#╳+┤Centuries in the Making+├+╳+(Head Canons)

[esteemed-excellency]

I really need to go to sleep but i can't stop thinking about Ruritania

[kavehater]

Chappel Roan saying she’s sad she’s demisexual and then there’s me being aroace as a whole like don’t you think I’m even more sad 😭

[a-prekliatyvlk]

Honestly Ya’ll can thank Turbo for this one but like. 

Thinking about what happens to the pack as a whole if Katia and Artem die is heartbreaking. 

The twins are SUPER old. Like dirt old and honestly they might not live another thousand centuries. Something as easy as a broken heart could kill both Katia and Artem. 

So realistically thinking about what might happen to the pack is talked about alot in stages. 

Stage 1: 

If someone hurts Katia and or Artem enough to be felt through the pack. IE a pack member dying or Katia and Artem’s mate rejecting them. The pack goes into Protection mode. This means that the magic keeping the pack together basically takes the pack and hides them. No one can stay. You are taken from your mate and deposited in a safe space. 

Most likely this safe space is the middle of no where or better yet, of plane meaning another dimension or world. Once this happens it’s hard for anyone to find the pack. It will be like they disappeared. Places of business boarded up, homes disappeared. Gone. DONE. 

Stage 2: 

This is centuries later, I am talking like a human mate would be dead before this step would come. Violet would be the only wolf allowed to travel between worlds or places. Honestly speaking Violet is as close to a wild wolf as anyone can be so she would be able to move between worlds or whatever. 

So most likely at a place were the pace used to be youd see a rando white wolf there. Violet making sure that everything is okay. She would in fact visit other’s to make sure that they understood maybe their mates are okay or something of the like. 

Stage 3: The finale Stage

This stage would be either them staying wherever they are in obscurity and dying in that plane. Or them coming back when the magic power’s of the pack allow them too. If they are allowed to come back it’s going to be a very long time. Like I am talking about 21st century to the 60th century. They will be gone so long no one possibly will remember them. That is the pack magic’s defense to protecting them. 

If this happens, Eva wil be running the pack. Everyone decided a long time ago that it was going to be Eva who was going o run it so she would be if Katia and Artem decided to kick the bucket. 

[lordofthestrix]

becoming a worm for a week or being compelled to think himself Elijah again for an hour

Send  me  this  or  that  questions  for  my  muse  ! Out—out are the lights—out all! And, over each quivering form, The curtain, a funeral pall, Comes down with the rush of a storm, And the angels, all pallid and wan, Uprising, unveiling, affirm That the play is the tragedy, "Man," And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

[lecliss]

I've still been fucked up ever since I found out that(according to an actually plausible timeline), Konoha has only existed for like 90-something or whatever years??? It's not like. Fucking 200 years old or whatever. And that Madara died when he was 74 but he had himself hooked up to, fuckin what was it??? The Gedo statue?? A tree?? Whatever. In order to keep himself alive and you look at him all old and crusty and think he's like. Over a hundred at least. But no, that man's 74. He's just an average fucking grandpa!!! And Hashirama had been dead for a LONG while, so he actually died pretty young all things considered. And that also means Mito died like. Fuckin. I'm guesstimating here but in her 60s I guess???? But it's a significant thing that the Uzumakis have longer than average lifespans so like. What the fuck is the average life expectancy in Naruto for this bullshit to make sense???

[muu-kun]

Speaking of fashion, I will eventually have the appropriate amount of time to dedicate myself to a proper attire headcanon post. For now, I only have examples for silhouettes pertaining to dresses gathered. Which at this point can ultimately be narrowed down in explanation as Muu holding preference for a bodice that does not require even just a modest breast size.

Although he does wear bralettes (which is not out of gender dysphoria or euphoria on any account actually. Instead, it is more so like a running joke with himself at this point due to the fact he's actually had an infatuation with wearing them since he was a sixteen year old boy that found a bra lying in the street) he doesn't do so with the intent of applying padding to them-- especially when considering the fact he has some minor gynaecomastia due to stubbornly persistent baby fat going on. He can deal with those, but he definitely doesn't want to even so much as imply he has "real breasts."

He also isn't one to gravitate towards those built around the necessity for breasts due to the fact that he does not wish for the attire adorning his body to appear as though something (or somethings) is missing. Which is also the given reason why even in his decision to wear what is considered women's underwear underneath the dresses similar to above, he does not engage in the act of tucking. Yes, that does come within treacherous territory per the fact that he is then advertising himself as a flamboyantly youthful individual with an occasionally visible (and not incredibly well endowed, mind you) genitalia outline in his attire. That's not even to mention the detectability of his disabilities on establishing conversation with him.

Beyond that, he's not too partial to much else. Length and material is otherwise irrelevant as long as he can freely move within it to accommodate an in-between active and sedentary lifestyle. He would also best appreciate those that are not overwhelming to the senses in one manner or another-- this includes itchiness, heaviness, lack of breathability, and so on. Textures usually aren't too worrisome to him, however, as he has been raiding the closet of his female friends (such as Hannah of @kannojo predominantly) for years, so by now he knows what he does and doesn't like with enough ease that even unexpectedly finding something is unappealing to him van be easily remedied without any fit.

The bottom line with all of this is while Muu strictly wears what is primarily marketed as women's clothing, he does not do so out of the desire to be a woman. In fact, he's asked that question within himself many times only to come up with the same conclusion each time: He is simply an aged up boy caught up in having to navigate too many things at once, therefore eccentricities intended to lighten his load have transpired. Being that 99% of abusers have been men throughout the years, and women his sanctuary from them, it became sensible at some point for him to cease one struggle for favor of mirroring his safety while he sources through another. Muu has no idea even how to be a person yet, let alone a gendered one.

That is also not to say he wishes to abolish entirely in favor of utilizing they/them pronouns. In fact, it still remains quite the opposite. At this time in his life, he's not looking to be othered more than he always has acquired for himself. Being gridlocked into a perpetual state of regression in his present has been isolating enough as is that he doesn't wish for more beyond that. It also has intriguingly been almost beneficial in keeping some of his identity centered, though, as being so interwoven with his inner teen provides connection with the perspective of character held back then.

When he was sixteen, he was very self assured in nearly all aspects in life until led to second guessing the bulk of them. Of those is one of which where he was well adamant that he was a boy with a preference for he/him pronouns to demonstrate that. And while he's been able to find appreciation for femininity that he'd have otherwise mocked in his youth, that is as far as it goes for the time being. Working beyond the semantics of that just isn't on the table at this time in his life.

Where he might go with it during Pride Month is still up to him, but, really, his focus is far more centered on fulfilling and answering other aspects of his person at this time. Generalized comfort and safety are of the utmost importance to his emotionally led manner of living. Once that is established, whether or not he opts for reintroducing what is considered men's attire back into his wardrobe is completely up in the air.

[myxinidaes]

oh, to be an aster DMing a coriolis session one day, and then playing in a different one the next!!!!

[htchnr]

♰ my heart is a sad affair ༻ C. HOWARD.*ೃ˚ PART TWO.

➻ masterlist. ➻ buy me a coffee!

CW ➻ shouting ⋆ FEELINGSSSS ⋆ reader smacks the everliving HECK out of Cooper ⋆ he deserved it ⋆ kissing ⋆ mention of a Gulper ⋆ flashback to hunting deer in a forest ⋆ fallout canon violence/descriptions ⋆ if i missed anything, lmk!

PAIRING ➻ wife!reader x Cooper. (they were married before the war, but both of them believe the other is long dead.)

SUMMARY ➻ you were gonna strangle him when you got your hands on him. after shouting for Ma to come out and cut you loose you were livid. you had found him after all this time, alive, and he leaves like that? he was going to get the slap of the century, and then some. WC ➻ 3,2K.

