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kiwriteswords · 19 hours ago

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Trope Tuesday marriage/relationship of convenience then actually catching feelings 😁

I guess you're just what I needed [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Ki2k Masterlist||MainMasterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 3k|| AN: Oh my gosh, I am obsessed with how this turned out. I want to make this a series of one-shots! Let me know if anyone is interested in seeing more!!

Tags/Warnings: female reader, marriage of convenience, contracted marriage, canon-typical themes, flirty!reader, bold!reader, non-bau!reader, stressed!hotch

Summary: You're a high-profile political figure's daughter in immediate danger. The only solution is to place you in protective custody of the BAU. Your family's only catch? You have to marry the man who's at the head of it all: Aaron Hotchner.

Aaron Hotchner adjusted his tie as he approached Erin Strauss's office, a feeling of dread settling over him. It had been one of those weeks where everything seemed to pile on, and the last thing he needed was Strauss's particular brand of supervision. His mind was cluttered with the details of their latest case, not to mention the challenges of being a single father. Each step towards her office felt heavier than the last.

He knocked and entered without waiting for an invitation, finding not only Strauss but also the BAU Director and several serious-looking government officials seated around the conference table. The air was thick with tension, the kind that precedes a storm.

"Agent Hotchner, thank you for coming on such short notice," Strauss began, her tone more subdued than usual. "Please, have a seat."

Hotch's brow furrowed as he took in the array of faces. "What's this about?" he asked, his voice firm yet laced with fatigue.

The director spoke up, "A situation has developed that requires the BAU's unique expertise." He paused, glancing at a dossier before continuing, "A high-profile political figure’s daughter has been threatened by a radical group. The threats are credible and escalating. She needs to be put into protective custody immediately."

Hotch nodded, processing the information. "Understood. We can coordinate with the Protection Detail and provide a psychological profile on the threats. What specifics do we have on the group responsible?"

It was Strauss who replied, her expression unusually grave. "There's more, Aaron." She hesitated, her discomfort palpable. "The situation...it has an unusual stipulation."

Hotch's patience was waning. "What stipulation?"

The room felt colder, the tension thicker. "The terms of the protective custody dictate that she must be married to an agent from her protective detail. It’s a condition set by her family to ensure her security, given the cultural context and her status," Strauss disclosed, her eyes not quite meeting his.

"And you’re telling me that--" Hotch's voice trailed off, already piecing together the unsaid words.

"Yes," the director interjected. "The family has requested, specifically, that you be the agent to marry her. They trust your reputation and record. It’s non-negotiable if we want their cooperation."

Hotch sat back, his mind racing, yet outwardly composed. "You want me to marry someone as a part of her protective detail?" he clarified, his tone incredulous yet calm. The lawyer gears began turning in his head. He’d been divorced once to a woman, who, despite the love he had and would always have for her, caused him a bit of a legal headache and a pile of bills. The idea of marrying someone--marrying for the sake of protecting her? It seemed pretty absurd to him.

Strauss nodded, "I know it sounds unprecedented, but given the political sensitivity and the potential international implications, we've been cornered into agreeing. You are, of course, our best negotiator and profiler. This isn’t about marriage in the traditional sense, but a strategic move to safeguard her life."

The weight of the room's gaze felt heavy on Hotch. He understood duty, the sacrifices it entailed, but this was beyond anything he'd anticipated. His thoughts flickered to Jack, to the remnants of a life he tried to keep normal.

"Give me 24 hours to think about it," Hotch finally said, standing up. The meeting concluded with nods of agreement, though the unspoken pressures lingered like a thick fog.

Aaron Hotchner had barely risen from his chair when the Director’s firm voice stopped him. “Agent Hotchner, I need to be clear--this isn’t a request. It’s an order, and we don’t have the luxury of 24 hours.”

Hotch paused, the chair’s back providing a brief physical support against the shock. “An order,” he echoed, his tone a blend of disbelief and resignation.

“Yes,” Strauss added, her voice softer, yet firm. “We understand the personal magnitude of this, but you are uniquely qualified for this role, Aaron. The political figure’s family has specifically asked for you by name, trusting your capabilities and integrity. This isn’t just about protection--it’s about ensuring an international alliance. They believe their daughter will only agree to the terms of protective custody if it involves someone of your stature and reliability.”

The government officials nodded in agreement, their faces etched with the severity of the situation. “Agent Hotchner, we wouldn’t impose this on you if there were any other way,” one of them added.

Hotch stood motionless, his mind racing through every protocol and moral guideline he had followed in his career. Marrying someone under these circumstances was unprecedented, yet the alternative might leave a young woman's life in peril.

“How long is this arrangement expected to last?” Hotch asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

“Until the threat is neutralized,” the BAU Director responded. “It could be weeks, possibly months. You will live together, and she will be integrated into your life as necessary to maintain the facade.”

“And my son?” Hotch’s voice finally betrayed a hint of personal concern.

“We’ll provide support,” Strauss assured quickly. “Jack’s well-being will be a priority, and we’ll make sure this impacts him as little as possible.”

The room was silent for a moment as Hotch processed the enormity of the commitment being forced upon him. Finally, he nodded slowly. “I’ll do it,” he said, the weight of his words heavy in the air. “I’ll need complete access to all information regarding the threats and constant updates. I’m doing this under protest, for the record. This is against my better judgment, but I won’t let her be harmed because we didn’t act.”

“Thank you, Aaron,” Strauss said, a hint of relief in her voice. “We’ll support you every step of the way.”

As he left the office, Aaron Hotchner felt the familiar surge of duty that always guided him. Yet, this time, it was mingled with an acute sense of stepping into the unknown, not just as a protector but as a man compelled into an extraordinary role that blurred the lines between his personal ethics and professional obligations. The challenge was immense, but so was the responsibility. With a deep breath, he prepared to meet the young woman who would soon be his wife in name, bound together in a pretense woven from necessity and strategy.

Hotch’s stride was more clipped than usual as he re-entered the bullpen of the BAU. The tension radiating from him was palpable, setting the team on edge as they watched their normally composed Unit Chief move with uncharacteristic urgency.

The team members were dispersed around the room, some by the coffee machine, others at their desks sifting through paperwork. However, the atmosphere shifted noticeably as they caught sight of Hotch’s stern expression.

“Conference room, now,” Hotch barked, louder and with more edge than intended. His voice cut through the usual hum of activity, leaving a trail of surprised and concerned looks among the team members.

They all knew the tone, and the look – something big was underway. As they gathered their materials, they exchanged glances, piecing together their questions and concerns.

Once in the conference room, Hotch stood at the head of the table, his hands pressed flat against the surface, his eyes scanning the room to ensure he had everyone's attention. The team settled quickly, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern.

“I’ve just come from a meeting with Strauss and some very high-level officials. We’re being tasked with a highly sensitive and unusual case,” Hotch began, his voice steady but his underlying tension unmistakable.

He paused, considering his next words carefully. “A political figure’s daughter has been threatened by a radical group. The threats are serious and imminent. She’s been targeted, and we need to protect her.”

Murmurs of concern and nods of understanding passed around the room. It was the kind of scenario they were trained for, yet there was more.

“There’s a complication,” Hotch continued, his jaw tightening. “For reasons of her family’s cultural and political significance, she must be married to someone on her protective detail. They believe this will provide an additional layer of security and compliance.”

He let that sink in, watching the team digest the information. But the biggest shock was yet to come.

“And...” he hesitated, the next part harder to disclose, “they’ve designated that I will be the one to marry her.”

The room went still, the team staring in disbelief. Garcia’s mouth fell open, Rossi raised an eyebrow, and Prentiss frowned, her mind racing through the implications.

“This isn’t a request; it’s an order,” Hotch added quickly, anticipating their questions. “I need your support on this. We need to integrate her into our operations without disrupting our ongoing cases. She arrives tomorrow, and we need to be ready.”

Reid’s brow furrowed in thought. “How long is this arrangement expected to last?” he asked, the scientist in him seeking parameters.

“Until the threat is neutralized. It could be weeks, could be months. We don’t know yet,” Hotch replied, his tone final.

Morgan leaned back, his arms crossed. “Man, Hotch, this is... this is a lot. But we’ve got your back. We’ll make it work.”

Garcia finally spoke up, her voice a mixture of concern and determination. “Do we know anything about her, sir? Anything at all that could help us make this as smooth as possible?”

Hotch nodded, appreciating the team's quick rally to the cause. “I’m receiving her files now. We’ll go through everything together. We need to cover all angles--background, known associates, and potential threats. Every detail matters.”

As the team began to discuss logistics and roles, Hotch felt a slight easing of the weight on his shoulders. This was his team, his family in arms, and if anyone could pull off this unprecedented situation, it was them. Together, they would navigate the choppy waters of what was undoubtedly one of the most bizarre assignments of their careers.

In the days following the unusual directive, Hotch found himself delving deep into the complexities of his new assignment. Files and reports about the political figure's daughter filled his office--details about your life, your social circles, and the nature of the threats against you. The gravity of the situation was clear, and the added pressure of an arranged marriage only compounded the stress.

Explaining the situation to Jack was challenging. Hotch took care to frame the conversation in a way that his son could understand, emphasizing the importance of helping someone in need. "We're going to have a guest staying with us for a little while," he explained gently. "She's in a bit of trouble and needs friends to keep her safe." Jack, ever the understanding child, nodded and asked if you liked video games.

If only we could always be this simple.

Meanwhile, the BAU team rallied around their leader, holding extensive debriefings to strategize the best way to integrate you into their operations without compromising their effectiveness on other cases. Garcia dug into digital backgrounds, Reid analyzed behavioral patterns, Morgan reviewed security protocols, and Prentiss coordinated with local law enforcement agencies. The team also made a point of checking in on Hotch frequently, offering both professional support and personal encouragement, understanding the emotional toll the situation might be taking on him.

Erin Strauss surprisingly became a pillar of support during this time. Her usual stern demeanor gave way to a more compassionate and cooperative approach. She facilitated necessary clearances and liaised with the government officials involved, smoothing over some of the bureaucratic hurdles that initially seemed insurmountable.

Hotch knew this was out of Strauss’s hands. He knew that. He was rational enough not to blame her; there was nobody to blame here.

However, the involvement of extra hands from various government bodies proved to be a double-edged sword. While it meant additional resources were at their disposal, it also led to bottlenecks. Decisions that should have been straightforward were bogged down by red tape and the conflicting agendas of different agencies. The BAU found themselves navigating not only the logistics of protective custody but also the complexities of inter-agency cooperation.

The decision was made for the BAU to continue taking cases as usual, with Hotch working remotely when necessary. This arrangement was meant to maintain normalcy and effectiveness in their ongoing investigations while also ensuring the safety and integration of his soon-to-arrive 'wife'. It was a balancing act that required meticulous planning and flexibility from the entire team.

As the day approached for you to arrive, the atmosphere at the BAU was one of cautious anticipation. Hotch, in particular, was a study in stoicism, his face giving away little of the internal conflict he felt about the impending marriage of convenience. Yet, he was determined to fulfill his duty, trusting his team to back him up every step of the way.

Penelope Garcia, ever the heart of the BAU team, approached Hotch’s office with her usual mix of exuberance and empathy. She had a file in hand, which was not unusual, but the gleam in her eye suggested she had more than just paperwork for Hotch. She knocked lightly on the open door, catching Hotch’s attention as he was buried in a pile of case files and paperwork.

He didn’t help but notice Penelope’s eyes drift to the marriage certificate sitting at the top of the files on his desk. The ink barely dry.

“Hey, Hotch, got a minute?” Penelope asked, her voice carrying a hint of excitement.

Hotch looked up, managing a small nod. “What is it, Garcia?”

Penelope entered her colorful attire a stark contrast to the somber tones of Hotch’s office. She walked up to his desk with a slight bounce in her step. “I know you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders right now, and I’m not here to add to that. Actually, I hope this might lighten things up, even if just a smidge.”

She handed him a file, which was open to reveal a photograph. “I couldn’t help myself; I had to look her up. And, Hotch, she is beautiful.” Penelope pointed at the picture with a flourish.

Hotch took the photograph, his expression softening slightly as he looked at the image of the you, who would soon be playing a significant role in his life. In the photograph, you had a poised, elegant demeanor, your eyes reflecting intelligence and perhaps a hint of the burden you, too, must be feeling about their forthcoming arrangement.

He had thought so much about how much this would change his life. He couldn’t imagine a young woman like you, what you might be feeling.

Penelope leaned over the desk, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “At least when you’re pretending to be madly in love, it won’t be hard on the eyes, huh?”

Hotch couldn’t help but let out a small, rare chuckle. “Garcia, you always know how to make light of a situation.”

“I do my best,” Penelope replied with a grin. “But seriously, Hotch, we’ve got your back, and we’re going to make sure you two are as safe as houses. Plus, I’ll be just a call away if you need to vent or if you need a quick exit strategy from any awkward ‘married couple’ moments.”

“Thank you, Garcia,” Hotch said, his tone sincere. “That means a lot.”

Penelope nodded, her expression turning more serious. “We’re here for you, Hotch. All of us. This...situation is far from ideal, but if anyone can handle it, it’s you.”

With a reassuring pat on Hotch’s shoulder, Penelope left the office, leaving Hotch with the photograph still in his hands. He studied it for a moment longer, a myriad of thoughts crossing his mind about the surreal situation he was about to enter. Despite the oddity of it all, knowing he had the support of his team made it all seem just a little more manageable.

You arrived at the BAU under the weight of both expectation and apprehension. Despite the stress, your posture remained confident; your chin held high as you navigated the final steps toward a strange new chapter of your life. The officials accompanying you fussed over your every step, attempting to smooth your path, but you quickly tired of their coddling.

"Really, I can walk by myself," you snapped lightly, irritation lining your tone as you gently shrugged off an overly attentive hand from one of the aides. Your voice carried across the room, catching the attention of the BAU team assembled to meet you.

They watched with a mixture of curiosity and admiration as you handled the situation with a blend of authority and annoyance. When Erin Strauss stepped forward to formally make introductions, the tension in the air was palpable, but your presence brought a dynamic shift.

"And this is Agent Hotchner, your...husband," Strauss said, her voice tinged with a professionalism that didn’t quite mask her discomfort with the situation.

Hotch stepped forward, his usual stoic facade in place, but internally, he's taken aback by your beauty and the sharp wit he had just witnessed. He extended his hand for a handshake, the standard formal greeting he offerred everyone.

You smiled, a spark of mischief in your eyes, and instead of taking his hand, you stepped into a warm, embracing hug. "If he's going to be my husband, we better get used to this," you declared, your voice loud enough for the nearby team members to hear. Your words were bold, but your tone was light, trying to infuse warmth into the moment's awkwardness.

Hotch stiffened slightly, unaccustomed to such open displays of affection, especially under the watchful eyes of his team and superiors. Yet, he managed a small pat on your back, an awkward yet sincere gesture. "I suppose we should," he responded, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, appreciating your effort to lighten the mood.

The team observed this interaction with a mix of surprise and amusement. Garcia could barely contain a delighted giggle while Morgan raised an eyebrow to approve of your forthright manner. Reid studied you with interest, perhaps already trying to psychoanalyze your dynamics, and Prentiss offered a supportive nod, sensing the strength you'll need to navigate the coming days.

Strauss cleared her throat, concluding the conversation. "Well, I'll leave you to get acquainted. Agent Hotchner, perhaps you can give her a tour of the facility."

As you and Hotch walked away, your side slightly brushing against his, the team exchanged looks and whispers, their expressions a blend of shock and amusement. Hotch, for his part, was silently preparing himself for the challenging yet intriguing partnership that lay ahead. Your boldness and affectionate nature promised to make this arrangement anything but dull.

Through the labyrinthine halls of Quantico, away from the curious and watchful eyes of the team, the reality of your new life together began to sink in. Glancing sideways at him, you decide to cut through the impending awkwardness. "Let's skip the small talk until we're playing house, shall we?" you suggested, your tone light while edged with a hint of resolve.

Hotch smirked--a subtle, almost imperceptible upturn of his lips--acknowledging the practicality of your suggestion. "I suppose that makes sense," he agreed, appreciating your straightforwardness.

Emboldened by his reaction, you leaned in slightly, lowering your voice as if sharing a secret. "And for the record, I'm glad the rumors about your looks weren't exaggerated. You're quite the topic at political galas, you know," you added, a playful twinkle in your eye.

Hotch raised an eyebrow, a bit taken aback by your forwardness yet intrigued by your ability to disarm him. He quickly decided to steer the conversation towards more practical matters, perhaps to maintain some semblance of control over the rapidly evolving situation. "Well, if there’s anything specific you need to make your stay at my apartment more comfortable--especially since you’ll be living with Jack and me--please don’t hesitate to let me know."

You nodded, your demeanor reflecting both confidence and comfort with direct communication. "Oh, don’t worry, I’m not shy about voicing my needs. You’ll learn soon enough," you responded with a hint of humor and a certain look in your eyes, indicating that while you understood the gravity of the situation, you weren’t about to lose your own identity in it.

Hotch allowed himself a moment to study you--a partner not just in a protective detail but now in a life he never anticipated. Your assurance and clarity provide him with a strange sense of relief. It was clear you were not one to mince words, and in the peculiar, winding journey ahead, that was perhaps exactly what he needed.

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syluslnd · 2 days ago

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Hooray!! Your request are open again 🎉🎉 I absolutely adore your works. It's a chef kiss 😩🤌

Anyway, my request is Sylus bought a cabin in the woods to surprise reader. Just for two things, first reader really needs a break because she's been working way too much. And two, Sylus wants to "make love" with her and to hear her scream.

(Go crazy on how you want to write it. Thank you! I hope you understand what I mean right 😉😉)

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The drive through the woods had been long but the moment you arrived, you understood why Sylus had kept this place a secret.

The house was beautiful-elegant yet secluded, nestled deep in the forest where no one else could reach. Tall windows framed the landscape, letting in the golden glow of the evening sun. Everything was silent except for the faint rustling of trees, the scent of pine and fresh air filling your lungs.

"Sylus this is... incredible" you murmured, stepping through the grand entrance. The floors gleamed under the soft lighting and everything about the interior screamed luxurious, carefully curated and undeniably intentional.

Sylus shut the door behind you, his presence unmistakable even before he spoke. "I knew you'd like it" he said, his voice smooth as he stepped closer. "A private getaway,just for us."

There was something in his tone— something knowing.

You didn't catch onto it at first, too mesmerized by the sheer elegance of the space. But then, your eyes caught something unexpected. Rose petals.

Scattered along the pristine floor, creating a path deeper into the house.

Your breath hitched slightly.

Sylus smirked, clearly noticing your reaction.

"Go on sweetie" he murmured, nudging you forward.

"Follow them."

Your heart pounded as you slowly walked down the petal-covered path, leading you toward what you now realized was a bedroom.

And that's when it clicked.

This wasn't just a getaway.

