#she’s just vibing in her walled-off chamber

[trek-tracks]

She just sat contented in the comfy chair as I built this up around her

I call this installation “The Cat of Amontillado.”

[bits-and-babs]

𝐀𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Previous Joel Fics: Mule [5.1K], Atta Girl [10.2K], PlayBoy [3K]

Summary: Rather than telling Joel you’re thankful for him saving your life, you show him.

Word Count: 4k

CW: A bit artsy 👀 mentions of physical assault, descriptions of wounds, detailed gore. Quickie vibes. Dirty (literally) sex. Slight exhibitionism. Gagging. Possible Ep. (4) spoilers, BASED ON THE GAME.

Tease: “Good… That should keep you quiet,” he mumbles.

Squeezing the veins in your wrists, the blanched zip ties that locked your hands tightly had cut off the circulation to your fingers. You hadn’t been able to feel them when the door burst open.

He’d stormed into the ‘abattoir’, as the Pittsburgh hunters called it, with a bull-like rage. Blood from the gaping wound on your forehead seeped into your eyes, yet you could see the heaving of his chest as he descended upon the butchers with a callous ferocity.

It all felt dream-like, the sequence of his fatal dance. The dingy room was lit only by the slithers of sunlight that peeked through the boarded windows, illuminating the dripping crimson on the blade he plunged into the hunter's throat. He offers them little solace in death, moving swiftly to the next and discarding the shiv in favour of his fists.

He tears through him, knuckles devastating the face of the man who had dragged you into the room by your hair. Discarded in the corner of the death chamber, you’d been promised a skinning, to be carved up until you painted the ashen tiles rosey. Instead, the bull-man brutalises your aggressor with military precision, slamming his head into the marble catafalque with such force that fractions of his skull fly through the room, ricocheting off the ceramic-grid walls.

You considered, at the time, that it gave the same effect as firecrackers. Though, you hadn’t felt like celebrating.

“You bit?” He’d asked, detecting you on his final sweep of the room. In turn, you offered an almost comically meek shake of your head, daunted by the cruor that dripped across his face. You were inclined to remember Carrie, the pigs' blood painting her prom dress and staining her blonde hair. Likening your captor to a pig felt cruel to the swine.

Your saviour hovered, his eyes drifting over your exposed skin in search of teeth marks.

“Jesus Christ, Joel!” A loud, alarmed cry of a young girl had shocked you from your trepid-haze. She lingered in the doorway, staring slack-jawed at the blood that soaks the aggressive animal she calls ‘Joel’. Her youthful face is round, dotted with freckles and her mousy brown hair is pulled up in a ponytail. Strands of her fringe frame her face, and scrapes cover her cheekbones and chin.

“Ellie,” Joel had answered with a firm tone, ordering her attention, “We gotta go; they ain’t gonna take long to fi-“

“You can’t just leave her here,” The young girl, Ellie, squeaked in utter dismay, the frantic wave of her index finger at your bindings indicating her urgency.

Joel’s expression showed his irritation, opening his mouth to argue before letting out a strangled growl. His blood-wet hands white-knuckled the shiv in the body he had discarded, pulling the weapon from its throat with a sickening squelch.

Stepping over to you, he’d slipped the shiv between your hands, slicing through the zip-ties with a single heave. The blade's flat edge painted the insides of your wrists with sticky gore.

That was six hours ago if the moon's location was anything to judge. Joel had led both you and Ellie through the savage streets of Pittsburgh, narrowly evading the Humvee that cruised the roads. With the machine gun trained on the shadows in the alleyways, the hunters implored ‘the man and the girl’ to reveal themselves; their voices tinged callously. The decaying corpse strapped to the hood of the armoured vehicle hadn’t gone unnoticed by you, and you doubt Joel, eagle-eyed as he was, had overlooked the wordless threat either.

The environment was challenging, flooded hotels with rusted elevators that were out of use and crumbling buildings that were dangerous to scale. Despite the risk, Joel remained calm and led you and Ellie through it with barely a fault.

By evening, as the lowering sun painted the bloodied streets with an ichor glow, your impromptu group had discovered more survivors- Sam and Henry. The brothers had offered shelter in exchange for company and aid crossing town. Once again, Joel had begrudgingly obliged.

Henry had opened the door to his safe house, situated within a rundown apartment building. He and Sam shared out blueberries, the kids toying around and taking turns throwing the fruits into each other's mouths before sleeping for the night, Joel insisting the two needed rest for the final frontier tomorrow.

With the children asleep, Joel and Henry set about their plan to leave the city. The uncertainty you felt about Joel’s appreciation for your presence kept you from adding to the proposal. Regardless, both men appeared confident without your input — natural leaders born from protecting their respective children.

It’s sometime past midnight. Joel sits at the window, a mixture of the silver moonlight and the golden lampposts just beyond the glass pane illuminating his face. Henry had given up his post an hour ago, retreating to a mattress in the corner of the room to recoup. Joel has taken over, lost in deep thought. His eyes scan the streets below in search of a threat, be it the homicidal Humvee or clickers crawling around in the shadows.

Unspoken gratitude sticks to your oesophagus, causing a lump in your throat. Despite his hesitation, Joel had saved you from those hunters and led you through the city until freedom was within touching distance. Something told you he was deserving of thanks for at least gifting you this golden opportunity.

Joel’s silver hair glows in the moonlight, strands of platinum against the bronze. The scar stretching across the bridge of his nose appears ruddy in the low light, drawing attention to the age-old wound and causing you to contemplate how he got it.

You know practically nothing about this man beside the obvious; His name, that he’s guardian to the young kid called Ellie, who you’re not even sure is his child. Your only other observation was that he was a brilliant battle strategist and executioner. Joel’s weapon skill is undeniable, his hands brutal and deadly with a handle or a trigger.

Regardless of this limited information which ensures he remains more of an enigma than a friend, your heart thrums wildly in your chest as you watch him, bathed in the glow of the night while protecting his new-found group of survivors.

If you weren’t so fucking hot, you’d put it down to a fever-chill, delirious with flu. Sadly, you could only put your crush-like symptoms down to years of solitude. The little kindness the gruff, staunch man had shown you had kicked your heart into overdrive, millennia of evolution and human nature begging you to search for further comfort in him. All this within six hours.

Pathetic.

Suppression of the ridiculous notion simply isn’t enough. Your body yearns for Joel’s touch. Despite the feral and frankly terrifying way he dismantled his foes, your brain has somehow managed to convince you of his suitability as a partner, a protector.

At the very least, you manage to steer your lovesick brain towards at least thanking him for rescuing you from your bindings. However, it’s as though your lips are frozen. Situated in the corner of the room, you cannot will yourself to speak, can’t urge yourself to articulate your appreciation.

Instead, you stand. Joel’s eyes snap towards you, the fingers that had been scratching at his beard stilling at the motion he detected in the corner of his eye. He seems to settle at the sight of you, though, muscles melting back into their semi-relaxed posture as you approach slowly, careful to avoid knocking anything that could wake those around you.

“Trouble sleepin’?” He broaches conversation delicately, as though he’s uncertain you’re strong enough to face communication. It’s not as though you’re surprised; you probably reminded him of a kicked puppy when he discovered you shivering and whimpering in the disgusting corner of the abattoir.

You offer a nod, which Joel returns with a slow bob of his head. His eyes flicker to the window, hawk-eyes scanning the area before turning his attention back to you. “Can’ta been easy for you.”

Swallowing thickly, you urge the words forwards from your throat. When your thanks breach your lips, to your embarrassment, your voice cracks. No sound comes out.

Joel’s eyebrow arches, the crinkles on his forehead deepening as he watches you struggle to articulate.

“You feelin’ okay?” He asks you, pupils once again dragging across your exposed skin in search of bites. The simple action has your cheeks burning in the darkness, and it’s as though he’s hypnotised you with this minute act of kindness. “You’ve been quiet since we got back.”

How pitiful that is; simply asking you if you felt okay being enough to make you fall head over heels for a stranger.

Joel shifts towards you in his seat, palm settling against the rotten wood of the window sill to steady himself. His muscles ripple beneath the fabric of his flannel, and you can’t help how your heart surges against your sternum. It’s screaming out how you want him so bad it’s almost dizzying. You want him.

“Haulin’ ass across the city like that must’a been difficult after that close call,” he continues the one-sided, hushed conversation. Clearly, this was unlike Joel’s brusque persona, but he was delicate with you, and you find it all the more endearing. “M’Sorry if it was too much, we couldn’t risk bein’ caught aga-“

You lunge forward, capturing Joel’s slightly chapped lips against your own. The sudden movement appears to have shocked the poor man, his hands hovering in the air on either side of your head and balling into fists on instinct. It’s ridiculous, but you’re trembling as you kiss him, overwhelmed with nerves at his body's rigid stance. You hear him release a haggard gasp of surprise through his nose, but he does nothing to pull you from him.

Anxiety has your body frozen in place until you feel the rough, survival-calloused touch of his palms against the skin of your arms. It urges you to search for your own anchor, your hand settling on the thick chords of his neck and your fingertips scraped by the rough texture of his beard. You’re startled by the frantic thumping of his pulse there.

It’s like you both spark into action at once. Joel’s tongue slips past your lips and traces across your tastebuds clumsily, losing all composure as you pull him closer. His fingertips are digging into the muscles of your biceps while you grasp frantically at the collar of his dirtied flannel.

It felt dream-like. Touch and affection after countless days and nights of solitude have you almost delirious when you wrap your forearms around his neck. You wonder how long he’s been on his own, his own hands frenzied as they settle on the globes of your ass. Embarrassingly, you’re whimpering at the sensation of his tongue swirling around your own and Joel’s hushing you when he pulls back.

“C’mere,” his baritone voice vibrates through you head to toe as he hooks his hands under the backs of your thighs, lifting your body for you to cling to him. His equanimity long forgotten, Joel appears to clutch at this opportunity for intimacy as desperately as you do, carrying you across the floor of the room. He’s careful not to rush, quiet as he passes the sleeping children to approach one of the doors to another room.

You’re a menace, dragging your tongue across the vein protruding through the veil of skin across his neck. He tastes salty, sweat clinging to him from the efforts of escaping the hunters and a twinge of iron from the blood that had washed off in the flooded hotel. You’re already addicted to his musky scent, moaning softly against his throat. It earns you a yank of your hair in warning, his body pushing through a doorway and clicking the lock behind you before you yelp out in surprise.

“Told you to be quiet,” he mumbles hoarsely, lacking any sense of admonishment.

“Fuck,” you whisper against his skin, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt in an attempt to strip him and gain further access. Joel carries you in the almost pitch blackness, using the moon's low light dripping through the far window to locate a sofa. He lowers you down onto the dusty fabric, but neither of you seems bothered by the less-than-ideal location - the likelihood of surviving tomorrow to get another chance at this was slim.

The wall between you and the rest of the group seems to settle Joel, his actions a little less restrained. He sinks his hips between your thighs, knees resting on the cushions as his hands drag up the peaks and troughs of your ribcage and a squeeeze at the flesh of your breasts. It causes your hips to lift from the sofa, grinding against his own blindly. The whines that leak from your lips are obscene, erect nipples brushing his rough palms as he grips at your boobs.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel moans mindlessly, leaning down quickly to press his lips to yours and mute your filthy noises. Your knees hook over his hip bones, the heels of your feet pushing against his ass to pull him harder against you in a desperate attempt to feel closer to him.

Somewhere between groping in the darkness and kissing him breathlessly, you hear Joel let out a ragged gasp of his own, your clothed crotch rubbing just right at his growing erection.

Fervently, you’re grabbing at his belt and battling the darkness to unhook the prong from the leather. Joel’s palms are pushing under the hem of your t-shirt, raising it over the curve of your breasts so that the bunched-up material settles just under your throat. This way, he has unfettered access to the naked swell of your boobs. He envelopes your nipple with his mouth, tongue swirling over the nub and dragging a needy whimper of his name from your throat.

Somehow, between the mess of limbs and bundled-up fabric, you manage to unhook his belt. Slipping it from the loops in his jeans, you throw it to the floor recklessly. The metal of the discarded buckle clatters against the wooden floor, and you can’t help the bubbling complaints in your chest when Joel pauses his ministrations at the loud noise.

He’s listening out for the group waking, you know this, but you’re so desperate that you’re frantically shoving your hand underneath the seam of his trousers and gripping at the velvety shaft of his cock. Joel groans against the supple flesh in his mouth, holding your other breasts in a bruising, punishing grip.

“Fuck-“ he mumbles illegibly against your skin, releasing it from his mouth with an audible pop. “So fuckin’ desperate. You like havin’ your tits out for me like this?” There’s a flutter of amusement in his voice, feverish at how your body responds to his touch.

You nod quickly, chest heaving as you agitatedly grab at him with a soft whimper. Joel lets out a pleased hum as you flick the button of his jeans, pulling the fly down to hurry him up. A thatch of curls peaks from behind the bottom of the zipper, exposing his nakedness beneath his trousers. Your eyes flicker up to Joel in shock, skin burning.

Joel doesn’t offer you a moment to address his commando-ness, instead hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your jeans. He doesn’t bother to unbutton them, instead opting to wrench them over the width of your hips with a strong heave. Your underwear goes with them, the tightness of the unforgiving fabric of your jeans dragging them down your thighs and bruising your hip bones.

You’re grasping blindly at the armrest above your head as Joel spreads your legs wide, his hands settled on the backs of your thighs. He hasn’t even bothered to remove his jeans entirely; the waistband dropped just above his knees.

“Fuck-“ He grits out between his teeth, sweeping the tip of his cock through the weeping mess between your folds. You’re soaked. You can hear it, the glossy wetness loud in the quiet of the room as he lubricates the head of his dick with your cum.

He nudges against your neglected clit, and the barely there friction is enough to rip a choked sob from you. Your knuckles strain at how hard you grip the corduroy fabric of the sofa. Joel’s hold on you is equally strained, grabbing handfuls of flesh from your thighs and pulling until it aches.

Your pussy clenches as he drags himself back through your folds, settling the head of his dick against your entrance. His chest is heaving, steadying himself against the arousal humming in his bones. It had been years of loneliness, no doubt for the two of you, and you weren’t confident it would last longer than a few moments.

Slowwwwly, he’s sheathing himself inside you with a steady roll forward of his hips. Your toes curl into the small of his back as he stretches you open with his length, pressure building deep in your abdomen already. Joel lets out a strained growl as he slams his fist into the cushion beneath your head.

“F-uck-“ he chokes out, watching your head tilt back into the sofa, your jaw slack. It’s like he’s pushing the oxygen out of your body to make room for him, your lungs burning white hot.

Joel’s forehead braces against your collarbone, rattling breaths indicating the strain your heat has on his concentration. “Christ- I just- fuck, gimmie a minute.”

His cock is throbbing inside you, nudging against your walls as you spread your thighs wider. His breath is hot against your skin, fanning across your sternum and grounding you from the intense strain against his width.

Joel manages to collect himself eventually, nodding weakly and steadying his palm against the sofa’s armrest. He uses his other hand to tilt your hips upwards, testing the waters by slowly pulling himself from your sopping heat and inching inside you again slowly.

It’s as though he’s punched you in the gut, dispelling what little oxygen you had left and winding you. A high-pitched wail falls from your mouth, and he’s quick to cover your lips with his palm, groaning out as he pushes himself flush inside you. You swear you can see his lashes flutter as his eyes roll back, your tight walls driving him insane.

“Shut up,” he somewhat begs you, nose pushed into the soft flesh of your cheek as he whispers into your ear. Then he’s grinnddding up against something utterly devastating inside you, heaving gasps of his name leaving you from behind his hand.

“JoelJoelJoelJoel,” you sob, tears welling as his cock splits you open again. Your cunt is loud too, creaming around his dick as you cry loudly. Joel’s laughing weakly, finding your almost devastating arousal amusing if a little nerve-wracking considering you’re definitely being too loud.

“This ain’t gonna work,” Joel mumbled softly, slipping out from you again. It causes you both to gasp at the loss of friction, your hips pushing back against your will in search of his touch.

