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afewfantasies · 1 month

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Lucky Strike 🎯 🎱 - PRESENT - III

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Pairing: Benny Cross (Bikeriders) X Reader

Summary: You and Benny reconnect and learn a little about your lives here and now.

Warning: Allusions to troubled pasts and excessive alcoholism.

Word count: 2K

Heart racing, Benny drives the speed limit for once in his life. He prays against seeing any cops on the way to the cemetery. There was no time to wear anything aside from his colours to make the funeral, to see you. He didn’t know if there would be another chance to see you in person. After the reaction from the guys he wanted to see your transformation for himself. Approaching the gates he slows to a stop looking at the old cemetery gates, the vision of something from a horror film. Rows of wooden crosses and poorly made headstones. A final resting place for those who didn’t accumulate enough wealth to end their time in a nice place. A touch too nice of a final resting place for the man being buried but alas it wasn’t his choice to make. Getting off his bike he waits at the gates instead of causing a commotion. Looking across the flatland Benny finds a small congregation of people and hears a wailing woman. The people pass heading into cars shakily with a few men leaving you there looking onto the plot of dirt. Benny didn’t understand why you’d come all this way. Your father had been a monster and you knew that intimately. The cars clear out and the people disperse before Benny makes his way to your side. There are whispers and looks as he walks on the gravel road. He finds you looking down at the freshly tossed on the ground where your boogieman is being laid to rest. He knows it’s you because unlike everyone else you’re dressed to the nines. You smile knowing its him at the sight of worn boots next to your shoes. Nothing needs to be said, you rest your head on his shoulder and his hand finds yours instinctively.

“Good riddance” you mutter tossing the final carnation into his grave.

“Y/N?” The call comes from behind you. Letting go of Benny you turn to see the woman that sent for you. Your fathers new wife, the woman he decided to settle down with once the liver failure set in.

“We’re gonna head to the reception now.” Carla says looking Benny over with judgement and confusion. “Hello” she says only to get a nod from your oldest friend.

“Go on” you smile ignoring your grandmothers prying eyes along with everyone else who’d enabled your fathers deplorable behaviour making excuses for an abusive drunk.

“You came with us remember” Carla smiles.

“I know my way around” you mutter and reluctantly they leave before you take your first look at Benny. Smiling you see he’s grown out of the awkwardness and is even more gorgeous in person. He’s breathtaking. You throw yourself at him unable to contain your excitement and Benny catches you lifting you off the ground as he holds you tight spinning you around. You laugh and squeal like a kid again overwhelmed to see him alive and well.

“So you’re an outlaw now?” You smile pinching his cheek and pulling away to get a better look at him.

“Yeah” he smiles from ear to ear. There you are holding onto each others hands again like before your mothers ripped you a part.

“You look good in leather” you laugh touching his kutte.

“You just look good” Benny laughs and it’s a wonder he’s as gorgeous as he is.

“Thanks” you beam starry eyed, happy to have found him again all these years later. “It’s really you” you laugh and Benny nods as you hold onto his arms.

“And it’s you” he says kissing your forehead in a warm gesture. There’s another hug, this one less hyperactive but just as meaningful.

“So it was you who posted my bail?” Benny asks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” you lie but Benny knows better.

“What happened to our truth truce?” Benny asks bringing back fond memories.

“I saw you on TV and went down the the precinct,” you confess.

“Thank you, I’ll send you the money” he says far out of his depths.

“I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you. The money’s nothing” you respond holding his hand. Every good memory from your childhood is with Benny. And that’s worth way more to you than $250 you would’ve spent carelessly.

“So what you’re hit the lottery?” He asks.

“My Ma did. She’s married to an old guy who’s very well off. He has no daughters and always wanted one.” You explain.

“You married?” Benny asks.

“Will be next valentines day” you tell Benny but your smile doesn’t touch your eyes.

“He a good man?” Benny asks.

“Decent, comes from a good family and makes good money. He works a lot so I have a lot of freedom. It’s nice” you smile.

“Doesn’t sound like you’re in love” Benny comments as you arrive at his bike.

“Think any of them would love me if they knew I came from this?” You ask looking around at the dead end cemetery in a dead end town. “I don’t have the privilege of being delusional to how the world works Benny. Besides what would someone like me know about love?” you ask tickled. It was like old times so fast.

“I thought that’s what women do all day, daydream about love and marriage” Benny shrugs and you scoff.

“Don’t think Benny” you laugh shaking your head as you look him over again. The pull to him is so magnetic. He smiles at your playful jab and you walk into his arms again.

“I don’t much” he confesses holding you tight. He kisses the top of your head taking in your perfume.

“I missed you Benny” you confess looking up at him.

“I missed you too. How long are you here?” Benny asks.

“A week, the folks brought me down here to run me dry and have me pay off the drunks depts” you explain.

Benny raises a brow,“Who’s he owe?”

“Couple of bars,” you shake your head at how nothing had changed.

“I’ll take care of it” Benny promises sitting on his bike. You look him over again and it makes you smile that he’s alright. You hug him again overwhelmed by how happy you are to see him.

“Benny, I’ve missed you so much.” You repeat his arms again, in your whole life there’d never been a person like Benny. He was your right hand, he always fought for you, stood with you, made you feel safe. Its something even riches can’t compare to. “Tell me everything!” Your excitement is contagious and Benny’s eyes sparkle.

“What about the reception?” He asks.

“I’m not going. I’m happy he’s dead - better off that way” you confess making Benny smile.

“How are you gonna ride in a dress?” Benny asks pointing to his bike. Rolling your eyes you get on making use of the length and space for your legs in the a line dress. When you're comfortable Benny tries withholding his smile as he gets on. “Don’t let go” he says challenging you.

He starts the engine and then tears off. Letting go you throw your hands off and scream out in excitement. The two of you had been kindreds and no stranger to living on the edge together. You have more to live for than the average person after spending your childhood terrified and powerless. Benny finds himself laughing at your bravery, admiring that you were fearless too or that you just trusted him. When you arrive at the clubhouse there are a slew of bikes parked out front. You're sure your hair is in a state and you manage to fix in Benny’s rearview mirrors. The guys whistle some more until Benny shoots them glares that says take it easy.

“Look who’s back” Johnny smiles.

“I’ve never been around so many degenerates,” you comment making the boys hush. You laugh at their sensitivity when they all get serious. “ You ought to show me how you really party!” you smile at Johnny encouraging the bad behaviour. The boys hoot and holler bringing on the drinks and debauchery. Billiards, darts, drinking games you name it they’re partaking with the exception of Johnny. Wild as they think they are, the boys have nothing on the party boys at college with the exception of metal and leather. You enjoy their company and the clubs camaraderie. They try to impress you but none of them could ever mean anything more than friendship to your heart. Benny watches as you embrace all of the Vandals, laughing and talking with them. Encouraging their drinking games, listening to their stories and not playing too precious. He watches from afar giving you space as you trow a few shots back. His heart grew warm seeing you smiling and carefree. On the outside no one would ever expect you’ve come from what you did. But you don’t rest on those laurels, embracing the good and disposing of the bottom. You have no airs and graces and Benny admires that. When the nights over you can barely walk in a straight line, for once - Benny’s as sober as a judge.

“Take my car” Johnny tells Benny tossing him the keys, knowing the back of a bike is unsafe for you right now. “You're a real treat Y/N, pleasure to meet you” Johnny says shaking your hand.

“Likewise and take care of Benny” you sway a little before getting in.

“We will, take care love” Johnny smirks shutting your door.

The minute the car pulls off the motion is too much and you hurl out the window.

“Drive!!!!” You shout between your retching. You don’t want the guys to see you weak. Benny drives until you can turn a corner and you’re finally finished. The consequences of your actions have wasted no time. Benny removes his leather and then takes off his t-shirt before using it to clean off your face and the back of your wrist with an amused smirk.

“First time drinking?” He asks as you sit on the curb.

“Like that, YEAH!” you confess and he chuckles having a seat beside you. If he’d been a dreamer even his dreams couldn’t have imagined you to be any better. Looking him over you see he’s got defined muscles now and an impressive frame.

“How are you feeling” he asks after sitting with you for a few minutes. Looking up at the streetlights you sigh deeply before looking back at Benny.

“Like I’ve been holding my breath for all these years and I can finally exhale” you confess. Taking your hand Benny kisses it with understanding eyes before pulling you in against his warm skin on the hot summer night. The slow steady beat of his heart, synced perfectly with yours is proof he knows exactly how you feel.

“Come on let’s get you back to the hotel” he mumbles getting up before he can help you. He gets the passenger door for you shutting it when you get in. The ride to the hotel feels too short and you sit in the car silent for a few moments before reaching for the door.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” You ask Benny.

“No” he shakes his head and you nod holding out a hand. He gets looks again as he holds your hand heading into the hotel’s fancy elevator. Your room is up high and he’s never seen a view like that. You open the fridge and get him a soda before calling room service to order burgers and dogs. Benny looks around feeling insecure as he sees your normal. He gets the food from the door while you freshen up from your sickness on the way. When you return without any make-up or finery his heart swells.

“What?”

“You’re gorgeous” Benny compliments.

“Thanks, Benny” you smile having a fry. “Now tell me everything” you say again and he does. You talk about everything in your life until sunrise when you fall asleep together on the hotel rooms kingsized bed.

Authors Note: Thanks so much for reading🩵 🎆 ! Don't forget to comment, like and reblog.

FOR FUN what was your favorite moment? Mine was when Benny took the shirt off his back to clean you up. Thats a special king of love and closeness. Which one was your fav?

TAGS: @mrsalwayswrite @ughdontbeboring @astrogrande @palomavz @hrlzy

#austin butler imagine #austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler x you #benny cross bike riders #benny cross imagine #benny cross x reader #benny the bikeriders #benny cross #the bikeriders x reader

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challahbeloved · 1 month

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“The entire Torah is names of God.

In Hebrew the word kore means both "read" and "call."

When we read the Torah, we are not only reading, but also calling God by name,

And God calls back.

During the Torah reading we are passive,

We don't say anything

We don't respond at all

Only listen.

From within the congregation one rises,

The Torah reader,

And calls God in the name of us all,

And the Holy Blessed One calls back in response.

Torah reading is the time in our prayer when we stop for a moment,

We cease saying our part in the prayer,

And listen to what the Holy Blessed One has to tell us this week.

This is not the time for ideas about the weekly reading,

Or for studying the Torah's commentaries,

Rather for the Torah reading, for the calling:

A time for listening to Divine speech

Bursting from the Torah.

We direct our hearts to listen to the reading,

To awaken, to evoke the ancient words,

To transform the reading to a calling,

To hear the Torah calling to us.”

— Dov Singer, Prepare My Prayer, Page 183.

#jumblr #jewish quotes #dov singer #torah reading

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joon4eva · 1 year

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drunk in love — kim namjoon.

genre: best friends to lovers. mutual pining.

summary: you and whiskey are never a good combination. or: you've been in love with your best friend for years and you might tell him about it while drunk.

word count. ~2,597

warnings. OC is a stubborn drunk, heavy kissing.

note. swiped two pics from u @doucillies; ur moodboards are adorable (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

masterlist

"Okay, it's time to go home."

"Nooooo," you whine, crossing your arms over your chest. "I'm havin'—hic!—the most fun right now!"

“We’re not doing this while you’re drunk, ____. Let's go.”

“I’m not”—you hiccup, hand flying up to your mouth, so ready to barf—“drunk.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes and grabs your arm, guiding you towards the exit of the crowded bar.

The room seems to tilt and wobble around you, like the inside of a snow globe shaken by a child. The alcohol in your system clouds your thoughts, transforming words into unintelligible murmurs and making the edges of your vision fuzzy.

You're not one to go out often, but tonight had been a night unlike any other. Drinks had flowed like water, and one had quickly turned into, well… too many to count.

"I c'n walk on my own!" you protest, somewhat indignantly. But as soon as the words leave your mouth, your knees buckle beneath you, and Namjoon is there to catch you before you can collapse onto the floor.

He sighs, shaking his head in amused exasperation.

"Sure, you can," he mutters sarcastically while looping an arm around your waist.

You lean against him heavily, suddenly grateful for his support as the world continues to swirl around you in a dizzying blur of colors. Your own head is swimming with the protests it's trying to form, yet all you can do is let out an indignant 'pfft'.

The cool night air greets you as Namjoon leads you out of the bar. Your senses are assaulted by everything—the sound of car horns honking in the distance, the bright street lights reflecting off shiny shop windows, the smell of old cigarettes and half-eaten takeout littered on the streets.