It was his plan all along.

The bedroom was breathtaking-grand, with a massive bed draped in silk sheets. But what truly made you pause were the other details— a blindfold resting on the pillows, delicate ropes placed neatly on the bedside table and a selection of items you couldn't even process all at once.

Your entire body flushed with heat.

"You planned this" you accused softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sylus finally stepped in behind you, his hands settling on your waist, his breath warm against your ear. "Of course I did" he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

"Did you really think I brought you all the way out here just for the scenery?"

You swallowed, heat curling in your stomach as he slowly turned you around to face him.

His crimson eyes held that unmistakable glint-the one that told you there was no escaping whatever he had in store.

"You're being quiet" Sylus teased, tilting his head as he studied your flustered expression. "Shy all of a sudden?"

You opened your mouth to protest but Sylus simply took control before you could even attempt to regain composure.

He took your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up to meet his intense gaze. "No need to act innocent now” he murmured.

"You know exactly what this is."

His other hand trailed down your arm, his fingertips brushing over your skin in a way that made you shiver.

"Sylus..." you started, your voice breathy, unsure whether you were trying to object or encourage him.

His smirk deepened. "That's not a no" he mused.

Before you could speak again, he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you toward the bed like you weighed nothing. Your heart pounded as he placed you down onto the silk sheets, his figure towering over you.

His hands moved with purpose-tracing down your arms, reaching for the soft ropes he had so meticulously prepared on the table next to the bed. "I think" he mused, his voice laced with amusement,

"that it's about time I show you just how much fun we're going to have in this little hideaway."

Your breath hitched as he reached for the blindfold, his touch slow and deliberate.

"Be good for me” he murmured, voice dark with promise.

And then, just like that, control slipped from your hands entirely.

The silk of the blindfold pressed against your skin, shrouding your world in darkness. Your breath came slow and uneven, heart hammering in anticipation as Sylus secured it in place.

Then—a click.

Something cold slipped around your wrist.

Metal.

You flinched slightly at the sensation, instinctively tugging but your movement was met with resistance.

Handcuffs.

A soft, breathy giggle escaped you—a nervous reaction you hadn't meant to let out.

Sylus chuckled darkly in response. "That was a cute sound” he mused. "Are you nervous already?"

You swallowed hard, unsure whether to answer. Not that it mattered. He already knew.

Your other wrist met the same fate—a second click, binding you completely. The cold bite of metal against your skin was a stark contrast to the heat pooling in your stomach.

Sylus took his time adjusting the cuffs, making sure they were snug but not painful.

Purposeful. Precise. He wanted you to feel every ounce of control he had over you.

"You trust me, don't you?" he murmured.

His tone was dangerous-not in a way that suggested harm, but in a way that warned you. You belonged to him now, and he was going to remind you of that in ways you couldn't yet fathom.

You nodded slowly.

His fingers trailed down your arm, the barest whisper of touch, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "Good” he praised, his voice smooth as silk. "Then don't fight me."

Your breath caught as the mattress dipped he was leaning over you now, his presence all-consuming.

Then-something else.

Something soft but sturdy brushed against your thigh. Fabric?

The sound of something unrolling reached your ears before you felt it.

Silk restraints.

A sharp inhale escaped you as he secured one to your ankle. His fingers grazed your skin, lingering longer than necessary, teasing, making sure you felt every moment of your surrender.

He took his time. Meticulous. Unhurried. In control.

"You're awfully quiet now" Sylus murmured, his voice filled with dark amusement.

"Where's that little attitude of yours?"

Your lips parted but before you could say a word, he did something unexpected.

A soft, cool sensation trailed across your collarbone, lower, lower

ice

you don’t know where he got it from,if it was his evol or if he had those specifically chilled and ready for you there,like it was his plan all along

everything perfectly calculated for you

A shiver wracked through your body as Sylus dragged the melting cube along your skin, tracing slow patterns, watching your every reaction. The contrast of cold against heat made you gasp, your back arching involuntarily.

He hummed in approval.

"You're too sensitive" he teased, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "I like that."

He let the ice melt a bit against your skin before pressing his lips to your collarbone , replacing the sting of cold with the warmth of his mouth.

You sucked in a sharp breath, bound, blindfolded and completely at his mercy only intensified everything

Sylus chuckled softly, fingers trailing dangerously close to where he knew you wanted his touch the most-but deliberately avoiding it.

"You're mine" he murmured, his voice dark with possession. "and I think it's about time you start understanding what that truly means."

And with that, the real torment began.

he placed the ice on your stomach

the ice was melting, sending thin rivulets of cold water down your skin, yet Sylus took his time. Dragging. Teasing. Lingering.

"You're shaking”he murmured, amusement thick in his voice. "Too cold? Or is this little girl just too sensitive?"

You didn't answer but your breath hitched as he traced the ice lower, skimming along your ribs. The contrast of frigid cold against your overheated skin made your entire body tense but you couldn’t move-not with his silk restraints keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

Sylus hummed in satisfaction. "So reactive” he mused. "You weren't this quiet earlier."

Your lips parted but before you could protest, he did something cruel.

The ice cube-nearly gone now-dragged over the softest part of your stomach,near your bellybutton making you jerk against the restraints.

A sharp inhale escaped you and Sylus laughed.

"Look at you" he mocked, shifting to brush his lips against your ear, his voice nothing but a dark whisper. "So helpless. So at my mercy."

Your pulse thundered beneath your skin.

Then, he did it again—a deliberate, icy stroke into your bellybutton, followed by the sudden, searing warmth of his tongue as he chased away the cold.

You whimpered, the combination almost unbearable.

"Poor thing" Sylus crooned, his voice dripping with fake sympathy. "Did that feel too good?"

You turned your head away, refusing to answer but that only made his smirk sharpen.

"Oh?" He chuckled, pressing a teasing kiss to the edge of your jaw. "You're trying to be defiant now? How adorable."

You felt his fingers skim along your side near your ribs, featherlight, teasing you without ever giving you what you truly craved.

"Don't pout” he murmured. "You should've known what would happen the moment you let me tie you up, sweetheart."

His hand drifted lower, fingertips just barely grazing the inside of your thigh before pulling away. You shivered-from the loss, from the anticipation, from the overwhelming awareness that he was in complete control.

"You want more, don't you?" Sylus whispered. "I can hear it in your breathing."

You swallowed hard, heart pounding in your ears.

His hand returned, this time squeezing your thigh firmly, his nails grazing your skin.

"Beg” he ordered, voice smooth but commanding. "Or l'll leave you here like this, desperate and untouched."

Your breath hitched—the threat wasn't empty.

Sylus never bluffed.

You knew that if you refused, he'd make good on his word and leave you aching, craving, unsatisfied.

'Please” you whispered, barely audible.

Sylus tilted his head. "That was pathetic" he drawled. "You can do better than that."

You clenched your jaw, heat rushing to your face.

Sylus smirked, leaning in until his lips brushed against your ear. "Beg. Properly."

Your stomach twisted in both humiliation and desire. He was enjoying this— stretching the moment, testing you, making you surrender inch by inch.

"Please, Sylus" you finally said, voice unsteady.

His fingers dug into your thigh, just enough to make you gasp.

"Good girl" he murmured, satisfaction lacing his tone. "Now let's see how much more you can take."

And with that, the ice drifted even lower.

Sylus held the last sliver of melting ice between his fingers, tilting his head as he watched you. Bound, blindfolded, completely at his mercy-just the way he liked you.

You shivered, not just from the cold but from the sheer anticipation.

"You're trembling” he mused, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "Are you scared?

Or just that sensitive?"

You bit your lip, refusing to answer.

Sylus chuckled darkly. "Still trying to act defiant? That's cute."

You gasped as he suddenly pressed the ice against your pussy, the shock of cold making you jerk against the restraints.

"Careful" he warned, his grip tightening around your leg, keeping you still. "Unless you want me to punish you for squirming."

The ice dragged upward, inch by torturous inch. Too slow. Too deliberate.

Too much.

Your breath hitched as he reached your clit, lingering there just to watch you squirm.

Sylus hummed in amusement. "You're shaking so much” he teased. "and I haven't even started."

He traced slow, agonizing circles with the ice, making sure the chill seeped into your skin, making you hyperaware of every movement.

Then-he pressed his lips directly on your clit,leaving slow warm kisses

The sudden warmth of his mouth contrasted sharply with the lingering cold, making you gasp.

Sylus chuckled against your pussy, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

"Poor thing" he mocked, nipping at your thigh. "I bet you don't even know whether to pull away or beg for more."

You whimpered, your body betraying you.

His free hand traced lazily over your other thigh, nails grazing just enough to make your breath catch.

"You're so responsive” he mused, almost to himself. "Every little touch, every little tease and you're already falling apart."

He pressed the last remnant of ice directly against your clit all while leaving slimy deliberate kisses on your inner thigh

Your whole body tensed, a choked gasp slipping past your lips.

Sylus smirked, watching you struggle. "You want me to stop?" he asked, a mockery of concern in his voice. "Or do you want more?"

You hesitated—a mistake.

Sylus clicked his tongue. "Ah. I see."

Before you could react, he pressed the ice even deeper this time,no longer harassing your clit but now sending shockwaves of cold to the inside of your warm vagina

The melting water dripped, sending chills through your already overstimulated nerves.

You jerked, instinctively trying to close your legs-but Sylus's iron grip stopped you.

"Ah, ah” he murmured, spreading you wider instead. "No running now, sweetheart."

You whimpered, your body betraying you again.

Sylus leaned in, lips grazing your ear. "You should know by now” he murmured, voice dark with amusement. "I don't stop until I'm satisfied."

#love and deepspace #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #l&ds sylus #lads sylus #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you

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omgfangirlland · 3 days ago

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The Shadows That Nurture 10

Added dividers because I felt like the time skip/scene change would become confusing without any indication of it.

I really need an answer on how y'all feel about Immortal x Dupli-kate cuz depending on the popular opinion stuff will change 🤐 I'm willing to split a lot of people up for the drama and/or miscommunication nonsense

Enjoy!

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 10 >>next

Some place where the supernatural meets the normal, a little place called The Oblivion Bar, John Constantine simply sat shocked at the words he managed to hear and process through his mushed brain. Bobo closes his hung jaw, drinks his whiskey, and pats his friend’s shoulder as the man mumbles a sobering spell, cringing at the effects. “I should go. Good luck, John.” And so, the chimpanzee quickly makes his exit, leaving the Laughing Magician and Death of the Endless to their business.

“I need you to walk me through this again, luv- wasn’t quite paying attention.” Constantine shook his head as he fully turned to face the smiling entity. “You and who did what?!” He hissed, voice barely above a whisper as he tried not to bring attention to what they were saying. This was bad. Really bad.

“Lady Gotham and I took a liking to Batman’s youngest daughter and-“ John quickly interrupted her. “And gave her magical powers beyond my comprehension and immortality- yes, I heard that, did you?!” The man rubbed his face, the thought was making him want to get drunk until he dropped. ”Have you gone mad? Giving a mortal immortality is more of Dream’s style you should know better-“

Death only smiled at him, amusement filling her eyes as she gently laid a hand on his shoulder making him tense up. “She was lonely, she deserves every happiness those powers and eternity are bound to give her. You’ll understand once you see her.” And boy, did John laugh his gut out at that as he shook his finger. “No- no, no, no- there’s no way I insert myself into that mess- Bat’s family is already a mess and reeks of you without magic- No- There’s no way- that’s bonkers-“

Death gets up with a bright smile. “Thank you, John.” Her words make him stutter almost choking on his breath at the audacity. “Don’t thank me ya loon! I’m not going to help her, I’m not even going to see the moppet!” He can only yell and cuss as she leaves.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Alright, Cecil-“ The old man immediately interrupted you, the little communication device in your ear buzzing with life as he told you to not use names. “… Dude… I’m miles in the air, first of all! Second, that was like a really common name once. it’ll take a while to find you specifically, and I doubt anyone could anyway- you seem like the type that would erase himself from the gov’s documents.”

“Anyway-“ You didn’t give him time to say anything else. “What house am I supposed to go to again? And why?”

The old man sighs at your antics, rubbing the side of his forehead as he feels the headache coming while he gives the address once more. “Your brother’s teacher, Mr. Hiles, has been the mall bomber. It took us a while, he was smart about it, kept his search into biological bomb-making off the internet but he wasn’t that thorough about his paper trail.”

“Be prepared for anything and a confrontation.” The older man cleared his throat. You always made him nervous; you were an unexpected equation in everything, something he couldn’t control without risking Earth. Donald and everyone else just took his weariness and suspicion as him being overly cautious, but Cecil could tell something was clinging to you that just gave him nightmares.

“And thank you- usually I would have sent someone from the Teen Team but…uh-“ His eyes followed the action on another screen. “They’re busy. Your brother and father are helping them.”

“You’re nervous. Yapping again. Chill, I’ll take care of it. Just because I don’t want to be your little puppet doesn’t mean I don’t want to keep people safe.” You found the man irritating, but for now, he was being sane, actually doing his job, so you couldn’t complain. “Getting closer to the target. Going dark.” Was the only warning the man got before the com was powered off.

Finally ready to land you politely greeted the man, walking through the training both Cecil and Nolan provided at the start of your vigilantism. “I didn’t expect to get caught quite this early, and I certainly expected… more conventional authorities when the time did come.” Professor Hiles just sighs and welcomes you in by your birth name. “How did you-“

“Are you kidding me? Mark is unable to shut up about you. And you forget to wear your hood more times than you do wear it.” The man said as he took off his sweater. “Follow me, I’ll show you to the fourth missing student. I assure you, I have no intention of resisting.” Well… This was easier than expected.

As he started to confess about how he started doing this, he led you to his basement. “Mr. Hiles, while I understand the loss of a child to suicide, a divorce, and the loss of a job ruined you until you hit rock bottom, avenging your son like this-“

“I’m not avenging the death of my son. That would be far too cliché.” Your eyes landed on the teen strapped to the table once he turned on the light, breath hitching as you saw the skin of his arms merging sloppily with the metallic torso the professor modified. “It’s the destruction of my life that has me seeking revenge.”

“The domino effect of pain and sorrow that these monsters create. Children who spend too much time at the mall, attend parties, consume alcohol, and play sports when they should be studying and doing homework.”

“I understand your ire, I’m not one for parties or drunks, but not all kids who do that stuff go to extremes, that’s a flawed logic- it does not give you the right to play god and do-“ You tried to placate him, keeping your tone soft and even, to try and make him see reason. “What I did to all of them, turning them into living bombs, an instrument with which to exact my revenge… my crusade to end the pain and sorrow by these- ‘popular’ kids… I feel no guilt for.”

“I can’t think of a more appropriate end to my crusade-” Mr. Hiles ripped open the shirt he was wearing, revealing the same mechanism the unconscious teen had. “-than the death of a superhero!” You quickly acted, not letting him talk more beyond that as the timer set to 50 seconds started trickling down while you grabbed him, breaking through his ceilings and roof and flying high in the air.

“Is this really how you want to die? Suicide bomb? You still can make this right- you don’t have to die like this just tell me how to deactivate it!“ Your eyes remained on the clock. Twenty, nineteen, eighteen. The man just chuckled a dry, humorless laugh. “Do it. There is nothing for me anymore.” Five, four, three.

You couldn’t tell if what you felt was sorrow or shame, but you knew you were defeated. The man was going to get one final death, but it won’t be yours. As your flight came to a stop well above the clouds, you threw the man higher in front of you as the clock struck one second, and as it hit zero, the bomb detonated, the range and heat of the explosion destroying any remains while pushing you back a bit.

Your eyes remained on the cloud of smoke it created. If the cops found him before you did, the bomb would have wiped out the neighbors, too. That’s what hero life was, what it is. Sacrifices left and right that only made you feel more at odds with this job than before.

As you went back to the house, you activated the com, putting it back into your ear. Cecil immediately informs you that the police are en route as well as his clean-up team. “Get an explosive ordnance disposal technician, too. There is a teen in the basement, the bomb doesn’t seem active yet, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. I’ll send a report of what happened soon.” You stayed until Cecil’s people showed up, just to be sure the boy was still breathing and that the bomb wouldn’t activate.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Helping Brit and the other heroes clean up the rubble from the alien attack helped keep your mind off things. The Brit enjoyed talking about his kid and wife, yapping until he needed to take a breath and then starting again keeping a smile on your face.

You enjoyed helping clean up, especially when there were no casualties, today wasn't that type of day. But it had become the easy, relaxing part of the job, pick big rubble up, place it into the waste trucks, pick another piece up, make sure to not hit the man in the trench coat, put it in the waste- wait…

Your head snaps back to the man, squinting as your eyes meet. You each take a second to take each other in before your eyes widen in surprise. “Hello, luv. I’m-“ You couldn’t help your excitement as recognition finally settled into your brain. “I know you-“ Your words made John cringe and tense up. When others said that it never ended well for him. “You’re Johnny Con-Job, the lead singer for Mucous Membrane, dude, your band got me into the punk culture.”

That… wasn’t what he expected. He wasn’t sure if he should be proud of that or fight back the mental breakdown that was creeping up his spine. “You’re a bit young for that slop, no?” You just shrug. “Your songs got me to finally put myself first, to get the courage to sneak out, see other stuff beyond the walls of my first house, help others, and leave my neglectful family before they could seriously hurt me.” Her words worried him. John never took Bruce as the “lock his kids up” type, but the man was as paranoid as they came, he wouldn’t put that above him.

“It may be slop and shitty vocals, but it’s what I needed to hear.” You teased him while putting the rubble in the waste collector. He watched as you approached him with a soft smile and sparkling eyes. He could see what Death meant. “I need to talk to you. I’m not quite sure about what luv, but I think it’s about Batman-“ He didn’t get to finish, as soon as the name left his mouth, he was grabbed by the throat and lifted well above the clouds, way too close to the ozone layer. “Did he send you?” you hissed, giving his neck a warning squeeze.

Yup. He definitely saw what Death meant as your eyes glowed a Lazarus green. “Nno-“ He choked out. “Did Bruce Wayne send you?” her question was met with the same answer. Your grip softened, grabbing him by his coat instead of his neck as you brought him closer. “Then why are you here?”

“We need to talk in private…” He whispered as he realized the situation.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

This was a whole mess that John Constantine knew he should have stayed out of- he knew! From Bruce to the whole family basically ignoring the kid, not even telling her about the vigilantism, to the rogues taking her in and doing a better job of raising her to her running away and getting adopted by another hero- a hero that John knew wanted to conquer the world, the whole fucking race wanted to, the fucking demons had a problem with that and wouldn’t stop complaining to him like he can fix it- he takes a deep breath in. “Why are you telling me all of this?” He whined, rubbing his face as he sat on the edge of some skyscraper with you.

