#my master plan

[nemkero]

nobody will know that this is atla fanart

[mushroominaforest]

how dare you/j

IM SOBBING the way Grey is just. Avoiding eye contact 😭😭😭

Hehehehehe I’m too powerful. With my doodles and memes I can beam my hyperfixations directly into your brain >:D

(this is what that looks like btw)

[curse-of-dming-strahd]

y'all might remember that to maintain my PG-13 rating and chiller vibes, I decided to make Doru into a teen vampire who's been whining from the basement about how life isn't fair for like 20 years

and the swap actually went really well; I was right to guess that my party wouldn't have approached Doru at all if I'd run it as written. instead we had our first interesting party disagreement where one of them wanted to go into the basement to talk to him, one of them was like ARE YOU CRAZY? WHY WOULD YOU PUT US IN DANGER FOR NO REASON, and one of them couldn't choose a side.

in the end they compromised by trying to talk to him through the closed trapdoor instead of going fully into the basement, motherfuckin' teamwork

watched one of my players put together that Strahd is an awful person because Doru clearly likes him and Strahd just kinda dropped him off here in an Uber and hasn't been back since.

[thatcreepydoll]

lowkey might riot because they don’t sell light up lightning mcqueen sneakers in adult sizes and i refuse to buy crocs if i don’t have to

[dwtdog]

need more dogboy dream stories

i don't have any ideas for more atm but I definitely want to write more !!

[mishori-o]

why are you in my room can you leave

HEY YOU WASN'T SUPPOSED YO SEE ME!! NOW HOW WILL I KILL YA HUH!!?

[snotbuggle]

Once I have enough posts I can organize it MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA MY EVIL PLAN IS NEARLY COMPLETE

I CAN ORGANIZE BY OCS, FANART, REQUESTS, AND RANTS ITLL BE BEAUTIFUL YAHAHAHAHAHAH

[theblackestofsuns]

“My Master Plan”

Fantastic Four #15 (June 1963)

Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, Dick Ayers and Stan Goldberg

Marvel Comics

[clarionglass]

here we go :) part one of three, updates to be released weekly!

---

sam says 4 (game master cinematic universe, part 3)

Ruby was at her mum's for a family dinner she couldn't miss on pain of death, apparently, and the Doctor was many things, but a family dinner kind of guy wasn't one of them—particularly when Carla had already slapped him once in the short time he'd known her. He thought he'd broken his streak of bad luck with mums, but… well, seemingly not. So he was companionless for a few hours, and while he could wait for her to get back, maybe catch up on his reading—what was the point of waiting when you had a time machine? 

He ran his hands over the TARDIS console, marvelling at her clean lines and metallic flourishes, the way that even now she felt brand new but familiar, and paused. He’d just pop off for a quick adventure, nothing too dangerous, but—where to go?

He could scan for a distress call nearby, and pitch in to help. He could drop in on Donna and Shaun and Rose, beautiful Rose, and see how they were all doing. Or he could just hit the randomiser button, and jump in feet first wherever he ended up.

He remembered a conversation from a long time ago, when he wore a different face, and his gorgeous TARDIS wore a face too, for the first and only time.

“You didn't always take me where I wanted to go.”

“No, but I always took you where you needed to go.”

He grinned. Who could resist an offer like that? He pressed the button and whooped as the time rotor spun into action, ready to see where the universe would take him.

---

Apparently, he was needed pretty close to where he already was. Earth, 2024. Huh. Same planet, same time—within a few months of where he’d left Ruby, even. The main thing that had changed was the location: he was now in the good old US of A. California, to be more specific, and Los Angeles to be more specific still. And to really narrow it down, the Doctor discovered as he poked his head out of the TARDIS doors, he was in… a broom closet. Not bad, as a parking spot—a bit squeezy, but out of the way. And as he poked his head out of that door, he could finally see he was in the backstage corridors of a studio of some kind. Film or TV, if he was to hazard a guess, it was a different vibe from Abbey Road.

With a shrug, he decided to go exploring.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute before a young woman wearing the full-black outfit, headset, and permanently stressed expression of a production assistant came running up to him.

“Are you the fill-in Sam organised?” she asked breathlessly, and honestly, seeing the look on her face, the Doctor didn’t have the heart(s) to tell her no. And really, what was the Doctor, if not a professional fill-in? This, this was why he had a randomiser button on the control panel, because whatever he was about to get himself into was going to be fun.

“Sure!”

“Oh, thank god,” sighed the production assistant, relief dawning across her face. “When Ally tested positive this morning, I thought we were sunk for the record, because we called around and we couldn’t get a hold of anyone. But then Sam said he could get someone in, and, you know, here you are, and just in time, so—ah, yeah, if you could follow me this way?”

Smiling all the way, the Doctor followed his guide through to hair and makeup, looking around as they went. The studio seemed to belong to a company called Dropout, according to the branding scattered around, and things seemed, at least on the surface, to be… well. Fine. He couldn't tell why he'd been brought here yet, which meant that when he found the reason, it was going to be particularly tangled. He couldn't wait! 

And then he looked back at his guide, still engulfed in a miasma of anxiety, and realised he'd been too busy looking for clues to notice the person right in front of him. 

“Hey, it's cool, you've found me,” he started with a gentle smile. “You can relax. Hi, I'm the Doctor. What's your name?”

“Oh!” she said, startled. “The Doctor, yeah, of course. Um, hi, I'm Kaylin. Look, sorry, it's just that I've been so busy this morning, I'm so distracted… Shit, and I would've completely forgotten to get your details too. There's paperwork to fill in, but you can do that later. Um, just for now, though, can I get your pronouns?”

The Doctor thought for a moment. “He/him, for now.”

Kaylin nodded, making a note on her phone. “Okay, cool! And do you have any socials?”

“Not me, babes,” he replied. “I'm hardly sitting down long enough to be able to update, you know?”

“On a day like this, I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “That's okay, Lou didn't have socials either for the longest time. Right, so if you go through there, the team will get you sorted, and once you're done, someone will take you up to the greenroom. All good?”

“All great,” the Doctor replied. Kaylin flashed him a quick, relieved smile, then hurried off.

Hair and makeup was a fairly quick process, the sound mixer fitted him with a microphone, and before too long, Kaylin was back to take him upstairs. 

