#it would be lovely if you wrote more but also if this is where you stop just rest

[okwonyo]

CAN YOU SEE ME？ IM WAITING FOR THE RIGHT TIME ..

──── 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗇’𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾, 𝗇𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖾𝗅𝗌𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇.

𝐁𝐀𝐆𝐒 ㅤㅤ𓈒 bsf!enhypen x fem!rea 7OO non-idol au fluff potential future relationship yearning ૮(^﹏^ ! skinship jealousy 【 MUSÉE 】

じや wrote this in a rush ! enjoy 🎀

rbs ✶ comments please + daily

𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 ｡ ｡ watches you from a distance. with his eyes wide as a deer caught in the headlights, he doesn’t say anything or does anything about it— he just watches. he can’t help but observe your movements, the way you laugh or how you tuck your hair behind your ear while you talk to the other man. he studies you, sadness in his eyes, trying to find out if you are interested in someone other than him or not. “what?” you ask him when you see the grimace on his face. instead of answering, he questions you too, “do you like him?” relief washes over him in a wave when you shake your head, “i thought we were just talking but he wanted more,” then you add, “i’d rather spend time with you”.

⠀ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ﹙ᵕ ᵕ⠀look under the cut ! ♡

𝐉𝐀𝐘 ｡ ｡ is always near you. in any circumstances, in any sort of place. if you are near, he is too— almost as if he was your bodyguard or, you as you prefer to say, guardian angel. any person that approaches you, approaches him too and needs to get approved by him to even talk to you. therefore, there is no need to explain that when a guy tries to talk to you, they get hit by a presence impossible to ignore right behind you. the menacing glares can make anyone pale and stumble over their words in front of you. and the funniest part, is that you are well aware of that but decide to act clueless— always shooting a fake confused look at him before smiling sweetly when yet another man runs away from you.

𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 ｡ ｡ as your known best friend, many people come to him when they wonder if you are single and try to find a way to ask you out. unfortunately for them, he is not only your best friend but also desperately and irrevocably in love with you. so, in lieu of giving proper answers and advice, he assures them that you are already taken, by no one else but him. and to be completely honest, it works quite well. he even likes to, just for the sake of the silly little lie— of course, be really clingy in front of others. you don’t mind, he has always been like that, and it makes him happy to touch you for a second and be your lover. even if it’s through everyone’s eyes but yours.

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 ｡ ｡ he has a special radar for whoever has romantic interests towards you. i mean, he would know how having a crush ok you feels like. since he has been in love with you since primary school. so, where are both around someone who seems to like a you a little bit too much, he starts his extra-clingy and affectionate best friend act. draping his arm on your shoulders, talking to you nonstop and asking for your attention as soon as your eyes go on anywhere else but him. “are you drunk?” you laugh all of the time, not even annoyed in the slightest. he is drunk, drunk in love.

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐎𝐎 ｡ ｡ he is unable to control his face when a guy comes to talk to you. he stares at him with a disgusted and utterly offended expression on the surface of his face. as soon as romance is being involved, he tugs you close without thinking— the petname ‘sweetheart’ even slip out. you don’t seem to mind, you only excuse yourself to your other interlocutor before focusing fully on your best friend. when you don’t look, he shoots to the flabbergasted man a very proud grin. he loves to be your favorite.

𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐍 ｡ ｡ he is flabbergasted, took over by immense disbelief and utter shock. he just watched the cashier shamelessly flirt with you— right in front of hom, without decorum. yes, he is not your boyfriend, but come on! he believes that the cashier should have been a little bit ashamed at least. “please,” he pleads as soon as you get out of the shop. “don’t tell me you are going to go out with that guy.” you immediately smile, a teasing question already tingling your tongue, “why? are you jealous?” his heart drops, his face reddens and he starts walking as you chuckle.

𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐈 ｡ ｡ uses all his strength to try to not be jealous— alas, he fails as soon as he even thinks about you and that ‘nobody’ together. he looks at you with sad eyes and a frown, as if he was a kicked puppy, whereupon you tell him you got asked on a date by the stranger. “wouldn’t you rather spend time with me?” he asks you, and you giggle. “what? this guy will be boring in two weeks but, i will be fun forever.” this idiot isn’t even able to contain his happiness when you tell him that he is right, that you will stay with him tonight. he is so happy that he hugs you, tight.

𓈒ㅤㅤ𓈒 taglist open & network : @sgz-net

[wordsmeetwbb]

The Chains Stay ON

Word count: 3.1k

Content: smut

Pairing: Pazzi

Notes: This is my first attempt at writing smut and tbh I think it turned out really good but like. It's also pure filth that I wrote at 2am and edited this morning so consider this your warning. As always, let me know what you think!

________

Azzi couldn’t stop staring at Paige. She knew she was being obvious, she knew people online would clip this entire event and dissect every interaction, but she couldn’t help herself. Paige looked fucking incredible.

The team had gone to a Connecticut Sun game tonight, and Azzi truly felt bad about her lack of attention to the actual game thus far. Somehow, she had gotten through the whole bus ride to the arena without interacting with Paige, but that ended quickly as the team took their seats, with Paige plopping down in the seat right next to Azzi.

Azzi’s eyes had a mind of their own, roaming over Paige’s face, down to her arms, her chest, and always dragging back to her neck where two silver chains rested. Azzi swallowed thickly.

“Hello? Az, are you even listening to me?” Paige snapped her fingers in front of Azzi’s face. She blinked, startled out of her visual perusal of Paige’s body.

“Uh, yeah? No. What?” Paige snorted.

“You’re so not locked in right now. If you were looking at me I would be like, fine, whatever, but you’re not! Pay attention to me!” Paige complained. Azzi swatted her arm.

“Oh, hush. I pay you plenty of attention. If you really loved me, you’d give me a break and go whine to somebody else for once.” Lies. Azzi was lying through her teeth. She didn’t want Paige to go anywhere. She wanted the blonde to stay in the seat right next to her so Azzi could continue to stare at how those silver chains rested against her throat, draping down to sit between her collarbones. She blinked again, trying to pull herself out of the Paige-induced haze so she could actually listen to her girlfriend.

“Hey, what’s up with you? You’re not listening to me,” Paige whined again. Correct. Azzi hadn’t even realized Paige was still talking. She was too busy looking at her to practice active listening. Azzi blushed. Paige’s eyebrows raised.

“You gonna tell me, or do I have to pry it out of you?” Azzi sighed dramatically, slumping back into her seat. Against her will, her eyes wandered right back to Paige’s neck. She wanted to kiss her way down the skin there hard enough to leave bruises where the chains rested. The brunette crossed her legs, too aware of the warmth between them.

Paige looked down at herself, trying to follow Azzi’s line of sight. Azzi sighed loudly again, blushing a deep, embarrassing shade of pink. Paige was so adorable when she was confused, but she needed her to understand faster so she didn’t have to explain what had her so hot and bothered.

“Paige,” Azzi said firmly.

“What? Baby, I don’t know what you’re looking at. I just know you’re blushing real pretty right now and I want to know why.” Azzi couldn’t stand it anymore. She looked Paige right in the eyes, fisting her hands in her lap so they wouldn’t get any ideas and reach up to touch the chains that were taunting her so badly. She took a deep breath, taking a little glance around to make sure none of their teammates were listening too closely to what they were talking about.

“You look… really hot with those chains on,” Azzi mumbled, face flushing an even darker shade of red.

“Baby, what? It’s loud as hell in here, I didn’t get any of that.” Azzi wanted a sinkhole to open up under Mohegan Sun and swallow them all so she didn’t have to repeat that sentence. Lord knows Paige’s ego didn’t need to hear it twice. She wished she could just whisper it into Paige’s ear, but the chance of somebody in the crowd recording it was too high. She groaned and leaned only slightly closer to Paige.

“You look hot with those chains on,” she said, with more volume in her voice this time. She wasn’t letting there be any chance of Paige making her say it a third time.

A hint of surprise fluttered over Paige’s face, but it was quickly replaced with that all-too-familiar smirk. Azzi would never tell Paige, but it made her squeeze her legs together just a little bit tighter.

“You like them, baby?” Paige murmured, voice somehow loud enough for Azzi to hear her over the noise of the arena. It made her think that Paige definitely heard her the first time and just wanted to make her suffer. Azzi gave up and let her head fall into her hands dramatically. Paige poked her shoulder, waiting for confirmation. Azzi knew that being in public was saving her from having to reply for real. She nodded into her hands.

“Hey, come back up here. I love it when you blush like that for me. So pretty, baby.” Azzi was going to die in Mohegan Sun at the ripe age of 21. She took a deep breath, praying that she had composed herself enough for the whole world not to know just how turned on she was right now. She straightened back up, trying to pretend like she was paying any kind of attention to the basketball game.

“There you go, good girl.” Azzi whacked Paige on the knee.

“Stop it. Stop or I’m gonna do something inappropriate in a very public place with lots of cameras, and then we won’t be private or a secret,” Azzi hissed. Paige just laughed. The audacity of this girl to look the way she did, get Azzi all turned on, tease her in public, and then laugh? She scowled at Paige. Paige shut up.

“Az, wait, I’m sorry for laughing. You’re sitting here all turned on, staring at me, and I’m being an ass.” This is genuinely one of the worst apologies Azzi has ever heard. The lack of amusement on her face must be as obvious as it feels because Paige starts backtracking.

“Azzi, baby, look at me. Please.” Azzi doesn’t have it in herself to disobey. And who is she to pass up a chance to look at Paige right now? God, she looks sinfully good.

“I shouldn’t have laughed at you. That’s my bad. I’m gonna make it up to you, I swear,” Paige promises, looking very sincere. Azzi raises her eyebrows skeptically.

“How are you gonna do that?” She questions. A grin spreads across Paige’s face.

“You said you like the chains, right? Got you all wet and needy?” Azzi wants to protest, but Paige isn’t wrong. “I see you with your legs crossed, ma, you’re not subtle.”

“I’m not seeing how this is you making anything up to me-” Azzi starts, but Paige interrupts her.

“You want me to fuck you with the chains on, baby?” Fuck. Just the words have Azzi absolutely dripping. She almost lets a whimper slip out, but clamps her mouth shut at the last minute.

“Yes,” she whispers. Paige looks entirely too satisfied with the way this conversation has turned out. Infuriatingly, it just turns Azzi on more. Damn this woman.

“Didn’t know the NIL money would come with this benefit,” Paige muses. Azzi is in her own personal hell.

“I need you to shut up. Immediately. Yesterday,” Azzi demands. Paige snorts.

“Yes, ma’am.”

________

Azzi doesn’t know what Paige told Jana and Allie or where the two girls went upon the team’s return to campus. Frankly, she doesn’t care. All she cares about is that Paige’s bedroom door is locked swiftly and the apartment beyond it is empty.

Paige is on Azzi as soon as the door is closed, shoving her up against the wood and trailing kisses from her mouth to her jaw to her neck. Actually, it’s more like Paige licking her way down Azzi’s skin. Either way, it feels incredible.

“Please, please,” she mumbles. She’s already begging, although she’s not entirely sure what for.

“Shh ma, just hold on. I’m gonna get you right, don’t you even worry,” Paige reassures Azzi against her skin. Something about it reminds Azzi of her thoughts from earlier. She lifts her head away from the door, trailing her eyes down to where Paige is mouthing at her collarbones, just above the neckline of her tank top. In a feat of pure willpower, Azzi flips their positions so Paige is the one pressed against the door. Paige gasps and immediately starts to protest. “Just shut the hell up,” Azzi demands as she begins to place wet kisses across Paige’s jaw. Her skin is warm and Paige smells so good, as she always does. Azzi’s mouth reaches the hinge of Paige’s jaw and she nips at the skin softly, not hard enough to bruise. Paige groans.

“God, baby, feels so good. Mark me the fuck up.” Azzi pushes her surprise away in favor of getting back to work. Who would she be to pass up a rare opportunity to claim her girlfriend? She bites a little harder at the spot from before, then licks over it with her tongue when Paige moans. Encouraged, Azzi makes her way down Paige’s neck, sucking in some places and biting in others, until Paige’s neck is riddled with red and purple splotches and covered in Azzi’s saliva.

Azzi finally pulls back to look at her handiwork, incredibly satisfied with herself. Paige looks desperate. Her neck glistened from Azzi’s mouth, her pupils were blown so wide her blue irises were barely visible, and she had tugged her hair free from the bun it had been in. She’s panting, staring at Azzi with unrestrained want. Azzi lets her focus go back to Paige’s neck. The silver chains glistening there really do look pretty against the newly mottled skin. She swallows, letting her hand drift up to play with the metal, warmed by Paige’s body.

Paige seems to have finally had enough teasing, because the next thing Azzi knows, she’s on her back in the middle of Paige’s bed.

