#and will graham is just not polite half of the time

[cece693]

Man, I'm obsessed with anything related to vampires and Hannibal & Will. And your Hannigram x Vampire male reader work had me thinking about Alucard from Castlevania, especially from Castlevania Nocturne. I'm daydreaming about it all the time at this point. Here and here. Isn't he just so gorgeous and ethereal? You should watch Castlevania if you haven't seen it before. What I'm saying is, can I have more Hannigram x Vampire reader stuff? I'm daydreaming about Will and Hannibal falling for some who knows how many centuries-old (Alucard was born in 1456 and since Hannibal NBC takes place somewhere around the 2010s, he would be around 554 years old. Man, that's half a millennia) dhampir (half-vampire) with mid-back long, luscious platinum-blonde hair, gorgeous golden eyes and a handsome face. Love your work, by the way, amazing writings❤️

Of Blood and Moonlight

pairing: hannigram x male reader tags: your a vampire hybrid, hannigram aren't together yet but will be, I haven't seen the show but he does look beautiful, new obsession perhaps?

You’ve walked among mortals for centuries. Ages have passed, empires risen and fallen, and you have always stood at the outskirts, watching. You are neither fully vampire nor wholly human—a dhampir, caught between two worlds. Some nights, it makes you feel invincible. Others, it leaves you burning with longing.

Tonight, the moon gleams overhead, a quiet silver disc in the sky, as you step along the streets of Baltimore. Your platinum-blonde hair catches the moonlight like spun silver, while your golden eyes are darkened with centuries’ worth of memories. Despite the hush of the city at such a late hour, you sense someone watching. Not an uncommon occurrence, but you can’t help the faint grin tugging at your lips.

He has found you again.

“Are you lost?” comes a soft, cautious voice from behind you.

Turning, you greet the man standing there with a faint nod. Under the lone streetlamp’s glow, you see the tension in Will Graham’s stance. His dark curls seem to frame a gaze that flickers between curiosity and empathy. You know that gaze well, the powerful empathy that draws him to wounded creatures—whether they walk on four legs or two. Or, in your case, something else entirely.

You offer him a slight bow of your head. “No,” you murmur. “Just alone.”

He studies your face. Anyone else might see only a handsome stranger, but Will senses the echo of something deeper—something not quite human. His brows knit gently. “There’s an emptiness around you,” he says, half to himself, half to you. “It’s like…” His words trail off.

You find yourself stepping closer, hair whispering over your shoulders. You speak with a calmness that’s centuries in the making. “It doesn’t bother you?”

Will only half-smiles. “Not sure yet.”

In the hush that follows, there is a faint rustle—another presence stepping out from the darkness. You turn sharply, your heightened senses recognizing this man even before your gaze can land on him. Hannibal Lecter’s refined aura precedes him. He stands just beyond the reach of the streetlamp, wearing a dark overcoat, and in his eyes glimmers a blend of intense curiosity and quiet fascination.

“I see you’ve met Will,” he says with his measured cadence. His voice is smooth, cultured, every syllable perfectly placed. “I’m Hannibal Lecter.”

You simply give him a polite, centuries-old courtesy nod, your own brand of chivalry. “I’m aware,” you say, giving a secretive little smile.

Hannibal inclines his head with intrigue. “You know me?”

“I’ve heard stories,” you murmur. You keep your own secrets well—this is one of the many reasons you have survived so long. You know these two are not ordinary men. One hunts monsters; the other one is a monster in human skin. Yet you sense no threat. In your long existence, you’ve learned that sometimes the most unlikely of bonds can be formed over fascination and darkness.

Your first night at Hannibal’s lavish home is a carefully orchestrated affair. You don’t need an invitation to slip into his world—some unspoken magnetism exists between you three. You come at his request, long hair tied loosely back, golden eyes absorbing the soft glow of the dining room. A single red candle flickers at the center of the table. The scents of rosemary and thyme float through the air. There’s a subtle, rich undercurrent that might disquiet a normal human. To you, it’s enticing. Hannibal’s eyes track your every move, while Will watches with a mix of wariness and longing.

Hannibal, always poised, presents a decadent meal. His skill with cuisine is legendary, and you admire his artistry—even if you have suspicions about certain ingredients. Your golden eyes flick to the plate with mild curiosity, then you raise them to Will and Hannibal. “I don’t typically partake in…human fare,” you say politely, leaning back into the chair. The flickering candlelight dances against your pale features.

Hannibal offers a gracious incline of his head. “No insult taken. I understand if your habits differ.”

Will’s mouth quirks at one corner. “You can tell us about yourself instead.”

They watch your every breath as you trace a fingertip around the lip of your wine glass. You let the tension wind in the air, enjoying their rapt attention. “I have existed for many years,” you begin. “Centuries, if you will. Time has a way of dulling the senses, which is why I search for new experiences…” Your eyes flash gold. “And interesting company.” There’s a flutter in Will’s chest. He can’t hide it; you hear the slight hitch in his breath. Hannibal’s eyes reveal satisfaction, his curiosity mounting.

It’s Will who first breaks down the walls. Over the following weeks, you find yourself drawn to him—his empathy, his vulnerability, his unwavering desire to understand even the darkest parts of others. On more than one occasion, you and Will take late-night walks through the woods behind his house. He confides in you the weight of nightmares, of feeling too deeply. You softly explain that time dulls certain pains, but your ancient heart remains capable of new scars.

One evening, the moon is bright overhead, silver illuminating every strand of your platinum hair, your golden eyes gleaming. Will suddenly stops, turning to face you. “How do you stand it?” he asks, voice thick with emotion. “How do you bear seeing so much and going on forever?”

You tilt your head. You’ve asked yourself the same question countless times. “I survive by allowing myself to savor the rare beauties of the world—like quiet nights, moonlit forests,” you say, stepping closer. You can almost hear the rush of blood in his veins, and your fangs ache. “And souls that fascinate me.”

His cheeks flush, not from fear, but from a sense of closeness he’s never quite felt with anyone else. A heartbeat passes, and he lunges forward, pressing his lips to yours. It’s a sudden, urgent kiss. You respond in kind, centuries of loneliness dissolving in the warmth that is Will Graham’s humanity.

Hannibal Lecter is different. Where Will is stormy and turbulent with empathy, Hannibal is cold fire, methodical in his pursuit of what intrigues him. His interest in you has grown with every meeting. You catch the traces of desire in the way his dark eyes slide over your face, your hair, your body. He is unflinching.

One evening, you accept another invitation to his home. You arrive just as a violin concerto plays softly on his stereo. He bids you to follow him to his parlor, where two glasses of deep burgundy wine await. “I took the liberty of procuring something special,” he says, handing you a wine glass filled with a liquid that is not wine. You inhale the scent—thick, coppery. It’s fresh blood, carefully warmed, laced with delicate notes of something akin to sweet spice. Your centuries-honed senses reel.

He sits across from you, elbows on his knees, studying your reaction. His voice is low. “I trust it meets your needs.”

Your eyes narrow slightly. “You toy with danger, Dr. Lecter.”

A hint of a smile crosses his face. “Danger is so often misunderstood. I prefer to consider it an exploration.” You sip—carefully, indulgently—and you feel his dark gaze track every movement of your throat. It is an intimate, visceral moment. The air thickens with unspoken tension.

In the hush, you lock eyes with him. “And what do you want to discover?”

Hannibal sets his wine aside, rising to stand before you. He tilts your chin upward with clinical gentleness, the pressure of his fingertips both polite and possessive. “Whether something as timeless as you can feel obsession or even love.” You let him bend to kiss you, a languorous brush of lips that tastes of fine wine and predatory indulgence. Like a snake around its prey, but you—oh, you are no helpless creature. You return the kiss with equal fervor, letting him sense the centuries of want coiled behind your restraint.

In time, you find yourself often in the quiet presence of both Hannibal and Will. They form a precarious balance—Will’s empathy bridging the darkness, Hannibal’s refined cruelty tempered by genuine fascination. They both watch you with desires they are only just beginning to articulate.

Will’s eyes shift from Hannibal to you. “It’s strange,” he admits one night after dinner, a meal that you’ve politely observed but not partaken in. “How could we…share this?”

Hannibal levels a gaze at Will. “Do you think we can’t?” His gaze drifts to you. “Is it not possible to crave more than one kind of beauty?”

You say nothing at first, letting them speak. In your centuries, you’ve known all varieties of hunger, passion, and love. Humans have so many rules, so many limitations. But Hannibal has broken them, and Will has shattered them in his need for connection. Leaning forward, you entwine your fingers with Will’s, and with your free hand, you brush a pale strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ve lived so long, I’ve learned that hearts can hold multitudes.”

Will’s breathing quickens, his cheeks flushing. You sense Hannibal’s pulse, steady yet heavier, as he slips behind you, breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. For a moment, you close your golden eyes and let the swirl of your centuries melt into the present—this closeness, this strange connection.

The nights that follow blur into a tapestry of music, whispered confessions, and clandestine hunts through the city’s shadows. Sometimes you walk with Will beneath the stars, the hush of midnight an unspoken promise of safety. Other times, Hannibal lures you into hushed corners of his home, drawing you into sharp-edged kisses.

You’ve never belonged to anyone—nor have they. Yet you discover a kind of belonging here that is both enthralling and perilous. Hannibal’s presence is a constant danger, and Will’s precarious grip on his own self flickers daily. But for you, who’ve roamed centuries alone, this dual dance of desire is the most alive you’ve felt in ages. They see you as both a riddle and a comfort. They see your beauty—and your deadly potential. You are not monstrous to them; you are mesmerizing, as they are to you.

One late hour, the three of you gather in Hannibal’s drawing room. Crimson curtains filter the moonlight, casting the space in deep shadows. You stand between them—Will on your left, Hannibal on your right—each with an arm around your waist, their breaths close, hearts beating to different tempos yet syncing in one intangible thread of belonging.

“You’ve survived so long,” Will murmurs, pressing a cautious kiss to your neck, “will we be enough to keep you from drifting away?”

Hannibal’s voice flows smoothly, low and intimate. “Or will you watch us wither as the centuries continue on?”

Your lips curve into a wistful smile. “I cannot stop time, nor change the nature of my being.” You lower your gaze, hair drifting forward like a pale curtain, before lifting your eyes to them both—golden irises filled with an ancient warmth. “But I’ve learned that each moment we grasp is ours alone. What’s important is not how long it lasts, but that we truly live it.” Hannibal’s hand tightens at your waist, a promise if ever there was one. Will hides his face in your neck, his empathy bridging the eternity between you.

[nadinebrooks-sides]

Here is the link to my masterlist.

Hannibal Lecter: The Southern Belle and the Cannibal

Jack Crawford greeted you with a hug that could knock the wind out of a linebacker. Seeing as he didn’t have any children of his own, he treated you like his daughter. 

“You look just like your mama,” he said, stepping back to scan you with a critical eye. Your mom was his older sister. “And she’d kill me if she knew you were walking around this place looking like you’re about to rope a bull.” 

“Aw, don’t be like that,” you laughed, giving him a little twirl. “These boots are made for walkin’ - preferably all over men who don’t know how to act.” 

He chuckled. “You behaved the same way when you were a child and you haven’t changed a bit.”

“Why would I?” you grinned. “It’s workin’ for me so far.” 

Jack helped you get settled in a cozy rental just outside of the city. It had a sweet little garden, perfect for growing fruits that you could use in your baked goods and a huge kitchen where you planned to spend half of your sabbatical elbow-deep in butter and sugar. 

But rest wasn’t the only thing you were after, Virginia was full of stories waiting to be told, and a few good chapters to inspire your next novel wouldn’t hurt either.

Your first day visiting the BAU was nothing short of entertaining. 

Alana Bloom nearly fainted when Jack introduced you.

“No. No way. You’re the (y/n) (l/n)? Jack never mentioned you. I’ve read the entire House of Shadows series over three times.” 

“Three?” You beamed. “That’s impressive as that series is eight books. You just made my whole week Alana.”

“If it isn’t too much to ask, would you mind signing my books?”

“No trouble at all sugar.” (y/n)’s grin got even bigger as she watched Alana practically fall over as she went to fetch a tote bag filled with the books.

By the time you finished scribbling your name and a few Southern blessings in each one, half the team was watching you in amusement. 

You were used to it, the accent tended to draw people’s attention. 

Will Graham, however, seemed a little unsure of what to make of you.

He’d given you a polite smile and a handshake that lasted all of two seconds. Then he was back at his desk, eyes flicking over case files like you hadn’t just come waltzing into their world wrapped in charm and cinnamon. 

“Is he always that warm and fuzzy? You whispered to Jack. 

Jack smirked. “Will takes time.” 

“I’ve got nothin’ but,” you said, though your tone was light. 

It was later that same day when Jack pulled Hannibal Lecter aside before he had the pleasure of meeting you. The moment was quiet, but not subtle.

“As a protective uncle,” Jack began, tone as sharp as it was soft, “I’m asking you to stay away from her.” 

Hannibal’s brows arched slightly. “Do you truly believe that’s necessary?”

Jack crossed his arms. “She’s always had a thing for doctors.”

Will, overhearing from across the room, looked up. “And you think she’d like Hannibal?”

“I know she’d like Hannibal. And I know what kind of man he is.” 

“That’s a compliment, I hope,” Hannibal replied coolly.

“It’s not,” Jack said simply, before walking away.

If that was supposed to dissuade him, it didn’t. 

The next week, you stopped by the office with a basket of pecan pie bars and a sweet potato casserole.

“Little taste of home,” you said with a wink. “Didn’t want yall thinkin’ I was just here to look pretty.”

Will looked at you like you’d just dropped a kitten in his lap. Unfamiliar. Soft. A bit confusing. 

“Are you always like this?” he asked finally. 

You grinned. “Like what, sugar?”

“Smiling. Baking. Talking.”

You learned closer to Will, who to your surprise didn’t pull away, with a sly twinkle in your eye. “It’s called being nice, Will. Y’all should try it sometime.” 

Hannibal, who had just walked in behind you, was smiling to himself. You hadn’t noticed his arrival, and you certainly didn’t see the way he watched you.

Later that evening, he mentioned you during one of Will’s sessions. 

“She’s vibrant,” Hannibal said. 

Will let out a small huff. “She’s exhausting.”

“And yet, you stand up for her.” 

Will hesitated. “She’s Jack’s pride and joy and for some reason I feel like I’m supposed to because of how close we are with Jack.”

“I see,” Hannibal said quietly, fingers steepled.

“Why do you care?” Will asked, a little too sharply. 

“I find her … intriguing.” 

Will narrowed his eyes. “Be careful, Dr. Lecter. She’s not one of your patients. Or your experiments.” 

Hannibal’s smile was slow. “Of course.” 

The BAU was quieter than usual when you arrived again, your arms full of a still-warm peach cobbler and a pitcher of lemonade. You greeted everyone with a smile and a cheerful, “Mornin’ yall!” that echoed through the halls.

You were looking for Hannibal. 

Jack didn’t miss it. 

Will lifted his head from his desk, brows twitching as he gave you a little nod. “That smells dangerous.”

“You act like I’m trying to poison you,” you teased, setting the dish down on the break room counter with a dramatic huff. “Jack practically begs me to bring somethin’ sweet, and now I get suspicion from the rest of the class.” 

“I think he’s just afraid of developing an addition,” Alana said with a grin as she walked in. She was already digging through the cabinets for forks. 

Jack appeared next, eyeing the dessert like it was contraband. “If I gain ten pounds, you’re to blame.”

You waved a perfectly manicured hand. “Sugar builds character. Besides, I figured y’all deserve a treat, you work so hard.”

Your Southern drawl wrapped around every word like honey, thick and warm. Hannibal hadn’t entered yet, but you were half hoping he would.

You had only seen him a handful of times, and each encounter had left you strangely off-kilter. The man was all refinement and mystery, with eyes like old books and a presence that made your stomach flip.

He entered the room just as you poured yourself a glass of lemonade, and you nearly dropped the pitcher. 

“Good morning (y/n),” he said, that silk-wrapped voice sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes flicked to the cobbler, then back to you. “I see we’re being spoiled again.” 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you said, holding his gaze with a playful smirk. 

Will shot Jack a look over his mug. Jack, in return, muttered something under his breath and cleared his throat like a warning bell.

You, of course, missed none of this. “Uncle Jack already made it mighty clear you’re supposed to steer clear of me.”  

A beat of silence stretched between you and Hannibal. Something about the way he tilted his head made you feel like a puzzle he wanted to take apart piece by piece. 

“And yet,” he murmured, “here you are. Temptation delivered in Tupperware.” 

Will actually choked on his tea. 

“Okay, Casanova,” you laughed. “Don’t go flatterin’ me now. I might start thinkin’ you’re serious.” 

“And if I was?” Hannibal asked, voice quiet, almost contemplate. 

You didn’t answer. Instead, you looked at him for a long second, then slipped out of the room with a flirty wink over your shoulder.

Later that evening, you were curled up on your couch, reading over a few old manuscripts when your phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: May I request dinner with you sometime this week? I’ll cook. You may bring dessert, if you’d like.

You stared at the message, a little breath caught in your throat. With a crooked smile, you typed back.

You: Only if you promise not to psychoanalyze me before dessert 😇🥧

Hannibal: I’ll wait until after. 

The night of your dinner with Hannibal, you wore a dress you’d nearly left behind in Alabama. It was pale blue and flowed like river water, simple but flattering, and you’d styled your hair just enough to feel like you’d made an effort.

You knocked on Hannibal’s door with a casserole dish of your famous pecan pie bars tucked under one arm.

He opened the door in a perfectly tailored vest and dress shirt, and for a moment, you completely forgot why you’d come.

“Evenin’,” you said, smiling up at him.

“You look… breathtaking,” he said softly.

“Well now,” you chuckled, stepping inside, “you keep talkin’ like that and I might start believin’ it.”

His home was immaculate and rich with scent—something savory lingered in the air, and it was enough to make your mouth water. He ushered you in, and you handed over the dessert.

“I hope this pairs well with whatever gourmet thing you’ve got cookin’,” you said. “It’s just sugar and love.”

“Then I’m certain it will be the perfect ending.”

The evening unfolded like something out of a book you might’ve written.

Candlelight flickered over polished wood, soft music played in the background, and the food was so good it nearly made you cry. 

You found yourself laughing more than you’d expected—Hannibal, for all his reputation, had an incredibly dry and clever sense of humor. Something that you had always found attractive. 

“You’re not what I expected,” you said at one point, fingers curled around a wine glass. “Jack made you sound like some big, bad wolf.”

“And yet here you are,” he said again, echoing his words from the BAU with a knowing smile.

“I guess I just have a bad habit of wanderin’ into dark woods.”

He leaned forward slightly, voice lowered. “Just be sure you know which wolves bite.”

The wine buzzed in your head, warmth pulsing through you as your gaze dropped to his mouth and then quickly darted away.

By the time dessert was done, you were full and tipsy on wine and charm. Hannibal walked you to the door, one hand resting lightly at the small of your back.

“Well,” you said, stepping outside. “That was… real nice. You’re somethin’ else, Dr. Lecter.”

“So are you,” he said, watching you closely. “I hope I might see more of you while you’re in Virginia.”

You hesitated, then smiled. “I reckon that’d be fine.”

You stood there a moment longer, swaying slightly from the wine and the weight of his attention. Then, with a mischievous little grin, you handed him the half-empty tray of pecan bars.

“For bribery,” you teased. “In case you ever get the urge to lure me back.”

He took them gently. “Somehow, I don’t think I’ll need bribes.”

You left before your heart could give away how flustered you felt, heels clicking down the steps, wondering what in the world you’d just gotten yourself into.

“I think I can handle a little danger,” you said softly, almost to yourself.

The day after your dinner with Hannibal, you woke up still smiling. You baked, painted a little, and even sat down to sketch out a few ideas for your next novel.

But every time you tried to write, your mind kept drifting back to sharp cheekbones and that deep, deliberate voice. You'd been on plenty of dates—if last night counted as one—but there was something about Hannibal Lecter that stuck in your bones.

He, meanwhile, had been up for hours. His mornings were ritualistic: a symphony of steel blades, classical music, and fresh ingredients. But this morning, as he stirred cream into his coffee, something gnawed at the edges of his normally focused mind.

It was you.

“You’re smiling,” Alana said, stepping into his office later that day with a folder tucked under her arm. “That’s unsettling.”

“I had an enjoyable evening.”

Her brows lifted slightly. “With who?”

“Jack’s niece.”

Alana paused, then let out a short laugh. “Oh no.”

“Is that disapproval I detect?”

“No, no,” she said, settling into the seat across from him. “I’m jealous that you got to have dinner with her. I met her the other day. She signed all of my books and let me fangirl like a complete idiot. She’s charming, honestly.”

Hannibal tilted his head. “Books?”

“You didn’t know?” Alana blinked, then laughed. “She writes fantasy romance. Romantasy, I think it’s called now. She’s been on the New York Times Bestselling list more times that I can count. She’s a household name in that genre. Dragons, fae, magic—lots of yearning. Some spice.”

His brows lifted just slightly. “Spice?”

Alana gave him a look over her coffee cup. “Yes, spice. She’s known for her romantic tension and… well, detailed scenes.”

