#benefits of roof rails

[assriels]

lose control | chapter i

pairing: azriel x day court!reader

word count: 4.4k

warnings: minimal porn WITH plot (i promise there’s a purpose lmao), friends with benefits & conflicted emotions, a lot of az and reader’s thoughts, slow burn, pining, angst if u squint

summary: azriel sneaks into your study and your all too familiar dance continues. though, this time feels different, and his century long effort to tamp his feelings down begins to unravel.

a/n: this first chapter is a lot longer than i intended lol but strap in bbs its just getting started (takes place from before to after war with hybern)

prologue

When Azriel saw the familiar roofs of the Day Court palace, one flickering faelight lamp illuminating the sheer white curtains leading into your study, he sighed. He didn’t know why he was here for the second night in a row. The mission Rhys sent him on was supposed to be a quick one, and it would have been had he not drawn it out for longer than he had to. 

It was his second night in the Day Court, and though he had finally sent word back to Rhys about the details of his task well done and that he’d be home as soon as possible, he still found himself here. Still gliding through the familiar air of your residence, wings instinctively – traitorously – bringing him to the balcony of your study rather than to his home court. 

He landed smoothly on the railing of your balcony. Your wards were open to him, just like the night before and every other night for the last century. 

Azriel sighed again as he peeked through your doors in the cover of shadow – trying, and failing, not to feel like a creep – watching as you hunched over your desk, endless sheafs of paperwork littering your desk in a way that always had him questioning how you managed to be so organized and efficient. An ornately carved mahogany and gold kiseru pipe balanced precariously on a porcelain stand, tendrils of white smoke curling in mimicry of the shadows at his feet. 

It was a bad habit you had, smoking. One he knew you had tried to kick on many occasions, only for it to come rearing its ugly head at times where you  and stress were one and the same. Whatever you had just been working on must have been especially irritating. Azriel had a feeling he knew what it was; his own work tipping him off to the rumblings of a Prythian-wide conflict, soon unavoidable. 

He stealthily made his way into your study, noticing immediately the way your shoulders were fraught with a tension that you tried to chase away with a roll of your neck. He was momentarily shocked at the sudden urge he felt tingling in his fingertips to massage away the ache, but he ignored it, tucked it in the back of his mind like he always did with the rest of the sudden urges he had to cross the unspoken line you both drew between lovers and friends. 

If you noticed his presence, you didn’t show it, opting instead to roll your shoulders back in a display of obvious discomfort, a sigh escaping your lips for the third time since Azriel had arrived.

“You misspelled ‘Prythian’,” he said, amusement peppering his words as he peered over your shoulder at some missive you unsuccessfully attempted to write. 

Again, if you were surprised at his sudden appearance, you didn’t let on.

“I thought spies were supposed to be sneaky,” you quipped back, turning your head to look at him with a look of annoyance that was so obviously exaggerated. “I wasn’t aware that being an expert in grammar and usage was in your job description.”

When he felt his lips curve upwards in a smile he couldn’t ever seem to fight in your presence, he ignored – yet again – the affection he felt bubbling beneath the cage of his ribs. 

“Long night?” he asked, plopping himself down into the seat on the other side of your desk. He didn’t miss the fact that you had at some point replaced the chair with one big enough to accommodate his wings. 

Your facade fell quickly and you slumped against your own chair, your exhaustion overcoming every muscle fiber in your body, fingers twitching to reach for the pipe on your desk, ��You could say that. You?”

This was a conversation that he had had with you countless times, a preamble of niceties to the wonderfully sinful intensity that would ensue as the hours passed. But Azriel found himself enjoying the mundane, near domestic conversations with you more and more lately, almost as much as he enjoyed everything that would come after.

He hummed an affirmative to your question before a comfortable silence filled the space between you. After a few moments, you rose from your seat, spine cracking while you stretched away the tension coiled in your limbs. Azriel greedily allowed himself to drink you in, hazel eyes skating the plain white t-shirt you wore, now wrinkled by the way you had no doubt been hunched over your desk all day. He tracked the way the hem of your shirt lifted above the waistband of your knit pants as you stretched, granting him a peek at the smooth skin he had plans to run his hands all over later. 

“Will you help me put these away?” you inquired with a yawn, gesturing to the books scattered around your workspace. The tension bled from your shoulders as a breeze ruffled your hair, relaxing your taught muscles. Gone was the tense, all-business Warmaster of Day, replaced by the somewhat petulant, but easygoing Y/N. 

He stood from his seat and stacked a pile of books under his arm as he followed you to your bookshelves. Azriel knew where every title went, slotting them back into place with the ease of someone who had memorized every inch of your study. 

It was your turn to ogle at him, watching lecherously as the muscles in his arm rippled while he shelved a book back into its rightful place high on your bookcase. He had discarded the jacket of his leathers somewhere on the back of a chair, giving you a full view of the way his tight black undershirt left nothing to the imagination. His physique seemed to be sculpted by the gods themselves, wide shoulders tapering down to strong hips. His wings were relaxed, though he was always mindful of your things, careful to keep his wings in check so he could avoid knocking anything over in your decidedly not-Illyrian sized space. 

“Are you going to make me put them all back myself? Or are you done staring?” The leather strap securing one of his siphons to his bicep stretched as he shelved another book; you briefly wondered how that thing didn’t snap right off every time he flexed. Which he was clearly doing on purpose now as he teased you.

You scoffed, “I wasn’t staring.” A lie. “I was making sure you were putting everything back where it should be.” Another lie. You knew better than anyone that Azriel had personally spent extra time committing your bookshelves to memory, always sneakily stealing one to read while you worked. 

He mumbled something under his breath – “Whatever you say” – as he huffed a laugh and continued his task. You both worked in a comfortable silence that only existed between two people who knew each other the way you and Azriel knew each other. It was nice, you’d admit, just being able to exist in the same space. 

Once upon a time, this would have never happened between you; your interactions had once only consisted of explicit rendezvous that would have anyone blushing to remember. But as your…relationship with the shadowsinger progressed, more time was spent enjoying each others’ company and you fell into a neat, wonderfully blissful routine with him. You didn’t see him often by any means, encounters always spaced by a few weeks or more if one of you was busy, but you couldn’t deny that it was nice having him around, especially now that it seemed like his visits to you were becoming more frequent as of late. 

Though a pervasive contentment permeated the silence between you, the air was still fraught with delicious anticipation. No words were exchanged, but every stroke of his fingertips low on your waist, and every not-so-accidental brush of your hand against his spiked the tingling, electric tension in the room. It made your heart beat quicken, and every time you felt Azriel steal a not-so-subtle glance in your direction you swore your heart would stop entirely. Anticipation was a slow, cunning killer. 

“I’ve been meaning to read this,” he said, breaking the silence, beautifully scarred fingers tracing the spine before he slotted it out of place. Azriel flipped idly through the pages, eyes quickly scanning its contents. 

You leaned over, shoulder kissing his, to peer at the title he unshelved, “Oh? Take it then, it’s yours. I’ve read it too many times.”

Azriel’s brow creased as he considered your proposal, “But then what excuse would I have to come back?” It was hard to miss the teasing lilt in his voice, dripping with suggestion and promise. 

You rolled your eyes, by now too used to the innocent flirting that had bled into your friendship. 

“As if you ever needed an excuse,” you mumbled coyly. “Consider it a loan then. Once you finish reading it, then you’ll have to come back to return it.”

“Better read fast then, huh?” 

You could practically feel the wicked suggestion oozing from his voice, dripping like honey as he pressed his chest to your back to reshelf the last book right in front of you. You leaned back against him, savoring the feeling of his breath on your neck as his lips barely grazed the curve of your jaw.

He felt the vibration in your chest when you hummed, his hand dragging from the bookshelf to hold your waist, fingers playing a coy little game as they fiddled with the hem of your shirt. 

“You know that’s not where that goes,” you sighed, attempting to tamp down the urge to give in to him immediately. This dance – this game – was always the best part of your nights with him, pushing and prodding in just the right places until one of you finally caved. 

“No?” He asked, fingers splaying wide on your lower belly, pulling you back flush against him. “Where does it go then?”

The deep timber of his voice sent a shiver up your spine, but you were determined to make him wait a little bit longer, even if the feeling of how hard he already was in his pants was growing increasingly more difficult to ignore. As one of your hands laid atop his to intertwine your fingers, your other one stretched up to point at an empty space on a shelf two heads above you, “Right there.”

You had meant to sound more definitive and not nearly as breathless, but Azriel wasn’t even really paying attention, too busy nipping at that spot just below your ear that he knew drove you insane. Right there, indeed. 

A small noise of appreciation fell from your lips before you could stop it. Azriel’s free hand skated up your side, tracing the curves and divots of your waist, following the line of your outstretched arm before his fingers encircled your wrist, pinning it to the bookshelf, right underneath the empty slot where his misplaced book was supposed to be. 

All your resolve crumbled in that moment, your senses overwhelmed by his scent, his body, by the way he disentangled your fingers so he could track his touch further beneath your shirt. You keened when he toyed with your nipple over the fabric of your bra, pushing your hips harder against his until he groaned. He spun you around to face him then, arm still pinned above your head. 

The look in his eyes – pupils blown wide and dark – was pure, unadulterated desire that had your legs squeezing together. He looked ready to devour you, what with the way his plush lips parted in awe, heavy lidded eyes mapping the contours of your face. It always amazed you how quickly you could rile him up like this. 

But gods, he loved it and he didn’t care that you were looking at him so smugly. He got drunk off the way you moved, the way you smelled, the way you let your idle hand smooth up his chest so you could cup his jaw. How could he not revel in your attention when it set his entire body aflame? 

Your lips were a hair’s breadth from touching, breaths mingling as both of you waited for the other to make the first move. 

But when you tilted your chin up chasing his mouth with yours without letting them touch, he was a goner, muffling the sound of his name on your lips with his own. You tasted like coffee and honey, and something so undeniably you that made Azriel groan; so familiar and so, so good. He could spend the entire evening like this, letting your hands roam where they pleased while he kissed you endlessly. 

Yet, when you tugged at the fabric of his shirt, he let his greedy mind wander to the fantasies he had conjured on the nights he wasn’t with you, fucking into his hand as he thought of all the ways he’d want to take you next. Though he liked the idea of taking you against your bookshelf with both of your hands pinned above your head, he craved your touch far too much. Maybe next time, he told himself as he released his grip on your wrist. But this time…

His arms hooked smoothly beneath your legs and he lifted you effortlessly off the floor. Instinctively, your legs locked around his waist as he kissed you, all teeth and expert tongue smoothing over the places he knew made you dizzy.

“Azriel.” His name whispered against his own lips was a plea that made him want to drop to his knees. Your voice made his blood rush, made his brain foggy with heady desire, made his fingers tremble. 

Azriel knew that everytime you two did this – played this risky game – you toed the line between lovers and friends, pushed the boundary just a little further to satiate your need for each other. A maelstrom of emotions wreaked havoc on his composure; every kiss, every touch had his heart beating with feelings that transcended the lust that often clouded his vision when he was with you. 

It terrified him. It exhilarated him.

Azriel was well aware that the feelings that had begun to blossom in his chest were not ones that followed the guidelines of your arrangement, even if he couldn’t quite pinpoint what those feelings were just yet. But he knew this was supposed to be casual, no strings attached, and nothing about the feelings that were roiling around in his heart was casual. 

He couldn’t help the way he always felt like he was searching for you, thinking of you, wanting you. You were the north of his compass, the sun to his earth, and he could do nothing to loosen the vice you had on him. He could say that it was because the sex was incredible – it was – but he knew that wasn’t the only reason he sought you – and only you – out time and time again, after all these years. 

It hurt his head to think too deeply about what these burgeoning feelings were, especially with the way your teeth were taking his earlobe between them as your arms wound tantalizingly around his neck, whispering obscenities in his ear about how good you wanted to make him feel. He shuddered with wanton hunger, hands grasping desperately at your waist. 

He felt his chest tighten with an emotion he thought he had locked up long ago as your fingers played with his hair, a sweet, gentle gesture that was in stark contrast to the way he urged your hips to grind against his. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, whispered against your lips as he kissed you. 

Despite his sentiment, Azriel continued to kiss you like his life depended on it, like you would be the last breath he took before plunging deep into open waters. You gratefully matched his fervor before pushing on his chest. He pulled away from you, chest heaving against yours with long shuddering breaths of restraint. 

Confusion tumbled around in your mind as you searched his face for any sign of reluctance. When you didn’t find any, you were tempted to pull him back into you, but comfort was paramount and you didn’t push him – never pushed him. Not once in the hundred years you two have been navigating this treacherous dance of being friends(?) with the benefit of pleasure did either of you take more than what was given.

You were panting, “We can stop, if you don’t—“

He cut you off with another press of his lips to yours as if he couldn’t resist any longer, his hand tender against your jaw, “That’s not what I meant.” His voice was soft and steeped in too much affection; it made your heart stutter traitorously in your chest. 

You didn’t have time to ask him what he meant, though; he was already blazing a trail of open mouthed kisses down the column of your neck, inquisitive hands palming at every inch of you he could.

Even if you had the wherewithal to ask, he wouldn’t have answered. Azriel wasn’t sure even he understood what he had said, only that there was a feeling in his gut that he was on the precipice of change, that there was something in the air that told him he wouldn’t be able to go back to the way things were. Despite having made this decision over and over and over again in the last hundred years he’s been alive, something about this time felt different. Again, it terrified and exhilarated him. 

But he didn’t want to think about it anymore, not when all he wanted to think about was you, pliant under his touch and crooning for more. All reason be damned.

Your fingers wound themselves in his hair, pulling not-so-gently this time, “Azriel.”

Gods, the way you said his name would send him to an early grave, and he’d die happy if it was the last thing he heard. He pulled your shirt off and unclasped your bra in record time, mouthing at your breast as his expert tongue tweaked your nipple while his hand traveled down your body and beneath the waistband of your pants.

He grinned against your skin when he felt how wet you were beneath your tiny little underthings, so slick and ready. Ready for him. Him. 

The thought pulled a growl out of him from deep within his chest. Possession roiled in his gut like a monster uncaged. He would’ve taken you right there, against the stack of books lining your shelves, but he knew from experience that it wouldn’t end well. He’d make a mess — of you and your bookshelves — and you’d whine in protest afterwards and lament that you’d have to reorganize everything all over again.

So instead, he steadied you against him and flew from your study’s balcony to your room’s; it was faster than navigating the too long hallways of the palace to get to your bed. Your shriek of his name, a mixture of delight and shock, tickled his ears with the wind that whipped briefly across his face.

When he tossed you somewhat unceremoniously onto your bed, a smirk curled his lips at the miffed expression creasing your brows.

“We have corridors you know,” you fussed, still reaching for him as he climbed over you. He chuckled a bit at your petulant grumbling before his lips attached to the column of your neck. His voice was a low rumble as he nipped at your skin, placating you, “That way was faster.” 

The urgency in his actions made you giddy, though you would never admit it. Azriel always wanted for you in ways that reminded you of your young adulthood. Like two desperate young lovers stealing away into the hidden depths of the night to explore each other under the cover of a secret tryst. 

Even after nearly a hundred years, the thrill of him never subsided. 