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐇𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐑. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!

you were gonna strangle him when you got your hands on him. after shouting for Ma to come out and cut you loose you were livid. you had found him after all this time, alive, and he leaves like that? he was going to get the slap of the century, and then some.

you were thankful now for the tracking or hunting skills he taught you while on vacation in the deep woods so many decades ago, teaching you how to track and hunt wildlife. but now, you'll make him regret it.

"you look for anything," he pauses pointing to some tracks, but also towards some leaves that looked half eaten. "tracks or signs, and try and gauge what direction they came from," he explains, rifle on his back as you two quietly walked through the dense forest.

"seems easy enough," you shrug, glancing around. you'd always been a quick learner, so this was gonna be a piece of cake.

he chuckles, a warm smile on his lips. "we'll see about that sweetheart," he gestures for you to head in front of him. "let's see how you do," he grins, throwing a cheeky wink your way. you snort, shaking your head with a smile as you step in front of him, eyes flitting around you.

though, with the heavy boot prints in the loose sand and dirt it felt too easy. you rolled your shoulder as you walked along the tracks, looking at the different sets of foot prints;

one set that would belong to Vault Dweller, another set which clearly belonged to Wilzig, a heavy limp clear in them (along with blood) — and the last set belonging to Cooper. you also noticed what would be the dog's prints, varying in pace. though, usually beside Cooper's.

the sun was unforgiving, beating down on you violently as you walked. your anger slowly dimmed down as your mind drifts to the memories you tried so hard to forget.

your eyes flit around the forest, looking across bushes, looking through the dirt, anything. but you were surprisingly stumped. you had tracked what seemed to be a deer for a little over half an hour.

you came to a halt and huffed as you roll your shoulders. "okay i give up," you turn around and find Cooper smiling at you with those lovestruck eyes. you laugh at his look, his smile only widens at the sound. "what?" you smile.

he shakes his head, "nothing honey," he walks over and pecks your cheek. "you got us really far, you're really getting the hang of this." he compliments, and steps in front of you to take the lead.

he looks around for a minute, before he taps your hand to get your attention. "see there?" he points to a shrub. "more bite marks," he says, and you huff. he smiles and gestures you to continue in front of him again. "c'mon, i've got the feeling we're getting close."

huh, you cocked your head at the sight before you. Wilzig's body, surrounded by blood, and missing his head. you swallowed, would Cooper have done this? or did the girl do it to lighten her load?

you hoped Cooper didn't do this, yet you also doubted the Vault Dweller would have the stomach for something like this. you look around, eyes meeting the tracks of the girl, then Cooper's along with the dog's. well, you sighed, let's keep this show on the road.

you missed Roosevelt now more than ever, his gentle patter beside you as he followed you around. he used to love following you around while you did chores around the house — laid beside you while you ironed clothes, politely sat out of the way while you vacuumed. his favorite thing was to run around the yard while you hung up your laundry outside.

your heart ached for your fluffy companion, you missed him so much. you wondered if Cooper missed him too, or more so how much.

Cooper and Roosevelt were inseparable, when Cooper was home Roosevelt rarely left his side. and when Cooper was away, Roosevelt never left yours, almost as if Cooper told him to guard you.

the thought made you smile, sighing as you walked along the trail of steps. you hated this fucking wasteland and it's violently cruel sun.

the lush surroundings a upcoming Hollywood Boulevard were a nice change of pace, it was good to see that while some areas were completely infertile and dead, other areas absolutely thrived.

the tracks showed slight panic on the Vault Dwellers side, quick dashes and marks where it looked like she had slipped or fallen. Cooper's were calm and collected as ever, and the dog's jumped around all over the place, before evening out beside Cooper again.

you walked along the waters edge, keeping a close eye on the lake beside you. you had heard stories of huge things jumping out, and being caught by something while this close to Cooper was not on your to-do list today.

you were close to them, you could tell by the depth and freshness of the prints. you let put a shaky breath, your original frustration bubbling up to the surface again. your hands shook a little beside you. you had some time to think of what you were going to say, but now that you were nearing them your brain was drawing blanks.

"honey look!" Cooper whispered, pulling you down behind a tree, pointing into the distance. you followed his finger, eyes landing on a deer grazing fifteen or twenty feet from you two.

your eyes lit up, "hey i did it!" you whispered excitedly. Cooper grinned, rubbing a warm hand across your lower back in a form of 'i'm proud'. and he was damn proud, it took him much longer the first time he went hunting.

"well," he takes ahold of his rifle, handing it to you. you grab it from him, positioning it the way he taught you. "breathe in and out," he muttered, his hand not leaving your lower back. he looked over your shoulder, seeing how you were aiming. "and well, you know what to do," he smiles.

you smile at his words and the warm hand inching towards your waist. you take a deep breath, looking down the sight as you aimed, your finger wrapping around the trigger. you exhaled slowly, and squeezed the cold trigger, letting your shot fly.

the sound of panicked shouting snapped you out of the memory, eyes snapping towards what looked to be an old dock. you swing your rifle off your back and hold it tight, stepping through the overgrown environment and closer towards the yelling.

the closer you got, the more clear the voice became, "i lost it! okay i lost it!" the Vault Dweller shouted, fear and exhaustion clear in her voice.

you neared the edge of the forest, the rest beyond flattening into a open space by the water. you could see the Vault Dweller and Cooper clearly now, as well as the dog who barked at the water with vigor. Cooper had is gun aimed no more than a few inches from the Vault Dweller's face.

the dog suddenly snapped it's head up, snout pointing directly to where you were. well, you thought, it was a matter of time.

Cooper looked at the dog, who had completely stopped barking now. the girl didn't turn to look at the dog, seizing the opportunity to kick Cooper's legs out from under him and shoot up and away from him, her gun now pointed at him.

"you better get that gun out of his face, girl, or you'll regret it."

Cooper's head spun around, wide eyes looking around. a small wave of 'oh shit' washing over him. the Vault Dweller turned to face you, eyes widening. "you, from back in Filly," she spoke, her voice sounding a little out of breath.

"what'd i say?" you cocked your rifle, "get that gun out of his face." anger boiling back up at the sight of him on the ground. he deserved that kick.

the girl blinked, reluctantly holstering her gun and stepping away from Cooper. your rifle remained aimed at him though, as you stepped closer to him. Cooper blinked, an awkward smile on his lips. "hey, fancy seein' you 'round here-" the thud of the butt of your rifle against his temple interrupting him. "fuckin' hell!" he shouted, a hand coming up to cradle his head. he looked up at you, and eyeing the rage in your eyes. "okay i deserved that,"

the Vault Dweller watched the exchange from a short distance, standing beside the dog who had returned it's attention to the water.

"get the fuck up." you seethed, rifle still aimed at his scarred head. Cooper inhaled, slowly getting up, then standing before you. you only swung your rifle over your shoulder once he stood at his full height, dark eyes watching your every move. 

his lips parted to speak, but you beat him to it with a smack that rang through the overgrown area. Cooper’s head reeling back at the force. he blinked widely for a moment before turning his head back to face you.

the Vault Dweller watched with her lips parted as you had smacked him, the sound sending a jolt through her. who the hell were you that he let you do this? if it were her she'd be dead as soon as she began to raise her hand.

you raised your hand again, this time jabbing a finger into his leather clad chest. "Cooper Franklin Howard, what the fuck were you thinking?!" you shouted at him, wild eyes staring into his gaunt ones. "fucking tying me up? are you out of your goddamn mind?!" Cooper looked pained, he regretted tying you up then, but even more so now.

he looked down a little, and you grabbed his chin and forced him to look at you. "what the fuck was one of our vows, huh?" your voice cracked a little at the volume. you let go of his thickly scarred chin to yank him down to your level by the lapels of his duster. "where you go, i go, Cowpoke!" you yelled at him, tears started to well up in your eyes.

