#die cut magnet

[mini-merch]

Get 7 different ideas for personalized soft PVC fridge magnets here. Use your creativity to your fullest with personalized designs. Visit Mini Merch to begin creating right now!

[axi35]

Mountain Landscape Magnet

[kanekisfavoritegf]

PERFECT LOVER: The Life of Nanami Kento the 35 Year Old Virgin

MINORS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT YOU WILL GET BLOCKED

SYNOPSIS: Kento Nanami, a 35-year-old introvert with a tendency to avoid social interactions, has made a conscious decision to steer clear of romantic entanglements. However, everything changes when he meets a new colleague at his birthday party, (Satoru's Idea). From the moment they meet, he is mesmerized, finding himself increasingly unable to resist her magnetic presence. Like taking a bite of forbidden fruit, he becomes ensnared by the allure, delving into a realm of infatuation and finding himself unable to break free. As he delves deeper into this newfound connection, Nanami begins to realize that he craves more than just a fleeting experience and yearns for more than just a fleeting taste of what she embodies.

Table of Contents

WORD COUNT: 1.4K

CHAPTER ONE:

The lights somehow made you glow in Kento Nanmi's eyes. Or maybe it was just you, and your effortless ability to draw everyone's eyes on you. You stood atop a table dancing with Satoru wildly, arms flailing and your body rolling along to the rhythmic pounding of the bass. Pink and blue lights stuck to you and everyone in the nightclub's eyes.

"Stare any harder, Kento; lasers might shoot from your eyes," Suguru smirked as he spoke.

"I don't know what you mean, Suguru," Kento said curtly before taking a swig of his drink.

"Don't worry, I won't tell."

"There is nothing to tell."

"Do you want me to schedule a date with you and Yuki?" 

"Yuki?" Kento coughed a drop of his drink catching in his throat.

"Your eyes have been locked on her since she got on the table with her friend." The blonde man almost laughed in his face from pure shock.

"Who wouldn't stare with her atrocious dancing, almost like a headless chicken. Either way, stop trying to set me up; I've sworn off dating, remember?"

"How could we ever forget." Satoru chimed in, sliding next to Suguru, sweat making his blue work shirt cling to his body tightly, "One bad kiss in University and suddenly, any romantic opportunity was thrown out the window with you."

That was the washed-down version of what happened to Kento, but his work colleagues didn't need to know about how he basically got verbally beaten by a girl cause he wasn't ready to lose his V-Card in a one-night stand.

"Oh, all he needs to do is put himself out there more," Yuki said, forcing herself into this embarrassingly uncomfortable conversation. "You are gonna die a virgin if you keep this up."

"Better to die a virgin than known as a whore."

"Hey! I am not a whore." Satoru exclaimed. 

"Yet somehow you knew Kento was talking about you." Yuki quipped back.

"Where is…" Suguru’s voice trailed off when he realized he had forgotten your name.

“Y/N?” Kento helped Suguru find the name.

"Yes," the long-haired man snapped his fingers, "Where is Y/N? She is going to miss the cake."

"Cake?" Kento grumbled. "You didn't say there was going to be cake, Satoru. You promised there wouldn't be cake."

"Okay, I lied." Satoru tried to conceal a smile

Kento raised to his feet, ready to leave before the birthday parade showed up with cake, probably with something stupid on its icing, and a club screaming happy birthday drunkenly. "But think of it like a welcome cake, too. For Y/N, Yuki wanted her to get to know all of us before her first day in the department on Monday. And you two haven't spoken to her since she first introduced herself." Satoru pointed at Suguru and Kento.

"You are the one who stole her away to do the “Six Devil Shots” and then to the dance floor," Suguru said.

"Or you too could have come and danced with us." You cut in, a cake and candles in hand. "I stole this out of the kitchen."

"You said you were going to the bathroom." Yuki laughed.

"I did, and then I stole the cake."

"Unbelievable," Satoru said. "It was supposed to be a big thing for Nanami." Satoru pouted slightly at the prospects of not being able to embarrass his coworker. 

"Well, Mr. Nanami doesn't seem like the type to enjoy drunk people sing-screaming at him, much less their attention solely on him." You slid your way onto Nanami's side, placing the cake in front of him and the three and five candles in its center. "You have a lighter, right?" You whispered into Kento's ear. He only nodded, letting out a nervous breath before pulling it out and handing it to you.

The group sang Happy Birthday as loudly as they could over the blasting music that played behind them. Giving up after the first verse, Kento blew out his candles.

Thirty-five years old as of today, and he was no better than a teenage boy, semi-hard because you whispered in his ear and stole a cake so he could avoid attention. Sometimes, Nanami felt he was missing out on what Yuki, Satoru, and Suguru had. Some imaginary certificate to adulthood, the type that could only be won through cashing in his V-Card, but then again, would losing it to a stranger make him catch up with others his age? He knew he wasn’t the only virgin at his age, but in situations where a pretty girl flirts with him, and he wants to flirt back, something always manages to catch his tongue. The voice in the back of his head probably reminds him that she wants something from him that Kento knows he won’t be able to give her. So he doesn’t flirt anymore. And as fast as the hard-on came, it was gone, along with any idea of ever entertaining the idea that you would ever want him.

Just because a woman is nice to you doesn't mean you get hard. Kento reprimanded himself in his head.

"Okay, enjoy the cake; I'm heading home now," Kento shouted over the music. "I have to catch the last train."

Yuki and Gojo booed them loudly while Geto threw him a look that screamed, "You are going to leave me with these idiots?"

"So do I." You said, "Mind walking with me?" you said, realizing what time it was.

Kento wanted so badly to say, "Yes, I mind. The whole reason I am taking the train and not a taxi later is to avoid you." but he didn't. He only shook his head and grabbed his coat.

"I'll send you the money for my bill when I get home, Satoru," you said, grabbing your coat. 

"Don't worry about it," Kento said as he placed down a wad of cash before putting a hand over your shoulder, hovering slightly, "You ready?"

You only nodded, ignoring the head in your voice that swooned a little at the simple act of covering your bill. You were tipsy; that's why your delusions ran a little wild.

You made a mental note to never do shots with Satoru again as you slowly made your way through the dancing crowd and out of the nightclub, Kento's hand still on your shoulder.

***

The night air was surprisingly calm for the summer, making you shiver a little as you turned into Kento, keeping his body close to yours under the stars and in a quiet street.

“How was your birthday?” You asked, wanting to break the silence that seemed to fall upon the two of you.

“It was good.” He said curtly, “I don’t really have experience with celebrations to do with me.”

“You don’t celebrate your birthday?” You asked, even though it wasn’t all that surprising.

“What counts as celebrating?” 

“Hmmm, something fun, I guess.” You shrugged.

“Well, it’s my first time going to a nightclub to celebrate.” A small smile decorated his face, “I usually cook a nice dinner for myself or go to a fancy restaurant that I have been saving up on.”

“What about everyone else?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, you are telling me this is the first time Satoru has dragged you out for your birthday?”

“The first time since University, yes.” Kento didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t pry, letting a comfortable silence fall upon you two. As you turned the corner, you guys made your way to the train tracks, empty and void of any life other than the three people on the other side of the tracks. 

Just like before, the train ride was quiet. A few people were on the train, but you managed to snag seats together. You don’t know when it happened, but you let yourself drift to sleep, leaving Kento alone to his thoughts.

Each lurch of the cart when the train stopped and started made you curl into the man even more until your body leaned against him completely. 

It was only when his stop approached that Kento realized he didn’t know where you lived or whether you missed your stop. A slight panic filled him, and he shook a fully asleep you back to consciousness. 

“Y/N. Y/N.” He half whispered into your ear. Only to be met with soft groans. He shook you a little harder this time, and that’s when your eyes fluttered open. Still half asleep, though, you barely comprehend what he was saying, mindlessly grabbing his hand and following him as he stepped off the train.

Alcohol was still dancing in your brain; you nodded your head in agreement and followed him to his apartment…

Preview...

Nanami knew he wouldn’t last long, but as he sunk into you, the idea of even holding in the waves of pleasure that drowned him was impossible.

