her life cycle, while Howdy is an adult caterpillar, the beginning stage of his life cycle. A possible foreshadowing for his fate regarding freedom later on…? Or maybe just a fun little trivia.

Barnaby B. Beagle

Barnaby, the comedic relief who's the most emotionally intelligent. The jokester who knows that something is amiss when the situation calls for it, the comedian who can be honest and straightforward in what he finds amusing and not, the humorist whose appearance is always met with cheers, claps, and boos, as if he’s the main character of a very long winded sitcom.

As far as I’ve noticed, there aren’t as many connections to themes of freedom regarding Barnaby as there is on other characters. Though I can say that Barnaby can stand his ground more than Eddie, another character who is usually put in situations where he gets the boot to the head and usually lets people do as they please. I cannot put these into concrete words, but Barnaby has an air of professionalism to him despite his character archetype being the comedic relief. 

Barnaby is close with Howdy (see the writing regarding his character above!), sharing jokes and puns with him. Barnaby is also considered Howdy’s greatest customer, always making the latter crack up and their personalities bounce off one another really well.

Another resident that Barnaby shares a close bond with – closer even – is Wally. Barnaby is very close to Wally. They are best friends, and many art for Welcome Home depicts them together a lot of the time. Barnaby includes Wally in the things he does like getting hotdogs together or sharing jokes. Besides Home, Barnaby knows Wally the best. He is also quick to notice changes in Wally’s demeanor, getting concerned about him when he doesn’t react to his words the way Wally always does in the last “answer audio”. 

Clown also said that in any universe, Barnaby and Wally will always become best friends. They are the definition of soulmates. Platonic, romantic, whatever you call it – but like I’ve said earlier, the puppets’ view on love are not as complicated as humans’, and I can say that they love each other deeply, simple and true as that. Like someone once said, they’ll find each other in any universe. This makes me fear for their relationship even more, given that Wally and Barnaby are most likely not near each other when WHPS ended.

Eddie Dear

Eddie! Neighborhood’s creative, kind, and hardworking mailman. He has a good eye on arts and craft, and is more than delighted to lead the viewers of the show with the things he wants to create.

As Clown have stated, Eddie is a gay man. I’ve covered most of the things I’ve said regarding their (blooming) romantic relationship in Frank’s section of this thinkpiece however, so I implore you to go back there if you don’t want me to rewrite the whole thing all over again here, haha!

A recurring trope with him is that despite his adherence to work ethics and schedules, Eddie tends to forget a lot of things. The Welcome Home website says that he hails from a town far away from the neighborhood, but he always gets the name of the town wrong and oftentimes mentions names of places that doesn’t exist. He talks to inanimate objects to aid his forgetfulness (also for endearing character traits) and Frank once suggested that he ties strings to the things he doesn’t want to forget, but this doesn’t always work. Eddie also doesn’t remember where he came from and his character profile says that he and the post office appeared out of nowhere one day.

Eddie is also accident-prone, always getting himself into situations (a bug landing on his paper chains, getting chased by Barnaby) and is mainly depicted as the unwilling comedian. Many of his character aspects are depicted as a source of comedy, even by himself. Eddie also has tendencies of prioritizing what others want before himself because of his even-tempered nature. So far, Eddie doesn’t express any serious frustration over this, but with the themes of agency recurring in this story, I’m afraid that it’s going to be a matter of time before we see Eddie express discomfort over this.

Throwback to what I have said: Frank is a smart person who constantly searches for logical answers to things, while Eddie is more laid back and isn’t very focused on finding the right answer and just wanting problems to be handled. This contrast on their personalities and how their backstories are foils of each other (Frank coming from unclear origins, Eddie not knowing the name of the place he’s from) make me think: Is ignorance bliss to Eddie? 

Julie Joyful

The sunshine of the neighborhood! The bringer of rainbows in Welcome Home! Julie stays true to her surname, always depicted with a bright smile on her face. She is the one that can turn Frank’s frown upside down. She is the one that can bring a tinge of comedy in Sally’s tragic dramas. 

Julie joins the side of the neighborhood that has clear origins. She once lived inside a cave with her siblings, but ultimately leaves under her own volition to find life for herself. Regardless, she is a character that is known for her constant interactions with other neighbors, notably Frank, her best friend.

Her friendship with Frank is extremely special for both of them – if you want to read about it, you should go to Frank's section of this thinkpiece as I've covered most of my thoughts about Frank and Julie's friendship there, but I want to add a few more things.

She is the "funny man" to Frank's "straight man", forming the neighborhood’s comedic duo. She drags him into her shenanigans, like the time they played “Business Woman In The Big City”. They’re also quite competitive when participating in the games that Julie conducts. She brings out the best in Frank, always making sure he feels included and happy in any activity they do. Julie is the “spontaneity” to Frank’s “routinity”. Julie is the “fun” to Frank’s “frown”. They’re inseparable from one another, like Barnaby with Wally.

As stated by Clown, Julie is genderfluid and bisexual. She doesn’t have a love interest set for her, but what’s important is that her character is emphasized with her connections with others. When Frank couldn’t play with her, she plays with Sally and enjoys spending time with her and even stars as the main character in many of the latter’s plays. There are lots of love inside her, after all! She is also said to be quite touchy with her friends, often hugging them and encouraging them to go through with the things they want to do. It doesn’t always have to be seen as “romantic”, like I’ve said before.

Onto her status as a puppet for Playfellow Workshop. Something funny is that Julie has a tendency to go off-script as shown from her interaction with Sally while practicing for a play. She has issues getting into the mood of her plays, making scenes that are supposed to be emotional… comedical, instead.

Is this supposed to symbolize something further? Is this habit of hers pointing towards how she’s going to express her unwillingness to be a mere cog in the big machine? The puppets are very much sentient, but I am not sure if they are aware if their actions in the WHPS episodes are controlled by the script. Time will tell, and perhaps, Julie too.

Home

Finally, we get to the last but one of the most important characters in this story – Home.

Home is the ninth residence of the neighborhood, though it’s not a puppet but a stationery character. It houses Wally, the main character of this story. Unlike the rest of the cast, Home talks in onomatopeias, like creaking its doors or opening its windows to produce sound as means of communication. Its eyes are very expressive and is constantly moving. Unlike other houses in the neighborhood, they’re very expressive.

Their importance isn’t only limited to being Wally’s house or being the only character in Welcome Home that cannot walk or talk.

The mobile characters of Welcome Home never expressed annoyance for Home’s non-verbal trait and instead put in effort to understand them and include them in their activities. They accommodate for Home, making sure they feel comfortable, wanted, and not left out. Home feels… at home around them.

Wally writes for Home to help it communicate and makes his canvas face Home whenever he’s painting, Julie teaches it how to hula hoop, Eddie makes small talk with Home, Barnaby makes jokes and laughs with Home, Frank tries to include home in games of chess, and so on! Home isn’t just a building like the rest of the cast’s houses. They are part of the family. It makes me so happy to see that their existence isn’t considered a burden or an annoyance or have their traits be seen as sources of comedy. It hits close to home for me as a physically disabled person.

Regarding the overarching story outside of WHPS, Home is a character that plays a significant part in Wally's journey. Wally loves Home dearly. He takes care of Home and makes sure he is in great condition. He is the caretaker for Home and becomes its communicator when the situation calls for it. In return, Home makes sure Wally is safe and sound inside their cavity and expresses their love for Wally through communication from creaking noises and even lightly squishing him between their door and door frame. Home is also quick to notice changes in Wally’s behavior and shows their concern for him, signifying just how deep their relationship is.

