#BUT I WROTE IT FOR AN EXERCISE AND I KIND OF LOVE IT SO HERE YA GO

[supercantaloupe]

getting real tired of turning in hw for counterpoint class where i have to compose something that sounds nice and follows proper voice leading, only to be told that what i wrote is wrong and bad because of some arbitrary rule that was never mentioned until now.

[wandascosmic]

enough for you

wanda maximoff x fem!reader, natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: in which your girlfriend natasha makes you feel like you're never enough. (based off enough for you by olivia rodrigo)

word count: 2069

tags: angst, toxic relationship, insecurity, arguments, cheating, reader feels unloved (and unworthy of love), poor reader can never catch a break, cryptic mention of reader's mother being dead, self- hatred, reader's so sad, nat sucks (like a lot), but wanda comes through at the end like she always does and they have a little meet-cute :), i wrote this in one sitting while listening to enough for you on a loop

part two: so american

You sigh as you try to do your makeup in your mirror as flawlessly as possible. Every blemish or mark on your face needed to be covered up so you could look perfect for Nat. You were desperate to measure up to the gorgeous women Nat has dated before you and for that, you needed to look absolutely pristine.

In the past year, you’ve done so many new things you weren’t fond of just for Nat to like you. From nearly destroying every single muscle in your body at the gym just to measure up to her rigorous exercise routine, all the way to learning how to cook and bake every single one of her favorite foods until it was all you two ever ate despite your dislike for the majority of her preferred meals, you’ve tried so hard to be everything that Nat liked so she wouldn’t get sick of you. 

You frown slightly, Nat has never once acknowledged your kind gestures and actions, nor reciprocated them. 

“I’m just not the compliment type, Y/N, just drop it,” she had told you one time when you had confronted her on why she never acknowledged your efforts. 

You bit the inside of your cheek and nodded wordlessly. 

***

“I made you your coffee,” you told Nat as she entered the kitchen in the morning. 2 creams, no sugar, just how you like it. 

Nat nodded and took the mug from you, sitting down at the table and barely paying any attention to your gesture. 

Clearing your throat, you tell her, “I also got up early this morning to buy tickets for us to go to that band I know you’ve been wanting to go to for a while.” You cross your fingers behind your back, hoping for her to tell you you’re good enough for her just this once. 

“Sorry, babe, Carol already got them for me,” she responds, your heart falling to your stomach. Putting her empty mug in the sink, she plants a kiss on your lips. “Besides, you don’t even know the lyrics to their songs.” She leaves you on your own in the kitchen. 

I know all of them by heart because of you. 

***

“Hey, Y/N?” Nat asks you one night on the couch. 

“Yeah?” you respond, turning to face your girlfriend. 

“I don’t really feel like myself these days.” Nat pauses. “Do you know what might help?” Despite the content of her question, you still smile, because this was your chance. This was your chance to show her that you might truly be worth loving. 

“First, I’m always here if you need to talk,” you say softly, but Nat makes no sound of acknowledgment next to you. “And second, make your own decisions you believe will be beneficial to you, just for yourself, and do the things that bring you fulfillment,” you explain. 

Nat finally turns and looks at you thoughtfully. “How did you figure that one out?” 

“I read your self-help books,” you reply sheepishly. I read all of them. 

“Wow, you’re pretty smart,” Nat replies, going back to the movie the two of you were watching together. 

And you smile for the rest of the night because that’s the first compliment Nat has given you since you first started dating a year ago. 

***

You and Nat had a fight. It isn’t the first time, but it’s the first time it’s hurt you this much as you truly take in your current reality. 

You’re crying in your shared room, Nat leaving you to go out for drinks you assume. 

Earlier tonight, you made the stupid mistake of asking why she was never there for you, it was during the heat of the moment, but your outrage felt justified due to the fact that she missed your award ceremony for your article in medical research (the third time this year she’s missed one of them but you did your best to forgive her before this), and she had simply scoffed at you telling you that it wasn’t even a big deal anyways. 

But this one was a big deal to you. 

It was research that could have saved your mother. 

“I nearly get killed every time I go out on the job, Y/N! Some stupid neuroscience article is nothing compared to that!” she yelled at you, exhausted from her day at work. 

Your eyes flooded with hurt as Nat’s filled with regret. 

“Wait, I’m sorry,” she said remorsefully. 

The first sign of remorse she’s ever shown you. 

“It’s fine, Nat,” you reply, trying to keep your tears at bay. You weren’t even in neuro, but that didn’t matter. Not to her. “Just go out, like you wanted.” You wave her off to go upstairs to your room. 

“Y/N, wait-” 

You didn’t listen, shutting the door before collapsing to your knees as you started to sob. 

Stupid, emotional, and obsessive. That was what you were. 

***

Nat has been home late for the past few nights, your worry increasing with each passing day. It’s probably something to do with work, but something feels off. 

“Where were you?” you ask Nat as she enters the front door. “I was worried sick.”

“I’m fine, Y/N. I just got held up at work,” Nat doesn’t make eye contact with you. 

“Oh, okay,” you say softly, feeling oddly small compared to your girlfriend. “Couldn’t you have called?” 

“For god’s sake, Y/N, my phone was dead. God, you’re so clingy,” Nat bites back, walking past you to go straight up to your room and slamming the door. 

You sigh, heading for the guest room since you know Nat won’t let you sleep next to her tonight. 

Suddenly, you hear Nat’s phone go off. And you realize that she had left it by the front door. 

Picking it up, you notice, that it’s at nearly full charge. 

Your brows furrow as you see the message your girlfriend received. 

Carol: Had a great time tonight, Nat. 

You don’t stop crying until the sun rises, one phrase ringing through your head the whole night. 

What are you doing wrong? 

***

“Am I not as interesting as the girls she’s dated before me?” you cry to Yelena as she rubs your back in comfort. 

“My sister is an idiot,” Yelena mutters, seeing how your relationship with Nat is tearing you apart. 

“What?” you choke out through your tears. 

“I think you love her more than anyone she’s ever had, and she couldn’t care less.” 

“She’s breaking my heart, Lena,” you sniffle. “But more than that, she’s breaking me.” 

You cry harder into your best friend’s arms.

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” you sob into her shoulder.  

***

“Where were you?” you ask Nat as she comes home past midnight once again. 

“I was at the compound, we had a villain that got out so we had to take care of him.” 

You nod, but Tony already sent you the camera footage for tonight after you told him about your issues with your girlfriend and you know she was with Carol. 

“Are you sure?” you inquired. 

“Yes, Y/N,” Nat says exasperated. “For god’s sake, why are you never satisfied with whatever I do?” she says walking past you. 

“I don’t think that’s true,” you tell Nat from behind her. 

“What?” she says, turning around to face you. 

“You’re never satisfied with me,” you state. “The only thing I’ve ever wanted is to be good enough for you, but nothing I ever do for you seems to make you happy.” 

Nat scoffs. “That’s ridiculous.” 

“I know you were with Carol tonight,” you reveal. 

“No, I wasn’t,” she denies. 

“Tony sent me the footage, I know there was no villain. I know you’re cheating on me, and I know that you never cared about me,” you state. 

“Fine, whatever, I’m going to bed,” Nat says, completely disregarding you and everything she’s done to destroy the person you once were. 

“We’re done, Nat,” you tell her as she walks up the stairs to your once-shared room. 

Nat waves you off like you’ve never meant anything to her. 

And maybe you never did. 

***

“I loved her so much, I still do, and all she did was use me, then throw me away like I meant nothing to her,” you tell Yelena at the drink bar. Nat was away on a mission, so Yelena thought it might be fun for you to join her at one of the Avengers parties. 

“Don’t worry Y/N,” Yelena tells you. “I could tell her to apologize to you, but clearly she’s got some issues to figure out within herself before she can resolve any outside.” 

You nod wordlessly. 

What Yelena says then surprises you, “But honestly? She should be the one feeling sorry for herself.” You look at her curiously. “Someday, there will be someone out there who will love you as deeply as you love them.” 

“I don’t know, Lena,” you say softly. “Nat was everything to me.” 

“Someday, Y/N, you’ll be everything to somebody else.” 

***

1 year later

You’re running late for work, rushing out the door of the coffee shop, and you don’t notice the fact that you’ve bumped into someone until your coffee spills all over the floor, making you gasp. 

“Oh, my god, I’m so sorry,” you tell the figure in front of you, and suddenly you freeze, at the sight of her glimmering emerald green eyes. Like Nat’s, but eternally softer. Eternally more curious. 

“Oh, no worries,” she says with a smile, pulling a few napkins out of her purse. 

“I didn’t spill any on you, did I?” you ask the woman, your mind a mess due to your embarrassment at spilling your coffee, but still quite fuzzy at the sight of her undeniable beauty. 

If you weren’t so much of a useless homosexual, you would bend down and help her clean the coffee she’s currently wiping away. Much like how she’s wiping away your ability to form any sort of cohesive thought. 

“No, I’m ok,” she laughs, standing up once more once all the coffee’s gone. “C’mon, let me buy you a new one.” 

Your eyes widen. “Oh, no, it’s not a big deal. Besides, it’s completely my fault for bumping into you-” 

“I want to,” she cuts off with a soft smile. 

“Oh,” you say softly. “Okay,” you finally resign to the comforting look she gives you.  

“Let me just make a quick phone call,” you let her know, hoping she doesn’t leave. 

“Take your time,” she assures. 

You smile gratefully. 

Your phone call was to call in sick to work for the second time in your life –you didn’t have a busy day today and you were running late anyways– and it was all to spend time with a pretty girl.  

On any other day you’d probably laugh at how pathetic you were, but this woman made you feel an odd sense of uncertainty within your life. 

Like nothing had ever made sense before her. 

Once you hang up the phone, you turn to see the woman already standing there, a white to-go coffee cup with a bit of steam escaping the spout. 

“Here’s your coffee,” the woman hands you the cup with a big smile as you pocket your phone. You inspect the label, your mouth parting slightly in shock once you see all of your preferred customizations. Done perfectly. 

“How do you know my coffee order?” you ask. 

“I took the label off the old one,” she says, showing you the sticker in the palm of her hand. “Want to sit?” She points to the array of round tables within the cafe.  

“I don’t even know you,” you say slowly. I called in sick to work for you, it’s a little too late for that. 

The brunette woman laughs before holding out her hand for you to shake. “Hi, I’m Wanda,” she says. 

“Y/N,” you respond, shaking her outstretched hand as your face flushes slightly at its softness. 

“See? Now we know each other,” Wanda says cheekily. 

You nod with a shy smile, following her to the table in the back as the two of you settle down into a small conversation. 

Somehow, the two of you spend the rest of the day talking and laughing, and you think it might be the best day of your life. 

Little do you know, Wanda thinks so too.

part two: so american

[gardening--tools]

me while playing fo4 because i’m an opinionated bitch and i disagree with bethesda’s character design

anyway. presenting,

a detailed look at every companion’s appearance, according to me.

(these are all headcanons. they might not be yours, but they are mine. i wrote this as a fic-writing reference, but i don't mind sharing so long as we're all nice about it. also, spoilers ahead for companion quests, both in vanilla game and dlcs. you've been warned okay love you have fun. sorry in advance that you can clearly tell who my favorite character is.)

cw: heights represented by the united states customary system. sorry metric users :/

Ada. Modified RobCo Assaultron. 2074 model. SN has been sanded off and replaced with "ADA", painted carefully (lovingly) in blue script. It's clear that it has been reapplied multiple times, as many times as necessary. Post-Mechanist quest, she requests to have the names of her fallen friends painted on her body as well.

Cait. Pre-addiction recovery, scrawny-strong. Blood, muscle, bone and not much else. Very short. Like, south-side of 5'3". Has a very rectangular body shape. Hard angles. Was bright strawberry blonde when she was a kid, but it got darker as she got older. Hazel eyes. Freckles year-round and all over. She doesn't burn super easily, but she doesn't really tan either. Just freckles. Nose is crooked from being broken too many times. Post-addiction recovery she is a beef. cake. With Sole's help and resources she gains plenty of weight post recovery. Other than the normal weight gain that comes after recovering from addiction, she finds she enjoys exercise—especially weight lifting—and that it helps her manage her cravings. Her biceps are unfair. If I can be honest, I really only shared this so I can start proselytizing for my Fat Cait Agenda.

Codsworth. Standard GAI Mister Handy. 2076 Model. SN: 01HND-7619-0163. This is only visible because the 2076 Handys had their SN's embossed. All other markings that were printed or painted on have eroded away. A cute fact about Codsworth is that, despite his 200 years of wear and tear, he doesn't have a single dent on his exterior panels. Not. A. Dent. Scratches, yes. Scuffs, sure. No dents. He takes his structural integrity very seriously, thank you. He will brag about this if you let him.

Curie. Pre-companion quest, Modified GAI Miss Nanny. 2072 Model. SN has been scratched off and replaced with what is probably "CURIE", but the combination of chicken scratch writing and 200 year old marker makes it illegible. Post-personal quest, Generic Female Synth Body. Average body weight, brown hair, brown eyes. (I know she technically has "Hazel Blue" eyes but I disagree. It's my post and I get to make the rules here.) Her only deviation from "average" is her height. Generic Synth Height is 5'10", for both male and female synths. Takes time to look neat—neatly trimmed nails, trimmed hair, etc—and enjoys it.

Danse. M7-97 was a vanity design* so Danse looks a little different from the Generic Synth design. Still has the brown hair, brown eyes, but is a touch shorter than the standard. 5'8". Latino or Hispanic. His hair is insanely thick, but his beard always grows in a little patchy and with the odd blond patch just below his right ear. (This was not an intentional part of his “design.” Genetics, even synthesized genetics, get funky sometimes.) Carries weight like a strongman weightlifter. Thicker than average, even for the Brotherhood, so he's always had to have his flight suits and PA specially altered. (Thicker than average in regards to BODY TYPE you sickos– This is not that kind of post lmao.)

(This post from slocumjoe is a huge influence for my headcanon for Danse! Thank you for going through your archive to find it!)

Deacon. The Average Guy Ever™. Average height, average build. I'm firmly in the "Deacon is a Good Spy, actually" camp, so. Uncanny ability to adjust how he looks just by altering his posture. His weight has always easily fluctuated, so he can go from stick thin to bulked up in a matter of weeks. No matter how many surgeries he gets, he cannot hide the freckles. They always come back. He would have had piano hands if he hadn't been a chronic brawler in his youth. Knuckles are very crooked now. Eyes so blue they're nearly grey. Ginger. Has long eyelashes that are frankly illegal for someone who covers his eyes all the time.

Dogmeat. Dog. He has six toes on his back left foot.

Gage. 5'11". In an alternate universe, would tell people he was 5'9" just to fuck with them. Was a towheaded kid whose hair darkened significantly as he grew up. If he spends a lot of time out in the sun, though, it will turn a sandy blonde/light brown. He keeps his hair short because otherwise it gets very curly and floppy and it really kills his "bad-guy raider" vibe. Would be one of those white boys who tans super well but also thinks wearing sunscreen is for the weak. Scarred to shit. Holds onto muscle for a really long time. Underbite. Slutty little waist because I think that's funny.

Hancock. John Prime was already pretty wiry to begin with, and becoming a ghoul has only emphasized this. 5'7" but seems shorter because he's always leaning on something. Draping, even. He's like if a man was also a liquid, somehow. His remaining hair is incredibly thin, but is the most vibrant golden blonde anyone has ever seen. Eyes are dark due to discoloration, but sometimes—if he's taken in a ton of rads—the edges of his irises will glow subtly. Several piercings on his ears, but he used to have more. Lost them on account of his nose falling off. (You know how it is.) Replaced them with an astonishing collection of rings. Cheekbones that could slice a brahmin. Missing his fourth toe on his right foot.

MacCready. Definition of scrunkly. Not a lick of fat anywhere to be found. 5'5". Has a Gunner tattoo on the left side of his forehead and he hates it. It's why he wears his hat so low. Had an ear pierced once, but it got ripped out ages ago. His left earlobe is split now. He very clearly needed braces growing up but obviously didn't have access to that. Bottom teeth are crooked. His cuticles are picked to shit. Sandy brown hair. Cuts his own hair, but only cares about the hair around his face. Line of sight. Sniper. You get it. Is generally too lazy/uninterested in the rest, and will neglect it until it gets too long, so. Mullet (hot).

Nick. See, the problem with my synth grandpa is that this is the only character whose design Bethesda completely and utterly nailed. Like yeah, he does look like that. You got it. You did it. Perfect, no notes. Like all other Generic Synths, he's 5'10".

Old Longfellow. Exactly what you would expect an Old Hermit-Mariner Driven To Eldritch Madness By The Fog and The Sea would look like. The wildest eyebrows anybody has ever seen. Like you could take a comb through those bad boys. His hair is past his shoulders and fades into his beard. Stark white hair due to the stress of living alone on an island and from What He's Seen. You cannot convince me that there are not some Lovecraftian nasties living in the sea. They Know Longfellow, but Longfellow Knows Them. 6' until he stands up straight and then he's like. 6'5". Liver spots across his face and hands. Looks like he has cataracts in both eyes, but somehow can see better than you.

