#//is this an excuse to bring back a canned verse on here just for this post?

[highvern]

Green Light

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

Genre: smut, hint of fluff at the end

warnings: making out, blowjob, ruined orgasm, minor breath play? (hoshi feels his dick in reader’s throat)

Length: ~3k

Note: well here we are again in 2 days later. thank you @gyuswhore for suffering with me for this. this can be read as a stand alone but is much better after reading part 1 below

series m.list: Houdini [s]

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

First dates are something you’re well versed in.

A guise of mindless chatter over dinner, pretending to be interested in the minutia until patience runs thin and someone not so subtly confirms their roommates aren’t home. You know it, you embrace it, and you’ve done it many times.

What you aren’t used to is being tricked into a first date after already getting to the good part.

It’d been a long week of texting that led to teasing another meet up but incompatible schedules and demanding friends kept anything from coming to fruition. 

When Soonyoung asked if you wanted to watch a movie, you assumed it was just an excuse to get you back in his bed without crudely requesting a repeat. It's a Saturday night and well past appropriate hours for anything else. When he asked for your address, you assumed he was already out and was trying to be accommodating. When he said he was waiting downstairs whenever you were ready, you thought he was planning to take you back to his place which worked out because with only ten minutes to prepare, your room resembled a disaster zone you’d rather not have a witness too.

But then he drove fifteen minutes in the opposite direction of his street, and you realize maybe all your assumptions were wrong.

At a red light, the blinker’s rhythm drives you to speak up.

You whip around from the window to face him. “Are you kidnapping me?” 

“I don’t think it counts as kidnapping if you came willingly,” Soonyoung says, turning left when the signal allows.

“That doesn’t matter if you lured me under false pretenses.”

“I asked if you wanted to watch a movie, that's what we're doing.” 

“But your apartment is the other way,” you say like he isn’t aware.

“You know, they have these buildings with huge screens and all they do is play movies there. Really fascinating stuff. Oh, and look! There’s one.”

He pulls into one of the spaces near the back and throws the car in park before exiting without another word. A movie theater. You might as well be on Mars. 

Trailing behind, you stand dumbfounded while Soonyoung pays for tickets and popcorn like this is something normal to do on a Saturday night. For most people it would be. Maybe it is for him. He seems like the date type, even if looks like he rolled out of bed seconds before picking you up. 

You’re wearing sweatpants with nothing underneath for the sake of planting in his lap and watching him fawn over your boobs again, not to sit in a theater for two hours surrounded by whatever weirdos are hanging around this late on a weekend. The thick fabric doesn’t give anything away but you might as well be naked with how exposed you feel. 

Even in the dark, he keeps up the charade; eyes forward, hands to himself except when his fingers brush yours in the popcorn bucket like some corny romcom. He pays attention to the trailers while you stare like you’re witnessing a car crash playout in real time.

When the actual movie starts, Soonyoung lifts the arm rest out of the way, pulling you as close as possible with an arm around your shoulder. He doesn’t even attempt to hide the move in some cheesy stretch, just brings you into the heat of his side like it's normal. You sweat where he presses tight through your clothes. 

You don’t even know what movie is playing except there's some evil guy trying to take over the world while some other guy runs around in spandex trying to stop him and Soonyoung seems to find it fascinating. He’s choosing superheroes over getting laid. If it didn’t bruise your ego you might find the humor in it.

The theater isn’t crowded, not for a Saturday night. Only two other couples sit spread apart in the rows below. They’d have to turn 180 degrees to see you and Soonyoung and even then the high backs on the chairs would hide anything overtly scandalous. 

So you wait until the soundtrack rises to a crescendo just in case anyone becomes alert to your plans. You’ve never sucked dick in public but the idea of Soonyoung struggling to stay quiet while stretching your throat raw is too alluring to ignore. 

And with the way he spreads his thighs, it might as well be an open invitation.

Your hands start at his knee, just the barest amount of weight so he doesn’t scream like a horror movie character. The muscles jump under your nails but not a peep. You don’t even care that you’re staring at Soonyoung head on, completely abandoning the film in favor of watching for his reaction.

A tilt of your chin puts you level with that spot on his jaw you claimed last weekend. There isn’t proof you were there but the way he whined your name from a few harsh rakes of teeth is burned in your brain. He smells great and the warmth rolling of him lulls you further in until your mouth is at his neck.

The barest graze of your lips has Soonyoung jumping but he doesn’t stop you, just curls the arm around your shoulder tighter. Taking advantage, you trail soft kisses in an attempt to make him pliant. 

“What are you doing?” he whispers.

A languid kiss to his pulse. “What does it feel like I’m doing?”

“Like you’re trying—oh.”

The hand at his crotch is snatched away before you can convince him to let you slip beneath the waistband.

“You’ll get us kicked out.”

“Only if you can’t stay quiet,” you argue.

Someone below shushes you two sharpley. You want to throw the bucket of popcorn at their head.

“We both know I won’t.” Soonyoung whispers into your hairline, pinning your hand beneath his against your thigh. “Just wait until later.”

“Seriously?” you scoff.

You’d leave but Soonyoung drove and you don’t want to wait in the cold for an Uber (your bank account doesn’t support the idea either). There is also the promise of getting what you want later that keeps your butt firmly planted in the worn upholstery until the credits roll. You even manage to find interest in the last twenty minutes, and are a little disappointed when the lights come up, only because Soonyoung has been holding your hand, and the stroke of his thumb atop your knuckles isn’t the worst feeling in the world.

When the lights come up and the screen freezes on the final frame, Soonyoung stays planted. Which means you stay planted because where would you go? Something about a post credit bonus scene he wants to see. Maybe he’s into edging.

When the employee tasked with sweeping the sticky, soda stained floors starts circling your row with palpable annoyance, you two finally get up and leave.

“Did you like the movie?” Soonyoung asks, making a face against the cold slapping against your faces as you exit the theater and head to the parking lot. 

“Yeah, it was fine.”

“Next time you can choose,” he says. “Superhero stuff isn’t my thing but I thought it was a safe pick.”

Next time.

Absolutely, under no circumstances, would there be a next time. Because if there is a next time then Soonyoung definitely thinks this was a date which isn’t something you do. Ever. Especially not with guys that may or may not have a tiger fetish. 

You open your mouth to correct whatever silly fantasies are swirling together in his head but stop short. Maybe it's his fingers knotting themselves back between yours or the optimistic smile splitting his face but it feels cruel to crush something so innocent on the asphalt like a cigarette bud under your heel. He’ll figure out your game eventually. No point in racing him towards the conclusion before he’s ready. 

At the far corner of the parking lot, away from any prying eyes or ears, he crowds you into the side of his beat up Jeep. 

“So… it’s later.” His eyes lock on your mouth, eager to indulge in what you offered so readily earlier like you haven’t changed your mind. 

You haven’t but he doesn’t have to know that. 

“Yeah, kinda tired now.” You feign a yawn to hide a smirk at the drop in his features.

“Really?” he drops but tries not to be too obvious. “I can take you home if you want.”

“Yeah, unless,” his ears perk up at the tone. “There's something I should stay awake for.”

There is. It's heavy against your thigh where he has you pinned and makes your mouth water.

Getting into the backseat has you feeling like a teenager again. Clumsy with an elbow bent at an odd angle and your legs tangled as you slip over the center console. The floor is a mess of clothes and other random shit you don’t bother taking a closer look at because Soonyoung’s lap makes a decent seat.

You’re folded in half just to prevent getting a concussion because the roof is low but it's a good excuse to bite along that spot on Soonyoung’s neck that's been tempting you all night. It tastes like satisfaction. 

The cab is silent except for the sound of kissing with too much tongue and all the noises he eagerly supplies like he wants you to make fun of him. Breathy whines and sharp whimpers as he gropes your ass. A hand aids in grinding you against his crotch while the other slips up your sweater.

“You haven’t been wearing a bra this whole time?” he cries.

“Nope,” you hum, nipping at his earlobe to feel his cock twitch against your ass. “Wanna know what else I’m not wearing?”

Something along the lines of ‘I’m gonna pass out’ comes out in a rush as he rushes to discover how wet you’ve been since he picked you up. 

“Oh, fuck.” He groans from the slip of your folds across his fingers. 

“Should have let me suck your dick inside.”

“I know.” 

“Would you have let me?”

“I would have fucked you in that theater if I knew you weren’t wearing panties, good god.” 

A shift of hips lets you pull his cock out from the confinement of his pants. You can’t really see much but the outline with how dark it is, but he’s hard as steel and leaking. Your mouth waters for a taste.

Getting to your knees on the floor proves more challenging than it should. There’s no room so you're forced to balance between kneeling and crouching with a bony knee digging into your ribs. The bathroom would have been far better for this, consequences be damned. Too late now.

“Your car is too small for this,” you say before taking a quick lick at the swollen head peeking through your fingers.

“Never — shit — had any complaints before.”

“Do you fuck a lot of girls in here?” 

He curls in half on the next squeeze, like he might cum already. A reply fizzles on his lips for a few seconds but every time he gets settled to answer you up the stakes; tapping his cock against your tongue until a fresh taste of precum rewards you, raking your nails over his thigh, jerking him off into your mouth. Soonyoung doesn’t blink in fear he’ll wake up and it’ll all turn out to be a dream.

When Soonyoung looks on the verge of spontaneous combustion, you let him speak. 

“Why?” he sighs. It sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “Are you jealous?”

The idea of him fucking other girls flashes a bolt of something in your veins. Annoyance he’s even capable of thinking of anyone else while you’ve got his dick in your hand, maybe. Jealousy isn’t something a guy you’ve hooked up with once should even be able to hint at. 

“Tell me when you’re close.” The playful tease is long gone from your voice. “And not when you’re already cumming or you’ll never see TamTam again.”

Eyes squeezed tight, he releases another harsh groan. This time to the roof because you’re already tonguing against the raised vein on the side of cock. “Fuck, okay. I can do that.”

You swallow him back down easily. Something in his tone stokes the desire to break him; make him cry from getting his dick sucked in the back of his car in an empty parking lot like a loser.  It gets you wetter knowing how eager Soonyoung would satisfy that urge if you bothered asking. 

He squirms when your nose meets the wisps of hair at his base, cock wedge deep in your throat because you like to show off and know he’ll worship the ground you walk on for it.

“Holy shit.” 

One of his hands sneaks along the back of your neck. Just the weight, probably for his own comfort more than anything else. The idea of him fucking your throat makes you clench. 

You tell him as much when you come up for air.

“You can’t just say shit like that.” Soonyoung moans with a rut through your fist. “Fuck.”

“Why not?”

The innocence in your voice is beyond deceitful. You could probably walk him straight into cumming his pants with words alone. But you wait for an answer while lapping at the tip like it’s candy, staring right up at him through wet lashes. 

“Because,” he winces, hips bucking up from another dig of your thumb. “Your mouth—hmmm.”

You give your thighs a break by rushing up into his space for a kiss. He isn’t shy from taste his own spend in your mouth, hands hot up the front of your shirt once again now that the angle allows. Cruel for the sole purpose of seeing him crumble, you tug off your top and rub his cock against your nipples until he paws at the seat for a crumb of comfort.

“Fuck, oh my god. Where did you—”

He only trails off when you bring his hand to your throat, waiting for him to take firmer hold. You see the light leave his eyes. Mind blank because the offer is too sweet to comprehend. 

You suck him back into your mouth, slowly working down until the curve of his hand circles the bulge in your throat. The odd angle doesn’t lend any comfort but you blink away the dampness at your eyes because Soonyoung is rambling again and its music to your ears.

“Oh! —Oh, shit. That's, wow.” he pants with a gentle squeeze. You aren’t a fan of being choked under regular circumstances but something about how appreciative he is encourages you to treat him with uncharacteristic indulgence. 

“Okay okay, shit, I’m close.”

But not after what he’s put you through tonight.

His hips curl up in a failed attempt as you pull away, desperate to keep the heat of your mouth for a few more seconds to no avail. The only relief you grace him with is a tight squeeze at the head just in case he was closer than he let on. 

You sit up and wipe away the mess of drool and precum from your chin, reveling in the open mouth shock Soonyoung appraises you with. “You can take me home now.”

“But…” he makes a pointed gesture to his cock, soaked and painfully hard in his lap. Maybe you’d feel bad for him, but that's only if he didn’t deserve what you’re doing.

“Call one of those other girls that doesn’t complain to take care of it.”

The drive back to your apartment feels infinitely long in the thick silence. Soonyoung’s eyes are all over your body, probably trying to gauge just how pissed you are. If you give him an inch he’ll take a mile. So you stay quiet and find entertainment by picking at the nonexistent dirt under your nails. 

“Well…this was fun?” Soonyoung supplies as he pulls up to the curb in front of your door.

You don’t even respond. A click of the seatbelt and latch of the door announcing your exit as you beeline for the stairs.

You want to stick to your guns and let him suffer for the comment earlier with blue balls. But you also want to drag him into your room and punish him by proving you’re the best he’ll ever have. You only manage to make it two steps from the car before the latter part wins. 

Spinning around, you throw the door open with enough force to startle Soonyoung. “Are you coming?” 

“Really?” 

“Unless you wanted to go hom—” you turn away. 

“Nope, let's go.” He doesn’t seem to believe the offer. But disbelief doesn’t keep him from jumping up at the offer, cock still straining against his sweatpants and the seatbelt is off with the next blink.

He rounds the hood swiftly, corralling you up the few steps that lead to the front door in haste to finish what started in the back seat. You trip in your own eagerness, lips welcoming his with a lewd lick at the seam that would make your elderly neighbor keel over.

“Soonyoung,” you hum. 

“Hmmm,” he growls into the kiss, pressing you flat against the front door. “Love when you say my name like that.”

“Good to know,” you laugh. “But you left your car on.”

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi @writingbarnes

@dokyeomkyeom @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @idkjustlovingbts @wobblewobble822 @futuristicenemychaos

#svthub #ksmutsociety #kvanity #kwon soonyoung #hoshi #kwon soonyoung smut #hoshi smut #seventeen smut #seventeen fanfic #svt x reader #soonyoung x reader #hoshi x reader #svt #svt smut #seventeen #seventeen hoshi #🫡 highvern

[mechahero]

//I am not immune to using my own dash game

#//is this an excuse to bring back a canned verse on here just for this post? #//maybe #//also kicking around an idea only to be an excuse to justify a design choice lol #//yes he's a pearl just roll with me on this #//guy that says fuck your paperwork and running off to do whatever the heck he wants BECAUSE HE CAN NOW #//his summoned weapon would be a laser gun #//maybe? i kind of wanted an analogy to his plasma cannons but also im thinking of giving him a baseball bat #//mostly because it's lambda and baseball bats are a thing with him #//didn't feel like doing a homeworld design because i didn't feel like drawing it #//anyways him! #mocha's art

[angel-of-the-moons]

Hello Can you please do spidider verse characters also with a reader with anxiety were the spiders are hanging out with a friend alot and the readers anxiety kinda acts up (idk if thats what you call it.)?

