#you know. something i am beginning to understand about these two

[hivemuthur]

Can I request childhood friends to lovers with Viktor where he takes reader to prom? I guess this is make up for the time I went to prom alone and just sat in the back uncomfortable cause I didn’t have friends and very socially anxious )):

Hi darling Anon! I went a bit overboard, but I hope you like it :x

Teenage Dirtbag

viktorxfemale!reader general audiences, Viktor asks Reader to prom and guess what, they go!

author’s note: I was hell-bent on making Viktor sound like a teenager here, when I finally decided that he was born with old speech curse. It's just my hc :v @rennethen beta read!

word count: 3,5K

—

You can hear around a fifth giggle this afternoon in the library, followed by an excited yes, and you huff under your nose, re-reading the sentence that got interrupted. Viktor throws you a glance.

“Everything alright?” he asks, whispering, and his breath fans your hand clutching the book. You wince at another distraction and mumble an annoyed yes, not looking up, but Viktor’s eyes are burning a hole in your forehead.

“Ugh, it’s noisy in here today, don’t you think?” you finally whisper back, and if your voice had a pitch, it would be high.

“Yes, well, the prom fever has begun, I believe,” Viktor muses, glancing over at yet another couple exchanging prom invitations and trying to suppress giggles and chatter. When you do only as much as grumble some incomprehensible curse, he presses further. “Are you against prom?”

“Are you not?” you whisper, louder, to the point where whispering actually stops making sense because probably everyone can hear you. “It’s a horrible patriarchal tradition meant to celebrate classic standards of beauty and popularity and alienate outsiders even further. And you have to pay for it.”

“So, am I understanding correctly that you do not intend to go?” Viktor asks, lifting his head to look at you. He studies you for a moment, then smiles—one of those smirks that suggests there will be a very clever follow-up question.

“Exactly.” You nod firmly, crossing your arms over your chest as if to physically shield yourself from what you expect to come next.

“Not even if someone has invited you?” His tone remains casual, but the way he tilts his head suggests something more calculated, and for a fleeting moment, it stings that Viktor would even hint at such a thing.

“Not even then, no.” You shake your head, trying to steady the slight waver in your voice, even though it’s still a whisper.

He hums and reaches into his bag. Before you can say anything, he’s waving two pieces of paper in front of your face, a merciless smirk tugging at his lips.

“I guess it’s very unfortunate that I have bought those tickets then?”

You blink, staring at him as your mind tries to process the words. “You what?” Your voice jumps in volume, drawing a couple of scolding glances and an exaggerated shh from a nearby table.

Viktor tilts his head, utterly unbothered. “I have acquired tickets. Two of them. One for me. One for you.”

“You—” Your mouth opens, then shuts, then opens again. “Viktor, why—? What—” you stutter as your brain spirals into synaptic failure.

“Will you go to the prom with me?” he asks smoothly, flashing you an honest, doe-eyed smile. “I know you enjoy complaining about things before inevitably having a good time, so I thought we could give it a try, no? As friends?”

Your jaw drops. “That is not true.” That is so not true. If you say yes, you are absolutely going to complain all the way through and make sure not to have a good time, just to prove your point. But then again, the gesture is so sweet that two conflicting parts of you battle in an unwinnable war. “Viktor, are you sure?”

“What is there to be unsure about? We’ll dress up, make fun of whoever gets illegally drunk, complain about the food, music, and decorations, and then I will walk you home and bid you good night. No casualties,” he says in one breath, as if trying to convince himself now, too. Your resistance has gone on long enough that even he is beginning to doubt the genius of his own plan.

“I… I don’t have a dress,” you say weakly, taking the ticket from his hand. Your fingers brush, and he can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips.

“Well, you had better organise yourself then, yes? Unless you intend to die on that hill and say no?” Viktor teases, but the moment the words leave his mouth, he regrets testing his luck so boldly.

Fortunately, you sigh and shake your head. “No, I don’t intend to die on that hill,” you huff, but your face beams despite yourself. “Fine. Let’s go to prom.”

And while Viktor might have preferred to hear I would love to go with you or one of those choked, excited yes sounds that have been echoing through your entire study session, he will take your fine as a first step toward something bigger. Maybe. He will see.

And you, uh. You are going to the prom. To the conceptually horrible party that celebrates bland, generic stereotypes and leaves no space for individuality or oddity (if that’s how you’d describe yourself). With your best friend. And the lie you told through your fucking teeth about not having a dress makes you blush with shame, but at least that’s out of the way. Now all you have to do is just… go.

When Viktor shows up on your doorstep on the night of the event, you don’t expect anything, even though something inside you gets all giddy when your mom calls you downstairs for the goddamn prom picture. You don’t expect him to react, to do anything out of the ordinary—so when he arrives with a tie that matches your dress perfectly and a complimentary corsage, you’d probably drop whatever you were holding, had your hands been occupied.

And Viktor does almost drop the corsage at the sight of you, his grip wobbling on his cane. His eyes stay locked on you as you rush clumsily down the stairs, still tucking in the last few pins into your hair, the dress flowing around you. And it’s, uh. A really good dress. He almost can’t believe that you’ve managed to find it in such a short time. It hugs you perfectly, and the colour brings out the features Viktor knew were there, but now they look just… perfect. And he notices how your face is actually close to perfect. With little bits of imperfections that make you even more pretty. But he can’t make this too weird, so he swallows down all his awe and greets you with a stupid, “Hi.”

“H-hey,” you stutter, feeling oddly scrutinized. But you do take notice of how neatly Viktor’s hair is combed, how the tie suits his eyes. And then the corsage. And then the strange lump of awkwardness in your throat when your mum urges you both to stand closer for the picture. You try to mask your blush by sticking out your tongue and making a silly face, earning an unimpressed huff from her.

The besotted awkwardness lingers all the way from your doorstep to school. Through the hallway, as you gain a few compliments from people whose names you can’t remember. When Viktor gets an odd “nicely done” from a classmate who’s blatantly eyeing you both. You exchange a glance and chuckle—awkwardly, of course.

By the time you finally sit at the table, the weirdness is too much. Mustering whatever courage is left in your overly pampered self, you lean in and say playfully, “Alright. We are at the prom. Entertain me, please.”

“Entertain you? Are you not entertained enough by the lovely décor and impeccable music?” Viktor smiles incredulously, turning in his chair to face you, grateful for the silence to be broken.

“Thoroughly. But I am hungry for more.” You shoot him a grin and lean in closer.

“Well, turn around then,” he says.

You raise an eyebrow. “Turn around?”

“Go on.” His tone is coaxing, teasing.

So you do. You turn in your chair, facing the room, and almost spit out your drink when Viktor’s arm snakes around your neck, his palm resting on your bare shoulder, his torso pressing lightly against your back. His chin nestles into the crook of your neck as he lifts a hand, finger pointing toward two teachers in the corner of the room.

“Do you think they came drunk or that they got drunk here?” he asks, his voice low with amusement.

You barely register the question at first—too focused on the way his breath fans over your skin, warm and feather-light. Goosebumps prickle across your neck and shoulders, a shiver rolling down your spine before you can stop it.

“I—” You clear your throat, willing yourself to sound normal. “I think—uh, I think they definitely pregamed.” You tilt your head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of Viktor’s expression. He’s smirking. Of course he is.

“Mm. A strategic move,” he murmurs, not moving away. “Perhaps we should have considered it.”

You huff out a laugh, shifting under his arm in an attempt to ignore the way your pulse has suddenly decided to misbehave. “You do realise that if I came here drunk, I would be insufferable?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “But I find you insufferable even sober, so what difference would it make?”

You elbow him lightly in the ribs, earning a breathy chuckle. He still doesn’t move. And you don’t ask him to. His chin rests in the crook of your neck as he scans the room like a scientist observing an experiment in progress. His finger shifts, pointing toward the stage.

“The lead singer,” he murmurs, amusement curling in his voice. “Look closely.”

You squint, following his gaze. It takes a second, but then—oh. The guy isn’t singing. Not really. His mouth moves just a fraction too late, his lips barely forming the right shapes as the speakers blast out an overproduced ballad.

You gasp. “He’s—he’s lip-syncing?”

“Quite badly,” Viktor confirms, his tone as dry as ever.

You slap a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter, but Viktor’s shoulders shake with barely-contained mirth. He leans in a fraction more, his breath warming your ear. “Truly an artist at work,” he muses, eyes alight with mischief.

Your gaze drifts further across the room, taking in the scattered pockets of chaos—the swaying bodies on the dance floor, the clumps of students deep in scandalous conversation, and—

“The punch,” Viktor notes, and you follow his gesture toward a table where two students are very obviously spiking the communal bowl.

You snort. “Bold of them to think no one would notice.”

“Mm.” Viktor hums, tilting his head. “Seems like you can still change your mind about intoxication.”

You scoff, twisting just enough to give him a sceptical look. “Is there a particular reason you would like me to get drunk?” you challenge. “Am I truly this insufferable sober?”

Viktor exhales a sharp laugh, but then—he shifts just slightly closer, his voice dropping low as he leans in, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You asked me to entertain you,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, his accent thick and deliberate. “I am merely presenting you with the options.”

Heat flares in your cheeks so fast you’re convinced the entire room must see it. Your throat goes dry. Viktor is smug, you can feel it in the way his breath lingers, in the amused tilt of his head when he finally pulls back. And oh, you are not going to let him get away with that.

“I’ll do it if you do it,” you declare, lifting your chin in challenge.

Viktor barely hesitates. “Say no more.”

And that’s how you find yourself cradling a giant plastic cup of aggressively spiked punch, the harsh sting of cheap alcohol unmistakable beneath the artificial fruit flavour. Viktor, beside you, takes a sip and immediately winces.

“Whoever did this,” he coughs, shaking his head, “should be arrested.”

You laugh, swallowing past the burn. “And yet, here we are.”

“Deeply regretting our choices?”

You grin. “Oh, absolutely.”

But the regret fades fast as the night unfolds. You both keep up a steady stream of quiet, conspiratorial chatter, pointing out ridiculous dance moves, stolen kisses, and teachers who look like they’d rather be anywhere else. There’s warmth in it, a shared amusement that makes the room blur into the background.

And then—

A familiar melody hums through the speakers, soft and slow, cutting through the pop songs that came before. Without thinking, you blurt, “Dance with me.”

Viktor turns, eyebrows raised. “I don’t really dance,” he says, tapping his cane lightly against the floor.

Realisation sinks in, and your stomach twists. “Oh—I didn’t mean—”

But he’s already shaking his head, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Swaying,” he amends gently. “Swaying is a better word for what I’m capable of.”

You exhale, smiling. “I prefer swaying to dancing, anyway.”

So you stay close to your table, moving just enough to count as dancing but not enough to make a spectacle of yourselves. Your arms loop around Viktor’s shoulders, fingers brushing the hairline at the nape of his neck, while his hands find their place at the small of your back, fingers linking together.

At first, the awkwardness lingers. You make some quip about looking like a terrible prom cliché, and Viktor fires back that, statistically, you are. But then—his expression shifts, something softer taking over, something you’ve seen on his face before but never thought much of it.

And slowly, almost imperceptibly, he leans in, resting his head in the crook of your shoulder.

You freeze for half a second, caught between surprise and outright joy. The scent of him lingers close, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin, and when you absently tangle your fingers into his hair, Viktor trembles. A full-body reaction barely contained, followed by a quiet, unsteady huff against your shoulder.

Your heart thuds.

His grip tightens, one hand shifting higher, fingers pressing firmly into the space between your shoulder blades as he pulls you closer. For a long moment, neither of you speak. You simply sway, pressed together, moving with the rhythm of the song.

And then, as the last few notes echo out and the moment threatens to end, Viktor shifts. His lips brush the shell of your ear, voice low, careful, asking—

“Would you like to go somewhere quieter?”

“I… I thought you’d never ask,” you murmur, voice weaker than you’d like. You swallow hard as Viktor takes your hand without a word, his grip warm and steady. With an effortless sweep, he hooks his cane off the chair, and then you’re moving—out of the too-bright, too-loud gym, into the cool air of the school corridors.

He leads with quiet confidence, and you follow, heartbeat pressing insistently against your ribs. The path is familiar even in the dim light, and it doesn’t take long before you recognise where he’s heading.

“The library?” you whisper as he guides you toward the building. “When you said quieter, I didn’t think you meant completely silent.”

Viktor smirks, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. “Would you prefer the janitor’s closet? It is considerably less spacious.”

You scoff. “Not what I meant. Also—isn’t the library locked?”

His smirk deepens. “I know a door that’s never closed.”

And true enough, he leads you around the side, where an unassuming back door sits in shadow. With a practiced motion, he presses the handle, and it gives way with the softest click.

“You’ve done this before,” you accuse in a whisper.

He tilts his head in faux thoughtfulness. “I could neither confirm nor deny.”

Suppressing a grin, you slip inside after him, the familiar scent of books and dust immediately wrapping around you. The hush of the library feels different at night—more intimate, more secret.

You wander between the shelves, fingers trailing along the spines, exchanging glances through the gaps in the books. The flickering light from the streetlamps outside casts shadows between the rows, stretching and shifting as you move.

“So,” Viktor’s voice breaks the quiet, “how is your prom experience so far?”

You hesitate, considering. Then, with a small smile, you answer honestly, “Unexpected.”

Viktor hums, appearing between the books for just a second before disappearing again into another row. “Is that a good thing?”

You step forward, peering through the shelves, catching the flicker of his gaze as he does the same. “Yeah,” you say softly. “It’s nice.”

You keep this quiet game going, stealing glimpses of each other through gaps in the books, smiles tugging at your lips. The anticipation coils in your chest as you round the final shelf, and—

You meet at the end.

Viktor is already there, standing just a step away, watching you. His head tilts slightly, amusement flickering in his expression as he takes a measured step forward.

“And,” he murmurs, voice lower now, smooth and teasing. “Are you entertained?”

Your lips part, a heartbeat passing before you manage to answer. “Immensely.”

Viktor steps closer, the space between you shrinking with every slow, careful movement. His hand finds your waist, warm and sure, fingers pressing lightly against the fabric of your dress.

“And if I did this,” he murmurs, voice edged with amusement, “would you be more or less entertained?”

Your breath hitches at the closeness, heat blooming in your cheeks. But you refuse to falter, tilting your chin up just slightly. “More is… more likely.”

His lips twitch into something that’s not quite a smirk, not quite a smile. Then, with an unhurried grace, he lifts a hand and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers ghosting over your skin.

Your heart stumbles.

“And if, say, I did something like this?” he whispers, his mouth hovering achingly close to yours.

The warmth of him is dizzying, his breath fanning against your lips. Your mind struggles to keep up, to form words, to hold onto logic, but all you manage is a weak, “I think you have to be a little bit more specif—”

You don’t get to finish.

Because Viktor kisses you.

At first, it’s tentative—a soft press of lips, uncertain but intent, as if testing the waters of something fragile and new. His hand tightens at your waist, pulling you the barest bit closer, and you can’t help the soft, surprised sound that escapes you.

And then the hesitation melts.

The kiss deepens, slow but heady, and before you know it, your fingers are threading into his perfectly combed hair, tugging him closer. You feel him inhale sharply against your mouth, and then—

A low, barely-there noise escapes him as your fingers twist further, utterly ruining the neatness he’d so carefully maintained. His hand slides up your back, pressing against bare skin, and when you curl your fingers at the nape of his neck, Viktor shudders—actually shudders again—and lets out a soft, breathy huff against your lips.

Visibly flustered, Viktor pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, though the space between you remains minuscule. His breath is uneven, his carefully composed exterior slightly shaken, and the way his lips part—like he’s still chasing the remnants of the kiss—does nothing to help your own spiraling thoughts.

His fingers linger at your waist as if reluctant to let go, and then, in a quiet, almost sheepish voice, he asks, “So, um… Do you think I could keep entertaining you in a prom-unrelated environment in the near future?”

You blink, your mind catching up to his words, still dazed from the kiss, and then—

“Are you asking me out?”

The sheer wonder and hope in your voice nearly makes Viktor laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching. He exhales, shaking his head as if he can’t believe you can’t believe it.

“I—” He swallows, gaze flickering over your face, then exhales a soft chuckle. “Yes. Yes, I am asking you out.”

 “Yes, I would love for you to keep entertaining me then,” you say warmly.

A smile breaks across Viktor’s face, slow and triumphant, because in one fell swoop, he’s won both of what he wanted—an enthusiastic yes and a very eager I would love to.

And that’s all the permission he needs.

He doesn’t wait, doesn’t second-guess it. He just leans in and kisses you again, his hands finding your waist, pulling you flush against him. This time, there’s no hesitation, no lingering question marks hanging between you—just warmth, want, and the giddy realisation that this is happening.

Your fingers tangle into his already-mussed hair, and Viktor makes a noise against your mouth that you swear you feel more than hear, something between a sigh and a laugh. His arms tighten around you as he deepens the kiss, as if anchoring himself to this moment, to you.

Somewhere between kisses, between the rustle of clothes and the muffled sound of your shared, breathless laughter, a book teeters off the shelf and lands with a soft thud on the floor beside you. You barely notice. Prom may have been the reason you ended up here, but right now, the only thing that matters is Viktor, his lips on yours, the feeling of his fingers pressing into the small of your back, and the quiet, thrilling promise of whatever comes next.

