#i wonder if other autistics ever just feel like. afraid and ashamed of getting older

[kittycak3s]

god it is so hard to get over the fear of being treated like shit / made fun of for using AAC

[oddlittlestories]

Just thinking about Bros (2022). Spoilers ahead.

Thinking about how it got such a bad rap supposedly bc Billy Eichner is insufferable. Super delightful (sarcasm) given that he plays a character who can’t shut up about LGBT+ social issues. He can very easily be read as autistic with a social justice special interest. He literally cannot stop himself. He is too intense and it’s too much for most people. He’s been kicked to the curb about a million times. And apparently an audience just can’t relate to a character like that. Ouch.

But I have to wonder if its lack of popularity ALSO has to do with the themes.

I feel like today we’re expected to feel that being gay is “normal” and embrace it wholly and completely.

I wonder if a lot of people are uncomfortable with the idea that people could be gay, and out, and even vocally proudly out, and still struggle with their identity.

Like, “What do you mean it’s not fixed?”

In the movie, Bobby leans in as hard as he can to being gay and femme and visible and camp and vocal. And he STILL fears that his femininity makes him undesirable to other gay men. Like, “pretend to be more masc” kind of afraid. Which is, in a way, going back in the closet for him DESPITE THE FACT that he does it when flirting with ANOTHER MAN.

And then Aaron. His real dream is to open a chocolate shop and make teeny tiny chocolates, but he’s so afraid that will make him be perceived as a [slur]. The wrong kind of gay. TOO gay. He’s also ashamed of the radical way Bobby talks about sexuality. He asks Bobby to tone it down for his parents. Ouch. And Bobby tries, and fails, and Bobby gets rejected for it. For being “too much.” But really it’s also Aaron rejecting himself.

And you don’t get the sense (at least I didn’t) that these journeys are ever going to be finished for them. But they keep TRYING.

Idrk. It was one of the first times I felt Seen in a piece of canon media about gay people. And people hated it so vehemently. And then I come on here and listen to people champion media that doesn’t deal with those sharp edges at all (some of which I love, don’t get me wrong). But you hear people imply that type of media is inherently better than old school queercoding. Or that media where characters have a complicated relationship with their sexuality are problematic, outdated, or just not interesting.

And it really makes me wonder.

It seems like many of y’all are uncomfortable with the idea that some people are not confident and free in their sexualities. That coming out of the closet and learning to accept yourself might be a lifelong or permanently incomplete process for some people.

And I really don’t know whether it’s because people get uncomfortable with that sort of retrospection—maybe reminded of their own loose ends. Or because people genuinely don’t relate at all… in which case, I have to assume they’re abandoning a whole lot of people who do. I certainly feel left behind by these attitudes. Bros came out and I thought I’d finally have a way to discuss feelings I’d never been able to surface before. And instead I was shut out. No one watched it. Or they hated it and refused to discuss it.

It’s funny. This is completely anecdotal but I told one friend of mine–older–that Bros was about “all the ways a person can be out but still in the closet” and she went “oh wow. that’s rough yeah.” And I told another friend who lives in a place covered in rainbows where it’s genuinely normal to be LGBT+ the same thing and she (perfectly genuinely) asked, “what does that mean?”

[365days365movies]

April 11, 2021: Tootsie (1982) (Recap)

To be clear, I like Dustin Hoffman.

I can’t exactly claim that I’ve seen him in a lot of his most iconic roles, but I’m planning on fixing that this year for sure! On my to-watch list this year and beyond is Midnight Cowboy, Kramer vs. Kramer, Stranger Than Fiction, and Marathon Man at the very least.

But that’s not to say I haven’t seen him in other iconic roles of his, of course. Fun fact: I actually tried to do this project in 2019, and it...didn’t work. But, one of the films I watched that year was one of Hoffman’s most iconic dramatic films: Rain Man.

Oh, and by the way, that movie is not about an autistic man. Or, rather, it’s not based on a man diagnosed with one of the autism spectrum disorders. Instead, he actually most likely had a genetic disorder called FG syndrome, unrelated to the spectrum disorders. Ironic, since Hoffman’s character was the pop-cultural depiction of autism that people STILL refer to quite often, and quite inaccurately. But, obviously, that’s not Hoffman’s fault, and he was good in the movie, to be fair.

