#Agnes tries to draw

[sebille]

the great angel

[pourablecat]

The Carpe Jugulum coven! Maiden, mother and (extremely unwilling) crone. Nanny gains all of Granny's extra wrinkles and dark circles when she's not here. Marks the first time I used a brown gel pen that does not - and this is very important - leak all over the page, and also the first time I bothered to scan my doodles instead of using my crappy laptop camera.

[impatvish]

OC

Siblings bonding time. I’ve always had this image of young Aeneas braiding Agnes’ hair while he waits for his to grow longer. He tries different styles and lengths and Agnes loves it.

After the two got ripped apart from each other Agnes keeps at least one strand of braids as a part of her hairstyle to remember her (presumed) dead brother. He doesn’t get to know it though.

[ursiday]

Tried a comic thing for fun, I wanted to draw a little exchange between Agnes and Harlow

[randomshyperson]

Heart Drawing - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

Summary: Dinner with Mr. Heart takes a different turn. Or, what anyone who wasn't a synthezoid would have done at the sight of Wanda in that dress.

Warnings: (+18), purely smut, bottom!Wanda (bratty), rough smut, creampie, strap-on, fingering and oral (w rec),  Westview setting, established relationship, kinda semi-public (?), almost getting caught but Wanda keeps doing magic tricks | Words: 1.169k

A/N-> I can't believe I finally wrote this, it's a fixing of the scene from WandaVision because I always thought it was unbelievable. If Wanda prepared a romantic dinner for me, especially wearing that, there would be no dinner at all. A good Wandavision anniversary for all of us btw <3

General Masterlist | Wattpad | AO3

-&-

Although it was one of the skills she developed first, mental control could be very difficult. Especially if Wanda was experiencing some other strong emotion, such as stress, anger, or sadness. 

Or physical exertion, like a fight with an alien or lifting machines or the like. 

Or just being so close to cumming in the middle of the kitchen.

And you, well, you weren't making it any easier for her. Your hips never faltered in their brutal rhythm against her and every time the fake cock attached to your waist slid between her tight walls, Wanda had the impression that even the magic around the house was failing. 

Her eyes were still red, though - Wanda is still surprised that she has any control when you slide your fingers down to tug at her neglected clit and she's forced to muffle her whimper with a bite on your shoulder.

She's sure she won't be able to keep the two guests static in the kitchen if you keep this up. But the soft protest is little more than a choke; "S-slow down, detka" she gasps directly into your ear.

You adjust the angle, and your hips slow down, but god, you thrust hard enough for the kitchen counter to crack. The dress she called a surprise barely hanging on her body is pushed down even further with the rough motions and Wanda won't be surprised if the the magic fails her once and for all with the reach of her orgasm.

She wasn't complaining, after all, this was the whole point of the night. A misunderstanding about a heart drawn on the calendar had led her to believe that tonight would be an anniversary (of which, she and Agnes came to no conclusion, and Wanda preferred to pretend it was supposed to be a wedding one). She got chocolate fruit and a dress that made you ignore your boss in the other room and force her against the counter as soon as you caught the first glimpse of her cleavage.

Wanda tried to be the voice of reason, even if her voice was hoarse and not very determined. She asked you; "What about them?" but all you did was give her a dirty little smile as you unbuttoned your pants.

"Play your tricks, my lovely little witch." That's what you whispered before sliding into her in probably the only gentle thrust of the night, and well, we're back to the beginning.

Wanda being fucked roughly on the counter in the kitchen while trying to keep the two guests in the living room.

She doesn't know, or think she doesn't know, at least not consciously about how that toy ended up inside your pants. She doesn't think about it, nor about when your hips start to buck and how when you come first, she can feel something hot squirting inside her. She can only mew in arousal, feeling your weight fall on her as you return your movements, faster than before making it impossible for her to hold back any longer. Your mouth finds hers again, and you swallow every dirty moan she lets out as she finally reaches her climax a moment later.

The kitchen, perhaps the whole city, shakes with the force of this orgasm. Wanda doesn't notice, but you're kind of mesmerized by the whole thing. She doesn't even realize she has lost control, still panting and soft under your body but you hear footsteps approaching.

It's your powers that keep the kitchen door tightly shut, and Wanda blinks exhaustedly at the knocks.

"I'll tell them dinner's canceled." You murmur, kissing her cheek before pulling out, the act drawing a gasp from the other. Wanda forces her body to react when you make mention of moving away, her legs hooking behind your knees while she gestures in the air with her fingers glowing red.

"They'll find their way on their own." That's what she says before pressing her mouth to yours again. You smiled into the kiss, saving a mental note to comment that you'd probably lose your job for this. But those were problems for later; right now, you were focused on your darling wife moaning on your tongue.

Your kisses descended to her collarbone, marking the skin gently as Wanda struggled to breathe. Your body soon followed the lead, and you ended up on your knees on the kitchen floor with your face between her legs, taking a moment just to admire the image of Wanda's pussy leaking your mixed cum. 

Your breathing against her was driving her crazy, she moved her hips forward, one of her hands grabbing a handful of your hair and trying to pull you in, but you fought back. Wanda meowed in protest.

"Please." It didn't sound much like begging, and you raised your eyes to her. Wanda blushed heavily at the image but tried to bait you by moving her free fingers to her own pussy, spreading the wetness before sinking a finger in. She whimpered before teasing; "Come on baby, I know you want a taste."

You bite your tongue, but you can't contain the shuddering of your body and Wanda smiles at you, a finger teasing its way in. You try not to fall for it but she mewls as she pushes her finger further inside and you curse quietly before you take action. Your hand pushes hers away, and you sink your face into her pussy before Wanda can complain; she chokes on a moan, her back arching on the counter as you eat her out in hungry determination. Your hands grip her thighs wide open and Wanda struggles to control the sounds, trying to find some ground as she clutches your hair, but all it serves for is to keep your head in place as she grinds harshly against your face.

She is almost robbed of her orgasm the next moment when there is a knock at the back door. It's she who is startled, failing in her movements towards your face, but you groan in frustration at the interruption and instead of stopping the whole thing, the vibration takes Wanda over the edge, and she has to cover her mouth with her hand to avoid the sound that escapes her as the climax washes over her.

She's still trembling on the counter when you stand up, a mess of cum running down your chin that you wipe off with the back of your hand, which Wanda watches with exhausted eyes as you lick it clean a moment later.

"I'll send her away." You mutter, evidently against your will to get off her. When Wanda mentions protesting, you offer her a wink, your hands busy hiding the toy back in your pants. " We'll carry on upstairs."

She tries to stand up on shaky legs while you answer the back door to the nosy neighbor. By now, Wanda's mind is so dizzy from a good fuck that she doesn't even care if Agnes was able to hear anything.