Namjoon hails a cab quickly enough; it seems as though all yellow cabs magically congregate whenever he raises his hand.

You slump into the backseat next to him and he rattles off an address to the driver before turning to face you.

"Do I have to worry about you hurling in my apartment?"

You shake your head vehemently despite how it makes everything feel like it's moving at warp speed around you. "I wo'nn… promise."

"You better not," he says, but there's no real bite to his words, just a soft smile that makes your head spin more than the alcohol ever could.

The rest of the car ride is a blur, punctuated by stifled giggles and quiet singing along to random tunes floating through the airwaves.

The car finally comes to a stop outside Namjoon's apartment building, and he practically carries you inside, supporting your weight as you half-walk, half-stumble towards the elevator.

His apartment greets you with its familiar warmth and comforting scent.

You shed your shoes immediately upon entering; he always hated when people wore shoes inside.

Namjoon takes you by the hand and leads you to his bedroom. There's no discussion about where you'd sleep–it was never really up for debate. You had spent more nights in his bed than your own over these past few months, sharing the space like it was a natural extension of your friendship.

But deep in your heart you felt the lines of this friendship slowly blur until they were nearly indistinguishable.

You vaguely recall Namjoon going out on dates with other women – discreetly canceling on you for an evening or casually mentioning it over coffee when he couldn't spend time with you.

Each mention was like a dagger in your heart; the mere thought of him being with someone who wasn't you caused a painful twisting sensation in your chest.

Namjoon helps you sit down on the edge of his bed, pulling off your socks before turning around to rummage through a drawer for some pajamas or anything that would fit you comfortably.

He pulls out an oversized shirt and hands it to you, ushering you towards his bathroom. He stands outside the door while you splash cold water on your face, trying to sober up just enough to not become a nuisance.

In the quiet of his apartment, even the steady rhythm of your heart pounding in your ears feels deafening.

Once you're dressed in the soft fabric that smells distinctly of him, Namjoon helps you sit on his bed again while he looks for more blankets.

In these rare moments of silence, your thoughts begin to spiral towards a dangerous territory. A confession, long buried under fears and doubts, bubbles to the surface.

"Namjoonie…" you slur giddily, your words blurred and hazy even as their weight is clear.

"Hm?"

"I love you," you mumble sincerely between hiccups.

He chuckles lightly and shakes his head. "Oh man, you're definitely drunk. I love you too."

"'m serious," you insist, each word heavier than the last. "Like, really... really love you.

He pauses in his search for a blanket momentarily, looking back at you with furrowed eyebrows but still not taking it entirely seriously.

"And I really love you too," he murmurs back softly, turning away from you again.

Finally managing to locate an extra blanket somewhere, Namjoon walks back over, gently draping it across your legs and sitting on the edge of his bed.

For a moment, the drunken haze seems to clear from your mind- just enough for him to see your vulnerability shining through.

"You don't get it," your voice wavers as you flop over onto Namjoon's pillow, breathing in his comforting smell. "'m sooo in love with you. Can't ssannd it. Tried t' ignore it, but ev'ry day, ev'ry night—it's always you.."

His lips part and his eyes go a little wide. He blinks at you, fighting back a smile though the hint of one lingers around your words.

“You’re drunk,” he eventually says, shaking his head.

“Maybe," you hum thoughtfully, "…but I won’t be in th' morning.”

Namjoon's gaze flickers to the side, his eyes boring into a spot on the wall as though he can shield himself from any potential heartbreak.

He lets out a quiet sigh and he runs a hand through his hair, clearing his throat before speaking.

"We can... we can talk about this tomorrow," he suggests softly. "When you've had some sleep and are sober enough to remember it."

"If you still feel this way then, we'll talk, okay?"

You frown at him stubbornly as he starts to settle you into bed. The soft duvet feels heavenly beneath your weary form, but the innate rebellion within you only swells stronger. “I don' need help,” you argue halfheartedly, poorly attempting to push away his supportive grip.

Namjoon just smiles gently, continuing to tuck you in despite your protests. "Of course you don't."

His familiar shape slips under the duvet beside you, close enough for comfort but still mindful of boundaries as you both drift off to sleep.

—

When dawn breaks, the first rays of sunlight creep through the cracks of the curtains, casting a warm golden glow across your faces.

It's only when Namjoon's bedroom starts to steadily regain its color that you wake up, face planted into one of the softest pillows you've ever had the pleasure of sleeping in.

Groggily, the memories from last night begin to trickle into your still foggy mind.

You're half-convinced it was all just a dream—an alcohol-induced haze of emotions and repressed feelings. But as you move to stretch out, stifling a yawn, you come face to face with Namjoon asleep beside you.

His face is relaxed, lips slightly parted as he sleeps. One arm is thrown casually over your torso, the other tucked under his pillow. The warmth of his breath tickles your cheek, and it's both terrifying and exhilarating.

You stare at him for a moment - taking in the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, and the dark fringe of eyelashes against his cheeks. It feels like discovering Namjoon all over again - this time much different but just as wonderful to behold.

Namjoon stirs, his arms reflexively tightening around you while he fights the urge to wake.

You catch a stray lock of unruly hair that has fallen across his face with trembling fingers.

His eyebrows crease slightly, and he sleepily opens his eyes to meet yours.

For a few moments, the two of you just gaze at each other, silent as his grogginess fades into a dawning realization. "Hey," he mumbles softly.

Your chest constricts as a half-smile finds its way on your face. "Hey," you respond softly back.

"You stayed."

"Of course."

His arms tighten around you once more as he pulls you flush against him, nestled securely between the heat of his body and the cool cotton sheets.

"I thought you would run away," he murmurs softly into your hair, chuckling when he feels you shake your head.

Honestly, you could easily drift back to sleep like this, feeling the gentle rhythm of his breathing and the soothing patterns his hand traces on your back. But just as your eyes are about to close, his voice rumbles from his chest.

"How are you feeling?" he suddenly asks.

"I've been better," you reply honestly, muffled against his shirt.

There's a beat of silence.

"Do you remember anything from last night?" he asks.

"Not much. I remember you taking me home but everything else is blurry."

"I didn't do anything dumb, did I?" you ask.

"Well, that depends on your definition of dumb."

"Hmm. Anything I would be embarrassed about?"

"Other than the fact that you're a very stubborn drunk, no," he reassures you with a quiet laugh. "...But you did say some things."

"Oh, like what?" you ask, pulling back far enough from him so you could see his face.

There's a slight pause, his gaze momentarily flicking from your eyes to your lips.

"You said you loved me."

You nod, taking a moment to figure out how you were going to respond.

Though those words still linger as truth in your head, hearing them out loud like that is difficult to put into words. You could easily dismiss them as drunken ramblings but Namjoon knows better; he can always read you like a book.

There's only so much denial you can carry on with before eventually being swallowed alive by the chaos of your emotions.

You sigh and retreat back into his arms, nuzzling your face further into his chest. Namjoon doesn't press or push any further. Instead, he holds you tighter. Neither of you says anything for a while.

"What's on your mind?"

"Nothing, really," you say, swallowing back the lump that has formed in your throat.

"Mm, don't do that."

"Do what?"

He draws away from you, but keeps his hold firm, almost as if you'll slip away if he lets go.

"Lie," he says softly, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "I know you better than that."

He smirks, amused at your stunned silence. He knows just as well as you do that he's successfully called your bluff.

"You already know the answer," you finally say.

He laughs at this, his eyes adorably crinkling at the corners and those dimples you absolutely love coming out to make an appearance.

You can feel your heart pounding with him so close; though the two of you always have been close friends, this new proximity makes your cheeks flush and your thighs press together reflexively.

Through this haze, a sudden surge of self-awareness hits you, reminding you that your hangover has most likely wreaked havoc on your appearance. You nervously lick your lips and rack your brain to quickly come up with an excuse to get out of this situation, and get out of it fast.

Namjoon seems to pick up on your unease, reaching out and taking your hand gently. He guides it towards his chest, placing it right above his heart, urging you to meet his gaze again. His warmth eases some of your anxiety, and you finally meet his gaze again.

You can feel the steady beat of his heart under your fingertips, its rhythm slightly quicker than normal. He looks intently at your lips, and the corners of his mouth turn up into a faint, tender smile.

“I just want to hear you say it. Please,” he whispers.

Fully surrendered to him, to whatever this was, you find your voice.

"I love you," you manage to utter through the tightness in your throat.

Satisfied with your answer, he smiles and leans in to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

Now only inches away, his breath is warm on your face and his lips nearly graze yours when he asks, "Do I have permission?"

You give a slight nod, and that's all it takes for Namjoon to cup your chin with one hand and slightly tilt your head back to press his lips firmly against yours.

His lips are warm, surprisingly soft against your own, and as the kiss deepens, every lingering doubt is wiped away with each sweep of his tongue; it's delicate and excruciatingly slow.

You let out a soft sigh against his lips as your fingers slide up to tangle themselves into his hair, gripping it to bring him impossibly closer. You lose yourself completely in it, every inch of your body humming to life as desire courses through your veins.

You can't help but release a gasp against his lips, which he swallows and echoes with a soft groan that reverberates through your chest. Your hands find their way down to his strong arms, fingertips pressing into the taut muscles there before coming to rest at his shoulders.

You shift against him as the kiss intensifies; legs tangling together beneath the cool cotton sheets. The air around you fills with soft moans and exhalations.

Between lingering and hardening pecks on your swollen lips, you feel him whisper against your skin—"My everything...", "...Wanted to do this for so long..."—and each phrase causes an answering shudder to course through every fiber of your being.

The faint traces of stubble on his jaw graze against your face in a way that feels rough yet exciting – a sensation you hadn't experienced before. By now, it seems as if every nerve in your body is on high alert, attuned to every caress and tender touch that passes between you.

His touch remains gentle as his hands slide beneath your his soft cotton shirt, tracing patterns along the small of your back.

Your torso is now pressed up against his so tightly that it would be nearly impossible for a piece of paper to fit between you two. He responds with a low hum of appreciation and he reluctantly ends the kiss but doesn't break away entirely; his forehead rests against yours as both of you try to catch your breaths.

It doesn't take long for your lips to start exploring new territories; they traverse each other's jaws, press tender kisses along each other’s necks, and gently nibble on earlobes – all provoking delightful sighs and moans that fill the room.

Namjoon then gently rolls you flat onto your back, never breaking contact as he hovers above you.

A warmth radiates through the air as he pulls back just enough for his breath to softly brush your lips. "I love you too," he confesses, his eyes searching yours for any trace of doubt.

The whispered words could have been drowned out by the sound of your pounding heart, but they cut through the air like a dagger.

"And I always will."

#bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts imagine #kim namjoon #namjoon x reader #bts #knj #namjoon imagine #kpop imagines #kim namjoon imagine

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katealpha · 2 months

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Art Comm by Zenny’s Club

Over an hour after Catwoman rescued Batman from the Steel Mill…

With Protocol 10 having been shut down, Selina knew it was safe to come out of hiding. After saving Batman from the rubble he was trapped under, she’d managed to get underground and wait for the sound of middle strikes and helicopters to cease. All the while whatever Ivy put inside of her belly was restless. Writhing and shaking. However when things got more quiet, the thing calmed down enough for Selina to take her hands off her stomach and get a move on.

Selina found it not too difficult to traverse the rooftops in her current condition. Despite having gained at least ten extra pounds, she felt as light as she could be, and jumping and swinging over gaps was little trouble. As she made her way through the Bowery and passed by the Ace Chemicals building, she spotted the bombed out Courthouse. Two-Face’s goons were still congregating out on the front patio despite all the present rubble. It brought to mind the money that she’d come for.

Despite Batman telling her to get to a hospital the second things died down, she found herself feeling stubborn. Despite feeling fat and bloated unlike anything she’d ever felt, it wasn’t so bad. Maybe it was Ivy’s pheromones clouding her, maybe being pregnant wasn’t as daunting as she previously thought it would be. It gave her something to ponder until she heard the sound of a crowd nearby.

Catwoman landed gently on a rooftop and with a slow stride, she made her way to the edge of the building, rubbing one of her claws hands behind her hip. Her back ached somewhat since this transformation of her body. Looking down past the curve of her bloated belly, she spied down upon the famous Monarch Theater. Outside were well over a dozen good. All of whom worked for the Joker. Standing among them was Harley Quinn, who was blubbering and shaking like a leaf. She was the kind of woman Selina found utterly pathetic, and she felt little pity for her loss. All that mattered to her was that Bruce was okay, and that Joker seemed to be gone for good. One less powerful psycho to worry about in Gotham.

