#I cackled when I read this and had to share it

[homoeroticgrappling]

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: February 26

“Diamonds in the Mud” by Gerry Cinnamon

[giantkillerjack]

Gods I'm so glad I have the power to draw stupid ridiculous things. I've had two ideas in the last week for art pieces that made me cackle like a little gremlin for 30 minutes. And already, my decision to follow through on these ideas has been a great success!

It is very important to feed the silliness gremlin!!! Ze offers gifts of happiness and naturally occurring self-improvement! Should ze wither from lack of food, so shall artistic motivation and the joy I find in my craft!

So you see, it is absolutely vital that the gremlin be allowed to thrive and grow on a steady supply of shitposts and profoundly ridiculous pornography.

This will, in turn, help with my depression - making this fake isekai cover as well as this very dumb video game porn I just made into Medical Necessities, Actually. 😌😤🤡

[caelivir]

shrimply in love | miya atsumu

synopsis. atsumu wholeheartedly prayed that you forgot how you first met, and for a while he believed that you did. that is until he finds the literal token from that day.

pairing. atsumu miya x gn!reader | wc. 2.1k | genres. timeskip!atsumu, established relationship, tooth rotting fluff, atsumu is soooo down bad | warnings. (minor?) manga spoilers

notes. outing myself as a hq fan and atsumu lover LOOK AWAY. this was inspired by a tiktok i saw LMFAO 😭. i was up until dawn, on my phone, in the drafts writing this that’s how bad it was. there's something additional to this so stay tuned, and i hope you enjoy.

“tsumu!” you call out from the couch while he’s in the bathroom connected to your shared room. “can you get my wallet? it’s on the bed.”

“sure thing, baby!” he answers back.

“thanks love!” you reply, the petname making him grin in the mirror. it gets him every single time.

after drying off his hands with a towel, atsumu doubles back to the bedroom, your wallet immediately catching his eye. he picks it up, and as he does, something slips out from the crevices.

atsumu picks it up and inspects it. it’s a folded slip of paper. curious, he unfolds it to examine its contents. reading it puts him in shock, and now he’s mildly annoyed with you.

he rushes out of the room, stomping over to you like a little kid. you raise an eyebrow in amusement when he stops in front of the couch.

“baby, what the hell?!” he whines, holding the paper out in front of you for you to read. confused, you lean closer, letting your eyes scan it before laughing out loud. it’s a guest check from the day you first met.

“what?! it’s cute!” you defend with a smile.

“it’s horrifying. do you even know how embarrassing this was for me?” atsumu pouts.

“oh believe me i know.” you giggle.

three years ago.

after a hard won victory, the msby jackals were craving a celebratory meal. meian had suggested a new italian restaurant that had opened by the arena. there was a unanimous agreement among the team, except for sakusa. however, bokuto had managed to convince him to come along with enough pestering.

so there they were, a group of guys well over six foot (with the exception of hinata and inunaki), sharing what’s probably the largest table at the restaurant. it drew tons of attention, and there were even some fans who came up to them for pictures and autographs.

then you came by, ready to take orders, and atsumu knew in that moment he was an absolute goner for you. your beauty was unlike anything he’s ever seen before. you were prettier than those models on the ads he walked by, prettier than the flowers in his mother’s gardens, prettier than sunsets on a beach. and god, your smile. his head went all fuzzy at the sight of it. it melted his insides.

you chuckled at whatever bokuto animatedly said before moving onto atsumu. you looked at him expectantly, eyes shining with so much light that it jumbled the blonde’s brain. shit. what did he want to order?

atsumu’s eyes quickly racked through the menu, and his mouth fired off an order before his brain could process what he was reading. “uh, could i get the shrimps camping?”

a silence befell amongst the table before a collective cackle filled the restaurant. realizing what slipped out of his mouth, atsumu’s face turned red. his cheeks were embarrassingly hot.

mortified. he was absolutely fucking mortified. even that asshole omi-kun found it funny. it didn’t help that you were suppressing a smile at him too. he didn’t even bother with the damage control. there was no point. he’d only embarrass himself further.

with a giggle, you made a note of it on the guest check you were writing up because at least you knew what he was referring to. atsumu buried his face in his hands. see in his head, the setter had come up with a plan to ask for your number, but now he was never even going to walk down this street ever again. his chances? consider them blown.

“alright, alright,” you said after the laughter had died down. you fire off orders to confirm everything, and then you get to atsumu. “and… one shrimps camping.”

“you’re killing me.” atsumu groaned, feeling a new wave of embarrassment now that you were teasing him.

“it’s my job.” you shrugged before walking off with a wink. the blonde felt his heart skip a beat.

“don’t sweat it, atsumu-san!” shoyo clapped his back reassuringly. at least he could leave it to the ginger to always have his back.

it took a minute, but the team had finally moved on from atsumu’s slip up. unfortunately, it was all the setter could think about. god, what if you teased him once you came back with the plates?

luckily for him, it didn’t happen. you just tossed him a knowing grin when you presented him his food. he stared down at those shrimp dancing in the sauce, knowing he’s never ordering fuckass shrimp scampi ever again, and dug in. (it’s the most delicious thing to have graced his tastebuds.)

atsumu, contrary to previous thoughts, did end up coming back to the italian restaurant in the hopes that he could see you. he realized that he wasn’t going to allow one fuck up ruin the chances of having you. atsumu miya is many things. annoying, rude, loud, but a quitter? that’s not one of them.

it was a weekly occurrence, and atsumu would try something different from the menu each time.

“no shrimp scampi?” you would smirk.

“no…” atsumu would sigh, feeling the jab in his bones before handing you his menu. “no shrimp scampi.”

conversations became more casual. he learned more about you like how you were in your final year of university and that your favorite men’s volleyball team was ejp raijin. (he was definitely going to change that.) each week the blonde setter visited you during week made him fall for you even more. all of these little things accumulated until atsumu finally got the balls to ask you out.

“what would you like today, atsumu?” you greeted, that soft angelic grin on your face, and he just knew he had to do it. he couldn’t ever let you go.

“you. me. a date.” he said casually, his eyes dripping with confidence. (interally, he was freaking out).

you tried maintaining your composure but failed so miserably. you couldn’t stop the smile that reached your eyes as soon as you heard those eyes. “i thought you would never ask.” you beamed at him.

chewing on your lower lip, you motioned for him to give you hand, to which he most happily obliged. your touch was a new heaven. so warm and so soft. he wished to be wrapped in it forever.

you held his hand steady as the tip of your pen scribbled on his skin. when atsumu looked down, he realized it to be your number, and his eyes stared at it in awe.

“text me.” you told him before walking off. then you stopped in your tracks, turning yourself back around until you’re back at atsumu’s table. “wait, shit. what do you want to eat?”

oh. he had completely forgotten about that. atsumu picked up the menu and quickly scanned for a fun dish name. “um, just the pizza napoletana and garlic bread.”

“you got it.” you noted it down. followed by, “no shrimp scampi?”

“(y/n), please. i feel like i’m flying right now, and you’re killing my mood.” atsumu’s face fell, feigning fake irritation, but you knew better.

you laughed. “alright, alright. i’ll be back soon.”

“you better be.” the setter scoffed before his face betrayed his true feelings.

and before you knew it, one date became two, then three, then four, and the rest was history, shrimp scampi along with it.

at least, that’s what atsumu thought.

“i thought you completely forgot about it.” atsumu whines.

you laugh, standing up from your place on the couch. “how could i ever forget that? i stopped the jokes because you got all sulky. besides, that’s how my little infatuation with you began.”

once you’re directly in front of him, atsumu places his hands on your waist, burying his head in the crook of your neck. without even thinking, your hand finds its way to the back of his head, stroking it with affection. “of all things? not my good looks? or my nice arms? ” the blonde murmurs into your skin.

you hum in agreement. “well that came after.” your boyfriend groans, making you roll your eyes.

“i don’t think i ever told you this, but i was having a really rough shift the night the team came in. when you guys were put into my section, i nearly lost it.” you admit. “but then you asked for shrimps camping, and i lightened up, like all of my negative energy just drained out of my body. seeing you all flustered and blushing was so adorable in my eyes.”

your boyfriend pulls back, his face scrunched. “i didn’t realize you were in a foul mood that night.”

“had to fake it. you know how customer service is.” you shrug, a smirk taking over your face soon after. “but you were too busy admiring me to even notice it.”

atsumu grins smugly. he’s not even ashamed. “that i was.”

you roll your eyes. “you’re hopeless.”

the blonde setter hums, leaning in, and you meet him halfway, kissing him gently. atsumu’s arms wrap themselves around your waist, pulling you closer to him until you’re pressed against his body. you feel his lips twitch into a smile.

you’re the first to pull away, but your boyfriend is unsatisfied with that. he presses his lips to yours once again before you could even get another breath in. it’s a kiss full of affirmations that atsumu can’t voice. you feel it all through him. he’s so greedy when it comes to you, but he’d definitely agree with that statement without any complaint.

to atsumu, kissing you is a new kind of euphoria, one better than any service ace, better than any cool quick that he pulls off with his hitters. kissing you is like falling in love with you again, and it’s single-handedly the best feeling in the entire world.

he pulls away first with a proud smile. he steals a quick peck against your lips, then your nose, and then the rest of your face until you’re drowning in his affection.

you giggle, throwing your arms around his shoulders. “tsumu!”

atsumu sighs contentedly. his large hand cups your cheek. the rough skin of his thumb traces up and down your face. it’s so reassuring and so warm that you can’t help but lean into it.

“i love you, angel. y’know that right?” atsumu stares at you, adoration swimming in his eyes. everyday, he can’t believe that he gets to have you. he can’t believe he gets to come home and you’ll be there waiting for him, ready to hold him in your arms and kiss his knuckles when he tells you about his day.

you adjust your head ever so slightly to kiss his palm. “i know it. you never fail to make it known.”

you’ve come to realize that that’s who he is. your sweet boy, atsumu miya, is so full of love. behind the brashness and the insults, he has so much love in his heart that some days he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“i love you so much, atsumu miya. you are my life.” you whisper, bringing him in for another soul-igniting, cavity-inducing kiss. it’s intense, hotter, but that is just life with atsumu, a blaze of passion and fierceness.

you can feel him melt against you as if this is his first time doing this with you. you can feel him reciprocating your words. you know him so well that you can guess the words that follow. “all for me. my sweet angel. what did i do to deserve you?”

a memory springs to mind, causing you to cut the moment short as much as you’d like to continue. atsumu pouts at the loss of your lips against his. such a kid. still, he looks at you expectantly.

“i have to admit,” you’re kind of excited to see how he’ll react to it. “the entire restaurant knows you as the shrimps camping guy.”

atsumu stiffens against your body, and the horrified look on his face makes you burst out laughing. “you’re lying. (y/n), tell me you’re lying.”

“i’m sorry, my love. it’s true.” you reach out for his hand, but the blonde playfully shrugs it off.

“don’t touch me. how could you do this to me, huh? i thought we were for life!” atsumu turns away from you, shutting his eyes.

you roll your eyes. you should’ve expected this. in situations like these, there is one sentence that will make him forget everything immediately. “if i kiss you, will you forgive me?”

atsumu snaps his head back to you, and his eyes fly open, allowing you to catch the light that sparkles in them as he smiles widely. he’s so beautiful. “really?!” he exclaims but leaves no room for you to respond before he’s crashing your mouths together for the fourth time. you roll your eyes in disbelief but give into him immediately.

atsumu miya is so annoying, but he’s yours, and you wouldn’t give him up for anyone else in the world.

[forlix]

𝘀𝘂𝗯𝘁𝗲𝘅𝘁・l.f.

— in which you forget that your hot housemate follows you on twitter.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀・1.1k 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴・roommate!felix x gn!streamer!reader 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲𝘀・fluff, flirting, kind of an smau, implied friends to lovers, humor if u count jeongin being a piece of shit

𝗮/𝗻・saw this tweet the other day and it was so painfully lix coded that i knew i had to write something asap. contains a tiny bit of gaming jargon but is hopefully comprehensible. ENJOY ♡

y/n ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ @ y/nxx

if someone brings you fresh cut fruit to your table when you're gaming, they either like LIKE you or it's your mom

11:23 A.M.・Oct. 2023・220.2K Views

bokkie 🐣 liked your post.

“My tweet?”

You read aloud the newest text in your chatroom, and your face brightens when you remember the one in question.

“Oh, about the fruit—no, it’s so true though. And I love my mom, don't get me wrong, but I have an inkling she did it to guilt trip me." You change your posture and adopt your best motherly tone of voice. "‘This is your tenth consecutive hour wasting your young adulthood in front of that damn screen. I am now going to hand deliver apple slices straight to your mouth.’ That kind of vibe, y'know?"

A slew of messages follows your anecdote, but it is a comment from one of your moderators that catches your eye first:

je0ng1n: what about the other option tho 👀

You groan at the sight of his username. “Man, why are you always here? Don't you have a job?"

je0ng1n: i’m on break je0ng1n: taking a dump je0ng1n: ungrateful bitch

You brandish a middle finger to the camera. “Hope the dump sucks."

je0ng1n: HEY je0ng1n: don’t even joke about that :(

An involuntary cackle precedes your next words. “If you’re actually wondering, though, the only person who’s brought me fruit while I’m playing video games is indeed my mother. Heartbreaking, I know.”

At this, the steady flow of messages morphs into a gallery of depressed cat emoticons; your audience never fails to impress you with their way with words.

“But if someone other than your disappointed parent is bringing you fruit,” you go on, “they might as well get on one knee in the process, honestly. That's such an adorable, loving thing to do.”

Suddenly, the words MATCH FOUND splash across your monitor, and you move your cursor to accept the game invite—only to be met with a pop-up window and a familiar error sound that grates on your ears like screeching tires.

You know how this story ends: the lights in your mouse go dark, and you look on in dejected silence.

je0ng1n: LMFAOOOOO je0ng1n: bro’s mouse definitely just exploded again

“You guessed it," you sigh. “Hang tight for a sec, guys."

Half an hour ago, you could’ve sworn you heard sneakers being kicked off, a set of keys falling against plastic. Now, you pull one side of your headphones off and roll your chair a few feet backward, calling through your half-open door: “Lix, are you home?”

You pick up on a soft clunk that sounds like metal hitting wood—the cutting board, maybe?—and then your housemate's low, accented answer bounces off the walls of your shared hallway.

“Yeah, you alright?”

“The mouse,” you say helplessly.

“Ah.” It’s not the first time you’ve summoned him for this. “Be right there.”

A few seconds later, you remember to tack on a hurried disclaimer: “I’m live, by the way!”

“I know.”

This brings a bashful smile to your face, though the expression quickly turns to one of pure dismay when you return to your desk and witness the disastrous state of your chat.

Felix has become a regular guest on your stream by now, always popping in to show you a TikTok or ask for your opinion on a new pair of jeans or simply give your camera an awkward wave—but he may as well own your channel with how completely and unequivocally he has captured the hearts of your viewers. They’re convinced he’s the sexiest person to ever grace the earth, with his chiseled features and coffee-colored eyes; with a grin that could set entire estates on fire and a voice that could scrape the nadir of the Grand Canyon.

Do you agree? Absolutely.

Do you have any intention of voicing this sentiment, so long as you’re splitting rent with him? Absolutely the hell not.

Another of Jeongin’s messages—GET ME HIS NUMBER OR I GET VIOLENT—inspires you to minimize the stream window before Felix gets here. It’s for the best.

A few moments later, the door opens, and the air shifts inside your room. A hand comes to rest on the top of your head; a familiar silhouette appears in your periphery. There is a fond grin plastered across your face and a bright greeting sitting readily on the tip of your tongue.

But then, Felix places a plate of freshly cut fruit in the empty space to the left of your keyboard—here, he hums, the sound falling against the shell of your ear like a drop of melted chocolate. And the gears of your brain grind to a complete stop.

There is no further acknowledgment; no supplementary explanation for what he's just done. He simply picks up your mouse and gets to work.

The words of your tweet swim dizzyingly before your eyes, not unlike those halos of stars and birds that revolve around disoriented cartoon characters. And you’re suddenly, achingly aware of your roommate's arm nudging against yours as he tinkers away; of the aromas of vanilla and laundry detergent that always come with his proximity; of the heat that’s risen to your face, and the plethora of questions that have surfaced to your mind.

A soft huff of laughter follows a gentle utterance of your name, and you snap out of your trance. Felix’s eyes are glinting with amusement when you meet them.

“It’s been recalibrated,” he says, handing back your mouse. “Just give it a few minutes.”

Your fingertips brush over his palm when you accept the object, and even this blink of contact has your heart performing an elaborate hopscotch routine across the plane of your chest.

It’s either your mom, or…

“Thank you,” you mumble, finally retrieving your larynx from the bottom of the Atlantic.

“Anytime,” Felix returns, and you know he means it. “You need a duo, by the way?"

“Yes, please.”

He gives you a warm smile at this, and there’s a hint of something else—something new—in the curve of his lips. “Give me two.” And he’s gone as quickly as he'd come.

You will never know how Felix slips his phone out of his pocket the second he emerges from your room, his pulse hounding his ears as he turns a nervous gaze upon his screen.

There is now a supersonic blur of messages saturating your chatroom, a colorful cacophony of moving emotes and capital letters, but he is focused wholly on the person in front of the camera and how you slowly lift a hand to your mouth, deathly silent despite your every viewer demanding your comment on the matter, your sanguine cheeks visible even through the gaps of your fingers.

That is all he needs to know.

Felix sinks into the leather of his gaming chair and bends to power on his computer. Only after a deep breath blows past his lips does his smile start to stretch into a grin, every bit as embarrassed as it is relieved.

je0ng1n: no way je0ng1n: no fucking way je0ng1n: my heart fluttered je0ng1n: wtf je0ng1n: how’d you pull HIM??

y/nxx has removed je0ng1n as a moderator of this channel.

𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other works here. thanks so much for the support ♡

© 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘅 (est. 090323) · all works are pieces of original writing and all characters and relationships are purely fictional. please do not repost or reuse for any reason.

[avis-writeshq]

not me asking for it https://www.tumblr.com/avis-writeshq/744966259884556288/if-someone-asks-for-it-ill-write-a-fic-based-on?source=share

pairing: s9!spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff, established relationship, SMUT warnings: 18+ CONTENT; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !! oral fem receiving, spencer reid is a munch, hair pulling, fingering a/n: a promise is a promise !! based off of this post <3 i hope this lived up to expectations !! first time writing fem oral ha h a ha wc: 1.1k

Honestly, if there’s one person Spencer can blame for the situation he is currently in, he blames himself. After all, he should have known that a ‘gathering’ at Rossi’s house that was planned by Penelope would only call for a lot of teasing, a lot of ‘get to know each other!’ games (despite the fact that he has worked with this same team for more than seven years. What else is there to know?), and a lot of alcohol. He didn’t quite realise that these games would be of the drinking variety. Alas, here he is, sitting on one of Rossi’s incredibly expensive leather couches and cringing at the horrid taste of whiskey. 

The game they’re currently playing is an alcoholic’s rendition of ‘who is most likely to?’, involving a thick stack of cards with different topics while each member of the team took turns reading out. Whoever ended up with the most amount fingers pointed in their direction was forced to drink.

Spencer hates this game. He has drank from his cup a grand total of six times, and he is not getting any more used to the spicy-poison-equivalent in his hand. 

“Alright, this is a good one,” Derek announces with a manic snigger. “Who here is most likely to be a munch?”

There is no hesitation in anyone’s answers, and all six fingers point into Spencer’s direction. His jaw drops at the betrayal, his head spinning from the sheer amount of shots he had to take but also what the hell is a munch?

“I don’t even know what that means!” He insists. 

“Oh–” Penelope wears a half delighted half pitying expression at his words. “We really need to get you onto the internet more. Reddit is probably up your alley.”

“Even Rossi knows what it means,” Emily cackles, gesturing to Rossi who looks all too pleased. “Hotch was my second option though.”

Aaron shrugs, sipping at his drink. “Guilty.”

A chorus of laughs and shrieks erupt from the group, leaving Spencer even more confused. “What?”

“Don’t Google it,” JJ chimes in. “Seriously.”

Spencer nods, and although he knows that he should have taken the warning seriously, the curiosity was getting to him and he had no choice but to search it up as soon as he got home. He gets the usual answers– the etymology of the word, what it means in the Oxford Dictionary, the popularity of the word since the early 1800s, and he really doesn’t understand what the fuss is. Does the team think that he eats loudly? Or that he chews with his mouth open? His brows furrow at the unsightly thought. 

His interest soon shifts to a different a different link, namely The Urban Dictionary. He blinks, clicking on the link without much thought and– oh. He does not get much sleep that night.

*** 

Your relationship with Spencer isn’t a secret. At least, it was never supposed to be classified as such. He is simply an incredibly private person that even his closest friends don’t know that you exist. It simply never popped up in conversation– or so he says.

The relationship isn’t necessarily new either. It’s nearing the one year mark and you have gotten to the point where the two of you have been more ‘experimental’ when it comes to sex. He finds it embarrassing. You find it unsurprising that he would. You find it even more surprising when he breaks a kiss halfway to lower you onto his bed, your head falling to one of his very expensive memory foam pillows. 

“I want to try something,” he announces softly into your ear, squeezing gently at your waist and looping his fingers into his shorts. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, body hot with anticipation as he pulls down your shorts. It’s only when he brings his face between your thighs do you realise what he intends to do. “Spence, you don’t have to–”

“I want to,” he repeats softly, his fingers running up and down the lacy fabric at your slit. “If you want me to stop, you can tell me.”

You shake your head immediately at that, your hands moving to his grip his shoulders. “No, I don’t want you to stop but– but Spence, this is the first time you’ve done this. It’s okay–”

“Let me do this for you,” he says, his breath ghosting against the sensitive skin of your thighs. “I’ve done my research.”

“What–”

You’re silenced as soon as he presses his lips to your cunt, only separated by your pretty lacy underwear. He groans quietly at the taste of your slick seeping through the fabric, and his hands hold onto your thighs to keep them parted. It’s so good, so good, but it just isn’t enough. He pushes the fabric to the side, watching the way it clings and sticks to your skin. 

All it takes is one swipe of his tongue on your pretty clit for his brain to grow blank. The grip he has on your thighs grow firmer and his fingers dig in hard enough to leave little marks. His nose bumps against your clit while his tongue travels against your folds. 

“You taste so fucking good,” he breathes against you, lapping at your dripping cunt. “Fuck, angel, you’re so beautiful.”

Then, he’s on you all over again. His lips wrap around your clit and he whines into you as he sucks at the bundle of nerves. Each one of his actions has your back lifting from the bed and your hands tugging at his curls, to which he responds with a quiet moan. Amidst the pleasure, your mind nags you to be gentle, and you loosen your grip despite it taking all of your self control.

“Do that again.” He says it as a demand, guiding your hands back into his hair. “Do it again, angel.”

His head is spinning and he craves for more of you, his tongue flattening against your clit over and over again. He brings his own fingers to brush against your entrance, coating them with your slick before slipping his middle finger inside. It’s only the first knuckle but it’s enough to have you squirming beneath him. He pushes further until it reaches all the way, and Spencer groans at the feeling of you tightening around him. He kisses your clit again at the same time he curls his finger inside you and it’s all too much. 

“Spence–”

You gush around his finger and he licks and laps at your pussy like he needs it to breathe. His finger curls open and closed inside you while you rock your hips against his face, your grip on his hair tightening as each second of your high passes. 

“So good,” Spencer moans, kissing your clit. “Taste so good. You can do one more, right, angel? Just one more, I promise.”

reblogs are always appreciated !!

tagging the people who commented on the original post: @mosaicbrokenherz @doigettokeepyou @goblinintheblog @cassioxpeiaxmgg @daddytenebra @lilliumrorum @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @lightreiding

[sun-snatcher]

Wish. If u give me a Part 2 of your Gambit fic with ❛ we'll just have to make do.  ❜ where they both make it out of the Void together I will kiss u on the mouth rn I PROMISE u. Or a hug. Whichever works. PLS I JUST NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS TO THEM🙏🏼😫

♧ ⎯ ‘LIMBO LOSERS’ CLUB

summ. The TVA extends an olive branch. Wade’s Universe becomes home. Above all, you’re just thankful you’re not alone in this Multiversal mess. pairing. Void!Gambit x f!Anomaly!reader (established in #WELUCKYFEW) w.count. 1.6k a/n. Shirtless Channing + romantic hand tension. That's it. That's the tweet. ( Continuation of this imagine! )

YOU SURVIVE ALIOTH.

That’s the first surprise.

The second? 

The Time Variance Authority want to help, now. 

( Granted, it’d mostly been Wade who did the gruntwork of sending Elektra and Blade back to their Universes, but he had hit a wall when it came to you and Gambit considering you two were— according to him: “A coked up version of being homeless. Universe-less.” )

So here you are, a stray of the Multiverse, standing on the platform of a mid-century aestheticised monitor room somewhere outside the constraints of time, trying not to double over from the vertiginous aftermath of being thrown through Wade’s weird orange warbling door of space. 

TemPad, he’d called the device. Or… something. You’re half-sure you have a concussion, to be honest.

Alioth had done a number on you. 

Remy’s concerned.

“Here’s what I don’t understand,” Wade says, mask rolled up to his nose. (There’s a spoon and plate of key lime pie in his hands. You’re not even sure where he got it from.) “Where did Gambit come from? How come he just spawned into the MCU’s metaphysical Backrooms?”

“Candidly, he is a unique case.” 

Remy pulls his gaze from you to Hunter B-15.

“You, Mr. LeBeau, are the prime example of a Variant that’s borne from a timeline decaying just as quickly as it was formed. A rare type that fades instantly without unnatural interference, because an Anchor failed to develop.”

One of the CRT screens zip to a retro rubber-hose animated diagram: rapidly branching roots, ominous red flashing, and then an immediate blink into nothing. Talk about dramatic effect.

“Your Universe falls in the rare category of those that never managed to come into fruition; but sometimes— incredibly rarely— remnants just like you manage to slip through, and instead of ceasing to exist… Well, you automatically end up getting spit into the Void.”

A pause.

Then, from behind, Wade bursts into a cackle.

“Ha! Wow, she basically called you a discontinued fucking nobody,” he wheezes. “You’re quite literally the equivalent of a failed movie pitch that’s been forgotten on the floor of Feige’s writers’ room.”

Screens flicker. 

Your breath hitches. 

Versions of different Gambit’s play out in the monitor-wall, all alike and yet different in their individual realities. Some have black eyes. Some have top-hats (“Ah, that’s 2009 Origins,” Wade muses. “Do all Variants of you just have a beautiful face? I mean, it’s kinda unfair—”). 

Some look like identical copies.

[EARTH-TRN2922].

It’s… your timeline. 

Your friends in the Mutant war. Your Remy whose cards are scattered on the floor, blood in his hands, with you crumbling as you reach ou—

The Nine of Hearts in your pocket is impossibly heavy. You turn away to steel yourself. 

( “Yeah, okay, enough lore recap. Jesus, you guys are more of a dick than I am; Read the room and turn that shit off,” Wade chides a passing agent. He gets it. He’d lost Vanessa once, too, and he’s not quite sure even he can relive that pain. )

“Mais non, y’not makin’ no sense t’me,” Remy says, confused, “I’ve got memories; means I’ve got history jus’ like my Variants. How y’gon’ explain that?”

“Gaps of memories you have— knowledge of places, people, events— that comes from fixed synchronicities shared in your Temporal Aura across all your Multiversal Variants.” 

She’s met with slow, owlish blinks. Wade waves his hand in lazy dismissal.

“Forgive them. They didn’t watch Loki Season One or Two. Not that it matters, anyway. People barely understood what was going on.”

A sigh. “There’s no way to put this gently, Mr LeBeau,” B-15 concludes, tone dipping into something sympathetic. “But what I’m trying to say is that: you don’t have a Universe to go back to, because it never existed.”

She purses her lips as she catches his torn gaze. “I’m sorry.”

And that— That pisses you off.

“I’m… sorry?” you parrot, stepping forward. “That’s all you can say after everything that’s happened to us? His existence began with the Void, and my Universe was pruned by your agents. Innocent lives gone because your people decided they wanted to play God once upon a damn time—!” 

“Pump the hate breaks, you stray,” Wade calls. "Why'd you think I brought the both of you here?"

You reluctantly withdraw.

“I can’t bring you home,” B-15 supplies, matter-of-fact. “But I can find a compatible timeline for you. For both of you. A safe do-over, if you will.”

Wade’s smile is coy.

The ‘Merc with a mouth’ has a home surprisingly… cozy.

Albeit a little tumbledown and messy with its wallpaper-torn brick walls and creaking hardwood floors— but, it’s charming. Lived in. He has a life here in this rickety two-bedroom apartment; framed photographs of friends and snatches of livelihood sit across dressers and are pasted against his magnet-crowded refrigerator.

Reminds you abit of your home, too.

“Listen,” chirps Wade’s voice, somewhere down the short hall to his room. “My advice? Save yourself the identity crisis and brain aneurysm. All this multiversal horse-crap was created just so that Marvel can write themselves out of any corner. Just sit there and be sexy for the readers, okay, Magic Mike?”

You’re halfway towards them when the doorbell rings. 

“Ooh! That must be the pizza I ordered. Or Blind Al. Or Logan.” Wade pops out to sidle past you with a wink and a whispered: “Who knows, really? This is just the part of the story where I conveniently disappear so you and Cajun Tatum here can share a moment.”

You don’t quite understand— but you’ve learned to not bother attempting when it comes to him.

Your knock is soft against the doorframe. 

“Hey.”

Beside a lone corner of the bed, Remy turns to look over his shoulder. 

He’s fresh out the shower— faded towel tied around his waist, brown hair still damp and dripping water down his bare chest. His old clothes have been draped over a desk chair. 

You try not to stare, but—

But. 

He’s handsome. Devilishly so, with the bruises sweeping across the flex of all his stupidly lean, corded muscles.

You always had a thing for roguish-looking men.

“Hi,” he says, knowingly. ( It’s a dulcet croon, if anything. Cheeky bastard. ) “Y’okay? Got y’self cleaned up.”

Remy watches you gather yourself with a quick clear of your throat, pull at the sleeves of the scratchy hoodie you’re now wearing that’s practically swallowing you whole. 

You look rested. At ease. 

…Pretty.

“Yeah. Showered. We don’t smell like ass anymore, that’s for sure,” you say, making a face.

And then you’re nodding over to the black-and-blue contusions blooming over his skin. “You know, I’m sure there’s something frozen in the icebox for that.”

“Icebox?” 

You smile. “Yeah, that’s what you guys call it in Louisiana, right?”

“That we do, chèr,” he laughs. But it’s ducked down, quiet. Thin. “ ‘Least, I think so.”

You follow his downcast eyes to a small stack of folders— TVA files he easily thieved (unsurprisingly) from under their noses the moment he stepped foot into the room. 

He’d skimmed the manila dossiers: Absolute Points. Anchor Beings. Variant Anomalies. Some names he’d recognised and some he didn’t, most stamped or blacklisted. 

Pietro Maximoff. Edward Brock. Loki Laufeyson. 

Remy LeBeau.

Some part of you crumples. It’s one thing to not be able to return to a Universe, and another to not have even had one. 

“S’funny,” he chuckles dryly, picking his casefile up with a distant look, “My memories… I thought I’d done gon’ left a whole life behind me the entire time I been stuck in the Void— Friends. Family. An’ turns out the Void’s all I had.”

“Feels like…” he shrugs. Tries to piece his unmoored thoughts into something more cohesive. He’s never felt so horrifically adrift his entire life— whatever ‘entire life’ could mean for him now, anyway— not even when he'd been marooned in the barren wastelands of the Void.

 “Feels like I ain’t real. Hell, I don’t know what is real, anymore, chèr. I don’t— I just don’t know. I don't know anythin'."

You shake your head in disagreement nigh instantly. 

“No, no.” Pushing off the doorway, you cross the threshold with gentle admonishment lanced over your features. “You’re here. You are real.” 

The room is small. The distance you share is… close. Just enough that you catch the scent of peppermint toothpaste and coconut shampoo; Just enough that you can slide the documents out of his hands.

His fingers brush against yours. 

He wonders if you’d felt the kinetic trill of energy run through him at the contact.

“Can I be honest, Remy?”

You look up at him. 

“Mais oui, chèr. Y’can always be honest wit’ Gambit.”

You wave your hand at the TVA files. “I’m scared as shit being in a new Universe,” you blurt, truthfully. “This second chance means… a new life. New path. New everything. I don’t know what that’s like either and frankly, I am not prepared for this at all.”

You pause for a breath. “But for what it’s worth? I’m glad that you’re here. That’s… That’s about the only thing that I know.”

Then, as if dwarfed by the sheer vulnerability in your words, you take an awkward step back as you shrug. “And if you don’t feel the same, well. You and I, we’ll just have to make do, regardless.”

The sudden retreat is painfully endearing. Has him letting out a bright laugh that warms something nestled deep in your ribs.

“I’m glad I got you too, chèr,” he grins. 

“Yeah?” You flash a smile, having found your way back to the door.

Remy’s eyes fall to your face— tarrying. He follows the flutter of your lashes, the slope of your cheek, the curl of your lips. 

“…Yeah.”

Your idling, fond gaze sears him like a low-grade fever. 

The thrum buzzes in hands, again.

Your Gambit really was blind, he thinks, just as you slip away and disappear around the corner.

His palm flexes open, and shut.

[mooooonnnzz]

World/Insured Part 3

Stanford Pines x Sibling!Reader/Stanley Pines x Sibling!Reader

☆ hope you guys r liking it so far!! :p

☆ 4,4k words

✶ “Can we talk about [Name]?” Ford suddenly brings up one day. The waves of tourists have been moderately slow for the day, allowing Stan and Ford to kick back and relax for once. And in the midst of sitting down on the couch, his mind dwelled over to the thought of you. Stan let out a long sigh as he sat down, pitt cola in hand. Stan was trying to break free from his alcohol addiction, Ford noted. “Sure, what do you want to talk about?” The causality held in Stan’s words made Ford uneasy. He was so unnaturally calm with his words, at least the last time he brought you up, he can sense the agitation in his words, but he couldn’t find any dripping anger from him now. Mustering up all the courage he had left, he asked; “How were they?” He felt his mouth run dry. Out of everything he could’ve asked, he asked that? All the questions he had were out the window and off into the woods, leaving him scrambling for words. Taking a sip from his soda, he said, “Do you want to know how they felt immediately after they left with me?” Ford nods. “Well, being fifteen and a rage of hormones, they pretty much hated you.” Stan’s eyes glance over to Ford whose face could visibly read hurt. “I’m just kidding!” Stan cackled, shoving Ford. “They were ripped apart. I remember they told me how they felt everything and nothing at the same time, real poetic than one.” He takes another sip. “They missed you so much while I hated your guts. I couldn’t think of you without seeing red and they couldn’t think of you without crying.” He swirled the drink in the can, looking down to his shuffling feet. “What did you guys do to survive?” 