I grew up with him in Hook, as the pirate captain himself (I still do his laugh sometimes, it’s weird, I know). He had an underappreciated starring role in one of my favorite guilty-pleasure films, Outbreak (I fucking love that movie, and I’m not ashamed to admit that). He was in Finding Neverland, but I just forgot about that until I looked up his filmography to write this intro. And, of course...Master Shifu.

So, yeah, I actually DO like Dustin Hoffman, despite the fact that his role in The Graduate wasn’t stellar for me. Just seemed kinda miscast, and a little too awkward to be even slightly sympathetic. Then again, he wasn’t really meant to be, so maybe Hoffman was the perfect choice. Even then, he still acted well in it.

And anyway, I watched that movie for two major reasons. One, it was on my list of films to see, and TWO: it was a lead-up to the ACTUAL Hoffman film I wanted to watch this month: Tootsie. After all, I just watched rom-com Some Like It Hot, and if you’ve looked at me schedule, you know what film is coming next. So, this one fits in my planned schedule. Why? Well...there’s a theme.

Yup. I actually picked these movies for a reason. See, here’s the thing: this is a repeated trope in comedies, and I’ve always wondered whether or not it’s...problematic. But, much to my surprise with Some Like It Hot, they actually used the situation to comment on the female experience. I mean, not necessarily really well, but they tried at the very least. And for a film from 1959, that ain’t bad!

Which isn’t to say that it’s entirely clean, of course, but it was far better than I’d expected. So, if 1959 did that OK, how did 1982 do? Let’s find out, shall we?

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap

Michael Dorsey (Dustin Hoffman) is an acting coach, as well as being an actor himself. However, he’s not the most successful actor, as he keeps attempting to audition for pieces, only to get refused for nebulous reasons, or refuses them when he disagrees with the director. He might want to take his own advice, for the record.

In the meantime, he works in a restaurant with Jeff Slater (Bill Murray), a playwright and roommate. That night, the night of his birthday, he spends time with an actress friend, Sandy Lester (Teri Garr), and also hits on the majority of women there that night.

As the party concludes, and various people go home, Sandy is abandoned by her date, and Michael offers to take her home. She breaks down crying, and Michael guesses that she’s upset about an upcoming audition. He gives her some coaching advice, and manages to get her to produce the correct emotion for the role. Afraid that she’ll lose it without him, he agrees to accompany her to the audition and enrage her. It’s very funny.

That morning, however, she IMMEDIATELY gets kicked out of the audition, as she wasn’t right for the part. However, when he goes to help her by speaking with an actor on the show, he finds out that the actor is off the show, and is instead getting a part that MICHAEL was supposed to get. Now enraged himself, he goes to speak with his agent, George Fields (Sydney Pollack), and the two have a tense conversation. It’s revealed that because of his difficult nature, he has a terrible reputation in acting circles, and literally nobody will hire him.

Challenge accepted.

Now dressed up as a woman named “Dorothy Michaels”, he goes back to the audition that passed on Sandy. Like her, he’s also immediately rejected by the director, Ron Carlisle (Dabney Coleman), who insists that she’s too “gentile” for the part of a hospital administrator. This causes “Dorothy” to go off, in a righteous monologue that accuses Ron for conflating power with masculinity. Which...yeah, he totally is, and DAMN, it’s a good tell-off!

Producer Rita Marshall (Doris Belack) agrees, and invites “Dorothy” to read for the part. He comes in to read, and in the process meets Julie Nichols (Jessica Lange), to whom he’s IMMEDIATELY attracted. He brushes that off, and the audition commences. From there, he gets the part, which is a regular part on a soap opera called Southwest General.

Now fully invested in the dumbest idea anybody’s ever had, “Dorothy” goes to her agent and tells him the ridiculous news, and asks for $1000 to go shopping for more clothing. Back at their apartment, Michael speaks to Jeff about the whole situation. He notes that he’s doing this to get the money for his play in Syracuse, which requires $8000 to produce.

Sandy is to be cast in this play, which is an issue, as they now need to explain where the money came from, as it’s technically from the part that SHE was refused for, which would hurt her feelings. He lies and says that the money’s from a deceased relative. While in her place, and while she’s in the shower, he decides to try on some of her clothes to get ideas for Dorothy. But when she walks in on him, he lies AGAIN and says that he’s sexually attracted to her. And she reciprocates IMMEDIATELY, which leads to an unintended relationship.