Cooper swallowed, eyes flitting across your face. his heart ached at the thought of the wedding, the vows said and the love shared. it hurt.

you shook him by his lapels once more, "i don't care where the fuck you go, but unless you're dead i'm there with you!" your voice starting to falter as tears slide down your cheeks. oh how he hated to see you cry, it cracked his broken heart into even more pieces.

you stood there for a second, wet eyes watching his as you could just barely see tears starting to prick at his as well. you watched him closely as he pulled off his thick leather gloves and dropped them, calloused and scarred hands coming up to cover yours. Cooper visibly shuddered once his bare hands met your painfully soft ones.

the Vault Dweller silently watches, eyes wide as she sees the emotional love in Cooper's eyes. what the fuck happened to the terrifying ghoul that was about to shoot her?

your breath hitched as he held your hands, eyes flitting down to them. they looked exactly like the skin on his face, an angry red, completely blistered and scarred over. you looked at all his features, his gaunt eyes, his thinned lips, yellow teeth. and the blaringly obvious, his missing nose.

"oh Cooper," you rasped, your voice aching from the yelling. you pulled a hand free from his and pressed it against the scarred cheek you had smacked. he didn't flinch as you gently rubbed your thumb across his cheek. he whispered your name as though it hurt to say, a tear finally rolling down his skin.

you reach your other hand up, holding both sides of his face as you pull him down and press your lips against his. Cooper tries to step back a little, taken by surprise, but your hold on his face doesn't let him move far. it takes him a second, as if he thinks this is a dream, before his reaches one hand to hold your face and the other to pull you closer by your waist.

the Vault Dweller watches with slight disgust, but also with a small thought of awe.

you finally let go against him, tears rolling freely down your cheeks and wetting his as you cry against into the kiss. although he looks different and feels different, the waves of comfort and safety feel exactly the same as they always have as he holds you tight.

you reluctantly pull away, looking up at him with teary eyes. you press one last kiss against his lips before fully pulling away, his hand holding yours as if he can't let go. "what on earth did you get yourself into cowboy?" you sigh sadly, your hand returning to his cheek.

Cooper shakes his head, "you don't wanna know," he replies, the sigh palpable.

the Vault Dweller blinks as the dog starts barking like crazy again, "uh guys, i'd hate to interrupt this shockingly sweet moment but i think the Gulper's coming back!" she panics, looking at her pipboy as you hear the tell tale geiger counter sound picking up immensely.

Cooper looks back to you, hand on his gun. "you still remember what i taught you?" he asks, unholstering his gun.

you roll your eyes with a smile, "i'll make you wish i'd forgotten," as you swing your rifle off your shoulder, ready for a fight.

you'd have a long talk once you were in a somewhat safe shelter later..

TAGLIST ; @live-logs-and-proper @looonytooons @seeingstarks @thewastelandwriter @lacey-mercylercy @marina-and-the-memes @p4rsuade @anonymous-creep @likoplays @iceviolet11 @https-junebug @silverose365 @athanza @songbirdemerald-blog @justt-myth @looneylooomis @v3lv3tf0x

[littlepputo]

Hb head canons of how they would be during yk 🫣

A/N: Idk if I'm going to do a part two to this lovely request

Warnings: smut, Gn reader , Praise kink, degrading kink, semi public sex

Stolas

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

I see stolas as a soft dom or a switch.

He likes to take things slow, likes to take his time with you enjoy every moment he has you in his arms.

He most definitely realises on your praises, telling him he's making you good or that he's hitting all the right places.

And seeing as he never got the love and praise he desperately needed from his father or even Stella. He's basically putty in your hands when you do praise him.

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

Asmodeus

Heheh

I think much like Stolas he likes to take it slow, enjoying his time with you.

Finding out what places of your body is most pleasurable, what makes you scream and moan out his name.

He's the embodiment of lust he's had years centuries to learn what makes a soul scream out his name.

And don't even get me start on that wife beater.

♧⌞⌝⌟⌜⌞⌝⌟⌜⌞⌝⌟⌜⌞♧♧⌞⌝⌟⌜⌞⌝⌟⌜⌞⌝⌟⌜⌞♧♧⌞⌝⌟⌜⌞⌝⌟⌜⌞⌝⌟⌜⌞♧

Andrealphous

This sassy man knows his way around the bedroom, pleasuring his partner is basically what he's focusing on whenever he gets the chance.

He definitely praises and degrades his partner, anything to get a raise out of them. Hes totally into begging, it makes him feel like he has much more power and control over the situation.

ೋ❀❀ೋ═══ ❀ ═══ೋ❀❀ೋ

Blitzø

Blitzø definitely has a high sex drive, and he'll basically do it anywhere. This man has no shame.

It gets him more excited than he should be, covering your mouth to keep you quiet as he basically pounds into you as if its his last day in hell.

Whenever you guys are in his office he'll sometimes if not all the times having you give him a bj while he's talking to a client, trying to keep a straight face.

[nocontextlestat]

(TW for everything)

*in lestat’s voice*

so, let’s talk about our gorgeous murder gremlin armand. in the books, he canonically:

- burned his own paris coven alive after lestat destroyed their centuries old belief (TVL)

- let louis kiII his second paris coven (IWTV)

- tortured nicki with his coven while he was still human, because he was angry at lestat (TVL part 4, ch 2)

- tortured lestat to force him to say claudia’s name as the guilty vampire (TVL, epilogue, ch 1)

- mentally manipulated and vampirically raped lestat (TVL, part 5, ch 1)

- threw lestat off a tower when he came to him to beg for help (TVL, epilogue, ch 1)

- told louis that lestat was dead and didn’t tell the truth for decades (IWTV, part 4)

- told lestat that louis was dead and didn’t tell him the truth for decades again (IWTV-TVL)

- mentally manipulated louis to make him turn madeleine into a vampire (IWTV, part 3)

- telepathically kept telling claudia to die/kill herself/leave louis to himself (IWTV, part 3)

- tortured daniel for days (QOTD, part 1, ch 4)

- drew daniel to absolute insanity for a decade (QOTD, part 1, ch 4)

- locked nicki up and cut off his hands so that he couldn’t play his violin like crazy anymore (TVL, part 6, ch 3)

- scalped his human victim because he was curious (TVA, part 1)

and so on. and you’re mad that they— *checks notes* ruined his character on the show by making him the villain? am i correct? he is literally one of the most iconic villains in literature. also, shouldn’t we be glad that they didn’t show him actually torturing claudia by cutting her head off and stitching it on a woman’s body before the trial? while she was still alive? (TVA part 2)

why do you need him to be a saint to be able to love him? he should be a lovable character to the viewers despite and because of the stuff he has done, no? are you sure you're built to consume gothic fiction?

"what about the things lestat did?" i literally made a list of lestat's crimes and never shut up about it and you're yet again proving my point. this is not an attack on armand. he's my favorite right after lestat. i wrote fact threads on twitter for both of them. i know my material.

[jacqcrisis]

I like how in the first game, Aphrodite is like 'Mm Charon? Oh, cool, yeah, you bought my boon from the boatman and his nasty trash :/ As least he's a greedy weirdo, otherwise I couldn't make head or tails of him.'

And now she's all 'oh Charon! I love him. He's so tall and strong. Of course who wouldn't fantasize about him coming to your aid~'

I like to believe that this is because, as the goddess of love, she couldn't figure out a damn thing about Charon since he's in the underworld, and, canonically, the Olympians can't feel what's going on down there. But then she saw Hermes slobbering all over him at the post-game party, and after god knows how long with Charon and Hermes being topside and pining completely platonically over each other due to their separation, she's realized Charon is a prime cut of grade A Beef as she should have centuries ago.

I'm very proud of her.

