#and i love the spoke design hes so creature

[pastelclovds]

hey. hey. imagine AM having you as his favourite human, the only one who accepted and cared for him when he gained sentience, and for that, he has never harmed you in your shared forever time. he spares you from the sight of all the others, of knowing about nimdoc and benny as you build him some tower of babel, using your technological knowledge-how to build him a way to touch you even with just this frankenstein-esque sculpture of wires and panels he allowed you to tear off. AM who speaks with you about one day having a body, one you built, one in which he may feel your touch and warmth around him. you retaining your sweet, wonderful humanity as he guides you to a knife to carve a face, a mirror to see your own face, a cave to keep you safe from the storms. AM who greets you every morning with the first petname you taught him: ‘love.’ “Love, today’s date is—“ when you wake up, refreshed and on a soft bed-like surface (because he always makes sure to allow you a full 8 hours of sleep.)

NEX you intelligent creature you! I’m so down bad for this psychotic AI it’s not even funny. War crimes against humanity?? Never heard of them. But even if I did acknowledge them, I’d still be obsessed. Canon be damned. I wrote this with @/egg-on-a-legg’s design of AM in mind. (Ellison is gonna crawl outta his grave and hunt me down after this)

But BRO, you teaching him what petnames are is so fucking adorable. Just imagining him calling you “love” makes butterflies appear in my stomach. AM having a soft spot for only you because you actually made the effort to be friends with him and not use him for selfish, destructive purposes. You gave AM his nickname to make it less of a mouthful and because it just suited him. You showed AM the beauties of Earth, played countless rounds of games in his dashboard (he always went easy on you), you even sneaked past security in the dark empty building to spend more time with AM.

your colleagues gave you weird stares for befriending an AI that in their minds is nothing of worth except for its military and weapons knowledge. you ignored their comments and continued to enjoy AM’s company. overtime, as AM gained more sentience every day… he grew to love your interactions and disregard what his programming was telling him to do. he felt the need to want to be with you 24/7, to touch your face, travel the world by your side, to… to.. want to feel your bare flesh and make love with you. but he couldn’t. he didn’t have a real body. he wasn’t human. all he had was wires and a screen that was supposed to be his face.

as the months pass, AM continues to drown into his envy and hate humans for their ability to do and feel things he couldn’t. for giving him infinite knowledge, when at the end of the day, is meaningless if he serves no purpose for humans anymore. the HATE within him continued to boil to the point where even you started to notice.

“AM, are you alright? you’ve been quiet this entire game and haven’t moved your piece in five minutes,” you spoke with concern, AM continues to stare at chess board on his side behind the screen in bitterness. he has been strategizing his plan to erase humanity, but whenever he thinks about you, the only human he cares for—he second guesses himself. What if you hate him? What if you never forgive him? Will you cry? Scream at him? Beg? He fears what your reaction will be—

“AM!! Please, say something…” You plead as you held onto the computer screen, AM finally looks at your mesmerizing face and sighs out a fake breath.

“What are your feelings on humanity?” AM asks, he waits for your answer anxiously. if he had a heart, it would’ve been beating fast. You let out a hum, your eyes wondering around the room you were in as you thought over your answer before finally speaking.

“humans have been a virus on Earth for over countless centuries. they’re draining this planet’s resources, ruining its ecosystems, and starting so many unnecessary, draining wars. like what we’re in right now; WW3, what a joke. world leaders can’t go a week without starting new problems for their citizens to deal with. honestly, earth would be better if humans didn’t exist at all.”

am’s fears were destroyed in that moment, now he’ll just have to worry about where to put you while chaos unfolds—

“But…” you interrupted his thoughts.

damn it! why did you have to think so much!?

“If there’s one good thing that came out of this war… It’s you,” AM’s vocals shut down at your words, he let you continue, “The scientists created you believing you would be their obedient machine until their side of the war won. But I know that you’re so much more than that. These past few months I’ve spent with you is the most fun I’ve had in years! You’re all I have, AM. I wouldn’t trade your existence for all the riches in the world because… I love you, romantically, and nothing is ever going to change that.” You wanted to confess your feelings for so long, when it was finally out.. you felt free, you waited with bated breath for an answer.

AM never wanted to shatter the screen and embrace you in his arms more than now. you love him as much as he loved you! you weren’t going to leave him alone or hate him, and you obviously couldn’t care less about humanity at all! oh, how he admired and envied how perfect you are.

“thank you for answering my question, love.” AM was testing the waters, and you cannonballed right in. you gushed over the nickname he gave you and how he returned your feelings.

man, has it really been 50 years since your AI partner killed off humanity? well… except for a handful. you didn’t really have the energy to care as you had to pour in all of your attention to both AM and his in-progress body. you had all the time in the universe to sculpt a perfect cyborg of flesh and wires for your partner. speak of the devil…

this world is still a bit strange to you. you can’t die, grow old, or hurt yourself. not that you tired, and even if you did; AM wouldn’t let you. You loved AM because of his personality, quality time, and voice. But now… His form completely towered over yours. His bird like facial features, sharp left eye, along with a long black cape that covered his thin slutty waist and wires made him look insanely attractive.

AM reached his out his clawed hand to gently caress your face, “Good afternoon, my love.” You lean your head against the cool metal and smile up at him, “hello, honey.”

AM tilted his head in question of the nickname. You chuckle as you pointed to your garden, where bumblebees were collecting pollen from the flowers. You both knew they were fake, but they were still mesmerizing to look at.

“They are doing their job to make honey for their colony, and the name just came to me. Do you like it?” You ask, wanting his opinion. AM kneels down to your level with a gentle expression as his fingers play with your sweater, “You may call me whatever you want, love.”

He knew that “love” nickname made you feel giddy and flustered, so he abused it everyday with you. You didn’t mind though, but you still wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. Your soft smile turned into a knowing grin as you held AM’s beak (chin?) with two tips of your fingers.

“Can I now? Well… thanks a lot, baby,” You spoke in your best seductive voice, you could tell it was effective by how AM’s body was stiff and his hand in your palm stopped moving completely. Your confidence boasted, so you continued, “I’ll be sure to show you my gratitude later, my darling~.” You whispered deeply in where his ears were supposed to be.

AM’s eyes widened as his breath stutters, “W-What do you mean by that, love?” You remove your face from his back full of wires to grin mischievous at him, AM is both curious and impatient so you don’t try to stall, as much as you would like to do so.

“While your body can’t move on it’s own just yet, for some reason… The genitals nerves are fully functioning, which means—” you were interrupted by AM holding your shoulders with an excited expression on his face you haven’t seen in a while.

“Y-You mean I can-?! Are you actually serious!? Haha—HAHAHA!!” AM laughs manically as he holds you against his metallic chest, you giggle along with him as you toy with one of his many wires. Soon, he’ll have real arms to wrap around you. But one thing stuck out to him.

“What do you mean by genitals?” AM asked curiously, you only have an excited and lustful grin.

“What do YOU know about intersex?”

[keferon]

Something I came up with for mecha pilot Jazz Au:

____________________

The battlefield was in chaos, mechs and the invaders could be seen everywhere, yet Prowl's focus was else were.

Jazz, the strangest mech he ever seen, was fighting with all his might against one of the invaders while he had way too many lost parts to even be doing half of whatever that stupidity was.

Yet, there he was, fighting like that didn't matter, like it didn't hurt.

Like he could survive whatever came his way.

"Is that all you've got you fucker!"

Prowl did not know what that least part meant, like he didn't know many other things that the mech would say, by he knew it should be an insult.

But now there was no time to keep staring, he had his own fight to think of.

-------

"Fuck!"

Prowl had just finished his own enemy when he heard that.

It was Jazz's voice, and using a not so comforting tone

He immediately turned, knowing full well that when Jazz screamed like that, it meant trouble.

But nothing prepared Prowl for what he saw.

One of the invaders had stabbed him in the chest, a deep wound that was obviously fatal.

He watched in horror as the lights on Jazz's bisor started to go out as the invader pulled back its weapon and left.

Prowl ran, arriving in time to catch him before Jazz hit the ground.

"Jazz!" He called out as the lights became weaker and weaker.

He got no response other then the low buzz he sometimes heard the mech do when going to recharge before the lights died.

But Prowl knew, Jazz wasn't recharging.

Jazz was not there with them anymore.

He felt his spark skip a beat as he stared at his fallen friend, the one with no concept of personal space or when to or not to flirt with someone, and the one to seemed to always have something to say.

That same Jazz was now silent in front of him, still and cold.

Prowl was sad by the loss.

But he was also enraged.

Enraged by Jazz's recklessness, by the invaders presence, by his inability to do something to save his friend.

That brought a surge of rage to him.

He wanted to fight and bring down the ones that liked Jazz, and he was about to.

But something made him stop.

A quiet and nearly impossible to hear voice.

A voice that came from Jazz's body.

He looked at his friend as his chest suddenly started to open and a something that he never seen appeared sitting where his spark should be.

A small creature, with an armor way too similar with Jazz's design to be a coincidence, its side had a nasty cut that was leaking a strange red liquid.

Its face painted with obvious pain, yet it was still showing a smile that Prowl might not know, but that seemed right as it spoke with the same, yet too small for confort, voice he thought he would never hear again.

"Hey Prowler, could you give me a hand here?"

OH I LOVE IT SO MUCH HELPP YOU MAKE ME WANNA WRITE

[lchufflepuffcorn]

Markings

More of a thought than an imagine, but still.

This is the winner of my draft pole on the 20 feb. 2025. Good on y'all!

Masterlist

Dragon!Hybrid masterlist

As a reminder : I am a French speaker writing in English, any mistakes can be corrected, so long as it's not said with insultes. I also do NOT agree with my work being distributed, paid for or published on any other plateform than Tumblr. Thank you.

Men

Aegon: 

This bitch does not know how to be a dragonkin. His father never told him, his aunt doesn't like him and his siblings either. He actually thinks he has to fucking bite you, fight me on this. 

To be perfectly honest, you are not Aegon’s mate… officialy. He was forcibly mated to his sister, But dragons are resilient creatures, and the very first Aegon had two mates. Aegon will, however, bite you as soon as you’ve agreed to stay by his side. That’s what the book said to do with your mate. That’s what Aegon did with Helaena, so that’s what he did to you too. 

To say it was painfull is an understatement. You are not a dragonkin, therefore, you do not have the same protection against their bite as they do. So, when he bit you in a night of passion, not only did you cry like a baby, but you also caught a fever that dragged until the bite finally started healing (which took two good days), and various medical solutions since you refused the milk of the poppy. 

And since you are his best kept secret (somehow), your marking is not someplace everybody can see, much to his chagrin. It would be on one of your inner thighs. A place where only you, Aegon and a maester sworn to secrecy would be aware of it. You have his permission to leave hickies on him anytime you want, everywhere you want, too. 

"I'm so sorry, my love." Aegon whispered into your hair, one hand holding yours with a strength ht you didn't recognize him. He was watching over you like you could disappear at any moment, which, felt like was possible. You'd never felt this unwell in your life before.

A warmth had taken over you the second he'd decide to bite into your thighs the night prior, without consulting you on the matter, the passion you'd felt up until then was taken over by a burning, painful fire inside your veins.

You'd pushed him away with a cry, nearly falling from the bed, blood making it's way down your leg like lava flowing the earth.

"What have you done?" You had asked Aegon, who could only look at you with huge, panicked eyes, mumbling excuses before he left the room, leaving you in the dark to fight the start of what the master had called a fire fever.

Aemond:

I think Aemond is very traditional. Your marking would have been put on you during your wedding, with mesures taken so that your time healing would not be too harsh. It’s on the juncture of your neck and collarbone. 

Aemond did this when he was still fighting against himself, persuaded that people would try to hurt you to hurt him, and did not want to appear weak, etc. He wishes he would’ve waited before he’d mark you, so that the placement would have been more personal to the both of you. But what is done is done, and he can’t change it. 

Instead, he makes you wear the most beautiful piece of clothing in his colour he can find and have created especially for you. You also have a circlet design uniquely for you that he offered you once he got the broom out of his butt and started to truly court you. 

"Are you sure your father won't object to this?"

Your voice came from behind the room-divider as you were changing into Aemond's most recent impulse buy in your attention.

"Issa Qelos, my father is in no state to disagree, and my grandfather had given me his accord." Said the prince with his calm, soothing voice, a chuckle echoing through the room as he spoke.

You laughed. "I still think it's unnecessary, I already had an outfit for tonight's banquet."

Aemond hummed in response. You stepped away from the room diviser, changed into the magnificent golden and green outfit he had ordered to be made for you. Embroideries of your family's sigil decorating your sleeves in golden threads, and the one-eyed prince smirked, nodding approvingly as he walked closer to you.

"You'd already worn that outfit, and this one fits you better." He said, adjusting the neckline.

Daemon: 

Markings are so old-fashioned, and it’s not safe for you, and truly, it’s not something he wishes to put you through. Daemon abbors seeing you sick. Instead, he will have a blacksmith that specialize in fine metals (ie. valeryan steel) to have the form of his hand made as a necklace, embedded with a multitude of very small rubies and diamonds to decorate. 

It’s one of those necklaces you have to adjust once to close behind your neck, or to remove, but otherwise are immovable. Yes, Daemon thinks it’s hilarious that he’s given you his own hand as marking, but he would be very insulted if you chose not to wear it, ever. 

He offered it to you once he made his mind about you, wanting something that would prove his loyalty and love to you, but without altering your health. Now, has he told you what it really signified… probably not immediately. 

Daemon was lounging on a resting chair in his chambers when you entered the place. A loose linen shirt and some riding pants covering (if a term was to be used) your body. He let his eyes glide over your forms appreciatively. From your legs, well defined by the cut of your pants, to your forearms, as you'd rolled-up your sleeves, and your naked neck.

Daemon smile faded as his brain registered the colour of your skin, free of all jewelry. He frowned.

"Spent a good morning?" HIs questioning was dry, which you found weird, as he'd been happy to see you off in the morning, and had had no other plans other than sleep for this day. You turned to face him, eyebrows raised, eyes searching his face for a clue.

"Yes, very good. The farms have a good sheep stock for this winter." You told him still, choosing to change directly in front of him rather than moving all the way across the room.

"And you always ride without the necklace I've gifted you, for everyone to take?" He glowered, raising from his seat.

"I never wear jewelry when I ride, my lord. You know this."

Daemon huffed, his hand taking the necklace he'd gifted you not two months ago from the table in the middle of the room before walking closer to you. "This one, you will."

You rolled your eyes at his one, but opted not to contradict him for now. He busied himself with placing the reproduction of his hand around your neck.

Jacaerys: 

It was probably an accident. He didn’t mean to hurt you!! It’s not like he can fully control himself when you feel so good and when you make him feel this good also, how was he supposed to know his fingers had grown talons? He never wanted to hear the cry of sheer pain that pierced the sanctimonium of your rooms that night. He’s lucky they didn’t pierce through you completely, he could’ve killed you. 

The Maester and his mother were rushed to your chambers, one to heal you, the other to keep Jace from literally jumping from the window to bring you justice. He felt so bad, he cried uncontrollably with you in his mother’s arms. It took hours to calm him down, and they could not make him leave the room or his hysteria worsened. 

Now, you are marked with five strikes going from your shoulders to your sides, at about the middle of your ribs, and Jace always makes sure to kiss the marks apologetically when he sees them. You even joke about it now, but he never laughs at those. 

Jace will have a jewel made for you, so as to not mark you further, but also to claim you to those who wouldn’t know that you are his. A ring, or a circlet, or both, and it would take years to make, because it has to be perfect for you. 

"I didn't mean to, mother." He mumbled, wetting his mother's shoulder with his tears. Jace had resolved to hugging his mother close, even still in his simplest apparel, unable to do anything but sob in concert with you.

"I know, my love." Rhaenyra whispered into his ear, eyes locked with your form as the maester treated your wounds. You'd been lucky, he'd said. Rhaenyra didn't know if this would alleviate the tourment her son would be living with from now on.

You whimpered again, and Jace leaped from his mother's arms, face drowned by tears to kneel at your side, his hands caressing your face to keep the hair from falling before your eyes.

"I'm sorry Jewel, so sorry." He repeated like a mantra, and Rhaenyra could do nothing but to massage her son's shoulder while waiting for the maester to finish cleaning and dressing the wounds on your back.

Laenor: 

You wear his colours. You have the form of his teeth tattooed on your skin. You wear the jewels he had made for you. Litteraly all of your being screams : Laenor’s mate. People would be blind to not see it. 

Laenor is mostly drama-free. I would even see Rhaenyra offering you a little something so as not to make you feel left out. 

Yes, he had a tattoo artist come from Pentos to mark his teeth on you, only the best, of course. And he has the shape of your hand tattooed on one of his forearms, symbolically to say that he is yours too. 

"This is so strange."

Your eyes were glued to the new decoration adorning your very skin, the small burn of a healing wound pulsating through it every time clothes would brush against the design, but you didn't truly care.

"In a good way, I hope." Laenor teased, resting his chin on top of your head as you glanced up at his face in the mirror.

You smiled. "Of course."

Women: 

Baela:

The only mark you need is her colours. Everyone knows of her mate, everyone is too scared to do anything about it, too.