✶ “I enrolled them into a high school. I didn’t want them to be stupid like me, ya know? And while they were in highschool, I started my business which earned us money to get by.” Stan told him. “Would you even call what you did a business?” Ford said with his eyebrow raised. “Hey!” Stan rolled his eyes, placing the can of soda down on the floor. “Once we got banned from a few states, [Name] put their foot down and encouraged me to get a job. And guess what, I landed a pretty good job! My history of stealing peoples money was long gone, until now,” Stan quietly said the last part. “And we were living pretty comfortably. I got us a nice house, a good car and [Name] graduated highschool and they got a job as manager of some sort, can’t really remember.” Stan scratched his chin idly. “They were on their way to move out and take their business elsewhere when you decided to show your face.” Stan cleared his throat, looking at Ford. “They talked about you a lot.” He softly added. “I saw how they lit up when they saw me for the first time. They looked so much older.” Ford said. “I mean, yeah, that’s what happens when you miss, like, 10 years of their life.” Ford ignored Stan’s comments and mulled over his thoughts. After a moment, he spoke up. “Thank you for talking about them, Stan.” Stan shot him a smile. “Of course, talking about them wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.” Since then, Stan would share stories of you whenever Ford asked, ranging from embarrassing ones, to one’s where it was a little harder for Stan to tell. But in the end, it brought them closer together and kept the memory of you alive. 

✶ Much to Ford’s dismay, the whole shack was rearranged to be a tourist trap. By day, they were busy ripping people of their money and by night, they buried themselves in their work, fixing what they could while simultaneously searching for the second book. And before they knew it, they were in their late 50’s. Adjusting his fez, he smiles at himself through the mirror. “Stan!” Ford bursts through his room, starling Stan. “Geez, Ford! A little warning next time?” Ford stammers over to him. “No time for that!” He huffs out. “The book! I-I can’t find it!” Stan’s face falls. “What?! What happened to it?” Ford opened his mouth to answer when Soos yelled out; “Mr. Pines!” Stan curses to himself, that must be the kids. “Do you have any idea where it could be?” Stan asks. Out of all the days something could’ve gone wrong, why today? “I think maybe the gnomes took it?” Stan was ready to scream again when Soos called for them again. “I want you to go and look for the book.” Stan insisted, pointing a finger at him. “I’m not coming with you to get Dipper and Mabel?” Ford gasped out, his hand slapping on his chest. “No! Because you lost the book!” Stan pointed an accusatory finger at him. “I lost the book? It was probably a gnome who took it!” Ford defended. “How are you so sure that a gnome even took it?” Ford scratched the back of his neck nervously. “They may or may not have knocked me out just a few moments ago.” Stan was so ready to deck him in the face when Soos came into the room. “Mr. Pines!” He pointed outside. “The kids are here!” “We know that, Soos.” The twins spat out. “But there’s this wolf mailman dude, and I really don’t trust him and he’s probably like eating the kids right now at the bus stop!” Soos rambled out. While Stan carried an unimpressed face, Ford’s face twisted to one of horror. “We need to pick them up now!” Unfortunately for Stan, both Soos and Ford have a rising suspicion that the mailman is a wolf in a human disguise. But the man was just hairy! Ford pulled Stan along and got inside his car. Starting up the car, Stan let out an exhausted sigh. “How did puny little gnomes knock you out?” He asked, backing out of his parking spot and onto the road. “I was busy reading when they knocked me out cold! I don’t think they intended to steal the journal, when I was waking back up they realized and grabbed the nearest object possible and ran out of there.” Stan sighed, tapping his finger on the wheel. “I really can’t believe you sometimes.” He mutters. “It wasn’t my fault, Stanley!” 

✶ Coming to a complete stop, Ford rolled down the windows, a large smile on his face when his eyes landed on his favorite great nieces. “Grunkle Ford!” They cheer, equally large smiles on their faces. “Hey, hey!” Stan watched as they stumbled into the car with their bulky backpacks skidding against the roof. “Where’s my love?” Stan exclaimed. “Right here, Grunkle Stan.” Mable giggled, wrapping her arms around Stan’s neck and nuzzling her face into his shoulder. “That’s more like it,” Stan grinned, gingerly patting her back. “Now where’s the sweaty one? I’m missing one!” Dipper sighed, a playful roll to his eyes. “I’m right here,” Mable pulled away from Stan and swiftly latched herself to Ford. “C’mon, give your old grunkle some sugar.” Dipper cringed. “Don’t ever say that again, Grunke Stan.” He said, hugging Stan. “I say what I want, kid! We live in a free country for a reason.” The drive home was full of conversation, the twins telling their grunkle’s stories from school and their home life. Stan and Ford made the conscious effort to comment and react to everything they said, if not Mable would make sure they did by repeating what they said over and over again. When the Mystery Shack came into view, they both shoved their face against the window, marveling at the shack. “Is this what Grunkle Stan is always talking about when we call him?” Mable’s hot breath fogged up the window. “Yup. And now you guys get to see it.” Ford gestured to the shack, smiling proudly. He had soon come to love the shack he and Stan worked on, he will never admit that out loud though. Parking in his usual spot, he turns to the kids. “Get yourself settled in, alright?” They wasted no time jumping out of the car and scampering off into the shack. “And don’t touch anything!” A jar crashing onto the floor was heard in the distance. “They don’t listen, do they?” Stan shook his head. “Alright, poindexter, what are we going to do about the book?” He started, looking at Ford who pulled at his turtle neck anxiously. “We have to wait till tonight to look for it.” Tonight came and they were too wrapped up with the twins that they couldn’t go out and search for the third book. Their schedules became so busy that a week had passed and they still were waiting to find an empty slot in their schedules to find the book but it never came.

✶ “Grunkles! Grunkles!” Mable came running at them at full speed. “Woah there, kiddo!” Ford swooped Mable up from the floor. “You almost bumped into me.” He laughed, putting her back down on the ground. “That was the plan.” She giggled. “But I have something to ask!” She shoved her hand inside the pocket of her skirt. She pulled out a photo, a very specific photo that Stan had kept in his room. She pointed at the person in the middle. “Who is this?” She asks. “Mable!” Dipper rushed to the living room. Bending over, he hoisted himself up by propping his arms on his knees. He wheezed out, his eyes locking onto the tense scene in front of him. “Did she already ask about the photo?” Silence was his response. Breaking out of his trance, Stan swiped the photo out of Mable’s hands. “Where did you find this?” Stan’s eyes flickered between the photo and Mable. “In your room.” A flash of emotions went through Stan’s face. Why was Mable in his room? Why did she pick this photo out of all the things in his room? He spiraled. He wasn’t expecting to speak of you to someone who had no idea of your existence. Stan’s heart crumpled into a pathetic ball. The twins had never met you. Ford took notice of Stan’s unnaturally quiet nature.  “Kids, why don’t you go to your rooms?” Ford said, kneeling down to their height. “But why?” Mable whined, pouting. “Because we need to decide if we are ready to tell you, okay?” Ford gave a knowing look to Dipper who understood that this wasn’t an easy topic. Dipper told something to Mable and with a worried look, she dejectedly followed him up to their room. “Stan?” He looks over to Stan who was shakily pulling out a packet of cigarettes. “I thought you quit, Stanley?” Ford watched sadly as he walked inside the kitchen and searched for a lighter, when he did he pocketed it and walked back out. “It’s either I drink or I smoke.” Stan said, heading towards the porch. Ford followed after him, shutting the door behind him. “You want one?” Stan offered the pack and he debated for a moment before denying his request. Stan brought the cigar to his lips. He cupped his hand around the cigar as he lit it up with his lighter. Taking a deep drag of the smoke, he allowed himself to relax, welcoming the familiar feeling of the smoke filling his lungs. “We don’t have to tell them if you don’t want to.” Ford spoke, watching the puff of gray smog lighty cover his vision momentarily. “I don’t think we have a choice here.” Stan takes another long drag from the cigarette. “We can tell them we’re not ready yet.” Ford reasons. “I think it’s time they should know about [Name].” Stan stares at the late afternoon sky. “It was just all so sudden and I didn’t know how to react. It all went downhill from there.” Stan twiddled his cigarette between his fingers. “You don’t have to explain yourself, Stanley. I know how you feel.” A comfortable silence blanketed the both of them warmly. “Do you ever wonder what [Name] would think about the twins?” Ford breaks the silence, glancing at Stan from the corner of his eye. Stan wistfully smiled, stubbing out his cigarette on the floor. “[Name] would have loved the twins.” 

✶ Stan looked between the twins. “So, whaddya wanna know?” He asks. “Who are they!” Mable shouted. “They are our younger sibling.” Ford said. Mable’s face exploded into shock. “We have a secret Great Aunt/Grunkle?” Mable couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Where are they?” Dipper questioned. “They’re somewhere,” Stan said with a strained voice. “Where is somewhere?” Mable cocked her head to the side. “They’re out exploring the world.” Ford horribly lied. Mable frowned. “You can tell us if they’re dead, Grunkles. You don’t have to hide it from us.” Stan took a harsh deep breath in. “They aren’t dead, pumpkin. We just have no idea where they’re at.” Mable nodded her head in understanding. “Did you guys fall out?” Dipper asked with a tiny frown. “Yeah. A terrible fight broke out and they left.” Ford gazed at the photo of the three of them when they were young, clueless of the world and just happy to be surrounded by one another. “I’m so sorry.” Mable’s excitement was no longer there and was replaced by sadness for her poor Grunkle’s. “It’s okay, dear. No need to apologize.” Ford assured Mable with a smile. “[Name] is a wonderful person,” This was the first time Stan had talked about you in a present tense and he couldn’t tell if he liked that or not. “I hope one day you get to meet them.”

✶ Unbeknownst to the two older twins, Dipper had found journal three when Stan instructed him to go out and put out signs in the woods. But they didn’t find out that Dipper had it until he had shown the book to Ford and Stan after the events that had followed them the past few days. “Gideon nearly destroyed the whole town trying to find it!” Dipper said. Stan pretended to feign interest as he skimmed through the pages. “I don’t know what it means, or who wrote it, but after all we’ve been through,” He looks at Mable and smiles, directing attention to his Grunkle’s who were trying their hardest to hide their actual feelings. “Maybe you guys should finally know about it too.” He grinned. “I’m glad you showed us this, Dipper.” Stan shut the book closed. “Uhm, Grunkle Stan. Why does Grunkle Ford look like he’s about to crap himself?” Mable looked concerned for her Grunkle. Everyone turned their attention to Ford who weakly smiled at them. “Excuse him. He’s still shaken–” Ford yanked Stan by the sleeve and pulled him out of the twins room. “We need to go to the lab now!” Ford whispered. “I know that, Stanford! But at least let us pretend we don’t give a ratsass for this book!” He whispered back. “We’ll be back!” Ford awkwardly excused him and Stan. The twins heard their Grunkle speedily walk down the stairs. “Do you think I’m ever going to get that book back?” Mable shrugged. 

✶ Placing the books right next to each other, Ford flipped to the pages containing the blueprints. He connected the books together, showing the full plan of the portal. Stan read the instructions and swung over to the controls, he flipped the exact switches that were told to be switched. The lights around the portal flickered on. “Oh my god!” Ford laughed out in surprise. “Is this actually going to work?” Stan and Ford rush over to the portal. Their hearts thrumming against their chest. Together, they pulled the lever. With a click, it moved to the other side and the portal hummed. Zaps of electricity emitted from the portal as it powered back on. A rush of wind blew by Stan and Ford as the portal swirled to life. Ford shook his head in disbelief. “Can’t believe we did it, huh?” Stan says with a smile. “I thought we were never going to get this portal turned on.” Stan claps his back. “Well, believe it!” 

✶ Ford was so sure they weren’t going to get caught. He was so absolutely sure. The plan he made to steal the nuclear waste was perfect, there was no room for error. But it seemed like the universe had other plans. He never imagined himself getting pinned to a cop car with cuffs around his wrists. This was more of a Stanley thing, and yet here he is, getting arrested. “This is all just a big misunderstanding!” Ford cried out, his cheek squished against the hood of the cop car. “Guys, can’t I give you some money?” Stan approached them with his hands in his pockets. They all watched him nervously, guns aimed and men ready to tackle him down. “Grunkle Stan, maybe you shouldn’t!” Mable grabs Stan’s hand and pulls him back. “You guys got the wrong guy, my brother is innocent!” Stan argues. “Oh, we’ve been watching your family all summer and we have seen some pretty disturbing things. Whoever you think your brother is, he is not what he seems.” They shove Ford into a car. “Guys!” Ford calls, the door slamming shut on him. Stan watches as they drive off with Ford, his head spinning. “As for you guys, we were removing you off the property.” The guy with a mustache said, directing them to another cop car that was beside them. “No, you can’t!” Stan felt helpless. He just wants you back, why is this so difficult? The chaos spiraled into madness and suddenly, Stan was in the lab, begging the kids to not turn off the portal. “This’ll end the world, Grunkle Stan. Why can’t you see that?” Dipper had his hands hovering dangerously close to the button. “Just listen to me, kid. It’ll make sense later, just don’t press the button.” He walked towards them but was soon taken off his feet. “Brace yourselves!” They all rise up, twirling and thrashing around the room. “T-Minus, thirty five seconds.” The robotic voice said. Dipper had grabbed onto a beam and told Mable to reach for the button. Using the cable wrapped on her foot, she inched herself close to the button. “Mable, wait, wait!” Stan pushed him off the wall and tried reaching towards her. Soos dove straight for Stan and wrapped himself around him, apologizing to him. “Soos, what’re you doing?!” Dipper followed what Soos did and yelled at Mable to turn it off. 

✶ “Stop!” Everyone looked around and they all gasped when their eyes landed on Ford. “Mabel, don’t listen to Dipper. Listen to me,” Ford pushed himself toward the nearest beam. He coiled his arm around it, securing himself. “Do you trust me and Stan, Mable?” Ford firmly asked, his eyes locked with Mabel. “I do!” She desperately said. “Then trust us when we tell you to not push the button.” Mabel looked to Dipper who was widely shaking his head. “Okay,” She raises her hands above her head. “I trust you guys.” She let herself float up, away from the button. “Mable, no–!” A white flash envelops them whole. 

✶ They all roughly made contact with the floor. With a groan, Stan rubbed his head, his head lifting up towards the portal. The portal flickered with wandering electricity. Ford held his breath, eyes fixed on the portal as he waited. A black figure barreled out of the portal, their head whipping towards it. “Close the portal!” You yelled, your hand wrapping around a gun that was hoisted in their waist. You turned their attention back to Stan and Ford. “Close the portal!” You repeated louder this time. In the distance, they all heard a loud distorted guttural grumble. Ford got up from his feet and rushed over to the control panel, flicking all the switches down. “Switch the lever off!” Switching the gun to your other hand, you aimed it at the portal and with your free hand, you pulled the lever. Before whatever monster was chasing you could catch up, the portal sputtered close. You held your chest, catching your breath. The rush of adrenaline you felt passed and you were immediately struck with pain. “Thank you.” You whisper, clutching your side. You think you can manage and to prove it, you take one wobbly step forward. You tried to take another but you collapsed to your knees,  blood splattering on the floor below you. “[Name]!” Stan yelled, he darted towards you. “Stanley?” You croaked out. You blinked in surprise. “Is that really you?” Your question falls on deaf ears as Stan yells for medical supplies. Ford comes rushing to your side, inspecting the upper half of your body. “Stanford’s here too?” You felt your body teeter from side to side. “Is Mom and Dad gonna pop up?” You joke, your body crashing onto Ford. “[Name], can….hear…?”  Stan’s voice fades in and out. “What did you say?” Your eyes squint at Stan. “Here, Grunkle…” You could hear a high pitched voice and you go to look for it but your vision has gone hazy. “They’re slipping…out of…” You really wished you understood what they were saying. And without even realizing, your eyes closed on you. 

✶ You feel a warmth tickle your face causing you to stir awake. “Oh my gosh, it worked!” A voice spoke. “Mable!” A prepubescent voice filled your ears. “What is with all this talking?” You sleepily grumbled out, peeling your eyes open to see two tween kids staring right at you with big wondrous eyes. “Hi, I’m Mable! I’m your great niece.” She introduced herself. “Great niece?” You groggily got up. “Where am I?” You ask, blinking as your vision comes back to you. “You’re in the Mystery Shack!” She tells you with a chipper attitude. “Mystery Shack?” You look down to see that your original outfit you wore was now discarded somewhere and instead wore a large baggy white tee and heart pajama pants. “What am I wearing?” You pinched at your clothes. “Kids!” A gruff voice was heard behind the doors. “Oh shoot!” Mable looked around the room. “Where do we hide?” Dipper whispered, his eyes darting under the bed. “Go under the bed!” Dipper said, diving straight under. “Please don’t tell Grunkle Stan that we’re here!” She pleaded. “Uhm, yeah?” She beamed and hid right under the bed. In an instant, the door was pushed open and your eyes locked on your brothers. Your brain processed it for a moment, wait… “Stanley, Stanford?!” A gasp leaves Ford. “Why are you awake! You’re supposed to be resting.” Ford scolded. You didn’t pay attention to Ford’s scolding, wrapped up in the moment of seeing your twin brothers living and breathing right in front of you. “Are you guys real?” You try to blink away the tears that were obstructing your view. “Of course we are silly.” Stan laughed, sitting down on the bed right next to you and wrapping you in a side hug. “Stan…” You cried. You had spent countless nights, shouldering the knowledge that you weren’t going to see your brothers ever again. That haunted you every single day from the moment you woke up to the minute you went to sleep. Here you are, proven wrong for once in your life. And it feels so good to be held by Stan again, feels so good to have a familiar feeling wash into your senses again. “How?” You ask, peeling yourself away from Stan’s shoulder, wiping the tears away. “We just kept trying and trying.” Ford told you, a somber smile on his lips. “Oh, Ford. Come here!” You grab his wrist and tug him into the bed. The action caused you to drag and flop all of them on the bed with you. Tearful laughter erupts in the room. “I apologize for the scare earlier,” You say, your hand pressing against your side. “Don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault.” Stan said. “No, really.” You begin to unwrap the gauze around your waist, ignoring Ford and Stan’s protest. “I heal quickly.” You point to your already sealed up gash. The only thing left to prove that you were injured was the thin scar that spread across. Ford gawks in awe. “You need to tell me an in depth story detailing every single thing you have been doing for the past thirty years.” Ford said with so much seriousness you laughed. “Bu-but you passed out. Ford said it was from blood loss!” 