As I’ve mentioned many times before, their closeness cannot be boxed into the usual types of love humans are used to. You just know they are extremely linked to one another and that their relationship is not only important in WHPS, but also the story as a whole.

Home and Wally are inseparable from one another. They have their separate personalities and are distinguishable from one another, but ultimately they will always be one. Home is Wally’s fortress. Home is the shield to Wally’s sword. Home is the pericardium to Wally’s heart. After all, “Home is where the heart is”, right?

Afterwords

Yay! Whew! Congrats on making it to the afterwords! I’ve spent more than a week writing this whole thing and having my friend @rxveriecaeli proofread this thinkpiece (Morfe if you’re reading this I love you bestie). Huge HUGE shoutout to them because I’d be lost without them giving the finishing touches! 

I know, some people will say that I’m reaching or thinking too much about this story, but hey! That’s why it’s called a thinkpiece and not a theory or concrete proof of X or Y. I cannot say that I’m 100% sure about where the story is heading or what Clown has in mind for certain characters, but I just want to think and love making connections and my brain just keeps producing questions after questions after questions. Are the feelings they have with each other theirs and not the byproduct of the script commanding them? I believe so. 

What if Poppy is a flightless bird because she's based on Big Bird and not because it's an analogy for her not being able to fly freely away? What if Howdy is an adult caterpillar because he just IS and not because it's an analogy for not being able to turn into a butterfly that can fly? These options might be so, but even if Clown someday confirm that their design choices are simply because they're inspired by other puppet characters, I'm just happy that I manage to find symbolism that I can connect to their character designs.

I think it's too early to assume that the puppets are surely seeking freedom. At most, they just want to be saved from the tragic states they’re in, and Wally is on the lead. I mean, the show's canceled and they no longer live by following the scripts made for them! We don't even know the true fates of them aside from being nearly forgotten to time. And even if the puppets do achieve freedom, what will be of them? The producers aren't around anymore, the employees that treat them as toys but also take care of them aren't there anymore, and they have to fend for themselves in the big world.

I am not a native English speaker and I cannot put some of my thoughts into words both because of my language barrier and my ADHD. I do not intend on expressing malicious or harmful subtext through this writing, but do tell me if I had worded anything incorrectly and I will fix it. I would love to hear your thoughts about this thinkpiece too, so don’t hesitate to leave comments or tags in the reblogs (though please be patient with me!). Not that I will tolerate hateful or bigoted comments, however!

Please do not start accusing me of spreading the rhetoric that “being queer/neurodivergent is painful and constantly suffering and if you don’t suffer you are not part of those groups”! Being queer is fun and liberating. Being neurodivergent or disabled is something to take pride in. I’m proud of who I am and I encourage others to be so too. The experiences of queer/neurodivergent won’t always be easy, though, and I made this analysis and the correlating connections based on my own experience as a queer, autistic, and physically disabled person. 

That being said, thank you for reading!

Fun little trivia! The characters' favorite colors form a rainbow when put in respective order, just like the colors of the original pride flag :]

#LONG POST AHEAD!!! #welcome home #welcome home puppet show #wally darling #sally starlet #frank frankly #poppy partridge #howdy pillar #barnaby b beagle #eddie dear #julie joyful #home #senja writing

[alphabetcompletionist]

ELEGIAC BALLAD

I had a middle-aged half-deaf beagle called Khaki Jack. He’d had a bleak life; caged, kicked, maimed, defiled. Jack had baggage. ‘A bad egg’; all malice, mad like hell. He had a dim, jaded face I’d call 'facile', 'glib'; a lifelike façade, like I’d had him embalmed. I decided I liked him. He 'abided' me.

Jack had lice. A hide like a llama fleece. I checked him, de-flead him, made him a bed. I had a half-baked idea; a belief if I calmed him, made him amiable, he’d heal. I aimed high.

Jack baffled me. If I called him, he hid. If I kicked a ball, he fled. If I made a face, he hackled. If I beamed back, he balked like I flicked him.

Jack liked cake. Jam, beef, lamb kebab, he deemed all edible; Each deli held a high acclaim; each mall café, a Mecca. If I had cake, he begged. I fed him cake.

Jack became fickle. He climbed a big elm, acacia, beech, climbed a jagged cliff face, a  high ledge, like ‘bald eagle’ high, like ‘Babel’ high.

He’d dig like a jackal; a mad childlike glee. He made life a bedlam, each game a debacle. If I chided him, he became meek, mild. He’d lick a face like a cliché, a gimmick.

If I hiked half a mile, he ambled ahead, glided, agile, like a high-heeled dame. He mimicked me like a kid. If I called him, he came back. If I led him, like magic, he heeled.

Jack fell ill. He damaged a leg; a lame dead limb. He became feeble; malleable, like a flaccid beachball kicked afield. He hacked, gagged black bile. A lilac? A dahlia? He bled. He flailed. He faded. I held him. He died. I’d had him a decade. I ached like he blamed me. I feel like I failed him, fallible Jack.

ABCDEFGHIJKLM

13/26

honestly i am impressed beyond words. and this seems to be original too. i wish i could praise this as high as i think of it

#and per se and #something so rapturing about the tone that comes out of the choice of letters #i feel like this deserves honor as a lipogram. published somewhere. but the author remains anonymous #...unless someone manages to find it somewhere else #i couldn't

[void-bitten-ghost]

Modern Mizu, welding major, nationally acclaimed swordswoman, falling for a skeet shooter/gun enthusiast

(Mentions of guns, childhood trauma, and a panic attack ahead)

She hates it. She hates that sport with a passion because her birth father had a gun collection he liked to hunt with. (And was also a racist, narcissistic, homophobic, abusive piece of shit but aaaanyway)

She falls for you. She falls for your kindness and your snark. How you hold yourself. But she cannot fucking believe it had to be you. You with the gun licence and the weekend trips down to the gun range to practice--

But.

But but but

Imagine that first time you convince her to face her fear (she's not scared, she'll insist, but goes along with it. For your sake. Just to shut you up.) And you have her in the same booth with you. Headphones on, you slip your arms around her to steady her hands. To correct her form.

She knows how to shoot, but she doesn't tell you that. Not when she can have you pressed against her, breath kissing her neck just like that. She almost forgets for a moment what it is she's actually holding. Almost.

When you step away, it's like she's been unmoored. A ship in an angry, turbulent ocean with no light in sight--

You notice the shakes first. Then the heavy breathing and how her chest seems to cave in with every exhale as she aims. You've seen panic before, but never in Mizu's eyes and immediately you return to her side. You touch her shoulder and she jolts. The gun goes off.

You wait. And then you have the gun out of her hands right as the first sob rips from her. It's placed on the table and you're holding a trembling Mizu with absolutely no idea of what could have caused this reaction. Regardless, you hold her as she allows herself to crumble.

And it is a choice she's making. She makes the choice to trust you. She could have fled. She could have chosen anger and avoidance instead of this-- this vulnerability. But she didn't. Doesn't. Instead she let's you hold her while her legs try to give out. Instead, she turns into you, using you as her lighthouse in this shitstorm of trauma and bullshit.

You don't ask questions. You just guide her out, take off her headphones and goggles and sit with her until the shakes stop. And that's why, later, she tells you about her birth father.