[searchingforserendipity25]

conclave is a very good film made up of cardinal thomas lawrence having three horrible horrible days.

however the one thing it lacks is the consideration of how much worse they could have been if it lasted longer.

day four of conclave and the draw between tedesco and lawrence does not budge.

five days of conclave and at least one of the cardinals whose name got covered up in the trembley report backs lawrence against the wall and tries to threaten him with a kitchen knife before falling to weeping on his shoulder. day six of conclave and cardinal adeyemi and cardinal trembley nearly come to blows in the loggia. day seven of conclave and people start sneaking wine bottles into the sistine chapel.

day eight and they're passing them around covertly during the interminable voting process. day nine and three separate white collar crimes come to light because the guilty parties are sweating in their cassocks thinking lawrence has the dirt on them and they can't take the pressure anymore, they just can't.

day ten and vincent benítez is doing quiet prayer catechism hour in the garden after lunch.

day eleven and sabbadin is snorting someone's vicodin in the bathroom.

day twelve and the cardinals for warsaw and budapest are having a terrible breakup everyone is trying to pretend not to notice. day thirteen and lawrence stays in his room the whole day pretending he has a stomach ache and keeps having his nap dreams interrupted by dreams of turtles.

day fourteen and aldo bellini has brought his copy of giovanni's room to reread, half-heatedly hidden behind a bible cover.

day fifteen and vincent benítez has lead by example a number of cardinals into helping out in the kitchen at least once a week to frankly terrible culinary results and growing camaraderie.

sixteen days of conclave and lawrence has to sit down ray o'malley and actively beg him not to tell him anything else, please, no more info, no more digging into old scandals, no nothing.tedesco's tax audits may be suspiciously clean but lawrence is a man of god not a forensic attorney and he will not dig deeper.

day seventeen and lawence tracks o'malley down and asks him to look into tedesco's brother's recent real estate acquisitions.

day eighteen and the new whisper campaign to discredit lawrence keeps trying to bring up his most controversial progressive views but he keeps answering impatiently back with well-thought of biblical references as he did in the homily and accidentally causes a reprise of his canon law school lecture debates. which temporarily brings everyone together and opens the stage for a fierce ideological debate.

wherein lawrence gets accused, not entirely inaccurately, by trembley and adeyemi, united once more in offense, of being the last figurehead for the complacent liberal establishment/a judgemental prig and/or treating the college of cardinals like a group of jumped-up seminarians.

aldo bellini implies very loudly that tedesco is ugly, a fascist and too stupid to ever be invited to lecture at the sourbonne even once, and cardinal vincent benítez speaks up with great dignity and strength against american imperialism.

day nineteen and someone actively tries to murder the patriarch of venice. day twenty and it is revealed via sister agnes ex machina and cardinal benítez's disconcerting familiarity with very real and more successful murder attempts that tedesco was trying to frame bellini for it.

the proof is circumstantial and so are any accusations lawrence or anyone could make against him of corruption, but this does prompt him to go on a long speech about how the leftist agenda has thoroughly ruined not only the church but society at least and made any possible unity among men a sham.

day twenty-one and someone actually dies, unrelated to the tedesco fake-plot.

day twenty-two and they elect vincent benítez. lawrence hides in the room of tears having an anxiety attack of relief.

vincent benítez holds his hand tenderly through it and immediately accepts his resignation as dean but not before telling him his secret and having his hands held back tightly, and being told very earnestly that, short of actual unreasonable harm to other people and an extraordinary amount of bribery, he could be made by god's will in any possible variation and still have lawrence's trust. and most importantly, lawrence's papacy.

day one of innocentius xiv's papacy and lawrence finds him in the gardens feeding the turtles instead of taking the next train to a nice monastery in liège and offers himself as secretary of state. and this is why netflix should hire me.

[missnightshade]

❝ TO MEND A SOUL ❞

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Requested: Yes! (I combined two requests into this.)

Summary: When her girlfriend starts to feel uneasy about herself and her place in their relationship, Agatha takes it into her own hands to ensure that her pretty girl is happy again.

Warnings: Hurt/comfort. Mentions of se!f-harm and anxiety (if this is a trigger for you, please, beware. ) Also: english is not my first language.

Word count: 861 (The next one will be bigger.)

The faint but comforting smell of lavender on her clothes were the only thing grounding the young woman's minds. As Agatha's slender fingers traveled down your scalp, the nails running against the top of your head made the dizziness subside. A shaky breath was taken and your whole body shook violently from the mental inflicted pain, taking her piercing blue eyes away from the book she settled on reading for the night.

"Something's brothering you, dear?"

The past few weeks were a plain confusion to her. After three and something years by your side, Agatha has never felt you so far away. And for someone who almost died in the hands of death herself, the situation was too unnerving. Maybe it was because she cared more about you than she cared for her own life. Maybe, the this "maybe" was a certainty, something she had few in her lifetime. She reveled in your happiness, one of the only things that made her truly enjoy life after her son's passing.

And for you, well...Agatha Harkness was no ordinary woman. You knew that coming in. Right of the bat, when she herself was only Agnes, her energywas unmatched. Sure, that version of Agatha was easier to fall in steps with your simple life. A suburban woman from Westview. And now you sat there, cuddle with the bundle of stories that the wordly Salem witch was. Agatha was exceptional in everything. In all the angles you took to merely eye at her, there was something so enlightening to see. How powerful she was. How beautifully those brown cascades would always flow behind her, framing the strong but feminine traits of her face. How those blue eyes could see miles and miles into your soul was a mystery you weren't sure you ready to dissect.

How could she settled with you was a completely unanswered question. One that gained a new depth with her present almost death experience.

You tried to hide your emotions from her, yet again, always. Shaking your head, the smile you gave was far from comfortable. Agatha moved and pulled you gently as you sat upright.

"Your lying abilities have gotten worse." the playfulness was there, but the attention she gave was heartbreaking. "Tell me, pretty girl. What is going on inside this precious mind of yours."

You gaped, words not coming out. The anxiety sunk in, heart hamming against your chest, vibrating in your head. The breath was short, and your lungs ached for more. Her hands rested upon yours, her nails grasping against your skin. Looking at her, you saw her eyes glued to your arms. Your long nails, mindlessly, maimed yourself as deeply as they could. There, along your veins, she recognized the faint lines from your past. Hurtful ones that only she knew about. Never again you tried, not until you draw blood from them again, right in front of her.

It wasn't that bad. Blood didn't scare Agatha, but the fear and sorrow she held as her hand gently parted you from yourself was devastating.

"Talk to me, my love.", she pleaded. "Please."

"I..dont know. It's just been too much." The voice coming from you was unsure, but the blured lines of that meaning had Agatha taken aback.

"What? Whats is?" her voice was gentle, but so much deeper than you've ever heard it.

"I...you. Not you but...me, to you."

As she heard your voice, shattered with a hint of stagnant cries, she held your face between her hands.

"Sweetie, breathe. Let it go. I'm right here to catch you." all the sweetness no one could have from her came crashing down.

"You...how can you be with me, Aggy?" She eyed you intently, thumb catching the first tears as they fell. "You're all - all everyone would ever want. And i'm just...me. Plain. Boring. "

The witch scoffed with a tearful laugh, as if you had the most idiot breakdown. But there was no judgment as she tugged you closer by the sleeves of her own shirt you were wearing.

"Oh, dear. You have no idea how amazing you are and how happy you make me. Y/N/N, look around. I'm building a life with you. After centuries of running, and ploting, scheming. This peace of mind...no one could ever give me that. No one could love me like you do."

The hiccups coming from your mouth made her eyes lock to yours.

"My pretty, pretty girl." her voice traced, full of love. "I love you. Remember, dear, that I've been around for ages. I've seen men rise and fall. I've met my share of people. Yet, I chose you. Y/N, I am choosing you at this moment. Everyday."

The weight of her words paired with how strong her gaze upon yourself was made you crumble. Your body gave into the pain as you were pulled into her. Almost straddling her lap, Agatha's warm embrace grounded you yet again. There were too many sorry you wanted to say, but as she shushed you into a lullaby meant only for your ears, the pieces were mended together. But as you lowered your face into her soft hair, her voice echoed against your left ear.

"Don't ever be afraid of telling me if something is bothering you. I'm yours and you're mine, my love." A soft kiss landed on your neck, lovingly. "You are safe."

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

Requests are up, right?

