#spoilers in the tags .. .. giving you time to look away and scroll by if you havent seen the final 2 eps.... okay

[varietysky]

I mean... despite everything....

I still think this season was better than season 4 🤭

[pedgito]

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑 & 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | Dave York x reader

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summary | Dave's one last contract to tie up before the holidays proves to be more difficult than he expected.

author's note | my adventures in trying to write pwp have failed me again. i made this gifset and here we are. so you get whatever this crazy is. thank you to my womb sister @chaotic-mystery for beta'ing.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, divorced!dave, suburban murder daddy but make it festive, is this a holiday fic?, uhh..there's some bodily fluid usage in here for purposes, knife kink if ya squint, choking, restraints, blood tw, rough unprotected piv, fingering, oral (m &f receiving), one (1) pussy slap, pain kink off the charts, manipulation is the best form of flattery, omitting some tags for spoilers.

word count — 5.4k

Coffee and a chocolate croissant was not how he started a contract.

It was a strict five-step order. Observe, plan, attack, dispose, collect.

Never more, never less. He got in and dirtied his hands, washed away the evidence, and sent the proof to his employer, an unsteady but well-paying job. He was killing people after all.

High profile clients, exes, criminals, he stopped separating them after a while.

But goddammit, you’d charmed him. 

Bewitched him. Body and soul.

Well, that and you caught him at a bad time.

The original plan was to grab his morning coffee and follow your path to work, find an opportunity and take care of business, leave. However, he’s thrown off when you’re already in line at the shop he picks, one out of the million lining the city streets.

It was you and him, a silent standoff amongst the low jingle of christmas music.

The cheery chorus of the Jingle Bell Rock drowning out his thoughts as he lines up behind you, hearing your coffee and breakfast order before the following words slip out, his ears perking:

“This is for mine—and his,” You nod blindly over your shoulder, “and pocket the rest as a tip.”

It was a fifty, his brow furrowing at the action as he begins to speak but is quickly interrupted by your name being called as your coffee was slid over the counter and you flee toward the cup, leaving he and the cashier in silence, who seemed more than delighted at the idea of extra money for the holidays.

He orders quietly, his voice subdued as he insists on paying for his own food, ignorant to your side gaze as you roll your eyes in annoyance and wait as he approaches with more silence, slipping his coffee into a cardboard sleeve as you grab for plastic silverware. 

“Well, happy holidays to you,” You remark with a snide tone, laced and tied in a bow of kindness, “you’re a sweets guy?” Dave looks down at his croissant then, realizing they had handed him the wrong pastry, cursing under his breath.

He seemed frazzled, disrupted, but was masking it with annoyance and frustration.

“Fifty is a little generous, don’t you think?”

“It was a kind gesture,” You continue, “—Christmas around the corner and all.”

Dave sips gingerly at the coffee to taste, praying that it was the one thing they did get right, staring down at the chocolate croissant with disdain, but hunger on the rise.

He’s expecting you to leave already, having a rough idea of your schedule as you would normally head to work within the next—Dave glances at his watch casually—half hour, but instead, you sit.

Fuck—he casually busies himself as he pulls his phone from his pocket, scrolling mindlessly as the coffee shop fills and empties, eventually admitting something similar to defeat as he heads toward the door.

A man of constant routine and you’ve gone and fucked up his day, sitting casually as you picked at your own pastry, giving him a full once over, head to toe, as he heads toward the door—a suit that told a thousand words, and a man with nowhere to go, watching him carefully in the corner as he flitted through this phone.

Either he was being a creep or he was just shy.

And, for your sake, you hoped it was the latter.

“Sit with me,” You insist, his mouth opening immediately in rejection, but you smile and tilt your head to the side, pushing the opposite seat out with your heeled shoe, “hey—don’t act like you have anywhere to go, I just watched you stare at your phone for fifteen minutes.”

Your eyes land expectantly on the seat as Dave deliberates, eventually relenting as he sits. You were his task for the day, he didn’t have anywhere to go where you weren’t.

He doesn’t like this, he doesn’t like this feeling. 

Things had derailed, but somehow, this seemed like it could help him, in the end.

You start with your name, introducing yourself. He offers the same, just a first name. Not a last. In your mind, you shrug. You could work with a first name.

“Well, Dave—are you going to eat that chocolate croissant?” You ask, watching the untouched pastry sit unwanted on the table, “Because if not, I will gladly—”

He pushes it aside, leaning back in his chair as he looks out the window, watching the troves of people pass on their way to work, kids running alongside their parents as they walk to school—a brief glimpse of what could still be, had Carol not been so greedy in the divorce.

He got the girls on weekends, every other week. It wasn’t ideal, but it was all he had. If he wanted to count, he had five more days until he saw their faces again. Often, it was the only thing holding him together. That, and routine.

Your voice disrupts his thoughts again, his eyes ripping up to your smiling face as you pull at the croissant and take a bite, “Holiday’s are fickle, aren’t they?”

Dave raises his brow in question. The fuck does that mean?

“Fickle—you know—”

“I know what that word means,” Dave interrupts, “What are you trying to say?”

Always on edge, this guy. You laugh softly, rubbing your tongue along your bottom lip.

“Some years it feels festive—like real Christmas, you know?” It was redundant, your finger circling the lid of your cup, “Other times it feels like something most people can’t wait to get it over with—like they’d rather be dead than celebrating.”

“That’s dark,” Dave remarks, “considering you were just attempting to spread some holiday cheer by paying for my breakfast–”

“Which you refused, scrooge,” Your eyebrow cocks in challenge, “Where do you work?”

Invasive? Definitely. But, with the suit—it seemed like a plausible question.

Dave lies through his teeth, despite his freeland work as a contract killer.

His job consisted of a name on a piece of paper and a promised dollar amount in his bank account after—no good or bad, it didn’t matter. 

People were unlucky and unfortunate, he chose not to be.

If he was going to do the killing, he was damn well going to be compensated for it. 

He didn’t know who wanted you dead, or why—but you’re grating, unjarring approachableness was throwing a wrench in his plans. If he wasn’t so careful he’d slide the knife through your throat here at the table, just to end this conversation.

You nod your head at his excuse for work, moving beyond a topic he clearly didn’t want to talk about, “Go on, your turn—or have you already read me like a book?”

Fine, he’ll bite. Though, he already knows what you’re going to say. He returns the question about work, mouthing the response in his head like a speech.

“I’m a librarian, a little further in the city, but I like the coffee here.”

The last part was a lie—you frequented one place nearly every day, why you decided to switch up today was unbeknownst to Dave, hence why he was sitting here engaging in such a grating, unproductive conversation. 

You know you’re keeping him, he does too. 

It slowly turns into a stare down, eating away at the croissant he’d passed over, waiting for him to admit defeat and run off, eventually, he does.

“As riveting as this conversation was,” Dave comments, “I’ve got work—it was nice…talking to you.”

The hesitance makes you smirk, subdued behind another kind smile as he leaves, watching his cautious walk back to his car, only a measured amount of time before he would see you again.

–

It has never taken this long. A week, maybe two. But, even that was pushing it. 

His employer had contacted him twice for updates, more on edge as time passed and he can’t seem to avoid you, even as he tracks you from a distance, unaware of his looming presence, you seem to find him in the unlikeliest of places.

Next, it was a gas station—you don’t approach him there, but you offer that same kind smile.

Then, the grocery store, conversing with him over fruits like he was an old friend and Dave is only unsettled by the conversation after you leave, not realizing how easily you had vexed him until he’s got a handful of fruit in his cart alongside his weekly groceries. 

It happens again. And once more. He liked difficult meals—intricate ingredients that were far beyond your skill level. The conversation was always a careful dance of politeness, but Dave softened with every conversation, as much as he could, at least.

You could spot a jaded man from miles away.

He doesn't understand why he can’t just kill you outright—easily detach from the situation and move on, but there was something to you that he couldn’t put his finger on. It was almost alluring, and it made him wonder. It made him curious.

Dave was never curious—he wasn’t paid to be.

He’s resigned to following through that Friday, though. The weekend before Christmas.

Fortunately, you seem to have the same late night craving for takeout—a quaint Chinese takeout place down the block from your apartment. 

It had to be a coincidence, right? 

“I swear,” You jest through a laugh as you stuff your hands into pockets of your puffer coat, “it feels like you’re stalking me.”

“Could say the same,” Dave retorts, a toothpick tucked between his teeth as he waits for his food.

You both wait quietly, exchanging the occasional glance before the tension snaps, curiosity getting the better of you and your enjoyment of making Dave squirm.

“Do you live far?” A careful, precise question. Dave answers it vaguely.

“A ways,” He says nonchalantly, “why?”

“Are you busy tonight?” Other than his obvious task of ordering dinner that he was undoubtedly going to eat in his car as he staked out your apartment, finding the willpower to finish the job.

“A little,” Always so concise, you roll your eyes lightheartedly.

“Come have dinner at my place,” You tell him, an open-invitation, an opportunity served up perfectly, eyeing the incoming weather outside with a high chance of a white Christmas, “—wait out the storm a bit?”

You weren’t pushing. It only took a little coaxing.

“Come on,” You tease, “are you scared of me?”

It’s a striking dichotomy he thinks, knowing he murders for a living.

There’s a ding at the front register as the owner slides over two bags of food tucked away in plastic and styrofoam, calling out the order numbers simultaneously as you both reach for them.

“I don’t bite,” You shrug, “—not really.” 

You flash a triumphant smile as Dave admits defeat.

–

He said he’d meet you there.

You half-expected him to ditch you, but now he was sitting adjacent to you on the couch, chewing methodically at a piece of broccoli alongside the slow murmur of the television, under your curious gaze.

It’s ridiculous, a job that should have taken him a week—a few days, even—had prolonged itself to a month. The constant and vivid imaginative ways he would kill you plague him even now, wondering if strangling you against the couch would be enough to suffice. 

No, that felt too personal.

He’d come back, he’d wait. He would do it while you were sleeping. Quiet, quick.

You strip off a layer of clothing as the heat from your apartment creeped up your neck, a generous amount of skin on display as you slung your sweater over the back of the couch, breasts pressing together as you place your takeout on the cushion separating you and Dave.

“You don’t do this often, do you?” You ask around a bite, stabbing your fork into your food.

Dave couldn’t make sense of your siren-like qualities, the intensity in your eyes with every glance his way, the ease at which you can seduce him into conversation. You were youthful, full of life, and for once in his career he’s found himself hesitating. Asking questions. 

Why you?

“You ask a lot of questions,” Dave notes, a softer tone to his voice, almost as if he was finally warming up to you. There was a constant air of skepticism around you, rightfully so, but he seems to have let it slip, a misjudgment, “don’t you?”

You giggle softly at your impending question, “Are you a whiskey guy? You seem like a whiskey guy.” You’re off the couch quickly, heading toward your open kitchen to fetch an unopened bottle of whiskey from the cabinet, grabbing two glasses on the way back.

“I’ll be honest,” You start lightly, a melodic tone to your voice as you place the glasses on the table and pour a generous amount into both—normally Dave would excuse the offer, but with the bottle sealed and no reason to think otherwise, he drinks, “you make me nervous.”

Dave offers a quiet chortle of disbelief, your vixen-esque qualities supplying the opposite effect.

“I mean, the coincidence of us meeting at the coffee shop,” You begin, “and, sure, I did think that it was strange how often we’ve run into each other, but it almost feels like—”

“Don’t tell me you believe in fate,” Dave interjects, sipping at the rim of the glass.

“Well, how else do you explain that?” You ask, tucking your feet underneath you as you mirror his actions, food set aside. Dave finds himself watching the way your jeans hug your thighs and sit snug against your curves, following the path up your chest and the low cut top that pressed them together, caught red-handed as his eyes draw to yours.

“Sorry,” He quickly excuses, brow furrowing as he turns away in subtle embarrassment, burying his face into the glass of whiskey, “I’m—fate isn’t real. It’s just a coincidence, probably.”

Probably. Surely.

There’s a soft glint of suspicion in your eye, slowly maneuvering forward as Dave’s fist clenches against his slacks—always in a ridiculous fucking suit that you were now determined to get him out of. You’d kill for it, actually. 

“Are you married?” You ask, resting your hand into your open palm as you prop it against the back of the couch, “That—that seems invasive…you don’t have to answer that. I just, if you are—she won’t be mad that you’re here, will she?”

Dave squints, not realizing he’s down the entire glass of whiskey until his next sip comes up empty. He sets the glass aside and answers truthfully, a breakthrough, you think.

“Divorced.”

“Ah,” You sigh, “such a tragedy.”

He wasn’t willing to dig into the details of his tumultuous relationship, regardless of how long it has been, nor was he oblivious to your actions, the finite movements that have pulled you closer and in turn, has centered his body toward you in a subconscious effort to make room.

He didn't often have female hits, but they weren’t non-existent. Dave was a man of constant self-control and restraint, aware of your growing proximity and the fact that his Smith and Wesson was tucked away carefully in the back of his coat, hidden from plain sight but all it would take is a touch—or the switchblade tucked away in his sock, easily concealable and unsuspecting.

He has two avenues—kill you now, deal with the mess. 

Or, he allows it. 

It—your obvious advancements, the slow but salacious blink of your eyes as his eyes drag toward your lips.

Your fingers wrap around the knot of his tie, pulling it gently, loosening it. His neck stretches to the side as your fingers claw up and around, dipping beyond his shirt collar in silence, despite the intense eye contact you held.

It was almost like you were challenging him. He feels it.

You get bold, rising on your knees as the other hand slips between the fabric of his coat and cream button-up and Dave counteracts the movement with a sudden adjustment, pulling the coat off smoothly and slipping it over the back of the couch as you climb into his lap, an evident smirk on your face as you press your ass against his thighs, your cunt pressed against the seam of his zipper and his cock, feeling the solid press of him there—men were all the same.

Dave’s body betrays him, his head tilting back as your fingers move through his hair and back down his freshly shaven face, pointer finger tracing the curve of his lips, a persistent and hardened expression on his face, void of emotion.

“If I asked you to fuck me, would you?” He feels the tug at his tie, your lips millimeters from his own as you stare down at him, “You like to fuck, don’t you?”

