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jwanniie · 4 months

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Hiii again!!

can I make a request about g!p minji x reader fcking in the library?

I got too excited with this idea😁

Secret crush.

You have been struggling in school for the past two months due to some family issues and just life has been exhausting and draining, you weren’t dumb you just needed a little break and someone who takes care of you. From the start of the school year you have been getting decent grades, they were good but if we compare it to the amount you study for you should definitely get better grades, that really did unmotivate you because what do you mean someone who didn’t even touch a book will get a better grade than someone who pulls all nighters, skips meal just to study and never skips a class?You are happy for them but still there is a little unpleasant feeling inside you that you can’t deny ,And on top of that your family starts complaining about you not trying hard and not getting full marks. So you thought about what is the point of trying hard but still not reaching?

The way your grades dropped made your teacher really unhappy because you definitely weren’t dumb in fact you were very intelligent so she decided to talk to you and try to convince you to get a tutor and maybe she can help you choose one.

“___can you stay a little after class, we need to discuss something?”

You were tired and wanted to go home, you wanted to deny but what if she has something important to say?

“Sure” you replied with tired eyes that anyone could literally notice that you hadn’t been getting proper sleep for days, and yeah you don’t even remember when you last had that 10 hour uninterrupted sleep.

Class ended faster than usual, once all of the students went out of the class the teacher sat you down and took a deep breath before starting to talk.

“___ has anything happened home or do you have something going on that is not very pleasant…since your grades been dropping and I’m wondering what’s the reason and if we could try to fix it?” She spat, she really didn’t want to express her thoughts in a hurtful or negative way so she tried to sound as kind as possible.

You took an exhale before speaking “miss everything is going fine at home it’s just that I’m very unmotivated towards school and my mental health overall is not really helping with school” you spoke trying to sound as ok as possible even tho tears are starting to well in your eyes, recalling everything that is happening and all of your family problems.

“I see, do you think if we could ask a student to tutor you so you could perhaps make friends at the same time while studying do you think that would help you a little? And ___ you are nowhere near stupid you just need a little push and that will get you started all over again and I care for you, you are one of my favorite students here, always kind and enthusiastic to learn new things so seeing you like this really does hurt me.” She uttered in the most comforting tone ever, you smiled at her request and nodded because maybe that will make your school life and mental health better “a tutor could work!” Your teacher smiled warmly at your answer “then I will look for a tutor” she said, she lastly bid you goodbye and you went home a little smile on your face knowing that you have a new start and could improve.

The next week the teacher gave you the name of the student who will tutor you and when will you meet, the first lesson would be in the library. Damn, you haven’t been there for a long time you thought to yourself. You checked the paper that the teacher gave you once more and you looked at the name again “Minji”. You have heard the name before but the image of the person didn’t really click. You decide to pick a place near the entrance of the library so as soon as minji steps inside she could see you, you dont think she even recognize you but let’s just hope for the best.

You waited silently for about seven minutes till you saw a girl with a school uniform, your school never restricted what the students wear but that’s what she is comfortable wearing, now the image clicked, She is minji! You have never interacted with her nor your friends did but she was known for having one of the best grades in school if not the best. She was quiet,didn’t really have much friends, a bookworm and kinda cold or perhaps a better word distant? You always saw her with a book in hand or had her head deep down writing something. She didn’t really put much effort in socializing but one thing undeniable about her was her beauty she was that handsome type of beauty. You waved your hands at her you were maybe too excited she just walked towards her expression hard to read, she always had a resting face.

“I was kinda late, sorry” she spoke a little cold it gave you chills, is she always this serious? You didn’t expect any type of laughter or giggling but a little smile wouldn’t hurt anyone!

The tutoring session went pretty smoothly she told you the basic stuff and you immediately got the hang of it, like the teacher said you weren’t stupid you just needed someone to take interest in you. It was very silent, yeah a library is supposed to be silent but this maybe was too silent. You looked around and saw no one near you or even far away from you. You looked at the entrance of the library and there was no one even the bored librarian wasn’t there you looked around a little more and there was literally no one. A panic immediately started to hit you, you can’t be stuck in here seriously. Minji saw how uncomfortable you were and decided to give you a little hug whispering “hey calm down, we are going to get out of here. Let’s call someone” minji maybe was too calm about this whole situation but deep inside she was having a little panic attack. Yeah she didn’t show much emotions but that didn’t mean she didn’t care about people’s feelings, she just couldn’t express with words but her actions did.

You called the school principal and he said that they will come get the both out while waiting you decide to make a little chit chat to burn some time and comfort you a little. “I know this might sound weird but have you had any crush” this was the basic middle school dudes question while playing truth or dare but in this situation you didn’t honestly care, If she wants to think your weird then so be it. “Yeah” she answered tone little softer now, as a nosy person you couldn’t help but ask who, “oooh do you mind telling me who?” You said to excited, she gave you a little smirk making a point below your stomach tingle “what about I will describe it and you should guess, I’m pretty sure you know them” she said in a seductive voice immediately shocking you seeing the new side of her, your not complaining tho it was pretty hot. “Why not, tell me” you said too excited. “Hmmm well she is a girl, she is very gorgeous and adorable, she has never interacted with me before but did now and Uhmm her mental health hasn’t been the best which was secretly hurting me. I have always admired her from a far” she uttered scooting closer to you. Her description definitely had some suspicion in you, deep inside you wanted it to be you but the chances of her licking you were very very slim. “Uhm I don’t…know, please tell me” you stated. She was so close to you now, “hmm sure why not” she brought her face near you inches a part. Your breath hitched and you closed your eyes, she brought her plush lips to your pair and soon you felt something kissing you softly, when she moved her lips from yours, you were shocked a good shocked tho. “Did this tell enough, princess or…?” She questioned looking deep into your eyes, intoxicating you with her pair of eyes almost like hypnotizing you and before you knew you grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her into a deep kiss passionate and warm. She immediately kissed back, placing her hand on your upper back and gently laying you down. She took her skirt off revealing her erection, and damn, was she big? She was huge and her length being hard doubling it size. Without much of thinking you grabbed it touching it earning a groan from her, she was thick and had girth. You went on your knees and saw how her tip was filled with precum. Your tongue exploring her tip and length, her precum was very creamy but salty. Her hand found its way to your neck and squeezed it “don’t tease doll!” Her breath hitched. You tried to take her in one go but she was too big. She gave you a dark giggle full of lust “too big for you baby?” You tried to take her one more time but you gagged uncontrollably while coughing. But still you wanted to please her so you started sucking half of her length, bobbing your head around it. Soon after she started twitching inside your mouth, breath getting faster and moans getting louder. Without warning her thick white salty cum filled your mouth. She looked you in the eyes “swallow it, all of it” and as a good girl you obeyed her, swallowing her release. She was satisfied,way too satisfied. “On all fours baby, mommy is going to reward you for being so good” the excitement of her words flood your brain and your body immediately reacted to her, taking off your pants and panties leaving you with only an oversized shirt. And getting onto all fours, she groaned seeing how obedient you are for her. She couldn’t wait anymore and gave you her whole length, not even letting you adjust to her, immediately thrusting passionately hitting spots you never thought existed. Bumping into your g-spot and to spots people never even named. Her ruthless pace never cooled down if anything it only got rougher, with few more thrusts and few ass reddening spanks your release flood all over your thighs. Her relentless pace didn’t stop, the way you got now tighter made her eyes roll back and a hitched groan came from her “fuck baby so tight”. With how clenching you are around her length it didn’t take her long to feel her high close. Few seconds later she pulled out and white sperm got released on your back.

#new jeans x reader #new jeans x fem reader #new jeans minji #kim minji smut #kim minji x reader #kim minji x reader smut #new jeans minji x reader #minji smut

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lunaefall · 1 year

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The Red Flags of Ruby's Suicidality Throughout The Volume

It should be obvious, but this short essay will cover heavy subjects of suicide, so if you're uncomfortable with this subject matter please don't read this.

The first red flag was in episode 4, where Ruby contemplated erasing her current self due to her failures, after talking to her 'past self'.

This gets reinforced by the lyrics of Trapdoor, which is about how worthless and unneeded Ruby feels.

One common mindset among suicidal people is this: what if I'm useless? What if my friends don't need me anymore? What if they don't care about me? What if I'll keep ruining everything? Would the world be better without me?

Suicidal people are usually full of self-loathing and blame.

Even in the episode 7 fight Ruby felt useless after seeing C-PTSD red flags (they're not Neo hallucinations because she didn't see the Schnee manor grounds struggle with hacked Penny). In her eyes, the others are fighting well without her, so she's useless.

Another set of red flags is snapping at your loved ones, pushing them away and driving yourself into isolation. We see ALL these in episodes 7 and 8, with Ruby snapping at her friends and running away, and even pushing Little away.

And on top of it she feels like her friends don't care, the world is against her, etc. which is YET another red flag.

(Massive disclaimer that this is NOT anti WBY and they, especially Yang, tried to reach out to her throughout the volume.)

I'd like to mention that if your loved one attempts and you tried to help but couldn't do it, it is NOT your fault. We're not all experts and we try our best, so do not ever blame yourself for these things.

It's not uncommon for suicidal people to refuse help, and on top of it Ruby has always been selfless to self destructive levels.

And the last thing, her self blame over her loved ones dying. While Penny and Pyrrha were apparitions, they still reflected her self blame. And Little dying? The final straw.

So her suicide attempt in the end was being built up all volume.

All I can say is that I hope Ruby somehow gets rescued and also recovers from her mental health problems because JESUS CHRIST.

This was a bit hard for me to write, especially as someone with BPD and frequent suicidal tendencies. This topic hits hard for me. However, I'm not an expert and this post shouldn't be taken as gospel. There may be details even I missed, so feel free to add your own observations.

And remember that if you are suicidal as well, you're not alone. You'll always have people who care about you, and resources to help out.

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby9 #rwby9 spoilers #rwby volume 9 #rwby volume 9 spoilers #ruby rose #rwby analysis #rwby meta #suicidality #tw suicidality #dani.txt

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laurfilijames · 5 months

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All I Want...

Pairing: Will Miller x reader

Words: 1.3k

Warnings: Angst. Swearing. PTSD. Panic attack. Mentions of an unhappy childhood, military service, personnel being KIA. Tom's death. Grief. People being unhappy at Christmas. (There's some fluff too, bear with me!)

Summary: Will tries to fight off a panic attack early on Christmas morning, his unenthusiastic feelings toward the holiday making him feel guilty on top of everything else on his mind, only to be reminded that it's okay to not feel festive and that he's not alone.

A/N: I'll be the first one to admit that Christmas isn't all it's cracked up to be sometimes. People often call me Scrooge, but I've learned over the years to prioritize my mental health around the holidays and take it all in stride. To those who struggle in any kind of way this time of year, I see you, and this is for you.

This fic follows some of my headcanons about the Miller brothers in that they didn't have a great upbringing, and that Will often suffers from poor sleep and panic attacks.

---

Scrooge. The Grinch.

These were some of the names bestowed upon Will over the years, his less than enthusiastic feelings toward Christmas noticed and pointed out as often as possible during the holiday season by those closest to him, mainly Benny.

