#im so sorry it took this long to answer this ask

[r6eduss]

Would you do a jealous daryl fic? Im pretty open to whatever, I just like it when he gets all riled up.

Play Date.

•Summary: You confess to Daryl, but he doesn’t take it serious, leaving you heartbroken. But when he sees you with Spencer the next day, it sparks jealousy in him he didn’t know he had. (Fem reader)

•Warnings: 18+, No established relationship, angst, fluff

•Word Count: 3.5k

•Setting: Alexandria

•A/N: thank you for the request anon! I’m sorry if you aren’t happy with the results. It took me awhile to write this 🫶🏼 I think if Daryl were actually in a relationship with you, he’d be more trusting so he wouldn’t be as jealous.

The walls of Alexandria were a stark contrast to the world outside. It wasn’t just the literal separation between life and death, safety and chaos; it was the reminder of what life had been before everything fell apart. It wasn’t long ago that the world had been buzzing with electricity, the hum of cities, and the simple luxuries they all took for granted. But now? Now, the very idea of safety felt alien.

You glanced over at the furniture as you walked around the home you had been given, the group clustered around you like a protective herd. You all had been in Alexandria for only a day or two, and even though everyone was supposed to be settling in, there was an air of distrust hanging over the group. Rick, in particular, was on edge, his eyes scanning every corner of the street for unseen threats.

Daryl, meanwhile, looked as out of place as he felt. His clothes were worn and dirty, his hair hanging down over his face, but it wasn’t just his appearance that set him apart from the clean-cut Alexandrians. It was the way he held himself, like a caged animal, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.

You’d known Daryl long enough to recognize the signs. He didn’t belong in a place like this, and he knew it. Hell, none of them did. But Daryl? He was different. He’d always been more comfortable in the wild even before the fall, so here, with their pristine houses and manicured lawns, he felt suffocated.

When Deanna invited everyone to the party, Daryl’s reaction was immediate and expected.

“I ain’t goin’,” he grunted, not even looking at you as he adjusted the strap on his crossbow. He was standing on the porch of the house you were all sharing, still on edge about sleeping inside, feeling a need to stay outside and keep watch to protect them from any and all possible dangers.

“Daryl…” you started, your voice soft, knowing that reasoning with him required patience. “It’s just for a little while. We’ve been out there so long, and Deanna’s trying to make us feel at home. I know it’s not what you want, but could you come? For me?”

Daryl stopped, his fingers stilling on the strap, and he turned to look at you, his blue eyes piercing through the shadows of his messy hair. You saw the hesitation in him, the way he always struggled with doing things for others when they weren’t strictly necessary for survival. But you weren’t asking for much—just his presence.

“Fine,” he muttered, not meeting your eyes. “‘But I ain’t puttin’ on no tie.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Deal.”

The party was already in full swing by the time you had arrived. People were mingling, drinks in hand, laughter filling the air in a way that felt foreign to the group that had spent so long fighting for their lives. It was strange, surreal even, to see people acting as though the world outside wasn’t in ruins. You noticed how uncomfortable Daryl looked almost immediately, his broad shoulders hunched in his black button up shirt while his eyes scanned the crowd as if he were looking for an escape route.

Daryl didn’t say much, hovering behind you like a shadow, his discomfort evident in every tense movement. People from Alexandria approached you, eager to learn about the new arrivals. They asked questions—about where your group had came from, how long they’d been on the road, and how you were all adjusting. You answered politely, but there was always a part of you that held back, a part that still didn’t fully trust this place.

Daryl, meanwhile, was grateful that no one spoke to him, even if the reason they didn’t was because they feared him. He stayed quiet, following you from conversation to conversation, his eyes flicking between you and the people who approached. He felt out of place, like he didn’t belong among these clean, well-fed people who seemed oblivious to the horrors faced outside those walls. But he stayed because you, the person he loved, asked him to.

Eventually, Deanna approached, her smile warm as she introduced you and Daryl to her husband, Reg.

“It’s so nice to meet you both.” Reg began, glancing between the two of them with a kind smile. “So, how long have you two been together?”

Your cheeks flushed instantly, and you quickly corrected him, laughing nervously. “Oh, no, we’re not… we’re not together.”

Daryl stayed silent, his heart was racing but he said nothing. He wasn’t sure what to say, anyway. The awkwardness of the moment hung in the air for a second too long before Deanna’s smile widened knowingly.

“Well, you make a good team,” she said before moving on, leaving them both standing there in the midst of the party.

You felt a strange mix of emotions swirl inside you—embarrassment, confusion, and something else you couldn’t quite name. You glanced at Daryl, but his expression was unreadable, his eyes fixed on the floor.

Before you could say anything, Spencer appeared, smiling that easy, charming smile of his as he greeted you. Daryl tensed immediately, his eyes narrowing as Spencer completely ignored his presence and focused all his attention on you, like everyone at this party had done.

“Glad to see you’re fitting in,” Spencer said, his tone just a little too smooth. He leaned in slightly, his body language relaxed but… suggestive. You noticed it, but tried to push the thought aside, assuming you were reading too much into it.

You both made small talk for a few minutes, Spencer doing most of the talking while you nodded politely, trying not to let your discomfort show. Daryl, on the other hand, could see right through Spencer’s act. He recognized the way Spencer’s eyes lingered a little too long, the way his smile was just a little too practiced.

His jaw tightened as he watched Spencer flirt with you right in front of him. It wasn’t that he thought you were his—but the way Spencer looked at you, like you were a conquest, made him feel frustrated, made him feel emotions he’s never felt for anyone before, feelings he didn’t think he was capable of feeling.

“I’m gon’ get a drink.” Daryl muttered under his breath, though he had no intention of actually getting one. Without waiting for a response, he turned and headed for the door, needing to get away before he did something stupid. You barely noticed as he walked away, too caught up in Spencer’s conversation. It wasn’t until Spencer asked, “So, do you have a boyfriend?” that your mind shifted to Daryl.

You paused, your heart skipping a beat as you thought about your feelings for Daryl. You weren’t together, but you couldn’t deny that your heart had long since gravitated toward him.

