#i've been thinking about this more lately since my interactions with them all have become less connected

[from-the-clouds]

bad liars (savior complex ii) - joel miller x f!reader

part one | masterlist | song inspo |

Baby, you're a vampire You want blood and I promised...

summary: It's been a month since Joel has last seen you, fully healed since your last interaction. But you haven't spoken...at all. Your radio silence becomes cause for concern when he hears about an outbreak of Infected at the hospital where you work. There's enough explanation in this part that you could read it on it's own, probably, but I'd highly recommend reading part one first to get the full experience. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7.9k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. (porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, oral, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, age gap. dom/sub dynamics.) Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, canon-typical suffering! Blood mention. Both reader/Joel are insanely emotionally unavailable, and love to lie to themselves and each other! (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: Ya'll loved savior complex and I'm so happy! Literally don't think I've had a fic get that many notes before, i had so many requests for a part two and because it felt like i left things open-ended enough, this came to me pretty easily! It might be the horniest thing I've ever written and also very angsty (what's new?)....but I think you'll like the ending <3 Special to @ay0nha for letting me yell at you about my writing and to @zbeez-outlet for the wonderful idea.

Joel exhales and runs his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair – the tips of which were frozen together from standing outside for so long. It had gotten cold out. Very cold. Boston always did this time of year, and because of it, people stayed in, and crime in the QZ dropped, making it a safer place - though that wasn’t saying much. 

Of course, the cold didn’t stop him from dealing. It did make his job a hell of a lot more difficult, since FEDRA was bored, out looking for trouble, and didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to. Although today, he must’ve been in luck, because the only sign of FEDRA had been helicopters and tanks that were clearly on a mission, driving to the opposite side of the QZ. Good, he had thought. A distraction. 

Joel leans back against the brick wall of the alleyway, pulling the hood of his jacket up over his ears, stares at the ice in the cracks of the pavement. When he hears the crunch of gravel underfoot, he straightens.

The man approaching looks nervously over his shoulder, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his flimsy sweatshirt. Dave, a customer of his for some time. 

“You’re late,” Joel doesn’t bother with a proper greeting.

“I know, I know, I got held up on my way here,” Dave answers, immediately beginning his excuse. “They cleared out the hospital because of an outbreak, that whole area was locked down so I had to take the long way.”

“Outbreak?” Joel tilts his head.

“Infected. I guess a bunch of hospital staff got bit. FEDRA had to go in and put them all down.” 

Joel feels a distant pang of concern somewhere in the back of his head. “How many?”

Dave shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know, man, that’s all I know. It’s not like they’ll ever tell anyone what actually happened.”

Joel can’t help but think of you. He knows a couple people who work at the hospital, most of them through smuggling, but you’re the only one who he’s really able to bring to mind at the moment.

“So, can we, uh…”

Joel pulls the plastic baggie out from his pockets, fishing out the pills. On his end, Dave produces a wad of credits, his shoulders sagging in relief once they’ve made the trade and the drugs are in his hand. He takes one immediately, shoves the rest in his pocket. “Thanks man, I’ll see you next week?”

Leaning back against the wall, he nods, and watches his customer disappear down the alleyway. 

The second Dave is out of sight, Joel’s chest tightens, and he takes a deep breath. There’s no reason why news of Infected at the hospital should concern him. If FEDRA had been called in – they would’ve gunned down anything that moved until it was under control. He knew, better than anyone, that they would do unspeakable things in the name of keeping order. Innocent people probably died, but the dead can’t get infected.

It had been about a month since Joel had last seen you, after he’d gotten beaten within an inch of his life and ended up on your doorstep, and you were the only person that could help. It hadn’t gone at all how he expected it would – at the end of the day, he had been surprised by your tenderness. 

Still, despite that you’d let him take you on the edge of your bed, legs wrapped around him, bouncing on his cock, he wouldn’t really say that it changed anything about your relationship. He had actually been kind of afraid that it would, that your attitude towards him would shift to something more amicable.

But you hadn’t spoken to him in a month. Joel had told you he owed you one after you stitched him up, and had anticipated that you’d take him up on his offer pretty quickly. There were so many things he could do for you to make your situation better. Maybe you’d need credits…. Medicine…. Food…. Booze… Pills, something, but you haven’t reached out. You could just be biding your time until you really need the favor.

Still, the radio silence takes him aback. He should be relieved that you aren’t talking to him. But nothing? Even if it’s not about a favor…he wants some kind of confirmation that you’d both made a mistake. After all that, did you really expect nothing from him?

It dawns on him there’s now a chance you’ll never speak to him again, because you’re one of the ones that FEDRA killed. Or worse….you had gotten bit. 

Joel passes by the hospital, taking the long way home. Everything is locked down, taped off. There’s a crowd around the place – family members, he assumes, pleading with FEDRA agents for information and getting nothing in return.

“Go home. I’m sure they’ll turn up,” he hears one of them say to a weeping woman. It’s useless to ask for an honest answer, for one of them to actually care. 

Joel could go home. He could crush a couple pills, snort them, and quell the burn with a couple drinks. He could fall into restless sleep and wake up the next day as he always did, go about his business as usual. Survive. One day at a time. 

Would he ever get confirmation that you’re alive? Because at this rate, he’s not sure he’ll ever know either way. 

The feeling is going to linger. He hates it. Were you gone? If you are, he can handle knowing. Its somehow worse not to. 

He tries to justify it to himself. You’re one of his solid connections to the hospital, you’d traded with him for medical supplies before. This is business, really, if he thinks about it that way. If you’re dead, he and Tess need to find someone else to work with. 

Joel decides to take a detour on the way back to his place.

It’s past curfew when he arrives at your apartment, the sun has long since dipped below the horizon and with that comes an even harsher cold. Boston winters, he thinks to himself. If he is capable of missing anything, he’d say he missed Texas. Before all this, the last place he’d be caught dead was on the East Coast. 

Joel raps on your front door. He forgets how shitty your building is, that you sleep here alone every night, listening to your neighbors arguing through the thin walls, shady characters slinking out of shadows in the dimly-lit hallway,

A few seconds pass. When he hears nothing behind your door, he knocks again, a little louder. 

More time passes. He knocks again, louder. Maybe you didn’t hear him. 

Nothing. He does it again. Could you be asleep? His jaw clenches.

Still nothing, and Joel knocks even louder. Maybe you’re not even here, and you work nights, and he’s just missed you as you head out for another shift. But he knows that’s unlikely. Since he’s known you, you’ve never worked nights. So where the fuck were you?

Joel’s pounds on your door, yells your name into its chipping paint. He listens for something, anything, on the other side, and there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, but he keeps going The side of his fist starts to hurt, but he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he hears one of your neighbors yelling from the end of the hallway. 

‘Shut the fuck up!’

Joel doesn’t hear exactly where the voice comes from, but it’s enough to snap him out of it. He halts his movements, his forehead falling against hollow wood, and in the silence, hears his heart pounding in his ears. 

“Fuck!” he kicks the wall just outside the frame of your door so hard the drywall gives, leaving a hole behind. “Fuck.”

He stares at the result of his outburst for an undetermined amount of time. You were all alone. To his knowledge, you had no immediate family to inform. Who would be around to remember you? He’d never really know for sure what had happened. 

“Joel?”

He looks up, his hands still clenched tightly into fists. When he sees that it’s you, standing at the end of the hallway, they loosen. 

You look horrible - haggard, tired, your hair tangled and matted. As you move closer to him, he doesn’t miss the way your shoulders are hunched underneath the weight of your backpack. But once you’re standing in front of him, you straighten, lift your chin. 

“What is this?” you ask. “What are you doing here?”

There’s no animosity in your tone, he thinks. You might be trying to put some in there, but you don’t have the energy to do so, so it just comes out sounding very flat.

Joel realizes, suddenly, that he doesn’t have a reason. A real reason that wouldn’t….give him away. He puts his hands on his hips, thinks desperately. You do nothing to help.

When he settles in silence, offers you nothing, you just sigh and shake your head. Your teeth are chattering, lips cracked from the cold, and you seem desperate to get into shelter, twisting your key into your lock and opening the front door. Once you step inside, you flick on the lights. He follows you, closes the door behind you both, and locks it.

“Oh, yeah, come on in, I guess,” you say over your shoulder. 

Joel crosses his arms, standing in your kitchen. 

“What, am I in trouble or something?” you ask. “Because if I am, you’re gonna have to wait until I’ve showered.”

“It can wait,” Joel says, and sits at one of your kitchen chairs. 

You shrug off of your backpack and leave it on a chair, then unbutton your coat, tossing it on top. Joel swallows hard when he sees the damage it’s been hiding. Your scrubs are dirty, tattered in some places, one of the sleeves hanging, partially ripped off. And they’re covered in dried blood. It’s smeared on your arms, on the back of your neck. Not yours, he hopes. 

What the fuck happened to you? You don’t turn to see his reaction, don’t look over your shoulder to see if he’s going to ask about it. It’s almost like he’s not even there, and you clearly wish he isn’t. 

He realizes then, that he has the confirmation he’s looking for. You made it out alive. He doesn’t actually need anything else from you. And you’ve given him a perfect out. He can leave while you’re in the shower. 

But he doesn’t. Not when he hears the shower start, or the screech of the curtain across the metal rod, the sound of water hitting the basin. He stays there, motionless, until you duck out of the bathroom with your arms wrapped around yourself, wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants, hair damp and teeth chattering. 

You pad with bare feet onto the tiled area of the kitchen, brushing past him. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asks. 

You finally look at him, like you’re surprised he spoke up, or even asked the question. A choked, bitter laugh leaves you, and you shift your attention away from him, reaching into your cabinet for a bottle of bourbon. “Pass.”

You pour yourself a whiskey, and Joel watches you throw it back in one go, your nose scrunching up, your hand clasping into a fist as you take the shot. The taste doesn’t stop you from pouring another drink and gulping that one down, too, without as much of a reaction as the first. It’s only when you start pouring the third that he intervenes, standing and crossing the room to cover the glass with his hand before you can grab it. 

“Slow down,” he says.

“I know you’re not telling me what to do in my own home.” Your mouth opens as you look up at him, incredulous. 

Joel looks past you, shakes his head. He supposes your right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch the self-destructive behavior, which is funny considering how often he engages in it himself. He gives in, removes his hand from your glass. “At least…pour me one. You shouldn’t drink alone.”

Your expression softens slightly, and he’s able to see all the pain you’re hiding, just for a flash, before you turn to retrieve a second glass from your cabinet. 

Once you hand him the whiskey, he sits in the middle of the tiny loveseat you’ve got in your front room, expecting you to sit in the armchair across from it. Instead, you approach with your own drink, nudge his knee with your own, and Joel slides over to make room so you can fall onto the couch beside him. Much closer than he’d expected. 

It’s surprisingly good bourbon, and he wonders how many times you’d wasted it by downing it like you just had, instead of taking your time, savoring. He waits for you to get settled before he speaks again.

“What happened to you?” he tries once more, a little softer this time. 

There’s some contemplation on your end, you look at him for a moment, then at your glass, then back up at him again. He can almost see you trying to figure out how much you’re going to share, but he wants to know everything.

“There was an accident at the hospital,” you answer, finally. 

Joel slings his arm over the back of the couch, angles his body towards where you’re curled up, legs tucked underneath you. I’m listening.

Your voice stays even, blase. “A guard at the border broke protocol…and someone who was infected was brought in. By the time we realized, it was too late….”

“Were you hurt?” 

“Almost.” you say. “I mean, yes, actually, I’m a little scratched up, but…it’s not as bad as it could’ve been.”

Your teeth start chattering again. Joel wonders if it’s because of the cold, or your nerves. Figures it’s probably both.

“My coworker turned and I uhm….I had to…” you say into your glass, your free hand flexing like it’s trying to shake off some unpleasant muscle memory. “I had no choice.”

“I understand,” For whatever reason, he spares you from telling the story. To him, taking down Infected was nothing. But to you…“What else?” he presses.

You shrug, avoiding his eyes, one of your arms coming to grip at your opposite shoulder. “I can’t really remember. A bunch of people died. FEDRA came in and just started gunning everything down….” you shook your head, and straightened up.

“I heard about that,” Joel offers.

“Wait…you knew about this?”

“Yeah.”

“So then why are you here, asking m-” the rest of your sentence drops off, your lips parted slightly. The look on your face shifts, slowly. Your eyes narrow. Remorse turns into something more neutral, then into curiosity. “Oh my god….you were worried about me.”

“No.”

“Yes, you fucking were,” your lips curl slightly, it’s not quite a smile, but it’s something close to amusement. 

“No,” Joel defends himself. “I wanted to hear what happened from someone–”

“No you didn’t,” you interject, but he raises his voice to finish his thought.

“–who actually works there, not FEDRA’s propaganda.”

“No you did not. You’re checking up on me. You came over here after curfew to see if I was–”

“Enough,” Joel growls with enough conviction that it shuts you up, and he’s grateful, but its not enough to wipe the self-satisfied look on your face, because it doesn’t.

“What are we, like, friends now?”

He doesn’t answer, and slugs back the rest of his whiskey.

“Or would that be too much for you?” You don’t wait long for him to give you an answer, probably because you know he won’t respond. “I mean, if we’re both being honest–” He definitely wasn’t being honest. “–Today was really fucked up.”

You’re leaning forward now, some of the space between you is gone. And though you’re trying to give the impression that you’re unphased by everything, your hand is clenched tightly around your glass, and you avoid his eyes. It’s painful to watch you resist the urge to trust him. Not that he’s ever given you a good enough reason to – he knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he wants it anyways.

“It’s funny…” you say after a while. “I remember thinking that I didn’t want to die. At least… not like that. I’ve never felt that before…That’s something, isn’t it?” you ask him. 

Joel looks at you, and is surprised at the vulnerability in your expression, sees you looking for some kind of validation from him. “....It is.” 

You finish off your drink, and put the empty glass on the coffee table, shift closer to him.

“It looks like you healed up okay,” you say, after a spell. “How’s your shoulder?”

“A little sore, nothing I can’t handle.”

“Did you take those antibiotics?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And I can’t even tell you had a black eye.”

“I’m fine,” Joel asserts. 

Another shiver wracks your body, and he can tell this one is actually from the chill – your apartment is cold as fuck, it even is starting to bother him. 

“Don’t you have a heater?”

“Kinda,” you glance over at the radiator in the corner. “Sometimes it works.”

“What do you do when it’s colder than this?” It was only November, things would only get worse. 

You shrug. “I don’t know….just be colder, I guess.”

Joel imagines you curled up in your bed alone, wrapped in a thin comforter, shaking in front of him like you are now. He winces. 

“How long are you going to stay?” you ask, changing the subject.

“I should probably go now.”

You nod, scoot closer. “But maybe…” you trail off, contemplating. 

Joel sits up straighter, prompting you when you don’t speak again. “Maybe what?”

“Maybe you could stick around for a little while longer.” There’s a warm hand, yours, that lands on his thigh, and he recoils like you’ve touched him with a fire iron. He rises to his feet. 

“Hey,” you stand along with him, step in front of him to block the pathway to the door. He could easily get past you, obviously, but it’s not as simple as that. 

Of course he’s fucking thought about what happened the last time he was here – his arms around your waist, his mouth on your neck, your chest, your hands on his shoulders, whining his name. A freak accident, a glitch in the matrix, a statistically improbable thing. 

“What?” he asks as you step forward, the fingers on your free hand sliding into the belt loops of his pants. He feels blood rush to his cheeks, to other places. And you’re still fucking shivering. You look so fucking miserable, he wants to yell at you to put on a coat, to wrap yourself in a blanket, in his arms. 

“Joel,” you say his name softly, tilting your head up, leaning close. And then your hand is on the side of his face, and he realizes you’re fucking pleading with him. He knows what you want, but he has a feeling this isn’t just about sex. You’re looking for comfort, as if he’s capable of giving it. 

“We made a mistake…once,” he tells you. “We’re not going to make it again.”

He says it to hurt you, but it doesn’t work. It’s like you knew it was coming all along. “I knew what I was doing,” you answer, earnest. “Didn’t you?”

Yes. You glance down at his hands, which are squeezed into fists so tightly, his knuckles are white. If he’s not rigid, he’s not sure how he’ll be able to resist. He wants you. God, he wants you. He never thought he’d be able to have you again. 

“I could help you loosen up.”

