#hannibal finally makes one just titled ‟will‟

[marksbear2]

Hi papa could we get literally any slashers w reader faking an orgasm. I just think that would be interesting. Have a nice day 💕

I kept laughing when I was writing this dude 😭. I lowkey love this request like it’s something I never got before. I don’t even know what to with the title 😭. I’m probably gonna do a pt2 on this with slashers like Norman and Brahms

SLASHERS WITH READER WHO FAKES ORGASMS.

⚠️ Warnings!- Multi slashers, mix top and bottom reader. Short but sweet, fake organs ofc, Jason, Hannibal, both ghostface original killers and Michael.

JASON VOORHEES

He was mostly confused, he heard your fake moaning and awkwardness but he didn’t think much of it at first.

When he tried to go again you quickly told him you were tired and needed to get rest so he allowed it. When you left to the bathroom he noticed that the sheets didn’t have cum on them.

He sat there waiting for you to come back and when you did he stared at you silently for the whole time in his own mind. He rethinks y’all’s two entire sex life.

He sat there nervously and anxiously wanting to bring it up so bad but didn’t have the courage to. But the next time you two had sex and you faked orgasmed again he was sick of it and sat there annoyed waiting for your explanation. If you can’t provide one he thinks that he’s the worse person ever at sex.

BILLY & STU (GHOSTFACE)

“Did you even cum?” Billy asked as he watched you pull out and listened to you say yes. Stu and Billy exchanged a look as they was you dispose of the condom. “He definitely didnt cum you must be a bad fu-“ Stu was about to tease but Billy shoved him before he could finish.

The two talked about it ever since then trying to get to the bottom of why did you fake cum.

Next time having sex you was fucking Stu as Billy was jerking himself off to it, Stu already came about two times so you wanted to wrap things up. You began to awkwardly and trying have a convincingly good orgasm.

Both Stu and Billy picked up on it and laughed at you, not in the mean way just teasingly. Now they try their best to make you cum.

MICHAEL MYERS

While being bent over and Michael pounding you from behind. You made your body tense up and began to let out more moans then “came.” With Michael being nowhere near done with you he grabbed your cock to jerk you off while you came but as he did it he felt your cock not pump out anything.

You could feel his judging eyes from the dark mask he kept going until he finally came himself before dragging you on the bed to jerk you off wanting to see are you even able to cum.

If you don’t he doesn’t care, but if you have another fake orgasm he watches and stares.

HANNIBAL LECTER

He noticed the moment that you seemed that you’re not getting any pleasure from this at all. He saw your body language and the way you moved.

As you fake came, he was laying on his back thinking with a small smile tugged at his lips when he heard and saw your fake moans and movement. Grabbing you by the back of your hair before you could pull out.

He was quick to confront you, pressing you about it until you actually gave him an answer. Since he is a bit curious and asks you way too many questions about Whats wrong.

THE END

[angelbarelywritesslashers]

♡ slashers scenarios | kisses! (part two)

♡ fandoms; Friday the 13th, House of Wax, Scream (kinda), Hannibal (TV), Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Jason Vorhees, Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Danny Johnson, Hannibal Lecter

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; suggestive content

♡ notes; i swear i have consistent groups of characters picked out i swearrrr

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Jason Vorhees

> at first, he’s hesitant to even kiss

> one, it’s a gateway to more- part of his brain is still nagging at him for being involved with someone at all

> two, he doesn’t want you to see his face any more than you have to

> but god does he love it when you finally do kiss him, promising not to look and gently pushing his mask away with your eyes closed

> he suddenly gets what the big deal is and he’s hungry for more

> even if you’re super clingy, he’s ten times worse

> he wants to carry you everywhere- no one can bug you that way

> and it’s super easy to kiss you when he doesn’t have to stoop down (in comic canon he’s 7 ft we’re keeping that whew)

> sometimes when he doesn’t want to take off the mask- usually when he’s taking a break from working- he’ll just affectionately bump foreheads with you

> kinda like a giant cat, but he considers it a kiss

> he’d be worried for your health if you actually kiss the mask, he knows it ain’t clean lol

> you’d have to beg really nicely for hickies- and no way he’s biting you, he’s so nice

> he gets very flustered if you give him marks- but he’ll stare and admire at them in the mirror all the time until they fade

> his favorite kisses are first thing in the morning, when you yawn awake and gently press one to his cheek or forehead

> he loves that the first thing you do each day is love on him

Bo Sinclair

> king of PDA

> he’d call himself that unironically too

> to be fair usually there’s not many people around

> but on rare outings out of Ambrose, he makes good on the title

> he’s always got a hand in your back pocket , or on the small of your back, or around you completely.

> and his face pressed into your temple every opportunity, mumbling quietly to you whatever dumb joke he can think of and giving you little kisses

> he’s a biter, definitely loves marking you up and then bragging about it.

> on your neck, but in less visible places as well. thighs are a favorite

> he’ll go as far as to show you off to planned victims if it’s safe enough

> as soon as you’re alone together, even for the briefest amount of time, he pounces

> he kisses you rough and deep and creeps a hand up your shirt

> usually he stops just at your tummy, but that’s more frustrating

> and if he feels like being a little shit- which he always does, he takes more than a second to pull away when someone walks back in

> he’d never admit it, but the kisses most precious to him are the ones that no one else will ever see. ever

> he has night terrors often. he went through so much abuse and trauma as a child that it’s inevitable

> and each time he wakes up screaming, you hold him tight

> his head on your chest as you kiss the top of his head and rock gently

Vincent Sinclair

> he’s shy. eventually for you he comes out of his shell, but when it comes to PDA his anxiety always present.

> he doesn’t like his brothers seeing you kiss. or the dog

> he will hold your hand in front of them at least, and he doesn’t complain when you ghost your lips over his knuckles

> alone it’s a completely different story

> he loves holding and being held, your face hidden his hair and giving him gentle neck and jaw kisses

> the quickest way to get the mask off is to ask for a kiss

> he’s a sucker for that cute pout you do

> and he’s eager to oblige anyways, almost methodical with his gentle kisses

> he always has a hand on your cheek, and kisses slowly, savoring it

> and then he usually moves down, worshipping every sensitive spot

> he likes receiving marks more than giving- but if he does give you a hickey it’s getting photographed and drawn

> you’re his muse after all

> and he’ll go through periods fixated with drawing your mouth and neck when you’ve got these little love marks

> (and i have just. the clearest image in my mind of him putting on black lipstick and covering you kisses for a portrait he wants to paint. i don’t know if that’s anything but it’s definitely cute.)

> his favorite kisses are the most simple, when you’re checking in on him at work

> you don’t say anything, just hand him a mug and peck the mask

> and if he’s lucky you’ll linger, arms around him and chin on his shoulder as you peek at the canvas or little sculpture

Danny Johnson

> second runner up for king of PDA

> he’s slightly more relaxed, though he’s one to keep at least slight contact when he’s around you

> he’s just so possessive

> he trusts you wholeheartedly, but he doesn’t think other people deserve to even check you out

> so if someone looks too long he’ll give you a lingering kiss that makes you giggle

> because you kind of love his jealous streak- it’s playful even if he acts so serious

> he wouldn’t hurt anyone for just looking. probably

> he’s another freak that loves the mask kissed

> and also, another freak with a documentation kink- every single bruise and bite gets photographed

> and sometimes he’ll take a shot of you kiss drunk, lips swollen and eyes hazy and panting right after he pulls away

> those are his favorite pictures

> he loves coming home, still bloodied and suited up

> pushing his mask up and pulling you close to make out in the kitchen

> even if you’re whining that he’s staining your pajamas again

> he’ll tell you to shut up and put you on the counter, kissing you while standing between your legs

> and then he’ll kiss your neck, then chest, then stomach then…well you get the picture

Hannibal Lecter

> he’s an expert in everything he does- kissing is no exception

> he is surprisingly chaste most of the time

> he loves giving kisses on the cheek, the forehead, the top of the head especially

> and he’ll certainly briefly hug you and hold your hand in public, but nothing more

> it can be frustrating at times, especially if you’re an attention hungry person or particularly insecure

> and when you tell that this his eyes soften and he holds you close, murmuring reassurance

> from then on he tries to be more mindful of reading your cues and giving you plenty of love when you need it

> he loves when you ask for kisses

> whether it’s “pretty please kiss me?” or “can i kiss you?” , he loves when you look up at him all shy and mumble out the question

> he’s got a… dominant personality, he loves when you ask or ask permission for lots of things

> especially bites and hickies

> you’ve got to beg to get him to mark you- not that he’s hesitant to-he just likes it.

> and when he starts it’s all night, everywhere

> he’ll coo over you and tell you how nicely you bruise

> if you ever mark him, you’re in trouble

> the fun kind, but still trouble

> he loves breathless kisses- the kind you give him after doing something incredibly lewd

> just so full of affection and desperation and sloppy

[starrlikesbooks]

Behold! The books I'm most excited to get to read in 2025!

Check for links and details under the cut!

Adrift in Currents Clean and Clear by Seanan McGuire is the newest Wayward Children book! This one takes place in a Drowned World, with giant turtles.

I Am Made of Death by Kelly Andrews is a horror romance starring the signing interpreter of a selective mute who is also an heiress! I loved Andrews' last book, which hd lush folk horror vibes, and this one has a gorgeous cover and involves curses and a spiritual exorcism, so I'm IN.

Love Points to You by Alice Lin is about someone making a dating sim! And the MC being hired as character designer. This is an Asian-led sapphic romance, and as a dating sim fan, I'm super pumped.

They Bloom at Night by Trang Thanh Tran is a horror novel full of mutated monsters, and a cult-ish submerged town where the MC and her mother are stuck, where the people believe their dead family have reincarnated as sea monsters. The summary also heavily implies the MC has monstrous qualities.

What Wakes the Bells by Elle Tesch involves malevolent souls trapped in bells and fighting gargoyles! This sounds like an exciting fantasy world with a really fun adventure.

I Am the Swarm by Hayley Chewins is a trauma-centric horror with a magical bloodline and the power/curse of summoning insects. This one really leans into female rage, and I'm really interested in the magic.

Holy Terrors by Margaret Owen is the third (and I think final!) book in the Little Thieves series! Fairytale-retelling fantasy with a snarky, morally gray, damaged MC (whom I love)

Roll for Love by M.K. England is one of my favorite kinds of books coming out lately- a D&D based romance! This one involves a new campaign & roleplaying group after a big move, and a no-dating rule giving some tension.

The Summer I Ate the Rich by Maika Moulite & Maritza Moulite is Haitian-American Hannibal story! It's also a zombie story.

The Floating World by Axie Oh was pitched as an amnesiac sword-for-hire teaming up with a theatre troupe performer with mysterious powers, and I don't need to know any more than that!

Don't Let Me Go by Kevin Christopher Snipes is Snipes' second book- and I was absolutely gut punched by the queer tenderness and mental revelations of his first book. This one will also break me, as it's about two boys trapped in a reincarnation cycle.

And They Were Roommates by Page Powars should need no further explanation than the title!! But in case it's not- this is an MLM story of a stealth trans boy coming to a new school, where- unbeknownst to the roommate- he's roomed with his former, pre-transition fling.

Nobody in Particular by Sophie Gonzales is a royalty romance at a boarding school, and it's sapphic! This has a disgraced princess falling for the new girl pianist 😍 As a big believer in Gonzales, I am lined up.

The Listeners by Maggie Stiefvater is not my normal kind of read! This is historical fiction, taking place at a hotel/spa in the 1940s- but Stiefvater wrote one of my favorite series, The Rave Boys (and The Dreamer Trilogy!), and she'd super excited about it, so I'm just looking forward to seeing her spectacular writing coming at a new angle.

Love Misha by Jam Aden has been on my list for a LONG TIME. Why? Because it's promoted as A Goofy Movie meets Spirited Away with a nonbinary main character. SAY NO MORE.

If We Survive This by Racquel Marie is a apoclaypse survival horror. Lesbian zombie stories are surprisingly not that hard t find right now, but I'm definitely interested in seeing more of them!

Predatory Natures by Amy Goldsmith has one of my favorite things- TRAIN SETTINGS. The MC is working on a luxury train during her gap year, but the trip is derailed by the arrival of a mysterious greenhouse and a pair of odd, enigmatic siblings. This is fantasy horror.

Evil-ish by Kennedy Tarrell is about disillusioned teen trying to become a supervillain. I love supervillain fiction, and this one sounds really fun and with surprising characters!

Villain by Natalie Zina Walschots is the very longwaited (for me, at least) sequel to the wonderful villain-led, radicalization story Hench. I'm so looking forward to seeing Anna as a full supervillain!

Mistress of Bones by Maria Z. Medina stars a necromancer trying to resurrect her sister, and getting caught in a game of cat and mouse with the Emissary of Death. This one sounds really magical.

Hollow by Taylor Grothe is YA horror with an autistic (and trying to deny her diagnosis) teen in Upstate New York. I, personally, seeing book in Upstate NY and love autism rep, and this is queer!

The Cuffing Game by Lyla Lee has one of my favorite fluffy queer romanc writers tacking reality show romance by the way of Pride & Prejudice! There's also (no surprise) going to be K-drama vibes.

For No Mortal Man by Keshe Chow stars a girl who can resurrect herself, traveling the Underworld to find her grandmother, and being haunted by a former betrayer.

We Were Never Here by Sophie Hannan is a heist story! This is about ghost hunters being blackmailed to do a heist, stealing a haunted painting. I love weird heists, I really do.

You Weren't Meant to Be Human by Andrew Joseph White is probably my most anticipated release of 2025! I love AJW's autistic, trans horror, and this one has aliens and pregnancy horror. I see no way this won't be weird as hell, and therefore no way this isn't gonna be amazing.

[lenalenouilleisblogging]

2024 feminist movie retrospective ~ day 9

It's RAPID FIRE REVIEWS TIME !! ROUND 2

I don't have enough to say about these next films to write full reviews, but i still want to mention them, these are some of the ones i watched in theaters in April of 2024. (i wanted to do 1 post per trimester initially, but i saw a LOT of movies last summer and the posts are already long enough lol)

AUTISTIC VAMPIRE FLICK YESSSS!!!!! 🦇 An incredible first feature from Ariane Louis-Seize, I'll definitely keep an eye on her work. Thank glob the movie was shown with subtitles 😵‍💫 I already have comprehension issues when people with the same accent as me are mumbling, I would not have understood the Quebec accent in this film at ALL.

The two main leads give great performances, all the character dynamics are super entertaining and watchable. Great pace, great dialogues. Mostly takes place at night and there's some great photography and lighting. A bit predictable, but also really sweet and funny, will put you in a good mood.

trailer

My favourite thing ever is when I get to see SSA characters outside of "gay cinema". I want to see characters who happen to be gay go on the same adventures as straight characters. I want to see them have fun. But I'm.... Not sure about this one?

It's purposefully vulgar and over the top, it's absurd, it's "unserious" as the kids say. And it works. It's fun and engaging, and the film-making is very good. The editing in particular is really original and fun. But there's just something about this film that reeks of "a straight man directed this". Too phallic centric for my liking for a film that was originally titled Drive-Away Dykes. It tries to be an ironic B-Movie but it has the most celebrity cameos I've seen all year. It tries to be """sex-positive""" but it ends up feeling fetishistic.

While the film is directed by Ethan Cohen, it's a dual effort from him and his wife Tricia Cooke. They both wrote and produced this. Cooke "identifies as queer" and has said their marriage, I quote: "is a very non-traditional marriage. I have a partner, Ethan has another partner." Which is the lamest and most heterosexual thing I have ever heard lmao

Make your own mind up on this one. If you like juvenile comedies and absurdly horny characters you might enjoy it. I would be lying if I said that I didn't. Texan lesbian Margaret Qualley I am free on friday please call me.

trailer

One of my absolute favourites of the year. It's interesting to watch from France, holy shit the USA medical system is truly broken on every level. The film is brutal, shocking, unrelenting, and that's the point. All the technical aspects work in tandem to create a truly harrowing experience. It's well shot, it has great fucking sound, and the performances are stellar all around. Michael Pitt from Hannibal is still fucking crazy lol.

This movie does a better job at putting you in the main character's shoes than anything else I've seen this year. When it finally ends you'll feel like you can breathe again. The director worked as an ambulance driver for 1 year in preparation for this and you can tell he cares. The film feels very raw, a lot of sequences have a documentary feel to it and the acting is so good it looks like an unscripted mess (yes this is a compliment). Very real and flawed characters. Very atmospheric. A bit sloppy in how it handles drama in the second half. But overall I loved it.

trailer

Undoubtedly my biggest ❓❓❓of the year lol. I absolutely loved the two first thirds. The dialogues, the pacing, the movie is absolutely beautiful to look at with some amazing locations that are filmed beautifully. The characters have great dynamics and it's engaging. Then the film COMPLETELY lost me in the last third. I don't even know what to say. I'm often told that I have artsy fartsy intellectual tastes but even I have my limits. What the hell? Don't get me wrong, I love cryptic endings. But it didn't feel earned at all. It felt like 30min of film were missing? I love every part of this film individually. I actually think the last third is great. I just don't understand how it's related to the rest of the film AT ALL. What... What the fuck

trailer

Low-budget documentary about a french nurse. That's it. Very simple, very sweet, loved watching it with my nurse mom. It's sooo french lol. It's about life, it's about healing, it's about incredible women. A fun watch. French hospitals need urgent help that our government isn't providing. But the fucking heroes who work in them are still clocking in and making the world a better place.

trailer (no subtitles sorry)

This kind of drama is not what I go for usually, but undoubtedly powerful. A grim look at reality. A film about how little the law cares about victims of rape. The fact that the movie ends up "proving" (not graphically) that the crime did happen feels like a betrayal of its concept. We didn't need to see it, we just believe victims. But i guess it's needed for the general audience... All the performances are terrific. Very female-centric with a hopeful ending. Loved the end credits 🥹 let's go women

trailer

I'm a huge, HUGE fan of Alex Garland's previous film, Men. I was hyped as fuck for this. And, uuuuuuuhhhhhh. It's not that it's badly made. It's great in fact. Amazing camera work, editing, soundtrack. Wonderful acting. But it's all in service of NOTHING... How frustrating... This is a film about war journalism. And journalism in general. And if you wanna see that, then go see it! The problem is that it's not at all what the movie advertises itself as! (watch the trailer below if you doubt my words lol) It establishes this really surprising story of a massive, violent civil war tearing the US apart and then it simply uses it as a background to talk about journalism. Now DON'T TWIST MY WORDS, journalism is important. Some war journalists are fucking heroes. (see : day 5 of my retrospective)

But it all just ends up feeling super phoney. What was the point? What's the message? There is none. Why did this civil war start? Don't know! What does every side want? Don't know!