A hard distinction. Screw it, he thinks. Detachment, it was easier that way. 

Dave nods, under your spell and the faint courage of whiskey. 

–

He’s never allowed himself this deep into a job,

Undressing himself over you as you scramble naked onto the bed beneath him, ignoring how this wasn’t just a step, but a leap—a fucking mile over the boundaries he’s set within himself, but then you’re rising to lick up the underside of his cock where it glistened with precum, dripping down the side as it bops against your tongue, his hand wrapping into your hair as a warning. 

Your eyes flutter shot as you nod, under his full control as you allow him to fuck himself into your mouth, his knees buckling as he knelt on the bed. His other hand comes up to curve against your chin, cradling your head as he nudged himself against the back of your throat until you were sputtering, drool leaking from your mouth as he pulled away for a brief moment.

Hesitation, you see it.

“Stay with me,” You plead, the words slurred against the shaft of his cock as you wrap your hand around the rest of him that wouldn’t fit, “don’t—don’t think. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Meaningless, more so than he can even imagine. A means to an end.

You could go about this differently—you didn’t always jump toward sex. 

But, Dave was attractive. Unfairly attractive, strong features that left an impression on you and a flutter between your legs—he was hard to break down, but it wasn’t impossible.

Besides, you were breaking your own rules too. 

And you were sure he'd bruised your throat by now, eyes tearing up as he held you there, nose brushing against his groin as he watched you—a mix of astonishment and resentment, laughing airly as he yanks you away.

“It feels good,” You assure him with a teary-eyed smile, “doesn’t it?”

You kiss along his upper thighs, leaning down to mouth against his balls, rolling the tight skin against your tongue, greedy for more as your fingers claw up his thighs, chest, until they’re wrapping around his broad shoulders and pulling him down and over you, the wide expanse of his palms squeezing at your hips, soft skin melding underneath his fingertips.

He buries his face into your chest, licking at your skin to taste, a mix of salt and sweet and something so intoxicating that he finds himself following through with this.

“Turn around,” He demands, “get on your knees.”

You turn swiftly, his hands following the path of your spine as his hand curls around the back of your skull and presses you firmly into the mattress, twisting his fingers around your bicep and pulling your arms behind your back, crossing, reaching for his discarded tie at his feet.

You panic at the inclination of being immobilized, but his voice is unsettling soothing.

“I thought you wanted me to fuck you,” Dave counters, “practically fucking begged for it.”

He huffs out a noise of displeasement, sliping the fabric around your wrist and tying it in place, hearing you snicker against the fabric as you peer up at him from your side glance.

“You can do better than that–,” You begin, but the tug is rough, gasping as it pulls your arms straight and tight against your back, “that’s—fuck—”

Your panic is quickly soothed by pleasure, his hands gripping your ass as he pushes it up, level with his mouth as he licks between your folds, admiring the slick that drips down the seam of your pussy, rubbing his thumb down to your clit as he circles it teasingly before pressing a finger inside of you, your gasp swallowed up by the sheets. 

“Barely fuckin’ know me and you’re begging for it like that?” Dave teases, “C’mon, sweetheart.”

Pulling his fingers back to admire the creamy white ribbon that connected your body to his, rubbing his slick covered fingers over your pussy once more with a deafening slap.

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop,” Dave informs, “but I’m going to fuck you like you asked, alright?”

He didn’t have to be nice, or considerate, even. 

Besides, that pain swiftly drifted into gratification as he pushes the head of his cock between your folds before he’s pressing inside of you, a growl radiating from his chest as he sets a brutal pace, his thighs slapping against your skin loudly, fingers digging into your ass and destined to leave marks, cries of helpless delectation into your sheets.

And you could feel it, how badly he needed this too.

Eyes drifted close, the rhythmic pump of his hips, despite their intensity, is almost lulling. It never happened this way, a brief moment of disconnection as you allow your body to feel. It was never this good. Half-assed fucks from lackluster men who undoubtedly deserve what was coming for them—and it didn’t always happen like this, often it only took a sip of alcohol or an entrancing look their way, so easily entrapped in your web.

Dave, however, was a different beast entirely. 

His movements stop after a while, face contorted in a mix of staves of desire and curiousness, pinching up at the spot above his nose and between his brows.

“Don’t—don’t stop,” You tell him, subtly adjusting your shoulders against the discomfort, but he doesn’t move, still staring over your shoulder, “Are you fucking d—”

“Beg for it,” He interjects.

You snort out a soft laugh and shake your head, but then he’s swiftly pulling out and wrapping his hand around the knot at your wrist and pulling you upright, leaving you completely in his hold as your back falls against his chest, dangling over the edge of the bed as he stood behind you, his opposite hand wrapping around your throat and pushing up, tilting your head upright to look at him.

You see the brief moment of hesitation in his gaze, thinking he could wrap his hands around your throat and do away with you now, but his lips part and his thumb presses against the side of your jaw, pulling a gasp from your throat, “Beg,” He seethes.

Then the pressure comes, a gentle squeeze that forces air out of your throat, stuttering out a quiet, “P-Pl—please,” His hand shakes against the pressure as your eyes roll back, “fuck—fuck me, please.”

He fists his cock and slides back inside of you with one fluid movement, helpless to his grip as keeps teetering on the edge of consciousness, his breathing increasingly more distressed as his hips begin to stutter in rhythm behind you.

He was getting off on the idea of your life in his hands like this—Dave could do it like this, even you know that. A man who craved power, this was no different.

You moan weakly against the hand on your throat, face contorting in a petulant way that catches his gaze as your eyes peek open, bottom lip quivering as his grip on the tie at your wrist pulls, a spark of pain shooting up your spine.

“H—hurts,” You admit to him, though it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle, he seemed to have a soft spot in that deranged brain of his, for you, “s’tight, hurts so bad.”

Dave breathes harshly through his nose, debating, examining the sincerity on your features for a while, eyes fluttering closed as your mouth opens in a faint cry, before he finally relents.

You fall forward at the release, arms stretching over your head as you fall, the ache in your shoulders dissipating at the relief as you roll onto your back, his face slack as he follows your movements, cock sitting proudly against his stomach as you reach for his hand, a delicate pull as he follows your guide, a sated smile on your face.

“Like this,” Your voice is soothing, dragging a hand down his chest until you can wrap your hand around his cock, wordlessly he spreads himself above you as you guide the head of his cock through your arousal before he’s inside of you again, entranced as you examine his features.

He fucks you with the same intensity, but this is more personal. Your hands curl around his where they’re pressed into the mattress, legs interlocked over his hips as you breath into his mouth, exchanging a cacophony of noises and meaningless expletives before he’s pulling out without warning, large palm pressed against your thigh to keep your legs spread as he fists his cock, wrapped tight as he came against you stomach in thick spurts, the warmth pooling against your skin as his lips parted in a newfound relaxation.

You drag your finger through the fluid, swirling it against your fingertip as he watches your movement with careful eyes, pressing your finger against his chest as you dot once, twice, a small arch to create the illusion of a smiling face before you’re crossing through it lazily.

“You forgot about me,” You pout, dragging our finger up to his chin as he tilts it upwards before you’re pinching it between your grip, “what about me?”

He hadn’t, but you weren’t allowing him the leeway to argue.

Dave willingly allows the force of your movements, slowly dragging up his face and into his hair as he buries his mouth against your cunt, his tongue swirling against your clit with a careful precious as he stares you down, countered by your own gaze, propping yourself off the bed on your palm.

He licks into you, tongue dipping inside your stretched hole tasting of something sweet and entirely you, mixed with himself, an intoxicating flavor as his hands wrap around your thighs, nose burying against your sensitive clit as he growls, a reverberation that has you shaking under his grip before he’s tilting his head up to suck at bundle of nerves, nearly arching off the bed at the sensation as your orgasm hits you all at once, rather than a rolling wave.

His gaze doesn’t falter once, even as you fall slack against the bed.

He should do it now—guard down, defenses non-existent, but then you’re pulling him up and against your chest, maneuvering in a delicate dance until he’s cuddling you from behind, without a word of acknowledgment.

Eventually your breathing settles, wordless and calm. And despite the nagging voice in the back of his head, he finds himself succumbing to exhaustion too. 

–

When he wakes, you’re still asleep. 

The sun had set, casting the room in a faded blue, the blanket of snow outside casting a faint glow—he still had time, finish the job while you were sleeping, admit his colossal fuck-up and move on. He moves slowly, careful as he leans off the edge of the bed to grab for his knife buried away in his shoe.

“Where the fuck is it?” He mumbles to himself, nearly scrambling off the bed as he considers going for his gun, but the knife pressed into his throat has him on high alert, turning as the blade slices into his neck—just a knick, but he counters the movement, attempting to pin you underneath him.

“You’re awake,” You announce with a grin, face contorting in frustration until you can fit the knife at his ribs, fighting his grip until he’s settled underneath you, arms pinned under your knees, “so—no contingency plan? That’s a rookie move, even for you.”

“Who gave you my name?” Dave, blunt as always—he cuts right through the bullshit.

You frown slightly, hoping he’d play along for a moment.

“C’mon, Dave,” You jest, his breath catching as you apply pressure to the junction where you held the knife, one sudden movement and it would pierce his lung, “who do you think?”

“Who?” He bites, realizing his helplessness in the situation.

“The same person who gave you mine,” You answer after a long pause, tapping your finger against the center of his chest, “but—listen, I don’t have to kill you. I don’t.”

“That’s not how this works, sweetheart,” Dave informs, not lost on you.

You make a sound of discontent, shrugging your shoulders. 

“I have a proposition for you,” You chirp, “Well—more like an ultimatum. Because, if you don’t agree…I’ll just kill you right now, let you drown in your own blood as your lung collapses.”

Dave scowls, listening to you continue, “Can I trust you if I let you go?”

“No,” Dave answers quickly, whatever spell you’ve cast over him is now broken, the illusion gone, “Just do it, actually.”

It feels like a test—and you would, but you can’t.

He voices the same.

“You need me, don’t you?” He asks, genuinely curious. 

Contingency plans, they were tricky.

“I hoped the sex would be enough to convince you.”

Dave smirks at that, surprisingly. 

“You could have killed me already, but you haven’t,” You remind him, “I gave you plenty of chances and you didn’t—why?”

“The timing wasn’t–”

“You’re lying,” He feels the sting of an open wound as you slice the tip of the knife over his skin like a papercut, “Be honest with me—please?”

There’s an unnatural twitch to your head as it tilts, “Please?”

“I don’t know,” Dave answers with a sigh, “Guess I didn’t see you as much of a threat, that I could take my time.”

You raise your eyebrows as you breathe out a laugh, “I’m going to let you up,” You inform him, but slide the knife to his neck, “—under one condition.”

“I could just—”

“I have your gun,” You admit, “Emptied it—and there’s nothing in this apartment you can harm me with. It’s not even mine. And you can try to take this from me, or even kill me with your bare hands, but I think you’ve gone a little rusty, in my opinion.”

Dave offers a look of confusion.

“I really do admire your work, you know. All of us, in the network. We’ve heard about you—no one..no one knows who you are but, I just…had a feeling. Your work is clean, precise. You’re methodical.”

“And you’re fucking crazy,” He retorts, twisting his wrist in discomfort as you clamber off of him, knife outheld as he rises with you, “this method’ll get you killed, if that’s your style.”

“M’not dead, yet,” You shrug, “Besides, I don’t make a habit of…that.”

The sex, he knows that’s what you mean. He can’t say he does either.

“Somebody wants both of us dead,” You remind him, “doesn’t that concern you?”

You turn the knife in your grip and offer it to him, handle first. 

“You’re a better tracker than me, I need that. And I’m a terrible fucking shot.”

Dave grins slightly at the compliment as he reaches for underwear, feeling unnaturally vulnerable as you stood toe to toe with him, rising up with a newfound curiosity. 

“Open your mouth,” He directs, a glint of intrigue in his eyes, “stick your tongue out.”

Without a thought, you do. He grabs your chin, squeezing your jaw until your lips parted and your tongue slipped out, dragging the blade along the center of your tongue and leaving the thick, crimson liquid to bubble to the surface as he dragged it along the surface. You giggled softly to yourself as you lunge forward, teasing him with a lick that barely graces the surface of his lips.

He grips your neck, squeezing tightly.

“Obedience,” He warns, “If you want me to help you, I need it.”

You relent, swallowing against his grip as you nod.

“Let me hear it,” He grits through his teeth.

“Ye—yes,” You oblige, full-certainty, “Obedience, got it.”

He has a terrible feeling about it, but in an eerily comforting way, he trusted you.

[missglaskin]

Yan!Ethan Landry with girlfriend!reader would include:

Please don't report, all it will do is shadowban it

Tags: Yandere, toxic relationship, co-dependency, delusions, mentions of violence, scream6 spoilers, smut, brief perv!Ethan

Ethan is a wolf in sheep's clothing. A shy, dorky guy who no one would ever suspect of harming a fly. Chad introduced you two for the first time. Remembering his flushed face, wide eyes, and slight jolt when you shook hands.

For Ethan, it was love at first sight. Many times you crossed his mind, a fleeting thought he can never shake. He did all he could to catch a glimpse of you again. Feeling his breath shorten when you walked into a room, eyes fixated solely on you, forgetting whatever it was he was doing.

Ethan was eager to learn everything there was to know about you. Hours are spent scrolling through your social media. Him trying to figure out your schedule and which buses/trains you take so he can coincidently be there as well. Not to mention pestering Chad and his friends with endless questions until they push him to befriend you.

And on their advice, Ethan befriends you. As you are to him, he desires to be your closest friend, your soulmate, your everything. Safe to say Ethan attaches himself to your hip-whenever you are, Ethan is near. You don't give it much thought at first, after all this is Ethan you're talking about-the sweet, gullible Ethan.

Ethan goes above and beyond to please you. Offering his jacket because you seemed cold or buying your favorite snacks to cheer you up. And he's always there to console you; the sight of you in tears is enough reason for Ethan to rush to your side and cradle you against him.