"Well," you start. "Now I feel like an asshole."

"You are an asshole," she quips with the smallest smile and you laugh despite your guilt.

"But you didn't know," she reassures, her hand on your knee as you both sit slumped against a wall. "And besides, I wanted to come with you today. I wouldn't be here otherwise."

You hum, handing her your energy drink. She grimaces, but takes it at your insistence, putting it to her lips and taking a sip. You watch far too long and closely for it to be appropriate and have to physically tear your eyes away from how her bowed lips perse, how her delicate throat moves to swallow and her nose scrunches up at the sharp, sugary taste...

She really is so unfairly breathtaking and all you want in that moment is to be able to look at her. But you can't. You have to focus your eyes on the open bottle she hands back to you, and then you have to focus even harder on not thinking about the idea of an indirect kiss as you take a long drink of your own.

Okay yeah anyway this is just brain vomit but change my mind alright

#modern mizu #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #mizu #mizu x you #mizu x y/n #modern blue eye samurai #guns #gunslinger y/n??? #gunslinger y/n #yearning #gay yearning

[justadeadreaper]

// OPERATOR-BIO: JACK-POT //

Man’s best friend, a creature that will be most loyal to its master, a dog, the word befitting of Makarov’s bodyguard. The only member of Konni or the Inner Circle that could be described as more loyal than Andrei to Makarov and his cause, a man who would do anything to see it come to life. No matter what was thrown at him, he always came back; no bullet or grenade could keep him down or dead for long as he would just get up again and fight once more; it is no surprise that he earned Makarov’s favour. A giant that uses his strength for the wrong cause. A man who sees what he does as a mission from God as he aims to build a new world, one that Makarov controls. A man who uses his talent to create technology to wipe out cities to forge a path to his only. A man who became the face of Konni, so at least if he was taken in, Makarov could still concoct what needed to be done. A man who smiles as he beats in the skull of his enemies. Makarov’s jackpot. 

Divider used, by: @mmadeinheavenn (Please support him as he made the amazing divider I will be using)

CALLSIGN: Jack-Pot

ALIASES: Behemoth (by Taskforce 141), Makarov’s (sometimes attack or guard) Mutt (by Makarov, Taskforce 141, and others), Nephelim (by Makarov’s associates), Big Bastard (by Soap)

CITIZENSHIP: Russian

LANGUAGE(S): English, French, Biblical Hebrew, Latin, Russian

FRACTION AFFILIATION: Konni, The Inner Circle, The Ultranationalist Party, Zakhaev's Arms

STATUS: Active

AGE: 29

NAME: [REDACTED] “Remus” Belladonna Matthew [REDACTED]

PLACE OF BIRTH: [REDACTED]

DATE OF BIRTH: 26.06.1995

SEX: [REDACTED] Male; [REDACTED]

BLOOD TYPE: O-

HEIGHT: 7’11”

WEIGHT: 503 to 533 Pounds

BUILD: Stocky, well built

SCARS, TATTOOS, AND MARKINGS: Healed skin grafting covering most of the left side of his body -predominantly on the front of his body even if it goes onto his back- from his face to his torso to his arms to his legs with a few patches dotted around the right side of his body, missing most of his left ear, teeth marks across his right hand, scars across his back that seems to be from something like a belt, a long surgical scar above his heart, surgical scars across his body (more specifically his knees, hips, ankles, and shoulders), scars from knife and bullet wounds across his body, scars across his right arm, a scar across his lower back around his tail bone that looks like something was carved off of his skin, a scar around all of his neck that has a crown of thorns above and below it, a massive snake tattoo that loops around his right leg to his back and chest with the head resting on his chest, a tattoo of a dog on the back calf of his left leg, a tattoo of a kingfisher styled queen chess piece on his right arm, a tattoo of a spider's web over his heart that is made of webbing and flowers (specifically forget-me-nots, bleeding hearts, larkspur, and lavender) with a redback spider resting on it, tattoos of thieves' stars on his shoulder blades, a tattoo of a cathedral on his lower left back to the side of his torso, and a tattoo of the words 'Владимир Анатольевич Родион Макаров' on his V-line

HAIR: Just past his shoulders, extremely curly, ginger but with streaks of grey

EYES: Brown

COMPLEXION: Medium Beige to Medium Tan

RACE: [REDACTED]

NATIONALITY: [REDACTED]

OCCUPATION: Makarov’s bodyguard

[REDACTED] “Remus” Belladonna Matthew [REDACTED] was born to mother, [REDACTED] and father, [REDACTED] of the acclaimed [REDACTED] family of [REDACTED]. 

An unwanted child straight from the womb. [REDACTED] was given to his [REDACTED] at the young age of five with his [REDACTED], just like his [REDACTED] before him, after suffering years of abuse. The reason given was due to the fact of him being a [REDACTED] instead of the “normal” son they wanted. An extreme bond formed between the only three people who he knew to love him as his two [REDACTED] lived under the tyrannically religious rule of their [REDACTED] even if she loved them like her own children even. An unhealthy bond formed with religion from that point acting as more of a reason to live than a lifestyle as it was one of the true comforts they could afford as he grew to develop an unhealthy view of relationships and how to act in them as none of them stopped him.

[REDACTED]. Giving him nearly all the scars that riddle his body and leading him to run away at the age of sixteen.

[REDACTED]. 

That was until he met the acclaimed Vladimir Makarov. A deal was made between the two, in exchange for protection, he would work for the terrorist doing any act that the leader asked of him. [REDACTED].

[REDACTED].

Despite the eccentric, terrifying persona he plays when out in front of the public as he performs another terrorist act for Makarov whether it be blowing up another building or crushing a man's skull, when he is with his men he is known to still be terrifying but also a caring and somewhat goofy leader as neither Andrei or Makarov want to deal with every little complaint that they had.

Every team bonding activity is planned by him as Makarov sees it as a waste of time but he knows that forming strong bonds is extremely useful in the world he has found himself in where it is not uncommon to find themselves being stabbed in the back. He listens and resolves their problems as he earns their trust to seem like a genuine, caring leader, but to him, it is not as genuine as everyone thinks it to be. Yes, he cares about his men but he learnt from his family and from living this life for so long to never be attached and to always gain people’s love for when you need to use it. An optimist on the outside but a true pessimist deep down, but he has learnt to bury those feelings long ago. The only people he has ever shown his genuine true side to, the caring, soft, but funny side is what is left of his family and his best friend Infrared who knows to look past the terrifying act he puts on.

The only other notable thing that most Konni soldiers have learnt about their unofficial leader is his morals, hatred of Milena, and undying loyalty to Makarov. They have watched how he rapidly goes to defend Makarov and kill any man who has been disloyal before running off to check on their Komandir; it is why they all believe that Makarov trusts him the most out of all as he knows that Jack-Pot will be loyal to his death like Makarov is holding something against him even after all the years that Jack-Pot has so effectively served him. They have watched his side eyes and scoffs whenever Milena talks or tries to command someone and how he so easily argues with her to the point of having a game with Infrared where they throw stuff (mainly slippers or flipflops) at Milena whenever she walks by, but in the end he has to let her do what she wants as she is his Komandir’s wife -even if she is the only one who can not see that Makarov only married her for her money and not because he loved her- and he hates to disappoint Makarov as it physical pains him.

