#THE EMOTIONAL DEVASTATION THAT WAS MUCH OF SEASON 2 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sourcherryandsprinkles · 11 months ago

Note

Aegon has been in love with reader for years but she got betrothed to Aemond. She finds Aegon drunk at her door and she takes him in. He tells her he loves her and make smut happen please

I've been on a roll with these request this week! Only three days until the start of Season 2 *screaming*

Question: Should I add Cregan Stark to my character list? If yes, please send requests for him <3

Warnings: 18+, smut, drunk!Aegon, unprotected p + v, cheating (on Aemond)

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

When the news dropped, Aegon was devastated. He had always known his feelings for you ran deep, but hearing that you were to be betrothed to his own brother made him regret not asking for your hand sooner. The thought of losing you to Aemond gnawed at his heart.

In a fit of fury, Aegon stormed into Aemond's chambers, his eyes blazing with anger. ‘’You knew of my feelings for her, how can you do this to me?’’ he spat, his voice trembling with a mix of rage and desperation.

Aemond looked up from his book, his expression calm and composed. ‘’Father wanted to unite our families. I’m only doing my duty,’’ he replied, his tone measured and devoid of emotion.

Aegon’s frustration boiled over. He slammed his fist on the table, making the goblets and plates clatter. ‘’Fuck duty!’’ he shouted. His voice broke as he continued, ‘’I just…I just want her.’’

Aemond sighed, placing his book aside. ‘’I was asked to marry her, not you. You already have the throne.’’

The throne was given to him because he was the first son. Aegon never asked for it, never cared for ruling or showed interest in politics. He would rather spend his life with you and Sunfyre than sit on the Iron Throne.

‘’I would exchange my birthright for her in a heartbeat,’’ he confessed, his voice unwavering.

Later at dinner, Aegon didn’t come down to eat. He couldn't beat the idea of seeing you sitting beside Aemond during a meal. So, he stayed in his chamber, drowning himself with wine. His goblet wasn’t even empty that he would fill it up again.

He drank until the sun went down and his pitcher was almost empty, and fell asleep on his couch with his goblet in hand. It wasn’t surprising considering how much he had drunk.

When Aegon woke a few hours later, the castle was sleeping under the cover of darkness. He stood and found himself stumbling through the corridors. His feet carried him to your door in the guest wing, having been many many times. You always took the same chamber when you visited King’s Landing. Aegon raised his fist to knock, but before he could, the door creaked open.

You expected to find a servant with your tea, but instead found your uncle Aegon. A frown of surprise and concern creased between your eyebrows. ‘’Aegon? What are you doing here?’’

He swayed slightly, leaning heavily against the doorframe with his undershirt untucked from his breeches. His eyes were red, his expression a mixture of anger and sorrow. ‘’You can’t marry him. Please, don’t marry him,’’ he mumbled, his words slurred from the wine.

You should have walked him back to his chamber or alert the Queen of her son’s state, but instead you stepped aside and gestured for him to come in.

Aegon stumbled through the doorway, and you came to his side, helping him sit onto the bed bench. He leaned forwards as you let go of him, resting his forearms on his thighs and his spinning head in his hands.

You watched him with a heavy heart, guilt knotting your stomach. ‘’I’m sorry for the betrothal. I wanted to tell you myself, but our parents sent the ravens before I could.’’

‘’Don’t marry Aemond.’’ Aegon grabbed your wrist, pulling you to him. ‘’Don’t do this to me.’’ He looked up at you, his eyes pleading.

You stayed silent, looking down at him. There were a hundred reasons you should put a stop to this right now. Aegon was drunk. He wasn’t in his right mind. And yet, seeing him like this, vulnerability written all over him, made your heart ache for him.

‘’You’re drunk. This wasn’t a good idea. Let’s get you back to your chamber.’’ You reached for his arm to help him up, but grabbed your wrist. ‘’Aegon…’’ you sighed.

He pulled you closer to him, but you remained standing. Aegon’s voice was barely a whisper, his words more a plea than a demand. ‘’It’s me you should marry, not my brother.’’

You pulled on your wrist, but his grip only tightened. ‘’Aegon, let go. You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying.’’

He shook his head, his eyes fixated on yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. ‘’I know exactly what I’m saying. I…I love you. I always have. And I can’t bear the thought of you marrying him.’’

Your heart was racing in your chest.

Despite the feud between your mothers, you and Aegon had always been close. He was there when you claimed your dragon, took the blame when you got caught stealing lemon cakes in the kitchen, and always invited you to dance at gatherings, even though he hated dancing. He even exchanged letters with you when you moved to Dragonstone, secretly writing back despite his terrible handwriting and his mother's interdiction. You were his favorite person, the only one he felt truly cared for him.

And now, he was sitting in your chamber, confessing his feelings to you out of pain and desperation.

You wanted to scream.

At yourself for not recognizing his underlying feelings. At him for not saying those words sooner. At your mother and grandsire for arranging a betrothal with Aemond. He was closer to you in age, mayhaps it was the reason for their decision? And most of all, at the cruel twist of fate that had kept you blind to what was right in front of you.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Thoughts swirled chaotically in your mind, overwhelming you. You needed time to think, time to process everything.

But time wasn’t in your hands, it was ticking and passing fast, so you crashed your lips on Aegon’s. He brought you down to his lap, deepening the kiss as his hands roamed across your hips and thighs and everything he could get his hands on in a desperate attempt to bring you closer. You could taste the wine on his lips, the bitter alcohol still lingering in his mouth. Your hands tangled in his hair as a moan left his throat, igniting the fire between two dragons.

Impatient, Aegon pulled at the laces of your nightgown while you discarded him of his undershirt and threw it on the floor. Your nightgown found the same fate, goosebumps rising across your skin from the cool air or the room.

His hands skimmed along your sides, coming to rest on your hips as he rocked against you, his body betraying his need. The rough fabric of his breeches brushed against your bare cunt, sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine.

Your lips moved from his lips to his jaw, trailing a path of kisses along his jawline and down to his neck. His breath caught in his throat as your lips and teeth found the sensitive spot between his collarbone and throat. Aegon let out a soft moan, his hands gripping your thighs tighter. His fingers dug into your skin, leaving small imprints that would surely turn into bruises come morning.

His hands continued to roam, exploring every inch of your body that he could reach. He moved his lips down to your chest, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of your breasts. You arched your back in response, the feeling of his lips leaving a trail of fire wherever they touched.

What you were doing was wrong and breaking many rules, but you couldn’t stop. It felt too good.

Aegon pushed you back onto the bed, his body hovering over yours as he found your lips again. His hands fumbled with the ties of his breeches, desperately trying to undo them while keeping the kiss going. A soft groan escaped him as he managed to push them down, freeing himself from the constricting material.

The feeling of his bare skin against yours sent a shiver down your spine. His body was hot and demanding as he pressed himself closer to you. A gasp left your lips when you felt the head of his cock against your folds, surprised by how warm it felt.

You gripped his shoulder as Aegon pushed himself inside, your walls closing around him in a snug grip. Aegon’s breath hitched from how tight you felt, his eyes closing briefly as he sank deeper. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain as your body adjusted to him.

When he started to move, you felt like he was splitting you in half…but in a good way. You clawed at his back, soft little sighs spilling from your lips as Aegon thrusted into you.

Unfortunately, the pleasure didn’t last long. You were so wet and squeezing him too good that after only a few thrusts, Aegon spilled inside you.

In his defense, he was drunk and not entirely in control of his cock.

The sunlight coming through the large window woke you up. You turned away from the window and buried your face into your pillow, trying to fall back asleep, but your arm came into contact with something — someone.

You opened your eyes, the late events of the night surfacing, and saw Aegon lying beside you. He was still fast asleep, his white hair tousled and messy. His face was relaxed, a stark contrast from his drunkenness. For a moment, you just watched him. He looked so peaceful and calm when he slept.

The light streamed over his face, illuminating the sharp planes and angles of his features. You reached out, gently brushing away a strand of hair from his forehead.

He stirred at your touch, but didn’t open his eyes. ‘’What is it, Mother?’’

You chuckled softly, watching as Aegon stirred in his sleep.

He mumbled again, shifting under the covers. His eyes still closed, he reached out blindly and brushed his fingers against your waist. The contact startled him, not expecting to find another body in his bed, and he opened his eyes.

A mixture of embarrassment and confusion flickered across his face, remembering his drunk stumble into your chamber.

‘’I’m sorry for last night,’’ Aegon apologized, his voice strained and hoarse because of how dry his mouth felt. ‘’I made a fool of myself, didn’t I?’’

You decided against mentioning his short sexual performance. ‘’More than usual? No.’’

He laughed, then groaned as his head pounded.

‘’Aegon?’’ you said quietly. He hummed. ‘’Why didn’t you say you have feelings for me?’’

‘’Because I enjoy self-sabotaging my life.’’

You swatted his arm.

‘’I need to speak to my mother,’’ you declared after a moment of silence.

The hour was early, but she should be awake.

You climbed out of bed, your naked body exposed in the bright light of day as you moved around your chamber. There was an ache between your legs, reminiscent of Aegon’s passage inside your intimate part.

‘’I do not wish to go through the same suffering she endured in her first marriage.’’ You grabbed a dress from the wardrobe and dressed yourself. It was more difficult without the help of a handmaid. ‘’And I know exactly how to convince her to call off the betrothal. I broke my vows to Aemond, I let you take my maidenhood. They will have no choice but to let us wed.’’

—

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lifeisbutadream444 · 3 days ago

Text

The Last Night

Aaron Pierre x Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut

Summary: After the series finale wraps, she thinks she’s saying goodbye to four years of tension, restraint, and the co-star she was never supposed to love.

It’s almost 2:00 a.m.

And you still haven’t said goodbye.

Half the guests have already wandered off, some heading to other parties, others promising brunch meetups that’ll never happen. Someone’s curled up on a velvet couch in the corner, half-asleep. The playlist has drifted from party anthems to bittersweet throwbacks. Like even the speakers know this night is dissolving.

The show is really over.

And you’re still here. Clinging to a glass of wine you stopped sipping an hour ago, too aware of the time, of the way the room is thinning out.

You told herself you’d leave by midnight. Then by one.

Now, you’re just… hovering. Stuck. Stalling.

Every time you think about walking up to him and saying goodbye, something in your chest feels heavy. Because a goodbye means it’s done — not just the show, not just the job — but this. This rhythm you’ve grown addicted to. Seeing him almost every day. Knowing when he’ll laugh. The way his eyes linger. The heat in them. The softness. The unspoken question that used to live there.

Used to.

Because there was a time he flirted with you. Not overtly. Not in a way that could get him in trouble on set. Just enough to make you heart race. Just enough to terrify you.

Back then, you’d shut it down every time.

Not because you didn’t want him, that would’ve been easier. But because you wanted him too much. And you couldn’t afford to. It was your first real acting job. The kind of role that could make or end a career depending on how the audience took to you. The kind of opportunity that came with fine print. Be professional. Don’t stir up drama. Stay out of gossip blogs. Don’t sleep with your co-star.

Especially not him.

Because Aaron wasn’t just anyone. He had that dangerous kind of calm. Women loved him. All of them. They tweeted about his hands. His voice. His interviews. His lips. You saw it sometimes. Fan edits, thirst comments, tweets speculating about who he was dating. You knew what his fanbase would do to you if they even thought he was spending too much time with someone who wasn’t famous enough, hot enough, soft enough, loud enough, quiet enough. And you already hated being perceived, despite your career choice. You weren’t built for that kind of spotlight. Which means you weren’t built to be his.

So you smiled. Laughed. Dodged. Every time.

And then, one day, he stopped trying, and you couldn’t blame him. It was relieving and devastating at the same time.

Now, you couldn’t pretend you were avoiding scandal or danger or chaos.

Now there’s nothing left to hide behind.

Four years. Four entire seasons of close scenes and interviews and press tours and hotel rooms with adjoining walls. Four years of biting your tongue and pretending his voice didn’t make you shiver.

The series finale was filmed yesterday. The wrap party is winding down. He’s not tied to you anymore. He’s free. Free to fly off to another set. Another city.

You watch him from across the room, laughing with someone from production, wearing one of those black cashmere sweaters you love so much on him, sleeves pushed up just enough to show the tattoos on his forearm. His hands in his pockets. He looks good. Too good.