Hannibal’s mind flicked to the woman with the thick accent and slow smile who had brought him pecan pie bars. The one who had blushed when he told her she looked beautiful. “I wouldn’t have expected that.”

“That’s half the charm,” Alana said with a grin. “She looks so innocent and then she writes about things you probably wouldn’t read at your dinner table.”

“On the contrary,” Hannibal murmured. “I think I’ll pick up a copy.”

You didn’t see Hannibal for a few days after that. Jack invited you to lunch with the team on Friday, and you brought homemade blackberry muffins—“made with real love and just a pinch of mischief,” you told them with a wink.

The bullpen was buzzing when you arrived. Will offered you a rare, genuine smile as he passed by, his hair still wet from the rain.

“You always bring something sweet,” he said. “Are you trying to bribe us into liking you?”

“No,” you said sweetly. “I’m just Southern. We feed people when we like ‘em. And when we don’t, we pretend we do.”

He actually laughed at that. It was soft and brief, but a laugh nonetheless.

You were laughing with Alana near the coffee maker when Hannibal finally stepped into the office. You caught sight of him across the room, his posture perfect as ever, eyes scanning the space until they landed on you.

You felt it immediately—that little flip in your stomach. But this time, his gaze lingered longer than usual. There was something more curious behind it. Almost… mischievous.

“Dr. Lecter,” you greeted when he came closer. “Y’look like you’re contemplatin’ somethin’.”

“Indeed,” he said. “I’ve learned something fascinating about you recently.”

You quirked a brow. “That so?”

He stepped closer, just enough for his voice to drop into that velvet tone that made your pulse stutter. “Alana tells me you’re a rather successful author.”

You gave a modest shrug. “I dabble.”

“She also mentioned your work… may not be my usual genre.”

You smirked, biting your bottom lip. “Ah. So she told you.”

“She did.”

“And what do you think?” you asked, crossing your arms playfully. “That I’m too sweet and Southern to write anything salacious?”

His eyes roamed over your expression, deliberately slow. “You do have an innocent air about you.”

“Well now,” you said, a little breathless under the weight of his gaze, “I reckon that’s part of the job. I don’t look like someone who writes about shirtless winged warriors and morally gray sorcerers ravishing their enemies. But that’s what makes it fun.”

“I’m not so sure it’s just fun,” Hannibal said softly. “I think you understand your readers quite intimately.”

“And you’re what?” you teased, stepping just an inch closer. “Gonna read my books and start seein’ me different?”

“I already do.”

You blinked, that weightless heat blooming in your chest again. It was impossible to tell when he was flirting and when he was studying you. Maybe it was both.

“Well,” you said, swallowing back the little flutter in your throat, “if you do decide to read one, I recommend Entwined. That one’s got the most steam—and a particularly flirty villain you might appreciate.”

He chuckled, a low sound that made your skin prickle. “I’ll be sure to make note.”

Before you could say anything else, Jack’s voice called across the room.

“Hey, trouble, you distractin’ my people again?”

You turned with a grin. “Yes, sir. And I brought muffins to soften the blow.”

“Good,” Jack said, not even pretending to hide his suspicion as he eyed Hannibal. “Make sure everyone gets one.”

Hannibal raised a brow but said nothing.

You leaned in just slightly before walking away. “If you finish Entwined before next week, I’ll bring you somethin’ spicier. Maybe cinnamon rolls.”

“That would be… delightful,” he murmured.

And as you turned away, he watched you go with a slow, appreciative gaze, like he was already imagining every line you’d written and what part of you they’d come from.

The BAU office felt quieter today—one of those rare calm spells between storms. You’d been visiting more often, to the point where it didn’t feel like you were just visiting anymore. Your cowboy boots were now familiar enough to the team that no one batted an eye when they heard the soft clack of your heels in the hallway.

You were leaning against Will’s desk, sipping a sweet tea, as he tried to focus on whatever report he was writing. He wasn’t succeeding.

“You keep starin’ at her,” you said casually, nodding toward Alana, who was walking past with a file in hand.

Will followed your gaze, blinking a little too quickly. “I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “It doesn’t matter.”

You tilted your head. “Now why in the world would you say a fool thing like that?”

“She’s smart. Elegant. Confident. I’m—”

“Will Graham,” you interrupted. “Who’s smart, kind, complicated in a way that makes people lean in instead of walk away. Who rescues strays and argues with his own shadow because he always wants to do the right thing.”

He blinked. “You really think that’s who I am?”

“I know it is.”

His lips twitched. “You always talk like you stepped out of an old movie.”

“I always dress like I stepped out of one too,” you teased, tipping your hat slightly. “Now go ask that woman to dinner before I do it for you.”

Will looked down at his desk for a moment. “You really think I should?”

“I know you should.”

And maybe it was your confidence—or maybe it was the fact that no one had ever believed in him quite like that—but Will stood up, nodded once, and walked straight toward Alana.

You grinned to yourself, pleased. That was one down.

You didn’t expect to run into Hannibal so soon afterward, but there he was, standing just outside the elevator. As always, he was immaculate—gray suit, wine-red tie, and eyes that never missed a single thing.

“You’ve been busy,” he said as the two of you fell into step down the hallway.

“I’ve been persuasive.”

“So I heard. Will asked Alana to dinner.”

“I gave him a little nudge. Sometimes people just need to be reminded they’re worth the risk.”

“Mm,” Hannibal hummed. “And what about you? Are you worth the risk?”

You stopped just outside Jack’s office. “That sounds like a mighty dangerous question, Dr. Lecter.”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Jack would agree.”

“I don’t much care what Jack thinks,” you said, lifting your chin slightly. “I adore him. But this is my heart to risk. Not his.”

He tilted his head, considering. “You’ve made quite the impression on everyone here.”

“And yet,” you said softly, stepping closer, “you’re the only one who unsettles me.”

“Unsettle?” he echoed, voice like silk.

“Make my pulse race. Stir my thoughts. Make me want things I shouldn’t.”

He was silent for a beat, then reached for your hand. “You should come to dinner again.”

You hesitated. “Can I bring dessert?”

“You always do.”

Later that evening, you showed up at Hannibal’s door with an apple pie and your hair curled softly around your shoulders. He welcomed you in like a gentleman, but the way his eyes lingered told a different story.

Dinner was—unsurprisingly—impeccable. Lamb, roasted vegetables, wine that tasted like warmth on your tongue. Conversation flowed easily, touching on literature, memory, and music.

“I read Entwined,” Hannibal said as he refilled your glass.

You coughed lightly. “You did?”

“It was… evocative.”

“Evocative’s one word for it.”

“You’re quite skilled at building tension,” he added.

“Occupational hazard,” you said, cheeks warming. “I write what I like to feel.”

“Then you must enjoy longing.”

You met his gaze. “Only when it’s mutual.”

The air between you shifted, thickening with unsaid things. The table suddenly felt too wide. The room too small.

When it was time to leave, you stepped out with him to the front stoop. The night was warm, crickets singing softly in the distance.

“I had a lovely time,” you said.

“I always do, when you’re near.”

The way he said it wasn’t casual. It carried the weight of someone who was trying not to want too much—and failing.

You looked up at him, caught in his orbit. “Hannibal.”

“Yes?”

You stood on your tiptoes and kissed him.

It was soft. Warm. Just a brush of lips that felt like velvet and velvet flame. You weren’t sure who leaned in first—maybe it didn’t matter—but when you pulled away, his eyes were darker than before.

“I’m not sorry that I did that, but it won’t happen again.”

“No?” Hannibal raised a dark eyebrow.

You smiled, stepping back toward your car. “Not unless you ask me properly.”

He took a breath, slow and deliberate. “May I take you to dinner again, with the intention of doing that again at the end?”

You beamed. “You may.”

As you walked away, Hannibal stood there for a long time, watching the night where you’d just been. His fingers still tingled where they’d ghosted over your hand.

Inside, he returned to the dining room, pouring himself a final glass of wine.

Jack would not approve. But what the heart wanted was rarely polite—and you had made a mess of his mind in the most wonderful way.

And it wasn’t over.

Not even close.

[branwinged]

user branwinged being a daemyra shipper... feels good feels right

it's literally good!!! it's good, their scenes have great erotic energy (both pre and post time skip!) and the relationship is one of the narrative backbones of the show and is so in tune with asoiaf's themes of gender performance within the chivalric paradigm, honestly confused by the negative reception it gets from the book fandom. daemon and rhaenyra are more siblings than uncle/niece (he's introduced as the usurping gothic uncle after the heroine and her father's inheritance but this is subverted) the sibling thing is established pretty early on through viserys's control of daemon, specifically the way he sends him away from home to be married (very theon-esque in the way daemon's marriage/theon's hostageship is arranged to acquire a peacetime alliance. exactly the function brides fulfill in westeros) this is mirrored with rhaenyra. the difference being daemon is a prince with a dragon and he can just. choose to not remain trapped in some tower as he puts it to her in 1.04 "d: marriage is only a political arrangement—r: for men maybe" but rhaenyra will mirror him in this as well as she has those bastards with harwin.

there's also a reversal of gender roles happening with the two of them. in their first scene together when he's introduced as heir presumptive and gives her the necklace, the gender power differential is very clear (gendered gift, he gets to wield the valyrian steel sword but she can only have a necklace) but 1.01 ends with her supplanting him and it takes him four eps to come to terms with his inheritance being stolen and his violent pursuit of rhaenyra in the first half at the expense of her autonomy is thwarted every time (by himself lol) but then she takes him to dragonstone and makes him her wife in 1.07, like they didn't make him say that aloud but i got it i understood the message mr condal. she's the feudal lord of dragonstone now and unlike in 1.05 when marrying her presumably would've caused viserys to disinherit her (which would've absolutely led to resentment plus he's doing exactly what she doesn't wish for, being possessed as the property of her husband "give me rhaenyra to take to wife"), but in 1.07 it's her choice and is made in her interests and because of her desires and she's making him her consort. it's not a complete reversal obviously, it can never be. and the finale is touching upon some of those problems, that they're no longer perfect doubles once he crowns her. the relationship's shifted from siblings in spirit to monarch and subject now and that this partnership of visenya and aegon that they've constructed is a paradox within westerosi society, their genders don't align with the roles they seek to occupy.

the other thing that i like very much and is true for a lot of my favourite ships is that, daemon's "you were a child, i spared you" is particularly devastating because while backing away was the right thing to do for all the reasons re her personhood and autonomy, leaving did not undo the harm he already did when he came up with that plan of his to get back at viserys and it didn't spare her! the specific depravity she accuses him of is "you abandoned me!" a lot of posts here are about how she needs to flee and reject him entirely but the foundational premise here is clearly that the love will never go away. this person has wounded/traumastised/violated you and you have the full awareness of exactly how they have hurt you and you choose them anyway! because will graham voice i've never known myself as well as i know myself when i am with him. asoiaf ship of all time. tbqh.

[suchawrathfullamb]

Filthy het sex with Will Graham bellow the line.

It was almost six, and Hellen would be home soon. Will forced himself up from the couch, mind still foggy but restless. He’d promised himself he’d make dinner, something to mark their third Valentine’s Day together. He drifted into the kitchen and began to rummage through the cabinets.

Eggs, fish, potatoes.

He decided on fish, eggs, potatoes. But cooked.

He salted the eggs, their gentle sizzle echoing in the quiet house, when Winston lunged for the front door, tail thrashing with anticipation.

“Calm down,” Will muttered. “You act like you love her more than me.” Winston ignored him, already lost in the thought of her return.

He heard the car door slam, saw her silhouette slide past the curtains—dark hair tumbling over her shoulders, a flicker of movement against the cold light outside.

The door clicked open and Winston erupted, claws skittering across the floor, body vibrating with joy as he leapt at her feet.

“Hi! Hi, Winston, hi, boy,” she murmured in that baby voice she saved just for him, fingers tracing the shape of his head.

Will watched from the counter, a small smile tugging at his mouth as he arranged the eggs with deliberate care. She looked at him, eyes soft and secretive, then stepped forward.

“Valentine’s dinner?”

“Maybe,” he said. “We’ll see what I can pull off.”

She laughed and leaned in, her lips brushing his. She smelled of that perfume she always wore—sweet, with that dark undertone of licorice and cherry that clung to her skin. Her kiss tasted faintly of mint, a cool bite in the heat of the kitchen.

“Hi, you.”

“Hi,” he said, breath slipping between her lips.

He never expected to find himself in a relationship, not a real one, not with a future. But then Hellen came along.

Or rather, he came along. He’d taken a knife in the shoulder on the job, an instant of hesitation that cost him. Hellen had been the nurse on duty that night.

She was striking—long, black hair that fell like ink down her back, green eyes catching every flicker of light. The ring on her finger only added to the draw. Who was the man? Or woman?

He remembered the moment vividly—her delicate fingers pressing into his forearm, her skin streaked with his blood.

“At least you got the guy,” she said, voice raspy, something smoky beneath it.

He gave her a bitter half-smile, a nod.

Later, he watched her from the doorway, shadows playing across her face.

“Thank you.”

She didn’t look away—her gaze was steady, a slow smile curling on those full, soft lips that hinted at something darker beneath.

When she passed him to leave, their clothes brushed—he reached out, fingers light on her arm, asking for her number. She only raised her hand, letting the ring catch the light in a silent answer.

A doctor, probably, he thought. He smiled, the kind that never reached his eyes, and let her walk away.

But he ended up with Alice’s number instead, another nurse he overheard talking about drinks with Hellen. When he suggested a double date, Alice fell for it easily enough—Hellen and her fiancé would join them.

Just another nurse. Not a doctor. Mark. Of course. It’s always a Mark, or a Jeff—names that die by the second act.

He befriended Mark just enough to get a foot in the door—dinners, barbecues, polite laughter around a fire. There was no plan, just a drifting curiosity. Could he fracture this thing? He didn’t know if he even wanted to—he was just bored, a dull ache under the skin that needed something to catch on.

He’d taken a short leave after the stabbing, the days sinking into a haze of too much quiet, the self-awareness of his own mind creeping back in, raw and hungry.

He never thought he’d pull it off. But two months later, she was crying on his shoulder—telling him how Mark had already cheated on her before they were engaged, how she’d convinced herself she could forgive, that she could forget. But every time he touched her, she pictured him with the other woman. Their bed had turned cold.

In the end, it hadn’t been much of a challenge. But Hellen kept him. She was sharp, with a sly humor and a quiet detachment that fascinated him. Her constant vigilance, flight or fight eyes.

He left the fish in the oven and slipped down the hall, stopping in the doorway of the bedroom. She was changing, half-lit by the evening, the soft glow of the lamp painting her skin in shadows.

She caught his gaze and gave him that slow, knowing smile, crossing the room in her underwear, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her lips brushed his, soft and patient, her body warm and yielding under his hands. His fingers slid down her back, pulling her close, her nails tangling in his hair, her tongue a soft, deliberate invitation.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” he said, his voice low against her mouth.

“’Kay.”

He gave her a gentle smack as she stepped away, her laughter a warm, brief note in the dark room.

With her, it was easy. She was always busy, always disappearing into odd hours. They didn’t need the world outside—the nights passed in quiet conversations, sex, books shared in silence. She didn’t try to fix him, didn’t expect him to be more than he was. She kept him tethered, yet she was never fully there either—she hovered somewhere just beyond his reach.

“Mm, it’s so good,” she said between bites, her voice soft and pleased. He watched her, wine glass in hand, a faint smile curving his lips.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Mmhmm.”

They fucked like they always did, but with candles, for a valentine mood. Will used to think that was it, what truly kept him there. The sex. The comfort of having a place for his hunger. Cause it was deep set, dark and ugly. But Hellen shared it, she'd ask for it, to be choked, hit, spat on. Would let Will take her however he pleased, not like a doll, but a willing opponent.

He thought about it, as her soaking wet pussy glided ferociously on top of him, though about marrying her. He should, that's what they're supposed to do. Not now, but eventually.

Nails digging on his chest as he gripped the plump meat on her ass, knowing it would leave her red. He could picture marriage. Realistically they'd have a kid, sex would stop being a priority and eventually it would all become normal, bleak, dull.

But safe.

"Mm, fuck," she gasped, throwing her hair to the side, cheeks red, lips parted as she rode him, tight and soft on the inside, leaking everywhere. He pulled her to him, both hands holding and opening her ass, jamming into her pussy with abandon.

It could work. They could have a good life together. Safe, normal, peaceful.

Maddening.

He holds her head into his neck as she bawls, teeth on his skin, cock fucking her brutally. Just how she wants it.

He knows she still thinks about Mark, his soggy balls and precocious ejaculation. He knows that because the first time they fucked she commented on Will's "firm balls", on the second date she had to ask him to stop fucking her because she couldn't take it anymore.

She's gotten used to it by now, pussy stretched to take Will. Hell, she might be getting too used to it, he thinks as she comes for the second time, contracting on his cock, sending shocks of pleasure down his spine. He pulls out, dripping, rubs the head on her asshole a few times to cool off, but she reaches back, delicate hand up and down the slippery length of his cock, and slides it back inside.

He flips them over until he's on top of her, adjusts his body, leans down, presses his lips to her nipples, feels them hardening against his tongue.

"Mm, fuck, feels so fucking good," she sighs, eyes closing. "Shove that cock inside me."

He does. Holding her by the waist, drilling into her mercilessly. Nails scraping his arm, pressure swelling on his balls, he pulls out, rubbing his cock on her clit.

"Fuck, baby, you're gonna make me come again," she cries. And he does, shoves so deep inside, hips ramming into her, until it rises up his spine, stomach contracting, cock emptying inside her, leaking out of her pussy, that thick juice they made together.

He gives her a little tap on the cheeks, almost a slap, but not quite. She smiles, easy, pleased.

"You know I can feel you coming inside of me? Can feel it shooting up."

"Yeah?"

"Mhmm," she pulls him down, tongue reaching out before her lips do. "It's so fucking hot. Do you feel it too? When I come on your cock."

He nods, mouth curving in a teasing smile.

Will used to think he liked dirty talk, but Hellen showed him just how unprepared he was. The thing with her is that she likes to dirty talk outside of the context of sex. She'll just...Say something casually, like a normal conversation, except they're grocery shopping and she wants to know how tight her pussy feels on his cock.

She's not even trying to dirty talk, she just likes talking about it in general, even if it doesn't lead to anything, as if she's genuinely curious about the texture of her insides.

Took him awhile to understand she wasn't trying to get him hard on the grocery store.

He dated girls who were hypersexual before. Dated is a big word. He went out with them a few times. A lot were trying to impress, forcing themselves to play a role. Some were actually hypersexual. He's pretty sure he dated a nymphomaniac once. But Hellen was just genuinely into him. From what he could tell, she didn't have much sex before. She just...Really likes Will.

He wonders how long that could last.

Is it familiarity that kills horniness? He likes her, too, but he doesn't see her all the time. Doesn't know everything about her. Doesn't want to. Hellen is hotter as an idea. That's probably what she thinks of him, too. So they don't probe each other too much.

Later that night, he woke up to warmth and wetness on his cock. She was swallowing him whole, hips curving up, giving him a terribly appealing view. His hand on her hair, encouraging the movements, his knees folding up, her hands holding there.

She was so good at it, not by technique, but pure hunger and physiological reasons (she had thick, soft lips). Told him she always hated sucking dick but got wet from doing it to him.

Will wasn't naive, or uselessly modest. He was old enough to know how to play the game. It was easy, simple and he didn't understand why people couldn't figure it out. Everything someone wanted was almost splattered on their face. All one had to do was mirror that.

The game wasn't not even close to satisfying for him, he played to get what he wanted, that was it. But there was no thrill, no actual stimulation. It was always too damn easy.

He came hard and thick in Hellen's mouth.

"Fuck, look," she sat up, fingers opening her pussy. "Got me all wet just with your cock in my mouth."

Yeah, he knew. She had been under stimulated for so long with Mark. Resigned and exhausted by her own bitterness and inability to leave his ass. All she needed was a little fantasy. Make her feel on the edge, uncontrollably lustful. That's what she wanted. She wanted to want. And Will wanted her, so he shifted into a desirable mirage, one that reflected Hellen's fantasy.

"Yeah? Let me see," he pulls her closer, fingers sliding into her, then out, into his mouth. She tastes like a woman. Acidic, slightly sweet.

It wasn't difficult to read her fantasies. She was surrounded by doctors, gods in the eyes of society. Mark was a nurse, she saw him being subjugated every day. All her friends dated nurses, too. Except Evelyn. Evelyn was fucking one of the doctors. Hellen would constantly talk about how the man was just using her, would never take her seriously.

"Ride my face," he commanded, pulling her up.

It was clear from her choice of words that she was concerned about the doctor choosing Evelyn one day, scared of how she'd feel if he committed to her. She wanted a man with blood on his hands, a man that was seen as powerful, stoic, commanding. Easy as fuck to play this role. It wasn't even a new role, he knew this one well already. Most women are impressed by it. All he had to do was show up carrying his gun, talk about danger, life and death, keep his face still, voice low.

She drenched his face, sliding as his tongue widened to let her ride, his hands on her ass cheeks, gripping, intending to leave them red, a little sore.