“Off, off, I want these off,” Paige is saying, hands pulling at Azzi’s clothes. It’s not like she was wearing much of anything to begin with, just a tank top and a pair of too-short denim shorts, but within seconds the fabric is gone from her body, leaving her only in a pair of lace panties. The cool air makes Azzi shiver, nipples perking up from the chill.

Paige’s focus zeroes in on her tits, tongue immediately coming to lick over one nipple, hand squeezing the other gently, then pinching the nipple. Azzi gasps. It feels incredible, but this is not what she’s been thinking about all day. She tugs Paige back up to eye level, bringing their lips back together. Paige’s tongue is immediately against Azzi’s, but Azzi is mumbling demands.

“You gotta get naked too,” she whines, voice far more breathy than she wants it to be, but if Paige didn’t already know how needy she was, Azzi had bigger issues than what she sounded like. Paige’s clothes were off in seconds, leaving her in boxers and her sports bra. And those irresistible chains, of course. Still more clothes than Azzi in just her panties, but definitely an improvement.

Paige’s hand came down to Azzi’s stomach, fingers brushing over her abs teasingly on their way down to where Azzi was aching for her.

“Paige, please,” she pleaded.

“Please, what, baby? Gotta tell me what you want.” Azzi was going to cry if Paige didn’t touch her in the next five seconds. It’s that desperation that makes her give in immediately. She doesn’t have the willpower to resist Paige today.

“Touch me, please baby. Need your fingers on me, please, please, need it so bad-” Azzi cuts herself off with a moan when Paige presses her fingers over Azzi’s clothed clit. Her eyes roll back, but fly back open when she feels cold metal bump against her chin. “Fuck. Oh, fuck.” It seems to be the only word she can remember as Paige’s chains dangle in her face.

“There you go, baby. Is that better?” It’s not, really. Paige isn’t moving her fingers, and she’s still not really touching Azzi. Just that teasing presence over the fabric of her panties. Azzi bucks her hips against Paige’s hand in an effort to get what she wants.

“Is this not enough, baby? I’m touching you. What do you want?” Azzi is going to scream if Paige keeps this cocky attitude up and doesn’t fuck her like she needs. She almost gets sassy with her response until Paige moves her fingers against her clit, rubbing slow little circles over the fabric. Azzi groans, so hopelessly soaked through her underwear that the lace is practically see-through.

“Fuck. Please, Paige, please just fuck me. I need your fingers inside, please. Gotta feel it, need it, please.” She sounds pathetic, she knows. Paige doesn’t usually make her beg like this, but god, being forced to say exactly what she wants is doing sinful things to Azzi.

“I got you, good girl, so good begging for me,” Paige praises. Azzi’s head flops back onto the pillow and she immediately misses the light presence of the chains in her face. It’s quickly forgotten as Paige pulls Azzi’s panties off, throwing them somewhere to the side of the bed in favor of quickly slipping one finger into Azzi’s pussy.

“Fuck, baby, so wet for me. You feel that?” Paige already sounds like she’s going crazy, her voice hoarse and low. Azzi can barely focus on the words the blonde is saying. She’s too busy squirming closer to Paige’s hand, trying to get that singular finger deeper inside of her. She needs more and Paige is too busy talking to give it to her.

“Shh, honey, just relax. I gotchu, you know that,” Paige soothes, leaning down to press soft kisses to Azzi’s lips. The action drags the chains against Azzi’s face in the most delightful way. It almost makes Azzi miss the way Paige’s finger starts to move inside her, dragging out and then pushing right back in slowly. She moans desperately, still wiggling against Paige. She needs her deeper, faster, more fingers, anything.

“More, please, Paige, I can take another,” she begs. Paige finally obliges her, sliding another finger in alongside the first and continuing to fuck in and out of Azzi’s pussy. Azzi moans. One of her hands drifts up, tangling in the hair at the nape of Paige’s neck. Then it drifts down, sliding over the fresh hickeys on her throat that are getting darker by the minute. Her hand finally comes to rest on the silver chains, fingers wrapping around the strands of metal just for something to hold onto. Her eyes won’t leave the way they gleam against Paige’s skin, swinging back and forth as Paige’s arm moves.

Between her legs, Azzi can feel her wetness dripping onto the bed. She knows Paige’s hand is probably drenched, and that mental image only makes her wetter.

“There you go, baby. Doin’ so good for me, taking me so well. Fuck, look at you. Fucking soaked, Az. Can you hear that?” Paige takes a break from her fuck-drunk rambling so Azzi can hear the sound her body makes when Paige’s fingers slide in and out. It even sounds like she’s drenched. Azzi throws her head back on the pillow again, pulling Paige’s chains right along with her. Paige follows her down, licking a stripe up Azzi’s neck while she’s there.

“Gettin’ close, ma?” Azzi nods desperately, feeling her stomach get tighter with every stroke of Paige’s fingers into her sopping wet center. “Fuck, yeah, I know you are. Squeezing me so tight, baby. Just sucking me up. Need me that bad, right baby?” Paige’s thumb drags circles around Azzi’s clit. She lets out a high whine. Paige has yapped for every minute of her life, she’s sure, but the absolute filth she’s saying right now has Azzi teetering right on the edge of her climax, biting her lip, and her stomach tenses.

“Let go, Az. Just relax and let yourself cum. All over me, baby, come on. Want it dripping down my hand. Please, I know you’re almost there.” Paige’s words, begging her to come, combined with the feeling of her damned silver chains dragging against Azzi’s throat now that she’s released her grip on them, send her over the edge.

Azzi cums with a cry, high-pitched moans and Paige’s name falling from her lips. Paige fucks her through it, fingers still moving inside her, thumb still circling her clit until Azzi is trembling from overstimulation, begging Paige to stop.

“Please, please, too much, Paige-” Azzi pushes Paige’s hand away from her, collapsing against the mattress, panting as she tries to recover. When she forces her eyes open to look at her girlfriend, Azzi finds Paige already staring at her. Her pupils are still blown wide, her body glistening with sweat, her hair messy (probably Azzi’s fault), and she thinks Paige has never looked hotter.

“What?” Azzi demands softly. “I’ll get you in a minute, don’t worry,” she promises. Paige shakes her head and melts into Azzi, wrapping her in her pale arms.

“Did so good for me, baby. So good,” she mumbles into Azzi’s collarbones. Azzi’s hand comes up to brush through Paige’s hair gently, a smile falling onto her lips, blushing lightly at the praise. Paige was starting to crush her under her weight, but it felt so good that she kept quiet, one hand moving down from Paige’s hair to stroke up and down her back.

“Hey, let me take care of you now,” Azzi said, starting to roll herself out from under Paige. Paige just tightened her arms.

“In a minute. That was so hot. You’re so hot. Everything about that was just… really insanely hot. I think I’m buffering. Give me a minute,” Paige mumbled into Azzi’s skin. Azzi laughed, bringing a hand to Paige’s chin and tilting her face up to meet her eyes.

“That was really hot,” she agreed. Paige grinned.

“I should wear chains more often,” she mused. Azzi groaned, letting Paige’s face drop back into the crook of her neck.

“I swear, I can’t tell you anything.” She complained. Paige just laughed, and Azzi couldn’t do anything but laugh with her. Of course Paige would give her the best orgasm of her life and her takeaway from the experience would be fashion advice. Azzi couldn’t argue with the idea, though. She sighed.

“As long as the chains stay on during sex,” she agreed.

“Hell yeah. High five, dude.” Azzi groaned and pushed Paige away.

“Shut up or I’m not helping you get off.” Paige shut up.

[indulgentdaydream]

Rooftop Angel

Jason Todd x Reader | Fluff Word Count: 1,314 Warnings: not proofread. a dangerous amount of banter. lowkey stalking but like not in a toxic way more so playing a prank.

Is this anything anyone requested? No. Is this something I thought of writing almost a year ago walking home after classes one night but never wrote? Yes. Did I decide that nickname at his very last line and went back and immediately added it in everywhere else. Maybe.

Is this the first fic I've written since before I was in the ER in July? Also yes. I'm not sorry maybe I would be if I was paid for this.

A cool breeze brushed across your cheeks as you walked down the sidewalk, the street lamps illuminating the dry concrete and the scattering of fallen autumn leaves.

You kept your hands in your jacket pockets to keep them warm, trodding along contentedly with your headphones playing music, filtering out the dreadful sounds of small bursts of late night city traffic. Your last class ran late. A three-hour lecture that ended at 9pm. Usually you'd go and get on the bus right away, but having not eaten before class, you'd stopped to get dinner at one of the late night shops on campus. Afterwards, since the next bus was going to take a half-hour to arrive, you'd decided the 25 minute walk didn't seem too bad.

You were grateful to have the opportunity to take the walk, giving you more time to yourself before you returned to the pile of dishes you knew you had left yourself in the sink.

You kept your eyes on your surroundings, like your boyfriend always told you to. Gotham was no good at night for anyone. Yet, there was no one else on this street, so there was probably no reason to worry this time around.

He also told you to stop wearing your headphones while walking around. Consistently. He just doesn't understand the peace it brings since he doesn't do it.

Halfway through your walk, your music suddenly faded to silence, before your ringtone began to play instead. You sighed at the loss of your alone with music time as you pulled out your phone to see who it was. At the sight of Jason's smiling profile picture, you perked up again, immediately tapping your screen to pick up and shoved your phone back in your pocket, the sound connecting to you headphones.

"Hello," you said cheerfully.

There was no response.

You frowned and pulled your phone back out. The call was still there. You quickly remembered how your headphones had been kicking out on phone calls lately. You sighed and slipped them off, bringing the phone to your ear instead.

"Hi, Jay," you repeat happily.

"Hi, chickpea," his voice filtered through. "What'cha doing?"

"Walking home," You smiled. "I grabbed dinner at Bel's after class and the bus was late. Where are you?"

"Stopped by yours, but realized you weren't home. I'm out and about again."

You frown, "Oh, I'm sorry. I should've texted you."

"That's fine, love," Jason let out a small chuckle, "Staying safe?"

You nod, "Mhmm. Course I am."

"Yeah? Good." He sounded unconvinced. "What was that pause at the start?"

"What pause?"

"The pause that always happens with your headphones."

You purse your lips, "I had them on in case you called."

"Riiiiight," Jason drawled.

You groan, realizing you were caught after having promised him the umpteenth time only a few days ago that you'd be more vigilant, "I promise I was watching around me."

"But you weren't listening."

"I would've seen them!"

"Not if they were coming from behind."

You pause, glancing behind you as you walked. There was no one else on the street except a man that had just left his apartment. He looked tough, rugged jeans and a black sweater with the hood pulled up over his head. He began walking down the steps and you felt a spike of panic before he turned and began walking in the direction you came.

"Mhmm," Jason hummed knowingly, filling your silence. "You're lucky he turned the other way."

"Seriously," you muttered, agreeing, and faced forward again.

You turned Jason's words over in your head. You slow to a stop. You stood for a second before looking out across the other side of the street, then the tops of the buildings.

Jason voice filtered into your ear again, grabbing your attention, "You listening to me, chickpea?"

You whip around to stare up at the top of the building to your right. You catch the slightest glint of red before it disappear behind the edge of the roof.

"Well don't do that," He said.

You couldn't help but smile, still looking up at where you'd last seen him, "Why not?"

"You'll give me away," he argued. "Keep your head down and keep walking."

You smile to yourself, but do as he says. You whisper into the phone to avoid any prying ears in passing alleyways, "Stalker."

"I am not a stalker," He sounded like he was pouting at being caught, embarrassed. "My girlfriend wasn't where she was supposed to be. I got worried."

You let out a small laugh, "Come walk with me. Walk me home."

You hear the hesitation in his reply, "No can do, love. You know I don't need you associated with the Red Hood."

Scoffing, you kick a pebble, "You hate me."

"I could never hate you."

"Hmph," you can't help but glance up as you pass an alleyway, catching a glance of him jumping across it, a shadow against the light polluted sky. "Just take the helmet off and zip up your jacket."

He chuckles, "And what? Carry it at my side instead?"

"I'll put it in my bag."

"It'll be too big."

"I'll put it under my coat," You counter. "I can pretend to be pregnant. Or have a beer belly."

Jason's laugh made your cheeks warm against the cool air, "I'm wearing my domino mask tonight."

"Then take it off."

"What about my eye black?"

"I've got some make remover in my bag."

He hummed, "You've just got the answer to everything, don't you?

"I'm smart."

"That you are, darling."

"Smarter than you, apparently."

He barks out a laugh at that, "That's okay. I like 'em smart."

You blush at that, a smile tugging at your lips.

"I make up for it though," He continued.