The rest of the night was a blur as you lost count of how many times you were gasping his name between orgasms. He took you slow despite the way he had moved with such desperation before. He moved with you like he had nowhere else to be – like there was nowhere else he wanted to be – letting his hands and mouth wander and worship your body as he coaxed wanton moan after moan from your lips. He gave you everything you needed, but still you asked for more, always wanting more, more, more of him as your fingers danced gently around the base of his wings to elicit the sounds of his pleasure that made you tremble. 

And Mother be damned if he didn’t feel the same way. 

Azriel could never get used to the feel of you around him, beneath him. It was like he forgot who he was, pleasure driving him to the brink of insanity as you came around his fingers, his tongue, his cock. He thrived off the way your bodies moved in perfect, beautiful synchrony. And every time you pulled him in for more, he lost himself in you once again. You were heaven on earth, coaxing praise after praise from his lips in the throes of a passion he was addicted to. 

In those moments, nothing else mattered. Not the burgeoning anxiety sprung from an amalgam of unidentifiable feelings. Not the worry that someday this arrangement between you could end. None of it mattered. Nothing but you and him in the space you arduously carved out for yourselves. 

In the afterglow, your body molded to him with practiced ease and Azriel pointedly ignored – yet again – the way his heart fluttered beneath his ribs when he felt the perfection of you slotting yourself against his side, head resting comfortably on his chest. One of his hands found its way in your hair, gently massaging your scalp as the other stroked up and down the thigh that you had thrown haphazardly across his hips. 

You were breathing hard, eyelids heavy with exhaustion. It was in these fleeting, post-coital moments where you both were entangled in that strange limbo between strangers and lovers. A purgatory that existed for only you and him.

The ever-watchful spy, he took a moment to observe you teetering on the edge of sleep. It was a sight he had long since committed to memory but never tired of: delicate eyelashes fluttering with the struggle to stay awake, cheeks rosy from exertion, lips plush and parted. He knew this relationship between you was such a mess, but Azriel found himself caring less and less about the logistics of it all, especially in moments like these where he had the privilege of bearing witness to your most vulnerable moments.  

If this was casual, then so be it. 

His hand slid up your leg once more to cup your ass before squeezing hard enough to make you open your eyes. You leveled a glare at him, but it was less threatening than you had hoped it would be, fatigue settling in your bones.

“Do you need anything?” Azriel asked softly into your hair, hand returning to its previous soothing ministrations. 

You hummed, eyes slipping shut as you settled in closer to him, feeling his heart steady and strong beneath your ear. You shook your head, “I’m okay.”

You patted his chest in thanks before allowing yourself to yield to your growing tiredness, breath evening out. Azriel watched for another moment as you fell sleep, cheeks dusted with heat and hair sticking to the skin of his neck.

He didn’t kiss your head or whisper sweet good nights into your ears like a real lover would, but he did settle further into your mattress, head turning to bury his nose into the crown of your hair, allowing himself the sweet reprieve of falling asleep wrapped in your warmth. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

It was early, early morning when you woke, Azriel’s arm heavy on your waist as he slumbered on his stomach. His wings were relaxed and fanned out across the bed, blanketing you beneath. His lips were slightly parted and you swore you could hear little snores escaping his throat that he would vehemently deny. You smiled, endeared at the sight. 

The wild, terrifying, and ruthless Shadowsinger of the Night Court snored like a baby. 

In the moments before day fully broke over the horizon, you allowed yourself to take him in, memorizing the contours of his face, a habit you had formed in the last century of becoming acquainted with the spymaster. You were always amazed at how much more peaceful he looked without the semi-permanent crease between his brows. 

Azriel truly was beautiful, a thought you kept close to your heart, but one you knew everyone possessed. When he wasn’t being so insufferably stubborn and cryptic, he looked so content. Creeping sunrays warmed his back as he lay ignorant of your wandering gaze. A foreign ache settled in your chest as you watched him. His words from last night came crashing into you: “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

The night before, he had reassured you time and time again that he wanted you, so you didn’t quite understand what he had meant. You hated to think that he was becoming bored, that this was the last time you’d have him like this. The possibility that you wouldn’t get his late nights and early mornings anymore hurt, and you weren’t quite sure what to do with that knowledge. 

You had never really thought about your feelings for Azriel; you had always written off your encounters as part of your flimsy agreement to be casual, despite the increasing affection that had wormed its way into your heart. A seed of uncertainty began to sprout within you. Was this casual? The late night conversations and flippant flirtation confused you, as did the pang of discomfort you felt when you imagined a life without Azriel in it. 

You sighed to yourself. It was entirely too early to be decoding something he had said in the heat of the moment. Even when his mind wasn’t clouded with lust and desire, he was difficult to understand, so you ignored the heavy feeling in your chest and instead refocused your attention on the sleeping Illyrian in your bed. 

His wing was heavy around you, but it wasn’t an unwelcome presence. Briefly (and somewhat enviously) you admired the strength he no doubt had to have possessed to wield such large extremities so gracefully. But before you could get too carried away in your imaginings of his strength (and other things he could do with it) you tweaked his nose in an effort to wake him. He scrunched it in protest, but allowed his eyes to flutter open, gaze and consciousness adjusting to piece together his surroundings. 

When he realized he was in your bed, he relaxed again before pulling you in by the waist, “Morning.”

His voice was thick with sleep as his eyes fought to stay open. There was an undercurrent of domesticity that both of you pointedly decided to ignore as you scooted in closer to him, “Morning. Did you sleep well?”

He hummed an affirmative, letting his eyes slip closed once more. He was silent for so long that you thought he might’ve fallen asleep again, but then he sighed in contentment, “What time is it? Have you been awake for long?”

“It’s early,” you responded, allowing yourself to brush some of his hair away from his forehead, smiling at the way he melted at your touch. “I woke up only a few minutes ago.”

You both stayed like that for a while, nose to nose as you listened to him breathe and fight the exhaustion that you knew plagued his waking hours. Azriel shifted before he sat up, stretching his wings and groaning as his back cracked pleasurably.

“Do you have to go?” You inquired, not willing to ask him outright to stay, but also hoping that he would anyway. 

Azriel glanced at the clock on your wall and hummed in contemplation. In all honesty, Rhys was most likely expecting him to come back last night, and he really probably should go. But, he told himself, if that was the case he was already late and staying another few hours wouldn’t make a difference. 

“Not for a bit.”

He reveled in the wicked smirk that curved your lips as you shifted to straddle him, “My favorite answer.”

chapter ii (wip!)

taglist: @hauntedstudentobservationus @div94 @sidthedollface2

[hayleythecannibal]

TWISTED MINDS: Act III- Chapter Thirty-Three Digestivo

TW: Crime scenes, Gore, Implied Death, Death, Cannibalism, Guns, Mental Heath, Pregnancy, Forced Cesarean, Kidnapping, Stillborn birth

Warning this is Fem!reader. You can also find this on Wattpad and A03 under the name @HayleyMarieOfficial. Comment if you want to be added to the taglist.

Taglist: @punkin-time @miaowkitty @gabriella-aesthetic @urlocalfanficwriter @dilfdemolisher

Twisted Minds Masterlist

MEAT TRUCK - DAY-

Twin rows of GUTTED PIG CARCASSES hang in plastic wrapping from a rail in the roof of the darkened space. The TICK and HUM of refrigeration can be heard in the metal box.

A sudden CLANG as the door is opened and a gust of frosted air is expelled into the dark space beyond -- unclear behind the beams of a powerful light. A WHIRRING noise can be heard.

Will is actually HANGING UPSIDE DOWN like the carcasses, Hannibal alongside him, similarly trussed. The WHIRRING continues and the carcasses swing sideways as a silhouetted shape moves through them to reveal – MASON VERGER In his electric wheelchair, looking at them both with great satisfaction.

Cordell behind him. A beatific smile. “Gentlemen, welcome to Muskrat Farm.”

“Your people might have assassinated me in Florence, Mason.”

“Where's the fun in that?”

“I see the first coarse bristles of revenge have brushed the ruin of your cheek and begun to excite you. Where’s Y/N, Mason?”

“I'm very excited. She’ll be joining us… though i doubt she’ll be very comfortable.” Mason produces a KNIFE in his good hand.

“I still carry my father's knife. Ever ready to slip into a pig's back to check the depth of fat.”

Mason slides close to Hannibal and presses the blade against the flesh of his lower back. Hannibal does not flinch. Mason puts his thumb against the blade and slides it into Hannibal.  A thin TRICKLE of blood is released. Hannibal shows no sign.  Disappointed, Mason slides the blade further. “A little on the lean side. Let's fatten you up, shall we?”

MUSKRAT FARM - PIG BARN - DAY-

The meat truck has been backed through the doors into the narrow end of a funnel made by two angled rows of STEEL PIGPENS. PIGS snort nervously in the pens, clanging the bars. Mason Verger, in his wheelchair, and Cordell watch as Inspector Benetti leads bodyguards bringing Hannibal and Will from the truck, bound securely to a pair of handcarts. Will's head is cleaned up and bandaged. But he is still groggy and in pain.

“It is more trouble physically to move a semi-wild pig against its will than to kidnap a man.”

“Pigs are harder to get hold of, and big ones are stronger than a man.” As Hannibal and Will are wheeled past, Mason speaks up for their benefit and his amusement: “There are the tusks to consider, if you want to maintain the integrity of your abdomen. Something worth maintaining, Mr. Graham? Tusked beasts instinctively disembowel.” 

Will's and Hannibal's handcarts are shackled to the walls. Mason wheels closer to Hannibal, cocking his head up. “At swine fairs, I've seen exotic pigs from all over the world. For my new purpose, you are the best of all that I've seen. We will have some good, funny times, Dr. Lecter.” 

As Mason wheels away, leaving Will and Hannibal Wondering…Where is Y/N?

VERGER ESTATE HOUSE - DINING ROOM - NIGHT-

Hannibal is wheeled up to the table and his upright dolly automatically folds into a seated wheelchair at one end of the table. Hannibal is sitting secured in his seat with one arm free.

Hannibal is resplendent in suit and tie. Looking very much his old self sitting opposite Mason Verger at the other end. “I snatched Will Graham right out of your mouth. You must be famished.” A BEAUTIFUL TRAY OF OYSTERS Cordell has just placed them onto the table. Hannibal glances at the mollusks before looking back up at Mason.

“There is an inescapable parallel between you and Jezebel, Mason. Keen Bible student that you are, you'll recall dogs ate Jezebel's face, along with the rest of her.” Hannibal slides an oyster into his mouth with his free hand.

“If Jezebel was right with the Risen Jesus, if she praised His name, the Riz would have provided her a new face. As He has provided mine.” Will sitting between Mason and Hannibal, bright new head bandage. Y/N glaring sinisterly at Mason. Mason glances at Will: “The transplant surgery is extremely skillful, which is why Cordell here will be performing the face-off.”

“Hello.”

“You boys remind me of that German cannibal who advertised for a friend, then ate the friend's penis with him before he died. Tragedy being, the penis was overcooked. Go to all that trouble to eat a friend, and you overcook his penis. They ate it anyway. They had to, they committed. But they didn't enjoy it. I'm committed to enjoying every bite of you.” Will looks to Mason: “You're gonna eat him with my face?”

“Yes. I got a taste for it after the two of you had me eat my nose.”

“You must be terribly proud that you could pull this off, Mason.” I say as I groan in pain. “An accomplishment comparable to the discovery of radium. I imagine you, the product of all my searching and expenditure, glowing in the dark like the vial in Madame Curie's laboratory. I imagine after eating you, my belly will glow like a lightbulb.”

“It's dangerous to get exactly what you want, Mason. What will you do after you've eaten me?” Will glares, “You could wreck some foster homes and torment some children…”

“Drink martinis made with tears. And that little fetus in your Belly Dr. L/N, Well I have promised my sister a baby and- I don't like breaking promises.” Mason looks towards me, My heart drops. No. He wont touch her. I wont let him. I look over at Will, tears of rage fill my eyes. As another contraction rolls through my body. Will has a very dark and sinister look on his face. 

“But where, Mason, would the hardcore fun come from?”

“Foolish to dilute this ecstatic time with fears about the future. Cordell, Mr. Graham is looking very dry. A little moisturizer, please.” Mason taps his own cheek, indicating where to apply the moisturizer on Will, as he resumes the conversation.

“I'm curious, what will be the first cuts of me you'll serve?” Hannibal asks As Cordell is preparing the moisturizer, “The first course, of course, will be your hands and feet. Sizzling on a Promethean barbecue. The coal is white and very hard, makes a clear ringing sound when struck.”

“You've thought of everything.”

“After that, we'll have a pajama party, you and I. You can wear shorties by then. Cordell's going to keep you alive for a long time.” As Cordell leans in to apply Will's moisturizer, Will's head jerks up, fast, and he LOCKS HIS TEETH into Cordell's cheek.

Cordell growls, pushing a bloody-mawed Will off of him. Will spits a ragged piece of skin onto Mason's empty plate, where it leaves a RED SMEAR and lies like an insult. Cordell clutches a bloody cheek. Hannibal holds Will's gaze, amused. I look at him, if i wasnt in so much pain I’d Kill….

“No pajama party for you, Mr. Graham. We'll be feeding you to the pigs as soon as Cordell removes your face. In a much more civilized fashion than you just tried to remove his.”

VERGER ESTATE HOUSE - MASON'S BEDROOM - NIGHT-

Margot Verger is helping Mason out of bed, where he's been changed into medical pajamas, and into his wheelchair. “When I impulsively lash out, on the whole, I don't lash out randomly. I throw a very specific sort of fit.”

“You're nothing if not specific.” Mason stares at the eel swimming in the floor below his twisted feet propped in the stirrups of his wheelchair.

“I think I might feed the eel some delicacy from Lecter; his genitals, perhaps. Then when I watch it circling in a figure eight, I'll know the infinity sign it makes stands for "Lecter dead forever." How long have you and Dr. Bloom been an item?” The question gives Margot pause, but she doesn't want to betray any vulnerability to her brother. “Not long.”

“Longer than that, Cordell says. Does Dr. Bloom want children? I'm sure you've checked under the hood by now. How's the uterus? Intact? Are the hips childbearing? Roomy?”

“Land the plane, Mason.” Margot stops helping and Mason just lies there, helpless. “You have a big surprise coming to you, Margot. Do you like spoilers? I just love 'em. They don't spoil a thing for me. Would it spoil anything for you if I told you I already found us a surrogate? Not for my sperm, but for your eggs.”

“I don't have any. You took them.”

“I most certainly did, but I didn't humpty-dumpty them. I just went and found them a new basket.” Margot stares, afraid to believe him, wanting to believe him. “I told you I wanted to give you a Verger baby, our own baby. Yours and mine. But mostly yours.” Margot's voice goes cold, not to give her brother any leverage. “Where's the surrogate, Mason?”

“She's resting at the moment. Though if she fails I have a much more immediate solution.”

“She's here?” “She's on the farm.”

“I want to see her.”

First you need to prepare yourself... psychologically. This is going to be a very emotional experience for you. I have to think about the appropriate timing.”

“Don't think too long, smiley.”

“That's the spirit, Margot. Your maternal instinct is revving up.”

VERGER ESTATE HOUSE - DINING ROOM - NIGHT-

Will Graham sits alone at the table, blood still smeared across his lips and chin. A moment, then Alana Bloom enters. Will glances up and reacts, not expecting her. His initial fear for her safety melts into something more like suspicion. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm Mason Verger's psychiatrist.” A small scoff from Will, nothing but breath. “That part of his therapy or yours?”