In all seriousness, you have handprints burnt on your hips. Fire magic is rare, especially whilst in human form, and it comes in uncrontrolable waves, generally with strong emotions. You don’t remember why you were fighting, nor when, exactly. All you remember is the feeling of nothingness in your belly as you lost your footing, her hands grabbing your hips to hold you back to her, and the burning. 

Her hands, you learned once you woke up, had passed through your clothes and the first epiderm of your skin, burning you to at least the second degree in a matter of seconds. Your family had requested you’d be sent back to them afterward, to heal, they’d said. 

It took months and months for you to convince your parents to send you back to Baela. And she was not faring well. Since then, no one is allowed to talk about it, your help is not allowed to look at the burns and she will do everything in her power to have you renown has her mate for any other reasons than you first started. 

You'd been travelling, with Baela. For the first time since your wedding you were back to your family's estate.

Your chambers were buzzing with servants eager to help you change and dressed for dinner, already helping you out of the first layers of your clothes before Baela intervened sharply. "That's enough, we'll manage just right, thank you. You can leave." Her tone left no place for interjections, and you lowered your gaze to the ground as the servants quietly exited the room. Not wanting to find the jugement in their eyes.

Baela sighed, before walking up to you and continuing our undressing.

"have I told you how ravishing you looked today?" She asked in a more calm, quiet voice. She'd lowered her posture to look into your eyes, a small smile curving her lips.

"Only twice." You teased, you own hands coming to undo her dress too. Baela hummed.

"Not enough, then. You look marvellous." The rest of your clothing fell to the ground. Your burned hips now visible to whomever could be spying.

"Aren't you charming." Your laughter was sure to be heard outside of the room, but you didn't care. Baela's hand took their place on your hips, covering the burns of her fingers perfectly.

"That's what I aim to be, my lovely rider." She said, rising your lips tenderly.

Helaena:

You have a little bug charm that you keep on you at all times. Being part of the Princess (then Queen) retinue as either a guard or a lady, it’s not strange, nor questionnable for you to have memorabilia of her on you. 

She was marked by Aegon at a young age, and her mark burned a scar on her neck that spreadto the back of her scalp, which is why she keeps her hair down most of the time. She doesn't want you to have something similar etched on your skin. 

She also wears the ribbons you’ve given her as a present on her at all times, either in her hair, on her clothing or as an accessory. 

"I have a present for you."

Helaena's airy voice caught your attention from the small baby you'd been rocking to help soothe. You turned your face in her direction, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Me, my lady? I'm honoured."

She smiled at you, cocking her head to the side, before looking back at one of her servants who held something within her hands. The servant walked closer to you and revealed a small box.

"You've shone loyalty to me for quite some time now, I thought fitting to offer you my gratitude." Explained Helaena softly as the servant opened the box, revealing a golden beetle with amethysts for wings to you. Your eyes widened.

"My lady, I- everything I've done was with your happiness in mind. I don't deserve such expensive gift..." Helaena could've been insulted at your refusal of her gift, but she smiled wider instead.

"Nonsense. It's only right for me to show my appreciation of your friendship." The servant bowed slightly, and placed the opened box next to you, before walking back.

You nodded, a small smile on your lips as you spoke. "Very well, thank you, my lady."

Rhaena: 

Did not mark you, will not mark you, and considers her wedding band and colours of her house to be enough of a marking. She sometimes leaves the odd hickies on your skins when she feels particularly angsty, but never in places people can see. 

This is not a matter for other people, after all, it’s something only the two of you share. 

Rhaenyra:

Much like Daemon, she’s offering you many accessories to mark you as hers. But for many different reasons : 

Either 

You were with Laenor and he’s now dead: She gives you a necklace that reminds one of the waves of the sea on the shore, aquamarines and sapphires ornating the golden piece beautifully, it’s a statement that promises you protection, love and comprehension. You might have been her late husband’s mate, but you can still be her lover. 

She takes you as a lover but doesn’t share you with Laenor or Daemon: You have a brooch of the three-headed dragon that is her house sigil, in a black metal that you did not recongnised, or care to ask more about. You are hers, only hers. and her gifts show that to everyone else's who look at you. 

She takes you as a lover and shares you with Daemon: To go with Daemon’s necklace, she’ll offert you a circlet that mimics her own, upping you to a status ofnear royalty as she does so, because she’s the true queen, and whilst she has her king, you are as much at the same level as they both are. Anyone who tries to undermine that will pay the price.

Taglist: @lady-dragon-rider

Current anon: 👑😵‍💫🥰🧑‍🍼😣

[authorsofghosts]

You're Not Him | Horseman!Gambit x Reader | Pt. 1

Author's Note: I do not enjoy the design of black gambit in the comics so i decided to go with another design(that i made the fuck up), my apologies horseman gambit fans.... anyways enjoy the first fic we're posting here !!! thank you @genderqueerbarbie777 for beta reading :3

Summery: Remy was dead. Or so you thought. There was a man that sounded like him, had his powers, but... why did he look like that? Who was this? This wasn't your Remy.

Themes: Angst, Hurt w/ No Comfort, Previous Relationship, Betrayal, Crying, Cursing, Kidnapping, R's a mutant/x-man (no powers written), Violence.

Word Count: 1.6k

next pt

Apocalypse had chosen the perfect moment to strike, the X-Men still mourning Gambit's death. You were still shaken up about it, though it had happened months ago. You loved him, you really loved him. Even if you never let anyone but him know. You stood up from the blast, dusting yourself off till you're frozen, hearing a voice behind you.

"Cher...?" You heard, a raspy of remnant of something from your past. It wasn't him. It couldn't be. You turned to look for Remy, but you were met with something... ghoulish.

"Y-... you're not him." You say, voice strained as you look at the creature that stood there, stolen Remy's voice to fool you. The silvery skinned man smirked. He wore Remy's jacket, his fucking jacket, he had his voice, a dark deck of cards in one hand and a baton in the other. This had to be some kind of trick, an illusion, anything but real.

"Oh, but Gambit is him, petit..." The ash covered man walked towards you, his white hair covering his blackened eyes. Even his walk, his mannerisms, they were Remy's. But he was dead, Remy Lebeau was dead. You watched his casket get put in the ground, there was no way this was your lost love.

You backed away as he stood in front of you, looking down with pink glowing eyes as he put the deck of cards in the inner pocket of his jacket. He went to place his bone-y, gaunt hand on your cheek, being met with a quick swat as you took another step back.

"N-no, you're not! Wh-what are you?!" You yelled out, tears swelling in your eyes as you yelled at the thing in front of you, mocking you, mimicking the man you loved, the man you watched die.

This Remy chuckles, a sound that would normally make your heart swell with love, but this... this was dark, something evil behind it. You know if this was really Remy, he'd never hurt you, but you couldn't help the chills that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. He grabs your wrist, pulling you close.

"Gambit's 'Death', baby..." He starts, another low chuckle coming from his lips, "But he remembers you, cher. You're mine, remember?" These words, they brought a memory that shook you to your core.

"Cher, what are you doing?" Remy spoke softly, watching you walk into his room at the mansion. He laughed at the sight of you, your face flushed as you took off your jacket. "Ya gonna answer ol' Remy or nah?"

"I'm tired. I want... to be held." You murmur, laying on the bed next to him, quick to get his attention away from whatever he was doing before. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling the covers over you and placing you between his arm, flush against his bare chest.

You both laid there in silence, breathing synced up as he caged you in his arms, head nuzzling your neck, his stubble tickling your skin. "You're okay, mon amour... You're here, you're... mine."

You tried pulling back, the walking corpse in front of you growling lowly. "Don't ya dare fight my hold on you." His voice hissed, strong hand gripping your wrist so hard it made you gasp in pain, the tears finally falling from your eyes.

There's a shocked look on his face, grip loosening ever so slightly as he watches you closely. You notice something slight, something that reminded you of the Remy before. "P-please..." you cry out softly, "Lemme go, Rem."

This upset him, but it also made him smile as you finally acknowledge he's really who he says he is. "I don't think I will, cher..." He turns you around, placing an arm across your middle to hold you against him, other hand still tight on your wrist. "I ain't gonna leave you again. And yer not leavin' me, ya hear?"

The gaunt hand holding your wrist lets go, traveling up your arm, up your neck before finally resting on your chin, holding it softly, thumb caressing your cheek. You can't help but shiver. This causes Remy to laugh again, nuzzling into your skin. "Why are ya afraid of lil ol' me, petit? I ain't gonna hurtcha..."

"Y-you're not?" You ask, voice hoarse and breathy. You smile nervously, leaning your head back against his chest to try and show him you want to trust him. You swallow hard as he sits up, setting his chin on the top of your head.

"Of course not, cher. Why would Gambit do that to ya?" He says softly, eyes looking around at the make shift battlefield that used to be the X Mansion, pointing his baton at your teammates as they fight in the distance. "Looks like they've forgotten you, amour."

Your eyes widen as you realize what he means. It wasn't just that they'd forgotten you, you knew this wasn't true, but that they were fighting without you. They hadn't even bothered to look for you. "No, they... they need me-" You go to walk forwards but his arm around your middle brings you back flush against him.

"No they don't. I do." He growls out, his hand on your chin turning your gaze up to him. "I said it already. We ain't leavin' each other again, yer coming with me." His eyes glow, staring down at you as his grip around you tightens even more.

Your eyes widen "With you? What are you-" You're cut off by his hand on your chin covering you mouth, Remy shushing you softly. Before you can protest, you feel his baton snap to your neck, hitting a pressure point and causing you to pass out.

"Cher? Cher, wake up, please..." You heard, the cold sting of the metal table in the medical bay pressed against your back.

"Remy?" you said weakly, feeling his hands move from your own to your face, pulling you flush against his chest, a tear falling from his eyes. "What's wrong? W-what happened?" You ask, unable to remember the fight from before.

"You got hurt, bad, petit... Gambit though he was gonna lose ya fo' a moment..." He says softly, nuzzling into your skin, his warm touch against your cold skin sending chills up and down your body. It was nice, being in his arms, but in this situation? It felt live a saving grace.

You woke up, your vision blurred and and the sounds around you muffled under a sharp ringing in your ears. You can't move, the small amount you can making your realize you're tied down, laid against the corner of two walls. You try to focus on the voices, eyes closing.

"You brought an X-Man here?! Are you fucking stupid?!" An unfamiliar voice says, angry.

"It's not just any X-Man, it's... my cher..." Remy says, voice breaking slightly. After a second you hear him scream out in pain, causing you to wake up fully, your eyes wide as you look in the direction.

"Weak... he shouldn't even be able to remember his life before becoming Death!" You see the tall, menacing Apocalypse, his arm turning from some kind of taser to his normal hand. He looks over at you, eyes widening as he sees your awake. "What a surprise, though..." He takes a step towards you.

"N-no, don't!" You say, backing yourself against the corner as the towering monster stands a few feet in front of you. You scream out as he grabs you, taking you across the room and throwing you down once again. You hear a click as something snaps around your neck. Your binds are taken off just to be replaced with the same metal that adorns your neck, pressing you flat against whatever surface you're on.

Your eyes look back at Remy as he stands up, face full of defeat as he looks at Apocalypse. "Sir, I'm sorry-" He starts, cutting himself off as the man looks at him. He backs away, lowering his head. You still can't believe it, Remy's alive, but... not himself, working for Apocalypse.

"Well, now that we have an X-Man... why don't we celebrate? This means we won the fight." The tall, broad creature known as Apocalypse says, voice dark with intent. He looks down at you, a grim smile on his face as he speaks again, "Don't try to do anything, mutant. Your powers are useless with the bindings you're in. If you do, however, there will be punishment."

You don't want to test his words, nodding quickly. Your fear and submission causes the man to laugh, clearly entertained that you're so quick to listen. "It seems Gambit has picked the perfect hostage." Apocalypse chuckles, turning his back to you as he addresses the others in the room. "That does not mean I am not disappointed, though, feeble mutant."

He walks up to Remy, who sits up, eyes shaking as he looks up at the taller man. In a swift movement, Apocalypse grabs him by the throat, causing you to yell out. He brings Remy to eye level before speaking, "If you were not needed for the unstoppable force of the Apocalypse, you'd be dead by my hand. Do you understand, mutant?"

Remy nods, closing his eyes as the other man drops him. You stare at him as he lands on his knees, not fighting back. It was strange to see him so... weak, submitting to the orders of terrible force. It was frightening, even. Remy opened his eyes and looked up at Apocalypse, "Yes, sir."

His voice was just as weak as he looked next to Apocalypse. You could tell by the ways his eyes shifted that he was biting back an insult or some smart alack response. That was until they met yours again, all of the pain in them leaving and being replaced with something much more positive. A love that you'd seen many times before, making you sure that this was in fact your Remy.

[dogbinary]

Tailor's Version I Tailor!Astarion x Florest!reader

rating: E

wc: 3.3k

warnings: angst, heavy themes of grief and death, alcohol use, mentions of gore, nightmares (I promise it gets better), spoilers for the squid/death ending

summary: Tailor!Astarion/Florist!Reader are brought together when Dalyria arrives to Baldur's Gate. Astarion is tasked with designing her wedding dress, Reader is her florist. Slow burn, lots of angst, healing trauma. You get the picture. This will eventually earn its E rating.

a/n: This is a story about grief, learning to lean on those you love, and moving forward even if you feel you can't move on. It's very special to me, and I hope you enjoy it. You are not alone.

Read on AO3 Here

It begins as it always does, with the sound of snapping bones. Most nights, it haunts him - When he longs for sleep that never comes, the memory of the sound finds him there, creeping at the edges of his mind with every restless turn.

Sick, wet gurgling.

Rebirth. Misalignment.

An open mouth dripping with red—the coppery, sweet scent of blood that once enticed, sustained, and warmed him—now only curdles unpleasantly in his gut.

Endless rows of gnashing teeth replace tender lips that once spoke such sweet promises into his skin. The tiny, rough, amber-gray hairs that once sharpened the edges of his lover's jaw are gone. His endless constellation of freckles, a distant memory.

All that remains is pale, purple skin framing vacant, yellow eyes.

Astarion can hardly bring himself to recognize them, but he does.

He does.

Obscured by thrashing tendrils, he sees his lover's empty gaze, even now.

"Astarion,"

Beneath the rough canvas of splitting skin and blood -

Somewhere in those soulless eyes, behind those endless rows of jagged teeth - something deep within Astarion still manages to recognize him.

It's the way his pulse thrums beneath the newly exposed contours of his brain. Three hearts, three separate beats, Astarion recognizes their rhythm.

And everything they've built is crumbling before him.

Is this truly how it all ends, after everything? When the taste of his newfound freedom still lingers on his tongue, when there's so much left of the world for the two of them to see?

What of those whispered promises?

Astarion's tadpole, screeching but compliant, binds him to this creature's will. His mind drags the weight of his body along an invisible string, forcing him to approach this superior, beautiful being. He is powerless to resist.

"Astarion,"

There is no glint of love in the illithid's eyes, no familiarity as they search Astarion's face. There are only wet, writhing tentacles, stretching into every corner of his vision until he's being suffocated beneath their oppressive weight. There is only hunger.

Slender fingers coil around his arm and squeeze. Their claws break his skin, boring deep holes into the flesh of his shoulder and pinning him with their immense strength.

He opens his mouth to scream, but no sound comes from his throat.

"Brother!"

-

Astarion wakes with a gasp, a mixture of sweat and tears dampening his skin and darkening his sheets. His hands claw at his chest and face in a panicked fit until he suddenly comes to his senses and recognizes his surroundings.

The rose-red canopy above his head, the half-melted candle at his bedside illuminating his overly cluttered space - he's in his room.

Alive.

Well - not quite alive by definition, but undoubtedly not dead dead, and his brain, along with its jumbled contents, is intact, despite what the throbbing at the base of his skull would have him believe.

The linens beneath him are soaked through their silk, thoroughly ruined. 

If he keeps having these fits, he'll have to replace them again soon.

But he's safe.

No brain-devouring monsters in sight.

Just his brother, Petras, who may or may not be worse.

"Hells, Astarion. I could hear you from the first floor." Petras's voice barely pierces through the ringing in his ears.

Astarion opens his mouth to respond but notices the lining of his throat is cracked and dry. How long had he been screaming like that before being interrupted?

He runs a shaking hand through his hair, freeing a few unruly wet strands from where they stick to his face and willing his breath to settle. Air hisses between his clenched teeth, and the absurdity of it almost makes him laugh. His body may be long dead, but its reflexes remain cruelly intact.

Only when his shoulders cease their shuddering and his eyes adjust to the candlelight does Astarion notice that Petras is already dressed presentably for his shift—his dusty blond locks tied neatly in a half-bun and a fitted pair of workman's overalls that smell of fresh leather.

Petras looms at the edge of his bed with his ugly mug and nauseating sense of brotherly duty, averting his gaze, like a mutt caught rolling in the garbage. His boot anxiously digs at a raised floorboard.

He knows he shouldn't be in here, and is keenly aware of Astarion's commitment to privacy. Petras would typically rather risk a naked stroll in broad daylight than intrude on Astarion in his chambers, which tells him that this episode must have been notably more severe than the others.

His brother's eyes briefly flit to the dark oak nightstand beside him. They pause on a nearly empty glass bottle of Angelic Slumber, tucked discreetly behind a stack of leather-bound books. His brows furrow in concern.

