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marycorcaroli · 11 months

Text

RELATIONSHIP HEADCANON.

characters: kenshi takahashi x reader x johnny cage.

words count: 1808.

warning: fem!reader in nsfw, but kinda gn!reader in sfw, fluff, pussy drunk kenshi, reader is blushing, threesome ♡, johnny lives for your boobs, kenshi loves kissing, big dick evergy for my boys, anal sex, crempie, vaginal sex, soft sex, kinda hard sex.

mary ♡: hi! i've been gone a long time, haven't i? i put quite a lot into this work and i started liking it from the beginning <3 i had a request for sex with johnny and kenshi but i decided to do it differently, hope you like it! english is not my first language, i apologize for the mistakes 💗💗💗

rules ; masterlist.

SFW.

you three > world ! the most beautiful couple in the world ♡ funny johnny, supportive kenshi and wonderful you 💘

let's imagine a situation where johnny already liked kenshi but didn't know how to say it so he preferred to keep quiet. considering that they interact quite a lot johnny's liking started to increase and he didn't know how to keep it to himself anymore and bam ❗ there you were ❗ you ❗

you were so beautiful in their eyes and got along with everyone, which pleased them constantly. you often joked with johnny and often took care of kenshi by putting your hand on his lower back and guiding him to the right place, yes he could see perfectly well himself thanks to sento, but he felt better with you as his eyes.

kenshi started to feel the warmest feelings for you, considering how much you did for him and how kind you were around him, but at the same time johnny felt a little jealous, you were always together everywhere, and he followed you around, wanting to be closer.

if you were in a relationship with johnny and kenshi, it would be something between two paradise places, since they are both such passionate lovers for you alone. i think you won the lottery when they first expressed a desire to spend time with you, the three of you, in a motel.

imagine raiden's reaction when he sees the three of you and the way you go everywhere together— you broke the boy.

it makes no difference to johnny where to hug you and kiss you and all that, but as far as i'm concerned, kenshi prefers privacy more :( he wants all your angels and demons to be alone with you.

they want to keep you safe from all worlds and liu kang- that bitch will smirk as soon as he sees you.

kenshi is the least jealous type ! ! he knows how much you love and cherish him and wouldn't go for one-on-one fun with someone else, when johnny will tease anyone who comes near you or kenshi, he's like "yeah, that's my boyfriend/girlfriend, now disappear 🤗" SORRY.

they will support you wherever you are and however long it is, you don't have to be afraid to be active with them or have physical contact all the time, these boys are so in love with you that they won't let you think about anything bad for a second ;( they will do anything to make you feel better (find a therapist ✋).

none of them want to hurt you mentally or physically, because they wanted to tell you that they are in love for so long, but every time something prevented them, but now everything is fine ! ! 'cause you three are so cute 😩 😩

you are literally protected by two big demons in the guise of cute little angels who will cover you with their backs in case of any danger so that no one can see you.

kenshi is so loving, he comes up to you and gently hugs you from the back while kissing you on the shoulders and whispering about how happy he is to be with you in this peaceful environment, but then johnny shows up and literally sweeps you off your feet and onto the floor and you're like wtf?

johnny always wants you and kenshi to sit on his lap while you just look pretty and he looks at you with the most loving eyes while running his fingers over your cheeks.

they both cook fine for me, only johnny likes to experiment in the kitchen and i'm afraid he might burn down the kitchen, umm, teach him how to cook please.

kenshi's kisses are too sweet and cute, his kisses are like taking you to heaven and johnny's kisses are very playful when he pulls your lip away and smirks fiercely, either way they just want to kiss you as long as possible.

kenshi likes to sing gentle melodies for you and johnny that are so beautifully soothing after a hard day ! !

the thing that johnny wants the most after a hard day is for kenshi to hug him and kiss him on the temple ! you should totally get this 😩 !

i already said johnny is so playful, he will literally mock you by saying overly wimpy phrases, making you both blush and want to throw him in the gutter at the same time.

omg ! i can't imagine how good it would be to go to concerts with them ! it would literally be a blast, because these guys know no boundaries when it comes to fun, even the silent kenshi will be the funniest person in the world when you're around them.

i know for a fact that kenshi carries around a picture of you kissing his cheeks 🥺 my boy is too sweet, i can't stand it.

amm, bathing with them is so relaxing, you lay together and relax while your hands travel over each other's bodies.

johnny in your relationship will be in charge of movie days ! ! he will prepare everything in advance and make the place to watch as comfortable as possible.

kenshi is such a clean baby 💔 will help you always with the cleaning so it won't be so hard for you.

despite johnny's personality, he's gonna be take a very long time to create your first album together with all your photos and descriptions 💔 it will be your first anniversary gift !

if you want to spend the night doing something the boys will support you in everything ! ! as long as you don't get hurt in any way.

they will never fight with you or bring something to the point of a fight, why would they do that? they will explain everything in a calm voice and just as calmly listen to you, stability is to their liking.

