#hannibal in a vest you are everything to me

[stupidcopper]

i like his posture

thats it thats the post

[kastlequill]

wrath of the lamb

pairing: sebastian krueger x f!reader word count: 6.9k synopsis: your first time hunting with dr. krueger tags: hannibal au, haunted hoedown, dark, serial killers, a couple that kills together stays together, enemies and lovers, unreliable narrator, unholy mentions of god, religious imagery, no y/n warnings: violence/death, blood/gore, mutilation, body horror, cannibalism, voyeurism (except the voyeur is dead), killing as foreplay, smut (blood + murder kink, hair-pulling, biting) ao3: read here  ← prev

“I am the shape you made me. Filth teaches filth.”

— Sophocles

Bait; that had been your role. The lure, the dangling bit of appetizer to ensnare prey on behalf of another. This particular catch of the day had believed you to be the fish to his fisherman, but you nonetheless had been bait, he the fish, and Dr. Krueger—

The fisherman.

Soon, you would be a fisherman yourself, capable of priming, reeling in, and fatally securing a wide array of aquatic life all on your own. Before that, however, there was much to learn about the sport and the art of choosing one’s hunting spot, of casting one’s net. Naturally, Dr. Krueger had been ever so enthusiastic to help bridge the gaps in your knowledge.  

Currently, the fish was tied up in the foyer, bound by his wrists and ankles to a wooden chair, the same in which you’d sat years ago as Dr. Krueger’s temporary patient. At the insistence of Agent Blaustein and your undiagnosed encephalitis, you had given therapy a shot. These visits had eventually increased in frequency, more so for the psychiatrist’s company than his pseudo sessions. 

Some attributed the progression of your relations with Dr. Krueger to be a product of fate and circumstance, but you knew better than that. Over the past several months, a deliberate and intentional hand had guided you to this very moment, everything meticulously planned and orchestrated by someone with a vested interest in your ascent. 

In your. . . becoming. 

What started as a chance meeting snowballed into a partnership between professionals, identifying and apprehending serial killers across the state together. Thereafter, a friendship did blossom, though this too evolved since your pure empathy made you highly susceptible to internalizing others; him. The line that separated your psyche from his thus gradually became muddied and blurred as you vacated your mind and beckoned in this monster among men. 

You would be hard-pressed to forget just how fervently he had appraised the order and disorder of your headspace. How worshipingly he had looked upon the ever-encroaching darkness that you kept shamefully hidden within the crevices of your bones, stowed away for fear of the day your worser nature might rise to the surface. How eagerly he had called forth that wickedness, that sin, happy to watch you partake and take. 

How easily he had metamorphosed you into the person you’d unwittingly been pursuing throughout all your years of existence. 

“The throat is a double-edged sword. It makes life possible, housing the airways, overseeing the safe passage of air into the lungs. But so too does it make death readily accessible, boasting the jugular vein, exacting a swift end if cut at just the right angle, the right depth,” an accented voice sounded from behind. 

Hopelessly obedient to the pull that locked your soul and his in perpetual orbit of one another, you cast a glance over your shoulder then looked down at the knife in his hand. It was an ordinary carving knife, blade sharpened and thrumming with excitement at the prospective union of steel and meat. More importantly, it was an offering. 

A gift.

Dr. Krueger quite enjoyed showering you with lavish presents, and he preferred the intimacy of being the craftsman in addition to the sender. To court you, he’d sawed off the tongue of the reporter who’d mocked your condition in her crude tabloids, coated the severed organ in poison, and shoved it down her throat until she choked on its toxicity. To express the extent of his devotion, he'd torn out the vocal cords of a suitor who’d made lewd comments about you at the opera house, fashioned them into a noose, and left him dangling from the ceiling to be discovered in the morning by a screeching primadonna. 

And to apologize for spilling your blood on his kitchen floor, he’d Frankensteined together a beating heart, openly baring his affections despite the penetrative gaze of all who sought to imprison the Cut-throat Killer. The sculpture, composed of a decapitated corpse’s inverted musculature instead of typical granite stone, had told a tale of repentance and of yearning.

My heart is yours. Broken and maimed though it might be, you have managed to assuage its ache and mend its pieces. This foreign object no longer fits properly in the cavity of my being, so do what you will with it. Even if you decide to break it once again, the resulting shards are still all for you only, just as it was. 

The twisted love letter had resulted from months of deceptive intentions, divided loyalties, and belated sacrifices. Your inevitable betrayal had struck dead the fantasy of a shared future. In his mourning, Dr. Krueger had gutted you to bestow a matching wound, yours a physical representation of his own intangible pain. However, contrary to previous prey, watching your face lose its vibrancy and a red puddle form around your twitching body had inspired not satisfaction, but fear. 

A certain desperation had seized him then. Losing you, a kindred spirit who had known and seen him, would have damned the man to a lifetime of loneliness. For someone incapable of thriving in total solitude, that was a terrifying notion.

So though the urge to slit your throat and cook you into a feast might occasionally possess him, though he might periodically contemplate cracking your skull open to reveal the beautiful brain that tormented him day and night, such calls-to-action would go unanswered. 

During periods of separation, he could easily convince himself that his feelings for you were an unnecessary suffering. A fruitless agony; a beacon of masochism. Ready to put an end to this mounting misery, a murderous plot would begin to take shape until your mere return resolutely derailed any plans of excising you from his destiny. 

Cyclical, the way he grew hungry in your absence, champing at the bit, gnawing on bone, only to find his stomach brimming with contentment upon spending a single moment in your presence. 

The rude were nothing more than livestock to a refined man like Dr. Sebastian Krueger. Just as the average non-vegetarian viewed chickens, cows, and pigs as rightful staples of their omnivorous diet, he believed disrespectful folk were no different to poultry, cattle, or swine. At least in death, these subhumans could transcend their lowly stations and reach new heights of beauty and value as his culinary masterpieces, as elaborate displays of mutilated art. 

Like God, he played judge, jury, and executioner, wielding the power to decide the earthly ends and undead beginnings of those he deemed lesser.

Between equals, however, consumption was to him the pinnacle of humanity’s capacity for love. Diligently preparing a delicacy of the vessel that housed a loved one, transforming their anatomy into a gourmet meal, was the supreme method of honoring them. Further still, intaking a pound of their flesh meant immortalizing a beloved by becoming the very urn in which the remnants of their existence could always be found. Whether they should depart by nature or by circumstance, a piece of them would forever stay inside this biological graveyard. 

The mixing of bloods, two pulses beating in synchrony, a dialogue between gullets. An irreversible breach of one’s external layer of protection that said, you are mine, and I am yours; the proof resides in the pits of our stomachs.

By his logic, if he were to eat you and satisfy his craving for fusion, then perhaps whatever hold you had over him would denature, eliminating the threat that this love posed to his livelihood. In actuality, a glimpse of you was plenty enough to sate his normally-raging appetite. 

To daily feel a stab of hunger and then obtain nourishment at the slightest bit of eye contact. . . that was how viscerally he loved you. 

Of course, Dr. Krueger hadn’t overtly verbalized these sentiments, but you nonetheless recognized and understood the unspoken truth. After all, pure empathy did not just expose you to the onslaught of his expert manipulation—it also unveiled his best-kept secrets.

“When hunting, one must always consider efficiency. Time is of the essence, as they say. It’s better spent on the artwork itself than on gathering your materials, wouldn’t you agree?” 

Your eyes jerked up to meet his appraising stare. Not the type to waste air on rhetorical questions, he raised a single scarred brow, and it only lowered once your fingertips answered by brushing the palm of his hand. As you plucked the knife from his grasp, its heavy weight took you aback. The hefty task of reaping an unclaimed soul added at least a few extra pounds to the blade, but you adjusted your grip until wielding it became effortless.  

At its core, killing was a fairly quick and simple endeavor. Humans often exited the world as fast as they had originally entered it, and, in a manner of speaking, your lives were just preparation for the inevitable return to that shadowy limbo from which you’d all been birthed. 

The fish had yet to regain consciousness, and you were determined to ensure that his eyes would never again open to anything but a dark abyss. 

You weren’t apologetic in the slightest for what was about to come. This bound asshat had been selected because he’d had trouble understanding the word no at a pub and spilled wine on an intervening Dr. Krueger’s prized coat. Such unprincipled behavior warranted an equally-indecent fate. 

Out like a light, his head was tilted back to rest on the back of the chair, displaying a ripe throat, fresh for the taking. And take you did, aligning your blade at the corner of his jaw and dragging it across the jugular, slitting his trachea, causing it to collapse unto itself. Liquid beads of crimson bubbled to the surface along the laceration, and the macabre necklace enraptured you. 

Your psychiatrist-turned-mentor had earned the moniker of Cut-throat Killer due to his apparent fixation on the neck and its surrounding regions. His kills were linked by this common denominator, whether a body was headless, or had a ripped-apart larynx, or had died by asphyxiation. Sometimes, Dr. Krueger liked to experiment with different finishing blows to keep the FBI on their toes, but his modus operandi never failed to involve the throat. 

It made sense, then, why you too had developed a similar appreciation. 

“Well done,” praised the doctor, now beside you, and the words set alight your bloodstream. His tone held no surprise; your profession had revealed your natural aptitude for the hunt and erased any reservations he might’ve had. From the very first day your paths crossed, he’d recognized what you were, what you could become. “Now, where do you wish to go from here?” 

A loaded question, one that dictated how the rest of the night would unfold. If you stayed in the foyer, cleaning up the grime and gore out from between each plank of wood would be an absolutely dreadful ordeal. If you went to the main room, splatters and stains on his Persian rug and fine fabric drapes would undoubtedly irk the man, and you quite preferred staying on his good side for the time being.

That left his extravagant kitchen. It was the ideal location—the freezer was conveniently placed, and the tools for harvesting meat were at your disposal. Also, in the not-unlikely event of blood running off the table’s edge, you could simply scrub the tiles spotless.

“The kitchen.” You diverted your focus from the dead man to the one who had mastered death itself. Although you were unsurprised to discover Dr. Krueger’s deep brown eyes already intent upon you, a chill cascaded down your spine nevertheless. He’d sooner gouge out the organs that granted him sight than stop his lingering stares, you knew. “Removing the skin from a fish this slimy is messy business. I wouldn’t want to ruin your nice hardwood floors. Black walnut?” 

His wide smile told a tale of predation tempered with adoration. “Wenge.”

You softly shook your head in fond exasperation. Of course he who settled for nothing but the best would choose one of the most rare and expensive species of hardwood in the world. 

The doctor held your gaze as he removed his outer layer, not wanting to sully a tailored, dry clean-only suit jacket. Once it was safely out of range, he cut loose the body from its restraints and dragged it to the kitchen with you trailing behind him. 

After hauling the corpse onto the center of the marble island, Dr. Krueger rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt to his elbows and slipped on surgical gloves from his vest’s pocket, handing you a pair as well. He used scissors to reveal the man’s flesh beneath his clothes, took the murder weapon from your fingers, and made an incision that started at the collarbone and ended at the navel. Wrenching open the ribcage, snapping any resistant osseous matter, the doctor efficiently primed the carcass for harvesting before it could stiffen in rigor mortis. 

His work done, he unsheathed a sizable butcher knife, handed it to you, then stepped out of reach, content to watch you pick up from where he’d left off. You imitated his previous motions, careful not to sink the blade too far in lest you ruptured any organs. The last thing you wanted to do was accidentally ruin the meat. 

Meat. 

You’d discovered a couple of months ago that the delicious protein scrambles shared with you by the kind Austrian man had actually contained bits of strangers. Initially, the revelation had repulsed and angered you in its violation of your right to informed consent. But now, while you didn’t see the appeal of human cuisine, you could admit there was something uniquely intimate about a shared hunt, about the subsequent communion, the breaking of bread and bone. 

It was with this logic in mind that you proceeded to dissect the body according to the anatomical direction given by the doctor. First, you extracted the lungs, then the spleen and liver, next the stomach and gallbladder, the intestines and kidneys, and, lastly, the heart. 

The turn of the hour quickly came and went. You moved to push back some hair that had fallen out of place, wishing you had worn a hairnet, when you caught a glimpse of your lover’s current state. He stood to the side of the counter a few feet away, hunger plain on his face, erection evident through the fabric of his slacks. 

As ravenous for your fill of him as he was for a taste of you, you set the knife on the cutting board and started to walk over to—

“No.” 

The lone, measured syllable echoed throughout the large kitchen, ringing in your ears, and you instantly halted mid-step. A trait that separated the doctor from so many other men of his stature was his refusal to resort to yelling. He’d done a lifetime’s worth of it in the Austrian Armed Forces, had been his explanation, and it was beneath him. It signaled that one lacked omnipotence and control, that they didn’t have an effortless dominance with respect to the masses over which they resided. 

Dr. Krueger, however, had no shortage of charisma and no trouble garnering an obedient audience. The personification of sin beckoned you forward. “Crawl to me.”

Without hesitation, you slowly descended to the floor, gaze steady and stuck on his looming figure. Your clothed knees met tile first, then your palms followed suit as you navigated your way towards him through a pool of blood and innards. Something unnamed coiled tight in your stomach the nearer you drew to him who looked down at you, stoic and unfazed. From here, a passerby might think you a worshiper bowed in supplication to her god.  

For what purpose did you plead? 

If I should die, let it not be his blade that strikes the finishing blow. 

To what end did you pray? 

If he should rot in a cell, let it not be my testimony that sends him away.  

When your fingers brushed against his shoes, imprinting red on the fancy leather, the doctor leaned forward to snake a hand around to the nape of your neck, lightly massaging your scalp. The soothing pressure made your eyes roll back, but the false sense of security it had given you evaporated at the following sharp tug on the roots of your hair.

His grip firm, Dr. Krueger pulled you up until you were on your feet once again. Before you could properly calibrate to the change in orientation, he spun you to face the kitchen island then sandwiched you in between his pelvis and the counter. Squirming against him, your instincts commanded you to escape, but you remained steadfastly in place. Trapped.

Ensnared.

Skillful hands made quick work of your attire, throwing your belt to the ground, shoving your jeans and panties to bunch at your ankles, unbuttoning the flannel he’d called hideous yet endearing, snapping free your cheap bra. Satisfied with your current state of undress, Dr. Krueger used his teeth to tear off his gloves so that he could begin exploring the treasures he had uncovered.  

You never let him touch you with gloves. The sensation of latex on skin was too reminiscent of a butcher prepping slaughtered livestock to be further chopped up into refined cuts of meat. And you were not foolish enough to think you could ever be the butcher in this scenario. 

His hands journeyed up your front to your neck, rubbing at the splatter of blood there that had yet to be cleaned. Adamant on dirtying you further, he smeared it downward as he cupped the heft of your breasts and rolled your nipples between his fingers. You must’ve looked like a sacrificial offering to some deity, back bowed, though the only who would partake in the enjoyment of your flesh was him.

Once you were sufficiently marked, the man wiped any excess blood off his right hand and onto your stomach then continued his descent to the epicenter of your heat. When he finally reached your mound and dipped an explanatory finger inside, he found you wet and wanting. 

“Filthy thing,” Dr. Krueger admonished with a click of his tongue. “I’ve barely touched you, and yet here you are, already dripping onto the floor. Tell me, how long have you been like this?”

“Since you—” The rest of that sentence died in your throat, cut short by the featherlight brush of his thumb against where you wanted him most. A sudden jolt traveled through your body, and you struggled to form a coherent thought, let alone string together a sensical series of words. “Since you rolled up those stupid fucking sleeves, you bastard.” 

His answering smirk could be heard in the gravel of his voice, smug and self-assured. “I didn’t know my forearms had such an effect on you.”

Said forearms came into view as he encased you, both of his hands relocating to either side of yours, flat on the countertop. A knee replaced where his hand had been between your legs, and he ground it upward, pulling back whenever you tried to reciprocate, relief just out of reach. 

“Like hell you didn’t,” you snapped, your frustration getting the better of you. “Don’t play dumb, Doctor. It’s not a good look.” 

All traces of his humor evaporated at the snark. Announcing no warning, your lover sank two fingers into your weeping core, curling them to stimulate the spot within that never failed to make you see stars. He scissored you open and gathered enough slick to begin working in a third finger, intent on making you plead for forgiveness. Absolution. 

Most nights, Dr. Krueger prided himself in his patience, in his ability to draw out one, two, three orgasms from you before his cock got anywhere near your cunt. But tonight, you knew, would be different. It would be hard and fast. 

Carnal. 

Upon deeming you ready to take him, you heard the unclasping of a belt buckle followed by the zipper of his pants coming undone. A soft caress along the notches of your spine, and then he aligned himself with your entrance and immediately surged to erase the distance between your bodies, filling you to the hilt. 

The force of it caused you to double over, and your elbows buckled at the sudden shift in weight. With the side of your face now pressed against the counter’s cold surface, you couldn’t help the way your ass slightly elevated and protruded. This position felt explicit, dirty, and you gleaned from his sharp inhale that you looked as much from his perspective. Rather than allowing you to rise, Dr. Krueger dug a hand into your hair and pushed you further into the granite. 

“Have I neglected you, mein Schatz?” Each thrust was punctuated by a tug on your hair, a scrape against the surface, the repeated motion jostling you forward, while you fucked back into him. “Have I left you wanting? Is that why you’re so needy tonight? So rude?” 

When you didn’t answer, he retracted his hips until the tip was all that remained nestled in your warmth, leaving you empty and unfulfilled. Then, as though sensing you were on the verge of complaining, the doctor slammed home, yanking from you a pitiful mewl of agonized desire. 

“Please.”

This particular word was a shapeshifter; it adopted a different meaning based on ite context. Here, it served as a Hail Mary, as a cry for mercy, but you weren’t sure whether you were imploring his punishing rhythm to abate or for him to give you more. Regardless of your intention, Dr. Krueger intensified his torturous movements, a dark chuckle tumbling from his lips. 

Damn sadist. 

“Begging will get you nowhere. Not tonight.” At your despairing whine, he laughed again. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, you’ll get your wish. Eventually.”

So attuned to the ins and outs of your body, was this man, so intimately aware of where to press, where to pinch to elicit sweet melodies and moans. And yet, he toyed with you, glossing over these erotic zones, waiting for you to confess something before he might grant you penance, a token for your suffering. The thread of your sanity was wearing thin. 

“Stop teasing, or I swear to God.” 

You’d expected him to ignore your pleas as he had done before, but instead, you felt him thicken inside you. “Do it, then. Swear to me.”

His ego almost earned him an eyeroll, but you couldn’t help giving into his demands. The relentless pace he’d set was very persuasive, and you were only human.   

“Sebastian—”

It had the desired outcome. Hardly ever did you call him by his name, so if you did, that meant something. Due to said infrequency, using his name had a kind of Pavlovian effect on the man.

“Scheiße,” he groaned out the curse, hips stuttering forward and reaching a newfound depth that made you both gasp. “Yes, my heart, that’s right. You’ve made me your god, and I’ve made you. . .” 

. . . mine. 

Because that was the truth, wasn’t it? Dr. Krueger had plucked a rib from the cavity of his chest, sharpened it into a blade, and carved you into his vision of perfection. In turn, you had turned him into a conduit for your enlightenment, for your becoming. He was your tangible nirvana, and you were his sole gateway to heaven. 

The two of you had found religion in each other, and there was little else more dangerous than that. 

“Is this what you wanted? What you were so impatient for?” At your jerky nod, he seized your slackened jaw and tilted your chin up to direct your attention towards the kitchen island where the corpse still laid. “My, we haven’t even cleared the table yet. Can’t let the meat sit out, or else it’ll go sour.”

When your brain finally caught up to what—or to whom— he was referring, an epiphany struck you with startling clarity: 

This dead man was evidence of what had transpired here tonight. Better yet, he was the first witness to this taboo consummation. Perhaps it was stupid to believe that gave your relationship any real legitimacy in the world’s eyes, beyond the perimeters of this manor. Nonetheless, the thought caused you to involuntarily tighten, and you prayed the correlation would go unnoticed.

Dr. Krueger froze, because of fucking course nothing ever got past him. “Oh, you like that, do you? You like that we have a guest for dinner, that another finally sees the truth of what we are. Hunters. Lovers.” 

Oftentimes, being known was a riveting experience that bridged the gaping chasm of solitude. But there came moments when you wished to conceal the ugliness. You lowered your head, mortified that he might at last realize you were unworthy of his affection, his touch. 

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of when you’re here. This home is yours, Liebling,” he murmured, reverent as he resumed his torturous ministrations, regaining momentum. “I can think of no more beautiful a sight than you happy and honest in it. Never hide from me.”

A horrific prospect, baring one’s heart to someone so well equipped to tear it to shreds, but your walls were already beginning to crumble. Brick by brick, he dismantled you, intending to undo a lifetime of repression then reconstruct you in his image. 