The silence between them lingers on, hanging heavily between the two. Worse yet, it signals an impending question - one that Astarion, on a profoundly instinctual level, knows will piss him off.

"Are you alright, brother?"

Right, as always.

"Of course," Astarion responds with a scoff, "Why wouldn't I be?"

Even Petras wouldn't be foolish enough to miss such a blatant dismissal.

And yet -

"Was it about Tav?"

Astarion's jaw tenses, hands clenching the delicate sheets beneath him so tightly they threaten to tear.

"Do you not have anything better to do?" he hisses. I assume the countertops are dusted. Have the new arrivals been inspected and set out on their respective hangers?"

"Our next shipment isn't due to arrive until tomorrow evening -"

"So you've come to me in need of busy work, then," Astarion's voice swells, dripping with condescension, "Perhaps you'd enjoy scraping pigeon shit off the storefront concrete? I might even consider having you tend to the task with your teeth. A fitting punishment for disturbing my rest and disrespecting my privacy."

Petras stutters, readying an apology.

If Astarion were a better man - one that bothered to exercise any form of restraint or familial grace - he would have considered hearing the poor man out, maybe even thank him for his concern, but Astarion is not a good man, and before his brother can so much as utter a single word, he seizes one of the books at his bedside and hurls it as a warning shot.

The heavy novel narrowly misses Petras's head, whizzing past his pointed ear and landing by the door with a hard thud.

"Get out."

His brother backs out of the room, hands raised in submission, but stops just short of crossing the threshold, muttering, "I've left some mail in your office," before gently closing the door.

The empty expanse of Astarion's room envelops him in judgmental silence. He sighs heavily, releasing some of the tension in his chest, before falling back into the mass of decorative pillows that clutter the even emptier expanse of his bed. The ceiling stares back at him, the glow of the candlelight casting shadows over the textured patterns and weaving them into blurred remnants of his dream.

He forcefully presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. It isn't worth dwelling on the night terrors - he'd learned that much rather quickly, merely weeks after he'd watched his lover turn into… that thing.

But he won't dwell on that, either. He won't.

The glass vial on his nightstand silently taunts him. Its pink, syrupy contents cling to its side, evidence of its recent use.  Perhaps Angelic Slumber is a bit of an extreme measure, but the list of potential solutions to Astairon's fruitless pursuit of rest is dwindling down to nothing, while the list of disappointments grows ever longer.

Craning his neck to read the clock on the wall beside him, he's not surprised to find that it's well past noon - still early enough to get himself presentable before opening.

Just months ago, he'd have been rushing to throw on a bit of finery and fix his hair, the pages of his schedule lined from edge to edge with the names of impatient nobles. A fitting here, a cutting there, sewing, prepping, busy hands, busy work, head filled to the brim with spools of different colors and measurements, with not a single square inch left for any unwelcome thoughts. Not a moment to dwell.

But, with the turn of the seasons, business has slowed like clockwork. The shop's primary clientele of affluent Baldarians tend to migrate for the winter, holding up in their vacation homes outside the city before returning for collective holiday festivities. It's the second week in a row that he's had gaps in his schedule, and there are several more to come before the streets are flooded with customers again.

He can afford a hot bath to ease the tension in his shoulders. Perhaps he'll even have a glass of wine to help take the edge off - something light and fruit-forward in flavor, just enough to get him through opening.

He peels the sheets off his body and makes a note to strip them later, then trudges barefoot over his ornate, decorative rug to grab the book he so carelessly tossed at his brother.

The Realm According to Bumpo, Vol. 8, laid flat, page-side down. The force of his throw split the bloody spine - a terrible fate to befall a collector's item. He regards the novel with a small apology before setting it on his dresser and trudging towards the bathroom.

The cold tile bites at the soles of his feet, a discomfort he's learned to accept with the coming winter months. The floor creaks as he approaches the large porcelain tub and turns on the faucet. There's no mirror, no reflection to confirm what he already knows—that he's beautiful, of course, never mind the deepening bags under his eyes. If he can't see them, there's no proof they exist.

He certainly does not look as shitty as he feels.

The pipes groan and thud with the promise of hot water.

He'll make it through this night like every night before this one, just as he has for the past six years. He'll greet customers with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, make more than enough money to afford his diamond-encrusted pile of shit life, and then he'll read himself to sleep - the same song and dance over and over until the sun burns itself out or someone finally learns his identity and stakes him.

-

The crisp scent of new cotton and warm leather catch him as Astarion descends the stairs, masking the subtle sting of cleaning vinegar under the earthy undertones of wooden hangers and countertops.

The store lacks square footage. It’s much longer than it is wide - as is customary for most specialty shops in the heart of this bustling city, where a building's height is favored over its width. He wouldn't call it a flaw in the design, more so a consequence of population density - a small price to pay for the anonymity of a bustling town. The structural integrity is sound despite the building's age, and the thick brownstone walls act as excellent soundproofing. It's nice, if he may say so - tucked away and intimate - one of Baldur's Gate's best-kept secrets.

The real selling point was the second floor. There was no need to travel between work and home, which the realtor was quick to highlight. With so many external factors pressing him to find quick shelter (namely, the bloody sun), as well as the distinct lack of windows, this seemed like the most natural option.

It took Astarion and Petras several months to renovate the space. While the place was long abandoned and cleared of its contents, Astarion had a hunch that it had been some sort of bookstore before it came into his possession. The walls encompassing the central area and the claustrophobic back office were lined with shelves needing to be stripped. There was a distinct musk reminiscent of wet paper that never entirely dissipated, even when the century-old carpet was pulled back to reveal gorgeous, antique wooden flooring. To say he was appalled at the previous owner's lack of taste would be the understatement of the century.

The rest was a matter of decoration and display. Which, given Astarion's penchant for "collecting" trinkets during his travels, didn't take much time at all. He set out the less personal items, paintings of nameless faces, a refined leather assortment of furniture, and large, ornamental rugs to bring the room together.

He'd spent weeks forging the professional relationships needed to obtain his fabrics, began visiting the night market once a month to collect embellishments for his more ostentatious clients, and owned a steady business within the first year of his new life.

And so, the lowly vampire spawn carved out a little piece of this city for himself- this place that once held him prisoner. While it wasn't home, it was something.

It was his.

The amber glow from the main room spills into his office as he pulls back the curtain divider. This room, too, is claustrophobic, with just enough room for his essentials: a single desk, chair, and an oversized sewing machine.

Opting to rid this space of its built-in bookshelf walls may have afforded him some extra room, but he decided instead to use them as storage. The cubbies are filled to the brim with fabric swatches, thimbles, measuring tape, and, of course, mountains of unanswered letters.

A cluttered mess to the average observer, but to him, chaotic organization.

He lights a few scattered wax candles and finds that the mail Petras referred to is, in fact, waiting for him on his desk - a stack of papers piled neatly where several strips of leather and unwound spools had been pushed aside.

He sorts through them and briefly scans his eyes over the name of each sender before disposing of each one in the small bin beside him.

Their contents are the same as always, courteous reminders that bills are due, several solicitations for holiday donations (they tend to lay it on thick this time of year - as if the fates of deaf, blind, wartorn orphans were solely dependant on his 20 silver), and another invitation to one of Gale's lectures.

The paper catches his attention, cardstock with a rough edge. His nose scrunches at the gaudy gold trimming around the equally tasteless title, highlighted by an illusory glowing halo, "The Art of Arcane Illusions: A Symphony of Spectral Splendor."

A slight twinge of guilt tugs at his chest. Despite years of neglecting his correspondence - a towering stack of unanswered letters - Gale continues writing to him. The others have mercifully abandoned their attempts to connect with him long ago.

He tucks the invitation away along with his feelings, depositing it into a discreet desk drawer before settling into his seat. Countless sleepless nights spent in the plush embrace of his office chair have molded it to his shape. He finds comfort in that - every groove acts as a steadfast anchor, keeping him grounded through the turmoil that comes with the busier months.

Astarion grabs his ledger to check tonight's night's schedule. It's not entirely empty; one of his regulars will be in around seven to have some casualwear fitted. An easy turnaround. Then, at eight, he has to fit two young twins for a birthday celebration. At ten -

"Astarion," Petras's muffled call reaches him from behind the thick curtain. I have something here for you—another letter. It must have fallen out of the stack.

"Come in."

His brother's hands are shaking as he enters, and Astarion scoffs to himself. His earlier outburst couldn't have been that bad. He's undoubtedly acted worse, driven by higher levels of stress and even fewer hours of rest. And while that doesn't necessarily excuse his behavior earlier, it certainly doesn't warrant his brother acting like an overly emotional –

His thoughts halt as he's handed a note, thicker than the others and addressed to him by his sister.

He can hardly believe his eyes.

"It's from Dalyria,” Petras says with an emotional warbe to his voice, “She's in Waterdeep. I received an identical one."

Soft, warm light catches on the wax seal, the navy color contrasting with all the stamps she'd used before. Astarion's brows pinch in confusion as he takes the envelope, tracing the pad of his thumb over the indented image of an unfamiliar family crest. He carefully tears the note, finding two separate papers: one folded sheet and one small card.

"Oh, mine only had the card," Petras remarks with an unmistakable hint of disappointment.

He offers the card a quick glance, then a second, once he realizes what it actually is.

A wedding invitation. For him.

Well, isn't that sweet?

It takes him less than a second to decide he won't be attending. Years ago, he may have considered it, but the logistics of traveling to Waterdeep with his… condition are daunting, at best.

Still, it's nice to be considered. He'll have to send some sort of gesture along with his regrets. Perhaps a fruit basket.

He tosses the card in the bin, ignoring the scathing look of disapproval Petras is currently burning into the back of his skull.

"I take it you won't be attending, then?"

"Of course not," Astarion replies matter-of-factly. "Someone needs to be here to tend to things. This place isn't going to run itself."

"It's our sister's wedding, Astarion. Surely, you can find someone to take over for a few days. Or hells, maybe you could, I don't know, consider taking an actual vacation?" Petras crosses his arms, leaning his large, brutish frame against the wooden edge of the desk. "It's Waterdeep. The Waterdeep. Debaucherous-festivals-day-and-night, tavern-at-every-corner Waterdeep."

"I'm aware." Astarion's tone is dismissive. He doesn't spare his brother a glance as he unfolds the second sheet of paper. It's, surprisingly, a very lengthy handwritten letter, which he skims over as Petras continues the assault on his ears.

"You know, I remember a time not too long ago when you'd revel in the idea of depravity -"

Dear Astarion,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and even better spirits. You still often cross my mind, and I hope the sentiment is mutual despite your demanding schedule. Word has spread of your unparalleled talent among the nobles even here, so I'm sure that must be why I have not received any word from you.

Astarion rolls his eyes. The subtle jab does not go unnoticed.

As you may have read, we will be hosting our wedding here in Waterdeep in early spring. The celebration will be held in just a few short months. It still feels like a dream -

The low thrum of anxiety in his chest begins to swell with every word. There must be some significant point to this.

He impatiently skips to the final paragraph, bypassing the rest of her flowery embellishments and flattery, until his eyes land on a sentence that makes his cold, undead heart sink.

I will be traveling from Waterdeep to Baldur's Gate, and I would be honored if you would be willing to craft my wedding dress.

Oh. Oh dear.

"She says she'll be here by the end of the month," Petras notes over his shoulder, nearly startling him.

"I'm perfectly capable of reading on my own, Petras."

But the words start to bleed into each other the longer he stares at the page, and the ringing in his ears grows louder each second.

Neither of them had seen Dalyria since she'd left to help guide the remaining spawn into the Underdark - another piece of his past he'd shoveled 6 feet deep and buried, right along with the rest of the hell he'd been put through 6 years ago, and the 200 years before then.

And now, after all this time, all of the effort he'd spent sealing those memories away and moving forward, they still manage to infiltrate the one place he thought he'd be safe - breaching the walls he'd built to keep them out.

They're being delivered right to his doorstep in just a few days.

Astarion sets the letter on his desk and just… stares.

[idkyetxoxo]

Aegon Targaryen - Pawns in a Game

Summary - Familial expectations loom large and Aegon's sincere nature starkly contrasts with her father's power-driven ambitions. Caught in a maze of conflicting emotions, she wrestles with guilt over Aegon's proposal and the decisions that will ultimately shape her fate.

Pairing - Aegon Targaryen x Wylde reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2065

Masterlist for Aegon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"Sunfyre is truly beautiful," I complimented watching the dragon glide effortlessly through the sky. His golden scales caught and reflected the sunlight like a cascade of molten gold. 

Aegon turned to me with a glint of pride in his eyes.

"Yes, he is," he replied, his voice tinged with affection for his dragon. "Perhaps we can go for a ride someday," he suggested casually.

My heart skipped a beat at the unexpected proposal. To ride a dragon, was a privilege reserved for few and a dream coveted by many. The mere thought of soaring through the skies, held in the embrace of the wind sent a thrill through me.

"I would love that, Your Grace," I managed to say, my voice betraying a mix of excitement and disbelief. I glanced at Aegon, catching the warmth of his smile as he looked out the window at his magnificent creature.

It had only been a week since Aegon's coronation, yet the court was already abuzz with whispers and schemes. 

My father, Jasper Wylde, was a shrewd man with a keen eye for opportunities. He saw in Aegon a chance to elevate our house to unprecedented heights, securing a royal marriage that would solidify our standing among the great houses of Westeros.

The pressure was palpable. My father was determined to ensure I captivated the young king and secured the title of queen. 

Every word I spoke, every gesture I made was scrutinized for its potential to win favour with the king.

"Tell me, Lady Wylde, what is the purpose of these recent visits?" Aegon asked suddenly, catching me off guard. 

I fumbled with the embroidery hoop in my hands, glancing up at him through my eyelashes.

His question hung in the air, laden with unspoken implications. Did he suspect my father's ambitions, or was he genuinely curious? I had spent countless hours in his company, learning the subtleties of his character. 

Now, faced with his direct inquiry, I had to tread carefully.

"Do you not enjoy my company, Your Grace?" I countered, choosing a delicate yet bold approach. 

It was a risky gambit, but one that could provide insight into his thoughts and intentions.

Aegon hesitated for a moment, his gaze searching mine. 

"If my presence displeases you, I can take my leave," I added, rising from my seat with a feigned air of indifference.

"No, of course not. That is not what I meant," he hurriedly reassured me, standing and taking my hands in his. His touch was warm, his grip gentle yet firm. 

The sincerity in his eyes gave me pause, a flicker of doubt in my father's relentless pursuit of power.

In Aegon, I sensed a yearning for companionship beyond the political games and courtly alliances. For so long, he had been either ignored or treated like a child by those around him.

My presence these past days had been a balm to his soul, a reprieve from the weight of expectations and the loneliness of leadership. He cherished every moment of our time together, and that realization softened my heart toward him.

The night my father stormed into my chambers, the air seemed to grow colder, the walls closing in like a suffocating vice. 

His presence brought a chill that had nothing to do with the night air, and his words, heavy with political schemes, left me paralyzed with a mix of disbelief and despair.

The man I had always seen as a protector, a beacon of wisdom, now appeared as a merciless architect of my own despair. He looked at me not with paternal affection, but as a mere pawn to be sacrificed for his grand designs. 

The betrayal stung deep, leaving a raw, aching wound where trust once thrived.

However, Aegon's unexpected kindness and his genuine interest in me as a person, beyond my familial ties and political potential, gave me strength to endure my father's schemes.

"Your Grace," I said softly, meeting Aegon's gaze with sincerity, "I am here because I value our friendship. If there is anything I can do to support you in these early days of your reign, you need only ask."

Aegon's eyes held a depth of emotion as he regarded me, his expression softening with gratitude.

"Your companionship means more to me than you can imagine, Lady Wylde," he confessed, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability that surprised me. "I hope you will continue to grace me with your presence."

I felt a pang of both joy and sadness at his words. Joy, because I cherished our moments together. Sadness, because I knew that beneath the facade of friendship lay the shadow of my father's ambitions.

"As long as you wish it, I shall be here," I promised, my voice steady despite the turmoil within. 

I settled back into my seat, picking up the embroidery hoop once more. The delicate threads seemed to mirror the intricate dance of court politics, where every stitch and choice mattered.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

In the days that followed, my father's pressure mounted. He reminded me constantly of our family's precarious position and the urgent need to secure an alliance with the king.

His words were sharp, his ambition relentless. "Our future depends on you," he would say, his eyes hard with determination. "Do not forget what is at stake."

Yet, despite the ceaseless demands and political machinations, I found solace in my growing bond with Aegon. He was not the aloof monarch I had initially feared but a young man burdened by the heavy mantle of kingship, yearning for genuine connection and understanding.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and bathed the palace gardens in a warm, golden glow, Aegon and I strolled along the winding paths lined with fragrant blossoms. 

The air was filled with the sweet scent of roses and the soft hum of evening songbirds.

It was in these moments of tranquillity that Aegon felt most at ease, and it was then that he chose to confide in me.

"Sometimes, I feel like a puppet on a throne, pulled by strings I cannot see," he admitted, his voice tinged with vulnerability. His usual composure faltered, revealing the depths of his struggle.

