#anyway i hate to say it but anyone who thinks its not 'in' is lying to themselves

[quarterprioritymidnight]

re: seeing all this warmth lyric™ discourse going round

[koushirouizumi]

{This is also (half of) what I want for all of my O.T.P.s For Your Info}

[ahsxual]

Stu Macher x Fem!Reader where they are dating but the readers parents hate him so one night are 2:33 am Stu knocks on the readers window and she opens it it tells him to leave but before she can get a word out Stu is kissing her and telling her how much he misses her and one thing lead to, and so Stu had to push the readers head into her pillow so she didn’t wake anyone.

Sorry if the store request does not make any sense i’ve been wanting to request something from you for a while and this idea kinda came to my brain as I was falling asleep at four in the morning so I am very sleep deprived lol anyways I love your story. I hope you have a great day

Surprise Baby

Genre: Fluff & Smut

Warnings: +18 content, clingy and soft Stu, dirty talk, degrading, cursing, dom!Stu, p in v (w/o protection), sad Stu at the end (reader comforts him)

Word Count: 1,8k

A/N: This was actually a very interesting request and Ik very well that our daydreams before we sleep are the best 🤭 I added something to the plot at the end, so I hope you still like it! Tysm, I'm so glad you like my writing! It always feels so gratifying whenever you guys tell me that <33

Right now you're lying on your bed crying, while hugging your favorite bunny plush that Stu gave you for Valentine's Day. You'd just had an argument with your parents, since they weren't the biggest fans and supporters of your relationship with your boyfriend Stu Macher. You didn't understand why they didn't like him and didn't even make an effort to, even though Stu always made you happy and made your life more colorful and enjoyable from the moment you met him. Of course Stu had his flaws like everyone else, since perfection is impossible to achieve and that was fine by you. But not for your parents. They said that Stu distracted you from school, that he "lived" for parties and didn't give you your "precious" time to concentrate on your studies, because he always took you on dates so that he could spend more time with you, even when you said you were busy.

You perfectly knew that Stu wasn't a guy who would take "no" for an answer. Maybe it was because he'd always been spoiled by his parents and didn't understand the meaning of that word? Maybe he hated the fact that you would say "no" to him, because if you truly love him as you always say, why would you reject an opportunity to go out with him? Both answers to those questions are probably correct, because you knew that Stu didn't know how to respect your personal space either, not that you minded anyway. But your parents did and that was the problem. They even told you once that Stu was obsessed with you and that your personal life has also become his, as if it were his property. Maybe they were right about that, but that's how Stu showed how much he loved and cared for you and it always worked well in your relationship. And you really missed him.

Sleep didn't want to make its presence known, so you decided to watch your favorite show on your new tv. However, you still couldn't stop thinking about the argument with your parents. Of course you defended your boyfriend and were always on his side to protect him against anyone, even your own parents, but it did made you very upset... all you wanted was for your family to see how genuinely happy Stu makes you feel, how he always admired you and treated you as if you were the only woman to walk on earth and how he's so funny that it's practically impossible not to laugh because of some silly joke he's made until your cheeks hurt. You just wished your family accepted him and loved him as much as you did...

Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted when you heard your window being knocked on repeatedly. You screamed for a second, because you weren't expecting that to happen in the middle of the cold night. Nevertheless, you immediately felt relieved when you saw Stu standing there with his puppy eyes and big smile on his handsome face you loved so much. A wide smile appeared on your face the moment you realized your boyfriend wanted to surprise you and that he had actually made an effort to see you.

His giant body barely fit through your window and the way he clumsily tried to get into your room, like a cartoon thief, made you laugh until your belly started to get sore.

"Baby, what are you doing?? It's cold outside!" you asked worriedly, before you watched him fall face down on the floor as he let out an "ouch". You couldn't stop laughing at his poor attempt to sneak into your room, as he already knew that your parents would never let him in, especially so late at night. You looked over your bedside table, where your alarm clock was, to see what time it was, as it marked 2:33 am.

"Surprisee baby!" he shouted excitedly, with a contagious smile that didn't leave his face for a moment. His breathing was accelerated, which made you realize he had some trouble climbing up to your window. You felt your heart warming at his romantic gesture, yet you didn't want your parents to find out and kick him out of your house or worse.

"Be quiet babe, you're not supposed to be here! You need to leave Stu, my parents are gonna ki-" you were really worried about your boyfriend's safety, but Stu didn't give you a chance to finish your sentence, as he grabbed you firmly around your waist and began kissing you passionately with his long, skilled tongue. His hands were all over your body and his grip was tight, not allowing you to move away from him.

"Shh- don't worry about them. It's just us now. I've missed you so much, baby." he admitted, before kissing your neck eagerly. When he he'd had enough, he pulled you up by your hips and laid you down on your bed, his mouth never leaving yours. You couldn't help moaning as you felt his sweet, loving assaults on your body, his lips and big hands making you melt into his addictive touch.

"Love, we have to be quiet... and you're making it hard for me." by now you were feeling breathless, unable to contain your desire for your horny and needy boyfriend. Instinctively, you rubbed against Stu's crotch which made him groan in pleasure, as you could feel him already hard under his jeans. He began to gently pinch your nipples through the fabric of your short pajama top, enjoying and closely analyzing your reactions to his teasing touch.

"Looks like I have to shut you up so we don't get caught, baby..." the last thing you saw was a mischievous grin on your boyfriend's face, before he firmly turned you around so that you were on all fours for him. He pressed his erection against your ass, while his eyes rolled back as he put his head back from the stimulation and his mouth was slightly open. You were starting to enjoy this game way too much, to see who couldn't hold back their moans, and you made sure you would win this battle. You pushed your ass against him and started rolling your hips in a provocative way, knowing that Stu wouldn't be able to hold it much longer. He bit his lips at this and frowned, realizing what you were trying to do to him.

"My girl really wants to get some, huh? You wanna play dirty, doll? Do you really think you can win this game against me?" he laughed trying to mock you, making you feel pathetic if you really thought you could stay quiet with the way he was about to fuck you.

"Just fuck me already Stu, I can't hold it much longer..." you quickly gave up and decided to beg him for mercy, so you could feel him inside you for once. You were dripping by now and the thought of having to keep quiet so no one would catch you at such a vulnerable and intimate moment turned you on even more for some reason.

You finally felt him give you want you wanted, since Stu himself wasn't a very self-controlled guy when it came to you. You felt his tongue lick a long, firm strip from your throbbing clit to your pulsing, empty hole. This made you grip your pillow as hard as you could while he ate you out from behind. Unfortunately, it didn't last much longer like you'd hoped, as you didn't realize how horny and impatient Stu was feeling that night. Suddenly, you felt his fully erect cock enter you without any resistance, sliding easily into you because you were so wet with your cum and his saliva. He didn't give you any time to adjust to him as he usually did and started pounding you hard and fast. He knew you all too well, so he pushed your face against your pillow to prevent any sound coming out of your pretty mouth and kept his strong hand on your head. You prayed that no one would hear you both fucking like horny teenagers who can't control their sexual hormones. It wasn't your fault that you and Stu were so fucking attracted to each other and that your shared love was considered obsessive, right?

"You like that, don't you babygirl? You love it when I fuck you like this... You needy slut, can't get enough of your boyfriend's cock inside your tight hole. I bet your parents would be so embarrassed if they saw you getting fucked this good." he whispered in your ear before changing his angle to fuck you deeper. Wet sounds, your muffled moans and his heavy breathing were the only sounds being heard in your room, turning you both on even more. It didn't last much longer when you both came at the same time, since Stu was way too horny to hold his orgasm. He was so glad he'd made you cum before he climaxed inside you.

After the moment of ecstasy you both experienced, you lay there trying to catch your breath while staring at the ceiling. It was then that Stu pulled you closer to him and hid his face on your neck, clinging to you more than usual. He was acting way too needy and clingy, and wasn't trying to be the "dominant" one, which made you worry about him.

"Are you ok, love? Do you wanna talk about it?" you asked him softly as you caressed his hair and cheeks. You knew him too well to recognize whenever he wasn't feeling good, even when he was trying to hide it.

"My girl knows me so well." he chuckled weakly, trying to find the right words to tell you what was had been bothering him. After a moment of silence in which you tried to comfort him with your tender touches, he finally spoke. "My parents won't be able to make it for my birthday. Again." your heart ached for him, because you knew this problem had happened before. Although Stu's parents loved him and treated him right, they had never been very present throughout his life and that took a tool on his emotional behavior. That explained why he was so addicted to your attention and wanted you all to himself, all the time. It made you really sad that you couldn't help your boyfriend properly, because the presence of anyone's parents is irreplaceable.

"I'm so sorry to hear that, baby. I'm sure they're extremely busy with work and that's the only reason for their absence on such a special day. We both know that they love you and I'll be there for you to make sure you have the biggest party ever." you gently grabbed his face and smiled warmly at him, admiring his ocean eyes that reminded you of the maldivian water, as he stared back at you with pure love.

"I know you will. What would I do without you? You're the love of my life, you know that right?" you chuckled as you softly kissed his cute nose.

"I love you too, Stu... so much. You have no idea of how much love I have for you and no one ever will."

[kroosluvr]

the celeste celexcity kroosluvr swap au (i don't have a good name for this yet)

basics bc i haven't decided much yet

UHHH basically what it says on the images... akira is playing on maruki's side and they don't know if it's just to be a contrarian or if he actually believes in it. but akira in this au is very ends-justify-the-means + the fact that he's a dead man so he dgaf that it's the "wrong decision." he won't be there to see it anyways, no matter which route they take, but at least in the fake reality umm One version of akira kurusu is happy!

engine room and stuff plays out as normal i imagine those black mask plot beats r the same

+ post engine room, in 3rd sem akira's personality doesn't rlly change all that much. hes always been Shrewd Scammer Silver tongued untrustworthy bastard type and nothing changes even then. there are moments when he seems more 'vulnerable' but also sumire+goro cant be certain if its an act either

i think akira has a "well if they both hate me thatll make things easier" mindset regardless

shido is still goro's dad and all that and akira works for shido for whatever reason and he learns abt that and holds it over goro's head the same way he grates on sumire abt kasumi

o yeah akira wasnt like Particularly close w kasumi (he isnt particularly close w anyone) but they talked casually. he never rlly met sumire. it's funny when he meets 'kasumi' bc like obviously shes lying LMAO but he just genuinely doesnt care enough to find out (<- akira very selfish and just focused on his own goals on his lonesome). either way his interactions w her are funny bc hes like Hahahh yeah... (What hte hell isgoing on. Whatever)

also i think this goro doesn't meet all the pthieves/confidants in the same Order as canonverse akira, like i feel like he'd "team up" with yusuke first somehow (ake/kita fan THUMBSUP EMOJ)

sumire basically thesame. i changed her earring color frm gold-> silver just for differentiation pruposes (and itll fit better w her pthief design in swap bc itll be differnetntn!!! yay!!) uhhh but shes kinda more sardonic out loud thanks to akira being annoying

shes rlly embarrassed abt being "kasumi" to goro and so shes all like distancing herself like "sorry i know it was stupid of me and i totally get it if u dont trust me anymore bc i wasnt who i said i was" etc but goros also like thats in the past and also we kinda are the only ones in the world rn so we just have to put that aside for now and also kick akiras ass

THATS AL I CAN THINK OF RN it's kinda vibes right now bc im never good at figuring out entire plotlines LMFASOPFJS024320 falls over. Major plot holes probably and shit wont make sense it's a big JUST TRUST ME + i just wanna draw random stuff w them moment ummm uhh uh runs

[chimielie]

got no shame (i love the way you’re screaming my name)

summary: Terushima x Reader. got shame? terushima doesn’t.

word count: 1.6k

cw: terushima’s a slut (who is domesticated unknowingly by reader), bad group project etiquette, general unwiseness.

a/n: this… wasn’t supposed to be this long. essentially nothing happens. it’s completely sfw even though i call terushima a slut. sorry

"Hi," you say brightly, setting your laptop down on the desk next to your assigned project partner. "I was thinking we could set up—"

"Yeah, hang on," he—Terushima, according to the instructor's sign-up sheet—interrupts you. "Hey. Hey. Can I get your number?"