But in all his sweetness, you fail to notice the dark look in his eye. You don't see how his grip tightens when you enjoy the company of another. How his jaw clenches when you dismiss your time together in favor of some of your stupid friends. If you were to ask, Ethan would drop everything; why not do the same for him.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise when one of your ‘friends’ ends up dead. Their body discovered with numerous stab wounds, almost as if they had been repeatedly stabbed in rage. And as you shed tears in sorrow over your friend, Ethan is there to comfort you, holding you close to him.

Over time, you also begin to notice how many of your things go missing. Unaware of how Ethan jerks off with your panties, imagining him fucking you-stuffing you with his cum. Unaware, he mists his room with your perfume, paying special attention to his pillows, inhaling the scent as he imagines holding you. How much he would give anything to wake up with you by his side.

It was as if the universe was on his side. When Ethan asked you out, he was afraid of your rejection, of hearing "Sorry, I only see you as a friend." But to his complete surprise, the word "yes" was uttered with your lips, and he felt the sudden urge to kiss you. 

He got his wish when he asked for a kiss; you eagerly agreed, moved by his sweetness. The kiss started slow and gentle and for a brief moment, Ethan believed he was dreaming. It was everything he hoped for and more. And before you knew it, he deepened the kiss, stealing your breath away as he did so. 

Ethan became addicted to the feeling of your lips touching his. It didn't matter where you were or what you were doing, your boyfriend will still steal a kiss from you. That or smothering your face with kisses, savoring the sound of your laughter as his arms wrap themselves around your waist.

Even one day apart from you is like asking Ethan to stop breathing. He has lived his entire life without you, but a taste of you in his life has him hooked. He loves you as if he was an alcoholic-refusing to ever let you go. 

But at the end of the day, Ethan is aware of his tendencies. Knowing full well how you will react to his violent and possessive tendencies, yet there is still this slight delusion in Ethan. That maybe after spending so much time with him, that if he were to remove everyone from your life and be the only person left, you will love him with the same ferociously.

You can't recall a time when you went without Ethan's touches. Where you haven't felt his hands roam your body and caress your skin.  He's touch starved; truly. Feeling his hand on your back or reaching for yours as you walk. Pulling you on top of him as you cuddle, nuzzling his face to your neck. But you never complain, do you. 

But…sometimes Ethan lets his tendencies creep in. Not missing the agitated expression on his face when your friends join your company. How he once crashed a can in his hands when you were laughing at some stupid joke they made. Remembering how he once came to you with bruises on his hands and face, all while there was news of another body being found. But even then, how could you suspect anything of your sweet Ethan.

Soon you began ditching your family and friends all for your boyfriend. He always knew the ways to snatch you away. And according to him, the two of you must do everything together. Doing chores? He is happy to help. Looking to binge a show? Don't do it without him. Have to get something from the store? Of course, he will come along. 

Strangely, many of your friends have complained that you ignore their texts or miss their calls. When you question Ethan, he merely shrugs feigning innocence. Several times you caught him looking through your phone. He has given you his (unaware he has another one) this shows that he trusts you, do you not trust him as well? Besides, if you are so protective of your phone, you might be hiding something from him; if not, why not let him look. 

If you haven't guessed, boundaries don't exist in Ethan's dictionary. No matter how many times you try to explain it to him, he just doesn't get it. Do you no longer love him, has his presence started to annoy you? What started as a confrontation ended with you consoling him.

Similar to your everyday relationship, Ethan is eager to give. He's addicted to your taste; obsessed with your pretty little pussy. He's like a starved man, satisfying his insatiable hunger. Having you seated on his face with his hands gripping each of your thighs as he devours your dripping cunt. Feeling the vibrations of his moans against your heat.

Your boyfriend is a total horndog, it must be said. The numerous times he whisked you away only for you to have sex in a restroom or an abandoned storage space. He was even worse behind closed doors; there wasn't a surface in the entire damn place that you hadn't fucked on. Even in the early morning or in the wee hours of the night, you can feel the hands creeping between your thighs.

He’s usually so gentle and attentive; it’s expected of him to prioritize your needs over his. But there are times when Ethan shows a different side to himself. Usually, if he observes you being overly friendly with someone else. Removing your clothing with such eagerness that you fear he might rip it. Almost wincing in pain as you feel his fingers digging into your skin. There’s this dark look in his eye as his girthy cock fills you to the brim. The following day, Ethan returns to his usual self and you choose not to mention the bruises he left behind.

With the murders that are occurring through Woodsboro, Ethan uses it as a way to keep you close to him. What would you do if you were being attacked and he wasn't there to protect you. He even insists that you share a dorm from now on.

Ethan may even pull some strings to make Mindy and her friends view you as a suspect. But don’t worry Ethan is there to reassure you that he doesn’t believe you could ever hurt anyone. It appears to be just the two of you. You two against the entire world.

When his plans to get rid of Sam and her friends are carried out. Ethan considers the life that will come after that, the life he will have with you. He has daydreamed many times at night of the two of you owning a home-living together with a ring on your finger. Perhaps some children will be involved, he does believe you'll make a wonderful mother. Wouldn't that just be the perfect life.

[o-sachi]

Shidou Ryusei ‧₊˚ ⋅ Relationship Heacanons + Mini Scenario

ଳ character; shidou ryusei (blue lock) ଳ tags; sfw, gn reader, no y/n

— Slow burn? What’s that? Neither of you know the concept of it because once you found each other… there was just absolutely no letting go. I mean, you have to be the rarest catch ever to be able to match the freak of Shidou Ryusei. Everything between you happens fast.

— Fast as it is, he’ll never let you forget how much he loves you. He’s so aggressive with his loving too (good luck; you’ll need it). Frenzied kisses, hugs that squeeze the life outta you, and all the weirdly sweet compliments are some of the things you can expect from him.

— Not much of a surprise, but the love language that he likes to give and receive would be physical touch. And we know he’s freaky as hell, but the touches don’t always have to be sexual. In fact, he looooves it when you pat his head and massage his scalp. It’s literally the only time when he’s calm and quiet.

— He never takes you out on dates and you don’t complain. Well, he doesn’t take you out on the TYPICAL kinds of dates. Neither of you like dinner dates or movie nights; they’re too boring. You’d much rather go get takeout at 2 AM and eat it in the parking lot. If it’s not spontaneous, then it has to be something that leaves both of you out of breath—laser tag, amusement parks, and paintball to name a few.

— Despite being on the same wavelength, you still fight quite a lot. However, it’s never so serious that you start shouting and hurting each other emotionally. Actually… most of your quarrels are super childish. The last thing you fought about was whether or not Gege should bring Gojo back. Spoiler alert: he’s a Gojo hater.

— I can totally imagine him watching anime with you. He’s lowkey a weeb, trust. It’s actually one of the more calm moments you have with him. That is, if you consider him reacting to every little thing happening to be calm. Best believe he’s shouting at the screen at the most hype moments of the show. He Naruto runs unironically btw.

— He’s… shockingly the possessive type? Like I can imagine that it took him forever to find someone like you, so the prospect of losing you to someone else pisses him the fuck off. He won’t try to hide it too. He’ll still be all sweet with you, but when you look away—whoever tried to poach you will be facing his wrath.

— People are convinced the two of you can communicate telepathically. You can just give each other a look and you both already know what it means. Soooo many inside jokes that if someone else heard the two of you talk, they’d give you a weird look.

— People wouldn’t usually invite Shidou out, unless you would be tagging along. With you around, Shidou isn’t much of a menace. The two of you become the fun couple that livens up the gathering. In short, y’all some crazy fun.

ᯓ Dancing scenario

It was one of those lazy Sundays that the two of you would spend hanging out in your bedroom. It was unusually quiet as both of you were busy scrolling through your phones. A different audio blaring from each of your devices while you scrolled through several Tiktoks.

"Ryu, look at this one," you say, thrusting the phone into his face. "Let's do this dance."

It was one of the simpler dances you found. Everything else was too complicated for the both of you to do in synchrony. You gave him some time to watch it twice and he grins.

The way he hurriedly got off the bed was enough to let you know that he was up for it. You followed suit, preparing your phone to record the two of you dancing like idiots.

Shidou was already practicing on the side. "Heh, this is easy!" But, alas, he was doing it horribly wrong as he always did.

Finally getting the phone ready, you smirk at his silly attempt at the dance and approach him. "You got it all wrong!"

Of course, he insists that he was doing it flawlessly. But you still show him how to do it. About 15 minutes have passed before he became decent at the moves. It's not like you wanted perfection—the mediocrity of your moves makes it funnier anyway. But at the very least, you wanted him to be able to resemble the dance.

"Alright, alright, just hit the record button already. Don't be so fussy. I dance better than you do!"

You playfully glare at him. "Yeah, whatever you say."

Once the phone started recording, you hurriedly went to your place beside him. The music starts and you were able to hit the first few moves. But as you neared the end, Shidou did a different move.

"See? Who messed up first?"

He doesn't own up to it, of course. Shidou, instead, demands for a 2nd take...

then another...

then one more...

then another take...

then, you finally couldn't take it anymore because how is it possible that the more you do it—the more mistakes the both of you do? In the last take, unfortunately, you were the one who messed up.

He gave you that look and you already knew he was going to rub it in your face.

"Hah! Told you I'm the better dancer."

Oh... he did not just say that.

Without another thought, you pounced on him like a wild animal. He should be thankful that your bed caught him, otherwise he wouldn't be attending football practice tomorrow.

You were a self-proclaimed jiu-jitsu fighter when it came to playfighting with him. Well, you don't know the moves or even the name of the moves—but the point is that you have to make him tap out no matter what.

To some extent, this was your little way of showing cuteness aggression—more so the aggression part. Sometimes he just gets on your nerves and this is the only thing that appeases you.

The two of you roll around on the bed, trying to gain leverage over the other. At some point, both of you almost fell off the bed. But he caught the both of you fast enough and flung you back to the other side of the bed.

As he recovered from that, you slipped him into a chokehold. It was a light one, of course. It wasn't like you wanted him to actually pass out.

"What? Gonna tap out?"

He smirks back at your cocky expression and taps your thigh to let you know he was throwing in the towel. He gave up without much of a fight, but that was his own way of letting you know how whipped he is for you.

Shidou might not be good with words, but you fall for his actions nonetheless.

You smile triumphantly at him. "Guess that makes me the better fighter huh?"

A devilish grin stretches across his dark expression

"I demand a round 2."

ε( ε ˙³˙)ɜ ｡° ⚬ ｡ likes and reblogs are appreciated

pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

o-sachi © 2024

[i-smoke-chapstick]

Okay so like as I’m writing this, tomorrow is my birthday (I’m gonna be 19 😭) and I was wondering if I could get some birthday headcanons with the legion of horribles (poly but platonic) + (separately) zsasz?🥺

You don’t have to finish this on my birthday so I understand if it will take time but if you can do it that would be wonderful! Don’t feel pressured though!

Thank you so much Cupid!^^🫂

'400 LUX,

-GOTHAM!VILLIANS X READER-

⋆ Characters ↬ Oswald Cobblepot, Jerome Valeska, Bridgit Pike, Jervis Tetch, Jonathan Crane, Victor Fries, Victor Zsasz

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; Birthday HCs with the Legion of Horribles! (+ romantic zsasz)

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!villains x female reader. PURE FLUFF! They adore reader so so so much! Reader turning 19 :> Age gap for Zsasz! All seven of these idiots. Good luck reader, you will need it!! Suggestive parts in Zsasz's. Reader probably drinking too much tea to be healthy. Also sorry I'm a little late with this, hectic week but happy late bday adal <3 love ya!

𝛰𝑆𝑊𝐴𝐿𝐷 𝐶𝛰𝐵𝐵𝐿𝐸𝑃𝛰𝑇

♫ “We're never done with killing time, can I kill it with you?” 400 Lux by Lorde

Number one spoiler!

No seriously, good luck. You are basically Martin #2. He's buying the most extravagant gifts, and hosting the birthday party. He's getting mad at Jervis and Jerome (anyone who can't keep there mouth shut for the surprise.)

Hectically organizing this whole mess. To his best ability. Eventually he gives up under the stress and you'll notice. Just have a little sit down with him, and he'll HAPPILY celebrate your birthday far away from everyone else.

Once you two have a minute alone, he's making you his mothers tea, telling you all about his birthdays and how she used to celebrate them with him. He really just wants to make this the best day for you possible.

Have a small little laugh with him on the couch, look at baby pictures of him around the mansion, watch him get red in the face and scowl just a teeny tiny bit.

He'll also scroll through your phone (he's horrible with technology) and look at your baby pictures too. You two end up having a good laugh and a semi-serious talk about childhood memories <3

He'll end up giving you his most personal gift when you two are alone, away from the "cretins outside" in his words.

𝐽𝐸𝑅𝛰𝑀𝐸 𝑉𝐴𝐿𝐸𝑆𝐾𝐴

♫ “We might be hollow but we're brave.” 400 Lux by Lorde

The only time he's 100 percent serious is when he's busy with the sheer EFFORT he's putting into this celebration.

Him and Oswald have conflicting ideas. Oswald wants something extravagant, royal, fit for you, like a coming of age. Jerome still wants to throw you a ball, but more like a child's dream chucky-cheese type birthday.

What do you mean he can't get a bunch of arcade machines and a ball pit delivered to the mansion? He's pouting.

He'll be DAMNED if he doesn't book the entertainment and a GIANT cake, though.

Will get Jervis to hypnotize some poor sap to dance for you. You know, if you're into that. Might kill him too if you're a little evil like him. If you aren't into that, he'll let him live. That's your gift :>

Did i say a GIANT cake? Yeah. It's massive. FUCKING MASSIVE. He probably ends up eating more of it then you guys, to be honest.

Makes sure it's your favorite flavor too.

Makes everyone sit down when it's time for cake and candles, if anyone tries to get up he's screaming at the top of his lungs.

Remember that "USE THE TONGS, CARL!" Yeah, he's channeling that energy to the hypnotized people cutting the cake and setting the table.

Fully looks at you like a successor (and like, his only real friend) so he's a bit pushy for this to go well. Not as much as Oswald, but still set on making this a good day for you. He just isn't as overt.