“N-No wait-“ you beg with a whisper, scared he’s giving up on this, “I can be good, I’ll be quiet, I promise-“

Joel cuts off your rambling suddenly, looping his arm underneath your hips and heaving you over until you lay flat on your stomach. You feel his abdomen resting against your back, arching over you as he reaches over your body.

“Joe-“ you attempt to ask him what he’s doing, but you don’t make it that far. Joel’s fingers slide into your mouth, pushing down on the flat of your tongue and sinking down your throat. You gag around them at first, surprised by the intrusion.

A rumble sounds beside your ear, Joel humming in appreciation as you grow accustomed to the feeling and begin to suck on his digits. “Good… That should keep you quiet,” he mumbles, nose pressing into your hair as his free hand angles your hips upwards again.

You feel him notch against your entrance again before slowly grinding himself back into you. He stretches you nicely this time, sinking inside to the hilt until his hips meet the curve of your ass. Whimpers leaking from your lips are smothered by the blockage of his fingers in your mouth.

“Perfect.”

With that, Joel pulls his hips back before slamming back inside of you to the point it jolts your body up the sofa. You sob out; the sound blocked in your throat as Joel sets a brutal pace, pounding into you so hard that your ears start ringing. The slapping of his skin meeting yours and quiet curses dripping from his mouth is all that sounds through the room.

Your stifled cries rise in pitch despite their muted volume, the head of Joel’s dick pushing up against something utterly ruinous inside you. His hand on your hip uses your body as a counterweight, pulling you back onto his cock to meet his thrusts, and it’s like your vision is swimming.

“Oh god-“ you choke out around his fingers, but it comes out all slurred and incoherent, your body trembling at the rising pressure building inside it.

“Mhmm f-fuck,” Joel hums into your ear, beginning to lose composure already. “God— ‘m gonna cum, fuckin’— so tight. ”

Joel reached around your waist, feeling blindly through his thrusts for your clit. It doesn’t take long, and a single, delicate brush against the sensitive nerves has your eyes rolling back in your skull while everything below your hips clamps down suddenly.

You go rigid, squeezing his cock tightly through your mind-melting orgasm. The muscles of your thighs are trembling, and you let out a hoarse shout that Joel only just manages to suppress by shoving his fingers deeper down your throat, to the point your teeth press into the back of his palm hard.

Pathetic whimpers are all you can manage as he suddenly slows down, his grip on you almost bruising as you bear down on him. “Ngh— Fuckin’ shit-! I’m—“

Joel’s fumbling to get out of the confines of your greedy cunt, grabbing ahold of his cock with his palm and barely managing to pump it more than once before he’s cumming, the warm yet feeling of his cum spurting across your back causing your sore muscles to contract in shock. You hear him growl quietly, and it sounds like he’s biting his lip to hold in the sinful noises.

When the ringing dissipates, you hear the panting from both of your lungs, Joel’s ragged as he removes his fingers from your mouth, strings of saliva trailing from your lips. He leans back against the sofa, groaning softly. You glance over your shoulder, unable to find the strength to lift your body yet. He’s rubbing at his face with his hands, looking utterly exhausted.

“Christ,” his accent seems thicker like this, slurred with bliss and fatigue. “That your way’a sayin’ thank you?” His question hangs in the air before his eyes glance at you.

Nodding slowly, you offer a wordless answer which causes him to let out a single, short exhale—something like a laugh.

“Mhm. It’s a pretty interestin’ way of showin’ gratitude.”

“You didn’t seem to mind,” you whisper to him shyly, your voice hoarse from his fingers shoved down your throat.

He tilts his head back slowly, arms resting against the back of the sofa, and shakes his head slowly. No, he didn’t. Chances are the group wouldn’t make it past the Humvee tomorrow, and if the armoured vehicle didn’t get them, the guards on the bridge just might.

“Get some rest,” he whispers to you, standing up from the sofa on unsteady legs and pulling his jeans up. “Gotta go back on watch, and you gotta be ready for the shit storm comin’ tomorrow.”

A smile plays on your lips, watching him redress. Sounds like you’re invited to join in on his little escape plan after all. You remember how he dismantled the hunters when he saved you, the brutal nature of ripping him down each threat with frightening skill.

Somehow you felt you’d be just fine.

“Got it.”

END

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[thebadboyfanclub]

I Will Wait (Aemond x Reader)

This version of the song was the only I was able to finish and truly get in the spirit of combining the requests, hopefully you get the vibe of the whole slow burn and growing to trust type of hype and you don’t find my skill to turn a bit rusty, thank you for being patient. Also one of the requests was from @blue-serendipity I hope you like it and didn’t let you down

The house Whent was relatively new in comparison to others, yet their correlation to house Strong kept them in a comfortable situation and helped them become a noble house, they resided in one of the biggest castles of Harrenhall, the walls of it were gigantic and most of the people in it considered themselves safe from all harm.

That is until Aemond Targaryen went mad, fire surrounded the city and all one could hear was the screams of agony of any man, woman, or child that was running for their lives, Aemond upon his fury had ignored the yellow flag with the nine bats as he broke into the castle and commanded for everyone to be killed, from the corner of his eye he saw two figures sprinting across the hall, instinctively he ran after them, it was a woman with auburn hair and a child.

“Stop”

He commanded, his voice booming through the castle, surprisingly the woman came to a halt in a few seconds he caught up to them though the woman still had her back turned to him.

“Turn”

The woman spun on her heel only to reveal something Aemond had given a battle to forget, the eyes that used to haunt his prepubescent mind, she looked the same except for the height and her figure, the same high cheekbones, same silk hair, same fire holding eyes the only difference was that those captivating hues were overflowing with tears, her lips pushed to a thin line and her chin quivered ever so slightly.

All the memories passed by his brain one after the other, how she helped him practice Valyrian, the first ride he ever took her on dragon back, her soft touch against his wound as she assisted with a balm the maesters had suggested would be helpful even though nothing could come close to how nurturing her grace was for his soul.

“(Y/n)?”

“Please, not my boy”

Her voice trembling and barely audible amongst the distant screams and curses, Aemond's gaze shifted from her to the young little man who was clinging onto her for dear life, he had her hair and her ever-defiant love if he was the only thing she could think about.

“I would not-“

He stopped himself from saying the rest, he had invaded her home, he had just passed dead bodies that were probably people she greeted every day, he had already caused her pain, and to say he wouldn’t hurt her was only going to be foolish.

“He is your son?”

“Yes, please my prince, let me escort him anywhere, I will not run… he is only 4”

“Prince Aemond!”

The guard interrupted, suddenly his face from a soft and confused expression switched to a coldness similar to the harshness of the winter's ice that they used to skate over the river when they were children, (y/n) clenched her boy's hand and prepared herself for the worst.

“Take them, they are our hostages, don’t kill them”

“No! Please! Let him be!”

“Mother!”

His yelling brought a certain uneasiness to Aemond, the scene that was unfolding in front of him was almost cruel, Aemond brushed it off as him being gracious, it was either that or instant death, a dungeon was better than an abstract result that is the strangers shadow.

Aemond instructed the guards to put the boy with his mother in one of the chambers that were previously occupied by the servants, locked of course, he figured it would be easier for her to consult her offspring if he had a bed to sleep on, even if it was uncomfortable.

(Y/n) had her entire life crumble beneath her feet in a matter of days, she had recently suffered through the death of the father of her child and now she was captured with her precious boy in a room, no clue of what could happen next, the uncertainty struck her airway though she did her best to cloak it with a smile and fairytales that helped the young boy drift into slumber, countless nights were spend with her head against her window, everything inside her screaming at her to break it, a side of her wanted to jump off but how could she leave her beloved boy behind.

Then came the question, why was he doing this? Why keep her? Was he merciful or was there a motive, Perhaps this was a scheme to gain power, but how?

“Has he fallen asleep?”

(Y/n) gasped at the sudden voice, Aemond had walked in for the first time in the room, partially he had stayed away at a loss for words, what was there to say? He had brought her here against her will and now what?

(Y/n) took her eyes off the floor and fixated them on his, he wasn’t wearing his eyepatch, it brought her a sense of familiarity to see the amethyst that decorated his lost eye, he used to take the eye patch off for most of the time they had spent together, (y/n) never asked why though she had been curious about it many times.

Aemond was grateful for her district nature, truthfully the act was his way of saying he trusted her, she never cringed or showed any type of emotion at the sight of his scar, quite the contrary she had been his only source of light, she had been the one to choose the amethyst “I think it will suit you” she had said with a smile and as passing as choosing a gown, (y/n) helped him view his mutilation as just a little mishap.

“Prince Aemond”

She spoke before she curtsied deeply, Aemond had to admit she was almost perfect at keeping her composure until someone gazed at her trembling hands, her voice was audible yet hushed in order to not wake the boy.

Silence fell between them, Aemond shifted from one foot to the other his mind scavenging on what he could do or how should he speak to her. She always made him nervous but not like this.

“What is his name?”

“Arthur”

“Your fathers' name”

“My father passed right before Arthur was born, I wanted to honor him, my husband was considerate enough to allow it”

“Generous of him wasn’t it?”

“It is not a matter to jest about”

That tongue of hers, “You have fire in you, daughter, you must master it or you will get burned” her father would always advise her, she had done her best to keep herself in a certain light still no one could prepare her for this type of scenario, it was similar to walking on a tight rope and this was her stumble.

Luckily, Aemond found it rather amusing, her little hiss brought a very toned-down giggle from the prince who kept his hands intertwined with one another in front of him, she was always smart and always had something to say no matter how much trouble it could have brought her.

“There you are, I was wondering if I had managed to just find someone that looked like you”

“You find this the right time to be sarcastic?”

“If we are fair there is no right time for that, especially not when the one that holds the keys to your room is talking to you”

“You are threatening me? That’s low Aemond”

“What else am I to do?”

“Free me, let us go Aemond and I swear we won't retaliate”

“I know you (y/n), you are not the one that will sit aside”

“So what’s your plan then? Keep me here forever?”

“In a way, yes, not how you picture it though”

“I do not picture anything, Aemond, please, let Arthur go, he doesn’t deserve this”

Aemond admired her selfless act of desperation, she wasn’t interested in negotiating her freedom, although when it came to her son she had no problem begging and pleading.

If he was honest he had to admit how much he had missed the sound of his name rolling off her tongue. Aemond had never put much thought into how his name sounded until it came from her lips, so elegant, smooth like honey, it was spoken like the best of compliments, even if it was just his name to him it brought goosebumps.

“Your son is safer in the red keep, one wrong move outside these walls could cost him his life”

“I would protect him”

“I know you would, who will protect you dear? Your husband has passed, you are on your own”

“I can do it”

Aemond took one step back, bathed by candlelight yet her spirit burned brighter than any type of candle, the way she raised her chin and squinted her eyes with perseverance, stubbornness ran through her veins.

“I know it is hard to understand my dear (y/n) but this is how I am protecting you, you know better than to step out alone with your son, they will eat you alive”

“Who’s they? Your supporters? Princess Rhaenyras supporters? This war was caused by your family and now I am doomed to this-“

“You are not doomed, I saved you, think (y/n), everyone knows that the lady of Harrenhall is now a widow, how long did you envision that it would take until men tried to jump over the walls or even worse, force you to remarry?”

“My son is the lord of Harrenhall, no one would dare-“

“You are foolish or way too optimistic and I don’t know which is worst”

“So what do you suggest? That I sit under your watch until when? Until I die?”

“No, I would never imprison you for your entire life”

Aemond was forcing himself into silence, his head ached from the torment that he had created for himself, wrapped under the iron spell of doubt, still when he gazed into those eyes, oh how he had missed her, her scent was enough to drive him into insanity, when he brought them to the castle his mother went wild, it was something she had thought about and now Aemond was willing to risk it all for (y/n).

“Accept Aegon as your king, declare that Harrenhall has fallen”

“It already has, last thing I saw was that you have turned my home into ash”

“And marry me”

(Y/n)s eyes grew wide at his audacity, how could he utter such a thing? He had invaded her home, taken her without her will, and her knees buckled after what he said,. Aemond's instinct was to catch her gently and wrap his arms around her, he felt her flesh grace his as her hands went over his to further support herself, slowly he sat her to the floor without ever leaving her from his grasp.

“Have you eaten today?”

“Yes, though your guards have not been generous”

“That is my fault, I did not inform them to feed you like guests”

“Cause we are not”

“You are, I- I- it sounds insane when I say I could have killed you, I did not, when I realized that it was you I just- I remembered the moments we shared”

“We had a few good moments I suppose”

“Remember the dance?”

“You had two left feet and you were so nervous”

It was a celebration, it was King Viserys name day and everyone that mattered was there, including house Whent, she looked splendid in that purple dress, she always favored the darker colors it was no surprise she chose such a thing, Aemond had stumbled over his words when it was time to ask her if she wished to dance, to make matters worst he tripped over his feet from being distracted by her smile.

They hadn’t exchanged a word during the entire time the dance lasted, their eyes spoke the same word as neither of them looked away, a string had been wrapped around their hearts and almost forced them to come together.

If there was anytime Aemond believed in fate it was when he met her, he was infatuated by everything about her, her laugh, her voice, her hair, the way she walked with her head high, how she liked to grace her fingers over the arm of a chair before she sat down, her weakness for peaches, even her fear of thunder he had found extremely adorable.

“Why did you marry him?”

“It was my father's wish”

“Did you love him?”

“He was kind and generous, he let me be after I did my duty and he was respectful, I… liked him and of course was grateful for his warm-hearted nature”

“I would have given you more, I can give you more, I can give you everything”

“You are a prince, I am not of your status”

“You are the lady of your town, you are a lady, even if you weren’t it wouldn’t matter, as long as I get to hold you”

“Aemond let us not speak of this, it is not the time nor the place”

“Fair enough, I shall leave you be my dear”

Aemond left a sweet kiss at the top of her hair while he sneakily took a nice whiff from her hair, it was the same sensation as stealing sweets from the baker before supper, sweet and the result made it worth it.

As he rose from the floor (y/n) stayed seated, contemplating what to do, the world was on her shoulders and she was shoved into walking on a rope, she always had a soft spot for Aemond, he had been the reason her adolescent heart beat erratically, if she could just turn back time perhaps everything could have been different.

“I will not pressure you into anything, I simply want to keep you safe and I even hope to make you happy one day, you shall be escorted into a different chamber on the morrow, this is not a proper home for you”

“Home, funny word”

Aemond pursed his lips at her remark, she was bitter and had every right to be however there was a part of him that yearned for her good graces, some would call him impatient if they saw how eager he was to earn a smile or a kind word off of her.

“We have plenty of time, I will wait, as long as you need my dear”

“I shall bid you goodnight, my prince”

“Sleep well, another day awaits you”

Requests are open!

[minminyoonjii]

HIIII can you please do “ When you have to share your daddies/Masters ” ot8 . Then skz ends up being mean to the reader and reader ends up running away ( reader is really mean to the girl ). Sorry if I’m asking to much

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

💜Rules and Guidelines

P1: Rainy Day|P2: Burn

🕯Summary: When did it end, all the enjoyment. A new inclusion was added to your perfect home, you were tolerant. However, what belonged to you, is yours and if anyone decides to use it without permission will drive you livid. Your daddys' don't act the same as they did before the new inclusion, their warmth made your shiver instead.

🌹CW

Fight|Verbal Degradation|Undermining Of Opinion|Lack Of Boundary|Lack Of Respect|Angst|Bestie! Hannah|Angry Crying|Betrayal|Trust Being Broken|Swearing Like A Sailor|The Trope Of Cold Character No Longer Being Nice To You Vibes|Yelling|Physical Subduing|Jisung Not Mentioned By Name But He's There

💌 This is a work of fiction, I by all means don't force ship anyone. They have the right to love whomever they want.