It was innocent enough, his brother, Fish and Pope all aware and understanding to the reasons why Will wasn’t overly excited, but sometimes it got under his skin and the temptation to tell Ben to fuck off sat on the tip of his tongue on more than one occasion when he got going on a roll of teasing him.

He always tried his best to keep his opinions to himself, not caring to bring it up in order to avoid the shock and disbelief that someone could hate Christmas, having to stand and painfully listen to whoever was scolding his humbug ways try to convert him and preach all the reasons why it was so magical.

He had been this way for as long as he could remember, the earliest memories of an unhappy Christmas morning tucked away in the back of his mind until they inevitably were pushed back to the surface each time the radio stations turned their usual music to all the annoying holiday songs and people started asking the mundane “Are you ready for Christmas?” questions to everyone who never wanted to give an honest answer. He could always see the stress most people carried with them this time of year, the worry of spending money they didn’t have and not meeting expectations evident on their faces as they frantically rushed around to get all the things ticked off their lists to make the day ‘perfect’.

Perfect was never a word Will would use to describe any of his past Christmases, the thought making him scoff and shake his head as he looked up at the night sky, counting the stars as a way to try to clear the persistent thoughts that had gotten him out of bed at 3:26 AM.

Vivid images that he had tried to blur and forget always reappeared no matter how hard he tried; his parents yelling from the kitchen loud enough he had to peel Benny and his one toy from under the tree to go outside to get away from the anger, not to mention the countless Christmas mornings he woke up to gunfire or spent the day trudging through the rain and freezing cold, or had sweat clinging to his back in the heat of the desert, more often than not spending December 25th on tour and deployed somewhere that mimicked hell.

Will couldn’t help but feel guilt more than usual on days like today, thinking of all the families whose sons or daughters, husbands or wives and everything between never made it home to celebrate another Christmas with them, that shame becoming part of the reason he tended to make sure he was always off serving somewhere, not feeling like he deserved to be in the warm comforts of home with those he loved.

Add that to the long list of things his ex resented him for, one more thing he could never do right, and something else she refused to make an effort to understand despite him trying to explain it.

Today it seemed to all weigh more than it normally did.

Tom’s death was still fresh in all their minds, this being the first Christmas Molly and the girls would have to spend without him, and the thought of their irreparable grief made Will want to crumble.

He exhaled a long breath, blowing it out shakily from his lungs, his chest feeling tight as his heart pounded inside it like a caged animal.

He inhaled as slowly as he could manage, one, two, three, counting in his head to gain control over the quickly rising panic.

Exhaling out, one, two, three, his heart still hammering, his pulse furiously thrumming in his neck.

His hand shook as he lifted it up to rub the back of his neck roughly, feeling sweat accumulating on it and dampening his palm that was equally wet.

The steadiness of the number of seconds between each laboured breath was doing little to keep him calm, the thoughts of his conversation with you a couple of days prior echoing in his mind to drown them out along with the ringing in his ears.

You swore up and down a hundred times that you were fine with not celebrating, assuring him that you were relieved to not make a fuss over Christmas and reminding him that your own views of it were also plagued by unhappy memories; that being alone with him was more a gift than anything wrapped in paper and bows under a tree. He knew you meant it when you said you wanted to hide away with him until the madness of it all was over, but now his mind was playing tricks on him, making him doubt your words and sending him into a tailspin over projecting his attitude toward it on you.

But he knew you wouldn’t lie to him.

He kept on that train of thought as his fingers wrapped around the railing on the deck, gripping into the wood as hard as he could, feeling the splintered pieces from years of weather digging into his skin. Drawing in another short breath and gasping slightly, he did his best to remember why he came outside in the first place, seeking fresh air that ironically had become suffocating.

One, two, three, he repeated to himself again, closing his eyes to better focus on slowing his breathing down.

A minute and thirty-seven seconds had passed with him concentrating, able to let the consistency of the numbers aid him as he continued to count, the feel of your warm hands slipping up his cold, clammy back allowing him to finally release the tension he had been holding in his shoulders.

“I’m okay,” he muttered, his voice lacking the conviction he hoped it had.

“I never thought you weren’t,” you whispered, your hands still pressing reassuringly on his torso as you moved beside him, your lips meeting his shoulder to kiss it twice.

Will smiled, grateful for your belief in him, never making him feel weak or like he needed saving, simply there with a love and empathy he had sought his whole life.

He released his grip on the rail and glanced over at you, shooting you a weak smile gathering you in his arms for a hug, kissing the top of your head appreciatively while you continued to rub your hands in a calming, languid pattern across his skin.

“I love you,” he murmured, feeling his heart beat in a stronger rhythm different from how it had moments ago.

“I love you too, Will,” your lips moved against his chest, your arms squeezing him a little tighter as you pressed yourself closer to his body.

“You’re sure you’re happy to spend Christmas this way?”

“More than happy,” you reiterated, pulling your face away to look at him, his blue eyes like flames against the deep navy of the night sky.

“Okay,” he sighed, leaning in to kiss you.

“You know there’s that song, ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’,” you smiled, watching his expression change, his grin stretching out to form the creases in his cheeks as he shook his head.

“Please don’t sing it.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Will chuckled and kissed you again, slowly, his tongue slipping into your mouth with a gentle demand.

“Let’s get back to bed,” he said quietly, nodding toward the house after he broke the seal of your lips.

As he led you into the house, your fingers laced with his, he thought how maybe he could find ways to celebrate Christmas with you that wouldn’t make it all seem so terrible, the idea of creating your own traditions somewhat exciting to him.

He smiled at you over his shoulder, stopping in the middle of the hallway where he clasped your face in his hands and kissed you deeply, his body pressing into yours with a need to show you just how much you meant to him, knowing that as long as he was with you he could face anything.

---

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated and if you'd like to be added or removed from my taglist please let me know! 💗

Taglist: @sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls @littlenosoul @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90 @paintlavillered @casa-boiardi @stealfromthedevil @kmc1989

#will miller #triple frontier #will miller x reader #charlie hunnam #will 'ironhead' miller #will miller fic #triple frontier fic #charlie hunnam characters

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caeunot · 3 months

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can you do johnnie guilbert comforting f!reader (his gf) with s/h relapse. if not no worries, i’ve just been struggling lately and your writing helps me.

thank you for the request ♡

and I'm so sorry that you haven't been well, it makes me so happy that my writing is able to do that! I hope this fic can do your request justice and that it can help even if just a little.

johnnie guilbert x reader

➷ you felt sweaty, it was at least 34°c outside and you had a sweater on. you did this for a reason though, recently things have been harder on you. it feels as if everyone and everything is against you and that the world is completely caving in, you contemplated bringing it up to your boyfriend but many things were stopping you.

the first being he has his own shit to deal with, about two months ago he blew up completely on tiktok causing him to be a lot more busy recently. the second being that he deals with his own mental health too and you didn't want to be a burden, you obviously aren't but your mind kept telling you that you are. it's exhausting to be fighting against yourself constantly but by this point you have sadly come accustomed to it.

you were walking towards the bathroom to do your makeup when you felt arms slide around your waist, "hey baby I haven't seen you all day" you smiled and turned around, "I've been kinda lazy today I'm only doing my makeup now at 2 pm". "nothing wrong with that" he says as he gives you a kiss.

"hey it's boiling outside, maybe you should take off your sweater" he says tugging onto it slightly. "I'm fine really" you say trying to push out a smile, you could tell it came out fake. "come on you can't possibly feel cold" he says starting to get concerned.

after some silence he takes your hand and leads you into your shared bedroom, "darling, if there's anything you want to say you can tell me". "I'm fine really! I promise".

"then can you take off the sweater please?" he says with a tone much more gentle than usual. you hesitated but can't bare to lie to him anymore. as you take it off it exposed fresh cuts all along the top of your arm. he stares at it for a moment before leaning in for a hug.

no words in that moment were necessary, just that action of the hug was enough to prove to you that he cares. he immediately went and took the first aid kit you guys kept for emergencies, he sat you down in the bathroom and cleaned up the open wounds and then wrapped it in medical cloth. after he finished he gave a soft kiss on your forehead.

"never feel too embarrassed or too shy to come to me about this okay? I'm your boyfriend I'll take care of you no matter what" he took your hand in his "please promise me you will try to be more open about this in the future, it's nothing to be ashamed of okay? I'll always be here for you. I love you more than life itself I don't know what I would do if something happend to you"

you found yourself opening up to him about all that you are going through and he gave you his full undivided attention for hours, afterwards he ordered you food and cuddled you on the couch till you fell asleep in his arms, you have never felt safer.

❣

#johnnie guilbert #johnnie guilbert x reader #jake and johnnie #x reader #johnnie guilbert fluff #johnnie guilbert imagine #caeunot

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teddybeirin · 7 months

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if you have the means, please help us escape our abusive family

the short version: we need out of here, and if you have the means to comfortably help us, you can help us with getting together the funds to try again to escape here (I will edit the goal when I am able to, the progress shown is for our first attempt earlier this year, which did not last)

the long version.. I don't even know where to begin. Our name is Teddy, and we're living in hell, again, and trying to escape it, again. It was so amazing to be out of here. It was better than anything we'd ever experienced before, in our entire life.

I have been so angry with myself for being unable to keep things that way, we undershot the goal by so much that time because I felt ashamed to ask for more than the bare minimum to get out - no leeway for job searching time, or anything else. It was a mistake to do it that way.. following shame usually is, but what's done is done now, and I am trying not to add any more hurt onto my plate beating myself up over such mistakes.

an update was written for the fundraiser itself, I won't copy it in its entirety to here. I know that everyone has it hard right now, and there is so much hurt in the world, mine is only a drop in an ocean - but I am choosing to believe my loved ones when they say that my life is worth trying to save, and so I am asking for help doing that.

we're doing what we can do on our own - I am back to work that I walked away from for the sake of my mental health before on top of trying to build up less ptsd-exacerbating works, because I feel it is maybe my only shot at a decent steady income, to prevent the same from happening again if I manage to get out of here in the first place. I was not even up to snuff to sell burgers.. It is difficult to cover up bruises in order to look appealing.

but for so many reasons, I can't do this on my own. the hurdle is too high to get over to get out, even though I have by now proven that I can do quite a lot in terms of providing for myself - it's hard to keep anything together when you are also constantly in fear, and hurting, and being threatened, and having to hide any money we make and limit what we do to only what can be hidden, so many obstacles, that we are having any success despite them is proof enough to me that I can continue with this if we can get out. but that's if we get out.

that we even had our first time out of here, was a miracle. I am so eternally grateful to everyone who helped us have that, and to everyone who has been encouraging me and helping to support us while we are here again, it means the world to me, it is everything to me. It feels so amazing to be an adult, and be alive, and have people who care for me, it's so much different from how I understood my world to be before in all the best of ways.

if you are safe, and if you have enough for yourself as well as to extend help to another, please consider helping us. 💟

thank you for taking the time to read this, for even considering to help us, for all the ways you all have shown me the warmth of the world.. words cannot express how happy I am even to be able to continue to struggle forwards.

thank you for your kind words, and for sharing this, for helping in what ways you can, I hope that your kindness is returned to you tenfold, I hope that if you are in a situation like mine that you also can have a way forwards, I hope that you are all safe and well-fed. 🧸💗

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doumadono · 6 months

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Hiii! How are you?? I don't know if this an emergency but... Can you do any bnha character (I have preference in Kaminari and Sero, but can be anyone you choice) where reader had an s3xu4l 4ss4ult after one party with they males best friends? Who I thought was my best friends end up 4bus1ng me when I was drunk and high, I barely remember what happened after the 4bus3 started.