You know you’re dragging this out. You said goodbye to everyone else. Hugged the crew. Took selfies with castmates. But you haven’t said goodbye to him. You couldn't bring yourself to do it.

“You’ve been drinking that same glass of wine for at least an hour now.”

His voice comes from behind as you stand by the bar, low, smooth, familiar.

You shrug, trying to look casual. “Yeah, I’m holding onto it for emotional support at this point.”

He steps to the side so he’s facing you fully, one hand in his pocket, the other resting on the edge of the bar. He doesn’t say anything right away. Just watches you, the way he always used to, before you made him stop.

Damn, he used to look at you like this all the time.

Back when he still thought he had a chance.

“We’ve barely talked tonight,” he says.

He leans in a little, voice softer now. “Are you avoiding me or something?”

You laugh, but it comes out tight. “Of course not.”

You look down at your shoes. They suddenly feel like the wrong choice. Like everything about you tonight is trying too hard, your dress, your lipgloss, the way you kept positioning yourself just slightly toward him in every photo. Desperate. That’s what you feel like. Pathetic and exposed.

“You’ve been suspiciously quiet tonight.” he says.

Your chest tightens.

You want to say I didn’t want to cry in front of you.

You want to say I don’t know how to say goodbye.

You want to say I can’t breathe when I think about not seeing you every day.

Instead, you say, “Just tired, I guess. It’s been an emotional night for everyone.”

He doesn’t press.

He knows you’re stalling.

He’s enjoying it. You can tell.

You shift your weight. “Are you heading out soon?”

“Eventually.”

And then you do it. The thing you’ve been rehearsing in your head for hours. The thing you almost talked yourself out of in the bathroom mirror twice tonight.

“I don’t really want to say goodbye yet,” you say, voice quieter now. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

It’s out before you can take it back. Your heart is in your throat. And it’s stupid. You should’ve asked sooner. Or not at all. You don’t even know where “somewhere” is. You just know you can’t let him leave without giving yourself the chance to be brave — just once.

You feel like you’re about to be laughed at. Or worse, gently let down.

But he doesn’t laugh.

He just tilts his head, gaze warm, steady.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t make it weird.”

He steps in closer, voice low. “Too late. Come on.”

The speakeasy is nearly empty when you walk in. It was only a ten-minute walk from where the wrap party was, but it feels like a different world. Jazz curls through the air in soft, distant waves. The lights are low and amber.

The booth he chooses is tucked in the back, half-shielded by a long, draping curtain. Private. Intimate.

You slide into the seat across from him, heart pounding, instantly too aware of how small the space feels. The table between you is narrow. Your knees almost touch. You tuck your legs to the side, careful not to brush him, but you can already feel his eyes on you.

He looks unbothered. Relaxed. One arm draped across the back of the booth. He orders a bourbon. Neat.

You fumble through the cocktail menu like you need an excuse not to look at him.

“A spicy margarita, please,” you say, your voice too fast.

When the drinks arrive, you take a confident sip of your margarita—then immediately start coughing.

You cover your mouth, eyes watering. “What the — this is spicy as fuck.”

Aaron raises his brows, casually sipping his bourbon. “Did you think ‘spicy margarita’ was just, like, a vibe?”

You glare at him, still coughing. “I thought it would be, like… fun spicy. My mouth is on fire."

Aaron raises a brow, setting down his bourbon. “It can’t be that bad. Let me taste it.”

You start sliding your glass across the table. “Here.”

He doesn’t reach for it.

Instead, he leans in slowly, head tilted, eyes locked on yours. “Not like that.”

Your hand stills. “What?”

He doesn’t answer, just looks at you, all steady confidence and heat. And you don’t move. Not for a second. You just watch him, like you're trying to figure out if he’s serious. He watches you right back, the corner of his mouth twitching.

And that’s when it hits you. He's just fucking with you.

You groan, leaning back in your seat, still flustered. “You’re an asshole.”

Aaron shrugs, sipping his bourbon like he didn’t just short-circuit your entire nervous system. “Sure. But you were gonna do it.”

You narrow your eyes. “No, I wasn’t.”

“I don't know, you were kind of leaning in.”

“I was assessing the situation.��

“You were ready to let me taste it from your mouth,” he says, so calm, so damn pleased with himself.

You scoff, gripping your glass just to keep your hands busy. “You’re delusional.”

Aaron leans back against the booth, stretching his arm across the top like he owns the whole damn night. “You’re nervous,” he says, not accusing, just annoyingly observant.

You roll your eyes. “I’m not nervous. I’m annoyed.”

“You’re annoyed because I caught you.”

“I’m annoyed because you think you caught me. There was nothing to catch.”

“Mhm.” He takes another sip of bourbon, like he’s letting you have that one.

The moment hangs between you, not tense, exactly, but something close. Like the edge of something sharper, waiting to cut through.

You don’t respond. You just look down at your drink.

He doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask what’s wrong. Doesn’t ask why you brought him here or what you want. But he knows. You can see it in his face.

He leans forward again, forearms resting on the table. His cologne drifts across the small space, dark and familiar.

“You still tired?” he asks, voice low.

You hesitate. “No.”

“You said you were earlier.”

You look up at him, meet his eyes. “I’m not anymore.”

He doesn’t look away. Just nods once, gaze unreadable.

For the next hour, the two of you talk about nothing, the playlist, the overpriced drinks, the ridiculous wrap gifts, like you’re still trying to prove you’re just friends who always knew how to kill time together.

“You know,” he says, casually — too casually — “it really has been great working with you.”

Your stomach twists.

You laugh under your breath. “That sounds like a polite goodbye in an email.”

Aaron chuckles. “What, I can’t be sincere now?”

“You being sincere is suspicious.”

“I’m trying to give you a moment.”

You try not to look like you’re panicking. And fail.

“That’s it?” you ask lightly. “That’s your goodbye?”

“I mean, I could write a card.”

You snort, covering your mouth with the back of your hand.

He grins, slow and amused. But it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“So,” he says, swirling what’s left in his glass, “what happens now?”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

He glances around the room. “Well, the party’s over. The show’s over. We’re sitting here. Just you and me.” He looks back at you, tilting his head. “Feels like we’re supposed to wrap this up somehow.”

You try to match his tone. Cool. Detached. “I don’t know.”

“We should probably head out soon,” he says casually, glancing toward the door.

Your stomach sinks.

You nod slowly, trying to act like you’re fine. Like this was always going to be just a drink. Just a quiet ending to a loud night.

He stands, smooth and effortless, slips his jacket back on like it’s just another night.

Then looks down at you. Calm. Unreadable.

“I can have my driver take you home if you’d like.”

You blink. “Okay, thank you.”

He opens the back door of the black car idling at the curb and waits, holding it open like it’s nothing.

You slide into the back seat. He gets in after you.

You stare straight ahead, lips pressed tight, hands gripping your purse like a lifeline. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t reach for your hand the way you used to imagine he might if the moment ever came.

The driver mentions he’ll drop Aaron off first — since his place is only a couple minutes from the speakeasy.

And that’s when the quiet starts to hurt.

The kind of silence that settles in your chest like a final scene. Like this is the last time you’ll be in the same car, breathing the same air. No more excuses. No more proximity. No more inevitable collisions.

This is it. This is the part where he gets out. Where you let him.

You stare down at your hands, trying not to do the math of it — of how long you’ll last pretending this was enough. Pretending you didn’t want more. You had your chance. A hundred of them, really. You spent four years collecting them and letting them pass.

The car slows. Aaron unbuckles his seatbelt without a word.

And your whole chest clenches.

This is really happening.

He’s going to get out. Say something vague. Wish you luck. You’ll go home and tell yourself this is what you wanted. That you were being smart. That silence is safer than saying I love you to someone who might not say it back.

You feel the moment cracking open, something in your throat tightening.

He doesn’t move right away. Just stares ahead — jaw tight, unreadable. Then he looks at you.

“Come on,” he says. “Get out.”

Your breath catches. “What?”

“Just for a second,” he says, already opening his door. “Say goodbye properly.”

You hesitate.

But he’s already stepping onto the sidewalk.

Your legs feel heavy as you follow him, like you’re walking through something thick. Like grief. Like regret. You wonder if this will be the last time he ever asks you for anything.

When you reach him, he’s standing a couple of feet from the car, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly. Watching you like he knows. Like he’s always known.

You stop a foot away.

He opens his arms.

“Come here.”

You step into him.

And the second his arms close around you — one low on your back, the other curling over your shoulder — it breaks.

You didn’t plan to cry.

You didn’t feel it coming.

But the second your face hits his sweater, it starts.

Silent. Unstoppable.

Your fingers fist the fabric like you can hold him in place that way. Like he might vanish if you let go. Your whole body shakes from it, this quiet, aching sob that’s been waiting years to slip out.

He doesn’t ask what’s wrong.

He already knows.

His hand moves in slow, warm circles on your back. The kind that soothe. The kind that say you’re safe. The kind that make everything worse because they remind you what you’re losing.

You breathe him in, voice cracking as you whisper, “I’m gonna miss you so much.”

He stills. Not sharply. Just feels it.

His hand moves to your hair, his touch reverent now. Like you’re something fragile. Like he knows what it costs you to say it.

You stay like that. Too long. Not long enough.

Then he pulls back just enough to look at you. Your cheeks are wet. His thumb brushes a tear away. He studies your face like it’s a decision.

Then, softly—

“Come inside.”

You nod.

You don’t say a word.

You don’t have to.

Because even though everything in you thought this was the end…

You were wrong.

This was never going to be goodbye.

The door clicks shut behind you, and suddenly it hits you:

You’re in his house.

You’ve been here before, sure — group hangouts, cast dinners. But never like this. Never alone.

Your feet stay planted on the welcome mat. Like if you move too far into the room, it might feel real.

Aaron steps past you, reaching for the light switch. He kicks off his shoes and turns to find you still standing like a nervous intern.

He lifts a brow. “You want me to carry you in bridal-style, or…?”

He smiles. Warm. Like he’s easing the tension on purpose.

“Maybe I do.” you respond, smiling despite your nerves.

You slip your heels off and take a slow step deeper into the room.

Aaron watches you like he already knows. Like he’s waited a lifetime for you to finally walk into this exact moment — nervous, squirming, ripe for unraveling.

He walks over to his kitchen, grabbing a water bottle from his fridge. He brings it to you, and watches as you sip.

Your hand shakes slightly around the bottle. He doesn’t miss it.

When you’re done, he sets it aside and curls two fingers under your chin, tilting your face to his.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low.

You nod — too fast.

He studies you for a second. Then walks over to his couch. He flops into it without fanfare and pats the cushion beside him.

“Sit down.”

The second you sit down, his arm slides behind you, resting along the back of the couch — not touching, not pulling, just there. Like he’s giving you an invitation you don’t have to take.

You sit stiffly. Sip your water. Stare at the art on his wall.

“I didn’t expect to end up here tonight.”

He nods. “Me either.”

You turn to look at him.

“I thought you were finally sick of my shit.”

“I was,” he says with a shrug. “Until I saw you crying over me.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “That’s so embarrassing.”

He laughs, full and real. “It was the highlight of my night.”

You look back up at him. “Why are you like this?”

“Because you’re like that,” he says simply, smiling.

The kind of smile that makes your stomach flutter and ache at the same time.

You roll your eyes, but it’s weak — you’re too aware of the way he’s watching you. Too aware of the heat pooling low in your body, of the words you’re still too scared to say.

A silence settles between you, not awkward, but charged — like the pause before a storm. Like you’re both waiting to see who’s going to say the next brave thing.

You reach for your water again, if only to give your hands something to do.

Aaron watches you for another beat, then shifts — like he senses the tension and decides to cut through it just enough to let you breathe.

“You want music?” he asks.

“Sure.”

He leans forward and taps something on his phone. A slow, low beat hums from speakers you hadn’t noticed before. R&B. Something moody. Sultry.

Of course.

“Really?” you say, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs, unbothered. “It’s just a playlist.”

You sip your water again. “This is a sex playlist.”

“Could be a soul-baring emotional conversation playlist.”

You roll your eyes, but he catches the smile you try to hide.

You lean forward and rest your elbows on your knees, staring down at your hands. “This is so weird.”

He raises a brow. “Weird how?”

