#in this fic hannibal is an old god

[psychoticwillgraham]

not me spending more time on the buildup and on hannibal’s complete and total love and devotion to will in what’s supposed to be a nasty porn fic 😭

[authorafterhours]

I can see Will and Hannibal inspiring a murder ballad or two after the fall. The POV could be different depending on what version of the story people wanna believe. Would it speak of Hannibal as a corrupting devil, and Will the victim? Or would it be a tale of two monsters who are human enough to love each to the point of obsession, who you're never quite sure died but still haunt society's heart? Something else, somewhere in between? In the end, the truth is what you believe late at night, when lost among the crooning of the lyrics, a twig is heard snapping or footsteps are falling. It's too far away to pinpoint where it is, but not far away enough for comfort.

[cherubfae]

Hello! I'm not sure if you do single characters or not but What if the reader (who's a big fan of horror) wanted to show Alastor some classic horror movies. Their reasoning? "So you can make fun of it," If you do a collection of characters, then it can be like a movie night for the hotel.

Hiya love!! Yes, I do! In fact I'm currently working on a longer Alastor fic at the moment :)) it's like this request was made for me bc I 100% will force Alastor to watch the Scream franchise with me 😭 it's my fave. I'm a mega horror fan, haha! Maybe I'll have to write for slashers again like I used to! I'll just write Al since he deserves some love for himself!! Pls excuse me bc now I'm gonna be thinking about 1920s GhostFace Alastor 😩😩🩷💕

What's Your Favorite Scary Movie? || Alastor x reader

tags: fluff, gn!reader, Alastor critiquing horror media, plot to the Scream franchise, my horror obsession might be showing lmao

Getting Alastor to have anything to do with post 1930s technology was a task and a half. He might've made a deal with Vaggie not to have anything to do with such frivolous technology, but you weren't Vaggie. You were his sweet, dear partner. And he'd never admit just how tightly wrapped he was around your finger.

He seemed to genuinely enjoy the first few Halloween movies as well as the first Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Alastor took a great of interest with Hannibal Lector from The Silence of Lambs. He was deeply considering watching the television series you told him of. He thinks Freddy Krueger is a piece of shit and wished he could do him in with his own hands.

The next movie, however, seemed more susceptible to being torn to pieces by his ever-watchful eye.

"So the point of this picture show is what... Billy is angry because his mother abandoned him and he doesn't know how to deal with those big feelings at his age?" Alastor gives an indignant snort, looking bemused at the old television screen currently playing a VHS of Wes Craven's 1996 slasher classic Scream. That's as new of tech as Alastor would allow, so you made do.

Snorting out a laugh, you lean against his arm. Alastor's crackling gaze flickers to you his smile softening around the edges. He did very much adore your laugh.

"That about sums it up, yes," you grin, biting down on the corner of your chocolate bar.

Alastor leans his back against the sofa, pulling the blanket wrapped around you two closer. "I don't know how that Macher boy thinks that peer pressure is a justifiable defense for murdering people." He unwraps his own piece of bitter chocolate and pops it into his mouth. "Own up to your choices, for Heaven's sake. And people find these two attractive? Are they not in love with one another? Surely anyone with two good working eyes could see this."

The sixth Scream movie damn near has Alastor foaming at the mouth, each and every movie felt as repetitive as the last with slight twists and changes. He was polite to keep most critiques to himself, eyeing how much you clearly enjoyed showing something so near and dear to your heart. While the plot was rather lackluster, he had to admit he was interested in the severe brutality of the sixth and despite his opposition to new media, felt that it was a decent enough film. With such a repetitive storyline, he didn't really expect that sort of twist.

"There's one more we can watch!" You grin, holding up your copy of Scary Movie. Alastor's eyes look ready to pop out of his skull as if to say 'Oh god, another??' "I don't think you'll guess who the GhostFace is!"

"Is it the man called Doofy?"

|| I DON'T GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, RESHARED, OR EDITED. TUMBLR IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT AND THE ONLY PLACE WHERE I POST MY WRITING. ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS, THE STORY BELONGS TO ME. || CHERUBFAE © 2024

"What the fuck-- how."

[graciereadshannigram]

hey fam, welcome to the April 2024 roundup of the best hannigram fics i've read this past month! i read over 100 fics total, and these were the cream of the crop.

as a reminder: the ingredients for a five star rating typically (but not always!!) include some combination of a.) believable characterizations of both Hannibal and Will, b.) compelling plot and/or character arcs, and c.) high quality smut.

that being said, my judgment of the aforementioned ingredients is powered almost exclusively by vibes and as such, is incredibly subjective.

you can find past recs below:

February March

and if you have any recs of your own for me, PLEASE SHARE.

anyway, in no particular order, let's go!

~

A place you can never go by det395

Word Count: 84,596 Summary: When things don’t go according to plan, Hannibal makes a wish. He finds himself a year-and-a-half in the past and seemingly given another chance with Will. His feelings about the situation only get more complicated when he realizes he may not have completely lost access to his old timeline after all. A Digestivo canon divergence.

If you follow me, you probably saw me already raving about this fic. This was so fucking good, holy fucking shit. And also heartbreaking. Made me think a lot about the nature of reality and what does it mean for something to be "real." Plus, I really love fics that explore their shared mind palace because I genuinely think that is one of the more underexplored aspects of their relationship. Definitely heavy on the angst, but there is a happy ending!

even though our love is doomed by bleakmidwinter

Word Count: 82,427 Summary: Hannibal solves the mystery of time travel and he and Will decide to go into the past and take opportunities previously missed along with rewriting the regrets they each hold. Changing the past does not effect the future and they have free reign to play as the please.

GIVE ME MORE THAN FIVE STARS PLEASE. I am obsessed with this fic. I've mostly stayed clear of time travel fics (aside from, you know, the one right above this) because the execution can be hit or miss, but let me fucking tell you. This was a god damn home run. There's a little bit of angst, but then there's also a chapter where Will challenges Hannibal that he wouldn't have been able to seduce him while Will was still working in Louisiana fixing boat motors. And obviously Hannibal decides to take that challenge.

Railroad Romance by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles

Word Count: 12,400 Summary: Hannibal is still Hannibal, and Will is still Will. Except Will is not part of the FBI and they meet on a two day train trip from New Orleans to Baltimore.

Dirty. Talk. In. FRENCH. Holy shit. Okay this was excellent. EXCELLENT. Perfect characterizations, and wonderful dialogue. Wow. Also, I love trains. Who doesn't love trains?

patroclus in furs by bleakmidwinter

Word Count: 130,185 Summary: If Will and Hannibal hadn't gone into their respective careers, they would have become porn stars.

I had my doubts about a pornstar AU, but I've really enjoyed everything else by this author and it was over 100k, so I gave it a shot! And WOW. The characterizations of both Will and Hannibal were spot on and believable. A good mix of fluff and angst, and the author clearly put a lot of thought into the porn scenes. Tbh I'm probably going to reread this shortly.

Pavlova by nbcravenstag

Word Count: 33,369 Summary: It’s not like Hannibal didn’t know that Will was hiding something. It was after the third body drop a week ago that it became clear that Will had a secret that somehow involved the case, one he wasn’t willing to share yet, not even with Hannibal. At 6:43 AM, Will had texted Hannibal that a fourth body had been found and that he was on his way to the scene with Jack. At 8:06 PM, Will had stepped into Hannibal’s office, thirty-six minutes past his appointment time, and practically shouted “I used to be a stripper!” as loudly as his hoarse voice would allow him to. Hannibal Lecter, though not phased by much in life, has never been entirely able to predict Will Graham, but this is just… getting out of control. Alternatively, the FBI is hunting a serial killer targeting male strippers, and Will decides to throw himself into the fray. Hannibal is beyond pleased.

An AU where Will was a stripper in college and now he's working a case where he can be live bait as a stripper? Shut the fuck up. Mostly told from Hannibal's perspective, and it's just *chefs kiss*. Who knew Will giving Hannibal a lap dance would be so HOT. (I could have guessed.)

Lessons In Submission by wyldefire

Word Count: 5,173 Summary: Hannibal was stubborn, independent, and Will had always loved that about him, but there were times, times like these, in the midst of heat, in the midst of such a thorough breeding, when lessons in submission were necessary.

My only thought at the end of this was, "Shut the whole fuck up" in the best way possible. Smut. Just all smut.

A Very Special Guest by LesBeanBurrito

Word Count: 56,660 Summary: Season 1 AU in which Will stays for Hannibal’s dinner party after bringing the bottle of wine at the end of 1X07 Sorbet. Embarrassed and Sassy Will Graham meets Smitten Hannibal Lecter.

I LOVE a good season 1 AU and this was checking all of the boxes for me! There's a secret relationship, Hannibal actually gets Will treated for his encephalitis, Will finds out about Hannibal, etc. Very much loved the plot, and the characterizations were spot on.

lover to your nightmare (look what you made of me) by merrythoughts and ReallyMissCoffee

Word Count: 123,367 Summary: Driving back home, it’s then he reflects on Hannibal asking him to run away that night. To forgo their plans altogether, to slip away. [Canon divergent. Will confesses his betrayal and asks Hannibal to run away with him, but Will has a plan of his own...]

You want dark!Will mixed in with some incredibly jealous and possessive Hannigram? Hooo boy do I have a fic for you! The ending was a little abrupt, but it was the perfect mix of gut-wrenching angst and toxicity + smoking hot smut. I genuinely had to stop and focus on my breathing more than once.

On the Lam by shotgun_sinner

Word Count: 63,992 Summary: Post-Fall (Hannibal)season 4Crack Treated SeriouslyOn the RunWill Graham Discovers FanfictionExplicit Sexual Contentsexual identity crisisThat's Not Really A CrisisWill Graham is HannisexualMurder HusbandsHomophobiaMurder of a HomophobeHannibal Lecter Loves Will GrahamWill Graham Loves Hannibal LecterPower Bottom Will Grahamthey love each other your honorvery meta

This was such a fun read – I love the implication that hannigram fanfiction exists and it's all there for Will to accidentally discover. I adore this author and just thoroughly enjoyed how Will learned a thing or two about himself by reading smutty fics (same dude).

Golden Promises by shotgun_sinner

Word Count: 68,488 Summary: Hannibal (TV) Season/Series 01Alternate Universe - Canon DivergenceEpisode: s01e07 SorbetHallucinations?Will Hopes SoLELOplugSexuality CrisisThat Ends Up Not Being A CrisisWill Graham Has EncephalitisHannibal Gets Will TreatmentDeveloping RelationshipWill Graham's Dogs - FreeformBonding over fooddoting hannibalEventual SmutHannibal Lecter Loves Will GrahamWill Graham Loves Hannibal LecterAlana DisapprovesRimmingOral SexBottom Hannibal LecterTop Will GrahamBottom Will GrahamTop Hannibal LecterWill Graham KnowsNon-Consensual Drug UseWill Gives Him Shit For ItMurder HusbandsCannibalismis that tag even necessary?Hannibal Lecter Loves Max

This was fluffier than I typically read, but I told y'all I love this author. Pretty much no angst, and the smut, as always, was next level. Also, the idea that Hannibal would wear a solid gold butt plug to his dinner parties had me laughing before I even started reading.

What Hatches by HotMolasses (@snazzymolasses here on tumblr)

Word Count: 107,847 Summary: There is a village, nestled on the edge of an ancient forest where it is always winter. Few of the townsfolk ever venture into it, except for one lonely hunter named Will Graham. A loner who makes his living selling stag meat and spends more time with dogs than people, he finds his life changing when he comes face-to-face with a magical beast, one that he cannot get away from, and isn’t even sure he really wants to.

What started out as a curiosity about the monsterfucking tag on AO3 brought me to one of the most unique and interesting hannigram AUs I've read??? I'm as surprised as you are, if not more. I adored this fic and I loved how both Will and Hannibal were characterized and the plot and the smut (oh my god, the smut) and the ending? Phew. Go read this.

lay like a flood spills away by bleakmidwinter

Word Count: 35,733 Summary: Will starts going to a nude beach that happens to be for gay men, even though he considers himself straight.

This was highly enjoyable. I LOVE AUs that manage to keep the characters true to canon. Also nude beaches. Hannigram and nude beaches. Eating ass and public sex with some actual plot sprinkled in. Say LESS.

Now, What Should We Do Next? by HigherMagic

Word Count: 51,116 Summary: Kinktober 2018

Smut. All smut. I showed this fic to a friend who has literally never read fanfiction, let alone Hannigram, before and she is now hooked. So. Do with that what you will. And it's so clear that this author has actual, real-life experience with kink and it comes across so well! Bonus point: there is also an equally good sequel.

To Mend With Gold by beforethedawn, ConstructFairytales, Destinyawakened

Word Count: 98,863 Summary: Will and Hannibal have been living as a gay married couple for three years, but they haven't slept in the same room let alone the same bed. Will Graham has a reckoning, one way or another.

THIS WAS TENDER. Fluffy, angsty, smutty, I loved it. Molly showed up with Will's dogs and decided she wasn't going to turn them in, which was a little weird, but I really loved this fic. Just them learning how to be with each other. Also EXCELLENT marathon smut scenes. Like yesssss, of course they can each cum like three times in a row.