Piper. By far the companion whose Bethesda!verse appearance I disregard the most. In my heart she is a South Asian woman. On the taller side, between 5'8" and 5'9". Super thick, dark brown hair that in fact does just Look Like That (unfair). Her hair grows from fairly far down on her neck. Deep brown eyes. Spends lots of time on her makeup, even when she's out in the 'wealth chasing leads. Prefers red lips and dark liner close to her lid-lines. Her cupid's bow is super pronounced and she does her makeup to highlight it. On the softer side in regards to physique. Has a burn scar on her right forearm from a cooking mishap back when she was still trying to figure out how to live on her own and take care of Nat at the same time. Bites her nails.

Preston. Personification of someone telling you that everything is going to be all right. Tall, 6'. Pretty standard physique for someone who grew up on a farm and then became a soldier in a wasteland militia. Very square hands. Lets his hair grow out a little bit because he (forgets about it) likes it. Brown eyes that look like honey when the sun hits them. Other than the two scars on his face—one running down his left cheek, the other a small nick on his top lip—he has a scar from a bullet wound on his right shoulder. Has a stick and poke tattoo of the Minuteman coat of arms on his left arm, just where his shoulder meets his bicep. Top lip is bigger than his bottom lip. Dimples when he smiles. Huge smile, smiles with his whole mouth. Legs like an adonis. Someone get this man into some 4' inseam shorts, STAT.

Strong. Super mutant. He was a Butcher, so he's a little beefier than your average mutant. Of course, this is only known to other mutants, as the subtleties of mutant physiology tend to be lost on non-mutated humans.

X6-88. Generic Courser Build. While Generic Synths are designed to blend in with the everyman, Generic Coursers are designed to inspire fear in every man. (booo bad joke tomato tomato) 6'3" but stands so perfectly straight that he seems taller. Has the superhero build, but like naturally. Keeps his hair in a short fade. Bottom lip is lighter than the top lip. Has little lines around his mouth from all his frowning. Has one (1) singular scar on his chin. He won't tell you where he got it (it's from him eating it on concrete steps. That was the one mission he asked for an extension on, so the evidence of him beefing it would heal.) Also chronically wears sunglasses. Behind those aviators are grey eyes that are so pale and sharp, they almost look white.

[comment-day]

Some Resources To Help With Commenting

If you have ever gotten a comment full of pull-quotes, you know it is a joy to get as an author. You get to know exactly which parts of a fic stood out to someone! Which lines made them keysmash or delve into character or made it all click! Amazing!

If you've ever tried to write one yourself, you know that scrolling to the bottom of the screen to get to the comment box again and again is an exercise in frustration only matched by repeatedly closing your hand in a door while the fire alarm goes off. So. Here are some resources to help with that!

(Note: The high-tech versions below are for Ao3, but they replicate functionality Wattpad already has built in— you can comment line by line on that site! The low-tech resource linked below should work for any site that allows you to leave comments.)

The High Tech:

There is an amazing use script written by @ravenel which gives you a comment box that floats on your screen, which is detailed below.

It can be intimidating to install a use script, so @bourbon-ontherocks wrote a tutorial about it here:

For people who use Ao3 site skins, here's the code to make an Ao3 site skin and add a bookmarklet that turns having your comment box at the bottom of the screen on and off. Bonus: this will also work on mobile!

Here is an alternate Ao3 comment box that lets you open a box, type your commentary in the moment, and then send it down to the comment box at the bottom of the page, and then close it again! Includes an update by @aidaronan which was designed to work on mac and firefox!

The Low Tech:

Honestly I have been meaning to install one of these cool scripts, but I keep putting off installing them, so I just use my notes app. I open up a new note, and on my computer I put it behind my browser window so I can click to it, and on my phone I just keep it so that I can swipe across apps. So Then I copy-paste the quotes I want, dump them in the notes app, and put my commentary below! Simple, fast, and fantastic for when you are stuck on the bus for an hour.

So what do you comment?

What kind of commentary, you ask? I will be honest, a lot of the time the commentary is me going OH NO or keysmashing after lines. And that's also okay! I have been told so by authors before!

I know I have personally gotten comments where commenters did delicate character analysis after lines and those comments are in my treasured forever box, and I also have comments where someone went OH NO OH NO AOHNFDIOFNDISJFODISJIDJSIOFD YOU DIDN"T AUTHOR NO and I also hold them dear to my heart all the same. The author gets to know the reaction a work got from their reader! And that's fantastic!

The point of the pull quotes comment is showing the impact a work is having on you as you go through the work, section by section, and sometimes that's a digression about how this line made you think about the characters relationship and how he DESERVES THIS HAPPINESS, and sometimes it's responding to a heartbreaking line with twenty weeping emoji. The impact of opening up a comment email and seeing 10 lines of quotes of your own work will hit whether you have thoughtful commentary or you are rolling yourself into a little ball like an octopus and tumbling across the screen (ordinary standard unhinged comment I have left on the works of writers who make me feel Like That).

Go forth! Comment in detail! Let the authors know which lines made you go "oh no" out line in the kitchen as you made soup! Let them know about callbacks that you just realized and now you figured out the whole mystery! Let them know about how this one bit was so cute you had to step away from the computer for a sec! Let them know what you thought!

[yukidragon]

May we have a story about Jack's clingy side and uses his puppy dog eyes to make MC to cuddle with him longer? (He uses the puppy dog eyes whenever he wants something and it works 100% of the time) Jack kind of reminds me of a giant puppy.

I love this idea! Jack definitely knows how to channel puppy energy to his advantage, and my MC Alice definitely falls for it every time.

In fact, I love this idea so much that it inspired me to turn it into a quick writing prompt. I also remembered that I owe everyone a nice little Jack x reader fic from the poll I made last year, so I wrote this writing exercise in 1st person gender neutral perspective.

So here it is, just a short but sweet first draft story about clingy Jack giving his sunshine some puppy dog eyes and pleading to get a bit more cuddle time. I don't think any real warnings apply, though it does get a little suggestive. Also, I think this might count as GrovelCore?

Anyway, I hope you enjoy my writing, and consider leaving a comment please!💕

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur @kurokrisps

...

It was nice to have moments like this, just the two of us on the couch cuddled up together. The way Jack wrapped me up in his big, strong arms made me feel so safe, so content. Even though I was tucked comfortably in his lap, he practically surrounded me with his warmth. It was the perfect way to spend a day off from work.

The show on TV was entertaining, but it wasn’t enough to draw my attention away from Jack for long. He didn’t seem to be paying attention to it at all. Every time I looked up at him, I never failed to see those beautiful dark brown eyes of his gazing back at me. His mouth was shaped in a gentle curve of a smile, his expression almost dreamy as he admired me with so much love and adoration in his eyes that it sent my heart racing. I had to look away when the butterflies in my chest fluttered so hard they were ready to burst out of me.

Fuck, I was so down bad for this man, I was down atrocious.

A gloved finger brushed against my cheek, slowly tracing the contours of my face until reaching my chin. The sensation sent a delicious shiver down my spine, and my eyes returned to Jack as he gently guided my face back towards him.

“Looks like the show’s over,” Jack said. I blinked, caught off-guard, before my eyes darted to the screen to see the credits scrolling by. His honeyed voice drew me back before I could get distracted from his loving gaze for long. “What do you want to do now, sunshine?”

The first thought that popped into my head made my cheeks burn and brought back those damn butterflies. The second thought reminded me to check the time.

Ah damn it. Curse must-watch binge-worthy television. Why must I always fall for your siren song of “just one more episode”?

“Not run errands, that’s for sure, but it’s getting late,” I said with a heavy sigh, banishing the butterflies and steamy thoughts to whence they came. “Groceries aren’t going to buy themselves, and I’ve got a bunch of other stuff I should get out of the way while I’m out too.” I sighed again, shoulders slumping.

Being a responsible adult dealing with all the responsible adult bullshit sucked sometimes. A lot of the time. Actually probably most of the time considering how many hours in a day got eaten up by a cringy job and entitled customers.

I twisted away from Jack and tried to stand, but his large muscular arms kept me locked up tighter than iron bars. I turned back to him with a questioning look, only to see him pouting at me.

“I know it’s important to be responsible, sunshine, but don’t you think you’ve been pushing yourself too hard lately?” he asked. “We have plenty of food to last a few more days, and you’ve been working overtime for the past five nights in a row. You come home too exhausted to do anything but sleep, then you go right back to work. It’s not good for you.”

“I know,” I said with a helpless shrug. “But what can I do about it? Bills aren’t going to pay themselves either.”

Jack adjusted his hold on me, not enough that I could slip free, but I could feel his hands glide slowly along my back, sending a shiver up my spine. “I know, but it’s just been so long since we’ve had any cuddle time,” he said, his pout making its way into his voice now.

I couldn’t help but chuckle a little at the way his lower lip jutted out just a little further. “You see me every day,” I teased, trying to lighten up the mood. “Besides, we woke up cuddling this morning, didn’t we? You sleep with me every night.”

“You’ve been too tired to cuddle lately,” Jack said, whining a little. “Even this morning, you didn’t really wake up until halfway through breakfast. This is the first chance in days that I’ve had to really have you all to myself.” He dipped his head down, closer to mine, and I couldn’t help but notice the way the TV’s gentle glow made his dark eyes shine. “I missed you, sunshine.”

His big soulful eyes tugged at my heartstrings, and his gentle caress along my back made me want to melt into him. “I missed you too,” I admitted after a moment. We couldn’t exactly talk when other people were around, and work had been too busy for us to even sneak a kiss without the risk of getting caught in the act.

 I was pretty sure Jack wouldn’t mind even if someone else could see him making out with me. In fact, I had a sneaking suspicion that he might even enjoy getting caught. Sometimes this man acted like he had no idea what it meant to feel shame.

Then again, Jack was always painted up like a clown 24/7. If he wasn’t embarrassed by the bright face paint or his silly jokes, then he probably didn’t know the meaning of the word.

Sometimes I wished that I could say the same. The idea of being seen making weird faces while holding onto the air left me feeling a level of cringe that not even the greeting at my job could match. It probably would be a kiss with tongue too knowing Jack.

The thought left me burning, both with mortification and the memory of the way his kisses made me feel.

Maybe it would be worth the embarrassment considering how good of a kisser Jack was.

As if reading my mind, Jack brushed his lips against mine, just a peck, but it was enough to snap my attention entirely to my boyfriend. “Then stay with me,” he said with a hint of desperation to his breathy voice. “Please?” He planted another kiss on my lips, just a little longer but still only a tantalizing taste of what he could offer me. “I need you.”

Jack finished off the last of my resistance by saying my name in that same pleading tone while looking at me with so much love and need in his beautiful dark brown eyes. His desperate voice and puppy dog eyes made me melt like cotton candy in water.

I gave in to him. I couldn’t help it. I was weak to him when he begged me like this, and I needed Jack just as badly as he needed me.

“Jack,” I sighed as I looped my arms around his neck and drew Jack in for another kiss. I could feel him smile against my lips, and he murmured my name again before his tongue slid into my mouth to get a taste of me.

Soon I was pinned against the couch, breathless and panting, with Jack looming above me. His arms were a cage that secured me there and ensured that I wasn’t leaving anytime soon. Not that I wanted to with the way his mouth moved along my neck, hot and wet. I couldn’t help but moan his name as he sucked on my skin, arching up into him.

Even before Jack started tugging at my shirt, I had a feeling that I wasn’t getting any errands done today, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Every touch, every kiss, and every murmur of my name along with sweet praise made the world around us fade away, until nothing else existed but the two of us and our love.

[emkayewrites]

I wrote another behind-the-scenes-of-Bridgerton-Season-3 moment in my Lukola fanfic. This time, it's about the making of the mirror scene....

(Excerpt taken from my fanfiction 'Curtain Fall')

5th October 2022 – Buckinghamshire (UK)

He stood in front of her with a face full of determination.

“I will always stand up for you.” He insisted. “Because I love you… Pen.”

“Are-are you sure?” She found her words catching in her throat as she swallowed back tears.

He met her wide-eyed, slightly terrified gaze with a small yet reassuring smile.

“Everything I said to your mother is true.”  He looked away from her and towards the full-length rectangular mirror that was propped against the brick wall behind her. “And you shall see it as well.”

With those words and with some grace, he gently maneuvered her so that she was turned away from him; her back pressing into his abdomen, his arms hugging her from behind.  They both directed their gaze into the mirror before them, catching each other’s’ eyes in the reflection.

This part came easily to Nicola.  Conveying the hope that he truly loved you but not being able to let go of the fear that it was all a mistake or hoax somehow.  That any moment, he might pull away with the coldness and unfamiliarity of a stranger.  She knew as she played the part and said the words that she was channelling feelings that were years old and about Ezra, and the unrequited nature of their relationship.  She did not want those dots to connect but this was part of the challenge of being an actor; you did not get to choose what the work bought up for you.  This was what had kept happening to her every time they walked through these scenes.  She tried to orient herself to the present moment: to the fact that she and Luke were in a practice being presided over by Lizzy in a small rehearsal studio in the middle of nowhere.  This was not real.  Yet, this exercise only pulled her further away from the pivotal emotions she needed for the scene.

Luke’s hands travelled up her bare arms and rested tenderly on her shoulders as he bought his mouth close to her ear.  She inhaled deeply, holding his gaze in the mirror. 

“You… are the cleverest, bravest woman I have ever known.” His breath was warm against her skin.

This was meant to be an emotional moment; she felt the energy reverberating through him as he continued speaking to her with the passion of a man deeply in love.  Yet, she was no longer in the moment because she actively was trying not to be. The emotions had felt too difficult to hold.  She took another deep breath, trying to portray the feelings of overwhelm that Penelope would have to those words being spoken to her. 

“You make me feel seen in ways I have never felt seen before.” Luke had disappeared, all she could see and hear was Colin.  He was on fire.  “And then there is…”

He reached up to her hair which was gathered up rather sloppily in a bun and held there by a long, green hairpin.  He gently plucked it out and let it drop to the floor, letting her hair fall to her shoulders.  Nicola knew she should emote here but instead, she focused on Lizzy who she could see out of the corner of her eyes, huddled in the corner, watching them with a kind of enthrallment Nicola rarely saw.  She noticed Luke becoming aware of her distractedness; it was evident in the way he slightly stiffened, almost breaking character for the millisecond it took him to process what she was and was not doing.

“The way your hair cascades down your shoulder…” He carried on, but she could hear a change in his voice.  It was less romantic, more unnerved.  “The way your eyes shine when you look at me, like two blue pools.” 

He paused and turned his gaze from the mirror to her, making a point to look directly into her eyes.  She tried to hold his gaze with the nervous, lovesick eyes of Penelope Featherington but it felt impossible.  She no longer felt the tension and climatic build-up associated with romance, instead she felt like a thirty-something-year old in a slightly stained t-shirt and leggings play-acting the most ridiculous scenario. 

Comparing blue eyes to two blue pools? Really? She wanted to laugh.

Luke moved an index finger up to her chin and then began to run it ever-so-delicately across her bottom lip. “The firmness of your lips parted just so...”

It became too much.  It would have been fine if all he had to do was the talking but as usual, the touch pushed her beyond her threshold.  It came through as a small giggle at first, startling him slightly but he retained his resolve and tried to continue.

“…And the softness of your skin…”

No sooner had he finished the sentence than she had found herself bursting into laughter.  He let out a slightly frustrated sigh and dropped his arms, releasing her from him. 

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.” She apologized. “We can go again, I’ll keep getting better.”

“This keeps happening.” Luke was addressing Lizzy, not her.

“OK, well that was really great from both of you until that moment.” Lizzy reassured, standing up and walking towards them.  “I really got the emotions from you both but then you seemed to shift, Nicola.”

Nicola was not used to feeling the spotlight hit her and wanting to hide from it but, in that instance, she was not sure how to respond and wanted to avoid the topic altogether.  Lizzy was right, she had been the one to break character and there had been nothing going on in the room that had taken her attention away.  It was all internal and she was not sure she was ready to share what the content of that was.

“I was really trying.” Nicola lied.

“Are you sure?  Could what the mirror scene involves be making you get a little in your head?”  Lizzy prodded gently.  Luke was also appraising her carefully, a mix of concern and annoyance on his face.

“No, God, I’m alright with the upcoming nudity, honestly.  I might just be a little tired.” Nicola replied, hoping this would lead to a break and allow them to move on from the matter. 

There was a scoff from Luke that took her aback.  She fixed him with a frown.

“Anything you want to say, Luke?” Lizzy queried, picking up on the atmosphere.