What he has left of morals has been crafted by his faith and upbringing. They all know that he will refuse to do certain things as it is against his teachings and he has rules for his soldiers based on his own beliefs whether it be to not desecrate a corpse but instead give them a proper burial or to turn the other cheek unless it is so disagreeable that violence is needed. Most do not mind as he does not force them to participate in his religion with him but they have grown to understand that he will not break his morals unless Makarov calls for it; they all know he feels enough Catholic guilt for other things and do not want to make it worse.

-One item of clothing you will never see him without is his rosary; it is normally tucked beneath his shirt so that it will be pulled on whenever he is in a fight but when casually around base he tends to have it out on display. The rosary has been in his family for countless generations, which can be seen by how the gold and ivory have gone dull but to him, it is one of the most important items in his life that once when a recruit had made the foolish decision to steal it he had beaten their brain in with his fists before putting the rosary back around his neck. It was a warning to others who were forced to witness the twitching body of their fallen comrade as he lived through his final moments while Jack-Pot walked off to pray.

-Unlike what his size would make you believe, he is incredibly smart. He is known to even give Makarov advice when his Kommandir is concocting their next plan, but his intelligence is most clear when he relaxes in his workshop surrounded by his inventions. A savant when it comes to anything mechanical. Makarov paid for his robotics, engineering, and mechanics degrees when he saw the potential that Jack-Pot exhibited when he was able to fix up a getaway car in a matter of no time. Makarov still pays for any degree Jack-Pot requests to do that relates to machinery as it only means they will have access to more complex machinery; it also means that it keeps the giant busy even if it seems like he gets through them in no time. Nearly everything mechanical on the base is made by Jack-Pot, from the security cameras (which he watches and treats like they are a live-action soap opera) to the air conditioning and heating systems that make the base just a little less unbearable. His skills are that trusted that he was even allowed to make the robotic prosthetic for Makarov and control the device that lets the arms do certain actions.

-He has a love of orchestral music, that any song he likes he will try to find an orchestral version of it, but if he can not find an orchestral version, he will normally settle for an instrumental version. He can not explain why he does not like the vocals of a song; he just shrugs and says that he has been like it since he was a child; the only exceptions to this rule were his older brother and grandmother, whose singing he adored but they normally sung hymns and nothing more. Despite his lack of love for hearing people sing, he is a talented singer even if he does not sing often; the only few times people have heard him sing is when he thinks he is alone or when he is dragged into singing by a drunk Makarov when Konni are celebrating another victory. His musical abilities are not just restricted to singing but also are extended to the piano as he is a very talented player who can play any song he wishes too after enough practice. Although, he loves Bruno Mars. It seems to be one of the only musicians he can listen to sing and there is a joke that if you catch Jack-Pot in the middle of the night raiding the Konni fridges that you will be hearing him sing one of Bruno Mars’ songs or another guilty pleasure song on his playlist.

-Despite his size, he is impressively fast and flexible. It is common to see him do stretches before all of his workouts as he tries his best to keep his flexibility from when he was much younger and smaller. When he was a child to a teenager he used to do ballet and still knows how to do some of the routines from when he was younger as it was always something he enjoyed as it first got him into fitness. He also trains his speed as he does not want to be slowed down by his size as he has learnt from prior instances and Makarov that a few seconds can be a matter of life or death.

-Although he hates to admit it, he is quite deaf and blind with his left eye and left ear suffering the most. He wears an “earpiece” in his left ear which is actually a cochlear implant that Makarov had paid for him to have which allows for him to make use of what is left of his left ear. When he takes the outer piece off he becomes deaf to the world in his left ear with his right ear being only a bit better that most at Konni know to either use sign language or shout loud enough for him to hear. Meanwhile, his left eye is his biggest blind spot due to not bein able to see through most of it and the bits he can see being blurry; when reading or building another invention he wears glasses so the blurriness does not stop him from doing what he loves.

-If you were to look up the definition of a hopeless romantic you would see his face as the first thing that pops up. Due to his religious upbringing and the only books he had as a child being passed down fairytales where the prince and princess get their happy ending it gave him a distorted view of love where he wants the happy little family of a partner and children where he gets to adore his partner endlessly and they adore him just as much. This has also led him to be quite... obsessive when he falls in love to the point of doing anything for the person he adores as they become his drug as he always chases the happy pipe dream he was sold.

-No one has ever heard his real accent. It has been noted by soldiers higher in Makarov’s favour and rankings that he has one “real” accent when talking to Makarov but two other accents when speaking to his main “assosiate”. When speaking to Konni soldiers or any other member of the public he puts on a Russian accent but the people who have heard his other accents have described them to either be British or American. The few brave souls that have brought it up to Makarov due to their concerns have either mysteriously disappeared, been sent on suicide missions, or were left terrified that they never wanted to speak about it again.

-Apart from the professional trainers Makarov brings in, Jack-Pot also helps to train the dobermans. While the professionals train them to attack the enemies with no remourse, Jack-Pot trains them to be loving dogs towards him, Makarov, and other Konni soldiers that are not deemed as traitors. The dobermans are like his babies as he has given each one a name for when they are with him apart from ‘Attack Dog Number 7’ and has beds for them in his office and in the blank space that he calls a bedroom.

-His love of animals is not only reserved for the dobermans that Konni have on base and conventional pets but it expands to unconventional pets as well, particularly snakes. Connected to his workshop is a room reserved just for his pet snakes where he has made extremely large vivariums with his own hands for them to live in. He has dozens of different types of snakes from none venomous to extremely venomous that Makarov has let him collect over the years. He uses the venom of his snakes on people that they are torturing for information; diluting the mixture as much as he can so that it hurts but does not kill the person. He also has the horrendous habit to put the less venomous snakes into Milena’s room so they can have some exploration time even if he knows Milena is terrified of snakes as he despises the woman. But, on a more “wholesome” note, he likes to wear the none venomous and more friendly snakes around his neck like a scarf when walking around base on a sunday doing chores as the only one who does not have to work; especially his absolute favourite Big Bertie a Burmese python that Makarov gifted him for his birthday one year to keep the giant company.

-Due to his size and needing to eat tons upon tons of calories he has learnt to be an amazing cook if you have a spice tolerance like his. As he needs a lot of protein and carbs to keep up his physique he has learnt how to butcher all kinds of meats and cook them in all different kinds of ways so he is able to get everything he needs without getting bored of his meals. He is best at grilling the meats on a grill or frying them but tends to stick to the later as it is easier to make bigger batches that way when he wants to share with other Konni soldiers who are fed up of the base’s food or do not want to be poisoned by Milena’s slop. He even knows vegan meals with high amounts of protein and other nutrients so he can have it on a friday but these meals tend to be more relaxed and cheat meals as he loves to fry the mushrooms he uses as a replacement for chickens.

-Anyone who wants to get on his good side or bond with him knows that the best thing to do is not give him some form of alcohol like every other soldier on that base but to instead sit down with him to watch whatever shitty soap drama he has found. He absolutely adores watching them no matter which country it comes from or how shitty it is as long as it is dramatic and has the craziest of twists in the love category. His most notable favourites are some telenovelas he saw when he had been dragged along to Mexico to talk to a cartel leader to ask to make an alliance with her or some old ones he found on VHS in Makarov’s mother’s face after he stayed to help her clean up after fixing her severely outdated freezer and improving it.