NSFW.

they both work as a team and just want you to feel as good as you've ever felt before !

everyone already knows this, but these boys will get on their knees when you ask them to.

i think their favorite position is when you just look pretty and spread your legs for them, they don't need much 🤭

both johnny and kenshi are not the hardest dominants, they can be soft or they can obey you if you ask 😋

kenshi just loves to lick you in all kinds of ways, his tongue will rub your clit non stop until he is saturated with you = you won't escape. his inner demons awaken when your bedroom door closes and he gives in to his feelings completely without paying attention to anything else.

kenshi will spread your legs wider and wider to reach all the points you want, i can see new feelings playing in him and too much sweat dripping off his forehead from trying so hard to please you 💘

and johnny will be stroking kenshi's head and telling you how wonderful he is, because he's trying so hard to help you reach a euphoric orgasm, while johnny's fingers are tangled in kenshi's hair, his lips quickly find yours and he starts to literally suck you in, without giving you time to even breathe, then he will slowly descend and leave wet kisses on your shoulders, on your neck he will leave the most beautiful hickeys of all his love and he will definitely bite your ear ♡ ♡

johnny doesn't have the most favorite kinks, if he and you and kenshi like something, he will gladly make it a reality and diversify your sex, i think johnny is in charge of that, heheh.

kenshi will definitely kiss the two of you after licking you and oh god it will be soooo hot, his hands will caress your bodies while his lips are trying to kiss as much and as hard as possible.

ah, how much kenshi wants you to praise him during sex ! ! this little angel does his best for you and wants you to see it ! !

i think kenshi and johnny have pretty big dicks, but not the longest ones (otherwise they would break you) so they were not surprised at your startled look when you saw them but my princesses quickly reassured you that everything will be ok and they will be gentle ! !

their pace depends on their mood but I think they are always a bit fast because they can't get enough of you, but when they play the role of the sweetest lovers, the pace becomes gentle and smooth 💗

will never force you to do anything, they are still the sweetest boys in your life ! !

none of the boys will mind if you get on your knees for them and make them feel good, they will rather lose their head and any thoughts if you initiate 🦋 the butterflies in their stomachs will get hotter and hotter seeing you trying to take all of johnny's cock in your mouth and at the same time working your hand on kenshi's cock - they fall in love with you all over again.

they're so loud ! ! they will moan for you all the time and make all kinds of sobs so you know how good they feel around you and that they love what you do for them 🤭

the truest truth is that johnny literally cum when kenshi just kisses him, he just does it too wonderfully 🤧

they most likely have a few favorite positions.

first: when you're lying on jonny's chest and his fingers don't leave your mouth and his other hand is squeezing your breast and constantly touching your nipple while kenshi is thrusting into you and holding you tightly by the waist, trying to beat the hell out of you and make you see the brightest stars.

second pose: when you're on kenshi's chest and he's fucking your ass while johnny towers over you and makes your cunnie more and more swollen. their hands don't leave your body in an attempt to grab all the places, your moans get louder and your bodies bounce against each other more and more wetly. your head falls on kenshi's shoulder and he manages to finally kiss you after all this time.

and the third: when you're bouncing on their cocks one by one and your breasts are shaking so nicely, you're tired and your thighs are sore, but you don't expect it when kenshi gently pushes you onto johnny's chest and starts licking your ass (his favorite thing to do).

and johnny on the other hand loves sucking your tits more than anything and listening to the pathetic moans coming out of your mouth while your eyelids can't even lift from the pleasure and you just hope he lets you cum.

they both go crazy just thinking about cumming in you-the way their cum will come out of you and the way you'll look with it 🦋

after sex they will just collapse next to you (or on you) and try to catch their breath while kissing you on the forehead for a good job 💗 you will always be their best girl no matter what anyone says ! !

bringing you water or something to eat so they can go and swim together, showering you with the sweetest words and making you smile more and more.

but they also want you to tell them how much you love them and what good boys they are to you 💔 they will CHEER !