Joel’s walking on the edge of a one-thousand foot cliff and hoping his foot slips. He wants to surrender. The only thing he thinks might save him is to say the meanest thing he can. Maybe you’d get turned off.

“Listen to yourself,” he says, finding the strength to meet your eyes. “You want me so bad, you sound pathetic.”

“Asshole,” you step closer, your mouth twitches, your lips are inches apart. “Do you think I care what you think about me?”

Joel realizes his plan has backfired. But he really only has himself to blame, he should’ve known better. With you, he’s never in as much control as he wants to be, and deep down, he likes it. 

“Go lie down on the bed.”

It’s the only thing that seems to shock you. “What?” 

“I won’t ask you again,” Joel steps backwards, crosses his arms. “Go lie down.” 

──────

If you told yourself a couple months ago that one day you’d find yourself pinned down by Joel Miller, you’d think it’d be because he was about to kill you. Maybe because you cheated him out of something, maybe because you did something else to piss him off – it didn’t really matter. Regardless of how fucked up it was, that idea would seem more dignified than what was happening now. 

Your back is being pressed deeper into the lumpy old mattress, and he’s on you. His mouth is warm, hot, wet, and dragging down your neck, nipping, sucking, licking. Your hands are itching to reach out, to skate down his torso, trace along his jawline, tug at his hair, but you can’t because he’s got them pinned above you with only one of his own. Anytime you try to fight him, his grip only grows stronger. 

It was shameful, really, but you had asked for this – begged for it, basically. There were a number of reasons why – one of which was to blow off some steam after a near death experience, the other because you’d fucked him before and it had been good, much to your dismay. There was also a third reason that you weren’t interested in acknowledging now. 

After the night Joel had gotten jumped, and you’d taken care of him, everything has changed. It’s a cliche, but true. You’d known what you were doing when it happened, and had no regrets. But it was probably not supposed to happen again, and you tried to keep it that way, more for his sake than anyone else’s. But….he was the one who showed up tonight after he’d heard what had happened. It wasn’t nothing.

Joel pulls away from you so abruptly that you gasp, shivering in the wake of his impossible warmth. 

“Sit up,” he instructs, and you turn to find him at the end of the bed, arms crossed. 

You obey, mostly just for the view. You hope to admire him, fresh from kissing you – flush skin, wet lips, tousled hair. Only he’s frustratingly stoic, unsullied – like he hadn’t been touching you at all. 

“Look at me,” he says, and you do. 

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s nothing,” you agree. 

“I won’t be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle.”

“Good,” you watch his shoulders loosen, just a little, and he takes one step backwards, his eyes tracing down your body and then back up. “Strip for me….” 

You aren’t dressed sexy at all, you remember, a sweatshirt and sweatpants. If you had thought this through a little more, you might’ve tried to make it nicer for him. “....Okay.”

“Start with your shirt,” he says, and you grab at the hem, but he snaps at you. “Ah-ah….slower.”

You swallow, nod, and carefully lift the fabric, dragging it up over your stomach, over the swell of your breasts, revealing your tight, thin white tank top. 

“That’s it, nice and slow.” 

Joel’s voice is soft but stern, a low rasp that makes your cunt clench around nothing, and he’s not even touching you. The sweatshirt is pulled over your head, falling somewhere on the crumpled bedspread. 

Languidly, you lean back, shifting your weight to get off the mattress, and Joel palms himself through his jeans. You can see where he’s straining against the denim, and you find it hard to tear your gaze away as you go to pull off your sweatpants. Joel stops you again. 

“Turn around.”

You do, and you’re sure he has a nice view of your ass as you slide them over your hips, bending over to let the fleece pool around your ankles. Slowly, you rise back up, looking at him over your shoulder for approval. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs. Your stomach flips. A month ago, you would’ve done anything to get him to stay away from you, and now, you’re terrified to disappoint him. 

That’s the problem. You’d spent most of the day fighting for your life — literally. But even after standing behind a barricade of heavily-armed FEDRA soldiers outside the hospital, you didn’t feel as safe as you did when you saw Joel at your door. You need him. For now, at least.

“Now the shirt,” he tilts his head towards the mattress, nodding encouragingly.

You get back on the bed, sitting back on your heels, and begin to pull the tank top up. It’s your last layer up top, you’re not wearing a bra, and you’re feeling a little vulnerable with him just watching you, fully clothed and composed, your gaze falling down to look at the threadbare linens. 

“Eyes up,” he instructs. “Look at me.”

Taking in a shaky inhale, you do. It’s not easy. Everything about him looks dark, animalistic. A coiled ball of energy, waiting to pounce.

But, even when you’re bare before him, he doesn’t. 

“Lie back, close your eyes.”

Of course, you don’t refuse, settling your head against the pillows. 

There’s a sound of a belt – his belt, unbuckling, the snap of a button, the dip of the bed where he kneels when he comes to hover over you. Two hands land on top of your thighs, pressing the backs against his denim-clad knees, thumbs pushing your legs further apart. 

And then…nothing. He’s still. He’s still for so long, that you actually think that something’s wrong. When you open your eyes, you’re met with a view of the underside of his jaw. You can just make out the pinched expression he’s wearing as he looks down upon you. Disdain, maybe…but it’s not meant for you, it’s for someone else….him.

“Joel,” you murmur. Instinctually, you reach for his hand.

The second it makes contact, he smacks your hand away so hard your whole body jolts. “I told you to close your eyes.”

“Sorry,” you mumble quickly, closing them again. 

You are well aware that he’s actively working through shit, probably doing some kind of mental gymnastics to rationalize why it’s okay to fuck you again, which, when you really think about it is kind of….pathetic. It’s the only thing that makes you feel any sort of power in a situation where you’ll surrender everything else. It’s a fair exchange. 

Maybe, on a different day, you would want it softer. You’d like to think he’s capable of that, even though he seems determined he isn’t. Luckily, you don’t want it softer. After today, you want to be so far gone you can’t think. 

Joel answers by leaning down and catching you in a bruising kiss. Finally. You press yourself against him cause you’re freezing and he’s so warm, and you frantically begin to unbutton the flannel he’s wearing, making it about halfway down before he pins your hands above you again.

“Slow down.”

You whine, a little frustrated because all you want to do is touch him. The fingers on his free hand hook around the elastic of your underwear, and he starts to drag them over the curve of your ass. 

He’s got to be joking with how deliberately he’s moving, anticipation only building underneath his featherlight touches.

When he’s got your panties around your ankles, you slide your legs together so he can pull them off entirely, keeping them closed as his weight shifts, and your thighs are pulled back apart.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he doesn’t need to feel you to see it clear as day, with you spread open in front of him. “So fucking desperate.”

He’s all-but glaring at you, like you’ve done something wrong, and for a minute, your eyes flick away, just for a second of relief from the tension.

“What, are you embarrassed?” he asks. 

“N-no,” you stammer, though it was supposed to sound confident. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t press you, his head dipping down to press his lips to your knee, then an inch higher, then an inch higher, then higher – keeping his eyes locked on yours the whole time, an arm winding around your thigh.

“I wanted to do this last time.” A confession. 

“Yeah?” you sigh, trembling. It’s maybe the nicest thing he’s said to you, but you can’t even acknowledge it, because you’re buzzing.

He turns his face, his beard scraping along sensitive skin. “Mhm,” his deep rasp vibrates directly to your cunt, and when his head dips down, you close your eyes – it might just be better to focus on only one sensation at a time, you’re not sure you can handle seeing what he’s about to do.

Joel’s mouth is on you the second you do, and you gasp. He licks up the seam of your lips, mouth latching around your clit, swirling with his tongue, and back down – firm, determined, practiced. You try to buck up, but he has an arm locked around your hips. 

He removes himself from you just enough to utter two words. “Stay still.”

You want to protest, but you realize that he’s let go of your hands, and it gives you the opportunity to thread your fingers into his hair, while you dig your heels into the broad expanse of his back, and he groans, tongue curling into you. 

“I’ve thought about this,” you gasp, answering his earlier admission.

“When?”

“At night. More than once.”

“Fuck,” Joel growls, and you wheeze when he works one finger into you, forcing you to take it along with his next words. “You know how fuckin’ bad that is? Dreamin’ about a man nearly twice your age?”

“I d-don’t care, I want you anyway. Y-you can do whatever you want to me,” It’s too early to be past the point of speaking coherently, it really is, but you’re already there. 

“F-fuck,” Joel repeats himself, and pushes another finger inside you next to the first, the stretch almost uncomfortable, but quickly fading to pleasure. “I’m going to.”

You’re not the going to tell him, though, that he’s the first man whose ever gone down on you, because you’re a little fucking scared for some reason. It’s intimate, very intimate, more than you expected. 

The truth is, you weren’t actually very experienced at all. You could count on one hand the number of partners you’d had, and still not use all of your fingers. While some of them were good enough, they all paled in comparison to Joel. There had never been anyone like Joel. 

His fingers curl as his tongue swirls around your clit and you cry out, inhale sharply. Minute by minute, you’re getting wetter and wetter – can hear yourself with each twist of his fingers inside you, bearing down on him. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he grunts, and your eyes flutter open just for a second, just to see his forehead, dark eyes staring back at you, and his hips dipping, rutting against the mattress. God he’s getting himself off to this. As hot as it is, the thought of not getting to feel him inside you causes a rush of anger. 

“F-feels so good,” you’re right there, already, and it’s pitiful.

“I know, baby, I know,” he says. “You’re already so close, aren’t you?”

Instead of answering, you just nod, gasping. Joel works you right up to the precipice, hands tightening in his hair, hips lifting off the bed – and then he slows a little –  just enough – to pull you back off the edge, and you let out a humiliating sob.

“Shhh!” he hisses with his mouth still on you, resuming the steady pace he had going. A little sigh of relief when you feel your release approaching again. He just lost his rhythm for a moment, it was nothing.

Again, he’s got you right there, you’re so close, hips jerking, breathing in short, sharp pants, something molten working its way up your spine. “Joel, that’s it, please I-”

He falters again – just enough. And it’s gone again.

You realize, with dismay, that he knows exactly what he’s doing. He hadn’t lost his rhythm. He’s doing this on purpose. 

If someone asked – not that anyone would – you wouldn’t be able to recall how long he keeps you in that state, being dragged and dangled, but denied the privilege of falling. It’s torture. 

And at first, you try to be patient. You figure he’ll grow tired, desperate, and eventually want to move on. But apparently, he doesn’t want to move on. He’s content to keep you this way for as long as he sees fit, and you can’t handle it any longer. It’s starting to hurt.

“Please, Joel, let me-” you gasp.

“Let you what?” he pulls back from you, frustratingly too soon, once again.

“Let me come, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please, please-”

“Just a little longer,” he dismisses you.

All you can do is pant and writhe, completely at his mercy. He keeps going like that, and you’ve stopped trying to filter yourself, the sounds he makes as he laves at you are obscene, you can see yourself glistening on his chin, and can feel the sheets damp beneath you. At this point, he’s enjoying this more than you are.

“Joel,” you plead with him again. “It’s too much, I c-can’t. Just, please I really need-”

“You wanna come for me, baby?” he asks. You nod ferociously. 

“Yes, please, please,” 

“You’re so fucking sweet when you beg, you know that? ” he murmurs. “Wish you were like this all the time.”

“Fuck off,” you manage, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. You should do this to me more often. 

Joel chuckles, and it vibrates just right, his fingers curling again and you moan, hands tightening in his hair. He’s focused now, you can tell because the constant stream of filth he’s been whispering has finally stopped. He’s persistent.

You’re unable to stay quiet, continuing to whimper just like that and please don’t stop over and over. And then all at once, every muscle in your body grows tense and you cry out, cunt pulsing around him so tightly that his fingers slow. “There you go, pretty girl, that’s it.” 

You whisper his name as he continues to fuck his fingers into you, riding you through your orgasm and licking up the mess you’ve made. 

At some point in the aftermath, Joel withdraws from you, and you hear the sting of his zipper. It takes a moment, but you’re able to see him through heavily lidded eyes, kneeling in front of you with his shirt unbuttoned all the way, pants around his ankles, jerking himself slowly in his hand. God he’s fucking huge, how had you forgotten about that? He’s a vision, beard still wet with you, looking down, watching your chest rise and fall. In that moment you realize two things. One, even though you’ve already come, you somehow want him even more than you had before, and two, you’ve never wanted to suck a dick so bad in your life. 

So you sit up, crawl towards him, and reach out with one hand to take him in your palm. He lets you, sighing, closing down his eyes. First, you have to kiss him, so you rise to your knees, and he pulls you into his arms, one of them winding around your waist, the other coming to rest at the small of your back. “You take such good care of me,” you whisper. 

He grimaces at the words like they’re an insult. You expect him to retaliate, to tell you that you shouldn’t say that sort of thing, but he never does. So you kiss him, gently, bringing your free hand to the side of his face. Once again, he lets you, and you taste yourself when his tongue presses into you mouth. You run your thumb over the head of his cock, and he hums against your touch, almost contentedly.

You’re doing whatever you want to him, and you’re shocked he hasn’t put a stop to it. It could be satisfying enough, you think, just to keep kissing him like this. Still, you sink back towards the bed to test things further. You’re about to wrap your mouth around him, but he pulls you off by your hair, so quickly, so hard that you yelp.

“No.” he says firmly. “Lie back.”

“But I just wanted to-”  

“No.” 

You consider trying to reason with him, but decide it won’t be worth whatever he’d do if you continue to argue.

Joel braces himself with one hand above your shoulder, the other wrapped around his cock, slowly teasing you by rubbing himself up and down a few times, before he gives in, finally pushing into you.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp at the stretch, reaching out grasp at his bicep, arching your back. He’d prepped you, and it was still too much. 

“You can take it,” he says, pressing deeper into you. His hips are all the way flush with yours, he’s to the hilt, and he still snaps them even further, once, holding you there, so deep, you feel like you’re choking on him. “See? There you go.”

It seems like you can’t quite catch your breath, and you squirm underneath him for some kind of friction, some kind of relief from how intense it all is. You can feel him throbbing inside you, feel how badly his own body is begging him to move, but he doesn’t. 

“Joel,” you cradle the back of his head, look him in the eyes. “Move, please.”

He doesn’t answer, he just brings his hand to grip your jaw, his thumb and forefinger pressing into the soft flesh of your cheeks. 

“Please?” you murmur again, and his thumb slips into your mouth, silencing you. You suck on it obediently, and after you do, he finally gives you what you want.

──────

Joel told you he wouldn’t be gentle, and he isn’t. 

He hadn’t been able to do this last time. Taste you, spread you open, fuck you properly. His hips snap against yours – ferociously, unrelenting, over and over. You’ve been going at it for awhile now, and he actually wants you to break. He wants you to tell him to slow down, to be a little more tender, not press into you so deep, so hard, so that if he listens, it wouldn’t mean he’s breaking his own promise. He’s got to be rough with you, because he’s afraid of what could happen if he’s not.

But you don’t break. You fucking take it, take him, each time, again and again, your nails digging into arms, your legs locked around his hips. Each time he delves into you, you’re getting wetter and wetter, and yet, you’re still so fucking tight. He doesn’t understand it. It’s been a long fucking time since he’s been with a woman like you – and you might be the best he’s ever had. 

You’re not even making any noise – you’re just panting, gasping in Joel’s ear as you cling to him, and that’s all. He can’t even look you in the eyes. If he does, he knows you’ll see everything that’s wrong with him, and still beg for him to give you more. 

Two hands land on either side of his face, turning his head so you can kiss him. Despite how he’s treating you, you keep trying to connect, to ground yourself. For as much as he wants to refuse, it feels too cruel to deny you. He lets you lock your lips with his own, feels your cunt clutch him even tighter. It’s impossible for you to kiss for more than a few seconds at a time without it getting broken up by a whimper here and there. You’re getting close again, he’s started to get better at recognizing it.

“You’re fucking so perfect on me, baby, you feel that?” he asks, and you nod, breathless. “Taking me so well, such a good fucking girl-”

A gasp from you cuts him off, your eyes squeezing shut as you are taken over by your climax. Joel groans and does everything he can not to come when you start pulsing around him, holding him closer, since there’s nothing else to do. It’s way too intimate…because it’s missionary, and he should’ve known better than to start off like this. 