A Clutch at Balance by Deverauxs_Disease

Word Count: 25,466 Summary: When Will Graham storms into Hannibal's house muttering about kissing Alana Bloom, the good doctor makes Will an offer: Pretend to date Hannibal in order to prove to Alana that Will is not only stable but capable of being in a relationship. When Alana is convinced Will is the man of her dreams, Hannibal will step aside and Will can get his girl.

Y'all know I love fake dating that all of a sudden, whoops! Isn't so fake anymore! Sprinkle in some jealous and possessive Hanni and Will? I'm sold. Say less.

~

And that's a wrap on this month! See ya next time!!!

[multifandom--mess]

hannigram x villaneve crossover fics bc hell yes!

mlm/wlw solidarity if you know what i mean 🤭

《☆☆☆》

》 Summertime in Marseille - (12k)(Mature)

Murder wives across the pond? The London area manhunt for pay to play assassin Oksana Astankova continues tonight after the gruesome discovery of the bodies of two M16 agents and the unsettling disappearance of a third. The missing agent Eve Polastri’s checkered history with the femme fatale stirs up a sense of deja-vu to a case stateside involving the (still unsolved) disappearance of a certain disgraced psychiatrist turned psychopath and his companion Will Graham. Both pairs vanished without a trace, leaving behind only a couple of corpses in the hands of, debatetly inept, law enforcement. Longtime readers will remember the debacle on the rumors of the relationship between Lecter and Graham. Fresh faces should expect much of the same insight when it comes to Astankova and Polastri. -Freddie Lounds [Tattlecrime.com] Or: Villanelle takes Eve to visit an old friend.

》 Wintertime in the Atlantic - (10k)(Mature)

Dear Hannibal and Will, [Eve warned me I really shouldn’t write Hannibal and Will but I don’t think you two are stupid enough to let other people read your mail and the consequences are on you if you are.] A recent client has gifted me four first class tickets for a cruise to Australia on the 11th of December! The ship leaves from Lisbon which is a wonderful coincidence since Eve tells me that’s where you’re currently living. We never got the opportunity to repay you two for helping us during our time of need back in Marseille. My fiancé and I would be delighted if you would accompany us. The tickets are attached! -xoxo Villanelle Or: Eve and Villanelle meet up with the Lecter-Graham’s once again.

》 Rhapsody in Brashness - (4k)(Mature)

“We understand,” says Hannibal. The vibrations of his voice rumble against her the way that thunder does through storm clouds. “You are unique, as I am. And she insinuated herself into you, as Will insinuated himself into me. The blind, pearly rootlets of human connection have burrowed themselves too deeply into the fertile soil of your soul to be killed, now, no matter how many times you hack away at the verdant growth which springs anew into the air, again and again. The intricate underground web of them merely spreads implacably further and deeper and will continue to do so until they smother you, or until you allow the leaves to fully unfurl into the light.” “But she stabbed me,” Villanelle exclaims petulantly.

》 A Cannibal, A Dog Lover, and an Assassin Walk Into A Bar - (1.7k)(G)

Hannibal and Will wanted a quick getaway to Rome, but end up with a little more adventure than they anticipated.

》 Murder Pals in Alaska - (1.5k)(Mature)

Eve and Villanelle make their home in Alaska and befriend Will and Hannibal.

》 Cannibal vs. Assassin: The Showdown - (5k)(Mature)

“Obviously, they do kill people based on those dance moves alone,” Hannibal tittered, but quietly enough as to not attract attention. Will stifled a laugh. “That is not a reason to ruin their night though,” Hannibal decided, following Will through the crowd.

》 Taste and Temptation - (18k)(G)

Eve and Villanelle have gone off on their own, traveling and getting to know each other better. Hannibal and Will have too. Both couples happen to have dark pasts and trouble with the law, but that hasn't really put a damper on their vacations. The four of them happen to meet at an opera in Florence but when they keep running into each other, they have to wonder if their meetings are coincidence or something that could put their travels in danger. Villaneve meets Hannigram on the run.

(NOTE: unfinished but still worth the read!)

》 The Professionals Series - (12k)(T)

A Hannibal/Killing Eve crossover AU where Hannibal and Villanelle are best buds. Theoretically set after "The Wrath of the Lamb" and "God, I'm Tired" for parts I and II and after "You're Mine" for part III.

[suchawrathfullamb]

Some of my favorite Hannigram lines by little old me (I'm hard on myself and my writing but these made me feel happy with how they feel as I read them):

Image is a funny thing, the way it casts illusions. You can hide a deer behind a cougar’s mask, and you can paint a beast to look like an old friend. Give that beast a warm hand to hold and it would give up its true nature for the sake of love.

(Take all of me and eat it raw, rip my skin with your teeth, conquer what I thought I was and show me how I’m nothing if not what you make of me. Show me how I’m nothing without you to turn me into something.)

-

He hated him so much. He did. But god, he loved him, too. So much. There was no space left inside his body capable of holding the love he had for that man, and perhaps that’s why it spilled everywhere, bloody, messy and so, so hopeless. All of the little particles of spilled love coming out of his heart were homeless and flying everywhere they went, everywhere they made a home, those pieces stayed there, stained the walls, the mattresses, the tiles on the bathroom floors.

-

“Love me,” was a request that always felt like a threat coming from Will’s lips. Eyes closed, sipping on oxytocin, tripping on what they called love, he chanted, “love me, love me,” like an invocation.

“Always.”

-

These are all from Thorns, a dark hannigram fic about mental health and the effects of love on wicked souls ❤️‍🔥

[aloysiavirgata]

Thanks to @numinousmysteries for tagging me! I had never checked these stats before!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

92

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

484,620

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I’ve written for Hannibal, Battlestar Galactica, The Fall, and The X-Files, but only The X-Files at this point.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Parting Glass (smut)

Animus Possidendi (dark smut)

The Common Fate of All Things Rare (casefile, cowritten)

Lacuna (casefile)

This Her Fever (cancer arc)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes and no. Not like I should. I am so deeply, truly grateful for every single one.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Well, I killed William in Inhaling the Different Dawn, but that wasn’t at the end.

Maybe Where The Vines Cling Crimson? Scully’s cancer comes back and her fate is ambiguous. And I had Scully kill Emily in Alabaster Stones. But I think that was the right ending for both of them.

As a mother? A Basket of Reeds, where Scully gives William away. I can’t even reread it without a lump in my throat, man.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Tent of Shelter is fluffy and lovely gets a lot of love, and was inspired by a STUNNING manip by @avocadoave but I personally think In The Gale. It’s the one that, to me, feels the most like a grownup relationship of two people processing some trauma. I think that’s an ending that’s happy and also real - like “I don’t love being broken, but I can survive being broken with you.” Two abeyances that lean…

Foxfire for similar reasons. I real love that little story, which I wrote thanks to @perplexistan

I’m 43. I’ve been married for well over two decades and let me tell you that young love is a gift and mature love is a craft.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Some! And that’s really great too, that people read words I wrote and felt so passionately that they left me words about those feelings. What a strange but profound compliment!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do. PWP isn’t my personal taste so even though I wrote a LOT of smut for the old pornbattles at LJ I wanted the smut to still tell a story.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I can’t say it’s especially crazy, but Fern Hill is a Mulder/Stella Gibson crossover. There are a few little ficlets with XF/Silence of the Lambs crossovers in my Inbox Prompts series.

Oh fuck! Wait! I wrote a Fall/Hannibal/XF crossover called Anthemoessa where Stella, Scully, and Bedelia all meet. Okay that’s it. That wins.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Years ago. God, isn’t that sad? To need positive reinforcement that much?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! It was SUCH a compliment!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have - The Common Fate of All Things Rare

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Mr. Virgata and me. Followed by Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, who literally invented the word. ❤️

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

The Fisher King

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I do pretty good banter and my education makes me pretty good at the sciencey bits.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I get too lost in descriptions and I try too hard to be clever. I do my best to self edit but sometimes I reread things and I’m like oh my GOD SHUT YOUR PRETENTIOUS ASS UP.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I’ve done it for Bedelia and Hannibal in Italian. I’m not sure I understand the question?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

TXF, my one true love.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

I don’t know that I have a favorite per se. I am most proud of the ones that challenged me to do something outside my comfort zone. Samson is one of mytop fives even though it’s Mulder/Diana. I think I did a nice job. I also wrote Pair of Aces/Double or Nothing which is Scully/Byers.

But I do really love the world of Petrichor and Singing of Mount Abora, and I like the cases.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Burdened With Glorious Purpose

Dark!Loki x plus size reader

There was something else Loki took when he came to Earth, something even more precious than the Tesseract

Warnings: DARK FIC PLEASE READ WARNINGS, kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, past non-con, punishments/violence but not explicit

WC: 854

A/N: I pumped this out after drinking probably too much vodka and watching an entire season of Hannibal. Enjoy

Minors DNI

The silence was getting to her. The darkness too but her eyes could conjure up false images to keep her company in the dark. She used to be able to stand the quiet by humming or tapping her fingers on the cold concrete floor. He caught her singing one day and punished her. “Your sweet voice is only for me, do not waste it on yourself.” She could still feel the throbbing pain of the lashes from his cane across her chubby thighs and ass.

He was brutal and cruel, loving and thoughtful. He gave and he took. He was a god and a devil whose only purpose was to be her ruler, benevolent or otherwise. She had no sense of time anymore, there was only when food would appear at the foot of her mattress with a flash of green light and when he came to ask if she was ready to behave.

She missed so many things about her old life, she knew she did, but it was getting harder to remember. What did it feel like to have the sun on her skin? To have the wind blow through her? What did her parents’ faces look like? What were their names? She wasn’t even sure she had parents in the first place.

All she knew was him. Every time she closed her eyes, it was his face she saw, not the face of her loved ones. All she could feel was his skin on hers instead of the sun. It was his voice that washed over her like wind.

The cold of the room soaked into her, making her lethargic and tired all the time. Why was she fighting it so much? What was so bad about him that she felt the need to constantly rebel? He gave her food, and shelter, and he loved her when she wasn’t being a brat. Even the sex was better than she’d ever had before. So what if she screamed and cried and told him to stop?

He loved her so much that he knew what was best for her. She came every time, didn’t she? “No one is coming for you, pet. No one loves you like I do. No one cares for you like me.” He was right, no one had come for her. No one was looking for her. He was her world.

She couldn’t believe how stupid she had been when she first woke up in this windowless, doorless room and screamed until it hurt to even breathe. Just a dumb little girl for fighting him when he first appeared and took her on the flimsy mattress on the floor. She should’ve known better than to attack him with the spoon she had sharpened against the concrete. She deserved the whipping she got that left her unable to move for days.

She loved him and he loved her. He was her king and she was his queen. Her legs wobbled as she stood, like a baby deer learning to walk, she stumbled to the wall that he would most often appear from. She laid her palm flat against the cold stone and with a voice that was broken and meek, called out.

“L-Loki. I’m ready to come out now.” Silence followed. For a moment, she was terrified. Did he leave her? Did he get sick of her constant disobedience and decide to just give up? “Please don’t leave me.” She whimpered, fat tears rolling down her plump cheeks. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.” 

She wrapped her arms around her thick waist for comfort as more time passed, staring into the darkness, willing for him to materialize before her. “Please.” She collapsed to the ground, sobs ripping through her chest. He left her. And it was all her fault. She shouldn’t have fought. Shouldn’t have talked back or insulted him. If only she had accepted his love from the start then maybe she could be safe in his embrace right now.

“Oh my love, there is no need for tears, I’m here now.” She gasped as light filled the room from behind him, illuminating his body while he crouched before her, holding out his arms, a kind smile on his face. There was no hesitation in her actions, she flung her body into his own, wetting his black dress shirt with tears as she clung to him. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be a brat!” His large hand pet her hair gently as he cradled her soft body.

“I know dear. You didn’t know how much I love you, you were scared. But it’s ok now.” He crooned, rocking their bodies as her sobs tapered off, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. Her fingers curled into the silky material of his shirt, breathing him in once more after so long. His thin lips pressed kiss after kiss to her hair, his own raven locks brushing against her cold skin. 

“I love you.” She murmured into his pale skin, missing the wicked grin that grew across his face as his green eyes sparkled. “You always did.”

Marvel Masterlist | Main Masterlist

All Works

@im-a-slut-for-fluff

Loki

@maevetriesart

@lokiandbuckysdoll

@lonadane

@salenorona23

@pretty-npeach

[hannibal-confessions-nbc]

my least favorite part of hannibal (and mayhaps.... dare i say..... the fandom) is nobody for one second says (except u alana but only for like a second and kinda not loud enough) NOBODY SAYS "hey will. ur attachment to this 18 year old you literally do not know and helped orphan is fucking weird dude like yeah i know you want to embrace the familial thing and crave that unconditional love and also have weird complicated feelings bc of killing hobbs and also how much yk he like. infected ur brain but DUDE. dude. weird" it's weird!!!!! leave her alone!!!!! and i 😭😭😭 hate that she can't even get a break in the fandom "murder family" ohhhhh my god leave her out of this. give me the fics where she fucking dips out on their asses, steals a million dollars, then lives care free on the coast pursuing a degree. she shanks them both and hands me back the shiv i gave her (popsicle sticks i've chewed down to a point in my angry lamentations over her treatment as a literal fucking object. a chess piece!!! a goon!!!!) anyways. i feel deeply about this. forgive me.