“I don’t think you’re tired because this has been happening for ages, every time I’m delivering the most heartrending of lines.  You’re not tired, be honest.” He spoke with a frustration she had never really heard in his voice before.  Again, it surprised her and on some level, it also angered her.  She was trying, she was tired and yes, she was also secretly distracted by the complex emotions involved with Ezra right now, but he did not know that part, so how dare he accusingly state that there was something more to the situation?  She knew her train of logic was unfair but, in that moment, after several days of rehearsal, she did not care.

“I am tired.” She spat with some venom.  She noticed Lizzy tense up as she took stock of the direction the situation was going in. 

“OK, well I think we can communicate through this.” Lizzy spoke carefully. “Delivering highly emotional and sexually charged scenes is intense, it can bring up a lot.  I think it would be useful just to take a step back and check in with ourselves – what is coming up here?  Luke, can you elaborate?”

“Alright, I’ll say it.” He spoke with a forthrightness that was unusual for him.  “What’s coming up for me – I’m intimidated by you, Nic.  I’ve respected you and your craft and I’m just here trying to measure up. Every time I put heart and soul into a scene, it’s not convincing enough for you, you’re laughing or your breaking character.  It’s giving the distinct impression I’m not measuring up here.”

Nicola took a second to absorb the words.  This was the most emotionally exposed she had ever seen him.  She felt a sharp sting at his words and at the realisation that he had not just been nervous about playing a lead, but he had been worried about playing a lead alongside her.  There were always many jokes made about her perceived success and experience in the industry by many on the Bridgerton set.  They were a cast of many unknowns or first-time actors, therefore it was not difficult to stand out even with a few acting credits to your name.  As such, Nicola had never paid too much mind to these light-hearted comparisons.  Clearly, Luke, the conscientious overthinker that she now recognised him to be, did.

Standing beside her, Lizzy also seemed to be receiving his words with a solemness. She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Luke, I’m really glad you shared that.  I think we can forget how our performances are incredibly enmeshed and there is a metanarrative running through what you both do, in character and out of character.” Lizzy looked at Nicola expectantly.  “Do you have any thoughts, Nicola?”

“Well, I feel like a right dickhead, for one.” Nicola replied. She watched his features soften and relax. “It’s not you, mate. Lizzy is right, there is a metanarrative that I was hoping I could push past but it’s clearly affecting me, and now you.”

“What metanarrative?” He asked.  There was a look of relief spreading about him that made her feel simultaneously better and awful – she could not believe he had been carrying that much worry about his own performance.  She owed him an explanation.

“It’s…” She started but was not sure how to continue.

Sensing an opportunity, Lizzy interjected.  “You know what? I think… this is a great thing to talk through over a break and a coffee.  Maybe journal out your thoughts first and then share them with each other if that is easier.  Work out a way to support each other through your differing metanarratives?”

“That’s a great idea.”  Luke stated and Nicola nodded in person but in mind, the idea was terrifying. 

But it’s necessary. She thought.

[kimmie2me]

Footnotes in Fascination

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Midoriya Izuku x AFAB!Reader

.....

It starts innocently enough in the middle of a class exercise at UA, when Midoriya, looking like he’s only half-listening to the instructor, leans over to you, his expression bright and eager.

“I… I hope this isn’t weird, but… your Quirk is really impressive!” he says, eyes wide as he holds out his 'Hero Analysis for the Future' notebook. “If you’re okay with it, could I… take a few notes? I don’t think I’ve seen anything like it before, and I’d love to understand more about how it works!”

You're taken aback for a second—he’s the famous Midoriya Izuku, the boy who saved Kota, Eri, and countless others. You’d heard about him from the rumors, how he was genuine, awkward in a sweet way, and a bit of a hero fanatic. Still, there’s something undeniably earnest in his request. You agree with a nod and a quiet “Sure,” wondering what he could possibly want to know.

Over the next few weeks, he comes by every so often, asking about details of your Quirk's mechanics, and you can’t help but find it a little cute how his eyes light up as he scribbles in his notebook. He’s all nerves and polite apologies, but his enthusiasm never seems to waver.

And then, one day, as you’re both talking, you try to glance over at his notes—he quickly closes the notebook, cheeks turning a bright shade of red.

“Ah! Um—n-not that there’s anything weird in here! Just, uh… you know! Hero studies!” he stammers, clearly flustered.

From then on, every time you try to sneak a peek, he quickly diverts the topic, almost as if his heart’s going to leap out of his chest if he lets you see what he wrote. You can’t help but wonder just what he’s hiding in those notes.

Midoriya’s Notebook – Entry on [Your Name]'s Quirk

...

Day One: "Initial observations—her control is incredible. Such fine-tuned adjustments; it’s like she has total mastery over every part of her ability. Would love to ask her more about how long it took to develop that precision."

In the margin: “So cool!!”

Day Four:"Noticed how she combines her Quirk with defensive moves, especially in close combat—seems naturally skilled at adapting to her opponent's style! Her reflexes are amazing."

In the margin: “Amazing reflexes, would love to see more! She doesn’t even look like she’s trying that hard... wow!”

Day Seven: "Today she used her Quirk to protect a teammate during team training. Definitely a strategic thinker. Her reactions are intuitive, not pre-planned. She’s quick to adapt to changing situations—hero material."

In the margin: “Hero instincts! So impressive!!!”

Day Eleven: "I asked her about her training routine—she didn’t give too many details, but I’m positive she puts in extra time to build this kind of control. Will she let me ask again?"

In the margin: “Her fighting style is so unique. I’ve never seen anything like it! Hope she shares more with me.”

Random doodle on the side of the page: (A tiny, slightly lopsided drawing of you mid-action, looking pretty cool but also way too adorable. There are little stars around you.)

Day Fifteen: "Every time we work together, she surprises me with how capable she is. She makes it look effortless. Really wonder how she sees her own strengths… I mean, she’s got to know she’s… incredible, right?"

In the margin: “She’s seriously one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met.”

[bitchesgetriches]

Bitches I need some advice.

I'm fat, okay? I'm not ashamed about it. It just... Is. I'm fat.

Being fat is also fucking me up. It's causing me sleep problems, it's fucking my joints, I can't walk as far as I used to, I haven't run in years.

I want to lose weight. Not for anyone else. For me. I want to be fit again.

I'm surrounded by people telling me I'm "not fat" and need to "love myself like I am". I'm 210lb and 5'3". Ya girl is fat. And I'm okay with that it's not a bad word. I love myself. But I also love the things I used to be able to do when I was fitter. It's just really fucking hard.

I've got zero support left and right. And I don't know what to do. I know this isn't your area of expertise, but you're such great internet mamas that maybe you can help.

My darling child, we are SO humbled that you came to us with this. And while this isn't an area of our OFFICIAL expertise... weight and athleticism is something that I, Piggy, personally think a lot about! So let me see if I can offer some support to you, my beloved fat child.

By way of background: I have never been fat. Heavier than I want currently, but not fat. So I don't completely understand what you're going through. I have always been an athlete of one sort or the other. But more than that, I have always had the privilege of being relatively skinny without trying. At peak fitness I was running and rock climbing and doing all the stretchy and weight-trainy stuff. I was 5'5" and 130 lbs of jacked Bitch.

I am also a proud Italian American woman, which means that after 30 genetics decreed that I start putting on weight and rounding out and coming into my full Zia-ness. I'm currently 155 lbs. and running/climbing/stretching/jumping about/weight training is getting harder and harder. And that's frustrating to me.

Fat is not a bad word, merely a descriptor. So I'mma use it just as you have! I'm proud that you are prioritizing your health and ability to do what you love over losing weight for the sake of just being smaller. Because let's be clear: weight and health do not necessarily go hand in hand. If your goal is to improve your sleep quality, energy levels, and joint pain, then you should focus on activities that will work directly on those issues. Maybe that'll lead to weight loss--maybe not!

A lot of the medical establishment is cruel to fat people, so I'd be cautious about approaching this with your doctor. But you SHOULD get medical guidance before embarking on any kind of physical change. If your doctor says "Well, just lose weight through diet and exercise!" then you might want to look for a new doctor. If they instead offer practical solutions for incremental improvement, then great.

One of my favorite athletes is The Mirnavator. She's a fat marathon runner and offers a lot of information on how to start walking more and running as a fat person. I think she'll be a good role model for you as she focuses a lot on energy and joint health.

Also, you should check out Aubrey Gordon's blog Your Fat Friend and her podcast with Michael Hobbes, Maintenance Phase. She's also got some great books out! She's a fat expert on weight loss and diet culture. And her insights into healthy nutrition and body image are amazing. Her data-based approach will help you avoid the extreme dieting and weight loss trends that can hurt your health. Plus she's funny as fuck.

Lastly I will just say that mental health is tied to physical health. You're bummed about not doing the things you use to be able to do... and that probably makes it a lot harder to change! Acknowledge any depression or anxiety you feel about being fat and give yourself compassion. Start small and do what feels good.

Now here are two VERY old articles I wrote when I knew less about fatness. I think they still have a little bit to offer, though:

Why You Probably Don't Need That Gym Membership

Run With Me if You Want to Save: How Exercising Will Save You Money 

Any fat members of Bitch Nation who want to weigh in? Uh... pun not intended.

[halfmoonshines]

I just saw that you write for doctor who and hotd too, although I don't know if you write for 11th and Daemon, I'll try my luck anyway…. I wonder if I could get a Daemon x wife poc!reader x 11th doctor in which Reader is Daemon's wife and one day she is taking a walk when she meets the doctor (she kind of mistakes him for Daem, if that makes sense) and after she realizes it's not him, they start talking and she is kind of fascinated by the doctor (not only by his appearance, but by his entire work). So she invites him to their house (whether it's the red keep or dragonstone, it's up to you) and Daemon, who has just returned from a walk with Caraxes sees reader with a man, previously unknown, and goes to them. Then reader introduces them and comments on the similarity between them. She suggests that they spend the day together and Dae is a little reluctant, but ends up accepting, so they go out and in the meantime reader and 11th are kind of flirting (in a innocent) and Daemon is jealous (which reader loves, because she loves to tease him) At the end of the day Daemon and 11th have a talk about how lucky he is to have her and that he should take care of her. Before leaving, the Doctor promises the reader that he will visit her again (this after she asked him to stay the night, but he refused) when the TARDIS disappears, reader tells Daemon that he doesn't need to be jealous, because She is his and only he has her love and then they kiss (if it's too much, feel free to ignore it) please? (sorry for my English)

okay this is definitely not too much because, from the detail, i know you've daydreamed this before and i absolutely love it and you basically wrote it for me, i just need to fluff it up!!! thank you so much

fic requests go here

daemon targaryen x reader x 11th doctor

summary; the curious man you met on your walk piques both your interest and daemon's inner green monster

unnerving

You would never admit it to your fiery paramour, but you much preferred Dragonstone over The Red Keep. The ocean scented wind was wild in your hair, wisps pulling free from your braids. You held your slippers in one hand and the hem of your dress in the other, reveling in the sand between your toes.

This had became a morning routine for you and Daemon, him to go and give Caraxes some exercise while you enjoy some time alone on the shoreline. Although, from the shoulders you could see on the bluff, it seems as though he finished up earlier than usual this morning.

You didn't care how long you'd spent with the young Targaryen man; you were never less excited to see him. The fire that started at your stomach and reached for your cheeks blazed just as brightly each time for him. You hurried your pace, climbing the short stone stairs to the outlook you beloved stood at.

"Daemo-" Your exclamation was cut a bit short by the realization that this man... was most certainly not Daemon.

From up close you could see the differences, namely being the short brown hair. This man also had a loose feeling to his stance, leaned against the small statue of Caraxes that overlooked the ocean. He was looking at you then, eyes the same hazel green but a different shade - lighter. A kindness illuminating and curiosity illuminating them that Daemon would be adverse to.

You finally had the good sense to be concerned. Dropping the hem of your gown and taking a step away, your smile was sheepish as you curtsied. "Pardon the interruption, Ser. I merely mistook you for my husband."

"Your husband must be a handsome fellow!" Their voices even mirrored each other. "You can call me the doctor! Not a doctor, just the Doctor. Do you happen to know where we are?" The twin emphasized his question with a vague gesture at their surroundings, eyebrows pinching together. "This is a new one for me."

You cocked your head to the side, curious as to his strange way of speaking. How does one come to be somewhere without knowing where there is?

"You're at Dragonstone on the Black Water Bay. The castle is just up the hill." You pointed up and watched his eyebrows raise.

"The castle? I love a good castle. Who's is that? Can we go take a peek?"

Your laugh was light, deciding that even if he didn't match your husband, you just might like the stranger. "It's my husband, Daemon Targaryen's, ancestral home. Let's go take a look, I'm sure he would be riveted to meet you."

---

Daemon thoroughly enjoyed the routine he had found with his wife. No other woman had ever come close to rooting themselves this deeply into his life, and the white haired man didn't think he would ever meet another that could.

You understood his boundaries and his need for space. You were fiercely independent, which made Daemon all the more happy to try and outdo himself for you. Knowing you could care for yourself either way.

Now that Daemon was thinking about it, as he was patting his dragon goodbye, he was going to hunt you down this minute from your expected place on the beach below and have his way with you. Wherever you stood.

How good it felt to be king in his lands.

Just as he turned to start his mission, your laughter could be heard from the other side of the overlook. Smirking to himself, wondering about his impeccable timing, he changed direction toward the sound of your voice.

That's when he heard it. Another voice. A mans voice?

Daemon's playful smile quickly fell, something only to be described as a snarl taking its place. His pace quickened, turning the corner by the stables just in time to see you crest the hill with a vaguely familiar man.

He shook his head, making straight for you. Familiarity didn't fucking matter. These were his lands, his home and his wife. Who in the living fuck was mingling with his wife, all alone on the beach?

"Darling." Daemon's voice was loud and firm, the endearment sounding strange from him. "Are you alright?"

Your attention was on your husband instantly, smile radiating like the rising sun behind you. "Daemon! We were just coming to find you. This is the Doctor, he is.. visiting? I thought you would like to meet."

Daemon had come to stand right before you when his hand reached to grip your arm, pulling you firmly but gently to his side. "Visiting is it, Doctor?"

Eleven was as unbothered as they come typically, but he could not deny that the man standing across from him was his carbon copy. Sans the long, luscious white locks. Should Eleven grow his hair out? "Visiting it is, mate! Your lovely wife thought we might have a few things in common."

Daemon did not like the insinuation that they were similar, even if the appearance may be glaringly obvious. "Is your brother a king and your dragon as fierce as mine, then?"

Feeling his standoffish posture, your hand made light circles on his back while your gaze reprimanded him. "Daemon, he's just here to-"

"I'm sorry but did you say you have a dragon? That is probably the most badass thing I've ever heard, and I've been just about everywhere." Eleven was smiling like a kid in a candy store, gaze searching the sky above them like a dragon was going to swoop in at any minute. "How does one, uhm, see this dragon?"

Daemon's pride and ego battled each other for a split second before he bit out a reply. "I suppose we could go and see the dragon pits, so you know what the Targaryens are so feared for."

"Oh, wonderful! They're beautiful, Doctor, you'll love them." Grasping your husbands hand in your own, you began leading them across the clearing.

The day went similarly.

Eleven was so excited about the baby dragons that he thought he might have to come back in the dead of night to take one for himself, but quickly realized there had to be some karmic justice for stealing from yourself, right? Because Daemon Targaryen had to be some weird extension of him, they were basically copy-pasted.

Daemon did not like the Doctor one bit, almost specifically because of the smile on your face that he felt should be reserved for him. The stranger could sing praises about Dragonstone all he wanted but it wouldn't distract him from the fact that his wife seemed utterly smitten with the man.

You were having fun. The Doctor was a funny man, asking the strangest things. Like 'How do you spell Targaryen?' and 'How long have you been a monarchy?'

"What's a monarchy?" You didn't understand what was so hilarious about your husbands reply, but the Doctor was laughing like a giddy child.

It wasn't very often that you got visitors here, especially considering Daemon's nefarious past. It was a nice change, and so was the green encroaching upon your husbands face.

Every time the Doctor said something particularly funny and you couldn't help the full belly laugh you gave, Daemon's eyes narrowed a bit more. You'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy his jealousy. The tightness around his eyes as he assessed whether or not you were having just too much fun with the other man.

You made sure to assuage him with kisses throughout the day, small pecks here and there to show your loyalty. But you definitely didn't stop laughing.

By the end of your adventures, with the sun kissing the rolling hills of the island, the Doctor decided that he liked you very much. You reminded him of Amy, sure headed and sparky. You seemed like you had a good life here, full of dragons and fantasy. This was definitely one that Eleven was going to tell River about.

"Are you sure you have to leave?" Daemon stood a mere few feet away from their goodbye, refusing to budge another inch. "The castle has plenty of rooms that can be made-"

"My dragons eat strangers at nightfall."

"Daemon. He doesn't mean that, you'd be more than welcome." You rolled your eyes at his typical bravado, keeping your eyes on the ones that matched his.