“Just… being here. Like this. With you. Alone.” You pause. “I used to imagine this.”

You look up slowly — unsure whether to smile or backpedal — but Aaron isn’t laughing. He’s watching you like you just handed him a secret.

“You used to imagine this?” he repeats.

You nod once. “Not like… this exactly. But yeah. Just… being close to you without wondering if someone’s watching."

His jaw ticks. That quiet restraint you’ve seen in him so many times — it’s still there, but just barely.

“I used to picture it too,” he says, voice low.

You blink.

“You did?”

“All the time,” he murmurs. “But it wasn’t like this. You weren’t sitting a foot away from me like I was a stranger.”

You open your mouth, but he cuts you off gently.

“Come here.”

You freeze. For half a second, you don’t move.

Because for all you know, this could be like the bar again — one of his little tests. Another game just to see how flustered he can make you before pulling back with that smirk like gotcha.

So you hesitate. Watching him.

“Are you serious?” you ask softly.

Aaron doesn’t smirk this time. Doesn’t tease. His head tilts slightly, lips twitching into something softer, steadier.

“I’m dead serious,” he says. “Don’t make me ask twice.”

You swallow, heart thudding loud in your chest.

Then you crawl across the couch, slow and deliberate, every inch closing the space you’ve been scared of crossing for four years.

His hands are already at your waist when you reach him. He helps guide you into place — like you’re weightless — settling you onto his lap with ease. Your legs straddle his thighs.

Your dress hikes up dangerously high, and you instinctively try to shift it down, but his hands tighten on your waist, holding you still.

“Leave it,” he says, voice low and firm.

You freeze.

Then slowly drop your hands from the hem of your dress.

Your palms land on his shoulders, grounding yourself. His eyes flick down to your mouth, then back up, and the look on his face makes your breath catch.

“Four years of pretending you didn’t want me…” he teases. “How’d that work out for you?”

You try to glare at him. Fail. “Shut up.”

He grins. “I will. As soon as you stop lying to me, and to yourself.”

“I’m not—”

He cuts you off with a look. Sharp. Commanding. Don’t.

You swallow hard.

“I waited,” he says, dragging his hands up the sides of your thighs. “I let you push me away. I let you pretend.”

His grip tightens slightly.

“I just want you to be honest. I want you to look at me and say exactly what you want.”

You try to speak, but it’s just a shaky breath you can’t bite back.

He leans in slowly, caressing your neck with his lips, making you shiver with need. His voice drops to a velvet threat.

“I can do this all night, baby. I can keep you squirming on my lap until you’re begging and saying everything you swore you’d never say.”

“Aaron, please,” you whisper.

“Please what?” he teases darkly, dragging his lips closer to your ear now. “What do you want, sweetheart? My mouth? My hands?”

Your nails dig into his shoulders. He feels it, and grins like he’s won something.

“You wanna be mine?” he asks. “Say it.”

You hesitate.

“I want you. I've always wanted you.” you whisper, breathless, broken.

That’s all it takes.

He kisses you.

No hesitation. No tenderness.

It’s not sweet, not at first.

It’s everything you’ve denied, everything he’s been holding back. A collision of years of silence, missed chances, and stubborn pride. His mouth claims yours like it belongs there, like he’s making up for every time you turned away, every night he imagined this and didn’t act on it.

You gasp into him, but he doesn’t let up — just deepens it, tilting your chin up further, one hand tangled in your hair now, the other gripping your waist like he’s trying to remind you whose lap you’re in.

You feel like you're unraveling.

Your whole body is burning — breath hitching, skin flushed, mind dizzy with the taste of him. He kisses you like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s been starving for this.

And he has.

His tongue brushes yours, deliberate and slow, drawing a soft whimper from your throat. Your hands slide down his chest, anchoring yourself. You grind forward, instinctive and unthinking, and he stills you with a groan that sounds like it’s been clawing its way out of him for years.

“Uh-uh,” he growls. “You don’t get that yet.”

Your mouth drops open. “Aaron—”

“No,” he says again, firmer. “Not until you tell me why you waited so long. Not until I get every answer I’ve been patient enough to wait for.”

You’re panting now.

His thumb drags across your bottom lip — slow, focused, like he’s trying to decide whether to kiss you again or call you out.

His hand stays on your waist, warm and firm, the other still curled behind your neck. He hasn’t kissed you again. Not yet. He’s waiting. Letting the silence stretch until you can’t take it anymore.

“You told me you wanted me,” Aaron says quietly, eyes dark. “Now tell me why you waited so long.”

You hesitate. Swallow. Try to look away.

His fingers tighten just slightly. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

You meet his gaze — and once you do, the words start to spill.

“Because I was scared,” you say softly.

He says nothing — just strokes his thumb along the back of your neck, coaxing more.

“I didn’t want to be another actress linked to her co-star. I didn’t want to ruin the show with drama if things didn't work out between us. I didn't want to risk my career before it even really started."

Aaron’s jaw ticks, but he stays still, letting you keep going.

“And your fans…” you continue, voice shaking, “They’re intense. They hate anyone who gets too close to you. The comments, the threats — I’ve seen them. I didn’t want to live like that. Constantly being picked apart for being near you.”

Aaron doesn’t say anything — not yet. Just listens, eyes locked on yours, hand still firm at the base of your spine. His thumb is tracing slow circles into your skin like he’s trying to keep your pulse tethered to his.

“I know who you are, Aaron. I’ve seen it up close. Every woman wants you. I couldn’t walk into a room with you without someone throwing themselves at you.”

He’s still quiet. Dead quiet. But his grip tightens on your waist like he wants you to keep going.

“And I didn’t know if you’d want something real with me. I didn’t want to be some fling. I didn’t want you to use me to burn off steam between interviews and premieres and then move on to someone else."

Silence.

Aaron’s jaw clenches.

The silence stretches too long. It’s not teasing anymore.

His fingers flex against your waist — not rough, not soft. Just restrained.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low. Cold. Not because he doesn’t care — because he cares too much.

“You think I waited around for years… just so I could fuck you and forget you?”

You freeze, but your pulse spikes.

He sees it — the way your lips part, the way your breath catches. He sees everything. That’s always been the problem. He sees through you too easily, and tonight, he’s not letting you hide.

“Aaron,” you whisper, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You did.” His gaze holds yours — firm, but not unkind. “You meant it exactly like that. And I get it. You were protecting yourself. You’ve always been good at that.”

He exhales slowly, jaw ticking once before he shifts beneath you, his hands steady on your hips.

“But I thought by now,” he says, voice lower, rougher, “you’d know me better than that.”

You bite your lip, heart in your throat.

“I waited,” he says, fingers flexing at your waist, holding you exactly where he wants you. “I was patient. I watched you laugh it off every time it got too real.”

His hands glide up your sides — slow, reverent, grounding. His eyes don’t leave yours.

“And now you’re here,” he says. “In my lap. Dripping through those tiny little panties. Still pretending you don’t love me.”

His mouth twitches into something smug. “You’ve been running for four years, sweetheart. But you’re out of road.”

You lean in — trying to distract him — brushing your lips over his jaw, his neck, anywhere he’ll let you touch.

He tilts his head, letting you try. But his grip stays firm. Unyielding.

You whisper, desperate, “Just kiss me again…”

Aaron chuckles under his breath, dark and knowing. “No.”

You blink. “What?”

“I’m not kissing you until you say it.”

Your breath catches. “Aaron—”

He lifts a brow. “Unless you’d rather go home soaking wet and unsatisfied.”

You squirm in his lap, trying to grind down on him — needing friction, contact, anything.

You whimper. “Please…”

He leans in — not touching your mouth, just close enough to make you ache. “Use your words, baby.”

“I can’t,” you whisper, voice breaking.

“Yes, you can,” he says, calm and sure. “You’re just scared I won’t say it back.”

Your chest tightens. Your throat closes.

He softens, just slightly. One hand moves to cradle your jaw. “I’m not going anywhere. But I need you to be brave this time.”

You’re shaking.

You try to hold it in. You try to keep the last piece of yourself locked up, because once you say it, you can’t take it back.

But then he rocks his hips up into yours — just once — and your entire body jolts.

“Fuck,” you breathe, voice cracking.

“Say it,” he whispers again. “Or I’ll keep you like this all night.”

You’re on the verge of tears now — not from sadness, but the overwhelming pressure of it. The ache. The love you’ve been trying to bury alive for years.

“I love you,” you whisper.

His eyes darken, and the shift in him is immediate. That sharpness in his jaw relaxes, but everything else gets tighter — more focused. Like he’s locked into place now, no more teasing, no more waiting. Something quiet but fierce settles behind his gaze.

He cups your jaw fully now, both hands framing your face. “I know.”

Then he kisses you — again. This time it’s slow. Controlled. He tastes like promise. Like the kind of love that doesn’t get taken back in the morning.

“You don’t have to be scared.” he whispers against your lips. “I'm not going anywhere.”

You nod, your breath catching as his hands slide down your body with slow certainty.

He leans back slightly to look at you, one hand slipping beneath your panties, fingers tracing along your soaked heat. Your whole body arches into him — not even shy about it anymore.

“I knew you were wet,” he breathes. “But fuck…”

His fingers slide through your slickness and you cry out — overwhelmed, shivering.

He dips one finger inside you — slow, deep — and your eyes roll back. Your moan is shameless, immediate.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Let me hear you.”

Your hands scramble for something to hold on to — his arms, his shoulders, anything — and he shifts you slightly in his lap, his thumb circling your clit now while his finger curls just right.

You gasp. “Aaron—”

“I know, baby,” he breathes, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I got you.”

His rhythm stays slow, steady, designed to ruin you inch by inch. Not rushed, not greedy, just devastatingly focused on what your body needs.

Your climax tears through you like something you’ve been holding back for years — a release of pressure, of fear, of everything you never said. You cry out against his lips, shaking in his arms, as he whispers praise into your ear.

He holds you through every wave — grounded, strong, steady — never letting go.

And when it finally passes, when you’re trembling and flushed and breathless, he kisses your forehead, then your lips, then down to the curve of your jaw.

He doesn't move his hand from between your thighs yet, his fingers still resting against your sensitive skin, stroking you in slow, lazy circles, like he’s not ready to stop touching you. Like he won’t.

“I told you I could do this all night,” he murmurs, voice rough, dangerous.

You shiver.

Your hand finds the hem of his sweater, slipping underneath. His skin is warm and solid, muscle flexing under your fingers as you push it higher. He lets you pull it off, watching you, letting you touch him now, letting you finally have what you’ve wanted for so long.

His chest is broad and defined, that faint trail of hair down his stomach making your pulse trip. You run your hands down the planes of his torso and feel him inhale through his nose, eyes darkening.

“You look like you’ve been dying to get your hands on me,” he says, voice quiet and smug.

You nod, helpless. “I have.”

He grins, then grips your thighs and stands, lifting you like you weigh nothing.

You gasp and cling to his shoulders as he carries you toward his bedroom, your legs wrapped around his waist, dress still bunched up around your hips.

He kicks the door open and lays you down on his bed, standing over you for a moment, watching you like you’re something holy.

“Take it off,” he says, nodding to your dress.

You start to slide the straps down your shoulders, but your hands are shaking. He notices, of course he does, and steps forward to help, voice softer now.

“Let me.”

He undresses you slowly, carefully, pulling the fabric down inch by inch until you’re left in just your soaked panties beneath him, bare and exposed in every way. His eyes drag over your body like he’s memorizing it. When his hand moves to your inner thigh again, your breath catches, your body still sensitive from before.

But he touches you anyway, brushing between your legs with just enough pressure to make you whimper.

You squirm. “Aaron—”

“You want me to stop?”

“No,” you breathe.

He pulls your panties down, slow and deliberate, and lets them fall to the floor.

Then he climbs onto the bed—kneeling between your legs, eyes dragging over your body like you’re something he’s been starved for.

He leans down and kisses your neck, your collarbone, the curve of your breast, never rushing. His hands stroke your thighs, your stomach, your hips, like he’s trying to ground you while simultaneously unraveling you all over again.

Then, without warning, his mouth is between your legs.

You cry out, hands fisting in the sheets as his tongue drags through your folds, slow and precise. He groans against you when you moan, like the sound alone is a reward.

You squirm a bit, still sensitive from your last orgasm and overwhelmed by the pleasure—but his hands hold your hips down, firm and steady.