"Yes, baby, just like that," she panted, juice dripping all over Will's cheeks. "Is it good, do I taste good?"

"Mhmm," he grips her harder, swallowing her, his cock hardening again.

Sometimes the self awareness curse would knock on Will's door, waving a small sign that said "you're going to get tired of her". In his thirty eight years of life, Will had fucked and went out with his fair share of people. Mostly women, but he tried guys, too. Drunk and mindless. But none did it.

He used to tell himself he was just too aware of the social construct around romantic relationships, and that's why he couldn't really fall in love, couldn't find it in himself to maintain a long term relationship.

Deep down (or maybe not as deep) he knew it was more than that. He knew it every time he reached for the bottle, the needle, the cigarette.

Hellen knows. Well, knows enough. They use together sometimes. It's not something you can hide, especially not from a nurse. But he knew he didn't have to when he saw her arms.

Maybe that's what it was. Trauma bond. Liquified into a syringe.

Hips rocking on his face, so wet it sounded like a swamp, hands on the headboard, moaning deliciously that she was about to come.

He kept eating her out until she came all over his mouth. Then he took her by the waist and sat her on his lap.

"Let me fuck your ass."

Panting, she threw her hair to the side, pressed one hand on his chest, the other grabbed his cock and rubbed it on her drenched pussy, up her asshole, rocking up and down the length.

He pressed his finger on her hole, wet by her pussy and his cock, and opened her slowly.

She dropped her chest on his, mouth to mouth, whispering, "gonna shove that cock in my ass, baby?"

Lacing fingers through her hair, tugging, he licks her mouth and jaw. "Gonna come with my cock inside your ass, hmm?"

"Yeah," she nods, eyes closing.

It's not long until she's ready to take him. She's stretched in every hole by now. He slides inside easily, doesn't take his time, just slams violently into her, hips coming up and down from the mattress.

He thought about the risk of getting her pregnant many times. Knows she doesn't want to but finds the idea hot. Knows in the way she asks him to fill her up. Something about virility that the lizard brain correlates with the ability to procreate, he guesses.

Will cannot have a child. That much he knows. Promised himself never to. The hole inside his heart would swallow a child in. Keep them there, safe and warm inside his well. Which is great for him, but lethal for the child. He doesn't truly understand it, just sees it, in his mind, a little girl being swallowed whole, eyes turning into voids.

"That feels so good," Hellen sighs into his mouth. He keeps fucking, her pussy drenching his lap, clit rubbing there.

In the morning, he'll come inside her again, holding her neck from behind as their bodies fit next to each other, in the lazy rhythm of mornings. She'll leave for work or sleep in until her shifts begin, and he will try to fill his time with distractions. There ain't no pretending. He knows the books, the tv, the food, whiskey, the needles, the everything is just that—Distraction. Knows well he's on the verge of a collapse, but he can't help it. Can only soften the road so that maybe—just maybe —the crash doesn't hit as hard.

But he knows it's coming. Can smell it in the air, not around but from within him.

"You can't, Will," Travis tells him over the phone. "I talked to Peter and it's a no for now but—"

"Oh, come on," Will huffs out.

"But, but," he continues, annoyed at the interruption. "He said he would see to it if you got a psych eval."

"What? Why?"

"What you mean why? You know why. You can't get back to the field if you can't pull the damn trigger to save your own life—!"

Will exhales, purposefully loud. There's a silence then Travis sighs. "Look, just do it. It'll be good for you."

"Yeah," Will says dryly.

"Look man, it is what it is. That's what Pete said."

"Yeah."

"Alright, I'll talk to you later."

He hangs up, puts the glass down on the table like he was personally angry at it.

"Hey," Hellen greets with a little pat on his head, passing by him in a t-shirt and knickers, opening the fridge.

"Hey," he says absentmindedly, nursing the whiskey. "Know any shrink?"

"Huh?" she asks without taking her head out of the fridge.

"A shrink. I need a psych evaluation. For work."

"Oh. Right. Cause of the whole...Thing."

"Yeah."

She shuts the fridge, glances at him briefly before putting eggs and orange juice on the counter. "Yeah, I know a few from the hospital. I'll get their numbers."

"Thanks."

"Mhmm."

She pours herself juice, leans on the counter. "They got back to you?"

"Yeah. Said I needed the eval."

"I'm surprised," she sips her juice, brows arching. Will doesn't ask. "I mean, we met because of the same situation. I'm surprised they didn't demand an eval before," she says, turning around and cracking eggs into a bowl. "Hell, I'm surprised they let you back in after that one time."

"Because that one time was an accident," he lies, mostly to himself, already getting impatient with her.

When they met, Will couldn't pull the trigger, something in him froze. Told them the gun faltered. Blamed it on something else, they even took the damn thing away from him, replaced it. He managed to avoid having to pull the trigger —for awhile. Until six months ago, again, he couldn't do it, almost got himself shot, if it wasn't for Travis stepping in.

Then there was no way around it—he was pulled out.

About two weeks in, he was offered a teaching post at the academy. Hellen was in his head about taking it. But he liked the rush of the field, didn't wanna give it up.

"Well, send me their contact, would ya? Gonna get some sleep," he says, already getting up.

"Not gonna eat?"

He shakes his head.

"'Kay. Well, I'll see you later, then."

"Yeah," he walks up to her, kisses her, feels her lips parting, tongue sliding inside his mouth.

Winston follows him to the bedroom, paws dragging on the wooden floor, like he knows Will's a mess and needs company.

He puts the whiskey on the nightstand, flops on the bed, sighs at the ceiling, eyes closing, and lets his mind find its way to darkness eventually.

[lilmoonbunny]

Just Alex; Alex Casey

When a case gone wrong leads to a confession, Casey is unsure how to act around her.

Warnings: hostage situation, stabbing, slight jealous!casey

This takes place before Alan Wake 2. Also, I'm only like half-way through, so he may be out-of-character.

Alex Casey loves coffee, anybody who knows him was aware of this. There was never a point in time when he was free and was seen without his beloved drink. Perhaps it was unhealthy – an addiction – but he couldn’t find him in it to care. With the stress of everything, coffee was the thing that made him feel better, well… one of the things.

Y/N was his co-worker, his partner in crime, if you will. She helped him feel better too, maybe even more than coffee did. Y/N was many things: kind, sweet, funny, and a coffee addict also; that was potentially a reason that the pair got along so well.

“Morning, Casey,” Y/N greeted the mentioned man with a smile the moment she spotted him entering the office, two cups in hand.

“I’ve told you before, Y/N, just Alex is fine,” he grumbled, passing her the coffee cup, a daily occurrence between them.

“I know, but then everyone looks at me weirdly, so…”

Because you’re the only person I let call me Alex, he thought to himself with an internal roll of the eyes.

Casey simply sighed and sipped his own coffee.

The case that they were working was tough. There were no leads and neither of the duo knew where to go with it next, which is why they brought in Graham.

Graham was around their age, a cop from the town that they were currently working in, and Casey did not like him one bit.

“Y/N, why don’t you come with me, and I’ll show you around?” Graham grinned as he pointed towards his car, completely ignoring her partner as he did so.

The woman, however, seemed oblivious to the flirtatious offer that the cop gave, smiling politely and looking towards Casey. “Me and Casey have got somewhere to be soon; a meeting with something very important.”

Casey shot her a look. They had nowhere else to be, nor any leads, so why was she saying this? She simply nodded at him.

“Oh, all right,” Graham said, clearly annoyed that Casey came first. “Maybe another time?”

“Absolutely!” She smiled, although it didn’t quite meet her eyes. “See you later.”

A relieved sigh left her lips the moment Graham was out of earshot.

“We have something to meet? Did you mean someone?” Casey asked bluntly, confusion filling his face when she laughed.

“Coffee, Casey. We have a meeting with coffee.” She grinned, this time it completely meeting her eyes and he couldn’t help the small smile that crawled onto his lips. “I couldn’t stand listening to him flirt any longer, it was awful.”

“You realised? You seemed oblivious,”

“Years of being around men will teach you to act that way, Casey.”

He grumbled. “Just Alex is fine.”

The case had gotten intense, and Y/N and Casey were currently hunting the killer. Back-up was on the way, but they had to chase the killer alone, or else they’d lose him for God knows how long.

Guns drawn, the pair rushed after the shadows of the suspect, muddy footsteps mixed with blood being their lead.

“FBI! Show yourself!” Y/N called into the wooded area, eyes darting around the scene, looking for the killer or anything that may reveal his location.

Casey was behind her, watching their backs just in case, but a gasp from his partner had him spinning around.

In front of him stood the killer, Y/N in his arms with a gun to her head. His body froze, yet his face remained neutral, his own gun raised towards the killer. He couldn’t get a clear shot of him, but hopefully it would deter him from doing something stupid.

“Drop your weapon,” Casey demanded, heart racing.

“Or what?” The killer taunted. “You’ll shoot? I’ll just shove your pretty little girlfriend here in front of me.”

Y/N remained silent, focusing on her breathing whilst planning how to get out of this mess. Her gun had been grabbed and tossed the moment he got a hold of her, so that was no use, but the knife on her thigh…

Casey was stumped for what to do. He was right, of course, shooting at him would just get Y/N in more danger, and that was the last thing that he wanted; he never wanted her in danger. Back-up was likely nowhere near and possibly had no idea where they were.

“Look,” He had to stall for time, “I know you’re scared, but hurting her will just give you less options.” Casey had no idea what he was saying and had to force himself to keep his gaze on the killer and not the woman he had grown fond of that was in danger. “I’m a witness, remember.”

The killer tensed at his words. “You know nothing about what I’m feeling.” He spat. “You’ve never known true fear.”

“I have, and I am right now.”

“Why!?”

The gun was on him now, perfect.

Y/N’s arm slowly inched towards the knife strapped to her thigh whilst she prayed Casey could keep him distracted.

“Because you’re holding her hostage,”

“And that matters why?”

Almost there, Y/N thought to herself, the conversation going on unheard by her as she focused.

“Because I love her.”

The moment she had hold of the knife, she swung it into the killer’s thigh, feeling his grip on her and the gun release as he stumbled backwards. Casey’s eyes widened, both at the confession that had just hit him and the fact that Y/N had stabbed him.

Y/N’s own eyes widened in shock at her actions as she let out a breath that she was unaware that she had been holding. “Oh my God,” she gasped, turning to face the killer who was lying on the floor. Without thinking, she rushed towards him, unsure of what to do; Casey did the same.

“Here,” Casey handed Y/N her usual coffee as she sat in the empty office.

“Thanks,” she muttered, curling into her soaked FBI jacket.

Casey took note of her shivering form and excused himself before coming back with his dry jacket, passing it to her. “Take this.” He spoke.

“Thank you,” she said, finally looking up at him from where she was sat.

The silence was comfortable, at least to her; Casey had no idea what to say to her, assuming she had heard his earlier confession.

“Casey,” Y/N broke the silence, “are you all right? You look uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier. It was out of line, and I shouldn’t have said it.” He rushed.

“What did you say? Have I missed something?” She asked, cuddling into his jacket.

It smells like him, she noted.

“In the forest, before you…” He trailed off.

“I’ll be honest, Alex, I wasn’t listening.”

The use of his name had his cheeks flushing red. “You finally said it,”

“Well, yeah. You kind of saved my life, I think I owe you.”

“Saved your life? How?”

Y/N smiled softly, reaching out to take his hand and give it a gentle squeeze.

“You kept him distracted long enough for me to grab my knife, idiot. Now, what were you on about?”

Alex sighed quietly, taking a sip of his coffee. “It’s nothing.”

Y/N glanced at him, his awkwardness something she wasn’t used to seeing on him. Something was up, and she wanted to know what.

"Did you say you loved me or something?” She joked, eyes widening as he pulled his hand away from her own and tensed. “Oh, you did.”

She watched as he quickly stood to his feet. “Forget about it,” he muttered, turning to leave.

“Alex, c’mon.” You can’t just rush off when I find out you feel the same.”

Her words had him freezing in place, slowly turning to face her.

“The same?”

“That is what I said, yes.”

He smiled. “You mean that?”

“Obviously, you idiot,”

The pair smiled at each other as he took a seat opposite her once again. Y/N’s hand found his again, the warmth shooting through their bodies the moment their skin touched.

Sure, it might have been a life-or-death situation that got them to admit their feelings, but at least they got there.

“It took you years to call me Alex, I will never forget that.”

“We were having a moment…”

[desperatelyseekingcannibals]

The Party (Spacedogs) - Shortfic

Explicit // M/M // Adam Raki (Adam)/Nigel (Charlie Countryman) // Tags: Christmas Party, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Alternate Universe, Meet-Cute, Getting to Know Each Other, party hook-up, Closet Sex, Dry Humping, Dirty Talk, Coming In Pants, Family Drama, Anal Fingering, Masturbation, Anal Sex, Riding, happy ending. Prompt Fill. Nigel and Adam meet at Will and Hannibal's Christmas Party... smut ensues...

Inspired by this amazing art by @beatricenius

The Party (4.5k words):

Nigel usually made plans specifically to get out of these pretentious fucking parties, but this year he’d dropped the ball and had no excuses when it came to the Lecter-Graham annual Christmas costume party. 

On the one hand, he supposed, Hannibal was probably happy he hadn’t attended since the tradition’s inception - not having to inflict his brother onto polite company. On the other, Hannibal’s in-laws were probably beginning to think that Nigel didn’t actually exist. 

It wasn’t like Nigel had met any of Will’s family, ever. And from the way Will sneered at him half the time they were around each other, he probably preferred that. 

After five years of these parties, perhaps it was time to partake. Though the costume had been a palaver. 

Every year had a theme and this year was masquerade, which Nigel imagined would be comprised of a lot of stuck up wankers dressed in those Venetian masks. Nigel didn’t have time to or desire to get something like that, besides he had an old Halloween costume that would work perfectly with the mask theme.

Nigel zipped up the boiler suit and rummaged for the mask. It wasn’t that he was purposely trying to piss off Hannibal and Will, it was just something that came naturally and he felt the urge to lean into it each time. 

He found the mask and pulled it on, he looked in the mirror and smirked. 

*

“Are you mad at me?” Adam asked, trying to read Will’s expression as they stood in the guest bedroom. Even though Will shook his head, Adam still wasn’t sure. He’d always been close with his cousin and spent most Christmases with him since both their parents had died years ago, But reading people entirely was difficult, and Will knew that. He knew he had to tell Adam what he was thinking or feeling and not expect that he would always know. 

“It’s cute,” Will shrugged and Adam frowned. That at least seemed to prompt his cousin, “It’s fine, honestly. When we said masquerade, we had in mind more… masks…” he made a motion over his eyes as though to indicate wearing a mask.”

“Like Zoro?” Adam asked, frowning. 

Will shrugged and winced, “Just a mask-mask. A mask.”

“Repeating the word makes it no clearer. I do understand the concept of a masquerade but you seem to want something very specific. This <i>is</i> sort of a mask,” Adam held up the helmet and put it on, then he flicked down the sun visor, “this bit is a mask.”

“You’re right, it’s fine.” Will agreed.

“Okay then,” Adam smiled and secured the helmet on. “I didn’t have anything else I could bring.”

“Hannibal and I could have gotten you something, or we could have gone shopping…” Will trailed off as Adam shook his head. He really wasn’t great with shopping, and was pretty particular about clothes.

“I’m comfortable in this,” Adam said.

Will smiled then and nodded, he grabbed Adam’s shoulder and squeezed, though he could barely feel it through the thickness of the spacesuit. 

“That’s all that matters.”

Continue on AO3!

[princess-of-the-corner]

HEY MY DUDES

Okay so we went down the Rabbithole with the Princess Bee AU and now I have a bunch of Nextgens I slapped together! Some may end up being yoinked over to HC/LL eventually but for now! Let's go down the list!

(Note: obvs I am limited in color pallet by the picrew so some colors are not accurate to the show so like. Take what their parents' colors are and roll with that)

Name: Dawn Mellifera

Gender and Sexuality: Female, Lesbian

Info: Chloé's daughter! Main character energy. Snarky as hell but genuinely kind.

Name: Louis Dupain-Cheng

Gender and Sexuality: Male, gay

Info: Oldest of the Adrienette kids. Got a lot of the high-energy and the occasional brain cells from his parents.

Name: Emma Dupain-Cheng

Gender and Sexuality: Female, Lesbian

Info: Charming and sweet middle child! Absolutely overthinks her romance options.

Name: Hugo Dupain-Cheng

Gender and Sexuality: Male, Aroace

Info: Baby of the family(by like a year and a half but still)! Somehow 100% done with everyone's romance nonsense. Soft and sweet, but boy has a TEMPER

Name: Blossom Lahiffe

Gender and Sexuality: Female, bisesxual

Info: The older of the twins! A bit brighter and more cheery! Loves mystery novels and pranking people by switching with her sister

Name: Carmen Lahiffe

Gender and Sexuality: Demigirl(she/they), Pansexual

Info: The younger of the twins! Slightly more mature, but loves doing voicework. And also pranking people with her twin.

Name: Asphodel Couffaine

Gender and Sexuality: Male, gay/ace

Info: A bit peppy but morbid as HELL. I love him so much actually.

Name: Erika Couffaine

Gender and Sexuality: Female, Pansexual

Info: Dresses punk, acts polite enough that everyone assumes it's for aesthetic purposes rather than genuine, absolutely punk rock.

Name: Lê Chiến Summer

Gender and Sexuality: Genderfluid, Pansexual

Info: Into every sport possible and wrecks house at all of them. A touch competitive and one-track-mind, but a good friend!

Name: Vivian Bruel

Gender and Sexuality: Female, Lesbian

Info: Takes after her father very much in being large as FUCk, but is sweet softie like her mom!

Name: Viola Kubdel

Gender and Sexuality: Agender(they/them), Achillean

Info: Quite soft and shy. Likes to spend their time painting, hoping to one day be as great as the ones in the Louvre. They do have quite a sense of humor though, as they joke about the idea that their mom adopted them from another timeline. (no one knows if it's really a joke)

Name: Abigail Anciel-Kurtzberg

Gender and Sexuality: Female, Straight

Info: Absolute mom friend. Somehow the most stable of these idiots.

Name: Westley Keynes (Wambli)

Gender and Sexuality: Demiboy(he/they), Bisexual

Info: Probably the only one of the group who /expected/ to become a Superhero, though had yet to begin training as the next Sparrow by the events of Canon.

Name: Artemis Graham de Vanily

Gender and Sexuality: Male, Pansexual

Info: Just as socially awkward as his parents, which makes people think he's innocent. In reality, he's the most likely to commit vigilante murder.

[book--brackets]

The Cemeteries of Amalo by Katherine Addison (2021-present)

When the young half-goblin emperor Maia sought to learn who had set the bombs that killed his father and half-brothers, he turned to an obscure resident of his father’s Court, a Prelate of Ulis and a Witness for the Dead. Thara Celehar found the truth, though it did him no good to discover it. He lost his place as a retainer of his cousin the former Empress, and made far too many enemies among the many factions vying for power in the new Court. The favor of the Emperor is a dangerous coin. 

Now Celehar lives in the city of Amalo, far from the Court though not exactly in exile. He has not escaped from politics, but his position gives him the ability to serve the common people of the city, which is his preference. He lives modestly, but his decency and fundamental honestly will not permit him to live quietly. As a Witness for the Dead, he can, sometimes, speak to the recently dead: see the last thing they saw, know the last thought they had, experience the last thing they felt. It is his duty use that ability to resolve disputes, to ascertain the intent of the dead, to find the killers of the murdered. 

Now Celehar’s skills lead him out of the quiet and into a morass of treachery, murder, and injustice. No matter his own background with the imperial house, Celehar will stand with the commoners, and possibly find a light in the darkness. 

The Children of Green Knowe by Lucy M. Boston (1954-1976)

Tolly's great-grandmother wasn't a witch but both she and her old house, Green Knowe, were full of a very special kind of magic. And Green Knowe turned out not to be the lonely place Tolly had imagined it to be. There were other children living in the house - children who had been happy there centuries before.

The Smoke Thieves by Sally Green (2018-2020)

In a land tinged with magic and a bustling trade in an illicit supernatural substance, destiny will intertwine the fates of five players: 

A visionary princess determined to forge her own path. 

An idealistic solider whose heart is at odds with his duty. 

A streetwise hunter tracking the most dangerous prey. 

A charming thief with a powerful hidden identity. 

A loyal servant on a quest to avenge his kingdom. 

 Their lives intersect with a stolen bottle of demon smoke. As war approaches, they must navigate a tangled web of political intrigue, shifting alliances, and forbidden love in order to uncover the dangerous truth about the strangely powerful smoke that interwines their fates.

Mongrels by Stephen Graham Jones (2016)

He was born an outsider, like the rest of his family. Poor yet resilient, he lives in the shadows with his aunt Libby and uncle Darren, folk who stubbornly make their way in a society that does not understand or want them. They are mongrels, mixed blood, neither this nor that. The boy at the center of Mongrels must decide if he belongs on the road with his aunt and uncle, or if he fits with the people on the other side of the tracks.