You open your mouth before you realize he's talking to the girl behind you, who agrees as easily as he'd asked. They chat a little while longer, taking their sweet-ass time before he turns back to you and she to her partner.

"So I was thinking we could set up a shared document and do this all online," he says, unapologetic, a lazy grin playing on his mouth. You decide then and there that you hate Terushima Yuuji with everything you have in you.

Miraculously, you survive the group project (with the aid of remote work, aggressively polite wording, and a lot of pep talks from your friends). He should be thankful he survived, you think darkly, casting a glare at him as he chatters to a group of friends across the room. He doesn't know how many times you got through class by imagining wrapping your hands around his neck and just—

Anyway.

You're half-convinced the universe sent him to fuel you with inner rage, because even though you no longer have to work together, he just seems like he's cropping up... everywhere.

He's in the grocery, flirting with the attendant as he struggles with the self-checkout machine. He's in your favorite coffee shop, hanging over the bar while the barista makes your drink. He's even at the parties you go to, his loud laugh penetrating your buzz until you can't think of anything else by the end of the night.

You toy with the idea of accusing him of stalking you, except he'd made it abundantly clear upon your first meeting that he had no clue that you existed on the same earthly plane as him. Plus, at this point, you're slightly worried that it's the other way around.

(You try not to think about the time you'd been lying alone in bed, a little bit wine drunk from a self-care night, legs freshly lotioned, face freshly masked, and one of his social media accounts had happened to pop up on your screen. And your finger had happened to bump the screen and hit follow. And before you could process your actions enough to undo your mistake, a little notification had rung out in the horrified silence: @teru-yuuji followed you back!)

(You had rolled over and screamed into your pillow. You still do the same whenever you think about it too long.)

Anyway, he likes all your updates now, which is terribly annoying because it's not even an acknowledgement of your existence, probably, he probably swipes through everyone's profiles and sends little hearts flying haphazardly because he doesn't care about anyone, or anything. And maybe you can recognize that you're projecting a little bit, obsessing a little bit, but you're pretty sure that you're also starting to experience the same sort of revenge glow-up associated with terrible break-ups without any of the emotional pain, so who cares?

It's not like he knows you're even alive.

"I'm going to die out here," you say out loud, to no one, "and nobody will know."

Your car, steaming—smoking really, but you're trying to be positive—beside you on the side of the road, makes a strange noise in sympathy, and you jump.

In a sorely needed attempt to touch grass, you had ventured by yourself to one of your favorite hiking trails, a secluded spot you and your old car had journeyed to hundreds of times. Its small frame was perfect for the winding, mountainous roads; its engine, apparently, not so much.

Luckily, you still have one bar of cell service, except most people you know don't have a car, your best friend is at work, and when you try to call your father, he doesn't pick up and instead texts you: we went to lunch at this tiny restaurant! This is followed by several images that won't load but that are most likely of his food.

"Useless," you say, "I hate men." Just as a white, tricked-out, and worst of all, familiar car turns the corner, all of its windows down to enjoy the fresh air. You stare at its driver as he passes at about ten kilometers per hour, your eyes wide and despondent, his curious and probably devoid of actual human consciousness.

You momentarily contemplate running the opposite direction into the forest versus asking Terushima for help. As is his way, he interrupts.

"Is your car supposed to be doing that?"

Anything snarky, sassy, or otherwise bitchy you could have answered with dies on your tongue in the face of total, completely confident cluelessness.

"No?" You say, feeling almost as though you're witnessing this absurd interaction from above. "Obviously not?"

"Right," he nods, sliding awful, trendy sunglasses off his face and tucking them up into some compartment before putting his car in park and then exiting. As he advances, you note distantly that his eyes are really, really pretty. "Can I help you out? I am a man, though, just a warning."

He heard you. Great.

"I didn't notice," you say, staring firmly at his middle torso area, which is covered by a shirt which he has cut the arms off of. There are... shoulders, and arms, toned, tan arms showing. And he must have just gotten back from a hike of his own, because the material seems slightly damp with sweat, and it's sticking to what appear to be abs, and you suddenly feel like your car: overheated and broken down. "I guess I can forgive you for that. Just this once. If there's anything you can actually do about," you wave a hand at your car, which has thankfully stopped smoking, "that."

"I can give you a ride," he says, and doesn't seem to realize how completely his tone changes as he does, how his words suddenly sound layered and intimate and... You need to get a grip.

“I have a friend on the way,” you say. You don’t. But he’s still technically a strange man and you know better than to seem completely abandoned.

“Oh? Good,” he says, and you think that’s the end of it. He’ll leave you to your beforested demise. “Can I check the hood real quick, though?”

“Do what you want.” He waits for you to pop the hood—you had earlier, but fuck if you knew what you were looking at.

"Thanks, babe," he says, and you hate him all over again. Then he opens your hood, muscled arms stretching up as he latches the strut in place, bent at the waist ever so slightly, and you're sort of collapsing into a very emotionally confused puddle on the side of the road. "Aw, I think your fan is fucked. I have a buddy I can call, he can tow the car if you want? He’s a mechanic but he can take it to your usual person if you have one.”

"That would be really nice," you blink at him, feeling your mouth stretch into a smile without your permission. "Do you think we could call him now? I don't want to leave my car without being sure someone's coming for it."

"Sure," he nods enthusiastically. "Gimme a sec."

What follows is a bizarre five minutes where Terushima paces in front of where you've seated yourself cross-legged on the road, occasionally casting you furtive glances and muttering things like "Yeah, from the... Yeah, that one. Please, bro, I'll owe you... I'll get you Miwa's number. I promise. When have I ever... Okay, fair, but c'mon. Thank you. I'll give you our first-born."

You tune him out after that, fully baffled.

"Okay!" He finally turns to you, beaming a sunny smile you've never seen on him at you. "He's coming. I sent you his website and shit, so you know he’s real."

“He’s not," you say, holding out a hand so he can help you up. He does, and you immediately regret this decision, because he's standing so close, and his hand is really big in yours, and you're pretty sure you're flirting with him. "You’re crazy."

"You’re funny," he says, and laughs, clear and ringing. He’s flirting with you, but you can’t tell if that’s just his natural dialect or if he’s— "So your boyfriend’s coming to pick you up? Why didn’t he come with you?"

"I don’t need a chaperone," the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them, which is becoming a worrying pattern. "And I don’t have one—a boyfriend, anyway. I was on the phone with my dad when you showed up, you know, ‘I hate men’. Or trying. He's too excited about grand opening discounted fried fish."

"Fried fish is important," he says solemnly, eyes literally twinkling, what the fuck. You didn’t think that was real. "I understand."

“See,” you roll your eyes, “This is why I hate men.” He’s looking at you with a soft gaze that makes you aware of your whole body, down to your toes, and it’s starting to make you flustered. “I, um, I actually don’t have a ride coming.”

“Then why’d you—” he starts.

“I thought you might murder me,” you shrug. “And then I panicked. You don’t seem like a murderer, and we’ve had classes together, so… I’m sorry about that.”

“So,” he looks hopeful, in a way you don’t understand. “You still need a way back?”

“I do,” you nod, “but seriously, if it’s an inconvenience at all, I really don’t want to—”

“Please,” he says. “I’ve been trying to get on your good side for a while. Let me take you home.”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Comet Donati [Chapter 6: No Control]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), drugs, alcohol, smoking, mental health struggles, all-you-can-eat sushi, bodily injury, violence, hungry deer, Selena Gomez, angst!!!

Selected Chapter Quote: “He can’t see on that side, you fucking snake!”

Word count: 9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: ​@doingfondue​ @catalina-howard​ @randomdragonfires​ @myspotofcraziness​ @arcielee​ @fan-goddess​ @talesofoldandnew​ @marvelescvpe​ @tinykryptonitewerewolf​ @mariahossain​ @chainsawsangel​ @darkenchantress​ @not-a-glad-gladiator​ @gemini-mama​ @trifoliumviridi​ @herfantasyworldd​ @babyblue711​ @namelesslosers​ @thelittleswanao3​ @daenysx​ @moonlightfoxx​ @libroparaiso​ @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics​ @mizfortuna​ @florent1s​ @heimtathurs​ @bhanclegane​ @poohxlove​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @heavenly1927​ @mariahossain​ @echos-muses​ @padfooteyes​ @minttea07​ @queenofshinigamis​ @juliavilu1​ @amiraisgoingthruit​ @lauraneedstochill​ @wintrr13​ @r0segard3n​ 

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

Your last day waking up in Singapore: lying in bed and watching the shadows of birds shoot across the ceiling like falling stars. Your wrist aches in its splint. The door to the balcony is wide open. The wind blows in hot and damp off the South China Sea. You hear him before you see him: the swipe of a keycard, the swinging of the door, the clop clop clop of undoubtedly neon Crocs against the hardwood floor.

You look over at him, not moving from the bed. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Then Aegon notices something in the tiny trashcan beside your nightstand that’s cluttered with souvenirs. Nestled between empty soda cans and Starburst wrappers is a mostly full pack of birth control pills. He stares at it for a while before he says, tentatively: “Trying for a little bundle of joy? With anyone I know?”

“Definitely not.” You sigh, turning back to the ceiling, morose. “Baela and I did 23AndMe like a month ago, and we just got our results back. She’s distantly related to royalty. I have a defective gene that makes me extra susceptible to blood clots. So if I take hormonal birth control I could have a stroke or something.”

“Damn, that sucks,” Aegon says.

“Yeah.”

“But it’s good you found out, you know? I wouldn’t want you dropping over dead.”

“Yeah,” you say again, flatly, ungenerously.

“Hey, no big deal, Stargirl. You know I’d use condoms anyway.”

“Well I might at some point in my life want to have sex with someone who’s not you, so.”

Aegon steps closer; he appears upside down as he studies you from above, sunburned forehead knit into thoughtful grooves, smelling like Tiger Beer and Axe body spray and…you think…chicken wings. His hair is in disarray, his aviator sunglasses tangled in blond knots. He’s wearing a lavender tank top, like dusk, like a bruise. “Ohhhh, I get it. This is an Aemond and Shelby thing.”

You hate that you’re so transparent, like a window wiped clean of fog and fingerprints. You hate that he’s right. “Why are they even together? What the hell do they have in common?”

“Now or before?”

“Both, I guess.”

“Well, before…” Aegon scratches at his cheek. There is a bug bite there, a tiny pink welt left by the venom of a mosquito or a spider. “It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. Aemond got the satisfaction of boning the kind of girl who would have screamed if he touched her back in high school. Shelby got a massive career boost. She had 900,000 Instagram followers when they met. Now she has over 20 million.”

That recurring, futile refrain: I hate her, I hate her, I hate her.

“And I won’t lie. They had some good times.” Aegon grins down at you. “Just like we did.”

“What about now?”

“Now…” Aegon ponders this. “Now I think they’re both lost. Neither of them knows what comes next. Aemond leaving Comet. Shelby hitting that age when people like her start checking off the husband and kids boxes. When you’re thrown off a ship, you cling to the life raft, even if it’s small or ripped up or half-deflated or whatever, right? You try to hold on to what you have left. You return to what’s familiar. And that doesn’t make it right, but it’s what people do.”

“It is,” you agree mournfully. “So Aemond was the one who broke it off.”

“Yeah.”

“And then he took her back.” She called and called and called, he finally answered.

“He had a moment of weakness. Now we all have to live with it.”

“I didn’t know that.” Then you sit up on the bed and look at Aegon. “When the label wanted to get rid of Aemond, why didn’t you fight for him?”

“That’s just the way of the world, Stargirl.” He shrugs, an inevitability, good weather, bad weather, sun and clouds and storms. “He couldn’t stay in the band the way he is now. And the problem isn’t what he looks like. The problem is in his soul. But I have no idea how to fix it.” Aegon smiles, warm like summer. “I thought maybe you would. That’s why I called you.”

“You didn’t even know me,” you tell him. “I was just some girl from a bar.”

“No,” Aegon says softly, and he does not elaborate. And then, bright and cheerful again: “You’re really going to earn your paycheck at our next stop.”

“Where are we going?” You recall the names you’ve heard bouncing around since Comet arrived in East Asia, the cities you’ve seen on banners and t-shirts and Instagram posts. “Bangkok? Kuala Lumpur? Manila? Jakarta? Seoul?”