🍄Wordcount: 1.2K

You held your plushie tight, peeking through the rooms looking for your daddys'. "Is anyone awake?" you mumbled, furrowing your eyebrows at the seemingly empty chambers. A soft shuffling could be heard from the playroom. You made your way towards the sound, eyes widening at the sight. "What the fuck," you cursed, staring at the girl in disgust. She squeaked, quickly setting your toys down. You scoff, slipping out of your initial headspace "What the actual fuck were you thinking?" you snared, walking towards her. 

She gulped, mouth agape but not a single word escaped. You tilted your head, "Are you insane?" you questioned, feeling utterly dirty from the thought that she could've used your sex toys without you knowing. She hung her head, avoiding eye contact. You clenched your jaw, tugging her hair back "Listen to me slut, just because they brought your pathetic ass into the walls of this home doesn't mean everything in sight is fucking yours," you warned, taking the box and dropping it aside. 

A loud thud echoed, alerting the members of the house. "What is going on here?" Chan's voice boomed, making the both of you cringe. You turned, wanting to explain yourself when the rest of the members rushed in. Chan looked at you, "Spit it out, why is she trembling?" he asked, trying to keep neutral but his tone said otherwise. You felt your blood boil, "Why don't you ask the whore sitting on the bed?" you spat, glaring at him. 

Chan pressed his tongue against his cheek, reaching behind your neck and pushing you down, "Who do you think you're talking to, hm?" he asked, staring down. "Christopher, get your fucking hand off me," you glared, turning your head to bite his wrist. Chan tsked, "That's not how bunnies should behave," he reprimanded, holding your wrists together with his other hand, subduing you. "Christopher fucking Bang, I swear to god when I get out of this," you grunted, body trembling from anger. 

"Bunny, what have you got yourself into this time?" Minho asked, staring at your held-down position. You scoffed, "Get this fucking brute of a man of me, Min," you hissed, trashing within Chan's grip. Minho chuckled, patting the girl's dishevelled hair "I told you we shouldn't have placed them in the same house," he said, moving forward to tilt your chin. Chan rolled his eyes, "I didn't expect our bunny to act like a bratty mess," he growled, watching his chin from being headbanged. 

Your breathing turned heavily from the struggle, "She took my fucking toy from my box. What if she used it?" you pointed out, swallowing back tears as your anger built. Changbin crossed his arms, "I gave her permission. I can't see what the big deal is?" he said, nonchalantly. Your blood ran cold, and a shudder ran down your spine, "What?" you whispered, eyes widening. Changbin furrowed his eyebrows, "It's just a toy, what's wrong with sharing?" he asked, leaning back as if this whole debacle was just a nuisance.

You laughed, biting back the tears threatening to spill, "Are you hearing yourself?" you questioned. Changbin frowned, "She asked all of us for permission and we allowed it," he admitted, raising his voice. Your body didn't even react fast enough to flinch, it felt like a bucket of cold water was poured over your head without a warning. You forced your head up looking at Chan, "Bin's lying right, Chris? " you asked, lips etched in a smile.

Chan turned his head, grip loosening. You choked up a laugh, "Really, Chan?" you asked, voice cracking when you said his name. Chan bit his bottom lip, realizing what he just confessed to. Tears split down your cheeks, "You, you, yo- I trusted you. I trusted you the most and this is what you do to me? " you giggled in disbelief. Hyunjin scoffed, "Why are you making a fuss out of it?" he asked, looking at his phone. You clenched your jaw, "Hygiene, boundaries, trust and you neglected them all. Plus, it's my self-purchased items, in a box that has my fucking name, Hwang. Use your brain for once," you hissed, pointing out the obvious.

Seungmin wanted to retort, but you jumped in saying "Shut the fuck up, Kim. You know I'm right," you glared, making him bite his tongue in response. Chan felt his breath get knocked out of him when you pushed him off, keeping your back to the wall "Stay back! " you yelled, snatching your plush. Felix reached his hand towards you but you instinctively flinched, shrinking back. His eyes widened, retracting his hand "Angel," he croaked. 

Your brain ran on adrenaline, no longer feeling safe in the house you called home. "You know," you said, drawing their attention to you. "I always knew, I could never call you mine but I thought you respected me enough to at least not pull something as stupid like this," you said, showing the last view of vulnerability you were willing to display. With the chance of them being stunned by your words, you grab your backpack with minimal supplies and ran. 

Where to, you didn't know. The pavement slicked under the heavy rain, and your heart ached with twisted emotions. You were sure you looked insane from the watching eyes of the pedestrian but that didn't stop you. A familiar route guided you to a familiar door. You rang the bell, squatting down to catch your breath. The door swung open, "What are you doing here? You're soaked!" Hannah exclaimed.

You looked up, corners of your eyes and lips swollen red "Can we have a girl's night?" you asked, knees wobbling as you stood. Hannah's eyes widened, "Did you get mugged? Do I need to call my brother?" she asked, examining your body for injuries. Your lips wobbled, "Can I have a towel first please?" you joked, holding back your tears. She nodded, grabbing a warm towel "Now spill. I will not hesitate to beat someone up," she said, mocking a punch, drawing a giggle from you.

"Okay, okay. Listen well and listen good," you said, telling every drop of the scorching tea. Hannah looked at you in disbelief and disgust, "I don't even let people wear my clothes without permission, what the absolute fuck," she said, pushing her hair back. You nodded, "Right, and the fact that I don't personally know this chick they brought back," you pointed out. Hannah grimaced, "That makes it worse," she groaned, plopping back onto the sofa. 

You laughed, rubbing the back of your neck, "Yeah, but I do feel slightly guilty for my outburst. I said some things," you mumbled. Hannah scoffed, "Hey, no takebacks. Your feelings were valid," she reassured, patting your shoulder. You smiled weakly, "Do you mind if I stay at your place for a bit until I move my stuff back into my old apartment?" you asked, hanging your head. Hannah smiled, "Of course, I have a guest room for a reason," she said, standing up to stretch. Before you could say thank you, "Now, classic girl dinner with a movie marathon?" she proposed. You smiled back, "Definitely," you answered. 

[lokiprompts]

Appropriate - Chp 1

"Introductions"

Summary: Loki x Female reader; Loki is banished to Midgard and he has to live an average life as penance...and you, a social worker, is there to help him along the way. Rom Com vibes. Pinning; emotional edging until we can't take it anymore.

Words: 5k (it's a doozy, but an important start).

Warnings: Some swearing, but otherwise fluffy, some angst.

Song to listen to while reading: Maestro

AN: I don't offer taglists anymore. Remember to reblog if you like a writer's work! Comments make my heart go pitter patter.

Next chapter here

“This is a prison, Brother.”

The Odinson brothers stood together in a nearly empty apartment within Stark Tower; Thor beaming with unbridled optimism and Loki with a scowl painted on his face. The very walls of the room made the youngest prince nauseated, the beige walls and cookie cutter interior design completely devoid of personality. It was a far cry from his grand chambers in Asgard. But this tiny apartment was now his to call home. He had arrived earlier in the day, fresh out of Asgardian prison to pay penance on Midgard.  Loki’s arrival was mostly due to Thor’s pleading, arguing to his dear father, Odin, that Loki would be punished thoroughly just by having to stay on Midgard. Thor thought he was doing his younger brother a favor and believed a stay at the tower was a lesser penance.

But what Thor didn’t know was that he was right. This was Hel for Loki.

“You’ll get used to it!” Thor said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, but his happiness didn’t rub off on his dear brother, “I have a feeling you would like it here more than you think.”

Loki had begun to absentmindedly rub his new ‘jewelry’, magic dampening bangles that kept his seidr at bay.  They were a brilliant combination of Asgardian magic and Stark Tech in the form of golden bracelets, the left engraved with ‘Reindeer’ and the right with ‘Games’. ‘A little razzle dazzle to make Loki feel pretty’ Tony said. Loki’s eyeroll was inevitable.

The feeling of being deprived of his magic was unsettling for the sorcerer, to say the least. Even in his cell within Asgard, he could use his magic as he wished. His magic became another limb to him, something that had become second nature to rely on. A muscle memory that he did not even have to think about to command. Even his strength and speed were affected by the bangles. Now his magic, his strength, and his speed were all gone, and he was in essentially trapped in this dull room to live in with his immortality the only thing separating him from the average mortal.

He rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck in a pointless attempt to try and shrug off the sluggish feeling the dampeners gave him. Loki’s morning was spent mostly with Stark, having the bangles placed and explained to him.

“Okay Reindeer Games, no one is excited for you to be here so this is how it’s going to go,” Tony sneered, activating the technology of the bangles with a few calculated taps on his hologram monitor, “No magic, no F.R.I.D.A.Y. – you can’t leave the building and you can’t access certain areas in the tower. If you try, there will be consequences.”

Loki quirked an eyebrow, “What consequences?”

Tony grinned, booping Loki’s nose with the tip of his pen and taunting a god as if he hadn’t been tossed out a window, “That is for me to know, and for you to inevitably find out.”

Thor slapped Loki right on his back, jolting his younger brother forward and out of his memories, “It will all work out, don’t worry. I have a feeling that you will like the Servant of Workers that will come see you, I am sure!”

That got Loki’s attention. “You get your own servant here?” Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad here after all.

Thor grabbed Loki’s shoulder, giving it a gracious squeeze that made his younger brother grimace and roll his eyes, “She insists that she isn’t, but what she does clearly makes her a servant. You know, Midgard, everything is always so confused here. The Midgardian’s will catch on soon enough. Are you fine, Brother? I have a meeting with the team shortly, but I don’t want to-”

The god of mischief took a generous step away from his brother, cutting him off, “Yes, yes. I am fine. Now leave me be!”

There was a moment of hesitation where Thor’s gaze scrutinized his brother, trying to read through any potential lies. Eventually, he decided Loki’s proclamation of ‘being fine’ was good enough and he left the apartment, leaving Loki alone in the Tower for the first time. Still in his fine Asgardian leather, the sound of his boots echoed in the apartment as he took this time to give his new dwelling a proper look.

Loki was familiar with Tony’s penchant for finer things, each room ‘sparing no expense’, but the room he was in was clearly made on a budget. It made Loki wonder if Tony kept this room for people he hated. The living room was bare except for two beige armchairs and an end table, doubling as a coffee table in the center of the room. There were no books or a television. Attached to the living room was a kitchenette that had a humble stove and an even more humble sink that was large enough to hold exactly one plate, and that was being gracious. Loki turned down a short hallway to his bedroom if you could even call it that. There was a small full-sized mattress that was laid unceremoniously on the floor. Loki leaned down to gingerly touch the comforter that adorned the mattress and immediately scowled. The fabric left a greasy, gritty feeling on his princely fingers that were used to the finest of silks. Of course, the offending comforter, too, was beige. There was nothing else in the room, except for a closet that had a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie hanging up like they were the finest of suits. His ‘new prison uniform’, Loki thought with a scoff.

Seeing the set of repugnant clothes was the last thing Loki needed for the gravity of the situation to finally sink in. Tear started to prick at the corner of his eyes, and he slouched down to the ground, his back against the bare beige wall of his new bedroom. This life was a far cry from what he had in Asgard, even in the prisons. He always had the finest of meals prepared and dropped off to him. There was always a steady rotation of books and most importantly…. he had his magic. Without it, Loki felt like he lost his sense of identity. So much of himself was wrapped around his ability to use magic.

Growing up, he was always the smaller, weaker brother when compared to Thor. Even though Loki could hold his own in a battle, Thor’s brute strength always bested him in one-on-one combat, and it was their mother, Frigga, that took pity on Loki and taught him magic to level the playing field.

Frigga.

Loki let out a choked sob as memories of his mother teaching him magic as a young boy came flooding in. The quality time he shared with his mother was precious to him, even more so now that she has passed. Losing his magic felt like he lost her all over again, and it was enough to bring him to the point of breaking. Time dragged with Loki lost in his thoughts, tears now freely flowing, and before he knew it an hour had passed.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door of his apartment and Loki’s immediate reaction was to groan. Thor likely forgot something; the god was like a tick with its head borrowed so high in his brother’s business he couldn’t get out. With quiet steps, Loki stepped back out into the living room and listened, hoping that the guest would go away. Still, there was persistent, light knocking which was unlike Thor. But Loki certainly wasn’t up for guests and their questions.

“Go away, Thor! I may not have my magic, but I can still wield a knife!” Loki snarled through the door. Briefly, Loki questioned whether he even had knives in this dreadful apartment.

“Good thing I’m not Thor!” A voice called out from the other side. It was sweet, small, and charmingly melodic. The sound made his lip twitch up in a slight smile. It was the first time he smiled since arriving at the Tower and that fact was enough to catch Loki’s interest.

“And who are you, if you are not Thor?” Loki teased, inching closer to the door with each word until his nose almost brushed the wood grain.

“Um,” the voice giggled nervously. It rang clear and bright, despite being muffled by the door and it made Loki’s smile that much wider, “I am Y/N. I work for Tony Stark…well sort of. It’s complicated, but I am here to talk and help you, if that’s okay?”

The idea that anyone could help him was laughable at this point, and his dark mirthless chuckle was evident of that, “What could you possibly help me with?”

There was a shuffle behind the door, “Quite a bit, actually. Thor might have told you about me. I am the team’s social worker, and my job is to help you adjust.”

“Oh, the Servant of Workers? Yes, Thor mentioned you.”

Loki could vaguely here a curse, and a muttering of ‘damnit Thor’, making Loki bite his lip in amusement.

“Well, I am not a servant, but I can help you. We can talk if that’s okay? Can I come in, please?”

Even though he had been talking through the door these past few minutes, he suddenly became acutely aware of the dynamic of the conversation you were having and how rude it was – at least by his princely standards. He put his hand on the doorknob, but before he turned it and opened it, he flicked his wrist. When his intended magic did not come out to hide his still puffy and watery eyes, he considered sending you away. You seemed nice enough and gave him the option to decline meeting with you, but his curiosity was getting the best of him.

Wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve, he opened the door and finally laid his eyes on you.

All breath left the god when he finally saw you, time slowed down, dreams and love had new meaning – and if he wasn’t so utterly, instantly besotted he might have rolled his eyes at how utterly cliché he was being. Greedily, his eyes raked over your form and soaked up every detail.

Your eyes were as bright as your laugh, a bit wide with surprise like you hadn’t expected him to actually open the door. The next thing he immediately noticed was your height; or you lack of it. Your small stature landed you just below his shoulders and he had to look down to see you and look he did. Stared, actually, with his mouth opening and closing as his once silver tongue turned to lead. Everything about you was stunning, no radiant, no resplendent – you’re perfection.

You, however, didn’t seem to notice his momentary brain malfunction and cheerfully offered your hand to shake, your other hand clutching some folders and a large book tightly to your chest. Loki saw how you looked between him and the rogue hand whose presence became more and more awkward the longer it lingered. ‘Do something, Loki’ he cursed mentally, yet he did nothing.

Slowly, your hand lowered and just a fraction of a frown ghosted on your lips, and it was enough to break him out of his stupor.

“Apologies – Yes, Darling. Come in, come in!”

He quickly stepped out of the way, and you walked into the apartment, stopping just past the threshold, and looking around. Suddenly, Loki was self-conscious of his beige prison. Caring about other’s opinions was something he did not display too often. Deep seeded threads of jealousy was also held close to his heart when it came to Thor, and that same heart swelling with pride whenever Frigga praised his magical skill. Of course, Odin’s opinion is a whole other layer of anger and tears, but now he found himself wanting to be in your good graces. To impress you.

Loki sped by you and his large frame overwhelmed his tiny kitchenette and began whipping open all the cupboards.

“Can I get you something?” His voice pressed and anxious, “Tea? A biscuit?” He frowned when he realized all the cupboards were empty except for one can of chicken noodle soup and a dinning set for one person. Did he even have a tea kettle? He truly had nothing.

“No, no, that is quite alright.” Loki’s frowned deepened and he looked to you, who had opened one of your files and clicked a pen to scribble some notes down. “So, like I said, my job title is a social worker and part of my job is here, and the other part is at the hospital. Majority of my job is to help you get what you need to adjust to your life in the tower.

You looked around, motioning to the practically empty apartment you both stood in.