Sex with Dr. Krueger wasn’t just a physical release. It was near ritualistic in its conjoining of two souls. It was a collision between two supernovas, a calamity in progress. 

It was an inevitability.  

What a pair you made—serpent and Eve. Ravisher and ravished, entangled in a web of debauchery and death. 

In spite of everything, you didn’t believe that he made you worse. He made you real. 

Time after time, warnings that this should never happen again would echo throughout your mind, but time after time, you found yourself in this same position, wrapped up in him. Coaxed by his sweet nothings and consumed with the way he alone understood what you still refused to speak aloud, it was through this union of flesh and bone that you elevated each other to art. 

And hell, if he made you worse, then you accepted that to be worse was to be honest. In this realm, you were closer to God than to the Devil. 

And was it not so that every devout follower hoped to be in league with their god, to be rewarded for their unshaken faith? What better way to actualize that hope than to devour?

A well-angled thrust brought you back to the present. Man or monster, God or Devil, neither distinction mattered as he pummeled into you, a fusion of the ultimate caliber. In this room, he was not your enemy, just the equal who helped you ascend to great heights, who guided you until your eventual arrival to the precipice. 

Lucifer before the fall. 

“I—” The word broke off in an airy gasp. Second attempt. “Sebastian, I’m—”

That too went interrupted, for it was then that your lover decided to circle your swollen clit with his calloused fingers. Dazed and nonverbal, you felt him wrap your hair around his fist and use it as leverage to assist in his corruption of you, tugging your head to his chest, baring your throat, arching your back. 

“I know, it’s alright,” he lovingly hushed your cries, lips nibbling on the rim of your ear. The wet roughness of his tongue licked away the tears that had begun to flow freely from your eyes, glossy and unfocused. “You can let go now. I’ll be here to catch you, yes? I’ll always catch you.” 

It shouldn’t have been a comforting sentiment. This was a man who killed people for being rude, who had seriously told you it’s only cannibalism if we’re equals. And yet, hearing that he would be there to envelop you in his arms if and when you plunged into the deep end was what at last sent you over the edge.  

Before him, no partner had successfully brought you to an orgasm. He loved to lull you into a state of la petite mort, compensating for his inability to actually kill you by inducing several little deaths whenever you laid together. But he had your brain short-circuiting as you came apart, your thighs trembling and jaw unhinged, your nails notched into the muscles that rippled across the expanse of his back, a bright light behind halfway-closed lids.

Thick fingers crawled across your left cheek to enter the black hole of your wet mouth, and you instinctively closed your lips around the intruding appendages. As you sucked and lathered them with spit, you pushed your ass further back into his pelvis, wordlessly encouraging him to use you to chase his own release. Several strokes later, his pace grew desperate, erratic, and he removed his fingers to cup your face, angled it just right, then bit down on the side of your neck, drawing blood. The brief flare of pain made your walls flutter and take his cock even deeper, your bodies reluctant to separate. 

Harvest me, and don’t waste a single drop. 

The moment of stillness that ensued when he at last emptied his seed in you was something holy, you decided. Ropes of cum seemingly endless, the pulsing of his member combined with his low groans brought you unparalleled bliss. While he descended from his lustful high, he lapped up the metallic trail along your throat, and the pressure of his tongue soothed the wound’s mild ache. Dr. Krueger, the man who had no qualms about eating within his species, was content to stop his consumption of you here, at a bite and a drop of ichor. 

Is my taste as divine as you imagined?

His hips continued to jerk and lurch in the aftershocks, and the noise of skin ricocheting off skin was more audible now that your senses were starting to return. Some might consider it to be an obscene sound, blatant and crude, but its obviousness appealed to you. Anyone who heard these echoes of anatomical convergence would have no misgivings regarding the recreational activities in which you and the doctor participated. 

I fear I would give you the most tender parts of myself, if only you were to ask. 

One hand caressed the top of your head, smoothing back your sweat-slickened hair. The other used his pristine white shirt to wipe the sweat from your brow, the gore from your body. Its fabric was rough against your overstimulated skin, but his movements were gentle. 

So please—

The doctor finished remedying the mess he had made of you and tossed the clothing aside, murmuring something about how he would have to explain to the lady at the dry cleaner’s that he’d spilled red wine again. Wrapping both arms around your waist to pull you impossibly closer to his chest, he then pressed a soft kiss to your nape. 

Your eyes fell shut. 

—do not ask. 

The manor was silent save for heavy breathing, yours and his. A sudden foul stench of rot and decay reminded you of the gruesome company on the kitchen island across the counter. You forced yourself to meet the vacant stare of the fish whose death had started this spontaneous coupling session, passion fueled by elevated adrenaline and a godlike rush of power.  

“I thought you didn’t get off to killing,” you murmured, energy half spent. 

An affirming hum vibrated through your bones, and you felt him rub his forehead against your back, up then down, nodding. “You thought correctly. I do not.”

A snort escaped from your throat since very recent evidence pointed to the contrary. Still inside you, his cock twitched at the sound. 

Perhaps he found the noise undignified and the response rude. The man had probably killed people for far pettier reasons; nonetheless, you continued to push the envelope because he continued to let you. 

This risky game would someday reach its limit. Someday, you might cross a non-negotiable line, and then you’d be dead before you knew what hit you.  

But today was not that day. 

“There is no sexual gratification in my hunts,” he further clarified. “Such perversion indicates one who is subjugated to the whims of his more primitive nature, one who is being controlled rather than doing the controlling. 

“Arousal at its most basic implies common ground. It drives us to seek a favorable mate with whom we can sire offspring to carry on our legacies. Should the hunter find this kind of pleasure in the hunted, it would mean a debasement of the self. Dethroned from the top of the food chain, he would forever live among his lessers. Since my prey are not and never will be my equal, killing is a strictly nonsensuous act.”

You are my equal, my mate, were the words you heard him omit. 

“But I keep discovering how much you defy my logic. I did not expect to be so. . . moved by that insatiable look in your eyes, by your presence in my kitchen, holding my knife.” The sigh he exhaled contained genuine frustration, not at you, but at himself. At his lack of self-control, at his underestimation of your ability to undo him. 

His right hand strayed from your midsection to ghost over the swell of your ass, vexation having seemingly passed. “And what a lovely painting you made of yourself. The only improvement is for you to coat your bodily canvas with my blood instead of that unworthy pig’s.”

Your brows furrowed at the thought of him gravely injured, stained red, and you grabbed his wrist, gave it what you hoped was a reassuring squeeze. “I don’t want to hurt you, Sebastian.”

The rare occurrence of you using his first name outside of sex had him nuzzling deeper into the crook of your neck and lightly nipping at the soft skin there. Although his teeth were eager to pierce flesh, his canines maintained a respectable distance. In the afterglow, he was always so, so careful not to cause undue damage. You were at your most vulnerable, and he was at his most untamed; a dangerous combination, like fire and gasoline.

Who was the struck match that would sacrifice wholeness to ignite the other, and who was the ignited that would disappear without a trace post-explosion?

Did it even matter?

“Very pretty lies, Liebling, though not quite as beautiful as you.” 

Despite his sardonic delivery, the fondness with which he uttered the term of endearment betrayed his affections. Complicated relationship with the Cut-throat Killer aside, none could deny that there was genuine love between the two of you. 

An unconventional, tempestuous love, true, but love nevertheless. It made the dichotomy between your loyalties all the more messy. 

Because yes, you appreciated his craftsmanship and were awed by the artistry behind his kills. Yes, you had moments ago indulged in your first hunt alongside him and had enjoyed it.  

Yes, you would probably do so again in the future.  

Yet somehow, the FBI profiler in you still felt obligated to confront the man, to put an end to his reign of terror. Why your lover would forever be visited by the need to eat and savor every inch of you, why you couldn’t ever entirely relax in the breadth of his embrace. . . it all tied back to this:

You couldn’t reconcile your ethical code with your want for him. The enormity of your desire approached suffocatingly-absurd levels, and the extent to which you ached for and craved this man was sickening.

No matter your personal feelings, the bitter reality of the situation remained unchanged. Before you could irreversibly walk the path of either love or duty, you needed to perceive your brain as something other than deformed, to conceive that the unnatural was a natural product of the universe in its own right. You needed to believe that the person who returned your stare in the mirror was not a disfigurement of humanity, nor a bastardization of goodness. 

But what constituted good, and what qualified as evil, anyway? Who had the right to decide which was which? Was it Agent Blaustein, who had pushed you to the point of breaking, who saw your mind only as a tool, caring not if he damaged you beyond repair in the field? 

Or was it Dr. Krueger, who had made you question your sanity, who wished for you to access and become indivisible from the rawest pieces of your marrow, even if it damned him in the process?

One thing was for certain: until you unabashedly accepted the darker elements of yourself—the same facets that he reflected back at you—this game of cat and mouse was cursed to resume and repeat, over and over. The roles seemed to reverse each time; you had first been the mouse to his cat, then you’d briefly turned the tables as the cat to his mouse. 

Recently, neither of you could puzzle out who was who. 

And the scariest part about all this was that you had never known yourself as well as you knew yourself when you were with him, a fucking serial killer. How frightening, that your ability to acknowledge and make sense of your own existence might hinge on whether or not he was in your life. 

Even a fool could see how you had changed under the gravity of his influence. In the beginning, you’d shunned the ugly bits, the chunks of you that proved too abhorrent to swallow. Now, you were learning how to indulge, how to see the beauty in the so-called horror. During the day, outsiders reminded you of your malignancies, of the shame that accompanied the sin of authenticity. However, at night, with him, you at last shed these social shackles and basked in fantasies of what could be, for the mere weight of his stare had the power to propel you toward self-actualization. 

Obviously, Dr. Krueger was well aware of this war between your moral duties and your innermost shadows. You expected as much, considering he had almost killed you for it. 

In your quest to unmask the Cut-throat Killer and confirm your suspicions, you’d nurtured a budding friendship with the doctor. You had wormed your way into his good graces by telling him exactly what he wanted to hear, nevermind that it had been you at your most honest. When the scheme eventually fell apart, murdering you had surprisingly not been his immediate reaction. Instead, he had offered you the chance to come clean so as to leave all the secrecy in the past and move forward anew. 

Together. 

It made perfect sense for Dr. Krueger to try holding onto his one true companion in life after getting a taste of reprieve from loneliness. Except, oblivious of your blown cover, you had doubled down, giving him no choice but to clutch you to his chest and carve his heartbreak into your gut. As you drifted toward Death’s door, as regret and fear willed him to frantically press onto your wound, the man had realized just how much you’d changed him, too.

Although you were indeed the harbinger of his ruination, he’d concluded that imprisonment paled in comparison to the grief of losing you. He loathed to imagine spending the rest of his days in a jail cell, but he could not commit to killing you, his greatest weakness and threat. You sought to cleanse this town of him, but you too could not pull the trigger on this evildoer. 

Two halves of a whole, locked in a stalemate. 

Can’t live with him, can’t live without him. A grotesque and ghastly piece of work, this man you called lover. And yet, you wouldn't dream of leaving his side. 

Because Sebastian Krueger was never going to get better without you. And you were never going to become better without him. 

“Apologies, but I insist we skip our entrée tonight.” 

That caught your attention—an absurd statement from someone who would probably make the time to properly dine even if the FBI was actively storming the gates of his manor. You twisted your spine to at last come face to face with him, and awaiting your curiosity was his hungry brown eyes, his dark blond hair freed from its gelled confines. 

“I know you worked hard to provide us this meal, and the meat will not go to waste,” the doctor assured, expression neutral, the perfect picture of calm if not for the way his fingers dug further into the meat of your hips. “The problem is me. I simply cannot curb my craving for dessert anymore.” 

You nearly scoffed. “Was this not dessert?” 

“No, mein Schatz,” he chuckled, as if you had just told a funny joke. The low timbre of his laugh caused a wave of desire to pool in between your legs, and you pressed your thighs together to trap the renewed heat.  

Ever intuitive, Dr. Krueger moved one arm away from your body to rest flat and steady on the countertop then dragged the other down to pinch your inner thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. 

“That was only the appetizer.” 

fin.

[charliedawn]

How would the Hannibals react to their little sister crying because of a teacher ?

Warning :.....I don't know what happened. I...I'm sorry. I wanted to write gore and...Well...wrote this. Not for sensitive souls. You've been warned.

When you came back home crying, Hannibal Jr. was the first one to find you and wordlessly took you in his arms. He knew how to calm you down, and even though he didn't know why you were so upset—he still sought to comfort you first.

"Ssh...love. Calm down. What happened ?", he asked in a soothing voice and you whimpered in his arms. "My...My teacher was mean to me today. She told me I was an idiot and that she was disappointed and that I would never be as good as Morgan or Kevin. She...She..."

You were so upset, you couldn't finish your sentence and Hannibal Jr. hushed you softly while petting your hair and cradled you in his arms. "Hush now, love. You'll be okay. Everything is going to be fine. It's okay. She won't bother you ever again...I promise."

Hannibal Jr. kept holding you as you cried on his shoulder—even though he was already planning a meeting with that...lovely teacher of yours.

A few days later :

Your teacher was scheduled to come to the house and Hannibal Jr. had asked Peter to accompany you to the cinema while they...talked.

He had set everything ready and the moment she stepped in, he smiled and put on his emotionless mask on.

He pretended to be charming and complimented her awful vest with a small seductive smile—even though it hid a barely hidden eagerness to tear through tender flesh and rip out someone's heart. He served her some tea and watched as she mindlessly drank it in one swing...

She would have a severe headache.

"It is a shame. Really. You know, I've had Morgan in my class a few years back, a very talented young man. I was hoping for another prodigy, but she is a real disappointment. I don't even know how she managed to get past kindergarten.", your teacher said with clear distaste in her voice and Hannibal Jr. could only let out a soft sigh before carefully putting down his cup. He really didn't like when teachers thought themselves above everything just because they were the adults in the classroom. Quite frankly—school was never to be an institution dictated by tyrants prepared to give up at the first problem arising. He then wondered if he should start looking for online schooling for you instead ? Well...He would have to think more about it after having dealt with that tyrant of yours.

"I see...Thank you for keeping me informed.", he said with a placid smile.

"You're w—", Mrs H/N was about to answer—but suddenly felt as if she couldn't breathe...Her head started spinning and her cup fell to the floor and shattered. She then tumbled to the floor herself and took deep hectic breaths—suffocating. She tried to reach out desperately for Hannibal Jr. who kept his perfectly poised expression as she started gurgling and rolling on the floor.

"Relax, madam. You're not dying...yet.", he said with a cold smile etching on his lips and your teacher's eyes widened at the realization that she had been trapped before she passed out. Hannibal Jr. then sighed and finished his own cup before standing up and dragged your teacher to the basement.

There would be a family meeting later concerning her fate...

A few hours later :

Hannibal Jr. put both you and Peter to bed before getting down the stairs leading to the basement. Morgan and Kevin were already waiting and Hannibal Sr.'s face appeared on the screen of the TV situated at the center of the room. He tilted his head and started examining the woman in front of him with mild interest before asking—straight to the point.

"What did she do ?"

"She made Y/N cry.", Kevin answered and suddenly, a heavy silence settled around the room. Hannibal Sr. leaned forward to get an even better look at the teacher who seemed deeply afraid. He smiled. Good...

"And she is still breathing ?", he asked before throwing a quizzical circular glance at all the other Hannibals present.

"We were waiting for your approval.", Hannibal Jr. explained and Hannibal Sr. hummed absent-mindedly before his eyes settled back on the woman who was desperately trying to cry and scream through the tape securing her mouth shut.

"You did well...", he finally said before a dark sinister smile spread on his face. "I would have hated missing on all of the fun."

Your teacher's eyes widened as she shook her head vividly and tried to beg for mercy to her former students—but there was no mercy to be given. She had made their little sister cry. She was done for the moment she stepped over their threshold.

But, her fear was so strong—it made the three Hannibals present snap their heads at her with astounding synchronization. They seemed to be the Cerberus of Hell with one mind and one soulless heart—guided by fear and tears. Kevin was about to touch her when Hannibal Jr. stopped him.

"Kevin. Gloves. You know I don't like when you touch the food with your bare hands.", Hannibal Jr reminded him before giving the two boys a box of medical gloves and a small bottle of hand sanitizer. Kevin and Morgan nodded in agreement before putting them on, even though Kevin couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"We're going to eat her...Do you really think having our fingertips all over her is going to make a difference ?"

Hannibal Jr. gave him such a dark stare—Kevin didn't dare protest.

"Fine fine. I'll wear your damn gloves."

Hannibal Jr. then glanced at Morgan who was staring at Mrs H/N intently. Hannibal Jr. smiled knowingly.

"She said you were one of her favorites...", he informed him and Morgan tilted his head before humming softly.

"Oh...Really ?"

While Kevin was putting on his gloves, Morgan stepped forward towards Mrs H/N and took a strand/curl of her hair and started twirling it around his finger with a small smile.

"Such a shame. You were one of my favorites too, Mrs H/N.", Morgan mourned before leaning forward to whisper in the teacher's ear. "You just had to go and make our little sister cry, didn't you ?"

Mrs H/N tried to plead and ask Morgan to set her free, but the young man seemed to read her mind and clicked his tongue before offering her a fake apologetic smile.

"Today is the day you die. I'm sorry, miss H/N. I have no say in the matter anymore...But, as a favor from one of your old favorites. Any last word to plead your case ?" He asked before releasing her mouth and Mrs H/N kept silent for a moment before throwing her head back with laughter. When she was done, she glanced at the Hannibal she used to call her "favorite" with a fierce look.

"My dear sweet Morgan...", she uttered with a sickly sweet voice and her expression darkened as she then spat. "I hope you choke on my bones."

Morgan took a step back in surprise at the dark glare his former teacher was now staring at him with and his whole form started to tremble as he felt an unknown sensation spark throughout him. He finally chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair before taking out his knife and making it dance between his fingers—relishing in the way Mrs H/N seemed unable to detach her eyes from the shiny blade.

He then stepped forward and pressed the tip underneath her chin, stroking the skin there with the back of his gloved finger. He could hear her heartbeat increase significantly and a sinister smile crept up on his face as he pressed a cold kiss on the side of her face.

"...You really were my favorite teacher, you know ?", he whispered in her ear and Mrs. H/N closed her eyes. She resigned herself to keeping silent—finally accepting her fate. It was too late. She knew it now. There was no turning back—no point in begging. She didn't even hear the voice of Hannibal Sr. when he gave them his permission to begin.

"Boys. Kill.", Hannibal Sr. instructed mercilessly and suddenly, the three men smiled at each other and were on her in an instant.

Morgan lowered his knife and with one swift movement, plunged the dagger deep into her stomach and swallowed her gasp—his lips barely an inch from hers and his eyes catching the life slowly draining away from her.

"Pretty...Really pretty...", he praised before taking a step back and leaving the two other Hannibals have their turn.

Kevin didn't like killing game so fast—he liked the chase and the hunt. So, he didn't take as much pleasure as Morgan and desired to just get it over with. He took out another knife and slit her throat before taking a step back. Hannibal Jr. was last and he stared down as she started choking on her own blood. His eyes were immediately drawn to the thick rivers of blood cascading down her neck and chest. He knelt before her—as if worshipping her. He leaned forward and started drinking the blood from her neck—giving it a few tentative licks before pressing his lips to the never-ending gush. And then, he decided to end her suffering and slowly plunged his knife in her chest—where her heart was. It was almost merciful as her eyes closed and her soul departed...But then, he sank his teeth into the flesh of her throat and tear it apart. It felt...blissful.

"Oh yeah...'Wear gloves, Kevin'.", Kevin started complaining. "But, you don't have any problem with sinking your teeth into the meat and..." Another dark stare sent his way and Kevin immediately stopped talking and only huffed a small laugh of disbelief.

Unbeknownst to all of them that you and Peter were hiding on the stairs and looked with morbid fascination at the bloody scene. Your hand was in Peter's and he sensed you shaking. He glanced at you with a small worried frown—wondering if you should come back up...But then, his eyes widened as he realized you weren't shaking from fear. Your eyes were blown wide and the wide unhealthy grin spreading on your face made you look completely unhinged.

And when you slowly turned your gaze away from the macabre scene to look at him—he couldn't help but shiver as he saw the glimmer of insanity in your eyes.

"...I love this family.", you finally confessed in a whisper.

Truth be told ? You hadn't even been that offended by your teacher's words. You just wanted to see the reactions of the other members of the family—and they didn't disappoint. You couldn't tear your eyes away as the wolves started devouring your teacher raw...It made you feel things you shouldn't and you were tempted to join them.

But then, you froze into place when you realized that the TV had slightly shifted position and now, Hannibal Sr. was staring at you and Peter with a small knowing grin. He then winked at you and raised his index to his mouth significantly.