“Tokyo.” Aegon is still smiling, though in an off-kilter way now, uneasily, his murky ocean-blue eyes somber. The scene of the crime. Where the accident happened. Where Aemond believes his life ended. “We’re performing at the Budokan.”

~~~~~~~~~~

White clouds turn to sapphire waves, then emerald green fields and forests, then buildings in a million different shades of grey that stretch on forever, steel and concrete and asphalt and glass. Tokyo is the largest city you’ve ever seen, the largest city imaginable. It is a labyrinth that makes you think of the hay mazes that farms back home set up each autumn; it beckons you in and then dares you to leave.

As the band hurries through Haneda Airport, you are pursued by paparazzi and hyperventilating fans. The usual suspects—Aegon, Daeron, and Jace—can be relied upon to high five, smile, flash peace signs and hand hearts, blow kisses, pass out crochet astronomical objects, and shout such endearments as (woefully mispronounced) “Konnichiwa!” and “We love you, Japan!” Shelby waves like she’s goddamn Princess Diana. Aemond bows his head, his eyes enigmatic behind his sunglasses, his steps swift. Luke holds Rhaena’s hand; Baela walks with them. You hide behind Cregan. He casts quite a large shadow.

“I look real rock and roll now,” you joke, gesturing with your splinted arm.

Cregan replies in his rumbly subterranean voice: “I think I have you beat.” He pulls up one of his sleeves—floral print, silk, Valentino—and shows you the underside of his right forearm. Bisecting the flesh from his wrist to the crook of his elbow is a long, faint, moon-white scar that you’ve never noticed before, never even heard anyone mention.

“Oh, ouch! You broke it?”

“Compound fracture.” He covers his forearm again with his sleeve.

“When? How?”

Cregan hesitates. Suddenly, he no longer wants to be having this conversation. “Years ago.”

Just outside the airport waits that trusty fleet of black, tinted-window Escalades; but Aemond has requested that his 1960 Gold Star be there too. He takes his keys, helmet, and jacket from one of Comet’s hulking security guards. Shelby’s detail is notably more subdued since that night in Singapore; the man who dislocated your wrist has been exiled from the tour. Aemond climbs onto his motorcycle and starts the engine. The sound takes you back to Rome: when your hopes and spirits were high, when you and Aemond were still living on the light side of the moon.

“You in the mood for a ride, Shelby?” Aegon asks, smirking unkindly, taunting, chomping loudly on cotton candy flavored Bubble Yum. “Don’t forget your helmet. We’d all be lost without you.”

Shelby combs out her beachy blond waves with her artful fingers, tan, reedy, nails turquoise and adorned with golden koi fish. “You’re psychotic if you think I’m getting on that bike.”

“Jesus,” Jace mutters. He is as shocked as anyone by his abrupt demotion to only the second most villainous person in Comet’s retinue.

Aemond doesn’t react, doesn’t say anything to Shelby, doesn’t even look at her. But he does glance over at you. And the words rise in your throat like a burning sun at dawn: I’ll go, I’d love to go, I trust you, I want you. But before you can say anything, Aemond has knocked the kickstand out of the way and is weaving through thick afternoon traffic towards the Mandarin Oriental Hotel. And as the Escalades roll and the band chats around you—indistinctly, abstractedly—you keep staring out the window and searching for glimpses of Aemond like the rare flash of a meteor in a city sky; but you can’t find him.

Criston knows he’s brought Comet to dangerous ground, peppered with quagmires and landmines. So he has planned a ruthlessly hectic itinerary. As soon as you’ve received your room key and unpacked, it’s time for dinner at an all-you-can-eat sushi restaurant down the street. Criston herds the band there like the rugged Australian cattle dogs that your parents have back in Kansas City nip at the heels of snorting, intractable Black Angus bulls. You sit between Baela and Aegon, who is wearing his neon green tank top, matching Crocs (per usual), and khaki cargo shorts. He’s also gulping sake bombs until they dribble down his sunburned face. Countless varieties of sushi and side dishes rotate by on a conveyer belt, colorful little plates waiting to be snatched up: salmon, tuna, eel, octopus, shrimp, miniature omelets, fried tofu, Wagyu beef, squid, yellowtail, veggie rolls, chicken and pork dumplings, seaweed salad.

“You okay over there?” Aegon asks, grinning as he watches you stab at your eel sushi, topped with some kind of mayo-like sauce and delicious but tragically challenging to eat.

“I didn’t know how to use chopsticks before my dominant hand was put out of commission.” You glare down the row at Shelby. She glowers back. Since that night in Singapore, you circle each other like snarling undomesticated animals, wolves or coyotes. Now you’re on her radar. Now she knows there is something—that mysterious, ever-shifting, worrying something—between you and Aemond. She just doesn’t know what it is. Neither do you, neither does he, neither does anyone.

“Want me to feed you?” Aegon slurs flirtatiously. He plucks up a piece of your eel sushi with his chopsticks and promptly drops it in your lap. “Oh. Fuck.”

Baela presses the button on the counter to summon the server. “I’ll get you a fork.”

“You are a saint,” you tell her. “Patron saint of initiative. Or drive, whichever you prefer the sound of.” Aegon is mayhem, Aemond is lost causes. What am I?

“And you are an uncultured hick from Kansas.”

You smile at her. “Missouri.”

Your fork soon arrives. A few seats down the row, you hear Shelby ask innocently, like it doesn’t mean anything: “How old is Louis Tomlinson’s son now?”

Aemond shrugs. He’s watching the conveyor belt for vegan options; he keeps missing them when they pass by. “I don’t know, five?”

“No, Freddie?!” Luke says. “He’s gotta be like seven now. We saw him last summer at Niall’s pool party.”

“He was so cute,” Shelby says. She’s sitting on Aemond’s good side, as always. She rubs his back and you fight the urge to break her fingers one by one, snapping them in half like dry autumn twigs, lifeless and hollow. “Wasn’t he cute, honeybunch?”

“Sure,” Aemond replies distractedly. And of course Shelby is the type of person who believes that becoming a father will heal a man, rather than just dooming his children to be collateral damage.

Aegon peeks over the conveyer belt at the chefs who are preparing plates in the middle. He lurches and wobbles. Criston covers his own face with his hands, mortified. “Hey, hey, can I get a Crab Rangoon please?”

A chef says something in Japanese, soft and polite but clearly imploring him to sit back down.

Aegon repeats slowly: “Crab! Rangooooooon!”

“Hey dumbass,” Jace says. “That’s Chinese. We’re in Japan.”

“Oh. Right.” Aegon sighs, retreats, and orders himself another sake bomb.

You grab a plate of veggie rolls and another of fried tofu sushi off the conveyer belt and pass them down the row to Aemond. Shelby sends you the most venomous of glares, but Aemond mouths when she’s not paying attention: Thank you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two shows in Tokyo, two performances on the stage where Aemond was mutilated. Of course, you don’t see mutilation when you look at him. You never have. You see the way the light hits the angles of his jaw and nose and cheekbones and think of marble faces in museums, generals, kings, saints, angels. You see the crystalline blue of his right eye and think of rivers, cool and rushing and clean. You see the ethereal haze of his left eye and think of other planets. You don’t know why everyone else reads his scar and blindness as a tale of unspeakable ruin. You can’t imagine seeing Aemond that way. It would be easier, less painful, simpler for you if you could. Maybe you could stop wanting him. Maybe you could stop dreaming about him, wisps of longing and memory that escape you as soon as you wake.

Aemond does not attend Comet’s concerts at the Budokan. They’re the only ones you’ve ever known him to miss. He rides out on his Gold Star instead, and then reappears to join the band for their post-show ritual in Jace’s suite, grim and quiet and scribbling in his black-paged notebook, smoking his cigarettes, sipping his Brambles. You cannot blame Aemond. You weren’t here last December when a piece of rigging collapsed during soundcheck and nearly killed him, and yet you can’t stop thinking about it; you can’t stop yourself from glancing up at the rafters during shows, wondering exactly how it happened, picturing Aemond bloody and unconscious on the stage, half-blinded and robbed without knowing it yet.

Tomorrow night is Comet Donati’s final performance in Tokyo, but today Criston has a day trip planned. He has filled every spare second of this tour stop with distractions. The band travels by bullet train (or shinkansen) and then local railways to Nara, the city that served as Japan’s capital in the 700s. Criston hires a tour guide—an 80-year old man called Toru-san, who possesses an incalculable amount of knowledge and also a very, very thick accent—to lead you all around Nara Park to see Isuien Garden, the Kasuga Taisha Shrine, the Nara National Museum, and finally the Great Buddha. Nara Park is full of food and souvenir vendors, as well as 1,200 sika deer that you can pet and feed, albeit at risk of being trampled by overenthusiastic herbivores. There are signs posted with warnings to exercise caution, complete with cartoon illustrations of deer gone rogue.

It’s 95 degrees outside with 80% humidity. You are drenched with sweat and guzzling boba tea. The handle of your bag from a gift shop is slung over your splint. Toru-san, despite his long pants and cardigan sweater, is looking spry as ever and is deep in conversation with Luke and Rhaena; he is regaling them with a bottomless well of Nara trivia. Cregan and Daeron are still browsing through gift shops, mostly for the opportunity to escape the heat and hover, sighing with relief, in front of every electric fan they come across. Aegon, lobster-level red—you aren’t sure if he’s more sunburned or flushed—is snoring under a tree as deer nibble at his cyan tank top and white cargo shorts. Aemond purchased probably $200 worth of deer crackers and has attracted a sizeable crowd of furry new friends. He’s like he always is around animals: beaming, immersed, at peace. Shelby is capturing pictures and video clips of him from a distance.

Nearby where you stand under the shade of a black pine tree, Baela is dressed in a crop top and yoga pants and stretching in the middle of a patch of grass. She keeps having to stop to shove deer away from her as they tiptoe close, searching for snacks. Jace is using Google Translate to flirt with a crowd of Japanese fangirls who have recognized him. They are giggling so loudly you can hear them from across a field. Baela is trying to ignore this. She falls out of a pose and sighs irritably, then walks over to you. Together, you watch Jace for a while, you slurping on your boba tea, Baela frowning with her hands on her willowy waist.

At last, she says: “Sometimes we love people who we know don’t deserve it. But that doesn’t make us love them any less. We just hate ourselves for not being stronger.”

“I think you’re incredibly strong, Baela.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. Strong enough to leave him. Strong enough to begin living your own life again.”

Her expression is suddenly uncharacteristically vulnerable, fearful. “I don’t know if I can do it. I’ve never been an adult without him.”

“You’d figure it out. And you wouldn’t be alone. You’d have Rhaena, and Luke, and ballet, and all your friends and family—”

“And you too, right?” she asks. “You’ll still be my friend? Even after you go back home?”

You are stunned into a silence that Baela first mistakes for rejection. Her face falls. “No no no, I’m not hesitating, you just caught me by surprise. Of course I’ll still be your friend after the tour is over. I’ll be your friend forever.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“And you’ll visit me in prison if I snap one day and throw Jace into a meatgrinder?”

You laugh and hug her, your sweat dampening each other’s clothes: her orange crop top, your Backstreet Boys t-shirt. “Absolutely. For sure.”

“Okay. I gotta go practice some more.” She spends long hours down in the hotel gym while everyone else is sleeping or partying or preparing for shows, running and stretching and yoga and repeating the same dance routines over and over again. You applaud and whistle as she leaves. “Stop,” Baela complains, but she’s grinning.

You procure another boba tea. You find a nice shady spot on a bench. You check your phone; there’s maybe fifteen more minutes until the band is scheduled to leave for the train station to begin the journey back to Tokyo. Naturally, Criston has dinner already planned: kaiseki ryori, a traditional multi-course meal. You wonder if there will be vegan options for Aemond. Your eyes drift back to him. They always seem to. He’s dragging his palm down the face of a ten-point buck as he feeds him a crumbling brown cracker. There’s a fawn curled up in Aemond’s lap. His blond hair is slicked back off his forehead, his black shirt mostly unbuttoned. Sweat gleams on his chest. Your fingertips ache to draw sloping lines and lazy circles in it.

“I never worried about him,” Criston says. He’s appeared beside you, arms crossed guardedly. You move over so there’s room for Criston on the bench. He sits, distant and troubled. “I always worried about the others. Aegon and Jace especially. But not Aemond.”

“Because he never needed you,” you say quietly.

“He didn’t,” Criston agrees. “And so I wasn’t there to protect him that day.”

The day of the accident. “From what I understand, it wasn’t something you could have prevented.”

“No, I couldn’t have stopped that piece of rigging from falling. But I could have made it so he wasn’t standing under it.”