✶ “I only passed out because my body needs to shut down momentarily to heal up my wounds.” You tell him matter of factly. “Oh, great. Now we have another snobby nerd.” Stan joked. “Oh, stop it! You are too, considering you fixed the portal alongside with Mr. Branic over here.” You jabbed a thumb over to Ford who yelled out, “Hey!” in offense. “Hello family!” Mable popped out from under the bed. The three of you screamed loudly in fear, clutching each other. “Woah, didn’t mean to scare you guys!” She helped Dipper out from under the bed. “I just wanted to say that you guys are so adorable!” She squealed, pouncing onto the bed. “I can’t believe I have a Great Aunt/Grunkle who has traveled throughout dimensions. Isn’t that so cool?” She kicked her feet in excitement. “What kinds of monsters did you see out there?” Dipper asked, climbing onto the bed and settling himself between you, Ford and Stan. “A lot.” You respond with a smile. “I never caught your brother's name.” You say, booping Dipper’s nose. “His name is Dipper!” Mable pulls him close to her, cheek to cheek. “We’re twins.” She mentioned. “So it runs in the family, huh?” You elbow the two sets of other twins you had the misfortune to partially grow up with. “Guess so,” Stan smiled. “Let’s play a get to know each other game.” Mable offered. Everyone surprisingly agreed. “Okay, let’s start with Great Aunt/Grunkle [Name]. Tell us about yourself.” The rest of the afternoon was spent catching up with the family and when the game was over, the twins had left, leaving you with Stan and Ford. “Thank you guys for not giving up on me.” You say into the hug. “We’re family! How could we ever abandon you?” Ford replies. An awkward cough emitted from you and Stan looked off to the side. “Oh.” The last thirty years had been rough, for you and the twins, but it was nice knowing that it ended with the three of you once again reunited at last. 

IT'S DONNE, and again if you guys want more i'll write more but till then i think this concludes word/insured YIPPIE

Taglist: @boredwithlifeatthispoint, @lovexsage, @teddycricketdream, @theilluminatidragonqueen, @raventeen @cedarmoonzz if you wanna be added to my taglist, dm me or comment! <3

[madschiavelique]

Could I request dating headcanons for astarion, gale, halsin, kar'niss, raphael, haarlep, rolan, and wyll with gn s/o please?

hey there anon !! i loved writing those i am soft for them all urgh

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ characters : astarion, gale, halsin, kar'niss, raphael, haarlep, rolan, wyll

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ content warning : lots of fluff, bits of teasing but nothing too explicit, tiny bit of yandere!kar'niss, gender neutral reader

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ words : 2,6k (~ 300 words per characters)

( not proofread, english is not my first language ☆)

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ astarion : 

Dating astarion means trying to chat with someone, and having him in the background doing some theatrical faces to mock how absolutely annoying and ridiculous the guy talking to you is. You’re trying to stay serious and pretend you’re concentrating on what he is saying when your boyfriend in the background keeps mimicking the most hilarious things that are sure to make you crack at any moment.

At the end of the conversation, when you join him, you give him a playful pinch in his sides as you laugh together just before he holds up to his head level the guy’s pouch, cackling to your rounded eyes “My love’s time is money from others, and the greatest treasure for me.”

You and him would sneak into some fancy couturier’s place, trying on robes and suits that would cost you way too many discussions with boring men to get astarion to steal their coins. You’d steal some to your liking and infiltrate some chic soirée where everyone smells like they bathed in perfume, where the old aristocrats speak like they have hot potatoes in their mouth, and where you have huge buffets ready for both of your stomachs to welcome.

You’d dance, drink champagne, stuff your mouth with soft creamy cakes, astarion licking the excess off your fingers as he takes your hand to bring you both on a balcony outside and kisses you under the moon like nothing has satisfied his hunger quite like your lips.

But you’d have softer moments, away from stealing and debauchery, just the two of you. You laying in bed, astarion resting his head on top of your heart, listening to its soft and regular beat.

You caressed his hair, your fingertips combing through his curls and brushing against his pointed ears from time to time. It made him shiver and hum, his thumbs on both of your sides tracing circular motions on your skin.

You both loved moments like these, where he could just relax in the arms of someone he loves and trusts, listening to the sound of life he had been deprived of softly beating in your chest.

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ gale : 

Dating Gale means lots of book reading sessions. It would just be the both of you, sitting on a couch at home, your legs on his lap as he caresses your thighs softly, not removing his hand the slightest as a mage hand flips the next page for him.

After those sessions, you both would talk about your thoughts on your current readings, and it makes your heart soften every time you see the way he looks at you when you speak about something that lights your heart up.

It also means spending some afternoons and nights learning more about the weave, and having Gale as your teacher on the matter. He’d always have your back against his chest, guiding your hands to form the specific shapes they need to make to cast a spell.

He’d keep being a distraction to you, kissing your ear, your neck, your temple, letting his hands linger on your waist… and you missed your spell once more. Pity, guess you’ll have to try again while he keeps tormenting you so that this moment you both share lasts longer.

No matter what you are doing, Gale has to have some sort of physical contact with you. Has to take your hand while you’re both walking, has to have his hand on your waist, to sit next to you and have both your knees touch.

It feels like the air around is compelling, and although the charm spell is no secret to him, he knows that it will never equal the kind of electricity you make him feel.

When either of you is away for any reason, he will find a way to make sure he has a piece of you to keep for himself, like a present of yours or anything he can keep near his hands or body at all times so that he can feel you are with him no matter what.

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ halsin : 

Dating Halsin means lots of dates hidden in corners of nature you felt only your imagination could make up. He’d walk you through a cave of shining crystals to bring you to this small beach with a willow tree. He'd have a basket ready, full of goods and snacks and your favourite food for a picnic in the peacefulness of nature, by your side.

Naturally you would both end up with your trousers rolled up as you looked at the fishes in the water, the algaes that rippled like emerald hair, and splashed each other until you both ended up falling and laughing at how drenched you were.

It also means calm evenings in the grove, peacefully helping around with the latest crops and going around to feed the different animals staying here. You’d read some stories to count the kids at night with your fingers still purple from picking grapes while leaning on Halsin in his bear form, taking a nap.

And when the sunsets would come, he’d watch you dance around the campfire with the druids as he carves a small wooden figurine of your silhouette. After the party, he would pick you up in his arms and carry you in bride style to your place.

He’d take the time to clean your feet from the dirt you’d danced on barefoot, would remove one by one the leaves stuck in your hair or clothes, and kiss your cheeks still warm from the dancing.

He never fails to open up to you, to tell you about his past, about his guilts, and you never judge him, only accept him. They say that to keep a couple up you have to look after it everyday, these idiots don’t know anything about love.

As if he had to make efforts to listen to you, as if he had ever doubted. He'd love your flaws if he managed to find any. You had been patient, so patient with him, accepting and loving and everything he could’ve ever wished for.

You make him hope again, remind him by your sole presence that there are things worth fighting for in this world, and he makes sure to remind you of how important you are for him through his words and acts.

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ kar'niss : 

Finding someone whom kar’niss had more devotion for than his Goddess was no easy task, but your sole presence was the proof that there are exceptions to rules.

Thus, if you are his revered deity in his eyes and heart, he has to bring you offerings to your altar. Kar’niss brings you all sorts of gifts, from hidden crystals in unreachable crevices to flowers with unique fragrances, he covers you with gifts and anything that makes him think of you.

You can expect one thing from dating him, and it is that you cannot get out of his grasp ! He’s got 12 arms if you count his spider part and the two human ones, so you can be sure he’s going to have at least one of them around you.

Kar’niss isn’t used to getting touched but craves it with his every breath; so every time you cup his face, or place a strand of his white hair behind his ear, or simply take his hand in yours, his seven dark eyes widen in surprise.

Anybody or any things that dare touch you infuriates him. How could they think themselves worthy of your touch ? of your attention ? They’d get punishment from it, and he’d be sure to be the one inflicting that sentence.

You’d trace the scars of his face, telling him how handsome he is as something within him rumbles with a high purr. His dark grey-ish purple chitin is lukewarm to your touch when your hand sets on his shoulder.

He has been abandoned one too many times already, and he fears that for whatever reason, he could lose you as well. Whenever you take him in your arms, he holds you so close to him like it might be your last embrace. You hum a soft song as he nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, your hands softly caressing his back as you assure him you won’t leave.

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ raphael : 

Dating one of the most important devils in all Faerun might seem like an intimidating situation, but really, it was somehow truly liberating. Your relationship was no contract, nor did it derive from some spell either of you had cast upon another. It was… unworldly.

There was something about you that made Raphael untense by the second you were in the same room as him. He’d ask for you to be of company whenever he had reports to fill, contracts to prepare, and any other tasks that asked of his brows to pinch one another until you kissed his forehead and make all annoyance go away.

He’d bring you as much as he could to whatever meetup or reception he was needed to, but would never risk your life by bringing you anywhere that could be dangerous for you. One could say that you had become his weakness, his soft spot that made you the lever to pull on if anyone was after him.

You’d been kidnapped several times already by some that thought they’d manage to defeat the devil, but when he arrived for them, he made their torment so great that in any afterlife imaginable they’d suffer his wrath. You were untouchable, had been made immortal by his request and it made him worriless about you ever dying. Prepare your time, because all of his is for you.

You would discuss poetry around a glass of the best wines all the realms could offer, discuss futile matters; hells, you’d make him laugh. When were the times he ever had a moment to sincerely laugh ?

He’d never get tired of talking to you, knowing your points of views on any subjects no matter how ridiculous they were, of making him feel by your words that a devil’s hardened heart might beat for someone else than himself just for once.

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ haarlep : 

One could think that outside of their usual occupations, Haarlep is nothing, just a cluster of people living through them, and someone that has no other living purpose than sexual pleasures.

But when you came into their life, it certainly was a different thing, because you offered them what few gave them in the past : freedom of choice. You were not spending time with them for their pure nature, but for who they had come to be. You listened to them, to their stories, to their interests, and they always looked at you with stars in their eyes.

Haarlep, no matter your occupation in the house of Hope, would always find ways to be with you.

Standing up to search the archives for a specific book ? They’d place their forehead on your shoulder as their arms laced around your waist from behind.

Sat to write a report ? They’d sit next to you, their tail suggestively teasing you by caressing your thigh.

Looking over a map while both your hands are keeping you steady on the table ? They’d tower over you, chest against your back as they placed their chin in the crook of your neck and both of their hands next to yours to touch them.

There was no way in hell you’d get them away from you.

Being with someone as a couple was such an enigmatic concept for them, thus they’d engage in the making of pranks, taking the image of one of their past conquests to come up to you, ask you questions and take their role extremely seriously.

Until at one point, they’d ask through their chosen envelope “Is your heart taken yet ?”, to which you’d always answer “they took more than my heart.”

They kept taking various forms to see if you’d somehow let your interests in them waver, flirting and pushing limits to see if you truly loved them : not a single time would you let yourself be charmed, describing how your partner was simply irreplaceable in your mind and soul, which only made them love you more each time.

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ rolan : 

Dating Rolan will undoubtedly lead to afternoons where you stay by his side, sat as he searches for different books and scrolls in archives to make some sort of inventory.

You observe how serious he is when he sits down, quill in hand as the scratching of it on paper starts again. How his horns catch the candle light, how his glowing eyes skim through lines on end, how his pointer and middle finger join together to underline the words he has to copy.

You could stay like that for hours, and just when you feel you’re maybe disturbing his concentration by your presence and finally stand up, you feel something tighten around your ankle. Your eyes travel down your leg to see Rolan’s tail wrapped around your leg.

His eyes find yours, and he seems as surprised as you are of the reaction, but he doesn’t apologise. Instead, he murmurs two simple words : “Stay, please.” How could you refuse that ?

He’d take you on dates in the middle of the night, bringing you to the highest point of the tower to use the telescope and spend an evening watching the sunset and watching the stars. He’d bring pastries and fruits with him, having placed cushions and blankets on the ground for the both of you to settle comfortably.

He’d summon a flower to place in your hair with the flick of the wrist, create small fireworks with the snap of a finger, make a shooting star rain in the sky with a murmur, just for you.

You’d tease him about how long he’d have been preparing such dates, kissing him and telling him how you’d loved it, and he’d always turn his gaze away as his cheeks warmed up and your laugh made his heart flutter

There’d always be times when, for a break during the day at handling the tower, you’d come see him, and he’d drop whatever he was doing no matter the task to let you come sit on his lap and hug him.

He always waited for that time of day, for the kisses you placed on his horns and the words of encouragement you’d give him.

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ wyll : 

Dating Wyll means being treated like royalty, and doing whatever you want with your prince charming of a boyfriend. I can picture him taking you to plays, some that sometimes retrace some of his own adventures, where in that case he comes hidden with a cloak to watch it.

You will always tease him about some memorable lines of diverse plays you’ve seen about one of his epics, and he’ll always end up chasing after you laughing as he catches you in his arms to attack you with kisses.

If you are not already proficient in swordsmanship, you can be assured that he will be the most patient teacher. He’d adjust your posture, some teasing touches that’d linger on your hips and waist as one of his hands guides yours holding your weapon.

Soon enough, when you’d be comfortable to handle a little fight, he’d have regular duels with you.

You don’t count the number of times he jokingly smacked your ass with the flat of his sword as you fell on the ground again and again anymore, but you always waited for the kisses on your sore palm after every training day.

He buys you flowers every week, different bouquets every time.

He treats you both like you’re made of porcelain that he wants to protect and hold gently, and as the brightest diamond he ever saw and that he wants everyone to see shine.

He always kisses your ring fingers whenever he holds your hand, showering your face in kisses that makes you scrunch your entire face with laughter.

Wyll is the kind of boyfriend that makes you feel like nothing has moved since your first “i love you”s, it’s been years that you’ve been going out together for 2 weeks. 

[save-a-forest-ride-a-bear]

🗒 ꒰⸝⸝₊ General Dating Headcanons ❛ ✧

Featuring: Astarion, Gale, Wyll & Halsin

# Note: content warning for very brief talk of abuse and general trauma back to navigation ´ˎ˗

🌿┊ASTARION

Talk about touch and attention starved. This guy wouldn't know a healthy relationship if it hit him in the face. Whenever you're nice to him or touch him without any innuendo, he's on edge. You must want something from him. Why else would you be doing this? It doesn't make sense.

Speaking of which, touching him out of nowhere usually doesn't end well. He has a tendency to flinch. He cackles and says he just thought he saw a bug, "Silly me," but you both know better than that.

He grows used to it, however. It just takes some warming up to. Eventually, the discomfort fades, replaced by a yearning so strong he swore he felt his heart beat again. When his brain realizes you don't want to hurt him and it's safe to be around you, he starts craving more contact. He's too prideful to ask, but he's not good at hiding it, either.

He loves any kind of compliment, don't get him wrong, but the ones that have nothing to do with his appearance seem to stick more. He's heard every single little praise possible for his face and body — but for his personality? For his mannerisms? If it ever happened before, he can't remember it.

Insists he doesn't like cuddling and only does it because you want to. But the one night you didn't, you woke up to him clinging to you anyway. He said he must've done so in his sleep, completely ignoring the fact elves can't sleep. Deception: critical failure.

Surprisingly protective. If you get hurt during a fight he goes ham on the enemy while yelling for someone else to take care of your wounds right now. He lost everything he had after Cazador — lost even himself to the hands of that sick, wicked man. He can't afford to lose you too.

The relationship started with him trying to manipulate you, sure, but that's not the case anymore. He cares. He genuinely cares for something other than himself for the first time in two centuries, and he's scared you still think you're being tricked by his charms. Again, he's too prideful for constant displays of affection, but he does say "I love you" more often than ever. Maybe if he says it enough times, you'll believe it.

He stares a lot. There's just something so endearing about seeing you in your own little world, oblivious to everything else, or at least oblivious to his gawking. It's the most honest part of you, the most yourself you could be, and he enjoys it from afar.

🌿┊GALE

So needy. You leave him at camp for a few hours and you come back to him acting like he needs to be sent to the seaside for his health. A year of living as a hermit does things to a man's necessities for attention.

Loves your scent. He doesn't share his clothes with anyone (that fabric is expensive, dammit), but he insists you wear them so that they smell like you later.

Despite being a cat owner, he's very dog-coded. Will do things with the sole purpose of receiving praise or kisses from you and gets extremely pouty when he doesn't.

Speaking of kisses, he takes any excuse conceivable to kiss you. Good morning, good night and good luck kisses are very much mandatory. Doesn't even have to be on his lips, he's more than satisfied with a cheek or forehead kiss as well.

He enjoys being taken care of, even if he complains. When you scold him for not sleeping over some ancient tome, he can't help but feel loved. Will return the favour, of course — especially if it comes to food. He's very insistent with the "three meals a day" thing.

Will read to you, there's no way around it. It's relaxing for both of you, so he doesn't see why he shouldn't. He also says he can pay attention better to the text when he says it out loud, anyway. You having your head on his lap as he does it is merely a bonus.

🌿┊WYLL

If this man has any flaw, it's that he's always trying to make every moment you spend together perfect and forgets to just lay back and enjoy himself. Even then, he only does it because of how much he loves you.