TAG LIST: @marikuchanxo @sukunasstomachtongue @getosgirlfailure @allysunny @tojicvmslut @typefeisu @aiyaaayei @villsophie @sillysillygoofygoose @jinleft @rivversin @haikioo @destinyblue-jjk @ramonathinks @actuallysaiyan @actuallysaiyan @melisuh123

CHAPTER TWO UPLOADED

[volcanocraft]

hi how are you feeling about this life series season? :D

can you believe that they kept going in the same direction despite trying to shake eachother off. both with joel offering sticks and gem denying it so he mutters "guess we're not teaming then" and gem saying "ill mine this way and we'll go our own seperate ways" and end up magnetizing anyways. like they literally would not leave eachother alone.

then the mild seperation anxiety joel has when he can't find gem in the mines ("gem where have you gone?" "im right here, im just mining"). his weird admission of going crazy with the cows when separated from gem for a few minutes. and then you have gem going "come on then joel" and telling him to be careful and not die... laughing at his blunders and making light fun of him

then the domesticity of immediately bunking down. gem building a campfire and joel calling it cute. they split and share everything 50/50. they have signs outside their door with quotes on them

theyre so inherently suspicious. scott thinks theyre either going to take over the server or implode. multiple pairs go to their base and try to take some of their cows. joel gets so mad and gem deescalates. jimmy accuses joel of malicious intentions. then they lick their wounds together complaining that everyones always blaming them but at least they can rely on eachother

joel ending the episode saying he and gem will win. and the only other person hes shown interest in trying to recruit is his wife. something something my two favourite people in the same room.

both povs are a mandatory watch to get the whole picture. because they cut a lot out, and leave in other moments, and that says a lot about what interactions matter to them personally. shoutout jeffery

the entire first episode is just boy best friends slow burn yaoi with freudian slips of vulnerability and affection. i think im going to be sick

[picaroroboto]

One of the typical imageries associated with the concept of "hope" is the image of light amidst darkness. FF14 does a lot of stuff with light and dark of course but in Shadowbringers they made light a thing of horror so they can't rely on the light image all the time.

Another usual image is a bird - "Hope is a thing with feathers..." from the Emily Dickinson poem. Meteion, the bird, was created with hope, but becomes a thing of despair.

So what's left as the image of "hope" in Endwalker is this:

From the cutscene "Live, Die and Know", where Venat monologues about hope and light everlasting while the camera cuts back and forth between her, blackened with blood, and the WoL succumbing to the Light corruption, both limping and stumbling along their paths. This is the face of hope in FF14 - broken, dying, bloodstained, yet defiant. That's what makes playing the hero in FF14 so damn magnetic.

Early ARR, I was cringing at the cliche chosen one, light vs dark type concepts. Further along I began to doubt Hydaelyn, given her ineffectiveness and the cruelty of the fate she bound the WoL to. But from Elpis to the end of Endwalker and beyond, I was proud, for the first time, to be called a Warrior of Light.

[mini-merch]

Mini-Merch offers stylish PVC magnet designs for modern houses. Personalized pins are a great way to elevate your brand and promote businesses and cooperation.

[axi35]

Die-cut magnet

https://www.redbubble.com/i/magnet/Beautiful-Grey-Flower-by-Axi35/85233154.TBCTK?asc=u

[sugojosgf]

"your personal rose toy ?!?"

﹒ shoko ﹕☆

﹟ fem · prns ㅤ࣭ ㅤׂ

: ᯓ cw : cuṉṉilīngūs, tōxic dynamics! ﹐

your roommate/bully/girlfriend has an odd way of relieving her stress

volatile. if you could describe shoko with a single word, it would be volatile.

she's sweet when the weather out is right and her grades aren't falling, she tastes like soft ice cream and her eyes crinkle up with the kind of love that takes years to come.

yet, there is such a distinct line with who she becomes when she takes a turn for worse. usually, satoru's silly pranks would have her sporting the faintest smiles but on the difficult days where she's frustrated, even his infinity wouldn't be able to stop her.

and the aftermath of all of it, falls on your shoulders. it's unfortunate really, to an outsider's perspective. to you, the magnetism of her dependency is intoxicating.

it was one of those days. the thunderstorms outside, painting the sky a gorgeous shade of blue and the temperature just cold enough to make your teeth shiver.

you are clad in a sweater and shorts, blanket wrapped around your soft thighs as you studied.

"f-fuck, i'm so close."

it was a habit of hers that you were used to. she would pretend like you weren't there as she got off. toys of various kind hidden in a box under her bed. the shame in its storage didn't travel to its usage. the frustration needed something to take the edge off of her.

the incessant buzzing of that damned rose toy rings in your ear, loud enough to drown the honeyed voice of shoko.

you try your best to focus on your textbook, highlighter tightly wrapped in your fists. the squelching that bounces off the walls makes it hard for you to not press your thighs together.

and suddenly it stops.

"what the fuck." you hear profanity slip out of her painted lips. "did it just die on me?"

a roll of eyes, a drag of her cigarette. you can imagine.

you try your best not to look back, knowing very well that she's on her bed, legs spread.

"sweetheart —" she drags, you know that she knows music isn't really playing in your headphones. "come help your roomie out, least you could do."

you freeze, hoping she wouldn't notice the twitch in your leg. your desperation too embarrassing to admit.

a minute passes and the silence in the room is louder than ever.

a clink, a thud and footsteps.

a hand on your shoulder, a hand on your chin and finally, lips on your lips.

"don't think you heard me, you will help me out right baby?"

she has you on her bed, silver sheets that are tangled at your feet. she pulls you closer to her body, her knees slowly falling to her sides.

your eyes glaze over.

"are you sure, shoko ?" you ask, teeth digging into your lip.

she nods, hand holding your head as she brings you closer to her cunt.

there's something about her scent that makes you huff her like a dog. 'pathetic and disgusting' you hear a murmur from above but you could not care less. you press your nose against her, the soft hump of your nose nudging against her clit.

she presses you impossibly close, her hand pushing your head down. the very softness of her folds has you bringing a hand down to play with yourself under your shorts.

you whine as your oxygen begins to get cut off, not that you cared. you look up to her, eyes rolling to the top of your eyes as she looks at you, crooked smile on her lips.

"i'm fucking obsessed with you," she pants as you finally bring your tongue out to taste her, "but you want me just as bad, don't you ?" she has you kissing her delicate folds, trying to drink the very source of her life.

you try not to nod, instead showing your devotion by giving special attention to her clit. just like that toy of hers, but you knew you could complete your fucking job —

you purse your lips around her swollen clit, as your tongue painted her skin with your spit. she moans and her back arches, tears crystallising.

"just like that," she whimpers, "ngh —right there baby!"

and you listen, you make sure that you please her just right. you wanted to be there for her always, on your knees. you didn't want anyone else to have the opportunity to watch her body squirm and move as you do. you wanted her.

you essentially make out with her cunt, her arousal painting your face with a thin sheen. sweat drips down your face, the sweltering get of her body enough to regulate the temperature of your body.

"gonna finish your job, hm ?" she asks, pulling you away from her cunt with your hair. "you are going to be a good girl and make me cum, right baby?"

she doesn't have to complete her sentence for you to drag yourself and eat her out like she's your last meal. her other hand travels and rips the offending arms that was in your shorts.

you whine at the loss of stimulation but continue to kiss her soft skin, licking her like she was a cold popsicle on a summer evening.

"you don't get to cum yet." her words final.

you nod as she begins to grind against your face, her movements a frenzy signalling her climax. you continue to eat her out and still continue to as she orgasms, her high pitched moans ringing in your ears.

her sweetened juices drip down your face, only sounds in the room being her soft whines and your heavy pants.

a sudden beep.

next thing you know, you are manhandled right under her. eyes promising a night without sleep.

"my toy is all charged, want test how long it lasts?"

[dungeonzine]

⊱ 🥘 PRE-ORDERS ARE OPEN 🥘 ⊰

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Midnight Snack has exclusive pin-up and other "suggestive" content from our artists and writers. This zine is rated "M" and, while not explicit, is meant for adult audiences.