"I unfortunately have other engagements that need my attention tonight, Y/N. But I had a lovely day. Thank you for showing me your home." Eleven's smile was warm, and genuine. He would miss this little corner of the multiverse, he was sure of it.

"Maybe you can come and visit again?" Daemon's scoff of disbelief was ignored by both.

"I will definitely pop by again. I need to see little fiery breath all grown up! I'd like to chat with your husband for a moment, before I leave."

With your eyebrow raised, assessing the two men, you gave a nod of dissent. "I'll meet you inside, my love." You gave Daemon a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth and smiled one last time at your visitor. "It was nice to meet you, Doctor, I hope to see you again soon."

Daemon was going over the pros and cons of gutting this fucker like a fish as soon as you were out of earshot.

Pros. He would definitely enjoy it.

Cons. You might end up crying. He hated that.

"You've got a lovely home and wife, my friend."

"Yes I do." Daemon had been confused by this Doctor's intentions all day, but right now the man opposite him only exuded a positive energy.

"You care for her a great deal, that much is obvious. Good. Never stop. Those kinds of women only come around once in a lifetime." Eleven gave him a conspiratorial clap on the shoulder as he walked around the man.

Daemon opened his mouth to bite back a retort but was quickly silenced by the appearance of a strange blue box mere feet from them. "What in the fuck is that?"

Eleven snorted and laughed, giving TARDIS a pat this time as he opened the door. "Oh, it's just my ride. Much bigger on the inside. Name your next dragon Doctor Jr, please."

And with that he was gone, Daemon's head spinning while the chiming of the TARDIS's leaving faded into the sunset.

"That was incredibly strange."

The Targaryen startled just a bit, turning to face you. "What happened to awaiting me inside, wife?"

Your smirk was playful while your hands wrapped around his waist, chin tilted up to gaze at him. "And leave you alone with some stranger? What if he had ran you through?"

Daemon growled low in his chest, the same possessive need filling him at your touch as it always did. "Do you not believe me to be the better swordsman?"

"You know I like to see you get dirty." Your voice was dangerously low, pulling at the strings you knew he had tightest at the moment.

"Seems like you wouldn't have minded seeing The Doctor get dirty as well." Daemon Targaryen was many things but bitter was certainly not one of them. Until right this moment.

"Daemon." Your lips met his once, quickly. "My husband." Your lips returned to his, lingering this time in the want you could feel radiating from him. "King of my heart. I will never want anyone but you."

He pulled your head to his then, mouth forcing yours open in a bruising, claiming kiss.

"Let's get inside. There was something I wanted to do earlier."

---------

I tried!! let me know how ya liked it

masterlist

[jbaileyfansite]

The Wall Street Journal Interview (2024)

The 36-year-old English actor Jonathan Bailey is one of Hollywood’s newest heartthrobs. From Shonda Rhimes's Regency-era courtship dramas of “Bridgerton” to the decades-long romantic-political saga of “Fellow Travelers” to the Met Gala red carpet, he has earned admirers with his goofy charm and deep looks of longing.“

Being acknowledged as a heartthrob is incredibly flattering,” Bailey said. “It’s a big compliment, not just to you as an actor but everything around you.”

It has been a life-changing few years for Bailey, a stage actor turned screen darling. After “Bridgerton” launched him to global fame, he wrote up a document with tips to help prepare his younger castmates for the attention their on-screen romances would earn. “I think it’s about how to approach the work in a way that allows you to feel yourself and grounded,” he said.

Bailey, who’s been acting since he was a child in the Royal Shakespeare Company, reprises the role of Anthony in the third season of “Bridgerton” this month. Later this year, he’ll appear as Fiyero in the film adaptation of “Wicked” with Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo. He lives outside of London. Here, he talks about his favorite tea, doing gymnastics and the advice he got from Sir Ian McKellen.

What time do you get up on Mondays, and what’s the first thing you do after waking up?

I try to get up between 7 and 8. Then I try to not look at my phone, which sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t. If it’s a good day, I drink loads of water, have a bath and then just get out because I need to get outside. I’ll go for a walk, always with my headphones. If I feel a bit excited or my brain’s sort of alive, I’ll listen to a podcast because that keeps me quite calm. If not, I’ll listen to some drums and bass. 

How do you like your coffee? 

I love tea. Earl Grey tea for me. I love coffee as well.

What do you do for exercise?

I’m currently training for a half marathon. Then I do gymnastics at a local gym with loads of lovely, brilliant people. I’m part of that community, which I’m very proud of. I do handstands.

How long can you hold a handstand for?

I’ve gotten up to a minute. 

Do you meditate or journal or otherwise practice mindfulness?

Walking outside is meditation to me. There was a Buddhist center I loved when I was living in London, and I’d go there regularly to learn the practice of meditation. I believe in taking bits and bobs that work for you. I do write stuff down in a book that I carry with me, lessen the load in the brain when I can. 

Do you have any hobbies or habits that might surprise your fans? 

Probably playing loud music and dancing around naked. 

“Fellow Travelers” follows your character, Tim, as he falls for Matt Bomer’s Hawk over the course of several decades, from 1950s McCarthyism to the AIDS crisis in the 1980s. How did you get into character? 

With Tim, I felt like there was so much understanding that was in my bones already just from being me. Understanding the character who you’re playing opposite is also really good. Me and Matt, we didn’t really talk about it but we had that understanding of the experience of what these queer, gay people were experiencing.

Beyond that, I think about my forefathers and what an incredible opportunity it was to an academic, hands-on research of gay life in America. As a Brit, there was so much to learn, so the preparation was kind of nerdy in that respect. In another, it was incredibly emotional and spiritual. 

You’ve become very famous for the looks of longing that you’ve perfected. Do you practice them in the mirror?

No, unfortunately, I probably practiced them in real life all the way through my childhood. It’s funny, isn’t it? I can totally understand why people say that, but I think maybe what fascinates me most about humans is there’s always a distance between what you want and what you have and who you are and who you want to be. I mean, if I’m still longing and 92 years old, then I’m going to be very happy. 

How did you prepare to model swimwear for Orlebar Brown? Was there any part of you that was nervous? 

I had been doing gymnastics, so the swimsuit-model aspect of it required a couple of weeks of doing more handstandy stuff. But no, I was excited. 

There were some cute photos of you and Ariana Grande released from the set of “Wicked.” Do you have any favorite memories from filming? 

I went to CinemaCon and it was the launch of all of us together. I watched the trailer for the first time, I’m so glad I waited to see it in the big cinema. I just watched Cynthia [Erivo] and I was, like, God, Cynthia’s just going to blow everyone’s mind. You care so much about her in it. And Ari redefines Glinda in a really fun way, it just expands. 

There’s so much love for the original material. It was really fun and silly and great. Jon M. Chu [the director] just mines the emotion and is quite sincere about the truth of what’s going on with the characters.

What’s your most prized possession?

My headphones. If I lose them, I feel crazy. But also in 2017—I saved up and it felt incredibly frivolous—I started collecting the Yves Saint Laurent love prints, the original prints of the years that my sisters were born because there are four of us. Annoying actually, one of my sisters was born in 1982, and I don’t think there is a print for that year, so I might have to do a stickman or something. 

What’s one piece of advice you’ve gotten that’s guided you? 

Always do theater. That was actually from Ian McKellen. It’s in my bones anyway.

Source

[moonshynecybin]

short fic (~1000 words ish) i wrote inspired by @kingofthering's wonderful fake dating au which you can find here ! go read it... anyways thinking about valentino and anger and his love languages and his insane little brain and PERFORMANCEEE and fame being a nightmare. anyways:

“And so my question, I suppose, is about your previous comments about Marc— would you say that you’ve put your feud behind you?”

Vale feels Marc shift from one foot to the other, his shoulders tensing under the lazy stretch of Vale’s arm. He’d tucked him there as soon as they’d entered the room, hoping the physical contact would sell it a bit more— give the two of them something to fall back on in front of the press— make their answers more convincing. Pictures sell faster than words, in his experience. But he shouldn’t have worried, Marc’s media training is a well exercised muscle, and his usual wide smile is pasted across his face. He’s good at this, but Vale may be the only person in the room who can tell how nervous he actually is, his slight change in posture and the rigid line of his jaw giving him away. Valentino is not exactly at ease, himself. It's the first time in quite a while that a press conference has made him feel like he was about to vomit.

Camera flashes light up in a dazzling flurry, pulling Vale back into the present. The entire room is holding its breath, paying careful attention to their answer, dying to know how two of the biggest stars in motorsport went from hating each other to being photographed together with one of them on their knees in the span of a calendar year. Sharks smelling chum in the water.

So Vale makes himself laugh, open and gregarious. Does what he does best— make it into something funny. Something that can’t touch him. Bring everyone else in on how hilarious it is, how absurd. Because if he thinks about it too long he feels like smashing things. He cannot fucking believe the nerve of this reporter. Cannot believe he has to do this. Cannot believe that Yamaha had asked him to let Marc do this alone. Cannot believe he thought about letting him. Cannot believe they’re pretending that they’re— that they—

“I would hope so! It would make being together very difficult otherwise.” He says, light enough to be a joke, gesturing between Marc and him. Marc’s hand tightens on his waist, catching against the smooth fabric of his Yamaha shirt. It’s the first verbal confirmation of what they said in their joint press release— that they’ve been dating. That they are together. That sometime in the off-season they’d reconciled and fell in love.

Of course, that’s not exactly what happened. It’s just harder to explain to the world that the sex you’ve been having with your rival 14 years your junior has been— well. Decidedly closer to something like hate sex than the kind of sex you have with a person that you’re in a committed relationship with. And that a lucky paparazzo had simply been in the right alleyway at the right time. And that Marc and him had barely been on speaking terms before the photo had hit the front page of every major publication in the world.

So here they are.

“And what about last year’s championship? Do you still hold the same opinion about Marc and Jorge Lorenzo's actions at the end of the year?” Another journo asks.

Vale pushes down the wave of emotion, hot and tense—embarrassed—that crests in his chest when he thinks about last year. That’s not what he’s here to do. He grits his teeth, instead. Keeps on smiling. He turns a little, uses the height difference between him and Marc to smile down at him, face close to his, and really sell it. The perfect couple. He winks back at the press.

“It sounds like you all want me to sleep on the couch!” He tries, and the tension in the room breaks, laughter tittering up from the press corp. A bomb defused. “No no no no, Marc and I, we are fine. We are better than fine, even! We are—“ He looks back at Marc, still too close, and pauses when he sees something complicated and delicate playing over his face. Something a little too real to be acting. But Marc quashes it when he sees Vale looking, and turns back towards the room, grin huge and polite. Vale’s words catch in his chest and tangle there for a moment, coming out a little stilted. He covers it with a theatrical shrug and a big smile. “We are good.”

As the press laugh, Marc’s shoulders unspool where they’re pressed against Vale—and he can tell Marc is relaxing, a little. Letting out some of whatever breath he’s been holding. It’s clear that what they’re doing, what Vale is saying, it’s working– the press swaying back to their side as they absorb the news, the shock of the two of them together. The picture they make.

Vale rubs a thumb over the bone of Marc’s shoulder. He's warm. 

Marc starts to speak. “You know, that is in the past. Valentino and I…” He searches for the words in English, brings a hand up to fiddle with his ear– one of his nervous tics. “We had a not so good relationship at the end of last year. But in the off-season, we talk. And learn to separate on-track and off-track. It is good between us.”

And Vale just about can’t stand that, even though he knows this is the plan. He can’t very well smooth this photo thing over and air his grievances at the same time. Doing this is the path of least resistance, he remembers. He tells himself. The one most palatable to the masses– him and Marc, united. Love overcomes all, he thinks bitterly. 

A journalist picks their head up.

“So it’s serious between you two, then? This is for real?”

Vale looks at Marc again, watches the slight flutter of his eyelashes, blinking as the question hits him. Vale wonders what he’s thinking about. If he’s wondering why they’re doing this, now in front of the whole world. If he’s asking himself how they let it get this far. Wondering why he got to his knees in that alleyway when Vale had told him to. Why he’d raced Vale the way he had the entire second half of last season. 

Marc’s smile dims, just for a second, and Vale pulls him closer.

He crushes the instinct to crack a joke just for Marc, to make him smile for real. To ask him why he’d had that look on his face a moment ago. To ask him to come to his trailer later just to– talk. Not to strategize with their PR teams, with their families. To just– be. Like it was before.

But that’s just not the kind of lives they lead. That’s not possible.

Valentino turns back to the press. Smiles. Lies.

“It’s real.”

[mightybog]

Twenty Questions for Fanfic Writers

Thank you @liviapeleia for the asks <3!!

Tagging longtime frond @breadkween, fabulous runner of @merlinmicrofic @queerofthedagger (thank you!) and reader and writer who's left me lovely comments @achillesuwu. @mythandmagic, Ao3 is down rn so I can't check but if you have any fics yourself, here's an ask game for you! There's no obligation, presh or time limit of course! Also like @liviapeleia said before me, consider yourself tagged if you see this!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

11

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

265,960

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Right now just Merlin. I've written for other fandoms in the past but each of those works have been standalone.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Always His Destiny | Merlin | A true love's kiss, resurrection and golden age AU written for Glompfest 2024.

Like Every Tree Stands On Its Own | Merlin | A longfic inspired by other Arthurian media/sources featuring Wildman Prophet!Merlin and a magical forest. This is my magnum opus.

What's Mightier Than a Sword and Robs a Prince of His Servant? | Merlin | Pre-slash Merthur minor canon-divergence in which Merlin's talents in speech writing land him a promotion and Arthur is Not Pleased™.

Only Human | Venom | A short gift/exchange fic about masturbation, lol. The fic I received in exchange was also about masturbation. In my defence this was a writing exercise (I promise).

The Sky Is Falling | Nightvale | Unfinished fic about alcoholism recovery, love, community and the complete collapse of reality.

...Okay wow what a mix :D

5. Do you respond to comments?

I really love comments and I love getting into discussions with readers! It really makes my day to see that someone has commented on one of my fics.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Am I allowed to choose a soon to be published WIP? Words Are Dead, a microfic inspired by the Agnes Obel song of the same name in which Merlin and Arthur are unable to communicate when Arthur returns. Merlin has lost Brythonic, his first language, and his capacity to relearn it. He's simply been alive for far too long and his mind has suffered :(

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Like Every Tree has a prolonged bittersweet kind of ending but I think Always His Destiny wins.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Nope/not yet!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes, though so far it hasn't been the focus of any of my works, there's no reason why that can't change though (the Venom one doesn't count, I make the rules here). As to what kind I'd say loving and intimate, I guess? Sometimes with a bit of a hurt/comfort element to it. Again, no reason why I can't branch out in the future ;)

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

While not labelled as a crossover, Like Every Tree was heavily inspired by Arthurian media both new and old, and one medieval Irish source. I did so much research for this fic and I'm still down those various rabbit holes. It was a homage to my favourite, janky cartoon movie from my childhood Quest for Camelot. Otherwise I don't write proper crossovers.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Don't think so.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Also don't think so.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No but I would love to!

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

I guess it really has to be Merthur! I don't recall a ship ever having such a hold on me. Those two are doomed but made for each other. The way they interact is so much fun to read/write.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Damn, this is definitely Be Here When the Weather Turns, a Mushi-shi fic. It has a very soft, restful and liminal vibe and I adore it. I really do wish I can finish it someday. So sometimes like a song, you share a piece of media with someone, or you associate it with a particular chapter in your life, and that song/piece of media brings up feelings. I'd like to think it's still worth a read. If you don't know Mushi-shi, please consider checking it out, it was weird and quiet and beautiful.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I can't deny that I put a lot of love into this hobby. Also @breadkween has told me that they really like my dialogue :3

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm really prone to typos. I can re-read something a hundred times and just fail to see them. I'm a very slow writer; what I put out usually goes through months of edits and change-ups. Lastly I have embraced a faux-pas or two for fun, such as starting sentences with 'and.' And no one can stop me >:)

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I'd only be comfortable writing dialogue in a language I've formerly learned and have some level of familiarity with for fear of getting something wrong.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Okay I love this question because the answer is the highly formative Garth Nix's Keys to the Kingdom series, a YA series I was obsessed with, and have continued to read, and re-read as an adult and as unexpected prequels and sequels popped up in more recent years. I wrote it on a literal floppy disk :D First fandom I wrote for that I actually published online was Undertale.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Definitely Like Every Tree. I'm just really proud of it :3

[charcubed]

Disneyland's Rogers: The Musical, propaganda that turns Steve Rogers into more myth than man, and revisionist history (possibly) to a purpose

Any of my thoughts in this post could just be me reading too far into things. I'm very aware of that, and please know that this post exists just because this sort of thing is fun for me! This is a thought exercise where we propose "What if we live in a world where the MCU is actually doing a cool and interesting thing as a longcon?" If you have anger at Marvel, that's valid and relatable, but please don't get angry at me or imply I'm an MCU stan who doesn't think critically about the mouse. Thanks!