On the set, “Dorothy” finds out that he’ll be kissing John Van Horn (George Gaynes), an older actor who’s clearly a bit past his prime, and makes it a point to kiss every actress on the set when they start on the show. Gross. Michael agrees, and when the scene comes, he improvises and has his character (Emily) hit the doctor instead.

While the director (who’s a DICK, by the way) notes the improvisation, he approves of it, while also discouraging any similar actions in the future, and calling her “toots”. “Dorothy” takes it, rather than talks back. John compliments her on the improvisation, and then kisses “Dorothy” anyway, much to Michael’s shock!

We also find out that Julie, who plays a nurse on the show, is dating director Ron. Later on, though, Michael observes him making out with another actress on stage. Shortly after this, Julie invites “Dorothy” to dinner at her place, which is eagerly accepted. At dinner, we find out that Julie has a young daughter and that her relationship with Ron is...not stellar.

They have a discussion about being a woman in the ‘80s, and the complexities inherent in that concept, which is an interesting theme of this movie! Gotta say, this is a more socially-conscious version of Some Like It Hot, and I really like that! But the conversation is cut short when Michael realizes that he’d promised dinner with Sandy that night, and leaves in a hurry.

Dinner with Sandy is awkward, as Sandy is...Sandy is a lot, to be honest. But, she tells Michael that the woman hired in her stead on the soap opera (who is, of course, Michael himself), is written as a wimp, rather than tough as intended, and that she should change that. Michael agrees, and actively goes against the script to make the character of Emily far tougher. and essentially a feminist.

While this causes some grief to Ron and Rita at first, Dorothy Michaels soon becomes a massively successful and popular actress on the show, and her popularity absolutely explodes. Michael’s wrapped up in the success of Dorothy Michaels, and thinks that she might be able to branch outside of the role of the soap opera. Which is difficult, as his agent points out, because of the simple fact that Michael is...well, Michael.

At a party that his agent invites him to, Michael meets Julie AS MICHAEL. He uses a line on her that she’d mentioned before to Dorothy, only to be met with a drink to the face. Which is fair, as the line was about being honest about wanting to have sex with her, so I get it.

On the set soon afterwards, we see that the show is becoming more progressive, allowing Julie’s nurse character to stand up to John’s chief doctor character. After the scene is done, the director once again calls Dorothy “toots” instead of her real name, and Dorothy absolutely snaps back at him, and rightfully so! In response, Julie goes and invites Dorothy to a weekend in the country, on her father’s farm. Despite some rebuke from Jeff for lying to Sandy AND Julie, Michael as “Dorothy” goes on the trip.

This, by the way, is an excellent time to mention that this film is exuding some real strong, uh, vibes. You know...alphabet mafia vibes. Like, it’s definitely there, heavily leaning towards Julie. Obviously, “Dorothy” is actually the heterosexual Michael, but that’s not helping, just saying. And there’s literally (and absolutely obviously) nothing wrong with that, but it’s so strong at this point that it’s hard to ignore.

On the farm, “Dorothy” meets Les Nichols (Charles Durning), Julie’s lonely and genuinely nice father, if a bit old-fashioned in his views on gender politics. He’s also got the hots for “Dorothy”, which is funny-but-awkward as shit. That night, Julie tells “Dorothy” some very personal things about her dreams as a child, which is a genuinely very sweet scene. And can I just say, that this movie is both funny and quite heartfelt? I love it! Also, again, the vibes...THE VIBES.

Meanwhile, the popularity of “Dorothy” continues to skyrocket, to the frustration of director Ron, but to the delight of producer Rita, who decides to extend her contract with the soap opera by a full year! Oh FUCK! Realizing what the hell he’s gotten himself into, Michael calls his agent, who tells him that it was in his contract, meaning he’s basically fucked.

Jeff also tries to help hi, out of it, to no avail. Just then, though, they get a call from Julie, looking for “Dorothy”. She’s been having her doubts about her relationship with Ron, and she realizes that she’s been settling for Ron and other men like him. And Dorothy’s inspired her to be a better person, and to be honest with others and with herself. Fuckin’ OOF.

Just then, Ron arrives, allowing them some alone time, as Julie is getting ready for their night out. In the process, “Dorothy” reveals that she knows about his indiscretions with other women. Ron proceeds to use the EXACT SAME EXCUSE that Michael used to excuse his lies to Sandy, and it’s well-executed! Good job, writers, that’s pretty awesome.