[aceofwhump]

hope youre doing well!

just wanted to let you know that i started binging ted lasso the other day after going through your blog for recs on something to watch (as i do, often) and i ADORE it, so thank you!!

i just watched the episode where jamie’s dad is abusive to him in front of the entire team and i have to say that it’s some of the best emotional whump ive seen in a WHILE omg. rewatched that scene so many times,,,,

while im here ill ask if you happen to have any fav jamie fic recs? no pressure though if you cant think of any specific ones, ill likely go through the entire tag on ao3 lol

Hi! I am doing all right thanks! Hope you're well too!

Omg yay!! Ted Lasso is so good!!! I'm so glad you're watching it! Ugh that episode is one of my favorites! The emotions just kill me. I love Jamie Tartt so much. I too watched that scene on a loop. So good.

Oooooh yes I have recs for you my friend! Many! Go forth and enjoy!

the early arrival of a fragile spring by mballyntyne Summary: Coach, I’m me, he had said once, why would I want to be anything else? OR Jamie gets concussed, his dad is a terrible person, there are far too many references to sad disney films, and the sun finally begins to shine.

Emergency Contact by relevanceisoverrated Summary: When Jamie ends up in the hospital after an accident, the hospital has to call his emergency contact, Ted.

The calm before the literal and figurative storm by Multifandom_damnation Summary: They lose to Man City, but they might lose a lot more than a game that day

Barn Raising by altschmerzes  Summary: After the locker room disaster in Manchester, Roy drives Jamie home. The chaos they find when they arrive at the house swiftly proves it is not a safe place to spend the night, forcing a change of plans and a reroute to Roy’s own home. The following day Jamie experiences, in this order: The most bewildering breakfast of his life, a penalty kick clinic with a seven-year-old, and an overwhelming display from his teammates that brings him face to face with the fact that not only has he been accepted back in Richmond it’s also possible he might be, in a way he can’t remotely process or understand, loved here.

Scaffolding by altschmerzes Summary: Jamie collapses at training the day before an away game far from home, running a fever, and somehow this ends up being Roy's problem. And Ted's, when he persuades Roy to take it in shifts. It's both of their problem, though it's a problem for them in different ways. Ted struggles to keep the feeling of being helpless from sending him too deep into his own head to stay where he's needed. His experience as a parent both helps and doesn't. As for Roy, hating Jamie was a lot simpler than caring about him is. Taking care of him? Roy doesn't have a clue where he got the idea he was competent enough to do that. Especially when it feels like all he does is mess it up.

The Same Story by altschmerzes Summary: “So,” Trent starts, keeping his voice mild and professional. “We have all, by now, seen the footage from the unfortunate run-in you had with your father, the night of the twenty-fifth of April in the car park at Coventry City FC’s pitch.” It would've been traumatic enough for Jamie's father to ruin Richmond's most recent victory in front of the whole team, but when the confrontation turns violent in front of a gaggle of reporters, the ensuing social media firestorm is even worse. Over the next two and a half weeks, Jamie will have to navigate the charges against his father, walk a gauntlet of publicity that he never asked for, and prepare to give the interview of a lifetime. Luckily, Richmond has always been there to catch him on the other side.

Better Angels by altschmerzes Summary: The second time that Jamie shows up, smirking and announcing that he can't participate in training because he's hurt is so much worse than the first time. He's changed a lot, grown up a lot, and no one knows why he's acting like this again when he's put so much time and effort into not being that person anymore. It feels like history is repeating itself, except… something isn't adding up. Sam is the one who puts it together, who sees the proof that Jamie very much is hurt, and has led everyone to believe that he isn't by telling them that he is in a way that sounded like an obvious lie. It makes his head spin, and he doesn't know what to do. Thankfully, his team captain and his coaches are there to figure it out. (Hypothetical season 3 timeline. Completely gen. Jamie is hurt in an accident. He doesn't handle it well.)

Something to be said by macaronicism Summary: First day back in training after what happened at Wembley is awkward, but everyone tries their best.

for speaking through walls by LadyCharity  Summary: When an incident in the match against West Ham leads to a threat to Jamie's well-being, Ted comes face-to-face with what he dreads the most. In which Jamie haunts Ted just as much as the dead.

don't let it in with no intention to keep it by jamietxrtt Summary: "Glass shatters to Jamie’s left, missing the front door by centimeters. He ignores it and ducks out into the cloudy London night, the cold night air raising the hairs on his bare arms. No time to hesitate and grab a jacket now, though, not with the suffocating smell of beer smoking him out of his own house."

it's such a long road when you go it alone by themightyduck Summary: Jamie goes down hard during the last match of the season and struggles to determine his worth outside football. Ted would like to stop seeing his boys get hurt on the field. Roy seeks to become emotionally well-adjusted and possibly even Jamie's close friend.

On Pure Instinct by Dandelion_Orange_Pips Summary:

Jamie was standing rigidly and staring at Ted’s hand in abject horror, unblinking. Then rose his gaze to meet Ted’s, tears now uncontrolled. The world seemed to come to a stop and Ted couldn't breathe. One wrong move.

Ted raised his hands, placating.

Then Jamie’s eyes snapped rapidly to his hand and back, becoming even wider. Ted froze.

“Jamie-”

Jamie ran.

Or: Ted tries his best to keep Jamie together after a tough game. He fails, but maybe it's for the best.

The Invalidated Silent Screams Of The Tormented by Cuppa_Char Summary: When a blast from the past unsettles Jamie it leads to a very public meltdown.

Somehow Everything Will Be Okay by Lilac_Lemonade Summary: What happened once the match against Richmond was over and Jamie's dad pulled him aside? Ted walked away after seeing him with his dad in the treatment room and Jamie thought that was it, just one more person on the list of people that had abandoned him. But what if Ted came back? What if Ted was the one to give Jamie the letter after Richmond's match against Man City?

mind games by sweetsorrowss Summary: jamie tartt is tired of being toyed with. he's tired of being manipulated. he's tired of people pretending that they care. when his father pays him a surprise and unwelcome visit, jamie finds solace in the one person he's convinced himself is pretending the most. but ted lasso isn't pretending, and maybe jamie deserves a place to call home after all.

Thick and Thin and Every Line by LivingProof Summary: In the aftermath of the match against Manchester City, Ted, Roy, and Jamie struggle with demons shared and separate. Then Beard’s here, then his dad is gone, just the gunshot crack of the door to herald their departure. He’d wince at the sound, but his muscles have turned to lead. And Jamie’s here, the only person in this room, the spotlight on him casting everyone else in shadow. He knows they’re out there somewhere, audience to a Greek fucking tragedy, and maybe when this is over they’ll realize they should be applauding.

Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation by jumpfall Summary: What Ted remembers later is Beard saying, "Jamie's not putting any weight on it."

To Being Better by vxctorsfvlix Summary: Jamie-centric rewrite of the Ola's Restaurant scene in 3.03, featuring more hurt and also more comfort. Jamie's been struggling with the arrival of Zava, and how it's affecting his relationships with the team. Things come to a head on the opening night of Sam's restaurant.

for what you have tamed by LadyCharity Summary: "Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed." In which Ted and Jamie are tamed by their fathers, their traumas, and each other.

according to the calculations by telm_393 Summary: After everything, Jamie’s not alone.

an excess of warmth or coldness by bartonbones Summary: When Jamie is seriously injured during a match, Roy and Ted are reminded how much they care about him--as a son, or as a younger brother, or as an exposed nerve. Jamie is reminded what it's like to have people care when his face gets knocked in.

Wings Wouldn't Help You Down by ViolentlyRed Summary: He thought the most awkward thing he'd have to endure was a rigid Roy Kent embrace in the Man City locker room months ago. He was wrong. And he’s getting better at admitting when he’s wrong, so. Turning up on Coach's doorstep at two thirty in the morning was infinitely, infinitely more awkward. Or, Jamie's hurt and not about to say much about it, and Ted's a good coach.

Haunted by WinterAndMissHyde Summary: Isaac and Colin lock Jamie in a storage room at Nelson Road as part of a "harmless" joke. This brings Jamie a lot of bad memories back he'd rather forget and leads him to a panic attack. He also dislocates his shoulder trying to get out. Ted, Sam and Dani are there to comfort him in the aftermath. Set after Jamie comes back to Richmond on season 2.

the early arrival of a fragile spring by mballyntyne Summary: Coach, I’m me, he had said once, why would I want to be anything else? OR Jamie gets concussed, his dad is a terrible person, there are far too many references to sad disney films, and the sun finally begins to shine.

[riding-the-sunset-bird]

Hey!

Since I started playing August last year I'd been lurking on the reddit (since I don't have an account) and always found the posts of the person who was writing "what choices determine Cove's X" so insightful and loved reading them

recently, i played the baxter DLC (still am not over it, it's my most favourite thing ever; i just love our pepe le pew) so I spent a lot of time on the reddit just reading up about him and what others thought bcs i LOVE deep analysis on characters that I've liked and I stumbled upon a bunch of your comments (which again, loved reading!) and I put a name to the comment

found the same username on tumblr and simultaneously found out you were the one who goes into the games files and wrote those posts I loved so, AH! Hi!

hahah my 'fangirling' and backstory aside, right after I played Baxter's DLC I felt like I didn't understand the reasons behind his actions? I know everyone talks about how he has self-worth issues and wanted to just be a memory but I don't get how that all correlated to completely detatching and not wanting to be a part of MC's life? Like did he care at all? If he didn't, why keep your number and the gift you gave him in one of the memories (Sightseeing?). But if he did care, how did he so easily at the beginning distance himself professionally? AND THEN REMINISCE ON ALL OUR MEMORIES TOGETHER BUT GO BACK TO PROFESSIONAL; LIKE WHAT WAS THE INTENTION

I feel like it is such a stupid question since it seems like everyone else gets it and the game explains it so many times but I just did not get it 😭

so if you could! could you help me understand it a little better? (and if you have talked about it before, no pressure to rewrite it all here I'd happily read another post of yours about it if you could kindly link it!)

i hope that makes sense haha, hope you have a lovely day and genuienly THANK YOU for what you do with your blog! its so great and even if you don't answer this ask i will LOVE reading everything you still put out!

-jaycee <3

*ahem*

Firstly--AAAAAAA >//////<

Thank you so much!! I do my best to help out so people can understand the code, and at times I just see it as something fun for me. So, when people enjoy them as well, it makes me so happy~

Also, I'd be delighted to answer your questions about Baxter! His DLC is absolutely packed so I get that sometimes it's hard to absorb it all. You asking someone for "help" and wanting to understand (rather than simply giving up or writing the DLC off) is admirable, honestly, not something to feel stupid about!

For me personally, I do believe that there are layers to it, and I'll try to do things in a different enough way/simplify them linearly in case that might help. Included will be quotes from the game to help things flow best.

All that said, let us now go on this journey into Baxter's mind together! ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ

(note that this got so long that I put a TL;DR/summarized version at the end, I just thought it was important to go into as much as possible; I also have a Reddit comment here that has a smaller/quoteless explanation)

Childhood and Early-to-Mid Teens

Let's take this chronologically. Picture a young Baxter Alexander Ward all the way back in Golden Grove. He's a rich boy with rich parents, and by rich, we're talking really rich. What already is so much to an adult is virtually limitless in the mind of a child, and it earns him a certain reputation amongst the population. Everyone knows the name of the Mr. and Mrs. Ward's only child, and it makes him extremely popular.

However, that doesn't mean he has true company, especially as his neighborhood situation is quite the opposite from the MC of either Our Life version, who are given one or two easily-accessible friends depending on the game.

"The land my family home was built on… I suppose you could call it somewhat remote. It's a fair-sized estate, situated a little ways off from the rest of the town. So, until I moved into college dorms, I'd go as far as to say that I'd never had neighbors before."

In other words, there's no one around his age nor does he have a sibling to play with. This isn't a big deal at first, given that he's young, innocent, and raised where anything he wanted was in his parents' budget. He's expected to act a certain way, certainly, but he can't understand the idea of needing anymore than what he has: he's the cute rich boy that has "everything" and that every kid wants to be close to.

So much so that it gives him an ego about it.

"What I do distinctly recall is that as a child I unequivocally thought I was better than other people. That those who met me were lucky, and I could pick anyone I wanted as company. The onus was on everyone else to impress. "If someone was boring or maybe I just didn't like the colors they were wearing that day, I could find a new playmate, easily. After all, I had the most to offer. "Naturally, what I was 'offering' was what my parents had. A big, cool house, exciting outings, the best toys. It wasn't until I was eleven or so when I developed my first stable friends. They might not have been rich like me, but they had their own charms. Those ties couldn't be replaced."

"I loved it when they would come and visit; there was scarcely anything better. They never got over their sense of awe, and I ate it up."

"Becoming attached to other people, especially those people, made me realize what I'd believed wasn't true. And it was so obvious. They were wonderful. I felt things I never had before. "All it took was being who they were. It didn't matter what their parents did. No fancy venue could top genuine comradery with their company. "And for whatever reason, I was in the club, and I was happy. The person who was lucky to be there was me. "I had wanted my friends to feel the same way towards me. To have that kind of incredible effect on another person for no reason other than that I was Baxter."

Thus, the confident boy Baxter sees in the mirror everyday, like a framed painting of the kind of person everyone wants to be, becomes distorted. Kids didn't flock to him because he was "Baxter," but because he was a rich boy who could wow them. He felt that even the friends he did manage to acquire only hung out with him because they were lovely people, because they also were not immune to being awed by his rich boy things, and because he got lucky.

Qiu - who's part of his friend group - being his first crush likely doesn't help matters. It's no longer about his own personal satisfaction, where he shows off and the kids involved do little more than stroke his ego; now there are kids who are the ones offering him something, and it's something he didn't even know he was missing.

This begins the initial spark of self-worth issues for Baxter, and it's a spark that snowballs as time goes on. He doubts himself, he doubts his ability to make his friends happy in the way that they make him happy, and he - when he's fourteen - goes so far as to doubt the impression something as simple as his hair gives off.

"The generous might say I could count it as black, or that it was 'black in the right light' as my parents placatingly put it. "The fact of the matter is that it's a dusty gray."

"Who would notice a color that wasn't exactly black? And why would they care, even if they did? "Me. I noticed. I noticed and it bothered me, so I dyed it. "Was it something I wanted only for my own preference, or was it because I believed if I saw it as an imperfection then that meant everyone else did? "Probably the latter."

(note that this is around the time that an MC might meet him in Soiree and potentially become his second crush)

So now you have a double-edged sword of sorts where Baxter wants to be good enough as he is, yet is actively covering up the parts of himself that he deems as flaws to be corrected.

In trying to craft this "perfect/better" version of himself, he's created a scenario in which he cannot win. Even if said version could make people happy, he is still not the real version of himself and goes on believing that any amount of joy he does create isn't even "him" doing it anyway.

This is already excluding the fact that his parents are *:･ﾟ✧ garbage ✧･ﾟ:* who always wanted him to act a particular way, and he knew they'd take issue with him if they didn't raise him personally.

"They understand care through the lens of control and protection. That's been their way ever since I was young. In that sense, they treat me no different from a child. "But, of course, they are quiet, educated, esteemed, and a tad old. As is their company, most days. That's not the environment to act as a kid. "That meant I've always been expected to behave with the maturity of someone their own age, or perhaps even older, somehow. "A bit of a paradox, isn't it? Do everything as an adult would while getting the respect an infant does."

"They're family and I'm their son. That is what matters at the end of the day, blood related or not. "I'm thankful for that as well. "Now, if I wasn't the boy they raised together in any capacity, then there would be problems."

Even the air of sophistication he has comes from his upbringing (though he's at least made that his own). There's the Baxter he actually is, the Baxter his parents expect him to be, and the Baxter he's trying to build up for himself to be someone he thinks can make those he cares for happy, all things that he tries to deal with himself as if that's at all manageable or healthy for him.

To the surprise of no one, things still aren't perfect. Without a trust that his friends like him simply because they like him, he doesn't realize - or refuses to contend with - the truth of the situation, and the age gap between them starts causing difficulties.

"I was older than all of them. As sheltered as I was, I got along better with kids not quite my own age. Immature as always, hm? "Life changed fast then, and the years between us became more noticeable with every day. I never reached a point where I felt like I knew what I was doing before suddenly, it was as if I didn't belong with them anymore. "That they didn't have time to keep me around with the differences in our schedules and priorities. And I accepted that. So, the friendships ended. We stopped talking as young teens, and I haven't even seen them since I left for college in 2015. "I thought they mattered to me, but when have I done anything for them? Why did I deserve to be liked and included when all I did was want that to happen and abandon them when it didn't?"

Now we're getting closer to the white-and-black-haired Baxter we know as, at the time he leaves Golden Grove, he's just one year away from his visit to Sunset Bird and simultaneously no closer to knowing what he's doing. He's broken off from his old, cherished, and only significant friend group, and now he's all the way on the other side of the country in Virginia by himself.

He's still chaotic, still kindhearted, yet has no clue that he deserves to have the kind of companionship he longs for. In the year of him being at college, he fails to make those kinds of connections, whether intentionally or otherwise.