𝐵𝑅𝐼𝐷𝐺𝐼𝑇 𝑃𝐼𝐾𝐸

♫ “And the heating comes on.” 400 Lux by Lorde

Poor baby has never seen, attended, or had a birthday party in her life. It's new for her, it's intriguing. She loves this little strange family you guys have created.

You are LITERALLY her little sister, the only sibling she truly sees as her own!

It's obligatory for her to light the birthday candles (and almost burn the mansion down, chaos ensues)

Similar to Oswald, she gives you one intimate gift. Something she knows you'll love, something personal. You're favorite flowers, gems, or even a nod to an inside joke.

Arguing with Victor (Fries) about who has the better gift and who you like more.

When the day is nearing it's end, she volunteers to clean up to have some time alone with you. Everyone else is winding down, but you and her will get to talk like two best friends.

It's the only time she feels like a normal teenage girl. Just gossiping with you while putting Jerome's confetti in trash bags.

You'll probably have a little slumber party with her in the living room, eating left-over snacks and watching TV, throwing popcorn at each other. Speaking of popcorn....

"Hey, watch this!" She's nudging you, getting you to watch her make her own popcorn kernels with her flamethrower, signature smile on her face :>

𝐽𝐸𝑅𝑉𝐼𝑆 𝑇𝐸𝑇𝐶𝐻

♫ “You drape your wrists over the steering wheel.” 400 Lux by Lorde

He was fighting tooth and nail for this to be a tea party. Still upset it's not. Ended up still hypnotizing someone to make tea for you all. Ah, Small victories.

Also? We saw him in that chauffer outfit. He will gladly be the designated driver.

Similar to the rest of them, he wants some time alone with you. So, he's hypnotizing a limo and pulling up and practically stealing you away.

Takes you on a little shopping spree. Anywhere you want to go, he'll take you there! Even if he doesn't particularly enjoy it. (cough cough, convince stores, cough cough)

Wants to take you to the tea shoppes and bakeries.

He is LITERALLY the most BUSY bee out of EVERYONE. Everyone is so obsessed with planning and whatnot, but he actually has to do EVERYTHING by himself.

Whose hypnotizing the cake maker, the gifts, the decorations, the people, the waiters? Ah, the list goes on and on. He's a bit tuckered out by the time you too are done shopping and he's off his list of errands.

Have a cup of tea with him after <3 he will be infinitely grateful to wind down with you if you find the time during the day.

Sings happy birthday obnoxiously loud for you. He also insists everyone has perfect table manners and etiquette. (Looking at you, Jerome.)

𝐽𝛰𝑁𝐴𝑇𝐻𝐴𝑁 𝐶𝑅𝐴𝑁𝐸

♫ “I can tell that you're tired.” 400 Lux by Lorde

Silent, for the most part. Will refuse to sing happy birthday, and will truly only participate if it's the two of you alone. He...doesn't work well in groups.

He's getting a slap on the wrist from everyone because of it.

He'd MUCH rather steal you away periodically through the day, to just talk to you about your childhood. Congratulate you. He's happy for you, but he's a little scared you're getting older.

Very protective. Always. No matter what.

You might hear him laugh a bit, joke around with you, just simply checking the surroundings and chaos from Jerome.

If you are someone who prefers things more lowkey, you'll find yourself spending the majority of the day with Jonathan. Eventually you two will just pass by each other every now and then, and share a brief respite from the bustling outside.

You are TRULY his best friend. He wants to make this day as good for you as everyone else does. He just doesn't know where to start.

He'll probably end up giving you your favorite gift out of EVERYONE.

Doesn't matter what it is. He'll know. It will be intimate, genuine, and a very heartfelt message on the bottom of a card attached.

"Love you, Y/N." -Jonathan

Okay, not SUPER heartfelt at first look, but for him? It's as close as you'll get to him being vulnerable.

𝑉𝐼𝐶𝑇𝛰𝑅 𝐹𝑅𝐼𝐸𝑆

♫ “We're getting good at this.” 400 Lux by Lorde

Jerome puts him on ice-cream duty and he's reasonably grumpy.

No, but genuinely, this is a VERY special day for him. He's a VERY proud dad!

Always wanted to have kids with Nora. Never got a chance. You really are his second chance at happiness, and he loves you so much. He gets to live out everything he thought he'd never be able too.

Wants to get more involved, but gets a little pushed out between Jerome and Oz.

Jerome probably makes him make ice sculptures. Or Ozzie asks him to freeze the body of your enemies. Perfect gift!

Similar to Jonathan, likes to keep things more lowkey. He'll sneak in a pseudo father daughter bonding moment, even if you don't know.

"So, uh, you're staying out trouble, right?"

He's asking, nudging you when you two finally get a moment alone. His voice comes out in a mumble, obviously not very experienced in this role of being a father. But he can't help it.

Overprotective dad scowling at Zsasz, you know, to get the point across. Zsasz staring riiiiiiight back.

"Just so you know...if you break her heart, I'm freezing yours." Victor #1 says, with a clicking sound, and a raise of his gun.

Victor #2 raises a non-existent eyebrow, and lifts his own gun in return. "Of course..." He drawls. The idle threats are there.

𝑉𝐼𝐶𝑇𝛰𝑅 𝑍𝑆𝐴𝑆𝑍

♫ “You pick me up and take me home again / We're hollow like the bottles that we drain.” 400 Lux by Lorde

He's a loving boyfriend, you just have to get through his layers throughout the day!

Of course, he's your ride to and from the mansion. Driving with him, his hand on your thigh, disco music. Waking you up with kisses and birthday sex

He's grumbling just a bit everyone else wants to steal you away. Que him being a sassy boyfriend, rolling his eyes.

He ends up just standing around the mansion most of the day, sneaking bites of pastries or making idle conversation with the terrified waiters, while you are out with Jervis. He doesn't mind. It's your day. He is more then happy, this is his element. A whole day dedicated to his girl, and free food? Sign him up.

In contrast to everyone, he's the only person to give you a gag gift. Surprisingly, Jerome takes this too seriously to give you one. Victor doesn't, though. He'll give you a whole bunch of small gag gifts, just to see that beautiful smile on your face.

He'll end up getting you a real gift though. Something precious, gorgeous, elegant. Something absolutely killer. Black onyx necklace? Yes. You'll feel the leather of his gloves on your neck while he puts it on you.

Doesn't care if ANYONE looks at the two of you weirdly for the age gap. In fact, he'll become even MORE affectionate. Y'know, just to piss people off.

Speaking of age, he doesn't care you aren't 21 just yet. He's 100% sneaking the two of you some alcohol to drink. (Not without teasing you, of course, for being a downright horrible criminal!)

Oswald, Victor Fries, and Jervis don't appreciate you drinking. They are too protective. But Zsasz doesn't gaf what they say :>

[qqueenofhades]

Good Omens Season 2: Some Thoughts (and also Screaming)

First, /screams

Second, obligatory disclaimer that this meta contains MAJOR SPOILERS for all six episodes. If you somehow have managed to remain virginally unspoiled, look away now, scroll past, or add "good omens s2" and "good omens spoilers" to your block list, as those are the tags I have been using for all posts and reblogs.

Third, /screams more

Okay okay okay. Deep breaths.

Anyway, so, uh, how about all that, huh? First, the good thing about the tone of the season overall was that it felt considerably darker and more adult, in a good way. We didn't have the precocious kiddies, the kitsch and literally-comphet Anathema and Newt, the so-clever narration, etc. All that was gone, which makes sense when you consider that a) the end of last season saw them reboot into an entirely new universe, and b) the fact that God has gone silent is, in fact, a major plot point for the season. We don't have Her slyly telling us the story, or indeed anything, and everyone is left to make their own judgments and take their own actions. Which, obviously, gets them into a lot of trouble, especially when Metatron (the Voice of God, aka someone acting in the belief that they're speaking for God and therefore doing terrible harm) swoops in with the ultimate buzzkill at the end of episode 6. But we'll get to that.

The downside was that the main, present-day plot (hiding Gabriel in the bookshop and trying to get Nina and Maggie to fall in love) was fairly thin, felt stretched out and at times weirdly paced, and otherwise existed mostly to get us to That Ending and the setup for season 3. But the ending was so damn good (if obviously, very painful) that I can't be TOO mad, not least because we spent six episodes with them just making absolutely no pretense about the whole thing being as incredibly homosexual as possible. I'll be honest: I did not think they were going to actually, explicitly go there. Neil Gaiman has been so consistent about "your interpretations are valid and you're welcome to read it however you want, but the only canon is what's on screen," which I think is frankly a good thing (not least since the Neil GAYman Cinematic Universe is consistently very, very good to us queers), that I just... didn't quite think they'd pull the trigger. Sir Terry is dead and can't have active input, this is based on a book published 30 years ago, maybe they didn't want to make it LIKE THAT... etc. I certainly hoped, but I didn't really think they would.

Uh. Well.

As I said in my various semi-coherent liveblog posts, I honestly don't think there was a single straight person in the entire season, among both major and background characters. Aziraphale/Crowley and Maggie/Nina are the obvious paralleling couples, but Beelzebub (using "they" pronouns and addressed as "Lord" despite presenting as femme/femme-adjacent) is clearly nonbinary and therefore also queer, and the countless gay/queer side characters were just /chefs kiss. From Job's son making a sassy pass at Aziraphale, to the random Scottish goon with Grindr on his phone (which he then gives to Aziraphale, because what is subtlety), to the interracial couple with the trans spouse at the Pride and Prejudice ball, there was just a lot of casual, unremarked, non-story-critical queer representation visible at every turn. It's like the NGCU saw the bigots wailing about Sandman season 1 being extremely gay and went CHALLENGE ACCEPTED, LET'S MAKE GOOD OMENS 2 EVEN MORE GAY.

God bless.

Obviously, Jon Hamm as Amnesia!Gabriel stole the show (he was SO fucking funny) and it was also incredibly fun to watch Miranda Richardson repurposed as a scheming demon. Nina Sosanya also reappeared as Nina the coffee shop owner, which leads us into the Maggie-and-Nina subplot. They're obviously, wildly, incredibly clearly an analogue for Aziraphale and Crowley themselves, but they're also each, crucially, a mix of both. On the surface, Maggie is Aziraphale: the plump, blonde, earnest, sweet-natured one owning a slightly dated book music shop and somewhat clueless about emotional nuances, while Nina is (also on the surface) Crowley, the hard-edged dark loner who doesn't want to open herself up to people or be spotted caring. But emotionally, Maggie is Crowley: the one openly pining, clearly besotted, only wanting to hang around their crush and do whatever they can to make themselves useful, while Nina is Aziraphale. Interested but reticent, attracted but conflicted, trapped in an abusive relationship with a demanding offscreen "lover" (Lindsay/Heaven) who tries to constantly control and shame them without ever offering much, if anything in return. By the end, they bring themselves around to what Maggie/Crowley are offering, but by then, well. We've got a lot more problems on our hands.

As I also said in my earlier posts, this entire thing has always been a metaphor for religion, queerness, and what religion -- especially abusive, fundamentalist, organized religion -- does to queer people, but they really cranked the FUCK out of that metaphor this season. Aziraphale is guilt-tripped, controlled, and shamed for his attraction to Crowley at every turn. He is torn between his imagined duty to Heaven, in all its ignorant, uncaring, bureaucratic, gratuitously cruel system that he still insists on seeing the best in because he can't bear the alternative, and the chaotic and sometimes grey but genuinely more good morality that Crowley offers him. (Can I just say, we were explicitly shown that the two of them together doing "just a little miracle" are more powerful than Heaven AND Hell combined.) And at the end, he's told that the only way he can be with Crowley -- what Metatron explicitly blackmails him with -- is if they both go back to heaven, submit themselves to the cruel system again and give up everything that has made them who they are: their home in London, their human friends, their reliance on each other, their independence, their own ways of doing things. You can be queer in this (religious) framework, but only the limited, watered-down, controlled, controllable, constantly-under-supervision kind of queer, which relies on both you and your lover "converting" back to the true faith. And if you don't cooperate, they will literally kidnap you, lie to you, manipulate you, take you from your soulmate, and force you right back into doing the one thing (destroying the world) that you never, ever wanted to do in the first place, because in their minds, that is still better than this. It's for your own good.

Ouch.

And the thing is: that's why the ending a) hits so hard and b) is so fucking painful, because of course Aziraphale agrees. He has no conception of being able to defy Heaven on his own; he has always, always needed Crowley for that. In the flashbacks, when Aziraphale is faced with an order from Heaven that he desperately does not want to carry out (such as letting all Job's children get killed), he still relies completely on Crowley to "outsmart the rules" and find a better way. Crowley is A Crafty Demon; that's what he does, and so Aziraphale rationalizes it to himself that therefore that must be fine. Even in season 1, when he really didn't want the Apocalypse to happen but initially thought it was his duty as a good Heaven footsoldier, he relied on Crowley to talk him out of it and allow him to do what he really wants instead. That's their whole dynamic in a nutshell, as exemplified in that scene in episode 2, where Crowley tempts Aziraphale with the "pleasures of the flesh" while sprawled on his back in Ravish Me mode like the giant walking gay disaster that he is. (Sorry, buddy. That beard. Can't do it.) Everything that Aziraphale's existence is, that makes him who he is, that he loves and cherishes the most (in this case, food and wine) comes from Crowley. Everything else is just background noise.

Throughout the season, what we see is Aziraphale increasingly coming around to the fantasy of being with Crowley. He's coy and flirty; he talks about "our car" and expects Crowley will let him (which he does); he wants to have a Jane Austen ball and for them to dance together (oh my heart); he even thinks, at the crucial moment, that the best way for them to be together is to go back to heaven just like they were in the beginning, once more perfect angels, as if those entire six thousand years of struggle and grief and pining and separation and falling didn't happen. And Crowley -- poor, poor, brave, devoted, heartbroken Crowley -- has just heard for the first time in said six thousand years that actually telling the person you love how you feel is an option. Maggie and Nina tell them point-blank that their whole stupid plan failed because people aren't chess pieces who can be moved and automatically achieve the desired result. And of course this gobsmacks the dearest and dumbest Ineffable Husbands, because they can't conceive of anything else. People are chess pieces in the Great War of Heaven and Hell; Aziraphale and Crowley themselves are chess pieces who have been desperately trying to get out of being moved by external forces, but that doesn't change the fact that that's what they are. They don't have volition or agency aside from that which they can sneak for themselves in brief and stolen moments. That's it.