Civil War is a very good film. As i said before, my philosophy is to judge movies based on what they are trying to achieve. And i think this film meets all its goals. It's a weirdly apolitical movie about the way violent conflicts affect people's personal lives and what role war journalists play in all this. BUT i think the decision to choose the context of a civil war is a bad one. The title is bad, the trailer is bad. It muddles up what the film is trying to achieve. It makes you expect answers the movie will never deliver, and it ends up feeling empty and boring. I recommend that you watch it and make your own opinion on it. I broadly agree with what Adum from YMS said about it.

trailer

I was told this was the Indian John Wick but I liked it a lot more than John Wick! A great, fun watch. It truly is a perfect mix of Hollywood codes and Bollywood codes. The film has a great style complimented by its visuals and music, it's well edited, it has a great use of color. A great directorial debut for Patel! The story will feel very tropey if you don't like bollywood's codes but i thought it was very engaging from beginning to end! It has interesting characters and a very satisfying conclusion. I like that the film takes its time, and the action scenes are great. Sometimes you just wanna see people beat each other to a pulp 🩵 This is a great one if you want that.

An important note : i like that the film includes hijras characters, it's very interesting and it truly links the narrative to specific cultural phenomenons. HOWEVER. At some point there's a journalist on TV who refers to hijras as the "trans community" and at first i thought it was a mistake from the french subtitles but no it's actually in the film. And that sucks. It's already bad enough that this kind of oversimplification/misiformation thrives online, but it's dangerous to put it in mainstream big budget films. Like what the fuck.

I don't know... Maybe i'm too woke but i don't think it's good to refer to a caste of men who were castrated as minors because they were effeminate/SSA, and who are legally considered a third sex that is heavily discriminated against, as "transwomen". Am i the only one who's bothered by that? 💀 I guess i am considering the most popular reviews. (I just looked it up and most big NGOs consider them to fall under the trans umbrella... We're doomed.😐)

trailer

That's it for April ! I also watched Godzilla × Kong but I have nothing to say about it lol

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

(Can I request Loki x plus!size reader) so loki and the reader are best friends and the reader is in love with Loki but he has a girlfriend his girlfriend is Sylvie maybe one night during Toni's party Sylvie went to the restroom the reader notices Loki is alone so she decides to tell Loki how much she loves him more than a friend Loki is just rude to the reader and makes one comment about her weight and tells her that he loves Sylvie the reader leaves the party early and bucky noticed he goes after the reader to make sure she is ok bucky finds the reader crying in her room bucky goes into comfort her the reader tells bucky what Loki said to her bucky tells the reader Loki is just an asshole for not making sure the reader is ok after that party the reader and Bucky spent more time together and soon developed feelings for each other and they start dating Loki is jealous when he notices the reader Bucky together Loki and Sylvie broke up they got into a stupid argument when Loki told Sylvie about what the reader said to him Sylvie broke up with Loki because she thinks Loki does have feelings for the reader so it's lokis turn to confess his love to the reader loki tells the reader he is sorry for what he said to her and that he was too blind to notice that he loves the reader and that he wants to be with her the reader tells Loki that she loves him but only as a friend because she fell in love with bucky so the reader and Loki just stay friends.

.⋆｡Glue Myself Shut｡⋆.

One-sided Loki x plus size reader

Bucky x plus size reader

You figured he would feel the same or at least he would like you enough to let you down easy, but when your world begins to crumble, someone else’s hand gather the shattered pieces

Warnings: rejection, angst, unrequited love, fat shaming, Loki is an ass, friends to lovers, fluff, self-deprecation/hatred, implied smut

WC: 2k

A/N: I totally didn’t steal this title from a Noah Kahan song

Minors DNI

Follow and turn on notifications for my library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

The loneliness seemed to settle into your bones like a freezing wind. The chill words of your former friend ringing in your ears, slowly ripping your spirit apart. You knew he was with someone, someone wonderful. It was selfish and a downright asshole move.

But he was standing there, dressed in an all black suit, his raven hair falling perfectly around his face, and more importantly, he was alone. Your heart hammered so loudly your vision almost shook with the force of it. Your feet carried you over to him, through the throngs of people that had crashed Tony’s party, almost as if you were under some spell. He greeted you with a smile and offered a drink but you turned him down, your courage already weening.

There was a beat of silence where the music died and there was a lull in conversation. You couldn’t stop the words if you tried, they spilled from your lips, tumbling over themselves as you stammered. “I love you.” Everything froze and the smile on his face curled into a disgusted frown.

You couldn’t remember every single thing he said but it haunted you all the same.

“How dare you.”

“I’m with someone far better than you.”

“You’re a selfish child.”

“Why would I ever want to be with someone like you?” His green eyes seared into your soft body, picking apart each and every inch of yourself that you hated. You curled in on yourself, the final blow coming when Sylvie returned to his side once more, looking like the true goddess she was. She gave you a devastatingly kind smile.

“Oh darling, you look absolutely beautiful!” She cooed, slipping perfectly under Loki’s arm as he continued to glare at you, making it a point to place his left hand scandalously low on her slim hip. So, you ran.

The pain that ripped through you was like nothing you had experienced before. Your heart was broken, your trust shattered. Fat tears dripped down your face, ruining the carefully applied makeup that you spent hours on. It all felt so stupid now. No dress or makeup or hairstyle would change you into someone you could never be. None of it would make him love you.

You locked yourself away, ripping the nice dress you had bought to shreds before burying yourself in the soft sheets of your bed. Your tears had long-since dried, leaving streaks of mascara down your full cheeks and hiccuping breaths that just wouldn’t go away.

The door to your room opened quietly, letting in a sliver of light before it shut once more. There were three heavy footsteps and then your bed dipped with the weight of another person. “I’m not going to ask if you’re ok because you obviously aren’t so I’m going to ask what you need right now.” Bucky’s voice chased away the freezing draft and you breathed a sigh of relief.

Your arm shot out from beneath your blankets, offering a hand to your friend. His melodic chuckled rumbled through the room. The mattress shifted again and suddenly Bucky was under the covers, nose-to-nose with you, his smile glinting even in the dark.

“I was an asshole tonight.” His dark eyebrows furrowed, prompting you to continue. “I-I told Loki that I was in love with him.” A comforting yet cold hand laid itself upon your wide hip, giving you a comforting squeeze.

“He said that he could never love someone like me and he- fuck- he looked at me like I was the most disgusting he had ever seen. And then Sylvie was there and she was just so nice. And… I’m an awful person.”

Bucky huffed and then tugged you closer, forcing your face into his hard chest as his mismatched arms wound around you, keeping you in place. “You’re not an awful person. You made a slightly dumb decision but everyone does that. But dumb decisions do not excuse the way that Loki spoke to you.” And only then did you finally relax, exhaustion washing over you. “We’ll figure this out, I promise.”

——————

Your whole body felt sore from crying, but you woke up pleasantly warm, surrounded by muscles and blankets. You had fallen asleep still tucked against your friend and apparently he hadn’t let you go for a single second. 

The morning sun fell over you both, bathing him in a beautiful light that highlighted his strong jaw, dotted with day-old stubble. Your eyes traced over the curve of his face, taking in his round nose, the smile lines beginning to appear around his eyes and the corner of his pink lips. The dark circles that were almost permanently beneath his stunning grey eyes were only now fading, leaving only a tinge of purple. 

You ran a finger down his jaw, smiling as he shivered and his arms tightened around your waist. Your touch settled on the warm skin of his neck, taking comfort in the steady beat of his pulse below your fingertips. “Thank you.” You whispered, your eyes shutting once more.

When you awoke again, Bucky was still there, holding you close.

—————— 

It had been a little over two weeks since the ‘incident that will not be named under any circumstance’ and somehow, your whole life had turned around. You no longer cared when you saw your former friend pinning Sylvie to the wall, their lips fused together in a passionate kiss even if that was quickly becoming less frequent in the past few days. You brushed off the glances your way when you and Loki were alone in a room together, however rare that would be.

Because through it all, you had a knight in shining armour to come and steal you away. Bucky kept your gaze firmly on him, his fingers constantly intertwined with yours. He showered you with praise and funny stories, bringing you gifts and food. Bucky lifted you up, reminding you just how incredible you really were. He danced with you while no music played, he cuddled you during movie nights, he held your plump thigh whenever you sat next to him. 

And soon enough, he kissed you. It was the middle of the night in the communal kitchen. You both had just demolished a truly ungodly amount of takeout and a comfortable silence had fallen over you both. One hand laid on Bucky’s chest as your giggles died. His smile slowly fell into a frown, his eyelids fluttering. 

The cold metal of his left hand settled on your soft jaw. His eyes fell to your lips and suddenly he was close enough that you could feel his breath fanning over your face. You don’t remember who moved first but you did know that in that moment, everything else disappeared except for him.

And when the need for oxygen became too great, Bucky didn’t pull away very far. There was barely an inch between your lips as you caught your breath. He beamed at you. “I’ve waited for so long to do that.” You smiled and pulled him in for another kiss.

Your sides hurt from laughing as you and Bucky climbed the steps up to the Avengers Tower. Your whole body trembled with giggles. “Are you serious? Steve really did that?” Bucky chuckled along with you, moving all your shopping bags into one hand so he could pull the door open for you.

“Yeah this kid who was a buck even soaking wet tried to climb up the side of a fucking building to rescue a cat.” Your giggles resumed again with an added fervour. Just as the elevator doors opened, another voice called out to you. Both you and your boyfriend turned to the source of the sound.

Loki was striding to you with a purpose, jaw set, eyes blazing with an emotion you couldn’t quite pinpoint. Bucky stiffened behind you but the comforting touch at the base of your back told you that he wasn’t mad at you. “I need to speak to you, in private.” 

“I don’t know if that’s such a great idea, all things considering.” Bucky’s words escaped his lips almost like a growl, throaty and dangerous. And you were ashamed to admit that it sent a shiver of arousal down your spine.

“Bucky, it’s ok. It’ll just be a minute.” Your gaze flicked to your partner but he just nodded.

“I’ll be upstairs, call if you need me.” He gave your elbow a secretive squeeze and disappeared behind the stainless steel doors but not without a warning glare to the other man. As soon as Bucky was out of sight, Loki breathed a sigh of relief, his shoulders falling.

“Firstly, I do wish to apologise for how I treated you the night of Stark’s party. I was cruel to you for no reason at all and for that all I can say is that I’m sorry. You are my friend and a beautiful woman. That night I made a grave mistake.” The pounding of your heart was so reminiscent of that night. The fear, the anxiety but this time, you knew what he would say and you knew that it was now your turn. Loki took in a deep breath, his hands trembling at his sides.

“My dove, I am in love with you too. I was too blind by my own pride to see it at first but Sylvie knew. She left me, she told me that you were the one that I truly loved. So here I am, begging you to give me a chance.” He shocked you by grabbing ahold of your hands and tugging them to his cold lips. “Please my love, please let me worship you the way you deserve.”

Pity curled in your gut as he kissed your knuckles. “Loki.” He flinched and immediately released you. “I am truly sorry that you and Sylvie broke up, she obviously made you happy. And I am sorry that my actions led to this but you cannot ask me to give you a chance when you showed your true colours and hurt me so badly. You were not my friend at that moment. You made me doubt my self-worth and you made me feel awful. I know that what I did was shitty too but that is no excuse.”

“Besides that, Bucky and I have started seeing each other and I think it’s going pretty well so far. We can be friends but the trust that I had with you before is gone.” Your voice had lifted to a gentle coo, like it could possibly soften the blow. “I have nothing left to give you.”

——————

Bucky wouldn’t admit out loud that he was anxious. So instead, he cleaned. He knew that you had feelings for him, maybe not as deep as love- yet but only a fortnight ago, you were declaring your love for the man who, he presumed, was now telling you that he felt the same. 

Bucky loved you with his whole heart, he always had. Not only were you kind and patient with a laugh that made him melt, but you were beautiful, both inside and out. Anyone would be lucky to have you and he could not comprehend not only how Loki rejected you so cruelly but how you gave an old soldier like him a chance.

He was so caught up in scrubbing the already clean dishes that he didn’t notice the figure standing in the kitchen doorway, silently watching him work. “If you clean those dishes anymore, they’ll disappear.” His whole body sagged as you spoke.

Immediately, he abandoned his work and sprinted to you. You laughed as he pulled you into his arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He didn’t have to say anything and neither did you. Everything he needed to know was in the way you held him close, how you kissed his temple, in how  you tangled your fingers in his hair. 

“So… do you want go fuck my brains out and then get some ice cream?” Bucky hauled you into his arms and ran faster than he ever had in his life.

(I couldn't help myself)

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[hannibals-grahamcracker]

Hannigram Long Fanfic Review List!

I know there are only 2 fics on here right now, but if you've sent any long fics to my ask box, I promise I'm working on them! I have three different notes full of fics from specific blogs if you sent me more than one at a time!

These took forever to get around to, but I finally did it! Anyway, on with the post, please enjoy!

Reviews under the cut! :)

Like A Lucid Dream

Author: DruidGurl

Word count: 75,975

Summary: In the days following Will's fateful fall from the bluff, Molly Graham begins to understand the extent of her ignorance regarding Hannibal and Will's relationship. The discovery of her husband's deceit leads her to seek refuge and escape in their cottage in the mountains. There's only one problem: she's not the only one who is looking for a place to hide. - After the fall, Will and Hannibal rest, recover, and fall in love all over again... under the watchful eye of Will's wife. -

This was an absolute whirlwind to read. It's incredibly good, and I finished it in one day! Lots of emotions, complications, and changing dynamics. It leaves off on Molly getting her happy ending, which I appreciated. Molly gets too much hate sometimes, justice for my girl fr. I've been considering writing a fic featuring Molly, and this fic may have just convinced me to do so!

The Fault In My Code

Author: LiaS0

Word count: 90,434

Summary: Soulmate AU: Soulmates find their other half when they look into their eyes. After the next time they sleep, they wake with one eye the color of their intended. Will Graham avoids eyes. He's never wanted a soulmate, never wanted to be told by the universe who he was supposed to feel a connection to. He already struggles enough with connections, thank you very much. As a psychiatrist, he works with soulmates who have lost their other half through various means, part of a social system that regards the journey to your soulmate as the most important thing a person can do. Coerced by Jack Crawford to consult on a case where the assailant is targeting soulmates, Will finds himself turning to the notorious Dr. Lecter to gain insight on how he's choosing the soulmates to target. Things go horribly awry when he looks into Hannibal's eyes, though. The next morning, he wakes up with one eye blue, the other maroon. He's never wanted a soulmate, least of all one behind bars for murdering dozens of people and eating them. Hannibal thinks it's delightful -it's been dreadfully boring since he was locked up. Romance, thriller, mayhem, mystery, soulmate au with a realistic twist, and a grumpy Will Graham

Okay so I have a lot to say about this one, because it was very long and very detailed! I love details.

I love the allusions to Silence of the Lambs and Red Dragon throughout this fic. I noticed it right away in chapter one, and I adored it instantly.

Looooove that Hannibal has maroon eyes like the books! This is one of my favorite things in fics, and I loved that it was included in this one. And the chapter names all having to do with the characters' eyes is brilliant in the context of this soulmate AU! Chapter 2 and 20 having the same title? Incredible.

I liked that many of the characters we know (and some from the books) make an appearance, and some of them even have different appearances from the show, i.e., their book appearances (namely Dolarhyde). This is the first Hannigram fic I've read that mentioned Barney (the orderly from SotL who helped Clarice Starling), and I found it very cool! I've always liked how Barney and Hannibal had a quiet respect for each other, and I wish they had interacted more in this fic.

I also found it interesting that Hobbs gave will the scar across his stomach, which to me has always been a symbol of Hannibal's claim over Will, something he left to mark him and remind him both of what he'd done to earn it and who it belonged to—who he belonged to. I just wanted to note that, because I'm me and I'm obsessive about Will Graham's scars.

I have very few complaints, the main one that comes to mind being that even in the end, Will doesn't accept the cannibalism (example: there's a comment about him being grateful that his meal is cow and not "pig"). We see Will (in the show) being momentarily shocked by it and somewhat repulsed, but then he goes right back to eating dinners with Hannibal and even providing human meat for him. At this point in the show, they've known each other for an estimated 10 ish months. In this fic, he also never fully accepts his Becoming and is still repulsed by his darkness and doesn't embrace who he is, even in light of who his soulmate is, and of having taken lives. This is obviously me being nitpicky, but I love to see a Will Graham who's sure of himself and who he is with Hannibal, and doesn't shy away from his cruelty and darkness. No hate to the author obviously, it's just my preference.

This was an incredibly well written fic, and I did very much enjoy it. I was less satisfied with the character development than I hoped to be, so I likely won't read it again, but I definitely will be recommending it to others! If you're looking for a Soulmate AU and you like the I Feel Your Pain/Your Emotions + the Hurting You Hurts Me Trope, this one is for you!

[in-the-modern-world]

I Ache For You

Paring: Hannibal x Will Graham

Words: 625

A/N: My writers block is killing me but I finally finished this, I couldn't think of a better ending so that's how I left it and I also couldn't think of a title so I just went with the obvious, but I don't think this story is too bad.

I know what Hannibal has done and what he is capable of but that doesn't stop my feelings towards him, my feelings that are unlike anything I've ever felt before, the idea of telling him fascinates me more than anything, I have no clue how he would react, I'm aware he has feelings for me; Bedelia told me which didn't come as a surprise for me.

