#iron side ep

[thesproutandthebean]

really sucks that they stopped making sitcoms about 30 year olds living in apartments together right before the cultural references would all finally be tailored to my generation

[girlwiththegreenhat]

having just made it to KITT vs KARR i stand by my point that KARR has done nothing wrong ever in his life

[wordsandrobots]

Falling for a fool: #17

You are not there.

You do not see the target, centred in the cross-hairs. You do not feel the jolt, the impact throwing off your aim. You do not cry with frustration and launch yourself into the fire, determined to carry the day. You do not feel the explosions, your armour shredding, not enough, not nearly enough to save you.

It isn't your death that at last seizes its chance, pulling you close, holding you tight.

You think you know the moment it happens, even so. The precise instant you are pierced through by the only shot that missed.

-----------

Mobile Suit Gundam: Iron-Blooded Orphans, episodes #45 & 46

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[justplaggin]

Your thoughts on the new episode ??

[kuromi-hoemie]

everyone: gundam has always been a tragedy

me, watching gundam and seeing tragedy:

[sanakiras]

HEAVEN

PAIRING — jeon wonwoo x fem!reader

WORD COUNT — 3.4k

SYNOPSIS — wonwoo has a reputation for being distant, quiet and a bit mysterious. once you get to know him better, though, you come to find the sweet, shy boy underneath the surface.

TAGS — established relationship, explicit sexual content, sub-ish virgin!wonwoo, lowkey corruption kink, i have a sickening crush on this man can you tell, not proofread :)

♪ — the nbhd - heaven,, hank lotion - k-sEx

NOTE — gam3 bo1 wonwoo and ep 1 nana tour wonwoo footage has been making me act UP and i think he’s just so cute <3 screw the hard dom wonu agenda i like to see my men a lil WEAK ‼️😁

like most people, you felt rather intimidated when you met jeon wonwoo for the first time.

stoic, quiet, intelligent. the strong and silent type. that was the clear image you had of him. and to top it all off, he had the criminally good looks too. a relatively rare kind of man to come across, in your opinion.

though you began to see him in a different light after bonding with him over your shared love for video games. since then, you’ve discovered he can actually be quite talkative, cracking silly puns or laughing at the corniest dad jokes. he’s well-spoken and is actually very open about his feelings, which you found refreshing.

and while developing a friendship with him, you realized how much of a big softie he actually is, which paints quite the contrast compared to his cold and quiet persona he unintentionally seems to put up towards those outside his circle of close friends and family.

it reminds you of the day he asked you out — that sweet, shy smile on his face with rosy cheeks, all flustered and stuttering that you really don’t have to say yes if you don’t feel like it and he’ll push it all to the side like nothing happened if that’s what you’d prefer—

you very easily interrupted him by agreeing to go on a date with him. you’d never seen him smile wider.

wonwoo is cute when he smiles.

and despite his nervousness in the beginning, he still made efforts to be as talkative as he could and show you his interest in you, which you found very sweet. you had a great time with him, and you noticed rather quickly how comfortable you felt around him.

a couple dates later, he asked you if you wanted to be his girlfriend, and you certainly didn’t refuse him.

he’s also turned out to be a gentleman in his own way — subtly saying he could do certain things for you to make your life easier in that monotone voice of his, eyes following you around whenever he’s with you.

the first time he slept over at your place was rather recently after you two made it official. it wasn’t planned, since he was supposed to go back to his place after your date, but due to issues with public transport, you offered him to stay with you instead.

with his face and chest bare, he got into bed next to you. of course you’d imagined what he looked like underneath his big hoodies, but actually having him by your side like this was different.

and wonwoo was putting every bit of effort into playing it cool, even though he was freaking out to be sleeping next to his first girlfriend, forcing himself to look away from your tank top that left very little to the imagination.

yet ironically, it was all he could fantasize about before drifting to sleep.

normally, you’d only let a guy into your bed to do things other than sleeping once you’ve been dating for quite a while. it’s never been something you like to initiate quickly — but wonwoo’s been making you question it. severely.

because he looks so hot when he’s out on the field with his football team, when he’s working out, when he’s gaming on his pc, even when he just fucking smiles at you. the worst thing of it all might be that he doesn’t even seem the slightest bit aware of how attractive he is, nor what effect it has on you.

maybe you should really just tell him you want to jump him like a tree.

but you don’t want to rush him. for all you know, he doesn’t feel like doing that at all with you yet, and for some reason you just didn’t know when or how to ask him about it. later, you thought to yourself.

though you will say you’ve been pushing his buttons a little over the course of time. ever since that night, you’ve subtly been putting yourself on display for him. low-cut shirts and dresses so he can take a peek at your cleavage, accidentally exposing a bit of the fabric of your lingerie, sitting in his lap and rubbing up on him — unintentionally, of course.

it took every ounce of self-control in your body not to smirk when you felt him stiffen up underneath you.

the progress of your relationship has been nothing but positive, really. but you’re aching for him to just touch you at this point.

the day you hit your breaking point isn’t much later. you were trying on some newly bought dresses in front of him, one more revealing than the other — sundresses always work magic on men for whatever reason — and you turned around to find him pathetically trying to hide his hard-on while seated on your bed.

and you just couldn’t find it in you to wait any longer.

so that’s how you ended up sitting in his lap, hands on the back of his neck as you’re grinding against him. his glasses are sitting lop-sided on his nose, black locks messy from your fingers threading through them, lips swollen from your kisses.

the moment he feels your fingers tugging at his hoodie, he feels the need to clear up what he’s been meaning to tell you for a while now.

“i need to tell you something. i’ve—” he cuts himself off when he accidentally lets out a whimper, “i’ve never had sex with anyone.”

he’s still heavily breathing, looking at you in anticipation, and you just can’t escape the buzzing feeling you get from the idea of taking his virginity.

“do you want to?” you ask him, and how could he say no when you’re holding his face like this, looking at him like you’re willing to give him the ride of his life?

“yeah, yeah, i just—i usually don’t last very long,” he sheepishly admits, then internally asking himself why the fuck he would say that, “sorry, i’m nervous.”

but you think it’s endearing. “i don’t mind. we can always go for a second round, right?”

all he can do is nod his head in agreement. “i, i um—i’m not sure what to do next. i’m sorry, this is embarrassing.”

“it’s not, really. it’s not some big performance you need to put up, it’s something fun and exciting and intimate. you can go ahead and relax, and tell me if you like or don’t like what i’m doing.” you reassure him so patiently, which puts him at ease.

jesus — if anything, he’s already a whimpering, stuttering mess and you’re hardly even touching him.

so you move your hand down into his boxers, fingers wrapping around him to test the waters. he gasps in surprise once he feels you touching him, heat rushing to his cheeks.

“just let me take care of you, ‘kay? we can stop anytime.” you tell him, and he trusts you enough to let you go on.

you press another kiss to his lips before moving backwards, fingers taking a hold of the waistband of both his sweatpants and boxers.

the cold on his skin makes him shiver, but he’s hardly given the time to feel exposed in front of you when you’ve already got your hands on him, pleasantly surprised by his size.

“you’re so big, wonu.” you tell him in a sweet voice, feeling like you’re about to drool at the sight of him.

“didn’t think i was big.” he mumbles more to himself than to you, staring at the ceiling as he tries to steady his breathing.

you chuckle a little as you watch him. “you are. gonna have to work for it to make you fit into me.” the words make his eyes widen, images of you getting fucked by him flashing through his mind.

“fuck, really?”

“mhm. but you’ll do that for me, won’t you?”

wonwoo is absolutely crumbling underneath you here. the effect that your mere words have on him should be studied, because shit, he’s never felt this hot before. why is it so hot in here? is he sweating already? “yeah, i’ll—i’ll do anything you want me to.”

he’s such a sweetheart that it makes you want to ruin him.

for the sake of both his and your own pleasure, you decide not to tease any longer and touch his cock with your lips. he lets out a moan of surprise, the feeling being unfamiliar to him, but holy shit — this has got to be what heaven feels like.

his chest heaves as he tries to control his breathing once more, focusing on keeping his breathing by his stomach. your tongue darts out to lick his cock, and he whimpers, which makes you triumphantly smile a little.

you’re genuinely curious to see how long he can last, so you catch him by surprise by taking him into your mouth as far as possible, and his hand subconscously flies to the back of your head, and he doesn’t know whether he wants to push your head down or pull it back. he releases a choked moan, spurring you on to keep him lodged in your throat despite his efforts to pull you off him.

“fuck—please don’t make me cum already, baby, please—” he begs, loving the feeling of your mouth on him like that — he just doesn’t want to hit his peak that fast.

unfortunately for him, you do.

with your mouth currently no longer on him, you gently jerk him off instead, his hips automatically bucking into your grip. “what if i want you to?”

“you’ve barely—barely touched me. ‘s embarrassing.” he chokes out. the heat is still rushing to his cheeks. his hands are shaking.

of course he’s nervous. you’re his first time, his first girlfriend, it’s all new to him. he’s clearly afraid you might be turned off by him being all flustered like this.

so you make it your mission to show him it’s very much the opposite.

discarding your dress, you’re left in your tank top and underwear, nipples poking through the thin, white fabric. you move to tilt his face up with your glossy, acrylic nail, gently holding his chin, your face mere inches away from his.

“do you have any idea how wet i am? just from seeing you like this?” you ask, pulling his one hand down so he can feel the dampness of your panties. “bet you could slip right in.”

a broken whimper slips out of his mouth when he feels it. he didn’t know you were this turned on.

you push his head and upper body back against the pillows, making him lie down fully, and you’re just so eager to suck the life out of him.

the feeling of your warm mouth and tongue around him makes him experience a sensation he didn’t think was possible. christ, this must be what heaven feels like.

“oh my god—you’re so fucking good.” he’s arching his back with his eyes tightly shut from the pleasure you’re giving him. it’s only when you take him as far in your throat as possible that the first guttural groan is ripped from the depths of his chest. it’s a low, sexy sound that makes you clench around nothing.

he’s burning hot under you, causing his glasses to fog up a little. he carelessly throws the pair onto his nightstand, the grip on the back of your head becoming harsher and less gentle than before, because he’s that fucking close now.

it’s cute seeing wonwoo not knowing what to do with himself. keeping your mouth on his cock, gripping the sheets, throwing his head back before he casts his eyes back down to watch you suck him off — it’s like he’s being overstimulated in the best way possible.

it’s enough for you to sense he’s close, which makes you take your mouth off him to jerk him off instead, all so you can watch him chase his release. “that’s it, wonu, give it to me.”

there’s a sudden shiver that runs from his back and core all the way down to his toes. he tenses up, unintentionally grabbing your wrist to stop your movements as he trembles and his body gives in to his orgasm.

once he’s coming down from his high, he looks at you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

“that was… holy shit.” he laughs a little to himself, eliciting a chuckle from you.

“i’m that good, huh?”

“yeah.”

“wanna keep going?”

“mhm.”

“okay. take off your shirt.”

wonwoo blinks for a moment. he practically forgot he was still wearing one, so he sits up and gets rid of the black shirt, throwing it beside your bed, now completely bare before you.

if he’s being honest, you did ease his nerves by letting him have his first orgasm already. the strange sense of shame he previously felt has disappeared into the air, with only nervous excitement left.

he feels good.

especially when he watches you move to sit on your knees on the bed, removing the tank top and slipping out of your underwear.

his eyes are glued to your naked body, hardly able to look away — that is, until you sit down in his lap, your dripping heat touching his hardening dick, making him twitch under you.

“where do you keep your condoms?”

the question forces him out of his constant staring at your body. “uh—nightstand.” he mutters, taking the initiative to reach and get it himself.

thankfully, he manages to get it on himself quickly. you urge him to lie back down again while you position yourself above him, shamelessly staring at his strong chest and broad shoulders.

his mouth is agape when you sink down on him, and fuck, he’s in so deep.

the stretch burns, especially because you didn’t get yourself ready, but you’re so dripping wet to the point you don’t care — you need him in you.

wonwoo notices you struggle despite your arousal. “you don’t have to take me all the way if it hurts.”

you hum, a half-smirk creeping onto your face. “but it hurts so good. so i will.”

once he’s sheathed fully inside you, he’s subconsciously holding his breath. the anticipation for you to move is killing him. the sensitivity of his dick makes him whimper, his lashes fluttering as his teeth sink into his lower lip in a failed attempt to hold it together.

you decide to tease him a little by clenching down on him. his hands fly to your hips, gripping the skin harder than intended from the sudden feeling, his breathing becoming erratic again. “hah—don’t do that, please, i don’t wanna cum yet baby—please.”

“why? you close?” you ask him with an innocent face, knowing damn well what you’re doing to him.

“yeah. need you so bad.” he answers truthfully, his ego and pride nowhere to be found anymore. whether he sounds pathetic or not, he doesn’t give a shit. all he knows is that you’re sitting on top of him and he needs you to make him feel what he’s been desperate to feel for so damn long.

so you tilt your head. “‘s okay, wonu. i’ll give it to you.”

he can hardly even make out a response before you lift your hips and proceed to sink back down on him, your hands on his chest. a filthy moan rolls past his lips — you think it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard in your damn life.

then you begin to roll your hips, and he sucks through his teeth from the feeling, a mix of overstimulation and pleasure rushing through him. once you let out your first dragged-out moan, his fingers twitch for a moment, digging deeper into your skin.