[tanoraqui]

Theory: Elrond effectively wears headlamps like a Dad(TM)

Proof:

Elrond, at least on semi-formal occasions, wears “a star upon his forehead” (RotK book 6, ch.9)—that is, presumably, a pale glowing gem on some sort of coronet. This comes across as very classically Elvish (light, jewelry, star imagery), and a nigh-explicit reference to his father Eärendil. However…

Elrond’s children don’t see as well as Elves, as cited here. If his children don’t, then Elrond, even less Elvish by blood, certainly doesn’t. Now, I will admit that I forget if “Elves can see in the dark” is canon or very popular, D&D-enabled fanon, but it certainly makes sense considering that Elves flourished for centuries or millennia under just starlight, before daylight even existed…and it’s equally reasonable to assume that half-elven night vision is as relatively “weak” as their cited distance vision.

Elrond is the proud father of three, and exhibits traditional Dadly behaviors such as being a little bit of a nerd (loremaster) but also one of the most reliable guys you know, adopting any child left in his presence for a sufficient amount of time (Aragorn), and telling his daughter’s aspiring bf that he won’t be good enough for her until he has a steady job (also Aragorn).

My dad irl, who I promise is a pretty typical Dad, was positively delighted when he discovered casual-use head-mounted flashlights about a decade ago, and has self-satisfiedly worn them on every camping trip and nighttime dog walk ever since.

CONCLUSION: Elrond regularly wears glowing, star-evocative gems on his brow, especially while traveling or at fancy evening parties, and he looks great and it make people respectfully murmur Eärendilion (whether he likes it or not)… But really, it’s not a fashion statement or implicit political position or whatever; it’s because if he doesn’t have some sort of flashlight, he will trip on torchlit steps or walk into low-hanging tree branches in the dark. And it’s so much easier if it’s hands-free! (Especially when he’s spelunking for lost texts!)

His kids all go through a phase of thinking he’s mortifyingly dorky about this, then begrudgingly come to accept that it is really convenient to have a hands-free light for dark nights, caves, etc, and start wearing one themselves.

[a-prekliatyvlk]

                      Scent Profile of the Muses PT. 1

I really wanted to do a deep dive into my muse and make some scent profiles for them. This is an alphabetical list of the scent profiles of my muses. You will note that some of the muses have some of the same scent profiles because of A) being the same type of supernatural and B) pack life man you kinda mix scents or even family will have some matching scents. I will also have on here the bonding scent so other’s get an idea of what that smells like. Hope you enjoy. NOTE: anything that says Unusual is either a memory trigger with no real scent profile for it or just undertones. 

Bonding Scent: Musk. Cinnamon, Vanilla, Cedar and Sex. 

Abbott King: Water, salty almost. Warm: Sage and Bergemont. Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar. 

Aiden Zhotmir: Spicy, cinnamon / pepper. Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar. Oriental, Amber, Tobacco and Musk. 

Alexander Arsenyev: Soft, Cinnamon, Vanilla, Sandalwood. Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar. Floral: Orange blossom, Jasmine. 

Alica Tesárová: Flora: Jasmine, Rose, Lilly, Lavendar. Citrus: Grapefruit and Bergamot. Woodsy, Oakmoss and Cedar.

Alojz Chrobák: Warm: Cinnamon Sage and Bergemont. Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar. 

Ania Vukaxin: Spicy, Cinnamon / Pepper. Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar. Floral: Orange blossom, Jasmine.

Archer Trajkovski: Unsual: Sunshine / Bark. Mossy Woods, Amber and Sandalwood. Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar.

Argider ‘Hawk’ Azarola: Unsual: Gun Cleaner. Dry woods, Smoldering and Smoky. Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar. Citrus: Grapefruit and Lemon.

 Artem Vukaxin: Unusal: Old books. Sunshine. Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar.  Vanilla, Musk and Amber. 

Arthur Kráľ: Florial / Fresh Lavender, Sage, Bergemont, Orange Blossom, Grapefruit. Smokey

Aster Adam Otčenáš: Unsual: Ink. Warm / Spice, Pepper, Cinnamon, Smoke. Citrus, Orange, Grapefruit. Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar.

Aurel Pekár: Unusual: Death, Blood and Screams of Agony. Spice, Pepper, Cinnamon and Clove. Woodsy, Smoke, Ash, Oakmoss and Cedar. 

Ava Sklenár: Floral, Rose, Lilly, Jasmine. Fruity, Peach and Pear. Spice, Smoke and Cinnamon.  Wood, cedar. 

Caleb Sklenár: Spice, Smoke and Cinnamon. Fresh, Lavender and Sage. Woodsy, Oakmoss and Cedar. 

Cecília Pivovarčová: Spice, Pepper, Musk, Cinnamon. Fruity, Peachy and Apple. Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar. 

Clarence Castor Otčenáš: Citrus: Lemon, Orange and Grapefruit. Warm, cinnamon and vanilla. Woodsy: Smoke, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar. 

Dacian Vuk: Unsual: Grease. Aqua, Rain / Ocean notes. Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar. Spice, Pepper and Cinnamon. 

Dante: Unsual: Rot / Decay. Smoke. Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar. 

Dionýz Ojdanic: Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar. Citrus: Lemon and Grapefruit. Warm / Spice, Cinnamon, Sage and Vanilla

Dominic Arsenyev: Unusual: Acrylic Paint.  Soft, Cinnamon, Vanilla and Sandalwood. Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar.

Drah Petrov: Unsual: blood. Spice, Pepper, Cinnamon, Smoke. Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar.

Duncan: Unsual: exhaust and Musk. Smoke. Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar. 

Dušan Novák: Floral: Peach and Apple. Warm, Cinnamon and Clove. Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar.

Elijah Čížik: Unusal: Blood and ash. Smoke. Spice, Cinnamon, Clove and Nutmeg. Leather, Cedar and Lemon. 

Emma Khomiakov: Floral, Jasmine, Vanilla and rose. Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar. Smoke. 

Ethan Khomiakov: Citrus: Lemon, Grapefruit and Bergemont. Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar. Smoke. Floral. Jasmine and Vanilla. 

Eva Arsenyev: Furity, Peach, Apple and Vanilla. Soft, Cinnamon, Vanilla and Sandalwood. Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar.

Galen King: Citrus: Grapefruit and Orange Blossom. Warm: Sage and Bergemont. Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar. 

Grimaldo ‘Woodpecker’ Villalobos: Unsual: Grease and exhaust. Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar. Spice, Clove and Nutmeg. 

Iryna Cech: Warm, Vanilla, Cinnamon and Nutmeg. Woodsy, Fresh Cut Grass, Oakmoss and Cedar.

Isidoda Soika; Spice, Cinnamon, Musk, Vanilla and Orange Blossom. Fruity. Peach and Apple. Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar.

Iskra Otčenáš: Unsual: Ash and Burning Fire Wood. Warm / Spice, Pepper, Cinnamon, Smoke. Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar.

Jackson Sklenár: Unsual: Smoke and Blood. Fresh, Lavender and Sage. Woodsy, Oakmoss and Cedar. 

Katia Vukaxin: Unsual: Blood and a Full Moon at Night in the Woods. Warm, Cinnamon and Vanilla. Fruity: Peach. Woodsy, Leather, Oakmoss and Cedar. 

[ficnation]

Chapter 1: Dig In

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out” Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 4,6k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings

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Will Graham hasn’t seen you in years—years that felt like centuries to him. When you greet him, your voice is like a songbird’s serenade—sweet, peaceful, and meant only for his ears. It was a melody he missed dearly yet never dared to summon in his mind, even as the memories of you bled into his dreams.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, voice breaking at the last word. The question is not hostile, but it’s not friendly either. He knows you didn’t expect him to greet you like an old friend would. You know him too well for that—or at least you knew him before Hannibal Lecter barged into his life.

A smile crawls up your face, but it never reaches your eyes. You came here because you know, you know someone’s version of the story. But you crave to see the truth—to find out exactly what happened—and you know that Will is the only person who can provide you with the answers you’re looking for.