“I think we're all working through some issues. I'm putting an emphasis on self-preservation. Jack's alive.”

“Good for Jack. You helped Mason Verger find us.”

“I helped Mason find Hannibal. We followed Bâtard-Montrachet when we should have just followed you.”

“Almost as ugly as what Mason wants to do to us is the fact that he can do it with the tacit agreement of people sworn to uphold the law. He's planning on ripping my Daughter out of Y/N’s Womb.” Will says darkly, oh how he wished he could be with his Y/N. “It's the way of the world.”

“I never knew the world to be that way within the reach of your arm. For the first time in my life I’m Terrified.”

“I was trying to get to Hannibal before you. I knew you couldn't stop yourself. So I had to try.”

“By facilitating torture and death.”

“I can abide the thought of Hannibal tortured, not necessarily to death. I'd say he has it coming, wouldn't you? Or maybe you wouldn't. By the time the FBI gets a warrant, you and any evidence of what happened would be burnt or roiling in the bowels of Mason's pigs.”

“Or Mason himself. What did you think would happen?”

“I thought Jack Crawford and the FBI would come to the rescue. But the Finer details of what I thought would happen have evolved.”

“Then you have to evolve, Alana. You have to spill blood. By your own hand or someone else's.” Cordell enters, approaching Will in his wheelchair. “We're ready for you, Mr. Graham. You’re Fiancee is already sedated and prepped. Please keep your teeth to yourself.” Alana watching Cordell wheel Will away...

MUSKRAT FARM - PIG BARN - NIGHT-

past one pig in a cage after another, until finding Hannibal bound in his own pigpen, the brand burn stands raw and livid on his back, his arms and legs bound in the cage. He glances over his shoulder at an ITALIAN COP near the door, a tranquilizer gun on the table beside him. Margot enters.

“Buonasera, signor.”

“Buonasera, Signorina Verger.” Margot takes a breath and approaches Hannibal in his pen. “Thank you for coming, Margot. Hasn't been that long since I treated you. Have you started taking the chocolate, as Mason likes to say, after you fought him for so long?”

“Are we in therapy now?”

“You tell me.”

“Mason promised to give something back to me. Something he stole. There was a surrogate all along. It's a Verger baby. My baby.”

“You think Mason will just give you what he promised?”

“It's here. On the farm.”

“He’s about to tear a newborn away from a mother who never consented. I can imagine lots of ways to be a Verger baby that are unpleasant. I'm sure your brother can, too. Especially for a baby thats not a Verger.” Margot's eyes brim with tears as her face goes still. She knows Hannibal is telling the truth. “Listen to me, Margot. Mason will deny you. He will always deny you. You know you'll have to kill him.”

“Are you saying you'd do it for me? I could never trust you.”

“No, of course not. But you could trust me never to deny that I did it. It would actually be more therapeutic for you to kill him yourself, Margot. You'll remember I recommended that in session.”

“Wait until I can get away with it, you said.”

“What difference would one more murder charge make to me? I'm the only other suspect you've got. You can do it when it suits you, and I'll write a letter gloating about how I enjoyed killing him myself.” As Margot considers his offer… Sitting by the door. Alana enters carrying a smart handbag. She approaches, smiling.

“Buonasera.” He stands to greet her, she places her handbag on the table and, in one movement, picks up the tranquilizer gun and shoots the Italian cop in the throat, and he drops. Margot stares, dumbstruck.

“He has a pocketknife.” Alana retrieves the pocketknife from the unconscious Italian cop and crosses to Hannibal in his pigpen.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Yes. I thought I could save Will and Y/N from you, but right now, you're the only one who can save Them. Promise me you'll save them. Please.”

“I promise, Alana. And I always keep my promises. Just cut the ropes on one arm, give me the knife and leave. I can do the rest.” Alana gets uncomfortably close to Hannibal, their faces very close to each other. Alana puts the blade on the rope. “Are you going to kill Mason?”

“Margot is. Snatch some of my hair, back from the hairline, if you don't mind; get some skin. Put it in Mason's hand after he's dead.” They are close enough to kiss. Alana looks into his eyes.

“Could I have ever understood you?”

“No.” Her hand slides into his hair -- and then pulls his head VICIOUSLY to one side. as hair tears from Hannibal's scalp. In the same moment, Alana slashes a knife at the cable ties used to bind him. He rises out of the pigpen -- the Kraken awoken.

VERGER ESTATE HOUSE - CORRIDOR - NIGHT-

OPERA plays. CAMERA follows the blood spray back to its source – A BODYGUARD falling backward, his throat cut. the glint of a blood-flecked BLADE wielded by –   Hannibal Who is already moving on to the second of THREE BODYGUARDS he has ambushed. He wears the clothes of the man Alana shot with the tranquilizer gun. Second bodyguard is drawing a HANDGUN from beneath his jacket. ON HIS FACE as he realizes he is too slow.

Hannibal smashes the CLAW HAMMER in his other hand into the second bodyguard's chest. He coughs blood. The gun falls from his hand as Hannibal slams him against the wall and then ducks to the ground as --

BLAM, BLAM, BLAM. The third bodyguard fires. Bullets stitch holes in the wall. Hannibal pulls his hammer from the second bodyguard with a SUCKING SQUELCH. BLAM, BLAM. Hannibal rolls under the line of fire and slams the third bodyguard THROUGH THE FOOT with the hammer.

Third bodyguard SCREAMS and tries to bring his gun to bear on Hannibal, now right below him, but Hannibal holds his wrist. A moment, and then Hannibal rips a KNIFE across the third bodyguard's abdomen. Third bodyguard sways before Hannibal – dead, just doesn’t know it yet -- as Hannibal stands up.

Hannibal reacts as doors SLAM and TWO MORE BODYGUARDS come charging into the corridor, guns drawn. Lightning fast, Hannibal hurls the bloody hammer. THE HAMMER as it spins in the air, blood trailing from it, and then -- THUNK -- it strikes one of the new arrivals, spinning him to one side. Hannibal then spins the third bodyguard and drives toward them.

BLAM, BLAM, BLAM. Bullets drive into the third bodyguard, Hannibal hidden behind him. Third bodyguard rag-dolls in Hannibal’s arms as the bullets explode into his torso. fourth bodyguard's fear as Hannibal meets them in the center of the corridor and slams third bodyguard’s face right into his.

 Fourth bodyguard flies backward, nose SPRAYING BLOOD, and tangles with the fifth bodyguard. the knife in Hannibal’s hand, as it FLASHES amid the fourth and fifth bodyguards. Blood splashes the walls.

TWO MORE BODYGUARDS -- six and seven. As they enter the corridor and pause. Guns in their hands.

The bloodbath that is the corridor -- six bloodied bodies splashed up and down the walls. GUN SMOKE hangs in the air. Blood DRIPS down the walls. Six and seven breathe deep. Tense. Guns at the ready.

 They move forward... Stepping through the bodies. their shoes as they move through the carnage. Nothing moves except for the blood sliding down the walls. Six and seven move away toward the end of the corridor. And then a bloodied figure rises from the floor

VERGER ESTATE HOUSE - OPERATING ROOM - NIGHT-

He is strapped to a gurney under the bright light of an OR, his head in a surgical vice holding him absolutely still. A shadow falls across Will's face as Cordell leans over him. “Good news and bad news. The good news is, until recently, a full face transplant was almost unthinkable.” Cordell fusses around Will, checking his monitors. Whatever else, he's a perfectionist at this.

“But medical science is a fast-moving train. First, I'll lift your pretty mush right off, and then I'll expose the blood vessels and major connections of Mason's face, then lay yours straight on top.” 

The full horror of that lands on Will. “You really are done, you know. That's the bad news. Although i will grant you one thing.” Cordell moves away, leaving Will strapped to the gurney. 

Cordell brings over a small bundle, a baby. His baby. “You have a beautiful baby daughter Mr. Graham.” Will's eyes move to His baby girl. He struggles to move his limbs. Nothing doing. We see the first panic in Will's eyes.

 MUSKRAT FARM - NIGHT-

An open doorway filled with DARKNESS. A blood-splattered Hannibal looms from within to fill it. The open fields and woodland of Muskrat Farm beyond. The huge moon hanging above and a myriad of stars. Freedom. 

He could run and no one would catch him. Leave Will and be free. The thought crosses his mind. But Y/N….She didn't deserve to suffer. He takes a deep breath of night air. And then he turns back into the house, and the shadows within envelope him once more…

VERGER ESTATE HOUSE - OPERATING ROOM - NIGHT-

Will Graham turns his head slowly sideways as Mason Verger is pushed in beside Will, on a gurney, by Cordell

“Cordell told me, if I waited long enough, he could grow me a new face from my own cells, but I was adamant it was your face I wanted. I was looking at your face while you were watching me cut mine off. I thought, "That's a nice face." and Now your Baby will see the face of Her father everyday of her life.”

“You're going under now, Mr. Verger, and when you wake up, your face will be bound and uncomfortable.” Cordell adjusts Mason's dosage and Mason begins to drift off: “Have you accepted Jesus, Mr. Graham? Do you have faith? I do. I'm free. Hallelujah…” And he's out. a needle enters Will's flesh. Cordell adjusts the IV bottle it's connected to. 

“This will immobilize your body, but you'll feel everything. Im first going to Finish sewing up your Fiancee and then I'm going to cut off your face without anesthesia, Mr. Graham.”

VERGER ESTATE HOUSE - BABY SUITE - NIGHT-

Alana and Margot move into a tiled room with a lot of hightech medical equipment. They both stop dead and stare. In the center of the room is a large table. On top, lying on its side, is a large, unconscious FEMALE PIG with IV lines and drips filtering into it, medical monitors BLEEPING quietly… The pig's belly is SWOLLEN by a pregnancy. 

Alana and Margot move around this bizarre sight. As they do, a MONITOR mounted on the wall comes into vision – AN ULTRASOUND IMAGE in grays and blacks. It shows a human fetus, almost full term, legs tucked up… Alana and Margot stare -- stunned.

“Is he alive?” Alana reacts first, moves to check the monitors. Her face falls. “There's no fetal heartbeat.” As this lands on Margot... “Take it out... take it out.”

VERGER ESTATE HOUSE - OPERATING ROOM - NIGHT-

Mason Verger, face mask off to reveal his hideous, mutilated visage, lies back, eyes closed, awaiting his new face.

Cordell's back, to find that he is hunched over Will Graham. Fully conscious as Cordell leans over him and finishes drawing a black line in marker around the line of Will's face and jaw. He leans into Will with a SCALPEL.

“You'll be sure to let me know if this hurts, won't you?”

He starts to cut around the marker line. Blood slides from the pencil-thin incision. FEELING EVERYTHING -- teeth clenched against the pain he knows is coming… -- A SCALPEL slides through skin. -- A delicate thin flow of BLOOD. -- HANDS, in surgical gloves, gently lever skin away from facial bones, revealing teeth and jaw beneath -- a face coming away from its moorings.

We are watching two interconnected operations: a face being removed and a face being sewn onto someone else. And now we add a third procedure to the mix, this one rough and violent in comparison --

the sudden BIG INCISION of a CAESARIAN SECTION across a pig's hairy belly. TIGHT FOCUS as a LAYER OF BLOODY SKIN is laid down over Mason's raw, waiting face, smearing blood where it touches.

Hands delve deep into the pig's belly, surgical gloves slick with blood. The CLOSE-UP gleam of a suture needle as it moves under bright lights, stitching the new face to Mason. Beyond, we can just make out the bloody red mess of the donor's face.

VERGER ESTATE HOUSE - BABY SUITE - NIGHT-

Margot's desperate face as she forces herself to look at Alana holding her dead child.

“I want to hold him.”

She slowly takes the bundle Alana holds out to her as Alana wraps her arms around Margot as she sobs. MARGOT -- focus moving in and around her face. Enormity of her grief slamming into her. HER EYES as she squeezes them shut, holding her child tight.

VERGER ESTATE HOUSE - MASON'S BEDROOM - NIGHT-

Mason is propped up in his wheelchair, the eel moving its ceaseless patterns in the floor. We hear Mason's voice, weak at first: “Cordell?” Croaking, a whisper. Then louder: “Cordell? Cordell?!” His senses are going off, pain hitting him, fear and dread. Something is not right. His hand pumps at an ALARM BUTTON on the arm of his wheelchair. His good hand crab-walks up his chest, pulls the neck piece away. 

the mask as it is pulled away from Mason's face, not yet revealing his surgery. He grabs the mirror and holds it up. He sees that he now IS Cordell... kind of. Cordell's face has been removed and placed over his own. As Mason stares at himself in horror, Cordell's face slides off his own, leaving smears of blood before it lands on Mason's lap. “Cordell!”

Mason's good hand fumbles with the knob, pulling the drawer open, revealing a Walther PPK. He turns his wheelchair and rounds the bed toward the door and stops short at the aquarium when he sees Alana enter. “Hi, Mason.”

“What the hell's happening out there? Where's Cordell?”

“Cordell's dead. They're all dead out there. Hannibal got away.” Margot emerges from the shadows behind Mason. “Get on the horn to Washington and get four of those bastards with guns up here. Send the helicopter.”

“I found your surrogate, Mason.”

“Your surrogate, Margot. Told you I Would give you a Verger baby.”

“I'm taking what you promised me. I got everything I need from you now.”

“You can't kill me, Margot. You'll lose everything. In the absence of an heir, the sole beneficiary is the Southern Baptist Church."

“But we are going to have an heir, Mason. A Verger baby. Our baby. Yours and mine, but mainly yours.”

“Do you know what happens if we stimulate your prostate gland with a cattle prod? Y/N and Hannibal do. They helped us milk you. Maybe you shouldnt try and steal a mothers child.”

“You're dead, Dr. Bloom.”

“Oh, Mason. We all are. Didn't you know? But these aren't.” She holds up a vial of a pearly, cloudy fluid. Mason produces his pistol. Margot sees it and moves first. Crashing into Mason as he fires.

BLAM! The aquarium's glass top SHATTERS! Margot's momentum carries the wheelchair onto its side and she and Mason fall into the aquarium.

Margot and Mason fight. His goodarm pinning her under the  water. His body is dead weight against her. her swirling hair, their SILENT SCREAMS. Alana joins Margot wrestling Mason. As the two HUMAN FACES plunge down into the water. Mason's face sending blood out like a mist.

 ALANA rushes to help Margot. Grabbing at Mason. as she comes out of the water with a GREAT GASP. She holds Alana's gaze and they bear down with relentless force. Mason's hands claw at their hair. The two women hold him down.

Cordell's transplanted face undulates in the water, blood flowing from beneath it. The eel agitates within its lair. Alana's eyes lock with Margot's. SLAM -- the eel comes up and bites at the bloody wounds holding Cordell's face to Mason's... Mason SCREAMS and swallows water as the eel tears at Cordell's face.

As it comes free, the eel thrusts itself beyond, into Mason's open mouth, seeking softer meat. Cordell's bitten and torn face -- backlit -- as it slowly sinks to the bottom of the tank. still holding Mason's good hand. She reaches into a pocket and pulls out the HANK OF HANNIBAL'S HAIR. Presses it into Mason's palm…

MUSKRAT FARM - FOREST'S EDGE - NIGHT-

Of green grass in the dark. see the moon and the stars above the field. We CRANE DOWN to find Hannibal Lecter carrying a bloody and barely-conscious Will Graham over his shoulder as he walks toward the forest's edge Where Y/N and Her daughter await. 