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[diorcities]

die for you.

playing judas

mdni.

his figure emerges into the room, messy, dark hair covering his eyebrows with a cut in one of them; you don't know how he got it. his artful eyes scan the room after his sense of smell and a wild sensation lures him towards the bed, where you lie with one of your smiles.

he can't help it, he becomes affectionate with the things he touches. your body emanates magnetic energy that confuses his judgment, and just like that, all the girls he's frequented go to the second course, overshadowed by you, and your sharp features disguised as innocence, so appealing to him.

spellbound and driven by an insatiable feeling filling his mind with unholy thoughts. he wants to corrupt you. he dreams of you crying for him as he fucks you. your pretty lips around his aching cock. his mouth on your bristling nipples. he desires to rail you so much that your pussy gets used to his shape. he buzzes with the need to hear your moans tonight. his whole insides burn and blaze when he spots you on his bed, sporting the lingerie he's bought.

“angel.” he grins like the devil.

a bulge squeezes under his pants. he can't stop looking at you. you torment him all the time. you don't leave his mind ever. he is drawn to you, bewitched. so blindly obsessed, he can't ever have enough.

his warm hands sweep over your body, touching you all over. the delicate fabric of your underwear seen in detail by his eyes like two dark wells of molten chocolate, canines catching his inner lip while his pupils wide as blackhole devour you before his mouth does.

haechan runs his tongue and teeth along the line in your belly as you find yourself caught between his legs on the edge of the bed and your fingers tangle in his soft hair. “d'you like it?” head pulling back from the sensation of his mouth sucking on your skin taking over your body. eyebrows coming together while he keeps you in place and forces you to feel it all.

a moan escapes when he gets up without warning and towers over you. “very much.” you don't have time for anything when his lips rest on yours in a crushing kiss full of fervent desire. he muffles a sound when you bite his lips, struggling to keep inside the thrill when he touches you like that: like he's starving. your body charge with elation and you blush from the electricity of his tongue over yours when he hums in your mouth.

your hands disappear under the fabric of his shirt, removing the garment with his help. but when your hands grip on the buckle of his jeans his hands grab your wrists. “show me first.” your whole being is consumed by a blazing fire as you feel his heavy gaze on you, eyes registering your every move as you lie on the bed and your hands begin to crawl across your figure, showing him.

they cradle your chests, up your neck, and your body stretches every fiber in you, legs rising to the air before you open them like a curtain revealing your face paying detailed attention to his expression as you hold yourself by the elbows. there's static in the air as he visibly swallows, tongue wetting his lips and he thinks to himself he's doomed, when you proceed to crawl to him, ass up as you arch your back, reaching finally the hem of his pants, “fuck me, angel.”

you kneel in front of him as his hand combs through your hair, working on the zipper of his pants with quick hands. your mouth feels watery and so eager to have a taste when you reveal his full erection. dick thick and flushed with the tip tinged with the prettiest pink ever, hitting his stomach. mind fogging and fuzzy with craving. you want to put it whole in your mouth. you want to taste him until he comes on your tongue. you want him to pump you full. “so pretty, wanting my cock?” he asks, holding you by the chin, “give it a kiss.”

your parted lips rest on the tip and you hear him take a deep breath. “that's my girl. lay down for me.” haechan doesn't wait for you and his hand gently pushes you, falling onto the smooth surface. his hand goes to your waist where it is pressed firmly to keep you still and at his mercy, while his other hand moves down your thigh towards your femininity.

a sigh chokes in your throat as it growls under his breath. you're soaking wet. his fingers play with the silkiness of your arousal, wetting his digits that go up and down your folds, before they press on the bulge of your clit. you stifle a gasp. “if you want to keep me happy, you'd better let me listen to you,” he advises. he shoves his fingers without warning and starts to pump you hastily, making your eyes roll and want to close your legs. it's so powerful that you moan your heart.

“just like that.” he doesn't slow down, wiggling them side to side and in and out of you, body reacting to his crushing motion. his fingers feel so good, he moves them the way you like, making you moan and taking you into limbo. hips buckling up in a jerk and legs twitching and shaking as his available hand go up to your neck and keep you in place.

“o-oh god,” you cry, “haechan.” voice feeling forced and broken when you hiss at the knot that grips your belly. “please... s'too much.” enticing a bundle of pants and restrained grunts leaving your lips.

haechan ignores your pleas, and soon you find yourself turned into a mess of moans and tremors. he's so entranced by the way your body moves, tits bouncing deliciously as your face contracts and ease to his fingers doing wonders in you. “so good, angel. looking so heavenly, keep moaning my name like that.” they feel so nice, stretching you so good, you become liquid and numb. “f-fuck, hyuck!” your body suffers devastating spasms as you hear haechan laugh ecstatic ally, “shit, angel.” feeling your being release waves of pure and raw pleasure that leaves you breathless and spacing out.

you see him stirring his silky-soaked fingers and putting them in his mouth. haechan closes his eyes enjoying the taste of you on his tongue. so exquisite and sweet, he becomes addicted. “spread,” he commands, and you do his will still recovering from the intensity of your orgasm.

you see him fit between your legs before you feel him flicking his tongue over your pussy. your breath condenses as the sedative effect of his mouth working miracles on you, flicking and lapping. haechan works on you diligently, bites and sucks, caresses and tastes. lips catching your folds over and over again, eating you pleasantly. your seductive scent awakening every nerve ending in him, wanting to make you his all night. show you all that he has to give you. leave your body so satisfied that you don't want anyone but him.

haechan strokes and lashes you, wet sounds filling the room from the way your lube soaks haechan's face, sunk into your swollen pussy. firm hands holding your legs spread as he devours you, reaching your climax in his mouth once more. exhausted and out of breath, sensing his presence still between your legs. “speak up, angel,” he asks when you mumble under your breath. body already jerking because he doesn't give you a break to compose when he inserts two fingers in and twirls them inside.

“i thought this was your birthday present,” you say, in space.

he hums, “this is my present,” he grants. eyes soaked with desire locking yours, “you.”

[astrologyvas]

venus in the 8th house overlay/synastry

please do not copy or repeat my work anywhere

this synastry is one of my all time favs. before i get into it, i want to preface that this overlay will be especially compelling and impactful if you have a pluto dominant chart, significant 8th house placements, scorpionic energy or heavy pluto aspects. in fact, you may find yourself yearning for these kind of connections and the intensity it brings.

when you meet them, it's an instantly potent and magnetic experience. something draws you to them, and you immediately feel intrigued by their presence. you are quickly captivated and at the whim of this connection. these are the people who you keep on a pedestal in your heart. the people that you compare to when you meet someone new. the people that you think about late at night, when you're the only one awake.

venus in the 8th house gives both the planet and the house a similar taste in things like music, the arts, and other venusian themes. there is a deep appreciation of interests, which are often shared and acknowledged.

this overlay gives both parties, but heavily the venus, a craving to know more about their partner. they are fascinated by the crevices of the house's personality that they occasionally give venus a taste for. the house is an enigma to venus, and they want to figure them out.

when unevolved or unhealthy, this placement gives me the vibes of "i want you so bad and no one else can have you, but i'll never let you know that". extremely susceptible synastry for mind games, powerplay & toxicity if either parties feel insecure or imbalanced. these connections are often karmic in nature, and can feel like they latched onto your heart, sucking the blood out of it before disappearing completely.

the energy of this connection will undoubtedly be erotic. both parties, but specifically the house, will find the other physically irresistible. the planet person crawls into the house's head and lures out the deepest, most primal parts of them. m*sturbating and getting off while thinking about each other vibes.

accepting this union into your life unleashes powerful emotions. you feel like this person brings out your darkest side, like they want to see your flaws. you can't run or hide from them, they pry open the parts of yourself you keep locked with a key.

financially, this overlay feels loving in terms of money. the energy of "i'll buy you this, because you mean more to me than a few dollars ever could". money feels safe with this person, like the superficial aspects melt away.