“So, you are a servant? You fetch things for people?” You giggled and pressed your papers closer to your chest again. Already, Loki couldn’t get enough of your laugh.

“I am sure some of the people I work with think so, like Thor who won’t let that go,” You flashed Loki a pointed look that was filled with mirth, and it too made Loki laugh, “But, really, my job is to help you get adjusted. I am not at your beck and call.”

Loki leaned on the small island in the kitchenette with his elbows and limbs going every which way awkwardly. When did casually standing become so difficult?

“So, you also work for the hospital?”

Instantly, you lit up, and Loki smiled at the joy on your face, “Yes. It is my main job, actually. I work with children who have special abilities, much like yourself, and help make sure they get the care and tools that they need to succeed.”  All your words were spoken fervently and the passion you were exuding warmed Loki’s heart.

“You’re kind then? To care for children like that.” Loki felt like he was stating the obvious. You were a radiant creature who loved working with children and now forced to help a monster – his spiraling thoughts echoed in sick repetition in time with his fingers that started to anxiously tap on the island counter.

“I would hope so,” You laughed again, your eyes darting to his nervous tick. You motioned to his small hallway, “Is it okay if I take a look around?”

Loki rightened himself quickly, “Right, certainly. Right this way.” He led you down the short hallway, to his tiny bedroom with the mattress and greasy comforter on the floor. The matching frown you both wore was telling. So, this wasn’t an appropriate living situation for Midgard either. Loki started to shift on his feet uneasily from side to side when you poked around in his closet and saw the only piece of clothing hanging, the sweat suit.

“So, you will need some clothes, for sure.” You turned to him and gave him a warm smile, a smile that held no judgement for his living situation. Loki, on the other hand, has his lips in a tight line. Oh, how far has he fallen.

“I can get you some clothes from Asgard if you’d like, but that will take some time. I would have to ask Thor.” Loki flinched at the mention of his brother, “Or we can go shopping tomorrow and get some clothes here. I just need to get some approvals first.”

This perked Loki up, “I thought I couldn’t leave the tower?” He recalled his earlier conversation with Tony.

You nodded, “That is true, but I have special privileges and if I get it approved, we can go.” Suddenly, you realized he might not want to expose himself to the world outside. The god wasn’t the most welcome in this city, “Unless you prefer to stay here? I could pick some things up fo-“

“No, no, no!” He cut you off, waving his hands, “I would love to go and get out of this infernal apartment.”

Again, your laugh rang throughout the small room, and it delighted him to no end. Did you always laugh so much – Loki wondered. Wordlessly, you walked out of the bedroom and back out to the living room and motioned to one of the beige armchairs, “May I?”

“Please do.” Part of him debated if you checking in with him constantly was out of politeness or fear, but you didn’t seem afraid of him. If anything, it looked like you made yourself at home when you perched yourself upon his chair. Your lack of fear confused him. Don’t you know what he did?

“Let’s address the elephant in the room, shall we?” You started and Loki’s breath caught in his throat, fully expecting his self-deprecating thoughts to come to fruition, “The horrid furniture.”

Loki huffed out a breathless laugh, “Yes, it is quite horrible.” You handed Loki the big book you had in your lap, finally giving Loki a view of your curves. The outfit you wore was modest – a pencil skit that accented your rounded hips and a demure blouse that had its top button undone, allowing for just a peak of teasing cleavage. Loki hadn’t noticed he was staring until you cleared your throat.

“That book there, that’s a furniture catalog. You can pretty much ask for whatever you want, and I will do what I can to make it happen for you. There are a bunch of options there, so hopefully you will find something you like. I know this place is a far cry from a palace, but I sincerely hope it can become home to you in time.”

Loki wanted to roll his eyes and scoff at the idea of this beige nightmare being his home, but the warm, sincerity that shone in your eyes stopped him. There was so much hope there, a brazen plea to give this retched tower a chance, to give you a chance. He turned the book over in his hands and let his thumb flip through the pages. For you, he could try. At least for now.

“So, now that we have that settled, the next thing is figuring out how much you know about life on Midgard. Would you mind if I ask you some questions?”

Loki leaned back in his chair, his legs spread wide and bursting through his leathers. There was a moment where your eyes flickered down to his muscly thighs. It was almost too fast that he might have missed it, but he didn’t miss it. With a smirk, Loki motioned for you to continue, and you opened one of your folders, pulling out some papers and clicking your pen.

“Some of these questions may seem ridiculous to you, so please be patient with me. I heard from Thor that you are very well read and are quite intelligent, so know that this is just standard procedure even with how silly these questions are.”

Loki’s face heated up with your compliment and keen observation. He hoped the pink on his cheeks did not show up as brightly as he felt them burn, “Go ahead, Darling.”

You flashed Loki and unreadable look after hearing the pet name but carried on as if nothing happened. “So, what is your experience with cleaning? Doing the dishes, laundry, vacuuming? Things like that?”

Several emotions flashed across Loki’s face – first shock, then confusion, and finally dramatic offense, “What?! Do I look like some oaf to you?!”

Your hands flew up in defense, “Remember, it is just standard procedure. I don’t think you are an oaf at all, or anything of the like, but I need to ask these questions to determine what you may need help with. You likely might not need any of my assistance, but I must ask these questions to figure them out, okay?”

You spoke calmly, clearly, and without judgement and that aura of calmness was almost a balm to the already anxious prince. Loki decided that your questioning was way worse than his time with Stark this morning. At least with the genius, he could hide behind his dripping sarcasm and cleverness, but around you he felt naked, vulnerable. It was unnerving.

He sat back as you repeated your question, folding his arms and essentially closing himself off from you. The prince took the time to ponder the question and he realized he never had cleaned a dish himself in all his thousand years of existence, let alone did his own laundry. If he did need to clean something himself, he had his magic to rely on. And what was a vacuum? If there was one thing Loki didn’t like, it was not knowing something and what made it worse, that fact was going to be made painfully obvious to you. So, he did what he did best.

He lied.

Everything you asked him, he exceled at. Cooking? A master chef. Cleaning? Meticulous to a fault. Midgardian technology? Child’s play. The whole assessment took approximately an hour, and it was the highlight of Loki’s horrible day. Conversation flowed freely between you two after he allowed himself to relax and be comfortable around you. The sound of your laughter bouncing off the walls and the soft smiles made Loki feel something that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. A flicker of warmth in his cold, closed off heart. Just a man, and not the monster he knew himself to be. At least for now, with you, he could pretend.

After your last question, you tucked your papers back in your folder and stood up with the smile that Loki had come to know and appreciate during your short time with him.

“Well, it seems my predictions are right, and you don’t need any help with anything here on Midgard.”

Loki smirked, “Of course not, Darling.” Again, you scrunched your nose at the pet name before making your way to his front door and spinning around, offering your hand that held a small card.

“It was great meeting you, Loki. It seems outside of getting what you need in this apartment, you won’t need my help at all. I will have some food and provisions delivered up to you later today and I will, hopefully, if the approvals go through, pick you up tomorrow morning to go clothes shopping. You can let me know what you decide on furniture then.” He gingerly took the card from your hand and looked at it. It contained your name, a phone number, and where your office was located within the tower.

“And then after that, you won’t have to see me ever again!” You chirped, meaning for it to be playful since it was obvious Loki hated this apartment, the tower, and you assumed, you as well. Little did you know that innocent statement had sent Loki’s reeling. These….feelings, feelings? Feelings for you were new, confusing, and Loki was convincing himself that they weren’t feelings at all, but instead an infatuation because of his recent forced living situation. Just something to pass the time. But he couldn’t ignore the panic that was starting to settle in his chest at the mere thought of never seeing you again.

Loki was so caught up in his emotional crisis of the heart to even notice that you had left, and you were already making your way down the hall and away from him.

“W-wait!” Loki called out, sounding a bit more panicked than he would like, but it made you stop in your tracks and turn. That made it worth it.

“What can I help you with?” You asked, after Loki’s long legs ran him straight to you in record time. For the first time, in well, ever, Loki felt slightly winded from the exertion. He placed a large hand on his chest as his breathing settled. Damn, these bangles!

“Well, Um..Well, you see – Here’s the thing…” Loki stammered, his hands stretched out and pleading while his mind tried to come up with a reason to get you to stay. You stared at him as he rambled on, not saying anything, with your ‘this man is crazy’ expression well-hidden underneath your professional mask.

“I lied.” Loki rushed out.

“What?”

The young god rubbed the back of his neck, and your eyes caught the stray curls that lived back there, free from his onslaught of gel, “I actually don’t know any of the things you asked me about.”

“What?” You repeated. Your eyes furrowed in confusion. Loki’s intelligence and cleverness was known by the Avengers, and you had believed every word he said when you went through the assessment. He even provided examples and lofty tales of his time in the kitchen or cleaning his chambers in Asgard when the maids were sick! And he lied?

You found yourself asking him about those very scenarios and if they were true or not in a tone that wasn’t as warm as when you first met him, Loki noticed. You didn’t like being lied to, that much was clear.

“I know, I know, I am sorry, Darling, but things have been….hard for me.” His voice lowered to a shame filled whisper, “I am a prisoner here, I know, getting the sentence I deserve, but I lost my magic, my home. The last thing I have is my mind, and I didn’t want it to be known that I couldn’t do, or understand, such simple things. I truly am sorry, Darling. Will you please help me?”

It was the sincerest Loki has ever been and it surprised and horrified him to know that all the things he said were true, and he was saying them to you. A stranger. But every time he looked at you, something deep within him told him he could trust you. It was a new feeling, a strange and confusing one, but one that Loki found himself welcoming with open arms.

“Okay, I will,” Loki let out a long, relieved exhale at your words, “But, no more lying, okay? We can’t work together if we aren’t honest with each other.”

The God of Lies gritted his teeth, instantly regretting his choice and feeling the first pang of guilt for lying to you, “Of course.”

“Do you have time to talk about some things now?”

“My schedule is wide open,” ‘Painfully open’, Loki thought. Again, he followed you back into his apartment and you walked into his kitchenette.

“Since you don’t know that much about cooking, we are going to do go over some basics. I will be ordering some food and other provisions for you, but it will all be very simple things. Canned foods, microwaveable meals, things like that until we have a more formal cooking lesson. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.” Loki’s heart fluttered at the mere prospective of even more time with you. The feelings of guilt for lying to you already a distant memory as he indulged himself in your radiant presence.

You walked over to the microwave that sat over the tiny stove, “This is a microwave. Have you used one before?”

Loki shook his head no and stepped right up to you, watching your every move. You turned your attention back to the appliance and started to explain the intricacies of using it. Loki, however, was not paying attention to a word you said. Instead, he was admiring all the little details that made you, you. First, he admired your long eyelashes, long and curled and they framed your eyes perfectly. Different colors floated about in your iris, little flecks that sparkled. There was also a slight flush to your cheeks, a rosy hue and he wondered if you could be blushing because of him. But his favorite part, oh his favorite part was your mouth. Loki’s eyes followed the curve of your cupid bow and around the edge of your soft, pillowy lips. Your mouth was moving, but he wasn’t listening.

“Most packages just show…..” Your sweet voice faded in and out of his ears as he watched you, “And don’t ever, ever put….”

Loki found himself leaning into you. His nose just lightly brushing against your hair for a light whiff, but that feather touch was enough to have you whip around to face him. Your eyes went wide at the realization of how close he was and how much he towered over you. You took a tentative step back and it made Loki frown.

“Do you have any questions?” You asked, your billowy lips now in a straight line.

“No, your lesson was quite enlightening, Darling. I shall become an expert of this…microwave…in no time.” He could feel the unease radiating off you. Why did he let himself get so close?

“Wonderful. I will see you tomorrow for clothes shopping, okay? Have a good day, Loki.” And with that you left, and Loki was alone yet again. The apartment felt empty, and cold now that you had left. The life bringing warmth that you brought followed you right out his door.

The rumbling in his stomach broke him out of his thoughts. He wasn’t sure when your food delivery would be happening, but he remembered the lone can of soup in his cupboard. He opened it and pulled the top off, unaware of how lucky he was since he didn’t have a can opener. The salty, savory smell of chicken noodle soup wafted up to his nose and he decided it was satisfactory enough. He dumped the contents of the can in his only bowl and stirred it with his only metal spoon.

He put the bowl in the microwave, spoon and all, carefully so he didn’t spill. Closing the door, he looked at the numbers on the appliance. It was then he realized he hadn’t listened to a word you said during your entire explanation of how to use this contraption. With a careless shrug, he punched in thirty minutes. He remembered helping his mother make a stew in the palace once and he thinks that is how long it took, but that was centuries ago.

For a few seconds, Loki watched the contraption light up and the bowl spin, but he quickly grew bored and sat down in his armchair. He ran his fingers through his hair and groaned. How was he going to live like this? Surely, he would waste away from boredom. Loki leaned back in his chair, letting his head fall back and soon the exhaustion from the day overtook him and he fell asleep.

Screaming smoke alarms woke him up with a start, and his wrists, they were burning. He cried out in pain and collapsed on soft carpet of his living room just as shield agents burst into his apartment, knocking the door right off its hinges.

“Get him!!”

[weskin-time]

Jill or Carlos with a S/O that has autism or ADHD? Listening intently to their partners rants and rambles about their hyperfixations or stimming with them when they get too excited or their emotions get too strong

YES! i am on the spectrum so this made me so fucking happy to write you have no idea

Jill Valentine and Carlos Oliveira with an Autistic S/O HCs

i am. on pain medication from getting my wisdom teeth out today so im sorry if anything makes no sense or there are errors i am just vibing

Jill Valentine

she keeps a pair of ear plugs in her pockets when you two go anywhere just incase

loves to hear you infodump and stim after shes had a rough day. just loves to unwind at home while listening to your voice

and she’ll nod her head, hum in agreement and ask questions when you’re talking. never in a ‘im not fully listening’ she actually loves to see your eyes light up and the happy expression on your face when you talk about a hyperfixation or special interest

she was a little confused when you first visually stimmed but instead of asking you she just followed your movements which made you even more excited

if you get too excited about something where you’re starting to hyperventilate and you feel like you’re going to explode she will open the bedroom door and make you wiggle around on the bed. full body stim so good good yes

will get you little trinkets or gifts from the things you’re obsessed about to show how much she listens and cares

doesn’t mind cooking you your samefood over and over again, it gives her a chance to brush up on her cooking skills plus she loves to cook with you (she kinda sucks at it but it’s okay i love her so much *smooch*)

if you’re starting to get overstimulated in public she quickly learns the early signs and tries to get you away, or you could just tell her “i’m starting to get overstimulated here” and you’re out of wherever you’re at instantly. she can come back another time if there’s something she needs

she keeps every rock, flower, marble or what ever you bring her. she has old police books with pressed flowers you gave her, the rocks are in a jewelry box.

when you start to freak out and have a breakdown she’s sorta at a loss to help but in a split second she runs and grabs your weighted blanket and puts it around your shoulders while getting you your favorite drink. it all depends on you and how you deal but she’s quick to make adjustments

non verbal moments? she will help you make little cards to show your wants and needs and other information.

angry? ripped your shirt in anger? banged your head against a wall? tore some hair out? she will try to help you calm down as best she can and then patch you up. she’ll take safety pins and pin your shirt. she’ll give you an ice pack and some pain relief medicine. she gives you kisses

don’t like a certain texture? boom it’s gone. if you feel it still even after you’ve touched it she’ll bring you your favorite texture

loves it when you sit on her lap and rub your face on her like a cat. she will join you in the face rubbing

food textures you don’t like? give them to her she’ll eat them. don’t like mushrooms bc they’re squishy and weird and make you want to punch a man? she’ll give you a tiny fork to pick them off your pizza and she’s putting it on hers

Carlos Oliveira

he’s an adhd haver

autism and adhd solidarity

when he washes his hair it’s so soft and fluffy and thick that you could sit there and pet his head and rub your fingers thought it for hours. he doesn’t mind at all. he’s sitting there almost purring like a cat

vocal stim echo chamber

y’all can make sounds or words over and over again and just keep bouncing them off each other for hours no matter what you’re going

his beard is also very soft. he keeps very good care of his appearance so it’s not like super scratchy it’s a very good texture please rub your face against it once or twice before kissing his nose

this man can’t cook for shit. normally it’s take out. most of the time y’all develop a samefood at the same restaurant so you two must order the same place for weeks and just get the same food

WILL LAY ON YOU AND CRUSH YOU WITH HIS WEIGHT.!! he loves cuddles so much and now he’s getting cuddles and helping you? his new favorite cuddling position is him laying on top of you while you run your finger through his hair

He’s the one who goes into places and talks to the workers there for you if you need him too. want to order lunch but feeling not up for it to order? tell him what you want he’s got you <3

non verbal moments? he talks enough for the both of you honestly. he knows sign language so you two could take that way or he’ll use cards too. if you text him he will read out your text before responding lol

pillow fort movies/tv show/ video game nights. filled with all that good sensory shit and your favorite snacks and his.

he stims with you. every time. it’s involuntary on his part.

more than likely there is one texture he loves that you hATE. you hate velvet? the first time you come over to his place he had a velvet blanket on his bed.

stocks the fridge with his and your favorite food textures. he likes pudding and cottage cheeses textures

he’s better at preventing meltdowns or breakdowns before they happen than helping you during the act

you two bring each other things. he picked up his paperclip to throw it away but he gained emotional attachment to it and he’s giving it to you bc he doesn’t want to loose his new friend. has all the thing you give him in a shoebox under his bed for safe keeping

one of his favorite stims is running his callused hands up and down your softer skin at a medium pace. he starts out slow before speeding up a bit more. just placing his hand on your body and running it down before picking it up and putting it where he first started. loves if you do a ‘cat making biscuits’ stim on his body while he does that to you

[cythanadiel]

Hello! I wanted to ask about your oc, Ice. So the question is which agents Ice likes the company and doesn't like it much? Sorry for this strange question, but when I saw your oc and I really liked him and I saw some of him with Skye so I thought about what his relationship with others would be like.