Out of the shadows behind Hannibal, two Verger bodyguards appear. Moving swiftly upon him, raising their RIFLES to fire – the two bodyguards looming on either shoulder. PFFT! PFFT! Both of their heads fly backward as a red mist EXPLODES from them and they crumple to the ground.

CHIYOH In the bough of a large tree, looking down the sights of her hunting rifle. Hannibal Lecter now fixed firmly in her sights…

GRAHAM/L/N HOUSE - DUSK -

Chiyoh stands on the porch alone, her rifle resting in the crook of her arm. After a contemplative moment, Hannibal emerges through the front door.

“Will you go home? Can you go home?”

“No more than you can.”

“We all form frameworks from our early experiences through which later perceptions are understood.”

“Perceptions are understood when you look harder. I've looked into you. I thought you should be caged.”

“Would you watch over me?”

“I will watch over you. Not in a cage. Some beasts shouldn't be caged.”

“Your obsessive and successful hunt, whose plight was it driven by? Mine? Y/N L/N’s? Will Graham's? Yours?”

“Mischa's. Did you eat her?”

“Yes, but I did not kill her.” Chiyoh breathes a sigh of relief. “One quality in a person doesn't rule out any other quality. They can exist side by side, good and terrible. Socrates said it better The best of you and the worst with steady hands and a slow heart.”

“The most stable elements, Chiyoh, appear in the middle of the periodic table, roughly between iron and silver. Between iron and silver. I think that is appropriate for you.” Chiyoh studying Hannibal, not taking her guard down.

GRAHAM/L/N HOUSE - DUSK-

Will Graham sits up in bed. His head stitched to match the neat, expert black sutures following his jawline. He glances at the chair near his bed, a writing pad on the seat. It's filled with symbols and signs of astro- and particle physics. Hannibal enters and Will hands him his writing pad. “Do we talk about teacups and time and the rules of disorder?”

“The teacup is broken. It'll never gather itself back together again.”

“Not even in your mind? Your memory palace is building. It's full of new things. It shares some rooms with my own. I've discovered you there. Victorious.”

“When it comes to you and me, there can be no decisive victory.”

“We are a zero-sum game?” Will takes that in, considering his home and the strangeness

of Hannibal Lecter standing in it now. His Fiancee and newborn daughter in the other room.

“I miss my dogs. I'm not going to miss you. I'm not going to find you. I'm not going to look for

you. I don't want to know where you are or what you do. I don't want to think about you anymore.” The cold, even flatness of Will's words strikes Hannibal. “You delight in wickedness and then berate yourself for the delight.”

“You delight. I tolerate.” A sting of rejection. “Tolerance is a fig leaf to hide your ravenous self from the world.”

“I don't have your appetite. Good-bye, Hannibal.” Hannibal stands there a moment, rejected. Will sighs and averts his eyes. Hannibal finally goes, leaving Will alone. 

GRAHAM/L/N HOUSE - BEDROOM - DUSK -

Hannibal enters the room to say goodbye to Y/N. A woman who truly matched himself. He finds her sitting on her and Wills shared bed, rocking the small infant in her arms. “You’ve done well. She’s beautiful.” He approaches and sits beside her. 

I rest my head on his shoulder, I admire my daughter. A creation of my own. A sense of solemness runs over me. “You’re leaving arent you?” I ask, already knowing the answer. “Will has made it clear he does not want me here any longer.” 

A stray tear falls, I sniffle softly. “Right..” He pushes my hair out of my face, “Come with me.”

I look at him, “I can’t-” He nods already knowing. “I know.” He softly kisses me, its not passionate or Sexual, its a goodbye. He leans down and Kisses Brianna’s Head. “You’re a very special girl mažasis drugelis. You’re Mother and Father are very special too.” He stands and kisses my forehead and leaves. 

GRAHAM/L/N HOUSE - NIGHT

FBI VEHICLES drive at speed toward the house and AGENTS jump out. They move toward the house, guns out and ready.

The front door opens and Will emerges Holding his Baby daughter. Something he thought hed never get to do, JACK CRAWFORD Steps out of the lead vehicle, on crutches. “He's gone, Jack.”

“I'm here.” He steps out of the trees, arms outstretched, almost welcoming. Agents move in, yelling commands. He kneels as the FBI agents surround him. 

All eyes turn to me as I exit my house, Limping, I place the handcuffs on Hannibal. And before I pull away I whisper “Thank you.” 

CHIYOH watches through her rifle scope from the distant tree line, her sights on Hannibal. Jack moves to Hannibal, Will staying on the porch, watching. “You finally caught the Chesapeake Ripper, Jack.”

“Didn't catch you, you surrendered.”

“I want you to know exactly where I am. And where you can find me.” A sly glance toward Will watching from the porch, Cradling his Daughter, Brianna. 

A SEMICIRCULAR CAGE within a canopy of nylon mesh stretching outside the bars. This cell stands alone in a large space, the walls rising up high to a glass ceiling. Gantries hold armed guards. Light shines down. Hannibal's every move and action will be observed. He is under a microscope. he is looking at Alana Bloom and DR. CHILTON who regard him from outside the cage.

[akayeh1]

NEW RABBIT SKILL UNLOCKED!!!

This has not been a fantastic weekend here in mid Missouri for the human. For those not current on USA weather, we are enjoying all the benefits of a “heat dome”. Hot temps, too much humidity, heat indices of 106°F/41.11°C…. Oh wait…. I think the heat has been getting to me. I’m not sure those are benefits!

Albert and I live in an apartment that is part of a quad with a hip roof. That gives a little shade over our west and north sides. This weekend none of the drapes on our thermal drapes got opened. This isn’t that out of the ordinary for us. Long stretches in the winter have that too. We have plant lights and led bulbs on timers that keep us on schedules.

Now Friday night I went to bed and turned the box fan on in the kitchen. (A small house only requires one fan!). I had just settled down and gotten comfortable when all thumping panic broke loose on the other side of the wall. I got up, looked out all the windows and declared no reason for panic. I said good night and went back to bed. He let me get all settled again before setting up another almighty thumping storm! This time I walked in the kitchen and threw on the dining room light as it lit everywhere and loudly demanded “WHAT?!?!?” Albert stood his ground and looked from me to the fan, back to me and loudly thumped! I tried telling him that he could sleep on his [rock] aka cement paving stone he commandeered where he could feel the fan just fine. I got a double thump. I guess that meant something akin to “why don’t you go sleep on the floor? I want to sleep on my bed!” So since no one was going to sleep unless I shared the fan, I moved the fan. He’s been here two years and he just now is demanding fan in bed? He may have his own radio but I am NOT buying him his own fan!!!

Saturday started well. Until the heat triggered a POTS episode. (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome). After Albert’s third salt alert I gave up, declared the day a loss and went back to bed. I hate severe episodes.

Today started well. (Uh oh. I see a theme!). At about ten after nine, Albert gave an alert. So we did the salt routine. He won’t let up until I do the routine in his view.

Shake bottle of salt pills in his line of sight. Open and hold one up so he can see. Put it in your mouth and drink something with him watching. Put salt pills away. Reward smart bunny with half a meadow loop. (Aka the best treat available—reserved for medical alerts, nail clips, and the indignity of brushing!)

Now when Albert alerts, he has a set routine as well. There are three carabiner clips hung on his house in various places, but he has chosen to only ever use use one of them for this purpose. And he never touches it during any other time. Then once he has my attention he goes and sits on his rock in a kangaroo pose with one foot on a rail looking at me watching to see if I’m paying attention. If I’m not fast enough he’ll start over. Once I have done my part correctly he goes into one of two “modes”. I really hope he goes into “relaxed mode” where he goes back to his rock after collecting his treat at the door to his house and then promptly does a very loud flop. How it doesn’t hurt I’ll never know! Mode two is what I like to think of as “standby”. He will sit loafed whether toes tucked or untucked makes no difference but he is basically watching me. He won’t sleep. Just stare at me. It’s kind of creepy but it does mean he’s still on the job so comforting at the same time. It’s never the sign of a good day.

So this morning we do the routine and he goes into standby mode. Just great. Then he doesn’t. He decides to eat hay but still watch me. Okay so it’s going to be an odd day.

Then!!!!!!

Twenty minutes after he alerted to tell me my salt was off he’s at it again. I look over at him but he doesn’t do his alert thing. He looks like he’s possessed!!! He flips his head sharply over his left shoulder at my bedroom then brings it back and up over his right to look at me while doing a teen girl hair toss that only a lionhead could. All while sitting perfectly still. What the fluff was that?!?!?! He then turned around and sat next to his water bowl way away from his rock. “Do you want a new water bowl?” He tipped his head as if thinking hard. Hoping this is a new and better way of asking for fresh water, I went for it. (Beats throwing everything you own in it!) He didn’t go into relaxed, standby or I don’t care modes. He still seemed to be thinking.

Ten minutes after his performance I figured it out. I wish I hadn’t. That was a brand new alert he created. I got hit with what I call a double migraine. That’s when a classic migraine and a Hemiplegic migraine hit at the exact same time. They affect different sides of my head so it basically feels like your head wants to explode with a side of mimicking stroke symptoms on one side. They come on fast and they come on hard. Since I’ve been on Botox they’ve gotten a lot rarer.

I’m so thankful Ubrelvy works on both kinds. So I got to train Albert on the human reaction to his new alert. I went and got a pack, opened it and took it. Then I took the empty pack to the door of his house and showed him several angles and as that was happening it was giving him a sniff of the residual smell of the medicine. Then I told him he was such a smart smart smart good bunny!!! And he got his special treat for saving his human!

And about ten minutes later we achieved relaxed bunny mode. Finally!!!

I honestly hope I never see that alert again…. But now I’m prepared for it!

[reyrdemils]

In Plain Sight | Part 2 of 3

Words: 1,200(ish) | Rating: General Audiences | Warnings: None Relationships: Matt Murdock (TV)/Original Female Character (Unnamed) Misc: roughly fits major MCU/DDS1-2 2015-16 timeline but tbh no DD canon plot points included Summary: The distinction between being visible, being under surveillance, and feeling seen is slight, but vastly important.

This was written as part of Amanda's 2.5k Writer Challenge hosted by @mattmurdocksscars! This part features the prompt "How do I look?", the first of two I assigned myself. (If varying verb tense is a pet peeve of yours, you may want to skip this.) Click here to read Part 1. | Click here to read Part 3.

In terms of agents, she was not an agent. Nor had she ever wanted to be one. It had been enough in recent years that she benefited from Stark’s armor tech development in exchange for the study of her unique biochemistry, an arrangement that kept her housed and fed and away from the golden handcuffs of SHIELD, until its spectacular collapse. Thinking on it now though, perhaps her obstinacy on that front had been a mistake; as she sat transfixed in front of a multi-screen news feed in Capitol Hill, watching a city crack open, float, and nearly crater into the Earth, the only thing she was, was useless.

And after 24 hours, each one sleepless, she was probably technically a fugitive, depending on how quickly the legal definition of ‘enhanced' was codified.

With no mooring, no contact from anyone she trusted, and a splintered optimism creeping close to shattering, she found herself drifting, half-awake, among a small crowd of commuters, boarding on a train that would deliver her back to New York. She attempts to sleep, curled uncomfortably across two seats in a blessedly empty section, but the tension of uncertainty, and the possibility of missing an emergency contact sits like a paperweight in her ribs, fixing her to consciousness. Her unfocused eyes sting, nearly unblinking as she waits, listening for footsteps of any passengers that might draw near and marking the rhythm of wheels rolling over rails.

Slipping out a train door at the back of a line is second-nature and navigating Penn Station is a matter of staying alert to avoid anyone with wheeled luggage and a Wall Street attitude. Save for one person who jogs around a corner and clips her shoulder hard enough to stumble, it’s successfully done. When they turn back to shout at whoever hit them, she kicks the suitcase out of their hand to send it rolling a good twenty feet away. When they scramble to chase after it, she smiles for the first time in at least a week.

The grid of Manhattan’s streets is intimately familiar after spending the last few years being housed here, though she doubts it will ever feel like home. Standing now at the corner of the station’s expansive staircase, she considers the route to the tower, to the guest suite she’s been afforded there. It’s barely a few blocks away, a short walk by New York standards, but tired as she is she knows a short walk here does not correlate to a safe walk. There’s no telling how many cameras she might pass, or which unmarked vans might hide operatives armed with specialized optics and enhanced restraints—and while she’s been told of an underground entrance to a maintenance corridor, getting there feels no safer.

If they had been able to finish work on her suit she could have just dropped onto the penthouse roof but—Oh.

Finding a climbable fire escape ends up taking less time than expected for this area. Crossing the streets is tougher; any equipment that could have helped had been purposely left in the safe house. By the time she cleared the first block, found a way down (scaring a cat), used a crowd of pedestrians as cover through a crosswalk, skirted into an alley and up another fire escape (scaring a—was that a ferret?), she couldn’t help wondering if she’d have been better off in Washington as well.

But these are the streets she knows best, exhausting though they are, and there’s no better place for her to hide in plain sight… so to speak.

“Cannot believe he does this every night,” she huffs, trying to hustle up a worryingly creaky set of steps. “Fucking... Stairdevil.”

The sun was sinking behind the skyline, and gifting cover in the form of long shadows along the rooftops. If she was lucky, she might reach his building before he went out, but she recalled a number of occasions when he had clearly started patrolling from somewhere else. Worst case, she’d find a hiding spot and wait him out. Medium case, if it turned out no one had followed her, she’d hop down and find a bodega.

She was not lucky. After deciding it was more wise to post up a few buildings away, she waited for two hours to catch any movement on his roof and saw nothing but the lights of departing planes as they faded into the clouds. After another half-hour passed with no developments she risks a quick trip to find bottled water and a few protein bars. Upwards of thirty hours without food meant her head was throbbing—and holding visibility long enough to not frighten the cashier only worsened the exhaustion in her bones, but at least in New York her tailor-made jumpsuit didn't draw any attention.

Back in position, she wolfs down two protein bars in five minutes and barely restrains herself from downing the water in one long drink. Though she’s not thrilled to be waiting here, and there’s still been no word from Sokovia... and Mr. Pajamas might not be pleased to find her on his block, all things considered, she’s glad for the opportunity to rest and breathe. And she wasn’t kidnapped off the street! Things could be worse.

And then the first drops of rain ting off a nearby metal hatch seconds before a streak of lightning tears through the sky.

“You’re joking.” She looks to the cloud directly above, which answers by dropping water directly into her eye.

There’s no point in running for cover once the sky opens; this suit is impressive but is not waterproof, and by the time she stands up and tucks the remaining food into an interior pocket, it’s reached maximum saturation. The noise of rain sheeting onto tarred flats and off sloped water towers was loud even to her, if she remembered correctly—and if the downpour lasted long enough—he’d be returning to his building sooner than later. Of course with her luck today, he would probably be laid up in bed with a broken leg and she’d accidentally fall asleep up here waiting.

It’s a warm rain at least. Now sitting against his roof access door she closes her eyes, tips her head back, and tries to relax.

