#and sometimes I wonder if we were mean for that

[veltana]

Breaking point

✦ Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes/Fem!Reader

✦ Word count: ~2,5k

✦ Rating: Explicit

✦ Warnings/tags: Dub-con (proceed with caution if this might trigger you), pwp, smut and a bit of fluff at the end, possessive/protective!bucky, degredation (slut, fuck doll, cum-bucket), grinding, choking, spitting, pussy slapping, fingering, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, pet name (sweetheart).

✦ Summary: Bucky is done with you going out with losers.

✦ Note: This used to be called I will kill them if they touch you but I never liked that title so I renamed it! Also, you guys didn't know what you were voting for, but it was the banner for this story! Please reblog and comment! Asks are always welcome 💚

Masterlist | AO3

"Please don't scare this one away as you did last time," you beg and look at Bucky's reflection in the bathroom mirror. He makes a face where he's leaning against the door frame behind you and then sighs when you give him a look. "He wasn't worth shit if he didn't wanna fight for you," he points out.

Now it's your turn to sigh and you cross your arms, glaring at him. "He isn't supposed to fight for me on a first date. We're supposed to have a good time and hopefully fuck." Bucky's mouth hardens, and he looks away. He doesn’t like that, at all.

Ever since you became roommates he's been very protective of you, helping you with the smallest things, driving you everywhere you need to go, even if you can drive yourself. Sometimes it's overbearing but most of the time it's nice to have someone care for you like that.

Unfortunately, recently he's picked up a habit of intimidating the people you go on dates with. He stands behind you when they come to pick you up, and his large frame and cold stare make many of them cower. A few have turned around right away, others have asked if that's your boyfriend or something, thinking it was some type of open relationship/cuckold situation.

"Don't say shit like that," Bucky says through gritted teeth. "I don't wanna think about you fucking other people." You can't help the teasing smile that cracks your face. "Makes you jealous?" With a huff, Bucky pushes off and leaves you to continue.

Two hours later your makeup is done and your hair fixed to perfection. You sit on the couch in shorts and a t-shirt, with a glass of wine, waiting until the last minute to put on the skin-tight dress. While scrolling on your phone, Bucky sits beside you with a beer. "So where's the loser taking you?" "Don't care,” you shrug. “Honestly, my priority tonight is to get laid. The previous ones were a little too… bland. But he seems promising." "What do you mean, bland?"

Putting your phone down you look at him, "You don't wanna hear this anyway, you'll just get mad," you point out. "I don't get mad," he defends. "Pfff, you're such a liar, I can see it in your eyes whenever I mention another guy." "Because you deserve the best and all I've seen is trash."

Irritated, you put your glass down too. "Why don't you pick for me then? Who would James Bucky Barnes deem worthy of fucking me?"

The grip on his beer is so hard his knuckles whiten and his lips are a thin line. When he doesn't answer you lean back and start to count people off.

"Well, Steve seems a bit too sweet for my taste but I mean I would not mind trying a slice of that all-American beefcake," you muse. "Sam is so charming and funny! That quick tongue would probably work wonders, if you know what I mean," you wink and watch as Bucky's eye twitch, his jaw clenched hard.

"Tony," you continue. "Well, he seems a little self-absorbed but maybe he's a really selfless lover. Won't hurt to check!" "Loki is so handsome," you bite your lip. "I would surrender my body to him in a heartbeat! But I've heard that he leaves people high and dry and that would be awful."

Tilting your head, you say, "Do you think Thor and Jane would be up for a threesome? I can just imagine eating her out while he fucks me from behind and then we could-"

With a slam he puts the bottle on the table and grabs your face with his hand forcefully, silencing your tirade of words and squeezing your cheeks so that your lips pucker.

The grip is close to bruising and it's an instant pull in your lower stomach. His eyes are black with anger, something you've never seen directed at you before. "No one," he hisses. "Not one of them is fucking you, I will kill them if they touch you."

His hand releases you and grabs your neck instead. You're shocked, and instantly so horny it hurts. Opening your mouth to speak he squeezes harder, making a wheezing sound come out.

"I'll give you a chance to stop this. Tell me right now you don't want this and we'll act as if nothing happened. Otherwise, I'm fucking you into this couch until you can't remember your goddamn name." When he finishes his grip lightens. The rush of blood makes you euphoric and boneless. You want to give yourself to him, let him do whatever he wants. "Fuck me," you whisper.

The kiss is more teeth than lips and the hold around your throat hardens again. You try to keep up with him but it's impossible as he pushes his tongue into your mouth, claiming every inch, making you lightheaded with the lack of oxygen. You gasp for air as he pulls away, releasing you. His gaze is brimming with lust and want now, all signs of anger gone. Then he pushes you down onto the couch.

"You're a kinky little slut, aren't you sweetheart?" he mocks and leans in over you, spreading your legs with his. All you can do is nod and try to wiggle close so you can press your center against his clothed cock. It's clearly outlined in his sweatpants and you hope it's as big as it seems. "If I put my hand down your pants, are you gonna be wet for me?" "Yes Bucky," you whine.

The throbbing is almost unbearable and his smirk is downright sinful. "Come on, rub yourself on me, show me how much you want it." With another whine, you brace yourself against the couch and lift your hips. He doesn't move a muscle to help as you struggle to find the right position.

"That's disappointing," Bucky smacks his lips and frowns. "Thought you wanted this." "I do Bucky, I do, please I'm trying," you tell him desperately. With effort, you get into a good enough position to grind your cunt on his cock through the layers of clothing. It's not nearly enough to curb the ache.

"Useless," Bucky sighs and grabs your legs. "Do I have to do everything?" He pushes your knees up towards your chest, folding you in half and pushing his cock right into your core.

"Sorry," you moan. His mean words have only made you needier and you move yourself against him with abandon. Bucky is motionless above you, not making a sound or saying a word, just staring at you chasing your high. Your movements turn unsteady when you start to come close.

If you were of sound mind you would notice the glint in his eyes but instead, you’re barreling towards your climax. Until he suddenly moves away.

Gawking you stare at him and he just smiles wickedly in return. "Take off your clothes, spread your legs" he instructs and you quickly pull your pants off and discard your t-shirt and underwear, spreading your legs as best you can on the couch. Bucky takes in your bare body, moving his hands slowly down your thighs until his palms frame your pussy.

"Fucking shaved for him too,” he notes with a snarl. You're not sure why that upset him. "Sorry!" you say, just to be safe.

"I don't need your hair curled, your make-up done or your whole body shaved. I will fuck you anyway, sweetheart, no matter what you look like because you belong to me," he growls before he spits on your cunt, sending a rush through you, making you moan and spread your legs even more.

For the first time, he touches you properly, letting his fingers spread the spit all over your pussy before shoving two of them into your soaked core. He pistons them in and out, putting his thumb against your clit and making colors burst before you.

"You want to come on my fingers, you fucking slut?" When you nod frantically he instructs, "Open your mouth, stick out your tongue." A second after you do spit lands on your tongue and droplets on your face. It nearly tips you over.

"Swallow it," he orders and watches you as you do, some form of approval shining in his eyes for the first time. "Who do you belong to?"

The question is too complicated to understand, you can't focus on what he wants. "I don't…" is all that comes out.

"Wrong answer," he says and removes his fingers, making you shout in disappointment. Sharp slaps land on your wet cunt and you instinctively try to move away from it, but he grabs your legs, pulling you back. "Don't you fucking run from me."

"I'm sorry," you cry, looking pleadingly at him. "I'm- I'm yours James, yours to do what you want with. Please, please, please let me come!"

With a huff he pushes his fingers back in, pressing the tips into your g-spot and getting his thumb back on your clit. His unbothered state makes you feel so small and insignificant, heightening the pleasure coursing through you.

As it climbs, your body shakes, your legs trembling from being held open. "I'm- I'm- don't stop!" you beg. Closing your eyes you focus on the feeling of him, his other hand still gripping your thigh hard. You hope it bruises.

"I can feel you, slut!" Bucky's voice is the cherry on top of everything. "Come on my fingers, do it, come for me!" he commands and of course, you do as he wants. With a scream you convulse, almost pushing him out with the sensation flooding you. Bucky is talking above you but you're not sure what he's saying because all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears.

A hard tap against your cheek makes you open your eyes. "Don't pass out on me, I'm not done with you yet." "Wouldn't dream of it," you smile dumbly, and it earns you a smile in return. But it quickly passes as he pulls off his tank top and pushes down his pants. The cock is just as big as you hoped.

He rubs the head against your soaked center, sending overwhelming sparks through you, making you twitch. When he notches the head of his dick at your opening your blood freezes. "C-condom?" you stutter.

Cocking his head he asks. "Do you really want that? Doesn't a slut like you want to be filled up with cum?" "Y-yes, but, Bucky…" you gnaw your lip.

"I want to fuck my little cum-bucket raw, make sure you feel me running out of you for days," he gives a light thrust, almost pushing inside, giving you a taste of heaven. For a second you look at each other and Bucky presses in just a little bit more. It decides it for you. "Please fill me with your cum Bucky, I need it so bad!" you whine and he chuckles before shoving his fat cock into you without mercy.

Quickly you wrap your legs around his hips, meeting his hard thrusts that are sending your body into overdrive. "Feel so fucking good sweetheart, your cunt was made for me, wasn't it?" he groans. "Yes it was," you answer breathlessly.

He grabs your face. "Those other losers are never going to satisfy you." "No, Bucky, only you!" "That's right, you're my fuckdoll now, sweetheart," he says before he leans down to kiss you. It's much sweeter this time and you grab his head, carding your fingers through his hair, feeling your chest fill with another type of warmth.

When he pulls back he says, "Beg me not to come in you." Your cunt clenches and your second orgasm is suddenly a lot closer. "Bucky, please don't… I can't get pregnant," you make your voice small and frail.

In response his laugh is cruel. "Yes you will, your purpose in life is to be bred. I'm going to cum in you every day til it sticks and then everyone will know who you belong to." "Please, pull out," you beg and reach down to rub your clit, feeling the climax shimmering underneath your skin.

"Such a bad liar, sweetheart," he chuckles. "Are you going to come on my cock? Are you gonna claim me just as I claim you?" "Yes! I just need- harder!" you pant. "Fucking hell," Bucky grunts and does as you demand.

The climax rips through you with little regard for your sanity. The sound leaving your throat makes it raw and a second later Bucky moans your name loud enough for the neighbors to hear. It's almost good enough to feel him finish inside you that you come again, but you’re too spent to do more than shudder.

Then he kisses you again, sweetly, caringly, and pushes his arms in under your body to hug you close to him. "So perfect," he whispers against your mouth. The cums start to trickle out onto the couch but neither of you care, too caught up in each other's lips.

"How are you doing sweetheart?" he asks when he comes up for a breath. "I feel a little high," you confess. "Haven't been fucked that good in a long time."

There is something in his gaze that shifts and he leans his forehead against yours. "I'm sorry. I just… I couldn't take it anymore… I like you so much." "Lucky for you I get off on that stuff," you smile. "And if I had said stop I trust you would have."

He hugs you so hard you can hardly breathe. "Of course, I fucking would." "You can make it up to me by going tender the next time," you smile. "Next time?" "As many times as you’ll have me." He laughs into your skin. "I don't think you're ready for that!"

Suddenly the sound of the doorbell jerks the two of you apart. You stare at Bucky with wide eyes. "My date," you whisper, horrified.

With a smirk, he raises himself on his arms. "I should make you go on that date with my cum running out of you, maybe even let him get as far as spreading your legs just to see that you’re already claimed."

With a groan, you cover your face with your hands. "Don't tempt me," you tell him before wiggling out from under him, finding your clothes, and hastily pulling them on.

Opening the door just a crack, you understand you look a mess by the way your date eyes you. "Sorry," your voice is small. "I wasn't feeling great and then I fell asleep on the couch." "Yeah, you look terrible," the guy notes before handing you one of the ugliest bouquets you've ever seen. Quickly stepping away he says, "I'll call you." but you know he won't. "Great, I'll see you around," you respond before closing the door.

Bucky takes the flowers from you and shoves them in the trash before grabbing you around the waist and kissing you again. "Didn't you say he was promising?" "I have no clue what you're talking about," you answer with a completely straight face but then start to giggle as he swoops you up and carries you to his bedroom.

[f0point5]

I think I have sent this same request some time ago but I still would like you to write something about Emilia and Max hanging out with Victoria’s children and maybe thinking about their own future kids. But really anything with Max and Emilia would be great!

I don’t think I’ve ever seen this one, but tumblr eats asks sometimes 🤷‍♀️ but it’s too cute so here you go! I am keeping these short but I hope you still enjoy it!

✨Set during summer break 2024✨

I’m having his baby (…) no, I’m not

You take a sip of your rosé as Victoria comes to stand beside you. You’re lurking in the doorway of the lounge, watching Max sitting on the couch with his baby niece in his arms. He’s bobbing her in a gentle motion, his hands looking huge around her tiny, swaddled body.

“God, I remember when we used to say our kids would get married,” Vic says beside you, and you laugh.

You did say that. As little kids you would wish to be sisters, and somehow the only way you could think to make that happen would be for your children to marry each other. Like in that Flintstones movie you used to love. You’d draw pictures of the two of you sitting on the porch of a large house, watching your children get married.

Now you wonder if your mums thought the same, during those summers in Italy, as they watched you all play. They swear now that they did, that the mother’s intuition told them you and Max were tied together by some invisible chord that chafed on both your wrists. “A mother always knows,” Sophie said to you when she saw you last, “you will know, too”.

“And now that would be illegal and dangerous for our grandkids,” you say, shaking your head. “Crazy,”

“I like it better this way,” Victoria says, putting her arm around your shoulder and squeezing you into a hug.

“Me, too,” you agree, your eyes fixed on Max and Hailey. He’s whispering to her in Dutch, her eyes fluttering closed every few seconds as she yawns in his face, which only makes him smile. He’s utterly mesmerised by her. And you’re mesmerised by him.

I swear I can actually feel my ovaries right now.

“He’s so good with kids,” Vic says. “Even with Jaye I remember he was so gentle,”

“Yeah,” you agree, only half hearing her as you take another sip.

“Gives you baby fever, huh?”

You choke on your wine. Was that Victoria or your subconscious talking?

Vic, are you in here? No, of course she’s not in here. She’s just being nosey. Act natural.

“Are you okay?” Max asks from the couch. You look over at him as you wipe your mouth, coughing once as you nod. Even as he looks at you in concern, he never stops the gentle bouncing motion of the baby in his arms.

You go to answer, but Vic beats you to it, blunt as ever. “I was just saying, you will be having one of your own soon, yeah?” She smiles, nodding at Hailey.

If Max is panicking as much as you, he doesn’t show it, just shrugging. “I mean, ye-“ You can feel your eyes widen, and he stops when he sees your face. He tries again. “May-“ he frowns at you, silently begging for help. “No?” You nod gently, and Max turns to Victoria. “No.”

She looks at you in mild disbelief. “No?”

“No,” you emphasise to both Verstappens.

You love them dearly but genetics are a crazy thing - they both share a chronic disregard for timing. They want it all, and they want it now, in any order, all order be damned.

“You’re not getting any younger,” Victoria says, nudging you.

“That is just rude,” you tell her, and she just smiles unapologetically.

“Oh, come on,” she implores, reaching up to wind her finger around a lock of your hair, “a little baby with Max’s eyes and your hair?”

“And both of our tempers,” you say with a chuckle. “Can you imagine that? Besides, we can barely make cereal, and you want us to raise a baby?”

You look at Max for support, but he’s no longer paying attention. He’s looking down at his niece like he’s holding water.

Maybe a baby can live on cereal, if her dad looks at her like that.

“I’m going to go put Hailey down for her nap,” Vic says, jerking you from your thoughts.

She goes over to take a sleepy Hailey from Max’s arms, and he looks loathe to let her go. She looks so much bigger when held by her mother, and her so much more fragile.

“When I get back, we can start on dinner. I’m going to make cereal,” Vic teases in a whisper, winking at you as she passes.

Max snorts with laughter, and you shoot Vic a glare as she starts to hum, shuffling her way out of the lounge towards the bedroom.

You join Max on the couch, falling onto it beside him with a heavy sigh.

“So glad I’m an only child,” you say, rolling your eyes. When Max doesn’t respond, you glance over at him to find him staring at his hands. You nudge him gently. “What?”

“You do,” he starts, leaning back as he turns to you. “Want kids, someday, don’t you?With me. I mean…you don’t think I’ll be, like…”

“No,” you answer quickly, when you understand what he’s getting at.

You silently curse yourself for that joke about tempers. For ever making him think that’s something you worry about. You know there’s a heaviness in Max, in both of you. You know that he is so much more than his father’s son. But you also know that the weight on his shoulders will keep him crooked until he can see that for himself. You hope knowing you see it will be enough for now.

“I want your baby, Max. Someday. There’s no one else I would ever do this with besides you and not just because I love you, but because I know you’ll be an amazing dad,” you tell him honestly, and even that small platitude seems to relax his shoulders. “But can we at least get to one year of baby making activities before we start painting a nursery?”

Max nods, letting out a husk of a laugh. “I’m shit at painting anyway,” he says, looking at you from under those eyelashes that you secretly envy.

Maybe she’ll inherit those, too.

“Free practice?” You offer with a smirk, holding your hand for his.