"By being handsome?" You retort.

He hesitated and you knew he was blushing, too. "No, by being more careful."

You roll your eyes at him. There was really no harm.

You reached your apartment building, just passing the last alleyway. A hand clamped down on your wrist that held your phone to your ear, tugging you into it, pulling it away from your ear at them same time. You moved to scream when a gloved hand cover your mouth, pressing you into the wall, deep in the shadow of the two buildings. Not pushed, or shoved, just pressed.

Your eyes fixed on Jason's amused eyes, his faceplate raised to show his face. He taps the hang up button on your phone with his thumb, slipping it back in your pocket to rest his hand on your hip.

He slips his other hand off your mouth and you're already glaring, "You're not wearing your domino mask."

Jason grinned, "Sorry, love." He leaned down and kissed your cheek, the metal along his chin brushing your jaw. "I'm serious, though. Please stop wearing your headphones when walking around."

You huff slightly, slumping against the wall in defeat, "Fine."

Jason hums again and tilts your chin up with his fingers, pressing a kiss to your lips, "Thank you."

You kiss him back, easily accepting the affection from him, "Come inside?"

He gives you an apologetic smile and shakes his head, "I've gotta get going."

You huff dramatically, "You hate me."

Jason chuckles, "Well maybe if you hadn't stopped for that garbage food."

"But it's so good."

"I swear," he shook his head. "If I don't lose you to an easily avoided mugging it's gonna be heart failure from whatever that stuff is."

You grin and lean into him, "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Bright and early," He kissed you again, letting it linger. "Love you, chickpea."

You cupped his face as you kissed him back, "Love you, too, Jaybaby."

With a squeeze of your hip, he took a step back and closed his faceplate, watching you leave he alley and turn the corner, entering your building.

[smileybasics]

Defending @lil-liaa

I usually don’t post in this blog cause i have other ones but i don’t think this is being fair, me and Lia have been moots for a year and I have seen all her work over the years, I don't know a more creative person than her and I have been with her while she makes her moodboards by call and it is simply impressive the hours she invests in doing it, today I She wrote so devastated and we made a call talking, she has worked on this for so long, I remember how excited she was when she reached 1k, what I mean is that her community and her blog are very important to her, these people are accusing her because three Posts are similar to those of other blogs and that seems stupid to me since you have not even seen her other posts to know if she really makes an effort or not, Lia has made collages, dividers, banners, and a lot of other things, to she is really passionate about digital art and the only time she left her blog was because of the loss of a loved one and the truth is I don't care how many people are going to believe me after this post I just want them to leave her alone, here I am attaching some evidence...

This doesn’t even have so much in common just a three pics, in case you don’t know how moodboards are made, 2 or more colors are taken as a base and the images that best match the tones are searched on Pinterest, not only what she "copied" are just two photos but she also made a divider and a collage

Here’s just pinterest pics (proofs that are from pinterest in keep reading) and again i saw a lot of rude comments towards her that so unfair and hurt feelings cause considering how long Lia has been on her blog it's like invalidating all her hard work!!

In this post she even clarify that the divider isn’t made by her but the collage it is, also it’s just 2 pics that are similar!

This pictures are from pinterest, everyone can use it!

People bullying her

This doesn't just happen on the internet, but in real life, one of Lia's moots simply republished the post where they accused her of copying, she asked him/her why he/her did it so quickly, If they were supposed to be moots, if someone betrays you so quickly without questioning anything, they were never your friend and instead of responding privately she/him made a post just to make her/him moots laugh and the comments are gross, my god it's disgusting, this is directly bullying, if you are a thinking person and if you have ever had some kind of link you should try to talk something privately instead of calling the crazy girl and tagging all your moots so they can laugh, the worst thing is that you can tell that this girl only wants interaction because when she and Lia were chatting she threatened Lia with blocking her but then when Lia blocked her she made another post like "she blocked me" it's like, besides being a treacherous rat you can't have the decency to talk to her about it, Lia has been so nice to everyone but after all, this is where you can see who the ones who truly supported her are, and not the fake friends.

I'm not going to censor his/her username, he deserves it, tumblr is as much as real life, the importance of moots is like friends in real life, because if you want you can just harass someone and all your friends will laugh without question anything.

Also, Lia has a tutorial of a lot of things that she made! If she knows how to do it, why would she steal or copy from other blogs?

She has tutorials of gifs, texts, banners, etc, if she really stole and copy, why she knows how to do it by herself?, and if she knows how to do it by herself she doesn’t even need to stole!

LIKE SHE DIDN’T CARE?! Sorry but this is so wrong, i can tell that, SHE CARES, all these people who are making posts mocking her and calling her crazy because according to them she "copied" three measly posts, when if I were in her place and all my years of work were at stake I would also act like a crazy person because it's worth it, here it is demonstrated clearly her hypocrisy, if Lia wants to defend all her hard work or defend herself from bullying by blocking you she is crazy but if she makes a post explaining everything it seems like she doesn't care, this frustrates me so much

Here more evidence of Lia’s drafts

Just a few of her drafts

And last but not least I want to give credit to Lia's great work these years, so you can see that there is a true artist behind all this nonsense controversy, here are some of her moodboards, my personal favorites that I can't imagine how much time it would have taken

Extra: “Lia we know it’s you” Don’t acuse me of being Lia, i’m just a real friend

Evidence: Contact of Lia and me

Hi guys, it's come to my attention that someone in the moodboard community known as lil-liaa has been copying / taking heavy "inspo" from other creators like @y-unjins and @iluvrei view more for more info + evidence + my opinions on the whole situation

before i start, i'm not trying to run lil-liaa off the platform nor am i trying to stur up drama, this is just to bring light to the situation as not many people know and many people (including myself) defended her when this first happened, i also want liia to realize that what she's doing isn't right and that she shouldn't just brush off "accusations" like these when there is evidence.

proofs

you can see the similarities as lil-liaa used 3 of the exact same pics as iluvrei's including one edited by the original creator without adding credits to the post.

2nd

here you can instantly tell that the moodboard was copied (lil-liaas on the right being an exact replica of y-unjins), only changing 2 pics excluding the idol change and

3rd / last

lastly, you can see how one lia used the exact same divider (+ didnt give creds), two she uses the same images not only in the moodboard but also in her gif (same pics from y-unjins moodboard including the png)

now, lil-liaa was sent multiple anonymous ask from last year and one recently accusing her of stealing moodboards, although a lot of people defended her last year including me due to the ask having no sorts of proof of moodboards being stolen and no one else speaking on it but now the recent ask she has received included proof and her response to it was very (in my opinion) rude and just sounded like she didn't care.

in my opinion, i don't believe this was just a draft she had premade and i don't believe she somehow got the same exact photos from y-unjins moodboard recommended, i believe since this isnt the first accusation and now there's proof of this i believe she has been copying moodboards since last year when she was accused. i don't believe lil-liaa cares about this, the fact she's stealing from other creators and when she gets called out for it she pushes it off with the same excuses

tags

@miujo @rkkuri @lvioung @ciestial @aeraras @sugarish @gyareii @i-kyujin @daddldee @i-mmaculatus @haerinism @chaeryeos @bloomqi @h-yeoni @p-oisn @bitchey @yeritos @yonkiibums @y-vna @y-urios @fairytopea @shuaver @yeoniis

[fawninthesnow]

Hey! I understand if not cuz you originally wrote the fic as a one-shot but I honestly think attention has the potential to have a part 2 or be a mini-series. Like i’d love to see reader x geta sneaking off or something despite caracalla. I also hope you’re having a wonderful new years and I love your writing 💗

Hiii! You are so sweet! Thank you! So, It was originally supposed to be a mini series but I forgot to finish my planning. I think I'll do 3 parts in total!

𝐀𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Part 2

𐙚 Emperor Geta x Fem! Emperor Caracalla x Fem! 𐙚 18+

Summary: As one of Caracalla's concubines, you find yourself in a bind when you grab his brother's attention.

Warnings/contains: fem dom (kinda), sub male, concubines, smoking, alcohol consumption, obsession, idealization, not proof read-- english is not my first language!

Word Count: 1.2k

PART 1

More on my Master list! + follow & reblog pls

That night, Caracalla nestled into your warm embrace, his arms wrapped tight around your waist.  Droplets of saliva traced paths down your chest.  His breath, soft as his hair, lulled you into a peaceful exhaustion.  As usual, the emperor's door remained open—a fear of enclosed spaces a constant, and the bedroom air, consequently, cool.  Your nakedness contributed to the chill.

Geta stood in the hallway, just outside the door.  A servant held a torch, casting light on his perplexed face, his arms crossed in a posture of confusion. “Let us go.” He said to the servant, continuing down the hall.

You looked at the boy on your chest and rubbed his hair. Something in you wanted to stay, you knew on a personal level how it hurt him when, yet another person would leave. But simply the idea of Geta was enough to make you feral for sex.

You brushed a kiss against Caracalla's hair, then stepped off the bed.  Wrapping yourself in a robe, you slipped down the hall, a single candle your only light.  Reaching Geta's chambers, you requested passage, and the guards promptly opened the doors.

The emperor smirked, pushing the two women from his bed. “Leave please.” He said rather condescendingly to the women before turning his attention back to you. “Come, come.” He waved you over to him, inviting you into bed. Geta calmed his breathing, attempting to stay composed although a goddess of a woman just entered his bed. “I- I always thought it to be unfair that the most beautiful women go to *him* first.” He said, his hands glued to your flesh. He pulled you onto his hips, resting his back against the bedframe.

“Wait. I need to say…Caracalla may not know about this. I will leave before he wakes.”

“That is fine.” He looked up at you, enjoying the weight of your body on his. “You smell heavenly. Your beauty…I cannot begin to describe. Where are you from?”

“Mauretania.”

“Ahh, I see. I will call you...Lotus.” You blushed as he moved the curls of your hair from your eyes, “Where did he find you?”

“I was shopping for fruits at the bazaar when he came into the city.”

He chuckled, “I…believe you.” He did not. However, he did not want to waste time with you.

Your hands hold onto the sides of his neck, “He is asleep, but he will notice in time that I am gone.” Geta’s eyebrows furrowed as you pulled away from him. “I did not come here tonight to have sex with you.” The man’s nostrils flared in frustration, his arousal only teered off as a result. “I told you I planned to leave before he woke. Now, tomorrow, he plays with his friends in the courtyard, lounging festivities. I will meet you here then.”

“N- no! I want you now. Please? I promise to satisfy you; such a beautiful woman…” He murmured; his mind rather scattered with the thoughts of losing you. You watched as he frantically placed kisses along your breasts and neck. He kissed hard against your skin—

“You are going to leave marks, your highness.”

“That is my point.”

“Think of Caracalla.” You groan and push yourself from him. The man reached for your arm, placing kisses along your smooth skin. “Geta.” He held onto you as you walked towards the door. You sigh, brushing his hair with your fingertips.

“Please, do not leave.”

“I will see you again soon.”

////

The following morning, Geta watched the courtyard, where his brother and friends engaged in a game of golf, their balls soaring across the garden and towards the city.  He noticed you lounging on a sun bed, apart from the other courtesans. You sat propped on one elbow, your toga tightly wrapped around your hips and chest.  The sun kissed your honey-toned skin, highlighting its smooth, supple texture as you relaxed.  You were breathtakingly beautiful, a simple radiance.  Geta wondered if you'd dipped in the lap pool; a subtle sheen suggested that you might have. Your skin looked both wet and luxuriously soft.

However, this wasn’t the plan! To just watch you from afar! No! You were supposed to sneak away by now. Sneak away and come to him! Why were you making him wait?! “Oh, my lotus…” Please do not do this, not in a time of such need!

You knew he was over behind a pillar, his eyes glaring from the copper-colored curtain. The man continued to fume with disgust as his brother made his way to you and sat beneath you. Your fingers in his hair, your hands ran down his neck and to your shoulder, your lips on his face. Every aspect annoyed Geta to a point of…arousal.

You ignored him, neglected your promise to be with him and it make his cock stiff under his garbs.

Eventually, his brother went back to his friends, but you continued to lay there. Your eyes drifted to geta; you always planned to go with him but now wasn’t the time! He looked unlike a sad dog as he rubbed himself under your gaze. From under his clothes, he held his cock with both of his fists.

You sat up, sipping your wine with a detached curiosity.  His private indulgence was undeniably entertaining, a far more engaging spectacle than the usual drunken antics of Caracalla and his companions, flinging objects – seemingly at random – towards the city.

Geta did not want to break eye contact with you for he might lose your attention. He licked his lips with desire in his low sitting eyes. The two of you traded looks, repeatedly until you each broke a sweat. You leaned forward, trying to relax the heat that rose from your core. Your nipples were pert and sensitive, unable to handle the clothing that held onto and rubbed you so gently.