“Dorothy” promises to watch Julie’s daughter for the night, which proves a bit of an issue, but he works it out. Julie returns later on, having broken up with Ron. Another heart-to-heart ensues, but this one is concluded with a revelation that Julie is lonely, despite the fact that she appreciates Dorothy’s influence and friendship. And then, "Dorothy” tries to kiss Julie. OH

Yeah, Julie’s not exactly chuffed about this as, despite a LOT of “Sappho and her friends” vibes, she doesn’t actually swing that way. “Dorothy” tries to explain, but this is interrupted by a call from Julie’s dad! He asks her out on a date that night, and “Dorothy” accepts. On said date, he FUCKIN’ PROPOSES TO HER! She promises to think about it, and takes the fuck OFF.

And to continue the parade of “Fuck me, I guess” that marching down Michael Street, who should show up at the apartment but John, from the show! Having followed her home the previous night (YIKES BUDDY), he literally serenades her outside of the apartment window, before “Dorothy” lets him in. It’s there that he reveals he’s MADLY in lust with her, and it’s HILARIOUSLY awkward. Thankfully, just as John is forcing himself on her, Jeff walks in on them, interrupting John’s actions, and causing him to leave in shame.

AND FUCKING THEN, after all of that, Sandy arrives at the apartment to find out why Michael’s not returned her phone calls. And Sandy’s a lot, sure, but all of her concerns are completely valid and legitimate. And despite Michael’s impressive ability to lie, he tells her the truth: he’s in love with another woman. Which she absolutely freaks the fuck out about, but whatever, not like Michael doesn’t deserve that.

Having had it with all the drama around Dorothy’s life, he goes to his agent and hilariously recounts to him the whole series of events that’s taken place. Still struggling to find a way to get out of the situation, he goes to work the next day, for an awkward conversation with Julie. She thanks Dorothy for inspiring her to be true to herself, which cuts DEEP, but still says that they shouldn’t spend time together anymore.

Producer Rita arrives with news: the erasure of a reel of footage has forced them to shoot a scene live. Said scene involves a party being thrown for Dorothy’s characters, putting her in the starring role. And THAT is when Michael takes his chance. Dorothy improvises a monologue about Emily’s REAL past, as a twin who tragically died before realizing her dream to become a hospital administrator. Ripping off his disguise, Michael reveals himself as Emily’s twin brother, Edward!

Everyone on stage and at home is SHOCKED, especially Les, John, Sandy, and of course, Julie. And once the cameras stop rolling, Julie now understands everything. She walks right up to Michael...AND PUNCHES HIM IN THE DICK

John asks if Jeff knows, and I break in half laughing.

Months pass. Michael was able to fund Jeff’s play in Syracuse, and goes to meet Les, who lives in the area. The two make amends after an understandably awkward reunion, and they begin the journey to become friends after everything. This prompts Michael to return to the city and speak with Julie, who is...less than happy to see him. Which, yeah, entirely fair.

But, again overcoming the initial awkwardness, Julie is able to admit that she misses her friend Dorothy. And Michael reciprocates, speaking for Dorothy, who is...well, him. He says the following great line: 

I was a better man with you as a woman than I ever was with a woman as a man.

And from there...the two decide to rekindle a friendship, with Julie asking to borrow one of Michael’s dresses. And y’know...I’m rooting for those crazy kids.

That’s Tootsie! And, uh...I love it! I LOVE it. I actually think this is a great film, and one of the best I’ve seen this month. But I’ll elaborate...in the Review! See you there!

[demiboypercyjackson]

Can you do Autistic! Will solace headcanons?

basing all of these off of my experience because Reasons… remember that you can differ from these symptoms and still be on the spectrum! :o autism is entirely that, a spectrum, and thus it effects (affects?) people differently… autistic people are different from each other sometimes and thats a great and wonderful thing! ♡

- will is a super picky eater! it makes him feel guilty but if something is a bad texture he’ll USUALLY try to swallow it whole (dont ever do that please, its bad for you) to be polite but other times he’ll spit it out and he feels terrible for doing it. he prefers mash potatoes with chunks rather than without, flat soda over fizz, and hard crunchy things like peanut brittle. just… good textures for the mouth and teeth

- will having hyper-empathy as opposed to the opposite since both are common in autism AND adhd. he struggles to understand things sometimes but as hard as it is to have hyper-empathy, he admits that it helps him lots ESPECIALLY in the infirmary

