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syrma-sensei · 7 months

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pairing: soldier boy/ben x wife!reader.

rating: fluff, implied smut.

warning: bens's pov, very soft ben, implied pregnant sex, praising, horny reader, antiquated mentality....

word count: 2.4k

summary: ben's discovering new life affairs while expecting his first baby.

tagging: @zepskies

→ masterlist | ao3

Soldier Boy guzzled down his third raw drink before he decided to call it a day and go home. He took off his supe gear and changed into more casual clothes in the dressing room in his quarters at Vought's tower after he took a quick shower. He shook his head with a sneer when he tugged the shirt above his head, remembering her telling him —bossing him— that he wasn't to come home stinking with blood and cigars and whiskey and Vought. Soldier Boy didn't take shit from anyone, but he found himself helpless against her wishes—orders. He was grinning though, amusedly so. Sometimes he wondered where his obedient and good wife went. He liked that version of her, nonetheless.

Though he liked to think that his baby was igniting her wild spirit, his pretty wife seemed to have gotten quite sensitive to strong scents, and her stomach grew weak ever since he got her pregnant with their first child four months ago. It was chiselled in his mind; the memory of her hoping onto his chest with happy shrieks when he returned from work affirming the news.

He had been sensing the baby's presence for a week thanks to his superhuman senses before that, and he'd told her that night to go check on it with a doctor. They were eagerly trying to have a baby so it was of no surprise, but it still pulled a huge smile on his lips and made pride swell in his chest. He was going to be a father in nine months. The thing he wanted to be the most.

But as it turned out, pregnancy wasn't as magical as his mind fantasised to be. It wasn't all fuzzy and beautiful like he imagined. He cursed the damn commercials for that. Fucking marketing.

The first couple of months were rough. Morning sickness, vomiting, ungodly cravings at ungodly hours, horrendous mood swings, and worst of all; minimum intimacy. She'd become fragile unlike her nature. And she got overly concerned that he might hurt the baby whenever he suggested penetrative sex. Orals were, certainly, out of the equation. It was both frustrating and maddening to say the least. He was a fucking man and had needs. The best he could get was quick and not so enthusiastic handies from time to time when she could provide. Long story short, he was growing blue balls from the ordeal. Fuck, he used to make fun of men who couldn't get laid properly. The irony had such an impact on his ego; his pride of being a fucking man.

It was not easy for someone like him to stay faithful to his partner. He rarely recognised commitment before he met her, and being surrounded by blatant temptations all the time didn't make things any better. He could have anyone at any time, ladies would eagerly kneel and suck him off without a question if he wanted them to. But he'd be damned if he wasn't in charge of his own self. He'd be damned if he dared to break her heart. He'd be damned if he ruined his family, a family he never thought he'd ever have, for such vagaries.

In time, however, pregnancy did prove itself to be the most beautiful of all affairs. Surprisingly so. Whenever he spooned her up hugging her from behind, he found odd tranquillity of hearing hers and the babe's rhythmical heartbeats, or when he caressed her bumping tummy, feeling his child's life forming inside of her body, a creature they both made, lack of sex seemed to be durable and trivial at some point. Something he himself wouldn't believe before. But here he was. His disgust and appal from what pregnancy entailed gradually dissipated and were replaced with zeal and thrill. And most certainly, he enjoyed the changes of her body the most. Ben just loved the way her boobs were swelling up with milk, and the way her stomach was flourishing with his child. Boob massage was something he greatly took pleasure in. Kneading her sore breasts while hearing her moans of relief. He'd come to learn that intimacy could be found in many other things than sex.

Ben noticed he'd come to hating every moment he spent away from them. His temper got much worse, his teammates observed. And he became more aggressive than he already was when fighting crime. The happiest moment of his day was when he dropped the shield and took the helmet off to head home, where his beautiful wife would be eagerly waiting to have dinner with him even though most of the nights he'd come home and find her dozing off on the couch where she'd been waiting for him. He'd carry her to their bedroom and have dinner by himself — he skipped that very often — then slip right behind her on the bed holding her close to his body. The concept of coming back home to someone was so much alluring to him. He felt his life was complete. Real.

Ben arrived at their penthouse, assuming he'd find her soundly sleeping while she stayed awaiting him. He didn't announce his return loudly as he used to do before the pregnancy. He didn't want to wake her up. But much to his surprise — and delight, Ben found the place dimly lit with scented candles, sensuous silence prevailing within the air.

Ben's eyes glimmered, and an instant wolfish grin slipped into his lips when his eyes landed on his wife's figure as she clambered down the stairs. A thin, short gown with a raunchy red colour hugged her frame, its fabric was so thin that he could see her skin glowing through the red. Her breasts were full, putting her cleavage on more display. Whereas the bump of her belly was deliciously visible. Her hair was neatly styled and spruced up and her pretty face was elegantly painted with make-up.

“Welcome home, Ben,” She warbled with a smile, eyes filled with sultry desire as she strolled down to him. He was dazzled by her appearance, he was practically eating her with his eyes. Fuck, pregnancy did make her much prettier. “Hope you didn't have dinner yet 'cause I made you something special tonight.”

Her palm grazed his stubbled cheek. Ben leaned into her touch, pressing a gentle kiss to her palm, a grin gracing his mouth. “'Course I didn't. Why the fuck would I eat outside when I have a capable wife like you at home?”

She giggled gleefully at his statement as he pulled her flush against his body. He eyed her with a hazed gaze. Her mouth was luring him in, deliciously so. He liked that lipstick shade on her lips so much. He couldn't but to give in to the utter temptation. Ben tilted his head down and captured them in a burning kiss. An instant moan escaped her throat as his mouth passionately pressed to hers. Her arms encircled his neck, hands combing through his brown hair. He synced their heads for a better angle, and deepened the kiss, tongue slipping into her warm mouth. His hands brushed her sides then her ass.

He broke the kiss momentarily and she gasped vehemently. He could hear the rapid pace of her heart and the gushing blood through her vein, pooling down in her groin. He crushed her lips again, hands travelling up to remove the dress but she squealed and pulled back.

“Benjamin, dinner's gonna get cold!” She laughed again when he buried his face in her neck, kissing her skin softly.

“Is that really what you're fucking concerned about now?” He grumbles in a teasing tone.

She giggled, “Should I be concerned about something else—woah!” Ben grabbed her hips and lifted her effortlessly, heading to the living room with her pretty legs around his hips. His lips plundering hers again all the way until they reached the couch where he sat with her straddling his lap. The kiss went wild once they settled comfortably on the couch. His big hands stroked her thighs ardently. They trailed up to her ass giving it a firm squeeze and she moaned in his mouth, plucking the rim of her satin panties. He smirked into the kiss, fingers tracing down to her core. His grin widened when he met her bare cunt.

“Oh, baby,” He rasps when she rolls her hips slowly, pressing her cunt on his clothed cock, “Aren't you a pretty fucking tease?” He tugged at the lip of the crotchless panties, a mischievous grin playing on his mouth.

She guffawed with a coquettish tilt of her head, and his cock twitched in an immediate response. However, the innocent look on her face opposed the tortuous pace of her hips. She was fucking tantalising him with those hips. And he fucking liked it despite the screaming urge growing in his chest to flip her over and fuck her raw. Oh, she did like it rough, the little slut. She liked to be beneath him and beg him to go harder and faster, to yank her hair and make her choke on his dick. She loved how he manhandled her with his superhuman strength despite being only a human, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't take great pleasure in it too. Ben's nothing if doesn't live to be in charge. He'd been shocked that a tiny woman like her could handle him as such. But he was quick to remember that she was with his fucking child. He couldn't go rough on her like he used to do even if they both craved it.

She didn't stop her torment as her delicate hands rested on his shoulders for support. He could smell the sweet scent of her arousal soaking his crotch and he growled, “Holy fuck, you gonna let me fuck that pretty pussy of yours, or you planning on making me cream my pants?”

Her lips twisted wickedly, “Depends,”

“On fucking what?” He grunted, brows furrowed, puzzled. He was way too hard and drunk by her scent to clearly think or read between her lines, “Baby, you're fucking killing me here.”