it is an indescribable and all-consuming placement. the lust this connection brings is intoxicating. the venus in particular will feel like they need the house physically, like they would die without access to their body. since the 8th house rules over death and the occult, there is a very intense "i'd die happy with you" aura. the feeling of wanting to merge with them, because touching them isn't enough.

since this synastry is karmically charged, it usually blows up if either are receiving karma or paying debts through this tie. be mindful of betrayal, 3rd parties, and affairs.

after this connection ends, they linger & loom in the back of your mind. they eat away at the depths of your subconscious before you finally feel like you can move on. this synastry can be beautiful and interchangeably painful.

even after cutting them off, you feel the familiar hunger for them. they feel like an addiction that still invades your mind, looking for the fix only they can give you.

songs that may resonate:

break - alex g twilight - boa haunted - beyonce

[loving-family-poll]

Ultimate Incest Tournament - Semifinals

Propaganda under the cut:

Sam/Dean:

I'm sorry but they have it all. children of metaphorical incest just continuing the cycle in any way they can. they are brothers and mother + son and wives and each other's scorned lovers and life partners they've had multiple infidelity arcs they are sexually psychopathic together they have forsook life and morality and the earth itself for each other and just love each other so much . They are literally in a heaven of their own making together for eternity, incestuously. Come on!!! Blueprint!!!!! It's not gay if he's your brother!!!!!

dean did stuff to sam's dead body in ahbl. i just know it

Messed-up, isolated sibs with all the daddy and abandonment issues. Their lives are so claustrophobic with the brothers no more than five feet apart in the car, a motel room, or standing next to civilians (face it, they are frigging magnets). Can't leave out that they are always touching each other to check for wounds which is a huge PLUS for any shipper.

Sam and Dean ARE literally the blowjob brothers. They walk into a situation and everyone goes well well well if it isn't the blowjob brothers....... And they say. Yep. That's us. And then they fix the situation with their epic love story

THE classic, iconic, show shopping, never done before etc. etc. incest ship. It changed fandom and it changed the world

Dave/Rose:

Daverose blondetwin sweep because they were codependent without ever meeting from growing up seeing each other in their dreams

What does it mean to be an abused teenage boy growing up alone and seeing a girl in your dreams every night who is also your best friend. and when you finally meet her you go on a suicide mission together even though nobody was asking you to die with her. and then you are the only two human beings left in the recognizable universe on a cold meteor surrounded by aliens but you’re glad it’s with her. and when you finally touch the girl from your childhood dreams she looks exactly like you. because she’s your sister

I don't have words for how good these snarky assholes are together. DaveRose is brain chemistry changing. They both put up so many fronts, and engage in so much snarky wordplay, and are constantly trying to get under each other's facade. They play off each other so well, witty and sharp, I need them to be together always

We all die & we all die alone are the two cold truths of the universe but dave and rose broke both simultaneously by ascending to godhood together

Their twincest wins because it is just so confusingly tragic? profound? dave leaving rose behind in a doomed world, dave following her to the bomb. they are both so closed & cut off & curt its hard to imagine the depth of these things. but that is their love language: giving up their lives for each other over and over, in a confusing and fumbling and heartfelt love song. i can’t say i love you but i know we’ll die together anyway. because we’re made of the exact same stuff. i’ll find you again at the last moment. that’s love.

THEY DIED TOGETHER, YOUR HONOR

Confirmed canon by the author, (something happened) between them. Parallels of dying by each other's sides in EVERY timeline. They are THE womb-to-tomb. There is nothing platonic about winking at your brother while talking about crushes, that shit is incestuous. Seer/Knight archetype. They will die protecting each other.

do you realize love someone if you don’t follow them on a suicide mission into the gaping maw of a literal fucking sun after they knock you out and psychoanalyze you in your dreams? the blueprint of the “ethereal androgynous blonde boygirl twins” trope. witch/knight dynamics. they find each other to die together in every timeline no matter what (but they’re still emotionally constipated teenagers who bicker and make fun of each other in pesterchum). kids with grown-up powers. perfect little freaks of nature. what if we looked exactly like each other’s eyes

[just-jordie-things]

hold the phone- imagine megumi giving you mind numbing dick that you are so blissed out you don't register his attempts to kiss you so he has to sternly tell you:

"Kiss me back"

While holding your chin with his eyes being a mix of lust and seriousness ahhhhhhhaaa

lets go girls~ smut under the cut obvi

your friends might tease you a bit for your relationship with the stoic, gloomy looking boy. megumi had a natural air of "i don't give a fuck and i mean it" about him... so yeah, you might get some questions about how much passion your relationship could actually have being with a guy like that.

but god.. the things they don't know.

and you won't tell. you like to have your fun... and so does megumi, he just...

your friends only see the surface. how bubbly and charming you are all the time. whether it's stealing his food, planting kisses on his resting bitch face, grabbing at his hand, playing with his hair, you're very affectionate. always finding some excuse to be close and touch him. you're his magnet that he can't turn off (not that he would. he might not show much expression when you're in public, but he'd rather die than have you sit opposite him at a table)

when it's just the two of you, it's like a switch has been flipped. if you don't meet his every gaze and kiss, you're in trouble.

even if you're finding rather hard to keep your eyes open because he's hitting so deep inside you all you see is stars.

"c'mon pretty girl look at me," he mutters, snatching your chin with gentle fingers so you'll stop throwing your head back and give him what he wants. "y'know i like to see those pretty eyes when i make you cum"

you whine- a mix of pleasure and struggle because he knows it's hard for you to follow instruction when you're this fucked out. you've lost count of how many times it's been already- is he crazy? does he think you're conscious enough for this?

but you can't possibly deny him, so you blink your teary eyes open and find him already gazing at you. he's smiling proudly when you finally manage to keep them open.

"there's my girl" megumi coos, and it's not your heart that flutters at his sweet words. your fingers claw at his back for the umpteenth time, reviving the bright red marks that had barely started to heal from the last time.

he keeps his fingers hooked at your chin, knowing it's the only thing keeping you from tossing your head back and denying him his favorite sight again. you're twitching, it's clear that you're fighting the urge, and he's not exactly making it easy for you with the brutal pace he's keeping up with, but you try, for him.

to reward the behavior he leans in to kiss your swollen lips. he's gentle with you, brushing his lips softly over yours, ever so sweet in every way but the way he's fucking you. it's dizzying, really, and maybe that's why you don't kiss him back, but megumi doesn't bother asking why, just demands that you do.

his thumb presses into your chin, not minding the drool dribbling over it as he brings you closer to him again.

"kiss me back" even for a murmur, it's a command that shoots straight to your natural instinct to obey him, and this time when he kisses you there's not an ounce of hesitation to return it.

it's messy, you're still panting and whining, your teeth catch his bottom lip and you're making a mess of saliva between the two of you, but megumi wouldn't complain for even a second. he keeps up with the pace of your messy kisses until he has you coming undone again.

megumi doesn't give a fuck about most things and he means it, but you certainly aren't most things.

[dusterbishop]

i hear you call my name (and it feels like home)

summary. || three timelines, you have watched remy lebeau die. you didn't believe you would earn a fourth chance to save him until you find a variant with no memory of his past, lost in a void of existence.

pairing. || gambit x f!reader (past relationship with current enemies-to-lovers)

count. || 6.4k

notes. || posted on ao3 here. warning for character death and violence. this is the end! thank you all for the lovely words of support, it means so much that you all loved this duo as much as i do. i have ideas of oneshots for the future, but for now, i leave you all with this!

part one. || part two. || part three. || part four.

Your ears are ringing.

Awareness floods you in slow, uneven strokes. You can hear the roar of battle buzzing through the fog in your mind, guttural screams of pain cutting through in sharp starbursts. There’s a staff in your right hand, and you spasm your grip on it, testing its weight.

It is Remy’s.

Once, that staff had been too heavy for you to properly swing around. He had watched you practice with a pained grimace for a week before he surprised you with your own to train with. The two of you were nothing more than colleagues at that point, simply two mismatched X-Men crossing paths by sheer fate. Until he had handed you your own staff, its weight balanced with delicate perfection in the palm of your hand, and showed you how to use it.

