#TOOK ME LONG ENOUGH AMIRITE

[cuubism]

Morphology | Dreamling | 4.6k words | Explicit | AO3

eldritch Dream, genderfluidity of a kind, lots of smut, nonhuman organs, angst, body dysphoria, undefined body forms and transformation, brief eldritch panic attack, they/them pronouns for Dream

Dream is not meant to stay in one form. But they must, for that is the form that Hob knows. That Hob loves. Or so they think.

this is based on @gabessquishytum and their anon's post located here, about Dream believing Hob won't want him in all his nonhuman shapes, only to discover Hob is very much a monsterfucker... and also loves him very much. I was going to append it to the post but then it got kind of very long. Hope you don't mind me playing around!

---

It was not for dreams to be only one thing.

In the Dreaming, they morphed and shifted, merging from one form to another. Smoke to wind to water, lava to sparks back to stone. In the minds of dreamers they took every unconceivable form, a thousand impossibilities as various as the limbs of Destiny’s forking tree. They were all of unreality. All that could not be, all that was hoped for, fleeting, forgotten, or held, for a time.

In the Waking, it was different. Dreams Dream bent and condensed into a singular form. They he knew well enough from his dreamers that while fluid changeability may be accepted in the illogical narratives of dreams, it was not so in the Waking. To interact with humans, he must appear as one, with the limited mutability that allowed.

Which was not to say that Dream disliked his Waking form. He chose what was pleasing to him. But sometimes it felt… stifling, for one used to being as expansive as the clouds.

Particularly after his imprisonment. Kept like an insect pinned to a board. Immovable. When he was meant to move. When he was Morpheus. Shaper of Forms.

Dream put that away from him.

Hob liked this form of his. Dream had come to understand the way Hob looked on him, and he liked that Hob wanted this form. But. He was not meant to stay in this form. Not always. It was. Chafing. It was. Hurting.

No matter. He could stay in this form that Hob wanted, because more than wanting to break from this skin Dream wanted Hob’s love. And his desire. He wanted to keep Hob’s gentle, heated touch.

This form of lean muscle and sharp bone. This solid body that had endured Roderick Burgess’s prison but also received Hob’s love… he could keep it. Yes. He could. He could.

~~~

I am wind that wishes to storm. Cloud that edges on rain. I am caterpillar’s dream of flight, I am words of disbelieving, I am the hopeful light of new stars, I am— I am water’s dance with the shore, and the sun’s kiss of the moon, and— and— no—

“Yo. Roiling mass of terror that I’m pretty sure is the boss. You good?”

Dream opened their eyes. They did not have eyes, but no matter. Dreams were often about seeing. Matthew was standing on the sand before them, head cocked.

“You alright?” he repeated. “I couldn’t tell if the shrieking was a bad thing or just like. One of your things.”

“One of my things,” Dream repeated.

“Can never know,” said Matthew. He hopped onto an arm that Dream’s form generated just for him to stand on.

“I was not,” said Dream, “shrieking.”

“You were definitely shrieking,” said Matthew. “It sounded like a laundry machine dying.”

Dream grumbled in offense.

Matthew nudged his head against one of Dream’s hands. “Do you… wanna talk about it?”

Dream considered. “Do you often ponder your own physical form, Matthew?”

“Well, since I became a bird,” said Matthew. “Kinda weird. It’s cool, though. Who doesn’t dream of flying, amirite?” He flapped his wings in demonstration, lifting off Dream’s arm, then settling down again.

“And when you were human?” Dream asked.

“Every human thinks about their body, dude.”

“Did you desire to change it?” Dream pressed.

“You mean like a weight loss program?” said Matthew. “Those never work.”

“No,” said Dream. Their form morphed around them, here legs, there tail, wings, teeth. They could not make it settle, not on a human shape or on anything else. They felt— agitated. They should return to their usual human form. Should. “That is not what I meant.”

“Ohhhhhh,” said Matthew, and smacked his face with his wing in realization. “It’s this whole deal. Well, you could change it if you want? I mean. You’re doing it.”

“I did not mean to,” said Dream, their form still writhing around them, never landing on any one shape. “I—” they were meant to go see Hob. They had been cloaked properly in their usual shape. And. Something had snapped.

They remembered, now, falling to their knees on the sand, the careful construct of their human self, a body once worn easily as one of many, shattering into a million shards.

They should. Change. They should change back. They wished to see Hob, and Hob, for all his adaptability, was only human, he would not be able to tolerate this, this thing that could not even give itself a face, or decide what it was, this thing that found physical stasis anathema after so long pressed in glass. Hob cared for the being that he knew. Not this one that, Dream thought, sometimes did not even know itself.

“Whatever you’re doing, I think you should probably stop,” Matthew warned.

“You dare to question me?” Dream bit. He was condensing back down under his human mask, he could do it, he could. He had loved this form once. Could again. As one of many.

Matthew nipped at his hand with his beak. And it was only this that made Dream realize he was clawing at his face so hard he was bleeding starlight.

Solidity spiraled away from Dream again, and they let out a hard breath. It was useless. Whatever meager control they had maintained since their escape was slipping from them. It was pointless to pretend otherwise any longer. Or to pretend that they could truly offer Hob the form he was accustomed to.

“Matthew,” Dream said, and Matthew hopped to attention. “I have some business I must attend to. Please leave me now.”

“Are you sure—?”

Dream waved a hand and sent him back to the palace.

If it was impossible for them to consistently return to their prior state, then at least they should be done with it now. Show Hob what he was truly dealing with. That Dream was not what he thought. Or wanted. Then, at least, they would spare themselves any greater heartbreak.

Wrapping the barest trappings of their usual form around them like an ill-fitting coat, Dream stepped into the Waking.

~~~

Dream emerged directly onto Hob’s bed as a formless shadow. It felt good, to be formless. Normally, they did like to take a form, but to choose recently had been taxing.

Hob was awake and reading. Dream had been meant to come for dinner, and was late. When Dream appeared in a sudden fall of darkness, Hob shrieked and flung his book at them on instinct. It simply passed through Dream with no effect.

“Dream?” said Hob, gasping, the spike in his adrenaline clear. “Is that you, love? Somehow? Or am I about to get eaten?”

Those do not preclude each other, Dream said. Though as they were still a shadow, their voice was more a low rumbling vibration than a true voice.

“Not sure how I understood that,” said Hob. He tilted his head, trying to make out features in the darkness but not, Dream thought, managing it. “Always kind of knew you were more than you seemed,” he added. “Didn’t quite picture this, though.”

It is but one form I am capable of holding, Dream said. Strictly speaking, it was not quite a form at all. As they said it, they shifted, unconsciously, until they were the beam of lamplight caressing Hob’s face—Hob’s hand chased them across his own cheek—and then the lulling hum of traffic, comforting night sounds. Hob kept reaching for them, not quite knowing where he was reaching. And Dream slipped into his daydreams, his vision for what Dream’s many forms might be.

Hob’s daydreams were a comfortable place to land. Warm. Welcoming. And when Dream emerged, they were a thing of Hob’s imagining, something dark and shadowed and multi-faceted but ultimately. Touchable.

That was what Hob desired of them?

“Okay,” said Hob, “what actually is going on here? Are you okay?”

Dream did not reply, stuck on Hob’s daydreams. He did not wish for Dream to force themselves back into their usual form. He merely molded what Dream brought him into a form that was comprehensible to him.

Relief crashed over Dream, magnitudes greater than the dread they had refused to acknowledge. They knew, now, that they had truly expected this to be the end. To scare Hob off. But Hob did not seem to be scared.

“Dream?” Hob reached a careful hand toward them. He pet down Dream’s flank. Fur that was soft because he was touching it. He huffed an incredulous laugh. “Wow. It really is… you.”

“In some fashion,” said Dream.

“In some fashion,” Hob repeated. “In what fashion, exactly?”

Instead of answering, Dream butted their head into Hob’s shoulder. Following the relief of his touch, so much softer and more detailed, now that they did not have the barrier of a stifling form in the way.

“Darling,” Hob said, petting Dream’s hair, “need words.”

“No,” Dream mumbled petulantly. And Hob allowed them their petulance. Dream let out a long breath. It blew warm over Hob’s throat, and Dream felt him shiver. They trailed fingertips up Hob’s ribcage, along bare skin, feeling the stacked solidity of his bones. Hob shivered again.

“It’s like that, is it?” he said.

Dream shifted closer, half slither, half crawl, until their form, incomprehensible even to themselves, was draped over Hob’s lap. Bliss, there, the warmth of him. “You are not repelled?”

“By the ten arms? I think I can cope.” He pressed his lips in close to Dream’s ear. “In fact. I had a dream about this the other night. Well.” He laughed. “I guess I’m having a Dream about it now, eh?”

“Did you?” said Dream, ears pricking up. Had their… moods slipped into Hob’s dreams?

“Can’t remember the details,” Hob said. “But I remember how it felt.” He trailed fingertips up the bony knobs of Dream’s spine. Unlike Dream at the moment, Hob only had two arms, but Dream felt every press of his fingers acutely.

“How did it feel?” they whispered.

“Like,” Hob murmured, lips to Dream’s jaw now, “you were everywhere. Like I got into your body and made love to you from the inside out.”

The thought made all of the strange and varied nerves of Dream’s shifting body stand on end. They wrapped legs around Hob’s waist, arms around his shoulders. Scraped sharp teeth over his pulse. “Really?”

Hob laughed. “Interested now, are you?”

“Yes,” Dream rumbled, their form flickering in excitement, to shadow then a falling rainbow of light, to a mass of vines that wound all around Hob’s body, and then into roots, as if they could grow into Hob, then branching veins pulsing and racing with Hob’s heartbeat, then back to a morass of half-body, half-shadow, because yes, they wanted to be held by Hob, they must remember that.

Hob was still for several moments, then laughed incredulously. “Okay. You’re so cool. I don’t know what to do with any of that, so I’m going to have to wing it.”

He traced a hand along the soft feathers of a wing that had grown with his words. Dream shuddered. A sensitive part of the body, indeed.

“You’re gorgeous,” Hob murmured. “My strange creature.”

Dream purred in pleasure, wrapping their wings around Hob’s back, mouth catching on the edge of his jaw, and, incredibly, felt Hob growing hard under them, as he would if Dream lounged in his lap and mouthed at his jaw as a human.

“You like this,” Dream said, unable to keep the surprise from their voice.

Hob chuckled. “Didn’t you know I fell for you the second I saw the spark of the otherworldly in your eyes? Just didn’t know the whole of what I was looking at. Not then.”

The spark of the otherworldly. “You are in love with dreams.”

“Figured it out by now, yeah.”

“You are. In love. With this,” Dream said, voice echoing from more than one throat, choked up.

“With this? You mean with you?”

“I do not know quite what I am, now,” Dream admitted.

“Well,” said Hob, slipping a hand between them. Dream gasped in pleasure, wings fluttering involuntarily. “You want to find out?”

Squirming against his hand, Dream said, “Do you even know what it is you are touching?”

“Haven’t a clue,” Hob said cheerfully. “Made you go all shivery, though.”

It had. It was. Dream writhed in his lap as Hob experimented, moaned in startled pleasure, toes curling. Body shifting to hurtle towards that arousal. Hob startled as his hand was suddenly enveloped in heat, something he could press into, and Dream whined, so full all at once with no prelude, body twisting out of control without their explicit direction. But it was good.

Hob gripped them by one wing—these had stayed even as Dream’s form continued to spin—and Dream quivered as Hob pulled them closer, pressing his hand deeper into slick heat. He was grinning against Dream’s throat, scraped light teeth over his pulse, sucked a bruise there. Dream’s form rode the wave of his daydreams, provided a wet mouth for him to bite and kiss as soon as he thought of it. Dream tangled long fingers in his hair, claws digging in.

“Can I fuck you like this?” Hob breathed against his lips.

“If you can cope with me changing on you,” Dream said. “I am not. Entirely in control. At the moment.”

A shameful admission, but Hob groaned as if it was the hottest thing he could think of. “I get to have you multiple ways at once? Oh, how will I manage?”

Dream laughed. It may have been a bit teary. Their many hearts were racing, lungs stuttering for air. Wings shivered, feathers fluttering. A long, furred tail wound its way up Hob’s back to wrap lightly around his throat, possessive. Dream would not let this man go now. Could not.

“Budge up, let’s see what we’re dealing with,” Hob said, probing deeper under Dream’s form with his hand, the other still firm on Dream’s wing, which he seemed to have understood was very sensitive, and intended to press that advantage as much as he could.

The touch of Hob’s hand, in Dream, on them, around them, was bliss. Dream wished to be full of him again. To, as Hob had dreamt, be made love to from the inside out.

Riding that hope, their body shaped another hole for his questing fingers. Hob obligingly pressed his fingers in, but said, “Regrettably, darling, I’ve only got one cock, and I had other plans for my hands.”

“Regrettable, indeed,” said Dream, and Hob laughed. Then, “Plans?”

“Oh, yes. I expect some other interesting things may crop up, eh? Need hands free.” He leaned in close to Dream’s ear, which flicked toward him to listen. “I’m going to find every erogenous zone on this body and make it scream.”

Goosebumps broke out all over Dream’s body. They clung to Hob with every limb they could find. Hob grinned wickedly at this reaction. It was a look Dream knew well, one that always boded very well for them indeed.

Hob worked Dream open on two fingers—though he need not, Dream was already wet and gaping for him—then maneuvered his sleep shorts off, took his cock in hand and stroked it twice, hand slick with Dream’s fluids. Then he lifted Dream bodily and sank them back down on his cock.