You wait for Criston to explain. That’s an element that people often underestimate: the power of waiting for someone to be ready.

“It was soundcheck,” Criston says. His voice is strained, hushed. He repeatedly touches the stubble of his beard, a nervous habit. “Aemond was on time, as always. Aemond was exactly where he was supposed to be. But no one else was. Aegon and Jace had gone off to a strip club or a burlesque show or something, I don’t remember. They came back to the hotel and were absolutely hammered, they were crawling around on the hallway floor and puking in corners, laughing hysterically, completely out of their minds. Cregan and Luke were there trying to get them cleaned up. I was on the phone with Cregan, he was pissed, probably the most angry I’ve ever heard him, he kept pausing to yell at Aegon. He’d dragged him into a cold shower, but Aegon was fighting, trying to bite and kick him and whatever the hell else. So eventually I decided to go to the hotel and deal with it. Aemond offered to go with me. I told him no, you stay here, I’ll bring the other four even if I have to get the security guys to toss Aegon and Jace over their shoulders and carry them. Then I left.”

“And that’s when it happened,” you realize. “While you were gone.”

“Yes,” Criston says. And he gazes across Nara Park, here in body but his mind trapped in the maze of the past.

“You had no way of knowing what would happen, Criston. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I should have told him to come with me back to the hotel. Or I should have stopped Aegon and Jace from getting wasted. If they’d been on time, if soundcheck had happened as scheduled, no one would have been standing where that piece of rigging fell. Aemond would still be the leader of Comet. He would still have his face, his sight, his life.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you say again.

“Alicent blames me,” he confesses. And you only know who she is because you’ve asked Aegon: the wife of Viserys Targaryen, the mother of his three sons. “She’ll never forgive me.”

Is that really why she avoids you, Criston? Or is there another reason? “If that’s true, it’s only because she’s feeling a lot of horrible things—grief, pain, regret, guilt—and she’s directing them at you. You haven’t earned them. You’re just the person standing in the line of fire. They’re a reflection of Alicent’s inner turmoil, not of your own worth. I think you’ve done a phenomenal job trying to keep this band safe and happy. And I know it’s not easy. I know it’s damn near impossible.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, looking at you with large, dark, truthful eyes like a dog’s.

And you imagine a world in which you’d never seen Aegon after that night in Kansas City, never met Aemond, Baela, Rhaena, Luke, Cregan, Daeron, Criston. “I’m glad I’m here too.”

Criston reaches over and—for a moment, so briefly you could have imagined it—rests his hand on your shoulder like he sometimes does to Aemond and Luke. Then he leaves to collect Cregan and Daeron from a shaved ice vendor. Shelby has strolled over to consult with Toru-san, presumably so she can add his trivia to her Instagram posts and TikTok videos. You go to Aemond.

“I have a confession to make,” he says solemnly as you approach.

The oxygen vanishes from your lungs; you try to hide this. “What is it?”

Aemond smiles up at you. “When the tour guide was leading us here, I thought he kept saying that the park was full of bears. And I didn’t want to kill the mood or anything, but I was definitely concerned about going on a field trip to feed over 1,000 uncaged bears. I am very, very relieved that he was in fact saying deer.”

You chuckle and sit next to Aemond on the grass, petting the fawn in his lap. It blinks sleepily at you, its fur soft and spotted, its ears pricked up and curious.

“What’s your souvenir for this stop of the tour?” Aemond asks.

You pull it out of your bag to show him: a small stuffed sika deer complete with floppy felt antlers. “Isn’t it adorable?”

“It is,” he says. “Are you going to have room for all these keepsakes in your apartment back home?”

“Already fantasizing about me leaving, huh?”

“No,” Aemond says, seriously now. Deadly serious. “No, I’m not.” And then Criston is shouting through cupped hands for everybody to huddle up so you can all head to the train station.

It’s not until the band is trekking out of Nara Park towards the blissful promise of air conditioning that you realize someone is missing. When you look around, you see Criston, Aemond, Shelby, Aegon (rubbing his eyes and yawning), Baela, Jace, Rhaena, Luke, Cregan, and a smattering of security guards dressed in black.

“Wait,” you say. “Where’s Daeron?”

A chorus of confusion: “What?” Huh?” “He’s not here?” At last, Criston spies him sitting alone on a wooden park bench, glumly eating through his mountain of shaved ice.

“What the hell is he doing?!” Jace says impatiently, swiping perspiration from his forehead.

Aegon massages your shoulders. “I think this might call for your particular area of expertise, Stargirl.” And when Aemond’s eye flicks to Aegon fleetingly, resentfully, you think for the first time: And where were you, Aegon, when Aemond was waiting all those months ago? Whoring, drinking, self-destructing in ways that take other people down with you? Then you leave him.

Through the heat that lays thick over the city like a tangle of vines, you trudge to the bench where the youngest Targaryen brother is lingering. “Daeron? What’s wrong?”

He stares gloomily down into his shaved ice: blood-colored, strawberry, ichigo. “Everyone thinks I’m always joking and optimistic, but I’m not.”

You ask gently: “What are you really, Daeron?”

“I don’t know what to be. That’s the problem. I worry about it all the time. I can’t win. If I’m sad, then I’m ungrateful for this tremendous opportunity. But if I’m happy, it’s like I’m dancing on Aemond’s grave.”

“He’s not dead, Daeron,” you say.

“Well, yeah, obviously.”

“But a lot of the time people talk about him like he is. You speak around him, over him, through him. Do you think he doesn’t notice?” Do you think he can’t feel the weight of that dark gravity that roots him to the earth? Do you think he can disentangle who he is from the wreckage that has buried its shrapnel in his bones?

Daeron isn’t insulted by what you’ve said. Instead, he seems fascinated. He seems grateful, like you’ve sat down to help him with an especially baffling puzzle. “What would he want from us, do you think?”

“I think he wants to know that his time in Comet wasn’t wasted. That even if he leaves, he will still be a part of this family. I think he wants to be acknowledged. He doesn’t want pity or awkward silences, he doesn’t want to pretend that the accident never happened. He wants to know that his life will go on in spite of it.”

Daeron ruminates on this, taking a bite of his towering mound of shaved ice. “If I said something about him at the last Tokyo show tomorrow, do you think he’d mind? I’ve had this idea for a while, but I didn’t know how he’d take it.”

“That depends on what you say.”

Daeron asks, peering up at you with large pale eyes: more translucent than Aegon’s, more harmless than Aemond’s. He has been shown more kindness than either of them; he is perhaps less deep, less singularly brilliant, but also less burdened. It is a trade many would happily agree to. It is a trade they would pay for in blood. “What should I say?”

You smile at Daeron. “The truth.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“I’d like to take a moment to share something with all of you,” Daeron says into his microphone as soon as Comet finishes The Worst Way To Be. The audience lowers their cheers to a reverent, intensely attentive murmur.

“Wait, what?” Baela whispers to you and Rhaena as you stand in the front row. Shelby, who had been looking rather bored, whips out her phone and begins a live stream. Aegon, Jace, Luke, and Cregan are upbeat and beaming—as is expected of them, as is required—but they pass each other nervous glances like folded paper notes in a high school classroom. This is not in the script.

“I just want to say thank you,” Daeron continues. His voice reverberates off the walls of the Budokan. “Thank you to all of you guys, of course. Our amazing, incredible fans. Thank you for letting us live this dream of a life.” There are claps and whistles, shrieked declarations of undying adoration. Daeron takes a deep breath. His hands are shaking; you can see the microphone tremble. “And thank you to my big brother Aemond.” Instantaneously, the crowd goes as close to silent as it is possible for a stadium at max capacity to be. The others are gawking at him openly now, unable to paper over it with masklike smiles. “I had been following Comet around for years before I got the offer to officially join. So I know how much work and talent Aemond poured into this band. I’m beyond honored to be up on this stage tonight performing for all of you, but I wish it could have happened a different way. I wish Aemond could be here too. And no matter where he goes in the world or what he does next, he will always be the person who made Comet Donati possible. And he will always be my greatest inspiration. I love you, man. We all love you.”

And the audience erupts into deafening cheers and applause, all for a soul who could not bring himself to attend the show. There are chants of We love you, Aemond! that go on for more than five minutes. Aegon is shouting as loudly as anyone; Jace, Luke, and Cregan are running around the stage and encouraging the crowd. They are a little shellshocked, but they are genuine.

Even Jace, you think, you marvel. Even Jace is honoring him. He doesn’t hate Aemond after all. He provokes and he taunts, sure, and he crosses lines on occasion, but Jace doesn’t hate Aemond. He might even miss him.

For their last night in Tokyo, Criston has grander aspirations for the band than the usual wind down in Jace’s suite. He gets everyone—Aemond included, fetched from the bar of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, already several Brambles deep—into the Escalades to drive to Club Camelot, where Criston has reserved one of the three floors for Comet. It swiftly fills like a flute of champagne: women in sparkling gowns, men with baiting smiles, security guards and label executives and friends and acquaintances and models. The tiles on the floor are black and white, but bathed in sapphire luminescence that covers everyone like rain. Empty hands are filled with frosty bottles and glasses clinking with ice. The song that thunders out of the speakers is a throwback: Butterfly by Crazy Town.

Cregan has acquired a harem of sorts; you look once and he’s flocked by three gazelle-like companions, you look again and there are five of them. Jace is mingling freely. Aemond is talking to Daeron—thanking him, it appears, offering heartfelt gratitude—while Shelby greets a pack of influencer-types as they arrive. They squeal and jump up and down with her in their clicking stilettos, then take turns snapping each other’s pictures. Criston actually appears to be somewhat relaxed. He sips on a Sapporo Premium and chats with one of the guys from the label, gesturing casually with his expressive hands. Aegon is curled up in a booth with Selena Gomez. Yes, Selena freaking Gomez. He keeps playing with her glossy dark tresses and making her giggle, propping his sunburned face up on his knuckles, glowing in that way that he does. It’s not just for you. It’s never been just for you. And sometimes he’s close to you and sometimes he’s not, and right now he’s on the other side of the solar system, he’s out in the Oort cloud, he’ll be back to visit earth in a few hundred years. Aegon disappears into the bathroom every few minutes. You see smudges of white powder on his hands, under his nose. If he tried to talk to you right now, you wouldn’t know what to say to him. He would feel like a stranger.

You’re watching Aemond. You wish you weren’t, but you are. He’s in all black, the top three buttons of his shirt undone. You nurse a Bramble and follow Baela, Rhaena, and Luke around the dancefloor, barely able to hear them over the music. Luke is lightheartedly making fun of Baela for something. Her earrings? Her shoes?

“I’ll have you know that I’m very important around here!” Baela cries over the music. “I’m the patron saint of drive!”

“Patron saint of driving herself to the Gucci store, maybe,” Luke says.

They’re all laughing. You feel like you’re observing them through a transparent wall, like you’re at the aquarium and they’re a dazzling rare species and you’re some grubby kid with your palms pressed to the glass. What am I still doing here? Why did I ever think I belonged here?

You break away from Baela, Rhaena, and Luke and drift by Shelby and her fellow influencers, not intending to eavesdrop but catching a few fragments of their conversation like Jupiter and Saturn capture moons. As Aemond talks to Daeron across the room, Shelby is lamenting her love life. She thinks she’s being discrete, but she’s had more than a few gin and tonics.

“No, he still…he probably doesn’t want me looking at him…he’ll let me blow him, but he won’t actually…you know…?”

And you remember what you told him on that balcony in Reykjavik: I think you haven’t fucked anyone since the accident, and you’re terrified to.

You were right. You’re still right. And here you are, like mirrors: Aemond not fucking Shelby, you not fucking Aegon, and there’s no especially good reason for either except that it just doesn’t feel right. After a while, Shelby and her entourage leave to check out another nightclub down the block. More photo opportunities, you suspect. A change of scenery.

“How’s your wrist?” Jace inquires. He’s found you loitering on the outskirts of the dancefloor. He’s wearing a black sequined blazer with nothing underneath except skin and ink. He’s unsteady on his feet, a Vesper sloshing in his glass. Now the song that’s playing is Ed Sheeran’s I Don’t Care, featuring Justin Bieber. In the booth she’s sharing with Aegon, Selena Gomez audibly groans.