For ten years, he and his family have lived a life of late-night exits and narrow escapes—always on the move across the South to stay one step ahead of the law. But the time is drawing near when Darren and Libby will finally know if their nephew is like them or not. And the close calls they’ve been running from for so long are catching up fast now. Everything is about to change.

The Door Within by Wayne Thomas Batson (2005-2006)

Aidan Thomas is miserable. And it's much more than the strange nightmares he's been having. Just when life seemed to be coming together for Aidan, his parents suddenly move the family across the country to take care of his wheelchair-bound grandfather. When strange events begin to occur, Aidan is drawn into his grandfather's basement where he discovers three ancient scrolls and an invitation to another world.

No longer confined to the realm of his own imagination, Aidan embarks on an adventure where he joins them in the struggle between good and evil. With the fate of two worlds hanging in the balance, Aidan faces Paragory, the eternal enemy. Will Aidan be willing to risk everything and trust the unseen hand of the one true King? The answer comes from The Door Within.

A Face Like Glass by Frances Hardinge (2012)

In the underground city of Caverna the world's most skilled craftsmen toil in the darkness to create delicacies beyond compare. They create wines that can remove memories, cheeses that can make you hallucinate and perfumes that convince you to trust the wearer even as they slit your throat. The people of Caverna are more ordinary, but for one thing: their faces are as blank as untouched snow. Expressions must be learned. Only the famous Facesmiths can teach a person to show (or fake) joy, despair or fear — at a price.

Into this dark and distrustful world comes Neverfell, a little girl with no memory of her past and a face so terrifying to those around her that she must wear a mask at all times. For Neverfell's emotions are as obvious on her face as those of the most skilled Facesmiths, though entirely genuine. And that makes her very dangerous indeed...

Squire by Nadia Shammas (2022)

Born a second-class citizen, Aiza has always dreamt of becoming a Knight. It’s the highest military honor in the once-great Bayt-Sajji Empire, and as a member of the Ornu people, her only path to full citizenship.

Now, ravaged by famine, Bayt-Sajji finds itself on the brink of war once again. This means Aiza can finally enlist to the competitive Squire training program.

The camp is nothing like she envisioned. Hiding her Ornu status in order to blend in, Aiza must navigate friendships, rivalries, and rigorous training under the merciless General Hende. As the pressure mounts, Aiza realizes that the “greater good” Bayt-Sajji’s military promises might not include her, and that the recruits might be in more danger than she ever imagined.

Dragon's Bait by Vivian Vande Velde (1992)

Fifteen-year-old Alys is not a witch. But that doesn't matter--the villagers think she is and have staked her out on a hillside as a sacrifice to the local dragon. It's late, it's cold, and it's raining, and Alys can think of only one thing--revenge. But first she's got to escape, and even if she does, how can one girl possibly take on an entire town alone? Then the dragon arrives--a dragon that could quite possibly be the perfect ally. . . .

Tales of Alderly by Alan Garner (1960-2012)

About 150 years ago, my great-great-grandfather, Robert Garner, carved the face of an old man with long hair and beard in the rock of a cliff on a hill where my family has lived for at least 400 years, and still does. He carved the face above a well that is much older. How much older, no one knows, but it's centuries older, or even more. And why did he carve it? He carved it to mark that here is the Wizard's Well.

I am Joseph's grandson, and I grew up on that hill, Alderley Edge in Cheshire, aware of its magic and accepting it. I didn't know that it wasn't the same for everyone. I didn't know that not all children played, by day and by night, the year long, on a wooded hill where heroes slept in the ground. Yet there were strange things. Below another ancient well, the Holy Well, a rock lies in a bog. It fell from the cliff above in 1740 and made the Garners' cottage shake. It landed on an old woman and her cow that, for some reason, were standing in the bog, and, as a result, are still there. When I was seven, the bog was dangerous for somebody of my size and I once got stuck in it and thought I was going to drown, even though I sank only to my hips; but I managed to reach the rock and to climb up it to where a fallen tree was lodged, which spanned the bog, and by sliding along the trunk I was able to reach firm land. Nearby, under the leaf mould, is a layer of white clay that we used as soap to wash ourselves before we went home after playing. But there wasn't anything I could do about my clothes, and Grandad was not pleased.

The Edge is a land of two worlds: above and below. It took me my childhood to learn about above; when I was 19, I went to learn the wonders of below: a world of darkness and silence, so dark that you can see the lights of brain cells discharging; so silent that blood in the veins can be heard.

Stoneheart by Charlie Fletcher (2007-2009)

A city has many lives and layers. London has more than most. Not all the layers are underground, and not all the lives belong to the living. Twelve-year-old George Chapman is about to find this out the hard way. When, in a tiny act of rebellion, George breaks the head from a stone dragon outside the Natural History Museum, he awakes an ancient power. This power has been dormant for centuries but the results are instant and terrifying: A stone Pterodactyl unpeels from the wall and starts chasing George. He runs for his life but it seems that no one can see what he's running from. No one, except Edie, who is also trapped in this strange world. And this is just the beginning as the statues of London awake

[fatalism-and-villainy]

I think one thing that always bothers me about the Red Dragon arc is - well, it’s a common talking point in the fandom that each half of season 3 represents Hannibal and Will, respectively, living the lives they’d ideally want but without each other. But the thing is, we don’t actually really see much of Will “living without Hannibal.”

Like, in 3A, we get an entire episode of Hannibal’s life without Will, one in which Will doesn’t even show up (and for a season premiere, that’s an even more radical departure from the status quo - we feel Will’s absence as much as Hannibal does) but it feels like there’s this void of negative space where he is. And the contours of that void are so brilliantly and subtly suggested through the flashbacks to Gideon, which contextualizes the preparation of Bedelia (the inadequate substitute for Will Graham) and underlines Hannibal’s need to have others bear witness to his artistry (again, something only reluctantly done by Bedelia, and done in a manner unsatisfactory to him by Anthony Dimmond, the episode’s other unsatisfactory replacement for Will who gets recycled as a macabre valentine for Will). So Gideon saying “if only that someone could be Will Graham” feels like the culmination of what everything that has until now been unspoken has been leading up to.

And in 3B, we don’t really get any kind of analogue to that with Will. In some ways, that makes sense - given Hannibal’s Hannibal-ness, it’s possible to devote an entire episode to his murder and identity theft shenanigans and get some entertaining television out of it. But the life Will is living is a lot more mundane, so it’d be pretty boring to watch forty minutes of him fixing boats and playing with his dogs and eating dinner with his family.

But I do think there should have been something to indicate potential cracks there. We could potentially have had some bits of Will’s life interspersed with the expositional sections of episode 8 that were dedicated to Hannibal being a little shit while in prison, maybe featuring Will being haunted by murder (in the form of the disturbing visions the show is so good at) or missing Hannibal and feeling out of sync with Molly and Walter somehow (as opposed to waiting to get back to Will until literally the equivalent of the first chapter of Red Dragon). Or, they could have been included in flashback form in episode 9 alongside Hannibal’s memories of Abigail (especially in keeping with the themes of family, and Hannibal’s cruel contrast of the family he tried to give Will with the family Will chose for himself).

I get that time constraints were a concern, but ideally, this sort of thing would have helped a lot. Because what we actually get is somehow, simultaneously, Will leaving his family (apparently on a suicide mission) without any kind of mention of them at all, and Will seeming perfectly content with them without much qualification. (And even the book gives us more potential cracks in his marriage - both in it being made clear that Will never expected the marriage to last, and in the “maddening politeness” he endures near the end. The show does give us a little bit of that with the friction between Will and Walter after Dolarhyde’s attack, but Molly still isn’t as angry or distant with Will in the wake of that attack as she should be for me to really buy the dissolution of that family.)

So, all of that is to say that, while 3B has grown on me quite a lot, I think it fails to show us the Hannibal-shaped negative space in Will’s life. And I don’t buy the argument that we should just take it for granted that of course Will couldn’t live without Hannibal. Just as with the Minnesota Shrike, I need to see a negative to fully see the positive.

[cece693]

TOP PRIORITY IS SO GOOD!!!! I LOVE THE HANNIGRAM X READER TENSION ITS GIVING ME THE WILL (pun intended) TO LIVE LIKE OH MY!

the tension between sworn guard and a love interest, especially if that id someone they’re guarding?!?! plus hannibal’s possessive manipulative nature my babies

This is perhaps one of my best works (if I say so myself.) Just something about a love triangle where everyone can obviously make it work but they're too stubborn to do so warms my heart. So, of course, I had to do pt. 2. Hope you enjoy it!

Top Priority Pt. 2

tags: blood, takes place during the end of season 2 with obvious changes, Hannibal being emotional but hiding it well, reader is at a crossroads, hurt will, Abigail doesn't exist in my story

The seasons shift in a blur of grey mornings and subdued evenings at Dr. Lecter’s table. You are there, quietly situated at his side, every movement reflecting the careful polish of Hannibal’s instruction. Whether it’s clearing plates, setting the finest cutlery, or simply standing watch, you serve your purpose without complaint. And all the while, Will Graham remains an unspoken question mark between you and Hannibal—a slow burn that neither you nor Will fully understands.

Will has long suspected that something binds you to Hannibal. In the beginning, it was a mere flicker of curiosity: your nearly imperceptible deference, the way you would catch Hannibal’s eye before answering a simple question—as though waiting for silent permission. Initially, Will thought you were just a personal assistant or perhaps a housemate paying low rent. But your intense loyalty was unmistakable, far beyond an ordinary tenant or friend.

He mentioned it in passing to Jack Crawford, who dismissed it as inconsequential—Hannibal Lecter was known for his eccentricities. Later, Will confided in Alana Bloom: “There’s something about the way he obeys Hannibal. It’s not normal.” Alana had only frowned, unsure what to make of Will’s worry.

What gnawed at Will most was your reluctance to engage him whenever Hannibal wasn’t around. You seemed guarded, offering half-smiles and polite dismissals, as if every conversation with Will could threaten the structure of your indebted existence. Will recognized the signs of someone living in quiet distress, despite your outward veneer of calm. The more he tried to get close to you, the more you sidestepped him with disarming courtesy.

Yet Will was not one to let go once his curiosity had sunk its hooks. He returned to Hannibal’s office again and again, partly for his own 'non-therapy conversations', but also to unravel the mystery that was you. Each time he visited, he gleaned tidbits—how you’d appeared in Hannibal’s life from some dire circumstance, though the exact details were never shared. You spoke rarely of your personal history, and Hannibal, skilled at deflection, would guide Will back to safer topics—his own nightmares, his empathy disorder, his struggles at the FBI.

Over time, Will found himself spending more evenings at Hannibal’s house. One quiet night, as the fireplace cast dancing shadows on the walls, Hannibal spoke softly about trust and betrayal. You were in the next room, tidying away the remains of dinner. Will, gazing into the flickering flames, found himself confiding, “I’m worried about him. (Y/N), he’s not free, is he?”

Hannibal’s dark eyes met Will’s, the reflection of the fire dancing across his irises. “He is where he needs to be,” was the only answer given. The statement rang both protective and possessive, warning Will against further prying. Still, it only fueled Will’s desire to help you.

In an unexpected twist, Will’s growing suspicions tethered him more tightly to Hannibal. He couldn’t deny the magnetic allure that emanated from the doctor—nor the deep sense of validation he found when Hannibal listened to his every fear and doubt with rapt attention. Nights that began as investigative queries ended with Will perched in an armchair, discussing everything from theology to classical music, while Hannibal watched him with that singular intensity.

You would sometimes catch these moments from a distance: Hannibal and Will leaning in toward each other, breath catching in hushed conversation. A flicker of jealousy, of heartbreak, would course through you. Yet you could also see that Will was searching for answers. For you. That realization gave you a bittersweet sense of comfort. But above all, your loyalty to Hannibal held you in place.

The deeper Will waded into Hannibal’s world, the more entangled he became. His original motive, to protect you and uncover the truth, mingled with the enthrallment of Hannibal’s attention. And through all of it, you remained the silent axis around which they spun.

That final night arrives in a swirl of tension. Jack Crawford has set a plan in motion to confront Hannibal—a plan that Will, feeling the crushing weight of his moral duty, has reluctantly agreed to. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Will prays that none of this leads to violence. He wants Hannibal behind bars, not bleeding on the floor. And most of all, he wants you freed from the quiet tyranny of Hannibal’s influence.

You sense from the moment dinner starts that everything is about to change. Alana Bloom arrives first, tension coiling in her posture. Will follows soon after, accompanied by a grim determination in his eyes. The meal passes in stiff conversation. You hover in the background, clearing plates, pouring wine, noticing how Will’s gaze trails after you with unspoken concern. Your every movement is a performance of composure, but inside, your heart gallops in fear.

The confrontation begins quietly. Alana, her voice trembling, tries to reason with Hannibal. The next moments are chaos—raised voices, the thunder of footsteps, shattered glass. You catch sight of Jack Crawford in the hallway, blood on his side from a savage altercation with Hannibal. Alana is forced out, panic in her eyes, as she crumbles to the outside. Then, in the hush that follows, Hannibal and Will face each other in the kitchen.

Rain lashes the windows, a howling wind rattling them in their frames. You stand near the threshold, heart pounding as you watch Hannibal circle Will like a predator. There’s blood marring Hannibal’s shirt—a crimson bloom that, in a more rational moment, you’d find jarring on his otherwise impeccable attire.

Will’s chest heaves with exertion, his gun trembling in his hand. But he lowers it, resignation mingling with heartbreak. “You knew,” Will says shakily. “You knew I was working with Jack.”

Hannibal’s eyes slide from Will to you, then back again. You see heartbreak there—genuine heartbreak—but it’s masked by a cold fury. “I was curious to see what you would do,” Hannibal murmurs, stepping closer to Will. “Would you choose me? Would you choose him?” He flicks an almost sorrowful glance at you, but it’s gone in an instant. “You wanted the truth, Will, and here it is.”

Will stares, chest heaving. “I didn’t want—” His voice falters; words fail him.

In a gesture that feels achingly intimate, Hannibal cradles Will’s face in one hand. His touch is gentle, almost reverent. You see Will’s expression soften with anguished confusion at this contact. “It’s painful, isn’t it?” Hannibal whispers. “Knowing that I loved you in my way, and yet you would see me caged. You would have taken everything away from me—you and (Y/N) included."

Hannibal presses his forehead to Will’s in a mockery of tenderness. Will stands transfixed, breath hitching. Then, with a swift, expert movement, Hannibal drives a knife into Will’s abdomen. A strangled gasp erupts from Will’s throat. The gun clatters to the floor. His knees buckle under him, and blood seeps across his shirt.

You can hardly breathe. Your eyes burn with tears as you watch the knife enter Will’s body. Time seems to slow—the bright red of Will’s blood blooming on the tiles, the reflection of heartbreak and fury in Hannibal’s face. Your mind screams for you to intervene, to catch Will before he collapses. Yet your feet remain rooted to the floor, bound by the debt you owe Hannibal. The vow you cannot break. Your hands shake so violently that you clench them into fists at your sides, fingernails biting into your palms.

Hannibal gently lowers Will to the ground, his free hand brushing through Will’s hair with a broken tenderness. A single tear slips down Hannibal’s cheek—so rare, so alien—and you know that behind his cold exterior, he does mourn this loss. Not simply Will’s life, but Will’s loyalty and the profound connection they shared.

“He would have torn us apart,” Hannibal says, voice barely above a whisper. “He would have destroyed everything.” The words feel like a justification, flung into the silence. You don’t know if he’s speaking to you or to himself.

Will tries to speak, blood bubbling at his lips. His hand twitches toward you—an agonizing, final plea. You feel your heart split inside your chest, your tears finally spilling free. Yet you stand beside Hannibal like a soldier, swallowing the urge to cry out, to beg for Will’s forgiveness.

At last, Hannibal rises, leaving Will trembling on the blood-streaked floor. The doctor’s tear is lost in the dim light, blurred by the relentless downpour outside. He casts one last, lingering look upon Will—a silent goodbye to what might have been—and then turns to you. ��Come,” he orders softly, as thunder shakes the sky. His voice bears the weight of finality, commanding your obedience as he always has.

Rain hammers the roof. Glass crunches underfoot from a shattered vase that must have fallen in the commotion. Each step away from Will Graham feels like a condemnation. By the time you reach the door, your tears burn hot trails down your cheeks. Your breath catches in gasps you struggle to contain.

Outside, the storm tears through the night. Hannibal’s hand settles on your shoulder in a gesture that is equal parts reassurance and possession. You have never felt its weight so keenly before. You choke on regret, the memory of Will’s outstretched hand etched into your mind.

The car engine revs to life as you and Hannibal slip into the dark interior. Wiper blades thrash across the windshield, scattering sheets of rain. As the car pulls away, you gaze through the rear window, seeing only the faint glow of lights in the distant house, aware of the man you left behind—his blood on the tiles, his final plea lost beneath the storm. Within the vehicle’s hush, Hannibal’s calm reigns once more. He stares straight ahead, expression solemn, the remnants of heartbreak tucked behind his eyes. You, however, cannot hide your grief.

[nadinebrooks-sides]

Here is the link to my masterlist.

Will Graham: Delicate Threats Part One

The elevator dinged and all heads turned, as they always did when Jack Crawford had company.

Richard Sullivan walked like he owned the building and in some ways, he did. Tailored suit, polished shoes, cufflinks glinting in the harsh light. 

The woman behind him could’ve been a ghost, silent and poised, her heels whispering against the floor. She wore a cream sweater, the gold jewelry dancing with each step, black skirt hitting mid-thigh with tights that had never seen a snag. She wasn’t flaunting money. She was bred from it.

Will Graham glanced up from his desk, nose still buried in a report on missing persons in Virginia. He didn’t recognize them. But he didn’t have to. They screamed old money; generational wealth, boarding schools, social clubs where last names mattered more than what you did for a living.

Trailing behind her was a Doberman, lean and glossy, not a single step out of sync with her rhythm. It didn’t look like a pet. It looked like a soldier. Trained, sharp-eyed, quiet.

Jack met the pair with a handshake and a nod. No fuss. Then he led them down the hall without a word. The girl, no, woman, glanced once at Will as she passed. Curious eyes. Or just aware. Too aware for someone her age.

They disappeared behind a closed door.

Will returned to the report, but the words didn’t stick.

Half an hour passed before Jack reappeared.

“Graham,” he said. “Got a second?”

Will followed him into the conference room. Richard Sullivan stood as he entered, offering a hand that Will took more out of instinct than choice.

“This is my daughter,” Richard said. “Y/N.”

She didn’t stand. She barely looked up from the book in her lap. It was some dense foreign policy tome with a battered spine and too many tabs. The Doberman didn’t stir, only flicked its ears once in Will’s direction.

“We’re receiving threats,” Jack explained, motioning to the table where folders sat unopened. “Mostly directed at Richard’s daughter. Not him.”

Will leaned against the edge of the table. “So what’s the ask?”

“We want you to stay with her,” Jack said. “Follow her to class, keep an eye on her, until we find out who’s behind this.”

Will blinked. “You want me to babysit.”

Richard didn’t smile. “It’s not babysitting. It’s protection. She may not show it, but this is serious. Whoever’s doing this knows things. Personal things.”

Before Will could answer, Richard slid a contract across the table. 

“Take some time to read it if you’d like,” he shrugged. “Have your lawyer read it too if you want. Jack Crawford says you’re one of the best and I’d trust him with my life. I’ve kept up with your research too Agent Graham and I have to say, I’m impressed.”

Will glanced down at it, and his jaw clenched when he saw the amount of money he would be offered for just following around his daughter.

“No, it’s too much.” Will shook his head.

“No, it’s not.” Richard said. “And if you need more, we can make that happen. She’s my only daughter,” Richard said. “Her safety doesn’t have a price.”

Will looked at Jack. “Can I talk to you outside?”

Jack followed him into the hall.

“What is this?” Will asked. “He’s buying my time?”

“He’s buying your eyes,” Jack said. “And yes. He funds most of the research you’re doing right now. You like your lab? That was Sullivan money.”

Will scrubbed a hand down his face. “I don’t want to babysit a spoiled legacy hire.”

Jack raised a brow. “She’s got a law degree, two undergrads, and she’s working on a doctorate. Speaks three languages fluently. She might be babysitting you.”

Will didn’t answer right away.

But his eyes lingered on the door.

Will leaned his shoulder against the wall, arms crossed as he stared at the floor. “So what exactly does Richard Sullivan do?”

Jack exhaled slowly, already anticipating the follow-up questions. “Politics. High-profile. White House-adjacent.”

Will blinked. “You’re saying he’s... what? A cabinet member?”

“Not exactly. But he might as well be,” Jack said. “Foreign policy advisor. Sits on every panel that matters. Has the President’s ear. Quiet power, the kind of people listen to behind closed doors.”

“And his family donated to the program?”

“Great-grandfather helped fund the BAU back when it was a scrappy little think tank,” Jack said. “Richard’s kept the checkbook open ever since. Grants, research, facilities. He's a believer in what we do.”

Will didn’t answer.

Jack clapped a hand to his shoulder. “Just meet her again. You’ll see.”

Will stepped back into the room. Richard was back at the table, making some kind of note on his phone. Y/N was still in her chair, the book now closed in her lap. She looked up as Will approached.

He offered his hand.