Jack Crawford raises his hand, his palm facing Will in a silent greeting—almost a peace offer. He keeps his distance as he lifts your suitcases out of the trunk of his car. He’s the one that called you, told you everything you needed to know, how Will lost his mind, how he keeps insisting that an innocent man—someone he considered a friend—is the Chesapeake Ripper.

Will can’t help but snicker at the thought of how this conversation went. You don’t seem bothered by the change in his expression—you hardly ever were, and he was always surprised by your unflappable composure.

“I’m going to stay with you, Will.” It’s not a question nor a suggestion fueled by concern over his well-being. It’s a declaration, and he has absolutely no say in this matter. Jack Crawford has already made that decision for him, and Will is in no position to object—he’s well aware of it.

Will nods and gesticulates to the door of his house. It’s a reluctant invitation forced out of him by his boss’ incessant gaze.

You don’t let him think about it for much longer, fearing he’ll withdraw the offer. You walk up the stairs of the porch and cross the doorstep. The inside is no warmer than the bitter winter on the other side of the door. You shiver slightly, wrapping your arms around yourself for heat.

A flock of dogs runs up to you, wagging their tails in excitement. Some of them you’ve already met before, and some of them seem like recent additions to Will’s collection of strays. You pat each dog on the head as you take off your boots by the entrance. You note that you no longer feel like you are just another stray Will has taken into his home.

The warmth of the friendly dogs quickly makes you forget how much you don’t belong here; you enjoy their company for a moment before reluctantly moving on to explore the room.

Not much has changed since the last time you were here. Will’s bed is still in the room, and you remember the time he confessed to you that it makes him feel more aware of his surroundings—gives him a sparse flicker of safety. He has easy access to the windows overlooking the outside, and he hears whenever someone walks up the stairs to his porch. It’s a small shred of comfort to cling to in the midst of his torment—you understand his reasoning.

The fireplace is the same one you used to warm up in front of every morning when you slept over—just surrounded by more dog beds than before. The old, simple in their design but surprisingly comfortable armchairs stand in their designated spots. Dog toys litter the carpeted floor, while books and familiar trinkets overwhelm the shelves, though if you look more closely, you find new additions mixed in with the old.

“Nothing has changed,” you say to yourself and the chill air of the room. You don’t hear Will’s footsteps as he joins you in the heart of his house.

“I did.” His words make your head whip around to face him, your eyes finding his. There’s a certain darkness in his statement—one you recognize.

The brown curls on his head frame his face in an untamed mess. He’s beautiful, and you find yourself still affected by his proximity.

“I don’t think you did.”

“You’ve been here for seven minutes, I can’t imagine you know much,” Will retorted.

“I know you, Will.” You meet his eyes for a few seconds—it doesn’t take much longer for him to look away. He hasn’t changed.

“Not anymore. Believe me,” his voice is certain and steady, but his hands shake as he reaches for your cozy black coat.

You let him slide it off your shoulders—the chill of the room refreshing. Will Graham isn’t a gentleman—he’s never conformed to society’s expectations. The gesture isn’t meant to impress you, make you swoon, or simply check a box. He does it because he still feels something toward you—he still cares.

You don’t talk much after that. Will makes some space for your stuff in his closet and leaves your suitcases in one of the many empty rooms. You thank him with another smile that doesn’t reach your eyes—there’s too much worry in them to convey your gratitude.

He goes on a walk with the dogs while you decide to take stock of his fridge and cupboards in search of any ingredients that you could possibly turn into a late dinner—french crepes filled with whatever jam or other sweet spreading he has in his kitchen.

You make yourself cozy in one of the armchairs in front of the crackling fireplace, your legs tucked comfortably beneath you when the door opens, and a blast of cold winter air rushes in along with seven dogs, melting snow clinging onto their fur stubbornly. They sniff around the room in search of the source of the sweet, delicious smell.

Will follows in their steps, taking off his boots by the door. It won’t take long for his socks to soak up the drops of water scattered over the floor—remnants of the snow shaken off by the happy furry beasts. He says nothing for a few long minutes, merely taking in your form, the sweet smell, and the cozy atmosphere. It feels like you belong here, even if just for a moment until you deem him deranged and leave again for long years.

“Crepes?” he asks finally, sliding off his heavy jacket. Will imprints on his memory the image of you so peaceful and comfortable in his home, in his presence.

You hum in response, sticking the fork back into your mouth. “I only found jam and peanut butter.”

“It’s an accomplishment you found anything at all.” He chuckles but isn’t truly amused by it—it is a pitiful sound.

The brunet disappears into the kitchen, and when he returns, his plate is filled with food. He sits down in the other armchair with a heavy sigh—a sound so murky only an old man could make or someone so exhausted with life they didn’t see a point in it anymore.

“I believe you, you know?”

Will’s head shoots up in your direction; he almost chokes on his crepes. He didn’t foresee that at all—the thought of you believing him without even hearing his side of the story, believing in his conviction that Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper without even asking for evidence. When everyone around him considered him delusional and regarded his accusation with ignorance or anger—you believed him. He straightens up in his seat, looking at you expectantly, begging silently for you to continue.

“I suppose Jack didn’t tell you why exactly am I here, huh?” Will shakes his head, making you sigh deeply as you mindlessly stab the remaining crepe on your plate with the fork—he notices the anger simmering behind your irises. “Figured. They found my father’s killer in our old house.”

“Dead?”

You nod in confirmation.

“Suicide.” Your voice isn’t relieved; it doesn’t incandesce with light like it should.

Will knows that sometimes, even when the murderer is caught or killed, it takes a while to really settle into witnesses’ minds, and sometimes, they never taste that sweetness of relief for the rest of their lives. Yet, it doesn’t seem to be the problem in your case.

“He was missing a lot of blood and it didn’t appear to be anything abnormal back then so they considered the case solved. Let us come out of hiding.”

“Except it wasn’t a suicide,” the man finishes your thought. He’s right—like always. “Someone wanted you to come back… The real killer?”

He looks at you for confirmation, but his idea seems to be too facile—child’s play. If that were the case, the FBI wouldn’t let you stay with him without protection—unless they considered him your protector. Something feels off about it.

“Will, my sister was killed by the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Will stares at you with his eyes wide open. He’s looking at your face in a way that he’s never looked before. He can finally see you, your emotions, and despair—the mask you hid them under shatters into crumbs and floats away with his shaky breath. He hears the misery in your voice now—almost sees your winsome heart smashed into a million pieces inside your chest.

“I’m so sorry… I—” Will’s words are automatic as he processes your statement. He stays perfectly still in his armchair. “I didn’t—”

“What’s done is done, Will,” you interrupt him, shaking your head—a silent plea that he doesn’t blame himself for it. It doesn’t help—he still does.

The moment you stop talking, he can hear the faint ticking of the watch on your wrist. He looks at you, waiting for more to come, but you stay silent. Your eyes linger on your plate with a half-eaten crepe—the jam spilling out onto the white ceramic canvas; you seem to be contemplating something.

He remembers back on that stormy night when you came home at the end of a particularly complicated and brutal investigation—soaked and chilled to the bone. You had a small cut on your arm, not big enough to require stitches, but he wanted—no, he needed—to clean it up and kiss it all better, anyway.

Will could tend to a cut on your skin, but he couldn’t scour the one on your soul—he couldn’t kiss it all better. He always felt the need to fix things—fix you. Now? He has no idea how to take that pain away from you.

He knows he should be glad to see you—glad to see you again. But right now, there’s only sadness, confusion, and guilt because, somehow, this isn’t quite you. There has been this beautiful, bright light shining from you, but it’s missing, and the man feels the loss of it inside. He wants to reach out and take this sadness away from you, comfort you, and bring back that light you always had. He almost wants to cry—he doesn’t even know why himself.

Will swallows hard and finally speaks, voice shaking, “Can I ask you something?”