“Great. It actually feels better when no one talks to me.”

Jace cackles, far too loudly. “You are hilarious. Hey, hey, listen.” His free hand skates around your waist. Instinctively, you jolt away from him.

“Nope.”

“Listen.” He grips you more adamantly. “Let’s do this.”

“No, no, that’s a very kind offer but I’d rather chew off my own limbs, thank you.”

“Look, I don’t care if you’ve hooked up with Aegon,” Jace purrs into your ear, sweating out vodka and gin, his curls brushing against your cheek. “Hell, I don’t care if you’re still hooking up with Aegon. I’m better than him. I have to be, right? That fat drunk. I’ll show you.”

You try to pull away from him again. You’re wearing the short sparkly dress you bought in Reykjavik, black velvet and silver stars. “Jace, don’t touch me.”

“Come on, Stargirl, give me a shot—”

“Jace,” you say harshly, your eyes blazing. “Do not touch me.”

“Okay,” he sighs; and, to his credit, he releases you. He holds up his palm in surrender. “Okay, fine, but when you change your mind—”

Aemond soars in out of nowhere, a comet, a meteor, the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs. His fist connects with Jace’s jaw. Jace’s Vesper goes flying; blood spurts from his mouth, split lips and lost teeth. “Don’t you fucking touch her!” Aemond is roaring. He has Jace pinned to the floor, black and white and sapphire and red. “When she says not to touch her, you don’t, you hear me?!”

People are screaming and descending upon them, trying to pull them apart. Your Bramble shatters against the tile floor. Criston is here, and security guards, and Baela and Rhaena and Luke and Aegon. Everyone is talking at the same time, so it’s almost like no one is. Jace is striking at Aemond from the ground. Aemond hits him again, and again, knuckles into defenseless flesh and bone, blood vessels bursting, nerves on fire. The music stops, the lights come on.

“Aemond, stop!” you shout. “Aemond, Aemond, you’re going to kill him!”

“Let him go, Aemond, please!” Baela is yelling, and there’s raw terror in her voice.

Then Jace lands a solid punch at last, a hook that comes in from Aemond’s left. Blood pours from Aemond’s nose, it’s on his face and his throat, it’s running down his chest. Cregan arrives, locks his arms around Aemond’s waist, and heaves him away. Before Jace has a second to recover, Aegon wrenches him up by the collar of his blazer and slaps him open-handed across the face.

“He can’t see on that side, you fucking snake!”

Criston bellows: “Aegon, back up, back up, back the fuck up!” He finally gets a good look at Jace: bleeding, bruised, teeth missing, blinking dazedly at the spectators, too stunned to feel the pain yet. “Oh my God!” Criston whirls to Aemond, who is struggling against Cregan’s grasp. “How’s he going to perform in five days, huh?! Jesus Christ, he looks like he’s been butchered! How am I going to cover that up?! How is he going to sing?!” Criston pulls Jace to his feet; he practically has to carry him. Baela follows after them, more distressed than you’ve ever seen her, flowing tears and strangled sobs. Rhaena and Luke go too.

You, Aegon, and Daeron rush to Aemond. He’s bent over and spitting blood onto the floor so he doesn’t choke on it. “Not broken,” Cregan pronounces after examining his nose. “Just gonna bleed real bad. Needs pressure on it.”

“Are you okay?” Aegon asks you, a hand careful and tender on your face. He’s back again, for a minute, an hour, a day.

Your voice quakes. “Yeah.”

“What did Jace do…?”

“Nothing, nothing that bad, I mean he grabbed my waist but—”

“Aegon?” Selena Gomez says tentatively, waiting nearby and hugging her arms around herself.

“Yeah, one second, love. Give me a second.” He appraises Aemond and whistles. “Man, you are wrecked.” And not just physically. He’s incensed, he’s in shock. You reach for Aemond’s hand and he lets you take it.

“You got him?” Cregan asks you.

“I’ll clean him up. I’ll take care of him.” And as blood continues to run down his face, you draw Aemond towards the bathrooms. You lead him inside the women’s room and lock the door, blue walls and white florescent light. Somewhat ungainly—relying mostly upon your non-dominant hand—you press a pile of paper towels against his nose and tell him to hold it there. Then you wet more paper towels and wipe down his knuckles, his face, his throat. The blood on his chest has run beneath his glossy black shirt. We match, you think randomly. “Can I…?”

He yanks the shirt over his head, then returns the mass of crimson-stained paper towels to his nose. Fortunately, the bleeding appears to be slowing. You erase the smudged trail of scarlet that runs all the way to the waistline of his dark jeans. When you reach the end of it, Aemond flinches away from you; not a pained flinch, but a fearful one. He turns his back on you and walks to the other end of the small and shadowless room. He braces one palm against the wall and sighs deeply. He throws the wad of paper towels in the trashcan and then covers his face with his hand, shaking his head.

“Aemond,” you say. And you wait for him to look you in the eye. It takes a long time. “What do you want?” Why were you watching me and Jace? Why did you lose control?

“Nothing,” he replies immediately.

“That’s a lie.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” you insist, your voice fracturing. “It does matter. Just tell me what you want.”

“Why, so you can let me down easy? Or worse, pretend to be into it to make me feel better, to help piece me and my fragile little ego back together? I don’t beg for anything. You really think I’m going to beg you to want me?”

“No, you’re too fucking proud, you’d never even ask for it. You’ll beat people half to death for things you’re too much of a coward to say out loud, and I’m supposed to feel sorry for you?!”

“Then why are you even in here with me?! Just go back to Aegon, I know that’s what you want. I guess you’ll have to wait in line behind Selena Gomez, but he’ll work his way back around to you eventually.”

“Jace stole something from you, right?” you say. “You feel like he stole the band from you after you were kicked out, and then tonight you felt like he was stealing something else, and that’s why you freaked out and almost murdered him—”

“No. No, because you’re not mine.”

“What do you want, Aemond?” you ask him again, tears of exhaustion and desperation in your eyes.

“I don’t want anything from you,” he says, coming in closer. “So you’re absolved, you’re free to go, I don’t need your goddamn charity—”

Your good hand juts out, and what you plan to do is plant it against his bare chest and push him away. What you do instead—as if by muscle memory, a reflex, an instinct—is reach up to plunge your fingers into his hair. And then his palm is cradling the small of your back and his lips are on yours, moving seamlessly like how currents thread through the ocean. He helps lift you up onto the counter; there is just enough room between two of the sinks. Your legs link around Aemond as he presses himself to you, lips still tinged with coppery blood, bare chest, his waist, his hips. Your back hits the mirror—cool and unyielding, the ink of his lyrics flat against the glass—with enough force to make a thump.

“Are you okay—?”

“I’m more okay than I’ve been in years.”

He tilts up your chin and kisses you deeply, dizzyingly, his tongue darting between your lips. He tastes like his Brambles, sweetness cut with the bite of gin, and smoke, and something else too, something that’s just purely him, something you could drown in like the river of his clear right eye. Gently, you bring your fingertips to his face, to his scar. “Don’t,” he pleads softly, pained.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Don’t—”

“Aemond, look at me.” And you hold his face still so you know he hears you. “There’s nothing wrong with you. There has never been anything wrong with you.”

You watch it hit him like a stone into water, ripples that wash away everything he’s felt before. He knows you mean it, he can feel it, the same way you can feel the care with which he caresses you, not just lust but engulfing warmth, wordless veneration. He whispers between kisses: “Tell me what to do. Tell me what you want.”

Your lock your gaze with his, then reach down to unbutton his jeans. It’s difficult with the splint, but you manage. You think he might stop you, you prepare yourself for it, but he doesn’t. Instead, Aemond’s hands vanish beneath your dress and slip off your panties, black lace you hadn’t planned on anyone seeing tonight. As you kiss his face—jagged scar, flushed cheek, the slope of his jaw—his fingers slide into a pool of staggering heat and wetness.

He moans. “Oh fuck, that’s for me?”

“I’ve wanted this from the start.”

“Show me…show me how you like it…”

You guide his hand to exactly the right spot and give him a rhythm, a pressure, a pace that rolls a euphoric shudder down your spine. He’s barely touched you, and already you’re shaking all over; you’re throbbing, you’re dazed with that delicious needful aching, you’re gasping into the sweltering, salt-strewn dampness of his neck. His fingertips stroke you in commanding circles—only a few times—until you’re on the precipice, until you stop him. You’re ready, even though he’s huge: long and thick, revealed as he tugs down his jeans and boxers. He pins your uninjured hand against the mirror and kisses and bites at your throat as he eases himself inside you: a stretching that is intense but not unpleasant, hunger being satisfied. And when he thrusts—carefully at first, waiting for you to tell him he can be rougher—there are so many layers of pleasure that it stuns you, it leaves you speechless. Has it ever been like this before? Never, never, never, not once, not for a moment, not with anybody. His future was stolen from him, but he’s taken your past from you; he’s carved it out like a gemstone from the earth and locked it away in a vault no one remembers the passcode to.

“I’m so close,” you whisper, you beg. “Aemond, please, please, I want to come for you…” And you gasp as his fingers skim down your belly again, stroking you forcefully as his thrusts become deeper, quicker, impossibly powerful.

His voice is low and murmuring. His scent is everywhere; it’s all you know how to breathe. “You okay, baby? You alright?”

“Yes, yes, oh God, Aemond, don’t stop, please don’t stop…”

“I won’t stop, baby. You’re doing so well, you’re almost there.”

“Aemond…yes…I love this…”

“I love you.”

He what…? He WHAT…??

And it doesn’t just drag you over the edge; it pushes you, it propels you, you go plummeting off the cliffside and freefall for miles. There’s no disguising it. You have to bury your face in his chest to keep from crying out, clinging to him, your fingernails leaving indents like crescent moons. Aemond, fighting his own climax viciously, lasts just long enough to fuck you through the aftershocks and then empties himself not just physically but also of the shame and aimlessness of the past seven months, of his fears, of his suspicions.

“Wait,” you say as he pulls away from you. You yank a paper towel out of the dispenser and wet it with cold water. First you cool his forehead and the back of his neck with it, then you wipe his fingers and his cock. Still perched on the counter, you wet another paper towel for yourself.

“No,” Aemond tells you. “Let me.” He takes it from you, opens your thighs, and kisses your mouth—teasingly, biting and sucking your lower lip—as he spreads your folds and cleans them of his seed, abundant hot white fluid that you can feel dripping out of you. As he passes over where you are most sensitive—where you can already feel longing for him rebuilding brick by brick—you jump a little, and you both laugh. I could go again, you think. I could do this with him forever. And then, as Aemond descends from the chemical high like a plane gliding down towards a tarmac, you watch as those old familiar poisons—shame, aimlessness, fear, suspicion—begin to fill up in him again, slowly but unmistakably.

He throws out the paper towels and takes several steps back. He starts putting on his clothes, staring at the wall, then at the mirror, not at you but past you, at himself, his clear river-blue eye wide and vacant. He looks horrified by what he’s done; or perhaps, rather, by what he’s said.

You grab your panties off the counter and step into them, readjusting your dress. “Look, uh…if you didn’t mean what you said…that’s totally cool. I get it, sometimes people say things in the moment that aren’t real, there’s the oxytocin and the dopamine, and I don’t want you to feel…uh…you know…like you have to keep up a false pretense or anything…”

Aemond turns around and walks out of the bathroom, the door slamming behind him.

“Okay,” you say to yourself. “Okay. I can fix this.” You use the toilet quickly—UTIs are not welcome here—and then head out onto the dancefloor.

The lights are dim again, and thank God for that; your makeup is smudged, your hair unruly, your eyes glazed, your dress rumpled and stained. Cregan is the only person still waiting. “Hey,” he says flatly, then squints at you. You avoid his astute greyish eyes.

“Hey. Where is everyone?”

“Criston took Jace to the hospital. Baela is there too. Rhaena and Luke are back at the hotel. Aegon is presumably balls deep in Selena Gomez. Aemond just sprinted out of this club and I’d guess he’s headed back to the hotel too. Daeron went after him. I think that’s everybody.”

You shift your weight from foot to foot uneasily. “Shelby?”

“Oh, right. Haven’t seen her. Still out with her friends.” His eyes sweep over you. “On a scale of one to ten, how homicidal would she be if she found out about whatever happened in that bathroom?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Uh huh.” Cregan strides towards the stairwell that leads down to the front door. “Let’s go.”