A Quiet Moment In A Sea of Chaos

Spiderverse Characters and how they comfort their partner (Reader) that has an anxiety attack

(Including Eddie/Venom and Spider-Medic!)

A/N: This is all based off of various panic attacks I've suffered through, and different methods I use to help calm myself down from them.

Miguel O'Hara:

• You and Miguel were in the middle of a big company party at Alchemax, full of snobbish jerks who sneered at the dumbest comments and inside jokes.

You stood, holding onto Miguel's thick arm beneath his suit as he put on his best, fakest smile he could manage to plaster on his gorgeously plush lips, his sensitive eyes shielded behind his glasses. Sure he was odd for wearing the dark lenses indoors, but he was rich enough that nobody questioned it. And besides, it really put his whole outfit together.

He exuded physical prowess and success. And usually, just having him near you was enough to make you feel just as confident as he was in these sort of gatherings.

But right now? Right now you were freaking out. You bottled it all up inside, but all you could think about was wanting to shrink down, crawl into Miguel's suit pocket, and hide there for the rest of the night, to escape the stares and snickers of the other snobby party goers that settled into your skin like a horrible mist.

• Miguel took notice, his ear twitching as he heard your heart thud in your chest, so frightened like an animal wanting to escape a cage. He heard your breathing get shallow, weaker.

He excused the two of you from the droll conversation he had been sucked into so he could bring you out onto the balcony, hoping that the cool nighttime summer breeze would help ease your concerns.

He would bring you close, caging your smaller frame against his, crushing you in a tight hug, smothering you in the calming scent of his cologne and the very essence that is him.

Miguel your pet your back softly, whispering sweet things into your ear.

"Mi amor. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here. Just breathe." He would say to you.

"Your heart is pounding, sweetheart. I can hear it like a gunshot going off in my ear. I'm going to hold you as long as it takes, okay?"

You would nod, bunching the expensive fabric of his suit in your fingers as he talked you through your waves of anxiety, soothing and kissing away any nervous tears that spilled.

"That's mi vida." He would smile down at you warmly, his glasses automatically tinting so you could see his warm eyes clearly in the lower light out on the balcony.

His full lips quirked up in such a way your heart fluttered in an entirely different manner, the gaze he was giving you so soft and warm that it could break hearts of any caught in it.

It didn't break yours however. All it did was remind you that you were safe in the only shelter you had from the chaotic storm that was your own anxiety; whisking you away to a paradise where your fears could not harm you.

"I'm not going anywhere, love." He would say to you, his voice full of tenderness and love.

"Come on. I'll tell them something came up and we can go home." He would say to you. "If I have to hear one more word from that asshole McLenny, I'm going to hang myself anyways."

When you finally laughed, Miguel grinned.

Pavitr Prabhakar:

• You guys were hanging out in the cafeteria at Spider Society HQ, Hobie regaling you, Pavitr, and Jess with his most recent anarchistic victory over the Osborne of his universe.

You had been picking at the fabric of your suit hard as Hobie talked. You felt their eyes glued to you after a short time, feeling a nasty feeling roiling around in your gut, but you couldn't focus on it. All you could focus on was the floor, so shiny that it reflected the lights and images of your friends and boyfriend with such blinding clarity that it gave you a migraine and made your panic attack rise more violently.

You were so consumed by the feeling gnawing at your gut that you didn't notice when Pavitr told Jess and Hobie that he needed to get you out of there.

Hobie and Jess knew about your anxiety, and Jess, her maternal instincts flaring heavily to life, felt her protective nature surge forward as mama bear ushered Pavitr to get you out of there quicker.

• Pavitr frantically looked for a place to bring you, not stopping until he found an empty office room to sit you down in.

"Hey, hey, lovie." Pavitr cooed at you, kneeling in front of you as he pulled off his mask to meet your gaze.

The lenses of your mask made it difficult for him to see if you were looking at him, so he raised his hands to gently peel yours off your face.

"There's my love." He would smile at you softly upon seeing your face. The face he loved so much.

"Wanna sit in here til everything calms down? I can play a podcast for you on my phone!" He chirps proudly, his eyes sparkling like little gems.

You sniffle and smile, nodding silently in response.

Pavitr would sit lotus style on the floor, pulling you into his lap as he hummed and played the most relevant podcast he could find.

Once it started, he'd place his phone on the floor and rock slowly back and forth, letting you melt into his arms as the voices droned on from the speaker in his phone.

"That's it, lovie. Just breathe for me, huh? Can't have that gorgeous brain of yours pass out on me!"

Peter B Parker:

• You guys were at a party with some other parents. It was a get-together a young couple in your apartment building started for other first-time parents to tots and toddlers.

They decided to hold it at the community center down the street.

The amount of people talking to you in one crowded room, the kids squealing and laughing, toys slamming down, crying, the sounds of the chairs scraping on the floor had your pulse racing like a racehorse.

Peter B would feel it, the hair-raising feeling on the back of his neck as Mayday crashed her stuffed fish into the stuffed bear he had in his hand, babbling and cooing to him as she blew raspberries.

His Spidey senses were tingling hardcore as he picked up on your discomfort, watching how you practically slapped your own face and wiped downwards to ground yourself, to distract yourself from your anxiety as it bubbled up beneath your skin.

But it wasn't enough, there were just too many bodies around you, too many voices, too many noises.

You just.. Couldn't.

• Peter would quickly stand up, cradling Mayday against him as he moved towards you as fast as he could without tripping.

"Hey, honey..." He would say softly to you. "You okay?"

"No. I can't--I can't breathe." You croaked.

Even little Mayday seemed to pick up on your discomfort, as she so innocently held out her stuffed fishy to you, babbling in her baby talk as her big beautiful eyes met yours.

You sniffled and took the toy and held it against you as Peter walked you into the deserted kitchen to get you somewhere calmer. It wasn't much privacy, but it helped put you at ease.

It calmed you enough that you were able to take Mayday in your arms, burying your face in her ever-messy curls, breathing in the lingering scent of the baby shampoo in the bright red strands.

Peter meanwhile, rubbed your back and kissed your temple, Mayday content to snuggle into you and talk in a language only other babies seemed to understand.

Thanks to your lovely husband and darling baby, they were able to bring you out of your little bubble of fear and worry.

Peter looked at you with such a soft and loving gaze you felt your heart swell.

"Hey, that's my favorite human in the whole universe!"

Mayday frowned and stuck her chin out at him, her little lip wobbling in response.

"Okay, okay, one of my favorite humans in the whole universe!" He grinned, giving you both messy kisses on the cheek, rubbing his face into yours as he laughed.

"Why don't we go on home, and watch a nice little movie huh? Just the three of us."

You couldn't help but agree. It sounded like a nice, calm oasis. Perfect.

Hobie Brown:

• You and Hobie were sitting with his band after a successful gig, celebrating in the dressing room of the pub; knocking back some cold brews and eating some cheap takeout. Everyone was laughing and joking, loudly.

Hobie had been watching you out of the corner of his eye, like Peter B, his Spider senses telling him something you weren't voicing as you quietly sat, frosty glass in your hands as you stared into the yellowish, foamy brew.

You were busy tuning the world out, shutting everything down as sweat trickled down your back and all you could hear was the buzzing of the fluorescent lights above you; the edges of your vision started to blur as tunnel vision began to set in.

You didn't even notice when Hobie excused himself from the celebrations to gently tug you to your feet, holding your hand firmly in his as he walked you out into the alley behind the pub, the cool evening mist settling on your skin as you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

• Hobie turned you around, bringing you to his chest as he leaned down, his mouth at the shell of your ear.

"Ey, luv. It's alright. Just breathe." He would say.

"I'm here, it's all right. Just breathe slowly, count your breaths, count your heart. Or better yet, count how many times you hear a car honk from some tosspot who don't know what they're doin', eh?"

He smiled when, even in your stupor, a thin laugh snaked out of you.

"That's it, baby. Want more jokes? I got plenty."

"Yes... please. Something to..."

"Ay, ay. Say no more. So, listen to this, right? A pastor and a cop walk into a pub..."

He would continue spitting out horrible joke after joke, even the raunchy ones that made you choke on your own spit. He would keep going until your body was shaking not from your anxiety attack, but your effort to contain your laughter.

When you finally admitted you were ready to go inside again, he smiled happily.

"Kay, luv. Let's continue on with our after-party, huh?"

Eddie/Venom:

• You guys were out at a new club that opened, it took a bit of coaxing on both Eddie and Venom's behalf to get you to leave your apartment and venture out into the night life, but they did it.

However, when they met up with Anne and her boyfriend, you felt the air shift. Being around Eddie's ex just felt so awkward and had your baby hairs standing up as your fingers nervously drummed on your thigh.

Yes, Anne and Eddie were on good terms, but ugh! Why couldn't your brain just shut up for five seconds? Anne didn't hate you, she genuinely enjoyed your company and was happy that Eddie and Venom found someone who could handle them both.

Hell, you'd go so far as to claim Anne probably considered you a friend.

Maybe it was being around her, or the fact your social anxiety couldn't handle the bass of the music, the crowds of dancing and weaving people combined with the loud atmosphere... But you buried your face in your arms as you leaned against the wall, your back to the throng of the crowd.

You could feel eyes on your back, you swore you could hear people talk about you, which only compounded the feelings that settled a heavy weight in your chest as you felt tears start to break free from the dam you tried to erect.

You jumped when you felt a hand slide to the small of your back, and turned to see Eddie, his thick eyebrows curved upwards in concern. You felt his hand slip under your back, and that's when you realized he'd grown claws, his grip was cooler as it touched your sweaty skin.

It was Venom, he was trying to comfort you too. In fact, he could feel something was wrong with you the whole night, straining his alien senses and tuning them to your body from within Eddie. He knew the moment you'd slipped away that something was wrong, and like a bloodhound, he helped Eddie sniff you out in the bustling crowd.

"Babe, you okay? Wanna go home?" Eddie would ask, leaning in to your ear as Venom stroked the skin of your back.

When you silently nodded, feeling a small sob bubble up from you, Eddie whipped out his phone, sending a frantic text to Anne about your condition.

'What are you waiting for? Go home! Seriously! Panic attacks are no joke, Eddie! Shoo!' Anne responded.

Eddie chuckled and shook his head, carefully picking the least crowded places to weave into to get you out of the club faster.

• Once outside, Eddie would sit you down on his bike, rubbing your shoulders in soothing motions as he leaned in, his mouth by your ear, talking you through your panic attack.

"Hey, babe... Do you want Vee to bond with you for a bit? To help even things out? I know you said you don't want to use him like a crutch, but he wants to help. He feels bad for helping talk you into this and not stop it sooner." He whispered.

You consent, and Eddie touches your hand, enough skin contact to let Venom covertly slink onto you, fusing beneath the pores in your skin to flow through your body.

Venom immediately sets himself to work, trying to even out the chemicals your brain was pumping out and filtering them with better ones, slowing your heart and breathing to better levels.

You knew Venom, doing this for you, would probably need to consume more chocolate or... well. Some criminal's brain to help him recover from this endeavor, later.

"Don't worry, little one." Venom's voice would purr inside your head. "It's a task I do gladly. And besides, at least you don't call me a parasite."

You giggle around a sniffle as your crying stops, and Eddie smiles at you.

"Let me guess--Vee is bitching because I call him a parasite, huh?" He snorts.

You nod and he laughs again, rubbing your arms once more. "C'mon babe, let's go. Wanna take the scenic route?"

Your watery smile makes his heart leap, and when you nod, he secures your helmet on you, buckling the chin straps before planting his on his head.

"Hmph. You don't need a helmet when you have me." Venom grunted.

When your arms slip around his waist, he feels the tension leave his body. Having Venom separate from him filled him with a sense of his own anxiety, or maybe his empathy was causing yours to bleed into him.

As the bike started up, you hear Venom's voice in your head again:

"Don't worry, little one. We will always be here for you."

(Bonus:)

Peter A Parker (Spider-Medic):

• It all started when you were in one of the exercise rooms in HQ, working on your forms and techniques as Peter A taught you how to fight like a soldier, like he was taught before he was shipped out to Vietnam, while Miguel practiced nearby, giving you pointers over his shoulder as he beat up the punching bag in front of him.

You weren't sure how it happened, maybe it was the adrenaline pumping through your system, or maybe it was the atmosphere around you, the sound of grunting, of weights dropping to the floor, the paf! Paf! Paf! of Miguel hitting his bag, or the overall stress of the last few missions finally collapsing onto your shoulders; but you fell to your knees, clutching your chest as you feel like your lungs were about to give out on you, a cold sweat beading on your brow.

Miguel could hear it, but he knew it wasn't his place to rush to your aid, instead he allowed Peter to do it. You were far closer and more comfortable with Peter, so you would be more likely to calm down with him instead of Miguel.

He was your boyfriend after all.

Peter had brought you into one of the closets where the spare weights were located, quickly sitting you down on the floor and kneeling in front of you, two of his fingers at the jumping vein in your neck, tracking your pulse.

• Being a veteran who saw hell on the battlefield, Peter was no stranger to panic attacks and anxiety thanks to his PTSD from his time in the trenches as a medic. So when his partner experienced them he came in clutch.

Peter would look at you, lowering his voice as he said soft, sweet things to you.

"Slow your breathing, sweetheart. Can you do that for me? Count down from ten. Then, I want you to count from fifteen to twenty-five. That's it. That's it, honey."

When that didn't work, he would bring you in close, resting his forehead against yours.

"Want me to tell you a story?"

He knew you liked hearing about his time as a medic, about the places he'd been. And he knew that you knew it was therapeutic for him to do it. He knew that you liked helping him.

You would nod, and he would cup his hands around your ears to ease the sounds from the outside world, speaking in a voice only you could hear.

When your heart and breathing finally got down to a level he deemed safe, he would kiss your cheek and whisper, "Come on. Let's get you to medical. You can take a nap in one of the suites to help relax."

"Can you stay with me?"

"Of course. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I left you alone after this?"

#spiderverse x reader #spiderverse x you #miguel o'hara x reader #peter b parker x reader #pavitr prabhakar x reader #hobie brown x reader #eddie x venom x reader #eddie brock x reader #venom x reader #spider-medic x reader #peter a parker x reader #miguel o'hara #peter b parker #pavitr prabhakar #hobie brown #eddie brock #venom #peter a parker #spider-medic #🌙 answered

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 1: Cuteness Aggression

oh we are so back

Thank you so much to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together for the second year in a row <3

No warnings for this one, just 800 words of Aether teaching Aeon rhythm guitar and them being too dang cute lol

"Put your fingers right here, yeah, right on that fret," Aether says, gently adjusting Aeon's fingers on the fretboard of their Fantomen. They've been at it for hours. Aeon's still relatively fresh Up Top, and they have a lot of learning left to do before they get sent off on tour.