“I’m not hiding my past, I’ll happily snitch and tell a reporter that Bruce Wayne is a shit father, they all just assume I’m Nolan’s actual kid that was in the hospital for a deadly something or whatever.” You shrug. “Please don’t- not because I care about the bellend- I just don’t want to deal with… Huh. Now that I’m thinking about it, that may be great blackmail.” His words only made you snicker.

He didn’t know where to begin. Did she know about the Viltrumite? Was she in cahoots with him? Should he tell her any of that? Would she even believe his ass? Maybe he should get the JL involved...

The scruffy man shook his head. “Not why I’m here. You said your hero name is Sorceress? Great, so you know you have magic powers, that makes it easy-“ John took in your shocked expression. Of course, it wasn’t that easy, it never could be. “If this was another world, I’d call you crazy.” You told him simply. “But Midnight City is cursed, and I guess that makes sense… Is that why I can hear the shadows speak?”

John nodded before doing a double take, asking you to elaborate on the shadows speaking part. “They just speak, whisper, giggle the whole thing. They can also emit what they feel. They’ve always been present, they’re not as strong here, but I think that’s because they’re more tied to Gotham and Midnight City… or just- where there is more darkness.”

“Well, you’re not far off there, love.” The man nodded in agreement as his eyes drifted to the dark dome around the cursed city. He knew where to start. “This is going to be a long explanation, you better strap in, hen, and let me finish before you ask questions.”

“You remember the painting and murals you made of gods and other entities, demons, angels, the whole sort, in Gotham and here? Yeah, they brought the attention to you from the entities you drew. Some of the moppets took them as a higher form of offering than others, a few of them decided to stick around you.”

“Those have also decided to- ‘bless’ you with a few gifts, I’m not sure of all of them, but I know specifically that Lady Gotham offered the shadows as a companion and protector, and I know that Death of the Endless has blessed you with… well, immortality.” There was no way of walking around that fact. “I don’t remember if any of these two also gave you your powers, I was quite sloshed, but someone did.” John looked at the kit, taking in her shocked expression before he nudged you a bit. “Come on, kid, say something. You got me all worried here.”

“It’s all just- a bit much.” You mumble. “Yeah, I get it. A lot for you to shoulder, but I’m sure you’ll power through- oh, thanks love… Wha- How-“ John’s eyes moved from the beer in his hands to the energy can you were looking at. You just shrug. "I wanted to know if I could, thought…” You narrow your eyes at the can in your hands. “I’m not sure if this is made out of thin air or just- teleported or something.”

Constantine just slowly looks back at his beer mug… She was taking this better than most. He hoped it was because the shock hadn’t worn off yet. Well, he’s had worse things in his mouth, he's sure, so with a shrug, he takes a sip, humming with delight at the taste, muttering something about this being real beer. “You’re here to help me, right? Like- with my powers… I- I think I need help with this whole worshipping gods and demons- entities- thing, too.”

He knew the easy way out would be to say no, to just leave, she had done just fine without him… But that isn’t what came out of his mouth. “Sure, poppet. Just keep on giving me this fine beer.” Given his track record with people and magic, he shouldn’t feel this accomplished at your happiness, but he was always quite selfish, so he returned your hug, even if he was a bit stiff.

“Now- usually the normal thing is to go from small stuff to big, teach the basics, but I’m not one for rules. Have you ever wanted to teleport via portals?” The big mischievous smile you gave him was all the answer he needed.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You came home at the same time as Nolan and Mark, everyone’s first stop after greeting Debbie was their bedrooms to refresh themselves before going back to the dining area. “I’m going to be honest, Nolan, the longer hair and full beard fit you better than the silly mustache. Right, mom?” You couldn’t help the teasing as the whole family ate. Debbie looked at Nolan with a scrutinizing eye, before sighing and giving an amused smile. “I’ll definitely miss the beard.”

Mark snorted at the teasing as Nolan pouted, brows furrowing. “It’s not silly- it’s a rite of passage into manhood by the Viltrumite culture-“ you couldn’t help but interrupt. “It’s still a silly-looking mustache. What does the Viltrumite rite of passage for women look like?”

Nolan’s momentary displeasure at the mustache comment was overlooked as the inquiry about the Viltrumite women was brought forth. “Huh… I’m not sure, I never really paid attention to that. I think some cut their hair.” A puff of air escaped you in amusement before deciding to tease him some more. “Well, you clearly weren’t planning for a daughter that’s sure.”

Debbie just took in the chatter. She enjoyed the easy atmosphere, the laughter of her kids. “So, how was everyone’s day?” She asks once the chatter stops. “Oh, I met the Teen Team and helped them with the Flaxan attack, dad got kidnapped by them while I was trying to gather up survivors, made friends with Atom Eve, and met an alien called Allen who apparently got the wrong planet.” Mark shrugged.

“I spent the last eight months enslaved by an army from an alternative dimension, although it seems much less time has passed here. About a week ago, I led a revolt against my captors and regained control of my powers. Today, a team of scientists from the rebellion found a way to get me home.” Nolan lied as easily as he breathed.

“One of Mark’s teachers was turning his classmates into organic bombs in order to take revenge on kids he felt were like the ones who led his son to commit suicide. He turned himself into a bomb also and tried to take me out with him but clearly, it didn’t work in his favor. Helped clean up after the Flaxan mess, and met the lead singer of Mucous Membrane who apparently is a mage. He was here on behalf of Death herself to help me and tell me that my powers aren’t because I’m a meta, they’re magic. Oh, and also, I’m allegedly immortal.” You took a sip of water. “Lex also wants to know if anyone would be interested in attending one of his rich folk parties.”

At the quietness of the room, you lifted your eyes from your plate to look at everyone’s shocked glance. “What?” you ask with a mouth full of food.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

That night, the teens wanted to sleep with their parents, both needing reassurance. Debbie and Mark were already gone, sleeping deep and peacefully. “Dad… You awake?” your question was whispered as your head lay on Deborah's shoulder. He answered with a warm hand squeezing your shoulder and a quiet hum. “...How do you move past people you can’t save or the people we have to sacrifice?”

Nolan wasn’t sure how to answer that, he’d never felt anything for the people he couldn’t save. He knew that if he had to save earth’s people or his kids and wife… Well… Earth can be populated again. “You look at the people who you did save. We can’t always save everyone, that’s the sad reality. It’s… painful. But it’s a truth all heroes have to come to terms with. Even I can’t save everyone.” Nolan wrapped his arms around his girls and son tighter, pulling everyone closer. “If all you could save was a person, you still did everything you could. If you couldn’t save anyone, you just have to keep your head high and try again.”

You snuggled closer into your mom, feeling her arm instinctively wrap around you as you draped yours over her and Nolan’s stomach, your fingers laying on Mark’s wrist. The sad reality of being a hero...

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami @enchantingarcadecreation @alishii @d3nnji @itsberrydreemurstuff @yuyuzi-ling @welpthisisboring @1abi @mxvoid26 @persephone-kore-law @bluevenus19 @ryuushou

I'M REALLY SORRY IF I FORGOT SOMEBODY- MY DOC SOMETIMES FORGETS TO SAVE AND I HAD TO READD PPL

#dc x invincible #dc crossover #invincible crossover #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x neglected reader #yandere invincible #neglected reader #yandere batfamily #fem!reader #female!reader #platonic yandere #yandere batfam x reader #yandere!debbie grayson #yandere!nolan grayson #yandere!mark grayson

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genjyoandgojyoandhakkai · 2 days ago

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Answers under the cut!

I'd already started thinking about most of this because I want to continue Rook's story past the Veilguard ending. If you are interested to read a one-shot that goes a little into Xiqaa's backstory (tattoos and origin), you can find that here.

I haven't even STARTED on Xi and Emmrich yet but I certainly will. 💚⚡Hints are all throughout Despite Everything.

I'm not using Rook's name a lot in my Rookanis story, to leave room for everyone else to make their own Rook the LI, but I use it liberally below. It's pronounced "Zika" or "Shika" depending on your accent and Xi is pronounced Z by Rook herself.

Xiqaa Rook Laidir

🌻 How old is your Rook? How do they feel about celebrating their birthday? What gift has meant the most to them?

🌻36. She was born a galley slave so she knows her birth year but doesn't care about birthdays. That miiight change if her friends decide to surprise her with gifts or a party - she is learning new things about herself all the time. She got her first piece of leather armor from Fia, someone she was with for a while after she escaped slavery. It wasn't given to her on her birthday, but that was the day she started commemorating her new life, and it is what she considers her birthday.

🪻 What is the most painful injury your Rook has received? How has it affected them once it healed/scarred?

🪻Xiqaa got her lightning from touching an ancient artifact she shouldn't have. (You know, like Rook do.) It was the most painful thing to happen because she injured herself over and over before she learned to control it. She's got lightning scars all over her body, but she's proud of them because she learned a survival lesson and they look bad ass and scary.

🌹 What’s the first genuine fight Rook got in with their love interest about? How was it resolved?

🌹Rook and Lucanis don't really fight, and that's problematic. Both of them tend to internalize the problem as something they did wrong. This does come to a head once in a while, and I haven't worked far enough into their future to see what their first real fight would be. It is pretty far out there, when the two of them have no one else to run interference between their stupid misunderstandings/assumptions and lack of ability to articulate feelings. They obviously haven't resolved this yet, but it's a process, as long as they come back to each other.

🌹Rook and Emmrich fight over his fear of death (kinda); she doesn't believe in letting your fears win, and giving away your fate so easily. She is stubborn about this to a fault. Emmrich is much more open with thoughts and feelings than Lucanis, so there's potential for them to clash over more clearly stated feelings and preferences, but Emmrich is also better at mending situations so it's rare they go to bed angry with the other. They are still working on things. Rook promised not to judge Emmrich so harshly, and Emmrich promised to try and live in the moment more. (Heaven only knows what Lucanis and Emmrich will fight about...I'm really not to that point with them yet.)

🌸 Does your Rook have any siblings or close friends they see as such? Where are they during the events of Veilguard?

🌸 As a former slave, mercenary, and rebellion fighter, she is used to dropping in and out of situations - that's why she trusts and is trusted so quickly, but she didn't allow anyone to get too close. Her closest friend from her early years was a slave named Chek, and when they got to the benches, he showed her how to survive differently. From him, she learned that their masters kept them fighting against each other to prevent them planning rebellions. From Chek she learned to share, to work on a team, and to open up to another person. He escaped before she did, and she found out later he was recaptured. His status is unknown. She's been on her own for a long time, and Varric was the older brother/mentor figure she needed, after Isabela, who showed her that you can let your guard down once in a while. We all know where Varric was during Veilguard.

🌾 If there was a demon trying to trap/take over Rook, what kind would be the most successful? What would break their hold?

🌾 Rook's demon would probably be Pride. She's proud of her ability to survive on her own, and the temptation to never have to ask for help again would be strong. Breaking their hold would require someone else to show her how strength doesn't equate to solitude. Her friends drag her back from that brink all the time, without demons involved.

🌱 Was Rook involved romantically with anyone before Veilguard? What was their partner like? How did the relationship end?

🌱 Rook's first relationship as a free person was Fia, a mage living on Seheron. Fia was bold and swaggering, a fire mage fighting qunari twice her size. Xi was drawn to Fia, wanting to be someone (and be with someone) who looked tough and talked tough, and they had a few flings here and there. It was chaotic; lots of drinking and fighting and fucking. Rook discovered she didn't actually enjoy being with someone who wanted to fight at the drop of a hat, so they just kinda grew apart. It was definitely a situationship of convenience, and Xiqaa left Seheron for Rivain soon after.

🌼 If someone was to ask Spite what Rook smells like, what would he say?

🌼Sea salt and sunshine. For those of us with physical senses, it would be a hot spring afternoon when the plants are blooming; the earthy scent of green things with an indistinct floral background, and a tang of salt like sudden tears.

🌷If Rook needed to get away from their responsibilities for a moment, where would they go? Where is their safe space outside the Lighthouse?

🌷Rook would go to the old Warden fortress on the Rivaini coast to get away from her responsibilities and just watch the world. (She's not really the type to just get away from it all; when she needs to get away she just finds something else from her long list to do.) She has an affinity for open spaces and clear sightlines, and she loves the sound of the ocean. Her safe space, though, is her apartment in the Hall of Lords. She's never had a home before, and she loves having a space of her own. The floor is made of old deck planks and it's her favorite thing about the apartment.

🥀 What figure from Rook’s personal past would be added to the regret prison?

🥀Xiqaa's galley benchmate, Chek, would definitely appear in the regret prison. He was a kind person, and he taught her how to survive differently; less fighting amongst those who were already prisoners, more generosity of heart. He escaped a year before she did, and she always regretted not going with him - she loved him like a brother. Later she found out he'd been recaptured and sent to a magister who used his life force to power their spells, and Xi has always wondered if she could have gone back for him.

🪷 Does your Rook have an irrational phobia? (ie spiders or large man-made objects submerged underwater)

🪷 Rook doesn't have any phobias that she knows of. Her flaw in this regard is that she believes facing your fears makes you stronger, so she's likely to work herself into a terrible state if she discovered a phobia. There's still time to find one, though.

🍀 Has Rook had any near-death experiences? What went through their mind during what they thought was going to be their final moments?

🍀 Rook's life is made of near-death experiences. Mostly she would just close her eyes for a second and think "Well, shit. At least it's on my own terms." The first time living and not just dying free mattered to her, though, was after she found the Veilguard. Fighting for her friends became more than fighting for a cause. She truly hoped to see the next sunrise and discover more life everyday. Since she fell for Lucanis, her fear of dying without telling him how special he is to her is foremost. Also top on that list would be never having her romance with Emmrich bloom into what she envisions they could have.

💐 What is the relationship Rook has with their faction mentor? What was the moment they sent Rook away like?

💐Rook and Isabela have an easy relationship for the most part. Rook prefers the raunchy jokes and tough talk that Isabela uses, so it was easy to make that their shared language. They also share a similar devotion to wealth, doing the right thing, and a disdain for political figureheads. When a well-connected noble double-crossed Rook on their attempt to take an artifact for the Venatori, Isabela wasn't surprised at all. She also wasn't surprised that Rook wasn't sorry for killing the Venatori scum, so temporary exile was pretty much the only solution. Isabela told Rook that she went through something similar (an exile of sorts) in her past, and maybe someday they'd share stories over drinks. Rook was annoyed that politics were stronger than her new allegiances but she just shrugged it off and threw herself into the next job. That upset Isabela more than she let on, so they had some frosty moments when reuniting.

🌺 Is there an object from Rook’s childhood they look back on fondly? (ie a favorite stuffed animal, book, or food)

🌺 It's more like a compensation for not having one, but Rook just likes food. The fancier and more expensive the better. It's not a childhood memory, but a response to not having much when she was younger, and food is comforting as well as an experience with culture.

🌿 Does your Rook have any tattoos? What was the moment when they got them like? If they’re a Crow where is their de Riva brand located? What vallaslin do they have/how did they earn it if they’re Dalish?

🌿Rook has a ton of tattoos, but no vallaslin. She's elvish, and grew up hearing the legends and songs in whispers at night, but she's not Dalish. For her, tattoos they are a way to tell her life story and to choose how she appears to others. She got her first one, a pair of wings, on her shoulder after she escaped from the galleys. It was exciting to her, to have control over her entire body and even the pain meant freedom. She added a rook piece between her breasts after becoming Varric's second in command...it distracts Lucanis and Spite to no end 🤣

🍂 What was it like the first time Rook killed someone? How did they react afterwards?

🍂 Rook's first time killing someone was when she was around twelve years old. Slaves were chosen for the benches based on physical characteristics, but the smaller ones were given a chance to fight their way in. Those not selected would be sold to other houses, usually industrial work like tanning or slaughterhouses. The galley bench meant you had three meals a day and a full shift of sleep, which was an almost-human experience for a slave. A wiry kid thought he could take Xiqaa because she was slender, and he fought with all his strength and cleverness to take her life. She didn't want to kill him, but that was her only choice if she wanted to have any existence that wasn't drudgery, so she did it. She felt anger at him, more than anything else, because she was forced into taking his life. It made her sick, but she wasn't one to give up, even then.

Woe! Rook ask game be upon ye!

🌻 How old is your Rook? How do they feel about celebrating their birthday? What gift has meant the most to them? 🪻 What is the most painful injury your Rook has received? How has it affected them once it healed/scarred? 🌹 What’s the first genuine fight Rook got in with their love interest about? How was it resolved? 🌸 Does your Rook have any siblings or close friends they see as such? Where are they during the events of Veilguard? 🌾 If there was a demon trying to trap/take over Rook, what kind would be the most successful? What would break their hold? 🌱 Was Rook involved romantically with anyone before Veilguard? What was their partner like? How did the relationship end? 🌼 If someone was to ask Spite what Rook smells like, what would he say? 🌷If Rook needed to get away from their responsibilities for a moment, where would they go? Where is their safe space outside the Lighthouse? 🥀 What figure from Rook’s personal past would be added to the regret prison? 🪷 Does your Rook have an irrational phobia? (ie spiders or large man-made objects submerged underwater) 🍀 Has Rook had any near-death experiences? What went through their mind during what they thought was going to be their final moments? 💐 What is the relationship Rook has with their faction mentor? What was the moment they sent Rook away like? 🌺 Is there an object from Rook’s childhood they look back on fondly? (ie a favorite stuffed animal, book, or food) 🌿 Does your Rook have any tattoos? What was the moment when they got them like? If they’re a Crow where is their de Riva brand located? What vallaslin do they have/how did they earn it if they’re Dalish? 🍂 What was it like the first time Rook killed someone? How did they react afterwards?

#ask game #dragon age the veilguard #rook laidir #oc: Xiqaa Laidir #my writing #my rook #lord of fortune rook #lucanis dellamorte #emmrich volkarin #dragon age veilguard

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iwasbored777 · 3 days ago

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I've been reading posts about GUN and I know they're going to be so bad in the fourth movie. Because not only is it possible that Rockwell, you know the openly xenophobic agent, will be the leader, but we're also going to have the Metal Sonics. When GUN sees alien threats built from the image of the alien they hate the most and can't chase, it's going to be the perfect excuse to want to capture Sonic and also Tails and Knuckles for sure. Not only that, with Amy in the movie it's going to get worse! If she really can travel through time with her chaos energy, I have no doubt that GUN will want to capture her too so they don't get this insane trump card. I dare say that a Team Heroes X GUN conflict is kind of inevitable.

Thanks for this ask cuz I feel so honoured to shame GUN for everything they've done. That previous post about Shadow wasn't enough, they did so many terrible things and I can't believe I didn't write this before your ask.

I can barely list all the worst things they did but I'll try and I'll answer to your other stuff so I hope you're ready and I hope you don't mind this whole analysis 😅 but I really wanted to talk more about GUN and since you clearly hate/dislike them just as much as I do (and many feel the same way) I really want to complain about them to someone who'll listen:

They were the ones that sent Robotnik in the first place. At least at the beginning he was just doing his job.