Pulling out of you is the hardest thing he’s had to do in a while, and he ignores your noises of protest now that he’s left you empty. Then, he flips you onto your stomach. He takes a moment to admire the curve of your ass, how it dips into your waist….to him, your body is perfect, and you’re young, your skin still supple and smooth. There are still places he hasn’t gotten his mouth on, and it’s a shame, he thinks, but tonight his patience is wearing thin. Joel pulls you back until you’re on your knees, and slides back inside. There’s a little resistance, you whimper, but it’s easier than the first time. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other across your chest, and starts to jerk his hips upwards, into you. 

“Oh fuck, Joel,” you sigh in relief.

“I know, I know.”

You drop your head back until it falls against his shoulder, winding your arm back so you can pull at his hair, which kind of fucking hurts, but he likes it. 

Ultimately, you’re pretty easy to please, and it’s not long before he feels the telltale flutter of your walls as you drip down over him, soaking his lap. 

“You’re making a fucking mess, baby. You gonna come for me again?”

All you can do is plead with him. “I can’t, Joel. I can’t do it again, please just-”

“Yes, you can,” he interjects. “I know you can, baby, don’t worry…I’ll help you.”

“O-okay.’ 

He slows the roll of his hips just a little, focuses on deeper, longer strokes, and lets the hand that’s currently squeezing one of your tits fall to where your bodies are joined, finding your clit immediately.

You whine, arching back against him, the swell of your ass packed against his lower stomach. He sees a single tear leaking from the corner of your eye and feels a little guilty for what he’s doing to you. Only a little, though. 

Without any warning, for the third time, you’re coming around him – easier than the last time, like always – and he uses the feeling of you throbbing around him to chase his own release, his hand clapping over your mouth to muffle your moans as he becomes increasingly frantic. 

He turns his head, rakes his teeth along your exposed neck, and sinks them into your pulse point with a groan. Your breath is hot against him when you whimper in response. 

“Just a little more, honey.” He’s so close. You bob your head, though you’ve nearly gone limp in his arms.

Like last time, Joel knows it’s a bad idea, but he’s not going to pull out. The thought of deliberately coming inside you is actually what sends him over the edge, and he’s cursing and moaning your name. You whine at the feeling of him pulsing inside of you, arching back for more, even though he can tell you’re exhausted. 

It’s fucking freezing in your apartment, and yet, his skin is damp with sweat when he finally regains some awareness of his surroundings. He’s panting, you’re sniffling, a weak smile on your face as you catch your breath. Before he can stop himself, he presses his lips to your cheek. 

Joel tilts you both forward – very tentatively, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist. At some point, your hand settled over top of his, and you threaded your fingers between his own, holding his hand across your stomach. You keep it there, even after you’ve settled onto the bed.  

It takes a few minutes before either of you move, but it’s you who gives in first, wriggling out from where he’s got you trapped partially underneath him. 

You retreat to the bathroom, like you did last time. Somewhere during your coupling the linens have slid down the bed, and Joel settles back against the pillows, throwing an arm behind his head.  Now that he’s stopped sweating, he’s just cold, and he reaches to pull the bedspread over him. He should leave, he thinks, before you come out and ask him to. Beat you to the punch. Maybe while you’re still in the bathroom. 

A few minutes later, and you return from the bathroom, dressed again in sweats. He hears you pour yourself a glass of water, gulping it down. You flick off the lamp on your bedside table, and fall into bed next to him, lying rigidly on your back. He should reach out, pull you against him, let you settle in his arms. Instead, Joel rolls over on his side. 

It’s terrible how beautiful you are, he thinks, watching you stare up at the ceiling, hugging yourself. So beautiful, and fucking smart. You’re strong, too, but not as strong as he wishes you were. Of course, no one could ever be that strong.

He whispers your name. You turn your head, pupils still blown wide with lingering lust.

“You need to learn to defend yourself, to shoot a gun, to fight,” he says. “After today.”

“What?” you roll to face him. 

“You said you didn’t want to die,” Joel continues. “So you need to learn. ‘Case something like that happens again.”

“Oh yeah? Lemme guess, you’re gonna teach me?” your voice is a little hoarse after what he’d done to you, and you smirk at him.

“Yes.” It sobers you up, that he’s not fucking with you, or giving you a hard time. “I owe you, remember?” 

“You do.” 

“So…. I’ll teach you.” 

“....Okay.” 

“Alright.”

Joel rolls over to his opposite side, and you’re left staring at his back. Arms wrapped around 

himself in a tight hug, he waits for you to tell him to go.

You never do. 

Instead, he feels the heat of your body as you curl up against him, slotting one of your legs between his own. Your hand grazes up his ribs, over his bicep – a gentle, quick massage – before you tuck your arm underneath his own, your palm flat against his heart. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, frozen at how tender the embrace is. It’s a foreign feeling, he can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this. 

The tip of your nose hits the nape of his neck, and he can feel your shuddery exhale.

“I’m cold,” you say, like it’s obvious, lips brushing featherlight against his skin. “And if you’re staying, you might as well make yourself useful.”

He can’t roll over and wrap his arms around you. He can’t kiss your forehead or play with your hair or murmur into your ear. He can’t offer you anything in return. Joel decides, though, if he’s going to accept comfort from anyone, it’s going to be from you.

──────

taglist (basically if you asked for a pt 2 on the last part i tagged you): @bbyanarchist @dlwrish @imaginewrites24 @captain-yellow-96 @daisyintheskyewithdiamonds @sludgec0r33 @c0wb0ym3nace

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #the last of us #the last of us writing #the last of us fanfiction #tlou #tlou hbo #tlou fic #joel miller angst #writing

[kittyandco]

re: this post from @selfshipping-haven -- (didn't want to derail accidentally)

i don't want to start anything, i'm just sharing my thoughts. but truthfully: as someone who's been in the community since late 2018, it used to be a lot more of a community. people did interact with each other a lot more. we were happy to. i remember how it was. it was a lot smaller, too. so taking sheer numbers into account, it isn't even hard to find active self shippers to interact with. in fact, it is much easier.

i think a lot of the reason people don't interact is mostly vibes based ... i've seen a lot of people say it feels like walking on eggshells around here. i think that comes into account. but the only way to combat this is to simply, and i'm not kidding, give people more grace. just BE NICE. this goes for so many things. a lot of people, especially online, have become passively cruel, and have normalized this behavior. this kind of "get them before they get me" mentality is so prevalent now. people so protective of the self that you don't let anyone in, even to say "hello," whether from anger or fear. if you want community, you have to break out of that. i understand where a lot of you are coming from. but you'll find your people. be the change you want to see. seriously.

we should be on each other's side. think of all the places you can really go and talk about self shipping without being lambasted as "creepy" (which is such an overused term for NORMAL SOCIAL BEHAVIOR. which is also an issue in this i believe) or "mentally ill." think about it. hardly ANYWHERE. because people from ye olden days of self ship tumblr, like me and other bloggers, helped make this space welcoming. we also didn't wait for others to create what we wanted. we just went out and did it post-by-post. and i just don't see the same energy across the board anymore

we are pretty much the only ones who want to hear each other. so listen with an open heart

#selfship

[wingzie]

The Life of a Jikooker, Online and Offline

Sometime last year I revealed my real first name on Twitter. Though I am known more prominently as “Wingzie”, a name given to me by a good friend of mine, I wanted to add a bit more of a human touch to my account. It was a reminder that, even if I spend a rather large amount of time making posts, I also have a life away from the screen. There's been a few occasions when my army life and personal life have become interlinked.

I am lucky enough to have made wonderful friends since becoming Army. Thus, I will always say that your fandom experience and enjoyment will depend on who you interact with and what you engage with. It's because of these friends that I have been to South Korea or gone to Olle in London for BTS’ tenth anniversary. I've explored new local places or exchanged gifts. It's also because of these friends that I felt safe enough to talk about Jikook in my first ever group chat in 2019. I feel a certain love and connection between us, online and offline, that I don't think many others will understand. 

However, there is a certain loneliness in being a jikooker. I have been unfairly judged or dismissed just for talking about them. Either individually or as a unit. It calls into question why this is. I personally do not see myself as a shipper. The definition of a shipper is that you WANT them to be together and that is not the case with me or many other jikookers at all. The definition of shipping has changed so much that we are seen as bad people just for talking about them, when we are just talking about their moments together.

In the last few months or so I have experienced more of an Army life outside of Twitter. I have been to various offline events and spoken to so many and I couldn’t help but notice two things: 1) Jikookers have a terrible reputation

2) People are scared to talk about them as a unit compared to others. The first part can be somewhat understandable and it’s why I never bother fighting. It brings negative attention to them, when we should be boosting them instead. All they see are people just attacking each other and it is sadly true that a small number of Jikookers are Tae antis. I have left a few group chats because of that or because of ex-jikookers hating on Jimin or Jungkook. However, there are also a huge number of us that DON'T behave this way and it depends on what you focus on.

At a previous event I bumped into a local Tae bias. She clearly knew who I was and was under the impression that I hated Tae. I soon proved her wrong but I guess this is where some of the problems lie: There are a lot of focus on stereotypes, without giving us the chance to prove otherwise. I have also been to events where Army have cited misinformation and they needed to be corrected. I am aware that not everyone has my memory, but they were so callous about their comments that I was shocked. There was a huge disconnect between reality and what they were thinking and it is so important to check sources. Especially when BTS' history and ours is so rich and can be easily accessible in this social media age. 

Being scared to talk about Jikook is something that will always confuse me. I joined a BTS Discord and left shortly afterwards when I realized that they had a channel for every until apart from Jikook. I also went to an event shortly after the “You can handle it” Weverse Live and the group I was with mentioned every single part of that Live, apart from when Jimin was in the comments. They also said some things about Jungkook that made me feel really uncomfortable and they ignored what I was trying to say. They saw him as a puppet, for their own desires, rather than his own person. And I think that is also something I have seen on the increase lately. It should be allowed and in fact encouraged to talk about them as a unit without being shamed for mentioning them together. Ignoring them doesn't help either.

I am Jimin and Jungkook biased, but the definition of having a bias itself has also changed. You cannot say you have a bias now without automatically saying “but I love all of them”, when that should go without saying. I have seen this change since Mots:7 and it emphasises how much the fandom definitions have changed and how it has also shaped our communities. I have been to other events where I am sadly seen as an anti, once they find out my Twitter ID. My account includes all members, I just happen to post about Jikook and their moments most of all and there is nothing wrong with that. Ultimately, I wrote this without any clear message or goal in sight. I just wanted to express what I have experienced and my feelings about it. I will always cherish the memories I have with those that are closest to me and our beautiful conversations about BTS or Jikook. I just wish others did the same and understood what this community is actually about, online and offiline. My account will always be a safe place for all the members and I refuse to be villainized for talking about Jikook at the same time.  Much Love Wingzie/Becca

#wingzie

[g1rld1ary]

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

-mel

what once was ; anthony lockwood x reader

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

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

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

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

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, but if Lockwood hadn’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And if you’re wrong?” Kyan asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We don’t work well together—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Which is?”

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucy watched you go suspiciously, before turning to Lockwood.

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

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

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#giasfics˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ #love #fluff #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #anthony lockwood x reader #george karim #lockwood & co #lockwood #anthony lockwood fanfiction #anthony lockwood fluff #anthony lockwood imagine #renew lockwood and co #lockwood netflix #lockwood and co fanfiction #netflix #save lockwood and co #locknation #lockwood and co netflix #cameron chapman #george cubbins #johnathan stroud #lucy carlyle #lockwood x reader #enemies to lovers #fake dating #anthony lockwood x you #angst

[elvenbeard]

Maybe the biggest gift is the friends we made along the way 🎂

Happy Birthday, V!

Was staying up way too late and getting way too emotional over these fictional gonks last night, but yes... I've wanted to do a bigger scene like this for so long, and what better occasion than male V's canon birthday today!

These aren't all my favourites from the game (the sofa wouldn't be big enough for it xD), but the people Vince would like to invite over for the occasion for sure, let it be a year or two down the line when they all actually are in the same area at the right time and come together like this (and uuuhhh... obvious problems with one certain ex-bodyguard set aside and solved because I said so!). It would really be a special thing to have everyone there that's been with him during one of the worst times of his life. Thanks to them (amongst many others) he even gets the chance to celebrate another birthday.

Some more ramblings about some of the interactions I'm picturing here and why I placed everyone the way I did under the cut xD And some more pics to come in a separate post later :3

Front and center obviously Vince and Kerry and Judy, my faves, my loves <3 I think this would probably be one of only a handful of times Kerry ever meets Judy in person. He only ever hears her over the holo and knows her from what V told him, because she left Night City before they got a chance to meet prior to the game's endings. I think they would go along so well though, and besides Kerry, Judy is the person Vince feels closest to out of the group pictured here, and he'd be so excited to know Kerry and her get along as well.

Then Judy and Panam... I lowkey ship it so hard, and I mean, they would make one power couple, but at the very least I think they'd become good friends, maybe Judy even travels with the Aldecaldos for a while or joins them, like in the Star ending when she's romanced.

I put River in the back and center cause he's the biggest of the bunch and I think he'd love being there, watching over everyone in a way (and keeping an eye on Takemura, cause he doesn't trust him xD). I'd like to think him and Viktor get talking about boxing, workouts, maybe make plans for a friendly sparring match. Maybe they've even met before on some occasion, only just realizing it now. Viktor is btw out of the whole bunch the person Vince has know the longest, almost as long as he knew Jackie in my background story for him.

Goro keeps himself in the back because he definitely is the odd one out of the bunch (probably didn't wanna come in the first place), but maybe he's starting to realize this moment that a life without Arasaka is not the end of the world after all. That there's always room for new beginnings, no matter how unlikely it seems (but he's still gonna give V shit, and V is gonna give him shit, obviously XD they're bickering like an old couple probably, much to Judy's and Panam's amusement who previously were rather wary of Goro).

Then a pair I only really got thinking about when I set this up were Misty and Kerry because... It does kinda make sense, and I think they'd get along really well? Like, Vince and Misty have known each other for a few years, and he likes her a lot, but he's not as close to her as he was to Jackie for example. She was definitely a positive guidance throughout the whole mess in 2077, and he really appreciates her for always seeing the good in everything. And I think Kerry would be a bit confused about her in the beginning, but since he also has spiritual leanings I think they'd find a lot of common ground. I also think Misty would just treat him as Vince's partner, some guy, not be all in awe about him being famous - aware of it, but ignoring it, because it does not matter in the grand scheme of things how rich and famous you are but whether or not you're a decent human being.

And Nibbles is there because she lives there, obviously, this is her penthouse, her sofa xD Needs to make sure everyone behaves!

I had been thinking about including Rogue in the scene, but then I also thought... she probably wouldn't come xD Be like "nah kid, thanks, but you do you", and she's not that close with Vince on a personal level. Same goes for Claire, I love her so much, and while I think she and Vince get along very well, they're not as close (or maybe she just didn't have time).

I was pondering also if I wanted to include Jackie and Johnny in some way, because they can't be there physically for known reasons (and even though Vince wouldn't have invited Johnny just to annoy him, Johny would have come anyway to annoy him back, so there's that XD). Decided against it in the end because the ideas I had would have meant more editing than what I was ready to do just now, but I have some more ideas with Vince and Jackie and Johnny that work better in a different setting anyway.

if you've read this far, here's a piece of birthday cake 🍰

#cyberpunk 2077 #male v cyberpunk #cyberpunk v #cyberpunk vp #cyberpunk 2077 vp #cp2077 vp #cp2077 #virtual photography #kerry eurodyne #judy alvarez #panam palmer #misty olszewski #goro takemura #river ward #viktor vektor #nibbles #vincent ezaki #my vp #my screenshots #my headcanons #I'm dying everytime at Kerry's smile #and Judy's and Panam's and River's and... #I'm too bisexual for this #also I have a super neat new desktop background now :3 #and highkey lowkey wanna print it as an actual photo to put up somewhere #I might... just as well do that #cyberpunk 2077 spoilers

[spearxwind]

Hi this is where I talk a bunch about ocs :D

I dont have a lot of time lately to talk abt lore but i still think abt my guys whenever i have some chill time to myself, so here's some patch notes. This is also just me thinking out loud haha

CD:

ive been playing w some changes for CD and seeing if they stick :] gonna make the story slightly more complex and the sides of the conflict also different (for example I am going to make hades and talas full on enemies at first along with connon, caval and silas >:3 (and I am also making silas and his monster form two separate characters so the lion (hal) is now a mount instead))

Specifically what I've been thinking about is making Hades either a ship captain or a first mate for a rogue ship. The deal with Hades is that he comes from a renowned family from Redbridge and is a disgrace to them. In previous versions of CD they were artisans but that never rly clicked for me, and recently I have been reworking Redbridge into a naval empire to add some 🤏spice 🤏to the world, which would mean Hades' family is actually a naval captain family putting him next in line to be one of them but since his thing is being a disgrace he takes off and becomes a rogue. And instead of hating leviathans he fucking hates hunters instead. Conversely, I think with these changes Talas would also NOT be inclined to kill hunters (or at least not as often as he currently does). He'd pick fights with the naval fleet and other similar factions instead which is more like his character.