#mary ♡#mk1 kenshi #kenshi takahashi x reader #kenshi takahashi #kenshi takahashi smut #mk1 smut #mk1 x reader #mortal kombat x reader #johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #johnny cage smut #johnny x kenshi #johnny cage x kenshi takahashi #johnny x reader x kenshi

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ham1lton · 1 month

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https://x.com/schumarti/status/1822294492298236050?s=46 nepo baby yn texting this to max

nepo baby!yn: jenson is as kind as he is hot. taking pictures with a flop. he’s not afraid of catching loser via osmosis.

max: i’m waiting outside your house with a gun.

mick: what did i say about violence? should i bring therapist nancy back in this gc?

max: SHE CALLED ME NAMES AND I’M THE ONE WHO’S GETTING THREATENED?!

yn: my bad. i apologise. sorry to the little freak in that picture.

max: that freak is ME. i’m going to run you over at the next gp.

nancy (therapist): max what did we say about regulating your emotions?

max: WTF?

max: ARE YOU SERIOUS?

max: that we have to take a deep breath when we’re mad and not just say what we think 😔

#nepo baby!yn #jayde’s inbox ✎#anon ask

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leothil · 5 months

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"As far as [Eddie's] sexuality, I think it's pretty clear that he's tried to fill in this motherly, this wife type role—that's all he knows," Guzman explained. "And he's a man [that] first off, he's Catholic. Second off, he's from the military. So those are very straight-edge kind of lifestyles that don't offer too much of exploring. But through the 118, he's had this epiphany each year, like, 'Well, maybe I don't know as much as I thought I did. And maybe I should be exploring a little bit more and maybe I should understand myself a little bit more and even seek a therapist,' which is something new for Eddie. So I feel the representation is reflective of the inclusivity that Ryan Murphy's show likes to have and Tim Minear likes to write."

RYAN WTF. WTF. You can't just say that!!

#911

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mynameismckenziemae · 7 months

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In Case You Didn’t Know

Part 5

(previous part here, next part here)

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x OFC

Summary: Jake takes you on the date he wishes he would’ve all those years ago.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, oral (m receiving), etc.

•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•

Jake’s phone vibrates on his nightstand as he gets into bed.

🐓: So? Did you talk? Was I right?

Jake: Yeah we talked.

🐓: And?

Jake: …you were right.

🐓: HELL YEAH! I fucking knew it! You could cut the tension between you two with a knife. Did you…you know 😏

Jake: I want to take her out on date first.

🐓: Where are you gonna take her?

Jake: I don’t know, kind of limited with the leg. I just want it to be special.

🐓: Where did you take girls for dates in high school? Do that with her.

Jake: We’d pick up food at the local car hop, park somewhere to eat then fool around in my truck bed.

🐓: Sounds…great?

Jake: 🖕🏻there wasn’t much to do for teenagers around here back then. But honestly, I think Charlie would love it. I’d have to ask my sister for my truck back though. She takes care of it while I’m gone for me.

🐓: Emma? She’s a 10 🥵

Jake: No.

🐓: She single yet?

Jake: She’s not interested.

🐓: So she is single.

Jake: I’m going to bed.

🐓: You realize I’m going to meet her at your wedding, right? You’re just putting off the inevitable.

Jake: Goodnight Bradshaw.

Jake smirks at the thought. Bradshaw probably thinks Jake’s just being a protective older brother but it’s just the opposite. Emma looks like a sweet southern belle but she would eat him alive.

•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•

He hesitates before biting the bullet and texting Emma; he’s always been a little scared of her.

Jake: Hey Emma Lou.

Emma: Hey! When did you make landfall? Everything go okay?

Jake: Almost 2 weeks, and not really. I was hit on the way back to the carrier and had to eject. I broke my leg and got a little beat up on the way down. I left the hospital forgetting Ma and Dad are gone so I’m staying with Charlie. They don’t know yet, please keep it that way. You know how much this trip means to them. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, my head was a little messed up and just didn’t want you to worry or take time off from that new job.

Emma: WTF!?!?? That’s fucking bullshit, Jake. I’m a large animal vet with 2 partners that are happy to cover for me. I wouldn’t have had an issue getting off of work and you know it.

Jake: I do know. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight.

Emma: No shit.

Emma: Are you okay?

Jake: Getting there. Charlie’s been doing my PT, I saw ortho and that’s healing okay. I have a video visit with a therapist tomorrow.

Emma: Therapist?

Jake: Diagnosed me with PTSD after the accident. I’m feeling better already but if I don’t go to therapy they’ll ground me longer.

Emma: The Navy grounding you will be the least of your worries once Mom finds out. I’m not gonna be the one telling her.

Jake: Thanks. I really am sorry. Any chance you’re coming this way in the next few days? I need the truck if you don’t.