"Instead, you could say I don't have many friends. I spend the majority of my time on my own, though I do attend parties and other gatherings when I am able. "I do not have anything quite similar waiting for me there. Don't feel bad about that. "It is only to be expected. I did move across the country. It is a fairly common phenomenon for those of us who do. I'm a regular fish out of water, if you will."

"It hasn't been easy to find anyone to reminisce with, not for a while. But then again, I only developed a sentimentality once I'd gone off to college. "I was too young and proud for that sort of matter before then. There wasn't anything in my life to harbor much sentimentality for. I suppose leaving was the catalyst. Isn't it always? "But once that part of my mind had developed, there wasn't anyone around to share the emotions with. My classmates and I… we don't have that kind of relationship."

His parents are also just as controlling as ever, only allowing him to enjoy his semester off from college under their rules and in a place they personally chose and are comfortable with. Baxter, who had no interest in going home to Golden Grove and thus agrees to the terms, can only make himself comfortable by finding his own ways of having fun, such as renting a car despite being underage.

"At a minimum, I can honestly say that I wish that I missed it, if that makes sense. I don't know how you feel about your hometown particularly, but you should at least be able to appreciate that I spent all of my youth there. "I'm not so jaded as to totally discount the place, far from it. But anything I liked about my home wasn't exactly exclusive to that locale. The US is a big country, and there are plenty of beautiful things to see wherever you go. "I've experienced enough to know that much, at least. So no, I don't miss it. And I won't be going back. "If my parents wish to see me, they'll have to be the ones visiting where I am.

"Mother and Father agreed to me vacationing on my own, but under the condition that they would have the choice of where I stayed. "California being fairly close by, and Sunset Bird being so quaint, not to mention our prior excursions to the area, they concluded that this was the easiest way to keep me out of trouble."

Basically, it's all going back to his line about expecting him to behave as an adult whilst treating him like a child. He's permitted to vacation by himself but only in a town as "boring" as Sunset Bird where there would naturally be very few teenagers around his age. His streak for being a bit of a rebel reflects that.

What he doesn't expect is to meet a new group of people and the MC in particular, who unintentionally challenges his negative view on himself.

Step 3

From the very beginning, Baxter takes immediate interest in the MC and Cove, wanting to make one of those "blissful, temporary relationships" that will last the summer. Already, we have something of note, which is the 50/50 success rate he ended up having: MC and Terry were all for the absurdly friendly monochrome man that swooped into town, whereas Cove and Miranda were more hesitant (and thus didn't spend as much time with him) because his directness tended to put them off.

"I care a great deal about what I say and that it makes the correct impression. Yet I am not always successful. My approach is off, really."

"Now, this may be a complete shock to you, but… I've been told that I can come across as a bit too forward. I know. It can be hard to believe. My intent is to be open with people so we can connect. It almost never works out that way, though. I've had to come to terms with the fact that I don't possess a knack for making friends. "It was obnoxiously easy when I was a child. Especially due to that aforementioned big, cool house. But now I keep finding myself at a loss for how to do it. With the hit-or-miss endeavor, the vast majority of the time I come up with a miss."

"And I've never been in a stable, long-term relationship. They've all been brief, and varying levels of disastrous."

Put more simply, Baxter knows what he wants but doesn't understand what people want out of him (believing more that they don't want him at all). On some level, he's flying blind and simply does what he can to put his best foot forward, not wanting to miss opportunities when they present themselves to him. He's someone who likes seeing people thrive and enjoy themselves, and it's even better if he knows that he caused it.

"I live for approval."

Thus, as the "perfect summer tourist" who wants to vacation and have a fun time with those that he can, he seeks to do everything possible to make it memorable. That doesn't mean that he goes out of his way to do things he doesn't want to or portray himself as this person who doesn't even resemble who he actually is, but he puts on an air of not having any flaws that would cause him to be any form of burden to others.

This is even excluding the parallel of a group of four friends that he's involved with yet feels distant from or like he doesn't belong in at the same time; history repeating itself and what not, though in his case it's more like a self-fulfilling prophecy, emphasized by the possibility of him asking the MC out on a summer fling.

"I don't care about what label you'd choose to put to it. I could be your boyfriend, or nothing at all. "And you can also change your mind without consequence, if you find out it's not what you imagined further down the line."

Baxter gives the MC every out he can to make things as convenient as possible for them, not only so that the relationship isn't serious and they don't have to worry about it, but so they can break it off whenever they wish. He knows full well that even the person he's presenting himself as won't please everyone and sets everything up so he can almost anticipate the ending if the MC gets bored with him because he fails to impress.

He's interested in them, attracted to them, and feels that he'll enjoy their company, but he only thinks he can do the same on the short-term; that small amount of time where people are still learning about one another where little else is hoped for beyond good things.

Another way of looking at it is based on Baxter's view of control.

"It might not surprise you to know that I can be a touch… particular. I know the importance of coherence, with individuals acting in a well-coordinated fashion. And I like things to function well-for systems to operate smoothly. "I confess, you could call me controlling, at times. Not with people, but with processes. Especially when it comes to enacting plans. I'd much rather act under my own steam than follow someone else's lead. "I'm only flexible with the personal, not the business, aspects of life."

His relationship with the MC is, on some level, a process. It's something for him to carefully plan out and calculate to make it the best he can for them. Getting more personal would involve him revealing the parts of himself that he finds distasteful and believes the MC will as well.

Of course, he doesn't anticipate growing attached to them, which brings in the "risk versus reward" aspect. This can be seen when Baxter initially agrees to have drinks with the MC in the morning that he hates so much, where the safe option would be to simply postpone until another day, except he wants to spend time with them as soon as possible.

In that respect, it's not unlike him struggling to decide on the type of ice cream he'd like.

"My problem is this: I'm unsure if I should get a dessert that's to my usual taste. If I do, I'd be certain to enjoy what comes from the ice cream truck. That would be nice. "But, on the other hand, this may happen only once. Perhaps it'd be more rewarding to get something new, an option that would be challenging to find in a common store. "Which will add more to the experience? Indulgence or novelty? I want to make the right choice."

However, his risks don't end up panning out well in his mind because he's unable to get past something so minor as forgetting his wallet, when all he and the MC had planned to do was have a nice time at a cafe in Drinks. In his mind, the Baxter he's trying to present had failed, and what else can he do at that point (under his perceived logic) but do what he remembers worked from childhood?

"It's a question of knowing the right people who know the right people. We could have even had full backstage access with the main cast if I'd asked. "I do try not to lean on that kind of thing too much, if you can believe me. I appreciate it might not look like it now. You could say it's a means for me to preserve my sense of independence. It's easy to be popular if you can foot the bill, and I don't want that to be what draws others to me. "But after all that, here I am, leaning on the same old crutch. Nothing has changed since I was six."

"I suppose that was part of the issue. I didn't consider myself appealing enough as a person to be worth the time. So, I wanted the support of an exciting or interesting backdrop for meetups. "But… it shouldn't matter that much where you are if you enjoy who you're with."

Baxter expects perfection out of himself in the same way that his parents expected things out of him, and the limitations follow accordingly. He wants little more than the MC's presence and it is up to him to "repay them" for it. When he was a child, he was the one everyone else had to impress, and now it's the other way around: he has to impress those he wants to be around.

Except he's only human, and aiming to be the perfect person for the MC all summer simply isn't feasible, which he takes with every ounce of criticism one can imagine.

"This whole situation… it's asinine. I haven't known you long enough to be causing this kind of trouble. I'm quite literally a stranger. And I won't even be here long enough for that to change. As welcoming as you all are here, that can't be forgotten. "This was-I was-only ever supposed to be a part of the fun. A worthwhile piece of summer scenery. Someone who added to the experience, not held it back. You shouldn't have to baby me! To sit there and spend your time making me feel better when I don't keep it together. "The mess I am in the mornings, the drama I cause in the evenings: the person I am when the show is over. Those aspects shouldn't be any of your concern. I don't provide that support to you, do I? And how could I when I don't know you? "No. It's not fair to make you worried or, worse, guilty over what happens to me. What matters is that when we're together it's for the pleasant parts of existence. The less ideal shades of life can be managed separately. "That's all I wanted."

Two things to note as well is that he'll say all of the same dialog even if he and the MC have experienced Hang or Planning (where Baxter can comfort them), and there's a dialog path in Sightseeing (i.e: the moment most players will play first) where he'll openly say that he hopes they count for "more than strangers."

(He's additionally rejected the idea that he knows the MC despite relishing every given opportunity to listen to the MC babble about even the most mundane things.)

So not only will he deny to himself that comforting the MC was worth enough to count (or unintentionally block it from his mind), but when it comes to things becoming more personal, suddenly he's "just a stranger/near-stranger." The MC can be comforted when they need it but not him, and he's just some nobody tourist when it comes time to put any value on himself...

whether that be the simple things like driving everyone around, to the stuff that takes effort to notice like him seeing that the MC wanted to ride in the passenger seat, to the more complex like literally saving Miranda's entire birthday party.

"I couldn't have devised a more pleasant way to spend my time here, even if I tried. And to be frank, I have tried. I didn't come to Sunset Bird totally devoid of any plans or ideas. "You and your friends have invited me to participate in an event with great significance to you. It's a profound gesture to show to a relative stranger. "When it's over, and I'm long gone from here, I hope you can all look back on this party for years to come-maybe for the rest of your lives-and treasure the memory. "And if I am a part of that memory, then that is satisfaction enough. Though perhaps I'm in danger of giving my contribution too much credit."

A hypocrite (I say this affectionately, I swear) of the highest order; there are rules for himself and no other rules for everybody else. The things he does are never enough whereas everyone else does plenty by simply existing and giving him the time of day.

Leaving the way he does with no contact and little hope of seeing each other again is the inevitable result of the process he'd put together for his time with the MC and his summer at Sunset Bird. From the beginning, he's had a time frame to keep to, an intent to not get attached, an expectation that no one would get attached to him, and an idea that he would leave as little more than a memory.

"Only lately it's been different. Incredibly different. I almost worry my luck won't last. It will all be over soon. "I wish… I could stay."

Except he does get attached, just as the MC gets attached to him (in what he can admit in Step 4 is the most stable relationship he's ever been in), and now all the control he feels he had goes out the window. That's why he has the potential to get upset if the MC keeps pushing his buttons by questioning him.

"I would've preferred it to have been an enjoyable time having my company while I happened to be here, that was the intention. It seems I've ruined that on the whole. I accept the blame for that. If I had behaved better this wouldn't have come to a close on such an abhorrent note. "However, I am not an irreplaceable part of your life. I was a tourist, a novelty. And now I'm not even that. So don't bother with this."

To him, everything is so obvious: he got "lucky" getting to hang out with his Golden Grove friends, who were simply so nice that they continued bothering with him at all despite his flaws. Considering how that ended, he expected the same where no one would bat an eye if he left.

The MC trying to hang onto what they have isn't a sign that he had done anything right, but that the MC is being their sweet, considerate self in thinking about him. He's had at least five years of criticizing himself, of trying to make people happy yet downplaying it when he does, that everything the MC says goes in one ear and out the other.

"I heard you then and each reasonable suggestion to salvage the situation, but I brushed you off as if you were the one being dramatic. Or that you were lying."

At some point between having his Golden Grove friend group to now, his priorities had changed. He'd given up on having true value to people and instead focuses on creating moments (an appropriate word to use given how the game works) with them. It's a natural progression from not believing he's important to not believing he could ever possibly be.

Even basic traits he does have that one will likely see as something to adore, he won't attribute to himself.

"Now, I do admit, though, that isn't what one might call a grand love story. It's simplicity itself. "I'm not the most romantic or sentimental person in the world. I know that can be at odds with my formality, yet it's the way I am."

He'll say he's not romantic nor sentimental while being one of the most romantic and sentimental people in the game, so either he's unaware of it or refuses to associate positive words like those with himself. On the flip side, he can falsely associate others with credit for things they've done without acknowledging the finer details that might negate his point.

For example, in the Wedding DLC, Baxter gives so much credit to Cove for "staying" and "trying" without understanding that Cove didn't have a choice on whether to stay or leave the MC initially due to still being a child (who absolutely would have left and in fact did try to leave in the Step 1 DLC). He's also one of the few characters who doesn't consider Cove "clingy," probably because he's just as clingy if not more so.

By unknowingly projecting his self-hatred onto the MC's view of him, he's come to the idea that the MC has already gotten as much out of the relationship with him as possible without things completely falling apart, and daring to want anything further is his own self-interest/ego getting to him.

It's even to the point of deciding that everything is his fault if the MC kissed him in Planning when they weren't dating.

"I must apologize for that. I shouldn't have done it. Even at the time I knew I shouldn't have. That was a bad idea. One that only managed to complicate our relationship further. "I shouldn't have involved you in more of my selfishness."

So his conclusion in the Step 3 ending is that he's lost no matter what and genuinely cannot comprehend the idea that he had done anything right for the MC to want to stay in contact with him.

If the MC contently accepts separating from him, then that proves to him that he isn't someone worth sticking around for. If they instead get upset or want to stay in touch, then he has somehow done something wrong in the way he went about things and presented himself. It all goes back to being a scenario he's set himself up not to win.

"In short, what I'm saying is that I'm a fraud in all regards. You can't take any of it seriously, including what color my hair is."

"I don't deserve to have that kind of relationship with another person. That's why. I don't contribute anything. "Maybe I can impress others for a time, but how do you go beyond that? I can't say what it means to be significant as a person, to be irreplaceable. "And since I don't have the answer, I certainly wasn't going to assume I'd do it by accident. What does it take to add value to someone simply just by being there? I tried, but I never knew. "In my eyes there's a world of humans living freely among one another, while every connection I create is so fragile. If I make the wrong step I might hurt them, or be hurt myself, and if it's strained at all it will break entirely."

The sad part of it is that it makes sense, in a way. The things he did for the MC - baring perhaps that damned chocolate fountain - were almost effortless to him. He wanted to do them, so why would he think he did anything special?

One of the very few times he's willing to talk in any way bad about another is only if the MC uses Jude and Scott's relationship as a reason for why they could keep in touch. That's when his cynical side comes out.

"Of course, my rather reasonable prediction is that it will not last. Most relationships don't."

As things were that summer, Baxter viewed the MC as someone he would love to know, but not someone who wanted to know him because he doesn't think he's likable; that the slightest inconvenience to them - to anyone - would make him not worth keeping in touch with any longer. The MC also has friends who have been around longer than him, and he's never considered that he could have any role amongst them.

Tempting fate was never his intention, yet that's exactly what he does in believing they'll never meet again, drawn together as if the longing makes them magnetic to each other.

Step 4

As is standard with the inevitable passage of time and growing older, Baxter is slowly finding himself and improving as a person over the five years that he and the MC are apart. Some things change and others stay the same, whether for better or worse.

Though, any positives aren't particularly noteworthy to Baxter himself.

"I can say that I've improved some talents over the years and found a less eye-catching sense of style, but for anything meaningful there's been no growth."

Due to his self-worth issues, he never thinks what he does is good enough and is wholly focused on where he's yet to improve upon, even though he is fully aware about the parts of himself he has worked on.

"You don't need to worry. I'm not quite as sensitive as I used to be about mistakes. I will survive this, pride as wounded as it may be from these trials and tribulations."

"Part of the tragedy of adult life is learning to roll with the punches, so to speak. I suppose I should be proud of the fact that I can at least handle it much better than when I was younger. "Thinking about what kind of panic a younger Baxter would have been thrown into at the prospect of a missing shirt on an important day-"

Under that lens, it doesn't matter what he does or how he deals with the issues he feels are a burden to himself and/or others; there's always an asterisk - that he's attached to them - to act as a "yes, but..."

"I'm fortunate that thanks to my upbringing I happen to be well acquainted with formality and what it takes to authentically achieve it for an event. It's a unique kind of direct experience to wield. "Additionally, I deal well with the high level of control and detail-work one must take in a stressful event. "When it comes to work, I absolutely can make decisions. It's only in my personal life where I lack conviction. "And that's most suited in bursts with different people rather than a long-term position in a consistent group. You can easily get sick of someone who needs everything to be 'just so'."

Similar to the weddings he involves himself with as he graduates and gets a career as a wedding planner, there is an ideal final product to work towards, but one he could never conceivably be happy with because he's already starting from a place of seeing himself as someone worthless as an individual. It shapes said final product into something entirely unrealistic, never mind completely unachievable.

As for figuring out a life for himself, that goes hand-in-hand with where he ultimately chooses as his first place to live: Prism Vista City, which Mr. "Definitely Not Sentimental" ends up getting attached to.

"This, ahem, particular location was intended to be only a starting point. I was coming from the complete other side of the country, and I at least knew I enjoyed the area. "I expected to relocate once I had my bearings. It wasn't my intention to linger where I might not be welcomed. "But who could've guessed it was harder to pack up and leave everything behind once you had silly things such as an 'actual apartment in your own name' and a 'real career' tying you down? "Weeks passed, then months, and then, perhaps inevitably, I came face to face with one of the reasons I developed such a positive outlook on this state to begin with. "You know, it never ceases to amaze me. California is directly beside Oregon. I could practically walk there if I was industrious, and stupid, enough. "Despite that, being here is a wholly different experience than what I had being raised in the neighboring state. "Sometimes it seems as if I'm still a tourist. That I don't belong here, and everyone who passes by can smell the otherness on me. "Other days, I have the confidence to think I've found my own place in the world…"

That's one thing that never changes about Baxter in virtually all of his life: the desire to simply belong somewhere. What does change is how he approaches that want.