You can ignore if you don't feel comfortable doing it, thank you for your time 💕

A/N: hiya, Nonnie, I'm doing pretty fine lately. I hope that as of now, you're doing a little better, my dear. I'm truly sorry to hear that you went through such a traumatic experience. It's important to acknowledge that you are not alone, and there are people who care about your well-being. If you're comfortable, consider reaching out to someone you trust, be it a friend, family member, or a mental health professional. Your feelings are valid, and taking steps towards healing is a brave and empowering choice

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

Kaminari notices that something is off with you, and his usual, cheerful demeanor turns serious. "Hey, you seem a bit off. Everything okay?"

You, hesitant at first, finally admit, "I… I don't know, Denki. Something happened after one party we attended, and I don't know how to deal with it…"

He approaches you with genuine concern, asking if everything is okay, not pressuring you to share but making it clear he's there for you. "You can tell me anything, okay?"

Eventually, you open up to Kaminari about the sexual assault you experienced, and he listens attentively without judgment. Tearfully, you recount the incident, and Kaminari's expression shifts from shock to empathy. "Oh God, sparks, I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

Kaminari is incredibly supportive, offering a comforting hand on your shoulder or a gentle hug, letting you know he's there whenever you need him.

He encourages you to take your time to heal, assuring you that there's no rush, and your well-being is the top priority. "Take your time. I'm here to listen and help, and we'll figure this out together."

Kaminari makes it clear that you're welcome to share as much or as little as you're comfortable with. "Your feelings are valid, and I'm here to support you through all of it," he says, acknowledging the emotional weight of your words.

He suggests spending time together doing activities that you enjoy, helping to create a sense of normalcy and safety.

Kaminari gently suggests seeking professional help, understanding that it's a sensitive topic but emphasizing the importance of your mental health. "I've heard that talking to a professional can really help. I'll be here for you every step of the way."

He offers to accompany you to appointments or assist in finding resources if you decide to pursue anything. "We can look into options together if you want. Your well-being is what matters most," he adds, reassuringly.

While Kaminari remains a supportive presence, he doesn't shy away from expressing his anger at the situation, making it clear that what happened was not okay. "What happened was not okay. Not fucking okay! You deserve to feel safe, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure you do, sparks."

Kaminari consistently checks in on you, not as an obligation but because he genuinely cares. He wants to ensure you feel supported throughout your healing process.

Understanding that trust might be a delicate issue, Kaminari reassures you that he's committed to earning and maintaining your trust at your own pace.

Bonus!

When Kaminari is not with you, the weight of your pain becomes almost unbearable for him. Alone in his room, Kaminari often finds himself succumbing to waves of grief, alternating between tears and bursts of anger. The helplessness of not being able to protect you eats at him, and he struggles to contain his overwhelming emotions.

To Kaminari, you are more than a significant other; you're his source of brightness, his spark. The thought of someone dimming that light, causing you pain, strikes him to the core.

The emotional turmoil reaches a boiling point, leading to moments where Kaminari angrily punches his pillow or the wall. The frustration at being unable to turn back time and protect you fuels these outbursts.

Kaminari, unable to contain his emotions any longer, reaches a breaking point. The anger and frustration of not being able to protect you gnaw at him, pushing him to seek solace in someone he knows understands intensity — Katsuki Bakugo.

Kaminari, with a heavy heart, briefly shares the situation with Bakugo, the details too painful to express fully. "I can't take it anymore, man. I need to do something about it. I need your help. They hurt her, man. I wasn't there, and I can't let it slide. It's eating me alive."

Bakugo, though gruff, recognizes the gravity of the situation and doesn't dismiss Kaminari's emotions. "We need Kirishima and Sero. Get 'em here."

Bakugo's explosive anger surfaces, as the four sit together, thinking of a plan. "Anyone who thinks they can get away with hurting our friends is dead fucking wrong. We're gonna show 'em to not mess with us, for fuck's sake."

#emergency request #denki kaminari #denki kaminari x reader #denki kaminari x you #denki kaminari headcanons #kaminari headcanons #mha headcanons #mha angst #mha fluff #kaminari fluff #kaminari angst #bakugo #bnha fluff #bnha headcanons #denki x reader #mha denki #bnha denki

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sagittariusmars2 · 2 months

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April prediction (top to bottom)

Pile 1

I see that this month you may receive a gift or gifts from a couple or from more than one person, I see that you may get a gift from a secret admirer. I see you spending time with friends or going out more than usual, I see you getting more attention and people admiring you more. I see a lot of people will be recognizing you and it could be from something successful, I see you getting a lot of compliments or praise this month. I see you being a little sad over an ending or losing something but there will be better opportunities, I see you feeling unsure about a masculine energy and finding comfort in a feminine energy. I see good karma coming back to you and you getting new opportunities or new experiences, I see you getting help or support to have these new opportunities or experiences. Signs- Leo/Aquarius. Initial- G, P, V, A

Pile 2

I see that this month you may feel sad or depressed and dissatisfied with life, I see you waiting for good news especially when it comes to something you’ve been working hard on. I see that you’re hard work will pay off and you may getting an increase in funds, I see you getting constructive criticism and using it to take action and be better. I see you having a little struggle with money but you’ll eventually get over it, I see facing a few obstacles but doing your best to get over it. I see you going to a party or hang out with friends to get your mind off of stressful things, I see you defending yourself, your success and your energy. I see you dealing with some obstacles in romance, I see you trying to be healthier to improve your mental and physical health. I see you trying to stay grounded in tough times, I see you waiting until next month to do something or something you’ll be expecting this month won’t happen until May. Signs- Sagittarius/gemini. Initials- P, X, L

Pile 3

I see that this month will be important to listen to your intuition and make sure you think before acting, I see that you’re going to try to stay calm during tough times. You may loss some money or having issues with your finances and it’ll be unexpected, I see that there’s going to be someone around you trying to tempt or test you. There may be some gossip going around, this month will be important to handle conflict and obstacles calmly and logically. I see someone getting karma for messing with you, it’ll be important to be mature and take the high road. I see you being protected from things that’s beyond your control, I see something you want or a manifestation coming true. I see you getting a gift or surprise, I see you taking a vacation. Signs- Aries, Taurus, Capricorn. Initials- K, P, J

Personal readings always available, please watch my pick a card reading on YouTube.

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 11 months

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Comet Donati [Chapter 3: Steal My Girl]

A/N: Hello lovely readers! Thank you so so so much for the love this fic has received. I wanted to give you a heads up that I will be co-leading a field trip to Japan from July 4th-14th and will therefore have much less time to write. HOPEFULLY I won’t have to skip a Sunday update, but I wanted to make you aware just in case. I hope you enjoy Chapter 3!!! 💜

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

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+), drugs, alcohol, smoking, mental health struggles, Aegon-induced chaos, ANGST, Iceland, you cannot escape the Cookie Monster pajama pants.

Selected Chapter Quote: “So what, you don’t like me anymore?”

Word count: 8.3k (wtf I need to chill).

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

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

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

Athens, Madrid, Porto, Vienna, Stockholm, and now: descending into Reykjavik through clouds like iron. The North Atlantic is an endless sheen of cold overcast blue, a mirror of the sky. The earth is rocky and anemic. There are no jewel tones here, no sapphires or emeralds or aquamarines or fire opals or topazes. It is impossible to look down at Iceland, this dominion of impassionate jaggedness, and not think of how the Vikings had to reap their treasures from every other corner of Europe, silver and gold and glass and slaves piled into ships to be rowed back to the hostile earth they clung to, perhaps just to prove they could.

Across the aisle of the private jet—more like a penthouse than a plane, posh neutral colors and hand-stitched leather—Luke is showing Aemond his latest lyrics, loops of silver on matte black pages. They’re good, from what you’ve heard. They’re really good. And that tells you what kind of person Aemond truly is as he helps Luke polish rocks into gemstones. Anybody can soften the blow of mediocrity. It takes courage to build ladders for people who might one day outclimb you.

Daeron is playing his Nintendo 64, which is hooked up to a 98-inch flat screen tv; Mario is leaping through paintings into worlds of lava, ice, sentient ticking bombs. Criston is answering emails. Cregan is sprawled across a couch with his sunglasses on, presumably sound asleep. Jace is leering at you, dark hair hanging in his face and slurping a Vesper.

You ask him half-mocking: “What tattoo are you going to get for Reykjavik?”

He yanks off his sequined red blazer—nothing underneath, as usual—and twists around to show you the puffin on his left shoulder blade. Comet, at some point in time that preceded you, has already been to Iceland. “Cute, right? Wanna pet it?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m sorry I asked.”

He grins. “No you’re not.”

Aegon kicks the back of Jace’s chair. He’s scribbling some notes of his own, which is unusual. In place of a spiral notebook with onyx pages, Aegon is writing on crinkled Starbucks receipts with a Sharpie. He’s wearing his favorite aviator sunglasses, khaki cargo pants, an excessively bright cyan tank top, and matching Crocs.

Baela stares blankly out the window for a few seconds—like she’s buffering, a lagging connection—and then she looks to you hopefully. “Shopping when we land?”

“Does Iceland have shops…?”

“Probably more than Kansas,” Aemond says, then smiles mischieviously.

“Missouri,” you fling back. He returns his attention to Luke.

“They totally have shops in Iceland,” Baela assures you.

“Then I am amenable. I need more concert outfits.” You mostly wear your boy band t-shirts from home, which has become a joke: One Direction, Backstreet Boys, New Kids On The Block, NSYNC, the Jonas Brothers, Boyz II Men, 98 Degrees, BTS…but never Comet Donati. Anyone but them. Aegon calls you a traitor. Aemond teases, smirks, tries to hide how much he watches you the same way people contemplate art on museum walls, a little confounded, a little entranced.

“Rhaena?” Baela says. “Hello? Hello? Hola? Bonjour? Rhaena?”

Rhaena startles, peering up from her novel: Jurassic Park. Once upon a time, as you’ve learned, she had planned to study paleontology. She wants to be alone in the middle of a field someplace digging up bones. Well, no great tragedy there; one is never too old to be a paleontologist. She can take off five years, or ten years, or twenty, or thirty to see Luke through his touring days and then pick back up her own ambitions like keys left on a hook. But Baela gave up a ballet scholarship to follow Jace across the globe, puddle to puddle, land to land, and in your albeit limited understanding, ballerinas age in something like dog years. Their career is a brilliant, lightning-brief flash and then long, anonymous decades running out their mortal clock as choreographers, backup dancers, personal trainers, instructors for blue-blooded five-year-olds. Baela won’t be able to reclaim that dream for much longer. It might be too late already. She is out of practice; but she misses ballet. When Jace is being snide or oblivious, you’ve seen her gazing out windows—Escalades, hotels, jets—wondering if it was all worth it. You gut yourself for someone and they don’t even have the courtesy to put up a gravestone. It’s only natural to develop a propensity to haunt.