You had never told him that you only used the staff because you could see it in every timeline, a slow conversion of your fighting style across lifetimes. Not every life you lived shared Remy, but his influence still lingered at the edges, seeping in like ink. Fighting with a staff, learning to pick locks, using sleight of hand to swap items from timelines with ease. It was all an extension of your life with Remy. Just echoes, over and over, spreading out in rippling waves.

Echoes, which could never replace the thrill that sparks your attention when a blazing playing card whizzes past your ear. There’s a muffled explosion as the card makes contact with the enemy swinging for your head, and you gracefully sidestep the half-dead man that staggers into a collapsed pile at your feet.

“Watch where you goin’, mon coeur,” Gambit calls. Another whistling hum of kinetic energy, another flash of blazing purple as he throws another card and cuts down another blank faced enemy. The base that Nova commands has a strangely illusive layout, and the war-starved bodies seem like an endless, writhing thing to overcome.

Time is a limited resource, after all. You can taste it just as surely as the blood in the back of your mouth.

“Maybe I’m too distracted watching something else,” you call back. You don’t take the time to see the expression on his face, but you hear his delighted laugh before he starts slinging explosives again. It’s easy to fall into battle. Even easier while you’re wearing your old suit, and the fabric is soft and well-worn just as you remember it. The clothes you wore in the Void were fine for travel, but you felt strangely out of place last night watching Remy adjusting his coat for the upcoming battle.

You are one of the X-Men, technically. It’s been more than a lifetime since you felt like one, but you know their colors and their mission. The suit always did feel more like a formality. There is nothing that could prevent you from fighting for people who cannot protect themselves. Everyone else only has one life, and you have an infinity of them. The gold and blue of your suit is meant to inspire hope for the people you are defending, not to boast about your position, and yet Remy had stuttered mid-sentence when he turned to see you suddenly dressed in your original suit, prepared for battle.

Been a’while since Gambit seen you wit’ those colors. Though, Gambit t’inks you look better out of ‘em, too...

“Pot callin’ the kettle black,” Gambit says. He’s closer, now, as if magnetized to the orbit of your battleground. You smash the skull of a man trying to catch a cheapshot to Gambit’s ribs, and Gambit slips an explosive card into the pocket of the man’s coat for good measure. Briefly, his hand catches the curve of your elbow, brushing his fingers over the pulse-point. Even through the sleeve of your suit, you can almost feel the heat of his skin, searing bone-deep.

“Just calling it as I see it, Cajun,” you say. It doesn’t sound as breathless as you feel. Gambit still has that infuriatingly pleased look on his face, though, so you give him a half-hearted shove with a raised brow. “Save the world, remember?”

“Mais la, all bluff no play,” he complains. “S’il vous plait, mon coeur —”

Time slips.

One moment, you take the chance to catch your breath, falling all-too-easy to the lure of sparring with Remy. The next moment, you’re on the ground. There’s blood beneath you, pooling under your head, dripping from your nose and down to the hard-packed soil.

“Remy,” you choke out. Your ears are ringing with echoes of voices, though you assume it’s across timelines based on the range of emotions. You can hear crying as soul-wrenching as fresh grief, and laughing as bright as bells. It’s like picking up a landline and hearing a conversation you’re only privy to as a passing voyeur.

You blink away some of the dirt and sweat stinging your eyes. You’re still on the ground. Something weighty and warm is settled over your back, tucked into the curve of your sides. The scent of smoke and cologne curls around you as familiar as the back of your hand.

Remy draped his coat over you. You spit a wad of bloodied saliva onto the ground, grimacing at the dark thickness. How long have you been out? You don’t remember charging up to leave the timeline.

Even worse, you don’t remember going anywhere. Time may change around you, but your mind keeps itself sharp with a constant awareness. Even when you would travel time in your sleep, you knew you were moving based on the pressure changing in the air. There had been no pressure change, this time. Only standing with Gambit, teasing him in the way that blazed adrenaline through your veins. Then, it is you laying on the ground, curled up underneath his coat, tasting blood.

You blink again. You think you’re shivering, or maybe you’re trembling, because you aren’t cold. That hazy, all-consuming fever pulses across your skin in waves, burning across your every nerve. It takes effort to turn your head just a fraction, searching the scattered battlefield. You’re still in Nova’s compound. You can see Blade and Elektra distracting any enemy seeking the weaker prey, luring them away from where you lay.

It had taken two more days before you and Gambit had met back up with the resistance. Initially, you had been wary of the strange collection of mutants, reflecting their own suspicion of you back like a mirror image. Yet they had seemed relieved that Gambit was back unharmed.

Now, far past the initial skepticism of your arrival, they treat you with the same consideration they give Gambit.

Though Gambit is… the same, and yet he’s more. The way he fights is far different than the way he did during the days when you both worked with the X-Men. He doesn’t linger near the boundaries of the fight anymore. You used to breathe easier knowing he had been prowling the edges of a fight with his cards at the ready, always protecting your back.

Now, when he fights in the Void, he storms the battlefield as a raging violet-blaze tempest. You find him easily through the crowded clusters of skirmishes, his staff humming with kinetic charge. He wields a handful of cards with careful scarcity, and you know it’s because you have his coat draped over you, holding all of his extra ammo.

He is going to get himself killed.

That thought propels you into motion. Your arms tremble as you push yourself to sit up, the back of your mouth filling with blood and nauseating saliva. It hurts to breathe. It feels like there is a shard of glass lodged in your ribs, cutting up your insides. The only blood you can sense is the slow drip from your lips, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t damage you can’t see yet. Something in your being is dismantling in slow, even strokes, cast adrift from the timelines and stranded in the Void.

One of Nova’s henchmen gets too close to Remy and sideswipes him. The soft-muted grunt of pain from Remy sends a chilling lance of fear through your gut, though before you can move, Remy is already turning and taking down the enemy with a swift twirl of his staff.

They are going to kill him if you don’t get him out. You know it, and it hurts so much to move, but you push yourself to your feet with a strangled whine of frustration. Of all the times for your body to fail you, it has to be now, when Remy is exposed to an entire base of people trying to kill him.

His coat is a familiar weight over your shoulders, but that doesn’t quell the violent shiver that runs through you. Neither does it stop the sudden rush of dizzying pain, or the way you have to hunch over and spit out blood onto the dirt. No time. You don’t have any time.

“Remy,” you call out. You fumble to wipe away the blood dripping down your chin just as he turns at the sound of your voice, his face bright with relief. He doesn’t notice the blood. He moves quickly through the battlefield nonetheless, wrapping an arm over the shuddering arch of your shoulders.

“ Mon coeur,” he says, and he must see something in your face that makes him hesitate. “Enjoy your nap, chér ?”

You suck in a sharp breath. It’s always ‘chér ’ when he doesn’t know which version you are.

“Still with you, LeBeau,” you tell him. Your hand reaches up to cradle the curve of his jaw. He’s buzzing with energy beneath your touch, but it’s the simmering fire in his eyes as he gazes back at you that makes you feel set alight.

“Wanna play?” He says softly. One arm is still slung protectively over your back, but he uses his free hand to fasten his coat tighter over your shoulders, his hand lingering at the vulnerable curve of your throat. “I deal you in, mon coeur.”

You’re reluctant to let him go, so you pull him in and press a chaste kiss to his mouth. You don’t let him go deeper than that so he doesn’t taste the blood, even if there’s a savage wanting in your gut to sink deep into his embrace and never resurface. It’s not fair, you think, that you finally found him only to lose him all over again.

“Deal me in, Cajun,” you whisper to him. His fingers drop from the hollow of your collarbone to the seam of his coat sleeve, drawing a card. He flickers it between his fingers to show you his dealt hand — the ace of hearts — before it disappears into the nothingness of time. You let Remy press another kiss to your mouth, and you have to close your eyes to fight back the burn of tears. Even with your eyes closed, you can hear the hoarseness in his voice when he pulls back.

"You an' me, chér, couple'a aces, non?" 

You have to turn your head to hide a sad smile. "A matched pair."