You nodded understandingly and bit your lower lip in order not to giggle as Peter grabbed your hand and led you back upstairs discreetly.

[consumare]

ISHTAR ATTA ISIL: I'D SAY WE MAKE A PRETTY GOOD TEAM. his plan had been to leave the baltimore state hospital for the criminally insane, make his way to italy, and stay there for as long as needed. until the ones who would come looking for him believe that they would never be able to find him. it was concrete, no holes, no mistakes to be made, and then ishtar came to visit. how she got in, hannibal had never asked. didn't need to, in the grand scheme of things, because what was important was that she was there, and she felt loyal enough to him to help the doctor regain his freedom. something he cherished over everything else. having never disappointed him, hannibal reminded himself to give the girl some kind of reward. recognition for the fine work she's done, most likely something expensive. for now, he glances at her, grinning as he straightens the tie he had just knotted around his neck. 'i could not think of a better companion to have here with me. you've been quite the asset, ishtar,' finishing with his tie, hannibal gracefully slides on his vest, closing each button with intent. 'i want to show you something. will you accompany me somewhere?' @violenthunt.

[godstrayed]

i’m here for you. no matter where or when i’ll always be here for you. (for will)

&. memes | always accepting.

The thought is more comforting than it ought to be. Will felt suspended out on open waters not sure where the next current was going to take him or if it was going to merely pull him under entirely. That life vest that very Logan-shaped was comforting. It soothed the anxiety that could eat away at Will and it put his mind to ease because if he got out of control, there was an anchor to bring him back to himself. Will wasn't going to be lost out at sea, pushed too hard and too far away from his steady ground.

But it brings a sense of self-loathing as well. Hannibal sickly enough, Alana Bloom, and now Logan Finnegan: all responsible for making sure Will didn't get too close. Because Jack knew inevitably Will was going to burn himself to get what was needed done, he was going to burn himself again and again, as much as required to catch these killers. Will Graham's mind was not fire proof and it seemed everyone knew it. "You won't need to worry about me for much longer," He murmurs after a second, "After everything is settled I am going to go back to teaching only. I wasn't fit for the FBI and I certainly am not fit for this. My limits were expendable when needed but I am growing to see the mistake in that now."

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 6

So we’re slowly but surely getting into the Hannigram shit I promised.

Someone with murderous intent finds y/n just as she thinks her life is beginning to improve. Little does she know, it will. 

@deadman-inc-bikeshop and @dovadokren here you go homies

Trigger warnings: Suicide bombing, graphic descriptions of violence, gun violence, death, cults, cult manipulation

You waited until he had left the restaurant to read that all-important scrap of paper. For some reason, you felt the need to hide in the bathroom to read it. It was probably just a name and phone number, but your brain was anticipating some kind of love letter. 

You carefully unfolded the receipt like it was your most treasured possession. Inside, it simply read ‘Hannibal Lecter’ followed by a phone number. 

You hugged the paper against your chest and a huge smile overtook your face. You couldn’t attach any rhyme or reason to why you suddenly felt so alive, other than you were completely and utterly infatuated. You felt like you could break into song. 

“Hey, [F/N]!” Charissa said, banging on the stall door. “Not to interrupt whatever this is, but could you take out the trash please?” 

“Oh.” You answered, your voice cracking. “Yeah. I’ll be right there.” 

Charissa trailed close behind you as you collected the bags from each can around the restaurant. She was uncharacteristically quiet, probably waiting for you to start spilling every detail of your night. The joke was on her, because you could let the silence go on forever. She wasn’t getting a word out of you. 

“So you’re not going to tell me?” She sounded deeply offended. 

“What’s to tell?” You said, hoisting a very full garbage bag over your shoulder. “Nothing happened.” 

“He sunk his teeth into you, didn’t he?” Charissa asked. At this point, you weren’t sure if she meant it metaphorically or literally. “That’s why you’re acting all, y’know, not downright miserable?” 

“Is that how I act usually?” You began to make your way to the back.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but,” She prefaced. “You basically have two moods. Depressed and customer-service happy, which is just depressed with a facelift. And whatever is happening here doesn’t fit into either of those categories. So something happened.” 

“Detective Charissa Rodriquez does it again.” You rolled your eyes and put one hand on the back door. “Some things just have to stay between a bartender and her... possible love interest.”

You punctuated the last sentence with a wink, sending your friend into a righteous fury. 

“Holy shit, [F/N]!” She exclaimed, smacking her hands together. “Come on, [F/N], I’m your best friend. You’ve got to let me in.” 

“I’m still trying to process what happened myself.” You said in earnest. “Believe me, if I’m telling anyone, it’s you.” 

“I’ll hold you to that.” Charissa wagged her finger. 

You tightened your grip on the garbage bag and lugged it outside. The night had fallen, and the orchestra of cicadas and crickets was in full swing. The warm pre-summer air welcomed you. As much as you resented her for bringing it up, Charissa was right. You hadn’t been truly happy in a very long time. And, as terrifying as the thought may have seemed, in a way, you owed it to Chase Mulvaney. 

You hauled the garbage bag into the dumpster and slammed it shut. The crash echoed and you turned back towards the door. 

Someone grabbed your arm. Your immediate thought was that it was just Charissa playing a cruel joke, but then they twisted it back and shoved you against the wall. You felt the cold blade of a knife against your neck and you froze up. 

“You didn’t repent.” A manic voice hissed into your ear. You could feel your heartbeat against the cold brick wall. The hands that bound you were soft and the voice was much more female. This was noticeably not Chase. 

You sputtered as you tried to articulate any of your thousands of questions. “Who the fuck are you?!” 

“Silence, she-devil!” The girl slammed you against the wall. “Keep your forked tongue between your teeth or I’ll cut it out!”

Her voice and hands shook and she enunciated as if she were reading off a script with a gun to her head. The adrenaline turned to genuine fear when you felt something hard strapped to her midriff. You knew in that moment that she wasn’t going to use the knife. 

"I thought Chase wanted to kill me himself." You muttered.

“Did you really think vanguard would be stupid enough to come back here?!” She forced a laugh but her voice was broken with fear. 

“Yes.” You said back, resigning to at least die with honor. “And, why is Chase the one in charge?!” 

She tightened her grip on your arm and smashed your head against the wall. “Don’t you dare talk about vanguard that way!”

He ripped off his cult leader title from fucking NXIVM? You thought, fully aware that it could easily be your last thought ever. 

“No, but seriously, think about it!” You implored her, hoping that if you got her talking, she wouldn’t hit the detonator. If there was one thing you knew about evangelicals, it was that they loved to hear themselves talk. “Chas- er, vanguard attacked me in broad daylight in front of dozens of witnesses. You’re smarter than he is! You came after me when I was alone in the dark!” 

“Everything he does, he does for a reason.” She shouted. "It's not the unwoman's place to question vanguard!"

“Oh god, now he’s ripping off Handmaid’s Tale?” You said out loud this time.

“Vanguard told me that you would try to fill my head with lies!” She growled. “So long as you are alive, you stand in the way of god’s work! You spread only falsehoods about our savior!” 

“Is this about the TattleCrime article?” You ask. “Because I didn’t say anything about god, I only talked about--” 

Then it hit you, again. “Oh, so this is a cult cult.”

"It's not a cult!" The girl screamed. This was the first time you'd sensed any genuine emotion behind her words. "Vanguard takes good care of us. And he can take care of you, too [F/N] [L/N]."

"By sending someone to kill me?" You spat.

"No!" The girl exclaimed. "No, no, no, no, no! Silly! I'm here to save you. If you repent now, and let Jesus Christ into your heart, your earthly shackles will be broken!"

"And what's in it for you, huh?" You struggled against her grip. "The privilege of blowing yourself up for Chase Mulvaney?"

"I was a sinful being like you, once." She said. "My grand reward is to give my life to save another."

You heard the click of a gun behind you. “Put the knife down and take off the vest!” 

The girl grabbed you by the neck and turned you to face this approaching foe. She held the knife to your throat. “If you shoot, she’s dead.” 

You couldn’t make out the details of his face, because he was backlit by headlights. You could, however, see the face of your captor. She was completely emaciated with bones protruding from her skin. Her head was sloppily shaved and whatever instrument she used to shave it left deep cuts on her scalp. 

She reached a shaky hand into her pocket and pulled out a detonator. Tears streaming down her face, she began to chant. “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

The man let off a shot, sending a bullet into her leg. She fell backwards, dropping the detonator and the knife and giving you an opportunity to run. The man gestured for you to get behind him and you obliged. He then let off a second shot, this bullet hitting her right through the skull. The girl collapsed backwards, her brain matter painting the side of the building. 

The man dropped his gun, mumbled something about a bomb squad into his phone, then turned to you. Finally, you could get a good look at his face. Immediately, you noticed his rich brown curls and a smattering of scruff around his jaw. His features were soft, comforting even. But a long enough examination of his face told you that he was just as deeply haunted as you were. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, weakly.

“You...” You said over desperate gasps for air. “You saved me.”

Soon enough, the first responders joined you. But for a few minutes, it was just you, the man and some unspoken mutual understanding words couldn't articulate.

[honourablejester]

Clockwork Soul Gambler Concept

A bit of an odd mix, maybe, given the whole order vs chaos conflict, but it was my second thought for the clockwork soul sorcerer, after the obvious horologist. A good chunk of the clockwork soul is about negating outside influence, advantage and disadvantage, harmful conditions and spells, and stripping everything down to the raw roll of the dice. And that just … speaks of the gambler to me? When all else is equal, how does the hand of fate fall?

Also, my favourite character in most westerns is the gambler. You can blame Ezra Standish and Hannibal Hayes. So. Have a bit of a half-orc riverboat gambler with a hankering for fair play?

Character Sheet: Emen Moore

Name: Emen Moore

Race: Half-Orc

Age: 34

Background: Riverboat Gambler

Class/Level: Sorcerer 3 (Clockwork Soul)

Statistics: Strength 8, Dexterity 14, Constitution 16, Intelligence 10, Wisdom 10, Charisma 16

Ideal: “Fate and chance only truly show their hand when all else is made equal. The only true gamble is on a level playing field.”

Bond: “An old friend helped me break even once. I feel like I should do the same for other people.”

Flaw: “I say I have a philosophical approach to loss, but I only wish that I did.”

Skills & Languages:

Skills: Deception, Insight, Intimidation, Persuasion, Religion

Languages: Common, Orcish, Gnomish

Traits, Feats and Background/Class Features: Darkvision (60ft), Menacing, Savage Attacks, Relentless Endurance, Never Tell Me The Odds, Clockwork Magic, Restore Balance, Font of Magic (3pts), Metamagic (Extended Spell, Twinned Spell)

Spells:

Cantrips: Mage Hand, Message, Chill Touch, Minor Illusion

Spells: Armour of Agathys (retrained), Protection from Evil & Good, Shield, Chaos Bolt, Feather Fall, Aid, Lesser Restoration, Misty Step

Equipment: Traveller’s clothes, fancy leather vest, light crossbow with 20 bolts, 2 daggers, 2 sets of playing cards (one well worn, just for herself, the other nicer, for playing with others), an arcane focus (crystal polyhedron), explorer’s pack

Description: Picture a lanky, laid-back figure, in rusts and reds and browns, propped back in a chair with her feet up. She’s got a watchful glint in her yellow eyes, and a faint smile curled around her tusks. There’s an aura of calm around her, the soothing rhythm of a game of solitaire, but she’s watching more than just the passage of cards through her hands.

History: “Once upon a time, there was a nobody kid from a nobody town, going nowhere. Some scrappy little thing, growing up half-wild by the docks, one part spit-shine and one part river water.

She was an odd kid, in more ways than one. Had her daddy’s features, which didn’t help none, and she had a bit of a something else as well. Which might have helped, somewhere that wasn’t Nowhere, New Nevermind. Magic. Something like magic. And a feeling of something … bigger than herself. Something … huge and shining. A great big grandfather clock beating the hours somewhere out there at the heart of the universe. It soothed her, that ticking clock, brought her calm right down to her bones, and it drove her half-mad at the same time. When she finally left, to try and follow that great pendulum in her chest, no one much was all that surprised.

It was the riverboats that got her out. A job on the riverboats. Scrubbing decks, first. Cleaning cabins. Wasn’t nothing to write home about (and she did write home), but a job was a job, and there was a whole river slipping by beneath the keel. A whole great web of somewhere moving by. It was a start. It was enough to get her going.

And then. Oh, and then. Then she met Lyddie Rourke.

Lyddie was a gambler. One of those that served as entertainment on the boats, a bit of something to spice up a long journey. A bit of risk and thrill to light up your day (and your belt pouch). She played the lounge on the boat, or on fine days the deck. And Emen was fascinated by her. By the whole endeavour. There was something about the roll of a dice or the shuffle of the cards that called out to that ticking thing in her heart. A sense of … magic, maybe. Or just fate.

Lyddie caught her watching enough times to see the fascination. She didn’t have to do anything about it, but … Maybe for fun. For her own amusement. And maybe a bit of something softer as well, a bit of something that remembered being a scrappy kid, going nowhere. She taught Emen the ropes. The rules of the game. And, in her own way, the rules of life as well.

Some riverboat gamblers liked to play a certain way. To rig the game. To rope the right customers and win the right games. Lyddie did too. A girl had to make a living. But underneath all that, the rude necessities of life … she nursed the heart of something slightly shinier.

Play pretend all you want, do whatever you need to do. But remember, kid, at the heart of it. The game’s only really the game when it’s real. No tricks, no traps. No false legs or cards up your sleeve. Just you and your opponent. The game, the cards. The hand of fate and the breath of lady luck. That moment when you’re playing honest, and everything’s on the line for real and true. That’s the one true gamble, darling. When all else is equal, all else is fair, and it just comes down to who has the most skill, the most daring … and the most luck. Sometimes it’s worth it to pay the other guy in, just so you can play the game, that one time, the right way.

It would have stuck all on its own. The way she said it. The quiet reverence of it, the way it made that great grandfather clock out there chime an echo in Emen’s chest. She would have paid attention just for that. For Lyddie and for the clock.

But Lyddie did more than just say it. She proved it too.

She paid Emen in. At the end of the line, the end of their time together. A big city, and Emen had always wanted more than a nowhere river town, or a nowhere river boat. So Lyddie paid her in. She gave her a letter, for a friend on another boat. And a friend of a friend of a friend. Anywhere the boats sailed, there’d be a spot on the deck or in the lounge, for a scrappy kid with a pack of cards in her hand, and the roll of fate’s dice in her heart.

It’s a debt Emen will never be able to pay. But that’s all right. It’s not the sort of debt you pay back to the one that’s owed. It’s the sort you pay onwards instead. A letter now and then will do for Lyddie. A glimpse of the great gambles she helped pay the stake for. But for everything else …

It’s a tricky world out there. Full of lies and traps and people doing what they feel they need to do. So if you have a chance. If you see a moment. Buy somebody who needs it in.

And make sure the game is fair.”

[lord-of-the-ducks]

Today is a good day. I finally got my hair cut, the dvd player I assumed to be lost in the mail came a day early, and I was finally able to sit down and watch Interview with the Vampire

I was expecting to make a bunch of WWDITS refrences and jokes, and I did, but it was also surprisingly similar to the Hannibal series. Like, way too similar. As in, if you’re gonna read my live reactions, know that there are spoilers for that show, especially the end of season 2.

Anyway, tomorrow I’m gonna cover either Lost Boys or Only Lovers Left Alive since I have the dvds for those and now that I have access to a dvd player, I wanna watch them

Enjoy!

Interview with the Vampire

I really gotta finish reading the book, but what I can say right now is that I expected it to be super straight and I was convinced that the clerk at the bookstore would judge me like “ew vampire simp” but they probably just thought I was even gayer than I look agsgudkhk

I was confused about why there was a modern bridge until I remembered that this is supposed to be told as a flashback

How many WWDITS jokes do you think I’m gonna make? 

JAYWALKING? HOW DARE

Anne Rice wrote the screenplay? Huh. I’m glad it means that no one gets to try to make this straight

“What do you do?” “I’m a vampire” Louis I love you

The actor playing the interviewer looks familiar 

Making a post-viewing note to say that I figured out where I knew him from and it broke me

The interviewer thinks that he’s a weirdo but he’s a whole ass supernatural being

The long hair gives me Nandor vibes

“Shall we begin when I was born to darkness” dude shut up

I’ve already complained about this in the book but can we please stop making confederate vampires? Thanks

He just opens up his shirt sguahaukhd and Lestat is in the corner watching. I bet it wasn’t even Louis wanting to die that drew him in it was seeing him shirtless

I could insert an essay about how vampire bites are inherently queer but the creators clearly know that, the music was weirdly romantic and Lestat was literally sweeping him off his feet

Oh this is GAY gay

This is even more queer than the book I was terrified that they would try to straightwash everything

Bruh Lestat just got it over with in the book here he’s making a whole date out of it

Lestat you’ve asked him if he wants to be turned like 8 times just fucking do it

I can’t tell who is more like Nandor in this situation. Probably Lestat since they’re both edgelords

Ow that does not look fun

“Happens to us all” hah nice

Where’d the blood go? I swear i’m not gonna pull a cinema sins but I was already thinking about how he’d need to clean up

I adore their vests

“When you wake I’ll be waiting for you” gay.

“My friend” oh that was a very not straight way of saying that

“I don’t wanna kill people” “Oh don’t worry I got you covered” Lestat my beloved

Dinner date??? Dracula???

Lestat juicing the rat is so funny for no reason

Insert essay about drinking rat blood from a super fancy glass

Lestat eating the rich is a vibe

Vampires can read thoughts?

Well, Lestat can

“Evildoers are easier and they taste better” Lestat is the best

Oh my god this movie is so bisexual

Nevermind Louis is more of a Nandor because they both like MILFS/GILFS

Homoerotic fight? Hell yes

Codependency isn’t good Lestat it’s abusive

I have mixed feelings about the way Louis’s slaves are portrayed in the book and the movie 

Oh god Louis’s eating chickens Venom-style

I don’t like this

Dude you bit her people usually scream when they get bitten by someone

Lestat is angy

I actually adore Lestat. I hated him in the book because he was abusive to Louis but he’s fun here

Did he bite her boob?

Ok so vampires don’t necessarily need to bite someone’s neck in this version. I still don’t know where that came from

“It’s your coffin my love enjoy it” agshkdhkahu

Oh god I’m getting Hannibal vibes from Lestat is that why I like him so much?

Shit why am I getting gender envy for an actual psychopath

Did they break up? :( 

Is the plague an actual plague or vampire attacks?

Oh no don’t eat the child

Lestat is me

LESTAT WHY ARE YOU DANCING WITH A CORPSE AGYASJYGJ

Lestat you didn’t

You fucking baby trapped him

I made those hannibal comparisons as a joke

“Surprise! The kid you thought you ate is alive!”

Do not turn the child. Bad idea

He turned the child

Just don’t leave it in the Bronx

She suddenly looks super fancy and put together?

“You must stop before the heart stops”

“Our daughter” Lestat shut the fuck up

Louis don’t make excuses you were baby trapped

Claudia is amazing I love her

I was expecting to make WWDITS jokes but it’s just devolved into “Hannibal but if Will didn’t betray Hannibal at the end of season 2 and they ran off and started a happy murder family”

Lestat really is just Hannibal with a better fashion sense and willingness to eat the rich

LOUIS WHAT WAS THAT TONGUE THING AGSYSGJY

Claudia is awesome

Oh no they’re fighting

Claudia’s situation is actually really sad

Lestat shut the fuck up

HELL YES STAB HIM

Ok this is very uncomfortable thing to hear from a child. I know she’s like, a lot older, but I don’t have to like this anime logic

Lestat needs to stop being so funny when he’s mad

“I’ve brought a present for you” DAMN HOW THE TURNTABLES TURN

Oh no Lestat is hungry

Claudia is giving me Guillermo vibes

Alcohol blood?

“We forgive each other then?” Don’t make me feel bad

HE DRANK THE DRUG BLOOD YESS HE DRANK THE DRUG BLOOD

I can’t remember why dead blood is bad I know it was in the book

“I’LL PUT YOU IN YOUR COFFIN” DAMN THAT WAS A RAW ASS LINE

Not them quoting fucking Hamlet

Don’t ask how I immediately knew that

Louis is the only one who actually recognizes when things are fucked up

DO NOT PUT HIM IN THE SWAMP THAT PRESERVES CORPSES

DON’T ASK HOW I KNOW THIS BUT SWAMP IS A BAD IDEA TO PUT A FUCKING VAMPIRE IN

VAMPIRES NOTORIOUSLY DON’T DECOMPOSE TAKE HIM OUT OF THE SWAMP

This is giving me Will and Abigail vibes

I like Claudia’s little cape thing

I FUCKING KNEW IT

YOU PUT HIM IN THE SWAMP YOU IDIOTS 

Don’t call her a naughty little girl

He did

Oh no fire

Road trip?