To their credit, Aeon's an excellent student. They soak in new information like a sponge, eager to learn just about anything that's put in front of them. They adjust their fingers so they're playing the right chord, straightening with a grin when they strum and it sounds much better than the discordant thing they'd done earlier.

"Just like that, pup," Aether repeats. "Take it from the first verse." He hits a button on his phone, and the metronome ticks about twenty clicks slower than tempo. Aeon nods, starting to play.

Aether watches as Aeon makes their way through the verse and chorus of Year Zero, and he's taken back for a moment, fumbling over these same chords with far less grace than Aeon has now, Omega kindly readjusting his fingers. He shakes his head, dispelling the memory to watch them.

He watches Aeon's face, watches as their brow furrows in concentration, eyes locked onto their hands as they play. Their tongue peeks past their lips, watching their fingers move over the fretboard. Their tail wraps around their thigh, the spade tapping in time with the metronome.

They get through the verse and chorus, playing through the bridge without a single mistake, and Aether whoops. "You're doing so good, pup, took me ages to get that right."

"Thanks to you! You're a really good teacher, Aeth," Aeon beams, grinning so wide their cheeks dimple, and Aether's fingers twitch, curling into fists. If it weren't for putting the Fantomen in their lap at risk, he'd have pulled them into a crushing hug about three minutes ago.

He still mirrors their grin, flashing his gold capped fang. "Oh, don't mention it, pup. At this rate, you'll be outplaying me by the end of the tour." Aether watches in delight as a violet blush spills over their cheeks, and they shove their two-toned hair out of their eyes.

"Aeth," Aeon says, dragging it out as the spade of their tail pads against the vinyl floor.

"I'm serious," he says, reaching over to ruffle their hair. "Now, I want you to run that again a couple more times, and then we can see about getting you up to tempo."

Aeon beams, settling their fingers back in the starting position as they go again. Aether watches and fights every urge to squeeze them as that look of complete concentration settles on their face again.

Again, they make it through with no mistakes, and no mistakes when they loop the section for the third time. Aether grins, reaching over and turning the metronome slightly faster.

A half hour passes and Aeon's only improving. Aether couldn't be prouder of the younger ghoul, honored that this is the ghoul who will follow in his footsteps. Aether gets them up to tempo, and they're crushing it, eyes bright as it finally clicks in their head that they're doing it. He has to fight another wave of squeeze them as tight as you can, half-heartedly making another excuse about the guitar between them.

Aeon eventually sets the Fantomen back on the rack, rubbing absentmindedly at the callouses quickly forming on their fingertips. Aether can't fight it anymore. He stands, bringing the younger quintessence ghoul into a tight hug, holding their head to his broad chest, his fingers carding through their hair as he squeezes tighter and tighter.

Aeon yelps as Aether manhandles them into the hug, squirming until they free their face, gasping in a breath. They blink up at him owlishly. "Aeth, can't breathe," they wheeze. "What're you doing?"

Aether laughs to himself softly, not letting go but loosening his arms around their ribs. "Sorry, pup."

Aeon settles now that they're not being actively crushed, chest heaving. "No, really, Aeth, what was that for?" they ask. "Not complaining, but that was outta nowhere."

"You're just cute when you're in the zone, the face you make when you're concentrating is sweet." He ruffles their hair, knuckles against their scalp."Gimme your hands, I saw you rubbing your fingers."

Aeon complies, letting Aether take their spindly fingers in his grip. There's a spark of quintessence between them, just enough to soothe the sting from playing. In time, the callouses will harden, making it easier for them to keep playing. But for now, a little balm of magick won't hurt.

"I'm very proud of you, pup," he says as he works, glancing up to meet their mismatched eyes.

Aeon beams, settling more into Aether's arms. "Thanks, Aeth."

"Of course. Same time tomorrow. I'll get you started on Square Hammer."

#thank you again crow for putting this together <3 #i've rolled random pairs/groupings for each prompt #lets see if i can commit to the bit again and do every day lol #dot's writing #mushy may 2024 #aether ghoul #aeon ghoul #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction

[liyawritesss]

ʟᴏᴠɪɴɢ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇɢᴇ!ᴍɪʟᴇꜱ ᴍᴏʀᴀʟᴇꜱ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇ...

Characters: College!Spider-Verse!Miles Morales 

Type: headcanons

Synopsis: What would it be like to hold the heart of Brooklyn’s very own Spiderman? Is it an exhilarating tale for the ages, or do things crash and burn before the romance even begins?

Warnings: Some cursing but that’s about it

A/N: Think of this as a part 2 to my original college!miles morales headcanons. Very sweet and cute, with Miles being a dork even in his young adult years.

Tags: @6-noir @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @jacuzziwaters @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @niyahwrites @pantherheart @marsfunzon22 @briology @honeybleed

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As said previously in my general college!miles headcanons, I doubt that he’s that invested in dating and pursuing a love life while at school in jersey. So I feel like it’s likely he’ll meet his partner when he travels back home for vacations, weekend trips, etc, as its somewhere he feels more at ease to be himself.

I like the idea of Miles bumping into the attractive person at the Lenny’s Bodega he normally buys his Jamaican Beef Patties from, in a very cheesy and cliche situation where there’s only one left in stock when the both of you reach for it….and Miles being the gentleman he is, would let you have it (also bc there’s a massive fight happening outside and he’s got a suit up real quick, but you don’t question just how frantic he is when leaving the store)

After that Miles tries his hardest to see you again, making up the lamest excuses to head to the corner store. Mama Rio’s out of milk? He’s already bolting out the door. Catching up with dad while he’s on patrol and Jeff mentions he’s a tiny bit hungry? No problem Pops, I got it. And lord knows that boy do not need to go on that many ‘snack runs’ with how skinny and lanky he is, cuz he not gaining nothin’

Though at some point he does run into you again, and he’s able to engage a conversation by the fact that there’s more beef patties in stock so both of you guys can get one. It’s a cheesy joke but it works, cuz when you laugh a little it gives him a major confidence boost

Of course, Mama Rio peeps that somethings up with her son when he comes home with an extra pep in his step. But just because he’s an adult now doesn’t mean that she doesn’t have grounds to tease him. “Did you meet someone today? A girl? Or….. a guy?” She absolutely lives for seeing her son happy and giddy.

It starts just as casual texting, sending tiktoks back and forth and sending casual check-ins. Over time it evolves into meetups, hangouts, facetime calls. And originally Miles is just like “they’re attractive and cool asf” and is perfectly fine with a friendship. It’s been a long time since he’s had a genuine one (in reference to the events of ATSV), and more than anything, just wants someone he can be real with.

But even he can’t fight the realization that at some point throughout your friendship, his perspective of you shifted from platonic to romantic. Miles started to notice little things about you that would make his heart stall in his chest or his stomach flip around with butterflies. Noticing a new fragrance you’ve bought, or a change in your usual hair style, or being more in tune with your emotions than even you are.

So it begs to question; when would Miles say anything about his budding feelings? Well…he probably won’t say much of anything at first. If anything he tries to bury them because he doesn’t wanna ruin the one good friendship he’s been able to maintain since he was a teen. But his changes in behavior don’t go unnoticed by you, and for a while, the two of you walk this thin line of “will they-wont they” until you ultimately bring the conversation up

You go on a couple of dates, have a couple of conversations about what would be expected in a relationship with the both of you, and with your talks Miles slowly but surely begins to gather the courage he needs to be firm with his desires for you…which comes in the form of a kiss underneath the stars while stargazing on the rooftop of his brownstone building.

In the beginning, he’s still kind of skittish, he doesn’t wanna do anything wrong ruin what you two have, and there’s a lot of reassurance that goes into play during the first few months of you two dating (on both ends, really). But once he’s comfortable and you two are really set in…good luck tryna get rid of him

Clingy clingy clingy clingy clingy- loves cuddles, hugs, kisses- is definitely a “where my hug at” typa nigga, and will immediately get grumpy if you dont give him a greeting kiss. Always has a hand on you, whether it be on your back, in your hand, on your thigh- he just needs to physically feel you to ease his mind sometimes.

He draws portraits of you and leaves them in your bedroom or his to find. He also likes when you give him feedback and praise for his drawings because they make him feel really good about them. He always jokes about how you change your hair so much, it’s hard for him to nail down certain hair types and protective styles that you wear.

When he’s home for summer break, your parents can’t and will never stop you two from sneaking into each other’s rooms through the fire escape. They just expect to come into your rooms and find the two of you cuddled up together, with blankets lazily thrown over your bodies. But it also gives them plenty of pictures to blackmail the both of you with. (Jefferson is notorious for picking on his son for clinging onto you like how he used to cling onto Rio’s arm as a baby when he slept. Miles will never know peace in his own house.)

If you have your own apartment, Rio has to beg this boy to come home, and constantly makes jokes about him moving in with you since he spends so much time at your place anyway.

When he’s away at school, he calls you three times a day - one in the morning so that you two can wake up and get ready together, one in the afternoon when he’s in between classes and while you’re either in between classes or on lunch at your job, and once in the evening so you two can unwind and fall asleep together on the phone for the process to be repeated again.

He likes to speak random sentences in Spanish and watch your face contort in confusion. In the scenario that you don’t know or understand the language, you’ll ask him what he said, but he’s so difficult with it, he lets you beg until you ultimately give up, and whispers it in your ear while giving you a back hug. It turns out to be something cheesy as hell, but you love it either way.

If you do understand/know the language, you look at him like he’s grown two heads and question what it is he’s even saying, because in this scenario he’ll say the most random and out of pocket shit just to annoy you. Though you forgive him in the end because he honestly sounds so good when he’s speaking his mother’s tongue.

Dating Miles also means sharing him with Brooklyn, and subsequently New York in general, when it comes to his Spiderman duties. If you can hold him down even though he can’t guarantee being a constant presence for you, you’ll make him fall harder than he originally had. If you love him unconditionally, even if the nights where he comes to you, battered, bruised and exhausted; even when he has to cancel dates or disappear in the middle of a phone conversation; or there are certain things he can’t tell you because of his superhero occupation - the one thing Miles will always promise you is that he’ll come back to you every single time. And that's more than enough for the both of you.

If you enjoyed, please leave a like, comment, and reblog for others to see! And don’t be shy to send in a request!

#black reader #black tumblr #black spiderman #spiderman miles morales #spiderman itsv #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #spiderman beyond the spiderverse #spiderman btsv #spiderman atsv x reader #miles morales spider man #miles morales x black reader #miles morales x black!reader #miles morales #miles morales x reader #1610!miles morales x reader #1610!miles #earth 1610 miles morales x reader #earth 1610 miles morales

[brucewaynehater101]

So one of my favorite tropes is Jason or Dick going "mine now" and adopting every bat kid to come after them, and turning Bruce into a father in legality only, a reluctant grandfather in reality

See the endnotes of both "Dynamic" by Cant_Smoke_Eggs and " bystander" by greeneyedfirework

And also the Crimelord Tim-Never-Robins AU is making me tear up rn so I'm just gonna kindly take the ideas of that AU and the Carrion Crows and and shove them all into a blender to—

☆・★・・・★・☆

Tim Drake's parents are as awful as they are in the Never-Robin verse but here he—to put things horrifically lightly—convinces himself out of it

Oh yes, what you're describing is abuse and it's wrong! What did you say about his parents? They do everything he agrees is abuse? No! You misunderstand, they aren't abusive they're . . .

When Jason dies and Tim blackmails his way into Robinhood, into making sure his last remaining light in this world lives and stays as via shining as he always sees him, he get's a proper excuse

Not that he could ever tell others of course

But it's just what he personally needed

How could my parents ever be abusive? Batman hardly ever remarks about them and sometimes he even trains me more painfully then whenever my parents are back home!

☆・★・・・★・☆

Thus goes his life until he comes across a girl and her ward

Or maybe baby brother is more appropriate

Introducing Cassandra Cain, League of Assassin's renegade extraordanaire

And who does she have with her? It's only Damian al Ghul, blood son of Talia and Brucie!

Yeah, some time during or after Jason's departure from the League, Cassandra by sheer chance got in the same room as Damian

A fucking child which horrified her, so she snatched that kid and dipped

Damian telling her stories about his father and big brother both from Gotham gave her a clear direction of where to head

☆・★・・・★・☆

Not that they tell Tim this, they've hardly met him

They tell Robin silly! Damian in particular is insistent that the vigilante introduce him to his father as he is the blood son

Tim—wanting to help Batman since his plate is full—says it will take some time but he knows someone who can give a place to stay, they can trust his verified associate

Thus is how the two move into the Drake Manor with Timothy Drake full-time

It's nice, he accommodates for their needs and teaches them whatever they don't know

Cassandra quickly clues in—and informs the latter—on Tim and Robin being one & the same

When Cassandra confronts Tim about this, he does his best to calmly (are you sure about that young boy?) justify himself

He recounts the rise of Batman, of the first Robin turned Nightwing, and the Second Robin until his death

Batman's grief would descend into him transforming his vigilantism into a suicide mission

And Gotham? Gotham may be a horrifically corrupt city now, but before Batman it was hell on earth

It was already slipping back into there, what with lifelong hospital bills, disabilities, and job loss being indiscriminately handed out left and right

Though, Batman's rogues weren't facing the brunt of his rage nearly as much as most desperate criminals he came across, just trying to survive

Thus, to keep Gotham from tumbling back into the days before Batman, and to keep the hero from killing himself (because saying 'get himself killed' is dishonest) he blackmailed himself into the Robin role to act as Bat's leash and caretaker

He realized he may have miscalculated when Cassandra's knuckles go bone white

☆・★・・・★・☆

Cassandra had several moments where she has second-thoughts about bringing Damian to his father, and now they're solidifying

She subsequently informs said baby brother that "holy shit, you're father is a monster" with stories what she learns about him, albeit mildly omitting the nastier details she doesn't want Damian to know at his young age

Doesn't help when they both notice the injuries Tim doesn't even get on patrol but training and he has to go to Agent A or himself for medical aid

☆・★・・・★・☆

Tim Drake always saw himself an exception to justice. His parent love him and he has a duty to Batman

Whe his parents come home he tells them about his new friends staying over for some time

After working it out with the two, they even have their identities legalized and nobody will bat an eye at their presence with Tim

The Drakes come home and one moment he's introducing his parents to his friends

The next he's closing an incinerator room's doors with a lockpick

How . . . ?