Dream whined, careening up several registers, as they were filled so suddenly, as they took Hob to the base. Hob groaned at the feeling of their body. Dream tried to adjust to him but couldn’t, Hob’s cock pressed on sensitive spots deep within them, and any time they thought they’d gotten used to the feeling their body produced a new place to torment.

They clawed at Hob’s back, leaving red lines with sharp fingers. Hob gave an experimental thrust, shifting Dream in his lap, and Dream bit down on a scream as their body lit up, chasing the feeling, loving it, magnitudes more affected than in their usual, limited form.

“Wow,” Hob said, fond laughter in his voice, and heat too, as Dream panted wetly in his ear, “this is going to be fun. Have you been all worked up, my darling? Just needed someone to give you what you really need?”

“Needed you,” Dream murmured. They clenched around Hob, tried to steady themselves, but it only made things worse. Everywhere deep inside them was searing flame, their skin-feathers-fur prickly with static, they feared and needed Hob’s touch in equal measure. To soothe. To set alight.

Hob slipped a hand into the other space Dream had left to tempt him, probing deep. Dream bit down on his ear, drawing spots of blood. Hob drew his hand back, met one of Dream’s many eyes. Licked Dream’s fluids from his hand.

Dream lunged forward to kiss him, whimpering into Hob’s mouth as that drove them impossibly deeper onto Hob’s cock. Hob pulled them close, kissed them hard, caught a fistful of Dream’s hair and pulled. Dream’s body decided that it liked that very much, indeed. They whined at the grip, clawing at Hob’s skin with many hands.

Hob brought them close with a firm hand, bounced Dream in his lap, moving them on and off his cock. Dream wailed, overstimulated by all the angles of his touch, torn between pulling away and diving closer as Hob swept his tongue into their mouth, over sharp teeth and soft palate.

“There’s a love,” Hob breathed. “Does that feel good, darling?”

Dream couldn’t offer a reply, and Hob didn’t wait for one. He dug his fingers into the tight feathering of Dream’s wing and tugged. Dream shrieked, wings flapping wildly, sets of them bursting along their back, more, more, less, more. Hob didn’t let up, stroking his fingers through the feathers, dragging over soft skin, sucking on Dream’s throat all the while.

Dream saw white, their body seized up, and the nebulous hole Hob was using to fuck them morphed into a mouth.

Hob yelped to suddenly feel his cock grazing over shielded teeth. Then he laughed. “Don’t you dare bite my dick off, you menace. It’s horrible to regrow it.”

Dream would have asked how he knew that, except Hob’s cock was down their throat. They choked, swallowing around him. Dream did not need to breathe, and so the pressure was exquisite. Their long tongue wrapped around Hob to the base, caressed his balls. Explored further, along his perineum, to probe at his entrance, and then press in.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck—” Hob’s voice was a strangled shout. “Dream what the actual fuck are you doing?” It didn’t sound like a complaint.

I am fucking you with my tongue, Dream said, a hum directly from their form to Hob’s.

“I can bloody well tell, Jesus Mary and—”

Dream purred and rumbled in pleasure, the satisfaction of taking and being taken at once, of being inside their beloved and having Hob inside them in turn. As Hob had dreamt.

Hob’s fingers pressed into Dream. Dream’s form gave and made places for him to press into. Hob’s fingers tickled deep within them, starlight and heat tracking their path. Dream swirled in an indefinite vortex of shape, a hundred things at once, their body prickling all over with the pleasure of Hob’s touch.

Hob twisted against them, clenching down on their tongue, shouted “Dream!” and came down Dream’s throat. Dream swallowed him down in pleasure, retracted their tongue from Hob’s body, eliciting a long moan. They let Hob pull out, and licked the final taste of Hob from their lips before letting that mouth disappear into their form, the traces of Hob consumed.

And then Hob flipped them, somehow manhandled Dream’s indefinite form down to the mattress, pressed down immovably on legs and arms and wings so that the softest parts of Dream’s body were bared to him. Dream reached for him, always they reached for him, cock hard and straining, cunt aching, the slashes of their being weeping for Hob to come inside. Always weeping. They cried out, every inch of them trembling for Hob’s touch.

“You gorgeous nightmare,” Hob said. “You brilliant daydream. Oh, my darling, I love you so much. I’d do anything for you. Anything. But mostly I want to do this.”

He pressed his mouth to where Dream’s body strained for him.

Hob had a very talented and generous mouth, which Dream had blessedly been on the receiving end of many times. This was different: Dream’s form echoed out Hob’s touch, replicated it a hundred times over so every crevice of their body could feel the flat swipe of his tongue, how he drank Dream’s fluids down, the drag of his stubble over lips and folds and the soft skin of thighs. Dream’s many limbs trembled, bent, reformed themselves in ecstasy, they dragged at Hob’s hair, pressing his face deeper so Dream could grind against him, which only made Hob grin.

Hob pressed two fingers into Dream’s mouth and Dream greedily sucked on them, grounding themselves. Taking Hob in more than one way at once… yes. That was what they wanted. They closed their many eyes and gave themselves over to sensation. Hob’s mouth and tongue, the taste of him, the weight of his body as he bent Dream on the bed, his scent, musk and the woodsmoke that seemed to cling to him all these years later—or perhaps that was only in dreams.

They were a dream of completion. They were a dream of ecstasy. Of flight. Hob’s hand tangled in their fragile feathers. Hob’s mouth and fingers inside them. Then Hob plunged three fingers hard, deep within them, as he sucked on Dream’s clit, and with a piercing noise like glass shattering Dream came.

They were. Fragments. The individual colors splayed wide by a prism. Red, yellow, blue. Hob’s fingers trailed through them, blending the colors like paint in water. For several moments Dream drifted, more thought than being. Distantly aware of Hob’s weight on them. It felt… like kindness. Then they floated back to the present, light as the first flight of unfurled moth wings.

Hob was lying on them, looking at them, head tilted. A twinkle in his eyes. He skated his hands up Dream’s sides. Flowers bloomed in the wake of his touch, their soft petals shivering with sensitivity. Hob plucked one of the flower buds and, holding Dream’s gaze, ate it. Swallowed it. Dream watched the movement of his throat.

Inside out, he thought.

“Broke you into pieces,” Hob said then, with satisfaction. “Think I might have seen God for a sec there. Can do better, though.”

“Better?” Dream echoed, voice hoarse. Their form shifted, still, but slowly, languidly. No longer restless. A dark wing draped over Hob’s back. A tail played with his hair. He didn’t seem to mind.

“There’s so much we can do with this,” he said. He gazed at Dream, fond, terribly knowing. “Only getting started, love. I love—” he kissed Dream’s belly, a light, ghosting touch, and tickled Dream’s side with his fingertips— “how sensitive you are like this.”

“I—” Dream started. Absent the writhing need, now they just felt… stripped. Vulnerable. “I expected that you would. Not. Like this. It is not. Human.”

“Neither are you,” Hob pointed out.

“I appear so,” Dream said.

Hob snorted. “No, you don’t.”

Dream stared at him, unable to decide whether or not to be offended.

“I wear the guise of a human,” they insisted, and, to prove it, morphed back into the form that Hob would know as his lover. It was an easier coat to wear, now that they knew they could take it off.

“No, keep the wings,” Hob complained. “Those are cool.”

Dream obligingly returned wings to their form.

“I appear human, to you,” they insisted again.

“Dream, I say this with all the love in my heart, which is quite a lot because I do. Love you.” He leaned on his hand, looking at Dream with sparkling eyes. “You look about as human as a kid wearing a bedsheet looks like a ghost.”

Dream stared at him, mouth agape.

“Don’t worry, it’s a gorgeous costume,” Hob said. “Love it. Really, really do. But I could always tell that wasn’t the whole truth of the matter. Especially once I got close.” With this, he winked.

“A part of me is human,” Dream said. Had Hob truly always seen through them? Paid so close attention as to perceive the translucence of the mask? “For I am the dreams of humanity.”

“And a part of you isn’t,” said Hob. “For—” he mimicked the cadence of Dream’s speech, though not in a mocking way— “you are also the dreams of birds, and shadows, and stars.”

Dream nodded. “These and more.”

“Brilliant,” said Hob.

Brilliant, Dream thought.

Then Hob tilted his head, thinking back. “You expected me not to like that?”

“Recently,” said Dream slowly, “I found I could not maintain this form without pain. And so my hand was forced.” It hurt still, to think of. “I had no choice but to make my true form—or rather, my true formlessness—known to you if I wished to be here at all.”

Hob pushed himself up from where he was lying on Dream’s chest, and instead straddled his hips so he could take Dream’s face between his hands. “It hurts?” he demanded.

“At times,” said Dream. “More so. Since.” They didn’t finish the sentence.

“Why are you doing it now, then?”

“It does not hurt so much now,” Dream said. “It is simply that when I stay static, it begins to. Ache.”

“Ache,” Hob repeated, looking stricken. “Dream, if it hurts, then change back. Be a chimera or whatever the hell you were doing before.”

“That is how you interpreted it?”

“To be honest, I don’t think my brain was really interpreting it at all. You were just kind of… everything.” He stroked a fingertip along the fine bone of Dream’s wing, which was folded against their back now. “Did like the wings, though.”

“I’d noticed that.”

“Cheeky.” Hob shook himself. “Getting distracted. The point is, don’t hurt yourself. I don’t want to see you hurt yourself.” He tipped his head against Dream’s, lips to their skin. “Much rather see you how were today.”

“How?”

“Letting go. Enjoying yourself.” He smirked, Dream felt it against their temple. “Making all kind of lovely noises. Squealing. Shrieking—”

“I was not shrieking.”

“You were shrieking.”

Hob tickled his fingers through Dream’s feathers, and Dream made an embarrassing squeak. They smacked Hob in the face with that wing, and Hob burst out laughing, even though he had to pull a feather out of his teeth.

“I love you,” he said. “Don’t hurt yourself. Be... the indefinably strange creature that you are. And just trust me to keep up.”

Hob kissed them lightly on the lips. Dream leaned into him, made still for a moment by the depth of Hob’s care for them, how Hob caught all of their longing and swallowed it, kept it warm. How he loved Dream. And dreams.

Hob drew them both down to the bed, and the covers over them, and Dream let their other forms creep out, hesitant, but hungry for Hob’s affection. And a creature that was the sky’s dream of nightfall and the poetry of rain upon a still lake, that was the individual patterns of snowflakes and the sculptures built of their drifts, that was ambitious owl and frightened vole, quiet soil and its thoughtful worms, shape and narrative and human, too, of course, laid down its many heads, and curled its much-loved wings over its lover, and rested in his dreams.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Hi! I came across your page and I love your fanfics of HOTD and I was wondering if you could make a fanfic with Daemon Targaryen and a Velaryon/Targaryen reader who is the daughter of King Viserys and his first wife who was Lord Corlys unnamed sister🤭.

I want her to have a close relationship with her half sister rhaenrya at first then as the years slowly go by that love for her sister deteriorates seeing what her sister has become 👀 a little angst never hurt anybody 😝

I want the reader to be a combination of Visenya and Rhaenys ( aegon the conquers sister wives )

Wish I Was Her

Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader

Summary: Daemon was your sun, your moon, your earth, your sky. He was all you ever wanted to be like growing up... all you ever learned to want when you came of age. But true to his nature, he liked things difficult, he liked things messy, he liked to hurt, and so he made you watch his admirations toward your sister.

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: Canon and additional Targaryen incest bonk 🤠 as per request, Daemon x Rhaenyra, fem!reader, made up characters, some descriptions of reader as per request, pining, fluff, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: this was a TALL order and I stared at this ask endlessly wondering what I could possibly do for it asdf;asf;asf which is why it took so long. I hope you like it my love. It really be your own sister, amirite YUCK. Tagging: @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda

"Pretty," I note, reaching out to the necklace on my sister's neck.

Rhaenyra turns to what my hand touched and smiled to herself as I smiled back at her, "who gifted it?"

"Uncle," she says with an excited tone.

The smile on my face begins to fade as hers sparkle. She chuckles, caressing the jewelry on her neck, "he must have known how I eye the endless gifts you get from suitors far and wide."

I snort before breaking into a laugh. Seems like something he would do.

"If you wanted to wear them," I turn and grab her arm as we continue walking through the gardens, "you should have made it known to me. You know I care little for them. They hold the same value as rocks to me."

Rhaenyra leans into my touch, sharing a laugh with me, "you truly are a heartbreaker, sister."

"You'll understand soon enough," I huff, pulling away from her to grab her face, "you are only 5 and 10. Once you are my age of 20, you will have had much more suitors than I ever will."

Rhaenyra places her hands on mine as I tuck her straight hair behind her ears. She mimics me, brushing my curly hair back, as I smile at her.

"That is impossible," she notes with a soft smile, "there is no man that is immune to your charms."

I roll my eyes, "do you want a bet?"

She huffs as we continue walking off, "I am not in the business of betting on things that I know I will lose."

We both break into a laugh as we make our way to the tree where Alicent was waiting for us. Well, Alicent and-

"Uncle," Rhaenyra beams, pulling away from me to rush over to Daemon.

Daemon smirks, turning to my sister just as Alicent does beside him. He nods, "princess," then at me, "princess."

I nod back, "uncle," I turn to the auburn haired lady, "Alicent."

Alicent smiles back at me as Rhaenyra mutters, "what are you doing here?"

Daemon shifts in his spot, "I came to see if you were wearing the necklace I gifted you," he lightly touches the center of the necklace, "now that I have," he turns to me, "I will not hold you ladies any further."