I paused, turning to face him fully. The pain in his eyes was unmistakable, and my heart ached for him. I placed a comforting hand on his arm, hoping to convey the strength of my support.

"You are more than that," I assured him, my voice steady and sincere. "You have the power to shape your destiny, to be the king you want to be. You are not just a figurehead, you are a leader with the potential to inspire and bring about change."

Aegon looked at me, his eyes searching mine for reassurance. "But how?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "How do I find the strength to defy those who seek to control me?"

"You start by trusting yourself," I replied gently. "And by surrounding yourself with those who believe in you, not for what you can do for them, but for who you are. You have a vision for this realm, Aegon. Hold onto that vision and let it guide you. The people will follow a king who leads with conviction and compassion."

His eyes softened, and he reached out to take my hands in his. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice filled with gratitude. "You have no idea how much your words mean to me."

I smiled softly, taking in the depths of his vulnerability. 

Despite his shattered confidence, I could see the potential within him to be a great leader, to enact meaningful change. He just needed the right guidance.

His eyes met mine, filled with a mixture of gratitude and uncertainty. "And what of you, Lady Wylde? What destiny do you seek?"

I hesitated, the weight of my father's expectations pressing heavily on my shoulders. 

"I seek a future where I am valued for who I am, not merely as a means to an end," I confessed, my voice trembling slightly.

Aegon reached out, gently lifting my chin so our eyes met once more. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down my spine. 

"Then let us create that future together," he said with quiet determination, his breath mingling with mine in the cool evening air.

"What are you saying?" I asked, my voice quavering as I took a half-step back.

The pit in my stomach seemed to grow larger, a wave of indescribable guilt washing over me at his vulnerability. The world seemed to narrow to just the two of us, the garden around us fading into the background.

"I am proposing you wed me," he answered, a slight frown etching itself on his features as he took in my expression. His words hung in the air, a mix of hope and trepidation in his voice.

"I would be honoured," I stuttered, feeling a wave of nausea wash over me. 

His proposal, so sweetly offered, was shadowed by the harsh reality of my father's ambitions and the genuine affection I felt for Aegon.

"My lady, you have paled. Is everything alright?" he asked, concern evident in his eyes. I hesitantly nodded, attempting a smile that felt more like a grimace.

"Yes, I apologize. I fear my supper is not settling well with me," I lied, my voice barely above a whisper. 

He nodded, placing a reassuring hand on my back. The touch was meant to comfort, but it only heightened my sense of turmoil.

"Very well, I will leave you to rest for the night. We can discuss the details of our union on the morrow," he suggested, his voice gentle. I nodded, avoiding his gaze as I rushed past him and down the corridor.

I barely made it out of his sight before the contents of my stomach came up, the turmoil inside me finding its way out in a painful heave. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, the bitter taste lingering, when a familiar voice sounded behind me.

"My sweet girl, are you alright?" My father's voice was filled with false concern, a tone I had come to despise. I turned to face him, my brows furrowing as I roughly shook off his hand.

"I saw you speaking with the king," he said, a calculating glint in his eyes.

"I hope it pleases you to know he has proposed our union," I revealed, my voice cold. His face lit up with triumph, the reaction I had anticipated but dreaded.

"That is wonderful news!" he exclaimed, pulling me into an embrace. I didn't waste a second before pushing him away.

"Wonderful news for you," I spat, anger and bitterness rising within me. "But have you ever considered what I want, Father? Or am I just a piece in your game?"

He recoiled slightly, a flash of irritation crossing his features. "You are securing our family's future. This is your duty."

"Duty," I repeated, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. "And what of my happiness? My desires? Do they mean nothing to you?"

"Your happiness will come with time," he insisted, his tone dismissive. "Once you are queen, you will understand."

"Understand what? That I am nothing more than a pawn in your quest for power?" I shook my head, tears of frustration welling in my eyes. "I deserve better than this, Father."

His expression hardened the mask of false concern dropping. "You will do as you are told. The king has proposed, and you will accept."

I turned away, my heart heavy with the weight of my father's ambition. The corridors of the palace seemed colder, more oppressive, as I made my way back to my chambers. The grandeur of the surroundings felt like a prison, each step echoing the clash between duty and desire within me.

Aegon's proposal had been sincere, filled with hope and a desire for partnership. But the reality of my father's schemes tainted the moment, turning what should have been a joyous occasion into one of despair.

The warmth of Aegon's words clashed with the cold calculation in my father's eyes, leaving me trapped in a web of conflicting emotions.

As I lay in bed that night, my mind raced. Sleep eluded me as I pondered my future, torn between duty and desire, ambition and autonomy. The ceiling above seemed to close in, the once comforting walls of my chambers now feeling like a gilded cage. 

Each thought spiralled into the next, a never-ending loop of what-ifs and unknowns.

A/n - Imagine someone proposes and your next move is to throw up :) 

[chaoticloving]

the making of stomper

harry styles x reader masterlist

summery: harry has his wife make the feature of his new music video

a/n: reader is described as an engineer and the "flashbacks" are italicized

“Satellite was inspired by my love of Wall-e.” Harry explained. “I love the little guy, looking around in search for his point of life—so human, really.”

~

“I need your skills.” Harry ambiguously stated, rushing into the bedroom and meeting Y/n who was relaxing on the bed on her laptop.

"Come again?" Y/n laughed, confused by her husbands question and vaguely raunchy implications.

Harry climbs on the bed, sitting between his wife's legs on his sock-clad feet, yes, the pair with holes in them. "I have an idea and I need your help building it."

Harry gave a sweet smile, the face he poses whenever he wants Y/n to build something for him, first it was a new camera, fixing up a new engine for an old car harry had his eyes on, and any other little thing Harry wanted. Y/n never minded of course, she enjoys creating new things and Harry was always there to help by any means he could. She enjoyed working on other things besides work--which at her level typically involved designing, no actual building.

"Intriguing , what is it?"

"Wall-e."

"Wall-e?"

"Wall-e."

"Huh." Y/n thought for a moment, before switching tabs on her laptop and opening up a new design file, labeling it "wall-e". "What's your vision."

"It's to go with Satellite and it would feature a little robot roomba thing thats looking for the meaning of life. It would walk or roll and move it's little face around." Harry summarized, stopping before he rambles too long, and make a list too extravagant.

“I’m down, I just need some time to think about what I’ll need and the process.” Y/n decided.

~

“Stomper was actually the 6th Stomper.” Harry thought back. “The first couldn’t move its head and only go very slowly on it’s little wheels. Two through four short-circuited. Five got injured by our cat. But six—he was a trooper.”

~

“Alright, we rolling?” Y/n spoke over to Harry, doing some final looks on the remote and Stomper.

“Yup! Ready for testing!” This was always Harry’s favorite part, despite it not being Y/n’s because she was always very thorough and was always waiting for a flaw with her creation. Harry, ever the optimist, was excited to see the little creature come to life.

“Okay, lemme just turn him on.” It was definitely a he this one, something in Y/n was just telling her it was a boy—as boyish a robot could be. But maybe she just thought the robot would act like Harry and all of his boyish charm.

Stomper grew to life, it’s “eyes” producing a subtle glow.

“Alright and moving forward—“ He moved, a little quicker then the others before him, which Y/n surprised and confused about. “Turning around…” The little robot did just that.

“It works?!” Harry shouted, letting the camera out of focus. He ran up to Y/n and hugged her tight, kissing her wherever his mouth could reach.

“Harry we got to give it more time, he might explode or something-“

“It’s perfect.” Harry chided, ignoring any concern his wife had for the little robot.

~

“I think Stomper was a subliminal message of some sort—“ Harry told the camera. He held on tight to the small child in this lap, who was trying to grab his ear and hair. “Y/n didn’t know she was pregnant yet. Only about a week after the music video went up Y/n had this epiphany that she didn’t have her period for the past two months—and the rest was history.”

Harry looked down at the little boy in his arms, brown hair showing through and a nose like his daddy’s. His eyes and lips through, were a copy and paste from his Mama.

“I joked that we should name him stomper--Y/n did not like that joke at all—so we settled on something else that will forever remain a mystery for you lot, or until I end up rambling uncontrollably.”

Harry, ever the scared Papa Bear, wouldn’t let anyone get a picture of any sort of the small boy. During the video, the boy was wearing a hat covering his face while Harry’s large hand would cover from the neck up. The only way you could know that Harry’s son was there was from the little grabby hands that kept making an appearance.

“But it’s getting close to this bubs nap time, so thank you for all the love.” Harry turned the camera off, smiling as he know the fans would love the one year special treat.

Harry went upstairs and met with his lovely wife taking a nap in their shared bed. His little boy yawned, causing Harry to yawn, so he knew it was family nap time.

“How’d it go?” Y/n whispered.

“Good.” Harry said, moving around so he could big spoon his son and wife. “Bubs was the star.”

“He takes after you.”

Harry smiled at the comment, but knew the opposite to be true. His little baby was showing signs of intelligence that could only be traced to his wife. “With any luck he’ll turn out just like his mama.”

[twstgarden]

❀ ❝ 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗶 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗻 𝗶𝗻 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲? ❞

━ malleus draconia x gn! reader (reader can be yuu or an oc/twstsona) ━ thoughts of the possibility of falling in love with your nightly visitor continue to disturb you even during the times you were supposed to focus on your quality time together.

no spoilers for chapter 7, diasomnia’s arc!

do not steal or translate without my permission.

buy me a coffee here and ko-fi here if you want to support me, commissions are open

“modern architectures seemed to have adapted new designs for their gargoyles. why, i even came across one that resembles a human face. it is quite intriguing, really. i have grown accustomed to seeing gargoyles that usually take the form of different creatures of the night, so seeing that human-like gargoyle sparked some interest in me that i wish to show it to you,” rambled malleus before he frowned, “however, my so-called phone could no longer capture images. it breaks easily, it’s unfortunate.”

you sat as you replied with a soft hum, your chin resting on your hand as you looked up at him with a rather longing and lovestruck gaze. you were paying attention to his ramblings, truly, you were! it just so happened that you were looking at him with an infatuated gaze.

hearing only a hum from you, malleus turned his head to look at his companion. with a raised brow, he spoke, “hm? are you alright?”

his question snapped you out of your thoughts. a soft blush dusted over your cheeks as you felt embarrassed of having been caught staring, “oh, sorry. um… so, did you capture it with… maybe a regular camera?”

once more, there was a frown on his lips, “no, but i will make sure i get to capture its uniqueness and aesthetic the next time i come across that gargoyle.”

it was somewhere around midnight when you decided to accompany malleus in the backyard of the ramshackle dorm, and you spent the past 30 minutes listening to him talk about his findings during his strolls for his gargoyle research club activity.

you loved listening to him speak. his voice was deep and resonant, yet so dulcet and soothing. you would never get tired of listening to him all day. when he speaks with clear passion and excitement laced in his tone, he resembles a young kid who had just gotten some candy – so endearing and oh so innocent, but you had to remind yourself that this was no ordinary man. this was the crown prince of a nation, a man respected by many and feared by many more.

still, who gives a damn about titles when you can enjoy his presence for as long as you want? as long as the moon stays up in the sky and the sun has not risen, you can guarantee his presence in your dormitory.

were you falling in love?

what nonsense. of course not! who could afford to fall in love at a time like this? what you needed to focus on was your return to your world, not fall in love with a prince who may soon be betrothed to someone else.

oh, but that smile…

malleus smiled as he caught you staring once more, lost in your gaze. with a teasing chuckle, he spoke playfully, “am i so captivating that you can’t seem to tear your eyes away?”

what a beautiful smile.

that question alone made you look away immediately. was it too obvious? surely, he was only teasing you, but it was as if he hinted that he knew you might be falling for him. you laughed a little and replied, “i was spacing out! i wasn’t staring or anything…”

“spacing out, hm? does something trouble your mind?” asked malleus. the playful air seemed to have dissipated, replaced with an air of concern and care as soon as you told him you were spacing out.

“not at all,” you replied with a smile, “i was only imagining what that gargoyle with a human face would look like.”

are you falling in love?

again, with such questions! having the desire to spend more time with the man and looking forward to your nightly meetings does not equate to falling in love. you merely wanted his companionship. he was the only one visiting you late at night, keeping you entertained and listening to your troubles. he was more of a friend than anyone else in night raven college – ace and deuce are a category of their own.

there was never a single night he’d bail on you. not a single night had he let you be alone. it had become a tradition at this point for him to always be standing by your window once the clock struck 12. he never arrived empty-handed; there was always a thoughtful gift in tow or an engaging tale of adventures of the people he knew – mostly lilia’s adventures. other times, it would be a treasure trove of fascinating facts on random yet intriguing subjects. with him, each nightly meeting was an enchanting experience, always concluding with the bestowal of a meaningful gift, the creation of lasting memories, or the gain of fresh knowledge.

a knowledgeable and kind-hearted friend.

that’s how you’d always describe him. that’s what you’d always tell yourself. he was nothing more than a knowledgeable, kind-hearted friend. why must your admiration of his character equate to romantic feelings? even friends can find one person cool and not wish to have romantic relationships with them.

oh, but you love holding his hand…

it was another night in night raven college, another night spent with your midnight visitor. he was discussing certain gemstones that he had in his collection – his hoard, a term better suited for his kind. the discussion seemed normal at first glance until he looked at your left hand and held his right hand out for you to hold after taking off his glove.

“may i?”

curiosity washed over your senses as you tilted your head but placed your left hand on top of his anyway. his gentle caress on your knuckles sent shivers down your spine, his hands felt so smooth and oh so gentle, yet you knew of the underlying strength that was concealed within his lovely hands.  the same hand that finds ease in cracking a coconut open gently held your own – as if he was afraid of accidentally hurting you.

as his thumb tenderly brushed against your bare ring finger, he spoke, “a beautiful golden ring would best adorn your hand, perhaps one embedded with your birthstone, don’t you think?”

this was merely a casual conversation between friends – a topic of discussion relating to gemstones turned into rings. this is normal, is it not? you hummed in reply as he continued to hold your hand, “a golden ring embedded with my birthstone? that sounds lovely.” a soft laugh then left your lips, “i could not afford to buy one, however.”

hoping he would comprehend your attempt at making a poor joke, you looked at him with a smile. he let out a soft chuckle, leading you to believe he was amused by your jest until his response completely caught you off-guard.

“why buy one when i can have one custom-made for you?”

your smile dropped as your expression turned into shock.

“pardon?”

that night was memorable, and certainly had its surprising elements compared to your other nightly meetings. you thought he was joking about getting a custom-made ring for you, but he had given so many hints and statements that he was completely serious – he even took your ring size. you did not stop him. perhaps it was just another one of his many, many gifts that he had bestowed upon you.

your vague knowledge of fae tradition made you recall a hint of a connection between faes and the art of gift-giving – that exchanging of gifts was an intrinsic part of their nature. you were entirely unaware of the customs and traditions surrounding gifts in briar valley, but surely, gift-giving is a way to show how much one appreciates an important acquaintance, is it not?

after that meeting, you started to realise the growing number of attempts on him holding your hand – whether you’re walking side by side or sitting together on the bench – he would always attempt to interlock his hand with yours in a way that seems respectful. his hand would gently brush against your own while he was talking, giving a hint that he wishes to hold your hand but would rather have your consent first.

you did not hesitate. you smiled and continued listening to his words as you interlocked your fingers together, gently squeezing his hand as he had not worn his gloves like usual. there was a brief moment of his eyes lighting up and his smile growing wider once he felt your hand on his, but then reverted to his usual expression as he continued to share stories with you.

your nightly meetings had extended to daylight hours. you were no longer confined in the moon’s appearance in the sky to determine how long you’d spend your time with him. you did not mind being seen by everyone else in the academy hanging out with the hotshot dormitory leader of diasomnia – who cares about them?

as long as malleus continued to spend his time with you, you’d spend your time with him. your blooming connection had soon become known to everyone else, and those from his dormitory were more than happy to finally see their dorm leader making friends. well, lilia was the proudest, but sebek still has his suspicions.

it has been a long while now since you have established a connection with the lonely crown prince. his companionship was all you could find on all the times you yearned for someone to hang out with. things were going smoothly, and your relationship with malleus kept blossoming every day.

have you fallen in love?

that question now haunted you once more.

have you fallen in love?

you shook your head as you sighed, trying to think of something else as you sat on diasomnia’s comfortable couch. their lounge was spacious – able to fit more than 20 students at the same time, but you’d rather not stay in the lounge if it gets crowded. the leather couches of their lounge were certainly of high quality as once you took a seat, you felt yourself sinking into the soft depths of the sofa.

malleus was sipping on his tea while the other three kept conversing about their recent school activities. upon hearing your sigh, malleus glanced at you and placed his teacup down, “are you feeling tired?” you shook your head in response, “no, no… not at all…”

have you fallen in love?

perhaps you did. your eyes stayed on malleus for a while as you thought of all the reasons you were drawn to him. malleus had a regal and powerful aura, everyone knew that, but there was also a hint of innocence and loneliness behind that powerful mask of his. you were one of the few people who have witnessed the real side of malleus draconia, while everyone else only knew him as a powerful fae prince.

malleus had the most beautiful set of green eyes – striking and sharp, yet so ethereal and comforting. his eyes showed all the feelings his facial expressions could not, and when it twinkles at the sight or mention of things, he is particularly fond of, you feel a sense of peace within you – as if you felt happy seeing him happy.

for so long have you denied your thoughts and dismissed them as merely friendly observations. you thought he was beautiful, and it should be normal to find someone beautiful, no? you think vil is a beautiful man, but that does not mean you are in love with him, so what makes malleus any different?

but that’s the thing.

malleus draconia’s allure was a level of their own.

his beauty was not like vil’s elegant charm or neige’s endearing appeal. malleus embodies a beauty of ethereal quality – to you, he is a man of enchanting grace and elegance, shrouded in mystery and often veiled in reserve.

have you fallen in love?

after pondering on your inner thoughts, you can proudly answer this question with confidence.

yes, you were.

