#this is the first time I’ve attempted to render anything

[figment-0f-imagination]

Taco but I stole the cartoon out of her lettuce and tomatoes

Also the tomatoes by themselves undercut because I’m proud of them :]

[rockingbytheseaside]

Hii!! I love your writing sm like you’re literally my go to blog when I get bored and I end up rereading your fics 😋. Not sure if you have rules or anything so idk what I can and can’t request (IF YOU DO AND THIS ISN’T IN LINE WITH IT I’M SO SORRY.. 😭).

Could I request the harbingers crushing on reader? Like I can imagine them being slightly more lenient with reader which confuses most of the soldiers. Again feel free to ignore this 💗‼️‼️

(giggling and kicking my feet rn, this is the type of partially-satirical fluff I headcanon. Hope you like it)

✦ When they secretly have a crush on you

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe

✧ The ever-cold and impeccable Pierro – a mystery that even his associates and top harbingers cannot decipher. Not many can be considered as his close confidants, so none is certain of his personal life and preferences. A cold, stern man like The Jester probably doesn’t waste a glance on frivolous affairs or pleasantries. Even if many high-status people tried to approach him - aristocrats, business partners, or noble ladies; his cold gaze shuts off any initiation for close relations. No, he sees their greed for power too clearly to be swayed.

Yet Pierro harbors a deep secret. He does fancy a type… and that type is you.

It’s not simply your physical attributes or style, his ‘type’ is literally everything you embody. The shape of your jawline when you lower your face, the delicate shadow your eyelashes cast on your cheeks, how your chest moves when you take a deep sigh. From the minor and inconsequential attributes, he memorized it to his heart until the only thing his gaze is seeking is you across the room. He was always silently enamored, his eyes watching you with reverence. However, he is a mastermind, first and foremost. Concealing his inner sonnets for his love for you came naturally just as he conceals half of his face with a Khaenri’ahn mask.

You, on the other hand, were oblivious. Nervous, even. Facing off the most powerful man, cursed with immortality just as you all those centuries felt intimidating, especially when you couldn’t grasp why his gaze kept lingering so melancholically.

“It is… good to see you again, Pierro,” – that was your initial words when the two of you spoke formally. In truth, your mind was filled with wistful thoughts: he probably settled down with someone after 500 years of immortality.

In the meantime, Pierro’s mind was at comical odds with his cold exterior as he thought: Hmmm… Yes, I’ve already decided on the name of our potential third child.

But of course, he didn’t say that, even if he looked slightly mesmerized. Instead, he just settled with a polite: “A pleasure, indeed”. It's only a matter of time before he accidentally slips and calls you his spouse in front of people.

✧ Il Capitano was avoiding you like the plague, and you couldn't fathom why. Whenever you crossed paths, his oppressive silence would intimidate you further. He would linger behind you, a looming presence so quiet that at times, you’d forget he was even there. Alas, when you finally muster up the courage to approach him directly, he'd respond with the briefest of words, avoiding any attempts of chatter.

It infuriated you. So much so that you started wondering if perhaps you did something wrong. He sparred with you countless times, the taste of a battlefield is nothing foreign when he trained alongside you. You felt like a stranger. Why he was so eerily silent was beyond your comprehension, and alas, his pitch-black expression did not portray any facial clues on what he was thinking.

The truth of the matter is that Capitano has mastered the art of keeping his head impassively still. With a helmet on his face and lack of visage, no one sees his gaze ogling your form whenever you train. Your movements mesmerize him during battles, your legs swift and your stance is powerful. Of course, he would be silent when he is staring directly at your beauty in action. You rendered him speechless, and now the Harbinger is diverting himself by discreetly peeking at you. Thank the archons for his helmet hiding his gaze.

But the Captain scolds himself. No, he mustn’t! It is improper of him to even lay his eyes upon a being so diligent and strong as you, he must respect-… Nope, his head is automatically turning towards you anyway. Lost in his silent battle of self-reprimand, he didn’t notice you suddenly approaching:

“Captain, we need to talk. What is the reason for your cold shoulder towards me? If I have done something improper you must tell me… You always avoid me, even when we’re supposed to cooperate.”

The same characteristic silence followed him, however, seeing you cornering him so sternly, even the Harbinger had to drop his resolve.

“...You must forgive me. Your beauty had overwhelmed me to such an extent that I felt ashamed to admit how you rendered me speechless to approach you.”

✧ A long time ago, before Il Dottore bore the title of a Harbinger, there was a young boy named Zandik. This little Zandik was trainee Dastur, a prodigy of his field and academic year. But he wasn't the only top student of the Akademiya, in fact, this young man was standing in the shadow of a brilliant senior student whom he always looked up to with innocent wonder – you.

You weren't aware of the younger student with short turquoise hair trailing you. He, however, was aware of you because your portrait often graced the accomplishments of the establishment, thesis research, and any academic honors of the top young researchers. Since you were a senior, Zandik couldn’t share lectures with you, yet it didn’t stall him. Every thesis bearing your name, he read; every book you borrowed from the House of Daena, he memorized meticulously. His revenant studies of everything you did mesmerized his young mind, leading him to linger behind the lecture hall doors, drawn to where you so often spent your time.

It was a harmless habit, the boy believed; surely you never noticed him?

One day, Zandik spotted you chatting with your peers in the hallway. Unfortunately for you, you inadvertently left behind your precious notebook, forgotten in the rush to your next class. The young man didn't have it in himself to run after you and directly return it. Instead, it was his chance to study your secrets. His hands hesitated only briefly before he grasped the notebook, feeling the weight of the handwriting he so admired.

When he first opened the notebook, the first page read in massive writing: “I KNOW YOU'RE STEALING MY NOTES – THIEF.”

That was approximately 400 years ago. So much so that the memories of your student self were long forgotten in your mind. When you later on met the 2nd of the Fatui Harbinger, you expected the Fatuus to coerce you for cooperation. To demand you to leverage your expertise in Khaenri'ahn technology, or perhaps blackmail you into his maddening cause. But none of that transpired.

The grown man, now known as Il Dottore, stood blankly in front of you, eerily placid. His once youthful awe had matured into something far more inscrutable, like a long-buried sincerity breaking through his Doctor’s mask. Without a word, he extended a hand, offering you an old, tattered notebook. It was that same old notebook from your Akademiya days.

“... Huh? Where did you get this?”

“Perhaps a young boy was too excited to pilfer what wasn't his. I apologize for borrowing it. That boy never wanted his idol to think of him as a thief. If it wasn't so arduous to seek you out all those centuries, I would've returned it to you earlier.”

✧ With his face perched on his knuckles, Scaramouche sat down listening to your ramblings. You would think a Harbinger with his temper, would long since exhausted his patience, waving you off to scram from his presence. Yet the moment you start talking, he is obediently listening, like a devoted man waiting for his blessing from the Grand Narukami Shrine

“But I never saw you enjoy any snacks or drinks while you’re out,” – you mused with excitement, launching on a tangent about this mysterious Inazuman beside you. “Oh! How about this, I’ll start guessing your favorite pastime food or beverage and you tell me if I am right or wrong.”

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow, but crossed his arms indifferently - “A futile endeavor but suit yourself anyway.”

Undeterred, you accepted the challenge. You listed each and every single delicacy in Teyvat that you could recall, from Inazuman mochi, dango, and sake to even Mondstadt’s Cold Cut Platter and wine. The Balladeer only scoffed, amused at your silly attempts to deduce him, as if he was some mystery you should decipher.

“Ugh, Okay! My last attempt. Is it… green tea?!”

Scaramouche went silent at the sight of your anticipation - “Hm,”

“No way… did I guess correctly, at last! Are you a herbal tea enthusiast? Oh, I knew it, I knew it!”

You exclaimed with unattained joy, leaving the Balladeer to silently observe your self-proclaimed victory. The truth of the matter is - that wasn't the correct answer. Scaramouche doesn't care for any teas or snacks, not when his artificial palettes found human indulgences to be redundant. Yet, looking at your jubilant face, glowing with delight as if you’d uncovered some profound world secrets, he couldn’t bring himself to confess. How foolish.

“Hah, fine, you got me. You must be thrilled to guess something so mundane.”

“Well, maybe mundane to you, but I was pretty curious what a living puppet would prefer to drink.”

Your sudden words caused Scaramouche to freeze. He never told you he was a puppet by nature, and most people would never guess what he is. Yet here you were, stating it so simply and obviously. Most ridiculously, you didn’t seem crestfallen by the weight of this truth. “You knew…? I'm not sure if I should compliment your keen observation, or if this is another one of your random guesses. What gave it away?”

“I thought it was obvious.” - you eased a sincere smile, your hand reaching to carefully brush a stray hair on his head. “No regular human would have such a perfectly pristine face like yours. Even if they had the most luxurious face-care routine.”

If puppets had blood flow, there would've been a pink hue dusting his cheeks. It seems he was the fool here after all. Ever since that day, he has found the taste of green tea to be rather soothing.

✧ A popular misconception about Pantalone is that he allowed you to walk into his life and pursue him so easily. Trully wrong. In reality, it was this Harbinger who had been pursuing and courting you from the very beginning - like a lovestruck fool, no less.

At first, Pantalone tried to be the charmer. He’d offer you heavy bags of Mora as if it was pocket change and say in his best alluring voice - “Go spoil yourself with something new, dear. I want you to look your best on our next date.”

The issue was you were dense like a rock. Because you blinked at the mora and said simply: “Why? I already have comfortable clothes, I don’t need any right now.”

He wanted to slap himself. Any attempts at spoiling you with riches or gifts were futile, especially when you humbly rejected his monetary help out of casual practicality. You always stated that others in need would require it more. Very well, he won’t sulk just yet. He decided on his next act of refinement. He’d invite you with him to any luxurious events: galas, opera performances, dinner parties; all carefully orchestrated to impress you, showcasing how he can provide you with any wonder from the world, linking his arm elegantly with yours to flaunt how you’re accompanying the 9th of Fatui Harbingers himself.

That didn’t work as well. Whenever a business meeting occurred with vital connections, your gaze bore no interest in the wealth of the higher class, nor did you beat around the bush to dismiss yourself. Instead of marveling at the company of riches and endless champagne flutes, he’d instead find you marveling at the ducks swimming in the pond of a garden – “Look, duckies!”

Pantalone was in visible distress. All this gold that people die for yet you so naively dismissed him. Was he unworthy of your simple love? Was he too pompous for you and forgot his own origins? His self-doubt gnawed at him at night, so much so that his own subordinate would see him pacing in his office with a tremor of restlessness, thinking how he should open this topic with one he so openly treasures.

“My dear, please tell me what your heart seeks,” – he once opened the discussion with you, his hand clasping yours in an act of pleading. “I do not wish you to be uncomfortable with my actions. Just say the word and I will bring you what you want.”

Once more, you blinked at him in that same sweet innocence, but instead, you spoke with a smile: “Oh, you silly, silly man Pantalone. I never wanted your mora or status. I do not wish to be indebted to you, no. I just wish you to be as you are. If you want to take me to a restaurant, take me there, not because it’s a fancy establishment, but because it has your favorite food. Plain and simple.”

The young Harbinger didn’t know it was possible to fall in love even more. It seems he mistook your humble sincerity with naivety, never once pondering that perhaps you didn’t want a partner for the sake of connection or money. That being his true self was something he could even offer you.

In the upcoming days, Pantalone’s subordinate could clearly see was smitten beyond logic or reason. Like a grinning child, resting his chin on his palm when sitting behind a desk, feet almost kicking with excitement. He really was enamored with you from the start.

✧ If there is one thing Tartaglia’s heart relishes, it’s the rush of a challenge. And you, as a whole, challenged this young man on a daily basis. His bubbling persona and eccentricity to rush into action was an antithesis to your blunt calmness and reason. If he is the one launching into battle, you are the one who is yanking him by the collar while maintaining that unimpressed look.

Thus, as a challenge, Childe took it upon himself to make you break that serene attitude from you. At least once, and his heart will soar with victory. Unbeknownst to him, everything he did fumbled.

He started with cheesy attempts to flirt with you, flipping his ginger hair back while leaning on the wall with a captivating smile to make sure your eyes were on his form alone. It might have made you swoon, if he hadn’t miscalculated and leaned against the door instead, stumbling awkwardly when it swung open.

Another attempt was made when he tried to play the savior. The two of you were strolling when a Hydro Hilichurl Rogue stumbled upon your path in the wild, its makeshift scythe warning you two to get away. For the Harbinger, this was an easy opportunity to dispel such a puny target and save you. Except the Hilichurl Rogue kept throwing hydro slimes, which his vision of the same element was useless against. You managed to drag Tartaglia (almost) unscathed.

Everything was going against Tartaglia’s luck and he felt like an utter failure in front of you. He’s the 11th, for crying out loud, he always fairs well when something challenges him. Yet here he is, getting bandaged by you after fumbling countless times in your presence. Your first impression of him must be beyond salvageable at this point.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought you’re a problematic teen who gets into trouble all the time. Because you sure act like it,” – you stated to him simply. Securing his cuts and bruises on his shoulder.

“If I confess that such accidents rarely happen, would that change your opinion of me, or is it too late to start from zero? Ouch-” he winced when you tightened the bandages, his bruises not alleviating the sensation. The culpability of it all made him sulk, realizing he was probably putting you into trouble with all his shenanigans. “I’d die for you, you know.”

“That is the dumbest thing I've heard.”

Your words were concrete, his gaze averted with guilt and sorrow. But you continued quaintly.

“Why would anyone say something so senseless? I don’t want you to ‘die’ for me or anyone, even. What about ‘keep living’ for someone? For me… for your family, for yourself. Anyone can blindly plunge themselves to their death, but it takes actual courage and strength to keep living for those you care about. So please, do that for me instead of getting into trouble.”

The once serious expression on Tartaglia's softened with each word you spoke. Now he realizes that perhaps you putting up with his impulsivity stemmed not from frustration, but out of sincere worry. Maybe in his attempt to charm you, you were the one charming him all along. Especially when you sit so close to tend to him, it would feel so natural to wrap his arm around and embrace you.

“You’re right… I suppose it is reckless. Living for yourself seems truly priceless if it means seeing you beside me for another day.”

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Vuelve a Mí Pt. I

summary: you and joaquin confront the cause of the end of your relationship.

pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader

wc: 1,002

contents: 18+/minors dni, canon typical violence, angst, break up vibes, pining, longing, intense guilt, illusions to depression

AN: taking a stab at writing joaquin bc i've quickly grown enamored with him. i'm still learning his characterization and how i'd perceive him so be kind with this first try. this is just the first part & there will be another tying things up! i hope yall enjoy and i'm so excited to be back here writing again.

vuelve a mí masterlist

It’s hard to see him like this. Truthfully,  it’s hard to see him at all. Not because of anything he’s done, not even because of how he’s changed while you were gone, but from how you changed. 

It doesn’t make much sense; you had been turned to dust. Crumbled away into literal nothingness. And yet, when you returned everything felt different. Nothing, not your passions, your job, your family— Joaquin— felt like it was yours anymore. 

When you’d come back, you felt so disconnected from everything. You questioned who you were and what your purpose was, especially since so many people in your life had carried on. 

Joaquin included. 

He wasn’t Falcon when you left. He had never touched the suit. Sure he had wanted to, he had his aspirations but you had always imagined that you’d be right there to support him. 

But here you sat. Sam called you immediately, not knowing the hospital had too. You were still Joaquin’s emergency contact— after all these years he hadn’t changed it. 

So here you sit, a book in your hands as you patiently waiting for him to wake up. The doctors assured that he would wake up, he was in critical condition but young and healthy. ‘A fighter’ they’d said.

“You came.”

His voice startles you, and you flinch slightly, losing your place in the pages.

He grins apologetically, “Sorry, querida, didn’t mean to scare you.”

It takes effort to not get lost in his smile, especially after thinking that you might have lost him for good. 

You fortify yourself, crossing your arms against your chest, “More than you already have?”

“You’re one to talk, honey.”

You know exactly what he means. All the abandonment of relationships, taking risks to better understand yourself. He and others have made it clear that they’re worried about you, that you aren’t the same. Confirmation of what you’re most afraid of. 

“I don’t want to argue, not when you’re like this.”

He raises a brow at you playfully, “But some other time maybe? Over dinner?”

“Joaquin…”

You watch him physically deflate and it breaks your heart. He shakes his head, giving you a weak smile, “It was worth a shot, wasn’t it?”

“I’m sorry. I, um, I shouldn’t have come.”

“I’d be offended if you hadn’t,” He murmurs lowly.

Something inside you flutters at the soft huskiness of his voice and you’re rendered speechless for a handful of moments. Forced to acknowledge just how much you’ve missed him. Finally, you’re able to say, “I don’t know what you want me to say, Quino.”

“I don’t know, maybe something that explains why we aren’t together anymore.”

“I’ve explained that.”

“And it still doesn’t make sense.”

“That’s not fair, you don’t understand. You weren’t gone. You got to live your life with no interruptions, with no hiccups. And I got— I got nothing. I was nothing.”

He sits up, flinching as he does. You try to calm things— you had really meant it when you said you didn’t want to fight. But when Joaquin is worked up, when he believes in something his passion can’t be quelled. Isn’t that what got him here in the first place? 

He barrels past your attempts to shush him, his gaze piercing into yours as he does. “You’re right, I don’t understand. But what you don’t understand is how heartbreaking it was having to go on without you. My life was interrupted, the love of my life was taken from me and more than ever I had to serve my country. The one person that has ever truly understood me was gone. That’s a fucking hiccup if I’ve ever seen one. So no, it's not the same. No, I don’t understand, but it wasn’t easy for me. It’s never been easy without you— not before and definitely not after.”

As you listen to Joaquin’s words, you must face not only what the two of you lost together, but what he lost on his own. His struggle, his pain, forces you to turn away from your own and see his in a new light. And for the first time since you opened your eyes after being blipped, you feel like you’ve made a huge mistake. You’ve done nothing but hurt yourself and the ones you love by being swallowed by how the unknown may have changed you. 

You gave up. On yourself, on your friends and family. On Joaquin.

Your chest goes tight and you freeze as your body is flooded with emotion. It took this— him injured and angry for you to come to your senses? 

What have you done? 

“Hey, vuelve a mí,” He murmurs so gently that the tears in your eyes start to fall. “Lo siento, querida, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” 

With sharp, quick movements you wipe away your tears and stand. “I shouldn’t have come,” You repeat, stepping closer to him, resting your hand over his gently. “I’m really glad you’re okay Joaquin but I— I have to go.”

“Wait, we can talk about this, figure it out like we did before? Don’t go,” He flips his hand over in yours, lacing your fingers together.

“I’m not ready. I’m sorry. For everything, I’m so sorry,” You whisper brokenly. He squeezes your hand, running his thumb over yours in an attempt to soothe you. It only makes the guilt inside you plant itself deeper.

You swallow, shaking your head. Your mind is made up.  “Me being here…it’s just going to fuck up everything further. I’m sorry.

“Baby, that’s not—“

“Be well, Quino. Please,” you implore, untangling your hands and darting for the door.