“Uh uh. Stay still.” he murmurs.

His tongue circles your clit with expert precision, lips closing around it just enough to make your hips jerk. Then he slides two fingers inside you again, curling them just right, and you feel yourself breaking apart all over again, faster this time, more desperate.

He brings you over the edge with a low groan, licking you through it, and when you come this time, it’s with a cry of his name that almost leaves your throat raw.

You barely have time to breathe before he’s crawling up your body, kissing you hard, letting you taste yourself on his mouth.

You reach for his belt, fumbling with the buckle, and he grins against your lips.

“Don't you regret not letting me do this years ago?” he murmurs.

“You talk too much,” you pant, tugging at his jeans.

He helps you strip him down, and when you feel him—hard, thick, and heavy in your hand—you freeze.

Your eyes flick up to his, suddenly nervous.

He sees it. Smiles. And not sweetly.

“Too much for you?” he teases, brushing your hair off your face like he’s comforting you.

You open your mouth—probably to fire back—but he doesn’t give you the chance.

He kisses you again, deep and slow, then lines himself up and teases your entrance with the tip—just the tip—until you’re gasping and clawing at his back, trying to pull him in.

“Aw, look at you,” he murmurs against your cheek. “Already came twice and still so desperate.”

Then he pushes in.

Slow. Deep. Devastating.

You choke on a gasp, legs wrapping tight around his hips, your back arching as your body stretches to take him.

“F–fuck,” he grits out, forehead pressed to yours. “I should’ve made you mine the second I met you.”

He pulls out almost all the way—then drives back in, hard enough to make the bed creak.

You cry out, and he chuckles darkly.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “that’s it. Let me hear you."

He starts to move—long, unrelenting strokes that leave you boneless. Every thrust is deliberate, every angle calculated. He grips your thigh, holding it high against his side, while the other hand cups your jaw like he’s anchoring you in place.

“Are you still gonna pretend I don't own you after this?” he whispers, tone dripping with taunt.

You whimper, nails digging into his shoulders. Your mouth finds his neck, desperate, clinging. But you can’t stop shaking. You can’t breathe.

You fall apart under him, gasping and sobbing into his throat as your body clamps down around him. He doesn’t stop—not until he’s spilling into you with a growl of your name, his hips jerking, forehead pressed to yours as he rides it out, slow and deep and full.

After, he doesn’t pull away.

He kisses your jaw, your shoulder, your throat—soft now, like penance. Like he knows exactly how much he just wrecked you and he’s trying to stitch the pieces back together.

For a while, neither of you move. Just breathing. Just existing. Your limbs tangled, your bodies still buzzing.

Eventually, he pulls back—just enough to press a final kiss to your temple. Then he slips out of bed, tugging you with him.

By the time you’re both clean, dry, and back in bed—wrapped in one of his massive gray blankets—the tension from earlier has softened.

Aaron lies behind you, arm draped around your waist, chest warm against your back. You feel his breath in the dip of your neck—slow, steady.

You break the silence first. “You still awake?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“You good?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Then: “Just thinking.”

You shift slightly, just enough to glance back at him. “Thinking about what?”

His touch moves higher, his thumb tracing soft circles beneath your ribs. “About what would’ve happened if you hadn’t asked me to leave that party with you.”

Your chest tightens.

“I spent a long time convincing myself that what we had — the flirting, the inside jokes — was enough,” he murmurs. “That I didn’t need more.”

He exhales, quiet and controlled. “But it wasn’t enough. Not even close.”

You turn onto your side to face him. He watches you in the dark, eyes unreadable, jaw tense.

You feel the words settle between you — warm, honest, a little heavy.

He brushes a knuckle down your cheek, almost absentminded. “I love you,” he says, soft and steady. “And I’ve never been subtle about it.”

Your lips twitch into a smile, even as your eyes burn. “No. You weren’t.”

He laughs under his breath. “And you never made it easy.”

You nudge him with your foot beneath the blanket. “Neither did you.”

A beat of silence passes before you add, quieter now, “I wasn’t trying to be a bitch. I just… didn’t know how to handle it.”

“I know,” he says, gentle now. “You didn’t owe me anything."

You nod, heart full. Then, after a beat: “So what now?”

He leans onto his back, pulling you with him so your head rests against his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” You toy with the edge of the blanket. “We’re not working together anymore. No more excuses to see each other every day.”

He raises a brow. “You worried I’ll disappear without the studio forcing us into close proximity?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he says. “You’re already overthinking how we stay in each other’s lives like I haven’t spent four years plotting exactly that.”

You make a face. “Plotting?”

“Yeah,” he says, smirking. “Meticulous long game."

Your breath stutters. “So… that means we’re together?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Babe. You’re naked in my bed, your legs around me, and I just told you I love you. What the fuck else would we be?”

You laugh. “You really know how to make someone melt.”

“I know.” he says smugly, trailing his hand beneath the blanket.

You try to stay still, to keep the upper hand—but his fingers slip beneath your shirt again, slow and deliberate.

“You love me?” he whispers, kissing your jaw.

“I do,” you sigh, finally letting yourself say it out loud. “Which is unfortunate, really.”

He laughs into your skin, his mouth finding your neck. “Terrible life decision. But I fully support it.”

#aaron pierre #aaron pierre fanfic #aaron pierre smut #aaron pierre x reader #aaron pierre x black reader #terry richmond fic #terry richmond smut

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willowsnook · 3 days ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/willowsnook/777849918464393216/halfway-to-always-pt-2

more pleaseeeeeeee!!! maybe like their relationship growing more ? idk more relationship things since we technically haven’t see them together

pt. 1, pt. 2

Quinn hughes x sharks!reader

—-------------------------------------------

Long distance had not been easy, but you and Quinn were really trying to make it work. It was a lot of late-night calls, quick trips across the border, and constant texting. If you were at a different point in your life, you might complain, but where you are now was actually perfect. You didn’t have to worry about splitting time between work and a boyfriend, because your boyfriend lived 900 miles away, so he wasn’t expecting your physical time.

It was easy for him too – he had strayed away from relationships ever since he was drafted in the NHL, not wanting to put someone through the experience of him being away all the time and always focused on hockey. The first half of the season came and went and you fell into a good routine: watch Quinn’s games when you could, call him after, fall asleep to his voice.

It was after a night Sharks game, when you saw that someone else had tried to call you: Ellen. The second you saw the missed call, you immediately dialed her number.

“Hey Ellen, sorry I missed your call,” you said, concerned. It was pretty late where she was at so the unexpected call had you on high alert.

“Hey sweetheart, I know you don’t have your phone on during games, but I wanted to tell you that Quinn got hurt tonight,” she said softly.

Your heart sank, “How hurt?”

“Not terribly, but something with his obliques,” she said. “I talked to him an hour ago, he said it’s looking like there’s a good chance he’s going to miss some games.”

You were devastated for Quinn; missing some upcoming games likely meant he wouldn’t be able to play in the Four Nations tournament either. He was so happy when he was selected for the team and you knew this would crush him. You thanked Ellen for the call and called your boyfriend next.

“Hi baby,” he greeted sleepily.

"Hi, I just heard. Are you okay?" Your voice was tight with concern.

"I've been better," Quinn sighed, and you could practically see him running a hand through his hair, that frustrated gesture you'd come to know so well. "Doc says it's just a strain, but..." He trailed off.

"Ellen mentioned you might miss some games."

A heavy pause hung between you. "Yeah. And probably Four Nations too." His voice cracked slightly on the last word, confirming your fears.

"Oh, Quinn," you whispered, wishing more than anything you could be there to hold him. "I'm so sorry."

"It's hockey, you know? These things happen." He was trying to sound casual, but you could hear the disappointment weighing down each word. "I just... I wanted it so badly.”

He sounded so meek over the phone, and your heart broke in half listening. You tried to keep the conversation going but saying he was tired, all you could do was remind him that you were here for him before hanging up.

“What’s wrong?” Will asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. He had his bag thrown over his shoulder, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Quinn injured his oblique,” you told him, trying to keep your emotions at bay.

“How bad?” He asked.

“Bad,” you replied. “He’s going to miss four nations.”

Will held open his arms, and you crumpled into them, trying to take deep breaths. You heard him talking to someone else so you pulled back, meeting Macklin’s sad gaze. He collected you from Will’s arms and held you tightly against him.

“Okay, let’s make a plan,” Macklin told Will. “You deal with the flight stuff and I’ll get her stuff from the apartment?”

“Already looking up flights,” Will said, scrolling through his phone. “Last one of the night leaving in two hours. I’ll get it.”

“How much is it?” You asked, turning to look at him.

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Will,” you warned, and he gave you a look.

“Dude, we make so much money, it doesn’t matter.”

He didn’t let you argue any further and after a quick stop by your apartment you were on your way to the airport.

Macklin had driven you, and you sat in silence for a moment before he nudged your shoulder gently.

"He's going to be okay, you know," he said softly. "Hockey players are built differently."

You nodded, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. "I know. It's just... he wanted this so badly."

"And he'll have other opportunities," Macklin assured you. "But right now, what he needs is you."

The flight to Vancouver was mercifully quick, though you spent most of it staring at the seat in front of you, unable to sleep despite the late hour. By the time you arrived at his apartment, it was nearly 3 AM. You used the key he had given you the last time you’d seen him to open the door to the quiet place.

Being as quiet as possible, you set your bag down on the couch before heading towards Quinn’s room. Taking a moment, you admired his sleeping form, his eyebrows were unconsciously furrowed, an almost scowl on his face.

You stepped into the room slowly, unsure if you should wake him. But as if sensing you, Quinn stirred, his eyes blinking open. The second he registered that it was you standing in his doorway, his expression softened.

"Hey," he rasped, voice thick with sleep and surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I got on the first flight I could," you said, stepping closer. "I couldn’t just stay there knowing you were hurting."

He sat up with a wince, pushing the blankets down to his waist. “You flew all the way from San Jose… in the middle of the night?”

You nodded, climbing up onto the bed beside him. “Of course I did.”

His jaw clenched for a second, like he was trying to hold something in, but then he reached out and gently pulled you into him. His hand slid around the back of your neck, his lips pressing against your temple. “You’re crazy,” he whispered.

“I know,” you whispered back. “But I love you. And I wanted to be here.”

“You love me?” He asked, frozen in place. Your breath hitched, not realizing what you had let slip out.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as the admission hung in the air between you. You hadn't planned to say it like this—in his darkened bedroom at 3 AM, both of you exhausted, him injured—but there it was.

"I do," you said softly, deciding to own the moment rather than try to take it back. "I love you, Quinn."

His eyes searched yours in the dim light, a mix of vulnerability and wonder crossing his features. Then, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"I love you too," he whispered, his hand gently cupping your face. "God, I've been wanting to tell you for weeks, but I didn't want to say it over the phone."

Relief washed over you, followed quickly by a warmth that spread through your chest. You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”

“If it means I get to be woken up at 3am to you in my room, I’ll do it more often,” he joked and you laughed. His tone turned serious again, “I’m glad you’re here. I needed you.”

“I know,” you told him, bringing your lips to press against his. “I’m here, always.”

#quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes #nhl x reader #nhl imagine

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ingravinoveritas · 8 months ago

Text

Lovely new article about Michael in Paste magazine. Article is behind a paywall, so here is a transcription (with thanks to the person on FB who transcribed it, and the parts in bold are my own emphasis).

There’s so much to love about Prime Video’s Good Omens. A delightful adaptation of the popular Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett novel of the same name, the series is romantic, thoughtful, hilarious, and heartfelt by turns. The story of the almost-apocalypse and what comes afterward, it wrestles with big concepts like destiny, free will, and forgiveness, all framed through the lens of an unorthodox relationship between an angel and a demon whose love for one another is a key to saving the world.

As anyone who has watched Good Omens already knows, nothing about this series works without the pair of lead performances at its center. Stars David Tennant and Michael Sheen—who play the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale, respectively—have the kind of lighting-in-a-bottle chemistry that’s the stuff of legend, and their characters’ every interaction conveys both their deep affection for one another and the Earth they’ve made their home. Their romance is the emotional linchpin around which most of the series turns, and their heartbreaking separation in the Season 2 finale is so devastating precisely because we’ve seen how necessary the two are to each other’s lives.