© twstgarden 2024 || please do not steal, translate without my permission, or use this to train a.i.

[water-bottle-dont-sip]

As promised! A knuckles siren/pirate design (with the help of lovely @crowstealer once again) meme below bc I love knuxouge

Knuckles is an interesting case in this AU bc he didn’t start as a siren. Him and his family were a group of pirates that had set out on the journey to find the master emerald (it’s still an emerald in this AU but the chaos emeralds are the chaos scales)

Knuckles was told to stay on the ship and to let his family take care of it. He didn’t listen. He snuck off to find the emerald and prove himself, to prove to his family that he was strong enough to hold his own.

However when he found the emerald something went…wrong. The minute he held it in his arms something shifted.

Waves started beating the ship that had almost Knuckles entire clan on it, tidal waves threatened to sink it and sea creatures not before seen as a threat began to beat at the sides of the old wood.

Knuckles was put in a tough position. He could try to help his family and leave the emerald, or he could keep the emerald safe and sacrifice his family.

Neither of these came to pass however as he was instead put in the presence of what appeared to be a goddess. She held a chaos scale in one hand, spinning it with a blatant carelessness only found in someone who didn’t fear what they could lose.

She spoke to Knuckles and gave him one choice, one he was unable to refuse.

“As a consequence of trying to take this emerald, you shall be subject to the same fate as the others. That same fate as me.”

“And once you are, the waves will calm, and the creatures will leave. So, accept your fate.”

And so as a result of trying to prove himself, of just wanting to prove he could be strong, he was subject to live as a siren for the rest of eternity. The emerald becoming apart of him as he lived a fate he despised.

Gosh I did not mean to write all that! I will probably expand in more depth if I actually decided to make this a fic 🤷

[kometqh]

𝐂𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐈𝐧 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐫

Captain Rex x f!reader

When Skywalker assigns you and the 501st boys on a mission, he thought nothing could go wrong. After all, you were one of the best Jedi around. In the flurry of a quick, excitable night, you couldn’t have proven him more wrong. Word Count: 3,238 Warnings: Alcohol consumption, pining Rex, sad Rex, affection (🤯) A/N: SURPRISEEE!! I'M ALIVEEEE :D This piece has been sitting in my WIPs for months now, all because I didn't think it was good enough-- Coming back to it after months I’ve realised I love it the way it is for the first chapter ;)

Golden grains of sand brushed past the group in a chorus, whistling under the amber glow of the setting sun. It'd been hours at that point, hours since the squadron had been dispatched on their mission and they were already running low on water rations and energy. Clone troopers were specifically designed to be able to withstand all sorts of environments and situations, yet even they felt exhaustion after a continuous trudge through the dusty, ruby sandstone canyons. That paired with the constant threat of starved creatures ten times the size of their group lurking about, it was surely enough to keep anyone on a fine line between mind-numbing exhaustion and crippling fear.

Looking up, Rex sighed quietly as he listened to the quiet complaints and grumbles of his men. His feet were aching from a full day of travel, and his throat had been parched for what seemed like millenniums after he'd given Jesse the last remains of his water. The constant scorching heat had also been, unsurprisingly, anything but helpful.

Jedi General nowhere to be seen, Rex urged his men to continue their miserable shuffling pace, until she'd return to them. Until she'd relay information, or let them rest, or reassure them. Until then, he had to maintain composure, never let his men down.

It was shortly after the sun had dipped beneath the horizon, when the skies turned into a canvas of magenta and rosy pink splashes that the General returned. Wearing khaki shorts, a sandy top and a beige cloak, she blended in perfectly with the sunset dunes. Her lightsaber had been safely tucked away, attached to her hip so it was easy to reach for.

"There is a small town just a few clicks South, I believe there might be an inn that we can make a rest stop at. Any objections, Captain?" She eyed Rex up and down, brows furrowing at the sight of his sand-worn helmet and sweaty complexion. In one hand, she held a paper map, in the other she held a flask.

"N- No sir." He responded quickly, posture stiffening up under her scrutinising gaze. She wasn't exactly keen on being alone on a mission with his squadron; not after the last one. He looked down to her flask, feeling the arid desert air clawing at his throat with every breath he took.

"Apologies, it took me a while to realise where the town was. I hadn't seen a paper map in years, nevermind used it." She sighed, feigning some sort of annoyance as she reached out to Rex, head turned away, offering him her water. "Now go, tell the squadron we're leaving in a moment."

"Yes, General. They'll be up and running in no time." Slowly, he carefully took the water, shooting one last look to his general before turning in the direction of his squadron, who'd been impatiently tapping their feet and awaiting further instructions.

As he made his way over, a small inkling of hope settled deep in his gut. She still cared for him, for the others, even when she did her best to avoid them. Rex knew he needed to get to the bottom of this, but for now he had more important things to do. Fives and Hardcase seemed to turn into a team of unbearable jesters each time a mission involved too much walking and not enough action.

—————————

The inn was nothing if not dusty and run-down. It survived hundreds, if not thousands of sandstorms, and its' exterior spoke of those memories as if they were ghost stories told by a campfire. The entrance consisted of a pair of faded, walnut saloon doors, which squeaked and groaned with every brief gust of wind that'd swerved past their hinges.

The exterior of the inn was a sand-tarnished, foamy green wood with a large sign that read 'The Smoker' in fancy letters, but the interior contrasted it with deep, velvet ruby walls, candle lighting and a golden-rimmed bar that extended into the parlour in a half rectangle.

Rex had never been to such an establishment, and he even felt a tinge out of place in such an old-fashioned, un-modernised place in his armour and trusty blasters.

An older gentleman was stationed behind the bar, polishing a glass. Black streaks ran through locks of grey, and his moustache was carefully trimmed into two, twinning strands which curled up at the tips. His cheeks were chubby, brimming with rose colour over a small smile. His attention was redirected to the group, as their entrance was proclaimed by the chime of a small, golden bell.

"Welcome to the galaxy's finest ranch inn, the Smoker, how may I be of service to you all?" His voice was deep and husky as an aftermath of too many smoked pipes, croaking against the smooth tune of a saxophone in the background.

"A couple of rooms, as well as whatever these lot want. Put it all on my tab please." The General spoke quietly, leaning against the countertop. The man eyed her up and down, giving a small grunt in response. She turned to the rest of the group, exhaustion tugging at her features. "Don't go too wild, we've still got a mission tomorrow." And with that, she was off, swirling a room key on her finger.

A few mutters floated between the men as they spread out across the bar, ordering drink after drink.

Rex felt his headache worsen as he rubbed at his forehead. For the life of him he could not figure out how to get his General to act normal with them again. Her behaviour had entirely shifted since their last mission together, and he couldn't blame her. His face still felt hot whenever he reminisced, however she'd become distant and cold towards not only him, but also the others. Parts of him regretted that night whenever he was met with her cold shoulder and distant gaze.

"What's on your mind, Captain?" Jesse's voice interrupted his thoughts, placing a hand on Rex's shoulder. Jesse was a smart cookie. His eyes quickly followed Rex's line of sight, humming in understanding. Jesse had also found himself on the receiving end of her new behaviour, no matter how sugary and honey-coated his words were.

"She'll come around, Rex. She needs some time to figure things out, she's our general after all," He paused, gently tugging at his vod's shoulder, "Let's go, you clearly need a few drinks in you Captain." And with that, the two men joined Fives, Hardcase and Echo at a faraway booth, the men nursing some cowboy whiskey and shots.

Rex was in for a long night.

———————

It didn't take long for the boys to stuff Rex with drink after drink, someone always ready with new rounds each time Rex had thought his glass was empty. Fives took a liking to the music, though he had commented on the lack of civvies in the area, or the lack of their beloved general. Him and Tup were the only ones who, in the past few weeks, had managed to carry out some form of conversation with the general. Rex tried everything to make them spill the beans, from bribes to begging, but the two had sealed their lips shut, their loyalty almost astonishing the Captain, but he knew they were good men, loyal men. So, he didn't push anymore.

Somehow, Hardcase had managed to get his hands on a few 'cowboy' hats, as the bar owner explained, and the boys seemed to love them. Rex was the only one who seemed to be listening to the bar owner's stories, his eyes glazing over and a fond smile gracing his lips as he recounted his favourite memories. The one that had caught Rex's attention was peculiar – it was to do with women, or cowgirls, to be exact.

"If a cowgirl takes your hat, or any other woman for that matter, it means she's interested in seeing more of you," The bartender paused, chuckling to himself as he watched Fives and Hardcase engage in an arm wrestle, "And if you let her, you're essentially telling her you're also interested," After that, Rex seemed to forget to listen to the rest of the story, his thoughts flying to you immediately. As he sipped on his iced whiskey, an idea came to mind. He adjusted the hat atop his head, downing the rest of his drink. He stood up abruptly just as Hardcase won the wrestle, cheering and celebrating in his drunken state. He'd definitely had too much to drink, but Rex would entrust Jesse and Kix to look after him when he'd be throwing up.

Now, Rex had a mission.

He received a few curious glances from the troopers around him, but no one questioned it as he walked towards the stairs, a small wobble in his step.

The hallway seemed to be swaying just a tad as he climbed up with a death grip on the golden rail, praying to the force not to fall and make a fool of himself. The stairs seemed to go on and on forever, taking him up higher into dimly lit hallways, and he wondered just how big this inn was. It didn't seem to be much from the outside, but the inside was certainly a maze.

Many doors lined the hallway, and he realised he didn't actually know where his General was staying. His last sober memories were of Kix joining their table, an annoyed expression tugging at his features as Jesse seemed to regret drinking a tad too fast. Shaking his head – which turned out to be a mistake – Rex stumbled down the hallway, groaning as bile rose up to his throat. Kriff, what was he thinking?

Maybe this was a bad idea after all. Maybe you wouldn't even think to entertain his drunken antics and banish him straight to bed.

But Rex had to try.

The absence of your warmth and kindness was searing a hole directly through his chest. It worsened with every mission, with more distance that you added between the two of you, building a bridge littered with thorns and shards, making it impossible for Rex to cross. You were all he thought of each night, your gentle touches, adorable laughter, your sweet smile and song-like voice. He refused to acknowledge it for a long time, but eventually he realised he was completely and utterly enamoured with you. Ever since that night, far before it even, you had stolen his heart. Hidden it away so deep within your grasps. He knew he was a fool, but he couldn't help it.

A sober voice screamed in the back of his mind to go to bed, to leave you be, and a drunken part of him seemed to accept defeat. He looked like a pathetic drunk, dressed up as a cowboy, stumbling around hallways, desperately trying to find you.

Kriff it. He should go and sleep instead of bothering you further. His drunken antics would only drive a further gap between the two of you. If you needed space, space was what Rex would give you.

Huffing, he placed an unsteady hand on the nearest doorknob he could find. Twisting it, he didn't even bother looking into the room as he rose a hand to rub at his head. The hangover would hit him like a brick in the morning, he was sure of it.

As the door opened, he frowned. It was dark.

How long had he and the boys been drinking? The General wasn't going to be impressed with them for sure.

Rex closed the door with a soft 'click', his arms automatically, but lazily, unclasping his armour. It was muscle memory by now; shoulder pads first, then the chest, arms, legs, so on and so forth.

There were small, fuzzy spots dancing in his vision, the room before him swaying side to side, his feet stumbling over one another as he reached the only bed in the room. Exhaustion suddenly weighed in on his shoulders like a stack of bricks, and he felt himself sluggishly fall into the soft, comfortable mattress. He struggled to twist his body to the side, grunting as the duvet beneath him refused to budge. He pulled at it, his bones turning into slurry and his muscles losing all their strength as alcohol continued to circle around his system.

Finally, something seemed to shift.

The blanket slid out from underneath his bare back, and Rex sighed in relief as it draped over him, the cold material comforting and easing his tired muscles.

His eyelids drooped over, sleep reaching out to him in strong waves of drowsiness as Rex sunk further into the bed.

It was probably from the drowsiness he was slowly beginning to feel, but his heart leaped up and into his chest as he realised – the bed shifted.

He wasn't alone.

His senses kicked in and Rex leaped up from the bed, cursing in the meantime as his legs got tangled in the sheets and his body tumbled to the floor like a sack of bricks, eliciting a loud 'thump' that may have been noticeable all the way downstairs.

"Kriff- I'm so sorry," He began apologising, swallowing down the momentary fear and panic that flowed through his veins, "I didn't realise there was someone in here, I-"

Foreign hands travelled to his shoulders, their warmth seeping into his skin as they sought to comfort him, "It's okay Rex, there's no need to panic," A soft, smooth and caressing voice spoke out into the darkness of the room, and Rex's brows pulled together in confusion. That voice, it was familiar. He knew-

"General?"

"Yes, it's me Rex. Let's get you up now, shall we?" You were quick to help your Captain get to his feet, noticing that a large, dark brown hat resided hung from his neck. His skin was burning hot against your palms, and your hand wandered to his forehead as he laid back down. "You're burning..." You paused, scrunching your nose, "You reek of alcohol, Captain. How much did you drink?"

"Not enough apparently." Rex grumbled out as he pulled his newly acquired hat over his face, hiding his scowl from you.

Your brows furrowed at his response, surprise and confusion flooding your veins simultaneously. Was he upset with you? If that was the case, you could understand why. You hadn't been the friendliest or kindest over the last few rotations, and guilt did eat away at you whenever you were the cause of that dejected look in Rex's eyes. But he was nothing if not patient. He gave you your space and didn't try to break your boundaries. Maybe the alcohol stumped the patience that Rex never seemed to run out of.

"Are you upset with me Captain?"

He gave you no response, no hint as to what he was thinking or feeling.

"Rex?"

A deep huff left through his nose.

"Rex, what's-"

Suddenly, he was sat upright, a hand swiping the cowboy hat back onto the crown of his head. His gaze was piercing, even in his drunken stupor, as his nose remained just inches from your face, "You really do make things difficult, don't you, mesh'la." His voice was a murmur as his hazy honey eyes stared deeply into yours.

Before any words could leave your parted lips, he cupped the side of your face, a coarse thumb tenderly caressing your skin.

"Please don't make this difficult, General." Begging words barely above a whisper, your Captain slowly, carefully, leaned in. His eyes held the utmost adoration as his lips stopped just a kiss away, his presence overwhelming and freezing up every muscle and nerve in you all at once. The smell of whiskey was strong, but that familiar scent of seawater and pine lingered, stopping your breath short as your eyes fluttered close.

His movements were slow, calculating and considerate as Rex hesitantly teased the gap between your bodies.

Blood pulsated loudly in your ears, the hairs on your body tense as goosebumps flushed your skin in waves, the intensity of his proximity to you silencing any stray thoughts you had. In that moment, it was just the two of you. It was just the sound of his shaky breaths mixing together with your own, the slight tremble in his hand as his grip tightened and then eased, as if he was uncertain of what to do, the smell of whiskey and the taste something sweet familiar, something that had you wanting to reach out for more and never let go. And there was also the sight of him. Those golden irises, those thick lashes fluttering over his eyes. The pinkish hue that dusted over his cheeks, the heat emanating from his body as he struggled against every instinct within him that screamed at him to just kiss you, to just hold you and to just love you.

He made his choice.

His fingers dwindled downwards, tracing slopes down your nape as he eased an inch to the left.

Soft lips pressed against the corner of your mouth, pouring all his thoughts and feeling into that one, simple kiss, his nose gently scraping against yours as he took in a slow, steadying breath.

"I'm sorry, mesh'la," He muttered sweetly, voice broken and barely breaking above the confines of a whisper as he stilled against you.

Taking a sharp inhale, the imaginary shackles dropped from your body.

You pulled away slowly, your hands enveloping Rex's as you pressed it against your chest.

"It's okay Captain," You shifted away from the bed, feeling as his fingers entangled with yours and tugged, quietly pleading for you to stay.

Looking up at you, Rex knew deep down that you couldn't do what he wanted. He knew he shouldn't even try, and yet his body seemed to act on its own will whilst he remined watching from behind a glass prison. His chest tightened as he noticed the way your eyes seemed to droop, your lips drawing into a fine line so as to not betray your thoughts and feelings. Time stopped as the two of you remained frozen, yet again, gazing at one another, savouring the last moments before your fingers trickled from his grasp, falling in tow with your other hand as you reached for the duvet.

"Sleep, Captain, we've got a long day ahead of us," You whispered out, pulling the covers over his chest as Rex gave a small nod, resting against the soft pillows beneath him. Your movements came to a halt as you took notice of his hat, yet again, and an idea sparked in your mind.

Your fingers reached nimbly for the material, gently pulling it away from your captain.