Until, well. It's not it. They discover that this whole would-be war is actually an elaborate ruse to cover up another angel-demon romance, that of Gabriel and Beelzebub. (I'll be honest, I'm 99% sure they did this storyline because they saw the fans crackshipping them, but I appreciate a fictional narrative that values and incorporates its fans' input, rather than trying to constantly "trick" or "outsmart" them or "do what they don't expect.") And Gabriel and Beelzebub get to be together, but only by leaving their world forever. They have to desert their homes, their structures, even their own identities, and never return. And Crowley and Aziraphale are so rooted in their "precious, perfect, fragile" life in their little corner of Soho, with their bookshop and their Bentley and their dining at the Ritz (which they didn't get to do in the end because METATRON /shakes fist), that that just doesn't work. Neither of them can conceive of doing that. So Aziraphale thinks "go back to heaven and try to make the terrible system do some good and take what we can in terms of being together" and Crowley just... pours out his heart. He's ready to fucking propose. He barely stops himself from saying something to the effect of "I want to spend eternity with you." He begs, he pleads with Aziraphale to go away not in the literal sense, but the emotional/metaphysical: to finally break this toxic dependence on Heaven and tell them once and for all where to stick it. And because he is desperate to make Aziraphale understand, he finally throws all caution to the winds and recklessly, desperately, adoringly kisses him, the one thing he's wanted to do for ages and...

Gets. Shot. Down.

Ugghhhhh. I'm suffering all over again. Aziraphale wants him, hungers for it, for them, and yet he's been so abused and so conditioned by Heaven (he's still blithely repeating to Crowley's face that "Hell are the bad guys!") that he just cannot accept that kind of desperate, blind, limitless, lawless affection. He even forgives Crowley for this "transgression," just to really twist the knife, and Crowley just can't take it, can't face up to how terribly this has all gone up in flames, after he went to heaven trying to find the answer for Gabriel's situation. Gabriel, who he fucking hates. Gabriel, who tried to kill the angelic being he loves (and for which Crowley has transparently never forgiven him). And yet at one pouty puppy-eyed look from Aziraphale and a warning that whoever is harboring Gabriel might be in danger, Crowley leaps headlong into the Bentley again and rushes to the rescue while "Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy" is blaring. He stoutly protects Gabriel; he does a miracle to disguise him; he lets him have hot chocolate and stay in the bookshop; he guards him from the literal demonic horde outside. All because of Aziraphale. That's it. And then, it still doesn't work. Not only that, Gabriel's absence and decision to forego Armageddon gives Heaven the one tool they finally need to take Aziraphale away from him.

I repeat: Ugghhhhhhhh.

(In a good way. Ngl, I love this angst. This is the kind of angst my brain Thrives on, the Thematic Parallel Romantic Character Arc kind. Nom nom nom. But also: AGONY.)

I also need to talk about Aziraphale driving the Bentley, aside from the obvious metaphor of him being in Crowley's home while Crowley is in his. Last season, we had the "you go too fast for me, Crowley" scene with them sitting in said Bentley, which was Aziraphale saying he's not ready for a relationship. In this season, as noted above, we see Aziraphale increasingly embracing the potential fantasy of being with Crowley. But here's the catch: when he's in the Bentley this time, driving it, setting the pace, acclimating to the idea, he's driving his own idea of what the Bentley/his relationship with Crowley is. It's not the real thing. He plays classical music; he supplies himself sweets; he turns it yellow; he drives too slow. Crowley calls him in another old-married-couple snitfit to complain that Aziraphale's messed it up, but what Aziraphale has actually messed up (or will, by the end of the season) is far more consequential than just a car. He's changed the entire shape of their relationship to the one he thinks can make it work, and it just doesn't. It has to be them -- "we could have been... Us" -- or it's not even close to the truth. It's not worth their time.

I repeat: Ouch.

Speaking of the writers validating fan theories, I know we all picked up and screamed about on Crowley's idea of Peak Romance Guaranteed To Fall In Love being sheltering from rain and gazing into each other's eyes, which confirms that that poor bastard was indeed ass-over-teakettle gone as soon as he met Aziraphale (again) in Eden. I also need to talk about the 1941 redux, because wow. This time, the danger comes from Hell, which we see being its usual self: gleefully, pointlessly cruel, pettily backbiting, dirty, sniping, tedious, endless, determined to mindlessly destroy because They're The Bad Guys and they like it. So they blackmail, spy on, miracle-block, illicitly photograph, and try to prove that Aziraphale and Crowley are secretly a couple, right after Aziraphale himself has just had the Light From Heaven realization that he's in love (which we all also picked up on in s1). They're forcibly outing them (to speak of more Religious Queer Trauma) in order to break them up/get them into trouble with their authorities/families. Aziraphale and Crowley manage to escape it mostly by dumb luck, but Crowley having an altogether freakout, hands shaking, barely able to actually point the gun at Aziraphale even in the knowledge that it's supposed to be fake, is just... wow. He can't even fathom the idea of ever trying to destroy him in earnest, especially when he knows on some level that Aziraphale also finally just realized his own feelings. So I just need to --

/screams

Anyway, Aziraphale's entire arc this season is doing what he thinks is the right thing and then inadvertently causing harm and damage as a result. In the Edinburgh flashbacks (live slug reaction of me: SEAN BIGGERSTAFF???!!) he tries to stop Elspeth from stealing bodies and gets Morag killed and Crowley drinking the laudanum to save him (though that part with David Tennant just riffing left and right, using his natural Scottish accent, and being Tiny Crowley/Huge Crowley was hilarious). He invites his neighbors to a Pride and Prejudice ball and makes them all the target for demonic attack. And of course the Job episode: Aziraphale, horrified at Heaven's callous cruelty, desperate not to get Job's children killed, willing to go along with Crowley's tricks to save them somehow, tempted by Crowley to do the fucknasty with their angel bits eat some food and decide that he likes it. As mentioned, the whole thing about God being silent this season is a major thematic choice. The only time we see/hear God is Her communing with Job from afar. Aziraphale enviously imagines the answers he must be getting (he's not, he's baffled and perplexed), while Crowley longs beyond words to even have the opportunity to ask the question: why? Why do this? Why is this your plan?

And of course, this absence culminates in the Metatron, the Voice of God, the person arrogantly claiming that they're speaking for God and know exactly what Heaven wants, being able to seize Aziraphale by the short hairs and absolutely fuck him over. Gabriel is gone/decommissioned/eloping with Beelzebub, so Heaven needs a Supreme Leader (God apparently is no longer a factor in the equation). And what this Supreme Leader needs to do is finally unleash the Apocalypse that Gabriel decided to pass on (the Second Coming). Aziraphale needs to be punished, taken away from Crowley's influence/love, and put back under Heaven's explicit control, so Metatron spots a great opportunity to do all three at once. It's not an accident that the exact tool he uses to get Aziraphale to agree is "now you can actually be with Crowley!" Aziraphale and Crowley have been trying so hard to hide out from their respective Head Offices, but now all at once, there's this seemingly miraculous opportunity for them not to have to do that anymore! They can be together! They can be sanctioned by Heaven! They can give up all this hiding and sneaking around and lying! Isn't that better?

... As long as, of course, they give up absolutely everything that makes them who they are. No big deal. Minor catch. Probably nothing.

Metatron doesn't let Aziraphale have time to escape, or think it over, or reflect, or anything. He pressures Aziraphale to come with him immediately, or be once more subject to Heaven's implicit wrath/destruction/judgment. Believe me, Aziraphale already KNOWS he's made a huge mistake, as soon as he hears what Metatron really wants: bringing him back to unleash the Apocalypse that Aziraphale and Crowley have given up literally everything to prevent. He doesn't need time to reflect. By the time my man is in that elevator, he's well aware of what a catastrophic misjudgment he's made, and yet --

Aziraphale needs this. He has, as noted, literally always relied on Crowley outsmarting Heaven's cruel orders in order to prevent himself from having to do them. He's relied on Crowley rescuing him ("rescuing me makes him so happy," WELL BUB, IT'S BECAUSE YOU ALWAYS NEED IT). He admits to Crowley's face that "I need you!" He hates Heaven's sadistic meanness, but he has absolutely no framework, in and of himself, to defy it. When the rubber hits the road, he will crumple and try to go along with it, and now he's been put in a position where he's going to have to stand up, defy Heaven, and make the break once and for all BY HIMSELF. He doesn't have Crowley around to do it for him, he has no support, he is going to arrive in Heaven and be shuttled straight off to the Apocalypse 2.0 War Room. The only way he gets out of this is if he actively stands up, if he chooses himself and Crowley and their life, and he has to.

The thing is:

Aziraphale has lived his entire eternal existence Looking Up. Up is the direction of Goodness and Heaven. Up is where Angels go. Up is where Aziraphale comes from and where Demons and Hell are not. But now he's going Up, in a position to take over the whole shebang, and it's the last thing he wants.

So he's going to have to come back Down.

He's going to have to Fall. He's going to have to get back Below at all costs. He's going to have to finally, once and for all, understand what led Crowley to make the choice to leave Heaven and never come back. It's only then that they can possibly be together on any kind of conscious, equal, deliberate footing, claim their own agency, reject Heaven AND Hell, and try to really earn that South Downs cottage and that happy-ever-after, and it's gonna hurt so good.

Now if you will excuse me, /screams

[itsabouttimex2]

Sooooo... How do you feel about the season 5?

In short? Mid. 6-6.5/10.

In long…?

A severely rushed season that bit off way more than it could chew. A season that had the characters pull powers from their asses more frequently than ever before. A season that had shitty “dramatic” moments for the sake of having dramatic moments. A season that lampshades issues instead of fixing them. A season with so, so much wasted potential.

It basically boils down: everything they wanted to do COULD have been good, but they just didn’t have the time.

I’ll go into some varied details below. I’d also like to make clear- I’ll be tagging all of my Season Five Posts with “Lego Monkie Kid Season 5” and “LMK Spoilers” until August 1st. Then the gloves are coming off and I’ll stop tagging them.

(I still liked the season, for what it’s worth- and you can watch it in full here! I’ve got some drafts and bots cooking as we speak!)

This was a cute send-off to Flying Bark! It was nice of them to acknowledge, in some way, everything that those dears did for the show- because Lego Monkie Kid would NOT be where it is without them.

Significantly less cute-

The absolute kick in the fucking face that constantly superimposing old footage over newer, worse footage is.

You don’t want us to be constantly reminded of the animation downgrade- that’s the literal last thing that anyone wants. Why would you constantly remind us that it used to be better?

What the fuck does this accomplish? Okay, let’s make comparisons, cause that’s the only thing that can result from pulling this shit-

This is what happens when you constantly reference the older, superior content.

PEOPLE CONSTANTLY NOTICE THAT YOUR CONTENT IS WORSE.

Also, why is it so saturated? How do you make a Lego Minifigure look like he has jaundice?

It’s just a bad look to constantly reference content you can’t live up to. I’m hoping they’ll just recreate old content instead of sloppily pasting it into the background of the show- it’ll be less jarring.

Alright, what else…

———

Yay, I called it! Nuwa is not MK’s “loving though bereft mommy”! Which I had been guessing ever since the Celestial Pagoda leaked, actually-

I mean, come on. He’s literally stealing the stones away from her as she reaches to take them back.

And the Season confirmed it! Nuwa might’ve be been MK’s creator, but she certainly wasn’t his momma.

And you know how the series subtlety clues you in to how little she cares about her “son”?

Nuwa didn’t give him a name. She had hundreds, maybe thousands of years to think on it- but no. No name.

We mortals name our pets, our vehicles, our art. We love them enough to bestow monikers.

Nuwa didn’t even bother to name her own sapient mortal creation.

But when he makes a move against her, does something she doesn’t want, takes destiny into his own hands?

She calls out to him with one word- not “son”. Not “MK”.

Nuwa angrily calls him “mortal”.

Becuase that’s all he ever was to her, really. A mortal pawn. A handmade puppet.

Someone designed to fulfill a sacrifice. Even though her intentions were good, MK’s sole purpose by her hand was to shoulder the weight of the world like a good little hero.

So… a potential “villain” in the making?

———

Lampshading the fact that you’re doing the “macguffin hunt” again does not excuse doing the “macguffin hunt” again.

Lampshading the “apocalypse after apocalypse” plots doesn’t make them any less exhausting.

Lampshading Macaque’s lack of narrative consequences does not undo the awkward and weak redemption arc.

———

They changed Mei “no longer wielding” the Samadhi fire, I guess.

Ignore that she never displayed a hint of concern or sorrow over “losing it” because now she’s sad and worried (after backlash from the fans over her losing it) about losing it.

Like, Subodhi knows so much about the world and the universe that he’s aware of his existence in the ink scroll- but he gets Mei not having an interplanetary level threat inside her wrong?

I smell a retcon.

———

Macaque’s redemption arc is still shit. I’ve got a whole rant queued to release soon, actually- I imagine it might be the final time I comment on his arc until Season Six.

To put it short- Macaque still falls upwards into redemption. No pushback or difficulty or introspection. He’s just a magically better person without any onscreen development to make the change believable.

But they reference this at one point?

Sun Wukong points out that Macaque escapes the trial without any punishment, and is just allowed to mope in place of an actual consequence.

So maaaaaayybeeeee they’ll do something in Season Six? I’ve lost all faith that he’ll ever be an interesting character again, though.

He’s essentially just “brooding rival #80058”. Instead of being a character that calls back to Seasons 1-3, from 4 onwards he’s just a brand new dude who totally didn’t commit any atrocities with a smile on his face- and he’s a worse and more boring character for it.

———

If I haven’t misjudged the intent, I think Monkie Kid will be going back to being an episodic series for the extent of Season Six. Again, they lampshade the “apocalypse after apocalypse” thing, yeah?

And now they have a perfect formula- find someone who’s having trouble with their new power, and help them.

And we might see Bai He again???

Let’s hope for a good breather season!