If so, hiii! Could I please request a Viktor x wealthy nobleman reader angst set in s1 and during the timeskip? Maybe to do with reader’s parents are forcing him into an arranged marriage so he can’t be with Viktor but they’re still trying to make it work??? Don’t feel obligated to write this it’s up to you n e wayz have a good day thankss ♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪

viktor x male! wealthy nobleman! reader

angst, (implied) smut, some dialogue. an experimental little thing, really.

word count: 1,7k

author’s note: this request. it’s so scrumptious. so beautiful. so delightful. thank you for asking me to write this, i don’t think i’ve met your expectation but i certainty tried to throw in some extra angst. enjoy, my darling anon!

—

He wakes up in a sweat-slick frenzy, salt dribbling down his neck when he reaches to feel it, scrapping matted hair off pale skin. 

The sheets beneath him are crumpled into intractable waves. The detritus of his restless sleep and whatever erotic mess he’d made out of you a few hours ago. But when his arm crawls to your side of the bed, smoothing over the rippled splendour, his fist clenches around nothing. 

Heavy lids flutter with effort when his ochre eyes roam beneath the chestnut strands, fruitlessly roaming around the pompous room. All claret patches of luxurious furniture curdling into countless voids in the dim light. There’s something so inherently you and not-you-in-the-slightest all the same clashing inside this chamber. Gaudy, and tasteless, and redundantly sandalwood. Duck-feather pillows and thick mattresses. Exuberant safety. 

Viktor rests his eyes, propping his head up on a trembling hand. He could never get used to this. He could never get used to you. Your reputee. Your respectable decorum. The things he’s supposed to enjoy—or, rather, finally try getting used to.

And yet, they’re still so foreign and confusing. He swears there’s a myriad snarky insults written all over this gigantic house—on every ridiculous vintage lamp and on the mortifying softness of your carpets—hell, even the curtains sway at him sibilantly, somehow. 

But the mirrors are certainly the culprit. He always avoids those evil, gilded things at all cost. Not because he despises the reflection. It’s mostly the way he clashes with the grandeur that makes him avert his eyes. Away from the jaunty reminder that he doesn’t belong here. 

He emerges from the bed, blood rushing out of his head and thumping harder when he slips one leg off the edge, gaining precarious hold of his cane through drowsy confusion. Hides the slopes of pointy shoulders beneath his flimsy shirt but leaves it unbuttoned. Counts puce hickeys strewn across his chest and cockily runs his heavy tongue over his molars when the number exceeds ten. 

He doesn’t bother with the belt, either. He trudges out of the room with pants hanging low on hips, eerie gallus curdling into his walk when he passes Agnes, your maid, trading shrewd gazes with her judging eyes. She knows. And he knows she knows. You’re not exactly secretive with whatever blissed debaucheries happen in one of those spacious bedrooms the second your venerable parents leave the City of Progress.

Too bad he doesn’t care enough to keep you out of trouble. It’s more of an eye-for-an-eye dilemma. You’re still so skittish to address him as your partner during those numerous fancy galas. Janna, he can’t even make it to the guest list. It’s like you completely lack the balls (and the appendage is definitely there—Viktor did check, after all). But it’s okay. Viktor can be the ballsy one. He can rub it in their faces while you falter. And tonight the maid’s face falls victim to his stunt. 

He asks if she’d seen you, sickeningly glibly. Finds the audacity to address you by your first name, his head cheekily tilted to the side. She inhales through her nose, canines nervously digging into her cheek.

“He’s in the drawing room,” she mumbles, looking away. “Playing the piano.” 

Viktor hums. Of course you are. He thanks her with a snide nod and takes his leave. Thinks of just how oblivious rich people are to their antics: it’s ridiculous that the sounds of a literal keyboard instrument fail to reach every room in this enormous mansion. It makes him really ponder the size. So much space for privilege, and yet none for love. Boastful quarters built on ingenuity. He bites his tongue. 

The door makes a heavy screech when he comes in, panting hard. Finds you at the edge of your padded seat, all tense shoulders and rigid breaths, cheeks blooming a frustrated, sweaty pink as your fingers torture the keyboard, tapping out a  bluesy, messy tune. He leans on the doorframe, forehead landing against the lacquered mahogany with a light thump. Notices the expensive ruffled shirt he’d torn at earlier, lingering on the patch of skin where it swings off your clavicle. Smiles, when your melody gains a sharper edge, pitiful chords clashing into something resembling a dismissed plea—either to gods or to conniving ancestry, but that’s open to interpretation. Could be both, really.

It’s not often that he gets to admire his boy like this—tumultuous and rigid, forehead contorted with veins in your angry awe. And Viktor doesn’t want to startle you. He sneaks behind your back and hovers above your shoulders, his breath a sly tickle over your fevered temple. But his presence grounds you. Your limbs tumble, going limp as they slide off the trembling black-whites. The piano strings still vibrate when you turn to kiss him, wet lips meeting chapped. 

He glides under your tongue and hums something indistinct, but you swallow his words faster. Franticly, you cling to him, desperate fingers clasping around bony thighs, and down he goes, pulled into your lap, bubbly giggle rasping against your mouth when he straddles you. Tastes of boldness, sweat and something delirious. Runs his hands up and down your back while his own arches into the keyboard and hits one cacophonic chord. It has you leaping out of your seat, hairs on ends like a skittish cat. Viktor looks at you, mouth unraveling into a boyish smile.

“Am I interrupting?” He finds his voice, still groggy from the aftermath of his slumber. 

You offer him an apologetic wink of both tired eyes. “You startled me.”

“Ah, I see. I’m sorry. You should have kept going. I quite liked that improvisation.” You both laugh. 

He rakes his hand up your neck, fingers circling the bulge of your voice, drawing a gulp. Your face looks strained, brows knitted together in something bizarrely tic-like—and it doesn’t go away even when his lips line up with that sensitive slope, licking, kissing, biting their way down to clavicles. 

“What’s troubling you?” He whispers, leaning back. Stares at the glistening stripe of his saliva, swallowing hard, matching you when you look away, gnawing at your bottom lip. Both mouths taste iron, chewing the tension. 

“Nothing?” You try to lie, but your delivery is just a tad too quizzical. Like you’re asking him to narrow it down for you, to find the answer on your behalf. Too bad he would never do you such favors. 

He fists his hand into your hair, tugging hard. Makes you look back into his mighty eyes—oh that lovely, oxidised copper—and orders you to speak from the altitude of his posture. You shudder, seeking mercy. He doesn’t have any to give. Not tonight.

“There’s clearly something,” Viktor insists, letting go of your hair. Your scalp tingles with a delicious scorch. “I don’t appreciate the covertness. Especially when you’re hardly able to keep it up. You never play quite as… vehemently unless you’re upset.” 

“It’s Agnes,” you crack, looking at the doorway. The maid is not there, but the weight of her gaze haunts you everytime you sneak Viktor inside, no matter if she’s not there to witness you cling to him. “She, er— My parents are threatening to fire her. She told me she can no longer keep our… secret. ” 

“So be it.” Viktor shrugs. “Let her talk. She needs her income. It’s not like they’re not aware of my existence anyway.”

You scoff. “Yes, but it’s not like they’re particularly fond of you, either.”

“Since when does that distress you?” He snaps right back at you, loving hands instantly withdrawn from their hold of you, clenching hard. “You can’t possibly take their input into consideration, can you?” 

For a moment, you simply stare at each other, eyes shooting angry stardust. You can feel a dry, nervous cough tickle at your throat, blood buzzing in your temples and pressing hard. You have to tell him. Preferably, now. 