“No,” you finally answered, voice quiet.

Spencer’s smile widened, and before you could say anything else, he asked, “Then how about we go out sometime?” The question caught you off guard, but you recovered quickly, offering him a polite smile as you shook your head. “I’m not really interested, I’m sorry.” You couldn’t really handle the awkwardness of the conversation, so you began to walk away, but Spencer wasn’t one to take no for an answer. His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist a little too tightly, his smile fading into something harder. “Come on,” he said, his tone insistent. “It’s just a date.”

You tensed immediately, your eyes narrowing as you tried to pull your wrist free. “Let go,” you said firmly, your voice was low enough that no one else at the party noticed.

For a moment, Spencer hesitated, his grip tightening. But then he seemed to remember where they were—surrounded by both Alexandrians and people

of Rick’s group—and he released you, his expression shifting back into a smooth, apologetic smile.

“Sorry about that,” he said quickly, but the red mark on your wrist told a different story.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, heading toward the table with the drinks to look for Daryl. But when you got there, he was nowhere to be found. What you did see, though, was Spencer already chatting up Sasha, his flirtatious smile back in full force.

You sighed, feeling a wave of disappointment wash over you. The night wasn’t turning out the way you had hoped. You wanted to enjoy it, to maybe have a quiet moment with Daryl, but instead, it felt like everything was falling apart.

Needing some air, you stepped outside, the cool night breeze brushing against your skin. It didn’t take long to spot Daryl, leaning against a nearby fence, a cigarette between his lips as he stared out into the darkness.

You approached him slowly, your heart still racing from the interaction with Spencer. As you got closer, Daryl’s eyes shifted to you, and the moment he saw the red mark on your wrist, his entire demeanor changed.

“Wha’ happened?” he asked, his voice rough but laced with concern.

You hesitated for a moment, not wanting to make a big deal out of it, but you knew there was no point in lying to him. “Spencer grabbed me when I tried to leave,” you really didn’t want to already start problems. “It’s fine. He let go.”

Daryl’s expression darkened instantly, his jaw clenching as he tossed the cigarette to the ground, already turning to head back toward the house. “I’m gon’ kill ‘im.”

“Daryl, wait,” quickly, you stepped in front of him and placed a hand on his chest to stop him. “It’s fine. I just… I want to spend the night with you. Not dealing with that. Please.”

He stopped, his fists still clenched, his eyes blazing with barely contained anger. But something about the way you said it—the way you asked him to stay with you—made him pause. He looked down at you, his chest rising and falling as he tried to calm the storm inside him.

“If he gets near ya again, I swear…”

You smiled softly, touched by his protectiveness. “I know. But you don’t have to worry. I’ve got you—and the rest of the group—watching out for me. I’m fine.”

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to the ground as he struggled with the emotions swirling inside him. He wanted to protect you, wanted to make sure no one ever laid a hand on you, but there was something else gnawing at him—something he didn’t quite know how to deal with.

Jealousy.

He didn’t think he had a right to feel it, but it was there, a bitter taste in his mouth. Spencer was younger, cleaner, probably the kind of guy you deserved. And him? He was older, rough around the edges, scarred in more ways than one.

He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, you spoke again, voice steady. “Daryl… you don’t have to worry about Spencer or anyone else. My heart… it already belongs to you.”

For a moment, Daryl froze, his mind going blank as your words sank in. He looked down at you, his eyes wide with disbelief. You couldn’t be serious. There was no way someone like you—someone strong, kind, beautiful—could feel that way about him.

A defensive scoff escaped his lips as he shook his head while giving your shoulder a playful nudge.

Your smile faltered, and you felt the sting of his actions deep in your chest. You’d laid your heart bare, and he’d brushed it off like it was nothing. But you didn’t let the hurt show. Instead, you forced a small laugh, playing it off like it was a joke.

But inside, your heart was breaking.

Without another word, you turned and began walking back in the direction toward your shared home with the others, your chest tight with the weight of his rejection. You felt like you had taken a leap, only to be pushed away, and now all you wanted to do was disappear.

Daryl watched you go as he lit another cigarette, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn’t untangle. His jealously, his feelings for you, things he’d never discuss out loud.

After arriving, you realized you were alone in the house. Everyone was still at the party and the silence was too deafening, leaving you unable to shake the pit in your stomach. The night stretched on endlessly as you rested on the worn-out couch, staring at the ceiling, the events of what happened playing on a loop in your mind.

Rejection. The taste of it still burned in your chest. You had put your heart on the line, and Daryl didn’t seem to notice. It had felt like a punch to the gut, leaving you winded and second-guessing everything. He hadn’t even said anything real—just brushed it off like you were joking, and now, the quiet gnawed at you, making you feel smaller by the minute. Maybe he didn’t feel the same, and that thought consumed you throughout the night.

The next day passed in a blur. You barely caught a glimpse of Daryl, knowing he was out with Aaron, who had given him a new job as a recruiting partner after he had invited him over for dinner. Every step he took away from you felt like another brick in the wall that was forming between you two. You wrestled with your feelings, considering maybe it was time to let loose.

And maybe it was time to open your options with someone else.

That afternoon, while you sat on the porch, a warm breeze brushing against your skin, Spencer appeared, looking sheepish. “Hey, about yesterday...” His voice was shaky, unsure. He shifted on his feet, his gaze darting to the ground before he finally met your eyes. “I’m really sorry for grabbing your wrist like that. I had too much to drink and I was way out of line.”

You remembered the incident from the party—the way he had grabbed you, too rough, too desperate. But now, seeing the guilt in his eyes, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pity.

“It’s fine,” you forced a small smile. “You were buzzed. I totally get it.”

Relief washed over his face, and he grinned, more confident now. “So... what about that date?”

You hesitated for a moment, your heart still aching for someone else, but the thought of moving on, of trying to distract yourself from the pain, seemed tempting. Maybe you could use Spencer to forget Daryl. “Sure,” you replied, surprising yourself with the ease in your voice.

The date was... fine. That was the best word to describe it. Spencer talked a lot about himself—his job before the fall, his family, the world he missed. He asked you questions too, seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say, but as much as you tried, you couldn’t really care. His words barely made a dent in your thoughts, because they were always somewhere else—on Daryl.