.

[laurelwen]

Hi! Since I'm putting together a playlist for Nigel and Alex, I was wondering

What are some songs that you think are really good fits for them/their story?

I have a couple Like Minds playlists assembled using my own vision of the characters. The first is my take on LM canon (meaning sliiiightly divergent from it) and which is a complete list in the old school mix CD/tape style, meant to be listened to in order from start to finish as a complete story.

The second is a much longer and more random list that I am always adding to, and which is meant to be "what if they both live" vibes. Some of the songs are meant more specifically as POV or about Nigel or Alex, but most of them are the dynamic between them. Some of these tracks are heavily influenced by the He Stings Like He Means It fic by @gali-in-distress, including the song from which the title was pulled as the first track, and also with songs from which chapter titles were pulled. I am always adding more as I find relevant music for them.

The entire first playlist are songs that fit them well, imo. If I had to pick specific songs from it, I'd have to go with Salvation by Scanners or Monster by Meg Myers.

The big AU list has so, so many tracks that it's really hard to pick just a few. Honey, Young God, Ya'aburnee and multiple other tracks by Halsey are all good. Arsonist's Lullabye IS Alex's theme song as far as I'm concerned. Beautiful Crime by Tamer, Become the Beast by Karliene, Animal covered by Chase Holfelder, Wicked Game covered by Ursine Vulpine, Strangelove covered by Black Math, Tiny Gods by Shayfer James, Bang by Armchair Cynics, Exit Music by Radiohead, I Come With Knives by IAMX, THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND by Bad Omens, I LUV U by Mia Rodriguez, Time is Running Out by Muse, the list goes on and on.

Everyone is going to have their own take on Alex and Nigel and their dynamic as a couple, and music taste is so personal that I recommend just going through the various Like Minds lists on Spotify to see what presses your buttons. To find even more music, I also recommend listening to Hannibal/murder husband playlists and maybe also Killing Eve, Death Note/Lawlight, Killing Stalking, and similar media themed playlists because they tend to have a similar vibe.

Hope that helps!

[tina-mairin-goldstein]

For @sausage-rolls34, along with anyone else who would like to see it, here is a fic rec list for Hannibal, plus one Good Omens and one Supernatural at the bottom! I think there are too many to link, but I'll provide titles, authors, and ratings, as well if some are omega verse, mpreg, ect., and if they are post-fall or AU because I know my tastes in fanfic can seem strange to some. It's all under the cut!

Post-Fall

Great Cathedrals by l3moncoffee- Rated G, implied/referenced mpreg.

His Shadow Suspended on Dust by Tina_Mairin_Goldstein- Rated T, omega verse, post-mpreg.

For Remembrance (Holes in the Floor of the Mind) by Tina_Mairin_Goldstein- Rated M, Hannibal gets amnesia, Abigail lives.

Chasing Thoroughbreds by HigherMagic- Rated E for sexual content and violence, omega verse, mpreg mentions/discussions, amnesia fic.

Nothing But Music From This Point On by RichlyJeweledHands- Rated G, POV Wally after he joins the FBI to find Will.

Stars Around My Scars by WordsAblaze- Rated G, Will and Hannibal discussing scars.

Perfect the Way We Are by capn_fuzzy- Rated M, omega verse, mpreg.

The Birth of the Lamb by HollyMartins- Rated M, mpreg, miscarriage included.

Earth Tones by sourweather- Rated T, Hannibal and Will in Cuba.

nothing in the world belongs to me but my love by antiheroblake- Rated M, injured Hannibal.

I want, I want, I want by horror (gazing)- Rated T, post-fall courtship done by Will.

I'm Not Made for This by stranded_labyrinth- Rated M, omega verse, mpreg.

DNR by herding_elephants- Rated M, includes Major Character Death.

Til death do us part by Ruiz_M- Not rated, dark and possessive Will.

bluebird waltz by indigocarnation- Rated E, suicide attempt

Mouth to Mouth Resurrection by McRibFarewellTour- Not rated, depression story.

Beneath the Brine by Tina_Mairin_Goldstein- Rated T, Major Character Death included.

Look Yourself in the Eye Before You Drown by McRibFarewellTour- Rated M, Hannibal feeling angsty.

I've Seen It All by threadoflace- Not rated, Will goes blind in the fall.

If Only by deathbymistletoe- Rated G, about Alana and Margot after they flee.

I love you more than the world can contain by wr3tchedthing- Rated G, they're old men in Cuba.

The Sweetness of Our Dreams by WinstonsDad- Rated M, omega verse, Will turns up shot one year post-fall and Hannibal is nowhere to be found.

A Verger Baby by myramcqueen- Not rated, Margot's POV about Morgan.

Your Own False Condition by McRibFarewellTour- Rated T, Hannibal tries to get Will a dog, angsty.

Unease Surrounds Us by FantabulousAss- Rated M, omega verse, mpreg.

Darkly, solemnly, softly by unwantedprayer- Not rated, Hannibal is severely injured post-fall and Will cares for him.

Scars, and how we got them by Dancycore- Rated M, Will and Hannibal talk about their scars.

Feast or Famine by BeetleBabble- Rated M, Hannibal has an eating disorder and Will notices.

lifeboat by wolfgraham- Rated M, omega verse, mpreg, very dark, baby death.

AUs

The Fisherman and the Beast from the Sea by ByJoveWhatASpend, PragmaticHominid, Pragnificent (PragmaticHominid)- Rated E, not exactly mpreg, Hannibal is a shark person Will falls for (Shape of Water AU), 1920s setting.

Letters to Hannibal by ElizaLeto- Rated M, Will goes to war AU, mpreg, written in the form of letters.

Caraval by Tina_Mairin_Goldstein- Rated M, magic AU based off the book Caraval, omega verse, referenced/future mpreg.

Like Calls by Buuuutidgaf- Rated E, omega verse, referenced/implied/future mpreg, everyone lives in the woods.

Deadly Courtship by flutterbydream- Rated E, mermaid/merman AU, omega verse, mpreg.

Autumnal by Tina_Mairin_Goldstein- Rated T, Hades and Persephone AU, part one of my series.

what you're given, what you live in by Flamin_Homosexual- Rated E, Tangled AU.

All That Shatters by AngelofSadness- Rated M, Victorian setting, omega verse.

From slave to mother by bravewhenfearful- Rated M, Victorian AU, omega verse, mpreg.

Hunt and Belong by hearteatertrih- Rated T, Will is a god, Hannibal a sacrifice.

We have everythin' (Our love is enough) by LaynaVile- Rated M, omega verse, mpreg, vampire Hannibal, werewolf Will.

Holding Moonlight by whenitstarted- Rated E, The Handmaid's Tale AU, omega verse, mpreg.

A Song of Love and Crime by TheSilverQueen- Rated M, GoT AU, omega verse, mpreg.

The Only Butterflies Will Be the Ones in Your Chest by faithfulDiscord- Rated T, god AU, Will is the god of death, Hannibal the god of life.

It Takes Two to Nest by The SilverQueen- Rated T, omega verse, mpreg.

Lonely Eyes by sourweather- Rated M, highschool AU, non-verbal Will.

Tower of Destiny by mz_hyde- Rated M, fairy tale AU, so funny.

Exalation by cactus_junkie- Rated E, omega verse, mpreg, Will was kidnapped and sold to Mason.

Sanctified by ms_masago- Rated E, omega verse, Will was held captive and abused by Mason, Hannibal tries to help him.

Like Home by Lady_Thunder- Rated E, omega verse, Will being held by Mason, Hannibal helps him escape.

Patient Is the Night by MooshiShoomi- Not rated, mpreg, post-partum anxiety.

Winter's Eve by MooshiShoomi- Not rated, mentioned mpreg, Christmas story.

Conflicting Desires by PinkDeviant (PinkieDev)- Rated M, Borrowers AU, Will is tiny.

SCRIMSHAW by KINGLEON- Rated M, they're dragons AU.

Daylight, Inc by DBMars- Rated E, vampire and vampire hunters AU.

Arranged To Be Married by Geekygirl24- Rated E, omega verse, Will and Hannibal are in an arranged marriage.

rise and fall by bearclaws- Rated E, omega verse, canon divergent AU.

arrangement by YouAreMyDesign- Rated E, omega verse, mpreg, loosely based on The Handmaid's Tale.

Every Single Glance is a Different Word by A_David- Rated M, college AU, Will pretends to be deaf to minimize interactions with people.

Iridescent by Stanxiety- Rated E, mpreg, Will's a merman.

You Name the Babies, I'll Name the Dogs by sourweather- Rated E, omega verse, Will and Hannibal have a family.

Footprints in Snow by scorpiobabylon (orphan_account)- Rated E, omega verse, mpreg, Hannibal meets Will while hunting.

sweet summer child. by SunnyJune- Rated E, omega verse, mpreg.

The Lost Royal Claim by slashyrogue- Rated E, Will is a king, Hannibal his husband, and Hannibal has amnesia.

I have no idea how to categorize these:

La Sposa del Mostro by Tina_Mairin_Goldstein- Rated M, omega verse, mpreg, Bedelia POV, time in Florence rewrite.

beginnings by orphan_account- Rated M, Bedelia gets pregnant in Italy rewrite.

How Sharp Her Teeth by lovetincture- Rated M, mpreg, season 1 AU.

What the Little Mouse Brings by WinstonsDad- Rated M, omega verse, mpreg, Hannibal rescues Will after killing his captor.

when the bow breaks by abstracteevee- Rated T, omega verse, traumatic birth.

Unfolding by Aqueronte- Rated T, Bedelia gets pregnant in Florence, miscarriage.

together they have trampled the green and golden rue by silvergoldsea- Rated G, Will and Hannibal are genderless forest dwellers.

blood, drying by wolverton- Rated M, the three years between the first and second halves of season 3 about Will's life.

Weaving fragments by BattyMadison- Rated E, omega verse, mpreg, Mizumono twist.

Predators by TheQuietWings- Rated G, boop war-inspired story.

Transition by Anonymous- Rated E, mpreg.

Winter by friendlyhostile- Not rated, Hannibal has a hard time with the snow.

The Note by j0uii- Rated T, crack-y fic, Will becomes two cats (yes, two).

No One Will Ever Love Me Like You Again by Will_Graham_My_Love- Not rated, a letter Will wrote to Hannibal after his arrest.

On Top by bcomplexe- Rated G but contains sexual content, Winston's POV about Hannibal.

Prevision by Dreams_in_Silence- Rated T, omega verse, mpreg, Christmas story.

How Can I Move On? by ElizaLeto- Rated G, Will and Duncan Vizla, sad.

What Brings Us to Now by Ineffable_Hannigram- Rated G, Hannibal has an eating disorder, but not how you think.

Happy Little (not so) Accident by MelodicWriter- Rated E, Jack makes the team go paint to build trust.

Halloweenie by adavice- Rated E, mpreg, Hannibal is impregnated by a mysterious creature and tries to solve the mystery.

The Haunting of Hannibal Lecter by BattyMadison- Rated T, Will gets hit by a car, turns into a ghost, and attaches himself to Hannibal.

'cause baby, I don't think I'm the one for by LaynaVile- Rated T, omega verse, mpreg, miscarriage.

Late Spring by Demiurgos- Rated T, omega verse, Hannibal's view during Mizumono.

Will in White by Lady_Thunder- Rated T, Will is a woman in white.

Little Mischa by AriesOnMars- Rated G, mpreg.

He Who Made the Lamb by Sanguineheroine- Rated M, omega verse, Murder Family.

Never Saw Us Coming by Words Ablaze- Rated E, set during the episode where they found Beverly's body.

satiation by HogwartsToAlexandria- Rated M, post Digestivo, mpreg.

There's a Monster Inside of Me by Stronglyobsessed- Rated M, omega verse, mpreg.

A Reflective on Incidental Fishing by SaitouLover- Rated G, mpreg, AU off season 1 and 2.

The Ravenstag's Lamb by orphan_account- Rated , mpreg, graphic birth.

Good Omens

Call the Midwife- Eldrich Horror Edition by ARealGoodPip- Rated E, Outsider POV, Crowley and Aziraphale have a baby. Part of a series.

Supernatural

Cucumber Lane by LittleAngelCassie- Rated E, omega verse, mpreg.

[tarabyte3]

The Devil Makes Us Sin

Fandom: Luther, Luther: The Fallen Sun

Pairing: David Robey/F!Reader

Chapter 2/? (9.9k words)

->start at chapter 1<-

AO3 Link

Summary: Your life isn't perfect, and you don't enjoy moonlighting as a camgirl for so many repulsive men, but you need the money and it's yours. You're getting by just fine. You're content.

At least you thought you were. Then you get a strange text message. And you aren't sure if you're horrified or intrigued.

Warnings: Explicit rating, smut, stalking, spying, blackmail, manipulation, dubcon, dubious consent, Dom/sub, sadism, masochism, unprotected sex, oral sex, masturbation, mutual masturbation, choking, dirty talk, praise, humiliation, possessive love, yandere, minor description of gore, minor description of violence, murder, discussion of murder, shame involving sex work, light shaming of sex work, emotionally abusive mother, troubled mother/daughter relationship, fear of abandonment

A/N: I am having more fun than I probably should be writing this fic. New minor warning in the tags, but note that the troubled mother/daughter relationship and emotionally abusive mother tags are more prominent in this chapter!