His noises get slightly louder and faster, as his whole body gets more shaken up. His fists are moving faster and faster, and the amount of precum he’s releasing is not slowing down. There wasn’t any shame on his face either, just a look of pure excitement and extreme desire. His entire mind is fixated on the woman in his sights.

You could not see his manhood, only his moving arms and shoulders. Your mind ran wild with the ideas of how he looked; how well his hips grind against yours in bed, and how his soft pink lips would hold onto your breasts. You shut your eyes for a moment and felt the push of his cock inside of you in your imagination.

He frantically searched your face for your attention once more. He goes silent, and then lets out a soft gasp as he looks at you. He quickly looks back down again, as his entire body is slightly trembling. As he tries to hide his mess of precum from you, he stays silent for now, waiting for you to make a move of some kind.

You glared back at him and rose from your lounging chair. He let out a loud shuddering moan as your hand touched his cheek. His entire body shakes and quivers, and he lets out a loud whimper as his cum sprayed onto her dress right after. His hands are just covering himself, and he is still twitching a bit. Geta lets out another loud whimper, as his body starts to calm down and he finally takes control of himself. You checked for others in the hall. “Come here. I am not done with you.” You whisper and take his hand.

More on my Master list! + follow & reblog pls

Part 3 coming this week!! Out of Europe rn <3

[writteninkat]

Adoration's Abyss | Bakugou , Stalker Reader

synopsis: He was the untouchable star, and I was just another face in the crowd—until I wasn’t. What starts as admiration spirals into something far darker when love turns to obsession, and boundaries blur between devotion and delusion. You really are different from other girls… but at what cost?

w/c: idk i was hoping for 5k, i hope it reached

warnings: stalking

a/n: hey i wrote this while i was at the beach for five days. update on my life: been getting into poetry and essay writing again. finally had the balls to share my work with my friends and family lol

navigation

The moment I saw him, the world folded itself into something smaller, something manageable, as if the chaos of existence could be trimmed to fit within the orbit of his gaze. Katsuki Bakugou: a name that rippled through crowds like a thunderclap, his presence igniting every room he entered with the ferocity of a supernova. He wasn’t just an idol; he was a phenomenon, a living pyre burning too bright for ordinary mortals.

And yet, there I was. Just another face in the sea of adoration, clutching my ticket to the meet-and-greet like it was a lifeline to salvation.

“Hi, Katsuki! I loved you in—”

He cut me off, sharp as a blade but not unkind. “In Beyond the Blast?” His voice was rough, gravelly—a symphony of jagged edges.

I faltered. Did I seem too predictable? Too common? A sheep in the flock of screaming fans? My heart plummeted.

“Pouts are overrated,” I said, forcing a small smile, my voice softening into something calculatedly vulnerable. “I want to be different. Not just like…other girls. I loved you in the Eclipsed show, but also in Burning Hearts, Live Loud, Infrno's Edge...” I trailed off, naming a more obscure project, the kind only the most dedicated fans would know. I even threw in a few lines about a candid interview he once did, where he spoke about how sunsets reminded him of fleeting time.

His expression shifted—slightly, almost imperceptibly. But it was enough. The ghost of amusement danced on his lips, and he said, “Maybe you really are different from other girls.”

Inside, I was roaring. Victorious. Outside, I laughed softly, demurely. “Maybe.”

I am so much worse.

When I left the meet-and-greet, I told myself it was enough. To stand in his presence, to hear his voice aimed in my direction—wasn’t that already more than most could hope for? But hope is a greedy thing. It feeds on itself, growing hungrier with every indulgence.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. His voice lingered in my ears like a song on repeat, the low rasp of it curling around my thoughts. I replayed our brief exchange in my head, editing and polishing it, imagining what I could’ve said to make him linger just a second longer.

And then, of course, I opened the scrapbook.

It started innocently, as these things always do. A collection of concert photos, magazine clippings, interviews. But now, as I flipped through the pages, it felt insufficient. Two-dimensional. Katsuki wasn’t just a face on a page. He was a force, raw and untamed, and these flattened images could never capture him.

I needed more.

When I heard about his upcoming promotional event, I didn’t hesitate. The tickets were sold out within seconds, but I had connections—or rather, I made them. A fan forum moderator owed me a favor, and I cashed it in without a second thought.

The event was in a sleek, glass-paneled venue that gleamed under the city lights. I arrived early, blending seamlessly into the crowd. I wore my best dress—not flashy, but memorable. Just enough to catch his eye again.

This time, I didn’t bother with the front row. No, I wanted to watch from a distance, to see the full scope of his energy. He moved onstage like a storm contained within the fragile frame of a man. His voice electrified the room, his words sparking laughter and applause.

But every now and then, his gaze flickered over the crowd, scanning faces. Did he remember me? Did his eyes pause, even for a fraction of a second, on mine?

I convinced myself they did.

It was after the event, during the afterparty, that things began to change. I wasn’t supposed to be there, of course, but slipping past security was easier than I thought. People underestimate how much you can achieve when you’re polite, invisible, and just persistent enough to not raise alarms.

He was there, naturally—leaning against the bar, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. A few people approached him, but he brushed them off with a curt nod or a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

And then, somehow, I was beside him.

“Hey,” I said softly, almost shyly. “I’m surprised you’re not the center of attention.”

He looked at me, and for a second, I thought he might not remember. But then his expression shifted—a flicker of recognition, like a match striking against stone.

“You again,” he said.

From that moment on, it was as though I had been given permission. Not by him, of course, but by the universe. Surely this was fate, wasn’t it? To have crossed paths with him twice, in places swarming with thousands of people?

I began to learn things. Little things, at first—his preferred coffee shop, the route he took to the gym, the kind of music he played in his car when he thought no one was listening. These were harmless details, gathered with the precision of a collector adding rare gems to their trove.

But soon, harmless wasn’t enough.

The first time I followed him home, I told myself it was a mistake. I had been walking in the same direction, and it was pure coincidence that his apartment building loomed ahead of me. But then I did it again. And again.

His building was tall, sleek, and anonymous, but I found ways to breach its defenses. A delivery uniform, a borrowed ID badge—small deceptions that felt exhilarating in their simplicity.

I never crossed the final line. I never entered his apartment, though I knew exactly which door was his. Instead, I lingered in the shadows, content to imagine the life that unfolded within.

But imagination, like hope, is a hungry thing.

It’s funny, the way routine can warp into ritual. What began as occasional glimpses became a nightly pilgrimage. I knew his schedule better than my own. His habits—oh, how they fascinated me. The way he left his balcony door slightly ajar, as if inviting the wind—or something else. The flicker of his apartment light in the early hours, suggesting sleepless nights.

Once, I saw him standing there, silhouetted against the glow of his television, shirtless and utterly at ease. It felt intimate, watching him like that. Almost sacred.

He would never understand how much I admired him.

I started leaving small things behind. Harmless tokens—an autograph request slipped under his door, a pressed flower on his windowsill. Gifts that could be explained away if he ever noticed. They were never acknowledged, but that was fine. It wasn’t for him to notice. It was for me.

One night, he deviated from his routine. The precision of his life had always been a comfort to me—a series of movements I could predict and follow like a choreographed dance. But that night, he didn’t go home after his gym session.

Instead, he stopped at a convenience store, and I, foolishly emboldened by months of watching, followed him inside.

He was standing by the drink cooler, scanning the rows of energy drinks with a scowl. His hair was damp, his hoodie slung low over his face, and yet he was unmistakable.

I wasn’t supposed to get this close. Not yet.

But he turned, and suddenly we were face to face.

“Oh,” I said, startled into breaking the sacred silence between us. “Hi. Fancy seeing you here.”

His eyes narrowed. “Do I know you?”

My heart thrummed like a caged bird. Did he recognize me from the meet-and-greet? From the afterparty? Did he know I’d been watching him all this time?

“I’m a fan,” I said quickly, keeping my voice light, casual. “We’ve met before, at your event. Twice, actually.”

His gaze lingered on me, sharp and assessing, and for a moment, I thought I saw suspicion flicker across his face.

“Right,” he said finally, brushing past me with the kind of indifference that only he could make seem regal.

But as he left the store, I caught a glimpse of something in his expression—something that wasn’t indifference at all.

After that encounter, I couldn’t stop imagining what he thought of me. Did I stand out to him? Did he wonder about me the way I wondered about him? The thought was intoxicating.

I found myself becoming bolder. My nightly visits turned into longer stays. I started leaving notes with no name, no context—just fragments of thoughts I thought he might find poetic.

“The stars envy your light.”

“Even storms pause to admire you.”

“You are the reason the sun rises.”

Each one felt like a confession. A prayer.

But then one night, the notes disappeared. When I crept back to his door the following evening, there was nothing waiting for me. No sign that he had read them, or even seen them.

Had he thrown them away? Or worse—had someone else taken them before he could?

The thought burned like acid.

The line between admiration and possession is thinner than most realize. I crossed it without even noticing.

I started taking photos—not of him directly, but of the spaces he occupied. His balcony, his car parked in the same spot every night, the shadow of his figure through the curtains. My phone became a shrine, each image a sacred offering.

But it wasn’t enough.

One night, when I was sure he wasn’t home, I found myself standing at his door. My hand trembled as I reached for the handle, testing it. Locked, of course. But locks are just puzzles waiting to be solved.

I didn’t go inside—not yet. But I stood there, breathing in the faint scent that lingered in the hallway. It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, the abyss yawning beneath me, daring me to jump.

The day it all unraveled was unremarkable. A sunny afternoon, ordinary in every way—until I saw him again.

This time, he wasn’t alone.

She was tall, elegant, with a laugh that rang out like silver bells. She touched his arm as they walked, her presence so seamless beside him that it made my chest ache.

The world tilted, sharp and unforgiving.

How dare she? Didn’t she know? He wasn’t hers to touch, to smile at, to laugh with.

He was mine.

I followed them, of course. Through the crowded streets, past the bustling cafes and shops, until they arrived at a small restaurant. They sat by the window, their faces illuminated by the golden light of the setting sun.

I stood outside, watching, my reflection in the glass overlapping with theirs.

For the first time, I allowed myself to hate him. Not just her—him. For being so blind, so careless, so utterly indifferent to the devotion I had poured into him.

You’re supposed to be mine.

The thought felt foreign, even to me. But once it took root, it spread like wildfire.

That night, I found myself back at his apartment building. The familiar routine should have soothed me, but it didn’t. My heart was pounding, each beat a war drum, as I stared up at his window.

The light was on. He was home.

But I wasn’t standing there just to watch anymore. I wasn’t there to leave notes or flowers or to bask in the glow of his existence. No, this time, I had crossed the threshold.

I waited in the shadows until the lobby door opened. A tenant stepped out, their face buried in their phone, oblivious to my presence as I slipped inside. The elevator doors gleamed like a portal to another world.

His floor was silent. The kind of silence that feels alive, pulsing with expectation. My footsteps were soft, my breath shallow, as I approached his door.

The lockpick trembled in my hand, but I’d practiced this moment a hundred times in my mind. The faint click was both satisfying and terrifying.

And then I was inside.

It was everything I had imagined and nothing like it at all.

The apartment was minimalist, almost sterile, with only a few personal touches—a jacket draped over a chair, an empty mug on the counter. The air smelled faintly of him, a mix of cologne and something darker, more primal.

I moved slowly, reverently, like a pilgrim in a holy place. My fingers traced the edge of the kitchen counter, the back of the sofa, the spine of a book on the coffee table.

And then I saw it.

A framed photograph on the bookshelf. It was him, of course, but not alone. She was there, too—the woman from the restaurant, her head tilted against his shoulder, her smile soft and radiant.

Something inside me snapped.

The sound of the front door opening shattered the silence.

I froze, the photo still in my hand, as his voice echoed through the apartment.

“Yeah, I’m home,” he said, his tone clipped, probably on the phone. “I’ll call you back.”

The click of the call ending was deafening.

And then he saw me.

For a moment, neither of us moved. His expression was a kaleidoscope of emotions—shock, anger, disbelief.

“What the—?” he started, but the words died in his throat as his eyes dropped to the photo in my hand.

“I just wanted to understand,” I said softly, my voice trembling. “Why her? Why not me?”

His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?”

I stepped closer, the photo still clutched against my chest like a shield. “I’m the one who’s been there for you. Watching, supporting, loving you when no one else understood.”

His face darkened, the anger in his eyes hardening into something sharper, colder. “You need to leave. Now.”

But I didn’t move.

“You don’t see it, do you?” I whispered. “How perfect we could be. How much I’ve given up for you. She doesn’t know you like I do. She’ll never understand you the way I do.”