“This is the greenroom,” she said, pushing the door open. “The rest of the cast for the episode are already here—they’re great guys, and they’ve both been on the show a lot, so they’ll be able to help if you’ve got questions. And if you need anything else, just come find me or any of the other PAs, okay?”

The Doctor nodded, beamed at Kaylin, and walked in.

---

The greenroom was small but comfortable, and its occupants, two men around the same age as the Doctor appeared, looked up as he entered.

“Oh, you’re new,” the taller of the pair said, clearly giving him the once-over.

The other sighed with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, just as clearly used to his friend’s antics.

“Hey, I’m Brennan,” he said, levering himself up to standing from his perch on a chair arm, and holding out a hand. “That’s Grant.”

The Doctor took it warmly. “The Doctor. Just passing through, and happy to help.”

Grant’s eyebrows quirked. “Doctor… something?” he prompted.

“Or is it just ‘the Doctor’?” Brennan asked.

“Just ‘the Doctor’,” the Time Lord confirmed cheerfully. “You’ll get used to it, everyone does.”

Grant didn’t look convinced, but—

“Copy that,” Brennan shrugged, and settled back on the arm of the chair, returning his gaze to the door.

Grant, in turn, looked at the Doctor and rolled his eyes in a clear expression of ‘no, I don’t know why he’s like this, either’.

“Okay,” the Doctor said after a moment of watching the watching. “I wasn’t going to ask, but now I think I have to. What’s up with the door?”

Brennan huffed a laugh. “Well, the last time there was one of those up—” he pointed to the Out of Order sign stuck to the bathroom door, “—we got locked in here for the game.”

“He’s paranoid,” Grant interjected.

“Well, yeah, maybe,” Brennan retorted. “Or just cautious. Because Sam’s been acting weird lately, and we’re coming up to the last few records of the season, so he’s probably planning something way out of the box for the finale. And the original cast was you, me and Beardsley, so…”

He shrugged one shoulder meaningfully, and Grant nodded, conceding both the point and the potential for chaos.

“So if Sam comes in to give us the briefing, rather than waiting til we’re on set,” Brennan continued, “or there’s anything else weird going on, I’m gonna know about it right from the beginning.”

He turned to the Doctor. “The only reason I'm not quizzing you is because I know for a fact Beardsley was genuinely scheduled for this, so you can't be a plant by the production team. No offence.”

“None taken,” the Doctor smiled. “That sort of thing happen often, does it?”

Grant and Brennan exchanged a look. 

“More than you'd think,” Grant answered with a grimace. 

“Alright,” the Doctor said slowly, then brightened. “So what is it we're actually doing?”

Grant gave him a disbelieving glance. “You don't know—?”

“Very last minute fill-in,” the Doctor said breezily. “But don't worry, I'm a quick study.”

“Well, you're not that much worse off than the rest of us,” Brennan said encouragingly. “You know about Game Changer, obviously, if you know Sam, and we only find out the rules of the game once we get on set. Hopefully,” he added, with a dark look back at the Out of Order sign. 

The Doctor nodded. No, he didn't know Sam, and he didn't know Game Changer, but he could work out the situation from context clues. This was a game show. And with the Toymaker banished, and Satellite Five not coming into existence for another 198000 years, give or take, he found himself smiling. Maybe third time would be the charm. 

“Mmm, hopefully they aren't going to throw you in the deep end,” Grant said. “Because Brennan might seem lovely now, but as soon as we get out there, he's a whore for points. He'll stab you in the back and won't even blink.”

Brennan barked with laughter. “Yeah, and you wouldn't?”

“Excuse you, I'm always a goddamn delight,” Grant replied, the very picture of injured dignity. 

“Oh, absolutely!” agreed a new voice. The Doctor turned to the now-open door to see a bearded man in a pinstriped suit smiling broadly. “That's why we keep inviting you back!”

Grant bowed sarcastically. “Why, thank you, Sam. Good to know I'm appreciated by someone here.”

“Always,” Sam replied, gently but firmly ending that particular path of the conversation. He scanned the room, and his eyes lit up when they landed on the Doctor. 

“Ah, you must be the Doctor!” he said with obvious delight, walking over with his hand outstretched. “I'm Sam—thanks for filling in for us, you've made sure we're going to have a good show. Seriously, it's a pleasure to have you here.”

“Aw, cheers!” the Doctor smiled, shaking the offered hand. “Glad I could help out, I'm really looking forward to this!”

“Well, great!” Sam exclaimed, then took a step back, regarding all three players in turn. “Now, folks, I'm just letting you know that we're just about ready to start the record, so if you can start heading down, that'd be great.”

Grant and Brennan nodded—Brennan, the Doctor noticed, with relief. 

“See you down there,” Sam said, smiling. “Have a great show, and—”

His eyes caught on the Doctor's for a second, twinkling. 

“Good luck.”

---

Backstage, the Doctor, Brennan and Grant were marshalled into podium order and given a final briefing from the crew. And then, with a thumbs-up from Kaylin, that was it.

Showtime.

“Get ready for a Game Changer!” came Sam's voice from onstage. “Tonight’s guests: he can shoot off a monologue with laser accuracy; it’s Brennan Lee Mulligan!”

Brennan, his back to the camera as the curtains opened, spun on his heel and, with a stone-cold expression, pointed finger guns straight down the barrel, before letting the facade crack open. “Hi!” he exclaimed, and walked over to the leftmost podium.

“It’s his first appearance, but he’s already on fire; it’s the Doctor!”

The Doctor leant against the archway to the stage and flashed a broad smile towards the camera, then in a few skipping steps, had bounded over to the next free podium. What the hell, why not make an entrance?

“And even in the toughest of mazes, you’ll always be able to find him; it’s Grant O’Brien!”

Grant dipped his lanky frame into an approximation of a curtsey, spreading his arms wide, then sauntered over to the closest podium with a grin.

“And your host, me!” Sam announced, a ring of manic white showing around his irises as he beamed down the barrel of the camera. “I’ve been here the whole time!”

“This,” he continued, pushing his microphone shut and stowing it in his jacket pocket, “is Game Changer, the only game show where the game changes every show. I am your host, Sam Reich!” 