Alicent looks between us. I push past Daemon once he strides off, and get the hands of the two girls. "Now, that that's over with," I look between them. Alicent watches Rhaenyra, who looks off to the distance. I clench my jaw and shake her hand, "Rhaenyra."

"Yes?" she pipes up turning to me.

Alicent watches her. I diffuse the atmosphere by breaking into a chuckle, "a true dragon rider-- head stuck in the clouds."

Later that day, we found ourselves in the hall, as it seems I found myself another caller.

"It is apparent to me that you either have a wicked sense of humor, my lord," I coo as I rock the small cat in my hand, "or you are genuinely clueless that felines do not take kindly to dragons," I turn to the lord in front of me. His smile begins to fade as I continue, "and vice versa."

I chuckle as I stroke the creature's soft fur, impressed by how docile she was. I steal a glance at my sister's amused expression, as well as Alicent's, before turning to my father, who was sat beside me. I raise the cat towards him and he recoils on his iron throne.

I break into giggles as I pull the cat away, "it seems even the king himself is repelled."

Viserys says my name breathily.

"Perhaps I shall keep this one," I turn to Rhaenyra, "what say you, sister?"

"A splendid idea, sister," she responds.

"Oh, bugger off, the lot of you," our father chides, releasing a breath as we laugh once again.

It seems the man before me finds his spirits again in our familial bickering. I press my lips, hoping to crush it in my palm, "now, where are your gifts for my sisters, Lord Baratheon?"

The man a little older than I knits his dark brows, shaking his head, making his dark hair bounce.

"Surely, Christopher," I step forward, narrowing my eyes, "may I call you that?"

"You may address me however you like, princess."

I chuckle, "surely, boy-"

Viserys chuckles.

"-you wish to set yourself apart from the other endless suitors," I turn to Rhaenyra, "as my sister puts it-"

She purses her lips, holding back a laugh.

"-by offering tidings to my sisters as well."

Christopher Baratheon is once again rendered speechless.

"And by sisters, I mean, by blood, Rhaenyra, and by choice of companionship, Alicient."

The sisters turn to each other and share a chuckle at the sentiment.

I tilt my head to the man, "so?"

"I-" he starts, but does not continue.

I smile then shuffle the cat in my arms, "then," I hand the feline to him, "I shall, in fact, not keep this-"

"Aw," Rhaenyra sounds.

"-much to my sister's disappointment," I offer her a look as the lord gets the cat from me.

The look upon his face makes me feel utterly empowered.

"That will be all then," my father calls from behind.

I cannot help but snort as I turn to the impatient look on the King's face. I turn back to Lord Christopher and offer him fake hope, "if you find something you can give all three of us at the feast later tonight, you know where to find me."

The man perks up.

Alicent could not conceal her laughter, which makes everyone turn to her. Rhaenyra and I chuckle at the sight of her growing red cheeks.

"That will be all then," I repeat, offering him one last smile, before turning to my father, "I will be off on dragon back if you need me."

He promptly nods and I walk past Lord Baratheon.

"Take me with you!" Rhaenyra calls as I near.

"You," I start, rubbing her jaw with my thumb once I am close enough. I nearly freeze when I catch sight her necklace. I force a small smile on my face, "have classes to attend to."

She grabs my arm, "please."

I shake my head and lean down to whisper, "if I had to suffer through them, so do you."

I smirk at her as I pull away. She gives me a scornful look.

It is apparent that I was not the only one who thought to take advantage of the clear weather and take to the skies today.

"Uncle," I call as I make my way into the dragon pit. Both him and his ride turn to me when I near them. I extend my hand out carefully, "Caraxes."

Daemon watches as I caress his dragon's snout. He side steps closer to me, up until his hand is on my own. His other pulls me close to him by my waist, "princess."

Caraxes leans into us. I take this as a reason to mask my need to pull away. I ignore how my body reacts to him. I ignore how I feel annoyed by the image of my sister's neck that flashes in my mind.

I step away from him and pull a smile, turning to the dragon keeper behind him to ask that he release my dragon as well.

Daemon watches my hair flutter as Caraxes huffs, "will you be joining us today?"

I link my hands together, "as you've noticed, I prefer the hemispheres opposite to the ones you and Caraxes do."

"Hmm," he steps closer to me, "I oft wondered whether it was by sheer preference, or out of spite."

My face is blank as he smirks down at me, "why would I spite you, uncle?"

"Why would you?" he repeats, "you grew up wishing to be me when you were a child." He pulls away from his dragon as to lead him off once he hears my own stirring from the back of the place, "you told me you wanted to be a man-"

"Because I understood what it meant to be a woman," I retort as I follow him to the side, "how your worth is equal how many heirs your birth. How both mine and Rhaenyra's mothers were rendered worthless because of their... incapabilities."

I turn away from Daemon as I see my dragon get lead out, "they both died for it-- for nothing."

Daemon watches as I make my way to my dragon.

I am surprised that his own hand darts to my beloved creature's face the same time mine does.

I turn to him in surprise. I feel my pulse quicken even more when he fiddles with the large gems on my ears, "there was once a time where you did not allow anyone to dress you in skirts. I would have laughed at the notion of you wearing jewelry."

He pulls away from me and my dragon, "now you parade even your boyish exploits on your skin."

I scoff at him as his tone, "except these were my mother's."

Daemon stills. I find annoyance and ridicule rise up my throat when he looks as though he was not expecting that.

"Between the two of us, uncle," I walk away from him, readying to ride my mount, "it is only you who is clearly still caught up in their childishness."

Daemon could only watch and move away as I command my dragon to exit the chamber

Later that night, I am ensnared in dance after dance after dance, with men whose names I no longer kept track of.

Rhaenyra, the devil she was, kept agreeing on dances on my behalf, and at some point, I managed to trick the idiots with dancing with her first, as a condition to dance with me.

Currently, I was watching her spin with this unsightly Lord while she offered me the most disdainful expression yet. I snorted about it with our father.

"You must be kinder to your sister, child," he says after releasing a chuckle.

The two of us could not hold back on our laughter when the man steps on her foot and profusely breaks out in apologies.

Viserys hides his laugh in his hand when his second daughter shoots him a dirty look. I, however, openly ridicule her and even point a finger, "oh let me enjoy it, father. I have to dance with him after torturing my sister."

He releases an amused snort. He leans against his seat, "you do know that she only wishes to be more like you."

I avert my attention to him, not expecting the solemn words amidst this current atmosphere.

"Why would she want to be me when she is her?"

"She looks up to you, as any sibling would their elder," the king speaks, finally turning to me.

In that moment, my eyes instinctively find Daemon in the room. It is easy, plain like breathing. I watch how he watches Rhaenyra, how his lips curve at the sight of her. I turn away and mutter, "I don't suppose you fooled yourself into believing the same of uncle."

Viserys snorts, throwing his arms around me, "my, my daughter has grown to have a silver tongue to pair her silver hair."

I chuckle once then I lean against him affectionately.

In the next instant, Rhaenyra is upon me, eyes dark, lips curved in a grin, "your turn, sister."

I watch her come up to me as the man she was dancing with looks upon me eagerly. By the time Rhaenyra takes her seat on my own, shoving me with her hip, giving me no choice but to stand, I dramatically place my hand on my forehead and huff, "actually, I am feeling quite faint."

Both my father and sister turns to me when I say this. The former turns back, unfazed, and the latter gives me a dirty look.

My sister's most recent dance partner, who was none the wiser, flashes a look of concern as I say, "I should go outside and get some fresh air."

"I should accompany you, princess."

"Oh, no need. I will come back for our dance soon enough, my lord," I lie with my teeth, "you needn't worry."

Rhaenyra cannot stop me as I walk away. I manage to catch her annoyed look when she mouths, 'bitch' to me. I grin at her and throw a flying kiss at her direction.

I release a huff once I am free. I find comfort in the silence outside the hall.

Whatever peace I found, however, is interrupted by the person who comes up next to me.

I turn to my shoulder and find myself pulling a soft smile, "Cregan."

Cregan Stark says my name and nods in regard.

"I did not know you answered to your invitation."

"And why wouldn't I take the opportunity to bask in your fierce beauty," he smiles, eyes darting down, "did you not receive the necklaces I sent?"

I involuntarily bring my hand up to my bare collarbones as he explains, "I did not know what color you preferred, so I sent all that I could think of."

I shake my head. Against myself, I begin to think of Rhaenyra again. I think of her own gifted necklace, and think it was not nearly as ornate as the ones Cregan sent me. I envy her. I envy her still.

"I did, my lord," I straighten up, "but I could not bare to offend my many suitors by favoring one over the other."

Cregan huffs in amusement.

I smirk at him, "not when I clearly do not favor one over the other."

"You wound me, princess," he narrows his eyes as his lips quirk upward, "I thought we had something."

I snort, "then you might like my uncle, Stark," I state with a hint of venom, "he feels he is just as entitled to my attentions as you are."

"You would slander me to an outsider, niece?"

We both turn to the smirking Daemon as he walks over to us. I do not greet him like Cregan does, I do not nod at him or say his title in regard. Instead I turn to the dark haired man when I reply to his words, "he is hardly a stranger when he has come to my side bearing gifts in exchange for my time more than once."

I watch as Cregan's eyes twinkle at the acknowledgement where Daemon's jaw tightens.

"Will you allow my niece and I some privacy," Daemon asks, though it is not really question.

I stare at the prince idly.

Both of us turn to Cregan when he does not move a muscle.

"I should only leave at the command of the princess, my prince," Cregan nods at me.

I cannot hold back my chuckle.

Daemon does not take kindly to it and makes it clear when he turns to the large Stark.

I huff at his bravado, "it is alright, Cregan. We may continue our conversation inside after I talk to my uncle."

Without another word, Cregan nods at me and walks away.

Daemon watches him with contempt. His eyes dart to me, "Cregan?"

"Well, that is his name, is it not?" I raise my brows and cross my arms.

"And you are familiar with the wolf-boy?"

I scoff, rolling my eyes, "I do not see how that concerns you, uncle."

"It concerns me," he steps forward, "because it's you."

My hands fall to the side as he presses forward.

He leans his face close to mine, "I know everything about you. I know your first word, your wildest dreams, your worst nightmares," he grabs my chin, "the way you sound when you're heartbroken," he leans his forehead down on mine, "and when you lie to me."

My pulse quickens when his hands land on my shoulders. They make their way down, leaving goosebumps on their trail. He brushes his nose against my cheek as he sucks in a deep breath, "the way you smell," his hands pull me against him by my waist.

Daemon lifts his face. I cannot bare to look at him so I close my eyes. He closes his own before he presses his lips on the object of his desire.

I hold in my breath when he kisses me. He feels juxtaposed to his ruggedness. He is soft against me and it makes me burn. I can hold my breath no longer. I breathe heavily when he pulls away.

"The way you taste."

I jolt away from him when I hear quick footsteps. They were running away from us. My heart drops when I catch a flash of blonde hair along with a color of a dress, same as mine.

"Rhaenyra!" I call, pushing Daemon away from me.

I am halted when he grabs my wrist. I don't have time for him. I shove him away.

I pick up my skirt as I run down the hallway, ignoring everyone and everything, only to get to my sister. I catch her just before we both enter the hall again entirely.

"Rhaenyra," I gasp as I catch her arm just by the entrance, relatively safe from the view of others.

She swats me away, the same way I just did our uncle. But unlike me, she turns to give me a hurt look. My feelings eat at me when I see the tears in her eyes, "Rhaenyra."

"Must you have him as well?!"

I recoil at the harshness of her voice. It is foreign to my ears. She has never addressed me like this before. She never looked at me like this either.

"You," she steps forward, "can have anyone, anything, and yet you still want him?"

"Rhaenyra," I whisper helplessly.

"You know of my feelings!" she whisper-yells, "you are as cunning as you are astute, or do you simply choose to turn a blind eye to it out of your own want?"

I move to grab her cheeks, "he is not what you think he is, my love. Daemon is-"

"I DON'T CARE!" she quips, pulling away from me. She begins to heave exactly as though she just stabbed my beating heart, "I have watched as you wanted him, as he wanted you-"

I knit my brows at the sight of her.

"-and now your tricks have finally bored him."

My jaw slacks at her words.

"There is no man that is immune to your charms," Rhaenyra recites, clenching her jaw tightly as she evens her breath, "I want him, because he no longer wants you."

A chill runs down my spine.

I could not believe what I was hearing.

I turn to my side, catching sight of the bored look on my father's face, as his words from earlier echo in my mind. She wants to be like me?

I release a breath as I turn back to Rhaenyra. I feel my own tears threaten to spill, "if you think you can keep his attention," I scoff, "if you think he truly wants you," I chuckle darkly, "then you can have him, sister."

Rhaenyra was like him in this sense. She liked the burn of the flames. Perhaps this was what drew them to each other.

Perhaps they deserves each other.

In that moment, Daemon walks in, shoving past the doors in haste. He stills when he sees us.

I spare neither of them my attention when I pull away. I immediately put on appearances as the man who had been waiting for me to dance with him comes up to me.

Rhaenyra walks over to Daemon as he nears. Daemon all but ignores her. He does not see her. He is hot o my trail.

I watched this play out in real time. My chest contricts at the sight of my sister. I furrow my brows deeply in thought. I clench my jaw tightly as I am spun around by this stranger.

When I am facing him again, my façade is broken.

"Is everything alright, princess?" he asks me in concern.

I turn to him and cannot find it in myself to fake a response, "I feel going outside did not help me at all."

He does not get to sympathize.