He calls after you. Calls and calls, exerting effort you know his healing body shouldn’t. And yet, you can hear him trying until the elevator doors close. Something inside you continues to feel him. As you walk to your car, as you eat dinner later that night, as you crawl into your bed made for two. That yearning, that ache…it doesn’t change your mind. 

> pt. II

let me know if you'd like to be on my joaquin taglist!

[cerisereids]

𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗦𝗵𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗱 𝗠𝗲 𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿 𝗧𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗶𝘀 𝗦𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗘𝗻𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝘁𝗼 𝗕𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗦𝘂𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗗𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗗𝗮𝘆𝘀- 𝗦.𝗥.

Pairing- s2!Spencer Reid x Kindergarten Teacher!Reader

Summary- Spencer Reid adjusts to life after being kidnapped. He’s pulled out of the darkness by a girl in a floral dress at his local coffee shop.

Warnings- Tobias Hankel trauma, angst-ish(?kinda) to fluff, fem!reader, she/her pronouns, moreid supremacy, bitchy!Spencer, flirty!Spencer, lowkey inexperienced!Spencer, the confession scene is also lowkey inspired by Coleman Domingo’s story of how he met his husband LOL

A/N- I honestly don’t know how I feel about this fic but it’s the first thing I’ve written in almost a year so bon appetit/ divider from @saradika-graphics !!!

You’re flustered, cheeks are hot to the touch, a nervous pit bubbling in your stomach. You can feel the forced proximity of other customers in the bustling coffee shop as you desperately attempt to balance your coffee cup amongst your binders, bag, and laptop. The last available table in the coffee shop is in your peripheral as you pathetically juggle the bundles in your arms.

Once you’re finally stable enough to move without dropping everything in your hands, you take a deep breath, equal amounts determination and preparation. The split second before you reach the chair, a tall, lanky frame crashes into you. Your lesson plans scatter in all different directions, coffee cup splattering to the ground. You close your eyes, scrambling for your last semblance of patience after a long, draining day. You inhale deeply in a desperate attempt not to scream at whoever this clumsy stranger is.

Then, you open them, and the emotion that strikes through your heart is anything but anger. The man is crouched before you, collecting your scattered items swiftly and succinctly. You freeze, the overstimulation of the past 5 minutes fogging your brain. You have no choice but to stare at him, taking in the way his long limbs stretch and bend. You’re left standing there like an idiot, eyes wide and dumbfounded. When he pops back up to full height, you finally get a good look at him. He’s beautiful.

Floppy brown hair frames his soft face, big, chocolate brown eyes scanning all over your face, refusing to meet your own. His lips turn inward, flattening. an awkward smile lifts them up ever so slightly. You study his body language, the way his gaze can’t decide where to land, flickering between you and the floor. You feel a pull towards him, a deep longing in the pit of your stomach. You wonder if he feels it, too, if his avoidance is a ruse.

Despite his grouchy demeanor, you see something in his eye. A glint, a shimmer. Something that allows a small sparkle of hope to flicker in your chest.

“Sorry about that,” he offers flatly, his face turning downward. His tone is succinct, similar to the way he gathered your materials, now in a neat pile on the table you were headed towards.

“Oh!” you gasp, feeling as if you’ve been shocked, coming back to life at the sound of his voice, “oh, that’s okay! Were you going to sit here?” you ask sheepishly, even though it’s quite obvious he was.

“Yeah. Yeah I was, but it’s not a problem, you take it,” he speaks, his tone terse once again. His gaze is still turned downward, and insecurity slowly creeps up your spine. This is no ruse. This tall, aloof, gorgeous stranger wants nothing to do with you.

You both move at the same time, though, coming chest-to-chest with him once more. You freeze again, the physical contact sending shockwaves right to your brain, rendering it useless. You don’t know what it is about this man that’s so enticing. Maybe it’s the way his large hands instinctively move up to cradle your elbows, or the way his big, brown eyes finally bore into yours. It pulls you in, making you want more.

You don’t have the chance to take it, though. He turns both your bodies, pulling you around so you’re now closer to the table, him the door. “Sorry, again,” he breathes out obligingly, before turning to walk away.

“T-that’s okay!” you blurt, more high pitched than intended. To your surprise, he stops, turning toward you again. Relief washes over you, you weren’t ready to say goodbye to him just yet. The problem is, now that he’s facing you, you have no idea what to say.

“What’s your name?” is the best you come up with, blurting it out almost on impulse. Since becoming a teacher, it’s a question you’ve grown so accustomed to asking this, especially when you first meet someone. The realization dawns on you in this moment that you would have said anything to get him to stay longer. Although, the look on his unimpressed face makes you wish the ground would swallow you whole.

“Spencer. My name is Spencer,” he says, before turning to go once more. You’re frozen in shock, you weren’t really expecting him to actually tell you, especially considering the sassy look etched into his pretty face. You’re still not quite ready to see him go, but you secede, clutching to the little knowledge you have of him. Of Spencer.

You stay frozen in place for a moment longer, unable to take your eyes off the way he walks purposefully down the road. That magnetism, that pull, is nearly soul crushing. It takes over every part of you until he rounds the corner, officially out of your sight. Once he’s gone, it’s like you’ve hit resume on a remote, the bustle of coffee shop flourishing around you at full speed. You flinch, as if shaking off the swell of butterflies swarming your stomach.

Your cheeks run hot once again, a well of anxiety bubbling in your stomach. You feel as if everyone in the coffee shop was privy to how desperate you were to cling to any part of the man you just met. You still can’t get him out of your head as you move to set the rest of your items down by the table. His magnitude shocks you, the force in which you’re pulled to him nearly paralyzing. Yet, you cannot wrap your brain around this instinctual, gut feeling, in comparison to his avoidant manner.

He looked in your eyes only once, acted as if he’d rather be anywhere else. You have a hard time believing that this monstrous feeling isn’t mutual, a small tick in your gut telling you this won’t be the last time you see this elusive Spencer.

Spencer’s eyes are trained on the floor his entire walk to the BAU. His hands are planted firmly in his pockets, the crease in his brow growing deeper as he recalls each moment of the event that just occurred. The sweet smell of her vanilla perfume lingers, the swish of her floral sundress taunts him. Her beauty sent alarm bells off in his brain, the need to study her, to take in every feature nearly sent him into overdrive.

He recalls the stack of papers he collected for her, the ones titled ‘Kindergarten Read Aloud’, and the thought nearly takes his breath away. A teacher. She’s a kindergarten teacher. He can barely handle this information without collapsing into the sidewalk. The thought of her kind demeanor, her sweet smile greeting fresh young faces each day nearly gives him a heart attack.

The pounding of his heart, the swell of butterflies in his chest are nearly paralyzing. He splays a wide hand over his chest, massaging the area over his heart as if it would make the longing feeling go away. He knows what it is, what it means. It’s been well over a year since he swore he’d never feel this way again. Now, here comes a complete and total stranger, messing up his plans entirely.

His head stays down as he enters the glass doors of the BAU, ignoring his coworkers’ greetings and subsequent looks of confusion. He barrels straight for the conference room, desperate for a case to take his mind off of the pretty lady in the café.

Spencer gets his wish, a case taking them halfway across the country within mere hours. Contrary to his prior belief, it does absolutely nothing for his nerves. All day, he felt each beat of his pounding heart against his rib cage, as if it were trying to tell him something. He had no choice but to push it down, to avoid. It made him sloppy, he made mistakes he normally never would.

It earned him funny looks from his coworkers all day, a group of the best profilers in the world certainly clocking his uncharacteristic behavior. The entire day was chaotic, and he fully blames her. She bumped into him, and in doing so, knocked his entire world off its axis. He was dropping pieces of evidence, tripping over his own two feet in the police station, and missing key details in the case files. It was laughable.

He lays in solitude now, in his cheap, beige hotel room, unable to think about anything else. His head lifts at the sound of a knock at the door, only getting up once he hears a gruff, “it’s Morgan, open up, kid.”

He sighs. He knew this was coming. It was either going to be him or Emily, the ones who showed their concern for him the most today. He pads over to the door, confirming through the peephole before opening it. He stays leaning against the doorframe, refusing to let Derek in. It’s cowardly, he knows that, but right now he can’t really offer more.

“What?” he asks, tone sharper than intended. Derek lifts a knowing brow. “You’re not going to let me in?” Spencer rolls his eyes at that, having no choice but to step aside and let him through.

Morgan saunters in, taking in the mess of sheets he’d been thrashing in just moments earlier. He turns to Spencer, a finger pointed towards the bed, “you wanna talk about this?”

Spencer blushes, a surge of emotions flowing through him all at once. A clutch of grief hangs heavy in his chest, the guilt of betrayal bubbling hot in his stomach.

“I met someone today,” he blurts, uncontrollably. The memory of the morning had been stuffed down his throat all day, eager to burst out at the first person who asked.

Morgan quirks an eyebrow at him, a concerned frown burrowing in his forehead. “Met someone?” he repeats, incredulous.

Spencer nods with fervor, his eyes squeezing shut as he ruffles his mop of hair in distress. He’s been incapable of processing any sort of feeling since the night he was taken, his heart a numbed shield of armor. Now, he’s been cursed- or blessed, he’s not entirely sure which one, by the floral that’s twirled into his life.

“That have anything to do with what was going on today?” he asks, a sly tone to his voice.

“What was going on today?” Spencer deadpans, one last desperate attempt to save face, though he knows it’s no use. Derek rolls his eyes, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips. He meets Spencer’s eye, then, a more serious glint taking over.

“She was at the coffee shop,” he musters out, “we were both going toward the same table and bumped into each other. I haven’t stopped thinking about her since.” His words hit him like a ton of bricks. He spent the majority of the day convincing himself that she was a dream, a figment of his lonely, broken imagination. He’s now just made it, her, real. He doesn’t know what to do with that.

“You get her name?” he asks, and Spencer shakes his head no. Derek adjusts at that, looking at Spencer like he has two heads. “She must have been one hell of a woman, then,” is all he says.

Spencer nods, avoiding eye contact as he moves to sit at the edge of the bed. He feel vulnerable, raw as if someone’s stripped him down to only his nerve endings. He thinks that someone might be her.

“Listen, kid,” Derek takes a step closer, joining him on the bed, “no one can truly understand what you went through. I get that.”

Spencer flinches at the mention of that night, of him. Derek rests a reassuring palm on his trembling shoulder, “But,” he continues, “it still wouldn’t hurt to maybe try and let someone in.”

Spencer says nothing, just stares at the beige carpet as he lets the reality of his emotions fully settle in. Derek pats him on the shoulder, “try it,” he encourages one last time, before leaving Spencer in solitude once more.

One week, three days, and 12 hours. That’s how long it’s been since you’ve seen Spencer. You know how pathetic it is to know how long it’s been down to the hour. You know how likely it is that you’ll never see him again, but there’s a part of you that itches, longs for him. Your friends think you’re going crazy. You think they may be right.

You find yourself where you were 11 days prior, in the coffee shop, working on more lesson plans. You’re nearing the end of your rope, your mind trailing back to the sadness that lingered in his eye. It’s what intrigued you the most about him, how his body language was so closed off, his tone so clipped, while his eyes told a completely different story.

You’ve recognized it in students before, ones who are craving attention, craving love. You do feel a little crazy for wanting to be the one to give that to Spencer. You really begin to think you’re hallucinating when the chime above the door rings, indicating someone’s entered. You see the same mop of tousled brown hair stride into the café, and your pen hits the table with a sharp clack.

A soft, languid heat pools in the pit of your stomach, your brain completely empty as you watch him order. Your heart picks up in speed as he moves along the counter, inching closer and closer to your table. Your breathing grows shallow, and you begin debating on whether or not to say something, to make yourself known. You’re apprehensive, due to his grouchy attitude the other week, otherwise you’d have no problem. You’ve always been social, but something about him sweeps the words right out of your mouth like a gust of air blowing through a leaf pile.

Your heart sinks as you watch him accept not one, but two coffees, ultimately accepting defeat. You shrink into yourself, almost embarrassed by the hurt inflicting your heart. You flinch at the sound of a paper cup clicking against the table, looking up to see that same head of hair, his doe eyes looking right into yours.

“I-uh, I owe you a coffee,” he manages to sputter out, his tone the exact opposite of the one he gave you the other week.

“How’d you know what I order?” you ask, incredulously inspecting the cup, the sticker reflecting your exact order.

“I saw it when we first met,” he states matter of factly, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“And you remembered it?” you look back up at him, trying to detect any dishonesty in his gaze.

“I have an eidetic memory,” he states once again, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“An eidetic memory?” you repeat, a brow raising.

He nods, “I work for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. It’s why I haven’t been able to do this,” he gestures to your coffee, “sooner, with back to back cases and all…” he trails off, cheeks tinting pink just slightly as he shoves his hands in his pocket.

“Are you going to sit, Mr. Eidetic Memory?” you quip, heart racing at the smile that tilts his lips.

“It’s actually Dr. Eidetic Memory,” he states, pulling out the chair opposite you.

“Doctor?” you inquire, becoming more infatuated with him by the second.

He nods, “Doctor. Though I would argue it’s not as impressive of a title as teacher,” he avoids eye contact again, but this time there’s a glimmer of light in his eye that wasn’t there before. It’s as if he’s nervous, it’s agonizingly cute. It pulls at your heart like it’s made of molasses.

“I think you’d probably be the only person who says that,” you chuckle, and he smiles too, cheeks turning even more red. You can’t take your eyes off him.

“Did you know that by the age of five, a child’s brain is already about 90% of its adult size?” he rattles off, like it’s the most obvious information in the world. Even with your master’s degree in early childhood development, you’re still surprised by the information. “Early childhood education plays a critical role in shaping cognitive development, and studies show that positive reinforcement and interactive learning at this stage significantly impact future academic success.”

A silence settles over the table as he finishes rambling, and for a moment you see the spark in his eye dim, like it had been the day you met. You know that look, he’s afraid he’s said too much. With him, there won’t ever be such a thing.

“So are you saying my job is more important than yours?” you reply, and his breath catches, almost as if he’d expected you to get up and walk away.

He laughs, a sweet, breathy huff that robs the air straight from your lungs. “You know, I-uh,” he pushes his floppy hair behind his ears, “I gave you my name but you never gave me yours.”

You raise a brow, impressed at his smoothness. “You never asked,” you quip, “in fact, I recall you turning and walking away as fast as you possibly could.”

This causes his cheeks to flush an even deeper red, something you didn’t know was possible. You’re ever so thankful it is, and you tell him your name.

“I apologize for that,” he mumbles awkwardly, but still sincere all the same. “I haven’t been myself recently, to be completely honest, I think-meeting you terrified me.” His eyes go wide at this confession, as if he couldn’t believe he’s saying this to someone who is, for all intents and purposes, still quite the stranger.

“Terrified you?” you repeat teasingly, hoping to lighten his mood.

“You’re just so beautiful,” he says earnestly, as if he’d run out of steam to dance around it any longer.

It’s your turn for your cheeks to heat, your turn to avoid eye contact now as this man has figured out how to probe the deepest part of you. A rush of butterflies swarm in your stomach at the compliment, your heart feeling like it might burst out of your ribcage.

“So are you,” you reply softly.

Spencer feels fortunate to have developed something resembling a routine with the incredible woman he met a month ago. Four Thursdays ago, the day he finally sat down with her, marked the start of Thursday Afternoon Coffee. Some weeks they’ve done work together, others they sat and talked until close.

He can’t believe it’s only been four weeks, only four meetings with her (his traveling schedule has been conveniently light, he’s nearly sure a certain door-kicker is pulling some strings). And yet it’s like he’s known her all his life. She’s intelligent, witty, so incredibly beautiful it makes his stomach hurt.

She’ll arrive one week in soft pastels and florals, the late afternoon light baking her frame in an angelic glow. The next week, she’s dressed in denim, mouse ears, a nose, and whiskers resembling If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. He becomes more and more infatuated with her zany life each passing week.

The more he uncovers about her, the bigger his heart swells when he thinks about her. He sits at his desk, drowning in paperwork, and all he can concentrate on is her. His mind drifts back to the third time they met, when their bond began to grow deeper.

It was a rainy Thursday afternoon, and the two of them had just finished their work for the day, indulging in a croissant from the café. He studied the way her plump lips closed around the fluffy bread, her eyes falling shut at the taste. His heart skipped a beat at the soft sigh that fell from her, his stomach churning with a sickly sweet feeling.

“You’re really beautiful,” it just…fell out of his lips. He didn’t mean to say it, he regretted it once he did. Not because he didn’t mean it, he was just petrified of scaring her off. His heart has never beat this way for anyone else. His eyes darted wide open, heat crept up his cheeks as he anticipated a response.

“So are you,” she states, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Since then, the air has shifted between them into something much more dangerous than it was before. He can tell she feels it too, the current that pulls them together, as if they don’t have a choice. It’s petrifying.

Spencer’s spent so much time alone, he’s learned to view it as a point of pride. He’s never had to rely on anyone, and he thought that was the way he liked it. Of course, his logical mind has always known romantic love can’t save a person, can’t fix them. The light you have brought into his life, though, has him smiling for the first time since he’d been taken by Tobias. The name still makes him shudder, but the warmth coating his stomach just knowing she’s out there makes it so much more bearable.

He has a pep in his step at the BAU on Thursday, the day he gets to see her. He can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to see her every other day, to call her whenever he wants while he’s on the road and not have to overthink double texting like an idiot. Derek teases him all day, ruffling his hair, punching his shoulder, giving him sly looks. He doesn’t even care. He just wants to see her.

It’s what pulls him through a grueling day of paperwork, the fuzzy feeling in his stomach buzzing like a bee hive as he walks into the café. He stops when he sees her, deep in conversation with a little boy and his mom. It knocks the wind out of him. He studies her while she talks, animation lighting her every feature, a soft, pure lilt to her tone. His heart constricts at the idea that she does this all day long. She’s gentle and kind, yet strong and firm.

He sees it now, in the way she interacts with the small child, getting down to his level and looking him in the eye, speaking directly to him, not at him. Anyone watching could see the affection she held for the child, the kindness in her eye sparkling like the purest diamond.

It makes him want to pass out.

The child toddles off with his mom not long after, and his face suddenly heats with self consciousness, realizing he’d been staring like a creep. She catches his eye almost immediately, waving him over, and his heart skips yet another beat. He cannot catch a break with this woman. He shakily exhales, a wave of relief washing over him as she held up a coffee for him. He wasn’t sure if he could handle new human interaction after that.

She stands to hug him as he approaches, and it’s the first time he gets to feel her this way. Every part of his body she touches feels like it’s on fire. Her softness is pressed into his skin, and it feels so good it briefly shuts down his never-ending brain.

His eyes shut tight as he deepens the hug ever so slightly, squeezing his biceps around her plush middle. It’s a strange feeling, a white, burning hot sensation taking over his skin. Not bad, just strange. New. He can’t help but imagine what it would be like to truly hold her, to kiss her, to-

He shakes the thought off as she pulls away slightly, clutching his biceps as she smiles up sweetly to him. “Hi,” her smile is bright, like she’d won the lottery, “I’m so happy to see you.” Spencer positively melts.