I also wanna try and bring back an older concept I had where connon's ship was able to both become fully submerged (like the subs in sunless sea where her character originated from) and this other idea I had where a ship could split in half into two smaller ships. Like if a catamaran could split into two and flank a vessel on both sides. But we'll see if I can make this work x)

Dragons (broken horizon + extinction):

I vaguely mentioned this a while ago as well but I've also been thinking abt my dragons and how I kinda want them to all be in one world/setting, which includes both my broken horizon guys (cer, jarek, octane, etc) and my extinction guys (alex, c, orion, etc) but I dont know how to deal with all of the conflicting lore and themes.

Because for extinction the big theme is there are people who can turn into dragons, and technically all of the dragons' powers are based on energy (for lore reasons). Meanwhile for my other dragons I have a few different elements or other ways of using fire (eg instead of using straight up fire/energy, my oc Jarek can breathe out gas only and ignites it with his mandibles).

I miss all my dragons a lot so I kinda wanted to make a world for them where I could have them Vibe and do different stories in so I thought about having a dragon-only universe but unfortunately Extinction has a pretty huge human element that I cant just eliminate.

It feels counterintuitive, i know the first logical choice is 'just let them be different things' but I genuinely feel like the right choice is to put them both together so the characters can interact and the whole story can be deeper because as it is both are really shallow and I would really like for them to work together so that's what I've been picking at for some months now (it's um. been real slow)

For these two stories I do have two different vibes though that I've been wondering how to weave together nicely bc they overlap for some characters. For broken horizon I had flying and aerial racing as a big theme (and some of the chars in extinction would be rly into that) and for extinction I had dragon arena fights as a big theme (and some of the characters in bh would be rly into that) both of these is another of the reasons why I wanted to put them both together bc it feels like they can fit very well I just have to find the right idea for them to click and then itll be smooth sailing -w-

I also wanted to talk abt this in hopes that talking abt all the dragons gets me to think more about them as well

I wanted to make this post bc I've been really busy lately and rly absent from here in general and I don't have as much time to draw (or even think abt ocs) anymore but I still wanted to keep posted about what's been going on in my head and hopefully get some eyes on it and maybe even some feedback if anyone is so inclined

If u read this whole thing thank u i owe you my life fr I hope u enjoyed reading abt my patch notes :D and hopefully sometime in the future I can get back to drawing concepts and stuff or maybe even writing stuff

#thunderclap #oc ramble #challenger deep #broken horizon #long post #whew this took so long to write and i dont even know if its gonna make ANY sense to anyone auuggggg #ive been thinking a lot about CD in my off time recently I want to make it GOOD i wanna make it COMPLEX i have a lotta good insp lately #so im hoping to make some good and much needed changes #and i also think abt my dragons a lot they just like. float at random in my head in cool scenes and i have no way to bring it all together #AND THAT MAKES ME MAD!!! THIS IS MY HOUSE!! I SHOULD BE ABLE TO MAKE IT FIT AUUUGGHGHHHH!!!! #i also think abt octane and alex being rivals a lot now it actually fits so much. radioactive bitches. fusion vs fission. #generation vs combustion. white and black. both still orange. please please i need this to work sooo bad #ALSO C AND ARC AND JAREK AND DIMA WOULD GET ALONG SO WELL I KNOW IT I DO AUGH

[whinlatter]

HEYYY I really want you to reflect more on Ginny’s insecurity when it comes to her relationship with Harry. I’ve been thinking about it since your latest chapter. I don’t know how you can portray all these emotions tbh😭 it’s just way too perfect

ok the inbox is aflutter with questions along these lines so! with no spoilers for the rest of the fic, here's a little (big) lunch break meta on my read on the tensions and insecurities in harry and ginny's post-war relationship, and where harry and ginny are at at this point in beasts. thank you anon! 💞

spoilers for chapter 9 are below the cut!

in chapter nine, we see harry and ginny physically the closest they have been to each other in months, but beginning to discover the real distances between them at play in the current version of their relationship, and see the symptoms showing up in their interactions and (lack of) conversation. after the flashback, this chapter begins with ginny, back an awful time at school, waking up in her boyfriend’s bed, enjoying the luxury of time together and opportunities for physical intimacy. as @ashesandhackles pointed out in her very lovely comment, physical touch - particularly a very natural and instinctual expression of intimacy - is a defining feature of harry and ginny’s romantic relationship in the canon series. canon’s also full of examples of them communicating silently/non-verbally (their in-jokes, as early as PoA, but also the various moments that the two read each other’s minds or have entire interactions without having to say a word). these are obviously important, lovely things and something both of them value in their relationship. but, in this case, where ginny is hiding so much, they can quickly become things to hide behind. tellingly, ginny does not wake up thinking oh good now I have all this time to tell harry what’s up with me, and, over the course of the chapter, finds that secrets have a way of slipping out even if you try your very best to keep them under wraps.

why won't ginny open up?

without spoiling the rest of the fic (!) i think there are few things to bear in mind about why ginny isn't opening up to harry, and what insecurities she might have about the relationship that are preventing her from being honest about the hardships she's going through.

the first is that ginny, canonically, is an extremely guarded person who does rarely opens up, including - or especially - to harry. late canon is full of examples of harry seeking reassurance and emotional comfort in ginny, but examples of ginny doing the same in harry are few and far between. 'lucky you' is a reminder that ginny's own distressing experiences credential her as someone harry can seek reassurance and answers from; it is not a cry for reciprocal help or support. her mentioning riddle's diary in HBP when she finds out about the prince's book works similarly - though harry reassures her about it, her concern is for him, not herself. in the birthday kiss scene, only the 'there's the silver lining i've been looking for' line gives away that ginny has been going through emotional difficulty. in fact, it's ron who conveys that ginny has been 'really cut up' over the breakup. throughout the series, ginny consistently practices a kind of emotional selflessness and self-sufficiency. she understands how important she becomes as a source of comfort and safety for harry, and she is happy and proud to fill that role. she cares deeply about harry, she wants to meet his emotional needs, and she does it very well. she's canonically a fantastic liar, too, which is maybe my favourite characterisation note from her - while hermione and ron are both very easily emotionally read, ginny has an incredible poker face and can lie so well she can have literal dung on her hands and convince her own mother that it was crookshanks throwing dungbombs at the door of the order meeting. in canon, we see ginny crumble only once in her emotional stoic-ness in front of harry (in her bedroom after the birthday kiss - and even then she turns away and tries to hide it). we can speculate about why it is that ginny is like this (...), and i talk more about what this means for harry and ginny long term below. but for now suffice to say that ginny doesn't have a track record of divulging her emotional state and anxieties in very many people, including harry.

the second is that ginny is fiercely protective of harry and tries to shield him from pain, including her own. from CoS thru the rest of the series, ginny cares about shielding harry from criticism, distress, and emotional harm ('leave him alone!') it makes sense that, given ginny's interest in safeguarding harry's happiness and keeping her own sufferings private, she would also seek to protect him from information about herself that would upset him or make him feel worse when she recognises he's already going through a tough enough time. (harry himself practices this form of love in his parental relationship with sirius, eg. trying to retract 'my scar hurts' in GoF - sweet child).

the third - relatedly - is that ginny has begun to link her symptoms to her own wartime experiences, and to torture she endured under the carrows, the full extent of which hasn't been addressed at this point in the fic and which harry doesn't know. harry spends most of DH ignorant about what is happening at hogwarts - he worries for ginny post-sword-stealing, but he's reassured that she won't have been tortured because she only got sent into the forbidden forest. cue neville in the hog's head tunnel quite modestly revealing what really has happened at hogwarts, that the torture of children by way of the cruciatus curse has become a daily occurrence, and that the DA, ginny especially, have gone through a fresh hell. that harry crucioed amycus carrow for so much at spitting at mcgonagall tells us something about how harry might take the news of what actually went down at hogwarts during the war and especially what happened to ginny. in ginny's mind, the idea of strolling up to harry and banging on at length about the sufferings she has endured would be to lay more at his door than he deserves to have to worry about.

there's also this other point, the only issue between harry and ginny that is verbally addressed (but not resolved) in this chapter, which is ginny's lingering insecurities about her relationship with the trio, which also colours all of this. the conversation with harry and ginny in bed about harry staying for at the burrow christmas in ron and hermione’s absence is actually the first section i wrote for this chapter, and one of my favourite parts to write. it picks up this theme of ginny’s ambiguous relationship to The Trio as a unit, something i think a lot about and which i play with a bit in other writing (it comes out at a few points in orchards). i want to write a proper meta about this one day, but running thru this canon is a dynamic of ginny constantly being left out of the trio, from ‘go away ginny’ in PoA (‘oh, that’s nice!’) all the way thru DH. ginny only rarely explicitly complains about this exclusion, though it’s clear she has both noticed it and is irked by it. by the series’ end, this dynamic remains unresolved, even though ginny has become emotionally important to all three of the trio individually.

so why doesn't ginny get angrier about it? we know ginny is a stubborn person perfectly capable of sticking up for herself when being mistreated. that we would expect someone as outspoken and stubborn as she is to actually kick off many more times suggests not that ginny doesn't care, but that she has learned to actively fight her impulse to raise the issue and demand better for herself. my read is that the trio excluding her is, like harry's chosen one fate, just another thing ginny has had to (privately) be hurt by, but get her head around and accept because she recognises it’s part of a bigger picture and, by hbp, connected to a broader more serious quest that has something to do with the. (lots of hinny fics have ginny get mad at harry after the war about the break-up and for keeping her in the dark, and, sometimes, for keeping her out of the trio, but i think actually ginny is too far down the self-denying i-just-have-to-deal-with-this path to get mad without external stimulus. she hasn’t let herself be mad about this sort of thing for a long time, much as she has a right to). as a result, the ginny we see in beasts is a person who has become very self-denying, and who has spent a lot of time telling herself she shouldn’t be selfish or let her ego or pride get the better of her, and to accept certain lots in life for the greater good. would harry/ron/hermione be horrified if actually made to confront this? yes, i think so, absolutely! but they have done this to her and are yet to face the music on how they have excluded her so consistently throughout her teen years. it's a tension that absolutely still needs to be raised and resolved.

what will happen now harry knows something is up?

this chapter sees harry start to realise something's going on with ginny. he finds out ginny saw her ex, michael, about a health condition he's having that might be related to hogwarts last year, that ginny describes 'DA stuff'. luna later accidentally clues him onto the fact ginny, too, has had some mysterious health issues she hasn't raised with him, despite their near constant letter communication over the past four months (luna, your bluntness is extremely narratively convenient, thank you). ginny's blurted out question to harry - ‘you still want to stay, right?’ when finding out romione aren't spending much time at the burrow that christmas - echoes harry’s own at the start of the fic (‘you’ll write, right?’). it’s meant as the same act of a character blurting out a revealing question that speaks to a big insecurity and need they have. when harry calls her up on it before bed later that night, ginny tries to reassure him by showing him some of this mental work she’s done over the years to understand and accept what he + ron + hermione are to each other, reassuring him that she doesn’t want to intrude on that, and to go as far as to say that although he’s extremely welcome at the burrow for christmas, he doesn’t have to spend his christmas there if he’d rather be with his best mates. and what we have in harry’s response is him having to face up, for the first time, not just to the extent of ginny’s exclusion from his friend group, but how much work she has done to be at peace with her exclusion from parts of his life and particularly from his friend group which includes her own friend and brother. in her most insecure thoughts, ginny’s thinking oh god what if harry doesn’t want to be here with me as much as he does with ron and hermione; harry’s like, i’m just now realising the person lying next to me seems to think i want to leave to go hang out with my friends instead of spend christmas with her during this awful time for her family, seems to think i’m doing her a favour by staying, and seems to be hiding something from me that is connected to her own wellbeing.

what will harry's reaction be?

i will be keeping my cards reasonably close to my chest on this one, but i will say this... it was important for me to have two issues come up at the same time: harry working out ginny's keeping secrets while also finding out that she feels much more insecure about how important she is to him and how much she just wants him to be happy even at her own expense. i also wanted it to take place in a chapter that hammers home how much the weasleys, including ginny, are people grieving a great loss and struggling with it, harry a witness to ginny's attempts to hold her family together and make this time together special. of course harry's suspicious, and, likely, hurt. but he's also aware of what she and her family are going through, watching them all suffer extreme pain, and he's also just accidentally been informed of some of his own failings and shortcomings when it comes to ginny and her insecurities about her place in his life. that harry isn't immediately demanding answers and calling ginny out is a sign of him both processing dynamics years in the making, but it's also him reading the room. it would be extremely entitled to storm in and demand answers from ginny when he is seeing her and her family in such extreme distress - so instead he's keeping quiet for now, showing her wordless physical affection, and really deeping what's going on here.

harry and ginny will be facing the music very (very) soon. so far in the fic, the moments where ginny has come closest to giving the game away have been whenever harry and ginny are physically in the same place (st andrews, hogsmeade midnight field picnic). i wanted all the issues to start to come up this chapter now that harry and ginny are back together 24/7 and can't hide behind carefully chosen words in letters, and for their physical displays of intimacy and affection to start to stop working as well as strategies to paper over deeper conversations that need to be had. hence ginny waking up in harry’s bed with no nightmares after physical intimacy at the start of the chapter, but going back to the nightmares despite his proximity and physical displays of affection by the time we get to the chapter's end. their coping mechanisms are running out of road.

would harry be jealous of ginny telling michael?

harry (and ginny) are canonically a bit jealous, absolutely. but they're only really jealous when they're broken up and have more reasons to be insecure about their relationship (ginny with cho, harry with dean/krum - all are tensions that happen while they're broken up. when they're together, it's something they laugh about, eg. romilda and fleur). some of the responses to the fic (understandably) have focussed on oh my god ginny saw her ex. but i think ginny seeing her ex (which she doesn't deliberately keep from harry but realises after the fact she should tell him about, and is careful not to lie to him) is less likely to be upsetting to harry than the idea that ginny went and saw someone that she shared intense, traumatic experiences with that harry wasn’t a part of, and that, throughout DH, he’s in the dark about. that it's michael doesn't improve things, but it's the bigger context that makes the act more upsetting.

are harry and ginny doomed?

a lot of hinny critics cite various versions of the above dynamics as reasons why hinny would ultimately not make it long-term as a couple. i (obviously) disagree with that, because i believe these are two characters willing and able to make this relationship flourish and thrive. with that said, i don't think people writing harry and ginny as a pairing should ignore the existing dynamics within hinny as a relationship that would need to be unpacked and worked on as they rebuild their relationship as a foundation for a happy, healthy future together. this includes the fact that their relationship has been uneven in the level of mutual emotional support in canon, and full of cultivated omissions and silences. i'm not blaming harry (much) for this - i think harry has had, if not good reasons, then understandable reasons why, in the canon timeline, he gives ginny less emotional support than she gives him, not least because 1) he has (frankly) needed more (not to diminish ginny's post chamber trauma, but i think this is fair to say), 2) because ginny has great trouble accepting emotional support, and 3) because the arc of the later series is harry slowly accepting the role of the chosen one, deciding that he is not a normal person, and setting himself on a singular path to destruction stripped of ties to other people, even though he longs for the life of a normal person deep down. less dramatically, harry also ends the series a repressed 17 year old boy with some obliviousness issues and some growing up to do in ways that make him actually extremely typical of even emotionally healthy teenage boys (do i think every kind supportive man i now know in my late twenties was the best at emotional literacy and maturity at age 17? no no i do not. having met some of them at that time, i can you for a fact that they were, in fact, Not, and none of them were the subject of a terrible prophecy and all fought in precisely zero wars).

i believe harry wants a mutually supportive relationship with ginny. i believe him capable of having just that, and willing to do the work to build it. we know in canon he wants to build a family and instinctually practices reasonably healthy dynamics within one (in his familial relationship with sirius, it's often harry who sets the boundaries and healthy precedents). harry also often worries about ginny's wellbeing, physical and emotional, in his internal monologue, and sincerely wants to make her feel better about the awful things going on around them and that he is putting her through (see the birthday kiss scene - his instinct is to comfort her, and it's ron's rage that stops him). i'm always struck that in DH he starts to watch ginny on the map not when she might be in physical danger (eg. when she comes into contact with carrows/snape), but when she is in bed, alone with her thoughts/dreams/nightmares, and imagines himself reaching into her brain and hoping she's doing ok. in the battle he tries to reassure ginny in the thick of fighting even though he knows they are 'empty words'. across all his relationships more generally, he does show capacities for emotional awareness and generosity, consistently building loving, supportive connections with other characters throughout the series arc, and worrying particularly about the emotional state of the people he views as family (sirius chief among them).

when push comes to shove, harry potter, by the end of DH, is getting much better at knowing how to make his closest loved ones feel better. my favourite example being his perfect detonation of words and physical comfort to ron in the forest of dean - ron feels forgiven, loved and understood by harry so beautifully in that scene. i argue that he would take this hard-won work-in-progress trait and run with it when it comes to building his postwar relationship with ginny. but i think harry has a lot still to learn about how to communicate effectively, how to verbalise that concern and action it into meaningful emotional support and comfort, and at this point in beasts, he's perhaps beginning to realise how deficient he's been in this department. ginny, too, has a lot of work of her own to do. and it's my pleasure to try and figure out how they do that, and i'm grateful for the faith in me having a go at writing a version of it in this fic!