What is she doing? She’s not an agent, certainly not an Avenger. A few years of clandestine training under her belt, and for what? Isolated again, likely homeless again, at risk of capture again, only now she's passably proficient at Muay Thai and small arms. Not exactly an Ivy League education. Maybe she’ll try Broadway, shop around for any directors who might want an actual phantom. Maybe that would be her superhero name: Phantom. Opera might be funny. Ghost would be cooler though—it’s probably taken by now.

Something whacks the side of her foot. She jolts upright and sees a figure standing inches from her feet, looks further up to find Hell's Kitchen's hottest Under Armour model, and heaves a sigh of relief.

His head tilts. Her eyes nearly fall shut again, and she almost laughs in wondering what a sight she must be to him in this moment, however he manages to do that.

“How do I look?”

“You caught me on a good night, so I won’t say you look like shit.”

“Yeah," she sighs. She'll have to believe him, she hadn’t spared a thought for her physical appearance in days.

He crouches down to her eye level, evoking the memory of their first meeting; has it only been a few months since then? “You look like you need help.”

“Yeah.” She manages a weak smile and attempt at a nod. “Would you like a protein bar?”

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Benefits

you would write the homeless peter parker trope so well if you ever fancy writing more peter and nat/the rest of the avengers! – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: sickfic

Pairings: none

Word Count: 2753

There are many benefits to being Spider-Man.

Aside from the obvious ones like being able to help people and do good on a scale he's pretty sure he could never operate at without superpowers, he's able to get in touch with the actual people of New York in a way not many other heroes get to. He has people he talks to, not just as Spider-Man, but as Peter Parker, the normal teenager, and that lets him get an insight into his city that he wouldn't trade for anything. How else is he gonna know that making sure there's an extra delivery of ingredients to the soup kitchen on the corner next to the bank is gonna stop all the convenience stores just to the south from getting hit in a massive raid, just 'cause there's a bug going around the apartments and the kids need medicine? How else is he gonna know that there's a blockade on the bridge which makes the delivery trucks a prime target for hijackers? How else is he gonna know that the main route to the hospital is blocked for construction, so he needs to reroute the ambulance so it can get there on time? He needs to have his feet on the ground and his eyes in the sky.

Another great thing about being Spider-Man is that he weighs a lot less. He's just less dense, that's it, which means that perches that would be precarious are suddenly perfect. He can stand on the edge of a railing for as long as he needs to, he can grab onto the extra thin tree branch and whip himself up out of the way. There's a grocery store where the roof creaks and groans under the weight of the workers who have to go up there for maintenance on the big sign, but he can walk on it with no problem. Even with a heavy backpack on, the metal barely makes a noise. It makes him ideal for surveillance on more dangerous missions, and it means he can snatch a break where people are less likely to sneak up on him.

This one might not be strictly Spider-Man related, but Peter's small. Means he can get into places most people wouldn't consider weak points because he's just that tiny. Sure, he's an average teenager when he's mixed in with a bunch of other students or just on the streets of New York, but by himself? He's getting into trouble that most other people wouldn't squeeze into. That grocery store actually has a small room up by the sign that's blocked off due to some debris that got left there during initial construction, but Peter can squeeze past it into a room that's…never had anyone else in it, as far as he can tell. Sure, it was difficult to get the dust out of there when he first got in, but now? Now it's great. He wriggles his way into vents and around tight corners and keeps doing his job.

Fast metabolism, that's another one. Now, this one might not necessarily be a benefit all the time. Sure, it means he can scarf down a meal and be ready to go in two seconds flat, which is great, but that does mean he has to eat a little more often. He goes through snacks like nobody's business. He knows all the cheapest vending machines and pit stops around the city by this point, practically has a map in the back of his head. Granted, is he relying a little too hard on the superhero discount for some of those? Yeah, and at least a quarter of them are only applicable when certain people are working, but still. He's not one to turn down free food. Great thing about being so close to a grocery store is that when they take the food out back, it's easy for some of that food to just…go a little missing.

He also gets cold really easily. This one isn't really a benefit most of the time. Granted, there are times where he has to sneak past Infrared scanners or something where it's a good thing he doesn't register as an active heat sig, but when the sun goes down and the wind decides to blow fast and cold, he has to be really careful he doesn't freeze overnight. The grocery store sells these cheap candles and clay pots, though, and he figured out a way to make a heater that will last him all night without costing any power, since he needs to save what little he can smuggle off the store's grid to keep his phone and laptop charged. Sometimes if he gets close enough to the ducts, they'll keep him warm too, but his healing factor isn't good enough to heal the burns that can happen if he accidentally sleeps up against them, so the candle and pots is safer.

Oh! That's the other great thing about being Spider-Man. When people see him, they assume he's doing what he's doing to help someone. And technically, he is. He's just…helping himself a little more right now.

But he loves helping people. That's the best thing about being Spider-Man.

Beep…beep…beep.

A low groan is coming from somewhere. Peter cracks his eyes open. His throat feels weird. Oh. It's him. He's the low groan. He should probably stop that.

"Here, Pete. Drink slow, okay?"

Who is that? What is happening? Where is he?

"Peter? Hey, look at me, just look at me." There's a face above him. He blinks. It's…Clint? "Yep, you got it, buddy. It's me, it's Clint. You just keep those eyes on me for a second, okay?"

"Wha—" a surge of pain cuts him off.

Clint winces. "Yeah, your throat's gonna need a sec before you can talk, kid. Here…I'm gonna sit you up a little bit and help you drink this, yeah? It's just hot water."

Another low rumble—it's not his throat this time, he swears—and then he's more upright. It doesn't feel like Clint really helped him with that, though, so he's not really sure what he meant by that. But then there's a hand behind his head and something steaming right under his nose and he sniffs—

A horrible gunky sound makes him wince and his body protests the slight movement like he's trying to run a marathon from a hospital bed. Wait. He is in a hospital bed. Why is he in a hospital bed?

"Slow down, champ," Clint says when he starts looking around, trying to figure out what's going on, "drink this, then we can talk."

The warm water is a mercy on his aching throat. He manages about half the cup with no problem before Clint's pulling it away, murmuring something about not making him any sicker than he already is. Peter opens his mouth to say that he's not sick, thank you very much, but all that comes out is a weak groan that sounds more pathetic to his ears than it does to Clint's, he's sure. Clint winces in sympathy.

"Yeah, it's…it's not great, Peter. You're not sick enough for there to be an army of doctors here, but it's…it's pretty bad."

He sits down in a chair, hands folded, just looking at him. If Peter had the ability to squirm out of the way, he might.

"Now, I don't know what your side of the story is, but I also know you just woke up and probably don't remember everything right now. Is that right?" Peter nods. "Cool. I'm gonna tell you what happened from my perspective, and then you'll tell me yours."

It's not a question. Peter's starting to get the sneaking suspicion that he might be in trouble here. Which is bad. Because if he's in trouble with Clint, then Natasha definitely knows about it, and if Natasha knows about it, then Mr. Stark probably knows about it, which means—

"Hey, calm down, okay?" There's a hand on his arm. It's warm. Cold? There's a hand on his arm. "It's okay, Pete, you're safe. Nothing's gonna happen to you, okay?"

He makes himself pay attention long enough to nod. Clint gives him a hard look for a few seconds, probably checking to see if he's lying, before he sighs and sits back.

"An old buddy of mine is a firefighter down at the station. I do volunteer shifts there sometimes, just to help the guys out. They've got a station mascot named Ox, a Dalmation, how perfect is that, right? So my buddy—his name is Ricky, by the way—they go on walks around the neighborhood, just, y'know, seeing what's what." He taps his fingers on the table. "Before my volunteer shift a few days ago, he gives me a call. Says that he might be a little late to our workout 'cause he found something. Well, no, he says Ox found something. In an alleyway, behind this big grocery store, says he found a kid lying there, passed out."

Peter's blood runs—well, it runs colder.

"Sick as all hell, he says, and they didn't know what to do so they brought him to the station. And I'm thinking: 'gee, that sucks. Maybe the parents were looking for the kid, maybe I can see if I recognize him.' 'Cause I'm over there enough that I sort of know everyone, y'know? So I get there, and I ask if I can take a look at this kid, just to see, and hey, what do you know: I do know this kid." Clint sits forward, his gaze hard. "You wanna tell me why you were passed out in an alleyway, Peter?"

You would think that for being Spider-Man, he would last longer in an interrogation. But this is Clint, and Peter is sick, and he's already in trouble.

"I—I didn't know I was sick," he starts, his voice still protesting with every word, "I was just trying to get to the top of the grocery store."

"Why?"

"There's…there's a small room up there. By the sign."

"Okay. What's so important about that room?"

He shuffles in the bed. It hurts. He twists his fingers together instead. "I, um…I've been using it as a…home base of sorts."

There's silence in the room for a little bit. Clint's smart. He's gonna figure out what it is that Peter's actually saying. Sure enough, a few seconds later, there's a rustle as Clint sits back.

"Why've you been living on top of a grocery store, Peter?"

"It's…um…" All of the great reasons he had? Gone. Nowhere to be found. Nonexistent. "…it's my only option."

Clint blows out a breath. "You know that's not true, kid. You could've come to any of us, at any time, you—oh, kid…"

Because now Peter's eyes are welling up with tears and he really shouldn't be making breathing any harder for himself than it already is, but he's crying now, and he doesn't want to be crying, because—because—because—

"Hey, hey," Clint murmurs, quickly sitting on the edge of the bed, reaching out to pull him into a hug, "it's okay, Peter. It's okay. That doesn't matter right now. What matters right now is that you're here, okay? You're here, we gotcha, we're gonna make sure you're back in fighting shape in no time. You're gonna be okay, we're gonna make sure of that."

"I'm sorry—"

"Hey, shh-shh, none of that right now. Just—just c'mere and be all gross all over me and lemme give you a hug, okay?"

"Don'—don' wanna—" Peter coughs. "Get you sick—"

Clint huffs, carding a hand through his hair. "I've got an immune system like you wouldn't believe, kid. Don't you be worrying about me."

And, well…Peter's no saint. Getting cuddles when he's sick? Turning that down? He'd have to be way stronger than he is, strong as…something really strong. Hulk. That's something really strong. The embrace is warm in the way all hugs should be and he's…he's not felt like this in a long time.

"They're—" he sniffles— "they're gonna be mad, aren't they?"

Clint's sigh ruffles his hair. "Yeah, they're not pleased, kid."

He can't decide if it's better or worse that all of them are right there when he gets off the elevator.

Then he's treated to Natasha Romanoff's angry face, Yelena Belova's upset face, Steve Rogers' disappointed face, and Tony Stark's Are-You-Fucking-Kidding-Me face, and he would like to be anywhere else right now, thank you.

But Clint's pushing him off the elevator and giving him a thumbs up as the doors close and he takes back everything nice he's ever said about Clint Barton.

He tries not to curl in on himself and fails miserably. He takes a deep breath and walks across the room, trying not to feel like he's walking to his execution and failing miserably at that too. He hangs his head and waits for the yelling to start.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he hears Yelena mutter, "I'm not kicking a puppy."

He blinks and there's a super spy wrapped around him, her nose buried in his hair, her hands smoothing over his thin shirt and she's so warm he lets out a noise about it and promptly gets really embarrassed about that, trying to hide his face in the crook of her neck so he doesn't have to look at the others.

"You scared us, Baby Spider," Yelena murmurs, "do not scare us like that again. You should have told us you needed somewhere to stay, do you think we could have turned down having our Baby Spider with us?"

"Didn't—I didn't want to be a burden."

"And you collapsing 'cause you're sick in some alley somewhere, that's better?"

He flinches away from Mr. Stark's voice but Yelena is already turning, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Hey! He already feels like shit, do not make it worse! Can't you see he already regrets it?"

"Does he regret scaring us or not telling us? 'Cause one of those things is an easy fix and the other one's a pain in my ass."

He can't help it. He hides in Yelena's arms, mumbling and stammering an apology that isn't coherent at all and he's not sure if the sobs are helping his case or hindering it. He also can't see the glare Yelena is currently training on Mr. Stark so he's surprised when there's another set of arms wrapping around him.

"Oh, bambino," he hears as hands ruffle his hair and pet the space between his shoulders, "what am I gonna do with you, huh?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark, 'm—'m sorry—"

"Shh-shh-shh, bambino, it's okay. 'S all gonna be okay now, yeah? You're gonna let me throw away this money I don't need on making sure you've got the most kick-ass room in the world and never scare me like that again, you got it?"

He sniffles, looking up, and Mr. Stark thumbs away a tear just in time for Steve to wrap an arm around his shoulders and do the same. He opens his mouth to apologize to Steve too when he just leans down and kisses his forehead like that's something they do now, which he guesses it might be, by how it takes him approximately three seconds to lean down and do it again.

"You and I are gonna order so much comfort food and eat all of it as soon as you're feeling better, okay?" he says in this soft voice that is gonna make Peter melt into a gooey puddle. He cups Peter's jaw in his warm hand and smiles. "You're one of us, Peter, you have to let us take care of you, okay?"

"Come on," he hears Yelena say, "you know you want to cuddle him too, just come over here."

Because he's not completely stupid, he's still a little scared when he turns to see Natasha glaring at him. But then Yelena leans down and whispers she's just pissed she didn't get to hug you first and Natasha rolls her eyes, immediately shoving Mr. Stark and Steve out of the way so she can pull Peter into her chest and hiss in his ear.

"You are my Baby Spider. That means you tell me when you need help, you got it?"

"Y-yeah, Mama Spider, I got it."

…okay, maybe this is also a benefit of being Spider-Man.

[iamnot-crazy]

Pages of promise.

Summary: You have always itched for adventure and when an interesting vessel appears you take your chance and jump aboard.

Trafalgar Law x GN!reader

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 (Sad Ending) Chapter 3 (Bittersweet Ending)

You sat on the railing separating the dock from the town as boredom gnawed at you. Your island sat in North Blue right before the entrance to the grand line and was renowned for its vibrant dyes and delectable berries. No one of interest ever arrived at your town except for the few Marines who swagger through town, restocking before their journeys into the Grand Line. At least until today.

A peculiar yellow vessel, unlike any you'd ever seen, sliced through the turquoise water. It was a ship? Emblazoned on its side was a jolly roger – a smiley face with 6 lines radiating from it. It was an odd jolly Roger not having cross bone many have but there was no doubt in your mind that it was a pirate ship. Your heart hammered against your ribs with a thrill you hadn't felt in years.

With a surge of adrenaline, you vaulted over the wooden railing and stalked toward the docked vessel. An interesting crew disembarked, all clad in white jumpsuits emblazoned with the same smiley face insignia as their vessel. Behind the crew trailed a man with a brooding expression and a floppy white hat perched on his head, sported a yellow hoodie, and held a large sword resting it on his shoulder. He must be the captain you thought as you watched him approach the dockhand and pulled out a pouch of coins.

With a mischievous grin, you climbed aboard the deserted vessel. Your fingers traced the cool, smooth metal of the hull, a stark contrast to the sun-baked wood of the other ships that you have seen. Peeking through a porthole, you gasped. Unlike any ship you'd ever seen, the interior was a labyrinth of gleaming corridors and unique technology.

"What do you think you're doing!?" A voice boomed from behind you. You spun around to find the captain glaring at you from across the ship.

Ignoring his scowl, bounced over to him, "I'm joining your crew!" You state joyfully before running around the man taking in his features.

"Like hell you are!" He growled as tried to turn around to face you.

"But it will be so much fun!" You jump onto his shoulders forcing him to stumble forward, overwhelmed by your boundless enthusiasm.