“What?” Rhaena asks.

“Shopping. This afternoon. Interested?”

Rhaena’s eyes go wide. She fidgets: closing and then opening her book, touching a hand to her earrings, delicate strings of small silver hearts. “Um…I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Oh, not this again,” Baela groans.

“Just go without me. Bring me back something, you know what I like.”

“What’s the problem?” You are investigative but not accusatory. The tone is essential.

“She’s scared of store employees,” Baela says.

“Well you don’t have to make it sound like that—!”

“What’s so scary about store employees?” you ask Rhaena, calm, cool, collected, nonjudgmental. Aemond glances over, as he often does when you’re working, like he can’t get enough of watching that switch flip, when you slink covertly into therapist mode like a water moccasin weaves through swamps, subtle ripples in the muddied water and vigilant eyes.

“I just hate it when people are watching me,” Rhaena says, twirling an earring. “They’re always waiting right by the door—especially at the posh places like the ones Baela goes to—and they want to know what I’m shopping for, and they want to make suggestions, and they follow me to the fitting room and ask what I like and what I don’t. And I can’t get rid of them! Even if I’m like ‘Just looking, thanks!’ they’ll circle back every five minutes to check on me. I can’t stand it. I get so frazzled I can’t decide how I really feel about a skirt or dress or whatever because I’m too busy trying to make conversation with someone I don’t want to talk to anyway. I end up with a headache and a shopping bag full of regrets. I’d rather click a button on my MacBook Air and save myself the suffering.”

You nod sagely. “What is it about talking to the employees that stresses you out so much?”

“I don’t want to say or do the wrong thing. I don’t want to cause problems.”

“But it’s not like you’re going to do anything they haven’t experienced before. They see hundreds, maybe even thousands of customers a month. And even if you did something ridiculously, dementedly embarrassing, like…um…hey, Aegon, what’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done while clothes shopping?”

“I fell asleep in a fitting room. I pissed on the floor. I set something on fire. I vandalized One Direction merchandise.”

“No, there was that other time,” Daeron says. Mario is swimming through rings of underwater coins; they chime gleefully as he collects them.

“What other time?” Aegon says.

Daeron grins. “Come on. You know.”

Aegon remembers. “Oh yeah. Once I bit a girl’s feet until I accidentally ripped off part of a toenail and she bled everywhere. But that wasn’t my fault. She was begging for it. It was consensual.”

Criston, not looking away from his emails, says: “And that’s why Aegon is now banned from all Michael Kors locations for life.”

“Right.” You turn back to Rhaena. “So you would never do anything that deranged. But even if somehow you did, what’s the actual worst-case scenario? What, realistically, could happen as a result?”

Rhaena considers this. “The employees will think I’m weird, I guess.”

“So what you’re so concerned about is that the store employees—who are literally paid to be inconvenienced by you—might think you’re weird? Which they’ll remember for, what, maybe an hour before some other customer gives them a more memorable calamity to focus on? You don’t think they’re more annoyed by purse-dog-toting heiresses screeching at them or cokeheads pissing on their floors?”

“Rude,” Aegon says.

Rhaena smiles guiltily. “I mean, when you put it that way, it does sound stupid.”

“Not stupid,” you insist. “Just out of proportion.”

“Okay,” Rhaena says. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “Okay. I guess I’ll go shopping.”

“Yes!” Baela cheers, already scrolling through Reykjavik shops on her iPhone.

“Hey, Stargirl,” Aegon says, and then hurls something at you like a frisbee. It’s an Amex Black Card.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “What’s my budget?”

“No budget. As long as it’s slutty.”

“I will buy nothing but cardigans and mom jeans.” You crane your neck to peek at his receipts. The black Sharpie squiggles aren’t words; they’re shapes, pictures. “What are you drawing?”

“New merch designs!” Aegon holds up the receipts so you can see.

“Circles…?”

He is somewhat wounded. “Donuts!”

You don’t even know where to begin. “Why donuts, Aegon?”

“Because that’s his code word for doing lines in the bathroom,” Criston says.

“No!” Aegon objects. “Because Donati sounds like donuts! So we could have all these mini donuts, print them on hats or shirts or whatever, and then in the frosting where the sprinkles would be we can put tiny stars, suns, moons, planets, galaxies…and comets, obviously.”

Jace scoffs. “I think you spend a little too much time thinking about donuts.”

Aegon goes quiet. So does everyone else. Gazes flit nervously around the cabin. The only sounds are the roar of the jet and Mario 64, although Daeron has turned his back on the cheerful Italian protagonist and is looking pensively over his shoulder at Jace. Aegon resumes sketching his cosmic Sharpie donuts, his lips pressed tightly together.

“Hey,” you say to Jace, and then once you have his attention, wicked dark eyes: “Shut the fuck up.”

“What?”

“It’s a great idea. It’s a really adorable idea, actually. Let’s see you come up with something better. Go on, whenever you’re ready. I’m waiting. I’m still waiting. But you’re not much of an ideas guy, are you, Jace? Fortunately, you’ve always had other people around to pull that weight.”

Jace opens his mouth to say something, then snaps it shut as Cregan stands up. He towers over you both, as tall as Aemond but more muscly all over, in the chest and the shoulders and the legs. He lowers his sunglasses to show his eyes: greyish, cold, flinty. He glares at Jace, and then at you, and then at Jace again. Jace holds up both hands, showing his palms. You bow your head in capitulation. Cregan lies back down on the couch and repositions his sunglasses just as the pilot turns on the fasten seatbelts signs. As you click yours into place, you exchange a glance with Aemond across the aisle. He is smiling, foxlike and approving, as if he can’t wait to see what else you have left to show him.

“So!” Baela says. “Guess who found a shop in Reykjavik that sells Gucci!”

The jet glides through mist and fog to make a rather bumpy landing at Keflavik International Airport, fighting against gusts of wind coming in off the North Atlantic Ocean, the same water that swallowed the Titanic, the Faucett Peru Boeing 727, the Free Life hot air balloon, whaling vessels and Viking longships, countless cruisers and destroyers and submarines that blasted holes into each other during the world wars. As the band prepares to disembark, Aemond reaches into the front pocket of his shirt—black, with white circling koi fish—and slides out a pair of sunglasses. He doesn’t like wearing them. They limit his vision even more than it already is. But he never walks into an airport without sunglasses on, you’ve discovered. Just in case paparazzi are there snapping photos.

“You don’t have to do that,” you tell Aemond.

He gestures to his scar and his blind eye, a pale cloudy blue. “I’ve thought about just getting it cut out. But then I’d have to worry about shoving in a fake one.”

“I think it’s kind of beautiful,” you say. “It reminds me of Neptune or something.”

And the look he gives you, the look, like he’s never heard anything like this before, like he didn’t know that words could fit together in that order. You hold out your hand to him. He lays the sunglasses in your palm. You put them on, grinning up at him.

“Now I’m the one who looks like a multi-millionaire popstar.”

“Hey, we match!” Aegon says as he follows you and Aemond out of the jet, massaging your shoulders and clopping noisily in his Crocs.

There are paparazzi at the airport, but only two of them, young men in black hoodies who dart around loosing flashes into the stuffy, aggressively heated air. Jace, Baela, Daeron, and Aegon beam and wave, radiant, magnetic, born celebrities. Rhaena smiles politely but hides behind Luke. Cregan saunters and smolders, knowing exactly what his devotees expect from him. Criston and the security guards are loaded up with suitcases like pack mules. The paparazzi don’t pay much attention to Aemond—a former heartthrob, a cracked relic, a fossil or a ruin—but one of them snaps a few pictures of him. Aemond turns his face so they’ll get his good side, his unmarred side…and then he grabs for your hand. You try not to reveal how ecstatic you are, how wildly, uncoolly, over-the-moon thrilled. Your expression might end up commemorated forever in a tabloid, after all.

Shopping in Reykjavik is mostly wool sweaters, hiking boots, and weather-proof jackets, but Baela leads you and Rhaena to a boutique that carries something more her speed: Gucci, Burberry, Balenciaga, Valentino, Saint Laurent. You and Baela try to distract the employees as much as possible; still, they find time to nettle Rhaena with those bothersome, predictable, unnecessary questions. She gets a little flustered, but she fights the instinct to run and hide, to allow herself to sink into a frenetic puddle of self-inquisition. You can almost see the words scrolling behind her dark gentle eyes like a news ticker: They get paid to help me. They aren’t going to remember any of this in a few hours. I’m not on a stage. I’m not being judged.

In the fitting room, you take two selfies to send to Aemond’s WhatsApp account: one in a flowing neon yellow gown, the other in a short, velvet, sparkly black dress embroidered with silver stars.

You ask: Day or night?

He answers before you’ve changed back into your jeans and pink Harry Styles hoodie. Night, obviously. And then he adds: Which constellation are you? Vulpecula the fox? Cygnus the swan?

“God, he’s such a dork,” you murmur to yourself, smiling. You have to think for a while before you reply. You don’t know many constellations; that makes it difficult to rattle off something witty. Then you are inspired. You type: Definitely not Virgo :)

He responds immediately: :)))))

“What does that mean?” you whisper to yourself in the solitude of the boxlike fitting room. “What the hell does that mean???” He spends nearly all of his time with you, but he rarely touches you. He’s never made a move. He’s never even kissed you. You wouldn’t mind if he did. No, fuck the coyness that women are supposed to cloak themselves in to preserve their worth. You’re waiting for him to kiss you like someone drowning waits for a gasp of air.

Despite Aemond’s vote, you can’t help yourself. You buy both dresses. You don’t look much like an Aegon Targaryen, but the cashier doesn’t seem too troubled by this. Baela and Rhaena are still trying on outfits, so you swing your bag around boredly and wander over to see what Criston is up to. At Aemond’s insistence, he accompanied you on this shopping expedition and left the rest of the security detail back at the Reykjavik EDITION, a luxury hotel overlooking the harbor. Criston is in the jewelry section and holding up a medallion necklace, rotating it to see how the light reflects off the speckling of tiny gemstones, the wise golden face. His own face is distant and melancholy.

“Oh, that’s lovely, Criston!” you say. “All those emeralds. Who’s pictured on it?”

“Saint Jude. Lost causes.”

Interesting. “Are you religious?”

“Not especially. But Alicent is.”

“Who…?”

Criston walks off to the cash register. You watch him go, curious and perplexed.

Back at the hotel, you enter your suite to find a blond Targaryen lounging in your bed…but perhaps not the right one. Aegon still has his Crocs on and is, for some reason, clutching a plushie puffin. He glances over at you, noting your shopping bag.

“Fashion show?” he says. “I hope it’s nothing but miniskirts and bikinis.”

“Don’t you have places to be? Substances to snort?”

“Cregan is currently trying to locate some.”

“That’s really not good for you. Physically or mentally. You might be addicted.”

He barks a laugh, like it’s absurd. “You can’t get addicted to coke, Stargirl.”

“You definitely can.”

He suddenly looks panicked, like he’s never considered this before.

“So.” You hesitate. “Aemond.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with the concept.”

“He’s insecure. Very insecure, though he’s learned how to hide it.”

Aegon throws and catches the puffin, bouncing it off the ceiling. “I wouldn’t disagree.”