Ship trip?

“We deserve your vengeance” NO YOU DON’T HE’S FUCKING ABUSIVE

Claudia has some great capes

Ok I have a lot to say about Bram Stoker but I will fight Louis for insulting him

Only I get to make fun of Stoker

Ok looks like it’s the 1880s?

She should have her hair up though.

Armand?

Are we gonna see Armand?

Oh that’s not Armand

BRUH WHY ARE YOU DANCING AHSHSUSGKK

I love Santiago

ANTONIO BANDERAS HELL YES

YEEEESSSSS

I know nothing about this man I’m just possessed by the spirit of Guillermo

Is she an actor?

Did they just kidnap some poor woman

Put her shirt back please

Oh I totally get why Guillermo wanted to be a vampire Armand is so cool

Please don’t say “no pain no gain”

Please put her clothes back

I had to lock my door otherwise someone’s gonna walk in and think I’m watching porn

“Monstrous” Yes Louis you’ve said that

Are all vampires this brooding and insufferable?

Sometimes I wish I was attracted to men just because I feel like I’m missing out

...you’re the oldest? You sure?

Don’t call him “beloved” you look like, 8, and he’s your dad

They really did quote this movie in WWDITS

“You would leave me for Armand if he beckoned you” OH BOY. I THOUGHT THAT THE QUEERNESS WAS JUST GONNA BE OBVIOUS BUT NOT OVERT

Please stop saying that Louis and Claudia are dating I was to throw up

“The world changes. We do not”

Are they about to kiss?

Please decide if she is his child or his girlfriend

Please don’t call him father and then kiss him on the lips I hate this so much

I am so confused what is going on

SUNLIGHT PIT?!?!

Jeez WWDITS took a lot from this movie

YES ARMAND

Oh wrong wall

Oh they’re dead

Ouch

Oh he’s mad

Louis really likes arson huh

This is literally the third building he’s set on fire

Oh no sunlight

Are they about to kiss? I’m genuinely asking

Bruh their faces were so close

Louis is a movie nerd adhkaduhku

Is Lestat alive?

He’s pretty stubborn about dying so far I wouldn’t be surprised

BAT

I really want Lestat to be alive

YES

YES

YES

YES

YES

YES

YES

Eat something jesus louisus

Oh of course he immediately says something gay

This is so gay

How long has Lestat been in that chair

Lestat has attachment issues

Interviewer has Guillermo energy

Oh my god the interviewer is fucking JD from Heathers

This is so so cursed

I do not know what to do with this information

LESTAT FUCK YES

He’s so extra akadgykfgyky

“Still whining” “Have you had enough? I’ve had to listen to that for centuries” Lestat my beloved

I had to pause I was laughing so hard

Anyway final notes: I rate this a 9/10, this was one of the most enjoyable movie experiences I’ve had in a while, but there were definitely some uncomfortable moments. As much as I consider this a highly influential piece of queer media, and it’s one of few vampire movies that make their queer vampires sympathetic rather than outright villanous, it suffers from a dangerous lack of intersectionality. People who are much smarter than I am have probably talked about the fact that Louis is literally a slave owner and that the portrayal of the slaves is as obstacles for the main characters rather than like, real human people in a horrible situation (it’s much worse in the book). As much as I loved this movie, I feel obligated to point out that it really fucked up there

Also the whole thing between Claudia and Louis made me want to throw up. I loved them both separately but the movie could not make up it’s mind about what to do with those two together. 

Anyway, despite the fact that I went on a huge rant about the movie’s flaws, Lestat was what saved it for me. I hated him in the book but he was delightful here. Also, turns out that putting Tom Cruise in period dress makes me forget that he’s a scientologist 

I highly recommend this movie, especially if you’re a fan of the Hannibal series

[festering-queen]

Hannibal x Dracula

Her petite frame only filled a fraction of the large chair. She often sat forward, never fully committing to comfort when she came to her appointments. Hannibal watched her arms remain on her lap, clasping at a pair of gloves. He could smell it on her, blood. He had been spending more time with Dracula, and began to grow fond of the smell, no longer associating it with food.

The murmuring stopped, and Hannibal brought himself back to attention with his client. She had let her own mask slip as she stared at him, he let her, wondering if the woman was aware of what she was doing. Her eyes had gone silent, lips cold, and a hush fell over her hands. After several appointments, he was able to recognize the sociopath tendencies within her. His influence was subtle, but he’d gotten her to grow past anger when ignored. She still needed work in hiding her obsessive nature though.

Knock.

Knock.

Hannibal’s eyes shot over to the door, annoyed by the intrusion.

“Excuse me” he nodded to his client, and stood.

Dracula had knocked, and knew Hannibal hated any interruption during his working hours, but Dracula could smell blood. Had Hannibal decided to off a client? No heart was in the throws of death, but he’d never smelt blood in the office before. He waited for the door to open, leaning on the hall wall just outside of it.

Hannibal’s face dropped at the sight of Dracula as he pulled the door open. Dracula, not caring for the obvious uninviting glare he earned, walked past Hannibal and into the office. Blood was calling, it was muffled and old, but definitely outside of the body. His red eyes fell on the wavy golden curls of the young woman, and he turned on his heel quickly to look at Hannibal.

Hannibal was standing there, arms folded across his chest, tightening the salmon button up on his shoulders. His jaw was clenched as he hissed out, “Can I help you?”

It was the most agitated Dracula had seen him.

Dracula darted his eyes toward the woman. She had turned to observe the issue. Taking her mask back up, she smiled and stood, “Dr. Lecter, I must be going. We will just pick up next week.” She pulled her leather jacket over her shoulders and made her way to the door.

Hannibal saw Dracula’s movements and put himself between him and the woman as she neared the door. “Until then,” Hannibal said, closing the door behind her.

Tension grew as each man assessed the other. Two predators. One was responding to the part of himself that saw his client as an extension of his work, something he cared deeply for and held close to his chest. The other man was angry at the paternal response the other had to the human, and unsure what that meant or if he cared.

“This is useless.” Dracula scoffed, knowing he was on Hannibal’s home turf and was too agitated to care about being the first to break the tension.

“You’re right. You being here, is useless.” Hannibal replied, devoid of any caution. He relaxed his arms and walked over to his suit jacket on the chair behind his desk. Turning his back to Dracula as he walked past him.

Dracula was there in an instant and gripped Hannibal’s wrist as it went for his jacket. “No. You know why I’m here.” Dracula reached past him with his other hand and fished the bloody switchblade from the jacket’s pocket. It was wrapped with a silk handkerchief, Hannibal’s from the smell, and concealed the dried blood that was flaking from the handle. “There you are.” He released Hannibal’s wrist and cradled the swaddled knife. It was what had caught his attention from the other room.

Hannibal straightened his vest and walked over to the chair opposite of where his client had been. “And here I thought you had decided to make a meal of my client. You’re exhausting to anticipate.”

“Then stop trying to.” Dracula opened the knife and licked at the gooey blood that had collected at the base of the blade. It was a mixture of two, and neither belonging to his current company. “Someone has been a naughty girl,” he cooed as that blond hair flashed behind his eyes. “Is she like you? Does she eat her own kind too?”

“She’s growing curious about it.”

Dracula sat down in the chair across from Hannibal. “So, this is where you make more of your kind?” His brow furrowed at the shear simplicity of it.

“I don’t make anything. This position allows me to suggest everything, and see what happens.”

“Do you ever eat them?”

“If I grow bored.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you.” Dracula pocketed the knife and handkerchief.

[hanniderys]

RE-WRITE HANNIBAL'S FINALE (SEASON 2)

02x13.

Murderer family.

Hannibal's inquiring gaze scanned Will's presence in the kitchen. He adjusted his glasses, with a serious expression as he always used to have. And still, he could feel the nerves through his body movements.

"... Then would you like it marinated in wine?"

"I suppose. I am not used to these dishes to decide. I leave it to your hands, I know it will be... Exquisite."

Hannibal put his clasped hands on the table. His posture was perfect, his hair well organized and his outfit impeccable. He had a white shirt, a brown vest, and a red tie that stood out the most. His usually expressionless countenance changed for a few moments with a slow smile that expanded slightly. His dark eyes examined the opposite, he was proud to know that Will would not hand him over. For a few moments the past few days he really worried that he would hand him over to Jack Crawford, he had even discovered that Freddie had not been killed and he was very hurt, but events had changed. Dr. Lecter always knows everything. With his usual calm attitude and voice he spoke to him.

"Don't worry, it will be for his good, he is a threat and with him in the middle you would not be able to change. You need him, and he needs you."

Hannibal got up from the seat, adjusted his beige jacket and walked calmly towards to the front door. His heart was pounding calmly, and his humour were better than ever. His plan had paid off, Will was already on his side and he could surprise him with Abigail when it was all over. He looked at his watch on his wrist before turning the knob and open the door, he received Jack. He already knew about him. He was aware of the whole situation, but after meditating and planning it meticulously he decided to knock him unconscious right there, with his own hands so that Will could become... What he had wished for so long, for his sake.

"Ah, Jack, welcome. Come in."

He stepped aside so that the opponent could enter. He was looking for clues, clues at a glance but it was something he would not find. Not anymore.

"It smells delicious, Dr. Lecter..." The agent smirked, pretending that everything was fine. And likewise, Hannibal gave him a cordial smile and a small nod. "Will has not arrived?"

"I'm afraid not, but it shouldn't take long."

After closing the door, their footsteps echoed throughout the space. Vide Cor Meum sounded in the background, and yet the footsteps seemed to sound louder. Hanninal walked in front of Jack and went to the table where a wooden base for chopping vegetables rested, and these at half work. He took the apron on the chair and put it on after taking off his suit. His expressionless gaze went to Jack as he picked up the knife and resumed the task.

"Today we will eat heart with pan-fried and gremolata. Marinated and grill in the style of Peruvian anticuchos. I practiced this recipe yesterday, in order to offer you the best."

"As usual."

They both smiled, but neither honestly. The tension could be cut with a knife, and it was what Hannibal intended to do. He left the knife on top of the bowl where he was placing the cut vegetables, listening to Jack.

"Will called me yesterday, and said a few things about the Chasepeak Ripper case. It is something that he has not stopped looking, and I appreciate it. Ever since the whole thing was focused on Abel Gideon it has been put aside a bit."

Dr. Lecter's relaxed movements had Jack's alerts on. Hannibal moved freely in the kitchen and took a bottle of wine, which he had in a bucket with ice, not so far, and he reached for two glasses.

"I'm glad, Jack. If they do catch the Chasepeak Ripper many clues would come to light."

His voice was unaffected in the least. He was actually expecting that comment. He knew what Will had told him. All of his lines had been intervened by him, and he had listened to all of his calls. He poured the wine with his usual elegance and held out a glass to Jack, who took it and raised it in a small, silent toast. Hannibal took a sip from his glass. The sweet taste of the wine was welcomed by its trained taste buds. He tasted the fermented grapes, stuck his tongue to the palate, and made the movement to snap his tongue, only without sound. His thin lips pursed slightly and he sighed. It would be perfect with the heart. He set the glass down next to him and went back to his task of cutting the vegetables.

"How's Bella, Jack?"

The aforementioned kept a small silence, and Hannibal raised his eyes a few seconds to look at him, inquisitive, but did not insist. The man sighed and put one of his hands in his pocket, Hannibal kept his senses alert.

“Good. This chemotherapy thing is... Difficult.”

“I'm sure it is. I would have liked to ask her about her process myself but since the last time it was clear to me not to approach.”

The conversation had taken on a dark, acid tone. The smell of rot and death almost invaded Dr. Lecter's kitchen and before that happened, he had to take action. He reached his glass and taking a sip of the delicious and fine wine he took the handle of the knife. It all happened in seconds. Jack made a move to pull the pistol out of his waistband and Hannibal threw the knife from his position, driving it into his arm. The cup fell to the ground breaking into a thousand pieces. Hannibal moved nimbly as Jack gave a roar of pain and blood ran down his arm. Jack took out the knife which Hannibal had thrown and he jumped on top of Jack and both fell to the ground. Hannibal's shirt and vest were stained with Jack's blood, but that was the least important to Dr. Lecter now. With his good arm, Jack took Hannibal by the neck and kept him away. Hannibal brought his two hands together into a fist, lifted them up and hit his inner elbow with the force he could obtain in that fraction of seconds, looking for the grip to fail, and so it happened. He inhaled the missing air and felt a blow to his right cheek. He groaned, feeling the familiar metallic taste in his mouth, and gave him a quick smack on the face as well. Jack grabbed his shirt and tossed him aside, Hannibal slipped with the blood on the floor and fell onto his back.

His hair was tousled, and he was stained with blood everywhere. Jack got up (not as agilely as Hannibal) with the knife in hand. Hannibal propelled himself towards Jack. His knife skill was almost lacking compared to Dr. Lecter. He avoided Jack's movement, but felt a cut on his rib and on his shoulder. The pain that was gradually becoming present did not confuse him, it was concentrated in his attacker. He cursed in his mind and felt Jack grab him by the hair and slammed his face against the refrigerator. He lost his senses for a few seconds, and he felt one of his teeth go limp. He reached up and hit Jack with his elbow on his stomach, knocking the air out of him and causing him to drop the knife. He quickly tuged off his own tie. He seized that opportunity and stood behind the man, tie in hand, and wrapped it around his neck. He pulled hard, trying to make him lose consciousness. He clenched his teeth, feeling the palpable pain in his mouth, but the adrenaline had entertained him. Jack's hands reached back but he couldn't reach Dr. Lecter. Jack fell to the ground and Hannibal sat on his back, and with a precise movement he hit his head on the ground and knocked him unconscious, finishing his work.

He frowned, looking wild and out of control. He moved his tongue into his mouth and getting up, disoriented, he spat the loose tooth into his hand. He took off his apron and tossed it on the counter, looking for the missing air. He had had better fights.

He bent down and pulled Jack by his feet and led him into the dining room, where he sat him in one of the chairs and tied him up. He wobbled a bit, but it was no big deal. He walked calmly towards his room and there he found Will looking at the floor.

"Are you ready?"

He looked up and barely looked into Hannibal's eyes for a few seconds before looking away. He was anxious, and Hannibal could see it. Will took off his glasses and put them on the bed.

"How could I not be?"

He combed his hair back, and stood up. Hannibal's eyes followed him, with an unknown brightness. He walked ahead and went to the dining room, with silent steps and Dr. Lecter's bloody face on his mind. As soon as the noise had started he was tempted to leave the room and help Hannibal, but Hannibal's words were precise. "Don't leave the room, don't make noise. I'll take care of it." His fingers hid in the pockets of his dark jeans, feeling his disorganized hair brush against his neck in a constant reminder of the end he was heading for. He had many doubts, many fears and he was intimidated but he trusted Hannibal, and he knew that he only wanted the best for him... For both of them. In silence he looked at the body of Jack Crawford unconscious in one of the dining room chairs, and his lips trembled. Not out of fear, but because of the magnitude of it all. He hadn't killed Freddie, he hadn't taken that step yet, and a few days ago he really didn't consider taking it but changed his mind thanks to Hanninal. He put his fingers to the bridge of his nose, feeling one of the other's hands on his shoulder.

"This is the best decision. What I plan to give you is much further. ” he felt the closeness, and the foreign breath against his ear. "You will feel overwhelmed, but what you will receive in return will be a reward. You will become what I have wanted for you for so long."

And he stepped back, giving him freedom to do what he wanted to do.

Will felt everything in slow motion, took a few strides, and stepped in front of Jack, taking the knife. He took a breath when he realized that the opponent was coming to his senses. Her heart was pounding and his hand gripped the handle of the knife. He gave Hannibal one last look, and as he turned his eyes forward, he found another pair of dark eyes that stared at him with a mixture of confusion, fear and rage.

"Will, what are y-...?"

And he stuck the knife in the middle of his chest.

A scream erupted from his throat but sooner than later Hannibal tucked in his mouth a ball of fabric to silence his screams. There was nothing better than listening to them, but he couldn't risk. He would offer the complete version to Will... Later. His eyes widened more than necessary and a tickle shuddered him from head to toe as he saw Will pull the handle down, opening Jack's chest and splashing blood all over his face and clothes, losing control. Perhaps...? Slowly a smile crossed his lips and he saw Will reach into the chest of the still alive Jack Crawford (not for long) and cut his heart out. Breathing caught in his throat and he was satisfied.

One last gasp from Jack and his head fell limp to the side. Will with his heart in his hand looked at him, feeling the adrenaline all over his being and fell sitting on the ground, trembling. Hannibal squatted beside him, stroking his hair. Will was ecstatic, complete, changed. He had... Ascended. The warm muscle in his hand distracted him for a while, but eventually his eyes rose, full of life to Hannibal. He looked at him with... Pride, and happiness.

"This is all I want for you... For you, for us."

Hannibal took the heart in his hands and stood up, held out one of them, and helped Will up. When he released him, he walked towards the kitchen and did the corresponding procedure with the dish to be prepared and left the heart marinating. He did all of this by feeling Will's gaze on him, and giving him time to process what he had just done.

"Do you want some wine?"

He offered to walk to the counter where the bottle was, took it and poured it into clean glasses and handed Will one. He held his up, unable to hide his happiness, and not through a smile, but through his wild and bright eyes.

“For our future together.”

A smile finally appeared on Will's lips and he looked straight into his eyes, still not caring about being full of blood and staining the glass.

“For us.”

And drank from the sweet liquid. Hannibal stared at him for a few minutes and made a decided brow movement. He put his glass down on the counter and went to the kitchen exit.

"I have a surprise, wait here for a few minutes, please."

Will looked at the mess in the kitchen in more detail and his condition allowed him to experience what had just happened there, and it was hard to tell, but he didn't feel bad for Jack. He looked at the tooth of what he thought was Hannibal's on the ground and drank from his glass again.

Footsteps were present and he put the glass on the counter and turned towards the entrance to the kitchen. His face turned expressionless and paled, he thought it was a hallucination, or that he was daydreaming.

"What...?"

"Will."

He looked at Hannibal, who had just called him as a way of saying "this is reality" and looked back at Abigail. He got up from his chair and tried to say something but couldn't.

"Abigail Hobbs is..."

"Alive. I kept her alive for you."

"Hannibal..."

He got up, still looking at Abigail because he felt that she might disappear. She smiled at him and approached slowly.

"You're good. I... I'm sorry, Abigail. I scared you, I thought I hurt you, I... I'm not your father, but you worry me. I care about you."

The tears in Abigail's eyes were honest, and she hugged Will happily. She hid her face against his neck, staining himself with blood and caring little about it.

"Everything is fine. Hannibal took care of me, we were very careful. Let's all disappear together, we plan it. We'll be fine."

"It will be now."

He smiled and took her face in his hands. He could not believe it. A desperate laugh erupted from him and he hugged her again.

"Well, it's time to make the food. You both can catch up on while I do the celebration dish."

Dr. Lecter smiled subtly at them and went to the kitchen to cook Jack Crawford's heart.

***

"It is very delicious."

"Heart marinated and grill in the style of Peruvian anticuchos... It's never a miss."

Will smiled at Hannibal as he took another bite from the beautifully prepared and decorated dish. He looked at the end of the table and observed Jack lifeless body still tied to the chair.

"Couldn't his body be put elsewhere?" Asked Abigail, who hardly looked at Jack's body.

"He is our guest of honor, Abigail. Thanks to him Will Graham was able to evolve. Improve, become. Must be in the honor chair."

"Hm."

And they continued to eat, Hannibal with a small satisfied smile, Will serious but calm (deadly calm despite everything that was happening) and Abigail a little overwhelmed but happy.

After eating the dessert, Will got up from his chair and took his plate and the others' to the dishwasher. As he walked toward the guest room, he watched Hannibal speak to Abigail, with an attitude he had never seen before. It was something new, it was unknown territory and he didn't know how to behave. Hannibal practically glowed. As he entered the room he looked at his suitcase and grabbed it, taking a change of clothes. He looked at the watch on his wrist, it was two hours before his flight to Florence. He went to the guest bathroom and took a shower there, just as Hannibal had instructed him a few hours ago when he arrived. When he came out, he was wearing black dress pants, and a white shirt, he put on some loafers and with gel he combed his hair almost perfectly, backwards. Putting on his glasses, he went out with his suitcase in his hand to Hannibal's living room. Abigail was there, already clean. Footsteps behind him made him turn and he pursed his lips in a sideways smile towards Dr. Lecter, who was impeccable, as if nothing had happened.

"Are we ready?"

"Ready to go. The family is together again," Abigail said with a small smile, and walked out the door with her suitcase.

 Inside were Hannibal, Will, and two bags with what he supposed to be corpses. He was barely noticing the smell of gasoline.

"Give me your ID" he asked cordially.