But Spencer, oblivious to your disinterest, seemed to think it was a success. He walked you home afterward, his arm brushing yours every now and then. You found yourself laughing at some of the things he said, more out of politeness than anything else, but for a moment, it almost felt normal. Almost.

As you approached the front porch, you failed to notice Daryl.

He stood there, not far from the house, just returning from his run with Aaron. He froze, his eyes locked on you and Spencer, his face hardening into something unreadable. Daryl just watched, hands clenched at his sides with his jaw tight.

By the time you reached the porch, you felt tired in more ways than one. As Spencer gave you a final, confident smirk, promising to see you again soon, he finally left. You were lost in thought. The silence wrapped around you, and for a while, you almost forgot about the strange encounter—until you spotted Daryl walking right towards you.

“Hey, Dary—”

Before you could finish, Daryl’s hand shot out, gripping your wrist—not rough, but firm enough to pull you toward him. His face was a storm of anger, jealousy, and something else you couldn’t quite place. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, like he was barely keeping it together. He dragged you into the house, slamming the door behind him with a force that rattled the frame. “The hell ya doin’ with tha’ asshole?” he spat, his voice low and accent thick, filled with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean? We were just talking.”

Daryl scoffed, pacing like a caged animal. “Talkin’? That son’of a bitch touched ya, now yer walkin’ ‘round with him like it didn’t mean nothin’.”

You crossed your arms, defensiveness rising in your chest. “He apologized. It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

His eyes flashed, and you could see the fury bubbling just beneath the surface. “Not a big deal? He hurt ya!” His voice was louder now, frustration pouring out of him.

And then it hit you—why he was acting this way. Was he... jealous? The realization made your blood boil. After he brushed you off, now he wanted to care? Now he wanted to feel something?

You snapped, your voice laced with anger. “So what? It wasn’t nearly as bad as you hurt me! So stop acting like we’re together when you clearly don’t care!”

Your words hung in the air, cutting through him like a knife. You watched as Daryl’s expression shifted from anger to confusion. “What?” His voice was quieter now, unsure.

Your heart clenched, the weight of everything you’d been holding in finally crashing down on you. “Last night,” you began, your voice was softer now, but still trembling with emotion. “When I told you my heart belonged to you... you acted like it was a joke.”

His breath caught in his throat. He remembered. The way he had shrugged it off, laughed it away, thinking you were just messing around. He had never thought, not in a million years, that you could feel that way about him. A girl like you? Loving a guy like him? It was laughable.

But now, seeing the pain in your eyes, it wasn’t funny at all.

“I... I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice thick with regret. “Thought ya were just messin’ ‘round.” He trailed off, unable to find the right words.

You sighed, the tension slowly ebbing away as you took in the sight of him—this man who had built up walls so high, he couldn’t even see when someone was trying to climb them. “Why would I joke about something like that, Daryl?” you asked, almost pleading. Maybe he was used to Carol’s humor, or maybe he didn’t think he deserved you.

He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes dropping to the floor. “Dunno,” he muttered. “Didn’t think redneck trash would be worth yer time.”

His words hit you harder than you expected. The way he saw himself, the way he spoke of himself—it hurt. But in this moment, the vulnerability in his voice, the way he couldn’t even look at you... it was endearing.

“Daryl...” you called softly, stepping closer, your heart pounding in your chest. You reached out, gently placing your index finger and your thumb under his chin, tilting his face up until his eyes met yours. The closeness between you made the air crackle with anticipation.

His eyes flickered between your gaze and your lips, nervous, unsure. He bit the inside of his lip, fidgeting with his fingers, and you knew—he was waiting for your next move.

With a steady breath, you leaned in, closing the distance between you, and pressed your lips to his. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but as his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, it deepened. When you finally pulled away, you stayed close, your lips brushing his as you whispered, “Of course you’re worth my time.”

Daryl’s eyes were wide, his breath shallow. For a long moment, he just stared at you, as if trying to convince himself that this was real. Then, in a quiet manner, he cleared his throat. “I love ya.” The words left his mouth in a very subtle whisper as you felt his breath against your lips.

Your heart stopped, the world seeming to freeze for just a second. He... loved you?

“I love you too, Daryl,” you whispered back, smiling before leaning in to kiss him again.

After a long, tender moment, you pulled back, and Daryl glanced away, embarrassed. “Ya still gon’ hang out with tha’ guy?” he asked, his voice gruff but his tone soft.

You laughed, completely forgetting about Spencer. “No,” you cupped Daryl’s cheek gently, making him revert his gaze back to you. “I have you. That’s all I need.”

@vampiresluv

[doitforbangchan]

I know it is probably just me being silly and completely in love with the series, but when re reading ABNB, I was wondering.... how would the rest of the members ( besides I.N) treat baby during their heat?

Also, how do you think chan would ask baby if she is ready to make some pups? 😳

Just curious!

hi nonnie! thank you for reading and enjoying my series 🥰💜

I think the boys would generally have similar treatment for baby while shes in heat, a lot of words of affirmation and soothing touches, but of course putting their own flare on it. like the rough fucking that seungmin and minho usual give, but when she is in heat they know they can be even rougher with her- that she can take it and more because she needs it. or how changbin and hyunjin shower her in affection about how much they love her they turn it up tenfold, wanting her to have a loving experience in her time of near insanity. what may be a bit of surprise is the crazyyyy breeding kink that the sunshine boys develop when shes in heat. like im talking feral compulsion to put a baby in her. whispering filth about how badly they need to give her a baby now. I think i.n would be similar to channie in how he handled baby's heat doing whatever he can to alleviate the pain and keep a cool head but ultimately giving in to his instincts and claiming her all over again :)

i have thought a lot about chan and baby being ready for pups, and i keep coming back to the same idea that its not exactly chan that brings it up, it's baby. she wants to be a mom and give the pack a litter so bad that one day she may or may not forget to take her bc.. before a certain alphas rut.... more on this coming soon lol

i hope this answered your question! sorry it took so long :/ thank you for asking love uuuuu

[paingoes]

Rubies - Trial I

LETS FUCKIMG GOOOOOOOOO

im so excited to write this. i should also say i feel i owe a huge debt to @lumpywhump for this post? i didnt follow it to the letter but it realllllly inspired me and helped break me out of the writers block i had w this story.