#beasts #TL;DR hinny grow old together #emphasis on the grow #full author's note to come but first too many words on harry and ginny's emotional constipation #hinny #meta #harry x ginny #ginny weasley #beasts spoilers #hinny meta

[critter-coded]

I'm honestly questioning myself from scratch for a while. I want to feel entirely confident in what I'm calling myself, but that doesn't make me less of a therian either.

I'm going to be entirely transparent for a moment as an adult, and explain sort of my feelings and why I've felt so wishy washy with my labels lately. I don't feel that I "owe" anyone an explanation, but I do feel that others may relate.

I've been trained for 22 years be a human.

In elementary school, I answered "dog" for what I wanted to be when I grew up, while everyone else wrote doctor or lawyer. I didn't fit in. You can't strive to become a 'dog'. I was bullied and excluded relentlessly, but it didn't stop me until teachers started calling my family about it. I began to feel shame for the first time, and suddenly found that my recess time was spent sitting in time out. Playing with ants wasn't okay. Digging in the playground wasn't okay. Eating without utensils wasn't okay. I think about her all of the time, and how sad she must have felt to be punished for unharmful behaviors and told to "fix" it. I didn't know how.

Middle school is when I started to experience dysphoria. It wasn't gender dysphoria like I thought for a long time. It was species dysphoria. The experience of developing breasts didn't feel correct. Animals, even mammals, don't have them like I do. Bras made me feel feral and I always tried not to wear them. It got me sent to the office more than once all because my chest wasn't as small as some other girls'. My clothes were no longer acceptable either, and I didn't want to wear what everyone else was. More exclusion if I didn't choose to follow the rest.

High school was the worst. I was fitting in finally, but my mental health struggled horrifically. I had no safe avenues anymore to deal with my stress. I couldn't voice that I didn't like something without aggression because I couldn't use animal behaviors anymore. My clothes scratched, my bra itched, my grades struggled. I was in the counselors office more than I would like to admit. My family was in disarray and I felt caught in the middle of it all, with no way to be anything but human. My girlfriend at the time knew I was a therian since I finally found the word to describe how I felt, but she relentlessly held it against me and shamed me anytime she wasn't happy which was often. At some point, I ended up in the ER with mental health concerns and in therapy accordingly. Nothing seemed to help me though.

College was fine. I kept my head down and just tried to get through my work. Socializing felt damn near impossible, but I was managing. I don't know what I would have done if the pandemic didn't happen, moving me online for 2 years. I finally had a last ticket out of my parents' house, and I had found a boyfriend who loved every bit of my crittery behaviors. It was a good time for me to finally try and rediscover myself, but that fell apart when I graduated.

My home state drove me out by cost alone. I moved the same month I walked the stage with my degree, and I had a job already lined up. I was excited for the money, freedom, and new experiences. Soon though, that turned into a complete loss of my nonhumanity. I am now working 8 hours a day where I have to behave perfectly around everyone. I drive 1 hour to work and 1 hour home. I have to cook and clean and run errands. I need to shower and lay out my clothing for the next day, then try to get 8 hours of sleep. Where do I find the time to be an animal anymore? On the hiking trails, everyone is watching me. In my dreams, I'm a human worried about my finances and my social interactions. I feel lost a lot of the time as my animalistic behaviors are sometimes limited to a single hiss in traffic, wearing a tail while I cook or clean, or a very short nap in a hammock outside where my neighbors can still see me.

I'm trying to reconnect with myself, but there is little time and space. It is entirely possible to be an adult nonhuman, but I am finding that it can require dedicated time set aside in the day. If you're feeling disconnected from yourself, I think it's worth asking: when did the disconnect begin? Was it really a month ago? Or has it began decades ago when people told you you're not normal, that you won't fit in, and that you'll fail. How does a dog know what makes it a dog anymore if it has been trained to speak human, work like a human, spend time outside like a human, drive as a human, and so on.

Be gracious with yourself and give yourself dedicated time to be an animal. You are not broken or wrong or stupid. You need animal time as a therian to be healthy, happy, and focused. You need animal time to give yourself a break from a world not willing to adjust to your behaviors. You need animal time to feel like yourself, and to connect with your roots. You're nonhuman even if sometimes you wonder if you still are, if you struggle to stick with a label because you can't remember what you actually feel like, and if you can't find the time some days to be nonhuman.

You are still authentic. You are still real. You are deserving of joy and comfort. Be the little critter you are.

I'll probably make some self care idea posts more geared for adults and older teens sometime soon to directly address this issue. Even without a label, I still plan on being active online as much as I am active offline. ♡ When a label feels like it best suits what I'm experiencing or want to focus myself around, I'll announce it.

#therian #otherkin #therianthropy #therianthrope #adult therian #writing #alterhuman #nonhuman

[apprenticestanheight]

More - Adam Stanheight x gn! reader

Alllllllll right!! It is my birthday and that means that I am officially one year older yay!! I'm not really big on celebrating my own birthday and instead of doing some big like, event type thing I wanted to just write a couple thousand words a week or two in advance so that I didn't have to worry about editing on the day of, and that's what this is!

This is a college-adjacent AU (Adam is canonically a hs dropout but I've been thinking about maybe working my way to a creative writing PhD lately and projected so thats where the college part comes in) bc I headcanon that Adam grew his hair out in his early twenties and also: recovery era leigh whannell my dearly beloved.

Fic type- this is fluff that leads into smut!!

Warnings - this fic is meant for audiences of 18+. Minors, do not interact. Other than that, religion is referenced once (in the context of the reader saying adams name like it's a prayer lol), the word cunt is used a few times, and the reader is gn for all intents and purposes but I wrote the fic with AFAB anatomy in mind as that is the anatomy I know best. Petplay is also kind of present here (the puppy nickname has wormed its way into several of my fics bc I try thinking of gn petnames and my mind goes completely blank oops)

As it turned out, it was easier than one expected to get someone who wasn't an attendee into your college library. You'd snuck Adam into it without a care in the world, yearning for someone to lean against when you hit a breaking point in your studying while your closest friends were two-thirds of the way into breaking points of their own.

Adam was happy to leave the crappy apartment he lived in, though. He worked forty-hour weeks but his boss had mentioned that there was unclaimed PTO so Adam took the four days he was offered from the 186 days that had been accrued and relished in the fact that he was being paid not to work for approximately a day and a half before he yearned for fresh air.

When you'd asked him to come with you to finish up the last of the work you needed to do to finish up your thesis on your 22nd birthday, Adam had jumped at the opportunity and agreed to meet you near the charity shop that was a fifteen minute walk from his apartment and a fifteen minute drive out from your campus.

Of course, in his delight he'd ended up showing twenty minutes before the time you'd agreed, so he ducked into the aforementioned charity shop and looked around to occupy the time he had before you'd meet up with him.

He found a camera for fifteen bucks, three rolls of film and a camera bag included in that deal and couldn't resist. Scott gave him $200 a few times a month for printing up a hundred copies of his bands posters to hand out, and his paycheck had run in time for the rent and groceries to eat it completely, so the two hundred was something like lifesaver.

He'd gotten $400 that January because Scott and his band were doing a lot of gigs, which came as a bit of a surprise--Adam had heard Scotts band play before. Scott was lucky most people didn't pay much attention to bar music.

That $400 was originally going to take purpose at least partially as gas money because there were some distances that it just wasn't worth walking, maybe the purchase of a pack of cigarettes from the corner store that always had deals on them--$3 for two packs was the typical deal going on, and something Adam had used to his advantage more than once in the year since he'd become legally eligible to smoke and drink--and not much else, but the camera seemed like a decent enough purchase. If he got good enough, maybe he could display the photos he took somewhere or sell them as prints to make up for the money he lost to rent and a few groceries during his first paycheck of the month, keep him from going hungry until the second paycheck of the month came in.

He dips out of the charity shop and grins when he spots you, lets you drive him and steals the rest of your energy drink when you talk about the fact that you're not sure why you thought you'd like the peach flavor, and that gets you where you are--sitting in the darkest corner of your college library, face pressed against Adams shoulder as he laughs meekly.

"You can do this," he says. "You have another, what? Three pages left and then it's done. Then you can go back to whatever else your creative writing PhD entails and worry about your dissertation next year, yeah?"

"That doesn't work," advises a close friend of yours, Aurelie. She's been studying for a masters in biology and has known you since 1993, when you were both eighteen and freshly new to the college campus. "I've tried it numerous times, Stanheight, and it doesn't."

"I should've gotten my bachelors and masters before I jumped into this," you mutter, words muffled by the sleeve of Adams baggy black sweater. "But of course the only PhD option within two hours of work was an accelerated course. Ugh."

Adam laughs pitifully, pulls your face away from his shoulder to kiss your forehead before he gets up and you give him your card to get you, himself, Aurelie and her girlfriend Samantha a coffee.

When he returns, Samantha is pulling a strand of bright green hair behind her ear and watching you struggle, eyes narrowing at the book you're trying to focus on reading to get something you need for your thesis. Aurelie is offering you a bite of the sandwich she'd brought, telling you that a bag of chips also has the potential to be yours if you can get the last of your necessary research done in time to meet your February 18th deadline.

Adam presses a kiss to the top of your head as he maneuvers back into sitting down, gesturing at the coffees to tell Aurelie and Sam which ones are theirs and which ones are yours and Adams.

Adam wraps an arm around your shoulders as you thank him, taking a sip of your coffee, the order for which Adam had memorized at some point in the four years of your relationship to that point. He kisses your temple in response, grabbing his own coffee from the tray and checking the time.

It's not until six grueling hours, sunrise and four mental breakdowns have surpassed that you're officially done with your thesis. Adam asks if you want to spend the night at his place--you're not going into classes tomorrow if the way that you talked about sleeping in is of any indication--and Aurelie gives you a high five and mentions one of the bags of Doritos she'd brought along to munch on as she studied but hadn't ended up touching.

"You officially owe them a thousand kisses, you know," Aurelie says as you tuck your notebooks into the satchel you've been using since Adam had gifted it to you when you'd walked across the stage and graduated high school three and a half years prior. "You've gotta do it. It's what they deserve."

Adam laughs, blue-green eyes meeting Aurelies hazel brown ones. "I know," he says. "Though, to be fair, I don't think they really expected three pages to turn into fifteen more tacked on."

"They did not," you state affirmatively. "Professor Mason better fuckin' love me for it, though. I hadn't expected to meet his maximum page count and I managed to, just barely. Give me the chips."

Adam and Sam both laugh at the come-hither motion you make with your finger as Aurelie gets a bag of Doritos from her bag and tosses them at you, laughing a bit herself.

"Gremlin person," she says, shuddering a little for dramatic effect. "I surrender an offering to thee."

"The gremlin thanks you for it means the gremlin can put ordering dinner off for like, an hour and a half," you laugh a little, breaking open the bag of Doritos as Adam steals your two-litre water bottle from the table and takes a sip, leaving it open if you should decide to take a sip within the following thirty seconds.

You do, taking a break in your Dorito munching to take a sip of the water while Adam steals a chip from the bag and all of your preparations to leave are temporarily put on hold.

"I'm serious about the thousand kisses thing," Aurelie says. "Four breakdowns, fifteen pages and six different books in six hours. You have to do something to celebrate that."

Adam laughs, runs a hand through hair that he has yet to cut because he can't usually afford it and when he can, there are always better ways for money to be spent.

"I know you are," he says. "For the record, I am, too. I have a plethora of plans to make Y/Ns productivity feel worth it tonight, trust me."

"Gonna let me in on one of them?"

"I set aside $200 over my last few paychecks," Adam says. "Your birthday presents await, one of which is dinner."

"Two hundred from your paychecks--even multiple--means you have less grocery money, idiot," you scold lightly, glaring at him. Adam laughs, shakes his head, uses humor to fend off the anger issues that have a tendency to come up and bite him in the ass.

"Scott gave me $400 this month to print band posters," Adam says. "Also designed them, helped hand at least two and a half dozen out to people, but--you don't need to worry, okay? I have stuff covered and I had four hundred I could spend. I didn't spend it on groceries because I didn't need to, so it's okay."

Adam knows you only get defensive because of how his pay is and how his rent and groceries are in direct correlation. He works forty hours a week, brings in six hundred and fifty dollars every two. Rent eats four hundred during that first monthly paycheck and the other two hundred and fifty gets eaten by groceries.

The second pay period of that month is swallowed by other expenses. He sets aside gas money for the rarer times wherein he has to use his car, some money for cigarettes and other pop-up expenses as well as groceries for those two weeks.

His landlord had raised the rent in January of 1997, though. All he had left of his first monthly paycheck was a measly 100 dollars, which he couldn't buy very much with as it were. Scott had given him four hundred dollars for his efforts in graphic design and his access to a printer though, so he was cool as an ice cube in the few days before the second monthly paycheck he got was deposited into his bank account and he could afford to get a couple more things to last him through until next month.

"You promise it has no harm even though your landlord raised your rent to a stupid amount?"

"Rent being raised to a stupid amount means renovations," Adam throws you a cheeky smile. "The heater works, my showerhead isn't busted like it used to be, and the fridge, microwave and oven aren't running on fumes. It has it's perks."

"If I have to force you, you will be dragged by your gorgeous hair to the college apartments one of these days," you say. "They let non-attendees rent out the units year round for three hundred a month. You could actually afford to live if you went that route."

"You'd also be able to afford a haircut," Samantha chirps. You glare at her and Adam has to laugh, pressing his forehead against your shoulder and kissing it as he does.

You part ways thirty minutes later, waving goodbye to Sam and Aurelie as Adam asks who's place you want to go to.

You end up choosing to go to yours--you live in one of the apartment buildings owned and managed by your college. Its one of the many perks attached to the full ride scholarship you earned. It wasn't an easy feat, but you earned it from doing a collaborative photo and written essay that your english teacher called 'completely and totally heartwrenching' on the emotional support stray cats have proven to offer the homeless and those otherwise down on their luck.

Your apartment is nicer than Adams by half a mile, at least. Twelve hundred square feet, two bedrooms for the off chance someone has to move in. White walls, dark brown hardwood flooring, marble countertops in the bathrooms and kitchens, up-to-date appliances wherever such appliances are necessary. It's a good place, ten minutes out from your college campus by car, and you have every intent to keep living there and paying the rent attached once you're done with your PhD.

You and Adam debate dinner but decide to eat it later, go to your room while you talk idly. Adam tells you about his job, you tell him more about the professors who you like, and life carries on.

Adam relaxes in your room while you shower, happy to test the camera he'd bought in the charity shop by taking a photo of a polaroid you'd snapped the previous weekend. Adam has a love-hate relationship with the polaroid because of how goofy it is--it's a photo of him with two cigarettes in his mouth, one behind each of his ears, and one in his hand. They were horrendous cigarettes so the photo wasn't a waste, and he knew you loved it so he let it be.