You push off the man and run toward the door leading to the inside of the vessel. "Hey! Stop!" The man yells at you running after you as you laugh running through the halls.

"What kind of ship is this!?" you question excitably as your fingers brush against any buttons they can find.

"It's not a ship it is a submarine." The man groaned breathlessly as he chased after you, "ROOM! Shambles!"

You were transported into arm's range of the man who grabbed your collar holding you still, "I don't know who you are but you are NOT joining my crew! And you are DONE poking around my sub!" His face grew red with anger as he spit in your face.

Undeterred, you flashed him your most innocent smile, deploying your best weapon, your puppy-dog eyes. His face twisted in discomfort by your expression. He quickly banished you from the vessel with a sigh and a flick of his wrist, transporting you back to the dock.

You pouted at your removal from the ship but decided that you were not done with the pirate crew and you ran into town finding your makeshift home on the roof of the town bar. You had a small cloth that made a tent to protect you from the elements it was not much but you called it home. The biggest benefit is that it was easy to pack up and you threw all your items into a worn leather satchel. Nestled amongst your meager belongings, lay a pristine sketchbook, its pages blank and waiting to be filled with the extraordinary tales you were about to tell

Returning to the docks you perched yourself on top of a barrel with a determined glint in your eye, you unstrapped your satchel and flipped open the sketchbook. The first page remained stubbornly blank, a canvas for the adventures to come.

Suddenly, a booming voice echoed from below, "Whoa, is that the Polar Tang?!"

You peered over the edge to see three figures approaching the docks. One is a tall man with a killer whale hat and a mischievous grin, beside him an impossibly cute polar bear mink, and a third man with a penguin perched atop his head.

"You're really good!" Shachi exclaimed, his eyes wide with admiration.

"Is that what she's called?" you hummed, pencil hovering over the page.

The three men crowded around you, mesmerized as you began sketching the submarine with a practiced hand. Each stroke brought the Polar Tang to life, capturing the sleek lines and the details you'd absorbed during your brief exploration.

"Amazing!" Bepo echoed, tilting his head to get a better look.

You grinned, a surge of pride warming your chest. "Thanks! Are you part of her crew?"

"That's right! We are the heart Pirates" Shachi confirmed, puffing out his chest. "I'm Shachi. This furry fellow is Bepo, and that's Penguin over there."

"And who is your captain?" You question curiously.

"Trafalgar Law." He responded with joy, "And who might you be?"

Your grin grew as you pulled your attention away from your sketch, "I'm Y/n! And I am joining your crew!"

The three pirates were taken aback by your bold statement and looked at each other in concern. But upon their lips, a smile grew and they all began to laugh. "And what will you be doing on our ship Y/n?" Shachi asked in between laughs.

"I'm going to capture your adventure! I am going to document the new era and I have a feeling your crew will be a large part of it!" You smiled as you spoke of your dreams with an unfeathered confidence.

"Well let me be the first to welcome you to the crew!" Shachi laughed smacking your back while grinning.

When Law emerged from the submarine he was surprised to find you surrounded by his entire crew admiring your work as Bepo posed in front of you as you added his addition to your journal. Upon seeing Law Bepo waved, "Captain! Have you met Y/n! Our new crewmate!"

Law's eye twitched. "New crewmate?" he sputtered, incredulous.

You, however, remained unfazed. With a confident smile, you flipped to the first page of the sketchbook and presented it to Law. On the first page, the Polar Tang gleamed in all its glory.

"I'm going to record your adventures," you declared, your voice ringing with conviction. Law stared at the drawing, then back at you.

He saw the spark of determination in your eyes, and a reluctant sigh escaped his lips. Shachi's and Penguin's enthusiastic endorsement and Bepo's silent plea with his puppy-dog eyes only sealed your fate.

"Fine," Law grumbled, his voice laced with resignation. "But don't get yourself killed."

As the Polar Tang submerged, plunging into the cool depths, you clutched your sketchbook, your mind already brimming with stories waiting to be told. From the electrifying battles you'd witness to the hilarious antics of the crew, you'd capture it all. The blank pages were no longer empty; they were a promise, a pact with adventure.

---

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 (Sad Ending) Chapter 3 (Bittersweet Ending)

A/N: Wanna read more of my work check out my MasterList

[somefinn-g]

Hiii everyone, just now an idea for a Hermitcraft + Friends train based AU popped into my mind, I wrote down my first thoughts

now I'd like to know if anyone would be interested or not (I'm currently obsessing a bit over trains :'3)

have fun reading

Mumbo

train broken from redstone explosion

lives "temporarily" in one of his passenger wagon that survived

Grian

plagues everyone by being a blind passenger, clawing himself to the roof

never had an own train

"pesky civilian"

kinda lives with mumbo (guy doesn't care too much about the "annoying" nature of Grian, he got other problems)

Scar

Zoo train

often visited by Grian

jokes about Grian living in his train because of his avian features

Bdubs

Doesn't really have an actual train but rather a horse carriage

get yelled at a lot by Joel because of the horses

almost all other hermits find them the cutest

4 person max if you prefer comfort

"smelly" - Joel

Docm77

kinda DB (is the most punctual person, but can never arrive anywhere on time)

somehow the most advanced train but there always something breaking (only when ppl look, when he's alone everything works of course)

gets asked to build a tunnel system a lot - he always refuses

gets asked if his tunnel can be used for the train tracks - he refuses

gets asked if he can help with the tra-

lives very far away from everyone

amphibia train because the tracks to his place aren't in the best shape

has a rail leading to nowhere !?

Postal service (Pearl + Etho)

The post system

Tango helped them out a lot

Etho does the more technical stuff

Pearl does the delivery and take in of the packages

Etho is never really seen around (he works on a secret project ?)

Pearl doesn't own her own transportation vehicle, but loves to use the postal van for her own deeds (nobody minds, take it as a work benefit)

Z. I. T. S. train company (Zedaph, Impulse, Tango, Skizz, Joel, Jimmy, Cub, Cleo)

they got a thing going on

Tango and Impulse want to create the most technical advanced train the world has ever seen

Joel is a train conductor in their main line passenger Train

Jimmy is the engine driver tho he finds his job boring

Lizzie tho not officially hired loves to drive the train (she kicks Jimmy out which he happily obiges) while Joel is working (he sneaks to her into the driver's cabin on his "brakes")

Jimmy is the only one, except for Joel, who knows about Lizzie driving the train (or maybe not)

Jimmy and Joel tolerate somewhat of Grian visiting them at work, Joel says "it's less boring with this idiot here" Jimmy thinks alike (maybe not the idiot part, sometimes he thinks he's more of an idiot, at least his clumsiness makes him feel that way)

Grian definitely didn't blackmail Joel and Jim (no Tim) because he saw Lizzie in the driver's seat (but nobody would probably believe him anyway if he one day decides to tell on Lizzie, his reputation of being an annoying prankster has exceeded him by far)

Joel always yells at bdubs because he's scared of getting the train delayed and he hates horses

Zedaph works as an engine driver too (Lizzie always needs to be careful not to accidentally walk in on him, because he sometimes replaces Jimmy last minute)

Gem, tho not alway very enthusiastically, helps out when someone falls ill (the pay isn't shabby so "why not" she thinks)

Gem owns a small boat on which she sometimes sleeps, she can't live on it completely because it would be to isolating

Gem loves to poke fun of Joel at work because she knows he's been scolded for ruckus behaviour before and now he needs to swallow his pride to the amusement of Gem (Lizzie, tho not in front of others at work, loves to join in on these shenanigans)

Cub is responsible for the train schedule and signals

False

she has the most beautiful steam train on the whole server

for the nostalgic feels she offers tours of the server

false has a wagon refurnished to be her now called home

some other hermits have wagons they live in and false does transport them to other places from time to time

Stress and Iskall

they both own together 3 refurnished wagons

Stress is a true cat lady (we don't know how many cats live with her, the number seems rising every minute)

Iskall isn't very amused by all the fluffy creatures, he implemented the rule that no cat shall enter the shared wagon

Iskalls wagon is a chaos of unfinished projects

Stesses quarters are something every proud mother of 4 legged furr balls could only dream off (Lizzie would definitely want to move in if she ever visited, surely)

False does transport their home to other places when they want a change of scenery (Iskalls excuse for this is always "A new start brings new creative thoughts and a tone of energy" Stress already knows by now that this enthusiasm isn't very long lasting)

i probably rather draw than write if I'll continue with this

[gyllenhaalstories]

PILLOW TALK — DAVIS MITCHELL 🎂

summary: it’s your birthday and davis baked you a cake and built you a pillow fort. oh! and nothing was demolished during your birthday celebration, so what more could you ask for?

warnings: i’m going off the rails pretending i understand demolition on a profound level, eating, fluff. 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 1830

gifs credits: @/stephendorff (cropped) / divider credits: @/firefly-graphics

notes: today is my birthday and i am, for the third time, making it everyone’s problem with a self indulgent fic during which i enjoy some cozy time with my wife, davis. 🛋️ thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

“What do we do with a couch like this?” Davis looked at you with a small grin on his bearded face. He pointed his index fingers down at the couch while he sank further into the cushions.

Your first instinct was to say to buy a new one. And your instinct was not wrong, the couch had seen better days. The seats were worn out, torn at the seams. It got bumps in some places from when you had struggled to carry it in the living room. It could benefit from never carrying the weight of your world again and passing along this responsibility to a fresher, newer couch. Despite all of those thoughts running through your head, you did not speak. You watched. You watched Davis while he pulled the couch apart.

He plopped the decorative pillows and blankets on the floor. He dragged the couch away from the wall and grunted while he flipped it so that the back rest now created a roof. He used the big seat cushions as walls on each side and he surprised himself, realizing that it seemed sturdy enough to keep this shape.

You watched him demolish and build anew. It was not the first time that he transformed your living room in a pillow fort, but there was something different about the way he built it, like he was putting his heart into it. There was something different about him, period. With that thought lingering at the back of your mind, you tried to intervene. He turned down every single offer of help that you made and he insisted that he could do it alone.

“It’s your birthday." Davis simply answered, as if this specific date on the calendar prevented you from doing anything at all. Even when you two were baking a box cake mix together an hour ago, he only let you preheat the oven. He did the rest all on his own. Well, he tried to. The last time he had attempted to make a cake this way, it was with his mom years and years ago. He murmured under his breath that it wasn’t considered fancy enough so he stopped having them.

The idea sparked in his mind when you told him that you did not have anything planned for your birthday. He showed up, dressed in baggy pants and suspenders, with the box of overpriced chocolate cake he somehow found at a gas station that carried some groceries, for emergencies and last minute plans. You were lucky that it had not expired already.

Davis insisted that birthdays required a cake. So he got to work. Davis insisted that he must prepare it for you, so he did. He wanted to give you this special attention. This special attention came with the secret term and condition that he must eat the batter straight from the spatula until the oven beeped, announcing it was ready. You did not quite have a cake anymore, the mould was half empty (”Half full,” Davis rectified).

It was the thought that counted. And you definitely appreciated Davis’ thoughtfulness. You laughed when he told you he did not care about the stains of batter on his clothes, the army surplus had many more he could buy. You wiped the dishes dry after he washed them, laughing again at how he was making a mess of soapy water everywhere. It was not the cake that held sentimental value, it was the moment you were sharing together.

“Your castle is waiting for you, milady.” The upper half of Davis’ body peeked out of the pillow fort. Somehow he had found a flashlight in your living room and he used it to light up the inside of the fort. A wide smile, from ear to ear, greeted you when you walked across the living room and got on all fours to crawl into the mountain of cushions and pillows.

Before you crawled, you handed the plate of leftover cake to Davis so you both could have a snack in the cozy fort. You took a bite as soon as you were settled in. Soon enough the air was getting warm under the blankets and you took off the cardigan you were wearing.

Davis grabbed it and set it aside for you. He looked at you, still smiling wide. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you.” You pushed the plate of cake in his direction. He made the last few bites of the chocolate dessert disappear. It caused him to giggle at himself and the happy sound of his boyish laugh made you smile back at him. “It’s been a very happy birthday with you.”

Silence crept between the two of you. He was not a very talkative man, for the most part, and it was hard to come up with a conversation topic a lot of the time. You were learning to welcome the silences. And you were also learning to accept the more random conversations, the wild thoughts that ran through Davis’ mind and that he spoke out loud, half intentionally and half accidentally. “I like this couch.”

You chuckled and nodded slowly. “You do?” You encouraged him to keep talking.

“Yeah. It’s... You know, it’s comfortable. It makes the room comfortable.” He fidgeted with the spoon in his hands. He was sitting, cross-legged, with his back making a bow. It would probably hurt tomorrow. But tomorrow was another day, another set of problems. There was no problem in this moment, with you. “I hated my house. It was just shiny stuff.” 

His eyebrows arched on his forehead, creating wrinkles that you found yourself thinking of kissing.

“I love your house. It’s just full of you.” He shrugged. “You’re everywhere in this house. I like that. That’s where I want to be.”

“I’m happy you feel like this. Thank you for telling me, Davis.”

“You’re welcome.” He gave you a corner smile and brought a hand to his head. He quickly scratched his scalp and knocked his knuckles on his forehead. It looked as though he was holding himself back, or that he was getting lost in his thoughts.

You couldn’t tell. You offered silence instead as you watched him.

You watched him switch positions from sitting to laying down. “Do you want to do something tomorrow?” He marked a pause. “Together?”

The question surprised you. He did not make plans, usually. He was more of a show up at your door, ringing the doorbell and hang out until his social battery died kind of guy. You knew that about him, only you had always wondered why he would hang out for a longer period of time with you than with anyone else. “I’d love that.”

The flashlight flickered a little bit. His eyelids were getting heavy. “I’d love that too.”

“Good.” You looked at him, your eyes squinting while trying to read what was going on behind those blue eyes.

Davis’ legs were sticking out of the fort, uncovered and exposed to the much cooler air of the room. He rested his head on your bunched up cardigan and he laid on his side, watching you watching him.

“You look tired.” You smiled faintly, he yawned as you spoke.

“Is it midnight yet?” He was not used to staying up late. He got better at it than before, but his body woke up ridiculously early every day like clock work. When you shook your head no, having quickly peeked out of the pillow fort to look at the clock on the wall, he took a deep breath. “I want to be with you until the end of the day.”

You smiled again, this time wider. You decided to lay down next to him. Your faces and bodies were close, but there was a comfortable distance. “You know…” Davis’ big puppy eyes stared at you. “Sometimes I wonder what’s going on in your head.”

Your eyes were met with Davis’ usual blank stare, one that left you perpetually perplexed. It seemed as though there were a million thoughts running through his head but also none at the same time. He took another deep breath. His eyes looked at yours, then looked at the rest of your face and down to your lips. He did not respond with words, but he still gave you a surprising answer.

Your eyes widened from the surprise when you saw him moving closer to you. He got closer and closer, slowly and tentatively.

Davis erased the distance between the two of you and kissed you, gently and tenderly. His lips moved slowly against yours while he made the kiss last for several seconds. His heart was racing, and so was yours. He pulled away and studied your face briefly.

You thought he was afraid of your reaction, when he buried his face in your neck without waiting for you to say or do something. You could not be more wrong.