Because Viktor is oblivious to the ultimatum you were given all those months ago. Here he is, looking down at you full of puzzled devotion, smug, and sweet and so utterly soft. Unaware of the fact that you are to be married to another man. To someone meticulously picked out by your parents, all tedious meetings and insipid speeches about how you should stick to someone of your own kind, ears bleeding to the sounds of all the demeaning crap about witnessing their noble boy’s downfall. 

But the worst part is: you still haven’t grown a fraction of a backbone. You bend to their will and adhere to self-pity, painfully wary of how to break this circle. It’s just that you let your fear prevail. 

And it’s a thing to be ashamed of. Because how dare you hold him close, all limbs intertwined and eyes locking with such yearning—all the while you fail to muster the courage to offer him elopement. Hell, to even tell him the truth. You don’t deserve him—not now, not ever. Cowards are not to form bonds with those who never ask for permission. 

And so you wet your lips, anxiously staring up. Your hands bonelessly dangle at your sides, terrified of reaching for him again. You’re going to tell him, it’s right there, at the tip of your tongue, threatening to leap out your mouth like an insult one doesn’t mean. You just have to do it like he does: be bold, be brave, start talking—

“Of course, Viktor,” you mumble instead, feeling shame creep up your throat. What a spineless creature. “I don’t care what they think. I’m sorry.”

His eyes flicker with that familiar, joyful spark of his. Fawning at you so gently that your heart almost bleeds through the fancy shirt, almost crumbling right then and there when he scoots closer again, hot breath fondling your face. You’re never going to tell him, are you? 

Something inside you dies when he kisses your cheek, lean body tensing atop you as he commences an embrace you return with guilty reluctance, hiding ugly tears in the mess of his hair. 

“Good,” Viktor whispers, holding you through your shudder. “Now, could you play me that nocturne I like, please?”

You grip the piano hard enough to leave nail marks on the gorgeous instrument.

[agatharkn3ss]

Black Heart (spoilers)

I love the reveal that Teen/Billy/William is the "black heart" name. It just makes SO MUCH SENSE.

There are so many consequences of that, I'm only starting to process this, but here are my initial musings.

The Coven List

For one, Lilia drawing black heart on the list was finally explained - it was not because she ran out of time or anything - it was because she literally didn't know the name as her own sigil redacted it.

I expect this is Lilia sending the list of names from the future, after the sigil is broken, but the past Lilia could not decipher it because the sigil was still in place in her time.

But I wonder if they will ever explain how the coven names were actually put together in the first place? Is it somehow influenced by the fact that when Lilia first saw Billy Kaplan's hand, she might have seen every witch he came across in the near future and so that's what she concluded the coven shall be?

Will we see the reason why Lilia put the sigil on him? Because just hiding him from Agatha doesn't make sense, since she clocked him straight away. I thought it could be to protect his identity from Salem Seven (who hated Scarlet Witch as the Harbinger of Chaos)? But the sigil is destroyed now, so would it make sense?

So maybe he needs protection from Death? Maybe not now, but at the time of the accident? The sigil was the one thing that HELPED Billy Maximoff enter Kaplan's body because it had no known identity? And that's why Death couldn't find him to reap the soul/body in time?

2. Summoning the Road

He wasn't in the basement during the summoning and he didn't sing though. He was very much preoccupied with Salem Seven. We could presume that just his proximity caused that "magical spark" that Agatha spoke about... But then in one of the promos, there is a scene where we see Billy alone standing inside the blue pentacle. I am very intrigued by when exactly this happens - if in the past, then my theory is that his first Road attempt was what triggered Agnes' O'Connor persona. But if it happens in the future from now, then maybe this is him realising he needs to add his element to the summoning moment and send it in time. Though this seems quite a convoluted way. Maybe, if this is a future scene, this is instead him trying to open the door to exit Road. OR even - he managed to get out of the Road but Agatha is still trapped in there so he summons the gate for her to get out?

3. Is he aware?

Did Billy know he was the Black Heart? Lilia finally tells them the fourth "name" in Agatha's living room. But did he catch it? We never see his reaction when Lilia says it was a black heart. But Billy knew his abilities and must have thought of himself as a witch and not a familiar. Could a familiar even get any "prize" from the Road if only the witches were tested? He always seemed to hate whenever the witches referred to him as pet or familiar. He also wears this black stud in his ear, which is more of a triangle, but could be interpreted as black heart and that's why Eddie calls him that - so it must be a known nickname to Billy.

Because if he knew, then he purposely let Agatha bring Sharon into this, knowing it wasn't right. Would the sigil prevent him from telling them it was him? Would he even care at this point or tried to interfere with Sharon's mind? But then again, I don't think he's nowhere near as quick-witted as Agatha, so perhaps he didn't know to start with.

Sidenote: it would be interesting to see how well he can read other witches' minds. It seems to happen when other people are stressed. And not just the people he cares about, because he was able to read Ralph too. I don't think he can read Agatha's - even Wanda wasn't able to do that. But what about others?

4. The Trials

So after all that, Billy is a full witch member of the coven and it's Sharon who's the familiar. He's not the Earth element, but his powers are so vast, that he doesn't need to be. We almost have two Spirit elements? I think we will still get "Earth" trial though, but it will be Billy's - after all it is in a morgue and Agatha has her hands on his head - trying to find Tommy? Unlock some memories?

It's interesting that the first trial depended on the size of the group. There were exactly 5 glasses around the wine and the solution to the challenge was the blood of the un-poisoned. So technically, Sharon didn't have to drink, because she wasn't meant to be tested - Billy was. The group was very adamant that the whole coven had to drink and forced Agatha to do it, but it seems that maybe she really didn't need to after all? And Billy didn't seem to experience any nightmares because of it, even though he should have.

We knew this already, but clearly Sharon wasn't at all equipped to deal with the trial. What if she was so distressed by the trial, maybe still hallucinating her Wanda nightmare, that Billy heard it in her head, felt guilty that it should've been him, and tried to help/interfere? She did have her eyes open in the end, even though when they carried her into the oven she was out of it.

Because Agatha did notice something on Sharon's body. Was it her blue eyes, somehow vaguely similar to Lilia and Jen's eyes when Billy controlled them? (Not saying Billy killed Sharon, at least not intentionally. She was probably already dying and there was nothing anyone could do and so he eased her pain?)

5. Rio

So many questions! It does not seem coincidental that Rio specifically mentions having a black heart to Agatha. It could be entirely plausible that Rio was just being Rio and just wanted her feelings known? But what if she was intentionally misleading Agatha? Why? And how could she have already known about Billy and Lilia's list? Or could it be a play on words? Allusion to Billy as the "black heart" who seems connected to Agatha?

She wasn't at all surprised by Billy breaking in, and while he was searching for the locket, she randomly asked Agatha if she was hiding any evidence. This could be a spell somehow twisting Agatha's perception of what Rio was actually saying, but it seems like she was actually there, with Agatha, sharing the spell experience. It also seems to be confirmed that Rio wasn't actually physically there.

So what if she's somehow connected to Billy because of his "near-death" (but really, "actual death") experience. So that now death is always near him? Does she think of him as a ghost? Did the sigil prevent her from reaping Kaplan's body? So she needs to do "her job", but feels "cheated" and wants to put things back in order? It will be interesting to see what she does now, that the sigil is destroyed. She certainly seem to be interested in him on the Witches Road. It could be that it was her who threw Billy into the sound booth window in the fire episode? (it would be funny if it was because Billy was trying to access her mind and she got angry). If she's connected to Billy, what about Tommy?