His voice dropped, low and dangerous. “Get. Out.”

But I wasn’t afraid—not of him, not of anything. Not anymore.

“I’m not leaving,” I said, my voice steady now. “Not until you see me.”

The argument escalated quickly. His anger clashed with my desperation, the two of us locked in a battle neither could win. He tried to push past me, to call for help, but I grabbed his arm.

“Don’t,” I said, my voice breaking. “Don’t do this to me.”

He wrenched free, his movements sharp and unforgiving. “You’re insane.”

The word hit me like a physical blow.

Insane.

After everything I’d done for him, everything I’d sacrificed, that was what he thought of me?

I don’t remember much after that. The emotions—rage, heartbreak, betrayal—all blurred together in a red haze. I remember the sound of something shattering, the photo frame hitting the floor. I remember his voice, shouting, but the words were lost in the chaos.

And then, silence.

When I came back to myself, I was standing in the middle of the room, my chest heaving, my hands trembling. He was gone—whether he had fled or whether I had…

I couldn’t let myself think about it.

The apartment felt different now. The air was heavier, the shadows deeper. I looked down at the shattered photo frame, the glass shards glinting like tiny stars.

I picked up the photo, carefully tucking it into my pocket.

It wasn’t over. Not yet.

Katsuki would understand eventually. He had to.

After all, no one loved him like I did.

The room is cold, sterile. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones, reminding you that you’re somewhere you don’t belong. A single light hangs overhead, casting harsh shadows on the walls, and the mirror on the far side reflects nothing but my own weary face.

Well, not just my face.

I know he’s there, standing on the other side. Watching me. Listening.

The officer across from me clears his throat, his expression caught somewhere between pity and disgust. “You’ve said enough. We’ve got everything we need.”

But I’m not finished. Not yet.

“You don’t understand,” I say, my voice soft but steady. “It’s not what you think.”

He sighs, flipping through the file in front of him. I catch glimpses of photos—my notes, my gifts, his shattered photo frame. Evidence, they’d called it. Proof of my “obsession.”

“Help me understand, then,” he says, leaning forward, his tone patronizing. “Because right now, it looks like you broke into Katsuki Bakugou’s apartment and—”

“I didn’t break in,” I interrupt, my voice rising just enough to startle him. “I let myself in. He left the door open for me. He knew I was coming.”

The officer’s brows knit together in disbelief. “And why would he do that?”

I smile, leaning back in my chair, feeling the faintest flicker of triumph. “Because he needed to see me. To finally realize who I am.”

The officer shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before standing. “You’re delusional.”

The voices outside the interrogation room are muffled, but I can still hear fragments of their conversation.

“She’s nuts. Every detail she remembers—it’s like she’s been living his life alongside him.”

“Obsessed, more like. Did you see the journal we confiscated? She knows what time he brushes his teeth, for crying out loud.”

Someone else laughs nervously. “Poor guy. No wonder he’s freaked out. She’s on a whole other level.”

But then I hear his voice—low, gravelly, and unmistakable.

“She’s different.”

The laughter stops.

“What do you mean?” another officer asks cautiously.

There’s a pause, and I imagine him standing there, arms crossed, that signature scowl on his face.

“I’ve had fans follow me before,” he says, his tone unreadable. “They scream, they cry, they cross boundaries. But this one… she’s worse.”

His voice drops lower, and I lean forward, straining to hear.

“She’s worse because she actually got under my skin.”

The officer returns to the room, his expression stony. “This is over. You’re being transferred soon.”

But I barely hear him. My eyes are on the mirror, on the faint outline of movement behind it. I know he’s still there. Watching. Listening.

“I’m not sorry,” I say, directing my words to him, not the officer. “I’d do it all again. For you.”

The officer exhales sharply, shaking his head as he gathers his papers. “You’re a real piece of work.”

He leaves, and for a moment, it’s just me and the silence.

And then the door opens again.

I feel him before I see him. The weight of his presence, the intensity of his gaze—it’s unmistakable. He doesn’t sit, doesn’t speak. He just stands there, arms crossed, his crimson eyes burning into me like fire.

“You really are different,” he says finally, his voice low and sharp.

I smile, the kind of smile that comes from knowing you’ve won something no one else ever could.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” I whisper.

He doesn’t reply. His jaw tightens, and for the first time, I see something in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Not anger. Not fear.

Something darker.

Something that looks an awful lot like acknowledgment.

End.

a/n: another reminder to never stalk people. i didn't write this to romanticize stalking, however, this idea's been weighing in my head and i knew i needed to write it down somewhere. here is somewhere. k bye.

[mysoftboybensolo]

Things I Don't Understand of Audiences Reaction of Nosferatu 2024

Complaints of how this is a ripoff of Dracula, and I am like, of course it is! The original 1922 film is the most famous ripoff in the history of cinema, but it is also one of the best ripoffs ever. Maybe know your history just a bit.

Why are people saying that Ellen dying was stupid or unnecessary? Firstly, that has been the ending in the 1922 and the 1979 film, this wasn't just anything Eggers pulled from nowhere. Secondly, people don't seem to understand that the Gothic genre never not one that allows it's characters to walk away unscathed, whether it is physical damage or mental damage. Blood is demanded, and hardly a truly happy ending is found, at best a bittersweet ending or at worst an ending where everyone is unhappy. I think not only is it true to the films this one is based on, but also the only satisfying ending. Ellen wouldn't have been truly happy if she had survived, because she still will be a seer, she will still have darkness looming inside, and Thomas is either incapable or unwilling to accept it. He's belief that killing Orlok will bring a reset to everything, even bringing Ellen back to how she was before, but the Ellen she was before was still suffered. He brushes aside her nightmares without comfort, he doesn't take into account how she views their marriage (when she insists that she doesn't need material things but he acts as if he knows better), and when she tries to express her suffering, he would prefer her to suppress it. She would never be truly free, but to die doing a good thing, to have control over her death the way she didn't in life, it's an empowering end, if bittersweet.

People complaining about the pace of the film, saying it starts off fine but then drags in the middle? I think the film flowed wonderfully, there was never a moment when I was thinking how much longer to the end or felt it rushed in the story. I personally cannot wait until we get the extended version, but I am happy with how it came out.

Where are people getting "Orlok groomed Ellen" from? Grooming is when someone goes after a minor and gets them to be emotionally attached to them for a long period of time in order to achieve some sort of goal (often times sex). People have been saying Ellen was a "literal child", but we don't know that for certain. Yes, Ellen described herself as a child, but it seems that the term child is used more as a synonym of "inexperienced" or "young". Also, we are not sure how old any of these characters are. If we were to go by actors ages as guidelines, Lily-Rose Depp was 24 when filming this, and all we get in between the first scene to the present day is merely "years later". That can mean two years or ten, we cannot be sure. And while Lil-Rose Depp can look younger than her age, no one better try and say she was playing a 12 year old or whatever in that first scene, because there is no way you can convince me she is as young as that. Also, Ellen hadn't been emotionally attached to Orlok between the years to make it grooming. I can make a better argument of grooming in another famous Gothic movie the 2004 "Phantom of the Opera" then I could with "Nosferatu".

Listen, this movie won't be for everyone, that is fine, but what I have an issue with is saying people are dumb or evil for thinking Ellen x Orlok is interesting/has romantic elements to it. One person commented on another's post about saying that the cast are dumb for seeing this as a love triangle, especially Lily-Rose Depp for not seeing Ellen as a victim. The director, who also wrote it, wanted this version to play up the Death and the Maiden themes, that was their vision, and I don't think it's right or fair to say they are dumb because the original movie wasn't a love triangle. If we were to be really anal about it, so many pieces of media we have we wouldn't be able to enjoy because it's origins are not the same. Sorry Disney's Hunchback fans, you can't enjoy the happy ending because the original was a downer. Sorry Wicked fans, it's nothing like "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz", so it shouldn't be enjoyed. See how ridiculous it sounds? You can debate if whether or not they managed to achieve their goal, but you can't deny that was the intention and say people are dumb for picking up what they had intended.

I also feel that it's quite hypocritical of people to say that the relationship between Orlok and Ellen is evil and creepy, but then go off and say that the scenes where Friedrich has sex with Anna's corpse as "romantic" and Thomas' couch scene as "hot", when both deal with dubious/no consent at all. Just admit it, you are fine with dubious stuff so long as it's a hot guy doing it. The couch scene was quite uncomfortable for me, Ellen is clearly not in her right mind, even if not by some kind of possession, but emotionally, and it didn't sit right what Thomas did. I am not saying he raped her, but she wasn't in the right mind space to have this be a passionate moment. And he wasn't doing because of love or passion, he was doing it because he didn't like hearing Ellen say how he couldn't please her like the Count could. We had seen what they are like when they are in a good head space and the feeling mutual, as we saw in the den of the Harding's home. I feel like this scene wasn't meant to be a hot and sexy moment, but a incredibly distressing moment when two individuals are acting at their worst.

I don't understand how people feel that this film isn't a feminist film. I've seen people claim that the movie shames Ellen and that her not finding out how to stop Orlok is robbing her of her agency. Here's the thing, yes, many characters shame her for what she feels, but the narrative doesn't. As the audience, we feel sorry for her, feel bad for everything she is going through, and given the time period, of course there would be many people (mainly men) who will shame her passions or deny her darkness in favor for a more "womanly behavior". We are meant to see how the human world would never understand Ellen the way Orlok would understand her, why she would have called out a force that is inhuman, because humanity has turned her away. What's fascinating is that Ellen has control of Orlok, being able to call him, speak to him as an equal, and get him, a powerful centuries old being, to admit that she is his affliction, his weakness, and in the end, it's proven right. This mortal woman is able to defeat a supernatural being, all the while him loving her, how is that not awesome and feminist?

In regards to her finding the cure; true, in both the '22 and '79 film, Ellen figure out on her own what needs to be done to stop Orlok, but that doesn't mean '24 Ellen isn't smart or in charge of her own actions. We've seen Ellen say what the future holds multiple times, so it isn't crazy to believe that she would have seen what her fate would have been as it drew closer, and her need to talk to Von Franz read to me as her knowing the cure. When Ellen walks Von Franz to his home, she says that she knows what must be done, and they work together to make this happen, with him promising to keep Thomas away. Out of all the men, Von Franz had been the only one to take her feelings and thoughts seriously, and he does so here, including her in the plan (where Thomas had refused her to help), even giving her the chance to be stop Orlok without interruption. He isn't denying her agency, he's keeping others at bay so she can be the hero.

I like the moustache, just like a Romanian nobleman would have had, exactly what the director wanted. After leaving the theatre, my friend and I were discussing the film, and of course the design of Orlok was brought up, and she said "I liked it, especially the moustache, very Vlad the Impaler". She isn't a massive Dracula fan but she understood what was the inspiration behind it. Y'all are just uncultured swine.

In the end, I love this film, and wanted to just share my two cents.

[candykenma]

Hi, can I pls request Haikyuu pretty setter squad when their s/o is struggling from writer's block or artist's block please?? Thank you =D

I LOVE THIS. PLEASE MARRY ME???

Oikawa

• Honest to god oikawa couldn't careless not in a mean way but hes missed his s/o all week now.

•He literally drags his s/o from the desk and just cuddled them despite the complaints and protest

•when he realizes it's actually getting to his s/o he'll buy they're favorite ice cream. Probally door dash it along with dinner bc if he lets his s/o go it'll be right bk to work for them.

• has his s/o shower with him and face care stuff to distract them.

Sugawara

•HE SIMPLY GIVES YOU IDEAS.

• This man will read what u got and be like "hey do you wanna like have sex at a carnival?" Or whatever random thoughts come to mind after reading and his s/o will go "THATS A GREAT IDEA"

• not referring to doing but instead writing a detailed chapter Abt whatever random thoughts came out of his mouth

• if that doesn't he work he'll sit u down on the couch and make u watch movies with him trying to secretly help u get ideas

•hell show u random stuff on Pinterest or tell u stories that his kids at school told him just to try and give u something to right about

•🥰

Akaashi

• this man right there frustrated wit u

•yall both got deadlines , both got writers block , both starving bc y'all forgot to eat.

• Akaashi probally stops for ant 10 minutes to cuddle with u and rub his fingers through your hair then straight BK to work

• they're was this 1 in incident where you were complaining Abt how cringe everything you wrote sound and he looked dead at you and said "why r u making it cuddly and innocent? You aren't either of those things" 😭

Kenma 😋my baby

•once again he doesn't gaf

• if u ask him for help he'll probably tell u the BK story of a character from one of his games he likes, or just tells u to put it down and he can't help u bc he doesn't read books unless he has too😭

• The definition of no fucking help. He tried and it's cute but baby no....