You come out after fifteen minutes, hair damp as you wear one of Adams shirts and not much else. He grins as you settle into bed, head tilting at you before the question befalls his lips.

"How would you feel if I were to do what Aurelie practically demanded of me?" He asks, unawares as to whether or not you'd heard her remarks. "If I kissed you a thousand times?"

You ghost your teeth over your bottom lip, laughing softly. "You really think you'd be able to keep track?" Adams hand finds your thigh as he nods, palm running across it until he reaches your hip.

"I do," he says. "And besides--I think we kiss at least two hundred times when I wear the gray sweatpants in autumn anyway."

Your tongue juts out to wet your lip. "Okay," you say, realizing very quickly that 1000 kisses is basically the gateway to bliss. "I'm in."

"Really?" Adam asks, grinning like a fool. "Even if I take it slow and you start despising me for it?"

You nod, laughing a little as Adams lips find yours.

The first kiss is deep and intense, one of Adams hands on your hips as the other moves to up your face.

Adams tongue moves expertly around your mouth, thumb rubbing against the skin of your hip gently as he angles your head so that he can kiss you deeper. You moan into his mouth and he laughs a little, only pulling away when neither of you can breathe.

"999 to go," Adam whispers against your lips, smiling when the sound of your laughter meets his ears.

He kisses along your jawline.

998, 997, 996, 995

And then down your neck, tongue joining his lips as his hands move from your hips to your stomach, slowly and steadily inching up your chest.

You're happy to let Adam do as he pleases--it's a good enough gift for hitting twenty-two and because of studying and school getting in the way, you'd not really had much of an opportunity to give him anything significant for his 22nd birthday in the weeks before anyway.

One of your hands finds his hair as his lips remain focused on your neck and you undo the low ponytail he's got it in, moaning out his name as he keeps on going with his kisses.

994, 993, 992, 991, 990, 989, 988, 987

His hands keep their steady incline upwards, stopping to tease your nipples as he presses kiss after absolutely intoxicating kiss back up your neck and your jawline, grinning against your jawline when a soft moan falls from your lips and he tucks his knee between your thighs, pressing it against your core.

986, 985, 984, 983, 982, 981, 980

He captures your lips in his own, one hand moving up to cradle the back of your head and allow the kiss to deepen. The other one stays carefully focused on your nipple, and you laugh into his mouth as you realize he's fighting the urge to smile.

He pulls away to kiss down the other side of your neck and you manage to regain some of your breath thanks to your best efforts.

"Any regrets yet?"

"None at all," Adam laughs against your neck. "Oh, you're gonna be such a mess when I'm done with you. This is amazing."

979, 978, 976, 975, 974, 973, 972, 971, 970

You pull the shirt you'd stolen from Adam off your torso, fighting every single urge you have to grind against his leg as his kisses now start traversing down your chest.

He's the kind of person who commits to an action and it's a very good thing, ordinarily. He wants you to be so kissed up you forget your own name, only really remember his if you remember anyones name at all, and he's committed to that. His kisses will keep slow, his lips glorious and the pressure he puts onto your clit and aching core just enough to make you want to start grinding against him.

He kisses your breasts carefully, takes so much time with your nipples that you're almost completely sure there's a wet spot in his sweatpants from how wet the action has made you, laughs slightly when you moan loudly and become embarrassed.

969, 968, 967, 965, 964, 963, 962, 961, 959, 958, 957, 956, 954, 953, 952, 951, 950

"I love it when you get loud for me, baby," he whispers as he moves his lips down your chest and to your navel. You know he's going to take an absurd amount of time to kiss your hips, but you don't mind that.

You've always been particularly insecure about your hips and Adam has spent the majority of your relationship kissing them and holding them and telling you he loves them when your insecurity shines through. You hate your hips and you hate the hip dips you've been saddled with but Adam? You tell Adam he can't kiss your hips and he spends the next hour kissing you and telling you that you and your hips are fuckin' perfect.

He kisses down your navel and, of course, finds your hips. He glances at you for a second, waiting for your consent to kiss them because he knows it's an area of insecurity for you. When you nod, Adam can't fight his smile as he kisses across your stomach to your right hip, which he spends more time on than is probably worth.

He presses kiss after kiss there, probably leaving a hickey in the wake of his lips from his tongues involvement, murmurs an "I love you so much, baby," against your skin as he kisses across your stomach from your right hip to your left.

He takes his time with your left hip just as well, chuckles at the fact that you're so turned on that you've mindlessly let your moans go from quiet to average in terms of sound level because you've mostly stopped caring.

949, 948, 947, 946, 945, 944, 943, 942, 941, 940, 939, 938, 937, 936, 935, 934, 933, 932, 931, 930, 929, 928, 927, 926, 925, 924, 923, 921, 920

He kisses down to your dripping cunt, laughs when his lips press themselves against your clit because he knows just how wet he's managed to make you within maybe thirty minutes.

He moves his kisses from your wetness to your inner thighs, happy to kiss them for as long as he wants because he loves your thighs as much as he loves your hips--he loves them wholeheartedly, tells you as much as often as possible.

"Love your thighs, puppy," he whispers, breath ghosting against you in a way that makes you shiver. "You're so fucking perfect, yeah?"

You hum a response, unsure of how you're still even slightly coherent.

919, 918, 917, 916, 915, 914, 913, 912, 911, 910, 909, 908, 907, 906, 905, 904, 903, 902, 901, 900

He kisses from your right inner thigh to your left, once again taking his time because of how much he loves them. His hands slip under your thighs to find your hips, and you laugh a little, flustered because the fact of how much he loves your hips and hip dips when they're one of your biggest points of insecurity will never cease to turn you into a blushing idiot.

He laughs against your thigh, eyes keenly watching you. He's always been a bit voyeuristic so the fact that he's watching you is of little surprise, but you don't hate the way that he watches because he looks at you like you're the love of his life.

Granted, he always looks at you like that, but still. It's a nice emotion to register within the levelness of his gaze, the focus swimming in his blue-green eyes muddled by the love and adoration that rears itself upwards whenever he so much as glances in your direction.

899, 898, 897, 896, 895, 894, 893, 892, 891, 890, 889, 888, 887, 886, 885, 884, 883, 882, 881, 880

"So perfect," he whispers, kissing from your thigh back to the area just above your clit. He kisses from there back up your stomach, stopping once more to pay an absurd amount of attention to your hips and hip dips before he's kissing over your chest and you're another minute, maybe two, away from being so blissed out that you lose any and all senses of coherency onto which you've previously held.

"Adam," you whisper, saying his name like it's an unanswered prayer in an empty catholic church. "Adam, please."

His knee finds a spot between your legs again, and you moan as he presses it against your clit while his kisses move from your chest back to your neck.

879, 878, 877, 876, 875, 874, 873, 872, 871, 870, 869, 868, 867, 865, 864, 863, 862, 861, 860, 859, 858, 857, 856, 855, 854, 853, 852, 851, 850, 849, 848, 847, 846, 845, 843, 842, 841, 840

One of his hands finds your hip, the other one coming up to your lips. He presses his thumb against your bottom lip you take it into your mouth without a second thought, holding Adams gaze.

"Good puppy," he whispers, moaning lowly and pressing his forehead against the left side of your neck. "Oh, you're so good for me."

You moan, rutting your hips against his leg before you can stop yourself. The movement makes Adam grin, lift himself up so that he's staring down at you.

"You're desperate, aren't you?" He asks, a teasing grin on his face. "Keep doing that, mm? Grind against my leg, puppy. I know you want a release."

You moan, setting a pace with your hips as Adam slips his finger from your mouth and moves it to your chest, lips returning to your neck.

839, 383, 837, 836, 835, 834, 833 832, 831, 830, 829, 828, 287, 826, 825

Adams lips remain on your neck, occasionally drifting to your collarbone, upper chest and shoulders. He's relentless with his praise because he knows it's bound to make you melt, and make you melt it absolutely does.

"You're ethereal," he whispers, nipping gently at the skin of your collarbone. "I'm so proud of you, puppy. Workin' so hard to finish with your PhD program, you're fuckin' amazing."

You moan in response, needing more friction. Adam presses his knee against your clit further, adding just a bit more pressure--enough pressure to almost make you lose it.

You moan lewdly, hands slipping underneath his shirt to grip the skin of his back. The action makes Adam laugh, his kisses becoming more slow and deliberate as he starts kissing along your neck and eventually tilts your head up to reach the underside of your jaw.

"You're so perfect," he whispers.

824, 823, 822, 821, 819, 818, 817, 816, 815 814, 813, 812, 810

His kisses traverse back down your neck for what feels like the millionth time, and he kisses your shoulders and collarbone in a way that he knows makes you want him inside you more than will ever be reasonable.

When his kisses move down your chest and he adjusts so that he's not stuck in an uncomfortable position, you whimper at the loss of contact as his leg moves.

He's quick with it, though--one of his hands moves to your clit, rubbing slow circles as he tells you to grind against it in place of his knee.

809, 808, 807, 806, 805, 804, 803, 802, 801, 800

Before you can really register it, his lips are pressing kiss after senseless kiss against your inner thighs and you're moaning, begging words falling from your lips because all you want is to feel his tongue pressing flat against you while he slowly thrusts a finger into your folds.

He presses a few kisses against your clit, watching you through his eyelashes.

You look like a picture of bliss--one of your hands clutches the sheets, the other one has pulled itself through your hair so many times that a mess has been made of it, and you're biting your lower lip with anticipation.

His hands slide themselves under your thighs and over your hips, finding their favorite spot as his tongue presses flat against your clit. You press your head into the pillow it rests upon, moaning lewdly at the contact.

799, 798, 797, 796, 795, 794, 793, 792, 791, 790, 789, 788, 787, 786, 785, 784, 783, 782, 781, 780, 779, 778, 777, 776, 775, 774, 773, 772, 771, 770, 769, 768, 767, 765, 764, 763, 762, 761, 759, 758, 757, 756, 754, 753, 752, 751, 750

Adams tongue is skilled--eating you out is one of the things that gets you both off the quickest, and because of Aurelies words, you have zero doubt you're in for at least another few orgasms before Adam is done, but the way that his tongue feels against you is so good that you remain entirely unbothered by the idea, focusing on the way that his tongue feels when he presses it flat against your clit and the way that his hands feel as one locates your nipples and the other remains on your hip with the aim of keeping you steady.

When you start helplessly grinding against his face, Adam doesn't stop you. He moans, burying his face in your cunt and letting you ride his face paceless and senseless, clearly just wanting you to cum all over his nose, mouth, and chin.

When you come for the first time that night, you do so with a moan of Adams name before you release over his face. He keeps his tongue on your clit and works you through the aftershocks before he pulls away, lifting himself up to your level again and kissing you soft and slow, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

He cleans his face after your kiss, gets back into bed and presses kiss after kiss against your face, neck, and shoulders, delivering praise to you like it's nothing, and you can tell he means every word.

"You're amazing," he whispers. "You did so good for me, puppy."

Forty minutes of kisses go by, and you're happy to let Adam keep kissing you for the rest of time if he wants to.

749. 748, 747, 746, 745, 744, 743, 742, 741, 740, 739, 738, 737, 736, 735, 734, 732, 731, 730, 729, 728, 727, 726, 725, 724, 723, 722, 721, 720, 719, 718, 717, 716, 715, 714, 713, 712, 711, 710, 709, 708, 707, 706, 705, 704, 793, 792, 701, 700

"How many kisses down?" You ask, practically swimming in post-orgasm bliss.

"300," Adam grins cheekily at you. "It's been an hour and a half. That basically sets us up for another four hours."

"What time is it?" You ask. Adam checks the clock.

"About to be six thirty," he says. "We'll be done by around ten if you're still wanting me to actually kiss you a thousand times."

"Do you still want to?"

"I wouldn't tire of kissing you even if I gave it my all, so I'd like to, yeah."

You grin at him, nod. "Please kiss me again."

Adam does as you ask of him, smiling a little bit into the kiss as your hands slip underneath his shirt with the aim of eventually slipping the shirt over his head.

He pulls away to take his shirt and pants off, momentarily feeling guilt for being completely clothed while you were completely exposed.

The guilt fades when you're pulling him back into you by the neck and laughter bubbles up from his throat as he calls you a kiss fiend and moves to press kisses along your jawline.

You let him kiss you senseless, counting down the kisses while you have half the mind to do so, before he's taken you and turned you into a thoughtless, brainless version of yourself that's so clouded by bliss that any other emotion pushing past the weightlessness of how you'll feel is completely and totally inconceivable.

Adam has kissed you one hundred and fifty five more times across forty-five minutes by the time that you lose focus, as he's telling you to turn around so that he can kiss your back and you're doing as he asks because of how good the kisses feel and the fact that you never want them to stop.

He kisses along your shoulder blades, down the backs of your arms and the back of your neck, praising you and making sure you're not completely and totally blissed out by asking you to use your words and tell him how good it feels.

He kisses the backs of your hips, smiles against your skin and then turns you back around, kisses your lips sweetly as his hand trails down your chest, past your stomach, to your clit. He laughs, presses a kiss against your forehead when he presses his finger against your clit and you moan because it's throbbing and the touch feels amazing.

"Adam," you whisper. "Please."

Adam nods, rubs slow circles around your clit as his lips press themselves against your neck.

545, 544, 543, 542, 541, 540, 539, 538, 537, 3537, 535, 534, 533, 532, 531, 530, 529, 528, 527, 526, 525

The pace he sets with his finger is slow, his lips pressing kiss after kiss to your neck as you slip further and further into the bliss of it all. You're pretty much content to let Adam do whatever he wants to you at this point, all of the stress from completing your thesis and trying to figure out plans with Aurelie and Sam to celebrate your birthday melting away with every single one of Adams kisses and the pressure of his fingers.

524, 523, 522, 521, 520, 519, 518, 517, 516, 515, 514, 513, 512, 511, 510, 509, 508, 507, 506, 505, 504, 503, 502, 501, 500

Adam replaces his fingers with his thumb, pulls you into an open-mouthed kiss as he slowly thrusts his fingers into you.

You moan into his mouth, grinding against his fingers slowly.

"So good for me, puppy," Adam whispers against your lips. "God, you're so perfect."

You moan again in response, and Adams lips dip to your collarbone, paying attention to it like he hasn't since the kisses began. He fucks you with his fingers as his lips press kiss after fervent kiss against your shoulders, collarbone, and chest, dick throbbing because he hasn't let himself come yet.

When you're coming for the second time, Adam is kissing you and you're practically floating, willing to do any and everything he asks of you. His kisses are perfect and he knows how to make you teeter on the edge of release until he's ready to let you go, and he does such, kissing you senseless until he curls his fingers inside you with each of his thrusts and you're coming undone around his fingers within five minutes after those ministrations had begun.

You moan his name into his mouth, and he pulls away from the kiss as you clench around his fingers.

Clean up is simple enough--after he's kissed you through the aftershocks and pulled his fingers out of you, he simply licks his fingers clean while you watch him, dazed but mesmerized.

499, 498, 487, 496, 495, 494, 493, 492, 491, 490, 489, 488, 487, 486, 485, 484 483, 482, 481, 480, 479, 478, 476, 475 473, 472, 471, 470, 469, 468, 467, 466, 465, 464, 463, 462, 461, 460

"Adam," you whisper. "There are condoms in my nightstand. Need to feel more than your fingers."

"Y/N--" two times across three hours feels like a stretch, and he knows you have zero intention to go to class for the rest of the week because you've finished up with your thesis and thus, there's no point until you have to pass it in on it's due date, but still. Adam doesn't want to leave you so sore that you can't walk when you're a college student with more things to worry about than he.

"Please," you whisper. "I'll be fine, I promise. I had hoped the 1000 kisses thing would mean I got fucked senseless anyway. I already told my professors not to expect me for another week because of how much work I've done, and how badly I need a break. I need to feel you and you're throbbing because you've only fucked me with your tongue and your fingers, so it's a win-win situation."

Adam presses another two kisses to your forehead before he rolls over in the bed to grab a condom. He takes off his boxers as you tear the condom open, rolling it onto his length and relishing in the way that he moans at the contact of your hand with his cock.

"Fuck, Y/N," he moans quietly.