Back at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, you swipe your keycard and flick the lights on in your suite. You stand there alone, feeling the evidence of what you’ve done: sore muscles and bruised skin and pooling wetness, both yours and his. You are absorbed with thoughts of what you’re going to say to Aemond when you confront him, how much of your truth you are willing to bare. And then your eyes catch on the small trashcan beside your bed, which reminds you of the one back in Singapore, which reminds you of your pack of birth control pills discarded on a pile of crumpled soda cans and snack wrappers.

I haven’t taken a pill in days. How many days? A week?

“Oh my God,” you breathe. And then, more frantically: “Oh no, oh no, no no no…”

What do I do? What the hell do I do?

You race out into the hallway and knock on Baela’s door. Nobody answers. You try Rhaena’s next. She appears in her pajamas, pink and dotted with tiny green Tyrannosaurus rexes. “Hi,” she says agreeably enough, but she’s rubbing her eyes drowsily.

“Hi. I’m really, really sorry to bother you, but it’s an emergency.”

She perks up considerably. “Okay, how can I help?”

“Where’s Luke?”

“In the shower.”

“So he can’t hear us right now?”

“No, he can’t.”

“Good. Do you know when Baela will be back from the hospital?”

“Not anytime soon,” Rhaena says. “She messaged me that Jace needs stitches and has a concussion. They’ll be there all night, at least.”

You exhale, a defeated little squeak. “Is Aegon around? With or without Selena Gomez?”

“No, they haven’t come back yet. I have no idea where they are.”

“Okay.” You swallow noisily.

“What’s going on with you?” Rhaena asks, concerned.

“This really is not a Rhaena situation. This is a Baela or Aegon situation.”

“Alright, but neither of them are here. So I’m who you’ve got.”

You stare at her. “I need Plan B. Do you happen to have any Plan B?”

“Plan B…? Like, you just had unprotected sex with someone Plan B?”

“Yes, exactly, that one.”

Rhaena gapes, scandalized. “With who?!”

“Confidential,” you say briskly. “Do you have any or not?”

“No, I definitely don’t have any Plan B lying around.”

“No,” you groan. Tears are welling up in your eyes. “What am I going to do? How do I get Plan B in Japan?!”

“We’ll figure this out,” Rhaena says. She dashes to her nightstand to grab her iPhone. “Don’t panic. It’ll be okay. Let’s Google 24-hour pharmacies in Tokyo…”

You don’t have Criston here to summon an Escalade—nor would you willingly risk him finding out about this—but Rhaena uses Google Translate to ask the hotel’s front desk to call a taxi. She shows the taxi driver an address, figures out how many yen you owe him, and then asks him very politely (if haltingly) in Japanese to wait ten minutes while you’re inside the pharmacy so you can take a return trip as well. He seems to agree.

Rhaena accompanies you into the pharmacy and repeats these steps: Google Translate, an exchange of yen, the receipt of a service. She tells you that based on her quick research, Plan B is usually by prescription only in Japan, but pharmacists will sometimes be willing to prescribe it on the spot to a patient in need. Rhaena spends a long time typing out a message for the middle-aged, bespectacled pharmacist, then points to you. This is my friend, the maybe-pregnant slut from Missouri, you imagine her saying. She needs emergency contraception. It’s really in all of humanity’s best interests for her not to continue her bloodline.

“You have to show him your ID,” Rhaena tells you.

You give your passport to the pharmacist, and then he hands you a small package. You and Rhaena purchase a bottle of Coke Zero as well. You gulp down the single tablet as the pharmacist watches with bushy raised eyebrows, amused. You are pleased to discover that the taxi driver has waited, and within fifteen minutes you and Rhaena are back at the hotel.

“You’ve talked to a lot of people tonight,” you tell Rhaena matter-of-factly as you ride the elevator back up to the band’s floor.

“Oh, yeah. I guess I did. I mean, I’ve been practicing. And you needed me.”

“I’m proud of you,” you say.

Rhaena smiles sheepishly. “Thanks.”

“And I’ll be even more proud of you when I get my period.”

She giggles, she trots off to her suite, you retreat into yours. You collapse onto the floor and gaze up at the ceiling, studying the specks and grooves in the tiles like constellations.

“It was only one time,” you say to the ceiling. “I was on the pill for years. That takes a while to leave my system, right? I mean, what are the odds? It’s fine. It’s totally fine. Nothing’s going to happen, right?”

Right?

[yan-lorkai]

"Oh honey, I know, I know." Your soft best friend's voice sounded over your ears like some kind of balm, Vil held your weeping figure close to his chest, tracing the strands of your hair as he tried his best to soothe you.

The tears drying in your eyes were a painful reminder of how you found out your little crush was spreading horrible rumors about you as well as calling you names. And you normally wouldn't care but it didn't make sense. In all of your interactions, he'd been so sweet and caring.

If it was anyone else who told you this unfortunate news, maybe you wouldn't have believed it. But Vil and Rook wouldn't lie to you, they had no reason to and so, you let yourself fall apart.

Because you was one step away from declaring yourself to that colleague. Just as you were one step away from declaring to several other people that you had liked in the past. And maybe fate hates you because all the guys you liked were assholes. All of them without exception did something that broke your heart and destroyed your confidence. And all of them without exception always fell to their knees and begged your forgiveness, said that they did nothing wrong and that someone had set them up.

What a ridiculous excuse, you thought.

"I'll never let another boy hurt you ever again." Vil spoke after a long time in silence, lilac eyes stared at your sad form still lying on his chest and you didn't feel the slightest desire to get up at any time in the future. If only he wasn't so strict, you'd already be eating your second pot of ice cream and listening to sad songs. "No one else will hurt you, I promise."

Half sniffling, half laughing, you looked at him like he was the most precious thing you'd ever seen. His friendship and his ever so sure words always gave you a sense of security, and until you found a way to go home you hoped he would stay by your side.

"But what if they try anyway?" Your voice was weak, fearful. You almost didn't want to fall in love with anyone else if it meant someone could cheat on you, lie to you, or, like this time, spread rumors about you.

"If they try anything I'll be there." Another voice sounded in the room almost making you jump. And the door opened, revealing Rook who was carrying an incredibly red pie. The scent of strawberries wafting through the air. His green eyes took you in slowly, memorizing every little thing. "Mon ange, as long as we're by your side, there's no reason to be afraid of anything or anyone. But let's think about something else now, oui?"

Vil eyed the pie suspiciously. He looked about to protest when you looked at him with your best puppy dog eyes, begging him to just let you have a bite of the delicious dessert Rook had probably spent some time trying to bake.

The model let out a sigh but was quick to remove the plate from the hunter's hands while the other, silly and cheerful, helped you to sit down and dropped a kiss on your forehead. The little things they did warm your heart and make you forget about it almost effectively.

"Say ah, Mon Ange." Rook encouraged, massaging your shoulders and kissing your neck softly.

And you rolled your eyes. "Ah!"

Vil spooned the pie over to you, watching as you happily ate it. The image was enough to make his heart ache with so much pent up affection, the model looked at his astute companion and they both found they felt the same way about you. Affection. Love. A will to protect you. You were just a little bunny who hopped up to its predators and decided it wanted to be close to them.

So like a little bunny you were captured.

"Vil…Rok…" Your words all blended together as black dots danced over your eyes. Everything around you was so light, so cold and the last thing you saw was the expression on your friends' faces as you passed out.

You don't know but one day, you'll thank them for protecting you from the asshole guys you thought you fell in love with. Oh, if only you knew what they were saying, what they were doing, your friends couldn't sit back and watch it happen. They had to act and get rid of them, an accident is always convenient and afterwards they could always smother you with their love, the love you seemed to need.

"Let's get them to a safe place." Hummed Rook looking excited. And Vil agreed.

[kentjohnson91]

Today we are going to discuss trades/ free agency signings that have happened this offseason and how and why they made me upset:

Nikita Zadorov: Vancouver➡️Boston (free agency)

As a Bruins fan SO EXCITED

As a fan of chaos i’m sad

Him and Myers reeking havoc on the ice together was so iconic for the short time we were blessed by it😔

Nick Blankenburg: Columbus➡️Nashville (free agency)

This was like one of very few moves i have not approved of by Mr Don Waddell

He was cooking from the start and then this happened

Like Ik he was probs gonna be in the AHL a lot but like for an undrafted defenseman he is good

He’s like 5’9” (more like 5’8 stop lying Nick) and runs around throwing hits on 6’3 or bigger guys

He’s my favorite little man and i want him back. He rounded out the Michigan group on Columbus too well.

Kevin Bahl: New Jersey➡️Calgary (trade)

Ik i say “im not a devils fan i just love him” about like half their team but like i swear its true

I need everyone to acknowledge the childhood friends to NHL teammates arc of him and the Hughes brothers and that is heartbreaking that it is no more

Also i understand it was an underpay for Markstrom but that will always happen for goalies (see Ullmark trade) so all the Devils fans acting like it was a good thing he was gone and not appreciating the time he put in there or the calgary fans mad they got him and hating him already made me wanna cry

Like GIVE HIM A CHANCE

also he just had a baby right before the trade and that means none of his NJD teammates get to see the baby and that will make me bawl (hehe bawl - bahl) like a baby no joke

John Marino: New Jersey➡️Utah (trade)

TOM FITZGERALD WHEN I GET YOU

This poor man who tends to look like a kicked puppy for no reason seemed so happy there

with Jack, Luke, Nico, Kevin, Curtis, Nate like cmon why would you do this to me

Will never cope with whatever the fuck was goin on with him and Luke honestly

WHY UTAH

Ryan McLeod: Edmonton➡️Buffalo (trade)

this was another one like the Kevin one where the fans pissed me off instantly

“the other guy was such a good prospect he was gonna develop more and play for buffalo”

i’m gonna hold your hand when i tell you that McLeod is 24 (almost 25) and 25 year olds can STILL DEVELOP TOO THIS SHIT SHOULD NOT BE NEWS HELLO???

also people who started using what his brother did as an excuse to not want him

while no one knows for sure, randomly assuming with no real reason that he had any knowledge of his brothers part in the 2018 Team Canada Scandal is so unfair honestly

and ALSO they separated him from his pookie (Bouchard) and his gay dads (Leon and Connor)

Not coping

Linus Ullmark: Boston➡️Ottawa (trade)

where do i even begin

no more hugs

no more feeding each other during post game interviews

no more eating cinnamon buns that Ullys wife made them together

no being Matt Poitras dads together

I ofc understand from the business side but it doesn’t make it hurt less

Jake Debrusk: Boston➡️Vancouver (free agency)

This one stung

we all knew it was coming but like

he’s been here his whole career

him and McAvoy were the ultimate duo

scored their first goals on the same night

if anyone saw Charlie McAvoys post about him and Grizz just know i cried for hours over that shit

Matt Grzelcyk: Boston➡️Pittsburgh (free agency)

another one that hurt a lot

once again see charlie mcavoys post

THE ONES OF THEM FROM COLLEGE TOGETHER

ENOUGH CHUCK

also no more amazing interviews with Mr Grzelcyk (Matt’s dad)

He worked in the Garden forever so Matt LITERALLY LEARNED TO SKATE THERE

HOMETOWN HERO AND A HALF

HEARTBROKEN

Anyways if i think of more im forgetting or something else happens before camp ill make another post but anyways

[havingsomemorejohnlarks]

spoilers for dead boy detectives i think?

listen i know everyone loves charles and edwin as a couple but I think edwin probably deserves better than to be in a relationship with someone who is NOT in love with him - I totally get the ship, dont get me wrong, I dont ship them myself tho

I mean he's not the best choice for edwin, if he doesnt love him like that, i dont think charles was lying when he said he doesnt have those feelings for edwin 😭

I think it could be an interesting route, dont get me wrong! but the reason im so wary about it is that it did not seem to be setting up a romantic relationship for them, more about edwin realising his feelings and charles realising the depth of his friendship, soI hope they do not put that in later seasons if we get some! (fingers crossed) just because that was not what it was leading to and it would be very confusing (to me anyway).

plus, i LOVE the friendship between charles and edwin - charles would go to hell for edwin because he loves him deeply, as a friend.

also lowkey rooting for charles and crystal 😭

anyways, what are your thoughts? im trying to understand, i really like this show so i want to know what people think, if anyone agrees (and from the ppl who disagree with me too)🤙

also might write fanfics about it, but need to finish some chapters before i do that XD