But it’s Sheen’s performance in that final scene that really twists the knife. As Aziraphale’s face crumples following his and Crowley’s long-awaited kiss, the actor manages to convey what feels like every possible human emotion in the span of less than thirty seconds as the angel realizes what he has both had and just lost. The moment is emotionally brutal to watch, particularly after sitting through five and a half episodes of Aziraphale looking as lovestruck as the lead in any rom-com. Sheen makes it all look effortless, shifting from giddy joy to devastated longing and everything in between, and we really don’t talk enough about how powerful and underrated his work in this series truly is.

Though he’s half of the central duo that makes Good Omens tick, Sheen’s role often tends to get overshadowed by his co-star’s. It’s not difficult to see why, given that Tennant gets to spend most of the show swanning around in tight trousers looking like the Platonic ideal of the charming bad boy, complete with flaming red hair and dramatic eyewear. Tennant also benefits from Crowley’s much more sympathetic emotional arc. I mean, it’s hard not to love a cynical demon with a heart of gold who’s been pining after his angelic best friend for literal millennia even after being cast out from Heaven. Of course, viewers are drawn to that—likely a lot more easily than the story of an angel who’s simply trying the best he can to do the right thing as he wrestles with his role in God’s Ineffable Plan. Plus, let’s be real, Tennant’s sizeable Doctor Who fanbase certainly doesn’t hurt his character’s popularity.

As a performer, Sheen has a long history of playing both real people (Tony Blair, David Frost, Brian Clough) and offbeat villains (Prodigal Son’s Martin Whitly, Underworld’s Lucian, the Twilight Saga’s Aro). In some ways, the role of a fussy, bookish angel is playing more than a bit against type for him—Gaiman himself has said he originally intended for Sheen to be Crowley—but in his capable hands, Aziraphale becomes something much more than a simple avatar for the forces of Good (or even of God, for that matter). With a soft demeanor and a positively blinding smile, Sheen’s take on the character consistently radiates warmth and goodness, even as it contains surprisingly hidden depths. The former guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden who gifted a fleeing Adam and Eve his flaming sword and befriended the Serpent who caused their Fall, Azirphale isn’t a particularly conventional angel. He enjoys all-too-human indulgences like food and wine, runs a Hoarders-esque bookshop that never seems to sell anything, and spends most of his time making heart eyes at the being that’s meant to be his hereditary adversary.

Given the much more difficult task of playing the literal angel to Tennant’s charming devil, Sheen must find a way to make ideas like goodness and forgiveness as interesting and fun to watch as their darker counterparts. It’s a generally thankless task, but one that Sheen tackles with gusto, particularly in the series’ second season, as Good Omens explores Aziraphale’s slowly evolving idea of what he can and cannot accept in terms of being a soldier of Heaven. His growing understanding that the truth of creation is colored in shades of grey and compromise is often conveyed through little more than Sheen’s deftly shifting expressions and body language.

Our pop culture consistently struggles to portray the idea of goodness as something compelling or worth watching. Explicitly “good” characters, particularly those who are religiously coded, are frequently treated as the butt of some sort of unspoken joke they aren’t in on, used to underline the idea that faith is a form of naivety or that kindness is somehow a weakness. For a lot of people, the entire concept of turning the other cheek is a sucker’s bet, and believing in something greater than oneself, be it a higher power or a sense of purpose, is a waste of time. But Good Omens is a story grounded in the idea that faith, hope, and love—for one another, God, and the entire world—are active verbs. And nowhere is that more apparent than in Sheen’s characterization of the soft angel whose old-fashioned waistcoats mask a spine of steel and who refuses to give up—on Crowley, on humanity, or on the idea that Heaven is still something that can be saved.

Though he and Tennant have pretty much become a matched set at this point (both on and off-screen), Sheen’s performance has rarely gotten the critical accolades it deserves. (Tennant alone was nominated for a BAFTA for Season 2, and Sheen was categorized as a supporting actor when the series’ competed in the 2019 Saturn Awards.) But it is his quiet strength that holds up so much of the rest of the show around him, and Sheen deserves to be more frequently recognized for it. That he makes it look so easy is just another sign of how good his performance really is.

I love this so much. The thoroughly well-deserved praise for Michael's incredible performance as Aziraphale, but also that Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship is specifically described as a "romance." And of course, the first sentence of the last paragraph that acknowledges how much Michael and David are indeed a "matched set" that cannot (and should not) be separated...

#michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #good omens 2 #aziraphale #david tennant #soft scottish hipster gigolo #crowley #ineffable husbands #their chemistry is and always will be amazing #i truly do not think we would have had a season 2 without Michael and David #but we can now see how their connection informed the relationship between aziraphale and crowley #they are perfect together your honor #mutual wanting #in and out of character #a friendship that's become something more #ineffable lovers #<3

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sapphiresaphics · 4 months ago

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The reason Season 2 ends with a big robot battle is because throughout the entire show, everyone thinks that to solve the conflict between the two cities you just need either bigger violence or the more correct form of violence.

Silco’s brilliant takeaway from the failed bridge revolt that began Arcane is that he just needs to have an even BIGGER attack. “For respect.” Right?

Jayce’s big plan to solve things was to team up with Vi to take on Silco. Because just getting rid of Silco will solve everything… right?

Jinx’s hatred and anger is taken out on the council, blowing them up in a fit of rage and retaliation. Surly that will stop things from getting worse, right?

Ambessa believes that Hextech weaponry will solve all her problems with the Black Rose. Remove them and everything will be okay, right?

So much of the justification for peace, is through acts of violence. Something Caitlyn herself remarks upon in season 2. But notably each time the violence escalates, the retaliation escalated too.

Jayce’s attempt to stop Silco resulted in him killing one of the Chem-Baron’s kids. That same Chem-Baron then attacks the memorial for the counselors which in turn sets off Caitlyn to attack the undercity, which in turn sets off Jinx to attack Piltover, which in turn forces Ambessa to seize control of the city. Every time, the violence escalates larger and larger.

The cycle continues.

And as things get worse and worse and worse, Viktor comes up with the ULTIMATE form of violence:

Forcefully remove ALL choice and agency from ALL people in the world and impose his own will on everybody all at once.

Viktor’s “glorious evolution” is the inevitable culmination of this attempt to stop the conflict between the two cities. It’s a different type of force, yes, but it’s still a force against your will all the same.

Viktor’s robot army is a visual representation of what the cycle of violence will ultimately lead to. It’s taking away your choice, your individuality, your emotions and fears, against your will.. by force. Reducing you to just a blank, faceless, obedient, automaton. You have no agency. You have no purpose. You don’t even have a voice to scream with.

But as future Viktor observes: “when all equations were solved, all that remained were fields of dreamless solitude.”

Arcane begins with the tale of two cities entrenched in the cycle of violence. The political machinations don’t leave the show, it just gets more and more heightened as the show goes on until it balloons out of control and becomes this enormous war over the very concept of individuality. Arcane needs to end with a big robot battle because that’s a visual metaphor for what happens when the cycle of violence continues. When you keep thinking “this act of violence will be the one to stop everything from getting worse” this is the only logical end game.

Just as doing science for the sake of science gets you the Atomic Bomb and the potential of Nuclear Destruction, violence for the sake of violence will only result in devastating consequences and a loss of rights and freedoms.

Anyone who thinks season 2 did away with the political messages of season 1 is lying to themselves. Season 2 is just a continuation of what was happening in season 1 and it only gets bigger and more intense as the show progresses until it reaches its breaking point.

Ps: this is my own extrapolation from this brilliant post. Please check their analysis out as well!

#arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane spoilers #the cycle of violence #the base violence necessary for change #arcane viktor #jayce arcane #caitlyn kiramman #vi arcane #arcane jinx #arcane theories #arcane season 1 #vi

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winterdaphne2 · 10 months ago

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Favorite Johnlock Fics (BBC Sherlock)

I went on a bit of a fic-reading spree this spring, and this list of favorites is the result! There are many other fics that I’ve enjoyed reading, but these are the ones that I’ve really loved for one reason or another.

I’ve tagged the authors whose tumblrs I could find. If that’s you, thank you so much for sharing your writing with us. If your work is on here, you wrote something that I really treasure.

1. A River Without Banks, by Chryse. E, 203,286 words. Starts right after Season 3. A mix of Sherlock’s perspective, John’s perspective, and the perspectives of other characters. Sherlock-focused for the first half.

Author’s summary: “‘You love this, being Sherlock Holmes.’ He had once. When had it all gone so wrong?”

This is my absolute favorite. The author’s characterization of Sherlock is amazingly accurate, and Sherlock’s character development over the course of the story is breathtakingly executed and moving. The plot is fantastic and takes you on a page-turning emotional roller coaster, especially for about the first half of the story. I was also continually impressed by how many details from the show and references to earlier parts of the fic the author was able to weave in throughout while still keeping the story creative and original. Most importantly, though, I love this fic for the message that it sends about Sherlock and John’s love, which is a far more positive message than the one that the actual show settled upon in the end. I’m grateful that we have this version of their love story, and, personally, I like to pretend that this was Season 4 and how the show ended.

2. Another Country, by Chryse. E, 67,414 words. Starts right after the end of TAB. Sherlock’s perspective.

Sherlock spends one month and three days under house arrest in 221B, trying to get clean from the drugs, track down the new Moriarty, and figure out what the hell is going on between him and John.

Another fantastic work by Chryse. This author really gets Sherlock’s character, and once again the characterization of Sherlock is spot-on and convincing. There are a few other elements that also make this a compelling story, including smart use of minor characters, a solid central mystery, and a complicated relationship between Sherlock and John that includes a pretty convincing post-Season-3 version of John. Excellent.

3. walk through ghosts, by @augustbird. M, 6,125 words. Written between Seasons 2 and 3. Sherlock’s perspective.

Author’s summary: “The thing is: Sherlock thought that the two of them would have forever to figure it out.”

This is the saddest fic I have ever read, and so beautifully written. The author captures Season 2 Sherlock’s character perfectly; the fact that this story feels so real is what makes it devastating. The day after I read this, I couldn’t stop thinking about it and walked around with my heart physically aching in my chest.

4. Nature and Nurture, by @earlgreytea68. M, 203,273 words. Set sometime after Season 2. Alternates between John’s and Sherlock’s perspectives, but mostly told from John’s.

The British government clones Sherlock. He and John decide to raise the baby.

A true fandom classic. The premise sounds super cracky, but somehow it really works. This fic is surprisingly serious at times, but overall it is the cutest and funniest thing I have ever read in my life. Basically 200,000+ words of Sherlock and John being adorable gay fathers together and working through some feelings, with line-by-line some of the most hilarious dialogue ever. The five accompanying ficlets that the author wrote as short follow-ups are also worth checking out; my favorites were School (T, 4,753 words) and The Radovljica Apicultural Museum (T, 4,540 words).

5. To a Friend Who Sent Me Roses, by @algyswinburne. E, 16,147 words. Set sometime after Season 4 (but ignores TFP, as we all should lol). Sherlock’s perspective.

Author’s summary: “Five times Sherlock is mistaken for John’s partner and Rosie’s father, and one time it isn’t a mistake.”

This fic is sad, sweet, and hot by turns. Absolutely lovely to read in so many ways, and with so many great details and lines. I think this story offers convincing portrayals of what Sherlock’s and John’s characters might be like after it all and how they might finally get together. This and A River Without Banks are my favorite alternate endings to the show. Beautiful!

6. for all that bitter delights will sour, by @darcylindbergh. E, 9,585 words. Set sometime after Season 3. Sherlock’s perspective.

John initiates a sexually and emotionally abusive relationship with Sherlock.

The second saddest fic I have read. I would never want what happens in this fic to happen to Sherlock and John, so I don’t exactly recommend it as a Johnlock fic. But as a short story, this is a gem, full of absolutely gorgeous and incredibly moving writing. It depicts difficult themes very deftly, in lines and paragraphs that I had to stop to read over and over. I appreciate this as an emotionally powerful and thought-provoking piece of writing inspired by Sherlock, so for that reason I think it deserves to be on this list.

7. The Ground Beneath Your Feet, by Chryse. E, 68,803 words. Set after Season 3, but as if the last two minutes of HLV never happened. “The plane went on to Eastern Europe, and this is what came after.” John’s perspective.