“Aw, am I to seal the greatest era of America's history?” She giggled again, “What an honour.”

Then it clicked. The fucking slut. She was tempting him to ravish her. Maybe he should, but again, he worried about her and the child. Because honestly, he wasn't so sure if he could restrain himself if he unbridled that side of his.

Then his mouth splitted in a huge grin, brushing his cheek to hers to grumble in her ear, “The only honour you're gonna get is milking my cock empty in that slutty pussy of yours.” He chuckled triumphantly when he sensed her shivering in delight. Leaning his head backward, he saw her chewing on her lower lip adorably with a cute pinkish red dusting across her face, whereas her eyes were searing with covetousness. Ben pecked her nose and lifted her up again, gently. She trilled a series of choppy laughters and playfully kicked her legs when he carried her to their bedroom.

Needless to say, she took whatever honour he bestowed upon her like a champ.

He was craving a whiff of a cigar. He used to smoke after a good fuck in bed, she'd even share him a couple of drags sometimes. But since it was off the table — temporarily — he focused on and enjoyed her fingers running on his chest.

Fuck, pregnant sex did feel amazing. He gotta admit. He did hear from here and there that a woman with child, at some point of her pregnancy, would be touched by sudden and high libidinousness. But fuck, didn't that catch him off guard. And fuck, if he didn't enjoy it down to the last minute detail. And dare he say, it was the best sex he ever had. It was perfect; she was perfect.

Never did he think that he'd find home, his real home in a simple elementary school teacher he met on one of his tours throughout the country. A beautiful and smart woman who always kept him on his toes and had him wrapped around her pretty fingers.

Ben smiled and kissed the crown of her head, and slowly, it turned into a trail of kisses down her face. Then he captured her lips, and soon enough, they were engaging in a heated make-out session.

“Ben,” She whispered as she gazed at him, voice a bit hoarse from screaming and crying beneath him for hours.

His hand was rubbing circles on her ass languidly, “What is it, dollface?” He drawls with a thick voice.

“Sorry for not being a good wife for you the last couple of months.” She said meekly, bringing his hands to cradle them in hers, while he just frowned at her words, “They were tough times on me, on us.” She sighed, pressing light kisses on his rough hands, “But everything's gonna be set right again, I promise.”

Ben's frown only got deeper when he noticed the lick of fear and desperation in her eyes and voice. Fuck, she was scared shitless. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His wife was scared if he was screwing around on her because of her lack of attention due to the pregnancy, for she used to shower him with doting and devotion as a good wife did. Fuck, did he, by any mean, do anything wrong to arise such qualms in her? He certainly did not. Then he fucking remembered that nasty reputation of his that proceeded him.

Fuck, gotta reassure her and chill her the fuck down. He can't have her in such a position. He can't have his home in such a precarious, dark place. Not after what the two of them had done to build what they had up. He wouldn't allow it.

“Hey,” He passed rough-padded thumbs under the lines of her eyes, palms caressing her cheeks, “Nothing went fucking wrong to set back right, sweetheart,” Then he gave her belly tender strokes, “You're an amazing wife,”

She was; everyday she woke up, five in the morning, to prepare him a delicious-ass breakfast. She took it upon herself to be his barber and shaved his beard almost everyday and trimmed his hair every now and then. She was patient when he wasn't. She embraced him when he was practically a walking ticking bomb. She patched him up — when needed — at night when he'd return to her roughed up from fighting crimes. She soothed him down when frustrated and angry. She took his bad temper and relieved it thoroughly. She was everything. She was home.

Ben's finger flicked her nose playfully, “As I'm fucking sure yer gonna be an amazing hot momma,”

Ah, here it was, the sheepish smile that reached her eyes. He'd fucking cherish it forever.

He kissed her forehead, “You're perfect; my perfect wife, my perfect home.”

#soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy fic #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy smut #soldier boy x fem reader #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy x you #soldier boy imagine #the boys smut #the boys imagine #the boys soldier boy

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fioiswriting · 3 months

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The sea and the fire

“Fire and water looked so lovely together. It was a pity they destroyed each other by nature.” - R.F Kuang

Rating : will be explicit 18+ later, MDNI Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader, Cregan Stark x Reader later TW : mention of blood, mention of murder. TW will be added as the story progresses. Words count : 4361 AN : Hello everyone! I'm back from the deads hehe. Sorry, I've been busy with a lot of things lately, I've had a couple of exams and I'm also in the process of writing my (second) master's thesis. Sooo anyway, I've written the first chapter of my new fanfic. Yes, it is YET ANOTHER story that involves niece!reader x Aemond and it is adapted from an RP with my girlfriend. If you're tired of this trope, if you're uncomfortable with this dynamic, I suggest you find another fanfic (there are plenty of masterpieces on tumblr anyway!! 💕). It's been on my mind for a long time, and I finally found the time to finish this first chapter. I don't know yet how many chapters there will be or how often I'll post, but I hope you like it! 💕 As always, be nice, I know there are probably some inconsistencies, but we're here to have fun, right? (BTW, I've been bingewatching Vikings and I know the fandom is kinda dead, but I want to write some x readers now)

Also, English is not my first (nor second) language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes!!

Thank you for reading!!

Chapter 1 : Street of Silk

War of heart - Ruelle 🎶

The streets of King's Landing had the peculiar quality of being both enticing and repelling; like a unique, curious spectacle that you discovered with every hesitant step you took. The smell of fresh fish mingled with that of fire and sewers, tickling your nose with unfamiliar smells. It was new to you, these smells, these sounds too; the hammering of the blacksmith's tools on the metal, the shouts of the merchants, the rolling of the cartwheels on the cobblestones of the winding streets. It was different from what you were used to; the steady rocking of the waves, the calm of the rain, the ups and downs of the tides. The only turbulence in your daily life were the storms you were so fond of, and the thunder, the lightning, the wind that shook the stones and lifted the waves had an untameable yet terribly soothing aspect.

Unlike King's Landing.

If it wasn't the natural elements that threatened to unleash their wrath here in King's Landing, it was the unpredictability of the people in the streets, the danger lurking around every corner, the risk of disappearing forever into the shadows of a forgotten alley.

Apart from the hustle and bustle of the forbidden streets you were discovering for the first time after so many years - and the adrenaline rush of breaking the restriction on venturing there - King's Landing was, objectively speaking, a deadly bore.

But it was still less boring than going round in circles in the castle.

You knew it was the dream of every lady in the Seven Kingdoms to live within the walls of the Red Keep, for it had been yours for a long time. Back when you lived in your childhood bedroom - the one on the second floor - you had no trouble imagining yourself spending your life in the gardens of the Red Keep, with your husband, enjoying the strawberry cakes and the books in the great library.

After all, you and Aemond were inseparable.

But in the meantime, fate had decided otherwise, and the mild climate of King's Landing, where you were born, where you celebrated your first words and your first steps, had been replaced by the vagaries of Dragonstone's weather. It was the sea, the storm and the rain that raised you, and it was with your feet in the water, on the shingle, that you grew up.

Living in King's Landing now was different from anything you'd ever imagined before.

King's Landing tasted bland. Boring.

Your mother had promised that the stay would be temporary, a few weeks at most, just to settle some business with Alicent and Viserys - your grandfather. The aim was to find a way to keep the peace between your families, but you weren't an idiot. You knew that the rift between your families was growing wider and wider.

And that one of the only ways to prevent a total, irreparable rupture was a promise of marriage.

Then again, wasn't it your duty to be sold into marriage, to strengthen the bonds, to carry the family's shaky balance on your shoulders?

You already missed Dragonstone. You missed the sea. You missed walking on cold water.

King's Landing was like a golden prison you couldn't leave because everything around it was too dangerous.

And you were bored. You had been reading. You had been embroidering. You had wandered far and wide through the gardens. You'd listened kindly and attentively to Helaena talk about her insects, and you'd spent several afternoons sharing court gossip with Baela and Rhaena.

You spent much of your time avoiding your uncle. Or watching him from afar.

For he had changed terribly; for better or worse, you weren't sure. You only kept the memories of your shared childhood, somewhere in your heart, like a buried secret, like a triple-locked treasure you'd sworn never to open again.