As he said his name, he looked at his hands, front and back, as if he was pleasantly surprised to be himself, then gestured towards the three podiums.

“I am joined today by these three lovely contestants! Now, you understand how the game works.”

“Of course not,” Grant started. “You know we don't.”

“We can't, Sam, that's the whole point of the theatre you've set up here,” Brennan said over him. 

“Not yet,” was all the Doctor said, anticipation starting to drum a tattoo of excitement against the inside of his ribcage. 

“That’s right!” Sam said brightly, shooting finger guns at the camera. “Our players have no idea what game it is they’re about to play. The only way to learn is by playing. The only way to win is by learning, and the only way to begin is by beginning! So without further ado, let’s begin by giving each of our players fifty points.”

The Doctor, biding his time, watched the reactions of his fellow contestants. Grant looked at the front of his podium, checking the point total, and nodding approvingly when he saw that yes, it was sitting at a round fifty. Brennan, on the other hand, was starting to frown.

“Players, Sam says: touch your nose,” Sam began, and Brennan sighed the sigh of someone who wasn’t happy to be proved right.

“Oh, no,” he groaned. “Oh, you son of a bitch. Wasn’t one this season enough?”

He touched his nose anyway, as did the others, and Sam smiled encouragingly. “Sam says: touch your ear.”

When they all did, Sam nodded. “Touch your other ear.”

Everybody held still, fingers on the ears they had originally touched.

Sam beamed. “Easy, players, right?”

“You say that now,” Brennan said darkly. “Which makes it worse, because all you're doing is setting us up for failure.”

Sam gasped, pretending offence. “Would I do that?”

“Yes,” Brennan and Grant replied in unison, which drew a grin from the Doctor and set Sam off chuckling.

“And I'm not having it,” Brennan continued, leaning his elbows against his podium and pointing at Sam with the hand not touching his ear. “You better watch yourself, because I know how this game works, and you're not going to get one over on me.”

“Strong words, Brennan!” Sam said, clearly delighted by this response. “Okay, then, let's start making things a bit more interesting!”

The game continued as per Sam Says usual, some rounds done as a group and some individual. Points were won, sure, but lost slightly more frequently, and even the Doctor found he was having to concentrate to avoid getting caught in the host's traps. 

It was fun. Genuinely, it was like playing a game with friends, and the Doctor felt himself leaning into it. There wasn't any sign of danger—maybe there wasn't a mystery to solve at all, and the TARDIS just decided he needed a total break. 

Well, probably not. But the way things were going, he was able to let himself hope. 

“Alright, players,” Sam said a good few rounds in, just as pleasantly as he would start any other question, and the screen behind him dinged as a new prompt popped up. “Survive the death beam.”

For a second, everything was frozen perfectly still. 

And then came the crash, the explosive noise of heavy machinery moving relentlessly through a drywall set.

The Doctor was already moving. “Everyone down!”

“Duck!” Brennan yelled at the same time.

The two of them hit the ground within milliseconds of each other, but Grant was still paralysed in the face of the giant, science-fiction type laser cannon that had just ploughed through the wall. 

It whined ominously, screaming its way to fever pitch. And then a sharp pain in Grant’s ankle made him stagger, pitching forwards onto the carpet behind the podiums as the Doctor rolled away to avoid getting pinned.

“Sorry, babes,” the Doctor whispered. “But it was either kick you to get you down, or—”

A hideous metallic screech ripped through the air, and all three of them could feel the crackle of ozone as a beam of energy swept across what had, moments ago, been neck height.

“…Or that,” the Doctor finished with a grimace.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Grant breathed, suddenly very conscious of every inch of his 6’9 frame. “Thanks.”

“Well done, players!” Sam exclaimed delightedly from above them. “But… sorry, I didn’t say ‘Sam says’, so that’s a point off for everyone.”

“What the fuck!” Brennan snapped.

“Are you actually insane?” Grant demanded at the same time, his voice overlapping with Brennan’s.

In response, Sam just wheezed with laughter. “You can come back to your podiums,” he said, cheerfully ignoring them.

Nobody moved.

“Very good!” he acknowledged, and even without seeing his face, the grin was obvious in his voice. “Okay, Sam says: come back to your podiums.”

Although the words were innocuous, and his tone was just as light and breezy as usual, there was nevertheless an edge hiding just underneath the surface. And while the death beam loomed large in the minds of all three players, it was impossible to consider disobedience as an option.

Slowly, they stood, returning to their places. Now they had the time to look at it properly, the death beam was even more sinister, and Brennan and Grant both kept flicking nervous glances its way, ready to move if it looked like it was charging up again.

The Doctor, however, was focused purely on the man standing in front of them. Unbothered, Sam met his gaze like a challenge, a mischievous smile playing about his lips.

“Oh, you’ll love this one,” he said, and the screen changed. “Sam says, starting with Grant: say my name.”

Grant frowned in confusion, but answered quickly nonetheless. “Sam Reich?”

The man himself shrugged tolerantly, moving on. “Brennan?”

Brennan just stared at him coolly. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“Well caught, Brennan!” Sam said happily. “Sam says: say my name.”

“Sam,” Brennan replied, suspicion clear in his voice. “Samuel Dalton Reich.”

He nodded, still with a hint of indifference. “And lastly, Doctor.” His smile broadened. “Sam says: say my name.”

It was easy. Too easy. And as the Doctor looked into the eyes of the man calling himself Sam Reich, he felt his hearts stutter in recognition, because something had changed. He wasn’t hiding himself anymore, and while the face was different yet again, the Doctor would know the shape of that soul anywhere. It was impossible. It was inevitable.

“You can’t be,” he breathed. 

Sam smirked, leaning in across his podium. “Oh, but Doctor… I’ve been here the whole time,” he stage-whispered with a wink.

“He said you lost,” the Doctor said, shaking his head, looking wrong-footed for the first time that Brennan and Grant could recall. “You lost, and he trapped you.”

The other two watched, uncomprehending, but Sam just smiled, drumming his fingers against the podium with an audible beat, fast but distinct. Four taps, four taps, four taps. “I’m waiting.”

The Doctor took a slow, deep breath. Set his jaw. 

“Master.”

---

missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): you are here!