(Content: living weapon whumpee, dehumanization, discussions of past abuse)

It was busy back at base. Nothing unfamiliar. Delta kept his head down, staying closely to Kitty’s side. He had a very practiced method of shadowing. He did not look up too often to check, but he seemed to escape the notice of most people passing by. They traveled deeper into the labyrinthine halls of Galatea. 

Deeper, though, may have given the wrong impression. Really, they were going further up. The rooms seemed to grow brighter as they did, more ivory than steel. It was cleaner, somehow. The people standing about were older than the rank-and-file that made up the lower levels. 

Delta was the youngest person there. He’d expected as much. He always had been.

Earlier, he had packed what little he owned into the weighted black duffel bag, with room left to spare. They’d spent the better part of the week trying to prepare him for what came next, but they always seemed to falter before they could bring themselves to really push. Delta listened patiently as their words tied up.

“They’re going to pry,” Apollo had admitted, “It’s what they do. They want to know what happened.”

“…In detail?” Delta asked.

He had a good sense for it, truthfully. Little snapshots burned themselves into his brain. The doll half buried in the mound where the camp had been pitched. The glass shards he’d teased out from Paris’s arm when he was too drunk to care for himself. The terrier that had rolled over onto its back, unaware he’d been sent to kill it. Sierra’s perfume on the bare spot of her neck and her horsehair brush against his temple. 

“I don’t know,” Apollo had sighed, “It’s supposed to be clinical.”

It didn’t feel that clinical in the building. Natural light still poured in, not any harsh fluorescent. It was more casual than he would’ve expected. He was used to more severity — in aesthetic and in manner. But the voices in the room were chatty, familiar. Without any particular edge. 

He took note of a few of them. Some he recognized — older members of Galatea, not half as famous as Levon but still well-known. They’d all known each other for a long, long time.

He did not recognize the woman who approached him. Her hair was cut in a neat line about her chin. Dark glasses obscured her eyes.

“This is it?” She was still facing him, but the question was directed to Kitty. She did not wait for an answer.

A finely manicured hand grabbed at his face unexpectedly. He flinched from the surprise of it, but otherwise held still. She tilted it his head to one side, then the other, examining him. He didn’t meet her eyes — or where they would’ve been if the glasses didn’t obscure them.

“Hello???? What the fuck?” Kitty’s tail puffed up in anger, stepping forward. 

“Hm?” The woman looked confused. She did not let go.

“Get off him?!?!?” Kitty’s voice rose several decibels. He realized with a start that her claws had come out.

The woman released him, but her puzzled expression did not change. Delta bowed his head a little, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor.

“Why?” She asked.

“He’s sentient,” Apollo seemed to immediately understand the confusion, “Was I not clear enough about that? Did I not explain this properly over the phone?”

“You are?” The woman looked at him again. Delta nodded slowly.

“Oh.” She cleared her throat. “Sorry. I didn’t expect you to be.”

Delta didn’t respond. Sentient. His own sentience felt like a finely guarded secret. He’d been coached to act like it did not exist. He knew any glimpse of awareness from him was not a comforting sight to the public. Nobody wanted a bomb that could think. He could, though. It seemed like he wouldn’t be able to hide it anymore.

The woman started to say more, then grew too embarrassed by the faux pas. She hurriedly excused herself. 

“Sorry. You’re okay?” Apollo leaned in. 

He nodded, again. He hadn’t really minded. It was all standard fare.

“She shouldn’t have done that,” Apollo said. He was being very precise with his words, “People shouldn’t touch you without your permission.”

Delta nodded like he understood.

~

“Okay. I think we can get started.” Levon swayed the pointer stick back and forth in his hands. “My name is Levon. You all know me, hopefully. I’ll be presiding over the deposition, as is the power vested in me. This is just going to be our day zero. We’ll get everyone up to speed on the situation, introduce ourselves, try to establish an outline for the rest of the trial. Sound good?”

They all sat around a long table. Sunlight streamed in through the blinds. He’d been to enough of these meetings before — chained to the base of the chair, normally, or left off in the corner. It felt deeply unnatural to be sitting in the chair they’d assigned him. It was uncomfortable. He was at their eye level — and somehow felt even more on display than he had been nothing more than a statement piece. There was no avoiding the curious looks they kept casting his way.

“Silas Vern,” a thin man in a long coat introduced himself at the prompting, “Prosecution.”

“Maryam Pike,” a woman dressed in all pink stood up, “I’ll be leading defense.”

Others announced themselves, all unaffiliated, none of particular import. The attention turned back to Delta. He froze up. There was no chance at all he’d be able to speak.

Apollo saved him. His eye twitched in agitation, but that was the only tell. “Apollo Castilian. Katherine Leifer. Delta.”

No surname. He let it hang in the air before sitting down.

“Perfect. So, we’ll go over the facts of the case with the assumption that you’re all hearing them for the first time.” Levon clicked something. The projector behind him turned on. It was a screenshot of the forum’s homepage.

“Around twelve months ago, Agora user-” Levon read every letter of the keysmash. Delta felt a small twinge of annoyances; he’d meant for it to be unpronounceable on purpose. “-began posting a series of threads containing confidential information on Empire’s operations. The nature of the data breach indicated a very high level of clearance within the imperial system, leading many users on the site to believe it was an internal whistleblower. The information was recorded and passed along — unattributed — to Galatea’s intelligence by a Miss Katherine Leifer.”

Kitty smirked a little.

“This was eventually adapted into an exclusivity deal in which the poster was offered immunity in exchange. He turned down the initial offer. About three months ago, he asked that it be re-extended. Under the command of Flight Officer Iza Mok — and unbeknownst to any of her superiors — that request was granted.”

The projector changed to play a video. It was very low resolution, taken from miles away, but it showed the carnage of the airship. It burned and burned in the sky, shaking and struggling until it all went out at once, falling into the ocean. 