Omg that's such a cute ask thank you!!! This got me really really excited💕💕💕

I made a small list of agents he likes, dislikes, is neutral about and his relationship to them underneath the line:

Agents he is tight with:

Reyna - I think Reyna and Ice are the closest to one another, not necessarily personality wise but definitely goal wise. I can definitely see them bonding and talking over their Sisters, as they share the same pain: Ice lost his, and Reyna is fighting to keep hers alive. He understands why Reyna is the way she is, and he cannot blame her for it. In fact, he would be subconsciously driven to help her gather souls.

Brim - Ice has a military background and sometimes talks with Brim about the time with the Special Forces. He holds deep respect for Brim as a commander and blindly puts his trust into him.

Sova - Same as with Brim, He respects Sova. Ice not only sees him as friendly and good company, but also as very competent and fierce. He appreciates his coldness on the battlefield and not letting emotions get in the way. He carries out commands without questioning a word, which Ice can relate to. It's like looking in the mirror, except the reflection smiles back.

Skye - The day she threw him over her shoulder and slammed him into 3 walls was the day he straight up couldn't get his mind off of her. That girl can pack a punch and does not bet an eye at getting her hands dirty. He was VERY much smitten by her. Although I don't think I could say the same about Skye tbh. She's the sole reason he wakes up at 4am to go jogging together.

Raze - While Ice is very much for Order and discipline, he likes Raze's Chaos. There is something about her energy that gets even his bitch face to smile.

Deadlock - That is....they're the same person. Personality and very close background wise they're literally the same person. Hell, Ice even lived a large part of his life in Norway, (he's not Scandinavian tho) and even speaks a little Norwegian. They're definitely gym and sparring partners as well.

Clove - While I can't say too much on Clove yet, I do feel that they'd get along, solely because they give little sibling vibes. He had one sibling he couldn't protect, he sure as hell won't let that ever happen again. So imagine the relief he'd feel after Clove comes back to life, seemingly unharmed.

Viper - Viper sees herself as a monster and had to do things beyond her Control (or maybe it was all in her Control) and Ice can heavily relate to that. He has had some of the same experiences, yet he still sees himself as Human. All in all he genuinely pities Viper.

Cypher - He's fascinated by Cypher and isn't actually too bothered by his secrecy. He understands the need for it and wishes it'd be the standard for the other agents as well. Plus, in the strangest way possible, Cypher is like a father figure to him.

Agents he's neutral about/likes them:

Sage - He likes her healing skills but hates the Mother Hen vibe coming from her. He thinks it influences her and others too much on the battlefield. She could be so much more than just the nice healer lady next door.

Astra - He's genuinely delighted by her presence, but they don't have much in common. Though he's legitimately scared of her powers.

Chamber - He shared the same opinion as everyone else when Chamber first joined, and he still keeps an eye out on him, But Ice can't help but be intrigued by his efficient weapon designs and use of nanotech. They're currently in the talks about nanotech prosthetics and improvements.

Jett - Same as with Clove, Jett gives lil sis vibes. She is also very promising on the field and if she took things a little more serious, she could become very deadly on the field. (Like them instalocks on immortal)

Omen - Similar to Viper, Ice pities Omen. They both share the same pain of being torn apart and coming back to life, but as changed people, possibly without being able to go back to what they once were. Although Ice is, to some degree, scared of becoming like Omen.

Fade - Initially he was ready to snap her neck when she leaked everyone's profiles, and caused the nightmares, but... he ended up forgiving her after learning her motives, that she was doing it because she was looking for someone very dear to her. He would practically do the same if he was in her shoes.

Harbor - INCREDIBLE duo, even if they're not always on the same wavelength. They're also gym buddies.

KAY/O - they're not too friendly with one another, but they do play pool or cards, and they both enjoy taking money from Breach. It's the one thing they can bond over.

Gekko - Ice sees Gekko as a Mini-Me if things hadn't gone south in his past. Gekkos connection to Reyna only strengthens that. Also he needs someone to help him dye his hair, as Ice does a very poor job on his own. On a side note,, I constantly get the feeling that Gekko would fanboy a little over Ice.

Neon - He gets motion sick from her zip zapping. She's also a little too snappy for him, a la "What's with this sassy lost child?" Although he can appreciate her ruthlessness and that she, quite literally, can zap you out of existence within the blink of an eye. He likes that she's more serious on the field despite being one of the youngest members.

Agents he actively dislikes:

Phoenix - Ice has active PTSD cuz of how many times he's nearly been burned around Phoenix. He tries to stay at least 50m away from him if possible.

Killjoy - He's experienced KJs bots first hand and hates them. But also, he thinks she shouldn't be on the field, especially when she's hiding behind her toys.

Breach - Opposite to Raze, Ice HATES Breach's Chaos. He does not understand how the two got along in the first place and how Breach hasn't been booted yet. Guess he'll have to trust Viper's judgement on him. To Breach tho, Ice is just another loyal dog, one that can be tossed aside when he's of no use anymore.

Yoru - Too cocky with no direct excuse for it. You can't even say his skills match his ego, because they do not. Ice is about staying humble and giving your best, and if you don't, then stfu. Plus, he's a direct adversary when it comes to Skye

Iso - Him and Iso basically have the same background but he wouldn't like Iso because he thinks he's taking the easy way out of his contract. Plus, Iso listening to music while on a mission or getting easily distracted gives Ice the sense of unprofessionalism, no matter how good he actually is.

[floralcyanide]

𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰'𝒎 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒀𝒐𝒖, 𝑰 𝑫𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝑭𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝑨𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒆

ed baldwin x gn!reader

Upon hearing bad news, Ed just needs someone there for him.

warnings: spoilers for For All Mankind, child death, minor character death, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/ comfort, cuddling, just friends but also mutually crushing type vibes

word count: 1271

author's note: here's the ed angst I've had bouncing around in my head. I feel it's kind of uneventful, but I had to write this and share it with the world because I love putting characters I love through the wringer for no reason. enjoy!

masterlist | add yourself to the taglist here

You had watched helplessly as Ed destroyed the Soviet camera. It was seated in an open space between rocks and neatly covered up until Ed ripped the boulders off and over his shoulder. There wasn’t much you could do as he took his pickaxe and savagely mangled the camera. 

Earlier, both of you had received a message about Ed’s son from the Soviets with them offering their condolences. You both were confused, and when Ed asked you to clarify, you were no help. No one from Houston had told you anything. Gordo had been acting a little weird, but it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. You suggested maybe the Soviets had been listening to your messages to your families, and there was a mix-up in translation. Either way, Ed was angry that the Soviets would even bother to mess with his head like that. So he took it out on the spy camera, much to your dismay. You hoped the Soviets wouldn’t get angry and try to harm either of you. 

Now, you and Ed were shedding your suits in the chamber before returning to the base. Once you get back inside, you immediately head for the cupboards for something to eat. Even if the food was disgusting, it did its job. You sit at the makeshift kitchen counter as Ed enters the main area. Suddenly, you hear a voice coming from the comms.

“Ed? Are you there? Ed?”

You turn in your seat at the table and watch as Ed cautiously walks to the comms screen. His ex-wife Karen is on the call, appearing very emotional. 

“It’s Shane,” Karen says, her voice cracking as she puts her hand on the screen.

Ed’s face twists into a look of shock and horror, tears brimming his eyes. His seemingly unlikely fear had come to fruition. You freeze in your seat, realizing something did happen to his son, Shane, as the Soviets insinuated. Condolences are only given when someone dies… That’s when it hits you. Ed collapses to his knees, burying his face in his hands. You’re unsure of what to do, still sitting in your seat with your food on the table in front of you. You push it aside as Ed shakily reaches up to turn off the communications. He didn’t want to hear the details of what happened right now.

“Ed?” you call softly, getting up from your sitting position and slowly walking toward him, “Are you alright?”

Ed doesn’t say a word but instead snatches the bottle of alcohol from a nearby table before spinning the top off.

“Oh no, you don’t,” you say, pulling the bottle away from Ed, “That will only make things worse.”

Ed can hardly look at you, tears falling freely down his face. He would never tell you this, but he hates looking weak, especially in front of you. He admires you in many ways, and he hates you having to see him falling apart like this. The chemistry between you was apparent, but those feelings were being shoved aside for now.

Ed walks a few short steps into the main area, where some chairs are splayed out, and he takes a seat on the floor. You sit next to him as he rubs his hands over his face. Ed punches the wall next to him angrily before pounding it again and again. You grab ahold of his wrist, stopping him mid-punch before he can split his knuckles open any further.

“Edward,” you say sternly, looking at him with concern. His eyes slowly meet yours for the first time.

You reach your hands toward Ed’s face, taking it into your grasp before moving in front of him. He lets his head relax into your palms and casts his eyes downward.

“Look at me,” you say softly as your own tears begin to burn in your eyes.

Ed’s eyes travel up to yours.

“There we go. I know this is a horrible situation, but you’re strong, and you’ve got this. You have to stay vigilant.”

“But he’s gone, Y/N,” Ed whispers, “He’s gone, and I’m here, and there’s nothing I can do.”

“You can stay focused and be tough for Shane. That’s all you can do right now, and I’m so sorry,” you frown, sniffing as tears run down your cheeks, “I’m so sorry you’re stuck here. I really am.”

Ed’s eyes squeeze shut as another wave of realization hits him. Sobs wracked his body, and you pulled his head to your chest, stroking his hair comfortingly.

“You’ll be okay. It will take time, but you will be okay again,” you say as you let Ed cry into your shirt.

You shuffle over to the wall, letting your back rest against it as Ed buries his face in your lap, curling up into himself. All you can do is run your hand over his back and through his hair as he pours out his grief. Seeing the man you look up to and have feelings for break down like this was odd, but losing a child is unfathomable. And Ed didn’t have anyone other than Shane after his and Karen’s divorce, except his colleagues, of course. But Ed had no one to run to when everything was falling apart. He especially had no one now except you, literally. Almost a quarter of a million miles away from home with no one else around to ease his pain. At least Ed wasn’t completely alone.

You feel Ed relaxing into your lap, and you figure he’s falling asleep.

“Ed? Let’s get you to your bunk, alright?”

Ed hums in response, except when you expect him to get up, he doesn’t. He turns over, presses his face to your stomach, and wraps his arms around your waist. Butterflies erupt in your belly at the close proximity. You adored Ed, but you didn’t want to take advantage of him right now when he couldn’t think straight. 

“Ed,” you draw out, but he ignores you.

Reluctantly, you move Ed off you and stand up, offering him a hand to pull him up. He takes it and stands up, brushing himself off and avoiding your gaze once again. He doesn’t let go of your hand the whole way to the bunks, and you don’t go of his either.

You watch as Ed climbs inside his bunk, and you prepare to climb into your own below his.

“Will you stay?” Ed asks quietly, and you almost don’t hear him.

“I’ll be right below you the whole time, Ed,” you say, not wanting to cross any boundaries.

“Please?”

You pause, taking a deep breath. Yes, you’re lonely, but not so much that you’d do something frowned upon. However, a situation like this just doesn’t happen- kids aren’t supposed to die before their parents. Especially when one of their parents is on the Moon. But you’d want someone to comfort you if you lost someone you loved.

You exhale slowly before climbing into Ed’s bunk and lying beside him. He reaches over you to pull the curtain closed. For a moment, the both of you just stare at each other. But you hesitantly reach out your hand to pull Ed to you. He ignores you, pulling you into him instead. You wrap your arms around him as he buries his face into your neck, tears falling onto your skin. The both of you stay like that for a while, just holding each other as Ed cries. You let him tucker himself out before falling asleep yourself. 

You aren’t sure what tomorrow will hold, but you’ll be there for Ed despite it all.

[liviusofpella]

one: let's meet again, for the first time

Pairing: currently ambiguous, f!MC (Niamh) x Cal, f!MC (Niamh) x (m!OC) Xander

Book: Nightbound

Word count: 3450

Rating: T

Warnings: cursing, mention of drugs

Category: (according to choices) horror; short-series, supernatural, romance

A/n: I'm not sure how my brain works and I don't think I want to find out, but this was first inspired by toss a coin to a witcher, but here we are. Bon appétit. 

I’ve teased about writing it for years (literally), so I’m just as surprised as those of you who remember me talking about it, that I’m actually publishing it 😂

Quick introduction:

Initially, Niamh stayed in NOLA for a few months but eventually left

Throughout the events of the book, Niamh and Cal did not romance each other, but they had a short-lived fling several weeks after the fight with Thomas

By any means, I do not promise to be faithful to the original in terms of... anything. If something is not as it was in the book, it's because I deliberately changed it. 

Setting: a year after the events of Nightbound

Tag list: @ladylamrian @lazypartridge @ginnyginsposts @brycesgirl @cashweasel @lilyoffandoms @choicesficwriterscreations (if you wish to be added or taken off the list, dm me! as usual, sorry if I forgot about someone)

pinterest boards for the vibes: niamh | cal | xander | crystaval / lamrian

Nothing can prepare you for grief. There is no handbook of conduct, and it does not get easier the second time. 

Until forced to spend hours by herself in a spacious chamber, Niamh never thought of her as a survivor or as bearing any trauma. It was half past midnight by New Orleans’ time, the air was heavy and suffocating despite the downpour outside. She's been in Crystaval for over a year, learning the ways of conduct, history, military strategy and magic when despite Lady Avyanna’s motto of nipping one’s emotions in the bud, Niamh fell into panic. She always thought that grief only concerned those who lost someone dear to them, but having spent many hours in isolation she realised that she was grieving her old life, the one she was ready to leave behind before agreeing to stay in Crystaval.

"My Lady, a visitor has arrived."

She nodded almost imperceptibly as her eyes continued to observe the reflection in the mirror. A young woman was staring back at her, clothed in luxurious fabric, wearing a thousand-year-old jewellery, one that created the impression of a powerful, steady leader. 

Straightening her back, Niamh rose up, and followed her aide towards the Grand Hall.

“Is everything ready for the announcement?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“Who is the guest?”

“A young man from your birth realm. A nighthunter. He said the matter is urgent.”