[handsome-john]

A friend of mine says he would be cool with me sending him cool SCP files, and I will now be slowly gaining his trust and then tricking him into reading bottle dick

[uncanny-tranny]

You! Internalize that you do not always need to "improve your art/craft" now! It's great to learn and develop your skills, but you do not need to come from a place of hating where you are now! You certainly do not need to force yourself to improve if it is coming in between you and enjoying the things you do. Improvement for improvements sake does not have to be the only goal, nor the only one that "should matter"

You are allowed to have motifs, enjoyment, ameturism, and "less skill." Kill and devour the capitalist in your head that dictates that you must always improve for everybody else's sake and your "productivity."

[metamatronic]

I really like the "Champions get Resurrected" idea! I hope to see more of it in the future!

how to piss of the Bird™ (any % speedrun)

(this was my practice pass on how to draw Rito, so forgive the inconsistencies, loll)

[starry-bi-sky]

Unpleasant Revelations - DPxDC Ficlet Idea for the Stillborn Au

"Have you met my youngest, Damian, Mr. Masters?"

Its only from twenty years of long, hard experience and practice that Vlad doesn't increase the room temperature from 'borderline uncomfortably cool' to 'unbearably hot' the moment Bruce Wayne pulls his youngest and "only" biological son out in front of him.

He puts only in quotations because twelve year old Damian Wayne looks scarily, uncannily like one Daniel Brown. Jack and Maddie's foster son, second victim of their foolishness, and only other halfa in existence. Second only to him.

It's nauseating how similar they look. From the scowl and terrible glare on the young boy's face, to his brown skin -- which was only a few shades lighter than Daniel's, the shape of his nose, and even the strange winged edge of his eyebrow. Something that Vlad has long since come to find endearing on the child he considered a son of his own. The only difference was that Damian had dark, sharp green eyes.

Daniel's eyes were blue. The same glacier shade as his father's, who stood behind Damian with a proud, oafish smile on his visage.

It was infuriating how similar they look. Vlad might not have rapidly swung the room temperature from one extreme to the other, but he can't stop himself from letting the fury burning within his core from slipping out and raising the temperature up a few degrees.

Because it really only meant one thing.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were related.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were brothers.

Standing in front of him, it was clear as day. He can already picture a phantom image of Daniel standing beside Damian, the same scowl written on his face, the same glare carved into his eyes. The only difference being the dark, exhausted circles beneath them that seemed to be permanently painted onto his skin. The only thing missing being the permanent loneliness and vigilance permeating his being like a scar.

This, if revealed, would be enough to ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation. Or, at the very least, darken it quite a bit. The great philanthropist Bruce Wayne with another secret blood child? One related to his youngest? One that had been put into foster care? Seemingly thrown away?

It would be a firestorm.

One that Vlad is not keen on starting.

It would ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation, yes. But it would hurt Daniel in the process -- the harassment he would face alone might just be enough to break that fragile child completely. That was just not something he could allow. Or, even worse, bring him into his biological father's care and custody -- something Vlad was even less willing to allow.

It's not out of kindness to Wayne that Vlad will keep mum about this.

His grip on his champagne flute tightens, just a bit. He's still aware enough of the world around him to not let it shatter in his hands. His plastered, pleasant smile tightens around the corners, and he forces his focus to slide from Damian to Wayne.

"The resemblance is uncanny, Mister Wayne." He says, slanting his smile to the side slyly. Although he's not talking about the resemblance between Wayne and his son. Rage simmers beneath his skin, burning coal and embers in the core of his chest, nestled between his lungs, as he meets the man's eyes.

Wayne swaggles his head proudly, his ditzy smile widening as he squeezes his son's shoulder affectionately. Bastard, Vlad wants to spit.

He breathes in through his nose, and exhales out through his mouth. The champagne in his hand cools, and stops its unusual bubbling.

The Damian boy scoffs under his breath, his mouth still coiled upward into a scowl. With the revelation of his blood relation to Daniel evident, Vlad's not sure if he should find it endearing or not.

He is not Daniel, so he decides that it's just simply irritating. He decides to ignore it.

"And you said he was your only biological son?" He asks, voice lilting and head tilting. He knows its a suspicious question at worst, insulting at best. But considering Wayne's past proclivities, he can hardly call it an unexpected question.

Damian puffs in great offense, face twisting angrily. It reminds him of Daniel when Vlad insisted that he was wrong about something or other, and for a moment his heart swells, fond.

But this is not his child, and so the feeling quickly crashes and burns, simmering back into rage. This was not Daniel -- this was his replacement. A replacement that Wayne was free to keep.

Wayne chuckles, idiotically, as if he'd said some funny joke. Vlad's other hand, the one gripping his cane -- something he's required ever since he was dispatched from the hospital all those lonely years ago -- tightens instead. He grinds his teeth -- him and Jack Fenton would get along like a house on fire, he hates it.

"I can understand why you'd ask that, Mister Masters," Wayne says, squeezing Damian's shoulder again, "but yes, Damian is my only biological son. Although that doesn't mean I don't love my other children any less."

Bastard.

For all his posturing and flouncing about caring for his city and his children, Vlad never would have thought the Prince of Gotham capable of abandoning one of them.

But, well.

They all have their dark secrets.

And what one man throws away, another man picks up. If Bruce Wayne didn't want the treasure child that was Daniel Brown, then Vlad Masters was more than happy to take him instead.

"I see."

[sapphire-writes]

BESTIE JUST HOW I WANTED 😏

Thin Ice (modern!HOTD)

pairing: Aegon x Reader & Cregan Stark x Reader

summary: Part one of you and Aegon's plan comes to fruition at the Bears vs. Knights game and the after-party that follows.

word count: 4.6k

warnings: 18+ spicy stuff below the cut (thigh riding, exhibitionist), language, drinking, descriptions of being intoxicated

note: hope you enjoy my loves 😘

you can read more of my work ✨here✨

prev chapter ~ Chapter 2: Party Girl ~ next chapter

Sara Snow prides herself on not being easy to surprise. She and Baela are scarily alike, both wild and willful and down to try anything at least once. 

“For the plot!” they’ll scream at you, usually encouraging you to do something reckless. 