“I’m happy to see you too,” he smiles back.

They stay there for a moment, her waist planted firmly between his palms, as they stared at each other. For the first time in Spencer’s life, he doesn’t care who’s looking at him, he doesn’t care about his surroundings. He dips his head down and kisses her. It feels like the last piece of a puzzle being clicked into place, so obviously right it makes his head spin.

He feels her own lips press back into his, a desperate ‘hmph’ escaping them as she gets as close to him as possible. He pulls away with a deep inhale, having to stop himself before it got truly uncouth in a public area.

The electric smile on her face when he pulls back could keep an entire city lit for days. It’s buzzing with pure joy, and he realizes he’s never going to get tired of seeing new versions of her. He wants her at her happiest, saddest, angriest. He wants to hold her and kiss her through it all.

“I think I might be in love with you. I think you’re about to change my life,” he whispers to her, clutching her to him as if he’d never see her again.

“Likewise,” she kisses his nose briefly.

To his confusion, she turns away from him, gathering her things and slinging her bag over her shoulder. She turns to him and smiles at the confused quirk of his brow.

“What are you doing?” He asks, incredulous, “we just got here- you clearly have work to do!”

A wicked smile paints her lips as she tugs his hand and pulls him out of the café.

“I can do it in the morning.”

[vampiricalxdata]

I’ve seen some incredible and well thought out takes on this ending asserting that Fred pretty much won.

And I agree completely.

But also— I have a thought to add to that.

Serena won, too.

Serena is an incredible villain. Just the worst person. Completely delusional and despicable all the way to the end.

So why not relish in the fact that, as writers, they helped bring to life a character who’s not just dynamic, but a realistic rendering of a very specific type of woman running around the political sphere currently? What reason could you have for saying outright she’s one of us? When even to the end she’s not affected by compassion or empathy, but by her own discomfort.

And beyond that— beyond the realism or redemption— on her own she’s just such a rich, evil character. Why not lean into that? Why not look at her relationship with Gilead?

Because Serena’s great tragic toxic romance wasn’t with Fred or Wharton.

It was with Gilead— the place she wants to be in more than anything.

The place she created.

The place she runs to time and time again, no matter how much it rejects her or she attempts to change it.

And at the end of it all, I would have liked to see her stand by it. The thing she gave everything up for over and over again.

Serena and Gilead vs Nick, June, and Rita.

Just like the first season.

The woman who used Gilead to entrap, coerce, and beat them. The woman who brought Gilead into their homes, into their beds.

The woman whose best attempt at change was not to abolish handmaids but to give them a place to go post menopause.

I want that woman to be forced to look at herself by the three people whose lives she directly affected on a daily basis.

The woman whose actions were fueled by jealousy and bitter hatred. Whose actions intended to tear them apart.

Whose actions made them a family— a mother, a father, and a godmother.

For that family to stand in front of her and say you don’t get to win. You don’t get to keep what you tried to take from us.

That’s what I would have liked for them.

But instead they villainized Nick.

Which isn’t just a devastating cliff dive from a character built over 5 seasons.

It unravels everyone else, too.

It undermines June’s judgement. It undermines Rita’s. It demeans the love and hope the three of them found in a place that was determined to snuff it out. In a place where Serena reigned with isolation and cruelty.

Nick’s sudden villainy isn’t as much a betrayal as it is yet another way that Serena wins. That Gilead wins.

And redemption without the journey of releasing her beliefs isn’t a redemption. It’s a validation of Serena’s choices.

Serena fucking won.

And June held her hand while she did it.

[theanimearchivist]

A New Face in the Delta: A Stack and Annie Story

Pairing: Stack/ Annie

Summary:

There’s a new face in the Delta and Stack thinks he should make himself known.

The twins vividly remember the first time they met Annie. It was a couple of weeks after they got back from the war. They were staying in between Uncle Jed’s and Mary’s mother’s house. This week it was Mary’s mother and she sent both boys into town to pick up a couple of things from the Chow’s market. Stack was the first to notice her. Clarksdale was a small community so it wasn’t nothing that word spread around about two new arrivals from Louisiana. Annie was inspecting a green bell pepper when she caught Stack staring at her and their eyes locked. He couldn’t look away. Her eyes, that was the first thing Stack noticed: there was something about the way her they didn’t seem fearful like most people’s when they see he and his brother, they were firm, powerful like she didn’t take no mess, they were kind too. Stack let his eyes leave hers and without shame he let them roam the rest of her. She has smooth, pretty dark skin that he bet smelled like cocoa butter and full lips that looked soft. She was wearing a pair of blue chandelier earrings and a stack of beaded necklaces the same color. She wore a short sleeved dark blue dress with a low collar that showed a healthy amount of pillowy looking cleavage that he would love to lay his head on.

“You gone speak or just keep staring at me.”

Annie’s body was fully facing Stack now only the produce stand between them. She had a basket in her right hand and her left hand was on her hip. Those beautiful, kind eyes Stack had been admiring were now accompanied by a raised eyebrow and a look of slight irritation. For the first time in his life, Stack was rendered speechless. Usually, it was Smoke who was the less talkative of the two of them.

“Well.” Annie asked with pursed lips.

Stack finally spoke and put on her signature charm.

“I’m sorry, baby. I couldn’t help myself. I haven’t seen your gorgeous face ‘round here before,” he grinned at her. He made his way around the stand of produce separating them.

“Elias Moore, ma’am.”

Stack gave Annie one of his signature dimpled smiles and offered his hand. Annie didn’t take it but she did return his big smile with a half one.

“I know who you are. You and your brother have quite the reputation. Are you the one they call Smoke or are you Stack?”

“I’m Stack, ma’am,” he answered with a bit of a chuckle.

“Ma’am huh, I reckon we the same age. The only ma’am is my grandmama and she ain’t here now.”

Stack sucked his teeth and finally put his unshaken hand down.

“Alright, so what can I call you?”

“Annie.”

“Nice to meet you, Annie. How you enjoying the Delta so far?”

“Fine so far, can’t say I’ve been here long enough to form an opinion.”

“Well, if you ever need an escort around town, my brother and I would be happy to show you. I promise we ain’t as bad as people say.” Stack reached for Annie’s right hand, the one with the basket, and attempted to kiss it.

She pulled it back before he had the chance, but she didn’t seem angry. She seemed more amused than anything.

“I’ll do that. It was nice meeting you, Stack.”

“Likewise, I hope we see each other real soon, Annie.”

Annie took the bell pepper she’d been holding and made her way to the register. Stack watched her walk away and his eyes stayed on her until she left the market. He licked his lips.

“Who’s that?” Smoke came up behind him with their groceries in hand. He now along with his brother was watching Annie walk away.

“A new face in the Delta.”

Stack didn’t take notice, but his twin was now staring at Annie with the same lustful eyes.

[defectivevillain]

this winding labyrinth, chapter 15

chapter fifteen: deliverance

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no physical descriptors or pronouns are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is chapter 15, act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read act 1 or chapters 1-14, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: gore (typical stuff). panic attack, hyperventilation, suicidal ideation. mentions of child abuse, neglect, & abandonment.

author's notes: This is the second to last chapter of this fic. There will be one more that will serve as an ending. Ideally, I’m ending this chapter ambiguously so that, sometime in the future, I can add an alternate ending. For now, though, expect this to be Chapter 15 of 16.

I’ve had this chapter written for several weeks but I couldn’t seem to get myself to post it. I was scared I’m not going to live up to the vibe I’m cultivating. I also learned about a fun few grammar rules I’ve definitely been breaking this entire time, so that was a blow to the ego... BUT!!!!! I added the first part (up to the first divider) and I think that helped a lot. Now I'm very happy with it.

Anyways, in terms of this chapter… I made Francis Dolarhyde gay (or at least bisexual), because: a) he has internalized homophobia in the books and b) I wanted to. Got it? Cool. MWHAHAHHAHA 🤘

Hannibal slips into the skin of another with the ease of someone who has always known camouflage. 

It’s routine. Everyone has long been fascinated by his ability to remain calm, composed, unaffected in the face of unspeakable horrors. A calm heart rate as he rips through a nurse’s jaw; an unwavering brow as he stares down those who would stop at nothing to rip him apart. 

He has no illusions about his safety here at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. As long as Hannibal eludes the administration’s attempts to psychoanalyze him, he will survive. But the moment they latch onto something—anything, even something of their own broken design—they will leave him to rot.

These glass walls are not as comforting as they once were. At first, they promised a freedom he wouldn’t otherwise have. Hannibal turned himself in to keep that semblance of freedom, as small as it seemed. A life on the run isn’t much of a life at all. 

But this existence isn’t much more than that. He’s rendered a zoo animal, an exhibit at a museum. He is entertainment for onlookers. The prowling jaguar, bodily sweeping the entirety of its cage as it sends shivers down the spines of those foolish enough to get close. Hannibal has never been a person within these walls.

Personhood. He thought himself above it. As a psychiatrist, he often spoke with people who struggled with the concept. Hannibal was able to understand and comprehend their issues, but never was he truly able to relate. At least, not until now. 

Truthfully, this captivity has been difficult—even for him. Those who deem him a monster look past the tiny, seemingly unnoticeable cracks in his mask. There’s a desperation to his movements as he grasps his fork, fighting off thoughts that any meal could be his last. There’s a relentless boredom gnawing at his heels, guiding him through the same medical texts again and again and again. 

It all went according to plan, though. He set his trap, lying in wait for you to spring it. It took years for you to think about him again, even with Hannibal’s reminders—correspondence sent straight to your residence. You could never have hidden from him for very long.

Smooth. Seamless. Almost too much so. 

Before captivity, Hannibal prided himself on being the charismatic and safely enigmatic individual. He drew the eye of countless admirers. But he relished in his own restraint: he never toed the line between security and danger. It was tiring, but it was exhilarating. 

He never quite realized just how tight pretense’s hold on him was. Hannibal looks back on his life and wonders, with a detached, idle sense of curiosity, if he has ever truly been sincere. Has he ever been honest: with himself, with others? 

…With you, perhaps. 

There is something about you that stirs an unapologetic sense of honesty within him. It had unsettled him at first. Now, Hannibal has grown to expect it from you. He expects you to latch onto his lies and rip them apart; he anticipates your clever deductions and knowing gaze. When he stares into your eyes, he’s reminded of that kind of all-encompassing obsession only found between characters of fables and folklore.

His hand twists your ballpoint pen almost absentmindedly. Absentmindedly, he thinks to himself with irritated amusement. This solitude has changed him. Never would Hannibal have allowed himself a gesture devoid of purpose. Every word is imbued with meaning, every action calculated.

He’s sure you’ve noticed. Rarely does something escape your notice. Hannibal watched as you sat across from him when he prepared you a meal—taking in how your attention flitted from his hands to his eyes to the tense line of his shoulders. He’s sure you wondered if these signs were genuine. Hannibal isn’t quite sure himself—he lost himself to the act somewhere along the way. Maybe that should disquiet him, but it doesn’t. Authenticity has never particularly interested him. 

Hannibal briefly wonders if you’ve grown disenchanted with him recently. This game between the two of you has been locked in a stalemate for a decent amount of time, after all. But that isn’t motivation for his escape from captivity. He doesn’t think about you as he wears a security guard’s face over his own; as he greets the open air for the first time in years; as he drives a nearby car along the forested roads to your residence.

And Hannibal certainly doesn’t study the interior of your new home with a keen eye. He doesn’t look for the traces of good and bad days scattered across the room, nor does he try to piece together echoes of your presence: a half-empty glass of water, a sweater thrown across the sofa. 

Hannibal is not distracted or infatuated with such trivial details. He does not watch the mechanical hands of your clock make their languid journey across its face; he does not think about the ease with which he slips into the domesticity of it all.

Surely not.

It’s been a few days since your last visit with Hannibal, and you’re still agitated. Something about that particular visit is sticking with you. Well, all of it is: the tense air, the meal, the look in Hannibal’s eyes, your discourtesy. Yes, you were rather rude. You’ve been second-guessing your actions and participation in that conversation since the very moment you left the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. You’ve run through the conversation countless times, scrutinizing each and every remark. Hannibal has always eluded you, and he will continue to do so. But there’s something particularly bothersome about this past exchange between the two of you. 

You shake your head and unlock the door to your home, opening it and locking it behind you shortly after. Then you place your bag near the door, before taking a deep breath and attempting to keep yourself calm. The persistent feeling of wrongness still hasn’t gone away—if anything, it’s only amplified since you’ve entered your house. You’re rather stressed these days, but this kind of unrelenting suspicion is new for you. You’re often overtaken with the unshakeable conviction that someone’s watching you—or, even weirder, that someone’s been in your house. (Then again, this kind of feeling is normal for someone in your line of work. Right?)

Regardless of the irrationality of your feelings, you soon find yourself mechanically checking each of the nearby rooms, ensuring your hidden weapons are still there. Is it overkill to have a weapon hidden in each room, in case of an emergency? Maybe. Has that kind of preparation saved you before? Yes. You can’t bring yourself to scrutinize it. The only thing you can scrutinize right now is the almost frantic, hurried energy to your movements—and you’d rather not acknowledge that. 

Upon first inspection, everything seems to be in order. None of your weapons were stolen. Neither were your valuables, which should placate your nerves. In reality, that fact only points to one of two conclusions: 1) you’re being paranoid and overthinking this entire situation, which is increasingly likely, or 2) this intruder—who is probably nonexistent—was not here to steal anything. You’re not sure which outcome is worse. 

When you get to your bathroom, you pause in the doorway. The shower curtain is closed, like always. There is nothing out of the ordinary. Your knife rests at the back of the lowest drawer. You must be overthinking this. There was no intruder. You glance at yourself in the mirror, taking in your tired eyes and somewhat messy appearance. You’ve definitely looked better. 

Something compels you to draw the curtain. You tear it away, half-expecting someone to jump out at you. Of course, there’s no one there. You shake your head in annoyance, embarrassed by your own behavior. You’re about to put the curtain back when something gives you pause. Unease thrums across your skin as you see water droplets scattered across the tiled floor. You haven’t been home since this morning and you take night showers. There is no reason for the water to be there.  

Frowning, you exit the bathroom and move to check your bedroom. The comforter and sheets on your bed seem a bit more rumpled than you remember them being, but otherwise, nothing is out of order. You bend down and sneak your hand under your nightstand, blindly grasping at the knife you keep there. You don’t find it right away, which makes you frown and look around some more. 

…You can’t find it. You rapidly run through your memories, attempting to remember if you had taken the weapon from here for any reason. But that knife isn’t the one you keep on you, nor is it standard issue for FBI agents. Panic strikes you; and when your phone lets out a shrill ring, it makes your heart jump. You glance at the caller ID and quickly respond when you realize it’s Jack Crawford. 

“Agent,” Jack greets you, cutting right to the chase. “Hannibal escaped from prison. I’ll be at your house to fetch you and take you to a safehouse.” He’s hanging up before you can fully grasp his statements. You stare down at your phone in disbelief, every thought in your mind screeching to a sudden halt. 

Hannibal has escaped. He’s out of prison. It hits you like a flash of lightning: the damn smirk on his face as you left his cell; the discrepancy you had been far too preoccupied to notice. There was a ballpoint pen sitting in your pocket, and it was deftly taken in his proximity.

It was just a pen. A pen shouldn’t have been enough for Hannibal to use to escape. 

…But it was, and you know it. 

Your stomach churns as you look under your bed for the knife you now know to be missing. It is far too easy to identify your mystery intruder; after all, there is only one person who would find their way around your home so masterfully—only one person who would be so careful, yet purposefully leave you a sign of his presence. You soon find yourself frantically looking around your house once more. Everything looks almost exactly the same. There’s virtually nothing that gives you an indication of another person’s presence. Hannibal wouldn’t still be here, you think. It would be foolish. He’s already gone.

But your paranoia doesn’t seem to care about that rationale. It has never bent to logic, and you soon find yourself fighting off morbid thoughts. Hannibal could’ve laid a trap for you. Hell, he could be waiting for you to walk past the closet in the hallway, the guest bedroom, the bathroom. A swift stab to the heart is all it would take. Hannibal is more than capable. You sink down the wall of your living room and to the floor, wrapping your arms around your legs and burying your head in your knees. Your harsh breaths reverberate through your ears as you try and fail to keep your composure. 

This is what Hannibal wants, you think. He wanted to leave you signs of his presence, if only to unnerve you. And, unfortunately, it’s working. It doesn’t seem to matter that he just isn’t here, that you have a gun at your belt. None of that matters. All that matters… is the furious beat of your heart, crashing against your ribs and sending clattering noises down the halls of your mind palace. 

You close your eyes and see Hannibal waiting for you in your kitchen. He holds a cloche and lifts it to reveal an elegant dinner plate, complete with your decapitated head—bloodied and rotting, flies swarming around it. You rub your eyes roughly, only to see him again: dragging you into the hall closet with a knife to your neck before swiftly slitting your throat; shattering the bathroom mirror and sinking the shards into your eyes; throwing you to the ground and cracking your head open.

When Jack arrives, he finds you curled in on yourself, tears slipping down your face as you struggle to breathe. He brings a hand to your shoulder and guides you through breathing once more. It takes far longer than it should, and your throat feels horribly dry when you finally manage to inhale slowly again. Your chest burns with the effort, and your hands tremble at your sides. 

Jack looks worried. He probably should be. You’re not well; you haven’t been well in a while. You’ve been outrunning your feelings for a while, putting off your dread and angst in favor of pursuing the Red Dragon. But you entirely neglected an even bigger threat along the way. You stood across from that threat, you spoke to him, you ate the food he prepared for you. You sat down across from him and laughed and deluded yourself into thinking you were untouchable. It makes you sick to your stomach. How could you have been so foolish?

“We need to get moving,” Jack says at some point. That remark reminds you of what he said on the phone call—he wanted to take you to a safehouse. The thought is ironic. Your hands are far too bloody to deserve any semblance of safety or comfort. And moreover, it’s an unnecessary precaution. 

“There’s no point,” you murmur quietly, shaking your head. Jack senses the defeated resignation in your voice and looks over to you. He’s sitting on the ground beside you still. You want to feel comforted by his presence, and you are. But you’re also frustrated, exhausted, and ashamed. You feel like you were flayed and left to rot in the afternoon sunlight. “Hannibal’s already been here.”

Silence. Jack’s head turns in what looks like slow motion. “What?”

“Water,” you just choke out, your knees still pulled to your chest. Your head hurts and you’re not sure why. “—in the shower. And my knife’s missing,” you explain thickly. It’s hard to move, to speak, to breathe. 

“Jesus,” Jack sighs. 

How long you two sit there in horrible silence, you’re not sure. All you know is the annoyed sound Jack lets out as he gets to his feet, muttering something about being too old to sit on the ground. There’s an added strength to his grip on your shoulder when you get up, as if he’s waiting for you to slip. 