-Like anyone of his size he is constantly warm which has caused him to much prefer cold environments to hot ones. He has no issue walking around base in a compression shirt and sweatpants or even going into the snow with just those clothes on to go fetch something that blew away while others at Konni have to go outside in at least three layers to walk through the Antarctic weathers of the land of the barren, snowy part of Russia where the base presides. If you are ever cold he would give you his jacket as he is always “too warm” in his own opinion and he does not mind it when others stay closer to him to keep warm from the heat he radiates. However, even if he tans impecicably and can stand the heat he still hates it. Yes, he can last in the heat without complaining outwardly but it makes him feel uncomfortable and makes his headaches worse as he is already naturally warm but if you bet him that he could not stay out in the Sun then he is staying out there tanning to just prove you wrong even if he needs to take enough paracetamol to euthanise a horse to deal with his headache.

‘С нами Бог.’

‘I know a few cannibals we could send them too. My main associate hasn’t tried gangster flesh yet, I think. Why are you all looking at me like that?’

'Time walks in hands with the Devil as they eat all of God's children, there is no changing fate unless you want to disregard God's plans, we’ll all die in the end whether we agree to it or not. It's why we make the most with the time we have; we make the biggest impact. We let our legacy dictate how this Earth will turn out even if it means we will have thousands of corpses laying that path.'

'A dog that has only known beatings for its whole life will only know to bite. Any man that comes near will be bitten. It knows it can only fight to survive. Its maw is its weapon; it's what it knows it needs to survive. But, to muzzle it will cause it to whimper in fear.'

'Showing a beaten dog some kindness will change its life. A loving hand compared to an abusive hand that feeds seems like Heaven. It will become loyal to that hand even if it becomes abusive as that was the only thing they knew to be kind.'

'Any man that is kind enough can create a deadly weapon. His dog will be loyal to the core. It will attack anything that tries to hurt the man. Using the maw for fighting to now protect. It will give its life for its new master even if it means they will never run free again.'

‘Breathe... breathe... just breathe and calm your arse down. We’re out of it now, we aren’t going back to it. Nothing will drag us back.’

‘Did the dingo set you up for this? Sorry love but I’m not a big fan of azaleas, more of a lavender man myself.’

'You missed? Again?! Next time I'll crush your skull to use the fragments for bullets!’

‘Nice arm you have here. Pretty tattoos as well. I’m sure you don’t mind me taking this back for my Komandir.’

‘If I hear that those Brits and Scots have blown up another one of my gardens I will personally go to their base and blow up everything!’

'You think a little bullet will hurt me? Hehe, Komandir's put me through worse.' 'I’m going to go pray. I need you all to stay here for two minutes while I ask God to give me patience since if he gives me any more strength, I’m going to kill all of you.'

'Why should I pay a few thousand rubles for this crap?! I can go home and by next week I'll have it done and I'll have only paid a few hundred max. ...robbing bastards.' 'Shhhh, I need you to quieten down. Komandir is cold. He needs the world to burn to stay warm and fat burns so easily.'

'Make me a promise, okay? If you have to lay me to rest before they put us both in our final places, remember, if you bother to give me a headstone, plant an apple tree behind it and lavender around it. I want to know that when you miss me that you'll visit and I can still provide you with help to sleep and I'll still be able to feed you. I'll always l...care for you even when I'm in Hell.'

Normal; Due to being one of the highest-ranking soldiers at Konni he wears an identical uniform to Andrei except for the fact that everything in the uniform from the groin protector to the compression shirt to the vest has been tailored to accommodate his gigantic size. The biggest difference between the two uniforms can be seen with the mask that Jack-Pot wears and the small additions that have been added. He wears a choker around his neck that holds his microphone with additional patches across his uniform apart from the Konni patch to display his rank. Meanwhile, his mask is based on the skull of a wolf as it lays on his face in two pieces, the lower jaw bone that moves with his own jaw and the upper piece, which takes more liberty in its design but looks like the face of a wolf, that is attached separately so that it can stay in place which allows him to still use his teeth when attacking enemies in close combat.

Casual; Based on what he wears when he is on base and not working as he prefers to wear something simple and comfortable which just so happens to be a very basic pair of grey sweatpants and a black compression shirt that he had Konni’s tailors personally make or he would be forced to go around naked.

Medusa; Based on its namesake, with this skin, he wears a white floor-length chiton that goes over the left shoulder and leaves the top right side of his torso exposed to show off the head of the snake tattoo as it curls around his body. Between the curls of hair now lay king cobras with some curling around his neck that will spit venom at anyone he commands as the scales on the snakes match the scales that now lay in place of the skin graft. While around his ankles and wrists are now golden chains that lead to somewhere...

Seraphim; Based on his deep ties to his religion in this skin he is the biblically accurate depiction of an Angel, specifically a Seraphim. He is dressed in a mixture of both white and red robes similar to the chiton he wears in the Medusa skin with golden chains coming from both his wrists and from under the robe. He has six pairs of wings, one main pair with a smaller pair above and below it -the top pair can be used to hide his face- as golden eyes cover the wings and cover parts of his body. His hair is replaced by flames as his tattoos are now made of golden while he cries golden tears.

The Bear; Based on his more feral side in this skin all he wears is a pair of bloodied combat trousers with no shirt at all as to show off his pecs and the tattoos and scars that riddle his chest as it is also covered in blood. Replacing his wolf mask is instead a bear skin with the paws attached to his arms with the rest of the pelt trailing down his back and the bear’s head on top of his own head which obscures his eyes.

The General; Based on what I imagine him to look like in an AU where he is a General for Zakhaev and much older, his hair is filled with more greys with more wrinkles across his face as he wears a traditional General’s uniform -the hat, jacket, shirt, and trousers- in black paired with black leather gloves and a black cloak with a gold chain and clasps that keep it on his shoulders and a gun holster on his belt.

The King; To be paired with a Makarov skin I have thought of that suits him, this skin is based on the king piece in chess. With this skin, he is decorated in ornate golden armour that is decorated with jewels and engravings and a crown upon his head as the armour is fashioned to resemble the king chess piece.

Purple Nymph; Based on the Nymphs of Greek mythology he is completely naked but sexless in this skin as his tattoos are now different shades of purple with his hair now being made up of the hyacinths and lavender that also bloom out of his skin and petals spill out from between his lips.

#cod #call of duty #cod original character #cod oc #call of duty oc #call of duty original character #jack-pot cod #jack-pot call of duty #konni group #konni oc #vladimir makarov's bodyguard

[weixuldo]

Allow me// ch 4

Vader x Reader

a/n: Hello hello!! sorry for the wait! I will say that were entering more of the “x reader” content that I know most of you are looking forward to heh, but who doesnt love a good slow burn?? hah ty for reading :)

Your boss is not happy about your absence yesterday

warnings: Cannon typical violence, force choking, real choking (and not in the fun way lol), Death, implied death, cursing, anxiety

_____________________

“You never arrived at your posted station yesterday officer y/n, so where in the galaxy were you?!” your red faced manager shouted at you as he dabbed at the sweat forming above his bushy brow. 

“I was pulled aside to complete-” 

“I don’t give a fuck about who asked for your assistance, you report to me. And unfortunately your task was not completed yesterday so who do you think got chewed out? Me!” he huffed, not allowing you to finish your sentence. This was causing a bit of a scene in the semi-public hallway.  

If he weren't always like this, a passerby might think he was going to go into cardiac arrest. 