Usually involving a night out, several rounds of mixed drinks, and someone flashing their tits out the Uber’s window. 

But when a sharp knock came on the door to her on-campus apartment she shares with her best friends late on a Thursday night, she was surprised to find Aegon Targaryen on the other side. 

A perfectly shaped eyebrow raises as she rests a hand on her hip.

“Aegon,” she says, “what a nice surprise.”

He smiles politely at Sara.

“Y/N home?” he asks.

Sara’s other eyebrow joins the first.

“You’re looking for Y/N?” she asks.

At the sound of your name, you leap from the couch, hurrying toward the door. Though Thursday nights were usually prime times to go out, you had convinced Sara to stay in for a wine night. You’d spent the time it takes to finish 2 bottles of wine scouring the Knight’s roster, and stalking Cregan and Jace’s social media accounts. 

You stumble momentarily, tipsy and red-faced from the wine. Normally you’d throw a sweatshirt on to cover yourself, but you barely think about rushing to the door in your favorite matching pajama set. It’s a cute one, the soft purple shorts and tank top hugs your curves perfectly, leaving little to the imagination. 

“There you are,” Aegon teases as you appear, “brought something for my favorite puck bunny.”

Sara’s jaw slacks as Aegon tosses you what he holds in his hands. Her wide eyes meet yours, a proud smile tugging at her lips.

“What’s this?” you ask, unraveling the fabric, and being greeted by the number 29.

“My practice jersey,” Aegon tells you, “wear it to the game tomorrow.”

You raise your brows. 

“What?”

Aegon rolls his eyes at your confusion.

“You. Wear. My. Jersey.” he says slowly.

“I got it Aegon,” you say, eyes narrowing, “how is this going to help?”

“Well for one, that’s your in to the hockey house party,” Aegon says, nodding at the jersey, “second of all, guys want what other guys have, you following?”

Your cheeks flush.

“This was not part of the plan,” you tell him.

“You want Stark to notice you, or what?” he asks, “trust me, this will get him all riled up, up in arms about you.”

You glance at Sara. She snatches the jersey, holds it up against your torso, and tilts her head.

“She’ll wear it,” Sara says, looking back at Aegon, “thanks Egg.”

“Uh huh,” Aegon says, eyes flickering over the brunette. 

Something stirs in your stomach but leaves as quickly as it came as Aegon drags his violet eyes back to yours. 

“Close your mouth,” he tells you. 

You didn’t realize it was open, slamming your teeth together. Aegon frowns playfully.

“You drunk?”

“No,” you answer, but it's followed by a hiccup.

Aegon chuckles.

“Enjoy your night ladies,” he says, backing up, “remember, wear the jersey. Pair it with something cute.”

“She will,” Sara says, closing the door, “bye Egg.”

“Bye,” he says, nodding at you.

Sara closes the door, turning her head slowly toward you.

“You are a baaaad girl,” she chastises, “are you fucking Aegon?”

“What?” your cheeks heat, “No! No, of course not!”

Sara giggles.

“What do you mean of course not,” Sara says, walking toward the fridge, “I’ve blown Aegon.”

It’s your turn to be surprised. 

“What?”

“Oh Hel knows,” Sara says, opening a new bottle of wine, “it was a one-time thing.”

“Ummm when?” you ask, as she fills your glass.

Sara shrugs.

“A year ago I guess? At a party,” Sara tells you, “nice dick.”

“Sara ohmygod,” you say giggling, “did Hel freak? How am I just now hearing about this?”

Sara shakes her head while taking a sip from her own glass. A rock settles in your stomach, but you ignore the uncomfortable feeling. 

“Nah, Hel doesn’t care, she knows it wasn’t serious,” Sara tells you. 

“Do you like him?” you ask.

“Nooo,” Sara teases, “I’m into brunettes now. So he’s all yours.”

“I’m into goalies,” you say, taking a sip from your glass. 

The rest of the night is spent giggling and laughing until you both fall asleep in the living room rather than in your own beds. 

Friday goes by quickly, you don’t have class. You text Aegon to see if he wants to start studying. You’d exchanged numbers after making your deal.

The ice rink looms in front of you as you walk with the crowd for entrance to the game. Being a King's Landing student has its perks, free tickets when you show your student ID. The whole campus practically attends. 

“This is going to be so fun!” Sara squeals, hopping up and down with excitement. 

Baela presses down on her shoulders, but she’s smiling all the while. Helaena and Rhaena opted to stay in for the evening, not the biggest fans of crowds and sporting events. You make your way to bleaches, tucking in to enjoy the game. 

“I gotta get my hands on Jace’s jersey,” Sara says, shaking her head, “cause damn you look official.”

You blush, tugging at the rough material of Aegon’s practice jersey. You can’t help but notice several stares from people around you, as you proudly wear Targaryen across your back. 

“Damn, the boy looks good in a goal,” Baela tells you, nudging you with her elbow as the game begins.

You blush, biting your lower lip as you watch the game. 

The Bears are no match for the Knights, and they have a clean sweep victory, as the stadium roars. Aegon yanks his helmet off, shaking his sweaty silver hair, tongue wagging as Arryx Cargyll smashes into him. You’re far away, but it only takes a second to see the glint of his tongue ring. Jesus Christ. You roll your eyes.

Cregan has removed his helmet too, dark hair clinging to his face and neck with sweat, a proud, wolfish grin on his face as he clasps Jace on the shoulder. 

“Finally!” Sara squeals grabbing you and Baela’s hands, “C’mon, let’s go.”

You all go to Baela’s dorm to get ready, it's closer to the stadium than you and Sara’s apartment, switching from your game outfits to your party outfits. You opt for a little black dress; classic, and wraps around your curves like a second skin. You fold Aegon’s jersey, intending to give it back to him at a later date. 

“Just leave it here,” Baela says, shrugging. 

You enter the hockey house easily. There’s a crowd out front, but Sara is as determined as you’d ever seen her, pushing right to the front where John Umber leans against the door. She bats her lashes at him.

“Aegon invited us,” she says proudly and John looks over at you. 

“Tutor girl, right,” he says moving aside, “enjoy ladies.”

Sara winks at John as you enter, music blaring, lights flashing. The room is alive with people, excited after the game. You spot Jace Velaryon and Sara turns to you.