Emma: How are you gonna drive it? Not sure how bad you hit your head but you need 2 feet for a manual.

Jake: I’m not, Charlie’s going to.

Emma: Did she get new furniture and not tell me?

Jake: No…it’s a lot to text. I’d rather tell you in person.

Emma: I’ve got a sick heifer to see in the morning but otherwise I’m free. I’ll be there around 11. I think Lee’s got a vet call in the area around 2 so I’ll see if he’ll take me back home so you can keep the truck.

Jake: Sounds good. Love you.

Emma: I’m still mad, but I love you too.

•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•

Jake’s up before you and has a cup of coffee waiting as you stumble into the kitchen with a yawn.

“Don’t make plans tonight. I’ve got something in mind,” he says, leaning on his good leg before pulling you into his chest.

“Mmkay,” you yawn, snuggling into his chest like you’ve always wanted to with his hugs. “Can’t wait.”

“I told Emma last night, she’s going to come over around 11 so we can talk,” Jake cringes.

“Will she be gone by the time I get back?” You joke, all too familiar with her temper.

“Why? You scared?” He teases.

“Yes. I know you are too,” you laugh.

You let him hold you for a few minutes, both enjoying the intimacy.

“I’d ask you to join me in the shower but that’s an accident waiting to happen,” you smile, pulling away from his chest to press a kiss to his lips.

His eyes fall closed at your words. “Soon enough.”

•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•

Jake stares at your butt in your scrubs from the porch as you walk to your car. You catch him looking as you open the door and quirk a brow at his sheepish grin.

“Can’t figure out if you’re wearing underwear, I didn’t see any panty lines.”

“You don’t get panty lines if you wear a thong,” you wink as you get in, laughing at the way his eyes widen.

You’re normally a no-show underwear kind of girl, but you felt like wearing something sexy today when Jake said he had plans.

You give him a little wave as you head to work.

•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•

Jake had just finished his virtual visit with the therapist when Emma pulls up in his grandpa’s old Chevy that he and his dad fixed up together.

Emma gives him a bone-crushing hug before smacking him upside the head.

“Ow,” Jake grumbles, rubbing the spot she hit him.

“You deserve a lot more than that. You’re lucky you’re injured,” Emma says before bending down to greet Cash.

“So why does Charlie need the truck?” Emma asks, throwing Cash’s ball.

“She doesn’t. I’m taking her out tonight. Well, she’s driving but I’m planning it.”

“Taking her out where? Why do you need the truck for that?”

“Ray’s and then up to Breakneck Hill,” he responds, not looking at her.

“Isn’t that where you used take your dates to park?”

“Yep.”

It takes her a minute to catch on, but she jumps to her feet with a whoop when she does.

“Seriously?!” She laughs, “Man, it’s about fucking time.”

He looks at her puzzledly.

“You’ve been in love with each other for years,” she sighs. “That’s a great idea though. I just washed ‘er so the bed is clean. Want me to throw some blankets back there for you?”

“I didn’t think that far, but yeah, that’s a good idea.”

20 minutes later, Emma’s got the back of the truck filled with blankets and pillows, a perfect place to eat and watch the sunset.

“Perfect! Now you have a place to stretch out and bang. Do you need condoms? Wait no, forget them. I’m ready to be an auntie,” Emma says as she steps back to look.

“Uh, no. We haven’t-I mean, we aren’t-“ Jake stutters, flushing bright red.

“I’m kidding, Jesus. Don’t stroke out on me. Got anything for lunch?” Emma laughs, patting Jake on the shoulder, right where he’s bruised.

•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•

Emma wraps his cast and stays nearby just in case he falls while he showers.

“Lee’s almost here,” Emma says, giving Jake another hug. “Let me know how it goes. And tell Charlie I’m not mad at her, just you.”

Jake rolls his eyes but hugs her back. “Will do. Thanks, Em, love ya.”

“Love you too, don’t forget to forget the condoms!” She replies as she heads out the door.

•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•

You smile when you see Jake’s old truck in the driveway, wondering what he’s up to.

Jake’s asleep on the couch when you get inside, but he wakes up when you close the door.

“Oh hey, sorry I must’ve fallen asleep after Emma left,” he yawns.

“Let me change and I’ll be ready to go,” you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek and slipping off your top as you walk down the hall.

Jake sgets down the stairs and hobbles along to the driver's side of the truck, awkwardly opening the door for you.

“You want me to drive? I don’t think I’ve driven it since you got too wasted to drive at Clay Williams's graduation party,” you laugh, climbing up.