The next thing I know, our dance is quickly ended when I am pulled out of the man's arms. This, of course, not only alerts my partner, but everyone who was dancing, and everyone who was watching the dancing; everyone was alerted.

I turn to the man who had my wrist in his grip, I look at Daemon. I look at my sister not too far off in the background.

I hear him call my name. I release a sigh.

"What is happening?" Viserys calls from the end of the room.

I give Daemon a hard expression as I pull away. I force myself to smile as I call, "it is nothing, father," I turn to him, "though I think I will retire for the night."

I ignore Daemon as he watches me turn to my dance partner, "would you like to accompany me on my way to my chambers? I feel I am too faint to walk on my own."

"The honor would be mine, my princess," he readily responds, offering me his hand.

I watch Rhaenyra as I exit the room. I watch her watch Daemon-- Daemon, who was watching me.

I release a breath as I turn to the man on my side, "thank you for your kindness."

"You are welcome, your grace."

[steddieas-shegoes]

Request: POLYGLOT STEVE??? WHO SPEAKS FLUENT FRENCH, ITALIAN, KOREAN, POLISH, SPANISH, ENGLISH AND PORTUGUESE??? EDDIE CONSTANTLY BEING FLUSTERED AS HELL HE FINDS IT REALLY HOT THAT STEVE SORAKS SO MANY LANGUAGES AND HE WILL CASUALLY USE THEM IN CONVERSATION????? WITHOUT MEANING TOO???? LIKE HE'LL FORGET A WORD IN ENGLISH & SAY IT ANOTHER LANGUAGE WITHOUT REALIZING????

MY LOVE! OKAY SO LET ME PREFACE BY SAYING I AM A LAZY PIECE OF SHIT WHO DID NOT WANT TO EVEN ATTEMPT GOOGLE TRANSLATE BECAUSE IT IS OFTEN WRONG ANYWAY OKAY. Also, English is my first and only language (damn Americans amirite) and while I did take a year of Spanish and two years of French in high school, my auditory processing is so shit, I can pretty much barely get through an introductory conversation in those languages. But I tried to still make this cute and fun! - Mickala ❤️

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

“Gówno!” Steve exclaimed from the kitchen.

“Everything okay?” Robin yelled from the couch.

Eddie looked at her with wide eyes.

“The fuck did he say?” he asked quietly, not wanting Steve to hear him.

“Shit.”

“No, what did he say?” Eddie asked again.

Robin stared at him, annoyed.

“He said, ‘shit’ in Polish.”

“Steve knows Polish?!”

Robin rolled her eyes and got up to physically check on Steve.

Eddie sat and stewed in this new knowledge.

But this was only the first of many surprises.

—-------------------

“Mama, no.” Steve’s voice came from his bedroom as Eddie made his way up the stairs.

His mom was here?

And then Eddie heard Steve speaking in…Spanish? It was too fast to tell for sure, but it definitely wasn’t English.

He peeked his head through the door, relaxing slightly when he saw Steve was on the phone.

Steve gestured for him to come in while he spoke, so Eddie slipped his shoes off and sat down on the bed, getting comfortable.

But then it sounded like Steve started talking in another different language.

It was close to Spanish, but some of it sounded almost French?

Eddie blinked at him, his free hand gesturing wildly as his voice got louder.

Eventually, he sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. Eddie rubbed his back in a totally friendly, not loving, manner.

“Okay. See you then,” he sounded resigned, tired.

Eddie hated it.

When the phone was back on the hook, Steve sank back against Eddie and sighed again.

“My parents will be here next week for a couple days. They’re organizing the sale of the house, so they are packing what they want to move into a storage unit and having a cleaning company come get the rest to be donated. I have until the end of the month to be gone.”

Eddie looked down at Steve’s hand, how it was playing with the edge of Eddie’s shirt, how tense the rest of his body was even as Eddie played with his hair.

“You speak Spanish?”

That wasn’t really what he meant to say, but the shock hadn’t quite worn off from hearing him speaking in another language. Or two.

“I speak Spanish and Portuguese,” he replied.

“Oh. Well…why?”

Steve sat up and looked down at Eddie with a smirk.

“Because my mom’s family is mostly from Spain and Portugal and if I wanted to talk to my grandparents, that was my only option.”

“Oh. I…had no idea.”

Steve rested his head against his chest again, finally seeming to relax a bit.

“I really only speak it with her now. I took Spanish in high school for the easy A.”

“Makes sense.”

They remained quiet for a few minutes, Steve coming down from the stress of his phone call and impending parental visit.

“So you wanna live with me?” Eddie finally asked, casually.

They weren’t…well. They just weren’t. And that was okay. Eddie told himself that if all he was for Steve was a great friend who could hold him when he needed it, then that was enough.

But they also kind of…were.

It was very confusing and he was constantly balancing between pushing too far and not pushing enough.

“What? Like, in your trailer with you and Wayne?”

Eddie shrugged.

“Wayne wouldn’t mind. Long as you help clean up sometimes and maybe chip in for groceries.”

Wayne also was team Eddie-tell-Steve-you’re-in-love-with-him-before-I-do and would absolutely support this type of thing.

“But you guys only have two bedrooms.”

“You can share with me or like, we can work something out where we section off a part of the living room? I dunno. It’s not perfect, but I know you don’t have quite enough saved up for your own place yet.”

Steve hid his face in Eddie’s shirt for a moment before nodding.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll share with you for a bit. But probably only for a few months, I swear. I have almost enough to get that house by Robin,” he said.

It was a house for sale in Robin’s neighborhood, and it wasn’t selling because it needed quite a bit of work done to the yard and bathrooms. But Steve knew he could do it, he just needed to make sure he had money for everything first.

He wouldn’t let anyone chip in, either.

“No rush. But, yeah, I’ll talk to Wayne about it tomorrow.”

—-------------------------------------

Steve moved in the next week after a long argument with his parents, who didn’t seem too thrilled about him becoming “trailer trash.”

Eddie thought about the last words Steve said to his parents before leaving: “I’d rather be trailer trash than your son.”

About how he’d spit them at them, poison from his lips.

About how he’d said it in French.

He probably didn’t think Eddie understood, probably didn’t realize that most of the reason Eddie had been so quiet on the ride to the trailer was because he was turning over Steve’s words in his head.

He still hadn’t quite come to a conclusion more than eight hours later, but he was busy helping Steve unpack the last of his things anyway.

“You seem quiet,” Steve said from where he was putting some of his tapes by Eddie’s boombox.

“Hm?” Eddie looked over at him, smiling to himself when he saw Steve putting Eddie’s tapes on top of his. “Oh. Just thinkin’.”

“Thinking about…?” Steve looked over at him.

“Just what you said earlier.”

Stev’s brows furrowed as he thought about what Eddie meant.

“You mean before we left?” Eddie nodded. “I said it in French though? You understood?”

“I’m not fluent, but I took it for three years in high school. One of the only classes I passed with flying colors.”

“Really?” Steve asked in French. “So I could say something in French right now and you would know what I’m saying?” he continued, still in French.

Eddie understood enough to nod.

“So if I told you that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and that I wish I could hold your hand right now, you’d say…”

Steve’s blush gave away some of what he was saying, though Eddie had to admit to himself, he hadn’t quite understood some of it.

Steve sounded so natural, was speaking so quickly, Eddie wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Um. I guess I’m not so good at it when someone as natural as you speaks it,” Eddie awkwardly said, turning back to the closet where he was moving some of his things so Steve would have room for his clothes that couldn’t be folded.

He felt Steve’s body heat behind him, knew he would be right there if he turned back around.

Steve said something in Italian (how many languages did he know?) and then something else in a language Eddie didn’t recognize.

He finally turned to see Steve blushing, looking down at the floor of his room.

“What was that one?” he asked, moving in a bit closer, barely leaving any space between them.

“Korean. My dad insisted on all of us learning it when he acquired a business in Korea.”

“So you know…how many languages?”

“Seven counting English, but I’m also learning Russian from Robin. Kind of a way to ‘own the trauma’ or whatever she tells me,” Steve rolled his eyes.

“You know seven languages?” Eddie squeaked.

“Oui,” Steve smirked up at him.

They were so close. He could almost feel Steve’s breath against his lips, closed his eyes and imagined how he would taste.

“Eds,” Steve breathed out.

“Hm?” Eddie felt high, or like there was a severe lack of oxygen in the room, maybe both.

“Can I kiss you? Please?”

Eddie’s eyes popped open, his jaw dropping in shock.

Steve asked again, this time in French.

Eddie groaned and threw his head back.

“You’re killing me.”

“...so that’s a yes?” Steve teased.

“Oui,” Eddie replied.

Steve’s lips were warm against his, surprisingly soft, though demanding.

His whole body was demanding, pushing Eddie backwards until his back hit the wall with a thump. Eddie had never been so glad that Wayne was at work.

His hands found Steve’s waist, squeezed until he was sure he left bruises, only tightening his grip more when Steve moaned against his mouth.

Steve’s body was flush against his now, their shirts rucking up just enough for the skin of their stomachs to rub together, sweat slicking between them.

Eddie couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t really want to, didn’t want to part from the closeness he’d been hoping for for so long.

Steve did pull away though, even if only enough to rest his forehead against Eddie’s.

He whispered something in Spanish, then opened his eyes.

Eddie was hot.

“It’s really fuckin’ hot when you do that,” he admitted.

“Do what?”

“Speak any of the 100 languages that you know.”

“Oh?” Steve kissed the corner of his mouth, then his chin, then his jaw.

He kept whispering things in different languages, right against Eddie’s skin, until he was practically ready to fall to his knees.

“Steeeeeeve. You’re killing me,” Eddie complained.

“I can stop,” Steve said against the curve of his neck and shoulder.

“No, please don’t,” he groaned out.

So, he didn’t.

Steve spent the next hour kissing, and teasing, and whispering things Eddie didn’t understand against his skin.

He didn’t stop until Wayne knocked on the bedroom door to let them know he was home and was cooking burgers on the grill.

Eddie smiled as Steve left the room to help Wayne with dinner as he’d been looking forward to doing.

He thought about how long they weren’t anything but friends who could have been more.

But now they were. Hopefully they always would be.

[raainy-daze]

When the Door Swings Shut

halloween special !

2012 donnie x gn!reader [can be read as romantic or platonic]

summary: abandoned houses can be surprisingly convenient sometimes. you get to explore, and donnie gets to scrap anything mechanical left in the house for parts. sometimes, though, it only takes a creepy teddy bear to ruin the fun.

word count: 2057

warnings for somewhat excessive swearing in parts, and potentially haunted dolls

a/n: gotta love the abandoned haunted houses, amirite?? i honestly don’t have much else to say. happy halloween!

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Ah, October, the month of spooks and scares. There’s a chill in the air, and celebrations have begun.

You couldn’t help shivering as the door opened. The air was filled with dust, and the door creaked loudly. Donatello had one hand on the knob, the other holding his staff. You couldn’t imagine there would be much that would warrant a weapon, but he’d just responded with ‘better safe than sorry’, when you asked.

“Wow. This place is musty.” You wrinkled up your nose, already feeling the oncoming dust allergies.

“Well, yeah, what did you expect? Who knows how long this place has been abandoned.” Donnie stepped inside, staying in front of you. You quickly followed into a long abandoned kitchen.

You kicked aside a few shards of glass, which appeared to have come from a shattered window. “Careful, don’t cut yourself.”

Okay, pause. Why on earth were you breaking into an abandoned house? Well, a couple days ago, you see, you’d been driving with your cousin when you passed an old farm. According to your cousin, it had been abandoned several years ago. This would pique anyone’s interest, and it occurred to you that you knew just the person to go trespassing with. (Does it really count as trespassing if no one actually owns the land?)

The very next day, you had sent Donnie a text. He’d asked you a bunch of details, but he found all the answers himself on the Internet before you could even respond, which was mostly astonishing because you were only gone from your phone for five minutes. The devil works hard, but Donnie works harder.

He, of course, agreed to go with you for two reasons. Reason one, he knew you well enough to know that you would be going in regardless, and that was just asking for something to happen. Who knows how much damage the place had, it could all come crashing down if you took a wrong step. Better for him to be there than for you to get in a situation where you got injured and couldn’t reach your phone.

Reason two, who knows what kind of supplies were hiding in there? If any of the appliances were still intact, they could be scrapped for materials for his inventions. It definitely wouldn’t be the first time he raided some place with the same intentions. Hell, it would be a success even if he just got some metal out of it.

Getting in wasn’t hard, really. The lock was broken, and the screen door was ripped up. The more you looked at it, the more ominous it felt. To you, at least, it seemed like someone had gone at it with a knife. “Looks like we’re not the first people to check this place out.”

“No kidding.” Donnie shuffled around the broken glass, winding up over by the stove. “Now, this I can use!”

“Think it still works?” You walked over to his side. The soles of your shoes were thick enough that you didn’t really need to worry about the shards scattered across the floor.

“I doubt it.” He had already pulled a couple tools from his bag. “No one’s paying electricity.”

“Right, duh.”

As Donnie began his work taking the stove apart, you wandered through to the dining room. The furniture was still there, even if it did look like it had seen better days. The table itself was in surprisingly good shape, actually. “Hey, Donnie, need wood for anything? There’s a decent size table in here.”

“Is it molded anywhere?” He called back at you from the kitchen. You examined it, and knocked on it to check its sturdiness.

“Seems fine to me.”

“Then I just might.”

Adjacent to the dining room was a staircase. It wasn’t very long, and it certainly interested you, but it didn’t look very stable. You walked up to the first step and put one foot on it. You tested it, and found that it could hold your weight. You couldn’t say you were all that confident about the whole way up, though.