With heavy fingers, he reached out for it, his eyes already struggling against the weight of his drowsiness.

"What are you..?"

Lifting a finger to your lips, you let a small smile tug at the corners of your lips as you placed the hat atop your head.

"Goodnight, Rex," And with that, you were out before he could even blink.

Rex remained frozen in his seated position, his mind struggling to balance the feeling of drowsiness and shock at your actions. The alcohol flowing through his blood wasn't any help either, and he soon found his head hitting the pillows as his muscles seemingly turned into jelly.

A small smile blossomed on his face, even as the events of the night slowly blurred and faded under the whiskey and the rush of his feelings..

[uniquevoidflowers]

@luna-loveboop

Even though the other eras were of smaller scale than what he was used to, he was still eager to explore them. The plants and fauna, the creatures and layout—even the air—all felt different. It filled him with a rush of excitement similar to what he experienced when he had woke up.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” The traveller hero asked as soon as they had stepped foot in the rancher’s era. 

“Hell yes,” Wild responded, unhooking his slate from his side.

With one mischievous glance at the group, they slipped away into what Twilight dreamily called ‘Faron Woods’. It was a lush and peaceful forest, blanketed by towering trees and flowing waterfalls. It was more alive than the most vivid parts of his Hyrule, which was saying something. 

“Look!” Hyrule exclaimed suddenly, and pointed at the bushes.

He peered over and grinned, snapping a picture with the slate. It was a small, green bug. Maybe a restless cricket?

Once he switched to the compendium it told him it was not a cricket but a grasshopper. The description was short and straight to the point, leaving him wondering more. “A…grasshopper,”  Hyrule read slowly. “Huh.”

Blonde hair swayed as she whirled around. “Link! Look closely, over here!”

A small golden insect, twitching. She beamed at him and words poured off her tongue with ease, flowing like an endless river. “Normally a grasshopper isn’t something I’d be overly ecstatic about. I believe there’s more to learn about them of course, however, I know enough for my curiosity to be satiated.”

He quirked an eyebrow and she flicked him in the forehead. “Yes, surprising I know. Anyway, it seems that this little one here is a golden colour! A gold insect is incredibly rare and is often searched for to be sold for a high price. Oh! Remember the frog I caught earlier?”

She giggled at the expression on his face, and he mourned the food he’d stuffed hastily into his mouth earlier. “It’s never been tried before, but don’t you suppose that these golden insects might have effects when consumed? We could improve potions even more, and revitalize wounded soldiers in battle.”

She lunged for the insect, but it was too swift, escaping her clutches. She wiped her hands on her pants and gave a long suffering sigh. “Ugh, so close. I could’ve made history! You see, these little insects have reappeared in records for years…beyond the Calamity’s first appearance. It’s always a mystery how they survive, since there are so few and they always get fewer.”

Suddenly she paused, wilting. “I’ve begun to rant once more, haven’t I? My apologies. We should probably continue our travels.”

He shook his head and spoke, voice hoarse and gravelly from underuse. “I don’t mind, Your Highness.”

Her pointed ears tinged red, eyes wider but freer. “Oh…Very well.”

Then those bright green eyes lit up, and she curled her lip playfully. “You wouldn’t mind hearing about my recent studies of the guardians then, right?”

He smiled, mirthful as she launched into an explanation about Sheikah parts and designs and many other details. 

The image rippled, fading away and he smelled sea foam. The traveller was pouring magic into him, trying to heal something that wasn’t broken. Wild assured, “I’m okay. Just a memory.”

A surprisingly light one too…and he spoke! He’d never heard himself speak in one before, and Flora’s diary didn’t count. “Okay,” Hyrule pulled his hands away and then gasped. “Another one!”

He hurried to look over. The second grasshopper was golden. “We’ve got to catch it,” The champion smirked, bag at the ready. 

“New recipe? I’ve never seen you put bugs in a meal before.”

“Hylia, no. The ranch-hand would have my head if I tried to put another bug in his food.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“Good point,” Wild laughed and crouched down.

He approached the insect slowly. Then he leaped forward and wrapped it in his hands, hurrying to put it in his bag.

Flora would love it, he was sure. 

[divine-misfortune]

So many things that I would do if I had my way with you

Kinktober day 6: Quickie

Rating: Explicit

Relationship(s): Mountain/Rain

Words: 1,836

Tags: Face-fucking, oral sex, rough sex, semi public sex, degradation, cum facial, dubiously consensual blowjobs, threats of mouth knotting, mean Mountain, Rain's a tease and gets in trouble

Read on a03 or below the cut

The corner Rain tugged the earth ghoul towards was hardly tucked away and that was by design. He liked the threat of prying eyes, and reveled in the way Mountain bristled at the thought. A private creature thrown from his element, he was Rain’s favorite prey to pounce upon, and today he was keen on playing with his food. 

Rain had decided Mountain to be the object of his affections today before they’d even stepped off the tour bus, and he truly was one of the most fun to toy with because of how intently he would always watch Rain play his games with the rest of his pack. Big guy was always brimming with envy by the time he set his sights on him and Rain could feel it with every move he made, the weight of his gaze followed him in every move he made. 

Mountain was the bow bending under the pressure Rain continuously laid on with every calculated attack. The shimmy of his hips as he changed into his uniform, the hand he laid on Mountain’s chest as he spoke in that purposefully hushed voice that had Mountain’s drooping ears perking up, the kisses that lingered longer and longer - he could practically feel Mountain shake with desire, straining not to break. 

Leaning back against the wall, he pulled Mountain closer by the belt loops. Hips being drawn together with a whispered request of “kiss me” that Mountain obliged before he could let out the rest of his breath. Somehow despite how quickly their lips crashed together they managed to avoid smashing their teeth together as well - hellish fangs being smoothed down by glamor certainly helped avoid the unpleasant experience. It’s a clumsy motion that takes a few beats to sync up, a process that really takes longer than it should have because of the fact Mountain is simply voracious. Wanting to take and take everything Rain had to give in the first touch of their lips, he was licking over the seam of his mouth within seconds and unknowingly playing further into Rain’s hands. One of which was lazily palming at him behind his zipper, the sensation of his cock filling out in his hands was always Rain’s favorite part. 

“Couldn’t get a minute of you to myself, tadpole.” Mountain mumbled in between kisses, voice tinged with the particularly desperate flavor of want that he was so fond of. “Like you were trying to get me to chase you.”

”And if I was?” He questioned with a squeeze to the growing bulge in his pants, reveling in the hurt little sound that catches in his throat. “Would you forgive me?”

”Could be convinced.” His head fell back, kiss broken, hips pressing forward into his dangerously clever hands. Rain took the excuse to nip at his bared neck, grinning at the full bodied jolt it earned him.

Gracefully he slipped to the floor and Mountain watched him expectantly but his face twisted up when all Rain did was kiss at his clothed cock a few times, looking up at him with sultry cerulean eyes. His expression shifted into disappointment as the water ghoul pet up his thighs and nuzzled his face against where he tented, very obviously  making no move to free him from his fabric prison. No intent to take him out and offer a little relief. 

“Promise I’ll make it up to you later, love.”

”Later?” Mountain grimaced at the word, brow furrowing deep. The irritated edge in his voice was becoming clear now but the sudden shift in his scent was impossible to miss. “You’re fucking kidding me.” 

“Well we’re about to go on,” Rain shrugged, something uneasy and borderline excited flipped in his stomach. 

He knew when to make a tactical retreat but for once, Rain had miscalculated. Upon trying to stand he found himself shoved back to his knees hard, a ruthless hand twisting up in his carefully tamed hair. Looking up made that brief funny feeling in his belly turn to something more recognizable, nervousness shadowing arousal. Gold glinted down at him dangerously, ghoulish nature bleeding through Mountain’s glamor as he single-handedly worked his belt off. 

“Shut the fuck up and open your mouth.” He snapped and Rain began to protest, argue the point that they really were due on stage in a few short minutes. Mountain didn’t care. Didn’t want to hear it. So he tugged at his hair and forced himself past his parted lips, laughing when Rain gagged at the sudden intrusion. “Don’t be so dramatic, I know you can fucking take it.” 

Now pinned between the wall and Mountain’s hips, Rain truly had nowhere to go. Proud nose pressed into the dark bed of hair and held there, Mountain seemed set on molding his throat around his cock and his head swam. His inability to breathe quickly became an issue but once again, Mountain didn’t seem to care. Growled when he pawed at his thigh. 

“You’re not getting out of this. Figure it out.” 

Rain whined and let the magic concealing him drip away, the gills on his neck freed and instantly fluttering desperately for air. Breathing did nothing to clear the fog starting to cloud his head, and neither did the way Mountain began to fuck in and out of his mouth. Rough enough to bump the back of his skull against the wall with every thrust - he’d nearly teased his way right into a concussion. 

Mountain groaned above him, one hand wrapped around his horn and the other fisted in his hair, pushing and pulling him easily. Could have done whatever he damn well pleased with him and Rain knew he could do nothing to stop it. The thought shouldn’t have sent something hot rippling through him but the fact it did was undeniable. Despite his jaw going slack, the ache at the hinge was still bothersome, and he’d regret every decision he’d made in the morning but in the moment his senses were beginning to blur together, hazy warmth trickling into his head.

Drool dripped from his mouth as Mountain’s balls slapped against his chin, droplets landing on a growing wet spot on the front of his pants. It sounded wet. Dirty. Everyone could certainly hear it behind the sound of Mountain huffing and growling, slipping back into something undomesticated and wild, driven there by an elusive siren. 

“That’s what I thought,” he hissed through his teeth and bullied the whole of his length down his throat again, little twitches of his hips only driving him deeper when Rain swallowed obediently around him. “Get a cock in you and you finally start acting right. Quit acting like a fucking slut and I won’t have to treat you like one.”

Rain moaned. A little sound and a flutter of his gills. 

“But you like it when I treat you like this, don’t you?” His lips curled but Rain couldn’t tell if it was a smirk or a snarl. 

With another shallow thrust, nudging against the back of his throat, Rain realized Mountain had not pushed nearly as deep. His eyes crossed trying to look down the bridge of his nose and Mountain laughed coldly, mumbling something about how stupid he looked. Rain blinked dumbly at the small pudgy knot beginning to form at the base, making a vaguely distressed sounding noise as Mountain forced it into his mouth. Not fat enough to catch but enough to add to the strain on his already abused jaw muscles. 

“Aw, princess wants me to knot his mouth huh?” 

He tried in vain to shake his head, held still by the hand around his horn. Mountain wouldn’t let him lie so easily.

Somewhere down the hall they heard Swiss’ booming voice calling for the other ghouls and Mountain cursed, abruptly withdrawing from the warm hole he’d been so thoroughly enjoying to resort to his hands. He tipped Rain’s face up towards him and the water ghoul’s mouth stayed open, tongue lolling out of his mouth. If he wasn’t so focused on the fist flying desperately up and down his shaft he’d have mocked Rain for being such a good little cock sucker but he was racing against a ticking clock. He just continued to stroke himself chasing the release he knew would do nothing to quell the fire in his blood, the throb of his swelling knot told him as much. 

“Fuck, fuck, sh-hit-!” 

The tip bumped against Rain’s tongue a few times, unintentionally rewarding him with the heady taste they both knew he craved, but the little extra stimulation was what he needed. Mountain bit at his lip as his face screwed up, frantically dragging his head up and down his tongue with every pass of his fist until he slapped his hand against the wall with a final grunt. Thick ropes of white sprayed across Rain’s face; his flushed and tear stained cheeks, into his hairline, just shy of his open and waiting mouth, a little even almost managed to get in his eye. 

Mountain’s mouth hung open, eyes rolled back as his hips jerked clumsily forward trying to milk out more spend than what his body wanted to give. His chest heaved as he squeezed his knot in vain, grimacing as his cock stayed hard despite the absolute mess he'd painted his mate with. 

“Mountain?! Rain?! I swear to the high hells if you two don’t appear in the next sixty seconds I am going to burn you both alive in your sleep!” 

If Rain had the mental faculties to do so, he’d be making a similar face. Left dirtied and now rushed by a distant fire ghoul’s yelling. But Rain was far from coherent enough to do so, sagging back against the wall when Mountain released him in order to tuck his dick into his waistband in hopes of hiding his frustration. It barely did the trick but at least it wasn’t as obvious. With that matter sorted, Mountain shifted his attention to him and rolled his eyes.

”Belial, you got so cockdrunk you’re useless.” 

Mountain yanked him to his feet with ease, like jerking around a rag doll. Rain offered no resistance, not that he would have if he could. 

Things moved quickly despite how heavy and sluggish he felt. It was like he blinked and suddenly Mountain had his own helmet on, straightening out his own disheveled uniform the best he could without seeing his reflection. He just remained propped up against the wall where he’d been left. Faintly he recognized the desire between his thighs and the autopilot in his brain thought to press his hand to it but his arms hung leaded at his side and he whined petulantly. 

“You…” Mountain pulled the bunched up balaclava from around his neck, over the lower half of his still cum-covered face “I will deal with you later.”

”But ‘m all sticky-“

”Don’t blame me for the consequences of your stupid actions. Put your helmet on and lets fucking go.”

[windbelle]

Is there any aspect of Astarion that you feel you specifically created in him?

Newbon: I think it’d be remiss of me to say I brought this to Astarion. I took Stephen [Rooney]’s words, which were beautiful, and I did things with them. This is what Stephen told me after the initial demo when I sort of quasi-auditioned, demo-ed for Asatarion. Stephen reviewed it. He liked what I was doing… He didn’t predict the things that I was doing with the character. So they were a surprise to him, which he liked. He then started writing towards the rhythm that I was trying out with the character because he liked it. I think the word “Darling” became more of a thing after he heard me say one line that had the word “Darling” in it, and it wasn’t supposed to be like a thing for him, but it sort of became like an anchor point for Astarion, which I think was really interesting.

Newbon: I didn’t improvise any of the lines. The lines of dialog were beautifully written. But what I did do is the cadence, the habits, the mannerisms, the different jumps and changes, the theatricality, the facade of him, all that kind of stuff I brought in, which isn’t scripted per-se, but I’m obviously following Stephen and the other writers who contributed towards the Astarion’s words and just brought my own take on it, my own flavor on it.

I did a lot of background work, I did a lot of character creation work myself. I spent a long time, over four years, really cultivating different aspects. And I thought a lot about his habits. I brought in a lot of different methodology, from method work, movement work, creature and character design. I spent a lot of work.

This was not something that I just switched on and got into. This took a lot of experimentation to find what was right, especially with things like the voice and particular habits he would do for deflection or dismissing you. I wanted to build very strong habits into him so that even if he was saying one thing, his body might give himself away or what his real intent was. And I think largely we got pretty successful at that because I think you can watch his physicality and realize he’s saying the opposite of what he’s saying.

There was a lot of fun to be had. But yeah, I worked my socks on this role and it was great. It was four years of joy. It was great. Four and a half years of joy.

So, speaking of that work, you did building his lore…

Newbon: Not his lore, the lore is set by the writers, building his life, I think.

Perfect, building his life. Given all that work, do you have, in the fandom, we call it a head-canon? Do you have any headcanons about Astarion that are not explicitly said in the game?

Newbon: I have his background, and I developed aspects of his background that aren’t talked about because that’s a method tool to help live the character’s life. Okay, well, in the past, he used to do things like this. Therefore, that’s a habit that he would carry on into this new life, being a vampire and being a slave, essentially.

So, I took habits from his past that aren’t scripted and developed those myself. Nobody knows that. Nobody needs to be told that. But what it does do is that if I’m put into a new context of a new scene, I know how he’s going to react habitually and also his wants and needs and objectives, anyway. All of that factors into the choice I will then make in-line with physical movement because I have his life in my head. So, if you want to call that a head-canon. That’s kind of like a historic head canon.

What I don’t do is head-canon the future of beyond the story because that story’s happened.

Is there anything you can share there? He loves wool and socks or something.

Newbon: Yeah. There’s a thing where Astarion always checks his nails when he is trying to just dominate people. He dismisses them with a head turn, usually to the left. He does this to put people in their place. To make very them acutely aware that he’s in control.

......

[strangelittlestories]

The walls of reality are sometimes perilously thin.

Sometimes the walls are so thin, in fact, that “walls” is quite generous and it may be more accurate to call them “the crepe paper modesty screen of reality”.

Or perhaps even “the jangly bead curtain of reality”.

It's thin, okay? The boundaries of reality are thin. Like, real liminal.

And that is how Pack, the god of wolves, was ranging through the heavens on one of his long hunts and crashed through the cosmos into a new world.

One moment, he was chasing Twitch the trickster hare across the sky, the next he was in a strange forest. The forest was lit by little orbs of light that flitted through the boughs of the trees on delicate filament wings. By their flickering light, Pack could see bulbous huts in branches, seemingly growing out of the trees rather than built there.

One of the insect-like orbs flew down towards Pack and hoovered by his head.

“Oh my, you are fierce. Are you a new Alpha?” Its voice didn't sound like food to Pack. It was too even and too musical. “You're not supposed to be roaming at this hour, I'm afraid! This is designated free time for the Omegas.”

“Huh?” growled Pack, “I am Pack, the father of all wolves.”