☆・★・・・★・☆

during Tim's blackout, Janet and Jack made some classist and other comments towards Damian and Cassandra, and since their legal identities are of orphans, and went as far as to threaten abuse knowing they'd get away with it

That caused something in Tim to break and finally do his parents in

Upon realizing what he's done, Tim is going to be pretty hysterical and grieving and when Cass ask's what's up he immediately breaks down

☆・★・・・★・☆

So yeah, Tim has to hide his parent's death and speedrun becoming secret CEO until he can become one publicly

Step number one? Get Cassandra and Damian adopted by the late Drakes and insert them into their wills

Cassandra and Damian stick with Tim because they care for him, he's also single handedly providing for them, plus they don't want to test their luck with Batman at all

Damian is having an identity crisis because he was taught to take pride in his blood but his father who's been hella hyped up has brutalized his new big brother repeatedly

Maybe Tim stumbles across Stephanie and Duke, and gets them adopted too

Maybe we have a Jason with less of his screws loose and he walks up to Tim and is like "where are you parents" "they're totally alive!" "Holy shit you're an orphan actively distancing yourself from the batman because he abused you *adopts him as son*" or maybe Dick Grayson fathers instead, idk

Or maybe Jason here is still willing to pull a Titans Tower idk

My brain is melting lol

Holy hell. I love this AU. Tim adopting his other family members is near and dear to me. He has the means to and has canonically made up fake family members. He can totally throw someone into his family legally (and technically illegally).

Have you seen Damian Drake? This kind of reminds me of that fic, but with Cass in it and the Drakes dead. For this AU, it would be precious if Damian starts to take pride in Tim's last name instead. That, or they could create a new one for the 3 of them (until Dick, Jason, Duke, and others join [Steph is always weird cause she dated Tim. It's similar to how Babs isn't legally considered family/siblings, but she's still part of the family]).

Damian thus has legal to claim to both Drake Industries and Wayne Enterprises (if he ever chooses to disclose his relation to Bruce). The best part of this is that Tim is building a large family by stealing them all from Bruce (cause fuck that man).

Also, Cass and Damian should interact more in fanwork. I'm so glad that you have them as such in this. Similar to Steph and Damian, I don't see that relationship as much which is sad. They have such great sibling bonds.

Two more thoughts: One, I love the characterization of Tim stepping back into his body to find he had murdered his parents and just rolling with it (besides the mandatory breakdown). He just figures it out cause it is what it is. Two, how old is Tim in this? Does he immediately become CEO or try to pretend his parents are still alive?

I'm also imagining Tim just gathering all these people, and he's not necessarily their leader/boss, but he does provide for them. He guides them and supports them. He's like a family mafia boss, but without any command or orders. The others are free to do as they please, but they tend to run decisions against each other

#dc comics #tim drake #dc universe #damian wayne #dc au #cass wayne #thank you for the ask!!!!

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 7: Gone

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon. Your sister prepares for her wedding to Laenor Velaryon.

Hello! this one took a while, so am sorry, lol! My cat got attacked, which I hope is at least SOME excuse. This is another 8000+ word chapter, so yay! This covers the Episode 5 stuff, which is fairly self-explanatory. Thank you to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs for coming back to me and beta-ing this thingo!

TRIGGERS: Episode 5 shenanigans. Nothing much else, really.

These are the things you have learned—

One: Uncle took ’Nyra somewhere at night.

Two: that ‘somewhere’ was terribly improper, a place that not even a maid would go if she wanted to be seen as respectable.

Three: he was caught kissing her and doing things with her, even when there were lots of people in the room at the same time.

Four: he left her there, and it was only because of Ser Harwin that your sister made it home safely.

Five: Uncle asked Papa if ’Nyra could be his wife, and Papa said ‘no’.

These are not things you tell others that you know. Septa will likely strike you with her switch if she hears you repeating any of it. If anyone finds out what you have managed to find out, they will start minding their words more carefully around you. That is not what you want.

Because you are small and quiet, it is very simple for you to collect secrets. For example, Lord Bar Emmon’s lady wife has been dallying with a knight from House Massey. Lord Rosby is in debt to bankers in Essos for borrowing large sums for gambling. Lord Darklyn has a bastard son that no one knows about. You overhear little things here and there, spot details that others might miss, and you learn, tucking information away inside your mind just in case. You make sure that these secrets are proper ones, too—from the hands and mouths of those they are about.

After the accident that gave you a small scar on your arm, Papa made it a rule that you must come visit him each day so that he can keep an eye on you. This is how you had heard ’Nyra and Papa talking in his chambers.

“…have exposed yourself. Now, we must both suffer the consequences.”

“Were I born a man, I could bed whomever I wanted. I could father a dozen bastards, and no one in your court would blink an eye…”

“…an end. You will wed Ser Laenor Velaryon, and you will do so without protest… You are my political headache!”

“… my duty as heir… you must first do yours as King.”

You had waited for a beat, then knocked, hoping that the look on your face was innocent enough that they did not think you had heard. It worked—you had been let in and conversation had turned away from things-you-are-not-allowed-to-know to things-you-are-allowed-to-know. After that, it was not so difficult to piece together what must have happened from the rumours flying around the court.

Now, you understand why ’Nyra and Uncle were sharing all those long looks. Why they would stand so close to each other. Why they would jump apart whenever you came. They are in love, or maybe they just want each other in the way grown-ups sometimes do, the way that means they wish to put their parts together and make babies. Whatever the reason, whatever they feel, it had been enough for Uncle to ask Papa directly; enough to be exiled for.

You keep Uncle Daemon’s letter—‘I will be back soon’—to yourself. If you tell Papa, he will just make it impossible for Uncle to return.

If Uncle marries ’Nyra, will they go to live on Dragonstone? you wonder. Will they have many babies together? Will they bring me if I ask very, very nicely? You would like it best with them, you are sure of it.

Thoughts of what life might be like with Uncle and ’Nyra entertain you on the days you are made to wait for ’Nyra and Papa to return from Driftmark, which is where Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys and Laenor live. Even though your sister wants Uncle, she has agreed to marry Laenor. You don’t know what to think. You hardly remember Laenor. It doesn’t matter, you decide. Uncle will stop it from happening.

Lord Lyonel has gone with them as the new Hand of the King. It was not hard to find out that Lord Otto had his spies follow your sister out of the Keep and report back to him, or that he had then gone straight to Papa to tell of what Uncle and ’Nyra did. Your sister often says that Alicent seduced Papa to become Queen and give him half-Hightower children so that they would inherit what rightfully belonged to her, and that Lord Otto made her do it. She has been telling Papa that for a while now. It seems he has finally listened, for Lord Otto has been made to go back to his family seat even though his daughter is Queen and he has princes and a princess for grandchildren. He has gone too far in spying on ’Nyra.

This all means that, even though Uncle is no longer here, Alicent still wishes to keep an eye on you. She does not have many friends in the Keep now that her father has left, and it has made her nervous. You are only seven summers old, but you understand the way of things well enough—you understand that she wants to be your friend now that she’s realised she is alone.

I’ve been alone this whole time, other than for ’Nyra, you think. It is an unkind thought, so you push it down and tell yourself that it really isn’t Alicent’s fault that she forgot all about you with three babies to take care of.

Septa Marlow takes you to the nursery each morning as always so that you can see the Queen and your brothers and sister. In truth, you quite like this arrangement—because they are so little, it gives you the chance to play with them, to pretend not to be so grown-up for a while. Or, rather, you play with Helaena. Aegon is at a stage where he likes to throw things, so you mostly avoid him. Helaena is a quiet companion, so playing with her mostly means passing her toys and watching her arrange them in neat little piles that make no sense to you but seem to give her a great deal of joy.

“Here, ’El,” you say, passing her the next item. She stops her normal routine when she sees what you have for her. “This is Marya, and this”—you take the other doll out from the makeshift wrappings you devised when still within your own chambers—“is Hana.”

Helaena babbles to herself as her pudgy fingers twist through the brown hairs sprouting atop the wooden doll’s head, surprisingly gentle for one as young as she is. She beams, a gummy spreading of lips that makes the corners of her eyes crinkle, and pats Marya’s wooden face.

“Dolly,” she whispers. “Marya?”

You nod. “Yes, it’s a dolly. Her name is Marya.”

Sometimes, you find that you need to repeat things to her. She often poses questions like this, as though she is unsure if she has heard you right, as though she wants approval. You wonder if you did that at her age.

“That is very kind of you, darling.”

You look up. From her seat by the window, Alicent surveys you and your sister with a small smile. Aemond sleeps on in her arms, seeming to care little for playtime. Is he not too old for that? you think. She can barely fit him in the cradle of her arm, but you suppose that Alicent has always been quite small-bodied.

You smile at her words. She has taken to calling you ‘darling’ as of late. You know not why. Still, it brings a flush of warmth tingling through your blood. “I thought she might like them,” you say.

It makes sense; your dolls were only laying there, doing nothing at all, and Aegon keeps breaking your little sister’s toys. Because she is so quiet, you sometimes wonder if her nurses just don’t realise that she is there and that she needs just as much to play with as her older brother. Your dolls are rather sturdy. They were made for you when you were three summers, so they ought to withstand anything he can subject them to.

It is as though your thoughts summon his attention to you.

“I want them, Mama!” Aegon cries, pointing in your direction. It takes you a moment to realise that he is not pointing at you, but at the dolls in yours and Helaena’s laps. “I want!”

“They are for Helaena, Aegon,” Alicent says, but it is no use. Aegon takes a deep breath, and you brace yourself as the scream pierces through the quiet of the room, quickly followed by the squawk and sobbing of Aemond.

Gwenys stands from her place beside Aegon and lifts him into her arms, trying her best to hush him. There is little point—now that he has it in his mind that he is being denied something he wants, there will be no dissuading him until he is spent from crying too much. As usual, she heads for the door, taking with her the low sounds of her soothing voice drowned out by the wails of your brother.

Alicent has not moved at all, aside from swaying Aemond gently and patting his back. She rarely ever tends to Aegon. There are times when she looks at him as though he is a complete stranger, as though she did not make him and carry him and birth him. You sometimes catch yourself feeling sorry for him, for the fact that his mama so clearly loves his younger brother more than she loves him. In some ways, you and Aegon are very alike—Papa loves ’Nyra more than he loves you. He loves ’Nyra more than he loves any of his other children, but that is because she is the heir and that means she is the most important. It is one of those facts that belongs in the drawer in your mind labelled ‘the way things are’.

Still, Aegon does not do any of the right actions that would get Alicent or Papa to love him more. He throws things and breaks things and yells and runs, and sometimes he will say the nastiest words like ‘I hate you’ to everyone when he is in one of his moods. At least you try. You use your manners and follow instructions and keep quiet and calm, which Septa says is what makes a lady respectable. Perhaps that is why Alicent is calling you ‘darling’ now.

“Dolly?” Helaena whispers again.

She is staring at Hana, so you prop the doll in her lap beside Marya. Your sister clutches them to her, burying her face in their hair so gently that it makes your chest feel tight and a lump grow in your throat.

You watch Helaena hug the dolls that used to be yours but now are hers, ignoring the little voice in your head that reminds you of the one you didn’t bring, the one you have kept all to yourself even though you’ve no need for it now. Of Alysanne, the doll with silver hair and purple eyes, no longer tucked away in a chest but resting beneath your pillow, hidden from the sight of all but you.

It seems like barely any time passes between the return of Papa and ’Nyra and the beginning of the wedding celebrations. Of course, that is not true, for there are days upon days of preparations—ravens to send out and replies to be received, journeys to be made to the capital and rooms to be cleared of dust to house the visitors, banners to be erected and decorations to be installed—that sweep seemingly all of King’s Landing into a frenzy. Not even you are free of it. Thankfully, your only role is to stand up straight with your arms out as the seamstresses pin and hem your dress for the event.

“What do you think, Princess?” Lina, the head seamstress, asks. You don’t know if she is speaking to you or to ’Nyra, who looks on with a smile.

“Lovely,” ’Nyra says, answering your unspoken question. She steps forward to brush light fingers against the neckline of the gown. It tickles. “Silver ribbons for the hair, I think. Could a belt be fashioned in the same colour?”

“Of course, Princess,” the seamstress is saying, but your attention has drifted to the guard that stands watch at the door.

Ser Criston has been strange as of late. Though he is usually always more quiet than not, there is something very unhappy about the way he surveys those in the room now. He is ’Nyra’s sworn shield, and yet his eyes seem to slide right past her, almost like he wants to pretend that she doesn’t exist. What surprises you the most is that ’Nyra notices—she gives him fleeting looks every so often, especially when he is fixed and still—but does nothing about it. She is not one to let an insult lie.

You have always liked Ser Criston. Before, when you were allowed to go about more freely, he would let you sit by him and talk while ’Nyra was busy pestering the minstrels to play more songs about Nymeria.

Your sister claps as the final note rings. “Again,” she demands.

Samwell sighs, flexes his fingers, and readies himself to play once more. As he plucks the strings of his mandolin, he lets his voice carry the melody forth.

“She fled with her ships and her people,

Her heart broken for those who had died.

But if they remained, they would perish

Under the dragon’s eye,

Under the dragon’s eye.

A hundred fell to the sea’s cruel sweep,

A hundred more to the Summer Isles’s tide.

The Queen lost many souls fleeing from

Under the dragon’s eye,

Under the dragon’s eye…”

You turn away from your sister and glance to the side, to where Ser Criston is sitting next to you on the bench. “You’re Dornish, Ser Criston. Are you not?”

It is what all the ladies at court say—even Ser Harrold has said so. It certainly makes sense, for the knight’s colouring looks the same as Nymeria’s in all the illustrations of her you have seen.

Ser Criston smiles at your question. “Not exactly. I… my father is Lord Dondarrion’s steward.”

“Oh.” You frown, thinking hard. “He’s from… the Stormlands?”

“Yes, Princess. Well done,” he says. You beam at the praise. Ser Criston turns to listen to Samwell’s song for a moment, the tale of Nymeria floating faintly through the air and carrying a great sadness with it.

You wait for him to continue. When nothing comes forth, you try again. “Why does everyone say that you are Dornish, Ser? You should tell them they are wrong.”

He laughs, a quiet sound. “They aren’t. My mother—she was Dornish.”

You have learned much about the difference between ‘was’ and ‘is’. ‘Is’ is for people who are living, who breathe and think and talk and laugh, like you; but ‘was’ is for those who are no longer here. Who have died and left the living to mourn them.

“What House was she from?” You keep your voice gentle. You don’t wish to make him sad.

Ser Criston shakes his head. “She was lowborn. A member of the commonfolk. My father encountered her on an incursion into Dornish territory. He fell in love with her at first sight, or so he’s always said.”

“That sounds nice.” You have never seen or heard him be so free with telling someone about himself before. Even now, after serving in the Kingsguard for as long as you can think of, this is the first you have learned of who he is beyond his ability to use a sword. “What was she like? Your Mama?”

At that, he says nothing. You sit and listen to the music, to the tale of a queen who is forced to begin again in an unknown land. You wonder if Ser Criston sometimes feels as strange in King’s Landing as Nymeria did in Dorne all those hundreds of years ago.