Max looks at your outstretched palm for a moment before taking your hand in his. “Free practice,” he agrees, using his grip on your hand to pull you forward so that your chest is pressed against his. “I’m looking forward to FP2 later,”

[luveline]

hello lovely angel!! humbly requesting zombie!steve au, perhaps more of jealous steve? i love their dynamic so much💗 maybe someone is flirting with reader, and enter protective steve:)

thanks for requesting! fem, 2k

You tend to think of it in two weird halves. You love Steve, and you never would’ve known that without the end of the world, so things are okay. Sometimes you wonder if he ever could’ve loved you if he hadn’t been so close to you for so long, but he loves you in this insane capacity of softness that says otherwise. Like, soulmate style. 

It didn’t begin that way. Steve your reluctant guide, and you his unlikely saviour. You’d stopped him from dying at the very start of it all and he couldn’t leave you behind. And Steve, he’d been mean to you. He didn’t want to take care of you initially, but you’d grown to get along. You’d argue black and blue and he’d still rub your back at night. 

There are so many moments you’ve shared that make what you have all the more special. A hundred different memories from before you’d ever kissed. You think about it now, watching him across the firepit as he shows a young girl, Cassandra, how to braid her hair. 

The one that’s sticking today is when Steve got really bad food poisoning for the first time. When you’d known you were in love with him for a while, and when he’d stopped pretending he didn’t know. He’d been sick everywhere, on both your shoes, and you’d rubbed his back through everything.  

It was nice to take care of him. Nicer that night when you’d shared a bed and he’d hugged you half to death. 

He has no idea how much he means to you, or how much those moments with him kept you going when you were all alone. You’re lucky now to have found community, but those stolen hours in bed with him hugging him and getting to be his support, you wouldn’t have made it here without them. 

“Hey.” 

You look up as a man sits down. A boy, a man —what do you call twenty somethings? You don’t feel like a woman most of the time, but you are. 

“Hi,” you say. 

“I’m Jamison.” 

“You’re Eddie’s friend, right?” 

“Who, Munson?” Jamison makes a kidding face, a disgusted scrunch of his eyebrows that falls away to more friendly fondness. “Yeah, we go back. You’re Eddie’s friend too, right? I saw you guys taking out some laundry a few days ago.” 

Jamison is handsome. He has tan skin, short hair, and a crooked nose. His smile is disarming. If you hadn’t fallen in love with the handsomest guy around, you might feel nervous under his gaze. 

Time spent ugly under Steve’s reverent handling makes you confident. You genuinely feel prettier knowing Steve loves you, and it makes it easier to be yourself with strangers. 

“Eddie’s awesome,” you say easily. “I thought he was gonna kill me when we first met, but he’s too nice.” 

“Nice, really?” 

Jamison is casual, as people go. You wonder what his motivations are for talking to you at first, but as conversation stretches, littered with the cracking pops of the fireplace and brief pauses of surprisingly comfortable silence, you realise he’s just talking. Maybe he’s lonely. You know how that feels. 

He tells you that he and Eddie had been in a rock band together before the apocalypse. You’d known to some extent that Eddie was in a band, but Jamison tells you all the details you’d been missing. They were called Corroded Coffin, four members, Eddie played guitar and Jamison thought he was pretty fucking good at it, actually. 

“I don’t think we would’ve been, like, Metallica. But we could’ve been good. We were gonna make a record.” 

You smoke sympathetically. “I bet you could’ve been.” 

“What were you doing? Before all this?” 

“I honestly barely remember,” you say quietly. Your life before Steve is a blur, and it’s painful, too. “Things are harder now, I know that. I wish every day that we could go back to how things were, you know, I miss TV and grocery stores and my family.” You lick your lips. “I wish things were different, but somehow, I think I like my life now. I have stuff to do. Is that crazy?” 

“It’s not crazy. Everything fucking sucks,” —you both laugh— “but that’s not crazy. I’m lucky, I still have my dad, and my friends. There’s purpose in being here.” 

You nod emphatically, just once. “Exactly.” 

You have purpose, now. You get to be a friend, a girlfriend, a confidente. You take care of people. 

It all comes back to Steve, at the end of the day. Would you change the world if it meant never having met him? 

Nope. 

You glance across the fire for him, but he’s not there. 

You put your arm behind your back and bend, looking for him. 

“Looking for someone?” Jamison asks. 

You deflate with relief when you spot him standing near the gaggle of tents about fifty feet away. He’s looking at you from over Robin’s shoulder. You wave, and he waves back with a big smile. 

Something seems a little wrong. 

“Steve,” you explain. 

“He’s your boyfriend, yeah? Eddie told me you’ve been together since the start.” 

You don’t bother correcting him. He might not mean together as how you’re thinking it. “Yeah, that’s him. Have you met him?” 

“Kind of. We all thought he was a huge dick, back then.” 

“He sort of was,” you say. “I mean, we all had our own stuff going on. I get that I’m biased, but he’s my favourite person I’ve ever met. He’s so kind, I don’t think I could describe it to you or anyone just how much he cares about people. I wouldn’t be here without him, and… I don’t know, I’m not saying you’re wrong, but if you ever wanted to meet him again, he’s amazing. He’s a great friend. He’s so fucking funny, he makes me laugh every day.” 

“He’s sort of giving me the stink eye,” Jamison says. 

You wave your hand weakly. “He has raging jealousy issues.” 

“Shit, am I getting you in trouble?” 

“No, never!” you say, tempted to laugh. “He doesn’t get mad at me for stuff like that. He’s normal, I promise. Just sensitive.”

You tell Jamison that it was nice talking to him because it really was, but you’ve been missing Steve for hours already and you need to get back to him before you go totally bonkers. 

He’s sitting on the floor in the tent. The weather has been beautiful lately, you could sleep under the stars if you weren’t scared of being zombie charcuterie. Steve has stripped down to just his jeans and socks, no t-shirt or shoes to be seen. He has his sketchbook splayed open on his thigh, but he abandons it the moment you kneel down. 

“Hey,” you say. 

Steve folds his book closed, pencil between its pages. “Hi. Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?” 

You shuffle in to take his hand. Clumsy touches, his fingers warm and a tad clammy between yours. “You told me yesterday that I have a smile like an angel. I know you were kidding, but I still felt it.” 

“I wasn’t kidding,” he says, wrinkling his nose with a smile. “You think every compliment is a joke.” 

“Don’t make me laugh so much, then.” 

He squeezes your fingers gently. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself to Jamison. Just, I knew him already from school. And he did not like me.” 

“That’s okay. He seemed nice, I think you’d get along if you met now.” You kick your shoes off and crawl as close to him as you can get. He looks up at you, but you look down at his lap. “What are you drawing?” 

“I was just trying to touch up that landscape I did of the river,” he says, a sheepishness to him as he opens his sketchbook. 

You read it with affection, trace lines and hatchings in awe. “Steve, I really wish you had time and space to do this stuff properly. Not that you aren’t doing it properly, just, I know you could make something just as beautiful as this with paint.” You slide to be sitting properly, putting you both at the same height, so you can meet his eyes as you continue. “Did you know what you wanted to do, when you were finishing school? Did you ever think about art?” 

“I thought about it.” His lips quirk. “Mostly about how my dad would’ve kicked me out if I said something that stupid.” 

“It’s not stupid.” 

“I know.” 

That would’ve been a nice life. You and Steve living together, with a basement for his paintings, or a garage turned studio. You’d read books together every night like you do now, and you’d scrub paint smudges off of his cheek. 

You love him so much it must give you an aura. 

“I’ve got nothing to worry about, huh?” he asks softly. 

You drift in, tipping your head back for a kiss you don’t take. “I don’t know, Steve, Jamison used to be in a rock band.” 

He scoffs in disgust. You think it might be a mixture of anger at Jamison and himself. “Who wants to date a rockstar?” 

“I might’ve.” 

You’re teasing, of course, smiling as your kiss draws nearer, and nearer. 

“Well, I can be a rockstar,” he says quietly, warmth of his breath on your lips. “Just give me a chance to get there.” 

You brush the tip of your nose against his and hold your breath. “That’s okay,” you say, letting it rush out of you in a huff, your excitement to be kissed too much to bear, “I like my guys all mixed up. Preferably good at track, and swimming, but with a soft side. Kind of guy who fills a sketchbook up with my face.” 

Steve lists to the side. Your lips are so close, you can feel the phantom of them against yours as he moves in. “It’s not just your face… it’s your hands, your arms… your everything–”

He cuts his own explanation off with a soft kiss. That softness swiftly hardens, turns rough, ten long seconds of sweetness before his hands coming up behind your head and he’s pressing inward, deepening the kiss, and giving you little room to breathe. 

You have no intention of dating any rockstars, but his jealous streak has nothing but upsides for you. Steve knows that his jealousy over the innocuous is his own problem, his own insecurity that he’s working on, and while you sympathise with him (after all, haven’t you yourself worried he’d find someone else he liked more?), you have to confess to enjoying the edge to his kissing. 

You make a pleased, humoured sound as he breathes you in like you’re a drug he’s been waiting for. He gets sloppier, and you can’t help pulling away to laugh. 

“What?” he asks, thumbing at your cheek in a soft juxtaposition. “Sorry, am I being a dick?” 

“No, it’s fine. Kiss me how you want to.” 

Steve kisses your cheek softly. “He knows you have a boyfriend, right?” 

“He knows.” 

Steve hums like he’s smiling and nudges your nose with his, until you part your lips, and he wades in for another dose. 

[itneverendshere]

you said i have to trust more freely - r.c series (five)

requested here; (one); (two); (three); (four)

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader(the duff inspired); college!au word count: 5k

Ps: enjoy the fluff bc i might have an epiphany and bring the angst back full force 🥰

It had been days since the talk, and you still couldn’t wrap your head around it. You sat on your couch, staring blankly at your textbook, trying to convince yourself you were focusing on your work, but let’s be real—you weren’t.

You were thinking about him.

The guy who, just two days ago, basically admitted he had feelings for you—and, to your own surprise, you admitted you felt something too. That whole conversation felt surreal. 

It was terrifying in the moment—standing there, in the library after your lunch date with Nate, both of you avoiding eye contact like the plague until one of you finally broke the silence.

And now what? What was supposed to happen next?

You groaned, flopping back onto the couch. Your mind kept remembering how everything felt different now. Like, way different. You couldn’t look at Rafe the same way, couldn’t just be around him without wondering if he was thinking about it too—the kiss, the feelings, the whole thing. 

And then, of course, there were Ava and Harper, who were way too invested in your love life now. Every time you and Rafe were in the same room, they’d shoot each other these obnoxious grins, making over-the-top kissy faces behind his back. Could they be more obvious?

As if on cue, Harper burst through the front door, Ava trailing right behind her.

“Okay, we need details,” Harper said, dropping her bag and plopping down next to you.

“Yeah,” Ava chimed in, sitting on the arm of the couch. “You’ve been weirdly quiet about it for days, and we know something’s up.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool. “There’s nothing to tell. We talked. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” Harper raised an eyebrow. “You two pretty much confessed you like each other. That’s not nothing!”

“Yeah, and now it’s weird,” you muttered, pushing your hair back, trying to find the words for everything that had been running through your mind since that day. “We’re supposed to be friends, you know?”

Ava exchanged a knowing look with Harper. “Sweets, nothing about having feelings for someone is uncomplicated. And besides, this is Rafe we’re talking about. You two hated each other—now you’re into each other. That’s a lot to process.”

“I know.” You chewed on your lip, feeling a little more exposed than you wanted to in that moment. “I just don’t know how to act around him. Before, we could just hang out, and it was fine, and now I’m wondering if he’s thinking about it every second like I am. And what happens if this thing between us doesn’t work?”

Harper grinned. “Or what if it does work? What if you actually, you know… like being with him?”

You shot her a look. “Stop.”

But Harper wasn’t stopping. “Come on, have you seen the way you look at him?

“I don’t look at him!”

“Oh yes you do,” Ava said, laughing when you threw a pillow at her, “You even drool sometimes.”

Harper snorted at her comment. “You totally do, like, the ‘I want to kiss him but I don’t know if I should’ thing with your eyes.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you guys. I knew you’d turn it into a whole thing.”

“Because it is a whole thing!” Ava said, grabbing the pillow you’d thrown and tossing it back at you. “You and Rafe! I mean, come on, this is literally the plot of every teen drama ever.”

You peeked up at her from between your fingers. “Except this isn’t TV.”

“What’s the worst that could happen? You like him, he likes you. Just date already.”

“He didn’t ask me, did he?” You grumble.

“Oh, so that’s what this is about.”

“Oh my god, it’s not about that,” you said, but even as the words left your mouth, you felt your face heat up. Of course they caught that.

You knew why Rafe hadn’t asked you out yet. It wasn’t like he was just being slow or clueless. He was literally waiting because you had told him to. You’re the one who said you needed time to figure yourself out, to see if this was really what you wanted. And he respected that. So, technically, this was all on you.

Still, it didn’t make it any less frustrating. Sure, you asked for time, but now that you had it? You were just overthinking everything and driving yourself nuts. And it wasn’t like you didn’t want him to ask, because, oh my god, you did. 

You were just being pissy for no real reason, sitting here annoyed that he was actually doing what you’d asked him to do. Classic.

You groaned, sinking further into the couch cushions. “I’m such an idiot.”

Harper grinned, clearly enjoying your self-inflicted pain. “Yep. But at least you’re self-aware.”

Ava, ever the voice of reason, patted your knee. “Look, you said you needed time. He’s respecting that, which is honestly kind of amazing. Most guys would’ve freaked out or bailed, but Rafe’s giving you space. That’s a good thing.”

“I know,” you said, exasperated. “I just… I don’t even know what I’m waiting for anymore. What am I trying to figure out? I already like him. It’s just—”

“Just what?” Harper interrupted. “You’re scared?”

“I’m not scared,” you snapped, then immediately sighed. “Okay, fine, maybe I am. I just don’t want to screw things up.”

“Rafe’s not some random hookup,” Ava said softly. “If anything, you guys have been building this thing without even realizing it. He’s not going anywhere, so stop psyching yourself out.”

“Exactly. Just text him and say, ‘Hey, I changed my mind. Let’s go out,’” Harper suggested with a mischievous smirk. “I bet he’ll be here in five minutes, tops. I’ve seen the way he looks at you too."

That was the part that got you.

Rafe Cameron, the guy who used to roll his eyes at you back home, now couldn’t seem to stop looking at you like you were the only person in the room. And you… you liked it. A lot.

Ava nudged you, her grin widening as she pulled out her phone. “Speaking of, is he coming over?”

“Not today,” you mumbled, grabbing your phone to check it anyway.

 No new messages.

“Ugh, you two are impossible,” She groaned, crossing her arms. “When are you going to tell him you actually like him? Like the actual words?

“Yeah, and when are you going to stop playing it so cool?” Harper added.

You scoffed. “You think I’m playing it cool? I literally have no idea what I’m doing.”

Just then, your phone buzzed in your lap. You glanced down and saw Rafe’s name on the screen.

Rafe:  want to grab dinner tonight?

Your heart did that stupid fluttery thing again. Ava leaned over your shoulder, reading the text, while Harper grinned like she was plotting your wedding already.

“Dinner, huh?” Harper teased. “Sounds like a date to me.”

“It’s not a date,” you said quickly, though the idea didn’t sound so bad. “It’s probably just… I don’t know. He wants to talk about the whole feelings thing.”

Ava let out a high-pitched squeal, and Harper started making kissy faces. “Ooooh, talk,” she teased, drawing out the word with an exaggerated wink, “Trust me, it’s a date.”

“Oh my God!” You grabbed another pillow and threw it at them, “You’re so fucking annoying.” You sighed, standing up and grabbing your phone. “If this goes horribly wrong, I’m blaming you two.”

Harper beamed. “You’ll thank us later.”

You weren’t sure how you got from your doorm to the restaurant, but there you were, standing in front of Rafe as the two of you waited for a table. This wasn’t the easygoing banter you’d grown used to during study sessions or late-night hangouts. This was… different.

Rafe stood next to you, looking as calm and collected as ever. If he was nervous, he didn’t show it. Meanwhile, your stomach was doing somersaults.

He looked good—like, stupidly, unfairly, make-your-heart-pound-in-your-throat good. The kind of good that made you stop breathing. He was wearing a charcoal grey Henley shirt, the kind you never imagined him in, but now you couldn’t stop imagining it. It clung to his chest and arms in a way that had your mouth watering, showing off his muscular frame more than any of his usual polos ever did.

You swallowed hard, trying to look anywhere but directly at him. But it was impossible to ignore how the sleeves hugged his biceps, or how the soft fabric stretched just slightly across his broad shoulders. Even his hair, usually tousled in a “couldn’t care less” kind of way, looked effortlessly perfect tonight, like he was trying to kill you.

And then he caught you looking.

A slow, knowing grin spread across his face as his eyes met yours, like he could read every thought running through your head. "You good?"

You snapped out of it, blinking quickly, "Yeah, fine," you mumbled, though you were definitely not fine. Not with him standing there looking like he just stepped out of a magazine ad.

"Uh-huh," he said, clearly unconvinced, the smirk on his lips only growing wider. "You sure? You’ve been staring for a while."

You flushed instantly, the heat rising to your cheeks. "I wasn’t staring!"

"Right," Rafe drawled, stepping closer, "If you say so."

The worst part? He knew exactly what he was doing to you. That stupid Henley. He had to know. The server reappeared out of nowhere, "Table for two? Right this way!" she chirped with perfect timing.