He wanted to belong with his Golden Grove friends, but fell out with them due to the circumstances and chalked it up to a failure on his part. When he wanted to belong with his Sunset Bird ones, he'd already decided himself that it would never happen to save him from any potential disappointment, and that simply being there for a summer would be enough.

In adulthood, he's given up on such things entirely. No more friends, no more flings, and even his most consistent contact - his parents - have been cut out of his life (though in the latter case, it's for the better).

"What happened, I do exactly… that to everyone who unfortunately crosses my path. "The acquaintances I made at college, dancing partners, the friends I had since childhood; my parents, though, that is an entirely different story. "The point of the matter is, excluding those I interact with regularly due to work, I have no relations whatsoever. That's simply the way it goes."

"To start, I haven't spoken to my parents in, mm, a few years now. That's what I meant when I included them in the list of relationships I haven't maintained. "Don't worry. It isn't a painful topic for me, exactly. Mostly I find it… disappointing. Frustrating? Certainly awkward. "Before I cause too much concern, they've never done anything to intentionally hurt me; my parents have always cared for my well-being. "And I can't deny how much they have done for me - all the opportunities and advantages I had because they provided them. They gave me the best they knew how and- "This is not as nuanced as I might be making it sound. "What a novelty it would be if I could speak favorably of my own family. Can you imagine? "That's not the case, however. "What I am trying to say is that my parents are, on the whole, good to me. And they do love me as their child whom they raised for nearly two decades. "Just as I still feel compelled to give them credit for the minimum, I'm certain they're telling their acquaintances endless excuses for why I'm so distant and unagreeable with them. "They haven't given up on me, in their own way. "But all that does not make them good people. "I can assure you that because they are not good people. I'm merely a rare exception to the unpleasantness. "My parents are selfish- they're sheltered. Even as adults."

"Imagining myself as not their son and not someone they loved seemed meaningless at the time. They did love me and that's what mattered. "Of course, it's not always enough, is it? "If I wasn't theirs, either through birth or adoption, if I was someone else's son, they… would hate me. "I know I'm foolish, on many counts. It took me a long time to realize that them being hypocritical shouldn't reassure me the way it did. "Baxter Ward could have as many 'shortcomings' or 'problems' as he did and it'd be fine because it was 'different' in that case. There were reasons, can't you see? "But they couldn't see that other people deserved the same kind of understanding. "And that some things weren't 'problems' in the first place…"

The true tragedy of it being that it's heavily implied that Baxter's parents did attempt to teach him or at least act in a way that would lead him towards a life without any meaningful relationships, which is what he got when he became an adult but not ever what he truly wanted.

"And their nonsense priorities and concerns are what my parents expected from me! "How ironic that I can finally see the silver lining of my lifelong struggles thanks to them. "If I never realized how poor my connections were, or if I never cared that my relationships were nothing more than associations based on conveniences, maybe I'd have been who they wanted."

Arguably, Baxter is at the most "successful" place in his life: he might not be rich anymore, but he's making his own money with a job that suits him, he has a nice apartment, and he's living comfortably.

Except he's not happy, and convinces himself that it's as good as he's ever going to get. It's both the highest and lowest point of his life.

"Of course, I wouldn't be able to understand the viewpoint of someone willing to commit themselves to another person for the rest of their life. "It's what makes for a good planner. I can get invested just enough in the premise to truly create something special, but I'm not attached to the real relationship. "And I'm not disappointed when it's over. "It's been years since I was careless enough to be hurt by anything. "I'd given up on trying for more than what I already had. Then I told others, and myself, that meant I was always content. But honestly, it made me bitter. "I didn't become the person I wanted to be. I didn't achieve the kind of life I'd hoped for."

He couldn't even maintain his relationship with dance, something he'd adored since he was young and now limits to lessons given to wedding couples.

"In a way, I fell out of love with that passion. "It became tedious and unsatisfying to do it with complete strangers, and I didn't have enough hours in a day to dedicate to a long-term competitive partner any longer. "But perhaps I should've tried harder not to give it up entirely. "How embarrassing… even my choice of hobby revolved around having a serious and understanding relationship with someone else. "The precise matter I've had a lifelong struggle to obtain."

As for the MC, Baxter misses them desperately, but goes about his life as though he doesn't. He's committed to viewing himself as someone who doesn't deserve them and that what he did was the right thing to do.

It would seemingly be "easy" then to let go of anything that reminds him of them, in hopes of either limiting the times that he finds himself thinking back to those moments or steering himself towards moving on, but he can't.

The MC's souvenir (if they gave him one)...

"I am fond of it even now. I've never been able to part with it. But isn't that what souvenirs are for? Keeping for the long term? "I'm being entirely reasonable for holding onto that after thoroughly leaving everything in Sunset Bird behind."

Their number...

"I had your number all along. "Of course, I never looked at it over the years we were apart, but didn't have it in me to delete it either."

Even the khaki shirt he wore during Mountain (if he and the MC were dating at the time and they invited him up to their room)...

"It remains my stolen property to this day."

He keeps all of them, unable to let go of the feelings the MC caused within himself but locking them deep inside rather than addressing them. He has the very method for contacting the MC at any time to reconnect, to explain himself, to apologize, to confirm or reject his own doubts over what happened, but he doesn't out of fear.

"I said it before- my concern was protecting my own feelings. Anything I did to that end felt justified. "The more time and experience let me reflect on my actions, I only became more convinced I should stick to my word and not trouble you further."

"I've also missed you over those five years. "And Terry and Miranda and Cove and that summer in Sunset Bird, but mostly, it was you who I thought of. "During that trip, I did feel wanted. "You made me feel wanted. And… important. "It was exciting and amazing, and felt impossible it could last. The shine would wear off eventually, as always. I didn't want to see it happen. "What if I seemed pathetic for being attached to people I met on a short vacation? You had your real group of friends who lived with you there already. "Or what if you stopped responding to me after realizing I wasn't that interesting? Or why would I have even assumed there'd be a reason to talk to me at all once it was no longer convenient? "I'm aware that's not a kind way to view you, but it wasn't that you'd done something to make me believe it would happen. It's my viewpoint for every situation."

Baxter never once thinks that the MC is a bad person, simply that he is the problem and even the best of people will "understandably" lose interest in him if there's any interest to begin with. As someone who likes control and has been conditioned to stray away from more personal relationships, it's advantageous to him to remain in his self-sabotaging mindset.

It's what he's used to.

"I can't afford to flitter off on vacations whenever the mood strikes the way my parents can, but I have a very comfortable existence. "It's nice, if lonely. "Of course, let's not pretend I have anyone to blame for that other than myself. I ended every relationship I had with my own actions. "It's the story of my life. I want to be liked, but I don't want to be important. "A suitor for a season, the planner at a wedding- it's that kind of role I'm comfortable in. "Perhaps that's why I'm drawn to people who are wanted by everyone else. They don't need me. I can be someone, I can't be 'the one'."

So when his Step 4 begins and the MC unexpectedly shows up back in his life, five years after Baxter expressed confidence that they would never meet again, he can barely handle it. Without his say so, he's being confronted with feelings that haven't faded, and ones he already thinks are ridiculous of him to have considering how short of a time he'd known the MC.

The best he can think to do is to put on an air of professionalism and brush the rest off. He'd already left, not contacted the MC for so long, and had remained determined to never see them again, so he doubles down on it.

"I'm merely an employee of your friends. Please feel free to ignore me entirely."

However, it's not tenable, because Baxter has never been someone with the impulse control to keep him in check. Even in the few days he knows that the MC will be around and then leave afterwards, holding himself back from doing what he wants isn't something he can keep up for that long.

In front of people like Jude and Scott who he doesn't know, it's at least easier, but around someone like Xavier who he has some form of friendlier relationship with (only a day after he'd conveyed to himself and the others that he's nothing more than the wedding planner), he's already dropping stories about the past.

"As soon as it comes to you it appears my reason goes out the window. Along with much of my dignity. "But that is how it is."

"Enjoying myself in your presence is the most natural thing in the world. Frustratingly so, at times. I find myself letting go of more than I intended to."

It's also not that Baxter doesn't want to talk to the MC because, if the MC tries to get him to talk during the ride back from the bakery, he deliberately makes it a game of rock-paper-scissors that they'd be guaranteed to win if they wanted to. He could've shut them down entirely if he didn't care, but he finds a middle ground of technically not agreeing outright while still letting the MC talk to him.

"The petty types of decisions that were best suited to be decided with randomness mattered little to me. "It was far more amusing to see who would use the advantage they had to win and who would be willing to take the loss, and why they seemed to do so. "At the bare minimum I'm not that much of a brat any longer. "As an adult, I use it mainly to get away with not making decisions of my own. Whoever is playing with me has the responsibility to win or lose because what they're up against is preordained. "I don't even need to choose which symbol my hand takes. It's easier that way."

Not that it means he's alright with it either. Baxter is already under the stress of planning a wedding in a matter of days and now has to deal with seeing the MC again, sometimes one-on-one. He doesn't want to be cruel to them, doesn't want things to be so difficult, nor did he want the MC to be "forced" to go with him to the bakery (on a suggestion he couldn't have known would lead to it), but that's what ends up happening.

"I'm not any less immature than I was five years ago, it seems. I've been incredibly rude to you, and that is inexcusable. "You're not unwelcome near me. Of course not. "However, I'm here to plan Jude and Scott's wedding. My priority is that only, and I don't want to get caught up in anything else. "There's no need to reminisce. I hope that's not insulting, it's honestly not meant to be a strike against your character. "You are a lovely person and have many wonderful friends. You don't need me to be an active part of your life."

"I apologize for what happened between us, I honestly do regret it. "I am sorry I hurt you. I am sorry I was unable to keep my word and have bothered you yet again. "I'm thoroughly humiliated and have attempted to get in your way as little as possible. Though I'm unable to quit outright; I couldn't do that to Jude and Scott. "We are both aware that I am fully incapable of making you happy. But in four days you'll return to your life blissfully free of my presence in it. "Please tell me, what can I do for you? I simply don't know…"

It feels terrible for him, but this is the cycle he's gotten himself into: wanting to stick to what he'd done in Step 3 under the belief that the MC would be better off without him, feeling nostalgic for the past to the point where it ends up coming out, behaving distantly as a result and hating himself for it, then apologizing just to do it all over again because he's constantly going against what he actually wants.

"Every time I'm arrogant enough to believe I know what I'm doing and that I'm in control- I don't and I'm not."

"From the moment you walked into that restaurant, my actions were nothing but self-preservation and damage control and, occasionally, reminiscing to an extent I was pleased with. "Yes, I had a 'professional commitment' not to let personal matters impede the work that needed to be done, but my distancing went far beyond that. "In the end, I was using their marriage as an excuse. "If not for that, then there would have been something else. Some trivial reason for keeping you at arm's length. That likely doesn't shock you."

Baxter is essentially shielding his heart from the very thing that would protect him from his own attacks on it. He goes so far that he considers texting the MC directly to be overstepping boundaries (even if it's for work), all after continuing to let go the most whenever he's reminded of times with the MC.

He's aware that he's attached and readily admits as much when it comes time to.

"Even I can admit I wouldn't do this for every client. "And somehow, that makes this worse. It's painfully obvious I have some personal investment, enough to merit this. "More than I intended to be. More than I ought to have. "I wouldn't have done this if you weren't here… "Even though Miranda was the client's sister- "I wouldn't have offered. It'd be overreaching, to do as much as I have. "I've gone beyond the line of pure professionalism more than once already. The cake is the icing on top."

"Well, naturally, it's against my better judgment to make anyone uncomfortable. "Of course, in such a tight spot Jude wouldn't have questioned any help he was offered. "But what would Miranda have thought? And Terry as well? If some strange man they knew long ago was getting that personally involved in their situation? "I wouldn't have crossed that line, no matter how much sympathy I had for Jude's position. "So, where did my confidence come from? Very simply- I thought you would understand. "That I had good intentions, that the odd lengths I went to was merely how I am, that it was okay to let me be involved. And if you did understand, everyone else would as well."

Deep down, he knows that he is not a stranger; that he knows the MC and trusts them on a level deeper than he thought possible before meeting them. The MC brings out the best in him while simultaneously revealing the most vulnerable parts of himself to himself, which gives him all forms of conflicting emotions.

"I… "It's odd, really. I'm the one who left. "And yet I haven't stopped seeing you as someone important to me. Important in my life. "It truly does seem as though everything I did was for no reason at all."

"It's been hard not to feel nostalgic, this past week. We've had quite a stroll down memory lane. Sometimes by happenstance, sometimes because I went out of my way to do so. "I have… fond memories of those days in Sunset Bird. Treasured memories. "Like most treasures, they're things to be taken out and admired from time to time, and then put away again. "Though, some are too delicate for even that. They should never be touched. "This evening is a reprise of something I never wished to relive."

To put it in another way, though Baxter cherishes the time he spent with the MC, anything that brings him back to such times confront him with everything he's tried to avoid.

Yearning for the things he'd tried to put behind him, the what ifs of things going differently, and the doubts of all he's done thus far based on his own conclusions...

"Back then, during my tourist phase, we took that brief trip to the mountains. On a hike, we passed a tree that had fallen across a stream. "If you can picture that, it was as if we were on opposite sides, and I couldn't take the path to you because it looked risky."

Not unlike his fear of the ocean, Baxter's biggest hurdle is that final step past the point of no return: taking the plunge and trusting in his ability to survive.

"It seems endlessly deep and unpredictable, with powerful waves and rapid currents. "And there are creatures lurking in there. Some of them are larger than me. It's unfathomable. You don't play with something like that. "If I enter that water, I'll never return from it. The ocean will swallow me whole. That's what I think."

It's only by the end of the wedding reception that he finally crosses that line and has the epiphany necessary to deal with everything that had happened: the opening of the oven to check the result of a baked cake rather than leaving it a mystery, the flick of the switch to look at a room he'd always kept in darkness prior, and the throwing of himself into deep water and realizing he can still breathe.

"In the past, I spent every moment around other people thinking of the limited span of our acquaintance. As if I wasn't seeing them at all, only the imminent departure. "Our arrangements fell in line with that. A clear timeframe, limited from the outset; predetermined rules set in stone. "It was that way five years ago. It was that way now. "We'd cooperate for a short period in service of Scott and Jude's wedding, and that would be that. I've said as much myself. More than once. "The problem is, as I only recently realized… "I forgot about that. "You see, I thought, completely and earnestly, that I didn't need to speak with you now, here, when I was feeling so… sensitive. "We could simply pick up where we left off later tonight or tomorrow. The fact that we no longer had a 'reason' to interact didn't come up as part of the consideration."

When he wasn't the one setting the rules, when he was the one caught off guard by someone he cared so much about reappearing into his life, when he was forced back into reliving past regrets and under the pressure of facing them all over again when their second/third time together was over, that ended up being when he found what he needed to talk to the MC. That was when he finally had to listen to what his heart was saying rather than constantly denying himself.

Perhaps even most importantly, that was when he had to face the fact that what he did - the suffering he put himself through for five years - had achieved nothing of value, and it's only through acknowledging it that he can keep it from happening again.

"When I left five years ago, that didn't make me happy. When I kept you at arm's length after meeting again, I was unhappy still. "If it doesn't need to be that way, if I was wrong, then… I don't know, honestly. I've never considered it a viable option until moments ago."

"It had been so long since I'd known what it was like to be included, to be around people who'll refuse to let you be left out, no matter how hard you try to weasel out of it. "Terry, Miranda, and Cove were too kind, but it was your gestures specifically that are at the heart of this matter. "Here's the truth: if you didn't ask me to dance again, in the afterhours of another event we helped create like you did then, it would have broken my heart. "That would mean definitively that I lost what we had. "But… if you did ask it would be more painful. Because that would mean- "It would mean even after everything, you hadn't let me go. That you accepted me still. "That you always would have, that I should've believed that all along, that the only thing I've done was hurt you and myself of my own accord. "It's horrible. I didn't want to know one way or the other."

The uncomfortable truth, a placating lie, or the blissful void of not knowing anything at all: those were the choices he had and he finally chose the uncomfortable truth, all for the closure the MC deserves and the potential prospect of a better future if he can only make it past the obstacles he'd set up for himself.

"But I can see now that I'm also wrong for making another decision for you. Even if the conversation went disastrously, you were owed a better explanation and an apology. "You had never asked me to leave you alone, I created that fiction. "I hope you can accept that I did care for you then- I care now. Of course, as ever, none of it counts for much if it's kept entirely to oneself."

"It's… a little hard to approach what I've sowed over the years. So many mistakes. "And even now, when I hope to make things right, to make things last, I'm forced to admit that I'm ignoring the reality of the situation. "This doesn't come down to what I want at all. I don't have the right to put myself before you. I never did."

"I suppose that is the true story of my life: me not understanding a thing and getting it all wrong at every turn. "But rather than dancing around this, I'll say it directly: not trying to stay in touch with you is something I've regretted for a long time. "I will always regret the days I lost, even now that we've reconnected."