“An attack was launched on the Centurion Ball. There were no survivors,” Levon said flatly, not sounding too upset by it, “The asset was retrieved, at which point it was revealed that the user possessed extreme psychic ability. Later disclosure confirmed the identity of Δ-107. Our intelligence up until that point had suspected the designation represented a weapon of mass destruction, but we had no explicit knowledge of its design or purpose until now.”

Levon closed his eyes. When he reopened them, he was looking straight at Delta.

“We had no knowledge or expectation that he was alive. Records suggest that he has been marked as imperial property from the age of thirteen onwards. Intelligence uncovered proof of purchase from the now defunct Beldam Institution.”

Oh, it had been ages since he’d heard that name. No one inside of it ever called it by name. It was simply The Institute. Nothing else existed outside of it. He felt strangely sick.

“The full extent of destruction is currently unknown. It seems unlikely that it can even be uncovered. What we do know is the destructive potential suggested by the power readings — and some confirmed incidents. The objective of this trial is to agree upon a just course of action that can ensure the safety of all parties. Any questions?”

He looked around expectantly, his lips pressed into a thin line. 

“None? Okay. Silas and Maryam have both been appointed by me, in light of their expertise. We’ll spend the next meetings going over both sides of their arguments. The rest of you are expected to remain impartial to anything but the evidence and the arguments presented. Likewise, if you have any questions or concerns you feel need to be urgently addressed, you need to bring them up now. My hope is that we can get this out of the way in one shot. I don’t want this to be an ongoing discussion. And — I hope this goes without saying — none of this leaves this room. Clear?”

Like that it was dismissed. The older members of the board started to file out, some casting last looks over their shoulder that Delta plainly ignored. Kitty’s hand found his own as she rose to stand.

“Hang back a sec,” Levon said.

She sat back down. As the room emptied, Levon sat too. He leaned one elbow against the back of the chair.

“How are you feeling?” He asked casually.

Nobody answered for him this time. He thought he’d have made it through today without having to speak. He wished he’d stop getting questions like that. He still didn’t know how he was supposed to answer them.

“I’m okay,” he mouthed it more than he said it.

Levon’s eyes switched to Kitty and Apollo, who he knew were far more likely to object. Apollo clicked the pen against the table.

“…I don’t understand what the prosecution is meant to be arguing. You said this wasn’t a punitive trial.”

“He’s arguing for more strict security measures. It isn’t a punishment.” He studied Delta as he said it. 

Delta didn’t care, really, how strict anything was. He’d come to surrender. He’d expected to be imprisoned for the rest of his life, if not killed outright. The trial struck him as a formality that they need not take. He wouldn’t have fought them on anything they decided. They needed no pretense of fairness for that. He already knew what he deserved.

“You mind if I talk to you alone?” Levon asked. 

Delta nodded, ignoring the quiet protests Apollo was making with his eyes. Kitty squeezed his hand again.

“I’ll cya,” she promised. He believed her.

Levon led him out of the conference room, out into the hall. Delta stayed close to him, careful as if there’s be a tug at his collar if he let himself fall too far back. There was a faint industrial hum throughout the whole building.

“Is there anything I can do that would make this easier for you?” Levon asked quietly. “I know it’s going to be difficult either way. I’m sorry to put you through it. But if it has to happen, is there anything that would help?”

The question caught him severely off-guard. He stepped quietly into the elevator that Levon held open for him. He shook his head.

“…I don’t need anything, sir.” 

It was so hard being talked to like a person, though he was familiar enough with being talked at. He didn’t know how to respond in kind. He’d never gotten so many questions before. He was too nervous to answer most of them, too confused to even understand what they were getting at. He kept getting his wires crossed.

They went up a few floors — the one where Delta’s new room was kept, the same floor Levon’s office was on. They stepped out.

“You’ll tell me if you do?” Levon tried instead. It was easier, the yes-or-no questions. Those he could handle.

“Yes, sir.” Delta agreed. He didn’t think it would happen, which made it much easier to confirm.

Levon held open Delta’s bedroom door for him. He was slightly taller than the door frame; he’d have to duck down if he wanted to come inside.

“The room’s okay? For now?” He asked, “You know how to use the buzzer?”

The new room was sterile and clean, white and ascetic. It was expensive, more than Galatea was typically willing to shell out. There wasn’t much inside of it, no decorations, but there were CDs and a projector and books enough to entertain him. No internet. Levon said to wait.

“Yes, sir.”

He did know how to use the buzzer, if he needed anything. But he didn’t. He was used to the solitude. 

“Okay. Phone’s always on. Anything at all, let me know.” It seemed like he was going to say something else for a minute, but it didn’t happen. “Bye.”

The door locked behind him.

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @flowery-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @chiswhumpcorner

[i-may-be-an-emu]

https://www.tumblr.com/i-may-be-an-emu/762253847321247744/do-you-have-a-clip-or-somewhere-we-can-see-the

Sorry to get back so long after I asked this😅

I was interested in the clip! If you'd like to share :D

Of course!! No worries at all btw :)

(The clip is a bit laggy and I’ve tried to fix it but I can’t sadly, but here you go!!)

I’ve cut some parts out so it’s just their answers and saying my name because I don’t think I should post too much of a patreon video, yk? Like I’d love for people to see it but then again it is patreon. (Its 1:17 long with the cuts so I think that’s ok)

question: Do you ship any characters from any of your content/have any favourite canon couples?

I have rewatched this clip over and over. It’s in my brain :D

(Im so sorry for taking all day to answer this ask, I saw it and planned on cutting all the clips together but it just took me a little while to be able to)

[eye-of-enigmatic-thought]

Do Grigory and Vahid ever begin dating?

If so what would their relationship be like? And who would confess first?

They do!

After some further interactions from their first meeting, both Vahid and Grigory found a lot in common with one another and became fast friends, to then boyfriends.

Vahid is a Iranian artist who grew up knowing war and corruption in Iran, and Grigory is a Russian mortician who lived through WWII and and the USSR, both of them connected heavily with their backgrounds and also their more morbid interests in the macabre. Their relationship is overall very sweet and the two support eachother with their traumas, and Vahid has come to be a another 'uncle' figure to the Habit family! As for which of them confessed first, wellll...