“have you thought about this? fucking me?”

despite the position he’s in right now, he still feels his face heat up when you ask him dirty things like that, even more so when he answers them.

“yeah, i did.”

“when? tell me. i wanna hear it.” you tell him, and when you’re so gorgeously riding him like this, how could he not oblige?

wonwoo swallows, stuttering as he focuses on recalling the memories while admiring you and the feeling you’re letting him experience. “when i saw you wearing that short skirt on our second date, and—and that time you came to watch me at the football game. couple of my teammates were drooling over you. so was i.”

his words turn you on, because you doubted whether you were sensing actual jealousy from him that night, and this confirms it.

“were you?” you ask, running your nails down his stomach. “what’d you do about it?”

he bites his lip. “i’ll sound like a pervert if i answer that.”

teasing him again, you push yourself down on him almost harshly, relishing in the way he gasps under you. wonwoo is wonderfully responsive in bed, and you’re having a fucking field trip with it.

“yeah? try me.”

“i touched myself after getting home, and i... thought about you. in that skirt.”

“i’ll wear it for you next time.” you smile, watching him close his eyes in pleasure when you leave your marks on his chest, putting a few hickeys on his neck and collarbone on purpose. “i touched myself thinking of you, too.”

that makes him twitch inside you, which is exactly what you wanted.

his hands dip to the curve of your ass, following your movement. “really?”

“mhm. i thought you looked so sexy in your football attire. you were wearing that tight compression shirt that you always wear when you go to the gym too — drove me nuts, wonu.” you confess, which seems to work as a brief shot of adrenaline for him.

he moves to sit up, bringing your bodies closer together by looping his arms around your waist, the slight change in position making you moan.

the drag of his cock inside you is slowly making you go insane. your face is hot and you’re dripping wet for him, sucking him in to the point you feel like you need to claw at the walls.

“god, feels so good.” he mutters, his mouth finding your breasts before he begins to suck on the skin like a man starved.

once he notices you’re both getting closer, but you’re getting tired from your position on top, he takes a breath and flips you over, now hovering above you.

burying his face in the crook of your neck, he holds onto your body and fucks you. his thrusts are harder than he intends them to, the control over his body lost in his relentless drive to make you both feel good.

he’s panting hard, doing everything in his power to make you cum first this time while indulging in his own pleasure as well. “am i doing good for my first time? does it feel good?”

god, you can only half-catch the words with the way he’s fucking you. it’s almost funny — such a sweetheart he is, asking you if he’s doing well while simultaneously fucking you into oblivion.

“you’re so good, wonu. so good—‘m so close.” you cry out, manicured nails digging into his back, making him groan.

“wanna feel you cum around me so bad.” the words almost sound like a plea, like he’s begging you for it.

then he kisses your neck, and he hits the perfect spot inside you over and over, and it’s enough to make you clench so hard around him that he can’t hold it any longer. your orgasm makes your legs shake, and he fucks you right through it, making you wonder why the hell it took the universe so long to let him into your life.

he moans and whines and shakes when he hits his climax, twitching inside you, filling up the condom. with heavy breaths, he lets his body rest on top of you, his head by your collarbone, a comfortable silence emerging as your heartbeats slow and breathing steadies.

surprisingly, it’s him who speaks up first.

“i’m gonna need a while for my legs to start working again.” he chuckles breathily, covering his face a little when he notices you poking fun at him.

“aw, baby, did i drain you that much?”

“i genuinely can’t even feel my limbs.”

you laugh at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and he smiles so sweetly — as if he didn’t just fuck the living daylights out of you. “wanna go again?”

he blushes a bit, tilting his head as if he has to think about it, before sheepishly giving you his answer.

“... yeah.”

thanks for reading! let me know if u liked it x

® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.

[cassiefromhell]

The Game

Nanami x Wife!Reader

wc: 2.7k

warnings: f!reader, mdni/18+, smut, teasing, ROUGH, manhandling, gentle choking, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering a/n: this is a combination of my reaction to the latest jjk ep and a general need for manhandling nanami.

You know exactly what is coming for you.

You can feel his eyes on you from across the room. Watching you. 

Watching his pretty little wife play games that she’d lose. 

Because you have one goal in mind: piss off your husband, Nanami Kento.

Which is not an easy task. But you had pissed him off once before, a few weeks ago, and had been insatiably craving more. His reaction that night was… his hands in your hair, throwing you back against the bed, the words out of his mouth—

You can’t help but blush a little at the memories that flood your head now, as you speak to a man twice your age at this party. You know this man thinks he has a chance with you. He came up to you earlier, and is now flirting with you relentlessly, seeming blind to the ring on your marriage finger which marks you as claimed. 

You giggle a little at something he says, taking your poker and stabbing at the fire. You sip the glass of wine in your hands. There’s no need to look over your shoulder to confirm; Kento is most decidedly watching you.

And that fire? It’s growing.

You can feel the way your white silk mini dress has ridden up your thighs a little, but you don’t do anything to fix it, no matter how much the skin on the back of your thighs sizzles and sears under his scorched gaze.

All it takes is for the man to reach out, try to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, and the flame explodes.

Hands are on your waist in an instant, a cotton-covered, firm chest pressed against your back. You know that chest. Those hands.

“I think it’s time for us to get going, don’t you think, dear?” Kento grits out, his thumbs digging into your skin. A warning.

“Oh,” you pout, turning your head to look up at him. You’re met with a hard-set jaw and cold eyes, as your husband stares down the inferior man who got a centimeter too close. “But it’s raining. We’ll have to wait for it to slow down a bit, or have a valet bring the car around, we’re parked a block away—”

“We’ll walk. Goodbye,” he flashes the tightest, fakest smile you’ve ever seen, and then turns you towards the elevator, pushing you in that direction.

And what choice do you have? You half walk, half stumble forward, his hands never faltering in their iron grip the whole walk over. He stops you in front of the elevator.

“Button,” he commands, jerking his chin towards the panel with two buttons, one an up arrow and the other down.

“Why do I have to do it?”

“It seems that if I let you go for half a second, you’ll run off and let yourself get eye-fucked by a nobody in a cheap suit. Button,” he growls, his hands tightening their grip, causing your sides to protest.

You whimper softly, reaching out and pressing the down button. It glows a soft blue, and you tilt your head to the side, gazing up at your angry, blond man. “What’s got you in such a frenzy? I was socializing—”

He scoffs. “Socializing. Sure. I know the game you’re playing, and might I remind you that it’s a game you can’t win, darling.”

You swallow hard, fighting back a flinch as the elevator dings, and the doors slide open. 

Empty.

Kento shuffles you both inside, and holds the ‘close doors’ button so hard that you’re afraid it might actually crack.

The elevator doors slide closed, and he releases you, taking two steps back.

Suddenly, the air is so thick that you can hardly breathe, and the thought of the fingerprint bruises he’s likely left on you fills your head.

“Ke—”

“No. No more words from you,” he spits out, practically punching the ground floor button.

You pout, and take a step towards him. “‘Nam, c’mon,” you poke that damned fire again, just waiting for it to burn you.

And it does.

His arm snaps out, his hand gripping your chin, tilting your head up. “I said, quiet.”

That sharp anger in his eyes makes your stomach flutter, abdomen tensing. You bite your bottom lip, and try your luck. “You’re a little angry, huh?”

Your back is against the wall before you can even process what’s happened, before you recognize that he’s shoved you into the corner of the elevator, one hand gripping your neck and the other pressed firmly against your hip, keeping you in place. His body is fully pressed to yours, and the straining bulge you feel is unmistakable.

“Angry? You have no idea,” he says, his voice having dropped to an eerily calm tone. “I want to throw you onto the ground of this damned elevator and make you suck me off right here, right now. I want to fuck your throat, and then that kinky little cunt of yours, until you are sobbing and begging me to stop.”

Your breath catches in your throat— no, it completely stops. You’re no longer breathing.

“Then do it.”

He gives a breathy chuckle, suddenly spinning you around, a hand knotting in your hair and shoving your cheek against the wall. And then he leans down, presses his lips against your ear, and…

“No. You’d like that too much.”

You whine, straining against his grip on you. Kento is usually ever the gentleman, the perfect white picket fence husband. He brings you roses each Friday and a piece of your favorite cake every Tuesday, and fucks the shit out of you each day when he returns from missions. But he’s so… polite, all the time, his touch gentle and his voice soft. He’s the type to rest his hand on your thigh while he drives, and carry you bridal style into the house.

But this Kento… This Kento is the reason you’re trying to piss him off. Because you unlocked the manhandling, relentless Kento once, and now can’t get enough of it.

Suddenly, the hand on your neck drops down, down, down to your thighs, and then up under your skirt. Kento’s fingers ghost over your bare pussy, straight up laughing when he realizes you’re wearing no underwear. But the laughter is harsh, and sends shivers down your spine.

“You really planned this, didn’t you dear.” It’s more of a statement than a question.

“Can you blame me?” You murmur, trying to grind down on his hand, the hand which is now cupping your dripping cunt, the heel of his hand juuuust below your clit. “Please.”

“We’re almost on our floor,” Kento suddenly releases you, fixing your dress with a soft touch and taking two steps back. 

You open your mouth to complain, but right on cue, the elevator doors slide open. Kento presses a hand against the small of your back, forcibly guiding you out of the elevator, and across the plaza, out to the main doors.

Where it’s pouring.

You pause outside the glass doors, crossing your arms across your chest. “No. It’s pouring.”

Kento sighs, but looks you over, and realizes it at the same moment as you do; you’re wearing white.

And Kento is a gentleman.

“I’ll bring the car around. You stay right here, you understand me?”

You nod, and he’s out the doors in an instant.

You find yourself shifting on your feet as you wait, your heels really starting to do a number on you. You keep fixing your dress, trying to ignore how you’re wetter than the rain outside.

Your feet have not moved an inch when your familiar white BMW M8 pulls up to the doors, and your husband gets out of the driver's seat, umbrella in hand.

And he is soaking wet.

His blue shirt sticks to his chest, not hiding any of the rippling muscle along his entire torso. He’s discarded his gray suit jacket, but the pants have darkened a shade due to the rain. His hair sticks to his face, blond locks drenched.

You can’t help the blush that rises to your cheeks when you realize how close you are to being able to make out his dick print, and that only worsens when he walks through those doors, headed straight for you.

“I didn’t move,” you murmur as he takes your arm, gripping your bicep tightly and heading for the exit once more.

“That earns you no brownie points tonight.”

Kento opens the umbrella as he drags you outside, holding it over your head. Not a drop of water hits you as he escorts you to the car, and then opens the door to the back seat.

You raise a brow. “Backseat?”

“So you can’t touch me,” he replies, and then promptly sweeps your feet out from under you, catches you, and tosses you into the back seat.

You yelp as your back hits the leather, and the door is closed immediately. Kento is in the driver’s seat before you can blink, staring at you in the rear view mirror. 

You buckle yourself up, and he seems satisfied, putting the car into drive and pulling out of the parking lot at a speed that’s probably too fast.

You chew your bottom lip, watching his hair drip onto his face, watching his hands white-knuckle the steering wheel, watching his foot press the accelerator.

“You’ll catch a cold,” you murmur, leaning forward and running a hand over his hair, trying to squeeze some of the water out.

His hand wraps around your wrist, pulling your fingers away from his head. “No touching.”

You pout, unbuckling yourself and scooting forward, pressing your face against his neck. “Kentoooo…”

You feel the change in his demeanor immediately. He tenses, and reaches back to grip your hair, yanking your head away from him.

“That’s it,” he hisses, and pulls the car into an empty parking lot, putting it in park.

He’s out of the driver’s seat instantly, coming around to the back, and climbing into the back seat.

You have to fight back your victorious grin, but he doesn’t have the same plans as you do, because he grabs you, and pulls you out of the car and into the rain.

“Kento—”

His mouth crashes into yours, and he grabs your chin tightly, his other hand holding your waist to his. You whimper into his mouth, trying to ignore the cold rainwater that’s certainly making your white dress translucent.

He pulls away just when you begin to shiver, then drags you around the car, putting you into the passenger seat and slamming the door. He appears back in the driver’s seat in an instant, his jaw once again set and eyes cold as ice.

“What happened to the no touching rule?” You grin, kicking off your heels.

“Better idea.”

He pulls back onto the road, eyes staying on the path ahead, all while his hand starts to make its way under your skirt.

You realize what he’s doing just as a finger plunges into you, sliding easily with your wetness. You groan loudly, whimpering as his thumb grazes your clit.

He slides in a second finger, and starts pulling them out and pushing them back in, all while stimulating your clit.

It hardly takes any time at all for you to be whimpering and grinding against his hand, gripping the door for support and leverage.