They knew that Gerald was Ivo's grandfather and alive all these years but they chose to not tell Ivo and let him think that he has no family his entire life. They used him because he was a genius and wanted him to make all those inventions for them and when they thought that he died they just acted as if he never existed.

They hired one of their agents to seduce Sonic's aunt, propose to her, and plan the whole wedding so that they would capture Sonic (I'm sorry I'm trying to stay serious but what the hell is wrong with GUN?! I don't know if I should cry or laugh and this is only the beginning). Poor Rachel too! They didn't care about anyone whether it was humans or aliens. I kinda wasn't happy that Rachel couldn't stay mad, what they did to her was horrible.

They captured Sonic and Tails. Tails was injured when they captured him and they didn't do anything about it, they simply put him and Sonic in cages after they tased Sonic to make sure he's unconscious too, they arrested Tom too when he tried to defend his son. This scene always breaks me, poor babies 😢

They found Shadow when he landed on Earth, kidnapped him, held him in a cryo pod and were doing experiments on him. (Gee, I wonder why Tom and Maddie didn't trust GUN with Sonic and kept Sonic hidden in their house instead after the first movie).

They were responsible for the death of a child, Maria (Walters did try to protect her and Shadow but when others killed her he mistreated Shadow. He definitely had more sympathy for Maria, she was a human child after all.) This moment right here physically hurts me cuz not only that they don't seem to care about the child they just killed but also they're surrounding Shadow and Gerald with weapons as if Shadow and Gerald were the ones who did something terrible here... They didn't care about the child they just killed, they only wanted to capture Shadow, that was their priority and Maria was just a collateral damage.

Right after they killed Maria they threw Gerald, her grandfather who loved her, in jail for 50 years and forced him to make Eclipse Cannon, that can destroy the planet. He went crazy because of all that and WHO WOULDN'T?!

They froze Shadow for 50 years (would definitely stay frozen way longer if he didn't escape) because they just didn't know what to do with him and kept him awake and fully aware of what they were doing to him during the process. I'll once again remind y'all of Walters' comment that Shadow was "too valuable to destroy", because Shadow was property to them and not a young living being with feelings and trauma that they gave him. His face here breaks my heart... Look how helpless he was here...

I added as many examples of how terrible GUN is as I can remember but if there are more you can always add them in the comments. I could easily add every scene and every screenshot with GUN cuz even at their better moments, they're still really bad, but I tried to pick the most important parts.

As for Rockwell, yeah she's gonna be a handful. She's definitely worse than Walters. At least he realized in his last moments that you can trust some aliens, but she isn't going to be easy to convince. They'll probably be even worse from now on and they probably didn't learn their lesson after Shadow. They better not hurt my baby girl Amy or the Colorful Bunch. I have some theories but I'd rather wait and see what's next.

Amy was hiding her identity here from Metal Sonic but I'm not sure if she doesn't want GUN to find her either cuz she's not hiding from Sonic, she let him see her.

Either way, it's not going to be easy for our alien kids and GUN gave me no reason to trust them so far. It says a lot that Robotnik and Stone were WAY more likeable to me than GUN. I hope GUN will leave Shadow alone and if they can't, I hope he'll kick GUN's butts again.

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mattsobvimyfav · 1 day ago

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Y/N has always played it safe—balancing her job as a pediatric nurse, and her careful lifestyle. But one night out with her friend, Jordan, changes everything. When she meets Matt and Chris—two dangerous, enigmatic brothers—she’s drawn into a world she doesn’t belong in. But the more she resists, the harder they pulls her in.

pt 4

The sun filtered softly through the blinds, casting warm streaks across the room. I blinked slowly, stirring from sleep, only to find Matt's arm draped securely over my waist, his chest pressed against my back. This is how it has been for the past week, the boys would handle their business or I'd go to work and they'd end up back at my apartment.

I smiled faintly and gently nudged his shoulder. "Matt," I whispered, brushing my fingers against his arm. "Matt, wake up."

He groaned softly, his eyes fluttering open, hazy with sleep. "What?" he murmured, his voice rough and gravelly.

I laughed softly. "I have to go. I’ve got nannying today. Gotta watch the kids."

His brows furrowed slightly as he processed my words. "Already?" He pulled me closer for a brief moment, burying his face in the crook of my neck. "Can’t you skip it?"

I chuckled, running my fingers through his messy hair. "Tempting, but no. I actually like these kids, you know."

Matt sighed dramatically, finally releasing me. "Fine."

I sat up, stretching before swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "You’ll survive. Besides, I’ll be back later. If you guys want to come back?"

He watched me for a moment, "Yeah. Maybe."

Matt may sleep in my bed every night, but he keeps his distance. There’s no hand-holding, no soft whispers in the dark. He isn’t lovey-dovey, and he hasn’t even admitted to liking me. Oddly enough, I don’t mind. I like how casual it is, the comfort of having someone there without the pressure of defining it.

I pulled on a pair of biker shorts, a cozy oversized hoodie, Nike socks, and my Hokas. Running my fingers through my hair to smooth it out, I glanced back at Matt, still sprawled lazily across my bed, his eyes half-lidded with sleep.

Leaning down, I pressed a quick, soft kiss to his lips. "Lock the door before you leave, okay?"

He gave a small nod, his eyes following me as I grabbed my bag and headed out, leaving the door slightly ajar behind me.

The drive to the family’s house was peaceful, the early morning sun casting a warm glow over the Boston streets. The familiar route felt comforting, like slipping into an old routine. I pulled into the driveway, grabbed my bag, and made my way to the front door. Before I could knock, the door swung open, revealing Ella, with her wild curls bouncing as she launched herself at me.

“Y/N!” she squealed, wrapping her tiny arms around my legs.

“Hey, El!” I laughed, scooping her up into a hug. “Miss me?”

She nodded vigorously. “A lot.”

Inside, Owen, her brother, sat at the kitchen table, engrossed in a book about dinosaurs. His glasses had slipped down his nose, and his serious little face made me smile.

“Hey, buddy,” I greeted, ruffling his hair as I set my bag down.

He glanced up, offering a shy smile. “Hi, Y/N.”

Their parents gave me a quick rundown of the day’s plans before heading out. Once the door closed, Ella tugged on my hand. “Can we go to the park?”

“Of course,” I replied, packing snacks and water before we set off.

The park was bustling with families enjoying the warm air. Ella ran straight to the swings, demanding to be pushed higher and higher. Owen wandered off to examine rocks and sticks, his curiosity endless.

After an hour of chasing them around, we settled on a blanket under a large oak tree. We shared sandwiches, Ella chattering non-stop about her imaginary friends, while Owen quizzed me on dinosaur facts.

Back home, we spent the afternoon building a fort out of blankets and couch cushions. Inside our makeshift hideout, we read books and played with flashlights, their giggles echoing off the walls.

As evening approached, I prepared them dinner, it was simple—grilled cheese and tomato soup, with Ella proudly declaring she was my sous-chef.

When their parents returned, the kids clung to me, reluctant to say goodbye.

“Will you come back tomorrow?” Ella asked, her eyes wide and hopeful.

“Not tomorrow, but soon,” I promised, giving them both a tight hug.

Driving home, I felt a warm sense of contentment. Being around these kids felt like a breath of fresh air from the adult life I created for myself.

When I got home, the quiet comfort of my apartment wrapped around me like a familiar blanket. I kicked off my Hokas, dropped my bag by the door, and flopped onto the couch with a sigh. The soft cushions welcomed me as I reached for my phone, scrolling through the notifications until I landed on the group chat with Matt and Chris.

Y/N: Home, finally.

It didn’t take long for Chris to respond.

Chris: Perfect timing. There’s a party tonight. We’re going. You in?

Almost instantly, Matt added:

Matt: Come with us.

I stared at the screen, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips. A party wasn’t exactly on my agenda, but the idea of seeing them both, of slipping back into that chaotic, unpredictable energy they brought, felt tempting.

Y/N: What time?

Chris: We’ll pick you up at 9.

Y/N: I’m in.

I set my phone down and let myself relax for a little while, stretching out on the couch. The hum of the city outside my window was a soft reminder of the world still spinning. After a short rest, I stood up and made my way to my room to get ready.

I pulled out a cheetah print cropped top, pairing it with a sleek black mini skirt and my favorite leather boots. The outfit hugged my curves perfectly, giving me a boost of confidence. I decided to keep it simple with my hair, curling it into loose waves that effortlessly framed my face.

With one last glance in the mirror, I grabbed my small black purse, sitting on the couch again and waited for Matt and Chris to arrive.

At exactly 9 PM, I heard a knock at the door. Opening it, I was met with Matt’s dark, intense eyes and Chris’s mischievous grin. Matt’s gaze slowly roamed over my outfit, his jaw tightening slightly before he muttered, “You look good.”

Chris clicks his tongue, "Yeah, you do"

I rolled my eyes, locking the door behind me as we made our way to Matt’s car. The car roared to life, music thumping softly as Matt drove through the city streets. The party was on the outskirts, in an old warehouse lit up with neon lights spilling from the windows.

We stepped inside, the heavy bass vibrating through the floor. The air was thick with smoke, the scent of alcohol, sweat, and something faintly metallic lingering. People moved like waves, pulsing to the beat, laughing, shouting, and lost in their own worlds.

Matt and Chris immediately got to work, connecting with a few guys in dark corners. I found a spot on an old, beaten-up couch, watching the crowd while sipping on a drink someone had handed me. It wasn’t long before Matt made his way back, sitting beside me and pulling out a small blunt. He lit it, taking a slow drag before passing it to me.

I hesitated only for a second before taking it. I was somewhere new and didn't know anyone but Matt and Chris, I was unsure about being high and drunk here. I ultimately decided Matt and Chris would keep me safe if anything was to happen so I grabbed the blunt from Matt’s hand. The buzz hit quickly, mixing with the drink.

It had been about twenty minutes since Matt had left me alone on the couch, and my mind still felt like it was swimming in a fog. I had tried to focus on the people around me, watching them as they moved through the crowd, laughing, talking, losing themselves in the chaos of the party. But every face I looked at felt unfamiliar, out of place. Nothing made sense, not even the noise. The thumping bass, the flashing lights—it all felt too loud, too bright, like it was mocking me.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

And then, suddenly, the noise of the party shifted. The music didn’t stop, but the voices grew louder, sharper, rising above the rest. I looked up from where I was sitting, instinctively turning toward the sound. That’s when I saw Matt.

He was standing at the edge of the crowd, his back rigid, his face hard as stone. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes were focused on something—or someone—a guy in the crowd. The guy was yelling at Matt, hands flailing wildly in the air. His voice was thick with aggression, but I couldn’t make out his words over the music.

Chris was beside Matt, his posture tense, his eyes scanning the crowd like a predator looking for a target. It was obvious this wasn’t a casual confrontation. The way Chris stood—motionless, like he was waiting for something—told me things were about to get real. Fast.

The yelling escalated, louder, and more intense. I couldn’t hear the words, but the aggression in the air was palpable. I felt a pit in my stomach as I watched Matt and the other guy exchange words. I wanted to look away, but something made me stay. It was like I couldn’t pull my gaze from the tension that was building between them.

And then, in a flash, Matt’s fist connected with the guy’s jaw. The punch was swift, precise, and brutal. It landed with a sickening thud that cut through the noise of the party. The moment it hit, everything exploded. It was like someone flipped a switch—people screamed, fists flew, bodies scrambled, and the fight spilled into the center of the room.

I could barely process what was happening. Matt and the other guy were locked in a brutal exchange, throwing punches with such intensity that the entire atmosphere of the party shifted. Blood mixed with sweat, and the harsh, flickering lights above cast eerie shadows across the room.

But Matt wasn’t just fighting. His movements were sharp, controlled, and fast—too fast for the guy to keep up. It was clear he wasn’t just defending himself—he was letting his rage drive every blow. He was holding his own, but there was something dark and violent in the way he moved, a fury that I hadn’t seen before.

As the fight spiraled further out of control, something shifted in the room. I saw Chris reach inside his jacket, and before I could even process what was happening, he pulled out a gun, the metal gleaming under the harsh lights. The sight of it sent a cold chill through me, freezing my blood. It was aimed at the people trying to jump into Matt’s fight, the mere presence of the weapon in the middle of this madness was enough to make everything feel dangerous.

For a moment, time seemed to slow. The fight between Matt and the other guy continued, but now people were backing off, the sight of the guns keeping anyone from getting any closer. The crowd was tense, unsure of whether things were going to escalate further, but Chris didn’t make a move to use the weapons. They just held their ground, making sure everyone knew they weren’t to be messed with.

The fight was broken up quickly after that, people rushing in to separate them. The other guy was dragged away, kicking and yelling, still trying to get another shot at Matt, but the fight had already drained the energy from the room. The party slowly began to settle, but Matt’s fury hadn’t.

Without a word, he turned and stormed toward me. I barely had time to react before he grabbed me by the waist, his grip strong and unyielding, and hoisted me over his shoulder as if I weighed nothing. My stomach lurched in surprise, and I instinctively grabbed at his back, but he didn’t seem to notice. His body was rigid, his anger still boiling just beneath the surface.

"We’re leaving," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, like he was daring anyone to stop him.

Chris was right behind him, his face set in stone. He hadn’t said a word, but his presence was enough to make sure no one got in their way. They moved through the crowd with the kind of confidence that came from knowing they controlled the situation—guns tucked away, but the threat hanging heavy in the air.

Outside, the cool air hit me like a slap. Matt gently set me down but kept a firm grip on my hand. His knuckles were bloodied, his breathing ragged, but his eyes… his eyes were dark, Not in the way I had ever seen them before.

We drove in tense silence, the car filled with the residual heat of anger and adrenaline. No one spoke.

The drive away from the party was cloaked in silence, the tension thick and unspoken. Matt's grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles still bruised and raw from the fight. Chris sat in the passenger seat, his jaw clenched, eyes flickering between the road ahead and Matt's rigid posture.

I sat in the back, the cool leather of the seat against my thighs grounding me. The city lights faded as we drove further, replaced by quiet streets lined with towering trees and sprawling houses. I leaned forward slightly, glancing out the window.

"Uh, where are we?" I asked, my voice breaking the silence.

Matt didn't answer, his eyes fixed on the road. Chris turned slightly, his smirk returning, though it lacked its usual ease. "Our house," he replied casually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I blinked, my mind trying to process his words. "I thought you guys lived at the trap."

Chris chuckled softly. "The trap is where we work. This is where we live."

Matt pulled into the long driveway of a massive, modern house tucked behind tall, sleek gates. The exterior was all sharp lines and dark glass, illuminated by soft, ambient lighting that gave the place an almost surreal glow.

Stepping out of the car, I followed them up the stone path, my curiosity outweighing my confusion. The front door swung open effortlessly under Matt's hand, revealing an interior that made my jaw drop.

The house was nothing like I expected. High ceilings stretched above us, adorned with minimalist chandeliers that cast warm pools of light onto polished hardwood floors. The living room was expansive, with plush, oversized furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the city skyline like a painting.

I toed off my boots, feeling out of place. "This is... not what I expected."

Chris threw his phone on the marble kitchen counter, grinning. "What were you expecting? Milk crates and mattresses on the floor?"

I shrugged, still taking it all in. "Honestly? Yeah."

Matt finally spoke, his voice low and rough. "Appearances are deceiving."

He disappeared up the stairs, leaving me alone with Chris. Chris flopped onto the enormous sectional, patting the seat next to him. "Get comfortable, sweetheart. You're staying for a while."

I sat down, sinking into the soft cushions, my mind racing with questions but my lips staying shut. The air felt thick, almost heavy with something I couldn’t quite place, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know what it was.

“Upstairs,” Matt’s voice called from above, rough around the edges. I hesitated for just a second before making my way up, my heart pounding a little faster. I’d never been here before, and something about being alone with Matt—his house, his world—felt different.

When I entered his room, I stopped in my tracks for a moment, taking in the sight. The bed was massive—almost ridiculously so. His boxers and a t-shirt were laid out neatly on the sheets. I swallowed hard, nerves creeping in, but I forced myself to keep moving forward.

He didn’t even look up from his phone. “Change,” he said, his voice flat, as if he was saying something completely ordinary.

I nodded, retreating into the bathroom attached to his room. As soon as the door clicked shut behind me, I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. I changed quickly, not wanting to waste any time, but something about the whole situation felt off.

Once I was dressed, I climbed into the bed beside him, pulling the covers over my body. He was already there, sprawled out and clearly still tense, his mind a million miles away. He didn’t even say anything as he flicked on the TV, the soft glow illuminating the room and casting shadows across his face.

I shifted closer, resting my head on his shoulder, the weight of the night pressing down on me. “How do you have this house?” The words slipped out before I could stop them. My voice was barely above a whisper, but I had to ask.

Matt didn’t respond right away. He just stared at the TV, his jaw tightening as if the question bothered him more than I expected. Finally, he shifted, just enough to look down at me, “You’ve seen what we do,” he said, his voice low, edged with something I couldn’t quite read.

I felt my stomach knot. He wasn’t wrong. I had seen it—the deals, the late-night phone calls, the way Matt and Chris operated in a world I had no part in. The life they’d built wasn’t exactly something you could just turn off.

For a moment, neither of us said anything. I could feel the weight of it all hanging between us, pressing down on my chest. But instead of pulling away, I just snuggled closer, needing the comfort. His arm wrapped around me, his grip tight and protective, but I could feel the tension in his body, the anger from earlier still lingering.

“I don’t need this,” he muttered under his breath, his fingers brushing against my skin, the touch surprisingly soft.

I stayed silent, not sure what to say. The truth was, I didn’t need this either. But for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to leave.

I stayed there, pressed up against Matt’s side, his arm still wrapped around me, my head resting on his shoulder. The low hum of the TV filled the silence, but my thoughts were elsewhere, swirling in a mix of confusion and unease. The strange quiet of the house, the tension in his body, the weight of his words—it all felt like too much. I was lost in it, trying to make sense of everything.

And then my phone buzzed, breaking the stillness.

I pulled it from the pocket of my jeans and saw Jordan’s name lighting up the screen. My heart sank. I didn’t feel like dealing with her right now, especially not after everything that had gone down tonight, but I unlocked my phone and opened the message anyway.

Jordan: Did you hear what happened with Matt tonight?

I stared at the screen, feeling a wave of panic rise in my chest. I quickly typed a response, my fingers shaking slightly as I tried to keep my emotions in check.

Me: Stop trying to parent me. I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions, okay?

I hit send before I could second-guess myself. But the pit in my stomach only deepened as I stared at the message, like I was waiting for something to happen—waiting for her to text me back.

And then it happened. Matt's arm shifted, and before I even realized what was going on, he grabbed my phone from my hands, his movements sharp and quick. My stomach dropped as he looked down at the screen.

I opened my mouth to protest, but the words caught in my throat as I watched him scroll through the messages. His eyes flicked over the screen, his jaw tightening as he read Jordan’s message.