...It's debatable! XD

(Note! Whilst Vahid is my oc, Grigory is not my character! He is a community fan oc from Smile For Me's fandom (concept came from dr-habitual and starlightcelest i believe!) that I've ended up hyperfixating on for... two years now lol- but just in case there's any confusion! As it's been a while since I've drawn these guys so extensively as I used to!!)

[marvelsswansong]

Imagine corio seeing a woman flirt with r he’s so confused cuz he’s used to disgusting men after her only

no but like seriously 🌞👉👈

Corio isn't oblivious to the fact that there is a price for dating someone as beautiful as you. Namely, that others - doesn't matter if they're complete strangers or close working colleagues - will secretly want you, with some of them even being bold enough to try and entice you.

This is all much to his annoyance, as he tries being very public about the fact that you're his. Think constant arm around your waist, aggressive kisses in public, loudly calling you 'darling' from across the room. But that doesn't seem to deter everyone.

Especially not the types of men in the Capitol.

If he's feeling calmer that day, he might just stop at glaring at the man whilst pulling you away by the waist, or knocking the breath of you by suddenly grabbing your face and kissing you fiercely for the crowd of men to see. If he's in a sour mood, or it's been a hard week, you have to be careful to keep an eye on the blonde in case he flies into a fit of rage and his mind starts to scan the room for whatever is sharp and capable of causing damage.

"Sometimes I feel as if I have to babysit you." you would tease after one particularly harsh night, where you and Corio get thrown out of a house party after he smashed another man's face into the wall and then proceeded to twist the man's arm to the point of almost breaking a bone. Granted, the man had been extremely aggressive towards you and making very inappropriate comments, but it'd been rather awkward to see the stranger be carried onto an ambulance whilst the head of the household ordered the both of you out.

Chest heaving and knuckles still bruised from the impact, he'd just kiss you again, his tongue tasting of copper.

"Can't help it. You're too pretty." he whispers, and all your criticisms of him would fly out the window.

But Coriolanus is always less guarded when it's a woman around you. After all, you have so many best friends who are women, you spend so much time around grandma'am and Tigirs, and so on. He just associates women being around you with platonic love and comfort.

So when you leave him to go get some drinks at the bar, a fancy upper east side bar you've been begging to go to, he's too busy searching the room for potential men who approach you to notice the red haired woman beelining towards you. She bumps into you 'on accident', pink champagne spilling over the tip of the glass just a bit - a light splash on your jeans, but nothing too bad.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry." she quickly says, grabbing a nearby napkin to hand it off to you. Coriolanus watches the interaction from the back of the club, the specifics of your conversation with her unintelligble over the loud music, but he doesn't think anything much of it. Even when the auburn haired woman's fingers brush against yours whilst exchanging the napkin.

He watches as you smile politely at her, probably telling her that it's okay, before turning around to the bartender to make an order. The woman next to you continues to talk to you through out the exchange, which again doesn't raise any red flags to Corio.

After all, women are very friendly by nature. It's normal that someone, especially a stranger who feels bad for spilling a drink on you, wants to continue to talk to you.

You don't think much of it either on your end, other than thinking that she - Clara, she tells you her name after a soft giggle - is very nice.

It's only when the drinks arrive and the woman stops you, lightly sitting you back down and brushing away the hair from your eyes, that Coriolanus starts feeling rather odd. The sudden wide eyes on your face and the red haired woman's smirk, before she slides you a piece of paper from her back pocket and lets you go, raises a lot of questions in his mind.

His top options? Something along the lines of bribery or illegal drugs. Or maybe she's using you to get something from him. Or maybe she wants something from your family.

What he doesn't expect, is for you to come back totally speechless, fingers deftly hanging onto the small piece of paper. You look somewhere between embarrassed and shocked, refusing to meet your boyfriend's eyes as you sit down next to him. He frowns at that, patting his lap instead.

Normally, you'd sit on his legs without a second thought. This time though, you hesitate.

"What'd she want? Drugs? Mone-" he growls, only to be cut off by the stranger.

"So you weren't lying. You do have a boyfriend." the red haired woman cuts into the conversation, now sitting on the velvet chair across from you. Coriolanus swears his jaw almost drops when the woman laughs seductively, winking at you whilst uncrossing her legs.

"You can sit on my lap instead, honey."

"I, you- I just-" Coriolanus starts speaking in an attempt to swear or scare her off, but his mind totally blanks.

You've never seen your boyfriend this flustered. His pale complexion breaks into a dark shade of red, his usually stern gaze darting back and forth between you and the woman, his speech stuttered and jumbled. It's YOU who ends up having the composure to let her down gently, holding out the paper with her phone number out towards her and informing her that you love your boyfriend very much and you're not that interested.

She pouts at that, and it makes your boyfriend's jaw clench so hard his face aches.

"Aw... alright, darling. But keep the paper. You know, just in case you wanna play."

With a wink and a hair flip, she disappears into the dark crowd of sweaty bodies and loud music. It's only then that your boyfriend snaps into action, taking the paper into his hands and shredding it to pieces.

"She called you darling." he snarls, angry. "Only I get to call you darling."

You just giggle, kissing away his sour expression, before tugging at his sleeves.

"Come on, forget about it. Let's just dance." you say, the alcohol in your veins still making you feel buzzed. He complies, never being able to say no to you, but the entire night, he can't help but hold you very close and glare at everyone who approaches you or even looks at you.

Regardless of their gender.

Now, he has to protect you from everyone, he thinks.

BONUS SCENARIO (later in the night)

You've had one too many drinks and yell into Coriolanus' ear that you really need to go to the bathroom. You clutch your handbag and stumble into the corridor, leaving your boyfriend alone by the bar. A stunning blonde woman slides into the empty seat next to him, glossy lips parting to ask a question.

Thinking she's going to hit on him, he raises his right hand, stopping her on the spot.

"I'm not interested, sorry."

The woman scoffs at that, ordering a tequila shot and almost glaring at him.