Breaking news: I'm back on my bullshit!

A quick personal recap: I infamously hated Avengers: Endgame for a long list of reasons (and I even rewrote the movie). One of those reasons is that I've always taken issue with Steve's ending. But in the years since then, and as the MCU's phase 4 has evolved, my frustration at Steve's "ending" has turned into an ongoing and legitimate theory that the MCU could be slowly leading into a loosely adapted Secret Empire plot line. I know we've all been joking about Steve being trapped or about an imposter Steve since 2019, but uhhh, it's kind of not a joke to me anymore? It feels weirdly plausible at this point and so I enjoy discussing the potential.

You can find a full elaboration on that here, where I wrote out my "Steve was snatched by HYDRA" theory in 2021.

In that post, one of the things I mentioned at the time was Rogers: The Musical being in the Hawkeye trailer.

[The musical's] very existence is an example of how in-universe the stories of the lives of the heroes are being commodified, especially (in terms of how they’re framing it) for Steve’s. The heroes are no longer seen as people, if they ever were. They are, as Kate Bishop says to Clint in a recently released clip, more about “branding.” Sam Wilson will be redefining the shield moving forward in a Cap context, but simultaneously, the world is still enamored by Steve Rogers as a symbol in his own right. And that is ripe for manipulation as a Trojan horse to control public opinion… whether in the context of things like this by themselves (is the musical portraying Steve accurately, or is it painting an inaccurate picture of him the world accepts as fact?) or in future (is this propaganda that makes the public see Steve a certain way and continue to love him, to set up a fake or brainwashed Steve coming on the scene later?).

Now a form of the musical exists in full, at Disneyland and all over Youtube. Considering some of its baffling content – which I will break down below – this perspective seems even more strongly worth considering.

I have two main reasons for why I'm defending examining this musical so closely:

1. It is (arguably) an in-universe piece of media that has bearing on the MCU canon. It isn't like any other typical Disneyland attraction; its very existence is meta and it was in canon first. Obviously it's seen in Hawkeye, but there are also posters for it in several different phase 4 properties. It's lurking in the background indefinitely. So what can this musical tell us about what the wider public within the MCU is being told about the life story of Steve Rogers?

2. This Secret Empire graphic – which is animated in the center of the stage of a prolonged period of time – feels like a literal sign to pay attention.

Granted, this is obviously still ancillary material. 99% of the MCU audience will never see this musical, whether in person or on YouTube. But just because it isn't a vital piece doesn't mean it's automatically an entirely irrelevant piece.

They've given me an inch with that sign and I'm taking a mile.

So if you're interested, please join me on this journey :)

For the record, let me just say that I salute the creative team behind this show. It's pretty fun and the songs are catchy, the sets and costuming are cool, and the cast is overall very talented.

It's also fucking maddening. LMAO.

Why? Firstly, because of the seemingly deliberate ahistorical inaccuracies. We all know Ant-Man is wrongly shown in the Battle of New York, which originally "came from [the Hawkeye showrunner] and Marvel, as something to further aggravate Hawkeye as he watched the show, and also as a comment on how movies and articles and people always get something wrong." It seems like they expanded those meta nods, but most inaccuracies are now in service of glorifying Steve and Peggy's "love story." Yes, romance objectively makes for good theater; but again, I feel that this is worth examining considering the full context.

And secondly, Steve's ending is framed as an offer presented to him, convincing him it's the happy ending he deserves because he's tired. In my mind, these two big elements go together, and I'll walk you through the details of what happens in the musical before I tie the thought threads back around into some theorizing.

For your reference, here's a list of the main songs and story beats:

• "U-S-Opening Night" - the Starkettes (who are basically a Greek chorus) frame the show's story, and then it turns into an ensemble that loosely takes place at the Stark Expo. • "I Want You" – Steve's "I want" song about trying to enlist in the army. • "Star-Spangled Man With A Plan" – Steve performing on the USO tour obviously, and then there's a reprise with an added voiceover that (very briefly) covers the Howling Commandos' rescue + the war via comic book imagery. • "What You Missed" – Fury and the Starkettes tell Steve some pop culture things he missed while he was frozen, + they tell him about the Avengers. Then Fury goes down a list of other hero characters, including the Guardians? Doctor Strange? Wanda?? It plays loose and fast with time, because many non-2012 characters are bafflingly mentioned in this nonlinear Avengers list – including the Winter Soldier (???). • "Save the City" – this is the song seen in Hawkeye, with the civilians + the Avengers all involved, but it's slightly different here and expanded to also reference other battles. • "End of the Line" – Old Steve presents main Steve with the time stone as an opportunity for his happy ending, and they reflect on things together. (Yes, this is insane.) • "Just One Dance" – Steve and Peggy reunite and sing about their love. • And then there's basically a reprise of "Save the City," with the Starkettes and the whole cast closing the finale out.

Right out of the gate, let's address this: the main reason you're going to see some fans pissed about this musical is not only that Steve and Peggy's ~epic romance~ is made a pillar of the story... but also that Bucky's importance/involvement in Steve's life is minimized as much as possible.

And they took Bucky-related elements from canon and made them center more around Peggy instead.

• For some weird reason, Peggy is in the Stark Expo scene. When a soldier is hitting on the Starkettes ("hey sweetheart, I wanna dance!"), Steve tells the soldier to show the ladies some respect. The soldier grabs Steve and throws him down, and then Peggy swoops in to yell "Pick on someone your own size!" and punches the guy before walking away. So she's given Bucky's TFA line verbatim, and she is given the role he had of saving Steve from bullies. There is blatantly no reason they couldn't have had Bucky still serve that function and be truer to "history," because he briefly enters this scene in uniform less than a minute later to announce he's shipping out to the 107th – and then he spins off with a date on his arm. (We don't see Bucky on stage again until the full cast comes out for the finale!)

• After the Star-Spangled Man show, Peggy rushes in to talk to Steve. Steve is excited about his USO performance (???) but she urgently tells him to listen as she says that the 107th has been captured. Peggy apparently knows it's Bucky's division, and she knows Steve is going to go, so she tells him that she's already arranged transport for him. This is a subtle twist from the truth of how it went down in TFA, in which Steve recognized 107 as the number of Bucky's division, and his dogged determination inspired Peggy to relent and help his rescue mission. Here, Peggy is given a stronger role in the Cap origin story. And before Steve rushes off, Peggy sings a short untitled ballad hoping for their dance, so Steve pauses before he leaves to ask her to go on a date with her when he returns. • The most egregious Bucky-to-Peggy change of all is the song "End of the Line," in which the infamous Steve and Bucky line/promise (that broke Bucky's brainwashing...) is re-contextualized to be about ???? Peggy waiting for Steve in the past??? Old Man Steve and regular Steve sing it together. But we'll go back to that in a minute.

Again, I get it, yeah? It's for theater. Whatever. But in reality, the obvious logical truth is that Peggy is centered (to the point of taking elements from Bucky's story, and in turn Bucky is downplayed) because they needed to convince the audience that Steve going back in time to be with her makes sense. Steve's time travel ending had to be justified, so the Peggy and Steve "love story" had to be a pillar in this with everything else being given lesser weight.

And the inherent selfishness of him doing something as big as going back in time also had to be justified... which is why they do their best to convince you Steve fought so much he deserved it.

Let me elaborate on that by describing the lead-up to the "End of the Line" song.

So, right before "End of the Line" is "Save the City" – which includes Steve belting "I can do this all day!" repeatedly, of course. It's the 2012 Battle of New York as the Avengers come together to win.

As they begin to disperse, the song then transitions to a voiceover alert mentioning Sokovia being under attack by artificial intelligence (a.k.a. Age of Ultron). The Avengers group rushes back to center stage to say "Save the city! Help us win!" together for battle again.

And then things get fucking weird.

Because the next voiceover threat is "Washington DC. Attack: the Winter Soldier." This is not accurate to the order of events! The Winter Soldier events were before Age of Ultron; the public of the MCU would also know this.

And suddenly on stage Steve is now in the center while everyone else gestures to him. Instead of singing with him, they're telling him "Save the city! Help us win!"

Then, another voiceover: "Wakanda, under attack" (Infinity War) and again, Steve is centered while everyone else points to him. The ensemble says, "Save the city, help us win! Save us all from the state we're in! Got to hear you, got to hear you, got to hear you say..." as Steve is buckling to his knees under their pointing. And as the lights go down to one spotlight on him and everyone else leaves, he says "I can do this all day" one last time, but now it's subdued.

The implication is that Steve has been fighting and fighting, people leave him or he loses them, and he's tired.

And then fucking Old Man Steve arrives.

He says "On your left," because yes, they gave him Sam Wilson's line. BATSHIT.

So now there's two Steves on stage! There has been no mention of Thanos or infinity stones or anything up to this point! (I can only assume that's because in the MCU universe no one would want to be reminded of the trauma of "the Blip" – though it's pretty wild that they're allowed to know about magical time travel?)

Steve is baffled by Old Man Steve's arrival. I, too, was baffled by Old Man Steve's arrival.

As Steve questions how this is possible, Old Man Steve shows him the time stone from his pocket – and only the time stone – which Steve recognizes.

OLD MAN: "You've got to remember where you've been to know where you're going." STEVE: "Where am I going?" OLD MAN: "A date with destiny." STEVE: “Destiny. So we’re the hero till the end?” OLD MAN: “That’s the thing about endings, Steven. They can be rewritten.”

Lmao???????

Steve starts singing about how he hopes this means they "win" and calls himself a "tired hero."

STEVE: "But sometimes I wonder, who will save the savior? Can we really do this all day? So here I am, now and also then. Just a man, looking back at where he's been." OLD MAN: "The road is rough but wounds are healed by a thing called time. You can't forget what's waiting at the end of the line."

Me, watching this: the fact that he says this out of the blue makes absolutely no sense.

There's a bit more singing, including "end of the line" repetition, and then Old Man Steve pulls out the time stone to essentially show visions of... I don't fucking know. Past, present, and future?

That's pre-serum Steve, Steve with Mjolnir, and Sam Wilson as the new Cap. This is the only reference to Sam in the whole thing.

More singing, and then: Peggy's silhouette.

OLD MAN: "Can't forget who's waiting..." STEVE: "I can't forget who's waiting..." BOTH: "Don't forget who's waiting..." STEVE: "At the end of the line."

At this point I'm like, what in the hell?

Did Old Man Steve just brainwash normal Steve into thinking "end of the line" is now about Peggy? Because uhhhh, sorry, that's what it feels like!

Then Steve uses the stone to go back in time, reunites with Peggy, etc. etc. finale.

It's truly some crazy shit.

[drags hands down face]

Look... there's a lot to unpack here, and there's a lot that gets me about it. I know this is dramatized for the stage! I KNOW! But the fact that Old Man Steve shows up to convince Steve he should go back in time makes me want to gnaw on furniture.

Another person essentially uses the lure of a life with Peggy to tempt Steve into doing this, dramatized or not. That is how it's framed.

It's a hell of a way to frame it, and it makes Steve's ending stand in even starker contrast to so many other things in phase 4. Desperately trying to go backwards when you shouldn't or to bring back a lost lover is an evil temptation, and it results in a trap or negative cosmic consequences for basically all of the other characters in the MCU.

• In Shang-Chi, Wenwu is tempted by the Soul Eaters beyond the Dark Gate. They use the voice of his deceased wife to convince him to set them free. • In "What If" episode 4, Doctor Strange becomes evil in a desperate bid to save Christine and he destroys his universe. Along the way, he tries to tempt/trap the good Strange who's fighting him by using visions of Christine, but good Strange knows she isn't real. • Wanda's grief and desire to bring back Vision leads to – well, you know. • In No Way Home, Peter trying to undo things is what causes the multiverse problems.

And the fact that they frame it as Steve being tired, so basically the argument is he deserves that time travel ending (just like MCU fans who defend Endgame say in real life)... Well.

There's no way to make it hold up, especially because in "What If" they explicitly subverted that and had Captain Carter not go back in time despite how she felt she'd "earned" it.

Lastly, in this musical as Steve decides to pursue time travel as his course of action, he basically has the meaning or memory of "end of the line" rewritten for him. I refuse to not think that is some nefarious shit. Yes, it's not out of the realm of possibility that it's just some general Disney erasing Steve and Bucky nonsense.

But... this is on another level to me. I do think that it's a blatant choice that they had to be aware even general MCU fans would call bullshit on. Everyone knows it's inaccurate. "End of the line" is embedded in pop culture consciousness as being connected to Bucky. It just is! Surely that means it's not a stretch to theorize it could be deliberate meta commentary.

How, in the MCU world, would the in-universe playwrights even know the phrase "end of the line"? How the fuck would it be accidentally applied to Steve and Peggy? Not to sound like a crazy person, but who the fuck was rooting around in Steve and/or Bucky's personal business or their brains in order to obtain that knowledge and then remix it, and why? Neither of them would flippantly mention it in the public eye or interviews ever. So where did its inclusion come from?

And in the finale ensemble, this is Bucky's line when he comes out on stage and salutes + points to Steve: "Don't forget who's waiting..." And Old Man Steve completes it with "...at the end of the line."

What on God's green earth am I meant to do with THAT?

Smh.

The vibes are fucked, folks.

The MCU public wouldn't know enough to say the vibes are fucked. The MCU public wouldn't know the origin of "end of the line" as a phrase. But us? The ones who know the "true story" via the movies? We can call bullshit.

Whether the creative team behind this musical did every aspect of this consciously or not, in my opinion the fact that they had to tweak canon "history" to A) make Peggy's involvement in Steve's life more central and B) emphasize Steve as a tired hero all works as commentary on and almost a condemnation of Endgame's frustrating ending. In a way, it's also what Endgame did with the compass and 1973 moment with Peggy as well.

Steve's ending had to be convincing.

It's theater.

And so, maybe the same is true for the in-narrative perspective of this musical in the context of the MCU world. What purpose would it serve to tell the MCU public a feel-good narrative about how all Steve Rogers wanted was to no longer be a tragic man out of time and get to make a life with his best girl? To frame it as being about how he fought so hard for years and so he earned a happy ending? To minimize and nearly erase Bucky's importance in his life?

Who would want to do that sort of propaganda, and why?

The MCU civilians are given this happy explanation and maybe don't widely question it. Who cares about the details or logistics if it makes a good story, I guess. It's a stretch, but maybe they mostly applaud it. Maybe they're happy for "America's favorite son" (not unlike people who uncritically liked Endgame). In a way, it's even a rehabilitation of his image (after the Accords) like putting the shield on the Statue of Liberty. And maybe they'd even be ready and waiting to applaud if Steve ever made a dramatically selfless and de-aged return to the spotlight or a position of authority.

But mostly, the public is being conditioned to not know or to forget that anyone else like Bucky Barnes or Sam Wilson would possibly know Steve Rogers the person well enough in the modern day to call bullshit on any of this – or on his hypothetical miraculous future return.

So. Sure, it's probably nothing.

But what if it's not?

-------

UPDATE: @faeriecap added to this post with some incredible information and further behind-the-scenes context about the MCU/Marvel stuff at Disney parks! Check it out here :)

[skzhua]

BESTIE SJSJSJ FIRST IMMA SAY YOUR ANGST WITH THE HAPPY ENDS? ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL LIKE IVE READ PLENTY AND NEVER COULD FIND ONE THAT SCRATCHED MY ITCH (or whatever they say)😭 SOOOO I SAW UOUR REQUESTS WERE OPENED AND I RAN HERE😭😭😭 i don't have a very ... Particular request like idk the exact word but it's basically just a smol thought you can write if you like💀

So basically stumbled upon a video of Binnie talking about how memebers are when angry and him sayin all it takes for him to calm down IS ANY SORT IF PHYSICAL TOUCH

Simply shakes me to the core every time I think about him being putty in my hands 🫦🫦 (no calling me out for being delusional i will police and jail)

Idek know how to base an entire one shot around just this tiny thing so let's just pretend i was gushing if you can't either 💀💀💀

The Three Times Changbin Got Mad, and the One Time He Didn't

MASTERLIST

Pairing Seo Changbin x Reader

Genre: Angst, fluff.

Word Count: 1,777

Warnings: Swearing. (not proofread yet!)

A/N: Like you said, extremely hard to base off an entire imagine just from this so I'm sorry if this is shitty. I tried real hard for inspiration to come but Changbin is such a soft person in my mind that I genuinely can't wrap my head around him getting angry lmao. I hope this does the trick!

In the few years you had been dating the man, Changbin liked to consider himself as a calm person. In fact, he only got angry a few times. But those few times were intense.

one.

JYP criticized his song. By then, it was no surprise to anyone that Changbin had some dislike towards his big boss. However, it was not the first time he got some harsh reviews on a demo. So why did this one in particular made him especially pissed? Because he wrote it about his lover, you.

