specklesinthevoid

[specklesinthevoid]

hope it's clear to everyone when i say that buffy has more chemistry with her female foils then she ever had with an actual boyfriend that spike doesn't count. he was buffy's girlfriend

[specklesinthevoid]

To the Silent Screams and Wildest Dreams (Bedelia x OC) part 1

So I have had the craziest idea and so I have been writing it. So here's a sneak peak to the very first chapter. Hope yall like it.

“I'm on my guard for the rest of the world

But with you I know its no good

And I could wait patiently

But I really wish you would”

~Taylor Swift

Evelynn VanDein never understood why blushing was seen as attractive. The normal light pink that seemed to be painted on by feather-light brushes was never her blush; as far as she was concerned, that kind of blush was a fictitious lie told by Hollywood to the mass public. No, her blushes were an irritant, and her cheeks were not their only victim. No, red splotches outlined continents on her neck, and even beneath her attire, she would never dare to acknowledge the sharp electricity that coursed seemingly from her feet to the tip of her nose.

Indeed blushing for Evelynn was an experience she didn’t enjoy, and she definitely didn’t appreciate it when other people coaxed it out of her with feathered whispers that were meant to be left unsaid.

This time, her blotchy cheeks could be blamed on the woman from across the bar, the woman who was nursing a glass of red wine in one hand and smiling at her for no good reason except that Evelynn existed in her presence. One second of eye contact had turned into an unspoken challenge, the silence between them holding more meaning than words that would be later whispered in each other’s presence while bedsheets tangled beneath their bare bodies full of lust  and prickled skin. 

Evelynn, however, could deal with the silence. When the woman’s lips curved in acknowledgment and she raised the glass to her lips, the electricity began in Evelynn’s feet. The eye contact might lead to conversation, which might lead to skin, which might lead to emotion, which might lead to love.

Evelynn hadn’t given romance a second thought in years. She would even like to believe that her brain had marked it as incongruent with her lifestyle. Romance, in Evelynn’s experience, was complicated, painful, and you could get most of the same chemicals from eating a bar of chocolate. And after one too many heartbreaks, she found herself pretending to ignore the wishful thinking her helpless romantic heart sometimes sent her way. Like what it was doing right now, with the woman across the bar. 

Sitting at a bar alone on one’s 34th birthday is enough to make anyone debate these logical decisions Evelynn soon declared to herself. It was merely a temptation, a body, a woman. A woman with a beautiful face and long fingers that seemed to be delicate yet dangerous simultaneously while she lifted her glass to her lips once again. Evelynn blinked back errant thoughts of what those lips could feel like pressed to skin instead of glass. She had never been one for casual hookups, a self-proclaimed serial monogamous, Evelynn formed attachments quickly and passionately (although if cornered she would never admit to such).

But social anxiety won over and Evelynn remained in her seat, ignoring her Freudian Id. Ignoring the temptation; instead opting to ask for a glass of water from the bartender and she gazed quietly at her phone, responding to birthday messages and breaking her own work-life boundaries by checking her email countless times.

She could still feel the woman’s glimpses though.

 The alcohol had probably gotten to her head again. She had averted her gaze while her brain debated every millisecond of eye contact she and the stranger had. It was almost as if this woman were daring her to make the first move. This revelation caused Evelynn to chuckle to herself. Yeah right.

Evelynn’s racing heart only doubled tempo as she saw the woman gesturing for her tab and  paying the bartender. Whether their eyes met again was up to the universe, but when Evelynn looked back to her drink she felt her insides twisting with incorrigible anxiety. How pathetic. 

When she dared to raise her gaze once again, the woman was indeed gone, the stool left vacant. Evelynn soon after decided to forgo her losses and stood as well, quickly paying her bill and leaving the bar to hail a taxi back to her apartment. Hoping to god the woman wasn’t standing outside, she stepped into the brisk night air and took a breath when her golden waves were not immediately spotted. 

Raising a single hand beside the street, Evelynn began to shift through her night’s thoughts, of those she was willing to keep and those she would forgo. A voice brought her out of her thoughts: a stranger. Evelynn quickly turned to see the woman speaking on the phone, eyes focused on the street and not on Evelynn herself.

Her voice was distinct, recognizable, and had an air of vacancy that can only be acquired through years of stress. Evelynn presumed herself to have the same air in her voice, albeit from different sources. The ever listener in her kept an ear open to forthcoming conversation, creepy though it may seem to the average onlooker. She still had time to call a taxi. 

The bit of conversation was dull, but the voice still pried at her mind. The longer Evelynn listened, the more recognizable it became. It sounded as if she had heard her before, in one of her classes. 

Class.

The voice finally clicked for Evelynn, and she quickly recognized the woman as Doctor Du Maurier, one of the many presenters at the last conference Evelynn and a few of her students had attended with the rest of the psychology department in winter. Dr. Du Maurier had given a presentation over the minds of psychopaths she had gained from research she had completed as an assist to the FBI. It was one of the lectures Evelynn had wanted to hear as a forensic neuropsychologist but only a few of her students could stomach the details the doctor went into. The presentation had held Evelynn’s attention more than she had predicted, but not from interest, but from the doctor's presentation of it. It was too clean, obviously, most of the speakers at conferences were, but something about Du Maurier’s story seemed almost edited. Not made up, no, there were too many facts, but something had been glossed over. 

None of her students had mentioned anything, so Evelynn had tucked the presentation into her memory as merely intriguing. But Evelynn had no longing to debate traumatic events on a mere hunch, so it was merely a shock to see the doctor in Cleveland after visiting D.C. months prior.

Interesting indeed.