Like that, the two of you separate. He goes into the fray of battle, the air whirring violently with charged energy, and you step back into the shadow, pulling your ace of hearts from the timeline. You have caught nothing but glimpses of Nova since you arrived, but you can feel her presence at the edges of your mind, probing for weakness. 

So you look weak. It’s easy to slouch against the wall, your breathing coming in labored pants, the sleeve of your X-Men suit streaked red with the blood you keep wiping from your chin. Hurt prey is weaker, after all. You know what she must see when she sees you so far from Remy’s orbit: an injured fawn ripened for the kill.

“Don’ ya leave now, the fun just startin’,” Remy laughs. He sweeps his staff in a wide arc, warding off the enemies crowding closer to his position, but he only has eyes for you. He’s watching you, and you know the moment she arrives by the way his eyes harden with venomous hatred.

“Indeed,” Nova says. Her presence is a sudden, harsh strike to your mind. You have to grit your teeth to muffle your shocked gasp. Her hand is lax around your throat, but you are all too aware of the hand gently caressing the back of your skull. You can hear the smile in her voice when she whispers in your ear, “I’ve never seen something like you.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” you say. The air whirs in quiet contention around you,  but you’re more focused on the card still clutched in your hand. Come on, come on...

“You’re a little wanderer, aren’t you,” she muses. She runs her fingers through the locks of your hair with gentle fingertips, and it takes all of your self control not to spasm and jolt out of her touch. You clench your empty hands tightly, instead, and try not to stare at Remy when he suddenly tucks his hand into a tight fist, purple light buzzing ravenously through the tight clench of his fingers.

“What are you doing running with the swamp rats, hm?” Nova strokes your head again. “You don’t seem like one of their merry band of misfits.”

Remy makes an indignant sound at that, and just as Nova looks to him, the light in his hand dies to nothingness.

“His name is Gambit,” you say. The playing card in your hand whirs with pitched fervor. Almost there. “Make sure you remember that.”

Time condenses to your will, and you’re looking right at Remy when the ace of hearts detonates, rippling a shockwave through you and Nova. Kinetic energy consumes you in a wildfire, burning through the flesh of your body with fervent hunger. You see the ache of distraught cross his face, and then there is only the movement of timelines shifting in place, carrying you through lifetimes, blurring the world around you into a wash of muddled watercolors.

When you blink, the world rights itself.

When you breathe in, settling back into a body escaped unharmed, you see Remy fall.

“No!” You shout. Or perhaps it is a whisper. Or perhaps it is spread across every timeline, every particle of your being spread thin and calling out in pained fury. You aren’t sure of anything except the way Remy twists, losing grip of his staff, and collapsing to the ground.

A wordless scream of rage tears through you. You can hear its echo filling the air as you yank time into a heel, drawing yourself across the expanse of the field in moments. You aren’t sure where the others are, or if Nova truly perished in the kinetic explosion as you intended. All you can see is Remy, lying in motionless rigor, and the man that took the shot that put him down.

Time scrambles in your mind, but you reach your destination faster than the man can draw his weapon at you. Your hands take his head in a vice grip, the tips of your gloved fingers digging harshly into his dirt-streaked skin.

“How dare you,” you snarl. If you had the chance, you would tear him through time until he disintegrated. You break his neck instead, the sickening crack of his bone fading from your attention the moment you feel his body slip from your grasp. You don’t manipulate time to fall to your knees by Remy’s side, but the space between movements is a blur you don’t care to investigate.

“Remy,” you half-sob. You reach out and grasp his shoulder, turning him over onto his back, and nearly sob again in relief when you see him squinting back at you with dazed annoyance.

“Lucky strike,” he mutters. Your hand flutters down to brush against his side, your heart seizing at the grimace on his face. The warmth of blood against your fingers spreads a numbness through your gut. You only press your hand firmly to the wound, gritting your teeth against the roaring fury building in your throat.

“What happened to ‘the house always wins’?” You snap at him instead. The blood is sticky and warm, and it won’t be staunched by the pressure of your hand alone. He’s going to bleed out.

“Raising the bet,” Remy grunts. There’s a sheen of sweat across his brow, but it’s the ashen pallor of his skin that makes your chest tighten with panic. God, you’re going to lose him.

“I hate you,” you whisper. You hate the Void. You hate Nova, and her violent-driven henchmen. You hate yourself, most of all, for doing this to him. For not being able to do more.

“Tha’ sounds more like love than hate, mon coeur.”

“Just playing the odds,” you bite out. He blinks at you, sluggish, and you realize exactly what you have to do. It’s the only thing you can do for him. You draw your hand back from his side and try not to gag on the smell of it permeating the air. There’s a steady puddle beneath him, soaking the knees of your suit, but you hardly feel it. You can’t feel anything at all, in fact.

Just that whirring buzz of time, and the slowly approaching footsteps of Cassandra Nova coming up behind you.

“Go ahead, Remy,” you breathe. The timeline whirs to life beneath your palms, a composed symphony to the crackling buzz of kinetic energy. You cup his face, thumbs smoothing away the dust beneath his blackened eyes, and you will him to live.

He reaches up to try and catch your wrists. There’s that furrow in his brow, again, like he’s preparing to curse you out for this. He’s a pulsing livewire of humming energy in your hands, simmering with an explosive potential. If he stays here, he will be nothing more than a husk. Dying like a goddamn hero, slaughtered like a martyr upon the altar, just to give you the chance to take down Nova.

So you imagine him at your apartment, in your bed, instead. Tucked under the blankets, his hair mussed from sleep. Figaro curled up on his chest, purring his strange rattling hum, the other two boys stretched out beside him. The world is quiet, and safe. Nothing is there to hurt him.

The timeline sings in your hands. You want to kiss him, but you don’t. Kissing him will feel like goodbye, and you don’t think you could bear the thought of it, not right now. Not before you finish taking down Nova.

Your gaze locks with his. You can see the moment he realizes that you aren’t going with him. The annoyance at being forced to take the retreat cracks out of his expression with sharp, desperate panic. His hands nearly catch you at the wrist, his fingertips brushing against the sleeve of your coat, but then he’s gone. You stare down at the dirt where he once was, fighting to keep your breathing steady. He’s safe.

At least, you tell yourself, one of you made it home.

Yet it still feels like a gaping wound in your side. You betrayed him to save him.

“Touching,” Nova remarks. You can’t bring yourself to move. You’re still kneeling in the remains of Remy’s blood when she strikes you.

The world flickers in and out of focus, spinning in rampant circles. Distantly, you’re aware of your legs kicking weakly in the air, your hands scrabbling desperately at your throat to ease the choking grip she has you in. Except she isn’t touching you, not with her hands.

No, she’s standing just out of arm's reach, smiling like a sphynx.

“I have seen so many variants,” she says idly. You’re choking on nothing, fighting the headache rending through your temples. “There’s been some Jean Grays, a few Rogues. More than a few Gambits. Many, many Deadpools.”

“And yet,” she continues. “I have never found more than one of you.”

The release of the grip she has on your throat makes you gasp out a cry, sucking in air with deep, hoarse wheezing. You hardly feel the impact of your body collapsing to the ground, too relieved in the taste of air. You rub at your throat with shaking fingers, trying to erase the feeling of her grip crushing your windpipe.

“That isn’t the strangest part, however.”

You know where this is going. You close your eyes.

“I could feel you,” she shifts closer to you, but you don’t have the energy to flinch and create distance between the two of you. “In your mind, you are nothing but fragments.”

“Wayfarer,” you whisper. It comes out in a croak, but you are far beyond caring. “I am everywhere and everything.”

“Broken,” she agrees. You open your eyes at that. She looks vindicated, as if admitting your ability has only made you weaker. You suppose, hunched over and wheezing, you don’t look as threatening as you used to during your X-Men days. You must look like nothing but bleeding prey.

Good, you think. You smile at her with bloodied teeth. “Broken things are meant to hurt, you know.”

Like shuffling a deck of cards, you let time flutter through your hands, staggering into a timeline version of yourself where you can breathe without choking. Your body follows the commands of your mind with elegant obedience.

