#Hannibal Lecter x original character

[vixnovacoda]

Doctor's Medicine || Chapter 1

Hannibal Lecter x Original Character

Word Count: 2.9k

CW/TW: NSFW 18+, graphic, disturbing content, dissociation, canon-typical violence.

Summary: Amongst his list of patients, Doctor Hannibal Lecter finds an interesting character in his latest, Emma Darcy, the author of a bestselling crime series whose mind is host to something clawing to be free. The two become inexplicably drawn to each other and things progress as Emma encounters a world of death. But the question is, who will change who?

[ao3 version here]

There’s a monster inside me. Emma believed this thought since her first body. Bug dead eyes affixed upon her, screaming with stiff muscles for her attention. Ordinary people, she supposed, retaliate. They run, they freeze; there’s an emotional response. She stared back and admired the skin’s complexion, the marbled musculature opened out on display. Albeit, while resistant to obey, a voice unlike hers gave those actions. It made her replay the death over and over to the point of meaningless where she was left to be creative in her own telling, coming up with bestseller-worthy skewerings ready to satiate a country for months.

There was a rare sliver of remorse in those stories. The monster was in control, a shapeless figure which pooled at the back of her mind like fog, seeping through the cracks when the time was right. When it seeped, it poured, and the noise became maddening. 

Emma Darcy. Recorded as "age: twelve" back then by the pediatric nurses. They gave her colourful pills, which she fed the monster. For a time, medication worked fifty-fifty.

On days like these, in Baltimore’s blood-stained oasis, pills did nothing.

Perhaps that had been why she readily accepted her agent’s urge for psychiatric assessment instead of continuing her research. Each crime scene made her sicker and sicker, each carcass, each blood spatter, each playing out the scene in her head. Even Emma grew scared towards herself – when the world already regarded her books with the same spine-scattering fear – at the dedication. Therapy seemed, naturally, like one more option to consider, dreaded though it was to be scrutinised again after self-medicating. 

All this for the sake of quelling the monster.

An empty waiting room. The clicking clock. Painful silence in luxurious comfort; Emma had wedged herself in a leather seat for the past ten minutes. Her foot tapped to the seconds which passed until her time with the proclaimed ‘finest’ psychiatrist arrived.

2:30 pm. Click. The door opened. “Miss Darcy?” asked the man at the room’s entrance. The accent, while unable to pinpoint, could not be missed.

“Please, just Emma,” she said, taking the time to take in his well-composed stature and three-piece suit – grey; neutral.

“Of course. My apologies, Emma.” Dr. Lecter’s lips formed a thin smile. “Please come in.” He welcomed her out from the small and into an overly large, lavish office which seemed like a mix between old-fashioned and modern with a high ceiling, pillars that spanned the same height, red walls and fixtures that brightened under the spring sun, and a pair of black leather chairs. It looked more like a room than anything at a hospital. It looked like a home. “Take a seat,” he said, gesturing over to the other chair opposite from him as he situated himself into place. Legs crossed.

Emma made her way over, heels resounding off the hardwood floor at uneven beats. “I must say sorry in advance,” she began as she accepted her appointed seat. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen any sort of psychiatrist. So, you’ll have to excuse my nerves.”

“That’s not a problem at all. As long as you’re in this room, Emma, you should have nothing to be nervous about, I assure you.” His words gave way to a sense of kindness akin to sensitivity via carefully constructed sentences. From the moment she saw his tall, lean frame, the nerves cemented themselves and the longer she looked, the more Emma couldn’t help but notice the well-mannered self he portrayed in his appearance. His hair: short and tamed, but wild in colour as if it couldn't decide on anything other than aged by way of greys. His eyes: ever watching, ever focused, and soft. A calm wave washed her into an ease she had no control over. He was right, in some sense. There was nothing to worry about, at least, as far as she had been aware. Hannibal Lecter was just a man, a psychiatrist, a doctor. 

“Shall we start with why you’ve decided to try therapy again?” asked Dr. Lecter, filling the silence.

Emma blinked, returning to reality. “Y-Yes.” Unaware her mind had wandered for so long, she cleared her restless vocal cords before answering, “you may have noticed that I wasn’t the one who made the appointment. My literary agent, Marcus Hall, took the liberty of doing so on my behalf.”

“I may have. But I did not believe it was my place to mention.”

“Well, thank you.” Emma smiled. The muscles in her cheeks grew lax as she continued, “what I do is not for the faint of heart, I take it seriously, and my mental health hasn’t slipped in years. Le Belle Mort is my life’s work. Each novel is inspired by real homicides. They help people understand the beauty in things which would otherwise scare them. Life may be beautiful, but so is death.”

“Le Belle Mort: The Beautiful Death.” Dr. Lecter rolled the words off his tongue with such an exquisiteness Emma found marvelling. “A wonderful notion,” he said, leaning back.

“It can be when executed properly. Such art requires a careful hand and good inspiration. Hence why I’m here in Baltimore, and considering I’m looking at the Chesapeake Ripper, I guess Marcus was just worried I might slip up sooner rather than later.”

Pale yellow rays danced along the sharp edges of his face as it tilted to the side. “And you agreed?”

“The people closest to you can usually tell when something is off, even when you don’t.”

“Sometimes. But, often, we are the only ones who can ever truly know. You showing up here today is a sign that you do.”

“I’m not sure I entirely do know,” she admitted softly.

“As humans, we have a desire towards knowledge. Without it, life would not be able to exist. It creates power. Admittedly, when someone knows something you don’t, it is natural to be afraid. There are no nerves in this room, Emma,” he explained, weaving the threads of his cold intellectualism into his compassionate psychology and awaited her response. She did; a gulp made poignant noise. He had a point. A honed needle-shaped point, which he began to stitch with. “Now tell me, what does Marcus see in you that no one else doesn’t?”

“Probably,” said Emma as she drew a long breath, “the fact my medication isn’t taking so well anymore.” She could feel the seams coming together on her skin, on her mind, sealing the holes she wished to retreat inside of and keeping her together. Thin, tiny tingles.

“May I ask why you’re on medication?”

“My research can get quite intensee. Hours are spent going over gruesome details; what the tissue looks like, the angle of the rod when inserted through the eyeball, blood splatters, body decomposition and etcetera. I see dead bodies in my day-to-day, Dr. Lecter. Real bodies and I used to not be fazed by it since started.”

Hannibal remained still. He analysed each second between her breaths; saw the rise and fall of her chest beneath her marigold shirt. “That sort of work can tax the mind over time. The more you see, the more that gets added to the pile before your mind eventually cracks from underneath. What you are experiencing could very well be as simple as not increasing dosage over time.”

“It’s not the work itself which fazes me.” Emma’s heart raced at perturbing thoughts.

“Then what drives this fear?”

Uncertainty betrays her. She tears herself from his undeterred gaze.

“Emma,” said Hannibal, attempting to bring her back, “are you afraid someone is going to get hurt?” By now, the skilled psychiatrist spotted the mirror which sat across from him. Emma leant back at the same degree and angle, her hands situated similarly in her lap, her legs and face at odd parallels to the horizontal floor. And she looks not at him, but at the deepest, empty black pools of his eyes. For the first time, he truly looks back into her dark blues, which shimmered; possibility.

———

Yellow tape hung from the ornate door. A dozen uniforms walked in and out of the mid-century home, bypassing the tape. Two stood guard at the front. Radio chatter made a constant noise throughout the empty chambers. Flash photography went off, and flashlights shone in search. There had been no blood.

Nonetheless, Emma Darcy’s living situation was a crime scene.

Three hours ago, she had returned from her session with Dr. Lecter to the package at her door. About two hours was how long the police riffled through her small inventory of stuff, asking her questions and making sure she remained on the premises for the time being. Two hours to have the image of opening the package and dropping skin fragments on tiled flooring replay repeatedly. The package: navy blue, neatly wrapped with a bow. The contents: jigsaw squares cut from the same skin, Caucasian (like her), edges clean. This image played in her mind as a welcomed family member. It had been there before, but younger. An old case; her first book. 

Her nails dug into the bottom of the patio deck, and herself placed on the edge, chewing on her lip. Too focused to notice new faces approach. “Miss Emma Darcy?” Three separate footfalls. “I’m Special Agent Jack Crawford with the FBI.” So it was as serious. Emma lifted her head at the badge presented before her. “This is Special Agent Will Graham and—”

“Dr. Lecter,” Emma finished. Her back immediately straightened upon sight of him.

“You two know each other?” asked Crawford, as he looked between them to discern the recognition.

Dr. Lecter eyed her with caution. The move was hers to take. “We just met earlier today.” Wood splinters hitched her hands, which loosened their grip. “He’s my psychiatrist,” she clarified. Sooner or later, she’d have to admit it as part of her alibi.

The answer satiated Crawford’s curiosity. “Well, Dr. Lecter here is assisting with the case. I take it that won’t be an issue?”

“Not at all,” responded Dr. Lecter.

“Good.” He shoved his hands into the pocket of his coat; no answer needed from Emma. Whose gaze turned to the remaining man, Will Graham, as he began to speak, “we were informed when asked for a statement you were unresponsive. Could you answer a few questions for us now, Miss Darcy?”

“Oh.” She hadn’t realised. She swore she talked to at least one of them. “I… Yes, and, please, just Emma.”

Will gave her a sincere, restrained cheek pull as if to say sorry and of course simultaneously. Awkward, though endearing in a way, perhaps, only executable by him and his lost puppy dog eyes that wouldn’t give her the direct time of day.

“Shall we?” said Crawford, gesturing to the nearby table and chairs.

Howled winds moved first, faster than Emma could keep up with as it caught against her red hair. She required focus to move. Otherwise, every touch felt reminiscent of the soft skin tissue she had handled mere hours ago. Right down to the temperature. She could feel it. Her knees buckled. All the weight bled out of her until nothing remained. Her head spun. Shapes merged into blurs, and a pair of hands grabbed her arms as her body dropped. Air hitched through her deprived brain. She could hear their collective worried exclaim and feel how small she was in that tight grasp to keep her upright. Eventually, a face broke past the dazed vision. “Take your time, Emma.” An unmistakable accent. Hannibal.

She peered up at him. He was calm even as his skin made contact with her bare forearms. Bodies close. Heat rose in her face, red being the first colour to return to her complexion – embarrassment, she called it at the time. 

Forcefully swallowing the rock-shaped lump in her throat, Emma bobbed her head. “I got it.” Sure that she did, he removed himself. Shakingly, she pulled herself upright once more and made her way towards the opposite end of the deck. Her eyes moved faster than her feet as she became desperate not to see that face of Hannibal’s. Regardless, reminders of him stood everywhere. Pinewood trees surrounded the perimeter; grand and valiant against the chaos. They reminded her to breathe, to become one, to ground herself in the secluded forest. “Ask away,” said Emma, plopping beside the kitchen window.

Dr. Lecter and Agent Crawford took the remaining seats. Will’s fidgety self preferred to stand. “The easy stuff first,” said Crawford. “Take us through your day.”

She circled what phantom marks formed on her forearm as she sifted through her catalogic mind. “I woke up around eight o’clock, had breakfast and started my research until midday when I headed to my two-thirty appointment with Dr. Lecter. Then I went home, found the package, took it into the kitchen, opened it and called the police,” she explained.

“And I’ve noticed you have an accent. Are you…?”

“British? Yes. I just arrived a few days ago to work on my book.”

“Who owns the house?” queried Will plainly.

“My agent, Marcus Hall.” She turned her head. “He owns another place closer to the city, so he let me stay here.”

“Does anyone else know you’re here?”

“Except everyone here, no.”

Crawford spoke this time. “Any reason your mail wound up here, then?”

“Fan mail. After an incident a few years back, Marcus has been handling it for me. He most likely left it here for me,” said Emma. Distracted, her eyes followed a heavily clothed officer through the open window. Nosey and inquisitive, his naked hand itches above a forgotten string. “Don’t touch that!” Emma shouts, lesser than a worry and more fierce than annoyed. A command. One none of them expected based on her demeanour. “Gloves on or walk away.”

Caught in the act, the officer darts frantically between Crawford and Emma with his brows furrowed only to be met with a similar stare. There was no sympathy to be won. He backed away, and she hung her head, still reeling despite the little adrenaline rush that had kicked its way in. “Sorry, force of habit,” she said.

“You do that often?” asked Crawford.

“A few times, yes, back in England. I worked with public services, so I’m aware of the protocol.”

“More than just aware, it seems. You pieced the human puzzle together and left no trace.”

“That.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, tissue grating against tissue. “That was for my sake. I know it sounds crazy, but I wouldn’t have been able to sleep if I didn’t know.”

“Not crazy, Emma. In your circumstance, it is understandable,” countered Dr. Lecter.

“What’s crazy is the exact same package arriving at my desk this morning,’ put in Crawford.

“… You don’t think I did it?” Emma laid eyes on the three of them, voice thick with tension.

Crawford peered at Will, conferring silently on his assessment. A glint reflected from a lens as the Special Agent removed his glasses, lips pursed and he shook his head. An outsider couldn't understand what it meant, even more so than what probably went on inside his head. But Jack Crawford had not been a stranger to this communication. He leant over the drab table. “No. In fact, we know you couldn’t have,” disclosed Crawford.

Baffled, her stomach fluttered. “So why are you telling me this?”

“Because the box had your name on it. Whoever did this wanted you and the FBI to know,” told Will. There contained a scrunched-up look on his face, apologetic in tone.

“We were hoping you might be able to help us, Emma,” said Crawford. “Any information you have, anything, would be grateful.”

Questions and answers, everyone had them. This new information fed that cycle. She could tell them everything – connect the points as she did with the puzzle – all it would cost was a dip. How much would the ultimate cost be? Enough to remain with some grip on reality? Maybe that’s all she needed. Enough. 

She’d tell them enough. She wanted to help, even if there wasn’t much she could do.

But a detail had gone missing. “Is it a woman?” Emma piped.

Crawford squinted. “I’m sorry?”

“The victim you have. Is it a woman?”

“We’re not sure yet. Why?”

“My puzzle is missing about half its pieces. The first book in my series contains a similar murder. Every detail so far matches up. It's the first out of many. I needed to be sure.”

Will’s eyes widened as he connected the points. “You think there’s going to be more.”

Emma acquiesced and nodded. “It is highly probable,” she said, “and you have the other half.” 

Darkness set on Baltimore and a fog wanting more, without a care for who was present, spread. Psychiatrist and patient set their sights on each other. 

Two rooms over, spread out atop carpet in an intricate pattern, laid the human flesh that had been cut only to reform back as half a body. A young female. No detail spared as they all merged and were torn once more, crimson spilling at the edges of Emma’s mind. Piecing it back together. Over and over. Again and again. Visceral and real. Her story became reality. 

The line began to blur.

———

“Emma,” said Hannibal, attempting to bring her back, “are you afraid someone is going to get hurt?”

“I’m afraid of myself,” she admitted. “I’m afraid I’m going to get hurt.”