Can Death traverse time? Or is she somehow just linked with Lilia, because she's Fate? (you know, the inevitable Fate is that all roads eventually lead to Death) She seems to know what Lilia was about to say about Salem Seven when she woke up in ep.5. And Lilia saw her in her nightmare vision in episode 3. With Lilia predicting all those tragedies, she must have seen her fair share of deaths.

I must admit, I love this enigma. Now that Billy's puzzle has been revealed, the Wiccan fans have had their share of fun and we can fully shift attention to theorising about Rio and building hype around her - and that's even when we 99.999999% know who she is! I also love seeing Agatha being back to her delicious character, not holding back any more. This is why I started watching in the first place, so I'm very excited for what's to come.

[flowerbloom-arts]

“It's for a comic strip I do called 'Grumble and Bumble,' Grumble likes to yell but deep down he loves Bumble like a son.”

Seymour sometimes has a creative side, whether it be accidentally plagiarizing Jurassic Park for a book he's been thinking about writing (s5 ep19) or writing a couple screenplays in the hopes of getting them to Universal Studios and winning an Oscar (s19 ep18), and likely due to a lack of an active imagination or minimal media consumption he tends to draw inspiration from his own life for his art.

The screenplays he wrote in Any Given Sundance had titles that he fairly obviously based on his life or desires - “When Edna Met Seymour” (this is 4 whole seasons after they broke up), “Ghost Willie” (Willie hates Seymour's guts like most of the school staff but how much Seymour hates him back I can't quite say, or this could be more metaphorical and Willie's hatred is manifested into a threatening ghost form), “Killing Seymour's Mother” (he's expressed a desire to kill Agnes multiple times throughout the show due to resentment and despite his seemingly unconditional love for her), and “The Principal Who Sold a Screenplay” (this is simply premature wish-fulfillment)

“Grumble and Bumble” is no different. If the designs of the characters didn't make this obvious enough, Grumble is Chalmers and Bumble is Skinner himself, and thusly he is speaking indirectly about his ideas of what his dynamic with his superintendent is by using Grumble and Bumble as an allegory. But why would Seymour believe that despite the sometimes abusive tendencies Gary treats him with, Gary loves him "like a son" deep down?

I've often thought how similar Chalmers is to Agnes in some respects, especially when it pertains to their treatment of Seymour, but to an audience they have their fairly obvious differences.

While Agnes' abuse stems from a mix of bitterness and a fear of abandonment from the only person who still loves her despite her behavior, Gary's abuse seems to stem from a deep-seated annoyance with Skinner's behavior. Chalmers doesn't like Skinner being his bootlicker, the few times Chalmers treats him with benevolence or fondness is when Skinner acts confident in himself, unburdened by Chalmers' whims over him, meanwhile Agnes actively kicks him down when he tries to stand up.

Of course, it doesn't really make a difference to Skinner, I doubt he himself sees the difference, all he knows is that they dislike him but he can sometimes win over their affection if he does... Something, anything, likely whatever they want him to do which is be obedient and successful at his tasks despite his nightmarish circumstances because that's what they yell at him to do. He can't differentiate between what Chalmers likes and what Agnes likes because he's so used to his mother and Chalmers is so close to that pattern of behavior they might as well be the same.

And just as Seymour loves Agnes, he also loves Chalmers. It doesn't particularly matter if that love is familial or platonic or even romantic on Seymour's end, really, because it all leads to the same result; that love leads to a desire to fulfill whatever harsh demand is given to him. He's a dog in that sense, and he never knows when to quit (as Bart says; "No matter how badly you get treated, you always come back for more! It's like your superpower!" - s32 ep8).

And despite everything Gary's put him through, he hopes desperately that he can achieve and continue to maintain any morsel of affection he may throw for doing a good job, just like Agnes would. He thinks the abuse hides an inherent affection Chalmers harbors for him; why else would Gary keep coming to school to see him? Why else would he seem to care about it so much? It must be similar to how his mother still keeps a roof over his head or cooks him food; she cares despite her hatred, because he is her son and there's an unconditional love there between them. Seymour knows this, and so therefore there has to be one conclusion, no matter what kind of affection Skinner feels for him:

Chalmers likes to yell but deep down he loves Skinner like a son. Just as Agnes loves him as a son.

“No he doesn't.”

— s26 ep11, Bart's New Friend

[bellaxgiornata]

Falling For the Devil [Part eighty-nine: "The Stray"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: Matt spends his morning alone with the new cat until you return.

Or You say something to Matt that has a bigger impact on him than you even realize.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut (like...a lot of it later in the series), language, some violence

Word Count: 3.2k

a/n: This update is also light and fluffy with its own little surprise at the end. It's also entirely in Matt's POV. Enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

Tag List: @ninacotte @mattkinsella @stilldreaming666 @murdocksclient @madscamp02 @1988-fiend @linamarr @pinkratts @schneeflocky @acharliecoxedfan @yarrystyleeza @theetherealbloom @danzer8705 @lionalsowrites @harperdoodle @kmc1989 @lunaticgurly

Matt hunched over his steaming mug of coffee on the kitchen table, one of his hands running along his face as he tried to wake up. He was still dressed in only his boxers, finally crawling out of bed a little after he’d heard you leave the apartment. He knew you’d woken up early, over-eager to pick up the extra odds and ends for the cat that you’d excitedly ordered last night on your phone from the pet store just two blocks over. 

It had admittedly been adorable listening to how thrilled you were just over picking out cat toys last night. A faint smile ghosted over Matt’s lips even now as he remembered the little shriek you’d made, grabbing at his arm beside you on the couch when you’d spotted sushi themed ones. Granted, Matt always thought you were adorable and found your excitement contagious. 

Drawing the mug of coffee to his lips, Matt could hear the soft patter of paws approaching him. He drank down the liquid before lowering the mug back to the table, his attention shifting to where he heard the cat sit down on the floor not too far from his chair. The soft swish of its tail back and forth was fast becoming a familiar sound around the apartment already.

"She's not here right now," Matt told the cat. "So whatever manipulative face you've been giving her to get your way since yesterday? It won't work on me. Because I can't see it."

A tiny mew met Matt’s ears, the cat's tail continuing to rhythmically move back and forth along the floor. 

"Yeah, you won," Matt told him. "Seems like you didn't belong to anyone after all those calls we made yesterday, so you get to stay here." He pointed a finger down towards the cat, his expression stern. "But don't think you get free run of this place destroying things just because she likes you so much. No scratching up the couch. Or knocking dishes off the kitchen shelves– especially the coffee mugs," he told the cat. "She's weirdly attached to a few of them. I don’t want her crying because you broke one."

Another small meow met Matt’s ears and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. Pressing his lips firmly together, he fought the smile threatening to slip onto his face.

He'd never had a pet before. His father never could've afforded taking care of one when Matt was young, and there was absolutely no way he'd have ever been allowed to have one at St. Agnes, so he initially assumed having a cat roaming around the apartment would be annoying with his senses. The meows, the multiple paw pads hitting the floor as the cat walked, the incessant purring, and the irritating sound of a cat’s tongue as it groomed itself. Those were all things that immediately came to mind when you’d suggested keeping the cat after he’d rescued it from the dumpster. But surprisingly Matt had discovered he hadn't minded the cat's presence much at all–other than the litter box you'd already bought for it. Though if you or Matt cleaned it immediately, the smell wasn't that bad to him and he was quickly learning to ignore it.

This cat’s meowing wasn't actually loud and grating to his ears like he'd always imagined it would be, either. Instead, it was more of a light, sweet noise, one that he’d come to like each time he'd heard it. And the purring almost had a white noise effect just like the patter of rain on the windows. If he was being honest, he'd actually liked falling asleep with the cat at the foot of the bed last night. He'd focused in on the purring, managing to tune out not only the sounds in the apartment building, but also the noise outside in Hell’s Kitchen. Last night was the fastest Matt had ever fallen asleep since gaining his heightened senses with the sound of the purring and your steady heartbeat in his ears. 