I walk up to Hannibal's door; I decided to come unannounced. I knock on the door, looking around as I wait for it to open which it does shortly after to reveal Hannibal, he's wearing his usual clothes though, he has removed his tie and the top buttons of his white shirt have been unbuttoned, I look at him as he says "Hello Will" I nod, "Hello Hannibal", he moves aside inviting me inside to which I accept walking through the door, he closes it behind me before looking at me and asking "What brings you here tonight?", I take a deep breath "I need to talk to you", he nods looking a little concerned, he does worry about me, he leads me to the living room where we sit down on the couch, we sit closer than need be but we've always seemed to do this, even before I became aware of these feelings, I noticed Hannibal and I never seemed to need personal space.

I look at Hannibal as he's studying my face "I'm not sure how to start this conversation" he tilts his head slightly "What's the topic?" I smile "Us" "Oh?" He says questionable, I nod "I spoke to Bedelia a few weeks ago, I just needed a conformation before talking with you" he continues to look at me though a little confused now "This bond we have created is so different to anything I have ever experienced, I can no longer see my life without you in it" I break eye contact as I continue "Bedelia explained to me how you feel, Hannibal I ache for you too" I look back into his eyes this time unable to make out his thoughts, he clears his throat "I was wondering how long it would take you to come to a realization of not just yours but my feelings as well, from the moment I saw you I knew this would be different to anything I'd ever experienced, though I am downhearted you went to Bedelia, you can speak to me about any matter Will" I nod, " I know, I just wanted to be sure, I didn't want to make a complete fool of myself", I smile knowing I've made a fool of myself many times.

Hannibal shifts closer to me causing our legs to touch "Where do you want this to go Will?" My eyes roam over his face, taking in his features I've seemed to have memorized unconsciously, "Where do you want this to go?" I ask wanting to know exactly what he wants of me "Well" he starts as he looks at me "I want to love you unconditionally, I want us to be there for each other in every way possible", I smile as my eyes trail down to his lips; he notices and smiles back at me, before I notice what I'm doing I've moved closer, our faces mere inches apart but instead of putting my lips to his I end up with my arms around him and my face in his neck, I inhale his scent as he wraps his arms around me and lies his head next to mine, I smile and say "I want that too" I feel one of his hands slowly come up to my hair as he then says "this is all I've wanted Will".

[psychoticwillgraham]

Title: till death do us part

quick, short soul crushing hannigram one shot

update: god this got long. expect it to go up on my AO3 once i look over it and polish it a bit more. also, it's bittersweet, but still soul crushingly sad.

TW: double suicide, major character death

The wolves were at their door, and Will knew that these would be his and Hannibal's last moments in this life, having come to terms with what they were about to do.

It wasn't going to make things any easier, though.

He could hear the sirens wailing outside, Jack Crawford on the bullhorn demanding that they come out with their hands up, and the helicopters hovering over the house. They weren't going to give Jack the satisfaction of taking them alive, of seeing them go to prison and be executed right in front of him. No, they couldn't, they never intended to, swore that they would go out on their own terms and not the government's, not Jack Crawford's. They both knew since the moment they confessed their love for each other, that things were going to end violently, and with both of them dead in the other's arms. It wasn't going to be pretty or clean, or romantic. It would end in their blood pooling together on the ground beneath them, wrapped in each other's arms. It would end with their orbits overlapping, their stars colliding in a brilliant, blinding show, devouring each other in one last action of their short, destructive lives. Will knew, in this moment, that he had always been destined to die with Hannibal, in one last act of defiance.

And now that it was here, Will was strangely at peace.

He knew that Hannibal was as well, by the look in his eyes, watery with unshed tears, but accepting of his fate and Will's as well.

"Don't think of this as goodbye. Think of it as just the end of this chapter," Hannibal's voice was oddly calm, steady as he cupped the side of Will's face, cradling his wet cheek in his hand, fingers wiping through the tears that flowed freely from Will's eyes.

"We'll find each other again, in the next life. Perhaps, under better circumstances this time," Hannibal smiled, a sad, yet hopeful one. But Will could start to see the cracks in Hannibal's expression, how scared he truly was. Will choked out a sob as Hannibal drew him close to his body, his arm moving back to cup the back of Will's neck, lifting his chin towards his face.

"What if there isn't a next one?" Will choked, his voice trembling as he spoke. "What if this one is all we get? What if this really is the end?" It was getting harder for Will to speak around the sobs that were wrenching themselves from his hoarse throat, harder to maintain eye contact with Hannibal.

"If it truly is the end for us, then it was truly a privilege to have known you, to have loved you, to have been loved by you," tears were flowing freely down Hannibal's face now, his voice trembling as his lips ghosted Will's. "To have been truly, utterly seen by you. And I can think of no greater way to die, than with you by my side, and at your hand." The last shreds of Will's composure shattered as Hannibal gently brought their lips together, in one final kiss, as Will held onto Hannibal with a death grip, afraid to let go.

The commotion outside of their small, peaceful room that would serve as their final resting place, could no longer be ignored. The hounds had caught up with them, stalking just outside of the closed door, ready to pounce and claim their pound of flesh. After several long, sorrowful moments, they separated, and Will took one last, long, look into his lover's eyes. What he found there was profound sorrow, immesurable grief, and the great, undying fire of his love and devotion.

"It's time, mylimasis," Hannibal whispered to him, signaling for Will to raise the knife he'd been given earlier, the very one that Hannibal had once gutted him with. Tonight, it would now know the taste of Hannibal's flesh as well. In the next moment, Hannibal's own knife found itself at Will's throat, and Will's found it's mark at Hannibal's, both pressing against the other's skin.

"I love you," Will sobbed, as Hannibal gave him one last sorrowful smile.

"And I, you."

The next few moments happened in a blur of chaos and noise.

As the door splintered and broke under the crushing force of the battering ram, they each drew their blades swiftly against the other's throat, their knives clattering to the ground as Will's hands reflexively went to cradle his own throat, even though he knew the wound would be fatal. Will watched Hannibal drop to the floor, his hands stained crimson with his own blood, a horrible gurgling sound being ripped from his ruined throat, as Will's own body followed suit. He hit the floor with a sickening thud, his entire body convulsing in it's death throes.

Will barely registered the sound of Jack Crawford's booming, furious voice, the blurred images of the police officers with their guns drawn behind him, as he clumsily crawled towards the direction of Hannibal's voice. The paramedics were swarming around both of them, Will's trembling hands doing their best to shove them away. Will focused what energy and life he had left on finding Hannibal's hand.

"Don't you dare fucking die on me!" Jack screamed, trying to barrel his way through the throng of officers and paramedics, as if to try and save Will himself. Of course, his effort would ultimately be in vain.

As Will's body began to give out, his vision going dark at the edges, he felt a hand grip his arm, tight enough to leave bruises.

Hannibal.

Through the swarm of people trying to keep them apart, Hannibal gripped Will's arm and dragged himself as close as he could to Will, and interlaced their fingers together.

With his last, dying breaths and the fading light in his eyes, Will met Hannibal's dying gaze, squeezed his hand, and smiled. He watched Hannibal take his last, gasping breaths, and the color in his eyes fade.

With one last rise and fall of his chest, Will Graham died.

And in that moment, they died as they lived, wholly, and completely intertwined, till death did they part.

The world was black and silent for Will, until suddenly, it wasn't.

He could feel a hot breeze on his face, and suffocating heat. He heard screams in the distance, wails of other people carried by the wind. It took only a brief moment for Will to realize where he was.

Hell. He was in Hell.

And mercifully, he wasn't alone.

"Open your eyes darling."

Against his better judgement, Will opened his eyes.

He saw Hannibal leaning over him, clearly relieved that Will had followed him down into the depths of Hell.

What he also saw, was the sky.

It was a deep red, with orange and yellow hues in the distance, with clouds of ash scattered across it. It was beautiful. So very beautiful.

One of Hannibal's hands found it's way to cradle Will's cheek, moving to lean down and capture Will's lips in a chaste, short kiss. Will smiled against his mouth, grabbing the back of Hannibal's neck and pulling him closer.

"Hell really is beautiful, isn't it?" Will broke the kiss, taking Hannibal's hand in his, and staring up at the grim sky.

"It is. Just as I expected it to be," Hannibal placed a kiss to Will's forehead as he rearranged Will so he could lay his head in Hannibal's lap. "Unlike in life, we can finally make a home together. A new life together." Hannibal sounded almost wistful, petting through Will's curls as he turned his head towards the sky as well.

Will briefly tore his gaze away from the sky, looking in the distance to see Hannibal's imposing home standing proudly, and his endless garden, only now the garden that was once teeming with life, was dotted by the corpses of plants and bleached bone white branches of dead trees, with black roses tangling all along the barren, ash covered ground. Will smiled to himself as Hannibal hummed a tune only known to him, carding his fingers through Will's hair, idly picking out stray pieces of ash and debris.

In that singular moment, Will had finally achieved true happiness, something that he'd spent his entire life chasing to no avail. And now, in this afterlife, banished to the deepest pits of hell for all eternity with the love of his life, Will was happy. Truly, and finally, happy.

[fletchingbrilliant]

WIP Game

I got tagged by @fanby-fckry Don't say I didn't warn you

rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. tag as many people as you have wips. people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

So I'm listing like, a lot of things here. I don't have a WIP folder, my partner (who is also my writing parter @zaebeecee hey babe) and I have a folder TREE based on franchise, including our original work. If you want to see what that looks like I will show you, but oh man it's..... a lot. Almost literal years of writing together is compiled here. (I only know the number cuz we set our anniversary as the day we started writing our now massive original project that is actually being published as a comic THIS YEAR) We have no idea what actual day we went 'yeah we are in a relationship now' because we are both guys and that's just one of the stereotypes we fall into lol I'm not posting EVERYTHING is what I'm saying cuz it's easily over 100 also I want Zae to have some to share too when I inevitably tag him. But I thought I'd sorta dance around a few different franchises for fun.

so here goes

The Radio Angel (Hellaverse)

Piratey Things (Hellaverse)

Dial Tone Heartbeat (Hellaverse)

Adam Ate My Baby (Hellaverse)

Hazbin Hotel: Apocrypha (Hellaverse)

Untitled ABO Project (Stardew Valley yeah oops haha trust me)

Flesh-Eater King (Hannibal)

Taming the Feral Heart (Hannibal)

The Ripper's Final Problem (Hannibal-Sherlock)

Hikari (Kingdom Hearts)

Harbingers of Dusk & Dawn (Final Fantasy - most of them)

Unnamed Fratt Romance (Daredevil/Punisher)

Empire of the Dead (Yu Yu Hakusho)

Ghost Story (Silent Hill)

The Horned God (Death Note)

Onryō Academy (Shaman King)

Pneumic Transanimation (Bleach)

weird enough? i had to leave a bunch for zae and also not like... overwhelm anybody but we are in fact going to continue work on all of these. getting them up on ao3? honestly i just don't know what stuff people would be interested in reading so this is a good opportunity to find out.

i didn't include anything from our original project, but we are also writing fanfics of our own babies i'm sure we're far from the only people doing that

HERE COME TAGS AND IF YOU ARE A VISUAL ARTIST TELL ME NAMES OF YOUR ART WIP FILES LET'S SHARE THE JOY

@zaebeecee

@storm89

@artisticallygay

@hunnipear

@zatyrlucy

@tethered-heartstrings

@tashasmigs

@jekyllandhamlet

@gotta-go-blast

@luxurydumpsterfire

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Forgive These Bones I'm Hiding (Part 2 of 2)

Pairing: Serial Killer Marcus Pike x f!Reader (Reader is a police officer with the nickname “Cricket”)

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 13.8k

Warnings: This is a Spoooooooky fic for Halloween season. Please heed the warnings; this is not darkfic, per se, but it explores dark themes and contains elements of suspense and horror. The following subjects are mentioned in the context of cases that the reader deals with. I do not go into explicit detail about any of these themes and any violence is implied rather than seen, but please heed the warnings for: child abuse, domestic abuse, alcoholism, drunk driving, implied sexual assault, suicide, drug use, drug overdoses. Whew. Okay, for the story itself, please be warned that there is: derogatory language (someone calls reader a “bitch”), murders, body horror (corpses!), Marcus Pike being a bit unsettling, Very Enthusiastic Pussy Eating, unprotected PIV sex (this is fiction! use protection and also maybe don't fuck a serial killer!)

Summary: When five paintings are stolen from their frames, an unusual crime for your small-town precinct in Hannibal, Missouri, it's easy for you to project your insecurities about being a female police officer in a tiny, Midwest town onto the handsome FBI Agent from Washington who arrives to help with the case. But as your disposition--and the solid walls you've built around yourself--begin to soften, you quickly find you have bigger problems than the charming man you can't help but develop feelings for. One by one, bodies are starting to pile up. Bodies that all seem to share one connection… You.

Additional A/N: OKAY, so things definitely pick up in this chapter! Please heed the warnings, as Cricket’s past cases feature in a big way. There are more corpses, more unsettling!Marcus, and, of course, more MURDER. Thank you to @littlebirdsbookshelf for being an amazingly supportive human, beta reader, and crime consultant! Thanks for making sure my self-indulgent fanfiction always has its roots in reality!! They can’t fuck if I can’t make it make sense first. PLEASE check out our Playlist for all the spoopy Midwest Gothic vibes. The title of this fic itself comes from Family Tree by Ethel Cain, which is of course on the song list!

Masterlist | Part 1

The next morning starts with a headache.

"Wha'th'fuuuuck," you croak. You’re so disoriented that it takes you a few moments to realize your alarm is going off. 

You fumble for it, surprised to find it on the charger. You don't remember plugging it in. For that matter, you don't really remember getting home last night. Did… Did Marcus…?

Confusion and dread cut through the hangover, and you switch on the lamp as you sit up in bed. 

You're still in your clothes from last night, but your boots are untied and placed neatly on the floor next to the foot of the bed. 

You look around your bedroom, looking for more clues as to how you got here. There's a glass of water on your nightstand, and upon further inspection, two ibuprofen next to it.

You rifle around beside it looking for a note, but you come up empty-handed. It doesn't really matter; you can pretty much guess what happened: You got so wasted that Marcus Pike had to help you get home. He took off your boots, but clearly didn't feel comfortable taking off the rest of your clothes. He made sure your phone was on the charger and even went so far as to anticipate your need for water and pain medicine in the morning. 

Something still feels off, though. Just call it a gut feeling, an instinct, some vestigial part of your hindbrain that's telling you something.

Maybe you forgot your purse…?

But no, when you finally drag yourself out of bed to check the entryway, your purse is there, hanging on its usual hook. 

Shaking your head (probably a mistake, going by the ache that shoots through it when you do), you chalk up the odd feeling to the hangover. You don't remember the last time you had that much to drink, after all. 

You feel slightly better after taking a shower and downing another glass of water, but your stomach still roils and your head still hurts as you throw on your uniform. You're thankful for the dark sunglasses that come with it when you step outside your house. 

Fuck. Why did you drink so much?

You pull into the station about thirty minutes late, which isn't that bad, considering how many glasses of whiskey you had. How many, exactly? You lost count after three, but you know there were more. You were upset about Bobby and unsure of whether you even made a difference in this town and… wait, did you cry last night? In front of Marcus? An image flashes through your mind: Your head buried in the crook of his neck. A wet patch on his white dress shirt from your tears.

Oh, fuck. 

The man in question gives you one of those characteristic grins when you enter, still wearing your sunglasses. 

"Moving a little slow today, are we?" Marcus asks playfully. 

"Jesus fuck," you murmur, collapsing into your chair with a sigh. "I guess so."

"I've never seen a woman put away that much whiskey," he comments with a wink in your direction.

"And you never will again," you groan. "I'm swearing off the stuff for life."

"I don't blame you."

"Jesus, I don't even remember what happened last night. I woke up this morning with no memory of how I got there."

Marcus laughs. "You don't?"

"I barely remember what the hell we talked about. Oh, God–was I an ass? Would you tell me if I made an ass of myself?"

"You didn't make an ass of yourself," Marcus promises.

"I feel like I got all maudlin about the job," you say, frowning.

"You did, a bit."

"Sorry if the evening was a sob-fest."

"I think you're allowed to be upset after finding Bobby Pearson like that."

Cold dread shoots down your spine. Heart in your throat, you stare at Marcus open-mouthed.  

"Did… Did I tell you that last night?"

"Didn't need to." He holds up a copy of the Hannibal Courier-Post with a grim expression. Oh. Right. There it is, right on the front page, accompanied by a picture of you deep in conversation with the Coroner. 

You shake your head, laughing slightly. "Jesus, guess I really am out of it this morning."

"You up for a ride?" Marcus suddenly asks.

"Huh?"

"To the St. Louis field office," he explains. "I texted you yesterday about forensics, remember?"

"Shit, that's right! I'm–I'm sorry–"

"Don't be. There was a lot going on," Marcus insists. "But they've got some stuff for us to look over. Wanna go for a little drive?"

"Only if it's you who's doing the driving," you say. 

"Done."

"And if we stop for coffee."

"You drive a hard bargain, but I accept."

An hour later, with a latte in your hand and your head tipped against the cool glass of the passenger-side window, the fog of your hangover begins to clear and you start to feel much better. The sun glints off of the pavement of State Road 61 as Marcus speeds along in the left lane on the way down to the city. Everyone steers clear of what’s obviously an unmarked police car, and like all officers before him, Marcus takes full advantage. The tall grass next to the road blurs as you stare out over endless fields, dotted with the occasional farmhouse. The day is crisp; one of those beautiful fall days where the temperature stays low even though there’s not a cloud in the sky. If you squint your eyes, you can pretend you’re flying.

At the Field Office, Marcus breezes through security with his badge and his characteristic toothy grin. After you’re presented with a visitor’s badge, the two of you walk down the stairs to the basement, and down a dimly lit hall until you reach a door that reads “Forensics - Art Crimes.”

"Basement, really?" you ask, wrinkling your nose.

"Windows are bad for the degradation of paint," Marcus points out. Then, with a grin, he adds, "Plus, they always give Intelligence the prime real estate."