#Hannibal #Hannibal x oc #Hannibal Lecter x original character #Hannibal nbc #Hannibal lecter #Hannibal lecter fanfiction #Hannibal fanfic #Hannibal lecter fanfic #Hannibal fanfiction

[liennka]

Mizumono

Hannibal Lecter x Will's daughter X Will Graham

Summary: Will was supposed to help Jack with killing Hannibal, but he arrived too late and with him, his daughter, Y/n.... (s2e13)

-> This one is filled with angst, but i realised that's just what i am good at :) I am open to any criticism (be nice pls).

I just wanted to say that I am not the owner of this show, but I did make this story, so don't copy it without my knowledge, thank you.

When Alana called about the warrant, Will didn't panic. He told Y/n to go downstairs, urging her to turn off the lights and grab a jacket. And as the police headlights came through the windows, they ducked and crawled on all fours to the back door, Will grabbing his gun. Outside, hidden in the darkness, they ran across their property, stopping on a road. The rain soaked their clothes, though at least the ground wasn't muddy, otherwise they'd be easy to track. A taxi pulled up and Will gave him an address. 

"Hannibal Lecter's house? Why are we going from one danger to another?" Y/n asked, much rather preferring a McDonald's or a cinema. 

"Because Jack will be there, and right now nowhere is safe," her father whispered, looking out the window, "and maybe it's the only address I know."

"That's probably it. What are we going to do then? Have a cup of tea with him and chat with Hannibal?" she sarcastically teased. 

"I gave him time to leave, nothing should happen".

Y/N wasn't so sure.

----●----●----●----

When they got off, her father couldn't have been more wrong. Alana laid there, glass broken, rain rinsing blood from her hair. She seemed dead, just the twitching from shock making her shoulders move up and down. 

"Alana!" Will rushed to her and wrapped her in his coat.

Y/n made note of her surroundings. The front door opened, all sorts of wet footsteps on the carpet, the second floor window busted. And a bloody burgundy dahlia looking at her from a pot near the entrance. 

"Betrayal," she hummed, crouching down beside Alana.

Will looked at her as if she was crazy. He had just called the ambulance and left Alana his phone. 

"The flowers," Y/n pointed out, "I guess he's inside.” 

"Jack's there too," Alana choked out.

Y/N was surprised, she thought Alana's rib cage was too damaged to speak, but Alana proved her wrong. Will nodded and stood up, his gun in both hands. Y/n stayed a little longer, not caring that her hair was now sticking to her ears and causing her to feel cold.

----●----●----●----

As she opened the door to the kitchen, the smell of blood hit her. There were knives, plates and glass everywhere, two pairs of shoes standing in the midst of it all. As she looked up, Hannibal's silhouette greeted her.  

"You were supposed to leave!" Will was standing in front of him.

"I couldn't leave without you two," Hannibal said affectionately. 

Y/n did not know who 'you two' meant, but had a hunch that it included her. Strangely, Hannibal didn't even spare her a look, placing his palm on Will's cheek as if to caress it. They both had such an intense gaze, the sexual tension almost making Y/n turn around to give them some privacy. The scenery looked like a theater piece, a tragedy at that. They dove into their world, where she didn't exist and where they spoke in a different language, or maybe she just lost her hearing from how loud her heart was beating.  Either way, Y/n wanted to separate them, to drag her dad back to their house, back to their dogs. 

She did not see the knife coming from her point of view. Her father simply yelped and took a step forward, crashing into Hannibal's arms. This wasn't real, no. Hannibal would never hurt Will, he was like the other half of his soul, she lied to herself. But there was a red stain on his shirt and when Hannibal embraced him, the weapon remained in his hand, as if to mock them. Y/n stood motionless, no sound could break through her frozen vocal chords. She never thought this would happen, her chest tightening and her eyes filling with tears of pure terror.

The impact of Will's body aligned with her first fallen tear. His body fell directly into a pool of Jack's blood, his pants soaking it up. A few droplets of their mixed blood landed on her shoe, ruining her white trainers. Y/n swallowed nauseously, not daring to look into her fathers eyes. 

Hannibal leaned forward, his crescent-shaped blade back on the counter. 

"I have let you know me, see me," Hannibal paused as Will struggled to breathe, "I gave you a rare gift, but you didn't want it.”

"Didn't I?" Will insisted heartbroken, his eyebrows knitted tightly together. He seemed distressed, but more than anything, he was furious. 

Y/n shut herself off, not wanting to remember her father so frail, choosing to merely listen. And when she heard Hannibal mention the shattered teacup again, something in her snapped. She opened her pocket knife behind her back, using it for the first time since she bought it after the encounter with Tobias. Her fight-or-flight instinct flipped a coin and settled on fight. In a blink of an eye, she was standing behind Hannibal, her knife placed just under his jaw.

Y/n had no idea what she was doing. Her mind told her to end it, to be free at last. But her heart knew that was not possible, not in this life. She couldn't stop shaking, so she applied more force, making him bleed a little.  Will sucked in his breath, not quite understanding what was going on as this was out of character for her. 

"We are not a shattered teacup. You can't glue us back together and pretend like nothing happened," Y/n croaked in his ear, her voice high-pitched.

The blade suddenly twitched as a chuckle erupted from Hannibal’s chest.

"No, you certainly are not just a piece of pottery, but you are indeed fragile."

“You should have left when Will told you to. Instead you slaughtered them all, rightfully or not, whether you believe in God or not. There is no excuse for that,” Y/n hissed, her disappointment in him turning her words bitter. 

"I should have seen it coming…you made us so blind," her disappointment in herself turning her words sour.

Alana's happy face when she gave her a handmade sweater, or Jack and Bella's Christmas party, it was all over. Her bright future turned dim.

"I just wanted us to be a family. Why," she sobbed, a big droplet falling on the floor, "why can't I have a genuine family for once?"

----●----●----●----

Taking advantage of her state of mind, Hannibal grabbed her hand, pulling the knife away from his throat and spinning her around. He took her face in his palms, making her look at him. Y/n had teardrops on her chin, red spots on her irritated skin, her lips chapped and her eyelashes littered with fresh tears. He wiped them away so she had a clear view of him. However, he was no better, his normally perfectly sleek bangs were now messy, blood on his collar and some drying under his nose. He was bruised and in pain, yet he still looked like the most charismatic man she had ever seen. A charismatic man that attempted to erase her father's existence. 

"You don't get to start over after what you've just done, that's not fair!” she tried to wriggle out of his grip, “You hurt Will and you broke my trust. What do you expect us to do?" 

"Nothing, such is life. Don't fight it, let it all go."

Y/n raised her eyebrows in disbelief, a single tear running down her cheek. By now she could care less about having a weapon on her side, she felt she had already lost. 

"'And what if I don't want to let it go, to forget or forgive?" 

"Then you lose yourself," Hannibal directed his gaze back to Will, "I forgive Will. Will he forgive me?"

"'Don't. No, no, no!" Will uttered for the first time after his collapse.

It broke his heart, but there was nothing to be done, his design was meant to be finished and everything had to go according to plan. He pried her knife from her slack hold, unbeknown to her. 

"What are you tal-" Y/n's question couldn't be finished as she was silenced.

Her own knife, now in Hannibal's possession, was plunged blade deep into her side, almost identically to her father's. She yelped as she felt her muscles being torn apart, the stinging as Hannibal yanked it out causing her to choke. Her eyes opened wide as if trying to comprehend what was happening. The searing pain in her torso sent her to the ground, but it was the pain in her heart that made her burst out crying again, only this time it would not stop. Hannibal slowly lowered her down beside Will, splattering the tiles with her blood and tears like the rain would.

 She shook, struggling to catch her breath. With one hand she pressed against her wound, with the other she found her father's hand and weakly squeezed it. She felt his cold fingers, the energy draining from his body. 

"Dad," Y/n muffled her cries. 

Will wanted to help her, to hold her and console her, but he'd been bleeding for so long he couldn't even open his mouth. He had no choice but to watch with half-closed eyes as the entire room bathed in red.  

"You can make it all go away. Put your head back, close your eyes," Hannibal reached for Will's shoulder and met his eyes. "Wade into the quiet of the stream".

Y/n blinked at Hannibal for a second, but instead of a man, she saw a red horned monster with black dahlias sprouting from its eye sockets. So this was his true self, she realised.

“We were never meant to work, were we?” she clutched at Hannibal's trousers with her bloodied fingers. 

There was a silence for a while, Will's labored breathing slowing and her own sniffles fading to silent tears. Hannibal knelt down and ruffled her wet hair. 

And as her father closed his eyes, Hannibal asked her: "Will you forgive me?"

Y/n wanted to say no. She wanted to send him into the pond of burgundy ink as well, but her own mind said otherwise. 

"'Maybe, if you promise to make us work."

He smiled and stood up, not looking at her again. As his footsteps faded away, Y/n's warm blood grew chilly and her eyes heavy. With her last strength she kissed her father's knuckles, her last tears streaming down her face.  

----●----●----●----

She shed tears for how pitiful her ending was. And as her vision got blurrier, she bid farewell to her life.

#child reader #hannibal nbc #original character #hannibal lecter #teen reader #will graham #angst #hurt/no comfort #tw blo0d #tw blade #female reader #x reader #platonic #hannigram #hannibal x reader #will graham x reader #will graham x hannibal lecter #hannibal

[jamneuromain]

Masterlist

Hello everybody :)))

I write for Chris Evans / Mads Mikkelsen and their characters (for now). Requests are opened. If you are interested, feel free to check out my stories. Unless specified, the stories are finished one-shots. Minors please don't interact. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

I will block bots on a weekly basis. If you are an actual human-being who want to follow, please have something on your dash or change your icon from the tumblr given setting so that I won't block you by mistake.

And apparently tumblr has flagged some of my work with mature themes, so be sure to turn on your settings ;)

Beautiful dividers by @firefly-graphics

Fluff: 💕 Angst: 🥀 Smut: 🔥 Dark: 🌑 Finished: ✓

Hannibal Lecter

Until the Next Time: Hannibal was meeting with his personal psychiatrist to try his personal therapy. (Hannibal Lecter x Original Female Character)🔥

The Lucky Saturday He Met You (Series ✓): One-shots of the stories between Chris (Actor) and You (no use of Y/N). 💕🔥

↑Update: postponed indefinitely because CE has a relationship now.

Multi. Chris Evans Characters

Together Or Not At All: Life as a roommate can be tricky, especially when you are living with Steve Rogers, Johnny Storm, Jake Jensen and Nick Grant. You opted to be a therapist, but things didn’t turn out exactly as planned… (Steve Rogers x Reader, Johnny Storm x Reader, Jake Jensen x Reader, Nick Gant x Reader) A collaboration with @rogerswifesblog/ @rogerswifesblog-updates. 💕🔥

Highway to Hell: A failed mission brought you once again back on earth, a punishment that’s more pleasurable than you'd normally expect punishments to be. Your punishment? Corrupting people’s thoughts. It’s easy, in a very simple way: sexual pleasure. Turns out no man can resist such a beauty like you.

And who were you? Oh, just the devil's child.

(Steve Rogers x Reader, Andy Barber x Reader, Curtis Everett x Reader, Ari Levinson x Reader, Lloyd Hansen x Reader, Jake Jensen x Reader) Anotherrr collaboration with @rogerswifesblog/ @rogerswifesblog-updates. 🌑💕🔥

Ari Levinson Masterlist

Shower: College AU. You want to shower, but you can't. Because you are waiting for Steve, your best friend. (Steve Rogers x You) 💕

When Pigs Fly: Is there a chance for Captain America, to be your friend? (Steve Rogers x You) 💕

False Alarm: You, the sister of Tony Stark, is in a secret relationship with Steve, that Tony doesn't know about. (Steve Rogers x You) 💕

T-minus...: Steve is about to be late for his recording. Luckily, you're there to drag him out of his bed. (Steve Rogers x You)💕

Lie Still, Look Pretty: All you need to do is lie still, look pretty <3 (Steve Rogers x You) 🌑🥀🔥

I Knew You Were Trouble: Life Lesson:  There's always going to be a coworker that you don't like. (Steve Rogers x You) 💕

A Proper Nest: Steve wants to build a proper nest for his upcoming heat. (Steve Rogers x You) 💕🔥

My Forget-me-not (Series):

Waking up at a hospital with a head injury, surrounded by strange people, and of course, you are desperate to go home.

Wait, where is your home? And more importantly, who are you??

(Steve Rogers x You) A collab with @rogerswifesblog / @rogerswifesblog-updates 💕🥀

Dancing in the Daydream (Series): College AU. Andy Barber is the lecturer for your class Creative Writing. (Andy Barber x You) 🥀💕🔥🌑

Lloyd Hansen

A Whiff of Blood (Series √): Mob AU. It is a dumb idea to be working for Lloyd when you have hemophobia. (Mob!Lloyd x Secretary!You) 🥀💕🌑 (newly updated)

Captain Syverson

Mean Daddy Part 2 : Your mean daddy comes home :] 💕🔥 (newly updated)

Some random ideas about:

Mob & Mob AU: Steve Rogers x OFC

Centaur AU: Ari Levinson x You/Reader

Bodyguard AU: Ari Levinson x OFC

-Drabble: Overstimulation 🔥

Demon AU: Ari Levinson x You/Reader

Favorite: Dark!priest!Ari x innocent/naive!reader

On you lap: Ransom, Jake, Johnny 💕

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[breakingbranchesbella]

Self-Indulgence; A Criminal Minds Multi-Fandom Fic

Also found on Wattpad, Quotev, and Ao3 under the name BreakingBranches.

CHAPTER 1 - Loose End

Season 1. Episode 15. Unfinished Business. 

  IT'S NO SECRET that the younger you are, the longer time seems to go. Once you reach your fourties' a decade feels like a fever dream. Cassandra was still a little far from that mark. She was still only twenty-six. Twenty-six and she had wasted eight years of her developmental life personally deteriorating her own psyche. Only to be spat out by the big green machine. Now, eight years wasn't a decade, but it was certainly a long time to spend running towards no light at the end of the tunnel. 

  The tunnel had ended. The light still wasn't there. 

  Cassandra wasn't suffering, not really. She wasn't stuck in an endless torture of her own mind. She had passed her evaluation. She had been cleared for the field. Twice now, given she was sitting in the stuffiest office possible with the worst fluorescence known to man. Maybe the second worst, and she would only know this from the memories that this little scene brought back. Except in these recounts, she was on the other side of the desk. 

  "Miss Lorayne, we ask that you answer these next few questions to the best of your ability. Do you understand what I mean by that?" 

  "I do."

————————————

  There was an incessant buzzing in Cassie's pocket. At first, ignoring it had been her go-to solution. That hadn't worked. It still rang on. Over and over. And over again. Nothing but a frighteningly stimulating reminder of why she was here. Sometimes another person's kindness only serves to make you feel more helpless. Cassie had gone from a problem solver to a statistic in just twenty-five seconds. A few months later she was back to her protector role. The only difference was that this role didn't require her to move around every few months. Currently she was stationed in Quantico, Virginia. Sure, she had been given the warning that her days of freedom were seldom with this job. That traveling was still very much a constant, so much so they needed a personal jet. Having a house was just a new sort of feeling. Not a good one. Not a bad one either. 