When he wrote it, he hadn't seen you in days and missed you terribly. He gave his all to this song as he arranged and composed it only a few days after writing it. Once you finally found the time to see each other, he was so proud to show it to you. Of course you loved it and almost cried because, come on, how sweet is it that your boyfriend loves you so much that he makes a song about you?

Apparently, it was not enough to be released as an SKZ-RECORD.

"Is it the melody? I could change the hook for-" Changbin started, but Chan put his hand on his shoulder as to stop him from speaking any more.

"It's not just the melody. The lyrics are very explicitly directed to a significant other and some fans might react poorly to it. Plus, it doesn't sound like the kind of music you'd release. Your tone is too soft unlike usually."

Changbin was baffled. "Too soft? What about it? Do you expect me to sing about the love of my life while growling?"

Chan felt the tension growing. "Bin, it's not-"

"You think it's bad too?" he scoffed.

"I didn't say that but-"

"No, I get it." he cut him off again. "Thank you both for the feedback."

And just like that, he stormed out of the room, heading straight to the gym. It was the only he thought of letting out the build up rage his coworkers had caused. Music blasting in his headphones, doing his nth squat, he still couldn't calm down. As he dropped his dumbbell in front of him, his attention was drifted to the door opening to his left. Jisung stood there with a small smile. Changbin removed turned off his music and greeted the younger man with a wave. Jisung dropped his things in the corner of the room where the lockers were located before he joined him.

"You started without me?"

Changbin nodded, sweat dripping on his face. "I left the company early."

"Chan told me."

Not wanting to discuss about what had happened, he turned his music back on and went on with his workout. Jisung got the message and didn't bother him any further. They exercised together in silence.

An hour later, they left to go back home. It was no surprise for anyone when Changbin didn't take the time to greet Chan when he walked in the dorm as he went straight to his room. He pulled out a bag and then dialed your number.

On your side, you were doing nothing but watching a movie. Not having gotten the proper sleep for a while, you were dozing off easily. The ring coming from your phone woke you up immediately. Recognizing the contact picture of your boyfriend, you wasted no time to answer.

"Hey." you answered with a yawn.

"Hey." Changbin said softly. "Did I wake you up?"

"No." you chuckled. "What's up?"

He sighed in hesitation. "Can I come sleep at your place tonight? Something happened at work and I can't seem to calm down."

"Of course you can, but I might be already asleep when you come."

"It's fine with me, I just need a break from the guys for a bit."

Although he couldn't see, you smiled sadly. If he needed a break from the boys, it meant something really bad happened. Otherwise, he would try to fix things instead.

"Alright. If I don't answer the door, just come in, okay?!

And that's what he did. He did argue a bit with Chan whether it was a good idea sleeping at your place when they had an early practice the next day. Still, he left harshly and went to your apartment.

As you had predicted, you had fallen asleep already. His heart did get lighter at the sight of you, but he still had this knot inside of his stomach. In silence, he slipped under the covers and closed his eyes.

two.

Changbin was already having a bad day. Not having slept much the night before, he was most definitely exhausted. So when Minho pointed out that he did not do a move the right way, it only fed his anger.

"We've been doing this choreography enough times, you should be able to do it properly." Minho sighed. "Can I see it again?"

Changbin suppressed any sign of annoyance and did as told. And he made the same mistake again.

Minho shook his head. "Try again."

And again, same thing.

"I'm sorry." he apologized in a small voice.

"We have a showcase tomorrow, you are supposed to master the choreography." Minho exhaled. "Again."

And it was the same. Maybe having called you until late at night was not a good idea after all.

"What is it with you today? Stop think about Y/N and focus."

That reached Changbin's limit. He would take any criticism or even insults, but he would never accept someone bringing you up for no reason.

"You know I can do this move normally, can't we just move on?"

"I'm just saying if you weren't so distracted with her-"

Changbin scoffed. "Don't go there, Minho."

"Am I wrong, though? I get you have your own little adventure with her, but I still expect you to be doing this properly."

"We're only practicing."

"And we visibly need practicing here."

Chan walked to stand between the two men. "Alright, I think this is enough."

"Tell that to him." Changbin nodded his head at Minho.

"I'm sorry for wanting us to be at our best."

"So the best would be for me to break up with Y/N and miserably work non-stop here?"

Minho's jaw clenched, Changbin could see it. The lack of answer was his cue that he had enough of the day. With a decided walk, he took his belongings and didn't forget to slam the door behind him.

He would have called you, but you had gone back to your parents' home for the weekend and he knew how much you missed them. So he went to the studio and drowned himself in his music. Oddly enough, he had enough inspiration to write a song. It was mostly spiteful so he would never actually put it out, but it did help. Still, even after hours submerged in sound mixing and some recordings here and there, he could get rid of the anger Minho had grown in his core.

He really wished you were there.

three.

Jeongin stole his protein shake. For anyone else, this was not an issue at all. However, Changbin took his workout very seriously. So much so that it was almost to the point he'd pass it before the members. In this case, it was definitely that.

"It's half empty." he said through the phone.

The younger man having left to start his day already, he tried his best to justify his action from afar. "I stayed over last night and woke up late, this was the only thing I could digest quickly for the day. Anyway, you told me you'd make me one at some point."

Changbin scoffed. "I told you I'd make you one on the day you stop being a little shit."

"Hey, I have been nice for quite a while now."

"Congrats? What do you want me to say? Jeongin, this was perfectly mesured for me to get through the day and I was running out of protein powder so I was kind of counting on this one for my diet."

"Sorry, I didn't know."

"You could've asked at the very least."

"I said I'm sorry, really."

"Yeah right."

And he hung up, steam coming out of his ears as he stared at the shaker.

four.

The slam of the hotel room's door made your heart stop for a second. When your eyes laid on your boyfriend coming in, you calmed down immediately. Still, the look on his face didn't scream happiness and that perked some worry in you.

"Hey, baby." you said softly while he was taking his shoes off.

"Hi."

He didn't speak any more and dropped down on the chair opposite to where you were. You knew him better than anybody else but the expression on his face was unreadable. It was negative for sure but you couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly.

"How was the concert?" you finally broke the silence.

"The usual." he answered boringly.

"The fans?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "The usual."

Something was off and it annoyed the shit out of you. "Alright, what happened?"

"Nothing."

"I'm not taking this as an answer."

He sighed, already feeling defeated. He couldn't hide anything from you, even the slightest thing. He went up to you and sat on the bed.

"It's not that big of a deal but my mic was cut and I missed a whole rap verse."

You let out a breath. "That's a shame... They fixed it at least?"

"Yeah but I got nervous after and messed everything up. Chan was on my back for the rest of the night and it pissed me off. Like, I don't know, I was trying."

You shushed him quick by stroking his hand with your thumb. Instantly, you could see his whole body relax a little. You didn't need to ask for him to crawl next to you, allowing you to engulf him in a cuddle. Rubbing the sides of his body, you kept quiet as your sole goal was to comfort him.

Changbin felt his heart pound less and less as he melted under your touch. Affection has always worked on him as a way to relax but you were a special one. Your presence could be enough for him to forget about anything remotely frustrating. You were his safe space and he felt so much love for you, no shit he would calm down so fast.

"Thank you." he whispered with a smile.

"It's nothing. Now, how about I order us some food and we go to bed?"

He moved around so he could see your face and smirked. "Are you paying?"

"Don't push your luck, Seo."

@lenilla15 | @muddy-waters | @nanaspalette | @nattisbored | @popcatx0 | @vanblack95 | @aestheticsluut | @thanxxskz | @minhoino | @taetertotsv | @luvscrazy | @lethallyprotected | @foxinnie8 | @jisuperboard | @jihanlovic | @soobin-chois | @jinxwhore28 | @purplelandsworld | @yeojoongiee | @smugrogerina | @jaehyunicecream | @urmomlikeslinotoo | @syprosight | @thesassy-mia | @chaotic-world-of-the-j | @heartsforlevi | @miyakoa | @seungincore | @skzsilentcryy

Copyright © 2023 skzhua. All rights reserved.

[bonkbobl]

distraction

ROOSE BOLTON X READER

gif not mine

a/n: so this was the story i wrote like several weeks ago that got deleted by tumblr. i finally got the motivation to rewrite it (bc like i think everything but the last bit got deleted)

summary: roose bolton indulges his urges with lower born northern girls — by no means is this a very well kept secret. he stole your first night from you and your husband, just as he has done with many others in the past, but this time you remain cemented in his mind months after. that is out of the ordinary.

warning: mentions of previous dubious consent situations, no huge smut scenes but smutty descriptions of past memories, unplanned pregnancy, some bits of self hate and shame, take that trigger warning seriously!! reader was a victim of SA from roose and theres a lot of conflicting feelings, cheating depending on your pov but i dont think it counts bc she had no choice, roose is very much not the good guy here please be aware, a lot of victim blaming

Roose doesnt know when he began to care for you. It certainly wasnt that first time he saw you, bathing naked in the river. And it definitely wasn’t when you and your husband showed up at the Dreadfort asking your liege lords blessing for marriage.

Of course, he knew in both instances, he craved you.

A craving that should have been satisfied when he exercised the first night rights. No, somehow between the your first night and now, he had begun to yearn for you again. That night far from expelled you from his mind.

Only a couple times, Roose saw himself riding out of the Dreadfort and he’d see you outside, hanging clothes on a line or tending to some animals.

You’d always spot him, then quickly pretend as if you didn’t, probably praying to each and every God that he wouldn't come by to see you.

In truth, it didn’t matter much whether he stopped by or not. The damage had already been done and there was little his visit could do to worsen things. Your wedding night had ruined your marriage. It was something you had been coming to terms with over the past couple of months.

At first, you had tried your best to console your husband. The experience took a toll on both of you — he had refused your bed for almost a month afterward and after weeks of patience, you were finally able to have a real wedding night.

He was gentle and slow and kind, a noticeable contrast to how roughly Roose took you. You felt ashamed even comparing in the privacy of your own mind, but you thought it before you could even realize how much you hated the idea.

You loved and cared for your husband. He loved and cared for you. He treated you delicately and respectfully, as a husband should. It just wasn't quite as exciting as the passion, the rough kisses, the biting. He almost seemed afraid to touch you.

He’d asked you after you made love, how it was. You braved a smile and nodded, telling him it was wonderful.

Then he pressed, “Better than…”

And inside, your heart shattered, wondering if thats really all he cared about in that moment. With a faltered smile, you nodded again, though it was a lie and in his eyes, you could tell he knew.

When days later you had a more heated argument about the same topic, he revealed he’d been sat outside the door the entire time you laid with Lord Bolton.

That shut your mouth and you stared at the ground wordlessly as he continued to shout at you. Why would he? You thought but you knew your indignation was misplaced. It doesn't make sense why he'd willingly submit himself to the that experience of listening to your lord claim you, but it also didn't make sense why you sounded the way you did while it was happening.

Why did you?

He made a cot in your kitchens and you whimpered, tears spilling into the sheets that you were supposed to share as husband and wife. He didn't share your bed ever again. Granted, it's only been a couple of weeks since you consummated your marriage — you could understand if things just take time.

You were wracked by guilt. But you also had a great deal or resentment and anger building by the time Robb Starks war came about. You spent the length of your marriage comforting your husband over your assault. How is that right?

But the guilt… the guilt never stopped. You close your eyes and you can feel him if you try hard enough — Roose. Feel him kissing, feel him rubbing you down there, and when he made you get on top...

It was shameful.

When the North began to rally for the King in the North, any help was appreciated, even from an untrained soldier such as your husband, even from a simple farmers wife such as yourself. Anyone can do the least bit to help.

You did what little you were permitted to do — cooking for the soldiers, cleaning, dressing wounds. Having things to do with your hands took your mind off of your messy personal life. For a little bit.

It was only a matter of time before you started to feel his gaze on you. Everywhere you went.

Of course, you had expected to see him. But you had also expected him to ignore you.

You expected that if you were to ever approach him, it would cause a huge upset. Everyone knew he almost had his bastard's mother flogged when she brought her baby boy to the Dreadfort and you had no intention of meeting that fate. You thought, all the better for you. He wont seek you out and you would never put yourself through having to look in his face again. Every time you closed your eyes, you could already imagine him on top of you, and how he felt inside you.

It was especially difficult to keep those images off your mind because still, your husband refused your bed, keeping two separate cots in your shared tent.

You're a shameful little thing. Letting your mind wander from your marriage. To the man who ruined it no less...

No such luck met you, however and your expectations to be left alone were subverted.

Roose noticed his bad habit of turning up whereever you seemed to be as well and no matter how he tried to cull it, he'd still find himself wandering a little too close to your tent and the medical wing of camp where he was scarcely needed.

A few times, he'd spoken to you and you always kept your head down, ignoring the heat that would tease at your cunt or the way your stomach would twist at the sound of his deep voice. Only "Yes, milord," "Straight away, milord," "Of course, milord." One time he had even went as far as to compliment you on a job well done, serving the Northern Cause, and you still didn't budge to look up at him, gritting out a particularly bitter, "Thank you, my lord."

You truly were getting more and more bitter by the day. You felt quicker to anger — fed up by your husband, and seemingly unable to escape the watchful eye of your liege lord. You wondered why at first. Now you think, he must get some kind of high from it — from knowing that he was in many ways a part of you now, ingrained in your mind, a constant presence in your marriage. You wondered if he'd ever get tired of this petty humiliation.

You would snap. You were sure of it. One day, you'll say unpretty words, unbecoming of a farmer's wife. You could feel it even when you were alone, trying to unwind. You'd find yourself thinking of a scenario in which you'd be allowed to give him a piece of your mind, and sometimes you'd mutter curses to nothing but the wind as you knitted. You were wound up unbelievably so. You could hardly conceive of a time you felt more anger in you this frequently.

It nearly came to a head when your husband stumbled into your shared tent one afternoon and started clawing at your body. You had been laying on the bed, reading, grateful for a moment of solitude.

It was mid day and he already stunk of ale.

He took the book out of your hands and began kissing up your neck and you shoved him right off, storming out into the open air, furious at his lack of disrespect. Tears already pricking at your eyes.

Of course, you had been hoping he'd warm up to you and come to you one night. You'd talk it through — talk about both your individual feelings. You'd apologize for the cruel words you'd spoken to each other and start making love, start looking forward to the future you'd promised each other. You'd start trying to build a family. You'd begin making love regularly.

All these fantasies in your head — and he just stumbles in one day wanting to stick his dick somewhere.

You had only made it a few meters outside, the loud hustle of the war encampment, driving you even further up the wall. Your mind is too loud. Each day is feeling more and more like a dream rather than your life. Its all too overwhelming.

Your husbands grasp on your wrist halted you and you turned. He brought you in close, his stench absolutely putrid and you could hardly even recognize the boy you agreed to marry — the boy who was so gentle with the little pigs and sheep, who always wanted to feed them when he came to the farm to see you. All in a couple months, spoiled rotten.

"Aye, where d 'ya think you're goin, little lady?"

You snatched your wrist away forcefully, though you didn't need to be so aggressive. His movements were as slurred as his voice and a gentle pull would have loosened his grasp enough.

"I'm not in the mood," You hissed. "You don't talk to me most days now, you haven't shared my bed in weeks, and now you think you can climb on top of me stinking of ale..."

Anger flared behind your husbands eyes, "C'mon. You'll just end up enjoy'en it anyway."

Nothing but hurt stabbed at your heart as you moved away from him, "You act like this all happened to you. That you were hurt, that someone took something from you. You never showed any care for my wellbeing once.” You could feel the tears pricking at your eyes and you moved to storm off from him. “I'll talk to you later. When you're sober."

“Come back here you slut—” Was the last you heard and the last you saw was his hand raising. You turned and ducked.

When you turned, you ran into a firm chest, the hands attached to the man steadied you with a firm hand on your waist. Your husband flinched back when he saw the figure behind you, lowering his hand, but not without a bitter laugh. And you looked up, only needing a microsecond to realize who it was. You promptly, pushed yourself off him, nearly tripping over yourself doing so.

His deep voice rang out before you could start back on your feet, "Is there a problem, my lady?"

"Everything is fine," You held your gaze on the ground, begging that he'd just stay out of this so you can go and leave without creating a scene.

But he didn't see your urgency to leave. He saw your tears. He showed very little visible reaction to this very awkward and unfortunate situation, but you could sense that he was taking this far too seriously for your liking. As you moved to disengage, your husband had to get a last word in.

"It's alright, Lord Bolton. The whore is yours if you'd still like," Your husband, Mister Kent, yelled. Kent, you could hardly stand to share his name anymore.

Your face grew hot, suddenly aware of the eyes on you and you slipped away quickly, feet moving you swiftly to the tree line behind the camp. Roose had little awareness of those watching, simply scoffing at your husbands theatrics before turning to attend to what mattered more in the moment. You.

He called your name once and you kept speeding off, wiping your nose, your face. You refuse to cry.