As she was thinking about what a future without Joker would hold, a nearer future made itself known as a deep, ominous gurgle shook through her bloated belly. Her emerald gaze went down to her midriff, which visibly shifted with whatever it Ivy had pumped down her throat. An exasperated sigh left her lips as she let one hand rub across the leathery, now stretched surface of her suit. Selina felt like she should be more worried than she was. For all she knew, the thing inside could rip and tear its way out any any moment. It had grown fast enough, and certainly didn’t feel like a normal baby should. Not that Selina had much knowledge on pregnancy. Instinct told her to get it out of her as soon as possible. But said instinct was clouded by a combination of pheromones and Selina’s own desire to get her things from her apartment first.

With a shrug, Catwoman sighed and gave her bloated belly a gentle pat. “Okay, one last detour and then I’m getting us to Gotham General. I’ll need a change of clothes after all. Can’t show up all dressed up in leather.” She purred to her unborn offspring before turning and shuffling across the roof, set on heading back towards her apartment…

To be continued…

#pregnant #pregnancy #pregnant kink #catwoman #selina kyle #batman #dc universe #arkhamverse #arkham city #rapid pregnancy

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helpimstuckposting · 2 months

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The Category System in TMA

I want to preface by saying this isn’t my theory but I cannot for the life of me find the original post, if anyone knows what post I’m talking about please PLEASE tell me, it’s driving me insane

The theory I saw (a while ago, maybe around episode 10?) proposed that categories 1, 2, and 3 all represent nouns. Person (1), Place (2), and Thing (3)

I’m genuinely shocked this hasn’t gained more traction because I’ve yet to disprove this and every single episode just keeps working with this theory, so I wanted to list out every episode as further proof

Episode 1

CAT1RBC5257-12052022-09012024 Reanimation (Partial) -/- Regret [Email]

CAT23RAB2155-10042022-09012024 Transformation (eyes) -/- Trespass [chat log]

Cat1 (person) - reanimated corpse, though I think the focus is more about the person they paid to bring their husband back, which implies there some mystery guy out there with this ability

Cat23 (place, thing) - the magnus institute, and the box with runes that red canary stole

Episode 2

CAT3RBC1567-23092022-18012024 Transformation (full) -/- dysmorphic [video call]

Cat3 (thing) - the tattoo from ink5oul is the main focus, though other ink5oul episodes are focused on them and use cat1 (which has confused people, but this theory explains that imo)

Episode 3

CAT2C8175-03042009-22012024 Infection (full body) -/- arboreal [journal entry]

Cat2 (place) - the garden is what started changing the man making the statement (also seemed to exist as its own entity outside the regular flow of time)

Episode 4

CAT3C7494-19111831-29012024 Collection (blood) -/- musical [letter]

Cat3 (thing) - the violin (the power of the violin still remains even if the object itself changes hands, which means the power lies with the violin and not the people controlling it)

Episode 5

CAT2RB2377-10012023-05022024 Disappearance (undetermined) -/- Invitation [internet blog]

Cat2 (place) - the movie theater (or wherever the movie itself is being played, I assume the statement giver did not make it out of that location)

Episode 6

CAT1RB4824-09022024-12022024 Injury (needles) -/- intimidation [999 call]

Cat1 (person) - Needles

Episode 7

CAT2RC3338-03022016-12022024 Agglomeration (miscellany) -/- congregation [email]

Cat2 (place) - Hilltop Center, Oxford (By episode 20, Oxford has been mentioned multiple times, which is why I think the location is significant here)

Episode 8

CAT2RBC3366-12072023-28022024 Architecture (liminal) -/- hunger [coursework]

Cat2 (place) - the liminal space of Forton Service Station

Episode 9

CAT3RB3354-14101998-08032024 Dice (bone) --/-- fate [Magnus Statement]

Cat3 (thing) - the dice (again, the power of the dice remains the same, even when the dice themselves change hands)

Episode 10

CAT1RB2275-06082021-09032024 Mascot (kids) -/- murder [TV interview]

Cat1 (person) - Mr Bonzo, Nigel Dickerson

Episode 11

CAT23RC5246-06012020-11032024 Tattoo (corpse) -/- compulsion [email exchange]

Cat23 (place, thing) - Padstow civil cemetery, tattoo (the reason I believe this isn't a Cat1 despite it being ink5oul is because we know from episode 20 that the tattoos themselves had special powers, regardless of ink5oul and that ink5oul only started getting their powers after they continuously used the pre-existing designs - this is new information that imo further confirms this theory rather than debunking it)

Episode 12

CAT1RB4728-09032024-13032024 Mascot (kids) -/- frenzy [insurance claim]

Cat1 (person) - Mr Bonzo

Episode 13

CAT3RB4622-17092023-14032024 Gambling (application) -/- self-destruction [voicemail]

Cat3 (thing) - the Zorrotrade investment app

Episode 14

CAT1RB4426-01081995-15032024 Transformation (snake) -/- horde

Cat1 (person) - shop keeper that burst into snakes (the investigator describes no other infestation, and only mentions one hole and one possible squirrel, while the shopkeeper causes all other chaos. We also know that the shopkeeper was being considered by the Magnus Institute before being rejected, like Sam, making this shopkeeper a relatively important person)

Episode 15

CAT1RB6451-22062023-22032024 Hunt (aristocratic) -/- compulsion

Cat1 (person) - Lady Mowbray

Episode 16

CAT1RB1565-30102023-25032024 Tattoo (influencer) -/- cardiac

Cat1 (person) - ink5oul (this one was specifically about ink5oul, rather than the main focus being the tattoo itself)

Episode 17

CAT2RC1147-30111997-04042024 Doppelganger (interdimensional) -/- murder

Cat2 (place) - this one people keep focusing on categorizing the doppelganger, but I think the key focus of the episode is actually the Magnus Institute – Oxford Outreach Centre (another instance of Oxford, another connection to Ep7)

Episode 18

CAT1RC2374-20032024-10042024 Memory (derelict) -/- compulsion

Cat1 (person) - Violet Parker, talking corpse; [ERROR]

Episode 19

CAT13RBC1137-21031684-11042024 Transformation (canine) -/- growth (Crystalline)

Cat13 (person, thing) - Isaac Newton, Diana’s Tree

Episode 20

CAT1RAB2534-12042024-12042024 Transformation (tattoo) -/- Social Media (influencer)

Cat1 (person) - ink5oul (very clearly, this episode is about ink5oul and not about any of their tattoos, though they were in the middle of tattooing a corpse. I think the tattoo is irrelevant to this incident, which is why it's only a 1 and not a 13)

Episode 21

CAT2RBC4254-04011998-12042024 Architecture (landmark) -/- corruption (entropy)

Cat2 (place) - Millennium Dome (also happens to be The Magnus Institute, but I think the main focus is obviously the dome)

I think the *only* one that could be argued as not really fitting is MAGP5 - since you could argue the movie is a thing, and it’s not really the theater as the place, but compared to the odds of other theories that have way more holes this one is so spot on imo

This is the theory I’ve been comparing the categories to every single episode and I haven’t found anything to significantly disprove it, so I just wanted to highlight it one more time in case others haven’t seen it!

#tmagp #the magnus protocol #tmagp spoilers #tmagp theory #tmagp speculation

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corruptedcaps · 4 months

Text

Queen of Shadows

This story for was written based on pictures and a story from @lsat (discord: thedivergence, Twitter: LSAT1886). Enjoy!

----

In the heart of the quiet seaside village stood an ancient church, its walls cloaked in darkness and secrets. By day, it was a sanctuary of hope, but as dusk fell, its true nature emerged. The high priestess, revered and adored, was none other than a wicked witch. Her name was Morwenna, a woman of striking beauty with long, brown hair that flowed like the trunk of a tree. She considered herself the goddess of Satan, a corruptress who thrived on bending the will of the innocent.

Morwenna’s church was a lair, a den of deception where she conjured a corruption gas that permeated the air. Unseen, it coiled around those who entered, transforming them into her obedient servants, their free will eroded away like sand against the tide.

One stormy night, as Morwenna was closing up the church after another successful day of corrupting her flock, a sailor named Elara arrived at her door, seeking refuge from the tempest.

“Please Priestess, I have no where else to go and this storm is wicked.” Elara said pleading with the priestess. Morwenna eyed the woman, her striking pink hair was unlike anything she had seen. She would make an excellent to addition to her congregation. Morwenna simply smiled and stepped aside allowing Elara to enter which she promptly did.

“Oh there are many a wicked thing to be found near here.” Morwenna said smiling to herself as she shut the big oak doors, her eyes glowing yellow for the briefest of moments.

“Please child take a seat, I will fetch you some dry clothes and some food.” Moreenna said to Elara and disappeared into the back. Spying from nearby Morwenna turned the knobs on her corruption gas, her invisible evil crept towards Elara and Morwenna watched with bated breath. This was always the moment she loved the most, where her victims would go dead eyed and docile.

However as the seconds ticked by Elara remained unchanged, her demeanour still that of a hungry and cold sailor. Although if anything Morwenna could sense suspicion arising in the girl. She quickly conjured up some food and clothing and reentered.

Morwenna handed Elara the food and the clothes. The priestess turned to allow Elara to change while contemplating her next move, although step one of her new plan was already in motion. Now clad in the baggy garments given to her Elara hungrily devoured the food as Morwenna turned back around.

“Strange,” Morwenna murmured, more to herself than to Elara. “You seem… different.”

Elara looked up finishing her last bite, her eyes narrowing. “Different? How so?”

Morwenna’s smile widened. “Most who come here find themselves overwhelmed with a sense of peace, almost as if they’re being embraced by the divine.”

“Peace?” Elara echoed, suspicion growing in her voice. “I don’t feel that. Just a bit of unease, perhaps.”

“Interesting,” Morwenna said, her tone turning cold. She leaned in closer, her eyes boring into Elara’s. “You are immune to my gas, unlike my pathetic parishioners. That makes you special.”

Elara stood abruptly, her hand instinctively moving to the dagger at her belt. “What are you talking about?”

Morwenna laughed softly, the sound chilling. With a snap of her wrists her form changed, her outfit changed. Her white robes became tight, black and slick. Purple pierced her hair and clothing giving her a distinct look that was frightening as it was captivating. A pointed black witch's hat finished her look.

“You should be honoured my dear, you get to elevate above the minions in my flock. You will become their Queen, and a wicked one at that." Morwenna said with a step towards Elara.

“I’ll never join you,” Elara spat, drawing her dagger.

“Oh my dear you've already taken the first step, you just didn't know.” Marwenna said with a laugh as Elara looked at the crumbs left on her plate.

“What did you do?” Elara said panicky.

“Just gave you a little taste. Have fun.” Marwenna said with a blood curdling cackle as she disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

All Elara knew was she had to get out of there fast. The room seemed to close in on her as she bolted for the door, her mind racing. She could feel something strange beginning to stir within her, a dark energy that threatened to consume her. Desperation fueled her steps as she fled the cursed church, determined to find a way to reverse whatever vile magic Morwenna had inflicted upon her.

Elara ran through the darkened streets, the village's eerie silence broken only by the pounding of her own footsteps. She could feel the sinister energy coursing through her veins, intensifying with each step she took. The lights of a nearby town flickered in the distance, offering a glimmer of hope.

She burst into a local bar, breathless and frantic. The patrons looked up, startled by her sudden entrance. Elara ignored their curious stares and approached the bartender, her voice urgent. "Please, I need help. Is there a doctor or anyone who can—"

Before she could finish, a sharp pain stabbed through her stomach. She doubled over, clutching her stomach. "Bathroom," she gasped, and a kind-faced woman pointed her towards the back.

Stumbling through the hallway, Elara barely made it to the bathroom before another wave of pain hit her. She gripped the sink, her reflection in the mirror showing eyes wide with terror. Then, she felt it.

Her chest heaved out, expanding unnaturally, filling her modest shirt. Her eyes began to glow a bright shade than they she was used to. "No, no, no," she whispered, her voice trembling.

The door to the bathroom creaked open, and the kind-faced woman from the bar stepped inside, her expression filled with concern. "Are you alright, dear? Do you need any help?"

Elara tried to speak, but another wave of pain wracked her body. "Please, you have to—" she started, but the woman interrupted.

"You don't look well at all. Maybe you should lie down. I can call for a doctor?" The woman said.