You let out a sigh of relief, quickly stepping past Rafe, feeling your heart slow just a little. The place was packed, like it always was—one of those busy pizzerias where you could barely hear yourself think because of all the noise. The smell of freshly baked dough and melted cheese were in the air.

Rafe chuckled under his breath as you followed the server, clearly amused, “Why are you walking so fast?” he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear. You shot him a quick look over your shoulder. 

The server led you to a cozy corner booth near the back of the restaurant. It wasn’t fancy—far from it, actually. The table was slightly sticky, the chairs mismatched, and there was a stack of menus with creases on the edges already waiting for you. You loved it, it reminded you of home somehow.

He slid into the booth across from you, sitting with that same infuriatingly relaxed posture, his eyes never leaving you. "Guess we lucked out with a table," he said casually, picking up a menu.

You nodded, grateful for the noise of the restaurant “Yeah, it’s packed tonight.”

As you read the menu, trying to focus on pizza toppings instead of how good he looked across from you, you couldn’t help but feel the nerves start to fade just a little. It wasn’t fancy, and maybe that was the point. It was just dinner. Just the two of you. You could handle that... right?

"Do you always take this long to pick pizza toppings?" he teased, tilting his head as if genuinely curious. His pretty eyes flickered between you and the menu like this was some kind of game, one you were definitely losing.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the grin that pulled at the corner of your lips. "Sorry, I’m just trying to make sure I don’t ruin this life-altering decision. I know how you feel about your pizza."

That earned you a chuckle. God, why was it so attractive? You forced yourself to stare at the menu again, but your brain was mush. Every time you tried to focus on mozzarella, all you could think about was his stupid smirk and how his arms looked ridiculously good in that shirt. It was casual, but on Rafe? Casual somehow felt dangerous. And yeah, he was dangerous—at least to your heart rate.

"Pepperoni and jalapeño," he said suddenly, his voice dropping like he was letting you in on a secret. "Trust me, it’s the best combo."

"Spicy," you quipped, arching an eyebrow. "Trying to impress me, Cameron?"

Rafe’s smirk deepened, and his eyes did that thing—that thing where they darkened just a little, like he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on you. "If I wanted to impress you, I wouldn’t be ordering pizza."

“Right, kook king and all.”

Rafe just raised an eyebrow, “I’m not that guy anymore, you know. Or have you not noticed?”

Oh, you’d noticed.

How could you not? Rafe had always been the guy you were supposed to avoid. The entitled, rich kid who would’ve scowled at you in disgust not too long ago. But now, here you were, sitting across from him in some hole-in-the-wall pizza place, trying not to melt into a puddle under his attention.

“You’re still a kook,” you pointed out, mostly because teasing him felt safer than admitting you actually liked this version of him.

He shrugged casually, eyes locked on yours. “Maybe. But that doesn’t change the fact that we’re here, does it?”

You swallowed, trying to stay unaffected by how close he was, the way his voice lowered like the conversation was suddenly just for the two of you. “No, it doesn’t.”

He leaned back, his grin softening. “You’re thinking too much.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “How do you know that?”

“Because you always do.” He laughed softly, shaking his head. “You’re always overthinking everything.”

He wasn’t wrong. You’d been spiraling. It was like you couldn’t just let yourself feel whatever this was without worrying about what would happen next. Whether this thing with Rafe would blow up in your face like a bad movie plot or—worse—turn into something you couldn’t handle.

Jus as his warm smile started to settle you, you heard a voice that made your stomach drop.

“Uh, hey? What’s going on here?”

You froze. 

No way. You didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was.

Nate.

Rafe’s eyes moved from you to the figure standing just behind you.

Great.

You slowly turned in your seat, Nate was standing there, looking between the two of you. This was bad. So bad. 

“Nate,” you started, “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Nate said, his brows knitting together as he glanced between you and Rafe. “You said you were busy with school stuff tonight.”

You winced. You had told him that. Because technically, you didn’t lie— you had planned on studying, but then Rafe texted you, and well… one thing led to another. And now here you were, on what very much felt like a date, with Nate staring at you like you’d just ripped his heart out. A little bit dramatic.

Rafe, still lounging casually in the booth, watched the whole thing with a raised eyebrow, clearly sizing Nate up, like he always did. He didn’t say anything, but you could feel the way he didn’t like this one bit—he was waiting for you to explain, waiting to see how you’d handle this.

“I—um…” You fumbled for words, your brain short-circuiting under the weight of the awkwardness. “I wasn’t expecting to run into you. This is… Rafe and I were just—”

“Just having dinner,” He cut in smoothly, “Nothing you need to worry about.”

Nate’s eyes narrowed slightly, his jaw tensing as he looked at Rafe. “Right. And how long has this been going on?”

You could hear the accusation in his voice, and it made your stomach twist. Nate wasn’t your boyfriend, but you’d been hanging out—nothing serious, but enough that this looked pretty bad from his perspective.

“Nate, it’s not like that,” you tried to explain. What could you even say right now?

Rafe glanced at you, one eyebrow quirking up like he was daring you to say more. “You don’t owe him an explanation.”

Except you kinda did because you felt like you’d been leading Nate on. You owed him something, even if it was just a proper way to end whatever this was between the two of you.

Nate crossed his arms. “Seems like there’s something to explain, though. I mean, you’ve been acting weird ever since we went to lunch the other day, and now I see you out with him?” He gestured toward Rafe, “So what is this? Are you guys a thing now?”

“Nate…” You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. I’ve enjoyed hanging out with you, but I don’t think this is going to go where you’re hoping it will.”

Nate blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Oh.” His voice dropped, and he looked away for a moment. You felt like a bitch. You’d been the one to start persuing him and now you were doing this. 

“Yeah, I guess that clears it up,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. Then his eyes moved back to Rafe, and his expression hardened again. “Just watch out for him, alright?” His voice was stiff, but he wasn’t looking at you when he said it.

He was staring straight at Rafe, who didn’t flinch, just glared right back, his posture still cool, but his jaw tightened. “You don’t need to worry about her,” He said evenly, “I’ve got it covered.”

Nate clenched his fists but then shook his head with a sharp exhale. “Whatever. Take care, okay?” He shot you one last look, and you could see the disappointment there before he turned and walked away.

For a long moment, you just sat there, staring after him, feeling the guilt built in your chest. That had been brutal. Maybe you hadn’t handled things with Nate perfectly, but you hadn’t meant to hurt him like that.

Rafe, on the other hand, didn’t seem phased by Nate’s little number. “You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, like he was checking in.

You nodded slowly, though you didn’t entirely feel okay. “Yeah… just didn’t expect that.”

“Seems like he’s got it bad for you.”

You shot him a look. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little. But you didn’t answer his question.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What question?”

Rafe tilted his head. “Are we a thing?” Oh god. The way he was looking at you right now—it wasn’t just playful anymore. It was real, and serious. “Well?” 

You took a deep breath, “I guess we are.”

It was like he needed to hear you say it, to own it. "Guess?" he repeated.

"Yeah, I guess we are," you said, more firmly this time. But the second the words left your mouth, you realized you didn’t really “guess.”

You knew. You’d known for a while now, ever since those late-night conversations, the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the room. You weren’t just some fling to him. And that terrified you.

He leaned forward across the table, just close enough that you could catch a hint of his perfume. His hand reached across the table, fingers brushing lightly against yours. It was such a simple touch, but it felt like everything. Like the start of something. You wanted to say something—anything—but your brain had gone completely blank, and all you could do was stare back at him, trying to understand what the hell was happening.

Then, without warning, he shifted in his seat, his long arms reaching across the small table, getting closer, his eyes never leaving yours. Before you could sutter out something stupid, his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you toward him until your lips met.

It wasn’t tentative or slow. It was like he had made up his mind a long time ago, like this was something he’d been waiting to do. It wasn’t deep or drawn out, but it didn’t need to be. You could feel the strength of his hand at your neck, his fingers just barely threading through your hair, like he had some invisible line of control over you, but it wasn’t demanding or forceful. You just knew was holding back, knowing this wasn’t the place for more.

When he pulled back—just an inch—you could still feel his breath against your lips. His eyes stayed on yours, his thumb lightly brushed the nape of your neck and you felt like you were still leaning forward, chasing more even though you knew you couldn’t have it.

It was quick—barely a few seconds—but it left you completely breathless. “Told you, you overthink too much,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear, like it was your little secret.

The next day felt oddly normal, like nothing monumental had happened the night before—except it had. You were walking across campus with him now, books in hand, making easy conversation about random things. No one knew about you two yet—not officially, at least.

As you approached the doors to your building, Rafe slowed down. You weren’t even thinking about it, just caught up in the rhythm of your walk and the conversation, until suddenly he leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. 

It wasn’t premeditated or dramatic—just an automatic gesture, like it was the most natural thing in the world. You eyes widened as you remembered exactly where you were: standing right outside your class building, in the middle of campus, where anyone could see. The kiss had felt so casual, so… normal, like he did it all the time. Like you were his and he didn’t care who saw.

He pulled away just as quickly as he’d kissed you, his lips curving into a smirk as he gave you a nod. “See you later sweets,” he said as if he hadn’t just left you completely flustered. Then he turned and walked off, completely oblivious that you were standing there, still processing what had just happened.

You blinked, trying to collect yourself, when you heard it: high-pitched squeals from just a few feet away.

“Oh my God, oh my GOD!” Harper’s voice was practically a screech.

You looked up to find both her and Ava standing by the door to your classroom, wide-eyed and grinning like they’d just witnessed the biggest scandal of the year.

“No way,” Ava gasped, her hands clapping over her mouth, her eyes darting from you to where Rafe had just walked away. “Did that just happen? Did he just kiss you, right in front of everyone?!”

Harper was already losing it, jumping up and down in excitement, her curls bouncing around her face. “I can’t believe this—finally! FINALLY!”

Your face flushed instantly as you looked between your two best friends. “Guys, it’s not a big deal—” you started, but they were having none of it.

“Not a big deal?!?” Ava cut in, eyes wide in disbelief. “Are you serious?!”

“Literally, he didn’t even hesitate!” Harper added, her hands dramatically flying to her head. “That was so hot! I’m obsessed with this. I need details. What the hell happened last night?”

You groaned, trying to hide the ridiculous grin creeping onto your face. “It’s not—okay, fine, it kind of is a big deal, but can you guys not freak out about it? We haven’t even talked about what this is yet. It's a thing."

Ava’s jaw dropped. “You don’t need to talk! He just kissed you!” She looked like she was about to burst from excitement. “Oh my God, this is so cute, I’m literally dying.”

Harper, still vibrating with energy, grabbed your arm and started pulling you toward the door. “We are so talking about this more later. This is the best day ever.”

After class, you three claimed a table near the windows at the cafeteria. You were mid-laugh, picking at your food, when you finally spilled all the details about last night.

“So, get this,” you sai, “Nate just showed up. Like, out of nowhere. I’m sitting there with Rafe, and then suddenly, boom—He’s standing right in front of us, asking what the hell is going on.”

Harper’s eyes widened, a piece of lettuce dangling from her fork. “No way. No way! And you told him—?”

“I basically had to reject him right then and there,” you admitted, biting your lip. “I felt so bad. He wasn’t my boyfriend or anything, but still, it was awful.”

Ava gasped dramatically, smacking the table with her hand. “Holy shit, I wish I could’ve seen his face.”

You winced, nodding. “Yeah, he was… not happy. But it’s not like I could’ve kept leading him on. I didn’t mean for it to happen in front of Rafe, though.”

“Oh my God, I bet he was loving it,” Harper said, leaning forward with a wicked grin. “He just sat there, didn’t he?”

“Pretty much,” you laughed, shaking your head. “He didn’t say a word until Nate started getting all protective.”

Harper snorted, “It’s so classic. But seriously, how did Nate even find you guys? Was he stalking you or something?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I think it was just a really bad coincidence. I feel like such an asshole, but it’s not like I could just—”

“Ladies.”

Your head snapped up at the sound of that voice, and you almost dropped your fork. Rafe was standing right there, looming over your table like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“Speak of the devil,” Ava muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowing playfully as she glanced between you and him.

Harper, never one to miss an opportunity, leaned back in her chair “Hey, Cameron. We were just talking about you. Pull up a seat.”

He smirked, clearly picking up on the tone of the conversation, but didn’t hesitate to slide into the empty chair next to you. 

“All good things, I hope,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he looked at you.

You shot him a look, “When have I ever spoken highly of you?”

“Awww, missed you too.” he said, smirking as he grabbed a fry off your plate like he’d been part of the conversation the whole time.

“Stop eating my fries,” You scowled, he just shrugged, popping the fry in his mouth like it was no big deal. “I’m gonna smack you,” You sighed, shaking your head at him. “Can you at least get your own fries?”

He smirked, “Why would I do that when I can steal yours?”

Harper let out a dramatic sigh, clasping her hands together. “I love this for you guys. Truly. I can’t wait for the wedding.”

You groaned, throwing a napkin at her, "You’re ridiculous."

Rafe just chuckled, grabbing one last fry. “I think I’m gonna like hanging out with your friends.”

Ava gave you a sly look before turning to him. “Okay, since you’re here now, and we’ve got you trapped—let’s get to the important stuff. What exactly are your intentions with our girl?”

You closed your eyes wanting to sink into the floor.

“Are we talking dates? Or are you planning to ask her out for real?”

Harper leaned forward, clearly invested. “Yeah, Rafe. What’s the hold-up? When’s the official girlfriend status happening?”

You could feel your face heating up, and you shot them both an exasperated look. “Guys, seriously? We’re doing this now?”

Rafe, however, looked completely unbothered by the question as he glanced at you. “I was going to ask her when the time felt right,” he said, “But if you’re so eager, maybe I should just ask her now.”

The entire table fell silent. Ava and Harper exchanging shocked glances, their eyes lighting up with excitement. You, on the other hand, were doing your best not to choke on the air around you.

“Wait, what?” you stammered, wide-eyed, not entirely sure if he was serious or just messing with you.

“You heard me.”

Ava let out a squeal, covering her mouth. “Oh my God, this is happening!”

“Are you seriously asking me that right now? In front of them?”

Harper was practically vibrating in her seat. “Yes, Rafe! Ask her! We need a moment to remember forever!”

“No,” You glared at your friends, “If you ask me to be your girlfriend while you’re munching on those greasy fries, I’ll never speak to you again.”

Rafe just laughed, wiping his hands on a napkin “Yes ma’am.”

What even was this? He had this uncanny ability to make you feel like you were the only person in the world when he looked at you. And the fact that he could make your friends—the two people who knew you best and knew the history between you two—just as obsessed with him as you secretly were? That was dangerous. 

Harper, never one to let a moment die, leaned over the table, her voice all conspiratorial. “You two are disgustingly cute, you know that?”

You rolled your eyes, “It’s not like that.”

Ava grinned. “Oh, it so is. Just embrace it, babe.”

Rafe tilted his head, giving you that look .“You gonna keep denying it?”

You felt yourself blush, but you weren’t about to give them all the satisfaction of a full confession. “Maybe I’m just waiting for the right moment.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up on your teasing. “Guess I’ll have to make that moment happen soon then.”

Ava let out a dreamy sigh. "I love love."

[rainbowsky]

Hey RBS.. Wishing you a wonderful week ahead. Do you think Globalfever fansite is being managed directly by someone from GG/DD’s team. Many a times I wonder how that site able to get tickets to all of our boys events and capture such close up candid shots of GGDD unless she is part of their inner circle?

Example today - https://weibo.com/7320958826/OydEkDN0w

not sure if it’s original or edited.. from that video it looks like XZ acknowledged her words of Jiayou and bye bye

Hi Natashayishan, thanks! I hope you're well, and that you have a wonderful week too! 😊

Here's the video for those who don't have access to Weibo.

To answer this question I'm going to start by explaining a bit of background about what I know about fansites and how they function (I'm by no means an expert, but here's what I do know).

Part 1 - Fansites in General

There has been a lot of talk about fansites over the years, and some have faced accusations, criticisms, confusion, suspicions, theories both positive and negative for a very long time. I think they're largely misunderstood by a lot of fans.

For example, it's not uncommon for people to believe fansites are stalkers, or that they shamelessly profit from the unauthorized use of a star's image or footage, or that they're organizations that exist for the purpose of exploiting stars.

This isn't really how it works at all. In general, a fansite is just one fan who follows a star's career and enjoys sharing photos and videos they take of that star. Plain and simple. Some fansites involve more than one person, but most are just made up of individuals.

Yes, they sometimes make money selling photo books and other merch, but that money tends to go back into supporting the star -buying endorsement products, arranging events and giveaways, buying or upgrading equipment needed to create fansite content (cameras, computer equipment, software), paying for tickets (many of which are overpriced reseller tickets) and travel/accommodations to attend events, etc.

It might seem glamorous - and there's undeniably a glamorous aspect to it - but to me it looks very stressful, like a huge headache. These fans generally have their own lives and careers outside of fandom, so coordinating everything, waiting in lines, standing in the rain outside appearances and events, not to mention the pressure to attend events and post regular updates, and all the haters and antis they are constantly dealing with, the amount of stress and frustration they deal with must be immense.

It's a lot of work, and for this reason, fansites don't always stay fansites. Some retire as their real life interests and obligations shift. One of my favorite GGDD fansites - Midnight Dream - retired a few years ago. 😢

Fansites are an important part of any celebrity's support system. While no - they aren't part of a celebrity's team or on their payroll, they do play a huge part in helping to bring attention to a star and build buzz around them, their projects, their appearances, events and other activities.