There is nothing to be said. There is everything to discuss. Nothing is real or tangible. You feel as if you just jolted awake from a year-long coma—forced to come to terms with decisions you don’t remember making. From the moment Hannibal turned himself in, you knew his captivity would be temporary. And, hell, he practically gave you years to prepare. But nothing could’ve readied you for the hollow ache in your chest, the residual sting of a betrayal you had expected and a longing you should absolutely not feel. 

And to think, you have to go to work and pretend like everything is fine. Like Hannibal Lecter, the Chesapeake Ripper, hasn’t escaped from prison. Like the Red Dragon isn’t out there, waiting for you to slip up. Like the world isn’t filled to the brink with bad people like them and liars like you. Of one thing, you are abundantly certain: you are not an honest person. And while you thought you had come to peace with that particular conclusion, it seemed you were still hoping, somehow, that you would redeem yourself. That you wouldn’t fall into the same old habits—the dread gnawing at your very bones, the fear pushing you forward, the guilt dragging you back. You haven’t truly progressed in quite a while, have you? When was the last time you felt even a hint of happiness, triumph, or pride? Those sentiments have grown to fill the shadows in your closet. 

You think you could sit in your office in Quantico and decay for another few hours as you contemplate these things, if not for the harsh sound of your phone ringing. You snap back to attention, frowning down at the unknown number displayed across the screen before answering. “Hello?” you ask, briefly saying your name and asking for a message.  No one responds. You turn up your volume, only to hear breathing. It sends a shiver down your spine. 

“Hello?” you ask again weakly. 

Another measured inhale. It’s just breathing, but somehow, you know exactly who is calling you. This call was no accident. 

“…Francis?” you murmur. Francis Dolarhyde, the Dragon, is calling you. Why exactly he’s reaching out, you have no idea. But you intend to find out. You’ve been chasing him for too long now, and you won’t let him slip through your fingers again. Not after last time. (You are forced to reckon with your failure each and every time you look in the mirror and find his teeth nearly imprinted on your shoulder.) Because you should be tracking him down, right? That’s your responsibility, isn’t it? And if Dolarhyde’s a particularly convenient distraction from Hannibal, then, oh well. 

The Dragon’s breathing stills for a moment, as if being held in anticipation. Then it’s released in a breathy sigh, far too casual for your liking. Dolarhyde doesn’t utter a confirmation, instead stating an address. You just barely manage to get it written down, scrawled out with shaky penmanship as you try to breathe unimpeded. “Come alone,” he demands. A click signifies the end of the call and you stare down at your phone in disbelief. 

You shouldn’t go. You should do the logical thing: tell Jack and get a team to come with you, ambushing the killer. But that’s risky, and the last thing you want is for the Dragon to slip away again. Damn it. You need to go. This is your only chance. 

You’re not so deluded to think you’ll be able to have a rational conversation with the man, though. No, you will likely be faced with his sharpened claws and drooling maw once more. You’ll bring your gun, your dagger. Your adrenaline, your determination. It won’t be enough, but it will have to be. 

But… does that really have to be enough? If you die, you die. You’ve been ruminating a lot recently—contemplating your life and the choices you’ve made. It hasn’t been very pleasant. You feel as if you’ve lost sight of the wide-eyed recruit you once were. And yes, to a certain extent, that was inevitable. But you’ve taken lives. Killing criminals still makes you a criminal.

You sigh and try to focus on your work. Predictably, it’s nearly impossible to do so—as the clock inches closer to your rendezvous with Dolarhyde. At the end of the work day, you’re quick to leave and get to your car, rubbing your eyes roughly and taking a few deep breaths. You feel extremely scattered. You have no fucking idea what you’re doing anymore. You’ve been blindly grasping at your next actions with nothing but fleeting memories and nostalgia to guide you. Your life has been governed by these killers: Hannibal Lecter, Francis Dolarhyde. And before them: Garret Jacob Hobbs, Abel Gideon. 

Yes, you’ve survived this long. But do you even want to keep going? You’re not sure. 

You stew in pessimistic and grim thoughts as you drive to the agreed meeting place. Within twenty minutes, you’re pulling up to a picturesque cliffside house. You’re immediately suspicious, but you suppress the feeling—you need to take Dolarhyde down. He’s been remarkably elusive for these past few years, and you’ve run out of patience. You may be rushing headlong into a trap, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Shaking your head, you get out of your car and lock the doors.

You approach the house hesitantly, knocking on the front door. A few moments pass and no one answers; sighing, you double-check that your gun is secured to your belt before rounding the outside and heading to the backyard to find a sprawling terrace with elegant stonework. Standing in the center of the area is the man you’ve been looking for. His face is dimly illuminated with the surrounding lights, but it’s still a bit dark for your liking. From what you can tell, he’s tall and pale with short blond hair; he also has a cleft lip. His eyes are a strange mix of blue and green. But none of that is quite what strikes you. No, it has to be the look on his face: a perplexing mix of unadulterated fury and composure. 

For a long moment, you just stare. You don’t realize your mistake until it’s much too late, until Dolarhyde’s turning to acknowledge you. He looks mildly irritated by the thought of you staring, before his gaze hardens. “You came,” he says, his voice an utter paradox: low and deep, light and unbothered. 

“Yes,” you choke out, trying to control your nerves. This is dangerous—stupidly so. You’re staring into the eyes of a man who has killed entire families without remorse. 

“Alone,” Dolarhyde punctuates, studying you intensely. He seems skeptical, his gaze wandering the surrounding area before settling on you once more. “Foolish.”

“Maybe,” you acquiesce.

“Your weapons,” he says guardedly, looking at the gun at your belt. You take the weapon and toss it to the ground between the two of you. You don't inform him of the knife in your boot. Dolarhyde nods unknowingly, his throat bobbing as he swallows. There’s pure fear running across your skin as you look at him. He’s tall, broad. And his cracked knuckles show that he is more than familiar with violence. It’s been a while since you’ve felt this kind of bone-chilling terror. 

“I wanted to kill you,” Dolarhyde continues. You’re taken back to that night at the Brooklyn Museum, to the searing pain erupting through your shoulder when his teeth sank into you; the vertigo dragging you to the ground moments later as you watched him escape, powerless to stop him. 

“I know,” you murmur. 

“You don’t,” Dolarhyde argues. He’s a step closer to you now. “I had you on the ground. I sunk my teeth into you. I didn’t want to let go.” His eyes find your clothed shoulder before searching your face once more. You have no idea what he’s looking for. 

“Why did you?” you manage to ask, your tongue feeling thick in your mouth. 

Several emotions flicker across his face: anger, restraint, envy. “You’re not mine to kill,” Dolarhyde states, a bit of venom leaking into his voice. His fists are clenched at his sides. He’s nearly shaking with restraint. Your heart lurches unpleasantly in your chest. “You’re his,” he nearly spits. 

“His?” you echo skeptically, despite having an unsettling idea of who he’s talking about.  

��Lecter’s,” the Dragon nearly seethes. You can’t tell who his anger is directed at: you, Hannibal, the world around him, or himself. 

“I’m not his,” you try to argue. The scar on your face almost seems to burn insistently, a reminder of the tangible mark Hannibal’s left on you. You still grit your teeth and hold onto your argument. “I’m not anyone’s,” you insist. 

“You are your parents’, when you’re born,” Dolarhyde responds, clasping his hands behind his back for a brief moment. He seems so confident that you won’t hurt him. You’ve had several chances to do so—to pull your gun and send a bullet through his temple. But you haven’t, have you? “And you are the earth’s, when you die.”

“And his, right now?” you frown, still hung up on what he said about Hannibal. You know Dolarhyde had some sort of correspondence with Hannibal at least once—as Hannibal had received a letter from him while in prison. It hadn’t felt particularly significant at the time, as it was riddled with hero worship and frustratingly ambiguous language.

Dolarhyde’s expression darkens at your statement, tearing you out of your contemplation. He takes a step closer, and then another. He’s rendering the distance between you inconsequential with long and sprawling strides. Within a blink of an eye, the Dragon is standing before you. You choke on a breath. 

He reaches out and you suppress a flinch. Soon he’s cradling your jaw. Dolarhyde’s hand is big, his fingers stretching across your face. Your heart is roaring in your chest. Every single ounce of logic you’ve ever possessed is telling you to back away, to push him away and run while you still have the chance. But you stay rooted to the spot, frozen under his grip. 

“You’re…” Dolarhyde trails off, his brows furrowing. He tilts your head to the side, inspects you, turns you to the other side. His thumb drags across the scar Hannibal gave you, roughly but not enough to hurt. “Striking.”

You’re certain you’re hearing things now. But he leans closer, closer, closer. For a tense few seconds, you honestly think he’s going to kiss you—or bite your lips off. Instead, Dolarhyde only studies you with that dissecting gaze, as if looking for exactly what Hannibal sees in you. 

This observation of his gives you a few moments to think, and you scrutinize his compliment in your mind. Striking. You think back to the video Dolarhyde filmed of Chilton’s abduction and eventual death. You think back to the look on Dolarhyde’s face as he stared down at his victim with a mix of desire, grief, and brutal envy. “Once upon a time, I would’ve killed to be like you.” 

Dolarhyde didn’t have the easiest life—of that, you are overwhelmingly certain. Does that justify his murders? Absolutely not. But it certainly contextualizes them. After some digging, Jack and you found his childhood to be rather tumultuous: his mother left him to an orphanage until he was five years old, when his care was then handled by his grandmother who abused and assaulted him. He suffered mistreatment, neglect, and cruelty for years. It’s no wonder he turned out so vengeful, so volatile. 

Your thoughts must show on your face. It’s a brief passing moment of empathy, the tiniest sliver of understanding. Dolarhyde senses it and strikes. Suddenly his hands wrap around your throat and he’s shoving you to the side, forcing you to stumble with him as he drags you towards the cliff. Your hands go to his wrists as you try to release his grip, but he’s far stronger than you. Before long, you’re backed up to the edge of the cliff. He’s exerting what feels like an impossible amount of pressure, ruthlessly tearing the breath from your lungs. You knee him in the gut, but it’s like he doesn't even feel it. You stomp on his foot, and it does nothing to shake his grasp. Your gun isn’t within reach, still resting on the pavement behind Dolarhyde. And at this point, your vision is greying at the corners. The Dragon’s only leaning closer to you, sending you to lean back precariously against the cliff’s edge. A choked plea falls from your lips, and you have no idea if it’s comprehensible, if Dolarhyde can even make it out over his own suffocating thoughts.  

There are flashes, glimpses of moments and sensations. They’re far too quick, blurring before your eyes as tears crawl down your face. It’s one thing to embrace the idea of death—it’s another to genuinely experience it. Through your false bravado—cultivated through years of being in the field and staring down criminals with loaded guns and sharpened knives—you’re scared and afraid. Selfishly, you just wish something would happen, so you can be released from this awful limbo between life and death. 

You only have a few more seconds. You weakly grasp at Dolarhyde’s forearms. He doesn’t even seem to notice. He’s practically pushing you off of the cliff now, sending your heels sliding back and ripping pebbles from the ground. 

Then Dolarhyde stiffens and locks up, the color draining from his face. His grip slackens and your eyes find a knife impaled in his side. It happens all too quickly, but with painful lethargy. With the loss of Dolarhyde’s hold comes a shift in momentum. Suddenly, you’re lurching back and falling, falling, falling, falling—

A hand latches onto your wrist and yanks you forward with deceptive strength, until you’re safely on the cliffside once more. You choke on your breath, both because you’re free from Dolarhyde’s unrelenting grip and because you somehow survived. You’re coughing and sputtering, leaning down with a knee to the ground as you struggle to breathe past the tightness blooming across your throat and neck. There’s a hand on your back now, reassuring you. 

When you can finally stand up again, you find Hannibal standing at your side. He looks nearly the same as he did before captivity. There’s a slight gauntness to his face, but nothing overly noticeable. He’s not wearing his prison clothing, but a dress shirt and slacks. You could almost confuse him for the person he used to be. 

“Hello,” Hannibal says with a slight smile, as if this is nothing more than a casual interaction. As if he didn’t just save your life. You haven’t even seen him since your meal in his prison cell, since his escape. You have no idea what to say—what words can possibly speak for the disgustingly tangled mess of emotion running through you. 

You’re spared from responding when Dolarhyde growls at you both, his hand pressed to his side as blood seeps from his skin. His balance is uneven, his gait unsteady; he seems to be breathing through rage and spite alone. But despite his wound, despite the odds, the Dragon is ferocious as ever. He is no man; he is a beast. A killer on the hunt, so similar yet so very different to the cannibal next to him. Hannibal and Francis are two different breeds. Hannibal stalks, Francis lunges; and for a moment, you’re just frozen in observation. 

Then you come back to yourself and run for your gun, grabbing it from the ground while the two killers are distracted. You turn to them and your trigger finger twitches. In their current positioning, you can’t shoot Dolarhyde without hitting Hannibal too. And, for a moment, you consider it. You think about walking away from the wreckage they created and returning to your normal life. You think about everything you’ve missed. You think about peace, security, restfulness. 

The thought is fleeting. You’ve been an FBI agent long enough to recognize the restlessness running through your blood, the need for answers that clings to your skin like a vice. A normal life was never in the cards for you. You groan in annoyance and join the fray, grabbing the knife you hid in your boot and catching Dolarhyde off guard with a hit to the ribs. He hisses and quickly turns on you, shoving you to the ground and pinning you there as if you weigh nothing. The gun clatters to the ground and he kicks it away. (A dragon only needs its claws, after all.) Dolarhyde glares at you, practically salivating before tipping his head down. You can’t get to your gun, but you can claw at his face and try to shove him off of you. But damn it, he’s got all of his weight against you, practically shoving you through the ground and into the soil. He’s too close to you, way too close—

A hand fisted in Dolarhyde’s collar yanks him off of you and you scramble out from under him, getting to your feet and aiming your gun at Dolarhyde. He’s focused on Hannibal now, the two of them circling one another. You’re taken for a moment, distracted by their strange dance. Hannibal strikes; Dolarhyde blocks. Dolarhyde lands a punch, then another. You’re not sure how long you’re rooted there. You only remember yourself when Dolarhyde shoves Hannibal down. 

Before you can think any better of it, you’re snatching your gun—swiftly firing and sending a bullet careening through Dolarhyde’s head. He slumps onto Hannibal, the life evidently leaving his eyes as his body is left draped over the Ripper. 

For what feels like far too long, there’s only the sound of the waves lapping against the shore far below—coupled with your harsh, labored breaths. You look over to find Hannibal pushing Dolarhyde off of him, the Dragon falling to rest on the pavement in a growing puddle of blood. His wings have been clipped. Tattered and destroyed. 

You tear your eyes away from your latest victim and take a few steps towards Hannibal, offering him a hand. He stares at it, evidently catching on to the meaning behind the gesture. He is not one for vulnerability; he has never been one to accept weakness. But Hannibal still takes your hand, almost without hesitation, and allows you to pull him to his feet. Then, for a long moment, the two of you stare at each other.

If you had been asked to envision this final confrontation between Hannibal and you, you would have imagined the sun setting on the horizon, simultaneously signifying the end and promising the advent of another day, another future. But there is no sunset. It’s dark tonight. There are stars scattered about the shadowy void, but they are few and far between. The sky is losing its light.

An unspoken question lingers in the air between the two of you, as you attempt to regain your breath and stare down at Dolarhyde’s corpse. What now? Francis Dolarhyde—the Red Dragon, the Tooth Fairy—is dead. And you killed him. 

Hannibal is looking at you expectantly. You pretend not to notice, instead weighing your options. You can join him, abandon everything you’ve been working so hard for; or you can continue chasing after him, as you always have. There’s an instinctual answer lingering heavily on the tip of your tongue, but it can’t seem to escape the prison of your lips.

You take a shuddering breath, meeting Hannibal’s expectant gaze, and give him his answer.

The last I saw of Count Dracula was his kissing his hand to me; with a red light of triumph in his eyes, and with a smile that Judas in hell might be proud of.

Dracula by Bram Stoker

next chapter

©2025, @defectivevillain | @defectivehero, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

author's notes: The bedsheets were rumpled… If you want to interpret that as evidence that Hannibal slept in the reader’s bed, I am absolutely not stopping you 😏 He’s such a slut.

Main ending is next!!! Woop woop. One more chapter... so crazy.

hannibal after breaking into your home, taking a shower, snagging some of your food, and stealing your gun: it’s not much but it’s honest work.

thanks for reading! <3

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[lindsey-laufeyson]

Distractions- Chapter 15

Distractions Masterlist

Pairing: Reader x FWB!Tom Hiddleston

Series Warnings: SMUT, fluff, angst, friends with benefits

A/N: I told myself I would post this chapter before the new year and I just barely made it! This is one of my favorite chapters I’ve written so far, so I really really hope you like it!

Hawaii was quickly turning out to be one of your favorite places in the world, and it wasn’t just the idyllic weather or the gorgeous scenery. It was the culture. Everyone there was always so kind and happy. You learned that “Aloha” was not just the word for hello and goodbye. It was a way of life. It meant generosity, kindness, and love. And it was palpable everywhere you went. 

You were having the time of your life. Yes, you were having copious amounts of sex, obviously, but you also went whale watching, hiking through the rainforest, kayaking, shopping at a local market, and visited famous film locations for movies like Jurassic Park, Pearl Harbor, and, of course, the first film Tom shot in Hawaii, Kong: Skull Island, where Tom excitedly showed you around like a proud little puppy. It was really quite adorable.

When the two of you weren’t off on an adventure or fucking each other’s brains out, you were relaxing in the lounge or by the private pool and hot tub that you were pleasantly surprised to find out came with the house. One day you were laying out on a sun lounger, reading a book while sneaking glances at Tom who was doing laps in the pool. He looked so sexy when he was all wet. 

When he finished his laps, Tom stepped out of the water and toweled off, his sopping trunks leaving hardly anything to the imagination. “Are you ever actually going to get in the water, or are you just going to lay there teasing me?”

“I’m perfectly content laying in the sun with my book, thank you,” you told him matter of factly. “And I’m not teasing you.”

“Oh but you are, darling. You’re basking in the sun in your bikini with a book. You should know by now that’s enough to drive me mad.”

“That sounds like a you-problem, Tommy boy.”

Tossing the towel to the side, he laid on his stomach between your legs on the lounge chair, propping himself up on his forearms which rested on either side of your waist. Then he plucked your book from your hands and set it on the side table.

“Oi! I was still reading that!” you protested.

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow as he looked up at you, his head just above your chest. “Because if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were only using the book to try to hide your staring.”

“Good thing you know better then.” You ran your fingers through his wet locks. 

He gave you his best over-the-top puppy dog eyes. “Come on, Sweets. Come swimming with me.”

“Do you really want to wait all the time it will take for me to redo my hair and makeup before dinner tonight?”

“That’s what this is about? Not wanting to ruin your hair and makeup?” There was a bit of laughter in his voice.

“Have you completely forgotten how we met?”

“You’re getting in the pool.”

“I’m really not.”