This fic is pretty dark; the author describes it as “a PTSD story in which John was wholly devoted to Sherlock.” I don’t love it quite as much as the other two fics by Chryse that I’ve listed here, but that’s mostly because those two are just so amazing! I still really enjoyed this one. It was wonderful to see a kind and caring version of John emerge out of Season 3, and the story had several memorable moments, including one particularly nail-biting scene. I also really liked seeing John and Mycroft become friends as they bonded over their shared concern for Sherlock.

8. The Adventures of a Single Girl in London (Plus a Consulting Detective), by @earlgreytea68. M, 32,913 words. Set soon after Season 3. Alternates between different characters’ perspectives.

Bored with life at her new cottage in Sussex, Janine returns to London and moves in with Sherlock at 221B. Hilarity, heartbreak, and eventual Johnlock ensue.

This is a Season 3 fix-it fic that features an absolutely lovely friendship between Sherlock and Janine and the best version of Janine that I’ve come across in a fic. Sherlock is vulnerable and sweet, John is an absolute idiot, Janine is perfect, and the last two chapters just make me scream. Great stuff.

And that’s it for now! If you know of any other fics that I might like based on the above, I’d be happy to hear about them, so drop me a line!

Happy reading 😊

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hanahanumana · 8 months ago

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From AnaMaria Abramovic on Fb

Paste magazine has done an article about Michael and how underrated he is in Good Omens and I found a transcript since it's behind a paywall. Here's the link if anyone wants to subscribe. 💙

https://www.pastemagazine.com/tv/amazon-prime-video/good-omens-michael-sheen-underrated-performance-explained-streaming

#good omens #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #michael sheen #aziracrow

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zalrb · 3 months ago

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Okay I've just discovered your Nick and June posts and I am OBSESSED!!

Here's something interesting that I'd love for you to expand on.

In 5x10 when Nick punches Lawrence, I think that's the first time in 5 seasons that he's actually lost his cool. Alot of his emotions are telegraphed on his face in beautifully subtle ways, but with the punch, it's the first time he's had a real external reaction that he just want able to control. It's super interesting to me!!

Thank you! If you haven't, you might want to watch my edits of them too! They're always fun for me to do so I encourage people who want to watch them to watch them! Playlist of all the vids is below:

And you're right about 5x10! Absolutely. I think the outburst is a combination of a couple of things.

1. This isn't the first time June's life has been in danger but it is the first time that Nick wasn't there in some capacity to, if not prevent harm

or help her escape

then save her life

Even when she's being tortured in 4x03, he knows where she is, he has an idea of what's happening

and he's doing everything in his power to make sure she gets out

In 4x05, he doesn't know where she is, but he's keeping tabs as best as he can

and he didn't think he would need to have that in Canada, he thought that she was finally safe and when he did get an inkling of danger, he tried to do what he always did with a person he at least somewhat trusted

and it didn't work, he wasn't there, he couldn't help

and her safety is of paramount importance to him

That feeling of devastation for him must've been astronomical.

2. I think all of this was exacerbated by the fact that this season was spent with Nick actively working against his own emotions rather than simply hiding them. Even though he was taciturn or silent and had to communicate with a shift in his expression or a movement or a subtle gesture, he never attempted to repress his love for June, he never tried to lie to himself about her and now, he's doing his best to lie to himself, and repress his love, and be honourable to his wife and, the instinct, and the impulse to be with June, to overtly, expressly love her is there, it's very much there, but he ignores it

and that must've felt like suffocating

that these two things that each contain a multitude of other nuanced things converge and the only way for him to react is with an outburst of emotion

plus there's the fact that, when given the opportunity, Nick hits the men who have harmed June or put June in harm's way :)

Those are my thoughts on it anyway!

#osblaine #nick x june #june x nick #nick blaine #june osborne #the handmaid's tale #tht #osblaine 5x10 #osblaine 5x09 #max minghella #elisabeth moss

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lazy-sixteen · 3 months ago

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'Unconditional Love' - Jayce's feelings towards his partner

Thinking today about what made Jayce' and Viktor's relationship so extreme, Romantic, so oh-shit these two nearly ended the world with their Divorce Arc, and from Jayce's end I would say it is that he took the concept of "Unconditional Love" and really cranked it to the high-setting then welded the dial there.

Let's start at the end.

ii. Love

Jayce loves Viktor. No one (at least in these more enlightened days of post-Season 2) is arguing this. He's drawing the guy in his diary/research journal, he's loudly proclaiming Viktor the co-inventor of his life's work, he's throwing a city founder and respected mentor off the Council, and simultaneously making both Orpheus and Dr. Frankenstein look like pussies with his resurrection antics. There is so much great meta and analysis that points out how much he loves Viktor, and the more details you examine in the show the more evidence you find.

I think the only point I'd like to add here, is that is really is genuinely love motivating him. He's not obsessed with his imagined idea of a perfect partner nor dependent on Viktor as the more confident half of their partnership, it's all love.

The obvious example of not just wanting a 'perfect' or easy version of Viktor is Jayce's speech about always respecting/admiring him with his imperfections their mind meld at end, but I think the bridge scene also counts. While they do argue about it, Jayce never wants to change who Viktor is. When they fight at the bridge about Zaun, Jayce apologizes for saying something classist/insensitive immediately instead of trying some bullshit 'well, you aren't like the rest of them'. He's not perfect about it, but he'd chose to learn and grow as a person over trying to erase where Viktor came from because he loves his partner as a whole person, not just the parts that are easy for him to understand/love.

Additionally, when Viktor leaves him (after Jayce basically vomits up his heart on a rambling silver platter, lol), Jayce is so obviously emotionally devastated - but he does respect Viktor's decision and is able to continue functioning. For the first point, Jayce doesn't try to physically stop Viktor from leaving or follow him after Viktor makes clear he wants space. Afterwards, while Jayce is obviously an emotional wreck (sleeping in the lab), the second Heimmerdinger and Ekko turn up he's able to pull himself together enough to Problem Solve and muster the emotional energy to genuinely care that the Hexgates might be polluting a community in Zaun. Jayce is definitely a wreck after Viktor leaves, but he respects Viktor's decision about leaving and is able to function independently.

( Of course of note, Jayce didn't respect his promise to destroy the Hexcore - so you could say that the respecting Viktor's decision to leave now is either a case of Jayce trying to learn his lesson and grow in regards to respecting his partner's choices, or a you could say the situation wasn't equivalent since Viktor asked him to promise something that would lead to his partner's death while Viktor was obviously very emotionally compromised after Skye's death and Jayce had just stopped him from committing suicide - i.e., Jayce didn't honor that promise bc to him, it appeared to be an extension of Viktor's suicidal intention.)

Anyway, the point is, it is about Love for Viktor as he is, not just that he's important to Jayce's success or caring about the easy parts like his intelligence. Jayce just totally and completely just loves his partner. Onto...

i. Unconditional

And, here's where Jayce gets absolutely freakishly, unhealthy do-not-try-this-at-home with it, there is absolutely nothing Viktor can do to himself, to other people, or to Jayce that will make Jayce love him any less. It is beyond 'would you love me if I was a worm' and hits 'would you love me if I killed everyone you loved, desecrated their corpses, then killed you?"

(Jayce, said 'Yes, obviously. Also if you did that more than once and let me be tortured for several months. Anything for you, baby.")

On the first point (nothing Viktor can do to himself) in Season 1, it was remarked upon by Singed that Viktor using very illegal drugs and trying to alter his body with an unstable dangerous magical artifact might freak Jayce out/make him leave. Viktor verbally disagrees with this sentiment, but he also hides what is doing from Jayce. While some of that could be to protect Jayce if his experimentation gets discovered (see, very illegal drugs obtained from exiled mad chemist who worked/works for a drug lord), part of it is likely intended to represent hesitancy or fear that Jayce might be disgusted at what Viktor is doing.

Contrary to Viktor's/Singed's predictions, Jayce simply does not seem to care. We never seem him react specifically to the metal arm/leg, but given that he used Viktor's research notes (Which would include fun, savory details like 'carving runes into his flesh' and 'injecting Shimmer') to resurrect him into a completely purple, metal, magic immortal creature and then reacted to Viktor's horrified "What am I?" with a adoring, love-sick "You are alive." complete with half-naked hug and nuzzling - we can safely assume he would not have loved Viktor any less for the purple-metal arm+leg.

This continues on, Jayce is fully willing to kneel/try the power of love confession at the fully metal and horrifying split-face looking Machine Herald. In fact, I think his speech at end works so well because it is given to someone metal and removed from humanity - he loves and respects Viktor both as he was with his disabilities and on the other end, as someone who had removed every weakness from his body to the point of becoming closer to a machine-god than a human.

Okay at this point, we can say that Jayce's affection is still sweet (and parts of it are good, touching, and healthy - if you love someone you Should be willing to grow as a person and try to correct your biases, you Should accept their disabilities and care for them as part of what makes up your loved one's life), but moving us closer to off the rails - there also doesn't seem to be anything that Viktor can do morally / do to other people/ do to Jayce himself that matters either.

This is best shown in the Hell Dimension - Jayce spends several months in a Saw Trap slowly going insane, in severe pain and desperate loneliness (seriously that level of 'no human contact' is enough to qualify as torture on its on). He see the world absolutely ruined, everyone either dead or transformed into creepy porcelain dolls (dead and having their corpses corrupted/puppeted/used). He climbs to the top of the former Hexgate, corrupted into a monument to his failures, sees his future corpse kneeling in defeat, and looming over it the Mage, who saved him as a child but also set him on the path to magic, made him in integral piece of the mechanism the ended the world, and is furious!! He's angry and accusing, and looks like he's about to start screaming or trying to fight!!

Until the mage, pulls back his hood and reveals he's older Viktor - then, oops never mind, Jayce instantly is no longer mad - just amazed and happy. To me at least, it is parallel to Viktor waking up transformed out of the magic goo and Jayce instantly hugging and exclaiming happily he's alive! Jayce meets Viktor's eyes over his own corpse in the middle of a world-wide graveyard, and instantly his mood switches from fury to joyful recognition. The next scene we see (chronologically, not story-wise) is him willingly kneeling and Old Mage's Viktor's feet like a warrior being knighted, taking the hammer from his own corpse, and promising to save younger Viktor.

(And to me at least, that is implicitly Jayce's and Old Mage Viktor's priority here based on how they phrase it, - not to save the world from Viktor, but to save Viktor from having to suffer the loneliness and guilt of ending the world).

Like holy shit, Jayce not only loves Viktor so, so much, this is an 'in all times lines, and all possibilities' he loves him. He loves Viktor so much it is a universal constant - with no limitations or boundaries (including such healthy ones as, maybe I should take a step back from a relationship I know is 99% likely to kill me).

AND, and!! This makes me especially insane - this is not a problem Jayce has in his other relationships. He is perfectly capable of loving and caring for other people while still maintaining boundaries, or pulling away from relationships that hurt him. This is 100% a Viktor-only thing.

We see Jayce pull-away and stop confiding in his mother after she hurts him by declaring him insane in front of the counsel (we never see them really talk one-on-one after that scene in his bedroom). He break-ups with Mel in the Counsel Room over both her using Jayce as an investment/puppet ruler (which she was, part of Mel's character arc is learning that conquering through manipulation/politics is still conquering) and his own survivor's guilt that she saved them and not the rest of the Counsel (not her fault, she did in instinctively with a power she didn't know she had). And he maintains that distance, he's comforts her a bit later when she reaches out about feeling used, but generally remains physically and emotionally closed off.

(Sidenote rant about how I actually really love Mel and Jayce's tragic, doomed bi4bi romance cut for time)

Like Jayce has limits, he can love people genuinely but pull away when he feels they are hurting him or he's hurt by what they've done. Just, only for other people.

In conclusion, Jayce loves Viktor unconditionally, in all timelines and all possibilities: whether he's his human and dying lab partner or an eldritch magic-machine god, whether he's saving Jayce life or killing him - that love is truly unconditional

#jayvik #jayce talis #viktor arcane #long post #arcane meta #i guess #any way the knowledge of being loved no matter what #REALLY no matter what #is a bit terrifying #btw I think Viktor loves jayce back just as much #but in a different (also unhinged) way #mentioned sidenote rant available upon request

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bmissyb · 8 days ago

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El was made to look like Will

Let’s build a case!!!