Will gave it to him, and Hannibal threw his as well.

"You'll...?"

"Yes, Will."

Taking a match, he lit it and dropped it to the ground, and after that he took his suitcase and walked, expressionless to the entrance. The corpses were nothing more than a distraction, he wanted time and not to be sought immediately after putting out the fire. Will took his suitcase and watched the fire burn for a few seconds. He went behind Hannibal and called out to him, feeling the heat of the flames a few meters away, which were just beginning their red and deadly dance.

"Dr. Lecter."

The aforementioned turned and looked at him over his shoulder. Will took one of his cheeks and joined his lips with the others, in a soft and short kiss.

"This is all I want for us."

And so, with the fire burning behind them they smiled knowingly and left Hannibal Lecter's house behind to finally become and ascend together.

[laynavile]

41 with hannigram!!

Prompt 41 - Daddy

I had to fight with myself so hard not to write this as a cute, soft daddy Hannibal piece, but I kept reminding myself it is a smut prompt list, lol.

Thank you so much for sending me a prompt, I had a lot of fun with this, despite it taking some turns I hadn't intended.

Also posted on ao3 - Toxic (Like The Poison On My Tongue)

Warnings - Dub-con, daddy kink

Enjoy 😌

Hannibal has never truly let his guard down--he is always prepared to kill to defend himself. Men and women alike have died chasing their release with Hannibal. One had tried to bite him without his consent, another had tried to asphyxiate him--"It'll heighten your pleasure." They said--another tried to hold him down and take him from behind, another slapped him across the face as she orgasmed, and so on and so on.

Hannibal's sex life is relatively vanilla, he is on top always, be it with a man or woman--there is too much vulnerability if he is beneath them. It works for him, he either gets to have an orgasm and then never see the person again or he gets to have an orgasm and then make a meal of them, it's a win for Hannibal either way.

But then Will Graham appears in Hannibal's life and everything changes. Will makes Hannibal break his own rules, he finds himself wanting to let Will in, forgiving Will's rude behaviors, and the thing that shocks him the most is the desire to let Will take him.

Hannibal is drawn to Will like a moth to a light. After a while Hannibal begins to notice changes in Will, he begins disassociating, losing time, and Hannibal smells a fever on him--it's the perfect opportunity for Hannibal. He can manipulate Will any way he wants, and Will is none the wiser. Hannibal can seduce Will and get what he so desperately wants.

Will arrives at his office confused--he doesn't know how he got there when he was in another state at a crime scene--now is Hannibal's chance, Will is disoriented enough that Hannibal can direct him out to the Bentley and into his home without Will asking why.

Upon entering his home he leads Will up the stairs to his bedroom, "Undress, Will."

Shaking fingers work buttons out of their holes, tug a zipper down, clothing is dropped into the floor and shoes are kicked off and soon Will stands naked as the day he was born in the middle of Hannibal's bedroom.

His cock twitches in his suit pants. "Lie down on the bed, Will."

Without hesitation or question Will obeys, he lies on the bed on top of the blankets, head on Hannibal's own pillow. He stares up at the ceiling, unblinking.

Hannibal almost feels bad for doing this, but it's something he's wanted since the day he met Will--something he's never let himself indulge in with anyone. Hannibal has a drawer full of toys for this, but the prospect of having a real, live cock inside of him causes him to ache with desire.

He undresses slowly, taking care of his expensive clothing, draping his suit jacket over the back of a chair, folding his vest, dress shirt and suit pants before placing them into the chair as well. His shoes are carefully taken off and left on the floor to the right of the chair, socks and underwear are taken into the en suite and dropped into the laundry basket.

Will is precisely where Hannibal left him, supine and staring. He glances at Hannibal upon his reentry of the bedroom, but says nothing--asks no questions.

Hannibal opens the top drawer of his dresser--there are no clothes in here--he retrieves a bottle of lube, a condom, a cock ring and anal plug. He closes the drawer and crosses the room, places the items on the bed before climbing onto the bed next to Will. He looks at Hannibal, he doesn't speak, but his expression is trusting albeit confused.

"Relax, Will, nothing here will hurt you."

Will seems to sink further into the bed, and his eyes slip closed.

Hannibal takes the bottle of lube, coats his fingers and begins stretching himself open--he knows how to do this quickly and efficiently--once stretched enough he lubes up the plug and slides it into himself. His cock is hard and drooling, flushed dark with need--he ignores it.

He listens for a moment, Will is not asleep much to Hannibal's dismay--a sleeping Will would've made this easier for him. He touches Will's arm first, a light brush of his fingers to gauge his reaction to physical stimuli. When Will doesn't react adversely, Hannibal moves his fingers to touch Will's chest, fingertips ghosting across his nipples, they harden beneath his touch and Will inhales sharply, but he does not open his eyes or attempt to stop Hannibal.

Fingers trail down, across Will's stomach, palm resting flat for a moment to feel the up and down motion of his stomach as he breathes evenly. His hand slides lower, touching the surprisingly soft, coarse hair that covers Will's pelvis, his fingers slide through the hair--Hannibal watches intently as Will's penis twitches subtly but does not harden.

He wraps his fingers around the flaccid shaft, the skin is soft and so warm. He picks up the silicone ring and slides it on--he's not going to risk Will coming too quickly, Hannibal will take his own pleasure before letting Will reach his release. Hannibal leans in, and presses his lips to Will's jaw, he begins to fill within Hannibal's grip. Hannibal kisses along his jaw, and down his neck, all the while gently stroking Will's hardening length.

Hannibal wants to bite Will's neck, wants to leave marks on Will's flesh, but knows that marking someone in such a way without their permission is wrong--he's killed people for doing the same to him. Many would say what he's doing to Will is wrong, but he's seen the desire in Will's gaze, he knows Will wants this.

Will becomes fully erect between Hannibal's fingers. Hannibal opens the condom package and rolls it onto Will's hard shaft--he's used this very same ring with a condom before, he knows how to do it properly, to cause no discomfort or risk of the condom breaking. Will's eyes do not open, but he moans softly.

The plug slides out easily, his leg goes over Will so that Hannibal is straddling him, he guides Will's cock to his hole and sinks down--as expected it feels so much better than any toy he's used. He can feel the warmth of Will's skin through the condom, each twitch and pulse of his cock as it's nestled deep inside of Hannibal--it's blissful.

He lifts up a small amount before pressing back down, it feels better than Hannibal could've ever imagined. Will breathes harshly beneath him, but does not move, does not speak, does not open his eyes--almost as if he's paralyzed or perhaps he simply doesn't want to upset Hannibal and have this end.

The pace Hannibal sets is quick and rough, up and down fast and hard, he angles his hips on each downward motion just right, Will presses against his prostate sending tingles of pleasure up his spine.

They're both sweating, skin flushed and breathing heavily, Will moans and grunts, his eyes begin to open a few times but never all the way. Hannibal wraps his fist around his own cock, timing his strokes to be the opposite of how he rides Will's cock.

Suddenly Will's eyes snap open, hands reach up to grip Hannibal's hips, lips parted in a silent scream. Hannibal comes across Will's chest, a few pearlescent drops even make it into the scuff on Will's chin.

Will pushes Hannibal back--he let's it happen, he easily could've overpowered Will but he wants to see what Will will do, wants to see if he's been right in trusting and wanting Will so entirely--Will fucks into Hannibal with a ferocity that Hannibal hadn't expected, hips snapping in and out quickly, chasing an orgasm that Hannibal has purposely delayed.

His thrusts become more and more erratic, mumbling and moaning as he goes--none of it is particularly coherent, though Hannibal makes out, "Fuck." And "Shit." And "So tight." The rest is a mystery to him, until Will comes.

"Fuck, daddy, ah."

Daddy? Hannibal had never been called daddy before, but the sound of it coming from Will's mouth as he floods the condom inside Hannibal, nothing has ever sounded better. If he could, he would be grtting hard again, and would gladly ride Will's cock again and again to hear it.

Once Will has calmed, Hannibal climbs off of him, pulling the condom off, he ties it and drops it into the trash before carefully taking the ring off of Will--he's so sensitive now, he hisses at the feeling of the ring being removed.

Hannibal doesn't say anything as he takes the ring and the plug to rinse in the sink, he'll clean them properly later.

When he returns Will hasn't run off, he's now sitting, but he's still there, in Hannibal's bed.

"I'm sorry." He doesn't sound confused as he did earlier.

Sorry? "What are you apologizing for, Will?" If anyone should apologize, it's Hannibal--he won't though, he won't apologize for taking what he and Will both wanted.

"I shouldn't have called you that."

"There is no reason for you to apologize, Will, it's quite alright."

"I haven't, I mean not since, you're just perfect daddy material, it slipped out."

"Again, Will, I assure you it's alright. We can discuss it later."

Will nods seemingly placated, "Hannibal, how did I get here? How did we end up in bed?"

"You came to me distraught over a crime scene, we talked about what was upsetting you, then I offered to bring you to my home and feed you a good meal before sending you on your way to Wolf Trap, he readily agreed, stating how much you like my cooking. Unfortunately we did not get to eat, you confessed to me your attraction, and desires, and I reciprocated them, and here we are." He wonders if some day Will will remember the truth, will remember Hannibal touching him without his explicit consent, but that is an obstacle for another day.

If you'd like to send me a smut prompt as well here is the list, or any other prompt not from the list, I'd be willing to give it a try. As always it doesn't have to be Hannigram, I'll write Starker(cest) and Spideypool as well.

[a-method-in-it]

If You Can Build A Fandom, You Can Form A Union

I see a lot of young left-y people on tumblr talk about labor politics and income inequality and the class divide and you all are fucking on it. It’s fire and I love it. But somehow, the politics seems to stop short of recommending or promoting any kind of action, beyond a vague “revolution=good, rich=food” kind of way. 

And while I, too, think the rich look very tasty, the much more obvious next step that follows from your politics is not a Hannibal-themed BBQ, but unionizing your job. 

The fact that I see so few people actually recommending such a thing leads me to believe that young people on here either don’t know what unions are or think that creating one sounds too hard. 

So in honor of International Workers Day, I’m here to tell you:

If you can build a fandom, you can form a union

Here’s how:

I’ve never belonged to any particular fandom, but I’ve been on the periphery of them long enough -- and I’ve been in a union long enough -- to see the overlap. Starting with:

Fandom Knows How to Bond Over Shared Interests

Everyone in fandom is familiar with interacting with people of different ages, different life experience, different countries even, and all gathering together around the thing you have in common. In fandom, that’s a piece of mass media. In your workplace it’s your job. 

You all have the same employer. You all do the same or similar or at the very least related jobs. That job is a major part of your life -- it’s where you get your money and spend a lot of your time. You all have a vested interest in making it better, in making more money, in having more time off or healthcare, in being better treated. You can bond over that, as surely as fans bond over books and movies and TV shoes and podcasts and bands. 

(Those bonds will be more professional and less enthusiastic than fandom ones are, but they are bonds all the same.)

Fandoms Know How to Organize

I’ve watched fandoms organize for all kinds of goals. Some good (like charity drives) and some bad (like targeted harassment campaigns -- not cool, for the record). But the point is that fandoms are very familiar with the concept of “Hey, there are a lot of us, so why not do X.” And then -- and this is crucial -- actually managing to get X done. 

It’s extremely impressive, honestly. Now just harness that energy IRL.

Fandoms Know How To Hate On People

Look, not everything about fandom is positive. I mentioned targeted harassment campaigns above, and I’ve also seen some truly toxic ship wars, hate posts about creators who follow their own vision instead of fandom’s, diatribes against people writing certain types of fic, and plenty of other angry Discourse -- some of it justified, much of it not. 

But you know who actually deserves that anger more than the writers, directors, actors, and fellow fans who love the thing you love in ways you don’t approve of?

The greedy corporate overlords who line their pockets with the profits from your labor. 

So if you have a talent for seizing on flaws, portraying them in the most inflammatory light possible, and riling people up about it, please use your dark powers for something more productive than fandom drama. After all why make individuals unhappy when you could make a whole corporation unhappy.

Fandoms Know How to Support Each Other

All talk of toxicity aside, fandoms can also be amazing and supportive places. People send each other kudos and leave excited comments and subscribe to Patreons and contribute to each others’ GoFundMe pages and just generally want good things for each other most of the time. 

And at the end of the day, that’s what a Fandom is: It’s a thing you and people who have something in common with you built together to support each other and your common interest, to give you all something more of something important to you. 

If you can build a fandom, you can start a union. 

If you want more specifics on unions you can find some posts I did here:

Unions 101

How to Start A Union

How To Not Get Fired

Why Anti-Union Talking Points Are Bogus

What “Right to Work” Means

[lilianaswhatever]

Your love will kill me - Beginning

Summary: To describe it with the words of Lana del Rey: “If he’s a serial killer, then what’s the worst that could happen?”

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Reader

Part 4 of 5. Chapters can be read as individual stories but they loosely connect to form a story I came up with in the middle of the night after watching a Hannibal cooking video on Youtube.

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5

Enjoy!

Soft jazz tunes were melding into pattering of rain as you carefully folded a red cashmere sweater. You neatly placed it on the others giving it one last stroke with your hand to smooth it down. The small bell on top of the door rang announcing a new customer. You raised your head, a trained smile turning into a real one once you saw who was entering. „Good morning," you greeted him. He always came in the early hours when the streets were still silent and only a few got lost in the city. He greeted you, always addressing you by your last name, and you could swoon at his chivalry. It was after his second visit when he asked you for your name and you gave it to him with a slight blush on your cheeks. This was now his sixth visit. You felt foolish keeping count on that, but you couldn't help looking forward to him coming into the store.

You remembered a hot afternoon; the shop was fuller than usual. You and your colleague were skipping between consultations and the cash register. You were just coming out of the stockroom as you saw him entering. It was as if time did not exist when your eyes met. He nodded politely with a small smile, and your heart began to beat a little faster. He wore a white linen shirt, one he had bought from you, and a light beige tweed vest and trousers of the same color and material finished his outfit. He looked so out of place at this moment. His tall, broad figure in the small store. His slicked back hair, his clothes, his demeanor. Everything set him apart from the customers around him. He was like a mirage in the flickering heat of the day. You were pulled back into reality as your customer stepped in front of you. „You found it, amazing!" they exclaimed. You gave the woman a white silk blouse with a polite nod. „If you need me, I will be here." you offered as she made her way over to her company. Your eyes were searching the store and heat crept into your cheeks as you saw that he was still looking at you. You nodded at him and raised your hand - which to your surprise was slightly shaking - signaling him to wait a moment and then you turned around to enter the stockroom again. The cool temperature in there was a welcomed difference. You went to one of the shelves and picked up a box containing a beautiful maroon tie he had picked from the catalog with you a week prior. Your fingers glided carefully over the card that was attached to it. You remembered exactly when you asked him for his name to put down on the order. Your hands shook ever so lightly as you wrote down Hannibal Lecter. You took a deep breath to calm your nerves and headed back out.

This happened three weeks ago. And now here you were smiling at each other, completely alone in the shop. Hannibal folded his umbrella and placed it into the stand beside the door. He brushed his already perfect hair back with his hand as he began to speak: "I just came by to see if you had the new fall colors." "Yes, I was just decorating them in the corner over here," you answered him. He followed you to the shelves. "We just got a vest that would fit your maroon tie perfectly," you said softly as you reached for a hanger with a dark grey vest. The trims were made of a deep maroon shade. "I suppose you like it?" he asked you. You turned around to face him realizing only now how close he was. "Yes, it is a very nice piece," you answered. Your voice was a lot more silent than before. "Well, then I will take it." The tone of his deep voice mixed with the blood rushing in your ears. His eyes lowered just for a second before he said: "The clasp of your necklace slipped, may I?" You automatically nodded before you could even think about it. His fingers brushed against your skin as he carefully took the dainty chain around your neck gently pulling it in the right place. Your skin seemed to burn under his touch and your grip on the hanger tightened. After he was done, he let his fingers glide down your neck while you looked into his eyes. Eyes that were so deep and warm. Heat turned your cheeks red as the blood spilling out of you tinged your hands. You wanted to touch him, but he disappeared in a haze of black.

[foreverwayward]

“Wayward Hearts” Season 3 Chapter 10: Jus In Bello

Summary: After the Devil’s Gate had been opened that fateful night in the graveyard, the hunters are forced to face a new war. Countless demons now run rampant, hungry for blood and power. It’ll take everything the three have to survive when darkness once again knocks on their door. But, with only a year before Dean’s deal comes due, Sam and Riley will stop at nothing to save him; to save their family.

Masterlist

Word Count: 11,581 (Yup. It’s long)

Content Warning: language and violence

DISCLAIMER: any words or phrases in bold in the story are not my own and are credited to the writers of Supernatural.

**GIFS ARE NOT MY OWN**

In Monument, Colorado, the door of a beautiful hotel room quietly opened. As it swung inward, Sam, Riley, and Dean went in with their guns at the ready. Riley shut the entrance behind them as they spread out. 

They then nodded to each other that it was clear and began their search.

The white carpet seemed like new with elegant décor filling the room. Beautiful, and clearly expensive, silk bedding was left unmade. Ivory furniture lightened up the space giving it an airy feel that was nothing like the cheap motel rooms the family was used to.  

Sam went to the large, white armoire to check its contents along with the safe inside. He came up empty as Dean rummaged through the dresser drawers and Riley checked out the bathroom.

“Any sign of it?” Dean asked as he continued to dig through the bureau.

“Nothing.” The younger brother stood from his kneeled position with a sigh. “Are you sure this is Richard’s room?”

As Dean went through the piles of folded clothes, he found a small leather-bound book. The hunter opened it seeing names, titles of priceless items, and transactions. 

Dean flicked through the ledger until a photograph fell onto the floor. He knelt to pick it up as his face fell into a deadpan. Lifting a photo up in front of him, Dean’s tongue pressed into his bottom lip with frustration. “Oh, yeah.” He turned the picture in Sam’s direction. “I’d say so.” It was a photo of Riley that Dean had taken of her sitting on the Impala’s hood. 

“Thought I’d lost this.” Dean nodded with a condescending chuckle. “God, I hate that guy.”

“Bathroom’s clean.” Riley tucked her gun into the waistband of her jeans as Dean put the picture into his jacket pocket. “I dunno, guys. I got a bad feeling.”

Suddenly, the phone rang; it was sitting on the bed almost as if it had been waiting for them. 

The three shared a look before Dean walked to the phone. Sam shook his head with the sickening feeling that trouble was on the other end of that call. But Dean picked up the handle of the rotary phone and answered it cautiously.

“Dean…?” a deep and familiar voice asked. “You there, old friend?”

Dean had forgotten how irritated he would get just hearing Richard’s voice. “Dick. Where are you?”

“Two states away by now.” The sound of passing traffic echoed through the line.

“Where?”

“Where’s our usual quippy banter? I miss it. Any chance I can speak to Ms. Munroe?”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, I don’t fuckin’ think so and I want it back, Dick...now.”

“Your little pistol, you mean? Sorry, I can’t at the moment.”

“You understand how many people are gonna die if you do this?”

“What exactly is it that you think I plan to do with it?”

“Take the only weapon we have against an army of demons and sell it to the highest bidder.”

There was a pause and Richard’s tone grew serious. “You know nothing about me.”

“I know I’m gonna stop you.”

“Tough words for a guy who can’t even find me.”

“Oh, I’ll find you. You know why? Because I have absolutely nothing better to do than to track your ass down.” Dean couldn’t help but smile to himself mischievously.

“That’s where you’re wrong. You’re about to be quite occupied.” 

Realizing they were in trouble as Richard continued to talk, Dean shot a worried look at his partners. 

“Did you really think I wouldn’t take precautions? Send Riley my regards.”

As the call ended, a loud crash came from the door as police officers burst into the hotel room, practically breaking the door off its hinges. Their guns were drawn and immediately aimed at the three hunters. “Hands in the air!” 

Sam, Dean, and Riley raised their hands above their heads in surrender with disappointment on their faces. They had been set up.

Another officer shouted, “down on your knees!”

“That son of a bitch,” Dean seethed through his gritted teeth.

“Turn around! Now!” More backup filed in as they grabbed the Winchesters and Riley before forcing them to lie down on the floor. “Sam and Dean Winchester, Riley Munroe, you have the right to remain silent.” From their low view on the ground, a pair of shoes came closer. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney and have an attorney present during any questioning.” 

Their Miranda rights continued to be read as they peered up at the figure above them. It was Agent Victor Henriksen, the FBI agent whose sole focus had been finding the hunters for over a year.

“If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you at government expense.“

With a pleased expression, Henriksen met their gaze. “Hi guys…it’s been a while.”

Sam, Dean, and Riley looked at each other with worry. Dean closed his eyes and laid his head down on the floor as he conceded to the arrest. 

They had been on the run for too long and the law had finally caught up to them.