The memories were painful. They created a lump in your throat, they kept you awake at night, they made your tears flow.

And that was why you locked them away and threw away the key that kept them locked.

You decided you weren't that child anymore - you stopped being that child when you went your separate ways, when you went back to Dragonstone and he stayed here. Now he wasn't the little boy you left either: he had become this cold, tall, ruthless young man. He had that cunning little smile, that air of self-assurance he wore with his head held high and his chin up.

Boredom drove you to follow Aegon into the city. He suggested it and suddenly all sense of reason left your body. Weren't you the most reasonable of your siblings, the most prudent, the most intelligent? An inexplicable feeling had urged you to accept, like two hands behind your back pushing you towards him, like a voice in your head encouraging you to abandon your model daughter's appearance: the call of transgression. Curiosity. The desire to be bold. The danger. For once you were making a decision, your own decision, without your parents or brothers knowing. You were the master of your actions, and in a way, it was an act of rebellion that gave you a feeling of freedom, that awakened a sense of excitement in you.

Ser Erryk protested, of course, when he realised your little ploy, but you had already vanished before he could stop you. You laughed as you followed Aegon, his mischievous smile at the corner of his lips as he led you through the secret passage that allowed you to sneak out of the castle, your hand in the crook of his elbow so as not to lose you.

And everything went well. You enjoyed your newfound freedom with a mixture of curiosity and fear, your body pressed against your uncle's, the hood pulled down over your forehead. You had the advantage of dark hair - the opposite of the Targaryens' emblematic features. It attracted less attention, you knew it. But your curious gaze, your round eyes that discovered the ordinary life of the lowborn must have intrigued the most observant ones, for Aegon nudged you in the ribs when he caught you looking a little too intently at the work of a craftsman.

"You make a poor peasant," he whispered in your ear. "Well... You're obviously too pretty to be a peasant, that's for sure. But try to be more discreet." He paused. "Those men are looking at you like hungry dogs" he lowered his voice. You rolled your eyes and patted him on the shoulder.

To tell the truth, you weren't comfortable with all those men giving you lecherous looks, but Aegon's presence was reassuring.

He showed you the shortcuts he knew, the secrets, the curiosities of the city, and he talked to you. You wondered if he, too, had changed. You wondered if he'd gone from that stupid, mocking, annoying child to a secretly vulnerable, secretly lonely young adult. You knew about his bad habits; alcohol and sex, but this secret escapade showed you a side of him you didn't know. When had he become nice?

"Wait for me," he said as you looked around. The streets had changed, they had become busier, and suddenly you realised that you were frightened. "I'll be quick. Don't move and keep this on your head."

You wanted to protest, to hold him back, but your uncle had already slipped away.

You were all alone in the Silk of Street.

Your heartbeat quickened. You weren't sure you'd find your way back, and Aegon had ordered you to stay there, not to move, not to talk to anyone. Fuck.

Fuck.

Had he done it on purpose? Was it a plan he'd been hatching all along, a bad joke he'd decided to play on his niece, on Rhaenyra's only daughter? Was he still the mean boy who bullied his little brother? Or did he actually have a real reason for leaving you there, all alone, in the street where brothels piled up and nobles went to satisfy their needs?

You were angry at yourself for trusting him. You blamed yourself for being so naive. You couldn't believe he'd really set a trap for you, not after the complicity you'd shared just before.

Or maybe he was just being Aegon; irresponsible and immature, oblivious to danger, and so stupid as to think that waiting for him here was a good idea.

You sighed. Tears tickled the corners of your eyes with fear, but you tried to chase them away, to swallow them down, to calm your racing heart. The last thing you needed was to draw attention to yourself.

But there were these men all around you, looking at you as if they were ready to pounce. Was this how you would end up, abducted, and sold into a cheap brothel? Murdered after serving the needs of a few old men? You shuddered at the thought.

The voices around you mingled with the tumult, blurred images drawing unidentified shapes before your eyes, and you took a deep breath to try and calm yourself, rubbing your sweaty palms against the fabric of your cloak.

"So? What do you say, girl?"

A hand on your waist.

You weren't sure you understood what the man in front of you was saying. The words were bouncing around in your head without you being able to make them out, but his hungry smile was enough to reveal their nature. You froze. He was joined by another man, and you took a step back, then a second. It was as if your body refused to obey you, as if your brain stopped working, and you hated yourself for it.

You hated yourself for being so weak.

You had a dragon. You were a Targaryen. So why were you trembling? Why couldn't you gather your courage and run, gather your courage and plunge your dagger into someone's chest, fight and scream?

One of them, the older-looking one, closed his hand around your wrist.

"Let me go!" You screamed, but the words caught in your throat, escaping your lips like a distorted cry. "Go away!"

Simple commands that couldn't get through the space between your lips with the authority you wanted.

You closed your eyes, trying to resist.

Fuck. You were going to die. You were going to be raped and then you were going to die, or be sold into sex work, or -

Something splashed in your face and suddenly you felt free.

"Didn't you hear her? She said let me go," a hoarse voice growled.

Your blood ran cold.

You knew exactly who it was.

That calm but sharp tone belonged to only one person: Aemond Targaryen.

How had he found you? Why had he found you? You opened your eyes instantly, your cheeks still red with shame. You knew you'd been irresponsible, and that wasn't in your nature at all, quite the opposite. But the fact that Aemond had caught you in such a weak position bothered and annoyed you.

It was supposed to be your secret, your act of rebellious transgression, your forbidden escapade with Aegon. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

It wasn't supposed to be Aemond rescuing you.

You opened your eyes. Facing you, the older man was kneeling on the pavement. He was clutching at his right side, blood trickling through his fingers to the ground. He was suffocating, blood pouring from his lips, but Aemond wiped the blade of his sword with a satisfied smile.

The crowd had gathered to watch what was happening, a mixture of fear and curiosity on their faces, but Aemond was already hastening to chase them away in a tone that left no room for discussion:

"There's nothing to see," he thundered. "Go away. All of you. Or I'll serve you as food for Vhagar."

The crowd dispersed, frightened; women grabbing their children by the shoulders to force them to move, barefoot beggars hurrying to gather their bowl and few coins to find another place, prostitutes closing the curtains with an irritated sigh, old men almost stumbling, and soon the street was deserted.

Despite the hood that covered his face, you could see the flat line of his grin and the cold, accusing look with which he stared at you. He was furious.

Perhaps he expected you to thank him, for Aemond approached you without a word. You looked up at him, your cheeks still red with shame. You were too proud to thank him.

And you were still too angry, too.

Angry at his silence all these years, angry that he'd let you down when you'd stood up for him, angry at the man he'd become.

"Are you coming or not?" he asked in his icy voice, his hand already closing around your wrist to force you forward, but you didn't move.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, frowning. You'd suddenly regained your repartee.

You knew you had to calm things down, thank him and follow him in silence. Accept the humiliation and beg for his silence. You knew you were making things more difficult than they already were, but that was Aemond. And once again, in front of Aemond, you had a pride to uphold.

"What am I doing here?" he repeated, his voice sharp. He froze, his dark eyes glaring at you as if you'd just insulted him. Suddenly you felt so small in front of him. "I should be asking you that question," he added dryly, obviously trying to keep the tone of his voice under control. "You're even more stupid than I thought."

The sentence had the effect of a slap in the face, and you felt your cheeks burning. Like a little girl caught red-handed, you lowered your head. What had been going through your mind? Why had you decided to follow Aegon in the first place?

Aemond lifted you with ease and slung you over his shoulder like a sack of flour, as if he wanted to be sure you would follow him, as if he feared you would escape again, as if he didn't trust you.

And in the end, perhaps he was right.

As he carried you to the Red Keep, your fists pounded on his back. Small blows that he ignored, painless on the width that was his back.

He seemed to ignore you, perhaps more annoyed that you wouldn't stay still than anything else. But you didn't need him to play the perfect knight, not when he'd been ignoring you all this time. Not when he'd barely spoken to you on your return to King's Landing. Not when he drew a line under your childhood as if nothing had happened.

Not when he kept harassing your brothers.