When he opens the door, your face brightens. Unlike any forensics department you've been in previously, this one is full of… well, art. You aren't sure why that surprises you, but Marcus chuckles as you gaze, open-mouthed, at the selection.

"It's like our own little secret museum, huh?" he says, eyes twinkling.

"Okay, I think I get why you like your job now," you say quietly as you examine what looks like an ancient Greek vase on one of the tables. 

"Is that…"

"Fake," one of the lab workers says with a shrug. "Art museum still purchased it for two mil, though. Oops, right?"

"Oh. Is most of this stuff fake, then?" you ask.

"Nah. This one's a genuine Picasso that was recovered from the black market," the woman says, waving her hand at a colorful painting leaning against the wall. "We're in the middle of returning it to the rightful owners."

"Holy shit," you breathe. 

"New to art crimes?" the woman asks.

"Not a lot of paintings to steal in Hannibal," you say with a smirk.

"Ah, so you're Rockwell.”

“No, I’m–oh. Haha, I get it.”

“Damon’s been taking the lead on that one. His office is there in the back; he’s expecting you two.”

Marcus greets Damon like an old friend while you stand by his side doing your best to look ‘official.’ Something about being here–in the FBI building–makes you feel like a country-bumpkin of a cop. Maybe it's just the ever-present chip on your shoulder (Okay, it’s definitely that.), but the moment makes you feel like you need to fight to take up more space, puffing out your chest and straightening your spine. And when Damon offers his hand for you to shake, you grasp it more firmly than strictly necessary, something you’ve learned over the years is an effective tool to assert yourself as a female officer.

“So you’re the lead detective on the case?” Damon asks as you shake his hand.

“Yessir.”

“Fantastic. Well, I hate to bring you all the way down here to deliver bad news, but running the prints didn’t give us any matches.”

Your heart sinks. 

"But," the agent emphasizes, "your team did excellent work canvassing the area around the museum for CCTV footage, and we got some hits at one am at a few different places. Compiled it in a presentation for ya, if you wanna take a look."

At your eagerness nod, Damon turns his second monitor around to face you.

"So, first hit is at Main Street Bed and Breakfast," he explains as a grainy, black and white, blurry photo appears on the screen. Hard to ID, but it looks like we've got got male, maybe six foot, two-thirty, on foot heading away from the museum, which would be just across the street over here–" he points at the corner of the screen. 

"Then the same individual shows up walking past Java Jive–" another grainy photo, not much clearer than the first, " –and then he turns down the alleyway behind the Dutch Country General Store, and gets into a white Pontiac Grand Am."

"He puts something in the backseat," you exclaim, pointing at the blurry shape.

"Mmhmm, something skinny and long," Damon says.

"...Like five rolled-up canvases," you offer, raising your eyebrows.

"It's not a lot to go on, but this is the only individual we saw out walking that night that didn't originate from any of the establishments we analyzed."

You watch the series of images, squinting as if it will help with the pixelation. The license plate, of course, is completely illegible as the car drives away.

"We've got people analyzing the plate, but best they can do is determine that the first letter is either a 'C' or an 'O.'"

"Better than nothing," you concede.

"Obviously, a Grand Am is gonna be a pretty common car in the area, but it's somewhere to start. We'll start pulling state records, and we'll be in touch if we–"

The loud ringing of your work phone interrupts Damon, and you wince apologetically as you pull it out and see 'SGT HUBBARD' on the caller ID.

"Hullo," you chirp amiably.

"Hey," Hubbard says on the other end. "We've got a body."

You straighten with a sharp intake of breath. Two deaths in Hannibal in less than a week? You don't think you've ever seen anything like it. Frowning, you duck out of Damon’s office and walk several paces away.

“I’m in St. Louis for the Rockwell case, but I’m finishing up,” you tell him. “I can be there in an hour and a half.”

“See that it’s quicker.”

You roll your eyes, mutter a “Yessir,” and end the call.

“Pike,” you bark, causing Marcus to look up with those pretty, soulful eyes of his. “We gotta go. There’s a case back in Hannibal that needs my attention.”

“Yes ma’am.” He gives you that wide, toothy smile again, and you remember how last night it had felt… unnerving to you. Like there was something lurking behind that earnest grin that no one else knew about. You shake your head. Jesus, you had way too much to drink last night. Get a grip, Cricket.

Lights on and sirens blaring, you zip past farms and woodlands. The official GPS time says one hour and forty-nine minutes, but you can do way better than that. Other vehicles automatically part for you, leaving them all behind in a blur of red and blue. Tongue poking out between your teeth in concentration and hands on ten-and-two, you think this might be the best part of the job. The part where you’re flying. 

You drop Marcus off at the Station with your apologies and race to the address Hubbard gave you.

The coroner’s office and a local news van are already there when you arrive, and the Sergeant looks disapprovingly in your direction, as if you could have shortened the drive from St. Louis through sheer force of will. 

“What is it?”

“Harold Dalton, 54. Apparent suicide.”

“What? What the hell is in the water that–”

“Hush. Keep your voice down. Right now, we’re waiting on State Police to come help with this one–there was a firearm involved.”

“He shot himself?”

Hubbard’s mouth is a thin line as he nods grimly. “Not a pretty sight.”

“Dalton…” you murmur to yourself. “Why do I know that name?”

“He’s got some priors,” Hubbard says. “Possession, some assault charges that were dropped, and–”

“Child neglect,” you whisper, as the realization hits you. “Oliver Dalton.”

“Shit, yeah,” the Sergeant says, realizing the connection at the same time. “God, how many years ago was–”

“Five,” you answer automatically. 

“That would make Oliver…”

“Sixteen.”

“Mm,” Hubbard grunts. “Ever check in on him?”

“He’s bounced around from home to home,” you answer, trying to keep the emotion and bitterness out of your voice. “Doesn’t last in one place for very long.”

“It’s a fucked up thing for a kid to go through,” Hubbard mumbles. “Can’t imagine he’s all that well-adjusted.”

The two of you stand in silence on the run-down, rotting porch. What a fucking shithole, you fume, scraping a piece of flaking paint with the toe of your boot. In the distance, you can hear the faint sound of sirens coming closer.

“Know we’re not supposed to say it,” the Sergeant finally says, as the State Police car pulls into the gravel driveway, “but good fucking riddance.”

Dalton. Now that the connection has been made, you can’t believe you didn’t remember immediately. You suppose you have tried your best to put his name–and several others–in a tidy little box in the corner of your mind. It’s easier that way.

Except… Why does it feel as though you were just thinking about him? As soon as you hear it, the pang of familiarity rushes through you, but you can't put your finger on why…

Hubbard is shaking hands with the two state cops that just arrived when your phone pings. You pull it out and glance at the thumbnail. 

“Hope everything’s okay! Talk to you later.”

It’s from Marcus. Something prickles across the back of your neck, and you slide your phone back into your pocket without responding.

“Officers,” you greet the newcomers, forcing a cordial smile and sticking out your hand to shake.

It was just the cold breeze making your hair stand on end. That’s all. 

“Sorry I had to dump you at the station like that this morning.” You tap out the message on your phone as soon as you get back into your squad car.

“It happens, don’t worry I know how it is.”

After a few minutes, Marcus begins typing again. 

“Want to meet up for a drink?”

“Fuck, no. You have any idea how shitty I felt this morning?"

"Noted. How about dinner, then? And some water?"

You pause. Drinks are one thing. But dinner? That could be considered "date" territory if you think about it too much.

You must be silent for too long, because your phone pings again.

“Had something I wanted to ask you about the CCTV sweep.”

It’s an obvious effort to sweeten the deal and get you to say yes, and you know it. You should tell Marcus you’ll discuss it tomorrow at work, pick up some fast food on the way home, and eat it in front of Jeopardy!–alone. 

Instead, you find yourself typing, “Dinner sounds good. Water sounds better. Where were you thinking?”

Marcus begins typing almost immediately. “How’s the Mark Twain Dinette?”

You snort to yourself. “Just as bad as you’re thinking. But Finn’s Food and Spirits is surprisingly edible if you’re looking for local eats.”

“Edible, huh? That’s not really a ringing endorsement, but I try not to go to chain restaurants when I’m traveling, so… let’s do it! :)”

It isn’t until you get into the shower that the reality hits you of how strange it is to be washing off the remains of two very similar cases in as many days. Not just two consecutive deaths–but two suicides, in a town of barely fifteen thousand people. 

And you knew them both. 

What you find most jarring, however, is the difference in your own mood between the two days. Yesterday, the weight of Bobby’s death felt as though it was dragging your body down. Today, though, there’s a weight off your shoulders. A burden you didn’t even realize you were carrying, suddenly gone. Hubbard had said it well, earlier–said what you’ve been thinking the entire day since. 

Good riddance.

You arrive a few minutes before Marcus, so you go in to grab a booth for the two of you–sitting where you can see the door, as you always prefer to do. Being a police officer has left you with some funny habits; it’s actually pretty nice to be able to talk to another person in law enforcement, for once. It isn’t like you go out much with Hubbard, who is both your supervisor and over twenty years your senior. Evan strictly works nights, so you don’t see much of him, either. You’re acquaintances with some of the officers in surrounding towns, but you don’t have much patience for their “I’m a cop” bravado–or even worse, the “Thin Blue Line” stickers on their car windows. 

Marcus seems different, though. Sure, he’s got an air of confidence around him, but you can tell it’s not an act at all. And yet, despite that confidence, there’s a softness to him: something in the upturn of his eyebrows, in the way his lips part when you speak, the way he seems enraptured by your every word–

When the man consuming your thoughts enters, you jump slightly, afraid, for just a moment, that he could read your mind. His expression brightens the moment he sees you, eagerness written all over his face, and you shake yourself.

This is why you can’t let him in.

“Everything go alright today?” Marcus asks amiably as he slides into the booth opposite you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave him off, shaking your head. “Nothing big.”

The lie sits heavy on your chest. He’ll find out tomorrow–along with the rest of Hannibal–when the day’s Courier-Post arrives at the station. It’s just that you don’t want to talk about it, not tonight. 

“Yeah,” you say again. “So what was the thing with CCTV?”

“Hmm? Oh,” Marcus says, taking his eyes off the menu for a moment and giving you a discerning look. “Why don’t we just save work stuff for tomorrow, huh? C’mon, take a break–what’s good here?”

You shrug. “The catfish is usually fresh-caught from the river, if that’s your sort of thing.”

“Is it your thing?” he asks, a glint in his eye.

“I make it a point not to eat anything that was recently pulled from the river.”

Marcus hums in response, scanning the menu again. When the waitress comes by to take your orders, he gets the catfish.

“Country-fried steak,” you say, handing her your menu. 

Silence falls at the table; without reading material or decisions about food to be made, you aren’t sure how to talk to the man opposite you. He intrigues you; he attracts you… he also scares you, just a little. Is it possible to be too disarming? Too earnest? If so, Marcus certainly is, and something about his sincerity… puts you off.

Fuck, when you think about it that way, maybe you’re just an asshole.

“So the CCTV question was just a pretense to lure me here,” you say, raising one eyebrow in challenge.

Marcus holds up his hands in mock-surrender. “I plead the fifth. But I–listen, the truth is, Cricket–I can call you that, right? You, uh, you never gave me your first name.” When you don’t offer an answer, he forges ahead. “I’ve been told I’m forward, and that’s probably accurate, but the truth is, I think you’re one hell of a good looking woman, and I’d love to get to know you better.”

Your stomach flips over at his words. As much as you’d hate to admit it, you’re not immune to flattery, and certainly not coming from such a beautiful man in his own right. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

“I find it easy to talk to you,” Marcus continues. “I’m on the road a lot, and it can be… lonely. You don’t know how much of a relief it is to have someone to talk to who gets it, who’s been there, you know?”

You nod thoughtfully, tracing the rim of your water glass. “I do get it. I–I’ve been alone for quite some time, too, and there are few people in Hannibal that I can really sit down and just talk to. I–I guess what I’m saying is, it’s a relief for me, too.”

Marcus reaches slowly across the table and, in a barely-there caress, runs his index finger across the back of your other hand. 

“I–” you say hastily, pulling your hand back and settling it in your lap, instead. “I want to be clear that I’m not in the stage of my life where I’m looking for anything temporary.”

“Me neither,” Marcus says, his eyes burning intensely into yours.

“Anything between us, is, by very nature, temporary,” you point out. “I live here in Hannibal. You’re going back to Washington upon completion of this case. I’m not against seeking mutual relief from loneliness, but I’m just… I’m not sure if I know you well enough to go down that road.”

Marcus’s eyes are full of understanding and acceptance. He draws his hand back and sits back against the booth with a small, wry smile.

“So, what’d’you wanna know?” he drawls, letting the Texan accent slip out in full force.

So… you talk. And talk. 

And talk. 

Your plates have long-since been empty and the ice in your water glass has melted, dripping condensation onto the checkered tablecloth–and you feel as though you’ve been given a glimpse past the toothy smile and confident demeanor, into a deeper, hidden vulnerability underneath. 

“...She–She broke up with you via text message?” you ask, dumbfounded at Marcus’s most recent admission.

“God, when you put it that way, it sounds… way worse than it was, but yeah,” he chuckles. “But honestly, when I look back, the writing was on the wall. I was rushing, she was dragging her feet. There… there wasn’t a future there.”

“Do you do that a lot? Rush, that is?” 

Marcus hums loudly as he seemingly deliberates his answer. “Mmm, I don’t like to see it as rushing.”

“How do you see it?”

“I’m a man who knows what he wants,” he says simply, dark eyes flicking up to meet yours.

It makes you shiver slightly.

“Has that made me hasty, on occasion? Impulsive? Sure. But I don’t see the point in hiding what I am only to be disappointed later. Eventually, I’ll find who matches me beat for beat. Someone who has the same ambitions, the same drive. The same passions.”

His eyes bore into you again, and you swallow. 

“You are forward,” you comment, somewhat breathlessly.

“I know what I want,” Marcus says again–quieter, this time.

“I wish I had that degree of certainty,” you whisper, laughing shakily.

“I think you do. In here,” he says, placing a palm over his heart. “But you second-guess it in favor of what’s up here.” He taps his index finger against his temple. 

“I happen to think humanity in general should obey their brains a little bit more, speaking from experience.”

Marcus laughs loudly, breaking the intense mood that had settled over the table. “I don’t think you’re wrong. But when it stands between you and your desires? Sad,” he comments, pouting his lip slightly.

“Some desires should remain just that–desires, nothing more.” Your voice wavers.

“I respect that,” he says lightly. Signaling to the waitress with a wide, friendly smile, he asks for the check. “But you don’t strike me as a person who indulges most of her desires. You put everything else first, don’t you?”

“Not always,” you object, bristling slightly at the blatant call-out. 

“I’m sure,” he grins as he scribbles a signature on the receipt. “Well, Cricket, I hope I’m wrong. I hope you chase the things you want, that you indulge in the little things that bring you joy, that you live your life not being afraid to say ‘I’m doing this for me.’ After all, I’m seeing such a fleeting moment of your life, aren’t I? A blink of an eye in the scheme of things. You and I are merely ships passing in the night, never to be seen or heard from again.” He stands. “Have a good night, Cricket.” 

And with that, Marcus gives you one last fond smile and disappears through the front doors, leaving you stunned–frozen to your seat as you absorb his speech.

You wake up confused for the second morning in a row.

Bright and loud. Why is it so bright and loud?

This time, the confusion resolves itself quickly as your brain comes back online and you realize that your work phone is ringing again. 

The old-fashioned alarm clock across the room reads 5:23 AM.

“Hullo?” you croak.

“You’re not going to fucking believe this.”

At the sound of the Sergeant’s voice, you switch on your bedside lamp and blink rapidly in the harsh light. 

“What is it?” you ask, trying to sound more awake than you actually are.

"Maisie Fletcher called the station around four saying her husband never made it home from the Waterhole. Evans drove the road from town to their house about a mile south just to take her statement, and found solid evidence of fresh skid marks leading into the river.”

Your heart sinks. The river. 

“Any sign of a vehicle?” you ask, already suspecting you know the answer.

“No.”

You take a deep inhale through your nose and let it out slowly through your mouth. Pulling a body from the Mississippi is miserable, unpleasant drudgery. First, you’ll spend hours directing boat patrols back and forth in a cross-hatch pattern for miles south of the suspected entry point. Then, once you finally find the vehicle, the work to exhume it from the water begins. The fire department will need to be coordinated with, and, depending on the depth of the car, a SCUBA team or a crane. 

“Fletcher…” you repeat, frowning. “Isn’t that–” 

“The domestic disturbance couple, that’s right,” Hubbard confirms. 

You snort. ‘Couple’ is a strong word, in your opinion. The husband, Gavin Fletcher, was single-handedly responsible for half a dozen trips out to their house along the river over the years, but every time you’d asked Maisie–with increasing urgency in your tone–if she’d like to press charges, she had declined. And every time, you’d leave the house with a lead balloon in your stomach. 

You always worried it was a matter of time before the “domestic disturbances” turned ugly. Or worse… fatal. 

And now… he’s in the Mississippi. Maybe. Possibly.

Is it bad if you find yourself hoping he’s at the bottom of the river?

Yes. Yes, it is. 

“Understood,” you sigh into the phone. “Let me throw on my uniform and I’ll meet Evans down at the bank.”

After a long day of standing on the banks of the Mississippi, watching patrol boats pass back and forth in slow, deliberate lines while drizzle slowly seeps its way down into the innermost reaches of your clothing, a vehicle turns up around six pm. You watch as the fire department uses the Jaws of Life to pry open the driver-side door, sending a cascade of muddy water onto the ground. 

It’s difficult to recognize the former person being pulled from the wreckage–even after less than twenty-four hours of being submerged, water can do a fucking number on a body–but a search of the wallet in the back pocket of its jeans confirms the identity of the swollen, bloated corpse that used to belong to Gavin Fletcher. 

Predictably, the task of notifying Maisie Fletcher is handed down to you. 