All of a sudden he shot up and grabbed you, causing you to scream as he hoisted you over his shoulder. 

“Thomas William Hiddleston! Don’t you dare!” you yelled, kicking your legs and giggling uncontrollably. You let out another scream as he ran and jumped into the water with you. When you both resurfaced, you splashed him in the face. “You little shit!”

He wiped the water out of his eyes and then shot you a warning look. “Oh, darling. I don’t think you want to start that.”

“You started it when you forced me into the bloody pool!” you challenged, splashing him in the face again. 

“Very well.” He stretched out his long arm and used the entire length of it to send a tsunami of pool water at you. 

You attempted to dodge it, but you weren’t fast enough, and when you tried to splash him back he simply sent another wave at you, rendering your tiny splashes completely useless. 

“This… Is… Not… Fair!” you shouted between splashes. 

He didn’t let up. “What was that, darling? I can’t hear you with all the splashing!”

You flashed him your middle finger, making him laugh, and then you decided to try a different strategy. You quickly turned and made your way to the pool stairs to get out of the water.

“You’re not giving up already, are you?” Tom teased. You didn’t answer him, but calmly walked to the side of the pool closest to him, and then suddenly did a cannonball jump right next to him. “Shit!”

“HA!” you mocked him as soon as you came back up. He was nowhere to be found, however, which could only mean one thing. “Fuck.”

Suddenly you felt him grab your legs, and the next thing you knew you were being lifted out of the water and swiftly flipped over his shoulder, sending you crashing right back into the water. When you resurfaced you expected to be immediately assaulted by more splashes to the face, but after you wiped the water from your eyes, you looked at Tom to see him smirking and biting his lip, like he had a cheeky little secret.

“Am I missing something?” you asked, confused. 

“Funny you should say that…” He was attempting to hold back a laugh and you realized he kept looking at your chest. When you looked down, you saw that you’d lost your top.

“Thomas!” you shrieked, instantly covering your exposed breasts with your hands. 

He couldn’t contain his laughter any longer. “I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I have seen them before, you know.”

“You did this on purpose!” You attempted to sound cross with him, but you couldn’t help but start to giggle as well.

“I swear to you I didn’t!” he defended. “I’m just incredibly lucky apparently!”

“Oh shut it,” you told him, still giggling and attempting to splash him again. 

“Do you really want to start that again?”

You rolled your eyes at him and then looked around. “Where is my top anyway?” You looked at Tom who looked behind you, then back at you, before suddenly diving toward your bikini top.

“No, no, no, no, no!” You dove for it too, but you weren’t fast enough. Tom snatched it just before you could and when you tried to take it from him, he held it up as high as he could. At first you attempted to jump up to reach it, but you soon stopped and shot him a disapproving look. “I know what you're doing.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? I love to watch your tits bounce.”

You shook your head at him. “You know what? Keep the top,” you told him with a smirk, and without another word you exited the pool and headed toward the hot tub. Once you were chest deep in the hot, bubbling water, you looked back at Tom, removed your bikini bottoms, and dropped them over the side of the jacuzzi. 

He bit his lip and shook his head, then quickly got out of the pool and rushed inside. You were puzzled by this at first until not a minute later he came back out with a little foil wrapper in his hand and then climbed in the hot tub, removing his trucks immediately..

“Not so fast, Tommy boy,” you said. “You think I’m going to reward you for your behavior just now?”

He raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. “Well I can’t imagine anything involving your naked body would be a punishment.”

“I came in here because I am going to get myself off using one of these jets.”

His eyes lit up. “Ooh, naughty girl.”

“And while I will let you watch, you are not allowed to touch me or yourself.”

His face fell and his eyebrows knitted together, looking as if all of his Christmas presents had been taken away. “Please tell me you're joking.”

You simply shook your head at him, a self-satisfied look upon your face as you turned around in your seat and got up on your knees, bracing yourself with your elbows on the edge of the hot tub and a jet pointed right between your legs. From where Tom was seated, you knew he’d only be able to see your back and maybe some glimpses of your ass which was partially obscured by the bubbles, but he’d still be able to see your hips grinding, and he’d certainly be able to hear you. It was the perfect amount to tease him, and the perfect way to get back at him.

As soon as the jet hit your pussy, you began to moan. Yes, you were putting on a show for him, but by no means did you have to fake it. The powerful stream of water felt so fucking good against your clit and through your folds. You started slowly rolling your hips, but it wasn’t long before you picked up speed, bucking against the current to chase your fast approaching climax. 

“Oh, Sweets, you have no idea how fucking sexy you are,” Tom’s gruff voice came from behind you. “It’s borderline cruel, what you’re doing to me right now.”

“But you’re being such a good boy for me,” you praised him, a bit out of breath. You were so close.

“But are you sure you want to cum around nothing, when I could so easily fill that void for you?”

“Fucking hell,” you groaned. His words only brought you closer, until your orgasm suddenly hit you. “Oh god!” You quickly lifted your rear out of the water so he could watch you spasm and clench. 

Apparently that was all Tom could take. With a low growl, he stood up and grabbed your hips, leaning forward to whisper in your ear. “Permission to fill this pretty little cunt?” As he said this, you felt his fingers stroke your sensitive pussy. 

“Please!” you whined, completely losing your will to keep punishing him. As soon as the word left your mouth he pushed his hard cock inside you. The sneaky bastard must have known you’d give in, because he already had the condom on, not that you were complaining at that point.

You’d barely finished your first orgasm before Tom was fucking you toward your second, gripping your hips tightly as he thrusted in and out of you. It was a good thing there were no neighbors, because the two of you moaning and groaning combined with the sound of the water splashing and sloshing around you was anything but quiet, and certainly more than enough to vividly illustrate what the two of you were doing.

As you felt yourself about to cum again, you held on to the edge of the jacuzzi for dear life while Tom pounded into you even harder. His cock was hitting you in a spot that was making you see stars until finally you reached your second climax. Crying out in ecstasy, you pushed your hips back against his thrusts, encouraging him to cum with you, and that he did. 

“Fuck, Y/n,” he groaned, fucking you through your simultaneous orgasms until he finally fell forward, his hands bracing himself on either side of you. You felt his wet abs against your back, expanding and contracting with every heavy breath. Then he kissed your shoulder and stood back up so he could remove the condom, tie it off, and toss it on the ground to pick up later. “And to think, you didn’t want to get wet,” he said, sitting back down.

“Oh hush, you,” you told him playfully, standing up and combing your hair back with your fingers before attempting to wipe away the makeup that you feared had streaked down below your eyes. 

“Will you stop?” He put his hands on your hips and pulled you toward him, smiling up at you. “You do realize it is physically impossible for you to look anything less than gorgeous, right?”

You put your knees on either side of him and your hands on his shoulders. “Flatterer.”

“Exhibitionist,” he retorted.

You ran your fingers through the wet curls on the top of his head as you looked down at him. “You loved it.”

“It was agonizing.”

“Good.” You winked at him, and then he pulled you down onto his lap and kissed you.

…

On your last night in Hawaii Tom insisted on cooking you a fancy dinner. You protested, of course, telling him that you would be perfectly content just to order in again, but you knew that there was no changing his mind once he was set on something. 

While he cooked, you did your hair and makeup and got dressed. You had decided to wear a dress you had just gotten at a local shop in town. It was a white, flowy maxi dress, covered in various tropical plants, with a plunging neckline, low back, and a slit up to the top of your thigh. To accompany the dress, you curled your hair and pinned up one side with a flower clip. 

Tom had told you that you’d be eating outside on the dining set under the pergola by the pool. When you stepped out onto the pool deck, you saw Tom pouring two glasses of wine at the table set for two, underneath warm string lights. He was wearing dark blue trousers and a matching suit jacket tailored perfectly to his slim figure. Underneath his jacket was a crisp white dress shirt with the top three buttons undone, in true Tom fashion, giving you just a peek of his chest hair. 

“Hey, stud,” you greeted him. 

He set the wine bottle down and turned with a smile, but as soon as he saw you, his smile dropped to a gape. “Hi,” he said, examining you from head to toe as you walked toward him. You were surprised at how caught off guard he had seemed, like he’d never seen you dressed up before or something. “You look…”

“Like a typical tourist in Hawaii?” you joked, putting your arms out and striking a pose.

“Beautiful,” he finished, gazing softly at you as he stepped towards you and placed his hands on your waist. The compliment made heat creep up to your face and you glanced at the ground. 

“Well, you look like a snack and a half.” You smiled playfully up at him. “Speaking of which, what’s on the menu tonight?”

“You mean to tell me you didn’t sneak a peek at what was on the stove on your way out here?”

“Okay yes, but that was a flawless segue, was it not?” 

He laughed. “Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll go fetch our dinner.”

“Or I could just help you,” you suggested.

“Sit.”

You rolled your eyes as you dropped down in the chair. 

“Good girl,” he praised you with a wink before walking back into the house. He knew full well that those two words always went straight through your ears and down to your core, adding kindle to an ember that was constantly glowing when he was around. 

Tom had made his ‘famous’ (his words) spaghetti bolognese, and though you had to be extra cautious eating it given your white dress, it was delicious. Even more delicious, however, was the sticky toffee pudding he’d made for dessert. After you finished eating, you attempted to take the dishes, but Tom beat you to it, telling you he’d be right back and not to go anywhere. 

After he disappeared in the house, you grabbed your wine glass and moved to sit on the edge of the pool, hiking your dress up so you could dip your feet in. You tipped your head back and looked up at the night sky. The stars were so clear and bright, and the light, warm breeze felt so good on your skin. You’d give anything to stay here, but you had a plane to catch in the morning. No use in worrying about that now though. You wanted to enjoy what little time you had left while you had it.

With your head back and your eyes closed, you listened to the soft music Tom had playing, accompanied by the sounds of the island. After a few moments, you heard the sound of the patio door sliding open and shut, and then footsteps approaching behind you. 

“Hawaii suits you,” Tom said as he sat down on the ground to your left, facing you with one leg bent behind you so he could rest his arm on his knee. He’d left his suit jacket inside and rolled his sleeves up past his elbows.

You smiled, but kept your eyes closed. “Hawaii suits everyone. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s quite an agreeable little place.”

“Not everyone’s as gorgeous as the islands themselves, darling.” He leaned in and whispered in your ear. “Maybe even more.”

You opened your eyes and looked at him with your brow furrowed. “Don’t make me vomit up your delicious dinner, Hiddleston.”

He let his head fall forward as he laughed. “Are you enjoying your last night here?”

“You’ve outdone yourself, Tommy boy,” you said. “Why you would waste all this effort on me and not save it for a real date is beyond me.”

Tom paused for a moment as his smile faded and he looked down at the ground. “I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?”

When he looked back up, you could tell he was genuinely frustrated with you. “Act like you don’t deserve my attention.”

You diverted your gaze to the glimmering surface of the pool. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it?” He tilted his head into your line of sight to get you to look at him. Once you did, he gently brushed your hair off of your shoulder, the tip of his middle finger lightly brushing across your skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

You gave a half-hearted smile. “And what do you see when you look at me?”

“Would you believe me even if I told you?”

“Try me.”

Letting out a nervous little chuckle, he briefly looked out at the dark landscape before turning back to you. “I see a beautiful, talented, and kind hearted woman,” he began, lightly grazing the back of his index finger up and down your spine. Feeling self-conscious, you looked down at your feet swaying beneath the surface of the water while he continued. “Who has been taught she has to earn her worth, when in reality she deserves the world just for her existence alone.”

You looked back up at him to find him looking at you with an intensity you hadn’t seen from him before. It wasn’t lustful, but rather a different sort of longing that almost had a hint of sadness behind it, and once his gaze met your own, it pulled you in. Suddenly, you couldn’t hear the island sounds, couldn’t feel the cool water lapping at your shins, or smell the chlorine emanating from the pool. Slowly, hesitantly, you both leaned toward each other, only ever breaking eye contact to glance at the other’s lips, and then stopped a hair’s breadth away from one another. You stayed like that for a moment, feeling his breath mix with your own as he brought his hand up to delicately cradle your face. Finally, his lips met yours with the most gentle caress, before pulling back once again. You responded in kind with a kiss just as tender, but increasing in depth, only parting when you finally remembered to breathe. When you slowly opened your eyes, you were in a haze. Tom’s eyelids fluttered open as he swallowed hard.

“You’re right, I don’t believe you,” you joked. You both laughed as his head fell forward onto your shoulder. When your laughter subsided, you could hear a cover of the song “Chasing Cars,” by Jessy Hayden playing softly over the speakers. 

“Dance with me,” Tom whispered, placing a kiss on your shoulder and looking up at you with his baby blues. 

“Do I have a choice?” you teased him.

“Not really, no.” He gave you a little smirk before standing up and offering you his hand. 

You lifted your feet from the water to the concrete and took his hand, allowing him to help you stand and lead you to an open area of the patio. With your fingers intertwined, he held your hand close to his chest while his other hand slid around your waist to the small of your back. Meanwhile, you brought your free hand to the nape of his neck and he leaned his head down, his nose lightly brushing against your cheek, as you began swaying side to side to the music. You closed your eyes, enjoying the smell of his cologne and the sound of his voice singing the lyrics just barely above a whisper. 

You had no idea how long you’d been dancing by the time the playlist ended and the music stopped, but you hardly noticed. Tom had begun placing sweet and slow kisses down your neck. You hummed contentedly before finally finding the ability to speak again. “Hey, Tommy,” you cooed softly in his ear.  

“Yes, sweetheart?” he replied between kisses.

You took his face in your hands and kissed him softly. When your lips parted, you took his hands in yours and took a few steps backward, biting your lip and smiling at him. Then, with a wink, you turned around and led him to the bedroom. 

On the way there, Tom removed his shoes and socks, and once in the bedroom, you stopped at the end of the bed. You turned around and began unbuttoning his shirt while he resumed kissing your neck. It wasn’t rushed or frantic like usual, it was slow and deliberate. Soon after his shirt hit the ground, so did his trousers and boxers. Then, with one pull of a string, your dress followed. 

Tom lowered himself to his knees in front of you and slowly pulled down your lace panties. After you stepped out of them, he ran his hands up your legs, stopping at your hips. You watched him intently as he began placing light kisses on each little mark he’d left on your body throughout the week. First the fingerprint bruises on your thighs and hips, then the bite marks and hickeys on your breasts and collar bone, following the map of his own creation back up your neck until finally reaching your waiting lips. 

“I could kiss you all night,” he quietly mused.

“You’ll have no arguments here,” you replied with a smile as your hands made their way up to cup his face, returning his kiss with increasing passion. In response, he picked you up with your legs wrapped around his hips and laid you down gently on the bed, barely parting his lips from yours in the process. At the same time that his tongue entered your mouth, you felt his large hand begin to fondle and massage your breast, your hardened nipple rubbing against his soft palm. You hummed with pleasure, pushing your chest further into his touch, to which he responded by rolling the sensitive nub between his fingers. Letting out a little whimper, you bucked your hips. 

Tom knew exactly what you needed. He slid his hand down your stomach and started stroking your wet folds. You moaned into his mouth as he dipped the tips of his index and middle fingers into your entrance and spread the wetness that had pooled there to your needy clit, gently rubbing it in a slow, circular motion. At the same time, he released your lips from his so he could suck on the most sensitive spot on your neck. Your breathing became more labored as your pleasure built slowly and steadily. It felt amazing, but you needed more.

“Fuck, Tom, I need you,” you pleaded. 

He lifted his head and gazed earnestly down at you. “Baby, you have no idea.” 

After quickly putting on a condom, Tom grabbed your hand, your fingers lacing together, and pressed his forehead to yours as he pushed inside you. Melodic sighs escaped both of your throats with every measured thrust, reveling in the physical connection as if you hadn’t done it hundreds of times before. Every so often he’d kiss you again, sometimes just barely brushing his lips over yours, and it felt just as electric as it had by the pool. You had no idea why tonight felt different, felt emotional, but it was almost overwhelming. As you came closer to your release, your moans mixed with his like tea and honey, getting sweeter and sweeter until you both came undone, wordless praises falling from your lips.

Tom’s head fell into the crook of your neck, panting against your damp skin while you stroked his hair. You laid like that for a while, Tom occasionally placing a kiss to your neck between his heavy breaths, until he reluctantly pulled out of you and tossed the condom in the bin. When he laid back down, you rested your head and hand on his chest and draped your leg over his hips while he absentmindedly ran his fingers through your hair. 

“Hey, Tommy?” you said after a few moments of laying in comfortable silence. 

“Yeah, baby?” he replied sweetly.

“If I could see myself through your eyes…” you began thoughtfully. “...Would I end up wanking in front of the mirror all the time?”

Tom’s chest shook underneath you as he burst out laughing. “Probably,” he managed to reply. 

You looked up at him and began laughing too. 

…

The rest of the night was filled with more laughing, cuddling, kissing, and incredible sex. Neither of you fell asleep until the wee hours of the morning, and it was all too soon that your alarm woke you up. 

You reached over and turned it off. 

“Absolutely not,” you heard Tom mumble as he pulled you close, your back flush against his chest. 

“What?” you asked with a grin.

“You aren’t leaving,” he grumbled into your hair.

You stroked his arm that was wrapped tightly around your waist. “As much as I wish that were true, I have to get back to work.” 

He growled. “How long do we have?”

“I have to leave for the airport in two hours.”

“So an hour to sleep and an hour to have as much sex as possible?”

You giggled. “‘Fraid not, Tommy boy. I still have to pack and then I thought maybe we could have some breakfast and coffee together before I leave.”

“I think we can make that happen,” he said as he leaned over you and kissed you. “How do you feel about me riding with you to the airport?”

You looked at him skeptically. “You’d spend an hour in the car just for an extra thirty minutes with me?”

“Is that alright?”

“More than alright, darling,” you told him with a grin as you rolled onto your back, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply.

After a generous amount of snogging, you stopped abruptly. “I should check in for my flight!”

“Should I be concerned that that’s what you were thinking about just now?” he teased you.

You reached for your phone, only to find it had died since your alarm went off. Afterall, you’d been a bit too distracted the night before to remember to charge it. “Shit.” You turned back to Tom. “Can I use your phone to check in?”

“Of course, love.” He grabbed his phone from his nightstand, unlocked it, and handed it to you. “I will get started on breakfast.” And with a kiss to your cheek, he got up, pulled on his boxers, and headed to the kitchen. 

Though you were sad to be leaving, you couldn’t stop smiling as you logged in to your British Airways account. Something felt different, and even though you couldn’t quite place it, it had you walking on air. 

You were just finishing checking into your flight when a notification popped up on the top of Tom’s screen. It was a text from Evelyn Dawson, and without thinking, you clicked on it. 

Your smile instantly disappeared. You felt like someone had kicked you in the stomach. Of course. How could you forget? This was the arrangement afterall. You were both free to sleep with other people, and why wouldn’t he sleep with his stunning costar? 

You cursed yourself when tears began to blur your vision. You felt incredibly stupid for reacting this way when he’d done nothing wrong, and for expecting anything different. This is what you both wanted: fun with no strings. No getting attached. 