My heart was hammering in my chest as I silently cursed myself for not locking the phone, he glared at the screen, his expression darkening with each passing second. I could feel the anger rolling off him in waves, his body stiffening as he scrolled through the messages. He didn't say anything at first, but I could feel the tension growing between us.

He slammed my phone down onto the bed with a force that made me flinch, his eyes meeting mine, full of frustration. "She’s been texting you about me... about us?" he asked, his voice low, dangerously calm.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my racing heartbeat. I didn't know what to say. I could feel my breath quicken as I scrambled to explain myself, but he cut me off before I could get the words out.

“Jordan,” he spat, his voice laced with venom. "She’s been on your case for weeks now, huh? With that bullshit, telling you to stay away from me and Chris?" He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "She doesn’t know shit about what goes on here. She acts like she does because we let her spark up with us once in a while." His voice dropped lower, almost too quiet. “She has no idea what it’s like... what it really takes to keep a place like this.”

I felt the heat rise to my face, a mix of embarrassment and guilt. Matt’s anger was raw, and I could see it in his eyes. But at the same time, I also felt a strange mix of fear and protectiveness over him.

“I told her I could make my own decisions,” I said, my voice shaky, trying to hold onto some sense of control.

Matt scoffed, leaning back on the bed, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared at the tv. "Yeah, well, she needs to mind her business." His tone was sharp, and the anger still simmered just below the surface. "She doesn't get it. She doesn't know the shit she thinks she does about me and Chris."

My heart pounded in my chest, guilt eating away at me. She was just trying to look out for me, even if it didn’t feel that way.

I reached for my phone, but Matt grabbed it first, holding it just out of my reach. “You’re not talking to her anymore,” he said, his tone final. “She’s not gonna mess this up for us.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at me, waiting for a reaction.

I couldn’t tell if it was the intensity of his gaze or what, but I didn’t fight him. Instead, I just lay there next to him, unable to shake the feeling that I was trapped between two worlds—between Matt, the life he led, and everything Jordan had been warning me about.

Matt’s body was rigid beside me, his presence solid and warm. The tension in his muscles hadn’t quite relaxed, his jaw still clenched, and I could feel the storm of emotions swirling in the air around us.

The lights in his room were dim, casting long shadows across the walls, and I was still trying to wrap my head around everything that had happened. The fight at the party. The blood.

While we were laying there the door opened with a creak, and Chris’s voice broke through the stillness.

"Matt," Chris called out, his tone sharp. "We’ve got a visitor."

Matt tensed beside me, his muscles tightening as he pushed himself up from the bed. "Stay here," he said, his voice low and controlled, but there was something dangerous lurking in it. "Don’t leave the room."

I barely had a chance to respond before he was already moving, slipping on a shirt and heading toward the door. My stomach twisted. I wanted to know what was going on, what kind of "visitor" they were dealing with, but Matt’s warning echoed in my mind. I stayed in bed, though the unease in my chest wouldn’t settle.

The minutes dragged on, each one heavier than the last. It had been ten minutes since Matt and Chris left the room, and I couldn’t sit still any longer. My curiosity gnawed at me, a constant itch I couldn’t ignore.

I slipped out of bed quietly, moving toward the door. I could hear the faint sounds of voices downstairs, muffled, but nothing that gave me any clear idea of what was happening. What they were doing.

I cracked the door open just enough to slip out, trying not to make a sound. My bare feet padded across the cold wood floor as I crept toward the top of the stairs. The house felt eerily quiet, the silence hanging heavily in the air. I could hear muffled voices now, sharp words mixed with a few desperate pleas. My heart skipped a beat.

As I reached the top of the stairs, I paused. What I saw froze me in my tracks.

At the bottom of the stairs was the guy from the party—the one Matt had fought earlier. The guy was on his knees, his head bowed, his hands trembling in front of him. He looked like he was begging, but I couldn’t hear his words from where I stood. I could see the fear in his eyes, though, the panic as he tried to make himself small under the weight of Matt and Chris’s presence.

Matt and Chris were standing over him, both of them tense, and I could see the guns in their hands. Matt had his at his side, the barrel gleaming in the dim light, while Chris held his steady, aimed at the kneeling man.

My breath caught in my throat. I felt like I was intruding on something I wasn’t meant to see, like I was looking into a world I couldn’t understand.

Matt’s voice rang out, low and filled with an edge of danger. "You know the deal," he said, his tone cold, commanding. "You pulled that stupid fucking shit tonight. ‘You dont get paid enough’ Fuck that."

The guy on his knees didn’t speak at first, but I could see him nodding desperately, tears running down his face as he raised his hands in a pleading gesture. His whole body trembled, and I could feel the fear emanating off him in waves.

"I-I didn’t mean to—" he started, his voice shaky, but Matt cut him off.

"Shut the fuck up," Matt snapped, his voice hard.

I took a step back, my heart pounding, my body frozen in place. My eyes were still locked on the scene below, the tension between the three men thickening with every passing second. It was like a standoff, a moment where everything teetered on the edge of something dangerous.

And then, my foot shifted slightly, the floor creaking under my weight. The sound was soft, but it was enough.

Matt’s head snapped up, his sharp eyes finding me at the top of the stairs. For a moment, there was nothing but silence, and I felt his gaze lock onto me, cold and piercing.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Matt’s voice rang out, low but filled with an unmistakable edge of anger. His words sliced through the air, and I felt the sudden weight of them. His gaze shifted quickly between me and the guy still kneeling on the floor.

I didn’t know how to respond. My breath caught in my throat as my mind scrambled to make sense of everything happening in front of me.

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. I wanted to apologize for intruding, for seeing something I wasn’t supposed to see, but I couldn’t make myself move. I was frozen, caught between the need to explain myself and the sheer fear of what this moment meant.

Matt’s gaze darkened, his jaw tightening. He didn’t speak for a long moment, but I could see the fury simmering just below the surface.

"You should’ve stayed in the room," he muttered, his voice dangerously calm.

I swallowed hard, my body tense as I realized how much I didn’t understand. How much I had already gotten myself involved in.

The man on the floor looked up at me, making eye contact, his body trembling in fear, Chris caught on to the man looking at me and hit him in the face, hard, causing me to gasp at the sound.

Matt took a step forward, his posture almost predatory, "Get back to the room," he ordered, his voice low. But there was something in his tone that made my chest tighten—something that made me realize I wasn’t just an innocent bystander anymore. I was part of this.

I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I couldn’t stay there, not at this moment. My legs felt like they were going to give out, but I managed to turn around and retreat back into the shadows, disappearing into the hallway as quietly as I could.

The sound of Matt’s voice echoed in the distance, but I didn’t hear the words. All I could hear was the pounding of my own heart and the realization that the life I had stepped into was far darker and more dangerous than I ever could have imagined.

The door slammed open, and Matt was standing there, his presence filling the room like a storm. His chest was heaving, his jaw tight, eyes burning with anger. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, like it was pressing down, suffocating me.

"What is wrong with you?" he snapped, his voice harsh and raw.

I instinctively shrunk back, my heart pounding in my chest. He stepped forward, his frustration practically radiating off him, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"I told you to stay in the room. I literally asked you one fucking thing, but you went ahead and—" He cut himself off, pacing a few steps before turning back to face me, the anger in his eyes almost too much to handle.

"Do you have any idea what you just saw?" he continued, his tone lowering but still laced with irritation. "This isn’t some fucking joke. This is real. People get hurt, Y/N. People die."

I opened my mouth to say something, but the words felt trapped in my throat. What could I say? I didn’t even know how to explain what had been going through my head when I snuck out of the room, what had driven me to see what was happening downstairs.

Matt shook his head, his gaze never leaving me. "This is dangerous, and if you want to keep seeing me and Chris, you better start understanding what that means."

He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. His voice was calmer now, but there was no mistaking the edge of finality in it. "I’m not going to baby you, Y/N. You either get it together or you walk away. Because you’re playing with fire and expecting not to get burned. And I’m not just gonna sit back and watch you do that and wait till you do.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words tangled in my throat, choked by the weight of his anger. My chest felt tight, my heart racing, and without thinking, I slid off the bed and closed the space between us.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice trembling as I reached for him. My hands found his chest first, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin, the steady, rapid thrum of his heartbeat. “Matt, I’m so sorry.”

I wrapped my arms around him, pressing my face into the warmth of his neck, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the sharp edge of sweat and adrenaline. “Please, I didn’t mean to—I just wanted to know you were okay,” I murmured against his skin, my lips brushing softly over the curve of his neck as I spoke.

His body remained rigid, his hands clenched at his sides, but I held on tighter, desperate to break through the wall his anger had built. I placed soft, frantic kisses along the line of his jaw, his neck, my voice shaking between each one. “Please, Matt. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry. I just—I needed to see you.”

His breath hitched, a sharp exhale that made me cling to him even more. My fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt, knuckles white, as if letting go would make the distance between us even worse.

“I’ll listen next time. I swear. Just—don’t be mad at me,” I begged softly, my words muffled against his skin, my lips finding the hollow of his throat where his pulse beat fast and hard.

For a moment, he didn’t move. The tension between us thick enough to drown in. Then, slowly, his hands came up, not gentle but rough, gripping my arms, his fingers digging in just enough to remind me of who he was.

But he didn’t push me away.

Matt’s grip loosened slightly, his fingers sliding from my arms to my waist, pulling me in closer. His head dropped to look in my eyes, his breath warm and uneven as it fanned across my skin. His eyes were still closed, like he was trying to hold something in—something fragile beneath all that anger.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, filled with frustration, but not just at me. At himself. At everything. He let out a shaky sigh, his hands gripping my hips tighter like he was afraid I’d slip away. “I want you here,” he whispered, his voice softer now, almost broken. “But you’ve got to listen to me, Y/N. You don’t get it, I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

My chest ached at the rawness in his words, the vulnerability bleeding through the cracks in his tough exterior. I cupped his face gently, His gaze was softer now, the sharp edges dulled by something deeper.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered again, my thumbs brushing over the rough stubble on his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to make things worse. I just, I don't know.”

He let out another breath, his hands sliding up my back, pulling me against him until there was no space left between us. My face buried in his chest.

“I don’t want to worry about whether or not you’re going to listen,” he murmured, his voice muffled but clear enough to make my heart clench.

I held him tighter, pressing soft kisses to his jaw, trying to ease the tension in his body. “I’ll listen,” I promised softly, my fingers threading through his hair. “I’ll do better.”

Matt didn’t respond right away. His grip on me tightened, like he was still trying to process everything. Then, slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes still dark but softer, the storm behind them finally settling.

Without a word, he reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one swift motion, tossing it carelessly to the floor. His skin was warm, scattered with faint bruises from the fight earlier, his chest rising and falling with slow, controlled breaths. His gaze never left mine as he reached for me again, his hands finding my waist, pulling me closer until our bodies were flush.

“c’mere,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, but not with anger this time.

He guided me back toward the bed, pulling me down with him. The sheets were cool against my skin, but his warmth made up for it as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into his chest. I nestled against him, my face tucked into the curve of his neck, breathing in the faint, familiar scent of him.

His fingers traced slow, lazy patterns along my back, grounding me, his touch gentle despite the roughness of his words earlier. His heartbeat was steady beneath my ear, a rhythm that slowly lulled me into calm.

“You matter more than I want you to.” he whispered into the dark,

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his chest, right over his heart.

Sleep came slowly, but it came—with his arms around me, holding me like he never wanted to let go.

tag-

(divider by @cafekitsune) @tbfaptbfae @ch0llies @2muchofaslvt @rockstarchr1s @simply-a-simper @mattscore @watercolorskyy @urfungi @slut4christopherr @mattsturnii @christmastreecake @izzylovesmatt @larnieboox88 @realuvrrr @namelesssav @matts-girlfriend @emely9274 @sturnslutz @secret-sturniolo @vickytaa @matteatmeout @pair-of-pantaloons @ananskanansbsnwbensb @theboredknightcat-blog @sturniolostuff @dariellemccaul @mamamadssss

#christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo x you #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #chris sturiolo fanfic

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writinandcrying · 2 days ago

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How does the 2003 turtles react to crushes - part 1

Just a little thing cuz I miss writing, i miss tmnt and I haven’t got the time to do a full one shot or mashup in MONTHS 😔, I’m still on season 1-2 so if anything is a bit too ooc, I apologize! I love reading about crushes, first kisses, first loves, so this is for my puppy love stage lovers out there!! p.s: there's a poll for the next turtle by the end of the headcanon, make sure to vote your favorite! <3

(English is not my first language and I have dyslexia, I try to check everything before posting but sometimes grammar mistakes still happen, I apologize in advance if you find one!)

Leo

That’s some deeply repressed, effortless devotion energy right there, Leo is a pro at pretending that everything is fine, keeping it cool, but on the inside? so freaking nervous it’s not even funny

it's almost creepy how quiet he suddenly gets near you on your first visits, he acts in such a secluded but... odd way that everyone know something is up with him, but no one really knows what.

His younger brothers are all 🤨 over how he’s acting, at first, they noticed tiny shifts in his behaviors, they weren’t big enough to raise a red flag of such change, but when Leo shows how inpatient and careless he has become in training or meditating, then they KNOW something was really off . he has been careless for the silliest things as well, breaking the toaster more than once a week, forgetting to nag them about the open toothpaste, stuff he usually wouldn't miss it, but suddenly he doesn't mind it anymore.

None of them have the guts to ask him (Raph and Mikey might tease here and there, but you know, it’s Raph and Mikey) Don might find himself studying his brother from time to time, interested to why his older brother is being way more introspective than before, he wonders if maybe he’s going through a natural turtle process of some sort April is the only one who truly leaves him be, but as your visits become more frequent, it all clicks when you randomly stop by to deliver some groceries by Master Splinter request.

The pure lovesick look he glances at you when you first enter... you caught him completely off guard as he was leaving the dojo with Master Splinter, his dementor shifted back rapidly to stoic, but April noticed it, her eyes widened slightly as it all made sense, softening right after. Leo helps you with the groceries with agility, as Master Splinter excuses himself after he thanks you, he even dares to make small talk after an extremely long and awkward moment of silence (which he researched his possible lines in his head several times, made up several scenarios in which topic it could lead into, I might add) We have seen how Leo reacts to Usagi in the series (he has a fat crush on each other and I’m right) so you know even if he is indeed nervous, Leo is so dedicated to your well-being, attentive to your needs and inputs to missions or even movie debates, it’s heartwarming to see how inclusive he can be of you. He notices everything – Not in an obvious way, or a loud way, but in a way that means you’ll never have to ask him twice about something important to you. You mention offhand that you like a certain type of tea? He remembers. You’re shivering? He’s already handing you his jacket before you can say a word. The exact moment you get tired even before you admit it.

One day at training after sparring, you absentmindedly rubbed your wrist. You didn’t say anything, didn’t complain at the pain you might have felt, but later that night, you find a perfectly wrapped bandage roll left on top of your bag. No note. No explanation. You glance at Leo, and he’s just calmly cleaning his takana, pretending like he has no idea what you’re looking at. He’s not the type to shower you with words, but his actions speak volumes. He makes sure you always walk on the safe path while coming back from a mission or scorting you back home, he picks whatever condiment out of your food because he remembers you don’t like them. He’ll “coincidentally” be around when you need help, even if he acts like it’s no big deal. He's gentle, kind, and a true gentleman, he makes sure his presence is there. He effortlessly puts so much thought into you, it’s just how his mind works.

He disliked how nervous he first got around you, but after a while, he didn’t even realize how he had grown used to thinking about you. He grabs an extra bottle of water without thinking because you might be thirsty later. His brothers joke that he’s got favorites, and he just denies it, but deep down? Yeah. It’s you. Eventually, he has to talk to someone, and he chooses to confide in April about… well, everything? regarding feelings, about how to be sure, what does it feel like to love someone and how should he react to it? wait, did he say love? How can he stop his hands from getting so sweaty? this is ridiculous, should he feel anxious and at ease around you all at the same time? From time to time, he tells himself he doesn’t like you like that, that he’s just looking out for you because you’re part of the team, part of the family. that's just him being a leader, That’s all it is.

his train of thought is broken as he hears Mikey chuckle “Dude, you’ve got it bad.”

Leo stiffens, cleaning his throat as he turns he page of his book a bit too slow “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you SO do.” Mikey grins. “The ‘eyes-follow-them-every-time-they-leave-the-room’ thing? The ‘silent-knight-hovering’ thing? classic move, real smooth.”

Leo exhales through his nose, forcing himself to focus on back his book. It’s not like that. It can’t be. "Maybe you should tell them, who knows, they might be looking back right at ya" Mikey winks at him, biting on this apple as he sits on the couch, turning on the tv. Maybe he was looking at you too long, maybe he wasn't as subtle as he thought he was, or his brothers just, unfortunately, know him too well and finally caught up. He prided himself and his control, his calm exterior, carefully managed. but maybe you slip through the cracks. He can't help but to continue notice how eyes shine brighter when you smile, remembering every little thing about you, doing things that only you get to see. Deep down, he knows. He just doesn’t know what to do with it yet.

#2003 tmnt #tmnt 2003 #tmnt leo #tmnt leo x reader #tmnt x reader #tmnt leonardo x reader #tmnt headcanons #giulia writes #tmnt 2003 headcanons

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siravalondulac · 2 days ago

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pour it in a cup | j. snow x reader

summary: after the devastating wars against the white walkers and house lannister, jon is once again king in the north, and as such, is in need of a wife. how lucky, then, that tyrion lannister has a niece.

contents: arranged marriage, unrealistically quick relationship progression, she/her pronouns for reader, one use of y/n, slight non-graphic smut at the end

words: 5814

author's note: based on this request. i've also written a version with my oc here (in case you saw both and were confused, it's the same story)

masterlist | additional works masterlist

Perhaps avoiding any talk about the topic of his missing queen had not been the correct idea. He should have listened to his advisors when they spoke of marriage, of the betrothal offers from the Northern lords, of the suggestion to take a Free Folk woman as wife to unite their people. But he had been too focused on trying to deal with becoming king - again - he had brushed them all off. And this was the punishment.

He stood in the courtyard, his remaining siblings beside him, waiting anxiously for the procession to arrive. The entire castle had gathered to greet the visitors from Casterly Rock, and to catch a glimpse of their new queen.

Horns blasted, and then the first soldiers arrived.

Their red and golden armour had not changed, and neither had the lion on their banners. Fewer men than expected accompanied the party, but all of that was forgotten when you rode in.

Cersei Lannister's oldest child, who had hidden in Casterly Rock for the entire war, staying far removed from the horror the rest of them had to suffer.

You were clad in rich fabrics, a dark red dress with golden embellishments, decorated with soft furs to keep yourself warm in the cold. Yet more peculiarly, you did not travel in a wheelhouse as your mother or any of the southern ladies would have done, but sat aside on a horse, its hide as white as the snow around them.