“Ugh, I can’t even smell Jäegermeister without gagging,” Jake shivers as he closes the door.

You lean over and open the passenger side, taking the crutches he hands over. He surprises you with how easily manages to get in with one leg.

“Where to?” You ask, pushing in the clutch and starting the truck.

“Ray’s,” he answers with a smile.

“Then to Breakneck to fool around?” You guess, wiggling your brows.

He nods. “Only if you want to, we don’t-“

“I want to. I’ve always wanted to,” you reply, leaving out how jealous you’d get when he’d take girls out there.

•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•

An hour later you’re sharing a chocolate milkshake in the back of the truck. It’s just the two of you in the empty lot.

“I wonder what my mom would think of us being together,” you say as you watch the sunset. The sky is a beautiful canvas of pinks, oranges, and reds.

“I think she’d like it,” he replies.

A flicker of movement catches your eye and you hold your breath when a butterfly lands on the hand that’s holding yours. It rests for just a moment, slowly flapping its orange wings before flying away.

“Me too,” you whisper.

•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•

“So what’s next? We ate our burgers, shared the milkshake, and watched the sunset. Is it a dry handjob while you rub me through my underwear for 10 seconds then ask if I came?”

“How’d you know?” He teases, leaning in for a kiss.

He kisses you slowly and lazily, committing every sigh to memory. As his tongue flicks yours you can’t help but imagine it elsewhere.

You soon grow impatient and find yourself straddling his lap again.

“Jake, touch me. Please?” You pant.

“‘Course sweetheart. Here?” He asks, pulling the top of your sundress down, exposing your braless chest to him. “Damn, Charlie,” he rasps, looking over your breasts hungrily before sucking a hardened bud into his mouth. His fingers come up to pay attention to the neglected side and he alternates; biting, sucking, and pinching you into a frenzy.

You find his free hand and bring it under your dress, running his fingers over the soaked material of your thong. He shudders when he feels the evidence of what he’s doing to you.

Before his fingers even touch you without the barrier of your underwear, you cry out, your fingers in his hair pull; your orgasm taking you both by surprise.

“Did you cum?” He chuckles breathlessly against your chest as you come down.

“I did,” you smirk, trying to catch your breath too as you climb off him, then unbuttoning his jeans. “Your turn, but I want to get my mouth on you.”

Your eyes widen as you pull him out. “Jesus. Not sure if you’ll fit, but I’m gonna try.”

“That’s not…I didn’t know that was an option-oh fuckkkk,” he gasps when you pull his tip into your mouth.

Your eyes drift closed and you moan at the salty taste of his precum. More you think as you swallow and suck more of him into your mouth, using your hands to stroke his base.

He’s making the hottest, most desperate sounds as his chest heaves. It hasn’t even been a minute before he’s warning you. “Char-Charlie, wait sweetheart. I’m gonna cum,” He pants, gently tugging at your hair to pull you off.

But you shake your head and moan; you want to taste it.

“Oh…oh God,” he whimpers as he finishes in your mouth, jolting when he feels you swallow his spend.

You pull up the top of your dress after you release it from your mouth and gently tuck him back into his jeans. He surprises you when he pulls you up for a deep kiss, groaning when he tastes himself on your tongue.

“You’re…that was…holy shit,” Jake chuckles. “So much better than a dry handjob.”

You laugh before pulling him back in for a kiss.

You’re so wrapped up in each other that you don’t notice the squad car pulling into the lot.

The smug voice of the local police officer over the megaphone has you jumping apart.

“Keep it in your pants ‘til you get home, Seresin. Don’t make me call your mama.”

•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•

A/N: First date ✅

As always, any interaction is appreciated but I love hearing what you think in comments/reblogs.

Tagging:

@mamachasesmayhem

@its-the-pilot

@dizzybee03

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@shanimallina87

@blindedbythelightt

@getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth

@lexixstewart

@phoenix-rising-starbird-one

@mrsrobertfloyd5

@charmedkim

@k-k0129

@bellaireland1981

@hookslove1592

@amiets2

@nero4te

@eli2447

@atarmychick007

@vixenobrian

@86laura11

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@dempy

@angelbabyyy99

@buckysteveloki-me

@djs8891

@mizzzpink

@daggerspare-standingby

#top gun maverick #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake seresin x ofc #jake hangman seresin x ofc

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discoveredreality · 8 months

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intro post <3

don't mind me editing this like every single day lol

my dm's and askbox is always open if u want to talk <3

anons are welcome too <3

also if u want to make new friends i am right here pls say hi im fucking lonely😭

anyways

BELOVED MOOTS <33333 (everyone is tagging them and this is fun)

this in no particular order just whoever pops up on my dash or smth idk. not every moots just the ones i actually know lol. ok so