“I cannot recall my mother well, Princess,” he finally says. You just barely stop yourself from startling at the sound of him. He stares out at the grass, at nothing, appearing for all the world like he is unspeakably lonely. “She passed on when I was… very young. I know she was beautiful; I remember dark eyes”—like his, you think—“and the shape of her smile. At least, I think I do.”

He looks angry, or perhaps upset. It is hard to tell. You are not surprised, though, for men are often angry when they are made to think of sad things. There is little you can do to change his mood, but you still let your palm come to rest on his arm, patting it softly. He peers over at you. His face softens. You and he take shelter from the sun in silence, looking out as the final refrain of the minstrel’s song flows through the Godswood.

“… Th’ Dornish have yet to bow or to break

Under the dragon’s eye,

Under the dragon’s eye.”

You know what it is like to long for someone you cannot recall. You understand. In brief moments, Ser Criston has been a creature with a spirit much like yours. But he always disappears within himself and the Kingsguard returns, ready to do his duty no matter what. He is another of those that your sister sometimes strays a little too close to, so perhaps he is upset that she is in love with Uncle Daemon and not him. That would be very scandalous, you think, suddenly feeling rather sorry for him.

“… Well? Do you like it?”

You startle. Everyone is staring in your direction, so you shake such thoughts from your mind and glance over at yourself in the mirror. The dress itself is a shade of pale purple that gleams from the silver threads woven into the fabric; the collar is beaded with pearls and tiny diamonds; the bodice decorated with flowers and vines in dark purple and grey thread the colour of steel. It is far more elegant than anything you have worn before. You look like a real grown-up lady in it.

All you can do is nod, your eyes shining bright with excitement. Even though you will be wearing it to the feast for ’Nyra’s wedding to Laenor—to someone who is not Uncle—you are filled with a sudden impatience for the eve to come sooner.

The screech and roar of unfamiliar dragons drifts in from the distance, their dark shadows in the sky a balance with those of the Velaryon ships upon the water. The banners have been raised; the Great Hall prepared; the food made ready. Those who live within the Keep’s walls, including you, linger around the room in wait of the guests that come from all corners of the Realm.

You kick your feet beneath your chair as lords and ladies file into the hall, the booming voice of Ser Harrold announcing them each in turn.

“House Redwyne with their lord, Oren Redwyne!”

“House Hayford with their lord, Mathis Hayford!”

The arrivals become of greater importance the longer the festivities continue. Soon, the incoming nobles are declared with all sorts of titles after their House and name. “House Lannister with their lord, Jason Lannister, Lord Paramount of the West, and Master of Casterly Rock!” Ser Harrold calls out.

You do your best to avoid notice as Lord Jason walks down the steps, surrounded by people in different shades of red and gold to match his House. He makes his way forward, up, up, up the dais to stand before Papa and ’Nyra. Neither look very pleased by his presence, though he doesn’t seem to realise this.

“Congratulations, Your Grace,” he says, smiling as though he is an old friend of them both. “You have made a fine match for the Princess.”

Papa does not reply, just stares with his mouth frozen in an upturn. It forces ’Nyra to speak. “Thank you, Lord Jason. I could think of no better man than Ser Laenor.”

Uncle. Uncle. What about Uncle? you think, but you do not say it aloud.

Lord Jason makes a soft noise. You cannot tell if he agrees or if he is still upset that she refused him. “Well. If this is only the welcome feast, I admit I cannot imagine what you might have planned for the wedding.”

“My daughter is the future queen.” Papa looks at your sister with a great deal of love. She turns toward him, a glow of happiness on her cheeks. “I wanted this to be a wedding for the histories.” You wonder if your own wedding will be one for the histories someday, or if Papa only intends for his heir to have such treatment.

 “Where is the Queen?” Lord Jason asks, glancing around. “I had hoped to pay my respects.”

It is a question you yourself had been thinking of. Alicent is not one to be late to important gatherings. It is very unseemly for a lady to do so. If she were still under Septa’s care, she would probably be scolded most terribly for it.

Papa pauses for a moment. “I understand the Queen is still readying herself for the celebrations.”

“This is why men wage war,” Lord Jason says with his chin tilted high. “Because women would never be ready for the battle in time.”

He laughs at his own words, though he is the only one. It is not a very good jest, for you can think of at least three ladies from history—Visenya, Rhaenys, Nymeria—who had waged war and done well at it. Papa and ’Nyra do not seem to find it funny either, for they merely look at him like he is stupid.

“Your presence is always such a pleasure, Lord Jason.” Your sister tries to be polite, but you can hear the bother in her tone.

The smile disappears from Lord Jason’s face. He bends at the waist in a short bow. “Princess. Your Grace.”

As he rises, his eyes flick to you. It is like he has only just spotted you here, two seats down from the King. He looks you up and down as though you are a prize horse. The curve of his lips as he does so is very off-putting. “Good evening, Princess,” he says to you.

Papa clears his throat loudly before you can respond. His hand is clenched tight around his cup, causing one of the scabs to crack slightly. A thin film of blood spreads slowly across the knuckle. It all serves to startle Lord Jason, who quickly averts his gaze and slinks back down the steps to where his brother sits.

The next group to greet Papa and ’Nyra begins their approach, only to be interrupted by another man. He cuts in front of them all. You do not recognise him. “Your Grace. Princess Rhaenyra. Congratulations are in order.” After he says this, he turns to you. “And my greetings to you, Princess.”

It is the first time someone has addressed you so far without making you uncomfortable, so you cannot help the warmth that spreads through you. “Hello, Ser.” It is as good a guess as any. You hope you have not erred.

Papa’s smile is much more real. “We are very honoured to have you as a guest, Ser Gerold.” His expression changes, dims, his brow twitching. “I must say,” he adds, wiping the back of his hand on the kerchief resting by his plate, “I was most distressed to hear of the Lady Rhea’s tragic passing. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Rhea? Uncle has a wife named Rhea, you think with a frown. You notice Papa’s kerchief is streaked with red.

“Lady Rhea was a unique character,” Ser Gerold says. “Her kind… is not soon to be seen again.”

’Nyra surveys him with kind eyes. “If there is anything the crown might do to aid House Royce…”

It is Uncle’s wife who has died is the thought that crosses your mind as the drums begin to beat, signalling the arrival of someone very important. The guests that were lining up to pay respects separate to either side of the hall as the doors open and Ser Harrold cries, “Lord Corlys of House Velaryon, Lord of the Tides, Master of Driftmark.” At that, the Velaryons make their way into the hall in a sea of glittering black and gold. There are more of them than you ever thought possible—far more than your own House has. “And his lady wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen; and their son and heir, Ser Laenor Velaryon, the future king consort.”

Everyone claps as they walk toward the dais. Papa and ’Nyra stand and you follow—those who had been sitting do the same, rising to their feet in welcome of your Valyrian kinsmen. Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys bow and curtsey before you, Laenor stepping forward to do the same. ’Nyra leaves her seat to move around the table, and you are surprised to see her grinning at Laenor as he comes to meet her. She takes his hands; he kisses hers, and the applause begins anew.

As Laenor takes his seat beside ’Nyra—as Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys take theirs beside him, and the audience moves to find their own seats—someone comes in unannounced.

Uncle.

The room goes very quiet, and then the murmuring starts. Papa’s face is like thunder as Uncle Daemon strolls down the walkway with a smile and comes to a halt before him, as though daring him to make a fuss of his return. For a moment, you wonder if he will have the guards throw Uncle from the Keep.

Papa gestures to an attendant, who brings another chair to the end of the table. He will let him stay, then, you think. But Uncle does not sit in it. Instead, he looks at Lord Lyonel next to you, his brow raised.

“Well?” he asks. Lord Lyonel says nothing. Uncle scoffs. “Move. I would sit by my niece, Lord Hand.”

“My Prince—” The Hand of the King stops at the sight of Uncle’s barely concealed glare, a threat all on its own. He clears his throat and rises, the chair skidding back with a squeak as he steps aside. Uncle settles in the empty seat, shoulders hunching in that way he gets when he is trying to show everyone how carefree he is. He glances down at you and winks.

Papa turns from his brother to those gathered in the hall. “Be welcome, as we join together in celebration. Tonight is only its beginning…”

“Āmāzī,” you whisper, only just loud enough for Uncle Daemon to hear. You have come back.

He leans into your space to whisper his reply. “Kīvio sētetan, gōnton daor?” I made a promise, did I not?

You nod, thrilled. He remembered. He kept his promise. Your hand finds his below the table, hidden from view. He is warm as he always is, like fire, and he squeezes tight even as his expression shows a picture of boredom. Though he lets go quickly, the warmth remains.

“With House Targaryen and…” Papa suddenly falls quiet, staring out at the end of the hall. Everyone’s eyes, including yours, turns to follow his line of sight.

Alicent stands alone in the entry. That is not the strange part, of course—but what she is wearing is unlike anything you have seen her in before. Her gown is a shade of emerald, off the shoulder, a deep cut in the neckline exposing an indecent amount of flesh for a respectable noblewoman. It is beautiful, but alarming, for the oddity of it is matched by the almost angry look she wears as she silently approaches, people rising in turn when she passes.

She stops to greet ’Nyra. “Congratulations, stepdaughter. What a blessing this is for you.”

It is cold, completely different from the way she normally speaks to your sister. It seems ’Nyra notices, for she cannot come up with a response before Alicent is kissing Papa on his cheek, taking her place like nothing is out of the ordinary.

“Please be seated,” Papa says with a cough. The hall echoes with the sound of shuffling. “Where was I? Oh, yes.”

He grunts. This time, he lets his voice carry to fill the room. “With House Targaryen and House Velaryon united, I hope to herald in a second Age of Dragons in Westeros.” The guests applaud. “And after tonight’s small affair”—everyone laughs—“seven days of tournament and feasting.”

More clapping. “At the end of it all…” He is starting to sound out of breath, which is worrying. He has been unwell as of late. “At the end of it all, a royal wedding… between my daughter, my heir… your future Queen… and Ser Laenor Velaryon, the heir to Driftmark.”

Papa sinks to his chair like he has just run up and down every step in the Keep, and you can see his chest rising and falling like he is trying to find air. The sound of it is drowned out by the music that begins to play. ’Nyra and Laenor leave their seats to perform the first dance, impossibly graceful in their movements. They look rather lovely together, you cannot help but think. Still, it is not he she should be dancing with. Glancing over at Uncle, you see he appears to be thinking much the same thing. You are unsure if it is a petty sort of amusement playing along the corner of his mouth or a snarl threatening to reveal itself as he watches your sister with a man who is not him.

The dance comes to a close and everyone claps, followed by a rush of lords and ladies rising to join ’Nyra and Laenor on the floor. Alicent stands. You observe her making her way to the Hightowers at one of the lower tables. You stay in your seat.

“Pōnte imazumbilā?” Uncle asks, jerking his chin toward those dancing in the middle of the room. Will you join them?

“Mirtys drējī rhēdiō daor,” you say with a twist to your mouth. I don’t really know anyone. In truth, you would like to go and dance, but you dislike the idea of doing so with a stranger. Or worse, with someone who looks at you like Lord Jason did.

Uncle grunts. “Konir drives qubys issa.” That’s a poor reason.

You feel your cheeks heat with your embarrassment. It is not very brave of you, you know. “Usōven, kepus,” you say with a small voice. I am sorry, Uncle. A sting prickles behind your eyes.

“Aōma lilinna.” He gazes down with a softness he uses only for you. I will dance with you.

“Really?”

Uncle Daemon shrugs. “Lo jaelā, darilaros.” If you like, Princess. His head turns to face the gathering dancers again. You know, though, that he is really looking at ’Nyra, smiling and beautiful in her white gown. “Yn ēlī, mirros gaomagon ajorrāelan.” But first, I have something to do.

You wonder what he intends. Will he take Laenor to the side, ask him to run away and leave ’Nyra a woman without a betrothed once more? Will he grab hold of her and force her to the High Septon’s rooms, make him wed them before anyone can stop him? Will he declare his love for all to hear, give Papa no choice but to do away with the Velaryon match? Each thought, wilder and wilder, circles through your mind. Whatever he means to do, it will surely be worthy of a great deal of court gossip.

But then, a voice interrupts. “In the Vale, men are made to answer for their crimes. Even Targaryens.” Ser Gerold takes one step, then two up the dais.

Uncle remains unimpressed. “Who are you?”

“Ser Gerold Royce of Runestone.”

“And?”

You can see the clench of the man’s jaw. Uncle is being horribly rude. “I am cousin to your late lady wife.”

“Ah, yes,” Uncle says. “Terrible thing. I'm positively bereft. Such a tragic accident.” You want to sink to the ground, to hide away from this conversation. It goes against everything Septa has taught you about courtesy.

“You know better than anyone,” Ser Gerold says, “it was no accident.”

You glance between Uncle and Ser Gerold, worry churning your belly to sickness. The salted flavour of roasted boar turns sour in your mouth. What does he mean? you think.

Then, there is a faint brush of fingertips against your arm. You startle, peering to your left. Papa is leaning across Alicent’s seat. Though he has just touched you, he is staring across at Uncle and Ser Gerold. His eyes slide to you, and he nods to the dancers.

Go, he mouths. Your lips part with your rising protest, but he frowns hard at you. Now, he mouths again.

Scurrying from your chair, you crane your neck to find someone to take company with. There are not many options—’Nyra is busy dancing, though now with Ser Harwin, Lord Lyonel’s son, and Alicent is still speaking with her kin. Everyone else is a stranger to you. For a moment, you wonder if anyone would notice should you sneak to the doors and make your way back to your own chambers.

“Hello.”

Laenor Velaryon has broken away from the throng. Standing beside you, he looks every bit as lavish as a man about to be wed ought to be. His coat is richly embroidered in black and gold; the pendants upon his gold chain glimmer. There is so much detail to his attire that you do not know where to look. He is smiling down at you, his face gentle.

“Hello,” you say, wary.

“It has been quite a while since last we met, hasn’t it?” There is a way about him that makes me feel as though he’s an old friend, you muse. His expression is open, his arms relaxed at his sides. “You were rather a great deal smaller.”

“I am seven summers now.”

“And I am eighteen. Strange, how time changes us.” He folds his hands before him. “Would you care to dance?” he asks.

You shake your head, though a part of you wants to accept. He is very easy to be around, you are finding. Perhaps he is not so bad a choice after all. “I am waiting for my uncle.”

“Ah.” Silence reigns briefly. Then, he bends closer to your height, his pointed finger directed out to the crowd. “However… I do believe he’s occupied, Princess.”

You stare out onto the floor and watch as Uncle makes his way from Laena Velaryon, shifting between bodies like a snake slithers in grass, straight toward your sister. You watch him murmur something indistinct to Ser Harwin—he takes the man’s place—he swarms up against her, and the pair seem intensely concentrated on their conversation. They are barely dancing, swaying together in a vague rhythm to the music.

“Wonder what that’s about,” Laenor says.