You would become his wife. You would become his queen

Your uncle, Tyrion Lannister, jumped off his own horse and approached him. They shook hands with a smile, and Jon was glad over the lack of proper manners.

“Your Grace.” Tyrion's voice sounded amused saying the title. “I am grateful for the invitation. And that you have accepted the proposal.”

“The North needs this alliance to heal,” he repeated the words of his council. “Just as the Westerlands.”

“That we do.” He beckoned someone forward. “May I introduce your betrothed? My niece, the Princess Y/N.”

You raised your hand, and he quickly took it to lay a kiss upon your knuckles.

“My princess, I am honoured.”

“As am I, your grace.”

Your words were polite yet cold, and he realised for the first time you might want this marriage even less than him.

He tried to grasp at something to say. “May I lead you to your chambers?”

You nodded, and closed your hand around his arm.

Perhaps he should have stayed, should have greeted the other lords and ladies as well, should have held a speech - whatever was expected of a king. But he wanted time alone with his bride, wanted to spend your first moments together without dozens of eyes watching them. And so he did not feel bad as he led you into the halls of his castle.

“Uh-” He cleared his throat. “You will receive your own chambers until the wedding, in order to get used to everything. Afterwards you will move into the Lord's chambers with me.”

You nodded, and said nothing.

You passed the main hall, where a wooden throne now eternally stood high above the rest.

“It must be strange,” he said, “being back here after all these years.”

You chuckled. “Strange indeed. The last time I was here, my family was still alive. Now there is only my uncle and me, the dwarven king and the forgotten princess.”

Your voice had become biting, accusatory. And he supposed you had a point.

“I apologise.” He did not dare look at you. “These last years must have been difficult.”

“They sent me away and never came for me,” you answered far too quickly. As if you had prepared it. “I am loyal to the Stark crown and will do my duty by it.”

He did not try to initiate another conversation until you had reached your chambers. And even then, the few words he spoke were only to inform you that a servant would be with you shortly. You seemed as if you wanted to tell him something - a thank, a question, a demand to leave you alone until the wedding the coming week - yet closed the door before any such thing could happen.

You tried to forget him. Tried to ignore the reality of the situation whenever the thought passed your mind. Which was nonsense, you knew. But it was easier than facing the fact you would be marrying a total stranger in just a few, short days.

That first night, Winterfell held a feast to welcome you, and to introduce the castle and the entire North to their new queen.

Despite what would be expected of you, and despite knowing you would have to adhere to your betrothed's customs soon, you had decided on a blood red gown for the evening, while a golden tiara decorated your intricately braided hair.

One last desperate attempt to cling to your heritage. To not lose what remained of your family.

King Jon Stark already awaited you at the doors to the feast hall, clad in yet another set of black and brown leathers and a fur-lined cloak, this time, however, with a spiked iron crown on top of his dark curls.

He smiled at you, you smiled back, then you took his extended arm, and entered.

The few spots of red and gold were drowned out in a sea of Northmen, all staring at you. Judging you. None of them wanted a tyrant's daughter as their queen, a foreigner, an enemy. Neither did you, but what else was left for you in this world? You were your uncle's heir, yet only until he sired his own children. And afterwards, you would have nothing.

Best accept this marriage. It was certainly the best you could get.

King Jon held a short speech once they stood in front of their seats, thanking first his lords for joining him for this most wonderful occasion, then your uncle for brokering this much needed alliance between their kingdoms, and lastly you. For agreeing.

You smiled and curtsied, and hastily removed your hand from his arm once you were seated.

The food was agreeable, the ale not too bitter, and the constant chattering and even shouting from the wildlings bearable. You had to get used to all this, you reminded yourself, especially to the presence of the man beside you.

Jon, to his credit, had not tried to strike up a conversation yet, though the glances he threw in your direction burned on your skin. You would have to look at him eventually, you knew as much. Touch him, even. Lay with him. Perhaps speaking to him now might soften that experience later on.

But he was drawn into a conversation with your uncle before you could decide.

Sansa sat on your other side, beside her brother and two others you did not recognise. You grasped at something to say - something easy, and far removed from the terrors your families had inflicted on each other.

“I like your dress,” you said carefully, not daring to fully look into Sansa's face.

It was true, you did like her gown - dark blue and simple, with an intricately embroidered wolf just above her heart.

“Thank you. I made it myself a few years ago. I had too much on my hands to sew a completely new gown simply for this feast.”

“You enjoy making them yourself, I take it?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation going. “The last time I was here, you were so proud of what you made, it was all you could talk about for an entire course.”

“And all you could talk about was King's Landing, and how much I would like it there.”

Perhaps Sansa tried to start an argument, to find any excuse to convince her brother to break off the betrothal. Perhaps she wanted to guilt you into admitting fault for your family's actions. Or perhaps that was simply the only thing she remembered from that evening.

“I am sorry.” You stared at the rings on your fingers. “I should have warned you about Joffrey.”

You had been sent to Casterly Rock not long after the outbreak of the war - for safekeeping, so that the Baratheon crown could live on through you should disaster strike the rest of your family - but you had still witnessed the beginnings of your brother's cruelty towards Sansa.

“You couldn’t have known what he would do.”

“I grew up beside him. I knew him longer and better than most. What he did to you… I could have prevented it.”

“He would have punished you as well, had you tried.”

Jon had joined some of wildings further into the hall, and you could almost understand their words and cheers from your place at the main table, such was the volume they were speaking at. He looked comfortable with them.

“Your brother…” You hesitated. “What is he like?”

Your eyes stayed on him, even when Sansa eventually answered.

“He will not mistreat you, if that is what you fear.”

“No. I mean-” You chuckled half-heartedly. “That is all anyone tells me about him. He is good, he is kind, he is brave. It all sounds rather dull.”

“He was a bastard, then a brother of the Night's Watch. He still thinks he is undeserving of the crown, even though the Northerners have pronounced him their king twice now. He has already fought in more battles than most will in their entire lifetime. Such a thing is known to leave one scarred and withdrawn. Give him time, he will warm up to you eventually.”

Jon joined your side again after a while, with red cheeks and a small grin on his lips. Yet when he noticed your stare, he swallowed, shook his head slightly, and it had disappeared.

You almost wanted to tell him how cute it had looked.

“I am rather tired from the long ride,” you said instead. “Would it be terribly impolite by Northern customs to leave already?”

“No, not at all.” He stood up and offered you his arm. “Let me accompany you to your chambers.”

Conversations died when you passed.

The cold air hit you the moment you stepped out into the quiet of the night, and you could not stop the noticeable shiver running down your back, nor the slight shaking of your arms. You clenched your jaw and prepared yourself for an uncomfortable walk, when a cloak was suddenly laid around your shoulders.

Confused, you looked towards Jon.

“I apologise about the cold. I suppose it will take a while to fully get used to it.”

Then he realised he still had his hands laid on your arms, and he hastily dropped them, taking a step back for good measure.

You pulled the fabric tighter around yourself.

“Thank you, your grace.”

You did not touch each other again on the walk to your rooms, and you did not mind at all. Welcomed it, in fact. You would be forced to endure his hands soon enough, there was no reason to invite them sooner.

You thought about saying something once you reached your door - a thank, a question, an invitation to spend the following day with you. Yet all you did was hand him back his cloak, whisper a quick “Good Night”, and quickly close the door behind you.

Be gentle with her. She has gone through a lot.

Tyrion's words echoed in his mind as he made his way to your chambers.

Your distance at the feast last night had surely been noted, he knew it had. Certain Northern lords - Manderly, Umber - were already looking for any excuse to oppose this marriage, he could not provide them with more reasons. You two would be seen conversing happily, spending time together, kissing if necessary. They would not punish you for his misgivings.

He knocked on your door, waited, and assumed for a moment you would ignore him, when he suddenly heard steps. Slow, careful, yet still. His back straightened on its own, and then you stood before him.

A soft green dress draped your body. Simple, without much embroidery, jewels, frills, or lace. Just a lone necklace hung around your neck.

You looked… beautiful.

“Your Grace.” You quickly pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Is something the matter?”

“No, I-” The light caught in your hair. He cleared his throat. “I was planning to check on the castle, make sure everything is working as intended. Would you like to accompany me?”

Best make you believe you would not put unnecessary burdens on his shoulders by agreeing to this walk, but simply to join what he was already doing.

Still… Even despite his efforts, you seemed ready to decline. Your fingers tightening in your dress, the trembling of your lips, the terror in your eyes-

“Yes.”

You quickly had a cloak slung around your shoulders and your hand around his arm, and so you set off.

Jon knew, of course, that you had only agreed because you were aware of your situation, much like him, and that you needed to play the game in order to survive. Your mother had taught you much.

Your walk through the castle led you past the kitchens, the feast halls, the smithery, the stables, the sept, the glass gardens. He explained everything as well as he could - what lead where, who worked where, whom you should talk to when faced with a problem. All while staring ahead, seldom sending a gaze your way.

You listened, nodded, smiled. You curtsied when encountering ladies and servants alike, picked up a stray flower you found in one of the hallways. And yet you also rarely spoke a word. Just a question here and there, a greeting, a polite agreement. A pretty thing on his arm.

Perhaps you were hiding. Perhaps this was simply who you were.

You walked through a door and outside, ending up on the pathways surrounding the training yard.

Northmen and wildlings sparred side-by-side, laughing and joking despite their thousands of years of animosity. Some had said their blossoming friendship was due to him - the man who had died to bring innocents south of the Wall - but he knew they attributed far too much to him. Facing death itself was enough to unite even the greatest of foes.

“Are they all living at Winterfell?”

He shook his head, then remembered you likely weren't looking at him. “No, they are not. Most of them are lords and their entourages, who will leave after the wedding. The wildlings are visiting as well, they are merely here to strengthen our alliance.”

His eyes wandered towards you for a short moment, to glance at you, see if you might express anything but polite interest. And… yes, perhaps that was indeed a small smile on your lips, and a sparkle in your eyes as you watched the children chase each other with sticks and wooden swords.

“I remember the last time I was here,” you said, lost in thought. “My brothers sparred with yours. Tommen was still far too young, so his fighting was more mindless stumbling in a set of armour that didn't quite fit him.”

“Do you miss your siblings?”

You nodded.

You continued your walk around the castle until you ended up in front of your chamber again.

“Thank you for accompanying me,” he said.

“Thank you for letting me.”

Then the door was shut before him once again.

After an eternity of walking circles in your room, you had grabbed a blanket, a book, and hidden in a secluded spot in the glass gardens. Surrounded by flowers and vines that, if you squinted, reminded you at least a little of your home, you had finally felt at ease.

Walking around the castle the previous day had been gruelling. Everyone had stared, knowingly, judgingly, as if they blamed you for your family's crimes, for the dire state the North had been beaten into. And the worst thing was…

You didn't blame them.

Time passed in the safe space you had crafted for yourself, amidst the moondusts and dragon’s breaths and coldsnaps, lost in the words of your book.

Then steps drew near.

In your haste to jump off the cushioned bench, you threw over a flower pot, sending it tumbling to the ground. The bench almost tipped backwards, and you only narrowly kept it from crashing into the glass behind it.

No one could see you here. This was not your place, not your home, not yours to enjoy. You should have stayed locked away, deep inside the halls of Winterfell, with a dozen guards to line the way. Here there was no one. Just you. Alone.

If one of the lords found you here… You had seen their eyes the previous days, the glances and stares sent your way. Full of hatred. Lust. You knew them all - their meaning, their consequences. They would mean to punish you for what your family had done to them, and perhaps even find a way to stop this alliance and keep the king from wanting you. You needed to get away from here, back to your rooms, far away-

“Princess? Is everything alright?”

Jon stood amongst the plantlife, dressed in another set of black leathers. He looked down at you, concern etched across his face as he watched your hunched over form, kneeling in the dirt.

“Yes. Yes, everything is alright.” You stumbled over your words. “I- I apologise for this mess. I will clean it up right away and then-”

“Let me help you.”

His hands were calm, strong, cold as they brushed yours. He quickly had the flower pot - not broken, thank the gods - back on its pedestal, and helped you brush the dirt together.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

“You would not believe the amount of things I have almost destroyed in this castle.” His chuckle reverberated in your chest, the sound low yet warm and inviting, and something shifted inside you.

“I doubt anyone would have noticed. Winterfell is even more contorted than Casterly Rock.”

And then he laughed, and you wanted to bottle up the sound and keep it locked away close to your heart.

“Maybe you could show it to me one day. After you have gotten used to your new life.”

You knew you should agree with him, tell him he need not be worried, and that you would be the nice and pleasing wife he desired. Yet something about your current position - sitting on the ground so close next to each other, your fingers mere breaths apart, staring into his dark eyes - made you whisper, “I don’t know if I ever will.”

He cocked his head. “Why would you say that?”

“Just look at me. I don’t belong here - I don’t belong anywhere. Your lords know that, and you would be much more suited marrying one of their daughters. Not the child of a foreign tyrant.”

Jon looked at you, eyes fluttering across your face, your body, your dress, seemingly trying to find an answer to the questions mounting in his head. You turned your head away, yet he quickly caught your chin with his fingers, and forced you to meet his gaze again.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

His breath brushed across your cheek, his lips so close to yours you felt the heat radiating off them.

“After our wedding,” you whispered, “I want you to stop lying to me. I get enough of that pity from my uncle.”

And so you quickly stood up, and ran away.

You had stayed hidden in your room since your interaction the previous day. Or perhaps, simply stayed hidden from him.

He was slowly running short on ideas to make you warm up to him. Nothing, it seemed, that he said or did made you more comfortable around him, nothing caused you to open up to him, nothing led to you seeking him out.

Perhaps he should give up. Commit himself to a sad, lonely life, with an emotionless shell of a person beside him, until the cold finally returned to claim him once more. Perhaps it was what he deserved.

He sat up in his bed; slowly, breathing laboured, skin covered in sweat. The chamber was still wrapped in darkness, with only a sliver of the moon’s silver light falling past the drapes. He buried his face in his hands, then quickly stood up, slipped into a tunica and some boots, and disappeared into Winterfell’s deserted hallways.

No one was awake during this time of the night. The most he would ever encounter during his semi-regular walks around his castle was a stray rat, or a cat running after it.

Ghost had joined him at some point, trotting by his side like a white shadow, the fur cold and soft underneath his scarred hand. He was glad for his direwolf, glad for the quiet company, glad to not be alone in the darkness. Then he stepped on one of the walkways overlooking the main courtyard, and almost had his breath knocked out of him.

A soft breeze wafted through your hair, open for the very first time in his presence, the moonlight illuminating the strands and making them appear almost silver. Despite the freezing cold you wore no cloak, just a simple, dark blue dress that hugged your frame.

You looked… ethereal.

Your blue eyes settled onto him, and he nearly stumbled backwards.

“I- I apologise. I will leave-”

“No.” Your gaze settled on the yard beneath you once again. “It’s alright.”

He slowly, carefully walked towards you, yet made sure to stop a good distance away from you, and then followed your gaze into the abandoned courtyard. Usually brimming with life, now dark and empty.

“I apologise about my behaviour yesterday,” you almost said in a whisper. “You were merely trying to be nice towards your betrothed, and I should not have run away.”

“I understand why you did, and do not hold it over your head.” He buried his fingers into the frost-covered banister.

You stood there, in uncomfortable silence afterwards, neither knowing what to say, if to say anything.

“I suppose…” you said, then hesitated. “My mother sent me away and never came for me. Even as my siblings started dying, even after your brother had been killed, even after my uncles had been defeated, she left me at Casterly Rock, never sending a letter, never visiting. Then she crowned herself queen, and the only way I found out was because my uncle turned up after the war to tell me. And to tell me she had died, and that the Seven Kingdoms were no more.” She took a shaky breath. “I fear that if I trust someone again, they will do the same.”

He had had no idea- He had always thought you had hid in Casterly Rock, looking down upon them as they were slaughtered on battlefields. That you had been essentially held captive had never once crossed his mind as a possibility.

Be gentle with her. She has gone through a lot.

“I am not your mother. You will never experience anything like it again, I swear it.”

Ghost eventually left his side and took a few careful steps towards you, sniffing at your hand, bumping his nose into your arm. And even though Jon had seen you ride in on a horse, had seen your eyes, hard as ice, staring at anyone daring to get too close to you, it still took him by surprise when you did not move back in fear, instead slowly starting to let your fingers glide through his white fur. All while failing at hiding the smile gracing your lips.

He wished you would smile like this at him. Some day, perhaps.

“I remember them from my last visit,” you said. “Though this one has grown quite a lot during this time.”

“His name is Ghost.”

“Ghost.” You chuckled. “An apt name. And I think you agree as well.” You ruffled the direwolf’s fur.

“You changed as well. You grew taller, and your hair has gotten longer as well. Back then you looked just like your mother, but I can’t say you share much resemblance with her now.”

The words had tumbled out of him, and he regretted them as soon as he closed his mouth. What had gotten him to say all this?

Then, into the silence, you whispered, “I don’t remember you at all.”

Your smile had faded, replaced by the constant state of terrified impassiveness he had gotten so used to seeing on you.

“I do not blame you. I was a lowly bastard, and you part of the royal family. Our paths could have never crossed, even had we wanted to.”

“And yet you remember me.” You looked down into the courtyard. “Likely remember me walking out of that wheelhouse beside my mother, and smiling at your brother, and talking to your sister, and decorating myself with all that useless frivolity, still so deep in the belief that my life would have some meaning.”

“Then perhaps it is time you create those memories of me.”

Something that was far more beautiful than you trying to hide your smile was you trying to hide your grin. And perhaps, if the sun had been out during your conversation, he would have seen pink bloom on your cheeks.

All week, the castle had been busy preparing for the wedding. Your wedding. The one that would make you queen of a strange and alien kingdom.

You had stayed away, as well as you could - while you still could. After tomorrow, you would be expected to act as their queen, no matter how little you knew your people.

Pacing up and down your chambers had become something of a favourite pastime of yours. Not that you liked it, of course, but you did not dare step foot out of the door on your own, without one of the Starks to accompany you. Defend you against the disapproving stares.

A knock on your door.

You had expected everything, except for King Jon to stand on its other side, a wooden box and a book in his hands.

“May I come in?”

You could not quite forbid your betrothed from walking around his castle, so you stepped aside without a word and closed the thick wooden door behind him.

“I wanted to talk with you about tomorrow,” he said quickly. Either because he did not want to stay in your presence any longer than necessary, or because he was nervous.

You nodded, indicating to him to continue.

“There will not be a bedding ceremony. I have been to Northern weddings before, and approximately know when they happen. We will leave before then.”

You could barely comprehend his words. He could not truly mean-

“Why?”

“I- You will be my wife and queen, and I want my lords to respect you. I don't want their first real interaction with you to be… touching you inappropriately.”

He was seemingly embarrassed by his own words, and if you were not currently talking about the prospect of your wedding night, you might even say it was cute.