With a few more strokes and swipes of his thumb, that coil in your abdomen begins to tighten, your cunt clenching around his fingers. “Ah— oh, shit…”

Kento withdraws his hand, and you open your mouth to protest, then realize he’s pulled the car into your garage, and is putting it in park.

And he presses the garage door closing button.

And then waits, both hands on the steering wheel, as the garage door closes.

The second that the concrete meets the door, Kento turns his head to look at you, all needy and desperate with pleas begging to escape your lips.

“You really want me to be rough with you?” he asks, his brows stitched together in concern.

“Wherever would you have gotten that impression?” you drone, raising a brow sarcastically. “I want to get the ever-loving shit fucked out of me.”

“You want to be hurt?”

“A little. I liked last time,” you murmur, allowing your mind to slip back a little bit, back to that night that had left you both bruised and begging for more.

“There are better ways to go about this than pissing me off,” your husband narrows his eyes, jaw clenching.

“This is the authentic way.”

“You’re spoiled, you know that?”

“You’re hard as fuck, you feel that?” your eyes flick to the bulge under his pants zipper.

That’s enough to send Kento flying out of the car, and before you know it, he’s opening your door, dragging you out by your bicep.

You yelp, stumbling forward as his grip on you — which is covered in your slick — remains firm. He pulls you into the house, and your back is pressed against a wall immediately, his mouth on yours, hand around your throat.

Kento pulls you up the wall, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, grinding your aching cunt against his shirt. He roots his fingers in your hair, tugging just enough to be a bit painful.

Clearly he’s done waiting, because his dick is out within seconds, and he’s pulling up your dress. You whimper once the fabric is bunched up around your waist, gripping his shoulders.

“Please…”

“You think that’s enough?” he scoffs, tugging your hair and tilting your head back. “You flirt with another man, nearly let him touch you, act like a brat, and you expect me to just give it to you?” Nevertheless, he presses the tip of his cock against your entrance, teasing you with the slightest bit of pressure. 

“Fuck—” you whine, groaning softly. The hand holding you up digs into your skin. “I’ll be good— jesus, please. I need you.”

Kento slaps your ass, and then thrusts nearly his entire thick length in at once, causing you to cry out, tears coming to your eyes. He immediately starts a bruising pace, fucking you into the wall so god damn hard that a picture frame nearby rattles.

You whimper as his cock reaches that sweet spot once— and then again, and again, until you’re matching each thrust with a tilt of your hips and a moan.

“Fuck— there you go, baby,” he grits out, yanking on your hair. “Take it all.”

That familiar cool begins to tighten, your abdomen tensing as he picks up his pace even more, and you wonder how it’s possible — untll you look down and realize he’s using the tiniest bit of cursed energy to fuck the actual shit out of you.

“Cum for me, come on. You wanted this so bad, so cum on my dick.”

And that’s enough to send you tumbling over the edge, stars flooding your vision and a long string of curses leaving your lips like a prayer.

His thrusts grow a little sloppier, and he spills himself into you with a hiss, leaving little nips along your jawline. 

“I’m not close to being done with you, just as a fair warning,” he growls, and then tosses you over his shoulder.

At this point, you’re half dead.

But also half alive, kept awake by Kento’s hands rubbing circles along your skin, the bubbly bath water tickling your breasts. 

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to a bruise on your shoulder.

You give a half-babbled response, leaning into his warmth more.

“Full sentences, please.”

“Mm.. I love you,” you manage, turning to face him. You press your face into his neck and inhale his scent.

“I love you too.”

A long pause comes, with Kento just rubbing circles into your bruised sides. Then, he speaks.

“Now, what did we learn?”

“That pissing off the husband results in mind-blowing sex.”

He draws a sharp breath in, and smacks your shoulder gently. “No, no. We learned that we don’t have to piss the husband off, we just have to use our words and plan a date for these things.”

“That’s not very authentic.”

“Do I have a shot at winning this?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Alright.”

[charnelhouse]

press the gas and ride

gif by @riley-keoughs pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader (nicknamed Dolly) word count: 2.4k+ summary: comfort in a car warnings: hurt/comfort. smut. angst. A/N: this takes place a month after teacups, but no need to read. tlou ep 3 spoilers. this is really just trash smut. Joel Miller Masterlist

She watched Joel's expression buckle as he read the letter. His brow furrowed, the muscle in his jaw tensing. She looked away, suddenly feeling intrusive. She'd never come here with Joel. His trips to Bill were semi-frequent, but this was the first time he’d brought her. Of course, he hadn't expected this. He hadn't thought they'd be walking into a dead house. 

The fresh air through the open front door bullied the stench of rotten meat and vegetables. The dinner on the table buzzed with flies. There were starched, ironed napkins folded in triangles with lovely patterns of woodland creatures. She traced the tiny squirrel sewed into the fabric before studying the label on the wine bottle. She was intent on busying herself. She wanted to give Joel space, but he'd been more paranoid than usual since the attack a month ago. 

I don't want you out of my sight.

She hadn't stopped aching. Brutal. Horrible. She'd slaughtered two people, and her mind continued to spin with the memories of it. She was unable to remove the taste of blood from her tongue. She could not unhear the shuddering death rattle or unfeel the way the man beneath her had wriggled and then spasmed like an electrocuted rodent.  

Joel had also seemingly lost his cool that night. After he'd tucked her into bed, she'd heard him smashing up the first floor. In the morning, he'd refused to let her see what he had done and when she fell apart again (in the safety of their QZ apartment), Joel wouldn't have it.

He'd crouched so they could be eye-level, large hand cupping the back of her skull. "They got what they deserved. Nothin' more than that."

He was right, but teaching her head to stop was easier said than done. 

She scanned the dining room before settling on the mahogany cabinet full of delicate china. When she noticed the powder blue and white teacups, she winced. She couldn't escape it. Everything triggered her. She needed to learn to grow up and out of her pain because it wouldn't serve her and certainly not Joel. He bulldozed through everything, and she had to follow suit. 

Joel cleared his throat. He had stopped reading and was staring out the window, far away. She intended to bring him back to shore. 

"They have a car?" she asked, and Joel's eyes swept toward her. Inscrutable. 

"Yeah." He scraped a hand over his mouth. "Yeah."

***

Joel guided her to a guest room, instructing her to clean up and be ready in an hour.

He'd found her a box of women's clothes that she happily dug through. The very idea of new outfits felt celebratory- even if they smelled a bit stale.

The musty fabric reminded her of her grandmother's closets. She'd used to hide behind the wool coats and leather shoes, toes snug in the sea-green carpet. She'd get light-headed on mothballs. 

Her family was gone. A long time gone.

She supposed Joel was the only person who really gave a shit about her well-being. If she died, he’d have the memory of her, at least. She wouldn’t be dust.

After she showered, she yanked on a sundress and sneakers. Joel would undoubtedly say something, but she was past caring. She stared at herself in the mirror, petting the floral-print bodice. She twisted side to side, the breeze from the open window licking between her legs and under her arms. 

She thought of Bill and Frank in the next room and abruptly stopped. Morbid. Strange to be so fine rummaging through a house when two dead men were feet away. Their window was open, too, and she wondered if the sweet brush of cool air had cradled them into the next life. She stepped forward, pressing her ear against the wood. She listened, tapping her fingertips over the wallpaper. 

Silence. She tapped again. Waiting.

"What are you doing?"

She whirled around to find Joel standing in the doorway with a towel around his waist. He'd combed his wet hair back, but a single strand boyishly drifted over his forehead. The scars across his torso gleamed white under the naked afternoon sun.

"Nothing." She shifted her weight, the dress swishing with her. 

He frowned as he scrutinized her outfit. "You can't wear that."

"Because?"

"Because you can't do shit in a dress that short," he replied flatly. 

She put her hands on her hips. "Can I just wear this today? It's-fuck-it's the prettiest thing I've worn since-since I don't know." She averted her eyes, feeling childish at her reasoning.

Because I want to be beautiful for once. I want to look beautiful for you and not covered in grime, blood, and jeans, two sizes too big. 

The expression on Joel's face flickered between irritated and puzzled. She thought he might stride across the room and tear it off her. 

Once in a while, he'd give her shit about things like this-pecking at her for enjoying luxuries that didn't exist anymore. He'd call her a spoiled brat when he really wanted to tick her off. Instinctively, she knew he was doing it, so she'd snap at him, deal him back with a rough hand. 

He always won and she assumed he’d win here, as well.

She expected him to say no, but he took a breath instead. Running his hand across his chest, he massaged an old bullet wound hidden in the sparse hair before turning back into the hall. White flag. 

Then, his voice pitched so low it grazed the floor. "Fine."

***

The letter must have softened him. Repeatedly punched him until he was a tender, pliant piece of meat. He hadn't even twitched when she snatched two guns too massive for her off the basement wall or smuggled a box of wine into the car.

His hands scraped over the steering wheel when he slid into the front seat. He stared blankly at the dash and then the manicured driveway. The grass was just beginning to creep away from the lawn, encroaching onto the asphalt. 

She wasn't sure how to deal with this. He usually seemed to take death in stride. His grief was like a chalky, oversized pill, but he swallowed it nonetheless. He'd made it clear that he didn't even like Bill yet...

"I'm sorry," she offered.

"Take your feet off the dash," he ordered stiffly.

She scowled but did as she was told, figuring she didn't need to push Joel Miller’s buttons again today. She settled into her seat, hands prim in her lap as she waited for him to begin driving.

He didn't. 

He continued to sit silently, seemingly unable to turn the car on. The hand around the steering wheel tightened, his scabbed knuckles flexing and paling beneath the windshield. His nostrils flared, and she suddenly knew:

He was going to crack. He was going to burst down the middle, and he needed her. 

Abruptly, she crawled over the console, gripping him by the lapels of his button-up to balance her weight. The fresh clothes looked good on him-the plaid green shirt fit his broad frame like a glove. She nearly toppled into the door before he grasped her wrist roughly. “What are you-"

"Shh," she murmured, straddling his lap. He stared at her. 

Joel wore his grief in the creases of his face. His pain. His anger. He was beautiful to her. Sexy in a way that couldn't be understood. Older, too. Older than any man she'd ever had before, but it wasn't like she'd had that many men, to begin with. 

"I'm here," she whispered, her thighs squeezing around his own. His mouth parted, exhaling. 

She wondered what undercurrents ran beneath his skin-his armor. What did he think about? How did he see her? 

She lifted herself onto her knees, and Joel's hands automatically seized her hips. Unbuttoning his jeans, she tugged the zipper down, and his eyes found hers. Good. Coyly, she licked her palm before gripping his half-hard cock. She stroked him slow, glancing down to watch the blush-red head disappear in the circle of her fist. He shuddered, hips lifting a few inches off the leather seat. 

She intended to be fast about this. Pleasurable consolation was a language she knew Joel understood. 

“I’m going to fuck you,” she said and he shivered under her touch. He remained silent as the grave though his eyes never left hers. Perhaps, he was struck dumb by her forwardness.

She clutched his shoulder as she braced herself before sinking down and guiding him into the heat of her cunt. She'd worn the sun dress for a reason. 

Joel made a gritty, strangled noise as she took him to the hilt, lowering herself until his thighs were flush with her ass. The band of his jeans grazed her skin, the metal of the zipper catching flesh. His nostrils flared as she tightened, walls spasming because he was always a little too big. 

Wordlessly, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, forcing his face against her chest. He sighed deeply as she rocked forward, his fingers biting into her waist. It could hardly be called a fuck, just her grinding down and him pushing his cock upward until he couldn't claim another centimeter. 

She cradled the back of his skull, rooting her nose around his damp hair that smelled like clover and a scent she recalled from before - something generic and artificial like Irish Spring. 

Finding leverage was proving difficult, but she did her best. She rose up, keeping him halfway inside her before sliding down. Repeat. In her defense, she’d never fucked anyone in a car before.

One of her hands snuck out the open window to grasp the top of the car. It was dusty, and she had this ridiculous worry that maybe someone would crawl into the garage and bite her hand. She ripped it back to cup the side of Joel's face instead. His mouth twitched, his lids heavy like he was drunk and dazed. He didn't even care she had smeared old car dust into his beard. He'd have to shower again. She would, too, and she wanted to laugh at the strange coincidence of paving new roads in their relationship through hot showers. After all, he'd wrenched her away from a panic attack in that house outside Boston. He'd held her in the shower, mouth brushing her ear.

"You did a hell of a job."

"You did so fuckin' well, sweetheart."

She swelled from the memory of Joel's praise. She wanted to pay him back.

"I've got you," she murmured against his temple, nails tracing a line across his scalp through his thick damp grays. "I've got you, Joel."

He nodded-or she thought he did. His gestures were always so vague. Sometimes he'd hold her down and fuck her brains out while telling her how much he wanted to kill her for being stupid and acting recklessly. It would then always end with him possessively clutching her body to his.

You send mixed signals, Joel. 

What?

You said you wanted to kill me, and now you won't let me go.

I never said that. 

She felt him twitch inside her, his mouth dragging across her clavicle before he abruptly shoved the top of her dress down and latched to her nipple. He sucked it, tongue darting over the nub and causing her pussy to clench around his length.