1. The Duffer Brothers confirmed it themselves

In Stranger Things: World Turned Upside Down (the official BTS companion book), Ross Duffer says:

“We wanted Eleven to feel out of place in the world, so we dressed her in clothes from Will’s closet, gave her his haircut, and made her look as much like him as possible.”

That is a direct quote. She was styled, intentionally, to evoke Will. Not just for narrative coincidence, not by accident but on purpose.

Why? Because…

2. It’s part of the show's emotional setup.

El appears in Chapter One; the day after Will goes missing.

Mike is devastated, disoriented, desperate to find his best friend.

And who shows up? A quiet, trembling kid in an oversized t-shirt, with short hair like Will’s haircut (it was planned to be a the same bowlcut but that was changed last minute), wearing his old clothes, who can’t speak, but clings to Mike like he’s her safety net.

This isn’t subtle. El’s entire visual and emotional presence was crafted to echo Will. The Duffers wanted Mike (and the audience) to feel that connection instantly. To blur the line between grief and attachment.

3. Her S1 Costuming Literally Uses Will’s Clothes.

I think everyone knows that the costuming team intentionally dresses El in Will’s style of clothing. The only time in S1 where this isn’t the case is when Mike makes her wear Nancy’s dress, trying to make her conform to the norm in order to keep her safe… weird. Also, in S1, Will and El’s colour palette are the same.

Even her body language mirrors Will’s: hands close to her chest, soft-spoken, wide-eyed.

These are not generic kid traits. They are Will’s traits.

4. Narratively, it mirrors Mike’s repression.

Mike falls for El not after she speaks or becomes "El," but when she comforts him. When she lets him feel safe. When she replaces Will’s absence.

He names her “El” the same way he used to name Will’s characters. It’s a continuation of the emotional bond he had with Will—but repackaged in a way he can express and others will accept.

5. And what happens when El stops looking like Will?

As El grows into her own identity (new haircut, her own clothes, her own voice) Mike’s confusion increases.

By Season 3 and especially 4, he’s struggling to express his feelings for her. He lies to her face. He says he loves her only when she’s begging for it. In a moment of desperation whilst surrounded by people who have a predisposition about his priorities and his role within the party as ‘Mike the brave.’

You can think about it as a PR stunt.

Compare that to how he talks to Will: unguarded. Emotional. Honest, even when he’s flailing.

6. Visual language backs this up.

- El’s intro is coded as a stand-in: standing in the rain, alone, scared—just like Will’s disappearance scene.

- The lighting, framing, and even score in scenes with Mike and El early on are eerily similar to shots of Mike and Will in flashbacks.

- Season 4 leans even harder: Mike stares at Will, not El, in emotionally intense scenes. El and Mike feel visually distanced—while Will and Mike are often framed together in softness, light, and eye contact.

WHAT DOES THIS ALL MEAN???:

The Duffers explicitly designed El to look like Will.

Mike formed his bond with El because she reminded him of Will.

That visual and emotional substitution becomes unstable when El starts being her own person.

Thus, Mike is left to confront the false perception he’s had of her (and Will by proxy)

The disguise is gone. Now he has to figure out who he was really seeing.

#there’s also El being called a boy in S1 #she’s literally mistaken to be Will #i was supposed to post this earlier #but i forgor #this is all crazy if you ask me #guys pls treat this post nicely like u did my last one abt this #i trieddd #byler #stranger things #mike wheeler #will byers #byler endgame #byler nation #eleven stranger things #el hopper #stranger things theory #stranger things analysis

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lunarriviera · 4 months ago

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yet another shen yi meta [uts2 spoilers]

hi hey hello everyone i continue to be tormented with obsessive thinkings about s2 Shen Yi so i must holler about them/him some more, feel free to stop reading if you have not watched through approximately episode 11 which is where i still am. it's taking me longer to watch because i keep pausing to rewind/screenshot and/or weep in anguish about Him and What He Is Going Through. and how NO ONE IS PAYING ATTENTION. or insufficient attention. cf. Ryan Gosling in the Papyrus sketch screaming WELL IT WASN'T!! ENOUGH!!

[more. much more. behind the cut]

let's start here, with shen yi's artwork. in this scene he competed with AI to paint a chosen image and, surprising exactly no one, he won, partly because he's brilliant but tbh mostly because AI art is garbage and always adds dolphins, rainbows, and hands with six fingers.

but here's the thing: is no one going to question this? does anyone think to themselves "ah yes, shen yi is absolutely the BEST person in the world to make a painting in 30 minutes that depicts, quote, a lonely man on a beach." so here is this miserably hunched, despairing figure, surrounded by murky howling early-picasso blue, LOOKING IN FACT QUITE A LOT LIKE SHEN YI HIMSELF—even dressed like him (in the snowy white and dainty pastels he seems to favor this season)—and not a single person thinks: huh, wonder if this guy's okay?

in fact s2 seems to be repeated evidence of the fact that shen yi is Very Much Not Okay, and yet no one is really paying attention. he supports everyone else emotionally and they all seem to assume he either a) has no emotional blowback to deal with, or b) can deal with it himself unaided somehow. (through painting, maybe? but have you seen what he's painting lately? e.g. monstrous abusive parent figures, in some kind of breathless fugue state during which he can psychically hear lines from someone else's traumatic childhood?) he goes to li han's house to help her, which is so like him, and he says:

oh! you might think. well, maybe he will self-disclose a little? tell li han about some of his own personal difficulties that he's had to overcome, just to bond with her, get her to open up? HAHAHA ARE YOU NEW HERE, of course he doesn't, he just listens to her while she sobs out her tragic backstory, gives her a tissue, relates her struggles to a vaguely terrifying metaphor of his own device about a sealed room filling up ineluctably with floodwater, then smiles and takes her out for pizza. (totally unrelated but wow the product placement is heavy-handed this season. xiaomi! pizza hut!)

since we're talking about the li han case, consider this moment, too, when he interprets someone's house-person-tree drawing. does no one ever think, "for someone who talks constantly about love and connection, how interesting that shen yi has no family, refuses to date in very pointed and deliberate way, and lives alone with a cat."

shen yi knows all about love! never shuts up about love! constantly dispensing bromides about what real love should be like! and wakes every day ALONE from horrific guilty nightmares ft. creepy small girl in blood-red dress, pls will no one help this man pls he's drowning.

couple more bits and then i swear to god i'll shut up i'm starting to feel really stupid. but first consider this little story, in three parts:

"an image of despair" um okay well…technically it's just a dead body, albeit after a fairly grisly stabbing, but sure go off i guess

2. du cheng: wow even for you that was unusually poetic and weird

3. also du cheng: back to investigating the murder i guess [wanders away]

this kind of thing happens again. and again. either no one notices assorted horrified/devastated expressions on shen yi's face (in the way of classic extradiegetic reaction shots, where the camera sees them—we see them—but none of the characters onscreen do) or, when du cheng does notice, he's immediately distracted by his actual job, and/or the fact that he doesn't really know how to help his partner, because lbr he has all the emotional intelligence of a pony.

one more mini-story in three parts, and then i really will put a sock in it:

shen yi: why, what did i do. why are you looking at me like that

2. du cheng: bc you just lied your whole entire face off with alarming unsettling proficiency, since when are you that good at being dishonest

3. shen yi: hehe

in an earlier episode we also saw shen yi shouting at a suspect in the interrogation room, so convincingly that afterwards du cheng admits, you scared me. lol! says shen yi in carefree manner, i learned that from you! haha! agrees everyone, and they go about their business.

but ghastly things keep happening to and near him. at least once per episode, shen yi makes a face like this, because people are jumping off cliffs in front of him or abruptly smashing things with hammers or just lashing out with all kinds of antisocial behaviors in his vicinity:

to be fair, he has other expressions. for instance he also repeatedly employs his patented creepy ruthless smile, of the "i am going to fuck you up" variety, an expression reserved especially for criminals:

as well, i'm also leaving out all the ridiculously adorable/domestic scenes with him and du cheng, in which they share candy, roast each other about assorted nonsense, briefly co-parent a child, and, you know. are just generally disgustingly married. but that's a different meta.

also, admittedly du cheng does SAY things. he says, "are you still having trouble sleeping," he says "do i not care about you?" and "don't push yourself so hard" and "if you run into troubles, don't try to take them on alone." (i am sparing you all these screenshots since this is a meta about shen yi but trust me i have carefully accumulated every single shred of evidence in which du cheng is protective.) but, as frequently as du cheng expresses concern, he also just keeps clapping shen yi on the shoulder in a brotastic way and then strolling out. which i fear is just not going to be adequate. ("i don’t think this is literally papyrus. maybe that was the starting point but they clearly modified it?" "well whatever they did, IT WASN'T!! ENOUGH!!")

i leave you with two final images of shen yi, seen here continuing to be very much Not Okay, and to quote the bernie meme, i am ONCE AGAIN ASKING YOU, drama, is anyone going to care enough about this man to stop him going over the edge of the cliff with Evil Art Critic Eugenicist Moriarty Weasel Man? because he will, he will do it. because he's lonely and he's misunderstood and he's—

[cane comes out and drags me offstage]

#shen yi #under the skin 2 #tan jianci #猎罪图鉴 #沈翊 #under the skin spoilers #檀健次 #猎罪图鉴2 #under the skin meta

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alltheboysandgirlsiloved · 6 months ago

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I keep thinking about Ben in jwct season 2 and what he was going through.

The situation with Brooklynn is clearly layered. At first, along with everybody else, he thought that she died, but remember that he was the first one who suggested that her death was no accident. We can only guess, but I assume that before he traveled to Darius in s1, Ben spent a great deal of time coming to terms with whether he should bring his theory up. Think about it - this is not an easy choice; he was aware that everyone was trying to make peace with her death, and here comes Ben to basically smash all the peace they have established in favor of a theory. He had to choose between "letting them exist, knowing only a fraction of a truth" or "changing the course of his life". Of course, later it became clear that this person was going to come after the rest of them but still...

So Ben was the first one who really understood the danger of the situation they were all in. And how that threat has manifested - in Brooklynn's "death". And then Ben is also the one who learns that Brooklynn might be alive. Mind you, at first all he has is a memory of a grainy video. And once again he faces the exact same choice - either protect this tiny peace that they have or smash it all again and turn his friends' world upside down again. So what he does is - he decides to gather more evidence because (and that's so valid) it doesn't feel right to give his friends a spark of hope when at first he's not even sure if his eyes weren't deceiving him.

Then, he learns that Brooklynn is alive. She calls him and he talks to her but it's obvious - even from the awkward cut of the videocamera and the little information Ben gets out of Brooklynn - very obvious that she is in danger. What does it mean? Remember that we are now dealing with people who don't shy away from murder. So it means that Brooklynn is alive now, but may very well be in mortal danger which may end up, potentially, in her dying, this time for real. Brooklynn asks him to keep her status a secret, makes him promise her that. And he does, but he still has his doubts whether he made the right call. But- Let's put yourself in Ben's head for a moment and see one of the possible outcomes: as I mentioned before, he understands that Brooklynn is in danger. Now imagine he tells the rest of the Nublar 6 that she is alive, but she later dies anyway without meeting them. The emotional shock that the group would go through upon such development is life-shattering. They would be devasted - they got her back (even if not physically) only to lose her again? I feel like it would be more traumatic than her "first death" was. And I think that Ben could have been afraid of that too.

Ben not telling the rest of Nublar 6 about Brooklynn being alive was so much more than fulfilling a promise to her. He says it himself - he didn't want anyone to get hurt. He wanted to keep Brooklynn safe, of course, he knew that the less Nublar 6 knows, the smaller the chance that they'd end up acting irrationally, but I also think that he feared that by telling them that she's alive, he'd "promise them" (not directly) seeing her again, and that's something he couldn't know would fulfill.

#jwct #ben pincus #jurassic world chaos theory #jwct spoilers #jwcc #jwct brooklynn #jwcc brooklynn

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welcometothejianghu · 1 year ago

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Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching. Today's choice: 少年歌行/The Blood of Youth

The Blood of Youth is a 2022 live-action adaptation of the tale of a deposed, disabled, and incredibly cunty prince who's on his way back to settle the score with his asshole father, and the rag-tag band of weirdos he accumulates along the way, including Spear Girl, Bad Monk, and Fire Puppy (pictured above).