"This is something worse, I need—" Elara tried to say, but the woman interrupted her again.

"I'm sure the doctor can help, he is a miracle—" the woman began before Elara stopped her.

"Oh will you shut the hell up you old crone!" Elara snapped, her voice echoing with a strange, commanding power. The woman immediately fell silent, her eyes widening in shock, her pupils dilating to pure black.

"Yes my queen, I live to serve you." The woman replied in a trance.

A strange satisfaction washed over Elara as she saw the woman obey her without question. It was as if the outburst had unlocked something within her, a dark power that thrived on control and domination. It caused her body to change further as she felt the corruption spreading.

Her clothes shrank and became tighter to accommodate her growing breasts. Her hair became lighter, losing some of her trademark pink. her eyes turned an icy blue that matched the pleasurable shiver that accompanied her change.

The woman stood there, silent and submissive, waiting for Elara's next command. Elara could feel the power coursing through her veins, compelling her to exert her will but she knew it was wrong, she had to fight it. "Stay right there," she ordered, her voice steady and confident. The woman stood, unmoving.

Elara stumbled out of the bathroom, her mind set on confronting Morwenna and forcing the witch to undo whatever dark magic she had cast. Each step was a struggle, her body wracked with pain, but her determination kept her moving forward. She barely made it a few steps into the bar when a sharp, searing pain doubled her over again.

"Are you alright?" a man asked, rushing to her side. Others quickly followed, surrounding her with concerned faces and offers of help.

"Someone call a doctor!" another voice shouted.

Elara tried to respond, but a sinister voice echoed in her mind, whispering insidiously. These people are pathetic, so weak and subservient. They should be bowing before you, serving your every whim.

"No," Elara whispered, shaking her head. "I need to—"

The voices of the townspeople filled her ears, their concern overwhelming her senses. The dark energy within her surged, and the voice in her head grew louder, drowning out her thoughts. Her resolve wavered as the power threatened to consume her entirely.

"Silence!" she suddenly yelled, her voice filled with an unnatural authority. Instantly, the bar fell silent. The patrons froze, their eyes dilating and turning fully black.

In unison, they spoke, "Yes, my queen."

Elara gasped, the weight of her words and the power she wielded hitting her like a tidal wave. The townspeople stood before her, utterly entranced, waiting for her command. She felt a twisted satisfaction, a dark pleasure in their subservience. As this dark satisfaction filled her, the pain in her body began to vanish, ebbing away like a receding tide.

A revelation struck her: the pain had been a result of her resistance. Only by embracing the darkness, by accepting the transformation, did the agony subside. With this realization came a final, irrevocable change. Her hair, once a striking pink, shimmered and shifted, turning into a bright, lustrous blonde. Her mind cleared, no longer muddled with fear and doubt, but sharp and focused.

Elara straightened, feeling a newfound strength coursing through her veins. The people in the bar remained silent, their dark, dilated eyes awaiting her next command. She took a deep breath, her voice steady and commanding.

"Kneel. Kneel before your queen," she commanded, her tone brooking no opposition.

As one, the patrons of the bar dropped to their knees, their heads bowed in reverence. The sight filled Elara with a sense of power and purpose she had never known. This was her destiny now, a path of darkness and dominion.

A cruel smile crossed her lips as she looked at each patron as if they were a plaything for her to enjoy. The power she felt now was not soley contained to control over them either, her mind was awash with dark incantations and spells. Twirling her fingers in the air she produced a leather whip that was long and thin.

"Now losers, which one of you will get the honour of becoming my first pet." She grinned to herself.

A few hours passed in a haze of dark delight. Elara revelled in her newfound power, toying with the bar patrons, testing the limits of her control. Their subservience was intoxicating, their minds pliable under her influence. She indulged in their obedience, orchestrating their actions with a sinister glee that fuelled her transformation further.

As dawn began to break, Elara stepped out of the bar, leaving the now-desolate patrons behind. The first light of morning painted the sky in hues of pink and gold, a stark contrast to the darkness within her. She strode confidently back to the church, the place where her metamorphosis had begun.

Morwenna stood at the entrance, her eyes gleaming with pride and satisfaction. "Aren't you a sight to behold," she said, her voice rich with approval.

Elara approached her, a smirk curling her lips. "Thank you, Goddess, for turning me into this, for making me see the light—or the darkness, as it were."

Morwenna chuckled, her eyes glinting with malevolent delight. "Are you ready to become the queen I need you to be?"

Elara nodded, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "I am. But I have two sisters who were with me on the ship. They should be somewhere on the island. I think they could make excellent evil princesses."

Morwenna's eyes sparkled with intrigue. "Oh, how delightful. The three of you will reign supreme, a trio of darkness. Let's find your sisters and bring them into the fold."

Elara felt a thrill of anticipation. The transformation was complete, but her journey had just begun. With Morwenna by her side and her sisters soon to join, she would carve out a legacy of fear and power that would echo through the ages.

#f2f #corruption #magic #evil bitch #cc2024

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lulublack90 · 6 months

Text

Prompt 31 - Body Hair

@jegulus-microfic March 31 Word count 1435

Here we go guys. I hope it doesn't disappoint.💜💜

Previous part First part

Something was wrong. Regulus, Barty and Evan had all been summoned, but not to Malfoy Manor. They’d been summoned to a field in Devon.

They’d only just all returned to Rosier House to start planning the best way to defeat Voldemort.

“We’re coming with you,” James told him. “The rest of us will hide. But at least we’ll be there if anything goes wrong.” Regulus argued, but Sirius moved to James’s side and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him.

“We’re coming, Reggie.” He said firmly. Regulus stopped trying to change their minds.

They apparated together a safe distance from the field into a small wooded area. Regulus’s dark mark was searing with pain as Voldemort summoned him over and over again.

“I love you,” He said, grasping James’s robes and dragging him down for a final kiss. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the others doing much the same.

He let go of James and took Remus’s arm as Voldemort summoned him again. They spun and landed beside Barty and Evan in the centre of a field of long grass.

“My Lord,” They spoke together, bowing low as one.

“What took you?” Voldemort hissed, his anger not hidden at all.

He stood before his entire congregation of Death Eaters. Regulus was pleased to see the werewolves hadn’t been summoned as well. He must think they aren’t that much of a threat. Perhaps he was right.

“We were hunting down my brother as you demanded, my Lord. We were hot on his trail and had hoped to capture him before we answered your call.” Regulus said using his best penitent Lord voice.

“Liar!” Voldemort hissed at them so fiercely that they half expected him to transform into a snake.

With a crack, Bellatrix and three masked Death Eaters appeared beside Voldemort. James, Sirius, Lily and Pandora with them, bound tightly. They shoved their captives forward towards Regulus.

“Pan-Pandora, what are you doing here?” One of the masked Death Eaters spluttered, breaking rank. Lord Rosier was quickly forced back into line by Voldemort’s deadly stare.

“Mr Potter and Mr Black were caught leaving Rosier House last night with our spy in chains. We have put two and two together and assume you are all working together. You have all turned spy for Albus Dumbledore.” Voldemort spat the name as he revealed why they’d been summoned. “Did it start when you were captured?” He asked Regulus.

Regulus set his jaw and nodded stiffly. Voldemort narrowed his eyes. “You have betrayed Lord Voldemort. What an incredibly foolish thing to do.” While Voldemort had been distracted, Barty and Evan had removed the ropes from their friends. The Thestrals raised their wands in unison.

In her haste, Bellatrix had bound her captives but not unarmed them. She realised her mistake and looked in horror at her master. Luckily for her, his attention lay elsewhere.

“Now, now, children. Lord Voldemort is merciful.” Voldemort raised his hands as though to calm them. “Lord Voldemort will forgive your deceitful ways.” He turned to James, Sirius and Pandora, pointedly leaving Lily out of his offer. “Join me, and all will be forgiven. You shall all have a place at my side as we rule wizarding society as it was meant to be.” Voldemort’s attempted benevolence fell short. Their silence gave him their answer.

The line of Death Eaters moved forward, closing the gap between themselves and their master, standing just behind him, all but one. Orion Black reached up and removed his hood and mask. Unseen by everyone but the Thestrals. He raised his wand and, in one graceful swoop, stunned every Death Eater in the back, taking them all out.

Orion managed to bind and gag the Death Eaters before he was hit by Voldemort’s curse. He fell to the ground screaming and then lay still.

“PAPA!!!” Regulus and Sirius screamed together. Regulus saw the murderous rage in his brother’s eyes and knew his own reflected the same. As one, they turned and pointed their wands directly at Voldemort.

They started blasting off spells one after the other. Voldemort may be mortal now, but he was still more than a formidable foe. They dodged and parried and stuck up shields, sending as many spells as possible at Voldemort, hoping to catch him just once so they could get the upper hand.

Evan caught a spell on the left side of his body. Evan’s face contorted in pain as Regulus watched his friend fall to the ground in slow motion. Barty rushed forward and was struck as he tried in vain to get to Evan.

They were dropping like flies. Voldemort was so powerful. Regulus began to panic that none of them would make it out alive.

Pandora and Lily collapsed simultaneously into the sopping grass next after they successfully cast a slicing charm together, leaving deep slashes across Voldemort’s torso. Voldemort fired off curses in quick succession at them.

Sirius dove in front of Remus as another spell went sailing across them. It clipped Sirius and struck Remus.

“REMUS!!!” He screamed, forgetting about the battle and leaving himself open for Voldemort to take out. He landed on Remus’s chest, both of them deathly still. Regulus pushed the tears away as he forced himself to concentrate on the battle.

His magic had begun to crackle beneath his skin with the anger he felt. He tried to ignore it.

Regulus and James were the only ones left. They defended themselves well, but Voldemort was so powerful.

Regulus heard the guff of air leave James's lungs. He turned just in time to see him crumple to the ground, unmoving.

Regulus’s world stopped. A screeching noise blasted his ears. It took him a while to realise it was his own voice screaming in grief. He turned his attention back to the cackling form before him.

“Just us now, little Lord Black. Are you prepared for the afterlife, I wonder?”

“Are you?!” Regulus felt his magic scorching his body as it fought to get out to avenge the ones he loved. Voldemort threw his head back, cackling louder than ever, still believing himself to be immortal.

The magic swirled around Regulus like the ancient magic of the forest had, ruffling his hair and casting a gloom around him that made him look deadly. Voldemort took an uncertain step backwards as Regulus raged towards him, all semblance of fear gone.

There wasn’t much left of Tom Riddle once Regulus was done with him. He fell to his knees, feeling drained. He’d used more of his magic than he’d ever used before. It left him weak.

He snorted with derision as he looked down at the pieces of wizard in the grass and realised the man had absolutely no body hair. It was an odd thing to realise about the person you’d just murdered, but his brain wasn’t exactly working at full capacity. It probably had to do with not wanting anyone to use Polyjuice Potion in his image. He reasoned as things slowly clicked together.

He turned his head, tears beginning to cascade down his face as he remembered his friends and brother lying around him on the ground. And James. Oh, James. He crawled over to him and dropped his head onto his chest as he fell apart, sobbing into his robes.

A hand came up and rested on the back of his neck.

“Hey, love, don’t cry. It’s alright.” James croaked at him. Regulus snapped his head up and watched as James slowly blinked his eyes open.

His mouth found James’s, and the relief at seeing him, feeling him alive, made his jaw quiver with unshed emotion. He could not have survived without James Potter in this world.

Movement in the corner of his eye made him pull away from James, but he still held on for dear life. The others were all groaning in the grass, but they were all moving. They were all alive!

“Fuck you, Mouldy Voldy.” Barty spat into the grass as Evan hauled him shakily to his feet.

Sirius was clinging to Remus much like Regulus was to James. Somehow, Remus managed to pull him over to where they were standing. James wrapped them in a hug. They were all shaking as the effects of the adrenaline wore off. Lily and Pandora came over next, adding themselves to the group hug, and then Evan and Barty joined in, not wanting to be left out.

They just stood there holding each other. Relief and disbelief flooded through each of them.

“We won,” Regulus whispered as he watched his father get up. “We won.”

Thank you all so much for reading I really hope you enjoyed it.

Lulu xxx

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thecorruption-thespiralsversion · 5 months

Text

!!! Mild TMP Spoiler !!!

CAT scoring we've seen so far. No plot or real story Spoiler I don't think. Reminder I'm ignoring CAT and the DPHW for now.

1RBC-Reanimation (Partial), Regret

2RBC- Architecture (Liminal), Hunger

3RBC- Transformation (Full), Dysmorphic

1C- ???