The last romantic! Goes all out with dates and gifts — fancy restaurants and the biggest bouquets you've ever seen. Money is no object when it comes to you. Truly a good old-fashioned lover boy.

Definitely has a saviour complex — the type to say "I can fix them" unironically. He just loved you and wants you to be okay, and if he has to drag you there himself he will.

Will go on rants about how smitten he is with you and how perfect you are on a daily basis. If you have to leave for the day, he'll write it as a love letter instead.

Always holding you close, but there's no possessiveness to it. It's a display of affection, not ownership. He's yours as much as you are his.

Loves taking showers together. Not for any sexual reason (though he wouldn't complain if things ended up going down that path), he just finds it incredibly intimate and genuinely enjoys washing your hair for you.

You're not just another romance to him — you're the love of his life, the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with, if the gods allow it.

🌿┊HALSIN

Despite the whole "Desire flourishes wherever it finds purchase" thing, he genuinely doesn't see himself falling for anyone else as he did for you. It's nice to know he could still indulge if he wanted, but for now, he doesn't.

Loves having his hair played with. There's just something so soothing about it. Or maybe it's his wild shape talking, asking for pets. We'll never know.

Always finds an excuse for you to sit on his lap. Again, not for sexual reasons, he just likes wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your head or shoulder.

Even though he isn't one for commitment, he has a constant, extremely severe case of baby fever. He obviously wouldn't push you if you're not ready, but he does make his sentiments on the matter known.

Stepping dangerously close to smut territory with this one, but he loves how small you are compared to him. The way he engulfs you entirely when he hugs you or how your hand disappears under his as he holds it — it's endearing to him.

I cannot go without mentioning how good his hugs are. Like, seriously. He's so warm and gentle but still strong and it makes you feel safe. It's the best thing in Faerun.

Loves how you look like wearing his clothes. It ties into the size difference thing, since they just look huge on you. Also, much like Gale, he has a thing for your scent, so there's really no downsides.

[shesjustanothergeek]

The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Two: The Gods' Light

IAemond Targaryen x Strong! Readerl

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Writing a child's inner dialogue was interesting. Besides being very plain and blunt, I didn't know how to write it. Writing for a child will be challenging, but I'm more than up for it. Enjoy reading! :)

Chapter Warnings: Aegon is psychotic, animal cruelty, just sibling things, Alicent being dululu.

As you hurried through the echoing halls of the Red Keep, your swift strides outpacing those of your brothers, you clutched a dragon egg close to your chest. You could feel its smooth, warm surface drumming with growing life beneath your fingers, determined not to let it slip from your grasp. The moment’s thrill spurred you on as you raced through the ancient corridors.

Moments ago, as you sat with Jace and Luke, enjoying a midday meal of goat cheese and dried meats, Ser Harwin suddenly appeared in the garden, out of breath from his hurried journey from Maegor’s Holdfast. He excitedly conveyed the news that your mother had just given birth. The announcement filled you with anticipation, eager to visit the Dragonpit and choose an egg from Syrax’s clutch for the new arrival.

You were restricted from visiting your dragon whenever you desired, making each visit to the Pit a momentous occasion. Gaelithox, your loyal mount, was only accessible during carefully organized training sessions under the vigilant supervision of the Keepers and your trusted protector. While you had made remarkable progress with your affectionate dragon, the Keepers could not trust you with it alone. 

Jace was still grappling with getting Vermax to heed simple commands. The memory of the Keepers urging your younger brother to stand firm and not yield to fear remained vivid. However, when the volatile olive-scaled juvenile lunged forward, Jace faltered and tumbled onto his back, leaving a lasting impression as Aegon and Aemond teased him for days. Unlike Aegon, whose voice echoed like a cackling witch from the tales your maids told before bed, you stifled laughter. Later that evening, your mother reprimanded you when Jace told the incident during supper, silently mouthing the words ‘tattletale’ to your slightly younger brother.

But none of that mattered now. Mother had a babe, and you desperately wished for a sister. It wasn’t that you disliked your brothers; it was just lonely. Jace and Luke shared their Septon with Aegon and Aemond, and you had Septa Marlow, your mother’s former teacher. It was so incredibly boring to sit there in silence with the old crone droning on and on about the duty of a high-born lady, different types of needlework, dances, manners, other Houses, and the importance of virtue, a word you had yet to understand the meaning of.

You asked your mother on more than one occasion to allow you to learn with Helaena, but she said no, saying something about how she was an odd girl with a fascination for unusual things. You didn’t understand why that was a bad trait. You liked how Helaena played with bugs, recalling the many times you counted the legs of crickets you found underneath rocks in the gardens for her. 

When the flowers of King’s Landing had blossomed in the spring, you pleaded with your mother to allow you to spend a day with Helaena in the Godswood. Spring brought out all the little creatures, and your Aunt was always chatty during this time. You fondly remember spending hours capturing beetles, crickets, dragonflies, grasshoppers, and numerous moths and butterflies. You ended up with so many of them that you barely had enough jars to take to your Aunt’s room.

The atmosphere was filled with joy until Aegon arrived. His usual confident stride was noticeably absent, and it was clear that he was not in good spirits. This was unusual, as Aegon was typically the epitome of happiness, and his distress weighed heavily on you. Acting on impulse, you beckoned him over. As he stood before you and his sister, his hands tucked in his pockets, you tried to cheer him up by sharing the day’s events with a hopeful smile. When you suggested showing him a butterfly, he nodded in agreement. You retrieved one carefully, handing it as gently as Helaena had taught you, being mindful not to harm its delicate wings.

You opened your palms slowly to show him. It was bright yellow with black markings, fluttering softly in your grasp. You told him to be careful as you tenderly placed it in Aegon’s hands and told him about the multiflora rose bush you found it from. Turning your head to show him where it was, Aegon crushed the butterfly in his fist, smashing the thinly winged insect as the off-white guts splattered across his palms. You couldn’t understand why he would do such a thing to something you and Helaena took great pride in, never mind that the creature was innocent of whatever hateful reasoning he had behind this. 

You recalled how Aegon wiped the remnants of the butterfly across your shocked face in finality and smiled the smile you hoped for, showing the crumpled, wiry black legs and torn shreds of paper-thin wings on his palm.

Helaena screamed. You can still remember the sound of it, piercing your ears and making them feel as if they bled. Aegon rubbed the tiny leftover specs of the carcass onto her head to get her to quiet, bellowing the same cackle he always did. After that, you couldn’t recall much, only a sudden anger you had never felt before, blurry vision, and being pulled off Aegon’s whimpering form. You were still unsure about how you found yourself pummeling your uncle’s face in the same way he did the bug. 

The Queen, accompanied by Ser Criston, discovered you trying to embrace Helaena. However, the young girl shied away, retreating into a crouched position, her knees to her chest and her face buried between them. Overwhelmed with emotion, you sought solace in Queen Alicent’s arms, burying your head in her skirts. As she inquired about the events, she tenderly ran her jeweled hands over your messy hair while you struggled to say your feelings, too choked up to speak coherently. She lifted you into her arms in a comforting gesture, providing security and reassurance.

You remembered how her scent lingered in the air—frankincense mixed with something more worldly, a delicate aroma that clung to her soft skin and auburn hair. With a determined expression, she assured you that Aegon would be punished for his actions, a look of resolve you had never seen on her before. She then gently carried you over to her eldest son, who was still visibly upset, wiping at his eyes and tending to his busted lip.

Alicent ordered him to apologize, you still in her arms, your face hidden within her neck as your crying turned to sniffles. Aegon did it begrudgingly, and you could tell he did not mean it, but it was enough to appease the Queen as she carried you to her chambers, commanding a maid to bring a fresh bowl of warm water and lemon tarts, though you much-preferred orange, with some floral smelling tea. 

With the tenderness reminiscent of your mother, she gently wiped away the tears and butterfly guts from your face, reassuring you that you were a radiant embodiment of the Seven’s divine light, as lovely as the Maiden herself, and expressed her pride in having someone with a sense of justice akin to the Father’s at her side.

You never understood why your mother didn’t want you to be around the Queen. She was lovely and kind and always had the tastiest snacks at her disposal. You remembered wishing one night after she had yelled at you for running away from your Septa that Queen Alicent was your mother. She would never hurt your feelings as your birth mother had. 

“I want to show Mother the egg!” Luke whined at you as you reached her bed chamber doors. 

“No, I’m going to,” you tell Luke, keeping the egg closer. 

“But why?” he asked, sounding on the verge of tears, petulantly stomping his tiny foot. 

“Because I’m the eldest,” you quipped as you kept the egg out of his grasp.

“Luke was the one who chose it! You just picked it up,” Jace countered, sounding way too smart for his good. 

You started to voice your objections once more, but just then, Ser Harwin turned the corner and caught up with the group of you. Anticipating that Luke would inform Harwin about your refusal to give him the egg, you let out an exaggerated groan, rolled your eyes, and reluctantly handed it to your younger brother.

“Little Princes and Princess, you know better than to run away from me. I should tell your mother about this.” For a moment, you were worried that Ser Harwin might be serious, but then you saw his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. 

“We won’t do it again, Ser Harwin,” Jace answered. You knew he was lying; your mother’s sworn protector seemed to think that, too. 

“We will be calm when we enter, yes?” Ser Harwin commanded rather than asked. 

You all nod, not saying a peep as he opens the door to your Mother’s chambers, though the sound of three pairs of little feet running across the stone floor defeats Harwin Strong’s fleeting hope. 

“Look what we brought, mother!” Jacaerys exclaimed, showing her the near-black-scaled egg in his grasp. “We chose the egg for the babe!” 

The Princess sat in a cushioned chair, her arms cradling a small bundle wrapped in intricately sewn brown and gold fabric. From within the bundle, tiny grunts were heard, adding to the air of anticipation and curiosity in the room.

“That looks like the perfect one,” she kindly replied, grunting as she shifted in her seat.

Your mother smiled at the three of you, leaning forward in her cushioned armchair to show her newest addition to her pride and joy. Pulling the fabric that obscured your sibling’s face away, you stared, a coo of awe filling the air as your brothers placed the dragon egg into the warming pot. He didn’t look much of anything right now, save for the same brown eyes the three of you shared. Your brother’s skin flushed peachy as he opened his toothless mouth to yawn. 

“I let Luke choose,” you added, tugging the fabric as you poked his plump cheek. It was soft and warm under your finger, smoother than anything you had ever felt.

Your mother placed a hand on the crown of your brown hair, a stark contrast to the white of hers and your father’s as she caressed the silky strands. “Thank you, my darling. That was very kind.”

“It is not every day an egg leaves the Dragonpit, Princess,” Ser Harwin spoke, a pride you didn’t have to look to see heard within his voice. “I thought it best to escort the lads and lady.”

“Laenor and I thank you, Commander,” she nodded gratefully, the tips of her teeth showing between her pink lips. 

The adults continued to converse, but you and your siblings were too concerned with the new addition to pay any attention. Jace and Luke soon found their way to your side, Ser Harwin standing behind your mother with a gentle smile as they peered into the fabric. 

“Why doesn’t he have any teeth?” Luke questioned, his dark brows drawn together in confusion. Your mother chuckled and glanced at her sworn protector above as you answered.

“He was born a few hours ago, Luke. Of course he doesn’t have teeth,” you jeered, staring incredulously at him. 

“Now, be nice, dear heart,” Rhaenyra scolded. “He has never seen a babe before. You asked the same questions when he was born.”

You scowled with sealed lips, returning your vision to the bundle in her arms. He was cute, but when your mother told you his name and that you were waiting for your father to come, you sighed, plopping onto a plush settee. 

“Joffrey?” Jace asked, ignoring a begging Luke pleading to hold his brother. 

“Joffrey,” she answered gracefully. “A name your father and I chose together like all of you.” She stroked the lanugo hair on your brother’s head, bringing her lips to his crown.

You stared at your mother with scrunched brows, confused about why they picked such a non-Targaryen and Velaryon name. She indeed named her children in Laenor’s absence, but you knew she did not name you. 

“Queen Alicent named me mother. Not you. She said you weren’t expecting a girl, so you had her decide.” Rhaenyra’s violet eyes flicked to you, a look you could only understand as restrained annoyance on her chiseled face. You did not mean to upset her, your head lowering in embarrassment. You were only telling the truth. 

“And what an honor it is to be named by the Queen Consort,” she expressed, a slight smile on her rosy lips. Her strained voice betrayed any tenderness she attempted to show, furthering your shame in displeasing her for only saying what you believed was fact. 

The embarrassment did not last long. Your father barreled through the door with the sound of boisterous laughter. You shot out of your seat, your brothers hollering in greeting as your father swooped you into his strong arms without warning. You squealed. You kicked your feet with joy as Laenor Velaryon held you within his warm embrace, a smile gracing his features as he swung your wiggling form back and forth. 

Rhaenyra smiled gracefully, still holding your younger brother in her tired arms. She observed the three of you clinging to your father as his companion stood a respectable distance away. Her heart felt complete at the sight, and her exhausted gaze traveled to Ser Harwin, a soft grin squinting her eyes. 

“Father, what stories of your travels do you have?” Jace asked, eager, a grin pulling his cherubic cheeks as you flung over Laenor’s shoulder with a giggle.

You waved to Ser Qarl, his chiseled face offering a teasing look as you giggled. Luke’s mop of brown curls barely reached your father’s waist as he hugged him, peering up. His dark eyes were wide with excitement as you waited for the exciting tales he would undoubtedly have for you three. 

Before your father could answer, your mother spoke, her maternal presence reasoning like a cloud covering the scorching sun, her voice firm but gentle. She commanded you to leave with the squire and your father. Each of you attempted to argue with her, groaning that you hadn’t seen him for a moon and wanted to hear what he had to say. 

“Mother, it’s been forever since we last saw Father!” Jace complained, his tone so whiney and spoiled that it had Ser Harwin chuckling.

“You will give me no lip, you three,” she commanded sternly, her face glistening with sweat. “You shall hear all your father has to say and more once you finish your lessons in the Pit.” 

Rhaenyra nodded to her husband as she placed your new brother into Ser Harwin’s arms, observing for a long moment as her lithe fingers stroked the silky skin of the babe’s temple. With a grunt, Laenor placed you back onto the ground, bestowing each of you a kiss on your dark crowns before the squire and Laenor led the trio of you out. 

The air was always thick within the Dragonpit, blankets of smoke from torches and incense permeating the cavernous expanse of the halls as it struggled to cover the scent of dragon. When you entered, it nearly choked your lungs, constantly rubbing at your watery eyes as the Dragonkeepers brought forth your little dragon from the deep with rattling chains.

Your uncles, Aemond and Aegon, stood beside you and your brothers in green garments. The younger’s freckled face was sullen as he watched your juvenile dragon flap its viridian wings, kicking its chained legs impatiently. Aegon appeared bored, sputtering his lips and rolling his violet eyes with annoyance. 

You ignored the eldest prince, giggling at your mount’s antics, and took a step forward, reaching an unguarded palm out before a Keeper abruptly smacked it away. Gaelithox released a loud hiss at the Elder’s action, strings of saliva splattering on the stone floor as his blood-red eyes bulged out of their sockets, jerking his chains. Scowling, you crossed your arms, waiting for their instructions as you quelled the ire that began to rise at their scolding.

Aegon released a chuckle from behind, swaying on his feet as you turned, fixing him and Aemond, who mirrored his expressions with a fiery glare. You had always felt that your uncles disliked you, and even though they were of a similar age, you did not feel comfortable in their company, a constant bubbly sensation that felt like a beast was attempting to claw out of your stomach whenever Aegon or Aemond was near. Yet a part of you still craved their attention, their acceptance, feeling that if you did whatever one of them wanted, finally, they would like you. 

It never worked, at least not truly. 

Eventually, you found that if you could not receive the validation from both, one would do. 

When Aemond and Aegon followed you to the gardens one summer afternoon, both intent on harping about your “insulting appearance to the eyes,” you snapped. It was the first time you heard the word bastard hurled towards you. You were five years of age and had yet to understand.

Your mother always told you to treat your uncles kindly even when they did not do the same. The goodness in you did not want to hurt them, whether it be physically or their feelings, but with no brothers to defend you and no guards around to escort you away, you were left with no choice after Aemond yanked a piece of your dark hair so hard it came out of your scalp. 

“I am more of a Targaryen than you, Aemond! I have a dragon!” 

You turned to Aegon next, ready to scream that even though he was born a male, your mother remained the Iron Throne’s heir, but the words stayed inside you. The king’s eldest son stopped you with a boisterous laugh, placing a gangly arm on your shoulder as he praised you for your immature insults. 

Something shifted in the dynamic between the five of you that day. No longer were you and your brothers the dirt underneath your uncle’s shoes. Now, the four of you were comrades. The relationship was still tense, but you had found the secret to redirecting your torment. 

“Princess,” the Dragonkeeper translated the other, “you have excelled in your bonding with Gaelithox, but he is still young and unpredictable.” You looked into the man’s eyes, anxious to hear what the next task for you to master would be. 

Yes, Gaeli was still a juvenile, not yet grown into his leafy-colored body, the red scales lining his sides and wings placed with a lighter yellow-green, but he was bound to you. That was the most crucial part. There could be no command of an animal if it did not trust you and you, them. It took everything within not to roll your eyes. 

“Ivestragī zirȳla jikagon,” (Let him go) the Elder Keeper nodded, having the others release the chains of your dragon. 

Gaeli stalked forward, his clawed legs slapping on the stone floor as he hissed, his arrowhead swaying and observing the people before him. You could hear the panicked whispers of the men, demanding you tell your dragon to stop as he continued his swift march forward. You understood that his intent was the Elder who chastised you and had half a mind to allow Gaeli to scare him, his crimson orbs set on the man who did not falter.