“It goes deeper than the accident, I think. The scar, his eye, what happened with the band…that awakened it again. That freed something that he’d had locked away. But where did it start?”

Aegon stares up at the ceiling. He tosses the puffin a few more times, abusing it terribly. “Whoever you are when you’re in high school…that’s sort of who you are forever, you know? If you’re popular and beloved and understood, you carry a certain self-confidence into the rest of your life with you like a suitcase. It’s an assumption that people care about what you have to say. It’s a conviction of your own value. It’s a presupposition the world would have to wrestle away from you. But if you’re a loser in high school, that stays with you too. And it’s one hell of a heavy suitcase to lug around.”

You try to imagine seeing Aemond through eyes that aren’t awed, craving, quietly adoring. It’s simply not possible. “He was alone?” you ask softly, dreading the answer.

“I had friends. He had grudges.” Aegon’s mouth twists as he tries to stop it from trembling. “My father…”

“I know, Aegon.” Your voice is gentle. “You told me in Kansas City, that night at the bar. You don’t have to say it again.”

He is relieved. “Yeah. So people respond to that in different ways, right? I lived in the present. I talked to anybody who would listen to me, and I partied and I got high and I got laid, and I was the antithesis of the kind of son my father would have wanted just to spite him. Aemond escaped into the past. He read books, traced bloodlines, collected old obsolete things. Maybe that gave him hope that a better place was waiting for him out there somewhere, a better time. He got to be cool for three years. That’s it, and that’s all he’ll ever have. He was the one with vision. He said he was going to audition for The X Factor, and I only went with him to meet girls. Then he made it through the first round and I did too. And when they were going to cut us, he found Jace and Luke and Cregan and convinced everyone to start performing together. The show wanted to replace Luke, did you know that? They thought he was too boyish, too innocent. Aemond fought for him. And then Comet finished in second place, and all the sudden we were signed to a label, and we were selling millions of records and we were touring, and we were winning Grammys, and we were buying our parents and siblings houses…and two months after our third album came out, Aemond was maimed at the Budokan and it was time for him to get off the ride.”

You stare at Aegon, tremendously sad, not knowing what to say. Sometimes the right words don’t exist.

Aegon smirks. “He really likes you.”

“Maybe.” And then, with guileless vulnerability: “I hope so.”

“That’s dangerous.”

Your brow knits into fearful grooves. “Why?”

“I know how to enjoy something without owning it. I don’t think Aemond does.”

You don’t want to ask, but you have to. “What was Shelby like?”

Aegon considers this for a long time before he answers. “She was simultaneously too good for him and not good enough.”

Too gorgeous. Too cool. Too Pinterest-board perfect, airy like summer. But not deep. A river, a glimmer, but with no understanding of the abyss. You aren’t sure how you know that this is what Aegon means, but you do. You don’t want to think about Shelby anymore. You pivot. “So Aemond is the past and you’re the present. Who’s the future? Daeron?”

Aegon smiles, lazy and warm. “I think you’re the future.”

“Yeah right. Get your Crocs off my bed.”

He complies, groaning, flopping onto the floor gracelessly.

“Where’d you get the puffin?”

“Some Icelandic kid recognized me in the elevator. He wanted to give me a present. In return, I signed an autograph and got him and his dad front row seats to the show tomorrow. So I’d say it was a very favorable exchange for him.”

“You’re a saint,” you say, and then find yourself thinking randomly of Saint Jude again. Lost causes. Lost causes.

Aegon grins at you as he crawls to his feet and makes for the door. “Patron saint of mayhem.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re watching old Comet Donati performances on YouTube when the hotel fire alarm goes off. And it’s strange, because the unscarred, clear-eyed boy on the screen is Aemond but also isn’t him; he smiles more easily, he looks at people without suspicion, he is ebullient and confident and carefree like kids blowing bubbles on front porches. When you open your suite door, dressed in your favorite Cookie Monster pajama pants and an oversized New Kids On The Block t-shirt, Aemond is just arriving.

“Oh good,” he says. “You’re still awake.” And then he walks with you to the nearest stairwell.

Outside, the hotel guests are clustered together with their travel companions, shuddering under coats and sweaters and blankets clasped around their shoulders like capes. Even at the start of July, Iceland is cold: fifties during the day as Americans like you measure in Fahrenheit, forties at night, nearly always overcast. It’s 11 p.m., but the sun won’t set until midnight, and even then only for a few short hours; the sky is wearing the colors of dusk, lilac, rose pink, pale blue, fire and gold. You’re shivering, rubbing your bare forearms and feeling the goosebumps that have risen there like braille. Aemond tugs off his black and white Calvin Klein hoodie and offers it to you. As you pull it over your head, you breathe in the pieces of him that have snared in the fabric: smoke and cologne, gin and soap and the brine of the seaside air. Now wearing only his jeans and his koi fish shirt, Aemond lights a cigarette and gazes up at the hotel, postmodern angles and semi-transparent glass.

“No one’s going to give me a hoodie?” Aegon says, quaking in his cyan tank top. Criston reluctantly unzips his bomber jacket and hands it over.

“Did you do this?” Criston asks him, meaning the fire alarm.

“What?! No! No way, man! It wasn’t me!”

Criston turns to Cregan for confirmation. Cregan shrugs, ambiguous. “I knew it!” Criston exclaims. He is distraught.

Several fire engines arrive, red lights strobing, and firefighters enter the hotel to investigate. Baela and Jace are standing near each other but not speaking, arms crossed, faces tense. Luke, Rhaena, and Daeron are watching an episode of The Crown on Luke’s iPhone. Cregan lights a cigarette and manages to take two drags before Criston notices and lunges to bat it out of his hand.

“Stop it!” Criston orders. “You’ll ruin your voice!” Nobody tells Aemond not to smoke. His voice doesn’t matter anymore.

Aegon asks you, his hands buried in the pockets of Criston’s jacket: “Would you run into a burning building to save me?”

“Why would you be in a burning building?”

“That’s really not the point.”

“I’d think about it.”

Luke says, the glow of his iPhone dancing across his face: “Wow, Prince Charles is a bitch.”

“You’d think about it?” Aegon says to you. “You’d think about it?!”

“You have no excuse to be in a burning building. You have now experienced an evacuation, you know exactly how to leave a building successfully, if you’re still in it for some reason then that’s your problem.”

“You hear that, Criston?” Aegon says. “This is a good thing. Now everyone knows what to do if there’s a real fire! And we’re in hotels all the time, so this is super helpful!”

“Please shut up,” Criston begs.

“Hey Cregan, share with the class, what did you learn about fire safety from this fortuitous occasion?”

“I already knew what to do.”

Aegon is grinning. “Yeah? What’s that, Cregan?”

“Get in the shower and wait for the fire department to come rescue me.”

Everyone laughs—even Jace and Baela—and Cregan’s lips quirk up in one corner, the only hint that he is joking. A parade of firefighters exit the hotel. One of them is carrying a toaster. Black smoke pours out of the slits in the top.

She says something in Icelandic that you can’t understand, then repeats in English: “Who was trying to cook hotdogs in a toaster?”

The guests chatter incredulously among themselves: Who would do such a thing?

You, Aemond, Luke, Rhaena, Daeron, Cregan, Jace, Baela, and Criston are mindful to look anywhere except at Aegon. You gaze out at the horizon, the kaleidoscopic midnight sun. Aegon peers down at his Crocs, hair tangled and blue eyes wide.

“Very well,” the firefighter with the toaster says, a little smugly. “We will consult with the hotel staff and see which guest was registered to that room.”

“Goddammit!” Criston hisses, and shoves by the band to go meet the firefighters. You can’t hear what’s being said, but his hands move in exaggerated gestures of humiliation, apology, restitution. Fortunately, the Icelandic people seem to be forgiving.

Daeron turns to Aegon. All he says is: “Why?”

“I couldn’t figure out the buttons on the stove!”

Criston comes trudging back to the band. Guests are being admitted into the hotel to return to their drinks, their television shows and mystery novels, their families, their lovers, their beds. “Alright, it’s taken care of. Go to your rooms. All of you, right now, go.”

No one has the heart to argue with him; he looks half-broken already. Everybody disperses. You and Aemond end up alone together as the elevator zooms to the fifth floor. He takes his small, square metal lighter out of his jeans pocket and toys with it, repeatedly flicking the lid open and then shutting it again.

You point to it. “Vintage lighter. Vintage bike. And yet you write with glittery gel pens instead of quills and ink. Poser.”

“I like old things,” he says, smiling. “I think history is important.”

And you hear Aegon’s words like an echo: That’s dangerous. You start pulling off Aemond’s hoodie to give it back to him.

“No,” he says, sounding pleased. “You keep it.” So you do, finding excuses to bring the sleeves close to your face—touching your hair, your lips, your eyelashes—so you can inhale him.

Aemond leaves you at the door of your suite, but you don’t go inside. You wait for another five minutes until Criston steps out of an elevator and into the hallway, alone and agitated. Still, he has concern to spare for you.

“You okay? Locked yourself out?”

“No. I was just hoping to ask you something.”

“Go ahead.” Criston is tired, but his eyes, dark like fertile earth, are attentive.

“When Aemond was hurt…when the label yanked him out of Comet…no one fought for him?”

“Luke did,” Criston says.

And then he continues down the hall, shoulders low, a man troubled by both the past and the future.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Blue Lagoon is like Aemond’s sightless left eye: a milky blue, opaque, something you could drown in. The band spends several hours splashing and wading in water warmer than the blood in your veins. The white silica mud that forms the floor is soft beneath your bare feet, squishing between your toes; people spread it over their skin like a skin shedding its scales in reverse. Criston orders strawberry-banana smoothies from the in-water bar, trying to distract Aegon and Jace from the beer and the wine. Currently, Comet’s most worrisome performers are locked in combat: Daeron is on Aegon’s shoulders, Luke on Jace’s, entangled in a spirited chicken fight. This is much preferable to their first choice, Marco Polo, which led to Jace ‘accidentally’—and repeatedly—bumping into various early-twenties female tourists, whereupon he would inevitably profusely apologize, introduce himself, and pose for selfies, beads of turbid mineral water dripping from his curls. Cregan has drifted to the other side of the lagoon, floating on his back and basking beneath the overcast midday sun.

“I can’t believe they made everyone shower naked before getting in here,” Rhaena says, drinking her smoothie, submerged in rippling blue up to her collarbones. She had nearly refused to go through with it—I’ll wait in the car! I’ll be fine! I’ll just watch The Crown on my phone for three hours!—until you and Baela offered to hold up your towels to shield her from view and insisted that none of the other guests (all female, as the showers are sorted by gender) were paying attention. Nudity is not a big deal in Iceland. It’s quite a far cry from Missouri.

“You gotta honor the local culture, babe.” Baela flashes Rhaena a teasing grin. “Scandinavians are super progressive. No shame about bodies or relationships. Very sex-positive.”

“Well Jace is certainly blending in.”

Now Baela isn’t grinning anymore. She frowns broodingly out over the lagoon. Rhaena, regretting that she said it but knowing it can’t be taken back, noisily slurps at her smoothie even when it’s gone. You and Aemond exchange an uncomfortable glance. Baela has never broached the topic of her relationship with you, but you know it’s coming. You can sometimes see her working up the nerve like a bucket filling with water, drop by drop.