2C- Infection (Full), Arboreal

3C- Collection (Blood), Musical

1RB- Injury (Neddles), intimidation / Mascot (kid), Frenzy, Murder / Transformation (Snake), Horde / Hunt (Aristocratic), Compel

2RB- Disappearance (Undetermined), Invitation

3RB- Dice (Bone), Fate / Gambiling (Application), Self-Destruction

1RC- ???

2RC- Dolls, Watching/ Agglomeration (Miscellaneous), congregation

3RC- ???

23RAB - Transformation (Eyes), Trespass

(If the pattern follows, we should be seeing 13RAB and 33RAB, or would it be 21RAB and 22RAB, maybe 12 and 31? I'll have to wait and see)

23RC- Tattoo (Corspe), Compulsion

(Would the same trend follow?)

Base on Alice's explanation, The "R" is just a Dash. Is that important?

#the magnus archives #tma podcast #the magnus protocol #tmagp #tmagp spoilers #tmp #tmp spoilers #CAT = Category maybe #The last 4 numbers of the first set of digits is the DPHW #bonso #needles #ink5oul #Reanimation(partial)

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talesofadragon · 3 months

Text

𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬

Synopsis: Centuries spent at the House of Odin have transformed the eclectic balls into familial gatherings and council meetings into morning tea rituals. The gilded walls of the castle have become home, and its royals, family. Yet, when your wisdom crosses paths with folly, affection is born unexpectedly, senselessly—a trait you’ve never been known to entertain, but one that Thor Odinson wears proudly.

Pairing: Thor Odinson x Asgardian!Reader

Warnings: Allusions to sex. Jealousy. Unrequited Love. Love Triangles. LOKI. (we love him, though.)

Genre: Hurt/Comfort | Fluff | Mild Angst

Word Count: 6K (I have no regrets)

Based on this Request from my writing celebration.

All Masterlists | Sab's Wring Fest

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍’𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐊 into the queen’s revered gardens, let alone assault her precious snowdrops. But rationale had long been buried deeper than Yggdrasil’s roots, allowing impulsivity to reign over you.

The white petals screeched from the force of your tug, a harsh touch you’d never known yourself capable of administering. But your assault proved relentless, flower after flower limply falling to your side. Ironically, their innocent petals congregated on the fabric of your dress, painting a tinge of beauty over your despondency.

Even in their misery, they refused to be anything but enduring. Pitiful.

“Oh, how delightfully entertaining will it be to gauge Mother’s love for you once she sees what calamity has befallen her garden by your hands.”

“Go away,” you commanded bitterly, back turned to the unwanted presence.

The god behind you neglected to comment on your tone. You heard him shuffle, his feet carefully avoiding stepping on another virtuous plant. He plopped down next to you, elegantly brushing his hands atop the neglected flower stems by your side, reviving them.

“It would be a shame to forgo free entertainment,” Loki smirked, twirling the rejuvenated snowdrop in his fingers.

You craned your head to the right, eyes burning with fire even his Jotun genes couldn’t withstand. “Pity, so many courtesans have slipped from your fingers you now have to settle for my misery for pleasure.”

Loki laughed, his shoulders shaking. His gaze retained his familiar mirth as he answered, “Would your misery be associated with a certain courtesan and an Asgardian prince... fonduing, perhaps?”

“Fonduing?” Your face twisted in disgust. “What in the Nine does that word mean?”

“I heard the spangled American Captain utter it once," Loki recalled. "It’s a euphemism for two people partaking in the biological act of reproduction.”

“What?” you scoffed in disbelief. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Loki’s wry smirk reappeared. “Mortals rarely do,” he confessed.

Your face fell at the reminder of the race you were persistently attempting to forget. Focused on your previous discourse, you had ignored the snowdrops delicately sitting in the palm of your hands. Without a second thought, you resumed your previous ministrations, gracelessly tearing apart petals from the stem.

“You do not happen, by any chance, to be superseding this flower for Thor’s meek mortal friend. Do you?” Loki asked.

“No,” you were quick to reply. “She may be as delicate as a flower, but she’s as beautiful as a Ratatoskr. What do brown eyes remind one of besides tree trunks and repugnant mud?”

“The warmth of an autumn day as the sun embraces the woodlands and shelters its inhabitants from the seasonal tumult to come,” Loki poetically recited, hands drawing figures in the air and a gleam of mischief glowing in his irises.

“Sounds tedious,” you lamented.

It earned you a scoff from Loki, though not for a lack of frivolity. “Midgardians possess this abhorrent concoction called coffee,” he informed, gaining your attention. “It’s a muddy brew that staggeringly increases one’s anxiety threshold.”

“Why would someone create such a senseless horror?”

“Perhaps to use it as a metaphor for a mortal’s brown eyes.”

You scrunched up your nose at the image of the mortal in question. “Fitting. She has such a petite stature. As feeble and brittle as her thirty-year lifespan.”

“I regret to inform you that mortals can live up to a century.”

“Irrelevant. That is still a trifle of our lifespan. And do not get me started on her vexatious disposition. Has this mortal woman been raised in a cave of trolls?”

“Well, this would certainly explain her infatuation with Thor.”

“You are not helping!”

You gathered what remained of the flowers, pelting Loki with the stem and petals. He didn’t deflect your assault, accepting your sour behavior. What you hadn’t accounted for was his retaliation. He pushed your shoulder, slightly rougher than usual, forcing you to land on a bed of flowers.

You groaned, feeling the flora entangling in your hair and their pollen dusting your dress. Loki’s dulcet amusement echoed above your head. A sharp gasp escaped him when you tugged at his emerald green robes and shoved him down. Hard.

“I did not inflict a grain of harm on you,” Loki groaned, swatting the fallen petals, which landed in his hair. “This hurts, Y/N.”

“Your pride or your head? The latter could benefit from some sense knocking into it,” you rebuked.

Loki gazed at you unimpressed. “Now is not an agreeable time to spread your wisdom, Little Goddess. You’ve clearly demonstrated your dwindling abilities when you groaned and moaned about the earthling.”

“I did no such thing! I, astutely might I add, pointed out her subpar qualities that do not mirror what Asgard is looking for in a queen—”

“Thor clearly disagrees.”

“Do not interrupt me, you venomous snake! Thor has always been a dunderhead, overthinking with his brawn and underthinking with his brains.”

“And yet, you were stupid enough to fall in love with him, Goddess of Wisdom.”

“Watch your mouth!” you spat, eyes roving the expanse of the garden to ensure no meddling ears were meandering around. “I care for your brother. But do not confuse care with admiration.”

“Devotion, Y/N. Has the human’s visit caused even your accrued lexicon to recede,” Loki taunted. Had it not been for your skirts in the way and your position on the ground, you would’ve kicked him so hard in certain nether regions that he would’ve sung to Valhalla.

“I stand by what I said.”

“Apologies, Little Goddess. Allow me, as the God of Lies, to refute your statement. Both metaphorically and in the literal sense.”

That filthy little python. You scoffed, perhaps a little more at yourself than him. He elicited the responses he desired, painting a mockery out of you and your feelings. You knew you couldn’t debate the matter with him more than you already had. As the God of Lies and your, unfortunately, best friend, he’d always have the upper hand in this matter.

So, you stood up and dusted your skirts. If you weren't winning, then participating in this debate was of no use.

“Where are you going?” Loki inquired, an underlying tone of merriment hiding beneath his words.

Your eyes squinted, regarding him with indignation. “You have effectively sullied my mood even further. Your mother’s beautiful flowers do not deserve more ill will at my hands. Therefore, I’m taking my leave.”

If Loki had said anything after your response, your mind had elected to ignore it. Huffing aloud, you marched toward the castle, uncaring for the traces of mud and the wealth of fallen petals that trailed behind. On a regular day, you would’ve been more mindful, casting a simple cleaning spell to polish your appearance and ensure the poor attendants of the Odin Household would not have to partake in more work than necessary. But your anger and heartbreak had been immeasurable enough to deny you any act besides sulking over the mortal woman Thor had ignorantly brought along to Asgard.

The Norns, much like Loki, must’ve been taking pleasure in your predicament. You had rounded the corner, one gilded hallway separating you from the castle’s entrance, when the silhouette of the Crown Prince appeared.

Unlike the ladies of the court, your admiration for Thor did not stem from his ethereal beauty. It bloomed like Freyja’s primroses, a sturdy seedling that, with time, opened its foliage to a world of wonder and ardor. He was a cosmic presence—a child of the sun, with light and fire dancing around his immaculate frame in wisps of enchantment, leaving every woman breathless. Including you.

“Lady Y/N!” Thor’s voice reverberated in the long hallway, laced with excitement. "I hadn't anticipated your presence today. No wonder the day exudes such radiance."

His comment made heat rise to your cheeks. It was almost as if he had shared his warmth with you, sending it trekking along his words to your heart. You smiled at him, demure and saccharine. But your lips downturned once another presence, one less noticeable or agreeable, appeared behind him.

You cleared your throat, attempting to restrain your unease as you greeted, “Thor, Mistress Foster.”

Norns burn you if you call her by the same title you bear. The earthling, as Loki so eloquently worded it, could not match you.

Without a greeting nor a poised lexicon, the Midgardian inquired, “Why are your clothes dirty?”

Her question intrigued Thor enough for his eyes to rove your body. The warmth that had settled in your veins morphed into the embers of Helheim. You felt small and brittle under the scrutiny of his penetrating gaze.

“I beg your pardon?” you fired back promptly, indignation concealing the shame you felt at your soiled image.

Your words caused the mortal to pale, head swiveling to Thor’s side in anxiousness and trepidation. “I apologize, my lady,” she rectified her earlier statement. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

Well, you certainly were, you internally chastised.

Thor took another look at your attire, meticulously examining the fabric. You endeavored to compose yourself, resisting the urge to shift your weight from one foot to another. His hand reached for your arm, his thumb sweeping across your elbow. “Are you well, Lady Y/N? You look… disheveled.”

You immediately retracted your arm, fearing his senses might pick up on your galloping heart. “I am quite alright. I was with Loki in the gardens,” you supplied.

“Loki?” The mortal regarded you with an air of cynicism. Your blood boiled at her brashness. “What were you and Loki doing in the gardens?”

“Have you no tact, you imprudent minger? Although your kind lacks sensibility and decorum, you ought to address those of elevated stature with respect while in their dominion! Neither Prince Loki nor I are your comrades to tolerate such crass mannerisms.”

“I’m… my sincerest apologies, I didn’t think—”

“Thinking is not as sparse on Asgard as it is on Earth. If you find yourself incapable of harnessing a modicum of wisdom when addressing me, then you are in the presence of the wrong Goddess.”

"Y/N," Thor interjected, his omission of your title not slipping past your notice. Nor did you miss the hand that reached out for the mortal girl.

His actions only served to fan the flames of your jealousy and hurt. Almost a millennium of knowing that male, and he had chosen a measly mortal's side over yours.

“Do not patronize me!” you ordered, jamming a finger in his broad, muscular chest. “I am not the right audience for your feigned, princely performance.”

Thor squeezed the mortal’s hand in reassurance, tugging her further to his side—as if to shield her from you. He craned his face lower to meet your gaze. Endearing as you'd always found it, it made you uneasy at this moment.

"You seem overly emotional today,” he inquired, voice low and delicate, juxtaposing his chosen words. “Has Loki said something to upset you?"

You cracked. How dare he?

“Loki may perhaps be the only male in all of Asgard who possesses an ounce of empathy and understanding when it comes to my feelings and disposition,” you snapped back, ignoring how your words seemed to slap Thor in the face. “He has been my best friend for close to a millennium and is one of the princes of this realm. So if I, as a lady of the court, find that your little mortal is besmirching his name, the least I could do is call her out on it!”

Your outburst held more weight than you had anticipated, managing to leave Thor speechless. He regarded you with an air of perplexion, his mouth open—seemingly unsure of what response was fair in this situation.

You didn’t want to waste any further time in his or the mortal’s company. You grunted, walking away. The sound of your footfall ringing louder than deemed honorable for a lady.

“Y/N, wait!” Thor called out after you, his hand shooting up to grab your arm. Though he was massively built, with the strength and mass of Asgard lying on his shoulders, his shy grasp fluttered against your skin. Featherlike, it tickled your nerves, sending a chorus of tenderness through your pulse.

You turned around, a mask of stoicism hiding your feelings. “Yes?”

“I appreciate your inclination to defend my brother, but, I, and Jane, were merely concerned over your well-being—”

“Accusing Loki of maltreatment!” you reminded Thor, swiftly retracting your arm from his grasp.