You think you might know, but you say nothing. It is hard enough to keep the threat of jealousy from rising like poison at the sight of Uncle with ’Nyra—with her and not you. He promised you a dance.

Laenor sighs. “Look,” he says. You glance up. “I get the feeling you are not exactly pleased by this match. No”—he waves off your protest with a laugh—“it’s alright. I cannot say I was very happy, either. At first. But your sister… she’s quite the woman. I’ll be… content with her, I think. I just hope I can offer her the same.” He lightly places his hand on your shoulder, firmer when he realises you do not plan to shake him off. “I trust that you’ll set me right, should I behave in a manner less than what she deserves.”

He is painfully earnest as he looks at you, like he truly does intend to seek your guidance. You cannot say that of many people. At the very least, he is good at pretending you are important enough to need a high opinion from. It is more than you expected.

“I will,” you say.

It is too quiet, and you think he probably hasn’t heard you over the noise. But he smiles, pats your arm, and disappears back into the mass of people. You feel oddly thrilled by his kindness.

Now that you are alone once more, your eyes drift back to where you had seen Uncle and ’Nyra, near to the middle of the dancers. You spy two shocks of silver, bright against all the darker heads of hair—you see Uncle take ’Nyra’s face in his hand—he leans in—

He pulls away.

What is he doing? you think, frowning. Uncle is stepping back—’Nyra reaches out, though for nothing—he’s stalking off—

You don’t even realise you have followed him, that you have sidled along the edge of the wall to the door and slipped behind the guards, out of notice, until you are facing the looming dimness of the passages outside the Great Hall.

Behind you, someone screams. Then another. Another. More yelling. The door closes and the noise disappears, as if it never was.

You did not realise just how many guards had not been in attendance at the feast until now. They jog seemingly in pace, the crash of armour too loud, echoing as they rush toward the room you have just left behind. Perhaps they have been drawn by the sounds that had taken your attention also.

It forces you to seek a hiding place. You dart into the nearest alcove, and though it is not covered, you pray that it is too dark for anyone to take notice. Thankfully, it works. Your Papa’s men thunder rumble past with nary a look your way.

A creak from the door. A faint thudding, and whispers, and a gruff voice sounds out, clearer than the rest. “Something to cover it with… for the body… and fetch the High Septon to… wedding will take place when he arrives…”

“Now?”

“Yes, now! So, go and…” A wail, and then it is quiet again.

A manservant hurries his pace, footfalls ringing in the near-silence as he takes the steps up and up and up. You watch him disappear from view, surely having gone to carry out the order given to him. To fetch the High Septon, withdrawn into his own rooms somewhere far, far from your own, awaiting the day he is called to perform the ceremony. Tonight’s ceremony.

Tonight? The wedding is tonight? There was to be seven days before ’Nyra was married to Laenor! That is what Papa said earlier… is it not?

It takes a moment for you to remember how you have come to be here, so caught up are you in your whirling thoughts. A part of you wishes to return, to make sure that Papa and ’Nyra and Alicent are safe. ’Nyra is a Princess, you remind yourself. Alicent is the Queen, and Papa is King. Everybody will want to keep them protected. Besides, there is little you could do that the guards could not. You are only a little girl.

Then, it strikes you. Your purpose. Uncle. Where has Uncle gone?

You peer out, and immediately snap back into shadow. The hall is not empty as you had assumed, though it was perhaps silly of you to think otherwise. It is always full of life and activity. There are guards stationed by the stairs, by each archway projecting a further passageway, branching out from the main corridor; two or three messengers await, milling nervously opposite the doors you had just exited from; maids and servants walk by, uncaring of the chaos within, busying about with their duties as normal. Any one of these people could see you and know in an instant who you are. Your hair—your dress—it is all too easy to identify. And if they see you, know you, they will pass you off to a waiting guard, who will ensure you are returned to your rooms, to Septa Marlow.

How will you discover where Uncle is then?

You wait, hoping that the bevy of bodies will thin with each passing minute. As you wait, you listen to passing snippets of conversation from those who walk by. Then, you hear it. Uncle’s name is like a clanging bell out of the mouth of a nearby maid. Your ears strain to catch the rest. “… for Prince Daemon’s belongings to be… King’s Landing tonight… waiting in the courtya…”

“Yes, ma’am…”

Footsteps. Your mind races. No, no, no… Not again. Not now. Not so soon.

Belongings. Tonight. Waiting in the courtyard. You may be young, but you are no fool. Those words, in that order—it can really, truly only mean one thing.

It means that Uncle is leaving.

You wait. You wait through the fractured exchanges drifting to your shoddy hiding place, the morsels of what life must be like for those who live and work in the Keep. You wait through the spilling of people into the hall, the nobles who had witnessed whatever it is that had been hidden from you. You wait through their bewildered conversation—“a Kingsguard!” and “such a terrible omen!” and “what a ghastly sight!” being some of the choice fragments you can hear—and through their slow scattering back to whichever lodgings they had managed to secure themselves. You wait through the barking orders of the Kingsguard to “find the Princess!”—it seems all have finally realised you are no longer in the room—the thud of their boots easy to detects as they grow fainter, fainter, fainter.

Finally… quiet.

Well, not entirely. The doors are open once more, and you can just barely hear voices within, the sound of something heavy being dragged out. Grunting, as with some great effort. None of these are important. What is important is that finally, finally, the way is clear enough to steal out of the alcove and just across to the staircase, to sidle out of the hall and down the corridor. You thank whatever gods had favoured you that something shocking or maybe even horrid had occurred and given you a free path to the courtyard.

Your mind immediately rebels. What a terribly wicked thing to be glad for. If you had spoken it aloud—if Septa had heard you—you know you would pay the price for such sin.

When you arrive, the sight that awaits you is one you had hoped against hope you would not be greeted by. Even though you had heard the proof, the crushing weight of disappointment still feels heavy in your chest.

“Where are you going?” you ask, standing on the steps that lead to sand, to dust. To Uncle.

There he is—tightening the bridle on Varlet’s muzzle, reins in hand. Dark Sister is at his hip again. He must have fetched it from his rooms before commanding the servants to pack up his things, to send them along who knows where.

“Fu—” He cuts himself off, spinning to face you. A bad word, you presume. You see his face relax as his eyes scan you, recognising you even in dim torchlight. “Go back inside, sweetling,” Uncle says.

You cannot help the rush of tears that prickle behind your eyes. “You—Uncle Daemon, you cannot leave now!” You cast around for some reason, any reason you can find that might persuade him. “The—’Nyra is going to be married in the Great Hall soon. You have to be there. You said you would dance with me.”

This makes him release the reins, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, his eyes like slits beneath the steel shelf of his brow. The horse nickers cautiously behind him, toeing at the ground. After a moment where he does nothing but stand, silent and still, he moves, taking large strides toward you. Up, up, up the steps he goes, and then he is crouching before you.

“Talītsos”—little niece, he says, and as he speaks, his fingers reach out to swipe loose hair back behind your ear—“the King has asked me to leave. I must do as he says, correct?”

When have you ever cared what Papa says? you want to tell him. What about ‘Nyra? You are leaving her behind.

What about me?

Instead, what comes from your mouth is this: “When—when will you be back?” Your lower lip begins to shake. One of the tears falls, even though you tried so hard to keep them from doing so.

His thumb brushes it away. You can still feel the sting of it in the cool night air, though his skin leaves a trail of heat over your cheek. “I’m afraid… I’m not coming back.”

His face is unbearably soft as he says this, but it does not banish the shock, the dread that rises. You feel ill. You feel ill. Bile burns in the back of your throat.

“But… you promised,” you say. You wonder if you look as lost as you sound.

Uncle smiles, though it is weak. “I know. If I had a choice, you know I’d stay.”

You cannot count the number of people who might hear such a thing and take it for a falsehood. He is a rake; a villain; a rogue. He lies, steals, cheats. He is mad, he is cruel, he is the very worst thing that has happened to House Targaryen since your great-great-great-uncle.

But you know he means it. You know.

“Will I ever see you again?” you ask, close to a whisper. Any louder and you’ll burst into sobs, and that will surely bring the guards—you can hear them faintly calling your name—right to you.

Uncle takes your hand. His eyes are bright, sad. “Kostilus,” he says slowly—perhaps—using the language of Old Valyria the way he does whenever he wants to voice something fond, something gentle and warm. “Kostilus daor. Jēda ivestrilus.” Perhaps not. Time will tell.

That is not good enough. That is not nearly good enough—but what can you or he do? If Papa has decreed that Uncle must leave, then he must, for he is the King. There is nothing to be done. Nothing at all.

Before you even realise it, you’ve thrown your arms around him, burrowing as close as you can get. He smells the same—of salt and smoke and love love love. “Aōma ozmijīnna, kepus.” I will miss you, Uncle.

Instead of replying, he just hugs you tight, so tight that your ribs ache and you think you can feel his pulse against your skin, even through so many layers of fabric and leather. You can barely breathe from the force of it. It doesn’t matter. You try to carve out a space in your mind for the memory of this moment, this single point in time where he is here and you are loved and the rest is trivial.

But, like all good things, it comes to an end. He pulls away. He stares at you, almost as though he means to say something. He doesn’t. He cups your cheek, and then he stands. He walks back to Varlet. He mounts his horse.

The grief of it bursts from you like an almighty cannon, wrenching with heaving, painful gulps. It surges with loud, ringing sobs, your nose stoppered up so wholly that you cannot breathe, so much so that it blocks out all sound, all feeling. You do not hear any last words. You do not hear the gate open. You do not hear the striking of hooves on the ground as Uncle Daemon rides away, getting smaller, past the gate, out of reach, going, going…

Gone.

It will not be long before the guards are drawn to you by the sound of your tears. It will not be long before they march you back inside. It will not be long before you must sidestep a crumpled Targaryen banner in the entry of the Great Hall, before you are brought into the grasp of Papa and ’Nyra, before you are made to listen to their panicked reproaching.

“Don’t ever run off like that again!” Papa will cry out, grabbing you by the shoulders with unsteady, shaking hands. He will loom over you, an expression battling between relief and anger playing out over his grey face. “We thought… we thought…”

“It does not matter what we thought, Father,” ’Nyra will say, lips tipped up in a smile despite her wet eyes and dishevelled hair. “All that matters is that she’s safe.”You will wonder why she appears so untidy, but there will be no time to ask.

As the High Septon performs the ceremony, as ’Nyra and Laenor repeat their vows in stunned, shaking voices, you will stand beside Alicent, in front of Papa. And, after your sister kisses her new husband on the cheek, Papa will collapse to the ground, knocking you lightly on the way. Alicent and ’Nyra and Lord Lyonel and Lord Corlys will crouch to his aid, booming voices clamouring for the guards to fetch help. Papa will be taken out of the hall on a pallet, speedily dispatched to his chambers for tending to by the maesters. Everyone will rush about, fretful beyond measure for the King’s health, while you are overlooked once more.

You will find yourself staring at the discarded banner of your House, the red of the dragon darker, deeper, like blood. You will feel a twisting in your belly at the sight. You will return to your rooms where it is dark, where you are alone, and you will ready yourself for sleep with no joy for the day that is to greet you when next you wake.

All of this will happen.But right now—here, on the steps leading to the courtyard which leads to the city which leads to a world far, far out of reach—you will watch the gate, wondering if Uncle will change his mind, waiting for him to come back.

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#terms of endearment │ daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x you #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #daemon x you #daemon x reader #daemon x oc #hotd #hotd fanfiction #asoiaf #asoiaf fanfiction #a song of ice and fire #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #got #got fanfiction #house targaryen #matt smith #fire and blood #dance of dragons

[iguessthisisanewobsession]

It takes a mob part 3

Part one 

previously

“This place is a dump Bill.”

“Hey! Excuse me if I wasn’t expecting company!”

Bill grimaced as he pushed a couple takeout boxes of the kitchen island. Renting alone was difficult enough; maybe he hasn’t swept or scrubbed in a while. He’s been busy, sue him!

The kid didn’t seem to mind, he was too busy chewing on a rabbit ear to complain.

Ken grimaced as he bounced the squirt,

“Forget company Bill, you got an entire war in your kitchen.”

“It you’re going to complain so much about it then lend a hand?”

“Oh no man, you forget. I’m holding Danny, this is an important job! Can’t have him crawling around here and picking up diseases. This is much more important than being your busboy.”

Bill raised a brow, watching as Marv snuck up behind Ken and scooping up the kid with a chuckle.

“Oh yeah? Looks like you’ve been relieved. Hop to it bus boy.”

“Marv!!”

“Didn’t want Danny to pick up your garbage attitude.”

Bill held back a groan as the two dumbasses started a game of keep away with the boy.

He was tired. What was supposed to be a quick beer on a night off has turned into a four am game of house.

The chaos paused when a whimper broke into the air.

“Look what you did Marv!”

“Me!? Ken you didn’t have to-“

The kid was fully bawling his eyes out and the two jackasses where too wrapped in their pissing match to notice.

Grabbing the boy from the two of them, Bill leveled the with a glare as he gently bounced the kid on his hip.

“He ain’t a toy you bozos! Be glad you didn’t drop him and crack his head open!”

Not breaking his glare Bill made his way to his couch and lowered himself to the cousins with a weary sigh,

“I’m cashing in the IOU’s. You two idiots get to clean the apartment.”

Bill raised his unoccupied hand at Ken’s sputtering,

“I’m not fucking finished numb nuts. You two are goin’ to clean and think about what you did. The tyke is barely old enough to raise his head! I don’t care if he’s a meta or not. The only reason he’s here and not at the Wayne foundation is because it’s safer with us than in the goddam system! The second that changes I’m not afraid to pack him up and take him there myself. Am I clear?”

Ken let out an annoyed “yes sir.”

Marv for his part looked properly chastised.

“Alright, now get.”

Letting out another sigh, Bill turned his attention to Danny.

“Let it out kid, just let it out.”

With a little bounce Bill brought his feet up and tried to get himself comfortable leaning against the arm rest.

‘The kid has a set of healthy lungs at least...’

“I’m really sorry you got to deal with a couple lugs like us. If it makes you feel any better, Kenny’s 19 and Marv has only handled older youngin’s before. There’s a learning curve.”

Bringing the squirming tot to his chest Bill began to run his palm up and down his back, mildly marveling at how much he could cover in one small swipe.

“Truth is, I’m probably no better. At least those two have excuses. If I fuck up don’t hold back on old Billy alright? Lord knows I can get my head up my ass at times.”

Danny let out a little hiccup as his crying petered out. Glancing down, Bill switched to rubbing a small circle with his thumb as the baby’s eyes began to droop.

‘Huh.. I thought his eyes were blue?’

Bill gave a mental shrug. It probably had something to do with his meta-abilities. God forbid if he drew the line in the sand over an eye color change.

The kid was fighting to stay awake; it was kind of adorable watching him try to keep his eyes open.

That being said a sleeping baby was easier to deal with than awake one.