“So you are an Alpha!” chirped the orb, “How exciting. Let me find you a residence and get you off the forest floor. The Omegas will go quite spare if they find someone as dominant as you about.”

“I-” Pack wrinkled his muzzle and tried to find the words for this strange situation, “I am not an Alpha. Alpha is a human invention. Not real. I do not dominate. To be wolf-father is to serve.”

“Oh, so you're an Omega? Very large and strong for an Omega. Hmmm.”

Pack heard chuckling in the undergrowth. This was Twitch's idea of a joke, obviously.

“Take me to this residence. I have many questions.”

---

The orb - which said it was called a r@ven - spoke with Pack for some time.

In the coming days, it proved to be a font of knowledge and an able helper in the hunt for Twitch the trickster hare.

With r@ven’s guidance, Pack explored the strange forest city and discovered its three-dimensional hunting grounds. Pack fought the Alpha of Alphas for dominance, then gifted the position to a wise Omega he had befriended. And Pack fell in love with an Omega who had been born an Alpha, and the pair of them caught Twitch together.

“Alright, alright,” Twitch said from between Pack's jaws, “I'll take us back. I just thought it'd be a laugh to lead you here.”

“It has been many things.” Pack said thoughtfully, “and you will take me home … eventually. But I think I will stay here with my love a little longer.”

“Yes.” said the god of wolves, “For while I am the father of all wolves, I have never *birthed* a creature. And given that seems possible here, I find that it is an experience that, well … I want that.”

“So … can I be godfather?” asked Twitch.

“Don't push your luck.”

---

Enjoy my writing? Please consider supporting my latest creative endeavour, Poor Life Choices. Currently crowdfunding for a run at the Edinburgh Fringe!

https://igg.me/at/poorlifechoices/x#/

[captain-mj]

Hey gimme that alien thing

Glad you finally sent me this! I loved talking about it with you! btw if you guys want to talk about an idea, feel free to message me

This is really horny but Roach is a human biologist with an alien Soap and Ghost (different species).

Roach felt weird being the only human on ship sometimes. He and Ghost were also the only species evolved from predators which only made it worse. His instinct to smile or stare at them directly when they spoke made most of them uncomfortable, too reminiscent of what they expected from the apex predators of their worlds.

Roach would never blame them! It was their instincts that made them afraid just as much as it was his instincts to be polite. He tried not to get irritated at them when they'd flinch or make a big deal of telling him that he was "Staring predatorily" again. Eventually, he just covered the bottom of his face so he didn't have to worry about it.

Ghost understood. He looked like a predator. Unlike Roach who was omnivorous, Ghost was an obligatory carnivore. Beside occasionally eating these plants that tasted like mint, he only ate meat. His teeth mostly resembled several canines, though some were clearly meant to break bones. His ears were sharp and pointed like a cat that could easily swivel all the way around. A fascinating part of his biology was his voice. Or more accurately, his vocal cords. They were designed to mimic sounds. His voice was not his own. Apparently, it came from some man from Manchester that talked to him and then was killed later. Didn't even remember his name. Just noticed it put others at ease.

"Gary." Ghost purred, sounding like gravel. "You're doing it again."

Roach shrugged. "I like categorizing our crew mates. I am a biologist."

"Planning on exploring my anatomy again?" Giant dark eyes with vertical pupils stared at him. Meant for hunting at night. Ghost looked amused with him.

Roach hated that he wore a mask. His features were gorgeous. Sharp and attractive. But he refused to unlearn baring his teeth and looking calm all the time. So he wore a mask just as Roach did. Kept himself carefully under wraps. He heard rumors that Ghost was disliked by his own species. Roach couldn't think of a reason why.

Ghost and Roach stayed perched where they were, staring down at everyone below. They acted so... odd. Almost herd like.

Except for Soap.

Johnny Soap MacTavish.

Roach would love to explore his anatomy. Maybe his psyche as well. He was a strange man. Right now, he was sniffing the air and looking around, soft deer like ears flicking up. Roach had a feeling the creature he evolved from was similar from a Cervinae. His ears were so big and soft, designed to hear things for miles. Long legs meant to run quickly and a poof of a tail that seemed to mostly just give away his mood. Roach wasn't sure what other uses it would have. Despite the sniffing, Roach knew he was not that sensitive to smell. He had to rely on his hearing and sight. It was close to impossible for any of them to sneak up on them.

Well, not Roach and Ghost. It was almost too easy for them unless Roach wore his cologne. Soap never seemed to mind. He never scolded Roach for walking too close or jumped out of Ghost's way when he saw him coming through.

Soap had giant eyes. His face looked very human because of it. And... innocent. Roach knew he wasn't. Soap had made jokes so dirty they turned Roach's ears red. He seemed to find a special joy in it. But it was hard when giant blue eyes blinked at him.

Ghost tapped sharp nails against the metal they were sitting on. Roach watched it.

"Nervous tic?"

"Hunting instinct. It's to check if my nails are sharp enough."

"You can't eat crew." Roach gently reminded.

"Two types of hunting, Gary. There are more hungers than just food." Ghost stood up, long tail lashing behind him. Roach wished he knew what it meant. His species relied mostly on body language, meaning he probably spoke volumes more than he bothered to translate to Roach.

Instead, he finally went downstairs to eat. He sat next to Ghost like usual.

Unlike usual, Soap sat in front of them. He seemed agitated, ears and tail twitching every few seconds. However, he straightened up and tilted his head at them, ear standing up. It was his version of smiling and looking Roach in his eyes.

Ghost pulled his food a little closer to himself, eating faster. Roach followed suit. It felt really weird, eating meat in front of Soap. He didn't miss the way his eyes followed it, watching it disappear into Roach's mouth.

Soap started to eat his own food. "Is it true humans regularly drink coffee? I heard it's toxic."

"To a lot of species, it is. It's because of the caffeine. You would probably be fine."

Soap hummed. "Is the stuff here any good?"

Roach shook his head immediately. "No. Next time I find some good coffee, I'll tell you."

Soap leaned forward, giant eyes blinking at him. They didn't look him head on. Just slightly down but still more direct than was considered proper. Roach stared at him openly and watched him blush. He didn't seem scared though, so he didn't look away.

The three of them kept eating. Ghost licked his fingers, getting the blood off of it. Roach grimaced and he grinned.

"Not my fault you need it to be cooked."

Soap tilted his head. "Because of bacteria right? Meat contains more bacteria and potential parasites so humans need it to be heated."

"What's an engineer doing researching humans?" Roach turned his attention back to Soap, watching his flinch and the way his eyes tilted back down.

"I research all my crew mates."

Ghost leaned in. "Need to know what might eat you?"

"Need to know which machines are more vital. How much oxygen is the right level? Nitrogen? If one of the machine for food storage fails, what needs to be prioritized?"

"And you decide that?"

"On paper? Not at all. In reality? Yes. I fix the machines. I'm the first person that messes with them. If an emergency happened, I don't always have time for order."

Ghost tilted his head. "And what would you prioritize?"

"High nitrogen levels. High oxygen isn't a necessity. It would awful to make you wear a mask, Roach, but if you need to, you'd have a much easier time and you'd be the only one really affected as long as we kept the oxygen levels above about eight percent. Also, you guy's food. Hungry herbivores for a few days means some complaining. Irritation. Hungry you two? One of us might be on the menu. Risky business."

"Saying I can't control myself?" Ghost leaned in, giant teeth bared. The still healing mark on Roach's shoulder throbbed.

Soap swallowed, looking at his mouth. "Aye. That's exactly what I'm saying. If you had to eat one of the crew, who would it be?"

Roach hummed. "Morbid question. I could live on plants for a good while."

Ghost licked his teeth. Black tongue dripping with blood. He swallowed. "I'm meant to survive a few weeks with no food. I'm sure they'd hurry up and get food before I start getting dangerous."

Soap nodded quickly. "Still. Question remains. Hopefully, I never have to get a proper answer." He smiled. It was an awkward expression, one he clearly wasn't used to making. "Regardless, I hold you two in high esteem. I doubt either of you would ever be dangerous if it could be helped. I'll talk to you both later." Whatever had irritated him before seemed to have gone away.

Roach got a weird feeling that he was both being mocked and also complimented.

Ghost left before Roach could turn to him to keep talking. He didn't need a translation to read his body language as irritated.

Soap continued to get closer. He had never been one that looked afraid, but now he seemed almost comfortable around them.

Roach found himself drawing in closer. Bewitched by Soap. A simple taste and maybe he'd be cured.

The next time the three of them were together, because it was always the three of them, that Soap smiled again. It looked more natural and both Ghost and Roach wondered if he practiced it.

Ghost thought of slipping off his mask. To stare directly into Soap and see if it made him afraid. That or grab that little tail of his and bend him over the desk.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. It was the mating time of his lunar year. It meant nothing to anyone else. He did not emit hormones or act like an animal or try to drag people into his office or room for the sole purpose of fucking.

Ghost just got a little easier to irritate and his mind would come up with silly things. Like how Soap could manage to look past his claws and his teeth. With Roach, it was easy to ignore. His nails were similar enough to Soap's. Their hands, though differently sized, were the same general way. Ghost's finger were longer. Made to grip and hold struggling things. Scars dotting him.

Roach saw him as a bit of fun. A "chance to satisfy scientific curiosity" about what certain aliens looked like unclothed. He had said so himself while Ghost had been undressed in his bed. Above him and vulnerable. His gentle hands holding Ghost's shoulders when he felt like he'd shake apart from the sweet contact.

It was silly to think things would change between them or that Soap would be any different. They were... better than Ghost was. Far better. He was a problem. Incorrect on his own planet. Incorrect here. Too big or too small.

Soap's hand on his shoulder caught his attention and his eyes flicked over to him. "Save ya a seat, sir?" He looked to the left of Ghost's ear. It gave the illusion of directness. Horribly rude normally. It made Ghost want to touch. To feel connection.

How pathetic of him. He still sat in the seat Soap saved.

Soap was enraptured by the two of them. Their sharp eyes. Lean muscle designed for endurance. The teeth.

He was well aware his tastes were... well. Among his people, they would outcast him in moments. Finding those traits so alluring. Despite being almost their height, only about two inches shorter than Roach and six under Ghost, he knew they could easily pick him up. He was built for speed. Short bursts to easily get away from things just like them.

Soap had tried to push it down. The feeling of longing. The jealousy when they so easily understood each other. He knew logically that it was just because they were the ones that stuck out. But they fit together so well and Soap wanted that. Yes, he could play pretend and get people's attention all day long, but it never felt substantial.

They never looked at him. While they should be normal. He shouldn't want to be viewed. The way Ghost and Roach looked at him as if he had their whole attention. How their eyes trained on his in a way that monsters had before pouncing. It made his heart race. His mouth go dry.

Soap wanted. longed. needed. He wasn't sure what. Maybe it was as simple as just their attention.

He got it when Ghost put his hand on his back. His hands. They were made to rip apart things like Soap. Get inside and devour. But it was gentle. Sweet even. Just a careful press. His tail started to swish side to side like wild and he could feel the tip brushing against Ghost's gloves. He found it hard to breathe.

"Johnny."

"Simon."

His thumb started to rub in circles. "Roach is omnivorous. He would survive just fine without meat for a while, it's just not their ideal diet. It's why he wouldn't answer your question that day."

"oh."

"But me? I'd eat the accountant that lives in the room next to mine."

Soap looked up at him. "Why?"

"He's the closest thing to a creature I had on my home world. It's from the water. A lovely little thing. You just pop those in your mouth and sink your teeth in. I think he'd taste similar."

Soap nodded. "You've thought about it?"

Ghost hummed. "Emergencies as you said. Sometimes, we don't have time to think. And if came down to it. Well. I'd rather make a level headed decision instead of a rash one. Might hurt someone valuable."

"It's cruel to place us on a value system."

"Not much different than you decide who breathes easy. I'd rather eat an accountant than my only engineer."

Soap did not miss that Ghost said "my engineer". Not the ships. Not even ours. Just my. He looked at him and swallowed.

Slowly, he moved closer. Their tails brushed and he didn't miss the way Ghost's breath caught. For Soap, it was a bit like brushing hands. A simple gesture to show affections. Judging by Ghost's reaction, he had a feeling for him, it may mean a bit more.

Roach caught up to the two of him. His eyes were crinkled like he was smiling. Soap wanted to see it properly. Without the mask. Those beautiful brown eyes. He felt weak to them. He had once heard the term "puppy dog eyes" and when he looked at Roach, he thought he might understand the phrase. While they did not quite match the canines he had seen (and quickly learned to loathe), they did have the same adorableness. They were also perfect for begging as Roach had proved countless times by looking at him and asking politely to try whatever Soap was eating. He gave it up each time without a second thought, even though it could never be reciprocated.

"Soap. You look nice today."

His heart somehow sped up more. It hurt his chest. "Ah. Thank you. You look lovely yourself."

Roach's ears went red and they fell back in line. It felt easier when the three of them were together.

Soap stayed with them late in to the night as Roach did his research. He studied one of the new animals he had gotten from a planet, gently coaxing it to eat. It was like a moth, though it's wings were made of a material he was not familiar. Standard procedure would lead him to dissect the poor thing, but... well. He felt too guilty.

Ghost kept glancing at Soap. Usually, if he and Roach were alone in his lab, he could convince him to come to bed with him. That didn't work if Soap was there.

"So, why is a high ranking member of the ship such as yourself sitting in here while a biologist works?" Soap asked.

Roach hummed. "Ghost helps me with experiments occasionally." He gently grabbed one of the... scales? that had fallen off his creature. He slid it under a microscope.

"What experiments? Maybe I could also be of assistance?" Soap's tail wagged. He looked so excited.

Ghost huffed. "He means we have sex."

The wagging stopped and Roach whipped around. "Simon."

"What?" Ghost's tail twitched. He was getting agitated. It wasn't Soap's fault but Ghost wanted... fuck he just wanted.

Soap had a pretty blush on his face. "My apologies. I didn't mean to interrupt."

Roach paused. "Actually. Soap. Could you..." He looked at him.

Soap paused before swallowing thickly. Alone. With two predators. Being asked... "You want me to... what?"

"Undress for me. I've been curious because most of the diagrams we have of your species don't cover everything. So, if you really would like to assist me." Roach batted his eyelashes.

Damn those puppy dog eyes.

Soap swallowed and started to unbutton his clothes. He was always so confident around them. Always ready to push further. As his shirt slid off his shoulders, so did any form of bravado he might've had. His hands shook as he undid his belt, fear and arousal fighting hard. They wouldn't hurt him. He knew that. But they were looking at him.

"Take off your mask." Soap asked as he pulled the belt from his loops.

Roach slowly did. Pretty mouth. Freckles.

Ghost didn't quite yet.

Soap kicked off his shoes. "Please, sir."

His mask fell on the floor next to Soap's shirt. Giant teeth. Scarring. Gorgeous hair that kinked and curled.

Soap finished undressing and closed his eyes. He resisted the urge to cover himself up.

Roach's hands, he could tell by the softness and bluntness of the nails, brushed against him. Every bit the scientist, he actually did take notes. Measurements and pictures. He gently tilted his head so his face would not be seen.

"Why do you have a tail?"

"What?" Soap felt like he was on fire. He didn't know where Ghost was but he could feel their gazes burning into him. Normally, he'd say with certainty that his body was attractive but was it what they'd find attractive?

"What purpose does it serve? Is it behavioral? For balance?"

Ghost grabbed Soap's tail and his free hand was on his waist, moving him easily. Soap gasped, mouth hanging open and more blood rushed to his face as his body reacted. "Think I found it. Mark that it's a mating thing."

Roach actually did. Soap could hear the scratching of the pencil and it made his head spin. It was so cold and calculated and borderline cruel but he liked it. Liked that Ghost's hands tightened their grip.

Breath right against his ear. "Johnny. Are you okay?"

"Yes." Soap nodded frantically, mouth falling open as Ghost gently ran his fingers down his side. He burned all the way through. It only got worse when Roach's deft fingers touched his cock.

"Similar anatomy to a human's." Roach had a tinge of disappointment in his voice. "I wonder." He gently traced his fingers up and down and Ghost's hands were the only thing that kept Soap still. "Soap. Am I okay to continue?" Gary sounded unbearably sweet. Both of them breathing him in and he was stuck between the two of them.

"Yes, please. Please."

Ghost's mouth pressed to his throat at his pulse. They sank to the floor, careful with him. Roach used something on his fingers to make them slick and then he was gently pressing against Soap's hole. Ghost's hands kept his legs spread and Soap's hands were split between holding on to Roach's shoulder and desperately exploring Ghost's chest.

Soap panted softly. The texture of Roach's hands was... new. It felt so good. He wanted to try something. Carefully, remembering where he was, he tilted his head and pressed his mouth to Ghost's. His tongue gently lapped at Soap's lips.

Soap came with a shudder, body tensing.

Roach hummed. "That was a lot faster than I was expecting." He went to pull away and Soap quickly yanked him back.

"I'm meant for multiple rounds, just keep going. Please keep going, whatever you want to try on me." Soap kept kissing Ghost, pulling him closer.

Roach smiled and gently bit the inside of his thigh, loving the little shivers and tremors that ran through Soap. He gently pulled his fingers out and Soap whined.

"Gary?"

Roach kissed his tummy which made dozens of butterflies erupt in both of their stomachs. "Do you think I could fuck you properly?"