She smiled, not wide, just a soft, effortless thing that made him feel like he was looking at someone in a museum. “Thank you,” she said, her voice warm but reserved.

She gestured down toward the Doberman at her feet. “This is Lyla. She’s a sweetheart, but she bites on command.”

Richard mumbled without looking up, “She’s extremely trained. Just be careful.”

Will let out a slow breath. “Duly noted.”

The next morning, Will moved into her townhouse. He hadn’t known what to expect. 

He’d prepared himself for something cold and sterile. Art gallery energy. A fortress of curated power.

What he found was warm.

The townhouse was pale pink and cream, soft light streaming in through sheer curtains. It smelled like vanilla and fresh flowers. Books lined every available surface. Family photos nestled beside stacked textbooks. Candles. Throw blankets. A teacup still resting on a side table.

Lyla padded ahead of him, silent as ever, leading him past the sunlit living room and into a hallway.

“This is you,” Y/N said, opening a door to a guest suite. “Full bathroom’s through there. I put fresh towels out, but if you want something different, I can switch them.”

Will nodded once, still trying to wrap his head around this space. “Thanks.”

She handed him a folder. “My schedule. Mostly doctoral work and classes. I do Pilates and barre in the mornings, then class, research meetings, and media prep with my team in the afternoons. Walks with Lyla after dinner.”

He blinked. “You’re busy.”

“I like structure.” She smiled faintly, then stepped aside to let him in. “You’re welcome to anything in the fridge. I stocked a few things I thought you’d like. Turkey jerky and iced tea?”

He turned slowly. “How did you know I like those?”

“You look like someone who doesn’t cook,” she said, eyes gleaming with amusement. “And Jack talks when he’s stressed.”

Will gave a half-smile, then glanced around again. “I’m surprised you live in a house. I figured…”

“A castle?” she teased, tilting her head.

He shrugged. “Something close.”

She laughed, bright and real, and Will found himself smiling again before he could stop it.

“My family does have an estate,” she said, eyes softening, “but this is close to campus. It makes me feel normal.”

Will didn’t reply.

He didn’t know what to say to someone like her, elegant, brilliant, deeply kind in a way that was somehow not naïve. But he was already sure of one thing: He couldn’t keep his distance for long.

The following morning, Will hadn’t expected to wake up to the smell of waffles. 

For a second, he thought he’d dreamed it. But no, syrup, butter, something rich and golden in the air. And bacon. Definitely bacon.

He rubbed at his face, shuffled into a T-shirt, and padded down the hall barefoot.

The kitchen came into view, soft morning light filtering through the windows, golden and warm, catching the delicate curve of her shoulder as she stood in front of the stove.

Tiny pajama shorts.

Matching tank top.

Long legs and a quiet hum as she flipped the last waffle onto a plate.

Will stopped mid-step. Turned slightly. Considered going right back to the guest room and pretending none of this ever happened.

But then she turned around.

Sleepy smile. “Good morning, Will,” she said, like they were already friends. “Breakfast is almost done. You like waffles?”

He swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Good.” She set the plate down on the kitchen island. “I made too much, so help yourself. You drink coffee or tea?”

“Coffee,” he said automatically.

She poured him a mug without asking how he liked it and somehow, it was perfect. Cream, no sugar.

Of course it was.

She sat across from him in her tiny pajamas and ate slowly, crossing one leg over the other like she didn’t just exist on a completely different plane of elegance.

“Pilates at nine,” she said between bites. “You can come, or you can wait in the lobby. They don’t really allow men in class unless it’s couples.”

“I’ll wait outside.”

She grinned over the rim of her cup. “Shy?”

He looked down at his plate. “Just trying to be respectful.”

PILATES: 9:00 AM 

By the time they pulled up to the studio, she’d changed into a rose-pink set, long sleeves and leggings, her hair pulled into a bun at the crown of her head. She looked like a ballet ad come to life.

Will sat in the sleek, modern lobby while she disappeared behind glass doors. He kept one eye on the hallway, one on the entrance. Lyla sat at his feet, unbothered.

An older woman passed by, nodding to Will with a whisper. “She’s lovely, isn’t she?”

Will didn’t answer, but the corners of his mouth pulled tight.

CAMPUS: 11:30 AM

She walked ahead of him without trying to shake him, like he was meant to be there. Some students stared, others waved. She returned every greeting with an easy warmth.

A boy on a bike nearly crashed when she said his name and complimented his debate team win.

Two girls dropped their iced lattes when she stopped to ask how their internship interviews went.

Not once did she mention her father. Her wealth. Her name.

She just knew people. Made them feel like they mattered.

Will watched it unfold like a pattern he hadn’t expected. Every interaction was intentional, not calculated. She moved like she belonged, and she made others believe they did, too.

He stayed back. Watched the way people drifted into her orbit and left with lighter shoulders.

He’d been wrong about her.

So wrong.

DOCTORATE RESEARCH MEETING: 2:15 PM

Y/N sat at the head of a long table with professors and grad students hanging on her every word. Her voice never rose, but her arguments were sharp, well-structured, hard to ignore.

She caught Will watching from the glass door and winked.

It should’ve embarrassed him. But he smiled.

MEDIA PREP: 3:45 pm

They met with a publicist in a crisp navy suit, rehearsing hypothetical interview answers about her doctoral research. The woman tried to coach her through one response, something about phrasing a quote more diplomatically.

Y/N tilted her head. “If you want bland, you should hire a senator.”

The publicist blinked.

Will choked on his water.

WALKS WITH LYLA: 6:30 PM

Later, walking home with Lyla trotting between them, Will finally said, “You’re quick.”

She raised a brow. “Would you rather I weren’t?”

“No,” he said. “Just didn’t expect it.”

“Let me guess.” She smirked. “You thought I’d be helpless. Spoiled. Too soft for the real world.”

He didn’t answer.

She laughed softly. “It’s okay. Most people do.”

“You make it hard to keep assumptions,” he admitted.

She looked over at him then, not teasing, not smug. Just… honest. “Good,” she said quietly. “Assumptions are boring.”

Later that evening, Will sat in the living room with Lyla curled up by his side, still pretending he was only here to work.

But she was in the kitchen again, barefoot, music playing low, pouring herself a glass of wine while she reheated leftovers.

She moved like someone who belonged to herself, not to her father, not to a headline, not to anyone’s agenda.

Will wasn’t sure when the line between bodyguard and something else had started to blur.

But it had.

[labrxnth]

Prison Break- Part 5 (Leon Kennedy x Reader Series)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

CW: Death Island spoilers, suicidal thoughts/tendencies

WC: 5350 (whoops)

Summary: You and your co-worker Leon Kennedy are sent on a mission to rescue a kidnapped robotic engineer Dr. Antonio Taylor. The journey for him leads the two of you to somewhere you thought you would never go, Alcatraz.

A/n: IM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG. I graduated my students, I fell ill, and I had an ADHD fueled hyperfixation on a specific pale elf made by Larion Studios so here it finally it. I hope the length makes up for the month of silence.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

January 27th, 2015 

You and Leon had been working together for a year and a half. Last year, you two defeated Glen Arias alongside Chris Redfield and Rebecca Chambers. This year, things were relatively quiet. You hated to say it, but it was quiet. 

You were sitting at your desk that was against the wall in now you and Leon’s shared office. A crate of ice coffee was melting, the condensation dripping from the cups onto the top of your desk. Glancing at the clock, you bit your lip. Normally, Leon would be out of a meeting with the President within an hour, but it was now an hour and 15 minutes, something was up. 

And with it being quiet lately, you could only speculate another big mission was popping up. 

The door opened and Leon walked into the office, looking exhausted and drained. Over the past half a year he had really pulled himself together. His eyes looked more present, less glossed over. He had grown his hair out more, stopped dying it, and styled it like he used to when you first joined. He was also very proud that he started lifting again, something he said that he did all the time in his 20s. 

And all that personal care paid off, because even though he was exhausted from his meeting, he still looked gorgeous. You thought he was really attractive when you joined the D.S.O. and even last year when he had lost a bit of weight and had his depressed alcoholic arc. But you didn’t know just how attractive he could be, and it still amazed you. 

“Are you going to tell me… or….” You said and looked at him. 

He took his coffee out of the tray on your desk and pat your head. Your eyes trailed him to his desk. 

“We have another mission coming up,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sat down. He took a sip of his coffee and relaxed in his chair. 

Leon had told you multiple times about his relationship with the past few presidents. Apparently, President Graham scared him shitless when he “asked” Leon to rescue his daughter and he was intimidated by him until his terms ended. President Benford was like a mentor to him and helped found the D.S.O. with Leon; they were pretty close until Leon had to kill him a few years ago. Now, Leon was drained from all the politics of the new guy. 

You smiled to yourself a little bit because you were right about the mission. “You know that’s just watered down coffee, right?” You asked, looking at his iced americano, trying to lighten the mood.

He looked at you from his desk, almost scoffing in reply. “Like I’m gonna take coffee advice from you. You’d guzzle the grounds if you could,” He said, turning his attention back to the folder in his hands. 

You sat there with your mouth open, not knowing how to reply to that. Closing your mouth, you turned back to your laptop, typing away at a case file. 

“We have to go to New York,” Leon said after a few seconds of silence. “We’re going to attend an upcoming biology summit and check in on a few things.” 

“Meaning, there’s a potential virus being sold?” You asked. The past few months after dealing with Arias had been mostly doing work for the government, so bounty hunting and few and far between B.O.W. hunting. 

Leon nodded and your heart jumped with excitement. It was kind of morbid to put it this way, but you loved work like this. This was why you joined the D.S.O.

“We’ll be undercover so be on your best behavior,” Leon said. 

“Yessir,” you said and jokingly saluted. 

“And another thing…. We’ll be undercover as a couple… so try to pretend like you like me,” Leon said and grinned. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

January 30, 2015

Ingrid’s eyes trailed up and down your figure, looking at the dress and seeing if it complimented your skin tone and hair color. The D.S.O. was providing the wardrobe for the mission, the racks of dresses they had filled you and Leon’s office. 

When the racks were brought in, Ingrid didn’t explain why the D.S.O. had so many when you and Sherry were technically the only female agents. She also kicked Leon out of the office so she could help you try on the dresses and pick out the one. 

You were standing in the middle of the office, a burgundy coloured dress hugging your figure. The bodice had straps that fell off the shoulder, corset ribbing, and enough cleavage to make your mother pass out while still keeping it classy. The bottom hugged your figure on one side and had a long slit on the other, trailing up to your thigh. It felt Greek and Romantic, while also being modern. 

You felt like a million bucks. 

“Wow,” Ingrid said, looking over you again. “With your hair and makeup done, you could probably get it at the summit,” she added and chuckled. 

You looked down at the dress. “Why does the D.S.O. have this?” You asked again, clearly stuck on the question. Sherry Birkin hadn’t been back from traveling for a mission in years, and she was pretty young, so it genuinely made no sense to you. 

“Does it matter?” Ingrid replied. “The D.S.O. keeps them just in case. A lot of times they’re purchased for the mission. Tax write offs and stuff.”

You nodded in reply, letting Ingrid touch up the dress a little bit. 

“This will go nicely with what Leon’s wearing…” she said, mentally taking notes. She walked over to a box and pulled out a pair of heels higher than you had ever worn before. 

“Are you trying to get my ankle snapped in half?” You asked and looked at her in shock. 

“You’ve worn heels before, what’s a few more inches? And they’re designer, when else will you get a chance to wear them?” She asked. 

If you weren’t in awe of the shoes, you would have glared at her. “True…” you trailed off and tried the heels on. 

“Okay, now take everything off and I’ll pack them away,” Ingrid said and turned around so you could change. 

After handing the dress and shoes to her, you put your regular clothes on, feeling less like a million bucks. Ingrid put the dress and shoes in a suitcase along with a box of jewelry. 

“Alright… I’ll leave these with you. Good luck,” She said and smiled at you. 

You walked over to her and pulled her into a hug. No amount of hugs could make up for her landing you this job, or even just being your friend when you got lost in the sea of USSTRATCOM agents. But still, it was the thought that counted.

The two of you hugged each other for a good while, making a silent promise to work hard and for you to make it back in one piece. “I’ll try not to drive you insane this time,” you said and smiled at her. 

“You know better than making promises you can’t keep,” she replied and chuckled. The two of you broke the hug. 

The room was littered with clothing racks and  discarded dresses. “I’ll help you bring the racks back,” You said, looking around the room. 

“Don’t bother, I’ll have it done in two trips tops. And you need to get going, check in time for the hotel ends at 11pm,” she said. 

You nodded and picked up your bag and suitcase. “Talk to you later,” you said and gave her a toothy, warm, smile as you walked out the door. 

Walked through the D.S.O. office, you made your way to your locker, grabbing the duffel bag you carried around on missions. It had your knives, guns, and pretty much a small armory in it. 

“Ready to get going?” Leon asked, walking up next to you to go through his locker. 

“Yup,” you replied, slinging the duffel bag over your shoulder. 

“Let’s get going then,” he said, smiling at you. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

January 31, 2015

“Name?” 

“Nathalie Oakes,” you replied, confident in your fake persona. The two of you, you and Leon were putting the finishing touches on your outfits. With a job like this, all of the details mattered, how he cuffed his sleeves, what you wore for jewelry, everything. 

“My name?” Leon asked, fixing the collar of his blazer and undershirt. He was wearing a suit that was matching the dress shade, his blazer and undershirt being the same shade. His tie was black and so were the pants. The way he had his shirt and blazer, the shirt was unbuttoned a little bit so his chest was slightly out. Almost like he had cleavage, which if you were honest he kind of did. That man worked on his chest like he was paid to do it. 

“Edward Wingate,” you answered. Your fingers gently pulled the top off of the velvet covered jewelry box, staring at the almost blinding gold necklace. Picking it up, you were trying to figure out how to clasp and unclasp it with your nails.

Ingrid had treated you to a manicure the other day. Adorning your fingertips were acrylics, nude colored and almond shaped. When you had asked how to shoot or fight in them, you were met with snickers and were told to figure it out yourself. 

So you did. Spending the last few days in the shooting ring and training rooms, making sure you were confident in your abilities with the nails on your hands. A chuckle came from behind you and Leon’s hand gently grabbed the necklace. “Need help?” He asked. 

You nodded in reply and pulled your hair up so he could put the necklace on you. 

“It's funny, I’ve seen you kick ass hundreds of times and you’re getting stuck on trying to put a necklace on,” He said, the everpresent teasing fronting his voice. 

“It’s these damn nails. I have so much respect for people that function with these things. And I can still kick your ass with these on,” You retorted, earning another chuckle from the man behind you. 

Looking at the mirror, you saw a reflection of a life you could only dream of. A woman dressed up to the nines and her partner helping with her jewelry. The juxtaposition to what your reality was was almost taunting. Where there were ivory colored gloves in the mirror, there was usually blood; yours and others’. The hair that fell smoothly like silk sat on top of the head that was filled with nightmares. Nothing in the mirror was a true reflection, except for the man behind you. 

You dreamed of finding the one person who got you, emotionally and physically. One who always had your back and would be there for you on the nights where you remembered the blood filled apartment in Manchester. Leon was the one person in your life who could quell the cold isolation, the icy, crushing feeling of your past. He didn’t know about your feelings for him, he couldn’t. 

Even if the feelings for him overwhelmed you in only a way that a full symphonic orchestra could. His smile made the world feel a little brighter, his laughter made life sweeter, He was like honey added to coffee, something that made a bitter drink sweet and a different palate. 

“Alright, done,” Leon said and pat your shoulder lightly. 

Your eyes looked at the gold adorning your neck and you smiled. “Thanks,” you said warmly and turned around to get the purse that matched your dress. The feeling of someone staring at you made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, something you had from the STRATCOM training. 

Looking in the mirror to your left you saw Leon staring at you, something that happened quite a bit, but this time it was differently charged. Something was fueling the look on his face, but as usual, he was hard to read. He noticed you looking at him in the reflection of the mirror and he turned his face towards the wall, pretending like he wasn't staring at you.

“You ready?” You asked, willing to ignore that he was blatantly staring at you. 

“Yeah,” He replied and grabbed his Sentinel 9, sliding it into his blazer and through his shoulder holster under the jacket. 

Turning towards your bed, you grabbed your holster, fastening it to your thigh under the dress. The slit was on the other thigh so it wouldn’t reveal the holster. 

“Ready Miss Oakes?” Leon mused, holding his arm out for you. 

“Ready Mr. Wingate,” You replied, smiling a bit and taking his arm. This all felt wrong, but right at the same time. What would it feel like if instead of a mission, this was your reality? What if instead of heaving Edward Wingate on your side you had Leon Kennedy? It was jarring, as jarring as the emotions you had been trying to sort out the last few months. Swimming somewhere between your heart and your brain were your complicated emotions. 

They really weren’t complicated, your situation was. 

If Leon wasn’t your coworker and technically your superior, you would’ve tried to go for it, but the reality was that your lives could get messy. You didn’t want him to potentially get in trouble for fraternization, you didn’t want your relationship to change if there was rejection, and most importantly you didn’t want either of your potential deaths to hurt more. 

If you left your feelings unsaid, the chance of you or Leon dying wouldn’t sting as much. So, your feelings were buried between your tight lips, unspoken and never going to be explored.

“You okay? You seem lost in thought,” Leon said, his eyes meeting yours. The clicks of your high heels and his shoes were echoing through the hall on the way to the elevator. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, just thinking about the mission,” You replied as the two of you stepped into the elevator. Your gloved finger pressed the 6 button.

“Our target is a potential C-virus sample. Most of the summit will be held on the 6th floor and a lot of the vendors will be here starting tomorrow. Tonight is the dinner party that starts off the summit. Everyone will be busy socializing and drinking,” Leon reminded you. 

“Meaning tonight is our best bet to get in and out unnoticed,” You said, smiling. 

“Meaning, our job will be a lot easier if we get it tonight,” He said. 

The elevator opened to the 6th floor, warm yellow lights illuminating the space. The room was open, the venue taking up the whole floor. Across the walls were floor to ceiling windows, the city lights coloring the dark horizon and sky. The floor was dark wood, glossy in finish, and the ceiling was an off gray color with golden details. All over the room were circular tables with chairs around them, the tables adorned with empty champagne glasses, cutlery, napkins, plates, and candles. 

“I feel like I don’t belong here,” You said quietly. The last undercover mission you went on was almost the polar opposite of this. 

“Don’t let them make you feel inferior. They’ll see through the disguise,” Leon assured you as you two walked into the room more. “And don’t sell yourself short. More importantly, don’t let rich assholes sell yourself short. You’re worth more than everything in this room put together,” He added. 

You smiled a bit, redness slightly painting the tips of your ears. “Thanks for the confidence boost. I’ll make sure to put this down as one of the only times you were sweet to me,” You said, looking at him. He opened his lips to say something, but closed them as someone was making their way over to you two with a clipboard. 

“Good evening, I presume you’re here for the North Eastern Biotech Summit?” The man said. He was dressed in a usual black tie suit. He stood around 5’11”, being only a few inches taller than Leon and looked to be around your age. 

You didn’t miss how Leon almost changed into a completely new person with his energy level and atmosphere. You also didn’t miss how his arm suddenly snaked around your waist, pulling you close to him. The corners of your mouth upturned into a warm friendly smile at the contact and the man in front of the two of you. 

It was all for the mission, that’s what you convinced yourself. Being a couple, that was for the mission, but enjoying it? That wasn’t part of the mission. 

“Of course! Edward Wingate, and this is my lovely fiancé, soon to be Mrs. Wingate,” Leon said, his voice sounding like silk. As he spoke, he pulled you close to him, squeezing the two of you in a side hug. 

The man in front of the two of you checked his clipboard, his eyes skimming down the list of names on his sheet. His eyes lit up when he saw the two names you presented. 

“Ah yes, Mr. Wingate and Ms. Oakes,” He replied, putting the clipboard down and gesturing to a table. “Let me help you find your seat,” He added. The two of you followed the man to a table in the corner of the room. 

As you got closer to the table, you tried to process all the people here, their fancy clothes, and their arm candies. The people paired with the lights, and the complete lack of smell in the room was almost too much for you to handle. 

Leon and you sat down at the table, your hands immediately going to the glass filled with water. The cool liquid made its way down your throat and relief was evident on your face. As you put your glass down, another couple sat next to Leon, their outfits as extravagant as the venue. There was a man and a woman, the woman looking slightly older than the man. 

“Hello! You weren’t here last year, it’s always good to meet a new supporter,” The woman said and outstretched her hand to Leon. After they shook hands, she outstretched the same hand to you, which you took as elegantly as you could. 

“Finally got invited to join in on the summit this year. We’re excited to see what the latest developments in biotech are,” Leon replied, smiling at the two of them. He lightly put his hand on your thigh, the warmth spreading through your body. If you were drinking, you would have almost choked on the water. 

“Nice to meet you, I’m Blaire, this is Ambrose,” The woman said and gestured to the young man next to her. Looking at his hand, you could see the two of them were engaged, the gold engagement rings sparkling. You slid your hand onto the tablecloth, so the two of them could observe that you and Leon were also “engaged”. 