It irritated you. He played the role of the ideal husband-to-be, impassive and calm; as if he'd always been the knight in shining armour he never was.

"You could at least let me go," you sighed, seeing that nothing seemed to disturb your uncle's icy calm. "I know how to walk. "

He had a moment's hesitation where he stopped, and then you felt him readjust your position with a flick of his shoulder. You had no trouble imagining the corners of his lips curling upwards, painting his face with his usual insolent grin, you had no trouble imagining him chuckling at your condition.

"Stop it, you are only making it harder for us," he growled in an authoritative voice. "And if you are not happy, I can always leave you here." He paused. "I did not know you dreamed of working in a brothel."

The comment was enough to send another wave of heat up your cheeks, colouring them red, but you tried as best you could to keep your composure, as if not to betray your embarrassment in front of the prince.

You refused to show him that his remark had affected you.

You just gritted your teeth and sighed.

The position was becoming uncomfortable: Aemond's bony shoulder was digging into your stomach and your legs were going numb, as if thousands of little ants were crawling all over them.

You hoped no one would see you when you got back to the castle. Your excursion into the city was supposed to be discreet; you weren't supposed to come back with a blood-stained tunic, nor hanging over your one-eyed uncle's shoulders.

If Aemond knew anything about the impending official announcement of your betrothal, he said nothing, walking ahead of him as if you were as light as a sack of grain.

"Qybor." You whispered again, this time using High Valyrian. Uncle. You hoped the nickname would make him react. "Qybor," you repeated a little louder. "I can walk by myself now."

If the nickname had any effect on him, Aemond didn't show it. But you had no trouble imagining the stupefaction you would have read on his face had you been face to face with him. You were proud of your skills in High Valyrian: you learned faster than Jace, faster than Luke, but then again, you'd always loved books and history, languages and learning. Aemond would probably remember that, it was what brought you together as a child in the first place.

You could see the tall towers of the Red Keep in front of you, their red bricks standing out against the blue sky. From a distance, you could understand the fascination of the people. There was something great, something sumptuous about the sight of this building, and you understood why it had taken three reigns to build it.

But despite your pleas, Aemond had not moved an eye. You knew that if your uncle hadn't intervened, you would probably have ended up in a dark alley, or in a filthy brothel, used as a plaything by a bunch of drunken lords, or in the dirty hands of ill-intentioned men. The thought made a lump grow in your throat that you found hard to swallow.

You were definitely naive and stupid for agreeing to follow Aegon like that.

Still, you hadn't bothered to thank Aemond.

You had too much pride to thank him, a flaw you'd inherited from your family.

You were stubborn, never satisfied, and always had something to say.

But Aemond, it seemed, had as much - if not more - pride than you.

Your engagement promised to be surprising.

"I am serious, Aemond," you added. It felt strange to call him by his first name when you hadn't addressed him that way for years. "I am a..." strong woman, you wanted to reply, but you chose another word instead, not wanting to give him the occasion to mock you: "independent woman".

As you approached the entrance - you prayed Aemond would choose one of the secret passages, you couldn't bear the humiliation of being carried off like a piece of merchandise by your presumed future husband - he stopped and set you down. His single eye searched your face, as if looking for the slightest trace of gratitude, but he knew he wouldn't find any; he knew it would have been too easy, and he knew it wouldn't have been you.

You weren't easy.

Pulling your arm to make you walk faster, Aemond forced you to follow him, around the ramparts, glancing around to make sure no one was following you. He pulled a little harder. "Mandianna," he began, his husky voice vibrating, the tone sending a wave of heat through your lower belly.

There was something incredibly pleasing about hearing the intonations of High Valyrian roll off your uncle's tongue.

But that was Aemond. And it was out of the question for you to feel anything for Aemond.

Around the bend in the ramparts, out of sight, he slammed you against the wall, both hands pressed firmly against your shoulders to prevent you from fleeing. "What exactly did you think would happen when you went to Silk Street, tell me?"

You knew what he was thinking. That you were irresponsible. That your actions were unworthy of someone of your station, and even more so if you were to be his future betrothed. That he wondered if your time on Dragonstone had made you reckless and wild, that he wondered if he might need to teach you some manners before he could marry you.

His judging gaze swept you from head to toe. As if to say that though your father's legitimacy was often questioned, Aemond knew that you were indeed Rhaenyra's daughter.

You avoided his gaze, your eyes fixed on a point beside his face. You wanted to say something witty, but the young prince had robbed you of any chance of intelligent thought, and you hated this feeling.

"I didn't think you'd come looking for me, Qybor," you replied with a grin as you looked up at him. "I thought you were a busy man."

You felt his fingers tighten on your shoulders, his nails digging into the fabric of your cloak and tunic underneath. Your behaviour was childish, like a petulant brat, but secretly you enjoyed seeing Aemond lose his temper. You liked to push him to his limits. You liked to see the subtle signs of his irritation; the moment when he clenched his jaw, when he straightened his neck, when his breathing quickened.

If you were to marry him, then you would be poison, ready to corrupt his soul.

He grabbed the collar of your linen tunic and pushed you a little harder against the wall. "I thought you were smarter than to follow my brother into the city." His body rigid against yours kept you pinned to the wall.

The expression on his face betrayed his inner conflict: part of him thinking that he shouldn't care about his niece's actions, about you. Part of him reminding that you were soon to be betrothed.

And you knew that the thought of other men putting their hands on you, on his bride's body was lighting a fire in the pit of his stomach.

Jealousy.

Possessiveness.

Aemond was a man driven by duty. On this level, you were the same; the model son and model daughter of your respective families, charged with performing your duties to prevent the gulf that separated your families from widening.

Both the eternal seconds of your families.

Both the pride of your mothers.

Suddenly he released you. His hand found your wrist again and he pulled you through the corridors of the castle. Had anyone caught you now, your hood pulled down over your forehead, your clothes hiding your appearance, they would probably have frowned and wondered if Aemond had suddenly decided to follow in his brother's footsteps, his taste for debauchery, by bringing a common girl or a cheap prostitute into his chamber.

For at that moment, you did not look like the daughter of royal blood that you were, not with your simple linen clothes, not with the thick cloak that covered your body, not with your hair tied up carelessly. You looked like a servant girl, a smallfolk girl, not like the Pearl of Dragonstone that you truly were.

Aemond's fingers burned around your wrist. You wondered if he felt it, too. If you were causing the same effect in him.

But he was impassive, always so difficult to read. He hid his feelings, buried them under a cold, mysterious shell, as if to protect himself.

He stopped in front of the door that led to your bedroom. Fortunately, the corridor was deserted. You didn't have the courage to face your parents' disappointed looks, you didn't have the courage to realise that you had betrayed their trust, even if, for a moment, you had forgotten your duty, you had forgotten the responsibilities that weighed on your shoulders, you had tasted a feeling of freedom, so new, so delicious. A foolish act of transgression.

But you were safe and sound, and that was the most important thing.

"You'd better get changed," Aemond suggested. "It would be better if my mother didn't see you like this."

He clenched his jaw. He looked concentrated, as if he wanted to add something, as if he wanted to reprimand you but had to force himself to remain silent. An instant of silence hung between you. The urge to ask him if he was going to report your little escapade burned on the tip of your tongue, but you thought better of it.

Aemond's single eye was riveted to you. Piercingly. Fierce.

For a brief moment, a very brief moment, your uncle's ragged breathing caressed your face and your heart raced.

He was so close.

"Why? Don't you like to see me dressed like a common girl, my prince?" you asked, teasingly. Like a common girl you could bend over in some dark and gloomy street, you thought. But Aemond was not Aegon, and you felt him hesitate, as if the words had taken him by surprise. His hand, about to find your jaw and make you swallow your insolence, had stopped halfway.

You smirk. Aemond had nothing to worry about. For the official announcement of your betrothal, you had planned to wear a dress that would honour your Velaryon origins.

"Rest assured, qybor," you continued, taking a step in his direction.

Poison in his soul, you repeated in your head. That's what you'd be to your uncle. You took the time observe him, as if studying him, as if imagining the effect the words you were about to say would have on your uncle. Your eyes sparkled with mischief, and perhaps with something else. "Your betrothed is still intact for her wedding night," you finally whispered in his ear.