Your mouth is a thin, tight-lipped line as you drive down the gravel driveway that you wish wasn’t so familiar. You barely have to knock before Maisie is at the door and falling to her knees in a display of grief that you simply can’t find yourself to feel. Try as you might, you can’t force anything–any emotion other than ‘numbness’ onto your face as you deliver the news as gently as you possibly can. 

Maisie, still weeping, agrees to meet you at the morgue tomorrow to officially ID her late husband, and as she shakily rises to her feet, you can’t help but note the not-quite-healed-over bruise on her temple. 

You need a fucking drink. 

Thirty minutes later finds you at the Waterhole nursing a cold beer and an even-colder mood in your still-damp uniform. 

Palmer, ever the charmer, leans into your personal space with all the enthusiasm of someone attempting to disarm a bomb, and mutters, sotto-voce, “You smell like a goddamn fishmonger, Cricket.”

At your deadpan glare, he backs away, hands in the air, and makes a show of cleaning cocktail glasses instead.

You don’t much feel like talking. 

For one–yeah, the lingering smell of river brine–with the barest hint of ‘bloated corpse’ underneath–doesn’t put you in a sociable mood.

But what’s really bothering you is all of those old “domestic disputes” hovering in the forefront of your mind ever since Hubbard said the name ‘Fletcher’ at 5:30 this morning. God, you had all-but-begged her to press charges; in hindsight, you probably sounded insane. And each time, you took her refusal personally–as if it were happening to you, not to her. You’ve worked hard over the years to put that hurt, that anger away in a tiny little box in the corner of your mind, but the death of Gavin Fletcher seems to have released it all over again.

He’s dead, you point out to yourself. There’s no point in resurrecting your demons.

“Back at it, I see?" a slightly amused voice calls out from your periphery, and you close your eyes in exasperation.

You can't do this dance now.

"Marcus," you say with a resolute sigh. 

"Fancy seeing you here," he grins, and slides onto the barstool next to yours. "I'll have the same," he says to Palmer, who nods.

Seated next to you, you can tell exactly when the odor of your uniform hits his nose. He pauses, beer bottle halfway to his lips, and cocks his head in a way that would be comical, had you been in a better mood. His eyebrows pinch together, causing a little crease to appear between them, as he looks at you. 

"Did you… get dumped in the river earlier?"

You sigh again. "Not exactly. Had a car go into the river last night. Had crews searching all day, and finally found it this evening."

Marcus lets out a low whistle. "Roads must have been slick last night with all the rain," he points out.

"Yeah, exactly," you agree. "Honestly, it's probably worth it to put a feature on hydroplaning in the local paper after the news comes out. Not enough people take it seriously."

"Occupants?"

"Just the one. Male, forties. I can't release any names until tomorrow, though."

"I know," Marcus says, smiling fondly. "So after a day in the rain and the Mississippi mud, you're so ready for a beer that you don't even change out of the wet uniform, huh?"

"Fishmonger," Palmer grunts from the other side of the bar.

"I wasn't going to say it, but…"

"If you two are gonna gang up on a woman drinking, I'll damn well go home and do it alone," you grumble.

"Nonsense," Marcus grins. "If I bought the second round, would that convince you to stay?"

"One," you say, holding up your finger. "You have me for one more drink. Then I'm going home and getting into a hot bath."

"Yes, ma'am," he drawls, a glint in his eye when you mention the bath. "Guess I'll have to get my fill in the span of two beers."

You drain your first bottle and set it down challengingly. 

"...One beer," he amends.

"It's just as well," you tell him. "I'm less than pleasant company tonight."

"Impossible," Marcus promises. "Your company becomes more and more entrancing to me the more I'm graced with it."

"I guess if you can't handle me at my 'smelling like rotten fish,' then…"

"Don't make me beg to 'handle' it."

"Marcus!" You bark out a surprised laugh in spite of yourself. 

"Ha! There it is," he crows triumphantly. 

"Are you trying to cheer me up or piss me off?"

"You looked like you could use the former. Seems as though you already have enough of the latter."

You can't help but chuckle again. Damn him that it's working.

"Is it so wrong to desire the company of a beautiful woman who smells like the bottom of a river?"

"Leaving," you sputter through your stifled laughter, although you make no move to get off of your stool.

"You wound me."

"I'm not the one habitually insulting your smell.”

“If I smelled like that, I’d hope someone would ask why,” Marcus points out with a teasing grin.

"I guess if I had known I'd be doing… this, I would have gone home and showered first."

"Doing… what?" Marcus asks, a flirtatious glint in his expression.

"This. This… dance, this back and forth." You gesture between the two of you.

"This… dance?" he repeats teasingly. "Cricket, if you wanted to dance, all you had to do was say so."

"Do you ever stop?" you laugh, rolling your eyes.

"Of course I do," Marcus answers, sounding affronted. "I'd never push someone if I didn't think my feelings were returned."

You close your eyes and exhale shakily. "You know I do… I do feel the same way, Marcus. And it isn't like I haven't thought about what you said last night–in fact, I've thought of it a lot. But I keep coming back to the fact that I just… I don't want to just scratch an inch. I'm looking for…" 

"Connection?"

"Yes," you say emphatically. "Exactly. Not to be melodramatic, but I'm just too damn old for anything else."

"I feel the same way," Marcus murmurs.

"If you feel the same way, how the hell do you reconcile the fact that we're from two different parts of the country?" 

"I don't know," he says softly. "But I know I can't ignore what I feel for you–the connection I feel between us. I know that's real, don't you?"

You drain the last of your beer and set it down on the counter. 

"Guess that's my time," Marcus chuckles resignedly.

"Walk me to my car," you say quietly. 

Marcus nods, throwing some cash onto the counter and extending his hand to you. "Shall we?"

Not taking your eyes off of his, you gently slip your palm into his own. He walks you to your car, one hand resting perfectly at the small of your back and making the skin there tingle slightly.

“I won’t ask to kiss you,” he announces as you open your door. “But from one passing ship to another, I’ll just say that you look so goddamn beautiful right now under the streetlights.”

You turn carefully around. Marcus’s expression is open and earnest. His lips are parted, his eyebrows upturned as he watches you. He’s made his desires clear, and you… you simply want to bask in that all-consuming attention of his for just a few moments. 

Slowly, achingly slowly, you bring your palm up to lay against his sternum. Your eyes meet–a question in his, an answer in yours. 

Just as unhurriedly, Marcus steps closer. He gently cups your chin in one of his large hands as he tilts his head just slightly and lowers it to meet you. 

His lips are soft when they slowly brush against your mouth. The kiss is sensual, full of longing and barely restrained passion lurking just under the surface. His lips are parted, but he makes no attempt to deepen the kiss; you never feel the careful slip of his tongue into your mouth or the sting of teeth. Despite this, it might be the most sexually charged kiss you’ve ever received. A wave of pure want surges down your spine and into the base of your core and your grip on his shirt tightens to steady yourself as a small, involuntary noise escapes from deep in your chest.

You expect things to escalate from there. You wait for your back to hit the side of your car, to feel the weight of Marcus’s body against you as he pins you against the door. You wait for his hand to grip your hip, his fingertips to dig into the back of your neck as he takes control.

Instead, he pulls back–breathing shakily as he does–and rests his forehead against yours.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have done that,” you laugh breathlessly, thinking of how the hell you were supposed to to work with him now.

“Maybe not,” Marcus chuckles back. “But I don’t regret it. I can’t.”

The orange light from a nearby lamp casts half of his face in shadow, making his features stand out in dark relief: the bow of his upper lip, the angle of his cheekbone, the strength in his brow, the line of his nose… 

He’s the one who looks beautiful, you think. Out loud, you say something else. 

Just one word.

Your name. 

Marcus’s lips part in surprise, eyebrows turning upward as he realizes the gift you’ve given him. He could have used it all along, of course, had probably seen it in the city directory before he’d even met you. 

But he waited for your consent, instead.

And oh, how sweet it sounds when it falls from his lips for the first time like this, his mouth just inches from yours.

“I can’t believe I let you kiss me smelling like this,” you joke, trying to dispel the heavy cloud of tension.

He laughs quietly, and murmurs your name again, his thumb brushing delicately back and forth against your cheekbone. “Go home,” he whispers. “Take that bath. It’s late.”

You nod, swallowing thickly. “See you tomorrow.”

Marcus steps back, giving you a fond, warm smile. “Sure will.”

Christ, what have you done?

The thought doesn’t hit you until the wee hours of the morning, when you bolt upright in bed before your alarm and realize that you’re going to have to continue working alongside Marcus for the foreseeable future. 

You don’t know him, not really; you don’t know how he’ll act in a professional setting after a very unprofessional moment between the two of you. He brings out a softness in you that you don’t recognize, a deep yearning at the very core of you that had been shoved down and suppressed for years. Vulnerability is punished in your line of work, especially as a woman, and you’ve gotten so well-practiced at stamping out any trait that could be perceived as weakness that you, unknowingly, eradicated it from your personal life as well.

How long has it been since you’ve let someone in?

How long have you denied yourself the comfort of another’s touch?

Damn him.

He’s brought all of these feelings to the surface, and now you have to worry about not only his reaction to seeing you at work today, but yours as well. 

Will you be able to hide the way your body seems to gravitate toward him? Can you keep your face from betraying you? 

Will he be able to remain aloof and businesslike, or will the mask drop–showing everyone the hunger in his eyes? 

You shudder slightly. Please, let the day go smoothly. 

As it turns out, all your nerves were misplaced. There’s no awkward reunion, no shy smiles or stilted small talk. 

“They ID’ed the guy!” Marcus exclaims loudly as you walk into the bullpen. 

The outburst from the typically softspoken man surprises you so much that you nearly drop your coffee.

“What?” 

“Your Norman Rockwell thief! His name is Reuben Porter, and he lives in Moberly.”

A slow smile spreads across your face. “No way.”

Marcus grins back, dimple on full display. “Fancy a drive to the field office today?”

“Hell yes. Gotta be sooner than later, though,” you add, thinking of Maisie Fletcher. “I’ve got a meeting at three.”

“Yes ma’am,” he smirks. “Shouldn’t take too long. They’ll share all of their files, and you and your precinct can be the ones to make the arrest.”

“Wait… you’re not doing that?”

“Told you it was still your case,” he points out. “Yeah, before you know it, I’ll be out of your hair and on a plane back to D.C.”

“What a relief,” you joke, but the words hardly have any bite to them. Back to D.C.? Part of you wants to have your fill of him first; that kiss last night only left you craving more. All you can think about is his lips on yours, and wonder about the feel of his body as it pins you to the bed. 

“I’m sure it is.” 

Marcus’s voice deepens, his tone tinged with amusement, and you fight the urge to avert your eyes like a schoolgirl. 

“Shall we, then?” you say lightly, raising your eyebrows and tilting your chin upward.

“You’re driving, this time,” he says with a boyish smile.

The car is where the tension finally returns. The air feels dense, each lull in polite conversation pregnant with what goes unmentioned and unacknowledged. To your surprise, you find yourself itching to address the elephant in the squad car, even after what feels like hours of giving yourself pep talks before work, promising yourself you wouldn’t be the one to slip.

“When… when is your flight?” you ask instead.

“Tomorrow.”

“...Oh.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Marcus says seriously.

You blanch. “You do?”

“Mmhmm. ‘Good Riddance,’ right? Mister Big City Agent, finally getting out of your way so you can arrest the jerk who had the audacity to defile the Mark Twain Museum.”

You bark out a surprised laugh. “I can’t tell if you’re making fun of Hannibal or not.”

Marcus makes a show of appearing offended. “I would never poke fun at the birthplace of Samuel Clemens.” Sobering, he adds, “I hope you know by now that I care very deeply about every art case.”

You can’t help but beam at him. Taking a leap of faith, you respond. “And I hope you know by now that I’m not hoping the door hits you on the way out.”

“Yeah?” he asks quietly. 

“‘Course.”

Marcus slowly reaches his hand over to you and drags just the tip of one finger from your wrist and down your hand to the end of your pinkie finger in a barely-there caress. 

You let out a shaky exhale as the squad car pulls into the lot of the St. Louis field office.

Damon greets you and Marcus cheerfully as you enter the Art Crimes Department. He shakes your hand, offering his congratulations, as you follow him back to his office.

“Here you go,” he says, handing you a singular flash drive. “The final identification reports identifying Reuben Porter as the thief, and all related case notes.”

“...That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Oh,” you say, turning the flash drive over in your hand. “Why not just email it?” 

“File’s too big,” Damon shrugs.

“Got some stuff for you, too,” Marcus adds, pulling out his field notebook and a manila folder and handing them to you. “My notes, and my formal report of my involvement in the case.”

“Thank you,” you say, looking at Damon, and then at Marcus. “For your expertise and your support. I’ll–”

You’re interrupted by the loud ringing of your work cell. Grimacing, you give the agents an apologetic smile and duck out of Damon’s office.

“Yeah,” you say impatiently into the phone.

“Hey,” Hubbard replies, sounding, for once, incredibly hesitant.

“...What’s going on?”

“Can you go on a call?”

"I'm at the St. Louis field office with Pike," you tell him. "You'll have to call Evan in."

"Evan is already here," the Sergeant says, making you frown in confusion. 

"He is? Then why–"

"We’ve got a body, but Cricket? …It's Johansson."

You don't realize your legs have given out until you feel the cold chair underneath you. Your breath comes in short pants after hearing That Name. That fucking name.

"Jakub," Hubbard continues, as if you needed to be told.

"H-How?"

"Looks like an overdose, but the autopsy will have to confirm it, obviously."

You feel as though you're floating above yourself. That fucking case. You hadn’t been on the force long; it was the first time the system had failed you. Failed her. 

"I just thought you should know," the Sergeant is saying. "If you need to take a few days–"

"I don't," you interrupt. "Thanks for telling me. You still need me to come?"

"Nah," Hubbard says. "Have fun in St. Louis."

"Yeah," you hear yourself saying over the blood rushing in your ears. "Thanks." You robotically set the phone down on the table, eyes unseeing as you process the conversation. 

A warm palm lands on your shoulder, and you exhale shakily. "S-Sorry, just give me a minute."

"Are you okay?" Marcus's voice is full of concern.

"Yeah, it's um… just a name I haven't heard in a while, is all."

But that’s not true… is it? The name is fresh in your brain, feels familiar when you silently form the shape of it with your mouth. Jakub Johansson. You’ve tried your best to put him–and all the other cases that keep you up at night–in the past, but ghost after ghost keeps turning up this week, in more ways than one. 

“Do we need to get back to Hannibal?” Marcus asks.

“Nah. No. They’ve got it handled, they were just–it was one of mine, so… informing me, I guess.”

“One of your… what?”

“Sorry. Just an old case. Someone connected with it, anyways.”

“Everything alright?”

“They’re dead,” you deadpan. And even as you say the words out loud, a weight you didn’t realize you had been carrying seems to lift from your shoulders. Finally unparalyzed, you turn and look at Marcus. His gaze is burning, his eyes searching your face with unrelenting intensity. 

“Do you need to take a moment?” he asks softly, plush lips barely moving and his wild eyes never once leaving you.

Suddenly, the windowless Art Crimes Department feels stifling, like there’s not enough air. You can’t speak; you can’t breathe. Instead, you nod as you quickly rise from your chair and all-but-bolt from the room, walking quickly down the hall and up the stairs until you reach the lobby, then rushing out of the main entrance. It’s only then that you feel as though you can suck in a deep, ragged breath of crisp autumn air.  

You’ve carried this case with you for almost seven years. Seven years of feeling like you were the one who failed–not the system. You. You could have collected more evidence, you could have fought harder, you could have–no. You pace the sidewalk, repeating the statements the Force’s therapist gave you all those years ago. You did everything you could do. You helped a woman in need and brought a bad man to justice. His light sentence is not your fault. 

And now he’s dead.

Why doesn’t this feel like relief?

That feeling, the one you've been having all week, returns. That feeling of wrongness, like you’re forgetting something important. 

“Hey.” A soft voice cuts through your thoughts.

“I don’t understand what’s going on,” you murmur, not turning to acknowledge Marcus. “What the fuck is happening this week? Pearson, Dalton, Fletcher, J-Johannson… I’ve seen more dead bodies in one week than I’ve seen in a fucking lifetime.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Marcus points out, “not a dead body.”

“The case with Johansson, it… it fucked me up for a while,” you say quietly, not looking at him. “I had to take time off, I was appointed a therapist to speak to, I–” 

“The details must have been really upsetting to you,” he says gently, laying his hand on your forearm.

“I had panic attacks,” you whisper, feeling the leftover shame wash over you. “We’re supposed to keep our own emotions out of the job, and I… I failed–”

“That’s not a failure–” Marcus starts, but you interrupt quickly.

“I failed her,” you grit out through clenched teeth, spinning to face him head-on. “I thought I was doing everything I could, but it wasn’t enough.”

The soft sound of your name causes a sob to catch in your throat.

“Listen to me,” Marcus says softly. “You did everything you could, I know you did. You’re a caring, capable, brilliant cop, and you did everything in your power. And besides, the universe has a way of making things right, doesn’t it? He came to justice in the end.”

You snort. “He fucking overdosed in his own home, and his victim was left with a lifetime of trauma. If that’s justice, the universe has a funny sense of humor.”

You deflate with a sigh. Checking your watch, you give Marcus a humorless smile. “We’ve gotta go, anyway. I need to be back to meet with the wife of a drowned man at the morgue.”

Maisie Fletcher’s demeanor is far more stony than it had been the day before. Head held high and lips pursed, she strides confidently into the observation room and watches expressionlessly as the sheet is peeled back to reveal Gavin Fletcher.

“That’s him,” she confirms with no emotion in her voice.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you say, because it’s what you’re supposed to do.

Maisie snorts, the first time her facial features have changed since she walked in. “Really? Knowing what you know about him? You might be the only other person who knows the truth about what he really is.”

When you don’t answer, she speaks again.

“This might be the best thing that's ever happened to me." The words are whispered, barely audible even in the cryptlike silence of the morgue.

You nod at the mortician, Milo, who you remember from a few grades below you in school. He nods back and carefully replaces the sheet.

You escort Maisie back out to her car with a heavy heart and brooding thoughts.

"What are you going to do?" you ask quietly.