"Sweetheart," he mumbled. 

"I know," she said. 

Their grief sat between them - a weight strung about their ankles, dragging them down to the deepest parts of whatever was left. She knew blips of his pain as he knew hers. He comforted her in the ways he understood, not necessarily with words but with actions. She could do that for him now, remind him that he had her.

She rolled her hips, and he groaned, his breath puffing against her sternum. She snagged him tighter and dug her grip into his skin like she was holding fast to a rock in a riptide. The car was so small, the steering wheel bumping against her lower back, and you could hear everything.

The rustle of fabric. The squelch of her sex and slap of skin. 

Finally, Joel planted his feet and began to drive up into her. Short, fast strokes that hit just right. It almost hurt. It gave her a belly ache, but everything else fell away. The car filled with his low, subdued grunts and her whimpers. 

He secured his arms around her waist, one hand sneaking to the base of her scalp to embed his thumb into the muscle beneath her ear. They were tangled in such a way that it would have looked like anything - they could be devouring each other, feasting on the other's throats as they fucked fast and sad.

Somewhere along the way, Joel tilted his head and demanded her mouth.

He kissed her fiercely, tongue hot and aggressive as it wrestled with hers. Exploring. "Baby," he sighed against her slippery teeth. "Fuck."

Joel, her man of few words, but just the right ones. She still didn't call him anything but his name. Nothing else fit him.

"Shit," she gasped as he delivered a harsh thrust. Stay with me. Stay focused.

Her climax paraded around her belly, kicking up dirt and shouting out toward a faceless crowd. It was turning in circles, unable to find the finish line. He was screwing her tectonic plate deep, but the friction wasn't enough for her to get off. It didn't matter. This was about him. Not her. 

He gripped her hip and shoved her down before spearing up, grinding in slow, determined circles. He left her mouth to find her throat, sucking methodically at her pulse. 

It didn't take too long after that. He grumbled something into her jaw (maybe, Dolly) before his hips stuttered beneath her. She felt him fill her, warmth blooming outward. She'd have to deal with that, but for now, she worshiped him. He lifted his face, flushed from exertion - golden, bright, and devastating as his dark eyes searched hers.

“You’re good,” she praised, pressing her lips to his chin.

When she crawled off his lap, she was sticky between her legs. He huffed, tugging at the edge of her dress as if trying to hide her modesty. 

No one's around here, Joel.

No one. It's you, and it's me. It's us. 

She was sore as fuck, like she'd been smacked in the crotch. Her orgasm was lost somewhere, hanging by a few threads, but she didn't want it. Instead, she craved the longing-the lingering frustration of her missed pleasure. She brushed her hair out of her face and smoothed her dress.

"That was-"

She was hauled back over to him. Their brows bumped, noses jamming together before Joel kissed her hard. When he finally pulled away, he asked, "You feel safe with me?"

"What kind of question-

"You feel safe with me?" he urged, hands seizing her cheeks. She wondered if it had something to do with what had happened at that house a month ago. The teacup house. Or was this because of what had been written in that letter beyond Bill and Frank's goodbyes?

She felt that if she probed, he would splinter. It wasn't her business. She told him the truth. 

Smiling, she placed her hand over his. "Yes," she assured him. "I always feel safe with you."

Joel took a breath, nodding once, before pulling away. He stabbed the keys into the ignition, twisting them north, and the car rumbled to life.

When they left the garage, she watched the walls creep over him again. 

[h0nkch0c0late]

Oh my goodness finally someone who wants to write for Gen v 😛😛 I was wondering If you could write about a really clingy reader ? Like when they went to that party in the first ep, and the reader was just clinging onto Jordan

YES ABSOLUTELY OH MY GOD. Also, apologies if this is a little skewed I've only watched episode 1 like once so far and only remember a few things AAAA.

Clingy

Jordan Li x Reader

SUMMARY: you were never one for parties, and Jordan knew that well. When you agreed to go with her this time, though, she wasn't at all surprised when you clung to them the entire night.

WARNINGS: Gen V spoilers, swearing, major fluff, drugs

----------------------------------------------------------

When it came to parties, you would rather stay in your dorm room and read a book. Which was ironic, since your partner and their friends did it on a nightly basis.

But when you had heard from Andre that he invited Marie Moreau (one of the newest freshmen to join Godolkin), you decided, "why not?" As it was a good chance to meet the girl.

So, when you found yourself in Jordan's room like usual, with her arm wrapped around your waist, body pulled close, you decided to drop what you thought was surprising news.

"I think I wanna go to tonight's party." You said, turning your head to look at them.

Jordan smirked, eyebrows furrowing together in curiosity, "oh really? Didn't take you as the party type."

You rolled your eyes, nudging her in playful annoyance as you yanked her arm off of your waist.

"Hey!" They wined, putting their arm back around but you didn't protest, only huffing at them to ensure that you were upset at their reaction (you weren't).

"I thought you'd be more surprised." You sighed, turning your body towards them as you looked down. She chuckled lightly, sitting up with you but keeping her arm around your waist.

"Why would i be surprised? You're practically attached to my hip like, all the time." She snickered.

"Yeah, but never at the parties." You shrug.

"That's because you hate people. And the whole drug thing." They pointed out with a small laugh.

"Okay, well, I'm still going."

"Good."

"Great!"

----------------------------------------------------------

As you made your way to the top of the Seven tower, you made sure to stick to Jordan's side the entire time.

And of course, Cate, Andre, and Jordan went straight for the things that get you high as fuck, snorting it right up their nostrils.

And look, it's not that you didn't WANT to do that stuff with them, it's just that you couldn't.

Here comes the irony again with the fact that your parents pumped you full of a drug when you were a baby, but whatever.

As you clung to Jordan's side, with their arm wrapped tightly around your waist as they laughed along with their friends, you watched Luke as he made his way over to Marie.

She was a nice girl, as far as you could tell. The two of you had exchanged hi's and names, a bright smile on the girl's face the entire time. You would have talked with her more had she stayed with the group, but you understood.

Your head laid against your partner's shoulder as you sighed, knowing that this was only the beginning of the party.

---------------------------------------------------------

...and you were correct!

Soon enough the six of you had entered a club, Cate taking one of her gloves off and using her powers of persuasion against the host guy that had asked for a reservation from them (to which they did not have).

Looking back at Marie as you gor dragged along by Jordan, you could see the amazement on her face at Cate's actions.

"Dont worry, you're gonna see that more often, and soon enough it won't be as impressive." You joked, saying it loud enough for Cate to hear through the crowd.

She turned around, her eyebrows furrowed, "Hey, I heard that!" She grinned.

You nodded, "you were supposed to, Cate." You chuckled, causing the rest of the group to erupt in a wave of chuckles as well as you were led to a table.

As you all sat down, Marie took notice of your clinginess with Jordan, "Is she always attached to you like that?" She asked them as Andre took out a small baggy of molly, Jordan immediately snatching it from his hands as he grinned.

Cate answered the question for Jordan, "yes, yes she is. She won't admit it but one second away from Jordan, and she is WORRIED. She's clingy because she has attachment issues." She smirked.

You rolled your eyes, "I do not have attachment issues, Cate. I just hate being without her for too long. It's called being clingy." You respond snarkily as you pressed closer to them.

Marie held in her laugh as she noticed the baggy, "is that cocaine?" She asked.

"We finished all the coke," Jordan began as he opened up the baggy, "this is molly."

"Hey, I don't really fuck with powders, but.." Luke pulls out a baggy from his pocket, waving it at Marie, "I do microdose shrooms."

"So, what do ya say, freshman?" Jordan smirks, their arm moving to their girlfriend's shoulder as Andre waves the baggy of molly at Marie.

Marie looks around at all of them, you seeming to be the only one other than her not interested in the drugs, "Uh...no thank you."

After some persuasion from Cate, and a little nod of reassurance from you, Marie took the jump and took some of the molly, the group cheering as she does.

"Cmon, let's dance!" Cate exclaims as she drags Marie off to the dance floor, leaving the other three at the table.

"See? I told you." Andre said, looking towards the couple beside him.

"Yeah, super nice." You smiled, picking up Jordan's drink and taking a sip from it.

You weren't much for alcohol, but you thought that tonight was special enough.

--------------------------------------------------------

You and Jordan had split from the two boys for a bit, coming back from wherever you had gone and nodding at people that you passed by.

You clung to Jordan's arm, and just as the two of you passed the doorway back to the main room, Jordan felt comfortable enough to change.

"Oh, my girl's back~" you purred jokingly, "oh, how I missed you~"

Jordan rolled her eyes at you and laughed lightly, "you're so lucky I love you."

You smiled at them, "oh, boy do i know it."

As you joined the boys back at the table, you were now accompanied by two more trays of drinks (courtesy of you and Jordan).

"There she is." Luke greeted as the two sat down.

"You changed. Why?" Andre questioned.

"Because I fucking felt like it." Jordan responded as they felt you snuggle into their side, and you tuned out the rest of their conversation.

----------------------------------------------------------

Eventually your group had split up, the drugs and alcohol finally taking into affect.

Luke was somewhere near the bathrooms, Cate and Marie were still enjoying themselves on the dance floor, and Andre had endulged himself with the flirting activity at the bar area.

Jordan had somehow convinced you to join her on the dance floor, the two of you absolutely not following the beat as you slow danced to the club songs.

Your enjoyment was ended when screams erupted from the bar area, and suddenly you found yourself getting dragged out of the club by Jordan, Luke, Andre, and Cate joining you both.

As you passed the bar area you had noticed the woman bleeding to death on the ground, and Marie standing there.

You tried to call her name, to get her to follow you and the rest of the group, but your calls were drowned out by the rest of the crowd.

Who knew the day you decided to be extra clingy would end up a very messy and bloody night.

----------------------------------------------------------

RAAAGGEEEE THE FIRST DRAFT DIDNT SAVE 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

the ending is a little different and a bit quicker than I had planned and I am so sorry for that but I hope you enjoyed <33333

And yes I did in fact lie when I said I didn't have access to prime video I'm just a little stupid Ok.

[house-strong]

— THE DANCE between dragons ʾ ⋆

summary ; request by anon.

“possibly a little love triangle request?? Jacaerys/Reader/Aemond but Jacaerys ends up coming out on top?”

pairing ; jacaerys velaryon x reader x aemond targaryen

notes ; i absolutely LOVE jacaerys ever since ep 8,, what a respectful king he is!! warning: this is lengthy!

being offered the hand of an established lord was a glorious feat that was longed for by any waiting lady in the realm. to find a husband that has not only the name, the title, but also lands and wealth to shower his soon-to-be family with. this would not only strengthen ties within the houses of the realm, but ensure that any lords daughter would be well treated, well respected, and well cared for.

but, to get two hands of established lords was unprecedented. you seemed to be in such predicament. to add fuel to the fire, they were both princes. to say your family was merely ecstatic wouldn’t be doing it justice.

one velaryon and one targaryen. the eldest child of laenor velaryon and the princess rhaenyra targaryen, and the youngest son of his grace, king viserys targaryen and his wife, queen alicent hightower. jacaerys velaryon, future heir to the iron throne, and aemond targaryen, the one-eyed prince.

you had been in the presence of aemond longer than you had to jacaerys, being the dutiful lady-in-waiting to the formers older sister, princess helaena. brought to court in king’s landing by your lord father, you were first caught by aemond targaryen – a child with a serious facade who had only smiled when he caught your eye. he would ensure that you were content, always lingering around in the shadows like a lost pup. he envied the time his sister had with you and always pestered his sister with questions.

does she like flowers? what’s her favorite pie? do you think she cares if i have a dragon or not?

that was when he had two eyes.

now, he was a man grown and hardened. donning an eyepatch and a scar on his left eye, he was no different than how he was as a boy when he was with you.

kind, charismatic, and funny. sure, he was all too teasing sometimes, but he always knew the right thing to say afterward so that you could never stay upset. the boyish things he used to do when he was younger; gently shove you as he passed by, mutter playful taunts under his breath, and interrupt your time with his sister princess, was vastly different than the way he treated you now. now, he brought flowers every now and then – even going as far to claim that they were from your native lands. they weren’t, of course, but it was obvious from his dragon riding attire and the dirt underneath his fingernails that he had gone out of kings landing in search of a bouquet worthy of your attention.

bringing you a book, staying by your side in silence as you answered scriptures sent to you by your family, and sitting by you and eating his dinner by your side. offering a dragon ride – anything, to keep you entertained and keep you in king’s landing.

it was adorable, his queen mother had thought. although princess helaena was married to her brother, prince aegon, and no longer needed a lady-in-waiting, the royal family kept you by their side (or rather aemond’s side) for aemond’s sake. you kept him out of trouble and brought light back to the prince’s once dull life.

from the beginning, these interactions had left your heart fluttering and your stomach in a knot. however, as of late with prince jacaerys’ arrival, the feeling had quelled and moved from aemond to jacaerys.

jacaerys velaryon, was no different. when his family returned to court at king’s landing and was greeted by the king, the queen, his uncle and aunt, and surprisingly you, he was head over heels. in your house colors and a long gown that covered your ankles, with long sleeves that looped through your fingers bound by jewelry, he thought he had met the entity of the maiden he had heard maesters and small-folk speak about.

beautiful and radiant, he knew he had to get to know you. the only thing in his way was the stone dragon that ever so protectively stood in front of you, almost shielding your presence from his nephew. it was like a silent exchange between the two when they made eye contact – you were aemond’s.

that didn’t stop jacaerys though. with each action aemond had for you, jacaerys had an equal and sometimes even greater reaction.

he was less obvious and more of how a lord should act; offering his hand to you when ever you climbed stairs or descended from a carriage, being the first to arrive at your apartment chamber to summon you to break your fast. he was constantly a new figure in your life and often asked questions about your native lands. you couldn’t tell him much – years of being away from home, it had turned into a distant memory rather than a fresh remembrance. he had told you one day, when you announced your discontent at being away from home so long, that he would take you. that statement alone was enough to make you fall.

that was when the dance between the dragons started and the revival of their long feud began.