  From police to FBI, oh how the mighty had fallen. Everyone had their opinion of each other in that part of the world. CIA, FBI, homeland security, the military, and all the way down to beat cops just trying to fill a quota. They all had their specific issues with one another. Sometimes it reached a point where the individual only cared because it was mob mentality. Cassie had her reservations, but she also had to have a job. Work till' you die, the American dream. 

  Physically, she was beyond qualified. Mentally, she met the requirements. Socially? That was going to be a fickle bridge to cross. One she was about to meet much sooner than she would have liked. 

  Today wasn't supposed to be her first day on the job, the role of a profiler and investigative specialist for the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Much to her chagrin, it was going to be beyond easy. They had been assigned a case early in the morning, a Sunday. She wasn't given the full details, former serial killer, something about resurfacing. Something about an old vendetta. Something about a former agent who had spent the later half of his life obsessing over a lost case. Something, something, it was always something. Initially, Cassie was to be formally introduced to the team in a timely manner, in which it was supposed to negate any sour feelings or potential problems. Though since the jet was about to take off, she was unceremoniously given a pat on the shoulder, and a general gist of what she was up against. 

  However there wasn't enough time to prepare her for the mixed bag of people she was about to meet. Not entirely in a negative perspective, it all trailed back to her own social issues. She was easier to describe than them, and that was more often than not five simple words. 

'Hard to get along with' 

  The muscled figure stepped onto the plane, inching her way through the first enclosed space. Once she was on the other side of the thin door she was met with six faces. Only one was vaguely familiar, the other five were total strangers. It wasn't hard to place vague description to the silent confused figures before her. Nerdy, jock, kind, snappy, old. That's about the most she processed. There was obviously a lot more that had been described to her, but looking at them now she decided to just boil it down to the bare minimum.  

  "Lorayne." 

  "Hotchner." Cassie stuck a hand out to shake his own. A firm grip meeting an even harder. Calloused fingers met better kept ones. He still had a wedding band on his finger, that was probably the only reason his skincare routine was better. Not that she had any to compete with.  

  Cassie had met agent Aaron Hotchner before. He was working on a case that bounced back and forth between military and federal jurisdiction. She was stationed in America at the time, a fateful meeting that didn't seem all that important so many years ago. Today she was unable to tell if she was thankful for it or not. 

  Green tinted eyes met hazel ones. The stare was neither aggressive nor polite. It was just that; a look. "How is Haley?" Hotch's wedding band was warm, he'd been white knuckling his fist all morning. At first she thought it might have been her arrival that sparked the odd tension in the plane, however when a seventh figure emerged from the back end, she realized she shouldered the blame pretty evenly. It didn't take an analyst to pick out he didn't belong here. He wasn't horribly anxious, but he rubbed the nail head of his pinky against his ring finger. He was angry about something. Most likely the liaison she was told would be joining the team temporarily. This was his old case. He'd have to feel some sort of guilt, nervousness, or pressure over this. After all in some way of describing it, it was his fault this guy was still out there. You'd never hear Cassie admitting such a thing out-loud. 

  Hotch's response about his spouse was interrupted by another voice. A heavy voice, it was filled with confusion. "Hotch?" Aaron turned, Derek was almost out of his seat now. His skin crinkled as his nose scrunched. A half a sneer. "Right, sorry." Aaron took a step to the side, he'd gesture over towards Cassie. 

  "This is the new agent, introductions were supposed to be more formal but..." Cassie could see the way he fought himself to not look towards the odd man out. She piped up. "Liberté, egalité, fraternité." Her pronunciation wasn't that far off. It sounded practiced. It was. "French revolution?" The skinny kid's brows knitted. His train of thought was derailed by the ever consistent Derek. "We all know that one. What the hell does it have to do with this though?" 

  Cassie shrugged, awkwardly rubbing her chin against her shoulder as she did so. "Something about sticking it to the man. I was supposed to start Monday, but they weren't entirely sure when the team would return. You're as upset about this meeting as I am." The atmosphere was honestly much kinder than most situations she had been in. But she was out of her element, a fish out of water. Here everyone seemed casual, when her normal was the very opposite. All eyes were on her. It took her another moment to understand why. Thankfully with the change in pace she didn't have to meet every confused gaze with a stiff position. She was allowed to be as informal as possible. Still, impressions mattered.

  "Cassandra Lorayne, Cassie, Cass, I don't have much of a preference." Tan fingers flexed against her sides. Without her manual of squaring her shoulders, planting her feet together, and raising an arm to her forehead, she didn't know what to do. Aaron was nice enough to pick up the slack. He'd point with all five fingers towards each member. "Jason Gideon, Elle Greenaway, Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid, Jennifer Jareau, and Max Ryan. Ryan was a part of the initial case eighteen years ago." At each call of their name the member would give some sort of wave or awkward smile, as if the pointing wasn't enough of an indicator. 

  The air about them gave away the notion that they weren't entirely aware of her indoctrination to the team. Cassie doubted it was sprung on them, but the concept was probably only batted around before more important things stole their attention away. Aaron had known for a while, he was the only one lacking any sort of surprise. 

  A few moments of people watching later and the jet was already taking off. Nobody sat properly, instead they'd shift their positions to sit around a clunky laptop that Derek was opening up. Dark fingers pads clacked against buttons, a small ringtone, and there was a woman on the other end. She had blonde hair and a very personal choice of fashion sense. "Talk to me sweetheart." Noone on the jet besides Max batted an eye at his nickname for the woman. Reid caught Cassie's confusion. A cautious smile paired with a tilt of her head led him to notifying her with two fingers half raised. "Penelope Garcia, our technical analyst." Cassie nodded. "Your oracle, yeah?" She'd murmur back to him. He didn't quite catch the reference. She didn't get a chance to explain it.

  "Philly PD confirmed that Carla Bromwell's been dead less than twelve hours. She was forty-seven years old." Hotch and Morgan glanced between each other. "That's odd." 

  "Their age range is older." 

  Elle cut in. "Why would the victimology change?" 

  "That's not the only odd thing, she was found tied with flex-cuffs, not ropes." Everyone was a puzzled as the next person. "That's all I have for you, PD is waiting for you at the crime scene." Morgan just nodded and waved her off with another unprofessional comment. "Thank you baby girl." 

  It wasn't easy to tell whether Cassandra's perplexed expression was due to the new information, or Morgan's choice words for his coworkers. Reid would once again offer some lighting. "It's sort of their thing." It wasn't a very good answer, but a relation like that, one that hadn't violated any rules yet, wasn't something she was able to comment too much on as the newbie. Instead she'd take the high road and sit back with a thick file of the former case findings. Unlike most others on the jet, she didn't spend her time researching other murderers and serial killers. It wasn't from a lack of care, more the opposite. Her former job hadn't been much different, albeit more physical. But she tired from surrounding herself with the worst humanity had to offer. She'd seen both sides of the spectrum, but the most heinous interactions often crossed her desk. If she had put any free time into it, she would have taken the plunge several years ago. 

  Instead of a refresher, this was her first time seeing the details. She'd have to put a good amount of effort into reading up on it. Everyone else was familiar enough. The seasoned veteran of this particular killer didn't seem to keen on the help, which only created another barrier.

  He wasn't stupid, and if Cassie could hear the way her newfound coworkers spoke about him, so could he. It wasn't anything unprofessional just voiced concerns. Cassie wondered if she had listened any longer when those same concerns would be made about herself. She didn't have the time to worry about some other's perception. The folder was thick, it smelled like freshly printed paper. Old records had been tracked down and republished, it beat searching up the initial documents. 

  She'd read over the whole thing twice before flipping back to the first police report and actually thinking about the words in front of her. By all accounts this new method of killing didn't seem to connect the previous offender. If it wasn't for the letter, nobody would have known. Which meant it was someone who wanted to do this, not someone who couldn't stop themselves. Which, Cassie had never found to be an accurate description of a murderer. She knew other profilers would classify that sort of person as an unwilling victim of their own urges. She liked to classify them as dead. But this was FBI, not the lawless land of the military. Blue jeans pressed against the back of leather seat covers, repositioning herself at the previous train of thought. 

  Why had he changed? It wasn't of his own accord, couldn't possibly be. Maybe she was getting ahead of herself. Her tongue caught between her teeth, sounding off a sort of clicking noise.

————————————

  Carla Bromwell's home was filled to the brim. The news reporters and curious passerby's were enough to give Cassie a headache. The amount of detectives inside was another issue. She'd split off from the two most comforting figures to take a look at the body. Gideon and Elle were headed to the room as well. "Agents Gideon, Greenaway, and Lorayne." The department detective raised a brow, but he wasn't given time to push the subject matter when Max came into the room.  

  "I was wondering when you'd show up." 

  Cassie didn't listen to the rest of their conversation. She might have been interrupting something when she spoke. "It's been processed?" A simple nod was all that she'd need. Kneeling down near the body, Cassie would carefully move her wrists and neck. The photos were an obvious indication that this was a different methodology. Elle took over, repeating Cassie's steps. Maybe it was out of distrust. Maybe it was out of morbid curiosity. "There's no bruising." 

  "The note said 'no fight'." Cassie tilted her gaze up towards Elle. Who was currently distracted with something else. From the looks of it, one could only assume it was whatever Max had said. Bad first impressions, but Cassie was struggling to really care about how the older man felt about all of this. Her scrutiny wasn't solely just from blaming him, more so his attitude. She didn't like it. Which wasn't actually saying much given she didn't like a lot of things. 

  Gideon broke the tense silence. "The wound is extensive, it's violent, he's escalating." Elle went on a sort of goose hunt after that. Not that Cassie would have done any differently, but she just wouldn't have said it out-loud. Her ability to work with others wasn't nonexistent, yet it did need an update to the manual. 

  "Elle's good at this sort of thing Max." 

  "Never said she wasn't." 

  Leveraging herself with the nightstand, she'd use an arm to stand up and take a step back so Max could look at the body himself. There wasn't anything else the could learn from it without the forensics report. Ryan pressed a padded finger against the woman's clothes. "I haven't felt like this around a dead body in a long time." 

  Cassie didn't need to hear anymore. He was taking it too personally. The former MP was no saint, she had her fair share of cases that she wore too openly on her sleeve. She had grown since then, to some extent. And in the areas that she hadn't, she kept hidden.

  As she was stepping out, Reid, Hotch, Elle, and Morgan were all coming back. Hotchner had a paper in his gloved hands. It didn't take a genius to guess what it was. 

  "In order for the light to shine so brightly, the darkness must be present." Max had taken the note, intent on reading it with his own eyes. The note offered two more context clues, a quote from Max's book, and the promise of a gift in two days. It was all an attempt at riling the former agent up. The unsub was targeting him specifically. Either a grotesque fascination or the perfect means of getting him worked up. An on edge agent is an agent who can't do his job. It was working. 

  They weren't going to find anymore than that. The behavioral team led themselves outside, only to be greeted by more angry reporters and microphones in their face. Cassie weaved through the crowd and dodged into the closest car available to her. A black sedan with tinted windows, a rental, something for the team to use. The department was the next agreed upon stop, from there everyone had done just about the same as her. 

  Unluckily enough she had managed to pick the one vehicle that Morgan was driving. The leather smelt of some bad cleaning agent and the air was humid inside the van. Getting comfortable seemed impossible so she'd opted for the self meditating movements of pressing down overgrown cuticles with her thumb. 

  "So," 

  She turned her head, her eyes lagging behind in the motion of facing him. 

  "So?" 

  "First day." 

   The car stalled to stop. Someone was taking too long to turn. 

  "Yep." 

  "That's all? No questions, comments, concerns? No issues?"

  Cassie's light brown brows furrowed. "Should there be?" 

  "No." 

  "Then, no." 

   There was silence again. The conversation was over. 

  "But," 

   Until it wasn't. 

   "Most aren't as enthusiastic to touch a body on their first day." 

  "CSI had already done what they needed to. I didn't see anything wrong with it." 

  Morgan let out an odd half-laugh, half-cough. "Again, I meant as enthusiastic." He'd tilt his head to the side, still facing forward as he spoke. His eyes never left the road ahead, but he made up for that with other movements. Every time he spoke his right pointer and middle finger would spread off of the wheel and point to who knows what. His right thumb tapped against the leather cover. 

  "I wasn't enthusiastic." 

  Her nose would crease with the rest of her face. An extended proof of her dissatisfaction over the comment, as if the quick change in tone wasn't enough. 

  "It was the first thing you did." 

  "But it's not my first time." 

  She watched as his bottom lip tucked under his front teeth. 

  "What did you do before joining the BAU?" 

  "You don't know?" 

  "I wouldn't ask if I did." 

  "This. Homicide investigation. We were all profilers, and detectives, and the law." 

  "Military?" 

  "Yeah. Aaron didn't say anything?" 

  "Didn't get the time to." 

  "Right." 

  There was no more talking after that. Further into the city streets Morgan would trade his hand motions for a thin pursing of his lips. Traffic was entertaining enough to drop any other questions he had. Or, Cassie just wasn't.

  There was no time wasted between parking the rental and meeting with the other timely members of the unit. They made their way inside the sand colored building and pretty quickly they had the entire department working with them. Cassie would take a few steps towards the back, as though she were yet another officer these agents were preaching to. It wasn't only due to her new rank on the totem pole with the team. She was also a little jarred by how quickly they where to adhere to policy and comply. Then again, this was the bureaucratic process, not the militaristic. 

  Hotch lead the beginning of the profile, as he went on the others bounced off of him. They were a real unit. Real as hers used to be. Most likely better. 

  "Over the last two decades, our killer has changed. The age of his victims is more notable." 

  The head detective on the case shrugged his shoulders. "The keystone killer is older, his victims are older too. So?" 

  "Most killers have specific fantasies they act out through their violence. These people fall under an identifiable few categories. He liked young brunettes." 

  "And that means?" 

  Back to the BAU members, they worked fairly seamlessly. There was no indication of a turn, however nobody attempted to speak over the younger Dr. when he chimed in. A commentary on Ted Bundy. Cassie only hoped he was brought up due to his known name, and not some weird fascination. Reid would go on to explain even Bundy had a type, a type that when he started to neglect, lead to his ultimate capture. In the same vain, it lead to more violence. 

  Gideon raised both palms at an angle. "It could be a sign that he's devolving." As though there was some invisible speaking baton being passed between the group, their statements moved from one to another. First with Morgan. "Which could mean he's about to slip up. Though, the devolution theory is just that, a theory, we can't rely on it." 

  "If he is in a frenzy," Hotch interjected, taking the mantle of the conversation again. "We can't tell how fast he'll continue to devolve." 

  "Or how many more victims he'll take before he's finished." Gideon curled his mouth inward. 

  "So, in order to keep that number as low as we can, we need to go over everything. Everything we learned eighteen years ago, everything we got today." 