“Pleasure’s all mine, Im Edward, this is Nathalie,” Leon gestured to you, almost showing you off. Your mind wandered off to thinking about what if it was Leon who was showing you off, not Edward showing off Nathalie. Could you ever make him proud to introduce other people to you?

“The summit this year is said to be the biggest yet,” Blaire said. Her midnight blue dress was stunning against her skin. The gold jewelry could catch anyone’s eyes. 

“That so? It certainly is a special night,” Leon said and chuckled a bit. You were surveying the room, seeing where the wait staff and other people were coming out of, making it look like you were taking in the decor. 

A frazzled worker coming out a door directly across the room from your table caught your eye. From your seat, you could see shelves and what looked like a storage room, or a green room that the items being showcased in could stay while waiting for tomorrow. 

Your eyes glanced back over to the couple sitting next to Leon and you smiled warmly at them, playing the role of the pretty arm candy that didn’t talk much. 

“We’re going to the bar for a few drinks, want to come?” Ambrose asked warmly and gestured to the bar on the opposite end of the room. It was close to the storage room you saw earlier.

Before Leon could object, you spoke for the two of you. “Of course,” You replied with a smile. 

As the two of them got up, Leon looked at you, his eyes asking for an explanation. Giving him a look back, your eyes told him, trust me, I have a plan already. He nodded in acknowledgement and you two got up, following Blaire and Ambrose. 

The four of you got to the bar counter and you looked up at Leon. “Hey, honey, I’m gonna head to the bathroom, could you just get me a vodka lemonade?” You asked and held his elbow lightly. 

Leon’s eyes twinkled a little bit, him knowing what you were really saying. “Of course, I’ll hold your drink for you,” He said. Before you walked away, he leaned in and kissed the top of your head. 

Your rational side knew why he did it, it was strictly to play your parts, but the part of you that dreamt about a different life fluttered when his lips met your head. Heat ran to your face as you blushed and started walking towards the bathroom. 

If there was one thing you didn’t want, it was for Leon to see the red painted across your cheeks. Then your feelings would be questioned. 

Making sure no one was watching, you walked past the bathroom and towards the storage closet. 

The first thing you noticed about the room was that it was cold, like a walk in freezer. The next thing you noticed were the lights, they were a cold blue hue, no warmth found in them at all. The very last thing you noticed was the lack of smell. Where the scent of mildew and/or dust would be filling your noses there was nothing. Not even the various cleaners on the shelf were creating a smell. 

Looking around the room, you saw various gadgets and displays set up for the summit. Each piece was on its own roll out table,but one in particular caught your eye. On a smaller display table, there was a closed briefcase. If you were lucky, the vial containing the virus sample would be in there, if not, you would have to survive more socializing. 

Walking over to it, your eyes traced over the case, looking for any signs of vents or anything else that could be a trap. Clearing the case, you brought your finger up to your earpiece. 

“Condor 2 to Roost, I found the delivery. Am I cleared to grab it?” You asked.  

“Condor 2, good job. You’re cleared to grab it,” Ingrid’s voice rang out in your earpiece. 

You nodded to yourself and studied the case again, making sure it wasn’t trapped. Flicking the clasps open, you saw the vial. Inside of the small glass container was a red substance that looked almost sticky. Reaching out to it, your hand went to grab it. 

Suddenly, you felt a strong sting of heat course through your hand. Smelling a burning sort of smell, you ripped your hand away from the glass and looked at it, seeing a second degree burn forming through the glove you were wearing. Snickering in annoyance, you bunched up both of your gloves and picked up the vial, stuffing it in your purse and thinking of a way to conceal the burn on your hand. 

Walking out of the storage room, you made your way back to Leon and the others getting their drinks. Leon went to hand you your glass, but his eyes immediately caught on to the burned palm of your hand. His eyebrow raised in questioning and the look you gave in response didn’t ease his worries. 

“Well, it’s been good to meet you two, I think Nathalie is feeling rather ill. We’re gonna head back to our room,” Leon said, looking over at the two he had walked to the bar with. 

Blaire and Ambrose nodded in respect and left to go back to the table. Leon’s eyes went back to your hand, concern written across his face. 

“You gonna tell me what happened?” He asked. 

“I suggest that we get back to the room then have this conversation before the sample vial burns a hole through my purse,” You retorted quietly and walked with him. 

The two of you slipped out of the party, unnoticed, just like how you had gotten in. The job was as easy as Hunnigan had said, in and out, and other than the burn on your hand you both came out unscathed. 

“We’re talking and walking,” Leon said as the two of you got out of the elevator, walking down the hallway to your room. His voice told you that he wasn’t asking, more telling you that you two were going to talk. 

“The glass burned my hand, that was it, everything else was fine,” You replied as you made your way to the door to your room. 

“I’m patching that up when we get inside,” Leon said, again leaving no room for debate. 

“Fine,” You mumbled and swiped the keycard, opening the door. 

The two of you walked in, you immediately getting out of your heels and leaving them by the door. You were about to head into the shower, before Leon closed the bathroom door from behind you. You didn’t have to see his face to know he was staring intently at you. 

“Before anything, I’m fixing that hand of yours,” He said, his breath hot on your neck. You turned around, looking him in the face. 

“I want to get out of my makeup and this dress,” You replied, a slight whine in your tone. 

“You’ll get to later,” He said, almost pulling you to the bed. Begrudgingly, you sat down on the edge of the bed and watched him walk to the bathroom. While you were getting ready, earlier today, you didn’t notice how soft the bedsheets were. The silk pooled under your fingers, wanting to lull you to sleep. 

Leon returned from the bathroom, with a bowl filled with water, a first aid kit, and a couple hand towels. Your face scrunched a bit, uncomfortable with the idea of someone doing something that you could do yourself. 

“Leon, I’ll be fine. I can bandage myself up after I get changed,” You said, trying to quell him. However, one of the things that you had learned early on while working with Leon Kennedy was that he never walked away from someone needing help, no matter how small or big the need was. 

The bed dipped as he sat next to you, pulling your hand so that it was face up on his thigh. “And what happens when you don’t fix it and you get scarring or can’t use your hand as well as you used to? This is your shooting hand, don’t be stubborn,” He insisted. 

“‘Don’t be stubborn?’ That’s rich coming from you,” You replied, eyes scrunched together waiting for the pain of him putting your hand in the bowl of cold water. 

Where you expected there to be pain from the water, there was relief. Part of you wished that it was running water, but the other part of you knew it might’ve been rough on the freshly buried skin. 

“Just relax, I’ll take good care of you,” Leon said, his hands going to open the first aid kit. 

“That really makes me feel better,” You said back snarkily. 

“Good to hear that you didn’t lose your sense of humor,” 

“I got a burn on my hand, I didn’t get impaled,” 

Leon chuckled a little bit and took your hand out of the bowl, putting it down on one of the hand towels. “I thought I trained you to say ‘thank you’ when someone helps,” He replied, a glint of teasing in his eyes. 

“You didn’t teach me shit other than how to shotgun a beer,” You replied, a smirk on your face. 

Leon’s small chuckle turned into a hearty laugh. “Fair, fair,” He replied and started to bandage your hand. “Good eye, seeing where the displays were held. The job was easy thanks to you.”

“Is that praise from Leon Kennedy?” You asked, feigning shock. “Oh my god, the world is ending.”

“Hey, I give you enough praise,” He retorted and lighting wrapped the bandages around your hand, lightly tying them. “Okay, your hand is all set and will be as pretty as it usually is soon,” He added with a toothy grin. 

“Thanks,” You said and looked at the bandaging, your voice softening. 

“Before you change, I have something else for you,” Leon said, walking over to the fridge in the room. Your eyes followed him and watched him pull a box out of the fridge and a large bottle of sparkling cider. 

“What’s the occasion?” You asked as he walked back to the bed with two forks and two flutes. 

“It’s January 31st….” Leon trailed off.

“Oh,” You replied softly and looked at the box. Leon opened it up and revealed a tiramisu cake, simple and plain, just like you liked it. 

“I’m sorry you had to be on a mission tonight, but our lives are what they are,” He said and handed you a fork. “I know you like tiramisu cake and you hate most types of alcohol so I got you some goodies,” He added with a soft smile.

“Thank you, I haven’t had anyone to spend tonight with for a long time,” You replied, taking the fork and flute. 

“Before we eat, actually, I think it’s a waste that we didn’t get to dance while in these fancy ass clothes,” Leon stood up, walking to the radio in the room and putting on a classical music station. 

“I don’t know how to dance,” You said. 

“If you can fight, you can dance, it’s pretty much the same thing,” He replied and held his hand out to you. 

“You say that now, but you won't be laughing when I step on your foot,” You warned, taking his hand with your good one and standing up. Leon laughed in reply and pulled you close to him, his hand finding a respectful spot on your waist. 

“How do I put up with you?” He asked dramatically, his eyes sparkling with humor. 

“I should be asking that question,” You replied. “Maybe, we were meant to annoy the shit out of each other.”

The two of you chuckled as you swayed together to the music. Leon’s eyes never left yours and the way he was looking at you felt… intimate. Like you were the only person in the world to him and you were all he wanted. 

“Happy birthday, (Y/n),” He said after a few seconds of silence and smiled. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

Present Day

You saw Leon’s mouth moving on the other side of the prison cell bars, but couldn’t hear a word he was saying. His blue eyes were staring at you, squeezing shut in a grimace every few seconds. If you were going to get infected after all the missions the two of you had gone through, you were happy that at least you could lose your minds together. Nothing else mattered to you other than the feeling of closeness you two had in the moment and your fingers laced together through the jail cell bars. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

Catch this fic early on my AO3!

[chamberlains-ghoul]

Resident Evil AU: Leon is President Graham’s stepson and Ashley’s half-brother who causes problems on purpose.

His parents are still murdered, just not at the same time (his dad when he was small and his mother when he was around 15), so he still wants to be a police officer and hates the idea of being in politics. Graham publicly brags about Leon becoming a police officer but he’s actually pissed that Leon never went to college and ran away to the police academy instead. Especially since they had to cover up a lot of that situation because Leon basically moved cross-country without telling anyone.

Everything in RE2 basically stays the same except he doesn’t end up a government agent. He gets a lot of military training and becomes a lab rat (look, you can’t convince me that Leon doesn’t have some kind of immunity since a bite isn’t an insta-kill) for Sherry’s protection. He ends up an all-American anti-Umbrella poster boy for Graham’s campaign. He takes every loophole and opportunity to get around that, though, and ends up being Sort Of Controversial within the political sphere. He causes drama a lot, mostly as Ashley gets older so she stays out of the tabloids. Him being the only confirmed Raccoon City survivor still does a lot for Graham’s campaign, though.

He and Ashley were never close as little kids because of their age gap, but after their mom died, Leon took up a lot of the care-taker roles. She gets angry after he leaves for the academy because she feels like he abandoned her. After thinking he died in Raccoon City, then finding out he was alive, she forgives him. However, they’re mostly kept apart outside of public appearances since Graham doesn’t want Leon telling Ashley anything about what happened in Raccoon City.

In the events of RE4, Leon accompanies Ashley to her school for some kind of student government meeting. Krauser still picks them up and kidnaps them. They’re kept apart by Las Illuminados, and Leon escapes early on and is able to hide in the village. He finds Luis the same way and they’re still chained together, but in this AU Leon is obviously a civilian. He gets his little “oh god, why is this happening again” moment (like RE8 Ethan’s little mental breakdown) and Luis feels bad enough to stick around after they find the key.

Luis isn’t able to get away to meet Ada, so she eventually intervenes and reveals Luis is working for her and separates them. She tells Luis not to worry about Leon and that he could take care of himself and find Ashley. Since Leon’s well-known for being a Raccoon City survivor, Luis goes full guilt mode after finding out who he actually is.

Hunnigan isn’t there to tell Leon that Luis was Umbrella, but Leon is distrustful after finding out he’s working for Ada and still threatens him in that cabin and his interactions with him and Ada are similar to how they are in the game. However, I like this version of Leon to be a little more sheltered and naive despite RE2, so he becomes trusting of Luis and offers to take him to an American embassy with him and Ashley so he doesn’t have to work for Ada.

Leon tells Luis what Annette told him, about how Ada worked in weapons dealing and would sell Las Plagas to the highest bidder. Luis insists that he has faith in Ada, and he believes she won’t let the world burn even if her morals are gray. Luis eventually admits his history with Umbrella and Las Illuminados in the elevator, and that’s why he has so much faith in Ada. Because he was in a similar situation himself.

I like Luis and am an avid Serennedy supporter, so this is a Luis Lives AU. I also like the idea of Leon and Ashley presenting a sad Spanish war criminal to their father and begging to keep him.

So anyways do what you want with this AU. I might write something for it but idk.

[cardiac-agreste]

I'm particularly proud of the idea I had for today's Olympics-related ficlet, so I decided to share the full text here instead of just leaving it on Ao3.

FWIW these are hastily written and not beta'd, but for me that was part of the challenge. I'm writing a story a day during the Olympics, intended to be a reaction to the day's events. This is the least reactive, since it takes place during the Olympics but doesn't mention a single competitor. Most involve ML characters as spectators (e.g., Kagami going apeshit cheering for the Japanese fencing team that won gold in team foil).

Citius, Altius, Fortius, Miraculous - Aug 6 - Day Eleven [Adrien & Félix - Equestrian]

Adrien and Félix walked the grounds of Versailles, having decided to take a break from watching the equestrian events.

“How was lunch with Zara?” Félix said, fiddling with his fingernails as the grass swished beside his feet with every step he took.

Adrien smiled softly. “It was nice. It felt like coming home.” He stopped walking. “You know, she was the first from the extended family to reach out after Father died. It was really nice… It’s not like we really know each other. Mother never got to take me to see anyone in England. Father wouldn’t allow it. But still…”

Félix turned slowly and looked at Adrien, considering the way the light filtered through the trees on his cousin’s face. He clenched his fists a few times, relieving anxiety that had wrapped tightly around his forearms like shackles. “Colt wasn’t too keen on seeing the family, either. He’d received the imprimatur of our grandparents to marry Mum, but it wasn’t enough for him. As I got older, he was more…forcefully against it. Thought they were always judging him for being arriviste… And he knew that selling weapons could never buy him passage through certain doors.”

Adrien closed the distance to Félix and put his hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “I used to be so jealous of you, that you lived closer to family.” His eyes were half-lidded in sympathy. “I’m sorry you had to—”

“I’m a sentimonster.”

Adrien’s hand flinched at the abrupt admission. “You’re a…” He swallowed. In the distance, a horse’s hooves thudded on the green.

“Well, sentibeing. Though I doubt Ladybug would be so charitable.” Félix smirked, but shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

“You’re a… a sentibeing? H-how?”

“Well, when a man loves a woman very much, he acquires a magical jewel…”

Adrien took a step back and looked straight into Félix’s eyes. “Fé, I’m serious. How?Is that how you knew there was a Peacock Miraculous? Did you know Mayura’s identity and stole it from her? Or…did you know Hawkmoth?”

Adrien had gotten to the important questions faster than Félix had expected. The spectators in the distance politely applauded a performance, and he waited to see if Adrien would ask anything else—anything more pressingly personal. A minute passed, and Adrien was still looking at Félix with concern.

“Um, does this change how you see me?”

“What? Of course not. It’s like magical IVF, who cares? You’re still human.”

Félix breathed a sigh of relief.

“Does Ladybug know?”

“Yes.”

“And she still trusts you to have a Miraculous?”

Adrien’s words had breathlessly fallen out of his mouth, and Félix wondered if this conversation was about something he hadn’t picked up on. Well, if Adrien was surprising him like this, then he might as well be honest with his cousin. “She does. Not that she has a choice. She’s not getting the brooch from me.” Félix huffed. “And to the extent she’s worried, it’s because—you might recall—I killed pretty much everyone on Earth so you and I could have some peace.“

Adrien looked down at the three rings on his hand.

Félix had been wondering lately about the one his cousin had been wearing before he put on the Graham de Vanily rings.

“I… I think I might be…”

Félix held his breath and let Adrien keep talking.

“We’re nearly twins. And your father had the Miraculous before he died…” A lone tear snaked its way down Adrien’s cheekbone and toward his chin. “Félix, who did you steal the Peacock from?”

A frustrated rider yelled at a horse in the distance.

“I didn’t steal it. I traded for it.”

Adrien looked down at his hands and fiddled with his fingernails. “But she told me he helped defeat Monarch…”

Félix remained silent.

“Why wouldn’t she…”

Félix put his hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “She was terrified to tell you, so I volunteered. Actually, I begged her to let me be the one to tell you.”

Adrien didn’t make eye contact. He kept his face toward the ground, sniffling. His shoulders and chest trembled. But as soon as it started, the quivering stopped, and he took one final sniff. He wiped his eyes and looked back at Félix, giving him a watery smile. “It’s like magical IVF. That’s what I just said, right?”

Félix wasn’t sure about this swift change in emotion. “…Right. But still, he was—”

“An asshole. And abusive.” Adrien laughed, a little wild, a little mirthful. “I guess that explains why I avoided Marinette. And why, after talking to Nathalie, that weird feeling stopped.” Adrien swallowed, his developing Adam’s apple bobbing as if it were tracking his acceptance of the truth. “Oh. Nathalie…”

“Yeah…”

“Sentibug…”

“Who?”

“Mayura—well, Nathalie—made a girl like Ladybug, and then…and then she killed her. She knew she was like me, and she killed her!”

Félix felt his blood pressure rise. He hadn’t known about that. But he swiftly pressed the emotion down. “How are you feeling?”

Adrien smiled. “You know, I beat his ass the day he sent me to London.”

Félix’s eyes widened. “Really? Wow, cousin, I didn’t think you had it in you. And I’m surprised he didn’t stop you…”

Adrien pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, and then he spoke. “Who else knows? You, me, Ladybug, Nathalie… I’m guessing your mom…”

“There’s this Super Guardian guy who probably knows about both of us.”

Adrien fiddled with his original ring, sliding his index finger and thumb along the smooth metal as he spun it. “Do you think I should tell Marinette?”

“That’s a decision I think you should make on your own. But I think she’ll surprise you. When I pretended to be you at the Diamonds’ Dance, she broke in, you know. She’s obviously in love with you. And she doesn’t care about the family name or anything. Actually I think she hated your dad.” 

Adrien laughed. “Yeah, there was this whole thing about pancakes she told me about. I don’t really get it, but you’re right.” He beamed with pride. “She’s so perceptive. She’d give Ladybug a run for her money in that department… I called her that once, you know. My ‘Everyday Ladybug.’”

Félix choked back a laugh.

“Wait, have you told Kagami?”

“Oh, she has zero problem with the senti-stuff if you know what I’m saying.” Félix crossed his hands over his chest to signify a certain kind of prowess. He leaned in and cupped a hand to his mouth, pretending to share a secret. “Prestidigitation…”

It was typical of Adrien to turn everything back to others. Always trying to understand how everyone else felt, how everyone else was acting. He supposed it was the model training in Adrien, that he’d done so well because he’d learned to mimic and follow orders.

But could he blaze this path himself? Félix had struggled with it, and he had that rebellious streak, titanium lacing his backbone.

But Adrien had him. And Marinette. Ladybug. A family that loved him.

Just so long as Chat Noir didn’t come calling with a Cataclysm. Well, he’d skin the cat alive if he went after his cousin.

Félix looked down again at Adrien’s ring.

[black-atheists]

1. The First Americans Were Unbaptized Christians.

Fact: The first human inhabitants of the Americas were Asians who crossed the Bering land bridge beginning 30,000 years ago. The first white people in North America were the Scandinavian Vikings in 1000 CE, and the first Christian to set foot in the new territory (the Bahamas) was probably Christopher Columbus in 1492.

2. The Early American Colonies Were Chartered as Christian Outposts.

Fact: Most charters for the American colonies specified a Christian purpose. It is noteworthy that the New England communities subsequently became intolerant theocracies where dissent was rigorously suppressed. At the beginning of the Revolution, most of the new states (ten of thirteen) had established Christian denominations, but all were disestablished by 1833.

3. The Prominent U.S. Founders Were Christians.

Fact: The principal framers of the Declaration of Independence, Constitution, Bill of Rights, and related documents were deists and Unitarians. Brief biographies of them are presented later. However, many of the signers and contributors to the founding documents were Christians, among them Alexander Hamilton, John Jay, Patrick Henry, and George Mason.

4. The Declaration of Independence Invokes God Four Times.

Fact: Nature’s God, Creator, Supreme Judge of the World, and Divine Providence are all deistic, not orthodox Christian, terms. The Declaration’s author, Thomas Jefferson, was not an orthodox Christian. To appreciate this truth, it is only necessary to compare his Life and Morals of Jesus of Nazareth with the Gospel text from which it was extracted.

5. The Majority of Contemporary Americans Are Christians.

Fact: About 70 percent of U.S. residents now identify as Christian. However, the late evangelical preacher Billy Graham rejected the Christian-nation claim, saying that “only a minority are really committed to Christ or seek to follow him.” Barely one-half are even church members, and fewer than one-fourth attend church on a regular basis.