“dear (y/n),” aemond’s voice brings you back to the present. you halt your tracks and turn your head toward the direction of his voice, a smile brightening both of your faces. you give him a customary curtsy as he approaches with long strides. “where are you off to in such a hurry?”

you hadn’t realized how fast you were walking or where you were even going.

“i was going to the godswood to read, my prince. i find that it’s both quiet and relaxing to be there,” you reply, rediscovering the reason for being out of your chambers.

aemond relaxes his shoulders and puts his hands behind his back, “no need for formalities, my lady, would you care if i joined?”

the question wasn’t surprising at all, aemond was always by your side. it was rather poetic and sweet.

“i would love if you joined me, prince aemond.” at your affirmation, aemond sticks out his right arm and you gladly grasp it, taking care to stay in his line of sight as you readjust your hold on your book. his other hand falls onto the one holding his arm, his fingers, long and warm, curled around yours. “how are you fairing with the return of your nephews?”

perhaps you should have waited to ask him, for his face turned dark.

“my nephews and half-sister are like the plague. they turn everything sour and seem to ruin–” when he feels your head turn and his eyes on his side profile, he halts his word assault on his family, “though, the kitchen cooks are preparing better meals every day. i assume that is the only light of their presence.”

“aemond,” you say carefully, raising your brows. the prince sighs and continues to lead you to the godswood, and soon enough, the halls open into an enormous, open courtyard with a single weirwood tree. “they are your family.”

aemond wants to pull his hair out, freely say obscenities and announce their bastard parentage – but he had sworn his mother that he would stop with the strong insults.

“family,” he tastes the word on his tongue before gently dropping your hand from his arm. he approaches the weirwood tree and collapses to the ground, legs spread open and bent at the knee. “is a peculiar thing.”

you follow but more gracefully, bending your knees and sliding on to the grass. you splay out your dress, doing care to keep your modesty. you allow the silence to engulf you two and think about your choice of words next, “how so?”

“sometimes i think my own family isn’t mine,” he confesses and this is the time where he makes that face, the face that comes before he allows his secrets to fall and his wishes to come forward. “aegon, he.. he isn’t what i’d imagine him to be. my mother is.. absent and my father is the closest thing to seeing the stranger.”

you frown, but he continues, “i believe helaena is the only one i’m truly proud of and is my beloved sister.” his confession is a sad one and drives you to gently place your hand on his in support. “i think we should be lucky to choose our family.”

he does well to look you in the eye at his last sentence. you bashfully look away and your hand leaves his – he doesn’t like the sudden coolness on his skin that follows.

“would you like me–” your sentence is cut short by the sudden surprise of aemond’s calloused finger catching your chin, turning your face to his. his thumb gently touches your bottom lip and he’s focused on the pair. with caution, he looks for any objection and when he sees none, he leans in and places a delicate, but yearning kiss on your lips. he parts and leans back, a boyish look lightening his features, “aemond.”

his name comes out like a whisper from your lips and he almost moves to his knees. you enjoy this feeling – the fleet of uncertainty and the softness of love.

the moment passes faster than how it happened and suddenly you’re both parting farther, “nephew.” you look up and it’s jacaerys approaching.

jacaerys smiles once he catches your eye, but it falters when he gaze moves to aemond, “there you are, lady (y/n). i’ve been looking for you.”

he’s been.. looking for you? it’s both a surprise to you and aemond, though, the latter grips the earth until his knuckles turn bone-white. you don’t seem to notice, but the once kind smile the velaryon prince bore had turned triumphant. it’s almost as if he wants to piss off his uncle.

“my prince– i, you have?” you look down at the forgotten book in your lap and quickly raise it to jacaerys’ line of sight, as if to defend why you and aemond were in the godswood, “i was just reading to prince aemond.”

“i’m sure it was something lovely to hear.. dear uncle, would you care to lady (y/n) joining me on a stroll throughout the red keep? i might even show her how great vermax is.” your head turns to observe aemond, who was as quiet as ever. his expression is cold and his singular eye glares daggers into the velaryon prince. you were sure that if vhagar was here, aemond would have commanded his beast to rain fire on his nephew. however, his lips purse into a fine line and his eye flicks to meet yours. he blinks, then looks at jacaerys and nods in defeat.

“i shall safekeep your book, my lady,” aemond says solemnly, giving you a wounded look. he wants to reach out to push jacaerys away, taking you in his arms and mounting vhagar with you by his side and leave king’s landing. “i will.. see you tonight?”

you smile and nod, handing the book you were supposed to read to the prince, before grasping jacaerys’ extended hand that helped you to your feet. you give one last look at aemond while jacaerys leads you away, and it’s enough to tear your heart in two.

you follow jacaerys without a word, your mind a blur. was aemond confessing himself to you? pledging himself to you? did he.. love you? it was enough turmoil that you wanted to tear your hair out.

“you weren’t reading to him, were you?” prince jacaerys asks, his head turning to glance at you as his breath mingles with the air. you’re suddenly shy and nervous – whether from the truthfulness of the kiss you and aemond had shared, or the close proximity between you and jacaerys.

“not exactly, my prince,” you confess, ducking your head and looking at anything but the prince beside you. maybe you should have lied, but so far, you and jacaerys have been nothing less than honest. that’s what you loved – the honesty that never had any deceit or ill-will. perhaps you wanted to keep it that way.

the halls of the red keep become more secluded, less skylight falling into the courtyard and more torches lighting the corridors. jacaerys leads you up steps and you follow, lifting the skirt of your dress a bit to clear your pathway.

he continues to lead, the passageway becoming more clear and open once again. you inhale deeply at the last few steps, the air exiting through your nose as you two exit the tower of stairs. the walls soon disappear and the open, clear sky becomes obvious as it replaces the targaryen heraldries and tapestries. you gasp in awe as you turn your head – from here, visenya’s hill and black water bay are in view. it’s beautiful from the garrison wall.

jacaerys’ steps slow and you walk ahead, turning at the last moment to face him. he looks troubled, hands enclosed in fists at his side.

“it’s no secret that he has some affections for you,” jacaerys says carefully, taking in your figure before creating a set in his jaw, the bone more prominent. he turns his head and stares out into the open bay, moving toward the wall to lean into it. “i don’t doubt that he’s already made it known.”

“i’m sorry, my prince, but i don’t understand what you’re getting at.” your words border on a laugh, brows furrowing as you move closer. what was jacaerys playing at? was this some elaborate plan to embarrass you?

“no sly words, nothing less than the honest truth,” he starts, moving away from the stone wall to stand in front of you. his warm hands engulf yours – it’s embrace is firm and reassuring. thumbs gently run along your hand as he tries to soothe his own nerves and coax yours. “i will tell you exactly as i feel, and i would hope you feel the same.”

your heart moves from your chest to your stomach and tears had begun to well in your eyes at his next words.

“i.. i must confess that i also harbor affections for you. these past few days, while so little, have been something that i’ve been longing for,” he begins, looking down at your conjoined hands before peeking up through his brown strands of hair. “i think of you night and day, lady (y/n), your well-being clouds my judgement, and i am at constant ends with myself.”

he thought to himself, to either make himself happy and serve the consequences of being at yet another war with his uncles, or forever live in regret. he decided to swallow the lump in his throat.

your breath shudders at his confession and you feel your stomach lurch.

“i want to ask for your hand. i want you to be my lady and be by my side when my mother ascends the iron throne and i take dragonstone.” one of his hands releases his grasp on yours, his hand rising to brush a stray strand of hair from your face and tuck it behind your ear. his smile is boyish, with teeth peeking from behind his lips. this mere expression is enough to make you sigh. “i want you to see your family and visit home whenever you’d like – we can go together on vermax and travel wherever we’d like.”

“we wouldn’t have to worry about court, or formalities. we could.. we could do anything that your heart desires,” he inhales deeply, the air squashing the dull ache in his chest, “i just.. i want you. all of you. what do you say?”

the passed days replay in your mind. jacaerys dancing with you in the courtyard – the laughter that always filled the room whenever you were with him. it felt comfortable and content to be with him. you had no worries when you were with him, no worry of the wrath of his mother if you upset him, and no worry if your absence had caused a disturbance. this was easy and this felt right.

“yes.”

when word of prince jacaerys’ proposal to you and your acceptance had caught wind and spread like dragonfire, it had done nothing but harden the feelings of aemond targaryen. some would even say that it drove the one-eyed prince mad and demand atonement, an eye for an eye, or in this case, a loved one for a loved one.

[hastyprovocateur]

Mizu, Akemi, Brothels & Bedrooms

Mizu and Akemi's approach to sex (so far) has been very inverse. For Mizu, sex is intimate, almost sacred to the point of inaccessibility. Her pretending to be a man has compelled her far from intimacy in order to protect herself and her secret. On the rare occasion when she does engage in physical relations during her shortlived marriage, she engages in it furtively. She's shy, sweet and submissive. She has very little to no experience and while she enjoys it, she doesn't appear to demand to be in a position of authority while it ensues. She's happy to let go of the reins and allow herself to put in a safe space. Her voice pitches and she doesn't fight to maintain any composure.

Mizu isn't exactly averse to sex. After losing mama and killing Mikio, Mizu just closed herself to the possibility of intimacy. She doesn't intend to romantically engage with anyone or be as intimate with anyone as revenge has become her priority. She now dismisses sex, considering it an act that is void of art or tact. Base. Something that decentres the spirit. Dare I say, she sees it as a facade after Mikio. An act that misguides the participants to consider their bond deeper than it really is. It is parallel to Akemi's first time, where both her and Taigen seem to be proccupied with other concerns, quickly distancing from each other after an act that most would consider to be a paramount of bonding between lovers.

Regardless, Mizu's resolutions haven't killed her intrigue for "peculiarities" as evident in her stint at Madam Kaji's where she (despite her dismissive facade) peers into the windows of pleasure, exploring sutras, bondage and threesomes. With the masculine avatar she's donned on her path of revenge, even if Mizu's resolve grows shaky, she's restricted by the complications that should arise if she goes down the path of any intimacy. Giving her more walls to break through and more walls for any potential lovers to break through as well to get to her tender breast.

In terms of general pleasure, Mizu is shown to be extemely physical and playful. She gets riled over armed combat, her face flush and full of love. To whoever she feels safe and happy with, she gives her all. Whether in bed or otherwise, she'll surrender her body and her sword. Aside from fighting, Mizu is passionate about different forms of art, especially sword making and other creative arts like music. You can call her... cutely nerdy (?) in the sense of her keen understanding of iron work, different fighting techniques, blade strikes, all of which she knows by heart. It can be imagined that a sure way to catch her whims would be to spark conversations about artistry in general.

Akemi, on the other hand, intends all her sexual overtures to have a fixed purpose. She's written as a character who prepares intensely for her ambitions. We see her revising a written speech before arguing her bit to her father, switching to appeasing to his fatherly side by playing the "naive daughter" to get him to agree with her and Taigen's engagement. In ep 4 we see her curating an impish, adulant image of an innocuous sex worker before making Mizu's acquaintance, intending to lower her guard enough to subdue her and bring her to Taigen. She finally goes on imbibe the perfect subservient, loving wife to finesse Takayoshi and thereby solidify her say among other exponents in the Shogun's family.

Her mind is like a self gearing machine in terms of playing pieces to give herself a fighting chance. Sex is a part of this rematch. With sex as a means, it's arguable if she genuinely feels pleasure in the process but she ensures that she's able to pleasure her partners to an end that serves her. With men, it's always about massaging their ego. With Taigen, Akemi initiates sex to be able to coax him into focusing on her and saving their engagement instead of letting him fixate on his recent loss of his hair and honour. In the brothel, she regales Watari, a man who's never won a fair fight, and has become impotent due to his weight, by appealing to his poetic side and using it to flatter him to ejaculation. With Takayoshi, a man subdued by his mother for his stutter and meek ways, Akemi admits to finding his speech impediment endearing, apologising profusely to resume her submissive position as his wife and proceeds to consummate their marriage while encouraging him to recite poetry.