Work title is from "Paradise Circus" by Massive Attack. Chapter title is from "Go to the Limits of Your Longing" by Rainer Maria Rilke. Text divider 1 is from William Blake's Pity. Text divider 2 is from Hans Melming's Earthly Vanity and Divine Salvation. Collage quote is from NBC's Hannibal (2013).

Chapter 2 - Let everything happen to you: Beauty and terror

You spend the rest of the day, and the next day after calling into work, pacing a circle in your living room and thinking about all the things he said to you—about you.

First and foremost: What would you do if you quit and ran?

Move? Get another office job?

No. Absolutely not. That's what the shitty voice in your head that sounds like your mother says you should do. But what do you want to do?

You can't remember the last time you really wanted anything. God, have you really become so miserable? You hadn't even noticed. You thought you were fine. Maybe your life hasn't turned out the way you'd expected, but it isn't horrible and you get by. Now, standing on the outside of yourself and looking in, you realize the only real joy you've had in years is insulting men on the internet. While you sit in your panties.

So what do you want?

You wanted to go to art school when you were younger, but your mother had put an end to that dream when you told her.

"Very few artists ever make it big or earn a living for themselves," she'd said, "and you aren't talented enough to be one of them."

So you'd gotten a business degree at university instead and hated every moment of it. For a salary that isn't even that impressive, especially for living in London. All so you could work for entitled, boring men that make inappropriate comments, take passes at all the women, and never face any consequences for it because it's a good ol' boys' club. Bunch of pricks. You hope that place burns. In fact, you're going to walk in and quit tomorrow. And it's going to feel so fucking good.

Unfortunately, you also stopped painting. After your own mother's repeated dismissal of your eighteen-year-old self's dreams and passion, whenever you picked up a paintbrush or a pencil, you felt horrible. Nothing you painted felt right again. Your confidence was gone. That spark. So now you don't even own any art supplies. You don't like the reminder.

You do still go to art museums and galleries and shows in the city, though. Walking through them as a child is what made you fall in love with it in the first place. She may have taken away your desire to create any yourself, but she could never destroy that love, try as she may. 

Art has always been something you've connected with better than you ever have with people. It's effortless. Even parsing through the depths of the most complex and visually abstract piece is less complicated than trying to navigate personal relationships. Because art asks nothing more of you than what you are willing to give.

Maybe you could try painting again for fun. The second bedroom could be a studio now that you no longer need it for filming. And you could get a job at a gallery because that, at least, would be something you enjoy, and you wouldn't have to worry as much about the pay. Or—

You could go to art school.

The thought makes you stop pacing.

Loads of people go back to school later in life nowadays. Especially for the arts because, after years of experience out in the world, they realize they want to follow their dreams instead. You wouldn't even have to be successful, but you could be happy.

For once in your goddamned life, you could be fucking happy.

Because of him.

You go back to pacing.

Is that what he meant when he said he could offer you more than just money? He could give you the opportunity to finally live—though that circles back around to the money, too. It creates the opportunity, after all.

Except you know it was more than that. He was offering you the opportunity to be seen. Something you don't have because there's no one that knows the real you. Not really. They would think you were horrible. You know from experience.

Sometimes you think you're horrible.

But he saw you. Maybe not all of you, but a surprising amount from such a small glimpse. What would he see if he could look deeper?

Would he still want to look? Or would he eventually be repulsed, too?

You go to stand in front of your laptop, which you keep powered down and closed now. You also unplugged your webcam, closed your blinds, and put little pieces of tape over both of your phone's cameras because you're convinced that's how he knew every time you were ready to block him. He was watching.

You don't think it can stop him from finding some way to keep tabs on you, but it'll slow him down. You wonder if that will amuse him or annoy him. Probably amuse him.

And why the fuck do you care? Why are you thinking about him at all? You don't even know who he is. Plus, he blackmailed and threatened you, for fuck's sake! You should be phoning the police! At the very least, you should never think about him again.

But you do. You think about him a lot. Because he could be almost anyone behind that anonymity, and the mystery and possibility are…interesting.

He clearly has money. He's smart and irritatingly perceptive. 'Don't forget he has a talent with technology apparently,' you think wryly—which is a massive understatement. He has to be some kind of tech guy, right? Who else can hack into all of your personal devices, track down phone numbers and addresses, uncover your passwords—which you've now changed as well, and poke around your bank records? So through the most basic deduction, you know that much at least.

But is he attractive? Funny? How old is he? Does he have hobbies that aren't stalking you? And can he carry on a conversation when he isn't hiding behind a screen? God, if he turned out to be just like other men and you had to listen to him prattle on, you might give up and join a convent for the vow of celibacy alone.

And, though you shouldn't even be having this thought, you can't help but wonder if he's good in bed. Would he get you off, or does he last thirty seconds and then roll over and fall asleep? You think that's a fair thing to be particular about. You're not about to waste your time only to never have an orgasm. You've done that plenty of times in your life already.

You should be worried that he's a serial killer and you're his next victim or that he's planning to keep you chained up in his basement or sell your organs on the black market. But if he wanted to do that, you'd already be dead because he's been watching you for months and you hadn't a clue. He's had plenty of opportunities.

Unless this is part of a game. 

You could always find out. He told you the link would stay active. You aren't sure if you want to click on it again, but you don't not want to.

No. It's too soon. Before you make any decisions, you should get your affairs in order because you have a former life to wrap up first. And you should give yourself time to process. To work through the fear, the anger, the curiosity, and, most of all, why it aroused you. Not just physically, you acknowledge, but mentally as well. There was something in your verbal sparring that appealed to you as much as it appealed to him. 

You want to know why. You want to understand the part of yourself that feels almost neglected now. Withered from disuse—from hiding behind the lie, as he might put it. And you can't face him again until you do because going back to him with your eyes wide open feels important. There can be no half measures.

What if you dive in and realize you've made a terrible mistake? That seems far more complicated than just walking away now while you have the chance. So if you click that link again, you want to be sure.

Then why do you keep finding yourself standing in your spare room and staring at your computer?

You close your camgirl account without any warning or final stream. Once you realize you never have to do it again, the thought of doing it even one last time is nauseating. There aren't many hoops to jump through, which surprises you. And hitting that confirmation button feels so amazing, you almost text the mystery number to say thank you. Almost.

Unfortunately, the month isn't even half over yet so you're immediately flooded with refund requests. They paid for a full month, after all. You roll your eyes as your phone starts vibrating with email notifications. Too bad for them that you read through the terms and service and know the website's refund policy. So you take one last pleasure in hitting decline on every single one.

You also quit your day job.

You walk in two days after your experience with the mystery man—late, holding a takeout coffee, and wearing jeans and sunglasses—and hand your notice to your boss. He uncomfortably asks why you're leaving the company, and you smile and tell him you found a different opportunity. When he asks where, you take more pleasure in declining to answer and taking a noisy sip from your cup. 

You plan to spend the rest of your time there doing absolutely nothing except scrolling through your phone or looking up art schools on your work computer. Hopefully they'll tell you that you don't have to finish up your two weeks just to get you to leave. You could've simply walked out without giving them notice at all if you really wanted. But after a single day of watching your boss squirm as he tries to figure out how to handle you, you know you made the right decision.

Now you need to make a few more.

You also learn something about yourself. You learn the thing that's been missing and why you enjoyed being so openly cruel on camera. You have been hiding behind a lie.

More specifically, you've been denying a simple truth to them and to yourself: You're better than all of them, and you take extraordinary pleasure in reminding them.

It feels good to finally be yourself. To stop pretending to care about all of the bullshit you've never cared about. Office politics, your so-called friends' newest drama, news that someone is getting married or having children, the latest show people are watching, sports, the weather, or the endless updates about small changes in people's lives. God, last week your coworker got a new car and would not shut up about all of the features. Oh, does it connect to Bluetooth, Sharon? Can you make phone calls from your steering wheel? How fascinating, please tell me more about how difficult it was to choose between a slate grey or tan interior, I'm sure I still have some will to live tucked away that you haven't drained yet.

Up until now, you've made yourself small. Palatable. You pretended to be normal. To want some of the same things everyone else wants so you fit in because you could hear your mother's voice in your head saying, "What would people think?" You bit your tongue so you didn't tell them to please just shut up. So when you finally got the chance to be honest on stream, you relished it.

Because before you were afraid that if you gave in to your darker impulses, you would take it too far. That it would turn you into a monster. You realize now they're the ones that are afraid. They can't wait to tear a woman down. To insult her, call her names, or to degrade her in hopes that will allow them to keep power over her. You were only worried about becoming a monster because you were told it was monstrous to be yourself. To know what you want and to take it. Especially when it's something you shouldn't want in the first place. Something improper.

Well, you're finally starting to figure out exactly what you want.

That evening after work, you sit in front of your laptop.

You haven't opened it yet. You're just sitting there, contemplating doing so because you want to know how it feels to consider taking the next step. If even doing that feels wrong, then you have an answer. That would make your decision easy.

But it doesn't. You reach out to rest your hand on top of the lid and have to stop yourself from opening it. One step at a time. To be sure.

You do that several more times throughout the evening before giving up.

You wake the next morning almost two hours before your alarm—because you had planned on sleeping in since you no longer care if you're late for work—and head straight to the other room. You slept like shit. All night you tossed and turned and fought getting up to pace more circles or to stare at your computer. Because you wanted to see how it felt to go further.

You frantically wrench open your laptop, desperate to finally know, and then you're staring at the black screen. There are smudge marks and some dust visible on it in the morning light filtering through your window. They mar your reflection as it peers, manic and disheveled, back out at you.

It still doesn't feel wrong.

How far can you go before it does? You press the power button.

It takes forever to boot up. Or at least it seems as if it does because your computer isn't that old. You're reminded of how it felt the last time you did this. How your heart had pounded out of fear. It's pounding now, but out of anticipation and impatience. When the login screen finally pops up, you have to retype your password because you hit the keys too quickly and make a mistake.

The sight of your desktop is a relief first because at last you'll have more of an answer to sit with. Then you feel…nothing. Well, no, not nothing. Just an absence of the fear and revulsion you had been looking for. There is definitely something there—nameless and building in your stomach, and crawling its way into your chest.

You move the mouse pointer around the screen. Out of habit, you open Instagram. You manage to scroll for about thirty seconds before you sigh in disgust and take the steps to fully delete your account. Then you go through the rest of your social media and delete or deactivate all of those as well. There isn't a single thing on any of them you care about enough to save. It's freeing in a way you hadn't expected.

You find yourself moving to open your inbox before you finally tell yourself no, that's plenty far for now. You've pushed this enough for one go. Besides, it's six thirty in the morning. You don't even know if he's awake, and you still have work—as much as you don't care about that part. It puts an expiration on doing it now and you don't want to feel rushed.

Instead you get up, go take a long shower where you sing to yourself for the first time in years, and take your time getting ready. You're going to wear a low cut top and a high slit skirt today, which are against the dress code like the jeans were, just to really get under their skin.

You leave your computer on and open. You also plug your webcam back in. You know it's going to send a message, and you want him thinking about what that could be.

Day two of work is just as satisfying as day one. More so because so many of them are flustered by a bit of cleavage and thigh. As if they've never seen either before. You briefly imagine wearing a high collared Victorian dress and scandalously baring your ankle while they gasp and clutch at their chests.

They still don't say anything, but you catch your boss and a few of the other various managers watching you resentfully from across the open floor over the half walls of the cubicles—you didn't even have a full cubicle for an office. How depressing is that? You give them a little wave and a wink back, and it sends them scurrying off.

On your way home, you get a takeout because you think you've earned a curry, and you grab a beer from your fridge. Then you kick off your heels and flop onto the couch. You don't turn on the TV because there's nothing that will entertain you as much as reminiscing about the last few days.

Well. Almost nothing.

You set the half empty takeout container down on your coffee table, the distraction and enjoyment of it suddenly gone. Because now you're thinking about him and your laptop again. You know it's still turned on in the other room, not twenty feet from you. All you would have to do is go in there, open your email, and click the link. It would be that simple.

You made sure it was that simple this morning, you realize.

You get up from the couch, but instead of heading to the spare room, you go to the bathroom. Then you examine yourself in the mirror to make sure you don't have curry stains on your lips or chin. Your makeup is still fine because, well, you did basically nothing at work all day so there's no need to mess with it. Plus, if you have a fresh face of makeup, he'll know you touched it up beforehand. For him. And you can't have that.

You have your hair pinned up, though, so you take that down for something more casual and less office professional. You also undo the top button on your already low dipped blouse. If you move a certain way or lean forward too far, the cup of your bra is visible. It's a wine color that stands out against the champagne of your shirt. You hope it'll be enough of a distraction to throw him off, even for a moment.

Once you're satisfied with your appearance, you make your way to the bedroom. But before you sit down, you toss the annoying, frilly pillows off the bed and into the hallway—you have to resist tossing them out the window—and you throw the blanket on there instead. It looks less ridiculous that way and more like an actual bed someone might sleep in. It also helps you feel like you're truly moving on from that chapter of your life.

Finally, you're in front of your computer. You've been looking forward to this part all day because it's a crucial step. If you can do this and still be okay, you know you're ready.