• if he sees it's affecting your health he'll butt in putting u to bed or taking u put to eat reluctantly,

•he'll offer to run you a bath as well but that's Abt as much as u get

Atsumu

• just as unhelpful and ANNOYING Abt it

• it's not that I have writers block it's that u can't write or think with him in you guys room. Your actually spazzing out so much so u send him to the store with a list of things you need and want jus to write

• he doesn't mean to and u never tell him that but he definitely makes your job harder.

• though u realize u can't write when he's not around either, his crazy stories and random thoughts he blurts out are the material and foundation for ur writing

•He comes BK home and you shower him with cuddles

Kageyama

• Also not very helpful

• I imagine most of the books you write would be smut related, you'd probably be letting out all that untapped pent up energy

•he probally read one of your books once and was like "u wrote this....?" And u jus were like yeah not think Abt the fact all your books are porn on paper with some good plot here and there

• He probally started doing things a bit different like playing into the books uve read in order to give you more content. He'd take you on more extravagant but intimate dates to help the creativity 🤷

I TRIED ITS 2:45 AM.....HOPE U LIKE???

[leashybebes]

i think the reason i am so obsessed with tommy is like... okay, prefacing all of this with "much of this is head canon/extrapolation from canon/my standard over identification with fictional characters. i don't expect other folks to see him the same way". also, as i wrote this i was like "huh, pretty sure i've said this before in slightly different words" so feel free to keep scrolling in search of an original thought i guess lol

i love to love. i love to look after people. i love to give them affection. i love to do things that broadcast loud and clear "hey! hey you! i care about you!" i have always struggled with letting people do the same for me. if anything was going to derail my current relationship early on, it would have been that - without intending to, i take away people's agency by not giving them opportunities to do those things for me. it's a fucked up way to be - to give and give and give, and to stop other people from giving back. it creates an imbalance, an inequality, that means a relationship is not going to last, and if it does last, it'll be bad.

i keep gnawing at a line in a wip i have about tommy post-breakup meeting a new guy and thinking that he likes the guy's sharp edges and that he didn't give buck a chance to show any sharp edges because they spent six months having amazing sex and Being Cute. he was Doing Boyfriend Things. and i don't think it was fake, as such. but i think it was surface. he gave affection and he gave care, and you can give all of those things without every really giving anything of yourself.

i think, given the chance, buck would have been a great partner to tommy. but i don't think, based on what we saw, that he was given that chance. he was given the chance for a soft landing into his first (apparently unexamined) queer relationship. he was given the chance to be adored and to be a little demanding and a little bratty. he was given the chance to be looked after. just going on what we've seen on screen, it doesn't look like he was given the chance to be a partner.

so maybe it wasn't just that tommy thought buck needed/would want to explore other options somewhere down the line (and here's where we veer into head canon territory) but maybe it was that that weird ass conversation made him think - oh, he doesn't see me. oh, i've been here before. and maybe he's been there with someone less adorable than buck. someone who was more intentional about taking and taking, someone who didn't or wouldn't have given back, given the chance. and he knows how that ends. it ends with giving more and more of yourself, and getting less and less back. it ends with someone you thought you loved barely seeing you at all, it ends with you being Someone's Boyfriend. it ends with "tommy? who? yeah, that guy's boyfriend, right?" because you've made yourself into a source of someone else's comfort and security and you look down and realise there's nothing underneath your feet. it ends with resentment that you don't feel like you deserve to feel because you can't be mad that they don't take care of you when you've never showed them that you need taking care of.

so i think that's the tragedy of it for me. it really would have worked - if tommy was able to take. if buck was given a chance to give. there's not anyone to blame, unless you want to go through their lives and their histories and find the things and the people who made them the people who they are.

[venusswhite]

A Thousand Years | Arcane Vi x Fem Leitora (Part. 5)

After losing everything, [Name] tries to rebuild her life. But what happens when a ghost with pink hair returns?

notes: English is not my first language, and I initially wrote this fanfic in Portuguese. With the help of online resources, I rewrote it in English.

Part. 4

"they mistook my kindness for weakness" - Lana Del Rey

We stayed there for a while, holding each other, pretending everything was fine. I feel her warmth, the beats of her heart, her scent, the sensation of her clothes against my skin… all of it was comforting. It was like being a child again, as if nothing bad had ever happened.

“I need to go find Jinx,” I whisper against her chest, breaking the silence.

“I’ll go with you,” she says determinedly.

“No, Vi. It’s better if you don’t,” I pull away, looking into her blue eyes.

“Why not?” she asks, cupping my cheeks and tracing every spot and mark on my face with her fingers.

“She’s my sister,” she insists.

“I know, but she’s not the same. Just… let me talk to her first,” I place my hands over hers, leaning in until our foreheads touch.

She sighs and closes her eyes for a few seconds. Then, she opens them and nods.

“Alright. I just want the two of you back,” she steps back and kisses my forehead.

“I promise I’ll do my best to get a little bit of what we had.”

She smiles.

“I know you will. And so will I, I promise.”

I stop in front of Silco’s office, take a deep breath, and open the door, walking in with heavy steps. He’s sitting there, staring at the large round window behind him, drinking—probably something alcoholic.

“Guess what,” I say, pulling him from his thoughts. He turns to face me and huffs, probably already knowing what I’m about to say. “I never believed in ghosts, but today I saw one.”

“[Name]…” he begins.

“Shut up,” I shout. “You had no right to lie to me and drag Jinx into this mess.”

“I did it to protect you both,” he argues firmly.

“No. You did it because you knew I’d never help you if I knew Violet was alive. You manipulated me and used Jinx to help you.”

“And if you had known? What would you have done? Gone after her?” he stands and sets his glass on the table. “You were a defenseless child. Have you thought about what could’ve happened to you… to both of you if I hadn’t helped?”

“I would’ve figured it out…” I reply, defeated. He was right—what would I have done? I didn’t even know where Vi was, and even if I did, how could I have gotten her out of prison? The more I thought about it, the angrier I became.

“Would you? Are you sure?” he raises his eyebrows.

“That doesn’t give you the right to hide it from me,” I yell, slamming my hands on the desk to get closer to him.

“No. It doesn’t. But it was the best choice. And I didn’t know she was in Stillwater. Marcus didn’t tell me that.”

“That bastard,” I yell again. “This is all his fault,” I slam my hands on the desk again, then grab his glass and smash it on the floor. It shatters, shards flying everywhere. I collapse into the chair and bury my face in my hands.

“So… you went to see her, didn’t you?” he breaks the silence, sitting back down.

“Got your men watching me?” I lift my head, then take a deep breath, trying to calm down. “Yes, I went.”

“And?”

“And what?” I snap.

“How was it?” he asks, folding his hands in his lap.

I fall silent, thinking about everything I felt when I saw her. The way my heart raced, the overwhelming joy that hit me, but also the doubt and uncertainty. Seeing her grown face after all these years, hearing her voice again, smelling her scent, feeling her touch—it all awakened something in me. It brought back long-dormant emotions.

“It was… intense. Like I was dreaming.”

“That’s why I hid it all from you,” I frown at him. “Love makes you weak.”

“You’re wrong,” I stand again, anger surging back through me. “Her return only made me stronger, more determined to get what I’ve always wanted.”

“Oh, really?” he says mockingly. “And what have you always wanted?”

“A better Zaun. An independent Zaun. The Zaun Vander wanted and fought for,” I stare into his eyes. “And I’ll fight for it.”

I leave the room, slamming the door behind me, not waiting to hear his response.

“Jinx?” I step into her ‘room.’ She’s working on her weapon with loud music playing, humming, and dancing.

“That’s me,” she says cheerfully, turning to look at me. She leans over to turn down the music coming from somewhere under the table, then focuses back on her weapon.

“Can we talk?”

“About what?” she asks, still humming her tune.

“Silco.”

She stops and looks at me again.

“How did your talk with Vi go?” her expression shifts from cheerful to disdainful.

“She’s back for us, Jinx. The Enforcer,” she flinches, “got Vi out of prison, as you already know. Vi trusts her.”

“Why would she help someone from the Lanes?”

“I don’t know yet, but it doesn’t matter. Now we can fight, we can continue what Vander wanted.”

“You want to betray Silco?” she concludes angrily.

“I know he’s done a lot for us, but at what cost? Look at what Zaun has become.”

She pauses to think and then goes back to working on her weapon.

“What do you plan to do?”

“Make a deal between Zaun and Piltover.”

“Just like that?” she mocks.

“No. That’s just the end goal. We still have a long way to go. We could use the Enforcer for the deal.”

“Use her as a hostage?” she laughs.

“No! I think she has some influence topside.”

“A Piltie helping Lanesfolk—you used to be smarter,” she picks up a piece from the floor.

“Vi says we can trust her, so I trust her.”

“I still don’t trust her, but I’ll give you a chance,” she walks over to me. “But I won’t betray Silco.”

“Jinx…”

“We owe him, [Name]. Vi needs to prove she won’t disappear again, and you need to prove you won’t abandon me to be with her. But don’t worry, I won’t tell Silco about your plan.”

“Thank you. I’ll fix everything, I promise,” I hug her. “Oh, I almost forgot.”

I open a small pouch on my belt and pull out the blue orb I picked up during the fight, handing it to her.

“Thanks,” she smiles and goes back to her weapon.

After the conversation with Jinx, I went to my room. My mind was racing. Uncertainty, fear, and doubts surrounded me, but I wanted my family back more than anything. I wanted at least a piece of what we had.

“You got Silco worried,” I jump and sit up, seeing Sevika standing in the corner.

“How long have you been there?”

“Not long… So, what’s your plan?” she asks, walking toward me.

“Plan?” I pretend not to understand.

“Silco said you talked about fighting for what Vander wanted,” she says and sits at the foot of my bed.

“Is he afraid I’ll betray him?”

“You could say that.”

“I only agreed to work with him because of Jinx. I never agreed with anything he did.”

“I know that, but don’t be stupid. He’s stronger than you.”

“I know. I won’t act without a plan.”

“You’re lucky I’ve grown fond of you, kid. I’ll talk to him, try to convince him you’re not going to betray him, but know this—if he finds out, things will get ugly.”

“He won’t find out.”

“You’d better hope he doesn’t.”

“Did you know Vi was alive?”

“No, but I suspected. She came after me, wanting to know where her sister was. The girl’s grown up…” she shows her damaged robotic arm.

“She’s tough, huh?” I smile.

“She is,” she sighs. “Take it slow with everything, alright? I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Thanks, Sevi,” I hug her. “I like it when you act like a mom.”

“Go to sleep,” she stands up and pushes me back onto the bed. She leaves, closing the door. I smile, seeing a small smile on her lips.

With Jinx and Sevika’s help, Silco believed I wouldn’t betray him. I kept doing what I always did: monitoring Silco’s illegal operations, collecting money from the addicts, checking shipments coming in from Piltover…

I was also trying to meet with Vi as little as possible. Silco was on her tail, so she was hiding out with the Firelights.

The few times we did meet were to discuss our plan, which was to take down Silco and all shimmer production, gain the support of the people of Zaun, and then strike a deal with Piltover. We planned to catch Silco alone and unprotected, but killing him would cause problems with Jinx.

We didn’t know what to do.

We couldn’t take control of the Lanes with him around, but we also didn’t want to lose Jinx’s trust.

We were lost, unsure of what decision to make.

[theannoyingurge]

Continued: Raphael, Bhaal, Withers (yes, even Bone Man is deceiving you) and the Strange Ox (he's lying to everyone, but especially You) Raphael - Knows you stole the crown with Gortash (thanks for the source!). Knows you probably did gross sex stuff with his former prisoner/foster son, whom he is now sending you off to kill. He knows all this and it eats at him, because telling you would make it harder to manipulate you into giving it back. That's His Crown that he wrote 100 chapters of fanfiction about obtaining, and His Stupid Bootlicker to get revenge on, and here he is reciting poetry to You and offering you deals that don't even include selling your soul (at first) and probably listening to you make fun of him at every opportunity. You can tease him about failing to steal it himself, and he pointedly leaves out the key detail that you were one of the annoying mortals who stole it. And then you can fuck his personal incubus and roast him again! Gotta love this game. Bhaal - Was dead for over a century before supposedly crafting Durge from his own gore. Or via 'divine parthenogenesis' depending on the dialog. Sometimes you're called his purest spawn. Other times you are 'spillage'. Whatever the fuck is going on with Durge's conception story, Bhaal is a lying bastard about it. (This one has little to do with amnesia, just carrying the theme of gaslighting my favorite murder woobie.)