That doesn't mean everything is magically fixed, nor that he won't fall into some old habits. He has to catch himself when he automatically excludes himself from the MC's meeting with their moms, and he'll still be apologizing and criticizing himself long after the MC has forgiven him.

"You've never allowed me to wallow in my misery, except for when you had to. When I made you have to because you couldn't get a hold of me. "But when I see you, I'm reminded of what it is like to be seen. "How it feels to have someone who knows you, cares about you, has memories with you, who wants to make more memories together. "And I tried to undo that- "Twice. By keeping you as far away from me as I could."

"Unfortunately, I've yet to think of a good reason why this admission isn't another of my patently bad ideas. It isn't as though I've been thoughtful in return. "I can't stand doing anything in the morning, even if I can pretend to, for my clients. As you know, I can't afford elaborate trips these days. "My only remaining social contacts are limited to the wedding industry, not performative theatre or owners of fancy cars or the like. "I've never been a good partner, even a good friend, to anyone who has crossed my path."

"My few victories were hollow and I'm still sorry I took that out on you at the start of this."

Nevertheless, he has no desire to run away from the MC now, because he never had a desire to run in the first place. He just needed to understand that it was okay to want, and that he wasn't the worthless person he thought he was so he could stop projecting how he felt about himself onto how people feel about him.

This makes way for Baxter to experience a lot of things that most people would have long since had at that point in their lives: he gets excited simply by having a person hanging out at his house, is incredibly pleased to have someone he can be (dance) with, and he's so amazed that he can have these things in his life that he's actively eager to prove to the MC how much he'll be sticking around, to the point of being ready to visit them at the soonest time possible.

"Hallelujah. Admittedly, a part of me was convinced I wouldn't go through with it. What if you thought I had lost my mind to follow you right after we barely reestablished a connection? "But having this last day together, knowing it was the last, was the final push to pursue what I actually wanted."

His story, essentially, is about a fall from issues of self-centeredness just to pendulum swing into ones of self-worth instead. It's about balancing on a tightrope of bringing short bursts of happiness to others while trying not to let his ego take hold of him again. It's about denying himself what he wants and refusing to hear otherwise before finally recognizing that he deserves to be happy.

That's Baxter Ward.

TL;DR:

Baxter starts as an egotistical child - encouraged by his rich parents and the kids constantly impressed by his showing off - but that changes when he obtains genuine friends and learns the value of real relationships.

Realizing that he'd relied only on what his parents had to make connections with people, Baxter doubts his own worth as a person and is unable to imagine that people would feel differently about him than he feels about himself.

Baxter falls out with his friends due to the age gap and not having time for each other, coming to the conclusion that he'd not done anything for them.

Under the belief that he has no inherent long-term value, Baxter goes on flings and seeks to create fun moments with people rather than anything that would require revealing more of himself than he feels is attractive to others; this has the side effect of making him highly critical of himself over even minor mistakes.

Baxter goes to Sunset Bird meets the MC, who (along with the MC's friends) makes him feel a sense that he might actually be someone important to others, which he then actively tries to convince himself out of due to fear of risks/the unknown.

After leaving the MC on no contact, Baxter continues to miss them, but feels like he would only bother them further if he saw them again even if it were just to apologize.

Baxter ends up seeing the MC again in his Step 4 and is confronted thusly by his unfading feelings. This leads him to try and maintain the distance he'd created in an attempt to protect himself, yet he's unable to keep himself from letting loose every now and then because it goes against what his heart wants to push the MC away.

Though horrified by the idea that what he'd done in the past might have been a mistake and preferring (at the start) to go on without knowing, Baxter ultimately reflects on his actions and acknowledges to himself why he's been doing what he's been doing, and that he doesn't want to let the MC go again without laying everything on the table.

[redcamellia13]

What the. What the actual hell. I- could somebody explain to me how the heck a throw-away blog made just over two months ago has somehow amassed 1,000 likes?

Just like last gratitude post, I’m so sorry if I seem like I’m dissatisfied or disappointed with this milestone, it’s simply because I’ve run out of ways to express how thankful I am.

😅😅😅😅😅

I’m really not sure how to express my gratitude anymore, so I’m going to begin listing all of my strongest supporters.

Yes, that’s you, @theducklord5, @aheartfullofquestions, @musicalmoritz, @frogwithaflowercrown, @blondesillyboylover, @itzyukoo, @lavender-peach-tea, @neversam, @nam-the-nacho and probably several others I am neglecting to mention (sorry! Please bear with me, my sanity’s hanging on my a thread- I’m basically running on caffeine and sugar)

I am so, so grateful to all of you for your help and patience with my spotty upload schedule, and generally low quality posts. Seriously, how do you people still support me despite my never ending struggle with constant reblogs, unoriginal ideas…

Nevertheless, I am still just in awe of this huge number. I think I’m going insane!

Now, onto the blogs that are the standard I hope to live up to, the people that are so kind, passionate, respectful, intelligent, and charismatic you sort of have to question if they’re real. (I mean that in a good way.)

I hope to have reflected some of your wonderful qualities in my own posts, and I sincerely hope you understand my pure admiration for you all.

To @god-damnit-vinne, how could I start this dedication with anybody else? The amount of charm and enthusiasm that pours out of your posts is astounding, and you are actually my first Tumblr… friend(?) Mutual? I still remember when you replied to my post, the first I had ever received- it made me so happy I spent the rest of the day smiling until my face hurt. Honestly, you are the one of the nicest guys I’ve met, period.

To @pollen-blogs, we probably aren’t exactly friends, but I do hope you remember my username. Your writing style is so clear and crisp, it makes your posts and fanfics simply fun to read! Also, your art is impeccable- truly, the whole package.

To @sakuraswifee, I am simply in awe of the amount of passion in your posts. I’m not sure if passion is the right word, but reading your posts always brings a smile to my face since you always seem to love what you’re talking about :).

To @thelunarfairy, I realize that you definitely don’t know me, but I certainly know you. Your posts and analyses are the gold standard in my mind, something all my other posts should live up to, and the way you state things makes it so easy to understand.

To @itzprismosblog, you were the second interaction I’ve had on Tumblr. You probably don’t remember, but it gave me motivation to keep posting, since at the time I was getting used to an extremely demanding new routine. Your art is stunning, and your blog never fails to make me laugh :)

To @cupidsappllie, even if your blog wasn’t one of the most entertaining I’ve seen here on Tumblr, you would probably make it here on kindness alone. If I had to shoot a guy every time you single handedly pulled me out of a posting slump, I would be arrested for murder.

To @saturnssky, my second Mutual on Tumblr. Everything on your blog feels so genuine, like I’m sitting across from you at a cafe having coffee together, and it’s this wonderful feeling of closeness that I feel really makes your blog special, and it’s something I can only hope to replicate. Additionally, you’re one of my greatest supporters, so I’m so thankful for your unending patience.

To @ocelotlesbian, merely interacting with you online has sometimes made me happier than I have been during the entire week. The way you write feels like I can hear your voice flowing through your posts, and you just seem like a nice person I’d be lucky to befriend in person.

And to all the people that didn’t get specific mentions but have still supported my blog in any way, please know I am still so thankful for everything you’ve done.

My head is still spinning from the realization that I’m not just screaming into the void anymore, people are actually seeing what I’m writing.

As always, here’s to more poor writing, badly constructed theories, and character analyses that make no sense.

[koukaaa-descent]

perhaps if purpose was abandoned for the sake of love, the wish would have taken another form

[orb-weaving]

I have not been so physically unwell about a ship as chronohaul in a long, long time.

[valeriehalla]

I am so utterly fascinated by “Saki”, the 18-year-running mahjong manga in which you, the reader, become gradually, frog-boilingly aware (over the course of nearly two decades’ worth of mahjong tournaments) that none of these girls are wearing underwear and most of their boobs are slowly expanding.

I need you to understand that I have, like, an anthropological level fascination with this comic. From the perspective of someone who is also a comic artist and writer, two things delight me about it:

the fact that I understand completely how an artist gets from “the fans can have a little hint of skirted asscheek” to “the pussy is completely out on center page” over the course of 18 years; and

the way in which the pussy being out is treated by the characters and diegesis as being utterly unremarkable.

Okay. Point 1. The frog-boiling.

Let me put this in perspective for you. There was already a meme about how the characters in “Saki” don’t wear underwear when I was in middle school. I am thirty now. Okay? And it’s still going.

In the time since, this has stopped being a joke. It is now indisputable canon. This is not because anyone outright says it at any point. It’s because the underwear ran out of places to hide. I’m obsessed with this thought: somewhere in the over 20 volumes of “Saki”, there is a panel in which underwear was objectively deconfirmed. And it would be so hard to figure out where that panel actually is. Maybe the artist didn’t even realize it when she drew it! The frog? Boiling!!

And of course there is also the breast expansion. I don’t know how to put a spin on this. They are just expanding. Like, this happens a lot with artists: you define a character as being, in your mind, “the one with the big boobs”, and over the years you emphasize that trait further and further so that the signal doesn’t get lost in the noise. It’s just that normally—in like a wildly popular manga series about mahjong published by literally Square Enix, for example—normally there would be a point at which the boobs stopped getting bigger. Like, an editor would step in or something. Or you would get to the point where you cannot draw the character in the same panel as her mahjong tiles without her breasts spilling over the tiles, and you’d go, “Well, this is now untenable.”

That did not happen. There is no ceiling. The frog is soup.

Point 2. The complete and utter mundanity of all of this.

It’s like this, okay: there’s no shortage of trashy ecchi manga out there. There’s a million other comics doing wildly bawdier things with wildly more improbable bishoujos.

The vibe with “Saki” is different.

It’s hard to explain this, but it feels like the world of the comic is fundamentally uninterested in the fanservice happening on the page. I cannot describe it as “leering”, because I cannot conceive of a person in the story from whose point of view one would leer. I think the artist is probably into it—I can’t imagine anyone is making her do this—but “Saki” the comic has no opinion on the matter.

There are essentially no male characters in “Saki”. Like, there was one guy? Kind of? At the very beginning? But he is gone now. They put him back in the toybox. He does not exist. It appears to be some level of canonical that in the world of “Saki”, almost all humans are women. Those women are sometimes romantically into each other. According to comments the artist has made on Twitter (which I cannot source), they have lesbian baby technology, so it’s no problem. It’s so much not a problem that the story is about mahjong, instead of any of that.

So, like, the fiction here appears to be this: this is the, like, meta-narrative of the fanservice of “Saki”, right: it’s just normal that they don’t wear underwear and their boobs are arbitrarily big. It’s been normal. It was normal before the story of the manga began. It’s just how things are. Nobody bats an eye about it, and if they do, it’s in sort of a lesbian kind of way so like what’s the problem, we love lesbians here. This is literally normal for girls.

The fanservice simply diffuses into this all-encompassing aura of disembodied, ambient sluttiness. The framing of the panels demands you acknowledge it, and the story demands you already be over it, because it’s mahjong time now, and we’re playing mahjong.

Do you get??? why I’m so fascinated??? Are you not a little enraptured???

Anyway, I have no idea how to end this weird post. I guess the conclusion is that women stay winning????

[lesbianuhaulindustrialcomplex]

google how do you politely and kindly say "bestie if you just keep refusing to talk to us and work this out we will have no choice but to end this living situation and move on"

[maskedbyghost]

arranged marriage with simon. yes i am talking about this again.

simon doesn’t talk much about the marriage at first, but his actions say it all. he insists on carrying your bags, walking on the outside of the sidewalk, and making sure you eat enough during missions. you don't ask him why, but it's clear he's claiming the role of protector, even if this was supposed to be temporary.

he won’t admit it, but simon begins to get used to the little domestic routines. you cooking dinner, him taking care of repairs around the house. it feels too natural, and although he never says anything, he’s already mentally putting the two of you into that “forever” category.

the first time you mention needing space or wanting to stay in a separate room, simon just gives you a look. "what do you mean, separate? we’re married." he’s not joking either. to him, this isn’t a temporary arrangement anymore. if you try to argue, he’ll just pull you close and mutter in your ear, "ring’s on your finger. means you’re mine." and that’s the end of the conversation.

he starts doing small things for you that a husband would—restocking your favorite snacks, making sure your gun is cleaned before missions, and slipping extra blankets on your side of the bed when it’s cold.

after some time, he’s not shy about touching you anymore—brushing a hand against your arm, holding you a little too close when you’re out in public. the more time passes, the more his touches become possessive, like he’s reminding you who you belong to now.

simon is up early, always. you’ll wake up to the smell of coffee, and he’ll have a cup ready for you without asking. if you take your time getting out of bed, he’ll mutter, "c’mon, mrs. riley. don’t make me drag you out." but there’s always a smile on his face.

when you share a bed, simon always pulls you into him at night. no matter how much space you take up at first, by morning, you’re wrapped up in his arms. if you stir in your sleep or seem restless, he’ll murmur, "got you, lovie," without fully waking up, his grip tightening as if to remind you he’s there, keeping you safe.

simon doesn’t open up easily, but after a particularly intense moment, he’ll lean in close, his forehead resting against yours, and he’ll whisper, "don’t care if it was for a mission or not. you’re the only one for me now." it’s not a grand declaration, but the sincerity in his voice makes your heart race.

simon will leave subtle marks of possession on you—his dog tags hanging around your neck, his scent clinging to your clothes, and his bite marks on your skin after an especially heated night. "need everyone to know who you belong to," he’ll growl against your skin, his lips trailing kisses down your neck.

he also has an odd obsession with your wedding ring. he’ll turn it on your finger, kissing it softly whenever you’re close. if you ever take it off for some reason, his brow furrows, and he’ll slip it back on. "keep it on, yeah?" his voice is low, almost pleading. "means something to me."

after a particularly dangerous mission where you were almost hurt, simon corners you in the hallway, eyes filled with emotion. "you’re not leaving me," he growls, pinning you against the wall. "ever. understand?" it’s a statement, a vow, and in that moment, you know you’re his forever, and he’s yours.

when you’re lying in bed together, his arms wrapped around you, simon will sometimes whisper, "mine," into your hair. it’s soft, almost inaudible, but you feel it in your bones. he needs the reminder just as much as you do—that you’re his, and he’s never letting you go.

[teaandspite]

The Great Goodreads Diss List (Part 1)

Context: For many years now, I have been collecting funny lines from Goodreads reviews to share with my coworkers. (I do collection development, reader's advisory, and weeding at a public library, so I read a LOT of reviews)

Are some of these, perhaps, rather mean? Yes, but they are also very funny, and come from a place of honest frustration. In the tradition of Bargepole threads and lists everywhere, names and titles have been censored.

"First, I want to say that I understand how hard it is to write a book and how amazing it is when it is actually published. Congrats to the author for that accomplishment. That said--"

"Warning: This review will be lengthy due to pure hatred."

"I found myself feeling really, really annoyed with the world that this book is allowed to exist. We live in a universe where the passenger pigeon is extinct but this book goes along merrily being read by unsuspecting lovers of words and ideas and stories? It just seems like too much, you know?"

"Don't do it. Don't spring the cash for the hardcover. Instead, eat an entire bag of Twizzlers, spend some money you don't have at a high-end department store, look up on Facebook the shady college boyfriend that made you cry, research the current value of your home or 401K and then read all about how the big hedge fund managers are faring during the economic crisis. You'll feel about the same stomach pain if you waste your time reading this book."

"This wretched novel begins with the mugging of an old lady and it appears I may be in the process of repeating that loathsome crime as [author] was 78 when she wrote it. It is not nice to put the boot into such a poor defenseless old creature lying there with only a damehood, a Booker Prize and a few million quid. It’s a nasty job but somebody has to do it."

"I think this is the way dead people would write, if they could."

"I am considering setting up SPABB: Society for the Protection of Accurate Book Blurb. This blurb appears to have been written by someone from the publishers who met [the author] the night before, got very drunk, lost his notes and then constructed something in a fug of hangover the next morning."

"I congratulate [the author] on the early half of his book, which was thoroughly fun and made me laugh and think. I congratulate [the author] on the second half of his book, for finishing it. It reads like that was difficult."

"…a woman whose taste in contemporary literature has roughly the same batting average as a pitcher in the National League."

"The author is a pompous windbag."

"Recommends it for: No one. Recommended to me by: A friend who apparently wished to cause me great suffering."

"Makes me wonder: is it possible to obtain similes at a volume discount?"

"The repeated phrases made me want to mail a thesaurus to the author."

"I'm disappointed in myself for finishing this book."

"if the author described [character's] eyes as "obsidian" one more time I was tempted to write her and ask if her thesaurus broke."

"They say that an infinite number of monkeys with an infinite number of typewriters would, if given infinite time, eventually produce the complete works of William Shakespeare. [This book], on the other hand, would probably take the average monkey just under two hours."

"I can't imagine what the author had to do to get this nadir of Western literature printed on innocent trees, but he does seem to know a LOT about being well-connected in New York."

"This book is so bad it is almost worth reading just to make you appreciate the other books you are reading."

"Reads like it was written by a brilliant author, the night before it was due."

"raises interesting questions, like: can a book be so bad as to constitute an act of terrorism"

"has this author ever spoken to a human woman"

"This acorn has fallen so far from the tree that it can’t even see the forest."

"I’m guessing they are touted as ‘beach reads’ because no one will care if they get dropped into the ocean."