He heard the cat rise to its feet, padding over towards his legs. A second later he felt the cat's head rub against his bare calf and the smile finally made its way onto Matt’s face. The cat's fur, after having been cleaned from his time among the garbage, was silky and smoother than he'd imagined it would be, too. He figured it would be scratchy and irritating to his sensitive skin, because generally that’s how it always felt when he'd pet cats or dogs in the past. But apparently not this cat. 

"You're annoyingly persistent, you know that?" Matt told the cat.

Reaching a hand down, Matt scratched the fur under the cat's chin. Seconds later Matt’s ears picked up on the faint rumble as gradually the still nameless cat began to purr.  Some sense of pride began to stir in Matt’s chest at the sound.

“Thought it was supposed to be hard to gain a cat’s affection,” Matt mused quietly. “Don’t blame you for loving her so easily, but I don’t know what the hell you'd want with me.”

The cat stepped closer to Matt as he spoke, rubbing his side along Matt’s shin. The cat’s tail soon curled itself around his calf, the soft hairs almost tickling Matt. The smile on his face grew just a bit wider.

“I know what you’re doing,” Matt told the cat, withdrawing his hand from the cat’s chin and sitting back in his chair. “It’s not going to work.”

Turning his attention back to his coffee, he left the cat to his own devices. He’d noticed since the both of you had brought him home that he’d often taken residence along the radiator by the window in the living room, curling up on it and watching the pigeons on the rooftop across the street. But as Matt picked his mug back up, about to drink more of his coffee, he felt two paws suddenly land on his knee.

The cup of coffee hovered just before Matt’s mouth, his hand freezing. Head tilting to the side, his brows furrowed. The cat had stretched up on his hind legs apparently, his front feet resting on Matt’s knee. He heard the air shift just a bit as one of the paws reached up, and then Matt felt a furry little paw tap the back of his hand that was holding his coffee mug. Turning his head back towards the cat, he heard another little meow again.

“What?” he asked the cat. “I know I heard her feed you and fill your water bowl already when she woke up. And she’s the one who promised to fatten you up, not me. So don’t think you can trick me into giving you more food.”

The little paw gently tapped the back of Matt’s hand again and Matt’s eyes narrowed as he focused in on the cat. Nothing seemed wrong with him–or at least, as far as he could tell. It’s not like he generally tuned into a cat’s physiology and could really tell if something was off. But the vet you’d both taken him to yesterday–who’d in fact confirmed the nameless cat was indeed a male–had said he’d seemed malnourished but otherwise healthy. And Matt couldn’t pick up on anything different from him since then.

“Do you just…want attention?” Matt asked. “Is that it?”

Of course the cat couldn’t answer, but the other place Matt knew this nameless cat had enjoyed spending time was curled up on the couch. Usually next to you or in your lap. Matt remembered the first time the cat had crawled into your lap and laid down last night. He’d been finishing up taking care of the dishes after dinner, pausing when he heard your heart speed up in your chest. At first he’d thought your pulse increasing had something to do with him–but no. It was the cat. Again. Though, the cute little giggle you’d made when the cat settled down on you was one of the best sounds he’d heard in awhile.

“Fine,” Matt relented. “I’ll sit on the couch and drink my coffee and pet you. But if you so much as scratch me with one of your nails,” he warned the cat as he rose to his feet, “I’m going to throw away all of your cat toys.”

The cat made a noise in its throat, the sound something akin to a grunt of disbelief. The unexpected noise surprised Matt, causing him to chuckle as he navigated his way to the couch, trying to keep an ear out for the cat so he didn’t step on him.

“Okay, you’re right, I won’t do that,” he admitted. “But only because of her, not you. Don’t get that mixed up. She was just…really excited about the little sushi ones. I couldn’t possibly throw them away on her.”

Matt settled down onto the couch, the leather cold and a little scratchy against his skin. With a sigh, he raised his coffee mug up to his mouth for a drink, the warmth of it a pleasant contrast to the fabric on his bare skin. He heard the cat jump up onto the couch next to him as he swallowed the liquid, the soft thump of his paws landing on the cushion next to Matt only a faint noise with how little the cat weighed. Almost instantly he curled into a ball against the side of Matt’s bare thigh, the warmth of his furry little body hard not to notice. 

Relaxing back into the cushions, Matt’s eyes closed as he enjoyed his drink and tried to mentally prepare himself for the day. The warmth of the cat at his side soon became soothing, and admittedly it was nice to not be sitting here alone drinking his morning coffee while you were gone. He focused in on the cat’s faint purring, the noise a comfortable decibel to Matt’s ears. He was so relaxed and tuned into the cat that he hadn’t even noticed you’d entered the apartment building, even managing to startle him when you’d opened the apartment door.

“I’m back, Matty!” 

Matt’s eyes opened at the sound of your voice, the cat at his side stirring as well. Turning his head towards the entryway hall, he heard the telltale sound of your heartbeat pounding its usual rhythm in his ears. A smile spread across his lips. That would always be his favorite sound. 

“You manage to get everything you needed, sweetheart?” he called out to you.

“Yeah, they had everything I ordered,” you answered, the sound of bags rustling in his ears as you set them down to take off your shoes. “But I may have also bought him this little scratching post that’s also a hammock. It is the perfect height for the bedroom window,” you continued on, Matt grinning and shaking his head at the excitement in your voice. “So he can curl up in it and watch the pigeons and the traffic comfortably in our room, you know?”

“You’re spoiling this cat, you know that, right?” he teased.

Matt heard the playful scoff you made as you began to pick up all the bags in your hands again. Soon after, he heard your footsteps continue to make their way down the entryway hall towards him.

“He was found in a dumpster , Matt,” you replied. “I think he deserves some nice things.”

Matt shifted his attention down to the cat still curled up beside him on the couch, running his hand along the cat’s fur. “Yeah, I guess trash cat deserves some nice things,” he agreed.

“Matt!” you chastised.

Matt immediately chuckled at the tone of your voice and the way it had went up a few octaves. Admittedly he kept calling the cat that just because he enjoyed the way you reacted every time he did.

“He’s not a trash cat!” you shot back.

Matt heard you placing the bags down behind the couch before you made your way around it. Though when you had, he heard how you paused and the way your heartbeat sped up. Eyes narrowing, his head canted to the side in interest. What had that been about?

“Well, he was found in garbage,” Matt continued half-heartedly, his ears listening to your body. “And I am saying it affectionately.”

“Then maybe I should start calling you a trash Devil,” you quipped, “since I found you in a dumpster.”

He couldn’t resist the peel of laughter that fell out of him, his focus on your body briefly interrupted. He heard you make your way to the couch before he felt the cushion beside him shift as you sat down.

“Unfortunately that doesn’t have as good of a ring to it as Daredevil,” Matt replied, his laughter subsiding.

“Mmm, no, I suppose not,” you agreed.

Matt focused back on you, still absently petting the cat at his side with his free hand. Your heart had returned to its usual pace now. Matt’s head tilted to the side again, curiosity winning out.

“What was with the change in your heartbeat a moment ago?” he asked. “Just before you sat down?”

“Oh,” you breathed out, nervously laughing lightly as you waved a hand. “Nothing. It was nothing.”

A mischievous grin slipped onto Matt’s face as he shook his head. “Okay, so it was definitely something then. Spill, sweetheart.”