Jace grabbed the hem of your matching navy skirt in anxiety and attempted to pull you back, fearing what the dragon might do, but you held steadfast, a self-assured smirk gracing your features. 

“Kelīs!” (Halt) you commanded confidently with your chest, beaming once your dragon ceased its pursuit with the tilt of its triangle-shaped head. 

Aegon appeared bored with the ordeal, exaggerating a yawn as he flipped his frizzy blonde hair from his face. You could not ignore the pang of hurt at his disinterest, seeking more validation and praise from him that you would not get unless at someone’s expense. Aemond had hidden his face from your view behind his older brother, his sun-spotted cheeks dusted pink as you peered around to make eye contact, only for him to sneer and turn away. 

Twat.

“Pay close attention, Uncle Aemond. Mayhaps one day you will be in this position, but I do believe it won’t be for a very long, long time,” you snickered, the sensation of less than leaving as you noticed Aegon’s smirk. Facing the Keeper and his translator, you could never remember the name of once more, you spoke. “When will I be able to fly Gaeli? I am able to control him well enough.”

The older man grimaced, wiping the sweat across his ebony brow as he gave an unconvincing expression. “Gaelithox is not yet riding age, and there is still much for you to learn, your highness, before you are ready to make such feats,” the translator expressed.

A pout formed on your plush lips, looking to Gaeli and back to the half a dozen Keepers and Wards. It was as if your dragon could sense your annoyance, releasing a deep hiss within the back of his throat and unhinging his jaw as he lunged at the Elder, swiftly jerked by the chains at his ankles. You could not hide your amusement at the adolescent and earned a scolding in High Valyrian that you could not comprehend nor care about.

“Gaelithox kostagon botta aōha botagon. Pōnta issi vēdros. Istia gūrēñagon naejot control zirȳ gō kostā kipagon.” (Gaelithox can sense your emotions. They are volatile, but you must learn to control them before you can ride.)

A grin spread across your plump cheeks, a mischievous thought coming to mind as you turned to look at Aegon, who was still quite bored. The hurt did not lessen, and quickly, you glanced at the Keepers out of the corner of your eye as you took a few paces back, ensuring your brothers were behind you as you inhaled and spoke the few words you knew of High Valyrian off your pink tongue.

“Sōvēs!” (fly) 

Gaelithox didn’t hesitate for a moment. With a mighty leap, he soared into the air, his shimmering emerald wings creating a whirlwind of dirt and debris that engulfed the Keepers. His joyful songs filled the air as he gracefully flew above you, the chains on his legs and torso barely out of the reach of the Dragonwards. You watched in wonder as your dragonling glided effortlessly across the ceiling of the Pit, moving above each of you with the grace and agility of a bird. The men in their gray and crimson garb scattered around the cave’s entrance like ants whose hill had been disturbed, desperately trying to seize Gaeli’s chains.

As you turned to look behind, you bloomed, a smile so bright on your countenance that you felt it would burn all who witnessed it. Jace and Luke stared at you proudly, the youngest trying to run to you but was held back by a Kingsguard. Luke still had much to learn with Arrax. For one, your little brother was deathly afraid of him despite his denial, an emotion the dragon could sense during the training sessions. 

A surge of relief washed over you as you looked at Aegon, whose laughter filled the air in response to your impish choices. He warmly placed his pale, sinewy hand on your shoulder in approval while his younger brother Aemond remained concealed behind him. Despite the Dragonkeepers’ urgent calls for Gaelithox to land, you couldn’t help but savor the feeling of self-satisfaction that his gesture brought.

“Ao dovodedha riña! Aōha giēñilaros hen bisa ozletti kessa sagon se morghon hen sȳz vali! Aōha muña kessa rȳbagon hen bisa,” (You ignorant girl! Your misuse of this bond will be the death of good men! Your mother will hear of this) the Elder shouted, grabbing your shoulders as if his ire could force sense into you.

Once you decided that you had tortured the handlers enough, you told Gaeli to land, which he did so with low, begrudging noises, the vibration of his weight rattling your bones. The rest of the training session went uneventful as you commanded your mount to stay, lay down, and heel, the usual tricks that you and Gaeli had long grown bored of after the first successful attempts. 

When your dragon was tired, nipping at the Keepers who tried to redirect him back to the task, they called an end, bringing forth a white and brown goat as a reward for Gaeli’s patience, a bell jingling around its neck. His scaly, clawed feet tapped against the floor with an excited rhythm, evoking the image of a pup eagerly anticipating its meal. He suddenly lunged towards it but halted abruptly in response to your brief noise.

“Lykirī. Where are your manners, Gaeli?” (Be calm), you teased, earning a quick reprimand from the Head Dragonkeeper for your childishness.

“You must treat these beasts with caution and respect, Princess, lest you get burned. They are wild, barely tamed creatures. They allow you this bond,” the translator conveyed, his accent thick and worry etched in his tone.

You groaned, interrupted by an impatient screech from your dragon as a line of drool dropped from in between his finger-length fangs. After a quick apology, you allowed Gaelithox to feast, commanding with a decisive “dracarys.” The red eyes of your dragon shone like rubies in his orange flames. His obsidian pupils slit as he burned the goat to a charred crisp, tearing at its flesh into chunks. 

After begrudging praise from the Keepers as they led Gaeli back into his nest, it was now Jace’s turn to repeat the same routine, although much less eventful. He was anxious to train Vermax, barely containing his excitement as his dragon whistled. His mount approached him with purpose, olive and scarlet toned body thumping with each step as the younger Keeper translated the Elder’s words. 

“Call Vermax to heel Prince Jacaerys.”

Jace looked to the dark-skinned man who scolded you for your arrogance earlier, scars across his skin and listened. 

“Dohaerās.” (Serve) And Vermax obeyed, stopping a few paces before your barely younger brother, horned head tilting in interest. 

The Elder looked down at your brother, a proud smile on his bearded mouth, and nodded in approval. You should have felt the same that Jace was advancing in his sessions and closely catching up to you, but all you felt was the burning sensation of envy in your stomach, which you buried with an encouraging expression to your brother. You did not understand why you felt such a thing as he was urged back to his dragon, who had taken notice of a snow-white sheep belting in the distance. 

He was your brother, your twin, as close to the same as one could be. It would be best if you were ecstatic that Jace was blossoming into a fine dragon knight. Still, you did not, and guilt and jealousy overwhelmed you as he waited for the instructions, an overeager Vermax ready to devour the unaware sheep.

Just as quickly as the feeling came, it went as you watched how Vermax disobeyed Jace’s commands to halt his pursuit of the animal. The only thing holding the young dragon back was the Warders’ staff. 

“You must hold mastery over your dragon, my young prince,” the translator spoke, “as Prince Aegon has with Sunfyre.” High Valyrian rolled off the Elder’s tongue with deep rumbles as he talked to an embarrassed Jace. “Once they are fully bound to you, they will refuse to take instruction from any other, much like your older sister.”

Vermax released an ear-piercing screech of frustration as his yellow eyes bore into the roped sheep, belting in primal terror as it attempted to escape a fate over which it had no control. Jace nodded to the older man, shame replaced with excitement coursing through his veins as he hopped from foot to foot. 

“Can I say it?” he asked anxiously, brown eyes wide with a youthful glow that reflected your own with your dragonling. The Elder nodded in affirmation as Jace glanced back to you and where you stood in front of Aegon, the man swiftly pushing your brother forward in admonishment for his brief action of immature reassurance.

Your brother turned with a broad smile you feared would split his face in two as you heard the shuffle of shoes behind you. Aemond found himself peering over your shorter form as he studied the dragon, slinking closer and closer to its prey, screeches of a predator ready to pounce echoing off the caverns. You looked at your younger uncle with confusion. Your eyebrows scrunched together as he paid you no mind. Unsure of why you did so, you took a step to the side, allowing him more room to observe as your brother shouted gleefully. 

“Dracarys, Vermax!” 

Perhaps a subconscious part of you felt bad for your dragonless uncle, hoping to give him at least a taste of what power one felt when in command of a beast such as this. Besides, it was the right thing to do. You knew he would not notice such kindness from you and did not expect anything in return, nor did you want it, as Vermax’s orange flames charred the flesh of the snow-white sheep. 

You approached Jace once the lesson ended, giving him an encouraging hug from behind. You knew this was a remarkable feat for him. Jace and you were the same, a sentiment shared by both and your family on countless occasions. Spending every waking moment with someone, sharing the same bed, meals, toys, and friends, it was no surprise that you confided in one another and shared affections that traditional siblings did not have. You tended to mother your brother, a flaw that your natural mother had scolded you on, but that did not stop you as you kissed Jace on his warm, smooth cheek, whispering what he could do better with his dragon the next time. 

You only wanted the best for your brother, and you desperately wanted to share your triumphs with the person you spent all your days with, even if it was selfish. 

Chattering behind you caught your attention, seeing Aegon approach his younger brother as he flippantly stroked a piece of unruly frizz from his face. 

“Aemond, we have a surprise for you,” he confided, placing an encouraging hand at his brother’s mid-back. 

The youngest prince of King Viserys looked skeptically at his kin, gaze downcast. “What is it?” he asked warily, shoulders hunched. Luke gave a cheeky grin and kicked the dirt with his toes. 

“Something very special,” your brother answered as you watched him scamper off into the darkness of the Pit. 

You and Jace gazed at your uncles, confused, a twinge of hurt poking at your chest at having been left out of the “surprise” as you grabbed his hand for support. Subconsciously, you rubbed your thumb over his knuckles, feeling uneasy in your heart as Jace looked eagerly to where his brother went.

“You’re the only one of us without a dragon,” Aegon began, escorting Aemond to his intended destination, waiting for his response. 

“Indeed,” the young prince answered curtly. Aemond still lowered his head, silver hair tied back as he followed his older sibling blindly.

You could tell Aegon was holding a barely restrained smile, gesturing with his pale hands and continuing. “And we felt badly about it, so we found one for you.” 

You cocked your head as you followed at a distance. A part of you was anxious to see what Aegon planned, knowing from his history in the back of your mind that it would not be as kind as he was making it out to be. Nonetheless, you intently listened as Aemond protested with suspicion. 

“A dragon? How?” 

Your uncle smirked, stopping just before the ramp of the Dragonpit sloped down to where the Keepers held the animals. You heard the squeals of a creature you could not recognize due to the echoes bouncing off the stone walls. It sent an ominous, almost eerie feeling through your bones.

“The Gods provide,” Aegon answered alisively. 

Moments later, your younger brother led a plump, pink pig with wooden wings strapped to its hairy pot belly up to the four of you. 

“Behold! The Pink Dread,” Luke and Aegon announced simultaneously, cheering as if this was the most fantastic find in the history of Westeros. 

“Be sure to mount her carefully. The first flight is always rough.” 

This was hideous. This was horrendous. This was a terrible, awful, no-good deed that would surely wind up with all of you receiving a reprimand from your parents. But why... why was it so funny? 

You released a noise akin to a gag, a failed attempt to stifle a laugh as your brothers and elder uncle snorted in unison. Unable to control your giggles, you covered your mouth, releasing Jace’s hand as you ran over to Aemond, nudging his side. 

“Don’t be so rude, Uncle! She is a very fine creature, worthy of having such a noble rider,” you teased, but he gave no reaction, only staring at the winged pig with a sullen, dejected expression on his freckled countenance. 

It only made you feel slightly wrong… slightly. 

When Aegon decided the fun had outstayed its welcome, he walked away, laughter fading as the three of you followed his coattails like ducklings to their mother out of the Dragonpit, leaving a dejected Aemond to stare at his new gift.

You spared a glance back to your uncle as the yellow sun peeked into the expanse of the Pit. Guilt crawled up your back like dark clouds before a storm, hesitating your exit as he became aware of your gaze. Aemond still stood where the four of you left him, radiating an aura of hurt, apathy, and anger. Flames lit your cheeks in shame as you stepped back towards your younger uncle, only to be swiftly stopped by the other, Aegon’s larger hand placing itself on your crown as he forced you to follow his march out of the Dragonpit.

There was no reason for this guilt. Aemond would undoubtedly hurt you or your feelings regardless of the jokes your siblings and Aegon played on him. It was only a matter of time until the word bastard spewed from his chapped lips.

The sun felt warm on your skin as you were helped into the carriage, awaiting the return of the five of you home, though you missed one. Judging by the bright orb's position, it would soon be time for your daily lessons with Septa Marlow. The woman was so old that she often fell asleep during your embroidery lessons, an easy chance for you to escape the crone’s torture that she called learning. 

The ride to the Red Keep was quick, and the amount of time it took your Septa to fall asleep was even faster, much to your delight. You found yourself wandering the halls, staring at the paintings depicting great battles with dragons and portraits of your ancestors, unsure what would peak your fancy and seeking anything to entertain you. Your brothers were in their lessons that were undoubtedly more enticing than yours, and your father would most likely be with your mother, seeing as there was a new addition to the family. 

“What are you doing wandering about the halls, Princess?” the velvet voice of Queen Alicent rang out. 

Finally, your musings were answered. 

You demurely smiled at the Queen, giving her a short curtsy in your Velaryon blue gown, tiny silver seahorses embroidered into the bodice. “Septa Marlow fell asleep again, and she looked so peaceful I didn’t want to wake her,” you answered with a childish coyness that never failed to endear Alicent. You were her shining light, after all. 

The Queen chuckled, a noise you heard few and far between as she offered you a delicate palm, accepting it without hesitation. Your mother never approved of you spending time unchaperoned with her for reasons you could never comprehend. She was family, your grandmother, to be precise, and she was the one who gave you a name. It should be more than natural to accompany her on outings and luncheons.

“You should not be alone, Princess. ’Tis unsafe for a girl of your age to be unaccompanied in the Keep. I am going to Helaena’s room to pay her a visit. Come,” Alicent stated without so much as a sliver of space for protests. 

“Why is it unsafe, your majesty?” you questioned with a raised brow, curious who or what would try to hurt you. “It’s my home and I’m a princess. No one would try to hurt me.” 

The Queen stopped her movements, glancing down at your much shorter form as a sigh escaped her mouth. “You are still a child, my light, and many people would love to snatch it away and keep it for themselves. Those even close to you could wish you harm.” 

Your head whipped up towards Alicent faster than humanly possible, a horrified look on your visage. People close to you? What could she mean? Could it be your maids? The servants who changed your sheets, washed your clothes, or made your food? Could your mother wish to hurt you? Your brother? Your hair prickled at the thought, causing your skin to itch and become uncomfortable. You could not say anything in response.

You followed the Queen to your Aunt’s quarters without strife, a sinking feeling in your gut as her ringed hand enveloped yours in a blanket of maternal security. Alicent would never hurt you… would she? 

The same scent of frankincense wafted into your nose as the Queen led you. It sent pleasant shivers down your spine, making you forget the discontent as you passed lords and ladies of the court, a warm sense of joy tickling your stomach. You looked at Queen Alicent, the natural light filtering through the windows, to see specks of dust dancing in the air behind her auburn hair. 

Admiration washed over you as you studied her, a crown of weaved golden threads resting atop her curled updo. She wore earrings of silver metal intricately smelted together, an emerald gem placed in the center with droplets of pearl glinting in the sun. Her gown was green, a usual statement color of her House, and she had a modest cloak covering her shoulders and cut sleeves. She was so beautiful, more beautiful than anyone you had ever seen besides your mother, and it filled you with a sense of deep admiration that nearly overwhelmed you. 

Cackles echoed in the distance of the red rock walls of the Keep, a group of ladies adorned in extravagant garbs striding in the opposite direction of the pair of you. Their piercing laughter abruptly ended as they spotted you hand in hand with the Queen, appearing as if they saw a ghost. They stood there, still, unmoving, their eyes following you, despite the impropriety of gawking at the Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms and a daughter of the heir, whispering words of gossip. 

Your adoration of Alicent was forgotten about as a sinking feeling of inadequacy hollowed your chest, somehow knowing they were speaking of you. The Queen felt hesitation in your steps as you passed by the women, uncertainty causing you to squeeze her golden-ringed fingers tighter. 

“Pay no mind to them, my light,” Alicent encouraged, rubbing a comforting thumb over your knuckles as you did with Jace. You tried to listen to her words and disregard the judgmental stares of the ladies, but you could not and heard one whispering. 

“Seven! She looks more like the Queen than her mother!”

The laughter soon carried on as a lump formed in your throat. Your arms felt prickly again, as if the hair got stuck between the threads of your clothes, pulling and tugging uncomfortably as you attempted to scratch the sensation. Queen Alicent glanced down at the sudden clawing at your limbs. Her plush lips pouted in a curious expression, recognition flashing in her amber eyes as she smoothed the stray hairs of your braid, kissing the top of your head in comfort.

Soon, you entered Helaena’s chambers, her Septa dressed in humble charcoal gray clothing, sitting next to your Aunt as she hunched over an ancient tome. The modestly dressed woman stood and bowed at the arrival of the Queen, exiting without words as you sat on a Myrish rug. A glass case filled with different types of insects rested on the delicate fabric, taking note of a giant dead obsidian scorpion in it. You could not hide the shudder the creature brought as your Aunt found her place next to you, bringing out another small casing. 

“What is in that one, Helaena?” you asked, peering curiously over her shoulder. She recoiled at your sudden presence, slightly shifting away from you as a pang of hurt hit your core at the action. She disregarded your question and focused on her hidden creature, but you paid no attention to it, happy to be by her side. 

Alicent sat on the opposite side of her daughter, crossing one leg and bending the other to get into a comfortable position. Though the rug was lavish, it did not provide much cushioning for larger bodies. As your Aunt opened the wooden box, a creature you had never seen crawled along the side, with what seemed to be a thousand tiny legs hidden underneath a shiny black body. You tried to hide your shock as Helaena picked it up, allowing it to crawl along her pale, dainty fingers. Another shudder of disgust came over you as you watched the bug’s legs move too quickly to be something of this world, nausea bubbling in your stomach. 