"I'm leaving town. Soon as I can. I–I never meant to stay here, but…"

"It's hard to leave," you murmur. "The town, mean," you correct quickly. "It sucks you in. Believe me, I know."

"You could go, too," Maisie points out. "Every town needs cops."

"And leave all this?" you joke. "I'm good. Really. Just been a week for the record books."

As Maisie drives off, you turn and see that Milo is watching you from the front entrance.

"There a problem?" you call out.

"Nah, just wanted a second opinion on something. You busy?"

You shake your head, walking back into the morgue behind the mortician.

"Lot of new tenants this week," Milo says. He pauses, looking over at you as if waiting for your laugh. You manage a weak one, but it seems to satisfy him. He stops in front of one of the metal drawers and turns toward you. "This one, the one they found yesterday? The autopsy hasn't been completed yet, but I wanted to run something by you to see if you agree with my analysis."

You shrug, holding your arms out in a gesture for him to continue. He grabs the handle and pulls, revealing the pale, stiff corpse of Jakub Johansson. You suppress a flinch.

"It doesn't take an autopsy to conclude that the overdose killed him," the mortician says. "We've got all the classic signs of a fatal dose of Fentanyl. Should be cut-and-dry."

You pause, a small frown on your features. “If it’s cut-and-dry, why am I sensing a ‘but’ there?”

“Well, the overdose is cut-and-dry. No one walks away from that many drugs in their system, but… well, it looks like he got into a fight or something right before.”

“A fight?”

Milo sweeps the sheet back from the corpse’s arm. “Here. See, there’s the puncture from the needle, but look–” he gestures at the upper arm, where, through the discoloration of the already-decomposing skin, you can clearly see five purple marks. 

“Someone grabbed him,” you say quietly. 

“Mmhm. And here.” He points to the forearm, where a larger bruise runs horizontally across the skin. 

Staring at the marks, the image starts to crystalize in your mind. “It looks like… like someone grabbed his upper arm, and held his forearm in place with their knee, or something.”

“That’s exactly what it looks like,” Milo nods grimly. 

“He was held down,” you murmur, barely audible in the silent room. “He was held down and given a fatal dose.”

“The injuries were perimortem,” the mortician adds. “They would have been sustained just before he overdosed.”

“How long before?”

“No way to be precise, but…” he clicks his tongue, “...no more than an hour or two.”

You thank Milo in a daze, heading back out of the morgue with rapidly swirling thoughts. You can no longer ignore the facts: All the people who have died this week, with the exception of Bobby Pearson, were on your list of ‘Cases that Haunt your Dreams.’ That list… subconscious, but so vivid that you may as well have it written down on a piece of posterboard and hung opposite your living room couch. They were the cases that kept you up at night, the reason you… 

… the reason… you…

…drink… to… forget.

The phrase seems to set off a chain reaction in your mind. You hear it again and again, but not in your own voice…

In the voice of someone else. 

“They say there’s only two kinds of people,” Marcus says. “Those who drink to remember, and those who drink to forget.”

You remember his soulful eyes, the understanding in his expression as he acknowledged that he knew exactly which of those people you were.

“I drink to remember.”

“The living, and the dead.”

The dead.

Images flash rapidly in your brain. Him telling you the work matters. Urging you to tell him the names. Pouring you another drink. You, crying against his dress shirt. Him pleading with you to let it all go, the burdens you carried.

The names…

Nothing makes sense, anymore.

Well, actually, everything makes sense, it’s just that you don’t want it to. 

Everything that’s happened over the past week is leading you to one conclusion–and you simply aren’t ready to face it. Not yet. 

You can’t face it… but you can’t let it go, either. It would be against everything you thought you stood for. So rather than go home and drown your suspicions in more whiskey, you go back to the station.

Not bothering to turn on the lights, you sit down at your desk and power on your computer. The blue light is harsh in the dim bullpen as you open the FBI’s website and search for the Art Crimes department. You glance at the directory–Supervisory Special Agent Marcus Pike at the very top, of course–then navigate over to the department’s news page and scan the recent case headlines. 

Wilton Man Admits Operating Fraud Scheme

Palm Beach Art Dealer Sentenced to Federal Prison for Laundering Money From Art Fraud Scheme.

Lips pursed, you open up a second tab and search for ‘Wilton.’ It’s a small town in Connecticut–and you find the town’s local newspaper easily. You click back to the FBI page, look at the date the man was arrested, and look through the newspaper archives on and before the same day. 

No major headlines stand out, but when you read the obituaries for the week, goosebumps begin to rise at the back of your neck. Elliott Bradford, 42. Overdose. Mark Hampton, 38. Suicide. 

Those kinds of deaths are common everywhere, you try to tell yourself. But, pulling up yet another tab, you search for the first name. Immediately, article after article appears in the results. Heart in your throat, you click on the first. 

Sex Offender Elliott Bradford Implicated in Trafficking Ring. The news is from over a decade ago–but the details are enough to turn your stomach. He’d been sentenced to ten years in prison, which means he would have just been released… last year. Mere months before Marcus would have been there for work. 

When you search for Mark Hampton, you find a similar story. Marjorie Hampton Files Suit Against Husband Mark Citing Repeated Abuse. And just a few years later, he’s dead, too.

A little voice in the back of your head tells you to stop digging, but you can’t seem to quit. You repeat the search with Palm Beach, and find that again, the obituaries are filled with accidental deaths and suicides from the town’s most violent men. 

Minneapolis. North Hollywood. Palmdale. You’ve gone as far back as 2016, and every town has the same pattern: Marcus Pike arrives for a case, and days later, known abusers start turning up dead. 

Every. 

Single. 

One.

It’s nearly two in the morning when you finally force yourself to stop. Your mind is swirling with names, dates, and heinous crimes. And all of them died within weeks of the town being visited by a certain FBI Art Crimes Detective. There’s still a part of you that can’t believe your conclusions are real–that the sweet, kind man you can’t deny your feelings for any longer is actually a killer. Which is why, hands trembling, you do the one thing you definitely should not do at this moment.

You text Marcus Pike.

“I need to talk to you.”

You regret it almost immediately. Part of you hopes that he’s asleep. He has to be, right? It’s two AM. Shaking your head and inwardly chastising yourself, you slip your phone into your pocket and start shutting down the computer. 

When you get up to leave, however, your phone pings.

“Where and when?”

"I–I need to talk to you,” you blurt out the moment the hotel room door opens, but the sight before you almost makes you swallow the last few words.

Marcus is shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of gray sleep pants low around his hips. You can’t help but stare at the sight, taking in his broad shoulders, the light musculature of his arms, his slender waist and the soft skin on his stomach. A light trail of hair disappears below the waistband of his pants, and you swallow thickly as you drag your eyes back up to his face.

"So you said," Marcus says quietly. If he’s amused at your obvious staring, he doesn’t show it.

"You–what're you doing up so late?"

"Never did sleep much," he says with a crooked grin. One of his eyebrows raises as he looks you up and down. "Why are you up and at my door at this time of night?"

"Losing my fucking mind," you murmur shakily.

He steps forward, reaching his hand up to tenderly cup your cheek. Your eyes flutter closed as your body instinctively responds to his touch.

"Marcus," you whisper. 

"And why does that bring you to me?" he asks, his voice deepening. His thumb traces back and forth across your cheekbone.

To confront you, you want to say. To make you tell me I'm not crazy. That I figured out your secret.

Instead, you reach out and touch one trembling hand to his sternum, indulging in your desire to touch that expanse of golden skin. 

You open your eyes to find him watching you with a hooded, coal-black gaze. His eyes flick down to your hand on his chest, then back up to your face.

The moment feels like the drawing back of a bowstring. It seems to linger, seconds stretching out longer and longer until the inevitable moment where everything snaps.

Suddenly, Marcus is pulling you forward, shutting the door, and pressing you back against it in one swift, fluid motion. 

His entire body molds to you–hips, hands, lips–with far more ferocity and less restraint than the night before. You feel the sting of his teeth, the grip of his fingertips as he takes from you.

You aren't exactly idle, either; your hands map the planes of his chest, hips canting up to grind against the hard length you can feel there. When he pushes right back, you groan loudly and dig your fingernails involuntarily into the meat of his upper back, and he hisses.

"Sor–"

"Again," he growls, so you scratch harder.

A low, feral sound escapes from deep in his chest he breaks away from your lips and kisses a frenzied path down your neck.

"This was always going to happen," Marcus rasps into your skin. "You, and me. Can't you feel it?"

"Feel–?" you gasp, arching your back at the little nip of teeth at your shoulder. What you feel, right now at least, is the hard, thick length of his cock pressing insistently against your stomach, and it empties your mind of all other thoughts. 

"Feel the electricity between us. The connection," Marcus clarifies between kisses back up your neck until he gently nibbles your jaw. 

"Mmhmm," you whimper. Your knees almost buckle.

"Tell me," he orders. 

"I feel it."

You reach down and grasp his erection through his clothes as if to punctuate your meaning, and Marcus’s knees do buckle slightly as he sags against you with a broken groan.

"Every fucking night," he growls, "I pictured how you would look spread out on this bed. You'll forgive me for indulging that, now."

"Tell me," you parrot coquettishly, staring up at him coyly from behind your lashes.

Another low sound emanates from deep within Marcus's chest at your command. Spinning you around so fast you nearly lose your sense of direction, he pulls you further into the room and deposits you on the bed before crawling over you. 

"Tell you, huh? Tell you what? How I would close my eyes and think about the sounds you'd make for me? Or about how I'd get so worked up imagining the way you'd taste, the way you'd look coming undone beneath me that I'd have to fist my cock just for a little relief?"

"I wanna see that," you say lazily, licking your lips and making a show of pulling your shirt over your head. 

"Next time," Marcus promises darkly. “Next time I'll do it just like this, with you staring up at me, watching me fuck myself for you. But I don't think I can go one more night without being inside you."

"Please," you whisper, staring up at him with wide eyes. 

"Yeah?"

"Fucking… yes, Marcus, shit–"

He chuckles, straight, white teeth showing as he grins and starts to unbutton your pants. You let him draw them down your hips, along with your underwear, your breath getting shakier as you see the hungry look in his eyes. It makes you feel powerful, the way just the sight of your bare center seems to affect him. 

When your pants reach your ankles, he yanks them off the rest of the way and casts them aside in the corner of the room. His gaze is almost predatory, but you get the feeling you are the one who has him under your thumb at the moment. Giving him a sly, crooked smile, you spread your legs wide.

Marcus pitches forward onto his elbows, dropping down onto the bed as if deep in prayer, but everything about the man in this moment is sinful. With his mouth inches from your pussy, he breathes in, closing his eyes and shuddering visibly. When he opens then again, they're deep obsidian. They don't move from your face as he lowers his mouth to you.

You aren't sure who moans louder at the first generous lick of his tongue into your pussy. Rather than start at your clit, he dives in; thrusting the wet, warm muscle as deep into your cunt as he can while his nose presses deliciously against you. 

He devours you greedily, licking up into you as if he could pull pleasure out of your channel with just his tongue. He seems to be getting almost as much satisfaction out of doing it; his eyes are closed as if savoring you, low, muffled moans from deep in his throat punctuate every lap into your pussy, and every so often, his hips thrust slightly against the bed as though he can't help but seek a little relief.

His hands scrabble at your hips, yanking you closer as soon as he can find purchase, and you throw your head back on the pillow as he buries himself even deeper than before.

Christ, how is he even breathing?

His nose rubs back and forth against your clit, and you can feel your orgasm starting to build. Growing bolder, you rock your hips subtly against Marcus's face, and by the loud groan that escapes him when he feels you do it, he enjoys it.

He pulls at your hips again, wordlessly commanding you to continue. 

"Fuck," you murmur. "Marcus, your mouth–"

You slowly grind on him, gyrating your hips as you chase the sensations that feel best for you. It causes everything to pull up tight, and before you even realize what's happening, you're falling apart on his tongue.

"Have to have you," Marcus pants in your ear, having surged up to cover you with his body even as you were still trembling with aftershocks. "Tell me I can have you."

"Yeah," you agree. "Fuck, take it. It's yours." Make me forget.

"Condom?" 

"Clean. You?"

"Clean. You–You sure? Tell me now, because I don't think I can wait any longer."

"Please," you whisper, reaching up to gently wipe away some of the slick above his upper lip with an amused smile. He looks wrecked already–the only time you've seen him with a hair out of place–and it's incredibly endearing. 

You don't have time to dwell on that thought, because with a broken sound, he sheathes himself within you. 

The noise that escapes you is involuntary–an instinctual, guttural reaction from somewhere deep in your subconscious brain. You can feel Marcus everywhere at once, pressing against nerves deep inside of you, nerves you didn't even realize you had. 

Anyone would be forgiven for expecting sex with this clean-shaven, softspoken man to be just as gentle and sweet as the man himself. You would have thought the same thing, except for one feature of his that always made you feel as though something darker was lurking underneath: that smile. Wide, toothy, eager; the rows of straight, white teeth; the boyish little dimple it exposes.

It's his eyes when he smiles like that that have always made you wonder what he's hiding; what demons are being concealed behind pearly whites and laugh lines.

But you think the way Marcus fucks might expose far more than anything else about him. 

The fire that dances in his eyes has certainly hinted at a deeper passion, but you've yet to experience anything like the way it feels to be on the receiving end of this much intensity. 

He's unrelenting in his pursuit of pleasure; fervent and raw and so very physical. He doesn't shy away from the messiness of sex; he licks an escaped tear as you reach your second peak, he spits on your clit and rubs it in with his fingers, and when he finally pulls out and finishes on your chest, he immediately covers you with his mouth and sucks himself off of your nipples.

You'd also be forgiven in thinking Marcus was done with you. That, given the late hour and the vigorous, explosive way he had fucked you, he'd collapse on the bed with a tired, sated sigh.

Instead, he pulls at your hip and guides you to turn over on your stomach. You're about to open your mouth and question his motives when you feel his hot, wet tongue press against your other hole.

You squeal involuntarily, burying your face in the pillows as you surrender to the onslaught of Marcus’s attentions. In this, just as in every other way he's already had you tonight, he's incredibly vocal. He straightens his tongue and pushes it inside, and moans loudly as he feels you give way for him.

"Good girl, so fuckin' good, gonna make me hard again, aren't you? Mewling so prettily into the sheets like that while I take you apart. You like that, don't you? Filthy fucking girl, huh? Good. I am, too–told you we were made to do this."

Marcus is merciless, giving you his tongue, fingers, tongue again, over and over and over in your pussy and your ass until you come undone again with a wail. 

You're boneless and pliable as he hauls your trembling body up onto your knees and enters you again, this time from behind. 

He's equal parts brutal and reassuring: ample, generous praise spills from his lips with every rough punch of his cock. 

You're so overwrought with pleasure, you can't even speak. Marcus is destroying you in every delicious way, and you aren't sure how you're supposed to come back from this. How you're supposed to confront him after he's made you feel things you didn't even know how could feel.

His lower hands are pressing down on your lower back, intensifying the arch in your spine and causing his cock to hit the perfect spot inside you.

"Gonna–" you gasp.

"I know," Marcus answers. "Together, this time. With me, yeah? I'm so close, but I'm waiting on you. Cum for me, let me feel it baby."

You sob into the pillows as he fucks you through your orgasm, your walls aching and ultrasensitive from the relentless onslaught of his cock. 

You're only barely aware of him pulling out and letting you collapse forward onto the bed. You aren't sure why it surprises you–perhaps just the intensity of the moment before–but you aren't expecting the warm, gentle arms encircling you as Marcus follows you down and wraps you up, pulling you into his chest. 

You're still panting, trying to catch your breath and regain equilibrium as you hear his voice behind you. It's not rough and rasping like before, but soft and soothing as he croons into your ear.

"So good for me, so perfect. Took me so well, look so good in my bed. Incredible.”

Giddy and overwhelmed, you start to laugh breathlessly.

Marcus chuckles too, nuzzling the spot behind your ear with his nose with a satisfied hum. His fingers start to trace a path up and down your stomach, and you sigh bonelessly and settle against him.

"This… this wasn't what I came here for," you murmur after a few moments.

"No?" Marcus nips playfully at your jawline just below your ear.

"No, I… I…"

The teasing kisses continue, causing sparks to shoot up and down your spine.

"Marcus," you sigh, as you feel another little nibble on your neck. "Marcus. Stop."

Slowly, cautiously, he pulls back. You turn in his arms, frowning slightly.

"I came here… Jesus, this sounds–I need you to convince me I'm just being jumpy. That I've been spooked, scared of my own shadow…"

“You’re under a lot of stress,” Marcus says gently. “You’ve had a hard week.”

You scoff. “Hard week? I’ve had hard weeks. This week was devastating. I’ve seen more deaths in one week than in almost my entire time on the force, and–” you swallow and look up, meeting his dark eyes, “–they’re all connected to me.”

“It’s not your fault,” he whispers. “They were bad men, and they all had their vices…”

“Every single one,” you forge ahead, “was connected to a case assigned to me. But that’s not the only connection, is it?”

Marcus cocks his head to the side, not dissimilar to a confused puppy. “What do you mean?”

“They were all connected to cases that keep me up at night. Cases that didn’t end in justice. Cases that I confessed… to you.”

Confusion melts away into an easy, casual smile. Marcus chuckles softly. “I thought you said you didn’t remember anything we talked about that night.”

“Details might be blurry, but it’s the only thing that makes sense,” you say, laying back to stare at the ceiling. “I was upset over Bobby. I was disillusioned with the job. You were all too eager to lend an ear, to let me drown my sorrows and whisper the names of the men whose faces I’ll never forget. I cried on your shoulder, Marcus. And you… you took those names, and—”

“Are you saying you’re accusing me of being some kind of one-man vigilante justice machine?” Marcus asks, beginning to laugh outright. “Cricket, do you have any idea how that sounds?”

“It sounds crazy," you say, turning toward him again. "So convince me otherwise. Tell me I've lost my fucking marbles on this one."