It takes one click to pull up your inbox.

You pause and wait for some kind of revelation or sign, but none come. There's only the same eager curiosity you've been struck with the past few days. The familiar anticipation of knowing. You want to sit with it a minute, just in case it takes a bit to creep up on you. So you clear out the spam and gleefully deny a few more refund requests in your second account first to tidy everything up. Then, with nothing left to distract you and no more excuses to put it off, you open the email.

The address it was sent from is a random series of letters and numbers. You hadn't noticed that before, you only wanted to know what the message said. You wonder if it's even a real email address. Whether he took the time to make it, carefully crafting each step as he set the snare for his trap. And here you are, stepping right back into it—assuming you had escaped it at all.

The link stares back at you.

You hover over it, only to find that you're nervous. How can you be nervous? You weren't even nervous the first time. Scared and angry, yes, but not this. This is something else. But is it enough to stop?

Absolutely not.

What's wrong with you? Why are you second-guessing yourself now? You want this. At the very least, you want to know more. So why deny yourself? You said you were done doing that. No more letting other people's standards and expectations control you. You take what you want. Who cares why?

'Because he did see you, that's why,' your mind supplies before you can stop it. That flutter in your stomach returns. With a strange rush of confidence, and before you can second guess yourself again, you click the link.

When the site loads, you half expect him to already be there. But he isn't. So you sit there, alone in the chatroom, staring at your own face. After a few moments, you check—and recheck—your hair and makeup. Then you berate yourself for fretting. You're better than this, even though you know your appearance is one of the few weapons in your arsenal that you can use against him.

Eleven minutes pass. Each one feels longer than the last. You want to get up and pace some more to let off your nervous energy, but you don't want him to show up and see you panicking. It would start this whole thing off on the wrong foot. Namely, with you at a disadvantage.

Just when you start to think you've made a mistake and a complete fool of yourself because he's not going to even show up, that black square appears in the corner with an electronic chime.

You stare at it, wide-eyed.

You hadn't really thought past this part. You were too focused on simply preparing yourself to click the link. Now you aren't sure what to say. So you wait again, only to be accompanied by silence. The chat box sits empty.

He's waiting for you, you realize.

No. He's trying to force you to give in and speak first so he has the upper hand.

So, he likes to be in control, then. Makes sense, given how all of this started in the first place. Now the only question is how in control he likes to be. Because the thought isn't necessarily unappealing.

"Hello," you finally say quietly.

I wasn't expecting you back so soon.

You can feel his smirk through the text. Oh right, he's infuriating. You scowl at your screen. "First message and you're already making me regret this."

Come now, I think I'm allowed to savor an I told you so, given the circumstances.

"Yep, this was a mistake." You move to grab your mouse and close the window.

I can make it up to you.

That makes you stop.

"And how are you going to do that?" You ask with suspicion.

Ask me a question.

"Any question?" You lean forward and rest your folded arms on the desk, intrigued and not bothering to hide it. That's why you're here, after all. To learn more about him. You can see your bra peeking out on the screen, and you hope now he's feeling something other than smug.

Within reason.

"Aha, there's the catch. Can't have me getting too clever, can you?" You tap your finger on the edge of your keyboard as you consider what you want to ask. You know he won't do something like turn on his camera or show you his face, and most of your other questions about him will require more trust first. So what will he give you?

"What's your name? It seems only fair I know that at the very least since you know so much about me."

Interesting question.

My name is David.

"David?" You repeat out loud, surprised.

Yes.

"Hmm. I wasn't expecting David."

What were you expecting?

"I don't know. Something unbearable like Reginald or Bertram. David is so…" You wave your hand in the air as you search for the word.

So what?

"Unassuming." You tilt your head. "Are you unassuming, David? Someone that everyone looks at, but no one ever sees?"

See, you are very clever.

"It's one of my better qualities, David."

I enjoy hearing my name on your lips.

"Oh, do you?" You cock an eyebrow.

If I were there with you, I would like to see what else I might enjoy from your lips.

You surprise yourself by blushing.

Clearly you might enjoy it, too.

"Is this how you think you're going to win me over? Saying filthy things to me? Because I can get back onto my stream for that." You try to sound unimpressed rather than flustered.

Not at all. Saying filthy things to you is just a bonus. Especially when you blush so nicely for me.

"You caught me off guard, that's all."

I'm sure. Not that I want to seem ungrateful, but why are you here?

"Well, my life didn't implode, which means you kept your word."

I did.

"Not that it would have mattered anyway because I quit both of my jobs, deleted all of my social media accounts, and, frankly, I realized I don't give a shit what my mother thinks." In a lower voice you add, "In fact, you might actually be doing me a favor there." 

Did it feel good?

"It really did." You want to groan and relish in it because you've never felt this free before. It was marvelous. You just don't want to do so in front of him.

I'm glad. Do you trust me now?

"Absolutely not," you laugh. "But I suppose I'm…"

I intrigue you.

"I wouldn't go that far, but you have my attention. Now I want to figure you out."

Not because of the money?

You bite the inside of your lip as you consider how to respond. "I thought about that a lot, actually. And the answer is no, not because of the money. If it had been a factor in my decision at all, I wouldn't be here."

So you're here to satisfy your curiosity.

"Among other things." You give the camera a heavy lidded glance.

Sounds promising.

Will you leave when you're satisfied?

"I suppose that depends on how satisfied I am." A coy grin tugs at the corner of your mouth.

Then maybe I shouldn't satisfy you at all.

"Oh no, you'll definitely want to avoid doing that. Or else I might get bored and leave anyway."

Ah. We can't have that, now, can we?

"No we cannot." Then you grimace and ask, "You don't talk about things like sports or politics by way of conversation, do you?"

No.

"No interest in keeping up with the lives of acquaintances or the royal family?"

No.

"Thank god," you sigh in relief. "I'm done politely listening to people blather on so that would have been a deal breaker."

Lucky for me, then.

You really have had an exciting few days. I must say, this new confidence suits you. You look lovely.

"Thank you." You let out a genuine smile. "I feel like I can breathe for the first time in…well, a while. I suppose I have you to thank for that."

You do, but I must admit it was not a selfless act. I wanted to see you like this and I am enjoying the fruits of my labor.

"Only like this?" You intend for it to sound teasing, but anticipation bleeds into your voice. 

For now.

Your heartbeat stutters in your chest. "Can I ask you more questions?"

Of course. As long as you understand I may not answer them yet.

"That's fine." You shrug. "What you choose not to answer will be telling enough."

Very clever girl.

"Okay, next question," you blurt out to avoid blushing again, only to realize you didn't have a question ready. So you ask the first thing that comes to mind. "Are you rich?"

Yes.

"Yeah, that one seemed fairly obvious." You glance up at the camera. "How rich?"

I thought you weren't here because of the money.

"I'm not! I'm simply curious. And just because I don't care about it doesn't mean it's not a part of who you are."

Be honest. You're a little bit interested in the money.

"Fine," you say begrudgingly. "It's on the list of perks, but it's at the end. It wasn't a factor in why I'm here, and it won't affect how this turns out. How's that?"

Better. You know I enjoy your honesty.

So what's at the top of the list?

"Well, it was whether or not you would eventually bore me to death, but that doesn't seem to be a pressing concern."

I'll take that as a compliment.

What about now?

"I suppose now it's figuring out what you look like. Though I should be asking whether or not you're a dangerous man since you stalked and blackmailed me."

Now there's a question.

Well, go on. Ask me.

"Alright," you laugh. "Are you a dangerous man, David?"

Yes.

You blink in surprise because you weren't expecting him to just say yes. "How so?"

Where's the fun in that? I thought you were going to figure me out.

"It was worth a shot," you mumble to yourself. You adjust in your seat as you think of how to rephrase the question. "Are you dangerous to me?"

There's no response for several, very long, concerning seconds.

Would you like me to be?

You blush again, your face growing warm as it creeps over your cheeks. "I can't answer that."

Why not?

"Because I don't know what dangerous means."

Then I guess you'll have to find that out, too, won't you?

"It might be a little difficult when you're just text on a screen."

I don't have to be.

"Does that mean you'll turn your camera on?" You perk up in your chair.

No.

"What about your microphone?" You add hopefully.

Not yet.

You sag back into your chair, disappointed, but not surprised. "Then we continue to be at an impasse, don't we, David?"

You're still saying my name.

"I'm getting used to it. Would you like me to stop?"

No.

You lean in towards the camera, pouting your lips, and let your eyelids go heavy as you stare into the lense. "Is it getting you hard, David?"

Don't do that.

"Do what?" You ask innocently.

Talk to me like I'm just some man watching your stream.

"I thought you might like it."

I don't. I only want to hear those things when you mean it.

"How do you know I don't mean it now?" You flutter your eyelashes.

Remember, I can hear the difference.

"Fine," you sigh, your expression and body language immediately returning to normal. "Then I don't know what else to do here."

Ask me another question.

"Alright." You tap your chin in thought. You know you need to regain some power here because so far you've been doing more reacting to him than you intended. How can you throw him off balance? "Have you ever touched yourself while watching any of my streams?"

No.

"I find that surprising," you say with a hint of skepticism.

Why's that?

"Because you went to all this trouble of stalking me and blackmailing me. I assumed that meant you really enjoyed my streams."

I did enjoy your streams.

"But not in the way most men do." The disbelief is still evident in your voice.

It wouldn't have been to you, would it have? It would have been to the lie and, therefore, not particularly satisfying.

"True. But I thought you saw me anyway."

Seeing past it and seeing you without your mask are two very different things.

"Okay. So you don't get off to me."

I didn't say that.

"Oh," you breathe out. As if this is a shock to you. But as he said, suspecting and seeing him confirm it are two very different things. "What do you think about when you do?" You purr as you lean in close again, suddenly very interested in his answer.

Do you really want to know?

"I'm curious, remember?"

I think about you when you were angry and begging.

You lick your lips before you can stop yourself.

Only on your knees for me.

Then you swallow hard. Because that paints a descriptive picture of what he likes. You can see it clearly, and you would be lying if you said there wasn't a responding swell of dampness in your panties at the thought of it.

"Are you touching yourself right now?"

Would you like me to be?

Would you? Is that something you want? Because it occurs to you that you could have it if you want it. You could have him sliding his fist around his erection and moaning for you if you so choose.

"Not really." You give a dismissive shrug, both for him and yourself. And it's not a lie. The thought is appealing and you think it's something you want eventually. But you aren't ready for it yet. Not until you know more about him first. After all, he could be anyone behind that screen. It's both a blessing and a curse. "I don't think you would anyway. Not yet."

Why not?

"Because if you did all of this just for a wank, that would be so very boring. And you aren't that, are you?"

No. I'm not.

But you had to think about it.

"I did," you admit. "When I don't have to think about it first, then I'll give you your show. And my answer will be much different."

I look forward to stripping you of your hesitation.

You notice the word play and give the camera a quick, amused smirk. "You'll be wanting to answer more questions for me then."

Ask.

"Speaking of shows. Do you make a habit of watching cam girls?"

No.

"So just occasionally, then?"

No.

You stare at his responses in confusion. "How did you find me if you weren't scrolling through the website?"

Call it luck.

"They used me in an ad, didn't they?" You scowl.

If I said yes, would that satisfy your curiosity?

"You know it wouldn't."

Then we'll stick with luck.

"Infuriating," you huff. "Will you at least tell me eventually?"

Someday. But not today.

"Alright," you relent. "Because I'll be honest, I really am terribly curious. And I want to know what it was that gave me away."

That second part I can answer.

The first stream I saw, you told your audience that they were lucky to even see you on camera because in person you would never give any of them the time of day. Then you took a deep breath. To everyone else it may have seemed like you were gasping in horror at your own words, but I saw the shudder. The roll of your shoulders. The pleasure. You weren't horrified, you were delighted. That was the moment you had my attention.

You remember that stream. You remember the exact feeling he's describing. How you fought to seem contrite afterwards and arched your breasts towards the camera in hopes no one noticed.

But he noticed. He was there.

"And what was the moment you decided you wanted me?" You whisper, unsure whether your microphone even picked it up.

When you did the same thing the next night.

I thought you were very attractive, of course, but you were never more attractive than in that moment of truth. I wanted more of it.

So I looked.

"You didn't just look. You watched me," you say accusingly.

I did.

"When I was vulnerable and didn't know I was being watched."

Yes.

"Doesn't that make you feel…bad?" You finish lamely. "Or guilty? Even a little?"

Do YOU feel bad now knowing that I did?

"I…" You trail off. You did feel awful in the beginning. It made you sick with fear. How could it not? But now? After the last few days—after talking to him—do you still feel bad? "I'm not sure."

Because I don't.

"You should."

And you should probably still be angry and afraid, yet here we are.

Annoyingly, he has a point there. So both of you are a little fucked up then.

"I have another question." You consider the camera. "Why didn't you just approach me or hit on me in the usual way? Why blackmail me to get my attention?"

You've already said yourself that you find the usual things boring.

"I didn't mean stalking!"

Didn't you? You like the attention, even if you only learned about it afterwards.

'He's right again,' you think. You do like knowing that he was looking. That you've finally been seen by someone that likes what they see. Someone that understands. Which also gives you the answer to his earlier question: You don't feel bad about it, either. Not anymore.