He sighed, placing both hands on his hips. You loathed how small he made you feel before the mortal. “You are exaggerating.”

“And you are heedless! Whatever Loki and I were doing in the gardens is none of your or the mortal’s concern! What’s it to you both? Maybe we decided to fondue. We do not get in your business, so do not meddle in ours!”

No sooner had the words left your mouth than your legs commanded you to retreat to another room. You didn’t understand why you had said that. Your wisdom melted into a puddle whenever Thor and his little pet were involved.

When had you become so insensitive?

Mistress Foster left. Her visit didn’t amass more than a fortnight's worth of frustrations before King Odin had deemed her visit long. If an immortal God such as Odin Allfather perceived these days as anything but transient, then Jane Foster was truly a nuisance in her own right.

The knowledge of her absence, particularly on this day, overjoyed you. The Vernal Equinox served as a portent of hope for Asgard—embracing prominent figures from neighboring realms in celebration of Asgard’s princes and in anticipation of the future.

In loose terms, it presented the Asgardian royalty with a wealth of eligible females to choose from as the next princess and queen of the realm. In broader terms, it was another opportunity to observe Loki and Thor merrily charm the ladies to appease Odin and Frigga—while satiating particular desires on the side.

You dismissed your ladies in waiting, taking a deep breath as you pulled open the door. Your feigned smile fell, and the familiar trepidation rose when you saw who stood by the door.

“Fondue?” Loki snickered, mischief practically waltzing in his bejeweled eyes. “Darling Y/N, had I known you were inclined to roll in my sheets, I would’ve bedded you centuries sooner.”

You grabbed him by the fabric of his tailored robes, pulling him harshly toward your rooms. “I panicked!” you grumbled. It was barely heard over the deafening sound of his amusement.

“Well, you certainly rectified your error by pulling me into your chambers.”

“Shut up!”

“Ah, my Little Goddess. How exquisitely appetizing do you look,” he joked, purposely raising his voice.

You jumped on him, a screech tearing through your vocal cords. Loki laughed louder, trying to grasp your hands as you assaulted him with your fists. You hadn’t expected him to bite your finger.

“You bastard!” you seethed, cradling your hand.

“What was that, Y/N? You want it faster?”

“Loki!!”

“Ah, tell me how good it feels,” he mused.

You were not impressed. “You are an idiot,” you retorted.

Your argument, if you could call it that, receded rather swiftly. You refused to look at Loki, rolling your eyes and settling them on your vanity. You weren’t frustrated, per se. Loki always had a knack for playing with your feelings like they were puppets on a string. Not in a malevolent way. The matter was, if your gaze caught him, you knew the little impish snake would expose the laughter he had succeeded in digging out of you.

Loki’s voice caught you before your thoughts meandered further. “You’re wearing the wrong colors.”

You looked down at yourself, your silver shoes peeking from the fabric of your long blue dress. It was light azure. Quaint and placid. An exterior representation of the feelings you were chasing. The fabric was tulle, whimsical and, airy like Spring’s birds merrily dancing across cloudless Asgardian sky. Its off-shoulder design, adorned with gleaming silver gems and bishop sleeves, accentuated your elegance and grace. A Goddess. A member of the House of Odin, even if you didn’t have a crown.

“If you’re insinuating I ought to have worn your brother’s colors, then I regret to inform you, that you were mistaken.”

Loki shook his head as a mischievous shadow passed over his face. “You’d appear desperate. And you, Y/N, are anything but.”

“Then what colors were you referencing?” you asked, brows creasing in thought. “Surely not your own.”

“Mine, no. But the witless oaf doesn’t have to know that.”

You didn’t comprehend whatever it was he was insinuating. Wordlessly, Loki twirled his fingers, a thread of emerald green seidr tantalizing your sight. He flicked his wrist. The magical trail shot from his fingertips to your dress, deftly pirouetting along the light azure tulle.

The colors changed from blue to green and silver to gold. The boldness of your outfit contrasted with the muted portrait you tried to paint earlier. You studied your dress, eyes roving the fabric before examining Loki’s attire. You almost scolded him for putting you in his colors when you did not intend for your farce to go further than it did. But then you noticed these colors, chosen by Loki, were darker than his.

It was a subtle contrast, discerned when in closer proximity to the God of Mischief. The royal family could immediately catch the difference. The ladies, though, wouldn’t be able to. Neither would Thor.

“Is this a wise choice?” you asked, playing with the sleeves of your dress.

Loki took your hand in his, kissing the back of it. “The answer lies with you, Little Goddess.”

Wise, maybe not. Fun? It certainly would be. You couldn’t remember the last time you went to these festivities without constantly having to clutch your heart at the thought of Thor.

“It’s a mutual agreement,” you answered diligently. “This keeps the ladies and Thor away.”

Loki tutted. “This keeps the witless oaf’s mind working. He has stashed his wits so far beneath the surface, the cobwebs have devoured them whole.”

“And you think this alliance between wisdom and mischief will decontaminate his head from thoughts of the impertinent mortal?”

“I believe my brother is a hopeless case. If it works, then by all means, enjoy the fruits of our labor. If it doesn’t, then enjoy the privilege of my company.”

“Your company?” you chortled, wrapping your arm around his elbow. “Lokes, I’ll be gracing you with mine.”

He mimicked your chortle, beginning to lead you out of the room. "I must admit, your presence has staggeringly illuminated my days in Asgard. Father is covertly hoping that I ask for your hand in marriage."

"And Frigga?" you asked, aware of Loki's deep affection for his mother and her opinion.

He covered your hand, which rested on his arm, with his free one, leaning closer to your ear. "She much prefers you with Thor." You blushed, a crimson hue spreading across your cheeks. Loki took delight in your sheepishness. "You could spare me the hassle of sifting through noble ladies by accepting a marriage proposal, Y/N. I immensely enjoy roleplay in the bedroom. And though I do not wish to lay eyes on certain biological regions of my brother, I can indulge you if that is what you fancy."

"I fancy your silence, you brute!" you chastised, stomping on his foot.

Loki barely flinched, but he placed some distance between you both. He opened the door, and before you could venture beyond your bedroom, he positioned himself in your line of sight. "You forgot something, darling." The nickname felt foreign, especially when unaccompanied by your first name. Before you could inquire about it, you felt a shimmer of magic raking through your hair.

"What did you do?"

Loki smiled fondly, passing his fingers through your loose hair. "Turned you from a goddess to a princess."

Your gaze locked with his as you lifted your fingers to your head. There was a weight there, not something unbearable but undeniably foreign. Your fingers traced the contours of what you assumed was a diadem.

"What was that for?"

Loki stepped closer to you, his taller frame engulfing yours, cocooning you with his body heat. His lips settled on your forehead, his fingers intertwining with yours. You blinked, mind racing to figure out the parameters of his new trick. “You’re precious, Y/N,” he confessed breathlessly, his voice almost vulnerable. “More valuable than the troves of Asgard and the magic of Yggdrasil. And by the Norns, whoever forsakes your treasured company deserves to be bereft of your radiance, ensnared by the unforgiving grasp of Helheim for their sacrilege, Little Queen.”

For the first time in your 800 years of life, you found yourself at a loss for words in response to Loki's. His words were carefully chosen, poignant, and endearing, befitting his poetic prowess. Yet, something about the declaration felt amiss; a subtle discordance that unsettled you. It was then, out of the corner of your eye, that you caught sight of Thor.

His cerulean eyes, usually bright with warmth, were now veiled in darkness, glinting with a silver sheen you had never seen before. Thor's demeanor betrayed a mix of emotions, his features clouded with anger and a hint of betrayal. Before you could utter a word, he turned and left, his bloody red ceremonial attire fading from view.

Loki's intentions became clearer then. He sought to deceive Thor. But why would such words incite his brother's ire? And why had Loki chosen to describe you as such?

This Vernal Equinox proved to be different. You couldn’t categorize it as either good or bad as you had yet to comprehend your perplexing emotions about the celebration. The familiar joviality and folly were missing given that Loki and Thor seemed to have reversed their roles.

Content with you on his arm, Loki’s charade persisted well into the late hours of the evening. He kept you to his side, not that you minded, twirling, discoursing, and occasionally, joking about the whole ordeal. The nobles, courtiers, and ladies had all presumed you debuting, your green dress a declaration of your choice in contenders. If not for that, then the golden diadem on your head

Frigga and Odin seemed to know better. The Allfather offered you and his youngest no more than a feeble smile, pleased to see you and Loki together, even though he knew this was all but a farce. The Allmother, while graceful as ever, did not attempt to mask her errant gaze, her bright eyes dimming as she looked at Thor.

The older son, heir to the throne of Asgard, had forgone merriment in favor of appeasing the ladies. Given that Loki had monopolized your time, all of the wayward bachelorettes traveled toward Thor. No lady was cast aside, each receiving a handful of minutes with the prince. And though that should’ve hurt you, the ache in your heart could only be attributed to the misery Thor wore.

You and Loki drifted toward Sif and the Warriors Three since Thor had abandoned his usual idle chatter and reckless drinking. Hours later, Fandral was on the verge of passing out, Hogun was inebriated yet still standing, while Volstagg recounted one of the ancient battles on Alfheim to Loki and Sif.

When it was an hour past midnight, you excused yourself from the festivities, claiming you were too tired to continue.

In truth, sleep evaded you. Your mind inundated with thoughts. But you didn’t allow yourself to entertain one more question or idea, letting your feet guide you wherever they preferred.

You reached one of the castle’s balconies, a small one on the right side of the ballroom. You could still hear the music from the festivities, although it was a gentle hum. Euphonious and dulcet, serving as the perfect ballad in the backdrop. The sky lit up, gleaming stars strewn across the darkness. You wondered if they were the Norns’ portents. If you could wish upon them and the world would hum in answer.

The sound of retreating footsteps pulled your attention away from the sky. You knew that silhouette anywhere.

“Thor?” the word tumbled from your lips before you could fully register what the night had brought.

Thor’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t respond, almost as if contemplating whether to provide you with an answer or ignore your presence. He sighed, broad shoulders deflating, before he turned around.

“I apologize, Lady Y/N. I was not aware the area was preoccupied.”

“You need not to apologize, Thor,” you stated, unsure where his usual boldness had gone. “The area is large enough to accommodate both of us.”

It almost looked as though Thor would decline your offer. His blue eyes wandered, from you to the horizon then back. He regarded you in an unfamiliar way, taking in your appearance. You didn’t want him to catch sight of your fluster, so you turned your back to him, getting lost in the sight of Asgard at night.

When you thought Thor would leave, you heard him make his way to your side.

“I wish to apologize to you, Y/N,” he whispered, uncertainly. Not because he did not mean it, no. You knew Thor well enough to tell when he was lying about something. Your friendship with Loki illuminating his brother’s traits further. Thor leaned on his side, the banister supporting his weight. His demeanor was brittle, a far cry from what you had known. Your breath was lost in your throat, unsure whether you should gasp or sob. A step forward and there would be no distance between the both of you. You never wanted to hug him more. “Had I known you and my brother were…” He paused, taking in a shaky breath. “...Courting. Had I known, neither I nor Jane would have adopted such an insensitive tone before.”

You shook your head, fingers tingling to reach out for him. “We’re…Loki and I we’re…” But you couldn’t complete your sentence. A part of you imploring to deny Thor’s claim. Another fearing Thor’s distance if you admitted the truth.

“An odd combination,” Thor smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Mischief and Counsel. Wisdom and Lies.”

“They’re opposite sides of the same coin. Perhaps, that’s why they work better than expected,” you defended, unsure why.

Thor nodded, the same meek smile unerased. He looked down at his feet, strands of his blond hair covering his face. It had grown taller from the last time he had cut it on Midgard. Now resting upon his shoulders. As if he needed more weight to bear.

“I must admit that he might be the luckiest one between us both. And he does not even know it?”

Your hand shot up involuntarily, clutching at the golden jewels across the bodice of your dress. “How so?” you asked, your thumb circling the fabric in a futile attempt at soothing your heartache at Thor’s tone.

One of Thor’s hands glided across the banister, landing where yours had laid. While his gaze held your face, your eyes couldn’t help but land on his larger hand. “Loki presumes I cannot tell his ire at the court ladies galivanting to my side. He has always been too forlorn to understand that numbers have mattered not to me.” His hand dared to reach for yours then, a featherlike caress that made your heart gallop faster than Sleipnir. “Those who choose me over Loki desire nothing more than the throne. I have nothing else to offer. No wit, no literary aptitude, or poetic charm. I am nothing but brutish and capricious. It takes a no great amount of ardor to love my brother. It takes a kingdom to love someone like me.”