@im-ur-sleep-paralysis-demon THEY'RE AMAZING LOVE THEM SM IF U DON'T FUCK OFF BECAUSE OMG KJHLGJKFJHLKYFJHKJGL

@ma-lan13 HELP MY BESTIE IRL GOT TUMBLR OMG OMG. AND SHES ACTUALLY USING IT WTF?????? ANYWAYS SHES THE BEST <333

@bloophasarrived SHE'S THE SWEETEST AND SO WONDERFUL. HER PERSONALITY SPARKLES AND OMG SHE'S SO FUN AHHH

@marylily-my-beloved I LOVE HERRR WE HAVE THE BEST CONVERSATIONS. SO NICE AND EASY TO TALK TO. AND WHY DOES SHE KNOW ME SO WELL <3333

@im-just-here4853 my vent buddy omg we just vent to each other i love her so much idk what i would do without her <33

@im-on-crack-send-help TWINNING IN LITERALLY EVERYTHING. SAME MUSIC TASTE. SAME TASTE IN FOOD. IN DRINKS. IN THE WAY WE THINK. WTF. ANYWAYS SHE'S MY POOKIE I LOVE HER <333

@the-gay-skeleton-in-ur-closet THEY'RE THE BEST OMGGGGG and they're nice and cool and shit <333333 i'm quoting myself it's fine AND LIKE SO NICE AND GOOFY AND EVERYTHING OMG

@cubemagnet somene i met on a random post and now we occasionally team up to correct grammar lol 🤓🤓🤓 anyways she's amazing :D and everything she says is so iconic like isjflsrijglruhglsuglijrsg

@book-girl4eva SHE'S AMAZINGGGGG. IT'S SO EASY TO GOOF AROUND W HER I LOVE IT. SHE ALWAYS SLAYS SO HARD. EVERYTHING ABOUT HER SLAYS. idk if you'll see this but this is for u pookie <3

@mil-pinterest-sss-here-i-am ??? questioning why we're moots. but he's literally so nice. literally will be my therapist and help me w maths because that shit is impossible 😭

@dandelionflowery omg literally so kind and everything all the time. so fun fun reading their fics and doing shit together omg

@sweetwarmcookies16 OMG RIJGDJFGIJFGIF THE BEST I LOVE PLAYING GAMES TOGETHER AND TALKING AND EVERYTHING. ALSO AN AMAZING WRITER

idk brain isnt braining ill add ppl as i go along

moodboards made by my lovely lovely moots <3

so far i only have one here cause i forgot to link the previous ones whoops 😭😭😭

about me

i'm ari. she/her. nicknames welcome. go wild. dude/bro/girl/literally anything is also fine. i use 'lol' and '<3' too much. minor. literally the biggest procrastinator and so disorganised i dare u to find someone worse than me. i'm indian but i live in australia. bengali/north indian idk. band kid :D my pinterest is here. PLEASE DM ME IF U WANT TO. I NEED FRIENDS. IM AWKWARD AND BAD AT MAKING CONVERSATION BUT STILL PLS 😭😭😭

personality/star sign or whatever

according to the mbti test here i am an istp-t. i am also a cancer. i found out my sun, moon and rising signs and the marauders version and i wrote it down and lost it so then i redid it and i lost it again so i can't bother at this point someone help me :(

time zone

Australian Eastern Standard Time (AEST) i think?? SUCK ON THAT AMERICANS AND WHOEVER ELSE EHHEHEHHEHE ;LSDJFSFJIJFDJF;LJ

my music taste

i love taylor swift, conan gray, olivia rodrigo, sabrina carpenter and honestly a lot of other stuff lol. also love bollywood music.

favourite books and authors

i love reading and i'm usually a really fast reader lol. i love harry potter (fuck jkr tho), kotlc, chetan bhagat books, the inheritance games, agggtm, literally all of karen m. mcmanus's books, the divergent series, pjo and hoo, lorien legacies, the selection, powerless, soc, girl in pieces, dictionary of lost words and bookbinder of jericho, all the books by amish, and a bunch of other books.

dni

idk the usual?? if u think ppl arent valid or you're literally an asshole. honestly you all can go get stuffed. idgaf

tag games and shit

yes you can absolutely tag me. i love tag games and chain asks. sometimes i may not get to doing it but i usually will and it makes me so happy when i'm tagged lol

tags

i don't post that much stuff so i don't really have mulitple tags for my posts. anything or any shitposting or thoughts will be tagged #ari's shit. for asks it's #ari gets an ask?