There was a moment of silence before you answered. Matt could hear the way your nails were picking at a string on what he assumed were your shorts.You were fidgeting, something you didn��t do too often around him anymore.

“I just–just wasn’t expecting to see you sitting here practically naked with the cat,” you muttered.

Matt’s bottom lip slipped between his teeth, fighting back a smile. “You see me like this every morning, but me sitting with a cat gets your heart racing like that?” he teased.

The air shifted around you as you shrugged, your hands continuing to fidget in your lap. “I don’t know,” you muttered, your cheeks heating, “it’s just like…coming home to my little family or something now, you know? The two of you here together. Both my boys.”

The teasing smile slowly faded from Matt’s lips, his expression softening as he read the nervousness around your body increasing. A warmth stirred in Matt’s chest at your words, his heart swelling. Because you considered him and this stray cat family. Your family.

You waved a dismissive hand, laughing nervously. “Nevermind, it’s stupid,” you said.

“No,” Matt said softly, shaking his head. “It’s not stupid at all.”

He could feel a lump forming in the back of his throat, a well of emotions trying to rise to the surface. Blinking hard a few times, he tried to push it all back. He wasn’t about to get emotional about that, not right now.

“So uh,” Matt began, clearing his throat, “we should probably start to think of names for this little guy if you don’t want trash cat to stick.”

“Actually,” you said, voice a little hesitant, “I had a thought when I was picking up everything this morning from the pet store.”

“For a name?” Matt asked.

“Yeah,” you answered, nodding. “I was thinking…what if we named him something after your dad?”

That lump seemed to abruptly thicken in the back of Matt’s throat. He swallowed a couple of times, a blurry image of his father mentally painting itself in his mind. It was getting harder to fight the tears in his eyes as he blinked them back.

“What–what do you mean?” he asked, hoping you didn’t notice the waver in his voice.

“I just meant it might be like a way to honor him?” you answered nervously. “And I–I was thinking maybe we could call him Mittens?”

Matt could feel the weight of the tears building in his eyes as his tongue nervously slipped out, wetting his lips. His hand stopped along the cat’s back, his fingers burying themselves into the cat’s comforting fur.

“Mittens?” Matt asked softly.

“Yeah,” you said. “Like boxing mitts? Since your father was such a great boxer. And, in your own way, I suppose you are, too. Though you don’t technically wear mittens out at night–but you probably should in winter time because you’re always freezing out there.”

Matt huffed out a laugh just as a single tear slipped out of his eye. Before he had a chance to discreetly try to wipe it away, you’d already noticed it. He heard the way you sucked in a breath, your back straightening on the couch beside him. And then it was your soft fingers on his cheek catching the tear, wiping it away. His eyelids lowered as he leant into your touch.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No,” Matt replied quickly. “You didn’t. I uh, I think that’s a great idea, actually.”

“You do?” you asked.

Attempting yet again to swallow that lump in his throat, Matt nodded against your hand. “Yeah, I love it,” he whispered. 

You leaned in towards him, placing a gentle kiss to his cheek where the tear had fallen. Matt’s lips curled upwards in a smile at the feel of them against his skin, so soft and warm. When you pulled away, you placed a sweet kiss to his lips next, lingering against them for a moment. Once again Matt’s heart felt like it was swelling in his chest, a whole well of emotions building within him that he was struggling to keep down.

You focused your attention down onto the cat next, your hands gently stroking the top of the cat’s head. Matt smiled when he heard the soft coo you spoke to the cat with.

“What about you?” you asked him. “Do you like Mittens?”

The resounding purr that began so soon after you’d asked the question seemed to be his response.  

“Sounds like a yes,” Matt whispered.

You giggled, still focused on petting the cat as you enthusiastically continued to chat to him, trying out the new name. Mittens seemed content with the name choice and the attention, purring even louder as he curled up further against Matt’s leg. 

But while you were currently very focused on the cat, Matt was focused on you. That warmth in his chest only seemed to grow even more as he sat there, listening to your cheerful and bright voice as you spoke. He couldn’t fight the smile that gradually returned to his face at what you’d said just a bit ago.

Family. That word meant a lot of things to Matt, but it was something he’d felt like he’d never truly had ever since he’d lost his father. Even if his mother was only a few blocks away at Clinton Church, it wasn’t quite the same thing, not with the history between him and Maggie. Foggy’s family had honestly been the closest thing Matt had ever had to a family, but he’d only met them when he was grown and in college. But still, he’d never truly felt like he’d had a family of his own, one that he belonged to.

Not until now. Because you were right, the three of you were a family.

Matt drew his coffee mug back up to his mouth, his mind suddenly and very surely made up as he took another drink. Monday he’d tell you he was working late on a case so you wouldn’t expect him home at the usual time. And then he’d finally ask Foggy to go help him pick out a ring.

[sebille]

[kissy noises]

[mira--image]

Here is my Future Donnie playlist, the third in the bad future series! I also have a Donnie extended playlist that's about double the length, expanding on the different plot points!

These playlists are stories meant to be listened to in order. For each, they start at the start of the apocalypse, and end when the character dies.

In his playlist, he starts off confident and capable, but slowly unravels after Raph's death. Just when we think he's found a solution and getting his second wind, tragedy strikes him too.

This is such a fun playlist that covers many genres. It's the first where I had to start incorporating fannon, because it's not shown in the movie how Donnie died. I especially like the fan theories that draw on little details from the movie or the concept art.

When I made this playlist, I had just finished reading @somerandomdudelmao 's Cass apocalyptic series, and their headcannons were my favorite at the time so I decided to go with theirs! So if you haven't read that comic yet I highly recommend it, and know that this playlist technically has spoilers for the Donnie plotline.

Anyways, song-to-song plot below!

Donnie takes the invasion in stride, and adapts easily to the violence.

Leo may lead the resistance, but Donnie built it. At first, he's more concerned about his bad-boy reputation and keeping potential enemies in line, but he's confident, capable, and invaluable. The praises of the rescued citizens definitely don't get to his head (he says confidently 👀💦).

Raph dies, and Donnie gradually comes down from his high. He tries to mourn him. And yes, including agnes and I bet my life is completely because of @tapakah0's cass animatics.

Mourning sucks. Raph is dead, but Donnie is totally fine guys!! He's just throwing himself into his work and not talking to anyone... only a little more than usual! When's the last time he didn't count coffee as a meal?

He's figured it out. Raph may be dead, but Donnie can bring him back.

Here's where the Cass apocalyptic series influence really kicks in. Donnie starts experiencing strange symptoms. Did he overwork himself too much?

By the time he realizes what's happening, it's too late. Slowly, Donnie comes to terms with and succumbs to his illness.

Enjoy!

[nerdanel01]

Rook Questionaire - Agnes Gallatus

tagged by @eavangeek, thank you!

Under the cut due to length! Tagging @ass-deep-in-demons @nostalgiaclown @starfleetteddybear @racheloleo @the-grand-gemini @truebluedreamer @jusbeinkt @blindvogel @erikonil @hmserebusadjacent (no pressure!) in case you want to join + play :) (also anyone else who sees this should also feel free to join in and tag me if you fill it out :D)

Where in Thedas is your Rook from? Agnes grew up in the countryside, in the part of western Nevarra that has changed hands between Nevarra and Orlais a few times. I headcanon this to mean there are some people who live their who consider themselves “Orlesian” and have a more Orlesian culture, although this is exclusively the peasant/lower class. Agnes’ mother Madeline would have been one of those peasants. Her father is a Nevarran noble, but very minor nobility; she was raised on his estate, first as a servant, then later as one of the members of the household after her mother passed away. Because her father’s estate is so far west, she was sent to the Circle at Perendale when her magic manifested, rather than the fancier Circle in Cumberland. She also has a slight southern inflection to her pronounciation because of all this, which means everyone else in the Mourn Watch clocks her as a hayseed pretty much from day one.