“I… thank you.” You tugged at the sleeves of your gown. “But I doubt it would change anything. I am an outsider, whether or not they undress me tomorrow will not change how they see me.”

He then, quite strangely, handed you the book he had been carrying. “But this might.”

Justice and Injustice in the North. You had been reading the tome in the glass gardens two days past, and had forgotten it there in your desperate attempt to escape Jon.

You looked up, and met his dark, endless eyes.

“You are learning about the North,” he said. “Not simply its people, but its laws and customs as well.”

“It's the least I can do.”

“See? Not even married to me and you are already taking your role as future queen of these lands seriously.”

Then he offered you the wooden box, opened the latch, and revealed a simple iron crown. Much like his own, yet this one had a small ruby etched into the front.

“You do not have to wear this tomorrow,” he said. “But you can, if you wish. I will force you to nothing.”

You nodded slightly, took the box, and carried it and the book towards one of the cupboards.

“I assume that will be all?”

You could not remain in the same room with him for any longer, could not stand to remain in vicinity to this man who had been treating you so kindly at no benefit to himself.

“Actually… There is one more thing.”

Jon gently turned you towards him, laying his fingers underneath your chin to urge you to meet his eyes. The moonlight fell through the window beside you, bathing him into a soft, silver light that illuminated his black curls.

“We will be watched for the rest of our lives. Nothing will remain secret, each of our actions needing to ensure prosperity for the North and all who live here. I am certain that tomorrow, even if we manage to escape the ceremony, someone will ensure we have consummated our union. So, if you are willing, I want this one, simple thing to be just ours.”

His lips had gotten so close to yours, a mere hair's breadth apart, and you could once again feel the immense heat radiating off it.

You could refuse, you knew. If you told him no, he would accept your answer, and leave. Yet his words echoed inside you, and you knew them to be true.

And so, instead of whispering that dreaded word, you simply closed the space between you, and sealed your lips in a kiss.

A week ago, Jon would have never thought he would feel so at ease standing before the heart tree in Winterfell's godswood, you before him in a blinding white gown and with the iron crown of winter upon your hair, speaking the vows that would bind you. But he was glad the day had come. And he was glad you were the woman he would share eternity with.

The ceremony, the brief kiss, and the feast passed by him in a breeze, his wife's hand in his the only thing grounding him.

His wife.

He would need some time to get used to that word.

You looked even more radiant than you had the previous night, cloaked in the silver light filling your room, with red lips swollen from your kiss. He was barely able to keep his eyes off you.

(A part of him desperately hoped his lords noticed.)

And then the moment came. The guests in the feast hall either too distracted or too drunk to pay the pair of you any real mind, so his fingers tightened around yours, and he pulled you upward, through the servant's entrance behind the high table, and down Winterfell's corridors.

His quick steps had turned into a run at some point, and your giggles echoed off the stone walls.

Then you entered his chambers, and you went quiet.

“I-” He swallowed. “I know what I said yesterday, but we do not have to do this today if you do not want to. There is no pressure on us to-”

“No. Let us get through this.”

You took off your crown and cloak, laid both of them on a chair, and then started unlacing your dress. Eyes lowered, half-turned away from him.

Carefully, he stepped up towards you, and laid his hands on yours. And then, when you looked up and met his gaze, eyes sparkling in the fire of the candles around you, he laid his lips on yours without hesitation.

Your previous two kisses - one in your chambers, one at the ceremony earlier in the evening - had been chaste. Short and sweet, yes, but over far too quickly, and without ever providing him with the opportunity to feel you. Now he allowed himself to move deeper, to touch your body, explore your mouth with his, trace the lines of your dress, hear your pretty gasps. And you accepted. Melted into him, almost.

Until he touched the laces at your back.

He pulled back, heart beating in his chest so loudly he feared you might hear.

“If you wish to stop at any point…”

You nodded. “I know.”

To alleviate at least some of your fears, he started undressing, willing to bare himself and that what he feared most to stop your trembling hands. And they did, yet only once he had gotten rid of his blouse.

You stared at the scars on his chest. Carefully, you lifted a hand and let it hover above them. He made no move to stop you, only watching your confused eyes as your fingers traced his skin.

(He did not look down. Would not dare.)

“What-” Your voice broke. “What happened?”

“I was betrayed. They’re all dead now.”

He left it at that, and you did not inquire any further.

Eventually, even your last clothes fell to the ground, your lips once again locked into a kiss as he picked you up and carried you to the bed.

His hands explored your body slowly, gliding across your breasts, your stomach, your legs. And once you stopped twitching away, he let his mouth follow that same path. First kissing your breasts, then your stomach, then your legs, and then your core.

He listened to your gasps and your moans to find out what you liked, and what you loved. Your body reacted, as if on its own, to every single one of his touches, to the movements of his tongue, the crooking of his fingers, and when you finally peaked, he took everything you offered him.

Then he wandered upwards again, sealing your lips in a kiss. Your fingers got tangled up in his hair, pulls and tugs eliciting groans from his mouth that you swallowed as soon as they spilled across his lips.

He entered you as gently as he could, stopping shortly when you buried your nails into his shoulder. Once your hips sat flush against each other, and he had looked into your eyes, he started moving. Your back arched at his thrusts, and you swung your leg around his waist to encourage him to speed up. He followed your commands without hesitation.

You peaked again, and he followed shortly afterwards, spilling inside of you and sealing your union.

You laid in his bed afterwards, tangled up, pressed against each other, your heartbeats echoing the other, yearning to beat in tandem.

He would be alright. Perhaps you would never love each other, but you would be friends, and he decided that ruling side by side with someone he trusted was everything he needed.

#jon snow #jon snow x reader #jon snow x you #jon snow x y/n #asoiaf #game of thrones #asoiaf fanfic #game of thrones fanfic #fic: stars above songs below

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a-bottle-of-tyelenol · 2 days ago

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regressor athena headcanons !!

— art by ximena natzel —

— request by @ducydoo2000 —

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

🦋 - a non-verbal regressor; the most you will ever get out of her is bird-like chirps and hums. her bird instincts and mannerisms come out a lot when she’s small (which is really saying something considering she always acts fairly inhuman). gods are fairly odd as children with their magic manifesting in strange behaviors and athena never technically was a child, so it all comes out now with ruffled feathers and stilted movements.

🦋 - she’s extremely inquisitive and her favorite activity while regressed is listening to someone talk about something they’re very knowledgeable about. she usually already knows a lot about whatever the topic is, but she’s always very pleased to remind herself and, sometimes, she does actually learn something new and she always celebrates with happy flaps (I usually write her as the mother of autism, hence the stims, but also imagine an excited baby bird hopping around with their wings flapping and that’s what I’m referencing).

🦋 - she oftentimes elects to ignore the fact that she regresses at all when she’s out of headspace and pretends that it’s not a thing. she loathes the inability to control herself and finds the emotions that regression forces upon her to be very overwhelming. she’s far more sensitive and in tune with her emotions when small, almost as if whatever wall between her brain and her heart comes down, and it leads to her being very expressive. it also leads to her crying every time she slips into her headspace because the sudden shift is jarring.

🦋 - part of the reason she regresses is because of how much pressure she puts on herself and the extremely high expectations she has for everyone and everything. being free of those things while small is easily her favorite part of regression. the part she hates the most, though, is the crushing guilt that she uses her headspace to process. sometimes her time spent regressed (because she meticulously plans out her sessions and routines) just has her pressed up against odysseus while she cries about how awful everything feels. odysseus’ relationship with athena is really complicated and he has a lot of mixed feelings about it, but he never shows that when she’s small and just lets her feel her feelings while reassuring her that everything is okay (telemachus is usually better at it, though, because ody is a little jaded. athena doesn’t really care. she’s just glad he doesn’t completely reject her).

🦋 - she’s kind of a bratty little. not being able to talk doesn’t change her attitude problems and athena hates being told what to do. even when small, she finds rules to be restricting and you’d be hard pressed to find one she agrees with. this is especially true if her caregiver is human (like the time odysseus told her that she couldn’t play with her spear because it’s dangerous and all it got him was her tail feathers flared and a baby arguing with him using bird noises), but it’s equally true with god caregivers as well. adult athena can see logic and understand why a rule is put into place, but baby athena views rules as an attack on her and her intelliegence.

🦋 - she’s very calculated in her older headspace, with each move she makes methodical. unlike her regular movements, which are overly proper and awkward/clunky, she is often described as graceful in fights, smoothly traveling the battlefield as if it were her natural habitat. small athena has no such luck on either front. when regressed, athena is very clumsy, unable to tell how big she physically is, and she finds controlling her long limbs to be difficult. as such, it’s actually very common for her to remain in her owl form when she’s regressed (which has her being just as clumsy, by the way. her flying is rough and she often just hangs out on someone’s shoulder or head instead). she once tried disguising herself as a young human, but she didn’t like it. she isn’t human and she’s never been an actual child so becoming both is actually very disorienting and uncomfortable.

#my post #my headcanons #epic #agere #epic agere #epic the musical #age regression #epic the musical agere #epic athena #agere headcanons #agere fandom #agere community

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trashno0dle · 3 days ago

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between rage and serenity // an xmen au

summary:

All along Erik had been right. Peace, never really was an option. Nor had it ever been part of the question. Charles had just been far too blind, too ignorant to see the truth of that simple fact. So, a voice in the back of his mind murmurs, what are you going to do about it? ~~~ The events of Cuba happen very differently and Charles is forced to live with the aftermath. As he starts to spiral, losing himself in his grief and rage, he makes a vow on Erik's memory that he will create the world that he had wanted for mutants, no matter who or what may stand in his path. Meanwhile, Raven, thinking about the different future she could've had, slowly but surely ends up working through her own pain thanks to the aid of her loved ones. All while she's forced to watch the man she grew up with, her very own brother, lose himself in his own in the process.

snippet from the newest chapter (ch4) below the cut !!

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Once, Charles was a patient man, he could withstand the time it took for certain things to unfold, understanding of the time required to complete such a task like this. Now, however, he’s far from patient. Time isn’t on their side, there very well could be some unforeseen threat lurking around the corner, poised and ready to strike at them at their most vulnerable. He knows how the minds of men work now, he’s spent enough time thinking over each sickening thought overheard in their heads. They’ll wait for the perfect opportunity, use their grief against them and slaughter them like animals. These thoughts seem less like his own and more like Erik’s, he’d been right to distrust the humans, correct in his way of thinking, Charles should’ve listened when he had the chance.

It’s been only a night since his conversation with Hank and waiting isn’t getting any easier, nor is waking up, he finds. How is it that he’s become so horribly dependent on such a foul liquid to unfocus his mind in such a short amount of time? He figures, maybe it’s because he was slightly dependent to begin with, he recalled his early twenties in a sort of bliss, he’d been quite the heavy drinker, he supposed he’d just fallen back into old bad habits. Though worse, quite worse this time around. Raven had been the one to give him a rather harsh wake up call both times things had reached a certain point. There aren’t words to describe just how grateful he is to her for that.

But he hates it, oh he hates being awake, forced to simply exist in a world without him. It’s that unbearable ache in his chest, the chasm in his very soul where Erik’s had resided, both so impossibly intertwined and suddenly everything was ripped away all in an instant. It leaves him bleeding on the scorching sand, choking beneath the thunderous waves of the ocean and swept away from the shore by the relentless tide. Charles curses himself for even wishing for death, as much as he so desperately longs for the silence it would bring, what would Erik think of him if he were to end his own life without seeking the revenge he so desired. It’s that thrill, the rush, the need to avenge his dear one that keeps him going.

In truth, it scares him, if only a little. The idea that he can lose so much of himself in his grief, all his anger. Erik had already taken the majority of his soul with him when he'd been slaughtered, now all that's left is a few shattered pieces that are impossible to fit together, not without the missing remnants which are now lost for good. He's broken, impossibly so, detached from himself in a way that makes it difficult to focus on anything except the few driving forces left in his life, keeping him going and awake through all this pain.

He's barely coherent, he wants nothing more than to fall into a dreamless sleep, preferably one which he'll never wake from. Unfortunately, the universe is never so kind to him, it took Erik away from him after all. No, not even fate could be so cruel. Humanity, it was humanity that lashed out in their fear and took the person who he loved so completely, ripped him from his life and continued to taunt him every moment. Asleep, awake, he's always reliving the same nightmare of that cursed beach and a sight he'll never be able to unsee for as long as he lives.

A silent shot. The agonizing pull of Erik’s mind being torn, their connection shattered in one instant. Red, redredredred—

#if this interests you pls do check it out. to put it simply its an au where erik was killed on cuba #LOTS to come. mostly charles going off the deep end <3 #art by me also hehe #xmen #xmen fic #xmen fanart #marvel #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #cherik #raven darkholme #mystique #hank mccoy #noodlesfics #noodles art

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no-phrogs-in-hats · 7 hours ago

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Death and the Fool

Chapter 2: The Ace of Pentacles--Upright

Agatha Harkness x fem!reader

Summary: Where the personification of Life believes she has no chance with Agatha Harkness after Death gets to her first

Spotify playlist here

Chapter 1

Taglist: @hannah-0730 @loveshineslikethesky

“The Ace of Pentacles–Upright: Opportunity, prosperity, new adventures.”

__________

October 2026

The first thought that comes to your mind is not good.

The house that stands in front of you looks just shy of completely mangled. The door has been ripped off its hinges, splintered into a thousand pieces. Outside, the flower box holds crushed shrubbery and chrysanthemums and the roof drain pipe is half way from completely falling off.

You take a few measured steps forward and notice the mailbox is overflowing with mail. You sigh, roll your eyes, and continue towards the house.

Stepping through the door, you’re met with piles of splintered wood, and as you try to watch your footing, your eyes lock onto something familiar. Your heart lurches when your fingers touch it. The Triple Goddess pendant was all too familiar. You had known Agatha for over 300 years and she never once went anywhere without it.

You slip your nail beneath the clasp of the pendant. Inside is another familiar sight and you smile bitterly at the piece of dark hair before closing it again and dropping it in your pocket.

You can't see her, but Agatha’s voice is clear and distinct, and your chest warms hearing it for the first time in decades.

“Fine, I’m driving.”

There’s no chance of reacting when she rounds the corner as soon as the words escape her mouth.

You’re both frozen, staring each other down, and the kid behind her looks between yourself and Agatha.

“Hi,” he smiles, attempting to hop towards you. When he makes eye contact, something feels off about him. You recognize every single soul that walks the Earth. You create them from nothing, yet form them into everything. But this one, you don’t recognize.

“I’m–” His mouth is forced shut and it looks almost as if his own skin is stretched over his lips. When a black squiggle paints itself over where his lips would be, you narrow your eyes at him.

Agatha reaches for a pair of scissors and cuts the rope from around the boy’s wrists, handing them to him, “Cut the rest of yourself free,” she sneers, “and go outside, you’re driving.”

He struggles to hop between the two of you, stumbling briefly on the wood chips, but managing to catch himself before he leaves for the grassy front yard.

“He has a sigil,” you point out, watching him carefully.

“Yep. I’ve been calling him ‘Teen’,” she says. “He’s pretty insistent on not being a kid.”

You turn your head to look back at her. “Rio said she ‘stopped by’.” You pause and look around at all the damage in the house–broken glass and china in the kitchen and more concerningly, blood on the floor. “It seems she left out some parts of her story.”

Agatha purses her lips, “Like trying to kill me?”

“Oh, I’m sure you enjoyed that, Aggie,” you sigh, leaning against the wall. “You were never one to shy away from a fight.”

Agatha’s stiff and cold demeanor didn’t falter, even at the nickname. “Why are you here?” she asks.

She’s so different from the Agatha you originally knew. The Agatha that would laugh at the stupidest jokes you’d tell her. The Agatha that would climb up a tree to scare you and Rio and laugh with that mischievous glint in her eye. The Agatha that would sing lullabies.

Oh, how you miss the Sun.

“Just checking in,” you shrug. “Where are you driving to?”

“The last time I saw you–”

“You told me I’m too pure,” you butt in, remembering the memory that you aren’t too fond of. “You told me that I’d be corrupted by your ways if I did not leave. But I’ll tell you the same thing I told you that night, Aggie–Unlike Rio, I can find any soul, anywhere, at any time without her necessary process. No amount of dark magic can hide you from me, Agatha, and you cannot corrupt me. You cannot corrupt Life.”

She’s quiet for some before she glances at Teen, who sits on the grass, clearly distracted by his phone. Agatha leans in closely, lowering her voice, “We’re walking the Road.”

You pull back, searching her eyes for any sign of farce, “You said you would stop with the Road bullshit, Agatha. What is he, sixteen?”

“Well that was before Wanda Maximoff drained me of everything and stole the Darkhold…besides, I’m just having him drive me around collecting witches for the coven,” she shrugs. Agatha grins as she watches you sigh, “Why don’t you join us, hon?”

“Excuse me?”

Agatha takes a pair of sunglasses and cleans them off with her shawl before slipping them over her eyes and smiling at you. “You’ll be here with Rio to collect their souls after I drain them anyway. Why don’t you have a bit of fun?”

You want to say no. You want to say no so badly, but you don’t. Instead, you groan. “Fine, but I’m not having that kid drive me around. I’ll stay here and…clean up.”

“Sounds good, doll,” she smiles–and, oh, how you love when she smiles, especially when it has that mischievous undertone. Agatha steps over pieces of the door and exits through the doorway. “We’ll be back soon!”

When the pair of them leave you’re left to your own devices. You look around the entire first floor, ending in the kitchen. You let out an exasperated sigh, Rio really did a number on this place.

By the time you finish cleaning the house, it’s three o’clock and Agatha and Teen still aren’t back. You aren’t usually the type to snoop around but you’re so curious as to how Agatha’s been living the last few years.

In the room off the left of the foyer is the sitting room Agatha came out of. Afternoon light creeps in through the curtains but the lamps provide a warm ambience as you take a lap around the room.

You don’t recognize a single person in the framed pictures–there’s a bearded man with an older woman who looks to be his mother, a picture of three women, and a bigger picture with a huge group of people all wearing shirts that read “Bohner Family Reunion”.

There are collections of records and Blu-Ray discs from the previous owner and you rifle through them–a colossal amount of classic rock and movies that you know a guy would try to man-splain to you when you tell him that you ��just don’t get it”.

On the partition wall separating the sitting room from the dining room, there are at least thirty pictures and pieces of paper covered in red ink. Upon further inspection, the pictures are nothing but daisies and patches of grass, and the ink on the papers are just random letters and scribbled lines. You think back to your conversation with Rio the previous night.

“She’s gone all true crime and thinks she’s trying to solve a murder. It’s kind of funny actually, I’ve been playing along.”

When you go upstairs that’s when you see the little touches of the real Agatha. The door to her bedroom is open and you amble in. Her bed is unmade and you’re not one bit surprised after having asked her decades ago why she doesn’t make it.

“I’m gonna be sleeping in it again tonight, why the hell would I go through all that effort just to mess it up again?” she had replied.