“Hey, be careful!” Donnie had emerged from the kitchen, probably worried about the loud creak he didn’t have context for. He still held a screwdriver in one hand.

“I am, I am.” You stepped back off the stair. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. I can go check around upstairs while you finish up with the stove.”

Donnie was about to say something, but you cut him off to add in a point.

“Besides, if we’re both upstairs, then it’ll just be more unstable. If one person’s down here, they can get to the other quicker if the floor collapses. It makes sense.”

“Why do either of us need to go upstairs, (Y/N)?”

“Because some of us came here to explore the abandoned house, like you’re supposed to do with abandoned houses.” You opened your arms, generally just gesturing at the walls around you. “You’re only a dumb teenager once!”

“You’re only a dumb teenager once, maybe.”

“Your IQ does not exempt you from being dumb.” You took another tentative step up the stairs. “Either way, I’m going.”

You heard Donnie sigh as he turned back into the kitchen. “Fine.”

Luckily for you, none of the steps collapsed. The upstairs consisted mostly of bedrooms. You found an ornate clock in the master bedroom. It wasn’t too big, so you went ahead and took it off the wall for Donnie. You glanced in the rest of the rooms down the hall.

At the end of the hallway, you found a child’s room. You didn’t cross into the room, thinking that it looked a little too eerie. There was a teddy bear sitting pristine on the old bed - one which certainly didn’t look like it belonged, with how clean it was, and how deliberately it was placed.

You stared at it from the doorway for a few moments, feeling as though it was watching you. You backed up very slowly, before turning on your heel.

“DONNIE! THERE’S A CREEPY DOLL AND I DON’T LIKE IT!” There. Now he knows what happened to you in case you vanished. You walked away as fast as you could, which was somewhat hindered by the unstable flooring and the clock (which, despite being small enough to carry, was still considerably heavy).

Donnie was at the foot of the stairs, watching what you suspected to be rather amusing descent down the stairs.

“It was staring at me.”

“(Y/N), dolls don’t stare.” Despite his words, you could see Donnie eyeing the top of the stairs somewhat nervously.

“That one was. Well, it wasn’t a doll exactly, it was a teddy bear. But still.” You set the clock at the bottom of the stairs, by the railing - or rather, what remained of the railing. You stared up, still able to look directly into the room, being directly across from the stairs.

“I’m sure it’s nothing.” Donnie laughed nervously, having caught sight of the bear himself. “Some kid probably left it there. As a prank. Yeah, that’s it, I’m sure.”

You were both silent for a few seconds, watching the room.

“Can we leave now?”

“Let’s check the living room and get out of here.”

You followed Donnie into the living room. Not much remained, only a lamp which he unscrewed a lightbulb from. It may be burned out by now, but might as well take it while your here.

Actually, now that you thought of it, you weren’t sure you wanted to take much of anything from this place.

Donnie went back to the kitchen to gather up the pieces of the stove. You both seemed to make a silent decision to leave the table be, so you could get out quicker.

You ducked back into the dining room, inching your way towards the staircase to grab the clock. You quickly scooped it up, and moved to leave. Something compelled you to look up, if only for a second, and that was when your heart dropped.

“Donnie. The bear is gone.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said. The bear. Is gone.”

Suddenly, the door began swinging shut from the inside. “NOPE, NOPE, FUCK THAT!” You dropped the clock, which, judging by the sound it made when it hit the ground, probably damaged it a hood deal, but you were not staying in that house a minute longer.

Back in the kitchen, Donnie had clearly been shaken by your yelling. He didn’t ask questions, and pretty much abandoned the stove. He just snatched up his tools, and you were out the door.

“The door moved, Donnie! The door fuckin’ moved! And the goddamn bear was gone! I can’t deal with that shit, I can’t!”

“Nope, nope, nope, not happening, nope!”

By the time the two of you had run out of sight of the house, you were gasping for air. Donnie was in slightly better shape, likely due to his training, but he was definitely shaken up.

“I am never doing that with you again!”

“How is this my fault?!”

“You found the house!”

“Technically, my cousin found the house.”

“You’re the one who took me here!”

“You’re the one who drove!”

You continued this as you got into your car, which you opted to drive on the way back. Somehow, you thought that Donnie might be a bit too freaked out to drive, which was strange since you were the one who actually saw it. He can handle aliens, evil ninjas, but ghosts are apparently where he drew the line.

Back to civilization you go.

•°. *࿐

Within the next couple hours, you were back in the lair. The guys were nowhere to be seen, presumably out on patrol, but Splinter was there to greet you. He raised an eyebrow at your frazzled, and still somewhat panicked, expressions, but didn’t ask questions.

Now, you sat on the couch together, talking the incident over and combing the Internet for any mention of a haunted house in that area.

“How is there nothing on Google? We definitely aren’t the first people to go in there!”

“Maybe it’s not the house?” Donnie suggested. “Someone might’ve dumped the bear in there to get rid of it.”

“Maybe.” You shut your laptop, sighing.

“Hey guys! What’s up?” Lo and behold, the missing three brothers appeared.

“You guys look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Leo commented as he sat down next to you.

“Oh, we did. We saw a ghost, and I never, ever want to see it again.” You leaned back, already having flashbacks to an event that happened only a few hours ago.

“Oh, really? A ghost?” Raph, as always, sounded incredibly sarcastic.

“That house we went into, there was this… this stuffed bear! It was weird, like it didn’t belong.” Donnie began explaining what happened to his brothers. “(Y/N) went back to where he could see it after we left, and it was gone!”

“And the door shut. The door just fucking shut, all by itself. I’m never going back there, fuck that place.

“A stuffed bear, huh?” Mikey grinned. “You mean, like… this one?”

The youngest turtle took his hand out from behind his back, to reveal he was holding what certainly looked like the same bear from the house. You jumped backwards, and Donnie made some noise between a swear and a scream as the guys burst out laughing.

“YOU ASSHOLES, WHAT THE HELL?”

“Okay, okay, it was us. We’re sorry.”

“Speak for yourself, Leo.” Raph rolled his eyes.

“It was Mikey’s idea. He hid under the bed to move the doll, and I was by the door. We picked up all that stuff you were going to take, though, it’s in the kitchen.”

You glanced in the direction of the kitchen, indeed seeing everything you had intended to take with you.

“Wish I could’ve seen it.” Raph was grinning ear to ear. “I was going to shut you in the barn if you went over there.”

“Guys?” Everyone turned to look at Donnie. You were still dumbstruck, that was some effort all just to freak you out.

“Yeah, Donnie?”

“I am going to KILL YOU!” You watched as Donnie jumped up, lunging for the nearest of his brothers (spoiler alert, it was Mikey). The other two scattered, and you leaned back to watch the show, already plotting revenge.

[destiny-in-the-universe]

question if there was a season 3 rc9gn, who could know the identity of the ninja and not tell anyone and keep it a secret if there was a season 3

Alright, this might be my last ask for the day- at least when it comes to my non in character asks, but let's go!

Fair warning, this may be a long post because uh- I just get into it to be honest.

If and when because I will not accept anything less, we had gotten a new season- these are the characters I feel would be able to know about Randy, I mean the Ninja!

First and foremost is Theresa- like, even without the angle of Fowlham, I would've loved to see this interaction. Theresa is a selfless young girl who has a lot of potential to be clued in on the Ninja's identity; especially when it's implied behind the scenes that she has a crush on Randy, but even with that- even if we took that out, the Ninja still saved her and I think because of that it might compel her into keeping his secret. She wouldn't want to put him in harm's way.

Second and this is important, and the one I most wanted to talk about because it honestly makes a lot of sense- not just from the angle of story, but because they had SO many interactions and for what?? They wasted a perfectly good element, but to get to the point- my next choice is Julian! Like, come on- we had the Ninja, Howard, and Julian work together for... who knows how long in the Land of Shadows (firmly convinced time works differently in that realm, but this is just my own headcanon-), but we also had the episodes before that where they had more interactions. We all know Howard's a little stingy, but then again- Randy's weird jealousy streak has me dying; anyway! Julian would keep that secret and bring it to his grave, you cannot convince me otherwise.

I also feel like if there were to be a third member who got clued in, oddly enough it's Debbie and if this is all to have Debbie, Howard, Randy, and Theresa be friends, I have no idea what you're talking about coughs but anyway! Like I don't think Debbie really understands the dangers and what the Ninja is actually dealing with, but when she does - this girl better get a redemption arc. There's only so much that can be done with cartoons, but I SWEAR - like, these four (or five if Julian's included) had better be friends in season three or I will riot.

Anyone else would somehow end up spilling the Ninja's identity; except maybe Heidi Weinerman, but that's a big what-if because I do not have a full read on her character but also fuck canon, amirite? /lh

Okay, this is less 'they'll know in season three' and more 'wouldn't it be neat if someone already knew or was just suspicious' type thoughts because THERE'S POTENTIAL in the teachers kind of or fully knowing who the Ninja is- like, especially if it had been Slimovitz because, woo-wee, you can't tell me you can't see the vision. Kind of like in those fics where Lancer from Danny Phantom discovered who Phantom really was, because there's nothing that wouldn't convince me otherwise- if Slimovitz knew, if ANY of the teachers, they will protect any of the Ninjas. Yes, that includes Mac Antfee.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.

[cheapsweets]

The Maternal Ghraggal

My response to this week’s BestiaryPosting challenge, from @maniculum

Pencil sketch, then lines in Sailor fude nib fountain pen, using Diamine Sepia ink.

Thought process under the cut…

"The Ghraggal is named for its swiftness [redacted]. It is a beast distinguished by its varied markings, its courage and its extraordinary speed. Hircania is their main home."

So, this is basically all the physical description we get about this creature. It's fast, so I figured I'd give it quite long limbs. We know it's a beast, but not a lot else. If in doubt, by default beast is something somewhat dog or wolf-like, so we have a vaguelly canine-looking creature with long legs and a variety of markings, ranging from almost like stripes on the legs, to finer spots on its underside and larger, more irregular shapes on its back and sides. Hopefully it all gels together as something coherent; I took a lot of influence from the patterns on girafffes, particularly the Rothschild's, Masai and Southern sub-species.

As an aside, Hyrcania seems to be part of modern day Turkmenistan and Iran, which doesn't actually help. However, Hyrcania roughly translates as 'wolf land', which would be a reall cool reason for me to lean 'slightly canine' except I found out about it after I'd done the drawing... ;)

"The female Ghraggal, when she finds her lair empty by the theft of a child, follows the tracks of the thief at once. When the thief sees that, even though he rides a swift horse, he is outrun by her speed, and that there is no means of escape at hand, he devises the following deception. When he sees the female Ghraggal drawing close, he throws down a glass sphere. The female Ghraggal is deceived by her own image in the glass and thinks it is her stolen child. She abandons the chase, eager to gather up her young. Delayed by the illusion, she tries once again with all her might to overtake the rider and, urged on by her anger, quickly threatens the fleeing man. Again he holds up her pursuit by throwing down a sphere. The memory of the trick does not banish the mother's devotion. She turns over the empty likeness and settles down as if she were about to suckle her child. And thus, trapped by the intensity of her sense of duty, she loses both her revenge and her child."

What. A. Jerk. Amirite?

Again, very fast creature, faster than a swift horse. Also, if we're being charitable, not the smartest creature either...

We also know that this is a creature that is valuable enough for someone to raise one from a baby, that hunters have developed increasingly expensive and elaborate methods to achieve this theft!

This did take me down a bit of a rabbit hole of 'crystal ball photography', which I tried to recreate as best possible. :)

[webginz]

i had the worst shower ever. i was like, tripping out. reminded me of my "episodes" i had in middle school. just like voices and not knowing where i am. and not being able to get back to reality.

well now im on my way to the dentist, theres no way in hell they wont be able to notice i was just crying. (from fear of going to the dentist, not from the shower thing lol)

im so scared :(

[took out a part here but it was just about stress and disordered eating things from this morning]

then i got to the dentist and it sucked. long dentist story ahead

okay dentist. everything that couldve gone wrong, went wrong.. i tried acting normal, and we had small talk or whatever like normal dentist x ray stuff, but she could instantly tell something was wrong with me, i guess.

she gave me a health form to fill out. i was still chill and this point and was like oh yeah i have blood pressure problems but its only if im up moving around!! so not doing that at the desntist hehe amirite?! i also checked anxiety and i think thats what she wanted. just personal confirmation everything was gonna go wrong.

after she learned i had anxiety, she was nice, too nice imo... like i was a child. im okay with that though i guess. (i mean.. she could definitely tell i was just done crying)

she was like "the xray blanket is heavy and could help with ur anxiety" BUT I WANTED IT OFF AND COULD BARELY TALK SO I JUST NODDED. it made me feel so overwhelmed immediately. THIS IS WHERE EVERYTHING STARTED GOING BAD

im also just constantly aware of my hair and when you lean back on the stupid dentist seat my hat falls off. its like LOOK THE FREAK WHOS SCARED OF THE DENTIST AND PULLS OUT ALL HER HAIR!!

whatever. so there i am on the dentist chair. bald spots for the world to see. xray blanket sensory overload. sunglasses on top of my regular glasses. but im pushing through.

she starts using the tool on my teeth. a metal vibrating thing that sounds like a drill. my worst most awful fear is high pitched drilling noises. if im in a good mood i can put up with them for a bit, but obviously todays not that day. i try not to freak out, but she notices and asks if im okay and im like "yah" (with tears)

but then my mom comes in and shes like "can you not do it a different way?!?!" "shes freaking out" and just making everything WORSE. (used the chaos here to get rid of the dumb xray thing)

ive been on and off hyperventilating through all of this btw... i heard one of the dentist ladies say "shes crying and breathing really fast..." which was like. kill me now please god.