Evelynn didn’t even notice the woman hanging up her phone, depositing it into her bag, and stepping closer to the street, also hailing a taxi.

The war began again in Evelynn’s brain, no longer was she an attractive and mysterious woman, but now she was a doctor, a fellow intellectual who could keep a conversation. That much had been obvious from her presentation. Along with being deemed as an incomplete story, Dr. Du Maurier had also seemed like a person Evelynn would genuinely get along with even in a setting outside of a classroom or conference. 

In the end, it was the weather that caused what happened next. As the sky opened up and began to pelt Cleveland’s streets, a singular taxi arrived in front of Evelynn. Whether it was from curiosity or the alcohol, Evelynn made a split-minute decision by offering to share the taxi with the doctor. 

Du Maurier looked startled but quickly rushed into the cab, and Evelynn slid in behind her. 

The driver asked for a location and Evelynn quickly looked to Du Maurier to see if she would speak first. She quickly spoke the address of a hotel in the city. The driver nodded and began driving. The two women made eye contact once more.

“Thank you,” the doctor said, “it would have been a painfully wet wait for another cab.”

“Of course,” Evelynn replied, a smile pulling at her lips, “the least I can do.” She willed for the electric feeling in her feet to stay.

“Bedelia.” She offers her hand.

“Evelynn.” Taking the hand, she refrained from mentioning that she had heard her present. Evelynn was not inept at what subjects to bring up during long taxi rides. 

Oddly enough, the conversation did not stop there. Bedelia conversed politely for the next few minutes until Evelynn could honestly say that the woman had her forgetting they were in a taxi. The conversation soon developed into similar fascinations shared between them, and Evelynn found herself smiling more than she had in a long time. Their conversation of mundane soon transitioned to one of mystery and murder, and Evelynn soon found herself bringing up one of the case studies she had worked on years prior.

“And so there we were, in an abandoned classroom at like 2AM trying to finish this case study, when Beverly goes right up to the chalkboard in the classroom and does this elaborate web of ideas that eventually states that the Zodiac Killer was actually this really old politician who lived in the UK.” Bedelia’s eyes were bright with laughter as Evelynn explained how both of their young college brains had been muddled with conspiracy theories that made sense if you were tired enough. 

“And did you actually turn it in?” Bedelia asked, leaning forward more, eyes gliding briefly to Evelynn’s lips. A smile grazed her face as she raised her eyes to peer back at Evelynn as if to make her feel as if she were the only truly important thing in the whole world.

“Of course we turned it in. Best B+ I ever received. It's why I give credit to the creatives in my classes now, especially if they are in an intro class.” Evelynn shook her head and smiled at the ceiling of the cab. “Everyone on campus knows if you get me to laugh, you’ll pass my class. Granted that's hard shit to do since I teach the forensic psychology courses that tend to lean more on the gruesome side of psychology.”

“You seem like a very interesting individual, Dr. Evelynn VanDein.” Bedelia’s voice on its own was inebriating, but coupled with her mirthful eyes and her right leg that was grazing Evelynn’s own, it was almost as if Evelynn was completely enamored with the doctor.

Eventually, the taxi pulled over and their trip had come to a stop. Stories that were earlier flowing out of each woman now grew dry as Evelynn held her breath of what was to come next. After paying the taxi driver for the trip, Bedelia held out her hand in a question, “join me?”

Evelynn did.

[specklesinthevoid]

What if... Wednesday's therapist was actually Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier while she was on the run from Hannibal between seasons 1 and 2. Bedelia is also an outcast and has the power of intuition (where she can't predict exactly what will happen, but she knows what choice will be the best for her at that moment)... And she sees this magnificent, blonde woman with painted red lips from her window as Wednesday gets out of the car and suddenly knows she must get to know this woman and that she is necessary for Bedelia to remain in Jericho... Just a thought

[specklesinthevoid]

I firmly believe that Bedelia meets her wife at a bar during season 2. Just. Imagine.

They would meet at the bar and her future wife would be terrified to talk to the pretty blonde woman who just walked in wearing a leather pencil skirt that left everything and yet nothing to the imagination. In fact, she wouldn't even try to make eye contact at first, too preoccupied with not staring.

Bedelia, however, would stare. She would fucking see this other woman, hair cropped short and slicked to her head, blazer hanging off the stool behind her, button-up crinkled due to a long day, hands holding a glass under her lips. She'd be at the bar too, tired from a long day of classes and grant writing (grants which she was still working on at the bar). She hadn't come for her, rather for a co-workers birthday.

Said co-worker was currently drunk off their ass and dancing to some Taylor Swift song that wasn't even made for dancing-- mind you it's not even the kind of bar made for dancing.

But Bedelia didn't care about the drunk dancers. All her mind could see was the woman who was clearly with them but trying so hard not to be perceived as being with them.

Oh Bedelia would stare all right, but her wife would make the first move. She would eventually roll her shoulders from their slumped posture at the bar, and keen directly at Bedelia. And she would smirk. She would close her laptop at last and say something quickly to her more sober coworkers and begin to move towards Bedelia.

"What was the grant for?" Of course Bedelia would know the specific look on a professor's face that they got when writing a grant proposal for research.

"What a fascinating introduction," her wife would say, "I can honestly say I have not heard that one before."

Then she would continue to explain in two words her work in in forensics neuroscience (or something like that).

Bedelia would mention her past work in psychiatry.

Both of these idiots would then have a thirty minute discussion over one very particular amygdala nucleus and the connection it has to psychopathy without even introducing themselves.

Right when her wife goes to leave she passes Bedelia her business card. "For if you want to get drinks without all the work talk." And then she'd be gone.

The card would say Evelynn VanDien Ph.D.