  The oldest of the BAU leaned back against a whiteboard covered wall. He steepled his fingers together. "We'll start with the older profile, Max," The latter turned away, shaking his head and waving the former off. Gideon sent a look towards Hotch, who cast it over to Cassie. Her eyes went wide, then they scrunched up. Russet colored lips pursed before a curtly nod was offered. 

  "Right the..." She thought, frowned, then continued speaking. "We're looking for a man in his forties now, white. He's thoughtful, meticulous. His former means of killing suggests a law enforcement or military background. Most likely he's stayed in the same area all of his life." Had she been speaking too much? She passed the proverbial stick with a look of confusion. Tossing it's invisible form into the air and hoping for the best.

  Elle would come to the rescue. Then Morgan, then Reid, and back to Hotch for a closing statement. Gideon had meandered off after Max. At least, that was the most likely scenario. She couldn't really see the stern faced agent walking off just because he didn't want to present in front of the class anymore. 

  If he had, she wouldn't have judged. Her own presentation of the profile left a bad taste in her mouth. She wasn't used to this way of phrasing it. It felt clunky, unnecessary. She looked for evidence and facts, not probability. A profile wasn't unheard of in her investigative unit, but it wasn't relied on in the way it was here. Psychology was one thing, making up a killer in your mind was another. She was still skeptical. Openly so when she had been interviewed for the position. They felt her stance was a fresh look. She felt it was a pity situation. 

  After wrapping up the main idea, Hotch gestured for the team to follow him to a carved out space for them. The blinds were up, leaving the goings on inside of the room visible to everyone. Cassie didn't mind. The openness felt fresh. The sun could peak in through the windows. Her old office had been without windows, the light fixtures were bleary, the paint job reminiscent of a filing cabinet covered in dust. She much preferred it here. 

  She appreciated the two whiteboards. Even if it made the room more cramped, it allowed the youngest of the group to visualize his musings. In her past, she would have just strewn papers about her desk and hoped for the best. That seemed viable here too, but with so many members it might have gotten overwhelming. She glanced down at the wooden fixture. It already was.  

  "We should focus on the differences between the crimes, what's he doing that's new?" Hotch breezed past the group, yet another Manila folder in his hands.

  Elle, Hotch, and Morgan opted to sit around the table. Reid stood, phasing in and out of his own little world when the conversation required it. Gideon was beside him, he put more of his eggs in the basket of the exchange. The self-certified genius was good at balancing them between the two. Cassie was comfortable standing as well, just on the other side of the room. "The victim was hit in the head, so that's one." Derek leaned back against his seat. "The note mentioned she didn't put up a fight, so why feel the need to hit her? To show dominance?" 

  Hotch shook his head. It didn't make sense. "He never needed to before." Elle thrummed her fingers along a photo of the crime scene. "But a hit like that wouldn't just scare her, it would knock her out." 

  "—To control her better." The head of the group finished.  

  Cassie's gaze flicked between each speaker, landing on Gideon as he found interest in the abyss. He stared towards a photo, but his head seemed somewhere else. "He switched from a knot, his signature, to flex-cufs." 

  "They're easier, it saved him time." Morgan kept his eyes on Gideon. He'd turn his head over his shoulders to catch Cassie's eye when he finished speaking. 

  "No, no, it's not that. The knot was intimate. It wasn't about the ease of immobilizing her. He chose a completely unnecessary approach." 

  "Maybe we should just forget about this, seriously. It's not helping us to go over what others already knew. Let's pretend he's a new offender." 

  The glass was cool against her arms, she'd trade her hands for her biceps when pushing off of the wall to step forward. A little brazenly, she let a few fingers fall to the head of Morgan's chair, pressing down and holding on as a sort of cane for her posture. "That's the problem, he's still the same person he was. We can't mull over what happened in the past, but we can certainly compare it to the future. He went from intimate, slow, methodical killings. He played out his fantasy with full physical control. So he traded it, for what? A smack to the head and a heavy lidded girl. He can't watch himself take the life from her eyes anymore. Where's the 'fun' in that." Cassie sucked in a breath through her teeth during her commentary. She let it go quickly as she ended. 

  "What I'm saying is—" 

  "—Guys, I have a name." All eyes moved from Cassie to Reid. She lifted her hand off of Morgan's chair and crossed her arms. Her hip dropped at an angle and she balanced more weight on her left leg. 

  "Nibrahs? What is that?" Reid bit the inner left part of his cheek at Elle's question. "It's backwards, S. Harbin. He was an original suspect." 

  "It's not him."  

  Max had finally made his entrance. He brushed off the conclusion, claiming Scott Harbin, S., had been in jail for stabbing someone. Sentenced thirty years, which meant there was no way it was him.

  "Unless he's out on parole." 

  Max didn't seem to keen on the notion. "He's a pervert and a small time thief, he steals undergarments. I interviewed him, twice, he's no killer." There were a few exchanged looks. Morgan picked up his phone and nodded in Hotch's direction, who returned it with a nod of his own. "I'm going to call Garcia, see if she can find anything about him." 

  Max raised his voice, adamant that they were being lead down a dead end. A second wave of looks. Silence. Morgan left. 

  "Jason why are we here?" 

  "Hm?" 

  "Are we here to catch him, or just prove to Max he knows more than us?" 

  Nobody answered, because the only one who could had left. The four remaining didn't have a chance to pick up where Cassie had left off. Derek came back in with a shit-eating grin and a notecard with scribbles on it. 

  "We've got an address for Scott Harbin. He was paroled three months ago, missed his last hearing." 

  "That makes him a wanted man." Elle was already out of her seat, pulling her brown jacket over her shoulders. 

  Leaving the station house required a bit more than a few rental and squad cars. Priorities were higher, everyone was banking on the fact that this was supposed to be their guy. A killer to be put away. It still felt too easy. However, a dead end still pointed you to a different direction. They'd be negligent not to take it. No matter what was about to meet them on the other side. 

————————————

  They'd been banking on the fact that this was their Keystone Killer, SWAT was going to be involved one way or another. It took a few extra moments to get their group in the door after the men in black. They took a more defensive stance and let the first three members of the BAU past. Elle and Cassie were at the forefront, the presence sent a silent figure to dart from behind a cabinet. 

  "Don't move— Hey!" 

  Elle practically vaulted past Cassie towards the man, grabbing him by his shoulder and sending a swift kick to the back of his leg. He stumbled over and she applied her weight to his back to apprehend him. "Are you Scott Harbin?" Cassie felt a hand on her shoulder, and instinctively she moved out of the way. Max looked down at the man being detained. "That's him." 

  "Nice to see you too Ryan." He'd smile up from his cuffed position. Cassie's brows met in the space between her eyes and tilted upwards. "You missed a parole hearing." Gideon commented. It was just an excuse, they had no reason to be here. They had no real evidence. A lawyer could dismiss his name in the riddle easily. But, an excuse bought them time and a search warrant. 

  The agents wandered through his home, picking up what they could just based on his arrangements. He was organized, neat, obsessively so. He needed constant control over every aspect of his life. It made a good argument. Cassie didn't like the feeling of it, though. She stood in front of him, her hands resting on her hips. Her expression gave a lot more away than just a train of thought. She bounced from theory to theory. Moss colored iris' scanned his form. Even going so far as to move behind him from where he sat in the arm of his couch. She couldn't see any injury to his hands. Nothing of note about his posture or physical capabilities. He moved his fingers back and forth, a squeezing motion, an attempt at self soothing. She didn't think this was the guy. As much of a creep as he was. 

  He looked out of the corner of his eye at her. "You finished checking me out?" Cassie locked eyes with him, nothing but disinterest on her face. She wasn't going to say anything, even if she was she wouldn't have had the chance. Elle made her way over, almost gesturing for Cassie to take a position behind her. The two were about the same height, maybe Elle had an inch or two on her. Cass was a little better built physically. Not a hulking mass of muscle, but you could see the beginning of a tone through her short sleeved shirt. She'd take the offer anyway and step around the two. Elle was leaning over in Scott's face, her eyes wide with something beyond disinterest. Fury maybe. "Did she upset you? Make you angry? What? You're fantasizing about hurting her, me? No, no you wouldn't do that. What's the matter Harbin, can't handle a woman who isn't afraid of you?" 

  Scott licked his lips. A sign of enjoyment, a sign of stress, it wasn't enough to tell just from the movement alone. Agitated, probably. 

  Gideon pulled Elle aside. Cassie didn't want to listen. She moved on from the room and up the stairs to the second floor of the home. A few SWAT agents still roamed, but she mostly watched as Morgan and Hotch moved back and forth. They stopped in the entrance of a room for a second. She waited, too many cooks in the kitchen. She wasn't needed anywhere right now. 

  "We need some help in here! Get an ambulance, now!" Morgan's voice was like an alarm bell ringing, everyone throughout the home heard it. Someone called out a response and raced down the steps past her. She was moving with similar urgency in the opposite direction. She was tall enough to see over their hunched forms, Hotchner and Morgan crouched near a woman. Her mouth had been taped shut, her feet tied at the ankles. She was wrapped in some sort of plastic. Awkwardly, Cassie shouldered Morgan to push him out of the way. She wormed herself between the two and pulled out a knife from her back pocket. Carefully she tilted the sharper side of the blade up towards the ceiling and worked it under the plastic. It took a bit of leveraging and gentle 'It's okay, you're okay, its okay' to get the knife to pierce the solution. Once she had it torn enough she moved to pull a blanket off of the bed above them. Hotch helped to cover the exposed woman as Cassie cut, leaving no room for any extended embarrassment. 

  The woman wasn't harmed besides a few bruises on her hips and thighs. That was good enough for Cassie. Once she finished peeling back the last of what was on top, she switched positions with Hotchner and pressed a hand against the woman's cheek. There were too many sounds, too many questions, too many voices, Cassie only focused on the lady's sobs. She did her best to murmur those same former phrases over and over again.

  What felt like far too long of a time later, EMTs came into the room and pushed the three aside. Hotch left the building first, his cellphone indicating his attention was needed elsewhere are the moment. Morgan got out of their way, heading down the steps to reconvene with Gideon, Elle, and Max. Cassie stayed, she stayed until they were putting the victim on a stretcher and carrying her down the steps. She helped at the transfer point, holding the right corner of the stretcher near her head. She hadn't repeated her mantras in a while, the EMTs had picked up the slack for her. Once they could begin to wheel her out, the profiler let them go. 

  Philly PD wanted to be the ones to make the arrest. It looked better to the news reporters already gathering outside. Cass could only hope they had enough sense to not photograph the victim as she was being taken away, but she wasn't ignorant. 

  "It doesn't make any sense, he was a small time creep." Max let out a breath as he spoke. Gideon blinked. "He fits your profile, the age, the background, the obsessive traits." 

  "Still—" 

  "Guys." Cass pulled a slip of paper out of the wipers of one of the rental cars. "It's.. for you," She passed it to Max.

Isn't Scott an inelegant monster. He harbors no light. He is pure evil. Balance is what produces mercy. You'll be reminded of my mercy tomorrow. 

K.K.

  "We didn't get him?" Everyone had started to gather now. The pause was enough to spark concern. Morgan spoke first, Gideon answered. Max was too stuck in his head, going over everything yet again. He was reliving the chase from eighteen years ago. It wasn't pretty. "He's not the one we're looking for. Form a six block perimeter, we have to have seen him." 

  But they hadn't. Nobody had. He had been right outside, waiting for the exact moment the police would file in like ducks after their mother. He had slipped off without anyone the wiser. The atmosphere on the way back was bleak. Everyone shared a similar sentiment of frustration. Cassie couldn't feel proud of her observations from earlier, it had only served to get off the sick freak who was orchestrating all of this. It sentenced another victim to a worse fate. The BAU's methods made her feel stagnant, like she had no more control over what was about to happen than a leaf did over the way the winds blow. 

  "That's got to be a first for the BAU, a killer leading us to another." Hotch commented as the made their way back to the little room they were given for mediation. "No, we all know they make the best profilers, it's how they find their own victims. It's how they think they can get away with it." The oldest would correct.

  "So we're starting over. Run by it again, what do we know about the Keystone Killer?" 

 "He's not dead, or in jail." 

 "He likes playing with us, he's treating it like a game where he's controlling all of the pieces." Elle raised her head as she spoke. Then Morgan, then Reid. 

 "He strangled seven women in the late eighties, stopped for eighteen years, then picked it back up again. Only this time he chose to suffocate them. Ten percent of violent crimes are carried out through strangulation, it only takes eleven pounds to incapacitate a person. Hanging on for a minute longer and that person will never recover." The skinny kid's ramblings weren't bad. Cassie could admire them for what they were worth. He was smart. Probably smarter than she'd ever be. The only difference was he learned his facts through textbook, and she earned hers through practice. 

  "But, he suffocated his latest victim. It's actually more passive than strangulation. What Lorayne was saying earlier, he can't feel the life leave the body." Aaron reaffirmed. 

  "But why? Why, why, why? Why change his MO, it suggests a blitz attack, yet in the past he walks right into his victim's homes without so much as a struggle." 

  Cassie's face lit up, her expression almost elongating in a moment of realization. She had never finished her train of thought from before. They had been so distracted with Scott Harbin that she had just forgotten nobody else was thinking the same as she was. 

  "We keep talking about this as though he's doing it on purpose, but what if it's not. What if something happened that stopped him. A sole loss of confidence isn't enough for such a drastic change. He lost his confidence in his own abilities, not his means of killing. A few years ago I was on a case that involved a serial murderer, similarly to this guy's MO. Maybe a little less showy— in any case, he started to slip up when he changed. And he only changed because he had been in a supply moving accident. Lost all control of his dominate hand. Couldn't kill the way he wanted to. He found another way, but it was sloppy, witnesses were around, we caught him." 

  Morgan leaned against the wall where Cassie had once stood. "So it's an injury?" 

  "Or a stroke." Hotch looked to Reid, who shrugged his shoulders in response. 

  "Either one, there will have to be some sort of medical records, right?" Derek didn't really agree with Gideon. "Alright, so an accident after nineteen eighty-eight in Philidelphia, that doesn't lower our suspect pool by much at all." 

  "It's too many hospital records." Spencer finally answered. 

  "Call Garcia anyways, see what she can find." Pointing towards the exit, Gideon gestured to Morgan. 

  It took a few minutes for Morgan to return, he had a slanted smile. Not good, not bad. "There's a lot of records to go through. Garcia's having them sent over now." 

  Hotch moved towards the fax machine as it sounded off, indicating the first few pages. "Let's get started then." He'd grab a couple, pass them around, and repeat until everyone had a handful. Cassie still didn't sit with her pile, she'd let it sit off on the top of a cabinet next to her while she looked through whatever her current file was. 

  Morgan tossed down a few papers, a frown on his dark lips. "We're looking for a guy in his twenties, is that too early for a stroke?" 