"This book begins with all the energy of a hand vacuum near the end of its battery life, and the pace doesn't quicken much from there."

"At least everybody’s eyes stayed the same color this time around.”

Part 2

Part 3

[irisintheafterglow]

itoshi sae has no idea how you do it.

classwork, homework, midterms, exams, two jobs, and a lively group of friends? it all sounds so unnecessary to him, these things that would be distractions from his dream. but for you, it sustains you and encourages you to keep going. how differently our minds work, he thinks to himself when he has a rare day to spend on your couch and you're typing away at some assignment on your laptop.

"why do you do that?" you don't respond the first time he asks and he gently calls your name, even though you're barely three feet away. you turn to him with a tired look and something pangs inside his chest. "why bother doing that?"

"bother doing what?"

"whatever it is you're doing right now." he nods at your glaring laptop screen filled with words he can't even begin to understand, some final before your university goes on winter break.

"because it's part of my degree?" there's no malice in your words, just genuine confusion, just like there's no accusations in his words, just concern. "if i fail this class, i don't graduate."

"why do you need to graduate, or have a degree in the first place?"

"because i need a job, my love," you explain patiently. "we've had this conversation before. going to school means i can get a well-paying job to sustain myself."

"why do you need to sustain yourself when you have me?" you blink at him and his blank face. the only sign of emotion is the slight pinch between his eyebrows; he was truly puzzled why he couldn't just set you up for life. dating itoshi sae is like being an unwilling sugar baby.

"i'm not going to leech off your earnings," you chuckle in disbelief. "i'm not going to use you to make sure i have a comfortable life. i love you, and my kind of love stays whether we have money or not." he shifts awkwardly in his seat and his mouth pouts the tiniest amount. he obviously didn't like your reply.

"whatever i'm doing, it isn't enough for you," he states quietly.

without another word, you exhale through your nose and shut your laptop. you place it on the coffee table before crawling over and maneuvering your way into his arms. he gladly accepts you, sliding down the couch's armrest so that you're nearly lying on top of him. it's quiet for a few moments, not in an uncertain way but in a way that said both of you were figuring out how to articulate your thoughts.

"i just think that--"

"you don't need to--" you both begin your explanations at the same time and the huff of his laugh vibrates against your cheek. "you go first," you tell him.

"i was saying that, if you wanted me to," he inhales and tries to tiptoe around what he wants to say before deciding to just crush it with his foot, "i can take care of you without you needing a degree." a certain selfish part of him wanted you there for every single victory and ladder rung he ascended, not because he thought you owed him, but because he owed you. you, who weathered his darkest of moods and harshest of snaps. he owed you for dealing with his bullshit, so he figured, why should you need to lift a finger when you've already done so much for him? "i owe you that much for everything that you've seen me through."

"you don't owe me anything, itoshi sae. loving you is not transactional, nor have i ever wanted it to be."

"everything is transactional, mi amor," he argues and the pet name makes your heartrate increase. "give and take, it's how the world flows. shouldn't your university classes be teaching you that?" your eyes have fluttered shut on his chest, but you still hear the smirk in his joke.

"believe it or not, mister 'fame is the only thing that matters to me,' there are transactions beyond material goods."

"i know that," he says indignantly. "i also know that you're wrong."

"am i?"

"yes," he affirms. "i don't only care about fame. i care about you too, obviously."

"see, sae? give and take. i give you all i am--"

"and you take all i am."

"body and soul?"

"and everything in between," he finishes, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before settling into the pillows. "rest, mi amor. you've paid more attention to school than to me lately, and that's an unequal transaction."

[fairy-writes]

Hi!! I saw that you write for Arcane and had a really cute idea for Vander. I don’t really see a lot of fics where you get to see Vander’s reactions to the reader either playing with the kids or comforting them, so I thought a fic centered around that might be cute? (I think also having a bit of slow burn would be sweet, like both Vander and the reader like each other but don’t do anything about it until getting a little push from the kids because they ship).

ONE LITTLE PUSH

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing(s): Vander x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Bit of a Slowburn, Fluff, Getting Together, Reader is Smaller than Vander (but who isn’t?), Sibling Bickering

Notes: VANDER MY FAVORITE

(No, but seriously, contrary to popular belief, he’s my 1st favorite over Viktor)

JUST IN TIME (kind of) FOR SEASON TWO, LETS GOOOOO

__________________________________________________________________________

Vander wasn’t quite sure why you stuck around for so long. 

In fact, he wasn’t sure why you stuck around in the first place. 

But… As Vander watches you with the kids. His kids. He begins to understand why. 

You were kind, unyieldingly so. Even as Mylo grew to start picking on Powder, even as they fought, you were kind and patient and offered them the unending gentle love they all so craved. 

The love he couldn’t afford to give them because who could be gentle in the Undercity? Especially in the depths of the Lanes?

You could. 

Vander was in the middle of pouring a drink when Powder tumbled into The Last Drop. She was covered in bruises and dust from something. Or someone. She barely met his gaze as she clambered to her feet and all but sprinted into the back where they all slept. Vander looked through the multitude of customers and spotted you. 

You had obviously seen Powder go bolting, worry twisting your face as you glanced toward the bar and met his stare. You arched an eyebrow, and he shrugged. You rolled your eyes and sighed before smiling in jest and getting up from where you had been tinkering with the jukebox. 

Vander finally manages to get away from his chatty clients and makes his way back into the back room nearly fifteen minutes later. 

Only to pause by the door. 

“—ylo hates me! He does, I swear!” Powder cries, and you hush her gently, dabbing what looks to be some of the antiseptic you have lying around on her cuts and bruises. Disinfectant was hard to come by, especially in the Lanes, but you were seemingly magic in the sense that you always knew who to talk to to get some. It seems you had worked your magic yet again. 

“Did Mylo say that he hates you?” You ask gently, whispering a quiet “sorry” under your breath as she flinched with the sting of the antiseptic. 

Powder pauses, thinking what had to be her earlier conversation over, 

“Well… No…” She mumbles, and you hum, 

“Can I give you my honest opinion?” You ask, and she stills, looking up at you with wide eyes before nodding. 

“Aren’t you always honest with us?” She asks. You chuckle at that. 

“I suppose I am. But I don’t think Mylo hates you. Does he find you a bit annoying? Maybe. But every big brother thinks that about their younger siblings. I know mine did.” You say, and Powder mulls your words over and over and over in her mind. 

She always did overthink things. 

“I didn't know you had a big brother.” She says eventually, and you let out a loud laugh at that. 

“You are a silly girl for focusing on that. But yes, I came from a big family. And guess what? I was the baby of the family. Just. Like. You.” You say, emphasizing your words with a pinch to her side. Powder squeals with laughter and wriggles away to escape your dastardly tickling. 

Vander hangs his head with a huff and a smile before turning to head back to the bar counter. He can hear your conversation continue as Powder escapes your grasp.

“Now, where did you get all these bruises from?”

“Um… Vi taught me parkour from Topside down…”

“Powder! You’re like seven!”

“Seven and a half! And she said I was ready!”

Ever since you began to stick around, you had become something of a parent figure to the four little children Vander had come into care for. 

To Vi and Powder especially. 

So when Mylo burst into The Last Drop with the words of a fistfight on his tongue, you were the first one out the door. 

Vander was close behind. 

Mylo led you and Vander deep into the Undercity. In fact, it was so far into the Undercity that Vander was worried they were getting into some dark territory. 

Like… Really dark territory. 

But soon enough, the sounds of a fight were heard, and soon after, you were deep in the throng of a multi-person fistfight. Everyone paused for a second when they saw you and then stopped altogether when they spotted Vander not far behind. 

You began to pull people off and shoved them out of the way. You did this again and again, ducking under a few stray punches until you managed to unearth Vi. 

She wasn’t looking too hot. 

Her face was bruised and swollen, and the fifteen-year-old spat out a wad of blood as she bared her bloody teeth and prepared to fight again. 

At least until she saw you. 

It was as if the tension had been released from her shoulders. 

She all but slumped into your grasp, and you stumbled back a step with the sudden weight. Vander yanked the last person away from you both and scooped up his adoptive daughter. She leaned her head into the crook of his neck and was obviously fighting back tears. 

Mylo was hunched over, hands on his knees, and wheezed from all the sprinting. 

“Vi? Violet, can you hear me?” You said as soon as you all returned to The Last Drop, and Vander set her down on the couch. Powder and Claggor had been found a block away, fighting off more thugs from whoever sent them after the literal children. 

He would've pummeled them to a pulp if Vander hadn’t hung up his gauntlets years before. 

Vi’s head lolled from side to side, and you shone a pocket flashlight into her eyes, watching as her pupils dilated and contracted. You were experienced at this, taking care of people, even more so than he thought. 

Were you a doctor deep in your past? 

As Vander thought about it, he realized he didn’t know practically anything about you. Your past, your likes, dislikes, he knew you were good with machines and medicine and that you came from a big family. But that was it. 

And that hurt his heart. 

You ended up ushering everyone out of the room while you worked on caring for Vi. Vander closed the bar early and was in the middle of putting chairs on tables when you emerged. Powder, Mylo, and Claggor dropped what they were doing. They scampered to your side, a chorus of “How’s Vi?” erupting from the kids. You offered them a tired smile and patted their heads. 

“She’ll be okay. She’s resting right now. You can go in and see her if you’re quiet.”

And then it was the two of you. 

Vander set the final chair on top of the table and meandered his way over where you were sitting at the bar, head in your hands. 

You looked tired. 

“Is she really okay?” He asked, and you grunted, rubbing at your temples. 

“She has a broken nose, fractured left arm, some bruised ribs, and a concussion. Which, all things considered, she’s very lucky. It could’ve been a lot worse.” You say, and he sighs, 

“Did she say why she got into the fight?” He replied, and you shrug, 

“She was protecting Powder. Then, more people started showing up until it was an all-out brawl. That’s when we stepped in.” You say, and his shoulders sag. 

Vi was going to be okay. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever said it. But thank you. For everything you’ve done. Taking care of them and all that.” He says, and you just hum. 

“You guys gave me a home after everything. I’m just repaying my debt. Well… that and I love those kids.” You say, and he arches an eyebrow,

“After everything?” He inquires, and you glance up sharply as if not realizing what you had said. 

Eventually, your gaze casts downward, and you run a hand over your head and through your hair. 

“I was a doctor in Piltover before the rebellion. I was caught trying to help the Undercity before they were officially citizens and cast out.” You say, and his arched eyebrow raises even higher. 

“A doctor? Were you any good?” You bark out a dry laugh at that,

“One of the best!” Your voice cracks as you speak, and he feels his heart splinter into pieces. 

Vander should’ve known that Claggor and Mylo were up to something when they came in with sneaky grins on their faces. 

The Last Drop was all but desolate. It was the wee hours of the morning before the people of the Undercity awoke to begin their day. But the door was unlocked, and the kids were allowed to run in and out as they pleased. 

Which they had been doing a lot in the last hour or so. 

“Vander!” Mylor clamored for his adopted father’s attention, waving an excited hand as he scampered up to the counter. Claggor hung behind, ever the stoic young man. But there was mischief in their eyes and curling the corners of their mouths. 

Vander slung the rag he used to wipe the counters down over his shoulder and leaned on the bar counter. 

“What did you do now?” He teased, and Mylo all but squawked. 

“When have I ever done anything?!” Vander just stared, 

“Do you really want me to answer that?” He asked, and Claggor snickered at Mylo’s deflated expression. Mylo quickly spun on a heel and jabbed a finger at his adopted brother, 

“Not a word outta you, Claggor!” He snapped before spinning back as something dawned on him.

“You gotta come with us!” He demanded, and Vander glanced between the two of them. 

“Why?” He asked, and Mylo let out an exaggerated groan.

“No questions! Just come on!” He grabbed Vander’s hand and tried tugging him around the counter and toward the front door. 

Vander relented, locking the door behind him as he followed the two boys. 

Only to realize very quickly what was actually going on. 

His first tip-off was hearing Powder and Vi’s voices, yours mixed in as you asked where you were going, why they were taking you, and what they were doing. 

Vi answered no questions. Powder just chirped excitedly. “You’ll see! You’ll see!”

The six of you met in the middle of the street, Powder dragging you by your hand as you followed behind patiently. You glanced up from listening to Powder, and your gazes met. Vander felt his heart skip a beat as he took in your appearance. There wasn’t anything particularly new, but you looked like you had cleaned up some. Your hair was pinned neatly back, and your clothes looked ironed. 

You looked… Really nice.

“Vander? What’s going on?” You asked, and Vi nudged you with her good arm. Her fractured left one was still healing carefully under your care. 

“We’re setting you two up.” She teased, and you stared dumbly. 

“Setting us up how?” You asked, and now it was Powder’s turn to blurt out an answer, 

“On a date!” 

Before the two of you could react, all four kids all but disappeared around the corner in a cloud of dust. Leaving you facing Vander and utterly alone. 

It was safe to say he was panicking just a little bit. 

“Vander? Do you have any idea what they meant?” You asked gently, and he scrubbed a hand down his face. 

“My guess is they want us to go on a date.” He said, fully prepared to hear rejection. Because who would want to go on a date with him? A middle-aged man with a stained past. His lungs twisted as he heard you take a step closer. 

A smaller hand slipped into his, and he looked down from where he had been staring at Topside. 

Your eyes were lit up, not with disgust at the proposition he was proposing. 

But they were filled with hope for the future this relationship would bring. 

[judyvan]

No Hands - Chris Sturniolo Fanfic

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Summary: After picking on Chris for being an extremely touchy person, the two of you make a bet. Will Chris be able to control himself long enough to win?

Warnings: MDNI/ smut/ chrisxfem!reader/ bf!chris/ unprotected p n v (use a fucking rubber)/ oral (fem receiving)/ touchy! chris x needy! reader/ competitive! chris/ use of "you"/couldn't tell ya how many words

A/N: Time for a Chris fanfic! I am still new to writing, so bear with me. The song loosely relates to the fic. Interactions are appreciated! Pls don't steal my shit. Thx!💋

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"Keep your filthy fucking paws off of me," Nick says pushing his brother, Chris, away from him. Chris had wrapped his arm around Nick's shoulders as the two of them spoke.

Your boyfriend Chris is probably the most physically affectionate person that you know. He is always eager to touch those he cares about the most. Whenever it comes to you, Chris loses all self-control. He needs to be touching you in some way at all times; like he'll go insane without the feeling of your body against his in some way, shape, or form.

"You have got to be the touchiest motherfucker that I know, seriously," Nick continues, dusting the remanence of Chris' hands off of his shoulders.

"Shut up," Chris chuckles, pushing Nick backwards.

Nick looks up shocked. His eyes move back and forth from yours and Matt's, Nick and Chris' other brother. You and Matt begin to laugh uncontrollably.

"Please tell me you two fucking see this. I mean this is absurd! Even when I ask him not to touch me, he touches me. It's crazy!" Nick states completely dumbfounded.

Chris is laughing along with you and Matt. He begins to walk towards Matt, reaching out to grab his arm as he loses control of his body.

"Don't bring that shit over here," Matt says out of breath, wiping the tears from his eyes, failing to reel himself in.

Chris looks at you through squinted eyes. You simply open your arms as he walks towards you. He knew that you wouldn't turn down his touch. Chris stands in front of you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head in the crook of your neck, laughing profusely into your skin.

"Can we please talk about this?!" Nick begins, still completely shocked. "I have never seen anything like this. Like he actually needs to be studied. He has always been "touchy feely", but ever since he got a girlfriend, it has multiplied by a gabillion." The room is still filled with the laughter of Chris and Matt, yours no longer producing noise.

"I mean seriously, I feel so bad for you. I can guarantee that you never get a fucking second to just breathe!" Nick exclaims.

You somehow manage to catch your breath and gain composure.

"It doesn't bother me. I've gotten used to it," you reply, rubbing your hand up and down Chris' back, attempting to calm him down.

Nick releases a scoff, letting you know that he doesn't believe you.

"Anyways, back to what I was saying," Nick begins shaking his head. He's looking at you, the only one stable enough to understand him. "Me and Matt are going to the store; do you want us to get you guys anything; besides some fucking giggle juice?"

"No, I think that's all we need," you reply, letting out a small laugh. Your whole body is now shaking at the intensity of Chris' reaction to Nick's last statement.

"Alright, we will be back in a few hours," Nick says, practically dragging Matt out of the door, him and Chris continuing to crack up.

The door shuts and Chris is eventually able to control himself. He pulls his head out of your neck and looks in your eyes, a huge grin spread across his face.

"Let's go to my room and find something to do until they get back," Chris says, his fingers running up and down your sides. You meet his lips with a short peck.

"I've got something in mind," you say smirking at him.

The two of you walk to Chris' room, holding hands of course. You have been trying to convince Chris to watch all of your favorite movies and now is the perfect time to start. Chris turns on the movie, "Five Feet Apart," and the two of you lay in his bed. As the film goes on, you can't help but think about what Nick was saying earlier. You are now very observant of how often Chris asks for a kiss or squeezes you tighter. When he gets up out of bed to grab a drink, you begin to laugh out loud at your own thoughts. Chris comes back into the room as you're laughing uncontrollably, trying to think of any moment he has spent any amount of time without physical contact.