You couldn’t let Tom see you like this. After marking the message from Evelyn as unread, you called Koa to come pick you up. Then you plugged your own phone in to get as much charge as you could while you quickly packed, trying your hardest to focus on what you were doing in order to prevent more tears. Once you had everything, you made your way out to the entryway. 

“Wow, that was quick,” Tom said as he cooked some delicious smelling eggs. It was too bad you wouldn’t be able to sit and enjoy them. 

You stayed in the entryway, looking out the window for Koa. You wanted to avoid looking at Tom as much as possible. “Yeah, well, I guess the Honolulu airport is quite busy this time of year,” you explained sheepishly. “So I thought I should head out now.”

You heard the stove click off and a moment later, Tom appeared from around the corner. “What? Darling, I’ve just made breakfast.” He chuckled slightly, but you could tell he was concerned.

“I know, I’m sorry.” You gave him a brief apologetic look before looking down at your fidgeting fingers. “I just– erm– I really don’t want to miss my flight, and Koa will be here any minute.”

“Okay, yeah, just give me a minute to get dressed and then–”

“That’s okay,” you interrupted. “Stay and eat. You shouldn’t let the food go to waste, and I’m probably just going to sleep in the car anyway.”

“Is everything alright?” He stepped toward you and went to put his hand on your waist, but you bent down and picked up your suitcase before he could. 

“I’m fine,” you tried to convince him as much as you were trying to convince yourself. “It’s just time to get back to reality.”

Tom’s brow furrowed. “And which part of this exactly wasn’t real?”

As if on cue, Koa pulled up to the house.

“I’m sorry, Tom. I—”

“Don’t worry about it, Y/n,” he said, sounding defeated. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

And with that, you hugged him and left as quickly as you could before he could see you tear up again.

Taglist: @chronicallybubbly, @the-princess-of-loki, @princess-ofthe-pages, @darcylikesloki, @kikster606, @foxherder, @simone818283, @newtomofgods, @christinebloodwrittings, @tom-hlover

[kaythefloppa]

Headcanons Masterpost

I’ve posted a few of my WK headcanons here but not many of them.

even though it's a show that I deeply think about on a regular(??) basis, but since I've got free time, why not? I'll go in no particular order since my organization skills (or lack thereof) outclass Martin's.

Keep in mind that at the time that I’m posting this, the final four episodes of Season 7 are yet to air on PBS Kids. Any headcanons related to Season 7 will obviously be rendered outdated if contradicted by future episodes. Warning; Very Long [also copied and pasted from a post I just made on the fandom subreddit + my FANDOM blog]

Chris and Martin:

They have the same age gap as they do in real life. Unlike real life however, they’re in their 20’s. They graduated high school and college at the same time Aviva did.

They keep in touch with Christine and Susan (their IRL sisters who I HC exist in this universe).

Both of them are both autistic and have ADHD.

Martin can and has beaten Chris in an arm wrestle, but has also lost to him in a chess match.

Both Martin and Chris despise golf (which is valid because that game fucking SUCKS!)

The first animal he ever named was the frog that he and Chris saved from Zach when they were kids. The frog’s name was “Ribbert” , a mix between “ribbet” and “Robert.”

Chris was bullied a lot by Zach when they were kids. Martin stepped in to defend him.

In general, Martin has more beef with Zach than Chris does. It’s why Zach is always quick to capture Chris to spite Martin, and why Martin in general has less hesitance with putting Zach through the most uncomfortable situations (i.e. that one time where he straight up launches Zach into the sky in the Bumblebee episode). Martin may or may not have straight up beaten the tar out of Zach at some point.

Gavin, Ronan, Aidan, and Nolan AREN’T related to them, but they are close family friends.

Neither 2D Martin or 2D Chris are married or in relationships. They’re married to their work if anything.

This is the most popular headcanon in the entire fandom, but the Creature Power Suits have a side-effect on the brothers that results in them being able to gain long-term certain abilities or traits of animals even whilst deactivated. This is why they are able to see clearly underwater, hold their breath longer, why their facial structures can seem a bit off, and most importantly, why they are able to have certain interactions with some animals (like when Chris STANDS ON TOP OF A MOTHERFUCKING POLAR BEAR AND LIVES!).

The events of their previous shows are canon in the WK universe. The crossovers (Odd Squad, Nature Cat, Molly of Denali) are also canon (for more-info, see this post:)

Zach Varmitech:

Was a nepo baby. A simple explanation as to why and how he turned out to be as awful as he was is because he had parents who didn't pay enough attention to him, and thus, never held him accountable for much of anything. It was often the responsibility of Zach's teachers, or even his peers to tell him "no."

On top of that, the Varmitechs making robotics out of animals was a family business.. They never got in trouble with the law because they had that much money, but it only furthered a young Zach to believe he could get away with anything he wanted. He was of course, very oblivious to the negative reception in the court of public opinion that his family had.

He was an only child.

Him attempting to use frogs as his invention was the first time he ever thought of the Zachbots.

Was classmates with Chris, Martin, and Aviva, who all went to the same school. His rivalries would shift every season. During the school year from August to April, his biggest 'haters' were the Kratts. During the summer, from May to July, his nemesis was Aviva during science camp.

He was largely sent to science camp to broaden his education. One of the few times that his parents were attentive of him.

His rivalry with Aviva intially started out on a frenemies thing wehre they tried to outdo each other. Then it turned to actual friendship, but then it became one-sided. I've seen the headcanon of them being an ex-item but in my eyes, things went south way before they could even cross that river, largely due to Zach's unoriginality, his ineptitude, and his cruelty towards others, especially animals.

He first created the Zachbots at science camp. His first decision was to use them to bully Aviva.

He was a high school drop-out. He claims that it was because he was "too smart" for school, but the real reason for that is because he was denied his diploma (the reason for which he'll take to his grave).

He's canonically 23 years old in the series. He simply looks older than he does both because of early puberty and because of his really poor self-care routines if any (I mean the guy has NOT felt the warm Vitamin D of the sun). The ‘wrinkle’ he had from the 100th episode was not from age, but simply because his skin was drier than the Sahara.

His first act of villainy against the fully assembled Wild Kratts team was when he tried to steal the Creature Power Suits in order to use Creature Powers to capture animals. However, thanks to Aviva's technology, (as well as the fact that they were in their prototypical stage), his plan failed. This explains why he never once tries this in the show, even though he has canonically stolen the suits and discs.

Met Donita, Dabio, and Gourmand at the Finding Your Inner Villain Seminar not long after dropping out of high school.

He and Paisley Paver are second cousins. The Varmitechs and the Pavers used to be in the same organization/family until they split up due to personality conflict. Zach eventually did a DNA ancestry test that not only showed the truth of his ancestry, but revealed that the new villain on the news that the Wild Kratts had faced was his cousin. This was why he was the first to induct Paisley into the ViVs (Very Important Villains). Their scheme in "Our Blue and Green World" was meant to be a project that was going to merge their family businesses back together and establish them as permanent partners in crime. Of course, we all know how that ends...

Zach refused to tell the other ViVs about Paisley's betrayal, feeling embarassed for having allowed Paisley to betray him so quickly. Paisley pretty much becomes a forbidden entity in Zach's life, as he is too emotionally immature to properly deal with how betrayed he feels, or to see things from Paisley's side of view. The truth of Paisley’s betrayal does come out, but it’s completely out of his control, and it forces him to act fast in order to both save his teamwork with the other villains, and get revenge on the Kratts for turning Paisley against him.

He's abso-fucking-lutely gay but EXTREEEEEMELLY closeted and repressed with bad misplacement issues (i.e. his painful attempts to flirt with Donita in Episode 6).

Zach is often sent to jail off-screen, but he's always bailed out, if not by the other villains, it's by a relative (Paisley was one of said relatives, however they both effectively disowned each other).

He intentionally programmed the Zachbots to be intellectually limited so that they don't turn against him. Them taking his orders literally is a very huge side-effect of that decision, one that he considers the lesser of two evils.

This headcanon is very dated (since it circled around back in 2021-2022) but yes, Zach does use NFTs. He is relentlessly bullied by everyone for it. And a more modern headcanon, but Zach 100% uses AI and ChatGPT. You can’t tell me otherwise.

Donita Donata

Is in her early 30's (let's say 31).

Was one of the top female athletes in middle school, high school, and college. Was offered to take on hockey as a profession but turned it down after gaining a bad case of burn-out.

Was also a prodigy in fashion and made that her top priority. Initially she started working on dresses and clothes in a usual way, and became a well-known designer, however, she soon found herself with a lot of competition. Her campaign to use endangered animals in her line of fashion was done out of desperation and was meant to be a one-time thing, but after seeing how many people enjoyed and loved her work, and how much money she could make off of it, she made it a regular profession. She lost a LOT of longtime friends because of this.

Unlike the Varmitechs and Pavers, the Donatas were not proud of their family history. After Shonita Donata had driven the Thylacines to extinction and came dangerously close to wiping out the Tasmanian Devils, their family became infamous, which encouraged her descendants to discontinue her line of work. Donita had brought back that family tradition, and when informed by one of her relatives the very dark history of their family, it had only re-inforced her desire to turn animals into art.

She used ancestry DNA to track down Shabio's descendants to have as her assistant and bodyguard. She eventually found Dabio, who was a member of the mafia (keep in mind, this guy beat up Zach on Donita's command for not returning a loan). She traded a lot of hush money in exchange for them turning him over to her.

She knows a lot of shady people and knows exactly what to say and do to make them do her bidding in order to keep them quiet. This was how she got someone to pay to create the pose-beam, install the vacuum on her jet, and eventually her attack manequins. She also had Zach tweak up her tech for safety (this was after the events of Weird Looking Walrus).

Only rarely does she ever kill her targets. She attempted to skin a leopard once for its fur. However, not only did that get her on the Kratts' radar, it also attracted the attention of a very angry mob. After barely making it out in one piece, Donita decided to simply paralyze the animals and stylize them in a manner that would be fitting for clothing.

Is a lesbian. She's under the assumption Zach is crushing on her (again, it's verrry compulsory on his end) and she turns him down. They get along much better when Zach starts backing off.

Has actually gotten away with selling animals as jewlery (R.I.P. that one frog from Episode 5). Has also gotten bailed out of jail by Zach, Gourmand, and Paisley.

She unofficially gets into a relationship with Paisley Paver. They definitely HAVE plotted together (which we SO should've gotten an episode on!) in the past. Following the events of Season 7, Donita gets less and less notifcations from Paisley, confusing her a lot, and she eventually has no choice but to consider herself dumped. When she ultimately does find out what happened, let's just say that she is the most thirsty for revenge.

Gaston Gourmand

His surname is actually Gourmand. His family being chefs was a coincidence.

Is in his early 40’s (let’s go with 41).

Being a chef ran in the family. However, using endangered species wasn’t. Gaston was informed from a young age of how his ancestor, Gideon Gourmand was responsible for the downfall of the dodo bird, and how since then, the family has dedicated their lives to ethical cooking.

Gourmand went to culinary school. Much like Donita, jealousy played a role in his downfall, as he went to very unethical means to try and outdo those who he wrongly believed had ‘stolen the spotlight’ from them. He started to disregard what he knew about his family history, and secretly use unauthorized animals in his recipies. He got away with this for over a year, until the Kratt Brothers saw him capture endangered condors. Fortunately, they managed to report him to the authorities, where he was exposed for cooking endangered animals, and he was eventually thrown out of school. He swore vengeance on the Kratts since there.

He was cut disowned by his entire family after the fact. By that point, he couldn’t care less. Except for the fact that he was pretty much left with nothing.

When he attended the Finding Your Inner Villain Seminar, that was his rise to fame, as his endangered mushroom salad sold him enough money to purchase a jet, a jet pack, and a dough ball blaster. Zach Varmitech sponsored him, largely to mooch off of his work, but in the end, it helped him get a lot of materials that made it possible for him to hunt endangered species.

Apart from Zach, he’s the glue that holds the villain group together. He mediates an argument as well as he knows how to start one. And he uses food to get on their good sides. Off-screen, he’s partnered with and sponsored Donita and Paisley’s endeavors.

Gourmand’s “side-dish” comment towards Chris was just a very dark joke. Whilst I definitely see where the cannibalism headcanons come from and whilst I don’t disagree with them, I think it’s more in character for him to be enough of a jerk to even joke about it.

Nostril was the Gourmand family pet. In between Seasons 6 and 7, something happened that resulted in them losing custody of Nostril and him falling into Gourmand’s custody.

The reason that Gourmand has been mostly absent throughout Season 7 after the season premiere is because he’s currently trying to find out what happened to Paisley after she mysteriously went dark. Although Zach denies any knowledge, and whilst Donita is up a creek without a paddle, Gourmand suspects something deeper happening, and has gone on a quest in search of her, dropping a lot of his recipe-related schemes in order to find out what happened. She manages to evade him, but out of all the 3 villains, he is the closest to finding out that she went rouge, and is the most likely the one to expose Paisley to the other villains.

Aviva Corcovado

Went to elementary, middle school, and high school with the Kratts and Zach. Befriended Koki and Jimmy Z. in college and introduced them to the Kratts after the fact.

Used to be friends with Zach. Went south. BADLY.

Is Jewish on her father’s side, and Latin American on her mother’s side. Was born in Costa Rica and moved to the U.S. when she was 5.

She’s bi and polyamorous. She and Koki are mutually attracted to each other but they don’t exactly put a label on it. The same applies to Aviva and Paisley post-redemption.

She’s a diagnosed autistic. Her special interest was animals, but especially turtles. Suddenly the design of the HQ makes a lot more sense.

She is 22 years old. Fresh out of college.

Invented a Creature Power Suit for Jimmy sometime in between the events of Seasons 4 and 5 (this was also when she invented Koki’s CPS, which was fully functional in the Season 5 premiere). She kept Jimmy’s CPS in private because she knew he didn’t want one and because he was perfectly effective in the fields without it, and kept it as a failsafe if all else went wrong.

Aviva installed a security system on the Creature Power Discs and the Suits, to where Zach cannot use them, (which only furthers why Zach doesn’t try to activate Creature Powers). When Zach discovers the flaw in Aviva’s design (ghost-programmings that are susceptible to be re-activated), Aviva actually manages to find a solution to that bug in no time. She just holds back from fixing it, mainly to give Zach the illusion of advantage. That way, when she actually installs the Ring Chip 2.0 into the suits, Zach will be humiliated (she does a li’l bit of trolling like that).

Koki

Her full name is Koki Rock (this was based on the headcanon that she shared the same last name as her original voice actor Heather Bambrick before she was recast).

She’s Zambian on her mother’s side (just like me fr) and Puerto Rican on her father’s side. She’s named after the coqui frog, and was born in the U.S.

She went to the same college as Aviva. She was a technology major and the two just clicked together.

Had a summer romance with Jimmy Z, but they eventually broke off and decided to remain friends.

Grew up in a family of 5 siblings. She was the youngest and was often overlooked which caused her to overcompensate to get what she wanted, a habit that she soon unlearns with some months of therapy.

Undiagnosed autistic.

Had a bad experience with bats when one accidentally crashed into her house and touched her. She went over to the hospital for a check-up and the doctors found out that the bat was rabid and was able to cure both her and the bat before any symptoms started showing up. That’s largely what inspired her hatred and fear of bats.

Jimmy Z.

HC adopted from Atarah Derek on Tumblr and the fandom wiki. He’s of Polish descent, with the Z. standing for Zuraw.

He was raised by his grandmother, who he often calls “mom” just by instinct.

Was a man of many hobbies. Cooking, gaming, and piloting. He genuinely could not choose between the three.

Is trans (FtM). Only his closest friends are aware of that (this eventually includes the WK crew).

Undiagnosed autistic, but strongly suspects that he is.

Aviva held applications to pilot the Tortuga. Jimmy Z. instantly won her over because he was skilled.

Jimmy often teaches Aviva and Koki how to man the teleporter in certain situations where he’s absent. However, there are some things he neglects to teach, simply because he’s become so accustomed to it that he can’t find the right way to put the entire process into words. This is why both Aviva and Koki’s teleportations fluctuate between precise and far off.

Jimmy does have a Creature Power Suit but he has no idea. Aviva invented it in private as a failsafe. Jimmy’s proven himself to be an effective member of the team without a CPS and he’s content with it.

I’ve seen one HC from a mutual friend of mine on Tumblr that said that Jimmy Z. was the one who actually created the flash games (Go Cheetah Go, Habitat Rescue, Flower Flier, ect.) in-universe for the Wild Kratts Kids to play; not only is it way easier to make the flash games co-exist with the series proper, but it’s far too in-character for Jimmy to NOT be SS+ HC material so -

Paisley Paver

She’s 26 years old. She may or may not be attracted to Aviva post-redemption (let me have this one).

Much like Zach, she was a nepo baby who came from a long line of notorious capitalists who were always one dollar out of the big house.

Paisley had many siblings, none of whom she was close with.

Paisley’s inheritance of Pave Nature Incorporated was pretty much the plot of Succession, where she had to impress her snobby parents that she was worthy of running the family business. She surprisingly won fair and square, but her siblings accused her of cheating and essentially disowned her.

She went to the Finding Your Inner Villain Seminar. Whilst she didn’t interact with Zach, Donita, or Gourmand personally, she simply overheard them speak about the Wild Kratts, hence her offhand comment in her debut episode.

She and Zach Varmitech are second cousins. Zach reaches out to her with this information and this is partly what convinces her to join the ViVs.

This is a headcanon largely stolen from Athena P’s analysis video from 6 months back; Paisley soon sees how inept Zach’s schemes are and how much of a waste of money they are. So she decides to cheat the system by constantly charging/billing him every time he fails (the Halloween special was not the first/only instance of this). In the scenario where they got what they wanted, cool. In the scenario where they failed, Paisley could walk away with a shred of her dignity and some cash.

The in-universe reason why we don’t see her that often in the series [pre-Season 7] is because she actually does a very good job at staying under the Kratts’ radar and paving several habitats. Post-Season 7, she finds the time to undo that damage.

Has plotted with Gourmand and Donita individually off-screen. Got into a HO-YAY with Donita, but ultimately ghosted her after her Heel-Face-Turn. She saw the most potential in Donita, and thus knew that she’d be the biggest threat to her if her betrayal was ever revealed.

Zach and Paisley’s plans to destroy the Madagascar beach was meant to be a project that would’ve reunited the Varmitech and Paver families as well as their businesses. Obviously that did not go well.

Zach forced Paisey to fire Rex, believing him to be a liability (because he gets along with others just as well as water gets along with gasoline). Paisley had no choice but to let Rex go. She regrets it.

There are two in-universe reasons that we don’t see Paisley post-redemption. 1) she was busy legally changing her surname to Paver (yes, I know the end-credits had it as a nickname but I reject them lol) - 2) she was on the run. Not from the authorities, but from Gourmand. He was the only villain in Zach’s circle who realized something was amiss when Paisley went dark and started to track her down. Paisley fortunately managed to evade him at every turn and keep him from finding her out. However, she soon realizes that if she keeps Gourmand guessing, he won’t be able to capture animals or help the other villains. So she pretty much becomes a decoy. She doesn’t go after Rex out of fear that he’ll be dragged into the mess she put herself into, and out of fear that he won’t forgive her for firing him.