  "I still think it's a possibility. We're looking for a fair amount of loss of mobility." Aaron didn't look up from his stack. Reid did however, happily explaining the statistics around strokes. Something or other, Cassie brushed it off with a laugh that sounded more from her nose than it did her mouth. 

  "Hm?" 

  Reid was staring at her now. So was Hotch and Morgan. She shook her head, biting the inner flesh of her cheek as she did so. They all went back to their own files.  

  Twenty-five minutes in and it felt a little hopeless. The records Garcia had given didn't narrow it down at all. Sure a few names were marked off, but then again too many to count were added. "This is taking too long. Just for a moment let's rule out strokes, what's something else that could have happened?" Cassie mimicked Morgan's earlier frustrated motion and tossed her papers down. 

  "A car accident would have to be filed in police records, especially if it resulted in injury, right?" Spencer tried to pick up where she was leaving off. Gideon and Max nodded. 

  "Back then we profiled him to have some sort of American-made sedan." 

  "Alright, then why don't I call Garcia back, have her cross reference sedan accidents with Philly PD records. That should narrow it down significantly with what we've established." 

  "It's a long shot." Ryan seemed on the verge of rolling his eyes at Morgan, a slip of a few words from Cassie halted that means of response. "It's better than nothing." 

  For the third time that day, Morgan would return from his little 'chat' with Garcia. Only this time he seemed a lot more proud of himself. "'Think I've got something; Walter Kern, fits our age range, military background. ROTC, Air Force, his accident happened right outside of Bromwell's address." 

  He passed the already printed document around. Cassie skimmed over it. He certainly looked like the type. "In his accident he lost mobility of his right side due to spinal cord and nerve damage." Veiny hands rolled up dove-white sleeves as he spoke. 

  Cassie watched as the invisible stick returned to the playing field. It was Hotch's turn. "He installed home alarms with, guess who, Scott Harbin." 

  She sought to grab it before it was taken by someone else. "That's how he could walk right in to his victim's home without issue." And as quickly as she had it, it was taken by Elle. Tapping her pencil against the paper, she'd flick it back and forth with her ring finger. "He got his major in criminology. Shows to how he was able to evade law enforcement." 

  And from Elle to Gideon, "Do we have an address?" 

  "575 Wight Street Southeast Philadelphia. Got you, you son of a bitch." 

  That was probably the first time Max had smiled in the day that Cass had known him. There was no time to mull over it, once again the team was up and moving. SWAT was hesitant, they had failed to catch him the first time, leniency wasn't on their side. Neither was the press. 

 Cass was stuck with Morgan again, Reid too, though he kept to himself in the back of the car. 

  "You were right." 

  Again she was stolen from her thoughts by the brawny driver. 

  "Is that shocking?" 

  "Well, not when you phrase it like that. I was trying to compliment you, you know." 

  "Oh."

  "That's it?" 

  "No, I was trying to think of something to reference that you would understand." 

  "Like?" 

  "A philosophical quote, nothing good came to mind. That's not exactly my thing." 

  Reid was about to say something and Morgan had that look in his eyes through the rear view mirror, something that screamed break-check. Reid no longer had anything to say. 

  "What is your thing then." 

  "Nothing really. Oh, I guess something along the lines of I'm the Chandler to your Phoebe, though that's a bit of a stretch. I only watched a few— Nevermind." 

  Morgan gave a dumbfounded look, but didn't press the issue. There were bigger problems than whatever Cassie got up to in her limited free-time.  

  Gideon and Max took the lead on the entry of the home this time. It was almost deserved.

  They knocked once. 

  No answer. 

  Twice. 

  No answer. 

  It was bordering on three when the door finally swung open. A woman in her later fourties' answered, she had short brown hair and a tired face. Makeup, jewelry, her clothes were ironed. Cassie's nose crinkled. 

  "This is agent Ryan with the FBI, we need to speak with your husband." The woman quickly looked away. She was sheepish, confused. She'd stutter out a response to Gideon. "He's not here." 

  "Do you know where he is?" 

  "Well, I," 

  "Why don't you let us inside?" 

  She stuttered, again, failing to form any coherent sentence. She'd nod anyways and the team followed inside. His wife said something about volunteering at a community center. Gideon notified Hotch, to which Cassie gently pressed her fingers to his raised elbow. He looked at her, doe-like eyes squinting in confusion. She took a step back and mumbled. "Don't send everyone there. He's still intent on giving us that 'gift'." Jason looked her up and down once, then complied without saying anything in response to her. 

  Max had let the reason they were there slip, the murders, the seven victims. 

  "I'm going to have to ask you to leave, please." She didn't take very kindly to the notion. Then again no good person would. "What you're suggesting is absurd, and," 

  "—I don't think you believe that Mrs. Kern." Cassie took a step closer to the woman. She was taller than her. Height helped in most cases she had been on before. 

  "Excuse me?" 

  "I don't think you believe that your husband has nothing to do with this. You're dressed awfully nice, he likes you that way doesn't he. Modest, untouchable. Though, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that last part isn't true." 

  "Lorayne," Gideon warned. She should have listened, should have stopped talking. This was her first day, her first case, she had everything to lose. And yet so did an innocent girl. 

  "I'm guessing he has a space in the house, a room, an area, a closet, a chest youre not supposed to touch. Don't look inside of, don't even think about. If you did, Walter would get angry, wouldn't he?" 

  The wife took a step back. Cassie took a step forward. She looked anywhere but the agent's face. "He has a photo-room, but he only worries that I'll mess up his pictures. That's all." 

 "Eighteen years ago you noticed your husband fell into a depression, it seemed like it would never end. Maybe he was more irritable. You were thankful on one hand, he couldn't hit you if he wanted to. But he wasn't the same. Just a few days ago he returned back to his old self, for better and for worse." 

  "How do... no, what does it mean? Did he..?" Cass blew a quick puff of air out of her nose and stepped off to the side. She had said all she needed to. 

  "We need to see that room Mrs. Kern." She didn't miss the way Gideon followed her with a grim expression as he spoke. 

  SWAT was the first to clear the cellar on the left side of their home. It was cold, but well kept even from a quick glance at the stairway. Heading further into it lead to a room covered in photos, newspapers, anything relating to the case. He had a copy of the book Max had written about his experiences as an agent. He was a textbook stalker. Countless photos of past and present victims framed the steel-toned stone. 

  Reid flipped through a scrapbook looking binder. A collection of his killings, a story. There was a chapter missing, like he had referenced in his notes before. He wasn't finished, he had only killed Carla now because he had planned to kill her before. His accident had stopped him. It explained the extended depression. His fix wasn't just the killings, it was the perfection behind them. The consistent evasion, the methodology. 

  "Who's in the latest chapter then?" 

  "Sylvia Gooden." 

  Gideon stepped back into the room, he looked down at the image of the woman. "Hotch confirmed Walter left the community center an hour ago. We need Gooden's address." 

  Thankfully, for as much as a memorabilia fanatic he was, he included everything there was about these women. Including addresses. 

  The team was on the new sight as fast as possible, SWAT and Philly PD were right on their heels. It didn't take longer than a handful of seconds for them to be suited up and ready. Gideon confirmed Walter's vehicle was a block down the street. Preparations to go in were moving fast. Max raised his voice so the crowd of people could hear him. 

  "I want him taken in alive." 

  Which as fun as that sentiment was, it wasn't always a good one. They didn't have a clue what state they'd find Kern or Gooden in. Her life may come down to his. And while rotting in prison before his sentence was earned was the best possible outcome, Max needed to grapple with the fact he might not see satisfaction. 

  The blur of guns and combat boots breezed through the main doorway. Clearing each room was impertinent, and so was following the screams they could hear from Sylvia above. Gideon lead, followed by Morgan, Max, and Cass. Gideon trained his gun eye level before pushing open the door. There must have been eight voices, all yelling some different version of the same thing; 'Don't Move.'  

  Morgan detained Kern. He'd purposefully bash his side off of a full length mirror. A feasible accident excuse would work just fine. Cass made out the hand off to Max from behind her. Kern spoke of the former agent like some star crossed lover. She tried not to pay too much attention to it. 

  Currently calloused fingers were preoccupied in removing the plastic from Sylvia's face. She brushed her thumb against the older woman's forehead, checking to make sure the blood that was leaking was also clotting. It had already started to dry, she hadn't been hit too badly. Most likely because she had struggled too much for Kern's liking. 

  "Shh.. shh.. it's okay, you're okay. My name is Cassandra Lorayne, alright Miss Gooden? You're not hurt anywhere else, right?" 

  The blonde woman shook her head. Her body was trembling. She was sweating, her skin was clammy. It was taking her a bit longer to get the words out of her sob choked throat. Cassie didn't rush her. She'd repeat what she had done with the previous victim hours earlier. A gentle seesawing motion of her knife and the flex-cuffs were off.

  "Breathe with me Miss Gooden." 

  She was sitting up now, her shoulders heaving with another heavy cry. Cassie moved from her kneeling position to sit beside her. She pulled the woman closer and sheltered her within her arms. "You're okay, it's over now, you're okay." And she'd repeat those words for as long as she could. As long as it took for them to feel real. 

————————————

   Cassie was still getting accustomed to the whole private jet thing. It felt too classy, even if half the participants aboard had already slipped off their shoes and curled up under a blanket. Sometime she'd have to find wherever that stash of linens was. Though, for now, she was preparing herself for an earful. Gideon was moving from his seat to her end of the plane. He was at least kind enough to ensure the only one listening was Elle. To which Cassie couldn't mind too much, she felt a sort of solidarity in their methods, so hopefully the other brunette wouldn't be too abrasive in the aftermath of her scolding. 

  "You really think he beat her?" 

  "What?" 

  She had always been told to never play poker. Which was a sad comment given she was actually great at the game, just not great at her expressions. She could hold out in situations that called for a stern, unwavering face. But right here, right now, she was too wound up to keep her feelings to herself. Crinkled features gave a pretty good indication that she was absolutely taken aback. 

  "I asked a question Lorayne." 

  "Err, honestly? No. She didn't give away all of the signs, just some. Some is enough to incite a thought, and a thought is enough to be a fear. Even if he hadn't, she had rationalized that he could. Or, would, if she crossed a certain line." 

  "Alright." 

  "Alright?" 

  Gideon turned to sit down, he was done with the conversation. She'd outstretch a hand to say something else, but recoiled and changed her mind. 

  JJ had an open seat across from her, and Cassie would find comfort in the openness that followed.  

  "Have any of you been told about the time that Gideon was tricked into. . ." 

  So, this was her new home. For lack of a better phrase. It would take some time to fit in, and more effort still. Though, Cassie was able to let go of her fear for just a moment. It was the first time that day she had stopped thinking about the past, and hoped for the future. 

 ———————————— 

Date Posted: 04/24/24  

Not Yet Proofread, too lazy :(.

Next Chapter: 05/02/24

#criminal minds #bau team #spencer reid #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #elle greenaway #jj jareau #dr spencer reid #oc #original character #multifandom account #x reader #jason gideon #hannibal lecter

[thesmitski]

My oc and a silence of the lambs reference

#digital artist #silence of the lambs #my ocs #my oc art #my oc stuff #my oc character #ocs #oc art #my characters #original character #hannibal #hannibal lecter #clarice starling #hannibal x clarice #i made this because my oc also has a cannibal husband #i will show his husband later #theyre both bisexual #jack crawford #fanart #digital art #art #artwork #artists on tumblr #my art #art style #illustration #art tag

[bi-bard]

Original Character Playlist!

To all of those who have enjoyed my Hannibal OC,

I invite you to take a listen to the playlist I have made for that very character. I hope you enjoy it!

(also, I am open to suggestions, so if you have any ideas for songs that you think I should add, then send them my way)

#hannibal imagine #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter imagine #hannibal lecter fanfiction #imagine #fanfiction #x reader #original character #playlist

[gemteeth]

"I want some more"

#oc #original character #nbc hannibal #hannibal lecter #danica mcconnelly #oc x canon #gore #blood #okay to reblog #okay to interact #my art

[necroromantics]

🪓 — Canon Facts About Ticci Toby

all of these are directly stated by kastoway himself in deviantart posts/comments, instagram stories, or tobys canon story

I. Toby has a split eyebrow from the car crash

II. He only attended grade school for a short time when we was 12 before being homeschooled due to bullying

III. Kastoway describes Toby's eye colour as "dark brown/black"

IV. Kastoway created Toby as a fan character when he was 12 just for fun. He never expected him to get the attention that he did

V. Toby was stated to be 19 in 2013, which means Toby was born on April 28th, 1994. Today he'll be turning 30 years old

VI. In Toby's age chart, he is shown to be in a straitjacket at 30 years old, and described to "not have much time left on his plate", "any bit of sanity in him is probably gone", and "lives out the rest of his days in a mental asylum and/or gets put down"

VII. He has little to no memory of his life before becoming a proxy

VIII. When he was a toddler, he'd carry around a cow stuffie and put bandaids all over it

IX. Toby was killed by Clockwork, who was possessed by Zalgo, sometime between ages 19-25 (presumably 20-22). Kastoway had vague plans for Toby to "miraculously survive" and live up until around 30 years old, with no contact to the others

X. Toby chews his hands to the point of eating his own flesh, which is why he wears gloves

XI. He is born and raised in Denver, Colorado, USA. He has German ancestry

XII. His theme song is noted to be "I'm Not Alright" by Shinedown

XIII. His personality is described to be, "volatile, friendly at times, sarcastic at times, natural born trouble-maker, mostly up-beat"

XIV. In an older, outdated reference sheet, his friends are listed as "Jeff The Killer, BEN, BOB, Smile Dog, Slenderman, Splendorman, Mr. Widemouth, Ragface, Eyeless Jack", and his rivals are listed as "The Rake, Masky, Enderman, Zalgo"

XV. His mask is a mouth guard, like the one Hannibal Lecter wears

XVI. He is canonically shipped with Clockwork

XVII. Toby has "big ass eyebrows" (Kastoways words himself)

XVIII. Toby doesn't hate Masky, he just acts like an annoying little brother around him because he's jealous that Slender favours him. He's chill around Hoodie, but they don't talk much

XIX. Kastoway was inspired by Marble Hornets to create Ticci Toby

XX. Toby's tics are described as to "uncontrollably crack his neck, twitch around, bend over backwards"

XXI. In his updated appearance (the sketch made by Kastoway in 2014 with the cheek gash), he's described to be in his early 20s. He also said he was thinking of having the cheek gash be caused by the fire, but said that Toby eating through his own cheek was "a really good idea"

XXII. Toby was originally going to be a cannibal before Kastoway put the idea on the back burner, though he says "he'll eat some of the things he kills kind of like Eyeless Jack"

XXIII. He had CIPA, Tourettes, Schizophrenia and PTSD after the car crash

XXIV. His older sisters name is Lyra, his mothers name is Connie, and his father is canonically unnamed (though he's typically called Frank by the fandom, this is not stated by Kastoway)

XXV. He was originally going to be 5'4....... But ended up being made 5'6 (lucky bastard)

Thats all I can think of right now... Happy Birthday Toby

#tombtalk #creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #ticci toby #creepypasta headcanon #ticci toby headcanons #toby rogers #creepypasta ticci toby #ticci toby creepypasta #ticcitoby #ticci toby facts

[badass-queer-couples-battle]

Gay wrongs tournament, round 2.5 of the major bracket

Propaganda:

For Eddie Brock and Venom:

I'm pretty sure its Canon in the comics and like, Canon adjacent in the 2nd movie??? Idk I just watched the first one sooo, anyways, this isn't propaganda i just couldn't remember if you said they needed to be Canon so I put what I rembered about that here, idk I'm proboboly just gonna send the propaganda in the ask box at a later date 

They eat people:) venom is an alien symbiote and Eddie is the host and they have melded together into one being. They care for and protect each other and are so intimately intwined they are only ever separated by force. Also they’re both absolute disasters and they periodically bite and eat the heads off their enemies. 