You retracted your hand, the action so unexpected and harsh, Thor jumped back in surprise. He opened his mouth, perhaps to apologize, but he closed it when he saw the expression you wore. Silver misted your irises, decayed and morose, mirroring the disheartenment that haunted you.

“How can you say that?” you questioned—shrieked, even. Tears cascaded down your cheeks, your hands clawing at your dress because of the pain you felt. “Who…who made you feel as such?”

“Y/N—”

“No, Thor! You cannot utter such insidious words in my presence! You are kind, tender, and caring. A summer’s breath, warm and ecstatic. In your fierceness, you wield passion, and in your tempest resides the strength to protect. You are worthy of many things, Thor Odinson. And love is atop that wealth. I would forgo the world’s realms and riches to bask in the light of your affection.”

The words that traversed the distance between were not measured nor were they second-guessed. You had not the time to question your affections, wondering if it was worth bringing them to light or not. But you needed Thor to understand that what he felt, the dejectedness and loneliness, were unwarranted.

You need to touch him, embrace him—assure his heart that he was worthy, and if you couldn’t do it physically, then your words had to suffice.

Thor stood there, his expression a mix of shock, confusion, and something akin to hope. He reached out tentatively, brushing away the tears from your cheek with his thumb. “Y/N…”

You allowed his thumb to trace the skin beneath your eyes before wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace, burying your face in his chest. Once, you thought to yourself. Even if this was a lie, I’ll gladly entertain it, just this once.

“Those ladies who crave your affections for the crown are not worthy of you. Even if you were the second son, even if the Norns had created you a mortal, you would still be worthy, Thor. You would still be loved.”

Thor’s hands traveled from your back. One moved up to cradle your head while the other rested on your lower back, cradling you closer to his chest. You could hear his heartbeats frantically drumming against his rib cage. Almost as if they were loud enough to create their own melody.

You felt Thor plant a kiss atop of your head, close to where the diadem lay. He swayed with you in his arms, hold on you tightening and unwilling to let go. “You’re precious, Y/N,” he recited the words with complete reverence. Their familiarity registered, but you didn’t have time to question him before he continued, “More valuable than the troves of Asgard and the magic of Yggdrasil. And by the Norns, whoever forsakes your treasured company deserves to be bereft of your radiance, ensnared by the unforgiving grasp of Helheim for their sacrilege, Little Queen.”

A sharp gasp escaped your lips. “What did you just say?” you questioned, still nestled in his protective embrace.

“Loki did not compose this prose,” Thor confessed, his eyes dark with hesitation. “I wrote it. Two hundred years ago. For you.”

“What?” you breathed, the word splintering with emotion.

“I…I have always felt a connection to you. A sense of calm. Your wisdom and grace, but above all, your charm and wit captured my heart before I even knew it.”

“You never said anything,” you reminded, blinking harshly against the realization.

“How could I?” Thor’s thumb brushed the side of your mouth, drawing a choked whimper from you. “You are elegant while I am rough. A prince by title, but not by manner—”

“Do not belittle yourself in my presence.”

Thor chuckled softly, his gaze just as gentle.

“You are the Goddess of Wisdom, Little Queen.” That nickname—the Norns damn it—stirred emotions in you that you had never felt before. “What wisdom would there be in associating with the God of Thunder?”

“Is that why you distanced yourself?” The question was thick with unspoken feelings. “Is that why…why you chose Jane?” Over me. Your thought was left unspoken.

Thor’s expression darkened with remorse, his features shadowed by regret. “Have you never noticed the similarities between you two?”

“What similarities?”

“She is a smart woman. Accomplished, fastidious, attentive, and resilient despite her delicate appearance. Just as you are.”

“She is a mortal,” you countered.

Thor nodded solemnly. “She cannot be made a queen. Not in the eyes of the Asgardians.”

“Then why—”

“It would be easier to gauge her choice.” Thor shifted his weight from one foot to the other. You realized too late that he was pulling away, keeping you at arm’s length. “As I said.” His gaze traveled the expanse of your body, regret permeating the air suddenly. “Those who choose me do it for Asgard’s throne. Those who choose my brother do it for love,” he reiterated, brokenly. He added in a more fractured tone, “You look stupendous in emerald green, my lady.”

“Viridian,” you corrected, evoking his bafflement. “It’s viridian green, a darker shade than emerald. Truthfully, I had opted for my own colors. But Loki approached my chambers before I could leave, and he all but decided to trick the court to his own advantage.”

“You’re not… you’re not courting Loki?”

You shook your head. “No. He and I have long been friends.”

“Friends,” Thor repeated, but there was a shift in the air when he said the word—as if Valhalla’s gates had opened and the angels descended to Asgard, humming their dulcet ballads.

“Tell me that’s not what we were,” you ventured, figuring that courage ought to accompany wisdom. “Tell me after all that was said and done that we weren’t just friends.”

You expected Thor to flounder, to grapple with an answer to your demand. “It wouldn’t make sense,” he attested. “It wouldn’t make sense if that were all we were, Little Queen.”

The angels of Valhalla must have roared, not sung, because as soon as Thor had breathed those words, tentative and full of fealty, his lips captured your own. You understood then, the complexity that arose from his role as God of Thunder. Your lips were in a fray, lapping at each other, wet and thunderous as you were conquered by his veneration. His large hands grabbed at your bottom, hoisting you up in the air. Your dress didn’t allow you the pleasure of wrapping your legs around his waist, but that didn’t stop you from clutching at his clothes, his hair, his soul.

Thor’s lips caressed your own. There was no set direction to their motion, almost as if he couldn’t decide whether to take it slow or devour you whole. The noises you made, the noises he made, small and mellow, reverberated in the empty space, adding to the symphony of your love and desire.

You didn’t want to pull away. Latching to the thunder and lightning invading your senses, getting lost in the storm.

A shiver ran down your entire body, accentuated by Thor’s teeth nipping at your lower lip. “Y/N,” he whispered breathlessly.

Your eyes opened, your image framed by his irises—protectively and vehemently.

He settled you on the ground, lips widening at your sight. “My colors suit you best.”

You didn’t understand what he had meant until you looked down. Your clothes had changed color. Again. The accent of your attire shifted to a bold red and silver.

“You best not attempt to produce an heir tonight, brother,” Loki sounded from behind Thor. He wore a smug smirk, leaning against one of the balcony pillars. Of course that bastard followed you. “Our chambers are nearby, and I do not need to hear my brother and best friend fondue.”

You blushed, cheeks turning crimson. Thor didn’t even spare Loki a glance, focusing his attention on you. “Little Queen, you look magnificent in my colors strewn across every inch of your body.”

And before you could help yourself, you boldly claimed, “I would look even more magnificent with your love marks strewn across every inch of my body.”

Thor’s eyes darkened, a primal yearning painting his irises with desire. He tugged at your hands then, pulling you to his chest. “Let me mark you with centuries worth of love, Little Queen. Allow me to show you what lesser beings cannot do.”

“Show me, my God.”

You drowned in his ardent storm, uncaring for the waves, noise, or the chaos. It was senseless. Everything you never were. Everything Thor was. Everything you, deep down, longed to feel with him.

Thank you @crazyunsexycool for this request! It was so fun to write for Thor, you can tell since this turned out to be 6K words🥹 I couldn't stop! Seriously, this might've been my favorite fic ever! Thank you for participating in my celebration. ♥️

I might extend my writing celebration if more requests come in. For all those interested, please feel free to follow the link!

I hope you like this one, witchlings. Okay, byeeee.

#thor odinson #thor odinson x reader #thor odinson x you #thor x reader #thor x you #thor x y/n #thor odinson x y/n #loki odinson #loki x reader #loki x you #loki odinson x you #loki odinson x reader #loki and reader are friends #jealous thor #thor odinson fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #thor and reader fondue #sab's writing celebration

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bonzos-number-1-fan · 7 months

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What R# Means: The ABC's of Fear.

The grading system used by the OIAR is one of TMAGP's more central mysteries. The show is rife with administrative work that's obfuscated even to the employees that assign each case's rating.

I have my own theory about DPHW that I think is proving more and more likely each episode, but as of yet I don't think a comprehensive theory on CAT# or R# has been given. CAT# is still proving a hard to crack but I now think I can take a strong stab at the meaning behind R#.

Spoilers for TMAGP 1-7 below the cut.

For the people who aren't keeping close track of this I'll break down how those terms are used. Each incident the OIAR assesses is assigned a case number in the following format CAT#R#DPHW. CAT, short for Category, is assigned a value of 1, 2, 3, or any combination of those three digits (12, 13, etc.). R, short for Rank, are graded C, BC, B, AB, A, or S (potentially AS but it's not come up). For DPHW each letter is a category itself and replaced with a digit from 0-9 for its grading. So there are 6 separate statistics that the OIAR uses to assess each incident.

If I'm correct about DPHW it's a ranking based on the qualities the incident presents. That's obviously very valuable information. Because of how CAT# is formatted we know it's likely three non-mutually exclusive facets. I had some idea about what it could be but it's proving quite tricky to nail down.

However it's R# that is the topic of today's post and it's something I've had a few ideas on before. We know can assume from its formatting it's a linear scale. C is the "worst/weakest/etc." while S is the "best/strongest/etc.". Initially, I thought that R# was simply a straight forward ranking of potency or threat. Higher the rank, spookier the incident. Very early on that seemed like a strong idea. It was quickly disproven but I then had the idea that Rank was instead the scale of the effect. Higher the rank, wider the incident. Also quickly disproven.

Now I'm thinking it's graded on how hard it is to deny an incident's supernatural nature. Simply put, an outside observer can more readily find a believable rational explanation for an incident of lower rank than of higher rank. Either via their own conviction to believe the supernatural isn't real, or based on the story the OIAR cooks up to explain it.

For that to make sense it needs to tick two boxes. It needs to be able to be pre-assigned to an incident as all CAT#R#DPHW's seem to be, and it needs to be useful information to track. As they're operating under the assumption that CAT#R#DPHW's can be pre-assigned then they're operating under the assumption that each type of incident is relatively stable. Meaning that the likelihood that it can be rationally explained is also relatively stable. Tick 1. There is also a really strong reason for the OIAR to use this as a grade. They're the Office of Incident Assessment and Response, the Response Department might be dead but it was a part of the initial plan. Grading each incident on how likely they are to cause concern should the details go public is very useful for deciding how to approach any given case. Tick 2.

It being useful is all well and good but it does also need to have some evidence so let's look at our highest ranked incident to this point: CAT23RAB2155 - Transformation (Eye) -/- Trespass. A man grew eyes over his body. That's pretty tricky to explain away as a medical mystery. On the other end of the scale we've got CAT2RC1157 - Dolls (Watching), or CAT2RC3338 -Agglomeration (Miscellany) -/- Congregation†. Just a creepy doll and some crappy antiques. I think of all the incidents the one that's the least immediate fit is CAT3C7494 - Collection (Blood) -/- Musical. Most of that incident is very easy to slot in here. "It's just a violin that has sharp strings, so what?". But it's also a violin that made some people eat some other people. However, mass hysteria events do get reported every so often IRL and do have a very long history. So in the grand scheme of things I don't think the details of the event are necessarily all that outlandish. It's really in the realms of urban legend and witch hunts than it is definitive proof of the supernatural.

With all that out the way this is the broad strokes of how I could see this breaking down. C ranks are things you can entirely write off as urban legends, freak accidents, and stress. Potentially things that might not need any covering up at all. I think the majority of events people could entirely say didn't happen will end up in C. "Of course the doll wasn't watching you, dolls aren't alive". B ranks are things that are harder to entirely discount as things that happened but are themselves still relatively easy to excuse as mundane. "Sure, the circumstances of that blogger's disappearance are strange but people go missing all the time, doesn't mean a monster did it". We don't have any A ranks but given the AB rank we do have I'd say A's are things in which no rational explanation can account for it, and as such require more extensive covering up, if it indeed happened. "Okay, maybe the supernatural is real because people don't just grow eyes like that".

As I mentioned early, an S rank does exist. We've not seen this attributed to anything in the show yet and so it might prove to be a special case. However on Klaus' sheet‡ from the ARG it's attributed to an interesting incident. A CAT1RS[No DPHW] with the note Mr. B. And, well, if you know, you know.