“Sir, I am truly sorry, but when Darth Vader himself asks for your assistance, you can't really deny him,” you tried to explain calmly.

The winded man in front of you let out a gargantuan laugh, “You're tellin’ me… Darth Vader? The most revered Sith lord in the galaxy… asked for your help?! Hah! You gotta be outta your mind little girl”.

“It is true sir, I didn’t get a chance to tell you after I finished because It was late and our wing was closed”.

“Oh yea, I'm sure you did get back pretty late” he laughed.

“Pardon?”

“We all hear what the troopers say about you little miss, surprised you didn’t take your knee pads yesterday, well with all that dick you’ve been sucking”

Wow, this puny man was really proud of himself, wasn't he. It was honestly disgusting.

“I do not think that is appropriate workplace behavior, sir” you tried to remain as cordial as possible; with basically the whole executor aiming for the target on your back, you felt like you had to be on your very best behavior all the time. 

“Yea, well in my department, I make the rules and since you carelessly neglected your duties yesterday, I’m giving you the highly acclaimed task of cleaning the restrooms in the communal sector, and once you're done with that I think I’ll give you a task all the way in the bridge” the man smiled a toothy grin before insisting time was “of the essence”.

The cool bathroom floor made you shiver as your knees hit the tile, you went through so much schooling and apprenticeships to do ….this. 

Wonderful.

To make it even better you had to keep the door open because the cleaning chemicals needed to be aired out or else they would be too strong; that gave your whole department the lovely view of your ass bent over the toilets, scrubbing away the grime.

It was humiliating, but what were you going to do? Defy your manager and possibly lose your job? No.

It was bad enough that everyone here seemed to hate you, why would you lose a decent paying job too?

You sighed as you heard some of your co-workers snickering;

“I bet that tile is uncomfortable”

“I wouldn't worry about it, she’s probably used to being on her knees hah!”

Finally, you reached the last stall and you were getting high off of the fumes of the cleaning materials. You felt gross and you were getting a headache, your boss didn’t even give you the health regulated mask to use as you worked with the chemicals. 

You were gathering up the cleaning bottles and rags when you heard the bustling of your office grow silent. That wasn’t normal, usually there were at least a few yappy voices gossiping about some dumb drama within the department. 

You were inclined to peek around the doorway of the bathroom, but you decided not to do anything that could get you yelled at…again.

Suddenly you heard a hushed voice, “He’s coming”.

At that, your senses heightened. Could it be?

Him. 

You had no reason to be excited for his arrival, after all it's not like you were in a fantasy story where he would whisk you away and make you his-

The familiar sound of the steel door sliding to the side filled the bay and in came those heavy boot steps, patterned breathing, and demanding aura. 

Darth Vader was here. 

“My Lord, how may I be of assistance” your boss bowed at the dark figure before him; his face finally cooled down from the bright red it was when he yelled at you earlier.

“I need to speak with one of your mechanics” the Sith spoke, surveying the room. 

“Yes, of course! We can get you someone right awa-’

“You misunderstand, General. I need one specific mechanic” Vader corrected.

“Oh! My apologies, who may you be in search of?” Your boss recovered his mistake, though you could see the redness creeping up the back of his neck again.

“F/N L/N.”

Did you mess up your details yesterday? 

You felt less worried for your safety then you once did because you had shared a few one-on-one moments with the dark lord.

But

His sudden appearance in your wing did confuse you. 

You peeked around the bathroom door’s opening and saw your boss nervously glancing at the bathroom door.

“Ohh, um, of course My lord…. Though might I add, if some repair was done incorrectly I apologize on behalf of the mechanic’s branch… she tends to do faulty work– and we will deal with her accordingl-”

“Quite the contrary, general.”

The-now- red faced man blinked in surprise at the Sith’s words. 

“M-My Lord?” 

He stole another glance back to where you were. 

“What is in the bathroom that is so interesting that you cannot focus on our conversation?” The cloaked figure demanded as he made his way over to where you were. 

Quickly you scurried away from the entrance and went back to cleaning on the other end of the facility; You'd rather not be caught actively eavesdropping.

The Sith stomped into the bathroom with a determination that gave you butterflies. His helmet turned towards you before he commanded you to rise.

Oh… maybe he was frustrated with you.

Your excitement turned into uncertainty as you followed the man out of the restroom.

“Leave the bucket” he added, talking about the pail with all of the cleaning supplies and rags. 

You stepped out of the chemical filled bathroom and inhaled a deep breath of clean air; as you followed the flowing cape of the man in front of you, everyone’s eyes were on you. 

Vader suddenly stopped, causing you to almost run straight into his broad shoulders. 

“Would you care to explain why a mechanic of the empire was wasting time sanitizing the restroom facilities and not a cleaning droid?”

“Well, My Lord, she had not arrived at her posted work station yesterday, so we thought it best to punish her accordingly” Your boss replied with a nervous toothy grin. 

“Who approved that method, General?”

“Well- Umm” the shorter man stammered.

“Because I see no advantages to this situation. More work is delayed and the cleaning is less efficient”

Damn, he really just implied you didn’t know how to clean a toilet.

“Yes, Of course My Lord, My apologies… it will not happen again” Your boss profusely apologized.

“Very well. I am not pleased when workers take their own liberties when abridging protocol on MY ship” The Sith proclaimed irritably. 

The sleazy man cowered and stepped aside, allowing the cloaked Sith passage.

“Y/N, you are to come with me” Vader spoke, without turning to look at you.

Your whole body felt tingly as you walked behind him (and not in the fun tingly way…. More like dread). You weren’t used to him taking a demanding tone with you. 

You followed him out and his squadron followed closely behind you; the hallway was silent except for the shuffle of the trooper’s boots and the man’s breathing. What had you gotten yourself into?

Only around halfway down the hallway the man in front of you suddenly stopped, prompting you to halt abruptly behind him. You were so close that his cape brushed the tip of your nose before you took a few steps back. 

Vader slowly turned his head to the side as if he were sensing something. Was he feeling your fear?

The profile of his mask seemed more and more ominous with every second. 

You were about to ask him what was the matter, but before you could he walked past you back towards where you both just were. 

Were you supposed to follow him? 

He had already entered the room when you caught up with him. You weren't sure what he was doing, but you sure didn’t expect to see him choking your boss in the middle of the room.

The smaller man had no chance as the dark giant held him firmly in his gloved hand. It was almost sad how much your boss was struggling; he kicked his feet and clawed at Vader’s iron fist. 

“Would you care to repeat what you just said, general?” Vader questioned.

All the man could muster was broken chokes and gasps as his face turned bluer by the second.

“First you think you can change protocol and then you have the audacity to insinuate my business with one of your mechanics” he scoffed before dropping the man from his grasp. 

He fell hard with a thud and gasped for air.

Vader straightened his form and took a look around the room at all of the terrified workers.

“Do not be so ignorant as to think I do not hear your childish gossip on my own ship.”

Suddenly you realized what this was all about…

the rumors. 

Of course a mighty sith lord wouldn’t want to be talked about behind their back, especially if people were insinuating they were getting their rocks off, but there was a certain double standard among the men of the galaxy. It was seen as something to be proud of when a man would bed many women or have “sex slaves” (for lack of better terms). 

You really didn’t understand why he was so heated… was it because it was you?