Her absence unfortunately leaves a power vacuum for Pave Nature Incorporated. Her siblings realize this and decide to take it over, hiring Rex.

Rex

He was a construction worker looking for a job. Found Paisley. Got that job.

He got along well with Dabio. I don’t exactly know if I ship them or not but it’s a crime that we never saw them interact.

When Paisley was inducted into the ViVs he tried to get along with them but they overall snubbed him. Zach in particular loathed Rex’s chipper attitude.

Was fired by Paisley as part of Paisley and Zach’s project to merge the Varmitech and Paver businesses back together. Rex became resentful towards Paisley, and eventually sulked out about until there was a change in position in Pave Nature Incorporated that allowed him to get his job back. Whether or not he remains a villain or eventually rejoins Paisley, I’m gonna wait until there’s a canon answer for that.

Dabio

He grew up in a mafia family. Dabio is his alias name, his real name no one actually knows. His bloodline runs back to post-Shabio (Shabio had gotten a lot of pushback for helping kill off the Thylacine population, so he went to America, joined the mafia, took control and was effectively un-touchable for centuries).

Dabio only acts dumb as a way to fool his enemies. He’s not particularly that intelligent, but he knows way more than he lets on.

Was assigned to Donita as her henchman/bodyguard, in exchange for his family getting enough money to escape the authorities.

[daisy-milk]

Non Dimenticar

three times in which you needed minho, though it wasn't in you to ask

➠ lee minho x reader

➠ wc: 1.7k

➠ summary: both you and minho are independent induviduals, and that aspect thrives in your relationship. though it makes it hard for you to reach out to him when you need it. you and him learn that sooner or later you both will have to learn how to ask for help.

➠ warnings: slight angst (maybe its normal level angst idk its pretty sad), mentions of passing out, mentions of injury, mentions of hosptial/emergency room, overworked reader

➠ masterlist

➠ a/n: i am currently a little tipsy and therefore this is not proofread

he gets it. he really does. he understands because he is the same way. all his life, he has had the same mentality, but now that he’s met you, he has learned; and perhaps it was because you were so similar in that sense that he learned what it looked like from an outside perspective. 

it was your inability to ask for help and openness to receiving it. 

minho, as well, struggled with this. throughout his life he had that mindset. one of, ‘whatever is happening will pass. you must power through. don’t drag others down with you,’ and he knew what it felt like from a personal level. pretty much, you both lived a very much ‘just thug it out’ lifestyle. minho never saw it as too much of a problem though. it didn’t seem to hurt others, in his eyes it kept them safe even, ignorance is bliss, no? but that was until he met you. 

minho saw in you, the struggle that was deep within him. the one many urged him to overcome, because he never would see any issue in it.

the first time he began to become aware was when the two of you were working out. you were both doing bicep curls, your attention on the mirror in front of you as you counted your sets. minho and you took turns and he was using a heavier weight than you, so naturally you dropped yours in favor of letting him switch the plates. you must have been distracted however, and in switching, you accidentally dropped the heavy plate onto your big toe. minho wouldn’t have even noticed if his eyes weren’t trained on you at all times. you didn’t even make a sound when it dropped on you, just an airy hiss, and through your reflection in the mirror you tried your best to play it off. the weight was heavy enough to raise concern, there was no way that didn’t affect you. therefore, minho spoke up,

“hey, you good? that looked painful” he grabbed your arm as you stepped away. 

you shook your head, “nah. i’m fine. i’ve had worse,” a chuckle leaves your lips in an attempt to put your boyfriend at ease.

minho gave you a look. one of uncertainty. though he didn’t want to pry. he knows that even if it was hurting there is a reason you aren’t asking him for help. 

perhaps he should have asked though. you didn’t say anything further but he couldn’t help but notice the quite obvious limp you wore as you walked out of the gym. he noticed, as he peeked at your uncovered foot when you got into bed with him that your toe began to swell and bruise a nasty shade of purple. he noticed the way, even after days, you struggle to put your full weight onto your foot. he urged you to see a doctor, but you brushed it off, saying that it’ll heal on its own, you’ve had worse. 

again, he didn’t pry and you never brought it up. though he knows now to keep a close eye on you at the gym. 

the second time was probably the most brutal. what started as a simple stomach ache soon became an even worse pain that had you doubling over in pain. be it cramps, your pesky lactose intolerance, or food poisoning, you always had an excuse for when minho began to worry. because naturally he would become worried at the sight of you rendering unmovable due to the pain. though no matter what, each time you would ease his mind with a new excuse and a wave of your hand. the excuses lasted a while. though it was only a matter of time until something worse happened. he had gotten a call from you late into the evening, “hey…” your voice was low, it sounded as if you were far from the mic, “can you… can you uh pick me up. i’m at that pho spot near your place. i’m- i… uh don’t think i can drive home.”

“did you drink?” he had asked. you had told him no, but offered no further explanation. he could tell there was something you didn’t want to tell him; he knew there was a reason you sounded hesitant to ask for his help. 

minho had been right because upon arrival he was met with your nearly passed out form, drooping from the driver’s seat of your car. he rushed to you, and you were conscious, luckily. though you did let out a loud groan in pain, your hand clutching your abdomen tightly. without another thought, he rushed you to the emergency room. 

fate was on your side that night. appendicitis. the doctors had told you that you were lucky that you hadn’t waited. if it were perhaps a day later, your appendix may have ruptured. the two of you shared a brief look as the doctor debriefed you. it was a knowing look. 

during your surgery minho thanked every star in the sky that night. he also made sure to schedule himself a check-up with his physician as well. he had to take care of himself to take care of you, is what he told himself.

the third time wasn’t a physical injury per say. minho caught you in your room. using the spare keys you gave him, he welcomed himself into your apartment as he normally did, though you weren’t expecting him this time. he wanted it to be a surprise. he knew you were studying hard and came in to surprise you with your usual coffee order and some homemade pastries felix made. 

instead he found you at your desk, uncomfortably splayed out before your computer. surrounding you were litters of paper and textbooks, most with notes and formulas, but as he looked closer there were papers completely scribbled out, torn, crumpled; it looked like a disaster. he couldn’t count the amount of tabs open of your computer, the chaos that reigned the screen made his head hurt just looking at it. there were at least 2 empty coffee cups on the floor and another on the table, the ice melting into the now lukewarm americano. his hand cropped the one he brought you a little tighter. 

“sweetheart?” he questioned carefully, kneeling down to reach face level with you. 

though you were curled up, he caught a clear glimpse of your face. you looked nearly lifeless and his heart shattered. minho knew it was just finals. he knew that you were probably fine, but what made him break was the fact you were going through it all alone. it had been days since you contacted him, and it wasn’t an issue for him, the two of you were good at maintaining your own personal time, and as per usual he never pried. but the thought of you, pulling through like this for days left his stomach falling into the deepest pits within himself. 

“my poor baby…” his finger traced your cheek, now squished against the table. your skin was dull, eye bags too present, day old makeup faded and smudged all over your eyes. minho kicked himself for not coming sooner. 

minho’s arms curl under you and he pulls your body into his arms. you’re so knocked out that you barely notice the movement. as if it were second nature, you curl into his hold as he hoists you up. his face softens a little as you do so, relieved that even in this state you know to trust him completely. his arms bring you to your bed where he carefully tucks you in, giving a gentle pat on your head as he moves to clean up your desk.

scattered papers and endless notes littered the surface of your desk. it wasn’t just your desk though. your room itself was left in a messy array, the days of stress piled up and you couldn’t bring yourself to clean, as litter and clothes became too much to handle. without a second thought, minho cleaned, folding clothes, tossing garbage until your room was spotless. he finished at your desk, beginning to pick up your papers as you woke.

silently, you approached him, your hand resting on his from behind as he gathered some sheets of paper, 

“minho…” you said groggily, “don’t worry about it… i-i’m not finished with those. gotta finish them then i’ll clean it up”

you attempted to grab the notes but he stopped you. his hand took the papers from your own. without a word he continued to gather the papers and pile them neatly to the side. you didn’t have any energy left to stop him, to argue. you just let him do this thing. after he powered off your computer, he finally turned to you. his hands now rested on your cheeks, gently brushing the soft skin on your face. his head tilted at you as if you were one of his cats, his thumbs brushing the crusty makeup around your eyes. 

“did you sleep well?” finally he spoke

”i have a lot to study…”

”did you eat today?” he continued 

“there’s only one more day before my project is due…” he remained quiet and continued to caress your face, “… i won’t have time to study after my classes and…” you began to lean into his touch, softening up from both your sleepiness and his affection, “…and…” you could melt into the way he looked at you right now, “…and i have to finish… i’ll rest when i…”

”you must be so tired, hm?” there was no other infliction in his voice aside from affection

“…yeah,” you admit, “…i’m really tired.” 

tears began to well in your eyes as you dipped your head down. he didn’t let you though, using a gentle finger to tilt your head back up. new tears traced down the same path as the ones that were now dried on your cheeks. 

“let’s go take a shower?” he asks and you nod. his hand leads you to your bathroom as he begins to use your makeup remover to gently wipe the makeup from your face. 

his hands are too gentle, you think, as he cleans your skin.

”after this, we can study in bed, yeah? together.” he gazes down at you as he tosses one wipe for another, “next time… please call me. i know you want to do this alone, i get it, i thought the same way too. but now that i have you, i could never want to be alone again. trust me when i say, i will never be tired of being with you, helping you, no matter what it is. just please, call me when you need me,” he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, “i promise i’ll call you when i need you too.”

please leave feedback please please please

[stygiansun-totaleclipse]

AGHHHH😭😭 ran out of money for the patreon subscription the SECOND you dropped the siblings poll and parim lineart💀 horrible timing for me to go broke fr

AAYAHAOSSBSOSNSO KIERAN IS SO.🫶 Can’t wait to meet them!! Can already see potential tension in any sparring scenes you may write w them, lol.

Not to be a freak on main or anything (😔😔 ) but would you mind if I asked the RO’s reactions to MC walking in on, accidentally catching them doing some TLC (aka masterbating, because I’m a little pussy and I feel like a harlot when I say the word💀💀) ? ALSO YOUR STORY IS SO AMAZING AGGHHH

Figured I’d give shooting you an ask a try because A(tumblr will probably eat it anyways, and B(I’ve kind of lurker and contemplated sending an ask this whole time but been too scared too and you seem really nice‼️‼️

Agh 💀 sorry lol but I’ll still post a public preview of Parim when he’s finished! 🙏 Working on coloring/rendering rn but also no pressure on the Patreon sub at all I get it—take care of yourself first!! ❤️

I definitely have many plans for sparring scenes with Kieran and mc 👀 Crossing swords will be a conversation of its own

( • ̀ω•́ )✧⚔️

And thank you, I’m glad you’ve enjoyed the story!! And thanks so much for sharing your thoughts, I love hearing them! <3 I answered the rest of your ask under the cut:

(assuming pre-relationship; Also some elements of this could potentially be spoilery depending on what exactly they were doing so I’m gonna also assume they are mostly dressed and those that wear gloves are still wearing them)

Kieran: Just fucking kill them. That would honestly be better than this. Might get mad and harshly scold mc for barging in without knocking afterwards if only to try to save some dignity at having been caught in such a vulnerable/intimate position but their flush gives away their mortification. Would prefer to never speak of it again but now for a long time every interaction with mc is tinged by this, even if only in the back of their mind. Also they feel especially ashamed if mc seemed really uncomfortable tho they won’t speak of it. If mc teases them about it, they’ll flush and snap at mc.

Nihm: Horribly flustered and even if they tried to act casual about things afterwards in an attempt to pretend nothing ever happened they aren’t going to be able to forget for a long while and will probably resort to avoiding mc out of embarrassment. Also this means any further sessions of TLC are going to now be tinged by thoughts of mc, however guilty they feel about that.

Lilith/Lucien: Not ashamed but is only as uncomfortable as far as mc is. If mc seems really uncomfortable having walked in on this, they’ll apologize as if it were their fault and would endeavor to try to smooth things over as they’d rather not mc be uncomfortable or tense around them. If mc seems more fixated despite themself or just plain interested, then they might be tempted to escalate things—like inviting mc to watch or perhaps participate.

Samira: Pre-relationship, she’s horribly embarrassed and ashamed as she really respects/reveres mc as a friend, as her patron, and as royalty. She feels it’s only prudent to keep some degree of distance between them considering their stations and being caught in such a vulnerable and intimate position crosses that line. She’s too mortified to resort to scolding mc for not knocking and instead is apologetic as though it were entirely her own fault this happened and would probably end up compensating by acting much more formal around mc than usual—more appropriate to the distance between an acolyte/patron royal than between friends.

Aurynn: Not embarrassed but would stop and casually cover up. Pretty nonchalant about it and probably would just ask if mc needed something etc. Afterwards, depends on how mc reacts—if they seem really mortified and want to forget it happened then he’ll play along and won’t ever bring it up and would act casual like nothing ever happened, but if mc seems to be more fixated on it/interested despite themself or even just unabashedly then he’ll mercilessly tease.

[aristocratic-otter]

Welp, I wasn't going to post today...but then I realized that the final chapter of Heart in the Well will go up before Sunday, and that'll render the excerpt I carefully picked out obsolete by then. So I scrambled to pick bits from my other stories just so I could post this one excerpt. Go me!

The good news about Heart being done? I've got a new WIP plotted out that I'm super excited about, but I wouldn't let myself write anything until one of my WIPs finished. So next week or the week after, you should see the first words from that fic, a very very angsty Watford era canon divergence.

In the mean time, thank you to : @monbons, @messofthejess, @rimeswithpurple, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @best--dress,

@nausikaaa, @youarenevertooold, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @artsyunderstudy, @j-nipper-95, and

@facewithoutheart for the tags over the last two weeks. I'm having so much fun reading and watching your stories and art. This is such an incredibly talented fandom, it's endlessly inspiring. Plus, I get to meet some of you soon when I see Rainbow in August!

Here's my teasers for this week:

Here’s one from each of my official WIPs

From Saving Simon Snow: 

I shake my head now, thinking about it. I’ll just have to keep close to Simon, or at least, as close as he’ll allow me. At least my vampire anatomy gives me an advantage there; I can listen to what’s happening with Simon from three rooms away (I won’t, unless it’s a matter of his safety. It’s a gross invasion of his privacy otherwise) (fortunately, I had to learn to tune out the chatter of my peers by my 2nd year at Watford, or I would have gone mad). 

From the Heart in the Well

He looks back at me and then frowns. “Well, come on then,” he says, impatiently. 

“Come on, what?” I say, exasperated. The water’s up to my breastbone now, and I’m starting to feel a little panicky, so my voice comes out higher pitched than I’d like. 

Now, he rolls his eyes. “I need your tie,” he says as if it were obvious. It was not obvious. “Take it off, please.” At that, I shiver a little. I never thought there’d be a day where Simon Snow would be telling me to take off my clothes.

From Snow Fox: Penny, learning you can’t go home again (especially if you’ve signed on with the Snow Fox)

I step onto the road and walk briskly towards the house I grew up in. I can tell when I’ve been noticed. Several heads swivel my direction, and the murmur of conversation in the camp ceases. I keep on as if I haven’t noticed however. As I draw closer, I nod distractedly at some of the boys nearer to my path. They don't nod back. They’re watching me with narrowed eyes and I shudder internally. What do they see when they look at me?

From TikTok Dancer: Quite a bit racier than what I usually post, but still Tumblr legal, I think

Years from now, if I, for some odd reason, try to explain how my first time having sex felt, I won’t be able to. There’s no describing it.  I’m planning to get a degree in words, for fuck’s sake, but right now, all language has left me, sailed back to England probably. I’m left with caveman grunts and desperate whines. Every particle of sensation in my body has gathered between my legs, and every atom of will I have left is devoted to an attempt to meld my body with his. I’ve almost succeeded–we’re nearly one creature now, moving in frantic, panting unison. 

From Stars, Flowers, and Children,

I know he’s been looking for me. I know he’s probably forgiven my great sin. He shouldn’t. Forgiveness requires that the person who receives it is contrite, is sorry for what they’ve done. 

I’m not sorry. I’d do it again today, if the circumstances were the same. 

Even being estranged from the only person in this world that I care about is still better than the permanent separation that would result if we were rescued. 

I believe that we’ll be friends again someday. Some day when the pain in my chest and stomach have dulled. And that day is worth waiting for.

From Cupid’s Shield:

I’m left gaping at where he just stood. It’s suddenly clear to me how much of his vampire abilities Baz has been hiding, because I was looking right at him. 

I never saw him move. 

All I know is suddenly he’s above me, and my arms are above my head and prisoned to the bed by his hands clamped around my wrists. I’m so stunned that I don’t even struggle. 

His knees are on either side of my hips, and he’s staring down at me like I’m his next meal. 

From my COBB project:

I know I should be worrying over tomorrow, and what my team will face out there. And I will be worrying over that—tomorrow. Tonight, I’m far more worried about the hours ahead. Hours of, once again, sharing a room with the only man I’ve ever loved. A man who’s never looked at me as anything other than a posh prick. 

That’s my fault, of course. It could have been different, all those years ago, when we first met at Watford Uni. I was excited, back then, to meet my roommate. Excited, and nervous. I freely admit I’ve had a privileged upbringing, and this would be the first time I’d ever shared a room. 

My childhood was mostly lonely, so I didn’t mind the idea. I’d thought it’d be nice to always have someone nearby to talk to. 

Of course, everyone knows how that turned out.

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[seniaasaysstuff]

satoru gojo getting mind-broken by suguru geto and toji fushiguro.

y’all gonna hate me for this🤭 2k words of porn with feelings? Maybe not.

-warnings- nsfw content🔞, mind break, non-con to dub-con to con??? Double anal penetration, rough oral sex, rough anal sex, overstimulation, nipple play, mind shattering orgasms.

I wrote two endings cause my heart couldn’t take it😩‼️ bad ending is first rip lol💀

@princeasimdiya12 thank you for your request!

———————————————————————“Satoru! It's been a while.” Suguru Geto yelled from behind, Satoru Gojo’s old friend who some even used to call them lovers.

Gojo was taken aback at the figure of his old friend and he was so dumbstruck by him that it led to him turning off his infinity.

It was that moment of weakness that got him caught by Suguru Geto. He was sealed in someone’s barrier and swept away.

Satoru tried his best to keep his thoughts in check but it was all a mess. He didn't understand how Suguru was alive. He had killed him. He had mourned him. When Gojo killed Suguru he felt as if a part of him died with him but to find out that he was alive?

Satoru didn't know what to do. His entire body shook. He didn't know what to do or think. It was as if his mind was paralyzed. He looked around the realm and all he could see was darkness.

Sensing someone was there his deep voice rang out, “I can sense that someone is here. Show yourself.”