He kept his face there, hidden in your neck. The smell of the perfume on your skin, the scent of your baking shenanigans on your clothes, the warmth of your body as well as the familiar feeling of your embrace when you wrapped your arms around him�� It made him feel safe, it made him feel good. So good that his body relaxed in your arms. Soon enough, you realized, by the way his breathing slowed down and by the faint snoring noises that he made, that Davis had fallen asleep on you.

You relaxed too. Your hands started to stroke his back until you stopped, feeling the urge to hold him close and tight against your body. You looked up to the blankets draped over the couch above you. One sudden move and it could all fall apart. It was a good metaphor for your birthday. One sudden thought and you would spiral away. However, if you stayed right here and there in this moment, this simple yet agreeable birthday celebration would carry on.

Davis did not tell you what was going on in his head nor did he tell you, in full honesty, what he truly and genuinely cared about when you asked him earlier. You dropped the question like a bomb while he was mixing the ingredients of the cake. He told you that the last time he truly cared about something, it went all the way back to when he was a kid and he wanted to run faster than his peers. You could tell this was not the truth, but you let it slide. There would be another time to ask this question, and hopefully another time to kiss again. He let the kiss, this shy yet meaningful peck on your lips, speak for himself. 

The pillow talk was nice, but that kiss was even nicer. The butterflies in your stomach that appeared because of the kiss (perhaps they had been flying quietly for a long time prior) were the greatest birthday gift he could have given you.

[stardewremixed]

More Gus Headcanons

has a specialized knife with his initials from back in his army days

doesn't like guns even though his has his dad's old hunting rifle

has wicked chopping skills

can expertly gut a fish

worked as a cook during his time in the military - and his unit appreciated it and his ability to get rare spices and make their rations taste 1000% better

this inspired him to attend culinary school on his military benefits.

really embraces the "gentle giant" persona

gives the best bear hugs

never had kids of his own, but spoils his nieces and nephews when they come to town

he would make a fantastic dad, though (I just know this!)

is a champion bowler and drives to the next town over once a month to bowl with his old army buddies

makes hand-churned butter that would make anyone melt with happiness (the absolute best addition to his freshly baked pastries)

hates glasses because they get in the way of his day-to-day life so he wears contacts instead

his hand-rolled dough for pizza is legendary - and a favorite of Shane's, Sam's, and Alex's

writes a thank you note by hand after receiving a gift; his penmanship is a bit messy, but it's the thought that counts

has a hefty handshake

is pretty handy - he can do basic plumbing repairs, patch a roof, re-caulk a bathtub, etc. but most of the time, he hires someone to do the work since he doesn't have as much time with running his business, though he did install a railing outside on his steps for his older patrons (like Evelyn)

asked Robin to help him put in a ramp for George so the man can wheel inside himself

could wipe the floor with ya in cards and has the best poker face

could write the book on homestyle cooking (and he might someday, if he works up the courage to share his recipes with the world)

hates cooking shows because he's his own worst critic

is a hairy guy - face, arms, legs, chest, abs, but he draws the line at his back (and so he goes to get it waxed twice a year)

uses an all-natural wax to get his moustache to sit just perfectly

doesn't mind slipping into the spa for a hot soak after being on his feet for most of the day - it's a great way to unwind

was a wrestler in college and briefly thought about going pro

might still challenge someone to an arm wrestling contest at the Stardew Fair in the fall just for fun

his nose is a little crooked from when he intervened in an incident involving a purse-snatcher (though most people think it's from his wrestling or army days)

has very rounded ears, rather petite, for the large man he is

always hires extra help for the festival days, pays well above average, and lets all his employees keep the tips

has a thing for Hercule Poirot in Agatha Christie mysteries - it's gotta be the moustache, right? Hee... hee...

always keeps a book by his nightstand for a little late night reading before he dozes off

has a freakishly good immune system and rarely gets a cold (all those oranges he must be eating)

likes spicy food - but it must have a good blend of flavor and heat!

has a pair of diamond earrings he inherited from his mother and always thought about getting his ears pierced to wear them, but he's afraid of needles

the man is terrified of getting blood drawn and can be a big baby - Harvey always has to ask for extra help from Maru

keeps the doctor's office stocked in homemade candies

brings you a coffee on a blustery day just because

still has a corded phone in the back kitchen

played handbells at church when he was a kid and might... just... might... be persuaded to play at the Feast of the WInter Star

sometimes does ax throwing to blow off some steam (always safely and with proper equipment)

can sew on patches in a pinch, but usually just asks Emily for help

puts mustard on his hot dogs and pretzels and hamburgers

writes a grocery list and then forgets to bring it with him to the General Store, but he's got a decent memory

always pays his taxes on time, if not early

can whistle really loudly

can spike a beach volleyball like nobody's business

has a stamps collection - of little critters and farm animals

Romance Headcanons

took ballroom dance lessons as a young man and was quite popular with all of his partners back in the day

spends most of his evenings tending bar and talking with patrons and cooking, but he might bust a move every once in a while, if persuaded, but he doesn't like to show off so if you join him, he feels less self-conscious

When he's nervous, his hands shake a little, but he calms down if you reach out and squeeze his hands

never wears rings on his fingers because of cooking but he would wear one around his neck if he ever gets married

has a pair of leopard print handcuffs that he got as a joke in Zuzu City one time with an ex and he'll blush up a storm if you ask him about it

would absolutely carry you on his shoulders just so you can reach the best fruits in the orchard

totally has a thing for maid costumes (not in a perverted way, but if you dressed up for him in the bedroom, he wouldn't complain)

is extremely neat in general, speaking of maids, and would expect you to keep your things tidy if you leave stuff at his place

likes building a rip roaring fire on chilly winter nights and cuddle with you on the couch

doesn't think of himself as an uber-attractive guy, but he has a healthy self-esteem and figures he's got a bit of that handsome older gentleman look going

would absolutely hold all your bags if you went on a shopping spree at the mall (and he wouldn't complain about it)

Presses wildflowers between pages in a book - like the bouquet you gave him when you asked him to date you

Would hand write all your wedding invitations - would want to keep the ceremony small and intimate - just good friends and family

This list grew much longer than expected!

[c4fabrication]

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[nero-vanderwolf]

“Ken-!” 

Makoto startles, scrambling from the railing. He hates whenever he accidentally resets a loop in front of his friends. 

One loop, after Junpei came in after he shattered his mirror to pieces, he hadn’t realised Mitsuru was on the roof. He had reset the loop right in front of her- and hadn’t even realised it until he heard her scream. 

Ken stares at him with wide eyes. Ken was too young for this. Far, far too young. Too young to be worrying about revenge, about Shadows, about death. Too young to be worrying about Makoto standing too close to the broken railings. 

“...Can you come downstairs, Makoto-san?” Ken asks, breaking the silence. 

Makoto didn’t think he still had the ability to cry, but his vision blurs anyways at the tone of Ken’s voice. It’s barely above a whisper, and he sounds like he’s about to cry. 

It sounds like he’s talking to a spooked animal. 

“...Yeah. Just- just give me a second, okay, Ken? I’ll be down in a minute,” he says. Ken looks like he wants to say something, but turns around and goes back into the hallway to wait. 

Makoto comes down, but he doesn’t take the stairs inside. 

He wakes up on September 27th again. When he tries to roll out of bed, he isn’t remotely surprised to find that everything hurts. 

A quick once-over shows that there are scars all over his body, little knicks and gnarly gashes. Bruises and cuts and scrapes litter his skin. And goddamn, if he doesn’t feel tired. 

One benefit of the loops, he supposes, is that he has all the time in the world. He could get some sleep for once. But as soon as he wakes up, he promises himself, he’ll get back to trying to save everyone. 

His own livelihood comes as a distant afterthought. 

He wakes up. Checks the date. 

September 6th. He died in his sleep. 

His body still hurts, and his mirror is back on the wall. He tears it down, watching the glass shatter on the floor. Barely 8 in the morning, and he’s already breaking the mirror. 

The glass shards show his face. He looks more like a corpse than a person, with a cold dead look to his eyes and a stutter to his breathing that he didn’t notice before. 

Whenever he inhales, it’s like he’s inhaling gunpowder and chlorine. There’s a tinge of iron there too- probably from bashing his head one too many times. Probably from the shattering of bone and the impact of pavement and- 

He takes another shuddering breath, relishing in the sharp stabbing pain that blooms in his chest. He coughs, wheezes against his hand. It pulls away scarlet. He didn’t even have to touch the glass this time. 

Junpei comes in. He always does when he hears the mirror break. It doesn’t matter what time of day- if he’s home, he comes in. 

Makoto doesn’t bother resetting the loop. He lets Junpei check him for wounds, knowing damn well what he’ll find. Bruises and cuts and scars from injuries neither of them remember anymore. Knotted muscles and twisted scar tissue and mangled limbs. He lets Junpei look him over anyway. 

“You should seriously get some sleep, man. You look dead on your feet,” Junpei says, and Makoto almost wants to laugh. He fucking wishes. 

If only there was an easier way to do this. If only he could always reset the loop by going to sleep. At least then he’d eventually wake up rested, caught up, human. At least then he would be at peace for even a modicum of time. At least then he wouldn’t have to worry about his friends seeing him so utterly broken. 

“I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me, Junpei,” he manages to say. His voice is ragged, like he’s just spent all morning screaming. He still tastes chemicals and iron and gunpowder, still feels every single cut and scrape and bruise on his beaten body. 

Junpei’s face contorts with worry. “Get some sleep man, seriously. You look ready to collapse.” 

“...Can I tell you something, Junpei? Promise you won’t tell anyone else?” He asks suddenly, ignoring the glass on the floor. It could wait. 

“Anything, man. I’m your right-hand guy, after all!” Junpei smiles. Makoto thinks he would tear the world apart to keep that smile on his face. 

Makoto can’t fight the smile that graces his face before it falls back into the mask of neutrality he’s worn for the better half of how-many-years he’s been trapped. 

“I am stuck in a timeloop,” he says, meeting Junpei’s gaze as steadily as he can given the circumstances. His vision is blurring and he knows he’s about to collapse at any minute and why did he tell Junpei about this- 

Junpei’s expression shifts to one of shock, and his eyes widen almost comically. “Dude-! You being for real!?” 

Makoto nods. “I’m tired, Junpei. I’m so tired.” 

Junpei, to his credit, takes it with ease. “Tell me about it. Your loop, I mean.” 

Makoto sits down on the floor, avoiding the glass shards. “Where it starts depends on when I loop. For example, the last loop started September 27th. I reset the loop, and ended up here. If I don’t loop at all, it resets automatically on March 5th.” 

“...So you loop back to the day after the last full moon Shadow?” Junpei asks, tapping his fingers against his leg as he sits next to Makoto. 

“That’s right. The only time I don’t do that is October 4th. If I loop the day after, I end up at September 27th, one week before.” 

Junpei hums thoughtfully, and his next questions sends a bolt of icy dread down Makoto’s spine. 

“How do you reset?” 

Makoto looks away, stares at where the glass glitters like stars on his floor. He picks up a shard, watches it cut into his palm. He watches the beads of scarlet rise to the surface, and squeezes his hand. 

“I have to die.” 

Junpei freezes. “Any... Specific way?” He asks, and his voice is quiet. Like he’s talking to a spooked animal. Like Ken did on the rooftop. Like Yukari does when she sees him stumbling through the hallways. 

“No. But I usually use the rooftop.” 

It feels weird talking about his death so casually, mentioning how he resets the loops. It feels as though he shouldn’t be talking about this, like he should keep it to himself. 

He continues talking, ignoring the glass shards that reflect every ugly part of him. He ignores the way his eyes shine with the same dull light as a corpse, the way his skin seems to cling to his bones, the way everyone looks at him like a ghost. 

Junpei listens to him talk, holds him close and says nothing. The silence after Makoto finally stops talking is near deafening, and he wishes that Junpei would just make one of his stupid jokes already. 

“...Maybe you have to save Aragaki-senpai and yourself,” he says finally. Makoto wants to scream. He knew he had to save Shinjiro, of course, but- how could he save himself? He had to sacrifice himself to seal Nyx, he was the only one with the powers of the Wildcard. 

Junpei continues. “We should come up with a codeword. Next loop, you tell me the word and I’ll know.” 

Makoto laughs. It’s such a Junpei answer that he can’t help but go along with it. 

In the end, they settle on ‘Messiah’ as the codeword. If only Junpei knew the story behind it. 

The next time he resets the loop, there on the roof, Junpei is there with him. They don’t hold hands, there’s no dramatic speeches. But just Junpei being there is enough. 

It’s always been enough. 

OUGH ok this one hits hard. makoto losing himself of course but everyone there to witness if every loop. makoto not wanting them to see him reset... its just so hopeless to him but he still cares about everyone else. and the way you write these really adds to the feeling. i love junpei caring for makoto even if he has trouble understanding it. hes doing whatever he can to help :D ughh i love junpei and im glad theres some sort of comfort for makoto in him.

[charlesleclerc02]

Why Choose an Exhibition Stand Builder in Leipzig for Success

Leipzig, one of Germany's most dynamic trade show destinations, has become a magnet for businesses aiming to showcase their products and services to a global audience. With its strategic location, excellent infrastructure, and rich business culture, Leipzig continues to host a range of renowned exhibitions across industries. As trade show competition intensifies, companies must create unique brand experiences to make a lasting impact. That’s where partnering with a professional Exhibition Stand Builder plays a crucial role.

Why Leipzig is a Strategic Location for Exhibitions

Leipzig is home to one of Europe's most renowned and time-honoured destinations for hosting major exhibitions and international trade shows. The city attracts both global exhibitors and attendees, providing exceptional access to new markets and unparalleled opportunities for professional networking. For companies looking to expand their visibility and engage new clients, showcasing through exhibition stands in Leipzig is a smart move. With its seamless connectivity via rail, road, and air, exhibitors can easily transport their materials, and attendees can visit without hassle.

Advantages of Hiring a Local Expert

While many international companies participate in Leipzig exhibitions, having a local partner brings significant benefits. A seasoned exhibition stand builder in Leipzig understands local regulations, exhibition centre guidelines, and logistical details that international firms may overlook. This local expertise ensures on-time execution and minimizes the chances of last-minute issues during setup. Hiring a local partner not only saves time but also reduces costs by eliminating the need to ship bulky structures across borders.

Custom Design Tailored to Your Brand Identity

A standard booth setup can easily blend into the background and fail to capture the attention of attendees. To rise above the noise, businesses need custom-made stands that tell their story. A reliable Exhibition Stand Builder like Blueprint Global crafts booths that reflect the core values, identity, and voice of your brand. Through close collaboration, they tailor the design to emphasize your unique selling points while ensuring your message resonates effectively with the target audience. Every element, from lighting to materials, is selected to enhance your presence on the floor.

End-to-End Project Management

When dealing with tight deadlines and high expectations, a full-service solution becomes indispensable. Partnering with an experienced exhibition stand builder in Leipzig, such as Blueprint Global, means more than just obtaining a structure; it means receiving comprehensive support from concept to dismantling. From 3D design and fabrication to transport, installation, and storage, everything is taken care of under one roof. This integrated approach ensures consistency in quality and simplifies communication throughout the project.

Adaptability to Diverse Exhibition Needs

Trade fairs differ in size, theme, and audience. Whether it's a high-tech B2B event or a consumer-focused showcase, your stand must adapt to the setting. Companies like Blueprint Global are skilled in designing modular exhibition stands in Leipzig that can be reused and reconfigured for multiple events. This not only supports sustainability but also provides value for money over time. These adaptable designs keep your brand fresh without requiring a complete redesign for every show.