You let him position himself at your entrance, moan at every inch he pushes into you because of how good it feels. Adams cock is long and thick and nothing you'll ever get tired of.

Once his full length is inside you, he moans, pressing his forehead into the pillow to the right of your head as one of your hands finds his hair and the other rests on his neck. Your thighs move to wrap around his waist, and he kisses the side of your jawline as he waits for you to adjust.

459, 458, 457

When you give Adam the okay to start moving, he does so, his lips pressing kisses just about wherever they can reach.

It doesn't take Adam very long to make you see stars, the kisses that he delivers adding to the mindlessness of the way you feel. Every single minute that passes and you get closer and closer to forgetting what your own name is, Adams name the only clear thought that runs through your mind, repeating itself over and over like a mantra that only barely manages to keep you from floating away.

456, 455, 454, 453, 452, 451, 450, 449, 448, 447, 446, 445, 444, 443, 442, 441, 440, 439, 438, 437, 436, 435, 434, 432, 431, 430, 429, 428, 427, 426, 425, 424, 423, 421, 420, 419, 418, 417, 416, 415, 414, 413, 412, 411, 410, 409, 408, 407, 406, 405, 404, 403, 402, 401, 400

Adam keeps going after you've released and you're happy to let him, the feeling of him inside you too good to do anything but relish in. He moans your name in between his kisses, chasing the high of his own orgasm while also wanting to bring you to the edge of a fourth.

"Fuck," he moans. You're practically brainless beneath him, a cock-drunk mess of moans as your nails dig into his back and the hand that's kept a hold on his hair holding it so that it doesn't fall to the side because you'd taken the elastic out of it without thinking.

"Adam," you moan, his name the only coherent thought you have.

"You feel amazing," he responds, kissing your forehead. "Fuck, baby. You feel so good around me, mm?"

You moan in response and his kisses return to your neck, kissing along the underside of it and up to the underside of your jaw before his lips move back to your shoulders again.

399, 398, 397, 396, 395, 394, 393,392, 391, 390, 389, 388, 387, 386, 385, 384, 383, 382, 381, 380, 379, 378, 377, 376, 375, 374, 373, 372, 321, 370, 369, 368, 367, 366, 365, 364, 363, 362, 361, 360, 359, 358, 357, 356, 355, 354, 353, 352, 351, 350

He's apologizing lightly for a hickey that forms on your neck as he continues thrusting, and you're so blissed out from being fucked into the mattress that you tell yourself you'll give him a response later.

He slows the pace of his thrusts enough to drive you up the wall just a little, keeps that pace while he kisses you senseless for a long fifteen minutes before he kicks the pace back up again, dialing it from a six to an eleven within seconds.

349, 348, 347, 346, 345, 344, 342, 341, 340, 339, 338, 337, 336, 335, 334, 333, 332, 331, 330, 329, 328, 37, 326, 325, 324, 323, 322, 321, 320, 319, 318, 317, 316, 315, 314, 313, 312, 311, 310, 309, 308, 307, 306, 305, 304, 303, 302, 301, 300

Adams pace is quick, evenly timed, and perfect. You can hardly control how loud your moans start getting and Adam loves it, laughs when you press your forehead into the side of his neck in a break where he'd stopped kissing you because of your embarrassment.

"You're cute when you're embarrassed, puppy," he whispers, kissing your forehead. You hum your disagreement and he kisses you as deeply as either of you can manage, hand cradling your neck to allow the kiss to be so deep.

He pulls away and presses his lips across your chest again, keeping count where you've lost the ability to because of how fucked out you're starting to feel.

One hundred more kisses pass you by, and by that point Adams kicked the pace up just enough.

You come with a whisper of his name, saying it like it's the most meaningful word you'll ever speak. Adams teeth bite gently against your neck and he moans your name as your fourth release triggers his first, and he releases into the condom.

After thrusting into you through the post-orgasm aftershocks, Adam pulls out. He disposes of the condom while you go pee to avoid a UTI, and when you're back in bed, Adams lips are kissing you again and you're so blissed out that all you can do is stare at him lovingly.

The last two hundred kisses go by within fifteen minutes, Adams lips soft against your skin as he delivers whispered praise and sweet nothings in between each of the kisses he drops over your face, your arms, your hips, stomach, and thighs.

When he leaves, you're smiling like a buffoon and so happy your heart could melt with the joy you feel. He gets a bath going and then helps you to the bathroom, helps you into the bathtub while he reaffirms that he's proud of you for all the work you'd done with your thesis and acknowledges how hard it's been for you.

You let Adam wash your hair, exhausted and still not very coherent as he does so. It's very easy to melt into him and the way that his hands feel, and you let yourself do so without a second thought.

You agree to order pizza as a late-night dinner--it's nearly ten o'clock by the time you're both discussing it--and Adam helps you out of the bathtub, gets you to sit on the toilet while he blowdries your hair and leads you back to the bedroom.

He laughs when you point out the drawer of clothes you have that belong to him, kissing your forehead and making a remark about a pair of sweatpants he's not seen in close to two years. He gets dressed in the clothes from that drawer, helps you do the same because every single one of your limbs feels like Jell-o--completely and utterly unstable.

He grabs your phone from where you keep it, on the television stand in your living room, orders your birthday pizza while the two of you lay in your bed.

"Happy birthday," he says after the phone call is done and the pizza order is placed.

"Thank you," you hum, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He grins a little, runs a hand through your hair and hums contentedly.

"I love you," he whispers after silence has settled.

"I love you more," you respond, half-asleep but so content your chest aches with it.

Adam presses a kiss to your forehead, holds you close and for a minute, feels as though letting you go is an impossible feat, hopes that nothing ever comes around to separate the two of you from one another.

His gaze shifts from you to the window, hand running through your hair as he watches the sky and listens to the sounds of the outdoors at two hours before midnight.

He's so content it makes him ache, and he knows you feel the same.

All in all, you have to think, as you drift off, that it's your best birthday yet.

#adam stanheight #adam stanheight x reader #saw 2004

[beautifulpersonpeach]

I'm very late to the party it seems, because only after getting more weird asks than usual, and a few explicitly naming the bloggers involved did I learn today of the ugliness that went down a short while ago. Storm has already said her bit and I respect her choice to quietly step back so this isn't me resurrecting a dead horse to bludgeon. I'm writing this because I've been on the receiving end of this sort of campaign before, have seen it play out too many times with the same types of people, and because I want it on record somewhere that I don't know anybody here personally (a conscious choice) but that all my dealings with Storm showed her to be a forthright and thorough person. And even if she wasn't, that wouldn't excuse any of this bullshit.

Normally if this were a private matter I'd keep my opinion to myself after all I don't know any of you. But the moment anybody brings this shit into the public then anybody gets to have a go at it. We've all seen these sorts of takedown posts before, and I'm not always opposed to them because sometimes they're for good reason. If someone is actually racist, or idk a serial killer, it's good for the public to know that shit. Differing opinions on jikook being real, someone cussing you out, or blocking liberally do not meet that threshold for me, but everyone's different.

When I see these takedowns happen, including when it happened to me, I've observed it usually involves HCP personalities in this blogging space that take certain actions extremely personally and nurse grievances until it festers into fuel for drama that they gratify in because in their heads they believe they’ve been scorned and therefore are right. They usually think in a very tribal sense, rope other people in and force people into camps of friend, neutrals, and foe, and wear their egos on their sleeves.

In my case, I'd only been blogging here actively for less than 5 months before a pair of bloggers and their followers accused me of feuding with them, using them for clout, and that my opinions on my blog somehow prevented them from running their own blog and speaking freely. They'd been nursing that grievance for months with the followers who felt as they did, while I was oblivious, blogging with abandon so to speak, even interacting with them, until the call-out post. And my followers had been receiving messages about how much of a horrible bitch I am (I mean, I can be a bitch but hadn't been to anyone here at that point).

Thankfully I hadn't been blogging for long so most people could go through my blog to read what I actually think, see how I actually engage, and decide for themselves if anything those bloggers said made any sense. Storm has a longer blogging history and the campaign against her more widespread since she was very active in jikook spaces, plus she legit needs a break so I get why she's decided to take one now. I still get weird asks from people who claim to be devoted to those bloggers and that shit, that behaviour, that mentality is ugly. The point here is too many people take shit personally and then try to make it everyone's problem. Some HCP people can't help it if they have those sorts of personalities, but that doesn't excuse it. Seeing shit like this just kills the vibe for anyone who doesn't get high off that nonsense, and it further frays whatever community people are trying to build here. I usually keep my distance but I admire the people who have tried, even if only in public, to connect with people here and build community. Not everyone has to like everyone else, but there's enough abuse and BS to jokers from outside the community and fandom, for anyone to think their momentary satisfaction is worth poisoning this space, or character assassinating someone else.

Apparently anyone who has voiced support for Storm, has themselves become a target, and that in itself should tell you how weird this all is lmao.

For the people flooding my inbox who think we're in kindergarten and I should declare where my loyalties lie, get a fucking grip. If you have a problem with my arguments or views, I'm always happy to engage on that basis. But if you think me liking Storm and interacting with her posts is reason enough for you to act a fool in my inbox, you must be high out of your goddamn mind. Take my advice and block me because nobody here has time for all that. Vous pouvez vous attendre à être complètement ignoré par moi à partir de ce moment. J'ai entendu dire que le sexe anal peut soulager la pression sur la tête, vous pouvez l'essayer et me dire si cela fonctionne. Ça, je le posterai sur le blog. Tout le reste sera supprimé.

Borahae. 💜

#small psa

[letstalkwhump]

Let's Talk Whump!

Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump, a series of interviews that spotlight the amazing people in our whump community! I’m Malice and I’ll be your host today. 

Here with us today is the fabulous @angstafterdark !

Hello! Good to have you here! How about we start off with a fact or three about yourself?

Oh man, hello. If we're not talking about whump, I'm really bad at talking about myself. It's not that I'm boring, I'm just shy and awkward. I'll do my best though! 

My name is Vee or V or ✌🏿. My favorite color is red. I love emojis even though I'm still trying to figure out what half of them mean. I'm very passionate about getting more POC and well written women into the media I read and write in. I firmly believe everyone wins when there's more diversity! 

What does whump mean to you? 

Catharsis, a healthy way to get the pain in your brain out so you're not harming yourself or others. For me, whump isn't the only thing I look for, I like a little plot with my pain. Whump and all its tropes and genres are seasoning to great storytelling! 

And how did you find the whump community? 

I stumbled into the community completely by accident and during a pretty rough period in my life. I started out in writeblr and somehow found @sweetwhumphellacomf's Prince and Paladin series with Eos and Valerie and it just hit everything I loved about storytelling! Dex is a fantastic writer and that series will always have a special place in my heart. So after I read it, I started reading more, got hooked into a discord server, started to actually interact with Dex and other whump writers, started writing my own stuff and went from there!   

Do you feel like your view on whump has changed since you joined?

It's definitely changed! I've gone in a different direction with my writing and become a lot more open to certain tropes and people I once thought were weird or taboo. I think, personally, that's helped me grow as an author. I've had to do research to write some topics with sensitivity and care and that, in turn, has led me to other blogs and people I have the pleasure of calling friends! 

And now my favorite question to ask! Do you have a favourite whump trope?

Whipping, Bedside Vigils, Creepy Comfort, Captivity, Whump Emotional/Psychological Whump, Sickfics/Fevers. I've really been into the BBU (box boy universe) lately. As someone who loves engaging with others about OCs and writing stuff, my favorite thing about it is its collaborative nature. It's so fun and contrary to popular belief, people are very aware and sensitive about the triggering tropes and topics that are often explored in that sandbox. There's also the ability to explore the real world struggles of POC communities, minorities, and other vulnerable populations and thats something I’m really passionate about. 

The BBU universe is amazing with its sandbox structure and I think a lot of the whump community has really connected through BBU’s shared universe. Do you have a favourite piece you've written? 

I have two blogs so I'll link two if that's alright! I love this one! Taron and Zizi were my first whumpees. They hold such a special place in my heart. And this one! (slight nsfw)! Wick's fear here was so fun to write and so palpable. 

I love Taron’s distress and internal conflict in the first one. So good! Do you have a regular writing routine or just whenever the inspo strikes?

Oh gosh. I have a kid, a fulltime job, and a pretty busy life so getting writing done is kind of hard. I try to take Mondays off from parenting and working and I usually find myself at Panera Bread for a few hours. I really like sitting in one corner of the place. I’ll usually put on my wireless headphones and put one song on repeat. The song depends on which story or character I’m writing for.

I do like having a snack when I'm writing but sometimes I get into the zone and completely forget about what I'm eating. It's a problem!  

And do you find it easier to write some things than others?

Comfort is really easy for me to write. I don't write it a lot but when I do, it flows really easily. I love a good comfort fic but I usually slip in a bit of angst. I gotta have my angst. 

Take us behind the curtain, is there anything new you’re working on at the moment?

I have several stories in the works but I'm currently working on the escape portion of LIKE A BULLET LOVES A GUN. Someone dies and that's all I'm gonna say about that. 

I've also taken up drawing again. It's not great and I hate not being immediately good at something but I'm trying to stick with it! 

Do you have a joke or pun you would like to share to spread some smiles today?

I usually save my witty lines for my writing. I’m not great at being funny when I’m under pressure. Sorry. 

Advice time! What would you like to share?

Yeah! I have two pieces of advice!

The first: Have a writing buddy! Write with someone you trust who is going to be supportive of you and excited about what you're doing. The second: no matter how discouraged you get, NEVER DELETE YOUR WRITING OR YOUR BLOG! Be your own fan first. Reread your own writing (you write it for a reason. It made you happy). There's absolutely NO shame in reblogging your own work and screaming in the tags. It's not annoying and it's not egotistical.

Finally let’s shout out your favorite writing/whump blogs, bffs or people who've inspired you. We're hyping everyone up here!

Oh God. There are so many! Whether it's screaming in the tags of my writing, giving me space on discord to be my sometimes messy self, collaborating with me, or just being a sweet, positive force in the community, I'm genuinely grateful for each and every one of these blogs. 

@mottinthemainpot (who nominated me) @wildfaewhump @flowersarefreetherapy @siren-of-agony @ashintheairlikesnow @justplainwhump  @noirineverysense @just-horrible-things @gritpyre @winedark-whump  @studyofwhump @clockworknightmares @redwingedwhump @amethystpath-writes @gottawhump @girlsjustwannadrawwhump and @oddsconvert 

I also gotta shout out a few of the discord servers I’m a part of so shout out to the whumpawoman server, especially to @whumpstash and @mirasmirages who are the most amazing and supportive co-mods! 

Shout out to The Whump Oasis and every one in there as well! 

Anything you'd like to add?

Yes, thank you. albino-whumpee would’ve been on that list of whump blogs that I’m grateful for. I'm still so grateful for the conversations we had and their beautiful commissioned artwork. I hope wherever they've ended up, they're happy and pain-free. Please consider visiting the memorial @whumptr0pes put up for Moya and donating to The Trevor Project in their memory. 

Oftentimes when we're writing whump, we’re dealing with our own traumas and insecurities. It's cliche to say but you never know what someone is going through so kindness and understanding always has to be a priority even if - especially if - someone is writing about a topic you don't personally enjoy or can't engage with for whatever reason. 

We all write and enjoy topics that can trigger someone else and it's important for us as a community to support each other. Please, please, please don't hesitate to reach out. There is always someone in your corner. 

(Note: This topic may still be extremely fresh for some folks and it can be extremely triggering, but we here at Let's Talk Whump want to make it known that we are all a big family (the whump community). No matter what differences we may have, no one should ever feel alone. That being said, if any of you are struggling at home, feel lost, hurting, and don't know where to reach out, attached is a website that has international suicide hotline numbers and resources available from countries A-Z.

https://blog.opencounseling.com/suicide-hotlines/ )

Thank you so much for sharing, @angstafterdark. It was so good to have you here today! 

And to all you folks at home, have a whump-derful day!

* @angstafterdark is an 18+ blog only. Minors please do not interact with their works or with their blog. 

[acacia-may]

Acacia~! 💖

If it’s alright, I have two ships to ask about… 😅

Could you share your thoughts on Finral x Finesse and Levy x Gajeel, please?