Like Mizu, Akemi's curious about sex in itself and went against her teacher's wishes to explore erotic literature. She's well versed with sexually coloured poetry and easily weaves sex into conversation, using it to talk her partners to orgasm. She has a varied understanding of poetry, an art she uses as a weapon to flatter men, citing Shōtetsu, Minamoto no Shigeyuki and her favorite, Ono no Komachi. A waka poetess writing chiefly in matters of melancholy and passionate love. She's also skilled in all manner of art that are intrinsically ornate but are notorious for being feminine or are used to entertain men such as poetry, koto playing, dancing and calligraphy. An average man would deem such arts lowly but he doesn't consider that such arts can be used to easily lower his guard to his very vanquish without him ever doubting that there was even a ploy in the first place. Akemi wields these talents to her advantage. Sex and fine arts are only a few of the weapons in her arsenal.

Strangely enough, it's not exactly touched upon what Akemi actually finds desirable outside of what she must do to get her way. It can be guessed that she'd be disarmed by anyone who lasers through her simpering girly act, someone who can be valiant and honourable, someone who doesn't weigh virtue and strength through the prejudice of gender, someone who's able to value her in all her intricacies instead of pushing her to be a proper wife or improper whore.

Likewise, I can imagine Mizu wanting the same degree of acceptance. Someone who nurtures her feminine side without alienating her masculinity. Someone who doesn't demonise her appearance or consider her an anomalous product of two races. Her ideal type hasn't been detailed but her bar was really low. She didn't care about Mikio's age or social status or wealth. Akemi was also shown to having a narrow criteria for marriage, preferring Taigen solely because marrying him meant staying in Kyoto, near home. For both Taigen and Mikio, they benefitted from the unhinged cruelty other men could afford, appearing decent by comparison because they did the bare minimum of asking for consent.

It is still very nascent as to what Akemi and Mizu truly desire. Mainly because there hasn't been much room for individual desires. Akemi was already "past her prime" and evading marriage was no option as it was a decision sealed in stone by a girl's father the moment she hit puberty. For a time where women had little say in who they married, managing to get engaged to Taigen was a feat in itself. Her attempts to escape the arranged marriage with the Shogun's son was rendered fruitless by Taigen, Seki and in great part, Mizu. Akemi finally embraced her new married life, making peace with fighting within her means instead of trying to run away from them. This leaves a lot of room for what she'd eventually want for herself in the future. We know a part of her wished to leave with/without Taigen to live on a farm in Kokura but she's still too early in her journey of knowing exactly what she wants but she's constantly figuring things out.

Similarly, Mizu didn't have a say in her former marriage either but she was ready for the obligations it would impose on her, aware that she'd be compelled to conceal a part of her that men wouldn't welcome in their wives. Her masculine side that is capable of fighting like a samurai. Her sword of a soul. With her sworn revenge, aversion to all forms of intimacy and commitment to playing the part of a man, Mizu has become a vessel for all the ill will, prejudice and poor decisions men imposed on her. She doesn't have the liberty to bare herself and engage in fulfilling her desire as she's discovered to like it but the more characters she interacts with, we as audiences can observe seismic shifts in her perception of herself through the people she meets. These experiences serve as guiding lines for developing future desire. Of independent choice.

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Top 3 Are HEATING UP

Organized, in each category, by ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Dec 2023 Wk 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

Honestly, 3 are neck & necking for top position! They are all so good in different ways. But The Sign had me hooting with laughter this week, so it scooped #1.

The Sign (Sat YT) ep 4 of 10 - This show is literally everything (except straight) all at once. It's BL, queer, band of brothers, romcom, erotica, paranormal, fated mates, mystery, suspense, slasher, and horror. It’s the king of genre mash-up chaos. I have no idea what I’m watching but I’m ON this ride. Is it a roller coaster? Is it a haunted house? Is it a twirl & hurl? Is there candy floss? Am I even tall enough? Who tf cares. All through the second scene, I was laughing. It was legit funny. Billy has great comedic timing. Guess he’s not just a pretty face.

Everyone should be watching this. Sure, it's madness but there is genius in it.

Last Twilight (Fri YT) ep 6 of 12 -  Yech. August may be one of GMMTV’s least likable characters ever (and that is saying something). Meanwhile, MOAR language play! They spoiling me!

Mhok letting Day go then walking away at the party hurt so bad.

Argh this show is great!

Ep 6 so that kiss was right on schedule. I’m looking forward to the boyfriend eps before doom & pain in the new year. Carry on GMMTV. 

Speaking of...

Cherry Magic (Sat YouTube) ep 2 of 12 - Oh they’re great. It’s great. It’s paced oddly, moving quickly through most of the key scenes of the original JBL in these first 2 eps. I think it’s intending to encompass more of the manga series than that one did. Which is good, cause that will get us all the way to The Library Kiss (TM). It's the best kiss in the manga. I also like the sides in this show (better than the JBL version). 

My Dear Gangster Oppa (Thurs iQIYI) ep 8fin - What a lovely slightly unhinged little show. Tew, can we talk? Un-ironic suspenders, that takes courage. Also, the revolver was a crazy gun choice. 

Final thoughts:

This show is just as ridiculous as its title. About a gaymer who falls in love with one of his in-game teammates, who just happens to be a IRL gangster. A real gangster, the kind that actually kills people regularly. The lead pair is doing their best with a ridiculous story and shoddy script, but I enjoyed it. Although I was grateful it wasn’t very long, what we got was oddly satisfying if, frankly, a little bit silly. Recommended. 8/10 

That said, what's important about this BL is not the show, but the production and style. Let me explain... no, too much, let me sum up.

This is a chimera BL. Regarding characters: it has Japan's style otaku + Korea's style gangster + Thailand's style friendship group. It used Thai talent + Korean money (Kakao) & IP (adapted from a manwha) but aired on a Chinese channel globally (iQIYI). I'm delighted by the eclectic insanity of this production and truly doubt that any other genre but BL could ever produce like this. It's like diplomat's BL and it's the great wonder of our age that it happened at all. This BL deserves its place in the history books on production alone, even if that place is only in the footnotes. A remarkable little monster.

For Him (Thurs iQIYI) ep 3 of 10 - The sides are… messy. Using the same actor for the old bf is… odd. But in the end, this show leaves me smiling. Which means, I like it despite myself. 

Bake Me Please (Mon Gaga) ep 4 of 6 - It's decent. It’s basically what I wanted Antique Bakery to be when I first watched that way back when (not to mention Bite Me). But there’s been so much BL since then that, for some reason, this is falling flat. I think it’s moving too fast for a Thai series. Although, say what you like, Ohm has to be one of the best soft kissers in the industry. He's just good at mouth tenderness.

Ugh, that doesn't sound right. But you know what I mean.

Twins the series (Fri GaGa) ep 7 of 10 - I love how First is so upset when Sprite starts chatting and being nice to Koh. Sprite is just a sweet easy-going likable boy. I enjoy Sprite as a main character, he’s a bubbly little communicator. And they had a cute kiss.  

Pit Babe (Fri iQIYI) ep 5 of 14 - Because there was more Alan and Jeff and they were more key to the plot I was more into this ep. I do compare it to green smoothie down the pants in the Trash Watch.

Cooking Crush (Sun YT) ep 3 of 12 - Look OffGun are truly great. But I’m just not sure we need them in BL anymore. That said, it’s nice to see Off as "the one with the crush" for a change. Also, this show is only good when OffGun are on screen together, otherwise it kinda, well, sucks.

Night Dream (Sat YT) ep 1 of 6 - Cafe setting featuring a cook and a writer. *Seems awfully familiar.* Except these two are exes and this is a reunion romance. It’s stiff and very pulp but not bad (no crap sound effects) and I am a sucker for a reunion romance. That said, Rookie Thailand is not to be trusted, proceed with caution.

Absolute Zero (Weds iQIYI) ep 12fin - I'm grateful this is over. It was tense but for the wrong reasons - sadness and confusion. This final episode was fine, but that’s because it was mostly them being together + flashbacks. Plus all the familiar actor faces of the grown-up friends (hi, Karn my lovely, still stunning I see). But 2 of 12 episodes is not enough for the 10 of suffering and confusion that came before.

In conclusion:

A man is killed on his 10th anniversary resulting in a time paradox, for which the only solution is him never meeting his childhood sweetheart until later in life. Both lovers cycle back to the past at different ages, so that they each become their own 1st & 2nd great loves, but every time it ends in pain, until each also endures 10 years of separation. Finally it gets fixed, but leaves them with multiple memories of time's failures like temporal PTSD, and everyone around them has chronic deja vu. Me? I got both. This is one of those BLs that is high-quality with great acting but poor story. If you like your BL dwelling, maudlin, and tense due to angst and suffering, then you might enjoy this. But I just regret it, 6/10. Recommended only if you like confusing time travel emo pain.

In which case, just watch Tokyo in April is... instead. Give over Thailand, Japan does it better.

Middleman’s Love (Fri YT & iQIYI ep 6 of 8 - While our main couple isn’t working for me... the side couple isn’t working for me either. I really wanted to give LeoTai a chance, this is the 3rd show I’ve seen them in, and still nope. I like Jade a lot more when he’s sad. He’s a much more pleasant screen experience depressed. I would like him to stay hurt for a couple of eps, just so I can enjoy this show a tiny bit more. But then he just goes unhinged again. Argh. I just don’t like it. 

My Universe (Sun iQIYI) Pisces of Me ep 17 of 24 - Codependent boyfriends in middle school planning for high school dealing with stuff. Including other boys being into them. 

Playboyy (Thurs Gaga) 5 of 14 eps - Dear Playboyy, it's not you, it’s me… I hate you. You’re about as deep (and as palatable) as a shot glass of cum. While I'm sure you’re someone’s kink, you're my weakest link. Goodbye. DNF 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

VIP Only (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 5 of 10 - It’s cute but I don’t think BL in this short format is Taiwan’s strength these days. And this is quite slow and dull. Perhaps they should have whacked it down to 6 eps, not 10.

Sahara-sensei to Toki-kun (Japan Fri Gaga) ep 3 of 8 - This is one of those JBLs that I should like on paper but is failing me. The drag bit was ridiculous but handled gently. The kiss was… well… something wasn’t it? It’s all very odd. I like the photographer cutie character. 

It's Airing But...

The Whisperer (Sun ????) 10 eps - Thai horror BL that ALSO involves cheating (what joy is mine). I don't think even the perfect single dimple can motivate me to watch. Word is... it's terrible.

7 Days Before Valentine (Weds WeTV) 10 eps - Giving me Luminous Solution vibes. I'm waiting to binge if it's safe.

Beyond The Star (Weds iQIYI) 8 eps - House of Stars meets Boyband. I was NOT impressed with ep 1. Been told I shouldn't bother.

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps - I find this series more fun to binge, so I'm waiting until after it completes its run next week.

Dear Kitakyushu (Thai/Japan movie) in theaters in country only, I know nothing about distribution.

Behind the Shadows (Korea movie) this is a historical I was interested in, but I've been told they kill the gay so I'm OUT.

Next Week Looks Like This

Still coming:

12/23 Dead Friend Forever (Thai horror) iQIYI

Original 2023 forthcoming BL master post (see comments, some are inaccurate, NOT KEPT UPDATED). With the end of the year upon us I'll do an "announced for 2023 but never happened list" soon.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

He so pretty.

I forgot how likable TayNew are, and frankly I think New is a better version of this role for me, personally. I like him a lot. He's a conscientious sweetheart. And a good egg. (Cherry Magic)

Ah the rooftop my old friend. (Last Twilight)

I would like to point out that it's no accident the naga's sex dream happened in the shower, he's a water creature after all. (The Sign)

(Last week)

[helenanell]

Burn Away Like Mist

Aemond Targaryen

Burn Away Like Mist 

⫷⫸

Aemond Targaryen X Baratheon Wife Reader 

Summary: You despise your husband and that hatred is only compounded when you find him gazing up at the Iron Throne after the battle of Rook’s Rest.

Warnings: This is TOXIC, lots of cruelty and manipulative behaviour (on both sides.) Mention of child SA and a blade is drawn (Did someone say knife to throat?) - Enemies to Lovers, except they are so far from lovers in this. (maybe in a part two?) 

Notes: No use of Y/N - Spoilers for S2 Ep 5 - Also, I really am not and have never been an Aemond girly (I will see Luke and Rhaenys avenged!) But I do find Aemond so, so compelling and I just couldn’t get this out of my head. Enjoy?

W.C: 4k

⫷⫸

To those in Westeros who still held to the old Gods or to those who cradled superstitions close to their chests as though they were their own babes, the wind often harboured ill portent; it weaved across the sky, stitching the future there with fate as its thread.

And yet, it was not an ill-wind that had been the true portent of doom. You knew that countless foul fates had been ushered forth with a single foetid breath. 

The breath upon which the order to send dragons to war was uttered, was the breath that began the end. 

The Targaryens had survived the Doom of Valyria, fleeing from fire whilst using it to forge a path to the Iron Throne. And now they were to die in fire, of that you were sure. 