“How do I look?” she asks, fixing her hair.

“Like a goddess, as always,” you tell her, and Baela nods in agreement. 

“Wish me luck,” she says, “will you be okay?”

“We got this, Sara,” Baela says, fluffing her hair.

Sara smirks and moves through the crowd. Baela cranes her neck. 

“I’m going to find some drinks,” she tells you, “Aegon’s over there!”

You turn around, spotting Aegon leaning against the wall, chatting with someone else from the team. You and Baela split up as you make your way over to him. Aegon glances at you as you come closer, looking you up and down. He pushes off the wall, placing his hands on your hips, and pushing you against it. 

“What are you doing?” you hiss, as Aegon moves closer to you, trapping you against the wall.

His hands squeeze your hips as he presses his body against you, ever so slightly. 

“Relax,” he murmurs against your ear, lips barely brushing against your lobe. 

Your eyelids flutter at the action as warmth pools in your belly, as his lips press against the sensitive spot underneath your ear. 

“Is he watching?” Aegon murmurs, moving his hand to cup underneath your ass.

“Who?” you whisper, lost in the sensation.

Aegon chuckles.

“Cregan, you goof,” he says through his laugh, the vibrations tingling against your neck, “I spent a lot of time hyping you up today. At practice, in the locker room.” 

Your eyes snap open, and you look around the room, searching for him. Sure enough, he’s sitting on the couch next to a table of drinks, his eyes flickering toward you before he looks away suddenly. You can’t really tell, but it looks like he’s blushing. 

Across the room, Cregan turns to Jace.

“Who’s that girl with Aegon?” he murmurs, lips barely moving.

Jace tags a swig from his beer, before glancing across the room. 

“Where?”

“Over there,” Cregan says nodding his head, “She was wearing his jersey at the game.”

Jace spots you, noting Aegon’s hands on your waist, his lips on your neck. He tells Cregan your name, taking another sip of his beer. 

“She’s nice,” Jace tells him, “not sure what she’s doing with Aegon.”

“Hmm,” Cregan says, his eyes not leaving you.

“Hey Jace,” Sara says, sitting down between him and Cregan, “Great game, you were awesome.”

Cregan scoots over to make room, as Sara wiggles closer to Jace. 

“Thanks,” Jace says, smiling politely.

He looks over Sara’s shoulder at Cregan, who gives him an encouraging nod. 

Aegon’s teeth scrape against your neck, and your free hand tangles itself in his hair. He’s good at this, you knew he would be. You almost lose yourself in the sensation, it's been so long since someone was touching you like this. You want to melt into him, let him play your body like an instrument. 

“Now go over there,” he purrs against your ear.

Shit. Snap out of it. This is Helaena’s brother. 

“Huh? Why?” you ask confused.

“So you can go over there and talk to Stark,” Aegon tells you, “and tell him how I asked you to get me a drink, which you’re more than happy to do.”

“I am?” you ask.

“Mhmm,” Aegon says, lips close enough to press a kiss against your throat, “You want Stark to think you’re a good girl, don’t you?”

“I guess,” you breathe, fingers still playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

You can feel Aegon’s smirk against you, breath hitch in his throat as you tug his silver locks.

“You guess?” he asks, “am I distracting you bunny?”

You chuckle, giving his hair a not-so-gentle tug. To your surprise, he lets out a breathless groan. 

“You wish,” you tell him, staring into his violet eyes.

Aegon wets his lips, staring back. He squeezes your waist before tapping you on the ass.

“Go on,” he tells you, nodding toward the table.

You begin to walk over, Aegon watching you walk away. 

“Hey Egg,” you hear Lydia Tyrell say, sliding up next to him.

Your heart is hammering in your chest as you grab a red solo cup, standing in line waiting for the keg. You glance at the couch, and Sara catches your eye sending you a wink. Cregan is looking in the opposite direction and you glance away quickly. None of this is going to work. Why would Cregan be interested in you if you came here with Aegon? Wore Aegon’s jersey?

You glance back, noticing Lydia Tyrell tracing her nails up Aegon’s arm as he leans in to whisper something in her ear. You roll your eyes. Great, now you look even more foolish. You’re silently cursing Aegon, vowing never to help him with philosophy again when someone taps on your shoulder. 

“Hey,” the rough voice of Cregan Stark says as you turn around.

Your eyes widen, a blush creeping onto your cheeks.

“Hi,” you squeak, crushing the cup nervously in your hand, “Oh, shit I-”

“Here, let me get you another one,” Cregan says, taking the cup and chuckling.

“It’s for Aegon actually,” you tell him, causing Cregan to raise an eyebrow.

“You know Aegon doesn’t drink, right?” Cregan says to you, as your jaw slacks.

“What?”

“Yeah, he's in recovery, we have soda though,” Cregan tells you.

“I didn’t know that,” you tell him, mentally freaking out that now Cregan must think you’re an idiot, “we’re not super close.”

“Yeah?” Cregan asks, “Close enough to invite you to the game.”

His tone is curious like he’s trying to figure out your game plan. His warm brown eyes flicker over your face, paying close attention. 

“Helaena’s my friend,” you tell him, “Just supporting him for her, she couldn’t make it.”

“You’re cute,” Cregan says, “That’s sweet.”

“Yeah,” you tell him, blushing even more, “I’m just his tutor. He can get a little handsy. Consider this my escape.” You raise your cup in a salute. 

“I think you’re free now,” he says nodding to where Aegon stands.

His hands are wrapped around Lydia Tyrell, squeezing her ass as she giggles, pressing up against him. Your eyebrows raise, breath rushing out of your lungs. 

“Awesome,” you tell him, laughing nervously, “It’s fine cause-”

“Cregan!” a voice calls, as a girl pushes forward in the crowd. 

Aly Blackwood pushes forward, dark eyes flashing between you and Cregan. Her dark hair frames her face, mouth twisted in a pout. Your cheeks warm as she looks you up and down.

“You drive here?” Aly asks, effectively ignoring your presence.

“Yeah,” Cregan answers.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you don’t live at the house,” you tell him and he nods. 

“Yeah, not this year, finally got my own place away from these wolves,” Cregan says, flashing you a smile. 