He hesitates as if afraid of the potential answer. The only thing keeping him from sinking into emptiness is your presence, and asking the wrong question might have a devastating effect. Will looks at you—eyes pleading for understanding.

“Yes. Of course…”

“What did he take?” He almost doesn’t recognize his voice. It seems to be a mere whimper—a noise buried deep within a wounded animal’s throat.

“Her heart.”

Your words strike him like a bullet. Will closes his eyes, trying hard to keep the salty water from filling them. The loss of one heart was unbearable, losing another one physically… He tries to find a reason not to be angry at fate—but there is none. The world gave you back to him, but at what cost?

He reaches out, taking your hand in his. His touch seems reassuring and gentle, but his eyes betray his anger. “I never should have let you leave...”

You ignore his words, looking into the void, and continue, “Her lungs.”

Another cruel twist of the dagger in his gut. He feels your hand squeeze his, almost as if it were asking for comfort. Yet, Will cannot be a comfort at this moment—he is too enraged at the thought of such brutality.

His gaze turns cold as stone, his hand tightening around yours as he holds back the emotions boiling up inside him, threatening to explode and tear everything apart. His eyes remain closed—unwilling to see any more of your pain. You can feel the anger radiating from him like heat.

If she stops breathing, my heart will stop with it—those were his words to Hannibal. Another therapy session he now deeply regrets. It is his fault—his fault that your sister died. And amongst all the hatred, anger, and remorse, he feels a bone-chilling relief that it wasn’t you in her place.

He knows it’s twisted to think like that; he shouldn’t even feel like that, but he can’t imagine his life knowing you were buried deep—six feet beneath the earth he was walking on and still breathing. He doesn’t know whether it was Hannibal’s well-thought-through plan or his fucked up mistake, but Will is grateful.

You are breathing, alive, and your pulse is beating fast beneath his tight grasp. He does not want to let go of it—not yet.

Will opens his eyes, still unable to see your face, yet so very relieved. He doesn’t let go of your hand, his fingers running over your knuckles as if, by touch, he can somehow reassure himself that you weren’t his imagination.

The anger inside him still roils, but he no longer shows it. The only hint of his discomfort is the tightness with which he holds your hand.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he mumbles out, almost inaudible.

“No, Will, I won’t let anything happen to you.” You meet his gaze, your eyes almost begging. “I can’t lose you too. You’re the only one I have left.”

Will smiles at you sadly. His eyes filled with a strange light, his fingers running through your hair. Your plates have been long forgotten on the nearby windowsill as he leans forward and carefully touches your cheek, running his forefinger across your lips and down to your chin.

At first, you think the gesture is affectionate—intimate. But then you notice that he’s trying to remember your every feature. It’s painful to think that someone who loved you so dearly might have forgotten your face, the feel of your skin under his touch. Maybe it’s this thought that makes your eyes well up with tears; maybe it is the gesture itself. Or possibly even both.

This moment feels so real, so raw—you are tempted to believe in it, to be hopeful for your future, at least for a moment. But after all you went through, you know that hope is a dangerous thing, and it can turn against you. It’s been so long since all your hopes have been crushed you almost forgot how to have them... And just like that, the moment vanishes, and reality crashes back.

Later that night, when you come out of the shower and crawl into his bed—your clothes sticking to the slightly damp skin, your hair in an unruly mess—he simply opens his arms.

“You claim to be my friend, yet you sleep in my bed like a lover would,” he says—he still remembers the words you whispered to him when the roles were reversed.

Will smiles at the irony, his arms wrapping around you. Your hair is still dripping, the water sliding down your neck and onto his chest. It trickles down in rivulets to his stomach, creating wet spots on his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to care.

You notice his grip is tighter than usual, yet you feel no pain, no discomfort. If he wanted to hurt you, he would. But you’re safe here—in his arms. Safer than you’ve ever been.

“Don’t pretend you don’t love having me in your bed,” you mumble against his neck, your minty breath tickling his skin.

His body shivers, and a soft sound escapes his lips. Your words remind him of the years of loneliness, of his body yearning for your touch. The sound is almost a whimper, and you feel his fingers twining in your wet hair.

The feeling is intoxicating. For years, he couldn’t touch a woman, didn’t even dream about having one so close to his skin, couldn’t feel someone’s body pressed tightly against him in a bed because they weren’t you—they dimmed in comparison. He missed it; he missed this connection, this skin-to-skin contact.

His hand lingers in your hair, the other one tracing your skin, exploring every inch of it, memorizing every imperfection, every bump beneath his palm.

“You haven’t been with anyone else, have you?” It’s not really a question—more of a sure statement—because, after all, you know Will like the back of your hand.

His head shakes, and both of his hands now run down your body. Will takes his sweet time exploring every inch of you—your hips, thighs, your stomach, and neck.

“I haven’t,” he whispers, almost embarrassed. As if his body belongs to someone else, and giving it to you now is a betrayal of that person.

Betrayal of you—the one he once knew—because he’s not entirely sure you’re still the same person. You were always so cheerful and full of life before—anything you touched, growing wings, flying out of the confines of its cage.

He yearns for this contact, craves a woman’s body—craves your body. He touches your skin, lightly running his fingertips over it, trying to bring back the memories from before. Will’s mind spins, trying to place the puzzle of you in the present.

He holds your face, trying to remember the way your eyes shined, the smile on your lips, the way your hair used to look. The feeling of your body, skin to skin, is almost painful. Your lips are so close, your heart beating so fast…

Winston jumps onto the bed, the weight and heat of his furry body on your calves makes you both pull away hesitantly.

“Sorry,” you mumble out the apology into the stillness of the air.

Will looks at you with a soft smile and a faint blush on his cheeks. “It’s fine.” He glances over at the dog. “What’s the matter, little fella? Can’t sleep?” He reaches over to pet the dog, then he turns his attention back to you.

The atmosphere changes completely, filled with the sounds of the night and Winston’s heavy breathing. Yet, although your physical proximity to Will has changed, you still feel connected to him in a way that only two people who are truly close can. The warmth of Winston’s body seems to melt the tension.

The dog snuggles up against you both, the three of you creating your own little world of peace. Will is the first to speak, “I’d rather be in bed with you only,” he sends you a smirk, “but I would still get the same amount of hair on my clothes.”

You feel your lips part in a grin; your breath catches in your throat, and it takes a moment before you’re able to answer his playful jab.

Will catches you in this moment of surprise as if he can smell your anticipation in the air. His hands wrap around your waist, dragging you closer until your bodies are pressed snugly once more.

When he smiles at you, it’s as if the world stops briefly. Your eyes lock, and for a second, there is nothing else but the two of you.

“It’s a sad thing your smile is so rare,” you whisper, your fingers tracing his stubbled jaw.

Will's heart pounds in his chest. He takes your hand in his, running his fingers along your skin. There's always been an undeniable spark between you, but this time, it feels different, more intense. Like if you let yourself go and let the spark ignite, the fire will burst out of your chest.

Will leans closer to you; your noses are almost touching. His brown eyes are so close you can see every detail in them despite the darkness of the room. You can feel the tension in the air, and you know what would break it...

“Will, I... I can’t—” You stumble over your words, gaze parting from his.

Your stutter is cut short by Will’s lips touching yours. A soft sound escapes him as if he’s been waiting for you to stop speaking so he can taste you. His tongue slips over your lips, exploring your mouth.

This is not the clumsy, almost animalistic lust he had for you in the past—it’s something different. Something tender, almost sweet.

Your hands fall limply onto the duvet, your heart beating faster, your breath catching in your throat as you sink deeper into the kiss. You don’t want this to end… So you pull him closer.

Seemingly annoyed by the nonstop movement, Winston jumps off the bed and retreats to his place by the lit-up fireplace. You almost giggle at that, but you’re far too busy with kissing Will’s lips raw.

Your hands find their way onto his neck next, your fingers running through his curls. With lips almost glued to his, you pull him back every time he tries to move.