fandoms!

i'm literally obsessed with drarry but i'm mostly part of the marauders fandom. i'm starting to make my way through all of the marauders fics. i love love love hermitcraft. i'm an ethogirl literally who doesn't love etho?? also really into trafficblr. i literally love six of crows so much like omg. desperately trying to get through the magnus archives im only 8 years late haha i also love kotlc sm. (team foster-keefe forever!) i'm low-key in love with keefe sencen cause omg. aaaand also a bunch of other shit but those are the main ones idk bro

i'm bored and this is too long already might as well add more so here are a bunch of userboxes :D

and that's all not because i have self control but because there is a limit to images per post 😭😭😭 i literally had to delete some of my aesthetic images for this soooo

all the above photos are not mine, i got them off of pintrest.

my profile pic is obviously from the makowka picrew here

the beautiful dividers are linked here. these are by @saradika-graphics she is a literal star these dividers are so good

IK THIS IS WAY TOO FUCKING LONG AND I KEEP ON ADDING SHIT MORE SHIT SO IF U ACTUALLY LIKE READ TO THE BOTTOM THIS HERE IS FOR U LMFAO ILYSM <333333

#ari's shit

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year

Text

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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fictionalmenaremytype · 8 months

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SEASON FINALE BABY LETS GOOO!!!!!

(Percy jackson ep 8 spoilers)

I'm just gonna start by saying if Disney doesn't renue this for a second season they are stupid and will have missed out on a harry Potter level phenomenon.

- LUKE MONOLOGUE HOLYSHIT ITS GIVING GOOD KID REPRISE

- HE IS KIND OF TERRIFYING IN THAT SWORD SCENE THO

- Ares' cackle. I love him .

- Ares just threw him like hulk did loki

- annabeth having to hold Grover back is so important to me because he's wanting to help percy but Annabeth knows this fight is to the death and any interruption would just get Grover killed.

- Annabeth also knowing he needs to prove himself as the son of poseidon and discover who he is.

- "let's kick the son of poseidon into a puddle right near the sea" I now understand why Athena is battle strategy and Ares is just war.

- THAT TSUNAMI JUST PARTING FOR PERCT US ICONIC AND HE JUST RUNS AND SWOOPS AND CUTS ARES

- my only critique is that Percy never does any movements to show its his power (which ik this is accurate to the books) but it comes off a little like he's just calling on Poseidon to do stuff. I wished they had some sort of indicator that it was Percy like maybe a slight movement or having the water pull back from the puddle he fell in and into the sea.

- I did think the fight was a little quick tbh but it still worked.

- the way I screamed "close your eyes close your eyes close your eyes!" When he was about to show his true form.

- woooh Hades helm

- The cabin looks fuckung terrifying rn

- I haven't seen the end of credit scene yet but I'm predicting it's going to be Sally with Gabe's statue.

- Alecto just wanted to get tho boss his hat back!

- "please" "good luck on Olympus" I thought she was going to be nice but noooo she's still a bitch.

- Annabeth trying to stop Percy from going because they're friends now and she's worried for his safety. I love Leah she is AMAZING.

- "I'm done running from monsters" THAT LINE OMG THE WRITERS ROOM ATEEEE

- THE NECKLACE?? THE MUSIC?? "You're gonna need all the luck you can get." Is so sweet and so patronising she is perfect. Leah is Annabeth Chase she has cyclops powers and just embodies her!

- "how sure are we you couldn't explain everything in an email?" So relatable Grover so relatable.

- "I'm here to see Zeus." Lightning bolt on the table " I don't have an appointment"

- THIS SHOWS ART DEPARTMENT HOLY SHITT OLYMPUS IS STUNNING WTF

- it is so so obvious when you know abt Luke that yes trying to recruit Percy to his side.

- LUKE REALLY JUST SET ANNABETH UP TO BE THE TRAITOR THERE WHAT!

- can someone build this olympus on minecraft please I want to exploreee.

- zeus (rip Lance Reddick we miss you) just waiting on his throne is terrifying.

- The thrown room being in a thunder cloud has so much messaging behind it! It is pathetic fallacy at its finest.

- Zeus is scary. I don't like it. Literal goosebumps rn.

- "your family is a mess" you tell him Percy. Be his therapist

- WHEN HE TRIED TO STRIKE PERCY OH MY GOD POSEIDON SURRENDERING

- "your forbidden son who should've never been born" "the same as your thalia" Poseidon learnt some sass I see.

- THE GREEK IS INGENIOUS.