———

Rest in piss Li Jing their asses did NOT cook with you sorry papa

You could’ve been interesting in the writers didn’t try to pull a “loving father” bait and switch after you got like four scenes of being a raw jackass

If they were going to deviate from the source material and make you a good dad couldn’t it have just been:

“Li Jing, you were not invited to the trial!”

“STF that monkey son of a bitch hurt my baby boy-“

“Father I’m 300-“

“Hush son, let daddy take care of this- that monkey son of a bitch hurt my baby boy when he stole the Samadhi fire map!”

Maybe next season you’ll get to be interesting, hun.

(I’m still writing for Lotusfam though)

———

Drama for the sake of drama. 0/10 scene. Could’ve just had the interruption come AFTER they held hands, but no. Gotta drag shit out for the shippers or whatever. There was no reason to prolong this reunion.

I’m really not a fan of the “just wait another season for it”, mentality. Stop stretching shit out. You had a chance to do something sweet and heartwarming, and chose not to for the sake of trying to drag a conclusion out.

Ugh.

———

Characters just pull powers out of their ass for the sake of forcing dramatic scenes.

THESE ARE DOGSHIT SCENES

THIS MAKES NO FUCKING SENSE. THIS IS DONE SOLELY FOR THE SALE OF “MUH DRAMATIC FINALE” AND IS BAD

ITS BAD WRITING TO HAVE CHARACTERS PULL NEW MAGICAL POWERS OUT OF THEIR ASSES FOR THE SAKE OF DRAMA

IF WUKONG HAD THIS POWER FROM THE START HE SHOULD’VE USED IT AGAINST HIS FUCKING LETHAL ENEMIES AND NOT SAVED IT FOR HIS PRECIOUS STUDENT

MK NEVER LEARNED TO USE THE FILLET SPELL. THE WRITERS PULLED IT OUT OF THEIR ASS TO FORCE DRAMA BY HAVING MK TORTURE HIS MENTOR LONGER THAN EVEN THEIR ACTING ENEMY LI JING DID WITH A CIRCLET THAT IS CANONICALLY TIGHTER THAN HIS FIRST

WE SEE HOW FAST HE IS WHEN HE FIGHTS THE AZURE LION

MK CAN MOVE FASTER THAN WUKONG

HE COULD’VE BEATEN HIM THERE IN AN EQUALLY CLIMATIC RACE

I FEEL NOTHING WHEN I WATCH THIS BECAUSE IT IS FORCED DRAMA FOR THE SAKE OF DRAMA

—————————————————

💚💚💚

[lockewrites]

Reader giving Halsin a massage

Reader (gender not specified) x Halsin || Semi-NSFW (suggestive) || 1332 words AO3

POST-GAME SPOILERS FOR HALSIN

From @thecaptainsassistant (it won't let me properly tag you D:) - Hi, I saw you posted recently about HalsinxReader oneshots and was wondering if you'd be willing to write one with a human femReader ranger giving Halsin a back-rub (can be any degree of citrus rating you like). Have a lovely day!

You find yourself watching him without meaning to, your eyes often idly drifting to his form whenever he’s near and his attention is not yours to claim. A book had been keeping you company for some time as you sought quiet from the bustle of refugees attempting to reclaim some semblance of stability in Thaniel’s realm, but Halsin rarely stops for breath. Constantly hurrying from place to place, ensuring all were taken care of; exhausting to watch, let alone experience, but it warms your heart all the same… as well as casts worry in your mind.

Hunched over his desk, his hand moves fiercely back and forth as he pens his thoughts and plans, always anticipating the next step, the possible consequences, whose skills would suit the task best. The quill against the scroll echoes in the room, and you can’t help but shake your head. He simply never stops.

The book closes with a soft thump, and you place it on the end table before approaching Halsin. As you near, his posture shifts, straightening and turning slightly to glance at you from the corner of his gaze. Even with the weight of this new responsibility, the distractions and obligations, he never loses sight of you.

“What is it, my heart?” he asks, the scratching of the quill finally halting.

You rest your backside against the edge of his desk and look down at him, one of the few times you don’t need to crane your neck to meet his hazel eyes. Reaching out, your fingers cup his jaw, your palm on his chin as your thumb trails across his lips. Gaze taking him in, you note the shadows beneath his eyes, the tinge of pink in his sclera, and a new heaviness in the rise and fall of his breaths.

“You need to rest,” you say, voice quiet yet firm.

“I will,” he replies as he presses a fleeting kiss against your thumb.

“Now,” you insist, gripping his chin gently, as if to punctuate the word.

Halsin smiles, but it’s not enough to hide the weariness that holds him. He places the quill in the inkpot as his other hand rests on your thigh; you know the movement well, an attempt at distracting you from your concerns. Not a promise of intimacy, as that would draw him away from his duties, but an intimate enough gesture he knows has an effect on you. You can’t think of your worry for him if you’re too focused on his touch, what those fingers have done, what those fingers could do.

Your eyes flicker to his hand before returning to his gaze; your expression is wholly unimpressed.

“I will be finished shortly,” he promises.

He’s an honest man and would typically never dare make such false utterances toward you, but the integrity is pliant when it comes to his own well-being. It’s a lie he’s told you numerous times, and after the first few, you learned it’s never ‘shortly.’

You’re not without your own techniques, however. Pushing off the desk, you step behind him, your hand sliding down his neck and resting just beneath his collarbones as the other joins it; your arms around him, his warmth spilling into your chest as you embrace him from behind.

His muscles shift beneath you as he leans back and places his hands over yours, the tautness in his movements noticeable even through your clothing.

You slip your hands from his and move them to his shoulders, giving a tentative squeeze before kneading the hard flesh under your fingers.

An involuntary groan escapes him, his head falling forward in an instant.

“It’ll take me longer if you continue distracting me,” he warns, though the way his head sways ever-slightly as your fingers work at his stressed muscles betrays the insincerity in his words.

A smile plays on your lips, knowing he won’t deny you much longer. Halsin had always been so pliant under your touch, though it wasn’t until more recently you had realized. Leaning down, your lips press against the back of his neck, the sun-kissed skin warm and filling your senses with hints of oak and herbs; you breathe him in, the scent having become your home after all you’d been through.

Your hands continue massaging away his stress, earning you more poorly stifled moans. He’s losing this battle, and you both know it.

Halsin’s loose hair falls over your fingers as his head tips backward; he looks at you with that hazel gaze, his eyes holding a mix of adoration and exasperation.

With a smirk, you lower your face to his, claiming a kiss that he immediately melts into.

“Come on,” you insist after you pull away. “And I’ll finish what I started.”

He blinks at you a few times before sighing and pushing away from the desk.

Taking his hand, you lead him to the bed but stop him before he can sit. You undo the laces of his tunic, pushing the fabric to the floor and exposing his beautiful torso. After a greedy glance, you motion for him to lie down as you pull a bottle of oil from your nightstand.

“On your stomach.” Your voice is soft but commanding, and he obeys with a chuckle.

Once he’s settled, you climb onto the bed and straddle his thick waist, letting most of your weight rest against him.

“Not often I’m the one face down on the bed,” Halsin remarks, and though you can’t see it, you hear the smile in his voice.

You hum and tilt your head, admiring him beneath you. “It’s quite a view,” you reply as you rub the oil between your fingers.

The smell of lavender and orchid fills the air as you press your fingers into his skin; it doesn’t take long to find knots, the weight of rebuilding Reithwin and caring for those brought over from Baldur’s Gate heavy on his broad shoulders. While the land healed and continues to do so, and Halsin and you escape the town on occasion and venture into the land’s wilderness, it’s not quite enough to free either of you, but especially Halsin, of the constant worries that come with such a responsibility.

He doesn’t speak, and other than his occasional relaxed hum that vibrates beneath your hands, the room is quiet. Peaceful and withdrawn enough that it feels as though you two are in your own world, and you adore these moments. Halsin is hesitant to express such sentiments, but you know he would have collapsed under the pressure he places upon himself if not for these escapes.

You pay no mind to the time past, only stopping once your fingers and arm risk giving out.

He peeks backward at you. “Finished already?” he teases as you shake out your arms.

There was once a time he’d have fought you on pampering him so, but it was a fight he soon conceded when he learned you would never give up and it makes you happy; not to mention, it provides an excuse for him to return the favor, though he rarely needs one as he’s always seeking ways to pleasure you, whether innocently or intimately.

His back arches in, the muscles rippling as he stretches under you. Your legs lift you upward as you move to get off him, and in a moment, he flips onto his back and grabs your hips, forcing you to stay in place. For such a large elf, you never cease to be amazed at how dexterously he moves.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Halsin asks, smirking and raising a brow.

Tilting your head, you return the smile. “I figured you’d want to get right to sleep after such an exhaustive massage.”

His eyebrows shift and furrow, his fingers sliding down across your thighs and sending immediate heat through you.

“First,” he begins, his eyes traveling up your body, only serving to fill your cheeks with warmth, “I must show my thanks properly.”

[delicatebarness]

i cant read your mind | chapter nine

Summary: Ah, the return of John Walker.

Warnings: MCU Spoilers. Major The Falcon and The Winter Soldier Spoilers.

Word Count: 928

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A/N: Oh look, an update. ALSO text like "This... Bold and Italic." is spoken in Wakandan. But, I am also excited to go back to annoyed Bucky next chapter when John's back in the picture.

Tags: @blackhawkfanatic | @cjand10 | @wintrsoldrluvr | @missvelvetsstuff | @buckys-metal-arm | @matchat3a | @shadowzena43 | @torntaltos | @honeydew3064 | @scott-loki-barnes

The door swung open as Bucky entered the apartment, his strides long as he made his way over to the kitchen. “Well, the Wakandans are here,” he paused momentarily, looking at you. You sat with your knees up to your chest, scrolling on your phone, your gaze met his the second he mentioned the Wakandans. “They want Zemo, bought us some more time.” 

“Were you followed?” Sam asked, as you returned to your phone. You ignored their conversation, taking an interest in your phone again. 

A small gasp escaped your lips, Karli bombed a GRC supply deport, you thought as Bucky vocalized to Sam and Zemo. You listened intensely as Bucky explained what happened to them, while you read along with the article. 

You kept searching for any information, coming up blank as all the articles reused the same information. Going over the list of demands, wondering how the world can agree. Was Zemo right? Is the only way to stop it, by stopping her? 

“But there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?” Zemo asked in response to Bucky.

The couch dipped by the side of you as Bucky sat down. You met his concerned gaze as you glanced up from your phone. You could see the worry over his features. 

Sighing softly, you put your phone down on the cushion next to you. Bucky’s eyes remained locked on yours. 

Without a word, you reached out, placing your hand on his arm. His muscles were tense beneath you, a testament to the stress. His expression began to soften as he looked down at your hand, then back up at you. You gave him a reassuring smile, his lips turned into a faint smile in return. 

He shifted closer to you, his other hand moving to cover yours. Your thoughts couldn’t drift away from the sensation of his touch, his conversation with Sam and Zemo faded into the background. 

~

Zemo led the way into an old courtyard, “Shame what’s become of this place,” he mused. “When I was young, we used to come here for fabulous dinners and parties. I knew nothing of the politics of the time, of course, but I remember it being beautiful.” 

You, Sam, and Bucky looked around, scanning the surroundings. “I’m gonna take a look around upstairs,” Sam said, “See what you can find out here. And, keep an eye on him,” he directed to you and Bucky, nodding towards Zemo. 

“I’ll stay out of your way,” Zemo replied with a slight smile.

You followed Bucky as he approached another group of people, “Donya? No?” he asked cautiously. 

You sighed, sharing a frustrated look with Bucky. This mission was proving more difficult than you anticipated, but you knew giving up wasn’t an option. Bucky continued to search for leads, but the local resistance made his task even more challenging. 

You observed Zemo, he began moving toward a group of children, surprisingly gently. He started singing a familiar tune. You watched his body language, it suggested he was trying to gain their trust. 

“What the hell is he doing?” Bucky muttered as Sam came up beside you, his eyes narrowed toward Zemo. “He’s up to something,” his tone wary.

“Yeah, but we need him,” you replied. “At least for now.” 

Zemo walked back toward you, a triumphant smile on his lips. “Cute kids,” he said simply.

~

The narrow streets of Latvia felt even more claustrophobic as you walked alongside Bucky, your senses on high alert. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily as you approached the location of Zemo’s lead. 

Suddenly, you heard hurried footsteps ahead of you as John Walker and Lemar closed in with determined expressions.

“Karli Morgenthau is too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit,” Walker stated, his voice was sharp. 

Sighing, Bucky rolled his eyes. “Ah! How’d you find us now?”

“Come on. You think two Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?” Lemar retorted while gesturing toward you and Sam. 

Stepping closer to Walker, a playful smirk danced on your lips. “Wow, Johnny, I didn’t realize you were so invested. You like keeping an eye on us, don’t you?” 

Bucky shot you a warning look, however, you ignored it. Stepping between you and Walker.

“No more keeping us in the dark,” Walker stated, looking over Sam’s shoulder and offering you another one of his winks. If hadn’t been enjoying Bucky’s reactions so much, you would have vomited. “You could start by telling us why you broke him out of prison.” 

“He did that himself, technically.” Bucky scoffed at him. Walker’s eyes remained on you. Sending him a smirk, you listened intensely to the men’s conversation. 

Moving around Sam’s body, you placed a hand on Walker’s arm, your fingers tracing the fabric of his uniform. “You know, it’s nice having a strong, decisive man around. Makes a girl feel… safe,” your voice dripped with flirtation as you smiled up at him. 

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing on you. His patience snapped as he muttered in Wakandan. “Touch him again, and see what happens.” 

“You know, Bucky, it’s cute when you get all worked up.” you teased back to him in Wakandan. Your eyes gleamed with mischief as Walker looked down at you in confusion. 

“I’ll kill him,” he retorted, the tension showing in his shoulders as he stepped closer, edging his way between you and Walker. “Try me.” 

You shrugged nonchalantly, taking a step back after sending Walker a wink. 

As the group continued walking, you couldn’t help but feel Bucky’s gaze on you.