“This one has sixty rings. Two pairs of legs on each. That’s two-hundred and forty,” Helaena stated, her violet gaze trained on the creature. She seemed as if in another world as she spoke, talking to those around her but not registering your presence. 

You intently observed as she allowed the bug to crawl up her satin dress sleeve before placing it back into her palm to study it more. You never understood Helaena’s fascination with the things, but you didn’t deter her from it, even when she brought out creatures such as this. It was never something you were interested in yourself, as you would much prefer to spend time plucking flowers like other girls your age. However, you respected them nonetheless. 

“Yes, it is,” the Queen agreed, her facial expressions showing exasperation despite her encouraging words. You moved closer to Helaena with a morbid fascination to see the thing, though you still felt repulsed. 

Your Aunt was silent for a beat, entranced with the new addition to her collection, seeming as if she forgot your and Alicent’s existence. Her voice was the only thing that indicated recognition. “Would you like to hold it?” she asked airily. 

Unsure if she was speaking to you, you did not respond. Only when Helaena turned her pale face to you did you respond with a swift shake of your head. Your Aunt took no offense to the refusal, continuing to examine it. “It has eyes, though I did not believe it can see.”

Alicent released a noiseless sigh. She seemed tired of her child’s interests since they were not ordinary, making you feel bad for Helaena. Though people believed she did not perceive the world for what it was, she wasn’t blind. Your Aunt felt and understood emotions like the rest of you, but she did not act like everyone else. It did not mean she was not human. 

“And why is that so, do you think?” the Queen asked, her velvet voice bland with feigned interest.

“It is beyond our understanding,” Helaena plainly answered, allowing the quiet to resonate as your eyes flicked between them.

“I suppose you’re right,” Alicent replied, placing what was intended to be a comforting hand onto Helaena’s elbow. Your Aunt flinched, trying to free herself from her mother’s touch but knowing she could not force a guardian to listen to their child. “Some things are just beyond our understanding,” she finished, begrudgingly letting go. 

You observed the exchange with critical eyes. Your brow scrunched in the offense for Helaena and confusion. The Queen knew her daughter did not like touch unless she was the one to initiate it, but she still insisted on invading her space with the ignorant hope that Helaena would one day accept her affections. You supposed that was why the Queen liked spending time with you, as you were a more typical child, embracing any affection.

Suddenly, the door to Helaena’s chambers opened with a clanking of metal and squeal of hinges as a Kingsguard gripping harshly onto Aemond’s arm entered. The three of you turned to face the noise, confusion mixed with surprise matching each of your faces.

“Your grace,” the Kingsguard announced as Aemond struggled in his grasp. Questions etched your brows as she stood and went to her son. You understood he had done something wrong by the shame covering his face like the ash dusting it.

“Aemond!” she exclaimed. “What have you done?�� She took her son by his shoulders, palpating his soot-covered visage to ensure there were no wounds. 

“He did it again,” Helaena answered for the guard as you glanced at her for an explanation. 

Aemond being covered in ash and escorted by a guard seemed a common occurrence for the three of them, and it needed no explanation. Aemond smelled of smoke and incense, a scent you recognized from that of the Dragonpit. Had he still been in there this whole time? 

“After how many times you’ve been warned? Must I have you confined to your chambers?” Alicent interrogated, exasperation evident in her tone. She stared at him with words ready to scold before her son interrupted with a protest.

“They made me do it!” 

They? Was he referring to you, Aegon, and your brothers? You didn’t coerce Aemond into the depths of the Dragonpit, where he likely encountered a dragon that wasn’t his own. How could he hold you responsible for his own choices?

“As if you needed encouragement! Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding,” she admonished with a shake of her head. 

Aemond’s eyes widened with tears as he tried to comprehend his mother’s lack of understanding. He felt a profound sense of hopelessness and powerlessness in the situation, believing that he had no alternative but to respond in the manner he did, his blonde hair in disarray. It was evident that you hadn’t realized the extent of the pain you caused him. What you perceived as a simple jest had deeply wounded him.

“They gave me a pig!” He shrieked, tears finally falling from his violet eyes as you looked anywhere but at the mother and son before you. “They gave me a pig,” he admitted softer this time, sniffling with chagrin.

Guilt overcame you at the hurt your uncle displayed, emotions gathering in your throat as your digits went under your sleeves, tugging at the hair that had been bothering you all day. You didn’t realize the joke had wounded Aemond as profoundly as it had, shame rising and covering your heart. 

“They said they had a dragon for me,” your uncle confessed, gaze downcast as Helaena began to lose interest in the conversation before her. 

“The last ring has no legs at all,” she said as if you should also share her nonchalant sentiment and fall into her world. You ignored her; all your attention focused on the impending storm unleashed upon you once Aemond told Alicent what the four of you did. 

“But it was a pig,” your uncle declared, a scornful gaze directed at you as Alicent turned to face your shrunken form. 

“Is this true?” she interrogated, ire directed at you instead of her son as you hesitated. “Is it true?” 

The Queen had never crossed with you before, and it caused an unwelcome sensation in your stomach. “I didn’t know they were going to do it!” you exclaimed, shame heating your cheeks. “I wouldn’t have let them if I knew!”

“Liar! You laughed!” Aemond protested, hurt evident in his voice as he pointed an accusing digit. “You and Aegon love to torment me!” 

“Only because you do it first! You call me a bastard and pull my hair! I’m not a bastard!” you argued, tears wetting your cheeks at the intensity of your sudden anger. 

The Queen’s disappointment abruptly left at your words, swiftly turning to Aemond as her face blanched. “Aemond, she is your kin. You mustn’t call her such things,” she implored, eyes wide with a meaning behind them you couldn’t place. 

“But mother, you–” 

“No, Aemond,” she interrupted urgently, stopping your uncle from saying something that would cause another uproar from you and find its way to Rhaenyra. “You must apologize. Both of you. You are family and need to be kind to one another even when they have upset you.” Alicent turned and extended a palm out, encouraging you to make the first step of amends for your participation in the cruel joke you played on Aemond.

You knew he would not accept your apology, though it was sincere. There was no intended malice with your laughter toward Aemond in the Pit. It was what was expected of you to do. You would have become his brother’s next victim if you hadn’t gone along with Aegon when Luke brought out the pig. 

“I’m sorry, Aemond. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” you confessed, plucking at the hairs on your forearms to ease the discontent in your heart. He refused to reply with an apology of his own, glaring down at you with such a fierceness you feared that you would wilt. “You will have a dragon one day, uncle. There are many still unclaimed at Dragonstone, and wild ones too! Perhaps you could come with us when we visit in the summer?”

“You laughed,” Aemond glowered, voice cracking. The pain he disguised as anger slipped through his scornful mask, causing your mouth to be thick. 

You could tell he wanted to hit you as he usually would in these situations; his hands balled into fists at his sides, but suddenly, they became limp, and a wave of affection and comfort for your uncle pulled you towards him. You wrapped your arms around Aemond, hugging him so tightly you were unsure if he could breathe, burying your face in his neck. After a long day outside, he smelled of sweat and dragon smoke, a hint of expensive amber-scented soap on his skin. Aemond did not return the action, but you sensed he no longer wanted to hurt you as much.

“I love you, uncle, and I know we’ll fly together on dragonback someday,” you encouraged, holding him impossibly tighter. Partly to distract yourself from your guilt and partly because you knew that despite his cold, sullen demeanor, he too enjoyed the rare warmth of embrace even though it was by the one he despised. 

Human touch was still touch.

Alicent smiled, a joy welling inside her chest that she had not felt in decades. This was the start of something new, a seed planted in the first rays of spring with the hopes of a bountiful harvest in autumn, but Aemond refused to give it thought, focused only on the ridicule you, Aegon, and your brothers caused him.

You were not like Rhaenyra in more ways than the Queen initially thought. You were Alicent’s child, not in this life, but another where she was not a queen and was not a game piece her father moved about how he pleased. She could bring a proposal to match the one she rejected from Princess Rhaenyra with one of her sons. At least in that way, she could ensure your bright mind would not become tainted by Rhaenyra’s blackened rot. 

The Queen gently stroked your and Aemond’s hair, a tender smile on her plump lips, and pressed a kiss atop both your crowns—so different yet so intertwined in ways children could not comprehend. 

Alicent’s shining light, her dream. A dream that never was indeed hers.

“He will have to close an eye.”

Masterlist of Series

Spotify Playlist

The reader’s dragon is based on a snake that caught my eye while watching a Nat Geo documentary. It’s called Pope’s Green Pit Viper and is native to Southeast Asia. I initially didn’t think it was a real snake because it looked so cool! They are also the only snakes to give birth to live young, like mammals, and have heat vision.

Also, for those who don't know, Gaelithox is part of the Fourteen Flames, the Gods of Old Valyria. He's the god of fire, stars, moon, sun, and dawn, the rival of Meraxes. Pretty on the nose there, huh?

Thank you so much for reading! I’m so excited to have y’all see what I’ve been cooking up, and I look forward to hearing y’all’s thoughts!

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp, @britt-mf, @marvelescvpe, @haikyuusboringassmanager

[luna-loveboop]

So one thing I like about Time is that he will talk about his life and journeys

He talks about it! He'll tell the boys stories and answer questions. (...when asked)

Obviously he tells his family- Malon knows everything

But he has also never held back from telling the boys stories or answering questions

I'm still always cackling over him telling them about gerudo town- he is way too proud to brag about being a mischievous gremlin

"I proved to be a greater thief than all of ganons tribe"- oh yeah. He's definitely the good influence. (That's sarcasm, Wars is the one good example for the younger ones.)

He just. He looks so smug to tell them about his experiences with the Gerudo- I love how often we see him just talking to them and answering questions about his life.

Even if it's clearly painful memories- he has still always told them

*sobs*

Obviously Time talks to Twilight the most about stuff- and everyone knows that (to where Sky went to him for questions about Time)

But the thing that get me the most is Wind.

Wind asked about... everything! Wind asked about his first journey and his life- and Time told him

The sheer transition from

"I was wondering... about your original journey"

To

"You told me about your original journey. Everything you said... the sages you described, the old traditions, the old stories- all of it! ...)

And this literally drives me insane because Time told him- Time told him everything! He told him about the sages, traditions- Time literally openly talked to Wind about his first Journey because he asked.

The Hero of Time's story had always been a tragedy- I mean... yikes. Trauma much? But I think people overlook this part of him- that he's older. All the hurt and scars are still there, but he has learned to talk about it to deal with it. And I think I know why- (Read)

Malon Malon Malon Malon!!! Jojo showed this set up for their marriage- Time was and is traumatized. But he and Malon worked to talk through things. I mean. Can you imagine keeping secrets from Malon? I don't want to. I feel like she would throw a cow at me. Anyways.

It takes a lot to work through trauma and learn to talk through it. Malon claimed him tho, so I don't think he had a choice. But seriously- she helped him work through things as family. Which led to a successful marriage for both of them, and got Time to where he can talk about these things with the boys :D

But

Time is a troll, so although he will share his insane life stories.... he will also say he fought the moon with no more context, and tell his wife that they have a descendant but not freaking tell her which one it is.

He's so insane I love it <3

Just don't forget this part of him... don't forget that rather it's sad or goofy or whatever- he will talk about his life. If someone simply asks

:)

.

Art and comic by Jojo @linkeduniverse au! :DDD

@adrift-in-thyme

[steddieasitgoes]

not so dirty little secret

written for @steddie-week Day 1 prompt: Mystery/Secret Relationship Rating: T | wc: 2128 | no cw Read on ao3

Steve’s lounging on the Munson’s couch, right-hand wrist deep in a bowl of popcorn, when Eddie stalks into the room. He’s got two beers in hand and is mumbling about something, words muffled by the rim of the beer bottle as he takes aggressive sips. It’s not unusual to hear but not understand what his rumblings are — Steve’s become accustomed to his quiet but loud brainstorming sessions. What is unusual, however, is the pinch of his brows and the slight downturn of his lips as he does so. Curious, Steve perks up and leans forward.  

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

Eddie gasps, scandalized. “My thoughts are worth at least a dime, Stevie!” 

Taking a more calculated, calming swig of his beer, he drapes himself on the couch beside Steve and sighs. “I think Wayne is knocking boots with someone.” 

The words leave Eddie’s mouth with a nonchalance, as if he’s giving Steve an update about the weather.  It’s something he does often with no explanation, at least not one Steve’s discovered yet, and it’s quickly becoming another quirk in a long list of ones he’s coming to love about Eddie.  

This though… this is a whole other monster. 

Steve's eyes widen and blink in confusion. His lips fall into a soft, confused pout as he tilts his head to the side — the tell-tale sign that he has no idea what Eddie is talking about. It’s a sign Eddie picks up on immediately, with — the both of them well-versed in their non-verbal body language as of now, so he clarifies. 

“You know, knocking boots? Doing the dirty? Bumping uglies? Hanky Pa—“ 

Well, over-clarifies. 

“I get it!” Steve shouts, face reddening.

It’s weird, feeling the heat spread across his cheeks and down his neck. He’s never been embarrassed by sex before. Kind of hard to be when his entire high school reputation revolved around who he was (or wasn’t) jumping into bed with. Never mind the fact that he actually only ever did it twice. He couldn’t go a week without it being brought up at least once, and each time, Steve had glided through the conversation with flying colors, hardly embarrassed. 

Back then was different, though. It was all talk at the end of the day. Mostly make-believe talk. This, though? Listening to Eddie talk about his uncle’s very real sex life? He’d be concerned if he didn’t find it mortally embarrassing. 

Clearing his throat, Steve shifts in his seat. 

“Does it matter if he is? Ya’ know, bumping boots or whatever?” 

Eddie cackles, throwing his entire body into it until the bowl of popcorn topples over onto the couch between them. So much for movie night Steve thinks as he tries to save as many of the kernels as he can before they fall into the couch cushion abyss. Not like he had been looking forward to eating or anything. 

“Does it matter if he is?” Eddie huffs, half-mocking Steve as he shakes his head. “Of course, it matters! It’s my uncle! What if we like, walked in on him or something because we don’t know what’s going on? That would scare me for life, Stevie. I’d need therapy!” 

“You’re already in therapy.” 

“Well, I’d need another therapist. One who specializes in the traumatic experience of walking in on your parental figure getting his di—“ 

“Let’s just rewind for a minute.” Steve shuts his eyes, willing his brain not to conjure up the image Eddie’s so keen on painting for him. His therapy bills are expensive enough, he doesn’t need to add another session just to talk about whatever the hell this conversation is. “If Wayne is in a relationship, which you don’t even know if he is, why would he keep it a secret?” 

“I don’t know. You’ve met him! He’s weird and secretive like that. I didn’t even  know his middle name until I was fourteen and swiped his license so I could buy cigarettes.” 

Steve remembers that story. It was one of the first of many never-ending cascades of embarrassing childhood stories Wayne shared with him that always turned Eddie scarlet. Eddie always gets upset when Wayne tells them, never failing to pout over not having someone on Steve’s side to badger for his own stories. Steve, happy to keep his past in the past, has grown used to shrugging him off and urging Wayne to tell him more.

“Not telling you his middle name is a lot different than hiding an entire person,” Steve continues to reason as he relocates the popcorn bowl to the table in front of them. “Why do you think he’s hiding someone anyway?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Eddie says, turning on the couch to better face Steve. He folds one leg under himself, the other hanging off the edge, foot planted and bouncing in an erratic rhythm Steve’s willing to bet is a new beat for a song. Eddie takes one more swig of his beer and then clears his throat as he claps his hands together. “Evidence número

 uno, he’s been smiling more lately.” 

“And I’m sure that has nothing to do with the fact that you’re back home and on the mend.” 

“Hey! Don’t interrupt me to remind me that my uncle loves me. It ruins my street cred.” 

Steve shoots his hands up in defense, shaking his head at his boyfriend's antics. 

“Evidence numéro deux—“

“You’ve been spending too much time with Robin,” Steve mumbles, taking a swig from his own beer this time. All this language-switching is giving him a headache. 

“Evidence numéro deux!” Eddie repeats, louder this time as he holds up two fingers. He’s kneeling now, knees sinking into the well-loved fabric of the couch. “He’s been using a new mug.” 

“Someone call the police! Wayne’s using a new mug.” 

If looks could kill, Eddie would be a modern day Medusa and Steve would be stoned to the couch.

“Evidence number three — and this is the most damning of evidence — Wayne has had plans every Monday night for the last two months.” He jumps to his feet now and begins pacing around the living room. 

Wait, Monday nights? But that’s — 

Oh. 

Eddie is so off base. So, so, so far off base, he might as well be lost in space. Steve bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. The last thing he wants to do is upset him more than he already has with his interjections. 

But this is hilarious. Downright hysterical. 

And honestly, the truth might be a harder pill for Eddie to swallow than this mystery lover he’s dreamed up. Because that is way easier to explain than the truth, that Wayne has been spending every Monday night for two months with Steve… watching football. 

“Two months, Stevie!” Eddie shouts, pulling Steve from his thoughts. “He comes home from work, changes, and then he leaves and doesn’t come back home for hours! I mean, maybe I’m being a bit generous since he is gone for hours. I can’t imagine he’d have that kind of stamina, but maybe he—” 

The front door opens, interrupting whatever cursed thought was about to spill from Eddie’s lip to reveal the older man in question. Steve’s never been so grateful to see Wayne — even if he’s the reason this entire conversation is happening right now. 

“Eds. Steve.” Wayne nods at each of them before crossing into the kitchen to fetch his own beer. He returns a moment later, collapsing into his recliner with the same dramatics as Eddie. “What are ya boys talkin’ ‘bout?” 