Your hands meet their mark, and latch onto Nova tight enough to turn your knuckles pale. The pair of playing cards pressed against each of your palms sizzle with hunger where they make contact with her body.

Pain lances through your skull, exploding into brilliant light behind your eyes. You think your hands are still clutching onto Nova, but you cannot feel them. The world is bright violet, time shuffling with a charged whir. The kinetic energy ripples down your hands in great, staggering waves, a faint prickle of pain among the agony of time rendering itself apart around you.

Nova is screaming. Distantly, you feel her hands pulling at you, yanking at the lapels of Remy’s coat, hitting your face. She must be trying to delve into your mind. She cannot catch you, though. You are plummeting through every timeline, shuffling from one version of yourself to the next, then the next, then the next. Over and over. Over, and over, and over.

Shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

You think you let go of her.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

No, it’s not your hands that have let go. Your arms are shuddering through time, but your hands keep locked onto her, holding her steady, burning violet. You haven’t let her go, but your body is being torn into pieces.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

Nova isn’t screaming anymore.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

You are.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

You can’t hear it over the roaring of time rushing through you, but you can feel your throat blazing, screaming through every timeline, every version of yourself. This must be what dying feels like. It is infinite across all time. There is no other way out.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

Her body dissolves with slow tendrils of violet light creeping beneath the exposed flesh, tracing whirls with the lines of her veins and arteries. It consumes her from the inside, spreading out with a meticulous, parasitic intensity.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

Remy’s power consumes you, too. You see the light creep up your wrists, then your arms, then your shoulders. You can feel its warmth down to your bones. It almost feels, strangely, like it’s him hugging you. It feels like it did last night, tangled in his arms beneath the sheets, your ear pressed to his chest to listen to the rhythm of his heart.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

You wonder, distantly, if his power is trying to keep your body together. The charge of kinetic energy is concentrated in your hands, but you can still feel the heat of it pooling in the pit of your stomach and scorching the back of your mouth. Remy had been dismissive when you asked him what it felt like to charge something, though you figure he had been exasperated by your own explanation of your ability. You doubt he would have known what it felt like to be torn asunder with only the kinetic lightning crackling through him.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

You think about Remy, for a moment. You think about the apartment that you both signed the lease on, furnished with a thief’s eye of luxury, cluttered with the little bits of memorabilia and creature comforts you curated over the years. You think about the cats that Remy dotes on, your own cats by marriage, all curled up in their favorite spots around the two of you. You think about the couch that you had teased Remy about for the price, only for him to turn around and gloat about the amount of naps you took on it. You think about the movie nights with you two intertwined on that couch, the cats pressed into your sides, the room dim-lit and safe.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

You think about how you would like to do that, again. To be able to sit on the couch with your husband and watch a movie. To be with Remy, and not be caught in this web of unraveling agony.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

Like a loose thread, you unravel.

Shuffle.

It starts in your hands, with your fingertips, and it spreads from there.

Draw.

Your eyesight goes last.

Pull.

You see Remy in every lifetime, looking at you, his outline glimmering with that kinetic violet light. His mouth is moving. It almost looks like your name.

Shuffle…

Nothing comes to your mind. Everything comes into pitch black.

Shuffle…

Your hands are empty.

Shuffle…

Time is empty, now absent when it once was vast. You had been infinite, once. Like time, you had been endless.

Shuffle…

You had been lost before you knew what it felt like to be seen. You could never be sure what timeline was originally yours before you switched them. Even the smallest of details could escape your attention if you weren’t looking for it. At a certain point, you realized you had to choose a life to claim as yours and stop wandering. Even a Wayfarer needed an anchor to call home for when it was time to rest.

Draw.

You had wandered for a long time. Years, perhaps, though your physical bodies changed shape and form in ways you couldn’t predict. The face in the mirror had never been home, anyway. There were too many genetic variables to each timeline to preserve the way you looked. Your body was merely a temporary housing for your time-stepping mind. A body was not an anchor. It was simply a tool to be used and discarded.

Pull.

An anchor needs to be constant. It needs to be something that will not retreat when time grows teeth and begins to hurt. It needs to be loyal to the cause. It needs to be kind, deep down, even if the surface is skin-deep careless. It needs to make you feel safe.

It’s… warm. Soft.

You bury your face deeper into the pillow with a long, blissful sigh. You will never regret insisting that you splurge and spend the extra money on a memory foam mattress. It feels like floating in the clouds.

A soft, questioning mmrph rumbles next to your ear. It’s your only warning before a small, wet nose presses to your temple. You know it’s Oliver by the way he starts to knead at the pillow next to your head, purring a roaring chorus. There’s another weight on your legs, pinning them down, and a third is nestled into your side. Remy must be up, already, if they’re all stuck to you for warmth.

“Did your father abandon us again, boys?” You mumble sleepily. Oliver purrs louder at the sound of your voice. You can feel the weight on your legs shift, no doubt being that it’s Lucifer standing up to stretch before he starts to walk up the length of your body. He’s purring, too, though he resettles on the spot between your shoulder blades, the hum of his purr radiating across your back. Figaro doesn’t grace you with an acknowledgement, but neither does he unfurl himself from his spot next to your side.

Warm, soft, and safely nestled amongst your cats. It’s nearly heaven. You end up half-dozing back off, lulled to sleep by the purring next to your ear. You feel like you haven’t slept in a lifetime.

You don’t hear the door open, though you know something is wrong by the way Figaro leaps to attention and Oliver’s purr stutters to a stop.

When you open your eyes, it’s half-lit by the morning sun. It must be closer to noon than the time that you usually wake to train. Any trace of lingering sleep drifts away when the bedroom door creeps open with its usual squall of hinges.

You smile and twist to look over your shoulder, dislodging Lucifer despite his soft sound of discontent, and yawn, “Morning. I think.”

Remy is posed in the doorway. Your next words die in your throat as you see the look on his face, the staff still gripped tightly in his hand. He’s dressed in his usual armor, not his civilian clothing like you expected. His hair is longer, tied back carelessly from his face, flyaway strands curling around his temples. His eyes are near-black, both through his irises and the dark shadows collecting beneath them.

He looks like he has spent years surviving an apocalypse.

“Jesus, Remy,” you breathe. You’re sitting up in an instant, one hand out reaching towards him. His armor is dust-streaked and worn from battle. “Are you hurt?”

“Where’d you go, chér?” He rasps. His face is still utterly, terrifyingly still. You have never seen him at the brink of collapse like this, before. He looks like he wants to step further in the room, his hand twitching with a nervous tic of adrenaline, but he stays stock-still. Waiting for you.

“Nowhere,” you say softly. “I’ve been in bed with the boys, love.”

You have to resist the urge to spring out of bed and run your hands along his body to look for any sign of injury. You aren’t entirely sure what’s gotten into him, but if he’s hallucinating or delirious, you should probably reach out to the other X-Men. Maybe the professor would know why Remy’s in full gear and looking battle-worn at this hour. Why would he go without waking you first?

Remy wavers. He looks heartsick. “Don’ lie t’me, chér.”

“Never,” you agree. You offer the spot next to you in bed with a half-pleading, half-alluring gesture. “Come here. You look like hell, Remy.”

“You…” he starts, then stops. Abruptly, he drops his staff with a rattling thud. Within three strides, he’s in your arms, melting into your embrace. You clutch at him just as fiercely, burying your nose into the crown of his hair. He smells like smoke and dust, but there’s no indication of blood and pain. He simply sags in your grip, his breathing quick and unsteady against your collarbone. His fingers curl weakly into the back of your nightshirt, as if that’s all the strength he can muster.

He’s mumbling, even with his face pressed tightly to the curve of your throat, but you can’t make out much more than your name, over and over.

“Shh, Remy, I’m right here with you,” you whisper against his crown. With a free hand, you reach up to pull out the elastic band holding up his hair, letting it fall in uneven waves. When was the last time he took care of himself? Your Remy loved to indulge in fine-smelling soaps and lavish hair routines, surrounding himself in a luxury he earned himself. His appearance was just as much armor as his coat was. You had never been fooled by his demeanor: his weapon of charm was just as sharply honed as his weapon of playing cards.