6. The Constitution’s Subscription Clause Acknowledges Jesus.

Fact: “In the Year of Our Lord” is a ceremonial dating custom that was used to attest to the authenticity of political documents for several hundred years prior to the U.S. Constitution. For a detailed rebuttal of this Christian-nation claim, see Andrew Seidel’s article in the Summer 2018 issue of Constitutional Studies.

7. The U.S. Was Officially Declared “One Nation Under God.”

Fact: The phrase “under God” was inserted into the Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag during the McCarthy era anti-communist hysteria in 1954. The original pledge was written by Baptist minister Francis Bellamy in 1892 and did not contain any religious references.

8. The U.S. Supreme Court Declared America a Christian Nation.

Fact: In the often-misrepresented Holy Trinity decision (1892), one justice (David Brewer) expressed his personal opinion (“dictum”) that the United States was a Christian nation. Moreover, the Christian-nation advocates never cite the Treaty with Tripoli (1797), which said just the opposite.1

9. The National Day of Prayer Was Authorized by Congress.

Fact: Congress designated the National Day of Prayer an annual event in 1952, later setting the first Thursday in May as its regular date. It is exclusively fundamentalist Christian in conception, planning, and presentation, with no contributions permitted by other faith traditions. Some local mayor’s prayer breakfasts have become embarrassing displays of fundamentalist Christian bigotry, as in Williamson County, Texas, where I live.

10. The U.S. Founding Documents Are Based on the Bible.

Fact: The Declaration, Constitution, and Bill of Rights are not based on the Bible. Four biblical themes do appear in the three primary founding documents, but scores of other themes, principles, and concepts do not. Because this is a central claim in Christian-nation mythology, it is addressed in greater detail in a separate section.

11. Only Christians May Hold Public Office in the United States.

Fact: Pat Robertson, Roy Moore, and other extremists have argued for the exclusive Christian qualification for decades. Obviously, it violates the Constitution’s prohibition on religious tests for office.2 Yet even after 232 years, eight state constitutions still restrict public office-holders to candidates who believe in a higher power. Of course, these relics cannot be enforced, except by voters at the ballot box.

12. The U.S. Legal System Is Based on the Ten Commandments.

Fact: This popular fringe claim survives primarily due to willful biblical illiteracy. In fact, the first four Commandments violate the First Amendment’s guarantee of religious liberty; these and others also endorse collective punishment, patriarchy, and slavery. Only the prohibitions against murder, theft, and perjury are found in U.S. law. The fake James Madison quote (cited later in this article) falsely supports this totally bogus claim.

13. Christian Symbols Are Prominently Displayed on Public Property.

Fact: Indefatigable Christian-nation advocates carry out their relentless campaign to place Ten Commandments monuments, Latin crosses, statues of Mary, and portraits of Jesus in public venues. Most are removed after sometimes lengthy court battles. Unfortunately, this may change with the recent addition of staunch opponents of church-state separation Neil Gorsuch and Brett Kavanaugh to the U.S. Supreme Court.

14. The National Motto Is “In God We Trust.”

Fact: This embarrassing corruption of American history was effected by a cowardly Congress in 1956. The original motto, which many people think should be restored, is E. pluribus unum (“from many, one”), composed by Adams, Franklin, and Jefferson to celebrate American ethnic and cultural diversity.

15. Only Christian “Historical Holidays” Are Officially Recognized.

Fact: This is a disreputable fundamentalist Christian-nation advocacy strategy to acknowledge only Christian holidays (Christmas, Good Friday, Easter, Thanksgiving, St. Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day) by including them exclusively on government and public school calendars. Actually, many other religious holidays are usually recognized, such as Ash Wednesday, Passover, Yom Kippur, and Hanukkah, and other religious faiths should also be acknowledged.

16. The Constitution’s Preamble Acknowledges Jesus as Messiah.

Fact: During the constitutional convention, some delegates wanted Christianity officially recognized, but the majority rejected the idea. In the 1870s, an organization of Christian ministers attempted to insert into the preamble recognition of Almighty God, Holy Scripture, and Jesus the Messiah. The proposal failed, as have all other similar efforts to date.

17. The United States Was Founded on the Principles of Christian Law.

Fact: This assertion, which is based on the claim that the common law derives from Christianity, was thoroughly debunked by David Koepsell, a lawyer, philosopher, and former executive director of the Council for Secular Humanism, drawing on an earlier analysis by Thomas Jefferson. The alleged principles of Christian law are nonexistent.

18. The Constitution Is Based on the Idea of Biblical Covenant.

Fact: Three Christian writers (Robert Barth, Herbert Titus, and Thomas Cahill) have invoked the “Covenantal Constitution,” the “Biblical Covenant Principle,” and the “Abrahamic Covenant,” respectively, as concepts that reflect God’s free choice and individuals’ experience of spiritual rebirth, held together by shared knowledge of personal salvation. No evidence supports the claim.

19. The U.S. Presidential Oath Acknowledges Almighty God.

Fact: The Constitution does not prescribe any religious declaration or theistic affirmation in the presidential oath of office. However, all U.S. presidents except Thomas Jefferson appended the meaningless expression of divine dependence, “So help me God,” in respect of an unworthy custom.

20. Prayers at the Constitutional Convention Ensured Success.

Fact: Contrary to this oft-repeated falsehood, Benjamin Franklin’s motion to begin each session with prayer was not adopted (it wasn’t even seconded), and there were no official prayers during the convention. This bogus story was printed a second time in a Christian newspaper (The Good News Journal)even after I explained to the editor that it was not true, and he thanked me for the correction! (The author of the copyrighted article is Charles Crisimer.)

21. The U.S. President Is a Devout Christian.

Fact: Franklin Graham and other fundamentalist leaders proudly proclaimed that “God raised up Donald Trump to be president.” Also, he has been said to be the exemplar of the “Christ-centered life,” based on his overwhelming voter support (81 percent) from fundamentalist Christians. The junior Graham had previously asserted that Barack Obama was a Muslim (based on his father’s religion). Did this make the United States an Islamic nation?

Conclusion: This diverse collection of claims is testimony to the limitless ingenuity of dedicated Christian-nation advocates. Although some of their assertions require elaboration, clarification, or explanation to be fully refuted, most are plainly false or irrelevant to the intended purpose of demonstrating that the United States is a Christian nation. It’s ironic that only a few items actually refer to Jesus or Christianity, with the god introduced typically being that of “ceremonial deism.” It’s never the god of contemporary Christian fundamentalism, which is the deity of the Christian-nation proponents.

Political Foundations of Christian-Nation Ideology

The most powerful advocate of Christian-nation ideology in the United States today is the Republican Party, which has become the political instrument for promoting fundamentalist Christianity in America. The ultimate goal of Christian-nation proponents is to implement a fundamentalist Christian theocracy in the United States through constitutional amendment or some other form of legislative action.

The central theological postulates of fundamentalist Christian-nation ideology are:

Christian Exceptionalism: Christianity is the only true religion because only acceptance of Jesus as Messiah confers everlasting life, known as the doctrine of exclusive salvation.

Scriptural Inerrancy: The Holy Bible (both Hebrew and Christian testaments) is the absolutely accurate word of God, a perfect revelation of his perfect will that is without error.

Biblical Dominionism: This is the Genesis-based assertion that God provided all natural resources on the planet for the unrestricted use of believing Christians, as they deem necessary to fulfill God’s eschatological promise to the faithful.

These three axioms of fundamentalism have been translated into ten political objectives of this extremist Christian minority, which comprises less than 20 percent of the U.S. population. These objectives, stated in condensed form, are:

Establish Christianity as the official religion of the United States.

Acknowledge Jesus as the Lord and Savior of the United States.

Dispel the myth of separation of church and state.

Restrict elected governmental offices to orthodox Christians.

Require Christian prayer at all civic events.

Institute patriarchy in all aspects of public life.

Eliminate public schools and fund only Christian academies.

Exempt Christians from all laws that offend their faith.

Control women’s reproductive healthcare choices.

Deny the freedoms and civil rights of LGBTQ persons.

Project Blitz has expanded Christian-nation theology to include the issue of sexuality, focusing on the narrow specification of what constitutes acceptable forms of sexual relations, for the purpose of delegitimizing the LGBTQ community.

In addition to infusing phony Christian history into the public school social studies curriculum, the Project Blitz strategy specifies three objectives:

Regulate sexual behavior by restricting lawful sexual relations to heterosexual married couples.

Legalize discrimination against LGBTQ people by enacting “religious liberty” laws that exempt fundamentalists from civil rights legislation.

Control the reproductive lives of women by outlawing in vitro fertilization, abortion, morning-after contraception, and other forms of contraception considered abortifacients.

Conclusion: The political foundations of Christian-nation ideology are located in the cultural and historical traditions of Christian fundamentalism, including exceptionalism, inerrancy, and dominionism. The specific objectives of this extreme theopolitical program include imposing a Christian theocracy in America, with an obsessive focus on “normal” sexuality and control of women’s reproductive lives.

Separation of Church and State

This foundational constitutional principle is enshrined in the U.S. founding documents and most of the state constitutions. It is supported by most citizens and contravenes the claim that the United States is a Christian nation. For this reason, fundamentalist activists have to assert that the principle is just a myth.

Clearly, if government is constitutionally prohibited from establishing an official religion, Christianity will never become the recognized national theology. And this is why we are witnessing the continuing assault on the First Amendment by Christian-nation advocates.

It’s important to understand the historical and cultural basis for the U.S. founders’ strong antipathy toward theocracy. As educated individuals, they were familiar with the terrible human destruction wrought in Christian Europe by five major crusades, three devastating Inquisitions, and the endless witch hunts that mostly targeted women. They were convinced that the only viable form of government was secular, meaning divorced from religious establishment.

The more recent early American experience with Puritan theocracies in the New England colonies solidified the founders’ resolve to eliminate all religious ideas from the Constitution and to explicitly disallow governmental establishment of churches in the Bill of Rights. They realized that religious liberty was dependent on the indispensable principle of separation of church from state.

The initial formulation of this foundational principle of U.S. secular government is properly credited to Roger Williams, a Puritan clergyman who settled in the Massachusetts Bay colony in 1630. Ironically, he was subsequently the victim of religious persecution and banished from the colony because of his unwavering commitment to the concept of religious tolerance.

In 1637, Williams issued his seminal declaration referring to the “wall of separation between the garden of the church and the wilderness of the world.” The wall of separation metaphor was later made famous by Thomas Jefferson in his 1802 letter to the Danbury, Connecticut, Baptists. His historic statement precedes the pronouncements by six other former U.S. presidents and the first attorney general appointed by the current president:

Thomas Jefferson (1802): “I contemplate with sovereign reverence [quotes the First Amendment establishment and free exercise clauses] thus building a wall of separation between church and state.”

James Madison (1819): “Both society and religion benefit from the total separation of the church from the state.”

Ulysses S. Grant (1876): “Keep the church and state forever separate.”

John F. Kennedy (1960): “I believe in an America where the separation of church and state is absolute.”

Richard Nixon (1960): “The separation of church and state is not subject to discussion or alteration.”

Jimmy Carter (1977): “I believe in the separation of church and state.”

Ronald Reagan (1984): “We establish no religion in this country, church and state are, and must remain separate.”

Jeff Sessions (2018): “The principle of separation of church and state is a recent thing that is ahistorical and unconstitutional—an extra-constitutional doctrine.���

The last statement is blatantly false, of course, but illustrates how an educated lawyer and mainline Protestant can be influenced by fanatical proponents of a fundamentalist political ideology to make an absolutely ridiculous assertion.

Sessions’s fellow Republican and United Methodist, former president George W. Bush, was also an advocate of merging religion and government, which he did through his highly divisive faith-based schemes. He also endorsed another fundamentalist postulate, declaring that “Only Christians are saved,” for which he later apologized, after the Anti-Defamation League publicly criticized the thoughtless remark.

Continuing with the contemptible theme of fundamentalist exclusivity, Jeff Sessions’s replacement, Matthew Whitaker, believes that only Christians should be judges in America! This is another expression of the fundamentalist postulate of Christian exceptionalism, which was cited earlier.

Conclusion: After two hundred years of sustained effort, fundamentalist Christian nation zealots are not going to curtail their relentless assault on U.S. constitutional principles and core American values. Defenders of church-state separation should adopt an offensive posture by aggressively confronting fundamentalists’ political hypocrisy and their incessant biblical lies. Because they claim to be victims of religious persecution, it’s entirely appropriate to give them justification for their persistent paranoid charges of aggrievement and victimhood. In fact, the fundamentalists are engaged in a program of systematic persecution of everyone else, as documented in this article. Their goal is to impose their unbiblical, ungodly, unchristian theopolitical dogma on all Americans.

Christian-Nation Mythologist David Barton

For the past three decades, the premier purveyor of Christian-nation mythology has been David Barton of Aledo, Texas. Beginning in the late 1980s, he tirelessly traveled the country speaking at fundamentalist churches, evangelical conferences, and private Christian academies, promoting the myth that the United States was founded as a Christian nation.

Although Barton is not a professional historian, he did not allow his lack of training or credentials to deter him from conducting a one-man war on American history. He produced and distributed scores of booklets, brochures, pamphlets, posters, and videos promoting revisionist Christian-nation theology through his publishing empire, Wallbuilders, while under continuous criticism by legitimate historians.

Four major episodes that constitute milestones in his career are reviewed below: the Separation Myth fiasco, the prayer and Bible reading excision claim, the Jefferson Lies debacle, and the Project Blitz personal resurrection.

1. The Separation Myth Fiasco.

Barton initiated his program of unhistoric revisionism with a self-published treatise titled The Separation Myth (1989). After a dozen fake quotes attributed to U.S. founders were uncovered by readers, Barton recalled and reworked the volume, deleting the bogus quotes, which he labeled “questionable,” and adding some additional material. Then he released the revised book with a new title, Original Intent (1994).

In fairness to Barton, it should be stated that he did not fabricate the fake quotes himself; rather he failed to verify their authenticity after locating them in the fundamentalist fringe literature. After a half dozen printings of The Separation Myth were distributed to churches, schools, and libraries, it was inevitable that the fake excerpts would receive widespread attention.

The most popular of the false citations was attributed to James Madison:

We have staked the whole future of American civilization, not upon the power of government, far from it. We have staked the future of all of our political institutions upon the capacity of each and all of us to govern ourselves according to the Ten Commandments of God.

All experts in American political history and constitutional studies have concluded that Madison never said it! But authors ranging from the Legal Training Institute of America to Bill O’Reilly have erroneously quoted the Founding Father, and The Good News Journal printed the bogus quote twice in 2018 alone!

2. The prayer and Bible reading excision claim.

Barton concluded that the Supreme Court decisions in 1962/1963 declaring mandatory prayer and required Bible reading in public schools unconstitutional precipitated a monumental moral decline in the United States.

In his book Original Intent, graphs that depict five social variables (unwed mother birth rate, violent criminal offenses, gonorrhea cases, SAT total scores, single parent female households) plotted over time (1951–1993) are used to conclude that the accelerating values of the variables were caused by the two court decisions.

There were several major methodological flaws in his retrospective post hoc analysis, which I summarize as follows:

(a) Barton identified an alleged cause and then searched for effects retroactively without proposing hypotheses about variables that should and should not be influenced.

(b) Barton failed to formulate differential hypotheses about numerous possible alternative causes, such as the Vostok space flights and JFK’s assassination.

(c) Barton did not report results for the scores of other indicators of social pathology, health diagnoses, criminal activity, and economic changes that he should have examined.

(d) Barton could commission a multivariate longitudinal analysis by qualified investigators who could design and conduct an appropriate analysis more than a half century later, because all the relevant data are available in government archives. Why not do it? He could confirm or disconfirm the original claim.

3. The Jefferson Lies debacle.

Barton spent several years preparing his masterpiece, The Jefferson Lies (2012), in which he argued that Thomas Jefferson was really an orthodox Christian who did not advocate separation of church and state. Scholars recognized immediately that these conclusions were false.

After two conservative Christian college faculty members documented Barton’s numerous errors and misrepresentations in Getting Jefferson Right, reputable evangelical publisher Thomas Nelson recalled the inauthentic tract from bookstores and libraries.

It should be emphasized that it was not godless, anti-Christian, secular historians who took down the dogged Christian-nation advocate guru. Two persons of faith who were embarrassed by his endless misconceptions and embellishments of American religious history decided to unmask him.

4. The Project Blitz personal resurrection.

Barton miraculously emerged from The Jefferson Lies debacle as the creative genius behind the newest Christian-nation theopolitical program known as Project Blitz. Most of his fundamentalist followers apparently accepted his explanation that he had been the unwitting, innocent victim of a liberal conspiracy. However, Hobby Lobby did not and quickly dissolved its partnership with him.

Although some observers were convinced that his fragile credibility was permanently compromised by Thomas Nelson’s decision to withdraw the Jefferson screed, Professor Barton (his academic title was conferred by former Fox News host Glenn Beck) has risen from the grave, indeed.

Project Blitz updates and incorporates many of Barton’s earlier strategies into a comprehensive Christian-nation advocate’s playbook. These include Christianization of public schools by posting “In God We Trust” and teaching Bible courses, as well as issuing proclamations recognizing Christian Heritage Week, the Year of the Bible, and Christmas Day. The truly despicable assaults on the LGBTQ community and women’s reproductive rights were mentioned earlier.

Conclusion: David Barton’s schemes have given fundamentalist Christians a focus for their never-ending frustrations with the requirements of a secular government. His legacy, while certainly not favorable for Christian-nation proponents, is one of ongoing controversy that has drawn attention to the destructive potential that Christian fundamentalism has for democracy.3

Were the Prominent U.S. Founders Christians?

In February 1994, Acting Arkansas Governor Mike Huckabee signed one of the first Christian Heritage Week proclamations asserting that George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, and Benjamin Franklin were “Christian statesmen of caliber and integrity who did not hesitate to express their faith.”

The only problem with Huckabee’s proclamation was that these four prominent founders were not Christians! As I show in the thumbnail sketches of ten eminent founders below, they were actually deists. The brief profiles provide a factual background against which to judge the highly misleading characterizations of these men presented by Christian-nation proponents.

1. George Washington was nominally an Episcopalian. Because he seldom attended church and was not a communicant, he was accused of being an agnostic and even an atheist. He denounced the Calvinist doctrine of original sin, never mentioned Jesus in his writings, and used the term Providence as synonymous with destiny or fate. He had a low opinion of religion because of the “incessant acrimony and irreconcilable hatreds” it encouraged. His so-called personal prayer book that is routinely cited by revisionists was judged by experts to be a hoax, and his prayer at Valley Forge (kneeling in the snow) is now acknowledged to be a fabrication. He was a deist.

2. John Adams studied for the ministry at Harvard. Doubts about his Christian convictions led him to shift to the law. Although he generally wrote favorably of Christianity and Jesus throughout his life, he rejected orthodox Christian dogma, including the Trinity and the doctrine of eternal damnation. In his diary, he wondered how the Judeo-Christian scriptures came to underpin “the most bloody religion that ever existed.” He also called the Cross “the most fatal example of the abuses of grief which the history of mankind has preserved.” He did not declare Christmas a national holiday. He was a Unitarian.

3. Thomas Jefferson authored the Declaration of Independence and coined the oft-repeated phrase, “the wall of separation between church and state.” Political opponents called him a “champion of atheism and immorality” because he denied the deity of Jesus, did not think the Bible was God’s word, and rejected the Christian concept of hell as a state of everlasting punishment. Yet he greatly admired Jesus’s secular teachings and assembled them into a small book referred to as The Jefferson Bible. Hewas a deist.

4. James Madison is known as the father of the U.S. Constitution. He did not attend church, but he spoke out repeatedly on behalf of freedom of conscience, which he believed was a basic right of citizenship. He opposed any form of government support for religion, because history demonstrates that established Christian churches tend to produce “superstition, bigotry, and persecution.” He declared that “religious bondage shackles and debilitates the mind and unfits it for every noble enterprise.” His alleged quote about “the Ten Commandments of God” that is popular with the revisionists is a verified fake. He was a deist.

5. James Monroe attended an Episcopal church but never talked about his religious beliefs because he considered religion a private matter. A reference to the Divine Author of All Good in his second annual message to Congress suggests that he may have been a deist.

6. John Quincy Adams was not a regular churchgoer, causing some religious people to call him an atheist. Ironically, he read at least three chapters of the Bible each day and read through the entire Bible every year. He wrote “Civil liberty can be established on no foundation of human reason which will not at the same time demonstrate the right to religious freedom.” A lifelong opponent of slavery, he severely criticized clergy and parishioners for not condemning slavery on religious and moral grounds. Like his father, he attended the United First Parish Unitarian Church in Quincy, Massachusetts. He was a Unitarian.

7. Benjamin Franklin rejected nearly all doctrinal aspects of Christianity. While he doubted Jesus’s divinity, he applauded his ethical teachings. He considered morality independent of religion and stressed the cultivation of civic virtue in his writings. Contrary to the revisionists’ dishonest assertion, his motion to begin daily sessions of the constitutional convention with prayer was not approved; it was tabled without a vote. He opposed oaths and religious tests for public office. He was a deist.