He held his breath. You knew that you would break down, brick by brick, the barriers he'd spent years building around his heart.

You wanted him raw.

But before you turned on your heel to enter your chamber, you summoned all the courage you had left in your body and stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss on the prince's jaw.

"Thank you for coming to my rescue, my prince."

And then, you were gone.

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #Aemond Targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x niece!reader #aemond targaryen fanfic

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hardlyinteresting · 2 months

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Sympathy For The Devil

Day Four of the #MarchHotchness event. Find the other days HERE Thank you to @hotchfiles for creating this event 💕

As always Request here! | Masterlist

Warnings: mention of damnation, mention canon typical violence, misplaced guilt, allusions to childhood abuse, mention of childhood injury

"But who prays for Satan? Who in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most" Mark Twain

He's ill-deserving of the affection you show him. Every day you wake up and go to sleep loving him. He struggles to fathom the odds; occasionally entertaining the possibility that this is just some kind of dream state. Surely it is nothing more than a vivid vagary.

Tonight despite his best efforts to be silent as he puts his bags down his go bag, his puttering around the room wakes you up. You call to him from where you lay, asking him to come to bed. Lately, you've grown wise to his tendency to force insomnia after a bad case. You won't tolerate it, not when he should be sleeping next to you.

Your touch alone could heal him. Showered and changed, he settles into bed beside you. Your thumb traces a cut on his jawline, the action is a silent question.

“The unsub got a good punch in,” he explains.

He doesn't tell you that his brawl with the man was all for nothing. He'd been unable to subdue him, and moments later Morgan took the man out with a shot to the chest.

In the shower he had spent more than a reasonable amount of time scrubbing his hands and face to rid himself of blood splatter he had wiped away hours earlier. He has the life of another on his hands. He was a bad man, sure, but a fellow human being nonetheless.

Ending a life no matter how evil doesn't sit right with him. One of the most difficult and least considered parts of his job.

He was once told he was wicked. He was hot-headed, stubborn, and insubordinate. His school teacher had rapped his knuckles as punishment for his behaviour. His fingers stayed bruised for more than a week; hands stained and marked by his damned soul.

If he clenches his fists now, he can still feel the sting of split skin the same way he feels that familiar simmering rage is boiling just beneath the surface. He keeps his anger in check and the devil on his shoulder.

He wonders how much really separates him from the killer he hunts. He steps into their shoes to find them-- feigns empathy to talk them down. He's taken more than one life in his career. And yet, he comes home at the end of it all to lay beside you; to hold his son.

“You are not the devil you think you are, Aaron,” your voice is only a whisper, but it cuts through the layers of his thoughts.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #hotch x reader #criminal minds fic #marchhotchness #writing prompt #writing challenge #prompt challenge #Spotify

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ummmlife · 8 months

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Poor, sad, miserable teen!Nanami

Warnings!: post Haibara's death Nanami ; teen nanami ; angst (?) ; fluff (?) ; nanami×reader ; she / her pronouns reader ; reader is Nanami's (check on the translator) senior (aka Gojo's age) ; headcanon, drabble, idk, i wrote. if something doesn't makes sense, my sincerest apologies for not knowing how to speak english properly 🫠

We already know that teenage Nanami was a very pessimistic and unsociable person. While our adult Nanami is an exemplary person who knows social norms well and follows them perfectly, teenage Nanami was not like that. He was trained to be an adult from the young age of 15 (I assume because of Itadori's age).

But what events happened to turn Kento Nanami from an inexperienced (emo) teenager to an exemplary adult?

Tragedies, that's what happened.

In our modern society we know and understand that child labor is something inconceivable and even illegal in many countries, I mean, it is written in human rights. So we could assume that Jujutsu society operates the same way... Hahaha no. Good grief, if that were so there would be no such thing as manga/anime (Akutami you're cruel).

Why would we believe that in a society commanded by conservative and traditionalist elders, who (and this is my thought) surely rejoiced when Japan was a colonizing empire during WWII, would protect children? In this cruel world you learn to survive, and burdened with the curse of being a Jujutsu Sorcerer you have no escape.

So Nanami, against his will and coming from a family of non sorcerers, is forced to settle in this rotten society.

If being a sorcerer is a very low possibility, probably much lower than winning the lottery, it would not be difficult to expect that in a single class there would be one or at most three Jujutsu students. This was the case with Nanami and Haibara. Two kids with completely different personalities and motivations who, by the vagaries of the universe, ended up in the same situation together (and with the same fate awaiting them. Crying).

Nanami, yes, was a pessimistic, introverted, grumpy teenager, but at least he had Haibara with him who, even if he never said it out loud, gave him hope that maybe and just maybe being a sorcerer wasn't so bad.

Hell only knows the pain and despair the death of his only friend caused Nanami.

To be born into a faded world only to meet a rainbow and then have it snuffed out by a typhoon, yeah, it wasn't easy. Nanami could even understand why Suguru Geto, who by the way Haibara was a fan of, decided to become a Curse User. For Nanami himself the temptation was so much, so palpable and easy to choose. But he knew that: 1. Haibara wouldn't have liked it, 2. Following Geto's path would have mentally exhausted him more and 3. He couldn't afford to hurt more fellow Jujutsu Sorcerers.

That is why Nanami was only looking forward to his graduation day, but silently. He wished to simply disappear, not only from the Sorcerer profession but also from this world.

Nanami was lost, mired in depression and no one seemed to care. If everyone was so busy minding their own business then he had to mind his own life as well. Go on missions alone, study alone, fight alone, eat alone, live and wait to die alone.

— "Are you sleeping well? I notice you're more exhausted than before."

Maybe he wasn't as alone as he thought, maybe he mattered to someone: his senior.

Another sorceress a year above him, a classmate of Gojo and Ieiri. A sweet and caring girl for whom, at some point when Haibara was still alive, Nanami felt loving feelings for her begin to surface.

— "Yeah... I'm fine."

Lying is bad but worrying others is worse.

Nanami was eating lunch, alone as usual, a sandwich he made himself. Sitting on the stairs outside the school listening to the cicadas and the sound of the leaves on the trees moving in the soft autumn wind. His senior sat beside him, in complete silence, knowing full well that Nanami is not a big fan of social interactions.

— "I hear you've perfected your innate Cursed Technique..."

Still, she tries to dialogue with him. At least a little bit.

— "Yeah…"

Nanami might feel uncomfortable, but the closeness of his senior makes him feel calm, it makes him feel peace.

In a world where children are forced to live and think like adults in life and death situations, the company of someone who is at least a little more mature is comforting.

— "I miss him too, you know? Haibara."

It hurts, it hurts so much. Nanami stops eating as he feels his stomach twist with the memories of that fateful day when Haibara was killed because of a mistake by the adults, they sent them to their death and it was all because of a mistake. Nanami closes his eyes and breathes in an attempt to calm his anxiety.

This has happened before, indeed, it happens every night. Nanami hasn't been able to sleep well since the Haibara incident, having no one to comfort or hold him when he cries his soul out before trying to sleep.

That's why the moment he felt his senior's delicate hands bringing his head to her shoulder to comfort him it completely threw him off. It felt good, warm for the first time.

— "If you keep holding back you're going to end up hurting yourself even more."

That sentence alone was enough to make Nanami completely break down in tears. It was the first time in years feeling comfort from someone in such an intimate and satisfying way.

Nanami cried, hugged and clung to his senior as he had never done with anyone before, only maybe with his mother when he was a child. He couldn't contain himself when he felt her lips gently pressing against his crown of his head, it was like a dream.

— "Can I ask you not to leave?"

It was so embarrassing but so necessary for him to ask that. Her senior's soft and sweet smile was like a gift to his aching heart.

— "I don't plan to go anywhere."

*sobs* Emo Nanami, so cute ‹𝟹 must protect!!!!!