The dragons had begun their dance and a dynasty would die because of it. Your husband had already claimed the lives of two. Two dragons and two dragon riders.

You would never forget Prince Lucerys and how bravely he had stood before your father in the hall of Storm’s End, his chin tilted up defiantly and such an assured, level voice from a boy still so small. He had made you smile. Just looking at him had made you smile because in him you had seen…well, you had seen a boy who had been loved and so could love and care for others in turn. You had felt hope for the realm. 

But then he had been chased into the sky by Aemond Targaryen, a man devoid of love. 

You knew that your husband was a product of both his blood and his upbringing. Boys starved of love grow into men who hunger for something they have never tasted; something they do not understand. Fond feelings and affection cannot find root in inhospitable soil, let alone bloom there. That was not Aemond's fault and yet his actions as a grown man were. His violence and vengefulness was no one’s doing but his own.

The storm into which Prince Lucerys had fled had been a particularly terrible one, it had felt as though the sky was being rent apart with each roll of thunder, the stone beneath your feet trembling as though in terror of it. Or in terror of what was happening above. 

The moment Aemond had left your father’s hall in pursuit of his nephew, some part of you had known what was to come. And yet, when you had heard what had befallen him, you had cried for that sweet boy who had so loved his mother and affirmed his honour by so swiftly declaring he was already betrothed. 

Selfishly, you had wept for yourself too. Grief for the boy you had not known and grief for the life you could have lived had intermingled, the tears that rolled down your cheeks acrid to the point of toxicity upon your tongue. 

Not even a week later, Aemond had returned for you. His dragon blotted out the sun and you had remained in shadow ever since. 

Your father had promised you that the wedding would not take place for some time, but he had not accounted for your betrothed becoming a Kinslayer while his promise to wed you still echoed down the halls of Storm’s End. The greens needed all the support they could get and quickly.

You had been married the day after you had arrived in King’s Landing.

Now, if Aegon did not wake, your new husband would be a Kingslayer too. 

You did not know what had happened during the battle of Rook’s Rest and yet you had seen the truth of it in the brief glimpses you’d caught of your husband since his return. His brother’s state was not only down to Princess Rhaenys and the Red Queen, Meleys. 

Up until now, you had been grateful that Aemond seemed to have no inclination to even converse with you, let alone share your bed, but you couldn’t help but think how much easier it would be to plunge a dagger into his chest if he did. You were no soldier, and you would not waste honour on a man such as your husband, so you truly would have no qualms or quibbles over cutting his throat as he slept.

Ours is the fury. Those were the words of your House.

When you were a girl you had felt such great pride upon hearing them; they roused and emboldened you, filling you with such righteousness as you retained safe and protected in Storm’s End, with your only adversary the wind that battered the walls and howled down the corridors in dismay when it could not reach you. 

Now, when you heard the words you wanted to laugh. 

Baratheon fury was without a doubt that of a storm: irascible and unyielding. And yet…it was water and wind. To Targaryen’s, the wind was something to be ridden and all water was burned away like the morning mist by dragon fire.

You had known even before you had said your vows to Aemond in the Sept of Baelor that he wished that you were that mist. When he looked at you, his gaze harboured a flame that told you he wished that you too were so easily burnt away.

But you refused to burn. 

It was this rapidly growing hatred that drove you to seek him out, to look at him without baulking, if only so he could not sate himself on your fear as well as that of so many others. 

It was not a search that had taken much time. After all that had happened, what would your husband want to do but gaze upon that which he coveted?

You had first met Aemond during a storm and you found him now as another raged outside the walls of the Red Keep. It was an ill omen.

It was the first rumblings of a reckoning. 

Earlier in the day, Aemond had made you stand on the walkway alongside himself and the dowager queen Alicent when Meleys’ head had been paraded through the streets. 

‘Behold the traitor dragon Meleys!’

You had wanted to close your eyes and plunge yourself into darkness to avoid the horror of the sight, but those words would still have rung in your ears, so you forced yourself to bear witness to the tragedy. 

Aemond stood now as he did then, with his hands clasped behind his back and standing so still he might as well have been stone. The movement of his shoulders was almost imperceptible, as if taking breath was something less than vital to him. As though it were beneath him. 

He was standing with his back to you, gazing up at the Iron Throne. He stood at a distance from it, but not out of deference for his dying brother, you knew.

Aemond had considered himself a king long before his Aegon had fallen upon flaming wings from the sky, he was simply enjoying the sight of the seat upon which he would soon sit; the seat he felt he was both owed and that he had earned. 

Another bolt of lightning fractured the darkness and the tips of the swords that formed the Iron Throne glinted in the flash. The white strands of Aemond’s hair were for a moment threads of silver, shimmering like spun stars. 

Then, the lightning retreated and the shadows descended again. Your husband seemed just as comfortable in the light as he did in the dark. Why wouldn’t he be, when he appeared able to thrive in both?

You step forward, peeling away from the side of the room. 

When you speak, your voice has to contend with the thunder, but you are pleased with how indifferent you sound.

‘You may as well sit on it.’ You call out. ‘The arduous task is done with. What difficulty could climbing a few steps pose compared to killing your own kin? Again.’

Aemond’s head tilts as if in contemplation before turning just enough for you to see his face. His impassive expression is lit by a particularly violent bolt of lightning, his one violet eye flashing as brightly as you presume the sapphire in the other socket does when caught in the sunlight. His hands are still clasped behind his back.

‘You are ill-informed, wife. My brother yet lives.’ 

You do not miss that he does not say ‘the king’ and you dare to scoff in response.

 ‘Yes, I imagine you are irritated by that. It would be better for you if his demise was the result of Dragon warfare. That is easier to explain than, say, a pillow over the face? Or will you choose poison?’

Aemond hums, the corner of his mouth lifting in a deceptive manner. He is not amused, but you cannot say exactly what the small movement upon his face means. He turns to face you fully.

 ‘Poison is the weapon of women and cravens.’ Aemond says, his voice languid, almost bored. It infuriates you. 

You want him to be as angry as you are. You want him to burn from the inside out as you do. He is the cause of your pain, so you will be the cause of his. It is this desire that drives you to speak so recklessly to him.

‘Well, you certainly aren’t a woman.’ You answer snidely. 

Your silent implication has the desired effect. Aemond advances towards you, his jaw is clenched and the lines of his face are as hard as the carved stone that adorns the hall. You do not flinch or take so much as a step back. You stand firm, staring him down as he stops barely an arms length in front of you.

He is certainly breathing now, his shoulders heaving as he draws in air with the anger he has that is so often unbridled.

But just when you think you’ve succeeded in provoking him, Aemond lets out a steady exhale, his expression turning imperious as he looks down at you. 

‘Are you so listless that you must come to poke and prod at me as though you were a disgruntled infant?’ He says, his voice hushed and his tone belittling. ‘My good sister is surely in want of company and comfort during such a trying time. Go to her.’

You frown up at him, curling your fingers into fists, nails digging into your palms. 

You’re sure that he dons a mask of indifference around you because he knows it drives you mad. In his eyes, you are deserving of nothing, not even his contempt. 

It makes you that much crueller.

 As you recall an exchange you’d had with a very drunk Aegon a few days prior. Your lips lift into a nasty smile as you step up to Aemond, your chests almost touching. It’s the closest you’ve been since standing before each other in the Sept.

 There’s another low rumbling of thunder. It may well be a warning, but you take it as encouragement.

‘I suppose we have that in common then.’

Aemond’s head tilts to the side, humming with feigned interest. ‘And what is that, ñuha jorrāelagon?’ 

Your skin itches. You hate that you cannot know what he calls you, especially when he has that unknowable glimmer in his eye. You steel yourself and speak the words that you know will place you in peril.

‘It seems we are both prone to bouts of childishness.’ You say, smiling up at him. ‘I know what happened in the brothel, Aemond.  Aegon took great delight in telling me of how he found you: naked and cradled in the arms of the establishments madam as if you were a babe.’ 

The noise that comes from Aemond borders upon the animalistic. So much so, that when he darts forward, his hand curling around the nape of your neck, that you expect to feel the sting of claws piercing your flesh. 

You swallow down a gasp as Aemond drags you closer, forcing you to crane the neck he has in a vice grip in order to look up at him. Lightning gives you a better glimpse of his face that is now tight with fury. 

He does not utter a word, he just glowers down at you as his heaving chest brushes yours. 

You open your mouth to speak and his grip tightens, his nails digging into your neck. You do not know if he’s warning you or urging you on. You’re not entirely sure that he does either. 

Either way, it would not stop you. This is the closest you’ve come to feeling alive since you left Storm’s End. 

‘How old were you when it happened?’ You speak with a softness that you know he will not know how to contend with.

The jarring change in your tone and demeanour works. As Aemond takes in the concern that you force onto your face, his anger falters. It is only for a blink, but it feels like a victory all the same.

You are triumphant in the knowledge that he does not know you well enough to tell if you’re being genuine.

You aren’t, of course; you do not care for your husband. But that does not stop you from feeling sad for the boy that he was.

You have no doubt that the brothel all those years ago was Aegon’s doing; his was no doubt the lecherous hand that had forced Aemond into the arms of a grown woman. Undoubtedly, the sexual act had become conflated with tenderness for Aemond and for a comfort that he had never had. 

Aemond manages to rebuild his cold exterior, but it is not as well fortified as before. He leans down, holding your neck tighter as he forces you to maintain eye contact. 

‘You speak as though it is something which should torment me.’ He says quietly, sounding unconvinced by his own words. ‘As though it was something inflicted upon me, instead of something that I desired.’

‘You didn’t desire it. You were a boy.’ You answer,  disgust dripping from your words at the thought of it. 

Aemond’s hold on the back of your neck loosens, but he does not remove it completely. 

‘Boys must become men.’ He answers flatly.

‘Yes, but that is something that time will take care of without interference. Boys become men, that is an inevitability, it is not a change that can be brought about by abuse-’

‘It was not abuse.’ Aemond hisses, nails digging into you once more.

Aegon had delighted in telling you a great many things.

During the wedding feast–if the rushed, dismal affair could even be afforded such a title–the King had been deeper into his cups than you’d thought possible and he had delighted in telling you any story he could conjure in order to diminish Aemond’s manhood in your eyes. He had spoken in great length about the disappointment you were soon to suffer in the bedchamber, but he had also regaled  you with stories of his brother’s youth that had been rife with ridicule. 

In what you had thought was preparation to defend yourself against Aemond’s coming attempt to bed you, you had sharpened your teeth on the tales of his childhood torment. But after he had spurned you, leaving your marriage unconsummated, you had not been able to bite anything.

Now, you were going to take the chance to bloody your mouth with those sharpened teeth. You meant to take a chunk of flesh.

 ‘Aegon did not make you a man, Aemond, nor did that woman, because you are still that little boy who was given a pig to ride–”

You choke on your own words as air rushes about your ears as you are forced up against the nearest pillar.

Your back slams into the cold stone as Aemond draws a familiar Valyrian steel dagger and presses it up against your throat. The muscles in his neck strain as he lets out a low grunt, as though the effort he is exerting to stop himself from killing you is physically painful. 

 You keep your eyes on your husband’s face, revelling in seeing his mask shatter, even as you feel the blade press into your skin. 

You glower up at him and eagerly continue your tirade. At least if he kills you, you’ll be free of him: ‘Did you have to take the dagger from Aegon’s body, or did it fall to the earth alongside Sunfyre after you attacked them?’

Aemond’s knuckles whiten as he tightens his grip. ‘You wield your tongue as though it were a weapon, wife. It is impressive, truly. But you would do well to remember that only the real thing can cut.’  Aemond’s whisper skims across your cheek as he leans, your neck beginning to sting as he presses the dagger deeper. ‘Only one can draw blood.’

You fail to suppress a hiss of pain as you feel a bead of blood roll down your skin. And Aemond does not cease, almost spurred on by the sound of your pain. He leans in a little more, exerting further pressure on the blade. 

The Baratheon fury that is your birthright flares within you and your hand shoots up. You wrap your fingers around Aemond’s wrist, attempting to stop the press of the weapon. It does not. Your reaction only serves to lift his lips into a sadistic smile. 

‘Do you see now, how useless your words are?’ He coos, lips skimming the shell of your ear. You feel the vibrations of his words in your very bones. ‘How doomed of a rebellion your vitriol is?’ 

You answer by curling your fingers and digging your nails deep into his wrist as he had done with your neck. Nothing happens at first, but as you dig and dig, he leans back to peer down at you, his thin lips pressing into a tight line. 

‘And what of your blade, Aemond?’ You goad, nails digging deeper. ‘What use does it have when you won’t use it? My throat is still yet to be slit.’ 

A shadow that has nothing to do with the darkness of the throne room passes over Aemond’s face. ‘Do you so wish for death, that you would offer yourself up like a lamb to the slaughter?’ He seethes. 

‘But that’s just it, Aemond. You can’t slaughter me, can you?’ You say, sounding almost manic. Your blood has been drawn and both of you can taste it in the air. ‘My hand won Baratheon swords and my death would turn them against you.’ 