so back to my mom asking "can you not just do it a different way?" they do have a different way btw. without the scary machine! but then dentist lady says "she used this machine the last 2 times she was here? we dont have enough time to do it manually." (proof i was just having a bad day and i totally can be normal!!! but hearing this made me feel awful like i could feel all the dentists were thinking "she did it fine last time why is she carzy today?!?")

she then asked to step away to find the MAIN dentist lady.

at this point i was crying shaking hyperventilating and felt like i was gonna throw up from nervous energy. also my mom is pestering me a bunch (shes concerned but making everything worse, her hearts in the right place tho ily mom)

so big boss dentist lady is here. she says she looked at the xrays (from the beginning, remember?) and i have A GAZILLION CAVITIESSSSSS!!!!!

she says for my dental things from now on i should go to a SEDATION DENTIST!!!!

i was so out of it i didnt even know what to say. well now i do!!!

im not usually that scared. i was having a VERY BAD morning.

the dentist i go to now is all women. the sedation dentist is a MAN, that none of the women there had ever met. I HAVE TO GO MEET A MAN TO SEDATE ME SO I CAN BE ALONE WITH HIM? SO HE CAN DO MY TEETH? i might have a silly joking tone to this post but with this im being so serious. im scared as hell that thats just gonna end with me being raped.

i dont like male doctors/dentists/anything and always have my mom with me when i have to. there was a female assistant when i had my endoscopy and female nurses when i had my surgery. i dont want to be alone, asleep, in a room with a man i dont know. JUST BECAUSE IM SCARED OF THE DENTIST???

god i keep seeing stuff in the corner of my eye as im writing this. i think my psychosis is coming back for some reason.

every things going wrong today and forever

pls like/reply this post if you read it all im sorry for my ranting

[anotherkindofmindpod]

(deep breath in) Thank you so much for this episode. Really outstanding. Also you are going to get me fired because I did this instead of working. :)

So, the dive into the question of Jim’s corporal punishment and how it is framed has really gotten to me. Apologies for the rant.

I think ML acknowledging the corporal punishment in the way he does is actually quite revealing—a little bit about him, but this is also a generational thing.

He knows it’s a topic other writers have brought up and he (however reluctantly) accepts that it has played enough of a part in the Beatles book world that he must at least touch on it. But he chooses to do so in as glancing a way as possible and with a nod to Mike’s comic narrative voice. Yes, there was physical punishment in this house, but it’s the 1940s/50s and that’s the way it was and we (including the kids involved) can all look back on it with rueful humor.

And look, I get it. Mike’s comic candor in the 1960s places his and Paul’s experiences squarely in a long tradition of what I think of as “bragging rights” stories of childhood crime and punishment. My experience of my own older relatives aligns with how Mike narrates what to us are pretty awful events. The stories people in my parents’ and grandparents’ generation would tell—and tell laughing—about what outrageous things they did as kids to get themselves into trouble and how awful the punishments could be, were many and varied. The more ridiculous the hijinks, the worse the punishment, the better the bragging rights.

I’m guessing like most people of their class and generation, Paul and Mike grew up with a kind of affectionate “it sucks when the grownups start hitting, but meh, that’s life, amirite?” attitude they would have picked up from members of their own family and from their peers. 95% of all stories dealing with corporal punishment written or told before 1960 reflect that attitude. Mike narrates their childhood stories in exactly that vein. Paul does too in a limited way: but only about his teachers (who are outside the family circle of loyalty that you rightly point out).

All of which is to say—and you make this point in the episode but I want to emphasize it here as well—that it is doubtful that any concept of abuse or of equating anything that went on in their home with abusive behavior ever entered their heads at the time—which to me is why Mike can talk about it in the way he does and why Paul doesn’t mind him telling those stories. I think it’s less (at least in the 60s/70s) about either Paul or Mike trying to slip information to the rest of the world than it is a genuine belief that these are amusing and typical stories.

The quote you offer about Ringo from 2015 being surprised to discover that his childhood was not as rosy as he remembered it is hugely instructive. Even after experiencing a lifetime of better conditions, it still took an outside perspective to make him reconsider how he’d framed events and circumstances. To apply this to the McCartney family, Jim’s reliance on corporal punishment was standard, so already the kids are going to frame his behavior as normal. If his actions were in any way different or more extreme than other parents, how could they judge that? This was the water everyone was swimming in at the time.

To be clear: I’m not saying that there is an “acceptable” level of corporal punishment and if we can say that Jim stuck to that level, then everything’s cool by 1950s standards and we should leave it there. But I think that’s exactly what Tune In IS saying. I think ML uses Mike’s comic tone as evidence for how not-a-big-deal this aspect of their childhood was which gives him permission to sidestep it. And if earlier Beatles writers spent time detailing Jim’s actions, then they, like Mike, are utilizing the stories for a touch of period charm, not to take a deeper or more nuanced look at Paul’s childhood. And he’s right. It isn’t like previous authors framed this as a Topic, just colorful background.

So, ML chooses to nod to the fact that previous writers have dealt with this, but since we in the 21st century don’t find stories about children being beaten nearly as “cute” as earlier generations did, he eschews going into detail, perhaps thinking that by not including these details he’s being tactful (like it is retroactively embarrassing to Mike and Paul that we know these things), or at least reflecting a more modern sensibility.

But as you point out, this is where we run into trouble. We DO know these things. Can’t un-know them. And we have the advantage of years of research on the adverse effects of corporal punishment that tell us there is no “acceptable” level of violence against children. And yes, while both Mike and Paul make light of this topic in the 60s and 70s in their different ways, we also have the fact that Paul brought it up in a more complex way in discussing his “showdown” with his dad. Whatever they felt at the time, isn’t it worth exploring how either the people in this history or how society at large view this topic NOW? Isn’t the advantage of writing a book about past events that you can explore these experiences in a larger context?

Late WWII / Boomers are a tricky generation on the question of corporal punishment. A lot of them grew up in homes where this was common, silently certain they would not use physical violence as parents themselves but also absolutely not thinking of what they experienced as potentially damaging. And they would be offended on their parents’ behalf if you framed it that way. If I were to guess, I suspect that’s where Paul and Mike live—and perhaps a lot of readers in that generation? I may be being presumptuous here—in that weird headspace where you get to the point where you have enough perspective to know a loved one’s actions were Wrong but to hang a weighty label like “abusive” on that person or on their actions feels equally, perhaps profoundly, Wrong. If nothing else, it exposes that person to a characterization you maybe don’t want them to have. And for outsiders to do so is just going to shut down the conversation.

I think ML is absolutely right in his overall takeway that in the end Paul’s view of his family settles into one of a safe and stable place. It is where he feels loved and known as “Paul MacCartney” instead of “him.” I think overall, the support system they provided (and still do) gave him more emotional resources to draw on than John had when they faced similar tragedies. And Jim is not a villain in this story. One of my favorite early Beatles stories is Jim bringing Paul lunch sometimes at the Cavern Club—it's such a sweet dad thing to do. Jim is good people. Most of the time.

But the idea that it was always that simple, or that getting to that place of security wasn’t a journey with failures and pitfalls and significant effort, is demonstrably a failure to engage with the facts as we know them. And it denies Paul (and Jim for that matter) the “reality” of growth and struggle and change.

(deep breath out)

Thanks for this, Anon! We've already said plenty in the ep, so we've nothing to add to your great commentary here. Thanks for listening! ❤️

[thebananwithaplan]

It wasn't long after that the show just wrapped up the last round for the day. Seeing the audience attendance dwindle due to their fears meant they couldn't do as many recordings as they normally would in a day, which was not what Banana was used to (for the rest of the staff, it was both a relief and a concern.)

The good thing about being in the Hollywood industry and already feeling like eyes are constantly on him and his actions for long enough is knowing how to act the way the audience want him to. Can't show fear, can't show regret , can't show that the stress of recent thoughts and events was getting to him, either. Showbiz, amirite? Stupid Fake Noise making his audience be wary of gameshows with toon-heavy gimmicks, juice blenders, and the feeling of constantly being watched...

"Well. It's better than no-shows for no shows. I better go find Dandie and the boys to head back home, then-"

The sound of the gameshow stage's main doors abruptly opening took him out of his thoughts.

What's that big red blur heading his way? Apple-?

@scriptdeviant asked:

Pepperman BURSTS through the studio, in typical Pepperman fashion, skidding to a stop before the Dancing Banana. Is. Is he even aware of the happenings right now? Before there's even time to question him, the pepper gave a dramatic bow - With glittering teeth included. My GOD. He isn't aware, is he? Once opened, the letter of recommendation would read: "Don't change your expression or react strongly when you read this. Don't say anything about this message, and don't tell anyone where you're going. Any of the camera feeds I have set up are now his. I've thought this through, and you're the only one that can reach me without being spotted. See me as soon as possible. Attached are the coordinates. Oh! And offer the pepper a job painting something, I guess. -PH." ❝ I keep my portfolio on me at all times, if it helps. ❞ He continued to grin. Just as instructed, he hadn't peeked. Blissfully unaware of the letter's actual contents...

...Oh. Nope. Just another pompous pepper.

DB couldn't even get a word in before being given the envelope. A 'letter of recommendation'? He was surprised anybody was still willing to ask for work with the way things are at.

"Well, well, well. Let's see what we have, here." Eh, what the heck, he'll see what it had to say. Would be rude to send him off without at least giving it a quick read...

..............

.............. And boy, was he right on the mark with his earlier instinct on this one.

Remember when we said at the top of this post that the Dancing Banana was really good at acting? Well, here comes another example of that.

"...Hmm. We could use some much needed Artistic Integrity." Wasting no time to place that letter in his Hammerspace Inventory, DB gave Pepperman the good ol' 'CEO-Approved Handshake'.

"Tell you what - we are kinda closing up shop for the day, but I can assure ya that the next time I need a paint job done, you'll be the first I'll go to ask. I can also assure ya that any of your work done for Shovelware Studios property will be credited in full and paid accordingly. How's that sound?"

At least he finally has somewhere to work with.

The question now is WHEN to do so.

[bengiyo]

Let's Eat Together, Aki and Haru Stray Thoughts

It's a movie! We have two college roommates and they're eating food together. That's all I know.

Starting in spring! A good season!

Okay, the Haru actor was in Mr. Unlucky.

These boys look close.

We're barely 4 minutes in and we already had a two year time jump to summer??

Oh they're having regular cohabitation issues like clutter.

I like that Aki's cooking feels appropriate for college boys.

Oh, ho! I see they got the matching mugs!

Aki's actor, Akazawa Ryotaro, has a similar quality when he smiles as Khaotung.

Beach outing!

Wait, let me look up something. Oh snap it is Sakurai Yuki of Tokyo in April is...!!!

I love gyoza, and it's been a long time since I wrapped them with someone else.

Aki has seemingly made some sort of float. It is green.

I respect the decision to not let their hair interfere with dessert.

Welcome back, baby is a messy eater!

I had dealing with the remaining oil, so I don't fry much at home.

Omg he made so many sauces for this chicken.

This is tender, but reheated fried chicken is never great.

Uncertain about that complicated look on Aki's face when Haru said he was glad he took his pictures.

Oh it's fall now.

I hope Aki doesn't fail out!!

Ice cream on sweet potato. I understand it in theory, but I don't like sweet potato that much.

Ah, Aki has been struggling because he doesn't know what he wants to do professionally.

Boys are so funny when they're affectionate.

Okay, this sandwich looks good.

Oh my god I love plum wine.

I've never considered eating cheesy gyoza, especially not with kimchi.

The sister definitely clocked this dynamic and she is happy for them. You love to see it.

England? Don't go there.

Moaning his way through his assignments is exactly what I expected of Aki.

Man, the Japanese are big on mayo.

In the words of Anya Gununderson's mother: "You put enough meat in a man's mouth, he's happy, amirite?"

Look at Haru experiencing the joy of seeing someone you care enough enjoying your food.

Oh no. It's getting sad.

Ah, of course they figured it out. Haeu wants to stay.

Oh, it's winter now.

Okay, I do love this friendship, but they need to kiss.

Final Verdict: 9, Very Adorable But Not Gay Enough For Me. I really enjoyed this. It was light and refreshing. However, it seems to be riding a line where everyone knows what's happening here but it feels unacknowledged by the people who are having it. This was very much in the food drama lane, and so it hits all of those marks without problems. Still, I need them to say the words or do the thing.

[rillils]

AZI BEING AZI IS REASON ENOUGH FOR CROWLEY TO KISS HIM AND THAT OVERPOWERS EVERY OTHER REASON FOR HIM NOT TO KISS HIM

THEN POST METATRON CROWLEY HAVING A BREAKDOWN AT THE COFFEE SHOP BLAMING HIMSELF BECAUSE THERE WERE SO MANY REASONS NOT TO AND HE SHOULDNT HAVE DONE THAT

i am dead i have died rils

***************

THANK YOU AND CONGRATS ON KILLING ME TOO ON THIS FINE DAY, HON 😭😭😭 god this is breaking me

I can NOT and will NOT imagine Crowley post-kiss, replaying that entire conversation over and over in his mind and second-guessing every word he said and how he said it and above all, the kiss itself, because it's too fucking painful 😭😭 I mean!!!!!!!! does he regret it? in a way, he probably does 🥺 I'm sure neither of them would have wanted their first kiss to be so infused with grief and desperation, and he probs thinks Aziraphale resents him for it, for making it happen that way 😭 He took what he thought might be his only chance and kissed him, and even then he ended up losing the love of his life 😭

Do you think it makes it even worse, the fact that Crowley only got to kiss him once, but now he's gonna have to live with the memory for as long as he lives?? that now, NOW he knows what it feels like to kiss Aziraphale, and he can never erase that knowledge from his heart, even though he's sure he'll never get to do it again??? does Crowley spend every minute of every day wondering, would it have hurt less if he had just never kissed Aziraphale at all?? who the fuck knows amirite 😭😭😭😭😭

[thiscomicruinedmylife]

Question: Who would be a character you like/love the most or most identify with? appreciate all you do for this tiny fandom! :>

First of all, thanks!!! Just humbly reposting stuff and discuss whatever people want to discuss :) Second of all, that’s a good question!