I hope you like shounen anime, because this is the most shounen anime something is allowed to be without actually being based on something running weekly in Shounen Jump. What if Nirvana in Fire were also Naruto? It would be the Blood of Youth.

This show is an underrated gem of action-packed fun that not nearly enough people in English-speaking fandom have seen. In an attempt to correct that -- and ahead of an announced second season and prequel in progress -- I'm here with five reasons you should try it out.

1. Zero thoughts head empty

You do not have to pay an enormous amount of attention to this show to understand what's going on. The show itself does not always know what's going on. It got distracted by a shiny object over there, and now we're all gearing up to go punch the shiny object. We'll get back to the main plot when we're done with the punching.

It has a million billion plot threads going on at any given moment. Bad guys roll in from sects you've never heard of before, using superpowers with stupid names, only to get kicked into next week. There's approximately eleventy thousand characters -- so many, in fact, that I ran into problems several times while making this rec post, because there aren't readily available photos of everyone I want to talk about. Just look at the DramaWiki cast list. See how it goes on for like fifty screens? That's a little what the show feels like.

Except I'm not saying that like it's a bad thing, because the show knows it's doing this, and it acts accordingly. It telegraphs pretty well who's important and who isn't (and then it goes out of its way to color-code the latter, which is handy). What you're left with is absolutely a manga-style plot, complete with training arcs and semi-relevant sidequests, all working up to the final boss match.

It is an extremely self-aware show. On multiple occasions, something would happen, I would crack a joke about it, and then a beat later the show itself would make the exact same joke. I wouldn't call it an outright comedy, but it's still very funny, and on purpose. It has no illusions about being some kind of profound, meaningful epic. Mostly it's just here for a good time.

Yet this lightheartedness is what makes the powerful emotional parts really powerful by contrast. The show is not stupid; it's just goofing around most of the time. When it knuckles down, it can be devastating. And you know what? It does wind up being profound and meaningful about some stuff. How about that.

So yeah, if you're up for something that bops merrily right along and only occasionally rips your heart out, here you go!

2. Putting the poly in polycule

Bisexuals, rejoice! It's representin' time!

Here you go, I made a relationship chart of about 40% of the show's potential and canonical ships. I could have included so many more, but I only had so much space on the image, so I had to leave out some amazing ones, like the sword hedgehog who's real into this one cougar who could easily wipe the floor with him, or the rich nerd who thinks he has a chance with the aforementioned hot butch, or the fancy MILF who cheated on the emperor with a dreamy jianghu man and is trying not to cheat on him again with a different, slightly less dreamy jianghu man. See? There's just so much.

I would also say these are not exclusive ships. They are extremely inclusive ships. I am a fan of most (though admittedly not all) of the pairings listed here, and in fact of many of the three-and-more-somes indicated by these lines. They're such a cuddle puddle of shared intense feelings that it's hard to imagine anyone getting more than mildly jealous. Moreover, the potential for romance does not get in the way of hetero friendships; a boy and a girl who are each dating other people can go do adventures together, and (mostly) nobody gets weird about it, which is nice. If anything, what makes the overall dynamic so polycule-like is how equally friends and love interests get treated, meaning that it's not difficult to see a lot of crossover potential between those two categories.

If you're like me, you're hesitant about canonical romance, especially when it's straight, mostly because so many straight love stories wind up being tiresome, gross, and/or skull-poundingly boring. You will then be pleasantly surprised by how the canon pairings with members of the main cast are not like this at all!

Xiao Se and Sikong Qianluo are the main textual romance, and golly gee, they're just cute as heck. As the chart above indicates, I like interpreting them as two Kinsey 6's who have found their single exceptions, Mulder-and-Scully-style. Maybe one of the best things about their relationship is that it gets sidelined all the time for the plot. They're not so busy being in love that they forget to get shit done. Then they get a bit of downtime and get to go on a date, and you're like, aww, those sweet gay disaster babies are gonna do a little bit of heterosexuality. Just precious.

Tang Lian and Fairy Rui are right up there with the cuteness. She's a sex-positive dancing beauty who wants to ride that pretty boy like she stole him, and he's a shy sword boy so tightly bottled up that he'll explode if he sees a bare ankle. Avoiding spoilers, I will simply say that this is a pairing of two relatively soft people, until a bad thing happens to one of them and the other hardens up about it. If that's your jam, they're here for you.

Lei Wujie and Ye Ruoye are probably the most magical and the most practical of the bunch. They have a beautiful, super-dreamy, really horny sword-dance meet-cute, complete with its own pop song ... and then that's it, they're basically just together. She likes him, he likes her, good for them. In-laws aside, it's a refreshingly low-drama situation. Besides, I always love it when the hypercompetent woman gets the sweet, devoted himbo who'd do anything for her. Ruoye's had a hard life, and she deserves someone who can dick her down good at night and make her a nourishing breakfast the next morning.

And then there is, of course, The Ship:

Xiao Se and Wuxin are canonical, textual soulmates. The show treats their dynamic as more important than any other. It's so important, in fact, that the show has to sideline Wuxin for huge parts of the drama, lest everything get too damn gay. They each get a boyfriend catch on the other. They both do fairly reckless things when the other is in trouble. They are the secret hidden happy ending to the series. They share the kind of ride-or-die relationship built on mutually being the hugest bitches in any given room. Whether or not you think this is romance, it is extremely romantic, and the series agrees as much as it can, all things considered.

And if none of those flavors of love float your boat? Well, have you considered ... eunuchs?

3. She likes e4e

So I'm on record as being real into eunuch characters, right? Well, if you're with me on that, you are in for a treat here, because these are some absolutely buck-wild eunuchs.

There's five main ones, and I can't even begin to scratch the surface of what's going there. Like, really, I don't even think I understood all of what was happening with them. They're kind of the bad guys, but then they're kind of the good guys, but then some of them are the bad guys, but then they're just working for the bad guys, but then they screw over the bad guys, and ... it's just a lot, okay? It's a lot, and it's all happening with this bunch of catty bitches.

Also, you would not believe the difficult time I had finding any images for this section. I guess for some reason, fandom isn't way into a bunch of canonically dickless color-coordinated middle-aged men in weird hats? Whatever, man, they are missing out. If, however, you have the good sense to be into the intense and complicated (semi-romantic??) relationships among colleagues who also professionally just happen to be missing their external genitalia, buddy, strap in (and maybe strap on, depending).

Don't let me oversell how much these guys are in the show. They're not. They're vaguely important at points throughout, and they become incredibly important near the end, but they're hardly main characters. They're mostly back at the palace, doing their various schemes and looking absolutely fantastic.

So if they're such a minor part of the story, why do they get their own selling point? Well, I think their presence is a good example of two specific things about the show:

Specific thing the first: It's so queer -- not gay, but queer. Thinking back to my last selling point, you will notice how many of those straight pairings may look normie on the outside, but once you get down to it are not playing by cishet rules. (For instance, I've seen a lot of people read Tang Lian's resistance to sexual advances as asexuality, which, sure!) Likewise, there are lots of incredibly important, intimate relationships that don't conform to standard romantic pair dynamics. Add to that a lot of bodies with unusual characteristics and conditions, and you've got the makings of plenty of delightful non-normative love stories.

Specific thing the second: There are so many things going on with so many side characters that there's a kink here for everyone. Don't care for eunuchs? How about slinky villains with mind-control powers? Devoted servants who would do anything for their masters? Former bad guys who owe life-debts to the good guys who saved them? Bonded pairs traipsing around the jianghu together? Sons nursing legitimate grudges against the men who killed their fathers? Alcoholic widowers with incredibly slutty necklines? Mysterious cross-dressers with unconvincing moustaches? Vengeful brides? Martial siblings? Murderous royals? Guilt-ridden half-siblings? Boring star-crossed lovers? All these and more! It's a smorgasbord of rarepair fuel!

Also, I just love these toxic drama queens. It's like if RuPaul's Drag Race had the authority to have you executed.

4. The most intriguing outfits I've ever seen in anything (and yes, I'm including Winter Begonia)

Time for a fashion show!

The asymmetrical fits, the detailed embroidery on everything, the brilliant colors -- everybody just looks so good. And yet everything still looks ... eh, I don't know if "practical" is the word I want, but at least wearable. Nobody's dragging ten-foot trains of fabric behind them or wrapped in eighty floofy layers of gauze (except Rui, but she's special). Their outfits are strange and elaborate, but they don't defy physics.

What's truly stunning is how often they get new outfits. Xiao Se alone changes clothes about once every other episode, and more if he's getting a flashback. He is the fashion plate of the whole series, and every look he serves is pitch-perfect.

They're not outright color-coded, but the main characters do have certain colors associated with them -- which is extra-fun when you watch those colors bleeding into their friends' clothes as their relationships get stronger. I also think -- and I'm willing to be proven wrong on this point, but I think I'm right -- that they recycle some characters' outfits into parts of other characters' outfits. On more than one occasion, I'd swear that Lei Wujie shows up wearing the left half of something Xiao Se was wearing a few episodes back (tailored to fit him, of course, because that dumb ponytail boy is tall).

Where I think the costume design gets massive points, though, is that the costumes are themselves adaptations.

Before the live-action series, there was a 2018 3D animated donghua. I have never watched the latter, but apparently the drama is intensely faithful to the animated visuals, to the point where some fights are shot-for-shot remakes.

Of course, you can do a lot more with unreal clothing and bodies in animation -- and you can show a lot more skin, at least according to Chinese content laws. The live-action costumers chose to preserve about as many of the appearance beats from the donghua as they could manage, while still accepting the limitations of real-life bodies and materials. You can see some side-by-side comparisons here. The live-action outfits manage to be instantly recognizable without being slavishly devoted recreating to their inspirations.

So if you're sick and tired of dreary, ill-lit shows with bland palettes, this vibrant, colorful drama may be just the thing for you. It's a rainbow from start to finish.

5. Actually a good central plot?

Despite all the wacky delightful shounen nonsense that this show has -- and it has a lot -- the core of the whole narrative, which is Xiao Se's story, is surprisingly great and cohesive.

The short version is this: Xiao Se used to be Xiao Chuhe, sixth prince and somewhat heir apparent. Then he and his jerk-ass dad had a falling-out that resulted in the prince's having his martial arts abilities all but taken from him. He's been living the life of a very well-dressed innkeeper for several years, trying to avoid all of that palace garbage. But now his jerk-ass dad is dying, which means that a lot of horrible decisions are finally having unfortunate consequences for everyone, and Xiao Se's got to get back in there to make sure everything does not go to shit and land someone terrible on the throne -- even if it has to mean taking it himself.

His central conflict is between what he used to be and what he's become. Does he miss being Xiao Chuhe, high-ranked martial artist and future emperor? Or is he happier being Xiao Se, long-suffering nobody who can barely run a business, much less hold his own in a fight? What would he be willing to do to get back what he's lost? What are his obligations to himself versus his obligations to everyone else? How much is he responsible for his father's bullshit? And why has he wound up having to babysit this stupid Fire Puppy?

It's okay, they're best friends now. Lei Wujie decided.

No spoilers, but I liked Xiao Se's ending a lot. I feel it's very true to the character and shows a real understanding of who he is and what he values. And really, at the end of the day, sometimes all you need for a happy ending is your girlfriend, your girlfriend's girlfriend, your girlfriend's girlfriend's boyfriend who's also your boyfriend, your other boyfriend, his girlfriend, and your long-distance for-real soulmate.

Feel like giving the youths a try?

You can find them on YouTube or on Viki. But be absolutely sure that no matter where you watch it, you make sure to go watch the epilogue as well. (And if you get real into the story, well, here's a link to information about all the other adaptations.)

You are also welcome for how I did not spend this post going off for five hundred years on how much I love Wuxin and his funky relationship to Buddhism. I figured that's way too niche of a selling point for most people, and might indeed have even been counterproductive. But know that I could have.

Also, I'm very happy about the announcement of a second season, because that's going to mean Liu Xueyi has to shave his head again, and he looks unbearably good with a shaved head.

Oh yeah, did I forget to mention the whole motorcycle photoshoot?

In case you hadn't noticed, the whole cast is stupidly hot. Hachi machi.

#the blood of youth #少年歌行 #bloody youths #i made this #rec post #the party is a polycule #LeiDHD

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