They eat people <3 

For Will and Hannibal:

Ive previously only heard the term "murder husbands" refer to hannigram so it feels flitting. The whole series culminated with a murder they did together bathing in blood. 

The show and ship that coined murder husbands. It’s in the text in s3 from a journalist side character. They do Many murders either together or as a message to each other. Usually this involves turning the dead body into an art piece. The show ends with them killing a guy together in a slo mo scene backed by porno music.

They're both batshit and manipulative.

ALRIGHT so they're not canonically together but it is HEAVILY implied and they have some sort of fucked up psychosexual obsession with each other. in the later parts of the show they start committing murder and cannibalism together and they're soooo unhinged but it's awesome

kill people for each other. maim each other. kill people together. most batshit insane metaphors. send each other to jail. ruin everyone’s lives. someone can probably say this better than me but these gay people are insane

Literally THE murder husbands. They kill for each other. They've tried to kill each other. They're canon in all but name, like the homoeroticism between these two is the driving force of the show.

one time hannibal folded a guy into an origami human heart

They are in love and they kill and eat people. They are called Murder Husbands in canon.

The original murder husbands (literally, that's not just their ship name, they get called that in canon)

The show begins with Will working for the FBI and trying to catch Hannibal, but because Hannibal is so intrigued by the way Will is able to see the world and the motives behind the killings so easily, it becomes a game of Hannibal isolating Will even more from the people around and seducing him to try and kill. By the time Will starts embracing the side of him that Hannibal sees, he starts oulling back and trying to distance himself so that when the time comes for Will to fully embrace himself and Hannibal, no one really suspects what they have planned. 

hannibal literally does murder as courtship and it works bc will is also a fucked up little guy

I'm actually quite offended they aren't included by default (joke). They are THE murder husbands!!!!!! (mod note: they should have been, but I wanted to see how many submissions they'd get. They got 19, making them a little more than 6% of total submission count).

do i have to say it. they literally get called murder husbands IN THE SHOW

There are 3201 works for Hannibal on ao3 tagged Murder Husbands. They are the ogs, they are the pioneers we owe it all to them.

THEE murder couple. You know it. I know it. They commit crimes at each other as courting and then commit crimes together and then fall off a cliff to wash up somewhere and live on to serve cunt. Get referred to as 'murder husbands' in canon. What more do you need

Hannigram were literally called Murder Husbands in canon, they are the og, they are THE blueprint. They were gay as hell and comitted so much murder so many crimes. THEY RAN OFF TO EUROPE TOGETHER.

#gay wrongs tournament round 2 #venom #hannibal nbc #hannibal #symbrock #hanningram #eddie brock #venom symbiote #hannibal lecter #will graham

[vixnovacoda]

Doctor's Medicine || Chapter 9

Hannibal Lecter x Original Character

Word Count: ~3.1k

CW/TW: NSFW 18+, graphic, disturbing content, dissociation, canon-typical violence.

[Chapter 1][Chapter 2][Chapter 3][Chapter 4][Chapter 5][Chapter 6][Chapter 7][Chapter 8]

[ao3 version here]

When I was young, my mother was hungry and sick. Sick and hungry. Hungry and sick. It never got better, only worse. Worse, and worse, and worse.

   “Emma!” she called out to me one day with a reckoning stuck in her throat. I knew then I had done something wrong. Waiting, she stood in the dining room, her once golden hair and clothes a mess – those days she barely bothered. A tiny shoebox sat in front of her atop the table, the top discarded. My feet refused to move closer while a sour smell cut the air, like a mellow death waiting by the corner, ready for the finishing blow. She reached and pulled out the twitching, spasming, struggling creature out, forcing me to look, look at what I’d done.

   Mother had found her , our mockingbird. She had fallen ill a few days prior, attacked in the process before I discovered her and since then, I hid her away, so they couldn’t take her away from me and leave her to the horrid fate of death where I’d lose her. Selfish and afraid, I wouldn’t let them. But that didn’t matter anymore. My mother tut-tutted, displeased. “I thought I raised you better.” I went to speak, but she raised a hand; it wasn’t my turn. “Seems as if I will simply have to teach you another lesson,” she said as her grip tightened around the poor thing's neck that was no smaller than her wrist. Whatever strength it had, it tried to flap, it tried to cry only for it to be of no use, and I stood, and I watched how her beautiful grey feathers shone slick with sick and blood under the sunlight next to the diluted gold my mother wore when both hands wrenched, hard. 

   SNAP .

   Stillness fell.

   Young as I was, I took it all in as the large painting behind my mother framed her in a new light. She stood in a perfect mimicry of the red robed woman, a bird instead of a heart and dagger, and what was horrid made all the more sense when she spoke, “we must end our loved one’s suffering. Mercy is the greatest act of devotion we can bestow.” And her red hand stained my shoulder as all I could do was stare. Stare because the horror was beautiful; death and mercy was beautiful.

   They told me her illness was hereditary. A big word for a little child, but I understood well enough from their wide stares. They were worried it passed onto me. The way I made the bird suffer, the way she killed it without hesitation. In a way, I guess it did. Being sick made my mother ravenous, and she made me starving, the thing left seeping between cracks. An ache that sat in my stomach, begging to be sated; for love; for mercy .

   … Love.

   Mercy.

   Love.

   Mercy.

   Mercy.

   Mercy.

   Mercy—

———

“—Emma?” the gruff awkwardness of Will’s voice broke through the painful silence where everything felt… cold and loud and bright. Flashing red and blue lights struck her face instead of the sunlight cradling her in their rays. Gone was the day from years prior, now there was the present night people called reality, and she sat outside, damp steps beneath heeled feet not the marble flooring of indoors. She had done it again.

   “I’m alright,” managed Emma, but if she focused, she could feel the lapping mists curling around her form as they laid in wait after their forced departure left her sweating. The lie was so visible, yet it did not stop him from taking the spot next to her. If he was scared, then it didn’t show, and she wished she knew why.

   “That painting, you stared at it for a while like it was a piece of the night sky or stained glass when we found the two of you before Hannibal guided you away at Jack’s behest,” he said as if it was his condolences or an offering for the gap widening in her sense of time because if there was anyone who could understand, it was him. Perhaps her lapses were more noticeable than she originally believed.

   She released a deep breath, hand pushing red hair strands back before holding her head and the sickening realisation came to the surface. Alex’s body and Emma’s thoughts. A sacrifice and a realisation. Unlike Alex’s tacked on skin, Emma’s mind threatened to burst at the seams in a way that made the smallest sliver of normal bring up bile in her throat. Whatever she thought, whatever happened, it did not change the undeniable fact that her only friend in this life was well and truly dead, not missing. That hope was gone forever.

   Will remained static in his spot, staying when he didn’t need to for no reason she could fathom except guilt, just as he did back at Alex’s home. A guilt that bound him to her. A guilt he could barely bear. But, the idle waiting, he still had no idea what to say or what was ‘the right’ thing to say, and she didn’t want to go back into the silence. Someone had to talk about something, so Emma picked the first and last thing that had come to her. “Mercy,” she mumbled. “She was suffering, and he put her out of it.”

   “Mercy?” he asked with the look of a man who wanted to argue, jaw tightened, but thought the better of it, biting back his tongue.

   “At least, that’s what I saw. I only hope he made it quick and painless.” She, too, bit her tongue so the other weird and insane thoughts did not slip out. Did he hold her gently, whispering in her ear when he made the first cut, or did he blind her before swiftly stabbing the heart in one clean move, leaving her unaware of the death rattle that ravaged her body? Was it a kind beauty or cruel like her favourite mockingbird?

   “Well, it wasn’t his intention.” The noise of the world silenced itself to a ringing tone. “He wanted to ensure her suffering. To him, she was a betrayer – your betrayer – and the act she committed needed to be punished in a way fitting her crime. A public humiliation wrapped inside an apology.”

   Emma peeked her head out from the depths of her drowning, swirling mind. “Art is subjective, it has many perspectives depending on who is looking at it. My mother taught me that, then Alex reminded me during our falling out. Some see the woman stabbing the heart and only that. They think she’s a traitor to her love. Then there’s others who notice the beast’s heart is cursed and interpret her act as mercy. Growing up, I just thought it was beautiful.”

   Taking in her response, Will fell insufferably silent, thumbs fidgeting; analysing, contemplating. Something else laid underneath his surface.

   He had seen more than he let on. “What did you see, Will?” Emma enquired as she turned towards him with a need to know, a right to know. But why not tell her? Perhaps he did it to save her or because she was beyond saving and the whole truth could ruin her like it always did to people like them.

   She followed his gaze towards the pairing of unlikely people, Hannibal and Marcus, observing the two’s discussion near police tape. “Admiration. The art of a master seeking admiration from his god,” answered Will as the words rattled behind the white prison bars that were his teeth, unsettled; a trace of the Ghost Writer, she presumed.

   Watching the psychiatrist and literary agent, Emma couldn’t help thinking about sacrifices with what Will saw sinking in like she could predict what each would say to the situation. God can be a fickle being, requiring certain conditions to be met before one may turn his eye. When the Ancient Greeks wanted the favour of the gods, they were expected to present a sacrifice, the slaughtering of a lamb, perhaps. But there must be blood, for God is bloodthirsty , would be Hannibal Lecter’s response. Humans are God’s mirror. They sacrifice what they might be to become worthy of his image, as you and I both must do , would be Marcus’ response. Different, but yet the point is the same. Sacrifices were how the devout got a god’s attention, akin to a beggar begging passersby for something small that could change their lives, and this serial killer wanted just that.

   He was a worshipper creating art, and he had proved he’d do anything for that small glance. But if what worshippers make represent their gods, then was this what she really was? All the bloodshed and gore, the brutality and murder, the horror and cruelty? “Are we the monsters?” Emma asked her sheepish, brown-haired reflection, Will, who must have seen who she hid inside her mind because monsters do not know they are monsters until someone tells them, destroying the cage.

   Apprehension seized Will the second he looked at her, each blink rapid. “I… don’t know.” Another omittance. There they sat like ravens atop the boney white ribcage of a carcass, consuming in small bites, the dead filling their stomachs while everyone else watched and manoeuvred around or shooed them aside when their pecks finished cleaning the body clean. He didn’t want to admit it and neither did she. It was easier to pretend; to live in the fantasy of a normal world – hers was falling apart though. The smell of stale death too hard to ignore, and the dream of being beside Alex long lost.

   She was gone. Gone because of a betrayal.

   Gone for the wrong reason.

   Suddenly, what had been beautiful became twisted and wrong. The bile in the back of her throat burned. Filled with a new anger inside clenched fists, Emma rose. “If it was betrayal. If it was done out of malice. Then, ending her suffering wasn’t for him to bestow. He didn’t love her,” came her revelation. It should have been me , was the truth she wanted to admit that seeped in the back of her mind because if it had come down to it, it should have been her mercy; her love.

   A surge of heat ran a course through her body, skin tingling as her face reddened, breath quickening and her hands pulled the warmth that straddled her shoulders closer, keeping herself from shivering against the pricking cold. Full of newfound hate, she didn’t realise it until then, when she bunched woollen cloth in her palms, that this warmth protecting her was a men’s coat, like the one Hannibal had previously given to shelter her from the world all those nights prior. He must have done it again upon noticing her dissociative state. How thoughtful. Emma sighed, loosening her grip, attempting to ground herself as he might have reminded her. Normal. Normal, normal. Be normal . She doesn’t face Will anymore, she cannot bear to see how he saw her get too emotional and almost slip again.

   Except, wafting up her nose came a sharp musk, intrusive and singeing. Remnants of an aftershave buried into the fibres of the coat. It wasn’t Hannibal’s. No. There was no mistaking Marcus’ cheap, irritating fragrance, the kind one would get from a department store during a sale when they’re trying to convince everyone near them that they now had money (which wasn’t technically incorrect, only it wasn’t his to spend). His was the kind that lingered like mildew, while Hannibal’s was sophisticated, refined; a cedar fragrance that likely came hand-picked from a lavish store with gold signage in the heart of Florence, and looking at the pair, Marcus was the only one without a coat to hide his true messed-up self. The black coat that enveloped her body snuggly was truly his. Her heart filled with rocks. Of course it wasn’t Hannibal’s, however, for the briefest moment some part of her had hoped it was his instead. It would have been more comforting. But that was a delusional thought.

   “Are… Are you okay?” consulted Will, brokering the silence.

   “That’s a loaded question. Are you okay?”

   He avoided her burning gaze, wordless. There was her answer. 

   No , they were not okay.

   But neither sought to leave, not yet. Emma wanted nothing more than to work away the night, and she suspected Agent Crawford wasn’t going to let Will go home for some time until they made a breakthrough in the case. A punishment for not being insane enough to catch a murderer whose numbers are piling up. “So, which book is it this time?” He brought himself to question aloud. A question she had left ignored, forgotten, overlooked.

   “Have you read this one yet?” said Price in passing, moving past.

   Thomas Fowl trailed behind. “This one? I haven’t read it, haven’t heard of it, in fact.”

   Because it didn’t exist.

   Because she stopped writing it.

   “Hey, guys! You’re going to want to see this,” shouted Beverly from inside the abandoned gala. The boys hurried and Emma, desperate for a peek, ran after and there, with art removed from its frame, flesh unbound, crouched Beverly holding bundles of paper, a manuscript with La Belle Mort ’s finale title clear as day, clearer than Alex’s beady gaze on her. Confirmation sent Emma reeling. The red ink, notes in the margin. “Alex’s original copy. I thought…” muttered her quietly. I thought she threw it out . She should have. She had convinced Emma to stop writing it in the first place, and now here she was, depicted in the same manner as her firstborn’s murder. Then again, it had been some of her best work yet.

   Emma covered her mouth, collapsing onto her knees. She felt herself unravelling, bursting at the seams of what she created, her facade(?). If the monster inside her was a separate beast from her, she could no longer tell. Maybe it didn't matter. But it did. A monster is a monster, they hurt people and enjoy it. If people knew then they'd rid themselves of her filth. No . She wasn't like that. She couldn’t. No. No. No. No. No .

   No .