If you want an analogy that might help it make more sense to you, just look at some of the sports fans across the globe who will follow all the matches, follow team developments, team picks, managers and training, and share all that info on blogs, podcasts or dedicated sports fan sites.

This is very similar. They're just really dedicated fans who build a following by being where we can't be, and sharing their experiences so that we can feel like we were there, too.

And they provide the fans and the stars an immense, immeasurable service IMHO, despite what we might agree or disagree with about the way fandom culture works. The content they capture and share is almost always far more intimate (generally without being invasive), and of a far higher quality than that of the professionals hired to cover these events on behalf of media agencies and management.

Fansites do get some official support from time to time. For example, there are events where fansites can get approval - almost like a press pass or a security pass - to attend and be in certain locations within or near facilities to take photographs, video, etc., but they are not hired or compensated by the star or their team.

A lot of how everything works is also largely unknown/unknowable, so it's hard to be sure of the details. There are always going to be rumors and claims. For example, there have been claims that during SDOC Yibo was allowed to invite 4 fansites to come to the finale, and of the 4, he chose 3 BXG fansites and only one solo site. I haven't seen proof of that, but the claim was making the rounds a lot at the time.

One thing we do know - he chose a fansite photo to give to Yangkai when he was courting him to join his team in season 4. (Of course, solos made a huge stink and Youku ended up editing the footage to remove the photo, but we saw what we saw).

There are other examples of GG and DD interacting with or showing acceptance of their BXG fansites. I started looking for some references and then realized it was not something I have time for or interest in. I'm not here to give a comprehensive analysis anyway, I'm just here to give a simple-ish answer to your question. If others want to discuss that in the notes, that's fine.

So, hopefully some of that background info will have answered parts of your question, and gives you more tools to evaluate things on your own moving forward.

Part 2 - Global Fever

As for Global Fever specifically, well... Global Fever is one of the most treasured BXG in the entire fandom. This dedicated fan has been following GG and DD BOTH, since they debuted. She is more than just a CP fan, she's been a supporter of their individual careers since day 1.

Yes, since back when Yibo was still the White Peony.

She became a CP fan in the natural way - by seeing her faves work together on The Untamed, by watching them interact and by following them and their careers. No, she doesn't work for their teams (they both have dedicated teams of their own, and they don't need to pay fansites who - after all - will do this stuff for free). It's just that she's recognizable to GG and DD because she's been a fixture in their lives for so many years.

And this is something solos need to get their heads around: BXG are fans too. I think there's this conceit among solos that THEY'RE GG and DD's fans and BXG are something else, but in reality (and, no doubt, in the eyes of GG and DD) BXG are their fans too.

Never could that be more apparent than when a dedicated fan like Global Fever jiejie is calling 'Zhanzhan, jiayou!' and 'byebye!' as he's boarding an elevator on the way to the stage. Of course GG recognized her and smiled at her. Of course.

[dira333]

Cats and dogs and bunnies too - Sakura Haruka x Reader

Timeskip

You notice it long before he mentions anything.

Sakura Haruka is fond of dogs. Cats too. Once, he even caught a little bunny that had been adamant about escaping its owners, petting it slowly with a look of utmost focus as he took it back.

But he’s careful not to show it too much. 

Sometimes he pretends he doesn’t notice the old dog at the corner flagging its tail at his sight until you walk over to pet it, like admitting to it would be a weakness.

-

Sakura Haruka has many weaknesses. 

He always stubbs his toe at night, when he gets up for a toilet break because he doesn’t want to turn on the light in fear of waking you.

He drinks too much coffee and forgets that he’s no longer sixteen but twenty-six now, that his back starts hurting if he sits hunched over for too long.

He never remembers sorting his clothes before putting them in the wash and wears the white-turned-pink shirts with pride after he accidentally drops one of your red panties in with the white laundry.

He’s married to you yet he tends to forget, staring at the ring on his finger in silent wonder at least once a week.

“Baby?” He asks one Sunday morning, his head in your lap, his laptop forgotten on the coffee table.

“Hm?” You massage his scalp, pretending to rub the stress from his temples.

“Could we get a dog?”

It’s a simple question, one you thought he’d ask much sooner. 

You wonder if he knows about the box of supplies in the back of your closet, of the surprise present that’s due any day now.

“Do you want one?” You ask back.

Haruka is quiet for a moment. You might think him asleep if not for the tension in his shoulders.

“Yeah,” he admits finally. 

“Good,” you lower down to press a kiss to his temple. “Then we’ll get one.”

“Really?” He blinks up at you, his eyes now soft and vulnerable, like they were when you met all those years ago. 

Haruka once told you that looking at you seems to make his heart crack open and looking at him now you can’t help but believe it.

“Really. What kind of dog do you want?”

“I don’t care,” he answers just like you knew he would. “What kind of name would we give it?”

“Well, let’s think about it. What if we get a little dog? What would you name a little dog?”

“How little?”

“Like a Corgi? Or a Spitz?”

“Princess.” The name shoots out of him too fast to be casual. He’s thought about it for sure.

You laugh, a little surprised by it. “I mean, sure, but you already call me that. Don’t you think it would get confusing?”

Under your gentle touch, his cheeks burst aflame.

He’s too flustered to speak and you let him stay quiet, tucking his hair behind his ears.

“What about a big dog?” You ask eventually. 

“Queenie,” he breathes out softly, clearly learning from his mistakes. You wonder if he knows that he’s only picked out female names so far.

-

“Haruka, can you come help?” You yell from the doorstep. “There’s a package but it’s too heavy for me.”

“Coming!” He calls out, jogging down the stairs in all his post-work-glory, the sweatpants and hoodie combo looking cozy enough to forget about the whole surprise.

“Kiss me first,” you command, pulling him in by the collar until you’re satisfied, grinning when he picks the package up with ease.

“Careful, it says fragile,” you point out as he carries it up, unaware of the other box you carry after him.

“What’s in it anyway?”

“I don’t know,” you lie, “Open it.”

It’s not properly taped shut, which he laments about as he fiddles with the tape. But all the words leave him when the box opens and he comes face to face with all the goods.

“Dogfood?” He asks, a little confused, picking up the bag. “Toys? You already ordered the stu-” He stops short when he sees you holding another box in your arms, this one already open.

“Don’t tell me-” Haruka breathes out, taking a step back as if he’s going to lash out in panic like he used to.

But he doesn’t. He just breathes, in and out, his eyes zeroed in on your face until he’s calmed himself enough to take a step forward.

Another one follows and then he’s close enough to touch you, yet he doesn’t.

“Is this what I think it is?”

“It’s really heavy,” you joke just as Queenie’s head pops out of the box, the puppy clearly not amused about your arms shaking from her weight.

So many emotions flicker over his face, sad ones and happy ones alike. 

When Haruka reaches for the dog, his hands shake but his grip is gentle and his hold is steady.

It reminds you of the first time he held your hand, knuckles bruised and eyes tear-shot. He’d been gentle then too, even scared-shitless.

Maybe one day he’ll hold your kid like that too. But time will tell if and when that happens. 

There’s still a cat to adopt. And maybe a bunny too.

[shesjustanothergeek]

The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Seven: Ending Anew

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Thank you for your patience and understanding with the uploads. I've been working six days a week and have only one day to myself where I can do basic necessities like wash clothes and clean. My bedroom has certainly paid for it and so has my hobbies. (Or lack there of) I hope you all enjoy this seeing young adult Aemond and reader! (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

Chapter Warnings: sexual harassment, dubious consent, bastardphobia, implied mental illness, lots of sexism.

The distinction between those we love and those we hate can be subtle. Both emotions are directed towards an individual based on their inherent qualities. Despite this commonality, they are often perceived as opposites. Loving someone entails wanting them to thrive while hating someone involves wishing for their suffering or transformation. However, love and hate can coexist despite their seemingly contradictory nature.

Six years ago, you experienced deep affection for an individual during your youth, believing that their sun-kissed hands epitomized kindness. However, after enduring years of distress, you discovered the unexpected capability to harbor animosity towards this once beloved person. This realization perplexed you as you contemplated whether he endured similar inner turmoil.

You hated Uncle Aemond for hurting your brothers the night at Driftmark many years ago and for not responding to your countless ravens who sought to apologize and keep broken promises. But because of the love that never ceased beating in your heart, you continued to create reasons for yourself to loathe him. Despite realizing your uncle would never respond, you still sent him letters with the blind hope that someday you would have one addressed from King’s Landing, though if one ever did come, they were from Queen Alicent, and in which you promptly fed them to the fish-eyed billy goats on Dragonstone.

The contents were of anything and everything you could think of. Sometimes, you retold important events like leaving to study at the Citadel and becoming a lady of Queen Esabella of Dorne as a temporary peace bargain for what happened in the Stepstones. Other times, it was your interests, such as a new plant or a medical technique, that you learned and thought would help him with his… ailment. 

Though you heard nothing from Aemond, that did not mean you knew nothing about him. You heard rumors that he took to putting a sapphire in his empty eye socket, and while the idea was sure to inspire fear in the hearts of many, it fascinated you, wondering if the gem was smooth and round or jagged and sharp, much like your uncle’s personality. It seemed like him to fashion something such as that as he was always a bit odd, though you never minded it. You imagined the discomfort his wound might cause despite it becoming scarred. From what you understood about those with similar injuries, the person could feel the severed nerves and tissue healing themselves, the sensation like a thousand hot needles in the skin.

It was no wonder why he was gossiped to have such a cold demeanor. You hoped one day you would be allowed to see it yourself, even if you were on the receiving end. 

Some of you worried that Aemond never received your letters, thinking you abandoned him and all the promises made in secrecy. Queen Alicent wouldn’t be the one to bar them from him as she most desperately wanted you to visit the Red Keep and mend the bond broken on the night at Driftmark. You didn’t understand why it had to be you to be the one to do so. These were matters created by the ruling adults in your life, and they should have sought to fix them.

Nevertheless, neither you, your parents, nor Queen Alicent tried to mend what occurred between the family. Still, that lack of effort did not extend to your relationship with your uncle. You still wanted to fly with him as you promised some years ago.

“The Conqueror and his sisters sailed with a great army,” Jacaerys translated from High Valyrian, his words proud but still holding a certain waver to his voice now that you weren’t there to assist him.

You stood by one of the tall metal-paned windows in the Chamber of the Painted Table in Dragonstone, the ancient seat of your family, silently mouthing the words of your ancestors’ histories spoken by the Maester in your mother tongue. 

The thick, gray clouds outside cast a dull light into the room, creating a somber yet peaceful atmosphere. You and your brother understood that your imposing maternal presence made him nervous and hindered his concentration. Over the years, you developed the habit of speaking over Jace during your studies. 

This hadn’t gone unnoticed, leading to reprimands from Maester Gerardys and your mother for not giving your twin a fair chance to learn. You only wished for Jace to be the best version of himself he could be. He was to be your King when Mother passed.

“Se Blākuata Rāsho drāñot vilinio viartis,” (And made landfall at the mouth of the Blackwater Rush) Maester Gerardys conveyed, his words slowed and accent thick to convey their meaning. 

The resounding echo of the chamber doors opening filled the air with the unmistakable clang of metal. As they parted, a graceful figure emerged—your mother, adorned in a flowing, vibrant red dress that complemented her regal presence. She moved with a poised and graceful stride, her hand tenderly skimming over her gently swelling belly, radiating an undeniable sense of maternal warmth and affection. Catching your gaze, you offered her a tender smile, and in response, she bestowed upon you a fleeting yet soft expression that spoke volumes of her boundless love without the need for words.

“Drāñot,” your mother asked Jace to repeat, but he stared at her wide-eyed, the words slipping from his mind.

Meeting your mother’s strides to greet her, you answered for him with a bright and eager-to-please smile. “The mouth.”

She flashed a tight-lipped grin and scrunched her nose, lightly nodding as Jace slouched in self-directed disappointment. “Mouth! I knew that, sister. You needn’t answer for me,” he expressed with disappointment, stomping his foot on the ground.

“If you keep speaking for your brother, he will never learn,” your mother lightheartedly scolded as she kissed the top of your head. You have heard those words for the past six years.

If Jace knew the answers, you wouldn’t have to help him, you thought reproachfully. 

You did not rush to pay attention to your twin as you knelt beside your younger brothers Aegon, Viserys, and Joffrey. Instead, you focused on the youngest, Viserys. With great tenderness, you gathered him into your lap, the book Elinda brought for them cradled in your hands. 

Leaning in close to your half-brother, you whispered. “I will teach you our mother tongue once you learn to speak,” as you lovingly smoothed the silky strands of his blonde hair.

“Drāñot. Drāñot,” your brother repeated, as if the meaning of Maester Gerardys’ words would magically appear in his mind.

“And made landing at the mouth of the Blackwater Rush,” you whispered under your breath so no one would hear, answering for him. 

You and Jace were the same age, two bodies with one soul, yet different. You could have helped him more if Mother had not sent you away. You never understood why she separated you instead of betrothing you to Jace. She constantly danced around the notion of marrying for years, which was incomprehensible, seeing as the match was the only option that would make sense. You would rule together, and the realm wouldn’t have the same unrest they did with your mother.

“Perhaps that is enough for today,” your mother offered as Jace became increasingly frustrated with his inability to master High Valyrian.

“No!” He exclaimed ardently, holding his arm as if to stop the suggestion physically. “I-I want to keep going.” 

You smirked and flipped the page in the picture book you showed Viserys as he babbled nonsensically, his tiny fists grasping the bound leather. As you touched his plump cheek, he smelled like tallow and lavender.

Your mother allowed Jace to proceed with the bob of her head as Maester Gerardys began again. “Guēsi ropakakson Āegon ūndas.”

“Aegon gave orders for the trees to be felled,” you responded as if the question was directed toward you. Your mother quickly snapped her violet eyes in warning. You were used to that look and continued to tend to the babe like nothing happened, as Jace answered with stutters. 

“Aegon… ordered that the trees should be… killed,” he stated proudly. You released a puff of air through your nose that sounded like a laugh as Viserys took the tome with tiny, curious, grabby hands. 

“Felled. ‘Tis a related word,” your mother gently corrected as she clasped her hands behind her sturdy back. “I don’t expect you to learn High Valyrian in a day, Jace.” 

“A king should honor the traditions of his forebears,” your brother steadfastly declared as you turned with your brows raised, spine cracking. 

“That sounds like something your sister would say,” your mother expressed with a slight tightness in her tone. Pursing your lips with guilt, you returned to Viserys, acting as if you weren’t paying attention. 

That was precisely what you said to him before your lessons today. 

“Unless you plan to depose your mother, you have plenty of time to study,” she teased with a grin like she always did, her happiness becoming contagious as you returned the look over your shoulder. Jace did not share the same enthusiasm as the chamber doors opened again, revealing that of your stepfather strolling down the steps. 

You looked to Daemon grimly as he met your mother with a grave expression on his time-worn visage. She declared that you all leave the room as he entered without looking further at you and your siblings. Jace called the young Joffrey to follow him, and you and your mother’s lady took Aegon and Viserys. As you passed your stepfather, he brought his hand out, noiselessly ordering you to stop while handing your mother the sealed letter in his fingers. He traced a calloused knuckle over his son’s cheek and placed a kiss on his crown, purple orbs piercing your dark ones.

He knew of your distaste for him ever since he wed Rhaenyra mere days after your father’s death, refusing to leave your rooms unless necessary. While you never felt like the Velaryon side of your family liked you, they agreed with the unspoken sentiment that Daemon had something to do with your father’s death. You disagreed with the idea that your mother did. She loved your father in her way and, in your mind, wasn’t capable of plotting the murder of her children’s father. 

You didn’t outright disrespect Daemon; after all, he was still a prince, but he would never be someone you looked up to or went to in times of strife. He would never be your father, not even as he irritatingly called you daughter and played with the new pearl and sapphire necklace your mother forced you to wear today—a gift from your stepfather. 

You understood Daemon only did these things to irk you, refusing to play with the ruse like usual. With no sentences exchanged between you, the Rouge Prince sent you on your way with his offspring wrapped securely in your arms.

“Another raven from Dragonstone, Your Highness,” a Steward announced, holding a rolled piece of parchment sealed with a delicate blue ribbon. 

The One-Eyed Prince sat in a green armchair by the hearth, seemingly unbothered, his lithe form in thought and leg crossed over the other. He did not move. His violet eye trained on the flickering orange and blue flames. No words of acknowledgment were said, and the servant placed the letter on the Prince’s foot table as he took a long sip from his goblet in hand. 

You were always stubbornly loyal to whoever you cared for, and he thought it rather pathetic, especially when you still sought contact from him after you were met with uncaring silence. 

On more than one occasion, his mother attempted to uncover what you said to him, Aemond discovering her rummaging through his writing desk drawers. He met her with an anger he had never felt before, as if she had stolen his most prized jewels. 

The Prince told himself that he didn’t care if passersby discovered them. They were inconsequential items containing meaningless ink, and he thought they were a waste of paper until she almost found them. Although he loved his mother dearly, this was something that was Aemond’s, untainted by neither her nor his grandfather’s fingers. 

He spent many hours pouring over the subjects you wrote as he battled with the urge to burn your writings, yet desiring to fly to Dragonstone atop the Mighty Vhagar and ensure the oaths you declared in the refined loops of your High Valyrian were indeed true. Aemond never did, only having gotten as close to Driftmark and spotted the glinting silver roof of High Tide before the suffocating feeling inside his chest took hold.

Blood, screams, and horror on your face as he clung to your chest before you crushed the childish hope of being different from the rest of them.