- music is a good stim, pacing too. he likes to walk around and play with his hair and the beads on his camp necklace and once chiron actually caught him playing with his tail because hair is such a good texture it just feels so nice!!! (after that he’ll lean down and let will touch the hair on his head or even his beardy beard because will no thats weird thats my horse butt)

- he has a hard time understanding things sometimes, especially if its something very simple? he asks people to rephrase things a lot and it makes him feel kind of guilty but as he grows older he realizes its hardly a burden for people (and usually people like being engaged in conversation, which is something that took him a looong time to learn)

- communication?? is so tiring. he’s gotten pretty good at it from working in the infirmary but then people try to smalltalk and hes just like ??? what do you mean “hows your abuela” i dont know go ask her?? im not my abuela, you goofball, how would i know

- he’s one of the few autistic people in camp that dont use ‘spoons’ because he doesnt really understand the metaphor, so he uses battery instead! it makes him feel like a cool robot too like… will: “beep beep boop im too drained to talk to you fuck off pls” cecil: “will holy shit” and he even has a special pin that his friend makes him that looks like the corner phone battery thing on red/low so people dont try to engage him too much AND!! a super special writing board that says what he writes for when hes nonverbal, which happens very rarely. it was made by his buddy jake from cabin 9… what a good guy

- he’s afraid of talking about his special interests (medicine - specificslly surgery - and star trek) but if you slowly goad him with questions about it before you know its hes infodumping and clenching and unclenching his hands happily and even flapping if he gets super excited! it takes him a while to be able to do it around nico without being self concious but nico thinks its the cutest, most endearing thing in the entire world

- nico getting him a skull-shaped chew stim as a joke that he thinks wills gonna like ironically but nah he loves the fuck out of that thing and gnaws on it all the time and thinks of nico and how much he loves him when he starts to feel shy or ashamed and doesnt feel so bad anymore

just…. autistic will yall, like, hell yes!!!! im getting a tablet for my birthday, i think, so! i can maybe draw him with the rainbow infinity sign (since i hate the puzzle piece) - mod will

[elfnerdherder]

Dread and Hunger: Chapter 4

You can read Chapter 4 Here

Chapter 4: Pinot Noir

           Jack Crawford found him four days later while loitering outside of his apartment. In one hand he turned his car keys over and over and over, and in the other hand he grasped a familiar cream envelope. Will stopped, heart lurching at the sight. The fight or flight instinct left him, replaced with a quiet reassurance that in reality, he hadn’t actually done anything wrong.

           Why did he feel so guilty, then?

           “Is this where he leaves them?” Crawford asked, feigning nonchalance. In truth, he wasn’t very good at it. Will could smell the discontent.

           “Every time,” Will replied hollowly. Jack nodded and gestured towards his front door.

           “May I come in?”

           “Sure.” Will wheeled his bike over and unlocked the door, hair rising up on end as he walked past the FBI agent and into his house, every cell inside of him screaming to run and run fast. Jack Crawford followed him into the apartment and shut it, effectively sealing off his only practical escape.

           He didn’t bother concealing the three letters that sat on his table, open and unassuming. The seeds still intermingled with the flower petals and gravel on the table, the envelopes in a disheveled pile. Jack looked them over, brows raised in surprise, and he passed the new one to Will once his bike was put away. Will sat down in one of the dining room chairs, turning the letter over to study the thick build-up of wax on the seal.

           “You open it,” Jack urged, and Will passed his thumb under the wax, popping it open. His heard was palpitating at the thought of what he’d find since the last note, and he numbly wondered if he should see a doctor. Heart palpitations couldn’t be healthy.

           This time, violet hyacinth petals fell into his palm, followed by white tulips. Like before, they were freshly bruised, recently ripped from the stem where they’d taken the first of their last breaths. He turned his palm over, let them drop to the table, and he opened the letter.

Dear Will,

Dark house, by which once more I stand Here in the long unlovely street, Doors, where my heart was used to beat So quickly, waiting for a hand, A hand that can be clasp'd no more— Behold me, for I cannot sleep, And like a guilty thing I creep At earliest morning to the door. He is not here; but far away The noise of life begins again, And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain On the bald street breaks the blank day.

                                                                                                           Yours,

                                                                                                           -C.R.