"I think it would be natural for anyone to look for some kind of reason behind a string of deaths of people they know," he offers gently. "And these men, they've… they've affected you more than most–let's not mince words, you were traumatized by these cases. It's only natural that you would look for answ–"

"Answers?" you interrupt. "My job is to find answers, you should know that. I've been researching you on your own website, what do you have to say about that? I know where you've been for other cases."

Marcus chuckles, although it seems… deeper, this time. "That's publicly available information on the government's own servers. I'm not sure what your point is."

"I also looked up all the newspapers from the times you would have been there," you say. "And just like in Hannibal, there's a rash of suicides and accidental deaths, and all of the victims? They all had rap sheets miles long."

"Cricket," Marcus intones softly. "I know you're desperately trying to find connections here, but you have to realize these all sound like huge coincidences–"

"You got sloppy," you accuse, picking up steam and confidence as you continue to talk through it. "Did you know that? Johansson's death was no accident. He was held down and given a fatal dose. It was rough; whoever did it wanted it to hurt–"

"Stop." Marcus cuts you off, his voice harsher than you've ever heard it. "You're grasping at straws. You're under a ton of stress, and you've concocted a wild fantasy to cope. It's a good story, but that's all it is. The things you're accusing me of, the person you've made me out to be… it's not rational, and it's dangerous. I'm an agent with the US Government, and you're throwing around some pretty serious allegations."

"I know what I've seen…" you murmur, shaking your head.

"You haven't seen anything," Marcus insists. "I'm not sure what your game is here. You come to my hotel room in the middle of the night saying you want to talk, you come onto me, we have sex… and now you're telling me you think I'm, what? A serial killer?"

"I–I think I should leave," you say quietly, getting up from the bed and padding over to pick up your uniform–where your gun is still holstered in your belt. You grab the pile of clothes and retreat to the bathroom to breathe and regroup. You splash cold water on your face, trying to ignore the fact that your hands are trembling slightly. 

Get it together. 

The pull you've felt for the man all week doesn't matter. Put it aside. Do the job. 

You take a few more deep breaths, then pull on your clothes. With a set jaw, you unholster your gun and slowly open the bathroom door.

"Marcus Pike, you're–"

You freeze mid-sentence, staring at the now-empty room.

"...gone?"

Epilogue (1 year later)

“I know it’s not much, but–”

“It’s perfect,” you breathe, walking into the small office, carrying a paper box full of your belongings, all waiting for a home among the bookshelves and desk space.

“Sure,” the other agent laughs.

It might not have a window. It might not have much charm. But it has a door–a real door that closes and everything–and even more importantly, it bears your name on a plaque.

A real office.

Yours. 

“You’re coming to us from… Saint Paul?”

“Saint Louis,” you correct amicably. 

“Welcome to White Collar Crimes,” your new coworker says with a wan smile. “It’s like Organized Crime, except instead of bodies, you’re examining accounting spreadsheets.”

“Good,” you say emphatically. “I’ve had enough death for several lifetimes.”

The other agent makes a face. “What the fuck was going on in Saint Louis?”

You huff a laugh through your nose. “You don’t wanna know.”

You set the box down, taking out some of your most prized possessions: A Mark Twain bobblehead, your Bachelor’s Degree in Criminology from the University of Missouri, and more recently, a certificate from Quantico labeling you as a Special Agent with the FBI.

It had taken most of the year to coordinate your exodus from the tiny town of Hannibal where you grew up. Sure, you could have simply gone to another city to be a cop, but the endless parade of speeding tickets, accidental overdoses, and orders to break up tent cities was wearing on you. Were you really making a difference where you were? 

No.

No.

You wanted to go after the real criminals. Those who swindled the vulnerable out of their hard-earned money. Those who gamed the stock market only to make a few million more than they already had. 

White collar crime.

“Well, welcome to D.C.,” the other agent says, his tone tongue-in-cheek, but your smile is genuine nonetheless. He leaves you to your task–setting up the tiny, cramped space that serves as your office. 

You unpack a box of your favorite pens, your stapler, a potted plant (fake) to add some greenery. Maybe when you get an office with a window, you can get some real plants, you think as you rearrange your notebooks on the small bookshelf beside your desk.

You glance down at the badge on your lapel and smile.

It had been a year since your strange run-in with the Art Crimes Agent that changed the course of your career. 

After Marcus Pike fled the scene of his own hotel room–leaving most of his belongings behind–you couldn’t find it in yourself to continue down the road of being a small-town police officer, handing out tickets and misdemeanors and investigating every tragic case that came across your desk. And they were all tragic, make no mistake. 

After a few months of being angry and indignant, you’d grown to respect Marcus Pike. You’d realized he was telling the truth all those months ago: he’d felt useless as an Agent, cutting through all the red tape and bureaucracy, and he’d simply taken matters into his own hands in the end.

He used his connections within law enforcement to gain access to the world’s undesirables: the violent, the unhinged, the maladapted, the unacclimated. 

The bad men who had gotten light sentences or slaps on the wrist when they should have been removed from polite society for the gain of humanity.

Compared to you–fighting through the red tape of Government at every turn–Marcus was unstoppable. You guess that’s why so many people like to read about comic book heroes who spend their time doling out vigilante justice. Fighting for prolonged sentences within the criminal justice system was one thing. Living by your own creed of law and order? That was another.

Marcus simply… went around the law.

Did the ends justify the means?

That was a question that kept you up for months on end–that still causes you to shoot up in bed, panting and sweating, fighting off the remnants of a nightmare.

Even now, you aren’t sure of the answer.

That, on top of the real job opportunities that the FBI awarded you, is what really brought you here.

Marcus Pike… is a murderer.

You’re here to keep an eye on him.

Putting aside your… more personal connections, the man is dangerous. After all, you have no way of substantiating that his moral code, the way he kills for his own perceived sense of good, will always match the general sense of human morality. Is Marcus the type of man who would take a personal slight and warp it into his own twisted sense of justice? Would ever kill to satisfy his own grievances? Would he ever simply kill for the sake of it? You have no way of knowing.

A soft tap on your office door interrupts your reverie.

“Got a briefing on the Waters case in five. I’m assuming you read the file I emailed over?” 

At your nod, the other agent continues. “It’s in conference room 2E63. Since this place is a bit of a labyrinth, thought we could walk there together.”

“Appreciate it,” you say cheerfully, snapping your laptop shut and grabbing your notebook. 

Time to work.

“Got any questions for me before the meeting?” your coworker asks as you navigate through the halls.

“Are other departments involved in this case?” you ask. “There’s the embezzling scheme, stock fraud, that’s obviously us. But what about some of the company’s other operations? The file mentioned something about illegal smuggling and money laundering, surely that’s–”

“Organized Crime, yup. We’ve got two representatives from that team, they’ve been heavily involved. It was recently discovered that some of the goods smuggled were uh, famous paintings or something? So we’ve recently added someone from—This is us, by the way.”

Your coworker opens the conference room door, and across the room, a familiar set of deep brown eyes flicks up in surprise.

“Anyway, yeah, we also recently added someone from Art Crimes to assist in the recovery of the, uh–” your coworker trails off, turning to the only other agent in the room that you happen to know, apparently hoping for him to complete the sentence.

He doesn’t. Agent Marcus Pike is still staring at you, lips parted, his face white as a sheet. Fear lurks in his wide eyes.

When he blinks, though, the mask suddenly drops back down over his expression, his agitation replaced with cool confidence.

“Cézanne,” he answers patiently. To you, he extends his hand. “I haven’t seen you around here,” he says carefully. 

To anyone listening, the words are straightforward, said by a stranger, but you catch the hidden, underlying message. I’ve seen you before, but in a different world. You are out of context. 

“Just started today,” you comment lightly before giving him your name, taking his hand, and shaking it firmly. Very firmly. Marcus blinks. You see a flash of that wild intensity that you know lurks beneath his unassuming exterior.

When he smiles, you take in the rows of perfectly straight, white teeth and his singular dimple. 

A warning. Or a promise.

“I look forward to working with you.”

[phantomtrader19]

POTO LONDON 16/03/2024 CHUMISA’S 3RD SHOW!! - REVIEW

(Audio will be gifted soon!)

I had booked this trip before Chumisa was announced to be taking over as alternate the day before so I was kicking myself I just missed her first show, I had heard clips of her online and she sounded incredible and lots of people were raving about her.

I went to the show expecting Eve or Colleen to be on as Lily had been off the Thursday and I didn’t think Chumisa would have done 2 shows directly after her debut BUT low and behold her name was on the castboard however I was a little skeptical as there has been a few times where it’s been incorrect.

During the Hannibal ballet Chumisa came out and I was so excited!! She looked gorgeous in the costume and wig! I also got the pleasure of seeing Lily as Carlotta again who was also brilliant, during Carlotta’s think of me Chumisa was in awe of her and just as the cloth was about to drop you could sense that she had sensed the presence of the phantom.

She began think of me and had a lovely vibrato to start off and then she delivered an unbelievable rendition of the song! So elegant in the way she moved in the Elissa skirt and so smiley like her Christine couldn’t believe her luck! Her cadenza was angelic to say the least so floaty and the high note so strong!

Her chemistry with Joe in the dressing room was so so good she played Christine like a total giddy teenager which really worked!

Her title song was lovely she has a great lower register for the beginning and then her cadenza was BEAUTIFUL and really powerful!

Perfect acting in music of the night played Christine with so much curiosity she was just fascinated by the phantom, her facial expressions and again so elegant in the way she moved!

The unmasking again just great acting and she held the note when singing “who’s is that face in the shadows…who’s is that face in the maaaaask” tiny detail that I LOVED

In the rooftop she was not having any of Raoul’s BS she completely stood on her own and almost seemed to be like well if you don’t believe me see ya later!

All I ask of you was brilliant! Again their chemistry was so palpable one of my fave performances I’ve seen of that song!

Masquerade again her little acting choices were so solid it was as if she was searching for the phantom in the crowd! Notes/managers 2 she stood up to Carlotta really strongly and when she got to Twisted every way you could see her Christine totally break down like she had nothing left to give, truly wonderful poignant acting choices!

Her wishing was SOOOO GOOD she relied a little more on her belt which I imagine she’ll get more into the soprano side further into her run but for her 3rd ever show an absolute acting masterclass!

In PONR she was stunning! When she knew it was the phantom it was almost rage coming out in her singing like she was so over his nonsense lol

NOW…..the final lair…..WOW

She was inCREDible!!! Again a lot of belt but it worked so so well for her portrayal of Christine she really held her own here I was blown away! I got that Chumisa rn is more of a Raoul Christine as opposed to Lily who’s the polar opposite so a really lovely change!

Overall for her 3rd show as Christine I see Chumisa being a fan favourite, so much charisma and charm in her Christine and vocally was beautiful and will only get better! All 4 London Christine’s are top of their game we’re truly spoiled!

Costume notes:

- Her wig texture and style was stunning I just wish they’d add a bit more hair to make it a bit fluffier.

- Her Elissa Skirt is like Anouk’s one so no big bow in the back and gold appliqué round the fake bodice.

- Lovely mint bow in her hair for Il muto and I’m not a massive costume buff however her rooftop dress looked different and I can’t pinpoint why?

- Her masquerade dress was slightly better than Lily’s the bodice was perfectly fit and adequately beaded and the skirt had a lovely shape! West end star princess’ are just not my fave tbh!

- Her wishing dress was like the original production ones with the waterfall drape which was interesting I wonder if that will change

[angelbarelywritesslashers]

♡ slashers scenarios | let’s get kinky (part 2)

♡ fandoms; Friday the 13th, House of Wax, Scream (kinda), Hannibal (TV), Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Jason Vorhees, Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Danny Johnson, Hannibal Lecter

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡cw; graphic sexual content, kink content, daddy kink (NOT ddlg), blood kink, knife kink

♡notes; i’m alive (ish) !!! i think i forgot how to write but have this

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Jason Vorhees

> he’s a vanilla guy, honestly

> he’s a virgin when you meet and still believes a lot of what his mother taught him

> however, he is eager to please

> so eager to please that with some gentle coaxing, you could get him to try about anything once

> he’s a natural service top- but he’d bottom no questions asked

> in terms of dom and sub dynamics, he fits pretty snugly in the sub category

> but as I said, he’d try anything once, including completely doming you

> and even if he is submissive, the man is tall, wide, and pure muscle

> it’s not hard for him to get rough- sometimes he is without even realizing it

> but the aftercare is always top-notch, he takes care of you the whole rest of the day/night even if it’s not necessary

> funnily enough he thinks oral is pretty scandalous at first, but god he loves when you suck him off, lapping and trying to take all of him even though it’s probably impossible

Bo Sinclair

> maybe listing kinks he doesn’t have would be faster

> in all seriousness, there are quite a few he’d be gunning for when the topic comes up for the first time

> he loves being called daddy or sir, or would accept most other dom titles

> he’s super into roleplay- but he loses the plot pretty fast

> he love love loves tying you up and using you as he pleases

> if you trust him enough he’ll gag you too, and maybe leave you tied up while he goes to take care of business

> he likes spanking and biting and bruising your hips from gripping you too tightly

> and he likes kissing all of the little marks he left for days afterwards

>making sure they heal properly, he always says, though he’s quick to replace them

> if you can manage to get him to sub- big if- he’s an incredibly whiny and desperate brat. but taking him can be fun.

Billy Lenz

> he’s the switch of the century 🔥🔥🔥

> he alternates so frequently between praise and degradation that it’s jarring at times

> “oh just look at my pretty whore- you like billy’s cock? take it like the fucking slut you are—“

> and he loves loves loves being on the receiving end of both as well

> he has an oral fixation, big time. And if your fingers aren’t in his mouth, his fingers are in yours

> and, to no one’s surprise, he loves phone sex

> he’ll call you from the attic as foreplay

> and he loves watching you, peeping through the wall as you put on a show for him

> he loves edging- mostly on the receiving end

> and when he finally cums, he wants it to be all over your face or chest.

Danny Johnson

> borderline exhibitionist. maybe not even borderline.

> y’all are fucking in the car, in alleys, anywhere you can have just enough privacy

> and man oh man, is he going to take so many pictures of you

> posed on the bed or on your knees in front of him or freshly fucked and nearly in tears

> when he has you screaming, he wants to hear his name, not anything else

> he’s a hair puller, and he’s more than happy to choke you

> if you ask nicely, that is. he’ll have you beg for most things

> he calls you his kitty or puppy, or baby doll if you don’t like either of those

> if you stroke his ego and praise him, he’ll do absolutely anything you want

> he’ll even be a good boy and bottom for you if he trusts you enough - though he’s an absolute pillow prince when he does bottom

Hannibal Lecter

> debatably the “worst” of the bunch

> he’s the type to really commit to BDSM dynamics

> you WILL call him master, and he’ll probably call you “my pet”

> he likes choking, spanking, the whole nine yards that a lot of the other

> but he very much has a knife kink, and a blood kink. he likes giving little nicks and lapping the blood up, getting a proper taste of you

> of course he can live without it, but if you let him indulge you’d be greatly rewarded

> and even with his strictly dominant nature, he is a very generous master

> he loves going down on you, and he loves overstimulating you when he does

> he’ll have you whining before he gets past your thighs, seeming to always know just what to do make you squirm

[iwhoneverbelievedinwar]

I FINALLY finished today's episode of re:Dracula and.

First of all I read Dracula last year but something about this version got me tearing up. Jonathan's devotion! When Mina says she's unclean and mustn't touch Jonathan and he just takes her in his arms and says that may God bring greater punishment upon him if he ever lets anything stand between them. That just. I can't help remembering that people were saying Mina shouldn't have married Jonathan when he was sick. This just shows that it was right, because Jonathan would have done the exact same thing if the roles were reversed!!

And, how can I not mention the quote that they chose for the title.

"To one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times one vampire meant many: just as their hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth, so the holiest love was the recruiting sargent for their ghastly ranks."

I know. Everyone has talked about it better than me already. But again it made me tear up. Jonathan is willing to become the horror just so Mina won't go into it alone. They're a package deal: God will either take both of them up into heaven or none. They love each other so much it's making me insane.

And, of course. What the fuck was that song (affectionate) (positive) (frothing at the mouth but like in an appreciative way)? like. Truly brings me back to the good ol beginning of Dracula, where Jonathan is in a horror novel and Dracula is in the Beauty and the Beast. The choice of having Dracula address Jonathan! He has just assaulted Mina and threatened them all, but yeah he's absolutely obsessed with this white haired anime kid who slammed a shovel into his face. The whole choice of lyrics really gave me nbc Hannibal vibes which I suppose isn't that odd, considering Hannibal is a gothic horror romance (no I will not be taking criticism). The music is absolutely lovely, and of course Karim Kronfli just delivers. The lyrics are what's sending me into a spiral.

[wiredaughter]

@fluffyfebruary 5: starry night

•••

Northern Star

hannigram ☆ titanic au ☆ first meetings ☆ suicide prevention ☆ 2091 words ☆ ao3

There are advantages, Hannibal reasons, to having an eventful coming of age. For one, nothing ever truly shocks him anymore. Well and good, if the prospect of a marriage of convenience manages to shake you after losing your family to a war and just barely surviving it yourself, the marriage might not be your biggest problem, in his opinion.

And so, he's as unimpressed by the discovery of his uncle's spendthrift nature as he is by his own bride to be. Lady Murasaki had tried to soften the facts as she explained Robert's plan to solve both his economic situation and the question of his nephew's future by marrying him off into a family of the nouveau riche, the patriarch of which just happens to own most of his debts by a happy accident. Nevermind the age difference, the incompatibility of their temperaments, the fact they only met once before the nuptials were arranged; the plan makes sense. She gains the title of Countess and he gets to repay the family that sheltered him when he had nothing.

It makes sense, yet he cannot in earnest be so cavalier about his own life. Is this what he drug himself through the freezing woods barefoot and halfstarved for? To be some old hag’s ticket out of purported maidenhood and into nobility? How he wishes Lady Murasaki was here now, as he paces along the deck. Her presence might help remind him what he's doing this for. He thinks of her, back in France with Chiyoh, of Robert's better qualities; which he undoubtedly has, hard as it is to consider them given the way he'd drunk earlier from the moment they set sail to passing out. And how hopeless his slumbering form had seemed. It'd been, ultimately, what drove Hannibal out of their cabin and into the night.