As the Prince grew, he found solace in places he never did before, frequenting the Keep’s gardens and Godswood with Helaena when he wasn’t on the training grounds. He was never fond of the outdoors, preferring the company of a good book curled next to a simmering fire, but he discovered that spending time in those areas brought a sense of contentment, though he was uncertain as to why.

Taking one last sip of his wine, Aemond sat his silver goblet and replaced it with the rolled parchment, licking the sticky remnants away from his lips as he untied the soft satin ribbon. 

“Uncle Aemond,  I hope this finds you in good health and spirits, as I cannot say the same for myself while writing this. I have overcome a recent bout of melancholia, as Maester Gerardys calls it, and now I’ve heard that Lord Corlys was gravely wounded during an ambush in the Stepstones. Insultingly, Ser Vaemond Velaryon has petitioned the Crown to declare him my Grandsire’s successor upon his passing. This infuriates me to no end. I know if my father were still alive, he would have protected him with his life, and we wouldn’t be having such a discussion. My younger brother will be the next Lord of the Tides since our father is gone. While we may disagree on specific lines of heritage, Luke is my father’s son, and I am his daughter. I find it ironic, however, that a place that haunts him, and you, he will now have to preside over. He shall be forever reminded of the great misdeed he infringed upon you, and I do find a sort of justice in it, but I would never dare to voice such a thing aloud. Luke is my brother, after all. I love him with all my being, but a part of me will never forgive him for what he did to you. I’m sure you feel the same.  Mother said we would attend the petition to affirm my brother’s long-decided succession, but we both know the actual cause behind this. I do not enjoy discussing these matters. It boils my dragon blood whenever the false rumors surrounding my birth are brought up. Laenor Velaryon is my father and loved me as such. ‘Tis a fact that will never change no matter what lickspittles and gossipers claim.  Oddly, despite its negative connotation and history, I eagerly await my arrival at the Red Keep. Do not think I am forgetful of you. You would not believe me if you knew how often you are in my heart and mind. I hope to see you in good health and that my recommendations for your eye, which I’ve mentioned in previous correspondence, have proven useful.  Until we meet.”

Aemond did not know whether to throw your letter into the smoldering fire and watch the flames engulf the tan pages or to rip it into a dozen tiny pieces. He hated you. He loathed you with his entire being as he dangled the parchment over the orange and yellow embers, yet he could not will the rage in his heart to drop it as the heat burned his fist. Aemond welcomed the discomfort, the pain. He grew accustomed to and welcomed it until he felt the water beneath his flesh bubble. 

You were no more than a dirty bastard, a daughter of a whore, yet you flaunted riches like a Targaryen princess, unbefitting of your actual status. Aemond did not want to see you ever again, lest it be you groveling on your knees for his forgiveness. It was you who broke the vows and betrayed him, choosing your filthy, Strong brothers over him. He would never forgive you, though seeing you knelt before him as your pretty tears decorated your plump cheeks would be a lovely sight. The Prince felt his cock impulsively swell at the image. 

He abhorred you, yet Aemond meticulously placed your letter amidst a collection of others in an exquisitely crafted wooden lockbox adorned with intricate carvings of dragons. As he savored a deep gulp of wine, his gaze fixated on the flickering light evoked by your memories. It brought to mind the recollection of your unique grace, a quality that remained unmatched despite the countless attempts made by him and Aegon to find women of similar allure. The sharpness of his eldest brother’s words and the acrid scent of his breath lingered in his memory as Aegon leaned in on his thirteenth nameday.

“Worry not, brother. We’ll find one that looks like her for you. Time to get it wet.” 

Without hesitating, he flung his drink into the fire, extinguishing its voracious flames.

The ground was cold beneath your fingers despite wearing gloves as you pruned the small plot in Aegon’s Garden. Budding crocus dotted the moist area with tiny bursts of purple petals and green stems, withstanding the late winter season. Spring was a moon away, but winter refused to release its clutch on the land, leaving the dirt to keep the frigid dampness that few things could grow in. 

Aegon’s Garden was where you found yourself in strife, seeking peace and distraction in your passion. Now, with your mother’s nerves upon hearing that Ser Vaemond Velaryon decided to challenge the line of succession to the Driftwood throne, you felt the heavy burden of the future on your hunched shoulders. You felt bad about the whole situation, from your Grandsire Lord Corlys’s serious injury to the unspoken notion that Vaemond bringing this petition to the Crown was that Lucerys, and by extension, you and Jacaerys were illegitimate. The truth did not matter, not really. It was what those believed or those in power seats told those to think, and it was that you, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey were the offspring of Laenor Velaryon and Rhaenyra Targaryen.

As the King declared, you were next in line to the throne after your mother and Luke for Lord of the Tides after your Grandsire. His word was law, but it was no longer that of a King who sat on the throne but a Queen. 

“You should be readying for the journey, Princess. Your mother wants to leave at first light,” Edwina, your most loyal lady, stated. She stood with her broad shoulders squared, hair tucked underneath her white maid’s cap, and hands clasped behind her back. Though she was barely a few years your senior, she acted as if she had decades. 

You sighed, rolling your dark eyes in annoyance and sitting on your haunches. You supposed Edwina’s mothering was not unfounded, as your impulsiveness tended to lead you into regret. “I will not be joining my mother and Daemon on the ship. ’Tis much faster on dragon back,” you quipped.

“The Princess wants you all to arrive together,” your lady expressed, taking a few steps closer to show her seriousness. 

“To show a united front. Yes, I know Edwina. I could not go,” you teased, smirking, removing your leather gloves finger by finger. “I have no love for the Red Keep, my extended family, or them for me.” 

Edwina knew that was a lie. It was evident how she saw you pour over letters addressed to King’s Landing. The maid knew not who the intended recipient was, but there was someone who held a secret place in your heart. The Karstark often wondered if it was Aegon, seeing as a betrothal was whispered in the past, though that idea was quickly squashed after you had an uncharacteristic fit when she voiced it. 

“I understand, Your Highness, but duty is sacrifice. Those of your standing must do things in service to your House and family that are against your wants. I do not envy that,” Edwina offered with a half smile of pity as the pair of you entered the benevolent brimstone walls of Dragonstone. 

In response, you hummed, linking her strong arm in yours and lowering your head with a look mirrored hers. “This a small price to pay to live a life of privilege.” 

The lady nodded in acquiescence as pictures of the poor folk in line for their food rations showed in your mind. Your travels gave you a perspective that your family did not have, forcing you to confront privileges you were unaware existed until they were thrown into your face. You held a sinking feeling inside when you thought of it for days after, guilt gnawing at your heart every time you were draped in lavish dresses of Velaryon blue and adorned with lavish jewels. It sparked you to grow your plot in Aegon’s Garden when you finally returned home and give to those less fortunate despite the odd looks your family gave you. 

A similar heavy, sinking weight inside your gut returned as you thought of going to the Red Keep, seeing your uncles and Queen Alicent after what happened at Driftmark. Your guilt and shame felt as prominent as if you were the one who sliced into Aemond’s eye. You tried to reason that he deserved some form of punishment for hurting Baela, Rhaena, and your brothers, but it never worked. Your conscience was too steadfast to allow lies like that to blind you. 

Your mother planned on staying in the Red Keep for a night to spend time with her father and to renew her place at court. There was no joy in your heart to learn of her plans as you chose what dresses and jewelry to wear before supper. Though King’s Landing was once your home, it no longer held the wonderous warmth that came with a place of rest. Childhood memories spent there did not come with a smile when you thought of them. Instead, misery came to mind with lingering stares from adults and Aegon and Aeomnd’s relentless teasing regarding your birth. 

The cold, briny halls of Dragonstone were your home. Everyone loved you and your kin here, and there was no whispering behind silk fans wherever you went. The only gossip was if you would become with child before or after Princess Rhaenyra betrothed you and Jacaerys. 

After you supped with your brothers, mother, and Daemon at night, you lay within thick furs that threatened to let the frigid midnight air in. When you woke to leave, the ground would dust with the crystalline covering of frost, and you knew how Gaeli despised the cold. He would fly at your command regardless, but you would undoubtedly feel his displeasure until he resided in the heat of the Dragonpit.

This petition felt like a dark cloud looming in the distance of a clear sky, promising its threat of a storm as you soared over Blackwater Bay. Despite your mother’s insistence that you ride on the ship with her because of her pregnancy, you choose to take Gaelithox across the water. In turn, that caused your brothers to want to take their dragons to King’s Landing and leave your mother to make the journey with only the comfort of her husband, which you were sure she didn’t mind. 

It was customary for the family to make an entrance together and be greeted by the host’s kin, but when you emerged from the wheelhouse that took you from the Dragonpit, its dark caverns still the same, you were greeted by only guards. The lack of forethought and the apparent insult of the Green’s absence sent an icy feeling into your gut, causing you to itch at the skin beneath your black dress. 

The gown was not your typical style choice, as it was your Velaryon blue and pearls, but your mother wanted you to wear one of your garments fashioned in the Targaryen colors of black and red with a golden linked belt and rubies to match. She planned to present a united front before the Court and the Greens and, without it said, further solidify her and your siblings’ legitimacy to the throne.

As you stepped out of the carriage with an encouraging inhale, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey, along with the nursemaids carrying Aegon and Viserys, followed after a chill running through the air. You brought your fur-lined cloak closer to your goose flesh arms, shuddering as you observed the Red Keep in all its grandeur. It was as big as you remembered, looking at the tall pale red stone towers, windows, and colliers. You felt small, the unmistakable burn of tears under your eyelids, your nose beginning to run as memories from six years ago flashed inside your mind’s eye. 

Luke and Jace came to stand behind you, taking note of your trembling lip and pink cheeks. The youngest of the two was filled with the same anxiety as you and quickly took his hand in yours—a united front. They did not know why you were shaking in your riding boots, squeezing Luke’s fist for comfort as Lord Caswell led your family inside the front gates. 

While the red and black banners of House Targaryen were raised on the Keep’s walls, it seemed to be House Hightower that occupied the castle. The Seven-Pointed Star was everywhere you looked throughout the halls that once were Harold with the tapestries of flying dragons, riders bounding with their mounts, now those of the Seven, holy pictures of the Crone and her guiding light, the Maiden with her pure, ethereal beauty, and others of religious importance.

It reminded you of your time in the Citadel in Oldtown, the ancient seat of House Hightower, who aligned themselves closely with the Faith of the Seven. Your family’s relationship with the Septons and Septas was strife until the late King Maegor ruthlessly crushed the Faith Militant Uprising. However, during your stay, you heard whispers from passing Lords and Ladies that the animosity supposedly vanquished long ago was still there, simmering below their fear of House Targaryen and their dragons. 

While the Seven did offer you something to soothe your soul in times of unease and explain unanswered things, it didn’t provide you consolation seeing it paraded around grotesquely in place of your House’s history. It churred the feeling of anxious dread in the pit of your stomach as your brothers eagerly left your side to explore the long-forgotten Red Keep. 

“I would say it’s nice to be home, but I scarcely recognize it,” your mother said, a slight lilt to her melodic voice and sharing a knowing glance with Daemon. 

You stood closely by her side, moist lips tucked in concern as you observed your stepfather’s butter smirk walking before the two of you. You and your mother stayed unmoving for another moment to allow the situation to settle. The abrupt raven, Lord Corlys gravely injured, Princess Rhaenys traveling to King’s Landing, Luke’s legitimacy loudly called to question all happening within a few days was more commotion than you had within the entirety of your stay at Dragonstone. It was a wonder you hadn’t plucked at the hairs of your Crown, your digits twitching and coming to scratch at your scalp.

Suddenly, you felt a shift in the air, unable to name the sensation as you turned to your mother, whose beautiful violet orbs were trained on a series of portraits of your kin. While your King grandsire, stepfather, mother, Queen Alicent, and her children were there, your siblings were not, leaving only the elegant, rectangular golden frame of your countenance in the places of your brothers. You felt your heart drop and glanced at your mother with wide, curious eyes. 

This meant too many things. Not only was it an insult to your mother and siblings to have all but their pictures, but the fact that it was only you there out of the six of you. It was no doubt Queen Alicent’s doing as you forced yourself to swallow a lump in your throat. The tears you kept at bay reemerged as your fingers dug under your black mesh veil, rolling the fine dark hairs at the nape of your neck between the pads of your thumb and forefinger.  

Swiftly, your mother took your wrist, soothingly rubbing your knuckles as she gave you a brief yet wistful smile. “Why don’t you find the Godswood, yes? I shall meet you there shortly.”

You bobbed your head stiffly, willing your tears and trepidations to quiet as you rubbed at your damp lashes. “Yes, Mother,” you responded in kind with a sniffle. 

You found yourself within nature as you always did in times of strife, gazing up into the crimson leaves of a Weirwood, the soft rustle of branches reminding you of inaudible whispers. They were hard to make with the sky’s brightness, only to see the fuzzy outlines with the gray clouds, but they comforted you. The Old Gods watched you with their unseen eyes as your fingertips traced the rough bark grass crunching beneath your boots.

The Godswood was the only place within the Keep’s grounds that did not cause you significant stress, as only fond memories of your times with Helaena catching insects and playing games with Jace and Luke filled your mind. You had no desire to return to King’s Landing despite being away for so long. It felt as if no time could heal the irreparable wounds caused within these walls and the person who did it. 

Many rumors spread throughout the realm and to your little island of Dragonstone from the smallfolk, whispering that Prince Aegon’s appetite for depravity did not curb after his marriage to Princess Helaena. The people said it increased tenfold as the Prince was spotted frequenting the gambling houses, brothels, and illegal fighting pits. It seemed fitting for your eldest uncle’s character to become the worst of something he was supposed to make the best of. 

You could only think of the innocent children sired into this world without their mother’s consent and then put into the fighting pits so that Aegon and other highborns could have their entertainment. When you are Queen, you shall kill every man or woman who dares to share the same interests as your uncle. You would not willingly allow such depravity under your rule. No amount of coin from such establishments could be worth it to keep the economy afloat.

The soft crunching of late winter grass caused you to jump, tearing from your thoughts as you turned to see your grandmother, Princess Rhaenys. You bestowed her with a deep curtsy and smile, coming to greet her with open arms. 

“Grandmother!” you called with unspoken joy in your tone. “Tis a pleasure to see you after so long.” 

She extended a tight-lipped smile that looked like a grimace, and you felt deflated. “I wish I could share the same unwitting joy you do, seeing as my Lord Husband lays battling with the Stranger.” 

You lowered your arms with chagrin and took a few paces back as you felt the sting of tears resurface. “Apologies, my lady. I did not mean for my joy at seeing my father’s mother to make light of the gravity this day brings.” 

She chuckled wryly at your words, shaking her head as she looked to the Weirwood tree behind you. Following her gaze, you moved from her path as she took steps forward. There were so many things you wanted to say to her, to scream to her how much you loved your father and wished for those involved with his death to pay as you twirled his signet ring on your middle digit. 

Princess Rhaenys looked to you in the serene noiselessness of the Godswood, the chill in the wind causing you to shiver, gaze drifting to where you worked the gold around your knuckle. She said nothing with her mouth. She needn’t, as you could see it written plainly in the deep wrinkles lining the corners of her eyes. The Princess felt the same but would never admit it aloud to a… bastard. 

“I shall leave you in peace, Princess,” you bowed again, walking with less brightness into the Keep as you left the one person you could speak about your father to.

You felt like an imbecile for what you said, even though any grandparent should feel the same glee you did at their grandchildren’s arrival. A hot wave of embarrassment seared your insides, causing you to dig the heels of your palms into your eye sockets, ripping your veil off in anger. You didn’t care about the beautifully plated hair your ladies created, scraping your nails into your scalp to feel the threadlike texture of your bothersome strands that ached to be released as you ran blindly through the stone halls. 

There had been times when Aemond had forgotten who you were, your smile, your laugh, your eyes, who your birth father was, and the sweet kisses you bestowed on him alone in his chambers. That is why he reasoned that he was surprised to see a woman grown and no longer a girlish figure with a short, flat torso and legs. Instead, it was a lady with the slope of your neck dripping with rubies and dragonglass barely hidden beneath the crevasse of your swelling bosom. 

Your eyes were all he could think about from the moment you emerged from the second wheelhouse. A scared, almost dovelike look to them as he watched Luke and Jace come to your side. 

Good, he thought. You all should be terrified. Yet he did not hold the same conviction as his stare drifted back to you.

The Prince thought you were so small and fragile from a distance as he observed you leave the Godswood, an arch to your dark brows that seemed to be in pain. He thought there should be nothing within your perfect ideal life to be so torn about and wanted to give you a reason to be upset. Aemond planned to spit all the vitriol he held within these six years as you rounded the corner, and yet, as Aemond held you within his bruising grasp, you stared at him with such fire beneath unshed tears. 

The passageway Aemond cornered you into carried a chill seeping in from the outside as he saw your cheeks redden in ire. Your moist, plump lips slightly parted to breathe as he dug his blunt nails into your biceps. He felt his breeches become impossibly tighter as you swallowed, darting your pink tongue out in nervousness, much to his frustration.

Aemond was no longer the sun-kissed Prince with wide amethyst eyes full of light. His plush, boyish face had slimmed in the time lost and turned into one of hardened maturity with a sharp nose and chiseled jaw that came to a point with thin pink lips. His countenance resembled the statues you saw in Dorne as you felt his strong hands dig into your muscles like he wanted to tear at your essence. You felt your body weaken against your will, succumbing to the emotions you felt for your uncle in your youth, but resolved to stay firm against his intimidation. There were still hints of the Aemond you briefly knew in your childhood, the one that kept that night a secret still to this day.