#jjk nanami #nanami headcanons #nanami kento #nanami x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu nanami #kento nanami #teen!nanami #nanami drabbles #nanami angst #nanami fluff #nanami headcanon #teen nanami #. bibi's writing

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srbachchan · 5 months

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DAY 5747

Jalsa, Mumbai Nov 11/12, 2023 Sat/Sun 12:18 AM

Birthday - EF Jyoti Miglani Sunday, 12 November .. greetings on this auspicious day , in more ways than one .. 🪔

Naraka Chaturdasi Sunday, 12 November

Deepavali .. शुभकामनाएँ

the silence of quietness is the wisest quiet of silence ..

😳

takes a while to let it immerse itself in the being ..

no one asks what is being , or the immersion ; for they have all been developed in forms that have challenged us from eternity to eternity ..

the amorousity of two be in the seclusion of decided plan .. that this has ever been the entire thought of humanity is known, executed but never understood ..

better ..

better .. to discover the replication in the elsewhere .. where the else is else and the where is where .. for they all exist .. and exist in the tempers of that which has continuous rhythm .. the rhythm of the soil .. the folk and earth the dust of the dusty marauded vagaries of unkempt narrow deliverable lanes of venus ..

ah hhhh ... Venus .. the brightest celestial planet after the sun and the moon .. appearing frequently in the clouded skies of the hemisphere .. as must it should , for the simplicity of its celestial mean - divine godly paradisical ..

🤣

for intrusion and protrusion be the divinity of the celeste .. the celeste of divine in its ultimate barriers of the wave sound .. loud and shattering the earth being, in its velocity of speed .. bringing the unimaginable clutter of sound to mach dimensions ; concordius from the Concordius of Spoleto , martyred reclusive saint , the lone pencilled in the skied concorde , reducing the time for just that one ethereal burst , pouring out the crucible fetus with that slowmo bone weapon to the Danube of the Blue .. washed away at times before its growth or given permissible valued time frames for its regenerational add to the billions of the eight ..

😁

wiped clean , soaked and brushed aside for the appear of its normalcy - the greatest facade of life ..

Amitabh Bachchan

REALLY ... 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

YOU SHALL NEVER KNOW ..

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uni-vee · 16 days

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[LN] Hell Event: Guiding Star

✨Fate is hidden in the stars, the paths of the past and future, record the vagaries of life.

2024 Anniversary hell event announcement…Certainly unexpected because this is the brand new one CN got in February.

Event Format: Weighted Nodes with player advantage, a twist on MoVo’s. Pick between Chant / Prayers at first to improve drop rates for that suit when you pull. You gain currency when pulling—and once you get enough currency you can go for the next suit. After you get the first two, you will then pick between Afternoon / Wisdom.

(I’m so sorry it’s complicated but I cannot explain it right..)

Suits & Details

Ashen Chant (Deer): Animated hair, 2 animated posed dresses, deer horn item, new makeup, 4 movable bg items

Night Prayers (Bride): Animated hair, 2 animated posed dresses, animated hair item, animated veil, new makeup, 3 movable bg items

Wisdom and Compassion (Ink): Animated hair, 2 animated posed dresses, animated hair item, new face item, 4 movable bg items

Fragrant Afternoon (Monet): Animated hair, posed dress, hair item, new face item, 4 movable bg items.

Live 2D: Star Envoy of Destiny*

Avatar Frames: 4 major suit completion / pull a certain amount (?) in event / ranking top 200

Time: 11 April — 28 April, 2024

#*unofficial name for the live 2D #I was saving for sunken sea but I looove the deer girlie #again the format is shitty but I’m glad we get some sort of say in picking the order #it is unnecessarily complicated however #love nikki #love nikki dress up queen #lnduq #love nikki dressup queen #hell event #anniversary #Guiding Star

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raavenb2619 · 6 months

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Does coming out lead to too much focus on labels?

(I don't really have a main thesis I'm trying to convince anyone of, I just had a thought and wondered what other people thought.)

When I had recently figured out I was ace/aro/nonbinary, I really cared about finding the right labels for me. And the aspec community in particular has so many unique perspectives and labels that you can apply to yourself. What kinds of attraction do you feel, how do you label your orientations and attractions, what model do you use to think about attraction, how do you think about relationships, how do you feel about sex/romance/relationships, etc. It was super eye opening to learn about lots of different terms, and different ways of thinking about things, and things I'd never even thought about or thought I even could think about, and I ended up applying lots of labels to myself.

But, it's been many years since then, and over time I've grown less interested in applying specific labels to myself. I'm still queer/ace/aro/trans/nonbinary/polyam, but I don't really use other labels. (And depending on the situation, I might end up omitting labels when vagaries work fine.) That's not to say that I don't have affinity with other labels, whether that's "I'm similar to what this label describes" or "this label provides an interesting perspective that I like", I just...don't use other labels to define my identity. If I'm comfortable enough talking about something that I could use a label for, I'll just describe my experiences directly, instead of saying "I'm [blank]".

And, I wonder if that shift from specificity to vagary has to do with coming out. For a young aroace like me, part of why coming out was so nerve-racking was that I felt like I had to prove that my identity was real, and having specific labels I could point to and say "look, this is real, I'm not making this up, other people are like this too" was super helpful. But, it's been many years since I've come out, and I'm more confident and know who I am, and that insecurity that I fought back with fistfuls of labels and well-rehearsed explanations is gone. (With the potential exception of QPR-related discussions, which feel kind of like coming out again; I might make a post about that some time if people are interested.)

Every time I've ever come out, or seen someone come out in real life or in media, it's always been "I'm [blank]", but I've never seen someone come out as "I'm not cis/straight". It's always a declaration that you are a specific thing, never a statement that you aren't something someone thought you were. I remember really wanting to make sure I knew exactly what I was and didn't come out as one thing and then change my labels later, because it would mean I'd have to come out again and it would be embarrassing that I got things wrong and maybe people would start to doubt me and not believe me when I said I was something in the future. But, people don't have to be a fixed, immutable set of labels forever; I'm comfortable with using vague labels for myself and letting myself be vague and nebulous and fluid without frantically trying to label every single part of myself. (And, in fact, I did technically get my labels slightly wrong the very first time I came out, and everything turned out okay in the end.)

So, maybe coming out puts an undue pressure on finding specific labels and making sure they're exactly right; maybe coming out should also be able to be "I'm not cis/straight". What do people think?

(This is not to say that specific labels are bad, because they can often be very helpful! Specific labels were helpful for me when I used them, and their existence can spark conversations and lead to new perspectives and learning. Even as I'm finding vagueness and nebulousness to be better for me right now than specific detailed labels, other people can be finding that specific detailed labels give them a sense of belonging and community and identity. But, I still wonder if coming out placed an undue burden on younger me to find all the right labels when vagueness could have worked just as well.)

#i had a random thought and i decided that i should post it and see if people had thoughts #gonna try to do this more i think #since i randomly have queer thoughts that i'd be interested to discuss with others #my thoughts #queer #lgbtq #original #aspec #aro #ace #aromantic #asexual #nonbinary #trans #enby #transgender

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shortpplfedup · 1 year

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I saw a post saying that Heart and Li Ming are more than a teenage first love and my first thought was...well...no. I think we denigrate teenage first loves so much, we don't take them seriously, because they mostly don't last, but I think loves that don't last are just as important for us as the ones that do. Heart and Li Ming's love is no less because it's a puppy love, or if it doesn't endure. It's still meaningful. It's still important. Love isn't all-or-nothing, or at least it shouldn't be. In a show where we see previous loves that didn't endure, for whatever reason, we can't say those loves were somehow lesser than what Jim and Wen are falling into now. They were important. They mattered. They were real. And they were no less any of those things simply because they're over now.

Idk I think the older I get the more strongly I feel about any love being seen as somehow less important or less sincere by dint of maturity or longevity. For me the seriousness of Heart and Li Ming's feelings and the way they treat each other is what matters. When it started and whether or not it will stand the test of time and the vagaries of life matters not.