Hannibal's never been on a voyage like this, but he's read accounts of sailors and explorers with the curious intellect of youth, gratified now at the understanding that comes with first hand experience. If only the ship never came to port, he thinks, if only the sun never raised again. He could live forever, just walking along the railing under the starlight. Or until he grew bored. Or just until he reached the end, and he's reached it now.

He looks up, nowhere else to go, finds the Ursa Major and thinks of the Greek tradition that has Calliope forever looking down from the sky, safe from his son’s lance and the gods’ lust at last. Leaning over, he looks into the water as if it holds an answer that'll let him live in a way that makes his survival worth it. And an answer comes with the tides breaking at the hull, in Lady Murasaki's voice, stern and soft at the same time.

As her ancestors did when their honour was compromised beyond repair, as he's read the unfortunate take the final resort afforded to them, his escape lies in the silent sacrament of death. He looks down at the infinite blue, only a thin metal barrier separating him from transcending the obligations of life. It's risible, really. As in control of himself as he's felt in a while, he climbs over it, lording over the ripples that are to become his resting place. He wonders if he should have left a note, but the action speaks for itself, all else is superfluous. Brevity is of course the soul of wit, and besides-

‘Steadfast, mister!’ Hannibal cranes his neck to take a good look at the last person he'll see in this world; a young man walking hurriedly over to him. ‘I'm gonna get you over to this side!’

‘Stay away.’ He's proud of the impassibility in his voice, and the way it stops the stranger in his tracks. ‘Walk away now and I'll give you a headstart, you won't want to be around if they call man overboard.’

‘There's nowhere else I wanna be if you're going overboard.’

‘Not only I am, sir, but there's nothing you can do to stop me.’

The stranger huffs at that, and approaches in slow steps. ’I think you might want to stop yourself, though. And I could help you do that?’

‘You don't know what I want, you don't know me.’ He notices he's let him get too close for comfort. ‘Not one step more, I'll let go!’

‘Does that mean you won't, if I stay here?’ A grin that's as predatory as it is cajoling flashes him, making him tighten his grip on the rails. ‘You know, I'm a sailor, so I'll have to go in right after you to pull you out, if you do let go’

‘Why would you do that?’

‘It's a natural reaction to rescue a drowning man. Wanting to be the drowning man is a little less natural, but I might understand it all the same.’

Something unexplainable tells Hannibal he could, actually, understand. That he might already understand him. He hesitates, eyes fleeting to the waves and the stars overhead, witness to his plight. He doesn't really want to stop himself, but he cannot stop thinking of his life this far, of Mischa. Is this the end she gave him sustenance for? Or rather, is this what he gorged himself on her flesh for? Something ugly blooms in his chest, makes him want to say this outloud, see if the sailor boy still wants to keep him from drowning when he knows, and how he hopes the answer is yes.

‘Perhaps this is what I deserve.’ Dark eyes trace his figure; like sizing him up as they linger on his bespoke suit, his shoes, his hair; now dishevelled by the wind. ‘Perhaps you'd agree, given all the facts.’

‘You don't seem like a man hung up on deserve.’

‘Then maybe it's what I want.’ It sounds petulant even to himself, so he changes topics. ‘Are you really a sailor?’

‘More of a boatyard mechanic. Which would make keeping us afloat harder, I guess.’ He shrugs and, emboldened by a minuscule tilt on Hannibal's mouth at that, walks over until they're in each other's reach. ‘Got a sailor's grip, though, and I'm good for it.’

Hannibal stares as he extends a hand. He's closer than he’d like, closer than he thought he’d allow, but his presence is not unwelcome. His hand looks like a boatyard worker's would, rough and firm, like he won't let go if he by some lapse on judgement grasps it. Curiosity, as it often does, gets the best of him. He could stop if he wants to, he tells himself, but he doesn't. He takes it. The stranger's calloused palm sliding against his doesn't assuage his curiosity, though, but fans its flames as he turns to look at him.

He’s tense like a bowstring under his friendly demeanour, like he’s still prepared to take the dive. There's something wild written just behind his face, and Hannibal can't remember the last time he was distracted, but he is by it now, and his shoes are meant for university halls and theatres, so it's probably not a surprise when they slip on the metal and he finds himself suspended above the Atlantic, held aloft just by his grip on the deck and the mechanic's on his wrist.

He hears his exclamation as if it was his own, even though he's known for years to stay silent in the face of danger. He cannot fault the smaller man, as his expression changes to singleminded determination and his muscles strain with the effort, as if to show just how precarious their situation is. Instead of calling for help, once his alarm subsides, he brings his other hand to hold onto Hannibal's arm, starts pulling upward.

It seems like it's a challenge, like he knows they can get him back in the boat without assistance. As ridiculous as the thought is, Hannibal rises to it. With a control over his body he didn't expect to need in this ship, he tenses and extends his muscles until he gets both feet back on the deck, left hand coming to clutch at the forearms of his rescuer. Strong and wiry, he knows he’s saved even on the wrong side of the railing.

With a final push, they manage it and fall over together on the other side. And Hannibal knows exactly why he's nonplussed, what mystifies him is the speed at which his companion regains his composure. Other than his panting, his behaviour is almost a perfect mirror to Hannibal's nonchalance even as he stretches his shoulders until he groans. Curious. He allows a sphinxlike smile to grace his lips and goes to say something proper but doesn’t get a chance.

‘Count Lecter!’ The affected voice of his brother in law cuts through his designs for an introduction. Predictable both in the unfortunate timing of his arrival and his even more unfortunate habit of yelling people's titles to put on airs. ‘What has this scoundrel-’

‘I'd advise you, Frederick,’ he stands up, ‘to consider your words, for I'd be surely threading water if it wasn't for…’

‘Will.’ Will straightens his shirt as he rises. ‘Will Graham.’

He makes no move to shake hands with the newcomer, which earns him another of Hannibal's private smiles, and flusters Frederick, who looks from one man to the other before clearing his throat. ‘Well, there was some commotion, my sister will fret over the chance of you being lost at sea.’

‘You can tell darling Amelia it's all sorted out. Wouldn't want her to lose sleep over this. I shall see her tomorrow with refreshed spirits and the story of my rescue.’ Hannibal turns his body towards Will to indicate the conversation is over. ‘In the meantime, I believe a celebratory cigar is in order.’

Happy for an out, Will nods towards Frederick and walks away shortly enough to be rude. Not expecting him to linger for the delight of his soon to be brother's conversation, Hannibal falls into step with him easily.

‘I'm Hannibal Lecter.’

‘Count Hannibal Lecter.’ Will spares him a quick glance, not his eyes but somewhere around his hairline.

Immune to the cheek in his tone, Hannibal shrugs. ‘Count Hannibal Lecter, the fourth. But Hannibal will do.’

Will stops to look at him; shoulders to midriff to sodden wet shoes. Before he can say something, Hannibal gets the aforementioned cigars, offers one to him. Rejecting it would be rude, but that's not the guarantee it should be with Will Graham. True to form, he shifts on his feet, looks away in languor. ‘I should get going.’

‘Can one be truly that disinterested in a man whose life he's just saved?’

Will looks from his mouth to the offered cigar. He takes it after a moment's hesitation. ‘Are you a very interesting man, Count Lecter?’

Though Hannibal's met plenty of people who share his disdain for Frederick Chilton, Will makes for the first to be this ready to show it. And the only one who's tried his hand at replicating his affectation. His mouth curves up at the intransigence. ‘You'll find I'm more interesting as Hannibal, mister Graham.’

Will keeps silent as he lights their cigars, hums as he lets a chagrined smile onto his features, appreciative of the tobacco blend. He smokes without a word, without meeting Hannibal’s eyes as they examine him. As spirited as he’d been when his life hung in the balance, now seems closed off in a way that only draws him in more. His face shines on the pale light, giving him a kind of Greek beauty that wouldn’t be all amiss in the face of Arcas, the king. He rejects another cigar when offered, The tilt of his head giving him an air of hesitation that's just short of polite. ‘I really must go now, they serve breakfast early for third class.’

Hannibal inclines his head, as if granting him leave. ‘Good night, Will.’

He starts walking, then turns to wave, his mouth in a tight smile, ‘Night, Hannibal. The fourth.’

As Hannibal watches him leave, he reasons it's a good thing he didn't go overboard after all. There's always time to kill oneself later, to be sure, but he thinks he's done with that. He's alive, against incredible odds, and that means something. He's alive, and he will make it worthwhile. He realises he's also decided, somewhere between feeling Will's strong hand on his and his derisive impression of Chilton's pretension, he'll be seeing more of him.

[confusedlucifer]

so yesterday at 1 am finally the credits rolled on my first playthrough of DA:Veilguard and left me with a lot of thoughts and feelings, and also a literal headache this morning like i was hungover. full game spoilers ahead!

i want to preface by where im coming from - my expectations for this game were basically zero. it took ten years to get here, with very publicized troubled development, the game being reworked at least three times, lay offs, leadership leaving etc. basically up until june this year i genuinely did not believe another DA would come out and if it did, it wasnt going to be very good.

i'm also a person who played DAI on release and didnt really enjoy it that much at first! of the first three DA games, i think its by far the weakest in terms of story and the cast of companions. i never cared about Solas one way or another and always was a bit meh on the shift of the story toward ancient elves and gods. nonetheless i have 500+ hours in that game and dearly love my Inquisitor.

so with the combination of these feelings, i was really wary of this game being too much a sequel to Trespasser and centering Solas too much, and the Dread Wolf title initially just confirmed this (and annoyed me) (i did not like the bald man sorry)

i think in general i came into it with the acceptance of what the game is - and isnt. after the initial reveals and marketing started, it was clear they are making an action game, not a full fledged RPG anymore. it was also clear its going to be a shift for the series. i had my worries about the story and companions seeming too nice and sanitized, which was basically confirmed for me after i started reading Tevinter Nights (which came out in 2020) where you meet a lot of the companions and factions and they are quite the heroic bunch. so i knew all this going into the game and kinda braced for it.

still... the beginning hours were rough. the start of the game just really wanted to bounce me off so badly with some of the worst and grating writing from the start and just the jarring transition from the formula of the previous games and into this new action game setting. suddenly i couldnt talk to my companions whenever i wanted, i couldnt get to know them freely. it was a lot to adjust to at first.

the combat, the visuals and promise of meeting the cast really tied me over and the writing for its part got generally better the further in i got. i remember especially as soon as i started to discover the two cities, especially Treviso, i really started to fall in love with the setting.

despite myself i also came to really like how Solas is in this game - now finally actually just Fen'Harel, mask off full on Hannibal Lecter in Silence of the Lambs figure, imprisoned and offering "advice" yet subtly lying to your face and manipulating you the whole time. in general imo he was handled really well all the way to the end, and i enjoyed the Crossroads quests, the memories of his rebellion, the Regrets and lore reveals/confirmations of theories that have been teased either since the beginning of the series.

and despite my initial apprehension to some companions i really grew to love all of them just within the one playthrough. which is not something i can say for the cast of Inquisition personally - i grew really attached to Dorian, Varric, Cassandra but the rest were varying levels of neither here nor there until subsequent playthroughs. Veilguard really makes you spend a LOT of time with these people. and they feel like people with their own lives outside of you, despite relying on Rook a lot for advice. i actually really loved seeing them develop friendships and relationships independent of Rook, it made the home base feel more alive. generally i loved each of their questlines, some were weaker but the real highlights for me were Emmrich and Taash alongside Harding (esp playing as a dwarf). i immediately loved Taash being younger and giving attitude compared to the rest of the more matured cast it created an interesting dnyamic, and being a nonbinary kid of a conservative immigrant parent myself their storyline hit me really hard. i really adored Davrin and the griffon storyline following up on the Last Flight which is imo one of the best tie in books for this series. and Bellara - girl im so sorry for bouncing off your personality at first. her personal quest and performance was so touching and surprised me a lot by the end how much i liked her, and how much depth she was given. Lucanis was a pleasant surprise for me but i think his questline could have been done a bit better overall, and same for Neve - who i was really looking forward to initially but her questline kidna fell short of my expectations (thought i feel that on another replay things might be different due to me nuking Minrathous basically)

(also i ended up going for Emmrich romance with my mourn watch dwarven warrior and when i tell you there were times when i absolutely yelled out loud at how much i was catered to. his story and Manfred are just. so so delightful)

the real drawback of this game is.. my god there is so much missing. it does not really line up with the Tevinter we have heard about. some of the factions (namely LoF and Veil Jumpers) are not really super relevant. some factions are sanded down (Antivan Crows), and although it can be explained away in the lore (we are dealing with just one house, not all of the Crows so theres some wiggle room) its still hard not to see these changes. we visit so many places but they become a bit one note, sometimes reduced to just set dressing. especially by the end of the game i really wanted to see more of Minrathous and Tevinter in general, but we get very limited, filtered view of it. and with the companions feeling so independent of you, it actually makes Rook feel kinda underdeveloped in comparison. it feels they forge better friendships among themselves than with you, which i do kinda miss having a sort of "Best friend" in these games ala Alistair/Varric/Dorian. one thing i really sorely wish they added was any sort of prologue of you actually meeting Varric before the events of this game, because while you are attached to him as a player, Rook doesnt really have a very good established relationship with him i feel.

but looking at it as a game that went through so many iterations and ideas and genuine hell to even be released... i understand the reason people are upset with some of these things and situation about Southern Thedas or not following up more directly from Trespasser. personally it doesnt bother me (as i mostly live in headcanon with my DA characters anyway) but i get how it would others. i just dont understand the feeling that the devs and writers who worked on the previous games are out to ruin your beloved universe. so much of this game screams to me "we dont know if we will ever get to make another one of these". all the places we go to, without any larger plot relevance, the lore reveals and theories, the questions answered etc so much if it just such a huge closing of a chapter on Thedas, because theres no certainty for us or the devs we will ever return to this world again.

i have.. so many feelings about it but honestly towards the end of the game, finishing all the companions quests, finishing the quests for Wardens and the Crows as well especially and then heading towards that finale... like idk maybe ill change my mind down the line, but right now it feels like one of the best executed endings in any Dragon Age game. the whole maybe like 4? hour long finale just really gripped me by the throat, even though i saw some of the twists coming it still affected me a lot. and im excited about the tease for potential future too - turning the gaze outside of the continent and beyond the ocean, again something that has been very vaguely teased since Origins (with the lore of Kossith initially fleeing south because of Something TM) with moments here and there throughout the games. i'm glad there's still more mystery in this world and ancient elves didn't eat all of it. i'm even excited for the prospect of shifting the series into a single protagonist series with Rook.

i do miss a proper epilogue (just like i miss a proper prologue) at the moment especially because they seem very firm on no DLC and with the future of the franchise so unsure. with all this feeling of closure on this really storied world, i would have loved some good old fashioned epilogue slides at least vaguely discussing the future of the different kingdoms and nations, any sort of reaction to what transpired in this game yknow. if we dont get a DLC or a sequel down the line, i hope at least maybe for more tie in comics or novels.

still very much feel like DA:O and DA2 are tonally a separate world from DAI + DAV, and its not a bad thing but its why i dont expect Veilguard to be anywhere on par with the first two games. this is where im at, excited to eventually replay the game with a different faction background and different choices once the dust settles and hoping time will be kind to this game despite its many flaws.

[i-got-the-feels]

Every Month of 2023

I adore this because it's a great way to see your journey as an artist you had throughout the year.

Thank you @smileytharn for the tag

I tag @smittenskitten @moonlightsdream @moonkhao @celestial-sapphicss @snimeat @alienwlw @alexshenry @jimmysea @laurenkmyers @forcebook @forursmiles @dingyuxi @dengswei @tinnchan @sparklyeyedhimbo @spicyvampire @raypakorn @pranink @pranpats @natahjikio @seawherethesunsets and whoever wants to do this :)

JANUARY

cinematography shots set of episode 7 of never let me go- here. Not even surprised that was a beautifully shot show

FEBRUARY

For gays, it's a never let me go set of episode Titles and for the lesbians it's a set with poem I wrote for Sam's love for Mon

Gays Lesbians

MARCH

I am whipped for her. No susprises this edit of this show is here.

Glory Part 2

APRIL

Charlotte and Engfa's rainbow photoshoot

Among shows, I am so glad both the midnight museum sets I cried making over were well liked. 1) the set of midnight museum with stories of artifacts in it 2) tarot cards set

MAY

This good bad mother set gif set

For graphics, this boss and babe one. I am so happy because the damn quote and scene had melted my heart

JUNE

I cannot choose between these two

First most interacted with set is the pisaeng one

Second most interacted with set is this bad buddy one

JULY

I am so fucking proud of this set. Really glad this connected with people- it is a set of kawi realising his love for pisaeng

AUGUST

Bad Buddy x RWRB set no body is surprised

Gonna include 2 more sets I adore

This beautiful conclusion to kawi and pisaeng's journey

Another Bad Buddy x RWRB set that had absolutely no business flopping like this

SEPTEMBER

I am going to have 2 categories for september. 1 being english speaking gays, the other being thai speaking gays

for english speaking gays its season 1 and season 2 episode titles from hannibal

for thai speaking gays, both sets are from only friends. one being ray's heartbreak over mew and this personal favorite set of mine - only friends couple dynamics as book covers it is my baby WITH only friends couples as taylor swift songs - this was a bitch Yo edit okay? . I am proud of these sets

OCTOBER

She can always get it.

Kareena Kapoor in Masaba

November

This scene was so comforting, I can't even. I am so glad this set was liked by yall.

Ray and sand getting together

December

Going to categorize this into korean and thai, because my demon and last twilight took over my brain this month

For Last Twilight, this one with Day and his journey and how Mork has supported him. Their first meeting . And how they see each other

For, My Demon, this set I made half asleep when episode 6 aired. Followed by the one I worked on the longest because the dialogue of this scene of what would she do if the world were ending and finally the role they play in each others life

Also special shout to my edit on namjoohyuk as the unhinged vigilate - baby you are beautiful, its just that 4 people on here watched the show