---

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[just-some-random-blogger]

Reborn & Remade

In which Cori hands you your husband, literally, because he, well, turned into a baby.

Dream of the Endless x Reader (& The Corinthian) | 1k+ | cw: gender neutral!reader, remade!corinthian, the dad that stepped up!corinthian, babie!dream, crackfic, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: ok #1 this is technically an x reader but is really not cos dream is a BABY, and #2 this is technically based off the comics... but is also not lol. dw if you didn't read them, it's fine, and if you plan to read the comics, no spoilers here (; I just love remade Corinthian a lot 😩 he is so special to me hes such a Great Pyrenees.

Tagging: @sloanexx @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda @aralezinspace @shadow-pancake9

I stretch my legs straight out on the bed. I adjust my laptop on my pillow then type away as I eat a chocolate éclair. I sigh and link my fingers together, stretching my arms up overhead. I yawn and check the time.

I go through my work, scrolling down the screen that was beginning to burn my tired eyes.

You know what would be great right now? A cuddle. Beds were meant for cuddles not this. Gosh, I wish someone would hold me right now.

I sigh through my nostrils and wrap an arm around myself as I examine the paragraph I had typed out.

I wonder what Dream is doing. I don't even remember the last time he's been here.

I flinch when I see a typo. I go back a sentence and realize I've zoned out on a whole paragraph. "Fuck," I scroll up the whole page.

I grab another éclair and raise a brow at my plate when I find there were none left, "what the fuck, I already ate 3?" I push my laptop away, "ain't no way."

I grab my empty plate and leave my laptop on the sheets. I head to the kitchen, dump my plate near the sink, then inspect my fridge. I pull out the box of eclairs and spot there were only 3 left, meaning I really did eat 3, "I don't even remember eating the third one."

I whip my head to the side when I hear a knock on the door. I stuff the box back in the fridge, "who is it?!"

"It's me!"

I make a face and walk to the front door, "that didn't help at all."

My expression tightens when the knocking gets louder and the words, "it's me!" are repeated.

Once I get to the door, I ask, "do you have a name, it's me?"

"That would be Corinthian, your grace."

My eyes widen. I immediately open the door.

Corinthian, with his tousled blonde hair and ear to ear grin, stretches his arms out and curtsies, "a pleasure to meet you, my liege."

"Meet me?" I raise my brows and give a confused but bemused smile.

"I've been remade," he straightens up.

I immediately make a face of realization.

"So, I don't really remember you," he tilts his head and shrugs.

"Then why did you reply to me like you did?" I furrow my brows.

"Well, I took a chance that you would remember me," he smirks, lowering his shades, "and you did."

I chuckle and shake my head.

Corinthian grins with the teeth in his eyes and fixes his shades, "my lord has sent me to retrieve something from you as he is currently remaking himself."

I perk up, "Dream?" I step forward and look past him, "where is he?"

"Why," Corinthian bends down and picks something up, "he's right here."

I pull my head back when I am faced with a blue eyed baby, nibbling on his fingers. I immediately think of how similar the gleam of this baby's eyes were to my husband's but overlook it as I watch the poor thing hang from his armpit. I find myself instinctively reaching out for the child with messy, dark hair, and saliva coated lips.

I think to reprimand Corinthian for leaving a baby on the floor but turn to see he actually had a baby carrier by his feet.

I cradle the baby in my arms as Corinthian grabs the said baby carrier, proceeding to then walk in. He surveys the area, "my lord is incredibly soft, so no sharp edges please."

I step back, trying to make sense of what he just said, as the tall and slender nightmare continues to look around before placing the baby carrier on the coffee table. He rubs the edge of the table, "this counts as a sharo edge."

I make a face.

He turns to me, "I'm meant to take a necklace that was gifted to you by your husband. Mind telling me where that thing would be?"

I adjust my hold on the baby and look down at him. The child draws his slobber-covered hand out of his lips and reaches out to my face. I grab his wrist before he could touch me, "uh," my lips curl in disgust, "I think it's in my bedroom, on my vanity table."

Corinthian nods. He walks off.

"That's my bathroom," I tilt my head the other way, "bedroom's over there."

The Corinthian immediately pivots.

I look down at the baby and his wet hand, "did Dream say why he wanted it?"

"Not really. But you could try asking him."

"But he's not even-" I cut myself off when I realize the Corinthian is no longer in the room.

I walk to the kitchen and decide to wash the child's hand. After doing so, I am struck with the realization I was suddenly playing mother to an unknown infant. I look at the boy's face and wipe the dribble off his chin with the collar of his multi-colored jumper.

"Cori," I call out, "whose baby is this?"

The baby blinks at me.

I set him down on the counter and fix the jumper on him. The baby smiles. I find myself giggling because of how darling he looked, "you're a cute one, aren't ya?"

"Mine?" the Corinthian reluctantly replies, "I don't understand the question."

I furrow my brows and turn to where the door of my bedroom was, "what do you mean you don't understand? Does this child have parents? Is he a dream?"

"Oh, he's Dream alright."

I turn to the baby, "aww, you're a cutie little dream? That means your papa is my husband and that would make me your--."

"Why do you have so much trash in your drawers?!" Corinthian calls out.

I make a face and snort, "sorry."

I walk into my bedroom with the little dream and push the nightmare away from the mess he just made messier. I hand him the baby and he immediately takes him into his arms.

"Did you try asking him?"

I rummage through my things, "what?"

"About the necklace," Corinthian clarifies.

In truth it clarifies nothing to me, which is why I shoot him a look, "ask who?"

"Dream," he bounces the baby in his arms, "I figured because you're married, he might actually respond to you."

"What do you mean?"

"He really is just a baby right now," Cori says as the baby laughs as he is bounced. The two laugh at each other for a good moment.

My face falls by the time they stops cause I finally realize what Cori means, "are you saying that's Dream?"

Corinthian turns to me as he releases his final chuckle, "you don't recognize him?"

I stop in my search to really look at the baby. The child sighs after calming down from his giggles and tiredly leans his head on Corinthian's chest, eyelids growing heavy.

"Dream?"

The baby perks. He silently looks back at me.

Corinthian looks down at his master.

I gasp, "what happened to him?!" I walk towards them.

"He's remaking himself... I think," the nightmare raises a brow, "or I guess reborn... -ing?"

"So I'm married to a baby?!" my jaw drops. The baby tiredly looks at me as I gently rub his soft cheek. He smiles softly at this. I wipe my face in frustration.

"Oh, don't worry," Corinthian smiles and leans Dream on his hip. The baby turns to Cori and reaches out for his face.

"He just-" Cori stops himself when tiny hands grab at his shades. The nightmare looks at the Dream, whose motor skills are horrible. He hands the child his shades, "-needs to get his things-"

Cori stops again when his shades fall to the floor. We all look at it. He secures Dream against him before he picks it up, "-then he'll be back to his old self--" he raises a brow, "or I guess that means his," he puts his shades back on, "new self."

I make a worried face and walk to my vanity, rummaging through my things again.

Corinthian turns to Dream. He cradles him into his arms, allowing the baby to nuzzle into his neck. Dream immediately yawns.

He watches the rummaging before him then announces, "I think our little lord needs a nap." He looks over his shoulder, "mind if I tuck him in your bed?"

"Yeah, yeah," I respond but spare him no glance, "be careful with my laptop though, okay?"

The Corinthian nods and heads to the bed.

He grabs the laptop and puts it on the bedside table. He then sits down and sets Dream in the middle of the bed. The small thing immediately rolls on his side and closes his eyes. The Corinthian sighs, "sorry, my lord. I didn't know you were that sleepy."

He fixes the corner of a pillow underneath his master's tiny head and then puts pillows on either side of his body, as to make sure he does not roll off. He tucks him in and brushes his hair out of his face. He thinks out loud, "honestly, it's never occurred to me that Dream sleeps."

"He doesn't," I retort.

Cori's brows furrow. He adjusts his glasses as he gazes upon the baby, "must be why he's so tired."

I finally stop my rummaging and turn around. I walk over to Corinthian, catching the way his lips curled downward. I find myself frowning as well. I place a hand on his shoulder, "hey."

Cori turns to me, face glum.

I raise an arm, "maybe this will cheer you up?"

He immediately stands when he sees the necklace dangling before him. He exclaims, "you found it!"

I let out a surprised giggle when he takes me into his arms and seals me into a tight hug. He groans with excitement, "thank you!"

"You don't need to thank me, Cori," I smile, "but you're welcome."

He pulls away and tilts his head, "Cori?"

"Ah," I gather the necklace in my palms, "that's what I call you."

He smirks, "I like it. Sounds dapper," he places his hands in his pocket and poses.

Before I could even laugh and tease him for it, I let out a shocked squeal when he chucks something across the room, causing a loud thud.

I whip my head back just as the Corinthian walks off in that direction.

"YOU THREW A KNIFE?!"

"I killed a cockroach."

"YOU KILLED A COCKROACH WITH A KNIFE?!"

"I was protecting our Lord," he rips the knife out of the wall then looks down at his split victim.

Upon remembering the sleeping baby, I look back at him in panic. He wasn't awake though; he didn't even move an inch after the loud bang. Dream lets out a soft sigh of sleepy contentment.

The Corinthian sweeps the broken insect away with his shoe. He makes a face as he examines my room, "you should really clean up. This is no place for a baby."

[the-tmnt-ficfinder]

Ficfinder finds: Still...Beating...

Rottmnt Oneshot Summary: It's time to let go, now. The smell is overwhelming.

Still...Beating... : Appraisal and Ratings

(Don't know what fanfic "Appraisal and Ratings" means? Check out my explanation on my Main Masterpost! Looking for a different fanfic to read? Head on over to my Fanfic List Masterpost!)

Disclaimer: This fanfic is a oneshot, and is completed. This fanfic is written by @devotedtosadpoetry who writes compelling and dark fanfics! Go ahead, go show them some love and support!!

The fanfic ratings are not based on quality, favoritism, or how good I think it is, but rather, how intense a subject may be. Like a movie review, or the tags on Ao3, letting the readers know what to expect.

Plot: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Plot is five out of five!! This fic has minimal amounts of plot, due to the fact its a oneshot, though what plot there is, is incredibly intense and disturbing."

Suspense/Mystery: 💛💛🖤🖤🖤

"Suspense/Mystery two out of five!! The suspense and mystery in this oneshot are just prominent enough to make you wanna read further, curious as to what's going on, and what had happened.

Angst/Hurt: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Angst/Hurt is five out of five!! This oneshot is filled to the absolute brim with angst and hurt!! Everything is wrong, and nothing is right."

Fluff/Comfort: 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

"Fluff/Comfort is zero out of five!! There is completely no fluff nor comfort to find in this fic. This fic is clearly written to have the opposite effect."

Emotions Conveyed: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Emotions Conveyed is five out of five!! This oneshot messed with my head good!! Its filled with such a sense of disturbance, and dread, oh man it made me uncomfortable (but in a good way ^^)"

Drama/Tension Level: 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Drama/Tension Level is four out of five!! I'd say this oneshot definitely had a lot of tension in it. Tension between Leo and the rest of the brothers. For sure, things were tense and upsetting."

Triggers: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Triggers for this chapter are five out of five!! This oneshot is incredibly dark, and very disturbing. For context, in the beginning notes it says "The heart of an alligator snapping turtle can keep beating for up to five days after decapitation." So, with that in mind, please read through the tags, and know that this is a very dark fic."

Legibility (Reading): 💛💛💛🖤🖤

"Legibility (Reading) is three out of five!! Still... Beating... was really enjoyable to read, as the writing style was smooth, and read very well indeed."

Legibility (Audio): 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Legibility (Audio) gets a four out of five!! I'd say this fanfic was even more enjoyable to listen to, as it contributed to the stress and suspense factor."

Length: 💛🖤🖤🖤🖤

"Length is one out of five!! The listening length for this fic is about 4-5 minutes long, and a word count of 1k words."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Personal thoughts on chapter below cut (Contains Spoilers)

Mikey never stopped making food in an attempt to combat what leaked under the door crack, and once it was made, it sat out until it vanished from the table. One would think a magician performed a trick on the food (as long as they didn’t check the trashcan). It didn’t take long for the box turtle to give up making anything. Everyone stayed out of the kitchen. Donnie didn’t work on his tech, only scrolling on his phone to make his eyes sting from the screen instead of emotions. Video after video. Article after article. Information he would store in the back of his mind for later, because right now, it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. 

Oh gosh, this is just so dark and depressing. How the brothers are struggling, how they're desperately attempting to live a somewhat normal life. Mikey's baking because it makes him feel happy, but throws away each meal, because who's going to eat it? Nobody has an appetite anymore. Donnie's burying himself in his tech, using it as a form of escapism, to escape his life because its all gone down hill.

It was getting worse. Donnie covered his nose, wincing when he caught an awful whiff of what lay just behind the door. He heard mumbles from it—coming from a voice that hasn’t stopped talking in the last seventy-four hours. It was hoarse and weak now. Barely heard now. Barely forming syllables now. Donnie didn’t think about the things being said. It was only lies. Lies said to the evidence right there. 

Three days, and two hours. That's a long time to be awake. I don't know if Leo had been awake that whole time, but after 72 hours of no sleep, the brain looses the ability to think straight, and hallucinations begin to become frequent and complex. Not just little hallucinations, but big complex ones.

The distractions used never lasted due to the screaming. It came with a rhythm. When the heart started beating again. 

Part of the reason for this, is due to the fact that snapping turtles have slower metabolisms. The body can continue to function for extended periods of time, even when brain activity is disconnected.

Mikey was suddenly there, pushing Donnie back and shaking his head. He’d been crying again. Red rimmed eyes, puffy with the weight of one less brother. “Don’t…” he whispered. Although he was quieter, his desperation was the same as Leo’s. “Please, just…” The smallest and youngest brother hiccuped, “Leave them be. Leave them be…” More tears leaked out, Mikey wiped them. “You shouldn’t see…” 

Oh man... The amount of raw emotion packed into this paragraph is completely insane! The hurt, the desperation, the grief, the fear and terror. Its all so potent.