He called your name a second time, sounding more irritated at your attitude — to think you were making him run after you — and this time, you gave him an answer. You turned and with all the hatred you could muster in you, you uttered a firm, "Don't."

Roose's hard eyes softened, only slightly, but the determination to catch up to you had faded away. With a simple nod, he watched as you finally ran off, seeking your much needed solitude.

Even long after you were already gone, he still thought about you. It was the first time he'd seen real resistance in you and to be truthful, it puzzled him far more than he'd care to admit out loud. He had stepped in, as your legal protector, as any good lord would have and instead of showing gratitude, you were angry at him.

Anyone else wouldn't have dared to speak to him in the ways that you have.

This created conflict — for one thing, he was understanding more and more what a liability to you were. A distraction at first, but the more he permitted himself to see you, the more troublesome you become.

Roose isn't a man to concern himself with peacocking and flitting about pretentiously drunk on power. But he was feared and respected. And he didn't get to be feared and respected by associating himself with beautiful young peasant girls. He didn't make grown me tremble in their boots at the sound of his name by letting little peasant girls talk back to him freely.

This distraction...

You could prove to be more trouble than you're worth. Of the few times he's seen you, he attempted to pay you no mind but sometimes, his eyes wander. Sometimes he's thinking about something more important and he realizes he's looking at you.

Your hair is always done up with a dirty little scarf. Sometimes it wouldn't be done up very securely — locks of hair falling in front of your face as you worked. In those moments it was difficult to look away.

Sometimes you'd wear these milkmaid dresses that you'd usually save for the warmer summer days when you'd work on your farm. And your straps might loosen over your shoulder, falling. You'd have to adjust it back in the right place after completing your task. Those dresses surely complimented your figure in ways that Roose imagined would make even a maester blush.

Your perfect little body looked even better, bare, in the dim firelight. His roaming hands were the best accessory — the best clothing — to compliment and accentuate your curves. The marks he left on you were better than any precious metals or gemstones you could adorn yourself with.

Just remembering what you looked like after he was done with you — chest heaving, warm, sweating and worn out, lips and cunt both so puffy and swollen, and doing nothing as his cum started to threaten to spill out of you. Your mind was wracked with the confusion of actually having had enjoyed it. And when you watched him push his spend back into the hole from where it was trying to escape, that action almost made you want more. He could see it in your beautiful flushed face.

Those memories are enough to make him completely forget himself and lose his train of thought when he sees you.

He'll be noticing you from afar and before he knows it, he's only a few paces from you, looking down at you with nothing to say but some arbitrary order that he'd come up with on the spot — fetch water, bring milk of the poppy for one of the generals, help the women prepare dinner.

You're one hell of a distraction.

Roose considered having you and your husband sent home from the war effort. It would have been the most practical solution. If the king is already flitting about with the Volantis Princess, the North cannot afford so many side tracked leaders.

And yet, he cant help but feel some vague sense of responsibility to you.

Perhaps if it were any other man, this was to be expected, but Roose has bedded many women under the old first night tradition and never paid a second thought to any of them. They were all just his subjects. He'd protect them, he'd do his duty, he'd take what was rightfully his, and he'd punish them if they refused him, but he had more important matters to concern himself with.

Definitely more important than a petty dispute between wife and husband. Though it left a distinctly bad taste in his mouth to think that your husband might be mistreating you in any way, calling you debasing names. Gods forbid, he's been misusing you — Roose knows there isn't a scarcity of husbands that subject their wife to all their most debased urges. Especially when there isn't a good amount of respect between them and it doesn't seem to him that your husband particularly carries much respect for you.

For that man to raise a hand to you.

Roose scoffed at Mister Kent's behavior. He supposes it's partially his fault, perhaps mostly. Or entirely. Not that he'd usually particularly care.

It's just that Mister Kent had an especially blatant disregard for your honor. That the man could even think he had the right to treat you as if you were below him when you were more valuable to the northern cause than he could ever hope to be — it baffled Roose.

Because thats what this was about. The North. Your husband is one foot soldier. You keep the army fed and medicated.

He reasoned with himself, that it's a part of his oaths to protect those small folk that reside in his lands. That includes farmers wives when their husbands aren't honoring the oaths they took at the altar. It wasn't personal. It was something he had overlooked in the past that he'll aim to rectify.

—————

You wiped some sweat from your brow, nodding kindly to the lady next to you, who brought you a fresh tray of bowls to fill. Then on your other side, another woman scurried up to you, tapping your shoulder.

She looked younger, slightly nervous.

“What is it?” You asked, turning with concern.

She spoke quickly, “Lord Bolton ordered me to pass a message,” her mousy accented voice barely audible as the other ladies rushed to get food to the hungry mouths of the men.

You flinched backward, confusion all over your face, but you leaned in anyway. You’d let the poor frightened girl complete her task. Your distaste for Lord Bolton doesn’t have to translate to her.

“Milord said to tell you that your belongings have been moved to a new tent, apart from your husbands, and that from now on, when we are to move camp, you should maintain this change.”

You stared at her, open mouthed, with brows knitted together in frustration, “Where?”

“Next to Milord’s, I believe. N-next to Lord Bolton’s own tent.”

Taking in a deep breath, you moved to turn back to your task. You'd worry about it later... But the offense had already set into your mind and your jaw clenched tightly. Opening your mouth, your original intent was to sternly thank her for delivering the message to you. She’s simply the messenger. You refuse to react and push the negativity of your reaction onto her.

But a surge of anger rose to your throat and you stifled your movements and words, taking a moment to collect yourself and think about it. Yes, this girl is simply the messenger. You should take your grievances to the man.

You nodded politely at the girl, “Thank you. Could you...” You gestured at the cauldron that you had been manning and nodded toward it pointedly, “Just for a moment. I need to speak find Lord Bolton and speak to him about why such changes have been made.”

“Of course, my lady,” She curtsied and rushed to take over your job for you.

You stopped in your tracks just as you were about to leave. “I’m not— Theres no need for formalities. I’m not a lady. We are neighbors if I am not mistaken. Your tavern is not far from my husbands farm.”

She nodded, hesitant, but conceded, “Of course… Its just… Lord Bolton—”

“Has overstepped greatly,” You finished.

She refused to respond, simply nodding in acknowledgment of your opinion. You’re brave to speak against your liege lord in such a manner.

You took your leave quickly, trying to find your way to the Lords and Ladies table as swiftly as possible. Perhaps there was still a way to reverse this change before anyone else takes notice and rumors begin to swirl.

Right next to his tent. What was he thinking? Did he simply aim to humiliate you— Humiliate your husband more? Was what damage has already been done not satisfactory— that he must shame you not only in the eyes of your husband but the entire North?

You were never meant to garner attention. A simple farmers wife was the life you thought you’d be destined for. And that was happy.

He’s spoiling it all.

You stepped up to the table, heart beating loudly in your chest, the fear feeling more like rushing adrenaline due to the fury underlying. “My Lord,” You greeted, trying to stay as respectful as possible.

Roose turned to you, as did your king, Robb Stark, Catelyn Stark, Theon Greyjoy, Rodrick Cassel, Rickard Karstark, and Greatjon Umber. Just as they did, Most of them had turned back to their previous conversations, passing you off as a servant girl with no doubt a simple question regarding something logistic. A fair assumption. And you were grateful for their dismissal. It made it less nerve-wracking.

Roose raised his brows at you. The only one of his companions that maintained an interest in you was Lady Stark, who looked to him for his reaction, and back at you.

“May I speak with you? Alone?” You pressed.

Roose looked you up and down, slightly amused by how ticked off you appeared to be. Pursing his lips and continuing to chew on the veal you and your ladies had prepared, he shrugged, “Whatever you have to say, surely, can be said now. You have no secrets to keep from the mother of the King, I’d hope?”

You glanced at Catelyn who still watched you curiously, then back at Roose. Taking a deep breath, and sighing it out, you kept your glaring eyes trained on him. “You had no right,” You held your ground firmly. The boldness of your words attracting the interest of the others once again, and despite the building pressure of those eyes watching you, you steeled yourself, holding to your purpose, “No right, My Lord," And through your words, you decided to add, "R-respectfully,” to soften your tone. Though it was only out of fear, not because you actually respected the man.

“No right to do what?” He challenged, icy blue eyes not budging a single bit.

You were taken aback, shaking your head and recoiling into yourself as if you were disgusted by him — which you were. You kept reminding yourself to be disgusted with him. He’s a disgusting man. Stubborn, always needs to get his way, arrogant, assertive, pragmatic, effective, dominant.

Though you couldn't help the bit of desire for him that you felt. It rose like bile in your throat just like every other time, but unlike every other time, the disgust that you'd usually feel toward yourself turned to anger, directed at the man in front of you.

“You—” But your next words died on your lips and you took in another deep breath, trying to keep calm. You were already bold for talking to him in an accusatory manner. You cant afford to curse at him or say all the things you want to say. Not with all these eyes on you. “I wish to share my tent with my husband. You had me moved. Without my consent.”

He gave you a look of faux consideration, as if he were truly listening to you and considering a change in his actions but you knew he wasn’t. He was condescending, “I seem to remember this is the same husband who stumbles around, a drunken fool, and raises his hand to his wife in front of not only his fellow soldiers but his liege lord.”

“Convenient picture, you paint,” You seethed, articulating each word with venom, no longer trying to hide any disrespect.

“Was there a lie in my words? Does he not hurt you?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. Dont pretend you care. Not now. Don't you fucking dare. “Well—" Yes, but would have been your next words but you bit your tongue. The point of this wasn't to debate your husbands behavior toward you. You, yourself found it distasteful. You should focus on the matter at hand which is that you don't want to be so close to this man. "I’ll have my own tent then. If it pleases you, My Lord,” Your words still full of spite, “But you’ll have my belongings moved again so that I’m not right next to you.”

Catelyn’s mouth parted and she stared at the man beside her. You kept your eyes stubbornly trained on Roose, looking at him with great offense and sass in your eyes, as if to ask him with just a simple movement of your head, what the fuck were you thinking?

Roose smiled, mostly to himself. Strangely your boldness did nothing to anger him. He expected some more gratitude, maybe. But you’re spirited. For some reason that excites him.

“No,” He said simply, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, “That won’t happen.”

You scoffed, shaking your head, entire face stiff with anger. “I don’t know what you expect,” You asked, “A thank you?”

“It would be appreciated. When your liege grants a favor—“

“A favor, ” You laughed, growing more audacious by the second, but your tone became mocking “A favor out of the goodness of your own hear—”

“Yes, it was a favor,” Roose said, more stern than he had been for the rest of the conversation.

Your expression settled into a hard frown, realizing yourself and your lack of power in this situation. You bit the inside of your cheek.

“And you’d do well to remember not to interrupt a Lord whilst he is speaking.”

You stared stubbornly for a moment, eyes narrowing in on him, challengingly. Then a few moments passed without a word between either of you.

Finally, you surrendered, valuing your head above your pride, “As you wish, My Lord. Thank you.” But the submissiveness of your words could not hide the unmistakeable snark in your tone.

Without granted leave, you turned on your heel and stormed right back off from where you came.

Roose sat back in his chair, ignoring the few lingering gazes of his peers. Though Karstark and Umber quickly busied themselves with their previous interrupted conversation with the younger Greyjoy, the King spared him one last curious look before joining their round of jibes against each other.

It was Lady Starks stare that bore uncomfortably into Roose’s profile.

But he paid it as little attention as possible. He took to his neglected meal and cut another slice of that veal. Stone faced, but thinking about your angry little face. The bite and the snark behind your voice. How badly, did he want to stand and take you right back to his tent and make you understand just how passionate he really was about your protection and safety. Just how capable he is of providing it, unlike that pitiful husband of yours.

As he chewed, the dreadful little realization started to tease at his mind. That perhaps this distraction was spiraling a little far beyond his control.

But the image of your angry, eyes softening as you lay beneath him… the fury dissipating into pleasure, it was more than enough to convince him that control over himself was not what was at the forefront of his mind, nor did he want it be. His desire was beginning to win over his will.

He’ll have you. And you’ll welcome it.

—————

Your days were spent mostly to yourself. Regretfully, you were actually quite thankful for the change in living arrangements. You no longer had to interact with your husband, who had become a near constant anxiety before. And Roose kept his distance for you — perhaps he's gotten the hint...

You could only hope that was the case.

One morning ripped you from your idyllic independence when you found yourself running and wretching into the nearest empty vessel nearly the moment you stood from your bed. You threw up two more times that morning before you gave in and asked a nurse to give you something for the sickness.

That inevitably led to the conversation you had been dreading since the moment you woke up.

"When did you last bleed?"

"I..." You paused to think on it but it couldn't come to you. Two cycles must have passed you by without you even realizing because three moons ago was as recent as you could think of.

Then a new anxiety began to build in you. Because you distinctly remember your husband never consummated your marriage until a mere couple weeks ago — more than a month after your wedding night.

"I'm not sure."

"The sickness means you've had it for probably a bit less than two months now," She informed you, counting on her fingers, "half a month for the babe to take hold, and then the mother gets sick after another month. Half a month for those with a more fragile countenance."

"Is there any way it could have started within two or three weeks?"

Her brows furrowed confusedly for a moment before the gears began to turn in the woman's head and her expression soured to vague pity, though she stepped back from you, almost as if your shame could be contagious. She shook her head lightly, and full of judgement, "There is always moon tea."

Moon tea was exactly what your husband suggested when you told him later. Though you shocked yourself when the a creeping reluctance rose to the front of your mind.

Mister Kent detected your hesitation almost immediately. Before you could fully process your own thoughts and feelings on the matter, he was invigorated by his personal mission to kill the mere idea of you possibly keeping the child.

"You can't mean to say you actually want to keep it?"

All you did was glare, unsure of yourself. "I don't know."

"How can't you know?"

"I don't know," You repeated, stepping back from the man that you once loved. "I don't know if I want to."

"What could possibly make you want to keep it?"

You scoffed at him, "It's still my child," you tried to reason, anything that would get him to empathize, even a little bit, with you. But it was to no avail, you were quickly realizing. He hardly ever really cares to see things from your view.

"It's not mine."

"That fact doesn't negate what I just said," You shot back, brows furrowing frustratedly at his selfishness.

"You'd have me raise another man's bastard?"

"We are married."

"We won't be if you have that bastard."

And there, you let out the breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. You smiled humorlessly to yourself, scoffing once again at the situation.

"You can't possibly have thought that I would be amenable to this,” he filled the silence

You simply shook your head because no, you didn't think he would be happy. Of course he wouldn't be happy. But this was the point of no return. If you were to keep the child, there'd be no mending your relationship with him.

Overcome with some bout of sentiment, you took a good look at his face, trying to remember any reason you should pick him over your unborn child — nothing but a bundle of cells right now but probably more capable of truly loving you than this man ever would have been. For a moment you even felt the creeping feeling that you were grateful the child wasn't your husbands.

"I need time to think about it," You spoke carefully, so as not to antagonize him but also not to give him hope.

He rolled his eyes.

For you, that had done it. You still weren't entirely sure if you'd keep the child but next time you spoke to your husband, you'd bring up the question of an annulment. You didn't wait for whatever response he might have before leaving.

—————

Roose caught you just in the corner of his eye. He'd watched you enough to recognize you by the way you walked — or paced, was more accurate to describe it. You were always pacing from place to place, anxiously. He diverted his gaze away from Catelyn Stark who was speaking to him about something mundane, something to do with the Kingslayer, their most recent and most valuable bargaining chip.

You escaped his view as quickly as you came in, disappearing angrily into your tent. You're always upset. At least this time it has little to do with him. He's been giving you some much needed space for a little while.

He knew he stared just a little bit too much when he turned back to Catelyn in front of him and saw her looking to their side, at the little slit of fabric through which you disappeared. Then she looked back at him, curiously.

Roose smiled politely, silently urging her to go on, and hoping the damned woman wouldn't nose around.

"She's pretty, that one."

"Yes," Roose hummed, mentally cursing himself for being a little too careless, "The wife of a farmer. They live about a quarter hour ride south of the Dreadfort."

Catelyn hummed too, eyebrows moving upward awkwardly. "A-and how did you come to be acquainted... with this farmers wife?"

Roose stalled for less than a second before coming up with some farce. It wasn't difficult to think up a simple lie. Although it was barely a lie, simply an omission of most of the truth, "Her father was the Dreadfort's main supplier of milk. And eggs."

"Ah..." Catelyn nodded, and Roose knew she only accepted that answer as a courtesy, clearly aware that there was more to the story. "And her husband..."

Roose rolled his eyes at the mere mention of Mister Kent, "A drunk."

Catelyn smiled a bit at that, eyes narrowing with skepticism, "Unfortunate." She then cautiously pushed, "You seem rather attached to—"

Roose took a deep impatient inhale, causing Lady Stark to quickly drop the subject.

"I take it you were good friends with this girls father. And the only reason you seem to be so protective is because of that friendship..."