#moonlight chicken #midnight series: moonlight chicken #musings

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cere-mon-ials · 4 months

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2023 in kdramas

*that i finished

**in order of how deep and lasting the brainrot was/is from barely a smidge to stitched to my soul

[12] I figured See You In My 19th Life would be trying when I couldn’t understand why an extraordinary individual in her 18th life—18 incredible lives lived over some of history’s most happening centuries—would fixate on one pesky schoolboy. I bought it because (a) Shin Hye-sun was selling it (b) the show tried to make it clear that while she remembered her past lives, it is not the same as living the one she is in. So when the young Ju-won meets Seo-ha, she is still a 12-year-old who happens to fall for a 9-year-old, except she has heightened emotional maturity.

The plot follows Ju-won, who is reincarnated as Ban Ji-eum, her 19th life after her 18th was cut short in a car accident with Seo-ha. Then, the show fumbles its own logic, unable to choose if the real gift is living in the present or remembering how we got there. We are told that Ji-eum is determined to fix the life she didn’t get to live as Ju-won and because Ju-won’s family and Seo-ha are still alive, that’s who she seeks out. She also finds a dear one from her 17th life. The twist is that the 18th life was meant to be a fated reincarnation of two lovers, who in their time—the first life—were wronged. In the end, when the sins are atoned for, Ji-eum loses the memories of her past lives. She is Ji-eum, smart and talented, daughter of an abusive man and born destitute, free of karmic obligations. But who is this Ji-eum? Who does she love? Why are the memories of everyone who knew her as the extraordinary Ju-won/Ji-eum so valuable and hers isn’t? Milquetoast writing and a genuine lack of interesting characters in the rest of the show.

[11] I didn’t finish the first season of Dr. Romantic because I had a violent reaction (derogatory) to Yoo Yeon-seok’s character. I went straight to the additional episode ft. Kim Hye-soo who is ~flails~ and warmed up to this fantastic ensemble, thanks to a YYS-less sequel. Season 3 is ambitious and follows the raggity crew of overworked doctors in a country hospital now coping with its expansion into an elite trauma centre. The show does neither this premise nor the incredible cast they managed to bring back together (at least four of who could demand three times what they were paid in S2) any real justice. It had all the ingredients and an emotional core that is most pleasing to me. Seriously, it was so good: in reaching for the Michelin stars of healthcare, ostensibly Kim Sabu’s legacy, both he and his colleagues find that they may need to reassess what he taught them. Look at the implications. Doldam is a hospital that has run for two seasons on the strength of close-knit interpersonal relationships in ways (some might accuse) hazardous to professional codes. Something's gotta give.

DRR S3 does not trust the emotional tensions that these ideas can provoke and instead, throws in spectacle after spectacle. A bloodbath on a ship carrying illegal migrants, a raging forest fire, a building collapse. And there are villains, written as yangs to yings, in a main character's father played by an actual trash person, and then groan a politician. I mean, the vagaries of ill fortune and death is right there. Isn’t that enough? Makes you wonder just how did Lee-Shin partnership accomplish what they did with HosPlay. Someone who loves DRR’s characters will sit through it. But it’s junk food.

[10] Lee Bo-young is a force in Agency. It's a tried and tested formula: a brilliant creative person with abandonment issues in fantastic clothes. I enjoyed the snippy dialogues, peppered with refreshing metaphor and irony reminiscent of vintage Hollywood flicks. The writing isn’t confident about what it wants to say about an ambitious single woman in a workplace (and other women too including working mothers, women who find no need in dressing up to do their jobs, expert women who still have to struggle when they want to build something). But perhaps you, like me, can let it pass. It is not ideal to fetch a real answer to women’s struggles amidst capitalist excess.

[9] Our Blooming Youth begins with a cursed prince (Park Hyung-sik) and a noblewoman (Jeon So-nee) accused of murdering her entire family joining hands to free each other. Lurking behind is a national conspiracy spearheaded by several degenerate officials who wish to erase a people and their history—interesting that OBY and My Dearest later in the year featured the most marginalised being branded as traitors. The prince and noblewoman (cross-dressed as a eunuch of course) are joined by four young individuals who feel a sense of duty. I adored this band and their shenanigans. The show is kind to the youth in question, to their capacity to chase freedom and friendship. I was moved by such love for characters in this story about nationhood as an ongoing project.

But enjoying OBY means reading in between the lines because the show doesn’t know what to do with its 20-episode length or the depth of its interest in the scars of unacknowledged genocide. I felt impatient and unfulfilled more times than I’d like. I wish OBY was more meaty because it had the opportunity to be radical and chose to be inoffensive. Hyung-sik, very dear to me. So-nee, GOSH. I have loved her since Encounter (2018) and she fills a frame like nobody’s business. If there is such a thing as female gaze, she’s got it. I caught her in the little I watched of Soulmate (2023) recently. A marvel, just like Kim Da-mi.

[8] One Day Off is whimsical and celebrates the mundane in eight chapters following the wanderings of a school teacher, played by the luminous Lee Na-young. Japanese entertainment does discovering minor joys and its everydayness so well that it’s a genre in itself. I have seen it in a handful Korean variety shows too. As a drama, this is new to me and ODO felt special. It giveth in multitudes taking us to a monastery, an art exhibit, a film festival, a planetarium, many bakeries. At other times, it puts us in the middle of a rainy day and ancestral rites and a bus station where the teacher is stuck with condescending boomers. It's lovely.

[7] King The Land benefitted from low expectations of prestige. Junho lovers were tuning in to see him frolic after his Baeksang-winning performance as King Jeongjo, I can’t speak for Yoon-A lovers. The makers wanted to bank on these beloved actors and there is minimal friction between who they are and what they play on-screen. Junho, handsome, rich, kind. Yoon-A, pretty, hardworking, warm. There is a good chance that this show was part of a joint marketing campaign by Dior and Estee Lauder. And also, possibly, Thailand's tourism department. KTL is classic popcorn, easy on the eyes, easy on the mind (save for that irritatingly stupid arc with the ‘Arab prince’), designed to be innocuous. Here’s the thing, though: the cast and crew were not messing around with that dough. They chose to inject this fan + consumer service with an earnest desire to entertain missers of fluff romance. Lee Junho, permanent resident of my heart.

[6] Going in with low expectations helped when I watched My ID is Gangnam Beauty too. Kang Mi-rae is starting college with a new face, having shed her old one at the surgeon’s table because of life-long bullying at being conventionally unattractive. But Mi-rae now has to deal with gossip and judgement about the extents she has gone for what’s deemed as a vanity project. When Mi-rae says that it matters what people think of her, I can't object. It’s because Gangnam Beauty tells a story about familiar feelings and yet, it is also defiantly about Mi-rae. You can walk with her but you’re aware that not all of us walk in her precise shoes, and it’s not about measuring who’s having it worse either. I loved watching her settle into her skin, remaining compassionate in whatever is the opposite of noble idiocy.

Very sweet romance. I may not have noticed Cha Eun-woo if I hadn’t been derailed to the hilt by him in Island—also a show I finished but you will not find it on this list For Reasons.

[5] I wanted to love My Dearest a lot more. It was promising what with Namgoong Min as the perfect Lee Jang-hyun and Ahn Eun-jin as the perfect Yoo Gil-chae. NGM’s ability to smirk in a way that elicits both a punch and a blush is unparalleled. He owns the role of clever playboy merchant who sees the rules of polite society as impositions and who values human life above platitudes. AEJ's Gil-chae is stubborn and witty and audacious and has no interest in anything that distracts her from her desires. I loved them, and that became one of my problems when Part 1 ended. NGM is the perfect Jang-hyun and AEJ is the perfect Gil-chae but I wasn’t able to root for their romance. I never quite got over how the desire that they shared, which war put a damper on before it got a chance to bloom, gets cheapened at the end of Part 1—please read @elderflowergin's excellent post about this. In Part 2, that conversation isn’t adequately addressed but I was there to watch these two actors earn their Baeksang nominations. I found myself willing to move with the tides when Jang-hyun and Gil-chae let each other in after they learn to devote themselves to the people who make their community.

I cannot fault MD, however, on its commentary about how war disrupts ordinary life. There is nothing more moving in the show than the Joseon slaves in Qing singing their songs and harvesting rice, yearning for home while the King and his scholars commit to preserving standing and write these countrymen off. It’s a sharp critique of an upper class that delude themselves about their importance. MD is courageous enough to say that the nation does owe something to its people and the nation must prove itself worthy of sacrifice before it can demand such a thing. I haven’t stopped feeling the pangs of this love letter to a people and their land. The first seven episodes, set during the invasion and in the early days of the Joseon surrender, is real television. It’s what I watch sageuks for.