8. Thomas Paine is best known for his immensely popular booklet Common Sense,which developed the argument for independence from England. In another persuasive volume, The Age of Reason, hedemonstrated that the Bible’s claims could not be true, and he ridiculed Christianity, which he regarded as an obstacle to social and political reform. He said that more than half the Bible contains “obscene stories, voluptuous debaucheries, cruel and tortuous executions, and unrelenting vindictiveness,” and for this reason it should be called “the word of a demon.” The charge that he was an atheist is false; he believed in God and an afterlife. He was a deist.

9. Ethan Allen was a military hero of the American Revolution, best known for conquering the British stronghold at Fort Ticonderoga. He formulated a deistic philosophy based on reason, disavowing revelation and miracles. His treatise, Reason the Only Oracle of Man, was the first openly anti-Christian book published in the United States. He was a deist.

10. Joel Barlow was a Revolutionary political writer and diplomat. As U.S. Consul to Algiers, he authored and negotiated the Treaty with Tripoli, which assures that “the government of the United States is not, in any sense, founded on the Christian religion.” The treaty was approved by the U.S. Senate and signed by President John Adams, thus making it the supreme law of the land. He was later U.S. minister to France and died in Poland during Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow. Based on his extensive poetry, it is apparent that he was a deist.

What can we conclude about the religious views of these ten American founders? First, eight were deists and two were Unitarians. Second, all were advocates of religious tolerance and freedom of conscience. Third, ironically, most were themselves targets of religious bigots. Fourth, none was an orthodox Christian. And fifth, none was even remotely close to the modern-day fundamentalist revisionists who attempt to expropriate them for partisan political purposes.

Obviously, it is essential to know something about deism to fully appreciate American history.4 Deism was a religious philosophy popular among educated people living in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. It was referred to as a rational religion, meaning that it was based on science and reason, explicitly rejecting all forms of revelation and arguing that God’s existence is manifest in the natural world.

Deists believed in God as a celestial explanatory mechanism or first cause but disaffirmed all claims of divine authority, including the deity of Christ. Yet deists endorsed the ethical teachings of Jesus, as well as those of other religious prophets. Deists also denounced all religious dogma and creeds, were strong supporters of religious liberty, and emphasized civic morality and ethical responsibility instead of personal salvation.

The modern equivalent of deism is Unitarian-Universalism. All the above tenets of deism also characterize Unitarian-Universalism. (The Unitarian and Universalist churches merged in 1961, by which time meaningful doctrinal differences between them had disappeared.) Several of the founders, including Jefferson, Adams, Madison, Franklin, and Paine, were strongly influenced by Unitarian ideas through friendship with the English scientist Joseph Priestly, a Unitarian minister, who lived in America from 1794 to 1804.

A major consequence of the adoption of the religious philosophies of deism and Unitarianism was the emergence of the principle of separation of church from state in the U.S. founding documents, which was the basis for the American concepts of freedom of conscience and religious liberty.

The rejection of creedal statements and emphasis on ethical behavior transformed Unitarianism (as well as Universalism) into alignment with religious Humanism. Thus, critics of the historical reviews above assert that deism and Unitarianism do not have the same meaning today as they did in the late 1700s.

There is most certainly some truth to the argument that philosophical and religious ideas adjust and adapt over time. For example, observe how much the beliefs and practices of U.S. Catholics and Southern Baptists have changed just since the 1950s.

Conclusion: Itshould be emphasized that while none of the prominent U.S. founders discussed above was even close to being an orthodox Christian, none was opposed to religion. As a group, they considered the promotion of religious belief and practice beneficial to society and, therefore, the responsibility of political leaders. They thought that religious faith could foster ethical conduct, create good will in the community, generate respect for the rights of others, and diminish antisocial behavior. Were they just hypocrites? It is more likely that they sincerely viewed religion pragmatically as a useful instrument for maintaining civil peace and public amity. Political philosophers since Plato have shared this perspective.

Are the U.S. Founding Documents Based on the Bible?

The overarching historical assertion by Christian-nation advocates is that the United States was founded on Judeo-Christian principles. If this were demonstrably true, it would constitute strong evidence for the Christian-nation claim.

However, it is a nonspecific supposition that is not directly amenable to objective evaluation, primarily because the oft-cited Judeo-Christian precepts have never been fully enumerated. Put simply, there is nothing approaching an agreed-upon set of principles.

A more precisely specified assertion that is amenable to objective assessment is that the U.S. founding documents are based on the Bible. We can examine the documents and holy scripture together, so the requisite task becomes that of identifying the biblical themes, principles, and events that are represented in the founding charters.

We begin by stipulating that the focus will be the three basic documents, the Declaration of Independence (1776), the U.S. Constitution (1787), and the Bill of Rights (1791). Some critics argue that there are other legitimate candidates, such as the Articles of Confederation, the Federalist papers, the Virginia Statute for Religious Freedom, and the Mayflower Compact. The numerous alternative candidates do not qualify as U.S. founding documents because they do not present the principles and directives for governance that served as the philosophical and legal foundation for the new nation, although some were certainly precursors of the Big Three.

The first step in any historical analysis is to ask if there exists direct evidence in support of the claim. Are there any references to Jesus, Christianity, or the Bible in the three primary founding documents? Did Thomas Jefferson, author of the Declaration, or James Madison and Alexander Hamilton, the principal writers of the Constitution and Bill of Rights, ever say that they relied on the Bible in composing the founding documents? The answer to both questions is negative.

The second critical step is to search for those themes, principles, and events in the Bible that appear in the founding documents and those that do not. Our initial concern will be with four biblical themes that are represented in the documents, followed by a listing of ten prominent themes and events that are excluded.

1. The major biblical theme that predominates in the founding documents is patriarchalism. The doctrine that men are superior and women are subservient is explicit in holy scripture, at one point quantified in God’s differential valuation of men and women (Leviticus 27:1–7). Also, only one title is given to women, that of “helper.”

How is the pernicious doctrine of patriarchalism manifested in the founding documents? Three questions frame the answer: Who wrote the documents? Who signed and approved them? Who was allowed to vote in the new republic? The answers are, of course, men only.

2. Another significant biblical theme that occurs in the founding documents is that of slavery. The doctrine that one race or ethnicity is superior to others, which may be owned as chattel property, pervades scripture. Ownership of slaves was categorically approved by Jesus, Paul, and Peter.

The U.S. Constitution legally permitted the importation of black slaves until 1808. For the purposes of enumeration, slaves were counted as three-fifths of a person. The dehumanizing institution of slavery was legal in pre- and post-Revolutionary “Christian America” for almost a quarter of a millennium (1619–1865).

Another expression of racism appears in the Declaration of Independence, where the native inhabitants of the continent are referred to as “merciless Indian Savages.”

3. The constitutional principle of separation of church and state received clear support from Jesus himself, when he said. “Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s and unto God that which is God’s” (Matthew 22:21). While scholars of different persuasions disagree on this interpretation, a useful discussion is provided by Herbert Titus in The U.S. Constitution: A Christian Document (1997).

4. The constitutional option of affirming rather than swearing an oath occurs twice in the document and undoubtedly derives from Jesus’s unequivocal prohibition against swearing an oath, “Do not swear an oath at all, simply say Yes or No, anything else comes from the Devil” (Matthew 5:34–37) and was repeated by his brother James (5:12). Virtually all Christian politicians disregard this unambiguous scriptural teaching.

Listed next are ten major biblical themes, precepts, and events that were not included in the founding documents.

The Ten Commandments, the so-called quintessential guidelines for civilized living, were omitted.

The death penalty is scripturally required for two dozen contemporary transgressions but was not mentioned.

Collective punishment, which entails execution of innocent family members of guilty parties, including children, was omitted.

Recognition of Jesus as Messiah and obedience to his teachings, the essential requirement for salvation, was not mentioned.

Jesus’s detailed description of the horrors of hell, essential knowledge for encouraging good citizenship, was omitted.

Human history, including creation, Noah’s flood, Sodom and Gomorrah, and the Conquest of Canaan, was not mentioned.

God’s murderous behavior toward the unborn, infants, babies, children, adolescents, adults, women, and homosexuals was not recounted.

The compelling biographies of the patriarchs and prophets, such as Moses, Joshua, Samuel, Elijah, David, Jesus, Paul, and Peter, were omitted.

Animal sacrifice, which is a central component of godly worship, detailed in fifty-six chapters of fifteen books of scripture, was not mentioned.

Three supreme Christian doctrines—original sin, punishment for disobedience, and that human sacrifice guarantees immortality—were not referenced.

Conclusion: Although it is not true that the U.S. founding documents were based on the Bible, it is accurate to say that the Declaration, Constitution, and Bill of Rights do incorporate four basic themes that occur in the Bible: patriarchalism, slavery, separation of church and state, and affirmation of oaths. It is also obvious that most themes, principles, and events central to the Bible story are absent from the founding documents.

Social Pathology in Christian American

If we define a Christian nation as a political entity under the authority of God the Father and his son Jesus the Savior of humankind, then we can reasonably ask: Why is there so much social pathology in the United States?

Doesn’t Christianity engender moral behavior in believers? Isn’t that the primary claim that Christian pastors and preachers make? Can’t we live ethical lives through acceptance of Christian faith? What does the objective evidence tell us?

Compared to thirty other modern Western industrial countries, the United States has by far the highest rates (per capita) of social pathology, as documented by the following indicators:

Homicide rate: Fifteen to twenty times higher.

Execution rate: All others have abolished capital punishment.

Incarceration rate: More residents in jails, prisons, and penitentiaries.

Drug abuse rate: World’s number one illegal drug market.

Military budget: Exceeds the next fifteen countries combined.

Military sales: Exceeds the next eight countries combined.

Other indicators include: suicide rate, maternal mortality rate, infant mortality rate, teenage pregnancy rate, children living in poverty rate, marital infidelity rate, sexually transmitted disease rate, obesity rate, abortion rate, wealth inequality rate, and drunk-driving fatality rate.

While the United States may not be the worst in all categories every year, it is at the top or close on each variable, and its aggregate or composite ranking is far and away numero uno forthe modern Western world.

What are the causes of this monumental epidemic of social pathology in an allegedly Christian nation? It is an undeniable fact that Americans are an incorrigibly violent people. The country was founded on the evils of forcible conquest, bloody massacres, chattel slavery, and conscripted labor.

The North American continent was taken from the native inhabitants by violent, murderous expropriation, nearly annihilating most Indian tribes (of Asian descent), destroying their cultures, and imprisoning survivors on reservations. Ironically, the later westward expansion of the United States depended upon conscripted Asian workers.

The nation was built initially by black slaves who were captured in Africa and transported to the colonies beginning in 1619. Enslavement of black captives as the foundation of the Southern economy continued for two and a half centuries. Only a bloody Civil War terminated this God-ordained practice.

Another insult to human dignity occurred during World War II, when 100,000 U.S. citizens of Japanese descent were incarcerated in internment camps, not because they committed any crimes but due entirely to their ancestry. A government film produced at the time declared that the action was taken “without violating the principles of Christian decency.”

Conclusion: TheUnited States was birthed in violence, and the tradition continues to this day. How do the Christian-nation advocates reconcile these horrific historical embarrassments and the dismal statistical evidence of social pathology with their assertion that the United States is a Christian nation? Are these terrible historical events and social data indicative of Christian godliness? Do they reflect Christian exceptionalism? What would the Prince of Peace say? Fundamentalist doomsday preachers tell us that Satan is alive and well in America, and this frightening evidence confirms their allegation!

Absence of Christian Consensus in America

Fundamentalist promoters of Christian-nation ideology assume that there exists a consistent set of pro-family values that have the overwhelming support of the Christian community.

All available evidence flatly contradicts this assumption. In fact, disagreement within the Christian community is almost as great as it is among the greater U.S. population. It is the huge divide between fundamentalist and mainline Christians on the moral issues that accounts for most of the differences.

If the United States were truly a Christian nation, then it follows that those who identify as Christians would agree completely on the central moral issues. The clear absence of consensus, with fundamentalists typically in the minority, contradicts the very idea of a nation committed to a unified series of Christian values.

Outlined next are one dozen major moral issues that thoroughly divide the Christian community, with the mainline Protestants’ majority position (with substantial Catholic support) given first in the contrasting viewpoints.

Abortion Rights: Freedom of choice in women’s reproductive healthcare vs. outlaw and criminalize abortion and related procedures for women and doctors.

LGBTQ Rights: Equal rights and legal protections for all sexual minorities vs. ban same-sex marriage and legalize discrimination against LGBTQ persons for religious reasons.

Sexuality Education: Comprehensive sexuality education including thorough explanation of contraception vs. abstinence only until marriage to an opposite sex mate.

Science Education: Indoctrination in the philosophy, methods, and findings of scientific investigation vs. denial of human evolution, climate change, and vaccination efficacy.

Capital Punishment: Abolish state-sponsored killing as immoral vs. execute criminals expeditiously, because the death penalty is an effective deterrent.

Gun Ownership: Implement strong public safety requirements such as universal background checks vs. any restrictions in access to firearms is a violation of the Second Amendment.

Right-to-Die: Individuals have the right to choose assisted death with dignity vs. individuals do not have the right to accelerate dying and must accept “natural death.”

Ordination of Women: All persons should be eligible to assume all ecclesiastical responsibilities vs. women should be restricted to those statuses that scripture approves.

Drug Use: Individuals should have freedom of choice in use of recreational drugs vs. drugs are a societal scourge, and all use should be strongly discouraged or outlawed.

Gambling Activity: Wagering is a generally harmless recreational activity that must be regulated vs. allgambling should be abolished because it is morally destructive.

Public Schools: Public education is the foundation of the community and should focus on the acquisition of knowledge, skills, and social development vs. public schools should be replaced by private religious academies and home schooling.

Public Religion: Expression of religious faith is a private matter that is best left to home and church vs. public religious exercises, such as invocations and prayers, are essential for strengthening Christian commitment.

Conclusion: TheUnited States cannot be a Christian nation if Christians do not agree on the central moral values that Christian-nation advocates argue are the foundation of the alleged national faith. In other words, the complete absence of anything even approaching a Christian consensus on basic moral issues demonstrates that there are no definitive Christian values or Godly principles and renders the concept of a “Christian nation” incoherent and utterly meaningless.

Summary

Each of the eight sections of this review produced a definitive conclusion about one of the dominant issues in the Christian-nation allegation:

Twenty-one specific claims made by Christian-nation proponents are shown to be false or irrelevant.

The theopolitical goals of the Christian-nation advocates are focused on the imposition of a Christian theocracy in the United States.

The assertion by Christian-nation proponents that the constitutional principle of separation of church and state is a “myth” is refuted.

David Barton’s thirty-year career of historical errors and confusion has not produced one iota of support for the Christian-nation claim.

The best-known U.S. founders were not Christians; rather they adhered to the religious philosophies of deism and Unitarianism.

The U.S. founding documents are not based on the Bible, but four basic scriptural themes are represented: patriarchalism, slavery, separation of church and state, and affirmation of oaths.

The overwhelming evidence of social pathology in the United States in comparison to other modern countries flatly contradicts the Christian-nation assertion.

The complete lack of Christian consensus on the major moral issues demonstrates that the United States is not a Christian nation.

Regardless of the total lack of support for their claim, Christian-nation advocates will not stop their obsessive activities aimed at achieving the goal of having Christianity officially recognized and proclaimed America’s religion, with all others excluded. Most authorities say this will not happen because the First Amendment protects citizens from government establishment of any religion.

Many fundamentalists still regard David Barton as the living savior of the Christian-nation dream. The Jefferson Lies debacle should have been the end of his journey of historical distortion and corruption. But despite his public exposure and disgrace, millions of believers accept the Christian-nation theopolitical myth as an article of faith rather than rejecting it as the product of fraudulent scholarship.

Their hopes have been revived by a recent episode in Israel, in which Benjamin Netanyahu and his cronies railroaded through a new law that declares Israel “the nation-state of the Jewish people” and asserts that “The right to exercise national self-determination in the state of Israel is unique to the Jewish people.”

In other words, Israel is now a Jewish nation! Interestingly, Israel’s founding Declaration of Independence guaranteed complete equality of social and political rights for all residents, regardless of religion.

Could it happen in America? With Netanyahu’s fellow demagogue in the White House, endlessly pandering to the fundamentalist far Right, almost anything is possible.5 Only the entirely secular U.S. Constitution stands between most American citizens and the small minority of Christian-nation zealots.

[source]

[yonderghostshistories]

I'm planning on starting that MP Regency AU fanfiction! What should I include? (U, PG and 18+ suggestions are all welcome!)

OH MY GOD YOU'RE ACTUALLY DOING IT?!?!!? LESS GOOOOOOO!!!!!

Ok uhh here's my suggestions!! :

-All (well technically 3) the Pythons have a really specific kinda Regency royal/heir-like title/nicknames to them based on where they were born (i.e some random examples; John Cleese, Earl of Weston-super-Mare, Captain/Admiral/General Graham Chapman, Duke of Leicester, Terry "Jonesy" Jones, Baron of Colywn Bay of North Wales). Then you have Vicar Michael Palin (of Sheffield), Baron Terry Gilliam from Paris, France (he says he's a Baron but the others don't really believe him and thinks he's really a phony or something lol), and self proclaimed "Maestro" Eric Idle (from the local Cheshire pub). Then you also have Stableboy Neil (Innes)/Neil the humble Stableboy, Countess Carol Cleveland and Countess Connie Booth (in this AU, Connie is Carol's older half-sister/cousin) of London, Lieutenant David Sherlock (Gray's second-in-command in the army, and also love interest but pretends to just "be friends" so to not make people suspicious about their relationship with eachother, etc!

-Gray is both a highly respected army official by day (at work technically), and a promiscuously gay playboy by night (when he has the time off doing the army business). He smokes alot too.

-Jonesy ends up with Regency era Denise Coffey and learns that she's not as "bad" as anyone makes her out to be. She's considered"bad" because she's apparently "too common" to fit with society. In other words, society thinks she's "too unattractively normal" to be considered pretty, to which she politely says bullshit to :).

-John and Gray are childhood best friends with eachother. Michael and Jonesy are also childhood best friends with eachother. Eric and Terry tags along as well.

-John becomes instantly uhh "emo" and tragic and moody and cold because of his recent breakup with his (ex-)fiancé Connie, even though they just broke up since almost a week ago. He mopes about it all the bloody time that even his friends start to get annoyed by it all, and it makes even his own sappy poetry look like decent stuff.

-Eric and Neil meet up at the weekends to play as a musical duo at the local Cheshire pub. Eric is, ofc, sorta homeless, meaning he has to to stay over at Neil's cottage house but also stay at the local taverns until he has to pay rent.....but mostly he chills out at Neil's house.

-Eric gets a "rags to riches" kinda story where, with the help of Gray who just so happen to be at the local Cheshire pub to "meet a special friend of his" (which is ofc David) in which Gray overhears the pretty good singing, he agrees to hire Eric as his servant and give him a permanent place to stay and enough money to live by. Eric is ecstatic ofc!

-Michael is a kind and innocent vicar, a follower of god, but he's a bit horny too! He particularly has a crush on a nice and kind woman called Helena (who runs the local bookshop in the town). Mike has the hots for Helen but knows he can't actually ask her out due to him being religious and stuff and it apparently going against the rules to marry whilst preaching about god or something. However, he tries to get around this by starting out slow, via becoming companions with Helena by helping her with the bookshop part-time. It all seems going to plan. However, things start to get a bit too *spicy* when Michael accidentally sees Helena in her regency era undergarments (which is a "stay"-kinda undergarment) just as she was about to get unchanged. As if it couldn't get any worse, the stunned Michael commits the greatest sin he has ever committed.......he sees a bit of her bare back. That alone is enough to make Michael faint. Helena, being the good and understanding friend she is, helps Michael get back to life and takes care of the poor soul. Michael is grateful for Helena helping him, but feels guilty for seeing her like that. Helena tells him that it's ok and that it was an accident at the end of the day. Michael smiles, and out of the repressed passion he held back for all these years, he slowly cups her face and begins kissing Helena, and Helena, at first surprised, is then quickly eased and understands and kisses back Michael. Michael and Helena then have the most excruciatingly passionate sex that night, and both are left satisfied.

-Gray meets David in an abandoned farmhouse, and they both announce their feelings for one another, and they both kiss passionately and uhh have the most beautiful gay sex one could ever hope.

-There's alot of "characters running through the moors" whenever the character starts a new relationship, romantic or platonic.

-Gray wakes up naked every morning after each promiscuous affair.

-Terry the Parisian Artist develops a romance with the ""weird"" woman who runs the tailoring clothes shop, Ms Margret "Maggie" Weston. Terry & Maggie bond over their shared weirdness and love for absurdities in life.

-John and Connie began an (almost) lifelong romance (before they broke up) when they were young teenagers of about 16/15 at a ball one night. From there on, they hit it off with each other pretty well. The young John and Connie then sneakily exited from the ballroom, then they snuck out and playfully ran to the garden maze and then snogged each other all night long.

-The Pythons and Co go to a regency era fairground/carnival and have a lovely, fun time there. They also get to ride on the merry-go-round on the merry-go-round horses!

Uhh hope you enjoyed the ideas I gave! Let me know which of the ideas is your favourite and why? I absolutely can't wait to read it!!