On her nightstand is a ceramic bunny figurine. Closer to the bed is an empty wine glass with the smallest bit of dried red at the bottom, and beside that is a bottle of ibuprofen and a half-way read through book.

In her closet are all different decades of clothing–50’s, 60’s, 70’s, 80’s, 90’s, and the 2000’s. You find leg warmers and laugh to yourself, imagining Agatha Harkness wearing these brightly colored monstrosities over whatever workout fit she was wearing. Your favorite, however, is the 50’s and 60’s section. You can remember those years so vividly, going to diners with her and drive-in movies after she finished “walking the Road” again.

After closing the closet your attention is pulled to a chair across the room. You walk over to it and see there’s a pair of black boots, a folded white blouse with purple slacks, and a teal trench coat hanging over the back of the chair. On top of the neatly folded blouse is a small envelope with Rio’s familiar handwriting, reading, Agatha.

The sound of Agatha’s voice reaches your ears. You look at the clock and it’s almost four. You’re able to hear her voice clearly, snapping back a snarky remark when Teen asks her where she’s going.

She’s in the doorway of her room quicker than you realize and when you turn around she has that sly smile that makes you weak in the knees each time.

“The house looks good,” Agatha says, tossing her shawl and hat on the bed.

“Thanks, who did you steal it from?” you tease.

“I don’t know,” she huffs. “Some guy named Ralph…or Randall? Robert? I don’t know. I–What the hell is that?”

She walks quickly over to where you are and snatches the note from the folded clothes. After tearing it open, she scans the lines and rolls her eyes, balling the paper up and throwing it away in the bathroom.

“She does know your style!” you chuckle. You take the clothes from the chair and bring them to her, smiling softly when she glares at them. “Just put them on, Aggie. You want to look good when “walking the Witches’ Road”, don’t you?”

She looks at you, fighting herself before sighing, completely defeated. “Fine. But I’m not going to like it.”

“I don’t expect you to,” you smile, chuckling as she shuts the door in your face.

You have to remind yourself to breathe when Agatha steps out of the bathroom. She could wear a potato sack, a garbage bag, and she’d still be the most beautiful woman you’ve ever laid eyes on.

“Right,” she huffs, looking at herself in a full length mirror. “How do I look?”

You could answer in a million ways. You could tell her that the way she has her hair pinned up makes you want to place a thousand kisses over the exposed skin. You could tell her that she looks so good you want to rip the blouse she’s wearing open and have her take you right there. That the way her hands adjust the collar of the jacket makes unspeakable thoughts fill your mind.

But you don’t say that.

“Good!” you say.

She looks at you through the mirror, grins, and turns around. “Good?”

“Amazing!” you correct yourself.

“Amazing?” she repeats. “Hm…Thank you.”

You take a deep breath and let it out. “You’re missing something, though.”

Under the curious eye of Agatha, you step closer to her and reach into your pocket. When you grasp the pendant of the necklace and pull it out she visibly tenses. But you don’t acknowledge it. Instead, you move closer and reach around her neck, clasping it in place and adjusting it to lay beneath the collar of her blouse. Your fingers straighten out the pendant before pulling away.

It’s quiet.

Your eyes meet and you can see something in her soften.

“Where did you find it?” Agatha asks quietly.

“Amidst the pile of door that Rio left behind,” you answer, letting out a quiet hum. “You’re not you without it and I know how much it means to you.”

“Is his–”

“Yes,” you cut in. “It’s still in there.”

She gives you a subtle nod. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

“You’re welcome,” you whisper, and you can almost swear you saw her eyes glance down at your lips. “You should probably get downstairs. Who knows what Teen is getting up to?”

Agatha scoffs, “Not much probably. Teenagers these days are too soft.”

Downstairs, you see Teen, who has set out what he calls “Pre-Road appetizers”. Over the mantel, he’s taped up a sign that reads “Welcome Coven”.

“I think it’s cute,” you shrug, watching as Agatha tears it down and huffs.

“No, leave it up,” a voice behind you says. “Really sets the mood.”

Teen breaks out into a smile and beckons her in. “Please, come in! Right, Agatha?”

“I don’t care, I mean whatever…” she mutters. Agatha seems mildly annoyed at this situation and you’re finding it hard to reserve a smile.

When Teen offers the new witch a “pre-Road appetizer”, she declines just to be overshadowed by another woman behind her.

“I don’t mind a lapsed expiration date,” she chirps, taking a bite of the expired granola bar. She pauses as she looks at the witch beside her, “High Priestess.”

“Jennifer Kale, potions,” she says.

“Lilia Calderu, divination,” the second one says. She narrows her eyes. “You’re bound.”

“And you need a chemical peel,” Jen retorts, much to Lilia’s dismay.

Behind them, a third woman appears and sighs. “This is never going to work. Your front door is missing.”

“Alice!” Teen exclaims with a bright smile. “How did you find us?”

“I’m an ex-cop,” she shrugs. “That’s gonna be my answer to a lot of questions.”

Impatient, and completely over the introductions, Agatha sighs loudly and claps her hands. “Okay!” she chirps. “We’ve got everyone! Let’s go!”

“Um, what about the green witch?” Jennifer asks.

Agatha scoffs. “Oh, we don’t need one of those! Let’s g–”

“Yes, we do!” Lilia insists.

“Green magic is arguably the most important of the skill sets needed for the road,” Jen says.

After more bickering, Agatha finally relents and leaves the house to retrieve the “green witch”. An awkward silence falls over the room as you all wait for her to come back, and it felt longer than it actually was.

“Okay!” Agatha cheers. “I’ve got our green witch! This is Mrs. Hart.”

A small woman stands beside Agatha, smiling as she greets everyone. “Oh, actually, it’s Sharon!”

You can see Agatha becoming visibly frustrated at the revelry, but she hides it (and not well) with an overly cheery smile. “Alright, let’s go!”

You and Agatha stand together with Teen in between you. You watch as the coven takes in their surroundings. Lilia strolls around, nosing around in the boxes on the shelves while Sharon, Jennifer, and Alice stand there awkwardly.

“Do you think we’ll need another car?” Teen asks. “I don’t think everyone will fit in mine.”

Agatha sighs, “You don’t drive to the Road, Teen. The Road is conjured. In fact, why don’t you go upstairs.” She turns him around and despite his protests, keeps pushing him toward the stairs. “Yeah, let’s getcha up there. Let the adults handle this.”

When he leaves the basement, Agatha turns to you, “Go with him. Make sure he doesn’t come down here.”

The sun is almost completely set when you and Teen make it upstairs. The dim lighting leaves an eerie glow around the house and it’s almost unsettling as you watch Teen explore the living room. When he gasps and picks up Agatha’s rabbit, there’s a twinge in your chest and it feels like you’re seeing Nicky for the first time again.

But your thoughts are interrupted when Teen drops the rabbit and slowly walks outside. You follow closely behind him, “What are y–shit.”

Agatha had made sure your priority was keeping him from going back down into the basement, but that priority had changed. Now, as you stare face to face with the Salem Seven, your priority has changed: protect Teen and make sure they never reach Agatha.

You pull Teen back, “Get inside, now!”

You can hear the faint sound of the ballad below the floorboards as you cast a protection spell over the vacant doorway in an attempt to hold them off. Teen pulls the nearest couch over and blocks the entrance. He moves to another room and it’s quiet–and you know that means nothing good.

Teen’s scream from the other room makes you react before you can even think. You run to him, pulling him behind you just before one of the Seven can reach him. You cast another spell, sending one of them flying into the wall before you turn and run to find Teen.

You can hear shouting below you and just like that, it stops. You know what that means. This wasn’t the first time you’ve witnessed it.

Teen’s screaming echoes through the house and you can hear him running towards the basement. “Agatha!” he shrieks. “Agatha!”

You run after him, just on his tail as he makes it to the basement. “Teen! Wait!”

“Is this the Road?” you hear him shout. “Is this the Road, because we should really get going!”

And now you’re nothing but confused.

Is this the Road?

The Road? “The Road” should be three dead witches and Agatha’s neighbor.

And then you reach the bottom of the stairs.

You pause and stare at Agatha. The air feels electric and the very thought of the Salem Seven leaves your mind, because when you look up from the hexagon door, your eyes meet and you both share the same questions:

Where did that come from? And why is it here?

#agatha all along #kathryn hahn #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #lilia calderu #jennifer kale #alice wu gulliver #billy maximoff

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starlene · 3 days ago

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Anne of the Island Book Club: Chapter 8

Reading and re-reading this book at the tender age of nine gave me a warped view of how big of a problem receiving unwanted awkward marriage proposals would turn out to be once I turned 18.

I feel a bit sad for Jane – though they're friends, Anne clearly thinks she's a boring person. Wonder if Jane has any idea that Anne feels that way about her? I think it's very realistic, sometimes you find yourself being friends with someone even though you don't really click with them... but for Jane's sake, I wish that later on, she'll find a nice sewing club full of other boring girls, where they'll compare how many yards of lace each of them has crocheted and share all their boring confidences with each other.

There is something almost Jane Austen-esque in the proposal, with Billy coming into his fortune and deciding to propose, Jane resenting Anne for being an adopted orphan who dares to refuse one of the Avonlea Andrews (which is a mean thought to have about your friend, so who knows, maybe Jane has indeed noticed that Anne finds her boring...), and then Billy immediately transferring his attachment to Nettie Blewett. I feel like Billy Andrews would vibe with Mr. Collins's list of reasons for proposing to Elizabeth Bennet, should he ever read Pride and Prejudice.

Translation note: The Finnish translation turns the last sentence of the chapter – "Would the painful process go on until everything became prosaic and hum-drum?" – into "Would the process go on until everything around her was broken into thousands of pieces?", which is a decidedly more dramatic sentiment than the original. That choice of words definitely made receiving a ridiculous proposal feel extra catastrophic to little nine-year-old me!

#Anne of the Island Book Club

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trollhunted · 3 days ago

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Oh boy, now that I'm done with the rewatch it's time to air out some of the grievances I have with the writing choices made regarding the antagonists...

Starting off a little more positive – Merlin's portrayal worked fairly well overall as this arrogant manipulative old jerk of a wizard, who may have noble goals but achieves them via not so honorable methods in the name of the greater good.

It was a pretty good bait-and-switch with the way the show had built up this image of the mysterious and benevolent mage, but left enough hints to his true character via little details that quickly turn sour in hindsight once you've actually met him. He's not a villain, but they did make him a decent morally gray character in the few episodes he's around.

However, I think he should've been held more accountable for his actions and behavior, especially when his grand plan doesn't work out because he was too wrapped up in his own head to see the truth.

That leads me to Morgana, the big evil "mastermind" of the show. I have to say, I love how utterly unhinged they made her in the first half of season 3, though she loses some of that by the end of it. I don't really have many complaints about her as a villain, but rather like to nitpick aspects surrounding her character and some missed potential.

Design-wise I find her a little lackluster as someone called "the Eldritch Queen" and while it definitely was a fun idea to contrast Merlin's dark armor with all that gold, I believe they missed the mark a little. They should've gone a step further and contrasted the design even more by giving it a creepy and organic direction. Her "armor" could've been more insectoid and reminiscent of bones or dead wood.

Also, a small thing that always bothers me are the green accents on her, when that was being established as Merlin's color. It does connect them visually in a way, but mostly just feels out of place to me. Now, about that missed potential...

As a queen of shadows, I would've liked if they'd played up her insidious nature a little more. As Claire, instead of immediately trying (and badly failing) to kill the Trollhunter, they should've dragged out the possession a little. She could've used this position to destroy the team from within, test their limits, tear them apart to weaken their will, only to have it all backfire with how much they trust and care for each other. It would've paralleled Angor's approach, because considering his background, he must've picked up these methods from someone, no?

Another writing point that bothers me is her imprisonment. No matter how you look at it, sealing an ancient evil sorceress inside (or even near) the heartstone – a MAJOR source of pure energy – just sounds like an all around bad idea. Wouldn't it make sense for her to feed on that energy? And even if not that, shouldn't you be worried about her corrupting it??

I get that from an animation standpoint it's an extremely convenient way to have everything happening in one place, so you don't actually have to set up so many new assets, but man... it's just kind of stupid lol.

Honestly the way I would've rationalized this whole deal is: instead of having her sealed up in Arcadia Oaks, California of all places (why did they even end up there?) she could've been imprisoned within the previous Trollmarket in europe. Her and Gunmar have tried to bring about the Eternal Night before and almost succeeded, which led to the battle of Killahead, where both were sealed away.

Imagine Gunmar and his forces had taken the old Trollmarket and used its heartstone for that spell, draining it in the process. Although they were stopped and defeated, Trollmarket was destroyed and their rock of sustenance dead, which would prompt the trolls to leave and seek a new home across the globe.

Merlin could've trapped Morgana in the empty heartstone as a way to contain her powers, using the last of his magic. Maybe the reason he was so sure she would be weak and easy to vanquish after her imprisonment is because he had intended to slowly syphon her energy to empower himself and never considered that she would figure out how to reverse the spell to drain him instead.

And to add some flavor to this location, Morgana's presence could've twisted the old Trollmarket into something eery and barely recognizable, giving others reason to avoid this place. It could've served to show the heroes what may become of their beloved Trollmarket if Gunmar wins, given them more incentive to fight for what they have.

That's just an idea though.

Angor Rot was always a big pot of missed potential to me and his return in season 3 just ended up feeling, well, hollow lol. He was introduced as a great antagonist but in my honest opinion kinda fell off the moment they destroyed his soul and just turned him into an angry beast. Besides the overall bad taste it leaves behind, we really didn't need a Bular 2. And it's a little annoying they somewhat continued with that direction even when he was revived and supposedly got his soul back.

I like that they cared enough to dig a little into his conflicting emotions given his history & enslavement, but these moments should've been brought up in the climax of the first season. He should've regained his soul back then and suddenly be forced to reconcile with the atrocities committed in the name of his mistress. His revenge on Strickler should've conflicted with his newly regained conscience...

And, oh man, Strickler is a bit of an annoying case. It's kind of absurd to me that they would choose to give this man an easy "redemption" while tossing around Angor's corpse like that.

Angor Rot literally had his soul and autonomy taken from him and while these actions definitely twisted him throughout the ages, at the end of the day it was never his choice. Strickler was in a somewhat similar situation as a changeling made to serve Gunmar, but the major difference is that he did have a choice. Multiple even.

Even in his predicament, Angor chose to offer the Trollhunter a deal to free both of them of Strickler's control. Whether he actually would've honored that deal is hard to say, but I think even if he'd betrayed Jim's trust, it would've made for a good opportunity to speak of who he used to be and what he's become, and have his first real choice in centuries be to spare them.

Strickler on the other hand is far more vile and self-serving at his core. At first you could argue that it's mostly the (very real) threat of Bular breathing down his neck that pushes him to harm Jim despite his soft spot for the kid. But when both Bular and Gunmar are out of the picture, instead of using this freedom constructively, he doubles down on killing the Trollhunter while finding every opportunity to get under his skin.

This man literally chooses to continue beefing with a teenager and don't get me wrong, I love it. Comedy aside, it is genuinely a fun exploration of his character and what makes him work as a complex personal antagonist. But the fun quickly stops when they try to rush him into a lackluster "redemption arc" to get him on the main team.

I'm aware that tons of people love the stricklake pairing and "lady x monster man" is very much a del Toro staple, but I really don't think Strickler should've been "redeemed" given everything he did, there should've been FAR more serious repercussions. It would've made more sense to me to put him in a "reluctant, not entirely trustworthy, sort-of-ally" position than suddenly have him be one of the Good Guys because... romance?

Not to mention the quality of their writing and characterization took quite a dip to mend their relationship and make said last minute romance happen. The drama surrounding it was cheesed up to such a degree it felt like they were putting on a play and didn't tell anyone.

Nomura's turnaround makes perfect sense narratively speaking because she was a straight-forward, impersonal antagonist, who only began to sympathize with the enemy when they were forced into the same position and she had nothing left to lose. She probably gave Jim a few nightmares, but the Lakes don't have anywhere near the number of reasons to hate her as they should with Strickler.

Oh and on the topic of changelings, let's get to the Janus Order. In my honest opinion, I think the Order was an overall waste. What made the changelings fun to me was precisely how they jumped between playing human and the cruel brutality of their monstrous nature. They weren't really a blend of these two worlds, but rather just putting on an act.

That's what made examples like Strickler, Nomura, and NotEnrique emotionally toeing the line of what it means to be human so interesting. Because they aren't human, but have learned to love the world they live in. And it's also what would've made Jim's transformation so strange/special, because he actually would've embodied joining those worlds.

The Janus Order both visually and narratively throws a wrench into that for no reason. (And don't get me started on the whole "evil, politically powerful organization secretly controlling the world" deal..........)

The way I could actually see a point to that direction, is if it had been a relatively inconsequential side-plot where the Janus Order is more like a small-scale cult of humans or even low-grade sorcerers worshipping the Pale Lady. It could've been a one or two episode issue that would've mainly served to build up some lore & foreshadowing surrounding Morgana, before she would've made her big entrance in the third season.

Ah... and even Gunmar could've been handled much better in the later seasons. Bular isn't a perfect character, but he serves his purpose as the introductory villain fairly well and for a kids show like that, it's a sensible execution.

Gunmar's character started out very strong – as the presumed endboss, they combined Bular's intimidation factor and Strickler's conniving nature with him and added some class as a millennia old monster warlord. It works fantastically. While that image falls a little here and there, his portrayal in the Darklands still makes sense as someone who seemingly lost all hope and resigned himself to his eternal prison... and even then he displayed a malicious sort of patience by wanting to break Jim's spirit instead of simply killing him.

So for that to quickly turn into an impatient old man, who just barks out threats and orders and blindly follows whatever anyone tells him the moment he's on the surface... it, well, is pretty disappointing. It's understandable for Bular, the younger and less experienced son, to be rash and impatient, but a warlord? That's a position that requires a ton of patience and tactical prowess.

I really wish they would've kept the way he was presented in the first season and give us this big villain who's not only physically scary, but observational and dedicated enough to send Chompsky back with a message saying he'll kill all those Jim holds dear for killing his son and then listing literally everyone the kid knows.

Plus, his origin as some kind of actual monster born from a corrupted heartstone should've been explored! They could've gone into that endless hunger he apparently displays, that would've made him consume countless living creatures and even drain the magic energy out of crystals...

Instead we ended up with Bular 2 again, but even worse somehow, and it just made Gunmar about as threatening as a parked truck.

#sigh. there's more that could be said about some of the lesser antagonists like usurna & co. but most of those are fine for their roles tbh #trollhunters #tales of arcadia #toa merlin #toa morgana #angor rot #walter strickler #zelda nomura #gunmar #[spongebob stopping falling truck meme] these are just my personal thoughts!!!!! it's fine if you disagree!!!!!!!!!!!#entries

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