‘Ok, think Bill, think. What would old man do?’

Glancing around, he made a face.

‘They won’t hear me over their own swearing...’

Clearing his throat, Bill hummed as he tried to recall some old words.

“Go to sleep you littl’ baby.. Go to sleep you littl’ baby. Your mama’s gone away and your daddy’s goin’ to stay.. Didn’t leave nobody but the baby..”

Bill kept humming as he tried to recall the next verse.

He hadn’t heard the song since he was a tyke himself, sue him.

He could almost feel the moment when the little man lost the war with sleep.

“Honey on a rock and sugar don’t stop.. gotta bring a bottle to the baby..”

Bill was pretty sure he got that lyric wrong, what Danzo didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

Bill kept humming as he listened to the sound of Gotham outside. The early bird would be just starting their commute by now.

Actually, why weren’t the numbskulls making any noise? If they think he was going to accept any half ass cleaning for two favors than they had quite a bitching to look forward to.

‘Not right now.’ Bill felt his humming slow down, ‘can’t risk waking the kid,’

He was aware he was joining Danny in Dreamland at this point; the fact of the matter is he been up for almost 24 hours and is supposed to go in tonight anyways.

He deserved some sleep after all this shit.

Gently laying his arm over Danny, he let his body relax as the first rays of dawn entered the apartment.

Hoodlums:

@reinluna,@confused-moose-child,@mimilikey,@emeraudesfateandfandoms, @dolfay, @boredomfarie, @aconitewolfsbane, @withoutcontxt, @onyxlightdragon, @satanicrutialspecialist, @phoenixdemonqueen, @vixen-uchiha, @skulld3mort-1fan, @bytheoldwillowtree, @illusionwolfwriter24r8, @thewondersoflebanon, @vipower001, @autumnwulf, @alice-hazelwood, @fisticuffsatapplebees, @f4nd0m-fun, @markus209, @latheevening226 @255940g, @dolfay, @basilf1res, @jotaroslooseeyebrowhair, @skirter01, @magnificence12, @bun-fish, @ascetic-orange @thegatorsgoose @sunflowershine03 @ladythugs @firegirl108 @glitchedchaos @rangerhorsetug, @freakofyournature, @mimilikey, @crazycatgirl420

#Marv and Ken were in fact peeping through the kitchen doorway #Marv was recording the moment and Ken trying not to laugh #dp x dc #writing prompt #dc x dp #danny phantom #danny fenton #goonion bill #ken #marv #Jason having his nails done: seriously one call wouldn’t hurt right #Damian: working hard on a cuticle: smudge my work and it’s your wrist Todd #it takes a mob

[catcze]

if you wanna write about other characters may i bring up the idea of karaoke with kazuha both sober and drunk... he looks like he's super shy about singing til he gets some liquid courage in his system. THEN he'll uh. he'll woo you with his charm at least!

—totally not hunter

hello there, 'totally not hunter,' i don't believe we've met before 👀👀 /j But !! 👀👀 Drunk Kazuha I can definitely, definitely do 👀

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

「 CWS : 」 Consumption of alcohol! Both parties are of legal drinking age though, and they drink in a safe setting ♡

When the night starts, Kazuha is still shy about his vocals. No matter how much you encourage him to duet with you, to pick songs on the karaoke machine that he likes, he always finds a way to sidestep your offers with a shy smile.

"I'm afraid singing is certainly not in my repertoire," he says handing the microphone back to you. He gestures to the screen, encouraging you to sing what you want. And you huff. Because, yes, you like singing. Yes, Kazuha has told you that he likes hearing you sing, even though you tell him you probably sound like a bag of screaming cats. Yes, he's here and he's enjoying himself. But it's not the same if he was on the mic too, singing alongside you. It's just different.

But he refuses time and time again, no matter how much you playfully goad him. So you know what? You bring out the big guns.

"Hi? Excuse me," you say into the microphone connecting you to the front desk. "Yeah. Can I order, like, four bottles of sake and a bottle of tequila? Yeah, just charge it to the room. Thanks."

And at times like these, you're so grateful that Kazuha can't drink for shit. It doesn't take him long— just three bottles of sake and less than half of the tequila before Kazuha's red-faced and giggling like he's heard the funniest joke in the world. You're definitely not sober either, but you've still got your wits about you.

"C'mon, Kazu," you nudge him in the arm with a microphone. Your grin is sly. "Wanna duet with me?"

This time he does not refuse you. Instead, he laughs, grabs the mic right out of your hands, and asks what song you're singing. You grin in victory, and choose a random duet song from the selection.

It only occurs to you after you see the lyrics that oh. oh fuck it's a romance song. And you feel the heat rise to your face because why in the name of all the archons did you have to choose a love song to sing with the boy you have feelings for? But you steel yourself— you power through your verse, and listen to Kazuha.

And boy, does he get more bold when he's drunk as a skunk. He's drunk, that much is evident from his slight slur when he sings, but his bravado. As he sings his verse, he keeps his voice low, barely more than a melodic murmur, and looks you in the eye the entire time. It has you flustered, just a few seconds in, and you try to look away with the thought of 'oh I just bit off more than I could chew' but he's coming closer, a grin on his face as he sings.

You feel gravitated to him, want to reach out and hold his hand, maybe, but then you see the sudden sleepiness in his eyes, the way his movements go from suave to heavy, and it's all you can do to guide him back down to the couch before he collapses in a drunken heap of limbs.

And you sigh, kneeling on the floor, forehead on the couch cushion. Because he hadn't even gotten through half of the song, but Kazuha drunk was dangerous for your heart.

#astronetwrk #「 🐈‍⬛ 」 catcze.desserts #kaedehara kazuha x reader #kazuha x reader #genshin impact x reader #cw alcohol #cw gn reader #kaedehara kazuha #genshin impact

[lemonlyman-dotcom]

Hi 🍋

I know you're busy with your rewatch but I was wondering cause I miss your rec lists: do you have a rec list for fics that heavily feature the 126's different religions? Them celebrating different holidays or discussing stuff or such?

Would love to see such a list, I feel like the fandom should have a general list where these fics are featured 💙

Hi anon!! Thank you so much for this lovely ask! Perfect timing, actually, because the fic I’m writing now, which I’ve affectionately been calling Eid Fic, centers around Marjan’s relationship with her faith and her family. It will heavily feature Marjan & TK discussing their own faiths, and sharing memories of holidays, fasting and family. And also how they grow together over the years and form their own found family.

I’m sorry my rec lists have fallen to the side lately! You are not the only person who’s asked me about them, and I promise they’re coming back! I’ve just been feeling a little overwhelmed lately (can you just be whelmed?). But I love any excuse to rec some of the amazing fics in this fandom. And this theme in particular is really exciting to me because we don’t have nearly enough of it! I have scoured by memory and my bookmarks for you, and here’s what I’ve found. Unsurprisingly, it mostly focuses on Carlos and TK’s faiths.

Disclaimer: this is by no means a comprehensive list, it is just what I remembered and what I found. If you know of other fics that feature religion, especially other characters, please reply/reblog with the links!

Carlos - Catholicism

The Line I'd Walk (For You) by TearsThisSideofHeaven Carlos lights a candle and says a prayer to St. Florian, the patron saint of firefighters when TK returns to work after being shot. TK asks him where he goes, so Carlos brings him to church one morning.

What is Sown, What is Grown by @never-blooms Carlos character study, beautiful glimpse into Carlos’s experience growing up Tejano and how his family shaped him.

I Swear I Love You (Te Juro Que Te Amo) by @never-blooms Nochebuena fic!! Beth gives us a really beautiful look at Nochebuena, which is the Christmas Eve holiday in Latinx cultures! This fic is full of everything you would expect from a good Nochebuena party: family, nosy siblings and aunties, chisme, delicious food and so much music.

to build a home by @freneticfloetry Carlos Begins, this fic follows Carlos from childhood through present day. Courtney gives us a lot of beautiful insight into Carlos’s background and culture, and there is some exploration of religious aspects especially in the last chapter.

And if you will allow a couple from me 🤭

I'm Not A Fortress, But I Will Try To Protect You TK & Marjan get together for pie after Marj breaks up with Salim and before TK goes back to Carlos. Marjan voices her fear of disappointing her parents with the news of the breakup, and TK offers to be there for her when she makes the phone call. Marjan also gives TK some perspective on what it was probably like for Carlos growing up in a conservative religious home.

The Greatest Gift I’ve Found, The Sweetest Thing I’ve Known My Nochebuena fic!! It’s got some holiday traditions and a lot of family love.

TK - Judaism

knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door by rakketyrivertam Five prayers TK sang for other people, and one he sang for himself

a case of cruel to be kind by @maxbegone This is a really lovely AU based on the movie About Time. The plot is that TK discovers he can travel back in time to events in his past, and that he inherited the gift from Gwyn. But at the heart of the story is a really beautiful examination of Gwyn and TK’s relationship. This includes a look at some traditional Jewish funeral and grieving practices, through the eyes of TK after Gwyn’s passing.

The last day of Hanukkah by @ladytessa74 A very sweet little Hanukkah fic set in Tessa’s Elijah verse, in the future where Tarlos has a four-year-old named Elijah. This story gives us a glimpse of Hanukkah in the Strand-Reyes house, the little traditions and the food.

Looking at it now, it all seems so simple by @liminalmemories21 Enzo and Jonah come to town, set between seasons 3 & 4 (though S4 kinda makes it an AU now 😖). Explores TK’s relationship with his faith through Carlos’s eyes, they celebrate Hanukkah and have a Shabbos dinner, and there are a few conversations about what parts of their own cultures and religions they want to bring into the family they’re forming, and how they want to raise any future kids.

Rosa Mundi by fiddlersgreen TK, Carlos and Owen go to New York for Gwyneth's funeral. I must admit it’s been a minute since I read this, but this author gives a really lovely perspective of what Gwyn’s funeral might have been like with the Jewish traditions and customs.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #911 lone star religious fic #tarlos fic #tarlos fic rec #911 lone star fic rec #ask #thanks anon!!!

[skaldish]

hey, I recently had to interact with an evangelical family member on thanksgiving (as in, I calmly listened and explained "my views and values differ from yours, but I appreciate you sharing your world view with me" while I was aggressively proselytized at for well over an hour; even by evangelical standards, this family member is aggressive about pushing his beliefs onto others).

I was raised atheist and don't usually have an issue with this; I don't believe in hell or divine punishment, but things he said keep popping into my head (like being called "the definition of being lost" for saying im agnostic— which is a half truth but he wouldn't be receptive to a full explanation). I'm tacking this down to a combination of evangelical thought poison and my anxiety disorder related habit of ruminating (which thankfully I'm working with a therapist on now).

I know you're passionate about the subject of cult thought and the likes and just wanted to know if you had any advice or thoughts re: getting cult thinking that doesn't align with your views or values to kindly edit your headspace.

hope you're well 💚

Apologetics. It's something every Evangelical learns, and it's a form of mind-control. They engage nonbelievers in religious debate and use it to covertly indoctrinate them.

Evangelicals spend years learning how to counter every argument, direct conversations towards specific points, compromise our mental reasoning through various means, and inject their logic into the vulnerable mind, which then festers on its own.

Apologetics is a masterstroke of manipulation, and one of the very few things I consider evil.

My best friend is ex-Evangelical and well-versed in Apologetics. A while back, they gave me an example of how it works (with my consent of course).

Now, I'm extremely good at entertaining ideas without adopting them. It's a skill I deliberately and constantly wield, almost subconsciously at this point.

There's no way I could do it. The more you think it over, the deeper it digs into your brain. All an Evangelical has to do is feed you enough information and your own thoughts will do the work from there.

My friend wasn't even simulating an actual instance of proselytizing; they framed things within the context of, "This is what they'd say." And yet I could literally feel my mind tunnel at the logic, burrowing its way deeper every time I thought, "But what if...?"

I did throw it, though. The way I shook it off was Occam's Razor: "Simpler explanations are more likely to be correct."

Evangelical philosophy is too complex to be statistically probable compared to other frameworks. It even compensates for this by portraying itself as the only safe bet in a high-stakes game. But the reason we find it so compelling is because it makes us fear for our survival. It's the same fear we get when we hear rustling in the bushes when there's a predator around...only this time the tiger is something we can't know. Regardless, our lizard-brains will always take a false positive over a false negative in those situations, and will try to do so if it succumbs to the existential dread. This evil, perfect storm is what drives people to convert.

I've seen many forms of mental manipulation, but Apologetics is a weapon unlike any other.

So here's my advice to you and everyone else:

When it comes to the Evangelical debate game, the only winning move is not to play.

Do everything you can do avoid the topic of religion in conversation, and make a concentrated effort to give it as little breathing room as possible. Bring up a different topic. Say "no thanks" and move on. Ask questions about secular things. Ignore the religious content peppered within statements. Be cordial, but never ever let up on that boundary.

I don't know your relative, but I do know Evangelicals never respond well when denied a platform. They may try to persuade, provoke, trick, or guilt you into giving it to them, so be prepared to hold your ground if you have to interact with them. If all else fails, excuse yourself from the conversation.

Remember: It's not rude to hold a boundary. Don't let anyone convince you that it is.

#answered #tw religious trauma #description of how apologetics works

[evilwickedme]

Top 10 worst Bruce dad moments?

So here's the thing. I'm not actually like. That well versed in the comics yet? Again like. Only been here for about six months. But I'll do my best anyway

10. Firing Dick

HE FIRED DICK FROM BEING ROBIN. THE NICKNAME HIS MOTHER GAVE HIM. THEN GAVE SAID NICKNAME TO ANOTHER CHILD. WHAT THE FUCK.

9. Steph as Robin

Honestly everything about this is a mess. I've only read a few pages from this arc but Tim quitting being Robin was a really difficult decision and Bruce's response was to give the job to Tim's sort-of-ex girlfriend and then treat her like crap. I believe it's canonically cause she reminded him too much of Jason, but that might just be the fandom's reading of the subtext; either way, if the shoe fits...

8. Telling Damian if he was there, Alfred wouldn't have died

What the FUCK, Bruce, that is your SON. COMFORT HIM FOR THE LOSS OF HIS GRANDFATHER

7. Robin!Tim in general

Listen intentional or not Tim is written as a character that has very much internalized needing to be useful being more important than anything else. His parents simply prioritize work over him point blank - his dad doesn't even remember his birthday, for God's sake - and Bruce simply like. Does not help with this. If anything he takes advantage of it. Tim needs to be loved unconditionally, like, STAT, like, that would fix 70% of his identity issues kinda STAT, and I'm not sure he's ever felt that with Bruce

6. Free space: any time he's hit one of his children that I don't know about

I once reblogged a post that detailed every time he hit Dick but that's long gone into the ether now, I can't find it. Anyway there's no excuse to hit your child. Don't fucking do it. They shouldn't hit you, either, doesn't make it ok for you to do if they've done it fyi. Batman can do non violent solutions, we know this, so fucking use those on your children.