“Unhand me, Aemond!” you spat as if he had swiped filth across your face, a deep wrinkle on your forehead.

Aemond wanted to laugh despite your seriousness as he pressed you further against the pale red stone wall, uncaring if Princess Rhaenys heard your cries. You dropped your headpiece in your struggles and attempted to retrieve it before your uncle’s piercing grip righted you again. 

“Must I?” he quipped, his stomach churning with excitement as the familiar scent of citrus and something darker wafted into his nose. “You’re a strong lady. I’m certain you can overpower me.”

Aemond allowed his gaze to roam over your face as you scoffed with a squirm. He wanted you to be ugly, for you to become the personification of all the wrongs your family committed against him, to be the picture of the betrayal he felt for you choosing them over him on that dreadful night. Up close, he unwillingly realized you were what the smallfolk claimed you to be. The picture of the Maiden though he knew you were anything but. Aemond wondered what they would think should the people discover your true nature.

“You believe yourself a true Velaryon, do you not? The Old, the True, the Brave,” he asked, his voice low and menacing. His face was so close to yours that you could see the intricate stitchings of his brown leather eyepatch. You wondered if he wore his sapphire today. “Your hair is decorated with gold and pearls, fingers adorned with jewels, and wrapped in lavish dresses. Yet beneath all the decadence you wear, you are still nothing more than Strong.” 

His insults meant nothing as you realize your uncle felt the same inner turmoil. Why else would he speak such prose of your being? He loathed and loved you in the same breath, something he fought to keep inside.

“Do not hide behind cruel words, Aemond. I see you as you are.” A delicate hand came to cup his marred cheek, the smooth pads of your fingers tenderly stroking the plunging indentation through his skin. You wished to get through to him, to tell him that despite the rift between your families, you cared for him. He could still be your Mors Martell.

The Prince felt himself crack, an unconscious twitch of his lip that he disguised as a sneer. Aemond felt a sensation he fought to keep at bay since he was disabled, struggling to hide the way memories from long ago clouded his mind. Instead, the Prince focused on how you inhaled a sharp breath when his hand left your arm and came to your face, jerking it towards his as Aemond lost your tender touch. He would swear upon his death that he saw your eyes dilate a fraction too much for it to be the shadow of the torchlight. 

Wondering then if the rumors were true that you and your twin had a closer relationship, he brought his other fist to encircle your waist, trailing it down the back of your plump thigh until he forced it to wrap around his hip. A part of Aemond was sure you would scream for help as you did when he found you with Aegon, but no words escaped your moist lips.

“You hurt me, my light. Can I not simply bask in the presence of my long-lost dream?” he mocked and realized that he might have gone too far as he felt your body stiffen and face blanched. The expression on your visage reminded him of the times he saw wounded soldiers return from minor village uprisings, the bloodshed changing their perspectives. 

The Prince understood that there was no returning from what he said, seeming to have flipped an unseen switch inside you at the mention of his mother’s petname for you. Your lips began to tremble on their own volition, and you abruptly noticed the striking resemblance between Aemond and his older brother. The most venomous expression you could muster curled onto your face, hiding your fright and not allowing him to hold power over you any longer.

“Don’t insult my intellect, Aemond. I know what disgusting thoughts play inside your mind, and they intimidate me for naught. You are more alike to Aegon than you allow,” you jeered. You knew what to say to wound him, to compare him to his wastrel of an older brother who raped innocent serving girls and his kin.

Unable to help your wandering eyes, you watched how your uncle’s pink tongue moved within his mouth, how the wetness glistened with the flick of his ire. 

“And what of you?” Aemond rebuked. “You cannot simply only be close siblings. The dragon’s blood runs thick and even more so between twins.” 

You were silent, leaving only the faint rustling of nature in the distance wrapped around the pair of you like a rope, tightening against your skin and pulling you and Aemond closer. Despite the frigid weather, it became hot, sweat collecting on your upper lip and nape. All Aemond could hear was the fierce rhythm of your breathing, his eye wandering down to the elegant necklace perched on your chest.

“You spout baseless, vile accusations of your kin that have made lesser men lose their lives,” you rebuked, fists coming to clutch at his jerkin and wrapping your digits in the green leather as if you meant to fight him.

“Perhaps,” he breathed with an air of superiority, “but I don’t believe it to be treason to question your morals,” he replied coolly, his light brow quirking with his tone of practiced impassivity. 

The Prince was stunned into silence when your tiny, delicate palm echoed off his marred cheek. It was not the force that shocked him, but rather the notion that you did it despite the threat of violence.

For a brief moment, white, hot pain seared at his left temple and into his skull as he turned to you and saw an expression of regret. Aemond felt the heat on his cheek and smirked. He knew you intended to hurt him by striking him on his injured side and now understood how to cripple you as Luke did him. It would always be your beloved family—your weakness.

The lamb bit as fiercely as the wolf, Aemond mused. You may not be as frail as he thought.

Excitement curled the Prince’s toes at the whimper that escaped your lips as he used his strength around your throat, perfectly styled hair fraying on the stone. Your once flat irises now burst with life as they darted across Aemond’s lean form in brief terror, a proud grin wrinkling his eyes.

“You ignorant bitch,” he declared, pressing himself closer, his hand firm around you despite attempting to pry them off. His other limb reached down, shifting you to the tips of your toes as he dropped your leg. Though fruitless, he reveled in the terror that washed over your features as you attempted to fight him. He wouldn’t dishonor you, but all that mattered was that you did not. 

Aemond felt disgusted at his actions, believing for a moment that you were right about him, that he was indeed the same as Aegon, yet in different colored clothes. 

“I’ll scream. Just as I did that night.” 

“Then do it and let the whole Keep think worse of you,” the Prince mocked, bearing his white teeth. “I shall say it was you who seduced me, and who will they believe? The King’s second son or the bastard daughter who fucks her brother?” 

He could feel your humid breath against his face, fanning the spot where you had struck him. Aemond stared at this vicious yet adored creature in his grip as he concealed his insecurities with the intimating tilt of his head as if examining a new book. His violet eye traced the ink, waiting for your next move. The Prince would have you think him to be Aegon if it meant fucking his spend into you no matter how undeserving you were of it. Perhaps you would finally see what the true seed of a dragon looks like. Aemond grinned with his unspoken words and felt satisfaction with the anger he stoked in your eyes. 

“You will let me go. Now,” you demanded, pushing against your uncle as you struggled for purchase.

“And then what will you do? Run? Men in King’s Landing are not as kind as I when they see a distressed lady.” Your jaw ached, feeling like a rabbit cornered by a fox as a familiar and unwelcomed primal warmth blossomed between your thighs. 

You wanted to threaten him, to say that you would feed Aemond to your dragon or poison him in his sleep, but nothing came to mind besides the smell of too-sweet wine and the taste of dried dates. Memories came from that night, as you felt yourself becoming faint, the will to fight to leave you just as it did with Aegon as powerless tears welled on your lashes. You were a fool to think Aemond would see past his injustice for the sake of the past and resign yourself to whatever fate he chooses for you. 

There was no point in fighting. Once again, you were at the mercy of your uncle, and you only prayed that this one would be gentle.

The Prince no longer felt proud of his actions as he watched your body recoil into itself. There was something in your eyes that Aemond couldn’t name as he looked between them, feeling himself slowly pulled into their depths as he did the night after Aegon. The Prince wasn’t going to hurt you, not really. He was young and foolish, but not to the extent that he would commit an act of one of the highest sins.

As if the mother herself took mercy on you, the soft murmur of voices down the hall echoed into your and Aemond’s ears. You could not hide your smirk as he stared into you with a deep scowl on his porcelain face. Whatever plans he had, they crumbled like dead leaves underneath your boots as your mother and step-sister came. Taking his momentary distraction to your advantage, you shoved against the hardened planes of his chest, your sudden rush of strength knocking Aemond off balance as you retrieved your forgotten headpiece. 

Soon, they came into view, their destination no doubt being that of the Godswood as you fixed your disrupted attire. You couldn’t help the grin that pulled at your plump cheeks as you saw your uncle’s scowl, taking a few paces to reach them. You seemed the proper princess to the outside, greeting them with a quick embrace and your chin high.

Rhaena acted like Aemond wasn’t there. Only the uncomfortable shift of her shoulders revealed she noticed him while your mother extended a short but polite acknowledgment before he stalked away without proper dismissal. 

“What did he do to you?” your step-sister pointedly questioned, scanning your form for any injury.

You looked at her in what you hoped was a confused yet grateful expression and not one of guilt. “Prince Aemond merely wanted to make amends for the lack of presence at our arrival. I do not believe him to be sincere.”

Your mother smirked her delicate peony lips, releasing a scoff of disbelief as she shook her styled hair. She closed the space between you and tenderly grasped your shoulders as she scanned your form for injury.

“Do not let them get to you. They seek only pride and glory,” your mother declared steadfastly, a vibrancy you had never seen before in her amethyst eyes.

Nodding in acquiescence, you extended another brief embrace before you excused yourself, wanting nothing more than for this day to end as you went to search for your brothers. 

You needed Jace—to feel the comfort only your twin could give after facing the scars of the past. Before reaching your destination, you felt an iron-like grip across your upper arm, pulling you into a secluded alcove. You feared the worst, that someone planned to harm you and that your last words to your mother would be lies.

“You are quick, niece,” Aemond whispered haughty into your ear, causing you to drop your headpiece in fright, “but that quickness will do you no good in King’s Landing. Your whore mother has no hold here.” 

Just as quickly as your uncle took you, he released you with a shove. You wanted to bite with some clever or witty remark but thought of none. Tears of embarrassed frustration welled in your eyes as you spun on your heel, ignoring the tickle on your wrist like something had touched it.

As Aemond watched your womanly form retreat, dark eyes trailing over your curves, he did not feel the satisfaction he believed the interaction would create, spotting your discarded veil on the flagstone floor. He stared at it for a long moment, tracing the intricately sewn beads as he picked it up. 

Unsure of what came over him, he brought it to his nose, the scent of citrus flooding his senses and into the blood that engorged his cock. He was able to appreciate the feminine quality of your fragrance fully. Your aroma was refreshing and rounded, sweet but complex and deep simultaneously, similar to the limes that garnished drinks during the Keep’s summer gatherings, but with floral, herbal, and resinous undertones.

With a guttural noise, the Prince tightened his grip on the headpiece, channeling all his hatred towards your family into his clenched fist and tucked it into his jerkin. He swiftly went to the training session with Cole, hoping the knight wouldn’t see through his façade before witnessing the impending downfall he believed your family deserved. 

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Sooooo, what did we think about their reuniting? Just two mentally ill and horny young adults. XD I originally wanted the whole meeting with Aemond again, the petition, and the dinner scene to be all in one chapter, but that was waaaaaay too much. I split them up to get those infamous scenes in the next chapter. I'm excited. It's gonna be juicy!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you so much for reading! (⁠ ⁠´⁠◡⁠‿⁠ゝ⁠◡⁠`⁠)

I wanted to briefly give credit to @targaryenrealnessdarling, and their fic The Blood is Rare for inspo of the setting when Aemond and the reader meet for the first time. However, I did change things to make it my own. They have a lot of Aemond fics that will surely quench your thirst as y'all wait for the next chapter. (⁠◠⁠‿⁠◕⁠)

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp, @britt-mf, @marvelescvpe, @haikyuusboringassmanager, @discofairysworld, @lottiemsgf , @nessjo @fiction-fanfic-reader , @qvnthesia , @hotvillianapologist , @p45510n4f4shi0n, @theendlessvoidofdarkest , @readerselegance , @gothamgurl2024 , @aleemendoza2425-blog , @vaylint , @ln8118 , @prettyduckling22 , @primroseluna

[ruewrote]

𝑖 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢.

PAIRING: 3A!denkikaminari x gn!reader WARNINGS: sad denki, no use of y/n GENRE: angst to fluff SONG INSPIRATION: there for you by martin garrix & troye sivan WORD COUNT: 1186

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you notice denki has been quieter than usual all day. normally, he'd be the one cracking jokes and keeping the energy up, but today there’s a different air about him. it’s subtle, the way he avoids eye contact, the forced smiles, the way his shoulders seem a little slumped, but it’s slight but it's there. and what bothers you most is that no one else seems to notice. the others laugh and carry on, completely oblivious to the shift in his mood.

he stands up suddenly after a group conversation winds down, muttering something about needing to head back to his dorm. no one questions it, letting him go without a second thought, but you can't shake the feeling that something's wrong. you watch him walk away, disappearing down the hall, and a few moments later, you decide to follow.

after giving him some time alone, you make your way to his room. his door is closed when you arrive, and you hesitate for a second, wondering if he needs more time to himself. but the image of his unusually downcast expression sticks in your mind, and you gently knock on the door before letting yourself in.

denki’s sitting on his bed, staring out the window, lost in thought. his usual electric energy is nowhere to be found. he turns his head when he hears you, surprise flickering across his face.

"hey..." he says quietly, his voice lacking its usual spark. "didn't think anyone was gonna come by."

you give him a small smile, closing the door softly behind you before stepping further into the room. "i noticed you were kind of off today," you say gently, sitting on the edge of his bed, keeping some space between you. "i just wanted to check in. see if you're okay."

for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. his gaze falls back to the floor, and his fingers fidget nervously with a loose thread on his shirt. "i'm fine," he mutters, though the way he says it makes it clear he's not. "it's stupid stuff. i don’t want to bother you with it."

“denki…” you tilt your head, your voice soft but firm. “you can talk to me. you don’t have to pretend like everything’s fine when it’s clearly not.”

he lets out a short, bitter laugh, still avoiding your gaze. "i don’t know. i just feel like... everyone’s moving forward, getting better, and i’m stuck, y’know? i try to keep up, but i’m always messing something up. like today, in training... i fried out again. everyone laughed. and i don’t blame them, i mean, it’s what i do, right? screw up and turn into an idiot." he laughs again, but it’s empty, and his shoulders slump a little more.

your heart aches hearing him talk like this. denki always seems so carefree, so full of confidence, but now, sitting here with him, you can see the cracks in the facade he puts up for everyone.

“denki, you’re not an idiot,” you say, your voice filled with sincerity. “you’re one of the most hardworking people i know. you’re always pushing yourself, always trying to get better. and yeah, sometimes things don’t go the way you want, but that doesn’t mean you’re not improving. you’re not stuck.”

he finally looks at you, his eyes filled with doubt. "it’s just hard sometimes, you know? feeling like i’m always the one who messes up while everyone else is just... better."

you scoot a little closer, your voice gentle as you say, “you’re not alone in feeling like that. we all struggle sometimes, even if it doesn’t always show. but i promise you, no one thinks less of you for having rough days.”

denki takes a deep breath, and some of the tension in his body seems to ease. he leans back against the headboard, his hands resting in his lap. “i just... i guess i didn’t think anyone really noticed. i’m always the ‘happy-go-lucky guy,’ right? i don’t want people to see me like this.”

“i’m so sorry that i didn't realize it sooner,” you say softly, meeting his eyes. “and it’s okay to have off days. it doesn’t make you weak or anything like that. it just makes you human.”

his eyes shining with a mix of emotions, hope, disbelief, something like gratitude. “you really mean that?”

“of course i do,” you said, squeezing his hand gently. denki’s gaze dropped to your intertwined hands, his thumb brushing over yours almost absently. “i just… i don’t wanna be behind, you know? i want to be taken seriously, like everyone else.”

your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice, the raw honesty that he usually kept hidden behind his carefree smile. you shifted closer, wrapping your arms around him in a gentle hug. he stiffened for a moment, then melted against you, his head resting on your shoulder.

“you’re appreciated so much more than you think, denki,” you whispered, your voice fierce with conviction. “you have so much to offer. i’m so proud of you, and i’m so lucky to know you.”

he let out a shuddering breath, his arms tightening around you like he was afraid to let go. “thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “i…i really needed to hear that.”

you held him close, your hand gently stroking his back. “i’ll always be here for you. whenever you need to talk, or just…need someone. i’m here.”

he didn’t say anything, he didn't need to, he just held you tighter, his breath warm against your neck. for a long time, you sat like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, the noise of the common room fading away until it was just the two of you, cocooned in a bubble of quiet comfort.

eventually, he pulled back, his eyes red but clearer, the tension in his face eased. “i’m sorry,” he said, his voice still a little shaky. “i didn’t mean to dump all this on you.”

“don’t apologize,” you said firmly. “you’re allowed to feel how you feel, and you’re allowed to talk about it. i’m honestly glad that you did.”

“you’re…you’re really cool, ya know?”

he smiled, a real, genuine smile that made your heart swell with relief. “i’ll try to believe it.”

“that’s all i ask,” you said, squeezing his hand. “just…try to see yourself the way i see you.”

his smile softened, his eyes shining with something warm and tender. “i’ll try,” he said again, his voice quiet but steady. “and…thank you. for being here. for listening. it means a lot.”

“always,” you said, your heart aching with how much you meant it. “i’m always here for you, no matter what.”

he nodded, his gaze lingering on yours for a long, another quiet moment. then he shifted, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, the touch so soft it made your breath catch.

“thank you,” he whispered one last time, his voice filled with all the things he didn’t know how to say.

you knew that, whatever happened, you’d always be there to remind him of just how incredible he truly was.

comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡

© ruewrote 2024.