           “Did he kill someone again?” Will asked quietly, setting the letter down. He slid it to Jack whose eyes cut across it, devouring each line hungrily.

           “Yes,” Jack replied once he finished the letter. Will shook his head and buried his face in his hands dismally.

           “I told you,” he said, voice muffled.

           “Why didn’t you bring these to me?” Jack asked, gesturing to the small pile of them. Accusation riddled his tone an ugly shade of red.

           “You accused me of being the Chesapeake Ripper the first time. I didn’t think you’d listen.” Will said, lifting his head.

           “I’m listening. I’ve got a man with no face kneeling before a cross with a note in his palm that has your name on it,” Jack said heavily.

           “He’s apologizing,” Will realized after a moment. His mind reeled, hungry for the image he’d see when he faced the corpse, terrified at what it’d reveal. He shoved the hunger down, down, down.

           “He’s apologizing for the murders?” Jack asked skeptically.

           “He cornered me in an alley the other night, and he had a knife to me. At the last second, he pulled away. Maybe he knows how much it scared me, maybe he knows how…‘wrong’ it was. He’s come here before to apologize, but I wasn’t home and he blames himself.”

           “Do you mind telling me why you didn’t call the cops then?” Jack growled.

           “He knows enough about me that I thought he’d kill me if I did,” Will retorted. “Have you ever been hunted by a serial killer, Jack Crawford?”

           “Plenty of times,” Jack assured him, eyes darkening. He studied Will across the table, and whatever he found beneath the hair and the surface of his skin, he didn’t quite like. “Would it help if I apologized? We should have listened. I should have listened to you. I looked you up afterwards; top of the class in forensics and criminology, and your professors say you have a knack for seeing things that no one else in their classes can see.”

           “Yes,” Will agreed reluctantly.

           “You have been able to reconstruct cases that were considered long dead, used as examples of cold case files, and in one of your reports, a theory was used that led to the capture of a serial killer over in North Dakota.”

           “…Yes.”

           “I also spoke with your old therapist.” Jack steepled his fingers and surveyed Will critically. “She said you were too smart for the therapy because you kept seeing through the techniques and deemed them useless.”

           “Yes.”

           “At twelve-years-old,” Jack added curtly.

           “…Yes.”

           “She said your empathy disorder made you so utterly disgusted with yourself that you could identify with literally anyone in the room, and your lack of stable barriers made their thoughts and ideals your own, so much so that you were afraid you were just as capable at killing as the boy that brought a gun to school in your tenth grade year.”

           “Aren’t there laws about doctor-patient confidentiality?” Will asked snidely.

           “You gave her express consent to discuss your therapy when you were sixteen-years-old, after that shooting,” Jack replied easily. “Now, you’ve got five personalized letters from a killer I’ve been hunting for years. The Chesapeake Ripper cornered you in an alley, and when he could have made you his next victim, he instead is sending you flowers and apology letters.” If Jack’s voice grew any louder, it’d be considered shouting. Will wondered if he pointed that it, Jack would lower his voice.

           Probably not.

           “I tried to tell you,” Will said, staring at the pile of letters.

           “Yes, you did. Your old therapist said that you were on the spectrum.”

           “More along the line of autistics and Asperger’s than narcissists and psychopaths,” Will tried to assure him.

           “Your mind makes leaps no one can follow; you saw the Chesapeake Ripper’s message to you before anyone else could.”

           “I’d just call it an over active imagination, nothing more or less,” said Will reluctantly.

           “I’d like to borrow that imagination, Will. The Chesapeake Ripper is interested in you, and I need your help to understand why.”

           “You can take the letters, but I don’t want any part of this,” Will said, holding his hands up and out. “I can’t say he won’t kill me for even talking to you right now.”

           “You’d have an FBI escort to ensure nothing happened to you,” Jack pointed out.

           “No, I just…I just want to be left alone.” After a beat, he added, “By all of you.” Will was ashamed at how his voice cracked, vulnerable. Jack nodded, and Will wasn’t sure if it was in understanding, or because he felt Will needed the validation.

           “Just take one look, tell me what you see, and I’ll make sure everyone leaves you the hell alone.”