You change the subject. “See, Rhaena? The naked shower thing wasn’t even that bad. It was over in two minutes, and absolutely nobody was judging you. And if you hadn’t done it, you would have missed out on this amazing experience!”

“You weren’t nervous?” she asks you. “Not at all?”

“I little bit, yeah. Of course. I’m an American.” Everyone chuckles. “But logically, I knew no one would really be watching me. I’m not that interesting. And also…I wasn’t truly naked.”

“Huh…?”

You wiggle your eyebrows and, smiling radiantly, spin around and point to the black-ink tattoo between your shoulder blades, underscored by the straps of your swimsuit that cross just below it: a comet with a streaming tail, lyrics that Aemond dreamed up in a kinder world. Rhaena laughs.

“Oh, right, of course.”

“You are obsessed with that thing!” Baela says, but she sounds relatively happy again.

“It’s true. I am. I admit it.” Sometimes you find yourself staring at it in hotel bathroom mirrors still foggy with steam, wiping away condensation to marvel at the irrevocable ways in which Aemond has marked you, ways you are thankful cannot be erased. When you wear anything that reveals your upper back like a spilled secret, you often catch Aemond gazing at it too. Now he reaches over and skims a fingerprint along the circle that his lyrics form around the comet:

I’ll come back for you if it kills me

Comets clip by again after eons and so can I

There’s a jolt down your spine like lightning, but more eager than jarring. All other thoughts vanish from you. You look over at Aemond, and he looks back, his lips slightly parted, his right eye beckoning to you. And you know it will be good with him, if it happens, when it happens. It will be more than good. It will be laced with an intensity, with a dire breed of necessity that you’ve never tasted before. All at once, you and Aemond realize what you’ve done and drift away from each other again, weakening gravity, elliptical orbits.

“No shame, guys,” Baela quips, raising her smoothie glass in a toast. “Sex-positive, remember?”

After the 45-minute drive back to Reykjavik, and after the concert, the band coalesces in Jace’s suite. There aren’t many hangers-on for this stop of the tour; Reykjavik is isolated and peaceful and not particularly desirable for friends of convenience who are more interested in clubbing and drugs than camaraderie. You wouldn’t trade nights like this for anything in the world.

Aemond is reading off his latest notes, white ink on black paper, stars on the backdrop of the universe. A Benson & Hedges cigarette smolders between two fingers on his left hand. Smoke curls up around his face. “Aegon, you were three steps behind the choreography for basically the entire show.”

“Yeah, that was on purpose.”

“It wasn’t,” Aemond counters, but he can’t help but smile.

“Women love a tragic disaster of a man who is screaming to be fixed.”

“Daeron,” Aemond continues. “I really like that hair flip you’ve started doing…”

Aegon is knocking back dark glass bottles of Gædingur Stout and slurring, very drunk and sinking deeper by the minute. In the absence of coke, he has resorted to other crutches. You are squeezed between Aemond and Baela on one of the couches. And Aemond isn’t really touching you, but he also is: the delicious subtle pressure of his thigh against yours, occasional nudges of his elbow, ostensibly unintentional grazes of knuckles and palms. He’s drinking his usual, a Bramble, and so are you, swirls of slow-moving pink like drops of blood in open water. And you think in a hazy bliss like listening to ground-level conversations from the bottom of a swimming pool: Tonight, tonight, tonight, he’s going to come back to my room with me tonight.

“Oh great,” you mumble as you check your Facebook messages on your iPhone.

“What’s wrong?” Rhaena asks. She’s nestled against Luke on the opposite couch, twirling locks of his hair around her benign, delicate fingers. Jace is sitting beside Luke, drinking a Vesper and trying not to make eye contact with Baela. Daeron is in the fuzzy white sheepskin lounge chair, Cregan perched on a bar stool, Criston standing watchfully with a vivid green bottle of Perrier in one hand. When he briefly steps out onto the balcony to take a call from the label, you can hear only the most dim, indistinct murmurings through the thick tinted glass, sounds but not words. Aegon is sitting—and occasionally crawling around—on the floor. The Backstreet Boys’ I Want It That Way is playing.

“I’m subletting my apartment in Kansas City and there is a strict no pet policy. But my neighbors snitched on the new tenant and apparently she’s got a Flemish Giant rabbit living there with her.”

“Not even a normal rabbit,” Baela muses. “A giant rabbit.”

You sigh. “All the rugs are going to be chewed up by the time I get back.” And Aemond glances over anxiously, like he doesn’t want any reminders that you won’t always be around.

“What’s your apartment like?” he says.

“Old. Vintage. Most of it hasn’t been updated since the 1950s. You’d appreciate it, actually. It would match your aesthetic.”

“Maybe I’ll have to see it sometime.”

You smirk at him, flirtatious, baiting, the silver stars on your dress reflecting golden lamplight. “Maybe. If I invite you.”

He leans in to whisper so only you can hear: “You will.”

“I think I’d be a landlord if I wasn’t famous,” Jace says, nursing his Vesper meditatively like an aspiring philosopher. “I’d just sit back and collect the checks as they rolled in. And you get to raise the rent every year.”

“Yeah, that sounds like you,” Aegon says, grinning up at him saccharinely.

“What would you be, Stargirl?” Jace asks; and you realize you hate the sound of him using Aegon’s name for you.

“I mean, a therapist.” And everyone laughs, even Criston.

Jace flushes, brushing his curls back from his face with one hand. “Oh yeah. Clearly.”

You look to Aemond. “You’d be a historian or an archivist or something.”

“Or a writer,” Luke says.

“Maybe,” Aemond agrees, a tad uncomfortable with the attention. “Or an animal activist, maybe. I’d like to do some sort of good in the world.”

Aegon shouts, far more loudly than necessary: “What would you be, Criston?”

“Thousands of miles away from you.” More laughter, riotous; but Criston is smiling a little.

“What about you, Cregan?” Jace asks. “What would you want to be if Comet didn’t exist?”

Cregan downs a shot of Absolut Vodka. “A plastic surgeon.”

“What? Why?”

Cregan shrugs. “You get to see tits all the time.”

There are scandalized squeals and guffaws. Baela says: “I would not let you anywhere near my tits.”

“And not just tits!” Daeron adds brightly. “Don’t they do, what’s it called, vaginal rejuvenation?”

Cregan points at him with his empty shot glass. “Exactly.”

“Oh God, that sounds painful.” Rhaena hides her face behind a flute of champagne.

“Yeah,” you say. “I don’t think I’m interested.”

Aegon snorts, drips of Gaedingur Stout flying from his nose. “Like you’d ever need it. You’ve got a pornstar pussy, fucking gorgeous.”

A hush sweeps through the room like a dust storm. Baffled glances dart around wildly. Immediately, Aegon realizes his mistake. He gazes up at you from the floor with large, glazed, drunken blue eyes that glisten with apology. You gape back, half-furious and half-petrified.

“Wait, what?” Aemond says. Ashes build on his cigarette, forgotten.

“Oh, wow.” Jace gestures from you to Aegon. “You guys…you guys have…?”

“It was once, a long time ago,” you say quickly. “Like, a really long time ago. Over a year ago.”

Aegon is trying to help. “Ages ago. Ancient history.”

“Where? In Kansas City?!” Baela gasps, stunned.

Aegon tells her: “You remember that bar we all went to after the show, right? The one on the roof?”

Baela is blinking at you, not comprehending. “You hooked up with him? In a bar?! Aegon?!”

“Um, yeah.”

Jace brays out a laugh, shaking his head. “Damn, Stargirl. I thought you had better taste than that.”

You feel like you’re fighting for your life. You feel like you can’t breathe. “It really wasn’t serious…” Not the sex part, anyway.

“No, no, it totally wasn’t,” Aegon agrees gamely. “It was like, what? How long were we in that bathroom? Maybe ten minutes total?”

Daeron is giggling. “Bruh, stop roasting yourself!”

As the chatter flies, you hide your face in your hands; beneath your palms, your cheeks are hot. You can feel Aemond pulling away from you, spaces opening up between your thighs and shoulders and arms like the ever-expanding void of the universe. When you steal a glimpse of him through the cracks in your fingers, he is staring down at the floor. He is silent, but you can see the thoughts—the images—riddling him like bullets. You can see him filling up with them like a punctured ship fills with seawater. He smokes until his cigarette is gone, and then immediately lights another.

Luke is the one to mercifully intercede. “Hey, Criston, where are we going next?”

“Uh,” Criston says, trying not to gawk at you or Aegon. “Let me think. Uh. Oh, right. Paris.”

Jace cackles. “The city of love! How appropriate!”

Criston ignores him. “You have some press interviews and then you’re doing two shows at the Accor Arena on July 7th and 8th…”

Aemond gulps down the rest of his Bramble and then walks out onto the balcony, closing the sliding glass door behind him.

“Fuck,” Aegon sighs miserably, then guzzles his Gaedingur Stout.

You bolt off the couch and go after Aemond. The heavy sliding glass door growls as you roll it open and then shut it again. Outside, Reykjavik is cold and windswept. The midnight sun is aflame. It’s still too bright to see the Northern Lights; even if they were there, you would have no way of knowing. Aemond is smoking with his back to you. He’s looking out over the boats bobbing in the harbor, sunbeams glinting on the crests of waves. Flapping gulls swoop and scream.

You say cuttingly, like a surgeon slicing away malignancies: “So what, you don’t like me anymore?”

Aemond flicks ashes over the balcony railing. “I just think I understand you better.”

“What does that mean?”

He whirls to you and says pointedly: “Why are you here?”

A disorienting question. Too easy. “I followed you out onto the balcony.”

“No, here with the band, here in Reykjavik, why are you here?”

You know how the truth sounds, but you can’t rewrite it. “Because Aegon asked me to be.”

“Because he asked you to come fix me, right?” Aemond demands. “To crack open my skull and stir things around until I’m okay with the fact that my life ended seven months ago.”

“No!” you shout into the wind. “I mean, yes, he thought I’d be able to help you, to help Comet, but that’s not what this is about for me anymore—”

“Why would I believe you? You’re a liar, you’re a confirmed liar, why would I believe a single goddamn word of what you have to say?!”

“I didn’t lie to you!”

“Friends!” Aemond roars. He doesn’t touch you, but his rage is horrifying, ageless and deep like lava bubbling beneath tectonic plates. “You said you and Aegon were friends!”

“We are friends—”

“No, you’re not. You met him, you fucked him, and then when he invited you to join the tour you dropped everything to do it, why, because you still want him? And I’m the charity case? Or I was just next in line? Maybe you were planning to work your way through the whole band. Who’s next, Jace? I don’t think he’d object.”

“No—!”

“You and Aegon. And you didn’t even have the guts to tell me.”

“Because I didn’t want to have this conversation, the one where you eviscerate me for something that happened before I even met you!”

“You chose him,” Aemond says, venomous. “At the bar in Kansas City, you chose him.”

“What?! Aemond, I don’t even remember seeing you, I don’t think you were there at all—”

“I was there.” He glares at you, thunderstorms, tornadoes, the earth splitting in two. “Last June. Rooftop bar. String lights. View of the river. I remember it, I was there.”