A sudden wave of nausea washed over you; was he only disgusted because they were pairing him with you? Did he think you were that embarrassing to be associated with? 

Vader turned his attention back to the man on the ground.

“Pathetic” he huffed before turning back to the gallery of shocked workers.

“Let him be an example for you all” 

In a swift motion he turned his clench fist and the man’s neck snapped with a sickening crack.

Your eyes widened and you heard others gasp; you had only ever heard of the Sith’s capability, never seen it.

Vader turned on his heel and promptly left the room, strutting down the hall quicker than he was before; you were frozen for a moment, but then you hurried after the Sith. Hopefully what he needed you for would be something less… deadly. 

___________________________

The room was freezing and the fabric of your uniform was not doing much to help with the cold.

After the ordeal at your workplace, Vader brought you to a room that you had not previously seen. In keeping with the rest of the ship, the room was the rich obsidian that you grew accustomed to. There was a large seat in front of the window that beautifully displayed the vast view of space. 

Currently you were seated on a couch that was in front of the chair; much to your surprise it was a pretty comfy one.

None of the troopers entered the room with you and the Sith, so you worried this was it. You were going to die. 

He asked you to take a seat but then disappeared into another connecting room.

In his absence, you recalled all of your interactions with him, trying to figure out what grounds he had to kill you? Nothing you had done was out of line, it was more the mistakes of those around you… but what were you going to do, protest the Sith’s plans? 

You became sad when you reminisced on your feelings for the man… What a fool you were. You really thought that the cold and stoic man liked you. You thought you were connecting with him- and he even allowed you to drop formalities around him-

What went wrong?

You were too naiive, that’s what was wrong. 

Your nerves began to settle a bit when he hadn’t returned, it had been around two hours by now. Whether he wanted to play a cruel waiting game or not was becoming more and more irrelevant to you. 

You were sure your fate was sealed, so what was a few more hours? Plus you had a very emotionally taxing day and your lack of sleep was catching up with you. 

This couch was feeling more and more appealing and your eyelids were getting heavier and heavier…

Maybe a little nap wouldn’t hurt, you would just make sure to set an alarm on your watch for you to wake up. 

yeah… just a quick-

***

a/n: alrightyyy thank you for reading and if you guys have any questions about the pacing of this story or enigma, dont hesitate to shoot me an ask! Love you all :)

taglist: @vadersassistant @sxoulohvn @khaleesihavilliard @kashasenpai @darling-murdock @beautifulbearpolice @salvatoresister1 @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @blueninjablade3 @jujuba096 @missmannequin @jellydodger @mirastark @wyvernthekriger @duckyhowls @monada43 @lauriidoesstuff @vienettacream @ray-rook @itswhatever06

#darth vader #darth vader x reader #vader #anakin x reader #sw darth vader #anakin #darth vader fic #star wars #star wars x reader #anakin x you #darth vader x you #darth vader fanfic #allow me #anakin x y/n #anakin skywalker #sw x reader #star wars fic #sw anakin #sith anakin #anakin skywalker x reader #darth vader x y/n #star wars darth vader #vader x reader #vader x y/n #sw imagine #sw fanfic #star wars x you

[shimejidissertation]

Have you ever wanted to hear two girls talk about two other girls? You're in luck! @friedbreadfast and @therepudiatedimmortals are starting a podcast called shimeji dissertation, discussing shimeji simulation, the widely acclaimed manga by tkmiz fans, with each episode focusing on specific chapters, from start to end.

Any sort of question or contribution you might want to send, our inbox is open! We'll read them during future episodes as they air, and add them to our discussions!

First episode is currently in editing and focuses on the first 2 chapters, with some light discussion of girl's last tour, so any contribution will be added to newer episodes.

We're aiming to have episodes air around every 2 weeks, and will be posting which chapters we're gonna discuss per incoming episode (with episode 2 focusing on chapter 3 and 4,) so people can read along and send any questions or things they'd like to see discussed.

We'll keep posting updates near episode release dates, and we look forward to how far this project can take us.

#shimeji simulation #updates

[undercovercannibal]

PART 1

(I will add links to future parts here once I've finished them)

some of the fics on this list are no longer available on ao3 and can be accessed through links to my own dropbox account instead

under 10k words

dogbirded by ikeracity (@ikeracity) - T | 2,426 words

Charles has been talking to a guy on the Mutant & Proud dating site for the last two months. He's fairly certain he's being catfished because the guy's profile picture is Erik Lehnsherr, famous actor and A-list celebrity, but he's enjoying their conversations all the same. Never in a million years would he ever imagine that he's actually been flirting with Erik Lehnsherr, and that Erik Lehnsherr is actually into him. Because that would never, ever happen in real life...right?

First Impressions by Black_Betty - T | 3,438 words

Charles Xavier, youngest CEO in Xavier Corp history, society darling and playboy philanthropist drops a bombshell when he comes out. Now he just wants to be left alone.

Heli Cases by Black_Betty - E | 5,892 words

"Heli Cases" is a program on PBS whose aim is to educate on the rapidly increasing occurrence of genetic mutation in the general populous by breaking the complex science down into palatable, easy to digest pieces. It is also the only thing that helps Erik get his fussy daughter to fall asleep. (Featuring Dadneto, baby Lorna and the struggles of single fatherhood, and Charles as the host of a late night show about genetics.)

10k+ words

You Show Me Yours by endingthemes - M | 11,141 words

When Erik receives nudes in the middle of the night from an unknown number, he's confused and mildly amused. He doesn't expect it to turn into an actual conversation...with feelings. As if that's not baffling enough, his friend's brother ends up crashing at his place, further complicating everything.

Make a list of everything that's ever been on fire by cm (mumblemutter) - E | Underage, Half-Sibling Incest | 13,155 words

We're brothers, you and I. We want the same thing.

we might just be hollywood material, baby by ikeracity (@ikeracity) and midrashic - T | 15,443 words

Greenkeep was an American animated television series created by Logan Howlett for Toon TV. The series follows mouse scholar Jess (Charles Xavier); his rival, the otter warrior Miska (Erik Lehnsherr); and their cohort of friends and allies as they fight to overthrow the Kingdom of Crows which has occupied their homeland. It aired for six seasons, from February 2003 to June 2009. Greenkeep received critical acclaim for its characters, soundtrack, and exploration of complex themes such as war and free will. It was the first significant project of several prominent actors, including Sean Cassidy, Alex Summers, and Raven Darkhölme, and is also known for its role in introducing Academy Award-winning actor Charles Xavier and his now-husband, director and producer Erik Lehnsherr.

From Westminster With Love by thehoyden - E | 16,152 words

NATO intelligence says there’s an omega-class telepath who sleeps under Westminster. Major Erik Lehnsherr is about to find out the truth for himself.

Made To Be Broken (dropbox) by Yahtzee - E | 18,220 words

Charles makes a New Year's Resolution: "No more straight men," Charles repeated as he began scrolling through the apartment directory for Emma's name. "No more futility. No more pointless hoping and heartbreak. In 2013, I never want to hear the words 'exception,' 'experimenting' or 'phase.' If, God forbid, I hear 'bicurious' even once, I may take a hostage." Then he goes into the party, and Erik is there.

Favorite Mistake by endingthemes - M | 19,266 words

Charles Xavier doesn’t think anything of it when he sneaks out without even saying goodbye to his latest one-night stand. What he doesn’t expect is to walk into his new position in the Xavier Industries marketing department and find that his latest hook-up is now his new boss.