God, so maybe more than a little fucked up.

"Okay, maybe I do. But I think this is more than that. Perhaps you feel confident through the screen in a way you aren't in person."

That's a good guess.

"Am I right?"

No. I simply enjoyed doing it this way and watching you squirm.

"Asshole," you mutter. "It had a very high potential to blow up in your face."

I disagree.

"What if I didn't watch that video of myself? What if I'd just blocked you?"

I would have sent it from a different number with additional threats.

"And if I still refused? Would you have gone through with it?"

I knew I wouldn't have to.

"That," you cross your arms, "is not an answer."

And yet it's my answer. I knew you wouldn't deny me.

You scoff in disbelief. "Are you unaccustomed to hearing the word no?"

People say no to me all the time.

"You really don't like it, though, do you?"

No. Do you?

"Of course not," you laugh. And you're surprised to hear that it's genuine rather than sarcastic.

I can't imagine people telling you no very often.

You laugh a little harder. "You need a better imagination, then."

Even men?

"Well," the laughter trails off and you glance down at your desk, "I'd have to ask something of them first. I don't often. It's usually not worth it." You look back up. "You've told me no several times already."

For now.

There's a flush of heat in your belly that works its way between your legs and up to your neck. How does he keep doing that? No face. No voice. Yet somehow you keep ending up moments away from rubbing yourself against the seat of your chair.

"What about you? Do women tell you no, or are you so rich and handsome that they throw themselves at you?" You tease.

You wait, but there's no answer and you start to regret the question. You wonder if he's self-conscious about his looks and that's another reason he's doing this, or if you were right about his confidence when he isn't behind a screen.

"You don't have to answer that." You straighten up and your expression turns apologetic. "It was a clumsy attempt at flirting and to learn more about you."

No, they don't.

"Oh." You fidget uncomfortably for a moment. "If I'm being honest, that's actually a relief."

Why a relief?

"Because the type of men that would say yes to that question are usually intolerable. Besides," you shrug, "there are other important qualities to have that aren't looks. Like being intriguing, for example."

I can hear when you're lying.

"How am I lying?"

Looks are important to you.

"Of course they are. I never said they weren't! Only that there is more to attraction than just looks."

Would you still consider me if I were unattractive?

"Well." You stop to think about your response. You know you have to choose your words carefully in case this is a sensitive topic. "I can't promise anything because I don't know what you look like, but I will say if good looks were all I cared about, I would have an actual dating life."

I believe you.

"Does that mean you don't think you're attractive?" You tentatively ask.

Oh, I never said that. I just said women don't throw themselves at me. I'm far too busy.

"You…" You snap your mouth shut in anger. He was fucking with you. To see how you would react, and you actually felt bad for a moment! "God, you're infuriating."

You like it.

You do. There's a slick heat inside of your underwear that betrays exactly how much you like it.

"And you seem to be trying awfully hard to find the limit of that statement." You scowl.

I happen to like pressing your buttons.

"I noticed." You give a small, irritated huff through your nose. "You know, I also can't help but notice I've been doing most of the talking here. It's your turn to ask me a question."

That seems like fair retaliation.

There's a brief pause while he, presumably, thinks of something to ask you.

What was the source of your hesitation earlier? When I asked if you wanted me to touch myself.

"I want to know more about you first," you answer matter of factly.

Why?

"For several reasons. It's a very vulnerable position for me to be in since you can see me and I can't see you, so I want to trust you before this turns into that."

What are the other reasons?

"The more I get to know you, the more interested I might be. And the more interested I am, the more I'll want to take my clothes off. Just for you. Doesn't that sound so much better than a halfhearted strip tease?" You give the camera your best enticing look. "I think it does."

I agree. It does.

"Besides, didn't you promise me that you would make me want to touch myself for you? So make me, David. Give me more to work with."

You should be careful with what you say. Or you may accidentally ask for something you haven't thought through.

You blush and shift in your chair. "How do you know I'm not completely aware of what I'm asking?"

Because you wouldn't ask me to make you if you were.

You have to bite your lip to stop a whimper that nearly makes its way out of your mouth. You also have to fight back your initial instinct of looking into the camera and repeating, 'Make me, David.' You know that's pushing it, though. For now. But god, do you want to.

"Point taken," you force out through the tension. "Why do you ask, anyway?"

I wanted to know how I can remove that hesitation. Now I know.

"Eager, are we?" You tease.

Yes.

Can you blame me? The thing I'm impatient for is you.

"God, David," you gasp. "I think it's you that needs to be careful with what you're saying."

I know what I'm saying. But for your sake I will.

"Thank you," you exhale in relief. Your control and conviction can only take so much, and your grasp on them is weakening. And he knows it.

Does it bother you that I want you?

"Not really. A lot of men want me."

No they don't. They want your body. I want you.

"I still don't understand why."

I see something in you that mirrors something in me.

"You see yourself in me, do you?" You give the camera a teasing, seductive smile.

You're very good at that.

"At what?" You ask innocently.

Using flirtation as a means of misdirection when you're uncomfortable.

"How am I uncomfortable?"

Because you want to know what I see and that scares you.

"You think you could tell me truths about myself that I don't already know?" You raise an eyebrow.

No, it's not that.

"What would scare me then?"

That you want to hear it from me.

You mentally shake off the immediate denial because you know he's right. You want to know exactly what he sees. You want to hear your own truths from him because it's thrilling. And because if he knows and he's still here…

"Fine. Maybe I do because I'm curious just how much you really see."

I've seen quite a lot.

"Try me," you challenge.

Do you have many friends?

You frown and glance down at the top of your desk. "Not many."

Why not?

"Because...I find it difficult to get along with most people, I suppose. What does this have to do with anything?"

I'm getting there.

Would you like to know why you don't?

"This should be good." You lean back in your chair. "Go on."

You've always felt different, and it makes connecting with other people almost impossible. You try, of course, because you get lonely. Humans are social creatures, after all. Either you feel nothing towards them and they annoy you, or they keep you at arm's length once they start to see the real you.

How old were you when you started faking it, I wonder? When you realized they don't like who you are when you aren't wearing the mask. I bet you were young when you learned to never take it off. That's why you found it so easy to lie on camera and why you were so good at what you were doing. You've been doing it most of your life.

You sit with that for a moment.

You expect it to hurt because, objectively, what he said should be painful and it is lonely. But you're already fully aware of the truth, and you know he wasn't just saying it to be cruel. You asked. That's like being upset with a mirror for showing you your reflection.

Though you suspect he still hoped you would squirm when faced with it because he likes making you squirm.

"I found it easy to lie to those men because I don't care about them or their feelings." You sneer at the thought. "They were a means to an end. And I can't connect with people because I find the things they care about to be mind numbingly dull. Unfortunately that usually means themselves."

And in the beginning you said you weren't that interesting.

"Is that how you feel then?" Your voice softens. "Lonely."

Yes.

"I guess we're both in excellent company." You mean for your accompanying smile to be lighthearted, but you can tell that it doesn't meet your eyes, and a hint of your own loneliness weighs down the corners of your mouth.

I certainly think so.

Do you want to know what else I see?

"Yes," you reply without hesitation.

It's not just that those men were on the other end of the camera, is it? Or that they're men. You've always felt a deep disgust for everyone around you, and the camera gave you an outlet. The money may have been the reason you started, but that was the reason you kept going.

You raise your eyebrows, impressed. "Interesting. And devastatingly accurate, as usual. But do you want to know a secret?" You lean in close and stage whisper, "I already figured all of this out."

Did you now?

"I did." You give the camera a smug smile and lean back in your chair. "I've been doing some self reflection since our last chat. Couldn't have you catching me off guard all the time."

Clearly.

"Now, that doesn't mean I don't want to read what you have to say. I still like knowing just how much you see."

I'll keep that in mind.

Did you figure anything else out about yourself? Because if you did, I want to hear it.

"I figured out that I've been denying myself the things that I want because I felt bad for wanting them. And the only reason I felt bad is because I was told I should."

And what is it that you want?

"Well, that's the question, isn't it? I'm still attempting to work that out." Then in a lower tone, "But it's becoming clearer to me."

I would offer my assistance, but you seem to be doing a wonderful job of peeling off those layers on your own.

But I also wouldn't object to helping you take them off if you asked me to.

"Are you serious?" You give your camera an astonished look. "I'm merely unraveling the thread you pulled, David. None of this was possible without you. You've helped me finally see myself so clearly that at first I was worried I only wanted to come back here because, between that and the money, I felt like I owed you something. But now I realize it's because I want you to keep pulling. I want to see what's underneath. What I've been denied—what I've been denying this whole time. And maybe…" You trail off, suddenly unsure because you almost let slip something vulnerable that still scares you.

If he saw you, would he still want to look? Or would he upend your life only to leave when you became too much? 

Maybe what? Don't stop now. I want to hear what you were about to say. And I want to hear the truth.

You take a deep breath in hopes that, in doing so, you'll find your courage.

You don't, but it's too late anyway. You've shown him a seam that's still neatly stitched. You can't pretend now that it was nothing because he'll latch onto it, and you can't lie to him because he'll know. As scary as it is, all you have is the truth. And he asked for it.

"Maybe for once someone won't be repulsed by what's there." Your voice sounds so weak. You hate feeling this exposed. Leaving yourself open like this is just an invitation for someone to hurt you—actually hurt you, like slipping a knife into a gap in your armor. Now you may as well be handing him the knife, too. But you push past that panic and fear, and hold tight to the truth. "Maybe…maybe I've been hoping you won't be."

You're practically fidgeting in your chair with anxiety as you wait to see if he draws blood with his response or plunges said metaphorical knife between your ribs. And to your surprise, his response comes rather quickly.

Do you think I would be here if I'd seen anything in you that came close to repulsing me? It's your disguise that I find repulsive. It's that you had to wear it at all that repulses me. I am restraining myself from tearing it off of you. I've only ever wanted to see more.

Repulsed?

How could I find such a perfect creature repulsive?

Oh.

"David," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. "God, I…I don't know what to say."

Your heart is pounding against the walls of your ribcage, but no longer in fear. Not even in arousal. It's relief. Gratitude. Thrill. Anticipation. The desire to hear more of anything he has to tell you gnaws at your belly. You're starving for it.

That you even believe a single thing about yourself could be repulsive only strengthens my conviction that the world is full of monsters that hide behind their civility and their self-righteousness. They tell themselves they're better than us when the only difference is we're honest.

"But I haven't been honest, have I? Not always."

You are now.

"I'm trying to be," you correct him.

You've wanted to be this whole time. Do you think you would have embraced so many truths about yourself so quickly if you hadn't?

"That's a fair point." You lit a flame under your entire life with only the slightest encouragement from a complete stranger that was blackmailing you. To say that you've yearned to be free of it—to be yourself—would be an understatement. Now that fire is spreading and you don't even care enough to watch it burn. Not when you can look to him instead. "I have wanted it, I just never realized I did. Until you."

See? The money never mattered. It was just a means to an end, too. This was always my gift to you.

You let out a breathy, incredulous laugh. "Who are you, David?"

What happened to wanting to figure me out?

"That's still the plan, but I realize now I may have bitten off more than I can chew."

Don't worry, I won't let you choke.

Unless you want to.

You don't stop the pained moan that comes out of your mouth as you're tossed from feeling something approaching tender straight back into arousal. "My god, I'm getting whiplash," you mumble to yourself.

He doesn't say anything and you don't expect him to. His silence betrays how smug he's currently feeling just fine.

There's a moment of quiet then, and you glance around the room, willing yourself to calm down so your mind isn't trying to drag you in two directions at once. As you do so, your eyes catch the clock on the wall. You quickly do a double take and then look at your computer to confirm the time is correct. Because you're surprised to discover nearly an hour and a half has passed. It felt like ten minutes.

"My god. Is it really past seven?"

It is.

"I can't recall ever having a conversation where time just flew by. Usually it drags and I can't escape fast enough." You shake your head. "You know, being around people has always been exhausting and I couldn't figure out why. It's because wearing the mask is exhausting, isn't it? I was dedicating so much effort to not letting it slip and I didn't even realize. With you it's…different. I'm still worn out, but only because learning to keep it off is also exhausting. Just, you know, in the same way going to the gym or accomplishing a task that requires labor is. It's a rewarding ache." 

It gets easier. Like with anything, the more you practice, the better you get.

"You speak from experience."

I do.

"How long?"

About fifteen years.

"Fifteen years?" For a brief moment you wonder how old he is, but you aren't sure if he'll tell you more than his name yet. You file it away for next time. "And you just…live without it? Do whatever you want?"

Oh, I still wear it occasionally, but it's tactical now instead of habit. It can be a very useful tool.

"I hadn't considered that," you mutter.

Sometimes it's also necessary for survival.

"Survival?" You recoil in surprise. "Jesus, how could that be necessary?"

The world isn't kind to people like us. Besides, isn't that what you've been doing this whole time?

"I always thought it was just a way to fit in, but I suppose that was its own form of survival."

See? You learn quickly.

"It helps when you're being hand fed the answers, but I appreciate the compliment nonetheless."

You should give yourself more credit. You're quite clever, remember?

"Not something I'm used to doing out loud," you shrug. "I'm sure I'll develop the muscle memory soon enough."

You will.