------

The police station bullpen was nothing of note, not unlike most small towns’ precincts. Exposed brick made up the walls with state and country flags in the corner.

A meek, young, Asian American girl sat at her secretary’s desk. Nancy was in her early twenties and beautiful with a long braid hanging over her shoulder. Her modesty was obvious and she seemed almost intimidated as Henriksen walked into the police station.

The phones rang as the agent walked around the front desk. He was still in his bulletproof vest over his work attire with a matching FBI jacket. With his radio in his hand, he marched in with an authoritative energy showing he was the one in charge.

Two officers in uniform were waiting for him and one asked, “so, did you get them?”

“Where is everyone?” Henriksen barked. “I asked for all your men.”

Sheriff Melvin Dodd sighed. “And you got them. They went with you on the raid.”

“Four men? That’s all?”

“Everyone I could drum up with an hour’s notice. We’re a small town, Agent Henriksen.”

Unsatisfied with the sheriff’s response, the agent dropped his things and headed for the holding cells as the two followed quickly behind. In the first cell was a sleeping and disheveled man laid flat on his stomach. “What’s he in for?”

The second officer, Phil Amici, spoke up from behind the sheriff. “Uh--drunk and disorderly.”

“Keys,” Victor demanded with hand out and waited. “Now.” 

Amici gave his superior a swift glimpse before handing over his keys. The agent wasted no time as he unlocked the cell and slid it open.

“What are you doing?”

Henriksen pat the prisoner on the back, waking him from his sleep. “It is your lucky night, sir. You are free to go.”

“What the hell are you doing?” the Sheriff questioned in disbelief.

The small-town officers’ words seemed to go in one ear and out the other as the agent took the man out of his cell and gave him to Amici.

“Agent Henriksen,” Melvin started with a stern tone. “You can’t just release my prisoners.” Henriksen walked away and the sheriff called out for him.

“Look, I get it...you’re Mayberry P.D.”

“Excuse me?”

“And this isn’t how I’d do it if I had my choice. But a tip’s a tip and we had to move fast.”

“Look, Agent, this ain’t my first rodeo.”

With all three of the men back in the main bullpen, the agent turned back to Amici and Dodd. “You’ve never been to a rodeo like this before. You have any idea who we’re about to bring in here?”

“Yeah, a couple of fugitives.”

“The most dangerous criminals you’ve ever laid your eyeballs on. Think Hannibal Lecter, a woman crazy enough to be his girl, and his half-wit little brother. Do you know what these three do for kicks? Dig up graves and mutilate corpses. They’re not just killers, Sheriff. They’re Satan-worshipping, nutbag killers.” 

As Henriksen went on, Nancy sat nearby and overheard it all. She grew nervous and held tightly to the cross pendant hanging from her neck. 

“So, work with me here. I’ll get them out your hair and on their way to Supermax and you’ll be home in enough time to watch the farm report.”

Sheriff Dodd nodded, trying to contain his frustration with the way he was being ordered around. “However we can help.”

“Those men of yours...post them at the exits.”

“Yes, sir.”

Henriksen lifted his walkie and held the side button as he spoke into it. “Reidy? Bring them in.” The agent looked at an anxious Nancy and told her, “I guess we’re ready as we’re gonna be.”

The double doors to the station opened as the Sam and Dean were led in by law enforcement. They were shackled at their wrists and ankles with the brothers tethered together. 

Riley was guided in behind them in similar bindings. The metal at their feet clinked as they struggled to take steps with the chains weighing them down.

Dean’s gaze landed on the small bullpen where Nancy, Agent Henriksen, and the other two officers stood and watched them come in. 

“Why all the sourpusses?” Dean smiled.

As Sam and Riley looked at the young secretary, she felt the worry in the air. Nancy was terrified and took the rosary from her desk to squeeze in her hand. Riley’s face grew soft and she tried to comfort the poor girl as best she could.

Agent Reidy took the older brother’s arm roughly to take them to their cells and Dean stumbled slightly at the pull. “Hey! Hey! Watch the merchandise!”

Nancy’s eyes followed them as they walked on.

“Don’t be scared, Nancy,” Riley said sweetly. The young woman watched as Riley softly smiled at her before being drug into the back and disappearing around the corner.

Sam and Dean were brought to their cell still in their shackles. The door was rolled closed and locked behind them before they turned to see Riley being led to the separate cell across from them.

Riley scoffed. “Oh, what? Because I’m a girl I gotta be separated?” she snarked. “That’s sexist!” Her words echoed through the concrete space as the officers ignored her remarks, leaving the hunters alone.

The walls had red, stenciled words on the cement wall. ‘NO TOUCHING, NO SPITTING, NO SHOUTING’.

As silence found them, Dean went for the bed and Sam towards the iron bars that surrounded them. They had forgotten about the chain that bound them together and nearly fell at the strain, having to catch themselves on whatever they could.

“Dean, come on!” Sam snapped in frustration.

“Alright, alright. Sit?” The older brother motioned toward the bed and Sam nodded in agreeance. They awkwardly walked around each other struggling to deal with the chains before finding a place to sit. 

“Hey, sweetheart, you good?” Dean’s eyes went to Riley and waited for a response.

Riley sat on her own barely padded bed as her shackles clanged together. “Just awesome.”

A devilish grin grew on Dean’s face as he looked her over. “Why is that a good look for you?”

“Dean, we’re going to prison. Now is not the time to get into your jailhouse bondage fantasies.”

He cocked his head with an understanding expression. “Fair. So, how we gonna Houdini out of this one?”

“Good question.” Sam sighed heavily with no answer as he stared at the bars.

-----

Back in the main office, Agent Henriksen made a phone call as he loosened his bulletproof vest. His supervisor on the other line had the agent biting his tongue as he was warned again and again not to lose Riley and the Winchesters. Henriksen’s idea to take them on an armored bus up to max was tossed aside and the supervising agent would be coming to pick the fugitives up by helicopter.

Henriksen took a deep breath to calm himself as he hung up the receiver. He turned to Melvin to address him. “There’s a chopper on its way.”

“But we don’t have a helicopter pad.”

“Then clear the goddamn parking lot,” the agent bit back before walking back to the holding cells. His eyes were locked on Dean as Henriksen stood in the way of their only way to freedom. With his hand holding the bars, he watched the defeated brothers closely. “You know what I’m trying to decide?”

Dean scoffed. “I don’t know. What? Whether ‘Cialis’ will help you with your little condition?”

“What to have for dinner tonight.” Sam and Riley looked at Henriksen as he went on. “Steak or lobster--what the hell? Surf and turf.” A cynical grin and a wry laugh came from Dean. “I got a lot to celebrate. I mean, after all, seeing you three in chains…”

“You kinky son of a bitch. We don’t swing that way. Besides, that lovely lady over there has already reminded me that this is neither the time or place, so keep it in your pants.” Dean clicked his tongue as he mocked him. “Tsk tsk. And here I thought you were a professional.”  

“Now, that’s funny,” he replied with no expression.

“You know, I wouldn’t bust out the melted butter just yet. Couldn’t catch us at the bank, couldn’t keep us in that jail...” Dean shrugged condescendingly.

Victor nodded in agreeance. “You’re right--I fucked up. I underestimated you. I didn’t count on you being that smart, but now I’m ready.”

“Yeah, ready to lose us again?”

“Ready like a court order to keep you in a Super-maximum prison in Nevada till trial. Ready like isolation in a soundproof, windowless cell, that between you and me…probably unconstitutional.” 

Riley, Sam, and Dean realized how serious Henriksen was and even Dean went quiet. 

“How’s that for ready?” When none of his prisoners responded, the agent went on. “Take a good look at Sam--you two will never see each other again. And Riley over there--your girl? She’ll be long gone--your whole little family torn apart for good.” All three stared back at him disconcerted. Henriksen was going to make sure their lives were over. “Aw. Where’s that smug smile, Dean? I want to see it.”

Dean shook his head in disbelief and chuckled to himself. “You got the wrong guys.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot. You fight monsters. Sorry, Dean. Truth is, your daddy brainwashed you with all that fuckin’ devil talk and no doubt touched you in a bad place. That’s all. That’s reality.”

With anger in his eyes, Sam sat up next to his brother as they bore holes into Henriksen with their glare. 

“Why don’t you shut your mouth?” Dean told him gruffly.

“Well, guess what? Life sucks, get a helmet. ‘Cause everybody’s got a goddamn sob story. But not everybody becomes a cold-blooded killer.” Satisfied with finally being able to shut Dean up, Victor shot him a stern look before turning to Riley. “You know, I definitely underestimated you, Ms. Munroe.”

Riley leaned onto her thighs and rested her chained hands. “Well, I’m flattered.”

“I don’t get you. I mean I know your dad lead you down just as fucked up of a road as Sam and Dean’s, but you’re a pretty girl--smart.” Henriksen pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards the Winchesters and his face scrunched playfully. “How did you get mixed up with those two?”

“Just lucky I guess,” she shrugged.

“It’s a shame you had to fall for a monster instead of a real man. You could have had a bright future.”

“Look, as much as I appreciate your need to dissect my life choices--and I say this with all the respect in the world...nobody asked you.” 

Her tight-lipped smile made Victor scoff to himself.

The sound of a helicopter approaching caught their attention as Henriksen looked at his watch before tapping it with a pleased grin. “Mm. It’s surf and turf time.”

Sam, Dean, and Riley watched the agent leave, their brave faces falling with him finally gone. Dean dragged his palm down his face as the tension in the holding cell grew. 

The three were running out of time, and the thought of losing each other was more terrifying to them than the idea of a lifetime spent rotting in prison.

Their solitude didn’t last long before another man strode in. He was in a sharp blue suit and tie with his badge on his belt. Sam and Dean had played the role of feds long enough to know who the stranger was.

He closed the large metal door separating the office to the holding cell and Dean stood up to get a good look at him.

“Sam and Dean Winchester.” The man smiled, delighted with the situation before twisting only enough to get a quick study of the woman behind him. “And Riley Munroe. I’m Deputy Director Steven Groves. This is a pleasure.”

With an annoyed expression, Dean grumbled, “well, glad one of us feels that way.”

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you three to come out of the woodwork.”

“Wait…” Riley started as her face grew concerned and her eyes widened.

She was cut off when Agent Groves drew his gun and shot Dean in the left shoulder. He grunted at the impact as his blood sprayed the wall. Dean fell back onto the bed while Sam jumped up to grapple with Steven through the bars.

“Dean!” Riley shouted as her hands gripped tightly to the bars and fought against them, desperate to get to him.

Several more shots were fired from the agent's gun, narrowly missing the older brother. The sound of bullets ricocheted off the walls as they were fired from the weapon. 

Sam roared as he struggled against the man trying to kill them. When he finally had a firm grip on Steven, the hunter held his arm in place and his angry stare found the agent’s face. 

The brown irises that glared back Sam shifted into an obsidian black.

Riley began an exorcism in Latin, her rage rising out of control. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas…” Her prayer caused the demon’s head to violently whip from side to side in an unholy and monstrous manner. 

Sam joined in as they continued to recite in unison. “...omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica.”

The evil creature bared its teeth and snarled. “Sorry, I've gotta cut this short. It’s gonna be a long night, kiddos.” 

A gut-wrenching cry ripped from the vessel’s throat as black smoke shot from his mouth. As the agent’s body shook, the demon flew through the air and disappeared into the ceiling air vent. 

With nothing left in him to stay standing, Groves collapsed to the ground, leaving the gun in Sam’s hands.

Sheriff Melvin, Agent Henriksen, the FBI supervisor Agent Reidy, and other officers rushed in with their guns drawn only to see the injured director on the floor and Sam with his weapon.

“Aright, put the gun down!” Melvin shouted.

Sam put his hands out showing he meant them no harm and pleaded for them to understand. “Wait. Okay. Wait!”

“He shot him!” Panicked officers yelled back and forth in the heated moment.

“I didn’t shoot him, okay. I didn’t shoot anyone!”

The brothers went to their knees, still calling out over the loud voices that they were innocent.

Dean clutched at his still bleeding wound and roared, “the bastard shot me!”

“Stop!” Riley cried while still trapped in her own cell. “Stop! He didn’t do it!”

“Get on your knees, now!” Voices overlapped as chaos ensued.

Sam’s heart began to beat out of control and he cast his eyes down in submission. “Okay, okay, okay. Don’t shoot. Please. Look--here. Here.” Moving slowly, Sam placed the gun on the ground and slid it underneath the bars. “Look, we didn’t shoot him. Check the body, there’s no blood. We did not kill him. Go ahead, check him.”

Reidy checked Steven’s pulse and then looked him over. “Vic, there’s no bullet wound.”

The emotionally charged room pulsed through Riley as her abilities drowned her in the weight of it all. “Oh, my god,” she growled angrily as her cuffed hands ran through her hair before clenching it in her fists. “The guy’s probably been dead for months. I’ll repeat myself, they didn’t do anything to him!”

With his gun still pointed at the brothers, Henriksen shifted his grip. “Talk or I shoot.”

“You’re not gonna believe any of us, anyway!”

Sam paused and weighed their options before looking back at the agent. “He was possessed.”

“Possessed? Right,” Victor replied incredulously. “Fire up the chopper! We’re taking them out of here now.”

“Yeah! Do that!” With his hand holding tight to his gunshot wound, Dean knew their best chance of survival was to get out of that station. It didn’t matter where they were headed, as long as his family was safe.

“Backup should already be here. I’m gonna go check it out.” Reidy nodded to Henriksen before hurrying outside.

As he opened the front doors, the agent discovered the bodies of two officers. Their throats had been slit brutally nearly to decapitation. Blood pooled around their still-warm corpses on the concrete where they had been slain. 

Reidy’s breath grew ragged with panic as clouds from the cold air swelled in front of his mouth. He hesitantly went to the chopper that had come to evacuate them. Another two agents and the pilot were all dead.

“They’re dead,” he uttered into his walkie. The fear in his voice was evident as it trembled with his every word. “I think they’re all dead.”

A massive explosion erupted from the helicopter. Agent Reidy cried out as the blast threw through the air and onto the asphalt with a hard thud.

Victor's voice was still calling to him through his radio. “What the hell was that? Reidy? Reidy?!”

Groaning in pain and coughing to catch his breath, Reidy sat up to see the chopper still ablaze. A large cut across his cheek dripped fresh blood down his face.

The sound of approaching footsteps came from behind Reidy. He turned to see one of the fallen officers back on his feet looking down at him with empty black eyes. 

Reidy screamed in agony as the possessed deputy’s fist tore into the agent’s chest. His ribs crunched at the impact as his mouth hung open in shock. 

The demon twisted its hold and ripped through his chest before Reidy’s body fell to the ground.

Sam, Dean, and Riley waited alone in the holding cells after the officers had all ran out to help. 

Every light in the station suddenly went out and the sound of whirring electronics powered down. It went silent with the night moon serving as the only light through the small window. Only a handful of backup lights flickered on and the hunters stood to their feet knowing the worst was yet to come.

“Oh, that can’t be good,” Dean said to himself.

Sam gathered a long ream of thing toilet paper and held it to Dean’s still bleeding shoulder. As his older brother grunted at the contact, Sam remained unmoved as he continued to apply pressure. “Alright, don’t be such a wuss.”

With a heavy sigh and nowhere to go, Riley returned to her spot on the bed. “Sam, how’s he lookin’?”

“I don’t think it’s too bad. The bullet went clean through. Just gotta get the bleeding to stop.”

Riley closed her eyes and took long, slow breaths to calm herself. Coupled with her own fear and worry, she had to calm herself. They were in for a long night, and Riley knew she had to get her abilities under control. Death was in the air and its presence challenged the air in her lungs.

“What’s the plan? Hmm?” Henriksen barked at the hunters as he charged back into the holding cell. “Fuckin’ kill everyone in the station, bust you three out?”

Dean’s hand had replaced Sam’s as he held the cheap tissue in place. Confusion fell over him as he stared back at the agent. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about your psycho friends. I’m talking about a goddamn blood bath.”

“Okay, I promise you--whoever’s out there? Is not here to help us.”

Sam lowered his voice to plead with the agent. “Look, you got to believe us. Everyone here is in terrible danger.”

“You think?”

“Why don’t you let us out of here so we can save your asses?” Dean snapped back.

“From what?” Victor paused while Sam and Dean looked away. “You gonna say ‘demons’?” He spun and stared Riley down as she refused to meet his glare.

In his frustration, Henriksen raised his gun and pointed it to the ceiling, his finger aching at the trigger as he spoke through his gritted teeth. “Don’t you fucking dare say ‘demons’. Let me tell you something...you should be a lot more scared of me.” Shaking his head, the agent walked away, his gun still in his hanging hand.

“Dean?” Riley called softly. “You okay?” She was feeling the pain of Dean’s gunshot wound and fought to not let it show. The last thing he needed was to worry about her.

Dean peeled back the pad of toilet paper revealing a large bloodstain seeping through before chucking it away to the side. “I’ll live,” Dean sighed. “You know, that’s if we actually get out of here alive. So, either of you got a plan?”

Sam examined the exit wound on the back of Dean’s shoulder and his brother grimaced in pain.

As Riley still struggled with her overwhelming empathy, she looked up feeling a new presence in the room. She saw Nancy peeking her head around the corner outside the bars.

“Hi…” the hunter said sweetly. The scared girl began to back away and Riley put up her hands. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt you. But, please--” Riley looked back at Sam and Dean and bit her lip anxiously. “We need your help. It’s Nancy...right?” 

The secretary stayed silent unsure of what to say or do. 

“Nancy, my boyfriend--he’s been shot. I can tell from here that it’s really bad and he needs help. Is there a towel you can get for my brother Sam so he can stop the bleeding?” 

Still uncertain and clearly afraid, Nancy’s timid eyes looked back at the hunter.

“I promise...we’re not the bad guys.”

When Riley couldn’t get a response from the girl, she closed her eyes and focused, hoping to hone in on her abilities. After not using them for so long, Riley would need to find a way to control them once again. 

She reached out to Nancy telepathically and tried to calm her nerves. Riley could feel the girl’s utter terror and she trembled briefly at the feeling. It had been so long since Riley had tried to ease someone’s pain, but she couldn’t stand leaving Nancy in that state.

Riley opened her eyes as she watched the girl’s body relax ever so slightly. Nancy sighed in a moment of relief and a small, almost unnoticeable smile curled at one side of her lips. She then spun on her heel and left.

“It was a nice try, sweetheart,” Dean told her.

Sam let out a heavy breath and turned around to see Nancy had come back with a clean white towel. “Thank you,” he said gently.

 Nancy slowly inched towards the boys, carefully.

 “It's okay.” Sam held out his handcuffed hands. The girl nervously put the towel inside the bars as Sam smiled at her; she returned the gesture before the hunter grabbed her arm and drug her against the bars. 

Nancy screamed at the top of her lungs and an officer rushed in with his rifle.

“Let her go! Let her go!”

Doing as he was told, Sam released her as Nancy backed away, terrified.

The officer pointed his weapon at Sam. “Try something again--get shot. And not in the arm.”

“Okay.” Sam nodded.

Still rattled and scared, Nancy left with her coworker as he escorted her out.

Dean hit Sam in the arm angrily. “What the fuck was that?”

From the other cell, Riley smirked knowing exactly what her brother had done. Sam held up Nancy’s rosary that he had stolen from her in the tussle. The couple chuckled softly to themselves.

------

Dean, Sam, and Riley were unsure how much time had passed since they had heard anything. There was no way out and all they could do was wait.

Laying on her back with her knees bent, Riley stared at the ceiling as she fiddled with her hands. Her mind was racing and she tried to ground herself as much as possible.

In the other cell, Dean was still pressing the towel into his wound as he sat on the bed with Sam who scoffed. “We’re like sitting ducks in here.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean agreed. “Would it kill these cops to bring us a fuckin’ snack?!” He raised his voice to a yell hoping the officers would hear him.

Riley sat up on her bed and scooted back to lean against the wall. “Guys, we have no clue how many there are. I mean, they could be anybody and just waltz right in here.”

“It's kind of wild, right? I mean it’s like they’re coming for us--they’ve never done that before.” Dean smirked, pleased with his train of thought. “It’s like we got a contract on us. Think it’s because we’re so awesome? I think it’s ‘cause we’re so awesome.” He smiled again before it quickly faded after seeing Sam’s unamused expression.

“You might be right, Dean. It’s ‘cause we’re awesome.” As Riley shot him a playful look, Dean laughed under his breath.

Scratching his nose, Dean signaled for Riley to read his mind just as he used to. “I’m gonna get us outta here, okay?” 

She nodded as she acknowledged his thoughts with a smile.

Riley’s focus shifted as Sheriff Dodd came in with his keys in hand.

He went to the brothers’ cell and unlocked the bar door; it clicked loudly as it came undone.