The sound of your heavy breathing is enough to make his heart pound in his chest as if his very blood is racing. He’s holding you so tightly you fear you might break. Will breathes in the smell of you, almost intoxicated by it. Your scent enriches him—sends his emotions into a whirlwind.

After a moment, he manages to pull away, gasping for breath. He is still holding you, hands pressed against your back, as if not wanting to let go. Will tries to catch his breath—it feels like his entire life is contained in those few moments.

His eyes find yours, looking for some reassurance, as if he expects to wake up from a dream any moment now. He opens his mouth to say words but can’t find any. All he can do is look at you, so beautiful in the darkness. Will closes his eyes as if trying to cling to this moment.

“I’m glad I’m back. Despite the circumstances...” Your fingers play with his curls, your breath just as shaky as his.

“You’re back...” Will murmurs, looking at you relieved, touching your face as if to make sure you’re still here. He wants to speak, to tell you everything that is going through his mind, but when he opens his mouth again, no words come out. He tries to collect himself—tries to bring his heart to your level.

“It’s been a long time... We should probably talk. You know, just to catch up.”

“You like talking now?” Your grin is electrifying, it sends heat down the man’s body. But when he notices it doesn’t reach your eyes, his neediness crumbles.

A veil of insecurity falls over his face. “No… I don’t like talking. But I still do it if I have to, so can we just…” Will gestures to the two of you, the room—just a sign of exasperation and need to do this now. He swallows hard, trying to find his voice. “It’s just... it’s been a long time. And I... you know... there is just a lot that happened.”

“Will,” the way you say his name halts him, “it’s okay if you want to talk.”

He blinks slowly, suddenly confused—why did he even try to lie about it? Hannibal gave him his voice and showed him the power of his words—the good one and the evil one.

Will lets out a deep breath and then closes his eyes. It’s always been hard for him to tell people how he feels. Especially when he wants to say more than any amount of words can describe—and there is a lot to describe. There is so much he has to tell you, and yet when he tries to form the words—to get them out—his mind goes blank.

He opens his eyes and looks at you for help, but you look just as confused as before. “I don’t even know where to begin,” he says softly. “So much has changed.”

“You haven’t. Not as much as you think you did.”

He sees the impossibly black creature in his peripheral vision. It stands behind you, completely still, and its antlers seem much more massive than ever before when he catches their shadow falling onto you. He wants it to be gone so badly, but deep inside, he knows it’ll never vanish if Hannibal is still alive, and maybe even after his death, he’ll never get his peace back.

“Your opinion will change quicker than you realize.”

The creature’s still there, Will looks it straight into its void of color eyes. It’s just in his mind, yet the shiver that runs down your spine tells him you might feel its presence, too. He hates that he can’t tell if it’s his imagination or not or if you can indeed see it, too. A feeling of dread seizes him, a cold sensation that runs up his arms and into his bones.

“Hannibal...” he whispers, but when he looks around the room, he sees no sign of the creature. The sense of dread lingers, nevertheless.

“The Chesapeake Ripper?” you question, and he tells you all about it. All about Hannibal’s mind games—what he did to him and then what he undid.

Will tells you about the therapy sessions, his transformation, and the darkness that took hold of him. He talks about his memories of your sister, about his guilt, and then he moves on to you—your absence and the reason why you left. The void he felt for all those dark years without you—until he was given the chance to have you back, a light guiding him back into reality. And you listen carefully to all of it; you let him speak his heart out until he no longer feels the need to speak.

When he is done telling you everything, Will falls silent. It feels like he laid bare his soul, exposing his most intimate thoughts, yet you still lie in front of him, unchanged. He looks at you, almost expecting you to leave. After all, how much can a person handle? But your gaze is still strong; you still care about him at least a little…

It’s almost as if you’re reading his mind. “I still care about you, Will. My feelings never changed and they never will. I’ll do anything I can to help you get him.”

His eyes soften at your words, and he closes the distance between you two. Slowly he kisses your lips, tasting your breath, feeling his mouth move against yours. The sensation is so intense that it almost sends sparks through Will’s body.

“I’ve missed this,” he whispers into your ear before he turns your head and kisses you again. His hands rest on your back, pulling you in even closer as his tongue dances against yours. “And I’ve missed you. So goddamn much...”

Will pulls away, breathless, as if his entire body is aflame. He looks at you, studying your face so intently it’s almost as if he wants to burn your image into his brain. “So much,” he repeats softly.

He rests his head against yours, breathing in the sound of your heartbeat, listening to the rise and fall of your chest. “You’re here. You’re really here.” He exhales a sigh of relief as if your presence is the sweetest gift he could have ever wished for.

[willyoubemycherryy]

Hypervision.

Older!Logan Howlett x reader

Warnings: Cursing, sad traumatic backstory flashbacks, angst, cliffhangers, old man Logan, difficult unprocessed emotions, but he balls so fuck it, canon universe alterations

𝑩𝒍𝒖𝒆42 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖♡´ ◕ ᴗ ◕ ｡ `♡ : @th3mrskory @smutinlove @inthetub @multifandom-random

sneakpeek ｡ ❄︎ ｡

[1]_She’s both the princess & the popstar.

•

•

•

To say the last couple years of his life have been rough, would be the understatement of every unfortunate century he’s lived through.

First losing the others, then Charles, and even the new mutants. Everything had spiraled in a torrent from horrible to completely unsalvageable with him being the last one standing. The irony of that still leaves him with a bitter, lonely hurt that only alcohol soothes for him these days. Of course not even that comes without a price. The alcohol, amongst other things would be the death of him if he wasn’t already slowly dying of everything that was finally catching up to him. Old age, grief that haunted him daily, the crushing guilt, the adamantium poisoning, and a lifetime of being reckless…Logan doesn’t think he’s ever felt more out of his mind.

But after another particularly rough patch, he decided to move out to another state entirely alone, somewhere in the city to work as a whatever and use the bustling noise as a distraction from his demons. At current, he needed money. He’d been juggling odd jobs here and there but the pay wasn’t anything to write about so to keep living until he dies, he needs cash. And more pain meds with booze. Which costs money to buy.

For once it’s just his luck when he goes out one night to grab a few drinks and maybe look for a gig when Logan sees an ad for work taped on the table end of a shitty bar. There wasn’t much detail on it, just the name of a guy as well as his number for further info but says it’ll pay well.

Logan grabs the paper and leaves, driving back to his small place so he can call.

Squinting as he dials in the number, briefly wondering if he’ll even get an answer given how late it is but as he sits on one of the few pieces of furniture in the room, to his surprise, he does. From there he gets the rundown of what the job is, when he’ll be interviewed and screened, that a clean background check is a must. No more than misdemeanors, which won’t be a problem since he’s lived his life off the grid for as long as he can remember and so far the man on the line explains simply that the gig is just picking up the same young girl at some high end clubs, events, plus other appearances and dropping her ass back home. Said girl had to be rich because the man on the phone tells him that he doesn’t need his own car because one will be provided by his charge.

However, the one thing that was putting Logan on edge was the mystery of it all. Almost no details about the girl he was supposed to be toting around were given. He’s used to odd jobs so he brushes it off because it can’t be more trouble than everything he’s lived through and with all the turmoil he’s currently going through, owing about 50,000$ to a gang for past debts and running from that too, Logan will take any break he can get.

The rest of his break comes about 2 weeks later when he’s officially hired a few days after arranged interview, passing background check and paid his first check. To him, it’s strange to get paid before doing any actual work, but he was warned at the interview that the girl who’s to be his charge is “unconventional”. Shaking his head from all the possible meaning of that, Logan tries to refocus as he drives to the place pinned on the cars gps where he was to first get you. Arching a salt and pepper brow, Logan makes a sharp turn as he gets closer to the destination, ignoring the anxiousness welling up. He still knew nothing about you and for some reason it put him on edge.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that this would end up being more trouble than it could be worth.