What is your character’s alignment? She��d like to think she’s lawful good, but despite how hard she tries she’s really a messy, chaotic good.

Race and subclass? Human, Spellblade mage.

If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found? Minrathous, because Agnes is definitely still getting run out of Nevarra by the nobility after the War of the Banners one way or the other, even if she doesn't end up as "Rook" Rook. 😬

What emotion did they usually pick? Aggressive/stoic, but it’s a mask. She mellows out to the soft supportive/approving Rook when she’s talking to someone she likes (mostly just the companions.)

What companion are they platonically close with? Agnes is closest with Bellara, although Davrin is probably a close second.

Romantically close with? She’s been disgustingly obsessed with Emmrich since she was like, 19, if that counts as “close.”

Who are they suspicious of? ILLARIO FROM DAY ONE. FROM GO SHE DOESN’T TRUST THAT MAN. Also, every time Solas so much as breathes in her direction she thinks he’s planning something awful for her. She's not always wrong.

Does your Rook get along with their chosen faction? For the most part, Agnes “got along” with the rest of the Mourn Watch in the way that oil and water “get along.” But there were a few rare exceptions where she made a friend… or an enemy. :)

Are they proficient in playing any instruments? Solas is trying to teach her the harpsichord. It isn’t going well!

Weapon of choice? Orb & dagger babeyyyyy. Let her get up close with her magic and stabby stab.

What is their orientation? Like, I know this, but I don’t know that Agnes does…. She’s not 100% hetero but she’s been obsessed with Emmrich for so long I don’t think she’s ever really had the chance to discover that she’s maybe a little bi.

What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it? Don’t tell anyone, but she likes it. Not because of anything to do with the bloodshed itself—she’s not really bloodthirsty—but it gives her great satisfaction to know that she is strong enough (and capable enough) to protect the people, communities, and ideas she cares about. She enjoys killing because she’s good at it; because she thinks it can help keep the people she loves safe, and protect her, in some measure, from grief. (It won’t.)

What hobbies does your Rook have? Agnes draws, although she doesn’t really consider herself an ‘artist’ in the typical sense. Her drawings are meant to be renderings, not artistic depictions: true to scale diagrams of monuments and anomalies in the Necropolis that Emmrich has asked her to draw to illustrate his scholar’s logs. She maintains this ‘hobby’ after she leaves the Mourn Watch, but never really considers herself an artist so much as a person who looks at things carefully. I would say her drawing style is more architectural than expressive. She loves the opera, it’s her #1 fixation. Not really a hobby so much as a coping mechanism, but she’s also frequently found to be cleaning—either her Mourn Watch cell or Emmrich’s study.

What NPCs do they like? Which ones do they dislike? I mean, as indicated above, she dislikes Illario pretty much from ‘go.’ No one else is really able to get under her skin that way… although she doesn’t really love the dude selling conspiracy theory newspapers in Minrathous either, even if he is Neve’s contact.  As far as the ones she likes… I’m not sure that she and Viago have a warm relationship, exactly, but they have common interests and a mutual respect for each other. She likes Shathaan a lot, because in some ways her protectiveness over Taash reminds Agnes of her own mother. Of course, she has a complicated relationship with Myrna and Vorgoth because of the War of the Banners and her own damage about being part of the Mourn Watch in general, but those are also positive relationships.  She has a… complicated history with Johanna Hezenkoss, who advocated for her inclusion in the Mourn Watch. :)  In general though she tends to keep people at arms’ length, so she doesn’t have super strong opinions about most of the NPCs.

Do they have a favorite creature in Thedas? She’s not really a big animal lover, but Agnes has a massive weak spot for Assan.

Do they enjoy life as an adventurer? I’m not sure it’s that she likes her life as an adventurer so much as she really wasn’t so hot about her life in the Mourn Watch…. She does enjoy the things that life as an adventurer has brought her, though, specifically all her new friends in the Veilguard. It’s really the first time in her life she gets to feel that kind of camaraderie.

What would your Rook be doing if they weren’t recruited by Varric? Getting cauliflower ear and developing chronic pain while fighting for her dinner in Dock Town.

How do you think they’ll meet their end? Spoilers for when I am laid in earth, sorry! :)

Would they side with Solas or fight him? Their relationship is so volatile it really depends on the day. Ask her again tomorrow.

What is your Rook’s favorite ability? Omg that Voidblade though. Rush in and stabby stab stab and EVISCERATE

What languages is your character fluent in? Common, Tombscript (written)

What do they do after an absolute crisis? Sit in silence staring at a wall, not processing, not talking to anyone. Shoving it down as deep as she possibly can.

Does your character believe in the afterlife? Yes, but she doesn’t have any concrete ideas about what that looks like or feels like. But she has a high sense of conviction that there is something beyond death; that it is more like stepping through a door than a curtain coming down at the end of a play.

What specialization best represents your Rook? Spellblade. Get up in their business and fuck shit up.

What animal best represents your Rook? Mabari—capable of cuddling at your feet in front of a fire but also capable of chewing someone’s face off if pushed. But distinctly a domesticated animal; not a wolf.

What was their life like before the events of Veilguard? Immediately proceeding? Pretty grim—having left Nevarra and the Mourn Watch, she’s basically having a midlife crisis. Has left her boo behind. Has chopped off all her hair. Is feeding herself every day from the betting proceeds she earns in an illegal dueling ring. It’s not a good time! Agnes did not love Minratous, and most of the time she lived there she spent punishing herself for things that were probably out of her control.

Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader? Oh no, she’s totally the leader. She hates it, but she owns up to it and what it means. It’s not the first time she’s had that burden, so when Varric asks her to take over in his place, she’s not half-assing it—she becomes boss.

If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why? I mean, I wouldn’t… but there’s definitely a world where Agnes could have gotten involved with the Shadow Dragons in Minrathous if she hadn’t had the Depression so bad. She doesn’t really get over that until Varric recruits her.

What’s your favorite thing about your Rook? Hard to name one thing… in general, I really like that compared to my Inquisitor, Rook is a total mess. I like that she can be selfish, I like that she can be manipulative, but mostly I like that she’s just kind of… pathetic, on some level, most of the time, despite her higher-than-average capacity for physical violence. I do quite love that she saw an opera about someone killing themselves due to the pain of unrequited love, said “skill issue” and just started to repress her affection for Emmrich even harder. I think what I especially like is the way her psychic damage aligns in the most fucked-up perfect way with Emmrich’s… like I maybe thought before the game came out her being in love with him for 20 years without saying anything was a stretch, but in reality it is absolutely not. These two are so down bad for each other but both so unaccustomed to unrequited love that of course they don’t want to risk what warmth and affection already exists between them, of course they are just willing to take what they can get from each other and not risk rocking the boat because their partnership is the closest thing they’ve felt to family… which they are both suffering from a lack of. 

Bonus: some of the characters that inspired her :) not exhaustive

[fiuworks]

shhh...there's an archivist sleeping by the fire....

i haven't drawn anything from my bookburning enemies to domestic lovers to tragic yuri au since summer but trust me i think about them often

i tried to make it look like agnes's version of blushing is glowing from under her wax/skin but idk how well that turned out but im so fond of the cozy energy of the piece...i want to draw more from this au so much and now that i have time i might

[leech-eyez]

I tried to give Agnes a matching suit

Just a simple drawing tho