“Can you drive me home?” Aly asks, cutting into the conversation, “I’m so tired, I need to get out of here.”

Cregan glances at you. 

“Who drove you here?”

“Lyanna Karstark, but she’s wasted,” Aly says pouting, “pretty please? I need to get her home.”

Cregan sighs, turning to you.

“Maybe we can finish this conversation another time?” Cregan asks, his voice hopeful.

You feel your cheeks heat up even more.

“I’d like that,” you tell him, giving him a small smile. 

Aly grabs his hand.

“Let’s stop at Mcdonald's too, I’m starving,” she says, tugging him away from you. 

Dammit. Not how this night was supposed to go. You watch them leave, taking a sip from your cup. Sara has effectively draped her legs across Jace Velaryon’s lap, engaging him in playful conversation. You watch as he strokes her calf absentmindedly. A hot flash of jealousy moves through you, though you’re happy for your best friend. 

You sigh as the music changes, people continue to dance around you. 

“Well, well, well,” a snarky voice says, “look who showed up.”

You turn around to see Jason Lannister. He looks the part of a douche, wearing a pastel polo shirt and khaki shorts that reach his mid-thigh. His golden hair is pushed off his smirking face. You roll your eyes.

“Fuck off Jay,” you tell him, turning away from him, “I’m not interested.”

“Why?” Jason asks, smirking into his cup, “You some kind of puck bunny now?”

There’s something about when Aegon calls you that, that is almost endearing. But when Jason says it, it’s meant to be degrading, you’re meant to feel insulted. Blush blooms on your cheeks as he scoffs at you. 

“You’ve dressed the part at least,” he continues, taking a sip and letting his eyes graze over your form. 

You fold your arms across your chest self-consciously, catching Sara’s eye across the room. She’s seated on Jace’s lap completely now, a grin on her face that fades as she sees who you’re with. Immediately she whispers to Jace before getting up off his lap and heading toward you. 

“Jason,” Sara says smoothly, stepping between you two, “I didn’t realize they’re letting anyone in here tonight.”

“Nice to see you too Sara,” Jason says smiling tightly.

“Where’d Cregan go?” Sara asks you.

“He had to drive Aly home,” you tell her, a frown playing on your lips.

“Tragic,” Sara says, sighing, “What a great guy Cregan Stark is, don’t ya think?”

Jason rolls his eyes.

“Was there something you wanted, Jay?” Sara asks as a new song begins to play, “Cause this is kind of our song, you know?”

She grabs your hand, dragging you toward the center of the room as the music starts. The bass is basting music, the very room nearly vibrating. 

“You know, us puck bunnies and all,” Sara says, grinning.

Sara holds your hand above your head as you dance, twirling you. You’re both laughing at Jason’s exasperated expression. This is not going the way he wants. Sara rests her arms on your shoulders, shamelessly flipping Jason off. 

You notice Aegon off to the side, violet eyes on you, grinning watching the display you are Sara are putting on. Sara follows your gaze, a mischievous smile appearing on her face.

“Want to really piss him off?” Sara asks.

“How?” you giggle, doing another drop as Sara howls.

“Like this,” Sara says, dropping your hand. 

She moves to the side of the room, grabbing Aegon’s hand and pulling him away from a pouting Lydia Tyrell and toward the dance floor. She whispers in his ear as she drags him along. Your eyes flash to Jason, his brow furrowed, face flushed with anger. 

Sara pushes Aegon in front of you as the song changes, turning to something slower and more sensual. Aegon grins at you, licking his lips. Your heart flutters in your chest.

“C’mere,” Aegon says, grabbing your hips.

You split your legs around his thigh, pulled flush against him, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“What do I do?” you ask, face blushing.

“Just dance with me,” Aegon says, “move your body against me, like this.”

His hands squeeze your hips, rolling them against his thigh. A flash of pleasure sparks through you from grinding against him. Woah. 

“Just like that,” he encourages, as your lips part slightly.

The music continues as you become more confident in your movements, rolling your hips against him. It’s more grinding than dancing-more thigh riding than dancing. 

Aegon’s grin is wicked, watching your face and then looking over your shoulder at Jason before bringing a hand to your waist. The other rests on your ass, squeezing harshly, pushing your center down harder against his thigh. 

“He’s pissed,” Aegon murmurs against your ear, but you can barely think at this point.

It’s been too long since you’d been with someone, and the friction of his jeans against your clothed center feels too good, shit. You’re in the middle of a party. You’re in the middle of a fucking party and about to come on Aegon Targaryen’s thigh. 

“You’re doing so good,” he purrs, and you can feel the rings on his fingers against you.

Your nails are pressing into his neck, digging into the hair at the nape of his neck, a small whimper leaving your lips. Aegon’s eyes flicker back to your flushed face, taking in the way you’re holding your bottom lip securely between your teeth, your erratic breathing. His grip is relentless, and you feel his thigh flex against you, the added pressure taking your breath away.

“Time for the closer,” Aegon murmurs, bringing the hand that rests on your waist up to your neck, pulling your lips to his.

Holy shit.

It’s the first time you’ve kissed him, the first time you’ve been kissed in a while. That’s the final straw, the tightly wound ball of pleasure in your abdomen snaps and your legs shudder against him, as warmth seeps into your limbs. If Aegon realizes what’s happened he doesn’t comment on it, he merely turns his head deepening the kiss as you open your mouth to accept his tongue. 

Aegon Targaryen has lips meant to be kissed. The soft feeling, coupled with his hand on your neck, the tingling pleasure still seeping through your body, it's all too much. The cool metal of his tongue ring dances against your tongue. You want to dissolve into him, stay like this forever. Let him kiss you forever. 

Fuck.

Your eyes snap open and you pull away from him. Aegon meets your gaze for a moment, eyes falling to your bruised lips so quickly you’re sure you’ve imagined it. He looks past you, grinning.

“Asshole left,” he says proudly, “well-done bunny.”

You’re speechless, not trusting your voice, and honestly not sure if you still have one. Aegon chuckles, giving your ass another squeeze, before pulling away from you. He bites his lip, a proud smile on his face before he strides away, leaving you shaking and breathless. Sara bounds into you.

“That was so hot ohmhygod!” she says squealing, “I couldn’t look away, is it hot in here?”