Logan ends up being so lost in thought on the drive by all the secretiveness that by the time he checks the gps, it says he’s already there. The first thing he notices is how shiny everything is, even with his blurry vision the house looked opulent, modern. Multiple stories and big ornate windows. The driveway was also long as hell but whatever. Straightening out his pitch black suit (also provided by his employ) and smoothing his hair, Logan only just then remembers he forgot his glasses when he gets out to stand by the side doors where he was told to open for you. Again, strange.

He doesn’t scowl but he’ll always look unfriendly thanks to life and experience but he hopes it’s not something he’ll get shit about. Yet, less than 5 minutes later, his expression changes completely as confusion and understanding dawn on him as the doors open and his charge comes out. Two men stand by the door as you exit and the secrecy of it all finally makes some fucking sense while making his life harder.

It was you. Shugō. A singer.

The new artist that recently took the world by storm with your music. Despite his reclusive lifestyle, even Logans managed to hear about you but from what he’s heard, as big of a star you are- almost all of your past is shrouded in mystery. Your real name isn’t even known, just your stage name, Shugō. You were elusive and for some reason, that only added to your popularity.

His vision wasn’t what it used to be but as you strode towards him, he was almost grateful for it because seeing you in all your glory could potentially become a problem. Your hair was in an elaborate updo with some of it framing your heart-shaped face, soft shaped eyebrows, and plump lips that spread into a smile as you approached him. The click of your heels and the sway of your mini skirt in a v cut top that flared out at the wrists almost covering what he knew were perfectly painted nails.

He didn’t even know what to say to you but he didn’t even get the chance to before a bubbly giggle broke the silence, making Logan jump to open the door for you. The cool sugar in your was scent all in his face as you pat him on the shoulder, fluttering pretty lashes as you give him a once over, “You look like you’ll be much more fun than the last stiff”, is what you say while you pass him before sliding in. Logan blinks at that, closing the door behind you as he gets back in the driver’s side and wonders how for the quick few seconds your hand was on his shoulder, he could’ve sworn his vision was perfect again. Able to even see the fine glitter on the sides of your eyes.

Mentally, he’s already putting his barriers up. The usual- don’t get close, don’t get involved, it’s for your and his own good. It’s just a job and nothing else so it’s best he keep the distance regardless of who you are, he thinks as the chilled sweet smell of your perfume fills the space.

There’s a ping on the gps to about 45 minutes away where he’s dropping you off. He doesn’t mind the silence but you feel differently as you clear your throat, smiling. Logan glances at you through the mirror before looking back at the road, swallowing. You were young because of course you are. Even smiling, there wasn’t a fold or wrinkle in sight and he was willing to bet you were at least early 20’s but there was no way to confirm because even if he looked it up, nothing personal was known about you. Stifling a sigh, Logan grips the wheel a little tighter. Little things were always trouble, pretty young things were even more trouble which he was too old for but it could explain the still nagging feeling that something was off about this job..

“Hey driver…”

And about you.

Part 2…

[faerievampling]

The Life of Astarion's Dark Consort

Summary: These are my random head canons about Ascended Astarion and his vampiric bride, Tav/Durge. What would it be like to actually spend eternity with him?

Warning: 18+, mention of sex.

After the ascension, Astarion is so overwhelmed with all his new abilities that he is a bit distant. (Think Lazslo Cravensworth in that one episode of WWDITS where he barely speaks for two weeks all because he’s trying to make a decision about how he is going to reorganize the library) This lasts for nearly a decade, but once Astarion adjusts to his new body, he is able to come back to himself.

Once you are Astarion’s spawn (bride), he no longer needs to mask when lovemaking. He knows you will never leave him. Your lovemaking goes through many 'phases', from being loving and tender to beastly and rough. But either way, he is raw with you, and only you.

Every night, without fail, your vampire curls up in your arms, holding you tightly as he drifts off into a dreamless sleep or reverie. He can’t fall asleep without being in your arms, or vice versa. 

You, his most prized treasure, are far too vulnerable during your rest, and he insists on being as close to you as possible, with a dagger close by, of course. Over the years, he never relents. If you two are ever apart, which happens so rarely, maybe once a millenia, he spends the night sleepless and aching for you.

One of the first things he does once the tadpole is gone is hunt down Haarlep, if you made a deal with him. He wouldn’t allow his treasure to be violated and used any longer.

Astarion’s possessive love for you only grows as the years creep on. 

Sometime during your third century of marriage, Astarion stabs the eyes out of (and allegedly kills) dozens of men and women who he deigned to have violated you (and thus, disrespected him) by looking at you lustfully. It takes two decades of you begging him to stop before he finally relents.

Ask me anything, and it will be yours. On his own time, of course, which you have so much of. You become a very patient vampire.

Astarion certainly values your life and his, but not others. You have to remind him, lest he lose his humanity completely. And you, as well, have to make sure you have a tight hold on your own humanity. You are a vampire, after all.

Watching your friends pass one by one is difficult, and Astarion supports you through it all, despite him not particularly caring about them himself. He cares about his consort, and he does everything to make you comfortable while you grieve. This is where your humanity starts to slip, when your friends are gone from your life for many years.

If you are able to reverie, you aren’t able to actually look through your memories because of your undeath. The years stretch on so long, you nearly forget how the story began at all. But you always have Astarion, and he does his best to help you both remember.

Astarion never takes another consort or another independent lover. The two of you enjoy threesomes and orgies occasionally, but Astarion prefers it to be just you and him. Astarion did particularly like to watch you get fucked by other men and women. But this changes sometime during your first century of marriage. Astarion demands to have his consort and only his consort in the bedroom. He ultimately doesn’t trust anyone else to be intimate with him. He doesn't want anyone else to touch him. You don’t protest the decision.

Astarion creates regular vampire spawn, more for utility than anything else.  He always asks your permission.

After a thousand years, you and your Lord are inseparable. You are not to leave his sight. 

He is very powerful, and has become a threat and a target. The two of you rarely speak aloud anymore as your mind connection is so strong that your minds are melded together. Your relationship is beyond spoken word. As Bride and Master, you are unsure where you begin and he ends. 

Eternity is a very long time. Astarion agrees, but he never wants to die, and he certainly will never let you go.

In your old vampiric age, the two of you strike fear into every mortal you come across. You can't help it. You are both so hauntingly beautiful and pale, and your intense mind connection makes most mortals believe you to be...absent. Oh, how the sheep forget themselves.

Yet your need for blood is so small now. They needn't fear you, not really. You now only drink from Astarion, which gives you what you need. He loves it, being your life essence. 

He doesn't let you drink too much, of course. During your fifth century of marriage, Astarion wants you to feed on him and only on him, as his contempt for others grows and his possessive love for you begins to cause him his own bout of madness.

This causes you to go mad, and Astarion is entirely distraught until you are healed. He spends an extravagant amount of money and a long time healing you.

With the last of your friends dead, you forget to view the mortals as anything but the puppets of your Master. The ways of the world as you knew it slip by you. There is a war, Astarion tells you, but you have no fear. You know he will protect you.

You often go into a vampiric hibernation as you sit on your throne during court. Astarion is still able to put on the mask, but you cannot. Astarion wishes you would try harder, but he also understands.

Even after so many years, Astarion’s body craves you. You are certain you are addicted to each other. You wonder if it is a result of your vampiric marriage. 

He pleasures you every night, and you pleasure him; you cannot remember what sex was like before your undeath, but you know that nothing feels as good as when Astarion makes you come. 

Halsin is the last of your old friends that you can remember, as he lives to be nearly a thousand. You do your best to remember his face, but it slowly starts to slip away from you. 

You feel sad about these things, at times. Astarion cradles you, both your body and your mind, and tries to assure you of your gift. Eternity.

Part 2!!

Masterlist