Withers - Totally knew who you were from the beginning. Was/Is Jergal, the Lord of the End of Everything and OG god of Death. May or may not still be the BBEG, depending on how far you're willing to look into the future (to get to his ultimate goal of resetting time itself to a backup save of the universe that his super intelligent alien race created just before blowing themselves up and producing a baby God of Death named Jergal.) Jergal was responsible for the construction of ancient Netheril, the growth of the art of Necromancy among humans, the subsequent fall of Netheril (having manipulated Karsus from birth), and the ascension of the Dead Three. He can thus be held personally responsible in several ways for the Absolute crisis - not only for promoting the Dead Three in the first place, but via the crown that his divine grandchild eventually stole from Hell itself and did evil shenanigans with. Fun fact, he used to date Shar and may have incited horrors beyond all comprehension that we can't even list here. He canonically enjoys fucking with Shar and the Dead Three for funsies. He also exploits the Cult of the Dragon to blow up dracoliches in the faces of tyrants who get on his nerves. He might be using his twisted sense of humor for the power of the Greater Good nowadays. (Depends on how closely Kelemvor watches his butler, I guess.) TL;DR: When Withers brings Resist!Durge back from the dead, and claims he is now your advocate in both life and the City of Judgement, he may or may not just be covering his own ass. Whatever he showed Arabella is also sketchy. Don't assume granddad (aka 'The Pitiless One') has gone soft just yet. You are a pawn in a whole new scheme now. But at least this one has family reunions! And they don't even feature incest! You'll catch more flies with honey, Bhaal. The Strange Ox - Okay hear me out. It worships Cyric. End. (Just kidding! This one is itching to break free.) The Strange Ox seems to recognize that you're also a monster trying to be a person, and it uses this weird cameraderie to convince you to smuggle it into the city. The city where Bhaal currently reigns as Lord of Murder, after usurping Cyric ~10 years ago (who usurped him first). It was The Dark Urge who revived the the cult of Bhaal, a feat which presumably entails killing or reforming any existing murder cultists who worshipped Cyric. And now you're bringing his worshippers back, after wiping out Bhaal's temple for him. I cannot believe I'm saying this, but I think Cyric may have won this one. Like, I told my dad to get fucked, but I love that stupid ox. I will never stop gnawing on the letter Withers penned to the Dark Sun at the epilogue party. Please let my puny mortal mind understand it. Please.

Playing with the idea that none of the bg3 villains are fully honest with Durge. Everyone is hiding some piece of the puzzle and happy to abuse the amnesia situation to their advantage. 'Cept Kressa. She's psycho, but she's an honest psycho. In another life, we might have been friends.

Ketheric is the first, most obvious example of this. He doesn't even bother to inform the other Chosen you've reappeared. (Myrkul is the god of exhaustion, so this tracks.)

Balthazar also 100% recognizes you and also doesn't even bother. To him, your amnesia means no tedious reunions with annoying Bhaalspawn who are big mad that he stole their brother's name and rib bones.

The Emperor is sometimes overlooked when piecing together Durge's history, but he admits to knowing your past if you reject him in Act 3 (stating "I know everything about you" while threatening to turn you into a puppet like Duke Stelmane). Whether or not he's posturing, he should at least be aware of your past with Gortash, considering you helped kidnap him in the first place. For evidence, see Gortash's interrogation notes, which open with "When we captured you". (Sure, this could refer to Orin, but I simply do not see these two working as a highly functional team. More on this and the timeline below the cut.) Naturally, despite traveling together for months, The Emperor wouldn't want to fill any gaps in your memory that might cast doubt on his trustworthiness or help align you with his enemy.

The Absolute might be lying about respecting you/your plan and preferring you over your replacement. I am of two minds about this. If you were attacked immediately after crowning the brain, there should be no basis for a preferential relationship. In that case, the brain is just stroking your ego and need for approval. However, I have doubts about Durge being taken down during the initial raid.** I think some time must have passed after crowning the Absolute, giving it the chance to develop a working relationship with you that it lacked with the other Chosen, which caused everything to fall apart after you were tadpoled. This also buys us time to kidnap the Emperor and bring it under the Absolute's thrall as described in Gortash's interrogation notes.

**Some of Gortash's other notes claim Durge was lost during the first raid, but his journals are full of contradictions. He leaves the House of Hope out of his memoirs entirely. He seemingly retcons history to present himself in a more favorable light, which probably includes intentionally diminishing the work of his allies (or erasing the painful memory of his nearest and dearest). In any interpretation, the brain definitely hates Gortash the most, and that's good enough for me.

Orin and Gortash paint somewhat conflicting pictures of you pre-tadpole. The difference here might be genuine (the honest perspectives of a little sister vs a business partner or lover) or it could be a manipulative game of tug of war over your budding and impressionable self image.

Now, I like Durgetash - but I like every possible interpretation of these assholes, not just the mutually reciprocated and/or sexy ones. It's conceivable to me that Gortash may have discovered Durge's crush on him via the Prayer for Forgiveness and played up their history in Act 3 as a defensive measure. Maybe Gortash always knew of Durge's feelings and used them to his advantage (Orin outright tells you this, but again, nobody listens to Orin. Sorry sis).

It's also conceivable that he knew Durge was the first to be tadpoled, considering how close their pod was to his workbench. The brain was given orders to transform the party (that were resisted several times), so Gortash's surprise that Durge still lives makes sense, assuming he even knew Durge was with them (he doesn't seem to be checking the scrying eyes at all. What kind of loser tyrant ignores his own surveillance system? I digress). His general relief and preference for them over Orin is also still valid. (I imagine he feels something along the lines of Durge being the one who got away, you don't know what you've got until it's gone, etc etc. Cue hysterical bonding as the long lost love of his life waltzes into his coronation covered in blood to save him from their psychotic sister and the poorly housetrained Netherbrain they left him full custody of. Yes he wanted full custody, but still.)

Puppy eyes aside, Gortash is a blackhearted pragmatist (he will turn on Durge if they give him the stones) and progress is progress. The first True Soul was an incredible breakthrough, and the show must go on. So just imagine the bricks he's shitting in Act 3 if Durge comes back and remembers the Wrong Things from before the nautiloid. What if they want revenge on him? Nope, not good at all. Best to position himself as Durge's only friend and most trustworthy partner. Regardless of how well he treated them before, Durge was willing to piss off Bhaal to spare his life. That's an extremely useful vulnerability right now, because he's about to ask them to do it again!

Lastly, I have no proof, but I strongly suspect that Sceleritas is fibbing about Durge's past as well. Partly because the Slayer form is severely disappointing in-game and canonically excrutiatingly painful, despite Fel claiming you've always wanted it. It honestly sounds like a way to sell an unwanted used car back to it's amnesiac owner who failed to appreciate it before. Bhaal isn't a full deity any longer, so take what you're given (and you'd better damned well like it!) I also call bullshit on tossing a coin to a beggar being the "worst" crime Durge ever committed against Bhaal (*ahem* looking at you, Gortash). Some dialogue with the Oathbreaker Paladin suggests we've tried somewhat consistently to be good in the past, and Sceleritas has a vested interest in making Durge worse, not planting noble ideas in their freshly lobotomized murder-happy brain.

[cwritesforfun]

Emperor Geta x Fem!Reader: Escape

Y/N = Your Name

They will not follow the Roman style of speech - it will be written in modern language.

*I do not own the characters or plot of Gladiator 2*

Masterlist

You had met Emperor Geta twice growing up in Rome.

The first time was when you two were kids, so you just remember playing with a sword in a sand pit.

The second time was when he was freshly made Emperor, and you two did the deed. He was hot, and he thought you were hot. You helped him with plans for ruling as you were ruling your homeland. The proper term for your title was Queen. You noticed how reckless Calla was, and you told Geta of a way to escape Rome to get to you. You even gave him a secret password for him to be granted safe passage there. He did not understand at the time why you told him of an escape.

The next years passed, and you couldn't visit Rome anymore. Your role as Queen was important to you, and you didn't want to just travel for pleasure. You could have lied to your people, but your people were facing threats day by day from Romans. It seemed to you that Emperor Geta and Emperor Calla had no control of their city. It terrified you, and you just hoped Emperor Geta would end up okay in the end. You sent letters once every couple of months to check in with him, and he wrote you poems about how he missed you. He claimed that no woman filled the void you left in his heart.

...

It was a random day in the hottest part of summer, and you found yourself swimming in your private pool to cool down. Your foreign advisor asked your guards to speak to you about an urgent matter, so you threw on an outfit and rushed to the sitting room.

You find your foreign advisor looking antsy. You ask, "Please, tell me, what's the matter?" He bows and answers, "Miss, I have a letter from Titus, who lives on the shore of Rome. He wrote to me 5 days ago that he had a surprise visitor who knew your secret password for safe passage. The messenger arrived today and was 2 days ahead of Titus." You ask, "Well who was it?" He answers, "That's where I have questions as well. The messenger said it was Emperor Geta." You drop the glass you hold, and it breaks, spreading water everywhere. A maid rushes in and begins cleaning.

Once the maid finishes and leaves, you talk to your advisor about the arrival of Emperor Geta. You also inform him of bits of your past with the Emperor. You once considered him a friend and would be a generous host to his visit... but if he were to harm or intend to harm your people, he would be sent packing. You agree to keep this information secret as best as you can until his arrival to guarantee his safety.

You spend the next couple of days in meetings and normal. You spend your nights feeling antsy and nervous. Why would Emperor Geta visit you now? What's wrong? Where is Calla?

The day of his arrival is here. A messenger arrives from the shore to tell you that Titus' ship has docked.

You wait in your sitting room near the entrance of your palace.

The door swings open, and a guard announces, "Now announcing the presence of Titus and Emperor Geta!" They both stroll through the door, and you see the exhaustion in Emperor Geta's eyes. He looks bad, which is saying a lot because you find him very attractive. Titus bows and then Emperor Geta does. Titus says, "Your Majesty, I present Emperor Geta. I shall let the two of you reconnect. I must go and rest for that was a long journey." You shake his hand, thank him, and he leaves.

You take a careful step toward Emperor Geta and exclaim, "Emperor Geta, is that really you?" He answers, "Please call me Geta, love. I am Emperor no more." You pull him into a hug, and he squeezes you against him. You pull him over to the couch, where you two sit and talk.

You find out that Geta faked his own death, and Calla thought he killed the real Geta. Calla took over the sole role of Emperor. Geta snuck out of the castle and found Titus easily. Titus gave him commoner clothing, and they sailed 5 days + nights overseas.

You ask, "Why don't I lead you to a nice guest suite to rest?" Geta answers, "I'm scared to be alone right now. Is it alright if I stay with you?" You answer, "Sure, you may. I'll have food brought to our room before we sleep." He replies, "I like the sound of our room." You smile and reply, "I truly did miss you. I was just scared to go back to Rome. I knew I couldn't possibly leave you again and my advisors were worried for my safety." He cups your face and replies, "I would've started wars if they inflicted pain upon you." You cup his face and reply, "You're safe here. I'll make sure of it." He leans in and kisses you gently.

PART TWO?!?!?! Consider it on the way, please comment to be tagged on it.

[imhere-imqueer-ilikedeer]

I wrote a life series fic!

here it is.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62014378/chapters/158590423

I'd love it if you checked it out!

summary:

This is a fabulous little world in which Tango and Jimmy live together (*gasp* ranchers propaganda in my fic? it's more likely than you think) and Tango works as a blacksmith (Thomas, why would you chose a job that you know nothing about? Well, you see, I'm an idiot. Also 'cause I said so). This fantasy world has a government run organization called The Circle. The Circle is known for abducting people known as The Respawners. Respawners are essentially immortal, and can die as many times as they want with zero repercussions. Unfortunately, both Tango and Jimmy are Respawners, so have to live in constant fear of revealing themselves as such and getting kidnapped for who knows what. After all, everyone wants to be immortal. Or do they? *** Also, I don't know where I read it, but a while ago I saw this idea where the lifers spill glitter when they die (xp) and i took that idea and absolutely yeeted myself across the country with it, so uh... yeah. Enjoy :)

[valkyrieromanoff]

Hii dear. 😊

I had also another request.

Hope you don't mind.

I just love the idea of Hayden, Evan, and reader being like a trio like during the shooting of the prequels, from their meetings, interactions and all.

They become really close and Hayden and Evan grow really protective of the reader. 😍

Please share your thoughts with me.

Love ❤️

🎀 Ewan, Hayden and you as a trio 🎀

Hello there, I absolutely love the idea of them being a close-knit trio. Hayden and Ewan have always come across as genuinely kind, polite, and down-to-earth, so it's easy to imagine them building a strong and supportive friendship with the reader over time. From their first meetings on set to their growing interactions, you can really picture the bond forming naturally.