"Neither am I, genius. I was just wondering if you knew the name of the cutie who just went to the bathroom."

The moment you come back, he practically drags you out of the bar and hails a cab back to the apartment.

He's had enough of women trying to steal you from him. At least for that night.

a/n: hope you guys like this small type of blurbs too in between major fics hehe

[ask-queen-arti]

(the ask box is open!)

[temeyes]

Can we get a nikolai tummy please? 👉👈

HI ANONNN, made him extra hairy just for uuuu~~~

[americankimchi]

Do you have any tips for writing Obi Wan or any meta in mind with his characterizarion?

hmmm sure why not! i'll give a few tips on how i'd write obi-wan. mind you this is how i interpret the character, so ymmv.

i truly do not like it when fics have obi-wan voluntarily leaving the order. like it's so out-of-character for me in my head that the premise of the story + the writing would have to work triple-time to get me to stick around. now if he's been removed from it by an EXTERNAL SOURCE (not the order. i cannot stress this enough: the jedi kicking obi-wan out is so jarring to me i'll leave the fic in an instant) or somehow unable to return to the order for whatever reason, all is well.

not a prodigy, but a genius. obi-wan is an incredibly intelligent person with an absolutely staggering knowledge base in a wide variety of topics, but all that knowledge was earned through blood, sweat, tears, and time. he sat down with his game face on and put in the work. that's also why he makes an excellent teacher: he knows what most students will struggle with because he struggled too, and knows through experience how best to overcome them. i headcanon that it contributes to why he's such a good negotiator: he's really good at stripping down information to the essentials and communicating that information effectively and efficiently to others because of his intense study habits.

humble, but not ignorant of his skills. it's pretty impossible to fully divorce yourself from pride in your achievements, and i don't think it's healthy to not feel any pride at all, so i think obi-wan has a very clear understanding of his skillset and how best to use it. i don't think he'd be ignorant of how good he is at something, especially since the direct consequence of his aptitude led him to being a member of the jedi council. pretty hard to be blind to your strengths when you're being asked for your input on topics that directly draw from that knowledge.

averse to healthcare. listen i enjoy obi-wan whump just as much as the next obi-wan stan (the desire to put him in the cosmic salad spinner comes with the territory, i fear) but as a character who grew up in an environment that deeply cares for the well-being of all, and knowing that you cannot help others unless you yourself first have the ability to do so, i can't really see him ignoring injuries outside of combat scenarios. like on the battlefield he's got more pressing concerns than a pesky little shrapnel wound or five, but once the battle's over?? he might not be first in line to the medics but i can't see him avoiding them entirely. an army without a general is working at a sharp disadvantage and i don't think he'd risk his men by neglecting his physical health in that manner. note that i said 'physical'. make of that what you will :)

duty. obi-wan is the definition of a paladin. he takes an oath and by the force he's going to keep it. train the boy? absolutely, qui-gon. whether or not anakin chooses to respect that training is another matter, but he did definitively get knighted! refuse to kill anakin? listen he's handed vader his own ass to him twice post order 66 and each time he did it he did it nonlethally. that takes skill. that takes dedication. exile yourself to tatooine for 19 years and then decide fuck it, we ball, and die after Once Again Deciding Not To Kill Anakin Skywalker? step aside casper, there's a new friendly ghost in town. every time obi-wan commits to something the man COMMITS. you GOTTA respect that grind.

flirty but in the sense that he's going to match the energy someone brings to the table. like he's a negotiator. he knows how to read people and figure out the Vibes. if he thinks the other person will be 1) 100% receptive and 2) will respond with a delightful wit, why the hell not? obi-wan's highest stat is charisma and he's got expertise in persuasion. whether they're allies or not does not factor into this equation. he can have a little flirtation with morally dubious and potentially hostile characters. as a treat.

this has nothing to do with his character but i firmly believe that he and quinlan vos had at LEAST a fling when they were padawans. there is zero evidence to back this up aside from a few comics where they were being goofy teenagers together but i stand by this. it is an unshakeable aspect of obi-wan to me that has only gotten worse with the kenobi show.

no matter what, no matter how terrible or devastating or downright apocalyptic it gets, obi-wan kenobi will never fall to the dark side. never. it won't be easy, but that is a line he has never, and will never cross. i will not hear any "obi-wan touched the dark side during the theed generator fight" slander. if that was true tell me why the force theme was playing during his moment of triumph!!! Would John Williams Lie To Us Like That?? to our face?????

anyways i could go on forever about obi-wan because he is My Ultimate Blorbo but this post is getting super long so i'll leave it there. hope this helped even a little or at the very least was entertaining for you to read <3

[bigshotautos]

I really like your theory about Spamton basically haunting a mannequin after death. Have you ever touched upon the reaction from Jevil (or anyone, really) upon seeing the new Spamton? Especially considering Spamton isn't even aware he 'died'.

^ how i think jevil's first sight of Spamton would go. i love this ask. this is referring to some headcanons I made a while back, I'll link it here for the one post and the general ghost spamton theory is linked in that one as well. Going to elaborate on it more under the cut for those interested + more art.

In general I think that people from Spamton's past wouldn't really care if they notice at all, since he wasn't in the business of making close friends with anyone. With the Addisons, in my interpretation he had a "weird co-worker" relationship with them, and while Addisons in general treated each other like potential business competitors that they had to make-nice with, Spamton is especially easy to single out for being visibly and temperamentally different. His altered, current state is something they'd feel at least uncomfortable by, but many wouldn't have been too close with him to begin with for them to talk about it with him directly. Would get whispered about between each other for sure, like we saw with them talking about Spamton after the NEO fight. It moves him from the "disgraced guy I used to know" category to the "actually unpleasant to look at or think about" territory. This goes for Swatch, Queen, and Seam (less so), who seem to buy heavily into the Lightner and Darkner dynamic, with Spamton corrupting the Lightner's dream being a strong taboo against what it means to be a Darkner.