The scream was more desperate than the last. Mikey shook his head again, and Donnie pushed him away, taking a breath before opening the door to Raph’s room. The smell came in a wave. Decomposition and blood and sweat combined to remind Donnie of feces, powerful enough to make him gag. And Leo sat right against the thing, cradling the bloated body, holding it close. Fresh tears streamed down his face like he hadn’t done this several times already. The proof of that were the stains on his cheeks and his puffy red and bruised eyes. He was smiling like he’d discovered a wondrous thing, but saliva dripped from his mouth from his screaming. His voice sounded like it was rotting. Just like Raph’s body. “Donnie, where did you go? Why did you leave when Raph’s alive? He—he’s back!” Leo laughed, clutching the body tighter. “Raph’s alive! He’s breathing, Donnie! His heart is beating, Donnie! Come feel his heart, Donnie!” He placed his hand on the body’s chest. “Feel his heart, Donnie. It’s beating, Donnie…”

24-72 hours after death, the internal organs decompose. 3-5 days after death, the body starts to bloat and blood-containing foam leaks from the mouth and nose. 8-10 days after death, the body turns from green to red as the blood decomposes and the organs in the abdomen accumulate gas. I'd imagine that Raph's body is probably leaking and getting squishy. Like a rotting pumpkin. Its still somewhat solid due to not being that far along, and also, having a heart that still works, but its still clearly decomposing. Leo could actually get horribly sick like this, spending so much time with a decomposing body.

[drlectertho]

Hello dearest Hannibal community,

Thanks to all the peeps who are still following me after like 10ish years of more or less complete inactivity on here.

I did have a lil‘ peak now and then, looked at old posts of mine and reblogged some that didn’t feel all too cringe. Also scrolled through my feed and hannibal tags and found that actually not all too much has changed in this fandom - same humour, same love for the show, same insanity, same kind of lovely people… heck, some of you veterans from back in the day are STILL active! I very much applaud your committment! 👏🏻

I‘m actually writing this post because I thought I‘d give an update on what‘s been going on in my life in hopes that some of you also comment a wee update about themselves or make a post and tag me (and others from the community) 🫶🏻

I‘ll try and make this not too long (Spoiler: it got longer than expected):

Basically, Hannibal (@nbchannibal) fundamentally influenced the trajectory of my life.

I went to med school because of that show and got my medical degree few years ago. Never in my life thought about becoming a medical doctor until I watched Hannibal, more specifally after watching Season 3.

I‘ve always been fascinated by sciences, human anatomy, forensics, horror, the dark and obscure. But also loved arts and creative work, and for the longest time I’d wanted to make that my profession. I was planning on studying Digital Animation right up until I finished my last year of high school. At this point, I didn‘t really have a portfolio for uni application and was doubting my creative skills/potential.

When Season 3 of Hannibal aired, I‘d watched it 2 times in a row and then rewatched Hannibal all together (since have rewatched the whole series again about 3 times). I realized that I didn’t solely love the show because of the (b)romances, its story and its goriness, but because of the psychological and medical aspects of it. Really, really loved the „sassy forensics team“ and their work (even though it was very fantastical at times and surely not the most realistic portayal of forensic medicine). Suddenly, I had the epiphany of becoming a forensic pathologist. Silly me didn‘t know that meant that I’d have to do 6 years of medical school, get a medical degree and then do another 6 years of residency in forensic medicine. But applied for medical school anyways, passed the „big“ entrance test and sure enough, I fell in love with medicine.

My dream of forensic medicine was pretty much crushed right away, since I was told that there were only few residency options in the city where lived (and wanted to continue to live) and hardly ever any open positions in this niche specialty. Also job market was rather saturated - and still is.

Did a pathology internship during uni and found it very intrigueing but couldn‘t really cope with the smells, even though seeing, touching and cutting (recently) deceased bodies was no trouble at all. I then thought, maybe forensics would‘nt have worked for me anyways and abandoned the idea completely.

Last year of medical school I did an internship in psychiatry, enjoyed it, apparently did well enough and was encourage by my attending to pursue a career in that feeld. Before that internship I had again recently rewatched Hannibal, and rather unknowingly paid closer attention to the psychiatrists and psychologists portrayed in that show. Hereby became more and more fascinated by the subject of mental health and mental disorders. I was aware, however, that most psychiatrists in Hannibal almost exclusively performed some form of psychotherapy and hardly any clinical/medical psychiatry was shown.

Ultimately, I got a job at the very same psychiatric clinic I did the internship at and am still doing my residency there. I like my specialty very much, love and care for my patients deeply, and my work definitely gives me some sense of purpose. Do I feel completely fulfilled? No. But who really is, am I right?

As of late, I‘ve been entertaining the idea of forensic medicine again and changing my current specialty. I guess, I have not been able to let it go completely after all…

Anyways, did Hannibal affect your life also in some or great way as it did mine? If so, I‘d be curious to hear your stories! :)

Thanks and best wishes to those who read the whole thing or even just a small part of it. ❤️

- M.

[ninjakittycomics]

Major Crimes (things that shoulda been)

OK.

I don’t know how to do a “under the cut” 

So, if you need to avoid a spoiler for Major Crimes (which finished in 2017 or 2018, I forget... time is really mussy in my head right now)

Theeeeeeeeeeeen.... take the title and these sentences as a cue to start scrolling away to avoid it :)  (i’ll also make sure to tag it as such)

.

.

.

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ON THAT NOTE, let’s roll.   Spudmeisterin and I were talking about the ending, and how bloody bad/lazy writing it was.   so here’s some points we came up with.

(i realize they wanted to be dramatic and surprising, but they missed the mark)  What would be more surprising, is if they allowed Sharon Raydor to retire happily.   (because killing women for people’s pain so they can finish the impossible task, as well as “close to retirement so must die” and also “i’m happy/just married so must die” tropes are just....so rife.  just soooo rife)

SO.

In my mind, she did.

She had the same heart thing (ouch)  cuz, let’s face it... life can do that.  Whether or not she needed the transplant or was put on a pacemaker and a severe restriction on her job choices/retirement choices, I’ll leave that up to you.

Either way, she’s out for that part of the season.  The rest of the team nails Stroh the cartoon villain serial killer. yada yada.

They come back to her hospital room after Stroh is shot.   Andy is there, as well as Provenza, Julio, Rusty, and Amy.

Sharon is like, “did you get him?” (meaning, did you catch the bastid etc)

Provenza does his little...kinda look down sheepish and is like, captain we had to shoot him.  I shot him.

And Andy chimes in like, “really, he totally did it”.

Which causes Sharon to do that all knowing, “Mmm.”

(she knows that Provenza didn’t do it, but she doesn’t care.  Stroh is done, everyone’s healthy/safe/accounted for.)

they do the usual happy banter, then the nurse is like, she’s still got a long road to recovery, everyone out, she needs rest.

Sharon Raydor retires Officially. (so does Andy)   They had some awful close calls, and they want to enjoy their worlds, and the time they have left.

That doesn’t mean that they don’t do occasional consulting (kinda like alexa crowe in “my life is murder”)

It should be noted that Provenza is unlikely to retire until he literally cannot anymore..  He’s absolutely running the Major Crimes unit.

Rusty becomes a proper DA (working with Hobbs, instead of just interning)

Sharon and Andy embarrass (cutely) the hell out of Rusty at his wedding.  (i can’t decide if he gets back together with Gus, or he finds someone else along his healing journey.  The writers really just flung their story all over the place)

anyhoo. it’s cute.  much goofy dancing.

Provenza gives Best man speech, and Rusty hides his face in his hands on the table.

(ooo.  the night before, part of the bachelor party, the gang goes axe throwing.  Julio and Amy clean up on the bets (but which one wins between them?)

Some times, Sharon, Andy, Rusty, his hubs, Provenza and Patrice, go to disneyland.  it’s a retiree thing/family thing.   They love the really freaking weird rides.  Patrice has a special hat made for Provenza saying “Louie”.  He grumbles at first, but accepts that He’s wearing it, because Patrice is wearing hers ^,^

He won’t go to Disneyworld though, because California is superior (or he’s a grump, it’s hard to say which)

and because it sounds about right to me, Sharon and Andy make it somewhere into their 80′s. 

If anyone else wants to add to some of the ridiculous antics, feel free.  And spuds, I think i forgot a point or two, feel free to add ^,^

[fictionkinfessions]

[《 Fandom this post is about : «“Persona ５”»｜«“Persona ５ ROYAL”» 》]

[CW : Mentions of death(?), locking people inside ____, potential depersonalization regarding __mi__ (name is a spoiler), maybe some other stuff but those are the major ones I believe?]

[WARNING : This post contains major, MAJOR spoilers for (if I recall correctly) the last parts of «“Persona ５ ROYAL”», please scroll if you haven't finished the game or plan on doing so!]

❂——✧——✧——✧——✧——✧——❂

♧ – « “Oh god, I just realized that my first post may somewhat imply (depending on how you look at it) that I actually took Maruki's deal oh crap” »

♤ – « “heyyy, guys.. I hope that's not what anyone thought, that was just me remembering stuff and being sad because we all went our separate ways and also because someone I really cared about was freaking 💀 😞” »

◇ – « “That being said, it would have been horrifying to be in such a reality. Especially because the whole ‘solution’ was just: ‘oh, you're sad? Bingo!!! NOT ANYMORE!!!!!!!’, and it didn't really get rid of the root problem.” »

々– « “It felt more of a childish solution to (almost) every problem there could have been. Simply being “happy” all of the time..” »

♡ – « “Not to mention, Sumire wouldn't have even gotten her sister back, she would just have stayed as Kasumi forever, but you know what's somehow WORSE?” »

❅ – « “That it would have been just an idealized version of Kasumi. 😕” »

✪– « “It didn't really feel like he was that same trustworthy therapist I kept going to whenever I felt sad, or whenever I just wanted someone to talk to for all of those months.” »

☆ – « “Which is sad.” »

❀ – « “It's always been sad, seeing how people you have grown to like, or even those you didn't, show their true colors like that.” »

✸ – « “He didn't have bad intentions, of course, but that doesn't remove what he was doing. Good intentions don't remove the wrong actions someone can take to fulfill something.” »

❆ – « “That's why he had a palace, no?” »

✧ – « “But.. even with that being said.. even despite everything that happened.. I feel as though, somehow, I still can't say that I hate him with complete confidence that it's true. I just.. don't know what to feel or think about him. I didn't want my friends to be caged in such a reality, but if they were all going to have the very things they longed for.. was breaking that bubble really the right thing to do? No, of course it was, but sometimes it feels like I did something wrong by not accepting that deal, as terrible it would have been.” »

❂ – « “So if any Maruki is reading this.. please get a therapist for yourself and refrain from giving anyone therapy until you no longer feel like running away from problems or traumatic stuff is somehow better than accepting that they happened. Seriously.” »

✮ – « “Have a nice day, doctor, but please don't try to come near any of my friends or even acquaintances until then. That's the least you could do after that.” »

❂——✧——✧——✧——✧——✧——❂

[ Side notes : ]

— #❂🥞🐈‍⬛✮

(《✮ «“Ren Amamiya”» ✮｜❂ «Akira Kurusu» ❂｜♧ «“Joker”» ♤ fictive + fictionkin》)

(How I managed to forget to put the custom tag in post number 6 I will never know.. side effects from using symbols and decorations on excess 😞)

(I should start making more shout outs to certain people in the side notes actually..)

(shout out to Yusuke and Ann!!)

(FINALLY FINISHED DECORATING EVERYTHING, WAR IS OVER 😭😭 I know I said I liked doing this, but sometimes I just wanna share little silly stuff that happens to me.. and then I find myself suffering because I just so happened to believe that decorations on the last few posts I made was the GREATEST idea ever 😞 this is why I forgot to put the custom tag I swear to god 💔)

[ Post number : ７ ]

(slowly becoming a regular here..)

x

[rriavian]

Trick or treat! ^^

Bobbole! <3 I've been editing my Corinthiel fic ready for you but it's still a bit rough, so please enjoy a snippet of it to thank you for your patience and always being so inspiring. @windsweptinred you helped inspire this with your wonderful art and amazing Corinthiel posts so tagging if you'd like to read as well :)

(It's a little bit sad but I promise the fic has a happy ending!)

Disclaimer: Major Sandman spoilers below so please scroll by if you haven't read the comics/want to avoid things related to the ending &lt;3

-

“Lucienne.” Daniel says when he greets her. “Matthew.”

He knows them.

There is a joy at the sight of them, rising like a sunrise, so vast he wants to bathe in it. He has returned to them; knows it doesn’t look like that, doesn’t feel like it, knows because there’s pain here he can’t soothe.

Interaction needs to be approached delicately. 

Daniel learns that a summons is a more comfortable way to interact for now, learns that it will alert them, allow them to prepare for his presence and all that it brings. He knows that this is the best course of action because the first time he tries to visit the library unannounced there is a jolting instinct that has him pausing at the door.

He hears crying from within.

It’s quiet, yet in the Dreaming nothing escapes his ears, senses working to make the door no barrier at all, the space a distance for all but sound. Lucienne is crying; soft sobbing that tears at his heart, a grief in love, a love in grief.

It hurts to hear, and that isn’t Daniel Hall’s emotion, it can’t be because this isn’t Daniel’s librarian.

This isn’t Daniel Hall’s raven. 

There is nothing he can say to her, nothing he can do to soothe this, nothing his presence can give her but more pain. He will make it worse. 

Daniel silently walks away. 

He owes her the time to grieve. 

The dignity of it.

(Halloween Trick or Treat ask game)

[en-chi-la-da]

i loveeeeeeeee scrolling through your gundham tag BUT,, i only just finished that 4th chapter in dr2 so i wanna know if there are spoilers from there onwards and also v3!! in the gundham tag TvT ??

hang on lemme check looks through my own gundham tag for the 50th time

there ARE a few posts/reblogs that give away hints to some "post-sdr2/how the game ends" kinda spoilers, they're a bit scattered (mostly around the middle) but other than that you should be good??? !! it's mostly Just Gundham posting lmao there are also some reblogs of him interacting with some of the v3 kids but there are no v3 spoilers whatsoever!! 😗👍🏼

definitely dont go into my regular danganronpa tag tho bc i do not tag any spoilers there at all!!!