Can’t say I wholly identify with anyone, but I do relate to a deadpan look and kind of please-leave-me-alone attitude both Gretchen and Aton are giving, since irl I have a severe case of resting bitch face and on top of that I’m introverted as shit.

As of the character I like/love… wooo boy, where do I even start… I'm gonna ramble for a bit, so please bear with me here. My absolute faves are Tim and Astaroth Matauzier and let me explain why.

Short and simple, I always like funny pathetic losers who get their asses kicked (just look at some of my other faves).

And wow does Astaroth get his ass (nose) kicked a lot.

Doesn’t help that his human counterpart Tim is a poor little meow meow, who’s also getting his ass kicked, but in this instance I just feel sympathy for him, cause here it’s absolutely undeserved.

And for the long reason why I like them… I like the creative potential they have. Not in a sense of development, but the whole concept.

So Tim was supposed to be only that – Tim. But he’s been literally split into two characters since his birth and I kinda can’t treat them like a single one. At least not fully. They were two different people for 14 ass years, how can you unify that and not have some bumps in the road so to speak. Just this fraction is already fascinating enough, how can a person grapple with being two? Two set of beliefs, two set of memories, two behavioral patterns. Top notch angst/psychology fanfic material amirite or amirite.

But it doesn’t stop there! They were presented like two separate characters and then Francis dumps this infobomb on us that Tim and Astaroth's been one person all along, which is… fine, I could run with that, but his explanation doesn’t make sense?

He claims you can’t see Tim and Astaroth at the same place at once, which implies he’s been switching between two of his personalities and teleporting between the human/park world. And then in literally a few panels he says there were two bodies he jumped between. Huh???

Also this weird line.

So which one is it? Was there a single body or was there two? I'd say it's an important difference. Either you have a teleporting dude with split personality disorder or you have one brain shared between twins.

I know this could be a translational issue, but some of native French speakers can’t understand Francis’ explanation either??? HUH?????

Yeah, I also can't for the life of me understand how no one noticed a child constantly disappearing out of thin air for 14 years straight. This weird discrepancy is what makes it so interesting though. My friends and I spent hours discussing, guessing and straight up headcanoning how this child works.

Obviously headcanon territory here, but we came up with “there were two bodies with shared but split consciousness; when one body was active, the second one was sleeping or dissociating or being awake but severely absentminded”. That way he won't disappear randomly and school bullies will have reasons to pick on him. And we headcanoned that when they've become one they were having conversations in their unified head and fought for the driver's seat, which could potentially be either funny or tragic, your choice.

If you survived this long ass ramble/rant congratulations and sorry it took so long :D But I do love this stupid child-who-became-office-rat and he absolutely lives rent free in my head.

fanart by @martapreliy 

[todayisafridaynight]

So I was going to comment I don’t know your favorite Yakuza character then I remembered it was Jo and I have to ask what specifically about him makes him number one?

if you're referring to my baddie baddies tier list, then that wasn't a tier list of my favorite yakuza characters it was a tier list specifically of how hot i found each antagonist to be unless you're coming from my DB blog where i said he was one of my faves but this/that amirite

regardless tho i will talk about why i love jo cause he genuinely is one of my fave charas in general and the reason for that uhhhhh he's neat :) and hot.

But In All Seriousness i unno, it's hard for me to explain why i like characters sometimes. i'll try under the cut tho cause It Gets Long

for jo, a big part of it is how he is as a father- or trying to be a father anyway. he didn't think twice about giving aoki up as a baby- he didn't even really care if he died or not. it was only thanks to masumi that aoki got that chance at life, and if it weren't for the fact he accidentally walked by masumi and aoki that one day jo probably would've gone the rest of his life without having a second thought about it

but thats the thing: they did cross paths that day, and jo's forced to confront the fact his actions did have consequences. he was forced to grow up out of that mentality he had as a kid- that if you don't look at the problem, it'll go away. evidently, they didn't: his actions had consequences, consequences that affected not only his or ikumi's life, but aoki was ultimately going to be the one to shoulder the burden the most because they couldn't be bothered to just give him to someone and tried to leave him in a locker of all places. it's what heightens jo's quote to ichi about taking responsibility as a yakuza all the more impactful in retrospect as well, and it's details like that that make revisiting the game all the more fun

but back to jo, he fully realizes what he did was fucked up, and that there's no conceivable way he can ever make amends or right his wrongs. joining the yakuza would be the next best thing for his goals, not like he saw much of an honest future for himself anyway. at the very least, he can try to support his son anyway he can no matter the cost- or at least, anyway he can for the most part.

jo's inability to kill masumi despite it being a direct order from aoki himself is also such a telling part of his character that makes me weep a little. he entered the yakuza with sole intentions of looking after aoki and taking care of him, nothing more or nothing less. ergo, it would be up to masumi to decide how much jo gets to be involved in his son's life

but that's the thing right: masumi would be the one primarily taking care of aoki. we know masumi tries to keep in touch with aoki via the beginning of the game where he laments his calls don't get returned, and masumi seemed to spend whatever time he could with aoki growing up based off of ichi's brief flashback.

being a yakuza boss be damned, jo got to see first hand how much masumi loved his son despite his circumstances that would've made a lesser parent quit or despise him- that despite his status as a yakuza boss, he would be there and be an active presence in aoki's life enough to annoy him and think of him as nothing more than a helicopter parent. i'm willing to bet that despite jo trying to brush off the sentiment that masumi was anything more than a patriarch to him, he probably did harbor genuine respect dare i say adoration for him. how could he not? even if masumi didn't know aoki wasn't really his son, he took care of him as though he were, complications and all.

if we wanna stretch it, then based off the RGGO iteration of sawashiro, he got his tattoo in direct honor of arakawa: if we're to believe that bits of RGGO sawashiro made it to Y7 sawashiro, then it's fair to say sawashiro's dedication and respect to masumi were immense (though we can make the argument that Y7 sawashiro might not have the same tattoo, or that his tattoo now could be dedicated to taking care of aoki instead- BUT this is speculation at this point, its just something i think of and i figured i'd add it).

which what makes One Of My Favorite Yakuza Scenes all the more meaningful: the day masumi is found dead, that's when we get to see jo really lose it and gives us one of the bloodier moments in the franchise. us getting to see jo actually puncture someone's eye in really heightens his anger with the circumstances at hand- i concede that jo was genuinely frustrated with how the yakuza were being toyed with, but i also dont doubt for a second he was sincere when he told ishioda he wanted to maim whoever took out masumi ishioda was probably thanking the stars tendo was the one to do him in amirite LMAOO. whether it's because of yakuza honor or having lost someone he cared about, jo's dedication is palpable and frightening when it's allowed to flourish

its weird to say tho someone said it a long time ago on one of my tags, but jo's sentimental for a yakuza, even if he wants to be a hard ass about it. he's made his life's purpose trying to right a wrong that can never be fixed (hell, his manner of fighting can be translated as "shame style" reaffirming that despite the years gone by and aoki's actions and disregard for him, he can't quell his guilt. never mind he was ready to take off ichi's finger based on the assumption he took aoki's money from him with his permission), and along the way i'm Hopeful in saying he found SOMEWHAT of a confidant in masumi to make his burden a bit lighter.

jo's by no means a good guy- not even by a long shot. he IS however an incredibly compelling character, and i'm glad that we get to see him somewhat again in LaD8 for however long they'll keep him around in that.

also his theme fucks 11/10 brutality's a fucking banger

[prismatoxic]

anyway, fun story:

so @captainfkingmagic got into mgs sometime in 2008. we've been together for like 8 or 9 years now and he's mentioned it a lot (and made me watch metal gear awesome a whole bunch) but you'd be surprised how much media you have to share with each other when you get into a committed relationship. there's still a decent handful of things we haven't gotten around to

so, anyway, this year (like 4 months ago?) he got a hankering to play mgs1 again. he has the ps3 collection, and that seemed the best way to play, and he got somewhere after the ocelot fight when our ps3 (which had been having issues previously but we had repaired) started overheating again. to the point of shutting off. now, this ps3 was my ps3, and his ps3 had already bitten the dust some years prior for similar reasons (exacerbated by it being a launch version with bad soldering). so you can imagine how frustrating this was.

well, we had enough money at the time for him to just go ahead and get us a slim ps3. which took like a week to arrive, and, you know, by then i think he could be forgiven for not having the energy to go through mgs1 again up to the ocelot fight. i don't remember when he decided to try anyway; if it wasn't the night the ps3 arrived then it wasn't too long after.

so he finally gets to show me mgs1. all of mgs1. sans the meryl ending, bc fuck that, he went otacon. i mean, i had to see it, right?

needless to say, i was pretty hooked. i liked it a lot but, admittedly, wasn't super jazzed about mgs2 conceptually bc i knew raiden took over. he said he'd wait a few days to start it, then started it like. 1 day later. gamers amirite

anyway, mgs2 was great. hooked me also. but then i wasn't super jazzed about mgs3, bc it wouldn't be about snake and otacon.

anyway, mgs3 was great. hooked me also. but then i wasn't super jazzed about mgs4, because otacon cheats on snake and also snake gets old and dies.

anyway, mgs4 was... fine. like, it wraps up the solid snake arc pretty well, but it's also fucking batshit and there were several plot points and characters who i just found grating. (naomi. i found naomi grating)

so we finish mgs4 and like, okay, that's the solid snake story. fuck rising, and mgs5 is its own whole beast. so i finally said: hey. you wanna rp otasune?

and of course he did, he's been into otasune for like 15 years but never really got into the fandom aspects of it back then. so here's where things get amusing...

see, i've had trouble getting him to agree to fandom rps in the past, or if he does, had trouble getting him to stick with them. he's too oc-brained. which is fine, but after 4 games i was obsessed and i really doubted i'd find anyone better, more interesting, or more willing to put up with my bullshit. so i was like, okay, let's ease into this. we can do a silly little high school au so the pressures of the canon setting aren't present. and, of course, i'd let him play otacon.

...now you may be looking at my icon. and all my otacon posts. and wondering what that was about. well, see, he likes snake and otacon both, and hadn't expressed to me at any point just how much snake was his favorite (or if he had i had glossed over it). so because otacon was my favorite, i think i just assumed otacon would be his favorite, and even though he knew that wasn't true, he agreed anyway. (maybe i sounded like i really wanted to play snake? in truth i was trying to excite myself about it; i wanted otacon, but if i couldn't have otacon, i wanted to want to play snake).

he did say maybe we could switch it up sometime. i thought maybe he just didn't know who he really liked best, but i was happy to agree.

the first rp was fine, but fizzled out fairly quickly, which made me anxious. despite all my careful approaching, it seemed like we wouldn't be able to stick with it. maybe it was for the best; i found snake hard to capture. i wrote a fic in the high school setting to try and satiate myself.

well, eventually he brought up that he'd like to do something in canon instead. he'd been concerned with living up to canon settings in the past, but mgs was so zany that he figured he could handle it. so we picked after the tanker to set a rp. he asked if maybe he could play snake this time.

i found otacon way easier to write, though i was still feeling out what i wanted to do with him. within days we had a new idea. and then another... and another...

and we're still doing otasune rps. the first one started july 12th. at some point he finally said, hey, i never wanted to play otacon, he's not my favorite. and i was like. oh. well i feel silly now. but i have embraced otacon as my little blorbo now that i know i don't have to compete for him, lmao... love is all about sacrifices! it's also about being a fucking idiot sometimes

[michelleelizabethtanner]

What’s your analysis on the song choice Over and Over during the scene with Beth and Rio and “Carolyn” at the bank in 4x07?

The way season 4 fed us, amirite, Anon? They just threw it all to the wind. Decided to forego all subtlety and give us blatant, overt proclamations we’d been dying to see. I genuinely believe Over and Over was exactly what we all wanted it to be – Rio coming to realize that he’s choosing Beth.

What’s interesting to me is what a LEAP it was for him from the painful, resentful strip search he did of her in 4.05, to the gentleness of his approach to her in 4.06 and 4.07. I am BEYOND curious what happened between him and Nick in the time it took Rio to finally introduce them. Everything after he killed Fitz was Rio trying to subtly show Beth that he was putting his trust in her. He knew there was a hit on him. Did he suspect her? He seemed to. He knew she was talking to the Secret Service. (“I’m worth it.”) Did he suspect they made her new plates? She wouldn’t tell him who they were from. She was acting all twitchy. His car was tracked. He certainly suspected she was up to something. How interesting that he went against his typical response and instead of pushing back or punishing her he gave her grace and trust. Made her The Banker. What happened that made him try harder to gain her allegiance?