From Klaus' sheet we also know that the higher ranked incidents happen less often than lower ones and that idea generally tracks with what we know of TMP and TMA. The supernatural tends to be something you can explain away. It often is explained away. Incredibly overt manifestations are a rarity.

This one will be a slow burn to see if it bears out. Much like with DPHW's it's only really interesting when things go against the theory. I'm not as certain on this one as I am the DPHW theory but I do think it's got legs with our current data.

† This did also feature people who seemed to erase their physical features from your memory after you interacted with them. This isn't something I mention in the theory because it's not taken into account by the header and case number. A major flaw in the OIAR's methodology here is that all incidents are only ever one thing. So the case number is based solely on the presence of lots of miscellaneous objects, rather than the mind-wiping people carrying them.

‡I have made an incident master doc here, containing all the current cases, their CAT#'s, R#'s, DPHW's, etc. It has about as much information on each as I think is reasonable, including who narrates it, a link to its episode, and any other relevant notes, as well as headers for incidents we didn't hear. Additionally it also contains the Klaus sheet (German and English) and links to it when an incident matches. It will be updated each episode after the episode is publicly available.

#the magnus protocol #tmagp speculation #tmagp theory #klaus = kl4-u5

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ramblingoak · 1 year

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good morning kisses+ you're gonna get lipstick all over me with:

Ribz I took your prompt and gave it a vampire twist, I hope you like it!

Breakfast in Bed

Secondo x Female Reader ~ The perfect start to your new life as a vampire

Warnings: vampire violence and all that entails, biting, blood, more blood, sharing a meal vampire style, fingering, oral sex, p in v sex, soft!vampiric!Secondo, rough sex, nsfw, 18+ only mdni, 2400 words

It was strange waking up after you died.

You weren’t struggling to breathe, gulping down huge breaths of air. Technically you didn’t need to breathe anymore although Secondo said you might still do it out of habit. The first thing you became aware of was the feel of the cool sheets against your skin. You used to make fun of Secondo’s demands when it came to thread count, but now you were nothing but thankful for his pickiness as you laid there naked.

With a soft groan you stretched out, spreading your limbs wide on the large bed as you started to look around the room. Secondo had promised you that you wouldn’t wake up alone but there wasn't a sign of him anywhere. The thick curtains were drawn over the windows and the only light came from a few dim lamps scattered around the room. You planted your elbows beneath you to push yourself up but a horrific cramping in your stomach had you gasping and dropping back onto the bed.

The pain was more intense than anything you’d experienced before. Even more than how much it hurt when Secondo had bit into your neck. You moved a hand up to where his teeth hand sunk in, expecting to feel broken skin but there was nothing. Your skin was smooth and cold to the touch. No sign of what he had done to you, of what you had asked him to do to you.

You had asked him to make you a vampire.

The Emeritus family being vampires was a horribly kept secret in the church. Most of that was due to Terzo, a man that couldn’t be discreet about anything. But with their status as vampires being well known amongst the congregation it provided them with ample opportunities to feed. Most Siblings of Sin were more than willing to expose their neck or wrist to one of the brothers. You counted yourself among them although Secondo’s favored place to bite you was at the inside of your thigh. Your flesh there was often marred with bruises and bite wounds from your Papa.

But that was before last night. Before he bit into his own wrist and had you drink from him. You could still taste him on your tongue and you unashamedly rubbed your thighs together when you thought of how erotic it had been.

“Look at you.” You froze at the sound of his voice, looking around the room for him without luck. When he spoke again you turned your head toward the foot of the bed and had to stifle a moan as you watched him walk out of the shadows towards you. “How do you feel, belezza?”

“It hurts.”

He tsked at you, shaking his head as he climbed onto the bed fully nude just like you were. In a stark contrast from yours his skin was warm as he placed his hands on your ankles. They moved up and down your shins in a soothing motion all while he held your gaze.

“Where does it hurt?” You moved a hand to rest over your belly, biting your lip when his eyes wandered down to watch as you rubbed it over your soft flesh. “I know why it hurts there, belezza, and I know how to fix it.”

“How?”

Secondo smiled, his fangs glinting in the light as he answered you.

“You need to feed, my darling.”

He turned and held a hand out behind him, reaching out into the shadows. With bated breath you listened to the soft footfalls of a visitor as they moved closer to the bed. A sister you hadn't seen before emerged into the light and you could taste her fear in the air. Secondo wrapped an arm around their waste and tugged them hard enough they fell across his lap and over your legs.

“Is she...is she for me?”

“Si, she’s yours. Ripe and ready to help you complete your transformation.” He reached for the poor girl’s neck and swept her hair aside. “Sister Dana agreed to help you, right sister?”

When she didn’t answer, Secondo grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her neck back. She cried out, a wounded noise escaping out of her throat at the treatment. Before tonight you would have stepped in to reprimand Secondo. You would have told him to stop playing with his food.

But now you were too hungry to care.

You managed to sit up, finding it easy to ignore the pain when every cell in your body was screaming for the blood pumping through the sister’s veins. Your hands flexed nervously in the bedding though, not sure what your first move should be.

“Would you like me to show you, belezza?”

All you could manage was a frantic nod, but Secondo didn’t seem to mind. He leaned into the sister’s face and gave her a kiss on each cheek. You could see her cheeks blushing from the attention, her mouth falling open when he dropped kisses down to her jaw. He kept going until he was at her throat, right over her jugular. Secondo murmured a few things in Italian before opening his mouth and sinking his teeth into the poor girl’s neck.

“Papa!”

Her voice was loud and panicked, echoing around you. She tried to say something else but the only other noise she could make was a garbled sob as her own blood filled her mouth. Your stomach clenched painfully as you watched it drip down her lips and slide down her neck. With a deep, animalistic growl Secondo pulled off and ran his tongue up to her jawline to collect the spilled blood. The sister clawed at Secondo's chest, tears gathering in her eyes when all your Papa did was give her a cruel smile in return.

“Hush little lamb, you promised to be good.”

You could tell his words weren’t registering. A pained grimace had taken over her face as she struggled to breathe through the blood. Secondo chuckled darkly before he leaned in and captured her mouth in a deep kiss. After a few moments he held out his hand for you and you took it without a second thought, pulling yourself up and across the bed to press against his side. Your eyes fell to her neck, to the blood pumping from the wound and you eagerly fell forward to lap at it.

It was amazing. The taste of her blood slid across your tongue like wine. It was warm and rich, coating the inside of your mouth before dripping down the back of your throat. With a frantic moan you clutched her, pulling her away from Secondo to hold her more tightly against you. He moved so he was at your back and you could feel his hands on your shoulders, feel as they slipped around your front to cup your breasts. He pinched at your nipples, harder than usual but the pain was good, it was so good. You needed more of it.

You sank your teeth into her flesh, feeling it tear as you bit at her harshly. The wound easily opened wider and you started noisily sucking her blood down. One of Secondo’s hands started moving down your stomach, his hands bare and smooth on your skin. When he reached your cunt his chest vibrated against your back with a laugh.

“Wet for me already?”

Without warning he pushed two fingers into your dripping entrance, groaning as your body eagerly accepted them. You could hear the wet sounds of him pumping them in and out even as you continued to suck as much blood out of the sister as you could. Secondo’s fingers started working faster, brushing against that spot inside of you he never failed to find. In and out, over and over again. Your orgasm was getting closer and closer and right as you teetered on the edge he pressed his mouth to your neck and bit down.

The feeling of his teeth on you again made everything inside and around you shatter. You pulled off the sister’s neck and fell back, letting Secondo catch you. The sister fell backwards at the foot of the bed, her eyes blank and unseeing as they stared up at the ceiling. There was blood still oozing from her mouth and neck, the sight making you growl and want more. Secondo cooed into your ear, gently turning your head towards his and then capturing your mouth in a kiss. He growled at the taste of blood there and the kiss turned sloppy as you each chased the blood smeared over each other. With a deep groan he eventually pulled away, smiling softly at you before tilting his head towards the pillows.

“You should get some more rest, my darling.”

You pouted as you scooted back towards the head of the bed, you’d rather stay in his arms a little longer. Both of you were now warm from the blood you had drank but it felt good to be in his arms regardless. His face paint was now smeared and mixed with blood although it did nothing to hide his handsome features. If anything it made you desire him even more now that he had finally turned you. You felt yourself getting wet again as you took him in and you relaxed further back into the pillows, opening your legs a bit to try to entice him closer. Secondo took a deep breath, a feral grin forming on his face. He remained still though and you stuck your bottom lip out further, wondering what was stopping him.

“Secondo, come here.”

“One moment, belezza.” He reached out for the sister, her chest barely moving with her shallow breaths. You were surprised she was still alive, but as you watched Secondo lift her wrist to his mouth you figured that wouldn’t be the case for very long. “We shouldn’t waste our breakfast.”

The softest of whimpers escaped the girl’s mouth when he bit into her again. He was oddly gentle about it but that might have been because he was staring at you while he fed from her for the final time. You held his eyes as you slid a hand down your chest, stroking over your breast before going further to your cunt. His eyes followed your fingers as you started to tease at your clit, rubbing over it in tight circles as he watched. When you moved down and slipped them inside of you he abruptly dropped the girl’s wrist, her blood dripping from his lips and dropping onto your ankles as he loomed over you.

“Such a naughty thing, teasing your Papa.”

He leaned down and began to kiss your skin, his lips pressing into random spots all the way up to your thighs. In the light you could see the bloody lip marks he was leaving, almost like lipstick, some with a hint of black from his face paint. Secondo brought his hands up to the inside of your thighs and pressed them further apart so he could settle close to your cunt. You were still moving your fingers inside of you and his eyes followed them, his hot breath grazing your skin as he moved his head closer.

“Secondo, please.”

You were ready for him to tease you some more, but in one swift movement he grabbed your wrist and pulled it away so his mouth could replace your fingers. His deep groan as he tasted you vibrated through your whole body. The grip he had on your thighs got tighter as he circled your entrance with his tongue a few times before dipping it in as far as he could. When you were able to look down at him you could see where your juices had mixed with the blood and paint he was already wearing.

Secondo looked absolutely feral as he hungrily licked and sucked your cunt. You reached out with one hand and grabbed his head, your fingers sliding along his scalp for purchase. He seemed to take the hint and buried his face even deeper against you, his nose pressing perfectly at your clit. You were so close, so close to the edge again. Gasps and whimpers were escaping you non stop as Secondo fucked you with his tongue. You were about to start begging for something, for anything, to push you over when he finally moved his lips up to your clit, sucking on it right as he shoved two fingers inside of you. He rubbed them along your walls perfectly right as he nipped your clit and you were gone, your whole body shaking as your orgasm ripped through you.

You weren’t sure how long you laid there recovering, the only thing that made you finally stir was Secondo’s lips moving up your stomach. When you mustered the energy to look down he was kissing you between your breasts. The area around his mouth shone with your release and you let your head fall back with a groan. He laughed against your skin, his breath exhaling on your neck as he continued to move up. When he was finally hovering over you, his eyes bright with laughter and love, you couldn’t help but laugh as well. You reached up and traced down the bridge of his nose before resting both your hands on his broad shoulders.

“Will it be like this forever?”

He grinned before leaning down and capturing your mouth in a kiss. You mewled as you tasted yourself on his lips, especially when you caught just the slightest hint of blood lingering in his mouth. When he pulled away and sat up to kneel between your legs you pouted at the loss of his mouth. Secondo just grinned again and moved his hands under you to grip your ass and lift you off the bed. You wrapped your legs around his waist on instinct and he moved one of his hands to grip his cock.

“Are you ready for forever, belezza?”

Before you could respond he started pushing into you, relentless and without stopping. His thick cock stretched you like his fingers never could and you reached out to dig your nails into his arms as the pleasure and pain rolled over you. He didn’t stop until he was buried all the way, his hips flush with yours. It was so good you couldn’t help but let out a joyous laugh. The thought of forever with Secondo, like this, was amazing.

“If forever means I get to wake up like this every day, then yes.”

Secondo laughed as he gripped your waist tighter, easily lifting you up so he could start fucking you at the perfect angle.

“Anything you want, belezza.” His pace increased, punishing and pleasurable, his mismatched eyes staring into yours as he fucked you. “Anything.”

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#my fics #my writing #secondo x female reader #papa emeritus ii x female reader #the band ghost fanfiction #vampire secondo #secondo fanfiction #papa emeritus ii fanfiction #the band ghost fanfic #papa emeritus x reader #secondo fanfic #secondo x female reader fanfic

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