Hi Erika! It is always so lovely to hear from you. I hope you are doing fantastically and finding lots of time to write and enjoy your favorite things! 💖 Thank you so much for the ask. Of course you can ask about more than one pairing. ^^

Finral x Finesse

Finral x Finesse does make sense and compels me to an extent (though I'll admit other pairings for both of them compel me more personally 😅). It's a very sweet ship, and I can see how they would be well suited for each other since they are both very kind, generous, and selfless people. I love the idea of them each getting to be in a relationship with someone who is equally as big-hearted as they are, and I can imagine them being extremely happy together even if the circumstances in which they would be getting together aren't the best. As I've been pretty vocal about, I have extremely strong and very negative opinions about the idea of Finral returning to House Vaude in order to marry her and that kind of leaves a bad taste in my mouth with regards to this pairing which I otherwise like and enjoy based on their interactions and dynamic alone.

I just really, really wish this ship wasn't so tangled up in the House Vaude succession drama (plus does she have to be engaged to his brother? Why is that necessary??). It's just so much more complicated than it needs to be and often times very messy and not handled as a well as it should be especially when it's tied to such heavy, life-altering decisions like Finral returning to his abusive home (i.e. it's often played for melodrama and extremely unfunny laughs. It was also introduced really late and don't even get me started about the whole Langris thing...). It's these outside circumstances that really make it hard for me to go all in for a pairing I probably would have enjoyed a lot more under different (better) circumstances, but I do like them and understand people who really ship them and don't mind the handling of the pairing in the canon. It's just hard for me to look past that so I have complicated feelings about it.

Gajeel x Levy

Gah I freaking adore this ship! It's my favorite pairing in all of Fairy Tail no question at all. Their relationship arc was incredibly compelling and was one of my favorite plotlines in the entire series. I went in knowing that they were a canon ship but not really knowing anything about them. Needless to say, I was a little perplexed in the beginning seeing as they had that whole enemies to lovers thing going on, but it was really interesting to get to see how their relationship developed over time and I'll admit I got super invested.

I'm not always the biggest fan of enemies to lovers, but I think Gajeel x Levy is a really great example of how good that trope can be. I love that they found forgiveness and understanding then built this friendship with each other based on mutual respect. Gajeel knew he had to prove to Levy that he was sorry and that he had changed, and he showed this with his actions, knowing that it wasn't enough for him to just say he was sorry and that things were different. I also loved that his character arc, while inspired by Levy and (eventually) his love for her, was also independent of her and was something that Gajeel wanted for himself. He wanted to better himself and to become a man who was worthy of her regardless of whether Levy ever returned his affections, and I found that incredibly refreshing, compelling, and wholesome. I was really rooting for him throughout his entire arc, and the selflessness and devotion he shows not just towards Levy but towards his other friends as well by the end of the series is really moving. I was honestly a little misty-eyed during his incredibly heartfelt and vulnerable confession.

By believing in him and choosing to see the best in him, Levy inspired Gajeel to see himself as something more, something better than he ever believed he could be, and I love that he inspires and builds her up too (like when he helped her during the Tenrou Island arc). They really do have this great dynamic. I adore their banter and the way they balance each other and help each other explore different points of views and ways of seeing the world.

I could ramble about this pairing forever, but yes, I think they make a lot of sense and I ship them so, so much. They're absolutely compelling to me, but I can understand how some people might not be a fan of this ship given its beginnings and the inexcusable actions of Gajeel during the Phantom Lord arc. For me though, I think the series did a very good job of making a compelling slow burn for them and showing that Gajeel really had changed and had become someone worthy of Levy and her love. I am personally very glad they got their happy ending. Thank you so much for asking about them! 💕

#finral x finesse #finesse x finral #gajeel x levy #levy x gajeel #gah i love gajevy sm #acacia's ramblings #answered asks #ship ask games #erika 💙 #thanks for the ask

[oniondraws]

Ik it's a bit(very) late but-

About the ending of the moon revolution finale, I don't like the ending, like it was disappointing for me, before you go attack me I wanna explain-

Maybe bc I had high expectations for it since how hyped up it was but the ending felt a bit off

Like there was so much buildup and then suddenly some characters burst out of nowhere in the middle of the drama then somehow fix everything with a simple "good message" like Pluto and Charon werent even there during the genuine planning of the moon revolution, they just came outta nowhere.

Pluto and Charon werent even explaining that well, it sounded like two teachers trying to teach their kindergarteners basic human decency using themselves as examples(or them using the power of friendship to stop a war), not two characters trying to help fix a giant War by convincing everyone to try to be more peaceful with each other by using themselves as examples(now that I've said it it sounds kinda weird💀).

Like don't get me wrong I understand that the ppl working on it were probably tired and rushing but I feel that the drama should've been fixed by a very important character like earth, titan or even Ganymede, not characters who weren't even apart of it untill the end.

Plus we didn't even see the part where triton actually meets the two, where we could see how they would interact after not seeing each other in years, he just says "who are you?" In a previous EP and then at the end Pluto and Charon just appear.

I get that it shows Pluto finally feeling important after becoming a dwarf planet but I feel that it should've been in the dwarf planet videos or even its own arc instead of randomly being in the moon revolution arc which, is about MOONS, not dwarf planets, even if you could talk about triton who was a big part of the moon revolution arc, even if he used to be a dwarf planet, he's still a moon.

Even after all that, this is not hating on the show in general, infact it is one of my fav shows, I am very aware that the people working on it out so much passion and love into making this for all of us, this is simply my opinion of the ending of the moon revolution, I'm just not that satisfied with how the moon revolution ended, because it felt rushed to me, either that or I just like very chaotic endings lmao, anyways how that I'm done, I'm gonna disappear bai-

(also I'm aware all of this is a simple "Pluto and Charon came out of nowhere" but I have a bit more, I just didn't want this to turn 10 paragraphs long lol)

if im being honest, i agree with you.

because lets be real...

the ending was just, unsatisfying. you would expect someone relevant such as titan, Ganymede, earth, hell luna would've made a great candidate explaining how their orbit around earth is one of the reasons why life exists on it. luna would've proven a point on how moons are important and he and earth are an example. the whole revolution was about providing moons are not the underdogs of the planets they orbit.

then pluto and Charon bust in and say "we are equals, we don't control the other" (or something like that, haven't watch the moon revolution in a long time) and suddenly, everyone just agrees...?

the problem with the moon revolution is ending and how it was presumably "solved"

i think the team should've used at least Luna as an example, because it would prove that moons ARE relevant no matter how big or small. Earth and his moon, luna, should've been the answer because luna keeps his earthlings alive by just being there. plus you could've thrown in some moon facts too how the moons are special in their own way. it would've been educational and fits in with the whole moon centric story (a great opportunity too)

of course i am not shaming or slandering the creators and team, of course not!

i just feel like they could've used a better ending than using pluto and Charon to fix the whole revolution. since Solarballs have made an oath to make long form videos instead of the good ol' short snappy educational ones we all used to watch and love, it makes sense that they've probably used pluto and Charon to make up their little screen time and satisfy some people. going back to your point, they are probably burnt out plus they work on the videos weeks before their deadline so they probably have other projects they've been working on for the future.

but for the sake of the ending for the moon revolution, they messed up on that part.

[~ forgive me if my opinion and tangent seems repetitive and dull ~]

#asks are cool #anon ask #solarballs #onion rambles #solarballs moons #the moon revolution

[rileykitty]

I can send asks! I've honestly been avoiding tumblr lately but boop day has made me remember why my younger self used to love tumblr.

But anyways what are your current fandom interests?

I think all of us are craving more interaction with each other when it comes to social media. It's so easy to get caught up in endlessly scrolling without interacting, but I try to make a conscious effort to break out of that and comment more. :'3 Makes me feel better even if I never get a reply, you know?

Scum Villain is my main fandom right now! The characters are just soooo much fun, I'm kind of insane about them. Cannot emphasize enough how much I love these weird little guys. I ADORE the fandom itself, as well. It's the most welcoming and enjoyable fandom I've been a part of in a long time tbh!!! <3 I like mxtx's other works too, but the fandom was a big part of svsss becoming the one I focused on the most.

Soulsborne is also something I'm absolutely in LOVE with--specifically Bloodborne and Elden Ring since those are the ones I've played but I wanna get into Dark Souls so bad when I have the chance. I'm obsessed with the monster designs and the lore, and Bloodborne instantly became my top fave game of all time the moment I finished it a few years ago. It's a truly incredible masterpiece.

Dungeon Meshi is the most recent thing I've gotten into. I finally had the chance to read the manga and finished it literally like two days ago! Still getting caught up on the anime. Really, really good read and I'm so glad it was just as weird as I was hoping it would be hahaha

Pokemon is still near and dear to my heart as well, but I've been taking a bit of a break from it since I'm a little burned out and wasn't really interested in playing ScarVi. Legends Arceus was easily my favorite pkmn game since Gen 5, though!

#riley text #ask #anonymous #not an exhaustive list but these are the ones at the forefront of my mind rn #please talk to me about any of them at any time <3 #also down for any recs for new stuff to check out ;3

[hawkinsschoolcounselor]

Hi! Happy lukewarm Tudum day, I hope you're having an okay one :) all things considered... If you're taking asks right now I'd love to hear your thoughts. I've been reading again about attachment styles (secure, avoidant, anxious, and I think another I'm forgetting right now) and it got me wondering about ST characters and how they might fit in these categories. I remember kaypeace21 mentioning attachment style in an old post (the one about parentification) but it wasn't a focus. Any thoughts? Thanks either way! ^_^

I haven't really been keeping up with Asks, to be honest. The past school year was very rough, as I keep getting additional responsibilities as I'm there longer (without decent pay, of course). Now that it's summer, though, I suppose I have no more excuses. I think I knew I'd never be able to just walk away from this community.

So, attachment styles. This is a difficult thing to really get into since we know very little about most characters' early childhoods. Attachment styles are rooted in the attachments developed with caregivers in infancy, though they develop from there. That is to say, someone who forms an insecure attachment in infancy isn't doomed to treat all social relationships that way forever. These initial bonds do often tend to influence later bonds, though.

This is going to be a long one, so the rest of the post is under the break.

The attachment styles you mentioned go back to the work of Ainsworth in the late 70s. She devised the Strange Situation observational experiment, which involved an infant child being introduced, separated, and reunited with a caregiver and an unfamiliar adult. Attachment styles are determined based on how the child reacts to these situations, demonstrating how much security they derive from their caregiver. What constitutes a caregiver can vary based on culture and individual circumstances, so it need not be a parent/guardian.

The four attachment styles based on this theory are as follows:

Secure Attachment: To the child, the caregiver is a secure base from which they feel safe to explore unfamiliar situations. The child is upset when the caregiver leaves, but the bond isn't damaged, and the child is fine when the caregiver returns. This is the result of a healthy bond between caregiver and child. Funny story, in grad school my classmates and I got a look as to what this might look like in dogs when my professor brought his dog to class. The dog enjoyed coming up to all of us as long as my professor was there, but he left the room for a minute to fetch something, closing the door behind him. His dog stopped sniffing around all of us and immediately went towards the closed door. My professor walked in a moment later, and the dog's tail was rapidly wagging. I'm not aware of any research into whether this theory holds for dogs or other animals, but it was an interesting thing to watch given that we just learned about attachment styles.

Insecure Avoidant Attachment: The child avoids the caregiver, interacting little with them, and not being upset (or even noticing) their departure. The child may avoid eye contact when the caregiver returns. The bond, if it was ever there, is not re-established on return. This is generally the result of a caregiver not being emotionally available to the child. It's can be, but is not necessarily the result of abuse or neglect, as an emotionally reserved caregiver can unintentionally withhold affection. These children often come to see attempts at bonding as being met with hostile or dismissive reactions. A child like this could grow up to see self-sufficiency as the only way to go, as they don't expect emotional reciprocity, and will avoid getting too close to people, favoring more casual relationships.

Insecure Anxious-Ambivalent (originally Insecure Resistant): The child becomes very distressed upon separation, clinging to the caregiver, usually while crying. However, upon return of the caregiver, the child resists reattachment, sometimes to the point of kicking and yelling. This can be the result of inconsistency in the caregiver-child relationship, resulting in the child being confused as to how to navigate it. The child essentially never knows when anything will be ok, resulting in great distress whenever a situation is unfamiliar. A child with this attachment style may be afraid of abandonment, and could continue carrying that fear with them as they grow up if the situation continues that way. They may feel unworthy of love and need regular reassurance.

Insecure Disorganized: The child appears confused and/or afraid. The child shows some aspects of both avoidant and resistant styles, but there's a marked difference in intensity. The child may actively fear their caregiver, and it can be a sign of an abusive caregiver and/or childhood trauma. As a result, there's a real lack of any clear pattern of behavior relating to the child's relationship with caregivers. Survival could be a matter of reacting to individual situations without any real underlying schema having been formed. A child with this type wants love, but has no idea how to get it.

I dare say that most of the cast probably has a Secure Attachment style based on their behavior in the show. There are some exceptions, however. I will not be trying to classify El, as her, ahem, unique socialization complicates matters.

Mike Wheeler: I'm gonna go out on a limb and say he has an Anxious-Ambivalent style. He can be very emotionally reactive and sullen, and he does seem to have a fear of loved ones leaving him. This could potentially be the result of Ted's lack of emotional reciprocity. Karen was likely a very loving mother during Mike's infancy, but Ted being closed-off could have resulted in a lot of confusion for Mike. Mike gets clingy, suspicious, and jealous with loved ones when he suspects things aren't going well. This comes from his fear that he's not good enough for their love, and, as a result, he's deeply touched by Will's reassurance in the van, likely owing to his low self-esteem.

Will Byers: He's a tough one. He doesn't seek out relationships, which suggests Avoidant, but he has one loving parent and one asshole (later absent) parent, which suggests Anxious-Ambivalent. At best, Lonnie was emotionally distant, if not outright abusive. However, we know Will has great bonds with Joyce and Jonathan. I suppose it could be argued that there is still a lack of consistency, as a result of Joyce having to work a lot and Jonathan being a kid himself, but we don't know enough about how that worked in Will's early childhood. He does lack the emotional reactivity that goes with Anxious, though. I'm going to lean towards Avoidant, though, as Will does seem reluctant to get too close to anyone. His first friendship was with Mike, and Mike made the first move there. We don't know how he met Lucas and Dustin, but I can't see him taking the initiative based on what we know about him. He also befriended both Max and El because his friends did. He seemingly made no friends in Lenora, and, unlike El, he didn't seem to care much. His focus seems to be more on not losing his current relationships, particularly Mike.

Jonathan Byers: Insecure-Avoidant. He's very similar to Will, only he's had to serve as the caregiver for Will, which might complicate things. I'd say he's definitely Avoidant, though. He has no real drive to form relationships. His relationship with Nancy developed only because he spent a couple very traumatic weeks with her where they pretty much had to bond to survive. He did genuinely like her, but he likely never would have attempted to get into a relationship with her under normal circumstances. Now that he's in it, he's terrified. He's in too deep, and he has no idea how to handle that. He's afraid it's going to turn out like his parents' relationship. He's friends with Argyle, but it seems to be a largely casual friendship (up until recently, anyway). Argyle being an outcast stoner is probably what made him an appealing friend for Jonathan, as he doesn't have to worry about emotional closeness.

Steve Harrington: Insecure-Avoidant. We know he doesn't have a good relationship with his parents, who never seem to be around. He's confident and easy-going, likely the result of having to learn to fend for himself emotionally. He's had several shallow relationships, both platonic and romantic, owing to his fear of getting too close to someone. We only see him get close to three people: Nancy, Dustin, and Robin. All three of those relationships we can see Steve get antsy about being too close. He fears that Dustin is choosing Eddie over him. He was devastated by Nancy saying their love was "bullshit." And he's almost afraid as he confesses to Robin that he developed feelings for her. When he pushes through his fear, he's able to really click with people, but it always requires a real feat of courage from him.

Ok, I can't do anymore than that, I don't think. There's others who would be interesting to look at in regards to attachment, but, like El, have too many complicating factors. Hopper has had trauma in his past with Vietnam, his daughter dying, and his marriage collapsing. We don't know how he was growing up. Max has dealt with divorced parents and an abusive stepbrother, so it's hard to determine what might be the result of attachment style and what might be the result of her own traumas.

I do enjoy your thought-provoking Asks, though. I've missed doing these types of psych analyses, which is a bit ironic considering it's largely what I based the blog on when I originally created it.

#stranger things #attachment styles #mike wheeler #will byers #steve harrington #byler #jonathan byers