   She just wanted to live a normal life where someone didn’t look at her weirdly and the world never bothered her. Why was that so hard? Maybe if she closed her eyes real tight and took a deep breath—

Running footsteps. A name called. “Emma!”. “Claire!”.

   Claire.

   Claire. Emma stood, turning to the police tape at her back as reality melded with distant memory, parquet flooring being replaced by marble and pillars, and there was Alex, hair and clothes half-done, blood painting her cheeks, cavity in chest where white bone opened up to an empty bleeding burgundy spot and crying out for her first born while pushing past the line that stopped the public. She knows this isn’t real. This isn’t what happened, but this is all that is left of her friend in every memory. Her dead body scratching over every version like taking a needle to proofed polaroids, like how people do to those who’ve hurt them. It not being real doesn’t stop Emma from following the memory’s course when a loud sob cut through forensic camera flashes and note-taking as Alex crumbled herself up, unable to look away from the murder hung on the wall and disguised as art. Next, Emma tugged and pulled and twisted her around, switching their positions, so she was the one looking, not her. She shouldn’t have to see her dead flesh and blood. She shouldn’t have to see her own dead body. The ruby gem the living called a heart thrummed on the canvas with a living pulse against the dagger pressed to its tissue folds. Face stretched in all directions and eyes bulging.

   “Don’t look, don’t. Just breathe . Deep breaths ,” she reassured.

   Beady black pupils stared her down. They twitched. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. Lips of plump red moved on their own accord, compelling her to stay, to look even when it tore her apart to do so. “This is all your fault.” She heard. “I shouldn’t have come back.” A wetness formed against her shoulder as Emma’s own tears fell with each second she stared at the piece of art . Alex sobbed relentlessly, her husband on the other side of the tape, their daughter kept out of reach. It was just them, Emma and Alex. For an eternity it was just them.

   Nothing else. The scene changed to reflect that cold darkness.

   “Why that case?” was whispered into her ear, moving in sync with the painting and louder than any echo inside their world that collapsed into an abyss. A shiver took over her body as it became rigid and frozen solid. “How could you?” said Alex’s disembodied voice on repeat over and over like the ringing of a phone.

   Ring. Ring. Ring. An endless ringing crawled and rattled her brain. 

   Ring. She knew this wasn’t real. Ring. It couldn’t. Ring. It wasn’t. Ring. It wasn’t. Ring. It wasn’t? Ring. She couldn’t tell; she couldn’t stop hearing it, that noise, that phone. Then. Ring. Emma thrashed. Ring. and tore. Ring. Blood stuck under her nails. Ring. She wanted it to stop. Ring. for Alex to stop. Ring. So she could end her pain. Ring. Anything for her friend betrayer. Ring. Tears and sweat mixed with the gathering blood. Arms grabbed onto hers. Rin—

Red. A distant light refracted the faintest of red in pinpoints from inside the brown irises that pierced right through her soul as Emma blinked. The gloominess of the room sunk in while the fluorescent hallway lights flickered out the corner of her eye. Gone was the abyss, here was what should have been the harsh reality that another gap in time had formed but, cedar hung in the air with a shaven face before hers. “Dr. Lecter?” said Emma, pushing the words from a searing throat, and reality no longer felt all too bad because she knew she was safe .

   Although, for a moment she could have sworn that the browns of his eyes appeared as black as the devil’s night, his firm grip more claw than human, like a cat playing with its beaten-up food by holding it down by the tail when, instead, it could easily go for the killing blow than prolong the torture, claws digging at the heart in one lunge. But it was brief. So brief she must have just been seeing things.

   That wasn’t real.

   This was. Him here, now, here to help.

   Not a monster. He could never be, not to her. Monsters don’t help monsters, they destroy them.

#hannibal #fanfiction #fanfic #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter #hannibal fanfic #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal lecter fanfiction #nbc hannibal #hannibal x oc #hannibal x original character

[cedarxwing]

Faust allusions in Hannibal

"I believe that Hannibal Lecter is as close as you can come to the devil, to Satan. He's the fallen angel. His motives are not banal reasons, like childhood abuse or junkie parents. It's in his genes. He finds life is most beautiful on the threshold to death, and that is something that is much closer to the fallen angel than it is to a psychopath." - Mads Mikkelsen on Hannibal as the Devil

I'm not a Faust expert or anything, but I've been balls deep in Wikipedia for the last week and here are my findings:

Super Short Summary of Faust:

Faust is an old scholar dissatisfied with life. One day Mephistopheles (the Devil) shows up and offers him a deal including unlimited knowledge and worldly pleasures. The particulars of the deal vary by version:

Original Faustbuch: Mephisto offers 24 years of service, and then Faust must serve him forever in hell.

Goethe: Mephisto will serve Faust until he experiences a moment of perfect satisfaction, after which he'll be dragged to hell. (Mephisto also makes a secondary bet with God that he can tempt Faust away from righteousness and into damnation.)

Gounod's opera: Mephisto turns Faust young again and wins him the beautiful Marguerite's heart. He also offers knowledge and power, but the story is more about Marguerite.

In most versions, Faust is damned to Hell at the end. In Goethe's version, Faust finds his moment of perfect satisfaction, but Mephisto doesn't succeed in tempting Faust into sin, so Faust ends up going to Heaven.

Explicit References

I won't list all the times the script refers to Hannibal as the Devil, but they're fun to look for. :)

The first explicit reference to Faust is in Sorbet (1x07), when Gounod's Le veau d'or plays while Hannibal gathers meat for his dinner party. This aria is Mephisto's manifesto on human nature:

"The calf of gold is the victor over the gods! In its derisory (absurde) glory, The abject monster insults heaven! It contemplates, oh weird frenzy! At his feet the human race, Hurling itself about, iron in hand, In blood and in the mire, Where gleams the burning metal, And satan leads the dance"

People are slaves to greed and easily tempted away from their morals--a nice description of Hannibal's perspective on humanity and his favorite pastime. I also like the implication that the rude people in his Rolodex are damned souls that he's come to reap.

This is a quote from Hannibal Rising when Hannibal watches Faust at the Opera Garnier with Lady Murasaki and the Paris Police Commissioner (which, wow, this chapter is practically Phantom of the Opera fanfiction). It's funny, because at that point in the novel, Hannibal is more Faust than Mephisto, so he's contemptuous of himself. Later, once he's undergone some, ahem, character development, the book quotes Goethe:

"I'd yield myself to the Devil instantly, Did it not happen that myself am he!"

This is probably the origin of the "Hannibal is the Devil" interpretation.

Also, I just want to point out that it's not particularly unique to be contemptuous of Gounod's Faust. He's a skeevy old man who fucks up his own life and everyone else's out of boredom, which is very human and relatable, but not very likable! We're all Fausts who are contemptuous of Faust, just like we're all rooting for Hannibal and contemptuous of Chilton.

Another quote from Goethe. Faust says this line while complaining that he has to choose between a simple/familiar/earthly life and a life unbound by earthly limitations (x). The double meaning of this line perfectly sums up Dolarhyde's predicament. He gave up a normal life to experience something otherworldly, and now he's fighting against the Red Dragon to save Reba.

This line also summarizes the temptation Hannibal dangles in front of Will. "Don't you crave change, Will?" A moment of perfect satisfaction, after which his soul will forever belong to Hannibal. This moment comes to pass when they kill Dolarhyde and go off the cliff, a metaphorical fall from Heaven (better explained here: x).

Not to get too lost in the weeds, but I would argue that killing Dolarhyde wasn't really a sin (maybe it was a sin to let those prison guards die, but killing Dolarhyde was self-defense and he was a serial killer for Pete's sake), so Hannibal lost his bet with God (Jack), and Will (Faust) is going to heaven after all, just like in Goethe's version. Maybe this idea would've been explored in Season 4, who knows.

Faustian Bargains

Once you strike a bargain with Hannibal, your soul belongs to him, and he can collect it at any time. The whole show is a series of people falling for this trap (except for Will, to Hannibal's never-ending frustration).

Some characters go to Hannibal seeking "otherworldly knowledge" while others are motivated by material greed. Gideon wants to know the Ripper and pays the price. Chilton and Sutcliffe commiserate with Hannibal in their medical malpractice and are punished accordingly. In Digestivo, Alana/Margot accept Hannibal's offer to take the fall for Mason's murder (and also get Mason's sperm) so they can inherit the Verger fortune.

The Faustian bargain motif is most apparent in Season 3, when Hannibal starts making characters explicitly ask for his help:

And, of course, the bargain Hannibal waited three seasons to strike:

Bedelia is the purest manifestation of this. She makes not one but two deals with Hannibal. The first was to help her get away with murder. The second was to take her "behind the veil" in Florence, where she acquires otherworldly knowledge and experiences. This is framed as "lucid greed" on her part, and maybe not just greed for knowledge, depending on how much she made off her lectures about being Lydia Fell! Hannibal spends Season 3a trying to get her to "participate" and makes some headway before his plans are derailed. She gets her come-uppance in the post-credits scene.

Finally, the most heartbreaking deal Hannibal makes:

Abigail's soul belongs to Hannibal as soon as she accepts this offer. In Mizumono, she willingly goes to her fate. :(

(Again, I'm not an expert, so if I got anything wrong please correct me!!)

#hannibal #nbc hannibal #hannibal meta #faust #bedelia du maurier #alana bloom #will graham #abel gideon #frederick chilton #margot verger #francis dolarhyde #cedar writes

[jamneuromain]

Until the Next Time

Hannibal Lecter x Original Female Character (Esther)

Warning: Inappropriate Behavior, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Therapy Session, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, degradation kink if you squint, MINORS DNI

Word count: ~1.7k

Summary: Hannibal was meeting with his personal psychiatrist to try his personal therapy.

“How are you feeling compared to the last time?” She asked casually while observing her patient with great attentiveness. It was not that a question this plain would randomly occur during her counseling session. It was the other way around. She would ask almost everyone this question, but the reaction she got from him was far more valuable and intriguing than the rest. For she rarely got any. In this particular case, she was maybe just a bit disappointed. He always said he was good. Or better off the next time. Or both.

“I am good.” He chose his words very carefully, his face remaining plain and calm, the same face as he came in and sat down comfy in the chair five minutes ago. He wanted to leave an impression that he was still humane. Or still got a bit of humanity inside, at the very least. Hannibal was not certain whether he could trick her into thinking so, but as expertise, as he was, he could not tell from her face. He despised the way the Bureau required a mandatory psychiatrist intervention after a certain period. The same goes for him, being a psychiatrist himself. However, he must admit that he was satisfied with her. Never providing a single leak to the Bureau, for one, and on the other hand, pleasant to the eyes. He smiled to himself slightly.

So nothing about the next time, huh? This was somewhat new. And the smile. That smile. The smile came from the bottom of his heart. Esther adjusted her legs so that she could lean forward. “Would you mind telling me what is on your mind right now?” 

“You.” She was a good one, and it was no use lying to her. Hannibal admitted quite frankly.

Esther blushed a little and pressed her legs tightly together. Her mind drifted to the previous sessions where they tried out a new experimental therapy, which she’d like to call “the Lector therapy”. She cleared her throat, trying to ignore the warmth growing within her core, “I presume the previous sessions were indeed stress-relieving?”

“Very.” His answer was curt. And he always spoke this way as if every word that came out of his mouth would shred his lips thinner, which they already were. Esther couldn’t help but remember how they felt on her lips, on her breasts, and her thighs. She felt his thin lips were more powerful than full-lip partners she had before. His lips were exceptional at sucking, nibbling, and open-mouthed kisses. She could not recall what his lips weren’t good at. The warmth down below just turned into heat, making her sweat.

She could not wait a minute more. Since she didn’t acquire any information useful, she might as well continue “the Lector therapy” with him. It was unprofessional, she knew. But she couldn’t help it.

He pursed his lips, “Why not?” More often than not his questions would come out posing as a sentence rather than with a question mark at the very end. Today he was behaving abnormally. He stood up from the chair, and habitually buttoned his tailored dark blue suit jacket.

It was the midth of August, searing hot on the outside and there he was, still wearing his tailored suit buttoned all up to the cuff links.

Not anymore. She thought. Watching him as he popped his buttons off one by one. Pop. Pop. Pop. Off came his suit jacket and his vest.

Esther gulped with expectation. She had touched him way too many times to know what a beautiful body hid behind those layers of clothing. She pulled down her knee-length dress quickly. A bit too quickly she might add. Leaving only bra and pantie.

Hannibal didn’t dwell long before he pulled her in for a heated kiss. Tongues and lips smashed together. He tasted like smoked wood and whiskey, though she was sure he wouldn’t drink before a session. Hands roamed her body as always, he knew her far too well.

“Please please please.” The spark in her abdomen blew into a fire, raging over her body as he laid his hands on her. She didn’t know what she was begging for, but she knew for absolute sure who she was begging.

“You are wet.” He put it simply, fingers dancing at her clothed entrance. Still no expression of the sheer delight or disappointment, she thought.

“Soaked.” Only a fracture of seconds without his lips and she felt like fish out of the water. Dying. She needed him. She needed everything he was about to give her. Not offer. But give. Esther latched her mouth upon his jawline. The light stubble he kept on his chin created a delicious fraction and pain mixture that she couldn’t get enough of. Taller than her, he would have to lower his head to kiss her on the lips, which he was currently depriving her of.

His hum was either approval or something else, she couldn’t tell. It sent shivers down her spine and left her imagination with the feeling of his lips connecting to her body with that vibration. God, she needed him more than she could imagine. She needed him so bad. So fucking bad.

She ripped his belt buckle. It came off with a metal clink. He tsked: “Getting impatient, are we?” Hannibal printed a trail of kisses down her column of the throat. He sucked bruises that were sure to remain for three days or more. But she couldn’t care less. He could rip her throat out for all she cared.

His fingers dipped into her entrance gently, pushing in one knuckle each. She gasped. They had not fucked for two weeks and she was having a dry spell since then. It was not that she was saving herself for him. They both knew they were having fun. That was all. It was just that she was insatiable when she met another guy after the first session with Hannibal. And yes, they fucked the very first time they should have been counseling. Back to that random guy, he was unable to touch her like Hannibal did, let alone help her reach her orgasm. From then on, fucking other guys had been bland, meaningless, and time-consuming.

Hannibal. Speaking of Hannibal, he was opening her up. Moist gathered at his fingertips, and he drew his fingers all of a sudden. “Wha-” Esther was confused. He pushed his fingers into her mouth, “Taste yourself”, as he dipped them in some homemade sauce, casually asking her to have a taste. His fingers intruded her mouth, nearly pressing her tongue that she would gag. But Hannibal knew her limits, only stuffed her mouth half full. Her drool smeared his fingers and her chin, making a total mess. He was expecting a mess much worse. But he would get there, with time.

Hannibal grabbed her arms, forcing her to land on the therapy bed on her elbows. He manhandled her to a kneeling position, unclasping her bra, and removed her pantie in one swift motion. He stood behind her, and the next thing she knew, his thick girth pushed in. She moaned in relief, at which he delivered another hum. She was stuffed full to the brim.