[otrtbs]

Hi I hope you're doing well 🌷

I had a question. I'm totally asking out of pure curiosity, it's not a criticism or anything of the sort.

In ahb (this masterpiece of yours) Sirius's favorite painting is Degas' Dancers.

I wanted to know if you knew the background of this painting and if making it Sirius' favorite was a deliberate choice or if you had no idea at all.

Because the Ballerinas in Opera Garnier in Paris were all really young and mostly, they were poor. The dancers were often their family's hope to crawl out of misery.

The audience was full of men.

In fact, the sad flip side was that there was a whole prostitution network behind the scene. With these young girls. Men could pay for backstage access to watch ballerinas change and sometimes rape them.

So Degas was a big customer.

That's how he painted the dancers and most of his works.

That's again how he sculpted the ballerina, her tutu was added meaning the 14 year old girl was posing nude.

Degas is also suspected of being Jack the Ripper, there are a certain number of credible leads and potential evidences.

That's why I was wondering if you knew.

Since there is this whole chapter where they insult Picasso (as they should) I found it strange that Degas being a known major p*do did not receive the same treatment.

Ps: I'm french, I don't know if I made any mistakes writing this, if I have please excuse me I tried my best 🙏

Okay hi, hello! I am doing well and I hope you are as well! You have unlocked Art Historian Thesis Nat, so I am going to put an extremely lengthy post under the cut, I'm so sorry (this is literally my area of study,,, i fear i am incapable of being brief about this)

I do want to clarify that right off the bat, I don't necessarily think many of these art historical figures are "good people". Like none of them are the best, most moral, upstanding citizens you should model your life after (but they're also dead sooooo). But I also understand that I did take some time in my fanfiction to make my hatred for Picasso very clear, and so I can also understand the confusion in not extending that same hatred towards Degas. But there are a few reasons for that, that I'll try to explain below!

The direct historical documentation of Pablo Picasso's violence towards the women in his life is vast and damning. If you want particularly good insight into his violence and abuse, then I recommend reading Marina Picasso's (Picasso's granddaughter) memoir titled: Picasso: My Grandfather. I also recommend Françoise Gilot's (romantic partner of Picasso) books, Life with Picasso and Picasso and Matisse. It is through the memories of the people who loved Picasso and who loved him in turn, that we hear of his sadistic nature that drove his lovers to suicide and we get personal letters that he wrote to Gilot in which he says things like "Dora, for me, was always a weeping woman… And it’s important, because women are suffering machines" and "For me there are only two kinds of women: goddesses and doormats." His granddaughter has this to say about him: “He submitted [women] to his animal sexuality, tamed them, bewitched them, ingested them, and crushed them onto his canvas. After he had spent many nights extracting their essence, once they were bled dry, he would dispose of them.” And Gilot says: "I am the only one to not have been sacrificed to the sacred monster(…) and is alive to tell the tale. He was a wonderful person to be with, it was like fireworks, amazingly creative, so intelligent and seductive(…) but he was also very cruel, sadistic and ruthless with others and with himself (…) It was the greatest love of my life, but you have to protect yourself (…) The others did not, they clung to the powerful minotaur and paid a very high price."

Why this matters: The evidence for Degas being so virulently misogynistic and cruel towards women is extremely less substantial and more speculative in nature.

Degas being Jack the Ripper. Degas being Jack the Ripper started off as a tiktok theory posed in early 2024, (though you can find an article as early as 2004 written by The Guardian's art critic here) and while fun to think about and speculate, it isn't true. August and September and November of 1888 is when the Jack the Ripper crimes were committed in London and Degas was in the South of France at that time receiving medical treatment because he was in extremely poor health. (Which you can find in The Letters of Edgar Degas edited by Theodore Reff (I'm sure there's. free PDF version out there somewhere)). Also, self-admittedly speculative, but Degas didn't visit the East-End of London when he did make his excursions to London because he was classist 😭. So, it would be odd for him to know the ins and outs of the streets where the murders took place. And also he had failing eyesight starting at 36, so the odds of him being Jack the Ripper are extremely slim.

The Ballerinas Yes, while it is true that the ballerina's were often subject to horrific conditions and were prostitutes for the "wealthy" patrons of the opera house, this does not mean that Degas partook in that. in fact, most historical documentation surmises he didn't. Degas considered himself a "realist" painter rather than an impressionist painter, wishing to document "real life" in all of its ugliness, beauty and unstylized truth. Therefore his primary concern was documenting the opera house and ballet in all of the moments, not just when the girls were dancing on stage. And in many of his paintings, Degas captures the opera patronsn in his ballerina paintings as lurkers behind the stage curtains as sinister black shadows, or as men predatorily watching in nice suits (e.g. Ballet, 1876 and The Rehearsal of the Ballet Onstage (1874)). But Degas himself, was NEVER a ballerina patron, he is even quoted as saying "People call me the painter of dancing girls. It has never occurred to them that my chief interest in dancers lies in rendering movement...". (now this is not because Degas was morally outraged at what was happening to the ballerina's, but because he viewed the men abusing the girls as committing a sin against God by sleeping with prostitutes). But while Degas had access to backstage, he was never a customer. And in fact, Degas is a notorious, well-documented celibate. This is because Degas believed sleeping with women would make him lose his special painting ability. No lie. Here's a direct quote from Vincent Van Gogh in his a letter to his brother Theo about the artist: "Degas lives like a little lawyer and does not like women, for he knows that if liked them and went to bed with them, he would become intellectually diseased and would no longer be able to paint." Degas was also known to reject ballerina's advances as well (again, fearing women would take away his magic painting power).

Feelings towards women By all accounts, Degas friends describe him as being reclusive towards women to being jovial with them, but always kind to them outside of a working environment. He even developed friendships with his fellow contemporary women painters. In a working environment, Degas was obsessed with perfection, demanding ballerinas contort their bodies in painful positions, and making them hold those positions for hours at a time. By all accounts, this was not because he hated them, but was obsessed with capturing their movements, the limitations of the human body, and he demanded perfection from himself. (x x x) (i.e. his obsession for his work and drive for perfection as a painter made him demanding and harsh towards his subjects, not his pure hatred of women).

Conclusions: So by many accounts, Degas was not particularly fond of women, and had little regard for his dancers. But the claims that he must have slept with the ballerina's and been a patron/customer "because that's what all men did back then" are not backed by any evidence. only evidence to the contrary. I went in on Picasso because those that were close to him have written first-hand accounts of his monstrocity. This is not the case with Degas. So, while I didn't tear him down like I did Picasso, I wasn't lauding him as a saint either. I highly recommend reading the article called Degas's Misogyny by Norma Broude which details the ways in which modern times have run away with this idea of Degas being a sadistic woman-hater and how we've gotten to this point. Anyway, TLDR; I was aware of the dark "underside" of the Paris Ballet at the time in which Degas was painting his works. Do I think he is Jack the Ripper and a man who participated in ballerina prostitution? No, not at all. At the end of the day, I am just an art history girl, telling anyone who will listen that there is not enough documentation on Degas to take these claims as 100% truth, or put that man up there with Picasso. Peace and Love! <3

[cakerybakery]

Lucifer groaned still mostly asleep. A tiny fist was digging their tiny claws into his lip. He wretched his head away and tried to turn but his arm was trapped under a much heavier body than his son and his tail was wrapped around a thick thigh.

He opened his eyes a little. It was still the middle of the night and it took his eyes a minute to adjust. Over their newly hatched son’s head he spotted Adam.

It took Lucifer a few ticks to remember. Their son had been colicky. The two of them paced back and forth, taking turns until just past midnight.

When he finally settled down Lucifer had just laid him between them on Adam’s bed and passed out.

They still had yet to name the little fellow. Adam had been too busy with his victory dance when he hatched.

“A son! I fucking told you. These nuts produce boys!”

“Point of order, Adam. You have exactly one more son than you did daughters, he was the tie breaker. And two, your nuts were not involved in this process. They were born like all heaven-borns. Some of my blood, some of your blood, and a magic spell.”

That didn’t stop Adam from being happy he was right and they had a prince of purgatory. Lucifer that thought for sure they had a little princess.

Another little hand grabbed at him, the baby curled into his chest.

It was going to be weird having Adam around but he was working from home and commuting to heaven once a week after his very generous parental leave from his heavenly duties was up in another two years. Adam coming to live in hell until the baby was grown and ready to take over ruling purgatory was the only option.

Adam wasn’t about to do altering weeks. He refused to miss any of the baby milestones. And Lucifer couldn’t go to heaven. So for the next twenty odd years Adam would be living in his guest room.

Lucifer snuggled the baby with his free arm.

He gave the boy a kiss on his crown. And his tiny halo glowed.

In the dim light Lucifer smiled at Adam over their boy’s head. It was cute how he was cuddling their son. Arms wrapped about him and keeping him safe.

Lucifer laid back down to go back to sleep.

Wait. That wasn’t right.

He poked his head back up. He looked at the baby in his arms. And he looked at the baby in Adam’s arms.

“Son of a bitch! They’re twins!”

He startled Adam awake.

“Huh? What? What’s going on? Lucifer?” Adam squinted up at him. “What are you yelling about?”

“Ugh. Twins! They’re fucking twins.” Lucifer rolled onto his back and rubbed at his forehead as he groaned. “No wonder he was colicky. He was trying to divide.”

“What twins? Who’s twins? Were you dreaming?” He could hear Adam sitting up.

Lucifer pulled his freed arm away and gestured between them. “Count the babies.”

“Uhh? Suuure? One… two… Two? TWO! The fuck?!? Where did the second baby come from??”

“Same place all heaven-born twins do. The baby hatched and divided. Usually it’s right away. The record for taking the longest was Michael and I. Twelve hours.” Lucifer grabbed the clock and looked. “But I think they just beat that. They were about twelve hours old when we got him to sleep. It’s four am now. So sometime in the last four hours he divided.”

“Guess I’m two up for sons, then.” Adam groaned, trying to make a joke despite everything.

Lucifer checked the diaper of the one he was cuddling. “Looks like a tie again. But I’m two to one now. If he’s still a he. Things get tricky during a divide. A boy dividing into two girls isn’t unusual.”

Adam checked his baby. “Tie.”

“Oh fuck!” Lucifer cursed.

“What?”

“This mean double the fucking paperwork.”

“Oh fuck!”

[ohtobemare]

Until We Fall, Intro • Logan Howlett x fem!OC

summary: DP&W AU. It's been God knows how many years after Logan's death in North Dakota—and this wouldn't be much of a story without a shiny new villain with a hot new plan, or someone to save the world. Well, maybe two someones. Ok, you win, three. But first, you have track down that said someone—the Wolverine. And who better to do that than the girl who found him the first time? Logan/OC

pairings: Logan/worst!Wolverine x fem!OC

warnings: age gap, very, very alternative universe; pre-existing relationship that hasn't been written yet (based on the upcoming series, Mare & the Wolverine), fluff and angst, language, PG-13 spicy stuff, religion, violence (lots and lots of violence, this is Deadpool we're talking about), no experience writing DP or Wolvie but oh well, a bunch of other stuff we won't get into, plus size OC, a different way of approaching mutants, yes this is a self-insert leave me ALONE.

next |

It's Called an Intro, Mothereffers

Hi, welcome to the fuc–I mean freak, show. Don't want to blow the whole damn budget on the first 2.5 seconds of page time, right? Critics, good God–they're the worst. One sentence in and they'll judge the whole effin' book, hook line and sinker without even getting to the plot. Frickin' internet has made everyone a literary genius. Not.

ANYWAY—you're probably wondering what the eff I'm doing in the middle of this shitshow, huh? A story that isn't mine, hell—a story that isn't even technically written yet. That's a Fox thing. Or an MCU thing. Or a….thing, I guess? Dunno, this habit of timelines and then redoing and undoing them like a nun unbuckling a priests robes in a spittin' hurry after church is getting old—nobody really knows what the heck is going on. But, that's showbiz, right?

Rabbit trail, sorry. Frickin' brain. Anyway, yes–here. Ahem.

Well, really, we've got ourselves a Code Redpool (see what I did there?) with this one—someone trying to take over the world, rattle some cages, all that jazz. And if you didn't already know, such sticky little cumsucking messes requires a little bit more than a mercenary with a mouth. We already know I can't—don't—save the world. Despite what the box office may lend. It's above my paygrade, my hero tier. This rated R mothereffer hasn't gotten there yet, not on his own. Maybe another million or fifty.

Could be different this go around, though. Who effin' knows. All I know is that to save a world, to make a story, you need a couple of things—a smashin' budget, a whole helluva lot of copyright law, and a hero. An "anchor being," because Marvel has to be frickin' special. Sometimes two when the situation is Redpool, like it is. Maybe three, because I'll be EFFED if I'm not part of this one. Earnin' my stripes, going all Tony the Tiger and shit. You know the drill.

To help me out, I need the big guy. Yeah. Not talking about Jesus, though it could be argued He's a factor, here. Very non denominational, very off script, very demure. Think more…yellow. Feral, as it were. Canadian. Yeah, dumbass—we need the Wolverine. The guy with the forks, the mutton chops from the 70s that were definitely a…choice. Logan. Yeah, him. Mr. Feral Forest Weasel himself.

And we'll probably need someone who can help us get to Logan, since he wouldn't know me from fresh effin' ADAM. If you saw Logan, you'll understand. Though it didn't happen exactly that way, because this is an AU—that fanfiction shit, you know. Sigh. We need someone who's tamed the beast, has clawed under all that adamantium and seen the hero where a trainwreck of a multiple-movies-gone-bad guy has stood.

A girl, genius. We need a girl. And lucky for you, delightful little fourth-wallians, I've got just the one.

Buckle up, mothereffer's—shit's about to get Wolverine-d.

Somewhere in the Past, North Dakota (in other words the prologue)

tags: @just-a-silly-howlett-lover

[ryuichirou]

RE: Ortho (+Shroudcest) post replies

Phew, alright, I think I didn’t skip anyone. If I did, I’m sorry, I’ll reply to you next time then!

Thank you so much for your wonderful messages of support and for your takes. I really appreciate it! I say it all the time but it saying it again feels appropriate: we had no idea we would ever see so many people who share our point of view despite not shipping Ortho with Idia or any other character. The fact that we can have this conversation really makes me happy.

You are welcome to share more of your thoughts if you want, but unfortunately I might not be able to reply to everyone. I will do my best though.

All of the asks in this blog are related to this post.

Anonymous asked:

Different anon, I think Ortho is in this nebulous situation like superboy in young justice who is physically 16 years old but chronologically 16 weeks old. I genuinely hate the uwu babying of characters. The dwarfs are all second years(so theoretically 17 at the youngest) but no one makes anything with them. Heck the characters I see get lewded the most are the octo trio who are the same age.

Heck, even Grim gets the baby mascot treatment by fans when he's also lumpedwiththefirst years. Like yes, he's a whiny brat but he's also grown up all alone as far as he can remember. I can't help but compare him to Puppycat who acts similarly and is a grown ass man.

Yeah, this probably plays a role too! Ironically, we were just having this conversation about Stitch the other day lol Being new to the world you exist in (and to existing in general) and being a baby aren’t necessarily the same thing.

And even in that case Ortho doesn’t fully fit into the trope because he was created quite a while ago and is already pretty well adjusted. But since he is still learning and doesn’t always understand people + doesn’t always get things like sarcasm, people consider it to be a proof that he is a toddler lol Who am I kidding, their reasoning doesn’t even go that far. They say “he died when he was a baby therefore he is a baby forever” and call it a day.

I feel bad for people who love Grim, I haven’t even thought about it… The Puppycat comparison is so spot-on lol

Grim is inexperienced and doesn’t know much about the world, but yes, he is one of the freshmen + just as he at times acts like a whiny brat, there are also times when he tells Ace that he should be more considerate of Deuce’s feelings, like wtf was that? That was Grim. Because Grim also isn’t a baby, he is a furry gremlin…

Anonymous asked:

As one of the most avid Ortho stans, it really is a pet peeve that people act like he's a little kid

You're so right that it's people that want to write him like Idia's little convenient plot device

I do want to note that it's also sometimes just the infantilization of an autistic coded character

God forbid he be somewhat optimistic, this must mean he's just an innocent baby /s

One small thing that gets me: Ortho can and has made his own gears!! Idia doesn't need to and maybe this is inspired by a post I saw that used the fact that Idia has made his stuff to take away Ortho's agency in what is supposed to be him having a tattoo analog. Not having a character be the architect of their own body mod equivalent is wild and I just.

He's a silly little guy, but he's not a fucking baby!

Indeed, Anon. I feel like people either completely ignore Ortho or see him as Idia’s appendix. I absolutely love them together, and of course I am biased towards scenarios that focus on their deep codependence, but I also really love how they get to have their own adventures, their own relationship, their own experiences separate from each other. Because they are wow, different characters, and Ortho has his own agency. He had it even before ch6, but after that he fully and officially became his own person. Being with Idia is his choice, not his only option. And just like you mentioned, he makes his own gears pretty much all the time now… even though I don’t agree that Idia making his gears has anything to do with Ortho’s agency.

I don’t even think Ortho is that optimistic. He is a little sunshine, but not even close to people like Kalim for example. Ortho even has his own cynical moments and douchy moments that people also tend to ignore. But even if he was 100% optimistic and naïve, it still would not be a valid reason to infantilise him. And you are absolutely right, people do that a lot. With Kalim too, actually, now that I think about it.