“Well then you didn’t notice me either and you probably spent the whole night with Pilates princess, Malibu Barbie Shelby, so what’s the fucking point?!”

He glowers at the horizon. Iceland DOES have jewel tones, you think erratically. But they only come out at night, like owls or bats. “It’s different.”

“It’s not different! You’re so convinced people don’t like you that you do insane, irrational things that make people not like you! It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy! It’s a fucking circle, you idiot!”

“I’ve had enough psychoanalysis, thanks.”

“No, you could use some more of it, you could use a lot more, you have so many demons it’s like Paranormal Activity in your brain, they’re in there all day tearing things off the walls and kicking over chairs and sabotaging anything you dare to care about and you let them!”

He turns away from you. “Just go the fuck back to Kansas.”

“I’m from Missouri!”

Aemond pitches the end of his cigarette over the balcony. His good eye flicks to the sliding glass door. The curtains rustle as the faces that hovered there just seconds ago disappear back into the suite. Very muffled through the thick glass, you can hear Criston chastising people.

You ask Aemond, embers in your throat: “This is really something you consider unforgiveable?”

He shakes his head, mournful, violently disappointed. “You’re just a groupie. You’re just a slut.”

Slut. It’s not the word, it’s the way he said it, with dismissiveness, with condemnation, the same way men love to use it as a blade to carve off every other piece of you—kindness, coldness, ferocity, loyalty, wit, passion, talent, triumphs, failures, ghosts—until that one little word is all that’s left. You’re dismantled into a clutter of loose bolts and bent nails. You’re a beef cow that was led into the maze of a gnashing, metal-and-blood processing plant and came out the other side a brainless, raw-pink patty just the right size to fit in a Big Mac box, something to be consumed but not remembered. “What did you say to me?”

He’s staring out into the twilight sky, both hands on the balcony railing. “I can’t believe you. I can’t believe I…”

“Are you kidding me?! I can’t believe I got your lyrics tattooed on my fucking back, what am I supposed to do about that now, rip my own skin off?!”

“So get it covered up. I’m sure Aegon would be thrilled to help you choose a new design, or Jace, or Cregan, or Daeron, or whoever.”

“You know what I think?” you say, caustic like acid.

“Don’t say it,” he threatens, low and dark.

“I think you haven’t fucked anyone since the accident, and you’re terrified to. But you shouldn’t be, Aemond. Because there’s nothing wrong with you. There has never been anything wrong with you.”

But he doesn’t hear that part. He only hears the first thing, what you never should have said at all. It’s true, but that doesn’t mean you should have said it. “I hate you,” he says softly, and you can’t think of a reply. The space between you fills up with wind, cold, dying sunlight. Aemond looks at the sliding glass door. “I don’t want to go back in there.”

“Well, we’re five stories off the ground, so you’ll probably have to.”

He studies the series of balconies that run along this side of the hotel, each separated by perhaps three feet of open air. Then he starts climbing over the metal railing.

“Aemond, don’t!”

But it’s too late. Fortunately, he has long limbs. He scrambles onto the next balcony, and then the one after that, and then one more, until he reaches the balcony for his own suite. He tries the sliding glass door—locked—and then sits down to wait for someone to open it. You go back inside Jace’s suite, where everyone pretends to have been talking about something other than you.

“Where’s Aemond?” Criston says, alarmed.

“He’s on the balcony of his suite. You should go let him in.”

“What?!” Criston yells, and then sprints out into the hallway.

You flee too. Both Baela and Aegon try to stop you, try to talk to you. They’re asking what Aemond said. They’re asking if you’re okay. You tell them you’re fine and that you want to be left alone. They argue. You insist. You walk back to your own room and start packing.

Your suitcase fills up with crumpled clothes and souvenirs: a Colosseum pencil sharpener from Rome, a tiny alabaster Apollo from Athens, a Spanish fighting bull refrigerator magnet from Madrid, handmade soap from Porto, a bar of chocolate from Vienna, a moose snow globe from Stockholm, a silica mud mask from the Blue Lagoon, a tiny stuffed comet that Rhaena crocheted for you. You reach back to touch your fingertips to the comet tattooed over your spine, tears biting in your eyes. If I had told him from the start, would that have made a difference? If I had met him first, would we have had a chance? You are gathering up your makeup when you hear a knock on the doorframe.

Cregan lurks there. When he speaks, he sounds startled; he sounds afraid. “You can’t leave.”

“I’ve literally never had a conversation with you, so thanks for the input but I’m still going.”

“No,” he says, persistent. “You can’t leave.”

“Aemond doesn’t want me here.” Your voice is fragile, shattering. “I can’t help him anymore.”

“It’s not just about Aemond. It’s about everyone. They’re all fucked up. They all need you.”

You stare at Cregan, not understanding. “I really don’t think I’m equipped for this.”

He fixes his cool greyish eyes on you. He is harsh but somehow not unkind. “You would never be able to comprehend where I came from. I’m not going back to that. The band has given me everything. I’m not going to let anyone take that away from me. You have to stay. You have to fix Comet. You can’t leave.”

He watches you, and you watch him, and you aren’t sure who has the upper hand here, who is the predator and who is the prey. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe everyone is a patchwork of strengths and deficits, fields of gold strewn with landmines.

At last, you relent. And Cregan doesn’t vanish until you’ve begun taking your souvenirs out of your suitcase and placing each of them—carefully, reverently—back on your nightstand where they were before.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aegon x reader #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #Aegon II Targaryen #Aegon Targaryen #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #aemond x reader

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finndeservesbetter · 1 year

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Hey so I know I’m not on here much anymore but I need help and this is literally the only place I have a half decent reach at.

I’ve been struggling financially for about 6 months now but I’ve been trying my best not to ask for help, but last month I had a medical scare (I know most people go into specifics but honestly it was pretty scary and I’d rather keep the details to friends and family and others I trust) that thankfully doesn’t seem to be too urgent yet, but I have to go in for at least two more check ups and depending on what the doctors decide is wrong with me exactly and what my insurance will cover, I might need at least 500 dollars to cover all of this.

On top of that I did my taxes and found out I owe the government money /112 dollars I think/ for the first time ever apparently which really put me in a terrible mental space for a while since I usually get refunds, or at LEAST not owe anything.

Since it’s Black History month I’m hoping if any of you can spare the money to send some my way, I was hoping with a new year my financial struggles would finally ease up a bit but things have only gotten worse and it’s exhausting living pay check to pay check and worrying that your health will possibly only make things worse in the near future. If you can spare anything at all I’d be incredibly grateful.

Cash App

0/600

#help #black history #please reblog #medical situations #black history month #blm

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disasterbijamietartt · 1 year

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Maybe I’m delusional and drank too much wine, but this is why Roy Kent being a closeted queer man explains EVERYTHING

While writing my meta piece about Jamie x Keeley I spent a lot of time thinking “What about Roy?”, since there are no convincing love interests for him aside from Keeley.

And, well, Jamie.

And for the first time I evaluated this as something that really could happen, since now there is the legit possibility that they make homophobia in professional football the prevalent theme in this season and having multiple queer storylines would help to illustrate different point of views and they could explore this with a Roy x Jamie romance plot.

And then I looked at Roy and … basically everything fell into place.

Why he represses his emotions, why he is so so angry, why he is so full with insecurities and struggles with his self-worth, why he is unable to show (physical or emotional) affection to a man without somehow having to taint it with an unnecessarily violent outbreak – the only notable exception being the Hug™️ in “Man City”. Something that hasn’t been addressed by anyone since then, which was a choice I always considered very odd, but postponing Roy’s character development to season 3 makes actually lot’s of sense, if Roy’s struggles are rooted in internalised homophobia. And if being queer in professional sports is the theme of season 3 like mental health was the theme of season 2.

Still makes his angry, violent outbursts really jarring and he has to show accountability, but if the pain he inflicted on others is related to the trauma of being forced to be in the closet for 25 odd years, that would be so heartbreaking. And it would fit into the theme of the show that actually good people like Rebecca or Jamie – and Nate once he gets his redemption – do unforgivable things and inflict pain on people who do not deserve it as a trauma response. Sure, it could be some other trauma – but this explanation would fit so well into this seasons theme, it just makes SO MUCH SENSE to me.

Also, Trent’s critique explains some of Roy’s insecurities, but he already was full of anger at seventeen, so the root of his anger has to be something different – and growing up queer in a hella homophobic surrounding since age ten and forced to stay in the closet unless he wants to throw away his dream career, if that is not a reason to be filled to the brim with anger, I don’t know what is.

And as far as I recall, the only people he actually physically attacks are Colin (the headbutt in 1x3) and Jamie. Then his beef with Trent.

In other words, we only ever see him being irrationally aggressive and violent towards queer coded or canonically queer men. Yes, he usually has reasons that are not related to (coded) sexuality – with the notable exception of “I have to headbutt Jamie before I hug him lest it seems gay!”

And the “ugly, ugly boy”-thing? Vanity is often used for queer coding. So Roy mocks something about Jamie that is queer coded.

This screams internalised homophobia.

But I hear the naysayer going “Aren’t you reaching a bit?”

Maybe, but let us take a look at some ways how Roy is queer coded that come to mind off the top of my head.

First of all: He canonically has a secret double life, where he is notably softer, hangs out with a bunch of elderly women who have no clue who Roy Kent, professional angry footballer, is, and does yoga with them, frequents gay bars, hangs out with drag queens and watches reality tv while sipping rosé, which is a sweet girly drink, like you know “vanilla vodka. such a child.” – in his “real life” Roy would never ever drink rosé or admit to anyone that he watched even a single second of “Lust Conquers All” by accident (Keeley definitely didn’t know, or she would have teased him with this).

Who else has a secret double life? Colin.

And while I hate to be “look, so many gay stereotypes!” … Look, so many gay stereotypes!

Also, both Julie Andrews and Madonna are gay icons? As are Stevie Nicks and Tina Turner

“The Sound of Music” (his favourite) is popular in gay culture and the nuns are implied to be lesbians?

He mouths along when Rebecca sings “Let it go”, with Elsa being queer coded and the song being a queer anthem?

And when I googled “A Wrinkle in Time queer” first thing I got was a paper by the Syracuse University titled “Unusual Children: Queerishness and Strange Growth in A Wrinkle in Time and The Giver”, which discusses the queerness of the main character. You know, the “Am I supposed to be the little girl”-girl?

This are all the pop culture references I could recall off the top of my head, there may be things that are not queer coded, but … one or two, that is a coincidence. Three or more, that is a pattern. You cannot convince me that the writer’s “accidentally” queer coded Roy so extensively if he is supposed to be straight.

(Dear god, the only thing about Ted Lasso that always disappointed me was the lack of explicit queer characters – like, I’d bet with you that the majority of non-queer viewers didn’t get Keeley’s “dip the toe back in the lady pool” line or Colin’s “oh like Grindr?” – and if they now go and make the third season queer as fuck? Bless them!

And just like the next level trolling by Phil and Brett if they were actually spoiling the big love story for years, while everyone thought they were just joking?)