5. Reviving the joker

I believe Dick isn't necessarily mad about not having murdered a man basically in cold blood, but I am. What the fuck, Bruce. You tried to kill him twice, you really wanna tell me you don't understand the urge and NEED to kill him??? And then you BRING HIM BACK TO LIFE??? Again. As I've said. What the FUCK

4. Killing Dick and sending him off to Spyral

Actually Dick shouldn't ever forgive Bruce for anything he's ever done to him ever. Have you seen the panels where they have this argument? His family GRIEVES him and for what!!!! For WHAT

(I understand Grayson itself is actually great I wouldn't know I haven't read it. Doesn't make what Bruce did okay tho. I'm also not sure I trust the positive reviews it's written by Tim Seeley and Tom King like......)

3. RHatO Rebirth #25

Penguin didn't fucking die. He didn't get shot in the face with a real bullet. You don't beat your son half to death to the point where he needs to be RESCUED from you - actually no need to qualify that sentence with the intended "over something that didn't actually happen", you simply don't beat your son half to death, should be a no brainer and YET

2. UTRH end scene

Heartbreaking. We all know at this point. Batarang to the throat. Chooses the Joker over Jason. It's enough to make a fully grown (25 next month) man (eh) cry (I mean. Yeah)

1. INTENTIONALLY TRIGGERING JASON

See here for the ask where I talked about this (and which is presumably the ask that led to this anon). Taking Jason to Ethiopia with no warning when he's cooperating anyway just to intentionally trigger him in order to try to get Damian back to life when you never did anything like that for Jason? Holy fucking shit, you know? Just betrayal after betrayal after betrayal

Anyway I'm sure this list is missing some major moments and I'd love to know what I forgot about or, more likely, simply don't know about! I love a well written good dad!Bruce fic but lbr that's just not what he's like in canon. Calling him a mixed bag as a father figure is an understatement

#batfam #batman #bruce wayne #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #stephanie brown #damian wayne #utrh #rhato #dc #gail speaks #ask #anonymous #don't ask me what the top ten good dad moments are #I'll just list Bruce trying to kill the Joker in a death in the family ten times #dc meta

[oathkeeperoxas]

TOP GUN / Icemav fic recs part 5

Good morning aviators, this is your Captain speaking - and I bring you more icemav fic recs to enjoy 💖

Rec list 1 here

Rec list 2 here

Rec list 3 here

Rec list 4 here

Bodies in Motion by @elwenyere

It takes Maverick a while to notice Ice is always moving.

As always, Elwen has hit it out of the park with a character and relationship study that says so much in so little, and also happens to be very hot too.

all the waves and the tides by Cristinuke

After a summer's day of playing dogfight football with the dagger squad, Ice and Mav come home to take a bath, relax, and continue their teasing conversation.

Slice of life fic and domestic fluff is just everything that I ever want, and this fic delivers in spades. Old man loving is written so perfectly as well 💖

Kissed By The Sun by @wordsonamission

After the volleyball game, Maverick is left with a nasty sunburn across his shoulders. He tries to ignore it until it fades, but the pain of the burn is starting to get to him. The guys at Top Gun give him a rough time about leaving the game early to meet up with Charlie but Ice notices that the source of Maverick's frustration isn't so much his failed dated as the tender state of his skin. Ice lets Maverick borrow a bottle of aloe and is even nice enough to help him apply it where Maverick can't reach . . . alternatively: Fellas, is it gay to smear aloe on your crush's body in the locker room after hours while making intense eye contact in the mirror?

The lengths gone to excuse slathering aloe all over your crush in this are simply epic. Men will use any reason to touch each other. Fic is well written and you can feel the summer heat radiating from it!

smoke signals by @qin-ling

Maverick figures it out on the Enterprise, sweat-soaked and high on adrenaline. Their skin brushes and it's fire in his veins, like sunlight, like a beacon in the night, and every neon sign points to— Iceman figures it out much earlier than that. Or; Maverick and Iceman are soulmates. They work it out.

Soulmate AUs in this fandom are always so crunchy, and this one does NOT disappoint! Very hot, emotionally fulfilling with excellent writing!

Bleed Out by @betanoiz

As soon as they're back from the mission Maverick goes to the hospital where Iceman is still in a coma. Things with Bradley are better, almost good, so the only thing left on his mind is the man fighting for his life - post-canon icemav looking at their history and the bits they've missed

aaaaughhhh angst my beloved... This is written with so much yearning and love and goes straight to the heart 🥺

everything's all by the way by Cristinuke

Ice and Mav have an enlightening conversation after Ice's divorce goes through.

Exes to friends to lovers is the best configuration of icemav, you can't change my mind. Very glad to have found this fic, which does the trope excellently!

twenty dollars verse by alecjbi

"Alright, the bet is $20. You have to have carnal knowledge-- of a lady this time-- on the premises." This is the story of the other time.

The back and forth between Mav and Ice here is great - love the backstory for Ice that the author crafted, and how it plays into the icemav relationship and how they approach their relationship.

your fingerprints on my skin by @saengak

Everyone calls them soulmarks—the flush of peachy red that appears on your skin whenever your soulmate touches you. It's supposed to be romantic, how the evidence of your soulmate's little affections linger. The brush of their hand. A kiss. "Don’t touch me," Ice had snapped in his face, just before the soulmark had painted itself on Pete’s skin.

Another soulmate AU, we are truly eating well. While it takes a while to get there, the end result is very worth it - and the banter and teasing at the end is so very good.

This One's For You! by ReapersOrchid

The other boys started to laugh, Slider almost choking on his spit in the process, while Ice just facepalmed slowly, hiding his face in his hands. "Oh, my god...." "Are you sure that this is the one you want, Ice?" Asked Sundown and laughed. "Unfortunately.....yes."

Short and sweet and cute, love this for Ice and Mav XD

A Shared Cup by @susiecarter

It was only a training exercise. It was only supposed to be a training exercise.

This author makes me insane I swear - this fic is so excellent, with so much ground covered in the rivals to lovers, the emotions are so thick and well earned, and the set up and worldbuilding is amazing too. Highly recommend!!

#icemav #top gun #fic recs #needed to do this to clear out my work history augh trying to complete my comment bingo and sort through everything #but there is simply. so many fics. so so many. this ship truly popped off I love that for us #rec list #maverick #iceman #tg

[bowsellie]

Number One Fan

Chapter One

The Tipsy Bison was the most crowded you've ever seen it, and the makeshift stage taking up several feet of the room did not help the crammed feel. The lights were dim, and chatter was hushed as people checked their watches and prepared for the show they were promised. The first of its kind, Maria had said, with live music from one of the newer residents.

You were heading towards the bar, making a path through the crowd using your long stride and a string of "excuse me's". Just one shot, you promised yourself, for the nerves.

Approaching the already sticky counter, you set your elbows down and waved to catch the attention of the middle-aged bartender. "Hey, Seth, can I get a shot of fireball and a bottle of water?" He nodded, and you scrambled through the tiny purse on your arm to find the drink cards you were praying weren't already lost.

Not the first time, it seemed like your prayers were unanswered. "Shit, sorry man, I can't find the cards," you apologized, half to Seth and half to the shot sitting enticingly in front of you.

"Hey, don't worry. I've got an extra here," a husky, female voice said from beside you. You looked over to find someone you vaguely recognized--you'd done an assignment or two together, but had only heard her referred to as "Joel's girl".

"Oh, you really don't have to--" you began, but Seth was already taking the two salmon colored cards the girl had laid out.

"Old fashioned for you, Ellie?" She nodded, not meeting his gaze. Instead, the girl--Ellie--looked at you.

"It's no problem, I try not to drink too much," she said, sipping the Old Fashioned in front of her.

"What brings you to the bar, then? Doesn't seem like your kind of place," you asked. Trying to be polite, you attempted eye contact, but quickly looked away from the depth of her dark green eyes.

"Heard there was a show tonight, first chance to experience live music...ever. I was curious."

"Yeah?" you asked. "What kind of music do you usually listen to?"

"Whatever I can find, mostly. I have no idea what the person performing is doing, though. Hopefully it's good."

Your lips pursed in a coy smile, but before you could find something witty to say the lights in the bar brightened and dimmed again. "Better go find a good spot," you said. "Thanks for the drink." With that, you stood up and made your way through the crowd to the side of the stage. Mia and Jayden were ready, holding their guitar and bass as you grabbed the mic and flicked the "on" switch. With that, the three of you were on stage.

"Hey everybody!" you said, smiling into the crowd against the lights and waving as if you could see them. "I'll be singing for you tonight, some original songs and some I've heard around. On guitar we've got Mia," you said, pointing your body towards her as she played a lick that drew cheers, "and on bass we've got Jayden." The smaller boy slapped and plucked a quick baseline, drawing his own applause. "We're the Floaters!"

Mia and Jayden began the first song exactly in the way you rehearsed, giving you a few bars to breathe and prepare before launching into the first verse. As you sang, your shoulders dropped and your breathing regulated as you remembered that this is it--this is what you've always done. Who cares if it's a new crowd, new town, new people? The music is always the same.

As the set went on, your eyes began to adjust to the crowd. Scanning, making eye contact, smiling at audience members to make them feel the connection you loved creating. Nowhere, though, was the auburned hair girl from before. Maybe this isn't her scene you thought, back turned to bar between songs. Maybe she was hoping for something else.

It wasn't until your eye was drawn to the bar that you saw her. In the same place, in the same position, sipping the same Old Fashioned with her intense stare on you. This time, you held it back. For far longer than was appropriate, you sang the song at Ellie, locked in a game of staring chicken that she seemed reluctant to lose. It wasn't until the end of the song, and the end of a set as a whole, that you were able to look back towards the rest of the group to bow with your bandmates.

When you looked back to the bar, hoping to catch her eye again, Ellie was gone.

#Ellie williams #Ellie x reader #Ellie williams fanfiction #Ellie fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #Jackson!ellie #rockstar!reader #reader insert

[ofdreamsanddoodles]

here is my eva college au as someone who has only watched 20 episodes

everyone gets a Nerv pension to help them deal with their frankly ridiculous level of trauma. Rei & Shinji both use it for their college fund. Asuka buys a 3 bedroom house & forces them to live with her with the excuse that she doesn't want to have to cook for herself. shinji's friends call her his sugar mommy. they both hate it so much

asuka, having already graduated is the only one with a Real Job but teaches biology at shinji & rei's university part time. shinji used to work in fast food but when asuka asked him how he could stand it & was like "the trick is not caring whether you live or die!" so she made him quit. now he works at the school library

rei is a pretty good coder, but she's going to school to study ancient poetry. shinji is probably going into social work or music. he's mostly trying to broaden his horizons & find something that genuinely interests him so he's taking a lot of random classes

rei develops dissociative episodes where she wanders out into fields & just stares into space for hours. shinji usually finds her by tracking her phone but he doesn't try to bring her back home its more of a "i saw you on the ground so i laid down with you so everyone would think we're chilling" situation

asuka was recently hit with the "wait the only man i've ever felt attraction to was someone unattainable in a position over me" realization & joined a derby team over it. she does a lot of impulse buys to try and find out what makes her happy instead of what makes her look pretty. literally everyone on her derby team is in love with her

kaworu & shinji are both nonbinary & everytime someone genders shinji as a guy kawaru goes "UMMM thats my girlfriend" or vice verse. shinji accepts both. kaworu just wants to remind everyone they're dating. he's unemployed but does furry commissions. once he drew his & shinji's fursonas once & now it's framed in the living room. asuka makes them hide it every time they have someone over

once a week, misato gets a call from at least one of them crying about how they'll never be normal & how hard life is & she has to talk them down from giving themselves a haircut mid breakdown. as thanks, rei bought her a "world's best mom" mug. she's a politician now

shinji makes them all go to furcon every year. asuka's hobby is going to every artist she can find & asking them what fursona they'd give her & then judging their answers.

#shinji ikari furry college au #neon genesis evangelion #aster speaks #once i finish the series i'll have more to say probably

[alexanderlightweight]

for writing Wednesday - pre-canon married!malec

hey! so this magnus and alec have been married/bonded/handfasted for over a century or so now and Magnus very much doesn't like his inlaws. part of the tethers of fate verse (alec is adopted by unseelies as a child)

i hope you enjoy!

lumine

-

“What brings the High Warlock of Brooklyn to my domain so uninvited?”

Magnus grits his teeth, because of course Arawn would come the moment he felt his favored child pass back into his territory. Arawn would like nothing more than to keep Alexander tightly in his grip – just as Asmodeus wants for Magnus – and Magnus knows that Arawn is just waiting for an excuse to do so in the name of Alexander’s safety.

Mental or physical and Magnus will not let Camille be the blight that almost cost him Alexander twice. He’s going to deal with this himself, once he has Alexander safely back under his own wards or perhaps, even tucked away in the Labrinth or stashed with Ragnor or Tessa for a bit.

“I’ve simply come to pick up my beloved, Arawn. Nothing more, nothing less.” Magnus says, voice cool even though he knows his temper is raging fully, a twisting inferno within him that scorches him from the inside.

“Yes, it does seem that the only times you come here are to steal away my child.” Arawn is frowning at him now and Magnus resists the urge to set the flowers around his horns on fire. 

“I can hardly be considered a thief when it’s my soul his is tied to.” Magnus reminds Arawn and he gets dark eyes, flaring with hatred directed his way for a moment. “Alexander, darling. Won’t you come home with me, sweetheart?” Magnus doesn’t flare his magic, but he does send a pulse through the bond and while he hates to do it when Alexander is touching others, he’s running out of options.

Alexander moans, a little whine pulled from his lips as his body lights up from Magnus’ magick renewing its claim on him. The unseelies admire the pleasure of his face, but they still send Magnus scowls for being the cause of it

Arawn gives him a bitter look, unable to deny the fact that Magnus’ magick has the stronger hold on Alexander, centuries now after being tied to him. A stronger hold than even the magical claim of a parent.

Magnus steps over the vines that writhe around him, feeling the malice of Arawn through the very ground he walks over and he steps over a half-naked body and then bends down to cup his boy’s face.

“Can I take you home, Alexander?”

There is a nod, a tired, glazed look to hazel eyes and Magnus bites back a victorious snarl as he smirks and then picks up his boy. As he’s walking to where he can safely portal, Arawn steps out and Magnus pauses, knowing better than to try to leave by force.

Arawn leans down and presses a tender kiss to Alexander’s forehead, magic leaving his lips to bless his favored child and then he gives Magnus a look that promises violence the first chance he gets.

Magnus smirks in return, because while it may have set back relations with the unseelie king for decades, he has never once regretted his decisions to petition the Elders for Alexander to be taught in the Labyrinth. 

It’s how he coaxed Alexander to be his, after all.

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #tethers of fate #malec #shadowhunters #magnus bane #alec lightwood