What else? Great telling of Crown Prince So-hyeons’s story. Lee Chung-ah is captivating. MD would have risen in my heart and on this list if it were more attentive to Ryang-eum. Double amnesia was comically exhausting to watch but I do feel generous now. The first time round Jang-hyun regains his memory because of a tangible article that proved Gil-chae’s love for him. The second time he traces back the arc of his life that spawned enduring memories of love and dreams. He’s not looking to retrieve what he doesn’t know he has lost. He knows he has lost and he is piecing together what he can. That’s a bold note to conclude on by makers who have risen to question the state of a nation in the hands of incompetence and cruelty and obscene pride. The racism is unsurprising—I wish this meant that I had better tolerance for it. I also wish the story knew better than to push Eun-hye to the sidelines. My favourite scene is Gil-chae finding Jang-hyun clawing to life by a string on a pile of corpses and proceeding to play dead while holding him tight to escape.

[4] I kept tuning in to Moving week after week despite my reservations about high school life, superheroes, and gore because it is a feat of storytelling. A rewarding first act, an absorbing second, and a near perfect third. It’s a compelling story on its own about superhero parents who will go to any lengths to protect their superhero children. But it’s also poignant in how it tackles passive peace.

Critiques of the state’s abuse of power often turn fangless in the face of this idea about national security, the notion that secures our future. Writers fumble because they feel forced to provide an alternative: how else do we protect what we must? Moving kills the question by letting you see past that what (national security) and takes you to a who (our children, our literal future). It dismantles the illusions with its central stage as a highly-surveilled school where undercover secret agents observe and train gifted children. The litmus test isn’t going to be the abstraction of a nation. It’s going to be whether our children can grow up, can learn, can be free to be who they want to be, irrespective of talents they may or may not possess.

A state which can’t imagine freedom as such is a failed state and a failed state resorts to joining hands with those who have every interest in keeping us from seeing that we do in fact want the same things as our neighbours. The real world bleeds in when the story of two Koreas becomes apparent. It’s acutely observed in a way that’s trope-y but perhaps not untrue. But the show is more interested in the shared Koreanness, in their love for their children, and for the unimpeachable desire to make their lives better.

Park Hee-soon had me hugging myself from his first frame to the last. Electrifying performance. Han Hyo-joo, oh my god.

[3] My Lovely Boxer was made for me. It’s about Gwon-sook (Kim So-hye), a boxing prodigy who disappeared from public eye after failing to show up for a championship game and Tae-young (Lee Sang-yeob), a ruthless sports agent at the cross hairs of matchfixing. Tae-young has messes to clean, payments to make, and he finds Gwon-sook to bring her back to the limelight for one final game to lose. Gwon-sook wants nothing to do with the sport and Tae-young promises that if disappearing for good is what she wants, then this plan would work for her too. It’s exactly as angsty as it sounds.

The show works because it doesn’t touch a thing that it isn’t willing to gnaw into. It doesn’t merely dangle matchfixing as plot omen—it explores the emotional and economic damages for the sportsmen with heft. Gwon-sook feels no love for boxing but she isn’t the only boxer in the world and that feeling is hardly universal. One of my favourite characters this year is Ah-reum, the opponent of that championship game for which Gwon-sook didn’t show up. That day, Gwon-sook may have chosen to leave the game for self-preservation but she also took away Ah-reum’s right to fair play. MLB is at its best when it navigates Gwon-sook seeking Ah-reum’s forgiveness because therein lies sportsmanship and what it means to tirelessly push your body for a shot at the ring. It’s an exhilarating journey with these two girls because (a) you want Ah-reum to have her moment (b) you don’t want Gwon-sook to lose and let the matchfixing bookers pocket money (c) you begin to wish Gwon-sook could win because she is too good. The stakes are delicious because the bookers are also a tad bit murderous and the final match had me at the edge of my seat.

Lee Sang-yeob was a shock to my system with his intense stare and a thespian interpretation of a man in shades of grey. Sexy bitch. I want to see Kim So-hye and Shin Se-kyung play sisters one day.

[2] Into The Ring tops my list of kdrama romcoms. Nana is a star and the fact that Se-ra cannot walk straight to save her life makes me giggle. She is blunt in the wrong ways, sharp in the wrong ways, and honest in all the right ways. Her heart is big and she has a sense of service to the people around her as though she really believes she was raised by a village. I loved Se-ra’s parents who reminded me of my own in their warmth and clownery. Park Sung-hoon’s Gong-myung is the dream guy: competent at work, loser in everything else. There’s only one kind of valid workplace romance and it’s this: accidentally becoming an elected representative and your childhood nerd friend volunteering to be your secretary to cover your ass. Perfect, no notes.

I happened to be reading Sara Ahmed’s Complaint! around the same time and I think it made me love the show's take on political action more. This is where Se-ra begins, just her and her complaint diary. That early episode where it dawns on her that she wants this job as much as she needs it got to me. There’s much to love in a show that is okay with however small a population she represents, as long as they are fun about joy and serious about justice.

[1] At the outset, Call It Love sounded like the makjang I avoid—a relationship between a woman and the son of her father’s mistress? Turns out, it's possible to tell that story like an accomplished spare poem with meticulously composed frames overdoing headroom and pared down dialogues. In effect, CIL is beautiful to look at and inviting to spend time with. This is kdrama caviar. Debut writer Kim Ga-eun has a gift for writing loneliness and solitude as not mutually exclusive to being a loved and loving person. She’s drawn comparisons to the extraordinary Park Hae-young who is the master at this sorcery. To my mind, the comparisons hold merit in subject but they operate with different intentions and styles. I hope they meet one day and I get to be a fly on the wall.

I was struck by how Lee Sung-kyung played Woo-joo as the responsible middle child, the one most burdened by the timing of her family’s collapse. The show is about her revenge but often, you see her struggle with the coldness this demands of her. She cannot resist what comes easiest to her and that’s her ability to see people having bad times as a reflection of the times, not the people. It's why she can forgive the aggrieved man who harms her, and why she tidies Dong-jin’s ex’s house while the ex is recouping from the heartbreak of losing the same man she is falling in love with.

No one has gotten the allure of the quiet guy, the shy guy, the good guy who is too awkward to be nice like Kim Young-kwang has. Dong-jin knows he has to work very hard to keep up with the pace of the world. He knows his mind but is afraid to impose it, because he doesn’t think it matters and because he doesn’t want to be a bother. Young-kwang just gets that line between clarity and low-esteem. I will never forget his teary eyes and total submission to loving Woo-joo in the single word he lets out with a hitched exhale. He slouches a lot but he will look you in the eye when he has to say something he doesn’t want to repeat. I loved him for that dignity. Special kisses to him for ditching neck ties.

It is true pleasure to see two male leads, majestic and towering in physique, composed to look tiny and frail. At one point, the costume department steps up Woo-joo’s wardrobe as her feelings intensify and it doesn't come across as a makeover. It is presented as the ordinary consequence of paying attention. I loved everything and everyone. The siblings. The ex-girlfriend, the bad mother and also, the generous & kinda clueless one. The stepfather who lingered, the best friends, the loyal & competent manager lady. Favourite kiss.

I am currently watching four dramas: A Good Day To Be A Dog (cute & fun), My Demon (silly & fun), Park's Marriage Contract (testing my patience), and Tell Me That You Love Me (relishing but for some reason not investing). I missed Not Others and The Eighth Sense when they were airing and they are the two shows from 2023 that I am adding to my watchlist. I am looking forward to 2024 because we seem to be getting at least one release from several greats and beauties. See you then! I hope no one emails you for the rest of the year and you eat well.

#call it love #into the ring #my lovely boxer #disney moving #moving #mbc my dearest #my id is gangnam beauty #gangnam beauty #king the land #one day off #our blooming youth #jtbc agency #dr romantic 3 #see you in my 19th life #kdrama #notes #2023 in review #kdrama in review

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