“My My Satoru quite the observation.” Suguru Geto’s voice rumbled, his tone felt sarcastic. “Did you miss me?” he mockingly whispered but it was as if his voice vibrated through the void-like place.

“Who are you?” Satoru yelled, his voice shook with pain. “I thought you knew Satoru.” the man impersonating Geto spoke as he approached him. Gojo could just stand there as the man got near him. Suguru gently caressed his cheek. “I missed you Satoru,” He whispered, letting his breath tickle Satoru’s ears.

Satoru fumed, he was furious. “My six eyes tell me you're Suguru geto but MY SOUL KNOWS OTHERWISE! SO HURRY AND TELL ME! ANSWER WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?” Satoru shouted, his voice filled with rage.

“Heh!” Suguru laughed. “How'd you know?” he chuckled.

Gojo spat on the man pretending to be Suguru. Suguru’s facial expressions changed. “I was trying to go easy on you but I guess I was being too complacent.” He spoke coldly. “Deal with him.”

The minute those words were spoken, a flurry of men approached Gojo. Satoru wasn't really able to see anything, he tried to fight them but he couldn't do anything. He didn't have his infinity and he was quickly subdued. He felt a weight, something heavy holding him down when he attempted to move. It was something like a chain as it made noise as it dragged.

He was tied around a pillar, his hands bound and his legs spread apart and shackled by chains. One man roughly wrapped a cloth around his mouth. All he could do was move his tongue helplessly underneath the layers of cloth. “Suguru-” he attempted to growl through his gag.

“Nobody can hear ya hon.” A bemused voice that sounded quite similar to the man he had killed a long time ago was heard. Gojo’s eyes widened as he listened to the man’s voice.

“thoji zenin? Is that yuf? I thouft I haf killed you”. Gojo spoke, and his words came out muffled through his gag.

He tried to move his body but was rendered incapable. “Let mhf goh!” His garbled words were unable to be understood by his captors.

“Ya know I’ve always hated ya,” Toji spoke as he slowly approached him with a smirk. He grabbed Satoru’s throat and squeezed it. Satoru flailed around, unable to breathe.

His face had turned blue-purplish and he was on the brink of passing out when Toji let go of his neck. Satoru gasped loudly and coughed. He glared at toji who just gave him a wink. “I was just playin’ with ya. The real pain hasn’t started yet.”

That was the most helpless gojo had felt in the entirety of his life.

The fake Suguru tsked, “Feeling miserable are we?” gojo grunted, “I foud never gif yu the saatishfation.” He garbled through his gag.

“By the end of this, you'll be crying and kissing my feet Toru.” Suguru chuckled.

Toji removed Satoru’s gag. He grabbed him by his hair and pulled him into a rough kiss, sticking his tongue into his mouth and dragging his teeth over his lip. Satoru struggled, trying to move away from toji but Toji’s firm grip on his hair made it hard for him to move.

Suguru approached from the side and dipped his tongue in his collarbone. He aggressively sucked the skin, leaving marks. His hands roamed all over Satoru's body and brushed over his clothed chest. All Satoru could do was wriggle helplessly and whine.

“You're liking this aren't ya? Dirty pervert.” Toji smirked as he squeezed Satoru’s clothed balls making him grunt.

“You're gonna rot in hell.” He spat on Toji’s face.

Toji’s face darkened as he wiped the spit off his cheek. “Yer awfully cocky, aren’t ya? It’s funny. I'm gonna give you a chance okay hon? And if ya fuck up yer dead.”

Gojo pursed his lips and promptly shut up. He would let them think he was going to be subservient and the moment one of them loses their guard he will activate his technique.

“Good boy.” Toji chuckled as he started tearing his clothes off. Gojo sucked in a sharp breath but stood still without any protest.

Suguru began his assault on Satoru’s chest while Toji roughly grabbed Satoru’s jaw and squeezed it until his mouth opened partially.

The second his jaw opened, Toji stuck two of his fingers in his mouth. “Suck,” he demanded, his eyes looking vicious as if daring Satoru to do something.

Satoru gulped and started sucking on Toji’s fingers. Toji shoved them even further making him gag, tears gathered in Satoru’s eyes and saliva ran down his chin.

Suguru’s hands were still swirling around Satoru’s nipples albeit more furiously.

Satoru tried to suppress his moans as his chest was ruthlessly played with. Suguru wickedly grinned as he heard Satoru moan. He leaned down and took his right nipple in his mouth. Satoru’s nipples were sensitive which made him squeak and wiggle. Suguru continued his assault until it bruised.

Satoru sucked on Toji’s fingers at a more comfortable pace, finding comfort in the action almost distracting him from Suguru’s abuse.

Toji’s other hand made its way to his cock. He gently started stroking Satoru, making him shudder. He increased his pace leaving Satoru a whimpering mess.

Toji removed his fingers from Satoru’s mouth and wiped them on his face. Satoru could feel Sugurus's hand on his thigh and shuddered. The touch was so familiar that yet made Satoru lurch. He doesn't want both of them to touch him and he tried to shake Suguru’s hand away but it was unsuccessful. “Relax Toru,” Suguru whispered in his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

Suguru's hands started to creep a little higher, moving behind and trailing his hands over the swell of his ass. He let out a pathetic groan as Suguru’s fingers slipped between his cheeks.

Satorus's body panicked at the intrusion. It was such an unfamiliar sensation that pained Satoru.

“I told you to relax Satoru,” Suguru whispered in his ear as he slowly started to rotate his fingers.

Satoru jumped as his bindings were undone and he was bent forward. Toji shoved his cock inside his mouth while Suguru had his fingers up Satoru’s ass.

“What a slut.” toji cooed, relishing the sight of Satoru, his free hand moved towards his hair and he yanked them, pulling Satoru closer which made Satoru gag on his cock.

“NoOOOO-M’not a slut mmf.” Satoru’s voice came out high-pitched and quite muffled as toji pushed his cock even further past his slack jaw.

Satoru gurgled around his dick, tears were streaming down his face and he struggled to breathe.

Satoru let out a desperate needy noise as he got stretched open by Suguru’s fingers. And he was forced to suck Toji’s cock nonetheless. It was a soothing gesture for Satoru as he could ignore Suguru’s finger against his prostate.

His cock twitched, hips bucking forward as much as they were able to in his restraints.

A familiar feeling of pleasure shot through him, he felt as if he was about to come. He doesn't want it but there was nothing he could do to control it. He tried to shout, cry out Suguru’s name to make him stop but his voice was muffled by Toji’s cock and all he could do was endure it.

Satoru comes, his orgasm rips through him knocking the breath out of his lungs and further making him gag on Toji’s cock. He spasmed and felt fatigued.

Drool ran down Satoru’s chin as his lips parted around Toji’s dick.

Tears gathered in his eyes as toji kept thrusting his hips, hitting the back of his throat.

“Oh, you cry so prettily.” Toji crooned as he amped up his face. Suguru pulled out his fingers and positioned his cock against Satoru’s entrance.

Satoru screamed around Toji’s cock, “PLEASE! Stop Suguru! NO!” his unintelligible words go unheard as Suguru enters.

Suguru placed his hands on Satoru’s hips as he slammed his dick repeatedly inside Satoru.

He made a wanton sound as Suguru’s cock pushed deep inside his ass, stretching his wider. “He’s taking you in well eh?” toji chuckled. Satoru choked on Toji’s cock but Toji didn't stop and continued to thrust inside him.

With a groan, Toji pulled his dick out and spurted cum on Satoru’s face. He scooped some of the cum out and shoved it inside his mouth.

Suguru increased the pace of his thrusts making Satoru’s body jerk. Satoru’s body felt so sensitive. “I can't!” he furiously shook his head and screamed.

“Please stop.” he whimpered, fat tears streaming down his face. Before he could beg again, his mouth was stuffed with his own torn t-shirt. He couldn't speak, It was hard for him to breathe.

Toji walked behind Satoru and stood next to Suguru, “Ya think he's ready to take both of us in?” Toji asked as he guided himself to Satoru’s hole.

Satoru cried out, letting out noises of protest. “Aww don't be scared hon.” Toji chuckled as he shoved his dick inside Satoru. Toji’s hands move to Satoru’s hair and tighten their grip on them.

Suguru’s hand trailed towards his chest again and begin to slowly massage Satoru’s chest and roll his thumb over a nipple. A scream ripped out of Satoru as the both of them pounded into his body greedily.

Satoru’s body went rigid and his back arched, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as the feeling of pleasure and pain engulfed him.

His mind was blank. He couldn't think about anything but the pleasure he was experiencing.

Satoru was vaguely aware of him crying in ecstasy. His body quivered in pleasure, his hole was thrust into over and over again. He drooled and moaned.

His body was a mess, fluids, his and others, leaking out of his body. He heard the men talk but he wasn't able to hear anything.

His body wrung out with pleasure. Satoru wasn't even able to hear the men come, all he could feel was the warm cum that filled up his ass. He could feel nothing but bliss and a feeling of relief that the whole ordeal was over.

Bad ending?

Suguru placed Satoru on the floor and left him lying there when they were done with him. Satoru was tired, he was so tired that he could feel his eyes shut and he fell asleep.

A few moments later a well-built blonde man, Nanami Kento, his colleague showed up to the place, he rushed to him and carried him inside his car with his muscular arms.

Good ending?

Suguru carried him in his arms and led him to their shared room, toji followed behind. He brought out a wet washcloth and cleaned Satoru.

“Did you have fun Toru?” Suguru asked, his eyes forming little crescents.

Satoru looked up at both of them and gave them a droopy smile. “I did,” he said, his eyes drooping. Suguru and Toji joined him on the bed and cuddled him.

“We should do this more you know,” Toji spoke. “What? role play?” Satoru mumbled.

“Naah it hurt me seeing Satoru like that,” Suguru muttered.

“It was fun tho?” toji retorted with a smirk. “Oh yes, seein' ya go crazy on our cocks was fun.” toji added, reminiscing about their escapades.

Satoru blushed and lightly slapped Toji’s chest, “Shut up.” “Aww is my baby Toru blushing?” Suguru cooed. “Stop making fun of me.” Satoru huffed.

[imvietnamesenotchinese]

When I first laid my eyes on you, your hair was the first thing I noticed. Bright and fiery, like the sun. I could easily single you out in a room of people. Although, before that moment, I had not known of your existence before. You smiled. I was mortified. You told me it was okay. ‘’It’ll come out in the wash, don’tcha worry!’’ was what you said. 

I offered you a napkin, but I never apologized. Actually, I was annoyed. Like it had been your fault somehow that I’d bumped into you. You weren’t mad, though. On the contrary, you made smalltalk with me. I guess it was an attempt to comfort me. 

‘’The name’s Joy,’’ you said as you reached out a hand. ‘’That’s what everyone calls me, anyway.’’

Crinkling my nose, I thought it was funny. Your name really fits you. I took your hand. ‘’Nyx,’’ I replied with an amicable smile on my face. I’d tried to hide my embarrassment, back then. Did you see through me? 

Your laugh was warm. It was pleasant to listen to. ‘’Nice to meet you, Nyx. Even if it isn’t in the best of circumstances.’’

And that was it. The start of an unexpected friendship. Truthfully, I would’ve never entertained the thought of hanging out with someone like you. That’s how I saw it at the time. You were fun to be around, but too eccentric for my taste. Our conversations were pleasant, but they never left me pining for more. I made fun of your fashion taste, you poked fun at my music taste. 

The sun and the moon, you’d call us. We were opposites in everything. Me, with my long and midnight black locks. You, with your short and colorful hair. I never smiled. You always laughed. I was cold and unapproachable. You were kind and welcoming. 

What I loved the most were the flowers you’d always gift me. You’d crochet cute little animals and put them inside my bag for me to find. I always found it endearing, but I never told you. I never tell anyone anything, really. We’d always joke that you’d be a better significant other to me than any man could have ever been. Sometimes, they didn’t feel like jokes.

To be honest, I’ve always been afraid of letting someone inside my heart. But you’d already wormed your way in, and I’d have to rip my chest open to get you out. Being with you felt like home. I guess I took you for granted.

One day, you asked if we could talk. I was worried something had happened. We met up at the university’s greenhouse. You were holding a bouquet of red tulips. Strange, considering you had always given me the pink ones instead. That was when everything got shattered into a thousand pieces. I’ve tried to pick them up ever since.

The words that left your lips rendered me speechless. My palms started sweating. I think you saw my despair, because your eyes lost their spark. I didn’t know how to respond, so I did what I always do: got angry. I laughed in your face. I stomped on your stupid tulips. ‘’What made you think I could’ve ever liked you?’’

To this day I wish I hadn’t said those words. I saw your face falter. The same face that flashed me a thousand bright smiles, the same face that always made my day better. Back then, I wanted it to hurt. I wanted to scare you away. 

So we stopped talking. I thought I was fine at first. Good riddance. I didn’t need that kind of bullshit in my life. I’ve always been better off alone, anyway. Until I realized I’d given up the only home I ever had. You were always there for me. Comforting me when I was pissed off after a long day, cracking jokes to cheer me up, caring for me, loving me. I didn’t know how it felt to be loved. I still don’t know how it feels to be loved.

Numerous sleepless nights, pacing around my cramped apartment, ripping out my hair from my head, always wondering if I did the right thing. I pushed you away, it was for the best. That’s what I told myself for so long. We didn’t even look at each other anymore. I missed getting texts from you. The silly memes you used to send me. I would always say your humor was shit, but I’d laugh anyway. 

Every time I pass by someone with orange locks, I always do a double-take. I look at them and see that they don’t don jade hoops, or a ridiculous sweater, and I get disappointed. I’m not sure if I should be sad or happy when I don’t run into you. I ripped you open and desecrated your heart, should I even have the right to feel sad at all? Trying to protect my own heart made me break yours.

I felt so vacant and empty. No one can live without the sun. You were my sun. My star. I just couldn’t admit that. And for years I went on about my life, trying to forget that you exist. But then I see a patch of sunflowers, or a little crocheted frog hidden away deep in my cupboard, and I break down. You’ll always be my biggest regret, Joy. 

We’re so close to graduating now. And then we’ll both move away and never meet again. It is so painful that I’ve only come to the realization now, when we are so close to the end. I wish I could throw away my pride and grovel for forgiveness at your feet. 

I want you.

I’m selfish. I’m horrible. I want to take what’s mine. I want you back. I want you back. I want you back.

It kills me to see you so happy with her now. You’ve moved on. She makes you laugh like no other. She comforts you after you’ve had a bad day. She cheers you up, takes care of you, loves you. I wish she would die already. It should’ve been me. It should’ve been us, years ago. I see it now. The truth. 

In the back of my mind, you’re always there.

[dokidokitsuna]

Slowly, I think I’m getting a handle on this…I tried studying the character art from my favorite dead MMORPG, Maple Story 2, and I think it helped me find a style for the shading and rendering that’s more dramatic but still sort of cartoony.

Plus, I’ve been doing a bit of script writing, which always helps me figure things out. ^^ So please enjoy the additional work I’ve done on these character concepts.

-Between these two, Magolor definitely needed the most work: you can tell because I basically drew a full character design sheet, which is something I almost never do because I don’t like repetition. XP But it doesn’t feel repetitive when I’m totally lost to begin with. ^^; I think I got a little too abstract that first time I drew him, so my focus here was to figure out the specific shape of his body and rebuild outward from there. In stark contrast to my usual Magolor designs, he’s very tall and muscular, with an imposing silhouette (especially with his cape on). Yes, he IS hiding something under all those purple bandages, but we won’t talk about it today. ;)

-I also like that his outfit gets darker the further inside you go, from the solid white cape and glittering chains, to the silver armor and gray scarves, to the skintight navy blue fit underneath. Symbolism??? Perhaps~

-Blade’s design was already pretty solid, so I just adjusted her cape a little, and then dove straight into the Rainbow Malady concept art. ^^ Phase 1 has her sprout a second eye and wings on one side of her face. Her head catches fire, as the power of the Rainbow Sword attempts to ‘burn away the darkness’. In this phase, Blade is already in a lot of pain, but remains fully conscious and can even speak, when she isn’t coughing up multicolored blood. She can recover from this on her own with a day of rest. Phase 2 is much more serious, forcing her organs outside of her body, and growing star-shaped welts over the rest of her skin. At this point, she can no longer recover without Magolor’s help-- essentially, he uses magic to shove all her organs back where they belong and stitch up the open wounds. It’s like setting a bone after it’s broken-- just as painful as the injury itself (if not more), but necessary for proper healing…which takes about a week.  Phase 3 is the last and worst, transforming her arms into elongated wings and her whole body into burning plasma, on top of all the issues from Phase 2. Thankfully, she can’t really remain conscious in this phase-- she’s usually delirious from fever, blood loss, and her brain literally burning away. ^^; Storywise, she needs about a month to recover from this, so she doesn’t use it too often…of course, as the 'player', you can put her through it as many times as you want. =T

-Fun fact, I guess: So the primary love language between these two characters is food. ^^ I was musing about what I could do with a protagonist arc centered around worsening illness (which is…surprisingly rare), and I thought, “so what do you do for sick people? You put them to bed, you manage their symptoms, you clean and comfort them…and most importantly, you feed them.” And then ^that little doodle basically came to me in a dream, and from there evolved the idea of Magolor showing kindness to Blade by cooking for her.

Most of the time, the little affection Magolor shows to Blade is…basically performative. Think of it like a hammy supervillain petting their cat-- it’s more of a character stim than anything else. ^^; The way Magolor talks to Blade (and especially the way he talks about her…) makes it clear that the hand-holding and headpats don’t mean much.

But on the other hand, giving Blade food and watching her cutely devour it, especially during the times when she’s bed-ridden and he doesn’t see her as often…I like to think that might genuinely endear her to him a little, enough to make it a sort of stand-out gesture. Like, if he strokes her forehead when she’s sick, that’s whatever; but when he spends 5 hours making a Maxim tomato consommé for her to eat, that’s him trying to say he cares. Maybe it’s just a tiny bit, maybe it’s just in that moment, but a small part of him truly wants her to be happy.

[maream-zaream]

This is a redraw of a fanart I did of a fanfic back in 2022. The reason I did this being I saw the old version getting kudos, revisited it, and cringed at my 17-year-old self’s lack of experience in literally anything. Guys, I need you to understand, *I just figured out how to layer back then* and barely knew how to color anything on Procreate. I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO CHANGE THE FREAKING CANVAS COLOR YET. So needless to say, I felt like it was time for a re-do. So. I don’t know what this is gonna look like when I post, but the upper left one for me is the one from 2022, with the rest being from now (2025) in various states of delayering. Also, fun fact, this is the first time I’ve attempted* both a background and shading/rendering (albeit a bit rushed and *technically this is just the first time I’ve made an attempt and posted it lol). So uh… maybe 2028 me will look back at this, say “wow this shading sucks L” and re-do it yet again. Such is the cycle of art I suppose.

Also, the fanfic that this is fanart of is https://archiveofourown.org/works/43322961 by Bisexual_Bean.

Anywhozles, thank you if you read everything and if not, thank anyway for at least viewing! Buh-bye!