“Haha,” you say, trying to regain some sense of self, “I need to drink. Like a lot.”

Sara smirks. 

“Read my mind baby!” she says, leading you to the drinks.

You decide to drink through the rest of the night. You’re more than confused now, but that post-orgasm haze has you feeling good as you throw back some shots. Baela rejoins you, playing as your partner in beer pong while Sara entertains Jace. The rest of the night goes smoothly, in a party haze. 

Until around 3 am. The party has begun to die down, but you’re in no position to drive home. Baela grumbles that while you’re not wasted or anything, none of you are in a position to drive. You’re probably the tipsiest of the three of you, a happy buzz running through your system. 

“You can stay here! We have plenty of room,” Jace offers, cheeks turning red, “you can totally take my bed, I can sleep on the couch-”

“I love cuddling,” Sara says bright-eyed, “if you’re okay with that?”

“Yeah! Whatever you’re okay with, I can-”

“Jace,” Sara says stopping him, “you’re so sweet. I’m totally comfortable.”

“Okay,” he says, blushing. 

Sara moves in front of you, and you grin happily. 

“You’re going to bone him,” you say through a snicker.

“Lord, who says bone??” Sara says, through a giggle, “Baela’s going to sleep with you, okay bestie? She’ll take care of you.”

You look around.

“Where is she?” you ask.

“She just ran to the car, Egg’s going to show you upstairs,” Sara tells you, glancing at Aegon, “Be nice to her, that’s your sister’s best friend.”

“Duh,” Aegon says, putting an arm around you, “Let’s go bunny.”

You let him lead you up the stairs and into the bathroom. He leaves and you blink at the bright lights. He returns a moment later, with a bundle of clothes in his arms. 

“What is this?” you grumble, pouting at Aegon.

“A t-shirt, and boxers, they’re clean,” Aegon tells you, “you don’t wanna sleep in that, as much as I’d love it.”

You snicker at him, before yanking the thin material of your dress over your head. Aegon slaps his hand over his eyes as you change, wiggling out of your sexy outfit. You pull the boxers and shirt on. The shirt falls to your mid-thigh, practically disguising the fact you’re wearing any bottoms at all. 

“I’m good,” you tell him, giving him a little twirl, “I’m almost insulted you didn’t sneak a peak.”

“I’m reformed,” Aegon argues, bringing his hands to your waist to stop your spinning.

You’re still frowning, more upset than you admit. It must be a mix of the drinks, the energy of the night, and the disappointment that courses through you. 

“Okay, up, let’s go,” Aegon says through a groan, lifting you with ease onto the counter. 

“He doesn’t like me, Egg,” you whine, leaning your head back against the mirror.

“That’s not true,” Aegon says rummaging in a drawer, “I hear the locker room talk, remember?”

“Then why was he with Aly?” you ask, pouting.

Aegon looks up at you, an amused grin on his face.

“We’re just going to have to work a little harder,” Aegon tells you, standing, “it’s going to be okay.”

“He doesn’t like me,” you whine again, as Aegon grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. 

“Stop saying that,” he tells you, before releasing your chin. 

He’s holding a bottle of micellar water and a cotton pad. You stick your tongue out at him. 

“Where’d you get that?” you slur as Aegon squeezes the micellar water on the cotton pad.

“Ghosts of girlfriends past,” he chuckles, dragging the wet cotton down your face.

You giggle at the cooling sensation on your face. 

“Boo!” you say, leaning forward, causing Aegon to flinch.

The giggles are continuous.

“Gotcha,” you manage between fits of laughter.

Aegon looks at you, playfully disapproving.

“Soooo funny,” he grumbles, continuing to clean makeup from your face, “You’re hilarious, bunny.” 

“Ribbit, ribbit,” you say snorting.

“How much did you drink?”

“Is that not a bunny noise?”

“You sound like a frog.”

“What’s a bunny say?”

“I don’t know, will you stay still!” he says, grabbing your chin again. 

You look at him, staying still and letting him remove the rest of your makeup. Your eyes are heavy from the alcohol, and a pleasurable feeling of warmth in your belly that leaks to your limbs making you feel much more like a ragdoll than a person. Aegon watches you carefully, as your eyes blink looking at his lips, back to his eyes, to his lips again. His hand under your chin holds you steady, and you’re enjoying the feeling. 

“Are you going to kiss me?” you murmur, the feeling of sleep tickling your brain.

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

“I wouldn’t mind it,” you admit, “you’re a good kisser.”

Aegon chuckles.

“Ask me again when you’re sober, bunny,” he says, lifting you from the counter, “you’re only kissing your pillow tonight.”

“Whose pillow?” you grumble against his shoulder, “This is not my bed.”

Aegon has placed you in a bed with a blue checkered comforter, tucking you in. You have to admit the sheets are so soft and snuggly and smell delicious. Like something warm and sweet, and burning. Like a roasting marshmallow over a campfire. You push your face deeper into the pillow letting out a content sigh. 

“Sleep well,” Aegon says, poking the sheets around you.

“Where are you going?” you mumble, face smushed in the pillows.

“I’m crashing on the couch,” Aegon tells you, heading out the door, “see you when you wake up. You’re going to feel great.”

“You could stay,” you mumble, patting the bed lazily. 

“Can’t stay,” he insists.

You mumble something Aegon doesn’t understand, halfway into sleep already. He closes the door softly before heading down to the living room.  Balea passes him on the stairs.

“Third door on the left,” he tells her.

“Thanks, Egg,” she says smiling, before joining you in bed. 

“Baeeeee,” you mumble as she tucks in next to you.

“Yes bestie,” she says, smoothing some hair from your face.

“I’m confused,” you mumble.

“About what, love?” she asks.

But it’s too late, you’re drifting into sleep. You won’t remember the words you said to Baela when you wake up the following morning.

______________________________________________________________

note: Hope you enjoyed this part! 🫶🏻 as always, likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated, ilysm 🥹

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[itsjustevil]

I love how the big bad is one of the most confused people in this whole ordeal is the big bad.

Major villains who have complete control over everything and mastermind literally the whole plot are out, and major villains who are absolutely flabbergasted by the heroes and just out of the depths in how fucked everything is going for them are in.

[hyunpic]