Her heart skipped a beat, but her face remained impassive. The clicking of her heels reverberated in the spacious hall, blending with the happy chirping of the dwarf kingfishers, birds native to Crystaval, until a high-pitched ringing forced her to stop and lean against the wall. Alerted, Xander scanned the surroundings and, having found nobody around, placed a hand on Niamh’s back. “Breathe, Nia,” he said softly, stroking her skin.

The sense of duty threatened to blow his chest apart. Xander knew that this condition was unusual, possibly life-threatening, thus could not be taken lightly; however, Niamh made it very clear that this should stay between them. Since he was subordinate to her and not the Queen, Xander was obliged to follow the orders of the heiress to the throne.

Niamh bit her lip when the ringing became louder, clouding her mind and making her lose her balance. 

“We should tell someone about this, it’s potentially dangerous and happens too frequently lately,” Xander murmured while delicately wiping the golden tears off her cheeks. 

“Don’t you dare,” she threatened. “I have it under control.”

Closing her eyes, Niamh took a couple of deep breaths, waiting for her heartbeat to slow down. When she opened her eyes, she found Xander piercing her with his gaze.

“Let’s go.”

Familiar laughter echoed in the spacious room.

“What brings you to Crystaval?” 

“What the actual fuck, Niamh?”

The royal guards eyed the nighthunter, looking alerted, but the blonde did not pay them any attention. Xander stepped closer, his hand already on the hilt of his dagger. Noticing the mobilisation, Niamh intervened: “At ease, he's a friend. Why don’t we step outside?”

In comparison to Crystaval, Lamrian's gardens were mundane, stale, boring even. The water had a purplish tint, the sky was adorned with two suns—Halcyona, the crimson giant, and Eirele, a smaller one, yet still bigger than Earth’s sun was slightly peachy. The scarce clouds were pink, and the air smelled of the lush greenery surrounding them. Nik found himself fascinated by the landscape, especially because he’s never been allowed to Crystaval, but his eyes never left Niamh's silhouette. 

“You said you were coming back home,” Nik started, fumbling with his leather glove.

“This is my home.”

“Don't play dumb, rookie, you know damn well what I mean. All of a sudden, you decided to become, what, a queen? How come no one in the supernatural world knew about this? How is it even possible? Elric wasn't exactly that much of a big shot."

Niamh sighed quietly and began smoothing out her baby blue dress in an attempt to hide the trembling of her hands. “The throne is rightfully mine, but no, I am not a queen yet. Since Lady Thalissa preferred to remain in the colony, it became my duty to care for the folk of Crystaval as well as maintain peace among all seven realms,” she looked up and was immediately met with a pair of piercing grey eyes. “The kind fae of the Lavender City were asked to keep the new administration a secret until told otherwise, as we did not want unfit creatures knowing the authority was weak and unstable. Soon, the news will spread. I have gone through extensive teachings of Sir Xander about the history, politics, and militarization, as well as Lady Avyanna's magical training. Tomorrow, we’ll issue a statement of Crystaval’s readiness to aid other realms should they need it.” 

Nik chuckled at the ridiculousness of this situation and averted his gaze, letting it fall on a peculiar looking plant, transforming right in front of his eyes. The flower’s petals were similar to regular lilies in shape, yet its colour differed from what Nik knew back from his realm. The pitch black of the petals was brought out by the elongated, luminescent cyan stamen, and the longer he looked, the more drawn into them he was.

“Don’t stare for too long, or you’ll hallucinate for several days,” Niamh warned. The nighthunter reluctantly obeyed. “Cyan Lily Regina, the hidden treasure of the realm. These stamens hide the dose of cyanide that could easily kill entire kingdoms. The most dangerous poison in all seven realms.”

Nik coughed. “I assume Sir Xander is the one watching me like a hawk?”

“Yes. He’s the royal advisor and the head of the army, you can trust him.”

“Sure I can,” Nik mumbled mockingly and lowered his voice to make Xander’s eavesdropping job much harder. “Niamh, what actually happened?” 

“Queen Nymeria of Crystaval visited me in a vision two weeks after I left and requested that I visit her urgently. During the meeting, she explained that my father was her son, fourth in line to the throne. The rest of her children died under the attack of Svarvali tribes two days before she contacted me, which made me the last rightful heiress.”

“Elric must've been the long-lost child, I suppose,” Nik commented, gathering his thoughts. Ever since it was brought to his attention that Niamh might have indeed resided in either Lamrian or Crystaval, he began studying the fae’s politics, history, developing an unhealthy obsession with the royal bloodline. He noticed discrepancies within the official family tree, and according to his research, at least one heir was removed from the official data. 

He made a mental note to update his notes. His gaze kept coming back to the flower.

“Her Majesty is approaching her final days. Having in mind the balance of all the realms, Lady Fate warned the Queen that she must train the heir and since I had demonstrated magical abilities, I was considered a prospective heiress immediately. Now I serve as the Queen's First Lady. With the aid of the royal advisors, I carry out Her Majesty's duties as she is no longer able to perform them. May I ask what brought you here?” Niamh resumed. 

Nik squared his shoulders and sighed heavily as his fingers caressed the engraved hilt of his dagger.

“You ain't gonna like it, I'm afraid,” he admitted. “Something’s goin’ on in the bayou, it’s messing with the pack's minds," Nik continued, averting his gaze when Niamh finally looked at him. He cleared his throat. "They're nervous, angry—well, angrier than usual. Kinda hard to explain. They say they can hear the voices of their dead loved ones convincing them to give in to their primal needs, to kill, slaughter. Embrace the wolf, or some bullshit. One of them attacked a witch coven last night. They barely made it out alive."

Niamh frowned. "You came all the way here to bother the Queen about a vengeful evil spirit? It's a good thing you met me instead."

“I’ve checked every position in the bestiary, so trust me when I say it ain't no evil spirit, rook— Niamh. It's been going on for weeks, people keep disappearing and the pack's becoming a real pain in the ass, so you might wanna move your royal ass to New Orleans and play Moulder and Scully to figure out what's going on because neither me nor Kathy have a clue how to stop it. Besides, I had a hunch I might find you here.”

“You had no way of knowing that.”

“You’re underestimating my detective abilities.”

"Do you mean pestering Lady Fate for information for so long that she either gives it to you or curses you?" Niamh raised her eyebrow, smiling softly, and Nik averted his gaze yet again. She noticed a fresh scar on the left side of his face, which he skilfully hid until now. "What happened?"

He shrugged uncomfortably. "Your local werewolf leader wasn't a fan of my interrogation techniques."

"Octavia isn't a fan of you as far as I remember. She probably just waited for an occasion."

His brows knitted. "Last I checked, Octavia got her ass beaten during the competition. She was licking her wounds for weeks."

"Competition?"

"Ain't you supposed to know all that's hanging in our realm?"

Niamh blushed. Indeed, she was supposed to know that, and to a great extent she did—she just didn't want to receive any updates on the NOLA werewolf pack. 

Quickly realising his mistake, Nik added: 

"There were two candidates and neither wanted to step down, so according to some kind of their law they had to fight for the position. Cal spared her life, which was apparently very controversial, but yeah, he won anyway."

"Cal never wanted to be the Alpha, why did he change his mind?"

He shrugged and pointed towards the scar with his finger. "Take it up with him, we ain't on the best terms."

"Very well," she agreed, breaking eye contact. "Give me fifteen minutes."

“I hate portals,” Nik mumbled and took a look around. “You took us to the bayou already, great, it’ll save us some time.”

Niamh took a look around at the familiar wooden houses, the lake she used to watch every evening as Cal promised her to see fairies there, and the common bonfire area they used to spend many nights by. Her mouth felt dry at the thought of meeting him again. 

“Alrighty, so a little heads-up—the chick you see next to Cal is Vivian, his unbearable, sassy girlfriend or whatever they call it. A real bitch, if you ask me, embodies everything I hate 'bout werewolves. Massive pain in the ass, too.”

Niamh nodded, ignoring the pinch in her chest at the sight of Cal’s arm around the woman’s waist. You have no right to feel that way, she reminded herself as they made their way towards the small congregation of men. Pack meeting. She remembered how Cal would ask her to stay home until he came back from those meetings, so she wouldn't accidentally interrupt. Pack meetings were in a way sacred to the participants, but the blond nighthunter paid little attention to that detail. Following him, Niamh soon stood in front of the pack leader, giving a stern look to a wolf next to him, ready to pounce on her. Suddenly changing his mind, he backed down and others followed suit. 

Nik cleared his throat. "See, I brought in help."

Holding his gaze turned out to be one of the hardest tasks she’s ever been granted. She felt her eyelids twitch and hands shake, her brain was telling her to look away and run, but as a representative of Crystaval on official business that was not an option she could use. Straightening her back, she tightened her jaw and assumed an impassive expression. Cal could hear the pounding of her heart, she knew that. There was no fooling him. However, having observed him for a few weeks, she also knew how to read him, thus it was easy for her to see his confusion and the perplexed look on his face.   

"How the hell is she going to help?" 

Nik's gloved hand flipped Niamh’s long hair onto her back, revealing a string of golden runes on the side of her neck, old-nymetic runes that every supernatural creature knew about and was taught to respect. The runes said as follows: a high-ranking Crystaval royal, under royal guard's protection, powerful magic wielder, dragon protector. Child of the storm. And an augury rune, mysterious and portentous. 

Crystaval royals were considered a very specific, hermetic group. They were those who held true power and ruled the supernatural world in all seven realms, those whose power far exceeded even the Fate's. Extensive training and versatile knowledge made them the most skilled, knowledgeable magic wielders in the universe. Hardly ever they were to leave Crystaval so as not to meddle in ordinary affairs, all of them marked with a person specific number of ancient golden runes, unforgeable, known to everyone. 

Cal remembered his mother telling him not to ever cross people with golden runes, especially those with the augury rune. He never learned what it meant, but seeing one on his ex-girlfriend’s neck worried him.

Vivian spoke up. "Do you expect us to bow? Cause wolves don't do that, especially not in front of half-bloods."

Nik's brows perked up in surprise, yet he couldn't contain a mocking chuckle. "Feisty. And stupid."

"Viv," Cal warned, growling deep in his chest, his grip tightening on her hip.

"I don't care for your bows," Niamh responded calmly, her gaze pining the woman in front of her. "However, be advised who you're speaking to, as the next time I’ll order my guard to have your head impaled and exhibited as a warning."

The coolness and self-confidence in her voice made Nik's heart skip a beat in the most negative sense of the word. Sensing the threat, Vivian, unwillingly, bowed her head a little in a gesture of apology. Cal spoke up.

"So I assume you're here about Mason. We already interrogated him, he doesn't remember much more than I've told you over the phone," he addressed Nik. "I'm afraid you came here in vain."

"That remains to be seen, our neighbourhood fae queen-to-be appears to have some new powers to show off."

"Queen?"

In her head, she punched Nik in the arm with all her might. In reality, though, her eyes shyly met Cal's and despite the sudden urge to run at the familiar warmth, she spoke up.

"Yes, Queen Nymeria's journey in the far realm is coming to an end, and I was appointed her successor."

Cal choked down the urge to say "the hell?" hearing the manner of her speech. Niamh seemed brainwashed, perhaps indeed trained to become one of the most powerful figures in the supernatural world. It wasn't the same person he woke up to every morning last year. 

"Listen, it's a mystery to me too, but we have more pressing matters on our hands now, don't we?"

Cal nodded. The pack meeting was rescheduled, and he led his guests toward a small wooden cabin, hidden deeper in the forest. Mason let them in wordlessly.

Niamh observed Mason while him, Nik, and Cal gave an account of the events of the night when he "lost control" as he called it. Finally, she addressed her companions. "Isn't it similar to the case of Jimmy?"

"Jimbo," Nik corrected her. "I mean, kinda, but not entirely. Jimbo, as it turned out, was poisoned and with him being a werewolf it didn't kill him but made him go feral. Mason was aggressive, but he kept mentioning voices."

"He got into a fight with several other pack members and mauled them pretty badly, but he was still able to obey me. I'm no expert on spells and witchcraft, but could it be that? We do have beef with another pack and several witches, maybe they decided to take revenge?"

Niamh shook her head. "I would feel it. There's no magic involved. Are you sure it's not some illegal substances from a new source?" she addressed the man on the sofa. 

He looked up at her, shyly, unsure how he should show her respect. "I don't use, Lady." 

Having pondered over the possibility of using magic on him long enough, Niamh proposed going through the werewolf's memories "It's not going to be comfortable, but I need you to stay as relaxed as possible and don't block your memories," she instructed, taking a seat on the armchair next to him. He nodded. 

Cal nudged the nighthunter on his right, focused on polishing his pocket knife. Niamh kept instructing the werewolf in the other room. "Do you feel it?" 

"Feel what?"

"The power she holds. It's… I've never felt anything like this. It makes you obey her even, the air feels different around her."

"What about last year?"

"Not to that extent. You can easily tell she's from Crystaval now."

Nik hummed, thinking of Cal’s words. "Fascinating," he muttered, watching one of the runes on her neck shimmer as she worked her magic on Mason. Leaning across the door frame with his hands crossed on his chest, Cal observed it as well, trying to wrap his head around the fact of how much she has changed in a year. "Well?"

"There's nothing,” she said, calmly, taking her time with the answer. Her hand touched Mason’s cheek as if in a soothing gesture.

"So maybe magic after all?" Cal suggested.

"No, there's nothing. Absolutely no recollection of that day. That's dark sorcery. You must have made enemies with someone more important than a local witch coven, Cal."

Take it easy today, she addressed the werewolf and exited his house. Cal followed.

"Should I call you your majesty now?"

"Not yet."

Taking his place next to her, the werewolf folded his arms. 

"Nik told me you're the Alpha now. How come? The last time we saw each other, you wanted to leave this place and lead a quiet, peaceful life."

"A lot has changed since you ran away."

She turned her head to the other side, pretending to be looking at a passing dog. Of course, he held a grudge, she would as well. She left for no apparent reason. Cal sighed.

"The pack needed a strong leader. We've been having some issues with the Texas pack, and Octavia would just escalate the conflict to the point of a war."

"What do they want from you?"

"Beats me," he crossed his arms on his chest. "They're just sending threats for now. No demands."

“There’s something about him that just doesn’t sit right with me,” Nik interrupted, closing the front door. “You sure didn’t see anything suspicious?”

“No. How did you know how to find me? The court made sure the information would not get out until the right time."

"Yeah, believe me, I've noticed. Your secrecy cost me another round of stripping for the Fate and almost getting cursed, but she budged."

"Why were you looking for me?"

"Cause of Cal, obviously. He said your disappearance was weird, that your phone number no longer existed, and your mother said she hasn't seen you in months. Kristin was surprised as well. It got me thinking you might've fled to Lamrian, but it looks like you managed to made enemies there," he nudged her shoulder playfully. "Come on, spill, what'd you do to poor Thalissa?"

Cal looked up at her, his interest piqued. 

"She believes I'm unworthy of taking my father’s rightful place on the Crystaval throne," she shrugged. "Don't believe in Lamrian's mushy sweet facade, Nik. Those who live there are expatriates from Crystaval, often times criminals who found refuge in Lamrian, which is basically n outlaw colony. Thalissa's protective domes aren't for bloodwraiths, they're for Crystaval's officials."

"What about Garrus?"

"As far as I know, he's free to come back."

"Does he know that? Cause he sure doesn't seem to."

"We've notified him several times. It was the first decree I issued when I gained influence."

Nik sighed heavily, looking around the bayou in thought. “Can we talk about this over a drink or is your curfew up?”