Anonymous asked:

Aaaaah, Ryuichi, after reading your post (rant) about Ortho, made me very happy! I'm glad there's someone else who shares the same opinion. The number of fans who infantilizes Ortho is beyond me. I absolutely hate the argument Ortho's mentally "8 years old" it's like they completely forget his storyline.

I'm guessing that the people who genuinely believe the theory that he's "8 years old" are younger fans with no media literacy so no hate towards them but it's frustrating when fans pretend it's Canon when it's not.

Not only that but it’s so sad to see how he's also so mischaracterized by the fandom. He's always seen just as Idia's little brother but never himself despite the fact that Ortho's life doesn't revolve around Idia. He has his own interest and hobbies different from Idia AND he is NOT innocent! Fans tend to forget this is a game about a school full of villains and that includes Ortho too! If I remember correctly Ortho has multiple times tried to blow up the school with his laser! He's violent! He's not a kid.

Unfortunately, I've seen this kind of stuff happening across all fandoms this isn't exclusive to Twisted wonderland. Heck a few months ago I've seen fans in the black butler genuinely believe that Ciel's in fact 9 years old instead of 13 year old!? And then they call us weird? The SebaCiel shippers? Like why do YOU want him to be younger?? I'm getting too old for this.

Thank you so much, Anon! I am happy you also agree.

I don’t hate younger fans, and I know that some people might be genuinely confused; but I also believe that there are a lot of people that simply do not care about Ortho’s actual story and any arguments one could make about this case. The actual issue isn’t Ortho being a certain age, it’s a pretext, an excuse, an invitation to harass. If Ortho didn’t exist, they would still do it with other characters, and even if all the characters were adults, they would still find a reason to do so, like, for example, their appearance. There is no winning in this game, this is why factual arguments won’t work even if Ortho Shroud himself looks in the camera and says “hi, I don’t care if people ship me with my niisan, I am also in fact not 8 years old”.

I am also very glad you mentioned Ortho being his own person! I mentioned it in a previous reply, so I won’t talk about it, but yes, you are absolutely right. Ortho is a menace, and all of his disappointed “come ooon, niisan, don’t do that” moments come from his desire for Idia to have more friends, not because he genuinely cares for other people. He clearly doesn’t – hence his multiple attempts to blow up the school lol

I love it when characters just keep getting younger with every single wave of this shitstorm. Didn’t you know he is 13? How dare you post something like that about a 9 years old! He is a toddler who is only 3 months old! That’s one powerful fountain of youth right there. Antis in Kuroshitsuji fandom do that a lot, just as antis in TWST fandom.

Anonymous asked:

I really feel bad for people who have Ortho as their oshi. It's not like fans of other characters don't get shit on too, apparently pretty much everyone is an immoral heathen these days, but I feel like Ortho gets often excluded in fan content, especially when it features any mature theme.

Also, if you a problem with people liking Ortho in the same way as they do with the rest of the guys, you should take your issues to the creators, since that was definitely their intention when they put him in the pretty boy gacha. Or maybe just play another game.

Anyway Ryu and Katsu, keep doing your thing, cause you guys are awesome!

What I love about it is that Ortho himself would be so pissed if he learned that all the other guys get to do fun mature stuff and he doesn’t lol That’s so not fair, he’s charging his lasers as we speak!

Also yes, it was absolutely the creators’ intention. He is supposed to look like that, just like Lilia is supposed to look like that – both caused confusion in the game story with how young they look, and yet both are a big part of the cast (+ As we know, even Idia was supposed to be younger looking…). Ortho has one of the biggest amounts of cards, he is clearly a popular character, not just a lovely addition or a mascot. 

Thank you so much for your support, Anon <3 It means a lot. This shit might be upsetting, but it will never stop us from creating.

Anonymous asked:

While I am not an Ortho/Idia shipper, I do like your art pieces because your art style is straight-up gorgeous. So when I do see your Shroudcest art Im like: not my cup of tea but I respect the time and effort made into this. (And here is my rant siding with you bc they are fictional characters)

The babyfication of Ortho is something I do not understand. As much as Idia made RoBro in trauma, rn I doubt he wants RoBro to remain stagnant in mind and hardware. With Ortho's ability to learn, he is practically a teenager like the rest. He displays more emotional maturity than most ppl despite his killer laser beam. Kindness, hope, and optimism are traits not limited to children. Shortness is also not limited to children. If we treat other characters by traits often shared by children, then Neige's fellow dwarf classmates are also children. What they don't count bc they are not human? Ortho is not human either. Similarly, Kalim and Silver display positive internal traits of kindness, hope, and optimism. Shortness? Well, we got Grandpa Lilia and the Napoleon complex twins Riddle and Epel. They are all teenagers (minus Lilia) and no one is babying them.

...And are we ignoring all the shit he has seen on the internet. The amount of porn (from adult sites and even the soft-core types you can even find by watching some twitch/yt streamers) that can be seen. Videos of violence, crimes, and ppl doing their best to win the Darwainism Award. Ortho could access and go through like 5 terebytes by the time I reach page two of Google.

As for the Shroudcest, they are fictional characters! You can go straight to phub and have incest type (the sheer amount of the step family porn troupe) porn being acted out by actual breathing people. Do you want to metaphorically die on this hill of ppl shipping fictional 2D characters? Are we just going to ignore you targeting this harmless ship? At least go for a larger target like Game of Thrones or House of Dragons. So much incest in those media that it has it's own fan wiki page, but you don't see ppl go for George R. R. Martin's throat for writing about characters willing or unknowingly committing incest.

It is like people reading/watching media of horror movie killers. It's something you can enjoy or have a preference for because you, as a sane person, will not become a serial killer. AND, as a productive member of society, you condemn actual, real-life serial killers. You read horror stories or watch scary movies for entertainment value not for a guide to be one. Similar logic to furries. Furries consider anthropomorphic creatures as hot, but those same furries are against beastilaity.

TL;DR: While I am not personally a fan of incest or shota type of media, I do not mind they exist (or go after creators who use FICTIONALLY characters to enhance their form of FICTIONAL media), bc they are FICTIONAL CHARACTERS from a FICTIONAL MEDIA. Stop with the performative activism. Use that effort and go after people who do it for real in real life. If you prevent/stop an actual crime from happening, I will applaud and thank you! AND I DOUBT I WILL BE THE ONLY ONE.

Thank you so much, Anon! I am happy that you like my stuff despite not shipping some of our ships. I am very grateful for the respect, and also for your message! I really like your points and I’ll go through them briefly.

The entire part about all those traits not being exclusive to children + about other characters having those traits but still not being babied – YES, thank you so much for that. Like I already mentioned, the game clearly plays with those tropes, and even though the characters are young-looking, they are still of high school age (other than Lilia). Ortho is weird, Ortho is different from some of the other boys, but all of them are weird in their own way, Ortho is just a robot. If we can make “not a human” excuse for the dwarves, why can’t we look at Ortho that way? And yes, Ortho absolutely knows stuff a kid wouldn’t be able to digest lol All of his difficulties come from him being an AI – he doesn’t always get sarcasm, he doesn’t fully understand why people do certain things and doesn’t understand some limitations of human’s body and mind; none of it is tied to him being childish or too innocent.

Incest in media is very popular indeed, and it’s SUPER popular in porn! You are right. If any kind of media ends up “normalising” this kind of relationship, it definitely won’t be shippers of incest. But also that won’t happen because wow, it doesn’t work that way. People love to say that fiction affects reality, and while in a way it does, it’s never a “everyone is going to start shooting people because the videogames brainwashed them” type of deal, and this is exactly what they’re doing with their arguments. It’s fear-mongering, moralism and ignoring the fact that people do in fact know how to separate fiction from reality. And the key to making sure no one is going to jump out the window because their favourite character did so isn’t in censorship, but in people learning this difference and always keeping in it mind. Ironically, that would mean that people who harass others over cartoons can’t make this separation very well because of their lack of critical consumption of media; but then again, they can’t even see (and don’t care, which makes it worse and my point stronger) how their own reckless actions seriously affect real people in real life, and I think this is a more important issue to resolve lol

Unfortunately, people who prefer performative activism very rarely end up becoming real activists, but I do hope that they will at least find some other hobby, something that doesn’t cause so much harm to both innocent people and the cause they claim to be fighting for.

I got a bit carried away there, but yeah, I totally agree with your point, and once again grateful for your understanding. There will always be media that makes you uncomfortable – and that’s the beauty of it. Creativity is a boundless ocean and no amount of bricks can contain it.

Anonymous asked:

I was just scrolling through and saw your explanation of ortho and shroudcest the other day. As tiring as I’m sure it is, it always gives me hope to see people who remember what shipping is really about. I mean problematic content has existed all through human mythos and history, and society still survives! According to the studies the “art morality” argument is roughly the same as “but da violent games!!” Argument, or metal music, or clothes, or any other form of media deemed ‘new’ or ‘too different’.

Anyway, I don’t ship cest stuff myself but your art is lovely and it’s become one of the things I can view without feeling uncomfy despite how my head usually responds to such content (woohoo free therapy??? /j)

I ship ortho with an OC who’s also 16. Said oc’s mother said she would never treat her child differently for who they choose to love, and while she definitely wasn’t expecting a robot, she’s not going back on her word.

Thank you so much, Anon!! YES, this is exactly what shipping is all about! It feels like “umm but they’re not even canon” type of people are suddenly the majority in fandom spaces ahhh lol

As long as art exists, there will always be people who are against it, especially if it’s something niche, and despite how popular fandoms are, all of the fandom activity is a niche, ESPECIALLY shipping, ESPECIALLY this kind of shipping. So unfortunately it’s unavoidable, but it’s so useless and annoying!

I am very happy that you like our stuff. Thank you for enjoying it. Your OC’s mother is amazing and very supportive lol I am sure she and Ortho will get along swimmingly.

[phenomenalgirl9]

Boyfriend: Choi Yeonjun x Reader

The more I get to know you, Can't tell the feelings I feel, Sometimes it doesn't feel so right.

----------------------------------------------------

“Air time in 5 mins” Pd-nim called out and you made sure all the cameras were in place in the monitor and showed a Thumbs up.

“Rolling” you said. “Enter TxT in 3… 2… 1” and as soon as you said the lights revolved and the 5 cheerful boys entered the studio.

“Welcome to our new Episode of Flower Village” Pd-nim said and they cheered and introduced themselves. A pair of Fox-like sharp brown eyes found yours from the other side of the camera and a smile came to your lips. As Pd-nim queued you to start the interview.

The interview went on “…That’s a cute concept. I wonder where Yeonjun-ssi finds his inspiration from?” you read from your script. You tried your best to not get distracted by his eyes and followed it peril-lessly.

He smiled, almost a flirty smirk, at the camera but if you didn’t know you’d think his smirk was directed towards you. “I draw experiences from the world, around me dramas and stories, people even” he said and as if on you noticed Taehyun and Beomgyu smile towards you and mumbling something to each other and chuckling. A blush rushed onto your cheek and you didn’t look up for the rest of the interview, not like anyone would care who’s behind the camera anyway.

“Pd-nim, Y/n Pd-nim” You heard your name being called and you turned around to find Yeonjun rushing towards you. This man will be the death of you, you thought. “Hello Yeonjun-ssi” you greeted bowing a little (To maintain etiquette mostly). “How have you been? You look tired” he stated, more that asking “I should be asking you that, You’re the one having a comeback and a tour followed by it” you said. “Do I look tired?” he said his eyes mischievous, feigning surprise as he touched his cheek and fake-frowned. “I made sure to complete my beauty sleep, for today” he added. Your mind raced at the way he emphasised on today, did he mean what you were thinking, hoping he means?

“Ah, No no that’s not how I meant it” you said and were about to explain further but your boss called you, saving you from further embarrassment and excused yourself.

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You were almost done with work and were about to leave when your coworker from the editing desk called you.

“Do you think I should use this feed or this?” he asked and you helped him out. “Damn that look surely wasn’t for the camera” he mumbled “you were taking the interview, right?” he asked with a shit-eating grin. “It was for the camera, why else?” you said and were about to leave when you heard him say. “Yeah, lie to yourself”

----------------------------------------------------

It was another exciting day as your team was appointed to conducted the next Run Jin. Having worked with BTS many times before you were excited to meet Jin again after a long time.

“Y/n-ah” Jin cheered and shook hands with you “Look at you, you’re a Pd now. Wah” he added. You smiled at how he’s still so enthusiastic like old days. The whole day was fun.

“Yeonjun is literally fishing aspects to approach you. Why don’t you put the boy out of his misery?” the old man said. “what do you mean Pd-nim” you said averting your eyes towards Yeonjun who was already looking at you and smiled. “I’m old” You stopped the urge to say I know “I can read the way a person looks at someone and I think I see it clear in both your eyes” he noted with a smile on his lips. “Don’t be worry about other things so much, live in the moment” he added and winked and left.

----------------------------------------------------

On the other side of the room Jin to Yeonjun-

“How many years are you gonna waste just looking at her?”

“Huh?” Yeonjun looked at Jin, confused. “We can all see the way you look at her and she at you” he said. “I’ve looked at her since the day I first saw her, have looked at her all this time yet I think somethings stopping her, Duty? Public Opinion? She almost knocked out a light and was about to fall when luckily, I held her hand and stopped the accident-”

“And saved the day” you said having heard enough “It was a harrowing day, probably one of my first shoots” I chuckled and as if on queue Jin left. Not before winking and pointing at the two of you. “I was very nervous that day” Yeonjun said, “I felt relieved seeing you”  

“Seeing me knock down the lights?” you joked. “No, to know I wasn’t the only one. And that’s only grown” He added.

“Into?” You asked looking into his Sharp brown eyes. “Something I’d like to see more of” he said and smiled.

“Coffee?” you asked.

“That could be a nice start” he said and smiled.

----------------------------------------------------

So, why you looking at me like I'm your Boyfriend, boyfriend

Masterlist

[bibururokku]

So my brother, who I should mention is a child less than half my current age, also likes Blue Lock and randomly told me if a certain character were real, I'd make a good couple with them. I thought it was funny, so I jokingly asked who he'd like as a brother-in-law if that were the case, but the kid took it very seriously and ended up listing SEVERAL boys WITH reasoning.

However, after he was done, he gave it some extra thought and went, "But I don't think you'd like them that much..." so he made a SEPARATE list of boys who he thought would be a good husband for me, and that basically killed me inside. I didn't want to laugh in his face and make him feel bad, so I held it in, but the genuine thought he put behind his lists broke me internally.

He's so sweet, but sometimes I wonder what goes on inside that little head of his. Anyway, at some point, I started to take notes as he made his lists, so I'll put his lists and the gist of what he said UTC just because I think it's cute, but also, bro...???

List of his ideal in-law(s) 1. Bachira Meguru → He has a lot of energy, slick moves on the field, and can fight. So basically, if Bachira were his brother-in-law, they could play and run around everywhere together. Plus, he can teach him a few tricks and moves himself and how to throw hands if needed. The fact that Bachira is, if not one of, his absolute favorites in the series is an added bonus. 2. Nagi Seishiro → He's chill and feels familiar because he thinks he is similar to me, as he believes I'm a low-energy, game-loving genius. He also thinks Nagi would just give him the answer if asked to help with homework because it's a hassle to explain, and he wants that and for him to carry him in a game. Plus, his godly control over the ball when playing football/soccer is really cool. 3. Michael Kaiser → He's technically famous as one of the New Generation XI, which means he could flex to his friends. Also, he was very impressed by his ability to take down police officers with the football/soccer ball and thinks he could teach him how to do that to other people, as his in-law. 4. Isagi Yoichi → He's really nice and smart, so he can generally rely on him for things, as long as it has nothing to do with playing or practicing football/soccer with him. Isagi also matched Bachira's energy, which led him to believe that he could also pretty much play with him all day long as well. 5. Mikage Reo → He's rich and has a tendency to pamper the people he is fond of. Basically, if I were married to Reo and we were to visit my family as a couple, he'd get pretty much anything he wanted, as Reo seems to be the type of person who would give his in-laws a whole bunch of gifts when visiting.

List of who he thinks would be a good husband for me 1. Michael Kaiser → He's a famous athlete who is good at what he does, which means stability and security. Plus, he can fight and thus protect me. According to him, Kaiser's past traumas and current issues wouldn't be a problem because he thinks I could handle it and even help or support him in dealing with some of it. 2. Chigiri Hyoma → He's a sassy princess, and I, too, am sassy. Therefore, he believes we would get along as a couple. Plus, he's into people who are calm and understanding, and that's what my brother thinks of me, especially when I'm angry since I don't yell and just ask for logical explanations to understand. 3. Itoshi Sae → He makes me laugh a lot, leading him to believe we'd get along as I'd be unphased by his aloofness and would likely enjoy the freedom that somewhat cold nature would bring. He's also good at his job, so we'd have a stable and secure life. Plus, I'd probably make up for what he did to Rin (💀). 4. Karasu Tabito → He also makes me laugh a lot, so he thinks he would humor me. Also, he thinks I also fit Karasu's type since he thinks I'm strong, smart, and have a good voice. Additionally, I could make up for Karasu's inability to be nice to mediocre people, as I am generally nice and polite even if I hate someone. 5. Nagi Seishiro → He's similar to me, so naturally, that means we'd get along and be a decent and "hassle-free" couple. Especially since he's very chill, he's likely to just go along with whatever I wanted and give me the freedom to do as I please. Bonus Yukimiya Kenyu → He was joking, but he brought him up because we both have poor eyesight LMAO.

[f1uckinghell]

.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Good morning, Sleepyhead.

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