Technical Precision and On-Site Expertise

Exhibiting successfully is more than just visual appeal; functionality plays a crucial role as well. Expert builders ensure that lighting, audio-visual setups, connectivity, and spacing are optimised for both staff and visitors, providing a seamless experience. Technical elements are executed with precision, ensuring that every corner of your stand serves a purpose. During the event, on-site support professionals ensure that everything runs smoothly, addressing unexpected issues immediately without disruption.

Brand Perception and Lead Conversion

The design and structure of your exhibition booth play a crucial role in shaping how visitors interpret and remember your brand. A professionally designed stand built by a trusted Exhibition Stand Builder not only attracts more foot traffic but also encourages deeper engagement. Blueprint Global understands how to create inviting spaces that allow for meaningful conversations. Comfortable meeting areas, interactive displays, and eye-catching graphics work together to convert curious visitors into potential leads.

Sustainability as a Growing Priority

With sustainability gaining momentum in the exhibition world, many companies are under pressure to minimize their environmental impact. Working with a forward-thinking exhibition stand builder in Leipzig ensures that your booth is crafted using eco-conscious materials and methods. Reusable designs, energy-efficient lighting, and recyclable structures not only lower your carbon footprint but also align your brand with modern values. This responsible approach helps build a positive impression among attendees.

Cost Efficiency Without Compromising Quality

Strategic financial planning is essential when preparing to participate in a trade show. A carefully selected builder offers the perfect blend of affordability and high-quality craftsmanship. Blueprint Global, with its local knowledge and extensive experience, helps clients make informed choices without compromising visual or structural integrity. Through innovative design and material selection, they optimize resources while maintaining a high-end finish that supports your business objectives.

Conclusion

Participating in trade shows in Leipzig is a gateway to vast opportunities, but standing out requires more than simply showing up. To maximize impact, working with an experienced Exhibition Stand Builder who understands the market, local regulations, and your brand is essential. A reputable partner like Blueprint Global brings creativity, professionalism, and logistical excellence to every project. Whether you're new to exhibiting or a seasoned participant, partnering with a local specialist can enhance your brand visibility and play a crucial role in achieving impactful results at the exhibition. With thoughtful planning and a strong builder at your side, your exhibition stands in Leipzig can become a powerful extension of your brand.

[coworkingspacesinmumbai]

Office Space for Rent in Andheri East, Mumbai: Your Ultimate Guide

Coworking Spaces in Andheri East

Are you on the lookout for the perfect office space for rent in Andheri East, Mumbai? Whether you're a startup, an established company, or a freelancer, finding the right office space can significantly impact your productivity and business success. Andheri East, known for its bustling commercial activity, offers a variety of options to cater to diverse professional needs. In this blog, we'll explore the benefits and options of coworking spaces in Andheri East, dedicated office spaces, and shared office spaces in this prime location.

Why Choose Andheri East for Your Office Space?

Andheri East has emerged as one of Mumbai's leading business districts, thanks to its strategic location and well-developed infrastructure. Here are some key reasons why Andheri East is an excellent choice for renting office spaces:

Excellent Connectivity: Andheri East is well-connected by road, rail, and air. It is close to the Western Express Highway, the Andheri railway station, and the Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport. This makes it convenient for employees and clients to commute.

Vibrant Business Ecosystem: The area is home to numerous multinational corporations, IT companies, financial institutions, and media houses. This bustling business ecosystem provides ample networking opportunities and a dynamic environment for professionals.

Amenities and Infrastructure: Andheri East boasts world-class amenities, including premium office buildings, hotels, restaurants, shopping centers, and healthcare facilities. This ensures a comfortable and convenient working environment for your team.

Exploring Office Space Options in Andheri East

Coworking Spaces in Andheri East

Coworking spaces in Andheri East have gained immense popularity due to their flexibility and cost-effectiveness. These spaces offer a collaborative environment where individuals and companies from various industries work under one roof. Here's why you should consider coworking spaces:

Flexible Terms: Coworking spaces offer flexible rental plans ranging from daily to monthly memberships. This is ideal for startups and freelancers who may not want to commit to long-term leases.

Networking Opportunities: The shared environment encourages networking and collaboration, allowing you to connect with like-minded professionals and potential partners.

State-of-the-Art Facilities: Most coworking spaces are equipped with modern amenities such as high-speed internet, conference rooms, ergonomic furniture, and recreational areas.

Dedicated Office Spaces in Andheri East

If you prefer a more private and exclusive working environment, dedicated office spaces in Andheri East are an excellent choice. These spaces provide you with your own office area, ensuring privacy and a quiet atmosphere. Key benefits include:

Customization: You can customize the space to reflect your brand's identity and culture.

Security: Dedicated offices typically offer enhanced security measures, giving you peace of mind.

Professional Image: Having a dedicated office space in a prestigious location like Andheri East adds credibility to your business and impresses clients.

Shared Office Space in Andheri East

Shared office space in Andheri East is a cost-effective solution that combines the benefits of coworking and dedicated offices. In a shared office setup, multiple companies share a large office space while maintaining separate work areas. Here's why shared offices are worth considering:

Cost Savings: Sharing office space allows you to split the costs of rent, utilities, and other expenses, making it an economical choice.

Collaborative Environment: While you have your own workspace, the shared layout fosters interaction and collaboration among different teams.

Access to Facilities: Enjoy access to communal facilities such as meeting rooms, lounges, and kitchen areas without the burden of upkeep.

Tips for Finding the Perfect Office Space in Andheri East

Finding the right office space for rent in Andheri East requires careful consideration. Here are some tips to help you make an informed decision:

Define Your Needs: Determine your space requirements, budget, and desired amenities. This will narrow down your options and make the search more efficient.

Visit Multiple Locations: Schedule visits to different coworking spaces, dedicated offices, and shared spaces to get a feel of the environment and facilities.

Check Lease Terms: Review the lease terms carefully, focusing on the duration, rent escalation clauses, and additional costs.

Consider Future Growth: Choose a space that can accommodate your future growth. It's better to have slightly more space than you currently need rather than moving frequently.

Seek Professional Help: Engage with real estate agents or property consultants who specialize in the Andheri East commercial market. They can provide valuable insights and assistance.

Conclusion

Andheri East offers a plethora of options for office spaces, catering to the diverse needs of businesses and professionals. Whether you opt for coworking spaces, dedicated offices, or shared office spaces in Andheri East, you're sure to find a space that suits your requirements. By choosing this prime location, you can enjoy excellent connectivity, top-notch amenities, and a vibrant business ecosystem that propels your venture towards success.

Ready to make the move? Explore the possibilities and set

[imperialchem]

Powering the Future of Railways: A Comprehensive Guide to Connectors for Railway Traction

In the context of global advancements towards sustainable and efficient transportation alternatives, there is a notable resurgence in the prominence of railways.  The utilisation of railways as a primary means of transportation for both passengers and freight is on the rise, mostly due to the advantageous environmental attributes and cost-efficiency associated with this method of transport.  The complex technology that drives modern railway systems is crucial for their performance, with a key element being the connectors employed for railway propulsion.  Reliability you can depend upon.  Elevate your railway systems with premium railway traction connectors manufactured and supplied by Radiant Enterprises - one of the distinguished Railway Traction Connectors manufacturers in India!

This thorough guide aims to provide an in-depth analysis of railway traction connectors, examining their importance, various types, advantages, and potential prospects in the future.  A comprehensive grasp of these connectors is imperative for individuals engaged in the railway sector, as they assume a crucial function in propelling the advancement of trains and cultivating an environmentally friendly transportation infrastructure.

The Importance of Railway Traction Connectors:

This thorough guide aims to provide an in-depth analysis of railway traction connectors, examining their importance, various types, advantages, and potential prospects in the future.  A comprehensive grasp of these connectors is imperative for individuals engaged in the railway sector, as they assume a crucial function in propelling the advancement of trains and cultivating an environmentally friendly transportation infrastructure.

Types of Railway Traction Connectors:

·         Pantographs:

Pantographs represent the prevailing form of connectors employed in electric trains.  The pantographs, located on the train's roof, establish a connection with the overhead wires, facilitating the transfer of electrical power to the train.  Contemporary pantographs are outfitted with advanced sensors and control systems, enabling them to adjust to fluctuating voltage levels and maintain a consistent power provision.

·      Third Rail Collectors:

The utilisation of a third rail as a power source is observed in certain railway systems, where trains derive electrical energy from an additional rail positioned adjacent to the tracks.  Third-rail collectors are dynamic connectors that establish an electrical connection by sliding and making contact with the third rail.  This approach is commonly observed in specific urban transport networks owing to its straightforwardness and economical nature.

Benefits of Advanced Railway Traction Connectors:

·         Enhanced Efficiency:

Contemporary connections utilised in railway traction systems are engineered with the objective of minimising power losses during gearbox, hence leading to enhanced energy efficiency.  The achievement of efficient power transmission results in a decrease in energy consumption and a reduction in operating expenses for railway operators.

·         Reliability and Safety:

The utilisation of premium materials and cutting-edge engineering in the production of connectors guarantees a dependable and secure electrical linkage, hence enhancing reliability and safety.  This improves the dependability and security of railway operations, hence mitigating the likelihood of power disruptions and incidents.

·         Reduced Maintenance:

Connector designs that are more advanced sometimes possess self-cleaning capabilities, hence aiding in the prevention of the accumulation of dirt, debris, and ice on the contact surfaces.  The implementation of this self-cleaning technology results in a reduction in maintenance demands and a decrease in downtime, hence enhancing operational availability.

·         Sustainability:

The utilisation of electric trains, which are fueled by renewable energy sources, plays a substantial role in mitigating greenhouse gas emissions and addressing the issue of climate change.  The utilisation of high-quality traction connectors is of paramount importance in expediting the acceptance and implementation of sustainable transportation systems.

The Future of Railway Traction Connectors:

The ongoing progress of technology will inevitably lead to the further development of railway traction connectors.  Transform railway electrification with the advanced Railway Traction Connectors supplied by Radiant Enterprises.  Request a sample today!

·         Smart Connectivity:

The integration of the Internet of Things (IoT) and Industry 4.0 has led to the expectation that railway traction connectors will contain intelligent functionalities.  The utilisation of real-time data monitoring and analytics has the potential to facilitate predictive maintenance, hence enhancing the efficiency and durability of the connectors.

·         Lightweight and Durable Materials:

The field of material science has the potential to facilitate the creation of connector materials that possess both lightweight properties and exceptional durability.  This may potentially result in a reduction in the overall weight of trains, hence enhancing their energy efficiency.

·         High-Speed Rail:

The global demand for high-speed rail networks is experiencing a notable increase.  In order to facilitate the operation of faster trains while ensuring safety and efficiency, future traction connectors will be required to accommodate elevated levels of voltage and current.

·         Wireless Charging:

Wireless charging technology is now being investigated by researchers as a potential solution for trains.  Potential future connectors have the potential to integrate wireless charging capabilities, hence obviating the necessity for direct physical contact between the train and the power source.

Final Thoughts:

The railway industry is positioned to assume a crucial role in influencing the trajectory of sustainable transport in the future.  In order to realise this vision, the utilisation of modern technology, such as railway traction connectors, will play a pivotal role.  As we progress, allocating resources towards research and development in order to create inventive and dependable connector solutions will not only propel the future of railway systems but also make a significant contribution towards a more environmentally friendly and efficient global landscape.  The ongoing advancement of connector technology holds promise for the development of a more environmentally sustainable and interconnected railway system that will benefit future generations.  Explore the optimal solution for your railway projects.  Explore a diverse range of railway traction connectors offered by Radiant Enterprises - one of the trusted Railway Traction Connectors manufacturers in India!

[danwhobrowses]

My Highlights of WWE Payback 2023

Yet another uneventful week from the most uneventful, unnewsworthy and uncontroversial sport on the planet...

But it's time for WWE Payback, a smaller card from WWE without Roman, Iyo, Gunther or the Women's tag champions, but a solid set of matches with a John Cena injection at least peaks some interest into the show, so let's see what we got.

Spoilers for Payback, also reminder this will only be positive highlights, because we deserve to just talk about some positive stuff in wrestling

Grayson Waller is a dick but he's got charisma, crashing the kick-off was a nice touch to build up his segment with Cody, I kinda liked how we was 'if I get punched in the face, maybe that's what I want' because yeah a heel would want a reaction

Pittsburgh Crowd is hot for Payback which is cool, I was kinda worried that Wembley would ruin crowd noises for me but I love the noise, Pittsburgh often have good crowds if I recall

Widow's Peak by Trish and Twist of Fate by Becky was a nice callback

A cage roof Tree of Woe was unique

It was a very good finish and the right woman won, props to all the women

The match aftermath too should put Zoey Stark on the right path

Knight and Cena squaring up was a nice tease

It's fucking hilarious that they had Cinnamon Toast Crunch sponsor not one, but two Rey Mysterio PPV matches XD At some point Rey's gonna be feuding with that cereal

I like the context given for Rey's gear as well, we've had a year of Heel Dominik, which also means a year of the Judgement Day laughing meme

I do like that we're carrying on with Tiffany Stratton's botch of saying Becky was a former NXT Women's champion by teasing Becky going to NXT, and honestly I think she should. She deserves to complete the grand slam set like her fellow horsewomen

Easy heat for Finn to stamp on the yellow towel things Pittsburgh likes

Owens with the Terry Funk shirt

Quick Hockey jersey costume change too was fun

The Swanton was a good spot, I feel bad for Owens' legs though he overshot it a little

Ripley with the Chyna gear sending Owens through the barricade (Barry's already dead though, Simon already killed him)

Judgement Day winning was surprising, though I don't mind them holding all the gold (meaning that Finn got his Grand Slam too; UNI, IC, US and now Unified Tag titles)

Grayson "I'm not gonna fight in front of these beautiful trees" Waller

Again, Rhea Ripley and her Chyna gear, Buddy tell us your secrets...or just me, tell me your secrets

Cena keeping Southpaw Regional Wrestling alive referencing Lance Catamaran, even the pink bow tie

Shinsuke with almost a Wrestle Kingdom-esque entrance

Muta in the crowd

Nakamura caressing Seth's lower back for the mind games

Seth almost got Montez Ford height with that Frog Splash

Conclusion Overall it was a nice show. In my honest opinion I think there was a bit of hyperbole going on, I wouldn't call any match a 5-star classic (not compared to the cage matches, texas tornado, stadium stampedes and anarchy in the arena matches we've had) but they were still really good. Some booking didn't go the way I expected them to but I'm not mad about it, though other matches did feel like they dragged, could've benefitted from having one more match on the card like Gable/Gunther or a Women's Tag Title defense. All in all it was good from WWE, and sometimes that's good enough.

Match of the Night: Gotta hand it to the Steel City Street Fight, do love me a bit of chaos and it just edges the Steel Cage match. Best Entrance: Nakamura especially with his whole comic buildup thing. Best Attire: Rhea with the Chyna homage, easy one given how Seth and Becky went tame again with the outfits. Best Performance: Give it a tie to Trish and Becky, both women had something to prove opening the show and worked hard to start strong. Spot of the Night: Owens' Swanton off the railings to Dom. He overshot it a little but it was definitely the high spot of the night.