[cheemken]

That’d be so cute though if Eepy stuck around and didn’t leave Iris. Mans going to become the Unova League mascot at this point

He’s to small and inexperienced to be used during battles so he just hangs around the league when Iris has a challenger, or watches the battle from the sidelines

But yeah this mf has his own room full of chew toys and all the structures to play on so he doesn’t disrupt the E4 anymore. Who knows how long they can keep Caitlin calm before she snaps

Everyone apart of the Unova Kids except Bianca is just tired of Eepy but they also love him to death

They’re like the parents of a child who keeps bringing in wild animals hoping to keep them

Last thing but I just know Haxorus gets jealous of Eepy because Iris gives him more attention than her. Hax has probably picked up Eepy off of Iris’ lap, taken him to the next room, shut the door, and walked back to Iris just to place her own head on Iris’ lap

HAXORUS CNDNXNNDND😭😭🤣🤣

Homegirl is so tired man she just wants her cuddles too😭🤣 imagine their dynamic tho like, y'know those doggo videos where the older and bigger one is like so reluctant to play w the new puppy, and like, the puppy is always so energetic and playful and always try to play w the older doggo, that's how I imagine Eepy and Haxorus to be like it's so cute I honestly love those videos so much your honour they're so cute cjxmnd

Like Haxo is there finally getting head pats from Iris, and suddenly Eepy bites a hole in the wall and jumped on Haxorus, biting her tusks, and Iris could only laugh as she hugs them, but man Haxo just wants her soft moments w her trainer hcjshsk hahahah

Caitlin's also vibing tho she pegs me as the type that is so adamant they should get rid of Eepy, give him to another trainer that can take care of him, so she can get her beauty sleep back, but once there was no trace of Eepy in the league (lil shit found his way to the old Pasma castle beneath it), Caitlin got so damn worried like she didn't hear Eepy running around and he wasn't in his room, imagine her just going to Marshal's chamber and just frantically telling him that Eepy's missing so the entire day they looked for Eepy and found him chewing a random pokeball at Route 23

Caitlin had Reuniclus use psychic to lift up Eepy and she's there almost scolding him, telling him she— well, the others, got so worried abt him, he's always causing trouble wherever he goes, and Eepy's there still chewing the pokeball lmfao

Bet, the rest of the E4 tease Caitlin that she's actually growing soft on Eepy, Caitlin said she just didn't want Iris to be sad that Eepy suddenly went missing, yeah she's in denial hahaha

[mattwritesmonsters]

Monster Lady Knight

Taking a brief break from writing my current novel "Imago" to sketch out something more medieval fantasy. Based the vibes on my love of FromSoftware's worlds, but other than that I just made shit up.

CW for gore, death, crawly nasty things, and body horror. Questionably positive CW for tentacles.

At sunset, a hollow-eyed steed arrives at the gates of Tur. A destrier, once. Its sockets gape black. Its albino hide ripples with maggots beneath it. Its walk seems slow, yet in a short time it covers greater ground than a messenger gelding’s gallop.

Atop rides a manikin knight. Her chitinous armour folds over her slender stature like petals. Each plate is opalescent and white. The cuirass is deformed, exaggerated in its curve, as if the knight’s chest might distend like a fish bladder. She wears no chainmail. Where the chitinous armour can’t cover her, over the underside of joints and the neck, there is taut skin-like fabric. The white helmet ends in a tall ashen plume. The visor is down, and through its breaths a sickly light glows like a will-o’-wisp, the knight’s features completely obscured.

No guard stops her. No name nor banner is asked for. Only one watchman sits in the stone tower, and he’s too busy trembling in fear and sweating his shirt off.

Residents likewise hide from the manikin knight. Tur is a small town, cosseted by fast stone-toothed rivers and hills that break spines. The only man-made defenses are arbalests, all poised skyward, and a paltry volunteer regiment. Tur has a plan for dragons and for invading infantries. When a puppet of a sin-god passes the gate, there is no longer a plan.

Ruddy dust puffs at the destrier’s hooves. The horse itself makes no sound besides a faint thronging squelching. In the dead silence of Main Street, the knight’s breath is ghostly and loud.

The knight doesn’t stop before the monastery’s chapel. Sister Moranna tries to convince herself that’s for the best; perhaps the knight is just passing through. It’s unorthodox to journey through mountains rather than circumvent them, but still, there’s a path to Zaferes through Tur. Caravans ride by on occasion.

Despite Moranna’s best efforts, anxious thoughts surface like bloated corpses. What if the knight knows?

The puppet horse walks, unmistakably, to the mausoleum. To the hexagonal god-tomb at the heart of the monastery courtyard, a nexus garlanded with supplicant statues. And all the many glimmering candles, all the incense and flowers and food, can't help fix Tur’s secret: Tur-god has left its tomb.

Only the Emissary and the inner circle of the monastery is to know. To the people of Tur, there’s still someone holding the threads of their fates. Someone to shift falling rocks away from the hunters’ heads. Someone to hold a birthing man’s life-thread away from deathly haemorrhage. Someone to tell them what purpose their life will best serve, and to ensure it continues within unconquered walls. After finding the god-tomb tracelessly empty, the monastery resorted to the oldest trick in the book.

To bullshit.

The moment Moranna thinks this, the knight’s horse halts before the sealed doors of the mausoleum. The setting sun bleeds up the horizon and haloes the knight’s nigh-translucent figure with red, the helmet plume like a distortion of air above fire. The manikin holds the reins passively. Her head tilts at an odd angle, like a limb of a chewed dog toy. Moments trickle past; the sky slowly darkens, but the manikin does nothing more.

Mother of Threads, please, let her be our last. Let no more manikins come to our doorstep. Let the gods of sin stay their eyes from our town.

The chapel doors burst open. Precisely opposite Moranna’s chamber window, tall oakwood flings apart, rusted hinges shrieking.

Sister Ogdena steps into dying light.

A young maid, she is. Her earth-black habit is still rich in its colour. Her face is unmarred by the sun.

The manikin knight’s head swivels west to face Ogdena. The rest of the body follows shortly after, as the horse shifts to align.

In Ogdena’s eyes burns a tear-stained desperation. Fear, shut tight.

“The Mother repaid my offering,” Ogdena says. “You’ve arrived.”

It’s all Moranna can do not to thud her fist against the stone wall. The monastery should’ve never accepted those plague-ridden children. Everyone knows a slow death is their fate. All the Grand Cleric achieved is provoke a moron’s compassion—a moron that sent for a sin-god’s knight! Does Ogdena—this girl, this child—think the tall tales of sinners are true? That the manikins offer anything but destruction? Lies, all of it, sinners’ lies.

Meanwhile the knight dismounts. She does not tie her steed down; it stands abjectly still. Sister Ogdena watches. The idiot’s hands are clasped before her and her head is held high. Doesn’t fool Moranna. Even from her window, she can see those hands shudder.

The knight walks. The motion is not articulated. Only the legs step, while the torso and head glide unmoving. Moranna is paralysed as she watches the manikin breach her home of twenty-five years, unharmed.

Not just unharmed. Invited.

She slaps herself out of it—not on her fucking watch.

Moranna doesn’t bother with the habit; the chemise will do. Her candle trembles as she runs down the halls that curve round the courtyard towards the infirmary—Mother of Threads, fuck and burn that fucking infirmary.

She’s too late. By the time Moranna reaches the vaulted hall of twenty straw sickbeds, the manikin knight already stands in its centre, and Sister Ogdena, the fool, flanks her side.

Shamefully, Moranna hopes for sudden deaths. The children are almost at their end anyway. Nine frail bodies, skin over bone, breathing shallow and fast. The nuns have taken great care to bandage all skin lest vile blood seeps through, but these children have bouts of horrific thrashing, and some gauze came undone. Wherever Moranna can see skin on them, it’s all pustulated.

“Please,” Ogdena murmurs.

The knight unfurls a finger. Choose one.

Moranna must stop them. She must. Only her legs hold her hostage, motionless like the knight’s abomination of a steed, and her mouth is clamped thoroughly shut.

Ogdena doesn’t bargain. She must’ve known that would be the deal; hoped, perhaps, otherwise. The fool sister is pale as the knight’s armour, but unlike Moranna, she’s not immobilised.

She points to the bed of the smallest child.

Moranna must stop them.

She can’t.

The manikin knight glides to the sickbed, and Moranna could swear the feet aren’t touching the ground. Sheer gossamer threads unspool through gaps between petals of chitin, and twist into pale white tentacles that remind Moranna of pus. In a moment all the gauze is unbound. Underneath lies what must’ve once been a girl, or at least something with a body of one.

The manikin’s touch is, perhaps, gentle. A sin-god’s puppet is hard to judge by her mannerisms. A tentacle alights on a sore on the girl’s stomach, between rib and hip bone. The image makes Moranna think of a rider pierced by a pike. Without any good reason, she’s convinced the tentacle is razor-sharp.

It discharges something silver. Something liquid, crawling. It makes a quiet and horrible sound Moranna can’t help but want to forget.

Instead she remembers. She’s heard it before, this indescribable shriek-sigh-laugh, and she’s seen this silver. She’s seen it all when her first home fell and became the maggots’ breeding ground.

It seems the Mother of Threads repays Moranna’s offerings, too. Because that’s the only thought that could’ve ever propelled her cowardly body to fight.

She dashes for Sister Ogdena. Grabs the fool by the meat of her arm.

“You fucking twit!” Moranna screams. “What’ve you done?!”

The unthinkable. The fool, the idiot, the cunt has done the unthinkable. Even if the cursed manikins never return in greater numbers, the monastery is indelibly marked. Tur will whisper. Tur will fear. Fewer and fewer will come to the chapel to receive assurances from the nuns that yes, Tur-god really does keep them safe. Tur-god is here. Tur-god yet loves.

They will doubt. Weigh the facts of their hard lives against pious words.

The bullshit is done.

“Do you want Tur godless? Worshipping sin?!” Moranna is shaking Ogdena like the fool nun is a lifeless puppet. “Do you know what you’ve done?!”

And then she finds out:

The tentacle really is sharp.

It slashes her across the stomach with the force of a warhammer. The pinpoint precision, however, is that of a longsword in a warrior’s arms. It curves around Ogdena and finds Moranna’s gut, eviscerating her instantly. The force flings her against the infirmary altar. Right where the Grand Cleric lays offerings for the sick to survive.

Moranna doesn’t die in that moment. Instead her second worst dream comes to life. She’s expiring through one of the slowest, worst wounds imaginable, and it burns like a thousand dragons, and it reeks of shit and of piss and of blood. Her gore splatters over a holy site, and she’s alive to see it. Alive for a little while longer but already rotting, wallowing in the knowledge she’s failed to stop the doom of her town.

The manikin knight turns her back to Moranna and faces the fool nun. Ogdena looks like she’ll vomit.

“Do it,” she says, averting her eyes from what became of her fellow. “Do it now.”

Every sin is a debt. And some debts are paid at once.

Ogdena’s eyes flare open with wordless shock as the knight lifts her visor. Moranna tries to keep the world from fading, tries to witness, at least to finally know what in godless hell that helmet hides. But the blackness of death is already eating at her sight.

She doesn’t see the source of Ogdena’s horror. Moranna’s head lolls, unable to hold its weight. All she manages to catch is a glimpse of the sick girl’s body.

No pustules. No bleeding sores. A normal girl. A healthy girl with only one white wound shaped like a many-limbed star. Like the point of impact on shattering glass.

Only then is Moranna over. In agony and disbelief, the end of her thread comes.

[ooc-miqojak]

The chamber of her club so usually filled with guests was vaccant of hanger ons, of would be supplicants, and vapid pretty things. Instead it was just HIM that stood there waiting for her to arrive. Her hooded accoster from Valdrakken. "Don't worry. I was very polite in my asking them all for privacy." He said with a smirk. "Its a nice club you have. A little...loud for my tastes however."

((Technically, I have a playlist for the club that's been long neglected... so I touched it up a little while I was too sick to actually write, lol - I took out stuff that wasn't really suited to the vibe, and tried to at least put the songs in a... non-jarring order? I'm no DJ, mind you, but have Club Nathrezim's unlisted YT playlist!)) Long and lean, the horned woman looms on high in a glass-walled VIP booth that overlooks the club's various excesses; the room itself sumptuous in its dark, yet inviting interior - and indeed devoid of the various attendants, supplicants, and hangers-on that the space is often busy with - though the woman, herself, does not recline amidst the luxurious leather and cool air that the box boasts by way of comfort, as the masses below soak in their own sweat. She, herself, loiters near that front pane of glass - fel-gaze turned downward, to those that revel below - as the cowled figure makes his arrival. The ever-steady pulse of the music, so like the beating of a great beast's heart, is still present - the vibrations readily felt through the floor...though, perhaps thankfully, the music itself is far more muffled in this space.

Whatever reverie drew her thoughts, the horned figure now takes a long pull from a glass of blue, glowing liquid - the fel-glow of her gaze drifting, at last, to the man who'd like a little privacy, "You're not really...dressed for the occasion - " There's a quick glance cast out to the crowd, and their rave-wear, and a shrug follows, "But, the whole idea is for people to come as they are, so...be my guest with the be-cowled robe, I suppose." The reflection of multi-colored, flashing lights against her face, in the window, only adds to the brush of something alien about her, this time around - the ever-so-slightly more fluid movement, perhaps...or the eye-markings that are only apparent in the brief flashes of light, maybe.

"Technically the club is owned by..." Here, there's a puff of breath from the leather-clad woman, and a quick swish-and-clink of ice in her glass, as she thinks, " - let's just say 'old friends'. Suffice to say that they've gone hands-off, so I suppose it is mine, now; they certainly don't need the place, anymore."

Now, there's a cock of that horned head in the flickering play of light and shadow, and a prompt, "Do tell, however - what brings your path back to my own? Privacy I can understand in most matters, frankly, but..." - her hands spread, as if to indicate the entirety of the club, itself, before the one holding the drink ascends once more, before she continues on, " - why here? One imagines that the setting matters as much as the content of the conversation." The play of light highlights it for but a second, but it would be difficult to miss the reflected light from fangs bared in a knowing curl of a smirk - while she may not have expected this figure to cross paths with her again, it seems she is well-acquainted with the types of topics that merit conversing here, as opposed to anywhere else... and she's certainly not quite evoking the 'well-to-do noble' just passing through the market, here.

@nixalegos

[cloudcountry]

Djkfgnd I’ll keep your nicknaming advice in mind!! I think I’ll stick with the nickname Swordfish for Loop!Reader then,, And if you don’t mind,, I am going to go on another Loop!Reader ramble 🤧 

But before that!! I need to mention Yuuya Kuroki again real quick- You remember how he’s the light novel iteration of Yuu and that he gives off the vibes of a wet cat? I need to share this snippet from the novel including him- It’s both funny and a bit sad to me- (again… Yuuya needs a hug-)

Riddle's eyes glared fiercely at Yuuya, who was deathly pale from watching them fight. “You there!”

“Yes!” Yuuya answered, albeit very, very loudly.

"What a fine mess you've made, not only arriving at the ceremony exceedingly late, but also setting alight our Mirror Chamber!" It was absolutely breathtaking how that powerful voice didn’t match his petite frame. Even with his back against the wall, Yuuya could barely stand up straight. "But beyond all of that, for the criminal offense of violating one of the Queen of Hearts' rules! Don't tell me you aren't familiar with Article 23?"

"Uhm. H-Hearts...? Whose rules again?"

"Excuse me…? I can hardly believe what I'm hearing. You've truly not a clue about Article 23 of the Decrees of the Queen of Hearts: ‘One shan't bring a cat with them to a celebration’?”

 “N-no. Not at all.”

"Unbelievable. What a stunning lack of quality education."

“My mistake!”

Thin, blue veins appeared on Riddle’s forehead, his expression furious enough to make one’s blood curdle. The honesty of a statement like “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard it” was bound to get him in worse trouble.

Riddle coldly asserted himself once more to Yuuya, who was ready to prostrate himself at the drop of a hat.

And yes, I can’t wait for the angst of the fic!! >:D Tbh, I sort of wanted a dichotomy between how dark and tragic the loop concept is and how chipper and lively Loop!Reader is,, 

But speaking of Loop!Reader!! I wanted to talk about her a little more! I’ve kept talking about how outgoing and energetic she is, but she’s also really expressive as well. If she’s not careful, her emotions can get the best of her. But!! If you become her friend, then she will absolutely rant about stuff to you, whether it be her interests or her frustrations. Whenever she gets into a rant, or wants to rant, she can be,, a bit dramatic-:

Loop!Reader: *flings open the doors of Azul’s office* I officially hate my life! *throws herself onto a nearby couch* *she can lie on it, just as long as her shoes don’t touch the fabric*

Azul: *puts pen down and sighs* What’s the matter, (Name)?