Yet it’s the length of his hair that sours the back of your throat with nausea. You run your fingers through it, slowly massaging his scalp in the way that makes him pliant and sleepy. It’s not that you haven’t seen Remy with long hair before; it’s simply the fact that you haven’t seen him with long hair in years. Just last night, his hair had been just long enough to curl at the nape of his neck. You had run your fingers through it and mentioned a haircut, and he had been a deadweight in your lap, humming sleepily in acknowledgement.

You swallow thickly. Either this is not the same Remy you went to sleep next to the night before… or you are missing time.

“You should take a bath, love,” you murmur, gently scratching his scalp. You can feel smudged wetness on the collar of your nightshirt from tears, though he hasn’t made a sound other than a few deep, unsteady breaths. Back when you first got together during missions, the shower was the first place you two could unwind and start to sort through your fading adrenaline rush.

He pulls back from your embrace, just a little, and every word of encouragement dies in your throat at the look on his face. Rage. Betrayal.

Heartbreak.

“You been gon’ awhile, chér,” he says. It’s not an accusation, but there’s a simmering anger beneath that matter-of-fact tone. It’s always ‘chér’ when he doesn’t know which version you are. His eyes burn through you, intent on stripping you raw. You wonder what answers he could possibly expect from you. If it’s answers he wants at all, or rather an apology.

You have to offer him something.

“I —”

“Gambit go lookin’ for you,” he laughs, mirthless. “Got him spending two years lookin’ and you jus’ show up in bed. Like nothin’ happen.”

Two years. There’s a small itch in the back of your mind, like the whisper of a memory raking its claws down your back. There had been an unraveling. Utter destruction. Then it had been you here, you waking up in bed as if nothing had happened.

You blink back at him, struck speechless. You don’t have to offer a word, though, because there’s true anger in his eyes, now.

“I go to de Void,” he says. “I t’ink that’s what it was. Nothin’ left there. Dere’s no life around, hein? Mais, non, not even my wife, only the dead. Ev’rybody dead.”

 His eyes close as if he can ward away the images tormenting his memories. You’re grateful that he can’t see the way your face crumples at that. He went back for you. He had survived the wound, and he found a way back to come for you.

And he had found nothing but death.

“You’re such an idiot,” you choke out. His eyes snap open at that, but you merely cup his face in your hands and draw him in to bump your forehead against his, sucking in a shuddering breath. He is warm and alive under your touch. You didn’t think you could touch him like this again when Nova had been standing above you, prepared to tear you in shreds. “I sent you ahead, but I was coming with you.”

“We stay together,” he tells you. There’s a strain in his voice just as painful as yours, but the way he reaches up to swipe away a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb is careful. As if he’s marveling that he has the chance to touch you at all. “Mais la, don’ tell Gambit he wrote up those vows for nothin’, Mrs. LeBeau.”

“Matched pair,” you whisper back.

“Couple’a aces,” he agrees, and he kisses you just as gently as he wiped away your tears, as if you have all the time in the world.

[agent24zine]

PREORDERS OPEN!

💛 THE TIME IS HERE 💖

Pre-orders are now OPEN until March 8th! The Agent 24 Zine is a non-profit fan project centred around Agent 3 and Agent 8 and their relationship together!

Pre-order here: agent24zine.bigcartel.com

Check out below for bundle options!

TOGETHER FOREVER

- 1 physical copy of Agent 24 Zine (A4 with over 100 pages!)

- 1 .PDF file of Agent 24 Zine

- 2 1” Phone charms

- 1 3” double sided, different design acrylic charm

- 1 A5 sticker sheet

- 2 3” die cut stickers

- 1 5”x7” postcard print

- 1 2cm washi tape

- 1 2” acrylic magnet

- All stretch goal merchandise that gets unlocked

Stretch goal bonuses will be unlocked the more orders are placed and will be included in our Together Forever and Box of Trinkets bundles. These bundles will also include an early bird bonus for the first 50 orders!

LOVE LETTER

- 1 physical copy of Agent 24 Zine

- 1 .PDF file of Agent 24 Zine

BOX OF TRINKETS

- 2 1” phone charms

- 1 3” double sided, different design acrylic charm

- 1 A5 sticker sheet

- 2 3” die-cut stickers

- 1 5”x7” postcard print

- 1 2” acrylic magnet

- All stretch goal merchandise that gets unlocked

DIGITAL DATE

- 1 .PDF file of Agent 24 Zine

[allur1ngs]

imagine team bebe walking into bada being scolded by reader and how bada turns into a puppy whenever reader takes charge 😭

bada when reader is mad at her: 🥺🐶 she's so, "my wife is mad at me i hope i die" coded

"bada lee." you say firmly, arms crossed over your chest.

sitting in her office chair, bada freezes, her eyes growing wide and her mouth closing as she mentally curses herself. she knows that tone. that stern way you say her full name, indicating she's done something wrong.

mentally, she runs through everything she's done today, wondering what she did to offend you so much

"did i wake up without giving her a good morning and i love you kiss?" bada thinks. but no, she explicitly remembers that although she'd woken up earlier than you, she'd stayed in bed for hours until you woke up so she could place a kiss on your cheek and say, "i love you" before she went to her office to work.

she touches the side of her face, checking to see if she wore her glasses--her fingers meet the cold, sleek black frames--because if she didn't that would be another mistake. but she's wearing her glasses--

"fuck what day is it?" bada thinks, scrambling to check the calendar she has propped up on her desk to make sure today isn't your anniversary or another important date--

but it isn't.

and she'd taken a break about an hour ago, meaning you weren't mad at her for that...so what could it be?

"yes, baby?" bada says, trying to give you a smile but her lips slightly twitch with anxiety.

"do you know what time it is?" you ask, tapping your foot against the marble floor.

bada rolls up her suit jacket, checking her cartier watch for the time. "five in the afternoon?" she gulps.

"and tell me, how many times have you eaten?" you quirk up an eyebrow accusingly.

oh...

bada closes her eyes and takes in a sharp breath. so that's what it was. she hadn't eaten breakfast, much too wrapped up in her work to eat, and too excited to speak to you during her break to ask for breakfast.

"i haven't eaten..." bada says quietly, opening her eyes to glance at you and see your disapproving expression.

while you and bada speak, the bebe girls are turning around the corner, talking about their latest mission passionately.

"and when i shot him--" lusher's sentence gets cut off.

"that's what i thought." your stern tone grabs the girl's attention, making them huddle around the half-opened door to bada's office instantly--their nosey nature shining through.

"honey, i'm sorry--" bada tries to apologize, looking like a kicked puppy.

behind the door, the girls snicker with each other, large smiles on their lips.

"did you hear that?" tatter whispers, nudging lusher.

lusher nods, trying to hold back her laughter. "honey, i'm sorry~" she mimics your wife's ashamed tone. "bada is so whipped--"

"and unnie is very scary when she's mad." minah points out, staring at your confident and strong posture.

back in the office, you hold your hand up to stop bada from speaking any further. "don't apologize to me."

"sorry--" bada says instinctively before stopping herself.

"no more work." you state. "you're done for today, and i want you to eat. now."

bada looks down at the pile of paperwork on her desk, then back at your expectant expression. "okay." she stands up without another second of hesitation, and instantly makes her way to your side like a magnet. she wraps her arms around your waist and buries her head into the crook of your neck, hoping to soothe your anger. "i really am sorry." she mumbles into your skin. "i didn't notice how late it was."

you sigh, your firm composure breaking at your wife's sincere apology. "it's okay, you just worry me sometimes."

"sorry baby." bada places sweet kisses to the column of your neck. "since i'm not going to be working for the rest of the day...can we cuddle?" she asks, tone hopeful.

"we can cuddle all you want after you eat." you promise.

from outside the office, the girls give each other faux disgusted looks.

"when did bada become such a softie?" cheche murmurs.

"the minute she met unnie it was game over." lusher snickers. "we should be glad, unnie is the only one that can speak to bada like that without receiving a death glare and being threatened."

"the miracles of love." soweon sighs wistfully.

"more like the miracles of unnie." tatter jokes.