As their friendship deepens, I think Hayden and Ewan would not only become protective but also incredibly caring and attentive. They seem like the type to notice if you're feeling off and go out of their way to cheer you up or lend a listening ear. I imagine they'd create a safe, warm space where you could just be yourself, which makes the idea of their protectiveness even more touching.

And, of course, their chemistry and playful energy would add so much fun to the dynamic. You'd probably find yourself caught between Ewan's charming wit and Hayden's more subtle but equally endearing sense of humor, making for some unforgettable moments together. It's such a heartwarming ideia!

I wrote a little piece for you about them, hope you like ❤️🥰

Ewan, Hayden, and you were the inseparable trio. Whether on set or off, the three of you gravitated toward each other naturally, forming a bond that felt as though it had always existed. During filming, even if one of you wasn’t in the scene, the others would still linger on set, offering support, cracking jokes, or simply being present. It was a quiet sort of loyalty that came to define your friendship—a comforting constant in the chaos of production.

You and Hayden were in the middle of filming the meadow scene on Naboo. The warm sun beat down on the flower-covered field, your yellow floral dress fanning out across the grass as you followed the choreography of the scene. With a playful laugh, you lightly smacked Hayden’s chest after he rolled over and pinned you beneath him.

He chuckled in response, his boyish grin lighting up his face, and for a moment, it was easy to forget you were filming at all. The chemistry between you felt effortless, and as you sank deeper into your characters, it was almost as if the rest of the world disappeared.

Under one of the large umbrellas set up on the edge of the field, Ewan sat watching. He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed casually as he observed the way you and Hayden moved through the scene. The connection between you two was impossible to miss.

As a friend to both of you, Ewan couldn’t help but feel happy to see how well you worked together. But a flicker of concern crossed his mind, too. If things ever went wrong, it could complicate everything. Still, he trusted you both—and, besides, the way you made each other laugh was something he couldn’t bring himself to worry too much about.

Long hours later, as the final take wrapped, you let out an exhausted sigh, your body sinking into the grass. Hayden offered his hand to help you up, his fingers curling around yours firmly yet gently. He steadied you with one hand on your back as you dusted yourself off, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

“Let’s get out of this heat,” Hayden said, his voice warm and teasing as he gestured toward the row of chairs under the shade.

Ewan, already seated, grabbed a couple of water bottles from the cooler beside him and tossed them your way. “Here,” he said, watching you both settle into the chairs next to him. “You two look like you’ve been baking out there.”

You laughed, unscrewing the cap of the water bottle and taking a long sip. “I feel like I’m melting,” you replied, fanning yourself with your hand.

“And yet somehow, you still look like you just stepped off a runway,” Hayden quipped with an easy grin, earning a playful eye roll from you.

Ewan snorted, shaking his head. “Careful, mate. Keep laying it on that thick, and you’ll scare her off.”

“Oh, please,” you said, nudging Ewan’s shoulder lightly. “I’m pretty sure you two are stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”

“Stuck?” Hayden raised a brow, pretending to be offended. “I think you’ve got it the other way around—we’re the lucky ones.”

The three of you fell into laughter, the kind that came easily and without hesitation. It was moments like this—when the pressures of filming and the weight of expectation fell away—that solidified your bond. Ewan’s wit and big-brother protectiveness, Hayden’s warm humor and sincerity, and your ability to balance them both made you the kind of trio people couldn’t help but notice.

And though none of you ever said it outright, there was something special in the way you supported each other, both in front of the camera and behind it. You had your own rhythm, your own language, and somehow, in this whirlwind of production, you had all become each other’s home away from home.

[john-laurens]

It is true that a bedding ceremony was a historical practice where wedding guests saw the newly married couple off to bed with the expectation they would consummate their marriage (excerpt from Sex and the Church in the Long Eighteenth Century: Religion, Enlightenment and the Sexual Revolution by William Gibson and Joanne Begiato):

That being said, the practice of such a ceremony does not preclude the possibility of a double entendre in Hamilton's letter to Laurens. In the letter, the phrases "transgress," "final consummation," "a l’americaine," and "a la françoise" are all underlined. Hamilton does not just casually mention a bedding ceremony, he explicitly emphasizes the "final consummation," an inherently sexual act. Hamilton may have used the expectations of the time to hide a more suggestive meaning. "Transgress" could even have a double meaning here. Most obviously, Hamilton uses the word in a way that refers to crossing a boundary, as Laurens would have had to leave Pennsylvania (where he was confined as a POW) to attend the wedding in New York. However, "transgress" can also refer to the violation of a law or standard of moral character. Sodomy and sexual intercourse between multiple people/between unmarried people may have been considered types of sexual transgression. Furthermore, Hamilton clarifies that his soon-to-be wife Elizabeth Schuyler loves Laurens in the American way (i.e., as a friend), not in the French way (i.e., as a lover). If the mention of the "final consummation" was truly innocuous, why did Hamilton feel the need to make this point? While this line acknowledges that sex between the three parties would not realistically happen, it does add a sexual emphasis to the reading of this paragraph. There is no literal mention of a threesome, but there is a plausible interpretation that Hamilton was (facetiously) welcoming Laurens to the wedding night sex, if only Elizabeth loved Laurens in that way.

Sexual innuendo and underlined words with double meanings are used in other letters from Hamilton to Laurens, most notably in the April 1779 letter. In one line, Hamilton wrote, "To excite their emulation, it will be necessary for you to give an account of the lover—his size, make, quality of mind and body, achievements, expectations, fortune, &c." Again, the emphasized words (underlined in the original letter) suggest a sexual meaning. Hamilton isn't simply talking about his general stature - he's likely referring to the size of his penis and his experience in bed.

That being said, do I think this was a genuine invitation for Laurens to have sex with Hamilton and Eliza on their wedding night? Do I think a threesome would have occurred if Laurens had attended the wedding? No. Again, sexual teasing is seen in other Hamilton-Laurens letters. Hamilton was likely "lengthening out the only kind of intercourse now in [his] power with [his] friend", as he wrote in the April 1779 letter. And of course, these are all our interpretations. The only one who could tell us the true meaning of the letter is Hamilton himself.

Additionally, your reading of the word "friendship" to invalidate the love between Hamilton and Laurens is frustrating. The use of the word "friendship" does not mean that love is absent or that Hamilton views Laurens less affectionately because of his upcoming marriage. Hamilton often referred to Laurens as his friend, even in letters that predate Hamilton's betrothal to Eliza. In fact, Hamilton's famous April 1779 letter opens with the line, "Cold in my professions, warm in ⟨my⟩ friendships, I wish, my Dear Laurens, it m⟨ight⟩ be in my power, by action rather than words, ⟨to⟩ convince you that I love you" (emphasis mine). Additionally, it would have been unsafe for queer men in the 18th century to be explicit about the nature of their relationships in written letters. Your interpretation suggests that Hamilton would have used some word other than "friendship" in the September 16, 1780 letter if there was a deeply romantic or sexual nature to his relationship with Laurens. What word would he have used? "Adieu, be happy, and let buggery between us be more than a name"? This is also not an argument about whether Hamilton loved Eliza or Laurens more - his love for one does not negate his love for the other.

Also, a minor correction: while it is true that Laurens was a POW when Hamilton wrote the "final consummation" letter on September 16, 1780, Laurens was released in November 1780. He was not a POW when Hamilton and Eliza married on December 14, 1780. This is not to say that Laurens didn't attend the wedding for any reason related to his relationship with Hamilton - he likely did not attend due to his various duties in the ongoing war.

People who say that Hamilton invited Laurens to have a threesome with him and Eliza on their wedding night MAKE ME SO MAD. Like he DID NOT SAY THAT??? WHERE DID PEOPLE GET THAT BULLSHIT FROM IM CRYING

Hamilton writes:

"I would invite you after the fall to Albany to be witness to the final consummation. My Mistress is a good girl, and already loves you because I have told her you are a clever fellow and my friend; but mind, she loves you a l’americaine not a la françoise."

And he ends the paragraph with "Adieu, be happy, and let friendship between us be more than a name"

"...to be witness to the final consummation."

This basically means that Hamilton is inviting Laurens to watch as he and Eliza seal their marriage with sexual intercourse. This was very common, especially amongst Christians. NO WHERE does Hamilton tell Laurens to join.

"...she loves you a l’americaine not a la françoise."

Hamilton is telling Laurens that Eliza loves Laurens in the american way, aka as a FRIEND and not lover.

"Adieu, be happy, and let friendship between us be more than a name"

Note the friendship. FRIENDship.

This letter has no mention of a threesome and by definition and literature means that he wants Laurens to witness the seal of the marriage, a normal thing.

Laurens and Hamilton definitely had something beyond a friendship before, but Hamilton's "romantic love" for Laurens visibly dies down once he marries Eliza.

And btw, to the people who go around saying Laurens did not attend the Hamliza wedding because Lams love blablabla, THAT IS BULLSHIT. Laurens was literally a POW (prisoner of war) and he couldn't attend because of that.

[greenerteacups]

I can't help but giggle how Ron and Harry in LH both doubt Draco's feelings for Hermione when it's, like, the complete OPPOSITE of what they think. Harry's being all big brother-y like about Hermione and how Draco should treat her right and respectfully or ELSE whilst Ron in the latest chapter assumes he's playing around with the poor girl.

And in reality I'm pretty sure Draco is envisioning his and Hermione's wizardesque wedding for the past 2 books.

Can't help but love the boys' obliviousness in regards to feelings here.

Also goes to show how Draco truly opens up only to Hermione in the most profound-est way. I love them.

Oh, yeah. I think I wrote this in a reply to a comment on AO3, but Ron and Harry are very good people afflicted with Teenage BoyBrain, and in Harry's case, Brother Instinct wherever Hermione is concerned. So they assumed that if Draco and Hermione like each other but aren't together, it's because Draco's not being an upstanding young gentleman, not because (as is the case) Hermione's indulging in a bit of age-appropriate emotional terrorism.

There are also broad gaps between (1) what Draco reveals via narration, (2) what he reveals to Hermione, and (3) what he reveals to Harry and Ron. They know each other very well, but Draco plays his cards so close to the chest — especially when it comes to the whole "if you're important to me it means I'd firebomb a hospital for you" thing. He has this unspoken idea that the moment he admits he cares for someone, they're immediately going to get snatched away by the long hand of the universe, which in fairness to him is informed by certain events that make him not totally wrong. (You might also attribute this to his taste in people, however, which trends towards the reckless and the driven; cue moth/flame metaphor, etc., etc., you all know.) So that's why there's about a half-year lag between whatever Draco recognizes in his own emotions and what everyone else in the story seems to believe: that's about how long it takes Draco to get comfortable broadcasting his feelings.

By the middle of fifth year, both Harry and Ron are full aware (as the chapters reveal!) that Draco cares for Hermione, but I think both boys project themselves onto him, to the detriment of their understanding (as most teenagers do). Ron reads a little more into Draco's possessiveness and jealousy, which are the traits they have most in common (cf. Ch.73). Part of that judgment is Ron's emotional straightforwardness: he sincerely can't imagine any reason that Draco wouldn't be dating her properly if the feeling was reciprocated, so he assumes that there must be some obstacle somewhere, and because he's a bit in love with Hermione in his own right, he obviously assumes the obstacle is Draco. What's Draco's number one problem? He's got a bucket of daddy issues and hangups over his family legacy, especially vis-a-vis public displays of affiliation. And Ron doesn't maybe think Draco's being actually prejudiced here (otherwise, he would have been much, much harsher with him in their argument) but he does think there's a degree of shame or uncertainty on Draco's part that's in the way of them getting together.

Harry, meanwhile, reads the whole situation as a communication failure: he thinks Draco doesn't realize what he's doing, because if it were Harry, messing someone around sincerely would be a cognition failure. It's not outside Harry's frame of possibility that Draco could end up in a romantically charged situationship by accident. And he probably rates higher the possibility that Draco would deliberately maintain a relationship like that to avoid losing Hermione's attention. Notably, Harry doesn't assume that Hermione's particularly hard-done-by in this situation; in fact, his default assumption is that she's where she wants to be, and if she didn't like it, she wouldn't be there. His trust in her is helped by the fact that he regards her as a pseudo-sister, and doesn't have any stake in the love triangle except that everyone treats each other well. For that reason, his final comment on the matter is a plea for Draco to consider how Ron might feel: he wants to remind them that they're friends, because he watched the group fall apart last year over an argument similar to this one (jealousy, possessiveness, and a torturous litigation of in-group favoritism). Harry is provoked to intercede because he thinks there's a danger of the situation blowing up due to miscommunication and leaving all of them isolated when they need support the most — which is naturally something that the increasingly isolated and angst-ridden Harry thinks should be top priority.

Anyway, I love them, too.