"What the fuck is so funny?" Chris asks, taking a sip of his Pepsi as he stands in his doorway.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed to face your boyfriend.

"I was just thinking about what Nick was saying. I genuinely cannot think of a time that you went 5 minutes without touching me," you say.

Chris smirks and shakes his head. He begins to walk closer to you.

"Do you really think that I touch you a lot?" he asks, taking another drink.

"What do you mean think? You can't keep your hands off of me," you let out a small laugh.

"Yes, I can," Chris states in a cocky manner. "You touch me just as much as I touch you." He sits his drink down and gives you a smug look, stepping closer to you.

"Fine then. Let's make a deal. Until Nick and Matt get back, we have to keep our hands to ourselves. You can't touch me, and I won't touch you," you flick your brow up as you propose the idea to Chris.

"And why would I do that?" he says, laughing at your playfulness.

“To prove a point.”

Chris looks around the room for a second, thinking about what you said.

“How about we make this a little bit harder, since Nick and Matt aren't here,” he says, an arrogant look on his face. Chris bends down to whisper in your ear. “How about I do some things that make it harder for both of us to keep our hands off of each other.”

He then places an open-mouthed kiss to the spot right behind your ear. He tugs lightly on the bottom of your earlobe before pulling away. The combination of his warm breath, wet kiss, and teeth pulling on your skin, sends a feeling of arousal throughout your body. Chris looks at you with a shit-eating grin on his face, clearly able to see what he's doing to you.

"And why would I that?" you say, mocking him. Chris' eyes trail up and down your body, not missing a single curve.

"If I win, I get to touch you anywhere I want, wherever I want, anytime I want for a week, and you don't get to say shit to me about it." Chris runs his tongue across his bottom lip as he finishes his sentence. Just the thought of having any part of you at his fingertips whenever he pleased made him grow hard.

"And if I win," you start, noticing the tent forming at the crotch of his pants, " I get to wear as little as I want, whenever I want, and you can look all you want, but you can't touch, for a week." You smile up at Chris, seeing him picture you in the smallest article of clothing in his head.

"I think you've got yourself a deal," Chris says, moving even closer to you.

You lift off of the bed slightly, sliding your hands underneath of your ass, pressing them into the bed. Chris places his hands on the bed, one on either side of your hips. Your lips connect almost immediately, the two of you aching to touch now that you can't. The kiss is deep and passionate, the both of you long for more. You remove your hands from underneath you, pulling off the shirt and pants you're wearing. Chris' lips leave yours and meet your collarbone without hesitation. His hungry kisses across your skin deepen your desire for him to touch you. Chris has seen you in a bra and underwear plenty of times. Removing your clothes doesn't seem to faze him much.

"This is too easy," you say, a smile spreading across your face. Your hands reach behind your back and unbuckle your bra. You drop it on the floor, scoot away from Chris, and lay down on the bed.

Chris stands up completely. His eyes roam over your entire body, lingering on your breasts. Lacking a good poker face, Chris' expression confirmed that you just made things 10 times harder for him, in multiple different ways. He tugs at his bottom lip as he soaks in the amount of skin you have exposed.

"That's not fair," he laughs, his eyes touching every part of your figure that his hands should be feeling.

Chris removes all of his clothes, only leaving his boxers. Your eyes trail over his body. Your eyes widen when you see the bulge in his underwear. A small chuckle escapes Chris' lips at your face. His eyes never leave yours as he removes his underwear seductively, his entire body now on display.

"Now we're even," he says. Chris moves across the room and climbs on top of you, careful to keep both of his hands on the bed.

The air chills your uncovered body. Chris' lips only momentarily heating the areas that they touch. It isn't enough. You need his hands on you. Messy kisses are placed all around your frame as he travels down you. After reaching the waist band of your underwear, Chris moves directly to your inner thighs, devouring them. Your hips begin to buck upwards, wanting his mouth on the place covered by soaked fabric.

"Take them off," Chris says placing a single gentle peck to the front of your underwear.

You shake your head while biting your lip. You earnestly wanted his hands on you and refused to help him out any longer.

"You do it," you said, your heart racing.

"I'm not losing this bet," he responds placing a gentle kiss to either side of your pelvic bone. Suddenly, his tongue slides under the left side wing of your underwear. He pinches the material between his teeth and slides one side of your underwear down to your thigh. He slowly moves to the right side of your body and performs the same motion. His intention is to draw this process out as long as he can, hoping you'll cave. Tongue, bite, pull, switch. Tongue, bite, pull, switch. As soon as one side reaches your ankle, you begin to shake them off yourself, flinging them into the floor.

"Someone's impatient," Chris smiles. He knows you won't last much longer.

His head dives between your legs, his tongue licking up the need that is dripping from you. You let out a whimper, gripping onto the bed sheets, miserably trying to keep your hands busy. Chris' tongue splits you in half as his nose applies pressure to your clit. He begins to speed up his motion, his tongue now forming small circles around your most sensitive area. Your legs begin to squeeze inward, Chris' head between them acting as a magnet. You can't help but squirm, the intense feeling of pleasure taking over your body. All of your movement is making it difficult for Chris. He is unable hold your legs down, forcing them to stay put.

"If you don't stop moving, I'm going to have to stop," he says, momentarily pulling his lips off of you.

Your moans get louder as Chris proceeds to eat you out. Your legs begin to shake as you attempt to keep from moving, not wanting him to quit. His tongue slips inside of your opening. Your back arches off of the bed. He begins to eat you as sloppily as he can, wanting more than just his tongue to be inside of you. Your toes start to curl. He begins to shake his head back and forth, his tongue flicking in all directions, only stopping to suck on your ball of nerves. You cling onto the sheets for dear life. You're starting to get close. Don't do it. Your hands lose their hold on the bedsheets and find themselves in Chris' hair as you practically levitate off of the bed.

"Oh fuck!" you scream, on the edge of release.

Chris pulls away from you. You did touch him after all. Suddenly his eyes meet yours from in between your legs. His thumb brushes over his lips, gathering all of your remnants before sucking them off of his skin.

"I win," he says with a cocky smirk.

In a swift motion, Chris grabs your leg and throws it over his shoulder, plunging himself inside of you, burying his dick as deep in your walls as possible. As he thrusts in and out of you frantically, his hands touch every part of your body, making up for lost time. The two of you moan loudly at the feeling of him touching you inside and out. It doesn't take long before your stomach clenches and you reach your orgasm, Chris' warm cum coating your insides at the same time. As the two of you ride out your high, your hands continue to feel every part of each other. Chris slumps on top of you, wrapping his arms around you, and burying his face in your chest. Your arms embrace him, pulling him closer. After a few moments of relishing the feeling of you both on top of one another, Chris leaves your body to grab a towel and pull on his clothes. As he cleans you up, he makes sure to touch you in every way he can. He throws the towel on the floor and grabs your clothes, insisting on dressing you as well. He starts with your underwear and pants, wanting to see you topless as long as possible. Before putting your bra back on, he takes your breasts in both of his hands and squeezes, kissing you tenderly.

"You better get used to that," he says, pulling away from your mouth and sliding your bra on. "I've got a whole 7 days to do that whenever I want."

For the next week, Chris took as much advantage of his prize as possible. When meeting up with his family he would hug you as long and hard as he could. When around his brothers at home, he would palm your ass with both hands, squeezing roughly and kissing you with passion. Even when hanging out in public settings with your friend group, you would find at least one of his hands wandering from your thigh and meeting the sweet spot in between your legs.

｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

To see how Chris takes advantage of him reward in more detail, click here to read: 7 Days (“No Hands” Extension)

[bananami]

A little couple's trivia with Nanami proves that he knows you all too well.

I did use the term wife and she/her pronouns just as a brief cw. The whole thing is just fluff. Nanami is in love with you. That's the whole things.

(I am delulu and in love with this man. Hope this helps us all heal. He is alive and well and no one can convince me otherwise. Also I love including Gojo's dumbass in everything. Also Yuji is a sweetheart and Nanami's son basically.)

"Please?" You're practically begging your husband, who doesn't seem to be budging.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Yeah Nanamin-"

"Don't call me that." Nanami cuts Gojo off immediately.

"But Yuji calls you that!"

"That's different." He glares at the white haired man like he's trying to eviscerate him with just his eyes. "And I'm not playing some stupid game just to prove how well I know my wife." He tries to pay attention to the paperwork in front of him again, wanting to finish it before 5pm. Because there was no way he was working overtime again today.

"Scared?" Gojo baited him. "Afraid I'm gonna ask you a question that's just too hard?"

"Gojo, there is nothing you could ask me about my wife that I wouldn't be able to answer."

A few of the students sat around watching the two go back and forth, inevitably waiting for Nanami to either get so annoyed that he walked away, or to take the bait. They hoped for the latter.

"Prove it! Or you forfeit your marriage."

"That's not how that works."

"C'mon Nanamin, it's just a game." Yuji gives the blonde sorcerer a sincere smile, hoping to lighten the mood and sway his decision just a bit.

"Don't call him Nanamin, Yuji- OW." Gojo is cut off as Nanami reaches over and smacks him in the head with the papers in his hand.

"Don't tell him what to do." Nanami sighs and rubs at his temple. He looks at the clock, then at you. It's the look in your eyes that gives way to his final decision. "Fine. You have until that clock reads 5, and then I'm taking my wife and we're going home."

Gojo wastes no time. "Who is your wife's favorite person? And think before you say yourself because-"

"Itadori. Next question."

"I'm your favorite person?!" Yuji jumps from his seat, latching his arms around you for a hug. It's obvious from the way that you smile and hug him back that Nanami is probably definitely right. You had a soft spot for the kid since you met him, playfully telling everyone that you and Nanami had basically adopted him since he arrived at Jujutsu High. Nanami would probably never verbalize it, but you could tell he felt the same about the boy.

"Ok, ok. Next question." Gojo thought hard before coming up with it. "How does your wife take her coffee?"

"She doesn't drink coffee."

"Yes she does, I bring her some like every morning."

"And she gives that coffee to me because she doesn't like it."

"You're telling me I've been buying you coffee this entire time?"

"I make her tea every morning when we get to work. You hand her the coffee, we trade cups. I don't understand how you've stared right at us when we do it and you somehow haven't noticed."

"Ok, then what tea does she drink?"

"Earl Grey, three sugars, a little bit of milk at the top. She'll say she's ok with English Breakfast or Lady Earl Grey if they're out of the regular. She's not, she's just being polite. She'll drink half and throw it away when she thinks no one is looking."

Gojo groans, not having as much fun as he thought he was going to at the beginning of all of this. "And I just bet you have a contingency plan for when your wife doesn't get her tea, don't you?"

"Of course I do," he ignores the even louder groan from Gojo, "I walk across the street to the cafe that sells her favorite pastries and I buy her five because I know that she'll want to share with her students and she'll try to split one with me even if I refuse. They have teabags they leave out so long as you're ordering something. Earl Grey, always in stock."

"Adorable." Gojo rolls his eyes.

"You're so smart, Nanamin!" Yuji jumps in. "Let me ask one! What's her favorite color?"

"Yuji, that's too easy."

"Yellow."

"Ohhhh, mine too," Yuji says, "why yellow?"

"Because it's-" Nanami stops mid-sentence and looks at the clock, like it will give him an excuse. Almost. "We don't need to worry about the why, that wasn't the original question."

Gojo perks up, clearly realizing he'd struck a nerve. And he was ready to work it. The red dusting across Nanami's cheeks told him everything he needed to know. "Are you embarrassed, Nanami?"

"Shut up, Gojo."

"Or do you just not know the answer? It's ok if you don't, I guess you just don't know your wife as well as you thought you did."

"If you don't stop talking, I'm going to tell everyone about the one time in high school when you and Geto got caught in the-"

"OK!" Gojo turns back to the students and motions them toward the door. "Time to go! Don't you all have something better to do? Go be little trouble makers somewhere. Go TP Yaga's lawn or something. Get out of here."

He'd ushered everyone out except Yuji, who stayed behind to wait for you and Nanami. The boy shyly looked away as you kissed Nanami's cheek before standing up, stating you just needed to grab your bag before you could leave.

Yuji waited for you to exit the room before he asked. "Is it because of your hair?"

Nanami sighs. "What makes you think that?"

Yuji just shrugs. "She loves you. Answers don't always need a complex reason."

Nanami can't help the smile that graces his face. "You're a smart kid sometimes, you know that?"

"That's why I'm her favorite!" His goofy nature is back in an instant. "Can I come over for dinner again tonight?"

"Of course you can."

"Can I stay over?"

"If you'd like to."

"Can I pick the movie we watch?"

"Don't push your luck."

[vividxpages]

｡° ✮୨ৎ "lay it all on me"୨ৎ✮° ｡

pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!Reader

words: 2100

summary: With the Queen and your betrothed Jacaerys’ delayed arrival, you are left in charge of the day’s council meeting. When one of the lords starts to speak of a possible bedding ceremony for your upcoming wedding, your thoughts begin to spiral badly…

warnings: the lords in Rhaenyra’s council being perverts and dicks, talks of misogynistic traditions and predatory behavior of men, sexism and misogyny, panic attacks, Jacaerys being a protective betrothed, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, crying, hopeful ending

a/n: I cooked this up so quickly, but I was very inspired yesterday - thank you so much to the anon who sparked a conversation about bedding ceremonies in my asks and with it, my inspiration for this idea! <3 this is for you :*

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

When the messenger arrived at the council room and announced the delayed arrival of the Queen and her son, you had been optimistic for a moment.

Jacaerys and you, a team ever since your shared childhood and since recently betrothed with the blessings of his mother and family, had led council meetings like this together before and you were no stranger to the strategies and logistics of the war and Rhaenyra’s efforts in it. You just had not done it by yourself before.

You nodded in thanks to the messenger and turned back to the assembly of Rhaenyra’s lords around the table with a polite smile. It was only a matter of time until her and Jace would make their return from the dragon’s caves and until then, you’d do your best to begin today’s conversation.

“Well then, my lords.” You nodded to yourself and took a deep breath, looking into the round with openness. “I believe we’ll continue where we’ve left off yesterday? Is there any news yet of Daemon’s stay at Harrenhal? We could-“

“There is another matter of importance we thought we could discuss with you, my princess.” One of the lords interrupted you, a cool smile on his face as you leaned back in your seat. You cocked an eyebrow at him to continue despite your sentence being left unfinished. “Since the wedding with the prince Jacaerys will occur in the upcoming months, it would be wise to discuss the bedding ceremony sooner rather than later.”

Something in you went very, very still.

You blinked at him before you looked into the other men’s faces. They seemed to be in agreement of this rapid topic change. “The…bedding ceremony?”

“Yes, it is of grand importance to ensure the consummation of marriage between two newly-weds.” He explained to you, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his old mouth. “It’s an old tradition and the lords and I believe it is best to follow it with the young and lovely union of the prince and you.”

You swallowed against the dryness in your throat, your hands suddenly clammy with unsureness. “I have not talked to Jace about such a thing. The Queen hasn’t spoken to me about it either. That’s…-What if me and Jacaerys are against it?”

A few of them chuckled as if you had made a good jest.

“My princess, is it not really a matter of choice, if you understand.” One of them explained to you before he suddenly turned away from you and addressed the others: “The wedding will be held here at Dragonstone as we know and I thought of a crowd of perhaps a dozen, mostly members of the family and this council, of course. After the celebrations, the prince will lead his bride away in the company of the Queen’s loyal and trusted advisors and then, the marriage will be consummated in a room large enough for the ceremony.”

You opened your mouth to object, but found your voice had simply vanished.

“Will there be sheets as proof in the morning?”

“I would actively support it.”

“There are clothes here at Dragonstone suited for such a ceremony, I am sure we will have them before the wedding takes place.”

“A purity test accomplished by a maester might be sufficient beforehand as well-“

You felt yourself drifting away from the conversation, one that circled around you and yet did not include you at all. Staring at the table in front of you, you felt your breath quicken as a distant howl swept through your mind, drowning out their voices as they went on and on.

In your mind, you saw yourself being led into a fully lit room. The dress you wore was thin and barely hiding your body, your arms protectively crossed in front of yourself as you shivered. The bed chamber was crowded all the way back to the tapestry of the walls with men regarding you coolly. Their hunger for the curves barely hidden underneath your dress was evident in their eyes, yet you had to walk on until you reached the middle of the room. Jacaerys was waiting, his own expression blank and without any emotion for you as he took your hand and led you to bed. There were a thousand eyes on you and you felt numb, your body screaming in protest, your mind begging you to shout at them to leave as Jace mechanically began to kiss your neck-

The wide doors of the hall opened and the men seated around you abruptly stood, their wrinkly hands brushing over their attires. The Queen was here.

You remained in your seat, your mind having drawn itself back to a hidden part in yourself, blankly staring at the fidgeting hands in your lap. When you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder, the touch so familiar it could’ve been your own, you closed your eyes for just a moment. Jacaerys had come with her.

“What is going on?” Rhaenyra demanded to know, walking around the big table as she took in your uncharacteristic quiet state.

When your betrothed raised your hand to his lips in greeting, you looked up and bit your lip at Jace’s worried expression. The taste of iron coated your lips and only now you realized you had bitten your lip so badly, it had started to bleed. The pain was almost a relief.