EDIT: Just looked up Gina Gershon, who Roy said he dated once—guess what, according to Wikipedia she’s considered a gay icon 🙃

#jamie x roy #I don't dare to tag this with roy since I don't want all the r*oy x k*eeley shippers to lynch me lol #my meta #going to bed now since I need to get up in five hours lol #oh whatever I put this in the tag #since honestly if you can convince me this is bullshit #it won’t break my heart when they go on playing Roy’s violence for jokes #ted lasso spoilers #ted lasso #roy kent #ted lasso speculations #jamie tartt #royjamie

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bratzforchris · 3 months

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In Sickness and In Health

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ

Summary: In which Tara and Jake discover Johnnie has a chronic illness, but know they'll always be with him, no matter what <3

Pairing: (platonic! I do not ship the trio in any way) Johnnie x Tara x Jake

Warnings: Chronic illness (nothing graphic and no bodily fluids :)), Jake and Tara are still dating here

Word Count: 2k

A/N: In this fic, Johnnie has a chronic illness called PFAPA. You can read more about it here for more background :). I also have this chronic illness, so it's based on my experience <3 Thank you for reading!

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Chronic illness was the worst thing to hit Johnnie’s life since, well, ever. His condition was especially painful and rendering, and he hated being bound to the couch or his bed for days on end, zapped of all energy. You see, Johnnie had PFAPA, which caused him to have extremely high fevers, sore throats, and just overall feelings of being unwell. Although it was mostly a childhood syndrome, he was one of the rare but very unlucky few that it had lasted into his adult life.

Johnnie had learned early on in life that being a sick kid meant being a pitied kid. He hated the pitying looks people gave him and the quiet “you’re so strong” murmurs. They made him feel like a zoo animal, separated from the rest of the world, with people cooing at him in sympathy and then going about their day. It wasn’t even just the adults, though. Right up until the time he dropped out of high school to pursue his YouTube career, the other kids had stared at him and whispered about “the boy that was always absent” whenever he walked down the hall.

And so, he hid it. The only people that knew of his illness were his mother and siblings, and his ex-girlfriend when they had been together. Even then, the only reason Johnnie had told her was because she questioned why a) he was so warm and b) why he wasn’t getting up, especially when it was a repeat occurrence. He was very lucky that his chronic illness wasn’t terrible. He still had some symptoms from day to day, like a weakened immune system and joint pains. But it was the periodic flare ups that practically killed him. It was one week out of every month, almost like a period. Johnnie would run insanely high fevers, getting up to 105 F (40.5 C), have awful joint pain to the point it hurt to move, have a pounding head and a sloshing stomach, and an extremely sore throat to top it all off.

Fast forward to now, and Johnnie was currently living with Jake and Tara. He loved his best friends with everything in him, but at the same time, he didn’t want them to view him as weak or childish. Stupid logic? Yes, but there was no arguing with Johnnie. He was good at hiding his flare ups at first. He would coat his face in foundation and eyeliner to hide the dark eyebags from restless nights, and he would take enough ibuprofen to subdue a horse. He still didn’t feel great, but it was manageable enough to hide from the two. This, on top of his usual “emo” personality and occasional mental health struggles that kept him in bed for days at time was enough to make Jake and Tara not have a clue.

All secrets get found out eventually, though. You see, Jake was a loving, wonderful boyfriend; whenever Tara would ask for pain medicine for her period, there he was, already in the car and speeding to the local pharmacy. He was also a great friend, and would buy an additional bottle for Johnnie, who claimed he “liked” having an extra bottle of tablets on hand so he didn’t have to go into Tara’s bathroom should he need pain reliever. At first, Jake brushed it off, knowing Johnnie was definitely a tummy ache boy. However, after about three months of this, he realized Johnnie would ask for the pain reliever almost at the exact same time Tara would need it for her period. Like clockwork.

“Eh, whatever,” he thought to himself, entering their house with a CVS bag. He had seen Johnnie naked more times than he’d like to admit. His best friend definitely didn’t have a period. “I’m back.” he called, entering the living room.

Tara and Johnnie were sat on the couch, watching some sort of trashy reality show. Tara was curled up in fetal position from the awful cramps she was currently experiencing, while Johnnie was huddled up under a huge blanket, currently experiencing one of his worst flares up in over six months. Neither seemed particularly interested until Jake dropped the bottles of medicine into their hands. Johnnie immediately ripped into his, dropping three tablets into his hand and swallowing them dry.

“Someone’s in pain.” Jake raised a brow at his friend while he opened the bottle for Tara, handing it to her along with her water and a kiss on the head.

“...stomach ache…” Johnnie mumbled, not thinking Jake was going to call him out on it.

“I can’t find my fucking heating pad.” Tara whined as Jake began to hold her, sitting between the two.

Johnnie winced, biting his bottom lip and holding the warm fabric closer to his body under the blanket. He felt awful for taking Tara’s heating pad, but he had been desperate for relief from his aching joints. Thank goodness Jake had become focused on massaging Tara’s stomach so neither one of his friends would see his guilty face.

The boy immediately stood up, clutching the blanket and heating pad to his chest. “I’m in pain and I’m going to bed. Night.” he said rather grumpily, already stalking to his room.

Tara was pulled out of her pain induced haze to giggle. “It’s like Johnnie has a period.”

“Something like that.” he called back.

Morning had come for the household and Tara was on a mission. She was going to find her heating pad. As much as Jake’s massages had helped last night, he would be gone today to film something with Scuff, so she needed the warm glory. She had searched high and low in every part of the house except Johnnie’s room.

“Johnnie? Can I come in?” she asked, rapping her knuckles lightly on his closed door. “I need to look for something.”

No answer. Tara knocked again, and then waited. Had he gone with Jake to film? Finally, she twisted the door knob, speaking before she stepped inside. “If you’re in there, I’m coming in!”

The sight Tara saw made her heart shatter. Johnnie was curled up in bed, making sure her heating pad was placed strategically on his knees and wrists. Although the boy had three different fans blowing on him, he was wrapped in heavy blankets, snoring softly. The icing on the cake, though, was the look on Johnnie’s face. He just looked sick. His skin was more pale and ghostly than normal, save for a few, red acne spots. His eyes were ringed with purple and despite his heating pad and blankets, he was shivering. He looked overall unwell.

Tara bit her lip, debating what to do. She really, really wanted her heating pad, but at the same time, Johnnie looked so comfortable. However, as she turned on her heel to leave Johnnie’s room, the floorboards squeaked under her feet and Johnnie groaned.

It only took a few moments for the boy to blink open his eyes, and when he did, he flipped shit. “Get out.” Johnnie snapped, his voice hoarse from the flare up.

“I’m not mad about the heating pad, Johnnie,” Tara said softly. “We all get sick. I’ll get a new one.”

“‘M fine. Get out.” he snapped again, clearly grumpy from the lack of sleep his condition was causing.

“Are you sure?” Tara moved closer towards the bed, examining his sick form. “You don’t seem fine…”

“Tara, seriously. I’m fine. Just get out.”

As much as Tara put out a nonchalant attitude to the world, she really cared about her friends, and seeing Johnnie clearly in a lot of pain was hurting her. She gently moved to lay a hand on his forehead, but before Johnnie could swat it away, she recoiled and cursed.

“Shit, Johnnie. You’re burning up.”

“I know,” Johnnie groaned, reaching over and grabbing a thermometer from his nightstand. Based on the way it looked, it was clear Johnnie had been flaring or ‘feeling sick’ for a while. There were empty popsicle wrappers and tea mugs, water bottles, vapo rub, and a variety of medicines and thermometers. Johnnie quickly took his temperature and then shrugged. “104.2 (40.1 C). Lower than last night.”

“Dude,” Tara looked almost dumbfounded. “You gotta get to a hospital. That’s like, scary high.”

Because of the fever and lack of sleep, Johnnie rolled his eyes, a sour tone pouring off his tongue. “I’ll be fine,” he rolled towards the wall. “Just gotta sleep it off.”

“Johnnie,” Tara said firmly. “You are not sleeping this off. You’re going to a hospital.”

“I’ll be fine. ‘M just cold. Maybe I’ll break my own fever record.” he groaned, using his arm to shield his eyes from the sun.

“That’s it. I’m calling Jake.” she said, whipping out her phone.

Johnnie bolted up, cursing softly at his aching joints. “Do not call Jake. I swear to god, Tara. Do not call Jake.”

“Johnnie, you’re clearly extremely ill. You need medical attention or you’ll get super sick…more than you are now,” she added, turning to leave. “I’ll come get you when he’s here.”

“I haven’t gotten super sick in 25 years and my fever’s been higher than this.” Johnnie mumbled.

“What do you mean?” Tara stopped in her tracks.

Johnnie groaned, cuddling back under his comforter. “Since I was born. I’m chronically ill. Google it or some shit. I’m too tired to explain now.”

“...oh.” Tara whispered quietly. “I didn’t know. Is this like an all the time thing or?”

“It’s called PFAPA. Go look it up,” Johnnie already sounded almost asleep again until his voice suddenly wobbled. “But please, don’t tell Jake.”

Tara sat down on Johnnie’s bed, rubbing his thigh. That’s how she knew he must’ve been feeling pretty bad. Johnnie rarely liked physical contact unless he was feeling sick. “Is there a specific reason you kept it from us? It’s okay if you don’t wanna share.” she whispered, taking on a motherly role that few people ever saw.

“Because you’ll pity me and I hate that shit.”

Tara frowned. “I understand. Thank you for telling me; that’s probably really hard. Do you need anything?”

Johnnie hesitated for a few moments before speaking quietly. “I want a popsicle. For my throat.”

His friend smiled, standing up and pulling the blanket further over him. “Specific flavor?”

“Grape.”

Tara smiled as she left Johnnie’s room, going into the kitchen. She decided to put the kettle on to make Johnnie some tea, knowing tea helped her own sore throats. As the water boiled, Tara pulled out her phone, googling the syndrome Johnnie had mentioned. She grimaced as she read the WebMD article; it sounded extremely painful, like having the flu every single month. Once the water had boiled, Tara made Johnnie a mug of tea and then pulled the freezer open for a popsicle. Her heart practically shattered when she saw a surplus of popsicles, shoved to the back of the freezer.

Bringing Johnnie’s sickness spread upstairs, Tara saw that he was practically asleep when she opened his bedroom door. But as she handed him the popsicle and tea, he sleepily mumbled “You can tell Jake.”

“Are you sure?”

Johnnie nodded tiredly, already sucking on the popsicle. “Mhm.”

“Huh,” Tara said, but she didn’t question it. “Okay.”

She sent Jake a quick text, hoping he and Scuff were near done. Although his temperature was “normal” for Johnnie, she didn’t feel very good about letting him lay here and burn up. Surprisingly, Johnnie didn’t protest when she sat down at the chair at his streaming desk. He just continued to softly sip the mug of tea.

“Jake’s on his way.” Tara whispered softly.

The sick boy just nodded, laying his fluffy, black, bedhead back on the pillow. Tara didn’t hear anything more for a few minutes, until soft snores wafted from Johnnie’s bed. It seemed like it was only a few minutes later when she finally heard Jake come into the house.

“I’m bac-” Jake was practically yelling until Tara shushed him.

“What’s wrong with him?” Jake asked, tipping his head towards Johnnie.

“He has a chronic illness,” Tara explained softly. “We can talk then.”

And until then, Jake and Tara would be there to support their best friend, sitting quietly and watching over him as Johnnie slept.

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