It’s kind of hard to be a religious man when he’s witnessed hell on Earth and had to claw his way out of it, no sign of divine intervention in sight. And yet, Steve can’t help but shut his eyes and say a silent prayer to whoever may be listening that his boyfriend keeps his mouth shut for once in his life. 

The power of prayer isn’t on Steve’s side though apparently, as he watches Eddie’s eyes get that twinkle in them right then and there, a mischievous glint that he has a love-hate relationship with. Sure, it’s cute as hell, but god dammit, every time it happens, Steve ends up having to bail him out of trouble. He really doesn’t want to have to do that right now, not for this. 

“Funny you should ask, Wayne—“

The intro to the seven o’clock news cuts him off. Maybe Steve’s prayers have been answered. Maybe this is what people talk about when they say that God works in mysterious ways. Maybe— 

“We’re coming to you live from The Hoosier Dome to bring you breaking news about our Indianapolis Colts.” 

“Bet it’s got to do with that coach they got runnin’ the place. Still can’t believe he ran that damn childish play on Monday.” 

“Tell me about it,” Steve says, shaking his head. “You know how I feel about the Colts, but you should’ve won that game.” 

“Least we get a rematch later in the season,” Wayne says, sipping his beer. “We gotta go to Diana’s for that game. If we lose, I can drown my sorrows in a real whisky instead of that cheap shit Glen keeps selling us.” 

“Us?” Eddie balks.

Steve watches in real time as Eddie puts the pieces together. His eyes widen then narrow into judgemental slits. His lips purse, head swiveling between the two of them and the television like he does when he’s DMing an intense session for the kids. Eddie’s sharp, always has been, and he wears his emotions on his face, so it’s easy to know when everything clicks in that chaotic mind of his. He might as well have buzzers going off behind him. 

“You!” He shouts, pointing an accusatory finger in Steve’s direction. “You’re the one keeping my uncle out late! Making him happy!” 

“What’s he talkin’ ‘bout?” Wayne asks.

Steve bits his lip. “Eddie, uh, thought you had a secret lover that’s been keeping you out on Monday nights.” 

“A secret lover?” Wayne laughs. “On a Monday night? Boy if I was gettin’ handsy with someone it wouldn’t be on no Monday night. I’m a Friday night gentleman, you know that. Maybe even Saturday mornin’ if I’m lucky.” 

“I don’t know anything anymore!” Eddie shouts, really doubling down on his theatrics. There’s a moment of calm before his brain conjures up something sinister — at least, Steve thinks it must be really bad judging by the paleness in Eddie’s face and the anger in his eyes. Finally, he explodes. “You’re cheating on me with my Uncle!” 

“I am not!” 

“Maybe not physically — Jesus H. Christ, ew, please please tell me it’s not physical. I think I’m gonna be sick.” 

“Now hold your horses a minute, Eds.” Wayne stops Eddie in his tracks with an easy hand around his wrist. “Steve here ain’t do nothin’ wrong but offer me his company during the games. I’d watch them with you. Hell, we both would. But, we know you hate ‘em.” 

“So it’s my fault then?” 

“I ain’t say that.” 

“You implied it, old man!” Eddie says, jabbing his finger in Wayne’s direction now. “You better keep your blue-collar hands away from my debutant boyfriend.” 

“You two are both ridiculous,” Steve laughs, shaking his head. He turns to Eddie, giving his best attempt as his puppy dog apology eyes. “It wasn’t meant to be a secret. You’re just never home on Mondays anyway, so we never thought to mention it. But if it bothers you so much, come with us this week. You’ll see for yourself no one’s stealing my honor, or whatever and it’s going to be a good game.” 

“Not for the Colts,” Wayne grumbles. 

Eddie makes a big show of considering the offer before shuttering. “And spend the night at Glen’s sports bar? I think I’d rather you cheat on me with my uncle—“ 

“Can we please stop talking about this?” Steve runs a frustrated hand down his face. “It’s grossing me out. No offense, Wayne.” 

“I’d be offended if you weren’t grossed out, son.” 

“Hey! I was talking,” Eddie squawks. Steve gives him his undivided attention, Wayne’s not so graceful, offering him a grunt and a hand gesture telling him to stop blocking the television. “As I was saying, you two can have your little sports bromance thing, butI do expect you to buy me a new mug for all my troubles, Stevie. S’not fair you got one for Wayne and not me.” 

“I’ll take you to the store tomorrow, and you can pick it up yourself.” 

“Thank you.” After a moment, Eddie sinks back into his side of the couch cushion and reaches for the half-full bowl of popcorn on the table. “Now, let’s start this movie night.” 

[meowmeowriley]

Ghost had been on his phone since Soap had entered the rec room. Not unusual, he tended to read emails or news articles in his spare time. No, what was unusual was that he had his phone sideways. Occasionally tapping at the screen with a thumb. Gaming then.

The 141's resident emo was full of surprises, one being that Ghost loved video games. The man had an old Playstation 3 that might as well have been his first born, the way he adored it. If the PS3 were his first child, then his Xbox One was rebellious problem child, the way he cursed it constantly, threatening to dismantle it and use its husk as a doorstop. Something about changing constantly, and adds on startup had been his most recent rant. He swore he loved it too, but the favoritism was obvious.

Ghost would be found in his room on one of the two consoles nearly every evening. With how often Soap found him gaming, this behavior shouldn't have struck him as odd, and yet it was the first time he'd ever seen the man play anything on his phone.

"Ya winnin', Lt.?" The glare he earned for that comment had him cackling as he fixed himself a midday coffee.

Soap sat down on the sofa with Ghost and turned on the TV. Ghost continued with whatever he was doing.

Beneath his mask the man's brow was pinched, he chewed his bottom lip, and each tap of his thumb was marginally more firm than the last. Ghost was seething, then.

Soap abandoned his show and instead watched something much more entertaining; Ghost's apparent descent into madness. He huffed on occasion, shifted in his seat, hunched his shoulders, and glared daggers down at his phone, a look that could make any of the rookies on base cry and wet themselves.

Soap was delighted. After he finished his coffee he jogged back to his room and snatched his journal so he could draw Ghost having his fit, he wanted to commit it to memory.

Soap was nearly done with his sketch, though it was a bit more than a simple sketch, nearing realism with how much detail he'd poured into Ghost's stormy eyes, when Ghost spoke quietly and for the first time in nearly an hour of them sharing space. "This game is for godless heathens." 

Soap nearly lost it, just barely managing to smother the laugh that bubbled forth. He coughed to hide what little escaped him, and used his hand to hide his face, scrubbing down to erase the smile that tried to give him away. "What, ah, what're you even playin', Ghost?"

"Tile Towers, on Webkinz."

Soap did lose it then. He'd seen the now ancient stuffy in Ghost's quarters, a scraggly looking leopard, but couldn't wrap his head around the man actually playing the game, let alone getting this angry over a mini game for children. He laughed so hard it hurt, tears streamed down his face, and Ghost booted him off the couch without even looking away from his phone.

***

Written by someone who recently found out that webkinz classic has a mobile app, and rediscovered their utter hatred for Tile Towers. Why do I keep playing it? It's awful, fucking stupid! And yet I keep. Going. Back. I'm also miffed that my original account has been deactivated. I've only been absent for like 13 years! Come on! 🤬

[gay-dorito-dust]

wahhhh reading that hurts me 😭 could you please write a part 2 where they all find out that it was bill who possessed reader?

Tag list: @babypeapoddd @i-am-tiredd @sly-thou-pookie @x-seyaa @sweetlumpkinseedlin @kawaii1369 @roo024 @lightmaren

Part 1 right here

‘What?’ Ford asked.

Bill cackled. ‘For someone as smart as you sixer, you sure are stupid as not to notice the obvious signs of whenever I’m possessing someone. I mean out of everyone you should know better.’

Ford clenches his jaw. All this time he had thought you had betrayed him when in actually you had been loyal to him and his family, up until he and his brother ostracised you even more then you already were for the past thirty years. He made you feel like shit, and he could tell that Stanley felt the same amount of guilt as he clenched his fists in silent anger; Ford then levels Bill with a glare. ‘You possessed y/n! My assistant!’ He roared at his once muse.

Bill only chuckles. ‘Correction!WAS your assistant Stanford! And pushed you through the portal whilst wearing the face is someone you cared for,’ Bill then gasps as he looked at the guilt ridden faces of the Pines Family and feeling the joy bubble up in his triangular body, the look of defeat and realisation was all too sweet, ‘Oh wait! Someone you once cared for before throwing them out like they were nothing to you, not once letting them the space to explain what had happened and how I tricked them into making a deal with me.’ He finished by pretending to wipe a tear from his one eye after cackling some more at the hilarity of the situation.

Humans loved to cause more problems within problems they didn’t fully handle properly as they stockpiled on top of each other, giving him the leeway to get what he wants without issue or confrontation from the pathetic family.

Possessing you during a brotherly squabble was perfect! Ford had cut all ties with him and decided to call upon his idiotic brother- as though that would’ve ever worked in any timeline- to help hide his work but when things didn’t go Ford’s way, they fought. You were trying to stop the fight and bill took advantage of that by claiming he could help you stop the fight, fat chance, he was going to make it worse and leave you to be his scapegoat! It was a brilliant plan to make up for multiple set backs thanks to Ford’s sudden realisation of his hermit tendencies, everything was out in place for the ultimate betrayal by the hands of Ford’s assistant; you!

Bill found that Tragedy was at its finest when the betrayal comes from someone you love and it did.

‘They didn’t-‘ Ford began.

‘Say anything?’ Bill interrupts, causing Ford and Stan to glare at him as the demon cackle as he got in close to their shared triangle shaped prison, staring them down with his one eye, unblinking. ‘You and your piece of shit brother over here didn’t even let them speak! Never less believe them when they were telling the truth!’ He roared, ‘and now you don’t know whether they’re even alive so that you can apologise to them!’

Mabel slams against the bars of hers and dippers prison. ‘they’re alive!’ She shouts and Bill now looks at her, amused.

‘How can you be so sure shooting star? For all you know they could be dead, cursing your grunkles names as they die with an unsatisfying end.’ Bill mocked her as she falters in her resolve, he was right, how could she be certain that you were alive when Gravity Falls was literally on fire and demons from another dimension were running amok? She couldn’t and that’s what upset her the most.

‘Because we know our great aunt/uncle better than you bill and we know they’re alive!’ Dipper pips up this time as he laid a reassuring hand on his sister’s shoulder, smiling at her as she smiled back at him in thanks for having her back. Bill looks at the twins, hating their optimism and hope that you were okay and decided to destroy this by reaching into thin air and producing a realistic illusion of your unmoving body before them.

‘Are you so sure now pine tree? They don’t look very much alive to me!’ Bill exclaims as Mabel, Dipper, Stan and Ford could only look up the body that Bill claimed was yours in disbelief and shock. This couldn’t be how it ended, could it? They still had to apologise to you after all for everything and make it up to you however you wished!

‘No, no this is some foul trick of yours bill!’ Ford screamed as he threw himself against the bars, forcing himself not to cry at the sight of your body while seething with rage and a need to avenge your supposed death. ‘You sick son of a bitch!’ Stanley joined in as he felt even more useless than ever, he felt the most guilt out of everyone as his eyes seemed to refused to move from your supposed body. You couldn’t be dead, he refused to believe such bullshit lies, you were still alive and fighting with the rest of them! He knew it, deep down in his heart he knew it to be true!

‘No.’ Mabel cried as she tried to reach out to you as Dipper held her while silently crying himself, vowing to take down bill now more than ever as he tugged his hat down to cover his eyes. You were the most encouraging person he’s ever met and now you were gone, you asked him and Mabel to trust you when contemplating to stay with Stan, and they did believe and they never regretted doing so because you were right! You were always right and yet in the end you died thinking they hated you more than anything; which wasn’t true! Far from it and now…now they can’t make it up to you, they had lost their chance.

Bill had won over the pines family once again.

[gojos-thot-patrol]

Geto/gojo/reader “I can’t believe there’s only one bed” and HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY

THANK YOOUUU!! So, this one really sang to me, I went ahead and combined the two, mostly because they are very similar. Thank you both for the prompt!!

Now Presenting...

Starring: A flirty Satoru Gojo, and a tired Suguru Geto

Your body protested every step you took as you walked into the hotel, screaming at you to lay down and accept the sweet embrace of death. Okay, maybe death was a little extreme, but you could definitely have gone for a light coma in that moment. A yawn you had been suppressing came forward, and you tried to rub the sleep out of your eyes.

“Awe, well aren’t you cute when you’re sleepy.” Gojo teased with a smile, earning him a glare from you. 

“Shut up Satoru.” This entire trip he kept making note of how cute you were, and how you needed to be protected, and at this point, he was on the brink of losing vocal cord privileges.

“Flirt later you two, let’s just get checked in.” Suguru muttered as he ushered the two of you to the front desk. He tried to summon a friendly smile for the clerk, but it didn’t touch his tired eyes. “Hi! Uh, we should have two reservations under Masamichi Yaga.” He said, really hoping they didn’t ask for an id. He told his teacher that he should probably put the rooms under one of the three people going on the mission, but the man was more muscle than brain.

The young worker started typing on the computer, before confusion fell over her features. “Um, I found the reservations, but it says it’s only for one room?” She asked. You were a bit taken back by that, and you could tell from the looks on their faces the boys were too. You thought for sure you’d at least get your own room. But, then again, if getting a room with 3 beds was cheaper than getting 2 separate rooms, it did make sense for Yaga to take that route, the penny pinching bastard. 

“Uh, yea that should be fine, that’s us.” Suguru shrugged, too tired to really argue. Much to your relief (and concern) the woman nodded and happily gave over the room key, not bothering to ask for an ID. What a stand up place. The three of you dragged your tired worn bodies over to the elevator. Well, two of you did. Satoru felt fine, because of course he did. And because he had no problem filling the elevator with whatever came to his head. You shared a look with Suguru.

How do we shut him up? Your eyes asked.

Pillow over his face as he sleeps Sugurus eyes offered.

No, I want him to shut up now. 

Oh, that’s not gonna happen. For now, we just have to endure him.

You sighed, knowing he was right and hating that fact at the same time. Thankfully, the elevator door opened, and the room wasn’t far from it. Geto unlocked the door, and you and Gojo practically fell over him to get into it. You quickly went to grab your toothbrush, and Gojo went to fiddle with the tv. It was Suguru who noticed it first.

“Uh, guys? I don’t see another bed.” He said. You and Gojo stopped cold in your tracks, heads whipping to the center of the room and- yep. That was one bed, and only one bed. Not even so much as a pull out couch in sight. 

“OH ho ho!!” Satoru laughed, launching himself onto the bed and folding himself into what you think was meant to be a sexy pose. “I’ve read fan fiction before, I know what happens here!” He cackled, “Be gentle with me, I’m a virgin” He swooned, acting like a helpless flower. 

“I call sleeping in the bathtub.” Suguru said, checking out of this battle before it became a war.

“No, Don’t!” Gojo whined, reaching out to him, “The bathtub is cold and hard, I'm warm and soft. Unless you want me to be hard.” He winked. 

“I can’t believe there’s only one fucking bed, who sets this shit up?!” You snapped, aggressively waving your hands at the bed.

“God.” Gojo responded.

“Bad fan fiction writers.” Geto retorted, apparently salty about his characterization in my past fics. 

“Satoru get out of the bed.” You demanded, shaking your head. You did not just get out of a fight with ten, count em, ten first grade curses to sleep on the floor.

“How about you get in the bed?” He purred.

“I will, as soon as you get out of it.” you scoffed, fighting back a laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

“Why not get in it with me?” He grinned at you, opening his arms wide as an invitation. 

“I’d rather sleep in the bathtub.” You replied.

“Not an option, I already called it!” Suguru reminded you.

“Why don’t you sleep with him?” You accused more than asked, “He’s your man!”

“He is most definitely not my man!” Geto rebuffed the statement, shaking his head.

“He’s actually my man, we just haven’t taken our relationship to the next level yet.” Satoru purred with a cheeky wink to Geto to really seal the deal. Geto rolled his eyes.

“I’m going to bed, goodnight.” He said, going to grab a pillow from the bed, only for Satoru to grab his arm.

“Come on guys, don’t be silly! This bed is big enough for all of us!” He argued, “We all trust each other, right?!” Gojo paused long enough to look at both you and Geto, but not long enough for an answer. He already knew it. “We know no ones going to try any funny business, we trust each other with our lives there's no reason for any of us to be uncomfortable tonight!” you and Suguru shared more glances. Gojo may be annoying, but when he was right he was right. The only thing really keeping the three of you from sharing was standard social conventions. 

“Fine, but if any of you touch me I’m throwing you off the balcony.” You warned. Geto sighed and ran a hand through his hair, sitting on the bed.

“I just don’t get why we weren’t warned about this.”

“I mean, it kind of explains the weird look she gave us.” You noted, sitting on the other side of Gojo.

“Yay, sleepover!” Gojo cheered, grabbing onto Suguru because he was the one that didn’t threaten him, “Fair warning, I’m a cuddler.” He grinned, wiggling his eyebrows for emphasis. 

“I knew I should have just slept in the tub.” Geto sighed.

🛏️🛏️🛏️

In the morning, you were a tangled mess of limbs and drool with your two best friends. Any warning against cuddling being tossed to the wind in exchange for the comfort human warmth brings. You hated to admit it, but it was the best sleep you had gotten in weeks. Gojo woke up not long after you, smiling softly, slowly coming back to life.

“Good morning,” He said. You shook your head and covered his face with a pillow.

“It was before you started talking.” You muttered.“It’s 6 am, go back to bed.” Suguru begged, not happy to have been woken up.