edit: just want to add bc ive seen the beginning of ppl hating other ships 😭 "edwin had no feelings towards the cat king" is not necessarily crazy on its own, but considering he was constantly remembering their almost-kiss throughout the whole season, its a bit crazy when youre also saying "charles clearly has feelings for edwin" - only bc i feel like its a little strange to say that since charles had no explicit or implicit romantic interest in edwin, and then ignoring explicit interest that edwin had for someone else - know what i mean..? again, no judgement, just a little confused 😭

another one: also im rlly rlly sorry if this comes off as judgey for you liking a ship, thats absolutely not what i was aiming for, this is more me trying to find a different perspective and also a little irritated at the 12 year olds trying to start a ship war 😭

[jaemified]

I COULD NEVER LIE TO YOU.

“maybe i finally understood why you were the way you were. or maybe you just never tried to understand me.”

☆ pairing ; toxic bf lee chan x fem reader

☆ genre ; hurt, ANGST, no comfort, toxic relationship, y/n vents but she has no one, slightly suggestive content

☆ warnings ; swearing, drinking, implied substance abuse, mentions of cheating and sex, y/ns insecure af (and only cz he made her that way), chans a gaslight and manipulator but also very possessive !!

☆ wordcount ; 0.9k

☆ synopsis ; youve been struggling with a toxic relationship for years now, but you had no one to tell that to, or anyone thatd believe you at least. so while your boyfriend slips out for the night to god knows where, you use this time to write down and express everything youve bottled up all this time.

☆ kona speaks ! - i think its funny how i always start with swearing in cw when its not anywhere near the worst thing in the story LMAOAOAOA anyway sorry i havent uploaded in FOREVER.. college is so hard (+i love my new format! all my drafts from the past 2 months are written like this:))

!disclaimer!, this is a pure work of fiction and is not in any way related to chan and his personality! purely for entertainment purposes only, and for me to express some thoughts :)

READ BELOW THE CUT

OCTOBER 31, 2023

you had left me on my own yet again. its not like i had any true friends left to be with anyway, after you scared them all off, that is.

who knows where you couldve gone.

no, the real you.

my sweet, sweet channie i fell in love with all those years ago.

where could you have gone?

maybe i wasnt good enough, maybe i wasnt pretty enough.

or maybe you werent understanding enough.

i always thought it was me, but maybe it was you all this time.

i like to think back at when we were last happy, god. that mustve been ages ago, just about.

it was.. my 16th birthday?

-my 16th birthday-

it was.. the day we had to put my dog down. my puppy since i was young. i remember it all clearly now.

i was..

-i was..-

we, we were 17.

mmm, my dog was probably my best friend. the realest one in a while.

i remember how you were there for me, even took me to my favorite donut shop to distract me while you tried so hard to make me laugh.

it worked.

i wish you were still you when we were young.

my sweet channie.

where could you have gone?

i could care less about your whereabouts.

i could care less about how you told me i was lying and that you knew i loved you whenever i tried expressing how i felt about us now.

but maybe i just want to be loved again.

maybe i just want to feel something again.

and i know it cant be with you.

i remember the last time you brought me out we were at mingyus halloween party last year.

nobody could find you, so i went to look for you myself.

i noticed your location was still shared with me, and not any of your friends.

so i tracked you to our car.

-our-

i tracked you to your car.

(since nothing that was yours was mine anyway)

and there you were.

fucking some random girl in the backseat.

that was the last day i saw any of my friends.

you never let me out again.

“you cant go, youll just be in my way.” you said before you left for soonyoungs christmas party.

“you cant go, i cant bare to see you hurt again.” you told me before i was about to leave to my own birthday party planned by my friends.

“you cant go, youll just play victim in front of all my friends and cry about how i fucked another girl.” you told me before you left a few hours ago.

i never know with you. but, i know deep down you care.

somewhere.

its always how y/n cant go here, y/n cant do this. or, shes too busy, we have something planned, shes not home.

even in the way you always spoke over me i knew you were just trying to speak for me.

but what about you?

why cant i have a say in anything you do? why do i get everything taken from me? why did you scare off all my friends and even make your friends hate me too?

you always came home high or on something whenever a different girl each time, dropped you off after you came back from a different party.

i never missed the way theyd look at me.

as if you said something about me.

because you know i never forget the look on someones face

it wasnt till later when i found out from wonwoo that everything you did to me, you told those girls thats what i did to you.

i learned to be quiet though.

i learned to sit there and smile, and just take it.

there was nothing i could do though, theres nothing that couldve changed your actions.

i mean, i cant control you.

so why can you control me?

the channie i knew from when we were 20 wouldve consoled me and been there for me.

the channie i knew from when we were 15 wouldve just laughed about how mr seo accidentally buzzed his head in the boys locker room.

the channie i knew from when we first met in grade school wouldnt even have thought about doing half the things you do now.

so where did we go wrong?

i still think about that.

was it, when we hit puberty?

was it, when we moved out?

was it, when we graduated?

our first date?

the day i found out you cheated?

y/n scoffed as she looked at the giant brown teddy bear in the corner of the room that chan had won for her on their first date.

she let out an annoyed sigh, thinking back, looking back at whatever point in time that couldve even reflected a glimpse of this change in him.

it was too subtle, but too sudden, for her to even remember.

she took a sip of her ginger ale before picking up her pen and scribbling some more in her diary that only she had the key to.

who knows what he’d do if he saw all the things she said about him.

you really werent much help.

nevertheless, i still love you.

i really fucking love you.

i know you do too.

i know a part of you inside still cares for me.

i could even cry thinking about it.

yeah, i realize i dont get out much.

but you never hurt me.

physically, at least.

the emotional damage is beyond repair though.

but i know theres still a bit of the you from our youth left.

i see it in the way you look at me.

no matter how mad,

how upset,

how happy,

how sad you were,

whether you were high,

whether you were drunk,

even when we were younger too.

you always looked at me the same.

that softened gaze and warm eyes.

the eyes never change. the eyes dont lie.

i mean, you could deny it (which id only laugh if you tried), but your eyes tell.

maybe thats why im still holding on.

maybe im just waiting for the boy i first fell in love with to randomly come back.

the chances are slim.

but i still hope.

im holding on.

by a thread, at least.

not like you’d let me leave anyway.

i could say how theres still love left within us

probably, somewhere

but when was the last time we were genuinely happy?

what do you get out of this?

because it isnt happiness. it cant be. you wouldnt be here if you were.

we’re both miserable. i see it and feel it.

it’s like, im just here for you.

i can understand the pressure though.

everyone would ask “how did you make it through college?” “how did you make it through high school?”

they dont understand though. you kinda made me

-you kinda made me-

they dont understand though.

i mean,

maybe i finally understood why you were the way you were

or maybe you just never tried to understand me.

i could tell you all of these things.

but i couldnt.

because i could never ‘lie’ to you.

[stupidsketchpad]

hey guys. im here to rant about how 2econd 2ight 2eer (second sight seer) by will wood is secret life bigb's song because god its eerie how similar the song lyrics are to his character. AHEM (also spoilers for secret life)

My grip on my secrets slipping while I'm speaking in tongues

ok. this is a really good start lol. basically bigb's task don't mean much when he does weird shit anyway for fun and, quote from grian, "writes his own tasks"

Screaming at the top of my lungs in the confession booth

he's saying stuff that litterally makes no sense. even after his task is done he wont tell anyone (confession booth is kinda like people asking about your task after it's done. your confessing your task to someone)

Take it with a pillar of salt, H.A.L.T., it's not my fault

i got nothing man

The devil made me do it, but I also kinda wanted to

THIS LINE AHSHDHSHAH. THE SECRET KEEPER GIVES HIM THE TASKS CAUSE HE HAS TO BUT HE WANTS TO DO THEM ANYWAY ANDDDD MAKE THEM AS CONFUSING AS POSSIBLE. SECRET KEEPER COUNTS AS THE DEVIL HERE

I'm cut from a different kind of meat

More than you can chew, hard to swallow me

"what the hell are you doing??" is a common question he gets asked. hard to swallow. y'know

Forget bored stiff, I got rigor mortis, call it morbid curiosity

How I cannot commit to reality, when my third eye's open and I like what I see

he's doing shit for the sake of doing shit.

Baby, I may be crazy but I didn't lose it, no I set it free

AAAAA THIS LINE TOOO!!! ok so he didn't just randomly start lying in secret life. it was weird before that too! i cant speak for double but LIMITED LIFE he was also confusing people about being the boogeyman. basically that one meme with the "guy weird about everything but its drowned out by how weird about everything the other people are"

I can't ignore what's under dance floorboards, the rhythm of my heart a dead-as-disco beat

But I still move my feet

To slip out of this groove, I'm free

dont got much here but i think this is just him having fun, yknow

Now to row, row, row my boat over the falls

And maybe wake up from but a dream, yeah

"but a dream" is the games. there are three rows in the line. lose your lives to get the game over with.

I'm just a psycho, babe

Come and go out my mind

I didn't lose it babe

There wasn't much to find

once again, this wasnt the first time he was being weird!!!

I'm just a psycho, babe

Come and go out my mind

I'm only passing through

say weird shit, refuse to elaborate, leave.

Oh, oh, o-o-oh

If you knew what I knew, if you saw what I see

You'd look through illusions, hallucinations, and lucid dream

And I know that meaning can be such a pretty thing to keep

But I got facts and I'm not afraid to use 'em, take the good with the bad, take off the back you make a new front

evo, anyone? anyway this man knows about watchers and doesnt care. he knows! he just doesn't give that any meaning.

Some days I'm glad that I am a madman and I'd rather be that than

An amicable animal, mild-mannered cannibal

red lives and how bigb doesn't have the same bloodlust as they do. this guy doesn't kill much, he's like the most passive on the server. /srs

But I'm more level-headed and clever than ever and I'm getting better one forever at a time

how many people guessed any of bigb's tasks? that's right, zero! (if i remember correctly.) he's getting better at the games (btw the games being referred to as "forevers" is just ahshahdghs)

And if sick is defined by what's different, well then pull the plug out and let me die

not much here

Vice-versa, vice versus virtue

Well who I am I choose through all the things I do

AAAAAAAA HE CHOOSES HOW HE IS PERCEIVED BY THE OTHERS BY SAYING HIS STUFF YA GET WHAT IM SAYING

And if it rhymes, it's true, but I hate poetry

contradicting himself. easy peasy analysis here folks.

Now with my moral compass pointing south, I'm going down

With no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no respect for reality

could say this is going red! but also. "going down?" LIKE A HOLE? HE MADE A HOLE?????

I'm just a psycho, babe

Come and go out my mind

I didn't lose it babe

There wasn't much to find

I'm just a psycho, babe

Come and go out my mind

I'm only passing through

I'm just a psycho, babe

Come and go out my mind

I didn't lose it babe

There wasn't much to find

I'm just a psycho, babe

Come and go out my mind

same stuff

A tourist passing through

Well that was fun, goodbye

he died. but hey, he had fun!

anyways thats all thank you for listening to me ramble about songs and minecraft i WILL do this again. sorry if this is incoherent i wrote it at 10:00 pm.

psst... moot... @bigb-enthusiast... would you like this?

[sugdenlovesdingle]

I tried vibing some sunshine your way! I'm in England and we don't seem to get much of it these days, so maybe that's why it put me in such a good mood today.

I'm the same as you, only got into 911 properly after 7x04 (though I'd watched lonestar since the beginning - apparently everyone hates Rob Lowe but I still see him as Sam Seaborn from the west wing (one of my all time fav shows) 😂).

I've got no idea why there are so many interviews either, and maybe it's adding to how bad some of them are? Like it's diluting whatever messages Tim et al are trying to convey because they're doing it every week and there's only so many teasers you can keep coming up with?

If the current plot resolves with Tommy coming back by hiatus, or by the end of 8B, then the earlier interviews about hurdles to overcome, deepening the relationship, their romance being a romcom, Oliver saying he likes slow burns, etc etc will all make sense - but then the intervening interviews since then will look like total bullshit/outright lying? Idk, I know alot of interviews are by buddie 'journalists' and words can be misquoted and written with a bias, but some of them still seemed pretty clear the current relationship is over. Plus there's the interviews mentioning plots to come that definitely never happened, so I think I'm just back to wanting to ignore them as they cause too much unnecessary stress.