The two shared a worried glance before Dean looked back at Dodd. “Well, howdy, there, Sheriff,” he joked with a forced southern accent as the cell door was opened.

Sheriff Dodd walked in and stared at the brothers. The two grew increasingly worried as Riley hurried to the locked door of her cage. “It’s time to go, boys.”

“Uh...you know what?” Knowing Riley was right, Dean played it cool as he and Sam stepped back as the Sheriff blocked them in. “We’re--we're just comfy right here. But, thank you.”

The sound of footsteps had everyone turn to see Henriksen had walked in. He was standing behind Melvin with a stern expression. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“There’s a SWAT facility in Boulder. We’re not just gonna sit around here and wait to die. We’re gonna make a run for it.”

Hoping she could still get Dean to hear her, Riley whispered into his thoughts. “Something’s not right.” 

The agent’s head barely turned with the corner of his sight set on Riley. A hidden curl of his lip sent a chill up her spine. 

“Guys…” As the brothers peered over to her, Riley’s heart began to race. “...that’s not Henriksen.”

Without hesitation, Victor lifted his weapon and didn’t flinch as he fired a bullet into Dobb’s head. Blood splattered behind the Sheriff as he fell back against the bars and his body slumped to the floor.

Dean and Sam leaped in to grapple with the agent as they each went for one of his arms. The older brother disarmed him and aided Sam in shoving the man’s face into the toilet. 

In the bowl waited the rosary Sam had stolen; it was now holy water. 

Henriksen’s eyes went stark black as the blessed toilet water burned his face and he screamed in pain as bubbles escaped his mouth. 

Sam began to recite the Latin exorcism prayer, pulling the agent’s head out from moment to moment to allow the trapped man inside to breathe. 

Steam poured from Victor’s face as the holy water burned the demon and it seethed.

Officer Amici ran around the corner responding to the sounds with his rifle ready and aimed.

“Stay back!” Dean ordered as he pointed the agent’s gun back at him.

Again, Sam dunked the creature into the water and continued to pray. The demon yelled in agony but the hunter wouldn’t relent. 

“Hurry up!”

As Sam held tightly to the vessel’s collar, he jerked him back out. 

The monster’s black eyes only aided the malevolent smirk that still sat on its face. “It’s too late. I already called them. They’re already coming.” 

Before the demon could be drowned in holy water again, Henriksen howled out as black smoke shot out of his mouth and up into the air. His body twitched and tears formed at his eyes as the evil entity ripped itself from his body before disappearing into the vents above them. 

Victor fell to the floor as Sam slinked to down as well, breathing heavily from the struggle.

They all waited for the agent to respond before he regained consciousness and began to cough as he tried to catch his breath.

“Henriksen! Hey. Is that you in there?” Sam asked shakily.

Getting up while still shaking and in shock, Victor slowly pulled himself up to sit on the bed. “I…I shot the Sheriff.”

A thought came to Dean and he smiled proudly. “But you didn't shoot the deputy.” Sam glared at his brother in disbelief at his poor timing.

“Five minutes ago, I was fine, and then…”

“Let me guess. Some nasty black smoke fucked itself into your throat?”

Henriksen’s eyes darted back and forth as he tried to come to terms with what had just happened and he nodded.

“You were possessed,” Sam interjected. “That’s what it feels like--now you know.”

Handing back over Henriksen’s gun to him, Dean said, “I owe the biggest ‘I told you so’ ever.”

It was then that the agent knew he had been wrong all along, that Sam, Dean, and Riley had been telling the truth from the beginning. Demons were real, all of it was real. 

He stood to his feet, water still dripping from his face. “Officer Amici. Keys…” When the officer obliged, Victor immediately unlocked the heavy chains that hung from the brothers and they fell to the floor with a loud clang. “Alright, so, how do we survive?”

“Um, hello?” Riley called out still locked up and shackled. She held up her restraints and her face appeared slightly annoyed. “You start by getting me the fuck outta here.”

------

The night lingered on with everyone still trapped in the station. Even with the large clock on the wall, time passed differently, sometimes painstakingly slow and other times rushed as if they had no time left at all.

A spray paint can rattled as Sam shook it while he continued to draw a large devil’s trap on the floor. All the while, Dean went over the floor plans of the police station. Two traps had been drawn at the entrances at the exits as they plotted their plan.

Finally, with access to medical equipment, Riley tended to Dean’s wound. She had cleaned it thoroughly and wrapped a bandage around his shoulder before taping it in place. “Better?”

“Well, I still got shot,” Dean teased. “But, sure...better.” 

With a playful glare, Riley shook her head at his sarcasm. 

The only remaining officers, Henriksen and Amici, walked in as they prepared guns for the coming battle. ”Well, that’s nice. It’s not gonna do much good,” Dean told them.

With skepticism, Phil replied, “we got an arsenal here.”

“You don’t poke a bear with BB gun. That’s just gonna piss it off.”

Henriksen worked to loosen the tie around his neck. “What do you need?”

“We need salt.” Riley collected the rest of the med kit before closing it back up. “We’re gonna need a lot of salt.”

“There’s road salt in the storeroom,” Nancy added from off to the side. She stepped in closer from out of the shadows as Dean nodded.

“Perfect. We need salt at every window and every door.” At Dean’s command, Henriksen and Phil left to retrieve everything from storage. His focus returned to the soft-spoken girl nearby. “How you holdin’ up, Nancy?”

“Okay,” she paused. “When I was little, I would come home from the church and start to talk about the devil. My parents would tell me to stop being so literal. I guess I showed them, huh?”

Phil found his way back to the bullpen with large bags of salt and Dean looked back at him. “Hey, where's my car?”

“Impound lot out back.”

“Okay.”

“Wait,” Amici said as his arm reached out to stop the hunter. “You’re not going out there?”

“Yeah, I got to get something out of my trunk.”

Riley stood from her seat and threw her jacket back on that she had taken off while aiding Dean. “I’m coming with you.”

“Like hell you are.”

She scoffed. “Since when have you ever been able to tell me what to do, Winchester?”

------

After getting the keys from the officer, Riley and Dean ran out to the backlot. A chain-link fence with large ‘NO TRESPASSING’ signs had been locked to keep the confiscated vehicles safe. Dean made quick work of removing the lock as Riley kept a lookout.

The hinges of the gate squeaked as they hurried inside. Riley watched Dean’s back for any movement before following him to the Impala’s trunk.

As Dean hurried to gather their equipment and stuff it into his duffle bag, the lights of the gas station across the street began to flicker. 

A dark and eerie feeling sat in Riley’s gut and she swallowed hard as the wind changed and started to blow her hair behind her. “Dean, something’s coming.” 

From around the gas station came a thick, massive cloud of black smoke interspersed with lightning. Glass shattered as it plowed through, breaking anything in its path. 

“Scratch that...something’s here. We gotta go!”

Dean’s breath quickened as he grabbed dreamcatcher-like amulets and added them to his bag of weapons. He slammed the trunk shut as leaves around the couple flew out of control as gusts of wind whisked around them. 

With a shotgun in his hand and his duffel bag on his shoulder, Dean looked back at the evil force barreling toward them. “Go, go, go!” Dean shouted as he grabbed Riley’s hand. The two went into a full sprint running as fast as their legs could carry them back towards the police station. “Come on!”

Completely out of breath as they reached safety, Dean threw the double doors open and drug Riley in tow. He slammed them shut behind and reclaimed Riley’s hand as they ran down the hallway. 

At the top of his lungs, Dean screamed out to the others. “They’re coming! Hurry!”

Nancy continued to line the windows with salt as black smoke hit the pane in front of her face. She screamed in terror and hurried back into the main office. The rest of the survivors joined her as Dean tossed his shotgun to Sam.

The lights buzzed and flickered almost violently as a loud bang came from outside. Thick smoke struck the building with a thud and surrounded them, blocking out any remaining light from outside. 

The evil cloud engulfed the building as dust rained down from the ceiling while it quaked. Everything around them rumbled and shook as if the station itself was alive. The sound of deafening pounding came from the doors and windows as the powerful smoke demanded entrance.

It suddenly went quiet as the blanket of darkness seemed to disappear.

“Everybody okay?” Sam asked as he peered out the windows from where he stood.

Henriksen sighed. “Define ‘okay’.”

Grabbing the arsenal bag, Riley pulled out a small pouch. She opened it up as her fingers dug in and pulled out necklaces. They were strung on strands of leather with a symbol of protection dangling in the front. “Here, everyone needs to put one on, alright? They’ll keep you safe. You can’t get possessed if you’re wearing it.”

As Nancy put hers on and pulled her hair out from underneath, the symbol laid over the silver cross on her own chain. “What about you guys?”

Dean and Sam pulled back their shirts to reveal the top of the left side of their chest. The protective emblem that Bobby had shown them had been tattooed into their skin. It was in black ink depicting a pentagram surrounded by a ring of what looked to be flames.

When the others turned to Riley, she huffed and moved her jacket to the side as she lifted her shirt. She tugged the fabric up high enough to show her lower ribcage. The same black symbol had been etched into her.

“Smart,” Henriksen told them with a look of approval. “How long you had those?”

Sam straightened up his shirt before uttering, “not long enough.” He swallowed hard as his eyes flickered up to Riley. 

They shared a look remembering what they had gone through when Meg had taken over Sam.

Though her brother could only recall fragments, Riley remembered every moment. From time to time that night would haunt her, vividly, but it was a secret she intended to carry to her grave.

While Nany shuffled through the items on her desk, she slowly lifted her head when she noticed movement from outside the window. A large crowd of people had filed in front of the station in wait. 

“Hey, that’s Jenna Rubner,” Nancy said, recognizing an old friend. 

The woman had long red hair, her eyes black as an empty hole. Officers that had once lied dead in front of the entrance, stood drenched in their blood, their throats still slit open.

Joining her at the window, Sam surveyed the situation. “That’s not Jenna anymore.”

“That’s where all that black demon smoke went?”

“Looks like.”

------

Dean and Victor sat alone in one of the offices as they readied their weapons. It was quiet and it was the first time the two had ever been alone.

“Shotgun shells full of salt,” Henriksen chuckled to himself as he loaded the rounds into a shotgun.

“Whatever works.”

“Fighting off monsters with condiments.” Taking off his tie, the agent sighed before resuming his task. “So...turns out demons are real.”

“FYI,” Dean started as he peered up at him from his seat on a nearby chair. “Ghosts are real too. So are werewolves, vampires, changelings, even evil fuckin’ clowns that eat people.”

“Okay then.”

“If it makes you feel better, Bigfoot’s a hoax.” The hunter gave a tight-lipped smile with that same look of ‘I told you so’ that he felt so comfortable shoving in Henriksen’s face.

“It doesn’t.” Loading shells into a belt to pack as much ammo as possible, he asked, “how many demons?”

“Total? No clue...a lot.”

Victor’s face fell as he took a brief moment to think to himself. “You know what my job is?”

“You mean besides locking up the good guys?” Dean cocked his weapon and walked over to his new ally. “I have no idea.”

“My job is boring, it’s frustrating. You work three years for one goddamn break, and then maybe you can save...a few people--maybe. That’s the payoff. I’ve been busting my ass for fifteen years to nail a handful of guys and all this while, there’s something off in the corner so big. So, yeah…sign me up for that big, frosty mug of wasting my fucking life.”

Dean’s expression went softer. “You didn't know.”

“Now I do.” Henriksen paused as he collected more rounds for them to keep working. “What’s out there? Can you guys beat it? Can you win?”

“Honestly? I think the world’s gonna end bloody. But it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t fight. We do have choices. I choose to go down swingin’.”

“What about Riley?”

Looking back at the agent, Dean’s brow hooked. “What about her?”

“Well, you got more to go home to than just your brother. You got more to lose.”

“Yeah,” the hunter nodded solemnly. “What about you? You rockin’ the white picket fence?”

“Mm-mm. An empty apartment and a string of angry ex-wives. So, I gotta ask...how does that work for you guys doing all of this?”

“Honestly?” Dean grimaced realizing he never had to answer that question before. “I guess it just does. Ya know, I never imagined being the kind of guy that would ever involved with anyone. I mean, what we do? Getting attached to people doesn’t usually end with anything but blood. But, with her?” Peering through the window into the bullpen, Dean watched Riley comfort Nancy and smiled to himself. “Man, she’s somethin’ else. She’s not just ‘some girl’, ya know? Riley’s my partner, she’s family.”

A loud crash came from nearby and Dean and Henriksen ran into an office across the way. Immediately behind them, Riley and Sam hurried in to help.

The small room’s high window had been shattered and the line of salt was broken. They all stopped at the door with their weapons ready only to see a blonde woman had found her way inside. She was caught in the red devil’s trap painted on the ground with a cut bleeding at her brow line. It was Ruby.

Henriksen pointed his rifle at her. “How do we kill her?”

“We don’t,” Sam said as he lowered the agent’s gun.

“She’s a demon.”

“She’s here to help us.”

Riley rolled her eyes as she and Dean dropped their aim. “So the bitch says.” she feigned a dramatic ‘fuck you’ expression at Ruby.

The demon remained trapped by the window, breathing heavily after the fight to get in. 

Sighing in exasperation, Dean leaned in to whisper into Riley’s ear. “Right there with ya, sweetheart.”

“Are you gonna let me out?” Ruby asked as Sam walked in her direction. 

He knelt down and scratched at the devil’s trap on the floor with his knife, creating a break in the seal. 

“And they say chivalry’s dead. Does anyone have a fucking breath mint? Some guts splattered in my mouth while I was killing my way in here.” Ruby marched past everyone and into the main office as they turned to follow her while Sam stayed behind to fix the salt line at the shattered window.

As Dean caught up to the demon, he knew she could give them the answers they needed. “How many are out there?”

“Thirty at least,” Ruby answered as she leaned against a desk to look back at Dean. “That’s so far.”

“Oh, good. Thirty. Thirty hit men all gunning for us. Who sent them?”

Ruby focused her attention on Sam with a cocked head with a shocked face. “You didn’t tell Dean? Did you even tell Riley?” Dean and Riley turned to Sam, perplexed. “Oh, I’m surprised.”

“Tell us what?”

“There’s a big new up and comer--real pied piper.”

With her arms crossed over her chest, Riley shook her head before reaching up to run a hand through her hair. “Who’s the new guy then?”

“Her. Her name is Lilith. And she really, really wants Sam’s intestines on a stick. ‘Cause she sees him as competition. I know she’s just as desperate, if not more so, to get her hands on Riley.” Ruby’s eyes bore into the hunter as she looked her over. “You’re not just competition, you’re the one she wants. With you, Lilith’s got a weapon like nothing else. But, if she can’t have you, her first priority is gonna be to eat you alive before you can go against her.”

Dean scrunched his face in anger as he turned to his brother. “You knew about this?” When Sam didn’t answer and he hung his head, his brother scoffed. “Well, gee, Sam. Is there anything else we should know?!”

“How about you all have your little family meeting later? We’ll need the Colt.” The room went still with the hunters knowing they had lost their most powerful weapon and Ruby snapped at them. “Where’s the Colt?”

Finally having something to say, Sam uttered, “it got stolen.”

“I’m sorry, I must have blood in my ear. I thought I just heard you say that you three were fucking stupid enough to let the Colt get grabbed out of your clumsy, idiotic hands.” Pushing herself up, Ruby gritted her teeth as she looked away from them. “Fan-fucking-tastic. This is just peachy…”

“Ruby…”

She raised her hand to stop him from speaking. “Shut the fuck up.” Ruby clenched her jaw as she quickly thought their options over. “Fine. Since I don’t see that there’s no other any option, there’s one other way I know how to get you out of here alive. I know a spell. It’ll vaporize every goddamn demon in a one-mile radius...myself included. So, you let the Colt out of your sight and now I have to die. So, next time, be more careful. How’s that for a dying wish?”

With his gun still in hand, Dean got up from where he sat on the desk nearby. “Okay, what do we need to do?”

“Aww...you can’t do anything. This spell is very specific. It calls for a person of virtue.”

Dean shrugged with a cheesy grin, still favoring his injured arm. “I got virtue.”

“Nice try,” the demon chuckled. “You’re not a virgin.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Nobody’s a virgin.”

Ruby’s eyes flickered from Dean and over to Nancy who looked away from the evil monster staring her down.

“No,” Dean started with utter disbelief. “No way. You’re kidding me. Y--you’re…”

As she fiddled with the silver cross on her neck, Nancy replied, “what? It’s a choice, okay?”

“So, y--you’ve never...not even once? I mean not even--” Stopping himself with wide eyes and a shake of his head, Dean tried to wrap his head around the idea of a young, beautiful girl who had saved herself. “Wow.”

Riley had gone over to Dean and her elbow poked him as she telepathically spoke while trying to hide her growing grin. “Not everyone’s as sexually depraved as we are.”

His tongue shot out over his bottom lip as his eyes met hers. “Oh, sweetheart, we live through this--and I’ll show you depravity.”

She had to fight to stifle the flirty expression that attempted to take over her face.

“So, this spell,” Nancy said eagerly trying to move on from the subject with a hopeful and innocent smile at Ruby. “What can I do?”

“You can hold still…” The sound of Ruby’s heeled boots clacked as she sauntered toward the girl. “While I cut your heart out of your chest.”

“What?”

Immediately, Riley and Dean’s voices overlapped each other as they yelled and stepped forward, the two sharing the same urgency. “What?” “You’re insane.” “We’re not doing that.” “Absolutely not.”

“I’m offering a solution.” Ruby was growing impatient.

Dean dramatically feigned being taken aback and his wide eyes sat on the demon’s face. “You’re offering to fuckin’ kill somebody.”

“And what do you think’s gonna happen to this girl when the demons get in?”

Henriksen, Riley, and Dean continued to argue back and forth with Ruby, shocked, angry and disgusted at the suggestion.

“Excuse me,” the young girl said softly, broken and scared.

“You’re all gonna die.” Ruby retorted to the others. “Look, this is the only way.”

“Ex--excuse me.”

The consistent bickering over it all had tensions growing by the minute and Riley went to stand in front of Nancy as if trying to protect her.

“Would everybody please shut up?!” The room went silent at Nancy’s shouting and everyone’s focus sat on her. “All the people out there...will it save them?”

Riley exhaled heavily. She knew that by telling her the truth, Nancy would sacrifice herself. The hunter had felt her gentle spirit from the moment they had been brought into the station. It made sense to her that the girl was a virgin, she was pure.

“It’ll blow the demons out of their bodies.” The demon had just threatened to butcher Nancy, and yet her tone almost seemed gentle. “So, if their bodies are okay... yeah.”

There was a moment of silence as Nancy paused to think it over. Her nerves grew and her heart raced, but there was no doubt in her mind what her decision would be. 

With her lip trembling, she swallowed. “I’ll do it.”

Riley closed her eyes at the girl’s words trying not to cry as Nancy’s heartfelt emotions and empathy for others rushed over her.

“Hell no!” Henriksen interrupted from off to the side.

“Nancy,” Riley touched her arm and shook her head. “You don’t have to do this. We can find another way.”

“All my friends are out there.” Sniffling and still shaking, she stared back at  Riley.

Victor pushed to the center of the room and spoke with conviction. “We don't sacrifice people. We do that, we’re no better than them.” 

Dean peered over to Henriksen and they shared a moment of understanding. Whatever history the two had shared, they were now comrades in the trenches together; brothers in the bloody battle to come.

A cacophony of shouting roared through the space around them, except for Sam, who leaned against the doorway quietly.

“Sam,” Ruby began as she looked to him. “You know I’m right.”

Again, Sam had nothing to say and his eyes fell to the floor.

Smiling slightly in the expectation that Sam would agree with him, Dean’s focus went on his little brother. “Sam?” With no words, Sam’s jaw clenched and Dean raised his voice. “What the fuck is going on? Sam, tell her.”

“It’s my decision.” Still clinging to the peace her necklace brought her, Nancy stood her ground.

A devilish grin and arched eyebrow stared back at her as Ruby encouraged her on. “Damn straight, cherry pie.”

“Stop!” Dean yelled furiously. “Stop! Nobody kill any virgins! Sam, I need to talk to you.” His head motioned forward to Riley letting her know to follow suit. The three walked into the empty hallway to speak privately before Dean spun around to his brother. “Please tell me you’re not actually considering this. We’re talking about holding down a girl and cutting out her fucking heart.

Sam’s brow creased with concern and his voice rose. “And we’re also talking about thirty people out there, Dean. Innocent people who are all gonna die, along with everyone in here.”

“That’s not the point, Sam,” Riley jumped in. “In what world is it okay to slaughter an innocent girl? I’m not letting that demon bitch touch her, you hear me? I won’t surrender my humanity; I refuse to become a monster. I told you I wouldn’t no matter the cost.”

“Then what? What do we do?”