As for what Jevil thinks, Spamton during the NEO fight is both a beautiful and horrifying display. Jevil at this point hasn't seen him in years since his imprisonment, and in their time apart Jevil has grown to find novelty in the cage that everyone else besides him is in since he's created huge emotional distance between him and the reality he lives in. Seeing the fact that Spamton had corrupted an abandoned dream of a Lightner and was causing so much chaos to the established order of the world would be exhilarating, but at the same time seeing that Spamton had accomplished this and still had his strings visible (and changed to a marionette puppet with no symbolic agency), it'd be a painful confirmation of his worldview that even Spamton, who deep down he still cares for, could never have been free.

Jevil would think at first he'd just gone through some nebulous situation to change what he looks like, since ofc he himself has toy-like traits (arguable if that happened with Gasterfication or not), Seam is a plushie cat, and other Card Castle Darkners are based on toys, but feeling the lack of life combined with the symbolic body of Spamton would mean to him something bigger had went wrong. He wouldn't dare to bring it up in an empathetic way, stuck in his mindset that it doesn't matter, but it'd still hit a part of him he doesn't like to think still exists. It's something he gets over quickly, almost performatively going back to fucking with him and taking advantage of his fear for entertainment, but it didn't sit well at first.

To me, the fact Spamton "died" isn't really a huge deal, kind of like with the ghosts in Undertale where no one really cares they're just ghosts. They're just doing their thing. To me it'd be fine if neither of them find out what happened for certain, but it's something that adds Flavor to his character.

[k4pp4-8]

Do you have any tips on drawing Enid? She's my fav and you draw her so well! ❤️❤️❤️

Thank you!!!💜 I'm not the best at explaining but I hope this helps you understand how I draw Enid :DD

[bklily]

Does Luka ever accidentally stumble into Adrien's Mind Palace when Marinette accidentally calls him the wrong name?

(Not trying to salt here, I think it would be hilarious)

He doesn't so much as stumble in- Luka has free access to anyone's mind whenever he wishes really.

He does use those powers for good though

[mysterycitrus]

your mia is so 😙👌 chefs kiss, thank you for giving her brown eyes and for feeding the 20 person strong mia dearden army, we will now follow you into war

[lokh]

what do you think toshiro's version of laios would've been like if he was still with the group during the shapeshifter shenanigans

there have been a few speculations in the tag and among the fans and they are all very good SO i am going to take this opportunity to insert a bit of my shipping bias as i like in my interpretation LMAO agdsfgdfgv

i noted that in actuality shuro seems to have a very good grasp on laios' character??? this is most obvious in the manga later on but even seeing how he criticises laios in their fight... iirc nothing he says is actually untrue or wildly exaggerated, and while he does express frustration over something he feels like laios Should have control over (noticing his cues), he is also aware that laios isnt being malicious and that hes Just Like That. what i mean to say is that while i think his version of laios may seem more pushy and in-your-face, i dont think it will be overwhelmingly so. if its post-fight, i think the idea of laios (and marcille) being willing to do anything to get falin back made a big impression on him, as well as the idea that they need to eat and rest in order to succeed in their goals, so those aspects would be prominent in his version. he seems pretty observant, so i think for the most part the physical traits would line up, but i think there would be specific things that stand out to him that would appear strangely striking on his version of laios (like. idk something about his eye colour or the subtle contrast of his armour and chainmail. he seems to have a weird sense of aesthetics if extras are anything to go by lmao). if hed actually been paying attention all those times laios had gone on about what the hell ever, then it might be even MORE hard to tell apart his version since he would also have a good grasp on what laios should know. so either his version of laios is pretty difficult to pick out, OR despite the character being accurate his appearance is too. stylised lmao (exaggerated features or something) OR!! they just get him to pull out his monster gourmet guide thing and are able to tell from there. iirc everyone was surprised at its appearance so its possible toshiro had also never seen it before

IN MY IMAGINARY SHIPPING SCENARIO............ lets say that his laios isnt able to be picked out immediately and that the monster guide thing also doesnt immediately occur to anyone. what the real laios Specifically notices is how close this other laios keeps getting to shuro. and hes like. ??? why is he getting so close to him, theres no way i get that close to him??? but no one else seems to be picking up on it as weird, so hes having a small crisis like do i REALLY get that close to him???? and now that hes on the outside he notices shuro subtly leaning away and he feels both a wave of shame and..... protectiveness??? (JEALOUSY??????) and he immediately steps in and grabs him like Hey!!! cant you see hes uncomfortable???? weve been through this already!!! and like. ok i cant believe im doing this again but i need to separate this into different endings

a) the whump route: i dont think shuro ever envisioned Actually Telling laios about his frustrations outside of being basically cornered into it. has he ever spoken up against what was expected of him?? has he ever been confrontational???? i think part of what held him back from expressing his frustrations, along with the cultural norms, could be fear of what the reaction would be. if he had done the same in any other aspect of his life (his family, his inheritance), i think he would expect disappointment, disapproval, more proof that he doesnt add up to expectation. to be honest i dont think he Truly believes that laios is the type of person to react like this. but it was strong enough to prevent him from acting and i think would be projected onto his image of laios. maybe fake!laios says something dismissive like Well if it really bothered him hed say something right? what, he cant even stand up for himself? cmon, shuro, prove that you cant handle it just like everything else. and thats pretty much the fastest giveaway that it isnt really laios. of course this would be a HUGE tonal departure from what the actual episode/chapter was, so:

b) the dumbass route: both laioses break into fisticuffs, and, yes.... barking. and so they speedrun the entire encounter as the shapeshifters true form appears and, after laios points out that thinking too hard about others versions of you can tear apart groups and peace of mind, they pointedly do not speak of it again. they think about it though. a LOT

c) the normal route: both laioses argue normal like and the group ends up being able to tell them apart because the fake laios goes on a little too long about how theyre all here for falin and everyones like ok its not like he DOESNT love his sister but.......... the rest of the scenario probably goes like canon, though then i would want to see what everyone Else thought of shuro

[biblically-accurate-dca]

I like that this blog is exactly what you read on the tin

Biblically accurate boys!

GAME INACCURATE DCA JUMPSCARE!!!! AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!

[npc-arts]

hello again! could you draw a Combee? please

Here's a lil guy!!!