- "make sure I never see this one again." Well I hate to break it to you sir but you will...a lot

- "obedience doesn't come naturally to you does it?" "No...sir." "the sea does not like to be retrained." CAUSE THE SEA DOESNT LIKE TO BE RESTRAINEDDDDD

- Percy not immediately knowing Greek is such a slept upon lart of the books because they have lessons in it.

- Poseidons smile about Sally.

- "Ares is a moron." The only thing Poseidon and Athena agree on.

- Aww they finally had father son time. Its so emotional and beautiful and its made me emotional.

- the line of applause and I'm just looking for Travis and Connor.

- The hugging is a thing.

- "an accusation against clarisse." "Without proof" annabeth has a feeling!

- honestly adding Clarisse as a traitor and using that to get Percy and Luke alone makes more sense to me given that they know someone at camp stole the bolt.

- I think now is the time to say how Charlie is amazing for Luke he's so sinister when he wants to be l.

- luke making him go through the Prophecy before he reveals and percy slowly realising why Omg chills.

- the red lighting on Luke highlighting his scar.

- luke looking like he's about to cry

- "I didn't think you'd give them to Grover." "I'm here to recruit" AH

- BACKBITER CAN OPEN PORTALS NOW THIS IS A WHOLE NEW LEVEL OF OVER POWERED !!!!!

- LUKE AND PERCY FIGHT LUKE AND OERCY FIGHT.

- Is that a silhouette in the background???

- " I met your dad" THE ANGER OMG

- the fight with Ares being short is made up for by this fight. Under the fireworks? In the woods? It's stunning!!!!

- PERCYS APOLOGY OMG I FELT SO BAD FOR HIM HES SCARED AND CONFUSED AND STILL TRYING TO SEE THE BEST IN LUKE.

- YES ANNABETH. THROWING HER DAGGER AT LUKE?!? I HOPE THAT KNIFE BECAUSE PART OF ANNABETHS CHARACTER BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE SO COOL. I KNEW I SAW A SILHOUTTE

- " Annabeth?" " I heard everything" I KNEW SHE HAD HER SUSPICIONS

- " He can be very very persuasive" "I'm very very stubborn"

- MR D LOVE HIM

- "Percy? That's your name?"

- I was half expecting Dionysus to do an Oprah and say " you get out and you get out"

- Annabeth saying goodbye to Thalia is so sweet

- " and then sone place called Disney World?" She's never seen a movie she's going to be so confused. "Which kind of sounds like water land but with less trying to kill you" Yeah.

- the way he smiles at her is so cute.

- "wait did I read that wrong. What am I walking into. Is there something you're supposed to do there?" "Just be a kid"

- aww Grovers searcher licence is a flower

- "but no ones ever thought to check the seas!" Nice set up Disney I see you.

- "we meet back here next year." Well you will eventually.

- THE GROUP HUG (if we get up to season 5 I expect editors to make edits of them hugging at 16 to them hugging at 12)

- The cabin and Sally <3

- "what happened?" "It's a long story."

- WHAT JUST HAPPNED OMG ANOTHET DREAM OMG KRONOS I DONT LIKE THIS HES TOO CLOSE OMG GO AWAY DONT INVITE HIM IN HES LIKE A VAMPIRE. HES SCARY SCARY SCARY.

- "no kidding kiddo it's time to wake up." So cute.

- "grandpa." "Don't call him that."

- "Don't forget to tell your mom how much you love her today." "Kronos Lord of the titans said that?" The lying and secrets has begun

- NO GABE WOOH

- THE ENDING MONOLOGUE

- HOW MUCH DID WALKER SCOVELL GROW OVER FILMING HES SO TALL NEXT TO SALLY AND THE DOOR FRAME.

- Sally divorcing gabe is much much better than her just turning him to stone because it gives the message that she now recognises her son can look after himself and now she doesn't have to protect him anymore.

- GABE ASKING THE LAWYER HOW TO PICK A LOCK IS SO FUNNY

- I really like how it's his own hate for percy and everything percy has that gets him killed rather than straight up homicide. It really sets the idea that people like that will find their own downfall (which is ironic bc this trope is commonly used in ancient Greek tragedies)

season one of percy jackson is stunning. It's a masterpiece even with the changes and whilst there was definitely some timing issues and the cut to black became annoying, it was very, very good. If it is renewed for another season, it has a lot of potential, and I will be very excited to see how they adapt The Sea of Monsters for screen.

#percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #annabeth chase #pjo tv show #pjo series #walker scobell #grover underwood #percy jackson season 1 finale

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