Plus why focus on the stress when the fic and speculation is fun. I've enjoyed mpreg before but never this much 🤣, for me it's the combo with the angst of a breakup makeup that makes it just chefs kiss.

And finally a robron question as I am pretty out the loop with it, do you think there's any chance of Ryan coming back on the horizon??

Sunshine from England?? No wonder it didn't work! That's too rare to send over!

I never watched Rob Lowe in anything before Lone Star really. Not REALLY. sometimes i see things and i'm like 'wait... he was in that???" - i did see some gifs (i think) of him and lisa edelstein in another show where they *also* played a couple. I don't remember what show that was though. But yeah -i've always preferred lone star over the OG. Even now every monday is like "oh hiii babies!!" And i don't think the fandom is as fucking rancid as the og fandom can be. (not the bucktommy fandom - i love everyone in this club, but you know what i mean) I've never seen anyone so *violently* hate tarlos and send hate to Rafa or Ronen just because they're not the person they think the other half of the couple should be with. Even my fellow Nancy/Marjan shippers (all 5 of us) who don't want Nancy with Mateo don't go around harassing Jules.

ANYWAYS - the interviews are bullshit. I mean Tim teased tension between henren and madney over mara, he teased eddie being the third wheel and buck not having time for him, he teased buck leaning on Tommy with the Gerrard of it all - none of that happened. And if you look at the quotes from Lou's interview especially it's more up in the air like "i have a job lined up, i'm going back to SWAT, and a few other things coming up and if they call me to come back i hope i'll have time" he never said he definitely 100% will never ever ever come back as Tommy. That's what the buddie baiting "journalists" turned it into.

And yes speculation is half the fun! I mean how many speculation fics has this fandom written the past six months? Or this-never-happened fix its. Or Tommy-was-there-after-all- fics. Keep 'em coming people! I'm not keen on mpreg fics though but hey if you're all having fun with them - have at it! I know how to blacklist and keep scrolling ;)

As for Ryan coming back... I REALLY hope so... but realistically speaking... i don't think so. But if emmerdale wanted to prove me wrong and give me Robert Sugden back for Christmas, i wouldn't hate that! just FYI @ soap gods

[squipdop]

HIIIII CAN I ASK ABOUT THE SIX YEARS LATER AU???

Howd they bring up the junior scouts idea to max??? Was he like Whatever sure or super tsundere or surprisingly emotional that they wanted him back after he aged out?? Did anyone else come back or do special day-long visits like how schools bring in visitors? What does max think of the new kids? They all look so cool i love Max's hair!!!!

HI HI HELLO YES OFC!!! :33

Okay so. I call it the '6 years later' AU but technically i have Stuff Planned for all the time that passed between now and then too, so this'll be a bit longer, sorry!!

Max joining the counselor team was actually kind of a natural/gradual development?? Basically, since I can't make CC content that isn't found family Max has a shit home life, and, even if he hates to admit it at first, the three months of summer camp become his bright spot each year. David and Gwen catch on to that, but there isn't much they can do to help outside of camp - until one day Max (age 13/14ish) shows up on Gwen's doorstep because he ran away from home, 'since his parents won't care either way'. While he does return home after hiding out at Gwen's place for a weekend, this kind of kicks off a pattern of Max running away sporadically, to Gwen's, later David's, or his friends places. I could go into more detail here but. this is already long. oop.

ANYWAYS. So with Max spending basically all the time he can away from home and the summers at camp, once he ages out there's. A Bit of panic starting in him once summer gets closer again, because his Safe Place seems inaccessible, and two of his OTHER options, especially for longer stays away from home, would also be unavailable. Gwen and David notice this (it manifests in Max staying over More but Angrier) and try to find a solution. Gwen proposes the Jr Counselor idea. They introduce the idea to Max by kinda implying that workload around camp is a lot, and it'd really hurt to miss one of their most experienced campers, but... maybe, if he worked there too (well, interned. basically unpaid. but! no camp tuition!) he could help them? so they basically give Max a way to say yes without admitting that he's the one who needs camp the most. He does insult the whole thing ofc, and says like he's just doing it because he knows camp would burn down without him there ("actually, most of the fires we had were started by you...?" "shut it, david") but secretly he's really really happy. He might even thank them later that evening. Quietly. Before complaining about it preemptively. <3

WAH THATS ALREADY SUCH A WALL OF TEXT ok ill hurry up w the rest:

While most of the other campers had some rotations over the years, I don't have conk rete plans for most of them - Nikki and Neil are still Max' gang, and returned for multiple summers, if not all. This year though, Neil is busy with college prep, and Nikki is spending the summer at home because of family crisis. They still video call a lot, they're still The Gang. I have sketched designs for them, but I'm not quite happy yet.

Max at first doesn't take his role seriously, because he's basically just Back For Another Summer, but pretty quickly realises Gwen and David DO have expectations, and DO give him responsibilities. He takes a while to come around on his new relationship to the younger kids, and especially one of the youngest kids takes a liking to him, a very anxious young girl, which annoys him at first, but... well. It's a whole ~character arc~ for Max waiting to happen tbh.

OK THANK YOU IF YOU MADE IT THIS FAR IM SORRY ITS SO LONG. i wasnt lying when i said i have So Many Thoughts about this. ANYWAYS as thank u for getting this far heres a doodle of Max putting up his hair. :3c

[chntfessions]

Hi! Original Sydney X Elijah anon here. I recognise the issues in the ship. Manipulation, lying, delusional behaviour ect. Thankfully, I also recognise that the ship is fiction. It being fiction means it's a safe place for me to explore that relationship, because having it irl would be super unhealthy & harmful.

Secondly, everyone talks about the abusive behaviours Elijah displays, however no-one mentions the harm Jedidiah causes. People skim over Jedidiah's abuse and accept him as the "best option" for Sydney, when in actuality, in reality, Sydney's best option would be to date neither of them.

Anyway, that's the last anon I'm sending about this. If anyone wants to talk to me about it personally, contact me @jedidiah-hate-blog.

mod 🎀 speaking. before we start, i'd like to say that i'm a survivor of several different types of abuse so i'm not talking out of my ass or speaking on behalf of victims.

first off, i don't condone any harassment towards this person. don't send rude stuff to their blog. and don't start any discourse ffs.

second, fiction affects reality whether you like it or not, and your ship always has the possibility of genuinely hurting someone (in fact i know several people who are completely nauseated by that ship). you can explore dynamics like that without romanticising it, which you were doing imo. saying sydney deserves someone who'd "worship" him when elijah never even truely loved him. to add on, excusing shipping things like that because its "fiction" is proship rhetoric so think about the talking points you're using (i know this sounds chronically online but i promise i'm cooking).

third, idk what side of the fandom ur on because i see people discussing jeddie and elijah's poor treatment of sydney equally. i'm glad you acknowledge sydney's best option would to be to date neither of them, so why would you ship him with elijah? both types of abuse sydney faced are equally bad so i see no point in shipping him with the OTHER person who hurt him.

in conclusion i genuinely hope you find a healthier coping mechanism. other mods may be editing this post to add their two cents, but know we have nothing against who you are as a person.

[rweoutofthewoods]

Coming here after the new owcm chap (absolute masterpiece) and something that i keep thinking about is the music. As far as i see this has been an important thing to james, finding someone that shares his music taste and i keep thinking about the inevitable future when james will find out that regulus never really liked the music for the right reasons. But then does regulus actually dislike it?? Im not sure if this is an aspect of BPD but regulus has started listening to that type of music because of james that much we know, he is convincing himself that he is lying to him and he is being manipulative and all that. What im wondering about is... is that the self-sabotaging talking. I feel like he actually likes that type of music now despite the fact that he started it bc of james and now its a genuine thing that connects them but regulus' lack of sense of self is preventing him for realising that

or maybe im totally overthinking i just wanted to see if you have something to say about it. i hope i worded it correctly i feel like its a mess of an ask but owcm makes me feel a lot

No you’ve absolutely got it!! Regulus’ thing with James is that he sees his obsession as a lot more evil and manipulative than it actually manifests as.

You’ve absolutely nailed basically the entire fic down with the “Regulus’ lack of sense of self,”that really sums up his character in this fic. Because like, Regulus says oh, he only listens to this music bc James likes it. he dislikes it, yet he doesn’t name the type of music he does actually like. It’s the music Regulus listens to in his free time, when James is around and when he isn’t. And if he truly hated it and only listened to it bc of James, it doesn’t make total sense that he’d listen to it repeatedly and when James doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

But Regulus is very confused about himself and his perception of himself. I’ve tried to show already how he struggles with other’s perceptions of himself vs. what he “knows”. And he shapes who he thinks he is around how he EXPECTS people to perceive him. He describes himself on multiple occasions as off-putting and making other people uncomfortable, yet we’ve never seen anyone else actually describe him that way. He is very prone to self-sabotage and he doesn’t think he deserves James, and that he’s somehow fooled him into their growing relationship.

Anyway, anyway, I went off on a tangent but you clocked my intentions here exactly right and it got me excited!!

Tysm and thanks for dropping your thoughts with me, it made my day Xx

[cathy-pso2]

Rant

I feel like the internet has normalized being a hater too much. There are so many shows and movies in the past decade where people will make longwinded rants on YouTube saying "X is garbage and here is why" or "The absolute state of <Franchise>" or "Y is the the worst <franchise> movie" and then I go watch the thing and it looks either fine or the flaws in it are so milk toast that I honestly don't get where the hate comes from.

My page is PSO2 themed so you'd think i'm strictly referring to that but I'm not even doing that right now. I'm mostly speaking about stuff like Avatar, Star Wars, Pokemon and Marvel right now. I've seen so many videos on YT claiming The Legend of Korra is terrible and absolutely ruins The Last Airbender. The show is alright? Like yeah, the first two seasons have more bad than good but anyone saying Season 3 and 4 aren't Kino are lying to themselves imo.

With Star Wars people hated on the Prequel Trilogy for a whole decade. To the point where when Disney bought the franchise you could actively tell they were trying to distance themselves from that trilogy. But the people who grew up on prequels started sharing appreciation for it online and now we're arguably getting more prequel fanservice than Original Trilogy. And even the stuff that takes place after the Original Trilogy is slowly building the groundworks for the Sequel Trilogy to make more sense. And I don't doubt for a second in a few years that trilogy will have the same effect of late appreciation.

I was convinced people hated the recent pokemon games with a passion but I actually got Pokemon Scarlet for Christmas last year so I decided to finally play it last month and... The game is fun? Probably most fun I've had since Black 2 White 2? Yeah the graphics are shit but I never cared too much about that anyway. I still play games like Gothic 1 and 2 which were made almost 25 years ago and look like the polygons were made with playdoh because I enjoy the gameplay so much that I can look past the aging visuals. And yeah, I don't get the hate for PSO2 either. I play it daily for multiple hours. The game offers insane sandboxes for self expression so it baffles me seeing videos like "PSO2 is a disaster" when its the most fun I've had with a MMO since the initial "MMO magic" ran out.

With Marvel I get its hard to stay invested right now because the only decent plot thread we've had needed to be retconned but a lot of these "terrible" movies and shows are either inoffensively bad or just plain mediocre. How is that enough to make people go on a multi-video tirade on YouTube or a 5 hour long rant?

I genuinely don't get it. Why do people enjoy being miserable like that on the internet? I legitimately can't trust anyone's negative opinion online anymore.