“Are you alright?” Jace murmured, his hand delicately cupping your cheek and making you shudder. Your eyes were glassy, your cheeks red from shame and suddenly, a strong urge to cry shot through you, so intense you barely could fight it. “What is it, my love?”

You shook your head, avoiding his searching gaze.

The shame burned hotly through you and you wanted to shrink into your seat until you could escape these old devils. One of them, who had started this whole discussion about the ceremony in the first place, cleared his throat. “Your Grace, we were discussing possible arrangements for the wedding of the prince and his betrothed. There have been no mentions of the traditional bedding ceremony yet and the lords and myself were worried that-“

Rhaenyra frowned with a disgusted curl of her lips. “A bedding ceremony? There hasn’t been a tradition like this in my generation. Why would we burden the next with such an old piece of the past?”

You could sense Jace tensing beside you, his face dark as he stared at the lord. Would he look at you like this too, when the happiest day of your life would end with having to sleep with each other in front of dozens? Your chest hurt as you struggled to breathe normally.

“The princess has expressed similar concerns, but there are ways…There could be a thin veil draped over the sides of the bed.” Another suggested generously and you felt your stomach turn itself over. “Of course, it cannot shield the pair fully from the observer’s eyes. They have to be in sight, so it can be assured that she’s-“

“There will be no bedding ceremony.” Jace cut him off, close to snarling as he flexed his hand on the hilt of his sword. He remained by your side, his stance protective of you and intimidating. “Neither my mother or myself have been consulted about this before and the fact that you’ve preyed on an opportunity to bring it up in front of the princess is close to treason. And yet you’ve dared to speak of such inappropriate matters in front of my betrothed, your future Queen? I could have you hanged by the cliffs of Dragonstone for such perverted behavior.”

“My prince, with all respect, it simply is tradition. It has to be guaranteed that on the night of her wedding, the bride is a maiden-“

The sound of your chair screeching over the floor broke through the room as you stood up. The sound of your own breath was too loud in your eyes, the lump in your throat only growing by the second. “If you would excuse me, Your Grace, I’m not feeling well.”

Jacaerys stood with you, but as he reached for your hand, you had already slipped away and quickly made your escape towards the wide doors, trying to breathe against the numbing panic in your lungs.

You blindly walked down the long corridor, ignoring the questioning looks of the guards standing on the sides. Would they be there as well, to witness yours and Jace’s union, eyes on your naked body when Jace had to deflower you in front of an audience?

You choked on a sob, the tears running freely down your cheeks now, the pain in your chest only expanding from keeping it inside for so long. You had never experienced a panic like this before, a powerful tide washing all rational thoughts away and sending your brain into overdrive.

Behind you, quick footsteps were approaching and before you knew it, Jacaerys had overtaken you and blocked your path, taking your upset state in with wide eyes. Your bottom lip wobbled dangerously and you came to a halt, noting how far and fast you had walked away from the council room.

“My love…” Jacaerys mumbled quietly and stepped closer and somewhere inside of you, a dam burst and he caught you as you fell into his arms, your body wrecked with heartbreaking and breathless sobs. He wrapped his arms around you, drawing you against his chest and letting you cry, his own heart aching at the stress vibrating through your body.

“I don’t want them to see…” You sniffled miserably against his shoulder, his arms tightening protectively around your waist, one of his hands resting on the back of your head and stroking your hair. “I want our wedding night to be ours, I don’t want them in the room with us, I don’t want any of it.”

“I’m not going to allow it.” He assured you calmly, suppressing his own anger for the sake of your peace of mind. Later, he’d had time to rage and forge the feeling into action, but now the only thing that mattered was you. “They have no right to make these rules for us. You and I decide, together, okay?”

You nodded, your anxiety slowly beginning to ebb away and leaving the council room and its members behind you.

“I am so sorry I was not there with you.” Jacaerys regretfully whispered against your temple, soothingly stroking your back as you rested your tear-streaked face against his neck. “I am not going to let this slide. And I am serious, my love, I promise you; there will be no bedding ceremony, I’m not going to let them expose you like this.”

You lifted your head to look at him, your eyes still shimmering with worried tears. “And what if we have to? I can’t do this, Jace, I would rather die-“

He gently shushed you and gently rested his forehead against yours, willing you to take big and deep breaths with him until you were breathing in sync and your shivering stopped. “We don’t have to do anything. You and I, we’ll be king and queen someday and I will not accept any disrespect towards you, not today or when we’re married, alright?”

You nodded slowly, exhaling deeply as you allowed yourself to sink against him, letting yourself be held and gently swayed from side to side. Slowly but surely, your heart stopped hurting and the clouds in your mind dissolved until you only felt him.

“Alright.” You whispered back after a while and his lips on yours, featherlight and oh so gently, were a relief after such moments of stress. When you separated and looked into each other’s eyes, you added quietly: “I want this, with you. All of it. I want our first time together to be special and a memory we’ll cherish forever.”

“And it will be, I promise.” He soothed you. “These old pathetic men will do good to remember their place before I’ll unleash Vermax on them.” He added jokingly and even managed to make you giggle a little bit at the mental image. “You know how Vermax adores you, he’ll eat them in one piece and spit them out, because they’re disgusting.”

You snorted tiredly and nuzzled his neck in affection, not ready to separate yourself from him just yet.

“My mother will deal with them.” Jace promised you darkly, a revengeful shimmer in his fierce eyes as he wiped the last of your tears away with his thumb. “And when she’s done with them, I will make sure as well they’ll remember who they answer to, my queen.”

He would deal with this.

And after he had put those foul men in their place, he’d make sure you’d be the happiest you could be and your wedding would be perfect and just the way the two of you had imagined for so long…

my taglist: @princesschimchim1325 @cecestea @jacesvelaryons @princessvelaryon @diannnnsss

[entitled-fangirl]

A good father.

Gwayne Hightower x wife!reader

Summary: fatherhood is different than what Gwayne expected. Daeron worries that it will be the same as Otto and Gwayne's relationship.

A/n: so I saw that this was the most voted for the poll so far, so I just decided to write it today! Surprise!

Masterlist

.........................................................

Otto Hightower had returned to Old Town only days ago, and things could not have been more awkward.

Well, not for Gwayne.

That cocky little shit just said everything that came to mind.

It seemed he liked to battle his father.

…

"Daeron?" Her soft voice came over the yard.

Young Daeron sat in the garden of Old Town, a frown upon his face. But at the sound of her voice, he turned and his eyes brightened.

Y/n Hightower slowly walked to him. Five months had passed and finally, she was beginning to show the child that was growing inside her. And she seemed to glow all the more for it.

Daeron moved to the side of make room for her on the bench, as well as hold his hand out to her to help her sit.

"Something is bothering you." She stated and pushed his blonde hair behind his ear. 

He shook his head. "It's nothing."

"Daeron," she tried again softly.

She had a way with him. She never had to raise her voice to get her way, for everyone that heard the meek tone of her voice still listened and obeyed. 

"It's Grandsire," Daemon explained. "More… it's the constant bickering."

She nodded, running a hand through his hair affectionately. "Gwayne and his father have never seen eye to eye, not since Alicent became queen. They are just two very different men."

"Is that how all fathers and sons talk?"

She pulled his chin up to make his eyes meet hers, "No. Not all fathers and sons speak in ill regard of one another."

"What if he does it to his own son?"

Her brows furrowed, "What?"

"What if Gwayne speaks like that to the babe?" 

She just realized how his eyes glazed over with tears. "Oh, sweet boy." She pulled him to her. "Gwayne is a man with a temper, but he would not do that. There is a barrier between Gwayne and his father. One that cannot be fixed now, and only because of that do they fight."

Daeron considered her words for a while, "So, because there is no barrier with the babe-"

"-Gwayne will love this child with his entire being, I promise you."

She held him for a while, promising to talk to her husband about it later.

…

"Might I speak with you?" Her voice echoed out.

Gwayne turned slowly, his face lighting up at her sudden appearance. "You and I both know that you may."

A soft smile came to her lips as she walked to him, "I've missed you as of late."

His head tilted, "I've been here."

She rested her hands on his chest, "Yes, but your mind has been elsewhere."

One of his hands moved to her swollen stomach, "Very much so. My father has been occupying my attention." He scoffed thinking about it, "He's a foolish man."

Her hands rubbed soothingly across his chest. "Even now, you only think of him." She leaned forward and kissed his shoulder, "Don't neglect your wife and future child to argue with your father."

He let out a soft sigh as her words broke his angered facade. "Forgive me."

"No." She leaned against him. "You need to apologize to Daeron."

"Daeron?" He asked in surprise. "Why Daeron?"

"He's worried for you. Well… for the child."

His eyes moved to her to stomach. "I don't understand. He has no reason to worry."

"He's seen the way you bicker with your father."

His hand rubbed up and down, "I'm still rather confused. What does my relationship with my father have to do with the child? Are you alright? Is the babe alright?"

She placed her hand over his, "I am fine."

He tilted his head in worry, "You're sure?"

"I am. Daeron is frightened that you'll speak to our child the way your father speaks to you."

A worried look came over his face, "I would never."

"I know that."

"I did not realize he noticed that."

"I told him I'd speak to you to reassure his worries."

He nodded and looked to her face. "Let me talk to him."

She nodded, "Alright. He should still be outdoors."

Gwayne placed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I'll go now. Wait for me?"

She hummed a questioning noise, "What? Why?"

He grinned, "I want to make up for lost time when I return."

A blush came to her cheeks, "Do make it quick then."

He smoothed down her hair, "I shall."

…

"Come here, nephew."

Daeron looked up and saw his uncle. He stood and smoothed out his shirt. "Yes, uncle?"

He ruffled the boy's hair and smirked, "I've been told that you're worried about something."

A guilty look crossed the boy's face, "Aunt Y/n told you that?"

"She did. But I want to hear it from you." He pointed to the bench, "Sit." Gwayne sat next to him. "I understand that you worry about the way your grandsire and I speak to one another."

Daeron nodded, "You fight often."

"We do." He wanted to fully explain it all, but his nephew was still a child. "We do not… agree often. That is all."

"You and Aunt Y/n disagree often," he pointed out.

He realized the direction that the boy was going, and was earnestly trying to make him see his side. "I'd never speak negatively to that woman."

"But why is that different to Grandsire?"

"Well, I love my wife," he said immediately.

Daeron's eyes watered, "Do you not love Grandsire?"

"I…" he looked away in thought. "He is my father. Do you love your father, Daeron?"

"I believe I do," he answered. "But I do not know. I've lived here for almost my whole life. I don't know father well at all."

"May I tell you a secret? I do not know my father at all, either." Gwayne leaned back against the bench. "My father has always been in King's Landing with your father. Seems we're the same."

Daeron nodded, "I didn't… I didn't think about that."

Gwayne put a hand on Daeron's shoulder, "I will always stay by the babe's side. I will not part from my family."

The boy relaxed at that. He stared in thought, something clearly bothering him. "What is my mother like?"

Gwayne frowned, "W…What?"

"The queen. What is she like? Surely you know."

"Why not ask your Grandsire?"

"I don't know him well enough. I try to avoid him in all honestly. Is that wrong of me?"

Gwayne considered the thought. "I don't think so. I was very frustrated to see him return too."

The Targaryen prince stared up at his uncle, "Did he treat his wife poorly?"

Gwayne felt a smile come to his face at the mention of his mother. "No. No, he loved her very dearly, as I love my wife." He looked out over the garden. "And Alicent is much like your grandmother. Very headstrong but very kind, and as fiery as the Hightower hair. Or, at least… I think she is. She was." He turned to look at Daeron, "Do you wish to visit your mother at some point?"

"No. I'm content here."

"Are you?" A soft voice interrupted. 

Y/n approached the two, a slight waddle to her step due to her condition.

Gwayne stood up and held his arms out to her. When she was close enough, he helped her sit on the bench. 

She still looked to Daeron. "You're happy here?"

He nodded.

"I'm very glad," she smiled.

Gwayne knelt in front of the boy, "I promise to you that I will love my child unconditionally. Now, I want you to stop worrying. Will you do that?"

Daeron nodded again.

Y/n reached up to smooth the boy's hair, "And you'll still be loved the same when you have a cousin."

"You'll be an excellent cousin," Gwayne chipped in.

"I don't know how to do so. I… I am hardly a brother."

"Do not fret, Daeron. It will come to you naturally," she cooed.

…

A few months later, Daeron entered the couple's chambers in nervousness, eager to meet his cousin.

Gwayne sat against the headboard of the bed, his exhausted wife leaning against his chest. "Daeron?"

He looked up at his uncle, "Is she alright?"

Gwayne nodded and pulled her just a little closer. "She's perfect."

"And the babe?"

Gwayne looked across the room. 

Otto Hightower sat on the sofa across the room, the babe held securely in his arms. 

It was clear that there was a little tension between the two men.

Otto looked to Daeron, "C'mere."

Daeron walked to his grandsire curiously.

Otto lowered one shoulder to let Daeron see the babe. "A boy."

Daeron's eyes widened, "A boy?"

Gwayne spoke up, "Are you happy?"

He nodded immediately.

Y/n's eyes opened and she let out a groan.

Gwayne shifted her, getting her more comfortable. "Need something?"

"Wanna get up," she whispered. 

Gwayne looked at the others in the room, "Leave us."

Daeron nodded, leaving with the maester.

Otto wanted to be annoyed, but he couldn't. He stood and went to put the babe down, but Gwayne spoke up, "Bring him here."

Y/n's eager arms took the child from Otto. 

Lord Hightower smiled softly, "You'll be a wonderful mother."

She grinned. "I hope so."

Otto then looked to Gwayne. He stared at him for a while. Gwayne was expecting an insult. 

"I was so scared the day you were born."

Gwayne was confused by the sudden confession. "What?"

"The day you were born. I remember the way my hands shook." He looked between the two, "Your mother was so confident."

"I heard she was wonderful," Y/n chirped in softly.

Otto nodded, "She was."

"Gwayne, I need to feed the babe."

Gwayne nodded. "I'll fetch the midwife to help you." He stood and led his father out.

The two walked down the corridor in silence. Finally, Otto spoke. "Your son will be a strong warrior."

"He will be. I'll be here to ensure it," Gwayne said bitterly.

Otto sighed. "We've never gotten along, I understand-"

"-No, you just weren't here."

"I was leading the realm," Otto tried to reason.

"You left," he grunted.

"I am still your father."

"No. Only by blood."

Otto scoffed, "Do not be weak."

"I will raise my son properly. I won't leave my child. And I won't leave my wife." Gwayne grunted. "Something you didn't do."

"Do you believe that I returned here only because I wished to?"

Gwayne stared at him for a while, "I… I do not pretend to understand your choices."

Otto took a step forward, "I was terrified the day you were born. I did not know how to be a father. I didn't have one long enough to learn from him."

Gwayne's head tilted, "And?"

"And…" Otto sighed as his frustration grew. "The king granted me a few months leave. Do you believe I just so happened to time out my arrival with end of your wife's condition and the months after?"

He crossed his arms in annoyance, "What are you saying? You wanted to be here? You wanted to see the child?"

"I WANTED TO SEE YOU!" Otto yelled. "YOU AND YOUR FOOLISH PRIDE!" He brought a hand to his forehead, "I remember the feeling of holding your first child. It is not easy to be a new father and to lead. I only wish to help you in the ways I know how."

"You came back for me?" He asked incredulously.

"Entirely," he admitted. "I see your mother in you. In every word, in every deed. Even in death, she haunts my narrative."

"Would you change your choices if you could restart?"

"Very much."

That was all Gwayne needed to hear. "We are both too stubborn for our own good."

"I want the best for you, Gwayne. I am sorry if I have never stated that. Your wife lives, as does your child. That is the greatest blessing that a man can receive."

"I am well aware," Gwayne smiled lightly. "I… I had to rule Old Town in your absence. I suppose it has been hard to step aside now that you've returned."

Otto smiled. "For now, I wish for you to tend to your family. Leave the rest to me."

Gwayne nodded, "I will." He turned to leave, but hesitated. "Father."

Otto's brows lifted.

Gwayne forced the words out, the feeling new. "Thank you."

Daeron had hidden around the corner, listening to the entire exchange.

…

"Do promise to write often," Y/n smiled as she held the small infant in her arms.

Otto strapped the last bag onto the horse, "I shall try."

She shifted the babe in her arms, "Gwayne has… spoken well of you, as of late." She smiled teasingly, "Do you know why?"

Otto faked a confused look. "Has he? Haven't the faintest idea."

"Well, know that he does. Perhaps he's only now respecting the challenge that fatherhood brings."

He grinned, "I will pray that your son is only half of the battle that Gwayne is."

She laughed, "He is a Hightower. We both know that a prayer like that is worthless. He will be a fighter until his dying day."

Gwayne walked to the pair, pulling his wife to his side, "When will you return?"

Otto shrugged, "When I am granted leave next. I am uncertain. Care for Daeron for me still."

The red head nodded, "You know I always will."

Y/n stepped forward and kissed Otto's cheek, "We shall await the day you return."

He looked at the two. The love they shared was obvious. "As do I."

He mounted his horse. 

Y/n muttered something about feeding the babe and excused herself, leaving Otto and Gwayne.

"And Gwayne? You're a good father."

He felt a small twist in his gut.

...............................................................