"So…are we winding down? Is that what's happening here? Because otherwise I don't usually have conversations about the clock."

Why? Is it your bedtime?

You know he's teasing, but you can feel how heavy your eyelids are getting. You were serious when you said all of this wore you out, even if you find yourself not wanting to go. "No, but it could be. I am getting tired."

Do you have an early morning?

"Not really. I technically still have work tomorrow, but I've done nothing except scroll through my phone and mess around on my computer since I gave my notice.."

How rebellious of you.

"Hardly," you chuckle. "I've been hoping they'll get annoyed and tell me they don't need me to stay the whole two weeks."

Couldn't you simply walk out on your own?

"Oh, I could. Doing it this way is so satisfying, though. They're furious, but what are they going to do? Fire me?" You grin. "No, they can only bite their tongues and watch it happen."

Then by all means, scroll away. Wouldn't want to come between you and your satisfaction.

You blush and look up at the camera from beneath your eyelashes. "You wouldn't?"

No. Your satisfaction comes first.

"Fuck," you hiss. At the same time you think, 'At least I would get that orgasm.' And that thought causes a potent swell of lust to pool between your thighs. Your breath hitches. "Now I really do think I need to go before I do something I might regret in the morning."

Would you?

Regret it?

You stop to consider whether or not you're ready—if you've learned enough—only to discover you no longer know the answer to that question. Which probably means…

You hesitated.

"I did," you sigh, disappointed, even as you remind yourself it's the right thing to do. And a good rule to hold yourself to.

There was more conflict on your face than introspection this time.

"Then you already know how I'm feeling."

I'll get you there.

That confidence that bothered you just a few days ago is now thrilling. "You'd better. You promised, David." 

It's a promise I not only intend to keep, but will enjoy keeping.

"Good." You give your camera a wistful smile. "Last time I couldn't wait to close this window. Now I'm reluctant to go. That should probably concern me."

Does it?

"No. It doesn't."

Good.

"You're feeling quite pleased with yourself right now, aren't you?"

As a matter of fact, yes I am.

Because I'm once again savoring an I told you so.

"Infuriating," you sigh, but without the irritation this time. 

Take the remainder of the evening to rest and do some self reflection, as you called it. I'm sure you have plenty to mull over before next time, and I'm eager to hear what new truths you uncover.

"You know I will. Especially the rest part."

Good. I wouldn't want to wear you out too soon.

"Don't worry, I have excellent stamina." You give the camera a wink. "Goodnight, David."

Goodnight.

Before you leave the spare room, you pick up your phone and peel the tape off both of the camera lenses. In doing so, you also quickly learn that tape was a terrible idea because it leaves behind an adhesive residue that you're forced to rub off, which takes a minute. You have to keep opening your camera to make sure there aren't any smudges.

Once that's clean, you completely unbutton your blouse, exposing your bra and your stomach. Then you go down to your knees on the carpet, hold your phone high, look up into the lense with a heated, angry expression, and take a selfie. 

A selfie of you posing the way he pictures you when he touches himself to the thought of you.

You text it to him with the message: "Some inspiration. No mask."

A good twenty minutes later, while you're in the bathroom brushing your teeth and getting ready for bed, your phone buzzes.

Stunning. I was very inspired.

Fuck. It's going to be another long night and workday, isn't it?

Chapter 3 ->

A/N: Hi. Hello. Yes, Reader needs therapy, stat. Alas, she's not going to go to therapy. She's going to go fuck David Robey, serial killer, instead. Very normal and healthy behavior. (LOVE that for her, though.) Also I cannot begin to tell you how empowering it is to write her. How freeing. I ask you, who amongst us hasn't worn a mask to hide themselves or felt bad for wanting something? Who hasn't wanted to be seen by someone that can't look away? Who hasn't wanted to shed expectations like snakeskin and then go absolutely apeshit? Because I sure have. So I hope at least some of you find this just as empowering to read. This fic is for all of us. (Just maybe don't try to emulate her. She super does need therapy, like, for real.)

[beri-allen]

fic tag game

got tagged by @burntblueberrywaffles. thank you <333 doing this while i'm in a good mood lol.

How many works do you have on Ao3? 31 published ones (i have deleted at least 1 and orphaned 4 or something).

2. What's your Ao3 word count? 161,653 in total.

3. What fandoms do you write for? wednesday (the latest one), some kdramas, and i have also written for ouat and hannibal. back on lj, i used to write a lot for house md.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Slow, Long, and Excruciatingly Painful (Wednesday (TV 2022))

You Have Shrunk to the Size of My Thoughts (Wednesday (TV 2022)) 

I Predict a Riot (Wednesday (TV 2022)

Stop (Wednesday (TV 2022))

I Carried You for Aching (Crash Landing on You) 

5. Do you respond to comments? yes! comments always make me happy and i appreciate readers who take the time to drop comments, so i want to take the time to respond to them.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? maybe... Stop (wednesday)?

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? omg, i just realized most of my fics end happily, so idk what to pick lol. but maybe either I Carried You for Aching (crash landing on you) or Magic Hours (memories of the alhambra) because they're both fix-it fics where i resurrect a character from literal and figurative canon death lol.

8. Do you get hate on fics? i'm not sure i can call it a full-on hate, but someone got snippy under one of my "wednesday" fics once. i already deleted it because it made me upset but i still remember what it said and who it was from because i'm a libra and petty, lol.

9. Do you write smut? What kind? when i think smut is needed in a story, i will write it. not an expert, though, so i tend to write super vanilla smut scenes lol.

10. Do you write cross-overs? no, because i don't really read cross-overs, so i don't write it.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated? yes. my old house x cameron (house md) fic that was posted on lj got translated to italian.

12. Have you ever cowritten a fic before? no.

13. What WIP you would like to finish, but doubt you ever will? i talked about it before. the first line is still incomplete, and it goes like this:

"Three goddesses walked into a cave. The monster who lived in it asked,"

the monster is tyler galpin. i doubt i will ever write it because i don't have the motivation right now and i need a lot of motivation to write it, because the story is supposed to be kind of... filthy lol.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship? oh, oh, dear. umm. for now, i will choose philip x elizabeth from "the americans" because the show is already ending and it's a happy one, sort of.

15. What are your writing strengths? i'm basing this entirely on comments i got, lol. i think it's my prose? feel free to refute this, lol.

16. What are your writing weaknesses? i can't write long fics. so far, the longest one i've written "only" has 7 chapters.

17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? why not?

18. First fandom you wrote for? ig the first one i religiously wrote for is house md (house x cameron). but the last time i checked on these fics, i completely, utterly forgot the plots etc lol. i don't think i want to associate myself with them anymore.

19. Favourite fic you've ever written? maybe i will choose my wednesday x tyler "practical magic" au, I Put a Spell on You, because it's my longest one so far and i'm proud to have finished it. and not sure it's my favorite, but Oh God, I Think I'm Falling (wednesday) has the longest smut scene i've done so far, and i had fun writing that part, so. 

20. What fic would you want to rewrite one day? none, i think.

i'd like to tag @badmoodbatflowers, @cosmic-lullaby @nouklea, @transitat, @therulerofallpotatos & of course anyone who wants to do this.

[pumpkinnning]

Solarpunk??? Bad dog?? Also red??? Ik it’s greedy to ask all three but???

~rolling-restart

Hiii 😁 no not at all !

I answered solarpunk here.

Rest under the cut because very long

Red was a working title for the first sebchal fic i ever thought of. I took out a lot of the worldbuilding ideas for other fics so I will probably not write this one but who knows. This AU takes place in a dark fantasy post apocalyptic dystopia, in a city surrounded by malignant darkness full of monsters that is constantly trying to devour the city. The city is defended by ten magic houses that are each devoted to a minor god/spirit ; each house is headed by two Riders that work together to harness the power of their god so that they can go out and battle and push back the darkness, sometimes gaining new ground and sometimes losing it. It is said that one day one of the Riders will achieve Apotheosis by melding with their god entirely and manage to vanquish the darkness forever, freeing humanity from its curse. We follow Charles as he becomes Seb's partner and learns to be a Rider - worshipped like a demi-god by the population, but also the heavy cost of failure and learning that this power comes with heavy chains. This is a dark world full of manipulation and intrigue so their relationship starts out as very toxic but somehow they end up finding real tenderness and decency in each other. And then of course stuff goes down ! Ahhh this was fun honestly. I wish i could write three times as fast I have so !!!!! Many ! Ideas !!!

Bad dog was my attempt to write a straight up horror dead dove fic, but after putting the plot down and a few scenes I was like. This would be really interesting psychologically but i don't know if I have the stomach for it. In this one Seb works for the mob and his boss asks him to figure out who has been brutally murdering a lot of his collaborators and assets. Turns out that it's Charles, the ward of the old boss himself - known for being a dissolute party animal and a general mess, but this is probably a facade. Seb figures he's a genius with something seriously wrong with him but feels somewhat responsible because after all, they created this monster. Instead of killing him as he is ordered to, he convinces his bosses he can "rehabilitate" him and channel these violent tendencies so they can use them.

So he takes Charles to an isolated compound so he can break him down and mold him into something better but instead it's Charles that ends up getting in his head and convinces Seb to set him free so they can take down the rest of the mob together, especially as Charles shares his reasons for wanting to do so.

I think the cat and mouse psychological aspect would be fascinating ; I do love the "villains in love" thing where they're both horrible people but they get each other and descend into this shared madness, the Hannibal/Killing Eve vibes etc but honestly this would have gone into extremely dark territory and idk that i want to stay in that headspace for too long.

[hannigramficrecs]

hey :) do you have any fics about hannibal writing love letters to will while in prison? as in epistolary and such

Consider the Hands That Write This Letter by Watermelonsmellinfellon [words: 20,193]

Hannibal bares his soul, Will falls in love and sheds his fears, and Alana is unaware of it all.

you swallow my heart and flee (but i want it back now) by deadratz [words: 65,400]

When Will finds Hannibal’s journal in his old cell, filled with entries about, and drawings of, himself, he sneaks it into the waistband of his pants and takes it home. It forces Will into dealing with his own feelings, and figuring out what he wants. Will can only hope the journal gives him the answers he seeks.

So I stayed in the Darkness With You. by 9_of_Clubs [words: 7,090]

After Clarice goes to see Hannibal in jail, she goes straight to Will. Or, my take on how Will is going to fit into the future of the series, plus angst and feels.

Your Obedient Servant by KareliaSweet [words: 12,983]

Will receives a rather graphic letter from an incarcerated Hannibal and confronts him about it. Things unravel from there. Trust Hannibal Lecter to turn dickpics into an artform.

Letters to God by CarnivalMirai [words: 4,698]

Will writes letters to Hannibal every day after his incarceration. But they never make it.

[bakedbakermom]

Stained

Chapter 2: Sedulous // start at the beginning

tagging @today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr

sedulous adjective 1. constant in effort 2. accomplished with careful perseverance --- Research and ruminations.

God, they’re barely more than children , Scully thought, not for the first time, then chided herself for being so dismissive. Mulder trusted them, had known them—at least online—for years, and had vouched for them dozens of times. It wasn’t like her to doubt his contacts and sources. Lord knows the Lone Gunmen had looked every bit as unimpressive at first, and they had come through for them more times than she could count. Deep Throat had given his life for them. Hell, even Bambi Barenbaum had proven herself useful once or twice.

Still, as she listened to them argue, she couldn’t help but wonder if this whole endeavor was doomed.

“I’m just saying, Silence Clarice was lucky Hannibal was behind glass the whole time.” Xander tossed a piece of popcorn in the air, lunged for it with his mouth wide open, and missed. “He would have snapped her like a twig.”

Buffy picked up the fallen kernel and threw it without looking up from her book; it hit him squarely in the eye and he gave a startled yelp. “Small is scrappy, Xander. Don’t make me prove it to you.”

“And it’s just such a classic,” Tara added, face half hidden behind her hair. She put a hand on Willow’s arm. “Sweetie, you know I love the gingers, but you can’t argue the first one still keeps you up at night.”

“Only ‘cause of the thing with the puppy,” Willow conceded.

“Really?” said Buffy. “The whole graphic disembowelment thing doesn’t get to you?”

“I like puppies.”

“I liked that Hannibal fellow,” Anya chirped from behind the counter, where she was sorting a shipment of what looked suspiciously like mummified spider legs, if spiders were the size of golden retrievers. “He had a real flair for vengeance.”

Definitely doomed.

Scully leaned back in her chair and pinched the bridge of her nose. Three hours of pouring through dusty, mildewed tomes while a gaggle of twenty-somethings bickered about pop culture was enough to make anyone’s head pound, even if they hadn’t just donated a couple pints to their newly vampiric partner.

She and Mulder had stopped at a drugstore on their way into town—he stayed in the car rather than face the fluorescent lights—so she could properly bandage her wounds with gauze and some antibiotic ointment. At his insistence, she had also bought a bottle of painkillers and taken two, but the medicine was doing nothing for the throbbing behind her eyes.

“Here,” Giles said, chuckling as he set a mug of tea in front of her. “Trust me, it helps.”

Scully smiled her gratitude and raised the cup to her lips. It was sweeter than she expected, rich with cream, and she lifted her eyebrow at Giles as she sipped. “I thought you Brits looked down on people who don’t take their tea black.”