           That is how Will Graham found himself escorted in a ritzy car to the FBI HQ, placed before a table full of photos and shots of the deaths that’d occurred ‘in his name’. His hands passed over the smooth texture of each photo, and he thought of the way it’d felt to be pressed up against the wall in the dank, foul alley. It’d been terrifying –that much was obvious. Alcohol made things swim, emotions that floated about before surfacing after they had the time to be softened, mulled over for a while. He tried to focus on the terror rather than the pleasure, the fear rather than the excitement. He wasn’t sure if the pleasure and excitement he recalled were his or the Chesapeake Ripper’s.

           The man in the photos knelt before the cross at one of the churches, an old, catholic one by the looks of it. It would have been almost spiritual, if he’d had a face. Beside the photo, the note they’d pried from his hands held Will’s name in familiar, arching script.

           “It’s nice paper,” Will commented.

           “We checked the paper and the ink. Although nice, there are several boutique stores in the entire surrounding area that sell it, and even most chains can get their hands on it,” Jack grunted. When they’d arrived, he’d cleared the room of anyone lurking about. The older man, Price, had given Will a thumb’s up before clearing out, and Will wasn’t sure if it was a vote of confidence or a gesture of good will.

           Maybe good luck, since Price felt that he needed it.

           “What’s he do?”

           “Have you read the papers?”

           “Some. None of them look the same, go to the same places, or have anything remotely in common with one another until he decides they all belong in his collection.”

           Jack stared at Will, and Will avoided his gaze. He plucked at a photo, staring at Persephone walking towards Hades. Was the Ripper telling him he offered a life of ruling within the darkness? He wanted to court him with the flowers, show him just what he could do for him, and when he went too far, he apologized. Maybe he had been moments from death in that alley, and then the Ripper decided he wasn’t done playing yet.

           The thought made his palms sweat.

           “He decides they belong in his collection,” Jack repeated when Will said nothing else. “Is the collection ongoing from the past years, or is each one new?”

           “Each one is different and unique. Usually he works in sounders of three or so, doesn’t he?”

           “Yes.”

           “I wonder why.” Will slid three of the photos together: the courtship, Persephone, and the apology. “If he’s sticking to that rule, he’s finished.”

           “Do you think he’s finished?”

           “No,” Will murmured. “Why sounders of three?”

           “Timing? Ease?” Jack thought out loud.

           “I wonder.” Will frowned down at the photos, waiting for them to tell him.

           “Where he didn’t kill you, then his plan, whatever that is, continues.”

           “He could have killed me in that alley, and instead he’s apologizing. He knows I went to you with the first letter, so he gave you a reason to come and see the rest,” Will said.

           “So he’s playing with us,” Jack realized, and Will nodded, glancing up.

           “The apology is for me because he almost killed me and he wants to drag this out however he can. He wants me, but he doesn’t want to…end me. If he only wanted to apologize, he would have just sent a note, seeing as how not every note is a death, although every poem is. He wanted you to see, though.”

           “See what, exactly?”

           “The reason why he’s interested in me.” Will tapped the photo of the kneeling man, his face missing. “That’s him. You can’t see his face because he’s the Chesapeake Ripper, but he believes I can see the man behind the face.”

           “Because of your…imagination?” Jack pressed.

           “Yes.”

           “Will you look at the body?”

           “I don’t want to see the body.” Will shook his head sharply, pressing his hand flat to the photo. It was a lie, but at the same time it was also not a lie in the least.

           “I just want you to look.”

           “Normal people don’t want to see dead bodies,” Will retorted.

           “There’s nothing wrong with looking to see if you see something that no one else does.”

           “I can look, but the���the thinking will shut down. I don’t want to see him.” Will’s fingers tapped on the photo, and he glanced to the faceless man, throat dry. “I don’t.”

           “You don’t want to see him because it’s a dead body or is it because you don’t want to see the Chesapeake Ripper?”

           “Both. The second.” Definitely the second. Logic told him that it wasn’t the Chesapeake Ripper, that the Ripper certainly wasn’t finished with him, but the idea of inhaling the pungent smell of dead flesh and chemicals and staring at a face with no skin made his heart palpitate again –definitely needed to see a doctor.

           “I need you to see, Will.” Jack said, and the words were clear: there wasn’t really a choice in the matter.

           Will followed him to the adjoining room, the wall of body slabs metallic and clean to belie the foul things they hid inside. Jack opened one and hauled out the gurney, leaving Will with the gristly visage of a very dead man. Will wanted to close his eyes, but he forced himself to stare. The flesh was dingy, an ugly shade of grey.

           “Death does not look good on you,” Will said quietly.