Loop!Reader: Everything! Oh my God, okay, so— *proceeds to go into a long rant* *Azul then probably offers her a contract to ‘help’ her* *she immediately then says no*

Loop!Reader, gushing about how attractive and great this person is: He’s so handsome and sweet!! I’d love to date him!

Azul, doesn’t know she’s talking about a fictional character: *kinda dying on the inside* Is that so? :)

Dramatics aside, she also likes giving nicknames to her friends (as seen in the last post)! For example, before her best friend Rosalie went missing, she often called her ‘Rosie,’ and ‘Rosa.’ I can see her calling Malleus ‘Mal-mal’ once he reveals his name- Her nicknames are a bit unconventional, but they have a certain charm to them- Oh, speaking of nicknames! You know how Vil calls everyone a potato and whatnot? Loop!Reader calls him a prune in retaliation. Vil’s not a fan.

Vil: Spudling Prefect. :|

Loop!Reader: Prune Schoenheit. :|

She’s also pretty physically affectionate, even with her friends. She likes giving them hugs, pulling them by the arm/hand to guide them somewhere, holding on to them when she’s shaking with laughter, etc. And this probably has the potential of sending a person who likes her (*cough* I’m mainly looking at Azul and Riddle) into a spiral- She will back off if you asked her to, though!

Azul: (Is there really such a thing as platonic cuddling? Platonic holding hands? How do I know if it’s actually platonic or not? How do I deal with her affection? I can’t just sit there like a brick wall. Does she like the cologne I wear? She’s always hanging all over me, what does that mean?)

Loop!Reader: >:D Hey, hey, hug time!

Azul: *Azul_Ashengrotto.exe has stopped working*

*cough* I like thinking of Azul and Loop!Reader’s dynamic as the ‘Overthinker x Overly Affectionate’ trope- And yes, the Azul loving genes are very clear in this post 🧍‍♂️

Oh, and!! I’m gonna add an OC to the fic as well >:D And also,, have these random dialogue things for the heck of it-:

Floyd, running after Loop!Reader: Swordfiiish!

Loop!Reader: *RUNNING FOR HER LIFE* NO, NO, NO

Floyd: Just one squeeze!!

Loop!Reader: NO SQUEEZE! THAT’S YOUR WAY OF SAYING YOU’RE GONNA SNAP MY SPINE IN HALF!

Azul, watching them run around the Mostro Lounge: 🧍‍♂️ 

Jamil: I’m just saying, a whole planet can’t define your personality.

Loop!Reader: That is sooo Virgo of you.

Loop!Reader: Top ten hot things to do with the girls this summer!

Loop!Reader, pulls out wood: *looks at Ace* Number three, crucify the ginger.

Jackdaw Anon 🐦

HELP THIS IS SO LONG BUT IT SOUNDS SO COOL AJSFDHGSAD wet cat character supremayc tbh theyre my favorite genre of characters wahwahwahawhwahwah

DO NOT CALL VIL A PRUNE HES GORGEOUS HELLO /lh

loop!reader soudns pretty relatable tbh ^^

[lightlycareless]

chapter 30 has me CLIMBING the WALLS

the visceral uncomfortableness of a dead silent car ride with these two,,,, i can not even begin to imagine it. the tension in there was so heavy and so dense i’m shocked it didnt make a black hole

first thought when naoya took a suddenly different turn on the street was “oh so we’re getting murdered in an alleyway??? left to die??” he does not come off with good vibes for himself at ALL. luckily its just for more doctors appointments. deeply sorry to every individual that had to be around these twos painfully obvious rift

EVERYTIME NAOYA TRIED TO TALK TO HER… i know hes done nothing to properly redeem himself but ohmygod i can feel the awkward pains. kudos to him for not just like bursting into tears in the elevator when she turned away. i would’ve been a mess.

i’m gonna THROTTLE this doctor (also y/n girl i get the frustration but what did you WANT him to SAY for you on the cheating question,,, if he speaks over you to answer i know you aren’t going to like that either he can NOT win this one,,,) - and also the one time naoya pulls himself together to assist by showing the ultrasound that gets just shot down as well. we are on a losing battle. naoya stans stay losing 😔

incredible balls to try for the “wanna get something to eat?” a SECOND time. that play failed MISERABLY last time and its already been a string of horrible events today but lets GO king!!🗣️💯🔥give us nothing!! 🔥🔥❗️💯

concluding- naoya has been exuding CRITICAL levels of shaking chihuahua and cringefail energy ft. y/n desperately trying to Hold It Together. exquisite chapter. looking forward to the next as always

AUGHAUAH I ALREADY SENT A CHAPTER 30 ASK BUT I REREAD IT THIS MORNING N WENT BACK OVER THE “test her condition” PART- not sure how i left this outta the last one that had me so fried

but am i hallucinating or is naoya… also hesitant about that? i know that its just two words “Naoya swallows” but it SOUNDS like he’s got just. the barest hint. the barest idea that perhaps,,, maybe,, that would be a bad thing to do. now if he knows the WHY of why it would be bad is a completely different question, but it at least reads as if he faintly understands he should NOT do that again.

(feel free to just like. screenshot this and throw it in w the bigger one lmaoo i still can’t believe i left this out its huge)

Hello!!!!

HAHAHAH I’m glad you’re suffering, I mean, enjoying the latest update 😊 Also, don't worry about the asks hehe you can send in as many as you want! I looooooove reading and answering them 🥺❤

Now, Imagine if someone decided to accompany them? I don’t know, like Ranta. I think the poor boy would’ve been like “omg… Naoya really has no chance” lol OR WORSE, NAOAKI FOR SURE Y/N WOULD’VE IGNORED NAOYA EVER MORE HAHAHA

“Y/N” Naoya calls “Is there something you’d like to—”

“Naoaki, look! There’s snow on the mountains! No wonder it’s so cold, guess we'll need more than a few blankets tonight”

Naoaki: 😳

Naoya cries, mind going on and on about what did Y/N mean with “we’ll” before remembering the night he saw him leave her chambers.

And I’m pretty sure that’s what Y/N thought too when they headed somewhere else lol she has long accepted that nothing good will come from him (but she didn’t expect it to happen so soon!!! She feared Hitomi and Haruko were going to be like GODDAMN IT I TOLD YOU TO NOT GO. Also, wasn't Naobito in charge of that!!?!?!) but thank God it was just him doing (1) of his many commitments towards Y/N, which considering whom they came from, mean nothing.

I’d hate to be the person attending them :s luckily… we’ll have something of that perspective next chapter (if I don’t discard it 🤭)

The worst part of Naoya’s continuous failing attempts would definitely have to be the way Y/N just turned away hahahah I was like DAMN girl, even if she was somewhat afraid of doing anything because of his outburst she really did that. And Naoya took it lmao straight to the heart. Good.

As for Naoya crying… heh. 😊 I just realized we haven’t seen him do that… interesting, I think you might like that one chapter.

The whole doctor thing was just awful. He was really out there, jabbing at anyone he could 😳 I’m surprised he didn’t kick it up a notch and slander Toji too. Though I think Naobito was like “No, Naoya is sensitive and he might actually kill you so chill, I still have use for you” lol

I’ll still defend Y/N by saying she hasn’t cheated on Naoya but…. I mean, the emotional department… that’s long gone hahahahahahahahahahhahahaahhahahaha Still, wtf is this man going over and over about that particular topic? Like, we get it. You want to know. Ok, sure, maybe she’s gotten something but these two for sure haven’t so NEXT. Shouldn't we be talking about Naoya in that sense???

As for the ultrasound part, I actually was like “huh, impressive Naoya decided to actually stand up and do something” maybe to get his money’s worth, or probably to reveal “WHAT THE HELL DO THESE THINGS MEAN????? IS THERE A BABY THERE OR NOT” get outta here... and how he reacted to the rest of the procedures I was just like yep, there he is... usual Naoya.

This man is grasping at straws at this point, inviting her out to eat was the evidence of that lol. If Y/N was a bit more… assertive and fearless, she would’ve been like “are you serious right now? You want me to get sentenced to death again? Sir, I only have one life, GOODBYE”

As for the “test her condition”… it’s the doctor instigating Y/N and Naoya again with Naoaki lol. I don’t know what this man is thinking, seriously. Probably that Y/N was abstaining to do the deed in a more pleasurable way 🤮and the way he was disappointed that there was no heartbeat or a fetus in there wtf lol.

Naoya is hesitant because of Naoaki more than anything, as well as the fact that he can’t get near Y/N at all, his father’s conditions for her survival looming in the back of his mind.

If it helps to give some peace of mind, Naoya does not have it in him to force himself on Y/N again, at least… not now. Because he knows if he crosses that line again, she’ll definitely run towards Naoaki and never leave, and his marriage is DONE. GONE. (can’t be a good person just cause, eh??)

Both characters are on a really tight spot, but I guess in an emotional distress Naoya is in the worse position as of right now. (Y/N is used to it in a way, while he’s barely comprehending what’s going on around him, he's got a whoooole world of turmoil to comprehend, and more to come lmao)

But as you said, we're out here cheering for Naoya lmao!!! Indeed, go give us nothing 😂😂 And the way you described Naoya as a chihuahua... lmao, couldn't be more accurate.

I'm so glad you like this chapter!! It gets me excited for the rest which I cannot wait to show :> !!!!!

Once again, thank you so much for tuning in for another update ❤ also, if there's more things you wish to know or just share my askbox is always open 🤭I looooooooove reading your comments ngl 😭 it often provides me perspectives I fail to see, thank you so much 🥺❤

I hope you have a wonderful week, take care, and hope to see you soon!!!

[drewsaturday]

ik i said i'd lessen my yj bitching but.... another thought actually <3

i feel like something the "you just got too into theorizing and got attached to a show that doesn't exist" crowd mocking s2 disappointments is not recognizing that a huge chunk of the most exciting promo scenes all turned out to be hallucinations.

like, even pushing the tonal inconsistency between the season 1 finale lottie setups and what lottie actually turned out to be aside, we very much were baited into thinking certain things would happen that very much did not happen.

yeah some people probably did go off the deep end with [spins wheel] javi is actually NUGGET kinds of theories or whatever, but... we didn't JUST get here because we spent too much time theorizing in a media illiterate echo chamber. we got here because the show set things up that did not pay off.

i don't think the hallucination bait and switches necessarily implied such huge plot elements as the lottie inconsistencies did. i fully acknowledge it was smaller things like gen frothing at the mouth and attacking ben or mari frantically backing up against a wall (due to what we now know was a hallucination) adult!lottie's hands covered in blood, or teen!nat wiping blood off her face looking ashamed. but it certainly did not help that so many of the seeds sewn to go "look how UNHINGED this season is!!!!!" turned out to... not be real. i mean sure, it's a great look into the girls' mental declines, but... it's not the same as those things physically happening proportionally to the hallucinations.

i also should acknowledge that some of the other hallucinations we saw in promos were lottie looking into a plane and descending down into tunnels (this was an episode-specific promo, i believe.) we did actually get some underground tunnels! so i'm not like, intensely disappointed about that, even though it would've been really cool to get the sort of ladder shaft she was specifically climbing down. and the plane window thing wasn't much on its own. you could also argue that with what i mentioned above, we did see adult lottie cut her hand open--even though that's very different than a murdery covered in blood look--and we did see actual cannibalism like nat's blood-covered mouth implied.

some of the other hallucinations were more obvious like antler queen walking through the burning plane or a dirtied up teen lottie walking through a mall, and i have to wonder almost if getting obvious hallucinations made me expect some of the other scenes to not be hallucinations. i also have to wonder if any of this was purposely misleading because of spoiler culture these days--always having to go in a direction the audience won't expect even if it doesn't make sense.

idk, maybe some of us DID go too insane over analyzing every little trailer detail, but... they include those things for the sole purpose of hyping people up. as much as i've grown to appreciate some spoilers being given to us by showrunners to make sure we do stay on track in our theorizing (like confirming they wouldn't eat the baby, or that adam Probably is just some dude), they still very much did include the most exciting scenes possible to get people to watch more.

and while to an extent some theorizing does go off the rails, most of us are perfectly capable of going "hey, this theory didn't pan out, but what happened instead made SO much sense with what the show already set up and it was SO enjoyable!"

but ngl our theories were usually so grounded in knowing the actual show so deeply that we're the perfect ones to say if something didn't meet the expectations the show itself put forth. and a lot of season 2 did not pass the vibe check.

[idv-artists-trio]

[The Trio playing Valorant be like…] Gaming Group AU hehe-

// Don’t mind me- Just my Valorant thoughts flooding x’3

Kitty

Can see her playing as Raze and Neon; a chaotic, carefree, and colorful gameplay style. So overall a Duelist Main.

Even loves to play as Cypher, who is a Sentinel-(she likes to watch for flank sometimes and even being a snitch on enemies’ locations,,,-)

So quick to insta-lock her agents before anyone else- but always takes in mind which of the party members want to change agents before matching= understanding, respectful teammate…. 🥺

Her favorite weapon is either a Specter or Vandal. First rounds as stinger.

Likes to buy weapon skins for her and her besties whom are f2p-

Likes switching skins or even letting teammates borrow her skin weapon since the first round,,,

Players outside the party get along very well with her despite just meeting her,,, x’3

The times when she doesn’t speak English is when she panicky yells out Italian words when being targeted by 3 operator people,,, x’D

Rosalyn

Prefers to co-op rather than solo queue,,,-

Unfortunately has voice chat for team off (since Calico and Angie don’t let her hear any concerning convos-)

Doesn’t play often, but freaking good at using sheriff and having good aim???

Unsurprisingly likes to play as a Sentinel, especially as Sage. Very creative with walls.

Often plays as Pocket Sage for friends-

Likes to save a lot to buy weapons for other players.

Would gladly use a different agent that is not a sentinel, like Skye, Raze, and Jett- as long as she doesn’t have to use all the abilities and just carries the team with a sheriff in the first rounds,,,, X’D)

She often experiments with many weapons as someone who just started playing shooting games- but notably seems to prefer Phantom and Ares- Pretty okay with Odin. First rounds with sheriff.

Speaks in party vc, but also unconsciously speaks to a teammate who is not in the party whom doesn’t even hear her hhhh-

Kitty is often the one to offer her and Angel to play Valo with her- and Rosalyn’s response would always be “hopcon” when saying yes. “I’m cookie” when saying no as she’s playing cookie run kingdom hhhhh-

Barely talks to outside teammates, but when Kitty or Angel points out that there’s this nice teammate who wants to tell her she’s doing a good job and to not get worried through team vc, she cries softly,,, 🥺

Intimidated by Reyna, but loves her because Mexican women are 💕💕💕💕. Even loves listening to her speaking Spanish- But still feels salty that there’s no Caribbean-born agent,,,, :’)

Angel

Besides being a Sentinel, he also can work as a Controller Main(Omen, Harbor, or Viper)just so he can protect and hide teammates from enemies just like his ability X’D.

Willing to experiment with agent gameplays a lot with Rosalyn, even switching their mains,,,, which leads to chaotic moments. Kitty finds that out and joins the shenanigans, switching agents between each other becomes a formula of disaster…. 😅🤣

Doesn’t like Chamber’s guts, but Angel is surprisingly good at playing as that agent whom teleports as an ability along with bearing a nice sheriff. Bonus points of having a sniper weapon as Ult-

So good at using operator in later rounds, it gets scary…

People who main female agents get along so well with him- probably the good, polite vibes he brings,,, Even some people who plays as male agents.

Normal local friend- but also your silly European guy who for some reason speaks so fine and calmly despite being cornered by 4 enemies djdjjdjdj-

Willing to quickly get rid of his op by throwing it out to the other side of a fence when he’s the only player left, afraid that an enemy will take it after killing him 😅