The impatient Dreadlord spared Lady Stark a look of incredulity. He wondered why she’d try to come up with a cover story for him when they both know she believes something else — when they both know the reality is something else.

"I would hope that is why, Lord Bolton," She addressed his disbelief, "This girl... She seems to have a kind heart, a strength and resilience, if you will."

For a moment, Roose's irritation blended into pure amusement at why Catelyn Stark would even begin to lecture him on what kind of person you were but she left no room for Roose to speak in protest.

"She is firey."

Roose chuckled, "Yes."

Yes, you are. Even the night he took you, you tried to hold your chin up high and face him. And you did, you glared at him as he entered you, your hardened, angry eyes wavering with each thrust until your furrowed brows knitted together with pleasure replacing your stubborn resistance.

"Don't dishonor her," Catelyn stated her point, finally.

For a moment, Roose scarcely knew what to say. It was a long moment, longer than it would usually take for him to generate a response.

Don't dishonor her.

He's afraid it might be too late. All those things Catelyn had said about you, after only bearing witness to a single heated interaction between the two of you, were all true. They were all things he came to learn about you slowly, all things that made it even harder to forget you or cast you aside.

It was in that moment that Roose came to the realization that while your husband wasn't a very good man, he might objectively be much worse. Well this wasn't the moment he realized that, of course the head of the house with the flayed man on their banners would be a slightly more rough around the edges than a simple cattle farmer.

But he committed a grave crime against your honor. Your husband has also sullied your honor in different ways, but he could hardly claim that he has treated you the way you really deserved to be treated.

"I'll try not to," Roose responded with a nod, and walked toward your tent.

Hopefully there was still time enough to rectify his mistake. He really shouldn't have let his desires get the better of him so easily. The moment he saw you, he knew he had to have you. It always goes like this. Its never ended with some strange sort of sentiment developing — that just wasn't the type of man Roose was. Not until now.

"My lady," Roose said once, trying to alert you of his presence outside your tent.

Upon hearing his familiar, deep voice, you looked up from your spot on your cot. You wiped your face of the few tears you'd allowed yourself to shed and scooted off the bed, but you hesitated for a moment.

Do you really wish to speak to him? All this pain caused by him. You should tell him to fuck off right back from where he came.

"My lady," The voice said, more firmly this time and with that signature tint of irritation that you'd come to know so well.

You sighed. You should speak to him about these matters. It concerns him. You're not going to get rid of the child, you couldn't bring yourself to. Inexplicably so, the thought of having a child to take care of, running around you, carefree and smiling, outweighed any hatred you may hold for that child’s father.

If your lord is kind, he'd give you an allowance like he did his bastard's mother, perhaps even allow you to reside in the Dreadfort. You could raise your child to be better than the men you've known in your life.

You went and opened the flaps of the tent, cocking your head to signal him in. He stopped as the tent closed behind him and you stood there with your eyes trained to his chest, waiting for him to take more steps inside. It remained as such for a second, then two, and you stood, confused as to why he was just standing in front of you instead of moving inside to the table set up in the center.

He took off his glove and you watched his hand come up to touch your chin. He tilted your face up, your eyes met his, observing as he inspected you. He looked down to consider something, and then met your eyes again promptly, a strange hesitance in them.

It fascinated and scared you at the same time. To see Roose in a somber mood. Skepticism remained on your face, waiting for some punchline.

"What do you want?"

His lips parted for a slow inhale, the closest thing he’d permit himself to a sigh. A sudden rush of heat felt as if it struck him in the chest. You were all he could want. If you caught on to his reaction to your words, you didn't say anything.

"I... wanted to apologize," and it was the first time you ever felt really shocked by anything Lord Bolton said or did.

Everyone to the east of Winterfell heard tale of the cruelty of the leech lord, not even his insistence on taking your first night managed to surprise you. But this... You suddenly wanted to listen.

"I fear I've behaved unseemly toward you, disregarded your honor. For this, I ask your forgiveness."

You realized he was finished and closed your open mouth, searching for an answer. You felt that he expected you to forgive him. But in truth you didn't really want to. "I don't think it's really that simple, my lord. I appreciate the sentiment but... I..." You huffed, looking down, frustrated at your ineloquence today. But he caught you off guard with this and you hadn't rehearsed an angry response to an apology ever.

His gaze was still fixed on you as he readjusted the weight he was placing on his feet, the first ever signs of desperation obvious in his body language and you couldn't say you ever thought him capable of this range of emotions — that in it self was impressive. For the first time, he was squirming, awaiting your words instead of you hiding away from his.

"I cant forgive you so easily. Not for this."

"Well what can I do?"

"What?"

"Is there something I could do to earn your forgiveness, I find that to be a fair question," Roose said quickly and clearly irate.

You looked up at him and laughed nervously because he was glaring down at you and to be honest, this was also a first. You wouldn't think it to be the case with him. And even in that moment, you wracked your brain for any moment in which you'd seen Roose truly angry, not just slightly iritated or mildly annoyed, but frustrated and emotionally driven to anger.

He huffed and pulled himself from you, walking further into your tent. You stayed at the entrance for a moment, staring at nothing, then you looked at him, still failing to find the correct words.

Another nervous laugh escaped you as you said, "Again, I don't think it's that simple. You cant just... do a favor and expect everything to be forgiven."

Roose stood, facing away from you, clearly thinking to himself. He looked all broody and upset and you couldn't help but laugh again. The men around here are all so wrapped up in themselves and their unprocessed emotions and you're always the one to carry their weight.

"Why do you care?"

He didn't answer for a moment. And you wondered if he even really heard you, but as you were about to repeat yourself, he responded, "I don't."

You scoffed, "Then you overstep again. If you don't care why do I have to forgive you. Why can't I just hate you for the rest of our miserable lives?"

He turned to you, eyes narrowed, taking you in, "Do you?"

"I don't know," You answered completely honestly, "You... ruined my marriage."

He responded quickly, firmly, and frankly, "I admit my part. I admit the dishonor I've brought you. I admit that I overstepped my bounds. These things I will admit, but I was not the demise of your marriage. Many have survived worse and continued to foster a deep love. I know, because..."

"Because we weren't the only ones," You finished, nodding. You knew. "But I'm the only one of those women who you continued to... pester afterward. You claimed your right. What right did you have stepping into my marital quarrels?"

"You'd be a fool to stay with that man after the way he treated you."

"And what's my alternative?" You asked, your voice full of humor, "Will you marry me, Lord Bolton? Is that your proposal?" You shook your head as he didn't respond, not even visually. You both knew he'd never take you to wife. If he wanted to, he would have already. But a man like Roose Bolton would never marry for love with a girl with nothing to her name but a couple of cows.

"I am sorry," he said, pausing to find the words, "That your husband has chosen to place blame on you for what I had forced you into. However, given that, surely you must see he is no man at all."

Of course, you agreed, but you didn't really see what his point was. So you said nothing, trying to come up with something. In the mean time, he continued.

"I can't marry you. But I can protect you. I'll send you to the Dreadfort. You'd be given a job, a room..." You'd be close by. "Your husband too, if you truly insist on dragging him along."

"For what in return, a bed warmer?"

"For nothing in return," He corrected, face twisting with indignation, "What kind of apology would that be if those were my terms?"

You kept your distrustful eyes trained on him, not wanting to give him any kind of small victory. But you couldn't deny the offer sounded tempting, especially with the most recent development — you were going to ask for an annulment to your marriage the next day, you were going to keep the baby. You had the same thought — living at the Dreadfort, under his protection. It just felt more rotten leaving his mouth than it did in your head.

He took a few cautious steps toward you and gently took your hands in his, “You’re a good woman. You do your duties, often even without receiving thanks. You’re a loyal woman, strong, passionate…”

You inhaled deeply, still trying to keep some emotional distance but he looked earnest, forehead creased by the way his eyebrows pushed against them. His eyes were the widest and most inviting you’d ever seen them, no jokes or hidden arrogance in them.

“I… care. I feel as if I’ve committed a great crime against your honor, and you are the most honorable woman I’ve come to know in all my years,” he confessed.

It was something that struck you in the heart — something you couldn’t push out. You had been questioning your own honor. You wanted to live an honorable life but recent events had made you feel like a failure in that respect.

Especially… you ripped your eyes away from his, sighing to yourself. Especially the way he looks at you and the way you cant help but look at him with the same longing. It was hard to hate him before when he was nothing but a prick who happened to know how to fuck the shit out of you. Now, as the father of your child, standing in front of you and whispering reassurance and praise, it was damn near impossible.

He finished his small declaration simply, “Don’t resign yourself to a miserable life. Let me make it better for you. We don’t have to speak to each other once you’ve moved into the fort.”

Decisively, you figured without a husband and with your father long gone years ago, you could do with an ally and protector. Of course, Roose Bolton wasn't ideal but he had the most reason out of anyone else to want to protect you — truly protect you

Never mind your night of passion. You tried not to think about it, especially not with him in front of you. It just clouds your judgement unnecessarily to think about his lips on your skin and his hands gripping roughly at your body, pulling you mercilessly against him. His fingers tangling in your hair, or moving your hips as you sat over him.

You cursed yourself. You hadn't meant to curse it out loud though and Roose tilted his head, brows coming together in a mix of confusion and anticipation as he was still waiting for an answer.

Unsure of yourself and your decisions in this moment, you started where you thought may be the most important, which was to explain your reasonings for everything, "Mister Kent and I will be seeking an annulment."

Roose didn't say anything, contrary to your expectation that he'd have some distasteful quip about how it was a long time coming. He just watched you respectfully. It was promising.

"I trust you will grant this annulment?"

"As your liege, I would, but I'd require a reason. A reason that would be considered valid to the Gods."

You took a deep breath and braced yourself, taking a few steps toward him. You pursed your lips in a tight, awkward smile and looked up at him. You felt like you couldn't stall this enough. This is as good a time as any.

"A reason valid for the Gods," You nodded, offering a sardonic chuvkled, "I've a damn good reason. I'm carrying a child that's not my husbands."

You watched closely for his reaction, but it was as if he froze in time, staring. He did nothing but stare. You wondered if he thought you were joking. Then he blinked and you decided he must just be thinking really hard.

"He refused to bed me for a time... the first, and only time, was about a fortnight ago now."

He continued to say nothing, but his eyes went off to the side, seemingly doing math. You nearly laughed at the sight of him doing the calculations. But you saved him the trouble.

"For reference, my wedding was about six weeks ago," you filled in the blanks for him, and tilted your head as his gaze met you again. You looked down at his lips for just a moment but quickly corrected yourself, "So... It's highly unlikely — well impossible that it would be his. A wet nurse I saw this morning said that sickness doesn't start until at least a month of having the babe."

"And it's started?" He finally asked.

You nodded, daring yourself to hold his gaze, "This morning," his eyes boring into you caused you to take in and let out a heavy breath, your lids growing heavier the more he searched your soul for answers — signs of deception. Though both of you knew there'd be no reason for you to deceive.

It was only when your lip twitched that you realized how close you'd gotten to him. You promptly blinked your head clear and looked down. He tilted your face up to find your gaze again, eyes raking your face. His own eyelids were just as hooded with desire.

"So It's mine," He stated, it wasn't a question. "You carry my child?"

His words shouldn't have excited you. It's the last thing it should do. But the reminder that you have Roose Bolton's baby in you, that the seed he shot into you on that one night had managed to take root in you by chance — that you carried the product of your shared passion that night... It made your stomach twist familiarly. It was only that this time, you didn't feel guilty thinking your husband never made your stomach twist that way.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying desperately to keep your mind grounded and stubborn. "Unfortunately. Well, maybe Fortunately. I'm not sure the alternative is kinder. I'm only telling you as a courtesy, because you'd find out eventually if I'm to be living at the Dreadfort."

He couldn't help but chuckle at that. He truly hopes that no matter what, you never lose that bite to you. His fingers loosened around your chin but you held his gaze, understanding that this is what he preferred.

It just made you nervous. Neither of you spoke for a few moments, just looked at each others faces — really looked, and tried to know each other for the first time. You pushed away the feeling of wanting to kiss him, weakly this time, but you really cant. You haven’t even annulled your marriage yet and just because Roose says some pretty words to you doesnt make everything okay.

"He wanted me to take moon tea," you said, unsure of why you did. Just to keep talking, probably. Because you could see him looking at your lips with intent.

His eyes narrowed, still endlessly scanning your face, every so often landing on your lips. You tried to create a little bit of distance, and continued to talk, hoping it wouldn't escalate any further than this current tension. But even as you tried to pull back, you couldn't help but feel slightly drawn toward him. Especially with the way he was looking at you, it was hard not to have flashbacks to your old passion.

You continued, "I knew I wouldn't," Again you weren't sure why you felt the need to say it. You meant to reassure him that you wouldn’t have done such a thing without informing him first — that you were his loyal subject. It read more like a confession than anything else. It fanned the fire burning behind Roose's ice cold eyes. As you said it, you couldn't help but mirror his response.

How had you come to be so loyal to this man and he to you?

You still find reason to dislike him... but the thought of getting rid of his child had never truly been a realistic option to you. Even if you had the moon tea in your hands, even if you started to drink it, you'd remember the way he looked deep into your eyes as he took you — well it wasn't much different from the way he was looking at you right now.

The only real differences between now and then was that you’d been more naked that day, he was inside you, and after taking in your flustered state with those ever intense eyes of his, he captured your lips in his hungrily.

His face drew closer to yours. Then your lips brushed.

You pulled back slightly.

His hands came up to cup the back of your neck and cradle the under side of your skull as his face chased yours.

No… even if you had the tea in your hands and sipped a mouthful of the poison, you'd have remembered this exact energy and you would have spit out that tea before you could swallow it down.

One last attempt to pull away, feeble, and barely helping in any way, "I couldn't," left your lips, the words spoken more or less into his mouth, and you closed your lips onto his.

[misssmeat]

30 Things I Learned Before Turning 30

In celebration of my next decade, I took some time to document some of the obvious and not-so-obvious pieces of wisdom I've collected in my life. I wrote this as an exercise to celebrate my own growth, but I thought I would share it.

I spent over half of my 20s with all of you, here on tumblr. It was a messy decade spent figuring out who I am, what I want, and how to create the life I dream of. I'm ending my 20s happier, more sure of myself, and excited for the future. Thanks for joining me on the journey.

Here's to the next decade of being older. Wiser. Sexier. Here's to 30.

Love and Relationships

Give it three dates if you’re on the fence about someone. Love at first sight (or first date) is rare.

If he’s significantly older and makes you feel special for being “mature for your age”… there is something very wrong. He’s gross, and I promise you’ll see it one day and be furious for your past self.

Co-dependency is not love. 

Your partner is not your therapist. Do not treat them as such. 

Holding hands is a superior form of intimacy. 

Sometimes love isn’t enough. 

As annoying and cliche as it is, self-love is the most important love you’ll discover. 

Be intentional in your relationships - intentionally make time, intentionally show care, intentionally respect your partner, intentionally adore. (This applies to friendships too.)

Strong relationships are built on strong foundations. Communication, trust, kindness.

Life is made of millions of tiny moments. The tiny moments make the difference more than the grand gestures. 

Sex and Kink

Sex is supposed to be fun. Too many people forget this. It’s adult playtime. Don’t take yourself too seriously. 

Your limits are sacred. Never let anyone convince you otherwise. 

There is no such thing as a “true” sub/Dom/etc. Do what makes you happy. It’s really that simple. 

Confidence is 75% of success in the bedroom. I never truly know what I’m doing, but if I act like I’m the hottest girl on earth… my partner goes nuts for me regardless.

Keep water near at all times.  

Bondage is much more physically taxing than you might imagine. A rope buddy taught me to keep chocolate near for the sugar boost after physically taxing positions. 

Sometimes things get messy. Don’t worry, it’s normal. 

Give feedback and be open to feedback. We are all different, so there should be a learning curve with each partner.

Butt stuff hurts a lot less if you train your muscles slowly over time. 

If you’re not in the mood, don’t feel pressure to force it. Respect what your body is telling you. Likewise, respect your partner if they aren’t in the mood. 

Everything Else 

Ladies - unlearn creating yourself for the male gaze. It’s overrated.

Western cooking isn’t always superior. See the fried egg in France vs. Hong Kong. I’ll die on this hill.

Your worth and value are not tied to anything you’re offering or producing. Existing is the most radical thing we can do. 

Find a hobby that doesn’t require the internet. I found painting and reading. 

Your energy is valuable. Be selective in where and how you invest it.

When washing your hair, go through your shampoo routine twice before conditioning.

Go on walks. Touch grass. Feel the sun on your skin.

When in doubt, adopt a cat. 

Go to therapy. No matter where you are on your mental health journey, therapy will probably be a game changer.

Do not underestimate the power of forgiveness. Holding onto anger is not as empowering as I once believed it was.

And one last bonus thought: no matter what, always make space for joy.

❤️.