It was amazing how sex connects two people, fairly strangers more or less to one another, body and soul. It was in these tiny moments that she could get a glimpse of the man behind all his facades. He was commanding, for starters. Very commanding. She had done a bit of thinking while he dragged out lazily. The thoughts quickly vanished when he thrust again, the tip almost reaching her cervix. Bodies smashing, wet squelching noises growing louder at where he ends and where she began. He held her by the love handle, namely her waist, and pulled her to crash onto him. Hitting deeper. Harder. Sure to bruise tomorrow, if not hours later.

“Such a wonderful cock slut for me... no?” He panted slightly, emphasizing the degrading word, “Needy and wanting.” He paused for a few seconds, only to lower his upper body to whisper and nib her earlobe, “Tell me, do you want me to fill you up? Make you cock drunk? Cum in you so much that you will be seeing the next appointment with it dripping out of your cunt?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what? You’ve got to say the magic word, my darling.” He used one of the most lovable words and still grinned like a devil without horns or darkened hands. They both knew this wasn’t pretending, only a method to reach his satisfaction. And he hated it when things got out of hand.

“Yes please.” She breathed. Gasped for air. Since he hadn’t been giving her a chance to breathe with his hard thrusts. They knocked her out of breath every damn time. Every. Damn. Time.

He sounded annoyed: “Thought the next appointment was only twenty minutes away. Better keep up, darling.” Is she the one not keeping up? Her fogged brain didn’t know anymore.

“Poor thing. ”He sighed, gripping her tighter, “and I have to help you with it.” He reached down to rub circles on her clit. Esther clenched her core, and came with a silent cry, mouth gaping as she was screaming. She saw the white in front of her eyes, limbs soft and fuzzy.

Hannibal was pumping his cum into her. It did drip out of her core.

“I’d say today was very successful.” He cleaned himself with a tissue, tidying up in no time. His voice was only a tad gravel, hard to notice if not paying attention.

“Yes.” She mumbled, kindly taking her undergarments from his hands. Esther clapped her bra and went for a tissue as well. A few minutes after, she only looked flushed. Lips red. Pupils dilated. Everything looked perfectly normal. She could tell her next appointment that she had just run a marathon. Perfectly normal for a psychiatrist to run a marathon, no?

He buttoned his cuff links, pressing a chaste quick kiss on her cheek. “Until the next time, darling.”

Esther held her expression and bid a farewell.

She would be having another dry spell “until the next time” for sure.

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x original female character #hannibal lecter smut #mads mikkelsen #until the next time #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal lecter - freeform

[breakingbranchesbella]

Self-Indulgence: The Way To An Aching Heart

Chapter 2 Teaser Post

Author’s note: I started two jobs this week and honestly didn’t have the motivation to finish the chapter at the time I set for myself </3. It’s about 1/3 of the way done :(. Not that I’ve accumulated any sort of following that cares, but take this as a token of apologies and expect the chapter to be out Saturday or Sunday. Not proofread

She couldn't look at them for too long. She stepped around the table and moved towards the chair. She slumped down on it, her elbow rubbed against fabric that was ripping. It would last a few more months before her aimless movements had completely destroyed it. That was a problem for later. Right now she just wanted to—

Beep.

Do nothing.

Beep.

The same three numbers had been messaging her all day. Two of them had contact names, the third didn't. Booth, González, and an 800 number. She still wouldn't respond.

———————————————

Reid, Gideon, and Elle were crowded around the few seats that were accompanied by a table instead of just open leg room. They chattered amongst themselves, sometimes about the case, sometimes not. Hotch chose to sit across from her. The single section seat wasn't pointed towards her, but he'd turn to face her anyways.

"How long has it been?"

  Cassie opened her mouth to speak, then closed it as she thought more intensely. She'd bit her bottom lip, thinking about events that happened before and after, creating a timeline of the good and bad to pinpoint an actual date. "Two... no. Yes, two years?"

  "Two sounds about right."

  "You haven't changed."

  "You have."

  She looked to the side, towards the three still talking. JJ and Morgan were asleep. "Is that a bad thing?" Her gaze still lingered on the back of Reid's head. He was going on a tangent now. Elle was fact-checking him. She knew he was going to be right either way.

  "I think it is."

  "I hope you're right."

  Cassie leaned back, slowly peeling her head away and looking towards Hotch. His expression sympathetic. She'd curl inward instinctively, kicking off her shoes and pulling her knees as close as she could get to her chest. She knew what was coming next.

  "Don't be."

  Aaron cocked his head.

  "What?"

  "Sorry. Don't be sorry. Please."

  "Alright. Then I'm not."

  "It happens."

  His chest would rise and fall with slow, calm breaths. "It happens?"

  "It's the line of work we chose. If it didn't happen then, it was likely to happen another time. That's life."

  "You're right."

  "I know."

  "Good talk Lorayne."

  Any harder now and she'd puncture the soft flesh of her mouth.

  "I'm sorry. I appreciate it, I do, but I just don't want to hear it anymore."

  "I'm not mad."

  "I don't care if you are, I'm just explaining myself."

  "We don't have to keep talking about it."

  "Please."

  She tiptoed around the edge of desperation. Narrowly missing the tone that threatened to tug at her voice. It was time to work, not think about what had and what could have been.

#criminal minds #derek morgan #dr spencer reid #jason gideon #spencer reid #x reader #aaron hotchner #bau team #elle greenaway #hannibal lecter #seeley booth #oc #original character #will graham #jennifer jareau #multifandom account #bones tv #hannibal

[themirrordemon]

Writer James Wong and director David Nutter talking about X-files s01 e13 "Beyond the sea"

Cinefantastique #26 - 1995

“Dana, open yourself up to extreme possibilities only when they’re the truth.”

—Mulder

Beyond the Sea

Gillian Anderson and Scully come into their own in this first-rate script by Glen Morgan and James Wong. Scully’s personal and professional lives collide when, shortly after her father's death, she and Mulder interrogate a psychic death row convict named Boggs (Brad Dourif) who may hold the key to finding a serial killer and his latest victims. In a fascinating twist, Mulder for once is the skeptic, and Scully the unwilling believer, when Boggs claims he can locate the killer—his former partner—as well as give Scully some final words from her father. Director David Nutter drew scorching performances from Dourif. and a deeply moving one from Anderson, whose Scully tries mightily to repress both her grief and her belief, and his orchestration of the prison confrontations is masterful. The sholwhere the door closes behind Anderson, leaving Dourif centered perfectly in a narrow windowframe is quite unforgettable. The teaser is a study in how to communicate family tensions and emotions not spelled out in dialogue. Don Davis and Sheila Larkcn as William and Margaret Scully make an indelible impression.

“Beyond the Sea” originated from a number of sources, one of which, said James Wong, was “a book Glen had read which said that 75 percent of widows within three months have a vision of their husband, and 35 percent of mothers see their sons.” And comments from fans that Scully needed humanizing played their part. “Gillian needed a show to show off her talents,” Wong said. Added Morgan, "It was time to grow Scully’s character, because she was doing the same kind of thing too often.”

The character of Boggs grew out of Morgan’s desire to “do a psychic thing. And you start thinking, well, this guy’s got to have something at stake. Capital punishment was one thing I always wanted to write about.” The network executives were not high on the idea of a Scully/Boggs faceoff, and Chris Carter had to back the idea twice before the they gave the go-ahead. “They said it was too much like SILENCE OF THE LAMBS,” said Morgan, “so in order to not do Hannibal Lecter, this kind of cool intellectual, we had this manic high-strung cracker. I was directly trying not to write Hannibal Lecter.”

Noted director David Nutter, "Brad Dourif came in, and my job there was to create a setting where he could be what he really wanted to be. I would just tweak this and that, but basically I let him have the stage. In a sense, it was a static episode and it was important to let his performance be the moving element. I was also very happy with the work that Gillian and I did together. I thought she really proved herself to be quite a talented actress.”

Religious symbolism is a guiding clement in “Beyond the Sea.” The teaser opens on a Christmas tree angel and the statue of an angel also provides an important clue to locating the serial killer. Mulder's lack of faith in Boggs results in his being shot near a wooden “white cross” which Boggs had warned him about, a contrast to Scully’s evading death when she avoids a painting of a blue devil about which she had received a similar warning. “Scully has that Catholic background,” said Morgan. "I’m not a very organized religious person, but we got a lot of letters from people saying, ‘I need to see my religion portrayed positively.’ So you try to have somebody who was raised with that faith.”

The tattoos on Boggs’ hands which read “kiss” and “kill” are reminiscent of Robert Mitchum’s “love” and “hate” tattoos in NIGHT OF THE HUNTER, but Morgan said that although Mitchum was in the back of his mind, the words themselves came from a song by the band X. “There’s a lyric which says, ‘It’s kiss or kill.’ I was trying to think of something other than love or hate and I thought that was kind of neat.”

#brad dourif #interview #magazine scan #x-files #beyond the sea #luther lee boggs #james wong #david nutter

[tyrantonutx]

Looking for RP Partner(s)!

Hey, hi, how's it goin'?

I'm Tyrant, 30+ s/they, and this is a Take Two attempt at finding like-minded folx, so if you happen to see a similar looking post floating around (unlikely but possible), I am in fact one and the same Tyrant, I'm just too damn impatient to wait on tumblr to fix my original blog.

ANYWAY.

I'm hoping to find some partner(s) interested in Discord RP, because I am in fact a tumblr Baby (despite the original blog being...several years old...) and the formatting on tumblr rp blogs makes me Nervous.

I've been roleplaying in various capacities on forums, discord, and chat (throwback to AOL Instant Messenger amirite?) for approximately two decades and some change. I tend to write in a casual cadence as one might suspect, and I like to adapt my replies to the thread (anywhere from several sentences to a few paragraphs is my norm). I generally prefer CANON x CANON ships, at least starting out, to get a feel for how we come at characterization and plot together before we dip into OC territory. I'm involved in a few fandoms that may in fact be wastelands but, hey, you miss every shot you don't take, so here I am!

What follows is a list of fandos, characters, and ships I'm ACTIVELY looking for, the things that make my brain buzz in all the good ways. I'm down for hearing out any plots you might have in your lovely beating hearts (or shriveled little black ones, no judgment here!) or working out plots together based on all the good things that come from two rambling fans throwing head canons and "OK BUT WHAT IF"s at each other til something sticks.

If any of these strike you as fun, or if you just think I'm gosh darn neat and wanna chat me up for the thrills, please like this post, message me here on tumblr, or send me a friend request on discord (@tyrantonut)! I'm shy af and terrible at reaching out first, thank you hereditary anxiety and Burnt Out Gifted Kid syndrome, so sometimes I need that lil nudge.

...right! The fandoms! (Please note that while I have listed characters for me vs. for you, I'm actually pretty flexible on these! I just think I write some sides better than others.)

FANDOMS

The Boys (AU preferred)

Butchie -- Billy Butcher x Hughie Campbell

Stephen King's It (Muschietti AU preferred)

Reddie -- Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak

Stranger Things (Aged up AU preferred)

Byler -- Mike Wheeler x Will Byers

Harringrove -- Billy Hargrove x Steve Harrington

Steddie -- Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson

Hannibal (NBC)

Hannigram -- Hannibal Lecter x Will Graham

Spider-Man (Comics & Movieverse)

Spideypool -- Wade Wilson x Peter Parker (Andrew Garfield)

Spiderprowl -- Aaron Davis x Peter B. Parker

Mysterio/Spiderman -- Quentin Beck x Peter Parker (Tom Holland, preferably aged up)

Hazbin Hotel / Helluva Boss Universe

Huskerdust -- Angel Dust x Husk (Overlord Husk AU has given me brain rot)

Chaggie -- Charlie Magne x Vaggie

RadioApple -- Alastor x Lucifer

Stolitz -- Blitzo x Stolas

Fizzarozzie -- Fizzarolli x Asmodeus

Glee

Puckurt -- Noah 'Puck' Puckerman x Kurt Hummel

#roleplay #looking for roleplay #rp search #reddie #reddie rp #the boys #the boys rp #butchie #billy butcher x hughie campbell #stranger things #stranger things rp #byler #harringrove #steddie #hannibal #hannibal rp #hannigram #spiderverse rp #spiderman rp #spideypool #spiderprowl #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #hazbin hotel rp #helluva boss rp #huskerdust #stolitz #fizzarozzie #chaggie #radioapple

[ultimate-fucked-up-ship-tourney]

Fucked up attractive characters:

1. Narciso Anasui from Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Stone Ocean.

2. Shih-na from Ace Attorney Investigations.

3. Haiji Towa from Danganronpa Another Episode

4. Korekiyo Shinguji from Danganronpa V3.

5. Christine (from Christine)

6. Dio from Zero Escape: Virtues Last Reward

7. Ramon from Captain Laserhawk

8. Niklaus Mikaelson, The Originals,

9. Sephiroth

10. Shadow Weaver

11. Luo Binghe from The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System;

12. Sateriasis Venomania from The Evillious Chronicles.

13. Fleabag, Fleabag

14. James Bond

15. Azula (atla)

16. Jareth (labyrinth)

17. Alucard (castlevania, the animated series)

18. Isaac Foster, from Angels of Death

19. Hisoka Morow (Hunter x Hunter)

20. Illumi Zoldyck (Hunter x Hunter)

21. Dabi (My Hero Academia)

22. Tomura Shigaraki (My Hero Academia)

23. Makima (Chainsaw Man)

24. Himeno (Chainsaw Man)

25. Manila! Mikey (Tokyo Revengers)

26. Haruchiyo Sanzu (Tokyo Revengers)

27. Kiriwo Ami (Mairimashita! Iruma-kun)

28. Medusa (Soul Eater)

29. Arachne (Soul Eater)

30. Mahito (Jujutsu Kaisen)

31. Kenjaku (Jujutsu Kaisen)

32. Dante (Fullmetal Alchemist 2003)

33. Envy (Fullmetal Alchemist)

34. Lust (Fullmetal Alchemist)

35. Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov (Crime and Punishment)

36. Daki (Demon Slayer)

37. Akito Sohma (Fruits Basket)

38. Neopolitan (RWBY)

39. John Juniper (I expect you to die)

40. Astarion, Baldurs Gate 3

41. Anders, Dragon Age 2

42. Goro Akechi

43. Eros from your throne

44. Orochimaru (Naruto)

45. Edelgard von Hresvelg (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)

46. Missy from Harlequin Valentine.

47. Devi from The Kingkiller Chronicles.

48. Vegas Theerapanyakul (Kinnporsche the Series

49. Roman Roy, Succession

50. Stu Macher, Scream (1996)

51. The Director from Nimona

52. Banica Conchita from the Evillious Chronicles

53. The Plague Doctor/Griffin from Ink in the Blood

54. Ianthe Tridentarius from the Locked Tomb series

55. Hannibal Lecter

56. Ash Lynx, Banana Fish

57. Chalathon from The Sign.

#polls #submissions