His eyes traveled meaningfully from her neck, to her arm, and then back to her face. “Trust me. It helps.”

Oh. “Thank you.”

Giles moved so his body blocked her sight of the kids at the other end of the table, giving them some measure of privacy. “Are you all right?” he asked delicately.

Scully bit back her first response; she was well aware of her own penchant for denial when it came to her health, mental or physical. She would say she was fine until her mouth was too full of blood and broken teeth to speak. But the old man was looking at her with such kindness in his eyes, such understanding, that she felt her veneer crack. “No,” she said softly, setting down her mug. The sweetness of it was suddenly too cloying, its herbal aftertaste too much like swallowing graveyard dirt. “And neither is Mulder. I know you’ve been corresponding for years, but I see him every day. You never saw the man he was, and what he’s become now… I don’t know how much longer he can stand it. How long I can.”

“A vampire ensouled is a creature of grief and pain, a demon’s lust for death crippled by human empathy and guilt. I’ve known only one other, and even after centuries to adjust, he was tormented; but he used that torment to do a great deal of good. It’s true Mulder may never be the same, but he can still have a worthwhile life.”

“Centuries,” Scully breathed. “If we don’t find a way to help him, he’ll really..?”

“As long as he avoids sunlight and getting on Buffy’s bad side, he could live forever.”

She thought of the pain in her partner’s eyes, the shameful way he licked her blood from his lips, his cold skin with a monster burrowing beneath it. She imagined him living in darkness, forever, watching as everyone he’d ever known or loved withered and died. He had already lost so much—his father murdered, his mother who took her own life, his sister whom he had lost once and then a hundred times more. What would be left of him when nothing at all of his human life remained? She shuddered.

“And these… kids? They can actually help?”

“I know they look young, Miss Scully. God do I know,” he said, leaning his hip against the table as he sipped from his own mug of tea. “But these strange, loud, infuriating people have been through more than you or I can imagine. If anyone can find something to help your partner, I trust it would be them.”

“You really mean that, don’t you?”

Giles lowered his voice, though the others were unlikely to hear him over their own excited noise. “Xander is the smartest idiot I’ve ever known, though I’ll deny that completely if you ever tell him. Anya has witnessed a thousand years of human and demonic history. Willow is an actual genius, and beyond that she and Tara are intensely powerful witches. And Buffy…”

Sadness and pride passed over his features—a look she remembered seeing on her own father’s face during those sweet, fleeting moments when parents realize their children are growing up. It made her heart ache. “Buffy is a hero. It’s in her bones to help, to save. She wouldn’t surrender even if her life depended on it. Especially then, in fact.”

He rested a warm hand on her shoulder. “Don’t give up on our man just yet.”

He smiled as he watched the group around the table chatter away, the very picture of the indulgent patriarch. Gratitude welled in Scully’s heart as she saw them the way Mulder must have seen them—a family. Misfits, freaks, and outcasts who had somehow found their way to each other, and despite their broken pieces, built something beautiful and strong.

She knew the feeling.

The Magic Box was empty except for their group, its doors having closed to the perusing public around dusk, but the self-christened Scoobie Gang showed no sign of slowing down. This was their third straight night gathered around the large wooden table at the back of the shop, its legs creaking under the dusty weight of ancient texts piled upon it. The discard stacks in the corners grew every hour, but Giles never seemed to run out of new books to bring in from the back room or his own home.

Despite their subject matter, Scully had taken great comfort in those thick, musty volumes; they reminded her of nights spent in the library during medical school, cramming for exams with her friends, guzzling coffee and junk food and chattering about anything they could think of just to keep each other awake. Some of these books even had the same kind of disturbingly graphic yet coldly clinical anatomical diagrams as her textbooks.

Though these books held nearly nothing of the science she loved, they nonetheless represented the same human desire to document the past and carry it into the future, bound in worn leather and yellowed pages; ships in bottles cast into the world in the hopes their messages would help someone else.

Still, the line had to be drawn somewhere.

“Werewolves? Mummies? Demons? You guys actually believe in this stuff?”

“Dated one,” answered Willow and Xander at the same time.

“Used to be one!” piped Anya.

Scully’s headache grew a shade worse. Giles patted her shoulder and went to retrieve yet another box from his car.

She tried to focus on the ponderous tome open on the table in front of her, a book of remedies written in one of the few languages she could understand—presumably some form of German, though roughly one word in eight was too archaic for her to recognize. The other books were written in languages more obscure still; they had gone through most of the English volumes on the first night of their search. Translating them would be the work of a lifetime; even skimming a single volume for relevant words and phrases took hours, and a fear was growing in her belly that all of this effort would turn out to be futile. If the others shared the same concern, they didn’t show it. Three nights in a row they had shown up with snacks, coffee, and an enthusiasm that bordered on mania. They would be half-asleep in their chairs by dawn—or in Xander’s case, fully asleep and snoring—and she loved them for it.

So much of this still felt so unreal; she turned the thick page and began to pick through what turned out to be a recipe for making cough tonic from the scales of something called a polgara, alongside an illustration depicting a reptilian creature with enormous skewers sprouting from its humanoid arms; the author of the tonic helpfully reminded her to exercise caution around the pointy bits. She wanted to slam the book shut, hop on a plane, and return to the more vague and deniable lunacy of her regular life. Mutants and aliens and government conspiracies she could understand, maybe even explain. But magic? Real magic?

She glanced over at Willow and Tara, their fingers twining together as they compared notes. Those first few hours after Mulder’s… transformation… had been bewildering, terrifying, and while she might have been borderline delirious with blood loss and nursing a moderate concussion, she couldn’t deny what she had seen. It was a sight she would take to her grave.

Buffy had bound Mulder in chains, and he hung between them with a face from a nightmare, snapping and foaming pink at the mouth like a rabid animal. While the other Scoobies took up their places in a loose circle, leveling crosses and crossbows at him—and Scully slumped against the wall, refusing to leave his side even now—the two young women stood before the snarling beast that used to be her partner, uncowed as he hurled graphic threats and curses at them. Scully could only watch in stunned wonder as they summoned something so beautiful and so primal that even now she couldn’t find the proper words to describe it.

She had felt the power in that room as white light pooled into the orb suspended between their outstretched hands, the air itself chiming with its purity. She didn’t recognize the language spilling from their mouths, but she heard the music in it, the command; the chanting doubled and redoubled upon itself, echoing through the space until Scully felt she could reach out and pluck the words like birds from the air and cradle them in her hands.

When finally the spell reached its zenith, power throbbing against her skin like the heartbeat of creation itself, Willow had called out one last echoing command; the light that they conjured fled all at once, leaving Scully staggered and half-blind in the sudden dark.

At first she feared it hadn’t worked, that the dying of the light was a sign that the darkness had won, until she saw the last tendrils of that brilliant light fading in Mulder’s eyes— Mulder’s eyes, green as the first breath of spring, staring out with pain and confusion from a human face still smeared with her blood.

She had wept, then, and stumbled forward on weak legs to drape her arms around him. “Scully?” he asked in a trembling voice. “What happened? I don’t—I don’t remember…”

He would remember, and soon, but for that moment he was just Mulder again. Her partner, her friend. The man she trusted with every inch of her soul.

And Willow and Tara had restored his.

Maybe believing in magic wasn’t so preposterous after all.

Buffy slammed her book closed, sending a puff of dust into the air. The table—and everyone sitting around it—jumped. “All I’m finding here is new and inventive ways to kill vampires. I already know how to do that. In fact, it’s kind of my whole thing. Not one word about how to make one all soft and cuddly again.”

Willow set her own book down in agreement. “I’ve got plenty of stories of humans getting turned into vampires—some of which are actually quite gross, by the way—but nothing the other way.”

“I still think we should try the whole exorcism thing. I’m pretty sure this group can handle a little pea soup and swearing.”

“Xander, I already told you,” Anya said, coming out from behind the counter to sit beside him. “Even if we could get the demon out, the body is still dead. Without the demon to hold it together, all you’d be left with is a pile of dust.”

Tara raised her hand. “I vote against dusting. I mean, of Mr. Mulder. General cleanliness is fine.”

“Well hang on,” Willow said. “Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. I think there’s a resurrection spell in here that could—”

“No!” the others all cried at once, some in anger, some in fear.

The girl sat back in defeat, her eyebrows knit together in frustration, and Tara put a comforting hand on her arm. “No, sweetie. You know those never go right. You know that.”

Something dark crossed Buffy’s face, and the rest of the group carefully avoided meeting her eyes. Scully wondered why, and made a mental note to ask Mulder when they were alone again. “She’s right, Wil. It’s too dangerous.”

“But—”

“Enough.” Giles didn’t even raise his voice, but the authority in it was unmistakable. Even Scully felt herself sitting up a little straighter at his tone. “This man is our friend. He has helped us out on countless occasions, and has given us information that has saved many lives, including some of ours, at no small risk to himself. Now I’ve told this woman—” he gestured to Scully “—that there is no group in this world more qualified to help him, and I believe that. So I would like to see a little less naysaying and a little more optimism. We haven’t even touched the Sumerian archives yet, or the Heian healer chronicles—and they were practically miracle-workers. Not to mention the Anstopiary codex, the Aurora archives, I have an order in with a bookseller in Qatar that—”

“Giles,” said Buffy, lifting her brows. “Focus.”

He adjusted his glasses, a gesture Scully was beginning to realize was his equivalent of counting to ten and taking a deep breath. “The point is, I’m sure we’ll start making headway soon. I am not giving up on this. On him. None of us are.”

His chastisement hung heavy in the air for a long moment.

“Giles is right.” Willow had known Mulder the longest—they met in a supernatural chat room years ago, and it was her bizarre story about a possibly vampiric serial killer that had brought them here in the first place. Scully wasn’t surprised that the girl was the first to speak, but it warmed her heart just the same. “We’re the freaking Scoobies, guys. And Scoobies never say die.”

“I think that’s Goonies, sweetie.”

“Whatever. The point is, we don’t give up, especially when our friends are in trouble. So buck up, buckers, we gotta make with some head.” She paused, scrunching her face as she heard her own words. “Okay, that sounded kinda gross, but we’re gonna de-vamp that guy if we have to tear through every last one of these books and the whole Watcher library. Twice.”

“Thanks for the enthusiasm, Willow.”

Scully’s heart leapt; she turned and saw Mulder coming through the doorway to the shop, balancing several paper cups of coffee, fast food containers, and a bag of groceries in his arms. She smiled at the sight of him, looking almost normal in his jeans and soft gray t-shirt. He was still too pale, but he seemed to be moving more smoothly since his little… snack. His expression was no longer so pained, his limbs less stiff. He saw her staring and winked, shuffling his feet in a dorky approximation of a dance as if to say S ee, Scully? All good here , and she fought not to roll her eyes.

Spike followed close behind him, similarly burdened, though she saw a few containers bearing the familiar logo of the butcher shop mixed in among the coffee.

“Ooh, Scoobie Snacks!” Xander said, in a passable imitation of the cartoon, rising to help carry the provisions to the table. A happy murmur passed through the room and Scully smiled; nothing like an infusion of sugar and caffeine to reinvigorate an all-night study session.

Scully’s fingers brushed Mulder’s as she took her cup from his hand; they felt slightly warmer. “You seem a little better. Should we upgrade your condition to quarter-dead?”

He smiled as he settled into the chair next to hers, a butcher’s cup cradled in his elbow. “Not quite that far. Maybe a third. Spike took me to…” His voice trailed off, and he looked away with that bashful half-smile that meant he was about to say something she would find, at best, incredulous.

“What, Mulder? Spike took you where?” Her mind spun, despite herself—did they rob a blood bank? Knock over a Red Cross van? Did they go hunting ?

“A vampire cafe.” He laughed, and the fist around her heart loosened. “Next to a slaughterhouse. Not exactly the most glamorous place I’ve ever been, but they can mix up a cow’s blood blend that’s almost approaching palatable.” He nodded towards his cup. “He also showed me a few tricks to make this stuff a little less vile.”

“Cinnamon’s the key,” Spike chimed in, stepping up behind Mulder and clapping him on the back. The liquid in his cup sloshed, along with the contents of Scully’s stomach. “Makes it taste all festive.”

“Yum,” Scully said, and immediately regretted the sarcasm in her voice. “I’m glad it’s helping. You really do look better.”

“How about you guys? Any progress?”

Anyone else might have missed the fragile hope in his eyes, the way he delivered his words with a lack of emphasis that, to her familiar ear, belied the desperation beneath. Seven years together—she could read him like a book.

“You missed a couple of mostly-inspirational speeches and a spirited debate about cinema, but no. We’re still looking.”

He nodded and looked away, the flexing muscle in his jaw the only outward sign of disappointment. Her hand on his brought his eyes back to her face. She stroked her thumb over his knuckles. It said I’m not giving up.

He placed his other hand on top of hers and squeezed. Never.

A/N: Our poor, long-suffering Scully, surrounded by a gaggle of mini-Mulders! I had so much fun writing the Scoobie dialogue. It's strange and exciting combining a show like Buffy, which is renowned for its snappy wordplay, with a show like The X-Files, where so much is unspoken and instead conveyed with touch and eye contact. I hope it didn't give you too much whiplash! As always, comments will be printed, laminated, and put into my Scrapbook of Validation.