           “You did a paper on intelligent psychopaths once that made your teacher post it in one of the school’s journals. You emphasized how difficult they were to catch because there is no traceable motive or rhyme and reason. They change methods; they are meticulous and tidy. This is the first time the Chesapeake Ripper has given us anything to go on, and it’s you. You’re his motive, and whatever he’s seeing when he looks at you is manifesting on these people.”

           “He wants to understand me, and he wants to be understood,” Will said.

           “What?”

           “He thinks there’s something worthwhile in my mind. The Chesapeake Ripper is, above all, arrogant. He knows you won’t catch him. That’s why he’s toying with you. He…” Will gestured to the body, eyes glued to the man’s distinct lack of face. “He knows you won’t catch him because he leaves nothing but what he wants you to see and understand. That lends itself a certain isolation, though, doesn’t it?”

           “Isolation?”

           “The only person that knows who the Chesapeake Ripper is, is the Chesapeake Ripper.”

           “You think the Chesapeake Ripper is lonely?” Derision colored Crawford’s word black.

           “If you were the only one in the world that knew why you did what you did, wouldn’t you be lonely too?” Will asked. “A face that no one can see, and he thinks he’s found someone that could maybe understand.”

           “You have a knack for understanding the monsters,” Jack said after a beat.

           “I can understand anyone,” Will snapped. “Monsters, normal people, the ones that think they’re normal when they’re not.”

           “He only cares about the fact that you can see him, though.”

           Will nodded in agreement, and he finally tore his gaze away from the man’s sinew and muscle.

           “I wonder why three,” he said.

           “They were sounders of three before, but not now. Not if he’s just getting started,” Jack replied. Will nodded in agreement. If he was going to be left to live through whatever the Chesapeake Ripper had in store, then it was natural to assume other people were going to continue getting hurt.

           There’d been a steady tapping noise in the background, and it was only when Jack walked away with him that he realized he’d been tapping fingers on the metal, just centimeters away from taking the man’s hand.

-

           Will was kindly let go from his job at Sangre.

           Somehow, amidst his penchant for avoiding eyes and remaining aloof, his bosses felt he was too much the ‘kicked puppy’ that people just felt the need to take home. He wasn’t quite sure how to take that critique –it came down to aesthetics rather than true criticism of his work ethic –but he handed in his itchy red vest and bowtie all the same.

           He was just leaving the bar when Hannibal was walking in, and he was unable to meet the doctor’s eyes when they both stopped.

           “Off work so early, Will?” Hannibal asked.

           “I was fired,” Will said, studying the cracks on the sidewalk. He wondered if Hannibal cared about avoiding the cracks in the cement as much as he did.

           “Fired?” Hannibal’s brows lifted and he shifted his stance. “What was their reasoning?”

           “Apparently there is some sort of endearing quality to my face that just doesn’t sell.”

           “I wasn’t aware that you had to work at selling alcohol. Don’t the consumers gladly come to you?”

           “That’s what I thought.” Will scuffed his shoe on the sidewalk and looked up, eyes finding their way to Hannibal’s shoulder. “Back on the market, I suppose.”

           “Are you going to attempt to remain within the service industry?”

           “I’ve been told that I know how to make a really good Old Fashioned.”

           “That you do,” Hannibal agreed.

           “Should I pass along another message to someone here for you?” It was a teasing sort of question, something that bordered along the lines of almost flirtatious. Will instantly regretted it, willing himself to pull the words back into his mouth.

           “Have you eaten yet?” Hannibal asked instead.

           “What?” Will managed to find his way to his face, surprised to see a pleasant smile. The sunlight made his eyes tawny, and they were fixed very decidedly on Will.

           “I’d imagine you haven’t had dinner. Allow me to pour the drinks for you instead.”

           “Oh, Dr. Lecter, I couldn’t…”

           “You’ve just lost a second job, and I would be remiss to see you go hungry because you forgot to eat in your haste to find a new occupation. It’s the least I can do.”

           Maybe it was the way his expression was mischievous rather than piteous, or the fact that when Will looked at his feet, he saw that Hannibal wasn’t standing on any cracks in the cement. It could have been that he’d already been rung out and left to air dry by Jack just a few days before, or maybe it was because there was something vastly appealing about someone cooking dinner for him when they most certainly didn’t have to.

           “Okay," he said, and the word gave him a small bolster of courage. "...Okay."