Turning away for a moment, Dean thought to himself and drug his calloused palm down his face before returning to his partners. “I got a plan. I’m not saying it's a good one, I’m not even saying that it’ll work. But it sure as hell beats killing a virgin.”

“Okay, so, what’s the plan?”

Dean and Riley’s eyes met as they shared his thoughts and she nodded with an approving gesture. Without breaking their gaze, Dean answered Sam, “open the doors, let them all in...and we fight like hell.”

------

Not long after, the group had gathered once again in the bullpen. It was quiet as anticipation and worry consumed them. The time to fight was drawing closer, and if any of them were honest, no one was ready.

Sam made his way back to the others after coming out from one of the back rooms. “Got the equipment to work.”

“Good,” Riley replied as she cocked her shotgun.

“This is insane.”

“You win ‘understatement of the year’,” Ruby mocked. “It’s not gonna work.” Using her arms to push herself up from her chair, the demon waved them off. “So long.”

“So, you’re just gonna leave?”

“Hey. I was gonna kill myself to help you win. I’m not gonna stand here and watch you lose.” She inched closer to them and glared back and forth between Riley and Sam. “And I’m disappointed because I tried--I really did. But clearly, I bet on the wrong horses. Do you mind letting me out?”

They lead her to the front doors and Sam crouched to scratch away the paint from another devil’s trap. He then ran his hand over the salt line across the doorway, breaking the barrier.

The demon gave them one last snide look before stepping out into the night.

Through the fogged, bulletproof glass on the entrance, Riley peered outside to see Ruby pull out her knife. She waved it in front of herself as if challenging the rest of the demons. 

They stopped to think it over and made a way for Ruby to pass between them before she disappeared into the night.

“Let’s go.” Gripping her weapon, Riley lead them back as Sam fixed the blockade.

Everyone went to ready themselves in their positions at different spots in the building. Sam waited in the main office as Dean and Henriksen headed to stand at the doors.

Dean passed Riley and he took one of her hands in his as his thumb ran over her skin. “Be careful.”

“You too.” Forcing a smile, Riley touched Dean’s face lovingly before they shared a kiss. 

As they pulled apart, their foreheads came together and their eyes closed as the couple soaked each other in. With Riley’s abilities growing again, the connection they had always had was finding them once more.

In that brief moment, they became one as Dean’s hand held the back of her head. “I love you,” he murmured softly.

“I love you too.”

Dean cleared his throat as a lump grew and he kissed her head. Choking back the fear that they wouldn’t see each other again, they quickly headed to their positions.

Nancy had hidden up on the roof away from the fight with Officer Amici armed to protect her. They had their own parts to play.

With Henriksen, the Winchesters, and Riley at their entrances, Dean called out loudly, “all set?”

“Yeah!” Sam shouted.

Victor nodded nervously to himself. “Ready!”

There was a quick pause and Riley readied her weapon. “Let’s do it!!”

All four broke the salt lines and devil’s traps that protected the doors. One by one, they forced them open and held up their weapons as the dark and foggy night stared back at them.

Henriksen steadied his breathing as the silence nearly deafened him.

Lost in his assumption of where the attack would come from, he was caught off guard as a demon swung down from above. With heavy force, the creature kicked Victor in his chest. He grunted at the impact and his rifle went off echoing through the halls as he fell back onto the ground. 

Henriksen was grabbed by his shirt and yanked from the floor before immediately being shoved back into the wall, drywall falling around him.

The demon grabbed the agent’s throat in an attempt to strangle him as the creature pinned him to the wall.

“God, I hope this works.” Henriksen pulled a flask from his pocket and opened it before splashing holy water on the evil thing holding him hostage.

Groaning in pain, the creature grabbed at its face as its skin sizzled and burned its unclean soul.

The booming sound of fired shots rang through the station as Sam, Dean, and Riley shot at the demons that charged towards them.

As Riley’s barrel went empty, she fumbled to load it again. “Dammit…” she muttered as a possessed vessel rushed at her. 

With the demon inches in front of her, the hunter cocked her shotgun and fired, blowing a hole into its chest. 

Riley panted at the close encounter before more demons began to run in through the doors. She fired round after round as she moved back into the hallways.

Dean and Henriksen bumped into each other as they were pushed further into the station by the coming army. They shared a quick look and hurried to reload. While back to back, they began to fire away, blasting anything that came close.

“Go! Go! Go!” Dean roared out as they both ran in opposite directions down the halls and a hoard of the possessed charged in after them.

Back in the bullpen, Sam was tackled to the ground by a side attack and he was forced into hand-to-hand combat. He was held in a chokehold as another demon came toward him. Sam then bashed the butt of his shotgun with all his might into the monster that held him to set himself free.

A cry came out from nearby. “Sam!” Riley’s boots screeched to a halt once she had a clear shot and she fired. The blast’s smoke blew from the barrel as the she loaded up once again.

Chaos enveloped the station as the four fought for their lives. Glass shattered, the sound of yelling and screams rang through the air, and gunshots fired with abandon nearly piercing their ears.

With all the demons inside, Phil and Nancy rushed at the opportunity to line all of the exits with salt. All the while, Sam, Dean, and Riley had all found their way back into the main office.

They were surrounded and flung holy water in every direction. Demons cried out in pain as their flesh hissed with every splash.

As their canteens ran dry, the hunters watched the hoard closed in on them. 

A single demon walked towards them, her eyes black. She stretched out her arm and her power sent Sam, Dean, and Riley flying against the wall. The crash of their bodies into the solid brick had them gasping in pain.

They looked at each other before Dean shouted at the top of his lungs. “Henriksen, now!”

A recording began to play through the sound system of Sam reciting the exorcism prayer. The demons froze and covered their ears, desperate to protect themselves.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversari, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica, ergo, draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica, adjuramus te, cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque æternæ perditionìs venenum propinare vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciæ, hostis humanæ salutis, humiliare sub potenti manu dei…”

As the exorcism continued to air over the loudspeakers, demons flailed and screamed. They began to pound at the doors trying to get out; still the barriers held. 

Black smoke began to shoot from their mouths and the bodies of the possessed people fell to the ground. Their energies converged together, creating a massive cloud of evil that swirled around the ceiling above them.

“Contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomini quem inferi tremunt ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, domine. exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica ergo, draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica, adjuramus te cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque æternæ perditionìs venenum propinare ut ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos!”

An explosion of light, brighter than fire, roared as the evil smoke was destroyed. The hunters squinted their eyes trying to protect themselves from the blast before everything went still. 

Finally free from the demon’s hold Sam, Dean, and Riley slid down the wall to the floor before they began to stumble to their feet, groaning.

Henriksen came into the office and chuckled softly as he wiped the blood from his cut lip.

The electrical power in the building flickered back on as those still living after their possession began to get up.

It was over, for the time being.

------

Henriksen, Riley, and the Winchesters gathered together around a desk as they collected their things. They all carried their own battle wounds, bloodied and bruised. 

People filed out the doors unsure of what had happened and with little to say.

“I better call in. Hell of a story I won’t be telling,” Henriksen joked.

Sam stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. “So, what are you gonna tell them?”

“The least ridiculous lie I can come up within the next five minutes.”

“Good luck with that.” Dean smirked back. “Not to pressure you or anything, but what are you planning to do about us?”

“I’m gonna kill you. Sam and Dean Winchester, and Riley Munroe were in the chopper when it caught on fire--nothing left. Can’t even identify them with dental records.” The three smiled at Victor’s response. “Rest in peace, guys.” 

Sam and Dean took turns shaking the agent’s hand exchanging silent gratitude for each other. Riley cupped his hand into hers with a short squeeze and she nodded at him lovingly. 

“Now get out of here” he told them. 

“Yeah…” Flinging their bag over his shoulder, Sam began to walk toward the entrance. 

Dean’s good arm wrapped around Riley’s waist and pulled her to his side as they followed close behind.

------

Morning peeked over the hills and its light washed away the darkness. The night had finally passed and the hunters sat quietly in reflection in their motel room.

None of them had slept much with their adrenaline still rushing through them. There was guilt that sat with them realizing how many people had been lost in the fray. They knew they had saved as many as they could, but it would never be enough.

A knock on the door broke them from their thoughts and Dean went to open it. 

With her arms crossed over her chest and a disgruntled look on her face, Ruby waltzed in. “Turn on the news.”

Sam picked up the remote that sat on the nightstand beside him and pointed it at the television. 

A reporter was reading the most recent story as video of a horrific scene played out. Firefighters worked to manage the smoking building of the Monument County Sheriff’s office.

“The community is still reeling from the tragedy that happened just a few hours ago. Authorities believe a gas main ruptured…” 

Dean slowly sat down on the bed next to Riley as they all listened intently. 

“...causing the massive explosion that ripped apart the police station and claimed the lives of everyone inside. Among the deceased, at least six police officers and staff, including sheriff Melvin Dodd, deputy Phil Amici, and secretary Nancy Fitzgerald as well as three FBI agents, identified as Steven Groves, Calvin Reidy, and Victor Henriksen.” 

The pictures of those that Sam, Riley, Dean believed they had saved covered their TV screen. A shocked expression came over Dean as Riley covered her mouth in disbelief. 

“Three fugitives in custody were also killed. We’ll continue to follow the story here at the scene, but for now, back to you, Jim.”

Taking the remote from its spot near Sam, Ruby shut off the television and looked back at the others with a stern ‘I-told-you-so’ look.

“Must have happened right after we left.” Sam’s saddened gaze fell to the floor.

“Considering the size of the blast...” Ruby paused and tossed three small bags to each of the hunters. “...smart money’s on Lilith.

Dean’s face scrunched with skepticism. “What’s in these?”

“Something that’ll protect you--throw Lilith off your trail...for the time being, at least.”

Sniffling back the urge to cry, Riley turned to face Ruby. “So, what? We’re just supposed to thank you now?”

“Don’t thank me,” the demon bit back angrily as her jaw ticket. “Lilith killed everyone. She slaughtered your precious little virgin, plus a half a dozen other people. So, after your big speech about humanity, turns out your plan--was the one with the body count.” 

Sam, Dean, and Riley sat quietly feeling that sadly, Ruby was maybe right. 

“Do you know how to run a goddamn battle? You strike fast and you don’t leave any survivors, so no one can go running to tell the boss. So, next time...we go with my plan.” With one final wrathful glare, Ruby stormed away and flung the door open, slamming it hard behind her as she left.

Riley and the Winchesters went still as tears filled their eyes. The room was silent with no one knowing the words to say.

They had tried; they had tried with everything they had to save everyone that they could. The guilt the three were already feeling for the lives they had lost was enough to send them reeling. Still, knowing that no one else made it out alive because of how they decided to handle things, was like a knife to the heart. 

As hunters, their job was to save people, not to watch them die. They had failed in the worst possible way and it cost countless people their lives.

It was moments like that that would always give them pause to wonder if they actually were making a difference--maybe the job hurt more people than it saved. 

Sam, Riley, and Dean were forced to face the fact that they continued to leave death in their wake.

Fear is an expected constant in the lives of those who hunt. But, for those three, their greatest fear was that maybe it was all their fault, and theirs alone.

------

S3 Ch11: Time is on My Side

Tag List is always open!

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[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 22

Hannibal and y/n arrive at Camp Big Brother and receive an unusual greeting.

@dovahdokren @deadman-inc-bikeshop @lov3vivian @wisesandwichshark @scpdragon

Trigger warnings: guns, threats of violence, cult stuff, brief mention of North Korea 

The car ride up to the mountain introduced you to a new feeling. You thought it similar to that of prisoners on their way to be executed. The comfortable numbness of accepting your rapidly-approaching demise. 

The road only brought you so far. It turned into a dirt path, which then turned into just the imprint of tire tracks. Your car wasn’t equipped for mountainous terrain, so you had to get out and walk. You weren’t ill-prepared for a hike; you made a point to change clothes before leaving the house, and your work shoes were worn-in enough to withstand a trek through the forest. You only feared losing one of your gloves.

It was Hannibal you were worried about. You’d never seen him in anything but a full three-piece suit and today was no exception. He’d taken off his jacket and vest, but having to hike in suit pants and dress shoes was far from ideal. 

You were in the middle of a game of ‘how many 12 gauge bullets can I fit on my person’ when you heard the rumbling of an ATV coming down the track. You loaded a shell into the gun and watched it turn the corner and stop in front of you. Hannibal stood behind you, looking dignified as ever. 

The driver dismounted the vehicle and took off their helmet. The woman beneath the helmet looked like she’d either lived a hard 20 years or an easy 50 years. You didn’t pay much attention to her face. She looked nourished and had a head full of hair, so she wasn’t one of Chase’s slaves. 

“Are you ‘prefect’?” You asked, squinting at her from behind the gun. “Or ‘Aunt Lydia’?” 

“You must be [F/N] [L/N].” The woman said. “Vanguard sent me to pick you up, but didn’t say anything about a guest.” 

“What’s to stop me from blasting your head off, taking that ATV and going up there myself?” You spat. 

The woman disregarded your question. She pulled a walkie-talkie from her belt and clicked it on. “Vanguard, [L/N] is here and she brought a friend.” 

The device crackled, then Chase spoke. “Is it a cop?” 

The woman scanned Hannibal up and down. “No.” 

“Let her off with a warning, then.” Chase instructed. “She knew the rules.” 

“You heard the man.” She pulled a pistol from her holster and pointed it at Hannibal with full intentions to shoot him dead. He put his hands behind his head, but didn’t seem at all fazed. 

You aimed the gun at the woman’s head. “I don’t think you want to do that.” 

“Don’t waste your ammo, love.” Hannibal said to you. “She’s obviously bluffing.” 

“You want to find out?” She pulled the hammer back. 

“Hannibal, she’s not bluffing!” Your voice started to shake. 

“Yes she is, darling.” He insisted. “Nobody would be stupid enough to fire off a shot this close to an active naval base.” 

She lowered her pistol. “What are you talking about, there’s no military base up here.” 

“Of course there is.” He refuted. “Camp David is within a few miles of here.”

For a moment, she looked genuinely fearful. You thought you saw her cult mask begin to slip as she remembered that there was a world outside of the one Chase cultivated. 

“Oh.” Hannibal feigned surprise. “That is, unless, Chase Mulvaney didn’t tell you.” 

The woman narrowed her eyes. “I’m his right-hand woman, he tells me everything.” 

Hannibal clicked his tongue. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but it seems he sees you as just as disposable as Catherine Miller. He sent you down here to kill anyone [F/N] brought along with her, catching the attention of the military personnel on base and ultimately throwing you under the bus.” 

“He wouldn’t.” She snapped. “Chase loves me like a sister.”

“I’ll bet that’s what he tells the other girls.” You commented. 

Judging by the look on her face, you were right. And you struck a nerve. 

“But, if you are so inclined to do Chase’s dirty work for him,” Hannibal said, loosening his collar. “At least try not to get blood on my suit pants.” 

She held the gun out for a few moments, then dropped it. “He would want to kill you himself.”

“That’s more like it.” You said, mounting the vehicle with your gun slung over your back. 

“Vanguard doesn’t mind two armed strangers on his property?” Hannibal asked, having to yell over the revving of the engine. 

The woman scoffed. “It doesn’t make any difference. Bullets don’t work on Vanguard.” 

You furrowed your brow. “What?” 

“Vanguard is blessed with the armor of Christ.” She said, with 100% conviction. There wasn’t a trace of irony or sarcasm in her voice. “No bullets can pierce his earthly flesh.” 

“Do you actually believe what you’re saying, or is this all some kind of fucked-up extended metaphor?” You asked. 

“Vanguard proved it in chapel.” She insisted. “He fired a gun at his chest and it didn’t puncture him! The bullet just crumpled against his chest.”

“Wow.” You said, flatly. This person’s rationality was so scrubbed away, she could be fooled by even the lamest of magic tricks. 

“The people of North Korea believe that Kim-Jong Il is responsible for inventing the hamburger.” Hannibal whispered to you. “Because they don’t have access to any information that proves otherwise.” 

“Yeah, we’re about to ‘prove otherwise’ alright.” You muttered back with a smile. 

After a few minutes, the outline of a building appeared. As you grew closer, you saw a cheaply-constructed cabin made for quantity, not quality. Next to it was a chapel, but it was only identifiable as such because of the massive cross. With industrial metal siding and no visible windows, it resembled a bomb shelter. 

The woman unceremoniously dumped you both off the ATV at an opening in the razor wire fence.

"Morning devotional is at eight." She explained. "You'll hear the bell ring. You'll be expected to attend, of course."

"I don't give a shit what you expect." You shook your head. "I don't owe you fucks anything."

"But you owe Jesus everything." She said, matter-of-factually.

“What in the Midsommar fuck is this?” You said, squinting in the early daylight. 

“Come on.” Hannibal took your gloved hand in his. “Let’s find our Will.” 

The sun was just beginning to rise over the mountains off in the distance, coloring the sky as red as the blood on Chase's hands.

"It's going to be light soon." Hannibal whispered. "We only have so long before people start to wake up."

"So where do we check first?" You asked.

"At eight, the chapel will be full and the cabin will be empty." Hannibal pointed out. "That gives us fifteen minutes to search the chapel until people start filing in."

You nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

You snuck towards the entrance to the chapel and crept inside without a sound. One look and you knew you had a lot of ground to cover in only fifteen minutes.

The chapel looked like the inside of a shipping container. You knew that growing up Catholic gave you a certain image of how church should look, but this was hardly a structure, let alone a place of worship. Much like the outside, the only feature that identified this building as a church was the massive cross, which was not even mounted on the wall or suspended from the ceiling. It just laid lazily against the back wall. A couple of folding tables with some linens draped over them made up a bare-bones altar, decorated with nothing but a couple of candles. The high windows gave the chilling feeling that the room was underground.

"You'd think with ninety million dollars, they could afford some real chairs." You commented, looking disgustedly at the rows of folding chairs.

"This isn't a summer camp." Hannibal observed. "This is a military base."

Your foot hit a loose tile on the ground. You took a knee and grabbed it. A whole patch of tiles lifted with it, revealing a small secret door. 

“I think you might be on to something.” You said, looking up at Hannibal. 

You slung your gun over your back and carefully descended the ladder while Hannibal kept watch. 

“It’s dark down here.” You called up. You heard the striking of a match and Hannibal handed you a lit candle. You were about to thank him when the sharp tones of a bell cut through the silence. 

“Shit.” You cursed. “Hannibal, close the hatch.” 

“I’m not going to leave you.” Hannibal’s voice hardened. 

“This bunker is narrow as Christ’s asshole.” You said. “I can handle it. You need to investigate the cabin.” 

“Darling-” 

“Go to the cabin. Now.” You demanded. “I’m not asking.” 

Hannibal smiled down at you, feeling a sense of pride. He knelt down beside the trap door, and reached for your hand. He removed your glove and pressed his lips against your skin. “Godspeed, my indulgence.” 

You saluted. “And also with you.” 

[a-love-poet-at-heart]

POTO secret santa here saying hi. can I be your giftee next year? they're lucky to have you this year. How did you learn to sew and make costumes? What is your favorite dress in the POTO musical? My weekend was great thanks, worked sat but had sun with the family.

Maybe RJ or Rumple will make me your Secret Santa next year, if you do both the Tanz and PotO ones next year. You never now if something extra will turn up in the mail, I am gonna have your address once my gift arrives this year.

Trial and error kinda taught me to sew costumes and dolls. Well, trial and error and studying other people's work online. I took a sewing class in middle school and bought a sewing machine. But that only taught me basic sewing things. I honestly worked my way up to sewing full costumes. I sewed on embellishments and buttons to a red vest I bought for an Enjolras cosplay, I made Herbert's puffy shirt in Wenn Liebe in dir ist, made multiple petticoats, made a steampunk version of Sarah's ball gown, then actual Sarah ballgown, then lower part of my 1889 day dress, and now finally the 1840s ball gown. And I haven't used a store bought pattern in all of those! (I go though like a week of research and visualize what to do to and sew everything. Then days of muslin rough drafts!)

Oh, man tough question. All of them? Well, all of Christines. Wishing dress, Star princess, Aminta, Wedding dress... There's so many pretty costumes! In Tanz it's easy Sarah's Ballgown, Elisabeth her Hungarian coranation dress/wenn ich tanzen will, but Christine's wishing, wedding, Aminta, and star princess dresses are amazing. Non-Christine dress favs have to be Carlotta's two managers dress. But that's of course all replica. Recently I kinda like Serbia's hannibal Carlotta dress. I really like the rows of stuff. I kinda liked the historicalness of Estonian wishing dress, really plain thou. BUT I really like the Czech and Hungarian productions. Czech Star princess, czech Aminta, czech Sylvan glades, Poland and Hungarian Raoul masquerade

You know, I've actually been thinking about doing a sort of series of drawings of historically actuate versions of replica PotO costumes. Ah, maybe next year.