Before there was Over and Over, there was Whole Life. There was Rio being so loud that Beth was someone who mattered. There was his protectiveness, his quiet approach to show her his humanity. His selfless giving-in to show her a side of him she hadn’t seen for a long time. A side he tried to get her to believe didn’t even exist. That she had imagined it. That she was nothing to him and he didn’t care. That she was just work. And suddenly she wasn’t just work. She was someone he felt was “a friend,” someone “good enough.” For him. Someone he wanted to be near. Someone he wanted to choose him. His behavior was confusing because it was yet another Rio gesture. Him telling her without telling her. Him showing her who he is and her misreading everything.

Over and Over is such an old song. It’s so evocative of that old-fashioned sort of courtship in its sound and the romanticism of the lyrics. How unfitting this type of sound is for a couple like Brio. They are anything but a conventional courtship. And yet, it’s still a courtship. Displays of affection, displays of caring. An offering of vulnerability. A quiet giving of oneself. Giving her grace. Choosing to forgive her. And imploring her to choose him back. “I just thought things were different now, that’s all.” He thought he’d shown her. How much clearer could he have been? He showed her his childhood home, his most intimate memories. Showed her his vulnerability. Showed her she wasn’t just work. There isn’t much to the lyrics. Just the cyclical loop they’re stuck in. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

What does everyone else think? Rio is so hot and cold throughout season 4. How is everyone else reading him?

[jamalgripperton46290]

Getting Freaky On a Friday Night (Pico x Boyfriend)

Jamal Gripperton's Masterlist

A/N

•••

It was just another Wednesday afternoon, and Boyfriend was casually scrolling through Tiktok, nothin' special. That is, until he stumbled upon a brand-new tattoo parlor just a few blocks away from where he lived. "Sweet" he thought to himself, after all, he had been wanting a tattoo for a few years now, but he just didn't know where...

So he had the brilliant thought of asking the group chat on suggestions regarding the topic. Here's how it went:

Boyfriend: Hey guys im thinkin of gettin a tattoo in that new tattoo parlor but idk where suggestions?

Carol: Dude what happens if you accidentally put tinfoil in the microwave

Kapi: Get it on ur dick and then you can finally pull some bitches man 💀

Whitty: Carol please tell me u didnt put fucking tinfoil in the goddamn microwave

Garcello's Spirit: R u sure gettin a tattoo is a good idea little man?

Sussus Moogus: Im with kapi on dis one get it on ur tiny ass meat stick lol

Carol: Dude i see a flame in the microwave o shit

Whitty: CAROL WTF

Carol: Dude this is actually pretty sick i can summon daddy dearest or smn now 🍸🔥🔥😈😈😝😝

Kapi: Yeah i dare bf to get it on his tiny dingle dongle

Boyfriend: Fuck you kapi and dw youll be the first to see the tattoo on my double decker deek 💖🥰

And so, a text and throwing on the first t-shirt and grey sweatpants he could find, was all he had to do to set his journey on the quest of getting his 8-inch dick tattooed.

He settled on getting a dragon design to go all around his "MAGNUM DONG" when in reality, it was just a little above average sized, so nothing too special.

As he made his way to this new tattoo parlor, he couldn't help but feel a little scared, because obviously, having a fear of needles was brutal enough, but having a needle inject ink into your dick for who knows how long, was even worse. But Boyfriend was known for being bold and "cool" so he wasn't gonna let fear get the best of him, and he wasn't gonna chicken out on a dare just because he was being a reckless pussy amirite?

He mustered up the courage of opening the door of that darn tattoo parlor and found himself greeting the nice lady at the front desk and initiating in some small talk before sitting down at the waiting area down the small hall.

"Can a "Boyfriend" go to room 3 please?" a random lady scoffed.

This was it, there was no turning back (he kinda wanted to) but Boyfriend and his overly high ego said otherwise.

He slowly opened the door to see a ginger crouching down to pick up something that seemed like a pack of antiseptic wipes. Boyfriend couldn't help but stare at that juicy ass of his just waiting to be fucked (at least that's what he thought)

"Nice ass" Boyfriend blurted out, as he took a seat on the medical chair thingy (We don't know what it's called okay?)

"I beg your pardon?" Pico turned around to see a rather handsome looking shortie sitting at the medical chair thingy (Still don't know what it's called)

"It's got a juicy look to it, but voluptuous is really the word I'm looking for" Boyfriend then proceeded to shoot Pico an innocent wink which made Pico want to take his gun and shoot himself right in the face.

"Umm... I d-dont think I follow" Pico stuttered, as he tried to hide the bright shade of red forming upon his cheeks (the ones on his face, we're not getting to that part just yet)

"You're cute, what's your name?" Boyfriend asked, trying to start a conversation.

"Erm... It's Pico" Pico blurted out, not quite sure why the "Patient" was talking, well, more like flirting with him in the first place.

"E-either way, we gotta get to business" Pico stammered, as he took a seat on his chair, ready to type in this weird and excruciatingly handsome fellow's details on the computer.

"What type of business sugar?" Boyfriend smirked, especially proud of that one, he pulled like it was nothing #cool.

"Are you kidding me right now? I need your details you douche" Pico declared, getting a little impatient with this weird dude that was hot as fuck and also within cock-sucking range mind you.

"Oh... right" Boyfriend said, taking this a little more seriously (Like he was supposed to in the first place)

"I need your name and age" Pico groaned (Not in that way yet, just be patient little chickadees, it's almost here), as he just wanted this to end as soon as possible.

"Oh yeah, my name's Dick and I'm 19, single and ready to mingle honey" Boyfriend obviously joked, as he let out a chuckle.

"Ha, Dick, surely that explains a lot" Pico rolled his eyes and fixated them on the computer.

"Just pulling on your balls bae, my name's Boyfriend" The shorter of the two said.

"Dude, that's like somehow worse, it can't get any worse than this" Pico let out a laugh at the thought that this hottie had so much potential, and yet, his name was simply "Boyfriend", how pathetic.

"Okay, where do you want the tattoo huh?" Pico asked rather eagerly.

"Um, this is gonna sound a bit weird alright? But it's a dare, so like, I'm obviously doing it..." 

"I'm gonna tattoo my super awesome man pole, magnum dong, I mean, my chode, cock, dick, meat stick-" Boyfriend was cut off mid-sentence.

"Stop, just stop. WHAT THE FUCK?!" Pico panicked at the thought of having to hold his dick while measuring, tattooing it, and all that jazz, he needed someone to pinch him right then and there, or else he really would bring out that gun and shoot himself.

"I would say you're rather excited though, aren't you sugar?" Boyfriend smirked, while also being super proud of that one, he was practically on flirting fire #doublecool

"You wish, you fucking dick" Pico mumbled, knowing damn well that Boyfriend was in fact correct, and he was just waiting for Boyfriend to stick his "Super awesome man pole, magnum dong, I mean, chode, cock, dick, meat stick" up his scrawny little hole (His words not mine)

"I don't even think that's even legal dude, lemme ask my manager" Pico scoffed rather disgusted.

And so Pico did the awkward task of asking his manager if it was in fact legal to tattoo someone's dick. And much to his demise, it was, but they would have to dispose of the tools that came in contact with his "Super awesome man pole, magnum dong, I mean, chode, cock, dick, meat stick" for obvious hygiene reasons and sanitary measures.

"Somehow in fucking hell, it fucking is legal and allowed in here" Pico growled as he spoke to Boyfriend.

"Fuck yes! It's gonna be epic dude!" Boyfriend cheered, breaking out of his flirtatious character towards Pico.

"Whatever, get on the medical bed thingy" (I don't know what the fuck it's called so y'all are just gonna have to deal with it m'kay? Thnx <3)

And so, Boyfriend eventually did, taking his baggy, blue jeans and boxers off for Pico to "Inspect" the soon-to-be tattooed area.

"If you don't mind me saying, I expected it to be bigger than this" Pico giggled as he shot Boyfriend a somewhat of an intimidating look that screamed 'Dude wtf like ew'.

"Like yours is any bigger hon" Boyfriend scoffed, rolling his eyes at Pico

Pico eventually measured it and broke into a fit of laughter.

"Eight inches? Really? I know mine's at least ten dude" Pico teased.

"Please, don't lie to yourself sugar, but if you want..." Boyfriend eventually came to a halt and trailed off.

"If I want, what?" Pico wondered.

"I could measure yours just to be sure it is in fact "Ten inches" like you said it was" Boyfriend smirked as he said so, but of course, no homo though...

Fuck it man, yes homo, Boyfriend was already getting hard at the feeling of Pico's cold fingertips touching his "Super awesome man pole, magnum dong, I mean, chode, cock, dick, meat stick" and he wanted nothing more than to fuck this ginger's voluptuous and juicy ass.

"F-fuck... y-yes please" Pico moaned at just the sight of his rather average "Super awesome man pole, magnum dong, I mean, chode, cock, dick, meat stick" but it was quite thick in size, and that was enough to make Pico's friend downstairs want to rise from the dead (iykyk)

The two passionately smashed their lips together and felt nothing but a strong wave of lust wash over them. A part of Pico was saying that sex at a fucking tattoo parlor wasn't exactly the best idea. But fuck it, buttfuck it, because Pico was just desperate, he longed for the touch of Boyfriend and wanted nothing other than him.

A simple kiss soon turned into a heated makeout sesh - suckin face if you may. Tongue and everything it was filled with passion, lust, affection and pure love. Kissing in a tattoo parlor with some hot hunka meat you just met, super cliche right? But cha live in the moment ma dudes. 

A few minutes later, Pico grabbed Boyfriend's man pole as Boyfriend squirmed in the medical chair thingy and met with Boyfriend's black world-consuming orbs earning a small whimper from Boyfriend. Slowly, he started licking Boyfriend's tip which was already leaking out in pre-cum while Boyfriend was squirming under Pico's strong, cold grip. He trailed his tongue down Boyfriend's length as Boyfriend let out small moans and groans of pleasure.

All of a sudden, Pico took him all in with a yelp from Boyfriend. Bobbing his head up and down and dragging his tongue around his width, licking, sucking and kissing all over Boyfriend's chode. Boyfriend was rolling his hips unable to contain the immense pleasure bubbling up inside him like a simmering stew on high heat.

Pico couldn't help but smirk at how out of control he made Boyfriend feel. Serves him right for earlier. "Where's the 'Mr. tough guy' at?" Pico asked slyly. "You miss him?" Boyfriend managed to blurt out. "Not necessarily " Pico mumbled.

"I'm gonna I-" Boyfriend moaned out. "I know babe let it out " Pico murmured. "Fuuuucccckkkkkk-" Boyfriend spoke barely over a whisper, warm liquid filled Pico's mouth and he obvs swallowed it all.

"Wanna 69?" Boyfriend asked coyly.  "Uh yeah... s-sure " Pico stuttered getting nervous in the presence of Boyfriend's flirtatious side again. As soon as Pico replied, he smacked his juicy, voluptuous, curvaceous, busty, opulent, well-proportioned, luscious ass. Pico moaned at the action and not noticing Boyfriend had moved.

Without warning, he went all in taking him whole. Pico might have had small dick energy, but he was the exact opposite when it came to times like these. Hot, wet and loud were the words to describe the tattoo parlor room, both of their moans bouncing of the room's walls as they sucked each other off. Pico suddenly stopped which made Boyfriend supa confused, so confused, he didn't even notice Pico behind him until he felt all of his dingle in his ass.

"F-fuck Pico-" Boyfriend blurted, as Pico slowly rolled his hips. "What babe c'mon use your words" Pico groaned seductively in Boyfriend's ear as he picked up the speed. "F-fuck you feel s-so good" Boyfriend splattered "I know babe" Pico admitted. His thrusts getting harder and faster, their skin clapping together getting louder and more pleasingly painful.

"I can't take it anymore P-pico" Boyfriend said as he gasped for air. "Yes you can baby, I know you can" Pico replied reassuringly. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK PICO" Boyfriend screamed as he was screaming without the s (iykyk). Pico finished after him with a loud, deep groan. "It's my turn now Pico, get on all fours before I make you" Boyfriend whispered in his ear slightly nibbling on his ear lobe. 

Pico fought against letting out a moan and slowly went on all fours. "If you ain't gonna do it yourself  *smack* I'm gon do it myself". He flipped Pico over and went all in. Plunging in and out of Pico's asshole, Boyfriend was goin at full speed and wasn't holding back at all. And holy shit, Pico would be lying if he said Boyfriemd was mediocre. Pico's soft moans and Boyfriend's deep groans filled the room and were the only thing to be heard within a mile's radius.

Apart from their skin clapping and the squeaking of the medical bed thing. "You like it baby?  Does my Magnum Dong feel good penetrating your ass?" Boyfriend whispered seductively. He only got a moan in response "I need words Pico" Boyfriend whispered. "Yes fucking, hell yes!" Pico moaned out. "Good" Boyfriend muttered under his breath. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. fuck, fuuuuuccccckkkkkk" Boyfriend groaned as he released his load.

"Sit down Pico "Boyfriend spoke. The second Pico sat down, Boyfriend got on his knees and got to work. Sucking every part and gagging anything and everything Boyfriend could do he did until they were both out of breath.

Soon later, Pico did Boyfriend's tattoo and got it 4 free! 

He should really thank Kapi sometime.

•••

A/N

Word count: 2203 words

Haiiiii partay peoples! Omfgggg this chapter was super fun to write and we both died multiple times throughout the whole process of writing and editing this chapter. Btw Beezy wrote the first half (Up until da smashing their lips togetha part lmao) and ofc Jamal wrote the bottom half (The makeout sesh all the way to the end) and they tried their best, so why not follow em? Hope you guys liked reading this as much as we loved writin it <3 Stay tuned ma dudes the chapters get even better y'all.

-BeezyBee and Jamal Gripperton