Xmas in Connecticut (dropbox) by Yathzee - T | 19,466 words

In December 1944, the entire nation loves Rebecca Lawrence - "America's Most Beloved Homemaker." Her columns about leading the ideal life in the country help lift people's spirits on the home front during World War II. But when her publisher asks her to host a war hero for Christmas dinner, the world is in danger of learning the truth … which is that "Rebecca Lawrence" is imaginary. Really, she's a combination of Raven's snappy writing and Charles' knowhow in the kitchen. However, this war hero, Erik Lehnsherr, is headed to Connecticut, so Raven and Charles have no choice but to find a way to make the imaginary real - at least, just for Christmas. Charles thinks they can pull it off, at least until he opens the door to see Erik and falls in love at first sight.

Serendipity by humanveil (@humanveil) and yuelle - T | 19,785 words

Charles sends a text to the wrong number. [10:22 AM] Can we meet for coffee? I just got dumped. [10:30 AM] I think you've got the wrong number. [10:31 AM] Unless you make a habit of texting people you don't know about this sort of thing?

20k+ words

Whispers and Tingles by sareyen - E | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | 23,769 words

Erik Lehnsherr is an angry, broke, horny, misanthropic college student. He's always known that audio porn existed, but he never really got into it. But then he discovers the audios made by one smooth-talking, English-accented and infuriatingly filthy (and sweet) ProfessorXXX and, well, he never looked back. Or: Erik is a horny college student who discovers audio porn made by one ProfessorXXX and becomes his #1 fan (and they fall in love)

30k+ words

rooms/shares by pocky_slash - T | 33,140 words

Erik is single, working a cube job he hates, letting his master's degree in mutant studies collect dust, and living on his best friend's couch. When she kicks him out, he's forced to trawl Craigslist for the least-offensive rooming option within his meagre budget. He never expects a response from the persnickety, high maintenance ad he replies to as a joke, but it's possible this too-nice apartment and mysteriously absent roommate might be the answer to all four of his problems.

Plain sight by aesc and pearl_o - E | 37,000 words

When he was eleven years old, Charles ran away and disappeared. Eight years later, as a curious detective begins to notice his traces, Charles thinks he's finally ready to join the real world once more. But as it turns out, learning to be among people again isn't easy -- and his relationship with Erik is perhaps the most complicated of all.

Paper Monsters by Clocks - E | 39,240 words

Charles meets Erik Lehnsherr, his favorite novelist of all time at a coffee shop, but doesn't know it's him, and Erik just criticizes his own writing in front of his biggest fan.

40k+ words

Mutually Beneficial Transaction by Pookaseraph - E | 41,572 words

In his sophomore year at Columbia University, Erik, feeling slowly strangled by his mounting college debt, places an add on a sugar daddies website. He doesn't know exactly what to expect from it, but when he's contacted by a man named Charles who seems less creepy than the other people who have responded to his profile, he decides to give it a shot. Charles is nothing like what he expected, and Erik finds himself slowly falling in love with his sugar daddy while trying to find out exactly what caused this amazing guy to buy his emotional and sexual intimacy when he clearly deserves so much more than that.

Something About Us by obstinatrix and seutedeern - E | Underage | 41,997 words

The old fashioned Strangers-on-a-Train idea has always seemed like an Old Hollywood myth to Charles, who's never really spared any random strangers more than a passing glance during his commutes to and from school. Nobody really meets people like that these days. Except that, now he finds himself looking forward to his morning train ride and the chance to have a chat with the handsome man who only approached him because of the book he was reading.

Bifurcation (dropbox) by spicedpiano - E | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings - medical gore | 47,167 words

Bifurcation - (n.) the splitting of a main body into two parts. In medicine, a single mistake can mean the difference between life and death. For cardiovascular surgeon Charles Xavier, a fatal error leaves him standing at a crossroads … and at the mercy of the man he has not faced since their relationship fell apart thirteen months ago. Dr. Erik Lehnsherr has a fearsome reputation. Due to his incisive autopsy reports, he has gotten more surgeons fired in two years than any other pathologist has managed over an entire career. But when an old enemy returns to Erik's life, he must find a way to temper his pride -- or lose the man he loves, all over again.

50k+ words

April by nextraordinaire - E | 56,219 words

In the sharp, unforgiving plains of the Canadian Arctic, Erik is since long adapted to solitude and silence. Separated from civilization, dedicated to nothing but his research, he has formed a life that suits him. There is nothing he would ever want to change. So, naturally, the arrival of grad student Charles Xavier upends everything Erik ever thought he wanted, for better or for worse.

60k+ words

A Maschine Without Feelings by sareyen - E | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | 65,713 words

A Jane Eyre AU: Small and measured but intelligent and determined, Charles Xavier is a child born into circumstances of hardship; his father died just after he was born and his mother remarried a cruel and hard man, who cast him out to boarding school when he was ten. After a difficult childhood, Charles found employment as a tutor at the grand Ironfield Hall, where he meets its master - the brooding and seemingly cold Mr Lehnsherr. Charles is drawn to the enigma that is Mr Lehnsherr, but mysterious and frightening events begin occurring in Ironfield Hall, threatening to destroy everything Charles has grown to cherish.

70k+ words

Machiavelli Online by KesaKo (unfinished, but the only thing missing is the epilogue which is why I still feel comfortable recommending it) - E | 77,963 words

Charles and Erik are each at the head of a mutant rights student union in their university. As they are known to bicker and argue, everyone assumes they must be enemies. Unbeknownst to all, Erik has in fact a gigantic crush on the extremely flirtatious and extremely straight Charles Xavier, so he decides to set up a female Facebook account to get some dick pics. As usual with Erik, it’s a bad plan.

100k+ words

Strict Machine by euphorbic (only accessible with an ao3 account) - E | Graphic Depictions Of Violence | 150,579 words

When Professor Charles F Xavier accepted a visiting professor position in Arizona, he did so in order to be geographically closer to his sister. What he did not expect to find was the living, breathing specter of the sportbike gang-oriented past he’d been trying to put to rest. A tale of sport bikes, consequences, and sacrifice.

The stars incline us, they do not bind us by ikeracity (@ikeracity) and Pangea - E | Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con | 162,781 words

Intergalactic Federation pilot Lieutenant Charles Xavier is assigned last-minute to a high profile mission: transporting over two thousand prison inmates from an old and overfilled prison complex to a newer, higher-capacity prison stronghold located on the outer reaches of the galaxy. Just as he's settling down for a long and uneventful ride, things take a turn for the worse after the inmates riot and stage a hostile takeover of the ship, leaving Charles to find himself at the complete mercy of cold-blooded killers and facing the chilling prospect that he might not ever make it back home alive.

All the Rest is Rust and Stardust (dropbox) by spicedpiano and tahariel - E | Rape/Non-Con, Underage, Alternate Universe - BDSM – content warnings at the end of each chapter no longer available | 669,812 words

Charles Xavier is the world's preeminent mutant psychologist, called in to consult for the CIA when a raid on a Hellfire Club safehouse discovers a severely abused teenager, Erik Lehnsherr. Taking Erik in soon leads Charles to struggle between his conflicting responsibilities as Erik's guardian and psychologist, and his desire to give in to the dangerous dynamic that is developing between them.

#cherik #cherik fic recs #fic recs #fic rec #otp: bookends of the same soul