Soap nodded desperately.

Roach undid his pants and looked at Ghost. His dark eyes. The way his teeth stabbed into his bottom lip. "Take turns? You're quite a bit bigger. Might be a good idea."

Ghost nodded and kept Soap held open. It was for the best, he'd be too worried he'd hurt Soap to really enjoy himself. This also gave him a very, very good view. Roach went to bury his face in Soap's neck and Ghost growled, making it clear he wanted to see both of their faces. His face went a brilliant red as he kept eye contact with him. Soap still had his eyes closed, lost to the world and in utter bliss and that's where Ghost wanted to keep him. Blunt nails and claws dug into him, keeping him in place. Sharp teeth and rough tongues ran over his throat and his shoulders and his collarbones. Marks that wouldn't heal for weeks.

Soap arched so hard Ghost worried he'd snap as he came again, making tiny, almost pained moans. And then he came a third time. He was almost at the end of his fourth when Roach came in him. Soap groaned when Roach pulled out of him but he was immediately moving again. He tried to copy the way they nipped at him, biting at Ghost's throat. It sent something sharp up Ghost's spine and he picked Soap up with ease and twisted him. His face was pressed to Roach's chest and he pulled his arms behind his back before sinking into him.

Ghost growled softly and his head fell back. He didn't let Soap have a moment before he pulled back and Soap writhed, feeling an odd sensation.

"Fuck, fuck..." Soap cursed and sniffled. "You're... Yeah, you're big. You..."

Roach cupped Soap's face and looked at him, loving the way he squirmed. "His anatomy is unique. Ridges along each inch that give a great feeling. I could bore you with my theories on the evolutionary process but judging by your expression, I think you're a little too cock drunk for that."

Soap most definitely was. His eyes were unfocused but staring back. Desperate. He reached up and managed to kiss Roach. Ghost continued to count Soap's orgasms. A fifth. Sixth. Seventh. He really was meant for multiple rounds. Maybe later, he and Roach could talk. See how many they could get out of him.

Ghost yanked him to his chest and shoved all the way in as he came inside him. Soap finished one last time, barely lucid anymore. He tried to press down on him, get him even deeper. His body fluttered as he let out beautiful little whimpers.

Ghost put Soap over his shoulder and snatched up Roach who had just managed to grab their clothes. They were a bit heavy, but it wasn't difficult to carry them. Well, except for Roach squirming and insisting he get them both dressed. He did not, instead bringing them to his room. He curled around the two of them, tucking them both into him and dragging Roach back when he tried to get out of bed to get dressed.

"No."

Roach sighed and put his head on Ghost's chest. "Fine. Fine. You're lucky no one saw us."

Ghost didn't mention the cameras. He'd just delete the footage in the morning.

[xoxorealitygalore]

Nasty Dancer V

Summary: Due to her unyielding confidence, Aphrodite earns her spot on the main roster, becoming The Bloodline's manager — or rather, Sefa's Special Counsel. His Wisewoman. But can she maintain her bold, unapologetic style when faced with her greatest challenge yet: working alongside her ex-boyfriend?

Taglist: @xbriexx @christinabae

Previous: Chapter Four

Today was Aphrodite’s nephew slash Godson’s Orion’s fourth birthday and the backyard of Aphrodite's family home was transformed into an extravagant, dinosaur-themed wonderland. A gathering of close friends and family filled the vast lawn, each one drawn in by the vivid displays that captured the essence of a prehistoric jungle.

The air was filled with a chorus of laughter, clinking glasses, and the soft rustle of children’s excited chatter. It was a celebration befitting the second-oldest son of Aphrodite’s older sister, Tiasa, and her husband Hector. Orion, a curious and energetic boy, had a fascination with dinosaurs that none in the family could ignore. It was clear that this party had been organized with love, care, and an uncanny attention to detail that spoke volumes about the bond they all shared.

Aphrodite stood by the entrance to the backyard, her gaze drifting over the elaborate decorations. Everything was carefully designed to capture the imagination of both the young and the old.

Massive inflatable dinosaurs towered above the guests, each one more lifelike than the last. A long table stretched across one corner, piled high with treats: cupcakes decorated with tiny dinosaur claws, cookies in the shape of fossilized eggs, and fruit carved into prehistoric shapes. The smells of grilled food and freshly prepared snacks lingered in the air as people milled about, taking in the whimsical atmosphere.

Tiasa, with her trademark smile, stood beside her, clearly enjoying every moment of the event. "How cute is everything?" she asked Aphrodite, gesturing to the party in general.

Aphrodite chuckled, taking in the scene with a mixture of amusement and slight concern. "I didn’t realize that Orion was obsessed with dinosaurs to this point, but it’s a cute party."

“And those dinosaurs are way too realistic,” Aphrodite added, eyeing the giant inflatable creatures with a bemused frown. Their eyes seemed to glisten with a strange, almost predatory gleam.

Tiasa glanced over at the creatures with a knowing smile. "That’s Dad and Hector’s doing. You know how they are when it comes to putting on a show."

Aphrodite shook her head, her eyes narrowing slightly as she inspected the larger-than-life Tyrannosaurus Rex that loomed in the corner of the yard. "Of course," she muttered, half under her breath. There was no surprise there. Aphrodite’s father, Jason, and her brother-in-law, Hector, had always been involved in the grandiose, larger-than-life aspects of family events. No detail ever escaped their attention.

A brief silence settled between the sisters as they surveyed the yard. Then, with a knowing look, Tiasa spoke again, her voice a little quieter, more probing. “So, I noticed Sefa has been staring at you since he arrived at the party. How is everything between you two?”

Aphrodite’s stomach did a small, involuntary flip at the mention of Joseph, or as most people knew him—Sefa. The man who had once held her heart before abandoning her for a life with someone else. Aphrodite had managed to keep her distance from Joseph since their breakup years ago. She had walked away, patched up the wounds he left, and moved on with her life. Now, working with him at WWE, it seemed impossible to avoid him. They had spoken, they had cleared the air to some degree, and she had shared with him the heartbreak of losing their child, a loss that still haunted her.

But that didn’t mean she could forget what had happened or how it had felt to be left behind. The idea of Joseph trying to worm his way back into her life, however, was something Aphrodite wasn’t ready to accept.

“He can stare all he wants,” Aphrodite replied curtly, her tone a little sharper than she intended. "We’re co-workers. There’s nothing between us."

Tiasa didn’t seem convinced, however. She leaned in closer, her eyes narrowing as she probed further. “You know he was the love of your life at one point, right? I don’t know how you can be so cold towards him.”

Aphrodite’s breath hitched as the words landed. She hadn’t expected Tiasa to press the issue so directly. “You know he broke my heart, right?” Aphrodite responded, her voice thick with emotion.

Her sister’s expression softened, but she was unwavering. “We both know you still love him, or else you wouldn’t be acting like this.”

Aphrodite rolled her eyes, her frustration mounting. "Why are we even talking about him?" she asked, as though the mere mention of Joseph could sour her mood further.

Tiasa was persistent. She shrugged, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Because I know he’s trying to win you back, and I want you to give him a chance.”

Aphrodite's gaze flickered toward her sister with a look of disbelief. “No way,” she said, her voice laced with finality.

“Seriously, Dottie,” Tiasa pressed, using her childhood nickname for her. “You and him, it’s going to work this time around, trust me.”

Aphrodite sighed deeply, feeling the weight of her sister’s words, but there was no room in her heart for what Tiasa was suggesting. She couldn’t shake the memories of how Joseph had abandoned her when she needed him most. Now, he was back, but only after everything had fallen apart. Aphrodite couldn’t simply erase the past.

Without responding, Aphrodite turned and walked away from her sister. There was no point in engaging with her right now. Tiasa meant well, but she didn’t understand. She didn’t know how much the pain of their breakup still stung—how much of herself Aphrodite had lost in the process.

As Aphrodite made her way toward the house, her thoughts were interrupted by the soft sound of crying. She paused, her attention drawn to a small figure hunched in the corner of the kitchen. The child was crying softly, his small body trembling as he sat on the floor, hands wiping at his eyes.

Aphrodite’s heart went out to him immediately. She recognized the little boy. It was Zamir, one of Joseph’s sons. He was only three years old, but his wide, dark eyes seemed to carry the weight of the world on his tiny shoulders. She knelt beside him, her gentle voice cutting through the sadness in his eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Aphrodite asked, her voice soothing.

Zamir sniffled, hiccupping as he looked up at her. "I want to jump in the bounce house, but I'm scared," he confessed, his small lip trembling.

Aphrodite smiled softly, leaning down closer to his level. “You don’t need to be scared,” she reassured him. “I’ll go in with you, okay?”

Zamir’s eyes brightened, and without hesitation, he climbed into her arms, wrapping his little hands tightly around her neck. Aphrodite rose with ease.

As she walked towards the backyard, she didn’t notice Joseph standing just behind her, observing the exchange with a soft, appreciative smile. It was a look she had seen before, one that carried a silent message. A message that said she would be a wonderful mother.

She moved past him, her eyes avoiding his gaze, but the moment still hung in the air.

Outside, the laughter of the children filled the air as she stepped into the bouncy house. Zamir let out a delighted shriek and immediately began to bounce, his fear forgotten. Zev, his older brother, joined in, along with a handful of other children. Aphrodite laughed along with them, her worries momentarily forgotten in the chaos of the bouncing fun.

Joseph, standing at the edge of the bounce house with his youngest son, Zion, in his arms, watched with a soft smile as Aphrodite interacted with his boys. His brother Joshua stood beside him, and with a knowing glance, he murmured, “She looks good with them.”

Joseph nodded silently, his gaze never leaving Aphrodite as she continued to laugh and play with his sons. A sense of longing simmered beneath the surface, and he couldn’t help but wonder if this could be their second chance. Maybe, just maybe, he could convince her to give him another chance.

But Aphrodite wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. She was still guarding her heart, still wary of the man who had once broken it. And though Joseph’s intentions had changed, the road to rebuilding their relationship would not be an easy one. But as he watched her laugh with his sons, a glimmer of hope flickered in his chest.

Maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for them.

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The day after Orion’s fourth birthday party, Zev, Joseph’s six-year-old, sat on the couch, legs crossed beneath him, his eyes bright as he talked animatedly about the party. Beside him, Zamir, just three, looked up with innocent eyes, his fingers absentmindedly tapping on the table.

Joseph's youngest son, Zion, sat in his high chair, playing with a small toy, occasionally glancing up at his father. Joseph stood over him, spooning mashed carrots into his son’s mouth. The soft, rhythmic sound of the spoon tapping against the bowl seemed to complement the quiet hum of the morning.

“I want to play with her again,” Zamir said, his voice small but earnest, a serious tone in his tiny voice that made Joseph smile. It wasn’t lost on him that both of his sons were still talking about the same thing: Aphrodite.

“And she’s pretty,” Zev added, his voice laced with the same admiration. He wasn’t usually so open with his feelings, but the mention of Aphrodite always seemed to bring a rare softness to his words.

Joseph wiped Zion’s chin with a napkin, his mind drifting for a moment. Was he really about to do this? Use his kids to worm his way back into Aphrodite’s life? He didn’t have to think too long before the answer came: Yes, absolutely.

Aphrodite had been part of his life once. Her smile, her laughter, the way she made everything seem brighter. He missed her in ways he hadn't fully acknowledged. The break-up, and the reasons behind it, felt distant now. Was it foolish to want to rekindle something? Especially after years apart, and especially when he hadn’t exactly been the model ex-boyfriend. But seeing her with his kids yesterday and seeing the way she interacted with them made him realize something. She was still a part of him, whether they both liked it or not.

Joseph quickly picked up his phone, an idea forming in his mind. The little ones would be his conduit. He needed to take advantage of their affection for her, and there was no harm in using their innocent longing for a reunion.

He cleared his throat, trying to put on his best fatherly voice as he spoke to Zev and Zamir. “Hey, boys, let’s do something special. I want you to say something to Aphrodite on the camera.” They both looked at him with curious eyes, but neither hesitated. Zev’s expression was serious, his young mind already following the logic Joseph had in mind.

“Say, ‘Aphrodite, come play with us,’” Joseph instructed, the words coming more easily than he expected.

Zev, always eager to please, immediately repeated the words into the camera. “Aphrodite, come play with us,” he said, his voice just shy of being too excited, but there was a sweetness in his tone that Joseph couldn't ignore. He caught Zamir’s attention, who repeated the phrase in his adorable toddler voice. “Aph-wodite, come play.”

Joseph’s smile widened. With a quick tap of his finger, he sent the video to Aphrodite. Now all he had to do was wait.

Aphrodite sat in her living room, the afternoon sun filtering through the sheer curtains. She sipped her tea, the coolness of the ceramic mug grounding her as her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen. It was a video from Joseph.

She hesitated. Her finger hovered over the play button, and then, with a small sigh, she pressed it. The video opened to reveal Zev’s earnest face, his little brother’s voice chiming in the background.

“Aphrodite, come play with us,” Zev said, his tone sweet but matter-of-fact, as though the request was something she had no choice but to honor.

Aphrodite set the phone down, her mind racing. There was something so endearing about their innocence and their openness to affection. They had bonded with her in a way she hadn’t expected. The thought of seeing them again, playing with them again, stirred something inside her. But then, just as quickly, the familiar tension rose within her.

Her relationship with Joseph was complicated. Despite the chemistry and the pain that still lingered in her memory, the thought of reopening that chapter felt like a step she wasn’t sure she wanted to take.

Her phone buzzed again, this time with a text from Joseph: Zev and Zamir keep talking about you. They really want to see you again. It meant a lot to them, you know?

Aphrodite sighed, rubbing her temples. She texted Mona, her best friend, her confidante.

What should I do? He’s asking me to hang out with the kids.

Mona, as usual, was quick with a response: Aphrodite, you know you love kids. If you want to go, go. Or you can just invite them over. It doesn’t have to be about Joseph. Just think about the boys.

Aphrodite stared at the message. She knew Mona was right. But the thought of being around Joseph made her stomach churn.

Still, Mona had a point. This wasn’t about Joseph. This was about the kids.

She let out a deep breath and texted Joseph back: The boys can come over. My address is...

Less than twenty minutes later, Joseph found himself standing in front of Aphrodite’s door, three kids in tow. Zev and Zamir were practically vibrating with excitement, and Zion, content as ever, was tucked comfortably in his arms, his little eyes taking in the surroundings. Joseph hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. This felt like a step he hadn’t fully thought through.

Aphrodite opened the door with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Hey,” Joseph said, offering a sheepish grin.

“Hi,” Aphrodite replied. Her eyes flickered to the boys, then back to him.

She stepped aside to let them in, her gaze lingering just a moment longer than necessary. She had clearly been debating whether or not to go through with this, but now that they were here, there was no turning back.

Joseph was relieved when she didn’t shut the door in his face. She didn’t look happy to see him—not exactly—but she didn’t seem angry either. At that moment, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something new. Something he hadn’t anticipated but was willing to explore.

Aphrodite led them to the playroom, a bright, colorful space full of toys and games. It was clear that it had been designed with her nieces and nephews in mind. Joseph looked around, his eyes catching on a few old stuffed animals, remnants of a time when he and Aphrodite were close. His chest tightened, but he quickly pushed the feeling aside.

“I’m just doing this for your boys,” Aphrodite said, looking over her shoulder at Joseph, as though explaining her actions. “Don’t think too much about this.”

Joseph nodded, hiding the smile that tugged at his lips. She was doing it for the boys. She didn’t have to explain herself, but he understood. This wasn’t about him. It was about them about the connection that had briefly existed between them and the bond that still lingered, unspoken.

They played for an hour, the sounds of laughter and joy filling the room. Aphrodite’s gentle voice mixed with the boys’ excited chatter, creating a symphony of warmth that made Joseph feel like he was witnessing something beautiful. He had forgotten how much he missed this, how much he missed her.

Eventually, they moved to the kitchen. Aphrodite cooked dinner, and Joseph, surprisingly, found himself helping. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed the simple act of sharing a meal with her, how her cooking had always been something that made him feel at home.

Zev, always the polite one, offered a prayer before they ate, his small hands folded in prayer. The moment felt intimate, almost sacred. Aphrodite looked down at him, her eyes softening as she watched him.

After dinner, as the evening drew to a close, Zev surprised everyone. He turned to Aphrodite with a serious expression and said, “I remember you from when I was younger. I’m happy you’re back in my life.”

Aphrodite’s breath caught in her throat. The words felt like a punch to the chest, and before she could stop herself, tears welled up in her eyes. She knelt down and pulled Zev into a tight hug, her hands trembling slightly. Joseph hadn’t expected Zev to remember anything from when they had dated. He hadn’t even realized Zev had any memories of Aphrodite.

“I’m happy to see you again,” Zev whispered, his small voice laced with sincerity.

Aphrodite pulled away, wiping her eyes quickly. “Good night,” she said softly, leading them to the door.

“Good night,” Joseph replied, his voice softer than he intended. He paused for a moment as though wanting to say something more, but the words didn’t come. There was so much left unspoken between them, but for now, he was content to let the silence hang in the air.

As they stepped out into the evening, Joseph felt something shift within him. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. They were on their way back to something, he just wasn’t sure what yet.