‘It would turn them against the Crown. I could cut your throat right here, right now and any retaliation your father offered would still be nothing more than treason. You are of no true consequence.’ 

‘So do it.’ You challenge, perversely energised by the feel of a blood trickling down your neck. ‘You are already a Kinslayer and a Kingslayer too if Aegon succumbs to his wounds. What does an oath sworn to my father mean to you? What are the vows you said to me? Although, now that I come to think of it, you are not truly my husband, are you?’ 

Aemond takes on an expression of mock pity, and tuts at you. ‘You may wish that to be true, but in the eyes of the gods and men, you are mine. My wife.’

You laugh bitterly, tightening your hold on his wrist, almost willing him to dig the steel further into your neck. ‘Am I? Without consummation I belong only to myself.’ 

Aemond lets out another of his characteristic hums that could just as easily signify danger as it could amusement. Another flash of lightning sends his one eye glowing. 

‘You call me a boy and yet it is you with such infantile notions.’ He says. ‘You have never belonged to yourself. Before any man beds you, you belong to your father. You were his to give away the moment you were born and he has…to me.’ 

‘And you sneak out of the Red Keep and into the arms of a woman who you pay to hold you. Do you even know that affection can be something freely given?’ You lift your free hand and place it against his cheek, just below his eye patch. You could swear he flinches. ‘True comfort need not come as part of a contract.’ 

‘Is that what you are offering me?’ There is still a derision dripping from his words, but they lack their usual potency. ‘Affection and comfort? You would give this to me freely?’ 

‘No, I would not.’ You snap. ‘ If I were truly free, I would have taken the knife sheathed on my thigh and plunge it into your heart.’ 

For all your fantasising, you knew what harming, let alone killing your husband would mean for your family. For your dear sisters.

Something flashes in Aemond’s eye at your words. He eases back, the blade lifting from your skin by barely an inch. The wounds stings fiercely as the air hits it but you manage not to wince.

Your husband is tall enough that he can take his free hand and lift up your skirts, all while maintaining eye contact with you. Your breath hitches in indignation as his warm fingers run up your calf and over your knee, splaying out into a flat palm to run up your thigh as he searches.

You do not move.

 When Aemond finds nothing he shifts his hand, moving to the opposite leg. When his fingers land on the dagger contained within the sheath, you see his own breath falter. 

A grin spreads out onto your face. He hadn’t believed you.

You had surprised Aemond Targaryen.

With his eyes still on you and one hand still clutching the sheath on your leg, Aemond returns the Valyrian steel dagger to his belt. The now free hand moves to your neck, the pad of his thumb catching the bead of blood as it rolls down towards your clavicle. 

With his eyes still on you, he pulls back the thumb now stained crimson and takes it into his mouth, lips closing over it and taking part of you into himself. 

Your cheeks flush in fury, feeling that something else has been stolen from you. 

He looks so satisfied, as though what he’s just consumed of you–both emotionally and physically–will feed him for years.

Letting out a furious groan you reach beneath your skirts and pull his hand from your thigh. You know he lets you do it, just as he lets you take your hands and hit out against his chest, shoving him away from you.

And yet, you still feel pleased with yourself when you see his eye widen slightly at the force of your push. He only just stops himself from staggering back, his now clean thumb falling from between his lips.

Aemond takes another step away from you, the carefully crafted impassivity returning to him.

But, the way he’s regarding you has changed. There’s a predatory glint in his eye that had not been there before. The sight of it makes your throat close up. You already miss his emotionless stare. 

‘You should not concern yourself over the lack of consummation. If my brother dies, I will be King. And a King needs heirs. As does a Prince Regent.’ Aemond muses, revelling in the horror that blooms upon your face. ‘Enjoy the solitude while you have it, ñuha jorrāelagon. You may soon bear the burden of a queen.’

And with that he’s turning his back to you, the sound of his footfalls bruising you in a way the storm’s din couldn't. 

But then, just before the towering doors, Aemond stops. He does not turn and yet you feel his attention on you all the same.

When he speaks, it is a whisper. A whisper that you should not hear at such a distance and over the thunder and yet somehow, you do. 

You do not understand him, but you hear your husband's words.

‘Aōha perzys gaomas daor zālagon nyke, ābrazȳrys. Yn nyke raqagon se ōdres hen ziry’

(Your fire does not burn me, wife. But I enjoy the pain of it.)

And then, just like the first time you had met him, Aemond Targaryen departs a hall besieged by a storm, leaving you breathless with hatred in his wake.

[bu-blegh-ost]

Okay so this has been eating at me so much. That last scene between Gillion and Zamia in ep. 112.

-See? You didn't have anything to be worried about. Looks like you found yourself a new oath, paladin.

-How have you done it? Being so devoted to your oath?

-I think when things seem worse, when things seem dark, I...look around. And never far from me is someone to remind me what I'm fighting for. [looks at Chip and Jay]

-So your power comes from people you care for too, then?

And this is when Gillion starts stammering really hard and ends the conversation, as if something horrible were to happen if he admitted to it. Grizzly metions something about him almost becoming an Oath Breaker, and this makes me wonder what kind of oath Gillion is under to not be able to fight and draw courage and will to keep going from those he loves. And please mind, I do not have Patreron, so if more details were listed somewhere there, then I have no access to it, but the way I see it, whatever he was forced to swear that would make him react like that must have been an awfully cruel promise. To not be able to admit that other people give him strength, to have this burden of always distancing himself away from other's warmth. I don't think whatever oath Elders prepared for him all these years ago is worth keeping anymore, and it is inevitable for Gillion to realise it one day and finally break it. Break it, and make a new one, one that will allow him to devote himself to the ones who were always by his side, just like Zamia did.

Do you think he was thinking about it? About his own place in the world among the joy of celebration? He felt excitement and happiness for the girls of course, but maybe a pang of jealousy too? A pang of emptiness? When he said to them "May you both be each other's destinies," it felt...important. It felt like words that carried weight to them. Because Gillion doesn't say the word "destiny" lightly anymore. But he was sincere in it. There is nothing more beautiful than to dedicate one's destiny not to fate, or god, or a principle, but to a person. One you chose to walk the rest of your life with, one you chose on your own. I think about Gillion standing there between the two lovers, giving them a new beautiful purpose in life...and being left to wonder how ironic it is, that as the one standing here, making this possible, he feels like he has no purpose at all. That he is being led the path that slowly feels more and more meaningless, and that the only reason he does want to keep going is because of the people he is not allowed to love. How when he talks to Jay, he says he hopes that the two of them finding him was just a coincidence. How much he wants their love, and how much he wants to give back in return, but how he is so, SO afraid, that everything they've been through together is something he was forced into as well, that it's not real. But he wants it to be so bad. Because he loves them so much it hurts. Because he can't bear to carry this burden anymore without them. Because he's lost and all he wants is for them to reach for him and hug him and take his hand and walk gently with him through the path of their own making.

He wants to do all of that so bad, but he can't.

Somehow, he just can't.

Not yet.

But one day, he will.

[chu-diaries]

100 days of mental healthcare: day 76/100

Another day where I failed on exercising, but everything was all so rushed that I'll forgive myself for it. Today I had to cook and I also had a long intravenous iron replacement session. On the bright side, I read several chapters of my book and made friends with two nurses during the procedure. The day was so beautiful that I walked to and from the clinic. When I got home, I checked on my scented candles, did dishes, folded my clean laundry and got ready for my evening class. I got home very tired, but happy for another good day.

Answering 8/30 self-knowledge questions about myself: What have I learned from my greatest difficulties?

My greatest difficulties didn't appear until I was 25. Of course, there were difficulties before that, but it was at 25 that I finally learned that a mental illness can hurt much more than a physical injury or a broken heart. Until then, society had taught me to deal with all my problems, but I wasn't prepared to suffer so much inside my own head. After three and a half years of struggling with this, I learned that I am very strong. It's amazing to look back and see everything I've overcome. I am definitely very powerful and greater than my fears (I'm working on trusting this statement lmao). I learned that I don’t need much to be happy and that happiness is not in achievements or titles, but in the things that keep us alive every day. I also discovered that staying alive is a daily job: you gotta find a reason to keep going every day. Remember why you want to stay here, what you want to accomplish and what you already have today. Life is lived one day at a time. It doesn't matter who you were or where you came from, but who you are now and what's in your heart. When I was younger I thought all of this was very silly, but now I truly believe it.

🥀: day 23/28

💧: 2 L

🏃🏻‍♀️: 9178 steps

💃🏻: dancing (30 min)

📝: worked on two new contracts

📖: I attended a class on the migration of workers from the northeast to the southeast (3h)

🇰🇷: 🚫

🎧: stardew valley ost

🎮: 🚫

📺: one piece ep. 456-463 (I was peacefully preparing some meatballs for lunch when I discovered who is Ace’s father… somebody send help)

📚: hp and the half-blood prince (I had forgotten how amazing Ginny is in this book… my inner teenager is screaming at her romance with Harry)

🛑: 3 days pick-free

💊: I took all my vitamins + 3/5 sessions of IV iron replacement done

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

it hurts me. the parallel of Charlie at the start of ep 1, so excited about showing her plans for the hotel to heaven she doesn't see how VERY NOT excited about it Vaggie is (cough angel kicked out by heaven for not doing enough murder cough cough), even while getting literally up in Vaggie's face.....

and then Vaggie, when Charlie comes drooping home after that all crashed and burned spectacularly- now it's VAGGIE so excited to show CHARLIE the new and improved hotel commercial she got everyone to make while Charlie was away... now it's Vaggie, up close and basically physically pressing her excitement into her girlfriend, not seeing how utterly crushed Charlie is right then

like, clearly Vaggie expected the heaven meeting to not live up to Charlie's hopes for it. Clearly she REALLY wanted to have something GOOD AND HOPEFUL for Charlie to come home to afterwards

-which would have worked too, if the Extermination schedule update hadn't interrupted the commercial airing

look at how habby Charlie was finding out about the commercial

awww

"heaven isn't homophobic" well then what do you call them interrupting this lesbian's hard won cheer-up-the-girlfriend effort huh? what was that then. not only cruel but also an insult to us queers everywhere. one of the only real sins we ever see in the show, tbh

but gods, they give each other so much CONFIDENCE, chaggie and the mutual "I can do this for her" / "She thinks I can do this and I will" synergy...

and it keeps fucking their relationship up. GODS

how they mirror and act like they're trying to literally meld into each other, while both being So Bad at actually SAYING when and why they're upset about something Serious-

when they're also clearly wanting to share SO MUCH of what they feel specifically with the woman they love!!!!

and how that sometimes blinds them both, over and over again, to the moments when (ironically) their other half needed them to be a little less sure, for a second, that things are or would be okay. Share less of their own conviction, that they got from the other one in the first place

When instead of needing answers to the obvious problem, they both needed to be asked hey IS something wrong? is there ANOTHER problem here actually??

they both put so much of themselves into each other, they both rely on the other one for their sense of self-worth and the strength they need to be The One Who Get Things Done and The One Who Always Has A Plan

that's so DELICIOUSLY fucked up. the flip side to love,

(Vaggie freaking out feeling her existence is pointless while thinking she's failed Charlie, and Charlie losing so much hope just at the thought Vaggie might not really love or believe in her)

when someone else is walking around with your heart beating in their chest because you yourself put it there

heck, their resolution in s1 ISN'T even them hashing things out or communicating better! they don't NEED that- (yet) they JUST need each other! (soooooo fucked up I LOVE it) the thing that brings them back together is Vaggie fully letting go of her angel past to focus on her life with Charlie and tapping back into her whole self for first time since meeting Charlie, it's Charlie the singer and giver of heartfelt motivational speeches having her mind blown by words meaning less than actions as her partner who lied to her is also off right that moment doing everything she can to protect what they've built

the big moment is NOT them actually TALKING about what happened or why it happened. it doesn't matter!!! (to them) Their hurt came from being scared of losing each other, they meet up at the hotel gates and just seeing the other one there is Enough!

they happily return to status quo minus some secrets and plus some more confidence in what they have.... which means the rest of this stuff, the root cause of it all, the unaddressed subtext that they NEED to be fucked up together in an active, intentional, KNOWING way but are so good at inspiring and supporting each other that it just, doesn’t, happen..... that's all still there.

(i see you, Charlie sitting alone with your story of hell book and being shocked at your long time girlfriend coming up to your shared room, being around to see you sad, you putting on a smile and trying to wave it off bc yeah she's right you AREN'T alone anymore. technically)

(i see you, Vaggie asking to be left alone on a rooftop so you can deal with a devastating blow to your whole sense of self as 100% unintentionally dealt by your loving girlfriend who WANTS to be there for you through this but who YOU can't face until you're ready to shoulder the blame and apologize to her)

(i see you both trying so hard to help each other and not letting yourselves be helped)

(because no clearly you don't need it, clearly this is all already so much better that what you used to have and you're doing so much better, and what if you're still not good enough for it actually-)

chaggie is so happily, catastrophically entertwined and i hope they spend the next thousand years suffering through it together